"Ratchet, you need not be alarmed. It is only Jazz."

Optimus's comm could not have come at a better time. Ratchet had just been toying with the idea of moving himself and Ironhide to a safer location, or at least one that was less conspicuous, and he had yet to decide if it would be prudent to go looking for his teammates or not. Perhaps acting on either idea would be foolish, but Optimus had been gone for nearly fifteen breems without any radio contact and Ratchet certainly did not want to be out in the open if anything had gone wrong.

The Autobot medic shifted, opening a comm link to respond to his leader's message. "Thank Primus. What is your ETA?"

To be honest, Ratchet wished they would have returned ten breems ago. He could not leave Ironhide, not even for one breem, but he could hardly travel with him either. The weapons specialist was recharging even now, or so Ratchet assumed, and the medic had been content to let him do so until the others returned.

"Five breems," Optimus replied. "Jazz acquired what you need."

Ratchet sent a digital acknowledgment and then closed the comm link, turning to face his unlikely companion.

"Ironhide," he said softly, "wake up."

Ironhide flinched at the sound of Ratchet's voice, but his ruby red optics when he did finally open them showed no trace of annoyance or anger, just... expectation. He was giving Ratchet his attention.

Ratchet held the other mech's gaze, his hand still pressed against Ironhide's side. "Are you doing all right?"

"Fine," Ironhide answered in a tone that sounded honest, though Ratchet doubted that the Decepticon was being completely truthful. Either that or the weapons specialist simply did not have enough of a frame of reference to answer such a question appropriately. Everything was relative, after all...

"The others will be back soon," Ratchet told him. "Then I can seal that damaged line."

Ironhide nodded, shifting slightly and looking away. Ratchet took the opportunity to do a quick visual scan of the mech, noticing that he had curled his far hand into a loose fist and he was subtly rubbing his palm with his fingers. Ratchet had never seen him do that before and it was not exactly a typical nervous habit, but it seemed to indicate that the black Decepticon was less than at ease.

"Ironhide, is something bothering you?" the medic asked.

Ironhide glanced at him for a moment but then quickly looked away, all but confirming Ratchet's suspicion. Ratchet put his free hand on Ironhide's arm to try to reassure him, but the weapons specialist refused to look at him.

"You're strong, you know that?" Ratchet said more than asked. "You'll make it through this just fine. I'm sure of it."

Ironhide kept his optics on the far wall. "I want... I want to go to Praxus," he finally said.

"Praxus?" Ratchet tilted his helm, having not expected that response. "Why do you want to go to Praxus?"

Ratchet knew from reading Ironhide's file that the stocky black mech was originally from Praxus, but it was not clear if Ironhide actually remembered that much. He obviously did not remember that Praxus had been destroyed several decavorns ago, but it was hardly the time for Ratchet to bring that up. Instead, the Autobot medic merely waited for Ironhide to continue.

When the weapons specialist seemed to lose his train of thought, Ratchet decided to try prompting him to continue. "Do you know someone from Praxus?"

Ironhide's gaze looked oddly distant now, the weapons specialist still glancing down the hallway. "I know someone from Polyhex," he replied, though he otherwise did not seem to be paying much attention to Ratchet anymore. Certainly not as much as he had been just a few breems ago.

"Ironhide, who do you know from Polyhex?" Ratchet asked after a moment, trying to see if he could get Ironhide to focus on him again. It was so much easier to evaluate a patient that was responsive than one that was not, and Ironhide's behavior had definitely altered enough to warrant a reevaluation.

Ironhide let out a vent of air, staring down the far hallway as if seeing some kind of invisible adversary. Ratchet found himself quickly becoming nervous, but his highly-receptive sensors picked up nothing in any of the nearby corridors, even beyond what was in their line of sight, so the medic pushed his fears aside for the moment and focused instead on running a subtle scan across Ironhide's battered frame. Perhaps the weapons specialist was starting to show psychological signs from some underlying and undetected physiologic problem...

But Ratchet's scan found nothing significant, or at least nothing that the medic was not already aware of, and he was just about to start a psychological and cognitive assessment when the weapons specialist seemed to snap out of whatever daze he had been in. Ratchet soon realized why—he heard footsteps coming down the hall.

However, it was the opposite direction of where Ironhide had been so intent.

"Optimus," Ratchet transmitted, watching as Ironhide's sharp optics focused on the other corridor now, "please tell me that's you and Jazz I hear."

Optimus's reassuring voice came over the comm link just a moment later. "Indeed it is, old friend. Have you noticed any signs of Decepticon activity?"

