[Ratchet shifts on his crutches, but he moves forward and not away, planting himself firmly between the two Decepticons with his back to Tarn, utterly unafraid. His jaw is set stubbornly as he stares up at Megatron and he opens his mouth, looking like he's going to argue.]
Please. [Is what he says instead, voice raw and aching, his optics intense. He draws a slow shudder of air into his vents and switches both crutches under one arm to reach up and wrap his free hand around the axe, still watching Megatron's face.] Please, don't do this.
[He feels Megatron's grip slacken in surprise and he tugs firmly before he loses momentum, pulling the weapon out of his hands and tightening his grip near the shoulder of the axe, his fingers steady.]
You don't have to do this. Not like this, not here, not now. You told me you don't want to turn into the kind of person you are as I know you, and I believe you--things like this are the first step. You have to choose to not take it. Me, on the other hand.
[His voice goes cold and hard and he half-turns, his optics finally flicking back to Tarn.]
I've been at war for four million years. [He takes a half-limping, dragging step on one crutch towards Tarn, then another.] I've been a combat medic that whole time--like hell I was going to let Optimus park me behind a desk somewhere. I have good eyes and surgeon-steady hands and knives built into my wrists. [His approach towards Tarn is slow and inexorable, the alternating metallic thunks of his foot and crutches loud against the packed dirt.] In all that time, do you have any idea how many people I've murdered in cold blood to protect those I care about?
[He stops in front of Tarn, optics pale and blazing as he looks down at the crouched figure in the sand. His face is blank and pitiless as he looks down at Tarn's upturned masked face and raises the axe.]
[And brings it down to push one tip against the center of Tarn's breastplate, digging in hard and dragging down to leave a deep gouge right where his Decepticon badge used to be. When he speaks again, his voice is almost a snarl.]
I have no idea how many people you've killed, and you've maimed and attempted to murder two of my closest friends since you showed up here. But I am a medic, and an Autobot, and I want you to walk away from here today knowing your spark still burns because I chose not to kill you. You owe me your life. [His lip curls.] And I don't have time to clean up the mess it would leave if I hacked you open and let you bleed to death in the dust.
no subject
Please. [Is what he says instead, voice raw and aching, his optics intense. He draws a slow shudder of air into his vents and switches both crutches under one arm to reach up and wrap his free hand around the axe, still watching Megatron's face.] Please, don't do this.
[He feels Megatron's grip slacken in surprise and he tugs firmly before he loses momentum, pulling the weapon out of his hands and tightening his grip near the shoulder of the axe, his fingers steady.]
You don't have to do this. Not like this, not here, not now. You told me you don't want to turn into the kind of person you are as I know you, and I believe you--things like this are the first step. You have to choose to not take it. Me, on the other hand.
[His voice goes cold and hard and he half-turns, his optics finally flicking back to Tarn.]
I've been at war for four million years. [He takes a half-limping, dragging step on one crutch towards Tarn, then another.] I've been a combat medic that whole time--like hell I was going to let Optimus park me behind a desk somewhere. I have good eyes and surgeon-steady hands and knives built into my wrists. [His approach towards Tarn is slow and inexorable, the alternating metallic thunks of his foot and crutches loud against the packed dirt.] In all that time, do you have any idea how many people I've murdered in cold blood to protect those I care about?
[He stops in front of Tarn, optics pale and blazing as he looks down at the crouched figure in the sand. His face is blank and pitiless as he looks down at Tarn's upturned masked face and raises the axe.]
[And brings it down to push one tip against the center of Tarn's breastplate, digging in hard and dragging down to leave a deep gouge right where his Decepticon badge used to be. When he speaks again, his voice is almost a snarl.]
I have no idea how many people you've killed, and you've maimed and attempted to murder two of my closest friends since you showed up here. But I am a medic, and an Autobot, and I want you to walk away from here today knowing your spark still burns because I chose not to kill you. You owe me your life. [His lip curls.] And I don't have time to clean up the mess it would leave if I hacked you open and let you bleed to death in the dust.