A/N: Some strange things happen when you know you're dying…
A few curses thrown around here and there in this chapter. Both English and Cybertronian.
The morning was quiet as Optimus strode into the main room. A gentle hum resonated about the walls from the computers. The Prime sighed, relaxing into his morning routine. He glanced down when his pede hit an unexpected obstacle. A stack of large cardboard boxes lined the back of the couch. Optimus bent down to pick up the largest of the boxes, turning it this way and that.
"Careful with that." The big-rig turned to find Ratchet wheeling himself down the halls, the joints of his newly built wheelchair, courtesy of the US government, squeaking with every turn. Two smaller boxes, similar in make, sat in his lap. Optimus helped him to place the boxes on the floor with the others.
"You got up on your own?" Optimus sat on the couch, waiting for Ratchet to join him.
The medic scoffed, "That was an adventure." Prime smiled. He gestured to the stack of boxes across the room.
"What is this for?" Ratchet glanced at the Prime with a smile, one that sent shivers down his companion's back struts.
"Christmas." Prime shuttered his optics and rebooted his audio receptors.
"The human holiday?" He restated with a touch of disbelief. Ratchet nodded. "May I ask why?"
He was met with a shrug in response. "When on Earth." Optimus gave his companion a skeptical look. He'd never taken an interest in human culture and made it quite clear that he detested anything the planet had to offer. Though he wasn't about to question the sudden change of spark. It was good to see the medic at least making an effort to settle into their new home.
Ratchet pulled himself further up in his chair. "Energon?" Optimus asked as he stood to collect his own.
"Please." The two spent the remainder of the morning together, sipping slowly at their energon and conversing quietly. Once the sun had fully risen, a drowsy Bulkhead trudged into the main room, given the stack of boxes in the corner a confused glance, thrown back a cube of energon and mumbled that he was going to pick the kids up. Soon the base was once again filled with the processor numbing heavy bass of Miko's favorite band. Ratchet groaned, attempting to hide a smile behind his hand. The moment all three children had safely left Bulkhead's hold he transformed and strode over to join his commander and medic on the couch. Jack followed closely behind.
"Where's Arcee," He asked while climbing the rungs of Ratchet's wheelchair. The medic glared at him but made no attempt to stop the boy when he came to sit on the arm rest.
"Still recharging," Optimus offered, "she and Bumblebee had the late shift."
Miko bounded over, prepared to join Jack until a stern glare from the medic forced her to relocate to Bulkhead's shoulder. "We should get them up," She whined, "it's Christmas Eve. And June should be here soon, so we can really get this holiday started."
"June's coming?" Ratchet glanced at Jack questioningly. The boy nodded.
"Yeah, she took the day off." He raised a brow teasingly. "Why? You got a crush on my mom?"
"Hardly," Ratchet scoffed, his optics flashing in embarrassment, "I simply have several theories I wished to discuss with her."
"Hey, Optimus?" The Prime glanced out down at Team Prime's youngest human member. Rafael was prodding curiously at the pile of boxes. "What are these for?" The Prime glanced at his medic.
Ratchet was quick to answer. "You'll find out." As usual, he rolled his syllables, much to Miko's amusement. "But you must wait for the others." The Japanese girl whined and moaned, but civil minded Rafael simply found himself a place to sit on the human sized couch.
"You seem like you feel pretty good today, Ratchet," Jack commented off handedly. The medic nodded.
"I do actually." He agreed, "This has its ups and downs, but today seems to be a decent morning at least." Optimus hummed his agreement, having noticed the same pattern of behavior. Any response the children could have provided was drown out both by the sound of pede falls and the rumbling of an engine as June drove into the former missile silo. Bumblebee beeped out a greeting to the mother, moving to help unload her car while Arcee simply sat on the far side of the couch. When Bumblebee and June finally made their way over both were carrying an assortment of colorfully wrapped boxes.
"Jack and I decided to have Christmas today," June explained as she handed several boxes to her son to be passed out, "Since Miko and Rafael won't be here tomorrow."
"Bumblebee." The scout glanced up at Ratchet questioningly. "Would you mind passing those boxes out," He pointed to the pile across the room. "The recipients' designations are on the top of each."
"Are those presents?" Miko craned her neck around Bulkhead's jaw guard in an attempt to get a better look.
June glanced to Optimus, her expression a mixture of gratitude and awe. "You didn't have to do anything. This is a human holiday after all." Optimus shook his head.
