So, first of all, my apologies for the lateness of this chapter-a big storm hit the area a few days back and the internet was shot until very recently. Hopefully it will be reliable again now for a while. Secondly, I got a request to write this chapter in the POV of another character covering their thoughts/reactions on the events of the last couple of chapters. So, without further ado, please enjoy!
Ratchet ex-vented heavily again, looking over the black mech's sprawled out frame in frustrated resignation. "You're gonna be the death of me, kid…" He rose to his pedes after a moment, his frame unused to inactivity for any stretch of time that did not involve meetings, surgery, recharge, or certain… other activities. Although they typically required quite a bit of activity, as he recalled, a fond nostalgia passing through his processor, remembering his academy days as the 'party ambulance'.
Another glance at Switchshade's eerily still frame was enough to chase any humorous thoughts away, however, and the medic scowled slightly at the ex-'Con on his medi-berth. "Why did you have to try to play the hero like a slag-sparked fool?" he grumbled, crossing his arms as he began to pace the makeshift medbay. The events of Saturday had been straining enough without the spark-stopping terror that had struck him when he had realized the depths of the damage to Switchshade's frame, and just how close the black mech had come to deactivation.
Ratchet's processor swirled in a familiar state of disarray that was common in major, exceedingly risky surgeries. This time, however, it was not his medical skills and experience that he needed to rely upon to pull his patients through, but his scientific ability. The lives of his oldest (living) friend and two brave soldiers depended upon it. This, in combination with the present and very active threat of the approaching scraplets, was enough to have him buckling down into a focused state of processor, multiple equations and possibilities whirling fast enough to leave a lesser mech dizzy.
, "So… the rest of them know we're in here?" Bulkhead's query was hesitant, and full of ill-concealed despair, at which Ratchet met his optics gravely, nodding once. "And if we allow ourselves to become their next meal, Optimus, Cliffjumper, and Arcee will never make it home. We must get the groundbridge operational." How to do so, however, remained a mystery, and they were running out of time.
Rafael, the youngest human and one Ratchet might grudgingly admit to being surprisingly clever (for a human), piped in, "Then we can use it to send the scraplets anywhere on earth." The other humans began to chime in as well. "Why not back to the Arctic? We already know they don't do cold…" Jack suggested, with Miko adding with a wicked grin, "Sweet! One stop shopping!" The medic forced himself to refrain from rolling his optics at her enthusiasm, but when he pondered it for a nanoclick, the idea made a shocking amount of sense.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Ratchet liked the idea, and soon a new, desperate hope lit his spark as he muttered deep in thought, "Given the body mass of the scraplets, sub-zero temperature should freeze them on contact. So, think, Ratchet, think! If the groundbridge is still down, there must be a breach in the energon fuel line!" Grinning widely now, the medic only refrained from a physical expression of his sudden manic hope due to the lingering wounds and pain from the attack of the scraplet scouts.
Even Bulkhead's frustrated groan of, "Ugh- if we weren't breaching, one of us could get back over there and fix it." wasn't enough to damper his sudden mood improvement. When Jack and Rafael immediately volunteered to find it and asked how to fix it, Ratchet smiled approvingly and told them in quick, concise instructions.
Bulkhead watched them go, and then, showing surprising insight for the usually oblivious Wrecker, began, "So if we get-when we get the groundbridge open, we send the creepy-crawlies out, and bring our 'Bots in…" Ratchet felt what little strength he had managed to scrape together after the first attack begin to wane, and lowered himself back against the nearest wall to avoid falling hard. At Bulkhead's words, he met the Wrecker's optics and finished the thought, "Optimus and the others will be 'fresh meat'. If we bring them in first, the scraplets will have no reason to leave. We'll need bait."
"Where are we gonna get bait? The scraplets have already helped themselves to everything in here!"" Bulkhead stated, incredulously. Ratchet raised an optic ridge, and began to reply, but was cut off by a sudden emergency notification on his HUD regarding a dangerously high core temperature of a mech nearby. Before he could follow the sensor readings to their source, however, the buzzing of the scraplets suddenly became much louder, and then an enormous swarm of the pit-spawned monsters emerged from the ceiling and from the halls, circling for only a fraction of an astroclick before descending upon the helpless mechs below.
The tearing agony of the scraplets' merciless fangs did an excellent job at distracting Ratchet from nearly all else, but even through the haze of pain, he couldn't help but notice that there seemed to be less scraplets than he would have estimated on his frame. A quick glance to Bulkhead and Bumblebee revealed the same, and if he had had the ability just then, the medic would have frowned in confusion.
"Ratchet! All systems go!"
"Fire it up!"
Ratchet staggered to his pedes one final time, optics unfocused; as he muttered stumblingly, "Groundbridge" and leaned on the correct lever, pulling it down to activate the groundbridge, the momentum of just his servo moving down enough to unbalance the wounded mech enough to send him to his faceplates on the ground. He could not suppress a pained groan at the impact, but the fleeting sensation of victory was more than worth it.
However, when the pain that had numbed his processor suddenly departed, the CMO felt a swoop of ill-defined dread in his spark, and without really knowing the cause, he still hesitated to look in the direction they had flown, genuinely afraid of what he would see. When concerned, ancient blue optics finally faced the groundbridge, Ratchet's spark faltered for a moment in complete horror. Switchshade's broken, twisted frame was nearly unrecognizable, crawling in jerky, uneven motions across the floor, his core temperature manually set to dangerously high levels, and the heat drew the scraplets to him like a beacon.
