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re_alignment_logs2013-01-03 01:58 am
docbot) wrote in re_alignment_logs2013-01-03 01:58 am
Entry tags:
It's not bad of you to think of what might go wrong
WHO: docbot and rstlsslegsyndrm
WHERE: Ratchet's room
WHEN: Last night
WHAT: Ambulon comes to Ratchet about his fears regarding Tarn and the DJD. They talk and conversation turns into Ratchet angst, and then rolls back to planning defenses. And then there's more angst.
WARNINGS: Angst. Lots of angst. Also, mentions of Ratchet's substance abuse problem.
NOTES: It's been a while since I last formatted an AIM log, so forgive me if it's unclear what's going on, or who wrote what.
Ratchet is enjoying yet another quiet evening in his room. He's been withdrawn since he returned, checking the Link extremely rarely if at all. He scrotums some guilt about that, but mostly he scrotums relief. It's stressful trying to navigate relationships with most of the beings around here. Sometimes a mech just wants to sit back in his chair and drink his energon in peace.
Ratchet wasn't exactly alone in that department. Making friends was not so much Ambulon's specialty as it was, technically, charming snakes. He was good at discussions, but not conversations. Not quite one to open up, though Ambulon was happy to have the few friends he had in his life, recent events had made things a little complicated. Trying to stop Drift from throwing away his life to fight Tarn, only for Drift to die anyway - Vandal crippled and recuperating and traumatized, perhaps for the rest of her life - and... Is this how emotionally taxing friendships were? No wonder Ambulon was no good at it.
Then, of course, there was the entire fiasco with Tarn himself and Pharma. The whole ugly truth came out, and... Yeah. Suffice to say, things were just shit lately.
Ambulon had been completely content returning to his room to enjoy the silence day in and day out. To be alone. He never had a problem with loneliness. It gave him time to sort things out peacefully. Now, however, the loneliness was doing very little, and just remembering his conversation with Pharma...
So, here he was. At Ratchet's door, pinging the doctor. And he wasn't entirely sure why.
Ratchet blinked when he got Ambulon'g ping. After a moment's consideration, he decided that Ambulon was a fairly thoughtful mech, so if he needed Ratchet, it was probably for a good reason. He takes his time getting up and answering the door, joints creaking a bit from the day's toil, but when he answers the door, he actually manages a rather pleasant expression.
"Ambulon. What brings you here at this time?"
He's opened the door, but hasn't tilted his body enough to invite Ambulon into his room just yet.
The answer was out before he could stop it: "I don't know."
Seriously, Ambulon really didn't. The silence was no longer helping? Overthinking was keeping him from sleeping? The stress was finally hitting a point where he could no longer simply shrug and work it off? That, in a situation such as this, he would just go back to work or force himself to do something, anything, to get his mind off his problems, but that didn't seem an option right now?
Problems he could solve, he faced and took care of. Problems he felt were minor would simply fade on their own. Such as maybe being too crass or too clinical with a patient, or simply coming off as rude or uncaring. Problems that could not be solved often required more work, sure, but...
"I don't know."
Because, right now, everything else he relied on wasn't working, and even doctors got sick and ill and needed help. They just tended to be awful patients.
Ratchet stares at Ambulon for a moment before stepping aside and gesturing Ambulon in, rubbing at his chevron. "Come in. This looks like it's going to take a while, and being old and cranky, I think I'm going to have to sit down for it." Because he's seen that expression before, on other's faces and on his own. It's not an easy one to assuage.
Ambulon hesitated, then stepped inside. One step, nothing more. "Ratchet," he said then, voice clear though firm, "if you'd rather I leave you alone, you can tell me. I will not be offended; I may have the worst alt mode in the combined universes, but I am also equipped with sufficient armor." His skin wasn't frail; he wouldn't be upset if Ratchet needed his space or couldn't handle the emotional pressure right now. He understood completely.
But maybe there was also a part of himself that wasn't ready to... talk. To open. One foot back over the threshold, and he could turn around, go back to the tactics that have helped him so far. Until now.
"If I didn't want you here, I'd have told you to go away and shut the door in your faceplate." Ratchet throws himself into a chair and waves impatiently at its mate. "Now sit your aft down already and talk.
Ratchet smirks slef depricatingly and adds, "Otherwise, sit down and I'll punish you for disturbing my relaxation by forcing you to eat something. You look half dead on your feet, mech." Perhaps an overstatement of fact, but a benign one.
That-- Ambulon wasn't sure he'd ever get used to this sort of behavior. Having worked with Pharma so long, this impersonal easiness was... new. Interesting. Even before Pharma, Ambulon wasn't exactly among the most warm and welcoming company. It was a little jarring, and for a moment, Ambulon wondered if Ratchet would actually "burst out" like that.
The former Decepticon relaxed, a little. Visibly it probably wasn't very obvious. He looked like a wreck, and his EM field was soggy and messy and swirling with tension. "I'm fine," he assured. "I had a cube before I came here." He kept himself well fed; the paint job... That was superficial nonsense. It wasn't hurting anyone, it wasn't important. He just had to remain up, alert, and ready to work. As long as he was doing what needed to be done, he could overlook the fact he was shedding gradually more and more.
"But..." Ambulon moved inside, toward the chair. He stared at it for a moment, then - just. Sat. "I am tired."
"Mm." Ratchet shoves a cube at Ambulon anyway. Even though the mech claims to have eaten, it's always nice to have something to do with your hands, and it gives him something to look at if he wants to avoid eye contact. Awkward conversations: Ratchet has experience with them.
"Tired, huh?" He plays with his own cube a bit, thinking. "You've been pulling a lot of slack recently, between my hermetic tendencies and Pharma's... well."
Ratchet snorts instead of verbalizing how he feels about Pharma, then smiles a bit at Ambulon. "It's been a great help, though. You're quite efficient."
Ambulon looked at the cube in his hands, turned it in circles. "First Aid has done quite a lot as well," he noted. "He has been seeing more patients than I have lately, to be honest." He thought it was good, however. The nurse getting back into the swing of being a full-time doctor once more. "And you have your reasons. There's been no real emergency lately that requires all of our attention. Though, if you're needed, I hope you'll understand your presence may be required." That was the nice way of saying 'if I yell at you to help, come help'. "Besides, we have Knock Out back..." That didn't sound very reassuring, but why add more negativity to the fire?
"I'm tired, but..." Ambulon pursed his lips. Frustrated. Couldn't figure out how to word this. How to voice it. "... Not tired. Not physically." He placed the cube on the ground beside him.
"Pff." A dismissive gesture. "Yes, the others have been doing well, but you've been working hard too, while I've been slacking. And yes, the fact that I'm acknowledging that is probably a sign that I ought to spend more time in the bay."
But that's Ratchet's problem, and they're focussing on Ambulon right now. "High on energon, but your spark's worn down?"
"It's just good to have you back. Your help has been greatly missed." More than Ambulon would ever like to admit. "We hope to have you back in service soon." This was sounding all too clinical, too, wasn't it? He sighed and folded his hands in his lap. "I suppose," he replied. "I..."
Ambulon found hands wandering up, pushing fingers into pressure points along his helm. "Things have been. Complicated. With Tarn here, and after Pharma confessing to what happened, what he did... It has been. Distracting." Because, really, all that mattered was getting work done, right? Ambulon couldn't work efficiently if he was constantly stressed out. His health was fine, just not... Perfect. Efficient.
"I'm around, I just... don't care to go looking for trouble anymore, I suppose. Which is a problem." There's a glint of steel in Ratchet's optics before he turns back to Ambulon's further words.
"Ch. Pharma." Ratchet's expression is dark as he speaks. "Given your shared past, I can understand how his actions would be distracting. Upsetting even. Hah,I know I'd probably be out to grind my knuckles into his face if he were my superior." " He grins in a grim sort of way and drums his fingers on the table. "So I guess it's better that you're the one he has history with..."