"This was solely Ratchet's doing." He gestured both to the medic and the gifts in one broad sweeping motion. Ratchet waved them off. Once all the packages were properly distributed the children were practically bouncing where they sat. Bulkhead smiled as he now understood the meaning of the phrase "like a child at Christmas". Several times he had to place a finger to Miko's shoulder in a silent reminder to wait for her turn to open the boxes she'd been handed. Seeing this, Ratchet smiled.
"Miko," He began, "Would you like to start?" The Japanese girl's grin grew. She glanced quickly between the two gifts in her lap before smiling at June and ripping through her colorfully covered one. Wrappers went flying. Bulkhead picked a piece from his forearm. Miko held up the hard bound book, raising an eyebrow at it. June nodded when she looked up, motioning for her to open it. She did so tentatively.
"This is where my phone went." Her face lit up despite her chastising tone. With a grin she held out the book to the Autobots. An enlarged picture she'd taken of herself sitting on Bulkhead's shoulder sat beautifully arranged amongst scrapbook designs. Turning the page showed several other pictures she'd taken around the base, behind them, a large Autobot badge was indented into the paper.
"It was Jack's idea," June smiled at her son. "Amazingly." The teenage boy gave his mother a playful glare. June ignored him. "We have more of that paper for you, and any time you want to can print out photos at our house. I'll even teach you how to scrapbook." Miko was already flipping through the pages, unable to stop grinning. She whispered a string of 'thank you's as she handed the book to Bulkhead to pass around the room. Everyone had to admit that June's craftsmanship in creating the book was astounding.
"Miko," Optimus motioned for her attention, "June has been very thoughtful. But just as with your phone, you need to be careful to keep these photographs hidden from others." Miko gave him a thumbs up.
"You can keep it in my quarters if you want," Bulkhead offered and was met with several enthusiastic nods.
"Now Ratchet's?" Miko asked, thumbing the seams of the box.
The medic nodded. "Yours and Bulkhead's are the same." The wrecker glanced down at the box in his lap before turning to Miko, initiating a silent countdown with the girl. At the same moment they both dug into the duck tape covering the top of the presents. Bulkhead tore through his like tissue paper before turning to help a struggling Miko. Together they lifted what appeared to be large metallic disks from the boxes. Miko cocked her head at the inverted bowl shape, but Bulkhead seemed to recognize instantly what it was.
"A Tomsk? Didn't know you had any of these." Miko watched avidly as Bulkhead placed a hand over the disk, pulling his first finger away slowly while pressing his palm down. A tone seeped from the rim of the metal, echoing in the vastness of the main room. The Japanese girl jumped back.
"It's an instrument?!" She hurriedly mimicked the action, but got no response. Frowning, she glanced up at Ratchet, searching for an explanation. Ratchet simply pointed to the box.
"It's a tone synthesizer that responds to electromagnetic fields. The one Bulkhead has was given to me when I first entered the medical field. I've never really played it. Yours, Miko, I had to make from scratch. I will admit that it's not quite up to the standards I would like it to be at, but it will do. Your planet lacks the metals normally used." Miko reached into the box and pulled out a set of what looked like skeletal gloves. She slid them on so that the small metallic balls sat at the end of each finger tip. Miko was enthralled. Using both hands she produced tone after tone until the sound became a muddled field of disharmonies and screeching.
"Nice going, Ratch," Arcee mumbled, hands clamped over her audios. Ratchet reached across the couch and pulled Bulkhead's synthesizer from his lap, placing it in his own. The wrecker gave him an odd look before turning to silence Miko's own instrument. The medic gave him a grateful nod before placing his hands over the disk gently. He had the room's attention when he began a slight plucking motion with his right hand. Staccato rhythms and melodies emerged, rising in pitch until reaching their crescendo when his left hand joined the mix, gliding above the metallic surface. As his hands shook they did little to impede the melody. Instead they created a slight vibrato that cascaded about the room.
"Wow," Miko breathed once the music had stilled. Ratchet gave her a slight smirk before handing the instrument back to Bulkhead. The wrecker took it with a now greater air of delicacy.
"I didn't know you played," Arcee mumbled from her spot on the floor.
Ratchet shook his head. "I don't." He held up a hand before the others could protest. "We were required to take a music class at the medical academy. It helped to improve hand eye coordination or some other slag. Hated every moment of it but I never did forget that song. Something about the movement was soothing."
