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

Entry tags:

ratchet | asafepairofhands

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

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.

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"It would be no problem for me to come back at a better time," Aftermath points out gently. It wasn't the first time he's drawn back for the sake of the people he'd intended to interview.

"But I can also be quick."

Ratchet vents a crack of black laughter, genuine amusement warming his optics for a moment.

"Exactly how long do you think you're going to be waiting for a 'better time' at the only emergency medical facility on the planet?" he asks, teeth flashing in a brief grin as he shakes his helm, limping smoothly to the other end of a counter to start organizing some of the motley assortment of tools they've managed to collect. "No, if you're just going to come back, let's get this over with. What do you want to know?"

Ratchet's optics darken at that, the smile sliding off his face.

"You know, then," he says, sounding tired again. "You're not the first person I've run into who's--who's in the same situation. Seems rude to just drop it on people's heads, though. "He struggles for a moment before he can speak again.

"...I'm sorry."

Ratchet watches her, his optics narrowing slowly.

"Sure, c'mere, I can pop that for you," he says, settling into his crutches and holding out a hand. "Does 'this unit' happen to have a name?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ratchet says, shaking his head. "I took off from Cyberton in part to get away from the little parasite, I know. Can't blame me for wishful thinking, though."

He looks at Sixshot curiously.

"Can you not at all? I imagine there's someone in this barren rustpile that has to be brewing their own high grade by now. It's not like we have much else to do here but that and killing each other, and we seem to have tired of that as a species lately." He shifts on his crutches. "With a few notable exceptions."

"Yeah?" Ratchet shifts again, trying to get a better look at Spy Shot, tiny as he is. "Define 'NBE' for me, would you?"

"We're not that badly staffed," Ratchet says thoughtfully. "I've run places witih worse. Not with so many potential patients and so few supplies, though, not without relief coming."

He pauses, looking down at her curiously. "You have a lot of experience running emergency clinics, then?"

"Kind of hard not knowing."

You don't feel that sort of pain and go dark without... Yeah. Ratchet doesn't need to apologize for it.

"Hey... Some good came from it, right? There are worse ways of going out."

She'll just thrust her arm at his hand then, as she moves closer, she's not very good at social things yet Ratchet so don't mind the bluntness of her motions.

"This Unit is referred to as Miria," she replies, idly sizing Ratchet up. "You are injured, should you not be getting repaired instead? ... Also This Unit has built in weaponry within the damaged area."

Yeah, she should mention that since she's got a lot of weaponry. Miria may not know Ratchet but she certainly wouldn't want to injure the medic more.

"I'm a nurse myself," June says with a faint smile. This Ratchet is...hm. He's direct and to the point, and he doesn't waste time, but he doesn't seem like he has the tendency toward all the complaining she's grown used to with the Ratchet she knows. She likes that Ratchet just fine, but this is also sort of refreshing.

"Head nurse of the emergency department, actually. I mean, I work out of a hospital, so I've got the benefit of infrastructure support, but -- well, I'm sure you know."

"You remember."

It's not a question. Ratchet opens his mouth, then closes it carefully and cycles his vents in a sigh, trying not to look as awkward as he feels.

"Megatron still has your badge, as far as I know. Things have been... weird. But--yeah. There are worse ways."

Bumblebee kind of shrugs in response. Yes, he remembers. The only thing is how much can one remember in that situation? It kind of happened too fast.

"He does," the yellow Autobot confirms. "I met up with him. It was the only way I could really believe it, you know?"

Who would have thought that Megatron would be an Autobot? It's laughable and no one could believe it unless they were to see it.

"Figured I'd let him hang onto it. A not so subtle challenge."

Well, he wasn't about to look the gift horse in the mouth. Stepping further into the clinic, he's careful not to knock anything over with his rather larger than average frame. It was a bit cramped in here for the grey truck.

"Time of the day, location, a date stamp and a basic description of what happened before, during and after. You don't need to go through the explicit details if you don't want to." He flips a little microphone out and gestures to it. "I will be recording you on this."

"And if you need help with things while you talk, I have no qualms doing that too. Is that alright with you?"

