[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]What You Think You Know - [Closed]

[Ratchet]

Ratchet placed his servos, palms down, flat on the bench as he continued to watch the screen. Mind racing, he nevertheless listened to Carbine as he spoke.

“Mmmn. Heading outside with Bolo, I can only imagine he stayed somewhat near the base. It would be too risky to take Bolo out too far - the cassette can only dock with you, there would be no way of hiding him should any humans come about.”

Ratchet turned, leaning back against the bench now, one servo raised, a finger tapping his chin, “And if whatever this is was near the base, there would likely be others with the same symptoms. Likewise, if it was at the area where you found the human, you would probably have symptoms, as well as Optimus and Bolo.”

Ratchet didn’t have to make any statement about how disastrous that would be. An enraged, out-of-his-mind-Prime was the very last thing they needed. Optimus alone could most likely bring down the entire base if he really let loose.

Eying Carbine, Ratchet spoke sternly, “And I am assuming you haven’t been having any fits of anger or confusion. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Ratchet started walking back and forth as he spoke, optics distant as he was working through his thoughts.

“There most likely was contact contamination, and not something in-vented, although I cannot rule anything out, not yet. It doesn’t seem like it’s affected anyone else other than Bumblebee, though. Which is a small blessing.

For the Repair Nanites to be attempting to repair an injury that’s not there…they may have been either reprogrammed, or possibly picked up a virus in some manner. They’re extremely basic. My concern is that they can crystallize the energon inside Bumblebee until his spark can no longer function.

It’s certainly possible he went looking for where you found the hand. It most likely wouldn’t be the hand itself, as you were carrying it around for a while.” Ratchet smothered the feeling of disgust.

He turned, looking back at the screen again, “I suppose we could ask Rafael…but I don’t want to pressure him. He may have already seen more than he should have. Also, Bumblebee is extremely protective of him. If he went somewhere he shouldn’t have, it’s likely he wouldn’t have told Rafael at all. Still, we don’t have much option…”

Ratchet glanced towards where Optimus was still seated, and moved towards him.

“Optimus, have you been able to listen to what’s been going on? Once I’ve repaired your optics you can see the video yourself but until then, have you been able to follow the conversation? Do you think we should see if Rafael knows anything about some place Bumblebee may have been? It’s going to be near impossible to treat this if I don’t even know the cause.”

[Carbine]

"I'm alw̧ay͞s͡ cón̛fu̧sed here."

A sort of light laugh was forced after this, trying to find his footing and confidence again. All things considered, taking the question seriously, Carbine could have a short fuse at times. He was quick to jump to conclusions and when he was poked at or teased, it could really set him off if done 'wrong'. The only real incident here on Earth beyond sparks of rage like what just happened in the Med Bay that he could think of offhand, was when he wanted... no... NEEDED to kill that Decepticon, and he simply couldn’t. Thunder refused to do the dirty work for him despite the threat, despite how easy it would have been. All he would have needed to do was lift his leg up, and he could have crushed her head beneath his giant stomper of a foot simply from their size differences alone. One slamming crush, one less Decepticon in the world, one problem solved!

The memory of this incident made a bit of hate boil back up inside of him, anger starting to seethe and bristle up.

"I t-tried to kill̕ ̨a͟ ͞D͏ecep̴t̵ic̶o͘n and didn't get support a few͞ ̀we̵e͜ks ̶bąćk. THAT really p-pissed me off."

He growled, knowing Optimus KNEW what had happened. Carbine had already been reprimanded for the incident, but if they were being candid and open here in the Medical Bay to try to track down this disease, they had to have some sliver of honesty.

"Tried to ͢cut he͞r̢ ̕h́ea̢d off with a knife."

Blunt. There was no remorse or shame laced in these words as he looked at Ratchet straight on. He did not REGRET what he had done, he only regretted getting caught. He was going to harbor anger at this for awhile. After this was told, he shifted his weight back, crossing his arms across his chest in a mild defensive manor while he stood guard over Bumblebee.

"Also wanted to rip iǹto ̢Bee̕ ̵w͢hen h͠e̷ i͠n-in-instigated a fight with Bolo... I feared you all would blame me for n͢ot ͞hav͢iǹg better control of my dog..."

Grumbled. He was fairly 'sure' Bee had reported that, but he didn’t know. Nobody ever came to get him in trouble! But... Bee was really hurt, Ratchet had to have known.

