"Hurry up," Spec snapped, his hands buried deep in a mech's internals. The Con had been hit by an acid pellet directly in the chassis and it had eaten through his armor as well as part of his spark chamber. Time was against them, but if they hurried, the mech could pull through. Ratchet hurried over with patch and electro-stabilizer but Spec swore as the monitor hooked to the mech let out a long, flat tone. "Slag it to the pit!" Spec roared and kicked the leg of the berth. He turned a bright, red opticed glare onto Ratchet. "What the pit are you gaping at? You standing there mourning ain't gonna save any more lives. Move onto the next!" he yelled and Ratchet jumped to obey.
After nearly two deca-cycles of being in the medbay, he had come to realize that Spec was decently level headed, at least until a battle took place. With the newest attempt of an Autobot raid on the Kaon, the worst cases were being transported from the field into HQ for treatment. The battle raged so close outside, moving an injured mech from the filth of the battlefield to the sterility of the medbay only helped their chances even if it did delay treatment for a few minutes. Even with the number of medics in the bay, they were so overrun with injured as it was that half of the mechs were dead by the time someone got to them anyway—Ratchet could only imagine what the field medics were dealing with.
The lights in the bay suddenly flickered and the roar of an explosion rocked the walls around them. Spec swore. "They're really going at it this time," he muttered even as he started patching another Con's frayed and leaking internals back together.
"How close are they?" Ratchet asked and as he moved to the mech on the table across from Spec, trying not to focus too hard on the grisly helm injuries that made the mechs' exposed processor spark.
Spec snorted. "Don't get your hopes up, kid," he said. "We've held this city for nearly five vorns—no way a ragtag group of Bots are getting through now." He finished stabilizing the mech and put him in stasis with an energon drip to keep him that way until further repairs could be made. "What the pit are you doing? The mech's good as gone—put him down and get onto the next one."
Ratchet's hand faltered where they were cleaning up the mech's processing circuits. "What? No! I can pull him through," he said and worked fervently to keep the mech under him from slipping into cascade failure.
Spec growled and tried to shove him away. "And while you're trying to bring back a mech who'll be a low functioning drone at best for the rest of his existence, other mechs who could bounce back entirely are dying. Triage, Ratchet! Ever heard of it?" he snapped.
Ratchet glared though he didn't take his optics off of mech he was working on. "I know what triage is," he snapped.
"Then do it!" Spec snapped before pointing to the mech under Ratchet's hands. He spoke in a rushed voice, "That mech only has a 15% chance of pulling through, even IF we had all the supplies we needed to fix him." He pointed to the mech that was moaning hoarsely on the berth one over. "That one has a 35% chance and his repairs don't use a lot of resources."
Ratchet stubbornly continued to work on the injured mech's processor, glaring down as he cleaned debris from the fritzing circuits. Ever patient deserved a chance. He wasn't just going to leave the mech to die when there was still possibility he could pull through. He'd never had the chance to officially take his oath, but he followed its principles regardless. Every patient had the right to treatment, no matter how bad their injuries were and it was his duty to see them through to the end, whichever end occurred.
Spec snarled and grabbed a laser scalpel out of subspace before driving it through the dying mech's chassis with practiced ease, stabbing him through the spark chamber. Ratchet froze, his hands still poised over the mech's helm as he watched the light dim from his optics, frame convulsing once before he went offline for the last time. "MOVE!" Spec bellowed.
Ratchet gaped at the dead mech in shock and it took a smack upside of the helm from Spec to make him stop staring at the lifeless grey form. He shuddered, and wiped his hands off on a rag, trying to ignore the tremor in his hands. Even as he moved onto the next injured, a mech with a large chunk taken out of his side, he couldn't quiet stop his hands from shaking. After a few minutes of fumbling, he lost the mech and felt the tremors gain momentum. He knew he should stop, collect himself, but he was still too shaken by Spec's outburst to dare and stop. Another mech went in similar fashion under his hands and he wiped his shaking hands on a rag, his vents cycling far too quickly. He tried to move onto the next berth, but Spec grabbed his shoulder and pressed a small cube into his hands. "Down it. Now," he ordered and Ratchet didn't dare disobey.
He threw his head back and drank the cube in one quick gulp, recognizing the bitter taste instantly as cheap highgrade. "Just take a breath and calm down," Spec murmured impatiently and Ratchet nodded, sucking in a few deep gulps of air through his vents. The highgrade wasn't enough to get him overcharged by a long shot, but he felt the tremors in his hands lessen a little as the liquid hit his tanks. "You alright?" Spec asked gruffly. Ratchet swallowed and nodded, even as his vents sputtered on the exhale. "No you're not," Spec snorted. "Just keep breathing, kid. Take it easy." Ratchet gave a weak, slightly hysteric sounding laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion but tried to do as he was told. He closed his optics and sucked in a few more deep breaths, cracking the joints in his fingers to get them to loosen up a little. Spec stood with him until his hands had stopped shaking before asking again, "Are you alright?"
