A/N: I had intended to post this during Art History this morning; however it seems the campus internet was on strike today. No one could get online. There was much panic; it was rather hilarious. So, slightly belated, here's Chapter Five. Enjoy.
The base went quiet the moment Optimus stepped through the ground bridge. Bumblebee dashed in behind him. All eyes fell to Ratchet. The silence was disturbed by only the medic mumbling as he reached a quaking hand out towards Bulkhead. The former wrecker brushed his fingertips, his smile filled with barely concealed worry. The medic's hand slid away from his to fall limply at his side.
"Remain online, Ratchet," Optimus whispered as he placed the injured mech on a medical berth. Arcee was instantly at his side, helping to hook up the monitoring equipment and spark support.
"Optimus," Ratchet wheezed. The Prime leaned in closer, "Your hand." He glanced down at his servo, finding his knuckles leaking energon and a shard of glass still lodged in the joint.
"It can wait," He assured. Ratchet made to protest but Prime cut him off. "You are in more danger than I at the moment." Ratchet conceded, turning his gaze back to the ceiling. He was lucid enough to see the truth in the statement. A rainbow of light bathed his form, startling the mech, as Arcee scanned him. His frame quaked in his distressed. The growing rattle of metal upon metal pulled Optimus' gaze away from the scan readouts. The prime frowned. Ratchet's upper half was violently shaking with the stress of the situation, but his legs remained stationary. "Arcee." Prime muttered, pointing to the issue when she responded. Her expression joined Optimus'.
"Ratchet," The femme knelt by his side, taking his hand in her own when he reached for her. "I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but do you think you can focus for me?" Ratchet gave a shaky nod. His gaze locked onto Arcee's, fighting desperately against the temptation of recharge. "Squeeze my hand." The medic followed the command as best he could. His grip was weak but there. "Good. Now wiggle your pedes."
"Hurts," Ratchet gasped, his features scrunching up in pain.
"I know, but please try." She held his hand tighter; doing what she could to comfort the panicking mech. He clamped his optics against the pain and did as he was asked. Both Optimus and Arcee stared at his unmoving pedes for a moment. Suddenly, Ratchet began to shake again. Arcee rubbed at his shoulder. "Shhh," She soothed, "it's okay. You're okay." It did little to help.
"I can't feel my legs," He was mumbling, "I can't feel my legs." Optimus placed a hand on Arcee's shoulder as she struggled to keep her vocals from clicking. Suddenly, Ratchet pulled his hand from Arcee's, reaching for Optimus. "Let me see the scans," He snapped, his medic's tone returning. Optimus nodded, quickly downloading the information to a datapad and handing it to the white mech. He quickly skimmed the results. His expression remained stoic despite the underlying grimace.
"Ratchet?" Optimus breathed, moving to help him when his hands began to lose their grip on the datapad.
"Set up an intravenous drip," He pointed to the far side of the room, "The medical grade energon is in the far left cabinet. Add Boron and Iron to it. Three grams each." Arcee hesitated before grabbing the supplies. Both bots were amazed at Ratchet's ability to retake command of his medbay, even when he was the patient.
"Ratchet?" Optimus waited until he had the bot's attention. It was obvious that he was having a hard time remaining focused. "Are you alright?" It was a foolish question, really, but the Prime could not resist asking.
"No." His reply was immediate and curt, almost to the point of being harsh. "But if my self-repair systems don't come back online soon, I'm going to lose my legs."
"You-" Ratchet held up a hand to stop his companion from completing that thought.
"I'm paralyzed, Optimus." Ratchet pulled his helm from the berth with a grunt, "My backstrut has snapped and the circuitry there has been frayed. Possibly beyond repair." Arcee fumbled with the drip she was setting up, shocked at the revelation. "Careful with that, Arcee," Ratchet chided, "Make sure you don't – Gah! Primus femme! That's what I was trying to tell you about!" The two wheeler jumped back at his shout of pain. The line was set, however, so there was little sense in redoing it now.
"S-sorry, Ratchet," She mumbled. "Anything else?" The medic's optics were becoming harder to keep online by the astrosecond. His body, adrenaline flushed from his systems, was falling into stasis.
"Thermal blanket," He mumbled, "Freezing." Arcee turned to search the cabinets for a tarp. A drop in plating temperature was a sure sign of shock. There wasn't much to be done, however, except keep him as calm and comfortable as possible, and to check that his condition didn't worsen. Only once the blanket was in place and Ratchet was nearly in recharge did Arcee leave the medbay.