Ambulon frowned. "How is that a problem? We take enough risks as doctors. No need to put yourself on the line so unnecessarily," he said. "And..." He looked seriously at Ratchet. "He told me why - why he did. What he did. It was to keep the DJD from overthrowing the clinic, destroying the nucleon mines. To keep us... safe." It stirred another pulse of stress from his spark. "He traded t-cogs for our safety. He thought he did what was right - he really did. And he... he snapped. He snapped. And I..." Ambulon cursed and sat forward, scrubbing his face in his hands. "I worked beside him for years, Ratchet, and to see such a brilliant doctor fall to pieces, it's horrifying. What he did was wrong, but knowing that, all along, by himself, with First Aid and I just so oblivious... And what scares me more is it's because of them. The DJD. And their leader - their leader is here, now. The one who pushed Pharma toward his path of self-destruction, he's here now."
"I understand your concerns. I’ve … had them myself before. Pharma’s not the only medic who’s managed to spiral down a destructive path.” Ratchet sighs, scrubs at his face and looks tired. “There's a lot of pressure on medics even in peacetime, and in war, things just get more complicated. We end up having to make difficult decisions, and some people ... can't.” Ratchet staring into the distance, replaying past experiences in his head. “But war and the DJD, they’re just catalysts. You said it yourself -- yes, they were a threat, but the big problem here was that Pharma’s pride wouldn’t let him ask for help.” That scowl is one that only ever seems to be associated with Pharma. It’s extremely grim (something about the mech’s manner had always irritated Ratchet right in his core).
Ambulon listened closely, forehead pressed to his hands. "I know," he said, finally. "I know all this. And so far, I've yet to succumb to the pressure. And I hope I never will." He paused, and looked up, meeting Ratchet's gaze. "I'm... I've armed myself, just in case Tarn decides to make due on his threats. I'm not the only one he's after, however. Drift, Overlord, but I can hardly say 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' applies in this situation." He hesitated another moment. "I..." But the words were caught in his throat, and in the end, Ambulon scowled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm frustrated with myself for even being here. These are all problems I should work out by myself."
"Oh for-- Stop that." Ratchet leans across the table and knocks Ambulon upside the head. "Not asking for help is what caused this whole problem in the first place." He looks at Ambulon, then whaps him another time for good measure. "It's all well and good trying to take the weight of the world on your shoulders, but don't forget that this affects the rest of us too. Or did you assume that we'd just step back and let this Tarn idiot shoot your spark out without trying to stop him?" The very thought of that is offensive, Ambulon.
Well, that caught him off guard. Ambulon widened his eyes, shuttered them twice. Did he just-- Did he just get smacked upside the head? Twice? His wide optics turned to Ratchet again, momentarily confused. "I have no intention of trying to take Tarn on by myself!" he scowled, feeling slightly offended. "There is about a one in a million chance I'd make it out of the fight alive, for one. Secondly, I meant to say, I should not be wasting my time ranting and raving to another person when this is something I should have become immune to. This stress, this inevitability." Ambulon cursed. "We may no longer be at war, but that doesn't mean it's over. I understand that. I am fully capable of keeping a clear mind through emergencies. I may slip up, but I don't falter. I don't run away from my problems. So, why am I here? I don't understand why all my coping skills have suddenly stopped working. Why I am just allowing myself to succumb to..." He didn't finish. Because asking for help felt... wrong. Ambulon knew there was nothing wrong about it, no, but it just... He'd never really needed to turn to anyone for help. Not in a very long time.
Yes you got smacked, Ambulon. Twice, actually, just like an errant child. "Well forgive me for assuming that you were going to do something stupid. Given past experiences, you'll understand why I've learned to expect the worst, when it comes to the option of heroic sacrifice." He says the last phrase as if it were a curse word. "To succumb to... being an imperfect mortal?" Oh Ambulon. "You do realize that this is a fairly normal thing to do, right? You're not the first mech who's needed someone to lend and ear and you won't be the last. Or haven't you heard me complaining day in and day out in the medbay before?" He raises a brow, trying to goad a smile out of Ambulon. Come on, lighten up.
Ambulon snorted. No, not a smile. You're going to have to try harder. "It's just..." He really just wanted to throw down his hands and leave, before any of this got too... What would be the proper word? He didn't really know. "I guess it's... It's different. When you're on the outside, I suppose," he said a few moments of silence later. He open and closed his hands over his knees. "I've been so detached for so long, it is... odd. I've always been something of an outsider; never really involved in anything. But now... It's different. Because I'm no longer on the outside." He bowed his head. "And, if you must know, I guess I thought maybe talking to you would stop the... the fear." That word had been the hardest to say for so long now. "As in, you'd see it's me just making a big fuss over nothing. But, Ratchet, I..." Ambulon's optics dimmed. "I'm still... afraid. Even after spending all that time at Delphi, knowing Tarn is here, so close, knowing where I am, and even with all the help in the world at my side... I can't shake this bad feeling. I said I don't run from my problems, but with what happened to me, and with Tarn... I think that's all I can do. And where can I run to now? And is it even worth it?"
Ratchet rubs at his chevron, frowning, because emotions are hard, okay? "The long, complicated answer is that the fear doesn't go away because fear goes hand in hand with a survival instinct, and if you tamp that down, I’ll be very unhappy with you. But the more to the point answer here is that you run to me. And you’re worth it because you're a sentient being. More than that, you're a teammate and a friend." If he stares at you with his serious face on for long enough, maybe this will sink in? (It hasn’t worked on anyone he cares for so far, but a mech can always hope.)
Ambulon sighed. "I'm just flustered. My head's not on right right now," he snorted. He understood everything Ratchet had to say, but... Well, wasn't in the best state of mind to think clearly. "I won't run. You know. Away. I can't. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I..." And there was almost a smile - almost. "I guess I didn't come here for answers, so much as just a way to... unwind. Because... I'm not sure. But you are... I can..." The medic sighed. "But... Listen. I've been meaning to talk to Pharma. I want to ask if he knows anything from his sessions with the DJD. Anything that may help us if Tarn comes around. I've been going over what I know repeatedly, and I still have yet to find any solution as to how we could defend ourselves against Tarn's spark-manipulating abilities." Paused. "And, if anything should happen to me, Ratchet, I... Well. I have a favor to ask."
He wouldn't admit it, but it warms Ratchet to know that Ambulon came to him to ... unwind and untangle his brain. The fuzzy feeling in his spark goes cold, though, when Ambulon continues speaking. "Talking to Pharma sounds like a ... reasonable idea," he ventures, speaking in a halting way as he tries to phrase his thoughts in the best way possible. "What do you want me to do?"
Ambulon debated another moment, but-- "Have I ever told you about the DJD, Ratchet? Who they are? What they do?" he asked. "What they can do?"
"I've heard bits and pieces about them, but you've never told me anything specific about them, no."
"The DJD hunt down, torture, and kill Decepticon traitors. That's basic information. They consist of five members. Their leader, Tarn, is the one here with us," Ambulon explained. "He has the ability to... to talk a spark to death. Literally. I don't know how he does it, but he has some sort of power to manipulate sparks with his voice. And from what I know, they aren't about quick, painless deaths either, which may mean..." Ambulon swallowed. "Right." He pinched the bridge of his nose again. "But whatever information I gather on Tarn or the DJD, I will give to you. A copy. And if I die, I want you to use this information to find some way to... to counteract this power of his. If only to protect others, not necessarily to use it as a weapon. So, that is... one thing. The other is... The other is a disc."
Ratchet's expression darkens as Ambulon speaks. He's never heard of the ability to talk a spark to death before. It sounds dangerous, and he sets aside a subroutine to start considering neutralization options. "A disc." He doesn't respond to Ambulon's other request. He doesn't want to discuss death plans right now (plus, his cooperation with that is a given anyway)
"This disc is very important. Irreplaceable " Ambulon answered, speaking lowly. "I've never told anyone this. And it's important you don't either. I have the disc hidden away in my room. If I die, I need you to retrieve this disc as soon as possible. You'll find it in the back wall, toward the corner of my berth. Keep this disc safe and secret. And if... If you could." He rocked in his seat a moment, looking down. "Tell Elita-One as well. Share this information with her. Just in case something happens to you, or you are unable to take on the responsibility. Keep it if you can, but give it to her along with my instructions if you cannot." After another moment: "If Megatron returns - glyphless or otherwise - the Megatron from my universe, young and still only at the threshold of war, may even have come from some place known as Axiom... Go to him, and give him the disc. Tell him it was given to me by himself personally, but due to circumstances, I passed it on to you. He may not remember me, but make sure he sees the disc. Make sure he understands it's important and that he must watch it."
