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The call came in just as Ratchet was lying down on his berth, exhausted after a long day of useless appointments and simple but tedious repairs. For a moment, he considered ignoring the ping, whatever it was about, in favor of recharge. He’d had too long a shift to cater to the whim of some upper-tier mech complaining about a minor dent to their plating, particularly not when it could wait a few cycles.
But the ping repeated, and Ratchet finally roused himself enough to note that it was coming along an official medical channel—a medical channel from the police hospital in Rodion. His spark seized with dread in his chest, and Ratchet scrambled upright on the berth, ignoring the creak of his joints after a long day on his pedes. “Ratchet here,” he said into his comm.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ratchet.” The familiar voice of Orion Pax sent him slumping to the berth again in relief. If Pax was calling and apologizing for doing so, then the matter must not be spark-threatening.
But it didn’t mean Orion wasn’t damaged, and that was enough to keep Ratchet’s vocalizer steady. “Don’t apologize, just tell me what you’ve done to yourself now,” he ordered, heaving himself onto his pedes. “If there’s anything likely to distract me while I’m driving, say it now.”
Ratchet had, through a number of particularly pointed lectures, ensured that Orion knew better than to try and dissuade him from coming after a call from a medical center. He’d also brow-beaten the cop into informing him of any serious injuries, rather than leaving it for Ratchet to learn of after the fact. It had taken nearly a meta-cycle, of course, but Ratchet was nothing if not determined.
“There was an attempted breakout in the midst of a prisoner transfer,” Orion told him after a moment of obvious hesitation. “Roller was injured. He has been repaired, but the medics have informed me that they intend to hold him here for several cycles while the welds set.”
“And what about you?” Ratchet demanded. He was already drawing a portion of energon in preparation for the trip from his Iacon lodgings to Rodion. At this time of the night, if he hurried, he could be there soon.
“Little more than scratched paint,” Orion said, though he sounded as though he’d resigned himself to an examination the moment Ratchet was in scanning distance. Ratchet noted it with grim satisfaction, even as he stepped out of his door and set it to bolt-lock behind him. “But my shift tomorrow has been delayed. I’ll be here when you arrive.”
“Get some recharge in the meantime,” Ratchet ordered, already throwing himself into alt mode. Orion’s only answer before the channel closed was a tired chuckle.
As Ratchet expected, the streets were nearly empty, and by gunning his motor, he was able to make respectable time in the journey. The police hospital was a neat but unassuming building in one of the more respectable areas of Rodion, nothing like Ratchet’s little under-the-table clinic in the Dead End. This hospital was far from the best medical facility on Cybertron, but the place worked efficiently and competently. Ratchet had no concerns about the quality of care his friends received here.
Apparently, Orion had notified the staff that Ratchet would be arriving, because the first mech he approached pointed him in the direction of a recovery room without question. The center was quiet and still, without any of the bustle that indicated a crisis. Any emergency caused among the police forces by the attempted breakout must have been resolved by now.
It did not take Ratchet long to find the recovery room. Inside, the lights had been dimmed, for the sake of the mechs resting inside. Much of the room was taken up by a large berth, and the large mech laying on top of it. In the dark, Ratchet could just barely make out the silvery lines of fresh welds in the midst of plating stripped of paint, distributed across Roller’s chassis and grill. From the placement, Ratchet guessed that Roller had crashed badly, maybe even flipped. A monitor set to the side of the berth showed low energon levels but steady spark energy. That, and the lack of any more intensive equipment hooked up to the unconscious mech, eased Ratchet’s spark.
Next to the berth, slumped into a chair with his arms folded and optics dimmed, sat Orion Pax. The officer was covered in scuffs and slight dents, but it seemed he had been truthful. Ratchet could see no signs of major repairs. Not only that, but he seemed to have obeyed Ratchet’s order to get some rest. Ratchet did his best to step quietly, but something must have alerted Orion, because his systems began to power up at the first clank of Ratchet’s pedes.
