Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sound of overlapping conversations and bots milling about filled the spacious rec room of the Ark. It was almost a groon after shift change and the Autobots had congregated into their usual after work social cliques. Instead of the relaxed, cheerful atmosphere of it's usual patronage enjoying their post shift rations, however, today most it's two dozen or so occupants sat in a semi circle haphazardly gathered around the open space of what would normally be the dance floor. All officers and other higher ranking members of the Ark. On the abused flooring sat one of the room's many circular tables that someone had dragged into place in front of the small crowd, center 'stage'. Today the rec room was a classroom.

"Why do we all have to do this?" Sideswipe muttered miserably to his brother, Sunstreaker, seated next to him sipping on his evening energon, "Kup is the one that burned Mirage's optics with peroxide".

Several bots had been sneaking curious glances at Mirage, stood self-consciously at the very back of the large room with Hound. His perfect regal face was marred by a gaudy medical patch welded over both his optics and a painful looking burn streaked across his cheek. A morbid souvenir from the unknown Decepticon scout that had shot him during the recent skirmish.

The twins joined the gawking as Hound guided Mirage to an empty seat at the back of the assembly. The white and blue mech grasped wretchedly onto his impromptu 'seeing eye Hound' with one hand and nervously felt around blindly in front of himself with the other. Mindful of his companion's frail ego, Hound searched the crowd of nosy spectators, daring any one of them to comment. "Optics up front" he finally snapped at the lot of them.

Several bots sheepishly averted their gaze, cowed by the well armed scout.

"I thought that that's what you're supposed to do?" Sunstreaker shrugged, turning back to his brother and his half finished cube. "If somebot has an open wound, and it could get infected, you sterilize it with peroxide. Everyone knows that".

"No" Windblade, shameless of her eavesdropping, twisted around in her seat in front of them to interrupt, rolling her optics insultingly. "You're supposed to put ice on it! That's what Ratchet said last time we did one of these first aid courses, whenever that was".

"I said nothing of the sort, Windblade!" Ratchet bellowed angrily as he made his way towards the little assembly of mechs, burdened with two heavy looking medical bags clutched under his arms. A hush fell over the crowd as the grumpy medic took his place next to the table up front. "And that is exactly why you all need this refresher course. Apparently -" he let the overstuffed bags drop heavily onto the table. His students cringed from the obviously exacerbated CMO "- None of you think first aid is important enough to remember even the basics! I'm not always going to be there to patch your sorry afts back together you know!".

He huffed as he bent to open the first sack and began unpacking a variety of medical knick-knacks, tossing them out onto the table abusively. A stethoscope and what looked like some kind of mask skidded across the table and clattered to the floor, left unnoticed by the medic in the midst of his furious rant.

The group shared nervous glances amongst themselves as the grumpy old medic continued his verbal onslaught.

"I teach you these things so that you can not only help me, but each other out there in the field. You would think basic medical skills would be considered important in an active war. Look what happens otherwise!" he stopped unpacking briefly, gesturing angrily towards Mirage to demonstrate his point.

Ironhide leaned in close to Optimus seated next to him and whispered "was First Aid or Ambulon not available to do this?".

"Ratchet insisted" Optimus answered quietly, fearfully wide optics glued to the angry CMO. He flinched at the loud thud of the bags when Ratchet dropped them both to the floor, apparently finished unpacking what he needed. "To put it politically correctly; he said that none of the other medical staff were, ah, assertive enough to present the course effectively to us".

At the sound of whispering, Ratchet's head snapped up in their direction like a predator "no talking!".

Both Optimus and Ironhide jumped and shrunk a little farther into their seats like scorned mechlings.

"No laughing, no comms" the medic continued, ticking items off on his digits "no jokes. You all need to start taking this seriously. I'm fed up with the level of ignorance I've been seeing from you lot out in the field in terms of medical response. This is not a joke!". He loomed over his subdued audience, searching every wide-opticed face plate for the slightest hint of insubordination.

Prowl scoffed rudely from where he sat cross armed at the front of the group "Ratchet, it's only a handful of individuals on this ship that need a refresher" he glanced pointedly at Kup at the other end of the semi circle surrounding the dance floor. Kup ignored him. "There's no need to berate all of us for not taking first aid seriously. Most of us are perfectly competent".

Ratchet stared at the arrogant praxian, who stared right back, unyielding. Wings held proudly high, the ex-enforcer was not at all intimidated by the CMO's abusive diatribe.

"Really?" Rachet said, sarcastically. Stepping back from Prowl, he turned his attention to the equipment bags he had set aside on the floor. He retrieved a square tin first aid kit from one of them and held it up for all to see. It was the standard kit mounted in rooms throughout the Ark. "This is the first aid kit that was removed from your office last deca-cycle during inspections, Prowl".

Returning to stand in front of the defiant officer, he unlatched the door of the kit and tilted it up, displaying it's meager contents to the group. "A small blaster" he pointed to the offending weapon in the otherwise almost empty box.

Prowl's scowl slackened slightly.

The only other item in the kit was a large bottle full of colourful energon candies with a home made label. Ratchet picked the bottle out of the box and read the label out loud "'Prowler's chill-pills'". Dropping the bottle back into the 'first aid kit', his unimpressed gaze fell back to Prowl, who wilted under it.

Embarrassment quickly shifted to anger and Prowl turned in his chair to glower at where he knew Jazz was standing at the back of the crowd. He locked optics with the blue visor of the saboteur, casually leaned up against a support beam near the entrance.

Jazz coughed to suppress a laugh "hey, Prowler needs those".

Ratchet raised his piercing stare to the polyhexian spy, who also deflated under the CMO's full attention. "Jazz, come here" he finally said, snapping the mockery of a first aid kit shut with a little too much force. He turned back towards the table and tossed the tin kit back on top of the medical bag on the floor from where it came.

"I... ah" slowly pushing off of the support beam, Jazz looked around at the smirking, unsympathetic faces of his comrades, a silent plea for help. After a moment, Optimus cleared his intakes and gestured towards the front where Ratchet stood, waiting. Seething. Jazz dropped his helm and sighed. He reluctantly made his way towards the centre floor like a mech walking to his own execution.

With Jazz now stood awkwardly beside him, Ratchet returned his attention to the room and clasped his servos together "what should you do if your comrade has been shot in the optic with an energy weapon?".

A dozen blank stares answered him.

"Come on" he encouraged "a thermal penetration wound. Pretty standard stuff out there".

Bumblebee raised his hand timidly "don't put peroxide in it?".

Ratchet gestured enthusiastically towards the yellow minibot "that's a start, yes. Don't put peroxide directly in an open wound. Does anyone know why?".

"Because it fragging hurts!" Mirage shouted. Hound put his servo on his friend's shoulder comfortingly.

Ratchet nodded in sympathy for the spy "yes it would. But mostly because peroxide damages the nanites that will heal the wound, making it heal much slower". He hooked his thumbs into his hip armour and began slowly pacing in front of his small audience "The only things you should put in an open wound are clean solvent, if you have it available, an antiseptic nanite gel, and then clean gauze or some kind of dressing. But this is combat first aid. Stopping him from bleeding out too much fuel comes before anything else. Contaminants can be dealt with later in the med bay. Losing too much fuel will offline him faster than an infection. Skip the sterilizing part entirely".

The room filled with interested murmuring.

Ratchet paused to let them fall back to an attentive silence. He then turned to the cluttered table and picked up a small field first aid kit, identical to those issued to every Autobot "I need two more volunteers".

"For what?" Bumblebee asked, stupidly.

"I need one more volunteer" Ratchet said as he dropped the small white and red tin box to the floor at Jazz's pedes. "Kup, come up here. You and Bumblebee are going to patch up Jazz's imaginary blaster wound in his optic". He smiled sadistically at the polyhexian and gestured to the floor between them "lay on the floor, Jazz, you've been shot".

Jazz sighed and lowered himself to the floor as Bumblebee and Kup made their way towards him, taking their places at his side.

Kup placed his cy-gar in his mouth and knelt down next to his mock patient with a grunt. His old joints cracking loud enough to make everyone in the room wince sympathetically. "Alright then, what do we have here" he picked up the small first aid kit and popped the latch open, eyeing it's contents "So what 'r we supposed to use the peroxide for?".

"There is no peroxide in that kit" Ratchet said, standing above the three of them.

"There's peroxide in my kit" Kup looked up at him.

Ratchet stared at him, bewildered. "What? Let me see your kit" he held out his servo expectantly.

Kup unsubspaced his field kit. It was extremely worn out, a large weathered green sack rather than a box, made of some sort of mesh fabric. He placed it in the medic's waiting servo.

Ratchet held it up in front of his face, studying it with horrified curiosity. It looked like it would be more at home in a war museum. An antique. He untied the knot that sealed one end of the sack and emptied some of it's lumpy contents into his servo. A small, half used bottle of peroxide dropped out along with a packet of circuit rerouters that haven't been used by medics since before most bots in this room were even sparked. Very much expired. Highly illegal, too. An old, frayed, tourniquet covered in dried energon unraveled and fell across his palm "what in the- ?".

"Hey!" Prowl leapt to his pedes, bright optics locked onto the packet of rerouters "those are prohibited!".

Farther back in the small crowd, Ultra Magnus stood up as well "Kup!".

Prowl dashed towards Ratchet, roughly snatching the rerouters and the old first aid pouch out of the stunned medics servos. "Kup, I am placing you under arrest for unlawful possession of a prohibited device". Carefully handling the illegal rerouters in his palm, he scanned them to compare against the Praxian Prohibited Items Database.

"I- what do you mean prohibited?!" Kup stumbled, trying to rise up from his crouched position next to Jazz. Jazz and Bumblebee scrambled backwards, away from the sudden flurry of angry mechs and their stomping pedes. "Those were issued to me when I finished army training! That's a standard army kit y'stencil pushing pit-spawned punk!".

Prowl handed the rerouters and the satchel to Ultra Magnus as the large blue mech joined them on the centre floorspace. "Dream chips" he confirmed while unsubspacing his cuffs. The ex-enforcer aggressively grabbed Kup's wrist and put the first cuff on, heedless of the old soldier's sputtering protests.

