ph_logs | Please state the nature of your medical emergency [Oct/Nov TL]

"You look young for your age," First Aid points out, his voice warm. "But, hm. It means both more and less, by my species' standards. Because we don't really have a childhood or adolescence...we come online with all the information we need to join society already loaded up. But at the same time...I was created twenty-two years ago. And my mentor...the 'bot who taught me how to actually look after my patients...was created nine million years ago."

First Aid switches his optics off, shivering slightly. "He was...killed in action. Two years ago. And I succeeded him as Autobot CMO."

[[ OOC: And I literally had to step away to get this icon uploaded, just to encompass the proper mood. Chris @ all of Autobot command. ]]

Chris might look young for their age because they died at twenty-six -- who knows if they're actually supposed to age after that? Some of those mirror selves, from the vanished worlds, certainly seemed to... but some hadn't. A worry for another time, most likely.

Both of Chris's eyebrows go up at the difference in age between First Aid and his mentor. That's... a lot. (There is, for a selfish second, a feeling of relief that First Aid has about twenty years of experience as a doctor. But... what it means for First Aid personally...)

Then First Aid says that he became the chief medical officer when his mentor died.

"...please tell me that was you pushing to the front of queue and not that you were the only option."

"I wasn't the only option," First Aid says agreeably. It doesn't last. "But Hoist wasn't, he..."

He struggles with it for a moment, voicebox crackling. "Hoist didn't want the job, but neither did I!" And then he has to let go of Chris and lean back a little, so he doesn't have to worry about accidentally crushing him while he's struggling to wrangle the tidal wave of bitterness and deferred anger rising up from the depths of his processor.

"Somebody needed to stay on Cybertron to look after the reconstruction crews," he finally spits out, "And somebody had to be CMO, because the Autobot CMO is also the personal physician of the Prime, our leader. And Rodimus didn't want to stay on Cybertron." He wanted to have adventures, damn him. "And Hoist's husband is an engineer, while I belong to a combiner team. Assigning the Protectobots to Rodimus Prime's security detail made the most strategic sense."

He sobs hard enough to rattle his plating, rubbing at his helm and face. "Staying on Earth was never even an option."

When First Aid lets go and leans back, Chris has a moment of confusion... then remembers 'oh yeah Aidie is much stronger than I am'. They rest a hand on First Aid's knee instead, still wanting to give some comfort via contact.

"I'm sorry that you weren't given a real choice in it, Aidie. Maybe it makes the most strategic sense, but it sounds to me like nobody thought about the effect all this would have on you at a personal level. And that was... unkind." Chris rubs First Aid's knee in what they hope is a comforting fashion. "Would you rather have stayed on Earth?"

The touching is. Very good. It helps. First Aid leans into it, just a little, to show that it's helping. He barely has the words to answer Chris's questions, asking for more seems...impossible.

"I would. I did." He hangs his head. "I always, sort of...Cybertron is important, I never would have implied otherwise...I wouldn't even have minded visiting now and then...but I never thought of it as home. Earth was home. And I..."

His vents hitch and whirr; like a human sniffle. "I really wanted to keep working with humans..."

"Well... for all the danger we're dealing with here... and what it means to even be here... I am glad that you got to keep working with humans by teaming up with me to help the village." Chris smiles softly. "And this isn't either of our Earths, but... at least it's an Earth?"

"Me too. I really miss my team...we were all created together, we're basically the same as brothers...but I'm glad I got to meet you." First Aid's vents hitch. "And I'm happy to help the people here...more happy than I was working for Rodimus, at least."

Chris keeps contact with First Aid, since he showed it was helping. And he thinks over his response for a little, then looks up into First Aid's face.

"Two things. I'm sure that when we figure out how to help the islanders with the root problem of the curse, you'll be able to get back and see your brothers again. There is no other possibility for you to consider, okay? I know you've probably got some logical thing going on in your subconscious but -- seriously, I mean it, do not dwell on anything but the idea that you'll get to go home. Hope helps."

Chris drums their fingertips on First Aid's leg for a second, then blush a little and stop. "Sorry. Secondly... I really hope that the solution to 'nobody really wants to be the CMO' is not 'so let's build a new guy'."

(Muttered more to themself than anything "Honestly, you'd think they would have built more medics in nine million years...")

"..but even so, I think it's worth it to at least bring up your reluctance to continue in the role when you get back to your universe. Folks can't fix a problem if they don't know it's there."

First Aid simply nods at the first point -- he knows Chris is right. Angsting over whether or not he'll get to go back at the end of all this is a waste of resources that would be better put to helping here -- and when Chris suddenly blushes and pulls back he tilts his head slightly and extends his own hand, resting it over theirs.

He's feeling a little calmer now. Holding hands would be...as long as it wouldn't be too personal...he would like it. It would help him feel better.

