Fic: Observations
Title: Observations
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Pairing: Some hinted Ironhide/Ratchet.
Universe: Movieverse.
Author's Note: This a *reactionary* piece to some of the events in Transformers: Dark of the Moon and a desperate attempt to make up some of the emotion lacking in response to those events. As such, SPOILERS FOR DARK OF THE MOON Fic is also located over at the_towers
Observations, I.
For the past several years, Will Lennox had spent the majority of his time testifying for the governments of the world to the Autobots’ ‘humanity’: their ability to feel emotions, the depth of their relationships, the camaraderie and brotherhood of a group of soldiers who were less like friends and more like family to each other. Other than Sam, who was dismissed because of his age, Will was considered the authority on Earth’s alien refugees, and Will had done his best to make everyone believe him.
However, he realized that there was still a part of him that had not believed, that had considered the Autobots as merely “machines”-advanced machines, but machines none the less-as robots with behaviors that were bound by lines of code and strict programming. This base, primitive part of him had found nothing similar in their mechanical biology to his own, so while the Autobots had always been something special, they had never been the same.
Will realized this error when Optimus returned to the base, which was torn up and full of the wounded and the dead after Sentinel’s betrayal, and he found Ironhide’s body.
Optimus had come charging back, tires squealing and engine roaring, knowing that Ironhide’s signal had vanished but still not believing until he had seen for himself. Will himself was still in shock, still reeling at the sight of the shattered body of his guardian, his friend, that even his most violent years in the military could do nothing to prepare him for, so all he could do was press against the far outside wall and watch as Optimus barely made it through his transformation before he skidded to a stop at Ironhide’s side.
“Ratchet,” was the first thing Optimus said, vocalizer popping and resetting and unable for just a moment to produce anything louder than a whisper. “Ratchet!” he screamed, and Will felt his own heart beat in his chest like it was trying to escape, knowing it was impossible but wanting Ratchet there too. He was, after all, called the Miracle Worker among the Autobots…
“Ratchet!” And Optimus was desperate and screaming, Will’s eardrums ready to burst with the volume, and the rest of the Autobots arrived, all stopping well away from where their leader was crouching over and clutching at Ironhide’s form. Ratchet came forward, steps heavy and Will could hear the scans, hear them stop, and he could see…there, in Ratchet’s face….
“Fix him!” Optimus was demanding, optics blue and blazing and lost as he stared up at his medic. “Fix him!”
“Optimus, I…I can’t,” was the hopeless, quiet response, and Optimus snarled as he jumped to his feet and tackled Ratchet against the wall. Both Will and other Autobots cringed and shrank into themselves in the face of Optimus’s directionless rage. Optimus had Ratchet’s arms tight in his grasp, the metal screeching under his hands as he shoved Ratchet into the concrete, the medic’s helm cracking against the wall.
“You will listen to me! I said fix him!”
That was the moment that Will knew he had been wrong: when he heard Ratchet sob and surrender himself to Optimus’s wrath, falling limp and shaking his helm back and forth.
“I can’t, I can’t. Please, Optimus, don’t ask this of me. Please, don’t ask me.”
Something that was not gears nor axles nor sparkplugs broke in the two Autbots then, and Will could only watch as Optimus and Ratchet collapsed together on the ground, and goddammit, robots should not be able to grieve like that and Will was helpless in the face of it. There was just something so indescribably wrong at seeing a robot-a mech-a person-like Optimus cry.
“I know,” Will whispered to them, even though he knew they weren’t listening. “I know how it feels.”
Observations, II.
They had to leave. Sentinal had betrayed them, and with shame Will realized that humans were doing the same as the Autobots were forced into exile from yet another planet they had named their home. They needed to leave. As soon as possible.
But no one dared to interrupt as Optimus finally reappeared in front of his Autobots and remaining human allies, drawing himself to his full height. Ratchet hung well back, amongst the debris of the helicopters, staring into the shadows and shrugging away any offer of contact from the others.
“I must apologize,” Optimus began, every inch of him filled with decorum and Will hated it. “I must apologize for my earlier loss of control. I succumbed to a grief born from the loss of a valued teacher, a dear friend, and true mentor. Like all fallen Autobots before him, Ironhide devoted himself to the cause of freedom and protection of innocents. But unlike all those before him, we must recognize Ironhide to be a hero beyond any existing measure. I have searched my own spark and have always come up wanting in comparison to his dedication, his valor, his courage, his strength, and willingness to sacrifice everything for not only the future of Cybertron, but those whom he considered his friends.”
