A/N: Around a year ago I was sick for a very long time. This was caused both by stress and a chemical change due to having an appendectomy. As such, illness story! Also, I tend to project the way that I handle stress onto others. Hopefully it's not too ooc.
It was quiet; that much he knew. The rest was fuzzy. Voices flittered on the edge of his hearing. Slowly his sensory net came back online. He couldn't help the groan that escaped his vocals as his back and shoulder flared with pain. The voices stopped. The silence that remained was unnerving. Eventually the medic pried his optics open. The light situated above him was blinding but it was not that which caused the medic's spark to freeze. To his left a flash of red caught his attention.
"Looks like our patient is awake, Breakdown," The voice was sickly sweet, "Why don't you fetch Megatron." It was amazing how a simple name could instill so much fear in one's spark. With a grunt, Ratchet turned his helm to the side, his teal optics meeting blood red ones. Knock Out smiled, an almost endearing expression crossing his features.
"We saved your life, medic," He cooed, "Seems like Megatron has something special planned for you." Ratchet pulled his head off the berth and spat. Knock Out hissed, whipping energon from his optics, evidently peeved. "Fine," he huffed, "I was going to give you some pain killers but it seems as if you don't want my help."
"Why save me?" Ratchet croaked, pain and fatigue filling his voice with static, "I'm not telling you anything."
"Not yet, anyway," Knock Out returned to the computer consol as the medbay doors slid open. The hulking form of Megatron appeared in the door frame. "Lord Megatron," Ratchet was tempted to purge from the obvious groveling in his tone, "He's aware enough but won't survive any form of further harm, I'd take it easy if I were you." Megatron wasn't stupid, he nodded. His heavy footfalls sent pain pulsating through Ratchet's processor. The Decepticon leaned over the Autobot medic, his vents sending warm air over his frame. Ratchet shivered. His venomous glare, however, never wavered.
"Hello, Ratchet," Megatron's voice stung his audios, "You've looked better."
"I knew Decepticons were low, Megatron," Ratchet hissed, "But shooting a medic while their working?"
"Mmm, yes. I'll be having a chat with Starscream about that one." Knock Out hummed, his back still turned.
"The circumstances were not ideal," Megatron used a clawed hand to pry at his denta, obviously concerned little with the immortality of the situation, "But you are here, are you not?" Ratchet heaved himself into a sitting position, hissing at the pain in his backstruts.
"Enlighten me, Megatron," He grunted, holding his singed shoulder, "Why am I here?"
"I'm sure you recall the steroidal compound you left us with upon our previous meeting? Its chemical makeup is quiet interesting." The Decepticon leader smirked, the scars on his jaw exaggerating the frightening expression. The 'con medic appeared at his leader's side.
"Unfortunately, we've been having trouble replicating it."
"You don't want to," Ratchet cut him off. Megatron's claws snaked about the Autobot's neck. He clawed desperately at the hands crushing his intakes.
"Do not presume to know what we wish, Autobot." His grip slacked somewhat when Knock Out tapped at his arm warningly. He wanted Ratchet alive; that much was painfully clear.
"The formula causes drastic personality shifts," Ratchet rasped out, "disloyalty, a fierce temper, and an unimaginable ego. Synth-En is not something you want to give your troops."
"I will be the judge of that," Megatron dropped the now gasping Autobot, sending his crashing to the floor. "Get him in working order, Knock Out. I want that formula." Suddenly a high pitched screech caught both Decepticon's attention. Still upon the floor lay the Autobot medic, his body curled as tight as possible, twitching and writhing. His optics flickered on and off, glowing sickly pale. From his mouth rose an alternating tone so wracked with pain that even Knock Out felt a sting of pity.
"Knock Out," Megatron barked, "What is happening?" Already the grounder was at the medic's side, holding his head up to keep him from knocking it against the berth behind him.
"He's having a seizure. Help me hold him still," Megatron strode calmly over, gripping the medic's wrists to prevent him from clawing at his own chest plates. "I don't understand what caused this. He has substantial damage but no head injuries. He shouldn't be glitching." The 'con grunted as Ratchet's knee made contact with his stomach. "If this slagger scratches my finish-"
"How do we stop it," Megatron snapped cutting off Knock Out's vain rant before it could start.
"We don't. We have to wait until it subsides and make sure he doesn't hurt himself." Megatron pinned the Autobot's feet underneath him as he began to kick out. The sound of the violent struggle and glitching keen filled the medbay. Slowly the Autobot under them quieted, his movements growing weaker and slower. And just as suddenly as the seizure started, the bot lurched forward and gripped his helm.
"Frag it!" Knock Out swore, reeling back, "You've scratched my paint." Ratchet groaned, struggling to stay conscious.
"Don't care about your slagging paint job," The medic ground out, his denta clenched. Knock Out huffed. Finally releasing Ratchet's legs, Megatron stood, towering over the two quarreling medics.
