Arcee was the first to break the silence. "I-I'm going to go see if the children are here."
"Bulk should be back by now," Wheeljack called after her retreating frame. With that he fell heavily onto the far berth, helm in his hands. "'tis never been that bad," he mumbled in his palms. Optimus sighed from where he sat still holding the medic's helm off the berth.
"Ms. Darby?" He spared a glance back at June. The nurse shook her head.
"I don't know, Optimus," she breathed, "I'm sorry. I just don't know." She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly. "We're going to have to run more tests," she said after a long moment of silence. "Not now. Let him rest some. But later."
"Do you think it's back?" Wheeljack's expression was grief stricken by simply uttering the words.
"I don't-," June stutterd, voice breaking, "I-".
"It's alright Ms. Darby," Optimus assured. June shook, taking several deep breaths before daring to continue.
"The possibility's high. I'm sorry." She hunched forward over the railing, fidgeting in discomfort. "He's showing the same symptoms as the other patients when they were treated using the CR Chamber: A short period of progress and great improvement only to grow ill more quickly and severely than before." She followed Wheeljack's example and buried her face in her hands. "Oh God, I'm so sorry." Quiet gasps indicated she'd begun to cry.
Optimus' thumb ran absent minded circles over Ratchet's chevron. "None of this is your fault, June. We're not even sure what the problem is just yet."
"Can't be good," Wheeljack mumbled, frowning.
"It may not be as bad as we fear," Optimus reminded.
"Did you speak English before you were made Prime, OP?" Wheeljack chuckled, "'cause your name can not be coincidence."
Optimus frowned, "My title as Prime was chosen by the senate and derived from my original designation: Orion Pax."
Wheeljack batted at the air. "No, no. I mean Optimus, optimist." The Prime blinked at him blankly. The wrecker shook his helm. "Know what? Never mind. Doesn't matter." He returned his helm to his hands with a clang.
June's light hiccups had turned to small chuckles. She pulled herself up a barely there smile gracing her lips. "Optimus is right. We should wait and see what some scans say before jumping to conclusions." She pulled up a chair to one of the computer terminals connected to the medibay's equipment. "Wheelajck, run a condensed processor scan please."
Optimus glanced over his shoulder as the wrecker stood to gather the requested supplies. "And myself?"
June smiled warmly. "Why don't you go and get some rest, we can handle this." Optimus opened his mouth to protest but June held up a hand to cut him off. "Wheeljack told me you'd been with Ratchet since two in the morning. I'm pretty sure taking care of sickly bots isn't a part of your Primly duties."
Optimus shook his helm. "Not directly, no. But healing the broken is."
June smiled, "Ratchet isn't broken."
The Prime returned her warm gaze. "It's not yet late enough to warrant any recharge. But I will go see to my other duties for a time." He eased Ratchets limp helm back to the berth, providing the medic with one last worried look before standing. "Please inform me immediately if anything changes." June nodded and shooed him off with a flick of her wrist.
The Prime made no protest, understanding the need for a break for the stressful environment. The medibay doors squeaked shut behind him.
Once into the main bay, Optimus spotted Bulkhead and Bumblebee sitting on the floor with the children. They had a board game layed out between them. As the bots called out numbers their smaller companions would move the delicate pieces for them.
"E8," Bulkhead called, grinning madly when Bumblebee made a disappointed warble, indicating a hit to one of his pieces. The scout frowned behind his face guard and called out a number of his own. Bulkhead's smile grew as he shook his helm.
Jack glanced up at the sound of Optimus' heavy pede falls. "Hey, Optimus," he called. "Wanna play? You can go against the winner."
Optimus held up a hand. "No thank you, Jack. I'd hoped to go for a drive as long as I'm not presently needed."
"We've got everything covered here, Boss," Bulkhead said, intensly focused on studying the board, as if the longer he stared at it the more likely it was for him to suddenly develop x-ray vision.
"Thank you, Bulkhead." Optimus folded himself into his alt-mode in one graceful lurch.
Jack lept up and jogged towards the semi. "Mind some company?" Optimus was silent for a moment, only the sound of his rumbling engine permiating his frame. Finally his passanger side door swung open. Jack lept in whithout futher thought, buckling his seat belt before he'd even settled. The semi rumbled through the base's main entrance and out ont the open Jasper roads.
