"My fellow Autobots, it is with great pride in each of you - your skills, bravery and determination throughout this long and difficult war, that I welcome our race back to Cybertron." Optimus Prime, finish waxed for the first time in vorns, stood tall before the arching gateway of the Autobots' newly constructed Space Bridge. He glanced slowly about the group assembled before him, optics gleaming brighter than any of the Autobots had ever seen them. "Our band is small, our race nearly extinct, but with the great civil war finally at its end it is my hope that we will not remain this way for long. A beacon has already been sent, a message for any Cybertronian whom may intercept it." He paused, drawing in a deep breath, appearing almost too excited to finish his speech. The grin across the Prime's face was more genuine that it had ever been. He raised one hand into the air, hand balled into a tight, triumphant fist, and held the other over his spark. "Autobots! Cybertronians! At long last we return to Cybertron! We return to our home!"

The cheering that followed was deafening. It was a wonder how five Autobots and five humans could create such noise. Grins were plastered on every face, even Ratchet's as he watched Bumblebee bounce on his pedes. Unable to resist, the medic threw in a whoop of his own, throwing his hands into the air so quickly it nearly tipped his wheelchair back. Bulkhead caught him before he fell and flashed him an amused and absolutely giddy grin. Ratchet returned the look without hesitation.

They were going home.

For the first time in sixty centuries there was no enemy to fight, no war to be won. For the first time in hundreds of vorns the Cybertronian race was focused on rebuilding instead of destroying. For the first time in six thousand years there was peace. Ratchet couldn't remember a time his spark had felt so light. It wasn't until this moment, this victory over the Decepticons, that he realized how much the war had affected him. And he could see it in every one of his comrades. The ever present exhaustion he'd grown accustom to on their faces was gone. They stood proud and tall, and most importantly, more together than they had ever been.

"Do not be fooled, my comrades," Optimus began again once the noise had quieted. "The path before us is not an easy one. It is not as riddled with death and sorrow as before but there is still much work to do. Cybertron is all but ruins. Rebuilding will take us many vorns, even with the aid of returning Cybertronians and the remaining Decepticons. We will have our work cut out for us, and I will need each of you if we are to create a functioning, peaceful society. I believe in my very spark that we can make this work, free of the corruption that sparked this war, and free of the inequalities that it fed. Together, we can rebuild not only our home but our people as well."

Ever graceful, despite his lanky form, the Prime turned to face the space bridge controls at his side, and the small human boy manning them. "Rafael, if you would do us the honor." The child nodded, looking for all the world like the happiest child alive. A quick series of codes typed into his laptop and the space bridge spiraled open with a whoosh of displaced air. Optimus stood aside, beckoning his troops through. As each one passed he laid a hand on their backs, smiling and thanking them for their services to Cybertron.

Ratchet was the last in the procession; his mobility much slower than the others. When Bulkhead disappeared though the bridged, however, Optimus stepped forward, blocking Ratchet's path. The medic smiled up at him. His Prime did not return the expression. Instead he knelt before the older mech, placing a hand on his knee. The touch did not register to Ratchet's severed neural network.

"I am sorry, old friend, but I must ask you to remain here." Ratchet stared at his leader, smile fading from his features. The air had gone still, even the hum of the space bridge silenced by his confusion.

"Here?" He repeated. "On Earth?"

Optimus nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so. There is much work to be done, Ratchet. You would be better suited to remain on earth, rather than assist with reconstruction."

Ratchet's jaw opened and closed as he scrambled for a reply. What work could possibly suit him on Earth? Rafael was more than capable of maintaining the outpost's systems, and any diplomatic necessity was negated by the ability to transverse the universe in a matter of moments thanks to bridging technology. "I... I don't understand."

Optimus sighed, hanging his helm for a moment. "The kind of work that Cybertron needs is not suited to your... condition, Ratchet."

"My c-condition?" Ratchet stuttered. "There is other work to be done. War or not, you'll need someone to maintain everyone's systems, set up a communications grid, repair damaged systems. Optimus, I am much more valuable with the others than here."

Optimus rose from his crouched position, towering over the seated medic. "Ratchet, you are to remain on Earth with the humans. That is an order."