At the mention of the severed hand, Carbine's hip storage began to itch. It didn’t bother him that he was carrying such a thing around, it was evidence and a reminder that he had to try to find some justice for the poor girl... but... the idea that it may have possibly maybe slightly been part of the disease made a subconscious paranoia form. Casually, yellow eyes flicked down to look at his leg where it was stored, fidgeting a bit before he settled again.

Looking over, Carbine watched quietly then as Ratchet addressed Optimus.

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus did not immediately respond when Ratchet approached. His helm twitched to the side slightly when the ghosted shape came into view, he did SEE the medic and was conscious still, but no immediate response came forth. Instead, the Prime seemed to be deep in thought, his gaze looking away from Ratchet to peer back into the distance at nothing in particular, while hands loosely placed palm down onto the edge of the medical berth on either side of him.

This situation was going to be very confusing if they tried to interrogate everyone around them. They could keep pumping Carbine for information, but really, the black and white mech barely knew Bee. They got along, and so long as they didn’t hit a big snag they could probably continue to be friends, but they were just scratching the surface. Carbine indeed had no frame of concept of what was normal or not. These squabbles, these fights that were eluded to, could be signs of trouble, and to someone like Ratchet it could be seen as appallingly out of character for him.

Interrogating others could also cause undue stress.

Every failure to think of a source, could feel like negligence on the individuals part. 'why didn’t I hang out with Bee more?', 'Why did I not see something coming?' it shifted some subconscious blame in their direction, for not being able to come up with a lead. Any leads that could be brought up, may be wild chases in the wrong direction. They needed to not burden Rafael or anyone else within the base. They needed to cut straight to the quick, and not fiddle with the unknown.

With a slow motion, Optimus lifted up his right hand, gingerly moving to press the side of his helm to activate his comm system, before he faltered, fingertips touching the gauze and ragged damaged metal. The touch against his injury, seemed to snap Optimus out from his train of thought, gaze turning to Ratchet, before he spoke confidently, arm lowering down in hesitation.

"Carbine, report to Red Alert so long as Ratchet has no further questions. I want full records on Bumblebee's whereabouts for the past three months, all the way down to every last trip to the school."

Red Alert was one of the best at what he did, and his paranoid nature meant that he recorded even the most mundane things that a normal individual may cast aside as inconclusive and not worth the time. His obsessive nature could be problematic to his health, but in this particular scenario it was a blessing that could cut down on a lot of 'he said' 'she said' and 'here say'.

"Look for differing routines or anything out of ordinary."

That could elongate how long it would take to get the reports, but the routine changes would be easy for Red Alert to pull up and notice. He has been around the yellow scout for a good long while, so any tweaks or abnormalities could probably be backtracked easier.

"Send the records directly to the Medical Bay, so we may try to find a source."

Finally addressing Ratchet, he tried to look at the medic.

"Rafael should not be approached unless we exhaust other options first. We can only hope security cameras can find a lead."

He hoped something could be found there.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet nodded to Optimus once he made his final decision. It made sense to leave Rafael alone, especially for now….but damnit he needed as much detail as he could get!

It was burning Ratchet that he was unable to figure this out. Yes, it had only been a short while - an extremely short while - since he had had to take a look at Bumblebee, but still…he was a doctor. A damn good doctor! He had been a damn good doctor for a long time. There wasn’t a lot he hadn’t seen before.

And unlike organic species, their kind didn’t get a lot of sickness. He could name the “naturally occuring” illnesses their kind could develop on one hand. Zero point. Cybercrosis. The others were created by scientists. But even that…there was usually a sign, something to look for, a physical symptom. With the Cybonic Plague, the energon turns purple, and physical symptoms are apparent. Bumblebee just went mad.

He had nothing to go on. Literally nothing. A handful of malfunctioning repair nanites. That was it.

A handful….

Ratchet paused, and turned back to Carbine.

“Carbine, wait. Before you go.”

The medic turned, and walked towards the black and white mech.

“The hand you mentioned, of a Cybertronian. I assume you still have it? Could you get it for me? I’d like to take a closer look. We’ve been assuming they died due to violence….but I’m starting to wonder if the violence was due to the same rage Bumblebee experienced. Could you get it for me, please? Don’t touch it directly, wrap it in something first.”

Ratchet turned, looking back at Optimus, “I’m going to be getting some of those nanites from Bumblebee as well, and study them. I can’t guarantee much success - not here in this make-shift lab, but they might give me more information, and information is something we need, desperately. Once I get a few separated and put into a controlled environment, Optimus, I’ll take a look at your optic. You need to see what’s going on.”

