C.M.D: Some content in this chapter is too mature for the site, thus has been censored. For the full version please follow the links in my profile.
Title: Blades and First Aid V
Rating: M
Warning: Incest and mentioned abuse
The incessant buzzing broke through his haze of sleep. Stirring slowly, the autodog raised his helm, turning his aching neck around slowly, trying to pinpoint the sound. The heavy arm around his waist slipped off; his partner grunting softly, rolling over, kicking him away a tad. Fully awake now from the action, he shakily got to his pedes, stumbling away from the berth. The harrowing noise led him aimlessly around the room, until he found the source: a small plastic rectangle, buried in week's old laundry, with only a number written across its thin face.
The hospital...
First Aid felt conscience slowly return to him a little as he thumbed across the top of the object, silencing its noise. Getting back to his pedes, the australian shepherd slowly limped out of the room. Warm light peeked through the blinds, stinging his optics, but he merely raised a servo to them weakly, continuing his stagger to the kitchen. His trip ended with him nearly walking into the wall; helm tipping back as shaking fingers skimmed across the calendar pinned up.
Down the first week, then the second, and even the third, his finger snaked, before coming to a rest on the fourth orn from the end of the month. This orn's date. Shuttering his optics slowly, the autodog quietly stood, absorbing this revelation. His vacation was over, a part of him noted. He would have to go back to work; stop seeing Vortex...
As if to confirm that, his pager went off again. This time, it was Ratchet's personal cell number.
First Aid stared at the buzzing device, his fingers curling around it sluggishly, strangling it. He could not crush it, but now, it buzzed uselessly in his scarred servo. Walking to the sink, the vet plugged the drain, turning on the tap and watching water fill the basin. When it was more than half way, First Aid lifted his servo over the swirling water, dropping the pager into the frigid liquid. It plunked under the frothing surface with barely a sound, sinking almost delicately to the bottom.
Helm canted to the side, the australian shepherd turned the water off, staring blankly into the full sink for some time. He didn't hear the other mech sneak up behind him but he did feel the claws as they curled around the side of his face; digging into his cheekplate lightly, yanking him away from the counter.
"Someone wandered away," the sick voice purred above him, red visor glowing thinly. First Aid said nothing, looking up at Vortex dazedly, feeling hunger rise up within him. The kittycon could see the addiction shine in his glazed optics and his lip components split into a wide grin over sharp fangs.
With all the mocking tenderness of a lover, he pulled the autodog away from the kitchen and toward the bathroom; flicking the light on as he half-shoved First Aid inside. "My, my, my...," he chuckled lowly in amusement, "It seems someone is hungry. Good... I needed a diligent mouth."
xxXxXxx
Ratchet let his phone ring, staring at the bars, as if pondering if they were to blame. But no, they were full, and his call was still getting somewhere apparently... If not, it wouldn't have even rung to begin with. All the same, his unease was growing -and with it, frustration as well. It had been three weeks already. Actually, three weeks and a couple orns.
He had assumed that First Aid would have come back to work yesterorn, but the australian shepherd had never shown. That in itself was unusual for his assistant. He'd spent the entire night trying to call him. Every time, the call cut after the first ring, informing him that the number he was trying to reach was unavailable. The labrador had only given up because after a while, he had passed out in his chair, phone still in his servo. The next morning though, he had resumed his efforts.
This time, he tried contacting First Aid's pager.
So far, it had yielded no results. He'd called from the nurses' station several times upon coming in, and when his first slue of patients had been taken care of, he'd grabbed his cell and persistently dialed the other autodog's pager number every few kliks. Still, no answer. The screen of his cellphone lighted as the call automatically ended, having reached the max number of rings it could attempt on one number. Frowning as he sat, waiting to see if someone would call back, Ratchet tried his best to squash the unease tying knots in his tanks.
