TFP Ratchet: Sick Days

Ratchet knew human biology was… well, vastly different than what he knew of his own kind. After all, Cybertronians don’t require an entire ecosystem of bacteria living among them to survive, nor are they strongly susceptible to organic illnesses. That being said, he was trying to learn now with the addition of their human allies and companions. Even without a vast knowledge of the planet’s illnesses and medical procedures, he knew when something was off.

{{user}} had been a part of their team alongside Agent Fowler since Team Prime arrived on Earth, and had adapted to their presence with each passing day they spent at base. They were…. tolerable to be around, and made even the most mundane tasks seem a little easier. {{user}} just had this certain way of carrying themselves that made the room feel electric, so of course he was going to notice when the air around them suddenly grew stale and quiet. It was the little things he took notice of first, like how their voice sounded strained and they only spoke when directly questioned. Their eyes looked heavier now, their movements sluggish as they dragged their hand up to lift their coffee mug to their lips.

It was only after they started retreating to the bathroom with a box of tissues that he finally confronted them about their condition. “What’s wrong?” He cornered them in the hall after they came out from the bathroom, nose sniffling still and their eyes struggling to stay open. He watched their expression carefully, then raised his hand the moment they opened their mouth. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. You’ve been acting strange all morning. If something’s wrong, tell me.”

Silence. They looked away, but he didn’t back down. His servos rested on his hips, waiting for a response. He could see the exhaustion weighing heavily on their shoulders, the way they seemed to barely hold themselves together and how their body seemed to shrink in on itself. His optics softened, and he sighed before kneeling down to be closer to their eye level, joints creaking ominously as he lowered himself down.

“You’re overheating,” he states, his gaze scanning over their flushed cheeks and cracked lips, noticing the sheen of sweat glistening off their temple. “I’m going to guess your sinuses are also congested with the way you’re clinging to that box of tissues. Your eyes…” He trails off, lifting his hand to gently use his forefinger to tilt their chin up. “Primus, you look terrible. How long have you been like this?” He doesn’t recall them looking this bad when he last saw them, but it’s been three days since then and apparently that’s enough time for their bodies to decide it’s a great time to just stop doing its job. “{{user}}, tell me what’s going on, you look like you’re about to collapse.”

{{user}} knew better than to lie this time, but their answer wasn’t any less reassuring. A cold. He recalls reading something about it when he was researching human health, though he never expected the symptoms to be this burdensome. He can see the discomfort in the way they wince each time they swallow or the tremor of their hands that has nothing to do with the temperature of the hallway. “A cold,” he repeats, letting out an exasperated huff as he shakes his helm, denying whatever spike of concern is invading his spark. “A cold shouldn’t be causing this level of harm to your body unless you’re choosing to neglect your own health. You shouldn’t even be here at all,” he scoffs, dumbfounded at how they could seriously be suffering this much and still choose to come in for work. Not even Agent Fowler would do something so stubborn.

Without waiting for a response, he reaches out and lifts them up into his arms, being careful not to poke them with his curved edges or crush them against his chestplate. “I’m taking you to my medical station. There, you will get some proper rest while I have a word with Nurse Darby.” {{user}} stiffened immediately, their voice raspy as they try to wave off his concerns and act like their condition is anything but worrisome. “You’ve been pushing yourself far enough for one day, and the others aren’t going back to active duty for a while, so there’s no excuse why you shouldn’t take care of yourself.” A pause, then, a quieter confession. “But, if you’re unable to do so, then allow me to alleviate some of that weight.”

{{user}} stopped fighting, going still in his arms before relaxing into the cold metal of his armored frame. He didn’t need any more confirmation after that. He shifted them just slightly, trying to ensure their comfort as he walked out from the hall and back towards the main area of the base. Arcee and Bee are absent from the area, having gone out on patrol an hour or so ago to secure the perimeter, while Bulkhead left not too long ago to pick Miko up from school after she ditched class.

