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

[Ratchet]

Ratchet made no comment after Carbine’s initial reply. He somewhat expected the black and white mech to act out somewhat. Not everyone was comfortable standing beside someone who was about to be cut open. Some went quiet, some made weird jokes. Carbine was usually the latter.

Ratchet studied Bumblebee’s “outer” inner workings carefully. The upper chest area was somewhat squarish, circuits and tubing running in and out, carefully and neatly positioned in order to allow the body to move. In the upper chest areas, near the shoulders, if one looked closely, they could see, inside little gaps, the starting of small gears. Those gears interlocked with larger ones, allowing the arms to move and swivel, attached to strong, metallic ball and socket joints. Coppery circuits ran here and there, dissapearing from the chest area down into formed gaps into the arms. These circuits would continue on all the way down Bumblebee’s arms, into his hands.

At the bottom of the upper chest area, there was plating that separated the upper from the lower chest area and stomach, where Bee’s tank lay. Circuits and tubing ran down through small holes here as well. The plating wasn’t perfectly square or rectangular, but shaped to fit the scout’s body perfectly.

Spaced evenly around the lower plate were what looked like tiny panels, each not much bigger than the tips of Ratchet’s fingers.

Among the normal wear and tear, there was….precious little to see. At least the Spark chamber looked untouched, but that didn’t help, in a way.

He spoke to the recorder again.

“The patient’s primary chest cavity has been opened, and there is no apparent contamination from the unknown energon substance. Spark chamber appears untouched. Aside from the regular older injuries sustained from the war and general wear and tear, Bumblebee’s chest frame seems untouched. The light from his Spark appears at first glance to be in the upper 70% of strength - a lowering due to the heavy loss of energon caused by the attack and subsequent damage. I do not expect the percentage to drop as the patient is currently stabilized. I will now begin to inspect the lower chest cavity, including the tank.”

Ratchet fell silent for a moment, still gazing into Bumblebee’s chest. As stated, the yellow scout’s spark was slightly dimmed, but that wasn’t surprising. With the energon loss he had sustained, his spark would be weaker. Nothing to be alarmed about, as long as it didn’t grow dimmer, or - Primus forbid - start to shrink.

The lines moving in and out of the spark looked good as well, luckily. Which meant that the reason for Bumblebee’s anger and violence was most likely in his processor.

Which was tricky. Ratchet wasn’t looking forward to having to open up Bumblebee’s helm.

He’d take a look at the lower area first, to make sure the crystals hadn’t done damage there. Bumblebee had obviously vomited up energon - his tank might be damaged, not to mention there were a lot of delicate tubes and circuits running from the tank to the rest of the frame. Crystals there could travel anywhere in the body.

“Alright Carbine, time to earn your badge.”

He pointed to the tray of tools on the other side of Bumblebee, where Carbine stood. The tray was covered with an array of silvered tools, cloths, and a few small crystal jars.

“There’s a tool there on the tray that looks like a small, simple drill, and one that looks like a wrench with suction cups mounted on it. Hand me the drill, and keep the suction cup one at the ready.”

Ratchet attempted to remain patient as he gave Carbine his instructions. There was no point in asking for them by their medical names - it was unreasonable expecting Carbine to know what they were really called.

As he waited, Ratchet picked up a sponge, and started carefully wiping down the interior of Bumblebee’s upper chest area, a light cleaning of general dirt, dust and debris picked up here and there. He paid special attention to the small panels on the lower plate.

[Carbine]

Awkward.

This was awkward.

Carbine's gaze gradually pulled back to look down at Bumblebee, white fingertips curling over themselves into a loose fist that his jaw was now resting against. His free hand crossed over his midsection some, grasping the flare on his opposite elbow to help support the limb that was bearing some of the weight of his helm. While he took on his pose, and while his helm had finally turned to look down at the scout, his body remained angled a bit, a small snitch on the passive and uncomfortable feeling he was now experiencing.

It would almost be easier of Bumblebee was dead. He had seen more than his fair share of corpses even before the war started, and while he would grieve the loss of the bumbling little idiot? Well... it would be easier to swallow grief and deal with a corpse than it was to actually look upon someone's 'soul' and their still functioning internals without their knowledge.

Wait...

Carbine had never seen someone's internals actually in motion with any level of detail. He knew what some of the things were from anatomy courses and needing to be able to describe where injuries were obtained on an individual, but actually being able to stand and watch things flick and move subtly with the internal engines function? It was fascinating in a way, his wide yellow eyes narrowing a bit to peer down and try to understand WHAT he saw. If he ever did see an open wound on the field, his processor was always on trying to stop the threat, or stop the bleeding... do things to find a solution... but being an idle observer? He got to see a lot more, frame turning a bit towards the table with newfound interest.

Flinching, Carbine seemed startled and broken from his inner thoughts when addressed.

"H̷u͟yu͘p!"

