Thanks to my Beta, Litahatchee

- Internal communication link -

Chapter 15: Midnight Confessions

XXX

“Here you go, Prowl,” said the medic as the tactician slowly sat up on the berth, taking the cube from the offering hand.

Prowl stared at the cube with a slight bit of contempt. He was making sure to memorize the color; he was probably going to be seeing it again later tonight, not that it mattered either way to Ratchet. Even if he did admit his tank problem now, the medic would still make him drink it. It was just as well to get it over with. If Prowl was lucky, the medic might take pity on him and give him the sedative so that he wouldn’t be online and able to empty his tank. His wing twitching as if looking at human cough syrup, the tactician threw his head back and swallowed it all in a single swig.

“Take it easy, Prowl. The energon ain’t going anywhere,” said Ratchet as he eyed the enforcer for a moment, wondering if it was wise to give the mech energon before giving him an exam. The mech was already looking... He’d hate to quote a human word, but it fit in this case. Prowl was already looking green and ready to empty his tank.

“You feeling alright, Prowl?” added the medic as he dragged a tray next to the berth, his hands landing on a scanner when, suddenly, there was a voice from the corner.

“Excuse me, Ratchet. Not to bother you or anything, but I’ve been lying on this berth for awhile now, and I want this virus gone as quickly as …”

Twack!

A dry scream echoed over the room as Wheeljack fell back against his berth, clutching his head where the flying wrench had just hit him. He knew it had been dumb to ask the Hatchet to rush in his work, but he was getting a hot feeling in his spark again; probably because he was right next to the squirming youngling. Perhaps the virus hadn’t had time to download all its programs and was telling him to finish its download, but he not going to give in to the urge to plug back into the youth. The strange thing was that he hadn’t felt this exact same ‘demand’ when he had been around the youth afterwards. It was as if there was some type of new circumstance. Maybe it was because it seemed that the youth was now physically showing the effects of his virus. It didn’t seem too bad: a little over-heating and paranoia. It wasn’t like it was killing Bumblebee, at least.

“Sit up slagger. I really need to look over Prowl,” came a voice from beyond the fingers covering Wheeljack’s optics. Slowly, he revealed his glass orbs, a little intimidated by the frowning being standing over him.

“Sorry to interrupt yah Ratchet, but after getting a look at Bumblebee,” Wheeljack threw a quick glance at the panicking youth. “I really don’t want to go through that.”

Ratchet sighed in defeat. He’d hate to admit it, but if Bumblebee’s mental state was actually over a virus, it was best to stop it in its tracks before it got more than one victim in its grasp. Reaching for another cord from the computer consul between the two berths, Ratchet pulled one out. Then, with quick fingers, he ran a digit over the back of Wheeljack’s neck, willing the armor to slide to the side and reveal a jack. There was a silent click and the engineer laid down, offlining his optics.

“Thanks Ratchet. I’ll just lie here till you’re done,” said Wheeljack as his engine started to slow down and enter a partial recharge.

The medic merely grumbled about dumb younglings ignoring their checkups, before heading back to Prowl. Once there, the medic couldn't help but realize that the mech looked exhausted and Ratchet couldn’t help but pity him slightly. Coming to a halt over the enforcer’s berth, Ratchet brought down a hand to pat the tactician on the shoulder.

“If you think you are going to purge your tanks, let me know,” said Ratchet as he brought his hand over to grab the scanner once more. It wasn’t that he needed another scanner, considering his systems had satisfactory scanners; it was just that he wanted to be able to monitor the enforcer at all times. So, he was placing a piggyback monitor near the spark chamber so he could keep an eye on the mech until he was deemed to be in full heath.

Prowl’s optics brightened for a second, embarrassment washing over him as he met Ratchet’s gaze, “How could you tell?”

“It is not uncommon for mechs to experience such symptoms with serious spark blocks like yours,” stated the CMO, simply, as he pulled the item up and turned it on, watching how Prowl struggled not to fidget on the table at the sight of it. “Plus, I’ve had my feet purged on enough times to know when to get out of the way.”

Prowl’s expression softened slightly when he noted that the Hatchet was actually trying to be a little funny for him, but even if he would have given into his emotions so simply, that thing in Ratchet’s hand was unnerving him. He hadn’t been injured as much as some mechs, but he had been in the military long enough to know almost every tool in the medic’s use. This was a tool he did not know the purpose of, and it was bothering him to some extent. Just what exactly did one do with that tool?

“Noted,” stated Prowl simply before asking, “What is that? I don’t recognize that tool.”

