CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
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Note: there are no explicit scenes until indicated otherwise after this point. Explicit themes are touched upon in conversation and private thoughts
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Jack woke with a start, disoriented when he realized he was not laying on a soft bed. His back and neck ached, staring up at the ceiling in an attempt to puzzle out his surroundings. Firstly, every part of him lying on a flat surface. His hands patted the ground beside him, gradually concluding the hard surface against his back was, in fact, carpet, trying to recall how he got there in the first place.
His last memory was crashing onto the bed back on the Nemesis after popping a Hydrocodone pill into his mouth, Megatron promising to return him to Earth before leaving to address the latest problem which plagued the Decepticon cause. Once again he did not go into detail, however it was rather obviously something which needed attendance immediately, and Jack was not about to ask. He certainly did not envy the mech, as it was easy to imagine how annoyed the warlord felt to return from a rather lackadaisical break to more chaos. Soundwave could be trusted to keep things under control, but he was a single Cybertronian with only so many arms.
Sitting up with a soft groan, Jack flinched as his entire body seemed to protest, his joints feeling more inflamed than ever. The lack of endorphins and adrenaline in his system made him all the more acutely aware of the deep aches in his muscles, shifting his knee and gritting his teeth in response to the shooting pain.
Which reminded him why he had been able to be transferred without awakening to someone - he assumed Megatron - jostling him around. Norco was one hell of a drug.
Carefully surveying the room, it took a second for his lagging mind to put the pieces together.
He was in his room. In Jasper.
To be fair, the warlord had no idea where else to put him. It made sense to leave him somewhere both Jack and the Autobots could access, though he cringed at the implications of such a gesture. He felt like it was either a peace offering or a threat, and as much as he hoped it was the former, logic told him it would be the latter
He knew they knew about them, placing Jack back in neutral territory which had never truly been so. It was akin to a promise Jack may have returned, but he was not free.
And while Jack no longer feared for himself, or believed he was imprisoned, he was certain the Autobots would be freaked.
Fishing around himself he saw his cellphone sitting not too far from him, flipping it open to see 30% battery remaining. It was just enough juice to make a couple of phone calls, pausing to consider his options. On instinct he wanted to call his mother first, but in all likelihood she was in Washington, either working a shift or experiencing fitful sleep. Even if she did answer his call, she would not be able to reach him at a reasonable time.
His eyes skimmed down his contacts, pausing as they lingered on a name. Chest clenching, he knew his options were limited. Typically only a select two Autobots were up at this time, and as much as his finger hovered over Optimus Prime, he knew what would happen if he told him anything.
Swallowing he finally braved his anxiety, putting the phone to his ear as it rang once, twice-
"Jack?"
The medic's bewildered voice was far more relieving than the young man would have anticipated, his prolonged exhalation punctuated by the droop of his tense shoulders. "It's me. I . . . I'm home."
Ratchet seemed at a loss for words. "Home? Your phone signal is . . . coming from Jasper."
He cringed. "That's what I meant. I'm at my- my old house, here in Jasper. I'm in my room."
Another moment of pause. "Vince informed us you were injured. Do you think you would be able to make it through the Groundbridge?"
"I can walk a little," Jack forced himself to sit straighter, trying to roll into a comfortable position to stand. "But yeah, I think I could make it."
"I will meet you halfway."
"I'm coming." He hung up without thinking much of it, focused on the need to conserve as much battery life as he could. In hindsight, Ratchet might find that behavior suspicious, though he did not think of it at the time.
Standing on aching legs he cringed, the sharp pains returning with unforgiving vengeance. A bright green portal burst to life in front of him, the young man instinctively glancing towards his door before he realized what he was doing. Using the walls for support he limped to the soft hum, Jack gritting his teeth as he entered the portal.
Ratchet was waiting, just as promised, the medic appearing genuinely surprised to see Jack come through. He immediately walked over, scooping him up in his servos with very little ceremony. The human squawked softly in shock, not having expected the Autobot to do such a thing so readily. Ratchet had never been a fan of their human counterparts, and interacted with them as little as possible. Rafael was perhaps the exception, though he was the only one who could even remotely keep up with Ratchet, and he understood Bumblebee effortlessly; any close friend of Bumblebee was an automatic friend of Ratchet's.
