if you pray to god for rain, don't you complain about the lightning

[asafepairofhands]

Who: Ratchet and YOU and also whoever else wants to set up threads in here
What: Ratchet's limping around on crutches, feel free to put yourself in the line of fire
Where: Red Alert's clinic
When: A little while after Drift is conscious
Warnings: YELLING? yelling probably


Well, it had been a few days and nobody had nearly died again so Ratchet starts to let himself relax a little.

Not much, mind--Drift and Nautica are still bedridden, if not critical, and there are people in and out all the time. This is completely ignoring the fact that Pharma and Tarn are wandering around out there somewhere, probably terrorizing the general populace or maiming things or doing whatever else psychotic killers do in their clearly abundant free time. Ratchet has no such luxury, and he works, maintaining the patients he already has on top of trying to handle anyone else who comes in the door. He's just not necessarily pleasant about it.

Comments

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet's mouth thins. "He certainly seems to be making the rounds," he says dryly. "Yes. He dropped by to solicit my services and I told him no, not very politely. He didn't like that much."

His optics stray to Drift's berth and all traces of irony bleed slowly from his face.

"I got off light. I can still work. Can't really complain."

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet actually snorts a short, helpless laugh.

"Hey, wasn't our choice," he says, shaking his head. "It certainly wasn't mine, anyway. You're welcome to him."

[asafepairofhands]

"Good thing I'm not a patient, then," Ratchet says peevishly, turning a baleful optic on Bumblebee. "We have bigger problems than Tarn busting in here, nearly ransacking the place while trying to make me perform surgery on him , then sawing my leg off when I refused. Surprisingly enough." His optics stray briefly to Drift's berth.

"I'm certainly not the worst off by a long shot. Anyway." He turns his attention back to Bee, looking him over critically. "How are you holding up?"

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet turns when he hears his name, setting down the set of tools he was cleaning and sterilizing to eye Aftermath warily.

"Yeah," he says, jerking his chin up and taking firmer hold of his crutches to turn and face Aftermath properly. "Can I, uh. Help you with something?"

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet hears that and shift,s looking up from his work to stare a little.

He doesn't keep her waiting long, though. "Permission... granted?" he hazards, sounding bemused. "Can I help you?"

[taselikeabee]

"You should be," he shoots back automatically. Yes, there are things to be done. Important things, Bumblebee's sure. The medic's well being happens to be one of those things, even if Ratchet might not agree.

The rest of that rant? Makes him cringe. He doesn't want to think about that giant Con in here or making good on his threats. His own optics follow Ratchet's and there might be a little bit of pity in them.

"I got off easy compared to the rest," Bee replies. "Don't worry about me. Worry about yourself."

[milkruns]

June sighs slowly, her face grave but sympathetic. Okay, so this bot definitely isn't quite the same as the Ratchet she knows...he's got that old, gruff air to him, but there's something markedly different about it. It's edged, wryly sarcastic in a way she's never really known Ratchet to be.

Her gaze follows Ratchet's and settles on Drift's sleeping form on the berth, the fresh welds and slowly healing damage evident even from a distance. Her face softens, lips pursed slightly.

"I'm glad to hear that. They need you." June folds her arms across her chest, tilting her head to the side. "Is that...Drift?"

[asafepairofhands]

"I'm all right, Bee," Ratchet says, his tone almost softening a little as he shakes his helm. "I mean it. I'm managing fine."

His mouth tilts in something that's almost a smile.

"And you know better than to tell me not to worry."

[asafepairofhands]

"Yeah," Ratchet says, and he shifts, almost... settling into himself, as though pressed by a great weight. "I know." He drags his optics away from Drift's still, prone form, his lips thin.

"Yeah, it is. Did you know him, too?"

[phase6kindofbot]

"Don't look at me. I'm not asking for him back," Sixshot grumbles, but he almost certainly sounds amused. "You're stuck with him for the next four million years now. It's only fair."

[asafepairofhands]

"Optmius' fault for not keeping the receipt," Ratchet mutters, sounding disgusted. "I don't suppose any of you would take joint custody."

[system_dp]

Oh good, she enters completely unaware of Ratchet's bemusement. In fact she seems more interested in the fact this is a building made for beings that are taller then 6-ish feet, which includes Miria. Too tall to be human, and just minibot-ish sized.

... Oh yeah, asked if she can be helped. She holds out her arm with the hand shaped dent.

"This Unit has be advised to see a mec... medic in regards to this minor injury."

[taselikeabee]

While a little relieved, Bee isn't going to breathe a metaphorical sigh just yet. Ratchet is unwinding just a touch. A good sign, if there is one to be had at the moment.