"Knock Out," he barked, "Figure out the issue. I want a full report by the on-cycle." He nodded while attempting to heave Ratchet into a berth. The Autobot simply allowed himself to lay limp in the other's arms.
Once the door slid shut behind the Decepticon leader, Knock Out began to gather examination tools. "Don't bother," Ratchet mumbled, "I know what's wrong and there's nothing you can do." Knock Out stopped, his back still to the other.
"The chemical enhancements?" He asked, almost as if he knew the answer.
"That furthered it," Ratchet groaned, rolling his helm to the side, "but no, not quiet. Though, the compound does have an extremely addictive component to it." Knock Out turned, a sedative in one hand and a cube of energon in the other. He handed the cube to Ratchet, who pulled himself up and began to sip at it. When the first drop hit his glossa, he gagged, making a wry face.
"Highly diluted," Knock Out explained, "tastes horrible and beats on your systems but energon is energon. Now care to enlighten me to what is the issue here?"
"CCG." Knock Out's gaze fell. "I'm the leading expert in the field. Trust me; there is nothing you can do."
"Chronic Circuit Glitch," Knock Out scratched his chin, "I haven't heard of that one since the academy." Ratchet huffed, taking another sip of his diluted energon. "Ironic, isn't it? The famous Autobot medic can't save himself." The mech glanced away, his gaze falling to the energon stains on the floor. "They used to say you performed miracles, you know. I had a friend in med school - don't know what happened to him - that wanted nothing more than to study under you." Ratchet hummed. What had spurred this kindness the Decepticon seemed to be showing him?
"Who?" Knock Out snapped his fingers, staring at the ceiling, attempting to bring the name to mind. "First Aid?"
"That was him!" Knock Out started, surprised that the other had beat him to it. "You knew him?" Ratchet nodded.
"He was my apprentice," The white mech explained, "I'm honestly surprised that shy little First Aid could ever be a friend of yours."
"Humph," The Decepticon muttered before sighing, "I'm a very different mech than I used to be."
"You still are." Knock Out glanced up, confused. Ratchet set his half finished energon at the edge of the berth before continuing. "You're very different when one of your superiors isn't about. Calmer, kinder." Knock Out huffed, taking the energon and placing the needle containing a mild sedative into Ratchet's forearm. The Autobot was already drifting off before Knock Out removed the needle from his lines.
"That's what you think," he scoffed, turning to undoubtedly buff out the scratches he'd acquired from Ratchet.
"It's what I know," Ratchet slurred before his eyes finally drifted shut.
Optimus was moving before he ever consciously comprehended the shot resonating through the canyon. When his mind finally caught up, Ratchet was already gone. The seeker had snatched him up before anyone could think to react. An anguished cry ripped from Optimus' throat. He whirled about, his cannon firing savagely at any vehicon unlucky enough to catch his gaze. Seeing their comrades falling so quickly, the others turned to flee. Remembering his downed soldier, Optimus signaled for a ground bridge. The others rushed through the bridge, Bulkhead carrying Bumblebee and Arcee following behind.
The moment the base materialized, Optimus was shoving past the others, lunging for the control console. He stared for a long while at the blinking screen, waiting desperately for Ratchet's signal to appear. None did. A hand landed on his arm.
"Optimus," Arcee mumbled.
"He's gone," The prime bowed his head.
"We'll get him back," Arcee's attempts to confront her Prime were drowned out by her own clicking voice box. "We won't let them hurt him." Optimus nodded, pulling himself back up from his hunched position with a sigh. Though difficult to pull himself back together, it was unfair of him to thrust his worries upon Arcee's slim shoulders, despite her strength.
The rest of the day was a blur, spent watching a recovering Bumblebee recharge and the still blinking monitor scanning for Ratchet's signal. Somewhere around midnight, June took the children home but promised to return to keep monitoring Bumblebee. She'd learned enough of Cybertronian biology to act as a substitute medic when needed, and had assured Prime that his scout would be back to active duty within a few days. The scout drifted in and out of recharge, frequently asking about Ratchet, distraught that it was not the red and white mech tending to his injuries. Only once the base was quiet, every other bot in recharge and the humans safely home, did Optimus allow his shoulders to sag.
"Ratchet," he mumbled into silence, "where are you?" His head dropped into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Emptiness gripped his spark, as his processor conjured up images of the weak and ill mech strapped to a berth, his plating dented and broken as Megatron loomed over him. Optimus ripped his optics open, attempting to erase the images plaguing his mind. His tanks churned with panic, threatening to purge. His mask snapped open, as the Prime reached for a nearby bucket. He heaved, raw energon spilling into the bucket. More gruesome images flashed in front of his optics. Once the burning energon was drained from his systems, Optimus spit, trying to clear the foul taste from his mouth. Footsteps caught his attention.
"You need to talk about this," June's gaze was soft but her tone, that of a nurse. "You're making yourself sick by bottling it all up." Optimus shook his head, pushing the foul smelling energon away with his pede.
