Title: Anchorage
Author: Femme4jack
Rating: R/M/Mature
Fandom: Transformers Movieverse (Patronus AU)
Character & Pairings: Ironhide/Ratchet, Hoist, mentions of Jazz/Optimus Prime/Prowl, hints of possible Ratchet/Sunstreaker/Sideswipe
Summary: ::Does it always have to be 'facing with you?:: Ratchet griped. ::Best way to change the subject when I don't know what to say,:: Ironhide admitted
Content: Semi-explicit intimacy (fields, tactile, spark), refs. major character death (sort of), hurt/comfort, angst, minor consent issue (resolved)
Notes: Written for the amazing, kind and wise mmouse15, because I thought deserved some of her favorite pairing, and as a reminder to myself to focus on what I love and what brings me joy. Also written for the 50 Reasons to Have Sex Fest using the prompts To Change the Subject and Love

I meant for this to be pwp Ratchet/Ironhide smex, but it ended up being an angsty h/c fic. This story takes place sometime between chapters 8 and 9 of Fidelius, and inspired by Merfilly's related work Twin Fates (archiveofourown . org / works / 223838) that explains Sunstreaker's fate in more detail. I think this can probably be read without wider knowledge of the series.

Anchorage: The action of securing something to a base or the state of being secured.

Iacon base's main medical ward was never a quiet place. There was always at least one medic and several repair mechs on duty, always injuries to heal or upgrades to attend. Even during the rare times when a multitude of different tools were not filling the bay with their din, one could at least count on the constant hum of the rarely empty stasis tanks.

Ironhide noticed immediately that one familiar sound was conspicuously absent as he entered the main ward. It did not surprise him, considering how fully his quarry's side of the bond was blocked. The warrior had learned early on that the sound of the medic's acerbic vocalizer was a positive sign. Ironhide quietly enjoyed being on the receiving end of his cohort-mate's more colorful glyphs, and he often deliberately placed himself in their line of fire. Not only could Ratchet string together a line curses that threatened to peal the armor from the most seasoned warrior, Ironhide also knew full well that a Ratchet who could rant was a Ratchet who was not in fear of losing the sparks he was trying to save. If Ratchet was cursing, it meant he had turned his nannybot worries toward the idiocies of the future rather than the threats of the present.

It was when Ratchet was quiet that mechs on the table or observing from a (hopefully) safe distance began to worry.

::He's in his office,:: Hoist transmitted, optics never leaving the protoform strut his specialized extenders were carefully micro welding to speed an injured mech's self-repair and get him back on the lines.

Ironhide transmitted a terse thanks in return. Over the vorns he had developed a grudging respect for the construct mechs who had not gone the way of the rest of their frame class. Hoist and Grapple had broken from their own gestalt cohort to do so, bonding in turn with a small cohort of science mechs who had survived the Science City massacre. It did not mean that Ironhide fully trusted them. It would be difficult to do so until the remainder of their original gestalt, who had chosen to follow Megatron, had gone to the Pit.

Then again, Ratchet liked to remind him that Optimus, too, shared a fractured bond with a Decepticon.

Ironhide did not care to process that fact, and instead made a point of growling at the two Construct class mechs a little less often in his own version of an apology. He had to admit that Ratchet's fellow medic had proven himself many times in the field, and was an invaluable asset. Hoist also eased some of the burden that rested on the CMO, though not nearly enough. Ratchet was still far too burdened and would continue to be until the war ended or the Pit took him.

Before entering his override on Ratchet's lock, Ironhide turned back and regarded the other medic. ::Anything I should know?:: he asked.

::He was unsuccessful in his latest attempt. Sideswipe is in the stasis tank recovering, and there is nothing else to be done at this point. I doubt even the finest spark specialists from the Academy could have done any better, but you know Ratchet.::

Ironhide grunted his understanding. It was what he had feared. He set aside his own grief over the loss of the more capable of the highly talented twins. He had been involved in training both of them, and very few were Sunstreaker's equal in combat. Optimus would need comforting, too, when news of this latest unsuccessful attempt got to him, but Ironhide could trust Jazz to settle their Prime while he did what was necessary for Ratchet.

