[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Strange Reflections [Ratchet]

[Optimus Prime]

Episode 3 | Week 3 | Day 6

No matter how raw the wound may be, indefinite avoidance was not an option.

One step at a time must be taken to move beyond.


Optimus stood before a door within the Medical Bay, looking down upon its nicked surface as his processor trudged through his concerns and what could go wrong in the coming moments. The room before him deviated from all others on this outpost, a small alcove attached to the primary medical area that once acted as a means for their CMO to always be on call for an emergency. Always but a few steps from whatever plight was thrown upon one of their own. Now, it housed a stranger. A distorted mirrored image that was a walking reminder of what had been lost. An image that couldn't be ignored.

Upon his arrival to this world, Jetfire had gifted not only additional support to their battered team, but he had also gifted Optimus a new perspective on the situation with their fallen medic. It did not remove any of the underlying sorrow, nor did it produce a solid resolution of any kind. Yet, it carried a powerful message.

"If that is the case... and there truly is no going back from this, then all I can say is that I'd be happy to meet him for the first time, again."

It sounded simple enough. Treat it as though this mech was simply another recent arrival to this world that just so happened to share the same frame type as his old friend. While Optimus did not tend to go out of his way to overtly socialize with any of the new Cybertronian, he still did acknowledge them since they were now under his command and protection on this new world. Try to meet them in some way to get a baseline on who they were and what they wished to do. With this 'newcomer' however, he took the time to step aside and seek him out.

Optimus had to simply grieve that which had been lost, and try to move on in some form. Set his hope and wishes that things could be reversed aside, so that it did not cloud his judgements. Deep down he couldn't give up entirely however, as tarnished as he had become due to his trust in his friend's medical skills, he still had to clutch hold of anything as to not believe Ratchet was truly gone.

Even if his processor was physically replaced as a whole, all memories gone and not recoverable in any way shape or form... did ones Spark not hold an iota of one's true self? A small flickered ghost that lingered. An imprint that ran to its fiery core...

The sliding line between belief and science.

It was irrelevant.

Reaching his right hand up, Optimus gently knocked two knuckles against the door panel twice. He was fairly confident Ratchet was within, though perhaps he had moved out to explore or try to interact with others without being noticed. There was only so long one could hide in their quarters, just as there was only so long that the Prime could hide from this situation.

After the knock, Optimus' hand would lower, his frame squaring off with the door some as a sort of tension braced through him to see his friend's face plastered over a stranger's mind.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet was seated at a simple desk within his personal quarters.

When Patch had first shown him this place the same day he had been attacked, the day he had, apparently, lost his memories of everything – he had gladly taken it as a place where he could hide.

Not hide from the others there at the base. Not exactly. Certainly he knew he wasn’t in any danger. Not physically. Bumblebee had called it “home” and he knew that’s what it was. There were others there, like him. They resembled him in many ways, they ate what he needed to eat – he knew they were his kind, his people.

It was their faces he needed to hide from.

Faces that carried various looks of disappointment, despair, fear, even a sort of grief. They did their best to keep those looks hidden, but they always bobbed to the surface, at least at first. A look of shock. Of “Who are you?” And it was so awkward and uncomfortable.

“I don’t know!” he wanted to yell, “I don’t have any idea!”

The first night he had spent lying on the recharge slab, in the low light (he wasn’t ready for complete darkness, not yet. Darkness sometimes brought snapshot images to his head of being confined under the tarpaulin, of running from the humans that had hurt him) trying to make sense of everything that had happened. His aches and pains were slowly vanishing, his inner systems gladly taking the supplied energy from the slab once his frame completed the circuit, slowly dissolving the fatigue that was draped over him like a blanket. At least here it was quiet. It was still. He could lock the door, and rest.

The next morning he had hoped to find clues to just who he was in his room. Books, trinkets, little bits and bobs that people acquire over time that can tell you so much about a person. Hobbies, things they liked to read.

He had been dismayed to discover his room was nearly empty.

Oh there were things lying around. Data tablets containing information about restoring damaged frames, articles written, most likely long ago, about treating this or that condition or damage. Everything in the room was medical.

Except one thing.

Ratchet had found, tucked away in a small corner, behind a pile of medical data tablets, a small, crystalline flower. He didn’t know if it had been growing at one time and had been picked, or if it had been made. But while it looked delicate, it was made of metal and crystal, almost sharp to the touch, and strong. The stem was a dark grey, like iron, while the petals of the flower were white and seemed almost made of an opal, faint colors trailing from the edges down to the center of the flower. He had held it in his hand for a while, gazing at it quietly. But it held no clues for him. The only thing he knew was that the way it had been sort of hidden, it likely had some meaning for him, at one time. It seemed like a personal, private thing, and so he returned it where he had found it.

Was I always so....empty? Sterile? Didn’t I gather anything? Wasn’t anything important to me?