"For hating it," Miko pointed an accusing, still gloved finger, "You're pretty damn good with that tom…toms…toomo."
"Yes, yes," Ratchet mumbled, waving her off. "Let's move along. Shall we?" He nodded for Rafael and Bumblebee to open their gifts next. They did so with just as great enthusiasm. Rafael's jaw dropped.
"I-is this a laptop?" He breathed, turning the device, only about as thick as his thumb and just as light, about. Ratchet smiled.
"It has a processor ten times faster than the one you're using now. The screen definition, audio quality and memory space are also vastly improved." The medic was looking immensely pleased with himself. "Also," He continued, "Both the screen and covering is made from a material nearly as hard as our armor." For emphasis he tapped at the plating on his chest. The youngest human could only gape. Bumblebee nudged him slightly and he seemed to snap out of his daze. With great care he placed the laptop back in its box before leaping up and dashing across the room. He attached himself to Ratchet's pede. The medic chuckled as the young boy mumbled a string of incomprehensible 'thank you's into the metal. Finally the boy relented, returning to his place next to Bumblebee. The scout buzzed excitedly as his human booted up his new computer, his own gift completely forgotten. June cleared her throat to get his attention.
"Bumblebee," she reminded, "What did you get?" The scout whirred out an exclamation as he returned to the already open box. He pulled from it several data pads. Activating one he was met with pages of scrolling text accompanied by beautiful illustrations.
"They're stories," Ratchet explained, "The old lore from every city state. Legends of Primus and the thirteen, the creation tales of Vos, Kaon, Polyhex and Iacon. Those illustrations are Sunstreaker's." He wrung his hands in his lap, pulling the thermal tarp up to its proper place. "I was hoping to wait to give these to you until you came of age as is tradition," He mumbled, trailing off. Bumblebee warbled sadly, grateful. Ratchet simply nodded. "Jack," He began but Bulkhead cut him off.
"Uh-uh, Ratch," He placed Miko on the couch before pulling a package from his subspace to hand to the medic. "Our turn." Ratchet knew what was in the wrapping before he even opened it. The cane was the perfect length for someone of his stature and looked extremely sturdy. Ratchet turned it in his hands, watching as the light played across the decorative metal weaving adorning the outside.
"It's beautiful." He murmured as he glanced up to find both Miko and Bulkhead watching him expectantly. "Thank you. Both of you."
"I know you can't use it," Bulkhead scratched to the back of his neck, "But neither of us wanted it to go to waste."
"Thank you, Bulkhead, Miko," Ratchet cut off before the wrecker could rant as he tended to do when nervous, "Really. It's beautiful." Miko and her guardian smiled broadly. "Okay, Jack," Ratchet turned back to the boy, "Now you may open yours." Jack looked down at the gift in his lap. Unlike everyone else, his was a simple, relatively flat, envelope. He pried open the seal and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "Tough to get something so small in there perfectly," Ratchet mumbled, glancing down at his shaking hands. Jack grunted in understanding as he unfolded the paper.
"I don't understand." He passed the note to his mother, whom had joined him on Ratchet's wheelchair. Her jaw dropped upon reading it.
"Jack," She gasped, "This is a bank account under your name." June stared at Ratchet. "15,000 dollars? How?"
"This is to be used to fund your higher education," Ratchet explained, "And as for how, it seems some of the scrap I had lying around was worth quite a bit smelted down. Agent Fowler helped with the account." Both Jack and June simply stared, unable to do much else. Finally Jack stood and placed a hand on Ratchet's arm, the only place he could reach from his perch.
"Thank you," He whispered. "And just so you know, I've been looking at degrees in Bio-mechanical engineering. That or government studies."
Ratchet hummed, "Both worthy professions." He pulled a datapad from a subspace attached to his wheelchair. "These are for you and Agent Fowler. They are from my own personal data banks." June clicked on the pad. A clear recording of Iacon's senate hall glowed from the screen. The perfectly waxed plating of tens of mechs reflected around the ovular room. One larger flyer had stood from his seat and was arguing adamantly with a smaller grounder. Every now and then the screen would flash black when Ratchet shuttered his optics.