The medic's brow furrowed. "I have every right to return to Cybertron!" He gritted his denta, fighting to hide his dismay and devastation at his leader's words. "It is my home just as much as it is yours."

"And you will return," Optimus insisted, turning his back to the medic and facing the still open space bridge. His voice held a shocking amount of annoyance. "When we are done with construction we will call you back."

Ratchet felt his fury rise at those words. "So I am to wait vorns until you are finished? Be reasonable Optimus, you need me there!"

Optimus spun about, fists clenched and a rage upon his face that Ratchet had never before seen, not even when the Prime was locked in combat with Megatron. "You will remain on Earth, and you will not question my orders again! You are a burden to this team: a burden the survival of our race and of the peace we have won cannot afford!"

Startled, Ratchet jolted back. His chair slipped out from under him, sending the medic into a tangled heap on the cold concrete. Optimus made no move to help him, instead leaning over the fallen mech. His denta seemed to sharpen as he spoke, narrowing into points. "You have been nothing but a burden for too long now. I will not stand for it any longer." His optics narrowed, darkening. "Be honored we searched so strongly for a cure, Ratchet. There are times I believe I should have let the disease claim you."

With that the Prime rose and turned. His frame, now a sickly dull purple instead of the regal red he'd always been, vanished into the space bridge. The portal closed with a thunderous clap and a blinding flash of light.

The nightmare induced, strut freezing jolt from recharge was never pleasant, no matter how many times he experienced it. For a hazy moment, Ratchet wondered if there was a thunderstorm. The rumbling crash of electricity upon Earth's surface had woken him far too many times with nightmares of bombs and air raids.

A second boom had the medic flinching where he lay. Wonderful. A thunderstorm meant the whole base would be on edge. Even if they managed to fight past memories of bomb scared battle fields the sound of rain brought the fleeting sensation of stinging plating under acid droplets.

With a huff, Ratchet tugged himself into a sitting position using the bar Bulkhead had installed for him over his berth. Getting out of berth was still a struggle but no-where near as much as it had been previously, as he was now able to use his remaining upper-body strength. Once he gained his equilibrium the next challenge was to stay upright while maneuvering his legs off the side of the berth. There was almost no armor on his legs that could be removed without risking damage to the central structures - not that it mattered much, Ratchet thought bitterly. As such, his legs were heavy and difficult to manipulate. Add paralysis of the majority of his abdomen and Ratchet found himself slumping to the side during the process more often than not. The task of simply getting up in the morning was frustrating, exhausting and typically took the upwards of half an hour to get from laying down on the berth to sitting in his chair.

Finally sitting at the edge of his berth, Ratchet reached for his chair, and found air. Startled, the medic nearly toppled off the berth. He grasped the support bar Bulkhead had drilled into the wall next to the berth and glanced about the room. He found no wheelchair. With a frown, the medic reached up and activated his comm. link.

:Optimus?: His voice creaked with disuse. :Could you please come and get me?:

The connection crackled with static for a moment before the Prime responded. :I am on my way. Are you alright?:

:I can't seem to find my wheelchair,: Ratchet grumbled, unsure of whether to be annoyed or amused by that fact.

There was a long pause. :It is not in your quarters?: A moment after the comm. cut off the berth room door slid open. Optimus stepped inside quickly, allowing the door to close behind him.

The medic gestured broadly about the room. "Do you see it anywhere?"

Optimus simply smiled and gently lifted Ratchet into his arms. "It can't have gone far." The older mech shook his helm, wrapping his arms about the Prime's broad shoulders. On the way through the base's back corridors, Ratchet glanced about. Only Bumblebee's door was closed, as the mech had taken the graveyard shift the night before.

Everyone's up already?" He had to crane his neck to see Optimus' face.

"It appears so," He responded, turning the corner. "I'll admit I'm unsure. I have been in my office most of the morning."

Ratchet hummed, understanding. "You've refueled, right?"

Optimus' chassis vibrated against Ratchet as he hummed. "I had a cube when I got up." The medibay door slid open silently for the mechs as they approached. Inside, to their surprise, sat Bulkhead, hunched over Ratchet's work bench. Miko sat on his shoulder, watching him work, while Jack did the same off to the side of the desk. Rafael, in contrast, had his laptop pulled into his lap, a blueprint on the screen as he gave Bulkhead instructions. Ratchet used Optimus' shoulder to pull himself up high enough to peer around the large green mech's shoulder. He was unsure whether to smile or protest when he caught sight of the handle of his wheelchair.

