TF: Weighed Down
Rating: PG-13
Series: G1
Pairings: One sided Ratchet/Wheeljack
Summary: Ratchet tries to console himself after Wheeljack’s rejection.
Warnings: More angst, more self pity
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: For the tf_speedwriting Wednesday 28th July prompt 4 - Crosby, Stills Nash & Young - Helpless.
Feedback makes friends. Flames dealt with by the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno.
Prompt: 4
Time: 33 minutes
After Wheeljack’s rejection, Ratchet wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He’d finished the inventory, carried out the rest of his duty shift on automatic, not actually aware of what was really going on. Thankfully, there were no serious cases. Although he was sure he’d find out the repercussions for accidentally scratching Sunstreaker’s paint when he was fixing the Lamborghini’s axles. But he didn’t care about that. All he cared about was getting back to his quarters, locking the door and just… well, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
As it turned out, he didn’t do anything. Once he got back to his quarters, Ratchet found several cubes of high grade he’d stashed away, locked the door, turned off his comm and prepared to get thoroughly overcharged until he couldn’t remember making such a fool of himself.
Sat on his berth, halfway through the pile of high grade, Ratchet found himself thinking on the past, back to a time on Cybertron where life was so much easier. He let out a sob and curled up, wishing he could be back there now. Back in his own little practice, sitting outside on a fine evening, watching the moons rise in the sky and sipping Towers Blend high grade. Back before the Autobots and the war and Wheeljack.
He felt utterly helpless, frame wracked with silent sobs. Grieving over what could have been. He locked himself away in his memories, back when everything was calm. When he had no worries except wondering what his next patient might bring. No worrying about fixing injuries on or off a battlefield.
Sighing, Ratchet dragged another cube of high grade towards him, forcing himself to sit up and drink it. He wobbled unsteadily as his gyros adjusted sluggishly to the movement. His vision of a perfect Cybertron in the past darkened; dark shapes flashing across the sky, laser fire scorching the ground. He was overcharged enough that his processor couldn’t tell for a moment what was real and what was just a dream and he threw himself off the berth with a cry, diving for cover and scattering energon cubes in the process.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He woke up on the floor, curled up under his desk with a processor ache. Groaning, he heaved himself out of the confined space, joints creaking as he moved. Straightening, he looked around at his room, the energon cubes littered on the floor and the berth, some having leaked their contents.
“I give up.” He muttered to himself, dropping to his knees and picking up an empty cube. He stared at it helplessly for long moments before rousing himself to start cleaning.
He couldn’t even get overcharged right.