Apologies for taking so long! I still don't like how this chapter came out, but I'm tired of sitting on it. Enjoy and tell me what you think!
Between his residency in Praxus and his time in Kaon, Ratchet felt like he had a good range of experience with many strange and dangerous situations. He'd worked with drug addicts, crazed mechs, sociopaths – and every one had left him with a heightened awareness and better adaptability to the next strange and dangerous situation that arose. But this… this was way out of his league.
Perceptor stood huddled in the corner, back against the wall. His optics were bright and dazed, as though he wasn't quite fully conscious yet. His focus darted from Ironhide to Ultra Magnus fearfully, vents chuttering as they worked overtime to cool him down. His arms were wrapped tightly around Rung and it only took Ratchet a moment to see the glint of a laser scalpel held tightly in one hand. It was pressed against the psy-ops mech's neck, right in-between his armor plates and resting across an important energon line. The orange mech stood very still, and though his mouth was moving, Ratchet couldn't hear what he was saying over the raised voices of Ironhide and Ultra Magnus.
Ratchet squeezed into the too-small room, leaving Jazz in the hall. He pushed past Ironhide who, for once, didn't complain and came to stand as close to his friend as he dared. Perceptor's head swiveled to look at him and the two mechs behind him fell quiet.
"It's okay Perceptor, you're safe," Rung was saying, his quiet voice finally registering to Ratchet's audios. The laser scalpel at his neck pressed a little closer and Rung's voice faltered, optics brightening with barely contained panic as he looked pleadingly at Ratchet.
Ratchet swallowed. "Perceptor, look at me," he said quietly. The mech's fearful optics slowly focused on him and his hand started to shake. "We're in the Autobot camp. We're in Charr, remember? They found us in the tunnels and brought us here. We're safe here."
Perceptor's face twisted and something between and sob and a laugh broke from his vocals. Ratchet winced at the harsh noise. "Safe?" he repeated incredulously.
Ratchet nodded and took a tentative step forward. "Percy—"
"Don't CALL me that!" he barked and Ratchet jumped at the hostile shift. Perceptor tightened his grip on Rung and the slim mech's vents hitched. One arm flew up to try and stop Perceptor's hand as he pressed a little closer to his neck, drawing a thin line of a cut. Ratchet stopped dead in his tracks, dentals clenched. Perceptor's vents sputtered, hitching over the ragged breaths he drew through them. "He called me that- don't ever call me that."
Ratchet swallowed and nodded. "Okay- I won't, I promise," he said quietly. "Perceptor, I promise you, no one is going to hurt you. They'll have to get through me first and I'll be damned if I'm letting anyone scratch you after all the work I've put into getting you here," he said, realizing his own voice was shaking.
A small hiccup of a laugh broke from Perceptor's vocals, though it had a hysteric edge, like Perceptor was hanging onto his thoughts by a mere thread. His optics went out of focus, his grip loosening a little. "You wiped my memories. You didn't tell me—you let me believe it was because of an injury. You lied to me," he said, sounding almost fascinated as the pieces started to connect. A strange shiver wracked his system, his optics darkening and focusing again. When he looked at Ratchet, his optics were clear and alert. "Why?"
Ratchet ran a hand over his helm, swearing under his breath. "You couldn't live with them," he said. "Perce, you drank liquid helium!"
Another strange shiver ran up the mech's back, making his armor plates rattle with its intensity. His optics went out of focus again, a quiet groan escaping him. "I wanted to die," he said, his voice eerily hollow. "It was my choice to make, not yours."
Ultra Magnus took a small step forward and Perceptor tensed, his optics focusing sharply on him. "There is more at stake here than you can imagine—more at stake than any one mech," the Magnus said. "Now that your memories have been restored, you of all mechs should realize that. Iacon is in the crosshairs of a weapon we known next to nothing about and you are the only mech with enough information to even have a hope of stopping it."
Perceptor looked at mech for a long moment, his face morphing from disdain to slow, dawning comprehension. Ratchet felt like he was watching a drowning mech—the expression on his face was like he was slipping underwater and realizing the surface was just too far away. Slowly, his grip on Rung loosened, laser scalpel sliding out of his hand and clattering to the ground. The psy-ops mech rubbed his neck as he turned to face him, holding his hand over the small cut. Ratchet noticed him discreetly kick the scalpel under the berth and out of reach.
"What can I do?" Perceptor asked. He sounded like a lost youngling and Ratchet could tell he was overwhelmed. His processor was undoubtedly battling to reconcile the recently repaired memories and he could only imagine how it must feel to have that floodgate opened. The haunted look on his face told that it was far from pleasant. Ratchet slowly stepped forward and put a hand on Perceptor's helm, wincing at the heat that emanated from him.