"I don't even want to know how you got that out of my room," Ratchet scoffed, causing Bulkhead to jump. Miko squeaked, nearly falling from the mech's shoulder.

"R-Ratchet," Bulkhead stuttered, attempting to hide the chair behind his mass. "When did you get up?"

Ratchet rolled his optics, releasing his Prime's shoulders as he was set down on a crate near the work bench. Optimus helped him settle his back against the wall. Once he was sure the medic was properly seated he moved off to the dispenser to get Ratchet's morning rations.

"You do understand that I can't even get out of berth without that chair, right?" He accepted his ration from Optimus with a grimace. Even held in his lap the mixture wafted an unpleasant, bitter fragrance.

Bulkhead waited until Ratchet had finished choking back his energon to speak. "I wanted to have this finished by the time you got up."

Ratchet hummed, making a wry face at his now empty cube. "What are you doing, anyway?" Rafael glanced up from his laptop, grinning.

"We're adding a motor to your chair," He explained. "If I've got the coding right, it should respond to signals from your comm. link."

The medic scratched at his chin. "That-That's actually quite ingenious. Was it your idea?"

The small boy shook his head, his over gelled hair swaying with the movement. "Amazingly, it was Miko's."

The Japanese girl squawked in protest from her perch on Bulkhead's shoulder. "Hey! I have good ideas all the time!"

Jack scoffed, glancing up from the screw he was tightening to give Miko a stale look. With a shake of his head he turned to Rafael. "All secure, if you're ready to fire it up."

"One moment," the boy used his palm to shove his oversized glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I'll send you the comm. frequency, Ratchet."

A message alert appeared on Ratchet's HUD. He integrated the comm. code easily, Rafatel's coding as flawless as ever. The data packet included base commands the wheelchair was programmed to respond to. Bulkhead set the chair on the ground when motioned.

Ratchet sent a ping over the channel containing instructions for speed and direction. The chair's motor propelled it a foot forward at the request. Another ping had it turning and whirling towards where the medic sat. Dropping the speed to its lowest setting, he maneuvered the wheelchair until it was next to him. Chair to wheelchair transfers were much easier than their berth dependant counterparts and Ratchet managed the change with ease. The children and Bulkhead watched with barely contained excitement as Ratchet rolled expertly about the medibay.

"Any issues?" Rafael asked after a moment.

Ratchet hummed, rolling back and forth, considering. "There's a slight lag; only a couple of milliseconds."

Rafael rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Not sure that can be fixed. I'll work on it."

Ratchet nodded. "Thank you, all of you. This was very thoughtful." Each grinned back at the medic, pleased beyond reason. A genuine 'thank you' from Ratchet was rare. "But next time, ask. There was no need to sneak into my quarters." The smiles turned to guilty expressions, or amused in Miko's case. Ratchet shook his helm, shoving Bulkhead away from his work bench. The wrecker moved aside the stool he had been using.

"What's all this anyway?" He asked, gesturing to the datapads stacked neatly to the side. He reached over and turned one on. A grayscale image flickered to life on the screen. Ratchet picked up the pad, scrolling through the data.

"My processor," Ratchet answered. "It's the scan June took just after my Grand Mal. I'm attempting to establish what connections remain and what's corrupted."

Bulkhead rubbed at his chin. "And everything's there?"

"Mmm- not all of it," Ratchet hummed, "Most. And what's important is. I haven't finished the analysis yet, but what's amazing is how ell reconstructed the connections are." A faraway look came over his optics as he examined the data.

Bulkhead, instead, appeared concerned and fairly nervous. "What isn't-" Before he could finish, the base alarms sounded throughout the medibay. Both Autobots jumped at the sound. It had grown increasingly rare as time went on. Ratchet followed Bulkhead out of the medibay after motioning for the children to stay put. Optimus and Arcee were already in the main room, examining the monitors.

"Decepticons?" Ratchet asked, coming to sit next to Optimus.

