Note: Just a short note to let you know my hard drive died last night. I have replaced it and will slowly recompile my massive pile of massive stuff. :D What a drag. BACK UP YOUR SLAG! -end of public service message. (I did, but do it anyway. You just never know).
=0=And now, back to the slagging story. :D
The Diego Diaries: Chaos 28
=0=In the bosom of love
The usual subroutines whirled as the flashes and boots of a million tiny bits of the mechanism called Ratchet went through their usual machinations in order to bring online sentience to the slagger sprawled on the berth. It was a miracle of engineering that had become a living thing, something one couldn't really assemble, something that 'was'. His optics revved into life and he blinked.
The ceiling was familiar. The room was nicely dark. That meant the windows were dialed down. He was in his own berth, on the side with the sweet spot that was 'MINE, SLAG IT, IRONHIDE!'
That one.
He luxuriated a moment and then by habit checked in with a tiny spark of energy that circled his own. The idea of it was stupendous, that a bit of energetic light carried a sentience that would blossom over the eons into someone loved and loveable. He didn't think about it very much. It did occur to him when they first made their presence known but after that, no. It wasn't there. Then he remembered.
The miraculous concept of a soul shaped energy burst that existed without more than the usual daily intake of energon was a miracle as well. Everything that Ratchet was or ever would be was encased in the blazing inferno in his chest. All that his daughter was resided there. Then she left, ignited another astounding construction and would reside there, her identifying designation still a secret.
He looked at the wall where the bassinet resided. He sat up slowly and peered over the edge. It was empty. Laying back, he dialed into the energy of the one who shared his spark.
That in and of itself was one of the biggest miracles of all. They had separate identities yet shared one together. They had merged their sparks, their souls and became together something completely new out of what had been the old. The warmth reached him and he smiled. :Ironhide:
:What?:
:Where are you?:
:Coming back home:
:Did you take the sparklings to school?:
:I did:
:I suppose the baby is with you?:
:She is and she's a slagging fine traveler:
(Grin) :I see. Get here:
:You alright?:
:Yep:
:Okay:
Ratchet sat up and rose walking to the wash racks to stand under the water. It ran over him, the frame that had carried him through hell and back again. It had seldom failed him, this protoform. It was strong and resilient just like him. It was also desirable.
The humans once asked him what constituted beauty among their kind. They were halting but interested and Ratchet had considered that. He looked at them and because he was a doctor and had an analytical program that sorted aliens for him, he knew that all three men were very handsome by the standards for their species. He considered that as he thought how to tell them what constituted beauty and desirability among their own species.
He wondered if he told them that he was considered very good looking, even desirable, what they would believe. He knew it was a matter of world view what they considered lovely and ugly. He was aware that he was considered a rather funky bot among some humans, that his smile was 'sweet' and his manner 'fun'. He also had read comments about his 'ugliness' and his 'unbelievably weird looks'. He didn't take offense but he didn't dwell either. Such was the learning curve among other species. The slaggers.
He was Ratchet, a good looking desirable mech among his own kind. He had always had mechs on the line and was always considered fun and smart. Ironhide had been deeply smitten the moment they met and he himself had considered that big black bot the handsomest mech that ever was produced by Cybertron.
He had that blind spot you see. He shared it with Alor.
However, he knew what was what among their kind and explained it to them. They stared at him a moment and nodded. He knew they couldn't make that leap and see him and bots like Blue, Mirage, Drift and Bumblebee for the handsome, good looking mechs they were among their own kind. They could see the affable good looking handsomeness of Springer and the good-natured understated but compelling masculine beauty of Jetta. They could see the beauty of the femmes. But Ratchet? Not so much.
It was too much to expect and Ratchet didn't. He just knew one mech was all he would ever need. That and the little mechs and femme that bore his likeness. He was good to go.
The door opened and Ironhide walked in proudly carrying his latest little bit to cart around on his arm. Ratchet peered out of the berthroom door and smiled. "Hi."
"Hi, Ratchet. We took the little mechs to school. Got lots of compliments about her coming and going." Ironhide grinned and put her gently into the bouncy chair that was once Praxus's. He tucked her in and grinned. "What a cute little femme."
"She is," Ratchet said pausing beside Ironhide. "She takes after you."
Ironhide snorted. "You're demented."
"I am," Ratchet said walking to the sink. He got a cube, filled it with energon from the wall dispenser and added his supplements. Turning, grinning, he looked at the infant bouncing gently on the table. "Did you feed her?"
"I did," Ironhide said standing as he looked down at her. "I was thinking ..."
"You want to take her to work," Ratchet said.
He looked up with the most neutral expression he could manage, which he couldn't. Not to Ratchet or his ada. Or to Prime, the trine, Starscream and once even Megatron. "I thought it would give you a chance to rest."
Ratchet smirked. "Thinking of me every minute."
Ironhide looked sharply at him. "You don't think I do?" he asked in a sultry voice. Sultry for a 25 foot tall front-liner Master of an entire military, that is.
Ratchet grinned. "Sort of crossed my processor. You can't let anyone see her. Your slagging rules, remember?"
