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War and Wings Chapter 21: Sweet Dreams

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“How is he?” Ratchet asked as familiar trod-falls reached his audio-receptors.  Within a few moments, Optimus’ shadow all but enveloped his workspace, causing the medic to tilt his head and cock a questioning brow-ridge up at his friend.

The Autobot leader frowned. “Triage is comatose but stable.  His physician expects a full recovery.”  

Ratchet nodded.  “And…” His voice glitched, uncharacteristically.  He almost didn’t want to hear the answer that he was certain Optimus was about to give him.  “Was my hypothesis correct?”

Though his face-plate remained austere, Optimus’ optics flared briefly in a rare showing of emotion.  “Yes.  Triage and Interlink were elin'istina'athe’i.”

Ratchet nodded grimly, though Torque turned to stare at them, brow-ridges scrunched in confusion.  “What’s that?”  

“’Elin’istina’athe’i,’” Optimus rumbled in a lecturing tone.  “It’s an Old Cybertronian word derived from the archaic ‘elin'istina'ath’, which loosely translates to ‘spark-bond.’”

Torque’s optics widened to their limits.  “I didn’t…”  He leaned forward, bracing his body weight against G3’s line housing.  “I didn’t realize they were that involved.”  

“Nor did I.” The old medic replied, gruffly.  “Hell, I didn’t even know they were in a relationship until just the other day…”  Ratchet’s voice trailed off.  Interlink’s death, once it had sunk in, had hit him hard…it hit them all hard.  The mini-bot, with his carefree attitude and friendly demeanor, had become somewhat of an emotional support pillar for the war-weary clinic.  

Feeling down?  Leave it to Interlink to show up with a box of energon goodies—no doubt pilfered from Crossarm’s private stores—and an amusing story.

Need relationship advice?  Well, Interlink was there for that too.  

Ratchet shook his head.  If not for Interlink, his relationship with Io would have fizzled.  Resistant even to the notion of change, the old medic would have remained at the clinic, pining for a femme that could have been his, but lacking the courage to do anything about it.

Isolated from everyone in the “comfort” of his lab, he would still be alone. Still be focused only on the job. Still be unhappy with the system that limited his options in life. No passion… no life… no humor… no wild nights of drinking… no legendary bar fights… no reprimands… no ridiculous amounts of cleaning…

At the thought of his partner, Ratchet bit his lip and lowered his head.

It was hard not to worry for Io. While he knew she could “handle herself,” the clinic wasn’t the military and their primary training was not sustained combat. In fact, given their back-stage duties during the war, Ratchet knew how easy it was to become complacent.  While he had participated in some of the major offensives, most of the clinic’s staff had not.  Field missions were always a possibility, as with Gorn Station, and the clinic staff ostensibly accepted the risks. But as these rescue-and-repair missions were the primary means through which clinic staff experienced combat – decidedly temporary missions, dangerous for the few groons actually spent in the field, but over the moment the last patient was secured.  As a result, many clinicians put in just enough time in combat simulations to make sure they could fire in straight lines.

And now they were trapped out there.

True, Io’s team had been accompanied by a cohort of soldiers, but most of the heavy units had returned with Optimus having neutralized the major resistance. The second wave was supposed to be “cleanup and carryout,” a quick supply run measurable in cycles to groons. Not parts of a solar cycle. As such, the majority of those still in the field were technicians and engineers, chosen largely because their alt-modes happened to be good for hauling cargo.

He sighed.

At the clinic, the war had always taken on an ethereal aspect…affecting body language and conversation, but rarely action, like watching a bad vid. Caught up in the day to day operations of the clinic, it was easy to forget that anything was even amiss.

But now…with Interlink and a slew of others dead, Triage suffering from breaking trauma, and the Bay still in shambles, there was no denying that the war machine was in full-swing.  It had finally hit home…and they were all staggering under the weight of that realization.

And in Ratchet’s case, there was an added feeling of guilt.

