"Yeah, well. No rush or anything--it could have waited."

Ratchet shifts on his crutches, watching Megatron pensively for a moment before he half-shrugs and pushes on.

"I found some cans of paint, few different colors. Enough to give my hands a new coat, plus some extra. And I figured, well." He nods at Megatron--at the yellow and black striping on his plating. "You're not a miner anymore, and you're better-educated than half the medics I knew. No point in you keeping the old paint job unless you'd prefer it. I could sand it off and cover over it with red and white, if that's something you want." He shrugs again, trying to cover awkwardness. "There's not much more I can teach you without actual classroom supplies, which are not forthcoming, and you're setting up your own base of operations anyway. Consider yourself graduated, if you like."