Okay, I want to say that I am really sorry for this entirely too long wait for an update but I have been bogged down by horrible work and school overloads that I have not had the time to work, not to mentions that this chapter had to be re-written so many times that I made my head hurt.
It's not the best work- there's no crazy robot plug'n'play nor sparkbonding. The chapter is pretty subdued and mainly deals with the past. I'd say it is too long and really boring, but please bear with me, NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE BETTER!
As always, thank you so much to Pheonix13, lady tecuma, JessyJazz, Stripperella, Dragon, litahatchee, theshadowcat, OptimusxElita4ever, and Bluebird Soaring. Your reviews are what make this story worth writing. You are all too wonderful to this poor writer!
This chapter is dedicated to Matt Miller, my boyfriend, who died early Saturday morning in a car crash. R.I.P Matt, I will always love you!
Wheeljack sat quietly on the edge of the recharge berth as he watched Ratchet lay before him without the slightest amount of movement. There was a peacefulness about the medic's faceplate that was not there when he was online. Sure, there was still a certain downturn of his mouth that stayed permanently, and weariness had sunk deep into the ridges of his faceplate and paint, giving Ratchet a constant look of worn out exhaustion, but Wheeljack could still see the remnants of the young mech Ratchet used to be.
He reached out with a dull grey hand, his white paintjob remaining only in smudged patches, and ran it along Ratchet's faceplate gently.
"Ratch'…"
The poor medic hadn't even made it to his own quarters before his energon reserves gave out and he collapsed right in the middle of the hall. Thankfully, they were only a few corridors down from his room so Wheeljack thought nothing of hefting his friend into his arms and carrying him the rest of the way. He'd even taken the extra time to arrange the mech comfortably on the berth, and then taken up a sitting position next to him to watch over him much like he had been doing in the infirmary whilst Ratchet tried to get in some recharge.
How long ago had that been? …His internal chronometer told him that he'd been watching over the inert Ratchet for more than three joors. A disbelieving snort came from his vents, rechecking his chronometer and doing a rapid scan of it to see if it was running on proper time. It was.
Where had all the time gone? It seemed like only an astrosecond ago that he'd sat down to admire his recharging friend.
Optics shuttered tiredly, alerts popping up to inform him that he had been online for more than two and a half orns, in part to an invention he was itching to finish, and that it was advisable to engage his recharge subroutines before his energy reserves were any more depleted.
Of course, these warnings were ignored.
Ratchet was far more important than recharging; Primus could only count the number of times the medic had stayed online for orns at a time to watch over the engineer after something blew up and knocked him out. This was the least he could do for his friend.
He leaned forward to press his forehead to Ratchet's, tiredly staring into the medic's shuttered optics.
"Yer a glitching slagger, y'know that?" he muttered without any real spark behind the words. "What in the pit were you thinking trying ta go for four orns without recharge? Ya got a deactivation wish or something?"
There was no answer of course, not that Wheeljack remotely expected one.
A wearied sigh slipped through his vents. "Never mind, ya probably do. Bee said you were signing up for the Allspark search- that's crazy enough fer a deactivation wish, I guess."
Ratchet's cycling fans caught for a moment, causing a snorting sound.
Wheeljack laughed lightly, pulling back enough to look down on his old friend fondly. "I told you to get those fans maintenanced," he chided quietly. "Yer always the medic to every other bot except yerself- now listen ta ya, sounding like ya got slag all up in yer fans. Serves ya right fer thinking yer some kind of super mech!"
As he chided the oblivious Ratchet, a few flecks of his remaining paintjob flaked off, only to flutter briefly in the space between the two mechs before landing gracefully across Ratchet's dusky yellow armor, speckling him white. Wheeljack stared at the paint for a few moments before reaching out to gently brush the flecks away, using more care than he ever did with any project to sweep away the chips without disturbing the recharging mech.
It took a few breems of pressing silence before Wheeljack chose to speak again.
"…been worrying myself into a meltdown over ya, y'know?" he said quietly. "Can barely concentrate on my work when I got ya in the back of my processor- always wondering if yer alright or if yer even bothering to recharge anymore. Do ya have any idea how many circuits I've fried worrying over whether or not you offlined in the middle of the med bay and were just laying there on the floor with no one being the wiser?"
