Fic: TFA - Let Me Help
Hello everybody!
Time's for a fic. So I give you the next part of the breastfeeding series based on TF: Animated, 'Love Them, Sooth Them'.
Speaking of which, I finished the 4th part of the other, 'The Wetnurse' which, for once, will be based on other characters, mainly *hints* a blue Seeker ;)
It should be posted soon.
For now, just enjoy Ratchet trying to wrestle Optimus down and help him deal with the events of 'Soothing the Pain'
Also posted here, over my account on AO3.
Title: Let Me Help
Continuity: Animated
Characters: Ratchet, Optimus, Arcee (in flashback)
Rating: M
Warnings: references to non-consensual breastfeeding, consensual breastfeeding, flashback, emotional hurt/comfort
Summary: Ratchet's old, but not a fool, and he's determined to help Optimus get better. The Prime might not want the help, but the medic will not be deterred from his goal. Even if it reminds him of old, bitter memories..
Words: 3313
Ratchet was old, true, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew very well Prime wasn’t as alright as he seemed to. He smiled for the rest of the team and did his duties without a hitch, but Ratchet knew. Oh yes, he just knew what was going on behind closed doors. The old medic knew the signs of a bad memory purge. He was used to them, after all, both for his patients and himself. He had to admit, Optimus was good at holding the illusion, but the fact remained he wasn’t fine by any sketch of the word.
More than one, he had been half-tempted to just barge in his team leader’s recharge room, shake some sense into him and force him to recharge in medical stasis after gorging on good, self-produced fuel. But he didn’t. In the end, Ratchet knew very well only time could really get the Prime to get over whatever trauma he had felt. However, it didn’t stop him to, each night cycle this planet had to offer, stand in front of Optimus’ room and wait for… well, he didn’t know what exactly. Perhaps some sign Optimus was finally recharging soundly. So far, however, there had been no sign of progress. It made the red and white Autobot to curse Lockdown’s name again and again.
Fragging son of a trash compactor always took what was precious to the medic…
A small sob coming from Optimus’ room made him pause in his silent ranting. Ratchet’s optics narrowed and he increased the volume of his audio receptors. Sure enough, listening carefully, he could hear Optimus’ tossing around and murmuring ‘no!’ again and again.
Oh, to the Pit with it!
Resolute, he pushed the door open without a second thought (and he really was happy that their rundown excuse for a base didn’t have locks like their quarters on Omega did; he really wasn’t in the mood to hack his way through security layers with medical override codes).
Sure enough, Optimus was half-aware on his berth, clenching and unclenching his hands again and again, chestplates opened… and pouches already starting to fill. Ratchet frowned a bit and scowled, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. He had seen that happen once or twice during the war, with mechas dealing with similar traumas. Sometimes, the purges were so bad they unconsciously affected a mech’s body. Optimus wasn’t an exception, it seemed.
Carefully, he approached the younger mech’s berth and sat on the edge, resisting the urge to pat the Prime. Optimus jerked at sensing him so close to him and jolted awake, optics wide and nearly white with fright and surprise. Ratchet quickly put his hands on the Prime’s shoulders to keep him from rising.
“Hush,” he murmured. “It’s just me, youngling. Just me,” he said softly. “Don’t panic.”
Optimus took a deep intake. “Ra… Ratchet? What are you…? What are you doing here?”
The medic shrugged. “Heard you moaning through the door and decided to do something about it. How’re you feeling?” He gave a quick look at Optimus’ parted chestplates. The Prime’s blue cheeked seemed to lose all colors and he closed abruptly his chest panels, heedless of his half filled pouches. He winced as it closed, suddenly very aware of a growing pressure.
Ratchet frowned at him. “You shouldn’t have done that. Better to first send a command for them to deplete first, or it’s very uncomfortable - as you just found out.” Optimus avoided his gaze, and Ratchet sighed. “Go ahead, send the command. They will not deplete by themselves now.”
“I…” Optimus started, before going silent. In the quiet following, it was easy for Ratchet to pick up the noises of overactive systems, shifting internal gears and energon dripping inside Optimus’ chest cavity. It seemed a good scrubbing would be in order in the morning. Out of habit, the medic run a scan over his leader’s frame and frowned at the results.
