“Mama, pick me up!”
Blurr sighed and bent down, swinging Echo up into his arms. He straightened with a hitch, lower back protesting, knees popping, the action a bit more strenuous than it used to be.
“You’re getting a bit too big to be carried like this, bit,” Blurr said as he tucked Echo on his hip and plunged back into the crowd, relieved they were only a block from his school.
And that Ricochet wasn’t here to blow a gasket about Blurr picking Echo up. He was convinced it would cause a miscarriage.
“No, I’m not!”
“Yes, you are,” Blurr said and gave Echo a little hop, causing his sparkling to grin widely. “You’re going to be a big brother, which means you’re going to be a big bitlet who’s going to have to walk around on his own two feet.”
Echo pouted. “That’s not fair.”
“Can’t avoid growing up, Echo. It’s just the way it is.”
“I don’t like it,” Echo sighed.
Blurr gave him an affectionate squeeze. “I know. But you’ll change your mind. Promise.”
The school came into view, brightly colored and freshly built, squatting between two other buildings — recently refurbished, but awaiting occupation. Blurr knew one of them was going to be a shop of some kind, he wasn’t sure about the other. Whoever scored a permit first, he supposed, or had their name first in the queue.
“And no biting today! I want you to be a good bit. Can you do that for me?” Blurr asked as he set Echo down just outside the door, where Echo’s teacher waited to receive each sparkling as the day began. “Can you make me proud?”
Echo’s shoulders sank. He twisted in place, unable to meet Blurr’s gaze. “I’ll be good,” he mumbled.
There wasn’t much conviction in his voice, but it was probably the best Blurr was going to get. So he pulled Echo into a hug, feathered his face in kisses, and turned him over to his teacher, promising to pick him up after school day.
The promise made Echo’s visor light up. “Can we get a treat?”
Blurr’s spark squeezed with warmth. He really ought not to reward bad behavior, but damn his kid was cute. “If Calculon tells me you didn’t bite anyone, then yes.”
Echo thrust both hands up in the air and cheered. Maybe it was a bit like bribery, but damn, Blurr was tired of getting comm calls about Echo biting the other kids. Even if it was warranted from time to time.
Echo safely handed over to Calculon, Blurr plunged back into the busy morning. He had a lot on his plate, squeezing in far too many tasks for his very rare day off. Jazz was still MIA, and Blurr was loathe to admit it, but Ricochet was right. He needed to hire more folk. So he’d scheduled one interview today with someone Drift had recommended, and Ricochet had given him a list of good folk who just needed a second chance.
He’d sit down and look it over, too. Reluctantly.
First, shopping. A much loathed task but it had to be done. Rebound was going to be here sooner or later, and there were a lot of things Blurr needed to get before he was stuck in the apartment for at least a month.
He met up with Bluestreak along the way, his former employee looking tired and stretched thin, but offering Blurr a smile nonetheless.
“You’re glowing,” he commented.
“I’m huge,” Blurr grumbled. “And slow.”
Bluestreak chuckled. “For good reason though. And I’m sure Ricochet doesn’t think the same way.”
Blurr rested a hand on the swell of his abdomen. “No, the fragger is strutting around again, like he’s got something to be proud of.” He scowled. “Should I be worried he only wants me when I’m sparked up?”
“I think you should be happy he wants you either way,” Bluestreak pointed out, and nudged Blurr down the block. “Come on. Gears and Huffer opened up a commissary and it’s actually good. My treat.”
“I didn’t think those two knew how to do anything but complain.”
“Gears was a chemist before the war. Apparently, he’d decided to go back and realized he hadn’t forgotten a thing. It makes him happy.” Bluestreak shrugged. “I don’t know how Huffer fits into it except that he’s the least personable cashier I’ve ever met.”
“This I have to see.” Blurr laughed. He’d not served much with Gears or Huffer during the war, but their reputation preceded them. They were also minibots, and everyone knew how much attitude could be packed into such a small format.
“What about you, Bluestreak? How are… things?”
The other mech sighed, his sensory panels drooping from their high arch. “I know Jazz has been home. I come back and the apartment is clean, or there’s energon waiting for me, or the washrack has been recently used. But I haven’t seen him, and he’s not answering my comms.”
Blurr frowned.
“It’s not over,” Bluestreak added, his forehead furrowing. “But it’s not present either. We’re in this holding pattern, and I’m back to waiting for him to catch a clue. I don’t like it.”