No, of course Ratchet didn't have any idea, he was offline at the moment. But even if he was on line, his processor wouldn't even be able to fathom the amount of times Wheeljack had brought up one scenario after another concerning him.
"Primus, listen to me," the mech sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sounding more 'n more like you every orn. It used to always be you on my aft about proper maintenance- you were always terrified to leave me alone in my lab 'cause ya thought I would get so wrapped up in something that I'd make a stupid mistake and blow myself up. You still worried over me even after you gave me a chip full of basic repair programs that you downloaded from your own files the day you became a fully functional medic. Now look at us- I'm the one fussing over you." He chuckled quietly. "There's irony in that somewhere."
Had Ratchet been online, there might have been a laugh, or else Wheeljack would have gotten a swat, but instead there was deafening silence.
A one-sided conversation was a lot less stimulating than it was with a second party.
Wheeljack groaned, not even having the energy to sustain his own commentary. He leaned forward again, but laid his frame across Ratchet's instead of lying forehead to forehead.
He couldn't help be a little jealous of the medic getting to recharge the orn away while he sat up watching over him. Not that he minded looking out for his friend; it was just that it was too tempting to pull the rest of his frame up on the berth and offline right then and there next to Ratchet.
Unfortunately, there was still work to be done.
With the major strain Ratchet had put on his systems by stretching his power reserves for four orns, not to mention the attack on the twins, he undoubtedly inflicted some damages to his own circuits.
Judging by the flames that had spit from his vents, some damages had definitely been done.
Since no obvious structural damage had been inflicted, other than a slight blistering of the paint around his vents, there was nothing to do for Ratchet's frame. That was not to say that there hadn't been file corruption, or at least a major overload in a circuit board.
For his own peace of mind, Wheeljack decided that it was best to do a full system scan and inventory for his friend to make sure nothing was terribly wrong with him.
His hand drifted down to Ratchet's interface port and flipped the panel open. A small smile graced his faceplate at the familiarity of the act. Without hesitation, he opened his own interface panel and drew the line, inserting it into the appropriate port, also doing so with Ratchet's line.
"Don't mind me, Ratch', I'm just popping in fer a peek," he piped in lightly.
They had done this only a few times in the past. Usually it was after a celebration of some sort, when both of them had over-indulged in high-grade and suddenly remembered how fond of the other mech they really were. Since indulgences like those were never seen as promiscuous, neither mech was ashamed of it the next orn, but it did put oddly flamboyant smiles on their faceplates for a while.
Their previous indulgences also allowed for Wheeljack to have a more intimate knowledge of Ratchet's inner workings, enabling him to manoeuvre around easier and see if there was a problem with the files a lot faster.
Synchronizing systems… Connecting… Connecting… connection established.
Though interfacing was often used as a pleasurable exploration between two bots, it did serve as a practical purpose, enabling large amounts of information to be conveyed directly to another and to quickly check operational systems without being encumbered by scans and results.
With a sigh, Wheeljack fell into the familiar territory of his friend's mind. With Ratchet in recharge, there was no feed back or extra-sensory loop. It was quiet and mostly calm, aside from the continuous white noise of background programs running their course. Even though this interfacing escapade was for purely "non-pleasurable" purposes, that did not stop the engineer's spark from fluttering and his systems from heating in the presence of Ratchet being so very close.
Before he was distracted and did something stupid to his vulnerable, recharging friend, he began his work immediately, accessing an old, well used "field medic" file he mostly employed for quick patch-ups and used the interface connection to bring up the most easily accessible files first to start feeding them through the file.
Everything appeared to be in order in Ratchet's primary programs.
The work was mindless, so the engineer allowed his processor to wander.
The young apprentice-engineer started momentarily when he heard the door to the lab slide open with a pneumatic hiss, but settled back to his work as soon as his initial identification scans informed him it was only Ratchet.
"Hey Ratch'!" Wheeljack called without bothering to look up from his project. "Patchwork let you off early?"
Ratchet shifted in the doorway carefully, watching his friend with nervous optics. "Something like that," he replied.