"I need to be strong for the others."
June placed a hand on his calf, "I don't see anyone else here right now. And you don't need to be anything for me." Prime sighed, considering her offer.
"He's so sick." His head returned to his hands, attempting to hide the coolant threatening to pool in his optics.
"He's a strong mech, he'll be alright," June thanked Primus that she was talented at hiding the worry in her voice.
"I just wish I could do more," His fist clenched, "I should have known it was a trap, the way they retreated the moment Bumblebee was down."
"No one saw it," The bot was determined to beat himself into the ground. He huffed at her comment.
"I am Prime. They rely on my ability to lead and I haven't been doing a very good job of it lately."
"You're just in an arguing mood tonight, aren't you?" Prime nodded into his hands. "Then stop, and listen to me. You are the best leader any of these bots could ask for, Ratchet especially. He cares for you greatly and would not want you beating yourself up over this. You're not helping anything by blaming yourself. So stop. Do whatever it is you need to get over this guilt. Whether it's to cry and scream or going for a drive. Understood?" Prime was silent. A grin stretched across his features. "What?" June snapped, hands on her hips.
"You remind me of a second in command I once had. I never met a bot better at lecturing. He could make a full grown mech feel like a sparkling." June chuckled.
"We'll, I'm glad you had someone to keep you in line." Optimus closed his optics, bowing his head again.
"Ratchet has always been the one to keep me grounded, even before the war." Coolant threatened to run down his faceplates again. His vents and his frame shuttered. June placed a calming hand on his pede. He was struggling to remain strong. Even when he didn't have to be Prime the internal battle remained. June decided it was time to try and distract the mech.
"How did you and Ratchet meet, anyway?" Optimus sighed, a smile working its way back onto his features.
"I was not always a Prime," He began, "That was an honor I came into later in life. Before the war I was a data clerk, a librarian, by the name of Orion Pax."
"Orion!" The shout rang soundly about the archive hall. The red and blue bot glanced up from the console he was working at. A higher ranked archivist loomed over him. Small but extremely sturdy, Shortstock was hardly an intimidating mech. He could, however, glare the living daylights out of a bot.
"Yes, sir?" Orion made to stand but was waved back down.
"You organized the medical section of the archives, correct?" Shortstock tilted his head to the side as he so often did when asking questions of those under him. Optimus shook his head.
"No, sir," he responded politely, "I'm in charge of the political and demographic archives. I haven't even accessed the medical texts in vorn." The other scratched at his chin.
"No matter," he waved a hand as if to brush off the conflict, "A professor from the medical university is supposed to come in later today. He requested assistance. You're assigned to help him. Also, make sure the less touched sections of the library are well organized." Orion nodded, hefting his large form from his chair and setting off in the direction of the medical archives. To his surprise, the area was not in the pristine state that the rest of the area was in. Towers of data pads leaned against the shelves and a few were strewn out across the floor. Orion sighed, crouching down to gather up an armful of data pads. He set them on a nearby table and went back for another load. Once he'd gathered up all the stray books, he began alphabetizing them. He was tempted to sit down with a few and simply read. The subjects were interesting, covering from the treatment of simple wire fray to terminal illnesses and mental disabilities.
"What do you think you're doing?" Orion's head snapped up, meeting piercing teal optics. The white and red mech's gaze bore into his own fiercely. Orion's processor stalled. "I can't leave for five kliks to get a cube of energon without some blunt plated archivist messing with my texts." He placed his free hand on his hip, expression aiming to belittle.
"Apologies," Orion mumbled, bowing his head, "I was not aware that anyone was still using this data."
"Well, now you are," He snapped, taking a sip of his energon. His vents heaved as he grabbed up a data pad, making a show of scanning the text. "Now that you're here, maybe you can help me find something actually useful. I've been reading slag like this since I could read." With a huff he set the pad down and picked up a second on.
"You've been looking in the basic medical section," Orion pointed across the rows of the shelves. "The advanced text is in the far section." The white mech huffed, tapping the screen to scroll through the data. Orion frowned, he was used to rude mechs but he honestly couldn't picture this one as a medic, given what he'd seen of his manner. Perhaps they'd gotten off on the wrong pede. The archivist apprentice held out a hand. "I am Orion Pax. You must be the medical professor I've been assigned to." The other stared at his hand for a moment, expressionless, until he placed his data pad upon the table and took up the gesture.
"Ratchet," He introduced. His grip was firm yet steady, and somehow reassuring. Orion smiled at his almost bored expression.
"If you need anything, Ratchet," The archivist offered, "I'll be at my desk."
A/N: From here on out, the amount and quality of reviews will be dictating the frequency with which I update. I've predicted the story to last roughly 15 chapters and have 6 already written. I'm working on the others, but I am a college student in a fairly intensive program. It' might get a bit slower from here on out.
Reviews are loved, and will be used to inspire me to write more.