Huggles to my beta Litahatchee … the poor thing had to re-type the entire chapter just to properly proofread it. So, extra love to her for all the hard work she does.
-Speaking on a private comm. link-
Bold is Cybertronian
Chapter 9: Confrontations
XXX
A dream can be a comfort to a person as they sleep. They trick the mind into believing something that they desperately want is true. In that way, they are both comforting and torturing, because when one awakens ... they realize that it was a dream and as a dream, it was created because there is a great improbability that it will ever happen. This truth is no different to Cybertronians, but the greatest difference is that the more a Transformer relies on their logic systems, the less likely they will ever dream ... some have never dreamed.
And then there are the mechs that wish that the real world was a dream, so that they can wake, and then their nightmare would be over.
...
Prowl sat behind his desk, shifting through data pads in his dim office. The mech tried to keep his wings from twitching as he glared over the top of his data pad at the twins, who were both staring at him with worried looks, staying as close to the door as possible, ready to run on a moment's notice.
"You two do realize that you are not supposed to touch a higher officer without his prior approval," Prowl stated.
The two beings stared at him for a moment, shock and horror on each of their metallic faces. Sideswipe gained the nerve and stuttered, "B-but Prowl, you were shivering and ... we didn't know..."
"I was malfunctioning. In such a case, you do not hold onto someone until they offline; you retrieve a medic," Prowl responded, his voice struggling to keep any hint of emotion, anger or otherwise, from the twins' ears.
"B-but, come on! What would you have done if Sunny was crying in the middle of the hallway?" added the red one, only to quickly jump a few feet back as two sets of glares landed on him, as if trying to extinguish his very spark with the thought of their combined hate.
"I don't cry," growled Sunstreaker, his vents hissing steam at his brother while he simultaneously sent a 'dead Sideswipe' image over their link.
The tactician had to bite his glossa to keep from speaking. He had almost griped the same thing Sunstreaker had. After the taste of spilled energon had depleted in his mouth, Prowl spoke again, careful to use his usual, cold, tone,
"That is not the point, Sideswipe. Now, stop fidgeting while I decide a proper punishment...I would put you in the brig, but since it has no walls, it would only succeed in punishing Sunstreaker, and not you, Sideswipe, with the mud and all."
Sunstreaker would dare not crawl out through all that mud, even if it meant certain freedom, but Sideswipe wouldn't mind getting his paint job dirty in order to crawl free.
The two mechs grumbled under their breath about 'ingrates' and 'cold-sparked bastards,' as if he weren't right before them, but Prowl found himself remaining silent as he pulled the data pad back into his line of sight. He was grateful towards the twins for what they did. He really was...it was just that...that...that...
The mech's deepest innermost thoughts were suddenly invaded when a set of metallic fingers gripped the top of his data pad. Slowly, Prowl brought down the pad, ready to growl at whomever was touching his file, only to halt as a blue light draped itself over his facial features; a glowing blue visor was looking up at him. Prowl found himself unable to speak...not that Jazz ever let him do a lot of talking when the two were together, anyway.
"Come on, Prowlie, give the kids a break," Jazz purred, pulling the data pad from the shocked mech's grip.
The gray mech looked the data-pad over once, before throwing it over his shoulder, where it slammed against the wall, shards of glass hitting the floor in a rhythmic tune.
Prowl's optics widened and he suddenly found himself unable to speak. He couldn't even yell at the saboteur for ruining his data pad...or for dying.
Jazz leaned back in his chair, where the now gone Sunstreaker had been sitting. He tilted his head, a sad look overcoming his face. Slowly, he leaned forward onto Prowl's desk, scattering data pads as he may, until he was mere inches from the other's face, allowing Prowl to see his own reflection in the other's visor. Prowl's fans hitched at his reflection, the sight of a single glowing tear running down his cheek. He didn't know what to make of it. It was impossible, improbable; a Cybertronian couldn't cry.
A grin slowly dragged itself onto Jazz's facial plates, and he place his palm beneath Prowl's chin, his palm open as he waited to catch the tear as if her were catching the first drop of rain before a storm. When the glowing white tear finally did fall into Jazz's open palm, it made a soft chime, like the hum of a silenced bell.
The silver mech smiled up at him, looking away from the glowing pool in his hand, "Come on, Prowl ... don't cry for me. Besides, we don't need you rusting now, do we? You're already a little too uptight."
A soft whine crawled over the dark expanse that was Prowl's office, and the tactician's optic dimmed at the realization that that sound had come from him. His metallic lips trembled for a moment as he struggled for the words, for the phrases, for the numbers that would express something to the being before him. Yet, all he was able to say was, "Jazz...you're dead."
Jazz's visor brightened as if he had just been told a terrible secret, but then the saboteur threw his head back, a laugh escaping him. Yet, the laugh was dead as soon as it had been given life, and Jazz was staring at him again.
"And you're in recharge. Wake up, Prowl," he said.
Prowl wasn't even allowed a second comment as Jazz brought up the hand that was holding the tear in it. He opened it. A light cast itself over Jazz's face as he did so, and Prowl knew it would be the last time he'd ever see Jazz's face again. The saboteur took a human-like breath, blowing a powder-like snow all over the tactician, releasing him from the world of dreams.