"I see." Ratchet nods. "I can do this for you ... but I'd like to note that I'm going to do everything I can to prevent anything from happening to you in the first place. You're going to be giving that disc to him yourself, if he ever makes it here."
Ambulon almost smiled. Almost. "I would like to stay very much alive as well," he said. But... "Ratchet," he said, quietly, "what happened to you?"
Ratchet tipped his head to the side. "To me? What do you mean?" The change of subject caught him off guard, and he wasn't sure how to respond.
From 'almost smile' back to 'don't-patronize-me frown'. "You were out in the Badlands. Why? I can only assume you went there. That maybe something... called for you. And you followed," Ambulon explained. "We had a doctor here - not sure if you met her. Martha. A human doctor. She disappeared, too, and she told me something about the Badlands beckoning her. That she went, and though she was scared, she went because she had to know if home laid on the other side." He bowed his head, slightly. "She never returned. But." Inquisitive, firm yellow optics flicked up to look at the medic. "You did, Ratchet."
"Ah. That." Ratchet doesn't slump, per se, but his posture changes and he folds in on himself in a way that makes him seem smaller. "She probably did get home, if that makes you feel better. I know I did." He laughs, then, but there's no humour in it. "Well, almost. I managed to get back to my home universe, but ..." He hasn't admitted this to anyone yet. He didn't want to, because saying it out loud means that it's true. But Ambulon deserves the whole story. Ratchet can give him that much, even though he can't meet his eyes. "The Decepticons won. Cybertron has been rendered irrevocably unsalvageable in my universe, and the Autobot forces on Earth have been scattered. Optimus Prime is..." He grits his teeth and spits out the last of the difficult truths he has had to come to terms with. "Optimus Prime was in the base when it was destroyed." He exvents, and raises his eyes to meet Ambulon's with a wry smile on his face. "So, you see, I managed to get home, but it had absolutely nothing to offer me. So I somehow managed to come back."
Ambulon's face remained blank of expression, frown set permanent "I see," he said a minute later. "I am sorry for your loss. That... Your universe had to reach such a tragic conclusion in the war." It wasn't very reassuring, but Ambulon was never really good at reassuring, period. Still, he hoped Ratchet understood - there was a slight dimness to his EM field. Disappointment. It wasn't his universe, but if it was anything like his universe, then... Well, either way, it wasn't good. He would have asked for details, but figured... He pried enough all ready. Ratchet was free to tell him more if he so desired. No more Cybertron - Ambulon didn't know why this surprised him in the least. It surprised him that his back home had managed to scrape through the entire chaotic mess. "I know nothing I say will help or provide much comfort," he said, finally, "but... I will listen. If you need to talk to someone. I'm... Here."
Ratchet sighs. "Well... statistics do necessitate that the Decepticons would win in at least some of the universes in which our factions go to war." His own EM field has been steady this whole time, but there's a slight fluctuation to it at this point -- keeping control of his emotions is getting more and more difficult.
"It's just that ... I ... Hnn." His hands curl into fists and there's a certain air of hysteria collecting around him. "This whole time, I believed that if we- if I just tried hard enough, we would win the war and we would have our home back and now..."
He looks back up at Ambulon. "What was it all for, if this is the result? What were all those sacrifices worth?"
"Right," Ambulon replied, but to what, he let Ratchet decide. Because agreeing with anything he said wasn't exactly reassuring. He could sense that hitch in the medic's electromagnetic field, however. His face remained neutral, calm. "I don't know. Perhaps none of us do," he said, a moment later.
"Hoping and dreaming and wishing - they're all placebos, maybe," Ambulon replied. "But they help in their own way." He sat back again. "What more can we do but continue fighting for a better future and learn to accept that... failure has always been an option. I guess we just have to figure out what happens next. For those - like you - who are left standing in the ash and ruin." He shuttered his optics. "I apologize, Ratchet. But I hope the sacrifices you and your comrades made in your home universe do not go on in vain. That somehow... there's a way."
"But I can't just figure out what happens next! " Ratchet slams his fist down onto the table, EM field flaring bright as he loses his already shaky grip on his emotions. "Ambulon, my planet is currently a lifeless wasteland whose only chance of revival was a machine forged by a near-deity and which was wrecked by my own leader because he couldn't think of another option. Said leader, who was my most treasured friend, is now lying dead in the rubble of a base which was destroyed by the Decepticons, who are currently at the height of their power and on the verge of terraforming Earth into some sort of nightmare fusion of techno-organic life. There is no possible way that the suffering and the dying and the--"
He shoves back from the table and whips his now-empty cube at the wall with such force that it shatters.
"This isn't what you came here to see."
Ratchet is standing facing away from Ambulon now, still tense, but ... calm enough externally that he can recognize when he's worked himself up into an uglier mood than company ought to have to deal with.
"I told you I'll listen if I can, Ratchet," Ambulon said, addressing the medic's last comment. He slid his hands together, thinking seriously. "Is there no way you can return to your universe a second time? The Firstforged... I'm not sure they can do anything for you. If they could send people back, I'm positive most of us wouldn't be here right now. But if you managed to find your way home once, then..." He shook his head and dimmed his optics. "It's a great risk. I don't recommend it. Not as a doctor, not as a logical-minded person, not as a friend."
Ambulon glanced up at Ratchet. "Do you think it's over? That it's really hopeless? Nothing can stop the Decepticons from mechaforming Earth? Do you think the Autobots have truly lost once and for all?" He sighed. "I guess I'm asking: do you have any faith in your comrades who have survived? That there may be some sort of hope after all." He shook his head. "Rung may be suited better for providing you with the comfort you need. Not the answers; no one, I think, can answer these questions, except maybe one of the Firstforged. Which, I suppose, you could ask. It may not harm you to do so. Though I wouldn't put too much hope in what they will say and or do."
"You ... there's a line between listening to a mech talk about his problems and watching him ... hah, have a breakdown of epic proportions." Ratchet spins where he stands and starts to pace. "It's not that I can't go back -- I'm sure I could if I ran back into the Badlands and managed not to get eaten, but the fact of the matter is that there's nothing left. I'm a doctor, not a leader or a warrior, and even if I were any of the things that Optimus Prime was, the Autobots are scattered, resourceless and low in numbers, if any of us even survived the base's destruction..." He scrubs at his optics again, a gesture of distress. "No, Rung doesn't need to hear me complaining about something that can't be changed or fixed. My world is... what it is. And I wouldn't bother the Firstforged over something like this. It's not a problem that will affect this universe or this Cybertron, so it's not their concern."
He just has to repress enough that he can function, and then accept that if he ever gets sent back to his universe, he probably faces a slow, lonely death.
"I'll deal with it. It's just a sensitive topic for now."
With a huff, he's managed to build up a sturdier facade of stability. He even manages a shaky sort of smile when he finally turns to meet Ambulon's eyes properly.
"We should both be more concerned about the more pressing problem of keeping you and the rest of the population safe from this DJD."
"Therapists are not designed to only treat people with problems that can be fixed, you know," Ambulon added, hoping he didn't sound too negative. "Or do you intend to allow the stress to eat at you until you eventually fall apart?" Because he couldn't help but think of Pharma. The situations were different, but they both were guilty of one thing: keeping their problems to themselves. Suffering in silence. Believing they were strong enough to balance the entire weight of the world simply on their shoulders alone. It made Ambulon a little annoyed, in fact, but he said nothing.