Not guilt that he had somehow betrayed his people through incompetence, but guilt at his reaction to Io’s revealed well-being.  

Survivor’s guilt.

Interlink was dead but Io was still alive.  

What right did he have to feel relieved knowing the pain that Triage had gone through…and would be forced to live with for the rest of his life?  It was easy to imagine a turn towards bitterness and resentment on behalf of the tall spark surgeon, perhaps seeing in Ratchet and Io what he might have had with Interlink given different circumstances.

And there was nothing anyone could do. Nothing he could do except get the groundbridge working… and he was at his physical and mental limits.

A gentle touch on his shoulder-cap coaxed the old medic from his thoughts.  “Ratchet?” Optimus rumbled, gently, moving to stand next to him.

The old medic blinked rapidly.  In the few cycles that it took for all of these concerns to percolate, he had forgotten where he was and what he was doing.  And after a quick self-diagnostic, he realized that his body hadn’t moved at all, as if he were too tired to work and think at the same time.

Hadn’t moved at all in several cycles.

Ratchet could feel dozens of optics staring at him.

He shook his head to focus.  He and Torque were repairing the secondary fuel lines that fed into Veris converter.  The line was plagued with breaches, and Ratchet was in the midst of fixing one of them when Optimus had delivered the awful news about Triage.  Muttering something unintelligible, the medic reignited his welder and continued with his work, hoping that his silence would be enough to get Optimus to back down.  

The prime wasn’t deterred, however, and after a few moments the old medic felt increased pressure on his shoulder-cap, as if Optimus wanted him to turn so that the two mechs could converse face-to-face.  “You should rest, old friend.”    

Ratchet shook his head.  There was a decidedly firm undertone to Optimus’ comment, as if he had meant it as more than just a simple suggestion.  “I’m not leaving.” Ratchet huffed, shrugging off his friend’s attempt at comfort.    

Optimus watched him work for a time, optics glowing thoughtfully.  

Torque, too, seemed to reconsider Ratchet, though the expression on his face-plate was more in keeping with shock than it was contemplation.  As if he couldn’t actually believe that Ratchet would mouth-off to the leader of the Autobot army.  

“Ratchet…” Optimus rumbled warningly.

“I’m not leaving.” The old medic hissed back, flaring his shoulder-caps, though his injuries dampened the aggressiveness of the gesture.  

Optimus didn’t draw back…nor did he seem overly put off by Ratchet’s response.  In fact, he almost seemed to be expecting it.  “Ratchet…” He rumbled, apologetically.  “I understand your continued… interest in this project.”

“’Continued interest’?” Ratchet snapped back, angrily.  “Those are OUR people out there!  Autobots!  Soldiers and engineers…and…and,” A sudden plume of despair bubbled up through the anger, constricting his voice-box and making his next statement echo mournfully.  “Io…Io is still out there….” Then, shaking his head, he forced that line of thought to the back of his processor in favor of his earlier anger.  “They’re still out there, Optimus, and you have the gall to speak of them so callously.”  Ratchet turned and pointed, angrily, at the spark in Optimus’ chest.  “Are they just numbers to you, now, Optimus?  Drones?  Sparkless shells that fight and die and disappear from memory?!?” Ratchet’s optics flared as all of the pent up anger and frustration of the day finally reached a boiling point.  “Interlink is dead!  Gauge is dead!  And unless we get this bridge operational, more will go offline!”  To emphasize his point, he made a side-ways, chopping motion with his good hand.  

Normally this would have been of little consequence, but in his weakened state this sudden movement interfered with his equilibrium, causing him to shift all of his weight to his injured leg which promptly buckled under the stress.

Ratchet collapsed to the ground in a heap.  

