robothell | you know you are as small as the things you let annoy you {backdated before robot prom}

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ratchet | asafepairofhands

you know you are as small as the things you let annoy you {backdated before robot prom}

It's a little while after Sixshot has dug all of the medics up from whatever underground art bunker they had been briefly trapped in, miraculously without anyone killing each other, and Ratchet is back in the medibay at work. He is still half-legless and especially foul-tempered, especially considering the upcoming festivities, which he plans to avoid as completely as possible.

COME BOTHER HIM

[CLOSED TO RODIMUS]
It's not long after the medics are back that Ratchet sends a message to Rodimus privately, apropos of what seems like nothing.

Come to the medibay. I need to check something.

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"It's patched. I'm not going to drop dead anytime soon from a missing leg." Ratchet lets the crutch swing to the floor again, settling into them and watching Ironhide with an unreadable expression. "...I'm all right. Promise. How are you doing?"

"Oh! Uh, not long. At least, I don't think it's been very long. I'm not entirely sure how long I spent walking the outskirts before Rodimus found me. My memory is... rather hazy... on the specifics..." That's a disquieting thought. What if there was some critical piece of information about how she'd got here, now lost in the haze of her wanderings?
In an attempt to derail this new train of thought, Magnus abruptly changes the subject to the first thing she can think of. "So what happened to your leg?"

"I understand the feeling."

He walked over to table, putting down the box and sliding the lid off and setting it next to the box. He moved aside so Ratchet would have plenty of room.

"I got here later than a most people, from what I've gathered. You can call me Optimus."

"Not going to screw up and let something happen to you on my watch if I can help it," Ratchet says, curling his fingers in lightly to brush against her back.

"You didn't have to," he says, before he falters and looks away, shifting uncomfortably. "War's over, anyway. We 'won'--whatever that means. Planet's back. But I left... I don't know. It's a long story." He hesitates for a long moment, actually struggling before he blows warm air from his vents on a soft huff.

"My hands failed," he says flatly after a moment. "I didn't get hurt, they just... wore out. Stopped working. By the time the ship lifted off, I could barely hold a glass, let alone operate. I went to go find a new CMO, found some new hands instead, it got complicated. But--yeah. That was why."

"Huh. Thought you looked familiar. You're not the Optimus I know, though, sorry." Ratchet pokes around in the box for a moment before his optics flick up again, curious about Optimus' reaction.

"I'm Ratchet."

"Are you sure it doesn't hurt? Even a little? I mean... part of your leg's off."

Which is so utterly at odds with how he'd last seen Ratchet he doesn't quite know how to fully process it. In answer though... he looks away. Rubbing the back of his neck.

"Hey, it's easy being all right when everything thinks you're going to step on them."

Except I know what I did to Shockwave now and that's sort of horrible and also apparently I ditched my partner and --

"Or something like that. I have a TV now."

"Tarn," Ratchet says, flat and uninviting. "I got off light, he nearly beat Drift to death with his fists and left him to bleed to death in the middle of the desert before he was set straight. He's been playing nice, for now, and I'm fine." His optics dim in worry.

"But what's this about your memory? ...what's the last thing you remember before you got here?"

"But it ain't back on your... rest of your leg."

There's a few awkward gestures in that pause, while Ironhide tries to articulate the sheer wrongness of Ratchet being minus a limb. This is his friend. One of few who hasn't really changed on him. How can he not be concerned.

And it's probably all over his face. He has never once been good at hiding how he feels. "I don't like it," he says, finally, still looking down at the damage.

Belatedly mumbling something to the extent of "huh yeah fine I'm great."

"Did you tell Hunter that too?" Picking at scabs and scar tissue and as fast as she bristled those hackles flattened , face flushed and line of sight broken when she dips her head so low her chin touches her chest. That was uncalled for but the fire behind her eyes hadn't gone out completely.

"Ratchet, I'm not the biggest fan of my own planet." Verity chewed her lip, gripping the edges of the counter tight enough that her knuckles went bone white. "Only your leg and the Decepticons currently crawling all over it kind of render this assumption the war is 'over' moot fucking point."

Her stomach rolled when she took in a deep breath, nostrils flared. "So don't tell me I didn't have to."

Ratchet actually flinches, his optics paling and his face closing like a door being slammed as he carefully pulls his fingers away, dropping his hand back to his crutch.

"Right," he says, a little numbly, his expression all but calcified. "Of course. My mistake." He doesn't specify what was his mistake, but the look on his face says it hardly matters.

"Heh, should've guessed," he said with a small smile, albeit a little wistfully. Having any Ratchet around was fine to be sure, but he would not mind at all if someone he knew would turn up for once.

