Flashback - Upgrade (closed)

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"It ain't that Ah don't wanna," Ironhide was saying for what felt like the hundredth time outside of the primary base medbay, "but why's it gotta be now?"

He had his pedes solidly planted and his arms crossed over his chassis, every inch the stubborn mass of frontliner - except for the way he was all but hugging the plates that covered a small, hallowed out space beneath his side, and the pleading expression that was, at that moment, turned on the smaller of his mates. "Ah mean, besides Ratch's schedule. Ah know he's had it scheduled for th' last orn. But we didn't know 'Mia was gonna be late gettin' back, an' Ah don't care what 'go ahead just get meh all th' files' scrap she put in that last message, yeh know she'd rather be here. Right?"

The wide-opticed look was pulled straight from the sparkling who was, all unknowing, the subject of the protests. It looked singularly out of place on Ironhide's scarred visage. Bluestreak peeped from where ou was half hidden beneath thick armor plates, the sparkling awake and tapping quietly to make hirself known. Ironhide grimaced, hanging his head. "Ah know ou needs it - Pit, bitlet can't survive a hard fall right now, yeh got no idea how much recharge Ah'm loosin' over that - but..." He vented sharply, frustration showing. "Ah don't even know what Ah'm tryin' t' say. Just... can't we... wait?"

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Bluestreak had no idea that ou was the subject of the current conversation. Only that something was upsetting Ironhide and that hir plating itched. Peeping at tapping to get hir cohorts attention and hopefully alleviate both problems.

Ou was only aware of what an upgrade was and why ou needed one in the most vague of ways but...Ironhide didn't seem for hir to get one so that must mean they're not as good as everyone had been telling hit they were. Hir peeps getting a little louder and a little more insistent.

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"'Hide," Jazz said, for what sounded to his own audios to be the hundredth time. "This is the same discussion we had last vorn. There's not gonna be a better time. You know as well as I do how tight Ratchet's schedule is, especially for something this lengthy. And c'mon...."

Jazz moved in closer, modulating his field to soothe Guardian and guardee as he slid to Ironhide's side and reached out to rub at Bluestreak's back. "...ou's starting to itch. Aren't ya, bitty Blue? Yeah, I thought so...." Jazz's hands moved up and down Blue's plating in a way that had become more soothing and demanded of them as of late. Jazz found it strange, but then he'd never had to be upgraded the same way Blue needed. From what Ratchet had described, though, the itching sounded pretty unpleasant. Like sand under your plates, right where you couldn't get at it.

Jazz smiled down at the wiggling sparkling and then looked up at Ironhide. "C'mon. I know what keeps ya up night-cycles, but this is gettin' non-negotiable, here. S'time. Now. ya gonna be a big mech about this, or should I be the one to carry Blue to medbay?"

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A thin sound that was almost a whine was threaded through Ironhide's next ventilation but the mech reluctantly nodded, an indeterminate gesture coupled by null glyphs that meant nothing until he finally eased the small sparkling around into his arms properly, cupped and held between his hands against his chest plates. "Ah'll carry hir," he protested, half stubborn, still half pleading.

"An' Ah'll 'behave,'" he added more sharply, resentment flickering through his field. "An yeh don't let Ratchet throw meh out - Ah don't care what medical rank th' fragger's pullin', bitlet needs us there for ou an' if Ah'm behavin' he can slaggin' well put up with it."

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Blue let out a soft sighing coo as Jazz gently stroked hit plates. The Itch soothed if only for a moment by the touch. Little nubs on her bad that would become doorwings twitched happily. Making only the smallest protest as ou is lifted up closer to Ironhides chest and held close. Offering only a few chirps and clicks in query and protest.

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Jazz sighed. "Yes, yes, fine, I'll run interference for you with Ratchet. Honestly, the things that I do for you. Mech already's mad at me for that last mission. As if I muddied it up with Thundercracker on PURPOSE."

Jazz patted Bluestreak's back one last time before pointedly opening the door and gesturing Ironhide and his bitty bundle through it. It wasn't LIKELY that Ironhide would try to make a break for it, but it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility. Jazz would keep him in sight just in case.

Honestly, sometimes he really had to wonder who was the sparkling, here.

