A/N: I'm getting close to the end slowly but surely. Sorry this took so long, but i'm suffering from writer's block. My new Jetfire toy forced me to write this, if it wasn't for him this chapter wouldn't be out even now. Also because I'll be away for two days I uploaded this like this: There's going to be some changes to this chapter later on.
Also, the amount of stories that have EXACTLY the same title in the pit are starting to bug me(especially because they appeared after my story). But I suck at giving titles to stories, so I would appreciate any suggestions for a new title. Let's say, I'll write a extra bonus chapter to the winner. :) Anyway, enjoy chapter 10.
Ratchet was listening a lecture. He was craving to learn new things after his hospitalization. He had been released quite quickly from the medbay because his constant complaining and bitching. The white mech wasn't completely healed yet. He couldn't transform, and if he kept up too long, his processor started overheating. That normally led to a processor ache. But the situation was better than Ratchet giving pit to the medics treating him. Ratchet was frustrated with the situation, because he was contstantly baby sitted by Ironhide. He wanted to remain independent and having someone following your every move certainly wasn't that.
Ratchet had been going around pestering his teachers for the lectures he had missed. He had been so occupied with studying lately that it seemed that he had forgotten all about Ironhide and their confession to each other. It wasn't the case; Ratchet was simply putting things in the right order. First came his creators' well being, then came his studying, and after those his personal needs. At the moment, the situation demanded him to study like a crazy.
Ratchet turned his gaze to the lecturer. As always, he was very determined to understand the contents of the teaching. The subject was very familiar to the white mech: Chronic Circuit Glitching, the very same condition his creators were suffering from. Most of the information Ratchet knew already before hand; well, he had lifetime experience with his creators having the condition.
Actually, it had become an obsession to Ratchet to the point of ignoring his personal needs and desires. It was also eating him from the inside, which just added more to his already cynical personality. CCG three letters driving Ratchet forward. Normally, younglings would change their career plans several times before reaching the final conclusion of what they wanted to become when they are "big." That wasn't the case with Ratchet. He had chosen to become a medic at very young age and had never even considered other career. His creators, of course, would have wanted him to become an engineer, but even they couldn't come between Ratchet and his obsession.
Ratchet himself didn't admit to having any kind of obsession, but anyone with a half-working processor could figure it out. It had become his life: Become a medic and find a cure for CCG. It had even taken the white mech's social, life and that's why Ironhide remained his only friend.
Ratchet shifted his position. Sitting in the same position too long made his recently repaired circuits ache. The lecturer was speaking rather monotonously. It didn't matter to the white mech. Only the subject and information mattered.
"...At this point there's nothing to do. Even if there was a cure it wouldn't help, because the accumulated damage to the processor and CPU are beyond any repair program could ever handle..."
Ratchet couldn't believe what he was hearing. He clenched his fists to the point where the stylus he was holding snapped apart, sending his sensors down to the pit in his hands. His world was coming to an end. Ratchet had never even thought about the possibility of losing his creators. He had dedicated all his life to becoming a medic and finding a cure to the illness. In an instant, everything was taken away from him.
He sat up from his seat so quickly that the chair he was sitting on fell down to the floor. His expression was furious. The lecturer stopped speaking and turned to look at the white mech while the other students did the same.
"Are you saying that I've run out of time?!" Ratchet yelled at the lecturer who looked confused.
"Ratchet, I don't think I quite follow, but-"
"Of course you don't understand! Nobody does, nobody in this pit-ridden slag, understands!" Ratchet shouted back before giving the lecturer time to finish his sentence. Something snapped in his CPU and he started throwing whatever things he had in his hands. Warnings flashed through Ratchet's CPU while he kept raging. The lecturer told him to calm down while dodging a datapad. Ratchet could only faintly hear the lecturer anymore.
