Please berate me. This took way longer than it should have and I have no other excuse except going to Botcon and getting my puppy, Meister. Berate the shit out of me so I don't take this long to update ever again! Also enjoy! I hope it's worth the wait!

The quiet of the medbay was almost suffocating. Ratchet didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep until a quiet sigh woke him, sounding as loud as a whistle in the stillness. He lifted his head up from the medical berth and his back popped in retaliation, berating him for falling asleep in such an awkward position. It was late—the three mechs on night duty were talking quietly in the corner and none of them even realized Perceptor had woken up. Ratchet probably wouldn't have realized it either, except for the fact that he'd fallen asleep with his scanner still plugged into Perceptor's helm and he saw the conscious thrum of his system on his readout.

The telescope lay with his optics closed even as one hand moved slowly towards his chassis, feeling the lack of his protective armor. Ratchet had spent the better part of the day replacing his tanks and though he had reattached the plates of his protoform, he was waiting to see if everything was functioning correctly before he reattached his thick outer plates.

"I know you're awake," Ratchet said quietly and squeezed his friend's hand.

Perceptor flinched minutely. "I don't want to be," he whispered and his optics finally slid open, glowing a deep blue.

"Perce—"

"No, Ratchet," he said. "Don't even bother. I don't want to hear about how my actions were wrong, or how mechs care about me or that everything will be okay, because it won't." Ratchet was stunned into silence at the complete absence of emotion in the mech's voice, but Perceptor wasn't finished. "We're going to die here anyway. I'd rather not prolong it."

Ratchet stared at his friend for a long moment, trying to see anything in him that reminded him of the innocent, young university student he had known. He found nothing. Replacing him was a shell of a mech who had lost every last shred of his old self. Ratchet felt like he was staring at a stranger. "Perce… what did they do to you?" he whispered.

Finally, Perceptor tore his gaze from the ceiling and turned blank optics onto Ratchet. "I'm going to be the end of us all," he said quietly. "Already, the timer is set, the coordinates locked on. It's going to detonate above Iacon in an orn. There's no way to stop it. It will kill every living thing there." It wasn't the ramblings of a mad mech. He was perfectly articulate, voice clear and low, and that's what scared Ratchet the most.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

Perceptor's optics locked and held onto his. "A bomb. He calls it the Final Solution," he said and held up his hand before curling it into a ball. "No bigger than my fist. Landslide and I designed it and Lieutenant Shockwave approved it. It's ingenious, really… that technology could be used for so many things—faster thrusters, more efficient engines, safer interstellar ships. But no, he wanted a weapon. It will ignite any fuel instantaneously… even the living fuel inside of the citizens of Iacon." He let his hand drop back to the table. "That mech has so many plans, so many new ways to kill people. The Final Solution, project Borderline, bio-warfare… and I've aided him with every single one."

Ratchet felt sick at the thought. There would be no surviving it. Burned from the inside out. He thought of Iacon, the white spires of the Senate buildings, the shining glass of the Towers, his creators and the home he had spent his early years in, nestled in the heart of the city. The destruction of Praxus seemed to superimpose itself over the image in his mind. He shuddered in horror and disbelief. "Perce, there's no way…"

"You don't believe that. I know you don't. Not after what they did to Praxus," Perceptor said and Ratchet knew he couldn't argue. There was a way—he'd seen the aftermath all too vividly. And now his friend had apparently perfected the method. There would be no survivors like Bluestreak. Ratchet was silent for a long while, unable to find anything worth saying.

The little mech shifted, turning onto his side and wrapping his arms across his chassis, covering up his bared spark-casing almost self-consciously. "I…" he started, but closed his mouth shut tight. Ratchet put a gentle hand on his shoulder, but the young mech didn't speak again. Instead, text scrolled behind Ratchet's optics, sent through the cable still plugged into Perceptor's helm. 'Landslide thinks he's infallible… After we finished it, I snuck down and reprogrammed the coordinates. One number can make all the difference. If he doesn't catch it, it will detonate somewhere safe.'

Ratchet swallowed and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. It was a big "if." 'Iacon has the defense network—if the bomb is dropped, they should be able to shield the city,' he replied, using text instead of speaking such delicate material out loud.

Perceptor's shoulders shifted in a small shrug. 'Who knows? It's never been subjected to this sort of technology before. There's a possibility that the bomb might just… pass through it.'

Ratchet watched the mech tremble and gently stroked his helm, trying to offer any sort of comfort he could. They lapsed into silence and Ratchet let out a long, shuddering breath and rubbed his optics. On the table, Perceptor curled up tightly, gripping the back of his helm and pressing his forehead against his knees. The young mech couldn't continue like this. Ratchet was no psychologist, but there wasn't a shred of doubt in his mind that Perceptor would try again until he found a permanent end to his guilt.

He thought back to the nameless Praxian, the one who had asked to die rather than be kept here, and for one brief instant, Ratchet considered ending it all for him. As soon as the thought occurred, he banished it, a sickening shame coursing through him. That was not his choice to make and he didn't think he could go through with it anyway. He ran a hand gentle over Percerptor's helm, trying to keep the other mech calm as his own head spun with a terrible and possibly lifesaving idea.

"Just try and get some rest, Percy," he said quietly even as he used the cable connecting them to start shutting down his system, putting Perceptor into stasis.

The young mech jerked on the berth, as though trying to fight off the impending sleep, but was soon overcome by the benign program. The red and teal mech dropped into a deep stasis, limp against the berth and Ratchet quickly looked over at the medics on duty to see if they had noticed anything. They were still talking quietly and none of them paid Ratchet any attention as he gently straightened out Perceptor on top of the berth.

