Transformers Prime - Stay

7. Training

        Ratchet was walking over, clearly distressed, and less than happy with me, apparently. “Hold it! You shouldn’t be moving too much right now. If you stress anything that isn’t recovered you could make it worse.” It was so incredibly like him to be completely oblivious and ruin the quiet, comfortable moment we’d been having.

        “Sorry,” I told him, suppressing a sigh. I leaned back, gingerly lying down on the medical bay once again. Ratchet made it back to his machines and technology. I looked down at my stomach, optics widening a bit at the bright color spilling out of my wound. “That is SWEET. It’s BLUE!” Okay, so maybe I was being a bit dorky, and I touched the energon around my wound, careful to avoid the wound itself. “I wonder what it tastes like . . .”

        Okay, not a normal person’s first thought, but I was curious. Not to mention I had almost died, right after going from small and fleshy to gigantic and metallic. Ratchet sighed in exasperation. “Humans are so odd,” he muttered.

        I snapped out of my reverie, contemplating all the components of the energon when he said that. I hadn’t just done what I’d done to still be called a human, much less with such distaste. “HEY! NOT A HUMAN, HERE!”

        “You still act like it,” the medic said dismissively. Optimus kept out of it for the time being. I didn’t blame him. He couldn’t be 100%, either.

        I scoffed at Ratchet. “Whatever, I’m used to the stuff coming out of me being RED not BLUE. Besides, I think I have every right to obsess over this stuff. It’s amazing . . . well, to me, anyway.” I found everything about the Cybertronian world amazing, but that apparently didn’t matter to Ratchet as he connected various wires to my head, chest, stomach, arms and legs. I couldn’t help myself, as soon as he’d turned his back, I touched the wires, wondering everything possible about the components, the functions of the wires that were now integrated with my body. Ratchet seemed to have a sixth sense, and turned around to see my handling of the wires not two seconds later.

        “Be careful! Those are delicate instruments!” He exclaimed, ever the cranky medic.

        “I know. I’m not Bulkhead,” I muttered. It was a bit of a low blow to offhandedly insult the clumsy Wrecker while he wasn’t even here, but I’d heard plenty of stories about him breaking some equipment or other and it just slipped out.

        He sighed, giving up on getting me to leave them be. He turned to his screens, examining my vital signs. “Everything looks fine. You should begin your training immediately.”

        I sat up and started removing the wires, carefully, one by one, so as not to alarm Ratchet. “When do I start, and WHAT do I start with?” Okay, first question was already answered. I had a bit of a brain fart, apparently.

        “You will begin with defense and move onto close-up offense. Then you’ll move onto weapons training,” Ratchet said plainly, watching my moves with the wires. Apparently I did something right, because he didn’t yell at me for that.

        “How long will it take?”  I asked, curious as to how much time that sort of thing would occupy.

        “A matter of months,” he said dismissively.

        That answer hit me like a kick to the skull. A very solid kick to the skull. Or perhaps more like a blast to the stomach. Either way, it hurt, and I was left stunned. “MONTHS?!”

        “Each.” Scratch that. THAT answer hit me like a cannon blast to the gut. From Megatron. That seemed appropriate, didn’t it?

        “I can’t wait that long!” I exclaimed, the walls feeling like they would close in if it really took that long. “I’m going to be needed on the field!”