"I told you, I'm fine! There's no point in asking anymore," growled Optimus, as he sat down on one of the medical berths with a defeated look on his face. He had appeared in the medbay late last night and hadn't left since.
Despite Ratchet's efforts to convince the commander that his time would be better spent in his own berth recharging, Optimus refused. His stubbornness had come in handy once or twice during their battle against Decepticons, but right now it only served to annoy Ratchet more than anything else. The medic had lost count of how many times he'd had to repeat himself that the commander was physically unfit for battle, while his the state of his mental health was obviously far worse. But the fact remained; the commander still wouldn't rest. So here he was: sitting with a frown on his face and looking as if he would rather jump off the moon than recharge. The medic couldn't do much about that; he could make an attempt to help with the fatigue, but Prime was stubborn and resistant to his suggestions. It was getting difficult not to yell at him to get some rest already.
After what seemed like megacycles of fruitless persuasion, however, Ratchet decided that he didn't have the patience to sit there any longer. With a sigh, he pushed his chair away from the desk, stood up with his arms folded across his chest, and said, "Alright, enough of this, Optimus. Get your aft in gear and go recharge. Your processor needs it." After glowering back at Ratchet for several seconds (which the medic pretended he didn't notice), the Autobot commander finally stood from the berth. His expression immediately became less annoyed than it had been before; instead of the stubborn, irritated glare that Ratchet had expected, however, a tired smile settled on Prime's faceplates.
For a second Ratchet felt his anger slowly abate and began to return to his usual grumpy self. "Now get yourself to your berth," the medic ordered sternly.
Optimus nodded his thanks, gave a short goodbye, and then turned around and walked towards his quarters. Ratchet watched the commander carefully walk away from him; he was almost convinced that Prime wasn't going to actually obey his orders – until his door slid shut behind him. The medic sighed heavily, feeling a little guilty now for losing his temper earlier.
It was a strange phenomenon, really; the medic always found himself treating people as if they were children who were incapable of taking care of themselves. He didn't mean to, of course, but... it just happened.
A single exhale left the medic's lips as he turned to observe the rest of the medbay again. Silence seemed to shroud it, and Ratchet noted how the majority of patients had left after the treatment and those that remained had long since given into exhaustion. That should've been a sign.
But it made no difference in the end. Nothing changed, nothing was resolved, so why was he bothered by it? Why couldn't he just let it go and accept the situation that fate handed him without trying to fight against it? Well, maybe because he cared too much, and that was precisely why he tried so hard to change things. But what else could he do when it came to something that had already occurred? If he stopped fighting it, he would just feel helpless. He shook his helm again and sighed, rising from his chair and walking towards the door. No use dwelling on useless thoughts. There was work to be done.
As the medic stepped out of the medbay, he noticed Beachcomber leaning against a wall, staring straight ahead, completely oblivious to everything else in the world. The bot looked completely lost, which was odd considering the cheerful nature of his attitude. As soon as the medic approached him, Beachcomber glanced at him briefly, but his optics never met his. Instead they lingered over his shoulder. The medic followed the other bot's gaze and found a red and black figure standing near the end of the hall. Even from afar, Ratchet recognized Sideswipe's frame, his stance stiff but proud, shoulders squared and arms crossed.
Ratchet frowned slightly, and turned his attention back to Beachcomber. When he was still silent, the medic asked, "What are you doing awake?" Beachcomber didn't reply. He kept staring ahead, optics unblinking and unmoving. The medic's gaze softened and a small smile curved his mouth corners.
"...Are you thinking about him again?"
Beachcomber didn't react, though his posture tightened ever so slightly, and the medic continued speaking with concern in his voice. "You shouldn't blame yourself for that. It can't be helped. He loved you, after all, and you loved him, too."
The silence seemed to be a response, though Ratchet knew the bot couldn't give one. At least, that is, until the silence broke and Beachcomber gave a deep breath, his optics flickering slightly under his visor. "Yeah, I know. Still hurts..." He trailed off and averted his gaze. Ratchet raised an optic ridge, silently urging the bot to continue. "...It hurts a lot, you know. And yet…" His voice grew quiet, "I want to do my best for him. I need to. It's all I can do for him now." His head hung lower for a moment. "I miss him… even after so many years."