“Prime, when was the last time you refueled?”
Optimus looked at him a bit guiltily. “Just before going into recharge…” Ratchet looked at him with a raised optic ridge, not convinced. “Of course you did. And how much did you actually drink?”
The Prime didn’t answer, but Ratchet hadn’t expected him to. According to his scan, Optimus’ fuel levels were too low. Slagging overworking, prideful mech… And of course, there was no cube lying conveniently around for him to resolve the matter quickly and cleanly, no; he had to serve under the only officer he knew who didn’t indulge in private energon stash but actually only drank with the rest of the crew and only what they had (even if they hadn’t been stranded on a organic planet millions light-years away from Cybertron).
It was tugging at his professional conscience. Every sensor in his body had locked Optimus as a hurt, in need of care youngling. They wouldn’t let him rest as long as the younger mech hadn’t refueled and was once again peacefully in recharge. They wouldn’t just allow him to go and come back with a cube, either. They wanted the medic to act now. Ratchet made an irritated noise. Fragging medical protocols…
Optimus was going to hate that, he just knew. Getting him to feed the first time had been hard enough, but now? On the other hand, walking around in the middle of the night to go and search for an alternate source fuel would alert the other members of their team something was amiss. Prowl recharged lightly to say the least, and Ratchet didn’t fancy the clever ninjabot prying into what he considered what a private and medical matter.
Ratchet threw a rather exasperated but somehow understanding look at the Prime.
“You’re out to make my job harder, aren’t you?” he groused unhappily as he opened his chestplates and send a command to activate his feeding lines and expend his fuel pouches.
Optimus almost bolted. In fact, he would have, had Ratchet’s hands not firmly pressed him to his berth. “Ratchet! No!” he said, voice shaking slightly.
“Yes,” the medic answered simply, urging Optimus’ body upward in a sitting position and trying to make him press against him. “You need to refuel for my systems to let both you and me alone, and it’s the quickest way.”
“I don’t need it,” Optimus protested, trying to escape Ratchet’s grip. “Ratchet, release me, it’s an order!”
“Yes you do, and if you don’t remember, as a medical officer, I have the absolute ‘say so’ in anything regarding the health of this team. Meaning that I can override your orders if I deem it necessary for your well-being. Which I do,” Ratchet said with finality and manhandled the Prime, forcing him to press his face against one of his broad pouches.
Optimus cursed and tried to get away, but Ratchet’s handle was firm and inflexible. “Prime, stop acting like a spoiled, ill-tempered sparkling and suck, frag it!” Ratched groused. Drops of enriched energon were already starting to drip from his nubs, the tiny nozzles barely restraining the flows as Ratchet’s medical codes worked in a frenzy. But Optimus didn’t seem to hear him. His optics had taken a glassy quality Ratchet knew to associate with sudden flashbacks. “You’re not Lockdown!” he almost snarled. He was rewarded by Optimus stiffening in his arms.
It was a low blow, Ratchet knew, to invoke the bounty-hunter’s name, especially right now. But Optimus really needed to address the issue before it went out of hand.
More softly, the medic continued. “Seriously, Optimus. Do I have to repeat it again? It’s not going to hurt me, it’s not going to hurt you, it’s normal. I treated dozen of mechs both during and after the war like I’m doing now for you and this team, for a lot of different reasons. Some had become so paranoid they wouldn’t drink fuel otherwise; self-processed, enriched energon was the only one they could be sure hadn’t been tampered with. Some others, I had to because they couldn’t process normal energon anymore. Their tanks had been too damaged to hold normal rations. I know a couple of veterans still only refuel through feeding lines. Others, I had to because they needed someone to hold them and reassure them it was going to be alright and needed more comfort than interfacing would have procured to them. Most were older than you, older than me now, even. They were afraid, hurt, lost. A couple of them went through ordeals not unlike yours,” he said, and at Optimus’ startle, he added: “And no, I will not tell you who or when and what. It’s fall under my discretion and oaths as a medic. But suffice to say, some ‘Cons are… despicable, and far more brutal than Lockdown was with you. You’re lucky he didn’t do more damages.”