"Right now, you need to rest," he said. "Once your temperature is down, then we can worry about what comes next."
Behind him, Ironhide made a sound like he was about to protest, but Rung cleared his throat loudly and shook his head. Fortunately, the red mech seemed to take the hint and closed his mouth, though Ratchet noticed his fingers drumming against his arm anxiously. Fear hung heavy over all of them, settling like a fog that clung thickly to their armor.
Eight days were all they had, and the clock was running far too quickly.
Ratchet finished sealing the small cut on Rung's neck and glanced over at the recharging Perceptor. It had taken a light sedative to get him to relax enough to sleep, but now he recharged peacefully, face slack with exhaustion. Jazz had disappeared, now that the danger had passed, while Ultra Magnus and Ironhide talked in quiet voices just outside of the room. Ratchet ignored them, double checking the seal on the energon line.
"Do you really think you can help him?" he asked after a long moment.
Rung looked at him and Ratchet had to wonder if that kind smile perpetually stayed on his face, no matter what the situation. "I'll do everything I can," he said. "He has a long road ahead of him, but I think I can assist him through the worst of it."
Ratchet nodded and glanced sadly at his friend. "He didn't cut too deep—just a nick," he said.
Rung nodded. "Thank you, Ratchet," he said quietly. The psy-ops mech reached up, running a hand over the newly sealed line. "Have you given any consideration to what you will do?" he asked after a moment.
Ratchet paused as he cleaned his laser scalpel. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"You're a free mech again," he said. "You have your choice to go wherever you please. In fact, I think Ultra Magnus would be willing to provide a transport for you with the next drop ship. It could take you out of the war zone—perhaps to Nova Cronum or Polyhex?"
Ratchet stilled his hands, optics bright as he looked unseeingly at the tool in his grip. Getting out of Kaon had absorbed his thoughts for so long that now that he had done it, he wasn't sure what to do. His processor wandered from the ill-equipped medbay to his family in Iacon to Wheeljack, still trapped in Kaon. His optics slowly travelled back to Perceptor and he swallowed, too many ideas tumbling through his processor.
"I… I'm not sure," he said at last and stored his scalpel with his other tools.
Rung put a hand on his shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, but Ironhide cut him off. "You—" he said, pointing at Ratchet through the cramped door. "Come with me."
Ratchet looked at Rung uncertainly, but the orange mech just smiled and nodded. Reluctantly, Ratchet ducked out of the room catch up with Ironhide as he headed off down the hall. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, the red mech said, "I want to show you something."
Something about his tone stopped Ratchet from asking any questions. Instead, he followed the warrior through the sinuous veins of the base, silent other than the thuds of their footsteps. They moved out of familiar territory and after passing a couple of guards, Ratchet started to think they were no longer within the parameters of the base. He could hear the distant rumbling of the battle and swallowed before finally gathering the nerve to speak.
"Where are we going?"
Ironhide glanced at him, face unreadable. "Just follow me," he said and transformed, revealing a blocky alt-mode similar to his own. Ratchet hesitated for only a moment before his curiosity got the better of him. He transformed and kicked into gear to catch up with the red mech. In the narrow passages of Charr, he followed close behind, mere feet away from the mech's bumper.
They drove for nearly five breems, making their careful way through the tunnels. All the while, the sound of the fight got closer, the noise rattling the surface above them. Ratchet's unease slowly grew—what did he know about this mech? Where could he be taking him? For a moment, he debated stopping and heading back, but would he be able to find his way to the base, to Perceptor again without a guide? His mind flashed back to the mechs that had chased him in the tunnels and he wondered how many more lurked in the narrow paths under the planet's crust. His mind settled on the unfortunate Autobot that had surprised him into pulling the trigger and the familiar guilt trickled into his mind.
They hit an incline and above then, the ground opened up above them. For the first time in days, Ratchet saw sunlight. Ironhide transformed just as the ground opened up above them, walking into the mid-day glow. Ratchet transformed, shuttering his optics a couple of times as the combined strength of Cybertron's suns hit him. Even though his chronometer was able to tell him exactly what time it was, the light was almost a surprise. It took him a long moment to adjust to the sensory input, but as his vision cleared, he realized they weren't alone.