No calls, no updates on his status, nothing at all that could ensure the older mech that his assistant was doing alright. He'd only given the vacation time to First Aid, believing that he had really needed it, but now the vet wasn't so sure. Maybe what the younger autodog had really needed was to stay at work, or maybe even be kindly taken to the on-site counsellor. Instead though, he'd let First Aid flee at the first, reasonable chance and now Ratchet was beginning to regret it. Being a vet meant that you could pick up the signs... but it didn't always mean you were able to act in time.
And the signs he had read from the australian shepherd that orn showed that his young friend had suffered something traumatic to him, and it was quickly spiraling him down a dangerous path.
A path that he seemed to have already ran half-way down...
Snapping his cell shut, Ratchet growled as he shuffled through his files, ripping his schedule free from a pile of growing paper work. He still had a few cycles to complete in the clinic this orn, but after that, he was free. The labrador cursed. A few cycles was a lot... especially when he was racing against a clock he had never seen before now.
There was no way to get out of it though. The staff was a little bogged down this week, due to the lack of available vets and nurses, as result of a contagious virus that a few patients had brought in. Which meant Ratchet was stuck here until punch-out.
He cursed again.
The autodog rose to his pedes, tugging his medical coat on in ire, marching for his office door. He'd do what he had to -he wouldn't turn away those that needed his help- but the moment all was clear, he was gone. There was someone who needed his help more, right now... and he feared it might be too late.
xxXxXxx
He'd been rougher this time.
First Aid slid a servo slowly across his lip components, touching the crack in the soft plating, scabbed over with a stiff streak of energon. Grabbing the wash clothe, he lathered it up with some soap, gently scrubbing away the dirt that clung to his face. The layers lifted but only showed the dent on his cheekplate, so rich and dark, matching the similar ones under both optics. Slowly, the autodog canted his helm, staring at his reflection mutely.
The other mech copied his motion in the glass, shuttering their optics at him blankly.
Who are you?, the question flickered passively across his processor.
A small crash from the living room tore First Aid's attention from the stranger staring back at him; rinsing the clothe quickly, he turned, limping out of the bathroom slowly. Vortex growled, pacing the length of the apartment in stormy silence. He kicked the broken glass -the source of the crash- across the kitchen floor as he rounded back into the living room, hissing something under his intakes as he threw himself onto the couch roughly. The springs popped and squealed at the sudden act, slowly going quiet under the kittycon's frame as he stretched out across the length of it.
Grumbling still, Vortex glared up at the ceiling, fingers tapping restlessly into the fabric. A peculiar response from the lynx, for sure, but First Aid did not notice. Life was a dream -a haze- he merely walked through, fixated on transferring from one moment to the next, ever orchestrated by the spider who he had willingly surrendered to. Walking forward quietly, the australian shepherd approached the kittycon, still unnoticed or more than likely ignored. Of course, he was completely unaware himself.
Gently, passively, he clambered up onto the couch, slinging one leg over each side of Vortex's waist; servos spreading out slowly over the grey mech's bare chestplates. At his bold touch, the lynx tipped his helm down, staring silently at the autodog. First Aid did not smile or whimper or otherwise show any sign of emotion, but his optics clouded further with his spell as he leaned forwards, servos sliding up to tense shoulders and bruised mouth pressing against a thin one. He moved, sluggishly, almost tentatively, down the kittycon's frame; brushing kisses across the other's jaw and neck, even daring to lap into the seams of his chestplates as kittens would.
The australian shepherd made his way down at a snail's pace, continuing with his ministrations, absorbed in his task and the sense of serenity it washed over him, making him even forgetful to the aches and pains he could feel across his own frame.
Without barely a warning, Vortex shoved him off.
First Aid released a small sound as he hit the floor hard, jarring his shoulder at his unexpected tumble. Looking around dazedly, the vet struggled to push himself up, watching as Vortex rose from the couch and stalked through the apartment without a backwards glance at him. A jolt of panic flashed through First Aid as he realized that the kittycon was heading for the door. Opening his mouth, he tried to speak, but the words only tripped out in a pathetic squeak of static, betraying him.