He would have asked why Ratchet chose to return to this world. Why he didn't stay behind to possibly help his fallen brethren But Ambulon had no place to ask. He had no room to talk. Fear can be potent and it can drive a man insane or force them to make spur of the moment decisions. Ambulon was fortunate his decision to run did not end in tragedy. Though his new life wasn't any easier.
Either way, Ambulon gave Ratchet a minute of silence. A window. Should he take it to continue talking or venting, Ambulon would accept it. However, should he ignore it or use it for a new topic, the former Decepticon would honor his request for silence and move on.
"It will take more than this to tear me apart, Ambulon. I'm a bit sturdier than that." Ratchet's calming down more as he pushes thoughts down to the back of his processor. He'll get himself thoroughly overcharged tonight and cry on his own when no one can disturb him. Better to get the darkness out when no one else can see it. "I've dealt with ... not worse, but tragedy and I are not strangers. And..." He hesitates, then lets himself say, "It does help, venting to someone who isn't myself. Thank you for listening."
"As medics, we both know just how easily we can be torn apart. Just how, with the right amount of pressure, our sturdy skin can rip like tissue," Ambulon said, but nothing more. He need not say anything else. He was sure Ratchet understood.
Nonetheless. "Not a problem," he retorted. "I just think it'd be a damned shame if you were to fall apart, your skills and intelligence wasting away. That would be a tragedy in itself." Ambulon didn't mean to sound as if he were addressing Ratchet as more an object than a person, but... Well, he probably sounded like that anyway. "Dealing with your problems by yourself is one thing, but letting them fester into a mental illness is completely different, you see." He looked at his hands, back to Ratchet. "But if there is anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask."
Ratchet raises an eyebrow. "I'm a far sight away from turning into a gibbering wreck, my mech." Woop, and here comes that cocky little smirk that set sparks aflutter way back when. "You won't have to bind me up in a straitjacket just yet." He gives Ambulon a lighthearted punch in the arm. He'd had his little fit, but now he's almost managed to shove everything back where it was, and here's the Ratchet most everyone sees -- calm, collected, controlled.
Ambulon blinked, optics widening again. Really was not used to this entire touching business, even if it was playful. He cleared his vocalizer and stood. "For what it's worth," he said, "talking to you did help as well."
A second later, he held a small datapad to the medic. "Here. Everything I've gathered on Tarn. There's... hardly anything. As I said, we only really know what his voice can do to sparks, but not how." He tapped a finger on the 'pad. "I was thinking... Until we find our answers, something we could use to deflect his voice? Simply switching off our audiols will do nothing. It's not just about sound, but vibrations."
Get used to the touching, Ambulon. Ratchet hands out casual touch like it's going out of style and doesn't even really notice it. "Well. Looks like this was good for both of us, then."
And now he's skimming that data pad, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Honestly, the most direct solution to this problem would be to disable his voice. But deflection is also an option... I wonder if a partial deflection would be effective enough, or if we'd have to find the exact anti-frequencies to his..."
"I figure as much," Ambulon replied. "But I'm not sure if his vocalizer is the source of his power. For all I know, it could be his spark." He looked to Ratchet. "We're going to need to deflect and disable his voice before we can do anything, however. Perceptor gave me a weapon that releases a pulse-blast that should temporarily scramble the sensors, but I'm not sure it will pack enough of a punch. You'll excuse me for not wanting to go and find out for myself." Ambulon sighed and shrugged. "There's a lot of work to be done, and I just... I need to know if something happens to me, you'll make sure someone finds a solution."
"You have my word." Ratchet holds a hand to his chest. "As long as my spark is lit, I'll help with the effort to protect you and the rest of the beings here from him." Which actually sparks an idea. "Out of curiosity, do you know if his voice affects Non-Cybertronians? Because we do have several of those around."
"I don't know," Ambulon confessed. "If it only works on sparks or mechanical equipment, I'd venture to say, no, non-Cybertronians will not be affected." His frown twitched. "But I'm not sure how we could use this information without putting the organics or non-Cybertronians in harm's way."
"If it affects sparks, then the logical deduction would be that a frequency that counters his voice might adversely affect sparks as well... so it would be best if a non-Cybertronian used the device. Or, at least, someone not from his universe, in a pinch." Ratchet ponders. "Perhaps one of the Brave Police? They're certainly stronger than humans, and their physiology is quite different from ours."
"Perhaps," Ambulon agreed. "The weapon is too massive for a human to use. But calling out Tarn and using the weapon on him... I don't know if that's possible. While the law may be on our side, the Firstforged may not take well to baiting and attacking someone that has so far only made threats but never followed through."
"We wouldn't attack him right away, but if we're making plans to counter any hostilities from him, we ought to plan to neutralize him fully. If we need a non-Cybertronian to use this weapon, we'd also better make sure that we have one around at all times. We'd have to set up a roster... or, I suppose, come up with a weapon that's small enough for Vandal to use." Ratchet is off in a land of theory and experimentation. "We should definitely ask some of the others for help with this. Perhaps Jetfire and Perceptor...?"
"Of course. And... I don't think Tarn will go out of his way to harm anyone that isn't his target, let alone humans or organics. But I agree - they should be equipped with something either way," Ambulon explained. "I've been going through all these possibilities, but again, we're going to need all the help we can get. And I'm not sure if Solus could provide us with a means of defense or a weapon." He rubbed the back of his helm, sighing.
"Well... the least we can do is ask her. Surely if it's just as a protection, rather than as a means of initial attack, she might assist us?" Ratchet still has a large amount of belief in the Primes. Maybe it's because they're one of the few beings that still have a chance of being able to "fix" all the things that have gone wrong.
Ambulon paused to consider what he said. "... I have been meaning to speak to Solus," he mumbled. "But for entirely different reasons. This... She may be able to assist, yes, but since Tarn is not aligned to her, I wonder if she'd be willing to help. Or have us speak to the Firstforged who Tarn is aligned with instead. I can't remember who they are, exactly, but if it's Megatronus, I'd venture we're shit out of luck." One, two, three--His optics shuttered and he glanced, somewhat embarrassed, at Ratchet. "Sorry. Vandal, you see."
Ratchet smiles at Ambulon's "humanism". "I do see. Human vernacular really is catchy isn't it. There's a certain quality to their curse words that are very satisfying to the mouth. As for whoever Tarn is aligned with, well... we'll have to ask first before making any decisions, I think. No use working ourselves up about an eventuality that never comes to pass."
Ambulon's nod was vague. "It's not only his powers, however, that we have to worry about," he added. "He is... He is very strong. I've not seen him in action, and nor do I care to. But he is the leader of the DJD, and there's a reason for that. Even if the weapon should be successful in disabling his powers, he's still got a lot of back-up to rely on." He squinted. "Again, all the help we can get. I just... It feels like a waiting game. Tarn's not stupid; there's a reason he's biding his time. And I just... I worry it will be too late."
"Mm, that's a good point. Primus, but this is why I'm a medic and not a strategist. I was never designed to process warfare." He waves the datapad he has in his hand for emphasis. "For now, I think the best solution would be to stay in or close to a Temple. The FirstForged may deny our requests for weapons, but... they don't seem to take well to violence taking place, especially in their homes. Until we can figure out a solid plan of defense, their protection is the best we can get."
"Right. It's what I've been doing, basically. Not that I'm bothered by it." Ambulon really had nothing better to do outside work and recharge. He sighed. "Thank you for... listening to me. Just... Keep this copy for yourself, and remember what I said. About the disc. It's very important that you get that disc and you give it to Megatron if I am gone. And let Elita know; I'm sure she can handle the pressure."
"Any time, my friend." Ratchet puts the datapad into his subspace, making a mental note to link up and move the data directly into his processor when he gets the chance. This data is important enough to warrant the time and hassle. "And I will. I gave you my word, and I don't break promises."
Ambulon nodded, and smiled a little. "Right. I believe you," he said, and made his way out. "Take care. Hope to see you back at work soon."
"Same to you, Ambulon." Ratchet smiles and waves as the door shuts behind Ambulon. "See you tomorrow."