Optimus stilled. “Didn’t want to harm his bounty more than he needed, I suppose,” the red and blue mech whispered. Ratchet nodded grimly. “Probably. My point is, youngling, those feeding lines have seen lot of use, and never once it hurt me, and never once did it hurt anyone else. You, kid, are my patient. I just gave you the order to feed,” he added, raising his voice a little. Optimus’ optics widened.
He almost bared his dental plates ad he finished: “So, unless you want to go up and awake Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Prowl and Sari by walking down the halls to go pick a normal energon cube, you’re going to stay here and refuel like the doctor ordered you to!”
Optimus almost gulped. “Ratchet… I…” he started. Ratchet gave him a look, and the Prime sighed, finally defeated. Still, he was apprehensive, and just stayed quiet and staring for a while, lips near one of Ratchet’s nubs. The bright pink energon shining through the membrane of the pouch illuminated his face in an eerie way. Ratchet let him take his time. Neither of them was going anywhere, after all.
After what seemed to be hours, Optimus reluctantly took the nub in his mouth and started pressing if between his glossa and dental plates. Ratchet let out a small whine in answer, but his hands still held Optimus firmly against him. The Prime started suckling softly, at an unhurried pace, visibly still having second thought. His optics shuttered. Ratchet didn’t comment. Instead he just hummed comfortingly, knowing the Prime would feel more at ease if he was encouraged in subtle ways. The soft humming did the trick. Optimus started to relax and feed a bit more quickly, but still slow enough he would be doing so for a while.
It reminded Ratchet… Lockdown, Optimus, the feeling of someone holding to him, his feeding lines active in the dark… Yes, it really was familiar.
So, as Optimus started becoming bolder in his intake, Ratchet’s memories drifted back…
_-_-_-_-_-_
Although they had managed to evade the bounty hunter, it wasn’t the end of their problems. The walk back to the Autobots Headquarters was long, dangerous, and incredibly sad and tiring.
Ratchet had to dodge around shattered walls and patch of unleveled ground that might have hidden traps or were too unstable to walk on, avoid falling into deep holes leading to the lower levels of the planet, and avoid anything even vaguely resembling a Decepticon’s presence, all while keeping radio silence with the HQ, for fear of being detected by the wrong mechs. And all the while, he had to half-carry, half-drag the injured Arcee behind him. If only she had been able to hold her own, their progression would have been far easier. But the EMP generator had damaged so much of her memory banks that she was basically back to the mental state of a pre-programmed protoform straight out of the factory.
He gave her a quick once-over as they rested briefly under the shadow of some large debris’ piles. Darkness was spreading across the planet, but mechs were still busy shooting at each other somewhere in the background. They were close enough to hear the shots of canon and plasma enough, but far enough to not get caught in the conflict. They were still too close to the danger zone for Ratchet’s comfort, but they really needed a break before continuing. The medic knew there was a small, hidden Autobot outpost further to the north. He hoped to be able to reach it before more Decepticons’ troops landed in the area and request an emergency evacuation for Arcee and him. He didn’t think they would refuse, seeing as how Ultra Magnus had stressed how much needed Arcee’s access codes were. Of course, those access codes were far out of anyone reach at this point but perhaps, just perhaps a good medical facility could help the femme regain what she had lost.
Ratchet looked at his charge with a frown. Arcee was sitting on the ground, chin on her knees. She didn’t look fine to him. She had followed him quietly enough, understanding, even without Ratchet’s carefully enounced commands, that they were in a perilous situation, but the long walk had been hard for her. The stump of her left leg was obviously distressing her, despite the patch job Ratchet had made and the basic, temporary limb he had installed to help her move. Had he still had his EMP generator, he would have given her a small burst to relieve her of some of the pain. Sadly, his precious medical tool was now in the servos of that slagging bounty-hunter.
Luckily enough, if the fragger had taken his most powerful tool, he hadn’t taken the time to strip him off all his medical equipment and scanners. Slowly, he took one out of subspace and raised it toward Arcee, who titled her head as she watched him.
“What is it?” she asked, curious.
“Medical scanner,” he answered shortly.
“What is it for?”
“Checking if all your systems are working correctly. Can you hold still for a breem?” he asked her gently. The pink femme nodded. Ratchet activated the device and peered at the results. There was a lot of errors on the scans, coming from the shredded leg and the jolted processor, but he already knew about that and could hardly do anything more than what he had already done. There was a couple of other, minors problems, but he couldn’t do much about those either. He noted them carefully however, promising himself he would address them as soon as they could reach a medical facility. The last problem signaled by the scan was rather low fuel levels, and he frowned a bit.