It was clear that Optimus wanted to say more, was trying to say more, but despite his attempts at professionalism, Optimus had not yet made his peace, and his optic darkened and shuttered as he brought his hands to his face to muffle the sounds from his vocalizer that Will knew no human could deny recognizing.
Bumblebee was the first to move, first stepping up to Optimus with cautiousness and hesitating before placing a hand on Optimus’s elbow joint. It was clear to Will that Bumblebee was a little frightened at being pushed away, but when Optimus instead let Bumblebee press in against him in comfort, the other Autobots followed suit, with only Ratchet left to himself in the corner.
Observations, III.
All was dark and quiet. The base was still useable, and even if it hadn’t been, it would work well enough to serve as a roof over everyone’s head while the echoes of Chicago reverberated across the globe like the tremors of an earthquake.
Sam sat by himself in the medbay, at least partially content in knowing that Carly and his parents were safe and asleep in their beds. More disquieting was the fact that Optimus had gone straight to his quarters and no one-not even the other Autobots-was eager to try and speak with him.
You could, something whispered in the back of his mind. You have the right, and he wouldn’t mind you.
But Sam stayed where he was, on the cold, heard concrete beside Ironhide’s remains. It was surreal, and maybe it was because he hadn’t been there, that he hadn’t seen it or had time to process it yet that he had not yet cried. It was a better, more desirable and less frightening reason than the other one, which was sitting in his pocket, warm and quiet, and waiting for him to acknowledge it.
Maybe you don’t cry because you know there’s no need to.
With a sigh, Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the last remnant of the Allspark, its dark surface glimmering darkly in the sparse light.
“So what kind of person does this make me?” Sam asked aloud. “I promised Carly there would be no secrets. When Ratchet asked me if I was still suffering from hallucinations and dreams, should I have said yes? Should I have told Optimus that I think you’re still trying to talk to me?”
Sam turned the Allspark in his hand, the light catching along the edge of one of its etchings. It probably would have been a good idea to let at least Bumblebee know that he still learned things, remembered things, beyond any other human’s capability, and he was almost to the point where he could read and understand and not have needed Simmons’s help to tell him that the the Cybertronian glyphs that had been fluttering at the edges of his vision had been Sentinel Prime’s name.
Nothing was happening now. No trance, no visions. Just an expecting. A waiting. So he remembered, instead.
“Mr. Witwicky! As you seem confident in your mastery of the material, I wonder if you might tell us all a little bit about Schrodinger’s Cat.”
It had been a month into his Astrophysics class in his first semester, when he was still on his professor’s shitlist and still passing all of the quizzes despite his extended absence from school. And the answer came easily, like accessing an online database with all of the correct answers.
“Um, yeah. Sure. See, there was this guy, a really famous scientist, named Erwin Schrodinger, who proposed a thought experiment where a cat was placed in a box with a piece of radioactive material, a geiger counter, and a box of poison. If the radioactive material decayed, then the geiger counter would also release a pin that opened the poison and killed the cat. Because the chance that the material decayed was fifty-fifty, you couldn’t know if the cat was dead or alive unless you opened the box and checked. Schrodinger said that, without observation, the cat was in a state of superposition, or being in two states simultaneously. In other words, before the box is opened, the cat could be argued to be both alive and dead at the same time. I, uh, believe it was a commentary on the unique behavior of particles in quantum mechanics. Sir.”
“Schrodinger’s cat is dead,” one of Sam’s classmates called from the back.
“Or alive,” the girl sitting next to Sam added before looking back at Sam. “Right?”
“And alive,” Sam corrected. “And. ‘Or’ depends on the observer.”
“So, I don’t really have a choice,” Sam said as he stood, Allspark shard tight in his hand as he walked over to Ironhide’s still form. “I already lost one girlfriend because she ‘couldn’t handle’ any more weirdness. What will it mean if this works? What if I’m just going crazy like good old Archibald Witwicky and I’m talking to a plain piece of metal in my hand?”
Silence.
“You’re right, I suppose. I at least have to check in order to find out.”
