Please enjoy!
In a desperate attempt to get myself to leave this alone and move on to the next 'chapter' I'm posting this now. Hey, if it's posted there's no need to tweak or add to it, right? Right?! There's a minimum of five that follow this and I even have them outlined so there's a good chance of them getting posted in the near future. (It's my belief that procrastination is a disease. No, really! I'm supposed to be job hunting right now.)
Title : First Meeting
Author : english_enigma
Rating : PG for general descriptions of wounds resulting from warfare.
Disclaimer : None of the characters in this story are mine and I am making no money from it.
Summery : Ratchet meet Ironehide, you're going to be good friends. No really!
Ratchet had only been working as a senior medic on the battlefield for a few vorns but it was running him down. It was definitely his calling to help mechs too damaged for self repair but the warriors attitudes could be trying at times. They only seemed interested in a quick fix, not allowing the necessary time for a full repair. All it meant was that they came back when they wouldn’t have needed to. The current field medical officer that he was working under just told them to do as much as they could before the warriors went back out.
Ratchet tried to have patience, he really did, but they all seemed to have severe CPU malfunctions. Sometimes he just wanted to knock some sense into them.
He was currently scheduled to the med berths set up outside the med center ship to deal with triage and non-critical damage. He had recently finished a limb reattachment and was cleaning up the mess that always resulted from such procedures. Wiping the spilled fluids down the table he noticed a group of heavy artillery mechs approach the field medbay, dragging what looked like large chunks of scrap, laughing and joking as they moved.
“Just pile the rebuild scrap over there; someone will go through it later,” Ratchet told them barely glancing up from his work. The group stopped and then, as one, started laughing.
“This is one of our unit,” a deep blue mech holding an arm explained. “We’re not sure what they hit him with but we thought he was chasing down the seekers he flew so high. We’re pretty sure we got all his pieces and we clamped off all the energon lines we could get to. He seems pretty stable so if you’ve time to weld his sorry aft together we can go back and get one of those missiles for ourselves.” Ratchet stood in shock staring at the mechs in front of him.
“You want to take a critically damaged mech back into the field to look for the weapon that blew him into multiple parts, if I have time to weld him back together?” Ratchet asked incredulously.
“It’s not that bad. Just a few dents and scratches,” a static broken voice interjected. The voice came from Ratchet’s right and he turned to see what appeared to be most of an upper torso, luckily with the spark compartment still intact, being dragged by a light green mech. Although the cranial unit was still attached, it was indeed dented and scratched. Ratchet dropped his cleaning equipment.
“You’re still online?!” The junior medic’s increasing volume was starting to attract attention and the unit was starting to seem less sure of themselves, one or two slowly edging away from the excitable mech.
“The whole time, apart from a small memory error during the explosion,” the partial mech calmly explained. Ratchet commandeered a nearby supply shuttle telling him to prep for immediate takeoff.
“Everyone that has a piece put it on that transport,” Ratchet ordered. The field medical staff watched in surprise as the heavy artillery unit complied with loading their colleague. “What were you thinking dragging him all the way back here in this state? That’s what medevacs are for. Next time someone in your unit gets blown up you’d better call for medical help or, Primus help you, I’ll come looking for you myself!” The medics order fulfilled, the unit hurried back towards the front line.
Ratchet boarded the transport with the unfortunate mech and began checking the field repairs as they traveled to a more thoroughly equipped station. The main severed lines were indeed clamped.
“It looks like they used your own armor and crushed it over the severed ends,” he murmured half to himself.
“Yup, they’re a pretty resourceful group. They’ve learned to use what they’ve got,” the mech said with a hint of pride as he was being inspected.
“Which is obviously not intelligence,” Ratchet took a moment to regain his calm. “They damaged even more of the line doing so. Meaning more of the lines will need replacing, now.”
“Give them a break. They haven’t had all your extensive programming. They kept me here long enough to be repaired didn’t they?”
“That is coincidence; they could have just as easily off lined you faster.”
“But they didn’t,” the mech pointed out.
“Will you stop arguing with me? If I’m able to dedicate all my processing capabilities to figuring out this puzzle you call a frame I might know how to start piecing you back together with minimal system replacement.”