He sighs heavily. "There are a few other medics...Velocity, Ambulon...but they're." He resets his vocalizer, grumbling slightly. "They weren't programmed by Ratchet. I can't really overstate how famous he was, how much he was part of the...like, the Autobot institution. And the connotations aren't quite the same for us, but the fact that he created me...I think people got so caught up in the idea that I could continue his legacy that they never stopped to ask if that was even a good idea. I did it too, for a while. I thought I could keep part of him alive by filling his role." He shrugs. "The shine wore off really quickly."

Chris takes First Aid's hand when its offered, without hesitation. They are glad that they didn't make things too weird.

After First Aid explains more about the other medics and the situation back home... Chris snorts out a humorless laugh.

"Oh, God... we're a pair," Chris says, shaking eir head, "both of us with our daddy issues."

First Aid twitches in shock. "I'm not --"

He locks up for a second as the penny drops.

"Oh my god," he groans, and then laughs helplessly, covering his visor with his other hand. "I do, holy shit. I have so many daddy issues. God. Why."

"Because sons always feel the need to earn their father's love? Especially if the father isn't emotionally demonstrative." Chris sighs. They give First Aid's hand a squeeze, weak as it will probably feel (given squishy human and metal Cybertronian).

"I'm sure everybody expecting you to just be... Ratchet two-point-oh didn't help matters."

"New and improved, with a list of added features as long as your arm," First Aid adds dryly. He gently squeezes Chris's hand back; someday they'll get to the point in their lessons when they cover exactly how sensitive First Aid's hands are, and hopefully then Chris won't be get down on themselves for having squishy human hands. It's fine. First Aid can feel them just fine.

"Was your dad...um. I mean, if you'd like to tell me about him, it's okay," he says gently. Not wanting to pry but not wanting to shut Chris out, either.

"I think my dad was confused about me. You know, all the physical differences. He... really did his best to shape me into a man. And some of it... wasn't so bad, but if I ever deviated from his ideas about masculinity he'd kind of freak out. I didn't really understand it until... well, until my parents and the doctors were talking me into the 'gynecomastia' procedure as a teenager." Chris glances away for a moment. "That's when I was finally told about being intersex. We... had a fraught relationship ever since."

There are more details Chris could go into. Their older brother trying to stand up for them, the hurtful things that their father said in that argument. But it's still too painful.

First Aid slides his arm around their shoulders, pulling them into another hug. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

He doubts very much that Ratchet would have been upset if he'd turned out to be a femme. It's a mutation, but not one that carries any stigma among Autobots. But it would have been very strange, he thinks. Back when he came online, everyone still thought that the femmes left back on Cybertron had all died during the Long Sleep. It would have been one more thing that set him apart. And if he'd been the only femme among the Protectobots...ugh. He loves his brothers, truly he does, but integrating human social mores with their Autobot programming had come with a steep learning curve. He doesn't want to know what kind of nonsense Streetwise and Blades might have generated before they learned better.

"It's not our fault when people decide to build up big expectations of us in their own minds instead of getting in touch with our reality," he says dryly. "But it's truly a pain in the ass to deal with, isn't it?."

Chris turns in, toward First Aid, with the hug and clings to him. They aren't sure that they can speak without losing control and crying, so they just nod rapidly in response to that question.

It's a pain indeed. It hurts, and it probably always will for Chris, at least on the unresolved tension and anger that lay between them and their dad. Detective David Freeman was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch who rarely ever gave ground and it used to drive Chris up a wall.

"I hope..." Chris stops, swallows down their tears, and starts again. "I hope that he was just scared for me. Even if he'd never admit it, that would be... the best of a list of really bad, stupid reasons to force me to conform."

First Aid rubs Chris's back, trying to be soft and comforting for them despite the differences in their bodies, their materials. It's one of those rare times when he's kind of sorry to be made of metal.

"I think that's probably the best you can do," he says softly. "If he's...gone --" And from the way Chris talks about him First Aid thinks their dad probably is gone in the permanent kind of way, whether he's actually died or not. "-- then if it helps to give him that little bit of credit, if it gives you closure...then go ahead and believe it. He's hurt you enough. Why give his memory any more opportunities?

"He died. At the same time I did... someone targeted him. But the NYPD has never been able to figure out who." Chris presses their cheek against First Aid's plating, not caring in the moment that he's metal and not exactly soft. The comfort is still there. "Dad tried to save me. He tackled me to the ground when the shooting started. But we were both hit anyway... and we both died. But I'm the only one that came back."

"He wanted to protect you." Whose to say if, had he been asked, Detective Freeman might not have preferred this outcome? But that doesn't need to be said out loud. In fact First Aid isn't sure he needs to say any more at all. He keeps holding Chris, rubbing their back and making soothing noises. Trying to be solid and comforting for them while they le it out. Perhaps, for now, that will be enough.

Please state the nature of your medical emergency [Oct/Nov TL]

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