"In the mine we deemed abandoned three months ago." The Prime's brow was furrowed, his mouth drawn tight. Once an energon mine was abandoned it was almost never returned to. That there were seven Decepticon signatures in the area was troubling. "Ratchet, do you feel you need someone to stay here with you?"

The medic shook his helm. "I have the children if I'm no longer able to man the ground bridge, and Bumblebee is still recharging." Where the question would have been irritating and unwelcome months ago Ratchet now accepted that he was still in need of assistance at times. He was still weak and easily exhausted, and while he had not suffered any illness since his Grand Mal, three days was hardly enough time to guarantee another seizure would not occur. While the children could do little if Ratchet seized they could call for help or take over for the medic if he felt ill. And though he was not fond of being woken early, Bumblebee would understand if he were disturbed from recharge.

Optimus' field washed over Ratchet, full of acknowledgement and trust of his CMO's decision. Turning to face the ground bridge, the Prime addressed his assembled troops. Wheeljack had joined them only moments after Bulkhead and Ratchet had arrived. "This mission is recon first and foremost. Arcee, you're up front with me. Bulkhead, Wheeljack, you should remain back until called. We will bridge in a distance away to retain cover. Ratchet?"

The medic rolled forward, taking his place in front of the base's main computer terminal. With a nod he activated the ground bridge. Optimus stepped through first. His optics constricted almost painfully against the midday sun. He reached up to shield his optics as he waited for the remainder of the Autobots to exit the Ground Bridge. Arcee followed loyally at his side once the other had hidden themselves as best they could. It was a simple task, even for a bot as large as Optimus, to peer over the edge of the Rocky Mountain Cliffside without being spotted from the valley below. Two eradicons milled about in the clearing, keeping watch over the mine entrance. Even from a distance the Autobots could see that one's ankle strut was bent out of alignment, giving him a noticeable limp. The other was much larger than most eradicons, indicating that he was a squad leader. His finish supported several scratches and scuffs but he appeared in decent health.

A third eradicon emerged from the mine, jogging over to the largest of them.

"Anything?" The leader asked, strong voice carrying easily through the valley.

"Not even a scrap." The smaller eradicon answered.

"Slag," The mech rubbed nervously at the back of his helm. "Did Crossback give an estimation?"

The eradicon gave a sad shake of his helm. "Four terrain days, between the seven of us." There was a moment of heavy silence.

"We'll have to move on then. Mucktill thinks there might be a half stripped mine twenty kliks south of here. How's Flicker doing?" The conversation faded from audio range as the two meandered back into the cave mouth.

Optimus waved Arcee back to where the two wreckers remained hidden. The Autobots huddled together at the mouth of a second, smaller cave. This formation was a natural one, unlike the energon mine in the valley blow. "Well, that was strange." Arcee crouched down, examining the soil beneath her pedes. "They don't seem to be scouting. More like scavenging."

Optimus hummed in agreement. "The situation does appear peculiar. We need to approach this situation with caution."

"Thinkin' we should go investigate a little more forcefully," Wheeljack pulled a blade free from its sheath on his back. The Prime reached out and placed a hand on the sword, gently forcing it to the ground. Wheeljack did not protest the action.

"I do not believe this situation calls for force. We may benefit from observing for a while." Optimus was forced to crouch alongside Bulkhead to fit in the cave.

"So we set a watch. Follow them from cave to cave." Arcee hummed contemplatively. "I can take first watch. Bee can take over once he's online and up to speed."

Optimus nodded, placing a massive hand on Arcee's shoulder. "Until we have more information, make no attempt at contact. And maintain a safe distance with your comm. active. We don't know what we're dealing with." Arcee nodded as she stood, sliding around Optimus and Bulkhead. Her light frame danced from rock to rock, silently, until she vanished into the thick Rocky Mountain vegetation.

After a moment of silence to insure they did not inadvertently expose Arcee to the eradicon group, Optimus reached up and tapped his finial to activate his comm.. The line stuttered to life. :Fowler here, Prime. In need of a bridge?:

"Indeed, Agent Fowler," Optimus responded. "You have our coordinates?"

