TF: Need to Know
Rating: PG
Series: G1
Pairings: Jazz/Ratchet
Summary: Jazz is Special Ops, Ratchet is a medic. The two often clash over Jazz’s injuries, and Ratchet hates that he doesn’t know what happens.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: As per usual, the good things in life are not mine to have, but belong to someone else... in this case Hasbro, Takara and IDW and anyone else I’ve forgotten…
Authors Notes: This is for the tf_rare_pairing 2013 New Beginnings Challenge, prompt 14 - Out with a bang, dragging yourself in with a whimper
Feedback makes friends. Flames dealt with by the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno.
Ratchet hated it when Jazz came back from one of his missions. He never knew exactly what went on, but could infer some things from the wounds Jazz bore when he came back.
No marks meant that he’d got in unseen and carried out his mission with no problems.
Paint scrapes to his back meant that he’d spent some time hidden in the numerous ventilation shafts of the main Decepticon base.
Scratches around his wrists meant that he’d been found and had spent some time in energy cuffs.
Laser scalpel marks meant that he’d spent some time with Vortex, Megatron’s top interrogator.
Buckled and warped plating meant that he’d blown up a base and been caught up in the explosion.
And those were just a few of the external signs.
He shuddered thinking about the various viruses Soundwave, Shockwave and even Starscream had managed to get past his firewalls.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Ratch’, I’m comin’ home.” Ratchet jerked as he received the private comm from Jazz. Part of him was grateful that Jazz was on his way back to Iacon, but the other part of him was dreading seeing what state his lover would be in.
“Ratchet, be advised that Jazz is returning to base and is in need of medical attention.” Prowl’s voice sounded on his main comm frequency.
“Understood, Prowl.” Ratchet replied, a little amazed that his voice didn’t waver. But then, he had heard from Jazz, so that had reassured him a little.
“How did you do it this time?” Ratchet asked as he worked on repairing Jazz’s knee joint.
“Now Ratch’, ya know I can’t tell ya that.” Jazz smiled at him. Ratchet sighed.
“I know, I don’t have the necessary clearance.” Ratchet muttered, turning away to get another wire. Jazz leant forward and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Ya know I’d tell you if I could, Ratch.”
“Yeah.” Shrugging off Jazz’s hand, Ratchet continued his repair work. It was a common conversation between them; Ratchet always concerned and worried about Jazz. And Jazz not able to tell him much, if anything. The downside of having the head of Special Operations as your lover. That and not having the security clearance.
“Ratch’?” Jazz’s tone was concerned.
“It’s fine, Jazz.” Ratchet raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “There’s nothing I can do about it. It just…” He vented a sigh. “I see you going out of here, all revved up and ready… and then I have to patch you up when you come crawling back.”
“Not always mech, not always.” Jazz corrected, trying for a jokey tone. Ratchet stared at him.
“I know… outta here with a bang, and then I drag myself back in with a whimper.” Jazz spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, but ya knew that about me when we started.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.” Ratchet hissed, soldering a wire back into position. He replaced the plating with a little more force than necessary, feeling guilty as he caught Jazz’s wince.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ratchet typed in the code for his quarters, processor elsewhere. Which was probably why it took him a moment to realise that the lights were already on and Jazz was lying on his berth, foot tapping to some tune he was playing on his internal systems.
“Jazz?”
“Hey Ratch’.” Jazz sat up and smiled at Ratchet.
“Jazz, I’m not in the mood.” Ratchet turned to place the few datapads he’d brought back from the medbay on his desk.
“Not in the mood fer what?”
“For whatever you’ve got planned in that devious processor of yours.” Jazz slumped a little, mildly annoyed that Ratchet was on to his plan. But then of course, the routine was much the same after Jazz spent any time in the medbay. He would come to Ratchet’s quarters and reaffirm his existence. And Ratchet didn’t normally have a problem with that.
“Ya wound me mech, I’ve got nothing planned.” Jazz spread his hands out, palms up, placatingly. Ratchet huffed disbelievingly.
“You do the same thing each time you come back from a mission.” He neglected to mention that he needed it just as much as Jazz did. But then, knowing Jazz, he probably already knew that. Mech seemed to know everything.
“And, I don’t recall ya complainin’ before.”
“I’m… I’m sick of it Jazz. I hate seeing you go out, worrying how you’ll come back to me. And not even knowing what exactly you do out there.” He gestured angrily to the door, meaning outside the base.
“Ya know there’s a way you could solve that…” Jazz started to say.
“I’m not an officer, Jazz, I’m not privy to the same information you are.”
“You’re the Chief Medical Officer.” Jazz pointed out.
“In name only. I haven’t got the rank, and I don’t want the rank.”
“Yet ya want ta know what I get up to on my missions?” Jazz asked, well aware of the irony in Ratchet’s statement. He couldn’t have it both ways.
“I know.” Ratchet glared at him. “And before you say it, yes, I know it’s illogical, but that’s just the way it is.” He vented a sigh.
“Nah mech, the illogical thing is more Prowl’s game.” Jazz grinned patting the berth next to him. Ratchet vented another sigh, but crossed the room and sat down next to Jazz.
“Now, what do you say I ease your worries for a while?” Jazz asked, fingers smoothing along Ratchet’s thigh plating.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“How do you always manage to do that to me?” Ratchet murmured softly, arms wrapped around Jazz’s smaller frame.
“Because I’m just that good.” Jazz propped himself up over Ratchet’s windscreen and grinned at him. Ratchet shook his head.
“Seriously though Ratch’, I think I’ve got a solution ta yer problems.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. If ya wanna know what I’m up to… and ya have ta be serious about it. What we do ain’t always pretty.” Jazz warned. He might be jovial and carefree around the base, but on missions, he was deadly.
“I’m listening.” Ratchet prompted him to continue.
“I was thinking that we could get you permanently assigned as the Special Ops medic. That way you’d have ta know what we were up to.” Ratchet’s optics widened.
“I…”
“I don’t want an answer now, take some time ta think it over. It’s a big decision.”
“But what about the others…”
“You’d still be CMO, just… you’d be the only medic that Spec Ops have cleared to work on them.” It was a well known fact that most Spec Ops mechs had trust issues, which given what they often did was no surprise. Ratchet had been luckier than some medics in that he was able to treat them. But he suspected a lot of that came from his relationship with Jazz. Other medics weren’t nearly so lucky when it came to treating Spec Ops mechs.
“I don’t know Jazz…”
“That’s why I’m saying think about it. Not gonna be offended if you don’t take the position.”
“All right.” Ratchet nodded. “I’ll think about it.” In his spark, he didn’t know what he would do, but the thought of Jazz trying to make things easier for him made his spark pulse that little bit faster.