~blah~ is comm-speak ; blah is Cybertronian

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places, etc. belong to HasTak and other copyright holders. I make no profit from this.

Chapter 10: Awakenings

Optimus entered the repair bay, noting that it was empty of everyone except First Aid and the two patients. The medic must have dismissed his helpers for this, he mused, quite possibly because of his own uncertainty. The poor mech was clearly thrown with his new knowledge that Wheeljack was Ratchet's lover, having never dealt with paired mechs as critically injured patients before, and that was why Optimus was here now; he had volunteered to talk to Wheeljack about what had happened so that First Aid would have some authority behind his orders

It was an odd situation, and one that he had never experienced with Ratchet - that mech had always acted with all the authority of Primus himself, regardless of the situation - and Optimus found himself missing that surety acutely. Which only served to strengthen his resolve to assist in any way he could. Wheeljack had to be made to understand that his personal feelings had to be set aside for awhile; the important thing was saving Ratchet.

"Ready?" First Aid checked, looking nervous.

"Ready. Bring him back online."

First Aid entered some commands into the keypad, sending impulses through to Wheeljack's CPU. The offline mech shifted slightly, optics lighting up, then abruptly lurched upwards.

"Ratchet! Prime? Where is he?"

"Easy, Wheeljack." Optimus urged pushing him gently back down. "Take a minute to orient yourself."

"Is he alright? Where is he? Why isn't he here? Oh Primus, is he...?"

"He's in stasis." First Aid told him. "But he's stable and now you're online again we can start sorting him out."

"Do you remember what happened?" Prime asked.

Wheeljack's optics were still searching the ceiling as though he expected Ratchet to appear, but after a few clicks he focused.

"What?"

"Do you remember where you were?"

The inventor stared at him.

"Where I... I... We were in my lab. But Ratchet...?"

"Tell the events in order. What were you doing in your lab?"

"I was... working on a new formula for the mortar cannons."

"With Ratchet?" Optimus asked, surprised.

The medic understood the necessity of building weapons, and had even insisted on personally fitting them to every Autobot he could get his hands on early in the war, but he had strong views on ranged weapons or anything that could cause collateral damage. They had had many heated exchanges over the vorns about the actual necessity of using mortars and mines and missiles, and the medic remained stubbornly unconvinced.

"No. He was in recharge. Doesn't like to use his quarters for recharge during the day because he thinks he'll be disturbed so he comes to the lab sometimes and... oh, Primus, the shelf! It collapsed!"

"That was before the explosion?" First Aid asked, sounding excited. "So he was in recharge when it happened?"

"That's important?" Optimus checked, noting the relief on his acting-CMO's faceplate.

"Yes! If he was in recharge, his CPU would be in standby anyway. The fewer functions running at the time, the more likely he won't suffer any major memory or function loss. This is the best news possible!"

Optimus looked down at Wheeljack, who did not seem to have heard First Aid's pronouncement.

"I was trying to get to him, but I couldn't." the inventor muttered. "I dropped the beaker and everything exploded, but I was okay. I just had to get to him. Did I get to him? I don't remember..."

"Both of you are safe now." Optimus told him firmly. "And we are hoping you will both be back on your feet shortly. In the meantime, First Aid is my acting Chief Medical Officer, and I expect..."

"First Aid! But..."

"I expect you to follow all of his orders appropriately. If you don't, I'll have you barred from this bay - do you understand?"

Wheeljack looked rebellious, but eventually nodded.

"Yes."

"Good. First Aid, you can begin on your examination now."

He moved to lean against a nearby wall, folding his arms. The medic hesitated.

"You're going to stay, sir?"

Optimus nodded. His presence would keep others out, and Wheeljack in line. Besides, he had no interest in any other work at the moment, and Prowl could handle anything that needed doing; perhaps it would keep him from bickering with Jazz if he were busier.

"Carry on."

There were times, Trailbreaker considered as he accepted another cube of the twins' illicit high-grade, when being considered semi-officer rank came in handy. Like when everyone wanted to know whether or not Wheeljack had pulled through okay. First Aid had dismissed his helpers and Prowl had cleared the halls around the repair bay of everyone except the officers. With Jazz, Prowl and Red Alert on watch not even Mirage had gotten close enough to learn anything. But when the Chinese diplomat called and wanted to speak to Prowl they had been left short-handed, and Trailbreaker had been asked to take his place. Thus he had been in the right place at the right time to catch Prime's officers briefing, and thus he was able to be here now selling his precious data to Smokescreen.