Optimus relished in the sensation of the wind batting at his plating and whisling through his grill. It was rare he was allowed on such excursions, as may duties as he had on base. Back on Cybertron, when he still bore the title of Orion Pax, he'd found it soothing to simply cruse the speedways with no real destination in mind when work in the archives had piled up too high. The roads on Earth were no as smooth and he often missed the anit-gravs he's traded for wheels but the effect was the same. He could already feel his frayed nerves easing into something manageable.
"Nice day, huh?" Optimus' wheels squeeled against the road as he was startled out of his musings. The boy in his passanger seat couldn't decide whether to look embarrassed or to laugh. "Sorry," he coughed, sheepish, "didn't mean to startle you."
"Best you did," Optimus answered. "It is not safe for me to be so distracted while driving." Jack hummed.
"Something weighing on your mind, big guy?" Jack asked cautiously. He knew that Ratchet's latest development, though he knew little of it, was difficult for everyone and highly worrisome. However he could sense more than worry in Optimus' tone.
"Nothing you need to worry over," Optimus assured.
"You're worrying about it," Jack pointed out. "You know, I'm not that young. I do know what's going on."
Optimus chuckled, turning sharply onto a road that lead back towards the base. "Jack, your entire race is young to Cybertronians. Even Bumblebee is much older than your civilization."
Jack frowned. He drummed his fingers against the seat. "What's that like?" He asked, "Living so long?"
Optimus' engine rumbled in consideration. "Often detrimental to our race. You hold an advantage over us that we could never dream of or truly want." Jack gave the steering wheel at his left the most puzzled look he could.
"Death is something new to the war, Jack," Optimus began. "Before the Decepticon rebellions began we knew even disease in only small numbers. One mech dying was rare and a tragic event." The Prime paused, drawing in a deep gust of air. "We are, in all practicality, immortal until we are killed by an outside source. This means that most of our rulers had been in power for far too long. Politics were easily corrupted and difficult to change. Fresh minds in the senate were near inexistent."
Jack rubbed at his neck, eyebrows furrowed. "But you guys refer to Ratchet as old all the time." Optimus' engine rumbled in acknowledgment.
"His spark is older than most. Ratchet is one of the few golden age mechs remaining. The majority of us were forged during the war or the unrest that preceded it." The Prim's gearshift made a sound similar to a clicking tongue as he considered the right words to use. "Ratchet will be in need of his fifth frame transfer within the next vorn. In the war, most mechs are lucky to reach their second adult frame."
"Frame transfer?" Jack sounded almost disgusted, having an inkling of what Optimus may be referring to.
The Prime hummed in acknowledgement. "Our sparks are eternal. Our frames are not," he explained. "As younglings we go through three frame transfers as we grow. Similar to your childhood development. Once we are fully matured our adult frames will support us for thousands of vorns at a time, but eventually parts wear beyond repair and our sparks, processors and t-cogs must be moved to a new host."
Jack sat silently for a moment, taking in the information. "So, this whole CCG thing. Couldn't you have just popped him in a new body and be done with it."
Optimus' dash flashed in the negative. "No, if that had been the case then his original upgrades as a youngling would have negated the disease, as it is genetic. Chronic Circuit Glitch is a disease of the mind, not the body. It is a glitch in the central processors, the area that controls the nervous system, that, when activated, spreads through a mech's programming and corrupts all it touches. Eventually it reaches the core programming of the spark and the mech is extinguished. The processor must be transferred when the spark is. A frame change would have had no benefits and would likely have caused too much stress on his mind and spark."
"I think I get it," Jack mumbled with no small amount of uncertainty. "The whole idea of having a new body every few thousand years is just kind of weird."
Before the Prime could respond, Optimus' comm. crackled to life.
"Base to Prime," Bulkhead's baritone echoed over the link.
"Go ahead, Bulkhead," Optimus replied. "We read you."
"Ratchet's coming around, Prime. I can bridge you back if you want." The comm. link hissed static threateningly as the semi passed under an unpopulated highway.
"A bridge would be appreciated." On cue a flash of iridescent blue filled the road ahead of the pair, expanding and twisting into a tunnel of energy. There was a dizzying lurch as Prime passed through the section of condensed space-time and then the Autobot base spread before them. Jack leapt out the moment Optimus' passenger door swung open and stood back while the bot's platting folded itself in ways that should not have been possible. Optimus waved goodbye to the humans and preceded to the medibay, the door sliding shut silently behind him.
June sat in her regular spot at the monitors while Wheeljack stood next to Ratchet's berth, holding his hand. The ill mech looked about the room groggily, optics unfocused and frame relaxed. Optimus placed a hand on Wheeljack's shoulder before turning to face June.