June glanced up with a smile, shutting off the pad. "They're mostly senate meetings, but I've also included several surgeries, appointments and a few of the hush-hush repairs from when I owned a back alley clinic." June thanked him before putting away the pad and pulling out a rather large package. Ratchet took it from her. The medic unwrapped a large cotton blanket. He stretched it out over his lap, examining the patterns. Embroiders of both Earth and Cybertronian adorned the quilt.
"Is that all handmade?" Bulkhead asked, leaning around Optimus to get a better look.
June shook her head. "The pieces are stitched together by hand but the patterns were sent into a company that makes custom designed fabrics and quilting material." Ratchet ran his fingers over the material before pulling the thermal tarp from his legs, allowing it to crumple to a heap next to his chair, before replacing it with the quilt.
"Much better," He smiled, "Thank you." The medic motioned for Optimus to open the box in his lap. The Prime did so with a great deal of measured grace, pulling forth a large vase of ornate crystals.
"Your Polyhelxian Crystals?" Optimus practically gapped, "Ratchet, you love these."
"Actually the yellow one's Praxian." Ratchet huffed, "Leave it to the Praxians to cultivate crystals that had to stand out. Doorwingers." Bumblebee whirred, his doorwings fluttering. "You're Iaconian, Bumblebee. The doorwings are because we didn't have much in the way of kibble to upgrade you with." Bee huffed in an 'I knew that' manner and Rafael giggled at his companion.
As the last to open Ratchet's gift, all eyes turned to Arcee. With a snort, she turned her attention to the box in her lap. Smothered in bubble wrap was a set of small cartages: fusion coils. And by the looks of it, rather well calibrated ones.
"Those should increase the yield of your blasters. I'll install them whenever you see fit." Arcee glanced between the coils and the medic, a distant look in her optics.
"Thanks," She mumbled, sounding almost disappointed.
"Arcee?" Jack leapt down to nudge at her pede, chastising her silently.
"S-sorry," She placed the coils back in their box and smiled up at Ratchet, "Really Ratchet, thank you. I've been wanting some upgrades for a while. We can fit them tomorrow if you feel up for it." The medic nodded slowly.
"Everything alright, Arcee?" He asked, tone low.
"Of course," she responded immediately, "Don't worry about it." With a furrowed brow, the medic let the subject drop.
The rest of the morning was a pleasant and calm one. June passed around the remainder of the presents she had for everyone: new racing games for Bumblebee and Rafael, a riding jacket for her son, and an enormous stack of history books for Optimus. After each present was unwrapped the small group of friends and family dispersed. Each child moved to the corners of the room to enjoy their newest toys and gadgets. After helping to clean, both June and Optimus sat down to read their respective gifts. Ratchet snatched a book from Optimus' pile and contented himself to studying the industrial revolution for the rest o the morning. June would frequently pause the recording she was watching, a transmission replacement surgery, to ask questions. Ratchet would provide what information he could.
As evening drew near, the base had settled into a lull and was nearly silent. No one wanted to wake Ratchet, who had fallen asleep in his chair, book still in hand. Fowler had even received a hushing when he'd noisily stomped into the base as he tended to do. After settling a small conflict with the Prime, he'd joined June in watching a Cybertronian election. The differences in both culture and the treatment of the lower and working classes had shocked both adults. When viewing golden age Cybertronian society from this perspective, it was easy to understand how a civil war broke-out. They'd amassed a lengthy list of questions to ask the Prime in the future.
Eventually the children and their guardians wandered back into the main room. Arcee and Jack fetched dinner for the humans while Bulkhead showed Bumblebee how to mix additives to energon to create a jelly like solid.
Optimus shook Ratchet's shoulder, he would be in need of a refueling and his daily medications. The medic groaned as he booted up. "It's time to refuel," Prime informed him once he was fully aware. "Bulkhead's made something of the occasion."
"Occasion?" Ratchet mumbled. Optimus' optics narrowed.
"Christmas, Ratchet," He reminded. "We're refueling with the humans."
The medic stared blankly for a moment before snapping to attention. "Humans," He reiterated, "Earth, Christmas. Right, let's go." He quickly unlocked his wheelchair, book still in his lap. Optimus followed after him, a concerned look gracing his features. When he entered the room Ratchet was already a part of the circle of bots and humans sitting on the floor. Bulkhead had placed a tray of energon jellies and Ratchet's medicine across the arms of his wheelchair. The medic was poking at one, a suspicious look on his face. Optimus accepted a plate from the wrecker before finding a seat in the group next to Arcee and Jack. He flared his vents, attempting to disperse the unpleasant scent of fast food.
