My door chimes and it abruptly wakes me up. I check my internal chronometer and realize I managed three joors of recharge. Really, they left me alone that long? It took nearly a whole joor just to figure out how to lay down with my recovering doorwings and then get my spark under control. Never before were all the sensors active and their new states were really starting to hurt my chest and processor; now it's almost constant, as opposed to previously when my spark and I tried speaking to each other.
Back when Jazz and I were talking I only had two-thirds running and that was pushing it. My processor was swimming in information and I had trouble comprehending the meaning and value. It's like a constant series of whispers in the audio receiver and every once in a while a voice rises just enough for me to understand the words. On top of it there's the additional 'whisper' of a spark sound, resulting in feeling the frequencies. Instead of a whisper it's a vibration-based code where sometimes a particular vibration becomes out-of-phase with the rest and I can feel the actual code; understanding it after that is a different matter.
My chest started becoming uncomfortably warm a few breems after I ran away and continued doing so until I fell into recharge. Now it's cooled down but it's still above the normal temperature. The 'whispering' is back, though, but so far it's not a room of whisperers.
I call to the room to for 50% lights before stumbling out of my berth to meet my recharge-interrupter at my door. I'm not about to let them in remotely, least it turn out to be the same "Welcome back, Misfiring Processor Prowl" committee from before. Like I'm going to let them trap me in a room. I might even add a backdoor to my office.
My door slides open and I half hang off the doorframe, my recovering doorwings being unequal in weight due to the bandages and support struts on the right one. I noticed it after I stopped speed walking out of Medbay and nearly fell over. Evidently I shot myself pretty good in that one. The drawback of disappearing mid-way during our CMO's tirade: I didn't give Ratchet a chance to inform me about the rest of my injuries. Hence my suspicion about what's waiting for me.
"Jazz?" Immediately I quickly snake a glance around in case Ratchet's hiding somewhere.
He's slowly shifting his weight and he's holding his hand like ringing my door chime pained his wrist. "Can I come in?"
Involuntarily I grunt and he rocks backwards on his heels. "It's not you," I quickly assure him. "It's my spark. I'm not used to having all sensors on." For a moment it felt like a mini overcharged Ironhide took residence in my chest, moving irregularly with heavy pedsteps. Jazz's reaction interrupted the drunken pacing.
I step back and let him into the room. I follow him the short distance to the room's center while using my hands against my furniture and walls for guidance.
Jazz stopped by my two comfy chairs, each angled to either watch the screen or for discussions. I rarely use the television and often thought of giving it to the Rec Room, but the idea of competing televisions in one room always kills that prospect.
Jazz noticed my weird walk. While leaning against my chair he quietly elaborated on what I already suspect. "You left before Ratchet could explain about your doorwings and the remaining medications in your systems. He cursed a few details he didn't get to explain when you were there."
"I'm amazed that I managed to leave without him chasing me down, or that he isn't here now."
Jazz snickered briefly and awkwardly, as if he wanted to laugh but his mood lacked humor. "I think you're the first mech to tell him 'no' and then discharge yourself from his medical care. If it weren't for the unusual situation then you'd probably have only made it ten steps before being dragged back by the doorwings. Prime asked if Ratchet wanted you hauled down to Medbay and Ratchet's response was a long-winded way of saying, 'let that slagger suffer the consequences of stepping out.'"
"I'm not certain if that means I can relax or should add new safety buffers between me and him. By 'unusual situation', do you mean me?"
The corner of Jazz's mouth tweaked slightly and he sharply tapped his index finger against the chair. "More like the unusual ad hoc meeting in his Medbay."
"What was the outcome?"
"That we'd adjourn until Prime called for another meeting. There was a lot of discussion and bickering what's the appropriate response to someone hiding an existing person situation that's integral to their role here, and what each response might do the Ark's environment. We couldn't make up our minds if it was a blatant attempt to hide a pre-existing medical problem or a very personal disability. Ratchet started off on 'fragging hider' but ended up being almost half-and-half. Still definitely on the side of being angry. At that point Prime called for an end."
My vocalizer somehow thickened as he spoke, resulting in me only muttering, "Ah." Based on the low hum of my spark it doesn't like Jazz's meeting cliffnotes. This is the quietest it's been since Medbay. Still, that hum isn't something I'd normally feel. I need to talk to Ratchet but markedly my timing will require consideration for my overall safety and manner of approach. While a normal mech would have all sensors on at all times, mine were all replaced with stronger and unique sensitivities. I'm currently experiencing the "maximum" setting, an idea based on theoretical situations and an untested hypothesis. We never passed half-on settings because we stopped to address other concerns.
I need to sit. My lopsided doorwing weight is making standing difficult. I almost waddle to the nearest comfy chair and plop down. I hear Jazz laugh before he tries stifling it. I suddenly smile when he poorly fails. It's not a big smile but it is genuine.
"Sorry," he chuckles after regaining control. He joins me in the other chair. His hands finally stopping moving and his back is less tense.
I'm not asking him why he's here because it'll put the tension right back. "How are you?" I inquire with a light smile. Hopefully my smile offsets any leftover tension from my pre-battle actions. The thought brings my spark right out of its quiet attitude with a pang. That pang causes an involuntary clenched left hand. I force it back open and disguise it as readjusting my arm on the chair. The motion of unclenching my first turned into tingling along my fingers, though. I'm not bothering with extrapolating whatever emotion that is.
