Ironhide made a point to never voluntarily visit the infirmary if he could in any way avoid it. This obviously had nothing to do with fear of their CMO – Ironhide merely spent enough time being repaired as it was and didn't want to intrude on his busy friend and occasional interface partner's domain without reason, since they all knew how very busy their medic was. That was his explanation, that was what he was sticking to, and Primus help anyone stupid enough to insinuate otherwise... which, unsurprisingly, was very few of them, since anyone sane shared his perfectly healthy level of affectionate respect for their overworked medic.

Ratchet, all-knowing, Pit-spawned medic that he was, obviously seemed to know that, too, and took a sadistic kind of pleasure in hauling Ironhide into the infirmary for that very reason. There was absolutely no reason why they couldn't just talk in Ironhide's quarters, or Ratchet's, or the fragging runway for that matter... and still somehow Ironhide found himself stepping through painfully familiar doors to find Ratchet clearly waiting for him, and for a moment Ironhide wasn't sure if a surprise Decepticon attack wouldn't be preferable.

A glance around revealed the infirmary to be clear of any patients and Ironhide gave their medic a cautious look, feeling the trap start to spring around him and for the life of him not able to see where it was leading him. Ratchet could be an intimidating mech when he wanted to be and right now he clearly did and Ironhide had been on the receiving end of a fragged-off medic often enough that his sudden, responding caution was pretty much imprinted on his processors.

"Where's Will?" Ironhide asked carefully and took two steps further into the room just to prove that he wasn't intimidated in the least, however much they both knew otherwise. "I'm surprised he's not here. I would have thought he'd sent himself into stasis with that stunt he pulled."

"He almost did," Ratchet replied with an unimpressed sound. "He's in recharge. Deep recharge but recharge nonetheless. They are a more resilient build in that regard than most suspect."

An almost-straightforward answer, Ironhide noted, and adjusted his own approach accordingly. If that was how their medic wanted to play, he wasn't going to get in the way, not if it meant a stay of execution for... whatever the frag he had done this time to piss the mech off. Tried to get an answer over the bond with Will against orders, possibly, although it hadn't been all on purpose... not that it would make a difference in Ratchet's view.

"What happened?" It wasn't all playing along, either – it was his friend and likely future mate and he was genuinely curious about what was going on. For all the the Seeker was shaping up to be a Megatron-sized pain in the aft, it was still his friend and the first Seeker he had been up close and personal with outside of combat, and he wasn't so old that he'd forgotten how to be curious.

"You felt him search for you shortly before, I assume," Ratchet replied and didn't wait for Ironhide's affirmative response. "He doesn't have the self-control yet to do it unnoticed. He attempted the same with his human bonded... mate and did not take kindly to the discovery that he could not reach her through their bond. As a result, he scanned for her instead."

And wasn't that a fragging harmless way of expressing what had turned into a still-lingering processor-pain for Ironhide... and judging by Ratchet's body language, probably made their medic more than a little uncomfortable in the process, too.

A moment later, he realised something else.

"Mate?"

They'd called her his human bonded before and Ironhide was well aware of the difference between those two words and knew just as well that Ratchet wouldn't have used it without reason.

"It claimed her," Ratchet explained with the deceptive sort of mildness. "As a mate. Not a bonded. My theory is that it's a result of their bond as humans but there is little chance of ever finding out for sure. For now, we're still considering our options. I will talk to her once I'm done with you here."

And however much Ironhide wanted to find out what the frag was going on with Sarah Lennox – because he slagging well owed that to his friend if nothing else – Ratchet's last sentence had reminded him of just what he was doing there and Ironhide's optics narrowed slightly.

"I wasn't injured last I checked."

It was a deliberate attempt to play stupid and it obviously didn't work as Ratchet planted both hands on a berth and leaned forward slightly in another long-practised display of pure intimidation.

"There is nothing physical to fix at the moment, Ironhide, I assure you. Instead, we are going to have a long-overdue talk... before there is something to repair."

No surprise there. Ironhide was quickly getting a fairly good idea of what the reason for the whole uncomfortable situation was and he interrupted before Ratchet ever had the chance to even begin.

