Settling Dust
Title: Settling Dust
Rating: PG
Summary: Ratchet and OP have a spark-to-spark after Chicago. Implied Ratchet/Ironhide. Spoilers for TF3.
The very inkling of the concept that the war could be finally over hadn't begun to sink in yet in Chicago's smoking aftermath.
Too much had been lost, for good, in the past few days. The city needed to be rebuilt, and the remaining Autobots would surely help see to that. And that was after recovering and tending to the wounded and the dead--whoever hadn't simply been disintegrated by rounds hot enough to score Cybertronian skin, much less human. And there would certainly be a lot more political discussion about the state of affairs to be left to Optimus Prime.
Ratchet saw to his primary duties as a medic. Though over the years on Earth he had learned to act like a soldier when called for, he would always be a medic first and foremost. Out of those left, Optimus, their leader, was in need of the most care with his severed right arm, the severe beating he'd gotten beforehand notwithstanding. But Optimus was not in the mood to sit around and be cared for, so if it wasn't for Ratchet voicelessly insisting he at least do a field patch job to stop him from leaking energon all over the place, he might not have bothered at all.
It was understood. The last Prime needed to gather his thoughts; they all did. And while they had all lost a great amount, Optimus had, in a pain-fueled fury, slain his mentor and the one he likened to a brother. He had allowed the complete destruction of what was left of their own home planet. He had been betrayed by those he loved and trusted most. Ratchet tended to the others.
When the human military forces could finally make their way into the city, it was decided that they would head back to base for a thorough debriefing, which was fine enough for the medic, where he could properly patch everyone up in a clean environment. But he made sure to oversee the gathering of their dead. The Decepticons, well, the humans could start on that, but the Autobots, they needed special care, he thought. Bumblebee, door wings drooping, was determined to help, paying special care to Que and contemplating the fate that the rest of them had only through sheer dumb luck avoided. Sam would also ask for help in locating the smallest of their allies, Wheelie and Brains, to no immediate avail.
Their hangar was strangely quiet, most of the NEST humans having been deployed to the city. It was easy enough for anyone to see that they needed to step back and lick their wounds, so to speak, and contemplate where to go from there. And Ratchet got right to work on making sure Optimus got his arm reattached in working condition.
They had managed to get through the procedure with nary a vocalization, Prime in deep thought and Ratchet distracted, until the leader spoke up in soft, guilt-ridden words. "I am sorry for your loss."
It seemed such an incredulous thing to say that it almost made Ratchet angry, but he reeled it in, focused on getting welds just right. "My loss? The losses of us all, you mean."
"Ironhide was a special bot." The welding sparks ceased, and Ratchet rocked back on his heels.
"As I recall, he was one of your oldest and most valued friends before even I came to your team. Not to mention your first lieutenant."
With his left arm, Optimus reached out and grasped Ratchet's gently. "He was far more than just a friend when it came to you." When the medic did not reply, he flexed his right hand, absentmindedly testing the repairs made, and let his other drop with a slow shake of his head. "It is true, I have lost some who are important to me, and we have lost friends. We have lost...a great deal. And you have lost the other half of your spark. Make no mistake, I do not trivialize all else that has befallen us, but know that I understand what you have personally lost, the strong bond between your sparks that I have rarely seen in my operational existence. If and when you need to speak..."
"Then I will speak," Ratchet all but spat, retracting his tools and taking a few steps away. "I am a medic, and this is--" A pause, a sigh. "Was a war. We lose people. That's what happens. I'm used to it."
"But you have never been numb to it," the Prime countered, optics trained on his friend's retreating chassis. "Which is what makes you a fine medibot. Do you not remember Jazz?"
Jazz had been their first loss since arriving planetside. Viciously ripped in half, and at the time, they had no methods with which to revive him, no Matrix, no skills of his. The emotional aftermath had been...unpleasant, to say the least. And in the years following, Ratchet had begun to question whether staying on the planet was even a viable option, if staying to save the humans was the right decision.
That pain had been dealt with, compartmentalized, and what would this fresh pain bring? The loss of home may not have even mattered if he still had...
Ratchet kept in his physical outburst. Back home, he would have been free to throw such a spontaneous fit, but here, everything was much weaker, less structurally sound. No point in causing a stir. It would not be fit for a medical officer. But he did let out a little steam with a hiss of heated air.
Optimus rose to his natural towering height and moved into Ratchet's peripheral vision. "The war is not yet over. We must still help track down every remaining Decepticon on the planet, though their leader is dead, and they are left directionless. There is still much work to be done." The once-proud leader grew silent and contemplative for a moment, as if gathering himself back up for the coming fights ahead. "We will have proper services for each of our fallen members the moment our duty is complete. And we will find our way from there. For the time being, it might do you well to take your anger out on our foes."
Arms crossed, Ratchet figured that Optimus had rarely led them astray, and his wisdom...well, it could get a little too optimistic and philosophical for the others at times, but he did know what he was talking about, and it was always wise to give them thought. With another brief huff, the medic waved Optimus out of the hangar. "I have other patients to see. You just make sure you don't crack the welds on that arm of yours; it isn't as though we have any spares."
Prime's tone was somewhat amused. "Always duty first," he observed.
"It's the way Ironhide liked to operate. That insufferable bot would never let me touch a scratch and dent on him if he thought he wasn't finished with the cons. The least I could do is make sure I don't waste any time while there are more to be dealt with."
A nod. "Afterwards, you are certainly free to all the time you need, and I can assure you that none of it will be wasted."
