News to Me
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers. They officially belong to Hasbro and Takara. I'm taking them for a short spin.
The humans' season of Christmas, and it was turning into what Lennox was calling a "Charlie Foxtrot." Prowl agreed, for reasons both personal and professional. Two weeks before the holiday, and the base personnel were preparing for the holiday as well as hosting the first delegation from a Cybertronian colony.
Holiday prep was fine with Prowl. The twins had thrown themselves into the preparations with an enthusiasm usually reserved for battle or pranks. It was keeping them out of trouble, and Sunstreaker even smiled in public because he was getting to produce art while on duty. More than one mech and human was terrified by the sight of the smiling golden twin. Prowl thought it was wonderful, but he wasn't admitting it.
The holiday also provided a morale boost for most base inhabitants. Only a few were grumbling, but those were for personal reasons, which Prowl was going to address when he had the chance. A couple of officers besides himself were needed to attempt fixing that issue, which was creating problems for more than just the beings involved. Like himself.
Well, with matters coming to a head, as the humans said, it was time to get the help he needed. Even if it meant telling Ratchet.
88888
Ratchet glared across his desk at the Autobot second in command. The Praxian's fuel levels were low, and he was running at 73% efficiency. Ratchet sat back, crossing his arms, anything to keep from reaching for an object to throw at the other mech in his office. A mech who needed to be off duty and resting due to his "health issue."
Prowl's condition could be ascribed to seven words. At the time the condition manifested itself, Ratchet couldn't get anything more out of the Autobot SIC, but those words were "lost bet and drunken one-night stand." The medic couldn't squeeze any details out of Prowl, who, in his stubbornness, refused to budge. Except to divulge his overcharged one-night stand was spent with Ironhide.
Complicating matters were a long list of facts starting with the fact Prowl was sparked and almost at the end of his carrying cycle and the Camian delegation roosting on their doorstep. Ratchet was on the verge of losing his mind. He was too busy running a med bay and riding herd on a bunch of delinquents to keep answering questions from the delegation, but he had to keep running them out of his domain. All the while wishing certain idiots, like Prowl, would show up when they were supposed to.
"You had a 1330 appointment with me today, and what time is it now, Prowl?" Ratchet said.
"1937. I'm here now, and you can give me my checkup after we've discussed the real reason I'm late," Prowl said, doorwings flaring slightly in annoyance.
Ratchet's glare softened with concern, because it was an overt display of emotion, though slight, which meant Prowl's usually vice-like control was slipping.
"You're only to be on duty during any formal negotiation sessions and nothing else," Ratchet said. "Ultra Magnus can handle any other demands as he's enforcer of the Tyrest Accords and knows every single line of the Autobot protocol ever written."
Prowl's turn to glare back at the medic.
"When you're not on duty, I expect you'll be resting. In a berth. The only reading you're allowed is something for your enjoyment," Ratchet said. "This. Is. Not. Negotiable."
"I'm fine," Prowl said through gritted denta. "Cantus is fine. We're both fine."
"You're already overtaxed," Ratchet said. "You need rest. Energon. I'll tell Prime to pull Ultra Magnus off diplomatic duty so he can talk some sense into you. Prowl, what the frag is wrong with you? Nothing should be more important than the health and well-being of yourself and your sparkling."
"Don't make empty threats," Prowl said. "And I thought you said the gestation is progressing well."
"It is. Bitlet's developing well, but you're placing undue stress on yourself by trying to please everyone," Ratchet said.
"I'm not trying to 'please everyone,'" Prowl snapped. "I'm trying to keep that harpie the Mistress of Flame from bonding Optimus to a femme she's chosen. Possibly even herself she's nominated for the position."
"What?"
Prowl exvented. Apparently the CMO hadn't gotten the memo he'd sent out a few days before.
"You didn't read the message with the cultural briefing and the memo that followed?"
Ratchet took a moment to check his email and scrolled through it before turning his attention back to his patient.
"Please tell me this isn't serious," Ratchet said.
"I'm afraid not," Prowl said. "Now you know why I haven't left Prime's side. Or tried not to. They keep trying to corner him about bonding. I gave him my recommendation, but he's not listening."
Ratchet set down his data pad. "Go get some rest. I'll have a word with our feckless Prime. And I won't hurt him. Much."
"I was hoping to discuss the matter further with you and Ultra Magnus as soon as possible," Prowl said.
"I'm surprised Magnus doesn't know already," Ratchet said.
Prowl rolled his optics. "He knows, but he didn't think it was as serious as I made it out to be," he replied. "And you know Prime's current relationship was progressing well until the delegation arrived and the Mistress started making inquiries regarding Prime's status."
Ratchet leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Oh, he knew how well things weren't going now in the Prime's relationship. He had front row seats, but no one had bothered telling him the reason for the stall.
"You're telling me Prime broke things off because of this whole bonding thing?" Ratchet asked.
"No, Prime just used it as an excuse to distance himself from the relationship because he's suddenly not sure he was doing the right thing, as he was being selfish, and following his own spark, instead of doing his duty."
"That sounds like a whole lot of slag," Ratchet said.
"It is," Prowl said.
"I wish they'd leave already," Ratchet said.
"They're offering a Titan in exchange for the chance to resettle some of their people here and resources we're lacking. If you would attend briefings and read your e-mail, you'd know that and more. They also have a couple of medics and scientists interested in coming here to learn from you as well as assist us in a permanent capacity," Prowl said. "I'd think with all the complaining, you would appreciate the extra help."
"I don't need trainees running around," Ratchet said.
"You're an idiot," Prowl snapped. "Velocity and Nautica are not 'trainees,' and if you'd quit throwing them out of the med bay and actually talk to them, you'd already know this for yourself. And Windblade is merely curious, and she's the lead diplomat."
"I know who she is," Ratchet growled. "Get out of here. Go rest. Or else."
"We're not finished," Prowl said.
"Oh yes we are," Ratchet said.
Prowl heaved himself out of his chair, flicking his doorwings in annoyance.
"Please," Ratchet said. "Just go get some rest. I'll talk to Magnus and Ironhide tonight, and get caught up on all the gory details."
"Make sure you do," Prowl said.
"Please. Like you're in a position to be ordering me around right now. Last time I checked, I'm the one who's supposed to be giving you orders, considering," Ratchet said. "Be here at 0800 for your injection and a check-up. If you're even a minute late, I'm pulling you from active duty until Cantus' emergence. Do I make myself clear?"
The response in Praxian was curt, and Ratchet snorted, watching as Prowl waddled away.
Frag. Everything, well, not everything on base was a mess. Prowl was at the top of his "mess" list, along with various other mechs, projects and issues. Too many thing to get a handle on at once, with only Perceptor for help. The scientist was busy with his own projects and orders, and besides, they were all stretched thin. None more so than Prowl and and their Prime at the moment, but Ratchet planned on fixing that. As soon as he came up with a plan.
Ratchet was offended by the delegation. Not because they were a bunch of femmes, but because of their outdated, entrenched dogma about the Prime. Frag their beliefs. Well, he didn't believe in anything, despite Optimus' undying couage and faith, and Drift's efforts to convince him otherwise. The swordsmech, who had managed to become the CMO's Amica Endura in such a short time, was a kind spark.
Except because of circumstances, a sullen Drift was spending more time hiding out in the med bay meditating, and ignoring contact with others, while Hot Rod kept dropping by to check on his friend. Hell, Ratchet wasn't sure anymore if they were just friends, or something more. If anything, he was betting on his Prime's inability to commit had pushed things past "just friends." And if so, if they'd moved on, it was just what Optimus Prime deserved.