[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Harmonica Boy [Open]

[Jack Darby]

WEEK 1, DAY 2

Omega Outpost One, NV

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Let it never be said that Jack didn't know how to play the harmonica.

Up on that lonely mesa, as a dry wind blue and a raven circled above, dulcet tones echoed into the high desert. Sitting cross-legged behind Cliffjumper's shrine, eyes closed as the music flowed through him, Jack breathed life into his trusty piece. The Control Room was too busy and preoccupied for such music, and Jack didn't want to bother anyone trying to work in there. Going into another room wasn't an option, either, as the kids really weren't supposed be off the catwalks or outside the Control Room. Up on the mesa, however, was a different story.

As The Beatles' Let It Be serenaded the landscape, Jack let his mind empty, taking in nothing but the sound of his harmonica. It was almost like meditating, breathing out every worry into each note. The music was forlorn and tense, but eased up as the song progressed and Jack relaxed. He let himself forget about all the schoolwork he had to do; about the heavy pall that sat over the base; over lamenting not spending more time with Arcee and the others lately; about the bad dreams that plagued him as he tried to sleep at night. No, it was just him and an old classic given a new twist, with the open Nevada landscape echoing every bit of his song.

It was nice to get away from things for a while. Jack didn't mind being responsible, but even he had to loosen up. He certainly wasn't about to go wild like Miko did, or withdraw into more of a shell than he had started to. Neither was good for him in the long run.

[Red Alert]

Red Alert, contrary to popular belief, was not crazy. He was profoundly mentally ill and his exhaustive (and exhausting) sensory array made it difficult for him to discern the difference between reality and hallucination at times, but he wasn't crazy.

Yet.

Not a single day went by that he didn't feel like he was loosing his bloody mind, and it had nothing to do with any of his diagnoses and everything to do with the endless fuckery that he found himself embroiled in. Every day brought with it some new trial, some new test of his patience and mental fortitude. If it wasn't someone flagrantly disregarding basic security protocols, it was someone else ignorantly or willfully endangering themselves and others in clear defiance of common sense. If it wasn't a skirmish with the Decepticons, it was an attack by MECH. If it wasn't one of their own soldiers running off alone without a word or a spotter, it was one of the humans.

The humans. Good God. They were a headache all their own. How a species so small and fragile and easy to kill could possibly be so laissez faire about their own safety, Red Alert had no idea. He couldn't stop thinking about the myriad of ways their lives could come to a sudden, brutal, sticky end, and yet the humans didn't seem to ever think of it at all. He had yet to see any of the humans demonstrate even a slightly reasonable amount of regard for their own well-being, which was disturbing and concerning and irritating in equal measure. It was as if they all had a death wish, or were simply woefully ignorant of just how much danger they were in at any given moment – it took all the self control Red Alert had not to scoop them all up and lock them away for the rest of their absurdly short lives because at least then they would actually get to survive long enough to see the end of their natural lifespan.

He knew that wasn't a viable option, of course. It wasn't fair or practical, it wasn't humane and most importantly Optimus had already vetoed the idea, so it was a moot point.

The best Red Alert could do was monitor everyone and everything every waking hour until the hour of his death, which would happen sooner rather than later if his bloody headcounts kept coming up short.

All the humans except one were present and accounted for, and after triple checking that he wasn't anywhere inside the outpost, Red Alert turned to his cameras to see if the boy had somehow gotten outside without his guardian, without anyone noticing.

Sure enough, Jack was outside by himself, out in the open, in plain view of anyone or anything that might seek to do him harm. Because of course he was. He was human and a child and neither quality granted him the good sense to be vigilant.

With a deep, weary sigh Red Alert locked up his office and set out to collect Arcee's wayward ward, knowing if he told her to do it in his stead he would just ruminate and fixate on all the things that could possibly go wrong until Jack was brought back safe and sound. Better to do it himself than to pretend he could trust anyone else with the task.

Walking out onto the mesa, Red Alert found it distressingly easy to track Jack down. Even without his keen sense of smell allowing him to follow Jack's scent, even without seeing the faint tracks Jack's shoes left in the dry earth, Red Alert would have been able to find him easily by just how much noise he was making.

“You're wanting tae be taken hostage, is that it?” He asked, by way of announcing his presence as he came within shouting distance of the boy.

“Going off on your own is a quick way tae get yourself killed.”

[Jack Darby]

Trailing off with the final few notes of Let It Be, Jack paused and took a few breaths, smiling slightly. That hadn't been bad for an impromptu jam session - his breathing was getting more controlled, his notes sharper. He couldn't see himself playing in the park for money, but Sierra might be impressed if he played something for her at lunch. His smile grew at the idea of Sierra leaning on her arms, watching him with those soft blue eyes as he serenaded her and the rest of the lunchroom. Boy, that would be a sight, having everyone just stop and listen to him for a while. Part of him liked the idea, but part of him also wanted to crawl into a hole at the thought. He'd never been good with people.