"None," Ratchet replied. "And I'm not that fraggin' old yet."

Optimus apologized, but Ratchet sensed that he was not truly sorry about it. And oddly enough, that did not bother the medic at all—although he would never admit it to anyone, Optimus was the only mech that Ratchet would tolerate nicknames from simply because the red and blue Prime could not be anything but sincere. It was just not in his programming.

Ironhide shifted, drawing Ratchet's attention back to him. The footsteps were coming closer now, and Ratchet only then realized that he should probably give the nervous Decepticon some kind of explanation. Ratchet was not used to having a comrade that was not on the same comm channel he was, that much was certain, and the Autobot medic suddenly found himself wondering if Ironhide was still able to pick up any Decepticon comm channels. Perhaps that was why the weapons specialist's demeanor had changed so quickly...

"Ironhide," Ratchet addressed him again, waiting until the black warrior at least flicked a glance in his direction before he continued, "Optimus and Jazz are coming."

Ironhide continued to look down the hallway for a few seconds more, then he met Ratchet's gaze and studied the Autobot medic for a moment. "Optimus and Jazz?" he echoed.

Ratchet nodded. "Yes. Do you remember them?"

Ironhide nodded, glancing in the direction of the incoming Autobots before he unexpectedly leaned into Ratchet's comforting presence, almost as if trying to turn his back to the outside world.

Not knowing what else to do, Ratchet simply tried to comfort him.

"Easy," the medic said. "It's all right."

Pressing against the medic's armor, Ironhide spoke softly, "I don't... I don't know what..."

Ratchet kept his voice even and reassuring. "What don't you know?"

But Ironhide was too flustered to answer the question, and that upset Ratchet. Whatever the Decepticons had screwed up was obviously causing the mech a lot of stress, and Ratchet did not believe that there was any excuse for it.

Ironhide was a good mech. He had not deserved what they did to him.

It was at that moment that Optimus and Jazz rounded the corner in the nearby hallway, the small silver mech close at his Prime's heels. Ratchet let out a sigh of relief and Ironhide glanced up to see them, but then the weapons specialist shied away.

Having seen Ironhide's reaction, the two Autobots stopped and looked at Ratchet. However, the chartreuse medic could only offer them a puzzled look in explanation.

Optimus stepped forward first. "Ratchet, is something wrong?"

"I'm honestly not sure. He just started acting restless," Ratchet informed his comrades, Jazz stepping forward now too. Then Ratchet continued, "At the very least he's afraid and overwhelmed, so just act normal. I believe that would be more reassuring to him than anything else right now."

Neither Optimus nor Jazz acknowledged Ratchet's comm, but the medic knew that they had heard him. Optimus approached much as he had the first time he interacted with Ironhide, while Jazz prudently stayed a short distance behind him. It did not matter that Ironhide was covering his face and could not see them, since he was most certainly keeping track of their movements with his other sensors.

Ratchet could feel the weapons specialist tense as Optimus knelt down beside him.

"Easy," Optimus said as Ironhide lifted his helm to look at him, his red optics darting across the larger mech's features, analyzing him.

"Ironhide, just relax," Ratchet added gently, urging Jazz to come a bit closer and shifting himself so he would be in a better position to provide medical care. "You have my word that they aren't going to harm you."

Ironhide did seem to relax slightly, leaning some of his weight against Ratchet again, but he still did not uncurl himself from his guarded position. Apparently he was not yet ready to trust the blue and red Cybertronian. Ratchet was mildly surprised by that, especially since Optimus was—for all practical purposes, at least—the first mech Ironhide had interacted with.

"Optimus," Ratchet transmitted, "just so you know, I am a bit concerned that Ironhide may be picking up the Decepticon comm channels. He hasn't said anything about it but his behavior indicates that it's a possibility."

Optimus nodded so slightly that anyone not looking for it would have missed it. "Understood," he responded, shifting just enough to draw Ironhide's attention as Ratchet removed his hand from the weapons specialist's side to inspect the wound.

Ironhide seemed oblivious to the fact that Ratchet was doing anything, which suited Ratchet just fine. He glanced up at Jazz, covering the injury which had immediately begun to drip energon. "You got everything?"

Jazz nodded, producing the items from subspace. "Yep. You want me to give 'em to Optimus?"

The silver minibot did not need to say that it was because Ironhide probably did not want him to come any closer.