Ratchet was still uncomfortable wandering around the base on his own, and still tended to remain in his room when he could. And in general, he was left alone in there. So when he heard a faint knock on his door, he was slightly startled. Standing up from his recharge slab where he had been laying, listening to a small radio he had found in the base, he quickly turned down the volume, and moved across to the door, depressing the button that allowed it to slide back.

As the door opened, it made a faint, squealing, protesting sound, the door complaining as it slid open on still slightly warped tracks. It had been repaired, but the force with which the powerful Prime had wrenched it open on that eventful day had left it with a permanent, quiet gripe.

The sight of the Prime himself standing on the other side of the door had not been who Ratchet had been expecting, and his frame tensed up slightly. He was aware the leader of the Autobots was purposefully avoiding him. It only added to Ratchet’s discomfort, that the leader of this important group was so clearly disappointed that he had lost the knowledge he once carried in his head. It made Ratchet want to apologize, but he didn’t really know what for.

“Oh, Optimus!”

Ratchet glanced back into his quarters, as if making sure the place wasn’t in shambles, or an utter mess. He felt like he had been caught this way once before, opening the door to someone far above him, only to have the other person start berating him for the condition of his room.

His room, however, was as pristine as it was a few seconds ago, literally having nothing within that could be out of place, and he looked back towards Optimus again.

Ratchet had no idea why Optimus would come straight to his quarters this way, clearly seeking him out, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

“Hello...er...is there anything I can do for you, sir?”

[Optimus Prime]

Cyan optics glanced down as the door pulled aside, not in a look of shame to not peer upon the mech before him, but more a flicked response to the angered squeal of the door that was protesting the damage it had obtained. Optimus knew he had destroyed quite a bit of the internals, it going so far that there was a warped edge of metal on the exterior holding shallow indents that perfectly conformed to his crushing grip... Yet he would have done it again should the situation call for it, a desperate plea to get a scent for Bolo and Red Alert to try to work from, but that didn’t mean he felt joy in the destruction.

This look was fleeting and short, a sharp glance before his gaze would move back up to the all too familiar ghost. A face that often held a stern edge, the soul of one who bore the weight of the world upon it just as Optimus did in turn... it now looked so alien to him, seeming so uncomfortable and caught off guard that he would seek him out in such a way. Eyes looking wider and more... It was difficult to explain and put into words, it hard to pinpoint the exact elements that created the discrepancy. All he knew was that despite the underlying structure being the same, despite the optics being identical fundamentally in illumination and the apertures and lines, it still looked so different to him.

His friend simply not there.

"I am seeing how you have been settling."

Calm words that were partly hollow. While there was more to the visit than just that, trying to find any tiny step forward towards closure of any type, he did wish to make certain the mech wasn't miserable in the world he had been dropped into.

"I understand this experience must be jarring."

Optimus couldn't imagine how horrible it could be to seemingly enter existence in the circumstances Ratchet had. There could be an attempt to visualize the concept, realizing it was a terrifying experience, knowing how one may still question the validity of the new home they had been brought into... Undergoing suffering and fear... unfamiliar lifeforms so very different yet so eerily similar to their own kind administering pain... While time had passed, it would likely only heal so much. Especially when coming to the realization an appallingly long war was under way, and he didn't have a chance to even try to pick a side under his own volition.

None could truly know what that felt like.

He could do nothing but hope he had settled however, that Ratchet's ignorance and open mind allowed him to find a stability far quicker than Optimus himself was able to do since the incident. Perhaps the lost mech had made friends once more, connected with individuals he once knew, or those he had never laid eyes on before. That is something he could hope for.

Remaining in place, The Prime kept his posture neutral and inert, trying to judge how the other mech responded to his words, whether he wanted to speak, or if he wanted him to depart.

[Ratchet]

The first thing Ratchet noticed was that Optimus looked as uncomfortable as he himself felt. It was an oddly comforting thought, there and gone again. It didn’t make him feel equal to the Prime, on an even field. Not in the least. But it did make him feel a small bit better about the whole thing, that he wasn’t the only one feeling out of place.

Although a part of his mind was analyzing Optimus for only the second time, he had another of those strange moments, a splitting of himself, where he made two observations at the same time, two different sets of emotions.

One was, He looks like he has no idea how to really carry his own frame, how very odd, with a sense of confusion, and the other, hot on the heels of the first, What’s got him tense now? What’s happened this time?, with feelings of annoyance and concern.

Both sets of thoughts and emotions swept through him and fizzled out at the same second, leaving him feeling tired and empty.

He shoved it behind him, however. Those thoughts were becoming more and more common now. They were by no mean any less alarming, but he was starting to think he would just have to learn how to live with them.

His processor swiftly brought him back to the present.

“How I’m settling.” he repeated.

A bemused expression settled over Ratchet’s face, but one without an actual smile. It was more heard in the voice, than anything else.

“In all honesty, I’m not really settling at all, sir, though it has nothing to do with my accommodations, or how I’m being treated here,” he hastened to reassure the Prime that he wasn’t being shoved aside or forgotten.