"Optimus," Arcee stopped, listening to the weak voice of her friend, "Stay. Please." The two wheeler quickly closed the medbay doors, unable to keep her voice box from clicking any longer. Coolant ran down her face plates and her vents hitched. Strong arms wrapped about her middle, pulling her against the owner's chest platting. Bulkhead ran a hand over her wingstruts. Her sobbing slowed to a steady gasping.
"How is he?" Bulkhead tightened his grip when her tears returned. He waited for her to calm again. Eventually, she had enough control to speak.
"He's stable," She mumbled, refusing to allow Bulkhead to let her go, "In shock, but stable. Optimus is staying with him." Bulkhead nodded, he'd expected as much. The rest, however, he was shocked to learn. "Bulk, he's paralyzed. His backstrut's snapped. And he's the only one with the medical knowledge to perform that kind of surgery. He won't walk again." The ex-wrecker pushed her to arms length to meet her gaze. Her checks were tear stained and coolant dripped from the edge of her helm. With a large thumb, he whipped gently at her optics.
"We'll get through this, Cee. It'll be okay, I promise." She nodded, cycling a deep breath.
"We are so few," She mumbled. There was no denying that. In the past two solar cycles they'd lost one of their best warriors and were about to lose their medic, engineer and scientist, all in one fell swoop.
"We'll get through this," he mumbled again, though with much less confident to his tone. "Come on. The kids just got here, they're pretty freaked out." Arcee nodded, standing up strait, composing herself. Jack would serve as a good distraction from the worry and stress. The two made their way back to the main bay with one last glance back at the infirmary. Despair almost seemed to seep out from under the door. The children glanced up at the sound of the bots' approaching footsteps. Bulkhead smiled warmly when Miko dashed over and attached herself to his pede. He lifted her up to sit on her shoulder. She immediately settled in, relaxing. Jack compromised for leaning against Arcee's leg when she sat down next to Bumblebee. The femme patted his leg when he clicked at her questioningly.
"You did good, Bee." His door wings twitched, rising somewhat. Silence fell over the room. No one wanted to be the first to break the tense atmosphere. The medbay doors slid open, catching everyone's attention. Optimus paused before joining the other's on the floor.
"He's recharging," He explained, "And we need to talk." The children stood to leave, assuming that the commander wished to speak solely to his troops. "All of us." Optimus nodded his approval when they found their seats again.
"Everything okay with the Doc, Big Guy?" For once, Optimus was thankful for Miko's outspoken nature. He was dreading this conversation but the girl did well to help lighten the air.
"That is what I wished to speak with you about." He folded his hands carefully in his lap, assuming the most confident air he could, "There are going to have to be a few changes around base. There is a high possibility that, while we are doing everything we can, Ratchet will be permanently paralyzed." Miko tightened her grasp on Bulk's shoulder, her mouth pulling into a thin line. "I also believe that during his stay in the Decepticon base he was tortured. To what extent I do not know, and will not until he is willing to talk about this. Until then, do not force the subject on him. Support him and help him when needed but try not to treat him any different than you normally would." All present hummed in understanding.
Bulkhead leaned forward, forcing Miko to sit as he lurched. "I had a friend, early in the war, that was captured and tortured. Hardly recognized him when we got him out. It took years for him to get over the nightmares and relapses." He shivered. "Some of the things he would scream at night had me terrified."
"Pyro?" Arcee tilted her head.
"Yeah. You knew him?" The femme nodded.
"I meet him once on a field mission. Good guy, just a little demented." The others silently watched the conversation. It had pulled the mood down considerably, if that was even possible. It was hard to imagine surly, kind hearted Ratchet depressed in any notion of the word. He had been falling into that path over the past few months. It was incredibly hard to witness when he did show it outside of a private environment.
"Bulkhead," Optimus chided "Let us not dwell upon the worst. Knock Out showed some compassion during our escape, so his conditions may not have always been as they were when we found him.
"How did you find him?" Rafael was almost afraid to ask.
"In the brig," Optimus shook his head, as if shaking the unpleasant image free, "Bound. His chest armor will need to be refabricated and completely replaced. But beyond exhaustion and paranoia, he did not seem too bad off.
