FIC: Gravitational Drift (Human Series)
Title: Gravitational Drift
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Sam/Bumblebee, Optimus/Ratchet, Sideswipe/Sunstreaker
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Moments of Forgiveness
Topics of Conversation
Lies of Omission
The Theory of Existence
Beyond My Brave Facade
Parental Interaction In The Third Degree
Field Trips Into the Hypothetical
Arrested Developments of the Heart
Necessary Repairs
4x4
Prime and Punishment
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
The military hadn't provided Sam with the best mattress that money could buy, a sharp contrast to the awesome shower that he'd gotten, but after working in the infirmary all day, Sam was eager to collapse on it, not even bothering to pull back the blankets.
He was, Sam decided, seriously a wuss. For all his whining about equal punishments, he'd only managed to put in a seven hour shift before Ratchet had kicked him out with a blunt warning not to tell Optimus.
"If he does find out, we'll call it a medical necessity. Go get some rest and I'll see you in the morning," Ratchet had told him. He'd completely ignored Sam's rather feeble protests, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Ratchet hadn't seemed like he was ready to call it a day.
So as tired as he was, Sam couldn't help a tinge of guilt at leaving Ratchet on his own. There was so much to do, he'd had no idea. Sam had spent the day cataloguing the supplies and sorting them, boxes and boxes worth of stuff and that was just a tiny fraction of the work to be done. Sam had been working on all that just because it was easier for him; just the thought of Ratchet trying to sort through all those tiny boxes was comical. Of course, he could do it in his holo form, if he'd had any time. There were also stacks of components for Ratchet to repair, neat piles of fuel capacitors for him to weld, and the only reason Sam knew what those were was Ratchet had warned him to keep away from them. Add in the fact that he was, you know, the only doctor on base and it was a wonder Ratchet got any rest at all. Maybe he didn't.
How was it no one had assigned Ratchet an assistant before, Sam wondered, sleepily. There was just no way he had enough time in the day to do everything. Not with humans and bots alike dropping in, needing everything from band aids to sutures to…well, whatever Ironhide had needed, he'd made Ratchet swear at him in Cybertronian, so quick and static-sharp that Sam hadn't even gotten all that he said.
A soft knock on the door startled him into sitting up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes as the door opened a little, a head peering into his darkened room.
Very softly, "Sam? You awake?"
"Dad?" Sam blinked a little, frowning as he reached over and snapped on the light on the nightstand. "Yeah, I'm up, come on in."
His dad slipped in, shutting the door quietly behind him. For a moment, all he did was stand awkwardly by the door, his hands in his pockets and Sam couldn't think of anything else to do but smile feebly, pulling his legs up enough that he could rest his arms on his knees.
"Haven't managed to catch up with you for a couple of days," his dad smiled, a trifle uncomfortably. That much was true. His mom stopped by all the time but Sam hadn't seen his dad since he'd gotten out of the infirmary the first time.
"Yeah, been sleeping a lot," Sam offered, watching as his dad wandered around his room, checking out his meager possessions. Most of his stuff was still packed away, waiting for things to calm down enough to get Sam moved to better quarters but in the meantime, it was a little stark in here. He didn't have so much as a poster or a picture on his nightstand. He'd have to get one of him and Bee, maybe with his parents, Sam decided, watching his dad give the growing pile of his dirty clothes a little kick. He really did need to find out where the laundry facilities were; so far, waiting for the laundry fairies to wash it for him wasn't exactly working out.
Long years of experience had taught him that this was his dad with something on his mind and Sam resisted the urge to fill the silence with chatter, hoping that Dad would cough up what was on his mind so that Sam could get some sleep. Tempting as it was plead exhaustion, Sam just couldn't, not right now. Things weren't quite right between him and either of his parents just yet and Sam had run away from the issue for long enough, thank you very much. He could hang on a little bit more.
He didn't have to wait too much longer.
"Sam…" his dad sighed, pushed one hand through his thinning hair as he finally turned towards Sam. "This isn't what I wanted for you, son."
"Look, Dad, I know-"
He raised both hands and Sam fell silent. "Stop, stop, just listen for a second now. You're just like your mother, if I let you get going, I'll never get in a word edgewise. I'm not saying that I disapprove or that I'm going to haul you out of here. No, no, this is…I mean, Christ, Sam, first contact with aliens!"
He sighed again and to Sam's surprise, his dad sat on the edge of the bed and yanked him into a hug. "As a parent, you always have dreams for your kids and Sam, I gotta tell you, this is not one I ever had for you." He was squeezing Sam almost too hard but Sam didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around his dad and held on right back. "It's okay, I'm dealing with it. But I am never going to be happy that your life is in danger. I'm never going to stop worrying that you're going to get hurt and I don't mean just physically. You're my kid; it's my job to worry about you until I'm old enough for you to toss into the nursing home and probably even then.
"If you're happy, I'm happy." His dad let him go, finally, leaning back enough to look at Sam with narrowed eyes. "And if you ever decide you're not happy, you let me know and I will get you out of here. I don't give damn what the army and the twenty-foot robots think, you hear me?"
"Yeah, dad, I get it," Sam said, and if his voice was oddly rough, both of them pretended they didn't hear it. Something that had been too tight in his chest for far too long had eased a little, leaving behind aching relief. No matter what kind of fights they had, Sam loved his parents and damned if their approval didn't matter, a lot.
"Good." His dad reached up and ruffled Sam's hair, ignoring his son's protests. "Get some sleep now, I hear you have work detail this week."
"Yeah," Sam said glumly. Optimus had said he needed to tell his dad but he hadn't said exactly when. "I was kind of stupid-"
"So I hear," his dad said pointedly. "The Autobots wouldn't cough up any details but the army boys didn't mind throwing your ass on the fire. You're lucky that I told them your mom could do without the details of your latest near-death experience."
Shit. So much for secrets. "Sorry-"
"Save it. You'd probably have gotten into some kind of trouble at college, too. But the stakes are a little higher here, Sam, don't forget that." Very seriously. "You want to break up with your little boyfriend, that's one thing, but if staying on this base is keeping you alive, I'll handcuff you to the bed myself."
"I'm not breaking up with him," Sam mumbled.
"That's fine," his dad said agreeably. "The kid has a great car."
"He is a great car," Sam said, with cautious humor.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm still working on that. It took me a month to figure out how to program the Tivo, remember?"
Later, after his father had left but long before that ache started deep inside him, throbbing for energy that they refused to take from him, Sam woke to arms sliding around him. Hands drifting over skin and Sam turned sleepily to kiss that soft, sweet mouth.
He was never too tired for Bee.
