Of CYBERTRON and EARTH
Summary: A series of one shots depicting the lives of various mechs/femmes before and during the war to their arrival on Earth.
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, nuff said...
Chapter 1
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Being a light sleeper had its good and bad points. Ratchet had been thankful for that quality of his especially with his particular brand of profession. Even the slightest sound would have him up, right hand transforming to a gun ready to shoot anyone perceived as a threat to both him and his patients.
And it was that particular trait that had him cursing inside his apartment. He had just recently returned from an orn of being shot at and rechargless night. The mission was a success though. Outnumbered, the rebels were forced to surrender. There were injured but thank Primus nothing was fatal.
Recently returned to Iacon City approximately a joor ago, his unit were granted a couple mega-cycle long vacation and he had planned on spending most of it on his recharge berth and have a nice long uninterrupted recharge…
He couldn't do that if he kept on waking up.
Frag!
He liked his recharge. He cherished his recharge and if kept on waking for no important reason, he was going to be one very, VERY cranky mech.
After breems of staring at nothing, thing's finally quieted down to his liking, the medic relaxed on his berth, full recharge cycle program slowly kicking in, his tired body eagerly responding as it finally had its chance to rest. He was finally going to full recharge…
BANG! BANG! BANG!!
What the fr-?!
Ratchet jumped out from his berth, lowering to a crouch position, weapon drawn, ready to shoot. It took him a few clicks to regain his senses and another few clicks to realize that he was not on a battlefield but was safely back at Iacon and that his well deserved recharge was interrupted once again…
BANG! BANG! BANG!!
…by someone banging loudly on his door at a Primus forsaken time!
"Is anyone home? Please answer!"
Ratchet grumbled, marching out his room. Whoever it was better pray it was important or else he'll be forced to offline the slagger against his will.
The door slid open with a hiss and Ratchet sent a menacing glare, that had half of the Cybertronian military terrified, to a mech he had never before seen his entire life. "Who the pit are you?"
The mech met his gaze without flinching, "Are you Ratchet?"
Ratchet blinked, surprised at the mech's steady gaze and confident tone…Somehow, he found himself unable to stay angry, "I am he. Why? Look if this isn't important then you might as well leave because I'm not in the best of moods and would like nothing else but go back to bed and have a nice long uninterrupted recharge because Primus knows I deserve one. Now scram."
"No, wait!" The mech cried, placing one foot inside before the medic had the chance to close the door, "Ratchet, sir, please! My… friend needs your help!"
For the second time that night, Ratchet blinked in surprise. True enough, there was someone leaning heavily on the mech's back, who appeared to be unconscious. Perhaps because it was dark and he hadn't turned on his light or maybe he was more tired than he thought that he failed to notice that rather huge form of the unconscious robot.
Ratchet let out a tired sigh. Frag it all for having a slagging conscience. "Get in."
"Thank you, sir," the mech replied respectfully.
Ratchet scoffed, moving to help the mech carry his companion. The slagger was heavy. Not as heavy as Ironhide, but still heavy. And then he stepped into something. "Frag!" he cursed as he almost lost his balance when he stepped on something and mentally berated himself for not turning the lights on. It was a good thing the other mech had a stable bearing else the three of them would have ended up on the floor.
"So, what happened to your friend and how did you know me?" Ratchet asked, easing the limped form on the couch. The energy signature from the mech currently sprawled on his furniture was strangely familiar.
"I don't actually know him. He's a customer at the bar I work at…" Pause. He seemed hesitant to continue but did anyway when the medic motioned him to, "There were…soldiers tonight, celebrating…"
At the mention of soldiers, Ratchet inwardly winced. He had a good idea who those soldiers were since earlier that night he turned down an invitation for a night of drinking with some of the mechs in his unit. It didn't need a genius to figure out what happened next.
"Some had too much high grade. I don't exactly know how it started but everything eventually went out of control. He tried to stop it but only managed to get himself involved."
Ratchet snorted. Figures. He'd been with this particular group of soldiers for vorns now and they were no ordinary unit. Believe him. Just knowing who their commanding officer was enough to give one that idea. Anyone who tries to stop them from a fight, more so when drunk was either a very brave bot or a fool.
Ratchet wandered around the room stopping at one corner. Pressing something on the wall, then the lights went on.
