Ep. 1.5 - Overwhelm - (Closed)

[Deleted]

Set immediately after 'The Bad Nights'!

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As it turned out, the medical bay really was in a bit of a state.

“Sorry about the mess,” said Ratchet as he stepped inside.

The lights were dimmed to conserve power. The clutter was still obvious; what limited equipment Ratchet had managed to either scavenge from shuttles or else cobble together himself lay in disarray on the medical berth – glassware and condensers, burners and distillation apparatus, clamps and tripods. The caustic odour of chemicals hung in the air.

Two of the monitors above the berth were active. They stared at Red Alert like green eyes as he entered the room, silent and watchful, scrolling with obscure text.

Ratchet absently pushed a tool trolley aside as he walked to the monitors.

“I’ve been working on a few formulas lately,“ he said. ”Nothing impressive enough to report on yet, this is just a side project for now. If you can find a seat that’s empty you might as well take it. Otherwise, the equipment on the berth needs to be cleared away, if you can find an empty shelf or locker to put it on.”

[Deleted]

Red Alert’s optics dilated as he stepped into the dimly lit room, adjusting themselves to the lack of light by emitting a bright, but pale blue glow to combat the darkness. He glanced around the medbay, pausing in the doorway as he took note of the clutter. For a moment, he was mildly surprised. It seemed Ratchet hadn’t been entirely untruthful when he said the medbay needed cleaning. Whether or not he had actually called Red Alert down just to help clean up, however, was yet to be seen.

He cut his optics briefly to Ratchet as the mech spoke, before turning his attention over to the aforementioned equipment strewn across the medical berth. It did not take much thinking for him to decide he would rather help put tools away and delay the inevitable Chat with Ratchet for a few moments more, than immediately take a seat and all but give the mech permission to start in on him about...whatever this was about. He wasn’t sure, exactly, but he had a few very solid ideas, and he wasn’t terribly eager to walk himself into any of them.

All he knew for certain was that there was more to the situation than met the eye Ratchet was letting on, and his instincts told him that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to enjoy it.

Hence why he wordlessly gathered the tools Ratchet directed him towards and began searching for places to store them at a somewhat sedate pace. He would much rather perform a menial task than jump head-first into what he just knew was going to be an unpleasant conversation.

[Deleted]

Over time, the medical bay had evolved from its humble corner in the back of the control room. At Ratchet's insistence upon privacy for himself and his patients it had expanded into a small side room, where a proverbial curtain could be drawn to isolate a damaged Autobot. Away from the bustle of the control room, it offered a scant peace to those troubled in body and mind.

Now, it was quiet.

Ratchet appeared to be in no hurry to dispel the hush. He worked briskly, clearing whatever program he had running on the monitors before bringing up the diagnostics suite. For a little while it seemed that he was satisfied to put his back to the rest of the room and let Red Alert work in silence behind him while he stood at the monitors, bathed in green light.

Red Alert would find that storage space in the medbay was sparse. When the missile silo had been decommissioned much of its original furnishings had been stripped. Nonetheless, the medic was good with a blow torch, and Red would find welded shelves on the concrete walls to place items upon, a crude cabinet of sorts, rusted but serviceable. Old instrument panels, rigged into table or monitoring stations. Nothing fancy.

Only when the berth was clear did Ratchet turn back around.

"That should do it," he said. "Carbine and Thundercloud should be fine, not that I could have dragged them in here anyway for an examination if I wanted to. But at least now we're prepared in the event there are further casualties. Thank you."

He looked grim. "I wish I could have foreseen this. I suppose now all we can do is wait. I'll take a look at the control monitors later. I built that entire system, you know. Back when we first arrived here. It has quadruple redundancy, a little gunfire won't knock it out. It's suffered worse damage before. Hmpf."

Eyeing the security director, Ratchet said, "Would you care for something to drink as we wait? I keep a small supply here, to get through the worst nights. Please refrain from telling anyone else that, if you would be so kind."