[Carbine]

When the Prime said his name, Carbine snapped to attention. He didn't salute, he didn’t go into the more formal translation of the term 'snapping to attention' that one may expect to do for their leader... but he was quite alert, especially with the heightened tension that has been fluctuating and suffocating them all the last few hours. His arms remained crossed defensively over his chest while he listened to the directions that were being given, the fingertips of one hand gently hooking over the ring that framed out one of his shoulder arrays.

Red Alert... oh yeah, that guy. It wasn't anyone that Carbine has personally met before, but it was hard not to hear about him in some way or another around the base. He did security work, and was the one that probably kept the base off the radar as best as possible. Was he the one to control the shields? Or was that Ratchet? The ex-cop didn't honestly know who did what in regards to that stuff, but he at least knew where the elusive individual could be found, or so he hoped.

"Yes͘ ̧s͜ir."

A cautious reply, that was a bit uncertain.

Carbine was paranoid. He was keen on details around him. While he could be a bit blind on certain things, he had a heavy case of suspicion that had kept him two steps ahead of the metaphorical game when he was back on Cybertron. One like himself didn’t stay ahead of the law as long as he did, if they didn’t HAVE such a trait. It is because of this, he instantly disbelieved the order entirely and looked at it as bogus. He would do it, he had no other choice... unless he wanted to cause a scene again he was going to need to leave the Medical Bay, but... why didn't they just send the request remotely to Red Alert?

Yellow optics slid down into a sort of a scowl at the side of their leader's helm.

Optimus was trying to get rid of him, he was trying to shoo him away so Ratchet could poke and prod and Bee's helm unobstructed, Carbine was sure of it. If it wasn’t the case? Than they were being exceptionally careless to try to file this request this way. It just felt WRONG to Carbine, but there was not much he could do to really change that. Then his attention was snapped away to look back to Ratchet.

"O-oh..."

Ratchets request was a good way to shake him from his paranoia, and redirect his focus elsewhere. While his processor had been filled with disbelief, skepticism, and a bitter feeling of being 'tricked' by a fool incapable of weaving a good lie, he was now redirected into worry about the Cybertronian hand that he had found and the fact that... surprise surprise... it may ACTUALLY be involved.

Warily, Carbine reached his hand over and picked up one of the forcipes from the tray that was sitting beside Bumblebee, looking over the silver metal tool warily. The prong at the end was rather small, but it should work alright for what he needed. With this thought, he warily reached down and popped open the flat plate that was run flush with his upper thigh while half limping over to a countertop that had a blank place atop it.

The plat of metal hinged out and away, revealing a glint of blue as well as a couple other things that were shoddily stuffed inside. Roughly, with more a want for it to be OUT than any real care, he used the forcipes and slammed them into the storage, a click heard as they clamped together and he hastily ripped out. What followed was a mass of effectively 'pocket junk'.

The largest was a blue bundle, a mass of something that was wrapped up within a tattered tarp. The tarp had a few small holes in it, it was battered and stained with smears of brown and crusted patches, but it held together what Ratchet was looking for. Within, were the damaged remains of the femme that he had found, the mutilated hand, as well as a couple other parts that were hard to piece together their source entirely. Along with the goal, there was some scrap bits of metal that had been bound together into a sort of makeshift shiv that had snagged onto the material due to the rough way the tarp was pulled free. The two knives ((that were short enough they could have issues prying out an optic)) fell down atop the countertop, some rust flakes following in its wake.

A small loop of twine like rope, a chunk of broken iron glass... Carbine had collected what was effectively garbage all into that compartment, that is, other than something else that was forced out in the process. A heavy clunk sounded as a chunk of crystalline Energon dropped beside the hand. The crystal was immaculate, sharp facets and points, cleanly cut off from the source. The bright light of the medical bay flicked across its surface, making it glow faintly.

Carbine grabbed it and shoved it back, smashing the hatch closed.

"There's your hand,̧ uhh͝.̧..̴ if it̴ i̢s infected let me know b-because I have been̨ ke̸eping it on- er... on hand the entire̸ ̧t̡i̢me."

A sort of forced humor came into play, an awkward noise as he snapped both his fingers and pointed towards the medic in mockery of a funny motion. So long as Ratchet dismissed him, he would then retreat to do what the Prime asked of him, even if he felt like he was abandoning Bumblebee.

He didn't know how much he could fight here.

How far he could push things...

...Hopefully Bee would be ok.

