trans_9 | Meet-n-Greet

He was going to worry, of course - that's what friends did, especially two war-weary veterans - but he also knew when to drop it. For now. He'd try to corner the medic later to get him to let Wheeljack finish the repairs.

He nodded a bit numbly. "Yeah. Still tryin' ta wrap my processor around all that, but . . . y-yeah." He tilted his head. "So these . . . Ohm. You met one yet? Or seen one? I mean . . . how's that all work?"

He shook his head and spread his hands in a gesture of futility. "No idea. The only things I've seen so far have been Stacy's insides." The conversation he'd had with Zetta not too long ago crawled its way up through his memory banks then and he paused in consideration before continuing.

"Look, to be honest, all this business with the Ohm and the worlds- all we have to go on is Stacy's word until we see it for ourselves. Maybe it's true... maybe it's not. I think it's worth believing because no one else seems have a better explanation, but so far the only trouble I've seen has been from within.

"Great." The frown was heavy in his tone. "What kinda trouble? An' . . . what about this...Stacy? Who is she? Is she trustworthy? I mean, I get that she's . . . all this, a sentient ship - a sentient, half-organic ship, but . . . " He waved an arm to take in the whole room, and by extension, the whole entity.

"The best I can gather about Stacy is that no one has any idea if she's on the level or not. She's supposed to belong to a race calling themselves Daligig, but if they manned her before, they were gone by the time I woke up. Supposedly they're the ones who started her on this 'save the worlds' mission."

And every single bit of information just seemed to fall right back into that 'might as well believe it because no one else has anything better' trap. He really wished that he had better news to give out, but even the people he'd talk to after his own awakening had been cautious in what they labeled as 'truth'. "Frankly, if you ask me, it doesn't make a fraggin' bit of difference whether anyone's telling the truth or just blowing smoke up our tailpipes until someone comes up with evidence one way or another." Ratchet was trusting Stacy's story for right now; people like Zetta had chosen to take it with a grain of salt. Wheeljack would have to make up his own mind on the matter.

"Right now, though? I hate to say it, but you guys woke up in the middle of trouble. There's some kind of pathogen going around; half the ship's locked down in quarantine."

Trust Ratchet to focus on the mundane and leave speculation to others. While some might think that a negative, Wheeljack knew full-well that his friend's practicality had helped keep him grounded more times than he could count. He just nodded with a soft, noncommittal grunt, determining not to form any opinions one way or another till he knew more.

"Pathogen?" He delved into the language downloads that Teletraan I had input into all of them, as that was a word he'd not really much come across before. 'pathogen: any disease-producing agent, esp. a virus, bacterium, or other microorganism.' "Somthin' organic? I'm guessin' you an' me're immune to it, then? What're the symptoms? Is there a cure for it yet?" Were this something mechanical, his mind would be working on eight different possible solutions for the problem . . . but he knew next to nothing about carbon-based breakdowns and how to handle them.

For as close as they were, there would always be this divergence: Ratchet had ages of medical knowledge at hand and Wheeljack had to look up the word 'pathogen'. On the other hand, Wheeljack could probably build a fusion reactor out of the things he found under the couch.

He shook his head. "Right now all we can do is try to keep it contained, but we're working on the details. It manifests in standard human flu symptoms- increased core temperature, sweating, skin pallor with potential for nausea and dehydration- but for some reason, it's pushing the host's aggressive tendencies way over the edge." Translated from medic speak, the general gist was that people were getting sick and going mad. "We've got some unusual cases so far, so I can't say whatever this is couldn't jump the line to something techno-organic, so I'm warning you now. But if you see anyone around the ship acting unduly violent, comm me immediately. They gave you the stuff for that when you got here, right?"

Considering that Bluestreak had once claimed the inventor could build a neutron bomb from a wristwatch and a rusty can? Actually, Wheeljack was still toying the concept...

"The wha- Oh, this?" He pulled out the device he'd been handed. It seemed elementary enough, though he could probably do just as well with his onboard comm. Then again, those tentacles had tried to give him clothing "just like everyone else" too. That, he'd politely declined.

He cycled a deep pull of air, grimacing inwardly at the thin layer of slime still coating his intake filters. That wasn't the important consideration, though. He looked up at his long-time friend, as serious as he'd ever been.

"Tell me what I can do ta help, Ratchet."

"Yeah. I'd get the comm ring integrated into your systems when you get a chance- those things are guaranteed to work if everything else fails. I can transfer over what I have on my omnicom to yours later." It was like falling back into an old routine; he didn't have to worry about what he could or couldn't tell Wheeljack because he trusted the mech with just about everything. And considering they were here, being told that they were drafted into some multi-dimensional war, 'everything' was probably something his friend could stand to know.

