keelywolfe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keelywolfe) wrote2010-10-27 07:03 pm
keelywolfe) wrote2010-10-27 07:03 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Idioms for Idiots, In Any Language (Human Series)
Title: Idioms for Idiots, In Any Language
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Sam/Bumblebee, Ratchet/Optimus
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Moments of Forgiveness
Topics of Conversation
Lies of Omission
The Theory of Existence
Beyond My Brave Facade
Parental Interaction In The Third Degree
Field Trips Into the Hypothetical
Arrested Developments of the Heart
Necessary Repairs
4x4
Prime and Punishment
Gravitational Drift
My Mechanical Romance
Eternal Sunshine of a Sparkless Mind
To Serve and Protect
Synonymous to an Intermission
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
Notes: Let's have a look at that argument between Ratchet and Ironhide from Ironhide's POV, shall we? Great!
~~*~~
There was a saying that humans had, one that Ironhide appreciated. "Didn't suffer fools gladly," that was it, and Ratchet might be famous for just such a thing but Ironhide wasn't one with much patience for stupidity either, especially when it was from Ratchet who was damned well old enough to know better.
The scuttlebutt around base was the Optimus and Ratchet were on the outs, not that anyone but Ironhide could guess the real reason why. Gossip was rampant and probably wrong, speculating at everything from a bad interface to Ratchet bedding the twins, instead, preferring mechs who were more his own size. Plenty of stupidity going around, as far as Ironhide was concerned.
If Ironhide had been the sharing sort, and if he'd been interested in the various betting pools, he could've told them what had likely happened and any idiot could guess how things had worked out from there. Ratchet had turned Optimus down, probably with his usual sensitivity, and shot everything straight to the Pit. Oh, Prime put on a good show, always had, but Ironhide had known him too long not to notice when he looked like someone had kicked a puppy in front of him. Made him want to give Ratchet a good hard kick where it would hurt him most, but he was still playing the Phantom of the Infirmary and Ironhide had been too damned busy to do much about it until now.
Not that he didn't understand; he did, all too well. There was a part of him that would always ache for Chromia and he would mourn her loss until his own spark went to meet with Primus. When he'd lost her, he'd nearly wanted to die himself and sheer, bitter stubbornness had kept him here. Time passing had made the loss hurt less but it was always, always there. He understood, damn it.
But that didn't mean he wanted to spend the rest of his hopefully long life alone.
Who the hell did Ratchet think he was fooling anyway? Anyone with a working optic in his head could see that the two of them had been mooning over each other long before they'd started knocking struts together. He figured most of the Autobots thought the two of them had been at it for much longer than they had; probably Ironhide and the two of them were the only ones who knew the truth and that was only because Ironhide knew those two better than anyone. He had seen the change in 'em when they finally stopped dancing around each other and he damn well wanted to keep it around. Better than seeing Optimus moping, anyway, a Prime should be allowed a little dignity, after all.
He pushed open the infirmary door with a bang and stomped in, barely sparing a glance to the human kid who nearly jumped out of his skin at the abrupt entrance. Sam was standing by a stack of boxes and Ironhide only absently tracked the kid so he didn't step on the little human. As far as Ironhide was concerned, Samuel Witwicky was officially Someone Else's Problem, and whether that someone was Bumblebee, Ratchet, or Optimus himself, it didn't damn well matter to him. He had his own humans to look out for and keeping the Lennoxs safe was enough of a chore. He sure as hell didn't want to add this human to his duty roster.
Ratchet was sitting at his workbench, a stack of fuel capacitors next to him. Not that Ironhide would have been able to miss him; with paint that color, he should have just added a target to his hood. No arguing that with him, though, not a single Autobot had a lick of sense when it came to actual camouflage. Hell, their espionage expert had disguised himself in yellow. There was a fucking good reason he'd chosen plain black but even Optimus hadn't been able to resist a flashy paint job. A couple of times Ironhide had been tempted to beat a little logic into his comrades in arms, but being that they were all the last fools left on the sinking ship that was their species, eh...let the kids wear whatever paint they liked.