:Ratch programmed 'em in for me.: The Agent reassured. The swirling vortex crackled into life several yards from the cave entrance. Optimus shepherded Bulkhead and Wheeljack towards the ground bridge before following.

"Is Ratchet alright?" The Prime stepped through the bridge, reentering the safety and warmth of the Autobot base. The transition from climate to climate always came with a moment of shock and discomfort until the frame readjusted to its environment. Optimus' fans stuttered on at the Nevada heat.

Fowler pushed his chair away from the computer to face the Autobot leader. "Ratchet's fine, Prime. Rafael is helping him with his wheelchair. You, however, I need to speak to you." Optimus nodded, motioning for the human to follow him back to his office.

"Bulkhead," He called over his shoulder, "Please monitor the comms and inform Bumblebee of the situation when he comes online." The green mech smiled and gave him a thumbs-up before turning to his duties.

The red mech followed Fowler into his office. The room dwarfed the human but was fairly small to the much larger Cybertronian. Optimus boosted the government agent up to the surface of his desk before settling into the adjacent chair. "What can I do for you, Agent Fowler."

The human paced the length of the desk, expertly avoiding any precarious looking datapad piles. "Ratchet said you were out investigating a group of 'cons?"

Optimus nodded. "That is correct. We discovered a small group of eradicons who appeared to be scavenging in an abandoned mine."

"Well turns out, they aren't the only ones." Fowler accessed the human sized computer on the Prime's desk, the screen projecting onto the far wall. "We've got a few security cameras around most of the abandoned energon mines in North America. These photos are from one in Northern Iceland." The screen changed to display a series of grainy, low resolution photographs. The first image, though grayscale and taken at a distance was clearly of an eradicon. The second photo showed several more emerging from the mine entrance. "We have hundreds of photos like these." Agent Fowler elaborated. "They've been milling about for a little more than a week. My superiors only recently found it important enough to inform me."

Optimus rested his chin in his hands, watching attentively as Fowler flipped through the photographs. There were at least ten different eradicons present in the area, possibly more. "Would there be a way to remotely link the cameras' feeds to our base's systems?"

Fowler hummed, thinking. "I can talk to the techies, see what they can hook up. But that isn't all, Prime." With another click he pulled up a new photograph. A group of twelve figures huddled in the dirt at the mine's entrance around a pitifully small batch of newly distilled energon. One figure, a gleaming silver despite the dirt on his frame, stood out amongst the rest. "You seein' what I'm seein'?"

Optimus' optics narrowed. "Starscream," He muttered. "Has there been any sign of any of the other Decepticon officers?"

Fowler shook his head. "Just Screamer. But he's managed to avoid our cameras better than any of his companions, though I doubt he knows they're there. It's not impossible that there are others." He shut off the projector. "There's not much we can do right now though. The Icelandic government isn't too happy with all our activity in the area at the moment. We're trying to get occupation rights sorted out but it could take a few more weeks."

Optimus nodded in understanding. "As long as we have access to observing Starscream, there is very little need for immediate action. We do not wish to cause conflict among your species." The Prime scooped up a half empty cube of energon from the far side of his desk. He took a long draught before turning his attention back to Fowler. "Could you download these images to our database?"

The government agent nodded, quickly making the necessary transfers through the small computer on Optimus' desk. "I'll update you the moment anything changes, either with the Icelandics or with the 'cons. I expect you to do the same, Prime." He gave the mech a stern look, despite him being five times Fowler's height.

Optimus provided him a slight smile. "I assure you, Agent Fowler, we will keep you up to date."

"Turns out a lot of the electrical flow was blocked, stuck in the damaged areas of my processor." Ratchet waved his hands about as he spoke. He lay draped on the Autobot's makeshift couch, his feet sitting in Optimus' lap while his back was supported by several pillows and the couches arm. Optimus nodded and smiled as he spoke, the report he'd been writing forgotten off to the side. "The seizure was the result of a connection in those dead areas reestablishing. The seizure likely would have continued until something had blown had you not sedated me."

Optimus hummed, relaxing a hand over Ratchet's ankle. "The electrical overload allowed the connection to restore?"

Ratchet chuckled lightly. "No. The reverse actually; it's similar to a true processor glitch when too many connections fire in tandem." The medic took a quick sip from the cube at his side. The mid-grade energon was a treat and an appreciated break from his normal medication saturated midgrade.

