Ratchet only barely manages to keep himself from flinching under the press of her soft hands. He would have felt it if she'd touched him with a single fingertip, and he shudders helplessly before pulling his hand away and clenching it until the welded seam of his wrist aches.
"They're his," he says finally, his voice a little choked, not looking at her. "He'd--hell. This is--" He gropes for a place to start, then gives up and shakes his head. "When we got to his post on Delphi, nine-tenths of everyone at the base was dead from this... rust virus. We don't get wasting diseases often, but when we do, best to just get the hell out of the way--we don't mess around. Except the other part of the reason we went to Delphi was because someone--First Aid, though I hadn't known it--had used the same frequency as the old Wreckers Declassified datalogs to send out a wave of semi-encrypted patient data detailing a rise of deaths at Delphi, and not because of the plague."
Ratchet cycles his vents, taking a rattling gust of cool air in and blowing warm out, trying to steady himself.
"Turns out Delphi was on Messatine, in the center of DJD territory, and Pharma had been murdering patients to give their organs to the DJD to keep them from slaughtering everyone. In the end, it drove him crazy. He knew he couldn't keep it up, so he cooked up the virus in the lab and let it loose on the base to try to cover his tracks. Pipes and Drift went with me to the base--they both contracted the virus, I contracted the virus. There was a scuffle with some Decepticons and First Aid woke Fort Max, Pharma made a break for the roof and I followed him. I was halfway rusted to death and we had it out on the roof like a couple of morons over the cure for the stupid thing, I nearly knocked him off the roof entirely and he tried to blow my head off. Drift--" He falters, stops. He doesn't even know how to begin to talk to Verity about Drift. He doesn't know how much of their strange, patchwork history is even his to tell, regardless of how open Drift had been about it around the table with Rung. His optics drop down to his hands and he's silent for a moment, trying again to find where to begin, then just gives up. "I don't know if you know him. But he somehow followed me up--he was worse along than I was, he nearly died, half his organs were rusted through--and he chopped Pharma's hands off at the wrists to cut him off the roof right before he could shoot me in the back. I only had one arm at that point, and we had a medical bay full of patients who were dying not to mention the one leaking out at my feet on the roof, so... I took them. They're--they were his. But they're the only reason I can still do my job--they're just as good as mine were. Pharma was just as good as I was, before... everything."
He flexes his fingers slowly, then very deliberately settles his palms flat against the table. Now that he's drawn attention to them, the chips and scuffs in the red paint, exposing the blue beneath, are more obvious. Ratchet cycles his vents again, then reaches out to touch a fingertip to the back of one of Verity's hands, almost an apology for pulling away before.
"It was a hell of a thing," he says finally, a little helplessly. He shrugs. "But everybody who was alive when we got there was alive when we left, so can't call it too much of a loss, I guess."
no subject
"They're his," he says finally, his voice a little choked, not looking at her. "He'd--hell. This is--" He gropes for a place to start, then gives up and shakes his head. "When we got to his post on Delphi, nine-tenths of everyone at the base was dead from this... rust virus. We don't get wasting diseases often, but when we do, best to just get the hell out of the way--we don't mess around. Except the other part of the reason we went to Delphi was because someone--First Aid, though I hadn't known it--had used the same frequency as the old Wreckers Declassified datalogs to send out a wave of semi-encrypted patient data detailing a rise of deaths at Delphi, and not because of the plague."
Ratchet cycles his vents, taking a rattling gust of cool air in and blowing warm out, trying to steady himself.
"Turns out Delphi was on Messatine, in the center of DJD territory, and Pharma had been murdering patients to give their organs to the DJD to keep them from slaughtering everyone. In the end, it drove him crazy. He knew he couldn't keep it up, so he cooked up the virus in the lab and let it loose on the base to try to cover his tracks. Pipes and Drift went with me to the base--they both contracted the virus, I contracted the virus. There was a scuffle with some Decepticons and First Aid woke Fort Max, Pharma made a break for the roof and I followed him. I was halfway rusted to death and we had it out on the roof like a couple of morons over the cure for the stupid thing, I nearly knocked him off the roof entirely and he tried to blow my head off. Drift--" He falters, stops. He doesn't even know how to begin to talk to Verity about Drift. He doesn't know how much of their strange, patchwork history is even his to tell, regardless of how open Drift had been about it around the table with Rung. His optics drop down to his hands and he's silent for a moment, trying again to find where to begin, then just gives up. "I don't know if you know him. But he somehow followed me up--he was worse along than I was, he nearly died, half his organs were rusted through--and he chopped Pharma's hands off at the wrists to cut him off the roof right before he could shoot me in the back. I only had one arm at that point, and we had a medical bay full of patients who were dying not to mention the one leaking out at my feet on the roof, so... I took them. They're--they were his. But they're the only reason I can still do my job--they're just as good as mine were. Pharma was just as good as I was, before... everything."
He flexes his fingers slowly, then very deliberately settles his palms flat against the table. Now that he's drawn attention to them, the chips and scuffs in the red paint, exposing the blue beneath, are more obvious. Ratchet cycles his vents again, then reaches out to touch a fingertip to the back of one of Verity's hands, almost an apology for pulling away before.
"It was a hell of a thing," he says finally, a little helplessly. He shrugs. "But everybody who was alive when we got there was alive when we left, so can't call it too much of a loss, I guess."