Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Nightshade.
EDIT: I added lots of stuff to this chapter. I think y'all will enjoy it. ;)
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Ratchet sighed and looked down at the reports and charts on his desk gloomily. He was in a particularly angsty mood this day. (When wasn't he in an irritated mood? Only when he proved his remarkable marksmanship using various tools and the back of one of the twin's heads.) Except he wasn't feeling ill…and he hadn't seen either of the twins in at least three days. So. What had brought on his rotten mood? The datapad on his desk was shoved aside to make way for Ratchet's head. His head made a loud thunk as it hit the polished surface. His optics shuttered and he sighed wearily.
What is wrong with me?
Ratchet mused in the silence. The darkness was nice. Maybe a nice, long, untinterrupted recharge would be nice…Just as he was dropping off into recharge, the med bay doors slid open. Okay, maybe a recharge wasn't going to happen…Hey, he could dream, right? He looked up, a frown fixed on his face plates. Nightshade had entered the medical bay quietly, never noticing Ratchet sitting in his office. Nightshade started getting equipment ready for the day, laying out commonly used tools and inspecting them. The mech quizzically stared at a particular piece of equipment before setting on the counter. His upper body disappeared into a box on the floor. Ratchet watched his antics with a soft smile on his face.
Hm, Nightshade is early today. Maybe we should move onto more difficult procedures. I wonder if he's ready for it? Whoo, look at the aft on that one…Holy Primus, what did I just say?!
Ratchet's intake filters momentarily stopped as he processed what he just computed in his computing center.
Did I just compute that thought? No, nonononono. NO. I'm a mech. I like femmes. Why do I want to grab his aft then?! I need to recharge more often. And longer. It's screwing with my logic center!
Ratchet shook his head. Screw? He had been spending too much time with Samuel J. Witwicky and Mikaela Banes lately. The camping trip (that he had been dragged along on by Ironhide) last week was a testament to him spending too much time with the humans. Screw? He was probably going to be using silly collaquisms (like Jazz) next. He shook his head and his optics alighted onto Nightshade's frame once more…and his jaw dropped. The mech was stretching something in his back, arching his chest outward. The sunlight glinted brightly off of the polished surfaces of Nightshade's chassis.
Er…what was I going to teach him today? Why can't I remember anything? Oooh, look at that chassis-ARGH.
Ratchet's circuits almost fried as he tried to delete those files from memory.
Or maybe you're just crazy for not liking him. Give him a shot.
No. I am not having this conversation with myself. My motherboard is short circuiting.
It isn't. Nightshade is an intelligent mech and beautiful, too.
I'm arguing with my own computing center. Completely illogical.
Agreed.
Ratchet frowned (ah, the customary frown on his face. Things were getting back to normal…) and slumped in his seat. Nightshade finally noticed him and waved at him enthusiastically, ready to start the day. Ratchet gave a weak wave back and shuffled the digi-pads on his desk into a state of ordered pandemonium and made his way into the medical bay. Nightshade brightened upon seeing his mentor.
"Hello, Ratchet. How are you today," Nightshade inquired politely. Secretly, he (well, she) was jumping on the inside, eager to bring a smile to his face. Nightshade almost blushed when he processed the thoughts but pushed them (and the fluttering in her chest) aside.
"My processing center has a center of its own. It's driving me crazy," Ratchet grumped, rubbing the sides of his head. Nightshade cocked his head and pondered a way to make Ratchet feel better.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Yes, you can let me take you on that stasis bed- Nightshade looked up at the strange choking gark! noise his mentor had made. Ratchet was standing stiffly, his hands clenched by his sides tightly. One optic ridge on Nightshade's face rose slowly. Finally, after a breem or two, the mech relaxed.
"No, not really, Nightshade. Let's see what you've gotten done…"
"I've readied your basic lasers for today and laid out several meters of wiring. I've also reorganized your cog bins and bolt bins. I've also taken the liberty of tuning your-"
Tune my engine, he almost purred out loud.
