Notes/ I really do hope this chapter actually makes sense, in terms' or its order. I've got myself into the fustrating situation of having far too many bits and pieces to put into this same point in the whole story plot and simply trying got work out what to place here and what will come directly after. As a result this chapter was also surprisingly frustrating to write and edit. Finally I think I've got it... and... look... and update! Finally. Haha. Sorry for the wait.
A commenter asked in a recent review, if I plan for Knockout and Arcee to adopt Cybershock. To be honest I was slightly confused by this at first, because of course she's their daughter in first place. Then I realized you might have meant Switchblade, and it all made sense! I have a different plan for that little bot, but no worries... it's not a sad plan.
Bulkhead knew very well he couldn't sing – or at least he shouldn't even try to do so unless he wanted any bot within five hundred metres to run the other way and fast. But that didn't stop him from trying anyway on that particular day. No one was around, out and about in the hallways of what was once the Autobot base of operations. And Bulk' loudly sang verse two of Miko's favourite death metal track, because the song had been in his head all morning long. He tried dancing too – though that was just as bad as his signing and perhaps even worse. And finally he stopped his dance moves, to play an air guitar solo on the wet mop he held in both hands, and should have been using instead to mop the floor of a mess he himself had made, spilling (thankfully) washable paint over the tiles when he'd tripped over his own big feet and nearly fallen, while on his way to put it away in his office.
"Are you... okay?" a voice said somewhere behind him, in a tone clearly meant to be mock doubt. It was someone clearly young based on the voice. And whoever it was, the speaker was confidant for one so very small. Bulkhead dropped the mop to the floor at once, watching water splash just a little from its still wet cleaning head, and refused, stubbornly, to feel even a hint of embarrassment over being caught behaving so ridiculously.
"Absolutely fine," he mumbled, less confidant then he wanted to sound. And he picked up the dropped mop at once, gesturing to said mop, now held again in his hands. "Just... moppin' the floor."
A bright optic'd dull green youngling stepped from her hiding place around a corner, giggling. And Bulkhead recognized her at once, remembering her as first Ratchet's and then Knockout's badly damaged patient – the youngling survivor of a recent explosion that should never have happened. But for as damaged as she'd been when he last run into her, she was certainly much better now, and stronger too. One arm, the one Bulk' knew was sadly blown apart almost entirely, was still bound tightly against the side of her frame. But she used her one remaining hand to hold corner of the wall lightly, holding her balance that way as she laughed harder. And she clearly stood perfectly fine on her own two feet.
"Aww," she said, still giggling with youngling amusement, while she pretended to pout a second with her one good hand now on her hip. "I was hoping for another... umm... mop solo!"
Bulkhead may certainly have tried hard just to hold a straight face, after the youngling had caught him flat out goofing off, as he'd been doing. But that silly comment from her did him in entirely. Unable to look serious even a second longer, Bulk' burst out laughing, far harder than he'd laughed in too long to remember. Instantly he began to 'play' the mop again, because it was simply all too funny. And beside him, the small youngling, who could obviously do much less with only one hand, and lacked anything to use as her own pretend instrument besides, simply stood rocking hard forwards and backwards almost well enough to make humans at any Earth metal show look twice because of her talents.
"Rock on, kid," Bulkhead said, finally giving up his improvising with the mop when it became clear the youngling was growing tired from her moving so quickly. And when she looked at him, confusion clear in her bright blue optics, he explained grinning, "just something we used to say on Earth."
"You were one of the bots stationed on that organic alien planet?" The little green bot questioned, with her optics lightening up before her question was even answered. And just as soon as Bulkhead nodded in confirmation, they lit up for more.
"Neat," she said. And for a moment, she just stood. Finally she looked up at him again, optics wide, and excited, questioning hopefully, "you must have some great war stories from Earth! Can you tell me some one day?"
"Sure," Bulk' promised, shrugging a little. "But I'm not the best bot at telling stories... even true ones."
"That's okay," the little bot answered, grinning. "I still wanna hear them anyways!"
"You've gotten so much better already," Bulkhead commented, smiling in the youngling's direction, when she fell silent a moment. "I guess you''ll probably be leaving here soon."
"I might be here for a while," the little bot answered. And for just a second, her face-plate looked sad, before she quickly smiled again and shrugged just a little and unevenly because of her destroyed arm. "I've still got nowhere to go."
Bulkhead remembered in an instant that he knew that already. And though he might have hoped the news had become better by then, it clearly had not. He felt bad then, foolish for his off handed comment, and terrible because he could easily have made a youngling cry. But the green youngling just looked up at him, leaning again, against the wall, and shrugged again with calmness on her face-plate.
"It doesn't matter, Bulkhead," she said, still having obviously remembered his name. "I'll get a stand – in creator eventually. Arcee says that's the plan now. "And whoever that is, he's gotta be ten times better than the one I had."
"You got a good spark full of hope, kid," Bulk answered, smiling again, impressed by the youngling. "I like hope. It's what really let us win the war in the end."
"Scrapheap didn't want me," the little bot said, so matter of fact it was sad. But Bulkhead just stood listening, while she continued on. "I guess he never really did. One day someone will, Ratchet and Knockout both say I'm a decent little bot."
"You seem like a pretty decent kid to me," Bulkhead said.
A bench had been put in that hallway recently, mostly to serve as part of the new decor that made the old base look for 'inviting' for refugees, inside on all sorts of orders of business. But it was comfortable too. Bots certainly sat on it from time to time, along with any others set up here and there around the hallways in the place. And without much need to think about it, Bulk' lead the youngling to the bench nearby, because of course she was still far from truly strong even if she certainly did look much better. He flopped down beside her just as soon as she'd scrabbled up onto the bench to sit, because he knew he needed to rest his still slightly injured leg for at least a short while.
"So, what are you doing off the youngling ward anyway?" Bulk' questioned, partly curious and most concerned to find her truly on her own outside of it.
"I kinda might have escaped," the little bot replied. And her voice showed not a single hint of shame.
"Escaped? From a hospital ward?" Bulk' scolded mildly in dismay, though he'd easily guessed of course already that that exact thing must have happened. "Switchblade, you can't do that."
"Prob'ly not," the little bot just shrugged. Though her optics did show at least some regret for her actions then at least. "But I did anyways. I'm bored!"
"I'm gonna comm Knockout," Bulkhead said, decidedly slowly raising a hand to his commlink to do so. "I think he's on shift today. I'll let him know you're out here."
"It's not like I'm never goin' back," the youngling argued. She moved a little, pulling her legs up in front of her on the bench to sit with her head so casually resting on her knees, and a look of playful defiance on her face-plate "He's got other patients. I don't think he'll notice I'm gone before I'm back again."
"Doc-bots aren't s'pose to have favourite patients, but of course they do anyway, 'cause they're still just bots," Bulk' said. He shook his head just a little, strangely amused by this tiny bot. "Everyone knows you're probably his, or one of them at least. He'll notice any second now if he hasn't already." Bulk' chuckled then, adding with only slight exaggeration, "then he'll probably call around just as fast as he can, looking for any bot with the authority to put this whole place on lock down!"
"I just figured this place might be interesting," The youngling said. She gestured with her remaining hand, toward a hallway leading away from where they currently sat. "What's down there?"
"The lift," Bulkhead shrugged a little. "A couple of storage rooms..."
"Well... what's downstairs then? If there's a lift there's gotta be a basement."
"Of course there's a basement." Bulk' just shrugged again, hardly finding the place even half as interesting as the little bot clearly did. "The training gym's down there. And the blaster range. There's a big rec room... a bunch more storage... the housing office... the old Autobot brig..."
