SUNSPOTS
HAPPY NEW YEARS EVE!
THANK YOU to all reviewers! You're support has been amazing! Here's seeing you in the new year!
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"You there! Grab that mech and assist him to a berth!" a bulky white medic barked to the scattered group of ragtag misfits.
"Busy," a golden mech answered, joisting a red mech against him and half carrying, half dragging him to the indicated berth that was intended for the other patient.
The medic growled oaths that made the only three surviving recruits appraise him with appreciative optics before the medic turned into the Pit Maker.
"He isn't that injured!" the medic roared, soldering off the last sparking line in the chest plates of a green mech. When the vitals registered as stable, the medic went to the duo, rage fueling his voice and his temper.
"Get that mech off the berth and put a truly slagged up patient on there or you'll be sent to the smelters," he roared, wrench in hand before anyone could register its presence.
To punctuate the medics words, the wounded mech who should have gotten the berth gave a wheezing grind then keeled over, his optics dark, his armor graying.
"He was already gone," the yellow mech sneered, unafraid of the medical wrath about to fall on his helm. "His spark was already faltering."
"And how would you know that?" the white medic fumed, frame tense and painted in the spent lifeblood of his patients.
"I've terminated enough mechs to know the signs," he answered, puffing armor to match his verbal sparring partner.
"So, you think you have a better medical knowledge than a trained professional?" the medic roared, his optics blurring to white as they stared down the navy optics of the golden mech who defied him. Apparently this stranger didn't know who he was up against.
That was soon to change.
The day had started out as any normal day. The Autobots were setting up recruiting stations, keeping them secret and always moving to prevent detection of the Con forces. The convoy was on the way back to Iacon with barely a dozen mechs and femmes who had signed on, when their transport was shot down. Over half of the recruits were terminated in the crash.
Only three mechs and one femme had survived the crash. As they were racing for cover a mech and femme were shot down, their frames crumbling in peaceful surrender. Now, two mechs remained of the original recruits and were close to losing their lives. Just when all seemed lost, out of no where a band of four mechs came in and stormed the Decepticon ranks, killing all but one, who had managed to cloak himself and disappear like fog.
One of the rogue arrivals had taken a shot near the spark chamber, and there was the slim chance he could have been saved. Had it not been for the golden menace now staring down the CMO of the Autobots. No one was that dumb or suicidal.
Ratchet took a deep inhale, ready to release a tirade that would rent the heavens, but his anger faulted upon noting the two mechs who had lead the rogue band in attacking the Decepticons.
They're build was identical, which was unusual with sparked frames. Most beings opted to alter their frames to suit their personalities and preferences, setting themselves apart from others of the same design. Drones were manufactured in identical frames and never bothered with augmentations and coloring. Their odd demeanor intrigued the Chief Medical Officer.
Ratchet glared at the two mechs sequestered on the medical berth, the red one lulling against the golden frame. Fluids covered both their bodies, and only when the pool beneath the red mech started to grow did Ratchet realize that he was bleeding out. There had been an internal injury hidden beneath the spilled energon from the Cons on the red mech's body.
"He needs medical attention,' came the gruff command for the two to separate. But the golden warrior didn't jump immediately to comply, like so many other terrified mechs. His navy optics zeroed in on the white medic, the gaze hard and cold. He kept his lip components compressed in a line, but a low growl of warning came from deep within his chassis as the white mech approached.
"I'm Ratchet, chief medical officer," the white mech said his scanners jumping to life and scanning the red frame. "It's difficult to examine a patient when there is another close by to interfere with the medical scans. Step aside."
The growl deepened, the golden arm tightened around the lax shoulders. The red mech's head fell to the side, a spark erupting from a rent wire bent from a gaping wound on the mech's shoulder.
"I will not hurt him. I promise,' Ratchet said, taking the bold step of stepping close to the two mechs. His scanners were showing all sorts of odd readings. When he realized the golden menace wasn't going to vacate his position, he added in a stronger tone, "Move your aft or I'll move it for you."
Like a golden flash of lightning in a plasma storm the yellow mech was in front of the medic, his body vibrating with fury. His optics glittered to obsidian. Heat radiated off his body as a nova preparing for its burgeoning crescendo.
"I will not leave my brothers side," he said, his voice a deep bass that rumbled the chest plates of the medic.
Ratchet wasn't deterred. He'd dealt with difficult patients before. And though these two were not under Autobot rules and regulations, they were still injured and required medical care. He was obliged to attend them, whether they wanted his help or not. His codes as a physician wouldn't allow him to walk away while someone needed his expertise.
"I know what I'm doing," Ratchet growled in answer.
"Oh?" the golden warrior said, oblivious to his own sparking and damaged body.
Both stood, nose to nose, staring into each other's optics with pure distrust and loathing. Finally, the medic broke the spell.
"Stand aside and let me see my patient." It was a command, not a request.
"Sunny," a faint voice said, breaking both from their spell.