"That's great! I think the old mech has finally warmed up to ya, y'know!" Wheeljack kept up the pleasantries as he usually did, oblivious to the anxiety that his friend was feeling. "It's about fragging time too. You've only been apprenticing with him for- what? Seven vorns? Most medical apprentices would have graduated to fully functioning medics by now!"
Ratchet flinched, a sigh coming out through his vents. "He only wants to make sure I'm prepared for the function," he replied, restraining himself from pointing out that Wheeljack was also going on his seventh vorn of apprenticeship with Wrenchwire now, even though the average time was usually only four vorns.
"Nah, it just shows how much of a glitch he is, that's all. Doesn't know a good medic when he's got one!"
"Yeah…" A hand consciously moved up to his right shoulder panelling where the insignia signifying his newly instated full medical function had recently been added. It was the reason he was here in the first place.
"Well, come on, don't just standing there rusting! Get in here!" Wheeljack called, his free hand waving his friend into the lab. "I'm almost done with this, then we can talk."
"Sure," Ratchet replied, grimacing. The apprentice-engineer was not making his task any easier by speeding things up like this. He had been planning to stretch out the news for as long as possible.
Picking his way carefully through the cluttered, haphazard lab, Ratchet made sure not to come in contact with anything. The general rule around Wheeljack's lab was "touch nothing, live longer." From far too many experiences in the past with a few too many of Wheeljack more volatile inventions, Ratchet was all the more wary to go anywhere near any of the innocent looking objects.
As the mech approached Wheeljack's workbench at the back of the room, he peered around the furiously working bot to see the project he was working on. A small, sad smile crossed his faceplates; he was working on one of those drones again. It was the project Wrenchwire assigned him a while ago to gain his full engineer's credit; construct and program a drone from scratch, including three different alt modes, fully functional articulation capabilities, optional weaponry or maintenance capabilities, and something unique to Wheeljack to surprise Wrenchwire with.
There was no doubting the fact that Wheeljack was a genius with his work. Even as a youngling in the Youth Sectors, he had constantly been amazing the caretakers with what he had constructed from spare parts and borrowed tools. A project such as building a drone, while being tedious in itself, should have been youngling's play to him.
Well, it would have been if he didn't have an uncanny ability to make his inventions blow up at the most inopportune moments.
The drone he was working on now was attempt number eight.
As Ratchet watched the engineer-in-training work, steady hands flew from one tool to the next, adjusting and then soldering, tweaking and fixing. A spare part was chosen unerringly from a pile of identical parts without even looking up. Parts were fitted in, circuitry threaded through, programming being installed as the drone was being built. His movements were so sure of themselves, knowing exactly what went where and which tool would be best for what job. No movement faltered. There was no hesitation. He was perfectly content and confident.
But even as he worked, Ratchet caught the telltale signs of charred paint and blistered metal on his friend's fast moving hands- something had already exploded today.
Optics dropped to the sparkless drone on the worktable; so that was attempt number nine. The small, charred silver pile of scrap in the corner must have been eight then.
Ratchet's spark dropped just a little bit more in his spark casing, regretting even coming to the labs today. Wheeljack was trying so hard to create something great to show Wrenchwire and here he was about to rub his recent upgrade to fully functional medic in his best friend's faceplate.
He took his optics off of the small drone, deciding to try to delay the inevitable.
"So… think you're going to pass with that one?" Ratchet asked, a little awkwardly in his own opinion.
So engrossed in his work as he was, Wheeljack failed to notice any awkwardness.
"Fragging right I'm gonna pass with this damn drone!" he replied, every ounce of confidence poured into every word as if eight previous drones had not blown up in his faceplate. "Wrenchwire's gonna love it! I've put a whole bunch of redundant systems and energy compensation capacitors in so that if even a couple circuits blow, the drone itself won't go up in smoke! There's no way it's gonna explode on me now!"
Ratchet smiled briefly, taking the time to admire Wheeljack's constant optimism in the face of so many failed inventions. That was one thing he would always love about his close friend.
"How long have you been working on that one?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
"A while I guess. I started building it when we first got out of the Youth Sectors, but when Wrenchwire signed me on ta be his apprentice I never really had time ta finish. When poor Antimony over there-," his head jerked in the direction of the charred silver pile, "-had a full system shut down after its secondary transformation compromised its core processor, I figured now was as good a time as any ta bring out old Tungsten here."