The reply to his following query was immediate: "Right now? Don't get sick. I can take you down to medical to see for yourself, but I've pretty much just told you everything we've got on this thing so far." He paused, expression softening slightly. "Trust me, that you're awake is a load off my shoulders all on its own. Once we get this situation under control and lift the quarantine, you can take a trip down to engineering; you won't be lacking for anything to do after that I'm sure."

There's an Engineerin' section here? Wheeljack perked visibly, having wondered if the ship, being largely (apparently) biological, would even have such a thing - or anyway, in a form he'd be familiar with.

But again . . . not the most immediate consideration. He pushed his sudden, customary eagerness back for now and took in his friend anew.

Ratchet had been here, alone - as it were - for some months now. No doubt the medic had made friends, but no one of his own race, which was isolating in itself. And certainly no one of those he'd known for so many tens of thousands of vorns. Wheeljack gave his long-time friend another hug before he really thought about what he was doing, and made himself pull back before he really wanted to. "Heh . . . no promises about not gettin' sick, but I'll do my best." His gaze wandered over the patching once more. "Maybe we head down ta medical, an' while we're there, you let me get a look at you? Check for breaches an' make sure all your seals're tight. Especially if this thing's airborn. I'm figurin' you're one'a the guys primarily handlin' this thing, right? We don't need this pathogen bypassin' your filters cuz it found an easy backdoor in some other way." He nodded at one of the more awkward patches, where Ratchet would have had a hard time reaching.

Wheeljack wouldn't hinder his friend from doing what he did best . . . but he would make sure the medic was as protected as reasonably possible.

He knew that would get the other's attention; just a little something to make the whole ordeal feel a little less daunting because he knew how much it helped to have something you knew. The hug was surprising, but he allowed it, not saying anything one way or another. A part of him had missed this anyway, although that same part was starting to wonder if maybe they didn't need to have a talk about the nature of timelines. The Wheeljack he remembered hadn't had a reason to hug him in far too long.

"Hey, you saying I can't tighten my own bolts the right way? I'm insulted!" He gave his friend a good natured nudge on the shoulder. "Don't worry, if I end up sick, it's not gonna be 'cause of shoddy repair work. I wouldn't mind the help getting some of these dings out of my plating, though."

He paused then, expression shifting to an odd mix of somber and serious. "There's something I want to ask." He motioned for Wheeljack to follow him and moved out of the thick of the crowd towards one of the 'portholes' where the Bleed rushed by outside. "What do you remember before waking up here?"

They'd had their spats, of course, who didn't?, but Wheeljack - the one whom Stacy had found and managed to rescue, then resuscitate - had never known a time since that fateful day in Gygax, when their university was leveled around their helms, that he'd not felt especially close to Ratchet. In his mind, the two old friends were inseparable. (Little might he know that there were realities out there where that seemingly infallible truth would prove breakable after all.)

Wheeljack just laughed and nudged back. "Yeah, I think I can manage that." The change in his friend's demeanor, however, gave him pause, and something in the other's tone made his tanks lurch a bit. He easily followed the taller mech through the crowd and to a porthole or viewscreen of some kind where . . . something . . . flowed by across the surface. He wanted to ask what that was but . . . he turned away to meet his friend's optics instead.

Huh? Wouldn't we remember the same thing? If their world had been completely decimated by a worlds-shattering race of beings...

"Um..." What did he remember last? Recharging . . . working in his lab . . . listening to Cliffjumper gripe about...something . . . breaking up a fight between Smokescreen and Sunstreaker over a human card game . . .

"Last major thing I guess'd be a couple days ago - feels like a couple days ago - when Prime an' the others impersonated the Stunticons ta find out what Megatron was after with all those seemingly-random heists." His chin had tucked a bit as he thought, but he looked up again then at Ratchet. "...you?"

Ratchet had done his homework on his off hours and as happy as he was to see Wheeljack, he still wanted to make sure everything was laid out like it should be. This situation was too... different to leave assumptions between them. He needed to be sure.

So he listened to what Wheeljack had to say... and none of it matched up to anything he remembered, either recently or in the past. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall next to the window, considering this turn of events. Ratchet had personally been serving in the Autobot army for as long as the Stunticons had been serving under Megatron and he would have remembered if Prime had come up with some glitchy scheme like that.

