TF: Broken
Rating: PG
Series: G1
Pairings: Ironhide/Ratchet
Summary: Interfacing until Ratchet was in recharge sounded like a good idea at the time, but Ironhide soon realises that all may not be well
Warnings: Fluff… and vague references to intimate behavior
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…
Feedback makes friends. Flames dealt with by the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno.
Authors Notes: Written for
mmouse15 who is currently ill… Ratchet sympathises… and I don’t mean to play on your illness, but the idea of Ratchet walking into a wall amused me… Here’s hoping you feel better soon sweetie!
Ironhide answered Wheeljack’s urgent summons, a sinking feeling in his spark as he made his way to the medical bay. As soon as he stepped through the doors, he knew he shouldn’t have bothered. The look the Chief Medical Officer turned on him before glaring at Wheeljack told him everything.
“That’s cheating.” He stated flatly. Ironhide wisely didn’t say anything.
“If it’s what it takes to get you out of here and for you to get some recharge, then I’ll do it. Hang the consequences.” Wheeljack added quickly, taking note of the murderous glint in Ratchet’s optics.
“Er… Ratch’?” Ironhide’s southern drawl drew the medic’s attention away from the engineer and towards his mate.
“Fine!” Ratchet threw his arms in the air and stalked towards Ironhide. “According to our esteemed engineer who thinks he knows more about Cybertronian processes than I do, you need to take me back to our quarters, feed me, overload me and make sure I get a full night’s recharge. In that order.” Ironhide merely looked over to the aforementioned engineer for confirmation. Wheeljack nodded, head fins flashing an amused color.
“Well that I can certainly manage.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wheeljack watched them leave and vented a sigh of relief. While it was true that calling Ironhide was a dirty move, he had to admit it certainly worked. The effect the old warrior had on the medic was something amazing to behold. He shook his head and left the medical bay in First Aid’s capable hands, fully intending to complete the latest invention he had been working on.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As Ironhide shepherded Ratchet back to their quarters, his processor was desperately working out how long the medic had been on duty for. When he worked out the answer, he immediately started computing it again, convinced it was wrong. He hadn’t seriously been on duty for that many days? He shook his head and decided that his plan of action would be the ever reliable ‘interface until Ratchet shutdown’ method; one of the decidedly more enjoyable ways of getting the medic to relax.
It was all going so well, Ironhide reflected. He’d gotten Ratchet back to their quarters with little argument. A few choice energon cubes and the medic was more energised and certainly more than willing to indulge in some ‘off-duty’ activities. The problem arose as they were lying together on the berth, systems slowly revving down while their cooling fans cooled their overheated frames. To begin with, Ironhide couldn’t place the vague sense that something wasn’t quite right. He tilted his head to get a better audio response of the area surrounding him. That was when he noticed it; the slight disharmony in the rumblings of Ratchet’s engines and the way his cooling system was doing nothing to cool his chassis.
“Ratchet?” No response. He tried again, raising his volume whilst nudging at the mech curled up against his side. Ratchet’s plating was still incredibly warm to the touch; far warmer than it should have been, even given their previous activities.
“Ratchet?” He finally got a response, though it was nothing more than a slightly strangled moan. Ratchet shifted slightly, groaning as he did so. Ironhide certainly didn’t like this situation. Reluctantly, he did the only thing he could think to do.
He comm’d Wheeljack.
“’Jack?”
“Mmmm… Ironhide?” Wheeljack answered the internal comm. absently, carefully rotating his latest experiment to study it from all angles. “You interfaced him into recharge yet?”
“I think I broke him…” Ironhide could hear nothing but silence for a few seconds before a muffled explosion echoed through his audios. Wheeljack came back on the line with a weak vocaliser.
“You... broke him…?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“It’s just a simple virus.”
“You slagging well stick it in your systems and tell me it’s anything but simple.” Ratchet groused as best he could from his prone position on the berth. How he would live this down, he had yet to work out; the indignity of being carried down to his own medical bay by his bondmate followed immediately by the diagnosis that he had caught a virus. A virus that even his advanced and well-protected systems had no defence against.
“Now now Ratch’.” Ratchet glared up at his mate, until his optics protested the light and he turned his head, grumbling. He was well aware that Ironhide was only trying to comfort him, but even the slightest sound was causing his audios to ring unpleasantly.
“His systems will take care of it, they’ve just got to be allowed the time to write the appropriate defences.”
“And it ain’t contagious?”
“Not that I can see. Solely confined within our dear CMO here.” Wheeljack said, sympathetically patting Ratchet’s shoulder, which earned him a growl. He hastily withdrew his hand. “He’s all yours. My advice? Take him back to your quarters, turn off all the lights and sit quietly until he’s better.” Against his better judgement, Ratchet started to laugh, only to break off groaning. The mere thought of Ironhide sitting quietly was amusing. Ironhide seemed to know exactly what his bondmate was thinking and tapped him gently on the side of the helmet.
“No laughing or I’ll carry ya back over my shoulder.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ratchet was beginning to decide that he could like having a virus. If it wasn’t for the fact that every single circuit and wire pulsed with a dull pain, and his gyros weren’t calibrating themselves properly which meant he couldn’t stand up straight. Ironhide had finally stopped laughing after the last time Ratchet had tried to stand up and had promptly walked into a wall. Ratchet also didn’t like the external temperature of his plating, which Ironhide told him was very hot, completely contrary to the readings he was getting that said he was very cold indeed. Still, it gave him a perfect excuse to snuggle up to the red warrior. At least until his temperature sensors told him he was too warm, which meant he had to move away and wait for his cooling fans to kick in. Which invariably led to him feeling too cold, regardless of what his temperature sensors said, meaning he would cuddle up against Ironhide once again.
Definitely, if it wasn’t for all those annoying interferences, he could quite happily cope with being ‘ill’.
“Now how’s about you try some more energon?” Ironhide coaxed. Reluctantly Ratchet allowed Ironhide to help him sit up, clutching weakly at the other as the room spun. Wisely, Ironhide had placed a large bucket and several cleaning cloths close at hand, learning from the last time Ratchet had tried to eat. Apparently, his systems were so concentrated on removing the virus that his energon converter wasn’t working. Which meant that anything he tried to eat or drink was soon purged from his fuel tanks.
Carefully, Ironhide helped Ratchet with his energon, bracing himself for its spectacular return. He hadn’t really wanted to know what color unprocessed energon was, but he found out anyway. And found out that it didn’t mix well with red paint.
Seemingly, the energon was going to stay where it belonged this time and Ironhide vented a sigh of relief; one that was echoed by the medic. Ratchet shifted slightly, getting more comfortable against Ironhide before offlining his optics, listening to his fuel tanks processing the energon. The natural processes of his chassis were comforting and he relaxed against Ironhide, hoping to Primus that this was the start of his recovery.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“No, I could not care a fragging damn. I have spent the last four days in my quarters and I am slagging well going outside!” Ironhide actually stepped back as Ratchet advanced towards him, one finger raised threateningly in the air.
“I think you might be fixed now Ratch’.” Ironhide was inordinately pleased that his bondmate was back on his feet. Four days of the medic groaning and pleading with him to be deactivated, culminating in the show of unprocessed energon all over his chassis was enough to fray even his legendary patience. He wrapped one arm around Ratchet and led them both outside, the fresh air wafting gently across their chassis.
“Thank you.” He heard Ratchet murmur.
“Nothin’ to it.”