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Ironhide gave his cohortmate a Look - the one that said "I know exactly what you're thinking but for Pit's sake just humor my damned glitch because I'm twitchy enough to take out a combiner right now" - and, with one last nuzzle at the tiny bitlet in his hands, a reassurance for them both, huffed an exvent and marched through the door.

The medbay, under the Autobot CMO's jurisdiction and sharp eye, was kept immaculately clean and tightly ordered. The scent of it - sterile, antiseptic, the lingering trace of overheated metal and energon that no amount of scrubbing could erase - hit Ironhide in a wave and made his plates tighten to his frame, automatic reaction to too many recollections of other visits.

The space was almost empty, medberths cleaned and bare except for one which held what looked like nothing but a small collection of parts, and the CMO himself, who was standing beside it, arms crossed over the bulk of his chassis as he regarded them with narrowed optics. Ironhide sheepishly opened his mouth to say - well, he wasn't entirely sure what, and it never made it past his vocalizer as Ratchet cut him off, acerbic and blunt but not as sharp as he could have been.

"Well, that was only sixteen kliks spent outside the door, so consider me suitably impressed." He flicked a glance over the frontliner and accompanying sparkling, then tipped his helm towards the smaller saboteur behind them. "Are we doing this now, or am I sedating him first?"

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Bluestreak didn't like Med-bay's. Didn't have much against Ratchet but the smell and feel of the place brought back many of hir earliest memories. Of hurting, of screams and yells for help as ou was held, much like ou is now in Ironhides hands.

As it was ou almost instantly began to whine and fuss. Clinging a little tighter to hir guardian and trying to shy away from the Medic. This was not going to be easy for Ratchet. Hidden in the big mechs plates ou still managed to fix huge pleading optics on Jazz. Hir cohort would save hir right?

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Oh sweet Primus, Jazz thought. If he ended up having to chase Ironhide and a panicked Bluestreak down the corridor, he was going to film the whole thing and taunt BOTH of them with it until they were old and rusted. Or MORE old and rusted, in Ironhide's case.

Jazz moved around to place himself between Blue and the view of the medbay, his hands circling around Blue in Ironhide's: not to lift or grab, but just to give Blue a safe space surrounded by cohort. "Shh, shh, s'okay, Bluelet. It's only Ratchet. And this won't hurt, I promise. It'll feel a bit weird, but it won't hurt, and it'll make your plating itches go away."

Jazz leaned down, smiling at Blue reassuringly and nuzzling in to helmtouch with Blue's tiny helm. "Ahrnhaid and I'll be right here the whole time, and we won't let anything bad happen to you. Promise."

::S'okay, Hide. Ou's just nervous. Maybe if one of us sits on the berth and holds hir until Ratchet gets started?:: Jazz flared his field with comfort/cohort/reassurance aimed at both of his cohortmates.

"And we are doing this now," Jazz said firmly to Ratchet. "'Hide's fine. Right, 'Hide?"

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"Right," Ironhide replied automatically. "Fine." The words came out reasonably enough but his field was nothing like calm, an electric frizzle of unease as he gingerly, with stiff motions, tried to disentangle himself from the sparkling in his hands, tipping Bluestreak into Jazz's grip. "Yer right, might be better if yer sittin' with hir..."

Another set of hands intervened. "No," Ratchet said firmly, setting Bluestreak right back into the frontliner's grasp and then forcibly pushing Ironhide towards the berth. "Bluestreak's obviously quite attached, so you - on the berth. Hold the sparkling. We'll do it that way."

The medic's face and field betrayed nothing except a bustling professionalism, but his tight beam comm to Jazz said everything his verbal tone wasn't. ::Twenty shanix says I have to sedate him before this is done, and it'll be easier on all of us if he's already on the fragging berth. Slagger masses too much.::

Ironhide, oblivious to the exchange, only grimaced and hitched up one hip to sit on the berth, sparkling cradled between his hands and chassis. The look he cast at the laid out medical paraphernalia made another ripple of unnease flicker through his field. "Yeh sure this ain't gonna hurt none, right? An' yeh really gotta do it now?"