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus for once, couldn't control his expression super well.

While he couldn’t see the details of the events that soon followed, he didn’t particularly need to in order to piece together what happened next. Ratchet had asked for some evidence that should have been cleanly locked away in storage somewhere, and instead, Carbine had simply pulled it out from internal storage and slapped it down onto the counter as if he was simply asked for a few pieces of change he's been hoarding from Cybertron this entire time. The crinkly clump of the plastic tarp covered bundle, the clank of metal that followed, Optimus blankly turned to stare incredulously in that direction, his processor trying to handle the idea that Carbine had been hoarding dead body parts on his person this entire time like it was a normal and sane thing to do.

Cyan optics cycled slowly in an attempt to clear the debris again, the Primes mouth slightly open as if he wanted to find words, but simply caught sideways at this.

Compared to the gore of war, and the things they have all experienced, really... this should not have been a huge issue. Optimus would move past it with relative ease all things considered. The issue came into place with the idea that the other mech so carelessly was carrying it around as if it were a trophy or trinket. He had to try to step back and think of a logical reason however; maybe Carbine was using it actively with Bolo to search this day or had been planning to. Whatever the case, he gradually turned his helm to then address Ratchet once again.

"Very well Ratchet."

He could protest, remind that finding out the source of the problem had a bit more priority, but really... it was hard to say what was coming next, and having him blinded and unable to directly get involved was going to be more of a burden than a boon. If he did have his sight back, and once he had more likely than not downed a bit more Energon to take the edge off his strained systems, he could probably help. His aid in the Medical Bay would be reasonably more useful than Carbine, for there would be no outbursts and he could read diagnoses and other results.

They just had to hope whatever this was, was contained.

[Ratchet]

Optimus wasn’t the only one struggling.

When he had asked Carbine for the hand, he assumed the black and white mech would excuse himself, leave, go and retrieve the item, and bring it back. But no.

No. Instead Carbine had picked up a pair of forceps, opened a door in his hip panel, and extracted not only the hand itself but a general hodge podge of bits and pieces. The Carbine equivalent of pocket lint. Ratchet had watched in horror.

He had been unable to keep it from his voice.

“You’ve been carrying it with you?!” he choked in a sort of horrified disgust. He didn’t know whether to be angry or outraged.

The stress of the last few hours began to tell on the old medic, and he began to settle into a slow seethe.

Not only was it disgusting, and a potential health hazard to be carrying around a body part, it was disturbingly callous to the individual it had belonged to.

People often thought medics and doctors had no respect for the dead or ill or injured because they had to approach from a no-nonsense manner, often seemingly indifferent to the fact they were opening an individual and exposing their most inner parts, or acting like they were just another cog in a machine. In fact the opposite was true. There was always respect for the individual, and while one couldn’t let that respect interfere with doing the work that needed to be done, the remains of a deceased individual were treated as respectfully as if they were alive....moreso, since that individual was no longer alive, could no longer talk, speak, or share their individual story.

“Carbine, I cannot believe you just .....carried around this body part in your hip as if it were nothing more than a wrench! This person deserves the same – no, more respect- than anyone else, due to the fact their lives are now over! They are no longer with us, they’ve been removed from this existence and you’re carrying around their hand! In your hip!”

Large hands clenched into fists and rose. His voice rising in growing fury, Ratchet took a single step towards Carbine, “If I ever....ever....hear of you showing such blatant disregard for the remains of a once living individual again so help me Primus I will personally make sure the next time you transform, you’ll turn into a teakettle!”

NOW GET OUT OF MY MEDIBAY!”

[Carbine]

As if it were nothing!?

Carbine blankly looked out at Ratchet as he battered and berated him for his actions, the old mech seeming to find disgust in what he had done. No... There was no 'seeming' here, Ratchet was downright appalled and it showed as plain as day in his posture and the words he was saying. The issue however came into place with the fact that Carbine had a very different view on how to handle the dead, and his focus wasn't on trying to handle the hand with glass gloves and upmost care, his focus had been on finding vengeance for her. Pampering her hand like it was a rare crystal relic wasn’t going to help her as far as he was concerned. She was dead, she was gone, and nothing of her was left other than clues to find the truth. If degrading her 'humanity' ((for lack of a better word)) in order to turn a part of her body into a trinket he carried could get her vengeance?...

That was far more valuable.