“I’m not surprised. I, myself, haven’t had to use it in some time. Some mechs handle the … ache … better than others. The worse cases receive monitors so I know how their spark is reacting at all times. It’s a simple operation and you’ll barely be able to tell it’s there,” said Ratchet as the device suddenly buzzed to life, the CMO looking down at Prowl with a comforting smile. “Open your chassis, please?”

Prowl was silent, his lip components pulling into a frown, his refusal to do as asked evident.

“What’s wrong?” asked Ratchet, wondering, for a horrific moment, that maybe Prowl had done something to his spark. He had heard some horror story cases of mech’s mutilating their spark chamber or placing electronic devices in their spark to punish it if it dared to place itself in a calling-out ache.

Prowl offlined his optics, a small click escaping his vocalizer before he managed to hide it. The tactician then dug his fingers into the berth as he turned his dulled optics to meet Ratchet's. His voice was almost shivering as he spoke, “Can’t I just recharge right now, Ratchet? I don’t think I can have your fingers under my chassis so soon after … after …”

Prowl’s vocalizer went silent, and he looked away as if ashamed by his weakness. Part of him couldn’t believe he had just asked that of Ratchet. How weak was he that he couldn’t even stand to have the medic’s hands in his chassis? Primus, he wished he could just rest.

Ratchet frowned, his scanners falling over Prowl’s still form once more. Primus, he had never seen the tactician looking so vulnerable. Reaching out a kind hand, he gripped Prowl’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze, “That’s fine, Prowl. There is no need to be ashamed. How about I give you some sedatives, and we’ll try in the morning, alright?”

Prowl’s optics dimmed even more, if that were possible, and, slowly, he nodded his head, his mouthplates threatening to move, “You know best.”

“Yes, I do,” stated Ratchet as he placed another weary smile on his face, glad that, at least, Prowl was opening up enough to admit he was vulnerable at the moment. “Now, tilt you head.”

Prowl did as was asked of him, and the next thing he knew, the plate near his neck was pushed to the side and he felt the prickle of an injection. Sleep was quick, warm, and welcomed. He prayed he would not be haunted by any ghosts in his dreams. He couldn’t take that right now.

Ratchet observed the mech a he quickly offlined. He stood there a minute, making sure that the mech was at rest before his finger’s slowly flowed down Prowl’s chassis. He was going to do the examination in the morning, there was no lie to that, but he was still going to check to make sure that Prowl hadn’t done anything to his spark. Finger’s reaching under the tactician’s armor, there was a click, and soon Ratchet was washed in a soft shivering light.

The spark was no longer panicking in the manner it had been before he put on the spark-block, but it was easy to tell that the spark was stressed. In fact, it looked faded; not a good sign. Prowl should have been in the medical bay this whole time and not exerting himself. His spark was weak and in need. It needed someone to answer to it.

Ratchet sighed as he ran his hand calmly over the spark chamber in a comforting manner to let it know it was not alone. The spark seemed to lighten, pushing itself up towards the hand in a wanting manner, little jolts of electricity jumping over Ratchet’s fingers. Jazz had indeed been Prowl’s only bond, and, generally, mechs or femmes that lost one bond would call out to their other bonds. Prowl had no others. However, if the fading continued, Ratchet would have to do something. He would probably offer his spark in a brother bond, so that Prowl’s essence wouldn’t fade out of existence. He might also be able to ask Prime, since Prowl had known the leader for so long.

A snap filled the room as Ratchet removed his hand and closed Prowl’s chassis. He’d worry about such things in a few days after observing the spark. If it grew in strength, he wouldn’t worry about such things, but he’d still confront Prime just in case things didn’t go well. Either way, Prowl was stable for now, and he had to check on a youngling with a virus...

...A clicking, biting, escaping youngling!

Ratchet’s optics widened as he watched the tool that he had thrown, just moments ago, being used by the youth to free himself, one arm already free. The sound of running feet filled the medical bay and soon the camaro had freed his second arm, his form sitting up and ripping the cord from his neck as he started to undo his leg restraints. With a slight curse, Ratchet was quickly upon the youth and struggling with him to grab the tool, the only thing keeping the kid on the berth was a single strap around his right ankle.

“No you don’t!” growled Ratchet as he struggled to overpower his patient. “Slag you! This better have something to do with a virus or so help me I’m going to have you contained in the Medical Bay until you rust!”

Bumblebee merely growled at the medic, freeing one of her hands and dragging it back into what was meant to be a punch, but the medic quickly pulled his head away fast enough to ignore a punch to the face. That opening was all Bumblebee needed, though, to start her escape, the latch on the berth screeching as it snapped, allowing the femme to roll off the berth. Then there was a loud crash as Ratchet and she tumbled to the floor in a mix of curses and metal.

