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

[asafepairofhands]

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.

Comments

[triggerhappycopter]

The words make Spinister stand up, armor plates bristling angrily.

"I won't fix it then," he growls and storms off.

A minute or so later however, he returns to tidy up the pile of medical berths, rotors set ramrod straight and radiating resentfulness.

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet stares after him, then stares harder as he stomps back in to right the things he knocked over. After a moment, Ratchet limps closer and tucks both crutches under one arm so he can help, righting a stool not too close to Spinister.

"Why would you want to fix it in the first place?" he asks, would-be casually as he scoops a handful of tools off the floor.

[triggerhappycopter]

"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."

[asafepairofhands]

"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."

[triggerhappycopter]

The look Spinister gives Ratchet is a genuinely baffled one.

Not enough materials to fix it properly?

He looks at the junk pile, does a little mental calculation and then looks back at the Autobot CMO again, the look of bafflement increased tenfold. Sure, the end result wasn't going to be factory perfect, but it was better than walking around without half a leg in an uneasy truce.

"So why didn't you install a basic prosthetic at least?"

[asafepairofhands]

"Look, I'm on my feet all day, every day. If it's not fixed properly, it'll break down. Same with a prosthetic--and a prosthetic won't let be use my alt mode since I'd still be missing a tire. And a prosthetic takes time and more materials and more effort to make, and I'm not convinced it'd be any less awkward than these. I've had to install some field-made ones, I know." Ratchet shrugs, a little helplessly. "I'm managing all right and trying to get equipment up and running so we can actually make parts that are needed. I'd rather wait and do it right. If it seriously impacted my ability to do my job, I'd find another way to fix it."

[triggerhappycopter]

"I dunno about what kind of prosthetics you were making, but I slapped a whole leg out of a dead truck-former's torso once and it lasted five years! Just in time for that supply line red-tape clog-up on Bozick to work itself out," Spinister snorts, flipping another table up right with his foot. "Some bolt bucket up in the ranks misplaced the documents for the whole damn planet, can you believe it? One of the battalion commanders spent whole week slowly pushing a branding iron through his head."

"Anyways," digression aside. "I'm in a mood to con you out of something, so how about a bet?"

[asafepairofhands]

"Yeah, I believe it," Ratchet says, his voice extremely dry as he picks up another chair, but he looks curious. "What kind of bet?"

[triggerhappycopter]

"If I manage to fix up your leg up 'properly', you're going to walk around with my name painted allll over it in big bold n' purple- and I get one of your working soldering guns with all the head modifiers for a month."

Setting the last table upright, Spinister turns to look at Ratchet, crossing his arms. "If I can't, I take it apart and do whatever the heck kind of drudge work you've got to do around here. For a month."

[asafepairofhands]

"I'm not painting anything anywhere," Ratchet says stubbornly, before he... almost softens, rearranging tools on a tray. "But trading tools and labor... that could be arranged. You know--" Ratchet almost hesitates, but presses on. "Y'know, this medibay in particular--it's for everybody. Almost everybody. You're welcome to come in and use tools if you need them." He tilts his chin up at Spinister.

"Megatron spoke highly of you, after we got back. He was grateful for your help. We would be, too, if you ever wanted to drop by and lend a hand."

[triggerhappycopter]

The cockiness fades somewhat from Spinister's stance replaced by something a little more awkward. He rubs the back of his head and shrugs stiffly.

"It's a bit weird working in a place where everyone is an Autobot." The heli pauses, twiddling his thumbs for a moment.

"And by weird, I mean I think everyone's going to turn on me and shoot me in the back, sssooooo, I think I'm happy just... not? You know?"

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet snorts a laugh, but it's kind. He shakes his helm.

"Yeah, all right. Fair enough. Offer's open if you ever feel different, though. And, for the record--" He looks up, fixing Spinister with a piercing stare. "--if you need supplies and they aren't going to fixing up Pharma or Tarn or someone else hell-bent on causing a ruckus, you're welcome to them. All you have to do is come in and ask."

[triggerhappycopter]

"... That's a bit hard since I live with Tarn," Spinister shrugs, tapping his index fingers together nervously. "Haven't had to fix Pharma up yet, but I think I'm kind of obligated to if he ever comes limping in for a fix-up since I think Tarn's trying to court him or something."

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet looks almost sick with anger for a moment before he turns his face sharply away, cycling his vents unsteadily.

"I really could have done without knowing that, thank you," he says, his voice chilly now before he struggles for control of himself, his face, his voice. His problems with Pharma aren't Spinister's fault. He still doesn't quite look up, though. "Just--fine. Whatever. Your choice. But as far as I'm concerned, you're more than welcome."