The medic carried him back into the base, the facility eerily dark and quiet. Though the lights were still on, they were significantly dimmed to the point where the Cybertronian screens were the brightest thing in the room. Jack blinked, his eyes scanning the base as they adjusted to the new light. He supposed he had not noticed how dark his former home was, waking up already adjusted to total darkness.
Silently Ratchet took him to the medical bay, though Jack was unsure where to even begin. He was concerned the Autobot would immediately call Optimus, or Fowler, or his mom, though he appeared to not have done any of that yet. The next worst possible thing which could happen was a thorough medical evaluation, Jack cringing when he became acutely aware of the various bite marks peppering his skin.
You idiot.
"What happened?" Ratchet's first question broke the eerie quiet, cerulean optics searching Jack's face as he sat him down on a berth. "Vince informed me you possibly dislocated two joints."
A brief sigh of relief escaped Jack. Something I don't have to lie about.
"I jumped from the console and landed wrong," he moved gingerly, rolling up his pant leg to reveal the tight bandaging around the joint, then moving to the other to also show his ankle. "I definitely dislocated the knee, the ankle . . . I think I sprained it."
Ratchet frowned. "You reduced it?"
"No," Jack cringed, recalling how painful the procedure had been, "Megatron did. Not very gracefully, but I've been able to walk a little."
The most delicate of touches moved his leg from side to side. Ratchet's optics also brightened and dulled as unseen thoughts flickered through his CPU, likely researching knee dislocations and the best way to go about fixing it. Jack was no expert, though dislocated joints in general were a pretty big deal. They definitely were not supposed to do that.
Ratchet said a few choice words in Cybertronian. "That barbarian probably did more harm than any sort of good. Did he do anything to the ankle?"
"I don't know," Jack let him look at it as well, though the mech did not ask the human to unwrap it, "I passed out when he reduced my knee."
Incredibly displeased, Ratchet released a long ex-vent. Jack was not about to try and tell him Megatron most likely had done his research, as it would not reassure the medic in the least bit. He knew now was not the time to sing any praises about the Decepticon, bracing himself for what had to be the inevitable lecture and interrogation.
"You should be evaluated by an expert," the Autobot sounded truly regretful, "as my resources are limited enough as it is, and I am far from versed in human medicine." His gaze shifted again, and the question the young man had been anticipating finally arrived. "Did he hurt you?"
It was amazing how much anger flared up at those simple four words, Jack immediately gritting his teeth to prevent a snap or sarcastic retort. He looked at Ratchet, unfortunately unable to help but give a little sass.
"If that's code for 'assault,' no," he replied, "but if you actually mean 'hurt,' also no."
They stared at each other for a long time, neither daring to break their gazes as Ratchet attempted to detect the lie, and Jack to convince him he was telling the truth - which, technically, he was. Though perhaps the Autobots would not see it that way.
"Then will you allow me to scan you?" Ratchet questioned. "To put my own processor to rest?"
A challenge, pure and simple. Resistance would be Jack admitting to holding a secret, and allowing him to do it could reveal it. He knew Ratchet was fully aware of what he was doing, somewhat bitter that the Autobot insisted on playing this dancing game. It wasn't enough to just take his word, though Jack had to remind himself the old 'bot's suspicion was justified. He had lied to them in the past; what right did he have to be angry they could not trust him?
"Scan away," he said, ignoring the sickening rock of anxiety settling in his stomach. "How do you want me to stand? Or lay?"
"If you are able to tolerate it, I would prefer you stand," Ratchet offered his assistance with a servo, Jack latching onto a digit. He grunted softly as his sore muscles protested, his abdominals reminding him of the sins which he was trying to hide. He idly wondered how much Ratchet's scan would reveal, deciding he would cross that bridge - or burn it - when he got there.
Working as quickly as possible Ratchet activated his mediport, the blue-green scanner lighting up. Jack did not feel anything as its beam passed acrossed his organic skin. Ratchet did a few more passes before he was satisfied, waiting for the results to populate into the CPU of his scanner. A few beeps informed the pair when it was finished, Ratchet's expression becoming alarmed shock.
"Jack, are you well?"
Not exactly what he was expecting, the human frowned. "Um, yes? I don't feel sick."
The medic's optic ridges furrowed. "Your system has abnormally high energon levels. It's . . . everywhere."
His mind stalled as he tried to think, realizing rather quickly how Ratchet was picking up the read, feeling completely embarrassed and like an idiot for not thinking of it to at least warn the medic.