For what seemed like a breem, he lay there, damaged arm pinned, painfully, beneath his chassis.  His processor churned, hot and indignant, sounding like an enraged turbo fox as it thought of all the angry, hateful things he needed to say, to Optimus, to Torque, to Crossarm, to Prowl… to Megatron himself, for all that this was his fault. To get out all of his helplessness in one torrent of rage. But after a moment, he was too tired even for that. And with the fuel for his anger dissipating in the subtle magnetic pulses of the still-wounded groundbridge, all he could do now was stare… and think.

Think about all the horrible things that he had tried so desperately to suppress. Think about all the things that could—or were—happening to Io. Think about all the horrible things he had just said to his oldest friend.

At this realization, Ratchet’s spark tightened and a series of mechanical sobs tore his voice-box.

Optimus knelt down and placed a comforting hand on his back-plate.  

“I-I’m…I’m not…”  Ratchet said, shakily.  Lifting his head he met Optimus’ concerned stare.  “You know…You know that I’ve failed everyone.  Th-that I can’t…” His optics dimmed, regretfully.  “I love her…I have to do this.  I-I can’t fail....  I can’t lose…”  A twinge of pain in his left optic caused him to shutter defensively.  When he opened it again, a small stream of energon streaked down his face-plate to splatter lightly on the floor.  

Ratchet could count on three fingers the number of times that he had cried during his life-time. And—strangely—Optimus had been there for all of them.

“Come, old friend.” Optimus rumbled in his soothing baritone.  Slipping his thin fingers beneath Ratchet’s shoulder-caps, he lifted the smaller mech to his trods as easily as one might lift a petro fox.

“But… I need to…” Ratchet protested weakly.

“You need to rest. Or else, you’ll hinder more than you’ll help.”

Ratchet nodded finally in defeat.

“I-I’m sorry, Optimus…” Ratchet said, apologetically, sagging against his side.  “I shouldn’t have…”

Optimus smiled.  “Your passion is as legendary as your stubbornness, my friend.”  

Ratchet gave a weak smile, but allowed Optimus to guide him through the vast sea of disabled machinery and laboring Autobots towards the entrance of the Bay where three medics waited beside a mobile berth.  

Optimus had come prepared.

Or so he thought until they passed Prowl. The intel ‘Bot looked up briefly from his frame-welder, lips set in a frown, and even in Ratchet’s tired state, he knew this had been his doing.

While Ratchet needed the rest—and maybe because of it—this small action annoyed him more than it should have.  Optimus was the concerned friend; Prowl‘s “concern” meant anything from superiority to a subtle ploy to cut him out of the loop. And knowing that Prowl was watching him carried from the field was like having a big arrow that said “I told you so” in neon letters pointing at him and being narrated in the strategist’s arrogant voice.

As Optimus steered Ratchet into the hands of a junior medic named Axle, the old medic grabbed at his friend’s bracer before he could move out of range.

“Optimus?” Ratchet asked weakly.

The Autobot leader turned his head and looked down at the older mech with an inquisitive smile.  “Yes?”

“Just…just promise me that I can be here when you get the bridge operational.”  His optics grew distant.  “I have to…”  His voice glitched as series of morbid images filled his tired processor.  He shook his head and fixed his friend with a pleading stare.  “I have to know; one way or the other.  I have to know how this turns out.”

Optimus smiled, sadly.  “Of course, old friend.”

Ratchet nodded, satisfied.  “Thank you…” He would have said more, but at that moment one of the nurses attached an energon regulator to his medial-plate and instantly his body became heavy and lethargic as it was forced into stasis.  

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Ratchet?  You and your partner are needed to pass out…favors at the…ungh…party.”

Io chuckled aloud, and a huge smirk spread across Ratchet’s lips.  Hearing Prowl’s reluctance to use the code that Io and Jazz had contrived made him want to laugh along with his partner…but he knew that antagonizing the former police officer was probably not in either of their best interests.  “Understood,” he replied in what he hoped was a courteous tone.  “We’ll be down shortly.”

Predictably, Prowl did not reciprocate. “Try not to… dawdle, this time…” he added condescendingly, his voice cutting off with a crackle of static that forced the old medic to sigh.