[Deleted]

It did not take long to find a place for each tool to be set; despite the limited storage space in the medbay, Red Alert had a keen optic for detail, and a brief glance was really all it took for him to locate open spaces on the various shelves strewn about the room, for the tools to be placed upon. He tried to set tools side by side with their like counterparts, however, he did not know what half the tools even were, so his attempts at organization were moderate at best. Once his hands were empty of distraction, he resigned himself to the something or other that he knew to be forthcoming.

He met Ratchet’s gaze with a somber stare, not having the will or the energy to pretend like the recent events that had taken place (in addition to all the terrible things that had taken place in the weeks prior), were not weighing upon his mind. The medic’s expression of gratitude earned him little more than a modest nod from Red Alert, accompanied by a faint shrug as he dismissed the comment. He didn’t need to be thanked for doing his job.

Though Ratchet’s expression turned grim, Red Alert found himself somewhat comforted by the reminder that the other mech had taken measures to ensure their control systems, particularly those of the groundbridge, were not so easily damaged. It took a small weight off his shoulders, though that wasn’t saying much, considering it more or less amounted to removing a single pebble off a mountain of rubble. Even so, Red Alert appreciated it for what it was worth.

When the medic offered him a drink, Red Alert wished he could say he was surprised to discover he had anything of the kind at all, but he wasn’t. His olfactory sensors were just (if not more) keen than his audio receptors, and that particular scent was far from difficult to miss. He had said nothing about it, of course, and he would continue to say nothing, even if Ratchet had not asked him to.

Shaking his head, Red Alert raised his hand in a halting gesture. “Thank you, no. I don’t--ah.” He hesitated, thinking it was obvious that he didn’t drink, given his...well, everything.

“I’m fine.” He said instead, dismissing his half-attempted explanation entirely.

He realized a moment later, with a slight wince, that Ratchet was probably incredibly tired of hearing him say that two word sentence by now.

[Deleted]

Ratchet shrugged and turned.

"Suit yourself," he said. "The offer still stands, if you change your mind."

It took a minute of rooting beneath the monitors at the head of the berth for the medic to produce a flask of Cybertronian design. He held it into the light of the monitors and squinted at it, then turned back Red Alert.

"I hope you don't mind, but I think I shall indulge a little myself before any calls come in," he said. "I haven't had anything since dawn, and frankly I could use the top up. This came from my private stores aboard the Ark. How it has survived this long is anyone's guess. I refuse to call it luck."

With his other hand he hooked and dragged a seat over to the berth, upon which he set the flask. Two small glasses joined it a moment later. Ratchet was careful to say nothing about the second glass as he sat down heavily and poured himself a small measure of a glowing pink liquid. He leaned back, motioning for Red Alert to find a seat and join him on the other side of the berth.

"Now," he said. "Do you know who else recently said those same exact two words to me in private? 'I'm fine'? Who swore up and down that they were true, despite evidence to the contrary?"

Ratchet arched a brow and nodded once in the direction of the control room.

"And look at where he ended up."

[Deleted]

Red Alert pretended not to notice the second glass Ratchet set between them. He was aware of what it meant, that it was a subtle reminder that the mech’s invitation still stood, and that perhaps Ratchet was trying to gently insist he take him up on his offer. Though he knew a single drink would hardly negatively affect his mental faculties, or make him less alert and capable of responding quickly and accurately in the event something else blew up in their face within the next few hours, Red Alert still found himself siding against the idea. It was the principle of the thing.

At Ratchet’s prompting, he walked around the medberth to join the medic at the other side, though instead of pulling up a seat he simply leaned against the metal slab, his hands moving back to grip the berth’s edge as he rested his weight against it. He didn’t particularly like sitting down for one-on-one talks such as this; for some reason being seated made himself feel as if he were rooted to the spot. At least on his pedes, he would have the option to walk around or pace if he felt restless, or just needed to put some distance between himself and his conversation partner.