He squawked back, showing he was paying attention, even if he hadn't been a moment prior. At the medic's instructions, the Ex-cop reached forward and plucked up the small drill, flipping it around to hold midway up with pointer and thumb without touching the end, so he could offer the handle first to Ratchet. The suction cup tool he kept at the ready, looking over it a moment curiously.

"Color m̸e̴ ͘s̶tu͟p̀i͝d-"

He started flatly.

"But w-why do̶ ̸yo͏u NEED me here?"

He honestly sounded more confused than anything else. He wasn't trying to weasel out of the job, he didn’t sound like he was looking for an excuse to bail, but was more legitimately confused and not understanding of the situation in full.

"Wouldn't it b̶e ̴faste͢r if you just picked up the t-tools from a tray, inst͟e͠ad ͠of̡ ͠d̢esc͝r͜ibing to me?"

Maybe it'd get more complex later on, he didn't know...

Right now it felt like take an idiot to work day.

[Ratchet]

“Back up.”

Ratchet’s reply was short and to the point. After he finished wiping down the inside of Bumblebee’s upper chest, he took the small drill-like tool. Carefully reaching in, Ratchet lightly tapped the small panels running the perimeter of the plate dividing the upper and lower chest area.

The small panels moved under the touch of the medic, recessing and then sliding to the side, to reveal what looked like small screwheads sunk flush to the large plate. Ratchet attached the small drill to the screwheads, and started removing them, being very careful to ensure he had each screw firmly in hand before removing it. While humans often joked about taking something apart and then putting it back together again with screws left over, it wouldn’t be funny if the screw were an actual integral part of one’s structure.

The “screws” weren’t exactly what a human would think of when seeing them, either. While smallish by Cybertronian standards, they would be largish to a human, and yet appeared extremely delicate and fragile. In color they looked like pure gold with a faint reddish tinge to them - a metal never seen before on this planet. Even the actual screw body had finer, more delicate threads, and almost seemed to double back on itself in some strange manner.

The screws were carefully placed on a magnetic plate resting on the tray.

Ratchet continued to talk.

“If everything goes as expected, as hoped - you won’t be needed much at all, Carbine. But if it’s one thing I’ve learned over many, many years doing this sort of thing, it’s that you expect the unexpected. If something happens to Bumblebee, and I end up wrist deep in his internals, you’re going to have to take up the slack.”

Once the screws had been removed, Ratchet put down the drill-like tool, and nodded to himself.

“Now.”

Taking the other tool from Carbine’s hand, Ratchet attached the suction cups to the center of the plate, and slowly, carefully, lifted up and away from Bumblebee’s frame. Now exposed was the lower part of Bumblebee’s chest and “abdomen” area. Here, more wire, circuits and tubing could be easily seen, along with various small pistons, gears and other little things, all moving and ticking away as the yellow scout’s body continued with it’s duties at keeping him alive and functioning. The top of Bumblebee’s tank could be seen, tubes running in and out, that would carry the energon around the body, fuelling all that was needed for life.

If Carbine were to bend over and peer a little closer down into the stomach area, he would see the same set up as the shoulders; gears and circuits running through small openings down into the legs, to allow Bumblebee to walk and run. Here the gears were a little larger, the circuits a little heavier.

Ratchet glanced up at the monitors, ensuring Bumblebee was still well and safely out cold.

“So far, so good.”

[Carbine]

"Well that’s reassu̧r-ur-uri͠ng t̷o̴ ̕Bu͞mb͘le̸bee"

A sarcastic quip when Ratchet said that he would need to take up the slack.

Humor for humors sake, a coping mechanism... While Carbine didn’t want his little secret to be out that he made such jokes when uncomfortable, so others could question his naturally self assured nature, deep down he somewhat hoped Ratchet picked up on it in this moment and this moment alone. He didn't want to be reprimanded or told to shut up, he didn’t want to have to play completely serious, when doing the opposite was helping to keep him focused and at the ready to do whatever may be asked of him.

As jovial as his tone was and his mock relaxed stance, Carbine did move instantly when Ratchet demanded the other tool, offering it over handle first as he did the drill, and carefully picking back up the drill and placing it back on the tray to be at the ready once more. He seemed almost fiddly with it all, using a pointer finger to nudge the trinkets atop the tray into even lines so that they looked all 'movie' pretty and organized, even if he didn’t know what was what other than the obnoxiously obvious things any laymen could identify.

After this fidgety movement, he looked back in time to see the plate pulled away.

"So w-͘w̛w-͠h̀at ARE we looking for?"

Curious, not seeing any flecks of blue or dirt or really anything that seemed damaged bad.

"Things look ok?"

Because there wasn't too much Carbine could ACTUALLY do, he ogled at some of the internals that he normally didn't get to see still inside of someone, leaning over a bit to peer down. Separate any of the major parts and place them in a dump? Oh... he would probably maybe be able to tell you what it is. A main fuel pump! A stomach tank! Oh maybe it was an auxiliary tank which some had! Maybe even a compressor!... but seeing them all strapped together like this in order was something new, and that’s what made it interesting, even if it was still a bit awkward and violating in a way.

