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After a long, grueling shift at the hospital, Ratchet would often get a drink. A job in the medical care field is emotionally and physically draining, especially after hours upon hours of being trapped in those bright corridors with the sick and unwell. Ratchet"s processor would remain fired up, analytical and trained to catch every detail well into the night if he didn"t take the edge off. Hard focus and stress will do that to you. There was a cozy bar not too far from the hospital, tucked between a train station and a cosmetic shop, and right across from a decently nice hotel. Drunken mechs would usually sit at the windows and whistle and howl at the newly polished bots that left the shop. The bar was a very common place to pick up onenight stands and cute, flirty bots looking for a good time.
Ratchet was never into socializing whenever he was in the bar. It was always late, he was always tired and drained, seeking out a buzz before he retreated home and slept. He was a regular at that bar for that purpose, and the only mech that ever recognized him was the gruff bartender.
He took his usual seat at the bar, waving to the mech and setting a few credits on the counter. This was a busier night, there was more of a crowd, more loud voices and more loud music. That meant Ratchet wouldn"t stay for long. He wasn"t much of a partier.
The bartender slid a cube over to him, nodding his helm in a silent greeting before making his way around to other customers. That was about as friendly as he got.
Sipping his cube, Ratchet shifted his weight and moved his sore pedes a little. It felt good to be off of his feet, even for a short while.
When it was this late, bots tended to be more drunk and more rowdy. Ratchet had learned not to make eye contact, he had learned from his experiences of mechs attempting to pick fights with him to impress the dolled up date they picked up from the cosmetics shop. Ratchet had learned to stare at his drink while he sat.
Perhaps it was fate that led him to glance up this one time. Perhaps his neck cables were sore from looking down for too long, and he needed to stretch them.
His optics found the very pretty sight of a small archivist, sitting at the bar a stretch down from him. The mech was red and blue, his paint decently kept, he was no diva from the nextdoor shop, but he was well groomed. He looked small, sitting with his servos clasped in his lap, legs pressed together. He looked adorably shy.
His attention bought, Ratchet leaned to rest his chin on his servo to watch the sweet looking mech. Big, round optics, a shy smile, a pretty, well curved frame and a cute aft. The archivist was nice to look at. Taking another sip, Ratchet contemplated walking over and striking up a conversation. He could be quite the charmer when he felt like it. . . He could converse, buy him a drink, exchange contact information. . .
Yes, he wanted to talk to the pretty archivist.
The stool creaked as he rose off of it, but before he could take his first step, a large green mech took a seat beside the archivist and handed him a drink.
Oh.
A little bummed, Ratchet sat back down and took a long drink of his cube. That"s alright, he was a bit tired to charm a mech anyway.
The bartender refilled his cube when he finished the first drink, grumbling when he recieved a very small tip.
Ratchet was about a quarter in to his new drink when out of the corner of his optic, he noticed the same archivist as before, that had been completely sober, sitting up tall and timid, was seemingly completely wasted. He stumbled and fell flat as he got out of his seat, knocking a cube of energon onto a nearby femme and making her shriek angrily.
Strange, Ratchet thought to himself, watching the small mech grip the counter to haul himself back up. He only had that one drink.
The green mech from before came to his aid, slipped an arm around his waist and hoisted him up, supporting most of his weight. He tossed a couple credits to the femme, smiling apologetically, before pulling the archivist towards the door.
Ratchet set his cube down and watched intently. He had been watching that archivist, he was absolutely certain that the one cube was all that the mech had. One cube wasn"t enough to reduce a mech to THAT state, he couldn"t be completely drunk from one drink, unless- FRAG, was he drugged?
Leaving his high grade on the counter, he slid off the seat and ran for the door, the stool rotating and squeaking as he left. Pushing a couple dancing mechs out of the way, he made it through the heavy bar doors, and into the street.
"N-N. . . No. . . Sssss. . . Stop. . ."
The archivist"s slurred voice was barely audible over the voices in the bar. Ratchet broke into a sprint, watching the green mech drag the resistant archivist into an alleyway.
"Hey!" He shouted, and the mech stopped, turning to watch him approach. He slowed to a stop as he neared them, suddenly regretting his decision. His spell of bravery seemed to be over, he had thoughtlessly charged after the pair, and now, standing before them, he had no idea what to say.
"What?" The green mech said impatiently. "I"m trying to get my friend home."
"I watched you drug his cube," Ratchet lied. "I"ve called the authorities. If you run now you won"t be caught."
The mech hesitated before scoffing. "You misunderstand, this is my friend. We were just out for a drink, and he got a little carried away." He laughed a little, but it wasn"t too convincing. "You know how some bots are. I told him to slow down, but here we are."
"He"s your friend, is he?" Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest. "What"s his name, then?"
Another moment of hesitation before the mech spoke, "Bluezone. His name is Bluezone. We work together."
"N-No-" The barely conscious archivist was weakly pushing at his chestplating, resisting against the arm supporting him. "N- I"mmm. . . Orrrion. . . Or. . . Pax. . ."
"That"s his nickname." The green mech sputtered before Ratchet could say anything.
"P-please. . . Let. . ."
"They"ll be here any minute." Ratchet said with confidence, despite the fact that he hadn"t called anyone. "If you don"t want to be charged with attempted rape, you ought to be running."
They stared each other down for a moment, and for a second, Ratchet worried that the mech would call his bluff.