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Under normal circumstances ou wouldn't have minded being held by Jazz, ou loved and trusted Jazz. But right now the little sparkling just wanted to be safe and Ironhide radiated safe like a physical thing. So the resulting cries as the smaller mech tried to remove hir weren't surprising. Nor was hir calming when Ratchet put the sparkling back in Ironhides grip.

Held safe were Bluestreak was ou hardly noticed the move to the med berth and had managed to calm down a bit after a moment. Hopefully more than a brief reprise.

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::I'll take that bet,:: Jazz sent to Ratchet, more out of familial loyalty than real belief. He honestly would put the chances at 50/50 right now, but hey, what was life without a little gambling? ::And no makin' Blue cry to tip the scales, you mean medic, you.::

Jazz knew that that would be the key: if Blue was kept calm and un-distressed, this'd be only mildly traumatic for all involved. If Blue was terrified, wailing, and wedging hirself under Ironhide's plates...well, that was going to require chasing Ironhide around the medbay/down the hall and possibly taking him down with a sedative dart at 100 mechanometers.

It occurred to Jazz as Ironhide climbed up on the berth that he probably should have looked into drugging Guardian and Guarded beforehand. Could've left Ironhide out cold in their quarters, brought in the sleeping sparkling, and had everyone back home before they knew what'd happened. Jazz filed that away as a possible strategy for next time.

This time, however, he could only attempt to keep the linchpin of this whole operation happy. Which was why he climbed up on the berth beside Ironhide on the be-sparklinged side and produced his secret weapon: the Thing, flashing festive colors in his hands. Learning the Thing's inner workings had been a learning experience for them all, but Jazz had figured out one of the patterns that made the Thing flash and change colors much more rapidly than usual. It was, as far as he could tell, a pattern based off some mathematical equation. Far beyond Bluestreak's cognitive or motor abilities at the moment, but ou usually liked watching Jazz or Ironhide setting the Thing flashing.

Jazz leaned in as Ironhide interrogated Ratchet, murmuring to Bluestreak as the Thing threw colors over the metal of their chasss. "S'okay, Bluesters. You want the Ironhide, you got the Ironhide. Don't worry. We'll get this done, and then we can play all sorts of new games, after your upgrade."

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"...an' yer sure it ain't gonna hurt?" Ironhide was nothing if not persistent, doggedly stubborn like a recursive loop of if/then that perpetually reset to start. He knew he sounded like a glitch, but the sparkling tucked in a small point of warmth against his plating was more then reason enough. "Blue ain't gonna be rememberin' this bad, after, right?"

Ratchet was giving him the look that told him the medic was probably counting out factors of prime numbers in his processor in an effort to double check his own vocalizer. "YES, Ironhide. I solemnly swear Bluestreak will not remember a bit of this badly, except for the unreasonably panicked caretaker part. It's quick, it's painless, it's quite simple - and I can't do it if you won't let me see the sparkling. Understand?"

The weapon specialist huffed sharply. "Ain't gotta talk t' meh like Ah'm throttled," he growled. Reluctantly, and with infinite care, he loosened his hold on the sparkling in his grasp, shifting Blue carefully to the front of his chassis where the bitlet could rest on his open hands. "Yeh'd better be right," he told the medic sourly. "Yeh said it ain't gonna hurt an' Ah'm gonna hold yeh t' it."

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A calm(ish) Ironhide made for a calmer sparkling. Still less than happy but not issuing those distressed little that were like 'hide me' signals for hir poor care taker.

Chirping up at the medic more to make noise than anything else ou still held tight to Ironhides hand and watched the medic cautiously. Tiny little door wing buds twitching at hir back. Ou wasn't so sure about this business yet but Ironhide was settling and Jazz was okay so... maybe this wouldn't be SO bad.

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Jazz leaned against Ironhide's side, providing another wall to shield Blue from the strange sight of medbay while still leaving one side open for Ratchet.

Also blocking a potential avenue of retreat for said Blue.

Also providing plate-contact to push support and comfort and a very loving simmer down, soldier at Ironhide.

Jazz set his fingers on the particular dimples of The Thing that were pressure-sensitive and used it to play light-flashing accompaniment as he hummed Blue's favorite song.

<<supportive!Jazz is supportive! Also attempting to distract the sparkling from the Mean Medic. >>