Ratchet very pointedly initiated a medical scan, and watched as the other mech slowly booted up. “That’s a little more than scratched paint,” he said, as the scan noted new tires set into Orion’s shoulder wells.
“A lucky shot blew one out, nothing more,” Orion told him. “That did not take you long.” His optics were still dim, and his vocalizer scratched with static, all signs of a mech who was not quite out of recharge.
“The streets were empty,” Ratchet told him blithely. He certainly had not been rushing here, no matter what Pax implied. But, reassured that his friend had been telling the truth, he finally stepped over to the other side of the room, taking a chair of his own. “Has he woken yet?”
Orion’s answer was a shake of his head. “Not yet. According to the doctors, it may take a while longer.”
Ratchet looked Orion over from helm to pede, taking in the scuffs and dirt that covered him. “Well, I’ll sit by him for a while, and you can go and clean up.” He leveled a look and an accusatory finger in Pax’s direction. “And after that you’ll get some proper recharge. Don’t think I didn’t hear you say that your shift was only delayed. You’re lucky I haven’t sent you home.”
Orion must have been more tired than he let on, because it did not take much prodding before he acquiesced. Ratchet had no doubt that he would never convince Orion to leave the medical center tonight, but he was not about to try, lest he be labeled a hypocrite. As it was, Orion still lingered in the doorway. “Comm me if he wakes before I return,” he said, in a tone that allowed for no argument.
“You know I will,” Ratchet grouched, and settled himself more firmly in his chair. After tuning an audial to the rhythm of Roller’s systems, Ratchet leaned back and offlined his optics. He’d had a long day, after all, and tomorrow would be much the same no matter how little recharge he got before his shift was meant to start. He would awake if Roller started coming online. Until then, he was going to get some well-deserved rest.
An indeterminate time later, the sound of Orion returning and taking a chair drove him into wakefulness again. He leveled a look at the cop, but the effect must have been hurt by his own exhaustion, because Orion simply leveled a look at him in return and settled himself more firmly in place. Ratchet, only half out of his low-power state, couldn’t string a processing thread together enough to argue properly. Instead, he simply grimaced.
On the berth, Roller groaned, barely more than a staticky sound spitting out of his vocalizer, but it was more than enough to grab Ratchet’s attention. He leaned over Roller, and could hear Orion stepping forward to do the same. They didn’t have long to wait. Roller’s systems began humming online, one by one, and his optics brightened, flickering between the two of them.
“Hey.” Roller’s voice was still full of static, but he didn’t seem to notice the rasp. “What’d I do?”
Tired as he was, Ratchet couldn’t hide a chuckle. “You’ve made a proper mess of yourself,” he said, watching Roller’s optics as they took a moment to focus on him. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was the one to get rolled over, for the first time in my existence,” Roller said muzzily.
“Might as well have been,” Orion put in, exasperated in a way that Ratchet had only ever see Roller bring out in him. “They blew a hole through your side, and that was after the crash. You’re lucky it didn’t irreversibly damage anything important.”
“Guess I have you to thank for that?” Roller said, with a hint of a grin. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that you were soft-sparked enough to worry.”
“He makes it obvious enough on his own,” Ratchet grumbled, ignoring the way Orion knocked a shoulder against his in reprimand.
“You’re one to talk,” Orion retorted. “Driving all the way out here from Iacon, when you’ll only have to go back again in a few cycles.”
Below them, Roller started chuckling, and didn’t stop when the two of them turned their attention back at him. “I’m glad I’m all right too,” he said, as soon as he’d gotten himself under control.
“Hmph. I see you’ve shorted out your processor, in addition to your other injuries,” Ratchet groused, but he could feel the smile on his faceplates, and he knew, if he glanced over at Orion, he would see the same thing in the officer’s optics. “Welcome back to the world of the functioning, you glitch.”