The cranial unit fell silent and Ratchet quickly became absorbed in the routine of critical system repairs as his CPU whirled. The dismembered mech had only shuttle plating in visual range so instead he concentrated on the occasional mutterings coming from the busy medic.
* * *
Ratchet was highly focused on rewiring limbs to attach to the newly prepped thoracic unit. It would have been easier to refit him with new limbs but the specialized equipment would be almost impossible to duplicate without the necessary supplies.
“Is there any hope, Medic?”
Ratchet glanced over at the mech laid out with lines and monitors hooked up to every spare port. “You shouldn’t be online yet,” he replied quietly before returning to his work.
“Does that mean I’m scrap?” the mech asked after a moments hesitation.
“No, it means that I’m still working and it would be easier for you if you were still in stasis,” Ratchet explained. The mech was silent for a long time. Ratchet was reattaching the first of his lower limbs when he spoke up again.
“Will I make it back into the field?” the mech asked softly.
“I have no doubt you’ll be back to terrorizing Decepticons again in no time,” Ratchet replied flippantly.
“I’m serious, Medic. I need to know if I’ll be able to fight again.” The hint of desperation Ratchet caught in the mechs optics stilled his hands.
“My name is Ratchet, not Medic, and if I say you’ll fight Decepticons again it means that you will,” Ratchet told him. The mech on the table looked a little longer before tilting his head in acceptance.
“I’m Ironhide. I’ve known mechs that were dragged off the battle field. Some medics do enough to make them functional and think that the job’s done. They don’t worry about their lost specialization. I can’t end up as nothing more than cannon fodder.”
“Your unit went to a lot of trouble to collect most of your pieces. They didn’t miss anything that can’t be refabricated. A more critical patient or laziness would be the only reasons for not doing the work. There’s no reason for you to be unable to rejoin a heavy artillery unit again but you do need to give me time to work. Some of the weapon systems are non-functional and a lot of your electrical system needs to be completely replaced.”
“As long as I know I’ll be going back I can be patient,” Ironhide said.
* * *
“Aren’t you done yet, Medic?” Ironhide complained. Ratchet, having heard the question many times before didn’t even look up from his work.
“I can finish right now, if you’d like. There is a real possibility that your left arm will fall off the first time you try to use your cannons, though.” There was a hint of smugness to his stance as Ironhide fell silent.
“Really, how long is this going to take?” Ironhide asked after only a few moments of silence.
“It’ll take as long as it takes. Maybe, while you’re waiting, you should install some subroutines on how to duck for next time,” Ratchet answered with some bite at the end.
“I don’t know why you medics complain all the time we’re the ones getting shot and blown up.”
Ratchet stopped and looked Ironhide in the optics, his vocalizer crackling before clearing. “You think the Decepticons are going to spare us because we’re medics? We fix the mechs they’re fighting. ‘Cons have a price out on our heads; special privileges to the mechs that wipe out Autobot medics. So don’t try to tell me we’ve got nothing to complain about.” He stayed staring at Ironhide, only turning back to his task when it was clear that the mech was going to stay silent.
* * *
Ratchet stood still in bemusement. He had finally finished work on the mech Ironhide, much to the relief of them both, and had been visited by the Station Chief Medical Officer. After looking at the medical reports and seeing the extent of the work Ratchet had done he had offered him a promotion. One of the field stations further back from the front lines was in need of a replacement Station Medical Officer to oversee work such as this. Ratchet had accepted and as word traveled a few of the med station’s Senior Medics crowded the small medbay room to congratulate him on his achievement.
As the crowd filtered back out of the room and he was left standing on his own he noticed Ironhide standing against the wall by the doors. Seeing that he’d been noticed he walked over to Ratchet.
“Well, Medic, I didn’t understand half of what they’ve been saying about the work you did on my systems. I do know that I’m in one piece and running better than I have in a while, and I wanted to thank you.” There was an awkward silence as Ratchet stared at Ironhide. He wasn’t used to seeing the mechs he repaired afterwards, usually being rushed away to the next critical patient.
“It was just rewiring and replacing circuitry with a few refabricated pieces and a little frame straightening. It’s not like I engineered anything.” Ratchet explained looking away from the grateful mech in front of him.