"No…" the CMO breathed, the level of damage that had been done to the young decepticon enough to turn even his fuel tank over, and he had seen a great deal of medical horror in his millennia of medical experience. Bulkhead did not seem to have noticed Switchshade's efforts just yet, however, for he glanced at Ratchet briefly, not comprehending the horrified expression on his faceplates, and just muttered, "Bait, huh?" before the Wrecker forced himself to his pedes as well. A slightly brighter flash of the groundbridge indicated that Switchshade had somehow, miraculously managed to drag the remains of his broken frame through the 'bridge before giving in entirely, and the scraplets followed.
The noise caught Bulkhead's attention, and he quickly put together what had just happened, his own optics widening in horrified realization, and he immediately increased his own core temperature as he gathered the last reserves of his own considerable strength and followed the ex-'Con through the portal. Ratchet pulled himself back to his own pedes using the wall, watching in awed surprise as the last of the tiny demons followed the irresistible call of the Wrecker's overheated frame through into the deadly Arctic.
Precious kliks passed, but before the last of the hope could fade from Ratchet's optics, the familiar sound of Optimus' deep voice reached his audials, and he shared an exhilarated glance with Bumblebee, the badly injured scout having remained silent but by the CMO's side for most of the ordeal. Soon, the Prime himself stepped through the portal, the slightly stiff, jerky motions of his normally graceful frame giving away the damage that extended exposure to frigid temperatures had caused. Right on his pedes stumbled Arcee and Cliffjumper, each attempting to support the other and lend their strength. Finally, bringing up the rear walked Bulkhead, carrying a limp, broken frame that might have once been a mech, the Wrecker's faceplates completely expressionless.
Ratchet cycled his optics, shaking off the lingering feelings of helpless horror and guilt for not noticing what Switchshade had done sooner as he returned his attention to his patient. It had been several earth days since the scraplets' attack, and it had taken all of his considerable skills and nearly all of that time to begin to piece the black mech back together. Most of his pedes had been completely destroyed, as well as his doorwings and a great deal of his back-plating. His damaged optic and the internal damage, as well as the not inconsiderable strain to his spark and damage to his spark chamber were of higher concern, and were he in anymech but Ratchet's care, the young mech likely would not have survived. As it stood, now that he had regained consciousness, even if only briefly, he was very likely to make a full recovery-with time.
The Autobots have given their all into helping the black mech recover, to an extent that had actually surprised Ratchet. Bumblebee and Cliffjumper were constantly attempting (and failing, he might add) to sneak into the medbay to sit beside Switchshade, despite Ratchet's orders otherwise. Frequently joining them or simultaneously distracting Ratchet to give them a better chance was Arcee, who, while still colder than the Arctic she had just escaped from on the outside, was having difficulty concealing her warm, protective spark within since the attack. It was a rare occasion to find Bulkhead anywhere but at the door to the medbay, silently standing guard until Switchshade was able to regain consciousness and defend himself, despite the lack of active threats within the base.
The humans, also, attempted to 'visit' the nearly-deactivated mech, with varying levels of success. Jack occasionally joined Arcee in her attempts, which had never yet gotten past the first medi-berth inside the medbay doors, whereas Rafael and Bumblebee had actually gotten to his berthside before Ratchet appeared to drive them away again to grant the black mech peace and quiet as he healed. In a move of stealth that was nothing short of shocking to the medic, it was Miko who was the most successful in her attempts to get close to Switchshade. He was nearly given a spark attack when he went to check in on his patient in the very early morning, and saw the tiny human curled up on Switchshade's mostly-healed chassis, fast asleep above his spark. Bulkhead had fallen into a light recharge nearby, his helm resting mere human feet from his human and the ex-'Con.
However, it was Optimus' reaction that most surprised Ratchet. The medic knew that Optimus had felt pity for the young mech, that the Prime knew full well that the living conditions under Megatron's hand were far from ideal. He even suspected that Optimus had begun to realize something of the extent of the abuse that many under the insane warlord had suffered, Switchshade clearly among them. Ratchet himself had no idea the true extent of the damage, both physical and psychological, that had been done to the black mech, but if past experience was any indication, Megatron had a great deal to answer for.
However, despite this, the medic had had no idea that Optimus had begun to regard Switchshade as one of his Autobots. The faithful way the Prime had come, day after day, to sit at Switchshade's side, a soothing servo resting gently upon the wounded mech's helm, that deep, rumbling voice murmuring encouragement and comfort whenever Switchshade had exhibited distress in his unconscious state, was enough to convince Ratchet that Optimus now saw Switchshade fully as one of his own. The Prime had done exactly that for Ratchet himself, nearly at the start of the great war, when the medic had been in a similar situation. Optimus might not fully trust him just yet, but his actions during the scraplet attack seemed to have completely integrated him amongst them, and Ratchet welcomed it. And if the medic caught a knowing glance from more than one of the troops as they were chased from Switchshade's berthside, the Prime sitting entirely undisturbed behind him, in the very seat they had just been forced to vacate 'for the patient's peace and quiet', then who was to argue? Clearly, while Switchshade might not yet trust Optimus, he clearly drew strength and comfort from his presence, even while unconscious.
Ratchet smiled when the door to the medbay slid open quietly, breaking him from his thoughts once again. Optimus stood in the doorway, a slightly concealed hope in his grave optics, as he spoke quietly, "How is Switchshade? I trust that he continues to recover?" and Ratchet's smile widened. "He woke, briefly. I believe that he will make a full recovery, in time." Optimus glanced at his old friend with a rare, matching smile of relief.