Instead of looking to Ratchet at first, his optics cut downward, as if he found the floor particularly interesting. He wasn’t terribly keen on making eye-contact at the moment, but at the same time, he wasn’t keen on disrespecting the medic by avoiding even looking at him as he spoke. That, and looking down meant he couldn’t help but notice the long, ragged weld across his chest in his peripheral vision. It was fine. It looked ghastly, but it was healing well, and like the claw marks marring his face, it probably wouldn’t leave a noticeable scar.

He just didn’t like being reminded it was there, because it would inevitably remind him of how he got it, and he had enough unpleasantness to deal with just from the recent events of the night without adding to his already mounting pile of concerns.

When Ratchet next spoke, Red Alert found himself sincerely glad he hadn’t taken the mech up on his offer, because he was fairly certain he would have choked on his drink if he had. He looked up sharply at the other mech, his already brightened optics flashing brighter still as a mixture of surprise and mild alarm flared through his field. It cook him a moment to recover, but once he did his optics dimmed to a more relaxed glow and his field reigned itself back in against his plates. Where it belonged.

His first instinct was to protest, to insist that his and Fortress Maximus’ respective...situations, were not similar in the least. However, he refrained from acting on impulse, knowing how such a vehement denial would likely be received. Instead, he remained quiet for a few moments, carefully considering Ratchet’s words and weighing his possible responses.

“I--” He paused, not liking where his original sentence was going to go. Sighing, he ran his hand over the back of his neck, rubbing absently as he thought.

“...Maybe “fine” is somewhat generous.” He admitted at last, dropping his hand from his neck back to his side, where it soon found itself gripping onto the edge of the berth once again- a bit tighter than before.

“I’ll admit I’ve had better weeks.” He added quietly, his tone belying how much of an understatement this was.

[Deleted]

Ratchet hummed to himself and took a sip of energon.

"I think the same could be said for several bots on base," he said wryly. "Even I will admit it's been a hard month. But there have been good points as well."

The medic leaned into his seat, tilting it back slightly. The medic was not one typically known to relax or cut loose, but now his manner was as calm and mild as a stone. He studied Red Alert with interest, taking in the security director's firm grip on the berth, as if anchoring himself to something solid in order to keep a barrier between them.

"That said, I will not deny that it's been more difficult for some of us," he said. "So far we've all pulled through however, for the most part. Whether recent troubles have been truly put behind us is another matter. So, what is it that is bothering you? I'm not asking it to mock you, or to arrange a list of things to lecture you over. I'm genuinely concerned. There is also the fact that your worries tend to be legitimate problems that should be openly addressed, not allowed to linger."

[Deleted]

Good points. Ha.

Red Alert ver nearly scoffed at that, but he refrained, not wanting to come across as mocking or dismissive of the few silver-linings Ratchet had apparently managed to find in the hailstorm of unfortunate events which had rained down upon them for the past month. Though he couldn’t do so himself, he appreciated the other mech’s ability to find a bright side in the vast and mounting collection of misfortunes they had acquired in only a few weeks time.

First Miko had been caught up in a game of Cat and Mouse with a persistent Vehicon, then Zoom Zoom arrived on Earth - WITHOUT identification codes - and proceeded to make trouble for himself and everyone around him ever since, then Red Alert himself had a fateful encounter with a drunk Decepticon at the Neutral base which resulted in the up-close and in-person discovery that Shockwave was on the Nemesis. Shockwave. Primus, but that had been a nasty shock. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since he first made the discovery. Even as he stood before Ratchet, awkwardly fumbling his way through a conversation he didn’t particularly want to have, the thought of the mech lingered in the back of his mind.

It was bad enough they had Soundwave to contend with. Adding the sociopath that was the Decepticon head of Science to the mix was just overkill - as if they weren’t already struggling to match the Decepticons in number, firepower, and resources.

To make matters worse, (not that they needed to be any worse) there was the entire dreadful debacle with MECH. Between that horrid organization and the Decepticons, they were being pressed from all sides. While struggling to hold their ground against the superior strength of the latter, they had to simultaneously keep themselves from being hunted down and dissected or Primus only knew what else by the latter.

They clearly weren’t doing a very good job at either, as evident by Air Raid’s capture, and the frequent usage of their medbay after being on the losing-end of so many altercations with Decepticons.