...
Prowl felt his fans hitch in a slight panic as all his systems started to come on line. The tactician on-lined his optics as he struggled to remember what had just happened. Yet, when he came online, that seemed to be the least of his problems. He didn't know this ceiling tile; this wasn't his barracks, and why were his systems so sluggish? He had to get up to assess the situation, but, suddenly, voices flowed over his audio sensors. Prowl found himself off-lining his optics and playing dead.
He had no idea why he had just done something so cowardly, but a part of him was whispering that it was his pride.
"Ratchet, why hasn't he come out of stasis? What's wrong with him?"
A huff drifted over the room as Ratchet shifted his feet, crossing his arms over his chest, "Never in all my days did I actually expect words of worry for Prowl's sake to escape you."
"That wasn't an answer," came an almost hissing reply from a certain yellow Lamborghini, his worry seeping through despite his attempt to keep his usual, heartless, tone.
Ratchet threw a sudden glare at the yellow twin while making a grab for a wrench on a nearby berth. The yellow twin's usual facial expression was immediately replaced with one of fear and he took a step nearer to his brother, readying himself to jump behind the other in order to escape. His brother glared at him before turning his attention back towards the medic.
"Come on, Ratch', what happened out there in the halls? Prowl just doesn't break down into an emotional wreck like that when he feels like it," added Sideswipe as he threw a worried look over towards the still mech on the berth. A subconscious part of him could still feel the tactician's armor shaking against his, demanding for him to go over and hold Prowl's hand in a comforting way until he awoke.
The medic crossed his arms over his chest again, blowing some hot air at the two. "Well, if you two would have brought him to me, or at least called me, I would know."
The two mechs suddenly looked hurt and the brothers threw pleading looks at each other before turning back to Ratchet. The medic felt his spark jerk as their sad looks penetrated him.
"We're sorry, Ratch, but you should have seem him," murmured Sideswipe as he instinctively put one of his hands onto his chest, placing the hand over his spark chamber. "He was on his knees, shaking, soft crying clicks escaping him, as if he was a sparkling that just lost his creators. We didn't know what to do at first, but Sunny went over to him and ...all we could do was comfort him, Ratch. It seemed like the right thing."
Ratchet's usual, outward, stern, nature suddenly disappeared and he couldn't help but look at the twins in shock. Yah, he knew the twins weren't cold-sparked or anything. It was just that they always seemed to keep to themselves with such intimate acts, especially Sunstreaker. It was an interesting development in the yellow twin's psyche and was definitely something to be looked into when it came to the twins. However, that wasn't for today, he'd just stick it in his files for now.
With a smooth motion, Ratchet reached out his hands, placing one on each of the twins' shoulders, squeezing in a comforting way. The two looked like they were about to faint because of the non-forceful way Ratchet had just touched them. Ratchet quickly put on a smile to assure the two that this wasn't a trap to get them to take a check-up or anything like that...Well, everyone did need a check-up, but he'd wait until the medical bay was completely stocked for that.
"It was the right thing," he added in a soft, warm, tone that was more common with Prime's voice than his. "Now, get out of my med bay before I weld you to the wall."
The twins just stared at him for a moment as if their processors were struggling to keep up. They soon made their way towards the exit, Sunstreaker throwing one last, quick, glance at Prowl before he left.
Prowl felt his spark tighten and collapse within itself in shame. He...he had done that? How could have done that? He ... he ... needed to get out of here, just as soon as Ratchet left, that it. He felt that if anyone looked at him and he would see pity in their optics, the truth would slap him in the face; destroying what little mental strength he had collected during his recharge.
The echoing of metal feet quickly fell over Prowl's thoughts and he tried to ignore the urge to stiffen when he suddenly felt the medic looming over him. There was a moment's stillness before the tactician felt a hand land on his chest, and it took all of his self-control not to twitch. Prowl hated being touched, even by medics, which was why he was always referring to his battle computer for the least dangerous of routes, unless it couldn't be helped.
Ratchet stared down at the mech before him, lying there as if her were deactivated. He knew what was wrong with Prowl. He had merely liked to the twins in order to honor Prowl's privacy ... It wasn't something they could understand, after all. They were bonded twins, and, as such, they were born with their bond. They didn't understand what it was like to be alone when one was first created, nor how wonderful it was to become bonded to another, be it brother bonds or a mate ... Both chased away the loneliness of the universe. Prowl had recently lost his comfort and was once again lost in the universe. A part of Ratchet doubted that Prowl had any other bonds.
A soft gust of hot air escaped the medic as the thought of what he was about to perform overcame him, emotionally, for a moment. There were many things that a medic hated seeing. The top of that list was the death of a patient. Another one was an emotionally distressed mech or femme after a bonded had died. He had comforted too many in his time, whether that had been a lost mate, a brother, or even the rare true brother. He had comforted them all as he put up a permanent spark block, so the remaining being's spark wouldn't exhaust itself as it continuously called out for the other, which was no longer there.
