Isn't it amazing what you find when you dig through your old fics? And when I say old, I mean old. This sucker had been sitting on the back burner totally finished for years, and I'm just now doing anything with it. That will also explain the AUishness and the sub par quality by my current standards, even after a good polishing by me. Anyway, thought I'd post it just to try and get something up to prove I'm not dead. Inspiration just doesn't come easy these days, hence my lack of activity. I hope that at least one of you will like Ratchet being all grumpy and cute to a sparkling as much as I do, at the very least. Please let me know if you do! Enjoy!
The faint hum of machinery through the concrete walls was the only sound in the Autobot base at night, and it had an almost soothing effect to most of the long time inhabitants. Now the noise was notably louder in the medical bay where Ratchet chose to recharge, but the medic was not at all bothered by the increased volume or the steady vibrations that were not discernible during the waking hours. He had endured eons of warfare and had thus long since become accustomed to the worst of conditions for sleeping, meaning that compared to some of the other nights he had endured the mechanical hum through the wall was almost pleasant. In fact, only a very short list of things could wake the medic at this point, all of which he knew by spark and could recognize on contact.
But tonight, something new would be added to that list.
A sudden shrill wail cut through the gentle hum, quickly descending into softer but still needy whimpers punctuated by distressed chirps and trills.
Ratchet woke with a confused start; processor scrambling to ascertain the source of the noise. His optics scanned the dark room with precision, resting on a small, container like object that had recently been added just beside his berth. Letting out a groan, he came to the obvious and unpleasant realization that it was time. Grumbling, he lifted himself off his berth, sharp optics guiding him in the dark with the help of his familiarity to the room. In just a few steps he came to the small, almost cradle like container, the distressed occupant still chirring with need from the inside. Looking within, he finally rested his optics on the source of all the fuss.
A sparkling, a little mech not even a full cycle old, lay curled up on his side amongst the once carefully arranged blankets. Clenching and unclenching his little servos, the little one scrunched up his faceplate in preparation to wail once more, and Ratchet preemptively stretched out a soothing pulse with his EM field. Feeling the touch of the much larger presence above him, the newborn opened his optics, revealing two bright, yellow beacons in the dark. The tiny being renewed his efforts now that help was near, crying pitifully as he lifted his servos up to be held.
"Come here..." The medic sighed, reaching down and scooping up the small bundle into his large but nimble servos. Incredibly soft metalmesh settled against his highly attuned sensory nodes, and the medic had to stop himself from aweing at how incredibly new the little being was in favor of performing his task. The sparkling was hungry, no doubt about it. His tanks couldn't hold enough energon to last more than a few joors, let alone the night. Now where did I put those low grade rations... Ratchet pondered, settling the protoform comfortably into his grasp as he scanned for the energon case. Primus he hated rearranging his supplies. Delays like this were trivial now, but they were something that could be fatal in a life or death situation. At last, he found the case on a nearby table, resting amongst other tools and the equipment he'd used to mix it. Gently bouncing the protoform with one hand, he popped the lid, illuminating them both with a light blue glow from the contents.
Neatly arranged bottles, each containing energon that he himself had specially prepared for the sensitive tanks of a newborn, were stacked within. Grabbing one, he snapped the case shut, leaving them with the dim lighting of the lone bottle. Sighing with fatigue, Ratchet sat on the edge of his berth, and was momentarily tempted to lay and rest his optics as he worked. Settling the tiny mech into a more proper feeding position by supporting his helm with his thumb, the medic held him close to his chest panels, offering the black rubber tip of the bottle.
At first, the newborn took the wrong cue. Tilting his helm to the medics chest panels, he nuzzled them in search of a feeding line. Huffing with irritation and mild awkwardness at being mistaken for a carrier, Ratchet changed his approach to something more direct. Working his fingers to the bottles rubber tip, he squeezed out a few droplets onto a digit tip and offered it to the sparkling. Without hesitation, the tiny mech lapped it up, tiny glossa pulling in the few drops as quickly as it could. Catching on immediately afterward, he took the offered bottle with gusto, small hands gripping at the sides for a better hold. The sparkling began guzzling down the ration with greedy gulps, unhindered by any need to stop for air. Unable to stop himself, the medic felt his helm droop a fraction of an inch, optics dimming in exhaustion as he let the little one settle. Primus, he was too old to be up in the middle of the night like this, playing nurse bot to the unwanted offspring of Decepticons. That was one of the drawbacks of being a medic though, such tasks always fell to him, for the others lack of experience if nothing else. He'd been graduating medical school by the time most of the others had been either about the size of the protoform in his hand or were still long yet to be born.
Refocusing his optics, the medic looked down, unable to stop a stir of affection in his spark at the sight. The sparkling still suckled hungrily at the bottle, but had snuggled closer to his much larger frame, likely seeking his warmth. The sight, though spark warming, brought to mind the almost tragic nature of his existence. Airachnid had rejected him at birth, and Ratchet knew she would have done so far sooner had they allowed it. The mech creator could only have been guessed at before then, but was obvious now, as the sparklings bulky blue frame and yellow optics were characteristic of only one mech; Breakdown. It didn't seem right though, that something so small, innocent, and generally helpless could come from two of the worst beings his race had to offer.