"Cells to hold prisoners?" the youngling exclaimed, so obviously intrigued by this as only a youngling could be. "Ooh, can you show me? Can we see the blaster range too?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because...," Bulkhead was about give an answer, but he had to admit to himself he had no idea at all what to say in reply to this sharp and stubborn little youngling, that would not simply lead to more arguments and questions. And he was entirely relieved, and not at all surprised, with he heard the familiar quiet hum of a well known mobility cart's small motor rolling slowly toward them.
"There you are, my Little Bot," Knockout said, driving the cart a little faster in their direction.
Beside him, strapped into to a strange complex sort of walking frame and bracing type contraption, with moving parts and sliders, his feet strapped into small footholds, and legs tightly fastened against movable and sliding lower bars, was another youngling bot. This one was clearly a fair bit old, at least half way grown. And where Bulk' certainly found his equipment alarming this young so clearly didn't think so at all, because he knew exactly how to walk well with it (it was easy to guess this very thing allowed him to stand well and to walk at all,) and he kept up just fine with the motorized cart.
"This is Turbocharge" Knockout explained to Bulkhead, with a tiny chuckle and a polite gesture toward the larger third frame youngling. "Another of my buddies on the youngling ward. I easily recruited this guy to help me search, when I realized we had a little one escape."
"Good practice with this walking support," the young bot said. And he grinned a proud youngling grin, even as he wiggled his right foot just as much as he clearly could, clearly becoming uncomfortable in the rigid support that held his leg in place.
"Hi Turbo!" said the green youngling, sitting on the bench.
Bulkhead chuckled slightly with the easy realization that course, because both younglings had been in the ward together for some time already, they were likely decent playmates. And sure enough the bigger youngling strapped into his standing support, waved at the littler one on the bench, with a smile on his face-plate, while continued to shift and wiggle around slightly with his clearly growing discomfort.
"Hold on, Turbo," Knockout said gently. And he turned his cart a little so he could sit facing toward the young bot.
He unclipped the seat belt he wore over his lap (or least he wore when he bothered to fasten it all those days,) and learned froward just as far as he clearly could without losing his balance and falling. And with a calm kindness that Bulkhead would have guessed him once all but incapable of at all, Knockout then lifted the youngling's small foot from the foothold, just as soon as he'd unclipped the device that held it somehow. The young bot leaned forward then, badly, against the movable handlebars of his support set up. And it was clear in that that he couldn't have stood at all on his own .
Bulkhead sat a moment longer on the bench, with the smaller youngling beside him, watching sadly as Knockout unstrapped his helpless small patient's right leg from the fixed brace that held it steady, and gently redid the straps again, supporting part of the little bot's weight just as well as he could with his own slightly weaker arm, while he work with his stronger, obviously trying to improve the fit so he would be comfortable in the set up.
"How's that?" the red medi-bot asked, sitting himself back again, after he'd let the youngling stand again on his own the very best he clearly could.
"Better, thanks," Turbo answered. And Bulk' who'd felt bad just a moment before in simply watching him, knew he should never feel bad just by the smile the young bot flashed, despite his own condition.
"My creator is coming to see me today, and he's bringing my siblings to visit," the youngling said. And he grinned with his excitement, bouncing a little, his legs held steady while he did so, by the complicated frame. "I think this time I might just be able to play with my brothers and my sister!"
"I assume they are going to be here soon," Knockout questioned. And Bulkhead smiling, noticing easily that he spoke to this youngling, so clearly damaged so horribly, just as he did anyone else. Because just like Knockout himself, or Firestorm, or a handful of other damaged bots surfacing on their world as the ships returned home, damage, however badly it effected parts of his body, did nothing to lessen the power of his mind.
"Within half an hour," Turbo answered, still bouncing with his excitement. "Do you think I could go outside to wait for them? I like to be outside. It's such sunny day. And I want to surprise them all with how well I can walk with this."
"Go on out, Turbo," Knockout answered, smiling. "I'll come and talk to you and your creator in the courtyard in awhile."
"How fast can you go in that?" Bulkhead asked, curious. And he no longer felt bad for him at all. It was impossible to feel bad while that same bright grin covered the young bot's face-plate.
"Fast," the youngling called Turbocharge said, grinning. And to the looks of dismay that Bulk' exchanged with Knockout, he hurried forward down the empty hallway, his legs pushing his walking support frame forward as he made the motion of running in it.
"Turbo, be careful," Knockout called after him rolling ahead a short ways himself But he shock his head slightly as smiled right along with his warning. Because the hallway was wide and empty, and there really was little danger.
"Sure living up to his name," Bulkhead mused chuckling Knockout nodded a little.
"He is. And its wonderful to see it too. He's been in and out of the hospital since his ship landed a few years ago already. And I've known him just as long because of it." Knockout paused a moment, with a look of all too obvious mixed emotion on his face-plate. "That ship he was one was the same one that brought us so many sick and damaged bots... at least one in five in need of some kind of care just as soon as we could get to them. And I'd easily have to say Turbo was among the very worst of them.
Legs were both bent sideways and and one nearly backwards... couldn't bare any weight... no hope at all of ever standing up. No signal at all to any wiring below either one of his knee joints Forth repair last week and now he's running. I promised him he would one day."
"He doesn't seem to care that any running he's doing, is still all while strapped into that crazy contraption of his," Bulk' remarked, any last hints of his earlier pity on the youngling replaced now by simple admiration. And nearby, Knockout only chuckled again, so clearly pleased and proud himself.
"Usually he loves it. Because he's never run before, if this is the best he can do it's more than good enough in his mind, at least for now. It helps too that he's got a wonderful creator and carrier..." Knockout paused just a second again, this time to look, with obvious sadness at the youngling girl that still sat on the bench, obviously happy enough just to listen as the other bots converse a moment. Knockout shook his head then just a little, with a look on his face-plate of a bot thoroughly impressed, and said, "They have six younglings, I believe, including their badly damaged one. And it hardly takes a genius to see they love them all the same. Some bots messed up just half as bad as him would have been left to die on those ships because it might just seem functionalist attitudes follow them far and die hard. But the thought never crossed a single member of that family's mind, even if his creators did have so many more to love and care for."
Knockout rolled himself on the cart closer to the bench then. And when Bulk stood up, leaving the youngling sitting where she was and still obvious in need of some light rest, Knockout held his head up just as high as he could, to speak to bulkhead in slightly hushed tones then. "I considered asking the pair, in all seriousness, if they wanted another one - because they really are good bots and both said last year they'd be so happy if they could just have three more eventually! But Turbo's carrier is carrying again..." His words died out then, his thought never finished out loud. And he turned slightly, to look at the small green youngling.
"You can't just wander away from the ward like that" he said, rolling slowly toward her, smiling assurance even as he scolded her gently. "The moment I noticed I had a missing little patient, I worried something might have happened."
"Sorry, Dr. Knockout," the small green youngling answered back. And a comical sort of pout covered her face-plate, as she slid down slow from the bench and crept closer, to look up at the red bot, seated on his mobility cart.
"Hop on, Little Bot," Knockout answered, shaking his head, with some obvious degree of amusement in spite of himself, as he gestured with his optics toward his knees. "I'll give a lift back to the ward."
"Oh... kay..." the youngling answered slowly and frowning. And she walked closer to him with footsteps that suddenly resembled those of a bot facing execution.
"Can I take her for a while?" Bulkhead asked, deciding quickly. And inwardly he questioned his own sanity, in doing so, because really, he had not idea at all what he was doing or why. "She's been asking questions all about this old base. I figured I could give her the tour of the place." He looked down at the youngling then a second, grinning before he added, "I promised her some stories too."
He smiled to himself, when he saw the youngling's face-plate light up at once. And from his place, sitting on his cart, Knockout appeared to carefully consider a moment, and then another. His red optics went slowly to the youngling, and he looked her over carefully, before he slowly nodded his head just a little.
"I see no real harm in that," he answered, still thoughtful. "But..." he held up a hand then in a gesture of caution. "Be careful with her. She's looking better everyday, in indeed she is. But she's still got a long way to go."
