Coming back from the dead...
I don't know how many folks still pay attention to this, since I've been AWOL for so long, but I figured I'd give this a shot. I have a little ficlet I wrote in an attempt to get back into the habit of writing again (LM is being worked on though, I swear!) and I wanted to see if maybe it was worth having beta'd and posting for a wider audience. It's set somewhere undefined in the LM universe, and came about from a conversation between myself and rageai , probably very late at night. So, if y'all are still keeping an eye out for me out there, let me know what you think! Thanks!
EDIT: Look, ma, I have a title! XD
Title: Do No Harm
Author: yours truly
Rating: T
Summary: Ratchet's aim isn't only good with a wrench, and some poor 'Con finds that out the hard way.
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ratchet, Bluestreak, Prowl
EDIT 2: Fixed some awkward wording and bad grammar--thanks, dvana !
Speaking softly in the bond-more secure than any comm. unit-Sideswipe murmured, ::Sunstreaker. How quickly can you get Ratchet up here?::
::Soon enough,:: was the quick reply, and Sideswipe nodded even though there was no way his brother could see it. He crept forward, hoping the cover was enough to hide his bright red chassis from the enemy as he moved toward Bluestreak’s still form, lying where he’d been struck by a stray shot. Thankfully, the ‘Cons didn’t seem to actually know what the gunner’s position was; it was just a case of very rotten luck that he’d been taken down.
Though, Sideswipe mused, as he eased down to kneel beside the offline mech, it really was lucky for Bluestreak that he was bonded to Wheeljack; otherwise they would never have known that the grey mech had been hit, and he would likely have deactivated out here. Sideswipe shook his head, ridding himself of that thought; it was not one he cared to entertain, and it hadn’t happened anyway, so best not to think about it.
He looked up quickly at the sound of a foot scuffing against the rooftop they were on, and he didn’t relax his grip on his rifle until his brother and Ratchet stepped into view. The medic barely glanced at him, immediately pushing past him to Bluestreak. He worked with rapid efficiency to stabilize the downed gunner, muttering inaudibly to himself as he did so.
When Sideswipe’s comm. unit crackled to life, the red mech jumped and nearly swore out loud before he could stifle it, prompting a severe look from Sunstreaker. He just glowered back at his brother as Prowl spoke across his encrypted frequency.
:Sideswipe, what is Bluestreak’s status?: The tactician’s voice held a note of tension that belied its even calm.
:Alive, but you knew that,: Sideswipe answered, a bit distracted as he kept up his surveillance of the area. :Ratchet’s here, working on him.:
:Good. What is the status of Bluestreak’s target?: For a moment Sideswipe allowed Prowl’s easy switch to practical matters to irritate him, then he told himself that the tactician was just doing his job and got over it.
Bluestreak had been ordered to take out a newcomer in the ranks of the ‘Cons, a mech who seemed to be instrumental to Megatron’s latest scheme, though he wasn’t familiar to the Autobots. The red mech eased forward to lay his own rifle down, replacing it with Bluestreak’s; the gunner mumbled and stirred when Sideswipe took it, but Ratchet shushed him and he quieted again. Lifting the sniper’s weapon to look through the scope, he quickly found the mech-still walking around, and in a difficult place for a good shot. Sideswipe swore.
:Still ambulatory. Dammit,: he answered. Prowl paused for a moment at that, clearly deciding, then said simply, :You’ll have to take him out, then,: and cut the link. Sideswipe swore again. Sunstreaker came a little closer. He’d easily picked up what was going on through the twin-bond, and took the sniper rifle from his brother.
“Slag,” he grunted, after getting a good look. “I’m not sure I can make that shot count. He’s in a bad spot.”
Sideswipe couldn’t help a small groan at that. “Well, if you can’t make that shot, then I sure as shit can’t,” he muttered, taking the rifle back and looking through the scope again as though that might help.
“One of us has to do it,” Sunstreaker pointed out calmly.
“You do it, then,” Sideswipe answered. “You’re the better marksman.”
The yellow mech snorted. “What, and give away our position for nothing? Prowl can sit on it.” Both of them were so focused on the target, and so busy arguing, that neither of them paid any attention to Ratchet until suddenly the medic plucked the rifle out of their hands.
Sideswipe blinked. “Ratchet, what-?”
“That’s him, isn’t it? The guy with the orange?”
“Um, yeah, but-” Both mechs were still confused right up until their bondmate calmly shouldered the rifle, calmly sighted, and then calmly pulled the trigger.
The target dropped like a stone.
The twin soldiers gaped as Ratchet handed the rifle back to Sideswipe, staring until the medic snapped at them to help him move Bluestreak, reminding them that the ‘Cons likely knew where they were, now. That threat got them moving again, though they practically buzzed with curiosity that they knew Ratchet could feel, though it became clearer and clearer that the medic was not going to satisfy it.
It was becoming apparent, as they carried Bluestreak back, that the tide of battle was now turning in favor of the Autobots, and Jazz commed to congratulate Sideswipe on the shot.
:I didn’t take it,: he answered, astonishment still showing in his voice. :Ratchet did.: Jazz seemed taken aback by that, though he was quick enough to adjust and shift his congratulations to the medic. Ratchet, for his part, just grunted acknowledgement, and Jazz left them alone.
It was not until much, much later that the twins got a chance to speak to Ratchet again, after the last of the casualties in medbay were taken care of. They found him in the common room with a half-empty cube of high-grade and clear evidence that it had not been his first, or even his second or his third.