Ratchet looked at the mech and ran a hand over his helm before nodding. "Yeah… yeah, I'm okay," he said quietly, only half lying.
Spec gave him a searching look before nodding curtly. "Alright then. Get back to it," he said, almost gently and steered him towards an occupied berth.
Both of them looked up as their comm. system's activated at once, and everyone in the medbay seemed to pause as the news came through. The battle was won. The Autobots had retreated. A cheer rose from the mechs in the bay that were conscious enough to hear the news and Spec grinned broadly before clapping Ratchet on the shoulder. "Get ready kid—it's about to get busy again," he said.
Spec hadn't been joking. As mechs were cleared from the field, the medbay filled up again. Ratchet worked beside Spec, patching, rewiring and stabilizing whatever mech happened to be under his hands. He lost track of how many died and how many lived and a part of his exhausted mind hated, loathed the fact that he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. This wasn't the individualized care he'd been taught to give. He was choosing which mechs should have a chance to live and which should be left to die and it was wrong. He had been told to never play Primus, and yet here he was, picking and choosing who could have the opportunity to keep living.
They didn't get relief until late into the night, after the field medics had had a chance to rest. When they did show up, they looked just as exhausted as the medbay crew but Ratchet was too tired himself to feel much sympathy. He felt a hand on his shoulder and groaned. "What now?" Ratchet asked, trying to sound angry but ended up just sounding weary far beyond his years.
"Come with me," Spec said quietly and walked out of the bay. Ratchet followed behind him, stumbling with exhaustion. Spec led him through the sparse hallways of HQ and towards the mess hall. It was quiet this late at night, though a few other mechs, mostly medical staff, could be seen sitting in the darkened corners, half asleep over their cubes. Spec swiped his ID through the dispenser and it automatically filled up a cube for him, taking it out of his daily rations. Ratchet did the same and listlessly followed the mech to an empty table. At one point in time, there had been an Autobot symbol embossed on the surface, but someone long ago had scratched it out beyond recognition.
"The Peacekeepers sure knew how to live," Spec murmured and drank deeply from his cube. "The Autobots keep trying to cut off energon supplies, but we've got refineries in Kaon, most of Tyrest and now Praxus that are supplying us."
Ratchet didn't reply and just sipped at his energon, not feeling very hungry as he struggled to keep the memories of the day away. He set his cube down, nearly half full and rested his helm on his hands with a quiet groan.
Spec chuckled quietly. "Better get used to the pace, Ratchet. It happens after every battle, and the fights are coming harder and faster," he said.
Ratchet titled his head up, glaring blearily at the mech. "How do you do it?" he asked.
Spec gave a small shrug. "Drinking your rations help," he said and nodded pointedly to Ratchet's unfinished cube.
The young mech sighed and pulled himself back up before grabbing his cube again. He looked down at the pink liquid but still didn't drink. "How can you stand it?" Ratchet rephrased and looked up at the older mech.
Spec snorted. "Years of practice. I've been on the medical staff here for about five vorns—since they took over Kaon, actually," he murmured. He sipped at his cube and sighed, optics going out of focus a little as he idly traced the scarred remnants of the Autobot symbol on the table. "You think I'm a monster, don't you?" he said after a few moments, more as a statement than a question.
Ratchet almost flinched at the question as it forced him to think about what had happened, causing all of the events of the day to flood back to him. He'd been carefully keeping them repressed, hoping to sleep it all off and forget about everything… but that simple question had opened the doors to let everything spill out. His expression darkened as he glared down at his energon, remembering in vivid detail how a little trail of the pink liquid had escaped from the mech's chassis after Spec had killed him. The shock had worn off long ago and morphed into a deep anger and resentment that bubbled quickly to the surface. "That was my patient," he said quietly, after a long moment of silence.
"What?" Spec asked, having long ago turned his attention elsewhere, guessing that Ratchet wasn't going to answer.
"That was my patient, Spec," Ratchet repeated, his voice gaining volume with every word. "He was my responsibility, not yours and you killed him. You had no right! He was MY patient!"
Spec snorted and leaned back in his chair to stretch, wings flaring out on either side of him as though completely unaware of the furious mech sitting across from him. He carelessly folded his hands behind his back and surveyed the young mech.