The white mech's CPU was screaming warnings about emergency shut down. Ratchet's processor ached and it was overheated. His whole world was literally coming crashing down, dragging his CPU along. Ratchet's raging died down and the white mech collapsed to the floor when his systems finally crashed. The lecturer looked dumbstruck for a while before realising he had a medical emergency on hand. The lecturer commanded all the students to the work, though most of them were too stunned to do anything except stare at the offlined white mech.
Ratchet onlined his optics in a familiar place. 'Oh slag!' It was the same medbay he'd been confined not so long time ago. The white mech checked his internal chronometer; He had been there for only couple of cycles this time.
Ratchet tried to sit up, determined to leave the place. The last place he now wanted to be was in a medbay. On the other hand, he didn't want to face his creators, feeling that he had somehow let them down. But Ratchet couldn't sit up because his arms were tied just under his elbow and bigger straps crossed his body.
'What in the pit?' It wasn't like he was convicted criminal, but after the thought crossed his mind, he remembered his outburst in the class. Ratchet felt like a part of his spark was missing. It was so empty and painful. He couldn't do anything for his creators anymore, except watch them die. He didn't have anything to base on his life anymore because it had been revolving around the same thing and now it was all taken away from him. There really wasn't any reason for him to become a medic, but he didn't know what else he might want to do. He had never thought about the possibility of his creators' condition advancing to the point it would be impossible for him the help them.
He couldn't even see Ironhide around. Maybe even the red mech had abandonded him, now that everything else was falling apart. Ratchet stared at the ceiling. For a while, there was nothing going through his CPU, just a silence. Then, a desperation flowed through his every circuit, making him grit his dental plating together and to clench his fists together while he was holding a scream inside.
The door to the medbay opened. A single mech stepped in holding a datapad. The mech seemed somehow familiar, but Ratchet didn't care enough at this point to search through his CPU to confirm the stranger's identity. He kept staring at the ceiling while hoping the mech would not see the chaos-like feelings he was going through. The white mech didn't want anyone butting their heads into his business.
Unfortunately the mech who had entered wasn't going to leave him alone. 'Great, just what I needed.' The mech was coloured white and yellow and wore a mask. The stranger was smiling at him warmly.
"Hello Ratchet. We meet again," the white and yellow mech greeted.
"I don't think I know you. What do you want?" Ratchet answered coldly. He wanted the mech to get the slag out of there.
"You've certainly changed from the time I met you." The mech was checking through the datapad while speaking. Ratchet just kept staring at the ceiling, expressionless.
"I don't think I gave you my name back then. I'm Fender. I met you once when you were still a sparkling. I didn't think the next time I see you it would be under these circumstances."
Ratchet remembered now who the other mech was. He had met him in a hospital when he had been just a sparkling. The mech was partially guilty for his career choice. Like it mattered anyway.
"Where's Ironhide?" Ratchet asked without even turning to look at Fender.
"He was here until a while ago, but I believe he went back home to take care of your creators," Fender answered while scribbling something on the datapad. Ratchet didn't answer anything. He really wasn't in the mood to talk.
"You probably can guess, why I am here?" Fender tried to get an optic contact with Ratchet, but the white mech just stared at the ceiling emotionless.
"They think I'm crazy and sent a shrink to figure me out," Ratchet said in a flat monotone. The world really wasn't kind place to bots. There wasn't any of that enthusiasm and innocence left that Fender had seen in the mech ages ago. Fender shook his head and wrote down something on his datapad again.
"Not exactly. But there obviously is something going on with you; you just turned violent during a lesson and then you crashed." A concern could be heard from the psychiatrist's voice. Ratchet didn't respond.
"You do realise that you're infamous already? Your record of scaring bots away and being antisocial is something in itself to worry about, but we let you be because you weren't harming anyone. When you were hospitalized, we had a meeting concerning your mental state and we decided to let you be unless something occured." Fender locked his optics with Ratchet's who had now turned his head towards the white and yellow mech. Ratchet looked frightened and he probably would have run away if he had been confined to the berth.