Prowl was no different in this case. It was just something that had to be done.
The medic put a hand on the tactician's shoulder, placing some weight on it. The action hadn't been meant to restrain the mech in case he came out of stasis. Instead, it was an action that was meant to comfort the spark, to tell the other being, subconsciously, that he wasn't alone. Ratchet allowed his hand to roam over the cruiser's chassis. Then, with the ease of a millennium-old medic, he pressed his fingers beneath the plating, which popped the chassis. A soft, echoing, light filled the room, and Ratchet found his fans pulling in a large amount of air, as if her were taking a breath. He hated doing this. Each time was like a new thorn in his spark...
With almost weightless grace, Ratchet took a step to the side so he could get a better look at the pulsing orb in Prowl's chest. The medic watched in sad defiance as it pulsed up at him, but it wasn't the normal way a healthy spark was supposed to pulse. When the spark expanded, calling out through the broken bond, it stayed that way, shivering from the effort, pressing against its glass prison until it was forced to collapse downward in exhaustion.
Ratchet was still for a moment. It was as if he was saying goodbye to Jazz all over again. He reached his hand down, ready to run his hand over the spark to comfort it. He nearly jumped out of his armor when a hand suddenly lashed up and grabbed him by the wrist. A metallic whine filled the room as blue optics landed on him, begging. The medic didn't miss a beat; he had done this so many times that he knew, instinctively, how to react.
Without hesitating, he pulled Prowl partially into his chest, caressing the back of his helm. Prowl started clicking and sobbing as his arms struggled to grasp Ratchet. The medic made no attempt to stop him as he clawed into his armor, as if he'd fall away from existence if he didn't have Ratchet there to grasp onto. After a few seconds of trembling and sobbing, Prowl stopped shaking and just held onto the medic.
"It's okay, Prowl. I know you're in pain ... Now, just hold onto me. Cry, sob, and scream all you want. Soon your spark will stop suffering." Ratchet caressed his helm and offered a comforting smile down at him. Prowl merely looked up at him, his optics so dim that they didn't seem to be on.
"I don't want to forget ... I d-don't want to forget Jazz," Prowl whispered, as if he were a sparkling begging for Primus in the dark.
"And you won't," murmured the medic, as he reached his hand back down towards the SHU casing. "This will only hurt for a moment, and then the connection will die."
A soft, choking, scream echoed over the med bay as Prowl arched against the medic, his fingers bringing dents to where he was holding on to Ratchet. The cry then turned into a near choke and Prowl slumped down, merely shivering as the light in his chest started a rhythmic pace. Ratchet merely closed the mech's chassis and then allowed Prowl to slump against him, fans panting and soft whimpering clicks escaping his vocals.
"It's okay, it's alright," Ratchet muttered as he petted Prowl's helm, answering his soft, mournful, clicks with louder and much calmer ones, as if he were comforting a sparkling. After a few moments, Prowl stopped shaking, but his soft noises continued and Ratchet knew that they would for the rest of the day ... maybe even the rest of the human week. The soft clicking was the last resort of the spark to call out to its lost bonded once a medic blocked the bond.
And, so, the medic did his duty for the next hour. He comforted his patient. It didn't matter if it was in a physical or psychological way; it was his duty.
Prowl shivered against the medic, his mind wondering in and out. He had to get rid of this ache that now resided in his spark. True, it was nowhere near as painful as that irregular pulsing. It was just that, every time he thought of that fast-witted mech, his spark would pulse in the now broken connection. He had known Jazz for almost as long as he could remember, so he could not turn to his memories for comfort. He had to distract himself from both his memories and his wants...He needed to work. He needed to work! It would drown his thoughts and worries, as well as his memories. He had to get moving and do something ... He'd forget.
Now, if only Ratchet would let him go...
Ratchet knew broken bonds, especially for someone as closed off as Prowl, could be a painful thing, even crippling. So, that was why, above all, mechs in Prowl's case were supposed to be in the company of a medic, for, at least, a human week's time...or, he might try to offline himself to end the 'ache.' That was all anyone called it. It was too torturous to want to think of it any longer, to give it more than one simple word for a title.
A slightly louder chirp escaped Prowl and Ratchet was just about to put him into a forced recharge to calm him down, when the doors of the med bay sprang open. Prowl's calm state dispersed as he desperately pushed away from the medic in order to sit up. Ratchet didn't force him back down. Instead, he threw an angry gaze in the door's direction, ready to throw the nearest thing he could find at the twins.
His words were quickly drowned in his vocalizer as he stared at the massacre before him. "W-what happened?!"
A nervous laugh escaped Ironhide as he looked at the shocked medic. It wasn't every day that something caught Ratchet off guard. He was probably shocked, not because it was Wheeljack in question, but because he wasn't missing any limbs. The Weapons Specialist swallowed, as the shocked look quickly changed to one of anger. This wasn't going to end well, especially when the Hatchet found out that 'Bee let the humans dissect him.