His posture tightens but then he slowly relaxes. "Pretty well. Been hanging out with friends and going out to events. Everyone's been cheery. I think..." he stops abruptly but then resumes slowly finishing his last word until he's softly biting his lip.
"You can say it. You aren't going to hurt my feelings." My spark's maybe, but not mine.
"It sounds dumb."
"You rarely say dumb things."
"That's sweet of you," he playfully scoffs. "I wasn't planning on saying anything but apparently the unplanned just tried slipping out. So... so, thanks you for not making what happened between us a problem on the Ark. I realize you took all the blame without making it a problem for anyone else. It's selfish of me, I know, but it was less hard on me since it was also less hard on everyone else."
My spark flickers and hums, drawing up a tenseness from my energon tanks. I refuse to ask him why he ignored me if he was content, rather choosing to focus on the positive interpretation of his words. "I'm glad I didn't cost you any extra pain beyond that joor." I never felt anything while it was happening and I don't feel glad now, but I knew Jazz didn't deserve any problems. I did lead him on. I think perhaps I wasn't trying to? I know I pushed back that half-online point for him, the point where my friend lost his certainty. I never truly fathomed why but I was hoping to eventually understand with near certainty.
He wrings his hands once and then cautiously asks, "How are you?"
I knew the question was coming even before I sat down and I'd been thinking about it since. "I am as I expected to be." I leave out the part about the building pressure in my processor from trying to absorb all the sensors. It's completely unexpected, but I don't have a choice and Jazz can't do anything about it.
"Don't be cryptic."
"I am not trying to be cryptic. I just don't know how to accurately answer that question. Jazz, you asked me to be honest with you. This is honestly the best I can do for the moment."
The tension in his face falls but not in a good way. Immediately I offer, "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be depressing or secretive. It just takes a lot out of me to try finding those types of answers. I'm not up to the challenge right now."
"Are you hurting?" I think he's staring at my left doorwing. Is it moving? I mentally check and I can sense a slight tremble in it. Does he look at my doorwings the same now that he knows more about my situation?
"I need to ask - probably more like plead with - Ratchet to let me turn off at least half of the spark sensors. Preferably all but two. I used to only operate with two." Our spark chambers are made with enough sensors to detect the slightest localized signs of anomalies or risks in our spark. Two sensors aren't enough for anything beyond an impending hemispheric problem. Better than nothing. Currently I feel like I'm getting localized input for constant humming and even small "clutches" when Jazz's body language takes on negative aspects.
"Do they hurt?" He's surprised. I'm sure normal mechs with normal sensors don't feel it at all. Their spark's emotions are their emotions. They truly are a seamless singular unit whereas I'm broken into at least three pieces.
"To a certain amount." And growing.
"Ratchet's not going to do anything right now unless you can offer something really good. He's seriously upset and worried about the strain your spark has undergone for so long."
"Hmm. It's uncomfortable now but a joor's worth of discomfort may help convey my issue to Ratchet. Maybe."
We talk for just over another four breems about Ratchet and his typical attitude. I'm careful to leave myself out of our observations and Jazz seems to know and respect that. Disturbingly, I'm rapidly wearing down from the whispering room and uncomfortable warmth. I'm already fairly certain I won't make it to the first half of my shift. I should just access the roster and move it to the following shift-change. That'll generate a red flag for Prime but not nearly as bad as me missing the shift I so eloquently demanded to work.
"You're grimacing." Jazz cuts my planning short.
"I need to recharge but I expect it'll take longer than normal. I'm debating on how to address that."
"You need to recharge now?"
"Yes. It will take some time." I gesture to my chest. "Extra sensors drag out powering down." Am I starting to get comfortable talking about me? That's strange. The pain in my processor must really be making an impact. "I don't mean to be rude, but if you please," I indicate the door by tilting my head because I can't bring myself to say the word "leave". A certain 'someone' in this body has issues with that and is constricting my vocalizer.
Jazz looks at the door and then back at me. "Yeah, sure," he mumbles as he stands; however, once he's on both peds he looks at me instead of continuing his direction. After rocking his peds while managing to stay in place he moves into a kneeling position by the monitor Ratchet practically wielded to my right arm. Ratchet fed some wires underneath my arm and chest armor so I can't pull his sensors out. I know because I already tried.
I'm uncomfortable having Jazz this close but I manage to refrain from moving, including my doorwings. I think I smell the lingering aroma of a type of lubricant that "waters up" around our optics to keep them clear of dirt and dust. I hear it's also sometimes an emotional response to various types of pain. I can't see Jazz's optics beneath his visor so I don't know if I'm detecting that right. I know my spark is twisting painfully with the smell and my tanks are becoming nauseous. I know it couldn't have happened while he was here so I disagree with my spark's apparent assumption that it understands.
He tentatively touches a side of the monitor. "I can disrupt it so you can power off those sensors without it telling Ratchet. This monitor detects changes in your sensors, not their individual state."
"You'll help me?"
"If you can't recharge, then yeah. I'll take care of your shift issue as well. I only have one stipulation."
"Yes?"
"I stay here until it's time for you to leave, and then I turn them back on. Ratchet seriously went off about the state of your spark. He's worried about a stress-induced spark-attack."
Oh. I must be missing something then, or Ratchet is simply worried because he's not a spark specialist. I can't think of a single Autobot who received quality spark-health training. Before the war that specialty existed as an occupancy but once the war started everything moved to the more physical realm. After all, a spark's role in war is surviving or terminate. Measuring the effectiveness of surviving isn't something war allows as a realistic use of the limited medical resource personnel.