A heavy sigh escaped his engines as Wheeljack slowly came out of his partial recharge, an irritated look in his optics as he turned his head in the direction of the noise. What the bloody hell was going on? It sounded like a … oh, it was just that. It seemed that Bumblebee was trying to escape … again.

A clang suddenly filled the room as Bumblebee managed to kick Ratchet off and slam him into the wall near the door. Ratchet merely reached up to his head and shook it, his sight returning and finally noting that Wheeljack was on his elbows, his audios half glowing as he watched the medic’s struggle. Finally surrendering to the fact that he wasn’t going to have enough limbs to do this by himself, Ratchet snapped in the engineer’s direction, “Don't just don’t sit there! Help me with this youngling!”

Wheeljack sighed; he was probably going to get kicked, but now that Ratchet had brought it to light, when was the last time the youth had a checkup?

Wheeljack quickly threw a gaze at the youngling, who was crouched on the floor like a tiger about to strike, his engine growling as Bumblebee probably calculated his chances of escaping. With a grunt, Wheeljack unplugged himself and jumped to the floor, making his way to the door.

“You okay, Ratchet? Are you hurt?” asked Wheeljack in a low voice, one thought in his mind: were they going to need a medic for the medic?

“Just my pride,” grumbled the mech coldly as he pulled himself up, his optics becoming white-hot embers as he glared at the youth before him, his internal com. link coming to life.

- I think its possible effects of a smart virus. I know Bumblebee has never liked the medical bay, but he’s never fought this hard. Stay in front of the door will you? And call Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to the medical bay from wherever they’ve been hiding. Tell them I need them to help me restrain a patient. – Ratchet commed Wheeljack.

- I don’t know if Bumblebee is going to stand still that long, Ratchet … you did turn off his cannon, right? He looks like he’s desperate enough. – Wheeljack responded through the link.

- I’m Ironhide’s medic, remember? But you are right about the standing still. Maybe, I can restrain him long enough until the twins get here. Just grab him if he gets to the door. –

“Bumblebee,” stated Ratchet as he slowly made his way forward, hands out in an offering manner. “You’re not well. It’s probably a virus that’s making you so scared of the medical bay. It’s okay to be scared, but I need you to take my hand and get back onto the berth. Can you do that?”

Bumblebee’s engine whined, and he took an uncertain step backwards, his optics darting about as if hoping another door would just spring out of the ground. She looked Ratchet in the optics, her gaze begging, “Please just let me go, Ratchet. I’m not damaged … I … just let me go.”

Ratchet shook his head, his frown growing. He could tell that Bumblebee wasn’t trying to upset him, that the kid was just desperate. He needed help. He needed it really bad right now and, as a medic, he would not betray his code and do nothing. So, taking the kid’s desperate plea as a moment of weakness, he lurched forward, arms wrapping around Bumblebee’s waist as he threw them both to the ground.

A loud smack filled the room as Bumblebee’s cranium took a violent plunge into the metal floor below. For a minute, the youngling just laid there, his optic shivering as his CPU tried to reassert itself after the brutal hit it had just taken. Ratchet took the camaro’s moment of failing to perch himself on top of the still patient, pinning him effectively as the medic sat on the smaller mech’s waist and grabbed his wrists.

Growling in demand, Ratchet yelled at the still sleepy looking Wheeljack, “Don't just stand there, get a sedative for me before he comes to his …”

Her head hurt, that was the first thought Bumblebee had as she came out of her stupor. The second thought was that her spark was slamming against its casing in that painfully warm way, but the cool sting of coolant kept its heat at bay. Then there was a new warmth that tingled and purred under her cod piece. It felt nice, like it was anticipating something, that it wanted it to get warmer and hotter until something that seemed to be a pent up force was released.

Bumblebee wanted to dwell on that wonderful tingly sensation, but then she realized why there was a tingling sensation as a startup program appeared on her hub. It was asking for permission to start increased circulation in her interfacing units.

Wait? What?

It was then that the femme finally noticed the weight and the shifting of metal over her hips. Her spark nearly exploded in self-induced thankfulness when she finally realized she was pinned to the floor and Ratchet was on top of her. Fear swelled inside her chest as she struggled to find the last few moments that led up to this.

She had been on the berth, struggling to free herself. H-had Ratchet opened her chest and seen her shame, deciding that he should hurry with the species-saving and take her, throwing her on the floor in his hurry? No. No. NO!

Ratchet watched as Wheeljack stumbled to the other side of the medical bay. A soft whine escaped the youth as he started to come around. Ratchet knew the screaming and thrashing was soon to come, but first he felt something else...