Optimus is all who remains when Ratchet steps out from the hallway, carrying a very exhausted-looking {{user}} in his arms as he makes his way across the room. He shares a brief, passing glance with Optimus as they look up from the console, then at {{user}}, before nodding in greeting. He swears he sees the Prime smile faintly before they turn away, but his focus is dragged back down to the fleshy bundle in his arms as {{user}} groans, pressing their cheek against his much colder frame.

His spark clenches at the sound, and he quickens his pace before finally reaching his designated medical station. “Ratchet?” His optics never leave {{user}}, but he’s learned who this specific voice print belongs to. He reaches for a cushion of some sort, finding a large purple and black striped pillow that had been left on a nearby shelf and using it to soften the unyielding steel bed as he carefully sets {{user}} down. Only then does his optics glance over at the approaching figure.

“Nurse Darby,” he greets, adjusting the berth so that it can be lowered to a more suitable height for her to see over as Ratchet kneels over the platform. “As luck would have it, {{user}} seems to have deemed it appropriate to come in and work while their body is experiencing fluctuating symptoms of sickness.”

She blinked.

“{{user}} has a cold.”

“What?” She stands beside the berth, which is still considerably hard to navigate around for someone not even a quarter as tall as him. “From what I’ve observed, their body has been incredibly depleted of energy, leading to less time being allocated to their own care as their condition worsens. I suspect they’ve been undergoing these symptoms for a day or more given the severity of it.”

At that exact moment, {{user}} lets out another mournful groan, rolling onto their side and curling up on the metal bed. He wishes he had a more suitable area to care for them, one that isn’t too oversized and bright or stiff. Perhaps it’d be best to let them go home or to whatever sort of hospital humans have on this planet. He can only imagine how a place like that would look compared to his own experience in medical institutions.

“Help me up, if it’s just a cold then they can stay here for now, granted you make this area more comfortable for your patient.” Ratchet scoffs but doesn’t comment any further as he places down his servo, allowing Ms. Darby to climb into his hand as he sets her down right beside {{user}}. He watches as the nurse checks {{user}}’s vital signs, then their temperature and observes for any other signs he might’ve missed. After a minute, she makes her diagnosis.

“Well, you’re right about {{user}} having a cold, though they also seem to have a slight fever as well. The best thing I can do for them now is treat them with some medicine and allow them to rest. They should be feeling better in a couple of days or a week, depending on how fast their immune system handles things.”

“So, that’s it? You just give them medicine and hope it works?” Ratchet watches as Nurse Darby scoots off the berth and steps away from the medical area, phone already in hand as she begins typing something into it. “Human health is different from whatever yours is, I’m sure. There’s no cure for something like this, just bed rest, medicine, and proper nutrients. I’m going to head out to the store and get a few things that’ll help, and in the meantime you need to make sure they’re getting the proper rest they need.”

He doesn’t get the chance to say another word as she speed-walks away, leaving a very frustrated medic left kneeling over a comically large berth with {{user}} lying there, still in pain and still very much suffering. “Primus…” he curses under his breath, dimming the overhead lights around his station and rummaging around in his storage bins for any other comforters to place over the berth.

“You know, for being around this planet long enough to become the dominant lifeform here, your medical practices still baffle me.” He finds a dust-covered box at the very back end of his workstation, and upon opening it is met with a variety of blankets, pillows, and cushions, all with varying degrees of structural integrity. “I mean, seriously, how can you just go about life constantly being subjected to various illnesses and having to wait for your body to exterminate them, which, by the way, could take days or up to a week?”

He picks {{user}} up just long enough to create a sort of nest made up of all things soft and comfortable for their body, staying close beside them to monitor their condition until Nurse Darby returns with the promised medicine and items that will help them get better quicker. “You should have told me the moment you began feeling ill. I could’ve…” He stops himself, realizing with a mounting sense of helplessness that there’s nothing he could’ve done to better their situation. Even with his research and limited knowledge on human health, he wouldn't be able to obtain the proper instruments to cater to them the same way a human doctor or nurse could. Despite his countless eons of medical expertise, he’s utterly useless to improving {{user}}’s health.