"I accept your terms."
"Good." Jazz uses his magnetic pulses and when he nods I quickly flip off the sensors. I return the nod and he stops.
"Alright you, off to recharge." He helps me up and into my berth followed by grabbing a datapad off my desk I use to update master schedules through Teletraan. I crawl/slide across it to the wall and slowly turn around so my back is protected. By the time I settle down with my doorwings Jazz sets down the datapad. He calls for lights out and my room responds. Now the only light is what filters from the hallway through the bottom and top of my door.
"What did you list as justification?" I ask, fighting the lull of recharge for a moment. "When do I need to report in?"
"Never mind that. I'll let you know when it's time. Are you comfortable?"
"Yes," I answer, my vision already fading.
"Good." I expected Jazz to rest in a chair but he joins me on my berth. It's not exactly built for the comfort of two mechs resting side-by-side but Jazz isn't intent on that. He pulls up close to me and puts his audio horn against my chest.
My vision brightens for a moment. "What are you doing?"
"Listening to your spark." He hooks his fingers around the seams of my chest armor, locking himself into place. "I don't want to risk you having a quiet spark-attack during recharge."
Suddenly I wish I could talk to my spark but I can't risk triggering Ratchet's ire. I think what my spark might do. I think it'd share the sense of security? I can feel tension in his entire body, but Jazz's hips and legs in particular don't look comfortable. I recall he likes sleeping on his back with his legs propped because it's easier on his hip struts. Some of his permanent damage (what Ratchet can't rebuild due to non-existent specialty supplies) causes a full recharge to become painful if his legs aren't properly supported. I ask my battle simulator how to help. It answers and gingerly I reach out and pull his waist closer so his back is straighter and supported by my soft hold. I move my top leg and slip it between his legs to support his top leg, thus taking the stress of his hip strut and knee. My other leg presses against his bottom leg to keep it from rolling out from under him.
His visor glows briefly and I can feel the tension slowly releasing in his body. As he relaxes his audio horn presses closer. I can feel the tips of his fingers curl tighter. I ask him, "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes," he answers so quietly I nearly miss it.
"If it hurts or becomes uncomfortable, please let me -"
"Sssh," Jazz gently interrupts. "I can't hear your spark if you talk."
I decrease power to my non-essential auxiliary systems until they're almost completely idle. "Then this should help reduce noise interference. Good night, Jazz."
"Good night, Prowler."
|/\/\/\|
I come out of recharge easily for the first time in a very long time. Before I power on my optics I can feel soft touches around my torso sides, near my hip seams. He seems to be tracing something.
I power on my optics and look at Jazz. His audio horn is still pressed against my chest and one hand is still grasping the top of my chest armor but he's focused on my torso's side. His free hand is lightly moving along that area. I slide my head to peer closer, putting my helm near his. His hand pauses and his helm bobs briefly before he continues on.
I see he's tracing my scars. Scars are telling on a Cybertronian. If one was covered in scars then chances were they saw those scars as a part of their battle pride and refused to let their medics fix them. Scars are formed by our internal healing system rapidly building up meshing material to close off open wounds. For those who didn't see their scars a pride, said markings are thin because bigger injuries result in more intrusive matters. Those likely require rebuilds or replacement.
Depending on the scars, you could tell if a mech didn't have access to immediate medical facilities when injured, or if he was unable to receive later treatment from a medical area fully stocked with the needed materials. Most facilities aren't fully stocked so they're reluctant to use the materials on repairing small wounds or scar material. Ratchet does what he can to undo scars, declaring it wrong that the Decepticons should leave their lasting marks on our bodies, like they did to irreparably mar our world.
Concerning what I called cosmetic scarring, or scars that don't interfere with functions and movements, I never had anything but my face, chevron, and hands fixed. Optimus, Jazz, the Twins, Bluestreak, and other fighters deserved that material reserve more than me. Ratchet and I butted heads more than once over that but he always relents because there's always someone else who needs it. The last time we argued it was settled after Sideswipe was attacked by Dead End. While the frontliner was out Ratchet discovered some scarring. The repairs consumed the last of Ratchet's spare supplies for the deca-orn.
Jazz was tracing one of my scars, his fingers landing stopping over one that looked more like a knot. "Where did you get this?"
"Starscream."
"Why didn't you get it fix?"
"It doesn't bother me any. It's not causing interference and Starscream doesn't know it's from him so there's no power in it."
"But you have a memory of Starscream literally carved into you."
"I haven't thought about it in a long time. Praxus was only recently destroyed when I got that." I slowly pulled away from him but suddenly he tightened his grasp and clamped his legs around mine.
He kept scanning my body with his finger tips. His helm moved upward until he was looking at my left doorwing. "How many do you have?"
"I don't know. I know a couple are from when I lost my friend that gave me my spark adapter." I have my reasons for not letting those scars be taken from me. "Most are from losing Praxus and efforts to find survivors. It didn't seem right to spend time in a medical tent instead of searching for survivors, and it was a long time before there were supplies for anyone who wasn't a survivor. By then I accepted it."
"What about now?"
"Ratchet and I have been over this plenty. Really, when you take into account that it's been since we lost Praxus, it's not that many."
He murmured, "Can't believe I never noticed these."
