Hello people =) this story has been kicking around my skull for a little while now, and now I have some spare time I though I'd jot it down. Hope you guys enjoy. It takes place in the movies verse, just after the end of the first movie and the victory at mission city.
I do not own transformers. In any way, shape or form.
Ironhide grunted as he shouldered another beam upright and into place. Grinding his teeth, he braced himself and the weight as Bumblebee ducked underneath him with a laser torch, quickly working to solder the base of the support strut into place. Ratchet was working on the top of it with another laser, spraying the occasional shower of sparks onto Ironhide's head. He sighed inwardly as the embers burned briefly against his face plates, drawn in around his face to protect his optics. He tolerated it, as he had done during the erection of the four previous beams. This had to be done and the scorch marks would buff out easily enough.
"Done." Ratchet said simply, turning off his torch and Ironhide glanced down at Bumblebee, who after a few more agonising minutes gave him a thumbs up to indicate he too had finished. Slowly Ironhide began to let go of the beam, poised to hold it again if it showed any signs of instability, but it remained steady and he moved away entirely flexing his aching arms.
Ratchet gave the beam several thumps to ensure it was held properly, the loud clangs reverberating around the bare room. Ironhide arched his back, wincing as he heard several gears click back into position; he was getting to old to be the team's forklift. Ratchet raised an eye ridge at the action, close to throwing some age related banter at him for such a display but they had another eight beams to go, and a grumpy Ironhide would only make the task more unpleasant.
Bumblebee however was looking at his former guardian with real anxiety, hovering fretfully around the larger mech, his blue optics brimming with the concern he couldn't voice. Ironhide acknowledged neither of them, and turned to pick up another beam. He glanced around the enormous empty chamber, the room which hopefully would become a common room for social gatherings in the years to come. It certainly was a 'fixer-upper' as the humans would say.
Following their victory at Mission City there had been nothing but arguments over what the U.S. government would do with them. Ironhide smirked slightly at the memory, as if they were capable of 'doing' anything with them against their will. He was glad it was Optimus who had handled the no doubt infuriating negotiations with the big wigs from the Pentagon, he had no patience for such narrow minded, untrusting individuals. Of course they wouldn't wander around into densely populated areas! And the concern that they could hurt civilians? Ridiculous. They wanted to be left alone, not harassed. Only with the Sectary of Defence, John Kellar's help and immense patience had arrangements finally been made for the Autobots to take possession of a deserted series of warehouses out in the middle of no where. They had been told the place had been used for military storage but Ironhide doubted this, it was too far away from central transport routes and Ratchet's initial scans of the place had picked up more than a few traces of blood in the buildings. But whatever its former use, it certainly was in no shape to house the Cybertronians yet. They had easily cleared out the accumulated debris but the ceilings where a tougher problem to overcome, they were all too low and the material used in their construction offered no protection from overhead attack, a threat everyone was bearing in mind with Starscream's disappearance. So here they were, reinforcing the modified, higher ceiling before attempts to thicken it where made.
I still don't see why we couldn't bring the Ark down and use that as a base. It would be much quicker and safer. Bumblebee transmitted to the other two, watching Ironhide pick up the fifth beam.
"The human authorities are too concerned with the media attention such a descent would create Bumblebee, the Ark is far larger than any of our protoforms and you know how twitchy they've been trying to find places for our expected arrivals to land. These 'astrophysicists' the pentagon keeps going on about are very interested where the 'meteorites' from our observed descents have gone and explaining the presence of craters but no giant rocks is understandably difficult. The least we can do is leave the Ark cloaked in orbit, and draw no more telescopes towards our location. The explosions from a certain someone's weapons testing are bad enough." said Ratchet, guiding Ironhide towards the correct spot for the next strut.
"Not to mention if we brought the Ark here we might as well shout our location to the Decepticons, it's not like we can fly her close to the Earth's surface to throw them off our trail." Ironhide rumbled, "Now stop this chatter and solder this in place before Ratchet has to replace all my knee pistons."
"Stop whinging Ironhide, you know as well as I do you're in no danger performing this task. As if I'd let you, I spend enough time repairing you lot as it is." The medic countered, sending another cascade of sparks onto Ironhide's head. Ironhide glared at Ratchet but said nothing further, waiting for the other two to finish. It was going to be a long day.
Ironhide finally strode out of the chamber many hours later, heading straight for his quarters. Bumblebee watched him leave with almost tangible unease while Ratchet packed away the lasers they'd been using.
