rekindleme | somebody ever tell you that you were worth nothin'

Entry tags:

somebody ever tell you that you were worth nothin'

Who: Fulcrum & Ratchet
Where: Ratchet's super amazing room of sunshine and fun.
When: 6/26
Summary: Fulcrum can't get one last dent out of his back, so reluctantly he goes crawling back to Ratchet.
Warnings: Sad lonely alien robot hijinks

It's taken a lot of hemming and hawing and reluctance on his part. It has less to do with the fact that Ratchet is an Autobot and honestly a lot more to do with the whole aspect of the doctor... thing. It's different with Spinister since he knows him better, and the fact that he had removed his payload. He can trust Spinister. He can trust his immediate personal circle.

This takes a lot of personal pushing on his own part and he kind of really, really hates it. He hates he has to do this. He thinks about things he wishes he could forget, but.

Well, that's the way of things and he's not the only one with personal trauma. He needs to remind himself of that and just suck it up.

With a regretful sigh, he finally knocks on the door Ratchet directed him to.

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Ratchet tugs it open, his lips thinning when he sees Fulcrum before he cycles his vents and leans back, jerking his head to indicate Fulcrum should come in.

"Took you enough time," he says. "...does Krok know you're here?"

Awkwardly, he rubs the back of his head before he steps into the room. Fulcrum's going to definitely do his best to not make eye contact nope.

"No," Fulcrum mutters. "And I'd... prefer it if you didn't tell him."

That gives Ratchet pause.

"And why's that?" he asks, folding his arms and watching Fulcrum closely.

Anxiously, he wrings his hands together. This is exactly what he doesn't want to talk about. That's great, that's the best thing ever (not it isn't, this is already terrible).

"Because..." Fulcrum tugs at his own fingers, trying to think of how to phrase it. "Because I don't want to throw more of my scrap onto him. Krok worries, all the time. I don't want to worry him more."

In a nutshell.

Ratchet relaxes slightly.

"Yeah, I'm sure you not telling him things is going to take a huge load off his mind," he says dryly. "I'm not going to lie to his face for you, but there's something to be said for patient confidentiality--I won't tell him if he doesn't ask."

He beckons Fulcrum over. "C'mere, then, let me take a look."

"I don't need your approval." It's not spoken sternly, but he's not happy either. "But that's fair."

Reluctantly, Fulcrum inches closer. Venting long and with difficulty, he turns around to let Ratchet have a look at the dent on his back.

"Obviously not." Ratchet watches as Fulcrum turns around, hissing air softly from his vents. "That was one of the nastier ones. I'm going to suction it out, give me a minute."

He takes care to make noise as he reaches out so it's not a surprise as he touches light fingertips to Fulcrum's side, sliding in to still just shy of the dent. He fits the suction cup against it and pushes in to lock it in place before he presses his fingers at the very edge of the dent to keep Fulcrum still as he pulls, slow and steady. The dent pops out after a second or two, a slight pinch and the sudden easing of pressure on Fulcrum's internals before Ratchet smooths careful fingers over it to check that the plating wasn't weakened, then pulls away.

"Better?"

"I-- sure."

Nervously, he stays still. Being in the same room as Ratchet was admittedly far easier when Krok was present. But he's determined to not dump his stupid personal load onto his commanding officer; Krok's sacrificed more than enough to him. Fulcrum doesn't need to keep making it difficult and needy and pathetic.

He jerks a little when he feels Ratchet's fingers, but he settles immediately when nothing bad comes after that. The suction feels... weird and less rough than how Fulcrum had banged out the rest of the dents. Smoother, but still weird.

But he does feel better when it's all done.

"Yeah, actually."

Fulcrum lets out a vent of air he didn't realize he was holding. "Thank you. I mean it."

"Yeah, yeah," Ratchet says, but there's no heat in his voice--it's an automatic, almost absent response as he steps back, running a critical eye over the rest of Fulcrum's frame.

"Anything else? Don't suppose you'd finally let me do an actual proper exam now."

There's an awkward pause as he considers it. He'd panicked a little a last time (hell of an understatement, but it could have been worse) admittedly, filling it up with sarcasm and biting remarks at Ratchet, but it oddly sort of seemed to work out in the end? Kind of? Fulcrum doesn't know how he feels about that. He especially doesn't know how he feels about Ratchet.

But he should, probably, get this out of the way. He hasn't actually had a medical exam in years, and Styx never cared about the general health of their prisoners.