"Walk back toward me," Ratchet called to Firestorm, who stood well across the courtyard from him.
The small white and yellow bot turned at once, from where she had stopped a moment before, facing toward a place where the fence had once stood, and quickly took a few careful bit steady steps back toward the old medic.
"Firestorm, run!" Ratchet called out suddenly, making a quick decision and laughing, confidant and grinning as he did.
"What?" Firestorm mumbled back in answer. She took a few more, more confidant steps then ever before. And shook her head, obviously convinced she hadn't heard him right.
"Run," Ratchet repeated, smiling assurance at her. "Let's see how well you can do it."
Firestorm's steps were still somewhat awkward and strange to watch, even though she very rarely if ever seemed to lose her balance entirely anymore – at least not so badly she could not quickly self correct and catch herself. And when they sped up, hesitantly at first, in her first real try at running since she'd been a child barely old enough to have remembered how, those awkward steps appeared more so than ever. But still she was doing it. And she quickly ran a good distance around the edge of what was once the fence line, before she stumbled badly over her own still not fully co-operating feet, and dropped hard to her knees, clearly on purpose before she fell onto her face-plate instead.
Ratchet felt bad then, at least slightly, worried he may just have set her back, pushing her without any warning that he was going to, because really he'd never planned to at all, and just sort of decided in a second. But Firestorm grinned the second she'd caught herself. And at once, she was up again, on her feet under her own power, having stood by bracing her hands against her knees and making her body work because she needed it to. And a second later she walked forward again, before immediately taking off again running slightly faster than she had the first time. She reached the old medic quickly. And that it seemed was the one reason she stopped that time, standing a long moment in front of him, just staring up at him, beaming a bright grin, just as though she'd struck rare gems out of nowhere.
"I haven't run like that since I was barely a third frame!" she said, still grinning.
"I know it," Ratchet answered, resting hand firmly on her shoulder panel, and smiling back at her.
"I never dreamed I'd ever one day reach this point..." Firestorm stood a moment, just glancing around the courtyard, happy and enjoining the fresh air of the afternoon. Her optics moved slowly back to the old bot, and she smiled again, before her looked turned serious and she mused under her intakes. "It's just too bad Soundwave couldn't come with me to rehab today. He could have seen me run for the first time in a century or more..."
"All the more disappointing for him perhaps, considering today was your very last session," Ratchet replied. And he smiled, waiting just a moment for her to realize exactly what it was he'd said.
"We're really... done?" Firestorm questioned, doubtful.
"There's nothing more I can really do for you rehab-wise," the old bot told her. "Nothing you can't just keep up now on your own. My advice to you from here is practice practice. Anything you want to try in life, try it. Never say you can't because we've seen just how much you really can do. I have no doubt, based on what I've seen since the cybermatter trials and even before that, that you'll just keep on getting stronger every day."
"Thank you, Ratchet. For everything."
"Ha. Well you're quite welcome of course. But it's not as if this is goodbye forever or anything. It's not as though you are off to live on an alien world. Surely you'll come see an old bot once in a while. At least you better." The old Autobot paused a second, chuckling. "Besides, I still need to visit you in order to get sweets."
"Of course, Ratchet. But still... thank you."
"Just doing my job," the old medic smiled as the two of them began to walk again, heading back inside. But Firestorm stopped abruptly once again, as soon as they had reached the doorway.
"Umm... Ratchet..." she said, her voice strangely hesitant. "Can I talk to about something, if you have a moment?"
"Oh, I think I have a few more to spare," Ratchet smiled, replying.
He put a hand on the mini-bot's shoulder panel again, and lead her the short distance to his office, beyond the information desk and the currently empty waiting room inside the doorway. And once inside the office, she dropped slowly, into the offered chair on the 'patient' side of his desk, with clear nervousness in her movements.
"What can I do for you then?" he questioned, cheerfully, offering her the dish of sweets from the edge of the desk as he usually did, surprised when this time, instead of her well known favourite iron one, she took a cobalt instead.
"I... I want to fly," Firestorm blurted out, clearly uneasy, after sitting silently a long moment in her chair just sucking distractedly on the sweet.
Ratchet, sitting down himself, in his own chair behind the desk reached into the small dish, choose a sweet and slowly opened its wrapper without even bothering to wonder what flavor it was he'd grabbed. And for a second he just sat, blinking, before he shifted his expression again, to look at the young bot, curious.
"I beg your pardon," he said, his tone a mix of mildly confused and apologetic.
"I want to be a flyer," Firestorm explained, surprising the medic at once with just how serious she looked as she spoke. She sat a second more, again just sucking silently on her sweet, before she continued on.
"I... I've been reading," she confessed, still as serious as ever. "Everything I could get my hands on from your open medical library and what's left of the public record. I'd always assumed growing up that I was a grounder because my creators were grounders and theirs were before them – and there was little use imaging I could be any different because I was what I was. Reading data pads these last few weeks though, I learned that may not be true!"
"It is certainly possible," Ratchet nodded, approaching the entire subject suddenly at hand, with professional caution. "Yes, you were built to be a grounder, because your creators were. It only makes sense for every bot to build a youngling to be like themselves, because we are most often just like our parents when it comes to things like a love of the feel for the road beneath us, or a need to lift off and fly for miles over mountains and rooftops. It always was a bit of a cultural thing too, way back in the golden age of Cybertron..." He paused then a second, shook his head a little, as he tended to so often do. And finally he smiled a little, once again. "Every now and then though a bot will come along that's different... one whose spark, for whatever reason just doesn't fit the general rule."
"Ratchet... do you think it's wrong?"
"Wrong for you to wish to be a flyer? No, I don't think it's wrong." The medi-bot shook his head again, just a little. And he huffed under his intake and frowned at her a moment, hoping to drive his point well home with a look alone. "But there's no reason to think it might actually be a good idea. Those short antidotes you can find in any of the remaining public records will sure tell you it can be done. And it certainly can. But that doesn't mean it's easy. The records don't tell you just how complicated it all really is. The ramming of your processor... the physical process of just learning how to fly in the first place... and for a mini-bot frame, one raised happily on the ground with just three small wheels and carbon fibre axles, to suddenly try supporting the extra weight of landing gear and wings... Firestorm, an airplane mode might look light when they are up in the air, but any of them weigh far more than any car! Your systems would adjust yes, and your spark would learn to compensate, but..." the old medic sat for a second just shaking his head, dismayed as ever by this young bot who never had stopped surprising him with her questions, and unexpected ambitions. "No... No. Firestorm it's just plain unwise."
The little white and yellow bot just sat still in her chair for a good long moment, with look on her face-plate that reminded the old medic of a disappointed youngling. He thought a second of a small bot who'd heard 'no' when they'd so clearly been expecting 'yes,' so much that the negative answer barely registered at all. But too slowly, it seemed it did register. Because she looked up at him for just a second more, disappointed and not even seeming bothered with hiding the fact. Finally she just smiled again – that typical bright grin that so often showed on her face-plate – before she got up from her chair.
"Thank you for your time and the answers to my questions," she said, cheerful as ever.
"Never a problem," Ratchet answered, smiling right back. "You know my door is always open to anyone, and that includes you of course. It always will." He stood up himself, showing her polite to the door of the office with a motion of his hand. Ans he gave one small chuckle as he did. "I'll be by the shop, sometime this week or next for my usual mixed bag of sweets."
"I'll have one ready for you," Firestorm promised. And she walked out of the office, looking pleased enough, and letting the door close behind her at once.
