C.M.D: It's so nice to be writing again! Some ideas come faster to me than others, but my mind's buzzing with plenty of plot bunnies and I'm super stoked to share them with everyone! For now, enjoy the few updates I have this month and keep an eye out for more next month on the 14 or 15th.
Title: Blades and First Aid XI
Rating: T
Setting down his suitcase, the australian shepherd turned about and slowly studied his new room, feeling very weak and frail but hopeful. There was a gentle thump behind him, and turning, First Aid wasn't surprised to see Ratchet standing in the berthroom doorway; a box of the smaller autodog's things at his pedes.
"Is it...," the labrador paused and continued on, "I wasn't really sure what to get for your new place. Is everything to your liking?"
First Aid smiled as well as he was able, still aware how fractured it appeared. The ability to even smile though was not one to take lightly, considering how long it had been since the action was more than an unrealistic concept. "It is," he answered simply. "Thank you. The yellow was a nice touch."
And it was. The colour on the walls was gentle and warm, reminiscent of a bornling's room, giving the same sensation of a fresh and secure start. Something that was a huge necessity in the younger mech's life. Ratchet had even added soft, pastel green bedding and white furniture to the rest of the décor to encourage the safe atmosphere. First Aid never knew that the older autodog was so great at interior design.
Coughing self-consciously, Ratchet rubbed at the side of his face, glancing in the other direction. "Well, you know...," he mumbled, trailing off. "Anyways," he continued, waving the same servo about, pushing at the box he'd brought in with a pede, "Where'd you like me to put these things?"
"You may leave them just there," First Aid replied. "I'll decide a spot for them shortly."
Nodding, Ratchet looked about the small apartment, obviously distracted. The australian shepherd opened his suitcase in the meantime, sensing another question to follow the first couple, and wasn't too surprised when the vet cleared his vocalizer again.
"First Aid, you... Are you certain you want to do this?" First Aid looked up to his superior. Ratchet fidgeted slightly under the waiting gaze, ears turning a faint magenta as he flushed in embarrassment. "I-i mean, I... You're a strong pup. I don't doubt it. Yet... Do you feel it's too soon to move out on your own?"
"I can't stay with you forever, sir," the assistant smiled kindly. "I would only get in your way."
"Not so," Ratchet gruffed, frowning a little now, "I specifically have a spare berthroom for such things, and you should know, more than anyone else, that my home is yours any time you need it."
Hearing that filled the younger mech's spark with such intense emotion, that he struggled to keep the tears at bay, even as his smile grew an amazing few more centimeters. "T... thank you, Ratchet," First Aid said, "But... But this is something that I have to do. Want to do."
The labrador vented, unable to push in the face of his companion's reassurance. "About tomorrow's shift-"
"I'll be coming for that too," the australian shepherd added. "I've been looking forward to going into the hospital again."
Ratchet's whole frame slumped this time, defeated. He wasn't going to dissuade First Aid from any of his decisions it seemed, and that was probably for the best anyway. "I'll be here at six, to pick you up. You still drink mocha?"
Baby blue optics shuttered in shock at the inquiry; not a word escaping First Aid. "Y-you," he finally stuttered, feeling suddenly just as embarrassed, "Y-you don't h-have to do th-that, sir. I-i can m-make it into the o-office m-myself!"
"I don't have to," Ratchet interjected, slipping his servos in his pockets stubbornly, "But I want to, First Aid. There's nothing wrong with meeting my assistant at their apartment with morning oil, especially if we're both going to the same place together. Consider it just 'killing two birds with one stone'."
"And," the older mech continued, while the other still gaped, flabbergasted, "I want to remind you to get some rest before tomorrow. It's gonna be a fairly busier day than what you're used to... But, if you find that you can't sleep, there's a few documentaries on tv that I thought you might like to watch. I wrote the channels and their times on a sticky; it's right there on the screen. Also, you have my personal number already on speed dial on your new home phone. Just hit one, then star, and it'll ring out to me instantly."
First Aid stared and stared at the labrador, processor in a whirl and optics growing hotter as they swelled with even more coolant. "S-sir, y-you...?"
Ratchet smiled, small but kindly, shrugging casually. "I have faith in you, First Aid, but if you have any needs, call me. At any time. And I mean that to," he said, lifting a finger and shaking it lightly. "I don't care if it's four in the morning- if you need someone, and you're able to, give me a ring. I'll be available to talk, come over, whatever you need. Always."