Predictably, Ratchet was already on his feet, probably ready to gripe at him about getting hurt but Ironhide didn't give him a chance, shoved him hard enough that Ratchet stumbled back into the wall, the room shivering around them ominously as Ironhide stomped after him.
"What are you doing—" Ratchet started furiously, lapsing into their native language in his surprise.
That suited Ironhide just fine. "You told him no, didn't you."
Ratchet stiffened, his optics brightening in indignant anger. "It's not your concern."
"Didn't you!" Ironhide snarled, shoving Ratchet back when he would have pushed Ironhide away.
"I am not going to argue with you about this in front of an audience." Ratchet said stiffly, gesturing at the kid who was watching them with wide eyes.
"He doesn't understand," Ironhide said dismissively. Truth was, he didn't much care if the kid did understand. Maybe a little embarrassment would do Ratchet some good. He slammed Ratchet hard against the wall again. "Now answer me! You told him no, didn't you!"
The hum of weapons coming online vibrated through his hands, a tremor that made his own cannons spin restlessly in their casing but Ironhide resisted the instinctive urge to power them up, trusting that even in his growing fury, Ratchet wouldn't cut his head off.
Okay, mostly trusting.
Ratchet's optics were blazing hot with temper, heat rising from his armor in a visible waver. But his voice, now, there was the real heat, a banked volcano in Ratchet's voice mod and that was a weapon Ratchet had always wielded with brutal precision. "I'm so terribly sorry you lost your bet, perhaps next time you'll be more careful in how you spend your energon?"
"You think this is about energon?" Ironhide asked in disbelief. "This is about the fact that one of my closest friends has his head shoved up his exhaust so far that he could calibrate his own fuel intakes!" He ignored Ratchet's indignant sputtering. "You think I don't know what this is about? What are the odds that that Ark-36 was destroyed?"
"I don't—" And he didn't miss the way Ratchet's optics suddenly skittered away from his own, Primus.
"What are the odds, soldier!"
"Stop it!"
"What are the odds?" Ironhide asked, again, softly this time, because Ratchet's optics were closed and shuttered, the thrum of readied weapons replaced by disconcerting stillness. "I can run the odds for you, you know."
"Wheeljack—" Strained, barely a whisper and the hurt there was strong enough that Ironhide felt an ache of his own, ignored it because this needed to be said, should've been said a long, long time ago.
"Don't you get it? This is about Wheeljack! Just how long are you going to hide behind his memory, telling every damned 'bot who will listen that he's dead while you don't believe it yourself!" Ironhide said fiercely. "Do you think this is what he would have wanted for you? He loved you, damn it, you could honor his memory better if you let yourself live without him!"
"Get out of here, I have things to do." Dull, weaker than he ever wanted to hear from Ratchet.
"He's gone."
"Stop it," Ratchet said, weakly. His optics lit, begging Ironhide without words and that was most disturbing of all, to see Ratchet robbed of his most potent weapon, his vocalizer.
"He's gone," Ironhide repeated, gentler, his grip on Ratchet loosening enough to let Ratchet pull away. He only leaned against the wall, a marionette with cut strings. "He was my friend, he was a good friend and he's gone. We'll see him in the Well, Ratchet. He's gone."
--Stop it!- Shrill static, words hissed to him through a private com link and suddenly Ratchet was sagging, Ironhide just catching his shoulders and hauling him upright again as Ratchet made a low, keening sound of pain. Ironhide ignored the protests in his hydraulics as he held Ratchet up, vaguely aware of the kid watching them with golf-ball wide eyes but he didn't care a damn bit. Dignity was for 'bots who needed it; Ironhide didn't need any illusions over his self-confidence.
He just held his friend, wordlessly soothed the trembling that went through both their frames as Ratchet leaned against him, that soft wail trailing into silent shaking.