Bumblebee’s cod piece had started to get warm. If Ratchet were still a young mech, he might have been embarrassed by this. But, if he was correct about Bumblebee’s spark development, then this was natural. Any touching of the cod piece of anything that could be considered intimate behavior, such as Ratchet being on top of him, would cause the youngling’s interface units to start up, ready to accept that first crucial download from his partner.

Well, if Bumblebee asked for him to be his first, especially since he was a medic and it was an obligation as a medic to offer himself to a first-timer, he would certainly accept. However, he had a feeling that wasn’t what the kid was going to ask when his vocalizer started to warm up...

Nope, it was a howl of rage.

Ratchet used his strength to keep the camaro to the floor as Bumblebee lurched against him. The youth’s vocalizer was squealing from the effort to release himself as he bucked, squirmed, and lurched against him. The sound almost became unbearable to the point that a part of Ratchet wanted to pull his hands off the yellow mech’s wrists and cover his audios. Where the hell was Wheeljack and that sedative? Was he looking for it on the other side of the base!

“Ratchet!” finally came a cry from the medical bay door, causing the CMO to look up and stare upwards at the gapping face of one human, one commander, and one Weapons Specialist that looked like he was about to shoot with the way his optic was twitching.

“What are you doing?” asked Optimus, wondering if maybe Ironhide wasn’t the only mech suffering from a sudden case of madness.

“Nothing, I’m just – oophf!”

Next thing Ratchet knew, one of Bumblebee’s knees came up and caught him in the back, causing him to fly over the youth’s body and crash on the floor, nearly sliding into Wheeljack.

Yet, before the engineer could even go ‘yikes, it be a white whale,' Ratchet yelled, “Prime, don’t let that youngling out of the medical bay!”

A growl escaped the youth as he rose to his knees, glaring at the medic, but she quickly turned to assess her commander and everyone in the room as if they were a threat. This was not good. Not good at all. It was one thing to escape Ratchet; she had been doing it for vorns, but four other mechs and Prime, no less! Primus, she needed to get out of here, steal a shocked-looking Sam from Ironhide, and somehow get off the planet...

Wait…

Ironhide? The femme’s optics got bright and her stance dropped a little as a hurt expression overcame her face. H-had Ironhide spoken to Optimus already?

Ratchet, noticing that the youth seemed to be distracted by the re-emerging of Ironhide, quickly got to his feet and then rather violently grabbed the sedative from Wheeljack. He would have had Bumblebee already under if he had thought to refill his sedative unit in his arm, but it wasn’t really like he had time once he saw Bumblebee escaping, the little slagger. He just had to do everything the hard way, and the hard way he was going to get.

Quickly, sliding the sedative refill into its rightful compartment in his arm, readying himself for another ten patients if he needed too, Ratchet sized up the youth. Attacking from the right, grabbing the youngling by the neck, and sliding the sedative in the higher back shoulder would be the most effective, but the camaro seemed to have regained his senses. Bumblebee was trying to keep his back away from the medic while he was left open to Ironhide and Optimus. Well, the youth shouldn’t be so trusting. Everyone knew that if a medic asked someone for assistance, they pit well gave it.

- Ironhide, I need you to restrain Bumblebee while I administer a sedative – Ratchet said over his internal com. link, his optics brightening as Ironhide’s gaze shot from the frightened youngling to him. Strangely, the mech seemed lost and confused about the request.

- Why? You don’t have to sedate her-im. Let me talk to him real quick. He’s probably just scared. You don’t have to do … -

- He has a smart virus! Of course he’s going to be scared. Prime, I need you to help me since Ironhide won't. Pin Bumblebee’s arms from behind when I get his attention, then I’ll administer a sedative. – said Ratchet, frowning as a hurt look covered Ironhide’s face.

The medic didn’t blame him. Bumblebee was his charge, after all, and it was his job to take care of the youth, but that kind of attention was more for the spark than the body. The body was Ratchet’s job, and he knew what was best for it.

- Of course. Just be gentle with him, Ratchet. Fear is a killer of mortals and gods alike – said Optimus as his gaze shifted over to the youth.

Once he had gotten Optimus’s approval, the CMO made a quick forward movement at the youth, more for a distraction that to actually capture him. Bumblebee growled and took a step back, bringing up his fists, yet it was a dead thread because two strong hands suddenly came from behind and wrapped around his form, a painful howl escaping the youngling as his arms were pinned and his feet dragged a foot from the floor.