Patiently, he watched his comrades eat, keeping an optic specifically on Ratchet. Twice the medic stopped suddenly, glanced about looking rather confused and concerned, before resuming his meal.
"Are you alright, Ratchet?" Optimus asked tentatively, knowing that was typically not a welcome question.
The medic stared blankly for a moment before answering. "Fine," he mumbled, never glancing up. Arcee and Bulkhead exchanged worried looks. Ratchet suddenly jolted, his entire frame jerking in surprise. Everyone tensed, preparing for another seizure. Instead Ratchet calmly glanced up, his optics too dim and flickering slightly. "Perhaps I'm not alright," He remarked, amazingly calm, "My optics just shorted out."
"You're blind?" Rafael asked, his french-fry dropping from his hand.
"Only temporarily," Ratchet assured, "My systems are already working on repairing the issue. Until then my sensor net will be a fine substitute. This wasn't an unexpected symptom." Miko promptly shoved multiple fries into her mouth the moment she understood there was no real danger. Then proceeded to talk around them.
"You can see through your EM Field?" Ratchet shook his head but Arcee beat him to an explanation.
"Not see," She corrected, "sense. Most objects and life forms give off enough of an EM disturbance that we can pick up on it if we focus. Normally our EM Fields are kept tight to our frames so we aren't distracted by every movement. Ratchet is currently expanding his."
"Thank you for answering for me, Arcee," Ratchet grumbled, staring blankly at a space just left of the two-wheeler's shoulder.
"No problem," She shrugged, teasing, "I can't let the humans think you're the only smart one."
"So that's how you know when I'm trying to play with something I shouldn't," Miko exclaimed. Ratchet nodded.
"My sensors are always trained on you Miko." The medic placed two small pills into his liquid energon, stirring carefully. He downed the cube in two gulps, shuttering with the bitter after taste.
"Well," He began, handing his tray to Bumblebee for cleaning, "Thank you all for such a pleasant day, but I am going to retire for the night."
"See you next week, Ratchet," Jack called after him as he disappeared about the corning. The remaining company sat in silence for a moment before Miko spoke up.
"Retire? It's only six o'clock."
The base alarm blared loudly about the silo and down its halls. Three bots stumbled into the main room to join their Prime at the control hub. The leader of the Autobots greeted them each with a nod of his helm.
"Energon movement?" Arcee inquired.
"No," Optimus shook his head, "A swarm of Eradicons have been sighted by troops off the banks of the dead sea. We've been asked to respond." He turned to face his troops as he shut off the alarm. "This is primarily a rescue mission. Retain cover as long as possible. But the safety of the human troops comes before being covert."
"Understood," All three chanted, folding down for the ground bridge trip. Just as the glowing light of the bridge filled the main room, so did the sound of violent purging. Arcee immediately unfolded herself and began towards the medbay.
"You guys go. I'll watch him." She waved over her shoulder. "I'm better at this whole nurse maid scrap anyway." Optimus rumbled his thanks before disappearing into the portal. Arcee pried the medbay door open as quietly as she could, wincing when they squeaked. Ratchet sat hunched over a bucket already spattered with raw, unprocessed energon. He vented heavily for a moment before his back drew in and he once again expelled what little fuel remained in his tanks. Arcee sat behind him and gently rubbed the back of neck.
Eventually the medic leaned back, holding the bucket as far away from him as he could. "You done?" Arcee asked. He nodded, handing her the bucket to dispose of. She placed it near the wash racks before pulling an IV and a cube of medical grade from the cabinet. Ratchet grumbled lightly but didn't protest. He desperately needed the energy. Once he'd regained some strength, Arcee helped him transfer from his chair to the medical berth. She wasn't strong enough to fully lift the medic but her help was enough to get him comfortable.
"Anything I can do?" Arcee fetched Ratchet's quilt from the end of the berth.
"Not really. Just another malfunction," He mumbled.
"Had a lot this week, huh?" She tucked the blanket up to his chin. He tilted his helm back to allow her to work around him. "Optics, audios, tanks."
"If this is an attempt at small talk," he grouched, "It's pathetic."
"Sorry," the femme nearly snapped, "How do you suggest speaking to a dying friend?"
