Summary: Eight months after the battle at Mission City, a new bot walks up to the gates of the joint Army-Autobot base.

Fandom: Transformers Bayverse (post RotF AU)
Pairing: Jazz/Prowl, Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Ratchet/Ironhide, Bumblebee/Sam
Rating: PG-13 for mech/mech
Codes: Slash

Notes:
I used the fan-verse idea where the destruction of the Allspark turned a handful of humans into Transformers, Sam among them. I'm not actually using that fan-verse, just the idea it's based on. I have no clue where it originated, but props to the author(s).

Jazz survived.

Sideswipe is red. I don't care if he's silver in the movie. Sides wouldn't be Sides if he wasn't bright red, just like Sunstreaker wouldn't be Sunny if he wasn't that lovely bright yellow. Can you tell I'm a G1 gal?

Yes, I know. Another OC. First few fics in any fandom are like that. Getting them out of my skull and into the background so I can focus on the real characters. I still try to write an interesting story. At least this one isn't a hormone-crazed slut so there should be some mech/mech action with the established pairings.

"text" normal, audible to every speech
::text:: radio communication. May or may not be scrambled and can be selectively delivered, though not typically and can be intercepted.
~text~ bond/touch communication. Only available to the one receiving it.

A Wolf in the Fold 1: First Steps
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ripple of heat waves and airborne sandy dust obscured vision for the human guards, but not for the Autobots' sensors. So Ironhide was understandably startled when he caught sight of an eight meter tall Cybertronian frame shimmer into existence of nowhere not far from the main gate.

He turned fully, activating his arm-cannons and radioing the others on base when he didn't recognize the tall bot walking towards him.

It wasn't Mirage.

It wasn't the only Cybertronian that could go invisible.

"Stop right there!" he bellowed in Cybertronian, charging for the entrance, even as it registered that the intruder had stopped just shy of the main gate, and before he'd demanded it. "Identify yourself!" he continued as he skidded to a stop and the mech took a couple steps back. Tall, with a medium build, no apparent weapons and more human-like hands than normal. The remains of a finish that had once been dark auburn, now sanded down by the environment were evident to his optics. No obvious indication of faction or alt form.

It set off all sorts of warnings for the old soldier.

He could hear several sets of running footsteps coming up behind him; Prime, Ratchet, Jazz, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker from the sound of the steps, or wheels in Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's case.

The intruder's faceplates held a confused look, a bit of visible nervousness, just a touch of fear. Hands raised by his head and held flat, palms towards him in a decidedly human gesture of submission.

"He won't answer," Ironhide told Prime in Cybertronian as the taller mech walked up and they both took measure of the newcomer that was between them in height, and close to Prime in build.

"Do you have a designation?" Optimus asked in English as he stepped in front of his weapon's specialist to assess this stranger, already sure he was another human turned Cybertronian. They thought they'd found them all, but he'd acknowledged months ago it was impossible to be sure.

The stranger paused briefly, put off balance by the wording.

"Nightshade," a female voice came from the unknown, speaking English, her optics locked on Optimus. "I am not your enemy."

"I do not see an insignia," Optimus considered her, and how poorly matched frame was to voice. Looked like a mech, spoke like a femme, and had been born human, a race with a far stronger gender association than his own.

"I do not have one, Sir," she spoke softly, with just a bit of military bearing in the background. Her optics flicking between the various mechs and humans present but always returned to their leader. "My history is not very normal," she said, trying not to fidget and only partially succeeding.

Optimus nodded. "Come," he motioned her forward as he turned around to walk with her onto base when she moved to join him. He considered her, working up a list of things to compare with Jazz and Prowl later. "Male or female?" he asked.

"I was female," she looked down at her body, and at those around here. "These have gender?" she cocked her head at him.

"We do not in the way bio-forms do," Ratchet spoke up, his normally grouchy tone eased for the newly rebuilt human's sake. "There are frame-forms and programming cores that are associated with mechs and different ones linked to femmes. It is not for reproduction."