"Until Soundwave shot him," Arcee mumbled under her breath.
"Yes. That was a rather unfortunate turn of events."
"Wait," Arcee started, "Knock Out?" The femme rubbed at her arm, flicking free some dirt from a transformation seam. Jack swatted at her, grumbling as dust fell into his hair. She ruffled his hair teasingly. "Didn't think that anyone as vain as him would help anyone but themselves." Optimus hummed.
"It was not without demands."
"Figures," Arcee muttered. Prime gave her a warning look. "What? It's true." Optimus ignored her.
"Knock Out asked for asylum in the near future. We will provide him with s-"
"Whoa, whoa!" Bulkhead cut in, "wherever Knock Out goes, Breakdown follows." Optimus nodded. "You can't be serious! We can't trust Breakdown." He stood, stomping a foot down and working himself into a frenzy. Miko shrieked as her perch pitched forward.
"Bulkhead," The mech's tone remained steady, despite the authority within it. "Everyone deserves a second chance."
"I gave him a second chance!" He was now shouting, "I gave him multiple chances. He's nothing but a traitor, and I will not be under the same roof as that slagger!" Arcee waved him down, cutting off his rant with a harsh finger to her lips. Bulk made to retort when a soft moan reached his audios. All eyes turned towards the medbay. Optimus stood with a disappointed glare.
"We will discuss this latter, Bulkhead." The wrecker stepped in front of him as he made to leave. He quickly placed Miko on the floor before speaking.
"Let me," he was almost pleading, "I need to cool off anyway." Prime glanced over him, examining the option, before nodding. With a word of thanks, and apology, Bulkhead entered the medbay.
Ratchet lay awkwardly on the nearest medical berth, his helm propped up and his legs covered by a thermal tarp, which was slowly dragging itself over the edge. Spark support cables hung from his form, and his chest was stripped to the protoform. The transformation seams at the edge of his spark chamber glowed with a faintly pulsing light. It was much too weak for Bulkhead's taste.
As silently, and carefully as he could, the green mech pulled the thermal up over the medic's shoulders. Ratchet's optics followed his movements sluggishly.
"What was the shouting?" He mumbled, mind still half immersed in recharge.
"Sorry," Bulk muttered, pulling over a stool to sit next to the older mech. "I didn't mean to wake you. Just go back to recharge. I'll stay if you want." Ratchet shook his head slowly, stopping when his tanks began to churn, despite being empty.
"Can't. Nightmares," He mumbled, shrugging as if it were nothing. Bulkhead grabbed his hand, as it had begun to twitch. Ratchet returned his grip as best he could.
"Wanna' talk about it?" Bulk was never very appt at discussing feelings, or any other psychological slag, but he was willing to try. Ratchet, however, wasn't as keen.
"Not particularly," He shifted on the berth, grunting when his back strut sent a flare of pain running through his body. "Just stay for now." The wrecker nodded. He had no intention of leaving just yet. He leaned an elbow against the berth edge, settling in. It was painful seeing Ratchet like this: so vulnerable, so helpless where he was normally in charge of every situation. Even Optimus occasionally questioned who was truly in command. Seeing him as the patient, instead of the CMO, was disconcerting.
Ratchet seemed to sense his distress. "I'm okay, Bulk," he soothed, squeezing the other's hand. Bulk hummed absently, seeing through the lie. "Bulk?" The wrecker tilted his head silently. "I'm sorry."
"What?" He blurted, "What for? You have nothing to apologize for."
Ratchet shook his head, insisting on the need to apologize. "I'm sorry you went through all the trouble of making me a cane and I won't even be able to use it." He glanced away, avoiding any optic contact, ashamed.
Bulkhead shook his head furiously, pressing Ratchet's hand to his chest. "No, Ratchet, please don't beat up on yourself. It was no trouble at all. I enjoyed making it. Besides, it's only a piece of fancy metal. You're more important."
"I'm a piece of fancy metal," The medic mumbled.
Bulkhead gaffed, "A very fancy piece." Ratchet grinned at him, pleased with himself for making a joke out of the situation. "But in all seriousness, Ratch, the cane doesn't matter. I'm just happy you're still kicking." Ratchet glanced at his pedes, which were peeking out from under the blanket. His face fell. Bulkhead's optics widened when he realized his mistake. "B-bad choice of words. Sorry."
