Ratchet actually stops what he's doing and sets the tools down, putting his hands back on his crutches so he can turn and look at Aftermath, his optics sharp and focused.
"Yeah," he says finally, nodding slightly. "Yeah, all right. Well, it was right here, a few days ago. Didn't get the exact time. Megatron--the one from the past, I mean, if that even helps since there's a half-dozen of them running around--brought Tarn here to be fixed, not really knowing who he was, and left a bit after. Tarn wanted a t-cog transplant, too, since he'd nearly worn through the one he was using. I told him to shove it up his tailpipe."
Ratchet's optics gleam a little, but his voice is mostly flat as he continues, watching Aftermath's face. "He didn't take too kindly to that and started tearing drawers open and dumping things on the floor. So, I jumped him." He has the grace to look at least slightly sheepish. "Not really the most complex plan I've ever executed, but it's not like I could outrun him if I did get the hell out of there, and he would have ripped the medibay apart anyway. We've only just got it in working order and we need it here. So, anyway. It was a lot of him yelling at me to tell me where the t-cog was and me telling him to go to hell, and he crushed my knee joint in one of his hands before he grabbed a saw from an upturned drawer and gave me one last chance to tell me where it was." Ratchet shrugs a little, helplessly. "I'm stubborn, I guess. So he cut my leg off and then realized Megatron would be back shortly and booked it. I managed to patch it myself before I bled out, and that was it."
He cycles his vents in a rough sigh, leaning a little harder into his crutches.
"Look. I'll treat pretty much anyone who shows up in my medibay, Decepticon or not. It's my job, and refusing care has never been an option, not for us. But just--not him. For a lot of reasons. I just want it be clear it's not our policy to randomly attempt to stab people coming to us for help, all right?"
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"Yeah," he says finally, nodding slightly. "Yeah, all right. Well, it was right here, a few days ago. Didn't get the exact time. Megatron--the one from the past, I mean, if that even helps since there's a half-dozen of them running around--brought Tarn here to be fixed, not really knowing who he was, and left a bit after. Tarn wanted a t-cog transplant, too, since he'd nearly worn through the one he was using. I told him to shove it up his tailpipe."
Ratchet's optics gleam a little, but his voice is mostly flat as he continues, watching Aftermath's face. "He didn't take too kindly to that and started tearing drawers open and dumping things on the floor. So, I jumped him." He has the grace to look at least slightly sheepish. "Not really the most complex plan I've ever executed, but it's not like I could outrun him if I did get the hell out of there, and he would have ripped the medibay apart anyway. We've only just got it in working order and we need it here. So, anyway. It was a lot of him yelling at me to tell me where the t-cog was and me telling him to go to hell, and he crushed my knee joint in one of his hands before he grabbed a saw from an upturned drawer and gave me one last chance to tell me where it was." Ratchet shrugs a little, helplessly. "I'm stubborn, I guess. So he cut my leg off and then realized Megatron would be back shortly and booked it. I managed to patch it myself before I bled out, and that was it."
He cycles his vents in a rough sigh, leaning a little harder into his crutches.
"Look. I'll treat pretty much anyone who shows up in my medibay, Decepticon or not. It's my job, and refusing care has never been an option, not for us. But just--not him. For a lot of reasons. I just want it be clear it's not our policy to randomly attempt to stab people coming to us for help, all right?"