"It's not like the Decepticons could be bothered to get actual human food," he rubbed the side of his face, ignoring his aching muscles, "so I was given Energon. It worked."
Ratchet's optics narrowed minutely, his mouth open in unfiltered shock. Floundering, he finally found the words he wanted to speak: "Energon is toxic to humans!"
Jack tapped his fingers against the medical berth. "Apparently not," he looked at Ratchet, feeling his throat dry though he forced the words from his mouth. "Amicus survived for seven years on it."
A part of him hated bringing up Amicus as part of the argument, cringing as it merely reminded him of where he had been for the past several days, worrying his mother sick and giving the Autobots the scare of their lives. Honestly, he was surprised Ratchet had not woken up the entire base, or contacted Agent Fowler, starting to wonder what the medic's end game was. One would think the moment Jack was in his custody everything would be full steam ahead.
So why wait?
Ratchet's optics flickered with hidden thoughts, returning to the scanner on his arm. "Have you taken it well?"
"Outside of the taste, which is totally disgusting, yeah," Jack answered honestly, wrinkling his nose. "I haven't felt sick from it or anything."
The medic's prolonged exhalation was his only outward indication of how he felt on the matter, not entirely satisfied with Jack's answer. "Have you felt deficiencies? For all it's worth, Jack, I find it hard to believe energon is the perfect substitute for human sustenance."
"You guys seem to drink it no problem," he pointed out.
"Our bodies do not possess the multitude of enzymes and other microorganisms which require various, specific nutrition," the doctor countered, his digit skimming across the screen as he read the reports continuing to populate from his scanner's readings. There were several seconds where Jack only felt the beat of his heart against his chest, then Ratchet spoke again. "I would not recommend it being a chronic replacement. But I am reluctant to start you back on human sustenance without weaning you from it first. It could compromise your homeostasis."
Jack blinked. "A chronic replacement? Were you thinking I didn't want to go back to the human stuff?"
Cerulean optics fixated on him pointedly. "I am giving you a warning, which I am sure you will pass on to him in due time."
The young man thought his heart stopped, and though he had felt anxiety in the past never had he experienced the sensation of his blood draining from his face so acutely. He struggled to speak for a second, thrown by how the Autobot said that.
"Ratchet, I swear," his voice was on the brink of cracking, "he doesn't know where I live. He doesn't have a way to contact me even if I wanted to talk-"
"Fourteen," the number seemed absolutely random, then the medic continued, "which is only counting what my scanner can pick up. I am sure there are far more than that. This does not include the bruises, Jack."
When it came to silence, there were many types. Somehow, this moment was stone-cold dead, Jack swearing he could hear the energon running through Ratchet's lines. It took all of his energy to just maintain eye contact, however as shame swelled in his chest he looked away, the Cybertronian's expression unreadable.
"Tell me the truth," his voice was soft, laced with physician's compassion, "did Megatron hurt you?"
Jack blinked, hard, cursing himself as he felt tears well up in his eyes. The last thing he needed right now was to cry, because then a new lie, one far worse than anything he could come up with, would be born. And he would never be able to convince the stubborn old Autobot otherwise.
"If I tell you the truth," he said, quiet and yet he was certain Ratchet heard him just fine, "the whole truth . . . none of the others can know. Not even Optimus."
Looking up at the medic his jaw tightened, seeing quite clearly the Autobot was preparing to protest.
"I can't move again," Jack grit his teeth. "I won't. My mom's been through enough. I'm not going to play this game of cat and mouse every time he so much as thinks about me." Voice wavering, his palms stung as fingertips dug into the sensitive flesh. "Despite what I thought, Ratchet, I'm not in danger. Am I safe? I don't know. But I do know that what I was scared of before wasn't real. He doesn't want me dead."
Taking deep breaths he tried to compose himself, forcing the burning in his eyes to subside.
"I know I don't deserve it," he looked at Ratchet, "but I'm asking you to trust me."
The medic scoffed. "You're right," he said, voice razor sharp, "you don't deserve any of my trust, especially after convincing me you could handle boarding the warship."
"If it wasn't me, it could have been any of them," Jack argued back. Anger built in his chest, the young man forcing himself to take a deep breath and swallow his emotions. Ratchet was right, after all, and though they both had different views on the situation, they were technically on the same side. "But I'm sorry. As much as I wish things would have gone differently, what happened, happened. And I'm sorry."
