A/N: I'm back from my little hiatus. Know that although I didn't want it, it was necessary. Non-slash, though you might not believe it.
Ill.
"Atchoo!"
"Got a virus, Hound?" Ratchet said, looking over his patient on the med-bay examination table.
"Seems like it."
"I'll take a look in a cycle – make sure it isn't serious. Let me finish on Bluestreak first." Ratchet carefully took the tweezers out of Bluestreak, dragging with him a long string of swamp weed which brushed past every circuit in his chassis. Shivers ran through his body – just like with every other piece that Ratchet had hauled from him – and the mech squirmed on the operating table.
"Is that the last?" Bluestreak asked.
"No," Ratchet bluntly replied. "Don't move your back: I have to get to your spinal-column."
"Atchoo!" Bluestreak looked at Hound and smiled.
"Now where did you go on this planet to pick up a mechanical virus?" Hound's chest heaved.
"Well, I got into close-combat with Thrust the other day… didn't think he looked too good – heh, he went down pretty easily too – but other than that, I don't know."
"I know that you've been exploring some of the unused parts of the Ark; it is quite possible that you picked up something from one of the long-sealed rooms," Ratchet explained, manoeuvring his body to get a better angle at Bluestreak's inner-workings. "But picking something up from a Decepticon does seem to be a more likely option. Now Bluestreak: hold very still." Ratchet emphasised his last three words with reduced speed.
"Atchoo!" Bluestreak watched Hound as he tried desperately to hold back more sneezing. Ratchet was diligently attempting to get at the swamp weed but he could feel the tweezers missing and grating along his spine. It was a horrible sensation. Worse was this other sensation building in his body: this suppressed weight in his chassis, growing and moving into his fuel-pump and air-regulators fought to be free. The tweezers clamped on the swamp weed.
"Got it!" Ratchet cackled with a triumphant grin.
"Atchoo!" Bluestreak's back arched and came back down, taking only the tip of the weed out of his system.
"Bluestreak!" Ratchet scowled with increased irritation.
"Oops," said Hound simply; his virus had spread.
"Blue Boy? You there?" Bluestreak could not lift his head from his bunk – the world span too much.
"Not here – not in!" He replied in tired delirium.
"Then who's that then?"
"No-one! No-one's here!" Hound sighed and tried the door. By luck, Bluestreak had forgotten to lock it. The sick mech lay on his back, optics staring dimly in Hound's direction. His respiratory cycles were quick and shallow.
"I hope you don't mind me coming in. I've brought you some food." The green jeep held up a receptacle of oil.
"Oh, thank you. Please… take it away." With great effort, Bluestreak turned the other way.
"Ratchet says you haven't come out of your room in two days." The Datsun hummed his agreement. "Ratchet says you haven't consumed anything in two days." The young gunner hummed his agreement once more. Hound walked over to the bed, turned Bluestreak's head towards him and put the fuel to his lip-components. "Drink," he commanded softly. Bluestreak grudgingly took a few sips to be rid of his unwanted helper and tried to put his head back down, where the world did not spin nearly as much. "Drink more." A pathetic little wail left Bluestreak's vocaliser, yet he did as he was told. When Bluestreak was done, Hound put the remaining liquid onto a nearby table and began quietly stacking some of Bluestreak's CDs currently lying on the floor. He checked on Bluestreak one last time before he crept silently out of the room.
Within days, Bluestreak was back on his feet again as if he had never been sick at all. Most of his time ill was a distant, almost lost memory… but he remembered someone coming to pay him visits and check up on him.
"Hey Ratchet, thanks for looking after me when I was unwell," he told the boxy medic.
"No problem, Bluestreak," Ratchet chimed as he fixed Powerglide's right wing.
"Heh – I didn't know you would come and visit me everyday though. Thanks – it was nice." With this comment from Bluestreak, Ratchet looked away from his duties, puzzled.
"But I didn't come visiting you everyday."
"…Oh." It was now Bluestreak's turn to be puzzled. He could not think who else would have nursed him. As he returned to his quarters, Hound passed him in the hallway.
"Good to see you up and about Blue!"
"Ah, hi Hound!" Bluestreak noticed that Hound was carrying a small container of oil. "You working in your room? It's not often I see you taking snacks outside the common room."
"Oh no, this is for Trailbreaker – he's come down with my bug too! Well, can't stop to chat – see you later!" Hound scurried past before Bluestreak had the chance to utter another word. Watching the jeep walk by with the cup in his hand, Bluestreak suddenly knew who it was that had looked after him when he was sick. A grin etched its way onto his face. One day, he would repay the favour.
End.
A/N: The virus is based off of a virus I got whilst doing two assignments before Christmas. I can't explain to you how much fun it wasn't. And now I'm ill again. #Cheers weakly#. Sorry this chapter isn't too great, but I can't alter it any more and I need to get back into the kick of things.