"Frag off," was the greeting as Ironhide entered his override and walked in.

"That the best you can do?" Ironhide sealed the door behind him and circling around behind his partner.

Ratchet didn't even bother to reply with a better curse, but simply stared numbly into the empty cube on his desk as though he could refill it by wishing. It did not bode well. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, there was simply not enough energon available to distill the high grade Ratchet would need to numb the response he knew was coming.

"Loosen your slagging plates," Ironhide instructed, as he always did. Ratchet rumbled the usual complaint about nannybots, but did so, allowing Ironhide's scarred digits to begin working along the cables in the medic's shoulders and arms that were still taut from the complicated spark surgery he had attempted on the now fused twin sparks.

Ratchet continued staring at the cube as Ironhide made the highly tense cables manually release. The warrior, however, could feel the change in his partner's field as highly clocked systems slowly settled into a lower energy consumption setting now that Ratchet no longer needed to power such complex tools and surgical protocols. He knew what would follow. The firewalls that by necessity held Ratchet's emotional processors in check during the most high-risk situations would also lower as his systems cycled down.

He felt the shudder run through Ratchet's frame and field as those firewalls finally crashed. Ironhide's heavily armored arms wrapped his partner from behind as he began to shake. He knew that a part of Ratchet hated that Ironhide saw what happened to him when he failed to save a spark in his care, but the Pit would take him before he allowed the medic to face aftermath on his own.

Ratchet's side of the bond was still tightly shut, so Ironhide pushed against it, urging him to open up and share the pain. "Ain't your fault," the warrior murmured, his energies wrapping around his partner as surely as his arms did.

"Explain that to Prime! To Sideswipe!" Ratchet snapped, wrenching himself out of Ironhide's grasp, standing, and nearly stumbling with exhaustion in his attempt get to the door and away from his anchoring partner. Ironhide felt him open the bond enough to slam home the fact that he did not want comfort, did not deserve it, before closing himself away again. "I promised them I'd find a way, slag it!"

Ironhide wasn't having it. They could not afford to have Ratchet this unbalanced. Not when the next engagement could come at any time. Before the door slid open, he grabbed his partner's bulky frame and used his leverage to bring him to the floor with a crash of metal on metal. Normally, Ratchet had too much mass to bring down so easily, but his need for recharge had his gyros unstable.

"Get off me, you rusted heap of scrap!" Ratchet yelled with his full out rant volume.

"I'll get off when you let me in," Ironhide responded calmly, not budging. "You should know by now that you aren't supposed to carry this slag alone."

"I mean it, Ironhide. Get the frag out. Leave me be. What are you going to do, force me?"

Ironhide spat a curse and rolled off, fighting to control his own sudden burst of rage that had nearly activated his weapons systems.

"I would never force you," he growled, stunned that his partner would think so.

Ratchet sat up, looking shaken. "I know, but you push too hard sometimes."

Ironhide grunted at that. "Blame myself, too, you know. I got separated from them. But Sunstreaker did his duty, and saved Prime in the process. Honor his sacrifice by getting yourself sorted before the next round of casualties comes in. We can't afford to get mired in this. Officers like us don't get the luxury of self pity, and Prime needs us strong right now."

Ratchet's armor flared at the last statement, and Ironhide hated himself for saying it. In ways that only showed up at moments like this, Ratchet was still so very young because of his reformat, and had carried the weight of far too many sparks on his shoulders from the moment he had onlined in his new frame.

"Sunstreaker made himself known, when I was in Sideswipe's systems," Ratchet admitted, unshielding their bond at last and letting Ironhide feel the depth of shame and regret that had his spark churning. The twins were not part of their cohort, but they were very close to Prime. Ratchet had forged his own close connection with both of them over the vorns of war, based on their respect for him as a front line medic and the number of times he had pulled one or other back from the abyss. "Sideswipe was completely shut down, but somehow that fragger still managed to come to the fore. He forced me out, said to quit risking Sideswipe and accept that there is no turning back. He won't let me try any longer. His spark and memories are still there, Ironhide. I should be able to do this!"

