Ratchet listens quietly for a long moment, an odd lump pressing down against the tops of his tanks, tightening his throat.
"You were siphoning your own to keep him alive." It isn't a question--Ratchet knew the symptoms of long-term lack of fueling and Megatron's had been bad even for a laborer of his caliber. He puts the brush down and cycles his vents shakily for a moment, a disorientingly strong wave of pain and grief and anger washing through him at the loss of a mech he'd never have met even if he'd known of his existence before today. It takes him a moment to steady himself, his mouth crimped taut around the corners.
"I'm sorry," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "I'm sorry you never knew exactly what happened."
no subject
"You were siphoning your own to keep him alive." It isn't a question--Ratchet knew the symptoms of long-term lack of fueling and Megatron's had been bad even for a laborer of his caliber. He puts the brush down and cycles his vents shakily for a moment, a disorientingly strong wave of pain and grief and anger washing through him at the loss of a mech he'd never have met even if he'd known of his existence before today. It takes him a moment to steady himself, his mouth crimped taut around the corners.
"I'm sorry," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "I'm sorry you never knew exactly what happened."