He began to play another song once his breath was back, this time something from an X-Box game that he'd heard on YouTube. The pace was slower, but the pitching up and down of some of the notes threw him a little. He had to experiment with the sound a bit, squeaking out a few bad notes before he found his rhythm. Alas, it wasn't meant to be for long, for a Scottish (Irish? Jack couldn't tell the difference) voice called out and startled him. A sharp squeal burst through his harmonica as he was surprised, the youth turning quickly to look at whoever was there.

Oh. It was Red Alert. Was he not supposed to be playing up here on the mesa? People - er, Autobots - came up here all the time. He didn't factor in they might be keeping quiet, though. Looking sheepish, Jack said a quick, "Sorry!" and stood up, dusting himself off as he did. The harmonica went back into one pocket. He walked towards Red Alert, then began to jog. When he came up to the Security Director, Jack craned his neck to look up at the red and white Autobot.

Man, did it ever weird him out to see an Autobot with a nose, considering how flat-faced everyone else was.

[Red Alert]

Well. Red Alert couldn't speak to the boy's innate sense of self-preservation, but he seemed to take well to correction. His apology was sincere, as near as Red Alert could tell – he had yet to fully memorize all the non-verbal cues that were indicative of deceit in humans, but he knew changes in heart rate and odor signature were significant, as were changes in baseline body language. All signs pointed to Jack being genuinely sorry, though whether that was because he had a fear of authority figures and/or wanted to avoid getting into trouble, Red Alert had no idea.

Wanting to give the boy the benefit of doubt, Red Alert ignored the wild speculation going on in the back of his mind and prayed that Jack wouldn't make him regret it later, while simultaneously preparing himself for that possibility.

“Don't be sorry, be sensible.”

He lowered himself to one knee as Jack jogged over, not wanting the boy to have to crane his head back quite so far in order to look at him as they spoke. He knew the move could be seen as offensive, as a good number of mecha on the smaller end of the scale found it to be more patronizing than considerate, but Red Alert was going to go out on a limb and assume most humans had the inverse perspective. He didn't imagine it felt especially comfortable, being towered over by a giant alien death machine older than the recorded history of one's entire species.

Despite kneeling down, Jack still needed to tilt his head back in order to look up at him, which made Red Alert mildly uncomfortable in the same way everything did, when he thought about it even a little. It was a disquieting feeling, knowing someone was seeing him as a larger creature and likely subconsciously assessing him as a threat. It made him overly conscious of his words and movements, not wanting to say or do anything that could be interpreted as threatening or as some sort of power play.

“How am I meant tae keep you safe if I can't even keep an eye on you?”

[Jack Darby]

No offense was taken to Red Alert kneeling down. Arcee knelt down all the time in his garage to both fit and talk to him better. The boy internally winced, preparing himself for a scolding, knowing from reputation alone that Red Alert was a stickler for rules. If Jack had broken any he didn't know about, he wouldn't be surprised if the security mech chewed him out - at least, by the way Arcee described him.

To not say the gentle, almost resigned explanation threw him off a little would be a lie. It reminded him for a moment of his mother, back when he was much younger. He'd had a few rambunctious moments, and she used to speak to him the same way.

"I...didn't think of it that way," Jack admitted to the mech. He held out his harmonica for Red Alert to see, hoping it would help explain things. "I didn't want to disturb anyone in base, so I came up here to play. I know Miko's played her guitar in there before, but it didn't seem...."

Right? Necessary? Appropriate?

"I just didn't want to make any trouble. Then again, playing a harmonica on top of a giant rock in the middle of nowhere makes things kind of stand out, doesn't it?"

He gave an awkward smile to Red Alert. "It won't happen again, I promise. Is there, uh...anywhere in base I can play that won't bother you guys?"

[Red Alert]

Red Alert glanced down at the harmonica as it was shown to him, not knowing what it was much less what it was called but assuming, based on context, that it was a musical instrument of some variety. Or at the very least it was an apparatus of indeterminate function that produced a musical effect. He eyed it for a moment, entertaining a few errant thoughts as to the possible alternative functions it may have, then Jack called it by its name and Red Alert's first assumption was proven to be the correct one. With harmonic being the root word, there was little else it could reasonably be other than an instrument.

It wasn't an especially good one, at least not as far as Red Alert was concerned, but he wasn't about to tell Jack that. He was well aware that his unique sensory array gave him a very limited taste in music, and sound in general, and no good would come of giving his unsolicited opinion on Jack's playing. It would only serve to discourage the boy, and to give support to the notion that Red Alert was an unreasonable authority figure, someone who was able to find fault with everything – someone who wanted everyone else to be as miserable as he was. Red Alert's poor reputation was already bad enough, he didn't need to add to it by giving the rumor mill any more ammunition to use against him. Unless it was absolutely necessary, he endeavored to keep his thoughts, opinions, and general comments to himself – the less he said, the less there could be twisted against him and put into a negative light.