“Obtaining energon’s not the problem,” Sixshot admits with an awkward canine shrug.

“As you know,” because Sixshot yakked about it in the fight after he’d chased Ratchet down. “I was reconstructed with a regenerative dark matter fission cell.”

“I cannot consume energon anymore. I am not capable obtaining of the energy high that results from energon consumption.”

"Oh!" Spy Shot says, jogging towards Ratchet. "NBEs are non-biological extraterrestrials. It is the term I am used to using, but I know it isn't what you call yourselves. Was that rude? I am sometimes rude when I don't mean to be."

Ratchet gives Aftermath an exceedingly dry look, then sighs.

"Why do you want this?" he asks, eyeing the microphone warily. "If you're trying to build a case against Tarn, for some insane, pointless reason, you certainly don't need my testimony to flesh it out. He's well-documented as a monster already--that's the point of him. He makes sure everybody knows what he's done, otherwise what's the point? Why are you so excited to give him a platform?"

"Huh," Ratchet says. "Well, it's been a hell of a ride so far and it's only been a couple of months. He seems mostly above-board, but who the hell knows anymore? People who shouldn't be wearing the badge are made ship captains, and people who should have it have had it taken from them." His optics stray to Drift's berth again, his expression shifting, but he shakes it off after a moment.

"Anyway, he says, his optics warming slightly as he looks at Bee. "It's good to see you. Even with what a mess everything else is."

"Yeah, for triage, maybe," Ratchet says, eyeing Val. "That's keeping them alive. We're not in enough of a crisis situation here that that's all we have time to worry about."

"If someone gets cancer or whatever, I'll invent a cure then." She wrinkled her nose as she continued to stare up at Ratchet. "Given all the Decepticons wandering around, trauma treatment seems more likely to be useful in the short term."

For example: Ratchet's missing leg.

"People who should be here aren't and some that maybe shouldn't be are," Bee admits. Though instead of Megatron, he is more referring to Starscream. That's the price of war, isn't it? Peace time isn't anything like he thought it would be - or had hoped that it would be.

He takes Ratchet in, little smiles and all. Of course he isn't going to express his thoughts. Ratchet is probably having some of his own.

"I'm glad to see you too, Ratchet. Always helps having good friends close. Still say I could've used you back on Cybertron."

"I'm not injured," Ratchet says mildly. "I'm missing a leg. It doesn't hurt." He scans her arm briefly and can't help venting a low whistling noise.

"You weren't kidding about weaponry. Let me see..." He extends an attachment from his wrist and seats it against the dented plaint before pulling carefully to unbuckle it.

"There. Won't be good as new, but it'll keep it from interfering with your internals, at least," he says, nodding. "Anything else wrong?"

Ratchet actually laughs, a low, black sound, but his optics are glinting.

"Oh, I know," he says, shaking his helm. "Being CMO means I wasn't shoved anywhere the supply lines were too bad, usually, not by my own choice, but it happened. I'm glad we have someone who knows organic medicine around, though. It doesn't seem to exactly be Valeria's specialty, on top of her being three, and it's certainly not mine."

"You know, and I never thought I'd be saying this, but there's something to be said for a little empathy thrown in with the quality of the rest of the care." He watches Val narrowly and is nearly swamped under a sudden, powerful wave of longing for Wheeljack's company. He shakes his helm a little.

"You're a scientist, not a doctor. It shows."

Hey, having poor empathy was normal for Val's developmental stage. She wouldn't be as bad about it if there were an injured person present, but most problems were intellectual ones to her. It was the only way she could cope with her mental abilities so far outstripping her emotional ones.

"Obviously." She didn't regard that as any kind of insult or even really an admonition, because who wanted to be a medical doctor. Not her. "But okay, fine, I'll write down everything I know about human physiology, biochemistry, and medicine, and then you'll have a reference."

Val never forgot a fact, so what she knew about the human body, while scant compared to her awe-inspiring grasp of physics or math, was still a lot.

"Right," Ratchet says, remembering now. He's recalling that whole chase more vividly now, actually.

"Well, you have my deepest sympathies. Or something."

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