And then the door is shut and Ratchet is alone. His grin fades and he looks around at his room, eyes falling upon the shelves where his box of high grade sits. "Well. Just me and you tonight, old friend.”
docbot and rstlsslegsyndrmWHERE: Ratchet's room
WHEN: Last night
WHAT: Ambulon comes to Ratchet about his fears regarding Tarn and the DJD. They talk and conversation turns into Ratchet angst, and then rolls back to planning defenses. And then there's more angst.
WARNINGS: Angst. Lots of angst. Also, mentions of Ratchet's substance abuse problem.
NOTES: It's been a while since I last formatted an AIM log, so forgive me if it's unclear what's going on, or who wrote what.
Ratchet is enjoying yet another quiet evening in his room. He's been withdrawn since he returned, checking the Link extremely rarely if at all. He scrotums some guilt about that, but mostly he scrotums relief. It's stressful trying to navigate relationships with most of the beings around here. Sometimes a mech just wants to sit back in his chair and drink his energon in peace.
Ratchet wasn't exactly alone in that department. Making friends was not so much Ambulon's specialty as it was, technically, charming snakes. He was good at discussions, but not conversations. Not quite one to open up, though Ambulon was happy to have the few friends he had in his life, recent events had made things a little complicated. Trying to stop Drift from throwing away his life to fight Tarn, only for Drift to die anyway - Vandal crippled and recuperating and traumatized, perhaps for the rest of her life - and... Is this how emotionally taxing friendships were? No wonder Ambulon was no good at it.
Then, of course, there was the entire fiasco with Tarn himself and Pharma. The whole ugly truth came out, and... Yeah. Suffice to say, things were just shit lately.
Ambulon had been completely content returning to his room to enjoy the silence day in and day out. To be alone. He never had a problem with loneliness. It gave him time to sort things out peacefully. Now, however, the loneliness was doing very little, and just remembering his conversation with Pharma...
So, here he was. At Ratchet's door, pinging the doctor. And he wasn't entirely sure why.
Ratchet blinked when he got Ambulon'g ping. After a moment's consideration, he decided that Ambulon was a fairly thoughtful mech, so if he needed Ratchet, it was probably for a good reason. He takes his time getting up and answering the door, joints creaking a bit from the day's toil, but when he answers the door, he actually manages a rather pleasant expression.
"Ambulon. What brings you here at this time?"
He's opened the door, but hasn't tilted his body enough to invite Ambulon into his room just yet.
The answer was out before he could stop it: "I don't know."
Seriously, Ambulon really didn't. The silence was no longer helping? Overthinking was keeping him from sleeping? The stress was finally hitting a point where he could no longer simply shrug and work it off? That, in a situation such as this, he would just go back to work or force himself to do something, anything, to get his mind off his problems, but that didn't seem an option right now?
Problems he could solve, he faced and took care of. Problems he felt were minor would simply fade on their own. Such as maybe being too crass or too clinical with a patient, or simply coming off as rude or uncaring. Problems that could not be solved often required more work, sure, but...
"I don't know."
Because, right now, everything else he relied on wasn't working, and even doctors got sick and ill and needed help. They just tended to be awful patients.
Ratchet stares at Ambulon for a moment before stepping aside and gesturing Ambulon in, rubbing at his chevron. "Come in. This looks like it's going to take a while, and being old and cranky, I think I'm going to have to sit down for it." Because he's seen that expression before, on other's faces and on his own. It's not an easy one to assuage.
Ambulon hesitated, then stepped inside. One step, nothing more. "Ratchet," he said then, voice clear though firm, "if you'd rather I leave you alone, you can tell me. I will not be offended; I may have the worst alt mode in the combined universes, but I am also equipped with sufficient armor." His skin wasn't frail; he wouldn't be upset if Ratchet needed his space or couldn't handle the emotional pressure right now. He understood completely.
But maybe there was also a part of himself that wasn't ready to... talk. To open. One foot back over the threshold, and he could turn around, go back to the tactics that have helped him so far. Until now.
"If I didn't want you here, I'd have told you to go away and shut the door in your faceplate." Ratchet throws himself into a chair and waves impatiently at its mate. "Now sit your aft down already and talk.
Ratchet smirks slef depricatingly and adds, "Otherwise, sit down and I'll punish you for disturbing my relaxation by forcing you to eat something. You look half dead on your feet, mech." Perhaps an overstatement of fact, but a benign one.
That-- Ambulon wasn't sure he'd ever get used to this sort of behavior. Having worked with Pharma so long, this impersonal easiness was... new. Interesting. Even before Pharma, Ambulon wasn't exactly among the most warm and welcoming company. It was a little jarring, and for a moment, Ambulon wondered if Ratchet would actually "burst out" like that.
The former Decepticon relaxed, a little. Visibly it probably wasn't very obvious. He looked like a wreck, and his EM field was soggy and messy and swirling with tension. "I'm fine," he assured. "I had a cube before I came here." He kept himself well fed; the paint job... That was superficial nonsense. It wasn't hurting anyone, it wasn't important. He just had to remain up, alert, and ready to work. As long as he was doing what needed to be done, he could overlook the fact he was shedding gradually more and more.
"But..." Ambulon moved inside, toward the chair. He stared at it for a moment, then - just. Sat. "I am tired."
"Mm." Ratchet shoves a cube at Ambulon anyway. Even though the mech claims to have eaten, it's always nice to have something to do with your hands, and it gives him something to look at if he wants to avoid eye contact. Awkward conversations: Ratchet has experience with them.
"Tired, huh?" He plays with his own cube a bit, thinking. "You've been pulling a lot of slack recently, between my hermetic tendencies and Pharma's... well."
Ratchet snorts instead of verbalizing how he feels about Pharma, then smiles a bit at Ambulon. "It's been a great help, though. You're quite efficient."
Ambulon looked at the cube in his hands, turned it in circles. "First Aid has done quite a lot as well," he noted. "He has been seeing more patients than I have lately, to be honest." He thought it was good, however. The nurse getting back into the swing of being a full-time doctor once more. "And you have your reasons. There's been no real emergency lately that requires all of our attention. Though, if you're needed, I hope you'll understand your presence may be required." That was the nice way of saying 'if I yell at you to help, come help'. "Besides, we have Knock Out back..." That didn't sound very reassuring, but why add more negativity to the fire?
"I'm tired, but..." Ambulon pursed his lips. Frustrated. Couldn't figure out how to word this. How to voice it. "... Not tired. Not physically." He placed the cube on the ground beside him.
"Pff." A dismissive gesture. "Yes, the others have been doing well, but you've been working hard too, while I've been slacking. And yes, the fact that I'm acknowledging that is probably a sign that I ought to spend more time in the bay."
But that's Ratchet's problem, and they're focussing on Ambulon right now. "High on energon, but your spark's worn down?"
"It's just good to have you back. Your help has been greatly missed." More than Ambulon would ever like to admit. "We hope to have you back in service soon." This was sounding all too clinical, too, wasn't it? He sighed and folded his hands in his lap. "I suppose," he replied. "I..."
Ambulon found hands wandering up, pushing fingers into pressure points along his helm. "Things have been. Complicated. With Tarn here, and after Pharma confessing to what happened, what he did... It has been. Distracting." Because, really, all that mattered was getting work done, right? Ambulon couldn't work efficiently if he was constantly stressed out. His health was fine, just not... Perfect. Efficient.
"I'm around, I just... don't care to go looking for trouble anymore, I suppose. Which is a problem." There's a glint of steel in Ratchet's optics before he turns back to Ambulon's further words.
"Ch. Pharma." Ratchet's expression is dark as he speaks. "Given your shared past, I can understand how his actions would be distracting. Upsetting even. Hah,I know I'd probably be out to grind my knuckles into his face if he were my superior." " He grins in a grim sort of way and drums his fingers on the table. "So I guess it's better that you're the one he has history with..."