Take down who had done this to her. Rip their throat apart or indifferently watch as they get crushed alive. Send Bolo into the attack, and casually 'forget' to call off the dog as hooked teeth sheer and slice into metal and rubber alike. Make the 'innards' into 'outers', and let the assailant's corpse rot in a pile of filth like he had done to his victim. THAT was what would soothe the spark in the afterlife, to watch a haggard and tortured spark limp back to the Well where it can sink to the bottom and be buried under others who could one day hold more value.

Her hand was being used actively! Every time he went on a scouting mission for Energon, he let the scent flow through Bolo's receptors, reminding the dog of the two things they wanted, fuel, and for someone to receive closure. The weight in his hip compartment was a burden he wanted to carry, it haunting him and not letting him forget so she didn't end up in storage while other problems slip to the forefront. But despite this, he was being treated now like he carried it like a grotesque trophy.

As if it were nothing...

The black and white mech straightened up a bit while Ratchet spoke, armor locking into place, shoulders squaring off again... it was similar to the antagonistic posture he had sported not even a few minutes ago when he felt he had to defend Bumblebee. The difference here though, was that he felt like he had to defend himself. However... this time he didn't snarl out a word, he didn't snap back, this time hollow yellow optics simply stared back at the medic with a fierce bitterness laced behind them.

There was no use fighting this one. He could see Ratchet was buried too far in worthless principles and respect for individuals that could no longer appreciate it. But that was the Autobots for you, still clinging valiantly to the tiny slivers of civilization and normality that died eons ago. Perhaps if they could move past such things, they would be further along in this war than they were, but none dare utter such a sentiment lest they get labeled some kind of monster like that Wrecker who's angular frame loped the hallways like a marionette.

Without a word, Carbine took a sideways step backwards, before he turned and walked to the door in an angle, keeping his shoulder crooked back so that he still could keep the tiniest of sliver of Ratchet's form within his peripheral vision.

And just like that?

Carbine left the room.

[Optimus Prime]

It was best not to touch the subject of what just happened at the moment.

There was no use discussing what would be done about the femme's body part, and there was no use discussing what should be done about Carbine when there were so many more important things to deal with at the moment. Dredging or even mildly commenting on what had just happened could just send Ratchet's haggard mind down an indignant path where frustration could cloud the rational thought they needed most.

It was logical to be upset however, Optimus was appalled such a thing had happened as well, but... Carbine was gone, and they had to find out what was going on with Bumblebee. Later on they could discuss what actions may need to be taken against the Cybertronian, or... if Ratchet's snarled warnings were enough to staple the lesson home. It was so hard to say, when Carbine seemed to skirt the edge of what was acceptable and not, the mech trying to find balance that simply was not happening. It was perhaps a bit concerning Optimus was letting this go as readily as he was, but he also had so much on his plate at the moment he could neither find the room nor the energy to become upset over it.

Ratchet had room though.

Here was hoping the outburst wasn’t signs of the disease.

No... no... Optimus knew Ratchet before he carried the title of Prime. The medic could be gruff and abrupt, he would cut to the quick and then move on as long as it got what was needed done. His humor could even come off as dry and jagged at times. What just happened was very much within the boundaries of what Ratchet would do, and it was probably fair to say if he did become angered and influenced by outside forces, that they would all be well aware by the rain of fire that would come down upon them.

A deep invent filtered then through the Prime's systems, a slow trail of air slipping out from between the angled slats a moment later. He let the relative silence of the Medbay settle down into place... the soft beeps of machines, a tiny ventilation heft from Bumblebee's systems, the clicking of calibrations and faint drip sound... he basked in this almost as a calming cloud, trying to reign in his own stresses so that he could influence others around him towards more collected approaches, even if he was still haggard and worn thin.

"What do you need me to do, Ratchet."

Forcibly calm words slid out after the silence, a tough of strain lingering behind the facade.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet, fists still raised, watched in seething silence as Carbine turned and walked out. He remained that way for a second, like a statue, unmoving, not speaking. It was as if he were fighting his own inner demons. An anger, deep and dark, lying far within the old medic’s spark. Even his optics were narrowed, as if he had fully expected Carbine to raise his own fists and come thundering at him. The tension in the medic’s frame was vivid.

At the Prime’s words, something seemed to ease down, throttle back.

“A…a moment….”

Slowly, the fists lowered, his field drew back around himself like a cloak. Shutting his optics for a second, he took a long, slow intake, pulling cooler air into his overheated core, before letting it out again in a long sigh. His shoulders slumped as the tension seeped out of him, replaced with a sense of disappointment in himself.