“Arcee? Are you feeling low on energy?” he asked her. The femme looked puzzled. “I… I don’t know. How should I know?”
Ratchet tried to smile encouragingly, but he was feeling tired and dreadful. His patient didn’t even know what to look for, and he couldn’t help her as much as he wanted. It was sparkbreaking.
“Do you see little messages popping up in your CPU?” he asked her, and she nodded. “Do you have trouble walking? Trouble moving anything? Do your optics seem to be less efficient than they were when we started working?” She nodded again. “Then it means you need to refuel to help your systems running at a better speed. Come here,” he motioned for her to come near him.
Slowly, still puzzled, Arcee crawled on his hands and knees to reach the nice medical mech who was trying to get her to safety and who gave her a name. Arcee seemed a nice and good name for her. It was really nice of the medical mech to call her that. She looked curiously at him when she saw his chestplates part to reveal two round things that seemed to become bigger very quickly. They had a slight pink glow about them, and the femme looked at them strangely.
“What are those? What purpose do they serve?” he asked her new friend, who smiled tiredly at her.
“Those are my energon pouches, Arcee. They’re for refueling.”
The femme frowned, puzzled. How did one refuel from those things? The medic took her hand and made her sit in his laps, and Arcee took a better look at those ‘pouches’. They seemed to be made of some sort of elastic substance, and she could see energon flowing through small lines through the semi-opaque membrane. So that was why they glowed! She inspected the pouches some more, curious about their form, but she had gathered the essential of their use, or so she thought. Those pouches helped contain energon, and one drank it from a point at the peak of the rounded mound, determined by a small metallic device.
Carefully, Ratchet arranged her in his laps and instructed her. “Now Arcee, put the nub in your mouth, and start sucking on it. The energon is going to come flowing very soon, and you’ll feel much better.”
The pink femme nodded at him and pressed her ace against the medical ‘bot offered pouch. She really wasn’t too sure she was doing it right, but so far, the medical ‘bot hadn’t corrected her, so perhaps she was doing fine.
Ratchet watched her with some trepidation. A part of him was very aroused by the thought of such a cute femme doing something so intimate with him. Another part was screaming at him to put a lid on his attraction and libido, because she was a patient and he barely knew her anyway. And a last part was almost bursting with pride at seeing the little femme managing to refuel without too much other prompting. It was a pride one would have associated with a new creator watching the progress of his newly sparked creation.
That thought put a definite stop to all lustful thought he could have had right away.
It felt wrong, so wrong. Arcee, until they managed to get her processor back to its former state, was indeed barely more than a new creation. She didn’t need her medic starting to lust after her in those conditions.
She looked so frail and lost… He didn’t want to shower her with mixed signal. Until she was better, he was her doctor and her friend, just that.
“That’s right, Arcee… just like that,” he encouraged her softly. She didn’t look at him, too concentrated on getting more fuel out of his nubs. He didn’t mind. Gently, he continued to encourage her and reassure her.
They would need to go soon. The cannon shots in the distance had become far in between, the enemy seemed to have retired, but one couldn’t be too sure. They needed to reach the outpost as soon as possible. But for now, despite the dreadfulness of the situation, Ratchet was just content to let Arcee do as she wanted and needed…
_-_-_-_-_
Ratchet shook his head to clear his thought. Glancing down at Optimus, he saw that the Prime had closed his optics and was already halfway through his recharge cycle. Oddly enough, he hadn’t released his hold on Ratchet’s nub, even if no more energon flowed into his mouth.
Ratchet didn’t know if he wanted to snort, chuckle or grunt in annoyance. So much for rejoining his own berth tonight; after all the efforts he had put into making Optimus relax, refuel and recharge, he wasn’t about to jerk him awake suddenly by moving him away from his frame.
Huffing a bit but smirking all the way, he arranged himself more comfortably on the berth. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened to him, really. Sleeping in a sitting position wasn’t exactly comfortable of good for his joints, but he could do that once again if that meant his patient was getting what he needed.
Now, the big question was, once the morning came, would he tease the Prime about that or not?
