Work Text:
Author's Notes- Hello all. This is a gift fic for Kami Count D who wanted a story about Ratchet/Optimus/Ironhide and I hope she enjoys it.
Warnings- Spark merging, death, descriptions of injuries, angst and Transformer swearing.
Disclaimer- I do not own Transformers or its characters.
Transformers Fics Units of Time:-
Astrosecond- 1 second, Klik- 1 minute, Cycle- 1 hour, Orn- 1 day, Decacycle- 1 week, Meta-cycle- 1 month, Solar cycle- 1 year, Vorn- 1 million years.
Italics- Link speak.
Unbetaed.
All mistakes are my own.
Hope you all enjoy it.
Ratchet was tired, desperately so. The orn had been long, stressful and unrelenting. Thankfully, though there had been losses, his bondmates had gotten away with only minor injuries. Arm hanging off the desk, he swung a wrench lazily as he filled out his mountain of reports, optics drooping and systems protesting lack of recharge. Kliks later the tool fell to the floor with a dull clang as the CMO slipped into an automatic shutdown.
Helm pillowed on the datapad he’d been working on, the white and red mech’s systems hummed lightly as he rested, one arm resting on the table in an unconscious protective gesture in front of his helm.
First Aid sighed, optics dimming to a very soft blue in sadness and concern, as he glanced through the office window and saw his superior collapsed on his desk but, bar comming his Prime to come get his bondmate, he couldn’t help as he himself was berthbound until the CMO said he was free to leave. The apprentice medic’s legs were incinerated in the Decepticon attack mere cycles before and painkillers and system relaxants made sure he couldn’t move at least until his frame and internals adjusted to his new limbs.
The Protectobot’s optics fluttered shut as Optimus stole into the medbay, being careful not to disturb the dozen or so mechs lying in various states of injury but luckily none were in serious danger now. As he passed the young healer the Prime gently caressed his shoulder and slipped into Ratchet’s office, pedefalls silent despite the weight of his frame, and gently eased his exhausted mate into his arms.
As he passed out the quiet medbay, soft beeps and whirrs of various pieces of equipment followed him. If anything were to go wrong Ratchet would be alerted instantly so Optimus didn’t feel overly guilty about removing his senior medical officer from his post.
Besides, his older bondmate would be little use to anyone if he dropped into recharge in the middle of a repair, and could even cause potentially fatal harm by doing so.
Carrying his partner to their third who was waiting patiently in their berth, the Prime slipped Ratchet underneath the sheets, posture rigid momentarily with concern when his mate still didn’t stir.
Ironhide noticed of course. ‘He has been running the medbay alone Prime,’ he whispered, spooning their recharging partner, ‘he’ll be fine.’
Optimus’s shoulders slumped and he got into the berth as well, sandwiching the medic affectionately between them, breathing in Ratchet’s scent and nuzzling at his chassis before closing his optics and drifting into recharge as well.
The weapons specialist watched over his mates through the next few cycles, gaze flicking from them to the door of their quarters, unmoving and arm resting over both his slumbering bondeds.
Ratchet’s systems gradually booted back up, optics blinking blearily up into a familiar wall of red and blue. Curling into it, his servo reached up to grasp onto Ironhide’s arm, digits clutching onto him tightly. The familiar, but no less spark-twisting, thrill of fear when he watched his Optimus go up against Megatron had increased tenfold when, while tending to his injured leader as the Aerialbots distracted the Warlord, he’d caught Ironhide standing before Devastator alone out of the corner of his optic.
He had barely suppressed a panicked scream when he saw the war-hardened mech be knocked flying across the madness of the battlefield. That Ironhide had simply stood and dove back into the fight only soothed his spark minimally. After their enemies retreated they carried their wounded to the medbay where Ratchet ended up doing much of the work himself as the others he was training in first aid were among the most grievously injured.
Feeling the metal of his partners blanketing and holding his calmed his spark until it thrummed normally in its chamber.
It had been by far the worst battle they’d had since they’d reached Earth and the first where they’d suffered deactivations. Ratchet held no illusions about it being the last.
Sighing, the medic allowed his optics to drift closed for a few moments more before sliding out of the berth, pecking Ironhide on his lip components and Optimus on his forehelm, and headed back for his medbay, unable to relax completely until he was sure his patients were resting soundly, without pain, as well.
Heading along the corridors, Ratchet thought about his reactions on the field. He supposed his professionalism had slipped not just because his mates had been endangered, though a deep well of anxiety in his spark, that regrettably was not a new sensation; but because he had become used to a routine. Megatron caused chaos, they fixed it and saved the day, the tyrant threw a threatening comment over his shoulder while Starscream ranted shrilly in the background, then everyone on both sides went home.
It was more the equivalent of a weekly human bar brawl than a proper battle of war.