“Hmm,” Ironhide smiled. “I’m shipping back to the front line but before I left I wanted you to know that all the mechs out there appreciate what you do for them.” The large mech turned and walked away leaving a surprised medic staring after him.
Title : First Meeting
Author : english_enigma
Rating : PG for general descriptions of wounds resulting from warfare.
Disclaimer : None of the characters in this story are mine and I am making no money from it.
Summery : Ratchet meet Ironehide, you're going to be good friends. No really!
Ratchet had only been working as a senior medic on the battlefield for a few vorns but it was running him down. It was definitely his calling to help mechs too damaged for self repair but the warriors attitudes could be trying at times. They only seemed interested in a quick fix, not allowing the necessary time for a full repair. All it meant was that they came back when they wouldn’t have needed to. The current field medical officer that he was working under just told them to do as much as they could before the warriors went back out.
Ratchet tried to have patience, he really did, but they all seemed to have severe CPU malfunctions. Sometimes he just wanted to knock some sense into them.
He was currently scheduled to the med berths set up outside the med center ship to deal with triage and non-critical damage. He had recently finished a limb reattachment and was cleaning up the mess that always resulted from such procedures. Wiping the spilled fluids down the table he noticed a group of heavy artillery mechs approach the field medbay, dragging what looked like large chunks of scrap, laughing and joking as they moved.
“Just pile the rebuild scrap over there; someone will go through it later,” Ratchet told them barely glancing up from his work. The group stopped and then, as one, started laughing.
“This is one of our unit,” a deep blue mech holding an arm explained. “We’re not sure what they hit him with but we thought he was chasing down the seekers he flew so high. We’re pretty sure we got all his pieces and we clamped off all the energon lines we could get to. He seems pretty stable so if you’ve time to weld his sorry aft together we can go back and get one of those missiles for ourselves.” Ratchet stood in shock staring at the mechs in front of him.
“You want to take a critically damaged mech back into the field to look for the weapon that blew him into multiple parts, if I have time to weld him back together?” Ratchet asked incredulously.
“It’s not that bad. Just a few dents and scratches,” a static broken voice interjected. The voice came from Ratchet’s right and he turned to see what appeared to be most of an upper torso, luckily with the spark compartment still intact, being dragged by a light green mech. Although the cranial unit was still attached, it was indeed dented and scratched. Ratchet dropped his cleaning equipment.
“You’re still online?!” The junior medic’s increasing volume was starting to attract attention and the unit was starting to seem less sure of themselves, one or two slowly edging away from the excitable mech.
“The whole time, apart from a small memory error during the explosion,” the partial mech calmly explained. Ratchet commandeered a nearby supply shuttle telling him to prep for immediate takeoff.
“Everyone that has a piece put it on that transport,” Ratchet ordered. The field medical staff watched in surprise as the heavy artillery unit complied with loading their colleague. “What were you thinking dragging him all the way back here in this state? That’s what medevacs are for. Next time someone in your unit gets blown up you’d better call for medical help or, Primus help you, I’ll come looking for you myself!” The medics order fulfilled, the unit hurried back towards the front line.
Ratchet boarded the transport with the unfortunate mech and began checking the field repairs as they traveled to a more thoroughly equipped station. The main severed lines were indeed clamped.
“It looks like they used your own armor and crushed it over the severed ends,” he murmured half to himself.
“Yup, they’re a pretty resourceful group. They’ve learned to use what they’ve got,” the mech said with a hint of pride as he was being inspected.
“Which is obviously not intelligence,” Ratchet took a moment to regain his calm. “They damaged even more of the line doing so. Meaning more of the lines will need replacing, now.”
“Give them a break. They haven’t had all your extensive programming. They kept me here long enough to be repaired didn’t they?”
“That is coincidence; they could have just as easily off lined you faster.”
“But they didn’t,” the mech pointed out.
“Will you stop arguing with me? If I’m able to dedicate all my processing capabilities to figuring out this puzzle you call a frame I might know how to start piecing you back together with minimal system replacement.”
The cranial unit fell silent and Ratchet quickly became absorbed in the routine of critical system repairs as his CPU whirled. The dismembered mech had only shuttle plating in visual range so instead he concentrated on the occasional mutterings coming from the busy medic.
