Title: Visiting Hours
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1ish
Characters: Ratchet, others mentioned
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 2. Visiting hours
Ratchet had very strict visiting times. Nobody followed them, though, and, despite his moans, groans, and sighs, he didn't really care. He understood, and, to be honest, he liked having the mechs come in during the night joors.
Normal visiting hours were during the daylight joors. During the active shift. But Ratchet allowed people to visit during the off joors, as long as they weren't causing trouble. He fussed about it, but never kicked them out.
The truth was, the sight of his mechs caring for each other encouraged him.
Prowl, sneaking in after one of Jazz's missions got too close, to sit beside the saboteur for the long, silent night, soft music emanating from his speakers.
Jazz doing the same, after some hot-helmed Decepticon decided to take a shot at Prowl.
Mirage, sneaking in and sitting, usually invisible, by either Hound or Trailbreaker's berths after a bad scouting mission. Sometimes, he sat at both of their berths at the same time. Ratchet always made sure they were next to each other.
And Hound and Trailbreaker doing the same for the spy, whenever something went wrong.
Sideswipe, curled up at his brother's side, squeezing in a space that should have been much too small for him, determined to fit anyways.
Sunstreaker, coming in and sitting at the side of his brother's berth, humming soft lullabies under his ex-vents, stroking one hand gently along Sideswipe's arm.
Then both of them coming when Bluestreak was injured, and Bluestreak coming for them.
Cliffjumper and Bumblebee, who would always sneak in to see each other, along with, occasionally, the horde of other minibots.
And Optimus Prime, who would come in the middle of the night-cycle and take a short tour of the Med Bay, smiling to those who were awake, taking just a moment to watch those who were in recharge.
They always came. There were always mechs who were not currently patients in his Med Bay.
But Ratchet, as much as he would grumble and moan, didn't care. Because they did, and they were showing it. That was why they came. Because they cared. Cared about their fellows. Their lovers and friends and comrades.
And to Ratchet, that was good to see. That his patients had lives outside his realm. That his good work went to good use. That they were living.
So he pretended to enforce strict visiting hours. Told people they had to leave as the light-cycle came to a close. Told them they could come back in the morning.
But everyone knew. They knew it meant he was going to recharge, that they could stay as long as they liked, that they could keep loving, keep living, and keep caring.