Ultra Magnus studied the illegal rerouters in his palm with a grim frown. 'Dream chips' . They were powerful pain suppressors that had been regularly used by medics during Cybertron's Golden Age. They were also extremely addictive and sought after by junkies for their euphoric effects on the processor. Even Megatron had banned their presence among his troops early in the war. "Kup, under the Autobot Controlled Devices and Substances Act, Part one, Subsection one, Paragraph one; no bot shall possess a substance or processor altering device included in Schedule one, two, or three". He slipped the contraband into his sub space.

"Hold on Ultra Magnus. Stand down, Prowl" Optimus's baritone voice interrupted. The Prime approached them, his servos raised in a placating gesture, his powerful field enveloping the entire room in a heavy feeling of calm "Kup has had those rerouters since before they were illegal. He did not know that they are now banned".

Prowl bristled angrily at the much larger blue mech's approach, tightening his grip on Kup's forearms "not knowing the law is not an excuse for breaking it".

"I believe the context is important here, Prowl" Optimus argued "he clearly had no intention of using them or selling them in the way that that law is intended to prevent". Optimus reached towards Kup, intending to rescue him from the ex-enforcer.

"Context?" Prowl jerked his prisoner away, doorwings flaring aggressively. "possession is possession, regardless of intent. Prime" Prowl spit his designation like an insult.

Optimus sighed in exasperation. He knew it was pointless to attempt to appeal to his second in command's sense of empathy and decided to pull rank, instead "let Kup go, Prowl. That is an order".

The strategist stubbornly held his grip on Kup, his intense gaze focused on the Prime. The Autobot's head tactician was cold logic incarnate. A strategic genius. His powerful tac-net and mastery of military stratagem had long been a crucial edge in the war effort. He had the ability to see the most insignificant advantage and exploit it, manipulate it into a unique new strategy on the spot. Tracking and maneuvering bots and resources like tens of thousands of pieces on an ever-shifting galaxy sized game of hax, running data through simulated battle models in his tac-net, adjusting for variables, calculating probabilities at increduble speeds.

But he had the emotional capacity of a cleaning drone.

Optimus straightened his posture, steeling himself against another one of those arguments with his second in command. That legendary tac-net was undoubtedly roaring behind those cruel optics, processing data, applying equations, predicting outcomes. 

Hiking his doorwings higher, Prowl shoved Kup towards Ultra Magnus and edged menacingly closer to his superior until their chest armour was nearly touching. His attempt at physically asserting himself was lessened by the fact that the Prime was significantly larger than him. Regardless, he scowled up at Optimus "you're too soft. What is the point of having laws if anybot can get an exemption for claiming ignorance? Where do you draw the line?".

"I draw the line when enforcement of the law becomes unethical" Optimus answered calmly "Kup has done nothing morally wrong".

"I don't care about your morals! I care about consistent discipline!" He stabbed a digit towards Optimus's stunned face "Your tendency to allow your subordinates to continually disregard our laws and procedures is undermining our war effort!"

"Prowl" Optimus began to raise a palm to place it on the shorter mech's shoulder in a placating gesture, but thought better of it "I hear what you are saying-".

"Do you?!".

"I do. Discipline, law, and order are a pillar of the Autobot force. But I wish you could see these mechs as I do" he gestured to Kup and the rest of their audience. "they are not just assets and numbers, Prowl, they are unique individuals. And that means discipline sometimes has to be adapted to their unique circumstances. An iron fist is not always the most effective approach". He stared somberly down at the prickly mech, willing him to understand.

Prowl's doorwings twitched and he took a step back from Optimus, throwing his servos into the air in exasperation "That is no different than the senate allowing legal leniency to higher cast offenders. Our laws need to be applied equally and fairly, otherwise we are no better than the supporters of the functionist caste system!".

"It is very different".

"How?!" Prowl shouted. His cooling fans were audibly humming on their highest setting now, his doorwings hiked high and vibrating.

Jazz extended a cautious servo towards him from where he and Bumblebee had stood back from the argument "Prowl... maybe you an' OP should break this off an' chill for a minute-".

Prowl shrugged away from Jazz's servo, optics locked onto Optimus "how is it different, Optimus?".

Optimus exchanged a concerned glance with Jazz. It was best to avoid philosophical debates with Prowl. The artificial intelligence of his tac-net tended to confuse itself when handling the massive amount of contradicting data needed to create models of all of the abstract nuances of society. However, the determined look on the tactician's face and the fact that Kup was still in cuffs meant that he could not simply walk away from this conversation. "It's different because we decide whether or not to grant leniency based on one's intention rather than their caste or function" he said, carefully.

"Who is 'we' and how is it decided what their intention was?" Prowl said stiffly, through gritted denta.

Optimus frowned "the context is important".

"That isn't a- *czzzzzt* you can't- *czzzt* -circular argument!" Prowl's wide optics were now dimming in time with the erratic twitching of his doorwings.

"- Oh for Primus's sake, Optimus!" Ratchet barked "you're going to cause his processor to crash again!".

Jazz stepped in between Prowl and Optimus with a disarming smile and put his servos gently on the glitching praxian's shoulders "A'ight Prowl, let's you an' me take a little walk and get some coolant from the bar". He gently but firmly coaxed Prowl to turn away, skillfully slipping the key to the cuffs out of the ex-enforcer's subspace and tossing it behind his back to Optimus "put a pin in this".

Prowl stumbled as he tried to pull away, his armour flared to dispense the excess heat. "Jazz, let go of me, I'm fi- *czzzt*" he huffed in exasperation.

"I know 'ya are, babe. Humor me" Jazz winked his visor and continued to nudge him towards the dispensers at the far side of the room. He kept a firm grip on his upper arm, weary of the dizzied stagger of the other mech's steps.

Ultra Magnus cleared his intake as he watched Optimus unlock the cuffs behind Kup's back "Prowl does have a point, Prime. A law was still broken".

Ratchet scoffed "Optimus isn't saying you guys are wrong. He's saying you're aftholes".

Optimus gave Ratchet a reproachful look before turning his attention to Ultra Magnus "I don't believe punishing Kup will accomplish anything. He did not intend to break the law. He knows better now. Dispose of the rerouters and leave it be, Magnus".

Once Kup had been put to rights and Optimus and Magnus had returned to their seats, Ratchet sent a comm to Jazz, inquiring about Prowl's condition. Jazz answered him with an 'OK' gesture from where he stood next to the sullen praxian at the back of the room, urging him to finish a cube of coolant. Ratchet cleared his intake to silence the excited whispering and muttering of the seated mechs "I suppose that was a good reminder to make sure you're checking the contents of your field kit as a part of your regular gear inspection. If an item is used or becomes damaged or soiled, replace it as soon as possible. Also, everything in there has an expiry date".

Ratchet rolled his optics as a few of the mechs around him unsubspaced their field kits and began examining them, probably for the first time in vorns. After a few moments, he clapped his servos together to regain their attention "right then. Patching up an energy weapon wound in somebots optic. Jazz come back up here, I'm not done with you".

Jazz groaned miserably as he left Prowl and made his way back to the stage. Kup and Bumblebee joined him, resuming their positions as Jazz laid back down on the floor.

Ratchet handed Kup the practice field kit. He began rifling through its contents, plucking out a bottle of solvent curiously.

"Your first goal is to put pressure on the wound as fast as possible to stop the energon flow. However" Ratchet paused for emphasis "specifically because this is a helm wound; do not put pressure on it if you suspect a cracked helm. You will use the bandages to plug the wound and-".

"GAH! *pffft*! Kup!" Jazz coughed and wiped the solvent off of his face that Kup had begun to pour on him "what the frag, 'mech?!".

Kup fumbled with the bottle as Jazz nearly knocked it out of his servo in his surprised flailing. "I thought we were being realistic here" he said sheepishly.

Ratchet smiled in amusement down at the saboteur, trying to wipe his face dry "under normal civilian circumstances where you're not being shot at, you would clean the wound with solvent, yes". He turned back to the snickering crowd "but this is combat first aid. Ignore the mess for now and stop the leak as soon as possible. Bumblebee, use the bandages to plug and apply pressure to the the patient's optic wound. It's his left optic. Just put it over his visor".

Bumblebee carefully folded one of the bandages into a thick square and gingerly placed it over Jazz's left optic.

Ratchet returned to standing over his three students, watchfully "Hold it there with your servo and use the other bandages to tie it in place so it stays on its own. Not too tight".

After Kup and Bumblebee had successfully completed dressing Jazz's 'wound', Ratchet proceeded to call up the rest of his students in pairs to take their turns practicing on the saboteur. Once Ratchet was satisfied that Kup and the rest of those in attendance now understood how to properly address a blaster wound, he decided to move on. He waved the last two participants, Arcee and Windblade, to return to their seats.

Jazz dejectedly removed the gauze blindfold from his face for the eleventh time and pushed himself off of the floor, intending to return to his own spot next to Prowl. Far away from Ratchet.

"Ep ep ep I'm not done with you yet!" Ratchet snapped his fingers back at the floor and pinned him in place with a glare.

"Aw c'mon 'Ratch! Pick someone else! I'm sorry!" Jazz pleaded "I'll never tamper with a med kit again. 'Swear it".

"You're small and you don't have doorwings" Ratchet explained dismissively as he expertly re-packed the gauze and solvent bottle neatly into the field kit. He turned his attention back to the room "I wanted to go over that scenario specifically for obvious reasons, but now I want to see how much you all actually remember from your first aid training. We'll start with initial patient evaluations. Kup, come on up here again. You'll go first".

"Please no" Jazz whined quietly as he dropped back to laying face-up on the floor.

Kup confidently rose from his seat and stepped up to the two other bots.

Ratchet gestured to Jazz "Okay, Kup. You found Jazz here laying on the ground on the battlefield. You didn't see what happened to him. What do you do first?".

Kup fiddled with his cy-gar as he peered down at Jazz "Well. S'pose I would check t' see if he's venting first".

Ratchet shook his head "this is combat first aid. You are in an active war zone. Remember the acronym; D R S A B C? D stands for danger. You would check your surroundings first and make sure the area is safe. You wouldn't want whatever injured Jazz to also injure you". Ratchet turned away from Kup and addressed the audience "that could be poison gas, an explosive, falling debris, a Decepticon sniper, et cetera. If this were an active battlefield, you may still be under fire and we would need your gun downrange rather than you attending to a casualty".