"I tried to bring him to a nearby repair bay but he insisted on coming here. Said you were the only one who can help him. He managed to mention your name and where you lived before he went offline."
The medic's optics narrowed, there were only a few bots who knew he still had a residence somewhere in Iacon (since most military affiliated bots stay at the barracks) and only five knew exactly where it was. It would be highly uncharacteristic of the three to go out on public late at night more so getting themselves intoxicated. Although he wouldn't be surprised if the fourth would but fortunately, the bot was currently confined at the headquarters' Med Bay, recuperating. The last one found out by accident and was definitely prohibited to go out without escort especially at night…
Unless if the stubborn son of a glitch sneaked out...
Again…
Now that the lights were on, the medic could see clearly the mech on his couch. Ratchet stared at the still form hard. The slagging glitch did sneak out. He even tried to mask his energy signature. The glare intensified. "Megatron, you slagging idiot!!"
Sprawled on his couch, unconscious and with several dents and scratches all over his body, was none other than Megatron, son of the Lord Protector.
"What the slag were you thinking, you pit-brained fragger?" Ratchet knew he wasn't going to get a response at this instant but dear Primus, the young mech better have a pretty good explanation for this or he'd wish his audio receptor was malfunctioning once he was consciuos.
Ratchet turned to the other mech, who had wisely kept his mouth shut, beckoning him to come closer, "Help me carry this slagging piece of scrap to my room. I'll be able to work on him there better. I'll also need an extra hand."
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It didn't take too long to patch the battered form of the Lord High Protector's son who was now recharging soundly on his berth, looking good as new. No one would be able to tell he'd been involved in a bar fight.
Sighing tiredly, the doctor left the room quietly and unceremoniously dumped himself on his couch.
The young mech wouldn't want anyone to know especially the Lord Protector about this incident. He won't tell but that didn't mean he wasn't going to give the young one a very long talk when he onlined.
"Here."
The medic stared at the proffered glass of energon.
"I didn't mean to go through your things but you look like you need some," the mech lowered himself next to the older bot but kept his distance.
"Thanks," Ratchet mumbled, taking a sip from his energon, "This tastes good. You made this?"
The mech smiled with a shrug, "It's a mix I learned at the bar. It's not exactly high grade but it can help you unwind after a tiring day."
Ratchet nodded, allowing his exhausted body to relax on the couch, but his optics locked firmly on the younger bot's, who returned it just as resolutely. "I believe you now know the idiot you brought here?" The other mech nodded. "And I guess you know the importance of what I'm about to ask you to do?"
"Don't worry, sir. I won't say anything," the mech replied, sincerely.
The medic's optics flickered and before he knew it, he was laughing making the other bot in the room look at him in confusion.
"Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no, you didn't," the medic finally managed to compose himself. "It's just…" he stared at the younger mech. There was something in the way the young mech had said it that… "You remind me of someone…a very good friend of mine."
"Oh."
Ratchet looked with unveiled amusement at the now uncomfortable mech and took the chance to study him closely.
The mech was still young, that's for sure. Not considered a youngling anymore but had recently just transitioned from being one. He was tall. Not as tall as Megatron, though, who already towered over him. The young mech stood a few centimeters shorter than his own frame but young as he was, he was still growing. A vorn or so and he'd be taller than him.
"May I asked how?"
Ratchet smiled. That was certainly unexpected. The mech was straightforward, "How? Shouldn't you be asking who?"
The mech shrugged, "I don't exactly know you, more so who you associate with. I figured it'll be useless to ask who," There was a slight pause, "and besides, it doesn't matter, I guess. I mean, it doesn't matter who or what he is. Either way I am honored that I remind you of him and that's enough for me."
Ratchet's mouth plate twitched. Smart mech. "I see your point…but what makes you think the bot's a he?"
The young mech looked affronted then broke into a small grin, "I certainly hope I don't remind you of a femme."
Ratchet blinked then chuckled.
So how exactly does the young bot remind him of HIM?
Well, they don't exactly look the same, of that he was very certain.
However, personality wise?
It was definitely spot on.
The young mech had shown remarkable maturity at such a young age. And also…there was just something about the mech that the doctor cannot help but feel that someday, given the opportunity, he was, no doubt going to be someone great.
It was the same feeling he got when he was around Sentinel.
"I like you," Ratchet blurted out. Many of his friend's had told him he was way too blunt sometimes but he didn't care. That was how he is.