“He really needs to relax…” Io commented, absently, even as she tweaked Ratchet’s antenna.  “I bet Crossarm could recommend a good so’va.”

Ratchet laughed, loudly.  On a list of possible comments, that was the last thing he expected her to say. And it was also the most amusing thing to contemplate. “That’s highly inappropriate,” he scolded even as a broad grin split his face-plate.    

“You know it’s true.” She twanged his antenna again. “On both accounts.”

Another chuckle.  He couldn’t help it.  “Must you?”

“Yes.”

Sighing, happily, he lifted her so that she was lying atop his chest. “What am I going to do with you?”    

“I could think of a few things…”  She purred, caressing his face-plate.

His hands closed around the soft protoform of her upper arm and his voice-box glitched as her claws drew wonderful sensations from his mesh.  Emboldened by her actions, he pulled her close and pressed his helm to hers. “Ii’vashelt so nea’astrxnova’an, veia’aneth so xxvos…na’veh,” he said in a harsh whisper, subconsciously switching to Primal Vernacular.  The joy…the beauty of this moment…there simply wasn’t anything he could say in modern Cybertronian that could convey the emotions surging through his spark.    

Io pressed her lips against his cheek.  “Flatterer.”

The Ratchet smiled approvingly. “I wasn’t sure if you could understand ‘Old’ Cybertronian,” he mused, surprised both by her comprehension and the fact that she had “kissed” him, organically.  

“I’m not fluent, but parts of the language were cannibalized to create farixex…so I got the general gist of it.” She leaned back just enough to meet his gaze.  “If it means what I think it means…it’s probably the most beautiful thing that anyone has ever said to me.”

Ratchet smiled again and brushed her face-plate with his fingertips.  “I meant every word.”    

“I know…” Io’s expression faltered briefly, teetering between sadness and wistful longing.  Then, shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around his neck.  Her frame seemed to shiver and she rested her fore-helm against his mantle.  “Primus…” she said softly against his mesh.  “I know I agreed to this mission.  But…” she shook her head, almost if in disagreement with herself.  “Now I don’t want to leave.”

Ratchet frowned.  He couldn’t help but wonder if he was to blame for her trepidation, and his processor immediately began to pester him with feelings of guilt and remorse.  No. He thought, beating back the sensations with a fair amount of effort.  To further distract his processor he wrapped arms around Io’s waist and hugged her reassuringly.  “Do you remember what you told me earlier?”

A pause.  “Yes.”

“How is it fair that you reprimand me and beat yourself up over the same feelings?”  

Her plating relaxed and she sighed.  “I…you’re right.”  She chuckled, lightly. “I’m sorry.”  

“It’s ok,” Ratchet replied with a smile.  Absently, he trailed his fingertips along the bottom of her right aileron.  The femme giggled in response—apparently, her mesh was hyper-sensitive there—and lifted her head to flash him with a coy smirk.  

He sighed. “You know, several orns ago, the war was simply the war. It had been going on for so long, that I just accepted it is a part of life. A negative part…oppressive in its silence.”

“And now?”

“Now, it has become more personal.” He paused and caressed her face-plate.  “Now there is more to lose.”

Io leaned into his touch, supplying agreement without words.

Ratchet’s spark fluttered happily in his chest, though the feeling was short-lived as Prowl’s parting words resurfaced and began to pepper his higher functions with feelings of guilt.  Feigning one of his typical scowls, he waggled his finger at her face-plate.  “Partners though we might be, I’m still your field-mentor…and I’m giving you an order—the most important order that I’ve ever issued:  Come back to me.”  He forced his brow-ridges to narrow.  “Is that clear?”

The femme laughed, and, as best as she could, given her proximity, she pantomimed a salute.  “Crystal clear, Sir.”

“Good.”   In a more congenial tone, he continued.  “I suppose we shouldn’t keep Optimus and the others waiting any longer.”