"Why? Have you snuck up on me recharging before?" He lets go of my chest briefly and smacks me playfully before returning to his hold. "Only the medics know. I don't exactly have a glossy polish or flashy paint job. You'll find most of my scars just happen to be around my black paint. One has to be very close to see them, and even then most can only be detected by touch."
"It doesn't upset you?"
I used one hand to pull his chin up to see my face rather than the scars. "No," I answer while using my other hand to tap my helm. Odd, my own reservations about talking about myself are dwindling at the moment.
Jazz frowned. "I see."
"Please stop frowning. It seems to be the norm around me. It's a rather discouraging."
He smoothed out his frown but didn't smile. He took my hand touching his chin and simply held it. His other hand traced my seams and scars on my front. I let him while we shared few words for almost a quarter joor.
Jazz's auxiliary fans sudden came online as he squeezed my hand. "Time for us to get moving."
"Is it time for my shift?"
"Yeah, yours and mine. I moved them both." Jazz let me go and we untangled ourselves. He helped me out of the berth and found me a rod from a modulated table support, which he fashioned as a cane wither other modulated parts. He handed it to me. "To offset the doorwing weight issue."
"Surely I'll learn how to compensate."
"Between here and your office?" he grinned and thrusted it into my hand. I tried figuring out how to use the rudimentary device to offset an upper body weight issue. "I could help you and then spend the shift with you in your office."
"Thank you but no. I suspect without any understanding, you and I walking around together might cause a whole new wave of tension through the Ark." He pressed his lips thin and rested one balled fist on his waist. "Don't Jazz. We don't need you arguing with mechs who only care about you. Or just like being afts, whichever we'd run into first. I don't want to explain myself to anyone. We can deal with it later."
"Explain what?"
"Another time," I reiterate. "I'm assuming you need to go back to your quarters. I'll be walking slower so I should leave now."
"Yeah I do." He steps closer to my right arm. "Sorry, Prowl, but I can't risk you offlining on us."
"This has been an on-going risk. You and the rest shouldn't act like I'm suddenly at death's door."
"We just found out about this!" he retorted. "I'm not risking anything being the straw to your camel's back."
"What?"
"It means - oh, never mind. Get ready to flip on the sensors. All of them. Less than 100% sensors mean less than 100% coverage." Like before, he uses his magnetic pulses to interrupt Ratchet's not-so-handy device, and I reluctantly bring half the sensors online. When I tell him it's done he shakes his head.
"I saw the difference in your optics when you went from 100% to 0% coverage. Finish turning them on."
I can already feel glowing warmth in my spark, like an early sun on a summer morning. I don't want to continue but I won't start a fight over it. Jazz watches me carefully and this time he stops after I tell him I'm done.
He asks, "You're not hurting, right?"
"No, I'm not." So far my spark is warm but my chest armor isn't, while the whispering is almost non-existent.
Awkwardly I walk with the cane to the door. The hallway is empty, but that's not surprising since the officer hall is usually busy after the primary shift ends, and that's in six breems.
I usher Jazz out and lock the door behind him. He grins, "see you later." He leaves to his own close quarters, and I detect a small bounce in his steps. My spark flutters in-tune with his bounce. It's positively singing with extra energy and I feel a burst of lightheadedness.
I leave the opposite direction, working my way to my office while slowly figuring out how to walk without my cane for my lopsided weight. I ought to comm' Ratchet and inquire when he'll remove the medical contraption but I'm still leery of him.
I actually make it to my office fairly smoothly. By the time I came across my first group of Autobots I was carrying the cane around. When asked about it I called it my punishment stick. Their reactions amuse me.
About ten breems into my shift my door chimes. I'm tempted to hide beneath my desk since I don't have that back door yet. My lights are on so whoever's out there knows I'm in here. "Come in," I acknowledge.
The door reveals Prime. Immediately I notice where the grate to the biggest air duct is located. I chastise myself for thinking that. There's no way I can get through any grate faster than Prime can grab my leg. For the moment I'll keep my dignity because the only other option is escaping and kicking Prime like a youngling.
"Prowl."
"Yes, Prime?"
"How are you feeling now that you're up?"
"I am functioning acceptably within my personal parameters. You are coming off of the primary shift, correct? Is there anything you want me to focus on?" My sensors detected a spike of activity from my spark since Prime stepped in, including a rushing heightened awareness of my surroundings. My vocalizer is tense, along with the muscle cables in my neck. My best guess is that it means something along the lines of "please drop the issue of whether or not I betrayed the Autobots." That's what's running in the back of my processor, anyways.
"What do you define as your personal parameters?"
"My parameters haven't changed since before the battle, only your awareness has. I understand I am not the same as I was to you as I was a deca-orn ago, but I am the same as I have been for vorns." I reply politely while monitoring my voice before my tense vocalizer can add intonation.
"I want to be aware of all your parameters, Prowl. If I'm to make an educated decision on what possible options are available to you and the Autobots, then I need to know exactly what I've been missing."
Gradually I offer a slight nod while smothering a frown. "Of course. I haven't put much consideration into it but I can make a datapad for you."
"That's not entirely accurate, is it? You not putting much consideration into something."
"I mean definitions and comprehensions for others. For example, do you know the link between the spark and involuntary actions, especially in doorwings?"I pause briefly so he can answer my redundant question to himself but not comment aloud. "I have seven parameters to gauge the state of health of the link between my doorwings and spark. Typically I ignore four of them in favor of not constantly dwelling on myself, as those four and thirteen other parameters would require if I focused on them all."
