Work Text:
The invitation for surgery was in Prowl's inbox before the checkup was even finished.
"Again?" he asked, already making plans to redistribute his workload on other days.
"Yes, again. Your left hip actuator needs to be replaced," Ratchet said, still examining other parts of Prowl's frame.
"You overhauled them both not long ago."
"And now I need to replace it completely. But that's not the worst," Ratchet added, and a second invitation arrived in Prowl's calendar, much earlier than the previous one, day-long, and tagged as critical.
It wasn't often that apprehension took hold in Prowl's spark. But these appointments with Ratchet had a way of making new feelings show up where previously he had gone through life unbothered. Or maybe it was the unusual absence of constant fighting. Maybe he was losing his grip on-
His thoughts were interrupted (since when did he allow himself to get lost in his own thoughts?) when Ratchet moved his screen in front of Prowl's optics and pointed at the spinal strut displayed on it.
"Ah," Prowl said.
"Those are at least two dozens of microfractures, Prowl. Your frame is almost ready to collapse, it's a miracle you even came in standing. Care to explain why you didn't come see me earlier?"
Instinctively answers came rushing to his processor. I was busy. I didn't notice. I have more important things to worry about than this mess of a frame. That's none of your business. Why would you even care.
He really must have been lagging, because Ratchet took advantage of his non-answer to continue.
"I also see some worrying data from your live feed. Did you disable some of your internal sensors?"
He did, and Ratchet knew it, because he could see it.
"There wasn't any relevant information coming from those."
"You should know better than to lie to me," Ratchet said.
Should he know better than to lie to a medic who had him half-disabled, alone, in a remote examination room? Yes, to come here had clearly been a mistake.
"I can see you trying to move your legs, Prowl. It's not going to work unless you let me reconnect them."
Of course, Ratchet could do anything he wanted to Prowl's frame, this was his domain, he was fully in control here.
Ratchet frowned. "Calm down, conflicting commands could worsen the fractures. I'm removing my sensors now."
The medic's hands were on his frame. Again. Wired medical sensors were slowly peeled off him, too slowly. Wires were reconnecting parts of his body together. Again.
Prowl sat up as soon as he was able to and cycled air for the first time in- minutes?
"Are you feeling better?" Ratchet asked.
"I- Yes, thank you."
Ratchet turned away, putting his screen out of Prowl's way but still in his field of vision.
"I still need you to answer some questions before the surgery," Ratchet asked. Or asserted?
Questions were fine, he could handle those.
"Yes, of course."
"You know the first one already," Ratchet immediately asked, "are you sure you want to keep this frame? A reformat is still on the table."
Prowl almost sighed. "I know, this frame is too heavy for my spinal strut, and it's negatively impacting my internal structure, you've made your point clear. I'm keeping it anyway."
It was Ratchet's favorite point of discussion with Prowl these days. The medic would rant about how sloppy and careless Prowl's reformat had been done, Prowl would remind him that he hadn't chosen to be reformatted, Ratchet would mumble some more and suggest yet another reformat. As if a new one would fix everything that was wrong with the previous one.
Ratchet didn't throw his hands in the air. Probably because such a display had never worked on Prowl. But he rolled his optics.
"Those additions are still destroying your frame, but fine, if you want to keep coming back here."
"I could also find another medic," Prowl threatened.
"No you can't, you don't trust anyone else."
True. It was infuriating to be known like that.
"Second question," Ratchet continued, "why did you disable those internal sensors? Really?"
Because he didn't need the constant distraction. Because the last time he had turned them on, the pain from his entire back had nearly offlined him. Because it was easier to forget about the state of his body than to worry about it.
"It's still not relevant," Prowl answered.
Ratchet was clearly not convinced, which meant that the topic would come up again later.
"Last one," Ratchet said next, then he almost hesitated. "Why do you want to keep that frame?"
"I'm sorry," he wasn't, "how is that necessary information?"
"Can't I just be worried about a friend?"
"Since when are we friends?"
Ratchet muttered something that sounded suspiciously like no wonder you don't have any with that attitude.
"You're outstepping your role as a medic-"
"And you're making my job more difficult," Ratchet retorted. "That reformat is now actively hurting you and I don't understand why you've never wanted to change it! I heard how you got it, so it can't just be the memories, can it?"
A few of Prowl's memory files came up unprompted (a bug, he'd have to fix that, he couldn't afford random thoughts). A mix of erratic images (Bombshell, an improvised operating table in his own quarters, Megatron's voice, his own frame moving without his input, his own voice talking without his thoughts), a blending of feelings (fear, anger, helplessness, togetherness, wrath, completeness), a combination of-
"I have my reasons."
The Enigma was lost, the Constructicons were gone, it was over, and yet… And yet he couldn't let go of it.
"The same reasons that made you ignore that optic until it was too late to repair it?"
"Is that all?" Prowl asked abruptly.
Ratchet glared at him, then glanced at his screen. "I still have all your personal information from the last time, so unless any of that has changed…"
"It hasn't," Prowl said, and made for the door.
"Then I'll see you tomorrow for surgery," Ratchet called after him. "Again."