Chapter Text
The silo was finally quiet. A calm Thursday morning was just what Ratchet needed to recalibrate the ground bridge for the tenth time, given that the poor thing was glitching and scrambling up coordinates every once in a while. Sore old knees knelt by the floor panel, grouching to no one about tiny poorly labeled wiring. Human and Cybertronian technology barely meshed enough as it was. But…
Fixing things up gave him meaning. He really was made for it, he knew it in his spark.
A sound echoed loudly but Ratchet was laser focused on his job.
That was, until an unwelcome push notification pinged on the master computer. An incoming call from Agent Fowler.
Ratchet grumbled as he slowly got back to his feet with a few pops and creaks showing his age. Whatever this was, it better be important.
“What is it?” Ratchet practically demanded, less than thrilled to be yanked out of the flow state.
“Ratchet, is the bridge operational yet?”
“No, it's been down for maintenance for the past few hours. Why?”
“Well, that's not good.”
“Why??” His patience was already running thin.
“Big badass bot backup requested. Densely populated area, be delicate. Reports spotted driverless sports cars, probably Decepticon lackeys, in downtown Vegas. not sure why or what they're on about but it can't be good.”
“I'm not sure you noticed but we're stretched a little thin right now! Everyone has their hands full and I can't bridge accurately within a hundred click radius yet! We may have to turn a blind optic to it…”
“And risk a deadly altercation? The very least recon it out with human assistance to determine why they're even there!”
“Human assistance? We can't just call the children out of school for this. It's far too dangerous, no, no, no, you know how I feel about them on active duty.”
“Fine fine, but you will struggle to navigate a dense metropolitan area unassisted.”
“Well, there's not exactly many options.”
“Good luck with that. I’ll be over shortly.”
Fowler ended the call before he could reply, as if to specifically piss him off. The quiet was suddenly far less welcome as he grumbled and stomped over to sort out his tools from the mess, just to close any live wires. He returned to the communication center and sent out a ping to every autobot in the team, hoping, begging, one of them was done with their mission already.
“Nope, knee deep in Decepticon scrap! Not exactly free right now!” Arcee confirmed, with a little warble of agreement from bumblebee.
“Oh, I'd uh love to, Ratchet, but me n’ Optimus are still finishing up the heavy lifting getting this ancient cave temple doohicky uncovered before the cons…” Bulkhead said through a little bit of strain, clearly in the middle of said heavy lifting.
“Is anyone able to? Should I get in contact with-”
“I think it's time…” Optimus’s familiar old voice spoke up, deep and reassuring. “...old friend, for you to see and protect what humanity has built on this planet. Times like these, we cannot afford to let the Decepticons cause any more harm by discovering something vital to this war.”
“Wh… well, with all due respect, I don't think I'm cut out for this!”
“We cannot afford another loss, so while I understand your apprehension, we cannot let what we were once define what we can do now.” Always spouting profound something or another, Ratchet wanted to dismiss him, but he had a point.
“Alright, alright. I will do it. Everyone, report to Agent Fowler while I am gone. Return to your duties.”
Ratchet vented a grumbling sigh as he waited impatiently for Fowler to show up to bridge him out, at least within a hundred click radius. It felt as if everything was conspiring against him, every second wasted was more dread to grind his gears. He did his research to bide his time, investigating the topology, the geography, the history of this southern Nevada city in case there was anything of interest. It succeeded in passing the time as the elevator hissed, announcing Fowler’s arrival.
“Finally,” Ratchet nodded in greeting as the two had little chemistry. He wasn’t too fond of any of the humans as it was.
“I sent you the exact coordinates, is the bridge operational enough to get you within at least the ouskirts and drive into downtown?”
“We can only hope. It has consistently miscalculated the exact distance within a faulty radius, I'm not too confident but I think my patch will work for now. It's more energy efficient than driving for 8 hours despite the proximity to the base.”
“Good enough. Let's give her a test run,” Fowler’s use of a feminine pronoun to refer to an inanimate machine confused him but he didn't care enough to ask. “Remember, covert op.”
“Yes, yes, yes, no need to remind me.” Ratchet dismissed him.
Fowler activated the bridge from his datapad and Ratchet reluctantly transformed, feeling his weight rest carefully on his barely used tires, still boasting scars and knicks from the war. He grumbled complaints to himself as he ‘rolled out’ without much enthusiasm. The blue of the portal engulfed him, transporting him to the miscalculated coordinates. It would only be 100 clicks off at most, how bad could it be?
Except, well, Ratchet forgot in his hasty patch… to calculate the y-axis.
He felt his engine drop with fear of the realization he was freefalling.