Wounds, Part 2
12 May 2008 01:26![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wyntir_knightTitle: Wounds, part 2
Rating: R
Series: G1: Pre-Earth
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Jazz, Ratchet. Eventual Jazz/Ratchet
Summary: Ratchet loses a patient while Jazz loses a friend and colleague. They'll need to work together to get through the pain they're both feeling, otherwise it will consume them both.
Warnings: Angst and slash
Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro and Takara, and are licensed to IDW and Dreamworks. My original characters are my own and any similarity between them and any existing characters from canon or fandom is purely coincidental. I claim no ownership by writing this work.
Author's Notes: This is set in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
papyrus_quill’s "Trust Issues" Special Ops Trine universe. Special thanks go out to her for not only letting me play in her sandbox, but also for helping me out with the bunny that spawned the idea!
“How small and selfish is sorrow. But it bangs one about until one is senseless.” – Elizabeth, the Queen Mother.
Ratchet stormed into his quarters and locked the door behind him. There was something unsatisfying about the way the door slid so silently. He wanted to throw something, break something, do anything to get this anger out! There was just something about Jazz that brought out the worst in him. Between him and Prowl, he didn’t know which he hated more at the moment.
He stalked the very short length of his, thankfully, single quarters, clenching and unclenching his fists, and trying very hard not to break something. He didn’t understand why he was having this reaction to the captain. It wasn’t like he had been the first commander to react this badly to the death of one of his troops. And this certainly wasn’t the first time a fight had broken out in the med bay. No, it wasn’t the situation; there was something about Jazz that set him on edge. But at the same time, he had been unaccountably disappointed when he couldn’t convince him to go get a drink.
He sat heavily on the edge of his berth and looked over at the cabinet where he stored his high grade. It was tempting. It certainly wouldn’t be the first night he’d used overcharging as a release, as a way to forget until he could throw himself into his work again. But tonight Jazz’s words played back in his processor again and again.
“And I supposed that your method of dealing with it is what you’d suggest? Maybe I should go out and get overcharged at every opportunity until my best friend has to come drag me home?”
Those words, the accusation, had stung worse than any Decepticon-inflicted wound. Jazz had no idea what it was like to be a combat medic. Ratchet had known several in his lifetime and so many of them ended up insane or dead. A medic’s programming just didn’t allow for what they were required to do. The fact that their main duty was to fix soldiers just enough to get them back onto the field where they could be killed was too much for most of them to take.
So what if he turned to high grade to get him through the off-shift time. It wasn’t as if he had ever allowed it to interfere with his job, and it wasn’t as if he was allowing it to become self-destructive. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had any other source of release. Wheeljack was his friend but couldn’t fully understand and speaking with the staff psychologists was out of the question. If any of them decided that Ratchet was psychologically unsuited to the job, he’d be removed from it. And the only thing worse than being a combat medic in this war, was not being one. He was far too compassionate a mech to sit back and do nothing, and so he did a job that killed him a little every day and became overcharged far more often than was healthy.
He lay back on the berth, clearing his vents loudly as he fought the urge to break into the high grade. His darkening thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door, so quiet he thought he might have imagined it.
“Who is it?” he asked snappishly.
“Uhm, it’s me, sir. Widget?” came a soft voice from the other side of the door.
Ratchet looked at the door in confusion, but stood and unlocked it. It slid aside silently revealing Widget waiting patiently on the other side.
“Sir?” she said in that small voice of hers. “I thought that maybe you needed to talk. I thought that since I was off shift that maybe you and I could possibly go get some fuel? … I mean, since you need it and I need it and … uhm, yeah.”
The hopeful, nervous look in her optics was endearing and Ratchet couldn’t help but smile.
“That sounds like a good idea. Primus knows I could use the company,” he replied, ignoring the nagging voice of doubt that was speaking in the back of his processor. “The commissary should be quiet at the time of shift.”
