Chapter Text
Ratchet’s POV:
I groaned as my audials picked up the rumble of Bulkhead’s engine. Of course, the second that I start to work on updating my medical files in this infuriating Earth-computer, the humans just had to be released from school. I could already feel my processor starting to ache. It was beyond my understanding as to why Optimus insisted that we work with the squish-I mean humans. Their fleshy nature and their ability to simply go “squish” made them extremely unattractive, and their lack of technological wit made it that there was simply no hope for them to logically gain my favor. Often, when I saw how comfortable Prime and the other Autobots were around the creatures, I considered giving them a sturdy hit to the helm with a wrench. Maybe that would fix their glitched processors.
I was jolted from my loathing by the sound of feedback from Miko’s guitar. No, dear Primus, anything but the guitar, I begged. Primus seemed to not be listening, or he found my predicament amusing, as Miko struck her hand down the center of her racket-making device. The resulting screech was immediately followed by a souring of each bot’s EM field. Even Bulkhead, who for some reason enjoyed the clashing that Miko called music, flinched back at the sound that cut right through his audials.
“MIKO!” Jack shouted, catching the pink-haired girl’s attention, “Please put it away! It physically hurts my ears!”
I harrumph-ed in agreement. Seemingly dejected, Miko leaned her precious noise-maker against a wall and sulked over to Bulkhead. I threw a look of gratitude to Jack. At least he had some skill silencing the otherwise unruly teen. Now if only he could stop her from sneaking through the groundbridge…
"Hello Ratchet." I nearly jumped out of my plating as Optimus set his servo on my shoulder.
"Optimus" I grunted in reply. How could a bot so big be so sneaky?
"You really ought to take a break every once in a while, old friend."
"I have work to be doing, Optimus. I dont have the luxury of a long recharge like the rest of you, especially when the humans are here with all their noises and pesky questions!" I immediately felt bad about my remark as I saw Optimus make the slightest move backwards, but I kept my EM field tightly to myself and maintained my angry glare.
"I-" Optimus started, then took a second to reconsider, "I'm sorry. If you ever need anything…"
I nodded, and he gave his gentle yet concerned grin that always made my spark give the tiniest flutter. Slagging Matrix. Always trying to break the resolve I had built over the vorns. I returned my optics to the console and began inputting the data concerning all the repairs that took place after the last battle. My servos flew over the keys, steadily updating each file. Multiple times, Rafael tried to ask questions about Cybertronian biology or what I was working on, but I waved them away.
I would never admit it, but a small bit of my spark admired the curiosity of the youngest human. It reminded me of my past charge, First Aid. Quiet and peaceful, he studied my every move with compassion and dedication, unfazed even when my temper got the best of me. I missed him. Back at Tyger Pax, when we fled, he was lost somewhere in the battle. He hadn't been offlined at the time, since the other Protectorbots hadn't shown any symptoms of a shattered bond, but nobody had been able to locate him before the Autobots were forced to evacuate Cybertron.
I took another look at Rafael, who was staring at his little laptop computer while Miko and Jack played their racing game on the sofa in the small area that had once been a command deck for the missile silo’s previous occupants. Bumblebee crouched behind them, watching as the miniscule smudges of color swerved across the screen and whirring in excitement. At least the young scout was having fun, and the children were being entertained. I exvented, and returned my optics once again to the screen. I took no notice of Optimus, who stood in a far corner of the common area watching me.
Optimus’s POV:
Even without the Matrix, I could tell that my oldest friend was unhealthy. Despite his habit of enforcing everyone else’s recharge cycles, the red and white bot seemed to be unable to get some recharge himself. The few times I saw him recharging, it was often in an uncomfortable position over the computers that occupied most of his time. And if the lack of recharge wasn’t enough, I often caught Ratchet staring off into space with a tortured look in his optics.
The thing that scared me the most, however, was the way the Matrix of Leadership reacted to him. I could feel it reaching out to try and help Ratchet, similar to the way it reached out to the mechs I had met over the vorns that had been either mentally unstable or too battle-scarred to properly function anymore. If the Matrix was reacting similarly to him, did that mean that Ratchet was more distressed than he appeared? And if that was the case, what would make him tip over the edge?
I could only contemplate this for a moment before the base alarms went off. I looked over at Ratchet, waiting for him to discover the cause of the sounds.
“It’s Starscream.”
If I could see what would happen in the following cycles, I may not have reacted as relieved as I did in that moment.