"Hey, Ratchet. Well, it seems old 'Jack had a slight accident," murmured the truck, praying to Primus that the medic would be too preoccupied with Wheeljack to bother with he and 'Bee. He needed to talk to the youngling. Something was seriously wrong here and he was going to fix it...if he could.
"I can see that, Ironhide," growled the CMO as he looked over the two of them. He sighed; he really didn't have time for this. He had to take care of Prowl right now, not put up with a frightened little sparkling and a gun-waving lunatic. Oh well, at least they weren't the twins.
"Well, what happened?" Ratchet asked, resigned.
Bumblebee's optics suddenly widened and he threw a worried look at Ironhide; he couldn't tell Ratchet the truth!
"And you," Bumblebee nearly fell over as Ratchet appeared above him, glare apparent, "You missed your appointment and I remember clearly enough what Prime said if that were to happen."
The young mech's wings twitched and he felt his spark pulse painfully beneath his chassis. He didn't want to be found out this way, strapped down to the table, helpless and unable to get away...open. A soft whimper nearly escaped the mech and he tried to take a step back, only to hear a soft clang as he ran into something. The mech tightened as he felt heavy fingers land on his shoulders. It was official now; he was trapped.
"Ratchet, what's going on here?" came Optimus's calm voice, as he threw a look at the unconscious form between Bumblebee and Ironhide, resisting the urge to worry when he caught a shiver running through 'Bee's shoulders. Now, that was odd...The young scout had never acted so nervous or twitchy under his touch. Not even Red Alert acted so twitchy when he accidentally touched him. What was they new reaction? He had always touched the young scout in, likewise, comforting manners, yet 'Bee never reacted so negatively. A huff came from the medic and Prime suddenly realized what the youngling must be nervous about ... The Hatchet.
"I'm not sure Prime," growled Ratchet as he stared at the youngling, Optimus following his gaze.
"Optimus?" The other four occupants nearly jumped when another voice invaded their conversation. 'Bee's engines sighed in relief as the heat was taken off of him.
The Autobot leader quickly turned his attentions to the innards of the medical bay, his optics dimming, slightly, as he watched Prowl slide off of a berth, landing with an echo on the metal tiling. The tactician turned his gaze to the group, his hand sliding off of his chest as he stood up straight, trying to hide any outward appearance of what he had just endured. Then, with the grace that can only come from a thousand years of practice, Prowl walked up to the small group, saluting Prime and nodding to all the others except for Ratchet...He was too terrified to look him in the optic. For now, he could just ignore the truth and pretend that it never happened. True, that was highly illogical, but he just couldn't deal with the ache right now.
"Hello sir, please forgive me for my earlier behavior during our debriefing. The landing took more out of me than I thought."
Optimus looked down at the tactician for a moment, knowing full well that that wasn't the reason for his behavior. He threw the briefest of glances at his medic; the look in the medic's optics was all he needed to know.
"Do not dwell on it Prowl, it was not an issue at the moment, but I really think you should lie..."
"Speaking of issues," Prowl tried to ignore the shocked look from Ironhide and the others. No on interrupted Prime when he was speaking, and especially not 'straight lace' Prowl, but he had to stop the ache ... He needed to work, "when going over the information that I had received in the de-briefing, I couldn't help but notice that Barricade seems to be running rampant in the streets of Mission City. A Decepticon does not just lie down and hide. He's up to something, Prime, and my battle computer is having difficulties concluding what that could be, which is why we need to detain him immediately. We have efficient numbers at the moment," he looked at Ironhide and Bumblebee knowingly. He knew the two of them were usually at their charges' residences...Well, he did now...And now that they were standing right here, "With the cover of dusk, we'll be able to search efficiently without fear of being seen...like last time." Prowl threw a look at Ironhide, having learned about the tourist situation.
Prime stared at him for a moment, uncertain of what to do. Prowl couldn't be good to go so quickly. He needed rest, didn't he? Luckily for Prime, his comm. link blipped to life.
- No! Prime, you can't allow him to leave. I sealed off the broken bond not more than an hour ago. He needs rest! - came Ratchet, impatiently.
"Are you sure it cannot wait?" continued Optimus without skipping a beat. He didn't want to offend Prowl by having him know that they were talking about him through their comm. link. Plus, Prowl's battle computer had always been reliable. If he said it was important ... then it was.
"No, it cannot. Just give the order, Sir, and I'll gather the men together in proper parties," continued Prowl. He tried to keep the nervous tone out of his vocals. He knew that Prime and Ratchet were communicating over their comm. link about him this very moment. When it came straight down to it, Prime always looked out for the health of his men, and if Ratchet said he wasn't going ... then he probably wouldn't be going.
- No, Prime. You and I both know that, sometimes, when desperate and the ache has just set in, some mechs will do drastic things to make it stop to be with the one they lost. We can't risk leaving Prowl alone. -
- But you and I both know Prowl better than that. -
- He isn't in the right state of mind right now. Please, at leave give me a day or two with him. -
"Prime? Your orders?" Prowl tried not to tremble as both Prime and Ratchet looked at him. He couldn't take a 'no' right now! He just couldn't...He just had to work. Was that too much to ask?
