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shadow_vector2010-03-19 07:40 am
Redeem 10: Darts from Memory
Redeem: Darts from Memory
Verse: Bayverse
Characters: Ironhide, Ratchet
Rating: PG-13
10. Darts from Memory
Hangar Bravo
No one dared approach Ironhide as he sat with his energon ration. Something about the way he sat, or maybe it was the way he stared at the plastic container of his ration, as if willing it to explode—whatever it was, no one wanted to get closer. Even Ratchet thought twice about it, but one merely sidelong look at the untreated injuries on Ironhide’s shoulder panels—beginning to corrode orange-red and black—and his duty overrode his compunctions. Ironhide could be, would be, testy. So what? It would be the pain talking.
“I have some free time this afternoon,” Ratchet said, dropping into a squat next to Ironhide, carefully balancing his own energon ration. He knew better than to sit in front of Ironhide—the mech tended to view anything across him as confrontational.
“Goody for you.” Ironhide took a sip of his ration, making a disgusted face. “Can’t believe we still have to use this crap.”
He was right: the humans’ early forays into refining the energon were fine, chemically, but they definitely left something to be desired in taste. “It’s still energon,” Ratchet said, not having to hide his own reluctance for his own ration.
“We used to have refuel intakes,” Ironhide said, distantly. “Autoinjectors. Our energon was shit, too, back then. But at least we didn’t have to taste it.”
Ratchet shifted his weight. Ironhide didn’t often talk about his time with the Decepticons. In fact, Ratchet had never heard him speak about it before. Was it a good sign he was finally opening up? Or was it a sign that more bad memories were roiling to the surface?
“You’re right,” he said, forcing himself to take a sip. “But maybe we’ve gotten spoiled.”
Ironhide glared at him, sideways, under half-lowered lids. “Autobots have always been spoiled.”
Ratchet did not want to follow where this thought lead, so he veered back to his original subject. “I was saying: I have the afternoon open—I can take a look at you.”
“Pfuh.” Ironhide spat. Possibly at the energon again. “Can’t go to Delta at all. Prime’s orders.”
“What? Oh.” Ratchet bought time with another drink. “They’re moving Barricade later, so it’ll be fine.”
“Fine.” A derisive snort. “You know what’s not fraggin’ fine? The fact that every fraggin’ one of you knows why I’m not allowed there. That none of you trust me.”
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Ratchet said, blandly, groping. “You have good reason to hate him. We all respect that.” The words sounded thin and insincere in the air between them. Ratchet understood hate, but he also understood hate never brought out the best.
“You don’t even know.”
“Because you never tell us.”
“Told you enough.”
“You said he’d taken over your primary controls.”
“Made me kill my own mechs.”
“Deliberately?”
“Does that change anything for you?” Ironhide challenged.
Ratchet sighed. “Not really, no. I’m just trying to understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand. I trusted him. He made me kill my own mechs.”
“I can’t know what that feels like,” Ratchet said. Ironhide stared at him for a long moment, then grunted. It was, after all, only honesty. Ratchet could have no idea. “I imagine,” the yellow mech said, carefully, “That I’d have problems trusting anyone myself after something like that.”
Another grunt of acknowledgement. Ironhide stared out the open hangar door, swallowing the rest of his ration in one gulp. “I can still see ‘em, you know. Sometimes. Some of them didn’t see it coming. Some did, and hesitated—firing at another ‘con is against every discipline we were ever taught. They wavered, I didn’t. Meta didn’t.”
“They died?”
“He didn’t go for maiming shots.” Ironhide tapped his chest, above the spark chamber. “Right here, every time. He could boost any integrated weapon to lethal force, too.” He started rotating the empty plastic container—the humans called it a ‘bucket’—idly, watching a last slosh of the vile energon slurry.
Ratchet winced. That was brutal. Decepticon efficiency. He remembered—or rather he remembered triages he had NOT gotten, the battered frames shunted off to one side, beyond repair. Yes. He remembered Barricade as a combat controller. He simply hadn’t connected Barricade and Saejon Three.
“If we fought by those rules,” Ironhide said, quietly, “We’d have won by now.”
A lecture bubbled to Ratchet’s vocalizer. He swallowed it. Ironhide didn’t need a lecture right now. Ironhide tilted his head. “Gonna go tell Prime about that little comment, aren’t you?”
Ratchet twitched. He had been thinking of it. “No,” he said, “Of course not.” Unless, he promised himself, Ironhide’s talk got more disturbing. More openly…traitorous? Dangerous. “And you’re probably right. We might have won.” That was as far as his conscience would let him agree. Would they have deserved to win, by those means? Ratchet didn’t think so.
Ironhide shrugged. “Whatever. Tell him or not. Time was he used to listen to me, too.”
“He listens to you.”
Ironhide silenced him with a look. “He doesn’t even trust me not to go and murder Barricade in his recharge. Though the fragger would deserve it. I do know whose side I’m supposed to be on,” he added, pointedly.
“What did it feel like?” Ratchet tried to redirect the conversation again. If he could keep Ironhide in the past, he might get the key, the cure, for the mech’s rage, his distrust.
“Huh? Oh. It felt—“ Ironhide faltered. “Horrifying that it felt so good. You could still feel your servos firing, you could still see and hear and smell and sense everything. Only a hundred times better. And you could do things—he had a whole deck of processors for speed—you couldn’t imagine doing. Autotarget with three different weapons, coordinate with others, just…just perfectly. They’d be where you needed them when you needed them, firing exactly the kind of fire you wanted. It was unity. It was trust, because he’d gotten you out of it before. Always.”
Ironhide’s hands inadvertently squeezed the bucket too hard—it cracked with a soft snap, like wet bone. Thick drops of the energon slurry spatted on the ground. “And that’s what he took from me.”
no subject
I do think Ratchet should be applauded for still trying to work through with the disgruntled Autobots and still maintain absolute loyalty to Prime. Have I mentioned that I really like your version of Ratchet in this?
no subject
You may not like writing Autobots yet you hit the idea on the nose. They aren't perfect beings. They have faults, hurts, pains.
I agree with wicked, I like Ratchet in this.
Well done once again.