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“Ironhide, I’m…” There was a grunt. “I’m not going to make it.”
Ironhide blinked his optics while turning his helm toward the much shorter, carrying mecha, trying to deny what he’d just heard. They still had a ways to go before they were completely out of the Decepticons’ range, away from the fighting, and Ratchet was nowhere to be seen. This was all they needed; the little bitlet knocking down the door, so to speak, when they were still in the danger zone.
Hardwire whimpered between gritted dentae, indicating that a horrendous contraction wracked through her at the moment while her servos were clasped over her heavy, rounded abdominal swell. Ironhide’s arm wrapped around her backstrut, helping her stand while leaning her weight on his side was the only thing keeping her from collapsing on her knees. And still, the warrior was trying to consider some way they could still make it on time.
“Just – vent, Hardwire. Keep venting and I’ll comm Ratchet,” Ironhide assured, if unconfidently. “I can convince that hardaft to pull his vessel closer and pick us up, right from here. He has to-“
“Ironhide!” Hardwire practically barked the warrior’s name through the strain of her voice while continuing to endure the lengthy contraction. By now, the pressure in her lower body begged for the assistance of her muscles, the sparkling’s weight edging out of her gestation tank. Even without her having to withhold a scream, for fear of an enemy finding them, Ironhide could tell all of his hopes for a miracle had, at this point, been lost. He glanced back to find the battle gradually hiking its way up the same mountain they were, and in a panic scooped the carrying mecha into his arms and ran for cover. Hundreds of miles away, Ratchet’s comm pinged.
::Ratch, she’s not gonna make it,:: came Ironhide’s gruff voice, earning a defeated sigh from the medic. It was a miracle that defeat didn’t devolve into panic.
::We’ve yet to reach the rendezvous point; we’re narrowly avoiding aerial combat,:: Ratchet answered.
::We’re still miles away from it, too. Now I have to keep her hidden and hope for the best.:: Irritation, as well as fear, laced the weaponsmith’s voice. ::Could you not have pulled any closer?::
::I told you, we can’t risk being too close to the fighting. The Decepticons will target one of very few medical vessels we have left,:: Ratchet bit back, with just enough irritation.
Ironhide had a line to snap back with, something just as biting for the medical officer to hear. He forgot it as soon as his attention was turned to Hardwire on all fours, heavy frame looking tense as a pained moan escaped her. He was certain she’d just pushed.
::Ratchet,:: he stammered, all trace of annoyance gone from his tone. ::Tell me what to do. The sparkling’s coming.::
::Have her open her panel and spread her legs, then get your servos right under her valve. All you’re going to do is support the sparkling’s weight as it emerges,:: Ratchet explained. ::And if I hear from her that you made a remark about her fluids ruining your paint, I’ll loosen the bolts on your jaw.::
Ironhide was still recovering from the threat when Ratchet suddenly added, ::Oh, and try to get her to squat; she’ll be tempted to lay back, but it’ll hurt less if she’s upright.::
True to Ratchet’s word, Hardwire went from balancing herself on all fours to collapsing onto her side, then rolling onto her backstrut. Ironhide promptly placed himself in front of her, gently lifted her off the ground, and placed her servos on the bully bar covering his chest plates.
“Squat,” he gruffly instructed as Hardwire followed, planting her pedes firmly on the ground. Her frame shook in front of him while she gripped onto him tightly, trying to hold her own weight up. She whimpered, unable to focus her thoughts on anything but the searing pain coursing through her frame. Ironhide lowered his servos underneath the smaller mecha’s interface panel, lending a gentle tap to each inner thigh to urge her to spread her legs a little more. Energon and gestational fluid trickled from the crevice of Hardwire’s still shut panel, as if to alert the two further to the reality of the situation. As Hardwire hissed curses to herself, Ironhide briefly wondered if she did so out of pain or embarrassment.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” There was no way that statement came out as assuring as intended, for the fear Ironhide felt through this unfortunately leaked into his voice. Internally, he cursed himself for not being able to keep a calm façade as well as Ratchet could. What if something went wrong? Maybe Hardwire won’t be able to push the sparkling out on time for the sparkling’s survival, or maybe they’ll be something wrong with the sparkling. Or maybe she’ll need medicine to get her through this, medicine which they didn’t have access to. There was so much the weaponsmith didn’t know about carriage and emergence; being told to simply catch the sparkling and hope for the best did not ease him.
“Open your panel, come on.” Still, he managed to instruct the laboring mecha, and she listened. He couldn’t see her valve, but he knew it’d been exposed because as she pushed again, the same fluid mixture that dripped down her leg gushed out of her. He could feel her vents working overtime as their heat brushed against his chassis over and over again. Sounds that scared Ironhide – not exactly screams, but anything from whimpers to strained grunts to deep, gravelly grunts – dripped from deep within Hardwire’s vocal processors. As if that wasn’t enough for the warrior’s petrified spark, she started to shake even more than she had been. It became clear her sparkling was about to crown.
“Try not to scream. I know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon,” Ironhide urged, servos cupped under for any indication of the sparkling’s weight. “Keep holding onto me. I’ll get you through this. It’s alright.”
Already trying painstakingly not to alert any nearby Decepticons, Hardwire had gritted her dentae through the contractions. The only audible indication that the helm was finally out was a sharp squeak, then a relieved gasp. Not that Ironhide needed an audio cue; he felt the weight of the sparkling’s emerged helm in his servos. That, and he noted that Hardwire’s frame had stopped violently shaking.