Ratchet took a step forward, resting his palms on the bench before him, helm slightly lowered, and optics still closed. He was fighting to regain his composure, his dignity.

There was no one in the medibay to see (that could see well, at any rate), but the medic’s stance changed. Ratchet looked old. He looked old and tired. Behind his closed optics his own warnings were flashing away. Low energon. Low recharge. Maintance was well overdue. Long nights trying to solve the energon crisis wore down at him, chipping away. As he composed himself, a servo raised and he lightly drew a palm over the top of his helm, a simple gesture, before lowering it again. Another deep invent, and he pushed himself upright, optics opening. He turned to Optimus. His voice was tired.

“I’m a fool. A cranky fool. Carbine didn’t deserve that. I know he wasn’t carrying it about like a trophy. I hope I get a chance to apologise…”

A sudden turnabout, his voice returning to normal, brisk, crisp, and no nonsense. He turned, moving towards the area where he had the samples from Bumblebee. He removed the sample of energon he had removed from the yellow scout, and pouring it into yet another tube, slipped it into another analyzer, before walking back to Optimus.

“I need you to stay still and not move. I just need to run a few more tests on Bumblebee’s energon, including taking a closer look at one of those nanites, then I’m starting on your optics. I need another set of eyes, badly.”

“Helm forward. Let me see what I’m working with here.”

[Optimus Prime]

"Tensions are heightened, and mistakes can be made. Understanding as much is everything. I believe once things settle, Carbine will understand."

Or so he hoped.

This base needed to be wrangled; it needed to be pulled into line. People were starting to clash and issues were going to perpetuate that were far worse than what just happened between Ratchet and Carbine. Some changes were going to have to be made soon, as trying to take the passive more understanding approach has landed them in a vulnerable position.

Once instructed, Optimus turned his helm directly perpendicular from the angle of the berth, so Ratchet could move comfortably about and see whatever he needed to see without the slab of metal potentially getting in the way. If the medic needed to guide his helm with a push, he would also comply, simply allowing the damage to be observed clearly... or... as clearly as it could be with the gauze and mesh patches placed over top.

Optimus' good eye really wasn't as bad as it looked now that Ratchet was observing it closely. The eye itself seemed awful, it appeared badly damaged, but really it just seemed to be a lot of illusions. The only true break seemed to be a small crack that etched across the lens plate itself. It was superficial, the minute piece of glass able to be removed and replaced to leave the domed inner workings intact. The issue that made it all look worse came from the ash that was formed of burnt and seared off paint from the blaster. It smeared away from the eye in black streaks from Optimus trying to clear the lens himself, and was ground down a bit into the exposed rings and mechanisms that allowed the system to focus and lock down onto what he was viewing.

As Ratchet moved in front of him, the optic tried to actually focus unintentionally, small rings flicking and cycling, causing the ash to grind down a bit. It didn’t seem to deter Optimus, but it wasn’t pleasant, it a constant itch that made him want to press the heel of his hand into his eye in some attempt to clear it out.

The other side was worse, though a lot of it was covered in mesh patches to keep it contained. The first mesh patch seemed to be lodged between the outer flaring of his helm's casing, and the edge of the malleable metal where his faceplate started. The small gap traditionally held half of his mouth guard that came out from within, but the plate was missing entirely or at least that half of it. The point where it would have connected was obscured by the mesh.

Up higher, the eye itself was in a lot worse condition than the other side.

Its lens was damaged like its pair, but in addition it was blacked out as well, no color radiating from the internal core to illuminate the cracks or internals. Around the optic, were some damages to the rings and mechanisms, it almost looking like one of the small circular gears was knocked free and missing entirely. In addition to this, the sidemost corner closest to the impact point appeared to have fissures along the eyelids itself, splitting up towards the side of the helm where another chunk of gauze obscured the impact point.

There were some damages to the audial ring it appeared, a few of the thin finals of metal missing, but this was more superficial than any sort of serious concern. It was a loss that happened more than seemed reasonable at times, the narrow pieces of metal being some of the first to break off when put into actual combat. All it would take was one punch to the side of the helm at the right point, and they typically were broken right away. They were far from the originals, and would be an easy fix however, while the outer casing that supported them should also be non problematic. Only issue was the capped rings would be a bit more obnoxious to manufacture than the straight piece.