Rating: PG
Summary: Ratchet and OP have a spark-to-spark after Chicago. Implied Ratchet/Ironhide. Spoilers for TF3.
The very inkling of the concept that the war could be finally over hadn't begun to sink in yet in Chicago's smoking aftermath.
Too much had been lost, for good, in the past few days. The city needed to be rebuilt, and the remaining Autobots would surely help see to that. And that was after recovering and tending to the wounded and the dead--whoever hadn't simply been disintegrated by rounds hot enough to score Cybertronian skin, much less human. And there would certainly be a lot more political discussion about the state of affairs to be left to Optimus Prime.
Ratchet saw to his primary duties as a medic. Though over the years on Earth he had learned to act like a soldier when called for, he would always be a medic first and foremost. Out of those left, Optimus, their leader, was in need of the most care with his severed right arm, the severe beating he'd gotten beforehand notwithstanding. But Optimus was not in the mood to sit around and be cared for, so if it wasn't for Ratchet voicelessly insisting he at least do a field patch job to stop him from leaking energon all over the place, he might not have bothered at all.
It was understood. The last Prime needed to gather his thoughts; they all did. And while they had all lost a great amount, Optimus had, in a pain-fueled fury, slain his mentor and the one he likened to a brother. He had allowed the complete destruction of what was left of their own home planet. He had been betrayed by those he loved and trusted most. Ratchet tended to the others.
When the human military forces could finally make their way into the city, it was decided that they would head back to base for a thorough debriefing, which was fine enough for the medic, where he could properly patch everyone up in a clean environment. But he made sure to oversee the gathering of their dead. The Decepticons, well, the humans could start on that, but the Autobots, they needed special care, he thought. Bumblebee, door wings drooping, was determined to help, paying special care to Que and contemplating the fate that the rest of them had only through sheer dumb luck avoided. Sam would also ask for help in locating the smallest of their allies, Wheelie and Brains, to no immediate avail.
Their hangar was strangely quiet, most of the NEST humans having been deployed to the city. It was easy enough for anyone to see that they needed to step back and lick their wounds, so to speak, and contemplate where to go from there. And Ratchet got right to work on making sure Optimus got his arm reattached in working condition.
They had managed to get through the procedure with nary a vocalization, Prime in deep thought and Ratchet distracted, until the leader spoke up in soft, guilt-ridden words. "I am sorry for your loss."
It seemed such an incredulous thing to say that it almost made Ratchet angry, but he reeled it in, focused on getting welds just right. "My loss? The losses of us all, you mean."
"Ironhide was a special bot." The welding sparks ceased, and Ratchet rocked back on his heels.
"As I recall, he was one of your oldest and most valued friends before even I came to your team. Not to mention your first lieutenant."
With his left arm, Optimus reached out and grasped Ratchet's gently. "He was far more than just a friend when it came to you." When the medic did not reply, he flexed his right hand, absentmindedly testing the repairs made, and let his other drop with a slow shake of his head. "It is true, I have lost some who are important to me, and we have lost friends. We have lost...a great deal. And you have lost the other half of your spark. Make no mistake, I do not trivialize all else that has befallen us, but know that I understand what you have personally lost, the strong bond between your sparks that I have rarely seen in my operational existence. If and when you need to speak..."
"Then I will speak," Ratchet all but spat, retracting his tools and taking a few steps away. "I am a medic, and this is--" A pause, a sigh. "Was a war. We lose people. That's what happens. I'm used to it."
"But you have never been numb to it," the Prime countered, optics trained on his friend's retreating chassis. "Which is what makes you a fine medibot. Do you not remember Jazz?"
Jazz had been their first loss since arriving planetside. Viciously ripped in half, and at the time, they had no methods with which to revive him, no Matrix, no skills of his. The emotional aftermath had been...unpleasant, to say the least. And in the years following, Ratchet had begun to question whether staying on the planet was even a viable option, if staying to save the humans was the right decision.
That pain had been dealt with, compartmentalized, and what would this fresh pain bring? The loss of home may not have even mattered if he still had...
Ratchet kept in his physical outburst. Back home, he would have been free to throw such a spontaneous fit, but here, everything was much weaker, less structurally sound. No point in causing a stir. It would not be fit for a medical officer. But he did let out a little steam with a hiss of heated air.
Optimus rose to his natural towering height and moved into Ratchet's peripheral vision. "The war is not yet over. We must still help track down every remaining Decepticon on the planet, though their leader is dead, and they are left directionless. There is still much work to be done." The once-proud leader grew silent and contemplative for a moment, as if gathering himself back up for the coming fights ahead. "We will have proper services for each of our fallen members the moment our duty is complete. And we will find our way from there. For the time being, it might do you well to take your anger out on our foes."
Arms crossed, Ratchet figured that Optimus had rarely led them astray, and his wisdom...well, it could get a little too optimistic and philosophical for the others at times, but he did know what he was talking about, and it was always wise to give them thought. With another brief huff, the medic waved Optimus out of the hangar. "I have other patients to see. You just make sure you don't crack the welds on that arm of yours; it isn't as though we have any spares."
Prime's tone was somewhat amused. "Always duty first," he observed.
"It's the way Ironhide liked to operate. That insufferable bot would never let me touch a scratch and dent on him if he thought he wasn't finished with the cons. The least I could do is make sure I don't waste any time while there are more to be dealt with."
A nod. "Afterwards, you are certainly free to all the time you need, and I can assure you that none of it will be wasted."