“Probably not…” Io mused though her dour demeanor ended in a fit of giggles as Ratchet suddenly lifted her and set her down on the floor.  “How courteous of you,” she managed, flashing him with an amused stare.

“Self-serving, actually,” The old medic admitted with a dry laugh.  “I’m going to need a hand getting to my trods.”

“What?  Seriously?”  

Ratchet nodded even as he swung his legs over the side of the berth and pushed himself, slowly, into a sitting position.  “And you wonder why I spend so much time in my lab,” He said, even as Io offered her his hand.  Despite the femme’s smaller stature, she had strength to spare, and very quickly he found himself upright, if extremely sore.  As if to underscore this, his pistons and belts creaked loudly as he took his first step, and something in his lower back made a loud popping sound, probably that loose gasket that he’d been neglecting to repair.  “One of these days I’m going to lay down for a recharge and stay that way.”  

Io watched him silently, her expression as strange combination pity and intrigue.  Then, with a smile and slight shake of her head, she fell into step beside him.  “When I get back, I’m giving you an overhaul.”

Ratchet stumbled.  “Y-you’ll…w-what?”

“You heard me,” She said coyly.  “A long oil bath to start, followed by a thorough line pressure calibration, then a buff and wax.  That loose gasket will be next along with a look at your pistons and belts…oh, and your brake rotors feel like they could use a polish.”

Forcing back a series of unprofessional thoughts, the old medic smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.  “I drive you around town once and suddenly that makes you an expert on my physiology.”

“Not an expert, but I dabble,” she replied without missing a beat.

Smile transitioning into a knowing smirk, the old medic squeezed his partner’s hand.  “With that laundry list of ‘repairs’ you have planned, I don’t doubt it.”

He couldn’t believe he had just said that, but Io’s adventurous nature must have infected him. And, for the moment, he could care less.

“I don’t deserve you.” He said, amazed.

Io smiled and leaned against him.  “No, Ratchet.  I don’t deserve you.”  
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Sooooo…how was your nap?”

Cursing under his breath, Ratchet crossed his arms and tried his best to blend into the wall.  Jazz and Ironhide sidled up next to him, undeterred, mischief written all over their face-plates.

Quite frankly, he wasn’t in the mood for their antics, nor was he in the mood for even friendly conversation…not since learning about Crossarm’s involvement with the mission.  

It defied logic!  The young HMO was arrogant and self-serving, a “piston rod” as Io had called him after their first meeting.  That he would volunteer for such a dangerous mission seemed remarkably out of character…unless selfish gain or showmanship was at the center of his reasoning.  

Crossarm was infatuated with Io—nearly as much as he was with himself. He had been ever since that first eventful meeting on the medevac platform and he was terribly jealous of Ratchet’s close association with her.  His actions the previous evening had made that clear, and this bold move seemed an extension of that…as if he had finally come to the realization that Io was at the threshold of being “lost” to him forever.  Or, if Ratchet could navigate the serpentine ways of his seemingly twisted logic… that by volunteering for such a dangerous mission he could finally show her “just the kind of ‘Bot she needed.”

But then again, neither his inner musings nor the undoubtedly dour look on his face-plate meant anything to the other two ‘Bots, who bore silly smirks and halos of juvenile trouble circling them like Luna 1.

“Oh, so now that Ratchet’s gone and got himself a partner, he’s too cool to talk with us single ‘Bots.” Ironhide chided, jabbing the smaller medic with the edge of his bracer.  Jazz chuckled coyly.  

Ratchet brushed aside Ironhide’s joviality with a scowl.  “I know what you want, and I’m not giving it to you.” He waved his hand dismissively.  “My personal life is just that…personal.  Now shoo!”  He tried, unsuccessfully, to push Ironhide away, but the larger mech just chuckled and pulled Ratchet into a friendly headlock.  

“Just making sure our favorite engineer-slash-medic-slash-societal discontent has the confidence necessary to make his new partner happy.”  Ironhide crooned even as he scuffed Ratchet’s helm with his fist.  

