Well, Chapter 14 :) I will say that I'm probably not going to be naming chapters anymore once I get done with this story, mainly because it's not really that easy for me to come up with them (I know, it probably shouldn't really be *that* much of a task, but I tend to overthink everything). Besides, do chapter titles really mean much anyway? Or are they more like mini-spoilers? (More for people who write good chapter titles; not me).

Also, I'm afraid that I may have lost some people in the last few chapters (which is okay, I understand that it happens) but since I am still relatively new to the world of fanfiction writing (and fiction writing in general), I thought I would ask what you guys and gals like and don't like - constructive criticism is always welcome :) And if you don't feel like putting it in a review, PM works too. What do you like to see, or see more of, in a story? Or what would you like to see less? Is this plot harder to follow than 'The Catalyst'? I'd love to hear from you!

But even if I've lost some, stories have to be told - so if you're still reading, I hope you enjoy this one!

"So, about Ironhide..."

Finally, the part of the meeting Ratchet had been waiting for. And although he had been paying attention to the other medical cases as diligently as he could, Ironhide's was the only one that had been a true mystery. All of the others were fairly straight-forward.

It was not very often that Ratchet found himself stumped, but Ironhide's case had done just that. It seemed that nothing was ever simple where the weapons specialist was concerned.

"What we found," the analyst continued, his yellow armor glinting under the light, "was that a number of parameters in his core coding had been altered, seemingly randomly, and with no tag to indicate exactly when or by whom the alterations had been done by. We can tell they're fairly recent, but that's about all."

Jazz spoke up next. "So that's what caused the spark attack?"

The yellow mech nodded. "Yes. It was a simple case of the wrong parameter at the right time, causing a critical exception that his systems couldn't compensate for."

"So," Ratchet began, internally berating himself for not having paid attention to what the yellow mech's name was, "whoever did this could have been trying to offline him, without us even being aware of it?"

"Actually, we believe it more likely that the modifications were self-inflicted. You said yourself in your latest report that there had been no Decepticon tampering."

"I said there was no evidence of it," Ratchet corrected the mech, "not that it didn't happen. What possible reason could he have for doing something like that to himself?"

"Because that's what Decepticons do," one of the other medics replied. "They come up with plans intended to deceive us so that they can accomplish some goal, and maybe he just took it too far."

"He's not a Decepticon anymore," Ratchet retorted, "and he wouldn't do that."

Red Alert, the Autobots' head of security, spoke up at that. "Ratchet, why are you defending him?"

"I'm not defending him!" Ratchet said it louder than he had intended to, and he suddenly realized that everyone in the room was looking at him. The medic cleared his throat, speaking softer now. "I'm just saying, it doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't," Ultra Magnus agreed, "but we still have to entertain the possibility that there could be some... underlying reason for Ironhide to do this. I want him off the battlefield until further notice, and he is not to be granted access to anything more secure than what we allow the public to see."

Red Alert nodded. "Consider it done."

"And as far as medical goes," Ultra Magnus stated as he turned to Ratchet, "all the offending parameters need to be reset to their defaults. I'm assuming a copy of the analyst's report will be in Ironhide's file. Otherwise, is there anything else we need to go over?"

Ratchet said nothing, though he was a bit upset about Ironhide being taken off the battlefield. The Autobots desperately needed a skilled fighter like Ironhide if there was ever going to be any hope of this Pit-forsaken war being over. And as far as losing access to anything any other Autobot troop would have access to, Ratchet was pretty sure that if Ironhide had intended to destroy the Autobots, he would have already done so.

But clearly not everyone agreed.

Ultra Magnus stood. "Then we're done. Dismissed."

Ratchet likewise stood up, but he quickly turned to leave so no one would have a chance to talk to him. If he had to deal with any more pressure this orn, he would probably end up saying something he regretted. He stepped out into the hallway, relieved at least that the other medics seemed keen to return to their own work and they did not make try to make conversation as they passed by. Ratchet himself stopped by the wall, taking a moment to settle his processor.

It was still ludicrous, acting as if Ironhide was a danger to the Autobots but then not bothering to place him in the brig. If they were really that worried, then why not take the extra precaution? At least it would be more honest. Better then pretending that they trusted him but then stripping away his access to pretty much everything. They were probably going to put the weapons specialist under surveillance too.