“No one would,” Blurr said. He twisted his jaw. “This can’t just be about your job with Prowl. That’s just petty. There has to be more to it.”
“I can’t read his mind, Blurr. If he doesn’t tell me, I don’t know what’s up.” Bluestreak’s engine gave a little rev, his optics darkening with irritation. “I do know, however, that there’s a new player running around, someone who’s supposed to be drawing together all the mechs with grudges.”
Blurr tilted his head. “You think it’s Jazz?”
“I think my idiot partner is trying to solve the problem without solving the problem.”
Which sounded like something Jazz would do. He’d always been fiercely independent. Blurr had been as surprised as anyone when Jazz settled down with Bluestreak, and when he entered the complicated structures of their relationship. Not that Blurr really understood it. He played with Ricochet, and they had their games, but it wasn’t the same level as Jazz and Bluestreak. They were too intense for Blurr’s taste.
It was Blurr’s turn to sigh. “That’s a slag-poor situation.”
“You’re telling me.” Bluestreak’s engine revved again, and he paused in front of a fresh-faced building, opening the door for Blurr to precede him. “Prowl thinks I should just end things and move on. Ironically, Ricochet told me Jazz doesn’t deserve me, and he agrees.”
“He’s got a point.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Inside, it was warm and smelled of sweets and spices. The low murmur of conversation accompanied the few occupied tables, and a long counter across the back was brightly lit, showing off an array of colorful confectionaries.
Blurr took a seat, trusting Bluestreak to make a good selection, and sighed with relief. His knees hurt. His back hurt. He was very tired of being sparked, and he still had a month to go.
Two would have to be enough. Blurr wasn’t carrying again.
“I got one of the sampler trays,” Bluestreak said as he returned, setting a tray on the table between them, one plate loaded with treats, and two tall glasses filled with a thick, colorful liquid. “We can always get more.”
Blurr peered over the tray before he picked up something round and sparkly, popping it into his mouth. It exploded on his glossa in a burst of fizzy sweetness.
“Wow,” he said.
“I know, right?” Bluestreak’s lips curved in a slight smile and he sipped his own drink, making a pleased noise. “It’s almost enough to let me forget all the pitslag going on.”
Blurr selected another treat. “What’re you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Bluestreak’s sensory panels drifted further down, betraying his emotional state. “But I’m not going to wait forever.” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and put the cup down decisively. “Enough about my drama though. Wanna know what Prowl told me?”
“Sure.”
Bluestreak started picking through the tray of treats. “He says Rodimus wants to focus more on recreation so people have stuff to do other than think about the war. Bringing back the racing circuit is high on the list.”
Excitement bubbled up in Blurr, before it was dampened by the reality of his own situation — sparked, with a mate and a sparkling and a business. Could he even race anymore? Was he too out of shape to make much of a splash? Did it matter?
“Everyone’s going to like that,” Blurr said, thinking also of many of his patrons who’ve expressed interest in seeing him race again.
It reminded him of Quicken, who’d been so insistent Blurr race again. He wasn’t the only fan to nag Blurr about it, but he’d been the most persistent. Blurr hadn’t seen Quicken since their last confrontation. Last he’d heard, Quicken had taken to drinking at Visages, which was fine with Blurr.
“Recreation is a good thing,” Blurr added.
“Anything to keep everyone’s minds off all the reasons we should hate each other,” Bluestreak said as he popped another treat into his mouth. “It’s a good thing so many mechs are coming back home, but not everyone is eager to embrace the peace. Old resentments die hard.”
Blurr grimaced. “You don’t have to tell me that. Riptide spent two hours scrubbing that graffiti from the front wall.”
New Maccadam’s was building a reputation as a safe haven for former Decepticons, which Blurr didn’t mind so much, but it meant he was gathering attention from those who felt former Decepticons didn’t deserve a safe haven. There’d been some graffiti and defacing, but it was juvenile and non-threatening.
It had a bonus effect of increasing business, so Blurr didn’t raise too much of a fuss. Prowl promised to add a couple extra patrols in the area at least.
“Have you gotten any credible threats?”
“No, thank Primus, else Ricochet would be even more unbearable than he is now.” Blurr rolled his optics. Ricochet’s behavior had been… protective, to put it kindly. Blurr supposed considering what had happened the last time he was sparked, he couldn’t blame Ricochet, but still.