“I would rather you be a bother than a hostage.” He said dryly, matters of safety being the exception to the aforementioned rule.

He didn't think any of the children were aware of or properly appreciated just how much danger they were truly in – and how could they, when everyone around them was doing their damnedest to shield them from the harsh reality of their situation? No one wanted to be the person to tell a group of children that they were now prime targets for all manner of war crimes, that their lives were in constant danger, that at any moment they could be killed or worse by alien entities they couldn't possibly defend themselves against. For them, the Autobot-Decepticon conflict was a nebulous concept – one that affected them in theory, but had yet to truly touch them in real life. Red Alert could only hope that it never would, but hope was a fool's way of hedging his bets. It was only through constant vigilance that they had any chance of keeping the children from getting any more involved in the war than they already were, and even then the chance was slim.

Red Alert did not like their odds, and it showed on his face and in his voice when he looked to jack and added what he felt was a necessary addendum to impress upon him just how grave his mistake could have been.

“...Or a corpse.”

[Jack Darby]

"Oh."

Impressed upon was Jack, who immediately started thinking of all the ways a flier could dive down on him as he played around on his stupid harmonica like some kind of fool. The air suddenly felt too open; the mesa was too bright and exposed. Jack looked around nervously, touching the back of his neck with an open palm. He looked back up at Red Alert, grimacing a little.

"You're right," he said. "I wasn't thinking. Can you, um...take me back inside?"

Despite the poor reputation Red Alert had at base, Jack felt a certain sense of comfort in his shadow. He was stable and predictable compared to many of the other Autobots. He didn't cause a fuss, didn't overstep any boundaries Optimus set, and kept diligently to his work. Someone had to make sure the Decepticons or MECH didn't find the base, and it probably weighed on Red Alert that incidents like with Ratchet had happened. Jack could appreciate the need to keep someone safe and sound.

He moved a little into the darkness cast by the Autobot, waiting for Red to do something. To scold him further, to take him back inside as requested, to instruct him on what to do next - the ball was in Red's court. Jack clearly had messed up, and didn't feel like messing up any more.

[Red Alert]

Humans were not of an inconsiderable size, for a purely organic species. There were alien races that were much smaller, though there weren't quite as many that were much larger thanks to the cube–square law. Cybertronains, by contrast, had no upper limit to their size and so ran the gamut from mini to titan and everything in between. This meant that, typically, the average Cybertronian dwarfed most other organic, land-dwelling lifeforms.

Red Alert was acutely, painfully aware of this size discrepancy. He couldn't look at a human without thinking about how easily a mech could crush them underfoot or bump into them with enough force to shatter their bones. He couldn't ignore how they were so easy to kill that the denizens of Omega had to actively try not to accidentally murder them – an effort most Decepticons would not be inclined to make. The fact that the Decepticons (as of yet) hadn't already killed a human ally, accidentally or intentionally, was a statistical anomaly that haunted the back of Red Alert's mind like a ghost. It was only a matter of time before the anomaly corrected itself, and Red Alert could only hope that it wouldn't be one of the children who fixed the probability.

Looking at Jack, Red Alert was relieved to note that the boy seemed to have some understanding of the precariousness of his situation, though perhaps not its full severity. With any luck, he would be more mindful in the future – not that any amount of mindfulness would save him from an especially motivated Decepticon, but that was true for everyone, not just the humans.

“I was planning on it.” He said, aiming for mild and instead landing on dry.

He nodded towards the outpost, using the 'ear' of his helm to point.

“If you're wanting to know, there are places inside where you can practice in private.”

He paused, realizing that statement wasn't entirely honest, and decided to walk it back.

“Well. For a definition of private.”

[Jack Darby]

"'For a definition of private'?" Jack parroted uneasily, his tone slipping into something as dry as Red's had been. For a moment, he wondered if the walls in the base were that thin, or if Red Alert meant something else entirely. He knew people could walk in on almost any room without a door, and -

Wait. Why was he being so paranoid all of a sudden? Wasn't that Red Alert's job, to worry about who got into where? That's not the best way to put it, Jack, a little voice in his head told him, and he felt guilty next. Red was just trying to keep everyone alive in the war, including humans who hadn't wanted to be involved in Giant Robot Fight Club at first.

...He really needed to settle his ass down, Jack decided. So Jack started making his way back to the lift he'd used to get up to the top of the mesa. He stayed abreast of Red Alert, not wanting to get in his way or make him have to dance around the teenager. Deciding to replace what he asked before with something less snarky, Jack said, "I mean...well...could I use a storage room or something?"

Nope, still too snarky. Jack sighed. "I'm sorry. That was...I should just stop talking now, shouldn't I?"