TFP- Sickbay

_{Part 6/8 of a Transformers: Prime fanfiction based after the events of episode 13 "Sick Mind"}


"Well, whatever it is…it's not a nano-virus," Ratchet muttered, folding his arms in thought. "It's also not the Unicron virus, since there is a distinct lack of discolouration about his exostructure."

Standing beside him with both hands on her hips, Arcee let her optics traverse the length of the Autobot sickbay to rest on Bumblebee's dejected-looking form. He was sitting on one of the examination tables, slouched with Raf perched in his lap, silently watching as Jack and Miko bickered about some triviality or other in front of him. "What about a regular old glitch?" Arcee suggested, frowning at the humans' attempts to act as though nothing was wrong. On Ratchet's other side, Bulkhead traced the digits of one hand slowly along the curve of his jaw.

The medic shook his head. "I've executed multiple diagnostics on his circuitry," he sniffed, as though he suspected her of doubting his medical skills. "His coding's as clean as it's ever been, Arcee."

"Okay, I was just asking…" mumbled the cycle Transformer, evasive.

The sound of heavy footsteps announced Optimus' arrival in the sickbay. He cast his melancholic optics toward the scout, but did not engage him – instead, he approached his other subordinates. Arcee, Ratchet and Bulkhead straightened up at once; anxious to hear what their commander had to report.

"How fared your discussion with agent Fowler?" asked Ratchet.

"I have assured him that we have the situation under full control," Optimus replied, his voice unusually quiet. "He has graciously agreed to cover the cost of the small amount of damage that Bumblebee inflicted on passing vehicles this afternoon, and informs me that no humans witnessed the earlier…incident in the desert."

Arcee let out a tiny, reassured sigh – but her fellow Autobots didn't seem to share her sense of relief. Instead, they exchanged dark glances as Miko gave a particularly loud hoot of laughter from across the room. Her exclamation of mirth had clearly been made at Jack's expense, as it was soon followed by a string of embarrassed protests.

"That aside," Optimus began, effortlessly regaining the others' attentions. "I'm afraid we are faced with graver concerns. Have you made any progress, Ratchet?"

Again, the medic shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he sighed, frustrated. "Put bluntly, I have no idea what's wrong with him. All I've managed to do so far is compile a list of all the things that his malfunction can't be – and let me tell you, it's a pretty long list."

Bulkhead folded his arms, breaking the tension with an abrupt hiss of breath. "Ask me…you're not working hard enough, Docbot," he grumbled. Ratchet gawped at him. "'Bee might not have a lotta time, and you're standin' here listing diseases that haven't been seen for stellar cycles?"

"Do not patronise me, Bulkhead!" the medic snapped, turning fearlessly on the much larger Autobot. "Need I remind you that we are stranded here on this planet, with primitive technology and a limited supply of advanced medical tools? Short of forcing him into stasis lock and yanking out his central processor for a few cycles – something I'm trying not to resort to – there isn't a great deal I can do for him right now!"

"Hey!" Arcee cried, forcing herself between them to place her hands on their chestplates. "Now's not the time to be fighting."

"Arcee is correct…as is Bulkhead," Optimus frowned. The medic dropped his sullen gaze to the panelled floor, silent, as the ex-Wrecker gawped at their commander. "We do not know the severity of Bumblebee's condition, and therefore cannot afford to waste time by bickering amongst ourselves."

"…Sorry, Optimus," muttered Ratchet, not raising his optics from the floor. "I'm just worried, is all…"

"As are we," replied the commander. He then turned to face the scout and humans, whose eyes and optics were directed apprehensively toward this side of the room. Miko and Jack averted their stares as soon as Optimus began to move, pretending not to have noticed the commotion.

He made his way across the sickbay, walking right up to the humans, and carefully took a seat beside Bumblebee on the examination table. Due to their difference in height, his knees were bent at a much sharper angle than those of the scout – but if he was uncomfortable, Optimus didn't let it show. His wasn't the most important well-being right now.

"So…" Jack began, scratching the back of his head uneasily. Beside him, standing in front of the seated Autobots like a Yorkshire terrier waiting to perform, Miko linked her hands behind her back and gave an encouraging smile. "Any updates?"

"None as of yet," Optimus answered softly. He then turned his soft gaze toward Bumblebee, who looked away at once. Optimus' faceplates rearranged into a sympathetic smile, as he wondered what must have been going through the scout's mind whilst staring at his commander's repaired chestplate. "How are you feeling?"

With an unenthusiastic chord from his vocal processor, Bumblebee shrugged his shoulders. I'm okay, he said; I've been better, but…okay.