So what did that mean? That he didn't really know the mech who was standing in front of him? If their worlds were restored, would he find himself going to one place and Wheeljack to another? Was there another pod down there holding an Autobot identical to this one but with different memories? Was there another Ratchet down there? He was sure that he'd considered these sorts of things before when he'd pondered the nature of the Pod Caverns, but to see the physical embodiment of the idea standing here... it was a little unsettling.

"Last thing I saw was Hot Rod taking off in Ultra Magnus' ship, leaving the rest of us stranded on Earth. I don't remember anything even close to what you described." He watched Wheeljack closely, attentive to his friend's reaction. There was a part of him suddenly feeling hurt and maybe a little betrayed by this sudden revelation, but he kept it shoved down inside. Wheeljack was Wheeljack, right? They remembered that they were friends, so what did the details matter.

Edited 2010-10-05 05:25 (UTC)

Wheeljack watched Ratchet take in his comment as if it were something he had to ponder, like it was new or somehow unsettling information. Then the medic spoke, and a slag weight hit Wheeljack's manifold, heavy and uncomfortable.

Who's Hot Rod? An' when an' how did Ultra Magnus get a ship that could get ta Earth? An' why doesn't he remember that!? He was one'a the ones helpin' apply the camouflage paint ta Prime an' the others while I studied the components they'd stolen...

"What . . . what Earth year was it for you?"

Maybe . . . maybe something had just happened to him and he'd been knocked back into stasis lock for a time, and life carried on for Ratchet and the others so that things happened that he didn't know about. But . . . no . . . no, that wasn't quite right, either. For one, it didn't explain why Ratchet didn't remember the mess with the Stunticons. And two, if something had happened to him, why hadn't Ratchet repaired him? Obviously because for some reason he couldn't - he didn't believe for an astro-second that Ratchet wouldn't have if he had any means at all to do so - but then . . . why would Ratchet have asked what the last thing was he remembered? Ratchet would have known.

...wouldn't he?

Edited 2010-10-05 19:23 (UTC)

"2009," Ratchet answered, his tone sounding flat to his audios. It probably didn't matter what year it was if they were from different worlds entirely. It could be the same year and it wouldn't make a difference.

Wheeljack's optics flashed softly in surprise.

"O-oh..."

He backed up till he bumped the bulkhead behind him, suddenly needing something to lean on, his optics dropping from Ratchet's. Suddenly things didn't feel so real anymore again. He looked out around the room once more, suddenly feeling disconnected and more than a little lost.

"Um, Ratchet? What's...w-what's going on?"

Tell me this is just a really bad recharge...

He didn't know whether that 'oh' meant Wheeljack came from before or after, but he sounded unsettled enough by it that Ratchet felt a little guilty for bringing it up at all. Still, he knew just as much as anyone else, perhaps even more so, that some things needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant.

"It's like I said... this ship moves between... realities; dimensions; universes, whatever you want to call it." He pushed away from the wall and waved a hand towards the view from the porthole. "All that? That's called the Bleed. It's all the stuff between worlds, I guess. Best I can understand, one of us was picked up on one Earth and the other on a completely different one."

He turned his head to let his optics drift over the strange collection of life currently milling around the deck. Multitudes of humans, non-humans and everyone who looked like your run of the mill Terran but wasn't. "I don't claim to know how it works, but out of all these people, it's a fair bet that you can ask any of them that claim they come from 'Earth' and none of them would have known about the person standing next to them."

It was... weird, to put it lightly. Ratchet was used to other planets, but they were all in one universe. You didn't just hop from one Earth to another. Unless you were Stacy, apparently. He looked back to Wheeljack, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth that was half exasperation and half ironic amusement. "But you and I remember being friends, right? I guess some things are universal constants, no matter which dimension you come from."

Wheeljack tensed at the mention of realities. He was well aware of the theories around quantum physics and parallel universes - he'd attended a seminar on those and related topics...forever ago, even assisted one of the speakers - but to talk to living proof of it . . . and it be his best friend, no less (o-or was he?) . . . it was a slap in the face. He looked out the window and not even the normally eager, inquisitive scientist in him could call up a reaction to the incredible sight and its even more incredible explanation.

'I don't claim to know how it works...' No, but Wheeljack could. He just didn't want to right then.

But then Ratchet looked back down at him with that easy, half-grin he knew so well. Point. Though how close was still a question.

'It's all right. I'd rather be beat up and with you than alone and dead . . . Whatever happens, I'm glad I met you. You're a good friend.'