"Don't worry about him Bumblebee; he's just in a strange mood because Chromia is coming, although if he doesn't stop being so cantankerous I might start dosing him with mood stabilisers." Ratchet reassured the younger bot as he closed the large metal case he had packed. Bumblebee tilted his head in response to this,
What's Chromia like Ratchet? I've meet the Twins and Mirage before but not her.
"Well she's just like Ironhide with regards to weapons, can't get enough of the things. Good fighter too, she's not a bot you'd take on lightly."
I didn't ask what sort of fighter she is, is she funny like the Twins or…
"No one is quite like the Twins Bumblebee"
You know what I mean or is she serious like Prowl or… what?
Ratchet paused slightly before answering, taking that brief moment to acknowledge in his head that the fact he listed her offensive skills first was a sign he had been at war too long.
"She's easy to get along with for the most part, but she can have a wicked quick temper. Try not to irritate her; I imagine her patience has been severely depleted after such a long journey with the Twins bickering all the way. What is the reason behind these questions Bumblebee, why so curious about Ironhide's sparkmate?" Ratchet replied, exiting the chamber with Bumblebee following just behind.
Because of exactly that Ratchet! She's Ironhide's partner and I just want to make a good impression on her.
Ratchet smiled at the smaller mech as they walked through the half finished corridors, "Don't fret over such thoughts Bumblebee, how could you make a bad impression? And even if Chromia took an instant dislike to you, which is improbable, that would not mean Ironhide would shun you."
"And stop that, you'll only make it worse."
The medic scowled at the bot besides him, whose fingers were almost absentmindedly digging into his neck wiring, scratching at the glitchy vocal processor within. Bumblebee did not reply to this, simply staring into space ahead of him.
But he did remove the offending appendage from his neck. Ratchet had examined the half healed injury after the carnage of mission city had calmed down, and he had declared it best that Bumblebee continue to broadcast communications rather than try to speak. That would give the unit time to heal more completely without putting strain on it, or so the medic assured the young robot. Bumblebee was not thrilled with the prospect of remaining silent for yet more time, and the slowly regenerating circuits where extremely itchy.
Do you think we'll have this place in better shape by the time they get here? He finally transmitted, changing the subject.
"Who knows, there's still a lot of work to do. Why we settled for such a run down complex of structures I don't know."
A small beeping noise echoed faintly through the corridors, at which Bumblebee glanced at his wrist and punched a button, allowing silence to once more permeate the passageway. Ratchet looked at Bumblebee, the unspoken question hanging in the air.
Its just an alarm to remind me of the time I must leave here to meet Sam on time after school, it takes so much longer to get there now we're out in the middle of nowhere.
Ratchet nodded as Bumblebee turned and started towards the main exit
"Make sure you check in with one of us once you are at Sam's household tonight! And try to get here as soon as you've dropped off Sam tomorrow, this place isn't going to magically sort itself out!" Ratchet shouted as the yellow autobot disappeared round a corner, with only a backwards wave to confirm he'd heard. Whether or not he'd remember the instructions, Ratchet thought to himself, was another matter entirely.
Ratchet entered one of the rough lifts that had been constructed to take them down to the lower levels where the more important rooms where. On the bottom floor, and after a short walk the medic reached a doorway which, unlike the others he had passed, actually had a door filling its frame. A swipe of his knuckles, which had a series of access chips embedded into them, and the door opened with a slight hiss of escaping air as old, leaky pistons went to work. Ratchet stepped into his med bay and looked around. When it had been newly finished he had been openly disdainful of the meagre facilities but now he viewed the situation with a more tolerant mind frame. It was all they had, the best they could manage in the situation and he had needed somewhere to start immediate work on Bumblebee's legs. Said legs where on one of the large beds in the bay, and while still unfinished they were by no means the tangled mess of metal and circuitry they had been when initially recovered from Mission City. Ratchet put the laser case back into a rack and walked over to the legs to continue working on them. The sooner he could complete them and get those clunky standby strut's he'd used as a temporary fix for Bumblebee off the better. He'd told Bumblebee the struts weren't up to much but the youthful energy that coursed through the scout meant he often forgot the warning, running and jumping around as if he was back at optimal condition. An accident waiting to happen in Ratchet's opinion and a perfect example of his over zealous approach to patient recovery in Ironhide's.