The technician rubs his face roughly, taking a moment. "Yeah," Fulcrum finally answers hesitantly. "Okay."

Ratchet looks genuinely startled when Fulcrum says yes, faltering for a moment before he huffs a soft shock of air from his vents and reaches out.

"All right," he says, one hand settling on Fulcrum's shoulder and looking suddenly more serious. "Let me know if you want me to stop."

He shifts his hand under Fulcrum's (admittedly impressive) chin to tilt his head up, his optics narrowing on Fulcrum's. He flicks a light out of his wrist to shine it in each optic, watching the delicate mechanisms in each one contract and expand before he shuts the light off again. His hand slide lower after that, checking plating integrity and the solidity of welds with careful, sensitive fingers, a look of intense concentration on his face.

"You needed it more than the other two, I'll be honest," Ratchet says, his hands clinical but oddly gentle as he presses down one of Fulcrum's arms, then the other. "They didn't tend to be too careful with K-Class reformats. I won't be surprised if I find at least a weld or two that needs redoing, but that's something I can't test with a simple scan."

It's not shocking, but he's scared of the exam and going through with it. The reformat that he'd gone through was less than personal but still invasive in its own way. It still lingers, and he hates thinking of it. But the fear recedes somewhat with Ratchet's brand of assurance.

If Fulcrum needs him to stop, Ratchet seems willing. He seems to get it and it surprises him.

The K-Con remains as still as he can manage as Ratchet proceeds to exam his optics. They're wide and worrying, but he remains obedient as the medic continues to work.

"It didn't matter if they were," he says with a low, tired chuckle. "I mean, we were all supposed to die, so if someone wasn't fitted quite right, it didn't really matter. I knew a guy whose feet were attached wrong -- left foot was on the right, right foot was on the left -- and they didn't bother fixing it." Nervous chatter, but it helps. Sort of. "You know more about this than ... than I thought you would."

Fulcrum didn't think he'd understand. He feels a little guilty for being wrong.

"Well, it matters now."

Ratchet shifts, his hands pressing carefully down Fulcrum's torso, but his touch lightens instinctively where he remembers the worst dents were, banged out or not. His optics are unfocused, like he's paying more attention to his sense of touch than his sense of sight.

"And, it was my job to know. I read--" His hands almost stop, but he cycles his vents and keeps going. "There were some reports we intercepted with designs and patient data. I read it." All of it. "My job to interpret the data to know what... who we were up against."

There's a small, startled vent of air at the contact until Ratchet lightens the touch. The dents, though banged out, are still a bit sensitive, not unlike bruises. He tries to ignore them.

"Oh." It's all he can say at first. He can't imagine what Ratchet had to read. What kind of information. How many people the K-Class killed. Most people would tell Fulcrum to not think about it, to not worry about it, but it wasn't just Autobots who were killed on the Clemency from the leap. A lot of Decepticons went down, too.

Greater good, or some scrap like that.

"Did they tell you? What kind of people we were before we were reformatted."

"Yes," is all Ratchet says for a long moment. "...after a fashion."

He shifts, dropping heavily to one knee so he can finish checking Fulcrum's legs, shuttering his optics entirely as he his hands linger on a loose piece of plating on one of Fulcrum's thighs.

"Depends on what you mean by 'what kind of people'."

"We--"

He pauses when Ratchet starts checking his legs. After the story about the guy with his feet swapped, it makes sense, but it still throws him off momentarily before Fulcrum remembers to continue.

Resetting his vocalizer, Fulcrum says, "We were all at Styx. Convicted, or waiting to be convicted. Some people that were reformatted weren't even sentenced yet. They just-- pushed him out with everyone else. Cleaned out the prison, even those just in holding. It didn't matter."

"Yeah, that I knew."

Ratchet pushes himself to his feet again and shifts, moving around so he can check Fulcrum's back.

"Doesn't tell me much about the kind of people you were, though."

"Some of them-- maybe they deserved to be in there. Some of them didn't."

Fulcrum goes quiet, letting Ratchet work. He's wary about sharing, but so far, he feels more at ease around the Autobot. Honestly, he didn't anticipate on him knowing as much about the K-Class as he does.

"I was a technician. A project manager for working on cyberforming planets. If you wanna know the truth, I've never really been in a fight before. Well, not before I was convicted, anyway. Others? Some of them were engineers, some mechanics, a pilot -- most of them deserved to be locked up."