"-spark meter to make sure it is calibrated properly to working condition. It hasn't been used in an extended period of time and I wanted to reassure myself of its condition. Is this sufficient?"
"Perfect," Ratchet croaked out. He was barely getting enough air into his intake systems. He felt like he was suffocating under all the heat. He needed out!
"Sir?"
"Just…keep an eye on the 'bay so that I can grab a cup of energon," Ratchet said quickly, ignoring the startled look on Nightshade's face. Ratchet started edging toward the door, lest he be tempted to do something inappropriate. Currently, the temptations were only to kiss the mech and perhaps let his hands stray a bit.
"But…sir…I'm not qualified-"
"You'll be fine for a few minutes. I'll be back in ten minutes," Ratchet said, trying to rid himself of the unwanted images his computing center had pulled up for him. Ratchet then walked out of the room quickly, almost at a run.
"O-okay sir," Nightshade said quietly and gulped.
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Nightshade was on edge. It had been six and a half minutes since Ratchet had left to get his drink. Only three and a half minutes left to go until Ratchet came back. Over the past few weeks, Nightshade had noticed a few things. Firstly, the mechs on the base were giving him some pretty strange looks. Was something wrong? Nightshade used one of the stainless steel cabinets as a mirror. Nope, nothing feminine showing…except his aft. It was too round. He absently rubbed his backside, wondering what
he could to to make it more…mech-like. Nightshade grabbed a piece of spare armor, pressing it up against his backside. Then he wondered what excuse he could give Ratchet.
'scuse, me, Ratch,' but I think my aft looks a bit too feminine, will ya fix it for me?
He snorted at the thought and shook his head, putting the armor down.
Nightshade looked back at the clock on the wall. Two minutes to go. Nightshade sighed impatiently, shuffling his feet on the stark white linoleum that made up the medical bay floor. Suddenly, the doors hissed open and in limped Ironhide, swearing as loudly as his vocal processor would allow.
"Oi, Ratchet, where the slag are ya?"
"He isn't here right now, sir. He'll be back in a few minutes," Nightshade said, shifting nervously.
"Aw, slaggit. Take a look at my left knee joint. I think I got something caught in it while racing this morning," Ironhide said, making himself comfortable on the nearest stasis bed. Nightshade stared at him blankly for a second and then made his decision. Taking a quick peek couldn't hurt, right?
Nightshade gently pried back the armor on Ironhide's knee to get a look at the inner circuitry. There, mixed in with the cables and wires and lines, was a large splinter of wood, neatly lodged in a receptor. Nightshade winced as he took a closer look. The wood was lodged in there deeply, jamming a few gears as well. Ouch.
"Ironhide, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until Ratchet arrives. I'm simply not qualified to do much more than look," Nightshade said quietly and shyly. There was a loud sigh of heated air from Ironhide's exhausts.
"That's fine. Just…distract me from the pain," Ironhide said, folding his arms beneath his head. Nightshade just stared at him for a second before speaking.
"Er…how are you?"
Nightshade received a glare and he winced slightly, muttering a soft apology.
"So, uhm…What have you been doing lately?" There. Small talk ought to get him going. Besides, he's easily distracted…unless it's a con, or something…
"I've been recalibrating the cannons on my arms to shoot bigger rounds," Ironhide grunted, picking at a stray wire in his arm.
"Bigger rounds? At this rate, you'll be shooting minibots from your cannons by the end of the week," Nightshade said snarkily. Then he dodged the large black hand that swiped through the air where his head had been.
"Haha, very funny. I think you've been hanging out with Ratchet too much. His sarcasm's rubbing off on ya," Ironhide said, grunting once more.
"Er…sorry…Tell me more about your day so far?"
"Training rookies are Pit to train. Little slaggin' sparklings can't tell the difference between a heated plasma round and a plasma flare," Ironhide said, growling a little at the end of his sentence.