"Ah," Nightshade nodded. "I'm guessing I look like one and sound or something like the other?"

"Ya look lik'a mech, talk lik'a femme," Jazz confirmed. "I'm Jazz, by'th' way."

"Sexiest car on base," Nightshade chuckled, earning a brilliant grin from the SpecOps agent. "If I look like a mech, that's the part I'm inclined to play."

"Play?" Optimus quirked an eyeridge plate at Nightshade.

"Poor choice of words?" Nightshade glanced over. "Mech is what I'll be? I'm assuming it's something of a choice, given a mechanical body and mixed signal this one is giving."

"My apologies," Optimus said quickly as he led him inside one of the hanger-height buildings that served as their home and headquarters on Earth. Jazz and Ratchet stayed close, and Prowl joined them while Sideswipe and Ironhide drifted off. It amused him slightly to know the formation that had formed around their visitor, and he took note of the shift in her steps, matching his stride perfectly and placing herself in a position to have some chance of escape, even if it was only to run forward. "We are still learning about humans and their gender identities."

"I'm not a typical human that way," he admitted. "Or a lot of ways."

"Fixing your vocal processors to a lower tone is easily done during your physical," Ratchet promised. "I'll record you as a mech."

Optimus nodded. "How old are you?"

"Umm, thirty-six, Sir," he blinked his optic covers in an all-too human gesture. "Eight months like this."

"How'd you come to be like this?" he asked, softening his voice. He took note of Major Lennox and Sgt. 1st Class Epps joining them, though the human leaders of the join force remained quiet. Most of their efforts on keeping up with the much longer strides of the robots.

"I was in Mission City when you fought," Nightshade began, earning a grunt of understanding from Ratchet as she confirmed suspicions. "I got up that morning a thirty-five year old human woman. By dark, after a lot of screaming, running, thrashing, inventing curses about pain and periods of unconsciousness, I was this."

"That was eight months ago. Why wait so long?" Jazz asked with an easy grin on his face.

She responded with a small smile when she glanced his way and saw it.

"Partly in finding you, partly recovering and working how what the fuck happened and the rest working out whether the company and knowledge was worth it. You're at war," he answered almost bluntly. "That's not a choice to make without some kind of research."

"You studied us?" Prowl spoke evenly, causing Nightshade to turn and take steps backwards to look at him as he spoke.

"Most of four months, I think," he hesitated slightly. "Even with the new timekeeper attached to my brain, I don't keep time well," he explained as he turned around to walk forward again. "It took a while to find you, longer to decide I wanted to do this."

"How did you avoid the patrols?" Prowl asked, all business and more than a bit tense. The idea that they'd been under surveillance for four months and didn't know it did not settle well with him, or any of them.

Nightshade let out a rush of air from his vents, his pump rate spiking to Ratchet's finely tuned sensors and his neural net activity went off the charts. Privately, he was sure this one had a femme's core programming, and definitely had a large chunk of human female mannerisms, but that was a debate for a much later time. If she wanted to be recorded as a he, it wasn't his place to argue yet. They didn't know enough about the conversion process to be sure what it did to the humans.

"I only know how to do it, not explain it," he said.

"Do what, exactly?" Jazz took over, trying his best to keep the conversation friendly as long as possible. He knew this mix of signals too well from the twelve they'd already begun to train. They couldn't afford to scare him off, and he was sure he was one perceived threat away from bolting despite how they met him.

"Being invisible, sort of," he did his best to explain and get his reaction under control. "I can still see myself in a reflection, still interact with objects, but people, sensors, apparently even yours, don't seem to register that I'm there. Couple months back you stood within a body length of me and watched the sun set with a full moon out. An hour, maybe more. If you knew I was there, you didn't make any indication of it," he looked at Jazz, curious about it.