"I'm not going to do anything with him that the human wouldn't want to do," he bit out. "I know I'm a front-liner. I know we don't have a reputation for being first in line when Primus handed out processing powers but I'm not going to drag him off and have my way with him just because he's got wings. I know he looks like a Seeker, I know they've got a reputation for doing anything big and strong enough to beat them up, but I'm not going to forget there's a human in there, too. I'm not that stupid."

Even if Ratchet hadn't made that particular issue very, very clear to Ironhide on more than a few occasions, Ironhide liked to think he would have worked it out on his own. It was his friend, a human, and he liked to think he would have been able to figure out the difference between the two just fine, shared body or not. He could appreciate what the medic was doing and yes, it was good to know that someone had their Seeker's back even if most of them didn't have a clue about what was going on in those flighty, irrational processors of his, but it was getting just a bit ridiculous. He hadn't survived on cannon power alone. He did have some mental abili---

"That's very good to know, Ironhide," Ratchet interrupted his ranting train of thought in a drawl that Ironhide had long since learned to recognise as a sure sign someone was being exceptionally dense. "I had no doubts about that - you may be a front-liner but you have proven to have at least some amount of processing powers left when it comes to him - but still, reassurances are always nice. Is there anything else you would like to get off of your chest or may I continue?"

A confused stare was all Ironhide could muster in return as his carefully planned-out arguments were neatly swept away and Ratchet clearly took that as permission to go on because he gave Ironhide a long look for good measure and then continued. "Instructions, Ironhide. If you wish to interface with him, you need instructions."

For a long moment Ironhide was silent as his processors went over that bit of the conversation a few more times to made sure he really did hear what he thought be did, and then he snorted in lack of any other logical response. "I'm older than slagging dirt, Ratchet. I know how to 'face. You haven't complained before." Not about anything but Ironhide moving too slagging slow or being a Primus-damned tease, but front-liner or not, even he wasn't brave - or stupid - enough to bring that up at the moment.

"You know how to interface with a mech," Ratchet corrected in that same drawl. "Not with a Seeker. You are aware there's a difference, are you not?"

"He's got wings and he's a bit weird in the processors," Ironhide drawled right back. "And he can spark. He's not an alien. He's still a Cybertronian, just a different build. We've still got all the same bits and pieces that matter."

"He also has eight feet and more than a ton on you," Ratchet pointed out. "And two jet engines that can offline you if you get in their way. He may not have your cannons or Optimus' Energon swords but never assume that he is harmless. There is a reason why most of them are proud Decepticons and it has everything to do with their programming. You are his mate. He has no intentions of causing you deliberate harm but that is never a guarantee with a Seeker. Their programming can and will override any kind of common sense and bonds of loyalty if they react instinctively."

Like with Sideswipe. Ironhide had been about to argue when that memory made its way to the front of his processors and he stopped himself before he could say anything, suddenly unsure about the whole thing again. The Seeker hadn't exactly shown itself to be a towering display of stability and common sense as it was and while the human had been sort-of stable before everything had happened, he'd had his moments of reckless stupidity, too. He had been about to argue that the human and the Seeker had more control than Ratchet gave them credit for but the truth was, he wasn't even sure about that anymore.

Ratchet had obviously picked up on that, too – from body language or their bond or even just his silence – and when he continued, a bit of the edge in his voice had faded, too, now that he felt that some of the seriousness of the situation had imprinted itself on Ironhide.

"A Seeker would instinctively know what to do and what to avoid. You won't, because you do not have wings of your own, nor do you have any of the other Seeker-specific, physical peculiarities that make them what they are. This will be a problem considering that both of you have the same preferences for rough interfacing. If you simply went ahead and 'faced with him without regard for your differences, you would damage his wings. Nothing that couldn't be repaired with relative ease as long as I had the necessary parts available but that wouldn't matter to him." He paused, let those words really sink into Ironhide's processors, and then continued – low and urgent and deadly serious. "There is nothing in this universe that will panic as badly as a young Seeker that has just received its first serious wing-related injury. Nothing. If you cause serious harm to those wings, he will panic. It doesn't matter that there is a human part in there. It doesn't matter if you tell it that it's merely temporarily grounded until repairs are done. It doesn't matter that you are its mate or if it's told that it is easily repaired or even if you use that bond to try and get it under control again. It would panic, Ironhide. At best, it would go into shock and stay that way until I could get there to handle it. More likely, it would go into blind panic and hurt you – possibly quite grievously – in its attempt to get away. The human side might tell it that it would be easily repaired but its Seeker programming would convince it that it would never fly again, that its wings were gone, and that it had lost everything that made it a Seeker."