"Oh." Nightshade didn't know the difference, either, but he kept it to himself. It seemed like a wise choice at the moment - Ironhide wasn't a mech to bother, especially when he was in pain.
The doors hissed open again and in came Ratchet, looking quite irritated at something. Nightshade had a momentary lapse in memory and stared off into space, arguing with himself.
Isn't he always irritated?
Well, he is CMO and he does have to put up with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe…I know I'd frown all the time if I had to deal with those two on a daily basis!
"SlagitalltoPit! I give up! Someone, deactivate me," Ratchet said, scowling and throwing his hands into the air. Ironhide chuckled, grinning at the near-frothing CMO.
"Aw, come on, Ratch…"
Ratchet felt a growl start in his vocal processing units, frowning at the weapons specialist. The mild irritation that had been plaguing Ratchet was now turning into full blown annoyance. Not even with all of his years of experience in dealing with Ironhide's stupidity could save the mech from Ratchet's wrath.
"What the pit did you do to yourself this time? Trip and fall while playing with your intake port?" Nightshade felt his cheek plates flame in mortification. Oh, Primus. They were cracking dirty jokes.
"Go take it up the exhaust, Ratchet. I was out racing and I got something caught in one of my receptors," Ironhide said, an ugly look on his face. Nightshade covered his audio receptors. He was not going to listen to this! Virgin audio receptors!
"What were you doing, then? Chasing airplanes?" Nightshade had to slap both hands over his mouth to keep from giggling out loud. A small giggle escaped and Ironhide scowled at him, and Nightshade turned it into a hacking cough.
"Frag you!"
"Frag me? FRAG ME? I'll give you the oil change from hell, you aft-headed-"
"Sir?" Nightshade asked boldly, interrupting Ratchet in the middle of his rant. Ratchet stopped, a shocked look on his face. His mouth was open and moving, but no sound came out. Ironhide cowered. He literally cowered. Ironhide's life flashed before his eyes. The slaggin' rookie had interrupted Ratchet's tirade! The rookie was asking to be reformatted into a blender! Oh Primus…
"What, Nightshade?" Ratchet's voice was back to normal, deep and kindly. Ironhide peeped from between his fingers, his jaw falling wider and wider as he watched the interaction.
"I brought you the right tools to remove the wooden splinter," Nightshade said cheerfully, holding a tray with various instruments on them. Ironhide's optics darted between the two. What the…
Ratchet stared at Nightshade stupidly.
"What?" Nightshade asked, a pleasant smile on his face.
"…Gimme the tray."
Ironhide gulped as Ratchet sat heavily on the bench beside the berth. Ironhide jerked away from Ratchet, but the medic had a firm grip on his foot. The medic shot him a glare, and Ironhide tossed his hands up in defense. Well, his hands wouldn't do much anyway. Ratchet had a saw and a decent sized rifle. That, and his dabbling in hand-to-hand fighting could cause some fatal damage. Ironhide stopped thinking about Ratchet's abilities. His computer center had run rampant with images of the red-and-white mech standing over a pile of ash labeled "Ironhide".
"What part of not straining yourself did you not understand? No, Ironhide believes himself to be impervious to all injuries, blasted pile of bolts…" Ratchet muttered quietly, picking up the tools he would need for this procedure. Nightshade stayed well out of Ratchet's throwing trajectory. He had just interrupted Ratchet…and survived. Ratchet squinted up at Nightshade.
"Your break started five minutes ago, Nightshade. Go get something to drink and come back."
Nightshade nodded quietly and scampered out of the room, eager to stay out of Ratchet's way.
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The rec room was busy, as usual. Mechs were sprawled out over the various couches and seats in the room. They were all talking, drinking, arguing, or a combination of the three. Nightshade scurrying along the wall, hoping that no one would take notice of him. Alas, luck was not on his side today.
"Oi, Nightshade! Get over here!"