A sad smile played upon his lips, and the medic thought he saw tears glistening in the bot's optics.
And it broke Ratchet's spark. He reached out to gently squeeze Beachcomber's shoulder, hoping that the gesture would offer some comfort. It did: it brought a small smile onto the bot's faceplates, though it quickly faded back into the somber expression of earlier.
"He wouldn't want you to blame yourself," Ratchet stated softly. "Even if he didn't say anything about it, I know he loved you very much... He wouldn't want you to carry a burden like that." The medic paused to allow the words to sink in. "It's important to remember that he is watching over you. Always."
At that, the medic saw Beachcomber's shoulders relax just a little. He smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Ratchet. I think I will try." With that, Beachcomber turned to leave, leaving the medic alone with his thoughts once again.
Almost alone.
In a few minutes, the medic heard footsteps approaching, and the same red and black bot from the end of the hallway appeared in his view. A slight smile tugged at his lips as he took note of the way that Sideswipe's expression held a mixture of gratitude and determination. Ratchet nodded his head, gesturing for the red and black warrior to approach him. Sideswipe complied, leaning against the wall beside the medic. "So what's wrong with Prime?" the warrior asked, as the medic moved aside to create some space.
The medic sighed again. "I wish I knew. All I know is that he won't rest."
"Well, we're already used to him being so persistent and stubborn. Don't worry about it. Let him work through it on his own." Sideswipe's tone was firm, assured and encouraging; somehow this seemed to make him even more determined.
"That might be easier said than done," answered the medic, shaking his head. "With his condition, I honestly don't see how he's going to be able to deal with any sort of real mission anytime soon. Especially with the state his mind is currently in."
Sideswipe hesitated for a couple of moments, but eventually shook his head. "Don't underestimate him, Ratch. He'll be alright; don't doubt that."
Ratchet wanted to believe the other mech, but he simply couldn't ignore what he had seen in Prime's optics. There was more hurt hiding underneath those stubborn walls. Something deeper, darker and more dangerous than anything he'd witnessed before. The medic wondered how long it would take till the whole thing would break down; how long it would be until Prime would fall completely apart, shattered beyond repair. How long would it be until he couldn't take anymore pain and grief and sadness?
How long would it be until he would lose himself?
"We'll see." The medic sighed deeply as he lowered his gaze and stared blankly at the ground beneath their pedes.
Sideswipe frowned, seemingly troubled. Then he cleared his vocalizer and asked tentatively, "Why does it matter to you, anyway?"
The medic blinked, lifted his gaze once more and replied in a questioning tone, "What do you mean?"
"You seem to care about him more than you're willing to admit, Ratch. Why do you care?"
The medic paused and closed his optics briefly, letting the question linger there in the air between them. Slowly he opened his mouth, forming the words as he spoke them.
"Because I love him."
He paused again before continuing in a softer tone, "I can't stand seeing him suffer."
After a few more seconds of waiting, Sideswipe merely nodded his head in understanding. The medic sighed once more, turning his gaze towards the floor again. For a few moments neither said a word, and Ratchet finally decided to speak up once more.
"Do you have any idea how painful it feels to watch him hurt himself?" he asked in a whisper. He didn't look at the red and black warrior; instead he stared at the floor, eyes filled with a dull glow that seemed almost melancholic. "Every time he comes back, battered and bruised, covered in dust and scratches, every single time he has another injury on him. Every time it looks like his spark may give in. Because he knows, deep inside, he knows he's not getting better. And it kills me."
He slowly raised his gaze to meet Sideswipe's and silence fell between them once again. The silence was broken by Sideswipe, who said, "I'm sorry, Ratch. You really care about him, don't you?"
Another few kliks passed before Ratchet nodded. "Yes, I do."
The two remained silent for several breems after that, each lost in their own thoughts. Neither said a word, and neither moved away, both content with standing beside each other without moving a single inch. In that short amount of silence, Ratchet felt a surge of calmness wash over him, a calm that had been absent for far too long.
A calm that he welcomed with open arms.