"Did the processor scans reveal anything?" He asked, cautious of the answer.
June shook her head, "I couldn't find any change. Or any trace of the glitch in for that matter." She rubbed at the back of her neck nervously. "Normally CCG shows in processor scans as dormant areas in the motor and cognitive centers. Almost everything was active. I'd say it looked better than it did when he first came out of the CR Chamber."
Optimus smiled. "This is good news."
June nodded, brow still furrowed in frustration and bafflement. "We'll know more once he can talk to us."
"Thank you, June." Optimus strode over to stand on the opposite side of the berth from Wheeljack. He took up Ratchet's other hand and gave the medic's fingers a light squeeze. Ratchet's optics rolled to look into Optimus', and the medic smiled.
"Hi," he mumbled, voice rough and barely a whisper.
"Hello, Ratchet." The Prime smiled back. "How are you feeling."
"Achy." The medic didn't miss Wheeljack's startled glance between himself and June, even though the human could not understand the conversation. "Fairly lucid, actually."
Optimus' grin widened. "That is very good to hear. Does your helm still hurt?"
"Some." Ratchet nodded.
"Optimus," June called from her seat at the computer. "Why don't you run him through a few basic tests?" The Prime glanced up in acknowledgement before returning his attention the mech on the medical berth.
"Ratchet," he began, "we want to see how aware you are. Could you count to ten? In any language."
"One, two, three, four." The medic completed the task with ease, the worlds rolling easily off his glossa. Optimus gave his hand another squeeze when he'd finished, acknowledging and thanking him.
"Good," he praised. "Can you do the same in English?" Ratchet nodded.
"One, two." He paused, mind reeling to catch up to his mouth. "Three, four, five." He managed to complete the rest of the task with relative ease, even if the foreign language felt uncomfortable on his denta. The smile on his Prime's face was well worth it, however.
"Raise both arms as high as you can, please," June called. The mechs at Ratchet's sides released their holds on him so he could do as asked. His movements were shaking and it felt as if his fuel lines had been filled with lead, but eventually, Ratchet managed to raise his hands a few feet above the berth, much to everyone's delight. He flashed a smirk at June, genuine joy radiating from his expression.
"I'm-I'm impressed," June remarked after a moment o f hesitation. "I honestly don't know exactly what to make of this."
Ratchet simply grinned wider. "It's good."
June chuckled, "Very." She tapped a few positive notes into the datapad in her hands before returning to a more professional demeanor. "How's communication? Thinking? Are you getting the words you want out?"
Ratchet thought for a moment, gaze drifting to the ceiling. "Mostly, yes. Things are a little sluggish but more like a slow boot-up than any real processor errors. English feels a bit funny."
"Well, you couldn't put Cybertronian sentences together this morning. I'm not going to complain about a little bit of lag." June grinned at him widely.
"I agree," Optimus hummed. "It is good to have you back, old friend." Wheeljack gave the medic's arm a pat in agreement.
"I'll say," Ratchet chuckled, "This last week has been more than frustrating." He froze suddenly, body tensing, causing everyone in the room to brace for another seizure. None were sure they could cope if this moment of clarity was only temporary. The outburst that followed the silence was much preferred to the possible alternatives.
"You aft brained glitch!" Ratchet bellowed, giving the Prime's hand a genuinely frustrated smack. Optimus startled, jerking away from the evidently irritated medic out of instinct. "TV! I gave him fragging television!"
Optimus looked desperately around the room. "I'm sorry, Ratchet," He practically stuttered, "I don't believe I understand."
"No, you don't," Ratchet snorted. "Soundwave. I gave Soundwave clips of the children's television shows. It frustrates and distracts me, why not him?"
Wheeljack burst out laughing, deep baritone gasps that shook his frame until he was holding his sides, doubled over. "The fragging communications master of the whole slagging arming," he gasped between hysteric hiccups, "stumped by entertainment for human children. I wish I could have seen the look on that ugly glitch's broken faceplates." He wound himself up into another uncontrolled fit. Ratchet grinned, waiting for Wheeljack to calm some before attempting to speak over him.
"Gave me a nasty electrical shock once he figured out what I was up to," Ratchet chuckled. Wheeljack laughed even louder, now wheezing to keep up with the heat his frame was putting off.