The smile that lit up Widget’s face was bright enough to illuminate the hallway. That little voice reminded him that this wasn’t going to end well. He ignored it.
Jazz waited until Ratchet was out of sight before turning on his heel and walking quickly toward the commissary. He should have been heading to his quarters, but he and Ratchet were roomed too close together, and the last thing he needed was to run into the CMO again. He shouldn’t have attacked that junior medic, and he certainly shouldn’t have gone after Ratchet, but with everything that had happened, it was like he had been possessed by someone else.
Normally he didn’t allow things to get to him, didn’t allow his emotions to get the better of him, but Ratchet just set him on edge. The fact that he had even suggested that Radial be used for parts was unforgivable. His hands clenched at his sides, betraying his emotions, and he noticed that nearby mechs were starting to shoot him concerned looks. This was not the happy-go-lucky Jazz they had come to expect. Slowing his pace, he calmed himself, running through several relaxation protocols before continuing to make his way to the commissary.
It was just so hard to keep up this balance sometimes; as much as he needed to keep Ops separate from the rest of his life, he also needed to balance them, and it was a delicate thing to manage. There were many an Ops agent who couldn’t keep it together and lost it completely. Sometimes he wished he could join them, just say frag it all and go ballistic on everyone. Primus knew it would provide release, but at the same time, it would impede his ability to do his job – and it would dishonour the memories of all those who had come before him. It was a battle he was finding harder and harder to fight, and the events in the medbay just set him back quite a bit. Thankfully he’d be able to avoid Ratchet and the other medics for a while and get his processor together.
He stepped into the commissary and made his way to the dispenser, greeting other mechs cheerfully as he went. A little fuel and a little rest would help him feel like a new mech.
“Hey there, Sideswipe!” Jazz said happily, slapping the big red mech on the shoulder as he passed. “How’s it going?”
“Hey there Jazz, my mech!” Sideswipe pulled an extra chair over and motioned to it. “Come on and join us! Sunstreaker and I were just –”
“We were just about to leave, remember?” Sunstreaker said pointedly.
“No we weren’t!” Sideswipe protested.
Seeing the fight that was about to break out, and not wanting to be a part of it, Jazz took the diplomatic way out.
“I’d love to join you guys, but it’s been a long day,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile. “I’m just gonna grab my rations and head off to my berth. Maybe next time though. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Sideswipe replied, doing a very good job of hiding his disappointment, while his brother made no attempt at all to hide his relief.
Jazz chuckled to himself as he made his way up to the dispenser and grabbed a cube of energon. Leave it to those twins to make his day a little brighter, even without trying. It was a pity that Sunstreaker was so aggressive towards him all the time. He was a fine piece of mech and if the rumours were anything to go by, quite talented as well. Not that he’s say no to Sideswipe either. It’d be an easy way to get the release he needed, and it wasn’t like either of them would form a lasting bond with him. That wasn’t their style and everyone knew it. The thought of taking both toughlines to the berth tonight was almost overwhelmingly tempting, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t win Sunstreaker over if he really wanted to.
With the decision made he strolled back to the twins’ table, fully intending to pour on the charm when a familiar voice caught his audio.
“You’re a sweet femme, Widget. I really admire you and I think that with the proper guidance, you could really go far in the field.”
Jazz turned around and saw Ratchet and the young medic from the repair bay. They were seated, heads bowed close together, speaking in low, almost husky voices. Ratchet held her hands tightly and she was looking up at him with trust in her rapidly darkening optics.
Jazz pursed his lips and bit back a growl as he stalked forward. Moving up silently behind the large CMO, he dropped his hands heavily on Ratchet’s shoulders, squeezing them with just enough power to make it noticeable.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jazz growled.
“What the frag?!” Ratchet tried to turn in his chair but was held in place by Jazz.
“I asked you what you thought you were doing? She’s your student for Primus’ sake!” Jazz hissed into Ratchet’s audio. “I thought you were supposed to have ethics!”