“It’s difficult to explain. Jarring is a good way to put it. It’s like I’m encountering everything twice.”

Ratchet took an invent, letting it out in a soft huff, decided not to beat around the bush. The Prime seemed like he wasn’t one to play games with words, and so he decided on the same.

“I know it must be frustrating for you as well, Optimus. It’s quite clear I played a very important role in this place, as a medical officer. Then everything was removed from my memory...”

Here he paused, raising a broad hand to lightly touch the top of his helm with the tips of his fingers, gently brushing the area that had been blackened and singed, not too long ago. It had been repaired and repainted such that there was no visible sign any more.

Ratchet paused again for a second, and glancing at the Prime standing outside his quarters, debated what to do. He should probably invite the Prime inside, so they could speak privately, if that was what Optimus wanted to do. His quarters weren’t exactly set up for visitors though, that was apparent. One chair at the desk, only a bedside table, and a few shelves.

Apparently, I wasn’t much of a social butterfly, he thought, amused at himself. That also seemed strange to him, as if he knew he had been, once. But not now.

There were, however, chairs in the Medibay behind the Prime.

Ratchet motioned in that direction lightly, a faint wave of his hand slightly over the Prime’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of fancy furniture, but I’ve been told this was my general area, and there are a few places to sit. Would you like to have a seat?”

[Optimus Prime]

With Ratchet looking as alien to him as he was, it was difficult for Optimus to decipher what emotions the other mech must be feeling. If he were looking at a stranger, he could try to pick them apart, digest the way they peered aside or straight at him... see if their body posture shifted away or grew more assertive... yet for this individual, all this analytical evaluation was thrown completely out the window. His mind kept instinctively shifting back to reading the Ratchet he knew, and not this mimic, distorting the scenario deeply.

If his old friend acted as this stranger was, Optimus would be horrified and want to instantly rip into what was going amiss, knowing that it was profoundly dire or unsettling to pull such things to the surface. Ratchet simply didn't emote on these levels... and yet, here he did. Optimus had to remind himself with each flickered second that this wasn’t who he knew, and that it was someone else where this could be normal and standard with no underlying concerns in play.

As the other mech spoke, he would listen, making no motion to interrupt or add his own commentary along the way. He was here to learn, and let him lead. Trying to pick through the details, such as how he was experiencing things twice. It was an interesting observation, though could be evidence of prior purged data being fully written over as new memories took its place.

A sobering thought.

"It’s difficult to explain"

"When I received the Matrix, so too did I receive the knowledge of Prime's past."

A brief pause.

"I understand"

Optimus did not tend to speak about the Matrix and its inner workings at all. Even to Ratchet before things had been turned upside down he could be avoidant in some ways, though was much more open than he would be with others. The choice to hold silence was done for many reasons, one of which being to preserve other's beliefs. Whether they saw it as a mere tool that was handed down, a utility object to be exploited, or if they saw it as a true gift from the Primes did not change anything. It still gifted what it did, and the finer details were better left unsaid.

As such, it was odd he even said as much as he did.

Though he did not linger on the topic.

"It’s quite clear I played a very important role in this place, as a medical officer."

As well as a friend.

Optimus did not have many of those left. It was difficult, if not impossible, to truly befriend any newcomer since he settled fully into the title of Prime. He had a strong belief that showing such opinions was ill-fitting of his role, and that he had to treat all on the same level. It was difficult of course, for those he has known for countless years held a more favorable standing in his eyes, but he did not seek out socializing beyond what was needed.

He didn't really have many who he could call true friends left that knew him beyond what he showed now.

When the gesture and words were offered by the stranger, Optimus' gaze would drift over to the side as if he were looking over his shoulder to where the other mech indicated. This motion did not permit him to view the location at all however, for his general mass and broad shoulder paneling blotted it out, but he didn't need a direct line of sight to know precisely what part of the room it was.

Without word, the Prime would ease his weight back slightly, before he transitioned into a turn, walking in the direction indicated. Once across the way where a couple chairs were at rest, he would ease aside and lean much of his mass onto the edge of one of the medical berths. He didn't sit into it in full, but he did ease against it, trying to at least get somewhat comfortable.

Normally, Optimus did not sit down in idle conversation, it more natural for him to stand, though he didn't want to come off as profoundly imposing. Because of this, he tried the middle ground first, the partial lean breaking the ridged posture without him needing to awkwardly sit given his height difference. There was a second motive however, and that was watching to see if this individual picked Ratchet’s more favored chair, or if he would simply pick the one closest him instead.

"When you experience dueling responses, what do you feel?"

[Ratchet]

Ratchet followed behind Optimus as the larger mech led the way towards the area he had motioned towards. As Optimus made his way towards the berths, Ratchet’s gaze moved over his back, taking in what the Prime had said.