"Even-" he paused, gasping for cooler air. "Even Megatron's third gets pissed. I didn't know he knew what emotions are." By now even Optimus was chuckling lightly. Only Ratchet noticed the medibay door cracking open. Bulkhead peaked through, glancing about. He found Ratchet's optics, startled by the clarity he found there.
"You okay?" He mouthed, not wanting to interrupt. Ratchet nodded, winking at the ex-wrecker. Smiling had always proved difficult for a mech o Bulkhead's facial structure, especially with his large lower jaw guard. He pulled it off spectacularly, however.
As quietly as he came in, the large mech left. A moment later muffled cheering echoed through the medibay from beyond the doors. The laughter inside quieted as the mechs glanced at the door. Optimus gave Ratchet a confused look.
"Bulkhead checked to make sure no one in here was dying," the medic explained.
Optimus nodded. "For once, no one is."
"For once," Ratchet sighed, a smile gracing his faceplates.
Ratchet heaved a relief sigh as Optimus wheeled him through the doors to his quarters, relishing in the lack of beeping equipment and the overbearing sterile smell of the medibay. His quarters had been cleaned to his rather ridiculous standards, thanks to the human children along with their guardians, and Fowler had a hand in acquiring a foam mattress for the berth. The medic couldn't have been more thankful. While the medibay berths tended to be well equipped for handling all manner of injuries, they were far from comfortable. His already mangled backstruts were thrumming in a constant dull ache.
The medic's contentment at being back in his own space was quickly dashed as Arcee and Bumblebee dragged in armfuls of monitoring equipment after him. He snorted, "I'm still not convinced that any of this is necessary." Optimus locked his wheelchair next to the berth and began helping the others set up the more delicate technology. Years of thumbing through old books had made his fingers dexterous and precise.
"We talked about this, Ratchet," June huffed as she sauntered in, tired of the conversation already. "You have three options: stay in the medibay, have someone in here with you at all times or be hooked up to a few simple machines. They won't even make any noise."
Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest with a 'tch'. "The likelihood of a seizure decreases every day I remain without one."
June rolled her eyes. "And you seem to fail to grasp that you had your worse seizure to date only last afternoon. It hasn't even been a day, Ratchet."
"And the levels of phantom haptic discharge in and around my processor have dramatically decreased in that time period. There are practically no lingering ill effects." Ratchet leveled the nurse with a challenging glare.
"No ill effects my behind. Explain to me, mister, why you still have a noticeable slur if there are no ill effects." June snapped back. She caught Bulkhead's wide grin seconds after Ratchet did.
"What is so funny, you lug," he snapped, though all hostility was absent from his tone.
Bulkhead shook his helm, "We've missed you is all." He patted the medic's shoulder before slipping a cord into the port on the back of his helm. "Just good to have you back. Grump and all." Ratchet huffed and swatted at the wrecker's hand, trying desperately to hide a smile behind his lopsided frown.
Optimus knelt next to the medic, one hand slipping behind the small of his back while the other rested on his limp knees. "Ready?" he asked. At the medic's nod the Prime hefted him into his arms and onto the berth in one graceful motion. Ratchet grunted when his back hit the berth. Although the brake in his spinal struts was hidden in tightly sealed cyber-mesh patches, the area directly above the break was still hyper sensitive as the frayed nerve endings fired without cause. Even supported by countless cushioning as he was the sitting up for a long period of time was extremely uncomfortable. Not that laying down was much better.
Optimus muttered an apology and stood back, allowing the others to hook up the various machines now whirring away at the berthside. Ratchet grumble and swatted at one of them when they would come close enough but for the most part cooperated. Once he was settled and the monitors read steady vitals all but Optimus vacated the room. The Prime sat at the edge of the berth, starring into the middle distance. Ratchet watched him for a moment before interrupting his trance.
"Don't you have work you should be doing?" Ratchet heaved an arm off the berth to place a hand at Optimus' back.
The Prime was silent for a moment. "They have all been very brave," he mumbled.
Ratchet nodded, humming. "You have quite the band of soldiers, Prime." The larger mech smiled down at his friends.
"You included, old friend." Ratchet felt his spark flutter at the complement. He tugged absently at the quilt covering his lower half.
"Hopeful I'll be back to being actually useful soon," he muttered. "All of this lounging has me twitchy." A deep baritone chuckle rumbled from the Prime, low enough to be felt.