"How many parameters do you have?"
"Twenty-two."
"And how many are about your spark?"
I barely stop my doorwings from twitching upright with that question. I might have to make a decision I don't want to be dealing with this early after being exposed. "Directly or indirectly?"
"Both."
I flickered my optics away from Prime as if my primary monitor just displayed something important. "Indirectly is approximately half. Directly is..." three, plus that adapter. "Six, in addition to the spark sensor-net adapter." Does it count as incorrect doubling if doorwings and hands each exist in pairs, and my processor and battle computer are technically two separate parts?
Prime's posture told me he wanted higher numbers so I gave it to him. Courteous of my many, many report-outs I learned some of Prime's tells. His optics rest lower if he wants the numbers low (like casualties), and his chin points up for higher numbers (like energon estimates). Smokescreen would take all of his betting credits in a handful of games. Jazz uses it to gauge how well he's applying his "office smarts" to get something.
Prime acknowledges it with a short nod. "Please send me a detailed report of those six and the adapter before the end of your shift. Will you be back on primary shift next time?"
"It's my intention, barring any medical issues with these doorwings."
"We'll plan accordingly and adapt for whatever you need. I want that report for my own review on my next shift, and I want a report on all remaining parameters available for my following shift. There were some concerns about how this condition affects you in battle and demands you be tested."
I quickly interject, "Again, I am the same. If you didn't question me before, then the only reason to question me now is not because of me but your comfort."
"I realize that. I also realize finding someone suited to make that determination while successfully keeping it a complete secret would be time-consuming and difficult. It's the sort of situation that requires someone off of the Ark to perform so there's never a doubt in any Autobot's mind when you make tough calls."
Finally, some logical in their approach. My restless spark is quelled for a moment. "I will get you that information by both deadlines."
"And you will stay in regular contact with Ratchet," Prime finished with an order. "At the start and end of each shift, his schedule pertaining."
Can't you just let Ironhide yell at me instead? I'm sure he wants to and there's less chance of flying wrenches with flying tempers. "I will do so starting next shift."
"Starting the end of this shift. Ratchet is off-duty right now and I'm not certain he'd accept a report from First Aid. Since First Aid is the only attending active this shift I'd rather not waste his time, nor do I want Ratchet's rest interrupted over it. With your sensors online I doubt you'll offline without some warning," Prime added with a drawl.
"Ratchet should still be off-duty when my shift is done," I press my argument.
"Yes, but even though he works the primary shift, we all know he regularly checks-in with secondary and tertiary shifts. He's agreed to put off his secondary-shift check until the very end of said shift. Just for you."
Yeah, I'm getting hit by a wrench. "Acknowledged, Prime." With well-wishes he leaves and I turn to my primary monitor screen, hardwired into Teletraan. Obviously I'm not working those datapads into a system where others might gain access to the data. They'll be their own unfiled datapads. I'm not looking forward to generating the first report right now so I'm focusing on my regular workload. Between the electronically-submitted files and the datapads I'll have plenty to do. I certainly won't finish them before I'm scheduled to see Ratchet, even without Prime's newest required report. It'll be interesting how I can string three parameters into six without sounding like I'm stretching the truth.
My break comes around and Jazz hails me for a shared break, reminding me of my remaining promised seven that apparently still count. I persuade him to wait until at least next shift, between my incomplete work and the probability him walking into my office with energon cubes will get others twitchy. He replied with "frag 'em" and I said "later." He laughed and agreed to my request. I don't leave to get any energon.
My problems with the adapter are getting wore than I even projected. My processor is having "pseudo-glitches" from the excessive input. It's picking up tiny fluxuations, an incredibly common normality that's now flooding me with data. I'm starting to take regular mini-breaks just to get it under control. It's plenty obvious at this point that I'll have to convince Ratchet to let me turn at least half off. Hopefully it's as simple as letting him see the readout.
It's now a joor from the end of my shift. I finished my report for Prime and I'm sitting carefully behind my primary monitor in case anyone steps in without announcing themselves. I have my optics and audios off but my hand is resting on a pad that vibrates when my door opens. This position gives me a klik's chance of turning everything back on before someone thinks I fell into stasis. I managed to find the best sitting position so my chair cradles my left doorwing to dampen the receivers from picking up vibrations. Most of my right doorwing's sensors are blocked by the bandages. I just might opt for keeping this off-center weight issue if I need artificial methods of input dampening.
Luckily no one enters and when my chronometer alerts me about the nearing medical check deadline so I online my optics and audios. I lock everything down, discard my datapad in a locked dropoff box at Prime's office, and make my way to Medbay with stick/cane. I'm trying very hard to walk straight. Logically there's no reason for me to need it but twice I had to use the cane since leaving my office.
Tentatively I poke my head through the Medbay doors and instantly receive a very snarky and fake-happy greeting. "Good of you to finally join us, Mr. Exempt-From-Regulations!" Ratchet's sitting at a sidewall's work bench but facing me, glaring and rapping his fingers on his crossed arms.
"I'm here as ordered."
"No, you were ordered to be here at the end of the shift, not make your way here after the shift ends, Mr. Inconvenient." He gets up, wrench in hand, and makes his way over to me. I fight cringing when he approaches and jabs the wrench into my doorwing's bandages. "You, back corner. Now." He pushes.
"Ratchet, please do not push me by my doorwing," I protest while walking.
"I will do as I please, just like you think you can."