#####
Ratchet stood in front of the small window in the far wall of his office. And for several moments he just stood, staring out idly at a trio of young neutrals, who stood around in the courtyard outside laughing so hard over something they were clearly discussing, that one of them leaned forward, resting with his hands on his knees. The old bot chuckled them, out loud, simply because it made him laugh at least a little in spite of himself, to see other bots doing so. The old bot chuckled them, out loud, simply because it made him laugh at least a little in spite of himself, to see other bots doing so. And slowly his thoughts turned back to Firestorm. He chuckled again, amused at her still near-youngling 'what ifs' and ideas. And he smiled then, marvelling at just how wonderful it felt to him to see a near-youngling get a chance to dream and to wonder at all.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, turning around again, distractedly, to look back at Knockout, and remembering that his teammate, stilling sitting close to the wall beside the sliding door, on his cart, had come in for a reason. "What were you trying to ask me for?"
"An extra battery pack," Knockout explained, chuckling a little, most likely at the old bot's distractedness. "For a portable energon pressure meter. I wondered if you might happen to have one I can borrow for the machine on the youngling ward."
"I'll look through the storage rooms when I get a chance later," Ratchet promised. "I'll have a student run one over to you on your ward."
"Thank you."
"Never a problem of course," the old medic paused then again, and slowly he smiled just a little. "So... I heard from Arcee today, you may or may not have made it down your entire apartment hallway walking with your frame last night."
"I did indeed," Knockout answered. And his face-plate turned up a little in a pleased smile then, before he sighed, adding, "I can't wait until one day I'd strong enough and fast enough to walk a little outside, or even here at work."
"Try it sometime," Ratchet said, seriously. "Of course at work would be the best place to start as opposed to outdoors. But give it a try. It's a bit of a job of course to bring your own walking frame with you to work, so grab a spare from storage instead and use it a bit if you want it."
"If I know the younglings that come through the youngling ward, they would either cheer on my efforts or laugh at me for trying it..." Knockout mused out loud, his voice a mix of amusement and worry."
Ratchet was about to reply, to offer something that might have been encouragement to his damaged fellow medic, but he was interpreter before he could speak when Bumblebee stepped into the office, after he'd knocked once, politely, at the door. He held a data pad in his hand, and held it out to the old bot, with a serious look.
"I finished reading this today," he said. And the relief in the young student's voice was unmistakable. Ratchet just shook his head again, this time at his student.
"I recall asking you to finish that reading, the day before yesterday," he said, far less disappointed with him then he pretended to be for a second.
"I know," 'Bee replied. And clearly he was buying the disappointed act just fine, because his tone was flustered, growing obviously anxious. "I... I did the very best I possibly could. I ready ever moment I possibly had to devote to doing so. But with newborn twins now on top of my first born to care for while I'm doing it..." the young student chuckled then, a too nervous chuckle, as he sighed a little. "Today I read through a whole chapter on bot processor configurations, while I rocked Sparkplug with one arm, because she cried every time I tried to put her down in her basket. She fell into recharge, which is good because it meant some real study time. But then Hubcap woke up. Then Hotwire knocked over a full container full of energon all over the holovid player, which of course then shorted out, and I found the mess he'd made of the living room with every toy he owns scattered over the floor. Sparkplug woke up again... both twins were screaming... Hotwire was pouting..." he dropped hard into the chair in front of the desk then, an almost comical look of near defeat on his face-plate. "I... think at some point right around then, I remembered I had a bondmate on her way home anytime, and who might just hit the ceiling when she walked inside."
Ratchet's serious expression, broke then entirely, probably because Knockout, still sitting in his place across the small office, had promptly burst out laughing loudly. And the old medic just shook his head a little, chuckling, admitting, at least to himself, that the while situation certainly was amusing. But 'Bee was so far from even the slightest bit amused by then. And instead, he just looked down at his knees, with a look of a young bot that feared his own failings.
"Bad days happen, when it comes to younglings," Knockout said, oddly wisely given how hard he was still laughing. "We do the best we can, but parenting is difficult... and messy!"
"Says you," 'Bee answered, turning then to look in his direction. Despite his friend's all too casual laughter over it all, he still looked far too disappointed with himself. "You've been close to creator of the year since Cybershock was born!"
Knockout stopped laughing then in a single second. And instead he just looked in 'Bee's direction, serious now. Though he did still smile just a little, his look thoughtful.
"I only have one youngling," he said simply. "I can hardly imagine I'd do so well with three! Besides, I couldn't always care much for mine without a great amount of help." He looked suddenly almost sad then, and shook his head a little, as he added quietly, "it seemed to always look so perfect from an outside perspective I suppose. But there are times I still wonder now how Cybershock could possibly love me half as much as she does, given just how little I could do for her for at least her first full year..."
"We may live for so many centuries, but these days of tiny younglings, are still so very fleeting," Ratchet said. He looked intently at each of his teammates – both of them creators now, where he had never had that that chance in life himself – with a strange mix of pride and regret. And he knew that both of them would surely understand his musing first hand for themselves by then. "They grow up so fast, and one day you'll wonder where those tiny crying bots went."
"I know," 'Bee mused right back, shaking his head just a little, sure enough sounding like he understood so clearly. And he smiled slightly. "Hotwire's first big frame upgrade is tomorrow."
"I'll take good care of him," Ratchet answered, promising sincerely with a another tiny hint of a smile at the younger bot. "How does he feel about the whole matter? Or have you decided not to tell him much until morning?"
"I explained upgrades awhile ago already actually, because he started asking questions then, not long after Cybershock received hers." 'Bee laughed again, though a new kind of slightly growing nervousness showed in his voice by then. "She is after all his little best friend. He can't wait to catch up to her again..." He paused a second, thinking. "I suppose that only makes it easier. At least he's excited enough about it all to willingly accept it."
"That does usually make it so much better for those littlest of patients," Ratchet replied, understanding. And he was about to say more when a loud and urgent knocking at the door of the office, made him stop at once. And instead, he along with both of teammates, turned around to look toward the door.
It slid open then for somebot who had not even bothered to wait for him to invite them inside. And to his surprise and dismay, Firestorm walked quickly back into the small office. Her steps though still just the slightest bit unsteady were purposeful. And her face-plate bore a look of serious determination.
"Ratchet," she said firmly. And her hands came to rest quickly on the edge of his desk, in a gesture so clearly meant to indicate that that was not easily going anywhere until she'd said what she'd come back to say. "I'm not just some 'poor little damaged youngling' that came far enough for the world to be proud of me. Yes, I'm just another simple shop bot. I spend my days bagging assorted energon sweets with a smile on my face-plate, because I do like to do it. But I can do more. One day, before you know it, I'll be gone from that shop to run a business of my own. My application is in already for store space! You were so proud of me just for finally running. And yeah, that is pretty big. But you weren't there a century ago, to see me relearn to read code, and pour energon, and run the shower... all while I rebooted back then at least fifteen times in a day. I spent as much time falling hard to the floor, denting my frame, sometimes braking my own wrist and elbow joints, as I did on my own feet. But I did it, because I knew I could. Even when a shipload of bots said it might have been better if I'd just off lined, because I would never do it, I did it anyway." The mini-bot paused then, for just a second, and finally took a quick intake, her optics dimming in though and quickly brightening again, before she continued on speaking, while still staring the old bot in the optics. "I may be small. I may be damaged. I may be young and new to this planet that should have been my home in the first place. But I know who I am. I know what I can do, and If I don't know I deserve as much chance as anybot to find out. Please don't tell me I'll never be a flyer, because I'm on the small side. Don't think of implying it's all because I was damaged, or just because I'm simply... me. Because to me it still just sounds more like doubt then true impossibility."
The little white and yellow bot fell silent then, abruptly. And she turned around to look at the other two bots now inside the office, who had not been there when she was in there not long before. She looked from one of them to the other and back again, with a slight nervous chuckle, before her face-plate turned serious again and she let out a slight, proud little huff under her intakes.
"'Bee. Knockout." She mumbled, perfectly pleasantly, nodding once, politely at each in turn. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your conversation. Have a lovely day."