A small, needy sound from the sparkling woke Ratchet from the thoughts. He had finished all but a small amount of the ration, and was trying desperately to guzzle down the last of it. Tilting the bottle, he allowed the little one to finish off the last of the energon, and he popped the bottle from the little mechs grasp immediately afterward. A very unhappy sound of protest came from the sparkling as the bottle was taken away, his yellow optics widening most pitifully as he looked up with an expression of hurt and confusion. Ratchet knew he had taken in his fill though, sparklings just had no ability to tell when they had had enough. Still, the medic found it hard to bear the begging in those wide optics.
"Any more and you'll purge." he whispered firmly, despite the fact that the sparkling had no comprehension of words. The newborn only stared up blankly in response, letting out a small whimper and quivering his lip as tears formed in his optics. Ratchet stood from the berth, forcing his optics away from the near spark wrenching expression and returning to business.
"Now, you need to pressurize your tanks..." he instructed, still not caring that he was not, and could not, be understood as he tried to remain professional. The little mech only continued to look spark broken, forcing the medic to adjust him in his grip without looking to get him into the proper position. Feeling the little one laying on his back in his servo with his helm supported by his digits, he looked down only so he could see as he worked, focusing his gaze on the tiny little chest plates as he stroked upward. There was not a moment of hesitation before he felt the tell tale bubbling of swallowed air bubbles making their way up the little mechs intake pipes, his previously teary optics going wide in wonder as the trapped air rumbled upward and forced itself out in a very anticlimactic little *burp. Unhappiness gone in an instant, the little mech made a noise somewhere between a giggle and a gurgle, quite amused by the noise he'd just produced and the tickling it had produced in his tummy.
Forcing back a smile, Ratchet immediately began moving back to the crib. Primus, why did he have such a soft spot sparklings? They were helpless, pitiful, required vast amounts of time, and showed their appreciation by waking their caretakers up at unnatural hours and taking in vast amounts of energon. Yet, for reasons he couldn't fathom, he was naturally protective of the young and small. Reaching the small crib, he began to lower the now fed sparkling back into place, hoping to return to his own berth for some much needed recharge.
Apparently, the sparkling had a different plan, and began wiggling and whining in protest as he was pulled away from the warmth of the much larger bot. Groaning, Ratchet pulled the whining protoform close once more.
"Primus, what do you want now?" he grumbled, watching as the tiny being snuggled close to his chest panels, quieting only when he was as close as physically possible and clutching the metal with strong little fingers. Frowning, he looked down at the settled protoform, who only now appeared to be going into recharge. "I'm not going to hold you all night..." he mumbled mostly to himself, shifting his arms so that his thumb rested beside the nearly recharging protoforms servo. The newborn quickly grasped the digit with it's much smaller hand, catching Ratchet so off guard that he was unable to stop a full smile at the sight. Shaking his helm the instant he caught himself, the medic turned his optics away. By the Pit, why did they have to be so cute? Letting out a sigh, he quickly refocused his thoughts. Patience, Ratchet, all protoforms require is patience. Holding him close, he bounced the bundle gently, keeping a vigilant optic on him as he did so. Newly born sparklings could sleep through anything but their own hunger, so all he needed to do was allow the little one to fall into recharge once more. Primus willing, it wouldn't take too long. After all, his tanks were full and he was probably just as exhausted as the medic was.
As his optics had now fully adjusted to the dark, Ratchet was able to far more clearly view the protoform, and couldn't stop himself from observing as he waited. The bulky blue armor, accented with sharp blacks, bore an almost painfully equal resemblance to both of his creators. Thinking on this, he recalled the reactions of both Arcee and Bulkhead to the newborn. Neither had shown anything but contempt for him, and, at the time, the medic had had a hard time blaming them. But now, with the very same sparkling snuggled up to him for warmth and protection, trilling sweetly in near sleep, could he really say he felt the same? A faint whimper broke his chain of thought, and he realized that, in his pondering, he had stopped moving. Shushing the sparkling, he renewed his efforts, pacing somewhat irregularly to keep himself from slipping off again. The motion did the trick, and the newborn settled, optics dimming as he finally began to nod off for good. As Ratchet had predicted, the combination of gentle movement and full tanks meant that it didn't take much longer for the sparkling to slip into recharge for what would hopefully be the rest of the night.
When he was finally confident that it wouldn't wake the little one, he lowered him steadily back into his container. Moving slowly, he hushed the sparkling each time he threatened to wake, until he at last was settled onto his warm, padded berth. The newborns tiny hand held its grip on his thumb for just a moment longer before releasing, and the sparkling curled up comfortably. With surgical precision, the medic pulled the tiny blanket back over the sleeping form, successfully managing to cover the tiny one without waking him. Sighing as softly as he dared, Ratchet stood up straight, feeling greatly relieved to have accomplished the feat without further incident. He needed recharge as well, after all.
Taking a half step, he pulled back and took but a moment to observe the soundly recharging sparkling, his processor wandering back to his previous dilemma. Why was it so hard to believe now that he had come from a purely Decepticon heritage? Both creators had left their clear mark on his physical design, there was no denying that. But there was no trace of evil to be found in him, none of the natural wickedness he would have expected from the spawn of two thoroughly evil individuals. Instead, there was nothing but innocence within the protoforms spark, and he wanted only to be safe and loved like every other young one of their kind. He couldn't be judged for the actions of his creators, and he couldn't be expected to follow them either; only now could Ratchet see that.
He could only hope that the others would learn to do the same.