[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Hello Again (Open)

[Ratchet]

(Week 2, Day 3)

Things were....strange.

Carefully emptying the dustpan’s contents into the garbage can, Ratchet closed the lid, and moved to return the broom and dustpan where he had found it. He turned back, and let his gaze fall over the floor, searching for any spots he might have missed.

He felt strange.

Ever since he had returned to this place....home....Omega...he felt strange. Like he was half asleep and half awake at the same time. Everything was new to him, strange...

- and yet familiar.

He felt slightly off kilter, as if he were looking at two Omega’s, overlapped. One he knew, one he didn’t. He’d be walking down a hallway, taking in his surroundings, learning the layout so he wouldn’t get lost, so it would be familiar to him....and suddenly he would be aware, he would just know....that around the next corner would be a room containing shelves and boxes of recycled wire. That the boxes would be cardboard, arranged with the wires inside grouped into individual sizes. In one room he even knew the light bulb back in the farthest right corner would flicker until it warmed up, and then turn on with a pop.

Sometimes he felt like he was going crazy.

Worse of all was the fact that apparently, everyone in this place would know him. Remember him. He had been told that, although he had only actually met Bumblebee, Optimus Prime, and Patch so far, others in the base may want to come see him, and they would know him.

It was somewhat alarming, although he didn’t say anything to Patch. What were their memories of him? How unnerving, to know the person you were looking at might remember things about you you didn’t remember yourself. How would you trust what any of them were saying?

The worst, the place that made him feel the most off kilter, was this room right now.

The Medibay.

Apparently, it had been his domain, a place he ruled, where he authority wasn’t questioned. He had, so he had been told, held a very high position within the Autobot ranks, as their CMO – the highest authority of medicine. He had basically built this place from the ground up, designing it, recycling what tools he could from their old ship, and inventing new ones from Earth technology to fill in the gaps.

And looking at it now, it was all so foreign.

He knew nothing about medicine. He knew nothing about treating people who were sick, or hurt. Yet if he looked at a certain tool, he could see in his mind how it would be used. How to hold it, how to wield it. But he had no idea what it was called, or why you would use it.

Two worlds, overlapping.

He had finally been approved to go to work within Omega, under Patch’s guidance and protection. Released, as it were, into the general population of Omega. He was thankful towards the medic – the thoughts of just being dumped in among the strangers was a frightening one.

“Well,” he said, turning back to face Patch, “That’s done. Is there anything else I can do?”

Ratchet knew she was busy – the heavens knew she was continually in motion, and he wanted to be as little of a pain in the aft as possible,

[Patch]

It was morning. First thing.

He’d reported to her, not ten minutes ago…

What in Primus Name was this… It felt too stagnant to be a sick joke- FAR too clear to be a drug induced fever dream…

This was hardly the first time Patch had been in charge of someone in such a domain… In the past, most of them had been patients, but the basic theory still applied! The last-sparked knew how to lead… Sort of. At the very least she understood how to handle volunteers, or those assigned to hospital detail.

That, however, did not make it less Deplorably WEIRD to have someone she looked up to and admired so highly speak softly to her in asking for guidance...

At the mech's voice, Patch's round, bespeckled face glanced back from her current spot at sickbay’s primary terminal- the one to the left of the door, with the microscope, and analysis chamber; now the home of several extra mis-matched datapads, each onlined to pages of various medical journals from before the war.

With a few small pa-dunks of her peddes as she turned, the short, blocky femme faced away from her notes and the green-tinted, octagonal, translucent monitor upon which which was currently displayed a brain scan. She placed her hands behind her hips and quickly glanced across the concrete floor as though none of this were on her mind.

“Uhh, Yeah. That looks great.”

She’d given him something simple to do, and he’d done it well. That was a good start- a first test passed for anyone working in sickbay. Generally… The next step would be either cleaning glassware or bodily fluids depending on the severity of the circumstances; though this was a special case. More than a special case…

He seemed to retain muscle memory…

It showed up in his scan, it showed up in his movements, Ratchet still understood quite a lot about his world- things a newspark simply wouldn’t- Couldn’t know. For instance, he’d transformed without any instruction or example, that alone was a LEAP from most fresh frames.