"Can it occur again?" The prime accepted the rust stick Ratchet handed him.

The medic sighed. "It's extremely likely that I'll have minor seizures throughout the remainder of my functioning. Hopefully nothing on that scale again."

The prime frowned around his rust stick. "It's been almost a week without any indication of a seizure."

Ratchet hummed. "The further apart they are the better. Damn things hurt." Optimus spared his companion a sad smile, which the medic quickly waved aside. "How's the report coming along?"

Optimus grimaced, glancing sideways at the discarded datapad. "Agent Fowler has requested a draft of the updated protocols concerning any future incoming Autobots, seeing as Wheeljack's arrival was less than ideal." The prime rubbed at his faceplates. "We were hoping to have the initial draft completed in time for the meeting with General Hallen in the morning. That does not seem likely at this point, however."

The medic scoffed, "Not with me shorting your audios."

"I enjoy listening to you," Optimus assured, smile bright. He patted the medic's leg even though he knew the mech could not feel the gesture.

"How about this," Ratchet suggested, snatching one of Optimus' history textbooks off of a side table. "You work while I'm the lazy one for once." He flipped to a random page in the book, wiggling into the couch until he was decently comfortable.

"I don't mind speaking to you. The report is not all that critical." Optimus made no move to retrieve his abandoned report, instead staring expectantly at Ratchet. The medic did not respond, merely dabbing his forefinger on his glossa before turning the page of the book.

"Would you prefer if I retrieved one of your medical texts for you?" Optimus attempted.

Ratchet turned the small paper book in his hand. "Why couldn't June have provided these in digital format? Books are much too fragile." The prime sighed in defeat, relenting. He snatched up his datapad and resigned himself to several hours of processor numbing administrative work. Ratchet chuckled lightly but made no comment.

The two delved into an easy silence. Periodically the peace was interrupted by Optimus humming at his report or Ratchet grumbling at the size of his book. On one occasion the Prime had to set his work aside to help Ratchet flip a page, as the medic's hands still shook from time to time. The only true interruption came when Optimus felt a jab at his abdomen, just below his tanks. He glanced up from his report to the medic at his side, frowning. After a moment of watching Ratchet read silently he shook his helm and returned to his work.

Optimus brow scrunched together when Ratchet poked his abdomen again, fighting against the urge to bat the medic away. Instead he ignored the childish jab, returning to his work. The protocols he'd come up with were still rough and would need much more work before they could be implemented, but they already did more good for both Autobots and humans than the current regulations. Optimus scratched absently at his audio, running back over an oddly worded sentence. The way it was, there was too much room for misinterpretation, something that did not bode well in governments, no matter their species. Perhaps if he just added a second clause it would -.

Optimus placed his datapad off to the side with a huff. "I was under the impression that you wished for me to get work done."

Ratchet glanced up innocently from his book, giving his leader a questioning look. "And are you?" He asked, after a barely noticeable hesitation.

Optimus glared at his companion. "Very little with you doing that."

Ratchet raised a brow. "If my venting is too loud for you, you're welcome to work elsewhere. I was under the impression that you enjoyed my company."

Optimus rolled his optics but chose to return to his work without gratifying the medic with a reply. He got half a paragraph into reviewing the documentation when the jab came again.

"Ratchet," he snapped, exasperated. The medic jumped.

"What, Prime," he barked back, tone a perfect match to Optimus'.

"Please stop. I have asked you once already." The prime suddenly had the vague feeling he was a young archivist again, arguing pointlessly with the much older medical professor.

"I'm not doing anything," Ratchet retorted, expression a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

"You have been poking me for the last ten minutes," Optimus clarified. "I would appreciate it if you stopped."

Ratchet's brow furrowed. "I'm nowhere near you," he pointed out. "It's not like I could sit up to reach you."

Optimus opened his mouth to retort when the sensation came again. He froze, glancing down at his lap. Ratchets pedes rested across his legs just as he'd dragged them there when they'd first settled on the couch. The limp pedes were the only part of the medic that was anywhere near Optimus, but they were not a possibility. Ratchet was fully paraplegic. None of the connections below his upper abdomen received or sent signals to his processor any longer. It simply wasn't possible for the medic to move his foot.

