** Warning: Serious whumpage ahead.

Author's Note: I apologize for the slight monotony of this chapter. I believe this fic is moving a little bit slower than I originally intended, but I find it kind of difficult to do the big flash-bang explanations of something as large as, well, coming "back from the dead." That whole explanation IS still coming though, I'm just working out the details.

Chapter 2: All I Want

"So leave yourself intact
'Cause I will be coming back."

Mikaela exhaled shakily, torn between disbelief, alarm and desperation, a single word escaping her raw throat:

"Ratchet?"

Scarcely able to believe that he was standing before her and with her heart thumping wildly in her ribcage, Mikaela reached out to tentatively touch the figure, fingers delicately coming in contact with and dancing across the frigid skin on the back of his hand, uncaring that blood was coating her fingertips. His eyes never left hers, his lips parted slightly to release a rattling breath from obviously stressed lungs. Silently Mikaela took one, two steps forward and engulfed him in a fierce embrace.

"Oh my god," she sobbed. "They told me you were dead! They told me you'd been killed..."

The CMO grunted in pain and staggered under the sudden embrace, but managed to grip Mikaela's shoulders gently as he lowered his forehead to hers, closing his eyes and allowing the comfort of the brunette's affection to wash over him for a moment, feeling her tears as they dripped from her chin to land on his arms and neck.

After having a moment to collect herself, Mikaela leaned back to look up into his face. "What have they done to you? You're burning up," she sniffed, swiping at her eyes, laying the back of her hand across his forehead to reconfirm. He was definitely overly warm, she thought. She could see it in his eyes as well as feel it radiating from the too-warm skin of his holo.

She leaned around him, eyes searching for his alt. mode, knowing they needed to get him hidden - perhaps in her garage, so that she could start work on him as soon as possible. She was puzzled when she found no sign of the brightly painted Hummer anywhere and turned her eyes back to his face, brow furrowed in confusion, at which he merely shook his head slowly.

"Ratchet? What...?"

Tendrils of dread and doubt began to curl their way around her heart, then, and a million questions buffeted her mind all at once - Where was his alt. mode? How far could he be from it while still keeping his holo active? How had he escaped what was clearly an attack? Was this a trap? Was this really Ratchet? ... Was she having another nightmare?

Her thoughts were broken and she was snapped back to the present when the body in her arms sagged against her slightly, staggering her under its weight. She looked back to his face, alarmed to see that his eyes were glazing over and he was struggling to keep them open with the approaching threat of unconsciousness.

She realized that they were still standing out on her tiny front porch, getting soaked in the rain. "Sorry, sorry," she whispered, turning to kick her door open with one foot and slinging one of the body's long arms over her shoulders and hauling him inside with more than a little difficulty.

She kicked the door shut rather forcefully behind her and after a split-second decision, opted to half support, half drag the stranger who may possibly be Ratchet to her bedroom so that she could put him on her bed. God, please let this be him. Please let this be real...

She dropped him, rather more unceremoniously than she meant to, on top of her bed when they got near enough and he loosed a pained huff as his abused body made contact with the mattress.

"Sorry!" Mikaela winced, moving to help lift his legs onto the bed so that he was laying flat. She stood back to take him in fully, in the light. His face was pallid and even his lips were gray. His eyes were screwed shut tightly and he was breathing shallowly and quickly through his nose and his chest, which was covered in jagged wounds, was heaving slightly with the effort. His hair, nearly black with moisture, was dirty and tangled and clung limply to his forehead and cheeks. His skin, which Mikaela could tell was clammy even from where she was standing, was flushed with fever. Dull blue eyes with dilated pupils cracked open to look at her where she stood.

"Mikaela," he whispered, his voice rough with disuse and something she couldn't quite place. "You are as graceful as ever."

It was the first time he had spoken since he had arrived soaking wet on her doorstep, and it had been to tease her? ... It had been to tease her! Her heart sang and her eyes misted over in happiness as somehow, with just that one expression of familiarity, she knew this was him. This was Ratchet. With this realization, she turned around to face him and leveled a reprimanding finger at him:

"And you, Ratchet, are as thick-headed as ever!" She hissed, her voice rising unbidden in her throat and tone going up half an octave as all of her panic and sorrow made its way to the surface amidst her happiness. "You went and got yourself killed?! How could you do that? You promised me you would come back!"

"I have not been killed," Ratchet protested, swallowing roughly and turning his gaze to the bland, white ceiling above the bed, obviously unable to meet her eyes. "I am right here."

