"Ah." Ratchet withdraws his hand and takes up his crutches again, taking a step back so Drift can see the lower edge of his pelvic block, where there's just... nothing, where a leg should be. He steps back in after a second, taking Drift's hand again comfortably.

"Same as you," he says, not sounding particularly bothered. "Tarn wanted a t-cog transplant from an Autobot medic, for old times' sake, I'm assuming. I was... not polite in telling him no. Don't look at me like that, kid, I'm fine. I got off easy, apparently."