Ah, hell. Ironhide couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ratchet this vulnerable, had he ever? Didn't matter, he wasn't likely to see it again; he'd count it lucky if Ratchet ever forgave him for seeing it now.
Ratchet, their irritable, bad-tempered, caring, medic; cantankerous old Ratchet who was just as likely to heal a 'bots wounds as he was to give 'em one or two, who spent just as much time holding them all at arm's length as he did yanking them in to invade their intimate, dark recesses.
Not that Ironhide blamed Optimus for pinning Ratchet. He might have been tempted once... hell, was he trying to fool himself now? He would've gladly taken Ratchet to his berth; he hadn't been joking when he'd offered a few days ago. They'd been friends for eons and these days he knew Ratchet just as well as he knew himself. And he'd be lying again if he tried to tell himself that Ratchet being a medic didn't add a little to his appeal. Was there anyone who didn't know that medics and engineers were clever little glitches in the berth? Certainly Wheeljack had had no complaints and he knew from personal experience that 'Jack could've won an award in interfacing if there had ever been such a contest. And Wheeljack would've known if there was.
How Optimus had wriggled past Ratchet's defenses to begin with was the question. He already knew how Wheeljack had done at, had seen the damn video—
Wheeljack.
"I know," Ironhide said softly, whispering against Ratchet's audial sensor. "It hurts, I know. But you're hurting yourself now and Optimus, too, for nothing. Wheeljack would have wanted you to be happy."
Too late. He felt Ratchet withdraw from him, far more than just a physical movement. "Please leave," Ratchet said coolly, turning away from him. Dismissing him.
Well, fuck.
It was pretty damned tempting to just give Ratchet a few physical dents to go along with his bad attitude but a glance at the kid made Ironhide rethink it. Witwicky already looked close to hyperventilating and tearing up the infirmary wasn't likely to put Ratchet in a more reasonable mood.
With a loud oath in a number of languages, none of them English, the kid could learn proper swearing from Bumblebee, Ironhide stormed back out, more than ready to send a few practice drones to the scrapheap. The humans were always happy to supply more; it was the only thing they didn't get bitched at about overusing.
Two steps out the door and his sensors belated warned him that he was about to run head-on into Optimus, standing not ten feet from the infirmary door where he had probably overheard most of their little spat and looking none-too-pleased about it.
Better and better. Shit.
With a silent sigh, Ironhide followed his Prime's curt gesture to follow, the two of them walking a fair distance from the infirmary before Optimus turned back to him, both optic ridges pointedly raised. --Well?--
If Optimus was going to order him to apologize, they'd all be waiting for it to rain ice cubes in Hell. Optimus should've said a few of those things himself so he couldn't blame Ironhide for saying what he hadn't.
Finally, Optimus sighed, lifting one hand to rub wearily between his optics, before he said, dryly, "While I appreciate your attempts to defend my honor—"
"It's not about that—" Ironhide protested, falling silent when Optimus raised a hand.
"I know."
"He cares about you," Ironhide said gruffly. Ratchet might be willing to throw away a perfectly good relationship but Optimus probably had better logic processors. Probably.
To his surprise, Optimus only nodded, adding, "Yes, he does. Ironhide, I'm surprised that he even told you I asked him to partner with me, but since he did, I should tell you that I never expected him to say yes."
"You...what?" Blankly. Maybe his own logic processors were shorting.
"I can't say I didn't hope and for a moment I believed—that doesn't matter," Optimus dismissed it. "My point is, I expected him to refuse."
Ironhide ran a hand over his face, rubbing gears that were starting to strain. "Look, I never claimed to be the smartest mech in the army, but I'm no fool and none of this is making sense. You don't really want to partner with him?" He would follow Optimus into the Pit itself without a moment of hesitation but that didn't stop him from feeling a niggling bit of betrayal on Ratchet's behalf. If he didn't want to partner with Ratchet, why the hell did he ask? Optimus was just about the last 'bot Ironhide would have suspected of playing with another mechs processors.
