"I care about Drift too," Ratchet says angrily, then stops.

He cycles his vents for a moment, dragging in ragged pulls of cool air as he deliberately smooths his hands flat on the medical slab and looks down at them, at the seams of his wrists. A lot of the anger seems to drain out of him, bleeding from his face and the set of his shoulders to leave him slumped and tired, bringing one of his hands up to rub slowly over his face.

"He's my friend too, Rodimus," he says, more quietly now, looking back up at Rodimus' face. "And I believe him when he says you didn't force him to take the blame, but it still happened on your watch. He blames himself for Pipes and Rewind and the rest, he thinks it's his fault. The least you could have done was come clean with him, even if you couldn't with the rest of the crew."

Ratchet shakes his head and reaches for Rodimus again, a little impatiently.

"Get back here, I have to finish checking your organs for scorch marks and reattaching your arm. I'm not letting you wander around injured, no matter how annoyed I am with you."