“Jazz, let me go!” the medic ordered, twisting again in his chair in an attempt to stand.
By this point, the few people in the commissary saw the altercation and had turned to watch. It wasn’t often that they saw the officers disagree and this was shaping up to be a full out fight.
“No! You’re not supposed to be … consorting with your staff and certainly not with your students.”
“We were talking, Jazz. Now let me go!”
Using all of his bulk, Ratchet heaved up and broke Jazz’s hold on him. Knocking the chair away, he spun on the Special Ops Captain and bore down on him, using sheer size to intimidate. But Jazz was not one who was easily intimidated. And with the newly found rage building up in him again, and a ready target, he wasn’t about to back down.
“She’s a sparkling! And you’re taking advantage of her!” Jazz bit out.
“How dare you question my ethics! How dare you question my integrity!” Ratchet spat.
“Ethics? Integrity? From what I’m seeing, ethics and integrity was not what was on your mind! Cables and berths maybe, but not ethics and integrity!
“We. Were. Talking!” He punctuated each word with a hard poke to Jazz’s shoulder. “Now back off!”
“Right. Sure you were,” Jazz replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. “And you weren’t planning on harvesting out Radial, and you weren’t planning on-”
Jazz got no further. With a strength borne from righteous anger, Ratchet hauled off and hit the captain square in the jaw, causing his head to snap back and knocking his visor askew.
Jazz quickly readjusted his visor, but not before the nearest mechs saw his optics, icy blue to the point of white with grief. With a snarl he threw himself at Ratchet, only to be grabbed by Sunstreaker and pulled back away from the medic. Ratchet took an angry step forward, only to be stopped by Sideswipe as the red toughline imposed himself between him and Jazz.
“I know you can disable me about six million ways, but not before I beat the slag out of you,” Sideswipe said in a surprisingly calm voice as he placed a hand on Ratchet’s chest.
“What is going on here?” Prowl demanded as he stepped into the room. “I did not just hear you threaten a superior officer, did I Sideswipe?”
Sunstreaker quickly let go of Jazz and Sideswipe stepped away from Ratchet.
“No sir!” Sideswipe replied firmly. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh really?” Prowl replied, unimpressed.
“It isn’t,” Springer said, stepping forward from the far doorway. “This is all Ratchet and Jazz’ doing. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were just trying to stop an escalating fistfight.”
Prowl looked at Springer for a moment before turning his attention to the CMO and Special Ops captain.
“Would either of you care to explain what happened here?” he asked coolly.
“Just a misunderstanding,” Ratchet replied.
“A discussion,” Jazz added.
“A discussion that turned into a near fistfight?” Prowl asked.
“It wasn’t that bad. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get some recharge. I’m on shift in a few joors,” Ratchet said, stepping forward to brush past Prowl and out of the commissary.
“I do not think so, Ratchet,” Prowl replied, holding up one hand. “You two are senior officers now. I need you to set an example. Getting into near fistfights over a misunderstanding is not the example I want to see set.”
“It won’t happen again, Prowl,” Jazz said. “No worries on that count.”
“You are correct. It will not happen again. I do not have the authority to punish you for this breach, but I can, and will, relieve you of your duties and place you in the brig until such time as this can be brought before Prime.”
Jazz and Ratchet just stared at Prowl as if he was out of his processor.
“You can’t do that!” Ratchet protested.
“I can and I have,” Prowl replied. “As of this moment you are under arrest pending a further investigation. While I am not laying charges I will be placing you in protective custody. I trust that I will not have to use restraints to get you to the brig?”
Both mechs simply nodded, dumfounded at the decision.
“Good. I know full well that restraints will not hold you, Jazz. And I have every reason to believe that you would be just as adept at escaping them, Ratchet. I was hoping that I could avoid more drastic measures.”