~~*~~
On the edge of the city, far enough away from the buildings and on the opposite side as the landing strip, there was a large section that had been set aside for training. Much needed training as far as Optimus and Ironhide were concerned. They'd been in cramped spaceships too long, in and out of stasis as they'd traveled in search of the Allspark and while programming didn't change, skills could and did atrophy. Ratchet admitted, grudgingly, that he'd focused most of his processors on his medical skills at the expense of his battle routines. Medics who were capable of more than just basic field repairs were getting fewer and farther between in both factions. At the time, it had been the only logical choice.
Privately, Ratchet thought it was probably a damned miracle that only Jazz had been killed at Mission City. None of the Autobots, aside from Bumblebee, had been on the planet long enough to do more than adjust for the gravity. Now that they had a base of operations on this planet, there was no reason that they couldn't focus once again on training their troops to the optimal status.
No reason at all except that there weren't enough hours in the day for Ratchet to handle the very basics of what he needed to do, much less add in training sessions. Having Sam to help out with some of the smaller details had been a gift from Primus and Ratchet was seriously considering asking the boy if he might consider staying on to help after his punishment was finished. He had a good attention to detail and the infirmary was due for some desperately needed order.
Ratchet was doing what he could with it but he was really too damned busy for anything but medical duties. Unfortunately, Ironhide didn't agree and on his last visit, Ironhide had threatened to come physically drag him out of the infirmary and give all the soldiers, Autobot and human alike, a good show. He could do it, blast it, and would do it, which was why Ratchet was reluctantly going to the training grounds now. Not that Ironhide couldn't have just pulled rank on him; outside of a medical emergency, Ironhide certainly outranked him. But they had been friends for a long, long time. The threat of certain humiliation was a much better incentive or, at least, it was more amusing to Ironhide.
The sun was just cresting the horizon as dusk fell but Ratchet could still see with his regular optic settings, Ironhide standing on the edge of the cleared field, waiting for him.
"'bout time you got here," Ironhide grunted.
Ratchet ignored that, settled his weight evenly on both feet as he eyed the weapons specialist. "Let's get this over with. I can't spare more than an hour."
Ironhide only snorted air through his vents, clearly unimpressed with Ratchet's temper. "You'll spare what I say you can spare, Medic." And before Ratchet could think of a suitable retort, he was struggling to remain on his feet as Ironhide abruptly launched himself at him, using his large size and weight to drive Ratchet off-balance.
With embarrassing swiftness, Ratchet found himself pinned three times in quick succession, spitting equal amounts of dirt and curses as he struggled back to his feet yet again. Ironhide was standing a few feet away, his armor barely smudged much less covered in the fine layer of dirt that Ratchet's had.
"That was pathetic, even for you," Ironhide said bluntly, pointing one long finger at Ratchet.
That stung, even if it was true enough. He might be a little out of practice but Ratchet was still more than an effective fighter; he'd be dead if he wasn't. "Any damage I do to you, I have to fix!"
"Bullshit," Ironhide scoffed. Trust him to have already picked up all the local colloquiums. He settled on the ground with a hiss of hydraulic pressure and a long sigh, motioning for Ratchet to join him. "You'd dent me to hell and back just so you could bitch about having to do repairs. So what's wrong?"
"You aren't a counselor," Ratchet said ironically, settling his weight down on the ground next to Ironhide. There was still a faint rim of sunlight edging the horizon and Ratchet turned off his electromagnet spectrum calculator in order to just appreciate the fullness of the atmospheric coloring. Their idea of beauty was far different than that of a human but Ratchet thought that wonder at a lovely sunset should be a universal trait.
"No, I'm the tactician who's going to organize a group training session just so everyone can watch me kick your ass," Ironhide said lazily. "But let's not go through all that trouble. Talk to me."
It was tempting; he and Optimus were both older than Ironhide, but Ratchet had known Ironhide longer than any of them, even Wheeljack. In a way, he'd met Wheeljack through Ironhide, he'd been head of security at the lab in Iacon where they both had worked at the onset of the war.
Tempting, yes, but his issues at the moment were highly personal on several levels. His processors should have been focused on his duties, on the very necessary fuel capacitors, on people, human and Autobot alike, who were depending on his medical skills, on any number of things. Instead, thoughts of Wheeljack and Optimus were tangling through his concentration and no amount of focusing or forced firewalling was keeping them out. Ironhide would not be his first choice as confidant but since his first choice was a part of the problem--
"Prime asked me to partner with him," Ratchet blurted out, cutting off his voice processors as soon as those words had tumbled free, before any other foolishness could spring out. He was far too old to be so wrapped up in this; he was acting more like Bumblebee than an Autobot of his true rank and years, caught up in ridiculous personal entanglements.
Ironhide didn't so much as flutter his optics, frowning as he rubbed at scratch on the paint of one his cannons. His response was almost anticlimactic. "Oh yeah? Finally going to make it official, are you? 'Bout time."
"What?" Ratchet asked, a little blankly. This wasn't quite the reaction he'd been expecting.
This time Ironhide looked at him, "Come on, everyone knows you two have been banging sparks for ages. I've got good odds that you'd finally settle in now that we're planetside." He nudged Ratchet lightly. "Win an old friend some energon, will you, and make an announcement about it."
Ratchet looked away, down at the thick red dirt beneath them. The last fraction of sunlight finally vanished beneath the horizon and he automatically switched his optical settings for night vision. An analysis for the dirt scrolled through his visual display and Ratchet took a moment to examine it, idly.
"You don't seem very happy for someone with a good partner, and Optimus is about as good at it gets." Ironhide prompted softly.
"I already have a good partner!" Ratchet reminded him bitingly, "I am partnered to Wheeljack."
"Not likely to forget it," Ironhide told him, his voice mod quiet. "Wheeljack is a damned good friend of mine, to all of us. But we haven't heard a blip from Ark-36 in a long, long time. There were a lot of good 'bots on that ship, Ratchet, and no one wants to believe they might be gone."
No, no one wanted to believe it, and yet they all did.
"So what's the problem then," Ironhide said, with uncharacteristic mildness. He ran his cannons through a cycle, soft clicks and whirrs as they turned. "You two are compatible, obviously, and if some part of your processors wasn't at least considering it, you'd have already told him no."
True enough, but Ratchet kept his silence for a moment longer, calculating the humidity in the air, the percentages of the various gasses that made it up. Anything but the irrational and very personal concerns that simply would not let his processing units alone.
"What if…" Ratchet stuttered to a stop and then forced himself to confess his worst fear aloud. "What if I agree and then we hear from them? What if Wheeljack comes to Earth after waiting years for me and finds me partnered with someone else?"
