Chapter 23
-0-In the dark, in an officer's quarters
He lay in the darkness, his optics giving a weak glow as he stared at the ceiling. He'd heard about Prime and Prowl from Ratchet when he'd brought the medic his dinner. They sat together for a bit discussing it, feeling exceedingly happy for the two of them. Then later on his own, Ironhide felt himself resenting the two. As he lay on the berth with Ratchet stretched out beside him probably deep in recharge, the slagger, he was truly peeved.
/... those slaggers are probably 'facing like mad rabbits and here I am laying next to the only mech I ever craved and I'm not getting any, the slagger .../
Ironhide ventured an optic and noted that Ratchet looked especially alluring. A part of him felt that it was deliberate, a chance to give him a permanent pucker in the appropriate interface accouterments. He turned slightly, considering whether to roll onto his side and with his manly form and wily ways trick Ratchet into putting out.
Or at least that's what the soldiers called it. Putting out 'what' was still unclear. What out is put? He refused to check out internet porn or medical sites. He was still recovering from the stuff Ratchet had told him one night early in their bivouac here...
-0-Then
"First, you have foreplay."
"What? What's that?" he'd asked.
An act he would regret.
Ratchet looked at him with a mirthful expression. "That's their word for fumbling around and wrestling you know, 'The Sexy' as you call it."
Ironhide noting the mild tone of condemnation in Ratchet's vocal processor looked back at his novel. The Battle of the Bastille had nothing on Ratchet when he wanted to get something done.
Such as aggravate him.
"Then," Ratchet continued smirking slightly at Ironhide's distracted disgust. "Then when you find that the desired effect is just so, you insert-"
"*Hold* on," Ironhide said cutting Ratchet off at the pass. "I don't think I want to know who inserts what into where."
"Ironhide, you were told by Prime to learn about our new allies. I'm just trying to help you." Ratchet grinned at Ironhide's discombobulation. He was so cute when he was freaked out. Like whenever some organic function was brought to his attention, such as human 'facing.
"I don't think I've ever been in a battle where it matters where a mech put his prong, Ratchet. I'm sure that happens to hold here, too."
Ratchet laughed at Ironhide. "You're such a little femme," he said nudging Ironhide with a ped. "You little sparkling, you. Whiner. Wimp."
"I have no problem with The Sexy, Ratchet, as you know well and good." He grinned with pride. "After all, I haven't heard any complaints by you over the many vorns I've been exclusively bringing the Doom of Ironhide to you."
"The Doom of Ironhide?" Ratchet asked delightedly. "Is that what you call it?"
"That's what all my mechs call it," he said, "both in and out of the berth."
"I'm assuming you mean the Decepticons whose aft you kick and me as it applies to the berth," Ratchet said with a devilish twinkle in his optics.
"Of course," Ironhide said tossing his novel down as he affixed Ratchet with a smoky gaze. "I can show you if you're in need of servos-on experience."
"You're always ready with the encouraging word and helping servo," Ratchet said as Ironhide gripped his peds to pull him off the chair and into his lap, bumping Ratchet's helm on the floor as he did.
Ratchet straddled the big mech's lap as he rubbed his helm. "That wasn't exactly suave you know," Ratchet said as he slipped his arms around Ironhide's shoulders. He grinned in spite of himself.
Ironhide smiled back, taken once again with the pleasure of holding Ratchet after so many orns of camping in bivouac in an open hangar with everyone else. "Part of the price, Ratchet, of bonding with a Chaos Bringer."
"Yeah," Ratchet said with a smile.
And then they didn't talk anymore.
-0-Now, again ...
Ironhide reviewed the highlight reel of 'facing with Ratchet that he always kept near during a long deployment when they were apart or when they were sparring in a prank war. Then he shut it off as the desired effect, rolling over and having his way would not be coming and the torment of watching it on his internal screen was worse than hammering his ped with a pile driver.
"Ironhide."
He glanced over at Ratchet. "What?"
"You're fidgeting," Ratchet said opening an optic as he affixed the dark form beside him with a smirk.
"I don't want to argue that point again, Ratchet. I don't 'fidget'. Prowl fidgets. Prime fidgets. What a stupid sounding word. Prowl and Prime are probably 'fidgeting' right now. How about you and me following our great leader's example? You know … do our patriotic duty and all."
"Are you ready to surrender?" Ratchet asked.
"Nope."