"You never did take any sort of lull in activity well." He ran a large, flat hand over Ratchet's more delicate, rounded fingers. The medic's hands had always amazed Optimus. When he was younger, the medic had been near paranoid about anyone touching or holding his hands. They were so sensitive that barely too much pressure caused biting pain. It was one of the major reasons he'd decided to forgo any sort of firearms: recoil hurt. Though with the medical knowledge Ratchet possessed, he was much more efficient with bladed weapons.
Ratchet raised his hand once Optimus had pulled his away. He held it out in front of him, watching what had kept so many alive during the start of the war tremble and shake. The Prime watched him with a deep sadness and an even greater sense of hope. When the medic finally lowered his hand he was left staring into the distance.
"Optimus?" He asked, voice cautious. The Prime hummed for Ratchet to continue. "What is that?" He pointed across the quarters at his desk. Upon the scratched and, in several places, burned metal sat a small pot. Within the artificial soil several perfectly cultivated crystals grew, a yellow one standing proudly above the rest.
"Your crystals," the Prime stated without hesitation.
"No," Ratchet retorted after a moment of stuttering. "Those are your crystals. I gave them to you." His tone was genuinely hurt, something rare in the normally temperamental medic.
"In the belief that you were dying." Optimus placed a hand back on Ratchet's. The medic snatched his away.
"So I have to be dying for you to accept my gifts?" Ratchet voice rose, gaining more static with each debacle.
"Ratchet," The Prime's tone hung on the edge of reprimanding. "When you are no longer able, I will gladly care for that which is precious to you, whatever it may be. Until then, however, the responsibility is yours." Ratchet's jaw opened and closed with each incomprehensible noise his voice box emitted.
Finally he managed to regain his composure. "Who said some crystals were precious to me?"
Optimus resisted the urge to roll his optics. "You have carried them with you since the fall of Polyhex."
"So?" Ratchet snapped.
"First Aid gave them to you." The larger mech felt little remorse in pulling forth such a weapon. Ratchet was stubborn, when he'd set his mind to something he would stick with it at almost any cost. It often took a shock factor to snap him out of the habit.
The trick worked. Ratchet sobered immediately. He glanced down at his lap, optics half lidded, irritation gone. "He did."
Optimus watched him for a moment before standing. He walked gracefully across the room and picked up the pot of crystals. With as much care as he had handled the medic the rightful ruler of Cybertron set the inorganic flowers down on the berthside table. He dipped a finger in the energon cube beside the pot and let the liquid drip from his digit into the soil. The crystals resonated with each drop that pinged off their smooth surface.
"Get some rest, Ratchet." He moved silently to the door, well beyond the medic's reach. "We are but a comm. away if you need anything." Ratchet was silent until the Prime's hand hovered over pad to close the door.
"That was a mean trick," he mumbled, gaze still turned down.
"I know," Optimus replied.
"I deserved it."
"What happened to First Aid was not your fault, Ratchet." Optimus stepped back inside, allowing the door to shut behind him.
"I could have saved him." Ratchet's voice was growing smaller by the moment. "If I'd had the chance."
Optimus shook his helm. "We are not even sure he is gone, Ratchet. I apologize for bringing the subject to mind." Guilt was something the Prime felt often, with his home planet dead, but not something he enjoyed.
"I know," Ratchet nodded absently. "I know."
"And if he did survive, you will have the chance to see your pupil again, Old Friend. A chance we were not sure you had an orn ago." A barely there smile crept over Ratchet's features.
"Go do your work, Optimus." His tone was brighter, lighter, than mere moments ago. "I'll be fine here."
Optimus sighed but agreed, turning to leave. "I will bring you a data pad to work on when you are awake."
"I'd appreciate that." Ratchet smiled, leaning back as far as he could against this mountain of pillows. His optics slid shut. Optimus slipped out as quietly as he could.
Wheeljack was waiting for him in the hallway, looking for all the world as if he were standing guard.
"How was patrol?" Optimus asked as he fell into step with the wrecker.
"Uneventful. No 'cons in sight." Wheeljack huffed, arms over his chest. He followed Optimus to his office door, stopping just short of the entrance. "How's the doc?"
Optimus smiled, "For once, alive and well."
Wheeljack couldn't help but grin in return.
A/N: Just a little clarity on frame transfers, the stages are as follows, each dash being a transfer: Sparkling - Youngling - Mechling - Primary Adult Frame - Secondary Frame - Tertiary Frame, and so on. Ratchet will be transferred to his Tertiary Frame next, Optimus his Secondary Frame and Bumblebee is still in his Mechling frame, to provide a point of reference.