Ep 0.5 - TLC - Closed
May 9, 2012 12:43:56 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on May 9, 2012 12:43:56 GMT -5
<< Archive - takes place towards the end of month 4, after Slow To Rise. Hide & Cleaver @ the Neutral Base. >>
A human month - one twelth of their total year - was barely a fluxation in a Cybertronian's function span, but it was amazing how quickly new patterns could sink into mass and processor and become habitual. Ironhide spent his duty hours as he always had, patrols and checklists and organization, the endless minutia that kept bases running. Hours were carved out at the tail end of shifts to train with Shadowrunner, walking her through not only the finer details of her own weapon systems but the reasons behind the designs, the alternatives, and what it provided her. If their shift hours coincided then a bit of time was spent off duty with cohort, just to talk or sit and be together.
The rest of his time, what wasn't spent in recharge - and a Cybertronian system didn't actually need the regimented eight hours out of every twenty-four that humans seemed to, and if Ironhide was shorting himself slightly then it was far from noticable so long as he set his defrag cycles for routine times - was spent at the base in Africa. There were long stretches of rough mining tunnels in the base that could use cleaning and refining, an entire base worth of power systems to go over inch by inch, things to be organized, things to be stowed, things to be installed, and when all else failed, a number of deep shafts with energon that still needed to be pried loose to add to the base's store. It was labor intensive but satisfying work, and made more so by knowing that for every bit he did, it was one more bit that Cleaver wouldn't have to.
By most evenings, local time, he had finished one more section of self assigned task and could reliably emerge to find one of two scenarios - either the medic would still be working, which was his cue to quietly bring her a few cubes of energon and see what he could do to assist, or else (and this was, by far, his favorite) she would have finished as well and more like than not could be found stretched out on the sofa in the central atrium with the television quietly tuned to one show or another.
Luck was with him that night; she was there, the television already on, and none of the base's other residents in sight. The cube of energon in Cleaver's hand was three fourths empty; Ironhide reached over the back of the sofa and plucked it from her, setting a full one in her grasp before she could protest. "Hi," he rumbled softly, leaning down to press his helm briefly to hers.
A human month - one twelth of their total year - was barely a fluxation in a Cybertronian's function span, but it was amazing how quickly new patterns could sink into mass and processor and become habitual. Ironhide spent his duty hours as he always had, patrols and checklists and organization, the endless minutia that kept bases running. Hours were carved out at the tail end of shifts to train with Shadowrunner, walking her through not only the finer details of her own weapon systems but the reasons behind the designs, the alternatives, and what it provided her. If their shift hours coincided then a bit of time was spent off duty with cohort, just to talk or sit and be together.
The rest of his time, what wasn't spent in recharge - and a Cybertronian system didn't actually need the regimented eight hours out of every twenty-four that humans seemed to, and if Ironhide was shorting himself slightly then it was far from noticable so long as he set his defrag cycles for routine times - was spent at the base in Africa. There were long stretches of rough mining tunnels in the base that could use cleaning and refining, an entire base worth of power systems to go over inch by inch, things to be organized, things to be stowed, things to be installed, and when all else failed, a number of deep shafts with energon that still needed to be pried loose to add to the base's store. It was labor intensive but satisfying work, and made more so by knowing that for every bit he did, it was one more bit that Cleaver wouldn't have to.
By most evenings, local time, he had finished one more section of self assigned task and could reliably emerge to find one of two scenarios - either the medic would still be working, which was his cue to quietly bring her a few cubes of energon and see what he could do to assist, or else (and this was, by far, his favorite) she would have finished as well and more like than not could be found stretched out on the sofa in the central atrium with the television quietly tuned to one show or another.
Luck was with him that night; she was there, the television already on, and none of the base's other residents in sight. The cube of energon in Cleaver's hand was three fourths empty; Ironhide reached over the back of the sofa and plucked it from her, setting a full one in her grasp before she could protest. "Hi," he rumbled softly, leaning down to press his helm briefly to hers.