Disclaimer: I only own my OC's and medical procedures. LittleMewLugia let me use the term 'subadult' to refer to the equivalent of teenager in my other story "When in Doubt". I used the term briefly here as well. :) You should totally go and check out LittleMewLugia's work - she's always got awesome work.
Ratchet could not recharge.
There was absolutely no light in his room, the temperature was set just right, and his cushions were soft and comfortable, but none of these comfortable measures could tease his computing center into shutting down. He had popped open a vintage barrel of high grade and thoroughly enjoyed every sip of the sweet, potent drink. He'd also indulged in an entire tray of energon candies and truffles. Ratchet idly made a note to boot up all of his spare systems to help with the energy rush in the morning. A long soak in his oil tub had finished his rather extravagant night.
None of that, however, could set his spark at ease.
Nightshade was running his medical bay.
A rookie was running his medical bay.
Ratchet turned over, kicking one of the cushions to the floor. It landed on the floor with a muffled thump. He stared at the wall, which was slightly illuminated by the glow of his optics.
Recharge was elusive that night.
Meanwhile, the medical bay was absolutely silent. Nightshade had finished all of his cleaning tasks within the first three hours. Now the only light in the room poured from the library. The mech was seated at one of the tables, surrounded by holocubes, diagrams, and a few of Ratchet's old journals. Two of the innumerable worksheets had been completed and saved on an old flash drive. Another datapad was littered with Nightshade's untidy scrawls, questions that Nightshade had to ask Ratchet or Red Alert. Nightshade picked up one of Ratchet's journals and began reading. Even though Red Alert was a more than competent source to draw from, some of his journals skimped on information.
Not Ratchet's. Not by a long shot.
The mech had laboriously recreated each and every single one of his procedures, turning his videofeed into a written account. Nightshade was shocked at the attention to detail he had paid. Now Nightshade was using one of Ratchet's journals to help him understand basic components of the procedures. Nightshade frowned.
He (more specifically, she) was going to make Ratchet eat his words. Nightshade had done well on his practical exams. Red Alert had even pulled him aside to let him know that he'd met standards. Red Alert had also kindly explained to Nightshade that he would soon be leaving the medical bay and Nightshade would be expected to take over what he left behind. Thus, Ratchet's expectations rocketed from impossibly high to just plain impossible to achieve.
Nightshade wiped his optics wearily, resting heavily on his elbows. Now was not the time to feel sorry for himself. Ratchet may not have had any kind of hope for him, but Prime had expressed his surprise at how well Nightshade was doing. Prime had even put 'official aide' on Nightshade's job transcript, even though Nightshade hadn't even become an official assistant.
Recharge was not necessary at the moment, nor was refueling. Making Prime proud was more important. Besides, it would all pay off in the end – he (more specifically she) would have a real job and not have to rely on dancing to pay for her apartment and energon rations. She wouldn't have to depend on anyone. It would be a grand adventure to provide for herself.
In the end, Ratchet was unable to recharge as long as he would have liked. With thirty minutes until his shift started, he had recharged less than two hours. Good thing he had consumed so many of those sinfully delicious truffles – the highly concentrated energy would last him for the day, but would wreak havoc with his exhaust systems. He snickered quietly – poor anyone who crossed his path when his engine backfired!
He stared at the temperature knob of the shower for a second before turning it on. The freezing cold water jolted his masochistic computing center. Now he was awake.
The walk to the medical bay was slow; easily the longest walk of his life. Ratchet paused just outside of the doors, his hand hovering over the number pad. Red Alert rounded the corner with two steaming mugs of energon in his hands. He silently handed one to Ratchet. They stood in companionable silence, staring at the door, until Red Alert piped up.
"What are we waiting for?" he asked.
"I'm not sure if I want to see what Nightshade's done to my medical bay," Ratchet said faintly, imagining what chaos lay behind the door. Red Alert rolled his optics.
"Give the kid a break. He's probably sound asleep in one of the spare cots," Red Alert said, motioning Ratchet away from the pad.
"You're not helping here," Ratchet said dryly, "If he's sound asleep, he's broken rule twelve, fifty three, and eighty eight, which says nothing of his ability to – "
"Relax. Rookies always mess up. Better today than during surgery, right?"
"You really aren't helping," Ratchet shot at him, his hand freezing on the number pad. He fished his identification chip from subspace and inserted the device into a port.