But the mech simply shoved the archivist off of himself and bolted for the train station, brushing against Ratchet roughly as he ran past him.
"Frag!" Ratchet stared after him briefly, before looking down at the small mech he had saved. "Are you okay?"
"Please don"t. . . Please don"t touch. . . Mmm. . . Me. . ." The archivist was shakily trying to push himself off the ground. Tears were running down his cheeks.
"I"m not going to hurt you, I promise." A pang of sympathy pulsed in Ratchet"s field. "Can I help you up?" A weak nod answered him. He took the archivist"s arm and pulled him upward, taking the majority of his weight and leading him back towards the bar. "Does anyone know you"re here? Can someone pick you up?"
"I. . . Mega. . . Ngh. . ."
"Mega? Who"s that? Is that a friend of yours?"
The archivist appeared to black out for a moment.
A huff left Ratchet. That was unhelpful. The mech was too out of it to give him any useful information. He should go into the bar and ask if anyone there was named Mega, but he didn"t want to leave the archivist alone, or hand him over to some other mech that would take advantage of him.
"What the frag am I going to do with you?" Ratchet mumbled to himself. He couldn"t take him home, he had no idea where he lived. His own home was too far away, he didn"t think he could carry the mech"s wait for that long, and the train conductor most likely wouldn"t let them on.
Looking around, Ratchet tried to plan.
His optics found the sign for the hotel across the street, tall and bright, windows casting yellow light onto the dark street. It was where the families of patients would stay whenever their loved one was in the hospital.
Perfect.
"Come on." He pulled the weak archivist across the road, practically dragging him. Whatever the frag that dreadful mech used on him, it was strong. He was in and out of consciousness, mumbling and crying every so often.
The receptionist was a tired femme, who halfheartedly checked them in and tossed the room key onto the counter, before yawning and falling back into her chair. It took nearly all the credits from Ratchet"s pocket to pay for the room, and the femme waited impatiently as he counted them out in frustration. Ratchet huffily thanked her and went to dragging his companion to the elevator.
The trip to the room was a rocky one, but Ratchet managed, stumbling into their quarters as the archivist slipped from his hold for a second. Ratchet used the last of his strength to hoist the mech onto the fluffy, bouncy hotel berth.
Feeling the feathery comforter beneath him, the archivist seemed to panic. "N-No. . . Please. . ." He whimpered, tears streaking his handsome face. He weakly tried to push at Ratchet, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated.
"It"s okay, it"s okay, I"m not going to do anything." Ratchet stepped away quickly, servos up. "I just couldn"t take you anywhere else."
He had no idea if the archivist heard him before he slipped into a drug induced recharge.
Sighing, Ratchet sat down on the creaky hotel sofa. He was exhausted, and he had spent all his credits on the hotel room. How the frag was he going to board the train to get home?
Whatever.
He didn"t regret saving the little archivist, even if it meant he was stuck here. He"d figure something out in the morning.
The smell of warm morning energon is comforting to wake to. Ratchet"s systems onlined peacefully as he breathed in the sweet air, his optics opening to the ceiling of the hotel room. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, wrapped in a thin sheet. His back twinged with the pain of sleeping on the springy, creaky surface. Even when he was young, he felt old.
"Uh, good morning," a shy voice took his attention away from the ache in his spine.
Yawning, he sat up, pushing the sheet off of him. He looked up to take in the pleasant sight of the archivist, standing timidly at the end of the sofa, those shining optics watching him nervously. "Good morning." He greeted with a small smile.
In the archivist"s servos were two cubes of steaming energon. "I"m Orion Pax." One was offered to him.
"Thank you." Ratchet took it and brought it to his lips, taking a small sip before introducing himself. "My name is Ratchet. You had quite the night, young mech. Do you remember any of it?"
Orion inhaled slowly. "I do, I remember most of it." That was surprising. "I remember you stopping that mech, and bringing me here." His voice cracked a little, and Ratchet"s spark broke as tears came to his optics. "I want to say thank you, I really appreciate it."
"Are you okay?"
"Y-Yeah, I just. . . It was really scary. I never thought that. . ." The little archivist sighed, trailing off and sipping his energon. He didn"t seem to want to finish his sentence.
"Well, I hope you learned something. Never accept drinks from strangers." Ratchet reached out and patted his shoulder. "I"m sorry that you went through that."
An awkward moment of silence.
"Is there anything I can do to pay you back?" Orion reached into his subspace. "I have credits, I can pay you."
"I would love to say no, and let you keep your credits, but I spent all of mine on this room, and I can"t get on the train to go home. Just enough for a train ticket would be wonderful."
"Of course!" The archivist quickly pulled out a small pouch where he kept his money. "Where do you live?"
"Near Iacon. I have an apartment."
"Really? I work at Iacon." Orion dropped a few credits into his servo and slipped the pouch back into his subspace. "I work under Alpha Trion at the Iacon Database."
"I thought you had an Iacon look to you." Ratchet . "You know, if you"d like to take the train back together, I wouldn"t mind the company."
"Oh, I"m sorry, I"m supposed to meet a friend." Ratchet hid his disappointment. "But. . . If you want to exchange contacts, we could meet another time. I could buy you lunch, or a drink, or whatever. I owe you so much!
"You don"t owe me anything, Orion. But I would enjoy meeting you again, only if that"s alright with you."
The archivist graced him with a warm smile that ignited a heat inside him.
I would very much like to see you again, Ratchet thought to himself.