Just as Optimus was prepared to dismiss the event and attribute it to stress and a lack of recharge, Ratchet's right pede twitched, tapping against his stomach.

"Ratchet…," the prime breathed, unable to form words beyond the medic's name. A quick glance to his side revealed that the medic had pushed himself up on his elbows to stare down his form at the limp feet. His optics were wide and bright. He made no indication that he'd heard the prime. It took another minute twitch to pull him from his stupor.

The bulky white mech twisted his helm to glanced behind him, frantically sending commands at his wheelchair via comm.. When the chair snagged on a box of yet to be sorted supplies next to the couch, Optimus leapt up to assist. Ratchet did not protest when he was carried over to his chair though he did appear rather impatient with the speed at which Optimus was putting him down. Once properly able to move on his own again, the medic sped off in the direction of the medibay. His chair whirred warningly as he pushed the motor to its highest speed. Optimus followed at a light jog.

"Grab the portable scanner," Ratchet instructed, already fishing a blank datapad from the cabinet. Optimus snatched up the requested device from the medic's work bench and returned to his companion's side. Ratchet plugged the scanner into the datapad and adjusted several settings before handing it back. "Seventh strut, about one of your hands down from the base of my neck." Optimus nodded, pointing the scanner at the instructed area, looking over Ratchet's shoulder at the datapad in his lap. The medic was leaned forward, supported by his arms, exposing his back plates to his leader.

A thin metal mesh covered Ratchet's back strut where the break was. Normally, his medipack would cover the delicate and vital structure. With that removed Ratchet weighed a great deal less and could lie on his back much easier but his backstrut was particularly vulnerable. The mesh kept the wiring safe from contact and contamination. It also hid away the mangled and somewhat gruesome struts below.

"Hold still, Optimus," Ratchet chided. "I can't get a good reading unless the scanner is steady." The Prime muttered an apology, gripping the scanner more firmly. After a moment Ratchet began tapping at the datapad screen, saving the results. "Okay, that should be enough."

Optimus shut off the scanner and pulled up a stool next to Ratchet. The medic hummed curiously as he scanned through the information. Prime was politely silent while he worked, despite the many questions he wished to ask.

Ratchet froze. "There's a connection." His voice was barely above a whisper. "It's faint, but it's there." Optimus remained silent for a moment but Ratchet did not continue.

"What does that mean?" He asked, leaning over further to get a better look at the datapad.

Ratchet sat perfectly still, vents calm and even, yet his frame was tense. Slowly, almost gingerly, he relaxed back into his chair. "It means I might walk again."

Optimus resisted the urge to grin, settling for a small, unsure smile instead. "Might?"

Ratchet nodded, finally looking away from the datapad. "It's going to take considerable amounts of physical therapy. Much more than you needed after the matrix altered your frame. It could take anywhere from a year to a vorn before I can stand on my own, much less walk." He sighed, "The connection is very faint."

"But it is there," Optimus countered, placing a hand on his friend's protoform bare shoulder. Ratchet smiled back, hopeful.

"We need to brace the strut," he said suddenly, pulling away from Optimus to glide across the room. After a moment of rummaging about in the cabinet he pulled forth a sturdy but heavy brace, similar to the one Optimus had helped him put on his arm after their battle with Megatron's tericon army. "The connection is far too fragile at this point," he explained, handing the brace to Optimus. "This will keep me from moving that section of my spinal struts and accidentally fraying or snapping the wires there. I trust you know how to put it on?"

Optimus smile, slipping the brace around Ratchet's chassis. "I trust you'll correct me if I don't." Ratchet chuckled, lifting his arms for the Prime, dropping them again once the temporary clamps in the back were secured. Optimus grabbed the portable welder Ratchet kept incase his built-in one was inaccessible or damaged. The heat would fully secure the brace to Ratchet's frame, tightening the specialized alloys until they were snug around his torso. It would also bond the brace to itself. Another burst of heat at a later time could loosen the brace enough to be removed.