Ambulon frowned. "How is that a problem? We take enough risks as doctors. No need to put yourself on the line so unnecessarily," he said. "And..." He looked seriously at Ratchet. "He told me why - why he did. What he did. It was to keep the DJD from overthrowing the clinic, destroying the nucleon mines. To keep us... safe." It stirred another pulse of stress from his spark. "He traded t-cogs for our safety. He thought he did what was right - he really did. And he... he snapped. He snapped. And I..." Ambulon cursed and sat forward, scrubbing his face in his hands. "I worked beside him for years, Ratchet, and to see such a brilliant doctor fall to pieces, it's horrifying. What he did was wrong, but knowing that, all along, by himself, with First Aid and I just so oblivious... And what scares me more is it's because of them. The DJD. And their leader - their leader is here, now. The one who pushed Pharma toward his path of self-destruction, he's here now."
"I understand your concerns. I’ve … had them myself before. Pharma’s not the only medic who’s managed to spiral down a destructive path.” Ratchet sighs, scrubs at his face and looks tired. “There's a lot of pressure on medics even in peacetime, and in war, things just get more complicated. We end up having to make difficult decisions, and some people ... can't.” Ratchet staring into the distance, replaying past experiences in his head. “But war and the DJD, they’re just catalysts. You said it yourself -- yes, they were a threat, but the big problem here was that Pharma’s pride wouldn’t let him ask for help.” That scowl is one that only ever seems to be associated with Pharma. It’s extremely grim (something about the mech’s manner had always irritated Ratchet right in his core).
Ambulon listened closely, forehead pressed to his hands. "I know," he said, finally. "I know all this. And so far, I've yet to succumb to the pressure. And I hope I never will." He paused, and looked up, meeting Ratchet's gaze. "I'm... I've armed myself, just in case Tarn decides to make due on his threats. I'm not the only one he's after, however. Drift, Overlord, but I can hardly say 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' applies in this situation." He hesitated another moment. "I..." But the words were caught in his throat, and in the end, Ambulon scowled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm frustrated with myself for even being here. These are all problems I should work out by myself."
"Oh for-- Stop that." Ratchet leans across the table and knocks Ambulon upside the head. "Not asking for help is what caused this whole problem in the first place." He looks at Ambulon, then whaps him another time for good measure. "It's all well and good trying to take the weight of the world on your shoulders, but don't forget that this affects the rest of us too. Or did you assume that we'd just step back and let this Tarn idiot shoot your spark out without trying to stop him?" The very thought of that is offensive, Ambulon.
Well, that caught him off guard. Ambulon widened his eyes, shuttered them twice. Did he just-- Did he just get smacked upside the head? Twice? His wide optics turned to Ratchet again, momentarily confused. "I have no intention of trying to take Tarn on by myself!" he scowled, feeling slightly offended. "There is about a one in a million chance I'd make it out of the fight alive, for one. Secondly, I meant to say, I should not be wasting my time ranting and raving to another person when this is something I should have become immune to. This stress, this inevitability." Ambulon cursed. "We may no longer be at war, but that doesn't mean it's over. I understand that. I am fully capable of keeping a clear mind through emergencies. I may slip up, but I don't falter. I don't run away from my problems. So, why am I here? I don't understand why all my coping skills have suddenly stopped working. Why I am just allowing myself to succumb to..." He didn't finish. Because asking for help felt... wrong. Ambulon knew there was nothing wrong about it, no, but it just... He'd never really needed to turn to anyone for help. Not in a very long time.
Yes you got smacked, Ambulon. Twice, actually, just like an errant child. "Well forgive me for assuming that you were going to do something stupid. Given past experiences, you'll understand why I've learned to expect the worst, when it comes to the option of heroic sacrifice." He says the last phrase as if it were a curse word. "To succumb to... being an imperfect mortal?" Oh Ambulon. "You do realize that this is a fairly normal thing to do, right? You're not the first mech who's needed someone to lend and ear and you won't be the last. Or haven't you heard me complaining day in and day out in the medbay before?" He raises a brow, trying to goad a smile out of Ambulon. Come on, lighten up.
Ambulon snorted. No, not a smile. You're going to have to try harder. "It's just..." He really just wanted to throw down his hands and leave, before any of this got too... What would be the proper word? He didn't really know. "I guess it's... It's different. When you're on the outside, I suppose," he said a few moments of silence later. He open and closed his hands over his knees. "I've been so detached for so long, it is... odd. I've always been something of an outsider; never really involved in anything. But now... It's different. Because I'm no longer on the outside." He bowed his head. "And, if you must know, I guess I thought maybe talking to you would stop the... the fear." That word had been the hardest to say for so long now. "As in, you'd see it's me just making a big fuss over nothing. But, Ratchet, I..." Ambulon's optics dimmed. "I'm still... afraid. Even after spending all that time at Delphi, knowing Tarn is here, so close, knowing where I am, and even with all the help in the world at my side... I can't shake this bad feeling. I said I don't run from my problems, but with what happened to me, and with Tarn... I think that's all I can do. And where can I run to now? And is it even worth it?"
Ratchet rubs at his chevron, frowning, because emotions are hard, okay? "The long, complicated answer is that the fear doesn't go away because fear goes hand in hand with a survival instinct, and if you tamp that down, I’ll be very unhappy with you. But the more to the point answer here is that you run to me. And you’re worth it because you're a sentient being. More than that, you're a teammate and a friend." If he stares at you with his serious face on for long enough, maybe this will sink in? (It hasn’t worked on anyone he cares for so far, but a mech can always hope.)
Ambulon sighed. "I'm just flustered. My head's not on right right now," he snorted. He understood everything Ratchet had to say, but... Well, wasn't in the best state of mind to think clearly. "I won't run. You know. Away. I can't. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I..." And there was almost a smile - almost. "I guess I didn't come here for answers, so much as just a way to... unwind. Because... I'm not sure. But you are... I can..." The medic sighed. "But... Listen. I've been meaning to talk to Pharma. I want to ask if he knows anything from his sessions with the DJD. Anything that may help us if Tarn comes around. I've been going over what I know repeatedly, and I still have yet to find any solution as to how we could defend ourselves against Tarn's spark-manipulating abilities." Paused. "And, if anything should happen to me, Ratchet, I... Well. I have a favor to ask."
He wouldn't admit it, but it warms Ratchet to know that Ambulon came to him to ... unwind and untangle his brain. The fuzzy feeling in his spark goes cold, though, when Ambulon continues speaking. "Talking to Pharma sounds like a ... reasonable idea," he ventures, speaking in a halting way as he tries to phrase his thoughts in the best way possible. "What do you want me to do?"
Ambulon debated another moment, but-- "Have I ever told you about the DJD, Ratchet? Who they are? What they do?" he asked. "What they can do?"
"I've heard bits and pieces about them, but you've never told me anything specific about them, no."
"The DJD hunt down, torture, and kill Decepticon traitors. That's basic information. They consist of five members. Their leader, Tarn, is the one here with us," Ambulon explained. "He has the ability to... to talk a spark to death. Literally. I don't know how he does it, but he has some sort of power to manipulate sparks with his voice. And from what I know, they aren't about quick, painless deaths either, which may mean..." Ambulon swallowed. "Right." He pinched the bridge of his nose again. "But whatever information I gather on Tarn or the DJD, I will give to you. A copy. And if I die, I want you to use this information to find some way to... to counteract this power of his. If only to protect others, not necessarily to use it as a weapon. So, that is... one thing. The other is... The other is a disc."
Ratchet's expression darkens as Ambulon speaks. He's never heard of the ability to talk a spark to death before. It sounds dangerous, and he sets aside a subroutine to start considering neutralization options. "A disc." He doesn't respond to Ambulon's other request. He doesn't want to discuss death plans right now (plus, his cooperation with that is a given anyway)
"This disc is very important. Irreplaceable " Ambulon answered, speaking lowly. "I've never told anyone this. And it's important you don't either. I have the disc hidden away in my room. If I die, I need you to retrieve this disc as soon as possible. You'll find it in the back wall, toward the corner of my berth. Keep this disc safe and secret. And if... If you could." He rocked in his seat a moment, looking down. "Tell Elita-One as well. Share this information with her. Just in case something happens to you, or you are unable to take on the responsibility. Keep it if you can, but give it to her along with my instructions if you cannot." After another moment: "If Megatron returns - glyphless or otherwise - the Megatron from my universe, young and still only at the threshold of war, may even have come from some place known as Axiom... Go to him, and give him the disc. Tell him it was given to me by himself personally, but due to circumstances, I passed it on to you. He may not remember me, but make sure he sees the disc. Make sure he understands it's important and that he must watch it."