"I know," Ironhide said turning. He walked to her berthroom and returned with the little sleeved bag in his big servos. "Uh, how does this work?"
Ratchet took and studied it a moment. Opening the seam in front, he lay it on the table. Taking the infant into servos, Ratchet lay her down on it sticking her little arms into the sleeves. They paused as she frowned in her sleep. "Cute little bossy slagger," Ratchet said softly.
Ironhide nodded. "She's going to rule me, Ratchet. I thought the mechs were bad enough."
"I will pat your servo, Ironhide. Never fear," Ratchet said with a chuckle. He closed the seam and she lay like a tiny doll in a play sleeping bag. A tiny Autobrand was on the front of it. "She looks adorable."
Ironhide nodded and picked her up. He looked at her and then Ratchet. Leaning in, he kissed Ratchet. "We're going to work."
"You can hang her up. The Seekers do I am told."
"I will. There's a nice hook by the door. She can settle in and recharge all she wants."
"That's a capital idea, Ironhide," Ratchet said.
Ironhide looked at the big loopy mech of his dreams and grinned. "You can stay home and recharge. Or whatever."
"What? No lunch date?" Ratchet asked as they walked to the door.
"I'll call ya. Come to Cafe Praxus."
Ratchet nodded and kissed both Ironhide and the femme. Watching as they stepped out, the infant safely nestled in her bag in the crook of his arm, Ratchet closed the door and turned looking around the apartment. "What the frag do I do now?" he asked to no one in particular.
-0-On the way to his mech cave
Ironhide walked along the street bursting with pride. His femme-let was lying in the crook of his arm, a blanket placed over her to protect the secret of her great beauty. He felt an intensity that came with Sunspot, Praxus and Orion for anyone passing by to ask about her. He wanted to show her off too but !FRAGGING! Praxian customs kept that from happening.
Mechs and a femme or two congratulated them as he wandered leisurely to the Fortress and when he entered he was jolted out of his good vibe.
"HEY! HIDE!"
He turned and walked to the set of tables where front-liners and Wreckers sat 'shootin' the shit' every day as the humans said. Someone pulled a chair and he sat. They stared at him with a smile.
"What's the story and when can we see?" Sandstorm asked.
"She's slagging awesome and you can't see until orn after tomorrow. We're announcing at the same place. Sunspot is going to do the honors."
"That is one fine little mech," Kup said nodding. "He will do a slagging fine job."
"He's been working on the speech for a decaorn," Ironhide said proudly. "He's one smart little writer."
"I remember from Christmas Surprise. Nearly killed us listening to him," Springer said nodding.
"I know," Ironhide said nodding. "He also gets to name her."
"What's he reading in school?" Springer asked with a smirk. "Might give you a heads up on it."
Ironhide thought a moment. "Something called 'Ivanhoe'."
"Sounds human," Drift said shifting to put his peds up.
"It is. They're studying something called 'good literature' in class. The students have to read and understand a number of human books along with our own. He read a passage from a story by Shakespeare that I really love. It really makes me think about a lot of things." He told them the speech from Henry V and they sat quietly listening.
"That is one fine speech," Kup said. "Sort of flowery. But spot on."
The others nodded. "That Shakespeare … he must have been some kind of warrior," Topspin said.
"Must have been. Sure knew how to talk," Ironhide said. He would sit and gas with the boys for a while. Then he would run the gauntlet that was named Holi.
-0-Swanning in the bosom of love
It took only a few moments to police the quarters. He sat down in his chair and turned on the teevee. A soap opera from Earth was playing on Channel 1. Channels 2-9 had a talk show, three sports events, an educational channel, Sesame Street on the Sparkling/Youngling channel and someone talking about how to make energon food on two others. He considered all of those, then switched to the human channels that played on IntraComm as well. Considering there were over 500 of them, he settled in.
The door opened a crack and a sweet mech looked inside. "Ratchet?"
"Ada! Come on in. They're showing 'Cops'."
Ravel smiled and entered followed by Tie Down. Pulling up chairs, they joined their son for the morning. It would be wonderful.
-0-At the Armory
He peeked around the corner noting the relative positions of everyone in the room. Mentally doing the math, he knew he could make it to his office before anyone spotted him. So with a stealth that would astound anyone who didn't know he was bonded to Ratchet for the lifespan of small suns, Ironhide the Nimble hustled his peds to his office. Entering, he paused by his desk and smiled. "Heh-heh-heh," he said quietly peering under the blanket at his daughter. "We made it."
The sound of a door slamming behind startled him. He turned and paused impaled on the smirk of one of the most formidable little femmes around, the redoubtable 'work wife' of his endless orns, his office boss and all-around miracle worker, Holi. "Nice try, big boy," she said with a grin.
Ironhide smiled in spite of himself.
=0=TBC
2012 (10)
This is the speech from Henry V by Shakespeare which is a glorious thing:
This day is called the Feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live t' old age
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours
And say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars
And say, "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words —
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester —
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son,
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered,
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition.
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's Day.