This time was different. Megatron seemed more determined than usual to do them harm which couldn’t be a good sign for future encounters, Ratchet’s processor idly added, and so there had been no instant retreat on the part of the Decepticons when the tide began to turn in the Autobot’s favour, but a merciless slaughter instead.
It was then that Ratchet realised that he had become unused to losing his patients in the few solar cycles they had lived on Earth. Even Skyfire, entombed in ice twice over, eventually returned safe and well.
Cursing himself for his complacency, the medic reached the medbay with a heavy spark; he would have to be more vigilant. Wandering in, he headed first for First Aid to top up the steady stream of painkillers running through a drip into the younger mech’s energon lines, and slipped a sedative into his assistant’s arm to make sure he rested instead of trying to tend to the others.
The younger medic definitely took after Ratchet in that respect, self-sacrificing and kind-sparked.
Afterwards, he moved across to Wheeljack, damaged by a combination of his invention blowing up in his servos and the ensuing attack several Decepticons had initiated on the designer’s helpless and dazed frame. Seeing that the machines registering his friend’s life signs were giving the expected positive results, Ratchet passed on to the next mech in his care.
A cycle later he returned to his office to finish the report he was working on. There was one for every mech stationed in the Ark, no one coming home uninjured this time round.
However, most now recharged fully repaired in their quarters.
Sitting at his desk, the CMO turned on the datapad he intended to use to record Bumblebee’s injury (minor arm fractures after Rumble and Frenzy tried out the human concept of a ‘Chinese burn’ on him) and started work once more.
Cycles later, the night cycle nearing its end, Ratchet finished his main report for Optimus, primarily consisting of a summary of the injuries sustained along with the designations of the bots they’d lost, and stored the other far more detailed individual reports in his personal records for each mech in case they were needed for consultation later.
Locking his major account of events in his office drawer, Ratchet checked his patients once more and headed back to his berth and waiting bondmates.
Ironhide met him in the hallway halfway between their quarters and their medbay and wrapped an arm around his smaller partner to walk back to Optimus together. They entered their quarters to find their Prime sprawled out spread-eagled and faceplates-down on their berth. Despite himself Ratchet chuckled and he felt Ironhide snigger softly against the back of his neck. Closing his optics, the medic vented softly as a war and time ravaged arm, but still luxuriously red and perfect in his gaze, snaked around his waist to hold him close while his mate dropped kisses on the back of his neck.
Turning the CMO round, the weapons specialist held Ratchet close, nuzzling at his shoulder. ‘It’s not your fault Ratch,’ the old mech breathed, ‘you know that.’
Ratchet nodded slowly, optics shuttering, his weight resting on Ironhide’s frame and waves of love, affection and understanding passing between them through their bond. They returned to the berth, crawling up beside Optimus to go back into recharge.
Prime onlined to both his mates resting peacefully beside him, his internal chronometer letting him know that the sun had just risen, and allowed a small smile to rise on his faceplates.
It was a new orn, a new beginning of sorts.
Though the mechs and femmes he lost would always weigh on his spark, he knew he would see them again one orn.
When all were one.
It was his most dearly held belief and it carried him through the darkest times of the war.
His bondmate’s relaxed expressions soothed the lingering rawness that had plagued him even in recharge, bad memory fluxes abounding in his processors for much of the night cycle. They were, if not happy, then at least safe and still here.
Reaching out, covering one each of their servos with his own, he held onto them affectionately.
Ratchet’s optics cracked open and two pools of sad, though deeply warm, blue met the Prime’s. Smiling at each other, the medic leaned up to kiss his partner, sighing softly in relief as their lip components touched. Easing out of the berth the medic slipped out to check how his patients had recharged, also intending to do some personal visits to several mech’s berthrooms.
Prowl and Bluestreak need their doorwings checked over, Jazz’s helm internals were damaged in Soundwave’s attack… stubborn glitch, he should have stayed in the medbay…
Not that the CMO could blame the TIC for wanting to remain with his bondmate, and their berthroom would probably be a more soothing atmosphere as he rested and his self-repairs took care of the harm beyond Ratchet’s help…
Going through his mental catalogue of his comrade’s injuries and muttering quietly to himself about necessary future treatments, the medic didn’t notice Ironhide’s gaze locked onto his back as he left.
The weapons specialist pulled Optimus into his arms and kissed him sweetly to calm the sudden spike of anxiety in the link that answered their third’s distraction. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he reassured quietly, ‘he’ll be fine.’
Cycles later Ratchet returned faceplates and his side of the link more relaxed and at ease than when he had left. Prowl had organised a patrol of the more able-bodied mechs while the CMO had carefully examined his sensitive appendages though he wasn’t quite happy with it, having been forced to team soldiers together in what could prove to be very volatile mixes.
Cliffjumper and Sunstreaker… a partnership just asking for trouble.