"…You've been naming them?" Ratchet asked, optic ridge raised in questioning humour.
"Well, yeah. It gets too lonely 'round here not ta name them. There's Tungsten here, and Antimony. The others were Cobalt, Titanium, Bismuth, Aluminium, Bromine, Arsenic and Xenon." He paused for a moment, head cocked to the side as he considered something. "If I do have ta build another one, I was thinking of naming it Iron after a mech that's always coming in here getting Wrenchwire to build new weapons for him."
Ratchet rolled his optics. "How about finish the drone you're working on before making plans for the next one."
"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya…"
Ratchet smiled. He knew which mech Wheeljack was referring to; the burly black mech had been in Patchwork's clinic a number of times for maintenance on his numerous weapon configurations. He was an older model mech, gruff and a little obsessed with his armaments, but had a good spark.
Ratchet more recently had been doing the maintenance on the mech's armaments in place of Patchwork, developing a tentative friendship with the gruff mech, Ironhide.
A sharp yelp emanated from Wheeljack as a bright flash erupted from "Tungsten", further burning the engineer's singed fingers. He jumped away and flailed his smoking digits in the air as he rapidly worked to shut down surface pain receptors so the stinging would stop.
Yet another fine example of why Wheeljack was having a hard time graduating from apprenticeship status; he utterly refused to follow proper protocol and turn of his main surface sensation receptors as a precaution in case something overloaded. He claimed that he got a better "feel" of the machine when he was able to feel around inside it properly instead of relying solely on visuals, schematics, and pressure senor nets. All he really got though was a better shock when he was eventually electrocuted by whatever he was working on.
Forgetting himself completely and the new decal he was sporting, Ratchet immediately went into medic mode. He snatched the flailing mech by the ridge of his arm-plating and pressed him into the nearest bench, pulling the burnt appendages up to his optics and scanning them. He didn't bother with internal scans since his sensors showed that the electrical outburst was only moderate, unlikely to affect anything beyond the epidermal armor.
Wheeljack calmed enough to sit still and allow his friend to do his thing. It wouldn't be the first time that Ratchet had to perform on the spot treatment for the poor accident-prone engineer- by now it was nearly routine. He knew enough not to move, lest he wished a whack to the head.
"It seems Tungsten is not you're lucky drone after all," Ratchet commented as he inspected the singed digits.
"Just did something it didn' like, is all. I'll know better fer next time." Wheeljack shrugged, optics trained on his hand as he watched his friend work. He trusted every calm movement Ratchet made, knowing that he would always be well taken care of as long as Ratchet was around. "How's it looking, Ratch'?"
Ratchet frowned as he picked up multiple layers of scared metal, blistered temp-plating, and paint, all piled on top of each other. Results from his scans showed that that the paint had already seeped past the blistered old temp-plating and compromised the wiring beneath.
"Like you've been trying to fix yourself again and failed miserably," Ratchet replied dryly.
Wheeljack's fins flashed and then dimmed with embarrassment. "Aw, slag."
"How old is this temp-plating?" Ratchet asked, a particularly nasty edge decorating his voice. It was that particular tone that Wheeljack knew he had picked up from Patchwork, who was known for his notably bad temper.
It was best not to lie in situations like these. "Real old," the mech admitted, fins flickering briefly.
Ratchet's faceplate twitched as he processed the information. "What in the pit possessed you to leave the fragging things on this long?"
"Might of forgot about them…" muttered the increasingly shamed engineer as he shrunk down on the bench.
A spasm crossed the medic's faceplate. "You forgot?! How do you forget about something like an ugly sheet of metal soldered to your hands?!" He practically had a sparkattack right in front of Wheeljack. "WHY didn't you call me to treat you for this in the first place?!"
"I didn't want to bother you with something as simple as a burn, so I applied the temp-plating myself…"
"How many times do I have to tell you not to do that!?"
The impassioned way Ratchet's optics darted up to meet Wheeljack's caused the engineer's spark to skip a pulse.