Prowl motioned toward the door and encouraged the two mechs to leave, guiding them toward the brig solemnly.
Rating: R
Series: G1: Pre-Earth
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Jazz, Ratchet. Eventual Jazz/Ratchet
Summary: Ratchet loses a patient while Jazz loses a friend and colleague. They'll need to work together to get through the pain they're both feeling, otherwise it will consume them both.
Warnings: Angst and slash
Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro and Takara, and are licensed to IDW and Dreamworks. My original characters are my own and any similarity between them and any existing characters from canon or fandom is purely coincidental. I claim no ownership by writing this work.
Author's Notes: This is set in
papyrus_quill’s "Trust Issues" Special Ops Trine universe. Special thanks go out to her for not only letting me play in her sandbox, but also for helping me out with the bunny that spawned the idea!“How small and selfish is sorrow. But it bangs one about until one is senseless.” – Elizabeth, the Queen Mother.
Ratchet stormed into his quarters and locked the door behind him. There was something unsatisfying about the way the door slid so silently. He wanted to throw something, break something, do anything to get this anger out! There was just something about Jazz that brought out the worst in him. Between him and Prowl, he didn’t know which he hated more at the moment.
He stalked the very short length of his, thankfully, single quarters, clenching and unclenching his fists, and trying very hard not to break something. He didn’t understand why he was having this reaction to the captain. It wasn’t like he had been the first commander to react this badly to the death of one of his troops. And this certainly wasn’t the first time a fight had broken out in the med bay. No, it wasn’t the situation; there was something about Jazz that set him on edge. But at the same time, he had been unaccountably disappointed when he couldn’t convince him to go get a drink.
He sat heavily on the edge of his berth and looked over at the cabinet where he stored his high grade. It was tempting. It certainly wouldn’t be the first night he’d used overcharging as a release, as a way to forget until he could throw himself into his work again. But tonight Jazz’s words played back in his processor again and again.
“And I supposed that your method of dealing with it is what you’d suggest? Maybe I should go out and get overcharged at every opportunity until my best friend has to come drag me home?”
Those words, the accusation, had stung worse than any Decepticon-inflicted wound. Jazz had no idea what it was like to be a combat medic. Ratchet had known several in his lifetime and so many of them ended up insane or dead. A medic’s programming just didn’t allow for what they were required to do. The fact that their main duty was to fix soldiers just enough to get them back onto the field where they could be killed was too much for most of them to take.
So what if he turned to high grade to get him through the off-shift time. It wasn’t as if he had ever allowed it to interfere with his job, and it wasn’t as if he was allowing it to become self-destructive. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had any other source of release. Wheeljack was his friend but couldn’t fully understand and speaking with the staff psychologists was out of the question. If any of them decided that Ratchet was psychologically unsuited to the job, he’d be removed from it. And the only thing worse than being a combat medic in this war, was not being one. He was far too compassionate a mech to sit back and do nothing, and so he did a job that killed him a little every day and became overcharged far more often than was healthy.
He lay back on the berth, clearing his vents loudly as he fought the urge to break into the high grade. His darkening thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door, so quiet he thought he might have imagined it.
“Who is it?” he asked snappishly.
“Uhm, it’s me, sir. Widget?” came a soft voice from the other side of the door.
Ratchet looked at the door in confusion, but stood and unlocked it. It slid aside silently revealing Widget waiting patiently on the other side.
“Sir?” she said in that small voice of hers. “I thought that maybe you needed to talk. I thought that since I was off shift that maybe you and I could possibly go get some fuel? … I mean, since you need it and I need it and … uhm, yeah.”
The hopeful, nervous look in her optics was endearing and Ratchet couldn’t help but smile.
“That sounds like a good idea. Primus knows I could use the company,” he replied, ignoring the nagging voice of doubt that was speaking in the back of his processor. “The commissary should be quiet at the time of shift.”