"Oh yeah? Where's your real body, then? Did you leave it hidden somewhere or-"

"It is gone."

"What do you mean 'gone'?"

"My Cybertronian form no longer exists. This body must be treated as if it was a typical human body - please Mikaela," he said in that same, rough voice. For the first time, Mikaela realized that the tone she couldn't quite place earlier was grief, pure and raw. "I cannot speak about this right now."

The brunette flopped down to sit on the foot of the bed, eyes apologetic, though she was having a hard time restraining the flow of questions. Gone? His Cybertronian form was gone? It didn't exist anymore? Typical human body? What did that even mean?

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I am just so -... They told me you were dead, Ratchet. Will Lennox called and told me, not five days ago, that you had been destroyed by that stupid fucking organization that we talked about. I've spent the last week trying to come to terms with the fact that I would never see you again, and you're here, you're right in front of me suddenly and I-..."

"I gave you my word that I would return to you," Ratchet said gently. "And I have, although I am less than I was."

Mikaela frowned. "Don't say that. You just need a little TLC, that's all," she said, offering him a small smile. He released a puff of air which may have been a laugh, but it sounded feeble and bitter and it worried the mechanic, who scooted closer to touch the CMO's hand again.

The cold, clammy skin pushed the fact that Ratchet obviously needed medical attention to the forefront of Mikaela's thoughts and she stood up to lean over him and assess his visible wounds more closely. He was covered in blood and dirt and God-only-knows-what-else, making it hard to separate one laceration from the next. The T-shirt that clung wetly to his chest and abdomen had obviously seen better days and Mikaela figured there was more fabric missing than not. His hands shook, and his whole body was wracked with violent shivers and chills, which he was obviously trying and failing to control. She figured that at least half of what looked like dirt was actually bruises beginning to form against too-pale skin and she leaned in closer to gently brush dirt from his forearms -

"May I ask what you are doing?"

"Taking stock of all of your wounds," Mikaela said distractedly, running her hands lightly along lacerated skin, applying gentle pressure to wounds as Ratchet had done with her so many times before. "Are you severely injured anywhere? I can't tell with all of this blood and grime caked all over you. I can't even see where half of it is coming from."

Ratchet shifted, wincing, and Mikaela noticed that sweat was starting to bead on his forehead. He closed his eyes, brows knitting together as though he was concentrating hard - possibly remembering something. "My right leg is deeply wounded," he said tightly. "I believe I have a collapsed lung as well as several broken ribs along my left side, and there was trauma to my shoulder compo-... my shoulder joint and my T-Spine. Everything else is somewhat superficial."

"Superficial. Right," Mikaela breathed in exasperation. "Very superficial. Ratchet, I don't know how to fix those things without help, I... I'm good at fixing cars. And ... and Transformers. Not people."

"Luckily I have experience in all of the above," Ratchet reminded her. "I will help you to the best of my abilities."

"Okay," Mikaela breathed, anxiety working its way up her spine. How was she going to fix a collapsed lung? And his leg... She could see the blood and torn flesh through the shredded remains of the khaki pants, and she hadn't even got a good look at his back and shoulder yet. She shuddered, attempting to steel herself. "Okay, what do I need?"

"Gather as many clean towels and blankets as you can. You will need an adequate supply of hot water, as well as something to disinfect these lacerations - possibly hydrogen peroxide if you have any on hand. Bring a couple of containers, along with a small sewing needle and thread. If you have any bandages or gauze, that would be helpful. If not, we will make do with what we have."

Mikaela nodded, making a mental list and getting up to fetch what she could from the kitchen and medicine cabinet.

"And ice," Ratchet sighed as an afterthought, shifting uncomfortably again and closing his eyes. "My core temperature is... high."

Mikaela threw a worried look over her shoulder at his admission as she stepped out of the bedroom. When she came back a few minutes later, Ratchet had propped himself in an upright position against the headboard of her bed and was working painfully on removing his boots. Mikaela dropped the bowls full of supplies on her dresser and sat on the edge of the bed, gently slapping his hands away and unlacing the boots and pulling them off to set them on the floor so that he could straighten his legs again.

"I have hot water set to boil on the stove," she said quietly, pulling a damp cloth out of a bowl and starting to wipe gently at his face. "But I don't have a lot of things that we need. I have some thread, but no sewing needles... no gauze. Have band-aids, but I doubt they'd be helpful... I do have hydrogen peroxide, though, and ice. I also brought you some ibuprofen to help with the fever, and with at least a little bit of the pain."