"We were that close?" Jazz's mouth opened briefly in surprise. He'd be getting ribbed for that for vorns to come. "I didn't," he admitted, and made a note to himself about learning how to counter it, and recruiting this one to his team, not necessarily in that order.

"I froze, tried not to twitch, even my ... urr ... whatever my heart and breathing are now. You have no idea how grateful I was when you wondered off. It was easier than it used to be, but still decidedly unpleasant. Last time any of your ... our kind ... got that close he tried to kill me."

"Did you see him well enough to recognize him?" Jazz asked and took a couple slightly quicker steps to come even with him, even as Prime dropped back to let him take over.

"Oh hell yeah," Nightshade growled. "We got very up close and personal."

Jazz nodded and added that to the list of things to check later on. "So how much do you know about us?" he asked, his voice crafted to a happy, friendly one that most responded well to.

"Some names, a couple ranks. You work with or for the US. Which was the deciding factor. I may not be in love with my country, some things royally piss my off, but the bottom line is that I'm an American," he said, then sighed through his vents again as his gaze dropped to the floor ahead of them. "I was an American. If this brain works like my human one, I'll forget that in a few years, tops."

"Forgetting is normal for you?" Jazz looked curious and Ratchet looked worried, at least to those who knew him.

"Pretty much. Data sticks, to an extent. People, places, experiences, not so much. Names are the worst," he shrugged, his attention back on everything around him. "I may fight like hell to avoid change, but once it happens," he shrugged again. "It's the new normal and the past just fades away."

Jazz nodded, understanding that he already possessed half of a truly spectacular undercover agent's nature. If he could teach Nightshade to come back from the new place, to reset to himself when the mission was over....

~One step at a time, love,~ Prowl's ever-practical mind reminded him over their bond. ~He's skittish.~

~He's afraid of you.~ Jazz replied. ~Probably that emotionless mask you like to wear.~

"That's Prime, your leader," Nightshade paused for corrections and received none. "The big black guy that charged me at the gate is Hide."

"Optimus Prime and Ironhide," Jazz supplied. "He's grouchy about the nic."

"Right. Ironhide," she repeated with a quick nod. "I would prefer to avoid meeting the little green and orange pair for as long as possible."

"Skids and Mudflap," Jazz said, and received a grateful smile in return.

"Why?" Optimus asked.

"Even at a distance they're irritating," he tried not to growl, only to glance around at the general chuckles of agreement.

"The gold one with the blades is Sunny, and the red one he's always with is Sides," Nightshade continued.

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe," Jazz nodded. "The terror twins," he chuckled. "Real practical jokers," he smiled. "That's Prowl, don't let the perpetual stone-face get ta ya. He cares about us, a lot. The glow-in-the-dark guy is Ratchet, our CMO."

"The guy actually in charge of things," Nightshade chuckled lightly, earning a surprised grunt from Ratchet.

"Finally, somebody who respects the profession," he muttered.

"Eighteen months USMC. It feels like three lifetimes ago, but some things stuck," he half-explained. "You learn early and well to be nice to the medics."

"You were military?" Major Lennox spoke up, prompting the robots to look down him and Sgt. 1st Class Epps.

"Once," Nightshade nodded faintly, touch of pain in his voice as he looked at the pair in the cammies and strait postures and instinctive matching of steps. "My body couldn't do the job, even if I could."

"Who were you then?" he persisted.

"Irrelevant now," he countered with a sharp shake of his head. "She's quite dead."

"It went that badly?" he tried to sound sympathetic, and in a way he was. He could understand the grief of being discharged because of injuries. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd do with himself if he couldn't be this anymore.

Nightshade shrugged. "I survived. It's the least of my issues right now. Right now I'm far more interested in what I need to do to stop my power levels from dropping."

"Energon," Ratchet said, causing him to turn around and walk backwards again to focus on him.

"Which is?" he prompted.

"Liquid energy," Jazz gave the simplest answer.

