Rated T for mentiones of Ratchet/Ironhide slash- if you think the rating should be higher, let me know and I'll bump it up.
Italics represent thoughts
I do not own Transformers- all rights belong to Hasbro/Dreamworks. This is the most angsty story I have written to date, and I'm rather scared that the characters are OOC. I am looking for firmconstructive criticism here- if anything is wrong at all, let me know. I want to fix things up. Also, for any of you who notice slight similarities between this story and some of the work of Cyndi- they are purely coincidental and she has given me full permission to run with my ideas anyhow. (ask her if you still don't believe me)
The ramblings done, please read and enjoy.
Blank optics stared up from the operating table; there was nothing moving in them- no hint of a spark, no light, no life.
No change.
Ratchet sighed and rubbed a hand across his helm in a very human gesture. Days had run into months and months had run into years. Mission City......Egypt..... and yet Jazz's prone form still lay there, unresponsive no matter what the medic tried. Fixing a body was one thing, but a soul.....
"Ratchet?" Optimus Prime's voice jolted Ratchet to attention. He hadn't even heard the med-bay door open. "Ratchet, why do you do this to yourself?" Optimus' voice was firm but sympathetic. He made his way over to stand beside the medic and placed a caring hand on his shoulder.
Ratchet sighed and turned to face his leader, tears threatening to spill from his optics. "I can't help it, Optimus. Being a medic....healing....it's all I ever wanted to do with my life......"
...ever since I was a sparkling. I remember when my creator took me to see the medic, just days after I'd first come online. It was nothing serious- just a simple check that all processors were intact and functioning correctly. All sparkling had these examinations. But when I saw the tenderness with which the medic and his assistants tended those dragged off the horrors of the battlefield- and this was in the earliest days of the war..... I knew what I wanted to do with my life......
"...I never wanted any part in this war!" Ratchet was openly crying now. Ignoring the presence of Optimus, ignoring what would happen if the others found out that their "grumpy medic" had broken down and wept. "I never wanted to hurt! Slag it! I wanted to heal people- bring peace! I......"
...never wanted this destruction. I was foolish, and arrogant when I left the academy, full of ideas. But I had a plan. This was at the height of the war, Optimus has already become Prime...... I sought him out, offered my assistance. Not to fight, never to fight. I didn't want to kill and maim. I wanted to heal and to tend.....but then Megatron was beating down on our army......Ironhide was strapping cannons to my arms.....
"...I was so afraid......" Ratchet never even knew he'd spoken aloud
...there wasn't time. If you were capable, you had to fight. It was the way things were. I cursed the war, the cube....I even dared to curse Primus for all this destruction. But when the time came, I was out there with the rest of them, fighting. The screams of the wounded and the dying.....and when the battle was over, and the Decepticon's retreated, the dead and the dying were scattered at my feat. And so I cried- because I had shown cruelty before I had shown kindness.
Ratchet raised a hand and wiped away the tears, leaving smudges in the dust gathered on his cheeks. He looked at Optimus, remembering his leader's presence. "I'm s-s-sorry, Op-optimus" he spluttered. "I....I..." the Autobot medic broke off, turning away from Optimus to gently stroke Jazz's lifeless, silver face. Optimus didn't fail to notice the gesture. His next words were soft.
"There's more though, isn't there, Ratchet? "
Ratchet looked up from the body before him, yet refused to meet Optimus' optics.
"You know what happened after that" he replied darkly "I went insane. You had to keep me locked up to keep me from hurting myself.....it took me months to recover!"
Optimus smiled warmly. "Yes. But you did recover. And thank goodness you did. Where else would we be without you? You're one of the best medics that the Academy ever produced" He held up a finger to silence Ratchet's oncoming protest "It's true Ratchet- don't argue with me. It took you a while, but we got you back on your feet. "
Now it was Ratchet's turn to smile. "No." he said, the slightest hint of mirth in his voice. "No. It was Ironhide who got me back on my feet. You just helped."
Optimus laughed. It was a happy sound, but it didn't last long. "You still haven't answered my question, Ratchet. There's more to it then that, isn't it? There's something deeper, tearing you up about Jazz. This isn't just about a problem you can't solve....."
Ratchet sighed. These were painful memories, ones that he had tried to push into the furthest corners of his mind; some had been forgotten entirely, yet Optimus' calming presence had managed to dredge them back up again as Ratchet poured out his inner pain to his leader and friend.
"Ironhide and I...." he whispered slowly, as if almost afraid of the words he was speaking. "He taught me how to love, and he pulled me out of the dark. I was able to see the positive side of things again- he helped me to forget the pain and the suffering of war. I began to tend to the wounded, and bring comfort and peace to those who would no doubt have dies a painful death. It was Ironhide...."
....who taught me how to hide it all away. How to put on a gruff exterior so no one, after a while not even yourself, could see the pain underneath.......we......Jazz......
".....is ours" said Ratchet, the words spilling out at last. "Jazz is ours. Our son. We wanted to bring more life into a world so full of death, and we succeeded."
"I know this Ratchet, but did Jazz? Did you ever tell him?"
"Yes. He knew from the beginning. Ironhide wanted to hide it from him, but I insisted that he knew where he came from. Whether you are in war or in peace, there is nothing more important than knowing where you're from and where you stand." There was something of a smile in Ratchet's voice, although his face showed no sign of it.
Optimus placed a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. "I understand you, my friend. And if at any point, I have said something that has caused you greater pain.....I am sorry. I know what it's like to lose someone you love....."
Ratchet smiled, and returned the gesture, using his free hand to wipe further tears off his cheeks. For a moment, both mechs simply stood there, comforting one another, lost in their own memories and their silent, mutual understanding. At last Optimus stepped away and headed for the med-bay door.
"Let me know if there is anything you need Ratchet- any way I can help. We are all eager to see some recovery in Jazz. I wish you luck, old friend. And thank you."
Ratchet snorted through his tears. "Thank you? For what?"
Optimus smiled. "For letting me listen." and then he was gone.
Ratchet bent low over Jazz's body. Blank optics stared up from the operating table; there was nothing moving in them- no hint of a spark, no light, no life.
No change.
Ratchet turned away. He couldn't take this anymore. Couldn't take the pain. The pain of losing so many he cared about. The pain of letting yet another life slip through his grasp. He was meant to heal. To heal and to help bring life. Not to kill and let life slip away....
Ratchet sank to the floor, and turned his eyes towards the heavens. "Primus." he whispered. "I...I never believed but....."
Ratchet broke off. There was something that human children often said to their doctors, posing it like a question, no matter how serious their injury...even Jazz had said it once, when he had damaged his knee joint and Ratchet was repairing the wiring.
Make it better.
".....but....Primus, oh, if you're there......make the pain go away. Make everything the way it used to be, before the war....end the war! If you're so mighty, then why don't you end this slagging war!"
Ratchet bowed his head, his tears falling onto the cold, sterile floor. He glanced back to Jazz and then lifted his head again. "I'm sorry Primus. But please.....if you're there.....make it better."
Getting to his feat, Ratchet headed for the door himself. He needed to leave this room, and the memories that now filled it. However, there was one last thing to do. Pulling a sheet from a nearby cupboard, he draped it over Jazz's body, shielding it from sight; a human custom he had once read about.
Ratchet stared at the door. Inside that small, sterile room, he'd just locked his son, his memories and his pain. But that didn't stop one last whisper from escaping his lips.
"Can you make it better?"