"I do," Optimus said quietly and Ironhide relaxed. "And Ratchet knows it. He's hurting, Ironhide."
"We've all lost someone—"
"And that's the problem. Wheeljack isn't lost so much as he is misplaced and it's very difficult to mourn someone who isn't dead, no matter how likely it is. Ratchet has spent the last thousand years caught between hoping and denying, and that is not something that is going to heal quickly. It will take patience and time, and no small amount of stubbornness." A faint smile. "Conveniently, I am in possession of all three."
"So if you knew he'd say no, why did you ask him?" Ironhide asked, more than a little exasperated. Why did every damned mech have to make everything so difficult? Not a lick of sense in this whole army.
"To remind him that he has another option."
Ironhide grunted in acknowledgment of that. "You sure he's worth it?"
He'd meant it to be teasing but Optimus answered him seriously. "I would help him get past his loss even if I had nothing to gain from it. Before he was anything else to me, he was my friend. We have both known Ratchet for most of our lives. He is equal parts brilliant and impatient, rude and compassionate. We both know this." Optimus fell silent, contemplating. "Then, once, Ratchet came to me, and he allowed me to see something else."
Ironhide shifted uncomfortably, not entirely happy with the turn this conversation had taken.
Optimus gave him a faint smile. "He's worth it. Worth fighting for." With a barely perceptible shift, Optimus straightened, and the seriousness in his expression made Ironhide respond automatically, his cannons giving an abortive, whirring cycle. "In any case, we have other concerns to discuss than my personal life."
"Yes, sir," Ironhide said firmly, more than happy to shove aside the touchy-feely aspects of life and get back to what he was good at. At his base, Ironhide was and had always been a soldier, a weapon.
All he needed to know was which way to shoot.
-finis-
Read Next Chapter
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Sam/Bumblebee, Ratchet/Optimus
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Moments of Forgiveness
Topics of Conversation
Lies of Omission
The Theory of Existence
Beyond My Brave Facade
Parental Interaction In The Third Degree
Field Trips Into the Hypothetical
Arrested Developments of the Heart
Necessary Repairs
4x4
Prime and Punishment
Gravitational Drift
My Mechanical Romance
Eternal Sunshine of a Sparkless Mind
To Serve and Protect
Synonymous to an Intermission
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
Notes: Let's have a look at that argument between Ratchet and Ironhide from Ironhide's POV, shall we? Great!
~~*~~
There was a saying that humans had, one that Ironhide appreciated. "Didn't suffer fools gladly," that was it, and Ratchet might be famous for just such a thing but Ironhide wasn't one with much patience for stupidity either, especially when it was from Ratchet who was damned well old enough to know better.
The scuttlebutt around base was the Optimus and Ratchet were on the outs, not that anyone but Ironhide could guess the real reason why. Gossip was rampant and probably wrong, speculating at everything from a bad interface to Ratchet bedding the twins, instead, preferring mechs who were more his own size. Plenty of stupidity going around, as far as Ironhide was concerned.
If Ironhide had been the sharing sort, and if he'd been interested in the various betting pools, he could've told them what had likely happened and any idiot could guess how things had worked out from there. Ratchet had turned Optimus down, probably with his usual sensitivity, and shot everything straight to the Pit. Oh, Prime put on a good show, always had, but Ironhide had known him too long not to notice when he looked like someone had kicked a puppy in front of him. Made him want to give Ratchet a good hard kick where it would hurt him most, but he was still playing the Phantom of the Infirmary and Ironhide had been too damned busy to do much about it until now.
Not that he didn't understand; he did, all too well. There was a part of him that would always ache for Chromia and he would mourn her loss until his own spark went to meet with Primus. When he'd lost her, he'd nearly wanted to die himself and sheer, bitter stubbornness had kept him here. Time passing had made the loss hurt less but it was always, always there. He understood, damn it.
But that didn't mean he wanted to spend the rest of his hopefully long life alone.