The apology appeared to catch Ratchet off-guard. Blinking, he took several moments to process what Jack said, intake working much like someone at loss for words would move their mouth.
"I just," Jack sighed, rubbing his eyes with hands. Finally he said, "I have these feelings, and no amount of therapy, no amount of moving and erasing my identity and trying to forget about my past is going to fix them. I wanted them to go away. But they won't. They just keep getting stronger."
A tear fell without his permission, and he wiped it away quickly. Now, he did not want to look like some manipulative psychopath, Jack screaming at how angry he made himself just trying to convey his emotions to the stoic Autobot. He wanted to tell the truth and yet it still all felt like lies.
"I tried," he took a breath. "I tried to hate him and everything he did to me. I wished I was repulsed by the way he made me feel . . . but instead it was the exact opposite. It was all completely different from what I expected . . . what we expected."
Ratchet listened quietly, watching Jack unravel before his very optics. He was a mess, to say the least, the medic's brief spike of annoyance subsiding as his old spark faltered with pity. He grimaced at the idea of keeping secrets, especially from Optimus; yet it was obvious the Prime destroyed his own trust with Jack. To some degree, Ratchet understood. Jack had shared his worries in confidence, only for the Prime to inform their liaison and Ratchet of the predicament; and then it escalated to June, and Arcee, knowing about what happened. Until finally, everyone knew.
Only his closest friend knew what Optimus had done: panic. He panicked, seeing Jack in an extraordinarily dangerous situation and acting as fast as the human system could allow. It was, of course, with good reason, though perhaps more grace could have been utilized during this time. Any number of cover stories would have worked, but instead they stuck with the truth: Megatron had sought a potentially intimate relationship with Jack, and after his betrayal now was likely seeking revenge.
In the process, Jack was treated as an incompetent victim, any semblance of control he had over his life ripped away from him by the very 'bots he trusted it with.
The old medic sighed, turning away from Jack briefly. The human furrowed his brow in confusion, appearing hurt until he saw the mech push a crate closer to the medical berth, sitting heavily upon it with a deep sigh.
"If it were not me," he ventured carefully, "would you confide in Arcee?"
Jack felt pained to say it, though it was the unfortunate truth. "She wouldn't keep a cool head, she would freak out," he swiped at phantom tears, feeling the drying tracks irritate his skin, "and probably relocate me herself. I can't . . . trust her to keep it to herself."
"And yet you would me?"
The human gave a half-hearted shrug. "At least you know about patient confidentiality. And . . . I guess out of everyone here, the doctor knowing what's going on is probably the smartest choice."
Ratchet's gaze never wavered from him for what felt like ages, optic light the brightest source in the entire room. Ironically, their color was soothing, a stark contrast to his screaming orange and white paint job.
"If you are going to expect patient confidentiality from me," he started slowly, "then I am going to expect you to treat me as your physician. You answer my questions truthfully, you report any concerns of your physical, mental, and emotional health to me."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Am I going to have to come in for an annual check-up too?"
"If necessary," Ratchet answered plainly, chin rested against folded servos, his elbows propped on his knees. "But know this, Jack. If I feel, even for an instant, you are in danger - true danger - the Autobots will intervene."
It was obvious that did not sit well with Jack, his expression twisting into a grimace. He took a breath, biting his lip.
"Fine," he said, having taken quite a bit of time to weigh the pros and cons in his mind. Looking up at Ratchet, he gave a final nod of confirmation. "I will."
Ratchet sat up a little straighter, his servos falling from his face to rest on his knees. He was bracing himself, Jack fully aware of what their next conversation would entail. "At least fourteen bite marks."
Jack swallowed. "Yeah. On my arms, shoulders, collar bone." He looked up at Ratchet. "All consensual. It was all consensual."
Digits tapped against knee plating, derma thinning. "What is all?"
Dancing around the subject would only annoy him, though Jack was not necessarily jumping at the opportunity to talk about it. But he had to - if he trusted Ratchet, which he wanted to say he did, he needed to.
"He told me about how Cybertronians are . . . equipped," the young man started slowly, watching the medic's optics twitch minutely, "because your sparks come from the Well, or hotspots, you don't need to reproduce like humans - organics - do. But you can, uh, be intimate still. He called it sparkplay."
Somehow Ratchet's derma appeared to become thinner, a straight line showing his extreme displeasure about the matter.