Time's for a fic. So I give you the next part of the breastfeeding series based on TF: Animated, 'Love Them, Sooth Them'.
Speaking of which, I finished the 4th part of the other, 'The Wetnurse' which, for once, will be based on other characters, mainly *hints* a blue Seeker ;)
It should be posted soon.
For now, just enjoy Ratchet trying to wrestle Optimus down and help him deal with the events of 'Soothing the Pain'
Also posted here, over my account on AO3.
Title: Let Me Help
Continuity: Animated
Characters: Ratchet, Optimus, Arcee (in flashback)
Rating: M
Warnings: references to non-consensual breastfeeding, consensual breastfeeding, flashback, emotional hurt/comfort
Summary: Ratchet's old, but not a fool, and he's determined to help Optimus get better. The Prime might not want the help, but the medic will not be deterred from his goal. Even if it reminds him of old, bitter memories..
Words: 3313
Ratchet was old, true, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew very well Prime wasn’t as alright as he seemed to. He smiled for the rest of the team and did his duties without a hitch, but Ratchet knew. Oh yes, he just knew what was going on behind closed doors. The old medic knew the signs of a bad memory purge. He was used to them, after all, both for his patients and himself. He had to admit, Optimus was good at holding the illusion, but the fact remained he wasn’t fine by any sketch of the word.
More than one, he had been half-tempted to just barge in his team leader’s recharge room, shake some sense into him and force him to recharge in medical stasis after gorging on good, self-produced fuel. But he didn’t. In the end, Ratchet knew very well only time could really get the Prime to get over whatever trauma he had felt. However, it didn’t stop him to, each night cycle this planet had to offer, stand in front of Optimus’ room and wait for… well, he didn’t know what exactly. Perhaps some sign Optimus was finally recharging soundly. So far, however, there had been no sign of progress. It made the red and white Autobot to curse Lockdown’s name again and again.
Fragging son of a trash compactor always took what was precious to the medic…
A small sob coming from Optimus’ room made him pause in his silent ranting. Ratchet’s optics narrowed and he increased the volume of his audio receptors. Sure enough, listening carefully, he could hear Optimus’ tossing around and murmuring ‘no!’ again and again.
Oh, to the Pit with it!
Resolute, he pushed the door open without a second thought (and he really was happy that their rundown excuse for a base didn’t have locks like their quarters on Omega did; he really wasn’t in the mood to hack his way through security layers with medical override codes).
Sure enough, Optimus was half-aware on his berth, clenching and unclenching his hands again and again, chestplates opened… and pouches already starting to fill. Ratchet frowned a bit and scowled, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. He had seen that happen once or twice during the war, with mechas dealing with similar traumas. Sometimes, the purges were so bad they unconsciously affected a mech’s body. Optimus wasn’t an exception, it seemed.
Carefully, he approached the younger mech’s berth and sat on the edge, resisting the urge to pat the Prime. Optimus jerked at sensing him so close to him and jolted awake, optics wide and nearly white with fright and surprise. Ratchet quickly put his hands on the Prime’s shoulders to keep him from rising.
“Hush,” he murmured. “It’s just me, youngling. Just me,” he said softly. “Don’t panic.”
Optimus took a deep intake. “Ra… Ratchet? What are you…? What are you doing here?”
The medic shrugged. “Heard you moaning through the door and decided to do something about it. How’re you feeling?” He gave a quick look at Optimus’ parted chestplates. The Prime’s blue cheeked seemed to lose all colors and he closed abruptly his chest panels, heedless of his half filled pouches. He winced as it closed, suddenly very aware of a growing pressure.
Ratchet frowned at him. “You shouldn’t have done that. Better to first send a command for them to deplete first, or it’s very uncomfortable - as you just found out.” Optimus avoided his gaze, and Ratchet sighed. “Go ahead, send the command. They will not deplete by themselves now.”
“I…” Optimus started, before going silent. In the quiet following, it was easy for Ratchet to pick up the noises of overactive systems, shifting internal gears and energon dripping inside Optimus’ chest cavity. It seemed a good scrubbing would be in order in the morning. Out of habit, the medic run a scan over his leader’s frame and frowned at the results.
“Prime, when was the last time you refueled?”