The yellow mech was at his brothers side in an instant, his hand clasping his brothers and holding it close to his spark.
"I'm here," Sunstreaker said.
"I hurt,' came the raspy reply.
And before Sunstreaker could register the threat, the white medic descended on the duo. Black servos ghosted over the ruby frame, sealing off lines, suturing rent metal and welding patches to weakened areas that kept rupturing. A low growl was the constant music from the yellow mech, who changed the pitch of his growl depending on where the medic was working. Sunstreaker glared, not liking the fact that he was shoved aside like slag and ignored of any protests and rumbles of warning.
Ratchet worked studiously removing blistered armor and soldering off the frayed wires. He dampened the neural receptors, giving the red mech some peace from his pain. Ratchet's hands were a flurry of motion his medical overrides allowing him to act on more instinct and battlefield protocols allowing his mind the opportunity to take in his patient more closely.
There was no denying the signs of abuse on the protoform and the battered armor that bore more whip marks than what seemed to be necessary. There was also evidence of hasty repairs, botched operations, and mediocre medical attention. It was a wonder the mech was still functioning. Error messages scrolled across Ratchet's HUD, confirming his suspicious. The indentation of a slave color still adored both mechs necks was also a dead giveaway.
They were gladiators of the illegal fighting rings.
No wonder they ran into the thick of battle without thought and fought with vicious, bloodthirsty intention.
When the acid green of a scanner erupted over Sideswipe' battered frame, Sunstreaker tensed, poised like a spring ready to erupt. And just as he feared, there came the telltale gasp of understanding.
The medic knew their secret.
"If you say anything," Sunstreaker muttered, his voice as deep as a birthing pulsar.
Ratchet gave the yellow mech a steely gaze, unaffected by the death threat aimed right at his spark. "Sit down, shut up, and allow me to do my job."
Sunstreaker's expression faltered. The normal dark scowl was replaced by shocked surprise, the mood filtered to his twin, who opened one optic to stare at his brother.
It took all of his self control, but he was able to school his features.
"Perhaps you don't know of our reputation," Sunstreaker said, optics narrowed at the mech who had the audacity to be so blunt and hostile with the notorious twin terrors.
NO ONE had ever spoken like that to either twin. At least, no one who still functioned.
"I really don't care," Ratchet said, a wrench his in hand in the blink of an optic. "And you apparently don't know about my reputation, because anyone with some sense would know better than to slag me off."
Sunstreaker barely had time to register the words before the wrench collided with the side of his helm in a very tender spot. He went crashing to his knees, his senses thrown in a whirlwind of chaos and noise. Sideswipe moved to assist his brother, but pain stopped him short, his face twisting in agony. He fell back on the berth, his body twitching in protest from the attempted movement.
Sideswipe's pain was what Sunstreaker needed to center himself. Sunstreaker rose to his pedes, murder reflected in his optics as he turned in slow motion toward the medic. His spark however was thrumming with adoration.
Sideswipe felt the odd sensation and rubbed his hand over his spark chamber, falling back onto the berth and emitting a strangled gasp from the pain using his plating as a playground. A strong sense of attachment flooded the bond, causing Sideswipe to echo the sentiment toward the white plated stranger.
Thinking the wrench had knocked his senses haywire, Sunstreaker glared at the mech who stood a couple of paces away, unafraid and stoic in the face of certain gold-plated death. He took one step toward the medic, wanting to throttle him into stasis for daring to touch his paint which warred drastically against his desire to congratulate the mech for having such titanium enforced back struts. Sunstreaker's step faltered when he felt a strong sense of affection toward the medic. The sentiment was enough of a distraction to allow Ratchet the chance to snarl before sending another wrench to his opponent, landing it squarely between the golden mech's optics. Sunstreaker emitted a strangled noise as his lack of concentration resulted in a sound knock to the helm that sent his internal systems screaming for an immediate shut down. He fell to the floor without a word of protest.
Sideswipe gasp, feeling the last conscious tendrils of his brother's mind before he slipped into unconsciousness. Admiration flooded Sideswipe's senses, a part of him knowing that he and his brother had just found their temperamental counterpart.
Sideswipe offered a lopsided smile to the glaring ghost of a menace. He shared his brothers sentimentality toward this strange, and yet very resilient mech. It took a lot of ball bearings to stand up to the notorious twins. And it took even more strength to keep their own in check.
Oh yeah, this medic was a good match. A perfect counterbalance for the chaos and uncertainty that scarred their bodies and sparks. And just like a defragmented program that was rendered inoperable due to glitches, Sideswipe felt as if the base line codes were self correcting and putting the world right again.
Strange how it took a violent medic to fix something they believed couldn't be fixed.
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Yea... some Ratchet love! lol Funny it takes a knock to the head to get either twin's attention.
Next chapter tomorrow!
Hope everyone has a Save, Happy, and Prosperous New year! And don't do anything stupid!
Reviews are LOVED and I'm just FLOORED with the amount of positive feedback!