"In which you build a charge and then release, like . . . like climax," Jack took a breath as he continued, taking Ratchet's silence as a prompt to keep going, "and when you discovered organics, it's when the modifications started."
A strange expression crossed the medic's face, Jack unable to rightly determine what it was which caused the odd look. There were a few seconds of hesitation, then Ratchet returned back to the present, his chest expanding with a heavy ventilation.
"And he has these modifications," Ratchet guessed, "after Amicus."
"That's what he implied," Jack confirmed, eyes drifting to his feet. "I'm sure you can guess where . . . where we took it from there."
"With your injuries?" Ratchet frowned, "you could have made them significantly worse, especially if he was being rough enough to leave several marks."
"He-" Jack felt his heart skip a beat at the thought, his molars clenching as he recalled their moments of intimacy. How good it all felt, swallowing the feelings which welled to the surface. "He was gentle. We were careful."
The Autobot appeared skeptical, however it was obvious Jack's scans were speaking for themselves, accepting the reassurance hesitantly.
"I trust you to know your limit, Jack," tiredness laced his voice, "and to set boundaries. Then, and in the future."
The young man cringed mildly.
"I . . . It's still to be determined if we're going to see each other again," he mumbled, "I didn't want him to know where I live now . . . for obvious reasons. Because I don't want to be forced to move again. But we're not done."
Ratchet's jaw worked, clearly trying to formulate an answer to what was, admittedly, a rather backwards line of thought.
"Do you trust him to not hurt you?"
The question was surprising, Jack taking his time to think about his reply. He did not think Megatron would raise a servo against him now, but before . . . if something similar happened again, would he still be scared? Would he spiral back down into insanity?
His more tempered side said no, believing the second time would be the final straw. Jack wanted to trust him; even with their tainted record, with the obvious signs and reasons they couldn't work . . .
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I want to, more than anything. But the future scares me."
"As it should," Ratchet shifted in his seat, the deepest of sighs leaving his intake. Digits rubbed the front of his face, scraping away invisible buildup. "The Megatron I know hates organics. He despises their very existence and thinks they are better off exterminated. The mere idea of him becoming romantically involved with one, let alone two, feels impossible. And yet there is Amicus. There is you."
The medic took another pause, clearly struggling with this just as much as Jack was, though from a different facet.
"If his feelings for you, these romantic interests, are genuine, then I believe you are much safer than any of us would ever care to admit," he began, "but that does not mean you should ever let your guard down. If Megatron believes, even for a moment, someone or something is a threat to your relationship, he will destroy it."
Jack's eyes drifted to the ground. "He promised he wouldn't hurt my mom," he said softly, "but . . . I couldn't make him leave you guys alone."
"I'm not surprised," Ratchet said honestly, "we are his most hated enemy - though I can say with confidence the feeling is mutual."
Closing his eyes, Jack let his face fall into his hands again, taking a deep breath.
"I'm sorry . . ." he mumbled.
The medic stared at him, wondering what specifically he was sorry for. When Jack did not get an answer he decided to elaborate, burying his eye sockets into the edges of his palms.
"You probably think I'm some kind of disgusting traitor," his voice cracked, "sleeping with the leader of the Decepticons. You hate him, Ratchet. You must hate me too."
Surprise brightened his optics.
"No," he spoke slowly, frowning, "I hold no ill will towards you, Jack. Do I believe you are way in over your head, and don't seem to realize it? Yes. Do I hate you, or even am angry with you, for being in this situation? No. I don't believe this is your fault. You have nothing to be blamed for."
A light touch ran down his back, the young man resisting the urge to snap his head up to see. He could almost guarantee he would smack it on the medic's other digits, ruining the tender moment by giving himself a concussion. Taking a deep breath he just nodded minutely, opening his eyes to gaze between his hands.
"The lines have blurred further, the areas more grey than before, but that does not mean you are now in the wrong," Ratchet continued. He stopped in his ministration, a signal that it was safe for Jack to now look at him in the optics. Their coloring was unique compared to that of Optimus, Bumblebee's, or even Arcee's. Where the other Autobots had the subtle undertones of pure blue, the medic had a sea green tint which complimented his orange and white armor. They calmed the young man, their judgement - if any - carefully concealed from view. "I trust you to know when enough is enough, Jack. And if you do not, I expect you in turn to trust me to draw the line."