Slag it, would they be watching Ratchet as well? Simply because he had defended him? It was ridiculous. He knew Ironhide better than anyone else in that room—the mech was not a threat.

It made Ratchet's processor ache.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Ratchet startled. He had not even heard Jazz approach, yet the mech was standing right in front of him.

"I'm fine, just a bit stressed out right now," Ratchet responded, glad that he did at least have one mech whom he could confide in. Jazz had always been there for him, and the silver minibot never judged or jumped to conclusions. "You ever feel like everything always has to pile on you at once? Like you just can't catch a break?"

"Sometimes," Jazz replied. "It sucks, that's for sure."

"It's frustrating." Ratchet covered his optics with his hands, the overhead lights suddenly becoming almost painfully bright.

"Hey, why don't we sit down?" Jazz suggested. "You're not looking so hot."

"I'm fine," Ratchet said again, though right at that very moment—and as if betraying the chartreuse medic—Ratchet's processor blew a fuse.

"Frag it!" the medic cursed as he fell to one knee, though he managed not to completely lose his balance.

"Whoa," Jazz said playfully as reached out to steady him, fully aware of what had just happened. "Take it easy, Doc."

Ratchet still kept his optics covered. "Primus, would you stop calling me that?"

"Only if you stop calling me Primus," Jazz retorted, trying to lighten the mood.

"Very funny," Ratchet shot back, though there really was no anger in his voice.

Jazz smiled. It was always hard to tell if trying to be funny would work with Ratchet, because it did not always, but this time it seemed to. Or at the very least, it did not seem to make anything worse.

"How about a trip to the med bay, or would you rather I just call another medic?" Jazz asked. It was an easy procedure, but not exactly one that Ratchet could perform on himself.

"Just... call Jolt," Ratchet responded. "And here is fine. I would rather the entire base didn't see me."

"Hey, we all get stressed. It happens. But I'll have him come here."

Ratchet stayed doubled over. Primus, for being something so insignificant, it hurt like the Pit. "Thanks, Jazz."

"You bet." The silver minibot opened a private comm, summoning the medic that usually ended up treating Ratchet when the chartreuse mech's stubbornness did not get in the way.

"What's going on?"

Jazz looked up to see Ultra Magnus walking toward them, Red Alert not far behind. Apparently they had just now stepped into the hallway from the conference room.

Jazz held out his hand to stop them. "Just give him some space," he said politely. "We've got this under control."

Ratchet wanted to look up but he decided not to, if only so he would not have to see Ultra Magnus and Red Alert looking down at him like he was a malfunctioning drone.

They probably would not, Ratchet thought. He was probably just being over-sensitive because he was embarrassed.

"All right," Ultra Magnus replied to Jazz. Then he turned to Ratchet, which Ratchet only knew because he could hear that the mech's voice was directed at him. "Feel better, Ratchet."

But Ratchet still did not look up. Too much embarrassment. "Thank you, Magnus."

Red Alert said nothing and soon the two mechs shuffled away, leaving Ratchet alone with Jazz again.

"You know, Jazz," Ratchet said, looking up only to find the lights too bright again, "I'm pretty sure that at least this orn can only get better."

Jazz smiled, despite the fact that Ratchet could not see it. "Ah, look who's being positive. Must be my bubbly personality rubbing off on you."

"Don't push your luck, by the way," Ratchet retorted. "I can still kick your aft."

Jazz chuckled, ignoring the idle threat and lightly squeezing his friend's shoulder. "Jolt will be here shortly, by the way."

"Good." Ratchet let out a sigh of relief. "It won't be too soon."

/* * */

Despite everything, Ratchet was not very much late for the start of his shift—which was pretty impressive considering all the scrap that had transpired in the last not-even-twelve orns. He had felt like he was running on empty by the time he even got to the med bay, though he did manage to take a break mid-orn to go get some energon. He felt quite a bit better after that.

Then it had been several more hours of checking on patients, updating charts, and generally trying to get certain scrap-headed mechs to quit doing stupid stuff. And by 'certain scrap-headed mechs' he meant the twins, and by 'stupid stuff' he meant... well, he was not even sure what he meant because he could not get a straight answer out of either one of them. But he was sure it was some foolish antic, considering that neither of them were on duty this orn.