"Casually," He responded, "take out the dying part. I'm not offline yet." Arcee shrugged, unwilling to suggest a topic. Ratchet sighed, relenting. "What did you do before the war? Sparked or Kindled? Preprogrammed?"
"Ratchet, you know my medical files."
"My databanks are a little scrambled. Remind me." He motioned her on with a wave of his hand, which resulted only in a subtle twitch of the blanket.
Arcee sighed. She scooted her chair closer to the berth. "I was kindled," she started, "Small family. My creators were factory workers. Lower-middle class. We managed to round up enough credits to send me to the academy. I never graduated. Never really knew what I wanted to do either. I joined the army when the first rebellions broke out. Not that interesting." She shrugged. "Your turn."
The medic shifted his shoulder slightly, attempting to get to a more comfortable position. "I was kindled by a low working class bonded pair. They came down with CCG with I was very young. Once they couldn't work anymore we were forced to move to the black district of Polyhex. I was purely a scholarship student for both the Academy and for my advanced medical training. I was a professor for a while when I was studying for my Doctorate in neurosurgery. The Academy paid for my research and my creator's health bills. When they died I moved to Iacon, and joined the hospital there. Met Optimus shortly before I graduated from the Academy, actually.
He encouraged me to join the senate when the unrest began to grow. Quit once he was made Prime. Hated the job. Opened my own clinic. I stayed neutral as long as I could, right up until the place was bombed."
Arcee huffed at the irony. "Remember hearing about that. Though most people were almost thankful to the 'cons. They forced Cybertron's miracle medic to join our ranks."
Ratchet scoffed, "Miracles. Load of slag, all of it. You think this is the mark of a miracle worker?" He attempted to gesture to himself but only ended up tangling his blanket and IV. Arcee chuckled as he cursed, but helped him none the less. The unmistakable sound of the ground bridge drew both of their attentions. Moments later the medbay doors opened, emitting a limping Optimus, supported by Bulkhead. The Prime sat heavily on the room's second berth.
"What happened?" Ratchet demanded, attempting to push himself up into a sitting position. His coordination was lacking and he crashed back to the berth. He was trying again before his vents had even ceased wheezing. Bulkhead joined Arcee in keeping the medic down.
"It's only a cut tension cable," Optimus explained. "Arcee easily has the skills to handle it."
Ratchet had managed to maneuver himself into an angle where he could see Optimus while still laying. "Handle it easily my aft. If you set that brace wrong, Optimus, you'll be left with a limp for the remainder of your functioning. I'll be scrap before I-" He paused, hand suddenly going to his mouth. "Oh Primus," He breathed even as he began to dry heave.
"Bulk!" Arcee shouted, reaching for the nearest bucket, "Roll him to his side." The wrecker did so just as Ratchet expelled what little energon he'd taken in. When the purging stopped, Bulkhead eased him back to the berth.
"Please, Ratchet," Optimus called from his perch, "Just rest."
"With all due respect, Prime," Arcee stomped down a pede. "I don't think the 'please and thank you' attitude is doing it." She whirled to face Ratchet. "You do this every time something comes up and I am sick of it. You are a medic for Primus' sake. Buck up and act like it. When you need rest, rest. If you need help, ask. And slag it, Ratchet!" She'd raised her voice to near shouting, "When we say we can handle it, we can fragging handle it. We're not helpless, and honestly we better start learning to function without you, All Mighty Medic. Because in a few months, you won't be here to hold our hands and feed us our energon." Ratchet's mouth opened and closed, his optics narrowed and his plating pressed tighter to his protoform.
"Y-you think this is my fault?" He finally managed to stutter, "You think I want to die? To spend my mornings purging and every night plagued with nightmares of your grayed frames on the battle field because I wasn't there to stop it?" He let his head fall back to the berth with a metallic clang. "I never asked for this, Arcee."
The motorcycle turned her gaze to the floor, unable to look at the medic any longer. Bulkhead was glancing frantically between the two arguing bots and Optimus. Prime simply gave him a sad smile.
"No one would wish for this," Arcee mumbled, kicking at a scrap of dirt on the silo floor. "But you haven't done a slagging thing to stop it either." The medic's gaze whipped up to meet Arcee's. "You promised you'd work on a cure, Ratch. Instead you built a new computer for Rafael and spent Primus knows how long assembling new fusion coils for my guns. You promised us two more years of your grump. At this rate, we'll be lucky to get a measly six months." Ratchet was silent, his optics downcast and his form slumped as Arcee fled the medbay. Bulkhead made to follow but Optimus stopped him.