Jack chewed on his lip, appearing reluctant even as he nodded. Despite sleeping for Allspark knew how long he looked exhausted, shoulders slumped forward and eyes fluttering in a struggle to stay awake. Ratchet wondered if this conversation was taking an emotional toll on him, lightly stroking him once again in the silence. Once the moment had extended long enough he rechecked his scan results once more before drawing the conversation back to a fuller circle.
"Your knee and ankle should be looked at by human professionals," he said slowly, "I will contact Agent Fowler to let him know you are here, and safe."
"Will you . . . you know . . .?" He touched his shoulder.
Ratchet paused.
"If they do not need medical intervention, then I will not," he said finally.
"They don't," Jack said quickly, dropping his hand. His voice became softer, "thank you."
The medic said nothing else on the matter, standing with a grunt as his worn pistons hissed in protest, CPU nagging for him to recharge soon. Having more pressing matters at hand he dismissed the warnings, digits dialing the liaison's number with unfortunate familiarity.
One ring, two. A third and fourth one passed by with slimming odds, until finally a click informed them the Agent had picked up, his voice groaning into the phone.
"Ratchet? It's nearly four in the morning. Do you 'bots ever sleep?"
"Agent Fowler," the Autobot greeted, "Jack is here. He's safe, and well."
"He's what?!" There was the frantic sound of sheets rustling, Fowler cursing as his swift actions caused him to drop the phone, the nasty sound almost reminiscent of someone smacking their head against the corner of a desk. "I'm on my way. Groundbridge to me in T-minus 5 minutes."
There were no other instructions prior to the man hanging up, Ratchet standing in the still silence of the base for a moment before he turned back to Jack.
"He will most likely call June."
The young man nodded, noticeably grimacing. "Yeah . . . I just . . . just don't let her try and strip me down for a full exam, please? Reassure her I'm okay."
"Of course," Ratchet gave him a warning expression, "but if she does, tell her the truth, Jack."
"She wouldn't believe it anyways, but I will," his voice was bitter, well aware his mother would have a fit if she even glanced at the bite marks on his skin. No matter how much he told her, she would think he was lying. Though she was not exactly one to blame; after all, Megatron had been painted as this ruthless, evil tyrant by the Autobots. It would fit the profile given to her.
He just hoped his mother would not invade all of his space.
Agent Fowler arrived in exactly five minutes, emerging through the provided Groundbridge in frantic steps. He met Jack's eyes, expression becoming worried once he realized he was sitting on the medical berth. Allowing Ratchet to also transfer him onto the same platform he strode to the younger man.
"I was told you were hurt," he said without much ceremony.
Deciding getting snarky with the Agent was not about to win him any favors, he gestured to his legs.
"A dislocated knee, which was reduced, and a possibly sprained ankle. Ratchet did some imaging."
"Based on what my scanner is capable of reading, I would agree with that assessment," the medic concurred, "however, I believe Jack is best served to see a human physician, one who can collect the proper imaging."
"Is that all?" Fowler looked at him skeptically, Jack swallowing the urge to shrink back in guilt. He could feel Ratchet's optics on his back, like two drills digging into his skin.
"Yes. That's all." He did not provide any further elaboration.
Unsurprisingly, such an answer did not sit well with the liaison. "You were gone for six days and you didn't get a single injury?"
"What were you expecting him to do, beat me?" Jack felt this sarcasm was warranted, though he tried to keep it minimal, "as much as I thought otherwise, he doesn't want to hurt me, Agent Fowler. But once he realized he wasn't about to convince me to stay, or tell him where I'd gone, he let me go."
"Where- how-" The Agent looked at Ratchet, alarmed by the idea of the warlord just dropping off Jack at a random point on Earth. "Where did you find him?!"
"At his home," Jack was a little surprised at how much Ratchet had his back. Outside of confidentiality, the physician really had no obligation to corroborate Jack's story - whether it was truthful or not - yet he elaborated further: "I suspect because Megatron did not know where else to place him. Any other place would have been too high-risk or given Jack a lesser chance of making it back to us."
Fowler's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why would he want that?"
"To ensure Jack's survival," Ratchet replied smoothly. "Megatron has made it very clear he wishes for Jack to remain alive. Whether he has any true ill will towards him despite this is still something to be considered. However, given Jack's lack of injuries and the fact he was released from Decepticon custody, I am comfortable assuming at the very least he wants no harm to come to him."
"That doesn't make any sense. He's Megatron."