She pulled a large ziplock bag halfway full of ice out of the big bowl and wrapped it in a small towel, slipping a hand behind his shoulders to help him sit forward so that she could place the makeshift icepack on his neck. "You should really lie down, Ratchet..."

"No. If I do I risk my ability to stay conscious, as well as the ability to see exactly what you are doing so that I can direct you appropriately."

"Fine, have it your way. Take these," Mikaela said, handing him two ibuprofen pills and a glass of water from her nightstand, watching in mild amusement as the CMO swallowed them with an odd look on his face.

"What kind of respectable organism lacks self-repair systems?" he asked after he had swallowed the pills and water. He rubbed his chest absentmindedly, wincing at the tightness in his lungs.

"We don't lack self-repair systems. They just take a lot longer and need more help than a Transformer's do," Mikaela sighed as she continued to gently wipe dirt away from his neck and arms with a new cloth. "And we obviously aren't respectable. Look what we've done."

"What is this 'we?'" Ratchet rebuffed weakly, sensing exactly what the mechanic was getting at. "As far as I am aware, you are no more a part of Cemetery Wind than I am."

"I meant humans as a species," Mikaela mumbled, turning to throw the damp and now dirty cloth in the laundry basket and fishing a third out of her supplies. "Anyway, we need to get you out of these clothes. Do you think you could manage a cool bath?"

"Perhaps," Ratchet replied, using his uninjured arm to hoist himself up from leaning against the headboard. As soon as he was completely vertical, however, what little color he had left drained from his face immediately and he sagged back against the bed with a harsh breath. "Perhaps not."

Mikaela grimaced. "Ratchet, you need more help than I think either of us can manage right now."

"It isn't as though we can just stroll into a hospital, Mikaeala... I must avoid being discovered for both of our sakes."

"I know."

"What do you suggest, then?"

Mikaela climbed to her feet and paced back and forth a few times, stopping to lean against the doorframe of her bedroom and closing her eyes, running through the list of people she could trust, trying to recall if anyone had medical training or supplies... Someone who worked in the medical field, perhaps at a hospital...

Her eyes snapped open. "What about Sarah?"

"Who is Sarah?"

"Sarah Lennox. Will's wife? She's a registered nurse at the Providence Hospital on the north end of town... I think she may actually even work in the emergency room," Mikaela said, already reaching for her phone and feeling exhilarating hope for the first time since she had taken in Ratchet's injuries.

Ratchet, for his part, grunted noncommittally and closed his eyes. Mikaela watched him with trepidation as the phone rang, noting the way his chest heaved and rattled uncomfortably with each short breath, the paleness of his skin, the sweat now running down his face and neck to collect in his already-soaked shirt. Periodically he would wince or curl in upon himself slightly when his chest pained him.

Mikaela straightened slightly when the phone was answered. "Will? Will, it's Mikaela - yeah, hi... Alright. Listen, I have a serious problem and I was hoping that you - actually more like Sarah - could help me with. Medically speaking," Mikaela worried her lip between her teeth. "No, no... not me. It's... it's a friend. Yes. Look, I can't really tell you on the phone, but trust me when I say it's important. It's... it's pretty bad, but I can't take them to a hospital."

Ratchet nodded, trying to push himself back up to sit straighter against the headboard, to which Mikaela pointed her finger at him, mouthing silently 'Don't even think about it.' To her satisfaction, the CMO sunk back down, letting his head fall back to the wood with a dull thunk.

Mikaela shifted her weight to the opposite leg, jutting her hip out and putting a hand on it as she stared at Ratchet as if daring him to move, sighing and furrowing her brow when he made no further attempts. A few more seconds of silence came and went before;

"Hey Sarah. No, it isn't me... Uhm, as far as we can tell - a collapsed lung and some broken ribs. Shoulder and spinal trauma...? Deep laceration on one thigh," she sighed heavily, locking eyes with Ratchet momentarily and twitching. "It was a... a car accident."

Ratchet cocked a sardonic half grin. You bet your aft it was a car accident...

"No, I can't take them to the hospital - I know," Mikaela said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and beginning to pace again. "Please just trust me. I can't tell you over the phone, but please - yes. We're losing time. Yes. Shortness of breath, definite fever... chest pain?"

Ratchet nodded.

"Yeah, bad chest pain - Are you coughing up blood? No, they aren't. Wheezing and rattling. Okay, no that's great because I really don't have anything here... Great. We're at 3725 Fairfield, off of Vinewood. Yes! Thank you so much, I owe you big time."