"I became a medic so that you wouldn't have to do stupid things like this! You were always hurting yourself in the Youth Sectors! And being the stupid-aft youngling that you were, you ALWAYS tried to fix yourself and managed to hurt yourself more! ENGINEERS aren't MEDICS for a REASON
"I know that-!" Wheeljack tried to cut in, but it was too late. Ratchet's concern had already evolved into a temper tantrum.
"NO! Obviously you do not know that! You do not leave temp-plating on! You do not layer temp-plating! And you most certainly DO NOT PAINT over the temp-plating! Now it's in your wiring and it's all going to have to be replaced! Have you any idea how serious this could have gotten if I didn't catch it now? Your whole hand would have had to be replaced! Or even your arm! And what if the paint had corroded an energon line, huh? What if the paint had actually gotten into your lines? Primus, Wheeljack, this is one of the most stupid things you've ever done!"
This was one of the reasons Ratchet was afraid to leave his friend for long periods of time; it didn't matter how hurt he got in a self-inflicted accident, Wheeljack would always try to fix himself with his engineering talents before coming to a real medic for help. It would end up some orn that his own patch jobs would deactivate him before one of his inventions did.
"I… I'm sorry, Ratch'. I am, I swear." The mech said quietly, his optics kept on the floor. "I wasn't thinking… I didn't know…"
"Of course you didn't!" Ratchet barked harshly, causing Wheeljack to flinch back. "If you had known, then you wouldn't have done something as ridiculously stupid as this!"
"Then I'm lucky ta have a friend like you," he said, even quieter than before. "Yer always there to fix me after I do something stupid."
Ratchet's pumps nearly halted at Wheeljack's words; he did know yet that those times of always being able to count on Ratchet fixing him were coming to an end.
Impervious to Ratchet's internal dilemma, Wheeljack continued on. "Ya gonna take me ta Patchwork's ta get chewed out by him now, or are ya gonna shout at me some more here before we go?"
Ratchet opened his mouth to say something and then reconsidered, silencing himself. He kneeled before his friend for a while before coming to a decision and speaking.
"There's no need to go to Patchwork's," he said. Suddenly he was a lot calmer than he had been astroseconds before- the rapid change in tone scared Wheeljack a little.
"C'mon Ratch' I know yer a great medic an' all fer an apprentice, but don't ya need all the wiring and parts ta replace the ones I fragged up?"
Ratchet straightened up, allowing for his new decal to be exposed, letting every bot who saw it know that his function was as a medic. A fully instated medic.
He was no longer an apprentice.
"We don't need to go to Patchwork's for the parts because… because I'm already configured with the proper redundancy systems to lend you my parts."
It took Wheeljack a few moments to process exactly what the decal and Ratchet's statement meant. The moment everything did click, his fins brightened considerably, faceplate shifting from confusion to shock, optics wide as he stared up at his friend.
Ratchet dropped his gaze, all his righteous anger gone, and in its place was the sudden nervousness he felt when first entering Wrenchwire and Wheeljack's lab.
Sufficed to say, he was pleasantly surprised when a pair of arms wrapped around him and Wheeljack's faceplate filled his vision as their foreheads were pressed together.
"Congratulations!" he beamed happily. "It's about time!"
"W-what?" This was not the response he'd been expecting. Where was the anger? Where was the shouting?
Wheeljack stepped away to inspect the newly painted decal, now noticing the very new, polished paintjob Ratchet had acquired, in a fine dusky yellow. It looked good on him. So did the decal. He did a few new scans over his friend and was able to pick out the recently installed redundant systems in the other mech's frame, a format common to most medics in case they needed to cannibalize themselves for parts.
"I'm so happy for you! You've been wanting this for a while now, haven't you? Primus, I can't believe you kept this a secret from me! I would have wanted to be there!" Wheeljack continued on with the brightest expression on his faceplate Ratchet had ever seen, second to the orn he found out he was going to be Wrenchwire's apprentice.
"You're not upset?"
"Frag no! Why would I be upset?"
"We've both been working so hard to be fully certified, and I passed before you-."