Who the hell did Ratchet think he was fooling anyway? Anyone with a working optic in his head could see that the two of them had been mooning over each other long before they'd started knocking struts together. He figured most of the Autobots thought the two of them had been at it for much longer than they had; probably Ironhide and the two of them were the only ones who knew the truth and that was only because Ironhide knew those two better than anyone. He had seen the change in 'em when they finally stopped dancing around each other and he damn well wanted to keep it around. Better than seeing Optimus moping, anyway, a Prime should be allowed a little dignity, after all.
He pushed open the infirmary door with a bang and stomped in, barely sparing a glance to the human kid who nearly jumped out of his skin at the abrupt entrance. Sam was standing by a stack of boxes and Ironhide only absently tracked the kid so he didn't step on the little human. As far as Ironhide was concerned, Samuel Witwicky was officially Someone Else's Problem, and whether that someone was Bumblebee, Ratchet, or Optimus himself, it didn't damn well matter to him. He had his own humans to look out for and keeping the Lennoxs safe was enough of a chore. He sure as hell didn't want to add this human to his duty roster.
Ratchet was sitting at his workbench, a stack of fuel capacitors next to him. Not that Ironhide would have been able to miss him; with paint that color, he should have just added a target to his hood. No arguing that with him, though, not a single Autobot had a lick of sense when it came to actual camouflage. Hell, their espionage expert had disguised himself in yellow. There was a fucking good reason he'd chosen plain black but even Optimus hadn't been able to resist a flashy paint job. A couple of times Ironhide had been tempted to beat a little logic into his comrades in arms, but being that they were all the last fools left on the sinking ship that was their species, eh...let the kids wear whatever paint they liked.
Predictably, Ratchet was already on his feet, probably ready to gripe at him about getting hurt but Ironhide didn't give him a chance, shoved him hard enough that Ratchet stumbled back into the wall, the room shivering around them ominously as Ironhide stomped after him.
"What are you doing—" Ratchet started furiously, lapsing into their native language in his surprise.
That suited Ironhide just fine. "You told him no, didn't you."
Ratchet stiffened, his optics brightening in indignant anger. "It's not your concern."
"Didn't you!" Ironhide snarled, shoving Ratchet back when he would have pushed Ironhide away.
"I am not going to argue with you about this in front of an audience." Ratchet said stiffly, gesturing at the kid who was watching them with wide eyes.
"He doesn't understand," Ironhide said dismissively. Truth was, he didn't much care if the kid did understand. Maybe a little embarrassment would do Ratchet some good. He slammed Ratchet hard against the wall again. "Now answer me! You told him no, didn't you!"
The hum of weapons coming online vibrated through his hands, a tremor that made his own cannons spin restlessly in their casing but Ironhide resisted the instinctive urge to power them up, trusting that even in his growing fury, Ratchet wouldn't cut his head off.
Okay, mostly trusting.
Ratchet's optics were blazing hot with temper, heat rising from his armor in a visible waver. But his voice, now, there was the real heat, a banked volcano in Ratchet's voice mod and that was a weapon Ratchet had always wielded with brutal precision. "I'm so terribly sorry you lost your bet, perhaps next time you'll be more careful in how you spend your energon?"
"You think this is about energon?" Ironhide asked in disbelief. "This is about the fact that one of my closest friends has his head shoved up his exhaust so far that he could calibrate his own fuel intakes!" He ignored Ratchet's indignant sputtering. "You think I don't know what this is about? What are the odds that that Ark-36 was destroyed?"
"I don't—" And he didn't miss the way Ratchet's optics suddenly skittered away from his own, Primus.
"What are the odds, soldier!"
"Stop it!"
"What are the odds?" Ironhide asked, again, softly this time, because Ratchet's optics were closed and shuttered, the thrum of readied weapons replaced by disconcerting stillness. "I can run the odds for you, you know."
"Wheeljack—" Strained, barely a whisper and the hurt there was strong enough that Ironhide felt an ache of his own, ignored it because this needed to be said, should've been said a long, long time ago.