Optimus looked at him a bit guiltily. “Just before going into recharge…” Ratchet looked at him with a raised optic ridge, not convinced. “Of course you did. And how much did you actually drink?”
The Prime didn’t answer, but Ratchet hadn’t expected him to. According to his scan, Optimus’ fuel levels were too low. Slagging overworking, prideful mech… And of course, there was no cube lying conveniently around for him to resolve the matter quickly and cleanly, no; he had to serve under the only officer he knew who didn’t indulge in private energon stash but actually only drank with the rest of the crew and only what they had (even if they hadn’t been stranded on a organic planet millions light-years away from Cybertron).
It was tugging at his professional conscience. Every sensor in his body had locked Optimus as a hurt, in need of care youngling. They wouldn’t let him rest as long as the younger mech hadn’t refueled and was once again peacefully in recharge. They wouldn’t just allow him to go and come back with a cube, either. They wanted the medic to act now. Ratchet made an irritated noise. Fragging medical protocols…
Optimus was going to hate that, he just knew. Getting him to feed the first time had been hard enough, but now? On the other hand, walking around in the middle of the night to go and search for an alternate source fuel would alert the other members of their team something was amiss. Prowl recharged lightly to say the least, and Ratchet didn’t fancy the clever ninjabot prying into what he considered what a private and medical matter.
Ratchet threw a rather exasperated but somehow understanding look at the Prime.
“You’re out to make my job harder, aren’t you?” he groused unhappily as he opened his chestplates and send a command to activate his feeding lines and expend his fuel pouches.
Optimus almost bolted. In fact, he would have, had Ratchet’s hands not firmly pressed him to his berth. “Ratchet! No!” he said, voice shaking slightly.
“Yes,” the medic answered simply, urging Optimus’ body upward in a sitting position and trying to make him press against him. “You need to refuel for my systems to let both you and me alone, and it’s the quickest way.”
“I don’t need it,” Optimus protested, trying to escape Ratchet’s grip. “Ratchet, release me, it’s an order!”
“Yes you do, and if you don’t remember, as a medical officer, I have the absolute ‘say so’ in anything regarding the health of this team. Meaning that I can override your orders if I deem it necessary for your well-being. Which I do,” Ratchet said with finality and manhandled the Prime, forcing him to press his face against one of his broad pouches.
Optimus cursed and tried to get away, but Ratchet’s handle was firm and inflexible. “Prime, stop acting like a spoiled, ill-tempered sparkling and suck, frag it!” Ratched groused. Drops of enriched energon were already starting to drip from his nubs, the tiny nozzles barely restraining the flows as Ratchet’s medical codes worked in a frenzy. But Optimus didn’t seem to hear him. His optics had taken a glassy quality Ratchet knew to associate with sudden flashbacks. “You’re not Lockdown!” he almost snarled. He was rewarded by Optimus stiffening in his arms.
It was a low blow, Ratchet knew, to invoke the bounty-hunter’s name, especially right now. But Optimus really needed to address the issue before it went out of hand.
More softly, the medic continued. “Seriously, Optimus. Do I have to repeat it again? It’s not going to hurt me, it’s not going to hurt you, it’s normal. I treated dozen of mechs both during and after the war like I’m doing now for you and this team, for a lot of different reasons. Some had become so paranoid they wouldn’t drink fuel otherwise; self-processed, enriched energon was the only one they could be sure hadn’t been tampered with. Some others, I had to because they couldn’t process normal energon anymore. Their tanks had been too damaged to hold normal rations. I know a couple of veterans still only refuel through feeding lines. Others, I had to because they needed someone to hold them and reassure them it was going to be alright and needed more comfort than interfacing would have procured to them. Most were older than you, older than me now, even. They were afraid, hurt, lost. A couple of them went through ordeals not unlike yours,” he said, and at Optimus’ startle, he added: “And no, I will not tell you who or when and what. It’s fall under my discretion and oaths as a medic. But suffice to say, some ‘Cons are… despicable, and far more brutal than Lockdown was with you. You’re lucky he didn’t do more damages.”
Optimus stilled. “Didn’t want to harm his bounty more than he needed, I suppose,” the red and blue mech whispered. Ratchet nodded grimly. “Probably. My point is, youngling, those feeding lines have seen lot of use, and never once it hurt me, and never once did it hurt anyone else. You, kid, are my patient. I just gave you the order to feed,” he added, raising his voice a little. Optimus’ optics widened.
