Chapter Three: Medical Mayhem
A huffing laugh brought his attention up and away from the novel he had gotten so absorbed in that he had not responded to the pings from his program telling him that someone was approaching. It was something that would never have happened during the war, and only partially because he had been more wary at that time. The red and white frame that greeted him was one that he had not thought to see any time soon as the mech had thrown himself into the work at the hospital with so much enthusiasm that none of the Autobots had expected him to surface any time soon in society unless he was dragged out by one of his apprentices or the Twins.
"So this is what you decided to do after retiring from government, huh?" the medic laughed, thinking of the goodies that he had run out of long before but had not taken the time to research their origins. He was, apparently, looking at his answer. "Wouldn't Prime be surprised to find out what his SIC decided was more rewarding?"
It was easy to see the exhaustion in the medic's frame as he carefully walked over to the counter and heavily leaned on it. Prowl set his datapad down on one of the shelves behind him before leaning forward to copy the medic's stance. "I would hope that he does not even become interested in what I am doing now. Dealing with him alone was a full-time job that I do not wish to return to in any capacity."
Ratchet wryly chuckled, his helm shaking as he looked around the small shop for a place to sit. There was nothing that would offer any relief to his tired frame. "Ya got any place to sit? I just got off shift and you would not believe how many idiots I had to deal with! They weren't even the idiots I had to fix all the time during the war, either!"
"Of course they wouldn't be, Ratch," Prowl commented as he moved from his seat and around the side of the counter, grabbing the extra stool he had placed under the bar to offer the medic. It was gratefully appreciated and slumped onto at the first opportunity the medic had, the former tactician returning to his own so that they could talk more easily, though he moved over to one of the display cases and picked up a small selection tray that he thought Ratchet would appreciate.
"And why is that?" he asked, rather blearily as his optics caught on the goodies and confections that dotted the tray in a wide array of colors. He had been unaware that they could be made in that many different shades as he could not remember having seen any like them before the war had begun.
Most of our mechs learned how to avoid all of the damage that they could and you would not be complaining about them as they all learned field repairs and have become competent with some of the further ones. The only time that they would require a hospital is when they have injuries that would need surgery or extensive work, which is not the case for most of them as they have the plating to deal with what is common now. They would not even think of going to medics for minor things – even Sunstreaker, Tracks, and the Seekers. In fact, I just saw Sunstreaker earlier this cycle and he was headed over to the hospital. I believe that he may be choosing to court Hook."
That last statement brought the other's white helm jerking up to stare at him in astonishment before the red and white was able to formulate a sentence. "He's doing what?"
"I think that he wants to court Hook," he repeated as he set the tray down between them carefully so that none of the goodies would roll off. "Though, I could be wrong on that and he was doing exactly as he said earlier, but I do not think so. He's always been attracted to mechs with blockier and heavier frames than his. For a while at the beginning of the war, before he became so cut off, he had courted Hound and Trailbreaker. I also caught him admiring Ironhide a few times when he thought that no one was looking."
That caused Ratchet to splutter, optics widening as he tried to reconcile the menace he had come to know with the mech that Prowl was describing – a much sought after submissive. Anyone who had known him during the war had always assumed he was a dominant; just as they had all assumed that the both of them were also dominants even when they displayed clearly submissive behavior by not actively looking for promotions, but instead trying to make their superiors look good. Jazz, and a select few others, had been obvious switches, making most of them quite good in Special Operations. He had never understood how Prowl and Jazz had made their relationship work though, as the saboteur had always seemed a little more on the submissive side also.
The black and white chuckled briefly, face lightening a great degree as a smile made itself known. Apparently their medical officer had not been as aware of the preferences of the army as he ought to have been. "What, Ratch? Did I actually make you speechless?"
"Of course you did, ya glitch!" the medic sputtered before catching what he had just said and the way that the Praxian's face fell. He reached over the counter, over the tray that had been set in front of him, and grabbed a white hand in his ruby one. "I didn't mean it like that, Prowl. Just didn't pick my words carefully enough."
That was probably as much of an apology as he was going to get from the red and white, but he was still rather put off by the insult, especially as it was used as a descriptor for him before the war had really heated up since his processors caused problems as they were not perfectly integrated with the rest of his systems. Several of the Neutrals had called him that to his face during his time in the government, as had many that had met him on the streets since they tried to follow their representatives' lead, though the former had done so out of malice. The word brought up old memories that he would rather leave buried as far into the depths of processors as possible.
With a prompting nudge across their slightly blended fields, Ratchet brought the doorwinger's attention up from the counter to his face. "I'm sorry, Prowl. I know better than to use it around you, but I still did."