The medical bay was in its usual pristine condition. He peered inside. Nothing was out of place. The windows in the waiting room had been opened, allowing the weak light filter into the room. The sky was still pale blue and pink, decorated with stringy clouds. The smoky air hinted at the winter ahead. Ratchet's tension slowly ebbed. He peered into the surgical rooms and was pleasantly surprised – the rooms were sealed off with tape and marked as sterile. Nightshade had even signed the tape.
Good rookie, he thought.
Red Alert smirked with glee.
"I told you Nightshade wouldn't burn the place down," Red Alert said, clapping Ratchet on the shoulder, "Now all we have to do is find our little intern and we'll go from there."
They wandered around to the back of the medical bay and into one of the smaller staff rooms. During calm times, the medical bay served almost like a physician's office. They had set hours and someone was always on call. During war time, however, the medical bay was fully staffed at all times. Ratchet and his aide were on constant call and did not leave the medical bay. Hence, the two spare cots and small shower unit. Neither one was occupied.
Red Alert and Ratchet went to the library and peered inside. Nightshade was seated before a desk, surrounded by stacks of reference materials. He had his feet propped up on the edge of the desk, all while taking notes on a datapad and checking some sort of list off.
"You've been busy," Ratchet commented idly, putting his hand across the back of Nightshade's chair. The mech leapt and whirled around, raising the datapad. Upon seeing it was Ratchet and Red Alert, Nightshade put the device back down. He smiled sheepishly up at Ratchet.
"Hey, boss?" Nightshade asked, his voice squeaking slightly in nervousness. Nightshade had learned early on that Ratchet did not like things brandished at him. Red Alert's jaw dropped when Ratchet smiled back. Ratchet smiled. Not a smirk, not a leer, not a frown. An actual smile.
"Working hard, I see," Ratchet commented idly.
"Hey, Red. I didn't see you back there. Is it six already? Let me get this stuff put away," Nightshade said cheerily, gesturing towards the mess on the desk. While Nightshade was busily putting the holocubes away, Red Alert picked up what Nightshade had diligently been taking notes on. Red Alert smirked at Ratchet.
"I told you so," Red Alert said in a sing-song voice, handing Ratchet the pad. Ratchet rolled his optics at Red's antics.
It was going to be a very long day.
Nightshade tidied up after himself rather quickly and came into the main surgical bay. Ratchet and Red Alert were both leaning against the counters, nursing their respective cubes of energon. Nightshade stopped, looking between them.
"So what now?" Nightshade asked, leaning back on the counter. Red Alert checked his schedule and smirked.
"Ratchet has an appointment at seven thirty," Red Alert said smugly. Ratchet choked. He had really hoped that Red Alert wouldn't notice that he was behind on quite a bit of maintenance. It had been almost a hundred vorns since his last physical. And he really didn't want one – Red Alert had cold hands. Ratchet shuddered quietly. Red Alert's ice cold hands in places that were normally nice and warm?
If he wasn't awake now, he'd definitely be awake afterwards.
"What are you talking about?" Ratchet asked, trying to look innocent of all charges. Tried being the key word – Ratchet simply could not pull off innocent. It was a last attempt to stall the physical. Nightshade was torn between smirking and an apologetic look, but in the end, the smirk won the battle. Nightshade had a grin on his face like a Cheshire cat as he gathered the necessary supplies. Ratchet glared at Nightshade.
Traitor.
"I went through your files last week, Ratchet. You haven't had a full physical in vorns. I want Nightshade to watch so he knows that it doesn't hurt," Red Alert said, glancing over at Nightshade. Nightshade shrugged and followed the mechs into one of the patient rooms. Ratchet made himself comfortable on the table. Red Alert motioned Nightshade into the room.
"Since he's been putting his maintenance off for so long, we'll have to give him a complete physical," Red Alert groused, glaring over at Ratchet. Ratchet ignored his glare and motioned Nightshade over.
"Do you have what you'll be taking notes on?" Nightshade nodded, holding up the digipad. Ratchet nodded.
"Basically, you're reporting what you see, what you did, and what Red Alert is doing. All you're doing is recreating the procedure. You could record the procedure, but cameras in medical areas are strictly forbidden. Something about privacy issues," Ratchet groused, shifting uncomfortably as Red Alert began his work, "I want your report when I come in tomorrow morning."
Nightshade nodded and began writing diligently.
"Your joints are in perfect condition," Red Alert said absently, checking a box on his report off. Nightshade peeked over Red Alert's shoulder. Ratchet's joints were well lubricated and free of debris. Nightshade jotted the thought down, remembering that Ratchet had done something similar in one of his own journals.