"Gather the men, we'll be leaving shortly," Prime stated in an even tone, ignoring the soft growl that had just escaped his medic's engine.
- I'm not undermining your medical advice, Ratchet, but Prowl is right...We've ignored Barricade for too long. I promise, on my honor, that I will personally make sure Prowl is not left along. In the mean time, it seems 'Bee is all ready for you. -
A growl escaped the CMO's engine, again, as he turned to look upon the young scout. Bumblebee nearly fainted right then and there.
"Well, youngling, it seems to me that while they are getting ready to play a glorified game of hide and seek, you will be getting repairs," Ratchet said to Bumblebee. "Now, get on the table. Ironhide, will you please put Wheeljack on a berth and plug him into the recharge berth. My scans say he's stable, but his systems seem energy deprived. He might have fried a few circuits as well, but only superficial damage."
Bumblebee stood there, frozen. Usually, he'd run, but all the exits seemed to be blocked at the moment. In fact, Optimus gave him a nudge forward, taking Wheeljack's arm, so he and Ironhide could put him down on a different berth. The young mech felt himself panic inside as he watched Ironhide walk to the other side of the med bay, leaving the youngling wide open. His head twitching, he looked back up at Ratchet. He wasn't even allowed a head shaking of disapproval when he felt the medic grab onto one of his door wings, the way a human parent would grab onto their child's ear. Then, when they got to a berth, the medic let go and looked at the camaro, expecting him to get on the table, but when 'Bee's feet got ready to make a dash, Ratchet grabbed the smaller mech by his armpits and placed him on the metal berth, as if he were a naughty sparkling.
Bumblebee didn't even have time to squirm when Ratchet tightened one hand on his throat, lifting his chin up with his thumb, while his other hand focused on his vocal processor as he slid the plating to the side. The little mech nearly yelped when he felt the medic's fingers tighten violently, scratching his paint and making him whimper in pain. Then, without even the forewarning of a growl, the Hatchet had grabbed him by his shoulders, glaring at him with a combination of fear and pure rage.
"Bumblebee! Did you do your own repairs? BEE!"
The small mech tightened up, fear draping his features as the medic shook him. He was petrified, unable to speak, even though he now had a voice. Some mechs would call that irony, but 'Bee would call it something else...hate. Primus hated him. He wasn't special or blessed for being a femme. It was just Primus's way of marking him as a freak, a glorified way of telling the universe that he hated this youngling of his and that 'Bee was cursed. Primus wanted this youngling to suffer, to die a painful death as nothing more than a tool.
"BEE!" Ratchet felt his spark pulsing. How could the youngling to this to himself? If he had done something wrong, he could have permanently off-lined himself, or even damaged his spark.
Primus ... what kind of medic was he? He was supposed to take care of his fellow mechs, supposed to comfort them ... not make them so petrified of him that they would rather take a laser scalpel to themselves than allow him to touch them.
"Tell me, 'Bee, why'd you do it to yourself?!" Ratchet yelled.
"Ratchet ... please keep it down, some of us are in pain here, and your yelling isn't helping," came a grumble from the other side of the room.
The medic turned his head, ready to hiss at the being that had just interrupted him, but stilled for a moment as he watched Wheeljack slowly sit up in his berth, holding his head. Well, that was fast.
"Besides, how is he supposed to talk if you're scaring the circuits out of him, Ratchet?" added Wheeljack as he stared at his companion.
Wheeljack had known the medic for a long time, but it was a rarity to see him this worked up. Yah, he had seen the Hatchet get angry, but this wasn't anger. Ratchet was ashamed. Ashamed and afraid that he wasn't good enough, that all his years of training and field work meant nothing, and that his patients were still going to die on him. He was scared that he had just killed Bumblebee.
Wheeljack just didn't get Ratchet, sometimes, despite all that they had been through together.
"Now, calm down. The youngling didn't cut into himself; the human female did. 'Mikaela' was her designation, I believe," Wheeljack murmured as he shivered. Damn, what had happened to his systems, his spark chamber, to be exact? It was pulsing strangely, like it was trying to tell him something. Primus, what was going on with him? It wasn't a virus, was it? Had he gotten a virus from the kid? Was that what the heat pouring off of 'Bee was from? A virus? Great...
A groan escaped the orange mech as he lied down once again, paying little attention to the whimper that escaped the camaro, nor the betrayed look that came over the medic. In fact, a heavy silence gripped the bay, as everyone looked at Ratchet, who looked frozen in his step, his hand slowly sliding off of the scout's shoulder. Slowly, he looked around from face to face in the medical bay, his spark heavy with doubt and shame.
He was a good medic, wasn't he? Hadn't he always made sure to bring them back from the brink, as well as patching small scrapes and dings? Hadn't he had his hands in each of their chest before, nearly holding their spark casings in his hands as he willed them to hang on, their energon pooling through his fingers? Hadn't he stood by each of their sides as they mourned fallen soldiers and friends? Hadn't he proved his resourcefulness? Hadn't he proven to them that he was a good medic and that he deserved their respect?!
He was a good medic...wasn't he?