A shadow of guilt flickered through his field at the thought of the young aerialbot, of what had been done to him, of what had not but should have been done to prevent him from ever falling into MECH’s hands in the first place. He had spent a great deal of time wondering what he ought to have done differently, if there was anything he could have done at all that would have made any difference in how things turned out. The answer to that, in his mind, was a resounding yes. He should have urged everyone to take caution, to never leave the base without a partner, he should have issued a mandate that anyone who left the base had to frequently comm their location and status back to base so that in the event they missed a check-in, they would know where to go looking for them.

It was obvious, in hindsight, which only made Red Alert all the more frustrated with himself. This could have been prevented. It should have been prevented. If he had just done his damn job, as security director and as a Guardian, none of this would have happened.

At least, that’s what he convinced himself of. His mind had never been a very good ally to him, particularly in times of great distress, which the past month or so certainly qualified as. The incident with Miko, the multiple incidents with Zoom Zoom, the revelation that they now had Shockwave to contend with, and MECH’s abduction of Air Raid were just the beginnings of his troubles.

Furthering his grievances was his recent encounter with Flatline which...well. It was evident by the numerous welds marring his frame that the event did not end well for him. He didn’t like to think about the particulars of it.

He also didn’t like thinking about how there were two convicts running around base, whose criminal histories he knew little to nothing about. He had been running searches ever since the first night of their arrival, sifting through what little remained of their scattered databanks with painstaking care, looking for any relevant information that could possibly be salvaged. Insofar, he hadn’t been able to find anything substantial, and the uncertainty was finally starting to get to him. He was no longer certain if he made the right call in allowing the convicts to roam the base freely, especially in light of recent events.

He wasn’t sure he would be able to forgive himself if their background checks proved them to be the monsters Fortress Maximus thought they were.

All these thoughts and more crossed Red Alert’s mind at Ratchet’s question, his stare turning distant as he thought over his response. There was no concise way for him to list all of his concerns, and even if Ratchet was willing to listen, he did not particularly care to burden the other mech with his personal troubles when he likely had enough concerns of his own to deal with. Hence why he simply shrugged after a long, thoughtful moment, shoulders bobbing faintly as he carefully avoided giving a direct answer to the other mech’s question.

The gesture was accompanied by a quiet scoff, directed entirely at himself. The corner of his mouth took a brief upward turn as he smiled without humor.

“Take a shot in the dark.” He replied wryly. “You’re bound to hit something.”

[Deleted]

Ratchet took another thoughtful sip of his drink.

Then he tilted back the glass and drained it to the bottom, without flinching.

The crack of the glass hitting the berth echoed around the medical bay.

"You know, I think I will," he declared.

With an odd squint-eyed glint in his optics the medic leaned on the berth on his elbows and held up one hand. As he spoke he raised a finger from his closed fist, ticking off his points.

"First off, let's address the fact that the Decepticon numbers continue to increase," he said. "But we are aware of that fact, which means that our intelligence bots are either doing a good job or else have been blessed with absurd luck - and I don't believe in luck. As it stands, our numbers have increased sharply as well. We've had more crashes this month than in any prior to this, but every Autobot has been retrieved safely and we currently have a storage room full of valuable salvage from their shuttles. For once since arriving on this miserable planet I can fashion crude replacement parts for those lost in battle. A small victory, but one I will gladly cling to."

He raised another finger. "That leads us to our new salvager, Wheeljack. One of those new arrivals. Yes, he is insolent, and yes, he is dismissive and rude and probably a maniac, but both his fighting skills and his engineering skills are proving distinctly useful, and don't you dare tell him I said that or I will weld you to the floor. However irritating he may be at times, personal irritation does not count as a black mark against the Autobots as a whole. If we cannot learn to tolerate one another enough to respect the skills that each and every one of us bring to the table, then perhaps we deserve to be overwhelmed by the Decepticons, for whom tolerance is enforced by dictatorial rule rather than a personal code of ethics."

