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

[warcorrespondent]

"Ratchet," Aftermath utters, sounding rather stunned. "Tarn is part of an army where one out of twenty five soldiers have personally been smacked sober by Megatron himself. This is the first time I've heard anything about Tarn having an addiction."

He's heard of the DJD collecting t-cogs, but where they'd ended up had always been a mystery. In hindsight, it probably shouldn't have come as such a surprise that the DJD themselves would have been hypocritical on the matter of addiction.

"This is kind of surreal, is all," he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "You've basically just fought a mech I've been conditioned to think of as some kind of boogeyman for most of my military career. I know he's not, but..."

Although the description of Tarn getting kneed in the crotch has the journalist smothering an amused grin behind his mask.

[asafepairofhands]

"Yeah, by doing permanent, traumatic damage to their FIM chips without their explicit consent! Do not even get me started--" Ratchet says indignantly, then stops. Not the point.

"Tarn," he bites out, lips curling back from his teeth, "has been indulged. Like all of Megatron's favored creations. I knew people who were on Garrus-9, understand? I've actually fought Overlord. But when they're not being indulged, whatever poor behavior they're participating in is willfully ignored, so it comes out to about the same."

He cycles his vents and leans to one side to free up a hand so he can rub his forehelm, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly.

"I mean, I get it. I've had Decepticon POWs beg me not to save their lives because they'd rather just die than risk being put on Tarn's stupid List. But however much they want to think they're special--however much Tarn wants to think he's special--he's not. He's just another petty torturer in a war full of petty torturers, and I'm picking up the mess. It's tiresome more than it is anything else."

[warcorrespondent]

"The point of eliminating addiction was to ensure we're all in tip-top shape to keep fighting for the empire." Aftermath looks quietly away. "Overlord is supposed to be the way he is, at least up until the moment he went rogue; a soldier who will kill and destroy, devoid of all other distractions."

"All Decepticons are supposed to be that way." The DJD went after Overlord because he'd let himself become distracted from serving the Cause and deserting his post. Not because of his self indulgent murder arena. Not even in regards to all the Decepticon soldiers he'd killed. It was specifically just because he stopped being useful to the empire.

"Addiction to engex just tended to be treated more lightly because it was so common." FIM chip damage was 'light' by Decepticons standards, really. Very, very light.

[asafepairofhands]

"Three years old. That's young for you lot, isn't it? She seems young, anyway."

He pauses, catching the look on June's face.

"You all right?"

[asafepairofhands]

"What part of 'he tried to shoot me to death' was ambiguous and opaque?" Ratchet asks, shaking his head.

"That's not even all of it. He was on Luna-1, with Tyrest. Not sure how much of that story you got, but he helped try to kill half of pretty much everybody. He murdered another Autobot medic right in front of me and left the corpse for me to try and fix." That makes Ratchet falter, the memory of First Aid's shrill, angry, frightened voice in his audial and Ambulon's plating cooling steadily under his stolen hands. He shakes it off after a moment, but his optics are still dim.

"He's killed hundreds of innocent people for next to no reason. You absolutely need to be careful."

[asafepairofhands]

"Yeah, well. It doesn't shock me that Megatron would make an exception for one of his most precious murderers. The DJD didn't exactly fight for 'the empire,' either," and there go the finger quotes, "not according to any Decepticon I've ever met. The idea that they were actually helping only makes sense if people fight better when they're trapped and terrified and angry, which hasn't been the case in my experience."

Some of the fight drains from Ratchet, leaving him looking tired.

"Though I guess that's more of an ideological difference than a strictly practical one, ignoring the fact that we technically won the war. Whatever the hell that even means." He shrugs a little, remembering the microphone abruptly and straightening on his crutches, self-conscious.

"Is there anything else you wanted, or is that it?"

[warcorrespondent]

The ideological and cultural differences between Decepticon and Autobot society was vast and deep. Aftermath had been struggling for years to put things into words, trying to explain, trying to understand it himself.

It wasn't the sort of thing that could easily be discussed with time constraints however, and he doesn't try to push the subject. He'd already taken up a lot of Ratchet's free time.

"That'll be more than fine, thank you," the old truck nods, flipping the microphone away and shutting off the recording software.

"Before I leave however, I've found some potential supplies while I was out and about. Not sure if it's anything too useful, but..." Sliding a medium sized crate out of his inventory, he looks at Ratchet expectantly. "Would you like me to leave it here for you?"

SORRY IM LATE DOC

[towardspeace]

The repairs Megatron needs after his face-off with Tarn are relatively minor. That's not to say he doesn't need them – he's come in limping, and with one optic cracked and sparking, and there are numerous dents in his plating – but at least he doesn't need any of his limbs reattached this time.

The same cannot, of course, be said for Ratchet.

Megatron raises an eyebrow as he looks down at the conspicuous absence of leg. Obviously it's not new to him, he was in here before, to see Drift, but he didn't really get the chance to remark on it.

"When are you planning on having that reattached, Doctor?"