The seated bots nodded in agreement.

Ratchet mimed training a blaster at a distant enemy and nudged his pede against Jazz's side. "In that case, you would-" Jazz yelped in surprise as Ratchet expertly flipped him over onto his front and stepped over him, pointedly not taking his optics or 'blaster' off the target "-leave the patient face down so that he doesn't end up choking on his own energon. You can deal with him once you have achieved fire superiority and a safe perimeter".

Elita raised her servo "I thought you aren't supposed to move them in case they have a back strut injury?".

"Good question" Ratchet smiled at her as he nudged Jazz with his foot again to prompt him to return to laying on his back "normally, yes. However, specifically in combat medicine, it is more important that you make sure that the area is safe to perform first aid. You won't do Jazz any good if you get shot yourself while trying to help him". He walked closer to where Elita was seated "In the meantime, he will survive a broken back strut or neck, but he won't survive his vents filling with his own energon while you neutralize the threat. A B C; Airway, Breathing, Circulation. Make sense?".

Elita nodded and smiled at him "thank you".

Ratchet turned back to Jazz "on that same note, if you are unable to neutralize the threat but you can safely reach the casualty -" with surprising strength, he reached one servo down and grabbed his startled patient by the collar of his chest amour, swiftly dragging him across the floor to hide him behind the table and taking up a defensive position with his mimed blaster "- you will quickly move them out of the line of fire".

"Ow" Jazz muttered to himself as the medic released his crushing grip on his collar. Unsympathetic, Ratchet stepped back and gestured for him to return to his spot on center stage. "I'll have to remember never t' arm wrestle you, doc'".

"Keep it up, Jazz" Ratchet warned as he followed his victim back to the front of the highly amused audience. Jazz sighed miserably as he lowered himself back down to the floor next to Kup.

"Alright, Kup, you have achieved fire superiority over the Decepticons and your comrades have established a defensive perimeter. You can now start caring for the casualties. At this point you would be calling for a med-evac” he glanced over his audience to make sure they are all still paying attention. “Begin redistribution of resources. Do you all remember what that means?".

"Take his weapons and ammunition and reallocate them to the other troops" Ironhide rehearsed, confidently.

"Take any mission-sensitive equipment or documents he might be carrying" Ultra Magnus added.

Ratchet nodded, pleased "yep. Mission sensitive items need to stay with the mission. Jazz is going to the medbay. And you take his weapons away because those are also needed on the battlefield". He turned back to Kup and Jazz "Alright Kup. Your fellow soldiers are maintaining a 360 degree safety perimeter. You've reallocated Jazz's equipment. You've called for the med e-vac. You're now ready to begin Tactical Field Care". He picked up the first aid kit from the table and pulled out a pair of thin medical gloves "you don't have the same antiviral protections that medics are installed with, so don't touch his fluids with your bare servos" he handed the gloves to Kup to put on. "I don't even want to think about the places Jazz has been".

"Ha. Ha." Jazz deadpanned from his spot on the floor.

Ratchet continued "now you check if he's responsive. R. See if he's verbally responsive. Ask him a question".

"Are you awake, soldier?" Kup smiled down at Jazz.

"Unfortunately" Jazz answered, miserably.

"Great. That means he can breathe and he is cognizant enough to talk to you" Ratchet explained. "He's probably going to be cursing and swearing at you and whatever 'con got him. That's good. He's making sense with his words". Turning to the seated mechs and beginning to pace slowly across the floor, he continued "now, if he was saying strange things, not making sense, that would mean he's probably in shock. He's not getting enough energon flow to his processor" Ratchet tapped the side of his own helm for emphasis "or he hit his head when he fell and has helm trauma. If you haven't taken away his weapons yet, do so now. But for now, let's say he's not talking to you. Kup, What do you do?".

Kup leaned in close to Jazz's audial and shouted "ARE YOU AWAKE, SOLDIER?".

Jazz flinched away from him "Jeez! Yes I'm awake!".

"Good, Kup, but he's still not responding" Ratchet returned to Kup's side "try physical prompts. Pinch his shoulders. Knuckle in the thorax".

"Ow! OW!" Jazz shoved Kup away when the older mech jabbed him in the tender spot at the center of his chest with his knuckle "Primus that hurts!".

"That's the point" Ratchet said, dryly. "Okay, Kup, he's still not responding. Check that there's nothing obstructing his intake that could be preventing him from venting".

Kup held his fingers under the other mech's chin, tilting his face up and peering down into his intake.

Jazz held still as a corpse, afraid to move.

Once his patient's chin was tilted back, Kup looked to Ratchet for approval.

Ratchet nodded "his airway is open now. Check that he's venting".

Kup looked back down at Jazz. Unsure, he lowered his audial to his patient's intakes, trying to listen for venting. The Special Ops mech was built for stealth, though, and not a whisp of moving air could be heard nor felt. After a moment, Kup withdrew from the other frame and stared down at him, pondering. A silent decision made, he slapped his palm over Jazz's mouth and used his other hand to cover his nose.

Jazz lurched into a panic, clawing at the other mech's wrists to pry the suffocating digits away from his face.

"Kup! What are you doing?!" Ratchet hurried to pull the old soldier off of Jazz.

"These fragging new-age high efficiency framed bots! That's how ya gotta check if they're venting! It wakes 'em up real quick" Kup explained, mercifully releasing Jazz’s face.

"Frag this!" gasping and coughing, Jazz crawled away from Kup and rose to his feet "I'm out". He hurried off the stage, brushing the dust off his plating indignantly.

"Jazz! Get back here- Unbelievable" Ratchet threw his servos up in the air as he watched Jazz hastily return to his spot at the back of the room, attempting to hide behind Prowl. He sighed, frustrated, and scanned the small audience for his next volunteer. Every one of them blatantly avoided meeting his optics "Optimus. Come play our casualty".

Optimus winced at his name. He rose from his chair and carefully picked his way around his seated subordinates, taking Jazz's place on the floor.

Once Optimus was settled, Ratchet returned his attention to Kup "Alright, Kup. To check if someone is venting, you hold your palm or audial above their intakes or wherever their vents are, depending on their frame type". He knelt next to Kup and pointed emphatically at the large exhaust stacks behind Optimus's shoulders "Optimus is a hauler truck, so you can check his smoke stacks. Please -" he added with no small amount of emphasis "Do not try to stop Optimus from venting".

Kup held his hand above one of Optimus's exhaust stacks. After a moment of pause, his face lit up with understanding "ah, there it is. Yep, he's venting".

"Great. If you're in a loud or windy environment, you could also place your servos on his chest plates to feel if he's breathing". Ratchet pushed himself to his pedes with a grunt and turned back towards the crowd "If he's not venting, you would need to begin CPR. I'll go over that a bit later, though" he waved his servo dismissively. "Moving on. If he's unconscious you need to secure his airway. For that, we're going to use the airway adjunct in the field kit". He nodded to the field kit sitting next to Kup's knee "take it out".

Kup picked up the field kit and removed a sealed packet with a little flexible straw-like device, and began reading the label. Optimus's optics widened in alarm at the sight it it.

"Pull it out and lubricate the bottom of the tube". Ratchet returned to Kup's side and crouched next to him and Optimus "Good, now insert it into his right nasal opening. Keep the flared end pointed towards his septum".

Optimus squeezed his optics shut and tried not to squirm as Kup clumsily slid the nasal tube into his nostril and down his airway.

"Sorry, Prime" Kup chuckled, seeing the extreme discomfort on his boss's face.

Ratchet nodded his approval "If you have to use the left nostril, you would insert the adjunct upside down, with the flared end pointed upwards". He picked a roll of medical tape out of the field kit and handed it to Kup "Okay, good. Check that's he's breathing through it and tape it in place. You could install it orally as well if his nose was broken". Ratchet peered up at the crowd "If you don't have an airway adjunct, the only other thing you as a first aider can do is -" he grasped Optimus's shoulder pauldron and hip plating "- move him into the recovery position" and pulled the larger mech onto his side to demonstrate.

"Oof!" Optimus grunted in surprise.

Somewhere among the seated mechs, Arcee giggled girlishly, joined by Windblade "holy scrap, Ratchet, you're strong!". 

"I think I hear my next volunteers over there" Ratchet threatened as he released Optimus to re-settle onto his back. The amused smile on his lips revealed no real malice, however.

Clearing his intakes, Ratchet returned to his stern professionalism "if he’s awake, and he doesn't want to be on his back. Don’t force him. If he wants to lay on his side, curl into a fetal position, stand up and walk around, even, if the tactical situation permits; let him".

"Why?" Bumblebee asked.

"Because you can't know what's going on inside his frame. What he's physically feeling".

Bumblebee quirked his helm, still confused "but...".

Ratchet gestured impatiently for him to continue "come on, spit it out. 'But'?".

"How would you continue the patient evaluation if he's walking around?" 'Bee looked sideways at his neighbors, worried that he was asking a stupid question.

"You don't" Ratchet said simply. "If he won't stop walking around, you stay with him, reallocate his resources, talk to him if you can, and wait for a medic or e-vac".

Bumblebee still looked unsure "so... if he's got a hole in his chest but he won't lay down flat for you, you wouldn't just... hold him down for a breem to deal with it?".

"No. You can still address the energon hemorrhaging while he's in whatever awkward position he can't move from. Just don't force him into a position if he's really fighting you" Ratchet studied the young bot's face for a hint of comprehension.

There was none "okay?".

Ratchet scoffed in annoyance "don't say 'okay' if you don't understand what I'm telling you, Bumblebee. Look- "the old medic stiffly pushed himself back to his pedes. He stood before the group, training his gaze on the yellow minibot. "I’ll tell you why. Early in the battle of Crystal City, a young mech was brought to our medical tent who had been struck in the chest plates with a heavy piece of shrapnel. The soldiers who brought him in said they couldn't get him on a stretcher properly because he was curled up in a tight ball and refused to spread his limbs. They said he had been in that position for over a groon. They placed him on a med berth and, four mechs together, we forced his limbs down onto the surface of the berth so we could continue the assessment of his chest injury".