“Hold him still, Prime,” said Ratchet simply as he drew forward, listening to the youngling’s vents pick up at an alarming rate. He turned his gaze to the youth. “It’s alright, Bumblebee. Just a little sedative and when you wake up that fear will be gone, just a memory.”

Bumblebee severely doubted that. If anything, the fear would increase and be a nightly monster as she’d lay in her berth, wondering if she’d have a nightly visitor or not. In truth, she wanted to thrash, scream, and howl because of that thought, but for some reason she found herself wanting to cry.

This was the end of the road, wasn’t it? No more freedoms, no more smooth concrete beneath her tires as the world zoomed past in a sweet high speed bliss. No more blue sky for her optics to gaze upon willingly. No more Sam listening to the radio, the bass sending vibrations through her very spark. No more talking in the rec. room like she was an equal. She would soon be known as nothing more than that femme, everyone else’s femme but never her own. She would soon be property, and the ‘nightly’ entertainment. No more sky, no more earth, no more wind, no more Sam, and no more freedom for this little girl...

She couldn’t help it; soft clicking sobs escaped her as she wilted in Prime’s arms, her whole form shivering in a silent agony. Optimus immediately stared at Ratchet as the clicking broke into straight out sobs, her arm squeaking from all the weight of her body shivering against Optimus’s arms.

Ratchet tried to shake off the stupor of seeing Bumblebee cry. He had never seen the camaro straight out sob like that. Bumblebee hid most of his emotions, except for his happiness and rage; he was always one or the other. It was as if the other emotions didn’t exist in his vocabulary. It was strange, but Ratchet actually felt bad about what he was about to do. It was his duty, though. It was his duty as a medic.

“It’s alright, kid. No need to be scared or afraid. Just a pinprick,” said Ratchet as he went forward the last few feet, resting a hand on the youth’s neck while ignoring his jerky movements.

He rubbed the plating for a minute before he slid it to the side. An extra long sob escaped the camaro’s engine. Then, with a quick hand, his finger transformed and the sedative was administered. He pulled away slightly, a soft smile on his face as Optimus’s grip started to loosen, but he barely had time to see the hate in Bumblebee’s optics before the youth head-butted him.

Ratchet stumbled back with a surprised yelp, but before his optics could even readjust, he heard Optimus cry out, "Watch out!"

Ratchet only got to see the youth swing his legs upward … and then he heard, more than saw, those feet slam into his facial plates, his optics screaming as they were cracked and shattered. Ratchet couldn’t help it; he went down, a short cry in his throat as he covered his face. The rest of the story was short after that. He heard the running of feet, the yells of Prime and Ironhide, followed by a command to Ironhide, and then Prime’s heavy foots disappearing out of the door. Ratchet nearly lashed out with his blades when he felt someone touch him.

“Who’s there?!" Ratchet yelled.

"It’s me, Ironhide," Ironhide said, "Here, let me see the damage.”

Ratchet already knew what was wrong as he removed his hand, energon dripping down the side of his face and in between plates. He had had this injury only once before, but it didn’t hurt any less. The little fragger had taken out his optics. He didn’t know why the frag Bumblebee just did that. Wheeljack knew how to continue an interrupted virus scan. So why the frag had the kid reacted like that? Did he think he was stopping something?

A dry sigh escaped Ironhide, the mech leaning down next to him, “Both your optics are cracked. Come on, let me help you to a berth.”

Ratchet, lost in his darkness, allowed Ironhide to pull him to his feet, the slightly larger mech wrapping a spare arm around the medic’s waist so Ratchet’s lost equilibrium wouldn’t send him crashing to the floor. Soon, he felt Ironhide stop, so he stuck out a hand, felt for a berth, and sat down on the edge, the Weapons Specialist putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling off. It was a well known fact that after a mech lost his optics, equilibrium could be momentarily lost with such a dependent sense gone.

Slowly, he felt the damage and cringed … His optics would have to be removed and replaced.

“Ironhide,” suddenly came the voice of Optimus Prime, making Ratchet look up despite the fact that he could no longer see. “How is Ratchet? … Oh. Are you alright Ratchet?”

“Little fraggar broke my optics. I’m blind until,” it took some self control not to twitch, the thought of having someone else work on him, “until Wheeljack can replace them. You’re steps sounded heavier, by the way. I take it Bumblebee collapsed?”

“Yes, he didn’t even get outside. Where do you want him, Ratchet?” asked Optimus, his heavy footsteps drawing closer.

“Wheeljack will show you where the kid was and make sure you plug him in while I … pick out my optics,” added Ratchet with a cringe as one of his fingers pressed against the glass, causing it to shatter the rest of the way, energon dripping down his face in a small spurt.