The smile that lit up Widget’s face was bright enough to illuminate the hallway. That little voice reminded him that this wasn’t going to end well. He ignored it.
Jazz waited until Ratchet was out of sight before turning on his heel and walking quickly toward the commissary. He should have been heading to his quarters, but he and Ratchet were roomed too close together, and the last thing he needed was to run into the CMO again. He shouldn’t have attacked that junior medic, and he certainly shouldn’t have gone after Ratchet, but with everything that had happened, it was like he had been possessed by someone else.
Normally he didn’t allow things to get to him, didn’t allow his emotions to get the better of him, but Ratchet just set him on edge. The fact that he had even suggested that Radial be used for parts was unforgivable. His hands clenched at his sides, betraying his emotions, and he noticed that nearby mechs were starting to shoot him concerned looks. This was not the happy-go-lucky Jazz they had come to expect. Slowing his pace, he calmed himself, running through several relaxation protocols before continuing to make his way to the commissary.
It was just so hard to keep up this balance sometimes; as much as he needed to keep Ops separate from the rest of his life, he also needed to balance them, and it was a delicate thing to manage. There were many an Ops agent who couldn’t keep it together and lost it completely. Sometimes he wished he could join them, just say frag it all and go ballistic on everyone. Primus knew it would provide release, but at the same time, it would impede his ability to do his job – and it would dishonour the memories of all those who had come before him. It was a battle he was finding harder and harder to fight, and the events in the medbay just set him back quite a bit. Thankfully he’d be able to avoid Ratchet and the other medics for a while and get his processor together.
He stepped into the commissary and made his way to the dispenser, greeting other mechs cheerfully as he went. A little fuel and a little rest would help him feel like a new mech.
“Hey there, Sideswipe!” Jazz said happily, slapping the big red mech on the shoulder as he passed. “How’s it going?”
“Hey there Jazz, my mech!” Sideswipe pulled an extra chair over and motioned to it. “Come on and join us! Sunstreaker and I were just –”
“We were just about to leave, remember?” Sunstreaker said pointedly.
“No we weren’t!” Sideswipe protested.
Seeing the fight that was about to break out, and not wanting to be a part of it, Jazz took the diplomatic way out.
“I’d love to join you guys, but it’s been a long day,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile. “I’m just gonna grab my rations and head off to my berth. Maybe next time though. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Sideswipe replied, doing a very good job of hiding his disappointment, while his brother made no attempt at all to hide his relief.
Jazz chuckled to himself as he made his way up to the dispenser and grabbed a cube of energon. Leave it to those twins to make his day a little brighter, even without trying. It was a pity that Sunstreaker was so aggressive towards him all the time. He was a fine piece of mech and if the rumours were anything to go by, quite talented as well. Not that he’s say no to Sideswipe either. It’d be an easy way to get the release he needed, and it wasn’t like either of them would form a lasting bond with him. That wasn’t their style and everyone knew it. The thought of taking both toughlines to the berth tonight was almost overwhelmingly tempting, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t win Sunstreaker over if he really wanted to.
With the decision made he strolled back to the twins’ table, fully intending to pour on the charm when a familiar voice caught his audio.
“You’re a sweet femme, Widget. I really admire you and I think that with the proper guidance, you could really go far in the field.”
Jazz turned around and saw Ratchet and the young medic from the repair bay. They were seated, heads bowed close together, speaking in low, almost husky voices. Ratchet held her hands tightly and she was looking up at him with trust in her rapidly darkening optics.
Jazz pursed his lips and bit back a growl as he stalked forward. Moving up silently behind the large CMO, he dropped his hands heavily on Ratchet’s shoulders, squeezing them with just enough power to make it noticeable.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jazz growled.
“What the frag?!” Ratchet tried to turn in his chair but was held in place by Jazz.
“I asked you what you thought you were doing? She’s your student for Primus’ sake!” Jazz hissed into Ratchet’s audio. “I thought you were supposed to have ethics!”