Come back, he wanted to whimper.
Come back.
I need you.
I love you...
Vortex did not stop. "Your fridge is empty," was all he said, before the apartment door was slamming shut behind him.
Robbed of all energy and sense, First Aid dropped back down to the floor; wheezing weakly as trembles overcame him, already desperate for the lynx to return.
xxXxXxx
Blades rubbed the back of his helm where Yoketron had "accidentally" clipped him with the back of his walking stick, glaring at the old mech's back as he walked around to the filing cabinet. "...old fart...," he mumbled under his intakes.
"I still have ears as sharp as a young pup's," came the quick reply.
The bull terrier stuck his glossa at Yoketron. "I had thought you were a mech now, Blades," the old mech added, his calm vocalizer unusually smug, "Making faces behind my backstruts is certainly not the mark of an independent autodog."
'How the frag does he do that?!,' Blades yelled baffled in his processor.
"With many years of practice."
Turning, Yoketron smiled at the visibly disturbed mercenary, looking very much the picture of a sweet, innocent old mech. Blades knew better though. Crossing his arms over his chestplates, the younger autodog snorted impatiently, eyeing the intelligence officer up and down discretely. "So other than to bore me, why the slag am I in here?," he asked tersely, "I thought I had a mission to get to."
"Unfortunately, due to your lack of presence, it has been handed off to someone else equally capable for the task," the kai ken continued, ignoring the sullen glare Blades sent him. Circling around the room, the old mech took a seat in his chair on the other side of the desk. With a small flick of his servo, he gestured for Blades to take the other seat directly across from him.
With a short huff, the red autodog did such, still burning holes into Yoketron's helm. "By the way, you did receive some mail during your... absence...," the other announced, shuffling through a stack of envelopes. He drew out a bundle of eight or so, tied together with string, before holding it across the desk for his companion to take.
Blades stared at it, bewildered by the amount.
Yoketron waited until the bull terrier had taken the envelopes before slowly shuffling through the few folders on his desk; folding his servos together as he fixed his attention back to the other mech. "Now, seeing as you have a fair amount of 'vacation time', perhaps we could get you started back on your training. I understand you find the practice drills ridiculous, but if you slack off in any of them, you are more prone to temper tantrums and the last thing we need is for another decimation of an entire enemy squad," the intelligence officer said, "And during a reconnaissance mission, no less."
The mercenary, of course, was barely paying attention. He pulled the string off of his mail, shuffling through them. All were letters from Ignis. The very last one was marked 'Urgent', in red pen, with her cursive scrawl. Spark puttering shortly at the sight, he quickly dropped the others into his lap; tearing into the one envelope.
"You won't need to fret. Another mission will be coming around shortly, and if it is suitable, you will be the first I hand it off to, so-" A polite knock at the door interrupted the kai ken. Glancing at his companion, seeing that he was being fully ignored now, Yoketron sighed, before gesturing to the mech through the little window.
The soldier bowed his helm respectively as he entered, heading straight for the older mech. Yoketron accepted the datapad he carried with him, turning it on. His expression grew reserved as he slowly scrolled through the report; at one point, he stopped altogether, looking up at Blades with an unreadable look, before continuing all the way to the bottom.
With a nod and a wave, he dismissed the soldier, rising to his pedes and starting to gather his things, the datapad on top.
Blades never noticed. His optics were glued to the paper in his servos, flaring as he re-read over the short paragraph. Ignis never had wrote short letters before, but then again, she had never shared with him such mysterious, frightening news. She had even skipped her usual 'love you' sign off, and instead had written stiffly, 'Get home.'
Shaking -with rage, with fear, with nausea, with anything and everything- the bull terrier crumpled the letter as he jumped to his pedes, turning towards the door with a ferocious snarl. He was immediately intercepted by Yoketron.