“Will you…” Ratchet huffed, trying to free himself.  Eventually he managed to wiggle free of Ironhide’s grasp only to be intercepted by an amused Jazz.

“This is your first relationship; you’ve got to make a good impression.”

Ratchet dislodged Jazz’s hands with a shrug of his shoulder-caps.  “I may be old, but I’m not dead… and I don’t need advice from the likes of you two!” He growled, flaring his armor like a ‘Bot half his age.

Ironhide laughed.  “Hey, we’re just happy that you finally found someone willing to…um…” He put his finger to his lips in mock thought.  “You said something really good earlier, Jazz.  Let’s see, what was it?  Something about ‘putting up with his legendary mood swings, reclusiveness, and overall acerbic disposition?’”

Ratchet frowned, but he found himself fighting back a smile.  “You two are terrible.”  

Jazz and Ironhide looked at each other—pointedly—then burst out into a fit of laughter.  

“Why do I even bother…?” the old medic lamented, rubbing the bridge of his chevrons.

“Because your existence would be boring without the likes of us?” Jazz queried, a look on his face so silly that Ratchet’s façade finally fractured into a lighthearted chuckle.

“Naw, in all seriousness, Ratchet,” Ironhide said clasping the older ‘Bot lightly on the bracer.  “She’s a lovely femme.  Got more spark than a triple-changer.”  

Ratchet looked up, surprised at the sudden change in Ironhide’s tone.  

Jazz smiled too—this time from good-natured, genuine camaraderie—and gave the old medic’s shoulder-cap a friendly knock.  “I agree.”  He tilted his head and allowed his smile to broaden.  “She couldn’t have landed a better mech.”

Ratchet smiled sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his neck.  He never did well with accepting compliments.  It was either dismiss them entirely, usually with a gruff word or two, or stand there with a stupid smile on his face-plate; there simply was no middle ground. And with ‘Bots like Jazz and Ironhide, who spent their life joking and were rare with true praise…

As he opened his mouth to reply, Optimus emerged from the northern storage room followed by Prowl and Crossarm.  Io was the last to emerge…and despite attempting to conceal her emotions, he could tell that she was displeased.

Not that he blamed her, really.

*Are you ok?* He asked as she rejoined him.

The femme sighed. *You ever have one of those days when the world seems so unbelievably unfair that you want nothing more than to go back to your quarters and bash your head against a wall?*

He chuckled, silently.  *More times than I care to count.* He caught her optics and tried to make a joke. *It’s better than the times I want to bash someone else’s head against a wall.*

She was obviously in no mood for humor.

Her wings fluttered, briefly…a sign of frustration coupled with the wavelength of her t’vre.  *I’m worried, Ratchet.* She took his hand and squeezed his fingers.  Across the room, Ratchet noticed Crossarm glowering at them angrily.  As Io seemed oblivious, the old medic turned a bit so that he could block her from the sergeant’s line of sight.  

*I mean,* she continued.  *Powerglide will be there…but…*

Ratchet nodded.  *You’re worried he might try something.* There was no need to identify the subject of their discussion.

*No, if he tries something, I can handle it,* she replied with a smirk.  *It’s more the mission I’m concerned about.*

*I understand how you feel. I can’t believe they involved him—and I imagine neither can the ‘Bots who were in sound-shot when I found out—but I have to trust Optimus.* He smiled down at his partner, reassuringly.  “If he thinks that Crossarm’s flying skills are good enough for the mission, then they are.”

Io nodded, though her attention shifted as dozens of ‘Bots began filing into the Bay.  Powerglide was among the assembled—not surprising, given that he would be flying with Io and Crossarm—as were a few familiar faces from engineering.  But then Triage entered the bay, and Ratchet recoiled in amazement. *I didn’t know Triage was participating.*

Io followed the large mech with her optics as he moved through the crowed.  *Neither did I, and it seems like Interlink is going as well.* She pointed in the general direction of Triage, and sure enough, Ratchet could see the mini-bot through the multitude, his tiny legs pumping almost comically to keep up with his partner’s longer strides.  He cocked his head for a moment, intrigued. Then it made sense.