And then, it came time to check on Ironhide.

Ironhide was Ratchet's last patient of the orn, which was a relief because it meant that he would soon be able to retire to his quarters, but it was also a source of stress because Ratchet did not really know how this interaction was going to go. Even stepping into the room felt painfully awkward to the chartreuse medic.

But he did it, and shut the door behind him. Ironhide glanced up as he always did, but then he looked away.

He must have been uncomfortable as well.

Ratchet cleared his throat and walked across the room, not seeing the need to offer a greeting when all it would serve to do was make the situation more awkward. A stiff greeting that would elicit a stiff response. In this case, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that silence was better.

Ratchet walked over to the counter beside the berth where Ironhide was sitting upright. The black mech was looking at the floor, venting normally—because Ratchet could not help but notice things like that—but he seemed to stiffen when the medic approached.

Or was Ratchet just imagining it? Primus, he did not know what to think of anything anymore...

So he chose to ignore it. After all, Ironhide was probably equally stressed.

Ratchet began rummaging through the drawers under the counter, setting aside a few things that were in his way and then continuing to look through the equipment.

"Ratchet," the weapons specialist spoke up then, his voice soft as if he was afraid of completely shattering the silence, "if I may say something?"

The medic idly grabbed a medical scanner from one of the drawers, turning it on with the flip of a switch. "Go ahead."

"I just wanted to say again," Ironhide began, sounding slightly more sure of himself than he had that morning, "that I apologize. I never should have put you in that position."

Ratchet pursed his lip plates but he did not look up, merely continuing to fiddle with the controls on the scanner. "It's fine. We're past it."

Ironhide nodded. It was a rather short reply from the medic, but Ironhide did not want to push the issue.

"So I'm sure you've been informed that your core coding needs to be reset to its default values," Ratchet said next, effectively changing the subject. "I can do that for you now, or if you would prefer to wait until morning or have someone else do it, we can postpone it until tomorrow."

Ironhide had been informed. "Tomorrow is fine."

"Tomorrow it is, then," Ratchet responded, noting that Ironhide did not specify whether he merely wanted to wait until morning or if he actually did wish to have a different mech perform the intervention. Not that it really mattered as far as Ratchet was concerned, but the medic could not help but feel that Ironhide's trust in him had eroded for some reason, which pained him greatly because it had taken so long to gain that trust in the first place.

Ironhide had always been suspicious, skeptical, and rather non-communicative with most other mechs, which was not surprising considering how long he had been with the Decepticons, but Ratchet had been able to get him to talk, and Ironhide had even confided in him on his own accord, but lately things had been different. The weapons specialist had become rather withdrawn, even more so than he had been as a prisoner, and so far Ratchet had not been able to pinpoint the reason or event that caused it.

In fact, Ironhide's apology was the most the mech had said to him in decaorns that was not an answer to a direct question.

Ratchet would have to think through it, to try to find out what had changed. He knew that simply asking would not work, as Ratchet had practically been able to feel the tension rolling off of the black mech's armor. Ironhide was not going to talk about it.

Not tonight, anyway. And Ratchet was tired.

"Well, everything looks fine," Ratchet said, turning off the scanner when it showed no anomalies. "First Aid will be on duty if there is anything else you need tonight, otherwise you can expect to be discharged sometime tomorrow. Have a good night."

Ironhide nodded his understanding and Ratchet turned to leave, half-expecting but also half-not expecting Ironhide to say good night in response. The weapons specialist said nothing and Ratchet exited the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Finally free of his work obligations, Ratchet headed back to his quarters. He had been waiting for this moment the entire orn. And although thoughts of recharging and his berth were at the forefront of his processor, Ratchet still found himself wondering...

Had he done something wrong at some point, those however-many decaorns ago when this all started? Or had Ironhide heard something about him?

But what was there to hear? Nothing, surely...

Or was Ratchet just being too self-absorbed, thinking this had to do with him?

Maybe he needed to just go to his quarters and focus on his own well-being, rather than worrying about anyone else. After all, there was no one else to look after him and he did not have the burden of looking after anyone else, so why worry?

The worry could wait until he was back on shift.