The medic merely growled and started to pick out the pieces, Wheeljack coming to his side with a welder and a small case. Replacing optics was timely, disorienting, and painful … especially when putting the new ones in. Ratchet never knew why no one had ever figured out an easier way than heating up the glass and popping the fraggers in; it would burn like a bitch. The little slaggen camaro better have a virus or he was going straight to the brig.

“So,” came a voice that made the medic cringe. It was Sideswipe. “What’d we miss?”

Ratchet sighed and said simply, “You see that wrench that should be at your left?”

“Yah?”

“Throw it at those late slaggers!”

XXX

“Oh my … This is not good at all, not at all,” said Judy as she came out of the kitchen, a soft clicking noise following her as she entered the living room.

Ron looked up, part of him wondering what that desperate sound was, and his face immediately became a frown as he looked at the sparkling that was balanced on Judy’s hip, blankets dripping all around her small metallic form. The soft clicking was coming from the robot-baby, and he might not have been a specialist on the species, but there was no doubt in his mind that that clicking noise was crying.

“What’s wrong with her? Is she crying?” asked the man as he rose to his feet, placing his magazine near the lamp stand.

He quickly walked over to his wife and looked down into those faded optics, the sparkling looking up at him and clicking a little louder until she buried her head back in Judy’s blouse, thin metallic fingers clinging where they could. Ron, not knowing what else to do, ran a comforting hand over the femme’s head, feeling a warmth bubble in his chest as he did so. He wasn’t sure what this warmth was, but a part of him guessed it was the feeling a grandpa has when taking care of one of his grandchildren. And why not feel that way? In a way his son did bring home a pretty girl, though she may be metallic, that had a baby with her, making the baby all but theirs.

“Yah, she’s crying. I’ve tried everything I could so far, but Bumblebee’s not here so I’m not sure what’s wrong. It doesn’t look like she needs an oil drain. She’s not cold, nor is she hot, and I don’t think she’s missing her mommy, I mean caretaker, quite yet because she was napping a few minutes ago. I don’t know what’s wrong,” said the woman in almost a desperate tone, unsure of what else to do but hold the clicking sparkling.

“You try feeding her?” asked Ron.

Judy’s worried look quickly became one of slight annoyance, “And what do we feed a robot alien baby, Ron?”

The man stood there for a moment, not catching his wife’s irritated glare, “I don’t think she nurses since Bumblebee isn’t her real mother … so what was she eating before Bumblebee took care of her?”

The two of them were silent, recalling Bumblebee’s slight tale of becoming injured when she was trying to save the sparkling off the street. Then, quicker than lightening, both stated, “To the garage.”

XXX

Optimus finally laid his head down, his vents pulling in the cool air. That was something he liked about Earth … the taste of the air. It was nearest thing he could ever come to tasting something organic besides tank-upsetting diesel fuel, and Primus was it strangely bitter and sweet at the same time. He missed Cybertron, there was no denying that, but it wasn’t necessarily the planet itself he missed. It was the bots that had once dwelled on it, their laughing vents, and their intertwined limbs with lovers and friends.

No, he was glad to taste Earth. If he returned to his scarred and maimed planet, he had a feeling he would only taste misery and death in his vents. He would taste the spilled energon forever more on that planet no matter how often the rare rain would fall.

Earth was a godsend. He didn’t know if he would be able to cope with the nightmares of those scarred lands with the mental stress he was under right now. There were so many things that needed to be fixed, found, or taken care of … but he was just one mech.

Yes, he had the Matrix of Leadership pounding its song in his chest, but it too seemed to be stressing him out as of late. He knew it was probably just trying to comfort his panicking spark, much as it would on the battlefield from time to time, but recently its comforts confused him. He knew it was trying to tell him something, trying to calm one of his many worries, but all it did was make him panic all the more.

The Matrix’s song had changed, and he had no idea what it was trying to tell him. It wasn’t as if he could just ask counsel from one of the mechs that were with him. Prowl was suffering his own maladies, Ratchet was having security issues with his position as CMO and blind at the moment, and Ironhide was having youngling issues. Three of his oldest and well known companions all had issues of their own right now. He couldn’t break down in front of them when they needed his strength and leadership so badly.

The mech rolled over and bowed his head down to his chest, listening to the new song. What was it saying? It had calmed to a gentle hum when Ironhide had entered the room earlier today. Did the tune have something to do with Prowl and the conversation they had about him? Should he ask Prowl about something? Primus, what did it want? He could only take so much before he was driven mad. He had far too many problems to be dealing with, the biggest being the destruction of the Allspark! His people were depending on him to offer them some taste of hope, a promise of the future, but all he had to offer them were empty promises and a dead battle field called Cybertron.