"Don't you get it? This is about Wheeljack! Just how long are you going to hide behind his memory, telling every damned 'bot who will listen that he's dead while you don't believe it yourself!" Ironhide said fiercely. "Do you think this is what he would have wanted for you? He loved you, damn it, you could honor his memory better if you let yourself live without him!"
"Get out of here, I have things to do." Dull, weaker than he ever wanted to hear from Ratchet.
"He's gone."
"Stop it," Ratchet said, weakly. His optics lit, begging Ironhide without words and that was most disturbing of all, to see Ratchet robbed of his most potent weapon, his vocalizer.
"He's gone," Ironhide repeated, gentler, his grip on Ratchet loosening enough to let Ratchet pull away. He only leaned against the wall, a marionette with cut strings. "He was my friend, he was a good friend and he's gone. We'll see him in the Well, Ratchet. He's gone."
--Stop it!- Shrill static, words hissed to him through a private com link and suddenly Ratchet was sagging, Ironhide just catching his shoulders and hauling him upright again as Ratchet made a low, keening sound of pain. Ironhide ignored the protests in his hydraulics as he held Ratchet up, vaguely aware of the kid watching them with golf-ball wide eyes but he didn't care a damn bit. Dignity was for 'bots who needed it; Ironhide didn't need any illusions over his self-confidence.
He just held his friend, wordlessly soothed the trembling that went through both their frames as Ratchet leaned against him, that soft wail trailing into silent shaking.
Ah, hell. Ironhide couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ratchet this vulnerable, had he ever? Didn't matter, he wasn't likely to see it again; he'd count it lucky if Ratchet ever forgave him for seeing it now.
Ratchet, their irritable, bad-tempered, caring, medic; cantankerous old Ratchet who was just as likely to heal a 'bots wounds as he was to give 'em one or two, who spent just as much time holding them all at arm's length as he did yanking them in to invade their intimate, dark recesses.
Not that Ironhide blamed Optimus for pinning Ratchet. He might have been tempted once... hell, was he trying to fool himself now? He would've gladly taken Ratchet to his berth; he hadn't been joking when he'd offered a few days ago. They'd been friends for eons and these days he knew Ratchet just as well as he knew himself. And he'd be lying again if he tried to tell himself that Ratchet being a medic didn't add a little to his appeal. Was there anyone who didn't know that medics and engineers were clever little glitches in the berth? Certainly Wheeljack had had no complaints and he knew from personal experience that 'Jack could've won an award in interfacing if there had ever been such a contest. And Wheeljack would've known if there was.
How Optimus had wriggled past Ratchet's defenses to begin with was the question. He already knew how Wheeljack had done at, had seen the damn video—
Wheeljack.
"I know," Ironhide said softly, whispering against Ratchet's audial sensor. "It hurts, I know. But you're hurting yourself now and Optimus, too, for nothing. Wheeljack would have wanted you to be happy."
Too late. He felt Ratchet withdraw from him, far more than just a physical movement. "Please leave," Ratchet said coolly, turning away from him. Dismissing him.
Well, fuck.
It was pretty damned tempting to just give Ratchet a few physical dents to go along with his bad attitude but a glance at the kid made Ironhide rethink it. Witwicky already looked close to hyperventilating and tearing up the infirmary wasn't likely to put Ratchet in a more reasonable mood.
With a loud oath in a number of languages, none of them English, the kid could learn proper swearing from Bumblebee, Ironhide stormed back out, more than ready to send a few practice drones to the scrapheap. The humans were always happy to supply more; it was the only thing they didn't get bitched at about overusing.
Two steps out the door and his sensors belated warned him that he was about to run head-on into Optimus, standing not ten feet from the infirmary door where he had probably overheard most of their little spat and looking none-too-pleased about it.
Better and better. Shit.
