>.> Cyborg 2 is just the cyborg fic. I think I had two copies in two different places, and the one on the thumb drive became 2 for a while. Geez, google docs is way easier.
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Mid-morning and Ratchet was puttering around the room in a passable imitation of how he would normally mill around his medbay. He cleaned and organized what little was present, and kept drifting over to check on the still figure of Ironhide curled in the bed. There was the quiet hiss of the door sliding aside and the medic quickly whirled on the interloper standing in the doorway. ‘Hide less heard the sound of the door than felt the sudden tensing of his bondmate. The soldier rolled and stared blearily at the figure in the doorway.
He stood at a parade rest just beyond the threshold. That alone was different, unlike the teamers, this one was respecting the pair’s space. The man was a soldier; he had the carriage and the stance, and moreover, he was brass. That much was obvious. But he was not the sort of jumped-the-line, inside-track up the ranks to drive a desk brass. He carried himself with an air of authority, but without the pompous cloud that followed so many of the higher ups. A tall man, easily imposing but he was standing with an easy grace that made him seem oddly approachable. His short sandy hair framed a proud brow, and clear blue eyes that held a quiet power to take in everything in an instant and see right through them.
Humans would have called it an aura, Cybertronians knew it as a spark; familiar strength, cool calm, power and confidence. The figure carried mechanical implants and modifications, similar to those Ratchet and Ironhide now possessed.
What took the longest for the pair to register was the armoring circling the man’s brow and down along the edge of his jaw. Deep cerulean finials stood up by his ears.
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 05:24 am (UTC)~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Mid-morning and Ratchet was puttering around the room in a passable imitation of how he would normally mill around his medbay. He cleaned and organized what little was present, and kept drifting over to check on the still figure of Ironhide curled in the bed. There was the quiet hiss of the door sliding aside and the medic quickly whirled on the interloper standing in the doorway. ‘Hide less heard the sound of the door than felt the sudden tensing of his bondmate. The soldier rolled and stared blearily at the figure in the doorway.
He stood at a parade rest just beyond the threshold. That alone was different, unlike the teamers, this one was respecting the pair’s space. The man was a soldier; he had the carriage and the stance, and moreover, he was brass. That much was obvious. But he was not the sort of jumped-the-line, inside-track up the ranks to drive a desk brass. He carried himself with an air of authority, but without the pompous cloud that followed so many of the higher ups. A tall man, easily imposing but he was standing with an easy grace that made him seem oddly approachable. His short sandy hair framed a proud brow, and clear blue eyes that held a quiet power to take in everything in an instant and see right through them.
Humans would have called it an aura, Cybertronians knew it as a spark; familiar strength, cool calm, power and confidence. The figure carried mechanical implants and modifications, similar to those Ratchet and Ironhide now possessed.
What took the longest for the pair to register was the armoring circling the man’s brow and down along the edge of his jaw. Deep cerulean finials stood up by his ears.
Finials.
“Optimus?” Ratchet breathed in shock.