Wheeljack was safely online and would be completely functional after some follow-up surgery. That was the good news. The bad news - for Wheeljack, in any case - was that First Aid did not want to spend time on what was essentially cosmetic work now that the inventor was stable. Instead, he wanted to focus on bringing Ratchet out of stasis as soon as possible to determine how much damage there really was. Wheeljack had apparently agreed fully with this plan, and the attempt would be made later in the evening, during fourth shift.

"Okay." Smokescreen considered. "So they're confident enough that they're going to invite the assistants - Sides'll be overjoyed, I'm sure - but what if it goes wrong?"

"Far as I can make out, Prime's going to have Ironhide guarding the door to stop anyone spreading bad news before we've got the facts. I got the impression it was Prime's idea to have them there, not First Aid's. Jazz sure gave him a funny look when he suggested it and asked if he was including Perceptor in the group, but I missed the rest because Red Alert sent me away."

Smokescreen shrugged.

"Never mind, we're just lucky you heard what you did. Alright, I figure we've got about a groon before the official announcement - time to start collecting on some bets. I'll bring you your cut later."

"I'm on duty with Prowl."

"Hey don't worry, I'm always discreet. Thanks for the intell, Breaker."

"My pleasure."

Unscheduled video-conference with the Chinese ambassador over, Prowl arrived back to his office to find Pinpoint hard at work. The mech had been transferred to the Ark in the same batch of new recruits as the Protectobots and had been intended as an assistant to the quartermaster, but the crash had changed all that. He wasn't much of a soldier, and he didn't really fit in to any other teams, but he had administrative skills so Prowl had pulled him in to the tactical office to help with some of the more tedious tasks. He was inexperienced and naive, but eager to learn and willing to get on with tasks, and so far it was working out.

In a year or two he would be ready to take over the rosters and other data work completely, freeing Prowl up to focus purely on the battle tactics which were supposed to be his sole responsibility. He was a little ambivalent about that, wondering how he was going to fill his days when he did no longer had to worry about the clogged energon filters in the rec room or the latest requisitioning botch up or the fourth change in the daily roster since sunrise. Which, specifically, was what his new assistant was currently working on.

"Have you received Jazz's modifications yet?" he asked without preamble, moving over to his own desk.

"Not yet, sir. Do you want me to delay posting the change until we hear from him?"

"No, he's scheduled for recharge now, so perhaps there has been a change in instructions. Send it out."

Quite why Optimus had asked Jazz to rearrange the rosters in the first place was baffling. Certainly the saboteur had done it in the past, but only when Prowl was unavailable. There was certainly something going on between those two at the moment - the tension was nigh on visible at times - and he would ignore it only so far before he gave them both a stern talking-to. Which reminded him of the lecture he had gotten from Optimus not too long ago for the same kind of thing, and that thought reminded him that he still needed to identify the cause of Jazz's interest in Perceptor for himself.

"Pinpoint."

"Yes, sir?"

"Start a data mining search, looking for reports of possible Decepticon activity in the region I'm specifying and during this timeframe."

The green mech began to answer affirmatively, then hesitated.

"Is there a problem?" he asked crisply.

"Uh, sir, isn't this the work that Jazz did already yesterday?"

"Yes. I would like you to do it again now. Thoroughly. Are the instructions unclear?"

"No sir, but Prime..."

"Good, then get on with it. And while Teletran is compiling that, begin making a list of the reasons why Soundwave, Starscream, Skywarp and Thundercracker would be absent from battle."

"But there could be hundreds of reasons!"

He did appreciate that Pinpoint was willing to ask questions - it was important to question. It was, however, also important to know when to stop.

"Thousands, I estimate. Begin. We will start comparing our lists at the beginning of your next shift."

Leaving his subordinate to get on with his task, he began running theories through his own tactical processor and jotting down the likeliest ones. He needed to start planning contingencies.

Ratchet?