Optimus nodded his head, empathy strong in his smile, as the others followed him across the room. "Ratchet informs us you've been having some bad dreams of late," he pressed. "Would you like to tell us about them?"

Bumblebee hesitated for a moment, only finding the confidence to answer his superior's question when Raf gave an encouraging nod. It's always the same dream, he began uncomfortably; I can't see where I am…but I know I'm aboard the Nemesis. I'm a closed-off area in their sickbay – standing in front of…in front of…

He couldn't bring himself to say the name out loud. Arcee folded her arms, as good as able to read his mind. She could picture it perfectly, able to remember their infiltration of the Decepticon trip as though it happened yesterday. That darkened room, the tilted examination table, the fluctuating monitors, the stench of charred metal hanging in the air like some toxic pathogen. And at the centre of it all; the broken, twisted, lifeless body that simply refused to let its accursed spark burn out.

"Megatron…?" growled Optimus, as Bulkhead raised an eyebrow.

Bumblebee nodded. He's in stasis lock, he continued; but I can feel him watching me. I hear his voice…he tries to manipulate me – sometimes outside of the dream, too.

"You hear Megatron's voice?" the medic repeated. Bumblebee fell silent – more so than usual – and replied with a single nod of the head. He felt incredibly awkward; the others, Autobot and human alike, were all staring at him as though an extra servo had sprouted from his forehead. The medic seemed to recover first; he drew one hand up to trace the contours of his mouth, deep in thought.

"Any opinions, Ratchet?" asked Optimus, as Arcee and Bulkhead exchanged incredulous glances.

"It could just be mental trauma, as a result of the cortical psychic patch," the medic suggested. The scout furrowed his brow. Mental trauma? "After all, the only data we have on the procedure is purely theoretical; it was outlawed by Autobots long before the War ended, so it's not like anyone had chance to study the process' after-effects. Who knows how entering the mind of a Decepticon – especially one as powerful as Megatron's himself – might affect an Autobot's psyche. Either way…I'd like to run some more tests, just to be sure."

Bumblebee stared at his knees, nervous. After taking a moment to reflect on Ratchet's words, Optimus gave a sudden sigh and rose once again to his feet. "The hour is late, Autobots," he stated lightly. Miko glanced at her mobile phone for a split second, and gave a slight start as she realised how correct the commander was in his announcement. "Arcee, Bulkhead; please escort Jack, Miko and Rafael home. I'd then like the both of you to return to base and remain here for tonight. The humans should be safe in their houses; Decepticon activity has been scarce as of late, and it is unlikely they will present themselves with their leader still out of commission."

Arcee and Bulkhead both made to collect their respective human partners – but Raf scrambled to his feet, still atop Bumblebee's knee, before either of them could reach for him. "I wanna stay here," he mumbled, not quite meeting Optimus' optic.

The commander smiled gravely down at the smallest human. "I understand how you feel, Rafael," he began. "But your parents will wonder where you are if you do not return home tonight. It is best that you go back to where there is a human-sized sleeping area waiting for you."

"But…" Raf protested timidly. "But I-"

Bumblebee poked the spectacled human gently in the back, nudging him toward Bulkhead and Arcee. Raf stared up at him in mild surprise, unable to read the scout's false expression.

"Will you be okay?" the human asked.

Bumblebee forced a cheerful note though his vocal processor in response, knowing that Optimus was right. As Bulkhead dropped into vehicle mode and opened his passenger doors, however, the scout found himself filled with a sense of ghastly loneliness. He watched sadly as Miko and Raf climbed inside and secured themselves behind the ex-Wrecker's seatbelts, Jack already donning his bicycle helmet as Arcee similarly switched forms. The sound of two feisty engines suddenly filled the base, as Ratchet headed through to the command centre to operate the GroundBridge controls.

"Perhaps you should get some rest, Bumblebee," Optimus suggested. The scout stared to the side, trying not to think about the unavoidable sight that would greet him behind closed optics. "Until the others return…I can remain with you here, if it's what you wish."

Alone with Optimus? The scout didn't really think that was such a good idea, for some reason. The commander seemed to understand; he bode his fellow Autobot goodnight, wished him a speedy recovery, and then silently left the sickbay with the others.

Bumblebee waited until Optimus had gone before swivelling where he sat, bringing both legs up onto the examination table to lie flat on his back. Staring up at the blank ceiling, he suddenly felt utterly alone – or as alone as he could be, with the mind of a monster lurking somewhere deep inside his head. He rolled onto his side, optics shuttered tightly, and waited for the inevitable.