"I'll explain fully later," the grouchy medic promised as Jazz tapped the access code on a panel on the wall next to the outline of a door. "I have the full briefing in my office. You aren't the only one this happened to."

"Nice to know, I think," Nightshade murmured as he took in the room when the door slid open into the wall. One way in, one way out. A large oval table with a dozen mech-sized chairs and a section on one side near the door that seemed to be for humans to join in. A conference room, he was sure. " If you have it written in English with a linked glossary, that would be best. Gives me a chance to understand partway before the lecture. At least let me get a grip on the vocab first."

"It'll be ready," Ratchet agreed. "We can cover what you don't understand tomorrow."

"Sit anywhere," Jazz gently ushered him into the room, watching with carefully concealed intensity as he surveyed the space in a single sweep of his eyes and chose a seat to just the to the left of the head of the table. Not only almost as far from the door as possible, but the place next to where Prime would typically sit, and the one with the best command of the entire space and the obvious danger -- the door.

Prowl's and his preferred spot.

With carefully subtle hand signals he placed everyone else around the table. Prime on the right of the head, across from Nightshade but not actually opposite him. Prowl and Ratchet were to Prime's right on the far side, and the humans on their platform at the door end of the table.

He felt Nightshade watching him move as he got energon for everyone, and the humans poured coffee for themselves from a dispenser on their platform.

"This is energon," Jazz informed him as he set the cube in front of Nightshade. "If you start with a full charge, most can remain fully active for centuries without any, though it's unpleasant to go without more than a few days. Under normal conditions we'll drink one a day."

"Go slow," Ratchet added in a surprisingly gentle tone. "Some of the others had difficulty digesting full strength energon at first."

Jazz sat down on Nightshade's left, with a chair's worth of space between them, but not the chair. It gave the newcomer plenty of room to move, to not feel hemmed in, and to visibly change his focus the way he had in the corridors. He watched him relax, just a bit, as he studied the rich, shimmering blue liquid energy in the cube. He was sure, from his more subtle expressions, that he didn't understand half of what his optic readouts were telling him.

So he wasn't highly educated as a human, though likely not poorly educated either. He spoke too well for it, and the military of the early nineties did require a moderate education. Quite possibly the rest was the same kind of semi-random learning they had from the internet and TV with a broad range of subjects but not a great amount of detail on any of them unless intentionally sought out.

He tipped his cube to his lips and sipped slowly, catching Nightshade watching out of the corner of his optics, then more directly. Studying him, and not at all shyly.

The other former humans hadn't known how to drink energon from a cube at first either.

Nightshade made a careful effort to mimic him, and a bit of the potent fuel slid down his throat into his empty fuel tanks for the first time.

"Does it burn?" Ratchet asked before anyone else could react to the slight choking reaction. Nightshade nodded quickly and set the cube down, cycling air rapidly through the affected areas. "All right, don't drink any more full strength stuff for a while. I've asked First Aid to bring some of the diluted formula. We'll work you up to full strength over time."

Nightshade nodded again, then straitened. "I'm okay," he promised, his voice almost normal, and earned a deadly glare from Ratchet. "It wasn't doing me any good."

"Just when did you pick up that habit?" Ratchet glowered. Any bot who's first reaction to pain was to shut down the signal was going to be the Pit to keep alive.

"Umm, as a human," he mumbled, sinking into the chair slightly in a motion of abject submission at his apparent fury. "As a kid. Pain's just to tell you you're hurt. Once you know...." his voice trailed off at Ratchet's expression. "You didn't indicate I needed medical care for it, Sir," he made a desperate bid to sidetrack his reaction.

"Ratchet, give it a rest," Jazz interrupted the impending tirade. "He doesn't need medical care and he doesn't need to be in pain."

"True," he grumbled and settled down as the door opened to admit Red Alert, carrying two cubes of light blue energon.