She turned then, back the the still wide open door, walked quickly toward it, and right on out of the office without a look back.
"Whoa..." Bumblebee mumbled, wide optic'd and obviously shocked, as the door slid shut.
"What in the name of the Allspark was that about?" Knockout questioned. And clearly as he no less baffled himself.
"I think I may just have underestimated her," Ratchet admitted slowly. And as he spoke he just sat behind his desk, shaking his head hard, before he looked from one of his teammates to the other and finally down at the metal finish of the desk he sat at. "I assumed she was just being silly... a youngling with some ridiculous idea, and little idea what it really means. Perhaps the kid really could learn to fly..."
It was late into the night. And Knockout sat alone in the living room of his family apartment, on the comfortable grey sofa against a side wall, idly reading from a data pad he held in his hands. Knockout was tired, but that night it seemed recharge was all but impossible. He flipped to the next page of the novel contained on the pad, read two lines, lost his place and shook his head, dismayed when he realized he wasn't sure what it was he'd actually read on the previous page in the first place.
"Daddy?" a small voice called, from across the living room. And Knockout looked up at once from his data pad, to find Cybershock peeking around past the end of the hallway, and clearly just as wide awake as he was.
"Hey, my girl," he called out quietly to her, extending his arms at once. "Come here."
"Are you okay, Cybershock?" he asked her a short moment later, once she'd crossed the living room in slow steps, and settled onto the sofa beside him.
"No," the youngling mumbled, shaking her head a little.
"More nightmares tonight?" Knockout questioned, patiently. And Cybershock just nodded her head silently, leaving her creator concerned.
It had been at least a few weeks since her encounter with Magatron out on the roadway. And although the little bot had insisted on recharging alone again after just a couple of nights tucked in between her creators in their recharge station, barely one single night had passed without her waking up from a nightmare or flashback thanks to the threat on her life. Before that had happened, the odd nightmare was certainly not unheard of, of course. But these were far worse than any typical youngling bad dreams.
"Wanna tell me about it?" Knockout asked. He pulled his child against his frame with both his arms around her. And he watched her as she shook her head just a little, but then nodded slightly just a second later.
"I dreamed I was off line this time," she said slowly, her voice quiet, shaky. She sat with her head against his armour, and her little body shook just a little as she remembered everything her mind had created in in the world of her dreams. "I was off line, but somehow I still knew things. And I saw everything. I watched you and Mama, but... I don't think you could see me. You both looked sad for a while, and you cried all the time... I guess it must have been years though because one day I guess you both just... forgot about me. One day I... I watched Mama pack up this place and you both just moved away across city. Bots would... bots would ask you all the time if you ever had a youngling, and you both just laughed, saying that was so silly..."
"Oh, my girl," Knockout said sadly. He held her just a little tighter against him, and when she looked up, teary optic'ed, at him, he went on speaking with firm determination. "Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you again, because I forbid it! But if anything ever did, if that worse thing in the world ever happened and you just weren't with us anymore, your mama and I, we could never forget you."
"Never?" Cybershock asked, seeking assurance as her optics stared at his. Her tiny body pressed against his, tighter and she continued to shake slightly.
"Never," Knockout answered. He smiled a little, and lifted her gently into his lap. "Never ever! How could we ever forget about you?"
"Not even in four hundred years?" Cybershock asked.
"Nope."
"Not even in ten thousand?"
Never!" Knockout laughed then as he grabbed his youngling harder, shaking her playfully back and forth in his arms. And she giggled, grinning at him.
"Not even in ten billion, five million, four hundred forty-seven and a half years," Knockout proclaimed then, making the youngling giggle harder.
"Daddy...?"
"Yes, Cybershock?"
"Are you sure Megatron is gone and never coming back? Like, really really double sure?"
"I'm double, extra, triple sure, my girl," Knockout said smiling his assurance as he looked down at his youngling, who now shook again just a little in his arms.
She'd asked about him a few times that past month. Untrusting of reality, he supposed, because the endless nightmares at her young age confused her so badly. And every time she'd ask he would simply answer her calmly, explaining again that he really was gone forever, that she was safe and he would never come back. This time, before that present night, almost two weeks had passed she the last time she'd asked. And Knockout could only assume that was a good sign of progress.
"Sure times five hundred?" Cybershock asked, her slightly shaking all but stopped by then. She was in part, just being silly. That much was clear. But at the same time, she was seeking further assurance in her own youngling way too.
"Sure times five thousand," Knockout answered, doing her one better, and making her laugh all at once.
"Okay," Cybershock said, appearing to accept the assurance gratefully, as she settled easily in her creator's arms, with a smile on her face-plate.
"Daddy, how did you get out here?" she asked after another moment, spent looking around the living room with obviously growing confusion. "I don't see your machine."
"It's still plugged in down the hall," Knockout answered. He grinned then, taking a moment to let his words fully click in his youngling's mind. "I walked out here with the walking frame."
"All the way down the hall?" Cybershock grinned brightly and then still brighter, as her optics fell on the walking frame parked near by (and which by then Ratchet had painted red to match Knockout's paint, just like he'd once done for Firestorm, and her own pale yellow.) "And you didn't fall even once?"
"I did once,," Knockout admitted. But still he smiled anyway, and chuckled under his intakes "Almost twice in fact. Getting back up is still the hardest part, but I can do it by myself now."
He sat another moment, hugging his much loved child, watching as she smiled up at him in her obvious pride in him, and smiling right back at her.
"Can we go out to the patio?" Cybershock asked, after another long moment. And her request was huge and important, because she had not shown a single bit of interest at all in anything to do with outside and the sky above since her recent misfortune alone outside at night. Even the patio was too close to 'outdoors' for her comfort, and while she was happy as ever to go out there in daylight, she would avoid it to the point of near panic the very second the sun began to set.
And so, pleased with his youngling's increasing progress through the effects of her own emotional trauma, and just as certain that neither of them would get much recharge for a while yet in any case, Knockout nodded his head in willing agreement, and reached out to grab the handlebars of the walking frame he'd parked close to him just as soon as the youngling had slid happily off his lap.
"I can help you!" Cybershock said, offering before she was asked. And she held the front of the walking frame steady, her small hands reaching up to hold tightly to the bar, using her own weight to keep it in place, while he stood up.
Knockout did not entirely need any help. He'd done it on his own more than once by then of course. Still, the youngling loved to help him. She always had in any way she could. And her helping was not exactly doing any harm at all. So he smiled at her in thanks, and pulled himself with some effort to standing on his feet. Still not exactly used to walking much at all, far from good at it by any means, and well aware that he could easily fall with one wrong step, he made his way forward, across the living room.
His progress anywhere by walking was impossibly slow. And he tired so quickly from the effort of doing it. It felt like several minutes before he'd made it even ten steps. And when he had, he stopped to rest a moment, leaning forward with his weight resting on the frame, and still not halfway to the patio doors. But Cybershock had walked with him, at his own slow pace, her hands away from the walking frame now, just letting him push it so as not to cause a fall in just trying to help him. And when he stopped, she stopped too, standing beside him, and looking up at his optics with the biggest grin across her face-plate that he'd seen in the past month.
The youngling had watched his progress though rehab all of her short life. And still recently she'd seen him stand on his feet and finally take a step or two here and there. But she had never seen him really walk before. He may have been slow – he was still a long way from walking outside anywhere, or through the marketplace. But she didn't care, and he knew it. Just to see him cross their own living room was enough for her. And starting out again, kicking his left foot forward and letting the right follow, he smiled right back at her, letting himself feel truly proud of his effort just to keep going. His foot slipped then, and his knee came close to giving out beneath him. But he reached at once to lock the handbrake on the walking frame's handlebars and jam the wheels, so that he could use the thing instead to simply steady himself and hold himself up a moment.
