So we're back. Yep. Anoher chapter, focused on what the Medics do. Just a normal chapter, nothing too fancy about it.
Disclaimer: Transformers is Hasbro's. Mabel's mine.
Mabel sat on the berth, watching on silently.
"THAT'S IT! OUT! OUT!"
Ratchet yelled. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker bolted out of the medic's land without a glance back, finally fixed and fine from an ordeal of a scuffle between themselves.
Not that she really minded.
She continued watching.
The aforementioned robot medic moved over to his workspace and cleaned his hands with sterilizer and rag in normal routine.
First Aid was cleaning up some tools nearby, his posture a bit slumped in weariness.
There were a few patients on the berth, and the two medics, more like medic and medic's assistant, were about to tend to them.
She continued watching.
She really didn't have much to do. Her chemistry homework was completed, her literature done, her essay completed, and the mathematics homework left for lost when First Aid had to attend to the sudden incoming of red, yellow and livid red-and-white. He left her where she was – on a bunk too high to get off on her own.
Ratchet moved over to Cliffjumper, who was wise enough to jump into the twins' skirmish. A banged-up leg, a bashed-in face and a near mangle of his fuel pump made him one of the in-house patients. He was still murmuring away in his offline state, something about a spanner, a gun, and a pair of petro-rabbits.
Ratchet tapped the injured leg.
Cliffjumper online-d and howled.
Prowl could not help and tried his best to ignore the sound, despite his grimace.
Mabel watched on.
Ratchet popped something onto the poor Minibot, and the warrior promptly shut down into a peaceful offline state.
With that, Ratchet tended to his work.
First Aid checked up the tactician, who was still in a grimace.
Prowl had taken Hound's advice and took a spin in the desert, intending for some peace from work, which rarely happened. Mabel supposed that it was under the Prime's order.
But things happened. One thing that happened was that Prowl found trouble when some sharp rocks and literally shredded his tyres and his underside. Another thing happened when he could not reach the base because of the energon leak he had that he offlined in the desert. Optimus Prime found the unfortunate fellow and transported him back in his trailer.
The affected areas have been treated, but the pain would reside for a while. He was given in-house orders and stayed.
And Prowl wanted to work.
The tactician attempted to reach for a pad, but First Aid handed it to him. Mabel knew that First Aid was, at least, the better half of the Medical Duo.
"Aid."
But Ratchet had higher authority.
The apprentice looked to his senior, and returned his gaze to Prowl.
"Sorry, sir. No work during rest."
That must have hurt Prowl something hard, but he showed no sign of it. He returned the data-pad to the assistant and merely closed his optics. His facial expression remained still and calm, but he must be terribly annoyed by now – and during the past two hours.
From afar, Mabel spied a sleeping Air Raid. The fighter was another casualty of the twins' scuffle. He, however, made it out lightly – with his external armor severely bruised and his wings in a mess. He was fixed, and resting.
Ratchet was still fixing Cliffjumper when the sedative wore out. Cliffjumper returned online and howled even louder.
Prowl moaned. Air Raid woke up, but Mabel could see that the air-vehicle robot was no longer concerned about the noise. He looked to Prowl.
"How are you faring?"
Prowl gave a sideways glance. Mabel couldn't see what expression he gave, but it apparently made the bored Air Raid grin.
"Just asking."
It was not common when the jet showed concern, but this was not concern. Air Raid just did this teasing for the fourth time to the poor tactician.
Mabel didn't really mind.
She continued watching.
"Ratchet!"
The door swung open, and in hurried Bluestreak. The gunner swung himself in by the edge of the entrance and said about his shortest sentence yet.
"Wheeljack's experiment blew up, & Perceptor's with him! Both down!"
Muttering to himself, Ratchet left the beds in a hurry with a quick order to First Aid to tend to the patients. He grabbed his toolbox and transformed into his ambulance. His wheels spun for traction and he shot down the hallway, the anxious Bluestreak tail-gating his senior.
A kind reminder was given to Air Raid to stop pestering the tactician and a dose of sedative was administered to the latter and the resident Minibot, Mabel noting the diligence of First Aid in his work.
The assistant seemed satisfied with the newfound peace, and moved up to the berth where Mabel sat.
Finally.
"Sorry about the wait. I shouldn't have left you there all this while."
"It's OK. You were busy."
First Aid helped Mabel off the berth, and she made her way out, her homework satchel slung over her shoulder.
"Oh yes, Aid," she spun around, "I think Ratchet needs a nice talk with Smokescreen after this. And a good shot of energon and rest."
First Aid chuckled, "So do we all. Have a good day, Mabel."
The girl waved and left the room, just as Ratchet hurried back with the casualties.