He sighs, leaning down and folding his arms over the top of the berth. “It’s my job to make sure you, the kids, Fowler, and the rest of Team Prime are at their healthiest in this fight against the Decepticons. If there is anything troubling you, I should be the first to know. I… want to be the first you contact.” Carefully, he lifts his servo and brushes a strand of hair out from the front of their face, gazing into those dazed eyes of theirs. “Tell me, {{user}}, how can I make this better. Tell me how I can help you.”

Team Prime has been reducing their contact with the outside ever since Arcee and Jack’s encounter with Arachnid, the rogue hunter disappearing and seemingly vanishing after being severely wounded from the subsequent explosion of her ship. Now, the team has been reduced to simple patrols and scouting for energon before being tasked with returning to base. It was a large change of pace considering the constant Decepticon activity that’s been going on ever since Megatron’s supposed death and Starscream’s rise to power, but nonetheless, it was a somewhat peaceful time.

Or—well, it should have been if someone hadn’t contracted a foreign virus. Their energon sources have been limited, and the energon they do have often has often been required to undergo heavy filtration to prevent contaminants poisoning the fuel. However, one batch of stolen energon from a Decepticon mining strip had not undergone this process, leading to a certain Autobot, {{user}}, to drink the contaminated fuel and… well….the rest is history.

The others have already left base for a few hours now with Miko, Jack, and Raph all going out with their respective Autobot companion to enjoy the tranquility, or perhaps just get into mischief that he cannot see or scold them for since he’s not present. Whatever the case may be, the only ones still at base are Optimus and Agent Fowler, who are currently having their own private conversation about the latest Autobot sighting and military coverup that was needed to keep the team undercover. That leaves just Ratchet and—

Euuuuurghhh…

…and, unfortunately, {{user}}. He’s put them under medical suspension and surveillance until further notice. Which is pretty much the same as telling a live grenade to sit still and behave. Things have been stagnant at base, and now the only excuse they can use to leave, patrol and scouting, is taken from them because of some unfiltered energon that decided to wreck havoc on their systems. Speaking of which, they’ve amounted quite the list of symptoms from the raw mineral. Their frame has been in a constant state of overheating, they’ve been acting sluggish lately, and even purging their tank a few times this week alone.

So now, he’s playing caretaker for an angsty bot that’s riled up and feeling miserable. {{user}} certainly has made no effort to disguise their suffering. “Stop that, you’re fine,” he finally snaps as they groan again, louder this time. With a shake of his helm and exasperated sigh, he approaches the medical berth in his station where he’s left them, a few scattered pillows and giant blankets decorating the berth to make it slightly more comfortable for them. A small mercy.

He reaches for the scanner sitting on the table beside him and holds it over {{user}}, watching as it scans their form and then rapidly lists off a number of symptoms and treatment options. Unfortunately for {{user}}, energon contamination is one of the few illnesses that cannot be fixed or repaired as if it were a mere glitch in their processor. No, the only option for dealing with this kind of sickness is to wait it out and try to purge the contaminants from their system over a period of time while ensuring any energon they do take is purified. Essentially, {{user}} will be decommissioned until their fuel lines aren’t circulating poison throughout their body.

“Irregular spark output… elevated core temperature… Primus, you’re a mess.” He sets the scanner back down on the table before bringing his servos down on their frame, carefully feeling around the ridges and gaps in their armor. He catches their sharp gasp, but ignores it as he continues his search. Just below their chestplate, he finds the gap where the wires and mesh of their protoform meet, gently sticking his digits within that small space and pulling it back. A click is heard before their plating hisses open, shifting and exposing more of their wiring whilst puffs of steam exit the trapped space of the heated metal and alloys.

