Unforeseen: Questions and Revelations

Chapter 2

There were several things I never saw myself accomplishing in life. One of them was firing a gun properly. Last time I'd held one I had managed to shoot everything but the target. Others included owning a mythical creature, seeing my parents alive again, traveling in space and laying out a giant robot with a bit of water. Yet as Ironhide lay sprawled out on the floor with the grumpiest expression fathomable, I knew I had just accomplished one of these remarkable feats.

"I said I needed to rinse my face, not blow it off!"

"Sorry," I squeaked. The controls of the decontamination chamber had been altered since I last used them.

Light blue fluid streamed down Ironhide's chin as he sat up.

"Are you alright?" I hurried down the ramp and nearly wiped out in a puddle at the bottom.

Ironhide sniffed and pressed a fist to his nose. He wasn't in the least bit fazed at the sight of his own energon. "Punctured tube," he said before inhaling sharply.

I climbed onto his knee. "Let me see."

"It'll stop in a minute." He took another deep breath.

I knew a bloody nose was at the bottom of a long list of injuries my beloved Ironhide had endured in life, which included loss of limb, and I knew his body had the ability to heal, but it didn't make me feel any better. He didn't need this kind of abuse when he was home. I often joked about kicking him but the reality was I rarely ever acted on it and even when I did the blow didn't even amount to a friendly swat on the back.

I sighed. His injuries always seemed to worry me. Would there be a day when they would be too significant to heal?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

"What's troubling you?" Ironhide prodded.

"Nothing." I leaned away from his assault. "Just thinking."

"Apparently. Your anxiety levels are high."

I let out another sigh.

A sense of reassurance tickled at my heart before two fingers took hold of my sides and lifted me just enough for his hand to get under my body. "Quit worrying about my nose," he said once I was at eye level. "It's already stopped."

"It's not just that."

He seemed to understand. "You knew from the beginning what my job entailed."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

"I would rather you feel my pain and exhilaration than have you out on the battlefield with me."

"I know," I said quietly.

Four years ago Ratchet had preformed a bizarre surgical experiment in hopes of saving my life from the toxic energon that had invaded my body. It had worked, but at a cost. Ironhide and I had lost our emotional privacy.

"I don't like knowing you're hurt and not being able to help," I said.

"Ratchet does a fine enough job."

I bowed my head, "I can't possibly out class Ratchet, but just as you wanted to be there for me when Roadbuster cracked my skull open, I want to be there for you when you are hurt."

A dismal yet frustrated sense hit my heart.

My life had been spared through a risky procedure Ratchet called 'splicing,' in which a small fragment of Ironhide's spark had been extracted and placed within my chest to serve like a pacemaker. Just as a heart pumped blood through the human body, a Cybertronian spark energized energon into doing the same. Together the two ensured my body remained stable, but the anomalies surrounding my health had little to do with the spark we now shared. They stemmed from the serums I had been injected with shortly after my infection. Serums Ratchet had hoped would cleanse my system of the deadly toxin without need for further action. Instead they had done something much worse.