"Are you finished yet? I've got datapads stacked this high on my desk," Ratchet grumbled, holding his hands shoulder width apart. Red Alert rolled his optics and ignored Ratchet's question.
"I'm going to open up his chest plates, Nightshade. Don't stand too close."
Nightshade took a step back, shooting Red Alert a questioning glance. Ratchet lifted his head. He and Nightshade shared a curious look.
"The black hole known as his spark could suck you right in," Red Alert said dryly with a mischievous glance up at Ratchet.
"Fragging hilarious, Red Alert," Ratchet grumbled, shooting Red a vulgar gesture.
"Alright, alright. Back to work. No more joking around. We've got to hammer this rookie into a competent aide," Ratchet said, jerking a thumb toward Nightshade, who'd been hanging well out of hitting range. Red Alert nodded and motioned Nightshade to his side.
"Nightshade, what am I pointing to?"
"Gosh, Red Alert. The box with the shiny blue thing in it?" Nightshade asked sarcastically, "I'm going out on a limb here. A functioning spark box, perhaps?"
Nightshade regretted his sarcasm the moment he finished speaking. Ratchet and Red Alert both stared at him for a few moments. Ratchet began chuckling quietly when Red Alert managed to look insulted.
"No need for sarcasm, Nightshade, I just wanted to make sure you knew," he said, and Nightshade felt guilty. He muttered a quiet apology. Nightshade honestly didn't know what had come over him.
"Now, what can you tell me about Ratchet's spark?" Red Alert asked gently. Nightshade peered into Ratchet's chest cavity. After a few seconds of thinking, Nightshade brightened. Ratchet looked at him expectantly.
"The color and brightness indicate that Ratchet is indeed a male of breeding age. The bright, almost white color of his spark also shows that he hasn't ever bonded. The intensity also confirms these two facts and is a general indicator of general health – which is surprisingly good seeing as he hasn't had maintenance in a very long time. Yes, Ratchet, I saw your file. The polarity is positive, shown by the gold aura surrounding the exposed spark. If I had a spark meter, I could tell you the frequency," Nightshade said quietly, leaning over Ratchet's chest and squinting at his spark. Red Alert nodded.
"Good, I see that you've been doing your extra reading and then some," Red Alert said, tinkering around with the tangled wires in Ratchet's chest.
"Alright, smart-aft. What color would my spark be if I was bonded?" Ratchet shot at Nightshade.
"It would be a darker shade of blue and a little less intense," Nightshade responded, not even looking up at him. Instead Nightshade pointed at one of Ratchet's fuses.
"That one's blown, Red. Do you want me to get you another?" Nightshade asked Red Alert sweetly.
"Yes, please. Second cabinet, third shelf. It'll be in the green box," Red Alert said, smirking up at Ratchet. Ratchet, in all honesty, was surprised that Nightshade had been able to answer his question correctly.
"And what the frag do you mean that I am 'indeed' a male?" Ratchet asked, his optics narrowed. From his crouched position on the floor, Nightshade spoke.
"About a hundred vorns ago, my sister sneaked out of our housing unit to meet a subadult mech she liked very much. Sometimes, when Sunstreaker or Sideswipe come into the medical bay, your 'post-op reminders' sound like the hissy fit she threw when she was caught and assigned an escort," Nightshade said wryly, searching for the correct size and color fuse, "Is it this one, Red Alert? I couldn't see an identification number on Ratchet's fuse."
"Do you really want an exhaust flush, Nightshade?" Ratchet asked coldly. Nightshade shot him the most innocent look he could muster up.
"I can't process anything but energon. If you'd like, though, you could change my filters," Nightshade said sweetly. Then he turned back to the box on the floor and pulled out a second handful of fuses.
Red Alert only laughed.
One joor later…
Ratchet looked over Nightshade's file, frowning in confusion. Nightshade's comment about his filters had alerted him to the fact that there was something wrong. Ratchet pulled out a booklet with designs and flipped to the back. No mech's design would lack an exhaust system. Nightshade was a full four feet taller than Jazz. Jazz was the smallest mech on base. Why was Jazz able to process Earth fuels and Nightshade couldn't? It wasn't due to their size or purpose. Their roles during the war had been similar – both had had experience in the spying and shooting business, so their previous job specifications couldn't have been a factor.
Ratchet continued scrolling past Nightshade's various upgrades and frame alterations. One empty blank caught Ratchet's attention. Nightshade had not filled out anything about his alt. mode. Ratchet frowned as he wracked his memory banks. Nightshade had never transformed in front of him. In fact, he couldn't recall any mention of the mech's alternate mode. He would have to question the rookie about that.