"The second you're not, you better stop a second. Got it?"

Of course he can't help but return that grin. Someone's got to watch out for the guy that's looking out for everyone else, right?

"And I know. The way I see it, I'm alive. That's a vast improvement right there. I feel a little like Alice down the rabbit hole, but what can you do?"

[phase6kindofbot]

"Optimus Prime needs to start keeping better track of his paper work," Sixshot volleys back, sitting up with a sleepy rumble. "And you're looking at the wrong mech to ask about that too."

[milkruns]

"No, not personally. Rodimus told me what happened. I got the impression they're very close." She looks at Drift almost wistfully before looking back at Ratchet, huffing out a breath. "I don't know much about Cybertronian medicine, but I can tell you've...got your work cut out for you. I'm glad you're not doing all this alone."

[asafepairofhands]

"Close in terms of their similarly rudimentary grasp on cause and effect and their poor general decision-making skills, maybe," Ratchet mutters, looking pointedly away from Drift now. "It's been a hell of a week, I guess, and I don't bank on it getting better, but we'll get by."

[asafepairofhands]

"That's not exactly news," Ratchet says, sounding a little peeved, though not at Sixshot. "Maybe Starscream will show up and they can annoy each other for a while, or whatever, and leave us to ourselves. Goodness knows I'm tired of monitor duty."

[phase6kindofbot]

Sixshot actually throws his head back with a bark of laughter.

"If you think Starscream arriving here is going to give us any manner of peace at all, you're in for an awakening." They'll probably flatten another city with their ridiculous sexual tension too, let's be honest.

"... Primus, I'm going to really miss being able to get drunk then."

[candidcamerabot]

"I suppose not," Spy Shot says. He's been to human hospitals, and he's pretty sure people wouldn't be allowed to hang around there for fun even if they wanted to. On the other hand, Spy Shot always found medical facilities pretty interesting.

Then again, he found most places pretty interesting.

"But I've never been in an NBE medical facility. I was curious."

[milkruns]

June raises an eyebrow on that, and while she can't vouch for Drift she can...kind of see where he's coming from, for Rodimus. June glances back at Drift again, only briefly, before she looks back up.

"Even if Megatron -- well, other Megatron, the Autobot one -- even if he does take care of Tarn, that still leaves you to pick up the pieces. I get it." She sighs heavily, shaking her head. "It's bad enough that you have so little staff, but I couldn't even imagine trying to run an emergency clinic with just scavenged equipment and supplies."

[lifepersists]

Things were obviously going to get heated. First Aid's visor narrows as he stares back at Ratchet, his frame tense.

"Run away! That's a thing you can do, you know! Well, obviously not now, but prior to losing a leg and a wheel, it was possible." He's offended, hurt that Ratchet would fling the comparison to Pharma at him. He was worried; to First Aid, facing down the DJD was an act only of an idiot. Trailcutter's smile and soft refusal of help was still fresh in his memories. He was tired of stupid heroism.

"Did you even try to call for help? Or anything? I should have known sooner. You could have-- you could have woken me up, or sent someone to wake me up. I'm depressed, not a ghost."

[asafepairofhands]

"And, what, leave him to rip the entire medibay apart? You think I should have called for help? So, what, I could put somebody else in Tarn's line of fire, watch him rip them to pieces? No thank you!" Ratchet says angrily.

"I handled it. And I don't have time to go chasing after you if you're not here, not with two critical patients and everything else that's going on."

[warcorrespondent]

"I'm Aftermath. Journalist." He flicks the credentials out of his wrist compartment and holds them up. "I was hoping you'd be willing to answer some questions regarding what happened with Tarn."

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet's optics go very, very flat.

"Depends on the questions," Ratchet says, his voice sharp. "We've got two critical patients here, and it's a little more complicated getting everything I need to do done now that Tarn has sawed off one of my legs. I don't suppose you can make it quick."

[lifepersists]

First Aid's hands clench into fists at his sides, then turns his head away angrily. He's too tired for this.

"I would have rather him tear the whole city streets apart going after you than tear you limb from limb. We can rebuild. We can't rebuild you."

He punches the door open, then pauses and transforms into his ambulance mode, idling for a moment. (It's a city built for giant transforming robots, okay. There are big doors everywhere.)

"I'm a little bit tired of being helpless to keep people I care about from being torn apart. You could have had someone tell me. Friends generally tell their friends when something bad has happened to them, or you know, get someone else to if they can't. So, if you'll excuse me, sir, I have some rubbish to take out."