The scalpel gleamed in-between his rough hands as he tried to clean the instrument again. Ratchet swore that if Wheeljack hurt himself again, he was going to blow a gasket. Well, he would if he had one, but the sentiment was understood. He paused to listen to the soft breathing of Prowl's monitors, and gave a hefty sigh. The rest of the army had no idea how much time their 2nd in command spent here. Though he supposed that he couldn't exactly blame Prowl. The rest of the army was not aware how much extra clock in time he did either. Sure, they knew that he stayed overtime more often than not, but that didn't know that he could do it for full days, two, if it was important. The boy had been up for 3 days, at the least. Not even a direct order from Prime had sent the stubborn young man to bed. No, it had to take an unexplained occurrence for Prime to go looking for him, and find him passed out in the rubble, shaking from the cold and shock of whatever happened while he was out there.
Though he still couldn't blame Prowl for his diligence in trying to find any survivors in his home. He's completely dissimilated home.
Decepticons had completely destroyed Praxus, for no other reason than they could. Prowl had said it himself. There were no vital resources, no battle advantage in the conquering. Nothing but lowering the moral of the Autobots.
And it had worked.
Ratchet walked back to the medical bed and looking down at the sleeping SiC. The hair, all but the bangs for some reason, had turned a startling white, and he could tell the skin was even paler than before, and that was saying something, probably from the shock. But the young man was curled up into a small ball, a peaceful expression spreading across his face.
'Classic sign of repressed childhood' his 'Medical' voice whispered and he ignored it. He had known that for a long time. As soon as he woke up though, that cold expression would return. Prowl would once again be cold, hard, no-emotions, SiC, and no one would see the younger man that he had the rare privilege that he did. Peaceful. Not so much as calm, as it was content. An expression he would never see in waking hours at least.
He would never tell Prowl, or anybody else, but he worried about Prowl, out of everybody, he worried most about him. He knew that Prowl had lied about his age when he joined, he didn't know how much, but he knew that he did. First time Prowl had crashed from something becoming 'illogical', Ratchet had smudged the make-up on his face to reveal a much younger male than the one he was taking orders from. Ratchet shook those sentimental thoughts from his head. He would get Prowl to tell him one day, maybe not soon, but he would figure out some trick to get Prowl to tell him.
Prowl's eyes fluttered, as he started to stir.
Ratchet checked the monitors, lowering the anti-pain meds by just a tad.
"You awake Sleeping Beauty?" Ratchet muttered, and glanced back to his patient's face.
The hand around the railing clenched against the cold metal, and he carefully kept his face concealed from shock when Prowl's eyes opened.
Prowl's eyes had always been an unusual blue, common among Praxian's of course, but with so few alive he couldn't tell, but they had never glowed. Prowl didn't notice however, so he wouldn't say anything, yet, as he pushed the pale Officer back to the Medical slab. A moan escaped from Prowl's lungs, rubbing his face wearily.
"Please tell me I didn't pass out in front of the troops." Prowl was always afraid of being weak in front of them, and his crashes weren't public knowledge, he wanted to keep it that way. But that wasn't what he was here for.
"You don't remember anything?"
First sign: Amnesia, temporary or permanent to be determined. Along with a flushed appearance and slight fever.
Slag it, and they really needed Prowl to remember. There was no evidence at the scene as to what happened, only a shaking SiC.
"No, I don't. Care to explain the damage, Dr.?" He asked, carefully sitting up just in case he felt dizzy again. He was okay though, and sat all the way up again. His eyes still glowed mysteriously, and Ratchet shifted mentally, while steading the man again.
"We found you lying on near the rubble of Sector X, and nothing else. Nothing to indicate you'd been attacked or anything, but you went into shock. Your newly white hair is proof of that." Ratchet handed him a mirror, and Prowl looked carefully, running his hand through the snow white hair experimentally. He touched his temple in a way that Ratchet knew that he was thinking. After a moment, he shook his head.
"All I can remember is a bright flash as I was…as I was…" he trailed off, clutching at a worn out Praxian police badge in his pocket, the numbers rubbed off from the callousness of Prowl's thumb. That was another thing that had bothered Ratchet. Prowl was Praxian, born and raised, you could see it in the way he talked, and walked, the careful calmness he excluded, so why wasn't he more upset about his home city being destroyed? Shouldn't he at least have shed a tear, a sad look, something? They hadn't seen any signs of remorse from their cold second in command. Was he just hiding it where no one could see him? That would be more his style, but Ratchet would still like to know exactly what was going on in the young man's mind. He shook it off as Prowl's famous 'Privacy policy' that he also extended to the troops, which they were secretly grateful for. You could trust Prowl not to impose on your private life.
"Alright, you know the drill." He said, taking him off the light pain sedative he had on him. Prowl sat up, and they started the routine, with a few more minutes spent examining his nerves and reflexes according to how the brain worked. Ratchet pulled the eye chart out and started paying particularly close attention.
Prowl called the letters out, as usual, but Ratchet could see his pupil almost into a slit when the words got smaller. That and Prowl could now read the bottom line without squinting, a font of 12 from 20 feet away, something only Optimus could do, with ease.
How had Prowl's eyesight increased from 20/30 to 20/10, after a collapse?
He left the question in his mind and released Prowl for discharge, yelling at him to eat, knowing that the Commanding officer would go straight back to work anyway.
He sighed and turned towards the table to clean it off.
"What am I gonna do with you, kid?" he asked exasperated.