He cringed and straightened up, smiling over at the voice. It was Sideswipe, sans Sunstreaker.
Nightshade grabbed a cube of energon and made his way over to Sideswipe, waving jovially at the mechs seated around the table. Sideswipe and Jazz were seated at one end with Bluestreak and Bumblebee jammed between them. A mech by the name of Hound and his partner Blaster were seated in the middle. The other end of the table was taken up by Nightshade, Inferno, and an unnamed mech.
Hound's optics twinkled brightly as he took a sip of his energon.
"So, Night, what do you think about the girls coming back?"
Nightshade choked slightly and cowered slightly under the questioning glances from the mechs around the table.
"I will be glad to see them," he managed to answer. Nightshade clutched his cube close, almost hiding behind the tiny cube of plastic. Hound nodded, satisfied with the answer. He let a slow, lecherous smirk cross his face.
"I'll be more than glad to see tha girls 'gain…Primus, it's been forever since I had a good interface," Hound said slowly, nodding as the mechs around the table gave approving whoops. Nightshade nodded along with the rest, hoping that no one would ask –
"So who are you looking forward to seeing again, Nighthshade," Blaster said, waving a hand across the table. Nightshade paused.
"I…wasn't involved with anyone."
"And? We all know that you were with Elita's crew…wait a tic, wasn't Arcee on board?"
"She-"
"Yes, she was," Sideswipe said, letting out a soft whistle, "So, Nightshade, did you ever…you know…with Arcee?"
"Yeah, she interfaces with everyone -"
Nightshade's optics widened considerably as he struggled to speak.
Eew! Arcee's one of my best friends! I couldn't think about her like that ever
"I-I-I uhm-"
"Aww, look, boys, he's blushing!"
"Don't worry, Nightshade, we'll teach you and Baby Bee everything you two need to know about femmes – "
"And interfacing!"
There was a round of chortles from around the table as Nightshade and Bumblebee both ducked down in embarrasment.
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Nightshade wandered aimlessly through the hallway, keeping his eyes down and a thoughtful expression on his face. The conversation with the mechs had been very interesting. He and Bumblebee had been dubbed the babies of the group. It wasn't their fault that they were too young to find an unbound partner!
It was this that kept him from noticing that two very large mechs were fighting in the hallway intersecting the one he was in. It was also this that kept him from noticing that both mechs were now wrestling boisterously, tossing each other into the walls. And finally, it was this that kept him from noticing that a very large, very heavy mech was stumbling backwards until it was too late.
Nightshade's face became acquainted with the floor very quickly and very painfully as Sky Lynx's aft made itself comfortable between her shoulder blades. Ironhide landed across Sky Lynx, adding a few more tons to the pile of mech.
"What the slag! GET OFF OF ME!" Nightshade gasped, feeling his armor pop and crack in a few places. Ironhide groaned as he got up, offering a hand to the little mech. Sky Lynx had already gotten to his feet, laughing heartily and forgetting all about Nightshade. Ironhide, not too gently, yanked upwards.
"FRAGGIN' PIT!" Ironhide stumbled back a little as Nightshade delivered a painful punch to his arm. The rookie was holding one arm, whimpering softly. It was dangling uselessly, thanks to Ironhide and his brute strength.
"Ah, I'm sorry, Nightshade," Ironhide said, trying to usher him to the medical bay. All the while, Ironhide managed to suppress the laughter trying to escape his vocal processors. Nightshade's anger was comical!
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Ratchet rolled his optics as the doors to the medical bay hissed open. His optics stopped in mid-roll when he saw who entered the medical bay. Then Ratchet rushed out as Ironhide helped Nightshade sit in one of the stasis beds.
"What in the name of Primus happened?!"
"Well, Sky Lynx and I were wrestling in the hall way…and I smashed into 'im…"
"More like crushed me, you bit-brained second-handed-processes, pile of-"
"Language," Ratchet growled.