"And you thought I would be as petty as to be upset? Y'know, that almost hurts! We've been friends since we were sparklings, Ratch'! How can I be anything but happy for you?" He wanted to clap the mech on the back for his foolishness, but didn't dare because of his singed fingers. Instead, he laughed. "Only thing I'm mad about is you not telling me the good news sooner!"
"I would have told you, but I didn't know if I would pass," Ratchet replied honestly. "I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up; Patchwork's not like Wrenchwire, if I failed the first time I wouldn't get a second chance like you do. I'd have to go through apprenticeship all over again with someone else."
"Yeah, but you would never need a second chance! Yer too good! I always knew you'd pass on yer first try, no doubt about it!" Wheeljack fell back on the seat he had been pushed into before, holding out his hands expectantly to Ratchet. "And as yer best friend, I'd be honoured to be yer first patient!" he exclaimed.
"Alright, the honour is yours," he said softly, pulling over a seat of his own and beginning his work. In his chest, his spark was doing back flips in happiness. He had been so terrified that Wheeljack would be upset or angry that Ratchet had already graduated and he was still stuck as an apprentice.
Obviously his fears had been unfounded.
As the layers of paint and temp-plating were stripped away from his hands and the wiring carefully removed, Wheeljack watched in rapt fascination. He kept his optics glued on the sight of Ratchet working so diligently with all the expertise of a trained medic. A REAL medic.
The panels on his legs were opened and extra wiring was disengaged, quickly being threaded into the right receptors in Wheeljack's hands. With his pain receptors in the area shut down, all that was left was his pressure sensor net which gave him the vague idea of what was happening, as well as watching the action with his own optics. It was all very methodical, done with practiced ease even though- to Wheeljack's knowledge- Ratchet had never done this before.
"So… what are you going to do now?" Wheeljack ventured curiously.
Ratchet paused, glancing up quizzically. "I am going to feed this wiring into your main neutral circuitry board and-."
"No. Not that. I mean, what'cha gonna do now that yer a real medic?"
Yet another subject he was wary to bring up with Wheeljack. Ratchet went back to his work, taking his time in thinking over his answer before speaking.
"…I've been called down to Centaurie Tetrax's Youth Sector to assist as a medic there. Their expansion has called for the need of new medics and caretakers to look after all the sparklings and younglings. It is a very good opportunity for me, Patchwork has already transmitted all my credentials, they are just waiting for my reply. "
Wheeljack froze. "But… that's on the other side of the planet."
"I know."
A spasm crossed through Wheeljack's frame. "That… That's a really good opportunity," he said hollowly. His fins had gone completely dark.
"Yeah…"
Wheeljack grasped desperately for something to say; this was Ratchet's moment, he finally had gotten what he wanted and there was no way that the engineer was going to ruin the day by being selfish glitch, acting disappointed that Ratchet was leaving without him. He forced his fins to brighten cheerfully, grinding gears as his faceplate perked up into an entirely unconvincing smile.
"Centauris Tetrax is an amazing city, and I've heard that Sentinel Prime himself often goes there to see the younglings… If you go, maybe you'll get ta meet him. Wouldn't that be amazing? Meeting Prime?" The way he looked up into Ratchet's optics was almost desperate. "When do you have to reply by to get the position?"
"…By the end of the orn- and then I would have to leave by tomorrow."
The thin veil of happiness Wheeljack had been grasping at shredded instantly. "I- oh… that's great, you can get started right away at your job-!" he tried to say more but static from his vocal processor mostly overpowered his words.
Ratchet flinched guiltily. "I don't have to take the job. I can stay here, I'll find work- maybe set up my own clinic-."
"NO! You'll probably never have another chance like this! You don't have to stay here for my sake. I- I want you to go!"
" 'Jack…"
Armorless hands, naked and stingingly exposed, took up Ratchet's hands carefully, Wheeljack's desperate faceplate overpowering his vision. "I mean it, Ratchet! You're never going to have another opportunity like this- don't let me hold you back! You're one of the best there is and if you ruin this chance because of me I'll never forgive myself- or you."
Ratchet shook his head slowly. "I became a medic for you-."
"Then go to Centaurie Tetrax for me!"
Why was he telling Ratchet to go? He wanted him to stay! It was like his vocals were malfunctioning, saying the exact opposite of what he wanted. "You said once that you thought working with younglings would be fun- go do it. This is what you wanted and I want you to be happy. Go on and be the best fragging medic they've ever had!"
