Time doesn't stop counting itself
By Any Unborn Child
There were many things that crossed Ratchet's internal processor that day… many of which he did not want to call to mind.
It had been a few days after Optimus Prime had stopped Unicron (at least for the time being), the day after Optimus had left with Megatron a different Autobot… a different being altogether. Since then, Ratchet had retreated to the daily task of reviewing files and calculations within the large database, not speaking to anyone. He wasn't sure where everyone else went, or what they were up to, but he was in such deep focus that he stopped caring.
Ever since Ratchet could remember, he was not one to vocalize his worries unless it was absolutely dire. He would hold back his surprisingly visceral need for answers (surprisingly even to him) for what seemed like an eternity, the questions fraying until the ends finally snapped. Before, he would have labeled it restraint, control. But now…
Ratchet let out a shuddering breath and shut his green-tinged optics, frustration seeping into his system. Again, these residual feelings of uselessness resurfaced to the front of his mind.
Why was he still here, doing menial things, when he could be finding something, doing something, anything, to help get Optimus back?
Of course there were questions in his mind – why would there not be? These dilemmas without answers, these problems without solutions – their ends were frayed, like that of wires that no longer worked.
There was no distinction in Optimus' mind at all. No - in Orion Pax's mind. Yes…he had regressed. He was not the same anymore. He didn't remember anything. Whatever he could remember, how far back and how much, Ratchet didn't know. He couldn't know. Not now, anyway.
It was only a short while later when Ratchet was studying the endless sea of map facsimiles and data when he noticed something. It appeared to be a standard file, one that Ratchet frequently edited and checked over
On the huge screens above him appeared the historical record of the Great War of Cybertron. In miniscule letters, it detailed everything that the newly-formed Autobots lost and gained during the battles, as well as accounting for everything lost and won. It laid out these losses and gains, charting them out to the single utmost elements, so that no one could forget.
Ratchet's optics widened. Could he possibly…
He scanned the data again.
And again.
He scrutinized every sentence, every name, and every date.
Again.
He looked for any sort of fallacy, any important fact that could bring a sliver of recourse back…
Again.
…anything that could possibly bring Optimus back…
Again.
…anything that could possibly bring Optimus back…to him.
He stopped.
His optics froze, looking beyond the data
His hands shook.
His breath caught in his throat.
Why did he just…
Ratchet closed his eyes. He slowly moved his hands away from the keyboards, grasped the edge of the desk panel, and held on for a long time. Try as he might, he could not stop the thoughts that kept racing in his mind.
Why was he having those thoughts? Did he…It didn't make any…
"Ratchet?"
With a start, the Autobot scientist was jarred out of his own thoughts. He turned, and saw that Bumblebee was standing a few feet away, his cerulean optics bright with curiosity and concern.
"What? What? What? What? What is it, Bumblebee? Something wrong?" Ratchet sputtered, trying to regain his composure.
"No, nothing's wrong. Are you all right though? You seem…rattled. I know that you usually, um, grumble as you work, and I didn't hear anything for a while, so I wanted to see if you were ok." The scout replied, his head tilted slightly, as if unconsciously beckoning an answer to his inquiry.
Ratchet's eyes widened. Did he really seem that affected?
"Rattled? What, me? No, no, no no no no - I'm not rattled. I'm, I'm fine, Bumblebee. I've just been...," He took a moment to fully collect himself before he continued, "…preoccupied for the time being. I'm sure you understand why."
At this, Bumblebee's head lowered with resignation. The sight made Ratchet cringe.
Knowing Bumblebee, he understood all too well. Given the amount of loyalty that he had witnessed from the young scout time and time again, there was no doubt in his mind that he too missed their leader.
Just not quite in the way Ratchet did.
"But you needn't worry. I'm all right." The scientist moved back to his station, his back to Bumblebee and his ever-searching optics. "There is going to be a lot of work that needs to be done if we are ever going to get Optimus Prime back here…with us. And I know that you're more than wiling to help. Just…don't try to help right now. Is that clear?"
Having just received orders, the young scout straightened his posture, and gave a quick nod to Ratchet. "Yes. I'll do my best."
Ratchet turned towards Bumblebee and nodded back. "All right. Now go…do something."
Bumblebee nodded once again, a fuller one this time, though with slight hesitation. "…Ok." If only slightly confused, he walked towards the hallway.
Once the scout was far enough, Ratchet sighed, his mind heavy with doubt. Thinning his optics, he looked up once more at the historical record, letting the data that it held sink in.
"Maybe there is something I could do with this…the question is what." Ratchet thought out loud. As he thought more, the cloudiness that had existed in his processor slowly dispelled, though it did not completely disappear, and most likely never would.
He may be too late already…but he wouldn't let that stop him.
He would get Optimus back to his old self. He would get Optimus back.
No matter what the cost.