He pulled up Nightshade's designs once more and pored over the specifications. He sat back when he realized that the numbers did not add up. Nightshade's mass was one hundred kilograms underneath the weight limit for full sized vehicles. If Nightshade did have an alternate mode, it would have to be very light. Ratchet frowned. That still wouldn't explain why Nightshade could not process alternate fuel sources…unless Nightshade didn't havea standard mech frame.
It all began to add up in Ratchet's computing center. The discomfort that Nightshade displayed when his physicals came up. Refusing to open his chest plates. The same look of innocence that Bumblebee always had. Ratchet sighed and wondered how he could talk to Nightshade without scaring the slag out of him.
"Red Alert? We need to talk."
Nightshade slumped over at his computer terminal, glaring at the screen. Red Alert and Ratchet had thoughtfully built a computer terminal for Nightshade to study from once Ratchet had gotten sick and tired of tripping over Nightshade while trying to get a holocube. Ratchet had copied all of the required readings onto his computer and saved them in a file that Nightshade could access at his own leisure.
Now Nightshade didn't have an excuse to slack off.
Frag.
Something flickered in the corner of his vision. Confused, Nightshade acknowledged the scattered transmission. It was a very highly encoded Autobot signal. Nightshade frowned as he opened the link – how did they know how to encode their frequencies to bounce past the human satellites? A very familiar voice rang out.
"This is Elita One, requesting permission to access an Autobot channel," Elita One said, her monotonous voice sounding very bored. Nightshade squealed like the femme he was and bolted out of his seat.
"Elita! Oh my dear Primus, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear your voice again! I can't believe you're finally here – "
"Nightshade, is that you?"
" – Optimus is going to be so happy, he won't stop talking about seeing you once more, and you're finally here – "
"Nightshade, I'm glad to know you are safe, but I really need you to connect me to the command center – "
" – Of course! I'm on my way…well, actually, I'm sprinting, I'll be there in a minute or two, but how have you been? Is everyone safe and well? How far are you? When – "
Elita chuckled quietly.
"Nightshade, I'll answer all of your questions as soon as I can access a video screen," Elita said kindly. Almost as though if Elita knew Nightshade's embarrassment and dejection, Elita spoke once more.
"It's not that I'm not happy to speak with you, Nightshade, it's just that our ship was damaged in a skirmish and we need specifications so that we may alter our propulsion system. We can't land on the planet unless we know gravitational forces, surface specifications, and so forth," Elita said gently.
"Alright," Nightshade said softly, pushing the doors to the command center open. All optics were on him the moment he entered. Nightshade suddenly felt very, very small. Optimus curiously looked over at Nightshade.
"Nightshade? You know you're not supposed to be in here," Red Alert said, looking up from his monitor, "You need proper clearance with me and Prowl."
"But, I have to talk to Optimus," Nightshade protested weakly.
"What could be so important that you feel the need to break several rules and protocols?"
"I have Elita One on one of my lines!" Nightshade snapped, growing tired of Red Alert's suspicious glare. The moment the words left his vocal processors, the room went silent. Optimus was by his side in three steps.
"Grant her access to our video screens now," Optimus barked. With one hand, he guided Nightshade to one of the computer terminals, "Uplink into the systems and transfer Elita's signal code into the computer. Red Alert will guide you through the process."
Nightshade sat in the seat, feeling very small once more. Two large cables and three minutes later, Nightshade was gazing up at Elita's familiar face on the screen. Nightshade felt his spark melt when Optimus raised his hand, using his fingers to delicately trace Elita's facial features. Elita pressed her hand against the screen as well. Nightshade was tactful enough to shoo everyone away to give their commanders a moment of privacy. Nightshade smiled at Optimus fondly, watching as the weariness melted from his frame. Having Elita by his side once more was going to do wonders for him and base morale. The arrival of femmes also meant that Nightshade would be free to reveal her secret.
Chromia ruined the reunion not a minute later. Her head popped into view.
"Hey, boss-bot!"
Elita groaned and buried her face into her hands. Then she pushed Chromia out of the way and apologized profusely. Though she looked annoyed, Elita's optics glowed with a happiness Nightshade hadn't ever seen before. Nightshade's spark was warm and full, overflowing with joy for his commanders. A grin spread across his face plates as Elita put their time of arrival in about twelve weeks.
Nightshade could hardly wait!
Oh no, is Ratchet catching on to our lady in hiding? Or is his computing center just playing with him?
And who did Nightshade sneak out to meet?