He still kind'a wished it was a cadaver.

A 'Not Bumblebee' cadaver.

[Ratchet]

“We’re looking for anything that shouldn’t be there. Anything out of the ordinary, anything wrong. So far….I haven’t seen anything like that.”

Ratchet gave another good look at the interior of Bee’s internals. He debated opening the scout’s tank. If there was any damage, it would be inside.…but it would also be evident in the lines running into and out of the tank. It wouldn’t just crystallize within the tank. The way the energon crystallized outside Bumblebee told the medic this wasn’t just some sort if internal contamination - nothing Bumblebee had ingested that had mixed with the energon. Ratchet had been worried the young mech had ingested something he shouldn’t have, in order to try and reduce the hunger, or at least turn off the warning systems.

It wouldn’t have been the first time the old medic had encountered Cybertronians eating things their systems couldn’t process.

It was possible, of course, but highly unlikely. Once running through Bumblebee’s lines and systems, any odd contaminant would have likely been filtered out, and there wouldn’t be such crystallization in the wounds or out on the floor. The lines within the scout would be punctured, or at the very least likely show signs of lumping from crystals forming inside.

Ratchet spoke to the recorder again.

“Upon opening the patient’s lower chest cavity, there are no signs of the odd crystals searched for. Everything appears to be within accepted ranges so it is highly unlikely this was caused by ingestion of a foreign substance that mixed with the energon. I am reclosing the patient’s chest.”

It didn’t take too long for Ratchet to put the main plate back in place, reinsert the screws and completely close up Bumblebee’s chest. Ratchet gave the scout’s spark a good look before finally closing the chest - the spark, after all, was the source of life. Any Cybertronian’s survival depended on the vitality of the spark.

After Bee’s chest was completely closed up, Ratchet gave a quiet vent.

“Well…I can’t find anything in his lower frame. Bumblebee told me, before he went completely under, was that he had done this because he had been angry. This wasn’t anger, it was rage.”

Ratchet paused, “Bumblebee isn’t one to be enraged like that. Oh he can be infuriated, as anyone can, but it passes, and it’s not normally associated with homicidal tendancies.

Personality changes like that….makes me think he could have processor damage.”

A quiet grunt.

“I was hoping to be able to avoid this, but I’m going to have to open his helm, take a look at his processor, see if he’s suffered any processor damage or illness. He hasn’t come to me with any symptoms of any recent injury - although when I was repairing his hand after Bolo bit him, he did say he had confronted Bolo because he was angry. And frightened for Rafael. At the time, I assumed it was a normal reaction, but now I’m beginning to wonder.”

Ratchet looked at Carbine, “You and Bumblebee spend time together. Was he injured recently that he never told me about? Have you seen anything abnormal for him? Mood swings? Anger?”

As he spoke, Ratchet moved to stand at the head of where Bumblebee lay, and gazed at the top of the scout’s helm, as if already working out how best to approach opening up the scout’s head.

[Carbine]

Things took a bad turn then.

Sure, things had not been good before, the awkwardness... the feeling of violating another individual's personal affairs by simply being here... but that was all able to be swallowed and tolerated. It was even starting to be a bit better when Bee was being patched back together and his chest closed up! But then Ratchet had to redirect his gaze, and the new focus and what he was proposing he was going to do, absolutely made ice shoot through Carbine's lines.

The black and white mech's stance shifted then, shoulders pulling up and back in their joints a bit, while his spine straightened upright into a more formal posture. It was not out of a want to look proper however; this was far more confrontational in nature, trying to look larger, trying to look more intimidating. While Ratchet had a lot of bulk and mass to him, Carbine was taller, the medic's helm stopping below where his 'collar bone' would be if he were human. As such, it didn't take much to look imposing in a kneejerk response even if the other mech was probably physically stronger.

"Uh.... no."

Cold words, decisive and bitter.

All of the joking from before, the singsong nature of the tones, the flippant commentary, it was cast aside with this statement that was spoken almost with venom.

With a chillingly casual action, Carbine's left hand lifted, fingertips curling over to cap over the top of Bumblebee's helm, his hand practically encasing the cranial case behind white curved bars. This grip was firm, joints strained some to clutch down so violently it would probably cause some discomfort if the scout where conscious, but it was meant to be so that Ratchet couldn’t simply pry his hand off willy-nilly.

"Plug Bee in̴t̕o ͘s͏o̴m̢ethi̕n͘ģ to g͝ét a read-out, d-do a little scan, do anyţhi̕n̶g̢ else̴. ͡Y̵ou̧ d̕o̧n̸'t got to crack open his visually to k̷z̨z̵tt͠ helm poke around when there is n̢o ph̀ys̶i͡cal d͡am̀a͞ge on the outside!"

The icy venom transitioned once more, hostility now bleeding into his words, a low growl rumbling out from the static that popped and jittered uncomfortably. The static itself was actually starting to get worse and worse the more Carbine spoke now, screaming of the heightened emotions of rage and stress he was fighting off.