While the dried vein stood tall where they had emerged, it shortened the further it stretched. Ducked into the makeshift trench were a line of mechs, all haggard, dirty and exhausted, pressed against the walls of the veins, only daring to peer over the edge to loose off a few shots. One mech raised his head up just a little too far and sparks flew as a shot ricocheted off of his shoulder, missing his head by mere inches. He swore and quickly ducked back down even as his comrades laughed hollowly, though it sounded more like relief than anything.
Overhead, a strange whistling sounded and one of the mechs let out a shout of warning. Instantly, like it was rehearsed, Ironhide was on him, pressing him against the wall of the vein, arms on either side of him as the air around them seemed to explode. Ratchet swore, his hands clamped over his helm as the explosion whistled over them, making his entire frame shudder as the shockwave rained down on them. Over the ringing of his audios, he could hear the thunk thunk thunk of debris and shrapnel as it rained down, covering the trench with a shining coat of metal dust.
Ironhide slowly relaxed and pulled away from him, picking a chunk of shrapnel from where it had embedded itself in his shoulder. Ratchet opened his mouth to protest, medical protocols already kicking in, but Ironhide grabbed the piece and pulled it out, tossing it away like it was a splinter. Ratchet looked at the gash on his shoulder and realized that it had barely gone deeper than his paint layer.
The red mech smirked. "I got my name for a reason," he said.
A call went up from the mechs down the trench and Ratchet watched them brush off the dust and gather themselves like the professionals they were. All the calls rang clear, and Ratchet could only guess that no one had been hurt by whatever had caused the explosion. He coughed the metallic dust from his vents, sending glittering whorls into the air in front of him. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked. "I'm not a soldier."
Ironhide's grin took on a rather bitter edge. "No, you sure ain't," he said, watching the entrenched mechs with a keen optic. "But we don't necessarily need soldiers." He pointedly looked behind him, back down the tunnel they had emerged from. "Remember how long it took us to get here? Since the battle began in Charr, the front lines have migrated. The terrain is rough getting here—above ground isn't an option and the Decepticons have taken to targeting any medibots they see. We've got a couple out here and we trade them out, but they don't have the training to deal with what we're experiencing out here. Not to mention, the terrain doesn't make repairs easy. Half the time, our medbots can't even reach the mech before it's too late."
Ratchet looked over the soldiers and saw the resignation on their faces. They knew that the chances of them leaving this place were slim. "Why doesn't command pull them out?" he asked helplessly.
Ironhide sighed. "It's… a combination of things," he said. "Biggest one bein' Charr is the barrier between Kaon and Protihex. If we abandon Charr, we abandon Protihex and its manufacturing and energon plants to the Cons. It wouldn't take them much time to start those plants manufacturing parts for their repairs. Kaon and Tarn both have limited manufacturing capabilities, an' their stolen stores and intercepted shipments can only last 'em so long."
Ratchet shuddered, thinking of the grim store rooms in Kaon. "They wouldn't use them to manufacture parts—they have that covered," he said quietly. "They're cannibalizing parts from corpses."
Ironhide looked at him and Ratchet was slightly pleased that he was able to visibly shake the mech. "Primus," he murmured and ran a hand over his red crest. "Well then I'd guess they would switch them over to weapons manufacturing— we both know they're capable of it. Even without a plant giving them a steady supply, they seem to be spitting out new ways for us all to kill each other just fine."
Ratchet glanced at the mech, seeing the weariness that was etched into every scar and scratch on his face. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked again, though he had an idea.
Ironhide looked at him, lips pulled down into a frown. "I wanted you to see what we're dealing with here," he said and gave a small shrug, swallowing his pride. "And realize why I'm asking you to stay. For their sake," he said and nodded to the mechs below.
Ratchet let out a long sigh, crossing his arms over his chassis. He was being given a choice. For the first time since Praxus, he could choose what his future would be—he could escape to Polyhex or Nova Cronum. He could be done with this war forever—leave it for the soldiers and politicians to handle once again.
Unbidden, the thought of the mech in the tunnels—Backdraft had been his name. Never before had he taken a life, and here was the mech's comrade, maybe even his friend standing here and asking him for his help to save the others that were stuck here. It felt like a disservice to say no, an affront to his memory. A large part of him felt like he needed to atone.
He thought of the medbay and the staff, the broken terrain around them. He thought of the Decepticon convoy system and knew it wouldn't work here, but already, a different plant was starting to form and with it, a strange sort of excitement started to grow. He could help here. After the monotony, the endless barrage of death and pain that had been Kaon, it felt like waking up for the first time in a long, long while. He could make adifference. He could save lives. What other choice could he make?
"Alright," he said at last, optics bright with a renewed fervor that hadn't been seen since Praxus. "I'll stay."