"I see." Ratchet nods. "I can do this for you ... but I'd like to note that I'm going to do everything I can to prevent anything from happening to you in the first place. You're going to be giving that disc to him yourself, if he ever makes it here."
Ambulon almost smiled. Almost. "I would like to stay very much alive as well," he said. But... "Ratchet," he said, quietly, "what happened to you?"
Ratchet tipped his head to the side. "To me? What do you mean?" The change of subject caught him off guard, and he wasn't sure how to respond.
From 'almost smile' back to 'don't-patronize-me frown'. "You were out in the Badlands. Why? I can only assume you went there. That maybe something... called for you. And you followed," Ambulon explained. "We had a doctor here - not sure if you met her. Martha. A human doctor. She disappeared, too, and she told me something about the Badlands beckoning her. That she went, and though she was scared, she went because she had to know if home laid on the other side." He bowed his head, slightly. "She never returned. But." Inquisitive, firm yellow optics flicked up to look at the medic. "You did, Ratchet."
"Ah. That." Ratchet doesn't slump, per se, but his posture changes and he folds in on himself in a way that makes him seem smaller. "She probably did get home, if that makes you feel better. I know I did." He laughs, then, but there's no humour in it. "Well, almost. I managed to get back to my home universe, but ..." He hasn't admitted this to anyone yet. He didn't want to, because saying it out loud means that it's true. But Ambulon deserves the whole story. Ratchet can give him that much, even though he can't meet his eyes. "The Decepticons won. Cybertron has been rendered irrevocably unsalvageable in my universe, and the Autobot forces on Earth have been scattered. Optimus Prime is..." He grits his teeth and spits out the last of the difficult truths he has had to come to terms with. "Optimus Prime was in the base when it was destroyed." He exvents, and raises his eyes to meet Ambulon's with a wry smile on his face. "So, you see, I managed to get home, but it had absolutely nothing to offer me. So I somehow managed to come back."
Ambulon's face remained blank of expression, frown set permanent "I see," he said a minute later. "I am sorry for your loss. That... Your universe had to reach such a tragic conclusion in the war." It wasn't very reassuring, but Ambulon was never really good at reassuring, period. Still, he hoped Ratchet understood - there was a slight dimness to his EM field. Disappointment. It wasn't his universe, but if it was anything like his universe, then... Well, either way, it wasn't good. He would have asked for details, but figured... He pried enough all ready. Ratchet was free to tell him more if he so desired. No more Cybertron - Ambulon didn't know why this surprised him in the least. It surprised him that his back home had managed to scrape through the entire chaotic mess. "I know nothing I say will help or provide much comfort," he said, finally, "but... I will listen. If you need to talk to someone. I'm... Here."
Ratchet sighs. "Well... statistics do necessitate that the Decepticons would win in at least some of the universes in which our factions go to war." His own EM field has been steady this whole time, but there's a slight fluctuation to it at this point -- keeping control of his emotions is getting more and more difficult.
"It's just that ... I ... Hnn." His hands curl into fists and there's a certain air of hysteria collecting around him. "This whole time, I believed that if we- if I just tried hard enough, we would win the war and we would have our home back and now..."
He looks back up at Ambulon. "What was it all for, if this is the result? What were all those sacrifices worth?"
"Right," Ambulon replied, but to what, he let Ratchet decide. Because agreeing with anything he said wasn't exactly reassuring. He could sense that hitch in the medic's electromagnetic field, however. His face remained neutral, calm. "I don't know. Perhaps none of us do," he said, a moment later.
"Hoping and dreaming and wishing - they're all placebos, maybe," Ambulon replied. "But they help in their own way." He sat back again. "What more can we do but continue fighting for a better future and learn to accept that... failure has always been an option. I guess we just have to figure out what happens next. For those - like you - who are left standing in the ash and ruin." He shuttered his optics. "I apologize, Ratchet. But I hope the sacrifices you and your comrades made in your home universe do not go on in vain. That somehow... there's a way."
"But I can't just figure out what happens next! " Ratchet slams his fist down onto the table, EM field flaring bright as he loses his already shaky grip on his emotions. "Ambulon, my planet is currently a lifeless wasteland whose only chance of revival was a machine forged by a near-deity and which was wrecked by my own leader because he couldn't think of another option. Said leader, who was my most treasured friend, is now lying dead in the rubble of a base which was destroyed by the Decepticons, who are currently at the height of their power and on the verge of terraforming Earth into some sort of nightmare fusion of techno-organic life. There is no possible way that the suffering and the dying and the--"
He shoves back from the table and whips his now-empty cube at the wall with such force that it shatters.
"This isn't what you came here to see."
Ratchet is standing facing away from Ambulon now, still tense, but ... calm enough externally that he can recognize when he's worked himself up into an uglier mood than company ought to have to deal with.
"I told you I'll listen if I can, Ratchet," Ambulon said, addressing the medic's last comment. He slid his hands together, thinking seriously. "Is there no way you can return to your universe a second time? The Firstforged... I'm not sure they can do anything for you. If they could send people back, I'm positive most of us wouldn't be here right now. But if you managed to find your way home once, then..." He shook his head and dimmed his optics. "It's a great risk. I don't recommend it. Not as a doctor, not as a logical-minded person, not as a friend."
Ambulon glanced up at Ratchet. "Do you think it's over? That it's really hopeless? Nothing can stop the Decepticons from mechaforming Earth? Do you think the Autobots have truly lost once and for all?" He sighed. "I guess I'm asking: do you have any faith in your comrades who have survived? That there may be some sort of hope after all." He shook his head. "Rung may be suited better for providing you with the comfort you need. Not the answers; no one, I think, can answer these questions, except maybe one of the Firstforged. Which, I suppose, you could ask. It may not harm you to do so. Though I wouldn't put too much hope in what they will say and or do."
"You ... there's a line between listening to a mech talk about his problems and watching him ... hah, have a breakdown of epic proportions." Ratchet spins where he stands and starts to pace. "It's not that I can't go back -- I'm sure I could if I ran back into the Badlands and managed not to get eaten, but the fact of the matter is that there's nothing left. I'm a doctor, not a leader or a warrior, and even if I were any of the things that Optimus Prime was, the Autobots are scattered, resourceless and low in numbers, if any of us even survived the base's destruction..." He scrubs at his optics again, a gesture of distress. "No, Rung doesn't need to hear me complaining about something that can't be changed or fixed. My world is... what it is. And I wouldn't bother the Firstforged over something like this. It's not a problem that will affect this universe or this Cybertron, so it's not their concern."
He just has to repress enough that he can function, and then accept that if he ever gets sent back to his universe, he probably faces a slow, lonely death.
"I'll deal with it. It's just a sensitive topic for now."
With a huff, he's managed to build up a sturdier facade of stability. He even manages a shaky sort of smile when he finally turns to meet Ambulon's eyes properly.
"We should both be more concerned about the more pressing problem of keeping you and the rest of the population safe from this DJD."
"Therapists are not designed to only treat people with problems that can be fixed, you know," Ambulon added, hoping he didn't sound too negative. "Or do you intend to allow the stress to eat at you until you eventually fall apart?" Because he couldn't help but think of Pharma. The situations were different, but they both were guilty of one thing: keeping their problems to themselves. Suffering in silence. Believing they were strong enough to balance the entire weight of the world simply on their shoulders alone. It made Ambulon a little annoyed, in fact, but he said nothing.
He would have asked why Ratchet chose to return to this world. Why he didn't stay behind to possibly help his fallen brethren But Ambulon had no place to ask. He had no room to talk. Fear can be potent and it can drive a man insane or force them to make spur of the moment decisions. Ambulon was fortunate his decision to run did not end in tragedy. Though his new life wasn't any easier.