"You're one to talk," Nightshade muttered, a nasty look on his face. Ironhide managed to turn his laugh into a hacking cough.
"Well, is he gonna be okay?" Ironhide had been fidgeting, ready to run. Ratchet was getting that look on his face…
"Yes, now out," Ratchet said, picking up a pair of pliers. Nightshade winced as Ratchet began removing the armor on his upper arm. Ironhide made himself scarce. Nightshade began to mutter quietly, shooting glares at the door. Ratchet shook his head and glanced up at Nightshade.
"I'll have to order you new armor…How on Cybertron did you not notice those two wrestling in the hallway?"
"I was thinking. OW be more gentle, please!"
"Quiet!"
"Bite me!"
Ratchet set his pliers down, a glare on his face. Bite me? Where the pit did he come up with that one? Ratchet's optics were narrowed almost to slits as he spoke.
"What did you just say?"
"Er…nothing?"
"I thought so."
After an hour, Ratchet had managed to reattach and fix everything. Wires were replaced, cracked armor repaired and soldered, and dents popped out. Ratchet grunted softly as he wiped his hands on a piece of clean fabric. He stood back and admired his work.
"Thanks, boss," Nightshade said, testing out the movement of his arm.
"Oh, by the way. You're due for a check up. Might as well get it done now."
"Ah…uhm."
"Alright, open your chassis."
"What was that? I can't hear you. Thanks for fixing me, Ratchet. I really appreciate it," Nightshade said, grinning at her mentor and trying to make a break for the door. Ratchet sidestepped in front of Nightshade, holding his hands up. Nightshade almost squeaked and he backed into the room.
Slag slag slag, he's going to find out that I'm a femme and he's going to tell Prime, and I'll be stuck making sparklings for the rest of my life -
"I said you're due for a check up," Ratchet said, irritation creeping into his voice.
"What?"
"Nightshade, don't play games with me. On the table, now."
"Be a good mech and do what the medic tells ya to," Red Alert said, making his way out of the door. Nightshade shot Red Alert a glare, silently cursing the mech. Red Alert was perhaps the only mech in the base that could have saved him from Ratchet.
"Seriously, Ratchet, I don't think that's a good idea. Maybe another time," Nightshade said, starting to panic.
"I'm not going to hurt you. It's just a routine maintenance," Ratchet said, advancing. He had noticed the random spikes in Nightshade's processes, an indication of fear. Was Nightshade really that afraid of medical procedures?
"Er…I'm fine. See? My spark's going strong," Nightshade said. It was more of a question than a statement. Ratchet rolled his optics.
"Nightshade. Stop acting like a sparkling and get on the table."
"No."
"Nightshade," Ratchet growled, his optics starting to narrow – no patient had ever outright denied his requests. Nightshade took a quick peek around the room. The door was on the other side of the room. Maybe if he dove over the table-
"Don't even think about trying to escape." His tone had gone from angry to exasperated.
"No, I don't want a check up. I'm fine," Nightshade said, dancing away from the medic's outstretched fingers. Ratchet was angry. He lunged once more…and fell flat on his face as the mech twisted elegantly out of his way.
"What the slag- Get your aft over here!"
"NO!"
"NIGHTSHADE!" Ratchet lunged once more and managed to grab one of Nightshade's wrists. Nightshade made a small squeaking noise as Ratchet advanced. He literally picked Nightshade up and sat him on the table.
"Behave," Ratchet said, his intake fans heaving from the exertion. Nightshade glared at the medic while he turned to grab something off of the counter.
"I will…for now."
The only response he got was a low, angry sounding growl from the medic.
Nightshade stuck his glossa out at the back of Ratchet's head.
"Do it again and I'll use these pliers to rip it out," Ratchet growled, holding a pair of pliers up.