Ugh, he needed to recharge. He was going to start to get pulled down like Prowl if the song didn’t let him rest for a moment. Oh … how he wished Elita-1 was here. Her head upon his chest, the soft beating of her spark in her own chest could chase any demons away. The leader shivered, a lost voice and ghost fingers falling onto his chest. He could taste her if he concentrated hard enough. He could taste her sweet lingering touches forever...

Clang, clang.

...Or perhaps not. He would dwell on Elita after he saw who was at his door. Rising off of his berth, Optimus stared at the door for a moment, light sneaking through the cracks underneath the door like hope trying to crawl into his spark. With a tired ease, Optimus touched the release mechanism next to the door and was surprised to see Ironhide...a worried and upset Ironhide at that.

“Prime … I need to talk to yah,” said Ironhide as he stood before the door, his form seemingly melancholy.

Optimus forced his back straight and willed back the demand to fall into a crying mass on the ground, telling Ironhide he couldn’t deal with his problem right now, that he had problems of his own. The leader ignored the need, though, and simply guessed what this late night visit was about, “If this is about Bumblebee hitting Ratchet, I understand he was scared. You needn’t apologize for the youth’s actions. It wasn’t as if he did it on purpose … at least I hope he did not. Ratchet hasn’t finished the exam just yet.”

Ironhide played with his hands for a moment as if he were nervous about something, not that Optimus really got to dwell on it when, suddenly, the song from the Matrix nearly caused him to fall forward into his Weapons Specialist. The Matrix was practically screaming at him. Tightening his grip on the doorway, Optimus off-lined his optics and pushed the rush back. He then returned his gaze to his nervous companion.

“I need … rest … Ironhide. We can discuss this in the morning,” said Optimus as he fought against the demanding thing in his chest. Yet, as he turned to head back to his berth and allow the door to slide shut with its own will, a black hand lashed out and grabbed him.

Optimus tried not to flinch, battle programs struggling to come online. He had not been expecting Ironhide to be so demanding. With a dulling of his optics, Optimus gave Ironhide a tired look, demanding at least an explanation to his sleeplessness.

“Don’t you want to know why ‘Bee was scared? I can tell you it wasn’t a virus,” said Ironhide, his grip tightening and his optics brightening to a point that it was painful to peer at from the darkness. “I promise yah, Prime. It’s important.”

“Well, if what you say is true, Bumblebee will be put into the brig for his … behavior, but since you are here, I will at least allow you to explain why,” said Optimus as he stepped to the side, allowing his old friend to come in. It seemed his worries would have to wait, consuming his spark as they festered.

Ironhide felt bad for bothering Optimus; really he did. The leader looked on the verge of offlining where he stood. However, after spending a few hours in the medical bay and listening to Ratchet grind his dentals, he heard about what the meeting was about from the others and the coming battle. Now, if the Allspark still existed, he was sure Optimus would just be a little upset to hear of Bumblebee’s hidden gender, but he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that she could not be allowed on the battle field.

Bumblebee could not die from a war wound. There was just too much weighing on her existence to allow such a thing. Primus, she was going to be angry, but he had promised he would protect her and the best way to do that was to tell Prime. Primus, why was he so nervous? He was acting like a youngling.

“Well, what is it?” asked Optimus, a little more pointedly then he meant to.

Ironhide rubbed the back of his head in a fidgety way, before he stated simply, “Yah should take a seat Prime … this is going to be a doozy.”

Optimus, almost too tired to care, did as he was told, his optics boring into his old friend’s form as he fidgeted a little more. Then, Ironhide’s mouth moved, yet he stopped and this process repeated itself three more times until the older mech sighed and stated, “I think I need to take a seat too, Prime. My logic centers are still having issues.”

The Autobot leader merely nodded, the song suddenly starting to rise in volume and pace. It was as if the Matrix was about to reach some mystical climax and Ironhide was the bearer of the news. What could Ironhide possibly know that could put any of his worries to rest?

“Well, Prime. I need yah to promise me that you won’t be upset with the kid even if you have to throw him into the brig for hurtin’ Ratchet, alright?” asked the mech in almost a broken manner.

Tilting his head as if surprised, Optimus added, “What could Bumblebee possibly have done to truly upset me, Ironhide? He is young. Mistakes are made. I promise not to be angry with him, but if it is as huge of an issue as you proclaim, he will not dodge an extra punishment.”

“It’s not that he exactly did anything wrong … It's more of what he didn’t do,” stated the Weapons Specialist as his gaze fell down to the floor, his spark aching slightly.