"I thought ͞p͝o̡p͝pi̴nǵ ͘open ͡his b̧od̡y ̧was̵ ͏w-e͘ird w-when you could do scans, bu͢t he͝y..́.z͏z̷k͞kt ͢I aḿ ͏no ̡mȩdic, maybe this is smar̷t́e̕r? Bu͡t͏ ̧o͢p͝e̡ning̢ h͝įs P͞r͝óce̡s͠sor͢?̸ N̕o͟.̕ Fļa͘t no."

There was a hiss of hydraulics then, the metal posts on Carbine's back bristling up in their sockets, causing the long slats of the rotors to rattle together slightly as they fanned out a bit, adding to his larger appearance. While this happened, he leaned forward, free hand placing down on Bumblebee's chest to slightly support his weight as he loomed, fingertips grating down slightly. He didn’t even seem to address Ratchet's question, his mind locked down onto what was proposed which sent him into a downward spiral.

"This ͡plące ͏isn't̢ s͢et ̢u̕p̵ t͠o͠ e̡xpos̷e̢ ̡a p͠-proce͟ssor to this dįs-dis̵-͞kkttzz͠ filthy plane͜t.̶ ͘Al͘l͡ ̕i͠t take͏s͠ i̕s some dust kt͟ ̛z̧z͘t wro̸ņg̛ ͜p̷lace ánd ͝he̡ ̸c̨ould̢ e͏nd up d̫̳͇̻̙͇ḙ̘̫̹̠f̛͈̯̮̟̬̳͚e̥c̯̞̹͚ͅtḭ̙̳̮̬͟v̷̰e̢̘͓̰̳̯̰̞!̥̩͉̦̗̹͟ͅ"

[Optimus Prime]

This was an abrupt shift...

Turning, Optimus' frame fully angled itself so that he could see back in the direction of the other two, gaze locking down onto the black and white blurry figure of Carbine. Even with his impaired vision, he could tell that the mech was taking on an aggressive stance, his hunched back, the thin lines indicating his makeshift wings were spreading out, it spoke much. What spoke even more however, was the way he seemed to be looming protectively over Bumblebee, to keep him safe from one who would risk their own life to keep the scout from being damaged beyond repair. While Ratchet's methods before were brutal in the way he disarmed Bumblebee, no permanent harm would ever be done.

The Prime did not speak; he did not address the boiling situation, choosing to remain passive to let Ratchet take charge in his domain in these fleeting moments. The medic was more than capable of asserting himself if it came down to it, but he also hoped that this could get disengaged with words rather than physical confrontations. But could Carbine see reasoning? It did not take a brilliant tactician to put two and two together that there was some underlying trauma here that was being tackled head on.

Another disruption...

Another burden...

Another individual stepping in the way...

While Optimus was choosing to remain passive, exhaustion very real and weighing him down, he was prepared to act if things did take an ugly turn again, which... he very much hoped it would not.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet looked up at Carbine, startled. He hadn’t expected such a strong response...but thinking on it now, he realized he should have. It had been a bad mistake on his part.

But there was anger there as well. Ratchet was not used to be questioned in his Medibay, and he certainly wasn’t used to being ordered about. Even Optimus didn’t interfere with Ratchet when he was working.

For a second, for a brief second, Ratchet drew himself up, ready to explode. He would drive Carbine out of the Medibay. Who did he think he was? This was his Medibay, and he was in the middle of something important!

Before the anger Ratchet had been feeling even began to start funnelling through his systems, though, common sense won the war. He should have realized what he was saying, and to who. Anger would serve no purpose here. Carbine didn’t understand.

That didn’t make him speak less huffy, though.

“First off,” Ratchet said firmly, “I am going to ignore the fact you are insinuating I have no idea what I’m doing. I have worked on many, many processors, Carbine, and in much worse conditions than these. I have worked on neuroprocessors on battlefields with missiles flying overhead. You would be surprised how sturdy and strong a processor actually is.”

His voice settled slightly, “Secondly, I have no intention of opening his processor. I want to look at the surface of it. Carbine, processor damage can occur simply from the wrong chemicals moving through it. Bumblebee’s helm itself doesn’t have to show any signs of damage whatsoever for there to be severe damage. Circuit boosters, for example, can cause massive line breakage inside the processor that can kill, yet the helm will be untouched. If contaminated Energon has gone through his processor and done damage, there will be no sign outside whatsoever.”

A pause.

“A scan can only show me so much. If lines are broken, ruptured, bleeding energon inside, my scan won’t show that. It only shows the metal internals, not liquids. Bumblebee could have had a massive spill draining from his tank, and a scan would not show that..”

His voice turned slightly annoyed again, “And I do not appreciate the implication I would risk Bumblebee’s health in any manner. He is not just my patient, he is a friend. One whom I have worked on many times, one who has saved my life many times. I would not risk his life.”