Ironhide turned to look at him, somewhat nonplussed. "Well! Never took you for the romantic type. But I'll play along. It's certainly possible that could happen and I'm not gonna say it's not. How about this, though, what if you tell Optimus no, wait for Wheeljack, and then they arrive on Earth and you find out he's been fucking Grimlock all this time?"
There was silence while Ratchet processed that, a mere fraction of a second, before he lunged at Ironhide and grappled him with his bare hands, slamming into him with viciousness that he hadn't managed earlier. Alerts were blaring red in his visual display, damage percentages, overheating warnings, and Ratchet didn't truly pay attention to a single one because all his processors were focused on ripping Ironhide's back struts out through his nasty, lying mouth.
Motion, the sky he'd been admiring blurring as they rolled across the ground and it wasn't until he felt the brutal force of impact, pain from a solid collision with something that didn't readily give, that his fury receded enough for data to flow properly again and he was able to regain a modicum of calm. Ratchet came back to himself to find Ironhide had both his hands wrapped around Ratchet's wrists, keeping him from tearing into him by sheer force. Dismayed, Ratchet jerked free and clattered backwards, sprawled on the ground to stare at his friend and fellow officer.
Ironhide rose up on one elbow, regarding Ratchet warily and it wasn't until he heard a deliberate cough behind him that Ratchet realized they had an audience. A few 'bots and some humans, all of them probably drawn by the sound of several tons of metal ramming into one of the outlying storage buildings. They'd hit it hard enough that it was listing to one side, Ratchet noticed with embarrassed dismay, and he was silently thankful that all the buildings on the perimeter of the city were non-critical storage.
Worse, Optimus was approaching, his long strides bringing him very quickly to where his Senior Medical Officer and his Weapons Specialist were sitting like shamefaced sparklings, waiting for a dressing down. Optimus stopped in front of them, hands on his hips as he regarded them.
"What is going on?" Optimus asked, more curious than angry. He was considerably calmer than when he'd caught Sunstreaker and Bumblebee at each other's throats, probably because it hadn't even occurred to him that Ratchet and Ironhide might actually be fighting. Ratchet was known for his temper but he preferred to wound verbally; made less work for him to deal with later.
"Training," Ironhide said succinctly. His expression was a particularly displeased scowl and Ratchet winced internally. Perhaps he needed to run a thorough diagnostic on all his processors because an internal glitch of some sort was the only reason he could think of that he might have actually attacked Ironhide. They had been needling each other for millennia, each smug and eager to get in one last insult, and not once in Ratchet's memory had it ever turned more physical than a quick slap upside the head.
"Please refrain from destroying the entire city?" Optimus said, shaking his head. "Save some for the twins when they get out of isolation." His optics lingered on Ratchet and he pretended not to notice, frowning at a large dent in his chest plate. That would self-repair in time; his worst injury was his hand that had been caught between their bodies and the building at the point of impact. Two of his fingers wouldn't bend completely and one was completely jammed.
Optimus turned and walked away, the others trailing behind him, just as Ironhide roughly pulled Ratchet's hand to him and started poking around, ignoring the medic's startled exclamation. With a snort of irritation, Ratchet suffered through Ironhide's more or less thorough inspection even as he resigned himself to a little one-handed surgery later tonight. His own fault, he knew better than to use his bare hands against Ironhide's armor. May as well punch a mountain of titanium, while he was at it.
"I'm sorry," Ratchet said, curtly, once everyone was out of earshot. Ironhide snorted aloud.
"I'm not. You're a hell of a fighter when you get a kink in your fuel line. You made your point, though; you're still hung up on Wheeljack pretty bad."
"He's my bonded. I am not 'hung up' on him. I love him."
"Uh huh." Ironhide pulled firmly on Ratchet's jammed finger and Ratchet cursed aloud as the dislocated gears snapped painfully back into place. "Then you should know him well enough to realize he'd want you to be happy. Not cooped up in the infirmary by yourself all the damn time."
"I am never by myself in the infirmary," Ratchet said dryly.
But Ironhide shook his head, apparently not considering a constant flood of patients to be company. "Yeah, you are. I'm scheduling you for combat training twice a week."
Shocked, Ratchet blustered out, "I am a perfectly effective fighter-"
"Then soon you'll be a better one. Shut it or I'll make it three."
Ratchet scowled, watching sourly as Ironhide positioned his grip carefully on Ratchet's hand. He might have argued the point more if he hadn't just tried to tear Ironhide's head off. "Fine."
With a wrenching yank, Ironhide pulled Ratchet's other fingers back into their joints, abruptly enough that Ratchet couldn't stifle his yelp of pain and an inspiring burst of profanity. Not that he actually complained; he could appreciate the similarity in his own bedside manner, although he couldn't help wincing as gears shifted and ground until they settled back into place.
"What I wouldn't give for a little decent lubricant," Ratchet grumbled, flexing his fingers cautiously. They would ache for the rest of the day and that wasn't going to help his concentration in the least. Of all the moronic, rash things he'd ever done--
"Try some wd-40. Stuff works great."
Ratchet gave him a horrified look. "You're using an unapproved petroleum-based product on yourself?"
"Yeah, and so is everyone else but you and Optimus. We both know he wouldn't do anything to worry your pretty little head. Don't knock it till you try it."
"When I'm spending days cleaning out gummed up works…" he threatened even as he reluctantly considered running a few tests on it. It wasn't as if he was going to be able to synthesize any quality lubricant anytime soon.
"I love you when you're bitchy," Ironhide grinned.
"I'll show you bitchy when you come in for your next checkup." His interest in discussing his own problems had waned considerably. "I've barely been able to keep up on the latest news, what's been happening this past day?"
Ironhide shrugged, picking bits of gravel out of his knees. "Nothing about the Decepticons since Barricade's attack. Bee's been back on monitor duty for a week but he hasn't found anything since-"
"Since that virus nearly scrapped him, yes."
"Kid's tough."
"If you let him hear you call him that, you'll find out just how tough."
That earned him a derisive snort that spoke of just how worried Ironhide wasn't about Bee. "I've got burrs on my gears that are older than him and the twins put together."
"Don't we both. How has Sunstreaker been, anyway? I did ask Optimus what horrors you could have committed to have earned Sunstreaker twice in one month."
"Quiet." At Ratchet's look Ironhide shrugged. "I know. Kid is starting to worry me. He's never been what you'd call stable and now that he's not rooming with Sideswipe-"
"What?" Ratchet said, startled. That was quite unexpected, particularly since Optimus has specified that separating them would not be part of their punishment.
"He asked. Wanted his own quarters."
"Even at their worst, they've always shared quarters."