Once the support was well secured, Optimus patted Ratchet on the shoulder and put the welder away. The medic was still engrossed in the medical datapad when the Prime returned. He was muttering to himself and jabbing at the screen. Optimus retook the seat across from his companion and waited.

"I'll write up a better treatment plan once I have some more data, but for now this should do." Ratchet handed the datapad to Optimus who glanced over the information there. With the general gist of it understood he gave the pad back.

"How much time a day do you plan on giving to this?" He asked, smile still visible.

"Only as much as I can," Ratchet replied with a sigh. "This isn't a rehabilitation center. Duty comes first."

Optimus shook his helm. "I have no doubt about that," he reassured. "I'm simply worried that you will stretch yourself too far too quickly."

"I am a medic," Ratchet scoffed, feigning offense. "I know perfectly well that over doing it can do more harm than good." A clatter of platting and several too loud voices drifting into the medibay indicated the children and their guardians had arrived back at base for the evening.

Optimus gestured towards the door. "Care to share the good news?" Ratchet's chair whirred to life as he headed for the door, Optimus following closely behind. The children were the first to greet them. Miko pulled herself up to sit on the footrest of Ratchets wheelchair while Rafael scaled the side to sit on Ratchets shoulder. Jack simply walked beside them.

"What's with t the fancy new corset, Doc?" Miko called up, neck craned back to look at the medic.

Ratchet had to look up the term on a remote access to the internet before he gestured for the children to join him. "Come up here and I'll show you." Optimus graciously hoisted the remaining two children up and into Ratchets lap. The medic activated his datapad and held it out for them to see. "What do you make of this?"

"Looks like some sort of freaky x-ray of my host parent's toaster," Miko said, scratching at her chin. Jack simply shrugged at the remark.

Rafael, however, stared with wide eyes from behind his glasses. "Ratchet, is that-?"

"Hush, you." The medic cut the boy off with a sharp click of his glossa. Rafael grinned, but didn't continue.

"Wait," Jack mumbled, "is it an x-ray?" Both he and Miko looked up at Ratchet curiously. Rafael refused to look at either of them, still grinning far too broadly for his small face.

"It uses electro-magnetic plusses instead of x-rays, but essentially yes," Ratchet replied, flipping the display to a more zoomed in view.

Jack was silent for a long moment, studying the scans. "Ratchet," his tone raised in disbelief, "is that your back?"

The medic didn't reply to his question, instead turning back to the youngest of the children. "Rafael, what do you see?"

The boy leapt down from Ratchet's shoulder, using his forearm as support. "It's a scan of your back-struts. And this," he was nearly bouncing with excitement as he pointed out the mentioned area, "is a signal connection." Miko gave him a blank look but it seemed to click for Jack.

"Wait, wait," he held up both hands, "so your back is what? Healing?" Ratchet smirked, nodding. Jack's eyes widened. "You might walk again?" Another nod.

Miko whooped, leaping up and pumping her fist into the air. "You can use the cane we made!"

Ratchet smiled at her enthusiasm. "One day, maybe. There's no guarantee I'll ever be able to walk again, and it's unlikely to be anytime within the next year or two."

"That long?" Rafael stared up at his mentor, grin only slightly less.

"Repair takes time, especially when left to self repair." Ratchet explained. "But we're going to be doing everything we can to help it along." He noticed with a touch of amusement that Miko kept glancing over her shoulder back at the hall to the Autobots' quarters. "Oh, go tell Bulkhead already, before you explode." Ratchet feigned exasperation. Miko grinned, but scrambled down the wheelchair as fast as she could. Jack followed her after glancing up at Ratchet. The medic waved him off.

Rafael stayed, however, grinning up at the mech. "Wanna come tell Bee with me?"

Ratchet revved his wheelchair. "Care to see how fast this motor can go?" Rafael made a show of planting himself in Ratchet's lap. He made sure none of the plating on the medic could pinch him before giving a thumbs-up. Ratchet sent the command to the receiver in his chair. Rafael whooped with every increment of acceleration. Ratchet couldn't help but cheer right along with him as they sped down the base hallways.

I did not realize it had been six months since I updated... Oops.

Please note that I began this story long before General Brice came into Transformers Prime. For continuity's sake I've stuck with General Hallen instead of switching over to Fowler's canon superior.