As the tiny sounds of micro repair work trickled through the room Ratchet became immersed in his work, and the unease that had been distracting him faded. When ever he was working in this med bay, no matter what the task before him it always took a few minutes to truly focus on his work and to shake the discomfort that originated from the occupant of the bed at the far end of the bay. Jazz's optics, once the blue they all shared as autobots, where now fractured and empty, their blank stare harsh and unforgiving. Optimus may have authorised attempts to fix and revive his former second in command but Ratchet had not even begun the simplest repairs on his battered frame. Revivals where complex procedures and Ratchet felt it best to wait for the equipment the new arrivals where bringing from their ship and the Arc before attempting it. Only four successful revivals had been accomplished in the history of Cybertronian medicine, two performed by Ratchets mentor, Sparkweld, aeons ago before the war broke out. Back then the only death Cybertronians had faced was a time induced one, so this revival may be simpler because severe structural trauma was the cause of death rather than mass systems failures.
Also delaying him was all the work needed on Bumblebee still. After his legs where complete Ratchet needed to fix his vocal processors, and by that time the Twins probably would have arrived, flooding him with the hundreds of minor, inconsequential injuries they inflicted on each other. And if the decepticons returned and the war resumed… he may never have enough time to focus on Jazz to the level that a revival might be a success. But that was simply the way things were. A piece of Sparkweld's advice reminded him clearly of where his priorities lay;
"Always deal with the living first Ratchet. The dead can wait."
Optimus Prime, ex co-ruler of Cybertron and commander of the autobots rolled into their new base at just gone midnight. He transformed without stopping and walked into one of the small lifts to take him below. As the lift slowly chugged downwards the gigantic mech tapped a few commands into a tiny plasma screen embedded in its wall, bringing up a summary of who was currently in the base and where they were. Noting that Ironhide was in his quarters and therefore probably recharging, Optimus made his way to the med bay where Ratchet was working once the lift had finally stopped. He pressed the intercom button at the med bay's door to tell Ratchet to let him in, as only the medic himself had the security chips needed to open the door. This was an impractical situation but was one that would remain until a secure lock up facility was completed for the more serious drugs Ratchet needed to store in there. Ratchet didn't respond directly to Optimus' request, opting to simply buzz him in. The large mech squinted momentarily as the mellow light of the corridors was replaced with the harsh, bright light of the bay. All their good lights had gone in here to allow Ratchet the best conditions they could currently create to work with. The yellow robot was hunched over the smaller yellow legs of their scout, charred or useless parts spread around him on the floor to be swept up later and disposed of. As the blue and red mech entered the room Ratchet finally looked up, the magnification lenses in front of his optics distorting their appearance in an almost comical manner. The lenses where quickly tucked away into some part of Ratchet's head though, and the two autobots began filling each other in on the days events and the progress of the base. Both of the mechs thought to themselves that the other looked tired, but neither would ever say anything. They all were tired, or in Jazz's case dead, and until the base was functional ever day involved hard, poorly rewarded work. Still, it was better than war.
"Did it really take you all day to reconfirm the landing sites for our arrivals?" Ratchet asked Optimus, his tone verging on disbelief.
"Unfortunately so. There seems to always be something else that must be questioned and run through, it would not surprise me if I am back there within the week."
"These humans, was it really wise to set up a base here Optimus? Their constant squabbling and the limitations they place upon us, we would have been better off building on the moon."
"Bumblebee has grown too attached to Sam and this world for that Ratchet and I know it holds a certain fascination to you as it does for me. I imagine Ironhide would also be unhappy to leave Captain Lennox, although he would never admit it. Besides our base will improve no end once the others arrive, with new resources and bot power this place will be home in no time."
Ratchet only grunted in reply, starting to clear away the scattered tools on the bed. Optimus let his gaze drift around the bay and found it inevitably drawn to Jazz's remains. A reminder of yet another failure he thought, eyes clouding with regret. Turning from the sight and the sadness it caused, Optimus moved to exit the bay and head to his quarters.
"I will assist in plating the roof of the common area tomorrow Ratchet, I have no meetings or transmissions to attend." Optimus said, turning as he was about to exit the room. Ratchet only nodded in response, continuing to clear up the mess he'd made on the floor. Then he was alone in the med bay once more, the door hissing as it closed behind Optimus. Ratchet sighed as he swept up the last of the scorched wiring and panels and threw them into a large bucket, the contents of which he melted down and made into spare parts at the end of each week. On his way out he hit the lights and the bay was plunged into darkness, but even as he left Ratchet could still feel the vacant stare of Jazz's empty optics on him.
Ratchet sighed as he walked down the corridor, and tried to ignore his unease. Tomorrow was another day, and there was much to be done.