"Heh, yeah . . . y-yeah, I guess so." He made himself straighten and meet the medic's optic, sincerity in his tone. Whatever Ratchet's experience of them, he wanted the other to know, to get, what his was. "You were the first real friend I ever had, an' you've always been my closest. I probably owe you pretty much everythin' I've ever gained, because you believed in me when no one else would, when even I didn't. We've been through . . . everythin' together."

Or had they? No . . . don't think like that! Think positive.

"Heh . . . guess this just means we've a lotta new stories ta share, yeah?"

Some of Ratchet's humor faded as Wheeljack explained their history as he knew it. "Geeze, don't set the bar too high or anything," he quipped, feeling just a little uncomfortable hearing it all. It wasn't that he didn't believe in Wheeljack or hadn't been through the Pit and back with him... it wasn't even that he didn't consider the engineer his closest friend, but listening to it, he suddenly felt like he'd been entered into some kind of twisted competition. And even worse, that he was being held against not just an idea, but an idea of himself. As if just one or the other was bad enough on its own.

He couldn't help but wonder if he was going to measure up.

"Don't sell yourself so short," he said, keeping everything else carefully packed down where Wheeljack couldn't take it the wrong way. "You wouldn't have gotten anywhere if you weren't you." He gave his friend--he was still Wheeljack, so he refused to think of him as anything less--a warm smile, hoping to reassure him. "And you're still you. I don't care what world you came from."

And he believed that... or at least he wouldn't let himself believe anything else. He didn't need to finally see his best friend again only to toss him away just because he wasn't what he was expecting. "Got that right. You're gonna have to start with who it was that thought it was a good idea to impersonate Stunticons."

Edited 2010-10-07 04:42 (UTC)

Wheeljack saw the shift in his- . . . in the medic's expression. Y-ya shouldn't'a said that. Ya shouldn't'a said anythin'. You idiot! If he's not-...doesn't matter if he looks an' sounds the same! He may not feel- He may not even know what you're talkin' about! Primus dammit. Now...now what do I do?

His hands went up, and he was talking before he'd fully formed what he wanted to say - it was a habit that went way back when something had gone wrong or he felt cornered or that he had done something wrong. "I-I mean . . . well, not that . . . you are your own person, of course. I mean, I'm familiar with quantum physics an' all that - did a composition on it once, an' was part of a seminar an' . . . I get how it works. I-I don't mean ta compar- ...I-I'm sorry. That's . . . that's not fair ta you." His hands and gaze dropped as he made himself stop babbling. "I'm sorry."

Edited 2010-10-07 06:21 (UTC)

"Hey-" he tried to cut into Wheeljack's sudden bout of babbling, his words bowling over everything else Ratchet had been trying to say. "Hey!"

He was pretty sure this was his fault- or maybe it was both of theirs and he just wanted to take the blame because it was easier that way- but listening to Wheeljack backpedal so fast Ratchet could practically hear the whirring, he was taken by a worry that this was just going to erode whatever relationship they had with each other out from under their own feet. Maybe he hadn't been as careful as he'd thought about keeping his feelings to himself; maybe he'd been too quick to panic; or maybe they were both over reacting. But he couldn't do this to his friend.

"What did I say?" he snapped, putting the edge on his words to force Wheeljack to pay attention. It had always worked before. "Don't apologize. And before you do, don't apologize for apologizing. Because I know you will, I don't care which world you come from." He toned softened then, having felt that his point was made. "Look, none of this is fair but I think considering the fact that there are alien space bugs devouring whole universes, maybe we should take what we can get."

He shoved his hand out suddenly, holding it front of Wheeljack as if daring him to take it. "Let's start over, okay? 'Cause I think this has really gone off the rails. Hello, I'm Ratchet and I come from Earth, year two thousand and nine."

Wheeljack flinched, the sharp tone effectively cutting off the last of anything else that might have wanted to tumble out. He started to apologize but then that cut off too, and the sudden, unbidden thought of he knows me too well was a comfort before it was a surprise to him.

. . . he does know me . . . an' I know him. I do know 'im, his mannerism an' everythin'. If he isn't as close, or wasn't or whatever, maybe...maybe we still can be. In any case, Ratchet was making a clear and obvious effort, and he wasn't going to lose anything Ratchet was willing to offer him, whatever that may be, just because of his own stupid insecurities.

There was only the barest of hesitation before Wheeljack took that hand, his grip firm. "Heh . . . Wheeljack, Earth, year nineteen eighty-six. Pleased ta meetcha." His tone sobered - he was not going to second-guess himself, second-guess them. He let out a steadying puff of air through his vents. "Really pleased ta meet you. ...thanks, Ratch."