Mikaela hung up the phone and sat on the edge of the bed again, looking relieved. When Ratchet looked at her expectantly, she said "Sarah thinks we should go to the hospital. But she'll come, and Will is coming too. They have to stop at Providence and... ahem, borrow some supplies first."

Ratchet eyed her dubiously. "Borrow?"

"What did you want me to say? 'No, that's okay Sarah, you don't have to take any of the hospital's supplies. I have a fully stocked medical supply closet where the pantry is supposed to be'? Because I don't."

When Ratchet answered with more silence, Mikaela grunted moodily and went to go pull the water, which was surely boiling by now, from the stove. She returned a moment later with a large, steaming bowl and another armful of small towels.

"Ratchet?" She said somewhat hesitantly, sitting down next to him again and getting back to work on his arms with the warm cloth. "Are you sure you won't tell me what you meant about your... your Cybertronian frame?"

Ratchet closed his eyes and released a long suffering sigh. "No, Mikaela. I cannot speak about it now... It is painful to consider. Further, I am not sure how to explain it."

"Okay, I understand."

"In good time, youngling," the CMO coughed weakly. "After I am fully functioning again perhaps I may explain it better."

"I feel like I'm dreaming," Mikaela said thoughtfully, snatching her hand back as Ratchet hissed when she pressed too hard on a particular spot on his upper arm. "Sorry. This is just surreal to me. I don't know what to... I haven't even started the real mourning process yet. I just keep praying that this isn't something my delusional, grief-stricken brain came up with as a new form of torture, because that would really suck."

She jumped slightly as a long-fingered hand reached up and brushed tears that she hadn't even known were there away from her face. She shifted her gaze to Ratchet again, taking in the rueful expression on his face, and let the tears come.

The CMO gently guided her to lean against the headboard and rest her head on his uninjured shoulder, where she buried her face in the space between his shoulder and neck and sniffed pathetically as he stroked her hair.

"You were dead," she said thickly after a moment. "You were gone. You were never coming back, and it was the worst thing in the world."

"I have not left you, Mikaela. I am here," Ratchet said simply, and it was all Mikaela needed.

Nearly an hour passed, and finally Ratchet had been wiped clean. Well, as clean as he could be in the circumstances. Mikaela did not have the courage to see some of his more serious injuries, such as the one on his leg, and had decided to leave that to Sarah. She had just been tossing the last of her wet cloths in the laundry when she heard the knock on the front door.

She looked over her shoulder at Ratchet, who had inclined his head toward the front of the house, presumably listening to the movement in front of the house with keen attention.

"It's probably Sarah and Will," Mikaela reassured him.

"Be careful, all the same."

"Sir, yes sir," Mikaela responded, giving him a salute - to which he scowled deeply - and shut her bedroom door quietly behind her before tiptoeing to the front of the house. Taking Ratchet's advice anyway, she peeked out the front window and, spying Will's truck parked in the driveway, bounded to the front door and all but threw it open.

"Okay, Mikaela. What's going on?" Will said, stepping warily over the small spots of blood and rainwater on the mechanic's entryway. "Something is fishy here."

Sarah followed him in, a bag of supplies in her arms, and gave Mikaela a slightly apologetic smile as the former NEST commander began snooping around her living room.

"It's not fishy," Mikaela said indignantly, pulling the stuffed bear that Will had grabbed off the couch and was currently inspecting out of his hands. "It's important. But I couldn't tell you over the phone... It's important that he isn't found by people we can't trust implicitly."

Will frowned as he made for the bedroom. "He? Is it your father?" he asked. "Because if it is, and he's in serious trouble with the law, I don't think this is a very good idea at all."

Ratchet, hearing all of this from inside the closed bedroom, snorted softly to himself. If the colonel was worried about legal trouble, he may as well turn around and go home while he was ahead.

He heard Mikaela scoff. "No! Will, it's nothing like that... It's-"

Ratchet twitched as the door to the bedroom opened rather forcefully to reveal a bristly Will Lennox and an aggravated-looking Mikaela.

Will stopped in his tracks as his eyes met with the figure on the bed, and his keys fell noisily from his hand.

Ratchet glanced up nonchalantly, offering up a casual "Hello, William."

"... What the fuck?!"

Mikaela winced. " - Ratchet."

Author's Note: Explanations are coming, I promise! Thanks for making it through the chapter. I hope it was somewhat satisfying for you all, if a little boring.