Ratchet's optics dimmed as he felt his hands become fists. He wanted to yell and have a hissy fit, throw his wrench and tell everyone to scram, but what would be the point ... Apparently, his words were meaningless. First, Prime ignores his pleas to leave Prowl in the bay, and now Bumblebee is so disapproving of him and his skills...that he allowed a mere human to play life and death with his innards.
"Ratchet?" came a soft murmur from Wheeljack, who was now sitting up with his feet hanging over the edge of his berth, he head still being clutched by his un-crippled hand.
The medic couldn't look him in the eye. For the first time, perhaps in his whole life as a medic, he was ashamed to be one. The CMO made his hands into fists once more and then looked up at everyone in the room.
His engine whined softly, "Please excuse me. The medical bay is only meant for injured and medical support...and, apparently, I am neither."
The medic then exited the room, ignoring the looks that followed him. He knew it was an insult to medics everywhere for a medic to abandon his patients and med bay, but he didn't feel like he deserved to be called a medic if his patients and commander didn't even listen to him. How was he supposed to do his job is everything he said was meaningless...that he was meaningless?
He deserved better than this! He might have been the Hatchet, but that didn't mean he cut through all insults. This one stuck and it would not be forgotten easily.
Optimus merely sighed as Ratchet disappeared out of the room, pinching the rim of his nose with his head thrown back. Prowl's wings twitched in annoyance as he started marking off offences, but he knew far too well that he would have none of it. Wheeljack, he just laid there, feeling a migraine coming on; this would not end well. 'Bee felt sick with himself. The twins were confused, as they trudged into the medical bay. They had just found an organic outside, but that seemed meaningless, now, after Ratchet had plowed past them in the hallway without even glaring at them. Sam, well, he felt nausea and victimized after the terrible two had chased him around the base like a mouse, poking him once they caught him, as if he were a toy. Finally, the red one carried him into the base like he was an injured bird.
And then there was Ironhide, who merely shifted, "Well, we got off easier than I thought...but, I have a feeling this isn't over yet."
"You have no idea," grumbled Wheeljack as he threw his wrist over his optics. He really didn't want to see the world. This would not end easily, or well, at all.
XXX
Silence rained down on the asphalt as the small group traveled down the highway. Not in a fast, impatient, way, not even the twins with their speedster skin were trucking it. Everyone just lazily trudged behind traffic, allowing vehicles to weave in and around them. They were all thinking. There was no doubt about that in Bumblebee's mind, and so was she. She was thinking about when she had frozen up and fallen on top of Ratchet; his spark whispering softly up at hers. Then there was Wheeljack and how warm he was as he held her, his spark answering softly to hers in the weak connection that had been established. Then, there were Optimus's hands, so large they seemed whenever he'd placed them on her shoulders, mere inches from her sensitive wings. There were other mechs she didn't even know the names of, like the fliers, which were something to behold, especially when they would be scrubbing each other down in the wash racks. There were others, also...Hot Rod and that cheeky smile of his. There were so many with shinny chassis and scanning optics, but none of them could compare to the aft on Sunstreaker...who shared everything with his brother.
The little car jumped out of his thoughts when a horn blasted his way, he barely dodged a four by four as it stormed past him. What the Pit had he just been thinking? That was wrong and gross in so many ways...Was this what it was like for humans to be horny? Gah, he hated his body. Was he going to start fantasizing about Ironhide next?
- Bumblebee? -
The sound of squealing tires filled the highway as the camaro swerved. He then noticed that Ironhide was right next to him. He slammed, slightly, on his brakes, which, of course, caused all the mechs behind him to suddenly dodge, ignoring being hit as they all weaved in and around other vehicles as if they were in a moving maze.
"Primus, 'Bee," grumbled Ironhide as he threw a scan over the youngling, fearing he had blown a tire or something; no, he seemed to be alright, except for some minor overheating, "what was that about?"
"S-sorry," murmured the scout, as Optimus and the others started to pull up around him, crowding out normal traffic once everyone started swerving and swearing, "I was just thinking and lost myself for a moment."
"Think less, then," hissed Sunstreaker as he drove up next to the camaro on the opposite side of Ironhide, Sideswipe at his flank, "You nearly scratched my paint!"
The younger mech felt his insides trembles as he listened to the anger in the front-liner's vocals. Primus, why had he been thinking that Sunstreaker was hot again? Suddenly, the yellow terror and his brother swerved in front of him and the others with the scream of tires, his bumper glinting in the sunlight. Oh, that was why? Primus, kill him now if he started to develop an aft obsession.
- What's going on, kid? - murmured Ironhide over a private link as he watched Prowl pull closer to Optimus's side, probably discussing the groups that they were to separate in.
- Like I said, nothing, just thinking. - 'Bee knew what was coming; he could feel it creeping up on him since the larger mech had halted him when he had originally wanted to leave the base, earlier. He really should have seen this coming, though, considering Ironhide had practically raised him; he was bound to notice his nervousness.
- 'Bee ... we both know better than that.-
A moment of silence pulled down over the road, and 'Bee couldn't help but notice that the others were already getting farther and farther away from them. He couldn't confront this right now. He knew he'd break down into a sobbing mess if Ironhide poked at the right nerves.
