ante_luce | What's in a Frame? (Part 1)

Title: What's in a Frame?(Part 1)
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Ratchet. Optimus. Prowl.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Notes: Bunny #2 from here.

Ratchet worked silently, a situation which would have freaked out many of the Autobots if they weren’t in the midst of fighting a pitched battle. As it was, the medic had no time or processing power to swear and curse as he fought a battle of his own under the cover provided by his Prime, sealing energon leaks before the bot under his hands bled to death. It was only after he’d cleared the twisted remains of what had once been the mech’s back armour that he stopped, processors stalling at the data his optics presented him.

“Ratchet! Megatron’s going for Op-”

He spotted the gunmetal Decepticon at the same time as the warning was yelled and stopped listening to lunge forward, too late to shield his commander from the attack. But his patient was faster. Ratchet’s optics stared at the ruined back that faced him and Prime, CPU struggling to comprehend how this mech was online, much less standing. His protector staggered back a step, then straightened.

“Well, what a surprise. The mighty Megatron isn't so mighty after all.”

“Shut up Starscream! I hit him at point blank range. There must be some other factor at work here if he hasn’t offlined!”

“I bet you tell that to all the bots, oh great and powerful leader! Your weapon rivals a wet noodle in effectiveness! It didn’t do slag to him!”

A missile slammed into Starscream’s wing before Megatron could respond. A second streaked past the gunformer, missing him by a laser’s breadth as Skywarp appeared to yank the Decepticon Commander to one side. A hail of acid pellets followed, prompting the teleporter to dart away with a yelp as he was targeted with the vindictiveness of a thwarted foe.

“Yes it did. It made him mad!”

A hush fell over their immediate surroundings as all took in the sight of Prowl, core systems practically hanging out of his chassis, driving the Decepticons away from him and Ratchet. A sharp comment over comms had the rest of the Autobots snapping back to the fight, eventually driving their enemies back.

“Prowl.”

“I’ll explain later.” The black and white mech managed before he stumbled, caught by Ratchet just in time for the medic to see his optics flicker and go dark with unconsciousness. The ambulance grumbled, hefting the doorwinged mech against his shoulder, waiting for Skyfire to get his aft over so they could return to the Ark.

“You’d better.”

= = =

Having seen off all but the injured still recovering in his med bay, the medic was waiting when Prowl finally woke. Arms crossed and expression suitably intimidating, he glowered at the black and white mech slowly sitting up and examining the damage done to him. Beside the CMO, the Prime rested on another berth, shifting uneasily. Ratchet understood the Autobot leader’s queasy expression. Prowl’s chest looked like someone had taken an ice cream scoop to it, carving a large hollow out of the mech’s torso. Most mechs with that kind of damage wouldn’t be able to come online.

Most mechs with that kind of damage would normally be dead.

But here was their SIC, looking for all the world like he’d just taken a few dents to his plating instead of having a goodly portion of his critical systems charred to so much ash. Ratchet had not dared to do more than seal off energon and coolant lines for fear of stopping whatever it was that was keeping Prowl alive. Even the damaged and half melted circuitry was still in place.

“Well, you said you’d explain. Explain.”

“There is a reason I do not often go into battle.” A white hand was exploring the empty space where once a familiar bumper and Datsun hood had been, making Optimus wince some more. Ratchet huffed.

“Yes, because you are slag at hand to hand.”

“I have mastered Diffusion and have taken several levels in Metallikato. I had begun my studies in Circuit Su before I had to cease such activities to focus on tactics instead. I assure you, Ratchet, my reasons for avoiding the battlefield are not because of any lack of combat ability.”

The medic read the many slights and disparaging remarks that had gone into building the tactician’s unusually defensive tone and sighed, switching tacks.

“Because we need a working CPU directing the madness, since Prime here can’t see out the back of his head. That’s where you come in. Only this time we needed every mech out on the field. Now, how the frag are you online and talking?”

“I took on several modifications and extra armour early in the war to hide my true appearance. The systems that run the additions are fully functional in order to avoid detection by any bot with even rudimentary medical knowledge. When they are damaged enough to fail or be knocked offline, my original systems take over.”

Ratchet blinked. Then groaned.

“And of course, this wouldn’t be in your medical file. So that’s why you never want to stay in the med bay.” The white and red mech vented air irritably and grabbed his tools.

“Fine. Tell me what I can get rid of.”

= = =

“Prowl?”

“Yes Prime?”

“I realise that it’s not my place to pry, but why did you choose to modify yourself so drastically?”

The mech shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the medic muttering under his breath and poring over the parts laid out on a worktable. Wires and cables snaked out from the tactician’s frame, connecting him to a monitoring device. Ratchet was taking no chances with Prowl, no matter how much the SIC reassured him that his original systems were fine.

“This form was more practical than the one I was sparked with. What I lost in terms of agility and speed was made up for by the addition to my defensive capabilities.”

“Practical or not, it was putting additional stress on your spark.” Ratchet scowled as he came over to check on the tactician’s readouts.

“An acceptable sacrifice, especially with the escalation in hostilities with the Decepticons and my position as SIC.”

“Slaggit Prowl! There’s a reason no one changes their root mode!”

“What reason is that Ratchet?” Optimus queried, sounding concerned, and the medic cycled air wearily, trying to keep his temper under control.

“Prowl can’t power a frame of this size. We’re lucky we found out before our glitch of a head tactician suffered from spark failure, with no chance of revival.”

Prowl opened his mouth, about to argue that he’d survived this long and would continue just fine in the same manner when Ratchet continued, optics hard. “And I’ll bet that his crashes from low energy levels were due to this, not that slag about ‘forgetting to refuel’ he’s got everyone believing. And those crashes have been increasing recently, haven’t they, Prowl?”

Optimus looked horrified, and with a sinking feeling, Prowl accepted that he would be returning to his original format for the rest of his natural lifespan.