They were holding hands.

*They’re such a cute couple.* Io remarked, squeezing Ratchet’s fingers.  *They remind me of us in a way. You know, sort of…odd.*

Ratchet smirked down at her.  *Odd, indeed. Well, one of us anyway…*  

With a mischievous grin she opened her mouth to rebut him, but Optimus stepped forward.  “Thank you all for your patience,” he rumbled in his soothing baritone.  “Operation Orsis is finally ready to begin.”
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Ratchet!  Torque!  Main groundbridge control!  NOW!”  

Ratchet’s head snapped up, alarmed.  Gauge was abrasive…and prideful, to a certain extent, but she rarely raised her voice.  If she was yelling, then it was something important.

The old medic was by her side without a second thought.  “What’s wrong?” He inquired, though he was quick to notice the warning messages on G1’s console.  

“Energy spike.  Big one.” Gauge huffed, fingers flying across the smooth interface.  “See if you and Torque can divert some of that extra energy to engineering.”

Ratchet nodded and moved to a secondary engineering panel nearby.  

When he ran the numbers, he was astounded.  The groundbridge vortex was running at nearly four times the expected output, hovering just at the limits of what was considered safe.  Working as fast as he could manage, Ratchet played his console like a musician and quickly interfaced with the software that would allow him to divert the excess energy to engineering.  From there, he could then reroute it to one of central Iacon’s step-down transformers safely disseminating into the main grid.  

Falling into place beside him, Torque checked the old-medic’s progress, and quickly set to work collaborating with the main power sub-stations in preparation for the diversion.  

“Energy levels in the main vortex have dropped by five percent,” Gauge called out, happily.  “Whatever you two are doing, keep it…” A pause.  Then.  “Primus!  Energy levels spiking again!  Up seventy percent!”  

Ratchet and Torqued looked at each other, confused.  “That can’t be!” Torque squeaked. “We’re diverting everything that we can…” His voice was quickly silenced as the ionized gas within the vortex began to roil and spark like boiling tro’vi.  At the same time the floor beneath their trods began to tremble, ominously… drawing the attention of the soldiers and clinic staff still present in the Bay.  

“Energy levels up one hundred and eighty five percent!” Gauge gasped.   The vortex energy began to glow in brighter shades of blue, green and pink.  

Ratchet’s face paled.  If the bridge’s energy output increased any further, it would explode.  And though the Bay had been designed with such a calamity in mind, everything had limits.  “EVERYONE EVACUATE NOW!!” Ratchet yelled, loudly, snapping all of the curious onlookers out of their confusion.  Instantly, ‘Bots of every type and size began running for the doors, which had already started to close.

Ratchet, however, didn’t move.  Gauge remained at her station as well, but Torque looked as though he might join the others. He was terrified, and his armor was shaking. Eventually, seeing the calm poise of his mentor and the older medic—and probably due in no small part to loyalty—he moved back into position alongside Ratchet to see what help he could give.

The Bay doors closed behind them with a loud clang.

“Energy levels up two hundred and fifty seven percent!” Gauge all but shouted, her voice hardly audible over the panicked cries of those that couldn’t reach the exit in time.  *We need to do something, Ratchet.* She added, switching to her private Com frequency.  *Otherwise…* She didn’t finish her statement.  She didn’t have to.  

The explosion would likely kill everyone in the Bay unless they could think of something.  *I know.* Ratchet replied gruffly, trying his hardest to focus.  In truth, he was terrified.  But Gauge’s simple statement helped to quell the fear just enough for his higher functions to reengage.  *We’ve been diverting excess energy to engineering…what if we rerouted it to G1’s electromagnetic shielding? Perhaps we can contain the explosion to some degree?*

Gauge blinked rapidly as she processed his statement.  *That’s…That’s got to be the craziest idea I’ve ever heard.  But…you know what…It just might…No…no.  I don’t think it’ll be strong enough, even with the power boost.*  The groundbridge portal flared brightly, and a bolt of electricity the size of a trunk-line cut the air above their heads before arcing back and striking one of G2’s support pylons.