"I know." Ironhide absently flicked a small rock at Ratchet, making him scowl as he dodged the tiny projectile. Not that it would have hurt but it was the principle of the thing.
"I'm concerned," Ratchet admitted slowly. "Sunstreaker was affected by that virus as well, if only in the peripheral."
Ironhide gave him a sharp look. "You think he's infected?"
Ratchet shrugged. "I've scanned him a dozen times and found nothing, but I wouldn't put it past the Decepticons to find a new trick."
"What about Bee?"
"Not a glitch, but he doesn't have Sunstreaker's instability," Ratchet pointed out. Abruptly, he felt very tired and gave serious consideration to skipping both surgery on his own hand and just about anything else he'd had on his schedule for the night in favor of a long, decadent recharge. There wasn't a single 'bot who would begrudge him and Optimus had all but ordered him to get in some recharge.
"If he wasn't such an ass, he'd tell us," Ironhide sighed and Ratchet gave him a scrutinizing look that turned into an outright scan. No surprise that Ironhide was getting very little rest either and Ratchet resigned himself to another long night of work. He'd sleep when he was dead, he expected, and Primus knew that could be at any time.
"Maybe, maybe not," Ratchet finally replied, "You don't exactly come running to me with every ding and dent."
Ironhide only grunted at that. "You never did answer my question, you know," Ironhide pointed out. "Are you gonna make it official?"
Ratchet didn't answer. "Your next appointment is here." Arcee was slowly approaching them. She had just arrived on planet a few days before and was still adjusting to her new alternate form, had barely adjusted to the gravity. There was still an odd cautiousness to her steps that indicated she was still calibrating her sensors.
Abruptly eager for the chance to escape, Ratchet began to stand, only to clatter back down when Ironhide deliberately swept his legs out from under him. He ignored Ratchet's startled curse and only caught him by the arm, pulling Ratchet in enough to whisper just loud enough for the words to carry, "If you get tired of rubbing circuits with Optimus, I'm quartered in the sixth district."
Ratchet smacked him in the head hard enough that the clang echoed. Ironhide only smirked, rubbing at the small ding. "Hey, worth asking!"
"Idiot," Ratchet said, with exasperated fondness. He left the two of them to walk the short distance back to the training grounds together, tossing a little mock salute to Arcee, who returned it with an obscene gesture. It made Ratchet chuckle and if he heard the sadness in his own voice mod, he didn't acknowledge it. He might not have answered Ironhide's question but he'd already made his decision; now he just had to implement it. He'd weighed the options and there really was only one choice he could make.
He couldn’t do it.
Oh, it was tempting and he couldn't deny the logic of Ironhide's arguments. But…Wheeljack.
There were few left in their ranks who would remember it, but when they'd first met, Ratchet hadn't been able to stand Wheeljack. He was brilliant and enthusiastic, as lively as a sparkling and dangerous as unprocessed energon. It had been Wheeljack who'd been running the tests on the experimental high performance fuel that had not only blown the lab door clean off its hinges, but the door had continued its journey through the wall and imbedded itself into the next one. It had been Wheeljack who'd been involved in the legendary neutron detonator incident and Ratchet was still relieved that he had only heard about it and hadn't actually been there to pick up the pieces. Literally.
Mechs who didn't know him personally might have wondered how Wheeljack managed to keep his assistants from project to project but one only had to meet Wheeljack once to understand. He was just so damned enthusiastic, made his experiments sound so utterly reasonable that normally cautious 'bots joined him in plots that were tantamount to insanity. More than once, Ratchet had found a sheepish group of mechs in his infirmary, Wheeljack in the lead and perhaps if they'd shown even an ounce of shame he might have been more sympathetic. Instead, they had often chatted eagerly about their latest disaster or worse, made plans for another. The absolutely worst part of all was that his ideas almost always worked….eventually. It was getting to eventually that was the dangerous part.
Humans and Autobots alike might tease Ratchet about his bedside manner but on Cybertron, no medic had any patience in treating preventable injuries, particularly Ratchet, who had little patience at all. But all the scolding and threats had beaded off of Wheeljack like water on freshly waxed armor and more often than not he'd be back all too soon, cheerily waiting for his repairs.
It had been the instance when he'd seen Wheeljack for the third time in a single day that Ratchet had finally snapped. "Wheeljack, I swear by the holy spark of Primus, if you don't start taking more safety precautions then I am going to see about getting your laboratory authorization suspended!"
And Wheeljack had looked at him with that same bright interest that he did everything else and said with perfect sincerity, "But if I did that, when would I ever get to see you?"
After that, it had all been over but the ceremony.
Everyone liked Wheeljack, even the occasional Decepticon. What Ratchet had never been able to fully process was why Wheeljack liked him.
Once, after a particularly long and equally pleasurable interface, Wheeljack had told him, --You are the kindest, gentlest, most caring mech I have ever met.-
Ratchet had snorted aloud, not even trying for enough energy to speak verbally. Wheeljack had always been particularly enthusiastic in everything he did. -I'm sure you're the only one who sees that in me.-
--No one sees you like I do, Ratchet-Wheeljack had replied, oddly solemn for once.
--I agree. Perhaps I need to run a diagnostic on your optics--
He hadn't seen Wheeljack in over a thousand of Earth's years, hadn't talked to him in nearly as long. One day they'd been in contact with Ark-36 and the next, it had simply been gone. There were hundreds of possible outcomes and Ratchet had run the probabilities more times than he cared to think about, everything from a hit by a stray comet to a crash landing on a distant planet to a Decepticon attack. Ark-36 had simply stopping communicating and there was a chance that any day now, any year, a thousand years from now they might get that message. Or they might never get it.
If Ratchet took another partner, then Wheeljack would truly be gone and Ratchet wasn't entirely sure he could stand to be in a universe where that was true. And Optimus deserved someone who could give him the full weight of their affection. More and more Autobots would be arriving very soon. Optimus could and should have his pick of partners and wouldn't have to settle for whatever distracted affection that his gruff old chief medic could offer him while he waited for a message that would probably never come.
A strange ache in his spark at that thought but he ignored it. Optimus had asked him to consider it and he had, from every angle, and the only logical solution seemed to be for him to let Prime go, completely, free him to find someone else.
For a moment, Ratchet hesitated, leaning heavily against one of the storage buildings and closing his optics. It was tempting, so very tempting, to just go back to the infirmary tonight, return to his work and sink himself back into it. But he could admit, albeit reluctantly, that Ironhide had been right about one thing. He'd been hiding in the infirmary long enough.
His feet felt unusually heavy as he turned towards Optimus's quarters and Ratchet absently set his equilibrium stabilizers to recalibrate during his next recharge.
Perhaps gravity was weighing a little too strongly on him today.