"Got to be content with the fact that his spark was saved, just not in the way we would wish. More than a lot of mechs get." Ironhide said, regret lacing his own tone.

"He was not saved. Whatever Sunstreaker is now, you can't call it functioning. He is barely there. Most of the time Sideswipe can hardly feel a whisper of him, yet the slagger will not even consider a cohort bond."

Ironhide couldn't find a response to that. He felt more comfortable on an intuitive level when others were bonded. It was just hard to trust mechs who lacked cohort connections. Megatron's rejection of his bond with Prime had been the first weak spot in the welds of loyalty coding that had tied Ironhide to the Lord High Protector. And no matter how many times Mirage had risked his spark on missions deep in Decepticon territory, it hadn't been until the master spy had bonded with Hound and Trailbreaker's cohort that Ironhide had been able to start to let go of his suspicions.

"Those two've only had each other for a long time," he finally said. "At least they've got that, still."

"That's what I'm trying to say," Ratchet snapped. "They don't. He's barely there."

"But he's there enough to tell you to get your digits out of their spark. And he's right, Ratchet. It's time."

"The Pit with you! I'm the Chief Medical Officer. I'll say when it's time, not some hot shot warrior who had to go running off on a suicide mission!"

Ironhide's optics dimmed as he reached across their bond, enveloping his partner's desperate worry with his own calm certainty at the same time that he placed his servos on Ratchet's thickly armored shoulders, bringing their helms together. His fields meshed with Ratchet's own and slowly coaxed the anxious energies to calm.

::You are going to offline yourself with worry one of these days,:: he said, switching to their private frequency so he could bring one of the medic's servos to his faceplates and mouth along the hypersensitive digits.

::Does it always have to be 'facing with you?:: Ratchet griped, but he didn't pull away as his field merged more fully with his partner's.

::Best way to change the subject when I don't know what to say,:: Ironhide admitted, his free hand resuming the earlier massaging of Ratchet's tight cables, but with a more suggestive, stroking touch. ::You know I'm bad with words, and I can't promise you what you need me to promise.::

Ratchet pulled his hand away and gripped the flange of Ironhide's helm, staring at him intensely. "Tell me. You are better with words than you think you are."

Ironhide's grip turned rough, but Ratchet did not object to being grasped so firmly. "You are trying so hard to save Sunstreaker because you need to prove to yourself that you can. You fear that the next time it will be one of us. You know it's only a matter of time before we lose someone from our cohort, and I can't promise you I won't be the next one on a suicide mission. But Ratchet, we only have now. We only have here. You wonder why I'm always trying to face you when you're all wrapped up in your worries? It's to bring you back to now and show you what you have, because that is all we have. This," he pointed to his chestplates, and then his partner's, "This is the only promise, the only thing that is certain."

Ratchet momentarily pulled back again, but then seemed to think the better of it and settled more closely against the warrior's sharp-armored frame, allowing his secondary transformation sequences to smooth his own plating to bring them more flush against one another. Ironhide's plates automatically did the same and he settled on his back, pulling the medic on top of him. Their frames fit together like some vastly complex puzzle as tens of thousands of tiny plates shifted to merge them close, sensors forming feedback loops that did not need cables, charge racing back and forth between them with an audible buzz.

"I don't think I've ever heard you say so many words in a row. Are you sure you aren't malfunctioning? Should I check you for glitches?"

"Only glitch I have is you," Ironhide rumbled, syncing the hydraulics of their merged chest plates so they could open in tandem.

Their sparks sank into one another with perfect familiarity, coronas mingling and merging with swift ease as worries for one another were subsumed by the perfection of the timeless present. Through the quantum bonds that joined their cohort, they were dimly aware of Jazz and Prowl, in their own fashion, likewise settling Prime in his guilt and shame for having required such a sacrifice. It eased them both further, this reminder that no matter what came to pass, the other would never truly be alone. They quickly lost any sense of reality other than the depth of loyalty, love and trust they shared.

An eternity passed as surges crossed between them, searing their frames with pleasure until they were one spark with two cores, the blinding light making even their dulled and scarred frames shine. Anchored amid a dying world, it was enough to let them face whatever would come next.