He heard the voice calling him. Even recognised it, although he could not bring a name to the top of his processes. But when he tried to respond, his vocaliser only produced a stuttering squeal and a few juddering clicks. He tried to pull up a diagnostic to identify what was wrong, but it was like trying to touch one of Hound's holograms; there was nothing there. An odd sharp pain in his right foot made him flinch, then there was a loud clack by his left audio as though someone had just slapped something down beside him. There was a moment of silence when he wondered if he had just blown a receptor, then suddenly the noise was back.

Try again now.

Ratchet? Talk to me. How're you doing?

They were talking to him in Cybertronian, he noted, then wondered vaguely what other language he had been expecting. Unable to find a ready answer to that question, he tried to trill out a simple designation query. To his own audios it sounded horribly mangled, but the voices - and there were at least three, now - cheered. Someone hushed them all, and a new voice responded in tones and sonics then returned the query. He struggled to absorb the designation sent to him, the sonics making no sense at all, and latched onto the colloquial designation he had been given. Optimus Prime. The commanding officer, then, though he was having trouble connecting the name to someone he knew.

...access to that program yet. another voice was muttering in the background. Stick to vocalisations. We've almost got the connection cleared.

Understood. Ratchet? Can you vocalise your own colloquial designation?

There were strange things happening to his body, as though someone was tweaking wires at random, but he felt something click into place and finally whistled out his designation, albeit a little shakily.

Ra-atch-atchet.

More cheering and he now realised that most of the speech he was hearing was in a language he could not process. But he heard and understood Prime's words.

Welcome back, my friend. We've missed you.

Wh'r beeeeeeneen? he tried to ask.

It was frustrating that the words were not produced as he wanted.

Don't worry about that now. the first voice told him. What matters is you're back, and we're going to get you right again.

That was five separate voices now. And perhaps more given the noise in the background. He could feel his circuits start to hurt as he tried to process all of this. What was going on? Why could he not see anything? Why could he not speak? Why was everything so loud and confusing? Something rapped hard against his chestplate, then there was a brief unpleasant buzzing at the back of his neck, then sudden relief from the strange sensations. His body felt heavy and detached, like blockers had been set in place to paralyse him from the neck down. Perhaps they had. Clearly he was injured, it was the only explanation. He did not recall how, but no doubt that would come clear later, all that was important now was getting repaired. But... who was doing the repairs?

?who? he sent out urgently, repeating the simple query a little more accurately this time, but not able to enjoy the achievement.

There were several responses, including Prime's, but none of the names meant anything much to him. He needed to hear their full designations - he needed to know who the medics were.

?who? he repeated, becoming frantic. ?who?

The confusion in their replies told him they did not understand, and he tried to calm down. Someone had put that block in place. Someone knew enough to do that, so surely they could fix whatever was wrong with him? But... he had been alone for so long. And this was not just a normal injury, not a matter of patch welding. To need a block like this one, the damage must be severe past anyone's abilities but his own. Who was going to be able to help if he was incapacitated? Even as he thought that, he felt someone pushing a set of command lines through. They were putting him offline, probably because he was hysterical. He tried to fight it, but the protections that were normally there were absent, and everything went dark.

Sideswipe could not wait any longer. From the moment that he heard Ratchet wheeze out that broken query, he had known it was all going to be fine. Yes, there was a lot further to go, but he was still with them. He still recognised his name, he could talk even when First Aid had warned that he might be incoherent, and he was going to be back on his feet and yelling at them in no time at all.

Grateful that his position as a temporary medic had allowed him to be present for the awakening, he decided that it was time to leave before someone thought to give him something to do. They would not need him now anyway, and the rest would be boring - they had planned various tests to run which should take hours to complete. In the meantime, he could go and enjoy a few cups of high-grade in celebration.

Arriving, he tried to keep them guessing. He had been told that his appearance the other day had been impressive, but this time they were waiting for him and he paused for a moment to build the drama, then could not hold it in any more.

"He's awake!"

The cheer was deafening, and he accepted the mug someone handed to him, drinking half its contents in one gulp.

"He's properly online?"

"I thought it was going to be orns yet?"

"Wasn't that pretty quick?"

Sideswipe shrugged.

"You know Ratchet - nothing keeps him down. He's pretty groggy, First Aid was right about that. And they've got almost all of his systems offline: his main mem-banks, all his specialty processes, even his optics! But he can hear us alright, and he can talk a bit. Not very well, yet, but he will. It's more than Aid said he'd do yet."

"Here's to Ratchet!"

"I'll drink to that!"