With a silent sigh, Ironhide followed his Prime's curt gesture to follow, the two of them walking a fair distance from the infirmary before Optimus turned back to him, both optic ridges pointedly raised. --Well?--
If Optimus was going to order him to apologize, they'd all be waiting for it to rain ice cubes in Hell. Optimus should've said a few of those things himself so he couldn't blame Ironhide for saying what he hadn't.
Finally, Optimus sighed, lifting one hand to rub wearily between his optics, before he said, dryly, "While I appreciate your attempts to defend my honor—"
"It's not about that—" Ironhide protested, falling silent when Optimus raised a hand.
"I know."
"He cares about you," Ironhide said gruffly. Ratchet might be willing to throw away a perfectly good relationship but Optimus probably had better logic processors. Probably.
To his surprise, Optimus only nodded, adding, "Yes, he does. Ironhide, I'm surprised that he even told you I asked him to partner with me, but since he did, I should tell you that I never expected him to say yes."
"You...what?" Blankly. Maybe his own logic processors were shorting.
"I can't say I didn't hope and for a moment I believed—that doesn't matter," Optimus dismissed it. "My point is, I expected him to refuse."
Ironhide ran a hand over his face, rubbing gears that were starting to strain. "Look, I never claimed to be the smartest mech in the army, but I'm no fool and none of this is making sense. You don't really want to partner with him?" He would follow Optimus into the Pit itself without a moment of hesitation but that didn't stop him from feeling a niggling bit of betrayal on Ratchet's behalf. If he didn't want to partner with Ratchet, why the hell did he ask? Optimus was just about the last 'bot Ironhide would have suspected of playing with another mechs processors.
"I do," Optimus said quietly and Ironhide relaxed. "And Ratchet knows it. He's hurting, Ironhide."
"We've all lost someone—"
"And that's the problem. Wheeljack isn't lost so much as he is misplaced and it's very difficult to mourn someone who isn't dead, no matter how likely it is. Ratchet has spent the last thousand years caught between hoping and denying, and that is not something that is going to heal quickly. It will take patience and time, and no small amount of stubbornness." A faint smile. "Conveniently, I am in possession of all three."
"So if you knew he'd say no, why did you ask him?" Ironhide asked, more than a little exasperated. Why did every damned mech have to make everything so difficult? Not a lick of sense in this whole army.
"To remind him that he has another option."
Ironhide grunted in acknowledgment of that. "You sure he's worth it?"
He'd meant it to be teasing but Optimus answered him seriously. "I would help him get past his loss even if I had nothing to gain from it. Before he was anything else to me, he was my friend. We have both known Ratchet for most of our lives. He is equal parts brilliant and impatient, rude and compassionate. We both know this." Optimus fell silent, contemplating. "Then, once, Ratchet came to me, and he allowed me to see something else."
Ironhide shifted uncomfortably, not entirely happy with the turn this conversation had taken.
Optimus gave him a faint smile. "He's worth it. Worth fighting for." With a barely perceptible shift, Optimus straightened, and the seriousness in his expression made Ironhide respond automatically, his cannons giving an abortive, whirring cycle. "In any case, we have other concerns to discuss than my personal life."
"Yes, sir," Ironhide said firmly, more than happy to shove aside the touchy-feely aspects of life and get back to what he was good at. At his base, Ironhide was and had always been a soldier, a weapon.
All he needed to know was which way to shoot.
-finis-
Read Next Chapter
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And then you got us invested in them, too! :) Excellent work.
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Ratchet needs some Wheeljack lovin' please. It's sad to see him in this state.
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Not at all, come join the fray! I've been having a lot of fun with the series. :)
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I'm very glad to see that this story is still being updated. I'm looking forward to the next part.
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Agreed! Anyone with Megatron as a twin needs some serious love.
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I especially enjoyed Optimus and Ironhide's conversation. Very enlightening!
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And thank you. :)
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This is really wonderful, I love Ironhide's crusty insistence that someone has to knock some sense into his friend's head, and that he is the mech for the job. Laughs, and that Witwicky boy is someone else's problem by God. Great Job. -SB
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