Patch had told him about Optimus and the Matrix he carried. She had answered his questions as best as possible, considering she was a newcomer to the base herself, really. She had explained that Optimus Prime was their leader, given that responsibility by the Matrix he carried within his chest. She hadn’t been able to give him any more information than that, not knowing much about it herself. Ratchet had understood that whatever this Matrix was, it was handed down from Prime to Prime.

Is that how it worked, then? Optimus could see, feel, and hear things from the other Primes? Was he always being bombarded with second hand information?

How on Earth did he stand it?

Moving around Optimus as the larger mech leaned, Ratchet reached out and took a hold of the closest chair by it’s back. He was in the process of pulling it out, perhaps to sit, when the Prime’s question caused him to pause. Ratchet glanced at Optimus, standing in place, holding onto the back of the chair, then looked across the room at the door to the Medibay. The altering of his gaze wasn’t unease, but rather a way of looking at something unseeable – looking inside himself.

“I feel....pulled in two different directions. Like there’s an argument going on inside my head, and I’m just an observer.”

He paused again for a minute, then started talking again.

“I’m not sure how it works for you – the Matrix, I mean, but for me....it’s like having Deja Vu while at the same time not knowing anything about where I am.

For example, I was wandering around the base the other day, and decided I wanted to try and fix one of the drawers in the desk over there. It squeaks when you pull it out. It’s probably just a corner needs to be greased slightly, where it’s rubbing against the frame. I was trying to think about how I’d go about it, and what I’d do if that didn’t solve it, when I looked up and realized I was in a part of the base I wasn’t familiar with. At all.”

As he spoke, Ratchet turned, and neatly tucked the chair he was holding in towards the table, clearing back a little space. Once he had done that, he turned, and pulling out his old chair, sat down in it, leaning back slightly in a familiar angle, crossing his arms over his chest, crossing his legs down by the ankles. Had he been going to sit in this one all the time, or had he been moving to take the closest one, and when he started talking, stopped paying attention to what he was doing, instinct took over and he chose his old chair?

Leaning back in that old manner he had, arms crossed over his chest, he continued to talk.

“I know for a fact I had never been there before, and yet, I knew that if I crossed to the row of shelves, and opened the box sitting on the lower shelf, I’d find the grease gun. I could see it in my mind, clear as day. It was like, when I let my mind drift, muscle memory...or something...took over and I remembered where it was. On some level.”

He shook his head, then offered Optimus an apologetic half smile, “And it leaves me feeling like I’m tore in half. Two parts of me. And they’re arguing. All the time.”

Another pause, and then he hesitantly asked, “Is that what it’s like for you? Like...voices in you head, knowing things that you can’t know?”

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus' focus was latched down upon Ratchet intently as he moved to the area that had been indicated. Trying to read his body language... trying to look for any notable expressions or signs of hesitation... The 'incorrect' chair had been the nearest one in the mech's way, and as such was the obvious choice all things considered. It was no better or worse than the second in any reasonable calculation, one not having a better vantage angle or better distance in which to have a discussion. The only difference was that one was easier to grasp for convenience sake, and the other was the more familiar option. A choice of favoritism that all seemed to do in one way or another once acclimated to their environment. As such, Optimus was not surprised this mech had chosen the easiest of the two... it merely another example out of many that detailed the loss that had occurred...

Yet, Ratchet hesitated.

Cyan optics flicked down from where the chair was being gripped, up to Ratchet's features, seeing how he was casting his gaze aside. In response to this, Optimus glanced in the same direction, a quick look to make certain there hadn’t been anything of actual note, before looking back to observe. It was easy to gather that the mech was likely lost in his own thoughts rather than seeing something outright.

In some way or another, all have experienced what the stranger spoke of. Transforming to drive from point A to B, only to not consciously recall the actual drive itself as one's mind wandered was a good example of the phenomenon. What made Ratchet's different however, was the fact that upon arriving at his destination, he didn't even have a frame of concept how it was even possible to begin with. It had to be a profoundly odd situation.

As the other mech seemed to tune back into his environment and move the first chair out of the way, taking the effort to pull out and sit within his original chair instead, Optimus' helm would raise ever so slightly. There was no going around this element, as well as no going around the fact that the mech before him was taking his old friend's posture. An act done without second thought. It did not appear the motion was stilted or awkward, it more subconscious than something this new mech actively considered since his mind was occupied with a discussion that took more importance. Yet, while it did not seem important to him, it was important to the Prime.

It conflicted with what he knew. It challenged his faith in his friends' skills as a surgeon. There were ways to justify it on some levels rather than a lack of talent however... Perhaps it was a moment of weakness on Ratchet's part, a hesitation in play where he could not commit to it in an act of self-preservation. They all had it. It was an element of living. No matter how decisive one may be, how they could tell themselves they will step across the threshold to death for their beliefs... once staring into that doorway and looking down... everything could shift.

"Yet, you have been there before."

These words were said with a confidence and a factual approach that offered little room for debate. Whether this individual recalled such an act overtly did not matter when the truth was that such a room had been entered before at some point in his existence.