Ratchet glared up at Nightshade as he sat on the bench. He held a digital pad in his hand and a scalpel in the other. As he began testing joints and lines, he noticed something very interesting. He didn't linger too long on the compartments on Nightshade's wrists. That was funny. The mech never mentioned having weapons…He used a mild electrical current to gently prod the compartment back. Nightshade jerked back, but it was too late.
A handful of bracelets fell out onto the surgical table.
"I…uhm…can explain," Nightshade said, his optics wide.
"Please do," the medic said curtly. Nightshade began wracking her memory banks for an excuse.
(I was abducted by aliens! My femme creator dropped me on my cranial unit every day! I ate bad energon!)
"Well…you see…it was like this. HEY Ironhide!" Nightshade suddenly shouted. Ratchet turned. While Ratchet was momentarily distracted, he jumped off of the table, making a break for it. Nightshade didn't make it halfway across the room when he suddenly found himself pinned to something solid. Something solid like Ratchet's chest armor.
"Argh! Ratchet!"
"What the slag is going on, Nightshade? Either you tell me what's going on, or I'll strap you to a table and figure it out myself!"
"Nothing's going on, now let me go!"
"Explain these bracelets, Nightshade. What are you hiding from me?"
"I'm – not – hiding – anything!"
His sentence was interspersed with his struggle against the mech behind him. Ratchet's grip tightened and Nightshade winced in pain. He ceased struggling immediately. He was mildly surprised by Ratchet spinning him around and holding onto his forearms.
"Nightshade, I'm warning you," Ratchet growled out quietly, "You've got three seconds to tell me what's going on or I will call Red Alert in here."
"Fine. I'll tell you. Just…just let go of me, okay?"
Ratchet's optics narrowed suspiciously before he let go of Nightshade's wrists. He rubbed at them gently. Ratchet made a noise like a human clearing its throat.
"I…there's something you need to know."
"Obviously," Ratchet said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest plate. Nightshade winced slightly at Ratchet's angry tone. While he had made mistakes in the medical bay, he had never done anything to merit having an angry CMO sniping at her. And it hurt to see the mistrust in Ratchet's optic now. Nightshade felt his resolve weaken and his shoulders trembled slightly.
"I-I'm a femme."
Nightshade ducked her head, doing her best to ignore the sharp gasp from Ratchet.
"You what?"
"I'm a femme, okay? I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt anyone, I just…" Nightshade broke down quietly, wiping at the cleaning fluid tears that suddenly appeared on her cheek plates. Ratchet stared at her incredulously – why couldn't Nightshade trust him with this? Hadn't he earned her trust before? Hurt flooded Ratchet's systems along with guilt and surprise. He was guilty that she had to be cooped up like that. He was surprised that he actually felt guilt. Normally if someone lied to him, they'd be out of the med bay in an astrosecond flat…but…something in this little mech – er, femme – invoked kindness and the will to…protect? To protect her? He shook his head and tried to decide what to do with the femme.
Her hiccups subsided eventually and she turned sad optics over at him.
"Nightshade…you know I'll have to tell Prime about this."
She nodded miserably. A breem of silence went by before Ratchet spoke again.
"Did…did you really not trust me enough to tell me," he asked quietly. Her optics widened.
"Primus, no, Ratchet…you would have been the first person I told…well. Aside from Elita…but…I do trust you. I honestly do. I just don't feel safe around the other mechs," she said gloomily. Ratchet nodded understandingly. The other males on the base had been cooped up for far too long without the company of females, and he understood her concerns.
"I understand, Nightshade. We will talk later. Right now, you need to recharge. Your supply is running low. Go get some energon and come back," he said gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Nightshade nodded slowly before wrapping her arms around him gently.
"Thank you, Ratchet."
He stiffened, staring down at her with wide optics. Never, in his entire career as a medic, had he been hugged by one of his patients – or coworkers. Lingering just an astrosecond too long, she let go of him, gloomily making her way over to his office to grab a cube of energon. Ratchet watched after her curiously, gently pushing aside the strange feeling in his spark box…
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D'aww. :) Cute moments.