Cybershock yanked open the patio doors happily just as soon as they finally reached it. And she smiled again, while she held the frame steady again while Knockout sat himself down on the padded bench across from the railing. With no hesitation at all, she clambered back onto his lap just as soon as he was sitting. And he hugged her, smiling again, while he looked up into the night sky for a moment.
"Can I ask you a question?" the youngling asked, suddenly sounding so uncertain, as she snuggled on his lap, just as she'd always done since she'd been much smaller.
"Well of course you can, my girl," Knockout assured her. And he watched as she starred up, clearly distracted, at the distant stars high above.
"What happened to you?" Cybershock asked slowly. And she stopped speaking for just a second, before she added quickly to clarify her question. "I know it was a random processor failure. But what does all that really mean for you? I know you were... well different, once. You could run, and drive and transform... Bumblebee says you were the fastest car on the track once!"
"Ha. Well I don't know about that, but," Knockout hesitated just second before he made a decision, something he'd put off before and certainly more than once. Slowly, carefully so as not to overbalance and fall of the bench, he reached over to the small storage trunk in which he and Arcee tended to toss random things left outside on their patio. He reached down to the bottom and pulled out a data pad of photo-files - one the youngling had asked him about before. And she clearly recognized it too, because her optics lit up at once.
"I promised I'd show you this one day," he said, powering it up as she shifted around a little settling comfortably again on his knees, her head resting on his chest panel, and ready to look at the pages.
Knockout scrolled through the pad a bit to find page one. And he held it up to show his youngling an image taken of him by somebot, perhaps two days after his first malfunction. He lay still on a medical recharge station there, optics half closed and unfocused, paint dull and fading, and his head tilted to the left at a strange disconcerting angle from his inability to even hold it straight. There were wires and cables everywhere, covering the recharge station and good part of his own body, and it was clear even in a photo-file, his state was far from promising.
He was a bit better in the next image. But still by no means good. He lay just as obviously just as immobile as before. But at least by then his optics were open, and looking at the photo now in hindsight, it looked like he was at least seeing and looking at something with some interest. And his paint colour was brighter.
He reached up slightly, in the next image, to 'high five' Bulkhead – who was almost out of the frame entirely, save for a green arm and part of his left side. The recharge station had been raised just slightly at its top end, so that Knockout could lay just slightly upright. And his right hand, the only one that worked at all then, had missed the big green bot's completely. But at least he was so clearly trying his best to do the simplest of motions then.
"Daddy..." Cybershock cried. And Knockout looked at her again, to see the coolant tears that had just began to form in her optics. "It was so... horrible at first."
"It was," Knockout admitted honestly. His memories of those easiest of days after his malfunction were still somewhat unclear. But he recalled it well enough to know it was well beyond bad. He hugged his youngling tighter as he scrolled slowly through the pad. "This sounds so terrible to me now, my girl. But right from the start I could talk pretty well. Certainly more than clearly enough to say anything I wanted, to 'use my words as your Mama might say now... though it certainly was work just to say five words at first. Still though, I remember too many times I would scream with frustration and anger instead of just talking. There were times I'd try just as hard as I could to knock the scanner out of Ratchet's hand, just so he'd give up on me, leave me alone and let me off line... others times I'd just cry for an hour without stopping because I was so terrified of exactly that fate."
"Musta been some really bad days..." Cybershock said. And just like so often seemed to be the case, she sounded so strangely mature and understanding for such a small child.
"They were some bad days," Knockout said calmly, holding his child tighter again, all without dropping the data pad of photo-files. "The worst of my life." He paused a second then, looking down at the youngling he held, snuggled happily on his lap. She was still so very young, barely beginning to learn to type and read simple code. And she still spilled her energon, and said silly things loudly at terrible times. But Cybershock was smart, and curious. And though he doubted she'd understand even half of what he said to her exactly, he decided to try explaining anyway, because she would at least try her best to get it.
"I was supposed to be off line then. There are really no two ways about that. Bots just don't survive processor damage like mine... and if they do, at least for a little while, there's nothing left of their consciousness to really tell the tale anyway. But... then there I was. Three days, five days... nine days later. Still somehow online. Conscious, self aware as as anyone, communicating... But what was that all supposed to mean? I was aware enough to assess my own condition. And my own medical understanding told me, that statistically, I should have been days days before already. Ratchet used to say too, he didn't know how and why I hadn't died... he was half clueless and flying, as they say, 'by the seat of his pants' every step of the way for months as too exactly what to do with me. Because I obviously had so many needs to be met, and there was no plan in place, ever, to meet such needs."
He paused then on the next photo. And in this one he was sitting up, or at least partly so, on the inclined recharge station, holding his balance only by leaning back and letting the recharge station hold him up like that. Arcee sat beside him in a chair, smiling with a portable computer in her hands, half resting it on the safety railing on his right side. And he worked the keyboard himself – or at least he tried to – with his one somewhat working hand. And he was smiling too.
"By then I think I'd decided I wanted to live," he said to his youngling. "And your Mama just never seemed to leave for long. We'd sit in the medbay watching dumb old Earth television shows and science documentaries. She reminded me I was still as smart as I always was, when I could clearly keep up just fine with anything I watched. I'd still start screaming in rage sometimes, because... well I'm not sure why exactly. It's all still so confusing. But she'd just glare at me with that look she gets when she means business. And she'd tap her fingers and stare me down, because I could communicate if I wanted to and we both knew it. "
In the next photo, he was on the floor of the training gym, clearly trying so hard to roll to his right, while Arcee kneeled close by, just inside the edge of the photo. Both of them had matching grins across their face-plates, despite him trying to hard just to roll sideways, and her trying so hard not to reach over and help him.
"Me and your Mama had become bondmates the night before that one was taken," Knockout explained. And for a second he just enjoyed the look of amazement on the youngling bot's blue face-plate. "Ratchet decided I still needed to go to rehab, and she agreed with him. Of course I'm thankful for it now. Ratchet took that picture..."
"You finally looked so happy then, Daddy," Cybershock said, smiling up at him. "Just like like you've always seemed to me."
And Knockout smiled back then, nodding. "You're right, my girl. I finally was then. And it's so strange to look back now, because you're right when you say it seems I always was. But it did take a while. It's a challenge my girl, to go from honestly feeling like there really is nothing left to hope for, to deciding you can make it work in your own way."
He watched for a second as his youngling just smiled brighter. And this time it was her that flipped the page, curious interest and exception on her face-plate, to see what was next.
In that that image Knockout was sitting on his mobility cart. But still it was newly constructed. Tightly fitted harness straps held him sitting up in it's seat, and even then it was clearly a task just to hold any balance at all, and he leaned his head to the right against the headrest just slightly, it order to stay steady. His right hand rested on the front tray. His left worked the control so awkwardly. And still an excited smile spread over his face-plate, as he chatted with teammates somewhere off camera. One more quick, excited flip to the next image, revealed one of himself, again with Acree close by. She sat facing him in a chair while he sat, again strapped tightly into his mobility cart. And she held his left arm up and away from his body. Clearly she was about to let it go so as to see how long he could hold it that way, even if then it was barely possible to do so at all. But he was just as clearly far more interested in pulling faces at her for fun, than in rehab exercises at that moment. And she herself was on the verge of cracking a smile because of it.
"Turn the page, Cybershock," Knockout said grinning, after his youngling had spent a good moment first smiling and finally giggling, at that ridiculous image of her creator so shamelessly goofing off.
He knew that data pad of photo files just well enough to know what was on the very next page, and he suspected she would smile at it. The youngling flipped the page quickly enough, with a touch of her finger, and sure enough she sat a second grinning.
"That's... me!" she cried, excitedly.