"T...thank you," the australian shepherd vented at last, feeling all the emotion rush out from his spark and through his vocalizer; tears slipping down his cheeks as he humbly bowed his helm, "T-thank you f-for s-so m-much, si-sir..."
Shaking arms wrapped around the wider torso when the vet approached, hugging his assistant close. For a long while, they stood like that, until Ratchet felt First Aid calm down again. "If, uh... if you don't need me any more right now, I'll take my leave. Let you start spreading your roots here," he offered.
The option was still there for First Aid to choose otherwise, but he smiled and nodded, granting Ratchet permission to leave. For now, he wanted to try and finish settling in on his own. It had been decacycles before he'd felt he carried even a shred of his former independency. Taking his time, Ratchet gathered his own things, bid First Aid goodnight and kindly reminded him that he'd stop by in the morning with their oil.
The younger mech waved him off, still feeling a bit afraid and uncertain, but also so very strong.
xxXxXxx
Deft fingers grabbed the sill and, with a hard yank, broke the latch on the other side, lifting the pane up and open. Broken, little metal pieces rained down onto the living room floor, but the intruder paid no mind. On any other orn, this might have been something to concern himself with; this orn though, it was just fortunate that standard buildings had poor lock mechanisms. Pulling his weight up onto the sill next, the mech sat perched in the window, staring with flared optics as he realized the vacant state of the apartment.
Shoulders sagging, the autodog slipped inside, stirring up dust as he made a slow path through the room. Living room, kitchen, washroom... all of it was empty. Red fingers trailed softly over the wall as the intruder headed for the berthroom next, knob cold in his servo, and the space on the other side equally as such.
He should of guessed...
But how could he -while still clutching to faint, fading hopes- possibly imagine that First Aid would leave the second place he called home? Yet the empty apartment was proof enough -the dust settling into the corners and grooves just salt to the gaping wound.
He'd really fragged things up.
"See, Blades...," his voice chastised lowly, rough and flat, "See what you do? You're just a curse upon this family... You chase away everyone good..."
There was no contesting the logic, no matter how cruel the words. Sinking slowly, Blades collapsed to the bare floor; forehead pressed to the wood as he stared blankly into the grain, hungrily breathing in the vanishing scent of his brother. He should have just stayed locked up in the basement at his creators' home...
A few months back in Iacon would not forgive him of the atrocities he'd made against First Aid.
xxXxXxx
Six Decacycles Later
xxXxXxx
Fingers tapped away quickly, click-clacking through reports almost as rapidly as running water from a pipe. Finishing yet another bundle, First Aid paused and saved, getting to his pedes and filing the just-transcribed folders back to the filing cabinet where they belonged. Glancing at the clock on the wall, the mech made a stop off at the counter by the back of the office, turning on the percolator with enough oil for four 'bots, before returning to the desk.
The machine just dinged to announce its' pot was full the moment Ratchet walked into the office, groaning. "I just don't get why some 'bots even bother coming into the hospital," he grumbled, heading immediately for the counter and pouring himself a fresh mug.
"Oh?," the australian shepherd piped up, a small smile quirking at shy lip components.
"Some super-charged youngling was just in, fussing up a storm because he'd decided it would be a great idea to lodge a petro-rabbit up his valve- and it got stuck!," the vet elaborated, free servo smacking at the air as he walked towards his assistant, plopping in a free chair. "And he couldn't understand why the poor creature ripped up his valve with its claws in retaliation! Primus, what is this world coming to?"
Despite himself, First Aid chuckled shortly, and caught the warm look of relief shining in his superior's optics. Suddenly flustered, the smaller autodog turned back to the computer, preparing to continue his transcriptions.
"...It's good to hear you laugh," Ratchet softly spoke up, still staring at the australian shepherd.
Glancing at him, the assistant half-shrugged, loss for words. What could be said? It had been almost two whole stellar cycles since the whole ordeal with Vortex, the cult, Blades... and, though everything was still hard, some things were becoming easier. There hadn't been much to laugh about until just now, but his first few months back in his beloved hospital were definitely having the best effects on First Aid.
Just as Ratchet was about to say something again, the phone rang. Both autodogs stared at it somewhat surprised, having forgotten about the world beyond their isolated little space, before the labrador reached forward and picked it up. "Hello?," he asked neutrally. Optics flared at the responding voice on the other side.
"Ah... Ignis," he announced, his gaze turning to First Aid. Ratchet kindly gestured if he should take the call or hang up.
