Disclaimers: Transformers © Hasbro and TakaraTomy

Ever Present, Nevermore

"Is there- Is there balm in Gilead? Tell me, tell me I implore." – The Raven, Edgar Allen Poe

It was hard.

So difficult when it finally struck him like Sludge and Brawn slamming into him full force, or the December blizzard raging on outside.

After so long under his tutelage, the realization of waking from recharge, setting up the medbay, and turning to expect him but not see him where he would always be standing at hit him so hard that he couldn't help but slide down against the bottom cabinets, one hand covering his visor while the other wrapped around himself.

First Aid knew it had been barely four months since then, but he had buried it under layers of work to help get Autobot City back in working and safe shape. Triaging Autobots requiring repairs and checkups, human co-inhabitants also needing help, making sure Metroplex was in condition, sorting out logistics on the diminished supplies... He was surprised that he had been able to go through the motions without falling apart himself. It was almost like a blur, as time and lives moved on.

Every morning after putting down the last tool to be ready for the day, he automatically looked over to his right, expecting Ratchet to be standing there with a datapad. The datapad would either contain the day's checkup, an update on supplies, some form of project, a meeting, or just figuring out a schedule for a few days off from the craziness of either the Ark or Autobot City.

Every morning when fingers would slowly drop to his side upon realization, Ratchet isn't standing there with that datapd and stylus. Isn't there to be ranting at whichever foolish Autobot to land in his medbay (Sideswipe, Slag, Grimlock, Cliffjumper, whichever the usual suspects), isn't there to be teaching him how to splice fluid lines to create a bypass, isn't there to be gently teaching an inquisitive Swoop the methods of field repairs, isn't there chatting with Ironhide over a cube of energon (oh, that gruff yet still lovable Autobot), isn't there arguing with Red Alert over the merits of volunteering for the local hospitals (thank Primus he made it, but barely).

The wish to shed tears like humans had never been so much stronger, and just for that moment, he envied their ability to do so.

Doors slid open, sensors pinging Perceptor's signature, but the Protectobot didn't move from his spot.

Saying nothing, Perceptor simply vented with a sad smile and sat down next to the younger Autobot, wrapping an arm around him and hugging gently. Offering comfort wasn't the scientist's forte, but having felt the loss of friends from vorns past and given solace by others, it was the least he could do in turn on giving some support to those still grieving. And in this line of logic, no words were perhaps the better part. What can be conveyed more through silence, than in words that could be twisted into different context? Emotions, while varying in levels of intensity, were still the same. It never left, no matter how far and deep it was buried or "programmed out".

At the gesture, First Aid finally broke down sobbing, letting his grief pour out as Perceptor drew him close. Sobbing for the loss of no longer having his teacher showing him and Swoop how to improvise scalpels out of obsidian Hound and Beachcomber would occasionally find, not going to be there to share the intricacies of how biological physiology worked, no longer there to discuss/argue human healing techniques, never going to be there to help break up a fight between Blades and Slingshot with Hot Spot…

Isn't going to be there, forever more.