And she looked down for a long moment at a photo-file of herself at perhaps ten days old, laying propped against his then still hardly functioning left arm, with her optics wide open, a hint of her first tiny smile on her tiny blue face-plate, while he grinned down at her. On the next page, he held her again, this time struggling a little to balance, seated on the rec room floor with her in his arms, so clearly motivated by her content little smile to keep his balance instead of handing her off. In the next, Arcee stood behind him, as he sat on the cart, the youngling in his lap again, and himself reaching up as high as he could to hand her a toy, while she just smiled, strangely patient for a baby – understanding... letting him try.
"I'd made up my mind well before then, that my life might still have been worth living," Knockout said, still hugging his youngling, as his optics gestured toward the photo, open on the pad. "So many things made me decide that my life could be worth really living it. Your Mama was a very big part of that..." Knockout paused then, to tap his youngling gently on the front of her face-plate with a fingertip, making her laugh loudly as it had since she'd been tiny. And instantly he was grinning at her. "But, you my girl... you sealed the deal for me."
Cybershock moved then, wiggling about until she was laying, partly on her creator's lap, and with her two small legs stretched across the bench. And for a while she just stayed that way, looking up at the stays above them again, while a smile across her face-plate. The smile slowly faded though, giving way to a huge youngling yawn, followed a second after that by another one, as she kept on watching the sky. In another moment her optics were closed and the little bot was clearly close to recharge.
Knockout sat still, shaking his head because he had no idea what he should do. Had he been on his mobility cart, it would have been little trouble for him by that point, to simply roll with her still on his lap back into the apartment, since pulling open the patio door and closing it behind him again, was something he could do easily by then if he just parked sideways beside it to do so. But sitting on the bench, things were tricky because he could not use the walking frame to stand, while he held her in his arms. He wondered a second if he should just wake her back up, so that she could walk with him slowly back into the apartment, and decided quickly that was his only real option But a second later, she moved on her own, wiggling around again with her head still on his lap, before her optics half opened.
"Daddy," she said sleepily. "I... I think I ra-member the second time you nearly died..."
Knockout's spark dropped then in dismay and concern and growing dread. But slowly he let himself feel mostly just curious, because the youngling bot certainly didn't appear upset by anything she was trying to say.
"You do?" He asked her, with some hesitation. And she just nodded slightly, sitting up again on the bench in order to sit beside him, looking thoughtful.
"I... don't ra-member much. I guess 'cause I was still a baby then. But I ra-member you kept talking to me, but it was just... words. It didn't mean anything but I think I know it was supposed to. I wanted you to hug me. To smile. To... be okay again. Mama put me down beside you, and at first I just got scared because there were machines all over the place and that was just... scary! I didn't know what Mama wanted me to do, so I just layed down too, and held your hand 'cause I thought that would be okay." The little bot paused then, looking still more thoughtful than before, before she eventually spoke again, sleepy as every and stifling another little yawn. "I... I think that might be the first thing I can ra-member ever in my life."
Bulkhead walked quickly through the base. And he quickened his steps even more, as he turned down a corridor that he knew would lead him eventually, to the hospital wards well past the medbay. He started singing again, a very different song than he'd been caught singing the day before, but still heavy metal, and still one he enjoyed as much as the first.
After a short walk, he reached the closed double doors he'd been heading for. And for a second he just paused in the corridor, looking up, suddenly anxious, at the small cheerful and bright sign, painted in rainbow coding that spelled out 'youngling ward.' He stood a second, strangely nervous, in front of those doors, before he stepped closer, allowing them to side open for him. And with a quick intake, he walked onto the ward.
He'd never been in that part of the building before, or at least hadn't since it had become a part of the hospital. He'd simply never had any real reason to visit that ward at all. And easily imagining a dingy grey walled place filled with younglings that were sick and injured, surely in pain, afraid and crying, made him want to visit the place even less because he simply didn't like the thought of young bots suffering. But stepping into the ward, he saw at once that the place was not at all like he'd eared it would be. The first thing he saw was colour, and that surprised him. One long hallway led away from the doors, and that hallway was painted a bright yellow, and covered in coloured dots of varying colours. There were doors that led to rooms along both sides of that hallway, and the frames of each were painted brightly, and each one different. The formed a rainbow along the length of the corridor.
Bulk' had expected the place to be noisy, filled with crying and worse. But it wasn't, and in fact he was sure he heard the giggles of some tiny first frame somewhere close by. With another intake, he started down the hall, until he came to the open door of what was clearly a small playroom, with a large open window at the very back of it, and old simple toys (most obviously donated, and well worn but well loved,) scattered over the floor with the carelessness of any playful youngling bots. He suspected, quite logically he thought, that the tiny giggles might have come from somewhere in there. But he could see no youngling bot nearly that small inside, once he'd peeked carefully around the frame of the door, curious.
He did instead, find Turbocharge. The youngling, was unstrapped from his complex support frame now. And it was parked next to the padded chair he sat on in the corner with a data pad in his hands. The youngling was clearly busy, hard at work on something or other, typing code on an a keyboard interface. And whatever he was working on, it sure seemed important to him. But he looked up from the pad regardless. And obviously recognizing Bulkhead at once, he smiled brightly in his direction.
"You came to find Switchblade?" the youngling asked, his tone obviously one of a small bot determined to be helpful.
"Yeah," Bulkhead nodded slowly, gratefully, as he smiled a little at the damaged young bot. "I promised her I'd come back for her today, talk her outside for a while, finish a couple good war stories." He shrugged a second, and having made a quick decision he added cheerfully, "You could prob'by come too if you want."
Turbo though, just shook his head with a smile on his face-plate.
"Thanks, but not today," he said, surprisingly adult in his tone. And he looked back a second to the data pad he held. "I've got stuff to do, but I know Switch would sure love to go out a while. She doesn't get many visitors." The youngling showed a hint of a smile, and said "room eleven is her room. End of the hall. I'd show you myself, but it's just not that easy to move." He gestured with is optics toward his legs – which now hat he was out of that standing frame of his, and simply sitting on a chair, were clearly badly misshapen and must have been near useless to him. But he smiled again, a bright grin that showed completely how he still wanted only understanding instead of any sympathy at all. "You can't miss it though. It's the very last room."
"What are you workin' on?" Bulk' asked the youngling bot, mildly curious. This youngling, he knew certainly did get visitors, and quite a number of them too it seemed, from the size of his apparent family. Still he was alone at that moment, and Bulk' wondered then if he might just have been the slightest bit lonely, since he was pretty well stuck where he was until someone came to help him.
"School work," Turbo answered, with a hint of a shrug. He glanced back down at the pad in his hands. "Even when I'm in here... and I'm in here a lot... I've always stayed on track."
"You... seem to have things under control then," Bulkhead said, mildly embarrassed now when he realized that the little bot he'd worried might be lonely, more than likely wanted instead to be left alone a while to simply do his lessons because he liked to study. So he backed up slowly toward the door, still smiling. "I'll leave ya to it."
"See you around," answered Turbocharge, causally and smiling again.
Bulk' walked on down the hall. And he found room eleven, sure enough at the very end of the corridor, easily enough. And he paused a moment in the door, singing the very same metal song again quietly under his intakes a moment, before he raised his big hand to knock lightly on the mostly closed door.
"Come in here a moment," Ratchet called out quietly from somewhere inside the room. And it was only then that Bulk realized he was even in their at all. The big green bot steeped sideways a little, to let the door slide open for him. And as soon as it had, he stepped into the room.
The room was small and simple, with its bright white walls and a single window across from the door. But the yellow curtain over that window, and the bright and colourful cover on the recharge station tight against the wall below it, made the little room look like it was surely a suitable place for any youngling to be.
The little bot lay on the recharge station flat on her back with her optics wide with nervousness, and that made Bulkhead strangely uneasy the second he saw her. Ratchet stood close to her, working with a small collection of supplies he was quickly spreading out onto a portable work table. In the far corner of the table and still snapped closed, sat a far too familiar light blue medical kit that no bot ever liked to see come out. Bulk's spark dropped then, and surprisingly hard and fast, as he looked again at the frightened youngling, understanding her panic.