It was suffocating.
“I think it’s sweet,” Bluestreak said with a thoughtful hum, the tips of his sensory panels fluttering as he stared into the distance, a touch of sadness in his field.
Blurr felt a little guilty. “Jazz’ll come home,” he said.
“Pfft. I’m not counting on it.” Bluestreak grabbed another treat and washed it down with a hearty gulp of the blended energon. “It’s up to him whether or not he wants this, wants us. I just won’t wait forever.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Blurr said, just as his comm chimed an incoming message from Riptide.
Blurr frowned and held up a finger to Bluestreak as he answered it, “What is it?”
“Sorry, boss but I’m not gonna be able to work today,” Riptide said, and his voice was striped with static. “Pipes came down with that flu and gave it to me, and we’re both down for the count.” A rattling, wet cough accompanied the explanation, and Blurr cringed, wrinkling his nose.
The Cybertronian flu couldn’t be transferred across a comm, but Riptide sounded sick enough, Blurr half thought it would.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I’ll figure something out. Just don’t bring that plague to the bar. I can’t afford to catch it, and neither can Echo.”
“Not gonna. Just gonna stay home and–” Riptide paused for another rattling cough before he continued, “get better. Sorry, boss.”
“It’s not your fault,” Blurr sighed. Honestly, it was his own for assuming he could put off hiring someone as long as possible. Hubris was what this was.
Blurr ended the comm and rubbed his temple, feeling an ache coming on.
“What is it?” Bluestreak asked. “Is everything okay? Nothing happened to Echo, did it?”
Blurr waved him off. “Echo’s fine. It’s Riptide. He’s caught that flu, and he can’t work today.” Blurr checked the chronometer and winced. He stood up, catching his balance for a second. “Which means I’m going to have to do it and — slag, someone’s gotta pick up Echo. Where the frag is Jazz when I need him?”
Drift, he knew, was unavailable today. Blurr hadn’t asked why, it was none of his business, he just knew Drift had told him weeks ago he wouldn’t be able to help today.
“Let me help,” Bluestreak said as he started to pick up their detritus and pile it on the tray. “I can go open New Maccadam’s or pick up Echo, whichever helps you out more.”
“It’s your day off. You should be taking it easy,” Blurr protested.
Bluestreak shook his head. “All I’m going to do is sit at home seething about Jazz. At least this way I can be useful.” He offered a small, sad smile. “We’re family, right?”
Blurr vented a sigh of relief. “Yeah, we are. Thanks, Blue. I owe you big time.” He debated a course of action, and remembered what he’d promised Echo. “Can you open the bar for me? I promised Echo I’d pick him up, and he’s anxious enough without thinking I’m going back on my word.”
Bluestreak swept up the tray to return it to the counter. “Consider it done.”
~
Ricochet glanced at the chronometer with a frown. It was only a few minutes to opening, and Riptide was nowhere to be found. A bit of tardiness wasn’t rare for Riptide, he seemed to run on a different time schedule than everyone else, but this was late even for him.
He was about to open a line of communication to the mech when Bluestreak walked in the side door, his optics bright and his jaw set with determination.
“I didn’t know you still worked here,” Ricochet said as he took down the last few stools and slid them into place. It was going to be a busy day.
Bluestreak shook his head as he slipped behind the counter, optics skimming the new placement of things. “Riptide’s got the flu, and Blurr was out of options, so I volunteered.” He shrugged, though it was far from casual. “Blurr really needs to hire someone else.”
“Tell me about it,” Ricochet snorted and eyed the former sniper. “You doin’ all right?”
“All things considered, I’m fine,” Bluestreak said as he logged himself into the till and turned to flick the lights on. “I lived for millenia without Jazz in my life. I’ll keep on living without him if that’s the way he chooses to play it.”
“He’s an idiot,” Ricochet said. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
Bluestreak quirked his lips in a grin. “No, he doesn’t.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Could you unlock those for me? I think we already have some thirsty soldiers out there.”
“It’s gonna be a busy one,” Ricochet said as he moved to do as Bluestreak asked, a good half-dozen mechs milling around outside, laughing and joking with each other. He recognized a few as frequent customers, no doubt having recently gotten off a work shift in construction.
“I could use the distraction,” Bluestreak replied, before the doors opened, and the day began.