And he remembered that he'd been given a request - that rewind/replay reflex in the back of his processor was just as good now as it'd ever been. Yeah . . . if nothing else they could make a sort of almost game of this, even. "Hey, tell ya what, though - I'll tell ya all about the Stunticons, you tell me your memories on how we met, yeah?" That was one of the two most influential things that had happened in his life - he couldn't help being curious, at the very least.

Edited 2010-10-07 23:11 (UTC)

It wasn't that Ratchet was withholding information from Wheeljack on purpose- he certainly had no want to keep the other Autobot in the dark as to their friendship, but spilling out what he was feeling just wasn't something he was accustomed to doing. He knew that he might have to do it anyway eventually, but that time certainly wouldn't come when they were out on the obs deck surrounded by everyone and the kitchen sink.

At least Wheeljack's handshake was strong and he seemed more relaxed, his own return greeting getting a genuinely happy smile from Ratchet. The question that came next was considered thoughtfully for a moment, the medics arms crossing back over his chest loosely. "Primus, that was a long time ago," he muttered, scraping the old memories back up after so long. "It was at the old university in Gygax. You were a frequent visitor to the medical wing right up until the Decepticons leveled the place. We just kinda fell in together during the confusion, I guess." The exact memories had lost bits and pieces over the ages and even when they were fresh, they'd never been extremely clear but there was still enough left over to give Wheeljack what he asked for.

Over the sixty-thousand vorns of waking experience Wheeljack had, many of the details had been lost to him as well, but certain words and phrases - the things that had jumped out at him even back then - he remembered with surprising clarity, even through the pain, the exhaustion, the terror. The details didn't matter; it was what they had both gained out of it all that did.

He'd not been aware of how tense he still was, despite the decision not to doubt them anymore, until the rest of it drained out at Ratchet's answer. He nodded, a big grin perceivable in his tone and the brightness of his optics. "You were gonna 'quarantine' me in the student lounge until . . . how'd ya put it? My urges to creatively slag myself subsided, or somethin' like that?" He snickered, shaking his head. He could look back now and marvel or just find amusement in it. "I still dunno how we managed ta make it through all that. We shoulda been terminated, like, six times over." He sobered again, though his tone was still light, and nodded again. "So . . . our probability contention - um, the point where our paths diverged - is somewhere later than that. Huh." As fascinating as he was starting to find this, he couldn't deny the relief he felt at that as well.

He looked around the room. "There somewhere we can go an' sit down ta talk? Heh, I'm thinkin' this'll take a whil-...oh, n-no, wait." He frowned as the earlier part of their conversation came back to him. "You've got a medical emergency goin' on right now. You got somethin' you need ta get back to?" He couldn't deny a feeling of disappointment, but . . . the health of others most definitely came first.

The grin that spread across Ratchet's face practically lit up his entire expression. Did they really have that slagpit of an experience in common? He'd never been so relieved to have the memories of that terrible day than he was now. "Until your instructor's urges to slag you subsided," he corrected with a laugh. It didn't make sense to him, how they could share some memories, but not others, but at least Wheeljack seemed to understand it and he was welcome to ponder it all he liked. Ratchet just shrugged a little with an absent 'guess so'.

The mention of the current emergency brought him straight back down, however and his expression cooled at the reminder. "Yeah, I shouldn't be away for much longer, but I'm glad I came out here. Are you gonna be okay?"

Wheeljack ducked sheepishly, his optics still bright as he rubbed the side edge of a vocal flange - a reflexive gesture of embarrassment. "Y-yeah, that too." The comment came out a chuckle. The joy on his best friend's face - this was his best friend, even if their exact experiences and their paths diverged a little (or a lot) at some point in their considerably long pasts - was a delight to see, warming his spark alongside his own joy and relief.

At the question, he nodded firmly. Ratchet, his best friend, was here. Whatever else happened, whatever else was their new reality, he had at least that one grounding wire. That, truly, was all - and the best - he could ask for.

"Yeah, Ratch. I'll be fine. You go do whatcha need ta do. We can talk some more later. If there's anything - anything - I can do ta help, lemme know. Otherwise, just gimme a call when things settle down again, okay?" He held up the comm ring.

Edited 2010-10-09 05:06 (UTC)

Meet-n-Greet

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Icon's over-reacting....I don't really have a better one. 9,9 ...also? edits forever OTL

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Meet-n-Greet

XDDD

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Icon's over-reacting....I don't really have a better one. 9,9 ...also? *edits forever* OTL

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Icon's over-reacting....I don't really have a better one. 9,9 ...also? edits forever OTL