-finis-
Read Next Chapter
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Sam/Bumblebee, Optimus/Ratchet, Sideswipe/Sunstreaker
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Moments of Forgiveness
Topics of Conversation
Lies of Omission
The Theory of Existence
Beyond My Brave Facade
Parental Interaction In The Third Degree
Field Trips Into the Hypothetical
Arrested Developments of the Heart
Necessary Repairs
4x4
Prime and Punishment
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
The military hadn't provided Sam with the best mattress that money could buy, a sharp contrast to the awesome shower that he'd gotten, but after working in the infirmary all day, Sam was eager to collapse on it, not even bothering to pull back the blankets.
He was, Sam decided, seriously a wuss. For all his whining about equal punishments, he'd only managed to put in a seven hour shift before Ratchet had kicked him out with a blunt warning not to tell Optimus.
"If he does find out, we'll call it a medical necessity. Go get some rest and I'll see you in the morning," Ratchet had told him. He'd completely ignored Sam's rather feeble protests, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Ratchet hadn't seemed like he was ready to call it a day.
So as tired as he was, Sam couldn't help a tinge of guilt at leaving Ratchet on his own. There was so much to do, he'd had no idea. Sam had spent the day cataloguing the supplies and sorting them, boxes and boxes worth of stuff and that was just a tiny fraction of the work to be done. Sam had been working on all that just because it was easier for him; just the thought of Ratchet trying to sort through all those tiny boxes was comical. Of course, he could do it in his holo form, if he'd had any time. There were also stacks of components for Ratchet to repair, neat piles of fuel capacitors for him to weld, and the only reason Sam knew what those were was Ratchet had warned him to keep away from them. Add in the fact that he was, you know, the only doctor on base and it was a wonder Ratchet got any rest at all. Maybe he didn't.
How was it no one had assigned Ratchet an assistant before, Sam wondered, sleepily. There was just no way he had enough time in the day to do everything. Not with humans and bots alike dropping in, needing everything from band aids to sutures to…well, whatever Ironhide had needed, he'd made Ratchet swear at him in Cybertronian, so quick and static-sharp that Sam hadn't even gotten all that he said.
A soft knock on the door startled him into sitting up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes as the door opened a little, a head peering into his darkened room.
Very softly, "Sam? You awake?"
"Dad?" Sam blinked a little, frowning as he reached over and snapped on the light on the nightstand. "Yeah, I'm up, come on in."
His dad slipped in, shutting the door quietly behind him. For a moment, all he did was stand awkwardly by the door, his hands in his pockets and Sam couldn't think of anything else to do but smile feebly, pulling his legs up enough that he could rest his arms on his knees.
"Haven't managed to catch up with you for a couple of days," his dad smiled, a trifle uncomfortably. That much was true. His mom stopped by all the time but Sam hadn't seen his dad since he'd gotten out of the infirmary the first time.
"Yeah, been sleeping a lot," Sam offered, watching as his dad wandered around his room, checking out his meager possessions. Most of his stuff was still packed away, waiting for things to calm down enough to get Sam moved to better quarters but in the meantime, it was a little stark in here. He didn't have so much as a poster or a picture on his nightstand. He'd have to get one of him and Bee, maybe with his parents, Sam decided, watching his dad give the growing pile of his dirty clothes a little kick. He really did need to find out where the laundry facilities were; so far, waiting for the laundry fairies to wash it for him wasn't exactly working out.
Long years of experience had taught him that this was his dad with something on his mind and Sam resisted the urge to fill the silence with chatter, hoping that Dad would cough up what was on his mind so that Sam could get some sleep. Tempting as it was plead exhaustion, Sam just couldn't, not right now. Things weren't quite right between him and either of his parents just yet and Sam had run away from the issue for long enough, thank you very much. He could hang on a little bit more.
He didn't have to wait too much longer.
"Sam…" his dad sighed, pushed one hand through his thinning hair as he finally turned towards Sam. "This isn't what I wanted for you, son."
"Look, Dad, I know-"
He raised both hands and Sam fell silent. "Stop, stop, just listen for a second now. You're just like your mother, if I let you get going, I'll never get in a word edgewise. I'm not saying that I disapprove or that I'm going to haul you out of here. No, no, this is…I mean, Christ, Sam, first contact with aliens!"
He sighed again and to Sam's surprise, his dad sat on the edge of the bed and yanked him into a hug. "As a parent, you always have dreams for your kids and Sam, I gotta tell you, this is not one I ever had for you." He was squeezing Sam almost too hard but Sam didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around his dad and held on right back. "It's okay, I'm dealing with it. But I am never going to be happy that your life is in danger. I'm never going to stop worrying that you're going to get hurt and I don't mean just physically. You're my kid; it's my job to worry about you until I'm old enough for you to toss into the nursing home and probably even then.
"If you're happy, I'm happy." His dad let him go, finally, leaning back enough to look at Sam with narrowed eyes. "And if you ever decide you're not happy, you let me know and I will get you out of here. I don't give damn what the army and the twenty-foot robots think, you hear me?"
"Yeah, dad, I get it," Sam said, and if his voice was oddly rough, both of them pretended they didn't hear it. Something that had been too tight in his chest for far too long had eased a little, leaving behind aching relief. No matter what kind of fights they had, Sam loved his parents and damned if their approval didn't matter, a lot.
"Good." His dad reached up and ruffled Sam's hair, ignoring his son's protests. "Get some sleep now, I hear you have work detail this week."
"Yeah," Sam said glumly. Optimus had said he needed to tell his dad but he hadn't said exactly when. "I was kind of stupid-"
"So I hear," his dad said pointedly. "The Autobots wouldn't cough up any details but the army boys didn't mind throwing your ass on the fire. You're lucky that I told them your mom could do without the details of your latest near-death experience."
Shit. So much for secrets. "Sorry-"
"Save it. You'd probably have gotten into some kind of trouble at college, too. But the stakes are a little higher here, Sam, don't forget that." Very seriously. "You want to break up with your little boyfriend, that's one thing, but if staying on this base is keeping you alive, I'll handcuff you to the bed myself."
"I'm not breaking up with him," Sam mumbled.
"That's fine," his dad said agreeably. "The kid has a great car."
"He is a great car," Sam said, with cautious humor.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm still working on that. It took me a month to figure out how to program the Tivo, remember?"
Later, after his father had left but long before that ache started deep inside him, throbbing for energy that they refused to take from him, Sam woke to arms sliding around him. Hands drifting over skin and Sam turned sleepily to kiss that soft, sweet mouth.
He was never too tired for Bee.