Ratchet sat back on his heels, staring up at his friend with a hard expression. A nervous smile perked his mouth. "All right… for you, I will. I'll be the best medic Centaurie Tetrax has ever seen."
"Good… good, and while you're at it, ask if they need an engineer down there," Wheeljack said. His faceplate brightened fractionally. "If there's any youngling there like me, they're going to need someone to be able to rebuild youngling parts in case someone gets blown up. I'd be perfect for it! I've got experience in blowing myself up and even rebuilding parts- and then you'll be there to reattach them. Wouldn't that be great?"
"You're not a full engineer yet."
"I will be soon, with Tungsten!"
Ratchet let a sigh escape his vents and he gave up on trying to re-wire Wheeljack's hands for the moment. "Yes, of course, with Tungsten…"
"And if not with Tungsten, then with Iron! If you go, Ratch' there'll be no holding me back from following!"
In that split second, staring up into Wheeljack's faceplate as the mech stared back with a bright, hopeful expression, Ratchet made his decision. He was going to go, but not without giving his friend a gift to keep him safe.
"Alright, I'm going- but not before I give you something."
His hands travelled to a small compartment on his arm where he extracted a tiny chip from a circuit board and held it out to his friend. With hands that were stripped down to their barest circuits, the engineer took the chip and stared at it awkwardly.
"What's this for?"
"For you… to take care of yourself when I'm gone. I downloaded every basic medical subroutine I have into that chip so that you would be able to patch up the small things yourself and I wouldn't have to worry about something as ridiculously stupid as you layering temp-plating. If you're going to come down to Centaurie Tetrax, then I want you to come down in one piece- fully operational. Do you hear me?"
"Yeah, I hear ya," he replied reverently. As carefully as he could, Wheeljack installed the chip and accessed the information contained within. It was everything he would need to know to treat himself for burns, electrocution, or if blew himself up in a minor explosion.
"Thanks, Ratch'. This is amazing."
The medic nodded slowly, optics shining brightly as he looked up into the awed optics of his friend. They shared a brief smile between them before Ratchet went back to his work on Wheeljack's hand and Wheeljack continued to sift through the information gifted to him.
He would have to find a way to repay the medic some orn.
There was a grunt beneath Wheeljack before a pair of hands came up and shoved him to the side. The interface lines between the two mechs tangled, then pulled free to dangle between them. A sharp, electric buzz shot through their systems, sparks appearing before their optics in wake of the abrupt disconnection.
The engineer scrambled at the edge of the berth where Ratchet had shoved him before he ate a good chunk of cold metal floor. Once he regained his balance on the edge, he scooted in and rolled over to look down into Ratchet's glowing optics.
"Yer online?"
There was a short nod as a reply.
"Right, 'course ya are. Mechs don't recharge with their optic on." He laughed nervously. "How ya feeling?" he ventured, scared that Ratchet would suddenly revert the raving lunatic he had to wrestle in the med bay that morning.
"Like slag," Ratchet grunted.
"Then you should be recharging, y'know? A couple of joors of recharge is not enough to make up for four orns of being online. Not to mention the pit ya raised on the twins; thanks to you, they're gonna be out of it fer a while."
A ghost of a smile passed over the medic's tired faceplate. "Good. That's a small bit of compensation for the pit they put me through."
"But still, you should be recharging right now-."
Ratchet sent the engineer a wry smile. "It is kind of hard to recharge when your processor is being bombarded by memories of the past," he replied.
"Oh, right." Wheeljack laughed guiltily. "Sorry about that- didn't realize I was transmitting," he said apologetically.
"It's alright. I didn't mind much," the medic replied, his voice scratchy as his vocal processor booted up. He turned his head enough to shoot the engineer a curious look. "Why that memory?" he asked. Of all the memories they had together, why choose that one to think of?
Wheeljack shrugged. "Don't know… I guess 'cause yer leaving again…"
"I see." A hand reached up, metal warm and gentle as it cupped the engineer's faceplate. "Didn't we see each other again the last time?"