"Just lay still like that a second," Ratchet said to the youngling bot. And he smiled assurance, although she clearly look no more assured in the least. "Hold your arm out for me. I'm just going to take a tiny energon sample from you, then I promise I'll leave you alone for a while."
"C...Can't you w... wait until later?" the little green bot asked him. And her optics, if such a thing was possible, grew still wider.
"Not going to happen, little bot," Ratchet said firmly. But he did chuckle a bit as he did, because he'd clearly heard the very same thing from youngling bots before. Scrap, no doubt he'd heard it from a full grown Autobot a time or two.
"Why... why not?" The poor scared youngling bot questioned. And she began to wiggle and squirm, and quickly she was half way to sitting up, as soon as she'd seen the old medic open the med-kid.
"Because you'll be just as nervous later as you are now if we wait." Any hint of the old medic well known for impatience, and his refusal to put up with any form of nonsense from a patient, was gone entirely, as it seemed it was anytime he worked with a youngling. And instead he just chuckled again, still smiling assurance. "Besides you'd just be thinking about it all day, and that will only make matters worse still."
"What do you n... need my... my energon for?" The little bot asked. And the poor thing sounded so clearly more scared then ever. Her optics were staring now straight at the little blue medical kit, and she was sitting up straighter, with her frame growing tense.
"I need to check your nanite counts," the old medi-bot explained, still surprisingly patient, as he tapped her gently on her one good shoulder panel. "Gotta be sure your numbers are still on the rise, since you've done so good with replicating them so far." He smiled again at the uneasy youngling bot. "Lay back down please. It'll only take a minute."
"Noo... No... I don't want to! Please... can't we just wait a few more minutes?" the little bot mumbled immediately, and when her optics so obviously fell just a second on a long and thin, hollow needle, which she must have easily known would soon used to pull energon from one of her lines, she sat even stiffer instead of laying down.
Bulkhead wanted by then to hurry away. Despite caring for the younglings of a couple of his teammates a time or ten, in the past few years, he still felt like he knew less about them than perhaps a bot should have. And the whole situation, a youngling scared and clearly on the verge of crying, made him uneasy in his inexperience. But her optics locked suddenly on his then, and clearly she noticed for the first time that he was even in there at all. And she almost smiled for a second through her panic, a hint of her strange amount of joy at seeing him again, flashing across her wide open optics, before her expression gave way completely to growing fright again.
Bulk' still almost left the room in a hurry regardless, almost deciding he could easily talk to her a short time later, and she'd surely understand just fine why he'd run for it. But in one tiny backward step to the door, he met her optics again completely, and his spark simply would not let him leave. Instead, and quite strangely to him, he wondered just a second if perhaps he really could be of any real help.
"ya scared it's gonna hurt a bit?" he asked, stepping close to the recharge station after pausing for a second to consider. Quickly he reached out to gently hold her tiny hand in his.
"Scared it's gonna hurt a lot," the youngling answered. And clearly she trusted him enough to be honest, where he suspected, in his however limited knowledge of younglings, that she might be nearing an age already where some of them might just have lied about such things. She held herself sitting, And though the tension left her just the tiniest bit, her optics darted around her in fight, and she looked so far beyond miserable and helpless. Finally she groaned, pitifully, "I... don't wanna be poked with things anymore..."
"I'd imagine you don't," Bulkhead replied calmly. And looking the nervous youngling over once quickly, he understood for the first time, just how much she really would surely have been through just to survive an event as bad the one she'd managed to.
Part of her tiny frame had been blown apart. He'd known that already of course. And it was obvious in any case, in her close to missing arm still wrapped securely against her body. And she'd been near offline when she'd finally been placed into a CR chamber, in a desperate bid to save her life when her systems came dangerously close to full on shut down. That was well known to any of the Autobot team by now – and they certainly had all been impressed by her survival. But all of that meant terror and trauma too. It simply had to, because it would have taken less to leave bots much older and biggest than she was, uneasy around the medics afterwards too.
"Come here, little bot," Bulkhead said, his confidence growing quickly now. And without any warning at all – and despite an initial glare of dismay from Ratchet – he scooped the tiny thing up in his arms, careful of her one destroyed arm in its tight protective wrappings. Ignoring an annoyed, nearly baffled huff from the old medic, he quickly sat himself down in a bright coloured chair that sat close to the worktable and was just slightly small for his wide body, and held her tightly laying on his lap.
"You're okay," he said quietly and smiling just a little. "I got ya. I got ya."
"W... where is Knockout?" the little bot asked immediately. "He can almost do that without hurting me!"
"He's away from the hospital today," Ratchet answered. And he obviously saw sense in Bulkhead's actions now, because he flashed him a quick look of thanks, and took a step closer. "I like to think I'm just as good as he is at this. I taught him to do this with younglings so well once."
"I'm scared, I'm scared!" the youngling cried, suddenly frantic. And suddenly she was trembling from her unease. She opened her mouth again, clearly intending to say more. But her vocalizier glitched in her sheer panic, and instead of words, she only made a horrible buzzing whirring noise, before it half way caught up again, and she managed to stammer terribly, "d-d-d-d-don't."
"Okay... okay..." Bulkhead said, trying his best, and simply not giving himself the time it would take to doubt himself by then. He shifted the tiny bot a little on his lap, so that her head rested lightly against his shoulder panel. And for a second he was amazed at just how light she felt. He took her hand again, holding it tightly, turning it a little so her arm turned upwards. And he made sure to gently hold it still that way. "We're good. We got this, little bot."
There was a loud whimper from the youngling bot then. And a tiny pathetic little whine, as she began to fuss a little again, probably more out of anticipation than anything. But Bulkhead watched as Ratchet carefully, and quickly pushed the small needle into her tiny arm through a gap in the front of the elbow joint, and managed to pull it out again in only a couple of seconds, without the little bot even jolting from discomfort.
"See?" Bulk' said, with a chuckle then. "Not so bad, huh?"
He was met in under a second, by the startled and surprised optics of a tiny bot who had no idea at all that the thing she'd feared so badly was entirely finished with so easily. But when she did realize it, she grinned brightly, before staring for a second down toward the floor, her expression almost sheepish.
"Ha. I've got more stories to you," Bulk' said, grinning at the tiny bot, as he set down down squarely on her feet. And he led her easily from the room, leaving Ratchet to put away his equipment. "A few of 'em actually, from my old wrecker days."
The small youngling looked up at him a moment, grinning while she trotted along beside down the hall. But abruptly she slowed her steps again, and looked down, her optics nervous again.
"What the matter?" Bulkhead, joking at first. "I thought you loved stories! Even if I'm not the best bot at tellin' 'em..."
"Ratchet said today, him and Knockout are going to redo these wrappings tomorrow..." the youngling said, looking at the floor. And she gestured with her remaining hand roughly toward her destroyed arm, to indicate exactly what it was she meant.
"Not a good thing then, I take it," Bulk' said, questioning her calmly while the two walked on again down the hallway of the ward. "At least not as you see it?"
"It is..." the youngling bot answered slowly. And she stopped walking again, in order to stand in one place and consider carefully. "I know it is... But I still don't like it. Ratchet said it might not hurt nearly as much this time, because I'm so much better now than I was last week. I guess I wanna believe him, 'cause I don't think he'd lie on purpose." She paused again, looking down at the floor, with a sudden strange look of shame on her face-plate. "I cried way to much the last time, and I know it. If Scrapheap had caught me, he'd have surely decked me good across the side of the head for that..."
"Well, he's not here," Bulk' replied seriously. He almost told her out loud as well that if that clearly no good creator of hers was anywhere near them, he'd more than likely shoot him for treating his youngling like he did. But he thought better of it, and instead he just smiled at her in understanding.