Music poured from the speakers. Mechs crowded at the bar before finding tables. A few rousing cards games started in opposite corners — all in good fun, not the seriousness of Poker Night — and Ricochet had to resist the urge to pat himself on the back. Blurr was worried about their income, well, Ricochet had done his job well.
Business couldn’t be called booming, not yet, but damn was it improving. Maybe a little too well.
Ricochet had to jump behind the bar a couple of times to help out an increasingly overwhelmed Bluestreak. It was a relief when Blurr finally showed up, Echo on his hip and his face smeared with something sticky and unhealthy, but Ricochet didn’t have the energy or the time to chastise Blurr for it.
“Put him in the playroom, we need you slinging engex,” Ricochet said as he passed Blurr, snagging a kiss from both mate and sparkling, whilst balancing a tray of drinks for a group of thirsty constructicons in the corner. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’re packed.”
“Daddy!” Echo made grabby hands at him, and Ricochet hated he couldn’t pick him up and twirl him around.
“We’ll play later, bitlet. Daddy and Mama have to work,” Ricochet said, brushing another kiss on Echo’s forehead before fixing Blurr with a glare. “After tonight, if you don’t hire someone, I’ll do it for you.”
“That’s fair,” Blurr sighed, and gave Echo a little hop in his arms. “Come on. Into the playroom with you.”
“And wipe his face first!” Ricochet shouted over his shoulder.
He didn’t have to look to know Blurr was rolling his optics. He knew his mate far too well.
~
Chaotic was a mild way of putting it.
Blurr’s back ached, his feet ached, he’d spilled something on the floor behind the bar and it was tacky every time he stepped on it, but he hadn’t had the time to mop it up. He and Bluestreak were being run ragged, and Ricochet couldn’t but half watch the door, because he was so busy running drinks.
“What an excellent time for Jazz to be missing,” Blurr grumbled as he dumped an armful of supplies on the counter, hurriedly restocking the ingredients before the next wave swamped them.
“This is your own fault,” Bluestreak reminded him. “You should have–”
“Hired someone else by now, yes I know. Please stop saying I told you so. I’m hearing it enough from Ricochet,” Blurr muttered. He glanced at his chronometer, at another crowd of mechs coming in through the front door, and sighed.
He called Drift, and promised the world to his friend if Drift would come in and help out for a few hours. Whatever it was that had caused Drift to be busy must have been done with because he’d agreed immediately and promised to rush right over.
Thank, Primus.
“And if you can think of anyone you’d trust to work in my bar, let me know,” Blurr added before he ended the comm and plunged back into the pile of orders.
The next time he was able to look up, Drift had arrived with Ratchet in tow, the latter of whom parked himself at the end of the bar and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in the midst of a rowdy bar.
“He insisted on coming,” Drift said with a shrug.
“The more the merrier,” Blurr said. He clapped Drift on the shoulder. “Take over for a second, I need to check on Echo.”
“Sure thing.”
He’d peeked in on his sparkling a few times, but Echo was used to being in the playroom, and Blurr kept half an optic on the nannybot-cam they’d installed. Last Blurr checked, Echo had dragged every toy out of the chest, and they were strewn around the room. Earlier, Blurr found him sitting on a pile of plush toys while he watched the vidscreen and munched on some rust crackers. Another time, he’d been lining up all of his matchbox cars in rows, talking to them.
This time, however, Blurr poked his head in the playroom, and the vidscreen yelled at him, the toys made for a walking hazard, and there was no sparkling. He wasn’t in his fort, or buried in his nap-pallet, or hiding in the toy chest.
“Damn it,” Blurr sighed. The little escape artist had found his way out again.
He commed Ricochet as he slipped out of the playroom and climbed the rampwell up to their apartment. Sometimes, Echo went there first, and Ricochet had made a point of keying his biosignature into the alarm system just in case. It was the second-safest place for Echo to be.
“Your sparkling has escaped again,” Blurr said as he let himself into the apartment, though the security system indicated the last one to depart had been Ricochet this afternoon, and no one had entered since. Wouldn’t it have registered Echo if he’d come up here? “Keep an eye out for him in the bar. I think Whirl’s there. You know how much he likes Whirl.”
Ricochet replied, “You know, I’d be proud of the little imp, but tonight is the worst night for him to prove how much he’s my kid.”
Blurr searched the apartment. He checked all of Echo’s favorite hiding places, his room, the washrack, and their room. Echo was nowhere to be found.
Unease trickled into his spark.