Something had to be done… and quickly.

*Then what would you suggest?* Ratchet snapped back with a little more bite than he intended.

*Super-charge all of the force-fields!* Torque exclaimed.  *And nest them, one on top of another with their focal point centered on G1.  It won’t stop the explosion, but it might dampen it.*  

*Leave it to the young-bot to figure it out,* Gauge replied with a bark of laughter, even as she returned her attention to her console.  

Ratchet and Torque did the same and for several frantic astroseconds, the three ‘Bots worked feverishly to implement Torque’s idea. It was going to be close…

*G1’s shielding is up!* Gauge exclaimed.

Immediately, the horrible din that had all but drowned out every other sound in the Bay quieted as G1’s force-field whirred to life.  Beyond the invisible shield, its vortex churned menacingly, the gas now glowing in a myriad of blues and violets.  Ratchet’s optics could even detect elevated levels of UV radiation, indicating a dramatic increase in temperature.  

The old medic forced his fingers to move faster.  

He had just coded the last few commands necessary to activate G2’s shields when a blinding light saturated the optical receptors in his t’vre…and a terrible crack rent the silence.  

The old mech recoiled and shuttered his optics defensively.  Even so, the light was still there…terrible, hot…burning daggers of pain to his reeling processor.  Then, at the limits of his vision, darkened shapes of various sizes blurred into existence, only to fly apart like gold inlay.

“Ratchet?” A voice called out juxtaposed against a world-shattering roar.

A heavy impact…

Pain…

Primal codes beckoning survival…

“Ratchet?”
.
.
.
Ratchet’s optics opened and his t’vre slowly flickered back to life. Above him, a worried Jazz looked to be in mid-shake, his left hand resting on Ratchet’s left shoulder-cap. It had been his voice that had disturbed Ratchet’s “sleep.”

After a moment, Ratchet’s vocal processor reinitialized and he thanked the younger mech even as Jazz helped him remove the energon regulator attached to his chest and get him into a sitting position.  

It didn’t hurt as much as he had expected. In fact Ratchet noticed that most of his injuries had been repaired.   True, his right arm was still in a sling, but at least he could feel his fingers.  He opened and closed his fist several times to test his motor skills. He wondered how long he had been “out.”

“The nurse said that your brain-wave activity was elevated throughout your recharge,” Jazz said, softly, steering the old medic from his thoughts.  “Not exactly a restful sleep.”  

Ratchet sighed and rubbed his optics.  “No…no it wasn’t.”  

Jazz nodded, understandingly.  “I wish I could let you rest longer, but Optimus sent me to get you.”

Ratchet’s head snapped up. “They’ve finished the groundbridge?”  

“They’re having a hard time stabilizing the vortex.  But that’s not…”  Jazz’s features twisted into a frown, and the sudden dimming of his visor caused Ratchet’s spark to leap into his throat. Grabbing Jazz on the shoulder he turned the younger mech to face him.

“What happened?”

“We got a communication from Powerglide and it seems like the ‘Cons are on to us,” the young lieutenant shook his head.  “Now, it seems like they’re still being cautious…looks like we burned ‘em good.  But, the last thing we got suggested reinforcements…large numbers of 'em.”  

For a ‘Bot who had just been blown nearly to scrap only to relive it while in recharge, Ratchet was on his trods and heading for the door before Jazz had finished.
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golden1willow's avatar
Im gonna write a fanfiction of your fanfiction where interlink comes back to life and they live happily ever after.
HAPPILY EVER AFTER GODDAMMIT!


somethin in my eye... TT.TT