It was a question of ethics. His University training was screaming at him, automatically bringing up the issues of ethical procedures and patient consent from his own memory cache, red lights popping up everywhere about the potential legal ramifications that could come from such a rash act. Even so, the concern for his friend and the ingrained need to help him was starting to drown it out. Besides, he thought, what sort of ethics existed in the hellhole that was Kaon? He'd killed good mechs and kept bad ones alive; he'd learned to break rules, to lie, to be sneaky and underhanded, and most importantly, to do whatever it took to get the job done.

And right now, the job was keeping Perceptor alive.

Working as quickly and discreetly as he could, he used the hardline connection to delve into the mech's processor. It wasn't his area of expertise, but he knew his way around well enough to find Perceptor's memory matrix. Using his medical overrides, he broke into the normally forbidden place, where all of Perceptor's memories were laid bare for him to see.

The input was overwhelming, assaulting him with memories, emotions, thoughts that weren't his. It would have been easy to lose himself in the onslaught, staring blankly into space until one of the other medics noticed and finally disconnected them, but his anger and worry fueled him. It took all of his concentration, but he managed to ground himself, filtering the data into an organized stream. He only needed one section, a short period in the grand scheme of Perceptor's life—but the section that had caused the most damage.

There. The club in Praxus on that final night before their world had ended. Every memory after that—every glimpse of Landslide, of the sleepless nights, of everything that had made Kaon HQ his personal hell, Ratchet targeted.

"One number makes all the difference," Ratchet murmured as he deleted the third digit of every saved memory file of Perceptor's time in Kaon, rendering the files unreadable. He caught flashes of the memories as he cycled through them; the kickback of a weapon as he tested it on a live subject, the fear in a captive Praxian's optic as he had injected different flammables into his lines, Landslide's weight against his back as he forced Perceptor up against a wall.

The process didn't take too long, but Ratchet was drained by the time he was finished. He disconnected the transfer cable and slumped into the chair next to the berth, his head aching as though Soundwave had cracked him open again. He felt dirty—invading someone's privacy like that, but after seeing what he had seen, he knew he had done the right thing. The knowledge, at least in part, had passed along to him, and he was willing to bare it if it meant Perceptor would be okay.

A quiet groan made him look up and Perceptor blinked up at the ceiling, mouth twisting in confusion. He put a hand to his head and groaned again before glancing around, optics finally focusing on the figure sitting next to his berth. "Ratchet?" he asked groggily. "What's going on? Where are we?"

The innocent questions made Ratchet relax even as a sickening wave of guilt washed through him. He scooted his chair closer and took the young mech's hand. "We're in Kaon, Perce— you had an accident," he said quietly. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Perceptor frowned and slumped back against the berth. "I remember the club a-and and explosion… but everything after is just blank," he said and looked up at Ratchet, fear in his optics.

Ratchet ran a gentle hand over his helm. "It's okay," he whispered. "You had a nasty accident but you're going to be okay now."

Perceptor's optics searched his face, as though looking for something that would make everything make sense. "What accident—why are we in Kaon?" he asked. He must have checked his chronometer because a moment later, he gasped. "Ratchet! How long have we been here?"

Ratchet clapped a hand over his mouth as the medics on duty looked over. "Perce, just listen to me," he said quietly. "We've been in Kaon for a few orns," he said quietly. "You were working with a mech named Landslide on a project and you got injured—you lost circulation to your processor for a few minutes. We're lucky that you only lost a few memories."

Perceptor swallowed and slowly relaxed before Ratchet removed his hand. "What accident?" he asked again.

Ratchet paused for a long moment, trying to decide just how much to tell him. "I don't know all the details—something to do with liquid hydrogen. It had gotten under your armor and froze some important lines—your circulation was cut off just a little too long," he said.

The young scientist winced at that. "Primus," he whispered, a stray shiver running through his system.

"I got you fixed up. You'll be good as new in an orn," he promised, trying to keep his voice as light and calming as possible. "Unfortunately, I don't have the means to get those memories back… I'm sorry Perce, but they may be gone for good."

The mech rubbed his optics, a small groan escaping him. "Primus," he said and Ratchet could tell he was trying to puzzle out what sort of situation caused him to be in such a sorry state.

"It's only a couple of orns—can't be that important, right?" Ratchet said and squeezed the mech's shoulder, but the attempt at lightening the situation sounded weak and forced, even to him. He just hoped that Perceptor was still too disoriented to notice. As it was, the mech seemed to be lost in thought, face scrunched up in concentration in a way that was so innocent and sparkwarmingly familiar that it made Ratchet's engine sputter. Before he'd even given himself permission, he had his arms wrapped his arms around the other mech, holding him in a tight embrace.

Perceptor squeaked in surprise, stiffing reflexively at first before he slowly relaxed and returned the embrace. "I was worried about you," Ratchet said quietly. "I… didn't know if you were going to make it."

He felt Perceptor swallow and the young mech tightened his embrace. "You fixed me up—of course I'm fine," he said.

Ratchet smiled at that and held the mech at arm's length. "You're off the duty roster until the senior medics say you're fit to return to work," he said and Perceptor looked up at him in surprise. "I'm not letting you work on anything until I'm sure all of your repairs have set." Replacing an entire energon processing tank was no small repair, but more importantly, he wanted to keep him away from Landslide as long as possible.

Perceptor sighed the sigh of a mech who doesn't like to be inactive, but Ratchet knew it was for the best. "Fine. It will give you a chance to fill me in on what I'm missing," he says.

Ratchet looked at the mech, his friend returned to his old self. He gave a short laugh. "It's been a long few orns."