He was trying to keep his gaze straight ahead and unmoving, not consciously allowing his optics to focus and twitch occasionally, but as Ratchet moved it couldn't be helped.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet’s eyes moved over the damage done to Optimus, his mind already working out how to start, what to do, what needed to be removed or cleaned, repaired or completely reworked. He inwardly winced. Bumblebee had truly given Optimus a good shot and make no mistake.

“Mmm. Alright, you have a choice. I can power you down so I can work on your optics, or keep you active but power off your optics. You’ll be awake but blind. Your optic’s componants have to remain completely still as I clean and repair them, and if they’re powered on they won’t be able to do that. Many mecha are uncomfortable being alert but blind, so it’s your choice.

One eye is easily enough repaired. The lens needs to be replaced, the inner optic lenses and focus rings need to be cleaned and any debris removed. The other one will take longer. If you’re active, I can restore sight to that optic once it’s cleaned. You’ll at least have clear vision in one eye while I work on the other.”

Ratchet gave a quick glanced over towards Bumblebee. He was eager to get started on what had happened to the scout, but he knew he was going to need another set of optics and another processor to help him work it out. He needed Optimus.

Turning from Optimus, the medic moved with a speed that belied his size, gathering up what he needed. The extra optic lens he took down from a cupboard, removing a small box, cradling it as if it were explosive.

In here were a few of the smallest parts of a Cybertronian. Parts he had been able to rescue from the Ark when it had crashed. Here were the bits and pieces that not even Ratchet would be able to recreate on Earth. This planet simply did not have the material to be used. Such things like sentio metallico, tiny circuits of self-healing alloys, and the exquisite crystal used in their optics were things only created on Cybertron, and even then under conditions that called for experts in their field to work many hours with fine tools.

To Ratchet, these few things were the most precious items in the universe.

“The lens will be replaced in a few minutes. Repairing and cleaning the focusing rings a little longer, but you should have at least one optic back within half an hour, tops.”

[Optimus Prime]

To Orion, the idea of being alert while a medic worked on his eyes was unnerving. The younger mech would have constantly envisioned what was happening, getting paranoid and letting his processor run rampant with a plethora of questions and 'what ifs'. What if his sight wasn’t the same? What if there was a mistake? What if something went wrong? What if he was left blind for days or weeks before it could be repaired? There was the fear of an unexpected shudder being formed, or other such situations that could force an issue... however, Orion was far gone, and while traces of the archivist remained in the deepest points, Optimus had long since tried to smother the individual.

The Prime knew that he couldn’t afford to be unconscious entirely.

"I will remain alert."

Flat words, stifling any discomfort with a greater fear of the unknown. Bumblebee had snapped seemingly out of nowhere, and there was no telling what could be next on the horizon or if it truly was safe for now. If he was completely inert, shut off from the world and unconscious, than any new developments would be lost to him. No, it was far better if he was aware with his optics completely disabled, than it would be for the other option.

"I am uncertain if we have the luxury to restore both at this time."

While Optimus said this, he eased himself around and gradually laid back down flat against the medical berth, being sure to reach his hands up and feel where the top edge was. Finding this drop-off, he somewhat adjusted himself, to pull his helm a bit closer so that Ratchet would not need to lean far in order to work on his eyes. Once settled, his arms looped back down to his sides, palm angled towards the slab itself.

"Your time will be better spent elsewhere, given current events."

While Optimus was known for being selfless, putting his injuries last if others needed repair as well, he liked to think in this situation it was called for on multiple levels. He hoped there wouldn’t be a debate on the matter, but if some diagnostic machines needed to work for some time churning through data or scanning results, and Ratchet had nothing else to do? Well... then the medic could tinker on the more damaged optic he figured.

[Ratchet]

Nodding his thanks to Optimus - whether seen or not - Ratchet excused himself long enough to return to Bumblebee’s side. Checking his vitals to ensure the scout was still holding on, the medic took another small sample of energon, and went back to his array of machines. Loading up the sample into a larger analyzer, Ratchet turned it on to analyze the individual nanites, to search for injuries to them in particular, looking for any reason they were behaving so oddly.

Ratchet gathered up what he needed, and moved back to Optimus.

He carried an armful of small vials, tubes, a few small, silver tools. Carefully arranging them on a tray, he carefully teased out the central wire in the Prime’s elbow, and hooked up his analyzer. Waiting for the handshake to cross the wires, Ratchet shook his head.

“And I thought this day was going to be an average one. Next time a heads up that the base was going to explode into insanity would be nice.” Ratchet suddenly realized there was still the outside of the medibay to be cleaned up, with not only all the spilled energon, but literally the yellow scout’s arm.