Still standing firmly, his voice dropped to a level only Carbine and himself could hear, “I am aware of what probably happened to you. If I had my way, Carbine, I would tie up those responsible and allow you an hour in the same room with them. But I do not work that way. I would not risk him...anyone...if I thought there was a chance permanent damage would be done.”

Raising his voice to a normal level, he raised a hand, palm out, “However. Because you are a friend to Bumblebee and because you are concerned with what I was proposing, I will do a series of tests on some fluids, although I do not think I will find anything in that manner. Personality changes are not likely to be caused by something in the energon. But be aware, if those tests turn up inconclusive, I will need to check his external processor for signs of damage, Carbine. The only other option would be to keep Bumblebee in a medically induced coma for the rest of his life, to keep him, and us, safe. Do you want that for him?”

[Carbine]

Carbine didn't really know what he expected to happen. Did he think Ratchet would back down instantly? Did he think he would be praised for the idea and that his aggression would be brushed aside as a normality? 'Oh gee, I didn’t think of that! Let me do this scan that I could have been employing before! You're so smart Carbine!' yeah... no... That was never going to happen unless it was Ratchet who had received the brain damage. So what did he really expect here? There... really wasn’t anything he expected to happen honestly, except for what was actually happening perhaps, but even then he had not thought that far ahead before he had acted.

There was nothing Carbine could have done to try to quell what he had done. There was very little he was able to do to make himself pause before the words and actions bolted out behind a veil of aggression and hostility. It was such a visceral response, one that still crawled though his lines and made his tank churn in distress. Even if he was told by numerous professionals that Ratchet was fully qualified and more than skilled to do these things, and that the Med Bay was clean, it was still too difficult for him to imagine. How did Ratchet KNOW he had washed his hands properly? He wasn't trained as a medic, he was a cop. How did he KNOW he didn’t track something in here? Every time that door opens, does it not let partials in from outside? Things that can get lodged somewhere and cause issues? All the moisture in this world... all the dirt... the pollen and badness...

Maybe processors weren't as fragile as he thought, or maybe Ratchet truly was reckless... As the medic's words did cut forward, it seemed to dictate that a processor simply wasn’t as fragile a thing as he liked to believe it was, but that hurdle, that level of belief to truly accept what was being spoken was just too great for him to even try to approach, when he had to live every day with the consequences of his own...

Punch him down, assert yourself!

...Ratchet's words continued, trying to counter his arguments preemptively, but each thing that was said felt like it was being said through a haze, as if cotton was stuffed in his audio receptors. It made things buzz slightly, a soft hum that was ever persistent as the beeping and ambiance of the enclosed room. It was only when Ratchet's voice lowered and he spoke again, that the words started to become crisp to his mind, almost artificially so as if they were overly edited and mechanically cleared up through a filter.

Carbine's helm rose up a bit at what was said, his optics wide, the angry look peeling away to a more fearful one as the implied shapes of his eyes were more circular than a thin narrowed glare. His pump felt like it was surging through his chest, spark twisting and churning in the confines of its case, wanting to fight, wanting to lash out, but not being able to, his perception completely twisting.

Pain.

Disorientation.

"Jugare ji, nindol zhah hass'len ulu alu ghil Usstan talinth?"

"Nindol zhah l'sslith Usstan inbal keffal, uk wo naut morfeth ol..."

"Xal 'zil al inbau chidna wun, ghil, mir nindol harl."

Blurred shapes moved above, blotted silhouettes framed by brilliant white that was tinted in varied shades of blue. The blue streaked and smeared across his vision like a fluid, ultra marine along the outermost edges twisting to black, while a bright cyan shone in the centermost point of the light. Sharp glints sparked and flicked across silver devices, the reflection far more brilliant than it had any right being, blinding.

Twisting, a gaping for words that were not there, surging pops.

Electricity crackled and snapped, a heavy pressure being felt as if his neck was going to be broken backwards.

Claw out...

Make it stop...

Fight back...

Where is he...?

What was...

Fighting wasn't an option here.

Carbine wrenched away suddenly, not even able to hear or even remotely try to figure out what Ratchet had been saying after he spoke in a lower voice to him. The action was rapid and fierce, pulling to try to move his hand off of Bumblebee, while also not really remembering to let go in the process. His grip ended up wrenching the scout's head up a bit, before tension of his neck caused the helm to pop free and abruptly fall with a clunk.

Stress.

Anxiety.

Can't fight, this is your team now...

"I͎̕t̫ ̞̯̯̣̲̮s̮͚̺̙̖͞c͎̥̭̮̩á͔̹rę̥̤̯̟s̡ ̮͝m̀e̮."

Croaked words masked under static and a painful popping sound.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet was startled when Carbine wrenched back. Not moving, the medic observed him in silence for a second, allowing Carbine to try and get some control over himself. Again, he mentally berated himself for having the black and white mech there when he so casually spoke of opening his helm. He should have known better!