[tomemyoutliers]

"I see," is all Shockwave says for the moment, face sympathetic. One hand goes to briefly grasp Ratchet's shoulder in a gesture of concern and trust that he knows what is best for him, although Shockwave sincerely doubts he would keep himself from overworking.

He'll have to find a way to deal with that. Somehow.

"It shouldn't be difficult to fabricate a replacement - when we've found the materials required." He dislikes the fact he does not have ridiculous amounts of money to buy whatever he wants and needs anymore. It's been a cruel and difficult adjustment period, what can he say?

[milkruns]

"Young?" June repeats, staring agape at Ratchet. "Young? She's a toddler! You're telling me you've been letting a three year old run around unsupervised? Around a bunch of giant robots who can barely watch where they step with adult humans?"

[taselikeabee]

"Still..." Bee replies, then shakes his head. He doesn't know anything about what happened on Luna-1. Rodimus hadn't explained that when they met up. What Bumblebee wants is more details on this because it sounds pretty important. No one had known where Tyrest had hidden himself away to, right? Then to hear that the guy had turned to murdering?

It's pretty unsettling. Even more so for Bee is the fact that something in Ratchet wavers. Bee can see it, but doesn't bring it up. Not quite yet.

"Sounds like you've had a rough year, Ratchet. If you need to talk..."

Well. Bee is here.

UD BETTER BE WOW

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet looks up from what he's doing to take in Megatron's battered state, letting his lip curl slowly. He leans down and scoops a twisted mess of wires and half-stripped plating out of a box labeled 'spares' and thunks it down on the table. It's only recognizable as what used to be a leg after a few moments' scrutiny, once the deep, crumpled indentations made by Tarn's fingers around the knee joint are identifiable as a hand print to bring the rest into focus. Some of the plating is missing from the upper thigh, and a few wires have been cut, stripped, or removed entirely with what is clearly surgical precision.

"Oh, I don't know," Ratchet says, his voice chill poison as he turns back to his other project to pack it up, apparently in no particular hurry despite Megatron's injuries. "You're the one who wanted to be a medic. Why don't you tell me when that," he jerks his chin at the mangled remains of his limb, "will be loadbearing again."

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet's optics widen, then soften slightly.

"Seems like you have enough of your own problems to deal with," he says, slightly wry, but his voice warms. "Same goes for you too, though. My door's always open, you know that. And--thanks."

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet stares briefly down at the hand on his shoulder, then back up at Shockwave, his face softening very, very slightly.

"You're not used to working with resource shortages either," he says, faintly wry. "No fun, is it?"

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet's optics widen at the box, peering into it before something close to an actual smile flashes over his face, brief and bright.

"This is great, thanks." He vents a soft half-laugh. "Keep bringing stuff like this and you can come in and ask all the questions you want."

[taselikeabee]

"Not really. Not now," Bumblebee replies with a little bit of a somber tone. "Any problems that I could have had are out of my hands."

Since whoever is left has inherited them. Starscream, perhaps. Megatron to a degree. Hell, even Optimus Prime. Everything that Bumblebee has tried to do and all of the issues that he's been trying to deal with fall on them. He just needs to sort himself out.

"You're still going to have to fill me in on everything. Rodimus, bless him, won't give me an un-Rodimus version of events."

[warcorrespondent]

"Well," Aftermath chuffs, pleasantly surprised at the reaction. "I'll keep my visor peeled for anything useful then."

Especially if he gets to be regaled with more tales of Ratchet kicking over-powered sadists in the groin area.

[tomemyoutliers]

It is the worst. He cannot work like this, Ratchet, his creativity and helpfulness is stunted and he is so very frustrated with his inability to do practically anything of value or of use so he spends his days coming up with bigger and better plans to do to make this place livable and that's a bad idea as far as anyone else should be concerned.

It is the worst, and it's very clear on his face.

"No, I'd never recommend it."

THE. WORST.

MY ENTIRE BEING IS NAUGHT BUT REPENTANCE

[towardspeace]

Megatron's expression doesn't really change as he looks down at the ex-leg, except for a slight eyebrow-raise. Or, you know, what would be an eyebrow raise if he had eyebrows.

"I see," he says, as if this exchange has been completely civil so far. "No time for serious repairs, I take it."

[asafepairofhands]

"No time and no supplies. I've already had to strip parts of it out to repair Drift's destroyed vocalizer so he could talk to you. I'm not even going to ask how that went."

Ratchet watches Megatron balefully for a moment before he cycles his vents in a sharp rush and jerks his chin towards one of the slabs.

"Sit down, so I can start scanning you. It's going to take some time to be able to get new optic glass, but I'll see what I can do about everything else." He does a few quick scans then gets to work on Megatron's leg, his mouth set into a tight line.

"You didn't kill him, did you." It isn't really a question, and between the size of the dents and the short, rough transfers of purple paint Ratchet doesn't even pretend to not know from whom Megatron had collected his injuries.

[towardspeace]

And if he's not going to ask, Megatron's not about to get into it. He sits as requested with a curt, businesslike nod of – acknowledgement, rather than thanks, but it's close.

"No, I didn't," he says, watching Ratchet work with a small, restrained frown. "I've gathered that was an unpopular decision."