~~*~~
On the edge of the city, far enough away from the buildings and on the opposite side as the landing strip, there was a large section that had been set aside for training. Much needed training as far as Optimus and Ironhide were concerned. They'd been in cramped spaceships too long, in and out of stasis as they'd traveled in search of the Allspark and while programming didn't change, skills could and did atrophy. Ratchet admitted, grudgingly, that he'd focused most of his processors on his medical skills at the expense of his battle routines. Medics who were capable of more than just basic field repairs were getting fewer and farther between in both factions. At the time, it had been the only logical choice.
Privately, Ratchet thought it was probably a damned miracle that only Jazz had been killed at Mission City. None of the Autobots, aside from Bumblebee, had been on the planet long enough to do more than adjust for the gravity. Now that they had a base of operations on this planet, there was no reason that they couldn't focus once again on training their troops to the optimal status.
No reason at all except that there weren't enough hours in the day for Ratchet to handle the very basics of what he needed to do, much less add in training sessions. Having Sam to help out with some of the smaller details had been a gift from Primus and Ratchet was seriously considering asking the boy if he might consider staying on to help after his punishment was finished. He had a good attention to detail and the infirmary was due for some desperately needed order.
Ratchet was doing what he could with it but he was really too damned busy for anything but medical duties. Unfortunately, Ironhide didn't agree and on his last visit, Ironhide had threatened to come physically drag him out of the infirmary and give all the soldiers, Autobot and human alike, a good show. He could do it, blast it, and would do it, which was why Ratchet was reluctantly going to the training grounds now. Not that Ironhide couldn't have just pulled rank on him; outside of a medical emergency, Ironhide certainly outranked him. But they had been friends for a long, long time. The threat of certain humiliation was a much better incentive or, at least, it was more amusing to Ironhide.
The sun was just cresting the horizon as dusk fell but Ratchet could still see with his regular optic settings, Ironhide standing on the edge of the cleared field, waiting for him.
"'bout time you got here," Ironhide grunted.
Ratchet ignored that, settled his weight evenly on both feet as he eyed the weapons specialist. "Let's get this over with. I can't spare more than an hour."
Ironhide only snorted air through his vents, clearly unimpressed with Ratchet's temper. "You'll spare what I say you can spare, Medic." And before Ratchet could think of a suitable retort, he was struggling to remain on his feet as Ironhide abruptly launched himself at him, using his large size and weight to drive Ratchet off-balance.
With embarrassing swiftness, Ratchet found himself pinned three times in quick succession, spitting equal amounts of dirt and curses as he struggled back to his feet yet again. Ironhide was standing a few feet away, his armor barely smudged much less covered in the fine layer of dirt that Ratchet's had.
"That was pathetic, even for you," Ironhide said bluntly, pointing one long finger at Ratchet.
That stung, even if it was true enough. He might be a little out of practice but Ratchet was still more than an effective fighter; he'd be dead if he wasn't. "Any damage I do to you, I have to fix!"
"Bullshit," Ironhide scoffed. Trust him to have already picked up all the local colloquiums. He settled on the ground with a hiss of hydraulic pressure and a long sigh, motioning for Ratchet to join him. "You'd dent me to hell and back just so you could bitch about having to do repairs. So what's wrong?"
"You aren't a counselor," Ratchet said ironically, settling his weight down on the ground next to Ironhide. There was still a faint rim of sunlight edging the horizon and Ratchet turned off his electromagnet spectrum calculator in order to just appreciate the fullness of the atmospheric coloring. Their idea of beauty was far different than that of a human but Ratchet thought that wonder at a lovely sunset should be a universal trait.
"No, I'm the tactician who's going to organize a group training session just so everyone can watch me kick your ass," Ironhide said lazily. "But let's not go through all that trouble. Talk to me."
It was tempting; he and Optimus were both older than Ironhide, but Ratchet had known Ironhide longer than any of them, even Wheeljack. In a way, he'd met Wheeljack through Ironhide, he'd been head of security at the lab in Iacon where they both had worked at the onset of the war.
Tempting, yes, but his issues at the moment were highly personal on several levels. His processors should have been focused on his duties, on the very necessary fuel capacitors, on people, human and Autobot alike, who were depending on his medical skills, on any number of things. Instead, thoughts of Wheeljack and Optimus were tangling through his concentration and no amount of focusing or forced firewalling was keeping them out. Ironhide would not be his first choice as confidant but since his first choice was a part of the problem--
"Prime asked me to partner with him," Ratchet blurted out, cutting off his voice processors as soon as those words had tumbled free, before any other foolishness could spring out. He was far too old to be so wrapped up in this; he was acting more like Bumblebee than an Autobot of his true rank and years, caught up in ridiculous personal entanglements.
Ironhide didn't so much as flutter his optics, frowning as he rubbed at scratch on the paint of one his cannons. His response was almost anticlimactic. "Oh yeah? Finally going to make it official, are you? 'Bout time."
"What?" Ratchet asked, a little blankly. This wasn't quite the reaction he'd been expecting.
This time Ironhide looked at him, "Come on, everyone knows you two have been banging sparks for ages. I've got good odds that you'd finally settle in now that we're planetside." He nudged Ratchet lightly. "Win an old friend some energon, will you, and make an announcement about it."
Ratchet looked away, down at the thick red dirt beneath them. The last fraction of sunlight finally vanished beneath the horizon and he automatically switched his optical settings for night vision. An analysis for the dirt scrolled through his visual display and Ratchet took a moment to examine it, idly.
"You don't seem very happy for someone with a good partner, and Optimus is about as good at it gets." Ironhide prompted softly.
"I already have a good partner!" Ratchet reminded him bitingly, "I am partnered to Wheeljack."
"Not likely to forget it," Ironhide told him, his voice mod quiet. "Wheeljack is a damned good friend of mine, to all of us. But we haven't heard a blip from Ark-36 in a long, long time. There were a lot of good 'bots on that ship, Ratchet, and no one wants to believe they might be gone."
No, no one wanted to believe it, and yet they all did.
"So what's the problem then," Ironhide said, with uncharacteristic mildness. He ran his cannons through a cycle, soft clicks and whirrs as they turned. "You two are compatible, obviously, and if some part of your processors wasn't at least considering it, you'd have already told him no."
True enough, but Ratchet kept his silence for a moment longer, calculating the humidity in the air, the percentages of the various gasses that made it up. Anything but the irrational and very personal concerns that simply would not let his processing units alone.
"What if…" Ratchet stuttered to a stop and then forced himself to confess his worst fear aloud. "What if I agree and then we hear from them? What if Wheeljack comes to Earth after waiting years for me and finds me partnered with someone else?"
