Only Human
Chapter Four
When Ratchet requisitioned House and his team, he'd also requisitioned a frame like the one in the briefing hanger where Optimus conferenced with the human authorities. He was not going to stoop or squat in his own Medbay, and forcing the humans to constantly look up at him wouldn't expedite their work. The structure had been erected quickly and then furbished for medical use, with equipment and supplies on the lower levels and computers at the top. There was also a conference desk and comfortable chairs set just beneath Ratchet's eye level.
All of this was partway inside the Medbay, adjacent to but not so close to his workshop as to be hazardous, and far from the two working berths. He was scanning over the assorted equipment when the small door in one corner of the main hanger doors opened, and he turned to find the humans a respectful distance away. He motioned to the frame though didn't move into its centre, prepared to assist the disabled man should he not wish to use the stairs. "Doctors, my name is Ratchet, and I am the Autobot's medic. Thank you for coming so promptly."
High on adrenaline as much as anything else, House forced himself up the stairs at a speed that he would doubtless pay for later. "Well, we couldn't just let illegal aliens die because they don't have health insurance. Mi casa su casa," he replied easily, making it to the top level with his subordinates close behind, Kutner wrestling with the whiteboard. "I'm sure you already know everything there is to know about Foreman, Taub, Kutner and Thirteen here."
"The government has been generous with access in this matter," Ratchet replied evenly, his optics skimming over the contents of the whiteboard. "I see that you're already trying to draw parallels."
"Uh, we figured from the files that you'd have as much a similarity to humans as you do to, um, cars," Kutner explained awkwardly, one hand resting on the whiteboard as he used it as a partial shield.
Sending the files in advance had been wise, Ratchet decided with some relief. The hard facts and photographs had immunised them of much of their awe in coming into physical contact with a Cybertronian. In response to Kutner's remark, he pointed a digit as large as the board to an indeterminable item on the list. Immediately, Foreman, Taub and Thirteen jerked back whilst Kutner stepped closer into the back of the board.
House rolled his eyes. "Okay, I've said it before and I'll say it again: the size difference was fun at first but now it's just getting awkward. Haven't you got some nifty hologram or something that we can talk to?"
He did, but Ratchet had no intention of using it. He hated the damn thing and deeply resented having to make a fleshy puppet for the scant few occasions when Optimus decided it was required. "No. Why should I?"
"My team's also distracted by shiny things and you're made of metal, so…" He grimaced with wide eyes. "Awkward."
"Your species' fascination with the large and uncanny is your problem, not mine," Ratchet replied shortly, optics narrowing on the human. "Besides which, such supercilious use of phoney human counterparts to converse with humans is a Decepticon tactic."
Foreman leaned in to Thirteen surreptitiously. "What's a-"
"Bad guys with red eyes. There are good robot aliens and bad robot aliens. The good have blue optics, the bad have red," House announced with a glance to the pair before looking back to Ratchet, his tone turning complimentary. "Very neat, but then if we were as advanced as you then our genetic coding would have all the really deviant harlots as leggy bonds and the psychopaths who bring a U-haul to the first date as dumpy brunette librarians."
Ratchet's optics narrowed on House. "Your systems are flooded with narcotic analgesics."
The physician put a hand to his chest in a proxy blush. "If it wasn't, I wouldn't be anywhere near as insightful."
"Unfortunately true," Foreman drawled over the top of a file.
Huffing a sigh of hot air through his vents, Ratchet folded his arms. "Fine. The patients are being kept at minus-forty degrees to slow deterioration. I can release them for short periods from containment for you to make initial assessments. I will field more general queries which, no doubt, will number in the hundreds. As for interacting with a hologram, it would be best for you to become accustomed to our size and strength through me before my patients are exposed to you. I want your gawking out of the way so that you can start your work."
House gave a short nod, folding his hands atop his cane. "Sounds good." He looked expectantly to his team, arching a brow for them to begin.