"Discrediting what you have forgotten as falsehoods, is not advantageous."

A pause.

"Just as it is not advantageous for me to discredit what I have been gifted."

This war more likely than not would be on a drastically different playing field, if not concluded in the Decepticons favor, should he have not had the assistance he had obtained. Memories or data... intuition or belief... or even a mesh of all the above weaving together into one endless loop... none of it truly mattered. What mattered was the fact that it had helped, and that guidance, as well as the guidance of brilliant minds around him, resulted in their continued survival.

"Whether you listen or not, is a choice."

Optimus' words lowered at this, a more honest level of communication rather than the more direct approach and tones he had started with.

"However, leaning into the unknown is often the only way to move forward..."

A leap of faith. Every major life choice carried this burden. No matter how much evidence may guide, the outcome was never a guarantee one way or another.

Optimus seemed to pause then, his gaze drifting to the chair that had been pushed aside, before his optics flicked back, his helm remaining angled in the direction of the rejected object, further indicating his next words.

"Why did you choose the chair you did."

[Ratchet]

Ratchet listened to Optimus speak, nodding faintly as the other spoke.

What the Autobot’s leader was saying made sense....that there was, somehow, an echo of the past – his past- speaking to him through his memories. Had he not been to that location before, if he had no reason he should know where things were located around the base, then that would be cause for real concern.

And like Optimus said about his connection to the Matrix, it would be advantageous to listen to it. Tips, tricks, experiences...all these and more were likely hidden away, ready to lead if necessary.

The problem was....the little of his past he was aware of...wasn’t inspiring. It was hard to find out, but from what he could gather about his old self, he wasn’t exactly...fun.

His room seemed almost sterile. Apparently he hardly ever left the Medibay, and while he understood that as the C.M.O. of the Autobots, didn’t he have any social life? Hobbies? People seemed to react to his attempts at good humour and enjoyment as nothing short of abhorrent.

How unpleasant had he been?

The Prime’s question caught Ratchet by surprise. So much so that he stopped, and blinked almost owlishly at the other chair, now tucked neatly in to the table across from him. Hadn’t he been holding onto that one? He suddenly realized he had no real memory of putting that one back and sitting where he was now.

Sitting up slightly, unfolding his arms and legs, he looked up at Optimus, looking somewhat baffled.

“I...I don’t know,” he admitted, “I had been going to sit there. But....”

He paused again for a second, narrowing his eyes slightly, thinking, before speaking, “It...it felt like I was supposed to be here. Not that it was wrong to sit there, just....I’m supposed to be here.”

He turned, looking up at Optimus again, “Is that....is this my chair? Where I always sat?”

[Optimus Prime]

Turning his helm back to level off at Ratchet rather than remain angled in the direction of the rejected chair, Optimus would speak in response calmly at a lower tone, trying to hold back so that he did not continue running down the more confronting path and keep questioning.

"It is one you have shown preference for."

Optimus felt some guilt in the moments after his query, the look of confused alarm not enjoyable in the slightest to witness. It was more than apparent Ratchet needed a clear mind, one that wasn't focused upon the here or now to channel the ingrained memories. To corner him outright, drill questions and try to force a favorable result was going to end in nothing but disappointment, as well as the confused mech's distress. As much as Optimus wanted to know all he could about what was happening, to claw for a possible resolution should one be possible, he needed to be patient, and such a trait was learned well even before he took on his iconic name.

He simply had forgotten it a moment.

"I apologize. It is not my intention to pressure you to recall anything."

The stranger simply was that in the now. A stranger. One that held ghosted reflections of what had once been. He had to try to look past his appearance and hinted memories, to create a more eased and relaxed interaction.

"Have you found entertainment in anything around the base?"

A lighter subject matter, trying to ask a question unrelated to Ratchet’s previous self. Should this unknown mech be completely alienated as an outsider around Omega, then that was no way of living, and could cause more damage than had already been done. Or so, this was Optimus' assumption on the matter. Trying to trust his own level of intuition and faith, despite a logical edge creating skepticism.

If this version of Ratchet truly felt lost and alone, some sort of measure would need to be taken to seek a resolution to the alienating plight. Yet, it would be difficult. No doubt others having much the same issues as himself despite not knowing him nearly as long.

[Ratchet]

Hearing the other mech explain that the chair he was sitting in now was one he preferred in the past gave Ratchet a momentary sense of peace. He hadn’t been going crazy after all. Maybe there was still a hint of...whoever he had been...surviving inside him somewhere. Just trying to get out, to escape.

Ok, that was a little disturbing.

For a moment, he pushed aside the question of...did he want to return to who he had been, and nodded at Optimus to indicate he understood what he had said.

“I see.”

At the apology, Ratchet looked up, surprised.

“No, no, it’s quite alright. I understand. Maybe trying to force memories will help...I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works, to be honest.”

Ratchet spread large hands, giving an indication of how clueless about it all he was feeling.