"You're tenderness as a healer knows no bounds," my dry humor once again slips out. That's helping my goal.
"You're sure fragging right."
We're finally in the back corner which is one of the few areas with a closed room. I climb up on the berth and lean back on the attachment meant to secure my back around my doorwings. Ratchet starts poking around my doorwings while muttering about stupid tacticians, acid damage, and getting what said stupid tacticians deserve. This time I manage to hold back my comment about his boundless love.
"Well, they're healing fine. At this rate I can take off the bandages and turn on the pain sensors in about three joors."
"That long?"
"Acid damage, remember? You had extensive pitting. It's why you use that gun, dummy." Ratchet explains like I have more processor damage than just emotion subroutines.
"Half the reason," I correct. "It does plenty of other damage."
"Whatever. Your leftwing will probably heal by tomorrow but the right wing had plenty of pitting. Since you don't bother getting your scars cleaned up properly, I turned off your self-healing abilities while I was undoing your attempt to add extra side windows. Those bandages are coated to minimize any pitting scars."
"So the left doorwing's bandages may come off tomorrow."
"No, because I don't feel like it. See what it's like when someone does what they want to rather than what's best?"
"If you mean about me not disclosing something typical for me but atypical for you, then that's hardly the same. If you mean from when I last saw you, then I'm sorry for leaving but you did spring an accusing committee on me."
His grouchy expression softened slightly. "It wasn't supposed to be that many. Perceptor and Wheeljack were with me when I figured it out. I took the news straight to Optimus and ranted as soon as I cleared the door. How was I supposed to know Jazz and Ironhide were there on their downtime, just out of sight?" Ratchet shrugged. "Could be worse. Red could've been there."
"Thank Primus for the small miracles."
"Yeah, well once 'longtime CPU-damaged tactician' hit their audios everyone was adamant to get the story straight for you. As far as I'm concerned, you gave me only half the story. Why the Pit didn't you tell me, like I don't know, ever? And you and I have a long history of 'ever' so don't even try some snarky answer."
"Ratchet, I would never attempt to meet your level of snarkiness."
"Or stalling. Don't even try stalling. I'm using the only non-emergency private room I've got here so you can't hide behind the risk of being overheard and undermining the Autobots' trust in you."
"Fine, I never told you because it happened before the war and there's nothing you can do about it. Well before I met you I accepted it as a part of me. I know you're intending on trying to treating this like an injury but if my friend couldn't do it, and his plans involved making processor damage his specialty, then what can you – a wartime CMO – do? I don't doubt you have exceptional skills, but you are limited to what's available to you for use or gaining/maintaining experience."
"As CMO and the Prime's prime medical provider, I have a lot of pull. If it exists anywhere within Autobot territory or with friendly-ish neutrals I can get it; it's only a matter of time."
"Really? Then why hasn't Jazz's hip struts being complete fixed?"
That took him off-guard. He grunted, crossed his arms, and angrily tapped his fingers against an arm again. "There's very slight damage remaining. I could remove it entirely because it's his hidden pocket for saboteur tools and not part of a normal hip strut. He just refuses."
"Wait, please repeat that. He's got pockets underneath his armor?"
"Being the upgrade-loving sneaky SOB he is, Jazz has several modifications that allow him to hide emergency tools and weapons in case he's captured. The one that runs along the middle of his back took some heat damaged, resulting in minor reforming with a more curled position. It's only a problem when he's prone for a certain amount of time, depending on the environment, because it pushes on muscle cables. Unfortunately the raw material supplies are in Shockwave's domain. Like you, he puts his job way above personal comfort; he's just better at managing it. Here I thought the most likely culprit to pull something over me was him. Wheeljack is very close to making a substitute material and a few others for some other mechs."
I raise my optic ridge. Ratchet snaps, "He's not going to explode Jazz! Now, back onto you. Less stalling, more on your special brand of unbelievable problems. You'll tell me everything about your spark sensors now before I examine them, or else risk me doing it blind of whatever you're hiding."
I almost missed his demand, still mulling over the new information about Jazz. Evidently I'm not the only one keeping personal configurations and limitations to himself among my small collection of personal relationships. I recognize the resulting spark emotion from the realization as annoyance. "I don't have all the details and no records remain, so I can only provide a rough outline. The original sensors over my spark were replaced with sensors with double sensitivity. Later he thought he should have only replaced about a third of them due to oversensitivity. It's never been corrected. The idea was to pick up on my spark's emotions since it can't communicate to my processor via the normal method. Additional sensors along my body have also been heightened but those are primarily hands, peds, and doorwings. They're more supplemental than anything."
"Then what's their purpose?"
"Just added input to construct a better comprehension of involuntary behaviors and responses. I don't use them that much," I added off-handedly. "They don't bother me nearly as much as the spark ones. The spark ones are causing me non-stop pain."
"Why? Are they faulty or flawed?"
"They are overfeeding my processor with information, and it seems the sensors can overheat when they're all on. I suspect the problems are from being flawed sensors. I've received no fault-generated messages regarding the issue or even the sensors. There was no known faults before my friend deactivated but we were in the midst of testing."
"And testing usually has some troubleshooting. How involved were you in the testing? I'm not talking about being the test subject, but the other aspects."
"I assisted him where possible but most I left it up to him and his resources. It wasn't in my area of expertise."
"So for all you know, no diagnostic link was established to your processor to provide faults."