This having not been the first time his "sister" called the hospital, the australian shepherd silently signed back for the older mech to go ahead. In the beginning, he couldn't even stand to hear the femme's name nor bear the thought of what she or anyone else might be saying on the other line. In time though, First Aid realized how difficult this must have been on his own family -his creators especially, who suffered through the machinations of a third, cult-like faction during the war. Thus, he had graciously allowed Ratchet to act as a go-between for him and his family, providing them updates, while still granting First Aid the space he needed.
"Yes, yes, Ignis," the vet continued, swirling his mug as he shifted grip on the receiver, "No, everything is alright. First Aid is doing very well. Yes, he has a new place. I'm assuming you tried to visit his old apartment? Mhmm, yes, I know you pup."
Listening with only half an ear, the younger mech returned to his work, fighting a small knot of guilt that wormed its way into his fuel tanks. He'd never thought to update his family on his new address and Ratchet had respectively kept that information to himself. Did they all go over together at one point, hoping to find him at home, only to be greeted by a vacant apartment?
"No, no, it's a nice place. Helped paint it myself. Sort of." The labrador paused to scoff. "Now listen here, missy, I can do something other than doctoring! That's just rude...," he said, a hint of amusement in his vocalizer. Glancing up, First Aid was not surprised to see Ratchet smiling, and the other autodog felt himself smile in turn.
The vet's expression sombered a bit as the conversation continued. "Yes, he's adjusting well. No... I'm afraid he still needs his space. His request." A long pause followed, in which Ratchet listened kindly to Ignis on the other line, glancing frequently at the australian shepherd sitting stiffly behind the computer. A smile, softer and more emotional, spread across the old mech's face as he stared at his companion fully, nodding to the phone.
"I'll tell him, Ignis. Yes. Take care, pup. We look forward to hearing from you again soon." Then he hung up.
"...they send you their love," Ratchet informed after a lengthy stretch of silence. First Aid looked up from the phone, not realizing that he'd been staring it down for a few kliks now.
"W-what...?"
"Their love. They send it to you. And early birthday wishes," the labrador added, gaze softening. "They really miss you. They want you to know that they're okay with waiting, but they hope that you will talk to them yourself sometime soon. Ignis said that everyone understands what you went through and they wish to help in whatever way possible. 'We don't want you to feel as if you're going this alone', she said."
It was hard to get the words out. Squeezing the edge of the desk, First Aid swallowed sharply, pushing past the ball in his vocalizer. "I-i... I know..."
"How are you doing?," Ratchet asked, taking a sip from his mug; setting it on the desk a moment after.
"F... fine," the assistant vented heavily, feeling coolant glaze his optics, "I guess. I-i just..." He stopped and Ratchet waited until he was ready to continue. "I-i... I m-miss them, b-but I can't..."
The labrador reached across the desk, taking both of the smaller autodog's servos in his own. "As long as you know and believe that they love and care for you, Aid," he shared gently, "Than it's okay that right now you don't have the strength to cross that bridge. They'll still be there, waiting for you on the other side, and when that urge gets strong enough... it'll carry you all the way over and to your family."
Through swimming optics, First Aid smiled, feeling the love and faith of his family echo strongly in his spark via his mentor's words. There were still cracks and holes in his being, and perhaps they'd always remain there, but he was healing. The younger mech knew that; he could feel that. He no longer cursed his family or hated Ignis or wished Streetwise gone or...
Fingers clenched larger servos as Blades flashed across his processor, his spark sinking a few notches lower in his chestplates. Uncertainty ate at him, alongside a dash of fear, and the australian shepherd struggled to keep his composure as he politely withdrew his servos. He reminded himself firmly, over and over again silently, that if he could face his family, then one orn he would be able to face his brother too.
Little by little...
Accepting Ratchet's gracious distraction, First Aid returned to his work, conversing amiably with his superior as he tucked away pointless anxieties for another orn.
xxXxXxx
"Mom," Blades called out tiredly, opening the kitchen door, "I'm home..."
No one answered the bull terrier and, somewhat depressed further by the lack there of, he walked inside the house, dropping his duffel bag on the floor. Another long and forcibly busy orn at Hot Spot's office had done little to distract the mercenary from his never-ending dark thoughts; instead, leaving only his frame stiff and his spark drained. Enough to warrant a trip to the basement and his borrowed cot. Blades was just on his way out the kitchen when he noticed a small, green box on the table; accompanied by a slice of coconut cream cake. A spark of wonder and excitement flared through the autodog as he raced for the table suddenly, calling over his shoulder plating.
"Is First Aid here? Did he bring me some cake?"
Pedesteps softly walked up to the kitchen doorway behind him and Blades turned his helm, hopeful. They were dashed immediately though when he saw it was Streetwise.