Ratchet's optics narrowed as he raised a third finger. "Three! Zoom-Zoom. Good god. However rocky his start, thanks to Mirage and you yourself he has been successfully integrated into the team as another valuable stealth asset. While I may regret leaving his voice box operational every time he leaves my medical bay, I will not deny that he is proving a survivor. He was unfortunately enough to come face to face with none other than Megatron himself, which goes to show we need to rethink how we arrange our patrols. But he survived the encounter, a feat that not many Autobots can lay claim to, in part thanks to his own ingenuity. Next to that, I'm willing to overlook the fact that he is a mouthy little so-and-so. There is a difference between what personally irritates me, and what is important!"

"Next!" Optics bright, Ratchet pressed on. "Ah. This is a point that still grieves me. Your own horrific encounter with a Decepticon sadist. It was an undeniably traumatic experience and I'm very sorry that it happened to you. But you endured and survived, and for that you owe Dusk a big word of thanks. And hell, thank me too. It was due to the medical expertise of Dusk and myself that you pulled through and will make a complete physical recovery in time. Sense a running theme here yet? Shall I continue? Well, why not. I think I will."

"Air Raid! Poor Air Raid. Captured and grossly tormented at the hands of MECH, all for the purpose of biomechanical experimentation. But I stand by my belief that what was done to him can be undone, and I will not cease in my work to do exactly that. In the meantime we are presented with the unique opportunity to study the foreign technology installed within him, and by Primus that is one I do not intend to miss. Until then, he is still alive. I take a measure of comfort in that alone."

"Smokescreen! Another victim of MECH, but one who narrowly escaped their clutches thanks to the timely intervention of a very unlikely rag-tag team of Autobots led by none other than Optimus himself. We thwarted the humans in that skirmish, while gathering another Autobot warrior into the team. That constitutes as a grim victory in my books."

Ratchet shook his head in disgust and closed his open hand into a fist.

"Which brings us to MECH itself," he growled. "Yes, they are a clandestine organization of butchers who have proven their willingness to pose a significant threat. Capture by MECH would subject the wretched Autobot who falls into their clutches to a host of unknown horrors. And yet in what little time we have been aware of MECH's presence we have also discovered one of their larger outposts and destroyed it, thanks to the hard work of Mirage, Rook, and Wash. We have uncovered them in Nevada, along the west coast. This serves to once again prove that we have reliable agents and competent soldiers among our ranks who can produce exceptional results against our enemies even with the fewest of numbers on their side. And for that I am grateful."

Ratchet picked up the flask and peered down it. "I suppose this now brings us to more recent events. Our two convicts. I can only pray that we did the right thing in allowing them onto the base, and yet I will be the first to admit they handled themselves admirably tonight. Their actions taken against Maximus were done in self-defence, and collateral damage was minimal. Whatever black mark may exist in their records, their restraint in this regrettable incident at least speaks in their favour. Whether they will yet prove valuable additions to the team - whether they will drive Maximus from it - is yet to be seen. I don't claim to know the future. But at least tonight has offered us a small glimpse into their character. And for now, that is enough."

In the middle of pouring himself another glass of energon the medic paused. He snapped his fingers.

"Oh!" he said. "Almost forgot. Amidst all of this mayhem, this unending succession of trials and hard won successes, we also found ourselves in the company a six million year old survivor of the Golden Age, long thought to be one of the victims of a catastrophic space bridge failure. He likes cartoons. If that is not a thing to marvel upon, I don't know what is."

At last, Ratchet leaned back into his seat again, his glass raised. He eyed Red Alert speculatively as he swirled his drink.

"So," he said. "I mentioned a running theme underlying all of this. You're an observant fellow, Red Alert. Have you spotted it yet?"

[Deleted]

Red Alert was aware he had...certain specific difficulties relating to his thought processes. There was a word for it. He was well aware of that as well. He had been officially diagnosed centuries ago, so of course he knew the proper name for his particular condition. He just didn’t like to use it. The word disorder carried with it a medley of negative connotations he didn’t wish to associate with himself, or have associated with him by others.