And with his free hand, Sam reached into Ironhide’s spark chamber and touched.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Pairing: Some hinted Ironhide/Ratchet.
Universe: Movieverse.
Author's Note: This a *reactionary* piece to some of the events in Transformers: Dark of the Moon and a desperate attempt to make up some of the emotion lacking in response to those events. As such, SPOILERS FOR DARK OF THE MOON Fic is also located over at the_towers
Observations, I.
For the past several years, Will Lennox had spent the majority of his time testifying for the governments of the world to the Autobots’ ‘humanity’: their ability to feel emotions, the depth of their relationships, the camaraderie and brotherhood of a group of soldiers who were less like friends and more like family to each other. Other than Sam, who was dismissed because of his age, Will was considered the authority on Earth’s alien refugees, and Will had done his best to make everyone believe him.
However, he realized that there was still a part of him that had not believed, that had considered the Autobots as merely “machines”-advanced machines, but machines none the less-as robots with behaviors that were bound by lines of code and strict programming. This base, primitive part of him had found nothing similar in their mechanical biology to his own, so while the Autobots had always been something special, they had never been the same.
Will realized this error when Optimus returned to the base, which was torn up and full of the wounded and the dead after Sentinel’s betrayal, and he found Ironhide’s body.
Optimus had come charging back, tires squealing and engine roaring, knowing that Ironhide’s signal had vanished but still not believing until he had seen for himself. Will himself was still in shock, still reeling at the sight of the shattered body of his guardian, his friend, that even his most violent years in the military could do nothing to prepare him for, so all he could do was press against the far outside wall and watch as Optimus barely made it through his transformation before he skidded to a stop at Ironhide’s side.
“Ratchet,” was the first thing Optimus said, vocalizer popping and resetting and unable for just a moment to produce anything louder than a whisper. “Ratchet!” he screamed, and Will felt his own heart beat in his chest like it was trying to escape, knowing it was impossible but wanting Ratchet there too. He was, after all, called the Miracle Worker among the Autobots…
“Ratchet!” And Optimus was desperate and screaming, Will’s eardrums ready to burst with the volume, and the rest of the Autobots arrived, all stopping well away from where their leader was crouching over and clutching at Ironhide’s form. Ratchet came forward, steps heavy and Will could hear the scans, hear them stop, and he could see…there, in Ratchet’s face….
“Fix him!” Optimus was demanding, optics blue and blazing and lost as he stared up at his medic. “Fix him!”
“Optimus, I…I can’t,” was the hopeless, quiet response, and Optimus snarled as he jumped to his feet and tackled Ratchet against the wall. Both Will and other Autobots cringed and shrank into themselves in the face of Optimus’s directionless rage. Optimus had Ratchet’s arms tight in his grasp, the metal screeching under his hands as he shoved Ratchet into the concrete, the medic’s helm cracking against the wall.
“You will listen to me! I said fix him!”
That was the moment that Will knew he had been wrong: when he heard Ratchet sob and surrender himself to Optimus’s wrath, falling limp and shaking his helm back and forth.
“I can’t, I can’t. Please, Optimus, don’t ask this of me. Please, don’t ask me.”
Something that was not gears nor axles nor sparkplugs broke in the two Autbots then, and Will could only watch as Optimus and Ratchet collapsed together on the ground, and goddammit, robots should not be able to grieve like that and Will was helpless in the face of it. There was just something so indescribably wrong at seeing a robot-a mech-a person-like Optimus cry.
“I know,” Will whispered to them, even though he knew they weren’t listening. “I know how it feels.”
Observations, II.
They had to leave. Sentinal had betrayed them, and with shame Will realized that humans were doing the same as the Autobots were forced into exile from yet another planet they had named their home. They needed to leave. As soon as possible.
But no one dared to interrupt as Optimus finally reappeared in front of his Autobots and remaining human allies, drawing himself to his full height. Ratchet hung well back, amongst the debris of the helicopters, staring into the shadows and shrugging away any offer of contact from the others.
“I must apologize,” Optimus began, every inch of him filled with decorum and Will hated it. “I must apologize for my earlier loss of control. I succumbed to a grief born from the loss of a valued teacher, a dear friend, and true mentor. Like all fallen Autobots before him, Ironhide devoted himself to the cause of freedom and protection of innocents. But unlike all those before him, we must recognize Ironhide to be a hero beyond any existing measure. I have searched my own spark and have always come up wanting in comparison to his dedication, his valor, his courage, his strength, and willingness to sacrifice everything for not only the future of Cybertron, but those whom he considered his friends.”