The Prime’s next question seemed to catch him off guard again for a moment, “Entertainment?”

“Er...well....”

Ratchet wasn’t entirely sure how to tell Optimus that he had discovered he enjoyed listening to the radio, to the local rock stations. He loved listening to the music, listening to the Radio Host talk about all the goings on around the nearby city. Sales and sporting events, gatherings and parties.

When it was empty in Omega, and he couldn’t really rest, he would go into the rec room and watch television. The Shopping Channel was usually interesting – Ratchet wasn’t certain what everything being sold was for, exactly, but the people selling it always seemed so happy and chipper, smiling and laughing.

There were so many questions he had, and no real way to get any answers.

“I...watch television sometimes,” he said quietly, “There isn’t much around to read. Sometimes I walk around the base, trying to learn the layout.”

He paused for a moment, then forged on.

“I feel like I’m going stir crazy, if I’m completely honest. It’s just the same four walls, the same hallways. There’s...not a lot to do. Not now, anyway. I’m certain I was very busy before, but....”

Ratchet gave a faint shrug, “And everyone else seems so busy, I don’t want to bother anyone with questions.”

Ratchet glanced around the Medibay again, as if looking for something, anything, that might help him explain what he was experiencing, but there was nothing. Optimus, however, might recognize the look on Ratchet’s face as he spoke....a sense of being utterly lost, no clear path forward to take.

[Optimus Prime]

"...I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works, to be honest."

"You and I are the same in that regard."

If either of them knew the finer details of what was going on, than they would already be on path to try to reverse it, or know how to handle the new life he would be starting. However, they were both fumbling in the dark, able to touch a clue here or there, get a bit more of the picture and layout of the room they were trapped within, and yet, there was still an entire home to try to map out. Countless areas that none of them could see, a seemingly hopeless quest to find something to amend the issue.

If it could even be amended.

For now, however, Optimus had resigned himself to focus on the newcomer as just that, rather than as his lost friend.

"And everyone else seems so busy-"

"Many seek what you do, and it may be easy to misinterpret their distraction as service to the Autobots."

Each Autobot had their jobs of course. Work around the base, monitor duty, scouting or missions to assist Fowler when those scenarios did arise... No one was shielded from having to contribute anything, needing to earn their place and share of fuel within the outpost. The only anomaly at this point, was the new mech before him, someone who had yet to discover their own passions and what they wanted to do.

Yet, that did not mean they all slaved away every hour of the day.

Freedom was gifted, for one who had opportunity to be themselves would offer more when it came to jump to action. Not stifling them down to mere cogs in the great war machine. It played in part to the concept of 'Family' Optimus was trying, though that had been backfiring on him a good deal... that was a topic for another time however. What mattered in the now was trying to assist in getting Ratchet comfortable.

Even if being overly social was out of his own comfort zone.

"You do not know unless you take a step forward."

Reassuring. To hide all day was making no progress forward.

"Have you spoken to the human children? You and Rafael got along well, and he is very understanding."

All three would be understanding, however the smallest of them had truly befriended Ratchet to a point he was being taught their own coding. It was something Optimus should interrupt to not aid humanity; yet, he turned a blind eye so long as the intelligence offered did not lead to weaponry. Even if it did however, Rafael did not seem the type to utilize it. As he was now. There was no saying the type of man he may grow to be, so it was a gamble in a way.

"You may also speak to newcomers upon the base, who do not know who you once were."

Without the shackles of expectations, one of the new mechs or femmes could interact with Ratchet simply being 'Ratchet'. That could be the best course of action in Optimus' opinion. Either interacting with those who were closest to him, or those who knew nothing about him other than the fact he had once been a medic. Leave the awkward middle ground on the wayside.

[Ratchet]

“Have you spoken to the human children?”

If only it were that easy.

A few days after waking up on the back of that flatbed truck, and being brought back to Omega, Ratchet had gotten his first glimpse of the human children that visited the base nearly every day.

He was glad he had been far at the end of a hallway when he had first seen them, because his response wasn’t one he was particularly....comfortable with.

He had heard voices, high pitched and tinged with excitement. They were unfamiliar to him – as most voices were, in all honesty – and he had turned to see who was speaking so energetically, when his eyes had fallen on two very small humans. One was wearing very colourful clothing, dark hair pulled back into some sort of updo, the other smaller and wearing more mundane colors. His hair, however, seemed intent on trying to levitate off his head.

It was the taller of the two whose voice he had heard, excited and eager, as they followed along behind Bulkhead.

Upon seeing them, the two small but still-very-human children, Ratchet had felt a sudden lance of unease and almost fear. He had taken a step backwards, as if the two youngsters were going to turn and lunge at him, producing weapons from some hidden fold of their clothing. It was an utterly stupid reaction – the children were so much smaller than the ones who had attacked him, and he had heard nothing but good things about them from the others at the base.

Still, that first reaction hadn’t been one he was proud of.

“Er...yes, I suppose I could.”

