"I'm not stripping your plating, Rodimus," Ratchet says, a little irritably, but there's a strange ache in his voice, buried deep. "Don't be dramatic. It's not that dire and I'll--I'll figure something out."

He bends to his work again and moves in silence for a while, his mouth set and his optics focused even as the rest of him slumps slowly and steadily into his crutches, aching everywhere and unwilling to stop.