His expression darkened, optics growing distant "Astroseconds later, he deactivated".

They all stared at him, stunned.

Ratchet clasped his hands behind his back and began idly pacing across the floor "later on, when things had calmed down a bit around the medical tent and we were documenting the casualties, I took a closer look at him out of curiosity. I opened his damaged chest plates and saw that his spark chamber had filled with energon. His aorta artery- that's the largest fuel line in your frame- had been partially severed by the impact to his chest cavity". He dipped his helm solemnly "though he couldn't have known what he was doing, by remaining in that curled up position, he was keeping the laceration closed"  Ratchet halted his pacing with his back turned to the other mechs, staring distantly at the far wall. His spark felt tight in his chest as the familiar fog of regret wrapped it's way around his processor once again, making him feel twice his age. "By forcing him to lay flat, we unknowingly opened the laceration in his aorta and allowed the energon to freely flow into his spark chamber. It killed him instantly". He pursed his lips, unseen by the mechs behind him "sometimes the body knows what to do better than any medic".

The room had become submerged in a heavy silence. Every processor committing to memory the morbid lesson which was paid for with the life of a nameless soldier and a piece of their CMO's sanity.

That wasn't the first time Ratchet had lost a patient, and was far from the last. Death was a normal part of a medic's function, especially a combat medic in an active war where the right decision is seldom clear. The level of emotional detachment required to continuously do his job would be considered unhealthy, even psychopathic in any other function.

But that particular incident; his own mistake resulting in the instant and graphic death of such a young mech; the guilt fucked him up for a long time afterwards. It still did, even all these vorns later on the rare occasion he thinks about it. Optimus had refused to punish him and his team afterwards. In his typical Primley fashion he had said to them 'there is no such thing as mistakes, only lessons'.

Speaking of Optimus, an inquiring ping pulled Ratchet out of his solemn musings. He quickly wiped his servo across his face and cleared his intakes. Turning back towards the audience, he spared a glance at Optimus, whom was half way to rising to his pedes with a concerned look focused in the CMO. Ratchet waived at him airily, gesturing for him to lay back down "Anyway. Sorry, everybody, I didn't mean for that to get so heavy". He cleared his intakes again and returned his attention to Kup and Optimus "Now, the circulation part of our assessment. C. Kup, check that his energon is circulating".

Kup and Optimus exchanged a perturbed look, like everyone else in the room they were both taken aback by the abrupt change in the Medic's mood.

"Get on with it, mechs. I don't want to be here all night" Ratchet ordered gruffly from where he'd returned to his spot stood above them. Slipping back into his professional persona with practiced ease, the added snark in his words was the only evidence of his near emotional breakdown only a moment ago "check his circulation".

Raising his servos above Optimus's windshields, Kup hesitated "erm, do you mind, Prime? Sir?".

Optimus nodded, then winced at the nasal adjunct still inserted in his nose "not at all, Kup. Do what you need to do". He paused, considering where Kup's hands were hovering above his chest. "Up here, preferably" he added, offering his wrist instead.

Ratchet maintained his watchful gaze on his two students "make sure you are searching with your index and middle fingers. Your thumb has a large artery in it and you will end up feeling your own fuel pulse if you use it".

Kup grunted in acknowledgment as he slipped his digits under Optimus's forearm plating, pressing on the first fuel line he felt "there we go. Yep the pump is still pumping. He's alive".

"Great. That was the radial pulse. If you don't feel a pulse there, check his carotid pulse on the side of his throat". Ratchet reached down to Optimus's throat cables and pressed his two fingers under his jawline to demonstrate "if you feel a pulse here, but not on his wrist, then he's in shock. That's not good. Check his plating for discoloration, greying".

"What if they're a grey coloured bot" Kup asked "how would I tell if they're greying?".

Ratchet looked up and searched for Jazz. He spotted the two senior officers now seated at a table closest to the dispensers at the centre of the large room "Jazz, come back up here. I need you one more time".

The spy jumped slightly when the medic barked his designation. He looked to Prowl desperately as he rose from his seat, but the praxian, with a new cold cube of coolant pressed to his chevron in an attempt to cool his growing helmache, could offer him nothing more than a sympathetic grimace.

Ratchet watched the black, white, and conveniently grey-protoformed polyhexian approach with his head low and visor dim "Jazz's base colour is the same grey as his face plates" he explained. "If their frame colour makes it hard to tell if they have discolouration from lack of fuel flow, you can check the inside of their intake. Jazz, show Kup the inside of your bottom lip".

Jazz balked, giving Ratchet a scandalized look. When the medic's stern face offered no hint of rectification, he relented and pulled his lip down with his digits.

Kup plucked his cycar out of his own mouth and peered at the inside of Jazz's intake, unnecessarily close. "Huh. Would'ja look at that. Yer Pink!" he chuckled.

Ratchet addressed the crowd again "Every bot is naturally pink on the inside of their intake, no matter their frame type or colour. If Jazz was losing fuel, and going into shock, the inside of his lip would begin to turn grey".

Murmurs floated from the audience of bots as some of them took turns looking at the inside of each other's mouths.

"I never noticed that" Chromia giggled as she marveled at the inside of Ironhide's bottom lip.

Ratchet waved his dismissal at Jazz and returned to Optimus and Kup "Now if there was no pulse at all, this would be the point that you would begin CPR. Chest compressions and intake to intake".

Optimus's eyes flew wide with horror. "Intake to intake with Kup?" he squeaked un-Primily before he could stop himself.

Ratchet laughed heartily and grinned down at him "Sorry Optimus. It's never the good looking bots that show up to do CPR on you". He chucked again "but no, we don't need to demonstrate that specifically. Kup, begin chest compressions, he has no pulse".

"Wait" Bumblebee raised his hand again "I thought chest compressions were only for if they're not breathing? What's the point of doing that if their fuel pump has stopped?".

"Good question 'Bee," Ratchet cleared his intakes and addressed the room once more. "Chest compressions will help them get some air in and out of their vents, but it will also keep the fuel circulating somewhat if their fuel pump has stopped, or is working sporadically. Keep in mind; chest compressions will never restart a fuel pump” he paused, casting his gaze across the faces of the mecha seated around him to ensure that that fact was understood by all. “But it will supply their processor and components with some amount of enriched fuel until medics can attend them".

He cleared his intakes and continued, "even if the casualty isn't going to make it, keeping those components alive is important for installing them onto another bot in the future. You doing CPR could be helping a future component or limb recipient, even if your patient off-lines. Good frame components are hard to come by these days". He turned his gaze back to Bumblebee, awaiting any further questions.

"Huh" Bumblebee leaned back in his chair, pondering that.

Satisfied that he was understood, Ratchet returned his attention to Kup, vigorously doing chest compressions on poor Optimus "100 to 120 compressions a minute. Good". He watched for another moment "gets tiring fast doesn't it?".

"Yeah" Kup paused to vent for a moment, glancing up at the CMO.

"Nope, don't stop!" Ratched gestured vigorously for him to continue, "If you get too tired, call a buddy to come take over for you, without missing a compression. Whenever we medics need to do this in the field or in the med bay, we will have five or six other bots with us to swap in and take turns. You may have to do this for a mega-cycle or longer. One you've started, you do not stop".

Kup quickly fumbled with his cygar and resumed forcibly pumping on Optimus's chest plates.

"Don’t be afraid to push too hard. Properly performed chest compressions will crack their chest armour”. After a pause, he quickly added “Don’t crack Optimus's chest armour, Kup".

The bots watching them visibly squirmed at that. Ratchet noticed. "What? You may have to break your buddy's chest plates to save his life. The three P's of combat first aid; Pain is the Patient's Problem. You can apologize later when they're recovering in my med bay" he waved dismissively before returning his attention to Kup and Optimus.

After another few moments of watching Kup perform chest compressions, Ratchet interrupted "okay that's enough. Let's rewind a bit and say he's breathing, he's got a pulse. Now let's try to find the injury. Do you remember how to do an energon sweep?".

"Yep" relieved to be able to stop compressions and catch his breath, Kup sat back on his heels. After a moment, he placed his servos on the back of Optimus's neck.

Optimus focused his gaze beyond Kup's uncomfortably close face, at the ceiling light above them. He resisted the urge to physically squirm from the awkwardness.

Ratchet nodded in approval as he watched his student methodically slide his servos across their Prime's tri-coloured plating "under the helm, walk your fingers up along his collar... under the back... groin, gently squeeze his pelvic bone inwards... then outwards, yep. Keep checking your servos after every sweep for energon. Keep looking at his face plates to see if he's in pain whenever you touch a specific spot".

Once finished, Kup sat back on his heels again and looked up at the medic triumphantly "all good".

"Nope!" Ratchet unsubspaced a paint touch up pen and bent down to Optimus's right leg. He scribbled a white circle on the blue shin plating "he's got a blaster wound on his leg. Deal with it". Straightening up, Ratchet kicked the field kit closer to Kup.

Picking up the kit, Kup pulled out the gauze and rolled it into a ball. He stared down at the white circle on Optimus's plating, unsure.

"Plug the hole. Dress the wound. And remember; when there’s an entry wound, there’s probably an exit wound. Check the other side of his leg" Ratchet crossed his arms across his chest and stepped back to observe "... Good".

Kup stuffed the gauze against the white mark. He then wrapped it snugly in place with a second gauze wrap. "Now a tourniquet?" He looked up at Ratchet.

"So" Ratchet picked up the first aid kit and pulled out a black strap, holding it up for everyone to see "you would only use a tourniquet if there is a massive amount of energon loss. If the dressing you just applied is already soaked by the time you're finished, you would need the tourniquet. When you use a tourniquet, the limb will likely need to be removed later on if the tourniquet stays on for more than a couple hours. Assume he will lose the leg. Only use it if you believe the casualty is otherwise going to die from energon loss. I don't have many spare Optimus-sized limbs laying around," he smiled wryly at them.