"Just," he paused for a long moment to gather himself further. "Just try not to do so again, please." His voice was much smaller than it had been before, evidence of his upset, and brought all of the medic's protective instincts to the fore, which most mecha had assumed was dominant behavior. He was just glad that the mech currently courting him had looked past that assumption just far enough to see a submissive in need of a dominant to keep him from driving himself too far past his limits. The mech still had problems figuring out exactly what those limits were since he was also occupied with his own job, but it was more care than he had known in a long while with his closest friends being as bad of workaholics as he was.
"I won't," he promised, even though he was unsure if he would be able to comply all of the time. Glancing down at the tray, he changed the subject to something more pleasant. "So what are all of these made out of? And you made those medical grade goodies you gave me on your last day didn't you?"
"I did," Prowl confirmed with a short nod, not releasing the grip he had taken on the medic's digits after they had made contact with his plating even as he removed two small cubes from his subspace so that they could share something as they talked and that would help keep the confections from overpowering their tanks since they were quite sensitive to the energon grade and quality that was now available. His face lit up slightly as he looked over the small tray. "The bright red ones are plastic-coated iron bars, the blue ones are sticky high-grade with a cobalt glass coating, the green ones are oxidized copper bars with an oil layer between the two layers, sulfur gives the yellow ones color and they have a platinum and silver mix in the center, the purple ones are a mixture of cobalt and iron over a gold center and have a sticky high grade injected into them, and the orange ones are a copper and aluminum mix surrounding a liquid medical grade. I know that not all of them are really things that should be ingested in large quantities, but I try to not consume unhealthy amounts. It is not like I can really stop anyone else though if they come in and want to order in bulk."
He tossed the shop owner a grin as he picked up one of the purple treats and turned it between his digits, running an optic over it in examination. Deeming it fit enough in comparison to his expectations, he popped it in his mouth and broke into it, tasting contemplatively as his hand returned the grip of white fingers. His rather dim optics brightened with the slight boost in his energy levels. A low hum came from his chassis. "These are good, mech. I think that I'm gonna have to have a supply."
"That can be arranged," Prowl stated with a grin, lifting his small cube and taking a sip. He had been keeping up with the correct levels of energon consumption for his frame ever since the war had ended and there had not been so many demands on his time as to preclude him from refueling and recharging as he needed to so that he could function optimally. "Personally, I would see about getting the medical grade ones to be put on the hospital's bill since I could see where all of the medics could use them, but I am unsure if they would accept that. Of course, negotiation is something that both Thundercracker and I do very well and you threaten well enough that I think the Neuts would listen."
Ratchet chuckled lowly as he washed the goodie down with a sip of the high quality mid-grade Prowl had supplied, which was what many of the Neutrals still considered a low quality mid-grade. They had much more sensitive tanks than those that had not been in the war, but they could also survive – and probably thrive – on a quality much lower than the others had ever contemplated consuming. "I might have to enlist Thundercracker's help on that since the Neutrals that run the place are idiots about most everything and haven't tried to understand where Hook, Knockout, the other Autobot medics, and I are coming from and try to get up to treat the mecha that come in according to what they developed over the course of the war without taking into account that we didn't learn that. Plus, our berthside manners could use a lot of work according to them. They even complain about First Aid's handling of the mecha! He's the least abrasive of us!"
"He's downright nice," Prowl agreed with a disbelieving flick of his sensor panels. It was not how most of the warriors wanted to be greeted when they came out of stasis unless it was that particular mech that was doing the check-ups. They had all taken a while to get used to the treatment since it had normally heralded a mech or femme that had almost off-lined before First Aid. "How in the slagging Pits do the Neutrals even treat patients if they consider him to be violent? I know that he'll throw some of his tools sometimes, but never at the mecha he's treated. Is that what is considered violent?"
"Let's just say that it's a good thing that they haven't ever worked on any 'Bots or 'Cons. I think a lot of them would keel over in shock at the vitriol that some of them can spew as they walk in with what the Neuts consider 'debilitating injuries'." He snorted heavily through his vents, mimicking what they had heard many humans do when frustrated and had adopted so quickly as to not remember a time when they did not use such types of expression, at the thought of what was all considered such. Many of those types of expressions still baffled the Neutrals they shared the planet with since very few were interested in keeping up relations with the humans and none had gone over to Earth even though many of the former Autobots and Decepticons returned as trade contacts or just to visit the planet for the entertainment of driving in other conditions. "I mean, how is a broken arm strut debilitating? It's painful as slag, especially if you're doing something, but you can still walk somewhere. None of the 'Bots or 'Cons ever even came to us for a fix unless it was shattered during the battle and they waited until most of the rest of the injuries had been taken care of after a battle if they didn't take care of it themselves. When I make a Neut walk back to the treatment room that has a clean break, they seem to think that I'm killing them. In all honesty, it's kind of funny when it isn't so pathetic."