One second passed, then two as Ironhide tried to imagine just what would happen if something that strong and that heavy went off like that, and then he shuttered his optics briefly as images came to him far too vividly.

Frag.

Ironhide stayed silent even as he let that feeling of sudden worry make its way through his bond with Ratchet, because there was really nothing he could say that would bring across his feelings better than that bond would, and he felt Ratchet's side of it open as well in response, a mix of mirroring worry and hard determination and the undercurrent of lingering doubt underneath it all... and there was something about it that nagged Ironhide's processors in a way he couldn't quite put into words.

"They are their wings, Ironhide," Ratchet continued. "Their wings are their everything. A Seeker can be brought to overload through nothing more than caresses of its wings, and you can permanently offline it through those wings as well without ever as much as touching its spark or its Energon lines. You can't ignore them for any period of time and you can't forget just what you are dealing with in them, either. I have seen grounders killed for touching a Seeker's wings against its will. That is what you are dealing with. It's hardwired into them and human or not, the same will be the case with William."

Ironhide was about to argue that he wasn't that stupid, that he could damn well tell the difference between 'That hurts, do it harder' and 'That hurts, stop!' and that Ratchet, if anyone, should know that, too, but he stopped himself before he could voice anything of the kind. Ratchet was just looking out for their new Seeker – their friend – and if he was a little over-zealous in doing so, then Ironhide would chalk it up to the fierce concern that had always been at the core of their medic's spark.

"He's my friend, Ratchet. Even if he hadn't been mate or bonded or anything like that, he's still my friend, and if I screw this up, I'll beat myself up a lot more than you or that flying fragger could ever do. Be careful with their wings, I get it. Give me a little credit here."

Ratchet just gave him a hard look in return as Ironhide felt the familiar presence of their bond flare up again as his friend tried to gauge his seriousness... and there it was again, the feeling of something about their bond being... not quite wrong but not quite Ratchet, either, something just out of his grasp as he struggled to pinpoint it; an echo of something that was both maddeningly familiar and unnervingly-

- alien.

And in an instant it clicked and Ironhide almost laughed as a dozen little bits of the puzzle fell neatly into place, but knowing the being involved as well as he did, he skipped the laughter and settled for a vaguely amused look instead that echoed through their connection.

"You bonded with him, didn't you?"

It was rare that anyone caught Ratchet looking surprised and Ironhide knew he would keep that particular little bit of memory for a long, long time as indignation-shock-surprise flooded their bond and the medic just gaped at him as he tried to make his vocaliser work again.

Ironhide answered with his own feelings of cheerful amusement that made Ratchet visibly pull himself together, snap his mouth shut, and shield the bond again... and then a long second later, groan and rub his face tiredly. "Yes."

Which explained that off sort of feeling to their bond and Ironhide kept watching him with badly disguised amusement as the medic pulled himself together completely and the usual Ratchet-style body language returned as the last bits of Seeker-style behaviour got pushed aside. "He affects you that much? I thought he was in recharge. I don't even feel him right now."

Ratchet shifted in an almost embarrassed way at that and if Ironhide hadn't been convinced before that there was a good story hiding there somewhere, he fragging well was now. "It's a bit more complicated than mere cause and effect. To deal properly with Seekers requires a certain kind of manner to make them listen at all. He reminded me of that. It's less a matter of influence through the bond as it is a matter of old habits."