Ratchet crouched stiffly down next to Kup and looped the strap around Optimus’s leg, next to where Kup had covered the 'wound' with gauze "two to four inches ABOVE the wound, under the armour, not directly on a joint. You tighten, tighten, tighten" he explained methodically as he twisted the rod on the strap, cinching it against the soft protoform of Optimus's lower leg "until you can see the flow of energon coming from the wound slow. It should be tight enough to stop the distal pulse. You can check that at his posterior tibial artery". When Kup didn't move, Ratchet looked up from the tourniquet at his confused expression. "The pulse behind his ankle" he clarified.

"Oh! Right, yeah the postiblahbial-bery". Ratchet rolled his eyes. Kup shuffled closer to Optimus's pede and found the fuel line exposed between the gaps in his armour. "I don’t feel a pulse?" he reported.

"Good. The tourniquet is working" Ratchet smiled down at Optimus's pained expression and mercifully loosened the tourniquet by a couple of inches "if the wound is in an awkward place, or you can't tighten it enough, you can use a second tourniquet, next to the first or below the wound". He huffed as he settled into a more comfortable position on his knees "make sure you are continuously talking with your patient. You are checking that he is still conscious and his airway is still clear. Ask him if he's okay" Ratchet peered over at Optimus's face "are you okay?".

Optimus stared at him.

Ratchet tapped his digit on Primes’s abdominal plates "say you're okay" he whispered with an amused smile.

"Oh! I'm okay" Optimus chucked.

"Great. Check his pulse again, Kup. Make sure he’s not going into shock".

Bumblebee raised his servo again "what does it mean when someone is going into shock? What are we supposed to do about it?".

Ratchet exhaled heavily as he pushed himself back up to his pedes to address the yellow minibot "shock is when the frame is not getting enough fuel flow. It is a life threatening condition. That could be from fuel loss from a massively hemorrhaging wound" he gestured to Optimus on the floor with his leg patched up. "It could be from a failing fuel pump, some sort of infection, an allergic reaction, or the problem could be damage in the part of your processor that controls your fuel pump" he ticked off the the items on his digits. "As for what you can do as a first responder? Well. There's really not a lot you can do. You would coax them to lie down and keep still. Elevate their pedes slightly - unless they have a massively hemorrhaging wound in their head. Or, like before, whatever position they find most comfortable. You can loosen any gear they are wearing around their frame to make sure there is nothing restricting the flow of fuel. Keep them warm". He paused for a moment, staring distantly as he thought about anything he may have missed. "Other than that your goal is to monitor their A B C's and keep them breathing until I, or another medic, get there. Turn their helm if you think they are going to purge".

"What if they have a neck or back strut injury and you need to turn their helm?" Arcee asked.

Ratchet turned towards to pink femme and shook his helm "doesn't matter. Remember, they will survive a broken back strut or neck but they will not survive suffocating on their own purged fuel. Turn them over, or at least their helm. A B C’s, life over limb. Happy?".

"So what will YOU do when you get to a patient that's in shock?" Red Alert asked.

Ratchet laughed and rested his servos on his hip armour "you all find this stuff so interesting all of a sudden. It would depend on what kind of shock they're in. If a patient with a leg wound was brought to me in shock caused by low fuel pressure" he gestured towards Optimus and Kup, both watching him intently "I would stop the bleeding, if you first responders hadn't done that already. If you did, which would save me precious time," pausing, he glanced across all of the faces watching him "then I would administer fluids into his fuel lines to increase fuel pressure, probably give him a fuel transplant. Same thing for shock caused by a problem with the fuel pump, with the addition of medications to constrict the fuel lines. Then fuel pump surgery” Ratchet had begun slowly pacing the length of the floorspace. “If the shock is caused by an obstruction in a fuel line? Anti coagulation medications and then surgery. Septic shock, I would have to address the infection, be it biological, cybernetic, viral. There's a few more types of shock".

His students listened in fascinated silence, watching the medic prattle on as he paced thoughtfully across the stage in front of them.

Finally, Ratchet shook his helm, realising he had become side tracked. He stepped back and returned to Kup and Optimus "but we're getting off topic. Now that we have dressed his wound, secured his venting, confirmed he has a pulse and is not in shock, we will check for helm injuries".

He knelt down beside Optimus's helm once more "bad things happen in twos. When he got shot, there's a good chance he also fell and hit his helm. You will look again for an obvious head or neck wound" Ratchet began gently fingering the sides and back of Optimus's helm, moving up to his neck "you will look for any discolouration in the protoform. Greying protoform or armour is a good indication that something is broken".

Once he was finished, Ratchet leaned back and transformed a small flashlight out of his left wrist "you will check for discolouration around the optics and the back of the audials which would be a sign of internal bleeding in the helm. While you're doing this, keep talking to him". Ratchet leaned back and addressed Optimus  "What is your designation, soldier?".

"Optimus Prime".

Ratchet shone the bright little light into each of Optimus's optics. Optimus resisted the reflex to squint away from it. "Can you tell me what today's date is?" Ratchet continued.

"Fourth cycle 207".

"Good. He's still conscience and breathing, and he is cognizant enough to talk to me and he's making sense" he said to Kup. "The pupils of his optics are the same size, which is good. Check his audials and olfactory for leaking fuel or any other fluid" he peered into each of Optimus's audial receptors with his flashlight.

Once finished, Ratchet transformed his flashlight back into his wrist "Optimus, can you touch my servo?" he held up his servo above his prone patient.

Optimus gently touched his servo to Ratchet's.

"Good, now your other servo. Good. Wiggle your left pede... now your right. Good. So, Kup that means his coordination is good. Optimus, do you have a headache, or feel like you are going to purge?".

"No".

"Great. That's the concussion check". He turned his attention back to Kup, crouched beside him "now if he had failed any of those, you would begin steps to stabilize his helm and neck until either a medic arrives or he can be brought to a medical facility safely". He was suddenly distracted by the chime of his alarm, marking the end of the cycle he had expected this lesson to take. A glance at the time in the corner of his internal HUD confirmed that he had indeed fallen far behind schedule. Fraggit. He unclasped the tourniquet from Optimus's leg and began folding it up neatly "the next step is to ensure that the patient is staying warm. Simply cover them with a tarp or whatever you have. Some mechs carry heating pads with them so you would place that between his legs under the groin. Watch for Hypothermia".

With a pained grunt he stiffly pushed himself back to his feet once more, scooping up the disheveled first aid kit from the floor "alright, I've had enough of this for today. We'll have to continue tomorrow, same time". He tossed the field kit onto one of the sacks next to the table before offering Optimus a hand up.

The room erupted with chatter as the other mechs and femmes rose to politely return their chairs to their proper places at the tables before going their separate ways. Some returned to their usual spots in their usual groups to relax and chat. Others made for the exit, off to the gym or wherever else there was to spend their remaining off shift hours. Optimus and Bumblebee lingered behind to help Ratchet pack away his equipment and carry it all back to the med bay.

Before leaving himself, Ratchet glanced at the table where Prowl and Jazz had last been seated, expecting the tetchy tactician to have retreated to some dark room in an attempt to soothe his glitch-induced helmache in private. They were both gone.

》+《+》+《+》+《

Melting the fine welds with his soldering gun, Ratchet carefully removed the last piece of patching covering Mirage's optics. The ex-noble squinted against the bright lights of the med bay, oppressive after having both optics hidden under their protective cover since the incidentthree solar cycles ago . His right optic was missing completely, having been removed in the field due to the extensive damage. "Your self-healing isfinallyy starting to do it's job. In a few solar cycles it will be completely healec" Ratchet explained as hetossedd the metal patch into a nearbydisposal  bin."Iewill be able to replace the optic tomorrow" he  transformed the flashlight out of his left wrist and peered closer at the rough pit where the spybot's optic should be.Newoproto- nanites had mostly filled the gap, protecting the delicate wires that had been burned by the peroxide. Ratchet mentally cursed Kup once again.

Being mindful to remain still for Ratchet’s inspection, Mirage unsubspaced a small vanity mirror to inspect the damage for himself. He cringed at his own mottled one-eyed reflection staring back. "Can you fix the paint?" he asked nervously, tracing a digit down a particularly prominent blotch of gray scarring on his cheek, "and smooth it out a bit so it doesn't look so bad?".

Ratchet scoffed at him and stepped back, his flashlight disappearing back into his wrist with a snik "do I look like your personal stylist to you?". With a roll of his optics, he began collecting up his soiled tools from the trolley cart next to where the Mirage sat on the medbirth "I'm not going to waste the Ark's resources on your vanity, Mirage. Just keep it clean with the solution I gave you and it will heal on it's own". Ratchet turned his back on him then, laying his medical instruments out on the counter next to the sink to begin meticulously sterilizing them.

Recognizing Ratchet's dismissal for what it was, Mirage hesitated on the berth, still frowning at his pocket mirror and gingerly poking at the ugly scarred depression where his optic should be. It looked a lot better than it did even that morning. But still. The burn damage extended to his other eye and covered almost the entire right side of his face like a mask of twisted discoloured scars. His noble dignity warred with his fear of 'Ratchet The Hatchet' for a moment until he decided he could not be seen looking anything less than regal . Mustering some courage, he straightened where he sat and raised his chin, scowling at the medic's backplates. "I can't spend 'a few solar cycles' walking around looking like a scraplet was chewing on my face! What will mechs think!?" he declared, loudly snapping the vanity mirror closed.

Ratchet dropped the welder into the sink noisily and whirled around to face his patient, looking completely and utterly stunned at his audacity. His shock quickly morphed into offended rage "A SCRAPLET?! You unappreciative, spoiled glitch! How about I put the patches back on?!" With furious aggression, he reached for the bin next to the berth where he had thrown the discarded patches "I'll put one over your intake too you mouthy little whelp!".

His confidence evaporating as the vengeful medic approached, Mirage slid off the berth and hastily retreated towards the open doorway into the corridor, hands raised defensively "never mind!". He ducked behind the door frame just in time to avoid the small weld patch that Ratchet had thrown at the back of his helm. It struck the wall in the hallway outside the med bay door, instead, clattering to the floor.

"Humph!" Ratchet scowled at the empty doorway. Scraplets. He stomped back over to the berth and began wiping it down aggressively with a rag, deciding to funnel his anger into cleaning. He slotted the table cart into it's place under the berth with a forceful kick. "Bunch of ungrateful brats. Good luck finding another medic that can to do sutures that clean" he grumbled as he returned to the counter to finish sterilizing his tools.

