Transformers Short Story

I Don't Like Sparklings

Ratchet wiped down his station in the clinic, trying his best to ignore his refuel warning signs from his internal HUB. The blinking lights showed up again on his feed readings and he clicked on them in annoyance, Fuel Systems 35% Refuel required/shutdown proceedings loading. Ratchet sighed harshly before throwing his rag into the laundry bin, taking the bin and dropping it off in their washroom before surveying the remaining staff; First Aid and his intern Beat. First Aid was showing the young mech how to read their monitors, which filtered all patient information to Iacon's Medical Records which was protected under their highest security protocols. The refuel alert blinked in his peripherals and he pursed his lip plating before shutting off the main lights, nodded to the two bots, who promised to lock up the clinic for the night, and started the commute back to his shared hab-suit near the Iacon Halls. His knee joints creaked annoyingly as he stepped off the trolley a goon later and into the packed streets of Cybertron's center. He glanced up at Halls with a small smile, sending a small ping to his newly bonded spark mate Orion Pax, whose work required him to work countless hours in the Halls as a data clerk under Alpha Trion. Orion responded a few minutes later, sending a sweet warmth through them both before he was pulled away again, most likely distracted by his work. Ratchet shook his helm in amusement before continuing to their hab-suit, the packed day starting to get to his tired frame. Orion wouldn't get off work until he finished whatever assignments Alpha Trion had for him so Ratchet wasn't entirely sure when he'd see him tonight. He punched in the code and slipped through as the doors whooshed open and closed behind him. He let his frame relax under the familiar sights and smells of their newly refurbished hab-suit, slipping haphazardly into their living room couch. Ratchet checked his HUB feeds again, a helm-ache beginning to form as his dozen refuel alerts were joined by a spike in his Energon pressure (most likely from lack of fuel) and an alert on his knee joint, which had started to become sore recently. He muttered a few chosen words under his breath before leaning down to access the throbbing joint. He rotated the plating away to view the protoform underneath, grimacing at the swollen lines and kinked wires; he really needed to get off his pedes sometime. Ratchet massaged the wires into place, directing his internal temperature to lower in his knee joint in order for the swelling to decrease. Once satisfied with his work he replaced the plating and leaned back to rest against the couch, closing his optics with the promise to only rest and not recharge. 

Three goons later: 

The soft whoosh of the hab-suit door closing registered through Ratchet's heightened senses, due to his medical build, and he snapped his optics open, blinking as Orion came into view. He was distracted by the large stack of datapads occupying his servos and didn't see Ratchet settled on the couch. He placed the stack on one of the corner tables, which usually only housed pictures of their families and themselves, before rubbing at his helm with a distracted look filtering into his optics. Ratchet shook the last bit of recharge away, quietly slipping from the couch and coming to stand behind Orion with a smirk, noticing how his earn fins pinned in his direction but Orion was too busy recounting his work to bother responding to the threat they promised. Ratchet placed his hands on either side of his shoulder plating, startling the mech into swiftly turning around, his optics blown open. He rolled his optics once he saw his attacker and pulled further away from him, his optics ridges raised in exasperation. Ratchet chuckled innocently, "I saw an opportunity." Orion huffed, faking hurt, "Yes I can see that." Ratchet peered over the clerk's frame to view his work, "Alpha Trion usually doesn't assign this many data pads?" Orion winced at the mention of his mentor before fixing Rachet a look, "He said I could do twice the work this week...if I was going to take off next week." Ratchet furrowed his optics ridges, "Next week? I thought you wanted to do that presentation for him?" Orion smirked, "You're off too." Ratchet titled his helm, "Yes...my leave days are starting to pile up a little too much and First Aid wants to have Beat fill in a little more...without me breathing down his plating." Orion chuckled, "I wanted to spend time with my spark mate...we haven't had the chance to since we were bonded." Ratchet raised his optic ridges, "You're a slag liar." Orion smiled sheepishly, "That is the main truth, I assure you." Ratchet gave him a nonplussed look, "You're heat cycle is coming up isn't it?" Orion rolled his optics, "You're always so clinical about everything...no my feed hasn't given me any notifications." Ratchet shrugged, "I'm a medic...it's my job." He placed a kiss on Orion's faceplates before heading to their storage, plucking two Energon cubs from the compartment and rejoining his mate, "Here...Primus knows how much fuel you get while Alpha Trion's working you to the protoform." Orion accepted the cub with a chuckle, "He does not such thing...and what about you? First Aid tells me you barely have time to fuel with the clinic being so popular." Ratchet took a couple of sips of his cube before responding, his tone hesitant, "Popular's not exactly the word I would choose...more accessible is better." Orion's optics softened and he fiddled with his digits, staring down at his Energon, "My apologies...I know the council didn't revoke their class status on clinical medicine." Ratchet glared at his own cub, finishing it off in one swig, his tone bitter, "No they did not." Orion nodded his head before brightening suddenly, "They did however take your suggestions on a council medic position! Meaning sometime in the future that representative could address the issue again...it's not completely lost." Ratchet smiled half-heartedly at his spark mate's optimism, trying not to spoil his mood with his own pessimistic views, "I suppose your right." Orion finished his cube before taking Ratchet's glass, storing them back in the compartment, and settling on a lighter conversation, "What will you do with your time off?" Ratchet hummed, watching his spark mate from the corner of his optics, "I haven't thought about it...what will you do?" Orion considered his words before smiling, "I want to visit Lightning...or Megatronous...actually neither of them are easy to track down so that may be a lost cause." Ratchet cringed internally at the mention of the vicious gladiator but held his glossa in favor of supporting the limited social life Orion had outside the Iacon Hall's staff. Orion mulled over his words for a couple of minutes before a thought popped into his helm, his bond pinging excitedly, "The star cluster Vicks is falling tomorrow night...we could watch it together?" Ratchet smiled softly at his hesitance, mentally making a note on their shared planner of the event, "I'd love that." Orion flashed his denta into a bigger smile, "I'll try not to bore you with historical techs in the meantime." Ratchet shook his head wearily, "Oh please, I can't believe you don't get tired of hearing about my procedures..they're quite boring to non-medical bots." Orion fixed him a wide-optic stare, "They're very informative to me...I enjoy hearing about your work." Ratchet rubbed at his faceplate, the busy day catching up to him again, causing a small haze over his field. Orion sensed the change and glanced at his worriedly, "You alright?" Rachet waved his concern off, "Long day...I can't believe you don't feel the same." Orion shrugged, "My work is less demanding." Ratchet huffed, "I find that hard to believe." He turned toward their shared berthroom, calling over his shoulder plating, his tone stern, "Don't stay up too late Orion...those datapads can wait until tomorrow."