What he wouldn’t give for a full staff again, as back on Cybertron.

“Ah. Here we are. Alright Optimus, this will only be for a short while.”

The handshake having been accepted, Ratchet entered medic’s codes into the Prime’s processor, shutting down his optics, both sight and sensation.

Many Cybertronians experienced shutdown of their optics in different ways. Some saw little flashes of light, pinpricks of color, as the last remains of power moved through the circuits. Some saw nothing at all.

Before doing anything, the very first thing Ratchet did was clean the grit, smoke and general grunge that surrounded the optic. There was no sense replacing the optic only to have it fouled again.

Using the small, fine tools, Ratchet removed the cracked and scored lens covering the Prime’s optic. Sadly, the lens was far too damaged to hope for any attempt of self repair, and it had to be utterly replaced.

With the lens off, the inner focusing rings were exposed. Here Ratchet began using ionized water and tiny brushes to tease out the dirt and grit that had ground down between the rings. A small vacuum-like apparatus removed the gritty water before it could trickle down into Optimus’ interior.

It was a labourious job, fine detail, and fatiguing. Several times Ratchet had to pause and close his own optics, resting them for a moment, before returning to the job.

Having one’s vision suddenly cut off, completely and perfectly, with not even a hint of light to give one the sense of not being entombed was frightening. It was why most who had to undergo optic surgery usually chose to be powered down. Not aware it was going on. It didn’t surprise Ratchet that Optimus, however, chose to be blinded instead, not wanting to be unconscious for even that length of time. Although it was his choice, it was possibly disturbing.

So Ratchet talked as he worked.

He didn’t talk ceaselessly, nor did he babble. Instead, he spoke about how things had changed since his old days on Cybertron. He wasn’t complaining, which was sort of odd for the old medic. Instead he was talking just about the change in technology. How a few million years ago even trying to replace a lens would have been at least a day-long operation. How even here, on Earth, it was faster than he would have believed once before.

He asked Optimus about how the Humans were doing, if he had heard from Fortress Maximus recently. If he was considering expanding the base any further since they were getting new Autobots almost daily.

Amidst all this, he would interrupt his own narrative at times to let Optimus know when a new tool was being used, so a sudden sound wouldn’t startle him, the sudden hiss of air, or a soft spritz of water.

Gently patting the focusing rings with a soft cloth to remove the last traces of water, Ratchet gave the rings an oiling with a fine grade lubricant, to ease any microscopic bits of grit that refused to move. They would disappear over time, but the oil would ensure smooth motion until then.

Finally, the lens was carefully slid back in place, neatly fitting it where it belonged more smoothly than a fine jeweler embedding a diamond in a ring. The nearly microscopic locking pins moved to grip it, and it was done.

That one, anyway.

Ratchet wasted no time using the scanner again to restore slight back to that one optic, leaving the other still dark for now.

The medic carefully watched as the Prime’s optic began to glow, then flashed back to power with a brilliant blue hue.

Leaving Optimus to recuperate and sit when he felt up to it, Ratchet turned his attention on the poorly neglected Sideswipe.

Shaking his head, Ratchet began to gather his materials.

* * * * *

Hours passed, without Ratchet even being aware, so engrossed was he in the general repairs of the frontliner. The analyzer with Bumblebee’s energon had finished long ago, and was patiently awaiting attention. Ratchet finally stood up straight, grimacing as his spinal strut made several loud protests. Looking down at his work, he nodded. Sideswipe still needed extra work, but he was doing much better. Most of the more severe damage had been fixed. The repairs lose and rushed, but he would be able to function with a few patches on his face. Extra work to prettify up the frontliner would come later, and when reactivated, he would feel like he had gone several rounds with the Nemesis. But he was alive, and could get about and talk, at least.

Taking a moment to reset himself, he turned, and looked back at the medibay.

It looked like a cyclone had struck it. Tools everywhere, empty containers, bottles, vials. Bits and pieces of frames and bodies were lying on trays and benches, waiting to be smelted, or in lucky cases, repaired and reattached. Energon was spilled on the floor, and needed to be cleaned up - some remaining pure, others crystallized. Bumblebee and Sideswipe were still out cold, the monitors linked to each of them quietly beeping, posting readouts of various systems regularly.

He was exhausted….and still had yet to check on Bumblebee. Tiredly rubbing his face, he started forward to see what the scout’s nanite analysis would tell him.

((What You Think You Know ends here, and will be continued in another thread shortly))