He glanced down at his large hands, as if studying them in silence for a moment, before looking up, speaking.

“I know that everything you’re saying is right. It’s all true, it all makes sense. It’s just so hard to keep reminding myself. And it’s not so much how anyone else is treating me...it’s how I’m treating me, if that makes any sense.”

Frustration edged into his voice, “How do you talk to someone who may have memories of you you can’t recall? What if your last words to that person were in anger, and now I’m facing them completely ignorant of any hurt I might have caused them? And...yes...you’re right, I can always go talk to people who are new, but that just makes me feel....I don’t know...as if I’m being unfaithful to who I was. The old me.

I’ve picked up here and there, from talking to others, that I wasn’t particularly....pleasant...to be around. I don’t seem to have any hobbies or mementos in my quarters, nothing to give me any hints at to who I was.

And to make matters worse, I have memories of myself from what I can only assume was long long ago. And I’m so different from my more recent memories of myself. If you can even call them memories!”

Now anger was present in his tone, and a deep annoyance. A tone that Optimus had probably heard many, many times in the past. Irritation. Frusteration. An inability to move forward.

He rubbed his face, “I’m sorry. You’re trying to help and I’m throwing a tantrum. I have so many questions about so many things, and they keep me awake at night. And that’s not helping matters, either.”

Ratchet dropped his hands to the table with a light thump.

[Optimus Prime]

"Er...yes, I suppose I could."

It did not take one astute in reading others to sense the apprehension within Ratchet's words, however Optimus did not put together the source of said apprehension. He interpreted the nervousness as being the same feelings brought on when speaking to anyone else around the base. A form of shame... a form of unease that they possibly knew him better than he knew himself... yet the jump comparing the children to MECH was far too broad for Optimus to consider as an option. An opportunity to assure the mech that he was safe here would slip right through his fingers unnoticed. Whatever the case, Ratchet continued to speak, leaving the dilemma with humanity behind him in the process.

Optimus listened intently as everything was articulated, letting him work through his thoughts at his own speed. There was no interjection, no flick of an expression as if wanting to cut in an answer a question or comment... The Prime was patient, leaned up against the medical slab in an inert state to let this unknown individual air his grievances and further discomforts on what was going on without a single distraction.

It was all so understandable. Something that could be imagined but never truly comprehend without experiencing it. Yet, some of what Ratchet said did catch Optimus' focus on a different level, mainly how he implied that he now had memories of himself from his forming years. This was new. This hadn’t been spoken of before and was far bigger than simply ghosted flickers of memories or intuitions that snaked from the shadows. To have distinct memories? That was a major element, and it was the only thing that made Optimus visually respond, even if it was abundantly subtle, his helm raising ever so slightly as the apertures of his eyes flicked as they focused.

He held firm however, and did not go back to the more interrogating approach to claw for details.

Once Ratchet was done speaking, Optimus seemed to think over things for a moment. A lull... a small gap as the relative silence of the Medical Bay settled into soft clicks and whirs of nearby machinery... It wasn’t to drag things out or make Ratchet uncomfortable, more so than it was him considering how he was going to approach and address things properly. When he finally did move to respond, Optimus spoke with profound certainty, lightly chastising Ratchet on how he was letting his mind spiral as it was.

"You focus too much upon what you were, and not who you are."

Carefully said, putting emphasis on the words with care.

"Whether you are, or are not, restricting yourself to what you think you should be offers no value."

It was then Optimus shifted his weight, his mass settling more on his opposite leg then as he continued to predominantly lean against the slab.

"Upon surface levels, Ratchet may appear jaded and detached, yet that could not be further from the truth."

It was so easy to do... so much so that he was not surprised this stranger was trying to come to such conclusions.

"A lack of tangible clues is not evidence of being hollow."

If this were the case, Optimus would be as hollow as they could be. He didn't have anything from his old life. No trinkets, no objects of value... No possession that was held onto through this long war that was clutched close to frame and heart for one reason or another. Everything from that past life had been lost under assault or a change of base, and new things to replace the holes they left behind were never sought out. He only had utilitarian objects in his quarters. Things to help serve their team and work on means to try to seek victory rather than stand as an emotional element.

What little that could even slightly deviate from this framework wasn't visible to an outsider. Perhaps books or news stations sourced from Earth that were read or watched from a datapad, trying to learn about the world they now called home and keep an eye out for anything major that could be indicative of Decepticon activity. While it was under the guise of military research, it also brought forth general knowledge and sated some curiosity on how things functioned.

All invisible.

Just as Ratchet's self could be.

"Take a slow breath. You may ask what is upon your mind, and I will do what I can to answer."

Let him lead the way. Let him now dictate where topics drifted.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet peered up at Optimus from lowered brows, listening as the Prime spoke. He nodded slightly, to show he was listening, and agreed, eyes remaining firmly on the other’s face.