Ratchet shrugged. "It's fine. It's just going to take some time for this to sink in." The larger mech nodded. It had yet to fully sink in for him yet, he had no such expectations for Ratchet.
"You need anything?" He asked, desperate for a change in subject.
"Some sensor dampener would be nice." Bulk nodded, giving Ratchet's hand one last squeeze before standing to search the cabinets for the medicine. As per usual, the medic's space was perfectly organized. He pushed aside a few cubes of medical energon to reach the bottles of pain killers in the back. A flash of emerald caught his optic. With a raised brow, Bulk pushed to the back of the cabinet.
He turned, holding out his discovery for Ratchet. "Synth-En?" Worry and disappointment laced his voice.
"For research," his reply was almost too quick, "and for medical purposes, just in case." His gazed turned to the far wall.
"Just in case?" Bulkhead neared the berth, not wanting to upset the injured mech, but too upset himself to not address the problem. "Ratch, it took you over a month to come down from this stuff. And you only took it once."
"Twice." Bulkhead reeled, startled. Ratchet continued before he could interject. "Once initially, and again a day later." The wrecker sighed in relief, having assumed he'd taken it again after the incident.
"My point still stands," Bulkhead sat at the medic's side, placing the vile of addictive energon on the edge of the berth. "This stuff is dangerous. You remember what it did to you."
"I know, Bulkhead!" Ratchet snapped. A surge of pain, however, caused him to force himself to calm. "In all likelihood I will never have to use it in a medical context, but the research is still invaluable. I could still create a working synthetic energon, or counteract its effects if the Decepticons ever manage to crack the formula. I never had any ill intent in keeping that slag around."
Bulkhead vented a sigh. "Okay, Ratch, I trust you."
Ratchet groaned, flexing his hands experimentally as Bulk injected the pain killers into his main energon line. The burning had ebbed to a dull ache. "Primus," he mumbled, "What I wouldn't give for a cube of highgrade." Bulk raised a brow.
"You drink?" Surprise laced his tone.
"You didn't know?" Ratchet's optics shuttered repeatedly, fighting to stay awake. "I've been sober for four vorn now, but I figured you'd have heard the rumors the other liked to spread about me when I'm overcharged."
"Wait, sober?" Bulkhead placed his chin on his fist, leaning in, "You were an alcoholic?" Ratchet sighed, nodding.
"War or not," Ratchet began, laying his arms over his chest, "Watching innocent bots die on your operating table, watching your creators die, and being helpless to save them, wears at you. At first it was just to ease the stress but once the war began, one cube became five and before I knew it I was waking up the next morning not remembering the night before." He glanced up at the ceiling before locking his gaze with the other's. "It's not something I'm proud of, Bulk."
The wrecker held up his hands up, dually in a defensive gesture and one meant to sooth. "I'm not accusing you, Ratch. Why do you think I joined the Wreckers? It was easier to constantly risk my life than stop and face everything. I just never took you for a drinker. You know, with how pissed you get at us when we don't take care of ourselves."
Ratchet gave a weak chuckle that quickly turned into a wheezing cough. "Do what I say, not what I do." Bulkhead grinned, nodding.
"I'll keep that in mind," He watched as the medic struggled to keep awake. "But for now, maybe you should take your own advice. Get some recharge, Ratch. I'll be here when you wake up." He smiled warmly with the white mech nodded, falling into almost instant recharge. For several clicks he simply watched him, listening to the steady hum of his systems. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed and his mind stilled from the panic and anger that had filled his every thought. The green mech placed a broad hand over Ratchet's simply glad to have the medic back. During his days as a wrecker, and even before for that matter, he'd never believed he would need anyone as much as he needed every member of his team, his family. Losing Cliffjumper had been hard, but the idea of losing their grumpy old medic was gut wrenching.
Settling in, Bulkhead snagged a nearby datapad. It covered, in detail, the effects of seizures on CCG patients and proper treatment. The preface revealed that it was one of Ratchet's own works. The text was dense and Bulkhead wasn't the brightest spark in the transistor, but he was willing to learn.
Hours later, Ratchet would wake to find the green mech recharging in his chair, datapad forgotten in his lap and hand still covering Ratchet's.
A/N: Thank you for every one of the reviews I've gotten. They honestly make my day better.
I promise that there is some happy coming. Just not yet…
Thank you for reading. Reviews will be converted into a clean fuel source to be used for writing more.