"These shouldn't upset your system, Nightshade," the Medic said as he set them down.

"Thank you," Nightshade smiled and straitened up take a cautious sip from the new cube. "It doesn't burn," he assured the Medic and CMO.

Jazz recognized the instant Nightshade's body realized fuel was present and sent signals to his processors demanding more, right now. His eyes dimmed, half shuttered, as he struggled to control the demand he was processing as pain. It was enough to make his entire frame shudder and an unhappy whine escaped his vocal processor before Jazz could lean over and touch his arm in the way he'd seen human friends do.

"It won't usually be that bad," he promised gently and helped guide the cube to Nightshade's mouth. "Your systems're just overreacting to th' new input," he tried to be reassuring, privately pleased that he didn't wait for his explanation to being drinking again. Nightshade's entire body continued to tremble, a reaction he could understand all too well. He knew what was going on; post mission he could be returning to the first energon he'd had in decades sometimes. He'd learned that the signals just meant his body wanted energon. The first time though, it felt like his body was trying to implode in conveying its need.

By the time Nightshade finished the first cube, the tremors had settled and his optics had come fully on again. He set the empty cube down and picked up the second pale blue one, drinking it more slowly, barely more than sipping it.

"Okay ... where were we?" Nightshade glanced around the room.

"Lets start with you," Jazz smiled and relaxed back in his chair, pleased that Nightshade didn't react negatively to his touch or instructions. It was a good sign. "Do you have any loose ends to tie up in your human life?"

Nightshade shook his head, then paused. "I guess it would be helpful if she was declared dead, maybe a late-find casualty of Mission City? I already contacted the few friends she had, not that they knew it was me, but they know she's not coming back. Still, seven years is a long time for my stuff to be in limbo."

"Most of it could be brought here," Jazz commented, earning an uncertain look. "We all have some keepsakes from previous lives and adventures."

"I'm going to need to think about that," Nightshade murmured. "Sometimes a clean break is best. It's not like I could possibly go back."

"You have time," Optimus promised. "You have clearly given some thought to joining the Autobots. Have you given any thought as to your desired role in the army?"

"I figured I'd be on the battle lines," he said with enough ease to surprise the humans there. "I am a good fighter, given how little training I've had," he said before taking a sip of energon. "Given the Decepticon encounter I had, I've got a body designed for it and instincts very well suited to it."

"Ever thought about intel?" Jazz asked.

"As in a spy?" Nightshade raised an optic ridge at him. "That requires a very good memory."

"A faulty memory is one in need of repair," Ratchet spoke up. "It is most likely that your current difficulty remembering things is because you expect it, not because your systems are damaged. If they are damaged, I'll fix it."

Nightshade just stared at him, then laughed, shaking his head in real amusement and relaxed a bit more. "Something for you to check out," he grinned at him. "If you're right, it'll just be something else to get used to."

"How long did it take you to match name to bot?" Jazz asked curiously.

"Depends on who it was. It's still more color and height matching than actual recognition. Prime," Nightshade nodded towards him. "Was the easiest, between the paintjob and the fact that he came very close to landing on me," he chuckled lightly at the memory, as terrifying as it had been at the time. "I honestly thought that no one argued like that in the middle of a fight in real life.

"You and the human male in Mission City. About the Allspark, just before he shoved it up into the big silver one instead of down into you," he elaborated when Optimus looked slightly confused. "I was the crazy human edging around the building to get a better look."

"Why?" Prowl looked over, needing to understand the highly illogical action.

Nightshade graced him with a quirked eye ridge and amused, all too Jazz-like smile for it. "The big things thrashing around stood a good five to six times my height, and looked like more at the time. Even if I had a clear path, which I didn't, there was no way to get out of the way no matter which direction I went except by dumb luck. Live or die, it wasn't likely to be by my actions. So I went for the next best thing. I got a better look at the interesting things trying to kill each other in my neighborhood. I've never really been afraid to die," he added with a shrug.