He listened quietly when Carbine spoke, giving the other time to get his words out. Ratchet glanced at Optimus to ensure the leader of the Autobots wasn’t attempting to stand up or get involved when it wasn’t necessary at this point. It was clear to anyone with half a processor that Carbine was suffering post traumatic stress, even before he admitted it himself.

Oh, if only he could get his hands on whoever had damaged the mech’s processor to the point he was utterly terrified of doctors. In his life Ratchet had seen so called “medical personnel” who had no concern for their patients, and it made the medic’s energon boil. Not only did they cause damage and potential ruin to their patients, but they installed a distrust and fear in them that others then had to deal with. Ratchet couldn’t count the number of soldiers he had practically had to have tied down before he could work on them, so terrified were they he was going to damage them further, that he took great joy in injuring them.

He knew he had a reputation. He was brusque and short, he could be downright nasty at times, sarcastic and abrupt. In his field, he could fall into the trap, like most doctors, of coming off as arrogant, of “knowing what’s best for you”. Sometimes you had to be. When a patient was screaming because they needed a simple injection, one tended to grow tired and become short handed. His bedside manner wasn’t the best, he knew that. But that didn’t mean Ratchet didn’t feel for his patients. And if one was suffering, he did as well.

When Ratchet spoke, his voice was slightly changed. He still spoke with the no nonsense manner he had, but the acidic edge was gone. He didn’t move from where he stood as he spoke, not wanting to “crowd” the other.

“Of course it does. I would be extremely worried about your mental health if it didn’t. It’s perfectly normal to have that reaction. You’re worried about Bumblebee and you don’t want to see him harmed in any manner, and you have your own worries to deal with.” Ratchet carefully spoke about what had happened to Carbine without actually saying anything about what had happened. It was a delicate balance of trying to make Carbine understand he was saying Carbine’s reaction to his trauma was normal, without bringing up more stress and trauma.

“I’ve seen many mecha upset and panicked when a friend has to undergo surgery, say. Each of us come with fears of our own, either acquired through life or just picked up here and there, and it’s very natural to feel frightened or a loss of control when faced with it.”

Taking a deep vent, Ratchet nodded, “Now, I’m going to get a sample of Bumblebee’s energon from his lines, and take a look at it, as you suggested. From here on I can handle things myself if you would rather see to the clean up of the spilled energon outside the medibay. Or you can stay. It’s up to you.”

So saying, Ratchet moved to a side bench, and started removing a few things from a drawer, in particular a syringe and a few small glass slides. He would let Carbine decide for himself if he wanted to stay or not. Hopefully, he had given the other mech the realization there was no shame in his fear, nor if he wanted to leave.

[Carbine]

He wanted to be angry, he wanted to fight back.

In prison, physical power and mental manipulation ruled all. You either made people fear you enough by the connections you made and the support group around you, or you were physically strong enough to beat down anyone that crossed you. If someone did commit a crime against you, or challenged you in any way in front of others, it was often easier to win the argument by simply breaking their teeth clean out of their head. It didn’t matter if it landed you in solitary confinement, or if you then got pummeled by the guards... what mattered was the presence you made, and the promise that no matter what happened to you, you would face the consequences simply for a chance to put someone else in their place for daring to wrong you.

But that was Garrus.

And this was a team.

Carbine couldn’t swing his fist over the table and clobber Ratchet down for daring to make him feel vulnerable and weak. He couldn't assert some sort of dominance and make the Medic never dare cross such lines again. He couldn't even just grab Bee and help the runt recover on his own. He couldn't... he couldn't really do anything here, because it was an actual team, and teams run by different rules.

As an officer, he liked these rules once upon a time. Look over others works, have them look at his own challenges, get second opinions and rely on each other's strengths to see something that another one could not. It was easy to back off and let one of the larger framed models surge in first to break down a door and perform a raid, while if a criminal fled, they would step aside for him or one of the other pursuit models to clip their flight short. You helped one another, and while he was still an arrogant fool that liked to take claim for the accomplishments in full, he knew the team was there for one another, something that the Autobots were supposed to be.

But his team skills were sullied by prison...

It was hard to play nice when he wanted to fight and simply WIN when confronted by a bad situation, because well... It had worked so well for him in that other world!

In a way, Carbine was praying that Ratchet would take advantage of his weakness, and give him reason to lash out violently. Belittle his fear, coddle, say how sorry he is and look down and to the side as if uncomfortable to look upon someone so broken. Carbine WANTED Ratchet to do wrong, just to kindle the snuffed out embers of his rage that his fear had suffocated... but instead, the medic sidestepped it all. He didn’t focus on his damage; he focused on a 'worry for Bumblebee' and dealt with it in a forward way that wasn’t uncomfortable or pacified.

Why couldn’t Ratchet continue being an asshole!?

Carbine would rather get in trouble and thrown in some brig...