"Ratchet, you're a doctor, not a medic," he sat at last. "You've been trained to give every patient close, personal attention, which anywhere else, would make you a very good doctor, but that ain't how things work here," he said seriously. "We work fast, and we work efficiently. We don't waste time with lost causes or mechs who can't possibly make a full recovery— when it boils down, it becomes a waste of resources and time that could be spent saving someone else." Spec sighed and shook his head before rubbing his optics tiredly before muttering, "Only during war does saving lives become a business. I know you don't think it's fair, and in a lot of ways, it isn't. You were trained to be a doctor in times of peace, not a medic in war time. Your priorities will change… it won't seem so awful after awhile."
Ratchet had felt his temper reaching critical levels as the mech spoke and he slammed his fist against the table out of sheer frustration. "Spare me your sanctimonious justification you son of a glitch!" he yelled, not caring that the few other mechs in the room had turned to stare. He'd already lost too many friends to the budding war to let someone murder one of his patients, even if he had been a soldier. His hand shook where it lay planted against the table and he saw Spec's optics flick towards it.
"See, that right there shows I made the right decision," he said and pointed to Ratchet's hand. "They wanted to send you out to be a field medic—I told them you wouldn't last a day out there." He tilted his head and smirked. "You get scared too easily, kid. I would even say you're scared right now, even while talking to me, huh?" He shook his head. "Why the slag are you getting so worked up over a mech you didn't even know? You don't even know what his name was, do you?" he asked and Ratchet just glared heatedly. "Didn't think so," he snorted, a sardonic grin on his face. "I hate to say it Ratchet, but if the sight of a mech dying scares you… you chose the wrong profession."
Ratchet wanted to hit the mech and wipe the condescending smirk off of his face. "If I didn't have this collar around my neck, I'd show you how scared I am," Ratchet threatened and Spec actually laughed and shook his head, like he was listening to a sparkling argue. It only helped make Ratchet angrier.
"Primus, no need for threats, mech. I'm just yanking your chain. You need to learn to calm down or you'll die of spark failure before anything else has a chance to get to you."
Ratchet seethed as he got to his feet, knowing he needed to leave before he fragged the consequences and attacked the mech anyway. "Frag you, Spec," he growled and stepped past him. "You're a bunch of barbarians. I bet you wouldn't see Autobots betray one of their own like that. No wonder they're trying to shut you down."
A hand shot out and grabbed Ratchet's wrist and yanked him back down into his seat. "Sit your aft down," Spec growled, his red optics glowing a little brighter. Ratchet swallowed, his own optics widened at the look of sheer anger that had replaced the teasing nonchalance. "What the pit would you know? A pampered little University bot who's never stepped foot in a southern city until now?" Ratchet swallowed and opened his mouth to try and talk his way out but the mech tightened his grip almost painfully. "The Autobots are scum, Ratchet. Do you know what I did before I joined the Decepticons?" he asked.
Ratchet swallowed and shook his head nervously, seeing the almost manic anger in the mech's optics. "I was an interrogator. I worked here, actually, in the Kaon Peacekeeper HQ," he said.
Ratchet optics widened "But that means you were—"
"An Autobot," Spec finished for him, a sneer on his face. "I tried to join the Peacekeepers—wanted to train to be a medic. You know what they said to me?" he asked, and Ratchet could practically feel the tirade bubbling up in the mech. "They said I had a 'penchant for violence'—said I'd be better suited to something else. Regardless, they didn't give me a grant to start medical training. Instead, they took the cheap route and made me an interrogator. I wasn't happy about it, but I couldn't complain too much, I was a poor mech and I needed a job. In a way, they were right—I was good at what I did, even if I did hate ever pit slagged second of it," he growled. "I was a loyal little pawn, just like they wanted. I was an interrogator for them for thirteen vorns, yet as soon as mechs from Kaon and then Tyrest started rebelling, I was automatically under suspicion of being a sympathizer."
Ratchet swallowed, his tanks clenching uncomfortably. "Why?"
Spec tapped his helm, right next to his optics. "I was a poor mech from Kaon with red optics. And so were the mechs that were rebelling. They started calling themselves Decepticons—setting them apart from the Autobots and my employers started to wonder if I was one of them. I dealt with the racist suspicions and just kept to my job. It was my duty to interrogate the Decepticons rebels they brought in and they still suspected that I was a traitor." Spec finally let go of Ratchet's wrist and ran an agitated hand over his helm, as though wondering if he should go on. Ratchet stayed frozen in his chair, starting at the older mech in shock before Spec finally spoke again, his voice quieter, more subdued. "And then… the Autobots arrested my mate, just because she had red optics and was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"I don't know what the higher ups were thinking," Spec muttered, his voice only getting quieter. "I can only guess they wanted to test me, be sure I was the Autobot they hoped I was... They were convinced my mate was a Con so they decided to have me be the one to interrogate her for information." He rubbed his face tiredly and Ratchet stared at him in shock. Ratchet swallowed thickly, shuddering in horror. A spark bond was, in essence, sharing your soul with another being—if one is in pain, the other would feel it. He remembered a bonded couple coming into the medbay one time after one of them had their legs crushed in an accident. His mate had been barely able to walk from the residual pain.