"I know you're very clever mech; almost every medical teacher is talking about you and how gifted you are. Tell me what happened and I'll promise to help you in any way I can," Fender promised in a soothing voice. They probably wouldn't have bothered with Ratchet's case if the mech had been just an average med student. Ratchet was anything but average; the white mech was on top of every subject and showed such dedication that was beyond the normal levels.
"Please, release me," Ratchet whispered, just barely audible. Fender smiled behind his mask. This was good. Ratchet was now looking at him and speaking to him. The psychiatrist nodded and unstrapped the white mech. The medbay's doors were locked, but there was no way Ratchet knew that, so even if the white mech tried to escape he wouldn't succeed.
The white mech sat up on the berth just to tuck his legs against his stomach while embracing them hard. Ratchet hoped it would fill the empty feeling a little bit. Fender noticed the white mech starting to rock himself nervously. The situation was really bad; they should have intervened with Ratchet's business a long time ago.
"Why did you crash during the lessons?" Fender asked carefully. Ratchet stopped rocking himself and looked at the psychiatrist straight to the optics with hurtfull expression. Keeping things for himself didn't matter to Ratchet at this point, besides the damned shrink wouldn't leave him alone before he told him anyway.
"My creators are going to deactivate soon and I can't help it. I based my entire life for finding a cure for their condition and now I'm told it's too late for me. I don't know what to do anymore. I've let my creators down and I've been taken away the reason for my existence!" Ratchet half screamed. Ratchet buried his head to his arms and trembled from the all emotion he'd kept hidden. Fender placed his hand on Ratchet's shoulder for comfort.
"I'm sure your creators aren't blaming you of anything. Only lousy creators would do that to their own creation," Fender tried to comfort. He understood what was wrong with Ratchet now. All the stress from taking care of his creators and dedicating his life solely for one purpose to the point of having minimal social life was wearing Ratchet down. The lecture before had just been the breaking point.
"But what I'm going to do from now on? I don't have any reason to keep on studying. What reason I would be doing it?" Ratchet was now clearly crying. The white mech was lost and confused.
"That's something you need to figure out yourself. My personal opinion is that it would be waste if you stopped now at this point. I know you're a good mech. You've been taking care of your creators for your whole life and you gave Ironhide a place to live; those are things many bots wouldn't do without breaking down entirely. Now you need to think what you want for yourself – Not for others, but honestly for yourself," Fender said with confidence. Ratchet seemed to succumb into his own thoughts.
"Stay here for the night, so you can think things through. I'll get someone to contact Ironhide that you won't be coming home for tonight." Fender smiled at Ratchet. The white mech responded with a nod. The situation pleased Ratchet because he really didn't want to go home and face his creators at the moment. Ratchet was so sure he could not look into their faces without bursting into tears.
Fender turned his back while writing enthusiastically more things down to his datapad and exited the room. 'What an interesting case. I'll see how he'll pull through this.' Fender signed the raport on Ratchet after putting down some more notes. He whistled merrily while walking down the corridor.
Ratchet was still sitting in the same position as he had been when Fender left the medbay. Speaking about the situation had relieved him quite a lot. He was starting to accept slowly that there really was nothing to do with his creators anymore, except to take care of them in the best way possible. It hurt Ratchet from the inside making his spark ache, but he realised that it wasn't his fault.
He still didn't know what he wanted for himself. Ratchet had never put himself as a top priority. There was always his creators, then his sudying and even Ironhide who made it over himself. It was confusing for Ratchet to think about himself, but slowly he was starting to have his confidence back.
'I'm not a weakling. I'm strong and I refuse to give up. I don't know where I'm heading yet, but by Primus damnit I won't stop until I'm satisfied. For now I'll keep studying medical knowledge until I figure out what I really want to do.' Ratchet had made his mind, though unsure for the first time in his life, he was also going to figure out what he really was made for.