- Now's not really a good time, 'Hide. Besides, we are falling behind. -
- That bad, huh? And don't worry about them, Prowl already informed me that we are the search the west side of the warehouse district. - added Ironhide as the streetlight above glinted softly off of the finish on his paint job. - I'm sorry, kid, for not noticing sooner. This has been botherin' you for a long time, hasn't it? -
- It's not important. I've lived with it this long.-
The youngling nearly whimpered when he noticed his slip, yet, for some reason, he wanted to tell the older mech everything that hurt inside. He wanted Ironhide to cradle him, like he used to when he was younger. He hated his body. He couldn't touch, bond, interface, or have any relationship before the AllSpark was destroyed. That was bad enough, but it was hell now. He could never have a decent relationship of any type without fear of discovery...He'd either die alone, or as a tool.
Ironhide felt his internals tighten in rage, not at Bumblebee, but at himself. He was the kid's caretaker! It was his job to comfort him and raise him, yet the youngling just basically told him that he had been a bad caretaker. He had ignored the most important thing...Bumblebee's spark. 'Bee hadn't received the comfort he needed. True, he had comforted 'Bee when he would wake from recharge, frightened as Pit, but he was just comforting the symptoms and not the reason. Tonight, he was going to find out what had been haunting his youngling's spark, if it was the last thing he did.
- How long? - murmured the older mech in an almost cold tone as they drew deeper into the shadows of the city, streetlights growing farther and farther apart.
The younger mech tightened, feeling his engine groan in worry. Ironhide had caught on. Primus!
-Like I said, it's not important.- Bumblebee answered.
- Yes, it is!- growled the older mech, his frustration very evident.
- No, it's not! I don't want to talk about it! - cried the younger Cybertronian over the comm. link like a spoiled child.
Yah, he knew it was childish, but being alone in Ironhide's presence always made him feel young...and safe. Yet, that safety net was suddenly gone as soon as Ironhide slammed on his brakes, his engine rumbling in an angry manner, and then he transformed.
Bumblebee was still for a moment as he watched the black mech tower over his car mode like a demon from the Pit, a ghostly blue light dancing over his features from his one humming cannon and raging optics.
"Transform...now," came a slow hiss from the older mech. He'd rather not do this, but he had to put his foot down.
The yellow sports car was still for a moment, his processor trying to discern what was going through the Weapons Specialist's head...and if he'd live through it. After a short debate, he decided it was best to do as Ironhide said...Those cannons had range. So, with the chime of shifting metal, the youngling stood before the black mech in the silent shadows of an old warehouse. He was unable to look Ironhide in the optics.
"Bumblebee, I will only ask one more time...What have you been hiding and for how long?"
'Bee's optics were still on the ground as he watched an old Dixie cup roll against the side of the building with the help of a faint night wind, "Does it really matter? I've dealt with it this long and it has never affected me. I can deal with it."
A loud clang filled the warehouse district and the next thing 'Bee knew, a sharp pain ran down from the sensory lines in his face. His feet nearly slid from under him as he struggled not to lose his balance. The small mech quickly regained his balance, placing a shaking hand over his, now, dented cheek, feeling energon run down from his, now, cracked optic. Ironhide had punched him...He had never hit him before, not even when they were training had her really hit him like that.
"You...you hit me," whimpered 'Bee as he drifted away from the other, his fee coming to a stop as he back hit the wall of a warehouse. "Why?"
Ironhide didn't drop an inch as he stood tall and straight, putting on the face of a higher officer instead of a caretaker, "Bumblebee, you do realize that I can throw you in the brig for lying to me, right?"
"W-what?" murmured the smaller mech as he tried to get as far from the other as possible, stressing his door wings as he pressed his back flat against the wall. "I didn't lie to you."
"Yes, you did!" growled the older mech as he took a stop closer, glaring down at the smaller being as if her were a bug to crush, "You said that you could deal with it. Well, it seems to me that you can't. Ever since the AllSpark was destroyed, you've been unable to deal."
There was a moment of silence as 'Bee looked away in shame, and that was all he needed to do. Ironhide let his stature return to a calmer stance as he looked down at the youngling, "What is it that you are unable to deal with, kid?"
'Bee felt sick, and would have liked nothing better than the have found a nice, dark, place to curl up into and die, but fate was a cruel mistress in that way. She'd kill you when you'd have a life and a future, while the suffering had to drag on in a lifetime of hell. It was enough to make a grown mech cry...and 'Bee wasn't far from it. In fact, that sounded like a good plan to him.
With a loud thud, 'Bee landed on his aft, covering his face with his hands as he started to click like a crying sparkling. Ironhide stared for a moment, transfixed, his mind struggling to discern what to do next. It was fairly obvious that he had broken through some kind of mental wall and his next move would decide if the youngling would break down to him, or break away from him.
With a groan of old joints, the Weapons Specialist leaned on one knee, placing one hand on the youngling's shoulder. He ignored the fact that 'Bee twitched at his touch and spoke softly, "Come on, kid. I know you think that I'll be angry, or that I won't understand, but ya' know better than that."