Ironhide turned to look at him, somewhat nonplussed. "Well! Never took you for the romantic type. But I'll play along. It's certainly possible that could happen and I'm not gonna say it's not. How about this, though, what if you tell Optimus no, wait for Wheeljack, and then they arrive on Earth and you find out he's been fucking Grimlock all this time?"
There was silence while Ratchet processed that, a mere fraction of a second, before he lunged at Ironhide and grappled him with his bare hands, slamming into him with viciousness that he hadn't managed earlier. Alerts were blaring red in his visual display, damage percentages, overheating warnings, and Ratchet didn't truly pay attention to a single one because all his processors were focused on ripping Ironhide's back struts out through his nasty, lying mouth.
Motion, the sky he'd been admiring blurring as they rolled across the ground and it wasn't until he felt the brutal force of impact, pain from a solid collision with something that didn't readily give, that his fury receded enough for data to flow properly again and he was able to regain a modicum of calm. Ratchet came back to himself to find Ironhide had both his hands wrapped around Ratchet's wrists, keeping him from tearing into him by sheer force. Dismayed, Ratchet jerked free and clattered backwards, sprawled on the ground to stare at his friend and fellow officer.
Ironhide rose up on one elbow, regarding Ratchet warily and it wasn't until he heard a deliberate cough behind him that Ratchet realized they had an audience. A few 'bots and some humans, all of them probably drawn by the sound of several tons of metal ramming into one of the outlying storage buildings. They'd hit it hard enough that it was listing to one side, Ratchet noticed with embarrassed dismay, and he was silently thankful that all the buildings on the perimeter of the city were non-critical storage.
Worse, Optimus was approaching, his long strides bringing him very quickly to where his Senior Medical Officer and his Weapons Specialist were sitting like shamefaced sparklings, waiting for a dressing down. Optimus stopped in front of them, hands on his hips as he regarded them.
"What is going on?" Optimus asked, more curious than angry. He was considerably calmer than when he'd caught Sunstreaker and Bumblebee at each other's throats, probably because it hadn't even occurred to him that Ratchet and Ironhide might actually be fighting. Ratchet was known for his temper but he preferred to wound verbally; made less work for him to deal with later.
"Training," Ironhide said succinctly. His expression was a particularly displeased scowl and Ratchet winced internally. Perhaps he needed to run a thorough diagnostic on all his processors because an internal glitch of some sort was the only reason he could think of that he might have actually attacked Ironhide. They had been needling each other for millennia, each smug and eager to get in one last insult, and not once in Ratchet's memory had it ever turned more physical than a quick slap upside the head.
"Please refrain from destroying the entire city?" Optimus said, shaking his head. "Save some for the twins when they get out of isolation." His optics lingered on Ratchet and he pretended not to notice, frowning at a large dent in his chest plate. That would self-repair in time; his worst injury was his hand that had been caught between their bodies and the building at the point of impact. Two of his fingers wouldn't bend completely and one was completely jammed.
Optimus turned and walked away, the others trailing behind him, just as Ironhide roughly pulled Ratchet's hand to him and started poking around, ignoring the medic's startled exclamation. With a snort of irritation, Ratchet suffered through Ironhide's more or less thorough inspection even as he resigned himself to a little one-handed surgery later tonight. His own fault, he knew better than to use his bare hands against Ironhide's armor. May as well punch a mountain of titanium, while he was at it.
"I'm sorry," Ratchet said, curtly, once everyone was out of earshot. Ironhide snorted aloud.
"I'm not. You're a hell of a fighter when you get a kink in your fuel line. You made your point, though; you're still hung up on Wheeljack pretty bad."
"He's my bonded. I am not 'hung up' on him. I love him."
"Uh huh." Ironhide pulled firmly on Ratchet's jammed finger and Ratchet cursed aloud as the dislocated gears snapped painfully back into place. "Then you should know him well enough to realize he'd want you to be happy. Not cooped up in the infirmary by yourself all the damn time."
"I am never by myself in the infirmary," Ratchet said dryly.
But Ironhide shook his head, apparently not considering a constant flood of patients to be company. "Yeah, you are. I'm scheduling you for combat training twice a week."
Shocked, Ratchet blustered out, "I am a perfectly effective fighter-"
"Then soon you'll be a better one. Shut it or I'll make it three."
Ratchet scowled, watching sourly as Ironhide positioned his grip carefully on Ratchet's hand. He might have argued the point more if he hadn't just tried to tear Ironhide's head off. "Fine."
With a wrenching yank, Ironhide pulled Ratchet's other fingers back into their joints, abruptly enough that Ratchet couldn't stifle his yelp of pain and an inspiring burst of profanity. Not that he actually complained; he could appreciate the similarity in his own bedside manner, although he couldn't help wincing as gears shifted and ground until they settled back into place.
"What I wouldn't give for a little decent lubricant," Ratchet grumbled, flexing his fingers cautiously. They would ache for the rest of the day and that wasn't going to help his concentration in the least. Of all the moronic, rash things he'd ever done--
"Try some wd-40. Stuff works great."
Ratchet gave him a horrified look. "You're using an unapproved petroleum-based product on yourself?"
"Yeah, and so is everyone else but you and Optimus. We both know he wouldn't do anything to worry your pretty little head. Don't knock it till you try it."
"When I'm spending days cleaning out gummed up works…" he threatened even as he reluctantly considered running a few tests on it. It wasn't as if he was going to be able to synthesize any quality lubricant anytime soon.
"I love you when you're bitchy," Ironhide grinned.
"I'll show you bitchy when you come in for your next checkup." His interest in discussing his own problems had waned considerably. "I've barely been able to keep up on the latest news, what's been happening this past day?"
Ironhide shrugged, picking bits of gravel out of his knees. "Nothing about the Decepticons since Barricade's attack. Bee's been back on monitor duty for a week but he hasn't found anything since-"
"Since that virus nearly scrapped him, yes."
"Kid's tough."
"If you let him hear you call him that, you'll find out just how tough."
That earned him a derisive snort that spoke of just how worried Ironhide wasn't about Bee. "I've got burrs on my gears that are older than him and the twins put together."
"Don't we both. How has Sunstreaker been, anyway? I did ask Optimus what horrors you could have committed to have earned Sunstreaker twice in one month."
"Quiet." At Ratchet's look Ironhide shrugged. "I know. Kid is starting to worry me. He's never been what you'd call stable and now that he's not rooming with Sideswipe-"
"What?" Ratchet said, startled. That was quite unexpected, particularly since Optimus has specified that separating them would not be part of their punishment.
"He asked. Wanted his own quarters."
"Even at their worst, they've always shared quarters."
"I know." Ironhide absently flicked a small rock at Ratchet, making him scowl as he dodged the tiny projectile. Not that it would have hurt but it was the principle of the thing.