Once his workspace had been put back in order, he tiredly made is way to his small desk in the corner of the med bay. Sinking heavily into the plush chair with a weary sigh, Ratchet on-lined the built in console and opened Mirage's medical file.

A soft knock rapped on the door frame.

"Come in" Ratchet said without looking up from typing, updating details for Mirage's modified duty case.

"Hey, doc'" Jazz greeted cheerfully, stepping through the doorway.

Ratchet spared him a quizzical glance, surprised to see the Special Ops officer. He had assumed that Jazz would be avoiding him after the previous evening. "Jazz. What can I do for you?".

Jazz slunk further into the medbay, visor glancing around at the empty med berths. He stopped a few paces from Ratchet's desk, pretending to be interested in a colourful poster illustrating the dangers of not getting enough magnesium. "I'd like to make a request" he finally said, bouncing on the balls of his pedes, gaze glued to the poster "somethin' to add to your lesson this evening?".

Ratchet paused in his typing to raise an eyeridge at him. "If it's reasonable" he cautiously agreed.

Jazz stepped away from the poster and moved to the front of Ratchet's desk, ignoring the empty chair and instead sitting gingerly on the corner. An annoying habit of his. He picked up the small medical model of a fuel pump that Ratchet kept displayed and began idly turning it over in his servos, avoiding looking directly at Ratchet. "Would ya' be able to touch on more..." Jazz paused his fidgeting while he searched his processor for the right word "civilian emergencies?".

His curiosity piqued, Ratchet dropped his servos from the keyboard and leaned back in his chair, giving Jazz his full attention. He studied the other bot. It was unusual for Jazz to behave so fidgety and awkward "anything specific?".

"Illnesses?" Jazz briefly turned his visored gaze to the medic.

Ratchet huffed and crossed his arms "that's a whole course on it's own. Any particular illness?".

Jazz hesitated, his visor dimmed slightly as he stared back down at the model in his servos and continued toying with it. "Processor crash?" he finally said, quietly.

Understanding dawned on Ratchet's face "ah". What a peculiar couple those two were. Jazz was all playful charm, flirty smiles, and could win over almost anybot. Prowl was... whatever the opposite of that would be called. Prowl had always been the type to prudishly balk at public displays of affection to the point that everyone assumed he was asexual. Jazz used to hit on anything with a warm spark. They were like opposite ends of a magnet, pulling each other towards a more sane center where Jazz was actually monogamous for probably the first time in his functioning and Prowl could bring himself to hold another living mech's servo.

But neither of them liked to talk about their relationship. Ratchet could never understand why. Romantic relationships weren't forbidden amongst the Ark. They were actually very common. Optimus himself was conjuxed to Elita One. Ironhide was with Chromia. Hound and Mirage, he'd heard, were involved. No sane captain would attempt to ban interfacing amongst crew on a starship that often goes stellar cycles without outside contact. Ratchet was no psychologist, but to him it seemed the one thing that the two officers did have in common was that they were both awful at expressing their feelings. That included their feelings for each other.

That theory was further demonstrated by the squirming, fidgeting, saboteur perched on Ratchet's desk. The medic watched him in amusement for another moment before answering "yes, I suppose this ship has had it's fair share of medical incidents not involving weapons”. He leaned forward and plucked the fragile model out of Jazz's servos, placing it back down on the desk “I'll try to work it in".

Jazz visibly relaxed. Hopping off the desk, his easy smile was back "thanks 'Ratch!".

Ratchet cleared his intake and straightened up in his seat, turning his attention back to his console “now. If you don’t have anything else for me, get out of my medbay”.

Jazz saluted him cheerfully before turning to leave "see ya' in the rec room, doc".

Ratchet shooed him off with a wave of his servo and continued tapping at the keyboard.

》+《+》+《+》+《

Shortly after that evening's shiftchange, the same crowd of senior personnel began congregating in the rec room for the second day of class.

"Come on 'Raj, it doesn't look that bad" Hound cooed at his friend across a table. The pair had sat at a booth in a corner, hidden away from where the other bots were socializing and taking fuel together.

Mirage kept his head low, his servo cupped around the side of his face hiding the half healed damage. He stubbornly refused to look his companion in the optic "I look like a one eyed ghoul" he groaned in despair.

"You do not" Hound smiled sadly, gently nudging the others servo away to stroke the burn damage with he back of his fingers. The blue and white spy batted his pawing servos away petulantly "everybody knows what happened, Mirage. Nobody is going to think any less of you for getting injured in battle".

Jazz and Prowl stopped just inside the entrance to the spacious room, locked in a quiet argument.

"Stand back here with me!" Jazz whisper-shouted, edging towards the support beam where he had stood the day before "why do ya' alwayse have to sit right at the front for everything?".

"Because I like to hear what's being said" Prowl said cooly as he eyed the growing crowd arranging their seats around the dance floor. There was still a large gap at the front with more than enough room for two more chairs.

"You're such a dork" Jazz groaned.

"Come and sit with me" Prowl offered, gesturing towards the open area, front and center.

"Nope!" Jazz crossed his arms over his chest and stubbornly looked away. "Yesterday I got kicked, dragged, drowned, and choked up there. I'ma stay back here and do my best impression of the wall decor thank you very much".

"Wall decor doesn't talk" Prowl remarked distractedly before turning back to Jazz with a sardonic look "and that was not even close to drowning". His optics focused distantly as a thought occurred to him, "speaking of which".

Visor brightening, Jazz's frame went rigid with alarm "where could you possibly be going with this?".

"Spec Ops is overdue for an interrogation survival training refresher. Whenever Mirage is cleared for duty" Prowl mused, speaking more to himself than his increasingly anxious companion. "I'll remind Prime tomorrow that we will need the drowning tub, restraint table and the cortical psychic patch made available".

Jazz laughed nervously, hysterically, a little too loud "cortical psychic pa-". His forced smile melted away under Prowl's stare "oh you're serious?".

"I am".

Jazz stared back at him, mouth agape. His processor unhelpfully supplied him with flashbacks of the last time he and his team had completed interrogation survival training. An entire deca-cycle of recharge deprivation, a variable voltage harness, processor altering drug torture; whatever non-lethal methods of information extraction the Decepticons have been known to use or could potentially use in the future. Some of them they were sure Prowl just made up. Afterwards, Jazz had genuinely considered asking Optimus to demote him to cannon fodder.

Jazz quickly glanced around the rec room, noting that all of the occupants were fellow officers and nobody was paying them any attention. He turned back to Prowl, flashing his most charming smile "I know something more fun we could do with that restraint table instead". He winked his visor and seductively stepped closer to the slightly shorter praxian, snaking his servos around Prowl's slim waist "forget the refresher" he murmured huskily against his lover's audial.

A twitch of his lips was all that betrayed Prowl's stoic professionalism as he stood still as a statue, yet allowed himself to be embraced "officer Jazz, are you attempting to barter exemption from core training in exchange for sexual favours with a senior officer?".

Jazz pecked a kiss to his lips "that depends. Is it working?".

"No".

"Alright, alright, fun time is over" right on time the low music stopped and the lights in the rec room turned up to an almost painful brightness. The small crowd parted for Ratchet as he approached the table on the dance floor, burdened once again with a large sack of training equipment. Optimus followed behind him with the second sack and a field stretcher held under an arm. He placed them on the floor next to the table. "Take your seats. The quicker we start, the quicker we can leave".

Bots shuffled around the room as they began to arrange themselves into roughly the same disorganized semi circle as the day before.

Mirage was trying his best to hide behind Hound as the pair placed their 2 chairs at the back of the group.

"It's fine, nobody is going to bother you" Hound once again assured him with a smile.

Sideswipe turned around in his seat and grinned at Mirage "hey Mirage, thanks for showing up! I needed a confidence boost today!".

Mirage groaned and dropped his mangled face into his servos as he sunk into his seat. The light around his frame distorted and shimmered as he faded into invisibility.

"Grow up" Hound snapped at the red Lamborghini. He placed his arm around the back of Mirage's chair, stroking the other mech's shoulder comfortingly. It looked kind of ridiculous with the spy stubbornly remaining invisible.

Sideswipe laughed until he was startled by a forceful nudge from Sunstreaker, who was gesturing for him to look ahead. He followed his brother's paled gaze to the stage where he met the icy stare of Ratchet, his faceplates contorted in rage and his frame dangerously still. The energon drained from Sideswipe's face.

It took another couple of kliks for everyone to take their places around the dance floor. Once everybot was settled in and all optics were up front, Ratchet began "I didn't mean for this to take two evenings but we got side tracked a couple of times. Yesterday, we completed field assessment and tactical first aid of a casualty. Does anybody have any questions about anything so far?". He waited a moment, glancing across the faces staring back at him "No? Everybot now understands how to dress a blaster wound and follow the D R A B C? I sure hope so". When no one gave a response, he gestured to the stretcher that Optimus had placed on the floor beside him "good. Today, we will go over prepping the casualty for the medic and transportation".

He pulled the field kit from one of the bags and popped it open, retrieving an opaque pouch containing a syringe and some tubing. "Sideswipe, come up here" he ordered as he unravelled the neatly packed IV.

Sideswipe felt a bolt of panic shoot down his backstrut, gazing at the alarmingly large needle in the medic's servo "you're going to stick me with a needle?!".

Hound chuckled and kicked the back leg of Sideswipe's chair "where'd that confidence go?".

Ratchet huffed in irritation and gestured him forwards, impatiently "oh quit being such a sparkling and get up here. Bring your chair".

As Sideswipe apprehensively approached the stage with his chair, Ratchet placed the package with the needle on the table and retrieved the tourniquet from the day before.

"Bumblebee, you'll go first".

Bumblebee rose from his front row seat and took his place next to Sideswipe. The two bots exchanged a nervous glance while the medic turned towards them with the tourniquet and IV.

"Do you guys remember how to do this?" Ratchet asked, holding out the tourniquet for Bumblebee to take.

"Mostly, yeah" the yellow minibot answered, taking the strap from the medic.

"Alright. Put the tourniquet on his left arm, above the elbow" Ratchet stood back to observe.