Blurr went back downstairs, peeked into the playroom briefly, before beelining it back to the bar proper. “He wasn’t in the apartment,” he commed Ricochet as he entered the bar through the back, just in time to catch Ricochet’s bellow.
“–the frag up and listen!” Ricochet was standing on top of a table, hand cupped around his mouth, ignoring the death glares of the mechs perched around the table beneath him. “My kid has wandered out of his playroom. Look around right now and see if he’s underfoot! The first person to find him gets free drinks!”
Blurr looked hopefully into the crowd.
Heads swung left and right. Mechs immediately peered under tables and looked around them, but no one spoke up.
Panic strobed into Blurr’s spark. He looked up at Ricochet, exchanging a glance with his mate before he spun on his heel and ran into his office. All of the security systems could be accessed from his work console, and he needed to see where Echo had gone. If he’d gotten out the door… he could be anywhere.
Blurr suddenly couldn’t remember when he’d last checked the nannybot-cam. Cybertron was at peace, but the city wasn’t safe, especially not for a curious sparkling who thought everyone was his friend or wanted to be his friend.
Damn it.
“Everybody out!” Blurr heard Ricochet bellow. “We’re closing early, folks. Sorry, sorry, but my kid comes first over your thirst!”
They at least had the good sense to have a plan in place for something like this. Ricochet would funnel all the customers out one door to make sure Echo didn’t sneak out with any of them. Blurr would check the security system. And if they had any other bartenders on hand…
“I’m going to look outside,” Drift said as he skidded to a halt in front of Blurr’s open door.
“Thank you,” Blurr said, already focused on the security system.
He rewound the footage until he could see Echo happily playing in the room, and watched with growing worry as the minutes ticked by, and no one burst into the room to give him the good news that Echo had been found.
He watched as Echo played, then got bored and started poking his nose into every corner of the playroom. When that ceased to entertain, he stared and stared at the door, trying the handle, pressing buttons on the panel, and then by some stroke of luck, must have hit the right series of buttons because the door popped open.
Echo grinned and didn’t hesitate a second. He plunged out of the playroom and beelined for the bar proper.
Blurr switched views, though he knew it was going to be hard to track Echo through the crowd of mechs. He followed as best he could as Echo snuck around with enviable skill, and he looked to be making his way toward Whirl in the corner.
He didn’t make it.
Blurr’s spark ran cold.
Quicken stepped into view, kneeling down in front of Echo with a big smile. He said something — it was video, not audio — and Echo grinned and jumped up and down, looking really excited. He took Quicken’s hand and out they went through the side door without anyone noticing or protesting or…
How the frag did he even get in?
No, Blurr knew the answer to that. They’d been so busy all night, Ricochet hadn’t been watching the door as keenly as he usually did. Quicken could have slipped in at any time.
Blurr checked the timestamp. Less than twenty minutes ago.
He saved the video, forwarded it to Ricochet and Jazz and Bluestreak and Drift and frag, even Prowl. Anyone he could think of. Then he burst out of the office, seeking his mate, a wild panic growing in his spark.
There’s no way it was innocent. Blurr couldn’t think of a single valid reason Quicken would walk out the door with Echo. Not a single good reason anyway.
Blurr nearly collided with Ricochet as he stepped into the bar proper, anger volcanic in his mate’s field, and his engine roaring.
“I told you that mech was bad news!” Ricochet snarled, and Blurr glared at him.
“This isn’t the time for I told you so! We need to find them!” Blurr snapped, and he shoved past Ricochet, heading for the side door Quicken had used. It would have dumped him into an alley, which then led to the main street.
“I’m closing up, then I’ll help you look,” Bluestreak sent across the comms just as Drift said, “He’s not out here, Blurr.”
Damn it.
“We’re not going to find them running around like a bunch of idiots,” Ricochet said from the doorway as Blurr burst into the alley and looked up and down as if Quicken would be hiding behind the dumpster, playing a game with Echo. “Call Prowl.”
Blurr growled and stomped to the end of the alley, looking out into the street where a good third of his customers were milling around outside New Maccadam’s, looking annoyed by the circumstances. From here, Quicken could have gone anywhere. There were buildings across the street, but the road itself went to the left and right.
Twenty minutes was a long time for a mech to disappear.
Blurr’s shoulders slumped.
Ricochet was right. It was time to call Prowl.
***
Pandora's Box 