Nevermind that most mecha already thought those exact things of him already, never knowing just how right they were when they groused that he was paranoid, when they thought he couldn’t hear. He could always hear, even and perhaps especially when he didn’t want to. He was well aware of his own reputation, his infamy. He knew what most mecha thought of him, what they said about him, the sort of things they most certainly would have spoken over comms rather than out loud had they realized their words would reach him.

He already knew the rumors. The last thing he wanted was to let word spread that they were based in fact. Hence why he never spoke to anyone about it, if he could help it. Even with medics, he would dance around the subject or find some way to leave the conversation before it could turn ugly, which he was always damn-near certain it would. He had enough people judging him behind his back, he didn’t want to divulge his personal issues to someone and have them judge him in person too.

It just wasn’t worth the risk to talk about it. He was well aware of how unhealthy that supposedly was - more than a few therapists, counselors, and well-meaning medics had tried to convince him of this in the past. He was still skeptical. He was convinced his particular problem wasn’t dangerous to warrant all the concern for his mental health that it seemed to garner. Granted, it could be taxing, and it...made things difficult at times, but he didn’t believe he was being actively harmed by it. In fact, he almost considered it beneficial, in a way. It kept him alert. It helped him thwart countless Decepticon assault attempts. He only saw it as a true detriment when it started warping his mindset into something...more troublesome than beneficial. He liked to believe that, more often than not, he regarded things with a reasonable level of suspicion; it was only on the odd occasion that he responded to situations in a...less reasonable fashion.

But even then, he wasn’t--he wasn’t like Fortress Maximus. He was sane. He was a sane mech. He had a few cognitive difficulties, but he could manage them. He wasn’t unstable, he wasn’t explosively violent, and he wasn’t prone to lashing out at others. He was fi---he could handle things. He had a manageable problem. He could take care of his issues on his own.

...Most of the time.

Sometimes he needed a little...he hesitated to call it help. He preferred to think of it as a light nudge in the right direction. The very crux of his condition was that he couldn’t always distinguish what was a rational thought, and what wasn’t. He couldn’t tell when his thought patterns began to alter, when worry began to outweigh logic, nor could he easily see the positive in situations when his mind focused so heavily on the negative. It was difficult, not being cynical when he was outfitted with blinders that refused to let him see silver linings when there were so many dark storm-clouds to focus upon instead.

Thankfully, there were a blessed few perceptive mecha like Ratchet out there who could grab him by the scruff and point him towards all the reasons he had to be hopeful that he would have otherwise missed.

When Ratchet first spoke, he leaned back a bit, wondering with a mild amount of worry what he was going to be lectured about now. A lecture, however, never came. Instead, the medic spoke at great length, listing off reason after reason why the storm cloud hanging over his head oughtn’t have been as dark and foreboding as it was. For every concern he had had, for every unfortunate event which had been troubling him for the past month and a half, plaguing his mind, Ratchet had a direct counter. His optics widened gradually as the mech kept going on and on, repeatedly surprised not only by his seemingly endless list of examples, but by just how much he had apparently failed to notice.

He...hadn’t realized before, how many positive things had happened in the wake of all the negatives. It seemed so obvious to him now, but such was the reality of hindsight. He felt almost foolish, truth be told, by the time Ratchet had finished speaking. For a mech as observant as he prided himself on being, he felt he shouldn’t have failed so utterly to see that perhaps things weren’t quite as catastrophically dismal as the first seemed.

When at last the medic beckoned him to speak, finally allowing him the chance to respond, Red Alert found himself at a loss for words. He blinked slowly, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, before closing once more as he realized he had no idea what to say to all he had just been told. After taking a moment to let the medic’s words sink in a little more deeply, and give himself time to get his wits about him once more so he could properly gather his thoughts, he tried again.

“---I’ll hazard a guess and say it’s Things I Would Have Noticed If I Weren’t So Dense.”

[Deleted]

Ratchet’s mouth twitched, as if the medic had just fought back a smile.

“I was going to say, that you have competent teammates who can be trusted to take care of themselves and others at the end of the day. Eventually. After much inanity, self–preoccupation, and complaining first,” he said. “But dense works.”

