Work Text:
“Teach me to fight.”
This had been Ratchet’s first request of the soldier, smoke still rolling from his cannons after having wasted several ‘Cons in seconds. Ironhide hadn’t thought much of the Autobots he’d fought with so far in this war; they were soft and unused to the tribulations of conflict. They weren’t prepared to kill.
There were few among their ranks, however, ready to shed their pacifism if it meant attaining peace. And he saw that here in this medic’s eyes, heard it in his voice. This medic had finally come to the realization that to preserve life, in the hardest of instances and the darkest of times, he would have to end others.
He could wield a scalpel under pressure. Could he handle a knife under attack?
“I will teach you what I can.”
This had been Ironhide’s first promise to the doctor.
--
They had started their sparring sessions in the burned-out shell of a town on the outskirts of Iacon. A no-go area that not even the ‘Cons ventured into anymore, simply because it had ceased to have any significant value to their cause. Here they were safe to practice blaster fire on the crumbling walls and targets composed of debris.
Ironhide taught the medic how to use the surroundings to his advantage.
“Resourcefulness is yet another weapon in your arsenal. These ‘Cons are all about brute force and blowing things to dust in one shot. If you can fortify yourself against one shot, then you can live to fire the next two.”
But Ratchet already knew how important resourcefulness was in combat, and in the heat of battle, Ironhide had seen it manifest firsthand as the medic welded scrap metal from a blown-out door into improvised plating for the soldier’s blasted torso.
It was the first of many times Ironhide would open his eyes to find Ratchet hovering over him, bright blue optics awash with relief and exhaustion and irritation. It would come to be a source of comfort in the uncertain days ahead.
“If you’re going to continue teaching me how to shoot,” Ratchet had said, “then I should teach you a thing or two about not getting shot.”
And while resourcefulness was perhaps Ratchet’s greatest boon, only coming in second to it was his precision with a blade. He wasn’t at all a bad marksman, but Ironhide could see his comfort lay in the blade.
So they practiced close-combat techniques next. Ironhide was unmatched behind the crosshairs, but in hand-to-hand, he had fallen a few rungs short. Ratchet stood above him here. Within a few sessions he very easily worked Ironhide to the ground, Ratchet delivering fast, precise blows to vital spots. Had he been going for blood, Ironhide would have been dead where he lay. Instead he lay there confused and in awe. And aroused. That was new. He’d never felt this heat in battle before.
They sparred for months. At what point sparring as training had come to a stop and become time to be together in solitude, they couldn’t remember. Hands lingered a little too long when they came to blows. And Ratchet needed an excuse to get his hands on Ironhide’s cannons.
“They’re specifically tuned to your biometrics and you’re always getting injured. I’ll need to know how you’ve wired them to repair them for you if necessary,” he had commented coyly. A soft touch of a transformation seam had Ironhide gunning his engine and he promptly ended that day’s session.
It would be one of their final sessions as it all came to an end. Their Prime needed Ironhide out in the canyons. It would most likely be an extended engagement.
There was no ceremony to celebrate Ratchet’s new skillset. Just one more night alone together in the dark.
“It’s not a gift,” Ironhide said a bit too defensively when he handed Ratchet the combat knife. It was jet black, just like the old warrior himself. “Strongest metal there is. It will keep you safe.” Even when I can’t. It was customized and showed the same amount of care and detail that went into his signature cannons. When asked why it was engraved, he sputtered. They were blood grooves, he lied.
Ratchet turned the knife over and over in his hands. There were so many words fighting to be said, each one of them more powerful than the other. But tactfully Ratchet simply said, “Thank you, Ironhide.” For it all.
They embraced that night. Whether it lasted minutes or hours was lost to them. Soon Ironhide would be back to the front and Ratchet back in Iacon, treating the injured who had been at the front.
The hug said everything they were unable to vocalize. But most importantly, it said, I will see you again.