Patch was curious to see what else he knew. Right now, she felt safe enough- that HE was safe enough to try and learn… There wasn’t anyone in right now- there was a new bot’s physical scheduled later, though she’d been deemed in relative health; she wasn’t actively broken, sick or leaking- which meant sickbay was available now to be the site of a harmless little experiment.

Not the sort with wires or needles- he’d already been an excellent sport about all that, no. Now… Patch was curious to see what he retained, if anything. See if she could push him into understanding more- see just how easy (or hard) those severed neural conduits were going to be to reconnect.

With an easy demeanor, the smaller medic began to cross the newly, very nicely swept floor. She looked up to Ratchet as she made her way towards a cabinet farther back into the room. Loosely, she flipped her right hand inward, gesturing toward herself in hopes he’d follow.

“Here- Could you, come over here? I’d like you to have a look at something.”

[Ratchet]

Ratchet had assumed she’d probably give him another task to take care of, something simple and probably meaningless.

He didn’t mind. He understood there wasn’t a lot he could actually do in here, and certainly nothing he wanted to touch at the moment. Ratchet wasn’t stupid, he was more than aware most of the things inside this place, this Medibay, were high tech and important, and the last thing they needed was for him to start messing around with his big fat hands and break something.

So he was actually a little surprised when she called him over to where she was walking, motioning for him to follow.

“All right,” he nodded, moving forward to follow her.

Ratchet hadn’t really met any of the others in the base yet. He knew Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, and Patch. A few other unknown faces had stuck their heads in and said hello, but the way their faces fell after only a few words from him made him almost hesitant to meet anyone else.

He had a very bad feeling he was disappointing everyone. Letting them down.

Tell me how you want me to be, he thought, and I’ll try my best!

He gave a near silent exvent, moving around a slab to fall in behind her, “What’s up?”

[Patch]

‘What’s. Up.’

Primus...

It had been What, less than twenty four hours and he’d already bothered to learn Earth colloquialisms!? He had gotten four YEARS before, and even THEN he'd refused to acknowledge they so much as existed half the time...

The young femme closed her optics and attempted to swallow the peculiarity with as little outward expression as possible. It wasn’t his fault- he was trying; whoever he was…

At least he was kind. At least he was here- THAT was what mattered most. He was safe, and… Relatively physically unharmed. The rest could all be sorted later; and in the meantime, at a minimum, he was good at attempting to listen.

The young femme stopped in front of a dingy cabinet suspended from the wall, and pulled out a silver, battered, though well cleaned metal tin that rattled terribly as it was jostled. With the lid a bit big for her smaller servos, she popped one side, then the other to reveal dozens of shiny implements all tumbling over one another within. They all seemed to have a similar basic structure, though the sizes and shapes varied nearly as much as the frames of those who lived in this very base. Some short and stout, some long and lithe. Some curved, some straight- though all of them well kept, and cared for. Well looked after. The value in them seen, though simple they were.

the young femme extended her servo with a soft flip- one of the numerous silver, scissor-like implements now settled in her palm. The ‘blades’ however, were thinner, and longer and finer. Blunt, by the width of the metal, and the way it closed flat instead of overlapping; all angled down towards the young medic, so it's two round loops faced Ratchet. It was easily balanced upon the fore and middle digit of the femme’s servo. A bit big for her hands, though her grip was steady in such a way indicative of practiced procedure.

Expression mild, easy- almost challenging, the young femme flicked blue optics down to the tool, then back up to Ratchet. With a slight lift of her chin, a slight cock of her head she lifted her eyebrows.

“What is this?”

[Ratchet]

Ratchet’s gaze moved from her face down to the rattling object she pulled from the cabinet, watching curiously as she opened it, and then removed something. She held it out to him, and asked a simple question.

To Ratchet, it was like a silent firework went off inside his head. Two thoughts seemed to impose themselves over each other, both trying to fight for supremacy.

The first thought was almost a sense of unease, as if her asking was based more on, “What is this and why the hell is it in here?” As if he had done something wrong, put something important somewhere he shouldn’t have. He knew he hadn’t, of course, but he felt as if she clearly expected him to know, and it left him with an awkward feeling.