He did smile faintly now to soften the words, and lifted his glass. He sipped it.

“Actually, I wouldn’t call you obtuse,” he said. “Not by a long shot. Just... unable to see all sides of a situation at times. Your attention is microscopically detailed when it comes to predicting what might go wrong in any scenario, a valuable trait in a security director. But outside of that it came become merely microscopic.“

Ratchet tapped his knuckles on the berth. ”I used to debate, back at the Academy,” he said, switching tacks. “Formally, I mean. And one of the first things I learned was that you cannot proficiently defend your side of an argument if you are not intimately versed in the other side as well. Even if you personally detest it, even if it goes against every moral or ethic or personal belief you stand for – you will never be fully prepared to defend your stance if you cannot understand exactly what it is you are defending it against. If you cannot see both sides of a situation, even if the other side is obscure or absurd or abhorrent to you personally, that still does not change the fact that by dismissing it you are only allowing yourself to see one half of a greater whole.”

The medic waved and turned his attention back to his drink. “Anyway, I'm rambling off on a tangent now. You don’t need me to tell you any of this. I know you are already well aware of everything I’ve said. I think it’s simply that you need a reminder now and then. Just a nudge. We all do, on occasion. Like how I need a reminder now and then not to lecture. I will admit it. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Ratchet drained the last of his glass and frowned at the empty glass still on the berth.

“Now. More importantly. Are you going to share a glass of that energon with me, or am I going to have to stomp it down your throat?”

And even then the words were spoken pleasantly, to soften them.

[Deleted]

Once more, Red Alert found himself falling silent as Ratchet spoke, though for the first time that night he did so without a trace of reluctance or apprehension. His grip on the edge of the berth had slackened considerably, no longer anchoring him down, but simply resting atop its metal surface, helping to balance his weight as he leaned against the slab. His posture likewise followed suit, and while he was by no means relaxed (he was fairly certain nothing short of heavy sedation could make him experience that sensation), there was a still a noticeable change in his body-language. Namely that he no longer looked like he was tense enough to snap a neck-cable just by twitching the wrong way. The set of his shoulders had loosened, he gradually shifted from standing ramrod-straight to allowing himself to slouch a bit, though for Red Alert “a bit” of slouching amounted only to his back curving from a straight-line to a slightly-less-straight-line.

He appreciated how Ratchet had chosen to word things. The mech was careful with his speech, mindful to phrase things in such a way that would give them a positive spin, so they couldn’t be misconstrued as criticisms. As much as he disliked having to admit to it, Red Alert didn’t always have the easiest time interpreting the words of others as they intended them. He had the unfortunate tendency to over-analyze and micro-examine every little word until he found judgements, accusations, or criticisms that weren’t actually there. The irrational and entirely unhelpful voice in the back of his head could have a powerful sway over his mind, when it wanted to. After repeating the same insistent idea over and over and over and over again, it could convince him there was malice or hidden meanings behind even the most benign statements.

Seeming to understand this, Ratchet was careful with his word-choice, keeping his tone light and conversational, uncritical. He explained, not unkindly, something which Red Alert was already quite aware of about himself, but added his own input and outside perspective on the matter, to give him a new insight on the issue. He had to give the medic credit for being able to describe things in a way he could actually relate to -- and for being able to divulge personal information about his history so freely. Red Alert couldn’t even imagine doing the same himself, and while he realized disclosing personal information was not as difficult for others as it was for him, he still found Ratchet’s casual mention of his past history of debate to be somewhat surprising.

Even more surprising was the mech’s last few words, which prompted Red Alert to lean back a bit, brows raising as he stared at the medic for all of five seconds, before scoffing incredulously, his mouth breaking into a faint smile. Shaking his head, he he wordlessly pushed himself away from the berth, and began walking away from both it and Ratchet.

He returned a few moments later, setting the extra chair he retrieved next to Ratchet's, before setting himself in it.

If he was going to stay for a drink, he figured he might as well make himself comfortable.