"...Where's First Aid?," the mercenary asked, turning his helm back to his cake, fingers playing with the ribbon idly with growing excitement. "He still around or-"
"Blades," Streetwise cut in gently, "First Aid hasn't talked to us even once since he was brought back home. He hasn't visited either."
Blades' shoulders tensed and his fingers curled around the cake box tightly. Inside, his spark dimmed with gloom. "Then...how...?"
Streetwise walked forwards, seating himself at the table, across from Blades. This meant that he was in the other's sight, something that wasn't helping to calm the red mech's quickly rising hackles. Once the akita was settled, he spoke again. "I was the one who bought it. I never realized you liked coconut cream," Streetwise kindly commented, "You never cared for coconut when we were little."
"Grew up," Blades bit back, slightly irked. "Taste changes. How the frag did you know to get me this cake? I never told you what I liked."
Streetwise smiled sadly, servos folded in his lap. "I know, Blades. And you know that, with our history, I never expected you to update me on the things that went on in your life. I just wished to test a theory..."
The bull terrier snarled for real this time. "What theory?," he demanded. "Stop avoiding the question?!" The white mech flinched slightly as his brother punched the table; the wood denting under his fist.
"Blades...," he sighed softly, "Do you remember the party mom had planned months ago? Do you remember when we were waiting for First Aid to arrive? Then us going for a short 'walk'...?"
This time, it was Blades' turn to cringe. He glanced around him anxiously before leaning forward. "I thought I told you never to talk about that!," he hissed threateningly. "What are you-"
"I found cake," Streetwise cut in, ignoring the stunned look the younger autodog bore, "Coconut cream, in a green box. Mashed beside the bush we had... frequented temporarily. Insignificant, I'm sure, but it had not been there before our tumble and my hardware is insistent in handling anomalies appropriately. Eventually, I found the exact location selling this type of cake, in this box..."
"What's your point, Streetwise?," Blades grumbled, slowly sitting down in a free chair. "What the slag does cake have anything to do with this?"
The akita raised a servo. "I will get to the point shortly. I apologize in advance that my hardware requires that I report in such a descript, analytic method," the white mech answered. "But, please, bear with me a little longer."
"As I was saying," Streetwise continued, "I discovered the cake shop that this particular confectionary had been purchased at. I found out afterwards that it was bought frequently by only a few customers, of which I was granted the knowledge of their identities."
The mercenary shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but remained patiently silent. At his action, Streetwise again smiled, sharing a strange expression with his brother. Blades quirked an optic ridge at the look and stopped his fidgeting altogether.
"Coconut Cream... it's your favourite, isn't it?"
The bull terrier nodded slowly.
"Mom and dad- they do not know, do they?"
Blades slowly shook his helm.
"Ignis?"
"She... might...," the red mech quietly answered.
Streetwise nodded, venting softly. "Yes... I thought that was the case then... Blades, I know you weren't present at the time, but Ratchet informed us that First Aid's behaviour up until before his kidnapping seemed to be the result of a traumatic or overwhelming emotional situation," the older autodog shared. "And now... I think I know what may have driven him away from us so suddenly."
Blue optics raised, locking into his own deeply, and Blades felt his spark wither meekly in response.
"First Aid... he always knew what your favourites were. He always knew what to do to make you happy. I think he was content with this... but, secretly, I think he also wished for more," Streetwise sighed softly. "I think, he truly loved you Blades, and I think it was him that stumbled onto us that day. I'm certain it's why he had run away; why he couldn't face us anymore. We had betrayed him... but worse, he felt abandoned, by you."
The akita paused, staring up at Blades quietly. The poor mech didn't even realize he shook violently in his chair, servos curled around the table's edge and intakes coming in short, quick bursts. Reaching forward, Streetwise gently grasped one of his brother's servos, squashing his own cringe at the one Blades gave.
"I think...," he spoke softly, "That you love him too, Blades. I've never seen you so scared... or desperate... And all for him." Smiling sadly, the white autodog pulled back, glancing at the clock. "Despite what's happened, Blades, I think he still loves you. I bet, even now, he's waiting for you to come and help him. You should go... It's what you want to do, after all."
Catching his intakes, Blades slowly glanced up, absorbing everything that had just been said. He barely waited an astrosecond before he was leaping to his pedes, rushing out the kitchen door again with a flurry. Watching as the second hand slowly made a full circle around the clock, Streetwise turned his attention back to the cake; wrapping it up in its box and tossing the entire thing into the garbage.
C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?