"Get. Out. Of. My. Way. Old. Aft," he bit between his denta.
The kai ken folded his servos neatly over the sparrow top of his cane, refusing to budge. "I do not know what has upset you now, Blades, but I can assure you, it takes second precedence."
The bull terrier snarled at that. "Move," he warned one last time, his optics glaring with the finality of his patience. Yoketron merely shuttered his optics up at him.
Growling, Blades tried to flank around the older autodog to grab the door. Solid wood cracked across his servo as he was shoved back with a quick sweep of the other's servo. Stumbling, optics flared slightly in surprise at Yoketron's daring move, the mercenary roared, before charging across the small space, arms outstretched.
The kai ken barely flinched. He swept forward, side-stepping once, twice; twirling like ribbons in the wind as he knocked Blades' arms aside, grabbing his elbow, twisting it until the joint cracked dangerously, before taking a quick step back. He followed up with a deft kick to the bull terrier's hip, making one leg collapse under him; thin pedes sweeping up, cracking Blades' helm back with a wet sound before Yoketron flipped over the younger mech entirely. Trying to wheeze through what might of been a broken rib piping from the earlier elbow jab, the mercenary flinched against the cane held against his neck cables, noticing cool, blue optics looking down on him from the corner of his vision.
"Do not make me restrain you, Blades," Yoketron said softly. "You would serve me better right now, uninjured and cooperating."
Blades glared at the insult. Still, he knew better than to struggle when he was already pinned down. The intelligence officer was a hard enough opponent when he was standing. Waiting a moment longer, Yoketron slowly withdrew his cane, unsurprised when the younger mech took this opportunity to leap to his pedes; whirling around on the other with a snarl.
Sighing, the kai ken did not move from his spot. "Be angry at me if you must," he started as Blades charged across the room, prepared now for any fancy moves, "But the situation has changed in regards to several factors. I'm calling everyone in."
The fist whistling through the air stopped inches before his faceplates.
Huffing lightly with rage, Blades stared uncertainly at the older mech. Raising a servo after a moment, Yoketron grabbed his companion's fist; gently lowering it back down to his side.
The bull terrier decided to let it slide. "What... situation?," he asked lowly, still trying to cap his anger. He was mad; he wanted to pummel something. He wanted to run all the way back to Iacon, comfort his little femme, find the 'bot that left strange stains in First Aid's berth and kill them. But curiosity was tugging, and his sensors tingled as he noticed a particular bloodlust rising in Yoketron.
It had been almost stellar cycles since he had last noticed that.
Turning away, the kai ken walked to the door, opening it. "You will be informed shortly," he said, glancing back at Blades seriously, "Be in Conference room A in five kliks. I would highly advise that you don't be late."
Then he left. Leaving Blades to stand there, pondering on his next course of action.
xxXxXxx
Something warm trickled down past his ears.
Stirring slightly, he tried to online his optics and found that even when he did, everything was a useless, hazy blur. Sluggishly, he began to notice that he couldn't move. Too numb, came the answer, slow like molasses. He could barely feel his limbs, let alone lift them.
The entire world bounced and jarred for a moment; an action that he would not have noticed entirely, if it were not for the fact that his optics could barely keep up with the rapid shift in environment. As it was, it took what felt like kliks for them to reorient themselves again. Now he noticed he was staring at his servo, fingers painted black with dirt and speckles of what looked like energon.
Worry. There should have been worry somewhere there inside of him.
He was lying on his side, on cold, grungy metal. The only source of light was a poor bulb lit, it seemed, miles above his helm. Something still trickled down his cheekplate, tingling every sensor in its wake. He was barely aware that he was not alone; something jerking against his frame, out of sight, releasing a frightened whimper. Several more similar sounds accompanied it as all of reality jostled again.
He started to slip back into the blankness he had woken from, a whispered name ghosting through his processor...
Vortex...
Metal clipped loudly against metal. A panicked sob rendered the air.
Then First Aid thought no more.