"Alright, Doctor," Foreman began, sounding as if he were still sceptical of the Autobots' existence. It was going to be difficult to get started on this case due to its, literal, foreignness, so the sooner a professional dialogue could be established the better. "We reviewed the symptoms and basics of your physical makeup on the way here. Based on their conditions thus far and the disease's development, what symptoms are you predicting now?"
"Overheating due to the failure of their cooling systems, which is being circumvented for now by the external coolers," the medic explained, touching a component on the side of his helm to project a basic schematic between himself and the platform. He indicated to the areas of protoform, highlighted red and seeming frail inside the armour and weaponry outline. "I'm concerned that they're going to begin losing protoform, however, as their systems break it down to replenish the materials they're losing in the fluids."
"How detrimental would that be?" Thirteen asked, glancing up from the annotations she was making on a printed schematic that came with their files on the plane. "Is it the equivalent of starvation and fat loss?"
Shutting down the holographic display, Ratchet shook his head. "Unfortunately not. Our protoform is the most comparably organic part of us and takes time to grow. If they were just losing metals there wouldn't be cause for concern – I can amputate all armour and weaponry without a problem." He held up a hand, his fingers pinched around the essential point. "Protoform, however, cannot be as easily replaced once it's gone and takes time to grow, and Megatron is hardly going to wait whilst four of the Autobot's key warriors recover. So far they still believe us to be at full strength, and your kind can only pray that they remain so until this affliction is cured."
Kutner raised his hand, the gesture prompting House to roll his eyes though he remained silent. "Can't you transplant it from a healthy robot?"
"Protoform is the only thing aside from a spark that a –Cybertronian- cannot donate," Ratchet replied testily, shifting his weight across his feet. Perhaps this had been a terrible idea after all.
Taub considered the contents of the whiteboard again, flicking his pen between his fingers. "Is there any-"
"Alright, that's enough of MDs stumbling around like blind retards – I'm so sorry, -special people-, trying to smack the world's smallest piñata."
There was silence left in the wake of House's explosion at the head of the table, the glass of which was still ringing from where he'd slammed his cane on it. The adrenaline had worn off and he was in pain. "By Buddha, this is embarrassing." A pointed look at Ratchet. "I'm going to be pretty radical now and go back to when you guys were just wheels or Y2K bugs and ask the KISS question: How do they feel?"
Ratchet's optics shuttering was audible. It was entirely to convey sentiment rather than lubricate the delicate parts. "Excuse me?"
Placing the cane between his feet with both hands atop it, House pushed himself up slowly. "How. Do. They. Feel? You've studied this form every mechanical angle, run every technical diagnostic and examined this thing on the atomic level looking for an answer and come up with squat. No. Less than squat. You –wish- you had squat."
Standing beside the whiteboard, House tapped the notes demonstrably. "You've asked for an organic consult because these are organic symptoms, which are light-years apart from mechanical ones, and the thing with organics is that the patient can usually give you more clues about what's wrong with them than any test will. That's why Thirteen goes through the tedium of taking histories. So, I return to my simple yet brilliant question: How do they feel?"
Ratchet's gaze did not move from the physician whilst the other doctors exchanged looks. Finally, he simply unfolded his arms and took a half step towards the hanger doors. "I think it would be beneficial if you asked them yourselves."
House came up from a deep nod with a smirk, looking over his team. "Fantastic. We'll play the numbers to save time. I'll talk big-boy things with Ratch' here, whilst you four get me a list of robot feelings, hopes and dreams…" He pointed to each doctor in turn, sentencing them. "Foreman, you get Optimus. Thirteen, Prowl. Taub, you can have Bumblebee, and Kutner, Ironhide."
When nothing happened he clapped his hands and motioned to the doors. "Come on: giant alien robots, and we're getting paid to gawk and poke at them. Just remember that it's crass to ask for a probe on the first date."
This fic is so much harder than I was expecting it to be to write - stupid medical thingies...
Thank you so much for reading. A review letting me know if you're enjoying it would be wonderful. ^_^