He rubbed at the youngling's shoulder, clicking back to his youngling's crying in a caring way, "Come on, kid. I need ya' to talk to me. What's wrong?"
A few soft clicks escaped him as his body started to tremble. He wanted to tell Ironhide...He wanted to scream the truth to him and make the agony stop, but he couldn't. He couldn't carry sparklings, feeling them worm about in his systems, nor could he stand the indignity of having dozens of lovers and not love one of them. Yet, he still wanted Ironhide. He wanted to confide in him and have him make it all better, just like he used to when 'Bee was younger.
"Kid?"
Bumblebee felt his spark jolt...He'd lose 'Hide if he didn't say anything, or he might lose his freedom. Either way, he lost his happiness. The small mech trembled, wishing that he hadn't fixed his vocals as he spoke,
"I-I'm scared 'Hide...so very scared."
Ironhide tightened, every gear screaming as his scanners gripped the area, searching and ready to destroy what had scared his Bumblebee, but there was nothing. The large mech got on both of his knees and drew closer to his charge. He started stroking the side of his helm.
"What are you scared of? Is it the war? Or dying? I thought we had this talk long ago, youngling. Old 'Hide would die first, before he would let a Decepti-creep kill ya'," murmured the mech as he gripped one of 'Bee's wrists, trying to see the youngling's optics, to read his emotions as see what damage he had done.
A soft tremble shook the smaller mech's body...That was a talk that was written into his hardware. He'd never forget it; never would he forget the day Ironhide taught him the legend of life and death. That memory tore itself deeply into him, and he felt his spark shudder as he recalled the horror of that knowledge. The humans had a saying for it, "Ignorance is bliss." Yet, they also said, "the truth will set you free."
The small mech felt himself lung forward as he wrapped his arms around his caretaker's waist, burying his head into Ironhide's shoulder, "I-I know Ironhide ... I'm not afraid of the Decepticons killing me."
The large mech was confused by this statement, but ignored the confusion as he struggled to keep his balance with all the new weight leaning against him. He patted the back of the youngling's helm as he struggled to understand, "Then, what are you scared of?"
'Bee let the silence hang for a moment, his engine trying to sing in tune with Ironhide's.
"Me," 'Bee whispered, looking up, one optic dim and cracked as a small trickle of energon ran down his cheek, "I hate me."
With a small scraping sound, Ironhide ran his metallic finger over 'Bee's cheek, removing the energon from the youngling's face. He was definitely confused now. Maybe he didn't understand the kid as much as he thought he did. Yet, it could just be teenager angst. After all, Cliffjumper had gone through the same thing ... thus his name. Nobody would let him live it down.
Ironhide doubted that Bumblebee's problem was youngling angst, though. It seemed far too deep and sore for that, "Why, kid? Tell old Ironhide and I'll do everything in my power to make it all better."
A whining sound escaped the camaro's engine, "You can't make this better ... No one can."
A soft smile formed on Ironhide's facial plates as he tried to reassure the younger Autobot, "Why's that?"
'Bee looked up at him, optics shining as if Ironhide had just asked him what the meaning of life was. It was a frightening look to behold. It was filled with so much grief, fear, hatred, loss, and despair. There was a lot hidden in the words he was about to speak, and Ironhide was going to listen ... even if he didn't like the answer.
"I'm...a...a...f-femme."
A look of shock suddenly filled Ironhide's optics and 'Bee found himself catching his glossa in fear. Ironhide was disgusted by him, wasn't he? Was he...
A small squeak escaped the femme as Ironhide threw his mass over her in a protective ball.
Bumblebee felt his spark ache ... He was going to be taken, wasn't he? By his own teacher, no less, yet, no erotic touching followed. Instead, there was a loud echoing explosion and a scream from Ironhide as a missile burrowed itself into his back.
The small femme's optics brightened as energon started to pool down his face ... Ironhide has just been shot, protecting her.
XXX
Paw07: Yah, yah. I know, evil cliffhanger, and thanks to everyone that gave me the units of Cybertronian time. Bye for now.
Sideswipe: Wait; you are not just going to leave it like that are you?
Paw07: Yes, wait, no, there's a secret ending, you just have to squint to read it … it's in negative five print.
Sideswipe: (glares) Smart-ass, just thank your lucky stars I'm here for this author comment and not Ironhide; he'd kill yah' for all you've been doing to his little girl. Speaking of Ironhide. Let me guess, you want milk this secret of 'Bee's a little longer so 'Hide is just going to magically forget what 'Bee said, or there was static or something, so he didn't hear her. If you say yes, I'm so stepping on you.
Paw07: (eyes get wide) Dang, you're right! (falls into thought) Well, I could just kill him off you know … that would solve the problem.
Sideswipe: You wouldn't!
Paw07: Well, you'll just have to wait and see, now won't you?
Sideswipe: That's it! You have ten seconds!
Paw07: To what? Sing the Captain Planet theme song; you should know I have it memorized.
Sideswipe: (slaps self) Just … run!