"Then I guess you'll have to 'fidget' with yourself when no one is looking or hit the wash racks. I heard that the hand nozzles there are pretty sweet." Ratchet suppressed a chuckle. Then he turned over and slipped his arm around Ironhide's chest, snuggling close to him.
Ironhide who was enjoying the comfort of Ratchet close to him rubbed his cheek against Ratchet's for a moment. Then he brought up a point. "This stuff falls into The Sexy and is off limits under the The Rules of Prank Warfare."
Ratchet smirked, then snuggled closer. "Snuggling isn't against The Rules."
"It's fraternization," Ironhide persisted. "Not that I'm against a little fraternization if you take my meaning. You do right? Get the meaning?"
"You want to 'face?" Ratchet asked as he traced a line of glyphs that Ironhide had engraved into the lines and curves of his face plates and scattered about his massive chassis and limbs. A number of the more prominent of them was Ratchet's name. Most of them were religious and philosophical comments and quotations from the Oracles and other self-chosen documents he'd picked to commemorate the stages of his life as he grew up to acquire new protoforms.
When he'd bonded with Ratchet he'd placed Ratchet's name and a few lines from a love poem that had told the world that Ironhide was exclusive to a single mech and why.
Ratchet had his own and prominent in a couple of places was Ironhide's name and comments of love from Ratchet to him. It was the way of their people to do this and they were nothing if not traditional.
"Do you?" Ironhide asked hopefully. "Wanna 'face that is?"
"Sure." Ratchet traced a reference on Ironhide's arm. It told of solidarity with the Cause of the Autobots, a statement of fidelity with their Prime and the culture and mores of his people. A religious salutation to Primus rounded it out.
"I'm not surrendering," Ironhide said. "I'm not built to be a carrier. You're the nurturer. I'm the blower-upper."
Ratchet laughed as he moved even closer to his bond, feeling a sense of loving peacefulness in doing so. "The blower-upper? That's you, Chaos Bringer of the Autobots."
"So you wanna 'face?" Ironhide asked hopefully.
"Yeah."
"Are you going to give in and 'face or are you a tease?"
"What do you think, ba-bee?" Ratchet asked, smirking slightly at Ironhide's petulant tone.
Ironhide smirked slightly, sliding his arm under Ratchet to pull him up to lay half on and half off his body. "Good night, Ratchet."
"Good night, my darling Ironhide," Ratchet whispered smiling with contentment.
Ironhide smiled, too.
-0-Next day
The sun was overhead when the call came in. There was intel from Interpol that a weapons deal was going to occur once again and it would be in Denver, Colorado this time. The Decepticons were after a connection to continue their efforts to sow discord among the human population regarding Transformers in general and they'd have to dispatch a recon team to check out the area to discover what they could about a shadowy organization that called itself The Resistance.
The Southern Poverty Law Center had been tracking them when they came onto the radar and found them to be an as yet undefined group that was affiliated with a nationwide motorcycle gang that had international ties with gun runners and drug cartels. They were looking for weaponry to sell according to intel received through an aggressive network of deep cover spies and agents. The first step for the Autobots and N.E.S.T. was to go to Denver and use their detection capabilities to see if the rumors of alien intervention and equipment were even true.
Prime agree and the plan with the help of Prowl's analytical skills was to call in Bumblebee to be the point mech on the ground, coupling him when they arrived with Sargent Epps. Hound, Springer and Ironhide would be a part of the advance ground team with Optimus Prime being in overall charge in the circling plane overhead. This would be an excursion to verify. If there was to be an intervention, if the material checked out, there would be numerous specialized mechs and separate strike teams for part two.
Optimus walked from N.E.S.T. HQ, his mind buzzing with plans and all the assorted steps that had to be taken to ensure a smooth operation, especially one with another team involved, the humans. Prowl would stay at Autobot Ops Center directing intel, formulating strategy as well as monitoring and positioning Teletraan III and its assorted space-going components.
At no point in his deliberations did he consider that he had only just now found his footing with Prowl, that they would be separated for an indeterminate time and that one of them would be in danger when it happened. It was how it was in the world of Optimus Prime, his deep abiding responsibilities to his mechs, the Cause and the people of Cybertron who were massing on faraway shores, all of them dependent upon him to help alleviate their suffering and homelessness came first.
That was all he considered, his people, the mission and their allies as he entered the Autobot Complex that morning in November in Diego Garcia.