"Thus he will do everything in his power to keep what he desires," chills raced down Jack's back at Ratchet's response, "yet he does not want to turn Jack against him any more than he already has. So, he has done as he wished and let him go."
A moment of silence as Agent Fowler absorbed this information, mulling it over in his mind. Eventually, his eyes settled on Jack again, his voice low yet in a soft, pleading sort of way.
"Does he know where you live?"
Jack shook his head with confidence - because it was true. "I refused. I told him if he found out, or tried to visit me, he would never see me again. It would be guaranteed he wouldn't see me again. So, he stopped asking."
The liaison let out a slow, deep breath.
"And you swear to me you're alright? Besides the legs?"
"I swear," Jack offered him a mild smile. "Scared the crap out of me, but I'm okay."
His mild smile was, surprisingly, returned, Fowler releasing yet another sigh of relief.
"I'm glad you're okay." He put a hand on Jack's hair and ruffled it, which was something baffling to him. It had been a long, long time since he experienced any sort of affection, as platonic and one-off as it was. Jack doubted there was much weight behind it, yet it warmed his heart to receive the fatherly gesture.
"Me too," the teen admitted, adjusting his legs with a mild flinch.
"Did you tell A- June? April?" Fowler questioned Ratchet.
"Not yet," the Autobot admitted. "I thought it best to get Jack to safety and begin a medical evaluation firstly; June is currently at work in Washington and inaccessible at this time."
The Agent frowned, though he did not press too much, obviously believing the medic had nothing but Jack's best interests in mind - which, he did, though it was perhaps not in the way Fowler anticipated.
"I believe he would benefit from an additional evaluation by a human physician, one who specializes in his type of injuries," Ratchet continued, cerulean gaze flickering to Jack before they settled back on Fowler, "If they so desire it, I will send my findings their way in a compatible file format."
"They'll want to do scans themselves, but I'll pass along the message," Fowler dipped a hand into his pocket, Jack realizing then the Agent was in his usual three-piece suit.
Does he sleep in that thing?
"If that's something you want, Jack," he was startled when Fowler paused in his movements to make this suggestion to him, a strange expression on his stern face, "to be evaluated by another doctor, that is."
A pause. "I think x-rays would at least be a good idea," he agreed, though his nervous fidgeting did not go completely unnoticed, "see what we're dealing with."
"I'll give Area 51 a call, scramble some docs together," Agent Fowler pulled out his cellphone, flipping it open to dial the number. "Once it gets to a reasonable hour, I'll call your mom too."
"Thanks," the young man laid back, taking a deep breath. Ratchet remained hovering while Fowler barked orders across the line, the medic sharing one last, prolonged look which Jack both appreciated and was extraordinarily wary of.
I am trusting you to trust me.
He swallowed. This could all end so badly, but he had to trust Ratchet just as much as he trusted him. Which, right now, was not a lot.
Hopefully, it would be enough.
XXX
Hey guys, I wanted to put the note at the end because I was unsure how long it would be.
Firstly, I do apologize for not updated for the past several months. Real life hit me with the worst curveball ever and I've been scrambling to get back on my feet. I haven't lost inspiration for the fanfiction, and I have every intention to finish it - assuming the events going on outside the Internet let me. I have so much planned for the future of this fanfiction and the direction it is going to go that it would truly be a disservice to myself and to you to just abandon it. So, no matter how long the hiatus, please know I want to keep writing it.
I hope to pic up where I left off and get in a chapter or two every month when I can help it. Writing has brought me a lot of joy over the past several years and I am optimistic it will continue to do so. Thank you everyone for your patience, and thank you for your continued support!
Also, just as a side note, please don't say "don't feel pressured to update/you come first, not this fanfiction!." I don't feel pressured to update on a schedule (as loose as it is) simply because that's how I like to do it, and I also know sometimes schedules don't work out. As for me coming first, yes I should always care for both my physical and mental health above all else, and writing is how I do it. I write because that is what keeps me healthy - I have no pressure to finish it because it has to be complete, but because I want to complete it. There are many things in life which negatively impact my health, but writing is not one of them. There is no pressure with freelance writing, which I use as both an exercise and as personal enjoyment; the latter of which I also get more of when I see other people enjoying my work. Don't worry, I'm looking after myself, and this is how. I do greatly appreciate your concerns and I am glad to hear when people advocate for me to myself to ensure I am staying on the right path. Just be aware that this is part of that path.
Thank you, and I'll see you all in the next update!