* * *
Ratchet was highly focused on rewiring limbs to attach to the newly prepped thoracic unit. It would have been easier to refit him with new limbs but the specialized equipment would be almost impossible to duplicate without the necessary supplies.
“Is there any hope, Medic?”
Ratchet glanced over at the mech laid out with lines and monitors hooked up to every spare port. “You shouldn’t be online yet,” he replied quietly before returning to his work.
“Does that mean I’m scrap?” the mech asked after a moments hesitation.
“No, it means that I’m still working and it would be easier for you if you were still in stasis,” Ratchet explained. The mech was silent for a long time. Ratchet was reattaching the first of his lower limbs when he spoke up again.
“Will I make it back into the field?” the mech asked softly.
“I have no doubt you’ll be back to terrorizing Decepticons again in no time,” Ratchet replied flippantly.
“I’m serious, Medic. I need to know if I’ll be able to fight again.” The hint of desperation Ratchet caught in the mechs optics stilled his hands.
“My name is Ratchet, not Medic, and if I say you’ll fight Decepticons again it means that you will,” Ratchet told him. The mech on the table looked a little longer before tilting his head in acceptance.
“I’m Ironhide. I’ve known mechs that were dragged off the battle field. Some medics do enough to make them functional and think that the job’s done. They don’t worry about their lost specialization. I can’t end up as nothing more than cannon fodder.”
“Your unit went to a lot of trouble to collect most of your pieces. They didn’t miss anything that can’t be refabricated. A more critical patient or laziness would be the only reasons for not doing the work. There’s no reason for you to be unable to rejoin a heavy artillery unit again but you do need to give me time to work. Some of the weapon systems are non-functional and a lot of your electrical system needs to be completely replaced.”
“As long as I know I’ll be going back I can be patient,” Ironhide said.
* * *
“Aren’t you done yet, Medic?” Ironhide complained. Ratchet, having heard the question many times before didn’t even look up from his work.
“I can finish right now, if you’d like. There is a real possibility that your left arm will fall off the first time you try to use your cannons, though.” There was a hint of smugness to his stance as Ironhide fell silent.
“Really, how long is this going to take?” Ironhide asked after only a few moments of silence.
“It’ll take as long as it takes. Maybe, while you’re waiting, you should install some subroutines on how to duck for next time,” Ratchet answered with some bite at the end.
“I don’t know why you medics complain all the time we’re the ones getting shot and blown up.”
Ratchet stopped and looked Ironhide in the optics, his vocalizer crackling before clearing. “You think the Decepticons are going to spare us because we’re medics? We fix the mechs they’re fighting. ‘Cons have a price out on our heads; special privileges to the mechs that wipe out Autobot medics. So don’t try to tell me we’ve got nothing to complain about.” He stayed staring at Ironhide, only turning back to his task when it was clear that the mech was going to stay silent.
* * *
Ratchet stood still in bemusement. He had finally finished work on the mech Ironhide, much to the relief of them both, and had been visited by the Station Chief Medical Officer. After looking at the medical reports and seeing the extent of the work Ratchet had done he had offered him a promotion. One of the field stations further back from the front lines was in need of a replacement Station Medical Officer to oversee work such as this. Ratchet had accepted and as word traveled a few of the med station’s Senior Medics crowded the small medbay room to congratulate him on his achievement.
As the crowd filtered back out of the room and he was left standing on his own he noticed Ironhide standing against the wall by the doors. Seeing that he’d been noticed he walked over to Ratchet.
“Well, Medic, I didn’t understand half of what they’ve been saying about the work you did on my systems. I do know that I’m in one piece and running better than I have in a while, and I wanted to thank you.” There was an awkward silence as Ratchet stared at Ironhide. He wasn’t used to seeing the mechs he repaired afterwards, usually being rushed away to the next critical patient.
“It was just rewiring and replacing circuitry with a few refabricated pieces and a little frame straightening. It’s not like I engineered anything.” Ratchet explained looking away from the grateful mech in front of him.
“Hmm,” Ironhide smiled. “I’m shipping back to the front line but before I left I wanted you to know that all the mechs out there appreciate what you do for them.” The large mech turned and walked away leaving a surprised medic staring after him.