::Ratch, the helm’s out,:: Ironhide sighed in relief over the comm-link. ::Maybe I could save her some pain and pull the rest of the little tyke out.::
::Your rough servos will decapitate the poor thing,:: Ratchet’s voice snapped. ::No; whatever you do, don’t pull on it. It’ll come, just be ready for it.::
::Not exactly reassuring, Ratchet; she’s looking exhausted already.::
::She’s already gotten through the worst part. You’re both doing great, Ironhide; make sure you tell her that.::
Ironhide sighed, attention turned back to the gasping carrier starting to wobble while desperately clinging to Ironhide’s bully bar. Heeding Ratchet’s advice and supporting the helm’s weight in his servos, Ironhide tried to reach his EM field out to soothe the struggling Hardwire’s.
“Good job, that’s it. This is almost over, Hardwire,” he spoke, somehow managing to sound gentler and more confident despite himself. “Just give it a little bit more effort and I promise this all will end before you know it.”
Ironhide wasn’t sure if it was instinct or if Hardwire was just keen on following orders – honestly, he was inclined to believe the latter wasn’t true – but he had come to recognize the way her frame looked when she bore down. It took a few more seconds than Ironhide was comfortable with, but soon the sparkling became heavier in his servos as it slid out little by little. He tried to focus on the emerging bitlet, though Hardwire’s quickening pants scared him still. A piercing, sharp whimper from Hardwire startled him, and then…
…Then, he expected the feeling of a brand new, slimy little bitlet popping out into his servos to disgust him, fluid saturating his servos and causing them to rust while some crying thing flailed in them. When it happened, however, he just felt relief. Protectiveness, even. Happiness toward the sound of its wail. He pulled his servos away from underneath Hardwire to hold the squirming sparkling to his own chassis. Hardwire finally collapsed onto her knees, only for Ironhide to pull her close and nestle the sparkling against her. A relieved gasp came from her while she tiredly clasped her arms around her creation. Ironhide sat himself down and rested his backstrut against the cavern wall as the carrier and sparkling both practically snuggled against him.
::Sparkling’s emerged, Ratch. We did it,:: Ironhide pinged. ::I think they’re alright. They seem… They seem fine.::
…
The medical bay Hardwire was transferred to seemed quiet, void of all the hustle and bustle Ratchet usually described it with. Ironhide invited himself inside, now cleaned of any gestational fluid and energon, to find the medic cradling the now cleaned sparkling while Hardwire recharged in a nearby berth. The weaponsmith took a moment to glance over Hardwire, as if searching for any indication of pain only to find that, to his relief, her faceplates were relaxed and she seemed peaceful. The smaller mecha was twice the antagonistic glitch Ratchet was, – and Ironhide knew Ratchet for a long time – but Ironhide couldn’t help but hope that their paths would cross again. Under better circumstances, of course.
Ironhide’s attention was turned to Ratchet gently rocking the swaddled sparkling, the medic hushing a whimper every so often. The warrior couldn’t help but notice a loving gleam in the medic’s optics as he gazed down at the bitlet. Was that how Ratchet always regarded sparklings under his care? Or could it be that Ratchet was this sparkling’s sire? It was hard to tell just by looking at the sparkling; she had such a strong resemblance to her carrier that she might as well have not even had a sire.
Ratchet finally seemed to notice the weaponsmith, turning his full body toward him and gesturing him to come closer to avoid disturbing the slumbering carrier. Ironhide did so, his optics were on the swaddled sparkling as soon as he was close.
“What did she name the little tyke?” he whispered.
“She named her Echo,” Ratchet replied, giving an amused chuckle that Ironhide, of all mecha, was smitten by the little thing.
“Echo,” Ironhide repeated. “I wonder if Hardwire planned that. I tried asking her when Echo first emerged and she wouldn’t speak.”
“She couldn’t speak,” Ratchet corrected. “She spoke minimally when we brought her here, after the initial shock had passed. Often, Hardy’s processor must focus on one effort at a time.”
Ironhide noted the fondness in Ratchet’s tone as he spoke. Maybe they were bonded, he thought. Ratchet spoke so little of his life outside of work.
“Are they going to make her keep working after this?” Ironhide asked.
“You seemed awfully concerned about someone you just met,” Ratchet mused. “But she shouldn’t have been working this late into her carriage in the first place. I’m going to have a strong word with the council for this. She should be at home, recovering and tending to this little trooper.”
Ironhide gave a hum in thought. “A luxury so few are granted nowadays.”
Nodding in agreement, Ratchet vented a sigh. “It shouldn’t be a luxury, yet here we are.”
Silence fell on the two, one fully expecting the other to break it to save them both from the depressing truths that started to circle both their processors. Eventually, Ratchet did.
“You wanted to make sure they were alright,” the medic commented. “I’m impressed with you, Ironhide; I fully expected you to try to forget this ever happened.”
Ironhide rolled his optics. Really, he expected that just as much, and yet the experience – this terrifying experience of not only witnessing but assisting in Echo’s delivery – made him feel connected to the carrier and sparkling. He couldn’t find the words to explain it, and it sure as Pit sounded corny in his mind, but there was little other reason he could think of that brought him here. Helping the sparkling into the world and witnessing the carrier at her worst might’ve softened his spark, and he was alright with that.
All he actually said in response to Ratchet’s statement, however, was “Yeah.”
Somehow, Ratchet could probably already tell that Ironhide was going through, anyway. It was normal for surrounding mecha to feel an emotional or at least sensual pull toward carriers and their sparklings. That, and he knew Ironhide too well.
“Just, you know,” Ironhide tried to further justify himself. “Wanted to see how the little tyke was doing.”
Ratchet would’ve laughed if he wasn’t conscious about waking Hardwire.
“I’m sure Hardy will let you into the family if you ask."