The former tactician chuckled while shaking his helm at the fragility of the Neutrals. They had been sparklingsat for the entirety of the war, it seemed, and were trying to apply that to everyone they ran across without taking into account that they all had different far experiences. "Slag. If you, or any of the war-time medics, tried treating us anything like that, we'd all think that we were deactivating. They'd have a bunch of panicking mecha on their helms in no time flat if they try that with us."
"I think that's why we aren't just thrown out of the hospital, actually," Ratchet lamented as he sampled another confection, this time the red one. "They don't want to get rid of us since none of them want to work on the warriors or, as they like to call us, the Destroyers." He huffed his disgust at the title. "They're never gonna integrate with that thinking either, which brings up the small fact that we could deactivate them all so quickly the first ones gone would still have their helms rolling on the ground when the last were killed. Plus, most of our medics were the more skilled ones since we could all see the corruption that the 'Bots and 'Cons were fighting against."
Prowl frowned. "I had thought that we had gotten rid of that kind of thinking while I was in government. It's too bad we missed those mecha since none of us will want to hear it if we're there for treatment and it will end up with some injured medics. Plus, the way that the government is set up now is so much more efficient and there are so many less loopholes that allow for exploitation that I would think everyone would be happy." He huffed a long sigh. "Apparently not."
"I guess not," Ratchet grumbled, his ruby fingers tightening on white ones for a long moment before loosening, but not letting go entirely. The contact with a trusted mech was enough to offer him support he had been lacking over the last duty shift since none of the other war-time medics had been scheduled with him, especially as they had all gotten so used to being in close contact with one another during the war that being as tactile as they had become was normal to them. The Neutrals all had a hard time adjusting to how much the ones that had served in the war liked to touch now since they had kept with the Cybertronian standard of touching only those close to a mech or femme and, usually, only when in relative privacy. He found their inability to adapt troubling, as he was sure many of the other medics also did since it was against core coding to not continuously learn. Even Prowl, with his wacky processors had quickly taken to the practice and enjoyed it just as much as, if not more than, the most openly hedonistic of the factions.
Prowl huffed at that. "Apparently. It would be nice if any of them would act as if we actually did anything worthwhile to them and did not just act in our own interest – which all of us did to some extent, but was not our entire reasoning. Megatron had his reasons and had learned to not trust Primes as Sentinel was a total fragger. Optimus came to power late in the game and was not effective to begin with. The rest of us, we all had our reasons. Yours was that so many mecha were deactivating and then the medics were targeted. I chose to join up because of the discrimination that was directed my way because of my condition, though I did not do so until much later in the war than most think."
He took his time savoring the green treat as he contemplated the various reasons they had all joined the war, some of them more noble than others but all for specific rationales. Most of them despised the Neutrals because they had not cared to change the way that the government was acting despite knowing what had been happening to them all. They had been what was wrong with society at the time since they, the Autobots and Decepticons, had actually had the ball bearings to stand up for what they believed needed to be changed and the Neuts had not cared one iota. Even pacifists had joined up with either side, though more were on the Autobot side after they had maneuvered out from under the Senate's thumb and become their own entity that was opposing the government, and could see the corruption that was being opposed. The only reason that the two factions had not merged at that time was that Sentinel Prime and Megatron had become embroiled in their own private battle against each other, though there had been that one memorable cease fire between them that had resulted in the destruction of the Senate and much of Iacon.
Slim, white fingers gently rubbed along his and pulled him from his thoughts, bringing his attention to his companion. "It's rather nice to see how well Optimus and Starscream divide their duties in the government, though I think that Megatron is one of the most settled of us since he went back to mining. Did you hear about the vein of cybertronium his team found just the other orn?"
"I did, though I don't remember who told me – maybe it was Hook? Either way, it's quite exciting since the scientists predict that it means Cybertron is repairing itself and we will soon have the crystal forests returning since there are still a number of buds left in the top few layers that have not died. And didn't I hear that Bluestreak was trying to nurture some buds to begin rebuilding some of the gardens?"
Prowl's smile was wry. "I think that he is, but he is not having much luck with it since they really are not the right kind for being manipulated like most of the garden crystals were."
They gossiped for a short while longer before Ratchet had to leave so that he could make it back to his flat for recharge without crashing along the way, though he was grateful for the boost of energy that Prowl had provided. He also left with fifty credits worth of the purple treats he had first tried as they had been his favorite of the selection. A promise was left with the former tactician that he would return after his next off-shift for another chat since it had calmed him much further than he otherwise would have been and would also allow them to compare gossip that they had collected in the meantime – one of their favorite pastimes that was a holdover from the war and most did not suspect of either of them.