It still hurt, and it would probably ache for vorns to come, but Bumblebee’s distrust of him had hurt him deeply. Primus, he didn’t want to see Optimus’s expression when he said this. Would he be hurt … or relieved?

It had not gone unnoticed by the elder mech, but Optimus had been greatly upset since the discussion about the femmes. Their species was going to die out and Optimus, as the surviving leader, was now expected to pull the species together and create a new beginning. There was no doubt that the semi had been suffering sleepless nights, wondering how to save his people. Hopefully, this new responsibility would offer his leader more rest than worry, but Ironhide doubted that. The only reason he had been able to slumber was because it was induced by one cranky-aft medic.

“Well, yah remember Bumblebee’s caretaker, right?” asked the elder mech, deciding to lead into this answer slowly.

“Shortout? Yes, I remember. She was one of the last known femmes to … depart. She was a wise caretaker, and Bumblebee missed her greatly from what I recollect,” stated Optimus, his mind recalling the youth’s clicks of sorrow as he’d find places to hide on the base, mourning her on his own.

It had been a sad time for the youth, but at least Optimus was able to give Bumblebee to Ironhide. Kup was his second choice, but he was sure Ironhide couldn’t handle the spicy nature of the other youngling: Hot Rod. Ironhide probably would have killed Hot Rod, but Bumblebee was docile to a much grander point, so he was appointed to the Weapons Specialist over the old War Horse. It seemed like a good fit at the time, but now part of him was wondering if he should be regretting that action with the way Ironhide was speaking.

“Well … It’s just a theory right now, but I think she did something to Bumblebee before the younglin’ came to us,” said Ironhide, softly.

Optimus stiffened, praying Ironhide wasn’t about to say what he thought he was going to. It was rare, but not unheard of, for some creators to beat their charges, or even to … interface with the youths before they were ready. Youngling’s could develop irreversible glitches from such acts, and now that he recollected his observations of Bumblebee... The youngling had never asked about self-overloading, listened in on the older mechs’ berth tales, asked the medics embarrassing questions, shown any interest in anyone on base, or anything that could be pertained as sexual that a mech his age should have been experiencing. Not one thing. In fact, he seemed to run from it... Well, that explained a lot, especially why the youth was so paranoid about repairs under his chassis. The poor kid; Optimus could only pray that Ratchet had some Psychology files downloaded on how to deal with this kind of situation.

A sigh escaping his vents, Optimus put a hand on his long-time companion’s shoulder, stating, “It was not your fault, Ironhide. Did Bumblebee say at what age he was when the … act … was done to him, or do you have a theory? I’m sure Ratchet will have the files necessary to help with Bumblebee’s problem. It will be hard. I know it will, but now is the time to be strong, for Bumblebee.”

Ironhide blinked, his spark skipping with a grotesque feeling as he quickly caught on to what Optimus was talking about. It had happened once before to one of the newer recruits whom nearly offlined himself before he opened up to one of the senior officers as to what had happened and the reason for his actions. That senior officer had been Prime, and the leader never could forget the youngling’s cries as he was taken to the medics … No one in the base could ever forget his wails as the youth was relieved of his aging secret.

Swallowing the bitter memory, Ironhide shook his head, “Nah, Prime. Shortout would never do that to the kid. She loved him too much. In fact, I think she loved him too much, wanted to protect him even after she was gone.”

A little bit of relief settled in Optimus’s spark. He couldn’t deal with that again … It had broken him more than anyone could know. “What do you mean then, Ironhide?”

“You remember her workshop, correct?” asked Ironhide, his voice recalling the room for a moment.

The leader merely nodded. A secret part of him had always wondered if Wheeljack and she would have a made a wonderful bond couple. She wasn’t as creative, but at least her stuff never blew up.

“You see, Shortout did something to the kid there, from what I can guess,” Ironhide finally dragged his head up and looked Optimus in the eye. “Optimus, Bumblebee is scared because she doesn’t want Ratchet looking at her spark. I don’t know any other way to say this, but Bumblebee is a femme.”

XXX

Read: Hey, my loyal readers. You know there is a battle coming with the soon arrival of the newest Con’s and Bots. So, I’m going to allow you guys to make some recommendations on Bots and Cons you’d like to see show up on Earth. I ask that you review with at least three mechs for both sides. The mechs with the most reoccurring votes get to show up. There are a few circumstances though. There are a few mechs that can’t show up. They have their own special place later on … like maybe a coughsequalcough. You can choose any characters besides these: Cliffjumper, Soundwave, Shockwave, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Kup, Hot Rod, Ultra Magnus, or First Aid.