Sideswipe lifted his left arm, wincing as Bumblebee tightened the tourniquet with a twist of the tightening rod.

"Now this isn't the same as using a tourniquet to stop bleeding" Ratchet explained, watching his students carefully. He grabbed Sideswipe's elbow and pointed at the gap in his armour where the fuel lines were visible "you watch the veins and arteries that you can see under his plating and tighten the tourniquet enough to close the veins, but not the arteries".

"Uh" Bumblebee paused, staring at the indicated fuel lines.

"Keep tightening, I'll show you" a razer sharp scalpel transformed out of the medic's pointer finger so he could more accurately point out the individual fuel lines under the frontliner's armour. Sideswipe felt a sudden rush of weak dizziness rush over himself at the sight. "See those small fuel lines? The veins? They're expanding now, stop tightening". Bumblebee did as he was told and watched the vein that Ratchet's scalpel was pointed at expand. "Fuel can now flow INTO his arm through the arteries, but the veins are closed off, so now they are backfilling with fuel. It makes it a hundred times easier for cannulation".

Ratchet grabbed the cannula package off of the table and tore it open. He handed Bumblebee a sterilizing swab "normally you wouldn't worry about sterilizing in the field during a combat scenario, but we're just practicing here".

Bumblebee opened the packet and wiped the fuel lines exposed on the underside of Sideswipe's forearm. Sideswipe blew out a huff of air and looked away.

Ratchet handed Bumblebee the IV needle "find a good vein. Hold the needle 30 degrees from the surface, bevel up" Ratchet watched closely as Bumblebee shakily positioned the needle above one of Sideswipe's veins.

Sideswipe clenched his teeth and looked up at the ceiling "if you just push it in slowly, I'm going to punch you".

Ratchet laughed "yes try to be quick and efficient. Nobody likes being stabbed with a needle. Okay, whenever you're ready".

Bumblebee stuck the needle in.

"Look for the flashback. Good, that fuel that came up the tube means you struck the vein. Lower the needle against his arm and push it in another 2 millimeters... perfect. Now, tourniquet off" Ratchet slowly released the pressure on the tourniquet "press your finger where the cannula is in his vein, and pull the needle out. There! Now tape it in place and you're done".

Bumblebee released the vent he didn't realize he was holding in as he placed a strip of medical tape over the newly installed cannula.

"Now he's prepped for an IV. This would save me precious time if I needed to give him fluids or medication". Ratchet pressed a balled up roll of gauze against the cannula in Sideswipe's arm and pulled the  tube out of his vein. He turned his attention back to the rest of the class "who wants to try next?".

Hound was the last of the two dozen bots to take their turns inserting an IV needle into Sideswipe's arm. Ratchet frowned when the big green mech stepped back, smirking, to let him inspect the cannula he'd inserted into Sidewsipe's arm. Again. "Seventh time's a charm" Ratchet said sarcastically when he saw that the scout had finally decided to do it properly. Sideswipe looked ready to purge. "Now, I'm going to demonstrate how to install the drip. This is a more advanced first aid that you guys with basic combat first aid won't really be expected to do in the field, but I may need one of you to help me with it sometimes".

Ratchet picked up a small bag full of clear fluid from the table and handed it to Hound "hold this up for me". He uncoiled the drip tube from the bag with the cannula and began inspecting it "I'll spike the bag with the drip chamber. Then watch that the chamber is filling. Perfect. Let the fluid fill the line all the way to the bottom. No bubbles" he brought the end of the IV drip line to the cannula that Hound had inserted into Sideswipe's arm "this is just a hydration pack. It will feel a little cold though" he warned Sideswipe before attaching the tubing to his arm.

As soon as the IV was installed Sideswipe swayed in his seat and his optics went wide and dim "whoa".

Ratchet chuckled and steadied him with a servo on his shoulder before he could tip out of the chair "yeah. It's a fast way to cure a hangover too. Instant sobriety".

The IV tubing was packed away and Sideswipe returned to his seat, with a very sore arm but delightfully hydrated. Ratchet picked up the bright orange stretcher and dropped it flat onto the floor. He placed his servos on his hip struts and let his gaze wander across his audience "I need another volunteer. Somebody small with no doorwings".

All optics turned to Jazz seated next to Prowl in the back row.

Jazz straightened up when he noticed all of his fellow officers peering at him expectantly "hell no. Nope. Nuh uh". He crossed his arms and slumped back into his seat, defiantly.

"Come on, Jazz. This won't hurt at all" Ratchet smiled down at him with a hint of mischief.

Prowl gave his pede a light nudge.

"Yeah. I've heard that before" he sighed loudly. Giving prowl a despondent look, he rose from his seat and made his way towards the backboard laid out at Ratchet's pedes.

Once Jazz stood before him, Ratchet turned his attention back to the room with a clap of his servos "Now we're going to learn how to place a patient onto a spinal board and prep them for transport. Jazz, lay down on the floor. You're injured".

Grimacing, Jazz fluidly lowered himself to the floor, laying on his back.

"Optimus, Ironhide, and Prowl. Come up here". Ratchet waited as the three mechs took their places around Jazz "you will always need three sets of servos for this. Four if the paitent is a larger mech. Prowl, take your position at his helm. Optimus and Ironhide, you guys take position at his his left side".

Once everyone was in place, Ratchet continued "Prowl, your job is to keep his helm in line with his back strut. This patient may have a neck injury. You're going to get down on your knees, place your forearms and elbows on the ground, and place your servos on either side of his helm keeping his helm lined up with his back strut at all times".

Prowl followed his instructions, ending up face to upside down face with Jazz, who winked up at him with a cheeky grin.

"Perfect. Now, Ironhide, you will place the cervical collar onto the patient," Ratchet explained as he handed the weapons expert a flimsy, wide neck collar. "Make sure it is snug against the underside of his jaw and the top of his clavicle. Prowl, do not let his helm move relative to his spinal strut. Keep his neck strait".

Grinning, Ironhide enthusiastically placed the large gaudy contraption around Jazz's neck, tugging the straps into place and immobilizing the 'patient's' helm.

Once complete, Prowl resettled himself with his elbows on either side of Jazz's helm, staring at the upside-down visor with a small quirk of his lips. He looked ridiculous.

Jazz smiled crookedly back up at him, visor brightening. "You look kind'a cute from this angle" he teased.

Prowl flicked his nose playfully, earning an exaggerated wince from the spy.

Ratchet ignored the couple's antics, leaning over Prowl and eyeing the c-collar critically. Satisfied that Prowl had installed it correctly, he moved around to Jazz's right side, opposite of the two larger mechs "Optimus and Ironhide, place your servos on his right shoulder, side, hip, and thigh. Cross over each others arms at his hip and side". The two larger bots arranged themselves so that they could apply equal force along the length of Jazz's frame "Yep. Now, slowly, roll him towards yourselves. Prowl, keep his helm in line with his back strut, don't let his neck move at all".

The three of them executed the patient roll perfectly. Ratchet reached down to the stretcher and tilted it up against Jazz's back "now slowly lower him onto the spinal board. Good. Grab him by the hips and shoulders and slide him up the spinal board to center him. Excellent!".

Ratchet returned to the two large medical equipment bags, digging through one of them until he retrieved two helm sized foam blocks and some thick straps. He tossed them onto the floor next to his four students "Prowl, place the foam blocks on either side of Jazz's helm and fasten them in place with the strap. The strap should cross through the holes on the edge of the backboard and over his forehead". Ratchet gestured towards the other straps laying on the ground at the other bot's knees "Optimus, Ironhide, take those straps and loop them through the holes along the side of the board in a criss-cross pattern and fasten him in place. Immobilize his pedes, legs, hips, and chest". They wove the restraints neatly through the openings of the board at Jazz's sides, securing him snugly in place.

Once they were finished, Ratchet handed one more strap to Prowl "use this to tie his servos against his chestplates to further immobilize his arms".

"Oh fun" Jazz grinned devilishly as he let Prowl press his wrists firmly against his chest armour. Prowl looped the strap around his wrists with a simple knot, stoically ignoring his lover's quips.

"Make sure they're snug enough so I can't get away". Prowl leaned back once the other mech's wrists were securely bound, glancing down at Jazz with wry amusement. Jazz winked his visor at him and easily twisted his wrist around, tugging on the loose end and pulling the knot apart with the flair of a magician "a sloppy knot 'aint gonna cut it, love. I'll have ta' show you how ta' do a proper handcuff knot som- mmmph!" he was silenced when Prowl stretched a piece of medical tape over his intake.

"Perfect!" Ratchet placed his servos on his hips and proudly admired his student's work. "Okay. Three more volunteers, who's next?".

》+《》+《》+《

Once Jazz had been successfully fastened to the spinal board for the sixth time, Ratchet waved him and the final three students back to their seats. He gathered up the straps and foam blocks off the floor as everyone settled back in "that was all that I needed to go over again with you guys in terms of combat first aid. I'll be sending you all a small study document with everything we covered these last couple days, and I expect you to read it thoroughly". Tossing the smaller items in the general direction of the medical bags, he gave his audience a stern frown "I do not want a repeat of what happened to Mirage". He made sure he met optics with every single one of them.

"But before we wrap this up, there's one more thing that I want to go over with you guys" he hooked his thumbs into his hip plating again and began pacing sedately across the floor. "I'll try not to single anybot out, but as you all are aware, there are a few bots on this ship that are prone to processor crash".

Prowl froze in his seat, his doorwings flicked backwards self-consciously. He subtly glanced over at Red Alert a few seats away, who seemed to be having the same reaction.

Ratchet didn't give any indication that he had noticed "now I know this is a touchy subject for some. It shouldn't be- it's nothing to be embarrassed about. But it's important that you all understand what it is and what to do. Processor crash is a condition that's caused when a bot's central processing unit is producing more heat then their frame is able to dissipate. It could be caused by either software or hardware issues. Sometimes it can be mitigated by a medic or a mnemosurgeon. But for some bots, it's a lifelong affliction".

Ratchet briefly locked optics with Jazz "whatever the cause, a processor crash can become a life threatening situation. But there are limited ways we can intervene".