Ratchet stops, one hand still on Fulcrum's shoulder. He stays like that for a long moment, Fulcrum's back to him, his tanks churning slowly. It almost seems like he might say something, but eventually he just makes a low sound and his hand slides away, tapping Fulcrum's shoulder lightly.

"You have a couple of plates loose on your back and shoulder, and one on your leg," he says quietly--not shrugging Fulcrum's open honesty off, but unsure of how to respond to it either. "I can tighten the welds now if you want, or save it for some other time if you've had enough of being poked and prodded. It's not urgent."

Who the hell would have any words for the ramble he just gave, anyway? Especially someone who isn't part of his crew, much less part of the same faction. His optics dim.

"...Well, we. We might as well just... get it out of the way," Fulcrum replies softly.

Ratchet's fingertips touch Fulcrum's shoulder again, his optics light as he leans around Fulcrum so Fulcrum can see his face.

"If it makes you feel any better, I know at least one member of Autobot high command who froze up in his first firefight, and don't bother asking, he'll kill me if I tell you. He's a fine shot now." Ratchet nudges Fulcrum a little. "Go on, sit on the berth--you won't want to be standing for this."

The contact causes him to glance up, his eyes finally meeting Ratchet's. It's strange that the Autobot is attempting to comfort him, but it does make him smile a little.

"Seriously, Autobot high command." Fulcrum snorts. "He ever run away from a fight?" At the nudge, the technician obediently goes to sit down.

Ratchet sits next to Fulcrum on the berth, hoisting Fulcrum's leg across his own as he starts to press carefully at the loose plate, slipping a tool up under it so he can weld it back in place.

"'Run away' isn't exactly the phrase that was used," Ratchet says thoughtfully. "I wasn't strictly there. I think he more cowered behind a crate while he was shot at a lot. It wasn't pretty, either way."

The K-Con leans back on his hands, scooting back a bit to give Ratchet a bit more leverage. He does have to look away as Ratchet gets to work, though.

"You're serious? Jeez, now I'm gonna wonder who it was." He has a lopsided smile now. "I still don't know if I could ever shoot someone."

"Well, he's here. That narrows it down a little."

Ratchet focuses on his work, but his voice is quiet when he speaks again, finishing the weld and wrapping his hands against the top of the plate to keep it firmly in place while it sets.

"I'm sure you'd figure it out. It's not that hard."

"Oh." Well, by process of elimination, he should be able to figure it out. With a nervous laugh, he comments with, "I'm gonna guess it's not Ironhide that you're referring to."

Fulcrum shrugs as much as he can in his position. "Well, I... I don't know if I want to. I've never wanted to kill anyone." He pauses. "...Okay, except maybe Tarn and his team, but I don't think anyone's surprised by that."

Ratchet sets Fulcrum's leg down and nudges at him again until Fulcrum's back is to him and he starts resetting the loose plate there.

"I've found that most people figure it out, if given the right incentive," he sighs, his voice tired, glad Fulcrum can no longer see his face.

"You make it sound like I should learn." Though probably most Decepticons wouldn't disagree.

"No. I don't think you should at all."

Ratchet's voice is odd and quiet, but his hands don't falter against Fulcrum's plating welding steadily at ragged seams.

"Just heard a lot of people say things like that, before the war. War's over--no reason for you to start learning now."

If he could watch Ratchet's work, he'd probably be impressed. Rather, if he could stand to watch. Maybe there'll be a time in which he isn't so fearful.

Today is not that day.

"That's how I'd prefer to feel about it, too. You, uh. You wouldn't think so, but we found an Autobot once. On Clemency." The one Krok didn't shoot. "I said... we should help him. Because the war was over. I'm not trying to score any points with you, but that's just. That's how I feel about this. If it's really over, then I didn't see any reason why we should do anything other than that."

Ratchet finishes the last weld and snorts a little, standing up. He touches light fingers to the side of Fulcrum's head and pushes, nudging him gently.

"I think we've already well-established you're not trying to score any points with me, kid," he says, packing away the last of his tools. "You're done. Just don't be too rough on that leg or that shoulder for a while as they finish setting."

The contact makes him jerk upright and he scoots off of the berth abruptly, almost skittish.

"What gave you that idea? All of my glorious snark or was it when I was rude as hell or both?" Fulcrum asks wryly. "But I'll be careful, if I can be. Trust me, I'm not super thrilled with getting into trouble."