A broken sort of awkward laugh chittered out after the other Cybertronian was finished speaking, trying to shake off the fear, trying to shake off the swarming want to fight. He had to play nice, but not just because it was the laws of this outpost. Ratchet was their medic, and he did do good work, the long subtle welding that etched across his chest after he got well acquainted with a grenade said as much... They needed him around and making enemies ((and not just playful enemies like he and Bee's squabbles)) was not advisable.

Shakily, Carbine reached down, stepping up to be beside the medical slab to gently grab onto Bumblebee's helm once again. Carefully, he re-angled the helm to look up back at the ceiling so that it no longer hung at an awkward angle after the mishap a few moments ago. After this was done, and Bee looked to be calmly at rest once again, Carbine took a single step back and stayed where he was. He did not speak, he did not really respond to Ratchet, instead keeping quiet and choosing it appeared, to stay for now.

[Ratchet]

Gathering together what he needed, Ratchet turned back, to see Carbine standing beside Bumblebee again. He paused, and with a single nod, moved towards Bumblebee. The nod said everything; acceptance of Carbine’s decision, approval, and a “let’s get to it then” attitude.

Ratchet spoke again, his voice now back in ‘teaching mode’ as he spoke to the recorder. He made a mental note to erase the portion of the tape where Carbine became hostile. There was no need to have a recording for that, it would only embarrass Carbine further, and unnecessarily.

“I will now be taking a sample of Bumblebee’s energon. Despite there being abundant samples lying around….literally…I will be taking a small sample from him as I wish to see it uncorrupted.”

It was a simple manner of using the syringe to take out a small tube of energon, about the length of one of Ratchet’s fingers, from a line in Bumblebee’s arm. He carried the tube to the bench, carefully laying it down.

Taking out several glass slides, Ratchet took the stopper out of the tube, and using what looked like an eye dropper, removed a single, large, drop of energon. He put that drop on one of the glass slides. Carefully placing a second slide on top of that and positioning it to remove any air bubbles, the medic then used the eyedropper to remove a larger portion of the energon into a second tube. This second tube went into a large, squarish machine on the bench. Closing the lid and flipping a switch, the machine began to hum.

While that sample was being spun down to it’s base constituents, Ratchet picked up the glass slide, and carried it over to where a large microscope sat on the bench.

Carefully positioning the slide under the eyepiece, Ratchet turned on the light source, and fiddled with a few knobs before leaning over, and peering into the lenses.

[Carbine]

Carbine almost couldn’t believe that things had actually 'worked out'. How did that happen? He was such a piece of slag a moment previously, had stepped completely out of line, and was ready to take a swing at Ratchet should the medic give him one more excuse. All it would have taken was an 'oh pity you' sort of response, and he was fairly certain he was probably going to be hauled out of the room snarling as if he and Bolo had swapped souls a second. It didn’t happen though, and now when he was left to the sidelines it just felt awkward.

Was it shame? No... no he couldn’t feel shame, or maybe it was. It was hard to say since it was such an abstract feeling to him. Real shame, real regret for his actions, sure he regretted when he got in trouble, but that was more a 'Damn I got caught' instead of this. Whatever the case, Ratchet was moving on, brushing off the confrontation and got back to work readily which was nice.

Yellow optics flicked up from their downcast angle as the medic approached, curiously watching as he took a sample of fuel from the scout. In a way Carbine felt like he was playing body guard, but he also knew that there really wasn’t anything to guard against. Sure he felt it was heroic and good to keep Bee's helm from being cracked open, but logically he knew that Ratchet wouldn’t intentionally do bad, but still! Brain surgery in a dirty planet!? No no, Carbine did good. Maybe. Perhaps. Accidents happen... ugh...

Watching, Carbine would stay quiet as Ratchet took the samples over.

----

At a cursory glance the fuel did not appear too terribly different from normal fuel. It had particles of minute metals floating in it, volatile compounds, and repair nanites, as well as a few other traditional mechanical 'biological' properties to it that helped differentiate fuel line Energon from consumable Energon. However, tucked on the outer edges, the odd crystalline patters were starting to form at a microscopic level, though it was subtle and slow.

Watching in real time, the medic would be able to see that it was the Repair Nanites that were doing the damage. They worked diligently, applying metal particulates and other materials together; acting as if they were trying to patch an injury or fill in thinned metals on an individual's frame. The only issue was, there was no injury there to fix, and they were using anything they could get hold of in order to do so. There was very little rhyme or reason to it, other than the fact that once they all seemed to pick a direction, they all started to work in that way.

It was the outer edges of the drop of Energon that seemed to be reacting, though it was lethargic.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet was silent as he peered through the microscope, observing the sample of Bumblebee’s energon. Everything was there as it should be. Nothing seemed to be missing, and nothing new was added. If he could just…

Ratchet paused. Lifting his head up from the eyepieces of the microscope, he rubbed both optics. Dropping his servos, a confused look on his face, he bent and peered at the crystal slide under the lens, making sure it was, in fact, in place and he wasn’t looking at some unknown item.