Noticing the exchange, Prowl narrowed his optics suspiciously at Jazz seated beside him. His glitch was no secret; there had been many occasions where he had awoken on the floor of the command center, or wherever he happened to be, looking up at the concerned and panicked faces of his colleagues. Their fretting over him with ill informed treatments only magnifying his humiliation. Jazz had always adamantly insisted that his 'episodes' were not something he should be ashamed of. That nobot thought less of him and that they all only wanted to make sure he was okay. Prime and Ratchet had mirrored that sentiment as well. However, no amount of sympathy or special precautions would make him feel less ...defective.

Jazz reached his arm around Prowl's back under his doorwings and squeezed the grouchy praxian closer, pushing calm-affection-compassion into his field.

Ratchet continued slowly pacing "first. Recognizing the signs of an impending processor crash. They will be agitated, unable to focus. If they can speak, they will be not making any sense with their words. Dizziness, nausea" he ticked off the items on his servo as he came to a stop in front of Red Alert, who nodded in confirmation.

Red Alert cleared his intake "I can tell when it's about to happen. A couple kliks before, I'll see the errors popping up in my HUD and I get this weird 'off' floating feeling in my tank".

Ratchet regarded him with a small smile and nodded "that's a common description of the 'warning' a lot of mechs have before a crash. Some have said they hear, taste, smell things that aren't there. Or just a general sense of unease".

"Yeah, sometimes" Red Alert agreed.

Ratchet continued his slow, deliberate pacing "other foreboding symptoms are loss of motor control, they will experience stiffness, often some twitching in their extremities. Monitor them closely. If it continues to progress, soon after, they won't be able to speak to you at all. Their processor is shutting down functions, trying to reduce it's temperature. They may even stop venting" his face fell into a grim frown. "This is where you need to coax them to lay down on the ground because they are about to collapse" he glanced at Jazz again, who was listening intently.

"Call a medic. This is a medical emergency" he continued, with added emphasis. "If their processor shuts down they go into stasis. At this stage you will begin your first aid; airway, breathing, circulation. A B C. Make sure their airway is clear, they haven't bitten their glossa or swallowed their glossa. Maybe they had something in their mouth when they crashed. Make sure that they are still venting and be prepared to begin your compressions and intake to intake if they are not. Check that their fuel is still circulating. Their fuel pump is controlled by their processor, which just experienced a traumatic forced shutdown".

Jazz began to rub his servo soothingly up and down Prowl's backplates between his swept back doorwings. Prowl stared blankly at the floor in front of his pedes, his servos clasped tightly in his lap.

Ratchet continued "after that, you need to relieve them of their weapons, if they are armed. Sometimes they will wake up on their own, and they will be very confused and agitated. You don't want them to be armed in that scenario. If they

"What if it'don't wake up, continue to monitor their A B Cs until a medic arrives. Take note of the time that they lost consciousness".s gonna' take a while for you ta' get there?" Jazz asked, staring up at the medic with an uncharacteristically serious frown "What if no medic is coming at all?".

Prowl's doorwings twitched in agitation, his field heavy with distress-embarassment. Jazz resumed stroking his back plates soothingly.

Ratchet turned to face them and smiled fondly at the couple "then you will begin treating the overheat yourself. You will have to jack in to him with a data cable and gain neural access over his core systems like fuel pump regulation, coolant flow, self repair. If his tac-net didn't also shut down, you will need to take control of that too. I will send you the program I made for him". His face grew serious "don't use your Spec Ops penetration apps to brute force your way into his executive functions while he's glitching. He can't grant you access permissions while he's in that state and willvwly end up damaging his tac-net".

Jazz nodded solemnly "okay".

Ratchet nodded "once you are in and monitoring his temperatures you will open the back of his helm and very slowly apply warm solvent or coolant to his cranial casing. Whatever you have on hand. As long as it's sterile. 353 kelvin is generally the maximum safe temperature for most bot's processors, including Prowl. His temperature should drop no faster than 4 degrees a breem".

Jazz raised his servo to the back of Prowl's neck and began gently prodding around the base of his helm, reminding himself where the release latch is.

Prowl's vents hitched. Overwhelmed by the care-concern-affection in Jazz's field, he lowered his gaze to his knees, hiding his flushed face from the CMO and every other bot in the room stealing glances back at them.

"If his temperature has gone above 383, you will need to do an emergency coolant line splice with him to cool him down quicker. I can show you how to do that tomorrow, if you come to the medbay when I'm not busy. I will also give you the emergency reboot program I made for him and show you how to use it".

Jazz smiled brightly at him, once again idly stroking Prowl's backplates between his subtly trembling doorwings "I'll be there".

"Good" Ratchet replied with a warm smile of his own. He straightened up and clapped his servos together, addressing the rest of the room "well! That's it!". A teasing grin spread across his face "that wasn't so bad was it?".

A meek applause from a couple bots at the back of the crowd quickly bloomed into a standing ovation. Shouts and whistles of appreciation washed over the suddenly very bashful medic.

Completely at a loss for words, he stood frozen, mouth agape. "Oh come on now! Stop that! Knock it off!" he finally managed to shout at them, his face growing flush. The applause and cheers continued. "I don't need your applause, I need someone to carry this training scrap back to the medbay for me" he huffed, gesturing widely at the equipment scattered on the table and floor behind him "I'm not a young bot anymore, you know". There was no shortage of volunteers jumping to help.

》+《》+《》+《

In spite of Jazz's cautious attempts to speak about the evening, he and Prowl walked back to the officer hab wing of the Ark mostly in silence until they came to a stop in front of Prowl's quarters. With his field tucked in tight, the Autobot's strategist could be a difficult mech to read, even for someone as familiar with him as Jazz. The spy was struggling to figure out if the other bot's stubborn silence was from embarrassment or seething rage. Or both.

"'Aight then. I'll see you next shift?" Jazz said, anxious for a break in the silent treatment.

"Would you like to join me in my quarters for a while, first?" Prowl offered, palming the security pad for his door. His face was carefully neutral as he glanced back at Jazz.

With a heavy sense of foreboding, Jazz nodded "sure". He followed the other bot into the dimly lit, obsessively neat room. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, his vocals were throwing apologies at the black and white doorwings in front of him faster than his processor could catch up "Prowl I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable or nothin' I just wanted to-".

"No" he whispered hoarsely. Prowl turned to him with coolant beginning to stream from his wide icy blue optics. His vents hitched like he was struggling to hold back a torrent of emotion "I'm not angry".

Relief washing over his spark, Jazz wrapped his arms around the lithe praxian in a soothing embrace. "C'mere Prowler" he purred affectionately as he squeezed the other mech close to his frame, nuzzling against his audial. Prowl's field was an overwhelming storm of gratitude-affection-love that his frame trembled to contain "what's on your processor, lover? Talk to me". Warm tears tickled his plating where Prowl had tucked his face against Jazz's neck.

Ragged breathing seemed to be the only sound Prowl could make at the moment, so Jazz gently guided him to sit on the bed in the corner of the small room. Lowering both of them down to sit, Jazz internally cringed at the scratchy, wiry military issued blanket that Prowl never bothered to upgrade no matter how much he teased him about it. He let Prowl slump strutlessly against his side and resumed stroking soothing circles between his doorwings, resigning himself to wait for as long as it would take for him to find his words. "Take your time, lover" reaching for the other's servos, he intertwined their fingers in Prowl's lap.

::I'm sorry:: Prowl wiped the tears from his face with his other servo, sheepishly glancing up at Jazz's visor.

Jazz smiled down at him, amused at his decision to switch to comms "'s okay, Prowler. Tell me what's goin' on". "Even if its over comms" he chuckled.

Prowl shuttered his optics and took a shaky, steadying breath. Seeming to have gathered himself together somewhat, he straightened up enough to meet Jazz's optics properly "I've never.. ah. Nobody's ever...". A wave of frustration rippled through his field as he sighed ::You would really splice coolant lines with me to save me from offlining? You care about me enough to do that?::.

That hit Jazz like a punch to the tank. He could never remember exactly when in his mind Prowl had transitioned from being a convenient friend with benefits, to a crush, to the center of his personal universe. Having regrettably little prior experience with the big 'L' word, it seemed to have snuck up on him without notice. Throughout all of his prior relationships, fun though they were, he was never able to connect- truly connect with another spark the way he felt he could with the steely praxian currently huddled in an adorable shaky sobbing heap against his side. At some point he began to care about Prowl more than he cared about himself.

Jazz gingerly untangled his fingers from Prowl's and reached up to detach his visor. Lowering the physical and metaphorical shield from his face, he met Prowl's brilliant blue optics properly "you have no idea how much I care about you. I would crawl through the pit and back just to make sure you're okay, Prowl".

Prowl's pulse quickened as he stared back at Jazz's rarely seen blue optics. He slid his hands up to the sides of Jazz'z handsome face and covered his lips in a passionate kiss. Rising to swing his leg over to straddle his lover's hips, he pressed him backwards and followed him further onto the bed. He broke the kiss with a breathless gasp "I think I love you".

Jazz grinned crookedly up at Prowl's flushed face. The mech looked surprised at his own words. "I know I love you" Jazz said, pulling him back down for another kiss.

Prowl moaned into the kiss when Jazz's hands slid to the hinges of his doorwings, tweaking them just the way he knew he liked it. Shivering with stimulation, Prowl pressed his hips down against Jazz's frame, radiating heat, and charge, and need. He swept his servos up Jazz's frame reverently, tweaking wires and stroking protoform in the wide gaps of the other mech's armour.

Jazz's hands left his doorwings and moved down his sides to rest on his hips, teasing the joints with his thumbs.

Prowl deepened the kiss hungrily, sliding his servos up to cup Jazz's face. His legs quivered as a hand slid along his interface panel. He sent the command to open the cover and allow the other access to his array.

"Mmmh!" Jazz broke away from the kiss abruptly. "One klik, lover" he said as he felt around the wrinkled surface of the bed at his side, searching.

Prowl blinked at him, confused "is there a problem?".

"Nah" Jazz retrieved his visor from where it had become shoved under the pillow somehow and snapped it back into place over his optics "jus' cant see what I'm doin' without this". 

Prowl laughed and caught his smile in another kiss.