Spec noticed the look on his face and snorted disdainfully. "Primus, you must really think I'm the lowest scum on the planet if you think I did it. Of course I slagging refused." He shook his head and sat back a little in his chair, the anger ebbing from his voice and making him just sound tired. "They called me a Con and had me arrested for passing along classified information. I was behind bars for nearly a vorn, waiting to be executed until the Decepticons took control of HQ."
A long silence passed as Ratchet digested the information, his tanks churning. "What happened to your mate?" he finally asked.
Spec gave a quiet huff of a laugh, devoid of any humor. "The Decepticons liberated Kaon three days too late," he whispered and rubbed his optics, a pained grimace on his face. "They'd already had her executed for treason."
Ratchet shuddered, his armor clanking quietly even as he rubbed his neck. "Primus," he whispered.
Spec nodded silently as he looked down at the empty cube that sat forgotten on the table. Ratchet swallowed as he saw the anger and the betrayal written on the mech's face and even though he never thought it was possible, even though he couldn't agree with the side he chose, he understood.
"You get it now," Spec murmured. "Autobots aren't any better than we are." He shook his head and closed his optics for a long moment before saying, "They think they're fighting off another uprising… but we're more than that. We're starting a revolution. We're the workers, the miners, the soldiers—the second rate citizens. Autobots are the merchants, the politicians—the mechs on top and they want to keep it that way… All we want is equality, Ratchet. And the only way to do that is show them we aren't going to sit around and let Cybertron be built on our backs while they keep our faces shoved in the dirt. We're going to rise up… by any means necessary."
Both mechs were quiet for a long time, neither looking at the other. Finally, Spec looked up at him and breathed a small sigh. "Ratchet, we need trained mechs… you wouldn't have to wear that collar if you joined us," he said quietly. "I know you don't believe it but you'd be fighting for the right side." Ratchet swallowed and kept his optics down, looking at the desecrated Autobot symbol on the table that seemed glare up at him, as though waiting for his decision. He held no loyalty to either cause before, but Spec's story cut him deeper than he was willing to admit and for a brief moment, he actually considered it. As soon as the thought surfaced, it was replaced by his own memories that boiled up, unbidden, and before he could stop himself, he was talking.
Words tumbled almost reflexively from his vocals, like a floodgate slowly opening. He told Spec everything. He told him about Praxus and how the war had never really seemed possible there, hemmed out by the cities perfectly kept gates. He told him about that night at the club and how he'd gone from the highest he'd ever felt to the lowest in a matter of seconds. He told him about the mech with the bomb strapped in his chassis and how he had still had nightmares of dying like that, helpless and completely alone, knowing that you and everyone around you was about to die and it was entirely, indisputably your fault. He told him about how Lunar was the only reason he was still alive and how the guilt seemed to eat at him like a virus every time he thought that if their positions had been switched, she would still be alive. He told him about how he'd never gotten the chance to grieve over the loss of two of his closest friends or even see their bodies off properly to the Well. He even told him about Trailbreaker and how the Autobot had chosen death at the end of a long drop instead of being caught and interrogated by the Decepticons. He told him how it killed him not knowing if Wheeljack and Perceptor were alright, or even alive anymore and how it hurt every time he thought about them, remembering the fear in Wheeljack's tense frame and the shaking terror in Perceptor's as he touched them, hugged them for the last time.
He wasn't sure how long he talked for, but Spec sat across from him and just listened, barely moving. It was like talking to a statue except the mech's optics reflected a sadness Ratchet had come to know well. Maybe he knew Ratchet needed to get it off his chassis, or maybe he was just too polite to interrupt, but either way, he didn't speak the entire time, and when Ratchet finally tapered off he simply nodded and put a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. Ratchet was shaking from head to foot and he just couldn't seem to stop it. The anger had ebbed from him entirely, leaving him a broken mess, struggling to hold all of the pieces together.
"I'm sorry Spec, but I can't," Ratchet whispered, his voice cracking. "I can't—I won't join the mechs who did this." He was terrified to look up, afraid to see that his trust had been misplaced and he'd be killed for even admitting he was lost to the Decepticon cause.
The hand on his shoulder tightened for a moment and Ratchet dared to look up, shocked to see a small, sad smile on Spec's face as the older mech looked at him. "I understand," he said quietly and that was all Ratchet needed to hear. He laid his head down on his hands and grieved.