Fulcrum's shoulders sink a little. "Sorry for all of the chatter. Usually if I don't, well..."

Then it's whimpering and maybe a lot of crying involved. Words are easier and slightly more dignifying.

Ratchet's optics glint appreciatively.

"I've had worse patients." Ratchet snorts a laugh. "I've had worse patients this week. Your crewmates are complete headcases. Misfire was impossible."

That makes Fulcrum chuckle quietly, his hand raising to cover his mouth. "That's not entirely shocking. I mean... Spinister's always been a little, um. Paranoid and trigger happy, but he's honestly not so bad after he gets used to you. Misfire's... Misfire. He's always been kind of impossible."

"I don't think Spinister wants to get used to me," Ratchet mutters, shaking his head. "Which would suit me just fine, if we weren't all crammed in here together. It's not like we're going to be able to avoid each other, not really."

"Maybe not, but I think in time, maybe he will. I wasn't sure if he'd ever like me, but he can adapt." Fulcrum rubs the back of his neck. "And-- well. I. There-- there are people I'd like to avoid." He looks a little glum saying that, but continues with, "But the reality is that I think you're right."

Ratchet makes a disgusted, frustrated sound, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly.

"Look, Magnus--I don't know what you know about Ultra Magnus, or what you've heard, or if you've met him here or whatever. But he's our acting captain right now, and he's--" Ratchet hesitates, not sure how to phrase this to Fulcrum, of all people, not sure even why he wants to. "He's a good mech--better than most--and he's fair even if it kills him. He doesn't approve of people being beaten up for no reason, regardless of affiliation, and I don't think he'll just let Chromedome slide."

"Ultra Magnus. Mr. I Hunt Down Decepticons and No One Ever Sees Them Again?" He gives Ratchet an even flatter look, demanding with a bit more force in his voice, "And what did he do when Chromedome attacked Krok? What did he do about that, Ratchet?"

Fulcrum can't even focus on himself. When it comes to the others, though, all bets are off. He doesn't even care how weak he is.

"I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault, but I think you're the only Autobot who cares about this."

"Look, we don't exactly have a brig we can throw him in, all right?" Ratchet says sharply, sounding frustrated. "We're working on it--we just got here, too. But I'm not the only one who cares."

"That's really helpful to know after he decided to drag me down an alleyway and start beating me," he responds, voice lower and calm. They've had a similar fight before, and Fulcrum's not eager to tackle it again. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm skeptical. Hard not to be."

Ratchet opens his mouth to argue again... then stops, closing it and shaking his head.

"Can't exactly blame you," he says, sounding worn.

"I figured you'd understand. I don't know if Chromedome's your friend besides your crewmate. It's a tough spot." Fulcrum shrugs a little, looking away. "If one of mine did that to one of yours without any real reason, it'd be a difficult position. But right now, there's... not a whole lot being done. There probably won't be anything, and I won't be surprised about that."

He sighs. "I don't want there to be any fighting whatsoever. I just wanna live quietly. I want them to be safe. You get that. Maybe the other Autobots will eventually, too."

"Most of us do," Ratchet says, folding his arms. "I don't know what crawled up Chromedome's tailpipe and died, but--we don't want a fight either, not really. No point, now."

"Then I hope he gets the sense knocked to him -- figuratively speaking, I meant mostly, but I am not opposed to literal -- so this doesn't happen again. If anything happens to Krok, Spinister, or Misfire because of him, I--"

He'd do what? Fulcrum's not the violent type, but he'd figure out something. He'd figure it out, quickly and cleverly, and leave it as that. He's not a brute, but he would think of something.

But better not to.

"I just hope it doesn't," he ends with that, softly.

"That's what I meant," Ratchet says, his optics sharp on Fulcrum's face. "About incentive."

"I hope it doesn't, too."

An uncomfortable noise is emitted in response. Fulcrum isn't thrilled to talk about his thoughts and feelings on this topic.

"Thank you, by the way. For helping us. Krok especially. I... should probably show myself out?"

Unless Ratchet needed anything else.

"Yeah, go on," Ratchet says, jerking his head at the door. "And I won't tell Krok if he doesn't ask."

"Thank you. If he asks, I'll. I'll just be truthful, too. But seriously, he worries enough about the rest of us."

Krok needs to learn how to worry about himself, for crying out loud.

"Thanks again, Ratchet."

Fulcrum shuffles off to leave the room.

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somebody ever tell you that you were worth nothin'

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