Ironhide however was pretty much staying focused on Optimus, although he did glance away as Ratchet put some pressure on his side again. It had to hurt, Jazz thought, but the weapons specialist was doing a darn good job of not showing it if Jazz had to say so himself.

"Give me the neural inhibitor," Ratchet instructed him, his optics on Ironhide, "but give the rest to Optimus. I won't need it right away."

Jazz nodded, slowly stepping forward and gingerly handing the small tube of neural inhibitor to Ratchet. Ironhide watched him but said nothing, appearing almost disinterested in what was going on now. Ratchet noted it but did not try to make any kind of diagnosis, because it was useless until he could get a better idea of what was going on inside Ironhide's processor.

"He doesn't seem to want to talk much when you're around, Jazz," Ratchet pointed out, his voice almost teasing as he pulled the cap off the neural inhibitor. "How much of a troublemaker were you?"

Jazz chuckled lightly. "Apparently enough," he replied. "But hey, it could be worse. At least he's not shooting at me."

"Hopefully that isn't only because he can't," Ratchet had to throw in there, the absence of Ironhide's wrist-mounted weapons all too apparent to the Autobot medic. He had yet to see Ironhide try to access that system, even reflexively, but that did not mean that the weapons specialist was not aware of the fact that something should have been there.

"Very funny," Jazz transmitted as he shot Ratchet a pointed yet comical look. "So, does he talk much when I'm not around?"

"Not particularly," Ratchet responded. "But I can usually get something out of him."

Jazz grunted curiously, stepping back to give Ratchet some space to work.

"Ironhide," Ratchet spoke up, squeezing the paste-like neural inhibitor into his hand, "this is a local neural inhibitor. I'm going to apply it to the injury on your side and then we need to wait for it to take effect, all right?"

Ironhide glanced away from Optimus to look at Ratchet, his entire demeanor noticeably lacking the guarded alertness that usually characterized him. He studied Ratchet impassively for a moment longer, then nodded his acceptance of what the Autobot medic wanted to do.

"Okay." Ratchet leaned forward, carefully but generously applying the shapeless mass of silvery-white paste to the Decepticon's side. Ironhide flinched as the unusual substance first contacted his damaged armor, but he still did not utter a word.

"Sorry," Ratchet apologized. "It might be a bit cold."

Ratchet knew that was not the real reason why Ironhide had flinched, but the weapons specialist seemed averse to showing pain and giving him an alternative explanation to agree with would hopefully prevent him from feeling any more uncomfortable than he already did. It was hard to know what Ironhide was thinking, so Ratchet merely tried to account for what seemed likely.

Ironhide settled down as Ratchet finished applying the neural inhibitor, the Autobot medic wiping it from his own hands as much as he could. Optimus leaned back slightly and Jazz relaxed against the far wall, while Ratchet picked up a small, sealed trauma dressing from where Optimus had set it down on the floor near him. Unwrapping it from the package, Ratchet then placed it under his hand and resumed putting pressure on Ironhide's injury.

Ironhide handled it well, as he always seemed to, merely relaxing his tense frame and allowing the chartreuse medic to do what he wished.

"So, Jazz," Ratchet began after a breem or two, continuing his and Jazz's earlier conversation with spoken words primarily to help break the silence as they waited for the medication to penetrate Ironhide's systems, "what in the Pit happened up there?"

Jazz shook his head. "Just a stupid mistake. I was thinking three steps ahead instead of paying attention to what I was doing at the time."

"It could happen to any of us," Optimus reassured him, sensing that Jazz was at least mildly upset about having basically tipped off the Decepticons that there were intruders roaming around their base. "We still have the element of surprise since the Decepticons do not know how many of us there are or where we are."

"Not yet," the silver mech responded, "but they're bound to find out if we hang around here much longer."

"I'm working as fast as I can," Ratchet cut in, his optics on his work as he began another scan, "but this isn't something you can rush. It takes five breems just for the neural inhibitor to kick in."

Ironhide remained silent, although he appeared to be following the conversation between Ratchet and Jazz at least somewhat intently. Optimus watched as Ironhide's gaze flickered from one to the other, pleased that the Decepticon weapons specialist no longer seemed so wary of the Autobots' head of intelligence.

"That long?" Jazz blinked in surprise, reaching up to rub behind his audial finials. "Frag. Maybe you should come up with something different."

Ratchet continued to run his scans, answering offhandedly, "Remind me to become a chemist."

Jazz laughed, brushing off Ratchet's gruff response and lightening the mood as he inwardly contemplated the task that lay before them. "I just might do that."