The second came right on the heels of the first, his mind going “What do you mean what is it? That’s a -”, only there was no end to the sentence. It was maddening. He could see the thing being used. He could see it grasping things, holding things, moving things, only the actual things were blurry and not in focus. And the name of what she was holding was there and yet wasn’t. Like when a word or name is on the tip of one’s tongue but can’t be grasped.

“It’s a....a...” Ratchet paused, frowning.

“You know, it’s a....it’s for....you...”

Helpless to say the right word, he made vague motions with his right servo, as if holding the item, fingers and thumb through the loops, imitating opening and closing it.

“You...you go like....” His tone started to change, frustration starting to rise slightly to the surface, until he dropped his hand, “I can’t remember what it’s called, or what it’s for, but I can see it in my head!”

Ratchet glared at the offending tool as if it were personally responsible.

[Patch]

Patch smiled a little, half in encouragement, half in curiosity as the mech struggled- quietly proud he was sticking it out. He was soooo close and the young medic could see it in his optics that he knew he was too.

“That’s okay! That’s good.”

She said, attempting to relieve the frustration he was clearly expressing. She hadn’t expected him to get it right away, but the fact he was trying so hard was exactly what she’d hoped for. This was not an urgent situation; nothing broke if he didn’t get it right, that was why she was doing this now. She tried to express that as best she could with a casual tone, and attitude.

“Here- go ahead and take it-”

She looked down at the object and back up to him. She watched him carefully to see How he did it, then, provided he obliged, folded her arms in to loosely cross over her belly.

“It’s called a hemostat.”

She leaned forward a slight bit, curiosity knitting her optic ridges together as she looked up and quirked a smile.

“Do you know what it’s for?”

He had given her a good example of how it was meant to be physically operated, though she wanted to hear him try to articulate it’s function in proper words. The good thing about this specific thing was that if he guessed anything remotely close to realistic considering the mechanism, he’d likely guess right. It was an instrument of many roles.

[Ratchet]

As Patch spoke, Ratchet continued to glare at the offending tool. It was responsible for the weird there-not-there feeling in his head.

As her urging, however, he reached out and took it in one of his hands. He balanced it on his palm for a moment, almost as if he were trying to guess the weight of it, or the point of balance. Faintly, somewhere way back in the back of his processor, he could hear a voice talking. At first he couldn’t make out the words, just a general tone, a hum of words, but slowly, they resolved in his mind. A snatched portion of....something. A forgotten snippet of a conversation from a time long ago. The voice ..... he thought the voice might be his own...but it sounded strange. Harsh. Stressed. Angry.

“I don’t care what crime he’s accused of committing, Commander, he’s my patient, so right now you take orders from me! If I don’t close off this bleed, he won’t be around long enough to stand trial for anything, so I suggest you get out of my hospital and go report to your superiors, so I can get back to trying to save what’s left of him!”

Although there were no other memories of what was going on at the time, where he was or what he had been doing, ghosts of emotions drifted through him in seconds: worry. Fear. Desperation. Anger. Fury.

All this, all these thoughts, memories and feelings, washed over Ratchet within seconds, there and gone, leaving him feeling somewhat empty for a moment.

Ratchet switched the tool from one hand to the other, slipping his fingers through the loops with muscle memory, holding it with ease. Slowly, he opened it, and closed it again.

“You...move things. Set things. Hold things. You can....you....” he flexed it again, “I can see a....a hose? A tube? Bleeding. You can pinch it shut with this to stop the bleeding so you can repair injuries and reattach split lines.”

He faintly frowned at the tool for a second, then looked up at Patch’s face.

[Patch]

There he was...

She could see it behind his eyes- he was still in there, albeit repressed. Hidden, unfamiliar. She watched with curiosity as the gears appeared to turn in the other mech’s helm. Her freckled features open, though cautiously curious, brows quirked together in care, chin lightly lowered as her gaze remained upon him.

As he paused to flex the tool, she nodded a little, prompting forward. “Yes…”

“Yes! Excellent! That’s right!”

With a new skip of hopeful enthusiasm, the short, stout young medic turned to look around a moment, then drew one of two poles towards her from the foot of a slab. A boxy yellow cylinder utop it, two blue tubes looped over themselves- one coming from the side, one out from the front. A usually green screen offline currently.

“What about this? Do you know what this is?”

She looked at him hopefully, holding the pole of the rolling object.