"I've met him, if he's the other Optimus here. Seems like a nice enough guy." Wow that sounded awkward, but what else are you supposed to say about your alternate self. "Are you two close, or do you just know of him?"

Verity always played it close to her chest; life was one highstakes poker hand after another as she saw it. Only no one stripped her to the bare bones and coated her in ununtrium. Anything she threw out could come back on her twice over and still sting.

"I can trust you." Verity intoned, quiet and detached. "But I need that to go both ways."

"So I can put it back on you and saw it off again," Spinister snipes spitefully over one shoulder.

He stops after that, cycle air into his vents and very, very carefully and deliberately sets the table he was gripping far too hard down. Before he could give in to the urge to throw it at something. Or someone.

"Why aren't you fixing it?" he grouses. "There's plenty of stuff here to work with."

That was stupid. Why did she say that? She shouldn't have said that. She gratefully takes Ratchet's offer to change the subject.
"The universe ended. Or, at least, was beginning to end." She reconsiders for a moment. "Again."

Rodimus turns it over in his hands again, as if he's testing the weight of it. "He deserves it," is his response. I never should have taken it away from him goes unsaid, even if that hasn't happened to Drift yet. Is he trying to make up for his sins by preemptively atoning for them? Maybe. But he also wanted to do something for Drift that would help when everything else he'd attempted had fallen short.

He at least has the good sense to look sheepish when Ratchet snaps at him, fingers curling around the badge. "Thanks. For uh, cannibalizing your own limb for him." A pause. "Well now it just sounds gross," and he makes a face to match. Confusion settles in after, as he's still digesting the fact that Ratchet made him an Autobot badge. It doesn't fit, there's something off.

"But why? You made your feelings about me clear."

He distinctly remembers that particular conversation.

"You think I don't trust you?" Ratchet asks softly, watching her face. "Ultra Magnus trusts you, Verity, I--after everything that's happened?"

He huffs a soft blast of air from his vents and leans hard into a crutch so he can bring a hand up, rubbing hard at his forehelm.

"Of course I trust you."

"Not to fix it properly," Ratchet says, sounding almost fascinated. He doesn't demand to know why Spinister even cares again, not wanting to scare him off. "I had to strip out a lot of the more delicate internal wiring to take care of a more critical patient, and we don't have the materials to make good replacements yet. It's a lot worse off than it looks, and I'm managing."

"We've been friends a long time," Ratchet says, his voice warming further as he sorts almost idly through the box of supplies, then looks back up at Optimus again.

"This stuff is all going to be extremely useful," he says, nodding and looking at Optimus almost curiously. "I appreciate it--thanks. ...what about you and your Ratchet?"

"Oh," Ratchet says, sounding startled. "Was it Shockwave? Have you, um--talked to anyone farther along than you yet? Because it doesn't. End, that is--Optimus manages to stop him." His face twists, sudden and painful.

"With some losses."

He can't help but burst out laughing. This is exactly the reaction he expected.

"Yes! Yes, please don't... punish me."

Ratchet's retort doesn't wipe the smile from Drift's face, for once -- he's still getting used to the time difference between himself and Ratchet, but it's a nice adjustment. Drift finds a worktable that doesn't contain Ratchet's leg to lean against.

"Well, you were missing for a little while. I just wanted to check in." Drift watches him curiously. "I've been working on things, too -- researching, sort of. Trying to hunt down any clues as to the history of this place. When was the last time you got some recharge?"

Ratchet swells slightly, looking furious for a moment, but the sight of Pipes actually laughing deflates him a little until he looks irritated again instead of on the verge of reformatting Pipes into a luggage cart.

"That's an interesting strategy, coming in and deliberately annoying someone you're asking for medical assistance."

"Well, I'm not throwing a big party over it either, but we've had more pressing concerns." Ratchet huffs out a short gust of air from his vents. "Ironhide, I'm fine. I'm making do. ...I got off light, honestly, considering what happened to Drift a little after."

Ratchet risks a step in again, now that Ironhide does not appear to be in immediate danger of lifting him off his... foot. He leans into a crutch to free up a hand and clasp Ironhide's upper arm, brief and warm.

"It's good to see you. I mean it."

"Well, it was unpleasant at the time," Ratchet concedes. His paint job is a little altered from when Roller last saw him but mostly he looks... tireder. Older, somehow.

"Haven't seen you in a long time. It's--" His voice warms. "It's good. What's the last thing you remember? If you don't mind my asking."

He assumes it's his wily charm.

"Aw, c'mon. We're friends." Probably.

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you know you are as small as the things you let annoy you {backdated before robot prom}

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