“What you say is true, I know that. I know it. It makes no sense to try and be someone who I’m not. Er…at least….who I’m not right now. But it’s difficult. When I first came here….when I had calmed down and realized I wasn’t under attack, others came up to talk to me. It was apparent they had known me a while, and when they realized I wasn’t who I had been….the look on their faces was….upsetting.”

Ratchet raised a large hand, lightly rubbing at the back of his neck, his gaze firmly on the tabletop.

“It sounds foolish to say say it, but, I felt like I had betrayed them somehow. Let them down. And I…that upset me. It shook me, to be honest. This feeling like I had abandoned them when they needed me. I think more than anything else, that truly upset me. I wanted to apologize for doing….whatever it was I had done.”

He paused.

“Well, if the old Ratchet wasn’t jaded or detached, it seems he did a hell of a poor job showing it.”

The older mech took a deep invent, then huffed it out, shaking his head brusquely, as if pushing it aside, as if deciding the time for that was over, and it was time to move on to other things.

“Well…questions…those I have plenty of.” He glanced towards Optimus again, offering a bemused smile, “You may regret offering to give me answers.”

Shifting forward, Ratchet placed his hands on his knees, leaning forward towards Optimus, his body language indicating he was alert, intent on the conversation that was about to happen.

“I guess the first thing I want to know is…what happened to us? Our people, I mean? I have…faint, vague memories of tall, shining buildings of light and crystal, of people gathered in groups, talking, sharing knowledge. In my dreams I’m watching ships leave orbit, headed to far places to study and learn from other people among the stars.”

Ratchet’s gaze left Optimus, seeming to focus just slightly above his left shoulder – looking not at the wall, but into the past. A rare, soft smile formed on his face, suddenly revealing a hint of the youth who had walked Cybertron so very long ago, when things were good.

“I can remember feeling so proud, as I watched them lift off. A part of me wanted to go with them, to see things never seen before, to talk to people new. But the thoughts of actually leaving Cybertron would bring me back to my senses quickly enough. How could I leave my home?”

Optics refocused, and shifted now to meet the Prime’s, and the smile slipped from his face.

“How did we end up at war with ourselves?”

[Optimus Prime]

"You may regret offering to give me answers."

It was then an all too important question had finally been asked.

In some ways, the fact Ratchet had gone so very long without bringing the topic up directly was rather curious. One would think that would be one of the first things uttered once settling down enough to think beyond panic and confusion. That was thinking through the perspective of an individual that knew all however, and there was no telling what stayed their past CMO's voice on the matter. Yet, as much as it was expected, it did not mean it did not sting, Optimus needing to articulate his own failures.

"The caste system forced all to conform to a role specified by the council."

Cutting straight to the point.

"Due to you being a medical vehicle, you would be destined for medicine, and to deny this was breaking the laws that had been put in place.

Many truly did love where they were placed into. Finding purpose in filling a needed niche to assist everyone. However, just as many found issue with it. Serving a job that felt like slavery more so than living a true life. Dreaming about what they could be but could never achieve no matter how skilled they were capable of becoming. Simply because of what they could transform into.

"Megatronus and myself started a movement to seek free will and permit choice."

Such noble ambitions at the onset...

"As traction formed, and change shone on the horizon, Megatronus took his own path, controlling those he once wished to free."

Optimus felt foolish he had missed signs from the onset. If he was more perceptive, if he properly read between the lines and caught onto clues, than he would have been able to back off so much sooner before the silver mech could get into a role where he had as much influence as he did. Orion looking for means to still support their once shared hopes, without grasping wildly for power and the Matrix. He never sought the Matrix. He never WANTED the Matrix, not even as an underlying glimmer of a hope for power. He simply wanted to make a change.

And he certainly did.

"Conflicts surged, the Caste System was abolished, but in its process two sides formed that split our world in half."

He spoke clearly then with a new form of neutrality, not sounding as though he favored one choice or another despite his standing being more than obvious.

"Decepticons, who honor power."

A pause.

"Autobots, who seek order."

Optimus always saw things through a critical eye. There was no good or evil. There was no mold one side could be thrown into over another. Each valued very legitimate elements, the balance of said elements leaning in one direction or another under which leader would take point. It came down to whether one supported the idea of raw power and the ability to seize what ambitions they had with determination and will, or if they preferred a path that favored order and a more controlled equality where even the meek could let their voices be heard alongside more boisterous individuals.

"This rift grew ever stronger, despite original goals being reached."

If Optimus had stood down at the onset of this horrific clash, there was no saying where they would have ended up under Megatron's rule. Whether he formed another corrupted system, or if he leveled out upon reaching his ultimate goal to seek a less vicious outcome was unknown. What was felt in Optimus' core was the fact that their world would not have been poisoned and mangled into the rotten husk it had become. He thought about this at times, how if he had simply yielded so many years ago, that things may be in a better place... yet 'may' was such a volatile word, and he truly wanted to save others from what could be a new oppressive system that would be all the more difficult to overthrow and fight against.

"It killed our world, and scattered us all."