Habits. Habits took a while to form, wartime or not, and none of the files had never even mentioned that their CMO had spent a while working with Seekers, much less how long. Ironhide had never actually asked – if Ratchet had known something that would have been useful in battle, he would have shared with them a long time ago – and he'd always just... assumed that it had been a short stay. Go there, dip in his mech-toes a little, decide they were winged pests straight from the Pit, and then gone on to be a normal doctor and eventually end up as the Autobot CMO.

If he had been there for long enough to develop actual habits, though...

"How long did you actually spend with those things?" he asked and let his curiosity show through their bond, followed by bemusement as he tried to wrap his processors around it. "I always thought you stayed there for just long enough to realise how much of a pest they were and then got the frag out of there again. Sure, they're pretty and interesting and all that slag but they were always 'Cons by nature, you told me that yourself. Not exactly the nicest company around. That's why they were always short on medics."

Ratchet stayed silent for a long while at that and even their bond didn't give any hint to his emotions before he finally raised his head slightly and that classic unyielding Ratchet was right back again. "They were short of medics because most of the ones that were trained had no bearings, no strength of will, and no desire or ability to learn it, either. That may have worked well for civilized areas and peacetime but they would stand no chance in war or the slum or among beings who value strength above all else. I saw countless medics right out of training come through my clinic there and most of them were gone again before we could as much as put their name on a door. They came there because Seekers were pretty and exotic and attractive and they left again because they failed to realise that they would be dealing with Seekers. They asked and suggested where they should have demanded and ordered. The reason why there were never enough medics among Seekers was because their training was worthless when pitted against something that believes to the very core of its spark that might makes right."

And when pitted against war and Megatron, too, probably, but Ironhide didn't say that. There hadn't been a lot of medics left by the time the War had finally engulfed the whole of Cybertron and the ones that remained had been the strong ones. Some temperamental, some cold, some downright brutal, but they had all been strong and had all had the relentless stubbornness and determination to survive and fight tooth and claw to stay that way.

In retrospect, Ironhide realised, he should have known their medic's stay around the flighty pains in the aft had been a lot longer than he had ever thought.

Something whispered though their bond, dug up from a deeper level than they normally bonded at – old losses, lingering pain, mental scars that had never quite gone away – and Ironhide's intakes vented softly as images appeared in his processors uninvited; red optics and purple banners and a shift of power that would extinguish countless sparks among their forces as time carried on.

"Were you there when they turned 'Con?"

Loss, guilt, failure, and Ironhide reached back in response, rock-solid and offering nothing but trust and affection in return, and Ratchet didn't look away.

"If I had been slower to leave, I would have been."

Should have been, he didn't say, even if they both heard it.

"If you had been slower to leave," Ironhide corrected him, "you would have been offlined. You know that. Medic or not, Megatron would have had you offlined. You're too stubborn to turn 'Con."

Guilt was something Ironhide was intimately familiar with; the spark-wrenching feeling of failure when you had to leave someone behind, the helplessness of someone you couldn't save because you were too slow, too big, too small, too worthless, and maybe he didn't quite understand where Ratchet's feeling came from but it wasn't going to stop him from trying to offer what help he could, anyway.

"I am aware of that, Ironhide," Ratchet said quietly. "It does not change the fact that I am a medic. My coding adapts. Like yours or his does when it accepts a bond, mine adapts if I spend enough time around the same type of build. I adapt to enable me to do my duty better and I spent more than enough time among Seekers to adapt to them. They were kin. Distant kin in most cases, but kin nonetheless, and I spent enough time there to become close to some as well. They were kin, Ironhide, and I abandoned them."

That guilt was still eating away at him and now there was one he could save, Ironhide didn't need the bond to know that. An unstable, confused, borderline-manic one at times but it was a Seeker, it was an Autobot, and it was a friend, and when he looked at it like that, it was no slagging wonder that Ratchet had been so protective of Will from the moment he was brought into the infirmary, still covered in dust and sand and tiny bits of rubble. If that coding never wrote itself out again but just went dormant, then one short-tempered Seeker running on basic coding would probably be all that was needed to drag it all right up again and rip up old wounds that had long since been locked away...

... and with that, Ironhide realised something else.

"Does Prime know?"