I thought about the handful of modification stages, what the changes were, and my friend's method of post-surgical checkups. "I don't recall it being on the list of completed installations. He had numerous readout devices that bypassed my awareness. It was a sort of blind testing so my reactions wouldn't be effected by outside perception. If you did not see one while doing your investigation, then it is very like there is none."
Ratchet stared at my chest for almost three breems. It was uncomfortable but I wasn't about to interrupt. Finally he verbalized his conclusion. "I'm going to get as much information as I can about the sensors, their individual state, and see how your friend may have set his monitors to discreetly gather information. If I can find it then I can connect my equipment to it. Otherwise I'll have to construct something. Then I'll come up with a plan to deal with the situation. I'll put you offline while I do this because it's would otherwise be tedious and uncomfortable for you. Consider that my apology for springing the 'Prowl's been a bad mech' committee. I was planning to make you suffer."
"What love and consideration. During this time will you deal with the constant pain?"
"I am not turning off any sensors. I'll see what I can do but it won't be that. At the very least I'll find the source or cause of you pain." I reluctantly agreed to his limits and shortly afterwards I offlined.
|/\/\/\|
As soon as I felt my conscious returning I booted my optics and searched for Ratchet. I saw him through the door's window, just outside and talking to Perceptor. He glanced my direction, dismissed Perceptor, and returned. My gaze lingered on Perceptor until he disappeared. Was that disappointment on his face? What is it for me or another patient?
Ratchet spoke first, waiting until the door closes. "How does your processor, chest, and spark feel?"
I check all three. "My processor no longer hurts, and I can't feel my chest or spark. I thought you weren't turning off the sensors."
"I didn't. It's a medication Perceptor made while I was working on your sensors." I immediately checked my chronometer after hearing that a medication for my unique situation was theorized, created, and delivered while I was offline.
I'm unable to prevent my voice from dropping an octave. "Why was I offline all of the tertiary shift and the first third of primary shift?"
"When I first found out about the sensors I only did preliminary checking. Once I figured out you turned them off I decided to wait to hear it from you as to why before digging in deeper. I knew investigating would take awhile after I realized it wasn't standard parts.
"Basically it amounts to this: yes, there's tiny diagnostic connection points but they are part of the problem. I take it he used a quick-disconnect transmitter so he could get what he needed without having you constantly a source of transmission. At some point the quick-disconnect ports were jammed – perhaps from a hard landing during battle, I don't know – so the diagnostic system thought the transmitter was always installed. The connection points are trying to send information. I don't know how long that's been happening but when I connected my tools to it there was an immediate overload of an overflowing memory cache constantly dumping information. I found stored data in a different memory bank and it has limited data spanning back a total of ten deca-cyles, which is its max. The sensors are faulty from being flawed and in-use for some time. For whatever it's worth, it's about a fourth of the total sensors that fall under that category. The flaws themselves were probably minuscule when your friend was working on them, but unkempt prototype equipment tends to degrade after vorns."
"What are the flaws?"
"As you suspected, they can overheat…" Ratchet's voice suddenly cuts off.
Immediately I suspect the source for overheating is something Ratchet doesn't want to vocalize. He starts speaking again but I interrupt him. "Why are they overheating?"
"They are overheating because of the diagnostic tools constantly 'talking' to the sensors. I did correct the problem."
"That's not all, though."
"Close enough."
"Ratchet, if you want me to trust you so this is a two-way communication then tell me. You wouldn't have paused a moment ago if that's all it was."
"I'm not lying to you but there's an aspect to this you wouldn't understand because it requires a medical background." There was a distinct pause and when he started again, Ratchet was quieter and his ped started shifting as if standing was uncomfortable. "It's also overheating due to the sensitivity to a spark that's getting more expressive."
I gave him a suspicious look. "How could you possibly know that? You said the memory banks were full and dumping information."
"It also saved the last three successful transmissions. The cache is dumping information but there's a program that stores some of it on the second memory bank. It's about five deca-orns worth of limited high-level key information, and then about an additional five deca-orns worth of suppressed summarizations. When I interrupted the cache dump I was able to access the last two orns. I obviously don't have the readout software that's compatible with your modifications, but my own did determine the differences between the old data, the newer data, and the newest data. When comparing that to the overheating orns logged by your other systems, it determined it was based on the activity level your spark was projecting."
Suddenly everything seemed dimmer. Not my vision but the world in general. "Give me the breakdown since I last onlined in the Medbay." Ratchet didn't answer; his fingers started fidgeting. I've never seen fidgeting before. Angry shaking, angry tapping, angry waving, and the occasional scared shake before it's gone and replaced with steady medic hands. Never fidgeting. "Ratchet, you owe me an explanation about my own body and spark."
"I know… According to the data, there was distress after leaving Medbay, recharge, distress again followed by immediate growing sense of contentment. Right before another recharge and immediately afterwards it was very happy." His voice dropped to levels of kindness I didn't think possible for him. "I won't pry into what you were happy about, but a spark produces a lot of energy when it's feeling positive emotions. It's one reason why pleasant moments give us energy; our sparks are literally giving us more power to embrace the moment."
"That's why my spark felt warm."
"Yes, followed by several sensors overheating." He stopped talking and remained quiet, allowing me to process everything I just learned.
Finally I spoke, after however many breems; time seemed irrelevant. "Basically happiness causes my sensors to flood my processor and overheat my chest."