“Jazz, let me go!” the medic ordered, twisting again in his chair in an attempt to stand.
By this point, the few people in the commissary saw the altercation and had turned to watch. It wasn’t often that they saw the officers disagree and this was shaping up to be a full out fight.
“No! You’re not supposed to be … consorting with your staff and certainly not with your students.”
“We were talking, Jazz. Now let me go!”
Using all of his bulk, Ratchet heaved up and broke Jazz’s hold on him. Knocking the chair away, he spun on the Special Ops Captain and bore down on him, using sheer size to intimidate. But Jazz was not one who was easily intimidated. And with the newly found rage building up in him again, and a ready target, he wasn’t about to back down.
“She’s a sparkling! And you’re taking advantage of her!” Jazz bit out.
“How dare you question my ethics! How dare you question my integrity!” Ratchet spat.
“Ethics? Integrity? From what I’m seeing, ethics and integrity was not what was on your mind! Cables and berths maybe, but not ethics and integrity!
“We. Were. Talking!” He punctuated each word with a hard poke to Jazz’s shoulder. “Now back off!”
“Right. Sure you were,” Jazz replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. “And you weren’t planning on harvesting out Radial, and you weren’t planning on-”
Jazz got no further. With a strength borne from righteous anger, Ratchet hauled off and hit the captain square in the jaw, causing his head to snap back and knocking his visor askew.
Jazz quickly readjusted his visor, but not before the nearest mechs saw his optics, icy blue to the point of white with grief. With a snarl he threw himself at Ratchet, only to be grabbed by Sunstreaker and pulled back away from the medic. Ratchet took an angry step forward, only to be stopped by Sideswipe as the red toughline imposed himself between him and Jazz.
“I know you can disable me about six million ways, but not before I beat the slag out of you,” Sideswipe said in a surprisingly calm voice as he placed a hand on Ratchet’s chest.
“What is going on here?” Prowl demanded as he stepped into the room. “I did not just hear you threaten a superior officer, did I Sideswipe?”
Sunstreaker quickly let go of Jazz and Sideswipe stepped away from Ratchet.
“No sir!” Sideswipe replied firmly. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh really?” Prowl replied, unimpressed.
“It isn’t,” Springer said, stepping forward from the far doorway. “This is all Ratchet and Jazz’ doing. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were just trying to stop an escalating fistfight.”
Prowl looked at Springer for a moment before turning his attention to the CMO and Special Ops captain.
“Would either of you care to explain what happened here?” he asked coolly.
“Just a misunderstanding,” Ratchet replied.
“A discussion,” Jazz added.
“A discussion that turned into a near fistfight?” Prowl asked.
“It wasn’t that bad. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get some recharge. I’m on shift in a few joors,” Ratchet said, stepping forward to brush past Prowl and out of the commissary.
“I do not think so, Ratchet,” Prowl replied, holding up one hand. “You two are senior officers now. I need you to set an example. Getting into near fistfights over a misunderstanding is not the example I want to see set.”
“It won’t happen again, Prowl,” Jazz said. “No worries on that count.”
“You are correct. It will not happen again. I do not have the authority to punish you for this breach, but I can, and will, relieve you of your duties and place you in the brig until such time as this can be brought before Prime.”
Jazz and Ratchet just stared at Prowl as if he was out of his processor.
“You can’t do that!” Ratchet protested.
“I can and I have,” Prowl replied. “As of this moment you are under arrest pending a further investigation. While I am not laying charges I will be placing you in protective custody. I trust that I will not have to use restraints to get you to the brig?”
Both mechs simply nodded, dumfounded at the decision.
“Good. I know full well that restraints will not hold you, Jazz. And I have every reason to believe that you would be just as adept at escaping them, Ratchet. I was hoping that I could avoid more drastic measures.”
Prowl motioned toward the door and encouraged the two mechs to leave, guiding them toward the brig solemnly.