"I'm concerned," Ratchet admitted slowly. "Sunstreaker was affected by that virus as well, if only in the peripheral."
Ironhide gave him a sharp look. "You think he's infected?"
Ratchet shrugged. "I've scanned him a dozen times and found nothing, but I wouldn't put it past the Decepticons to find a new trick."
"What about Bee?"
"Not a glitch, but he doesn't have Sunstreaker's instability," Ratchet pointed out. Abruptly, he felt very tired and gave serious consideration to skipping both surgery on his own hand and just about anything else he'd had on his schedule for the night in favor of a long, decadent recharge. There wasn't a single 'bot who would begrudge him and Optimus had all but ordered him to get in some recharge.
"If he wasn't such an ass, he'd tell us," Ironhide sighed and Ratchet gave him a scrutinizing look that turned into an outright scan. No surprise that Ironhide was getting very little rest either and Ratchet resigned himself to another long night of work. He'd sleep when he was dead, he expected, and Primus knew that could be at any time.
"Maybe, maybe not," Ratchet finally replied, "You don't exactly come running to me with every ding and dent."
Ironhide only grunted at that. "You never did answer my question, you know," Ironhide pointed out. "Are you gonna make it official?"
Ratchet didn't answer. "Your next appointment is here." Arcee was slowly approaching them. She had just arrived on planet a few days before and was still adjusting to her new alternate form, had barely adjusted to the gravity. There was still an odd cautiousness to her steps that indicated she was still calibrating her sensors.
Abruptly eager for the chance to escape, Ratchet began to stand, only to clatter back down when Ironhide deliberately swept his legs out from under him. He ignored Ratchet's startled curse and only caught him by the arm, pulling Ratchet in enough to whisper just loud enough for the words to carry, "If you get tired of rubbing circuits with Optimus, I'm quartered in the sixth district."
Ratchet smacked him in the head hard enough that the clang echoed. Ironhide only smirked, rubbing at the small ding. "Hey, worth asking!"
"Idiot," Ratchet said, with exasperated fondness. He left the two of them to walk the short distance back to the training grounds together, tossing a little mock salute to Arcee, who returned it with an obscene gesture. It made Ratchet chuckle and if he heard the sadness in his own voice mod, he didn't acknowledge it. He might not have answered Ironhide's question but he'd already made his decision; now he just had to implement it. He'd weighed the options and there really was only one choice he could make.
He couldn’t do it.
Oh, it was tempting and he couldn't deny the logic of Ironhide's arguments. But…Wheeljack.
There were few left in their ranks who would remember it, but when they'd first met, Ratchet hadn't been able to stand Wheeljack. He was brilliant and enthusiastic, as lively as a sparkling and dangerous as unprocessed energon. It had been Wheeljack who'd been running the tests on the experimental high performance fuel that had not only blown the lab door clean off its hinges, but the door had continued its journey through the wall and imbedded itself into the next one. It had been Wheeljack who'd been involved in the legendary neutron detonator incident and Ratchet was still relieved that he had only heard about it and hadn't actually been there to pick up the pieces. Literally.
Mechs who didn't know him personally might have wondered how Wheeljack managed to keep his assistants from project to project but one only had to meet Wheeljack once to understand. He was just so damned enthusiastic, made his experiments sound so utterly reasonable that normally cautious 'bots joined him in plots that were tantamount to insanity. More than once, Ratchet had found a sheepish group of mechs in his infirmary, Wheeljack in the lead and perhaps if they'd shown even an ounce of shame he might have been more sympathetic. Instead, they had often chatted eagerly about their latest disaster or worse, made plans for another. The absolutely worst part of all was that his ideas almost always worked….eventually. It was getting to eventually that was the dangerous part.
Humans and Autobots alike might tease Ratchet about his bedside manner but on Cybertron, no medic had any patience in treating preventable injuries, particularly Ratchet, who had little patience at all. But all the scolding and threats had beaded off of Wheeljack like water on freshly waxed armor and more often than not he'd be back all too soon, cheerily waiting for his repairs.
It had been the instance when he'd seen Wheeljack for the third time in a single day that Ratchet had finally snapped. "Wheeljack, I swear by the holy spark of Primus, if you don't start taking more safety precautions then I am going to see about getting your laboratory authorization suspended!"
And Wheeljack had looked at him with that same bright interest that he did everything else and said with perfect sincerity, "But if I did that, when would I ever get to see you?"
After that, it had all been over but the ceremony.
Everyone liked Wheeljack, even the occasional Decepticon. What Ratchet had never been able to fully process was why Wheeljack liked him.
Once, after a particularly long and equally pleasurable interface, Wheeljack had told him, --You are the kindest, gentlest, most caring mech I have ever met.-
Ratchet had snorted aloud, not even trying for enough energy to speak verbally. Wheeljack had always been particularly enthusiastic in everything he did. -I'm sure you're the only one who sees that in me.-
--No one sees you like I do, Ratchet-Wheeljack had replied, oddly solemn for once.
--I agree. Perhaps I need to run a diagnostic on your optics--
He hadn't seen Wheeljack in over a thousand of Earth's years, hadn't talked to him in nearly as long. One day they'd been in contact with Ark-36 and the next, it had simply been gone. There were hundreds of possible outcomes and Ratchet had run the probabilities more times than he cared to think about, everything from a hit by a stray comet to a crash landing on a distant planet to a Decepticon attack. Ark-36 had simply stopping communicating and there was a chance that any day now, any year, a thousand years from now they might get that message. Or they might never get it.
If Ratchet took another partner, then Wheeljack would truly be gone and Ratchet wasn't entirely sure he could stand to be in a universe where that was true. And Optimus deserved someone who could give him the full weight of their affection. More and more Autobots would be arriving very soon. Optimus could and should have his pick of partners and wouldn't have to settle for whatever distracted affection that his gruff old chief medic could offer him while he waited for a message that would probably never come.
A strange ache in his spark at that thought but he ignored it. Optimus had asked him to consider it and he had, from every angle, and the only logical solution seemed to be for him to let Prime go, completely, free him to find someone else.
For a moment, Ratchet hesitated, leaning heavily against one of the storage buildings and closing his optics. It was tempting, so very tempting, to just go back to the infirmary tonight, return to his work and sink himself back into it. But he could admit, albeit reluctantly, that Ironhide had been right about one thing. He'd been hiding in the infirmary long enough.
His feet felt unusually heavy as he turned towards Optimus's quarters and Ratchet absently set his equilibrium stabilizers to recalibrate during his next recharge.
Perhaps gravity was weighing a little too strongly on him today.
-finis-
Read Next Chapter