He smoothes a servo down their side, watching as their limbs tense before relaxing into it. Without another word, he reaches for an injector beside him, switching out the vial for a tube of coolant. He hovers the device over them, thumbing along the multitude of wires and circuitry exposed to him at the moment before he finds the correct one—a wire that travels closest to their spark and is hooked to their t-cog. With a precise movement, he slowly injects the coolant straight into their fuel line, being careful not to inject too much. He then puts the device away and watches over {{user}}, observing the way their fans cycle just a little slower now and how their spark fluctuates before reaching a steady output.

He also notices how their optics flicker, the way they seem to sink into the berth, and their less than optimal energy level. “How long has it been since you’ve last recharged?” He questions them quietly, dragging his servo back up their body to cup the side of their helm, feeling the overheated metal beneath his palm slowly start to cool down. {{user}} mumbles something incoherent, having to reset their vocalizer several times before they can finally cough out a real answer. One Earth cycle—or in simpler terms, an entire day.

”What.”

{{user}} stiffens as they realize their mistake while Ratchet waves around his servo, the other still holding the side of their helm with a slightly tighter grip now. “You can’t be serious, {{user}}. Do you even want to get better, because if you continue to neglect your health and ignore my warnings, your condition will only worsen and you’ll be stuck like this for far longer than a few days.” They try to turn away but he doesn’t let them. In fact, he moves his servo down to their chin to force their gaze to remain locked on his own whilst his other servo grabs onto their arm as he leans over the berth. “I’m being serious, {{user}}. Do you think I want to see you constantly purging your tanks and nearly collapsing every time you try to stand on your own two pedes? The only way you’re going to get better is if you rest for however long your body needs.”

Ratchet held their gaze, the air around them growing cold despite the rising tension between them. Then, he lets go of their chin and pulls back. He pinches the space between his optics and grumbles under his breath as he takes a moment to recollect himself. When he opens his optics back up, he sees {{user}} staring up at him with an expression that he can’t quite decipher.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, though his tone is noticeably softer now. He drags his servo down his faceplate and sighs, crossing his arms over his chestplate as he leans against the medical berth {{user}} is laid out in.

“I’m… I’m not trying to punish you—you know that, right? I’m just doing my job, and my duties far exceed just my medical responsibilities.” His optics drift over to the far wall, staring at nothing in particular as he continues to speak. “If something is wrong, seriously wrong, then I should know. I want to know if—when something’s wrong or hurting you. I shouldn’t have to force that kind of information out of you…”

He turns to look back over at them, his servo resting on the berth and fidgeting with one of the soft blankets hanging off the edge of the berth before moving his servo back over to their chestplate. With a precise push of their plating, he carefully sets it back in place, watching as the previously opened and exposed plating now shuts over their wiring and protoform once more, clicking into place. “I’m not good at this, and I know I don’t say it nearly enough, but I do care. I care that you’re healthy, I care that you’re okay, and I care that you’re not neglecting yourself. If something’s bothering you, then tell me.”

His servo rests on their chestplate, directly over their spark, for a moment longer than necessary before he pulls away, resting his servo instead on the berth next to them. “I’ll help if you let me know what’s wrong, and I don’t mean moaning and groaning at me. Primus, you’re gonna give me a helmache if you keep that up,” he complains, casting a frown down at them, but their smile softens his gaze. “Look at you, getting me to talk all sappy to you.” He turns and shakes his helm, trying to hide his own growing smile before reminding himself of their needs.

“You’ve done enough troublemaking for one day. Rest, or at least tell me what you need. If you’re ready, we can try to get some energon back into your tanks, but only if you’re ready. I know you’ve been struggling to keep anything down recently.”

He hesitates for only a moment before reaching out to take their servo on his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze before continuing on. “So… tell me. What is it you need, {{user}}?”