"Why?" Optimus asked, concerned by such a mindset.

Nightshade cocked his head, considering him as he considered the question.

Eventually he shrugged. "I'm just not," his tone nearly held an apology. "I guess I've always believed that souls move on, that each body is just a temporary stop. It's hard to be afraid of something that doesn't mean much more in the long run as going to sleep at night."

"How sure are you of this?" Optimus asked, trying to place Nightshade's stated beliefs with an existing system on Earth.

"Sure enough my reflex when threatened is to fight," he answered. "It feels right, every time I say it or think about it."

"Where did you learn about this idea?" Jazz asked even as he transmitted the most likely sources to the others.

"Umm, the reincarnation idea probably came from Buddhism, or maybe fiction. It's common to both. For the details, that's just my head and trying to make sense of things. It's not any teachings I know of. It just works for me."

::New topic!:: Jazz buzzed the others, his transmission carrying the warning that this was an extremely delicate topic at best and explosive more often than not with humans. "Faith is important to everyone," he smiled. "How serious was th' fight?"

"Serious enough that we both crawled away, rather than walked," Nightshade muttered, his temper rising and reflective gold optics glowed brightly at the memory. "I don't know how long it took me to heal, curled up in that abandoned warehouse, but it was long enough I started to resent being still and largely numb."

"Okay, conversation over," Ratchet stood up. "You are coming to Med-Bay now," he pointed at Nightshade and then the door. "Just how many pain-warnings have you ignored in the past few months?"

He gave a bare glance at Optimus to be sure no one was going to contradict the CMO and stood to follow him. "After I healed, just the one today."

Jazz was on his feet, walking with him behind Ratchet without a second thought.

::Jazz, I think he's yours to bring up to speed,:: Optimus radioed him on a private band. ::He seemed to accept your manner best.::

::Yes Sir,:: he agreed without hesitation. Granted he had an unfair advantage, being specially trained to blend in and make friends, but not all the new Cybertronians had gravitated towards him. Actually quiet a few hadn't for any number of reasons, most of which he knew and agreed with. He wasn't the teacher for everyone, even if he did very well at being a friend, or at least comrade, to most. ::If what he said is true, he'll spend a lot of time with Hide too, and I think he likes Sides.::

::Sideswipe?:: Optimus was genuinely intrigued. He wasn't a bot that most gravitated towards, even if he had a better temperament than his golden twin.

::Just something in Nightshade's reaction to him. If he's as much a frontliner as he thinks, and as built for speed as I think, they're a natural match,:: he explained. ::I'll bring ya upta speed when he's in recharge.::

::Understood,:: Optimus agreed before closing the line.

"So you'd say you're fully repaired and in good condition?" Ratchet looked back at Nightshade, taking a more careful look with his sensors. He couldn't be sure if he was lying, the pain sensors or receptors had been damaged and he was too young to know or if he just wasn't aware of what his systems should be like, but there was still enough damage he should have noticed. Granted, it wasn't anything he didn't see the last time he'd scanned him, none of it was critical by any means, but that didn't mean he was going to get out of his Med-Bay in anything less than pristine condition. He'd wanted Nightshade in there first anyway, same as all the new bots.

"Yes, Sir," he nodded. "I think my throat's recovered too."

Ratchet grunted. Definitely something wrong with the neural net then. He'd reacted appropriately at the time, so the receptors and relievers were good, but there was no way the sensations should be gone yet if he'd checked, and he'd felt the system check he'd done in his sensors just before he spoke.

Nightshade was going to be as bad as Ironhide, if not worse.

~Need me to come keep him down?~ his bondmate's gruff thought, honest in his desire to help and tease, tapped on Ratchet's mind.

~No, I'm just fine,~ he snapped back easily, almost thoughtlessly. ~But Prime's going to have you test him out. He thinks he's a frontliner.~

A mental snort was the only reply.