But, at least for the next few orns, these kinds of combinations would be necessary. Hopefully the mechs would keep themselves controlled in light of recent events…
Or Sideswipe, despite confined to his quarters to allow his frame to recover, would announce his return to full functionality with an Ark-wide prank and cause Primus knows how much chaos. This was especially likely as his devious processor was all he had to entertain himself with for the next two to three orns.
Grimacing, Ratchet and the SIC returned to Prowl and Jazz’s shared quarters to tend to the healing saboteur. The white and red mech scanned his sedative-induced recharging friend’s helm and nodded, a soft smile on his faceplates, at the musical mech’s anxious mate.
The rest of his rounds passed positively, everyone slowly getting back on their pedes again.
Red Alert would soon be in front of his monitors again, the twins would soon be up to mischief together, Hound would be going on his nature walk around China the following decacycle, the Aerialbots would soon be back in the skies…
Normality would return.
Settling in with his now wide-awake bondmates, their servos moving to rest comfortably and protectively on his frame, a grin flickered across Ratchet’s faceplates and his optics shuttered as Ironhide’s clever digits slid into the seams of his armour and released the catch to open the medic’s spark chamber door. Leaning back, the CMO allowed his spark to bare itself to his partners and their digits were soon stroking and caressing the blazing ball of energy.
Purring softly, Ratchet sank into the pleasurable affection being offered by his beloveds; spark whirling happily as the two larger mech’s littered his faceplates with caring kisses, crooning praise to him. Waves of love bathed all three as they threw their bond open as wide as it would go without spark-merging. Their cooling fans clicked on simultaneously, engines revving lowly.
Luxuriating in the pampering his mates were giving him, the medic stared with half-shuttered optics as their chest plates opened and spark chambers parted to reveal the two strong pulsing sparks housed in both his lovers.
The three fields produced by the life forces met, shimmering almost visibly in the air between them, and they shivered at the fresh blast of emotion which seared through their systems.
Optimus’s essence glowed seemingly pure golden in their processor’s optic, as they looked within their intertwining souls. Ratchet appeared to be a blazing warm red like fire, unlike the blood and death the colour represented for their enemies. Ironhide wrapped around them, a beautiful sparkling blue, protectively encasing the other two.
Savouring each moment they moved forwards slowly until their sparks touched and the colours began to expand, bursting outwards like fireworks. Sighing in contentment, they paused to smooth over the frayed edges each of their essences had developed. Optimus’s concern and ever-present grief that no one ever saw but his bondmates. Ratchet’s anxiety and self-recriminations about the mechs he kept under his care. Ironhide’s fear and need to defend his partners and comrades.
All their regrets.
Sorry Hatchet, Ironhide whispered seeing himself fall to the ground hard from the medic’s perspective, didn’t mean to frighten ya.
I know, don’t do it again… at least… try not to? Ratchet’s energy caressed the weapons specialist’s.
Yeah. Ironhide’s essence produced a tendril to further connect itself to the medic.
The colours entwined and span together until each was almost consumed into one entity, only the smallest of embers remaining in the blaze of their individual selves.
They took one last breath and merged their sparks together, their essences burning together completely in a luxurious inferno, the last of their problems and stress melting away at least while in their self-constructed sanctuary.
The war and all the devastation that came with it servo in servo was momentarily dimmed and almost but never quite forgotten as memories of lost friends always played out naturally in the background, gentle barely there whispers to warm their sparks.
Exchanging the best of themselves to compensate for the vulnerabilities of the others, their sparks electrified with gradually building charge between them.
They relived the best moments they had experienced, both together and apart, and projected their love and pride across their merge.
Our miracle worker, the Prime and his weapon specialist’s voices vibrated through the merge.
Our leader, Ratchet answered, his voice combining with Ironhide’s.
Our guardian, the red and blue mech and his CMO almost sang to their third.
As the last echo of their internal voices died away they overloaded in tandem, holding each other’s servos to keep them grounded.
Optimus wrapped his arms around his lovers, holding them tightly as the resulting burn cooled and he regained some semblance of self and they all withdrew from the merge kliks later. He pulled them into him to rest their helms on his chassis as their spark chambers and chest plates righted themselves. Seeing Ironhide’s optics struggle to remain open, he bent over to press a tender kiss to his lip components. ‘Rest,’ he whispered, ‘I’ll watch over us today.’
A few moments later the ruby red mech’s optics had closed, his ventilations evening out and his systems whirring down until he was deep in recharge.
Ratchet’s lip components brushed the Prime’s armour and he nuzzled at the warm metal for a little while, indulging himself in the cocoon he and his mates had formed, before standing, kissing his mates once more and squeezing their servos, and heading back to the med-bay.
Optimus relaxed back on the berth, content that his medic would recover from the blow of the previous orn, holding his remaining mate close to him, and gradually drifted into a natural shutdown.
The war could wait, just for a cycle more.
Hope you enjoyed it. I may come back to this story and rewrite TFTM at some point.