"No! Sure, at this point a non-medical mech might construe it that way, but I am a medic and I know that it's just energy being strongly projected. What's tied to the energy increase is more how we at the spark-level express ourselves. The right training and you can easily be complacent without issue. True, at this time you can't have Bumblebee's outgoing sense of happiness, but that's not your style so you aren't losing anything.
"I've got Wheeljack and Perceptor on it, and I'll keep on this. Perceptor made medication that should dull the processor pain. He and I are working on a filter to cut down some of the noise being fed to your processor. Wheeljack modified a cooling blanket to fit under your chest armor, resting between the armor and the sensors. It should almost completely remove the pain of overheating. I can't turn off the sensors, Prowl. Your spark may be experiencing happiness more and more often these orns – or perhaps longer, only you could guess – but it has suffered a lot of stress for a long time. It still does, between those moments of happiness. Your spark's at risk for other problems and you need those sensors working to know if something goes wrong. Considering everything you just learned, I expect you're undergoing even more stress than even your normal levels."
He waited for a comment or reaction. I give him none. I don't want to react. Finally he continued, "We're working on the situation. The plan is either to replace them with normal sensors or build you a new sensor net. The first requires a shipment from Cybertron and I've already put in an order for that. The second is something Wheeljack and I intend to pursue just in case."
"Why?" I almost silently ask.
"Because in your current processor predicament, you won't be able to feel your spark with normal sensors. They'll still supply the normal alerts if something happens, but normal sensors aren't built for the extra capabilities that yours have. Our main plan is finding a way to repair your processor and then you won't need your own special sensor net. I took as much information from your processor and systems as I could so I can study it and find a way. Processor tools for that caliber aren't standard medical equipment and will have to come from Cybertron. I'll put in the request as soon as I can figure it out and I'll slap Prime's signature all over it with the highest of priorities," he promised.
"Are you even sure Cybertron will have what you want?"
"Already built? No, not everything. I already know that. We can get the materials to make the tools from Cybertron and Wheeljack can make them here."
"I see. What's your plan for me until you have something tangible?"
"For now you'll keep coming here twice a day and we'll check the cooling blanket while giving you the medication. We're going to keep it to Earth's shorter days than Cybertronian times. If everything goes well for a while I can give you your own supplies so you only have to report in once a shift."
Perceptor's face popped into my mind, his expression etched with the earlier disappoint I saw earlier. "Why did Perceptor look disappointed when he left here?"
"You saw that?"
"Yes."
"Great. I hate the observant non-medical mechs. Your system is already starting to show an immunity to the medication. Perceptor's fairly sure that's just a few tweaks of the formula. I did force him to design and create it quicker than he likes. His disappointment was in his miscalculations, not you or your systems."
"And if it isn't just a few tweaks?"
"Well, if we can't solve it, and the parts or materials don't get here from Cybertron anytime soon, then I suppose you'll eventually start feeling the same pain you felt today. That's like scenario number eight, though, based on our estimate for the time it'd take to build a tolerance level of that caliber."
I can't believe this is happening. Numbly I mumbled the existing scenario in my head. "I wonder if being happy increases my immunity, just like it increases the pain."
"No, not at all," he reinforces almost aggressively. "Happiness doesn't cause pain and your sparking isn't building a resistance to the medication, it's your overprotective processor defense systems." He placed one hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry about it right now. The signs of immunity are very small and we'll rectify the issue. May even by your next check-in. You shouldn't build a noticeable immunity for a while and we'll have you on the medication as long as it makes some small difference. Even if we don't solve in the next few check-ins, it'll still probably be four deca-cyles before you'll notice anything."
I tried letting that all sink in. "Thank you for explaining the situation. I wish to recharge in my own quarters."
Ratchet nodded and pulled me off the berth. I tried walking but the lopsided weight almost toppled me as if the bad news sapped the strength out of my muscle cables. Ratchet grabbed me and steadied my stance. He immediately offered to take me back to my quarters. I declined and pulled out my cane. "I'd rather have a chance to reflect during my walk."
"Don't do anything rash."
"When have I ever been rash?"
"True. Let me at least help you out of Medbay."
Mercifully Medbay is empty, save one offline mech on the "routine checkup" berth. I wasn't interested in determining who it was. I made it out the doors and thanked Ratchet before gimping back to my quarters. I didn't bother asking if I was supposed to report in for this shift or any other shift. I really don't care.
I was near my door when Jazz suddenly appeared, jogging around a corner. He almost slid to a stop. "What's wrong?"
"Sorry?" I force a calm voice from my numb vocalizer.
"What's wrong?" he repeated. "Bumblebee saw you and said you were moving pretty slow."
"Why do you assume something is wrong?"
"You were walking okay earlier, then you're in Medbay for a while and now you're walking slowly."
"I need to recharge."
Jazz didn't immediately respond, perhaps waiting for me to continue or elaborate. "Oh, okay." He paused. "Do you need help getting recharge?"
"Aren't you on shift?"
He waved dismissively. "I'm a master at moving my schedule around." He reached out and brushed his fingers against the monitor still on my arm. "Do you need help?"
"No, I won't require your assistance. The immediate issue has been resolved. Thank you."
Jazz's optic ridges furrowed and I vaguely noticed him fighting off a pensive expression. I suppose my spark was reacting to that but even my sensors feel numb along with my vocalizer and peds. "Have a pleasant shift, Jazz." I move past him and into my quarters. I nearly toppled into my berth and didn't move, uninterested in getting properly situated. I know what Ratchet said but I don't believe him. Happiness made things worse.
Frag the world.