It was clear that Optimus wanted to say more, was trying to say more, but despite his attempts at professionalism, Optimus had not yet made his peace, and his optic darkened and shuttered as he brought his hands to his face to muffle the sounds from his vocalizer that Will knew no human could deny recognizing.
Bumblebee was the first to move, first stepping up to Optimus with cautiousness and hesitating before placing a hand on Optimus’s elbow joint. It was clear to Will that Bumblebee was a little frightened at being pushed away, but when Optimus instead let Bumblebee press in against him in comfort, the other Autobots followed suit, with only Ratchet left to himself in the corner.
Observations, III.
All was dark and quiet. The base was still useable, and even if it hadn’t been, it would work well enough to serve as a roof over everyone’s head while the echoes of Chicago reverberated across the globe like the tremors of an earthquake.
Sam sat by himself in the medbay, at least partially content in knowing that Carly and his parents were safe and asleep in their beds. More disquieting was the fact that Optimus had gone straight to his quarters and no one-not even the other Autobots-was eager to try and speak with him.
You could, something whispered in the back of his mind. You have the right, and he wouldn’t mind you.
But Sam stayed where he was, on the cold, heard concrete beside Ironhide’s remains. It was surreal, and maybe it was because he hadn’t been there, that he hadn’t seen it or had time to process it yet that he had not yet cried. It was a better, more desirable and less frightening reason than the other one, which was sitting in his pocket, warm and quiet, and waiting for him to acknowledge it.
Maybe you don’t cry because you know there’s no need to.
With a sigh, Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the last remnant of the Allspark, its dark surface glimmering darkly in the sparse light.
“So what kind of person does this make me?” Sam asked aloud. “I promised Carly there would be no secrets. When Ratchet asked me if I was still suffering from hallucinations and dreams, should I have said yes? Should I have told Optimus that I think you’re still trying to talk to me?”
Sam turned the Allspark in his hand, the light catching along the edge of one of its etchings. It probably would have been a good idea to let at least Bumblebee know that he still learned things, remembered things, beyond any other human’s capability, and he was almost to the point where he could read and understand and not have needed Simmons’s help to tell him that the the Cybertronian glyphs that had been fluttering at the edges of his vision had been Sentinel Prime’s name.
Nothing was happening now. No trance, no visions. Just an expecting. A waiting. So he remembered, instead.
“Mr. Witwicky! As you seem confident in your mastery of the material, I wonder if you might tell us all a little bit about Schrodinger’s Cat.”
It had been a month into his Astrophysics class in his first semester, when he was still on his professor’s shitlist and still passing all of the quizzes despite his extended absence from school. And the answer came easily, like accessing an online database with all of the correct answers.
“Um, yeah. Sure. See, there was this guy, a really famous scientist, named Erwin Schrodinger, who proposed a thought experiment where a cat was placed in a box with a piece of radioactive material, a geiger counter, and a box of poison. If the radioactive material decayed, then the geiger counter would also release a pin that opened the poison and killed the cat. Because the chance that the material decayed was fifty-fifty, you couldn’t know if the cat was dead or alive unless you opened the box and checked. Schrodinger said that, without observation, the cat was in a state of superposition, or being in two states simultaneously. In other words, before the box is opened, the cat could be argued to be both alive and dead at the same time. I, uh, believe it was a commentary on the unique behavior of particles in quantum mechanics. Sir.”
“Schrodinger’s cat is dead,” one of Sam’s classmates called from the back.
“Or alive,” the girl sitting next to Sam added before looking back at Sam. “Right?”
“And alive,” Sam corrected. “And. ‘Or’ depends on the observer.”
“So, I don’t really have a choice,” Sam said as he stood, Allspark shard tight in his hand as he walked over to Ironhide’s still form. “I already lost one girlfriend because she ‘couldn’t handle’ any more weirdness. What will it mean if this works? What if I’m just going crazy like good old Archibald Witwicky and I’m talking to a plain piece of metal in my hand?”
Silence.
“You’re right, I suppose. I at least have to check in order to find out.”
And with his free hand, Sam reached into Ironhide’s spark chamber and touched.