Moving back in place to peer down the eyepieces, Ratchet adjusted the focus and visual field of the slide, his vision moving past the Repair Nanites into a deeper field of view, then coming back “up” to settle on them again, focusing on them.

His voice, when he spoke, was hushed, and confused, “What in the name of Cybertron…?”

He lifted his head again, talking to himself, “No sense. This makes no sense. Why are they….?”

He lowered his head again, as if not quite believing his eyes.

After another few minutes of observing, making sure that, yes, he was seeing what he thought he was seeing, Ratchet pushed away from the bench slightly. Reaching as far as he could, his fingertips touched a flipswitch on the back of the wall. With a loud click, a light turned on inside the microscope, and a larger monitor perched on the bench alongside the instrument flickered on. Within second, the image seen under the eyepiece was projected on the screen.

Ratchet stood up, staring at the screen, resting his hands on the bench, “After studying the patient’s energon sample, at first glance it appears his repair system is corrupted or damaged. Repair Nanites are attempting to repair non-present injuries. The exterior portions of the energon are crystallizing in a somewhat haphazard manner instead of the usual ordered manner. The Nanites appear locked in repair mode in some form, although at time time why and method of how are unknown.”

The medic glanced back at Carbine, “My apologies, Carbine. You were right. Whatever is wrong with Bumblebee is in the energon, not his frame. Not directly, anyway.”

He turned back to the screen, watching as the recorder preserved a copy of what was going on, a fierce scowl on his face.

“Carbine, has Bumblebee told you he’s been anywhere unusual? Anything odd happen to him that he’s mentioned? Think. Anything, even the tiniest detail could be of utmost importance.”

Ratchet continued to gaze at the screen, an ill feeling in his chest. If Bumblebee’s Repair Nanites were out of control, how far would they crystallize his energon? Was there a limit to it, or would they keep going until the scout’s entire lines were clogged with solidified energon and his spark gave out?

[Carbine]

Carbine looked up as the image was projected on screen, but he didn’t know what he was even looking at. He wouldn’t get a chance to try to process it however, before Ratchet spoke.

The way Ratchet actually APOLOGIZED to him threw Carbine off even more than he already was. If he had a face, if he had some ways to express himself other than a set of eyes, Carbine knew he would be grimacing in a sort of confused disgust, like he was being pranked by someone. Why was the medic apologizing to him? He was just making wild half hazard guesses to just try to keep Bee's head from being opened! He had no training to tell him that would have been correct; he had nothing to really work off of than his frantic flailing like a dying animal! It further punched him in the gut a bit regarding the medic, and made him feel even dirtier about getting so upset and angry at him before.

It was weird. In just a few minutes, he went from accepting but wary, to full blown hate, to a want to hurt him, right back around to a sobering sort of respect that he was just dropping things that others may have held grudges over. Carbine would have, and it... it kind of impressed him even if it made him feel unsettled and wrong. Maybe this was part of why Bee respected him as much as he did, and was so insulted when Carbine said he didn’t trust him.

"No..̶. ͠d̀o͠n’t͢..."

He muttered these out when he was thanked, the rotors on his back pulling back some to tuck close to one another in an anxious motion. The words were quiet, meek, not wanting any credit for this find in this situation. Typically he'd take it and boast about how much he was a hero! But... not this time, least not yet. Maybe later when the wrongness has passed he would, boast about how he's 'Carbine the magnificent medic' or other nonsense.

Glancing up as Ratchet asked him more, he tried to focus again, tried to hollow out his emotion and think critically. What was asked really wasn't a good thing to ask him at all. Sure, he was friends with Bumblebee but...

"I e̡̧͢r̕.̀͡.̡͝͠.̢́͟ I haven't know hi͡m th-͘th͟a̶t̕ ̷l̕ón̡g ̨t̛o͠ know what unusual is..."

He admitted flatly, somewhat unsure.

With a wary makeshift 'swallow' of him resetting voice, he continued.

"I know ̡hę a̵n̨d B͜olò went outside at some p-point somewhere, I don't know where. Bolo enj̧-e̕n͢-e̡-̴kzz͢t-fun a lot."

Even though he and Bolo were intertwined on a deep level, he couldn’t exactly read the dogs mind to know where the scout had taken him. They had fun though, Bolo really was thrilled and that joy could be felt through the link, but the details of WHAT happened was just... lost to him.

"We went to a junkyard where we foun͝d͘ the̢ h̕uman. Most of our encounters th-though are at base, lots of s̴quabbl͢e̛s͞ ̢and̸ ̛b̵rawls. He gets real riled real fast, can be fun, except for the time he and Bolo gòt in a r̴e͟a̸l̷ f̴ight."

Carbine frowned a bit, thinking.

"I reported to him the Cyb͠e͢r̶tr̀o̢nia͠n han͡d̀ I̢ found awhile ago though; he may have g-gone somewhere to look into it?"

This was really all he could offer at the moment.

"His little human̶ ̶b͟uḑdy͘ ̷m̸ay know more..."