[Deleted]

Though Ratchet's optics had widened slightly at the sight of Red Alert walking away, they narrowed again when the security director returned with a chair in tow. The old medic let out a satisfied snort before he lifted the flask and shook it lightly, testing how much energon still remained.

In silence, he poured Red Alert a glass before lifting his own in a wordless toast.

The silence that followed was longer and a little more comfortable as Ratchet simply let the other mech nurse his drink as he pleased, at his own contemplative pace, without the distraction of conversation. The quiet darkness of the medical bay folded in around them, punctuated only by the dim cherry lights of glowing monitors and keyboards, and the soft chime of the ready medical equipment.

Eventually Ratchet lowered his own glass, already half drained.

"I suppose I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't ask this at least once tonight," he sighed. He eyed Red Alert with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "How are you injuries healing? Is self-repair tackling the minor seals and reconnections sufficiently? No sign of any seeping, no high temperature alerts, nothing acting out of perimeters?"

[Deleted]

It wasn’t often Red Alert found himself with company. Or rather, it wasn’t often he conceded to being company for someone else. There were the odd occasions when someone would attempt to strike up a conversation with him, usually while on monitor duty since smalltalk was one of the more popular activities mecha used to pass the time, but they rarely lasted long. Mecha tended to realize rather quickly that Red Alert was not a very sociable person, and that he simply couldn’t (or perhaps, prefered not to) hold long conversations - at least not without it becoming blatantly obvious that he was running out of things to say, or wishing he was doing something else (probably work-related.)

That being said, Red Alert was grateful that Ratchet had chosen to let a companionable silence fall over them for a time, instead of trying to continue conversing straight away. His social batteries ran out of energy remarkably quickly, and the brief respite from idle chatting granted him the opportunity to recharge them. He supposed others might have found the silence awkward, uncomfortable even, but he found it to be quite the opposite. Without the pressure of having to actually actively interact with someone looming over his head, he could take the moment as it was meant to be: a short but peaceful break from a the chaos that had preceded it.

True to form, Red Alert was in no great hurry to actually consume his drink once he had it in his hand. The scent of high-grade was tolerable at a distance, but when it was right beneath his olfactory sensors, he couldn’t help but pull back a bit, brows rising slightly as he stared down at the glass he had been about to drink from. Primus, but it had been so long since he’d last had a drink he had almost forgotten how strong the scent of high-grade could be.

Not wanting to repeatedly torment his olfactory sensors with the pungent smell by sipping the glass away, Red Alert decided it would probably be in his best interest to just empty the damn thing and be done with it as quickly as possible.

Sighing, because Primus he always felt like a drunkard when he did this, Red Alert threw his drink back, helm tilting as he emptied the glass. He grimaced slightly at the sudden but not entirely unpleasant warmth heating the back of his throat, before setting the glass back down on the berth, mouth-down, as to not tempt Ratchet to try to fill it again.

One was more than enough for him, thankyouverymuch.

When the medic finally broke the comfortable silence which had settled over them, to ask nothing Red Alert hadn’t already expected him to, he simply shrugged, hand waving loosely in a vague, noncommittal gesture.

“I’d let you know if things were getting worse.” He replied, knowing damn well that wasn’t what Ratchet had asked him.

[Deleted]

Ratchet nodded, satisfied.

"That's fine," he said. "I trust you to be responsible and report any problems that might crop up. Unlike half the twits on this base, who would apparently prefer to go onto the field with undiagnosed and unmaintained medical issues rather than face a medic, either out of a fear of doctors, warrior posturing, or wariness of my reputation as a yeller. I professionally suspect the first, cynically expect the second, and like to smugly imagine the third."

He snorted, but it was without rancour.

Ratchet absently turned his empty glass between his fingers. He had drunk three in rapid succession, and appeared no worse for wear. If anything he seemed a little mellower for the indulgence.

"There's one other thing I was curious about," he said. He frowned slightly. "I don't normally mean to intrude upon private affairs, but this is something that does occasionally leak into my medbay environment from time to time: how are you and Dusk getting along these days?"