The flat look Ratchet gave him was all the answer Ironhide really needed but the medic snorted, anyway, and when he spoke, his voice was closer to what they were all used to again. "Define 'know'. Does he know I worked among the flying pests? Yes. I never hid that for him and I had enough personal items with Seeker glyphs on them for it to be fairly obvious to anyone with even half a processor that I had spent time there. Does he know for how long? He never asked and I never told. I lived there for long enough that more than a few beings would have marked me as a Decepticon sympathiser for that alone. When I left them, I had Seeker mannerisms, I had Seeker instincts, and I had close to a Seeker's temper. It was my luck that most Autobots knew too little about them to tell and that those in the know also knew enough not to write me off for that reason alone." He fell silent and the only sound was the soft whisper of air though intakes before he continued in a softer voice. "Does he know? He was never stupid – he has personal experience with Seekers and he has always kept good mechs around him. He guessed himself or someone told him – I don't know which one and it doesn't matter, because he never mentioned a thing. Yes, he knew. They also needed a CMO who could run a wartime hospital without being run over in the process and I was at the top of a very, very short list of candidates they had. My experience with those flying frags was exactly what was needed, so nobody ever said a thing about it and whatever files might have been opened on me quietly vanished in the dead of he night."

Jazz, probably, Ironhide realised with a twinge of lingering loss in his spark, because something like that would have been right up his alley. Put a Seeker-trained medic as the CMO because front-liners were nothing compared to a Seeker in a rage and let him use what he learned from those things to patch up the faction that were now shooting them out of the sky. It had been Jazz behind it, no question about that.

And suddenly Ratchet's overprotective behaviour made sense, too. It wasn't that Ironhide had expected Ratchet not to care but the sort of protectiveness and attention he was showing their new Seeker was a lot more than Ironhide would have expected considering his other duties as CMO and their sole medic with completed medical training behind him. He could have handed Will over to Ironhide or their Prime and trusted them to take care of him, and it might or might not have worked, but he could have done it and lack of experience with the things or not, they would have done their best, too. He could but he hadn't, because the Seeker-trained CMO had taken their young, new Seeker under his wing and he wasn't about to let go easily again, and Primus help anyone who got in his way, because Ratchet himself would not be merciful.

He was testing Ironhide because Ironhide was that Seeker's future mate and Ratchet was going to be fragging sure he wouldn't fail another Seeker, and after another long moment Ironhide slowly released the tension he hadn't even been aware had entered his body.

"I won't hurt him, Ratchet. He's my friend, he trusts me, he's had my back in battle and I've had his. I'd tear out my own spark before doing anything against his will."

Still Ratchet didn't move and on impulse Ironhide shifted through countless firewalls and deliberately chaotic defences to find an ever-evolving, complex code at the centre of it all, glowing faintly blue. Several more codes were needed to make a copy and for something that happened in his processors, the four seconds that procedure took were close to endless and enough for Ratchet to notice-

- And then the copy was complete and Ironhide pushed it through their bond before he could have any second thoughts, and he could tell the exact moment when Ratchet realised what he now had nestled next to his spark, optics brightening in sudden shock.

"You know the medical overrides to get a spark-cage opened, I know that, you've done it on me before," he explained quietly before the other could speak. "That's not an override. I trust you and I trust him and if you ever need to use it, I know I'll have had it coming."

Still silence as shock and pain and trust and ancient scars and an overwhelming surge of raw, spark-deep emotion crossed their bond, and then Ratchet grasped his arm tightly and Ironhide returned the gesture, and there was nothing but their bond glowing brightly blue and their sparks and each other's presence as Ratchet tightened his grip and left ghosts of a hand-print in Ironhide's plating and then nodded once, slowly.

"You've rattled your processors, you giant lump of scrap metal," he said in a voice that was low and hoarse from emotion, and Ironhide did the only thing he could do and just shrugged slightly in return.

"I'm a front-liner. I hear we're pretty dumb."

A snort, once more like the Ratchet he knew, and then the grip loosened again and the medic nodded again. "Be careful. For both of you."

And through their still-glowing bond, Ironhide gave his silent agreement.