Either way, Ambulon gave Ratchet a minute of silence. A window. Should he take it to continue talking or venting, Ambulon would accept it. However, should he ignore it or use it for a new topic, the former Decepticon would honor his request for silence and move on.
"It will take more than this to tear me apart, Ambulon. I'm a bit sturdier than that." Ratchet's calming down more as he pushes thoughts down to the back of his processor. He'll get himself thoroughly overcharged tonight and cry on his own when no one can disturb him. Better to get the darkness out when no one else can see it. "I've dealt with ... not worse, but tragedy and I are not strangers. And..." He hesitates, then lets himself say, "It does help, venting to someone who isn't myself. Thank you for listening."
"As medics, we both know just how easily we can be torn apart. Just how, with the right amount of pressure, our sturdy skin can rip like tissue," Ambulon said, but nothing more. He need not say anything else. He was sure Ratchet understood.
Nonetheless. "Not a problem," he retorted. "I just think it'd be a damned shame if you were to fall apart, your skills and intelligence wasting away. That would be a tragedy in itself." Ambulon didn't mean to sound as if he were addressing Ratchet as more an object than a person, but... Well, he probably sounded like that anyway. "Dealing with your problems by yourself is one thing, but letting them fester into a mental illness is completely different, you see." He looked at his hands, back to Ratchet. "But if there is anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask."
Ratchet raises an eyebrow. "I'm a far sight away from turning into a gibbering wreck, my mech." Woop, and here comes that cocky little smirk that set sparks aflutter way back when. "You won't have to bind me up in a straitjacket just yet." He gives Ambulon a lighthearted punch in the arm. He'd had his little fit, but now he's almost managed to shove everything back where it was, and here's the Ratchet most everyone sees -- calm, collected, controlled.
Ambulon blinked, optics widening again. Really was not used to this entire touching business, even if it was playful. He cleared his vocalizer and stood. "For what it's worth," he said, "talking to you did help as well."
A second later, he held a small datapad to the medic. "Here. Everything I've gathered on Tarn. There's... hardly anything. As I said, we only really know what his voice can do to sparks, but not how." He tapped a finger on the 'pad. "I was thinking... Until we find our answers, something we could use to deflect his voice? Simply switching off our audiols will do nothing. It's not just about sound, but vibrations."
Get used to the touching, Ambulon. Ratchet hands out casual touch like it's going out of style and doesn't even really notice it. "Well. Looks like this was good for both of us, then."
And now he's skimming that data pad, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Honestly, the most direct solution to this problem would be to disable his voice. But deflection is also an option... I wonder if a partial deflection would be effective enough, or if we'd have to find the exact anti-frequencies to his..."
"I figure as much," Ambulon replied. "But I'm not sure if his vocalizer is the source of his power. For all I know, it could be his spark." He looked to Ratchet. "We're going to need to deflect and disable his voice before we can do anything, however. Perceptor gave me a weapon that releases a pulse-blast that should temporarily scramble the sensors, but I'm not sure it will pack enough of a punch. You'll excuse me for not wanting to go and find out for myself." Ambulon sighed and shrugged. "There's a lot of work to be done, and I just... I need to know if something happens to me, you'll make sure someone finds a solution."
"You have my word." Ratchet holds a hand to his chest. "As long as my spark is lit, I'll help with the effort to protect you and the rest of the beings here from him." Which actually sparks an idea. "Out of curiosity, do you know if his voice affects Non-Cybertronians? Because we do have several of those around."
"I don't know," Ambulon confessed. "If it only works on sparks or mechanical equipment, I'd venture to say, no, non-Cybertronians will not be affected." His frown twitched. "But I'm not sure how we could use this information without putting the organics or non-Cybertronians in harm's way."
"If it affects sparks, then the logical deduction would be that a frequency that counters his voice might adversely affect sparks as well... so it would be best if a non-Cybertronian used the device. Or, at least, someone not from his universe, in a pinch." Ratchet ponders. "Perhaps one of the Brave Police? They're certainly stronger than humans, and their physiology is quite different from ours."
"Perhaps," Ambulon agreed. "The weapon is too massive for a human to use. But calling out Tarn and using the weapon on him... I don't know if that's possible. While the law may be on our side, the Firstforged may not take well to baiting and attacking someone that has so far only made threats but never followed through."
"We wouldn't attack him right away, but if we're making plans to counter any hostilities from him, we ought to plan to neutralize him fully. If we need a non-Cybertronian to use this weapon, we'd also better make sure that we have one around at all times. We'd have to set up a roster... or, I suppose, come up with a weapon that's small enough for Vandal to use." Ratchet is off in a land of theory and experimentation. "We should definitely ask some of the others for help with this. Perhaps Jetfire and Perceptor...?"
"Of course. And... I don't think Tarn will go out of his way to harm anyone that isn't his target, let alone humans or organics. But I agree - they should be equipped with something either way," Ambulon explained. "I've been going through all these possibilities, but again, we're going to need all the help we can get. And I'm not sure if Solus could provide us with a means of defense or a weapon." He rubbed the back of his helm, sighing.
"Well... the least we can do is ask her. Surely if it's just as a protection, rather than as a means of initial attack, she might assist us?" Ratchet still has a large amount of belief in the Primes. Maybe it's because they're one of the few beings that still have a chance of being able to "fix" all the things that have gone wrong.
Ambulon paused to consider what he said. "... I have been meaning to speak to Solus," he mumbled. "But for entirely different reasons. This... She may be able to assist, yes, but since Tarn is not aligned to her, I wonder if she'd be willing to help. Or have us speak to the Firstforged who Tarn is aligned with instead. I can't remember who they are, exactly, but if it's Megatronus, I'd venture we're shit out of luck." One, two, three--His optics shuttered and he glanced, somewhat embarrassed, at Ratchet. "Sorry. Vandal, you see."
Ratchet smiles at Ambulon's "humanism". "I do see. Human vernacular really is catchy isn't it. There's a certain quality to their curse words that are very satisfying to the mouth. As for whoever Tarn is aligned with, well... we'll have to ask first before making any decisions, I think. No use working ourselves up about an eventuality that never comes to pass."
Ambulon's nod was vague. "It's not only his powers, however, that we have to worry about," he added. "He is... He is very strong. I've not seen him in action, and nor do I care to. But he is the leader of the DJD, and there's a reason for that. Even if the weapon should be successful in disabling his powers, he's still got a lot of back-up to rely on." He squinted. "Again, all the help we can get. I just... It feels like a waiting game. Tarn's not stupid; there's a reason he's biding his time. And I just... I worry it will be too late."
"Mm, that's a good point. Primus, but this is why I'm a medic and not a strategist. I was never designed to process warfare." He waves the datapad he has in his hand for emphasis. "For now, I think the best solution would be to stay in or close to a Temple. The FirstForged may deny our requests for weapons, but... they don't seem to take well to violence taking place, especially in their homes. Until we can figure out a solid plan of defense, their protection is the best we can get."
"Right. It's what I've been doing, basically. Not that I'm bothered by it." Ambulon really had nothing better to do outside work and recharge. He sighed. "Thank you for... listening to me. Just... Keep this copy for yourself, and remember what I said. About the disc. It's very important that you get that disc and you give it to Megatron if I am gone. And let Elita know; I'm sure she can handle the pressure."
"Any time, my friend." Ratchet puts the datapad into his subspace, making a mental note to link up and move the data directly into his processor when he gets the chance. This data is important enough to warrant the time and hassle. "And I will. I gave you my word, and I don't break promises."
Ambulon nodded, and smiled a little. "Right. I believe you," he said, and made his way out. "Take care. Hope to see you back at work soon."
"Same to you, Ambulon." Ratchet smiles and waves as the door shuts behind Ambulon. "See you tomorrow."
And then the door is shut and Ratchet is alone. His grin fades and he looks around at his room, eyes falling upon the shelves where his box of high grade sits. "Well. Just me and you tonight, old friend.”