He almost bared his dental plates ad he finished: “So, unless you want to go up and awake Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Prowl and Sari by walking down the halls to go pick a normal energon cube, you’re going to stay here and refuel like the doctor ordered you to!”
Optimus almost gulped. “Ratchet… I…” he started. Ratchet gave him a look, and the Prime sighed, finally defeated. Still, he was apprehensive, and just stayed quiet and staring for a while, lips near one of Ratchet’s nubs. The bright pink energon shining through the membrane of the pouch illuminated his face in an eerie way. Ratchet let him take his time. Neither of them was going anywhere, after all.
After what seemed to be hours, Optimus reluctantly took the nub in his mouth and started pressing if between his glossa and dental plates. Ratchet let out a small whine in answer, but his hands still held Optimus firmly against him. The Prime started suckling softly, at an unhurried pace, visibly still having second thought. His optics shuttered. Ratchet didn’t comment. Instead he just hummed comfortingly, knowing the Prime would feel more at ease if he was encouraged in subtle ways. The soft humming did the trick. Optimus started to relax and feed a bit more quickly, but still slow enough he would be doing so for a while.
It reminded Ratchet… Lockdown, Optimus, the feeling of someone holding to him, his feeding lines active in the dark… Yes, it really was familiar.
So, as Optimus started becoming bolder in his intake, Ratchet’s memories drifted back…
_-_-_-_-_-_
Although they had managed to evade the bounty hunter, it wasn’t the end of their problems. The walk back to the Autobots Headquarters was long, dangerous, and incredibly sad and tiring.
Ratchet had to dodge around shattered walls and patch of unleveled ground that might have hidden traps or were too unstable to walk on, avoid falling into deep holes leading to the lower levels of the planet, and avoid anything even vaguely resembling a Decepticon’s presence, all while keeping radio silence with the HQ, for fear of being detected by the wrong mechs. And all the while, he had to half-carry, half-drag the injured Arcee behind him. If only she had been able to hold her own, their progression would have been far easier. But the EMP generator had damaged so much of her memory banks that she was basically back to the mental state of a pre-programmed protoform straight out of the factory.
He gave her a quick once-over as they rested briefly under the shadow of some large debris’ piles. Darkness was spreading across the planet, but mechs were still busy shooting at each other somewhere in the background. They were close enough to hear the shots of canon and plasma enough, but far enough to not get caught in the conflict. They were still too close to the danger zone for Ratchet’s comfort, but they really needed a break before continuing. The medic knew there was a small, hidden Autobot outpost further to the north. He hoped to be able to reach it before more Decepticons’ troops landed in the area and request an emergency evacuation for Arcee and him. He didn’t think they would refuse, seeing as how Ultra Magnus had stressed how much needed Arcee’s access codes were. Of course, those access codes were far out of anyone reach at this point but perhaps, just perhaps a good medical facility could help the femme regain what she had lost.
Ratchet looked at his charge with a frown. Arcee was sitting on the ground, chin on her knees. She didn’t look fine to him. She had followed him quietly enough, understanding, even without Ratchet’s carefully enounced commands, that they were in a perilous situation, but the long walk had been hard for her. The stump of her left leg was obviously distressing her, despite the patch job Ratchet had made and the basic, temporary limb he had installed to help her move. Had he still had his EMP generator, he would have given her a small burst to relieve her of some of the pain. Sadly, his precious medical tool was now in the servos of that slagging bounty-hunter.
Luckily enough, if the fragger had taken his most powerful tool, he hadn’t taken the time to strip him off all his medical equipment and scanners. Slowly, he took one out of subspace and raised it toward Arcee, who titled her head as she watched him.
“What is it?” she asked, curious.
“Medical scanner,” he answered shortly.
“What is it for?”
“Checking if all your systems are working correctly. Can you hold still for a breem?” he asked her gently. The pink femme nodded. Ratchet activated the device and peered at the results. There was a lot of errors on the scans, coming from the shredded leg and the jolted processor, but he already knew about that and could hardly do anything more than what he had already done. There was a couple of other, minors problems, but he couldn’t do much about those either. He noted them carefully however, promising himself he would address them as soon as they could reach a medical facility. The last problem signaled by the scan was rather low fuel levels, and he frowned a bit.
