Burned (Transformers Prime)

Chapter Twenty-One | Settling In

"You shouldn't have but you said it,
It shouldn't have happened but you let it,
Now you're down on the ground screaming medic,"

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"She's gone . . ." Ratchet murmured to his fellow team members. "Dana was taken by Soundwave. And I couldn't do anything to stop him."

"Soundwave is a formidable opponent." Optimus Prime tried his best to assure him. "But we now have an inkling of what Megatron intentions are with Dana."

"Instead of just sending foot soldiers, he sent his best Decepticon." Arcee continued. "He wanted her to be brought back alive. For what, though, we could guess all day."

"That hardly makes me feel any better." Ratchet muttered, refusing to make optic contact with any of his friends, spark still feeling torn by Dana's capture. Yet again, he had failed to protect her, and now Megatron could do whatever he pleased, if the warlord hadn't already done away with her. The medic feared for her safety, but a part of him felt like he wasn't worthy enough to bother feeling that way. What was the point if he couldn't be a proper guardian for her?

"Don't worry Ratch, Dana is pretty tough!" Bulkhead tried to comfort him. "Megatron will have a hard time making her do what he wants!"

Ratchet shot the Wrecker a nasty look, knowing Bulkhead meant well but was not in the mood.

"I'm going on a drive." He snapped, turning from his fellow Autobots and transforming into his alternate mode, driving out of the base and not looking back.

As soon as the medic was cleared from the human base he gunned his engine, just wanting to get away from everything for a while. A flurry of emotions and thoughts flooded his processor and seemed to compress his vents, anger chief among those feelings.

Just as his charge had gotten her memories back, and it seemed that their relationship was on the road to recovery, Megatron had taken her away from him again. This time, Ratchet had been present for it, but he still couldn't save her. He felt worthless, played, and hopeless.

Now he was more uncertain than ever of Dana's survival. Megatron may have initially wanted her alive, but when he tired of her . . . The warlord had already demonstrated he had no qualms of hurting her.

Ratchet brewed in his thoughts while he drove, speeding away from the human base, and civilization in general. After about thirty minutes of pure driving he dove off the road and into the open desert, feeling the various rocks and plants rip at his tires. He kept going, eventually coming to a canyon ledge and rolling to a stop, settling on his axles.

"Why am I like this?" He murmured to no one in particular. "A medic is supposed to help those in need . . . And I can't even do that."

He vented loudly, gazing across the desert and the sparse wildlife that populated it, feeling the warm sand beneath his aching tires start cooling as he shaded it from the blazing desert sun. It brought him back to the time Dana had decided to suntan on his roof . . . And within ten minutes of exposing her skin to the harsh rays she was already red and burnt, and the next day, having spent twenty minutes out in total, she was so burned even long-sleeved clothes hurt to wear.

The medic laughed softly. It was funny to remember her complaining, despite the five melanoma patches that had given her a brief scare. But they had been caught early and quickly, and she had recovered just fine. The incident had stopped her from improvised sunbathing, and she wore several layers of sunscreen ever since.