“I was at the top of my class for marksmanship, at the Academy,” he said when they sat down on either side of him; he didn’t look up from his cube. “They wanted me to cross-train as a sniper, but I told them no. I see enough mechs die without killing them myself.” He finally looked up with a humorless smile. “Bet you thought my aim was only good with a wrench,” he said softly, sounding a little lost despite the attempt at levity.
They just pulled him to them and held him until his trembling stopped.
EDIT: Look, ma, I have a title! XD
Title: Do No Harm
Author: yours truly
Rating: T
Summary: Ratchet's aim isn't only good with a wrench, and some poor 'Con finds that out the hard way.
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ratchet, Bluestreak, Prowl
EDIT 2: Fixed some awkward wording and bad grammar--thanks, dvana !
Speaking softly in the bond-more secure than any comm. unit-Sideswipe murmured, ::Sunstreaker. How quickly can you get Ratchet up here?::
::Soon enough,:: was the quick reply, and Sideswipe nodded even though there was no way his brother could see it. He crept forward, hoping the cover was enough to hide his bright red chassis from the enemy as he moved toward Bluestreak’s still form, lying where he’d been struck by a stray shot. Thankfully, the ‘Cons didn’t seem to actually know what the gunner’s position was; it was just a case of very rotten luck that he’d been taken down.
Though, Sideswipe mused, as he eased down to kneel beside the offline mech, it really was lucky for Bluestreak that he was bonded to Wheeljack; otherwise they would never have known that the grey mech had been hit, and he would likely have deactivated out here. Sideswipe shook his head, ridding himself of that thought; it was not one he cared to entertain, and it hadn’t happened anyway, so best not to think about it.
He looked up quickly at the sound of a foot scuffing against the rooftop they were on, and he didn’t relax his grip on his rifle until his brother and Ratchet stepped into view. The medic barely glanced at him, immediately pushing past him to Bluestreak. He worked with rapid efficiency to stabilize the downed gunner, muttering inaudibly to himself as he did so.
When Sideswipe’s comm. unit crackled to life, the red mech jumped and nearly swore out loud before he could stifle it, prompting a severe look from Sunstreaker. He just glowered back at his brother as Prowl spoke across his encrypted frequency.
:Sideswipe, what is Bluestreak’s status?: The tactician’s voice held a note of tension that belied its even calm.
:Alive, but you knew that,: Sideswipe answered, a bit distracted as he kept up his surveillance of the area. :Ratchet’s here, working on him.:
:Good. What is the status of Bluestreak’s target?: For a moment Sideswipe allowed Prowl’s easy switch to practical matters to irritate him, then he told himself that the tactician was just doing his job and got over it.
Bluestreak had been ordered to take out a newcomer in the ranks of the ‘Cons, a mech who seemed to be instrumental to Megatron’s latest scheme, though he wasn’t familiar to the Autobots. The red mech eased forward to lay his own rifle down, replacing it with Bluestreak’s; the gunner mumbled and stirred when Sideswipe took it, but Ratchet shushed him and he quieted again. Lifting the sniper’s weapon to look through the scope, he quickly found the mech-still walking around, and in a difficult place for a good shot. Sideswipe swore.
:Still ambulatory. Dammit,: he answered. Prowl paused for a moment at that, clearly deciding, then said simply, :You’ll have to take him out, then,: and cut the link. Sideswipe swore again. Sunstreaker came a little closer. He’d easily picked up what was going on through the twin-bond, and took the sniper rifle from his brother.
“Slag,” he grunted, after getting a good look. “I’m not sure I can make that shot count. He’s in a bad spot.”
Sideswipe couldn’t help a small groan at that. “Well, if you can’t make that shot, then I sure as shit can’t,” he muttered, taking the rifle back and looking through the scope again as though that might help.
“One of us has to do it,” Sunstreaker pointed out calmly.
“You do it, then,” Sideswipe answered. “You’re the better marksman.”
The yellow mech snorted. “What, and give away our position for nothing? Prowl can sit on it.” Both of them were so focused on the target, and so busy arguing, that neither of them paid any attention to Ratchet until suddenly the medic plucked the rifle out of their hands.
Sideswipe blinked. “Ratchet, what-?”
“That’s him, isn’t it? The guy with the orange?”
“Um, yeah, but-” Both mechs were still confused right up until their bondmate calmly shouldered the rifle, calmly sighted, and then calmly pulled the trigger.
The target dropped like a stone.
The twin soldiers gaped as Ratchet handed the rifle back to Sideswipe, staring until the medic snapped at them to help him move Bluestreak, reminding them that the ‘Cons likely knew where they were, now. That threat got them moving again, though they practically buzzed with curiosity that they knew Ratchet could feel, though it became clearer and clearer that the medic was not going to satisfy it.
It was becoming apparent, as they carried Bluestreak back, that the tide of battle was now turning in favor of the Autobots, and Jazz commed to congratulate Sideswipe on the shot.
:I didn’t take it,: he answered, astonishment still showing in his voice. :Ratchet did.: Jazz seemed taken aback by that, though he was quick enough to adjust and shift his congratulations to the medic. Ratchet, for his part, just grunted acknowledgement, and Jazz left them alone.
It was not until much, much later that the twins got a chance to speak to Ratchet again, after the last of the casualties in medbay were taken care of. They found him in the common room with a half-empty cube of high-grade and clear evidence that it had not been his first, or even his second or his third.
“I was at the top of my class for marksmanship, at the Academy,” he said when they sat down on either side of him; he didn’t look up from his cube. “They wanted me to cross-train as a sniper, but I told them no. I see enough mechs die without killing them myself.” He finally looked up with a humorless smile. “Bet you thought my aim was only good with a wrench,” he said softly, sounding a little lost despite the attempt at levity.
They just pulled him to them and held him until his trembling stopped.