“Arcee? Are you feeling low on energy?” he asked her. The femme looked puzzled. “I… I don’t know. How should I know?”
Ratchet tried to smile encouragingly, but he was feeling tired and dreadful. His patient didn’t even know what to look for, and he couldn’t help her as much as he wanted. It was sparkbreaking.
“Do you see little messages popping up in your CPU?” he asked her, and she nodded. “Do you have trouble walking? Trouble moving anything? Do your optics seem to be less efficient than they were when we started working?” She nodded again. “Then it means you need to refuel to help your systems running at a better speed. Come here,” he motioned for her to come near him.
Slowly, still puzzled, Arcee crawled on his hands and knees to reach the nice medical mech who was trying to get her to safety and who gave her a name. Arcee seemed a nice and good name for her. It was really nice of the medical mech to call her that. She looked curiously at him when she saw his chestplates part to reveal two round things that seemed to become bigger very quickly. They had a slight pink glow about them, and the femme looked at them strangely.
“What are those? What purpose do they serve?” he asked her new friend, who smiled tiredly at her.
“Those are my energon pouches, Arcee. They’re for refueling.”
The femme frowned, puzzled. How did one refuel from those things? The medic took her hand and made her sit in his laps, and Arcee took a better look at those ‘pouches’. They seemed to be made of some sort of elastic substance, and she could see energon flowing through small lines through the semi-opaque membrane. So that was why they glowed! She inspected the pouches some more, curious about their form, but she had gathered the essential of their use, or so she thought. Those pouches helped contain energon, and one drank it from a point at the peak of the rounded mound, determined by a small metallic device.
Carefully, Ratchet arranged her in his laps and instructed her. “Now Arcee, put the nub in your mouth, and start sucking on it. The energon is going to come flowing very soon, and you’ll feel much better.”
The pink femme nodded at him and pressed her ace against the medical ‘bot offered pouch. She really wasn’t too sure she was doing it right, but so far, the medical ‘bot hadn’t corrected her, so perhaps she was doing fine.
Ratchet watched her with some trepidation. A part of him was very aroused by the thought of such a cute femme doing something so intimate with him. Another part was screaming at him to put a lid on his attraction and libido, because she was a patient and he barely knew her anyway. And a last part was almost bursting with pride at seeing the little femme managing to refuel without too much other prompting. It was a pride one would have associated with a new creator watching the progress of his newly sparked creation.
That thought put a definite stop to all lustful thought he could have had right away.
It felt wrong, so wrong. Arcee, until they managed to get her processor back to its former state, was indeed barely more than a new creation. She didn’t need her medic starting to lust after her in those conditions.
She looked so frail and lost… He didn’t want to shower her with mixed signal. Until she was better, he was her doctor and her friend, just that.
“That’s right, Arcee… just like that,” he encouraged her softly. She didn’t look at him, too concentrated on getting more fuel out of his nubs. He didn’t mind. Gently, he continued to encourage her and reassure her.
They would need to go soon. The cannon shots in the distance had become far in between, the enemy seemed to have retired, but one couldn’t be too sure. They needed to reach the outpost as soon as possible. But for now, despite the dreadfulness of the situation, Ratchet was just content to let Arcee do as she wanted and needed…
_-_-_-_-_
Ratchet shook his head to clear his thought. Glancing down at Optimus, he saw that the Prime had closed his optics and was already halfway through his recharge cycle. Oddly enough, he hadn’t released his hold on Ratchet’s nub, even if no more energon flowed into his mouth.
Ratchet didn’t know if he wanted to snort, chuckle or grunt in annoyance. So much for rejoining his own berth tonight; after all the efforts he had put into making Optimus relax, refuel and recharge, he wasn’t about to jerk him awake suddenly by moving him away from his frame.
Huffing a bit but smirking all the way, he arranged himself more comfortably on the berth. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened to him, really. Sleeping in a sitting position wasn’t exactly comfortable of good for his joints, but he could do that once again if that meant his patient was getting what he needed.
Now, the big question was, once the morning came, would he tease the Prime about that or not?