"Yeah…" Optics wandered absently over Ratchet's faceplate, then down his frame. "But this is different. Yer gonna be gone, like really gone; I won't be able ta contact you. If I get hurt, you won't be able to fix me… We've been together fer as long as we've been online- it's always been you and me- I make it, break it, blow it up, then you patch me up and tell me I can make another one that was better than the one before. It's going to be strange not having you around- not having you with me…"
The hand that had been cupping Wheeljack's faceplate fell to his arm, covering the panel in the hard armor that protected the circuit board that housed Ratchet's chip. "I am with you. My files, my codes, my subroutines are in that chip. You will always have a piece of me in you with that chip, just like I will always be in your spark as well- and you in mine."
Wheeljack's fins flashed, and then he nodded slowly. "Yeah… about that…"
Ratchet tipped his head, letting go of the engineer and pushing himself into a sitting position. "Yes?"
The engineer sat back, hand deftly moving aside a whole section of his shoulder plating and extracting from within a small, nondescript chip- identical to the one that Ratchet had gifted to him so many vorns ago.
"I want you to have this," he said, holding out the chip with a shaking hand.
Ratchet stared at the offered gift with a mix of surprise and curiosity. "What is it?"
Wheeljack faltered, trying to think of what he should say. "It's a chip- I made it fer ya; I copied all my engineering files on ta it. It's fer when ya leave- like when ya gave me that medical chip when you left." Feeling awkward just holding out his hand, he reached out and took one of Ratchet's stationary hands and placed the chip in his palm. "This is just in case someone gets scrapped- y'know, 'cause yer just a medic, ya reattach the limbs, ya don't build them. Now ya can build them too."
Ratchet's hand finally closed over the chip and he brought it close to his spark, his optics looking down at his hand as if he were holding the most precious object in the universe.
"You did have to do this," Ratchet said quietly.
" 'Course I did. There was no way I was letting you go without giving it to you."
"Thank you, 'Jack," he replied, a smile playing on his faceplate.
Wheeljack shrugged. "It's nothing- I had ta repay ya somehow fer everything that you've done fer me-."
It could have been exhaustion that made Ratchet do it, or maybe it was the fried emotional circuits that Wheeljack detected in his scans, but before the engineer knew what was happening he was drawn into a loose hug. Dusky yellow arms became dusted with the remains of flecked off white paint as Wheeljack was enclosed in Ratchet's embrace. The engineer's arms acted automatically, wrapping around the other mech to return the hug as best he could.
Ratchet's voice was quiet as it whispered in his friend's audio receptors. "You never had to repay me for anything; you've done as much for me as I've done for you."
Wheeljack laughed. "Are yer memory files on the fritz? I think you've fixed me a couple of times more than I've had to build something fer you."
"It all evens out in the long run; we're friends after all, we're not supposed to keep score."
"But that takes all the fun out of it, Ratch'."
Ratchet snorted through his vents, shaking his head. A quick scan over his friend with scanners that were still shaky from minimal recharge told him that the engineer was just as drained as he was; at any moment both of them could keel over offline. Without a word, the medic slid over on the berth and then drew the other mech close so he would be comfortable too.
"Ratch'?"
"Medic's orders, we both need some recharge."
Wheeljack sighed. "Oh, so now yer gonna listen to medic's orders."
"Mute it, 'Jack. We're getting too old for this; let's just recharge."
In the dim light of the quiet room, Wheeljack's fins flashed mutedly. Slowly, with a whisper of old gears and a sigh of overworked servos, he settled down next to the familiar frame of his closest friend. In an act to get comfortable, he slung an arm across Ratchet's chassis and drew him close. A small smile passed over the engineer's faceplate, shifting to get comfortable against the warm frame of his friend. He turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder, glancing toward the doorway where a skinny silver figure sat waiting.
"If anyone needs us, take our comms, Tungsten."
The little drone perked up, processing the command, before leaping to its feet and scrambling out the door to perform its designated task.
Ratchet gave a whispered laugh of air through his vents. "Good idea; no slagging interruptions."
Wheeljack patted Ratchet's hand, the one that still held the delicate chip containing all of his copied files. "We might as well enjoy what time we have left without being interrupted, old friend."