Ratchet raised an optic ridge when the mech gave him a funny look and it took him a nanoclick to realize what the other mech was thinking. The medic bristled, "Not that way, you fragger!"
The mech laughed, "I was joking, sir."
"Frag you to pit," the medic muttered darkly.
The mech grinned broadly then stood up, "I better head out, it is getting late and they still need me back at the bar."
The medic snorted but stood up as well, "It is late."
"Thank you. It was nice meeting you, sir," the mech said, held one hand forward.
Ratchet shook it. Though, subtle as it was, the medic caught it, optics narrowing, he grabbed the mech's arm albeit a bit forcefully causing the mech to wince openly.
"You're injured," the voice was flat, a clear indication that the medic was annoyed. More annoyed at himself for failing to notice it earlier.
The mech unconsciously brought a hand up on his right shoulder, "Oh, this? It's nothing. Just an old wound," he explained, but was forced back down on the couch by a very angry looking medic.
Ratchet's optics only narrowed even more, "How long have you had that injury?"
Had it been one of the soldiers, they would have cowered under the medic's gaze, shut up and allow the medic to work in silence. Because annoying an already annoyed medic who goes by the name Ratchet, was never a bright idea. Some soldiers learned it the hard way and the others were smart enough to have those ill-fated soldiers serve as a prime example why not to mess up with the Hatchet.
Unfortunately for both Ratchet and the young mech, the mech wasn't.
"Sir, it's fine, really."
"How long?" Ratchet growled.
"An orn, I guess," the mech sighed, attempting to stand again, "It's fine and I really need to go ba…" he wasn't able to finish when the medic shoved him back down, though, mindful of the injury.
"You are not going anywhere."
"But I…" the mech tried to protest, getting annoyed as well.
"Stay," Ratchet glared at the mech, hard. "When I come back and I don't find you here, I'm going to hunt you down." With that, he spun around and headed to his room.
"You don't know where I live."
"Oh?" The medic smirked, turning his head slowly to the stubborn mech, who met his gaze daringly, "I have my ways, believe me. Besides, I could always ask the slag-head," Jerking a hand over the door, "over there, where you work."
The mech blanched at that and Ratchet knew he won. Smirking, he disappeared inside his room, making sure he was discrete enough not to wake the slumbering bot on his berth while he gathered his tools.
When he returned, the mech, although reluctant, was sitting on the couch, obviously sulking. The medic snorted at the sight, oh, well, despite how mature one can be there will always be that immature childish side waiting to come out.
"How did you acquire this?" Ratchet's optics narrowed as he assessed the injury. It wasn't serious; in fact the injury was already healing however, carrying someone as heavy as Megatron must have put a strain on it.
If it weren't for the medic peering at his shoulder, the mech would have had shrugged, "Bar fights aren't that uncommon," he said as a matter of factly.
"You do not strike me as one who'd get involve into one unlike some mech I know."
"I don't. But you can't dodge everything thrown your way especially when your back is turned and a mech your size is hurled towards you. And Megatron was only trying to stop them."
Ratchet grunted, "At first, perhaps. Megatron's temperament has never been one of his best assets. He is cantankerous and impulsive if he looses his cool. You don't have to defend him."
"You can't blame him."
"Oh, I can," The medic's mouth plate twisted into a vicious almost sadistic smirk, "but the blame isn't solely his." Those pit-spawned fraggers in his unit, whom he had to regrettably put up with for vorns, better make themselves scarce or Primus help them, they were going to wish they were never sparked.
Less than a cycle later, Ratchet straightened and despite his interrupted recharge, felt rather content with himself. "Don't strain your shoulder too much for a couple of joors."
The mech stood as well, lifting and rotating his arm, smiling when the customary throb he had felt for the past orn was gone.
"I'm really than…"
Ratchet waved a hand dismissively, "Nah…it's nothing. It's all I can do for bringing Megatron here in one piece."
"Well, I thank you still. And once again, it was nice meeting you, sir."
No, it was the other way around.
Ratchet looked at the mech, then nodded. "It was nice meeting you as well…" he drifted off.
The mech smiled sheepishly, "Right, I haven't actually introduced myself. Sorry, right, um…Optronix, that's my name. But everyone calls me Orion."
"Well, then, it was nice meeting you, Orion."
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