"Give her some time alone, Bulkhead. We all handle stress differently." The wrecker nodded. He glanced down at Ratchet. The medic had turned his helm towards the wall.
"You okay, Ratch?" The medic forcefully shrugged off the hand placed on his shoulder.
"Go see to Optimus, Bulkhead." His voice was nearly at a whisper. With a heaved sigh, the green mech did as instructed, leaving Ratchet to the silence.
"Bumblebee!" The scout glanced up from his place at the monitors. June waved at him frantically as she nearly stumbled out of her car. Datapads spilled out of her arms when she attempted to adjust her shirt. "Bumblebee, where's Ratchet? I have to talk to him."
Bumblebee's buzz turned into a clipped shriek of surprise as the medbay door squeaked open and Arcee stomped out. She glowered down at June, taking notice of the datapads in her arms.
"I wouldn't bother," she grumbled, "He's not a very mature conversationalist at the moment."
"What happened?" June asked, striding towards the medbay anyway. "This is important."
"Ask Ratchet," Arcee snapped as she turned towards the hall leading to her quarters, "He'd be much more willing to tell you just what an aft I am." With that she disappeared around the corner. Bumblebee simply shrugged at June's inquisitive glance. The nurse returned the gesture before entering the medbay.
The atmosphere gained an almost crushing amount of weight between the common's room and the medbay. June glanced between the silent occupants. The medbay smelled pungent with purged energon and burnt whirring from the arch welder Bulkhead held to Optimus' leg. The nurse's brow furrowed when she caught sight of Ratchet. He'd bunched up his quilt until it lay in a heap on top of his chest. His IV had been ripped out and flung a good distance away. Mature indeed, June thought as she approached. She briefly caught Optimus' empathetic look as she climbed to the desk she'd been provided on the observation deck.
"Ratch-" The medic's helm swiveled back to face her before she could get the remainder of his designation.
"Can't you see I'm busy being a gearstick sucking-"
"Ratchet!" Optimus' optics widened at the language.
"What?!" The medic snapped back, "You are not my creator, and I am beyond old enough to use such language. What are you going to do? Send me to my room? We don't even have a brig!"
"Wow," June took a step forward, leaning against the railing as her face scrunched, "Arcee was right; you really are being a fucking jackass."
"A Donkey…?" Ratchet trailed off, confusion mixing with his angered expression. "Human colloquialisms make no sense."
"That wasn't a colloquialism," June snapped, "Now, if you'll listen to me for a mo-"
"I am busy." The medic turned back to face the wall, tossing June's quilt at her as he did so.
"Oh?" June had to forcefully restrain herself from stomping a foot as her son would commonly do when being ignored. "Doing what?"
"How was it you put it?" Ratchet hissed, "Oh, right. Being a fucking jackass."
June gapped. She'd heard the Autobots swear plenty but never in English. Commonly they would resort back to the sharp tones and clicks of their native language. "I don't care what your problem is today; I need you to look these over."
Ratchet threw his hands up. "Would someone please put me back in my chair so I can at least have the dignity of wallowing in my own quarters?"
Optimus made to stand but June forced him back down with an angry and demanding gesture. "Don't you dare, Prime." The normally composed commander looked greatly distressed by the shouting match. Bulkhead on the other hand, glued to his spot kneeling on the floor, looked about ready to pee his platting.
"Out!" Ratchet screeched, his hissy-fit turning into a full blown temper tantrum, "All of you! Get your afts out of my medbay!" Before anyone could so much as twitch, June threw down a datapad, the glass device shattering on the hard, concrete floor.
"I have a cure!"
A/N: I'd like to explain for a moment why I chose Christmas. Mostly it was because the US is a predominantly Roman Catholic country. Second, I wanted a holiday that could be celebrated without religious contexts. I've mentioned this during the story in previous chapters, hopefully it came across. Plus it was simply happy accident that Christmas was on a Tuesday this year. Thus, perfect update timing!
I was making some very interesting faces while writing this chapter. And as I write mostly on the lightrail (I have a good two hours a day spent traveling) I was getting some pretty strange looks. I hope you enjoyed reading both the fluff and the angst as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have to say that this was my favorite chapter to write so far.
Happy Holidays everyone,
-Jordan