thisavrou | [audio]

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[audio]

[Only the audio clicks on, and the voice coming through the MID is worn, thin with static and carefully controlled.]

This is Chief--this is Ratchet, giving notice that the portion of the inorganic clinic I was running is currently closed until further notice, as of... now, apparently somewhere around a year from when I last checked. I'll be resuming my duties as soon as--when it's possible for me to do so.

In the meantime, I'm referring my patients to the regular medbay or to Tony Stark, depending on the complexity of the engineering involved. If it's a serious emergency... I can't help you, but I'll try to consult via MID if absolutely necessary. I am not available to answer five hundred questions about why, so don't bother asking. I need to work. Kindly refrain from calling me unless you're actively leaking to death.

...Ratchet out.

[PRIVATE TO WHIRL]
I need to speak with you in person. I'm sending you my coordinates.

Please.

[Somebody's hands finally stopped working to the point where he actually has to quit using them all the time and attach new ones, and he is not having a good day. Feel free to harass him, but there's no guarantee he'll respond.]

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[ Whirl sounds like he's in a bit of a snit when he starts, but it at least sounds like he's moving. Small miracles? ]

So now you want my attention.

What is it, some one finally bother you enough to want to put a hit out? Couldn't you have asked in the 'time that never moved' before we left the planet?

Though, if it is, please say it's Tarn. I'll beat his face in any day.

No, I'm not--nobody's trying to hurt me. I--

[Ratchet stops and is quiet for a long moment, but his voice is tired when he finally speaks again.]

I'll explain when I see you.

[ TYPICAL. ]

... Okay.

But as the substitute teacher for robo-daycare, thanks for the heads up on that by the way, I actually feel 100% entitled to ask five hundred questions about why.

It--

[Ratchet tries to bite out that it doesn't concern him, but he's acutely aware that he just went and made sure it did. He's quiet for a moment.]

...my hands. [The words clearly cost him a great deal.] I died--well. I was killed accidentally, a little while ago, and when I was brought back it was with my old hands. They're just... worn out. I thought I had more time to, to do something about it but that planet sucked down a whole damned year and now I can barely operate my MID, let alone treat patients.

[His tone is even but there's an ache in it that he can't quite smooth out, fear and anger and helplessness clawing their way up his throat to bleed static into his voice.]

I have a few ideas. I'll figure something out. You can call me to consult. But just--please. Until then. I can't just leave them with nothing.

[Whirl's quiet for a moment, because it's weird to hear Ratchet so far off his game and that combined with his statement to the crew is a little worrying.]

Yeah....sure. Whatever you say, Doc. I'll be there in a klik.

[Whirl is true to his word and doesn't take too long to reach the door, knocking on it repetitively with his claws]

[Ratchet heaves himself up from his chair and jams the door mechanism with one blocky elbow before he steps back and tucks his hands close in against his chassis again, his face unreadable once Whirl steps inside and the door slides shut behind him. His optics flicker away from Whirl's briefly but settle back, his spinal strut straightening as the lines around his mouth deepen.]

I'm sorry. [His voice is still quiet, but it's very clear.] You were right. There's something wrong and I didn't want to admit it, so I was cruel to you instead. ...not just you, either. [He dims his optics, wishing he could rub a hand over his face, but he shakes his helm after a moment and forges on.] Either way, it was inexcusable, and I apologize.

But I do need your help. And your... expertise, I guess. If you're willing.

[ Whirl is going to open his big metaphorical mouth until Ratchet does it first and surprises him by apologising of all things. Whirl's first instinct is to look over his shoulder to see if Ratchet is talking to someone else because that seems much more likely, his optic wide and bright. When he looks back his helm tilts awkwardly and it's clear that he's both confused and more than just a little unsure, claws clicking absently.]

Uh. Yeah. It's whatever. I stopped worrying about it when I had someone new to be angry at and turns out we've got an entire species to get slagged off at.

[Whirl waves a claw through the air as if to wave off the apology, made strangely uncomfortable by it an unsure what to do with that.

Besides, there's something more worrying.]

Which set 'a expertise are we talking about? Thought you didn't need me to put holes in someone?

[Ratchet shakes his head and grimaces as he reaches into his subspace and draws out a set of long, thin empurata claws the same shade as his barely responsive hands, clutching at them for a moment before he gives up and lets them drop from numb, shaking fingers into a heap on his desk.]

I need assistance attaching these. I'll walk you through it, and help when I can. And I'd like scans of yours--if you could do a spark transplant with them, I'll probably want to look into making some modifications once I have something to work with.

[ It seems to take Whirl a minute to realize what Ratchet's holding and then he freezes, full frame going still like it's taking all of his processing power to understand what even is happening here in the first place.

He's not entirely sure he's capable of purging his tanks, he's never really been able to and has always required some kind of medical assistance or a hole in his plating, but he has the urge to attempt. His optic cycles off, and then back on. Come on.

Whirl's vocalizer is just clicks before he resets it and actually speaks.]

Yeah-uh- you can scan them sure- [Whirl stops, and then starts again because he's having a particularly hard time trying to track through the process of what he's being asked.] How? How did that- Why do you even need me to-

[Whirl sounds much more frazzled than he really means to, optic bright and talking faster than he really needs to.]

[Drift doesn't really expect Ratchet to answer, but he's going to throw this out there anyway because he's Drift and of course he is.]

Ratchet? I know there's not really anything I can do to help with this, but let me know if there's anything I can do for you, okay?

[ Normally he'd give Ratchet a hard time about leaving a condition like that for so long without immediately addressing it, especially given his line of work, but he's as bent out of shape about their unbeknownst year-long kidnapping as anyone. It's not like any of them intended to squander an entire year, even if it kinda sounds like Ratchet was procrastinating even before then.

He also skips the inevitable "can you even die" question, because Sans made sure that manner of query isn't fun anymore. Dick. ]

Yeah, yeah, I'll look after your brood. I've already fiddled with the parts of at least a couple of them.

Right now, I'm way more interested in what these "a few ideas" are.

They were Glitch's. I gave him hands, while he was here--I had the parts, even if they were a bit of a rush job.

...I'm sorry. [Quietly.] I know that this is--it's not easy. But no one else is steady enough or can manipulate the tools necessary with enough precision for me to ask. And...

[He bites his lip, looking down at the claws for a long moment, then at his hand, shaking even as he just rests it still against the top of his desk.]

I don't think anyone else would understand, even to the point that they might refuse. If you can't help me, at least I'll know it's not because--because you think it's a wrong decision. I have to.

I know. I heard you helped repair Bumblebee, during the mess with the Caducans. It was good work. Thank you.

[That is officially the highest compliment he has ever paid an organic in five and some change million years, Tony, congratulations.]

I have... substitutes. It's not the same, but I'll make do for now. I can't build a new set--not of hands like these. I don't really have a choice.

[There's no answer for a very long time. Then, finally, very quietly--]

Thank you, Drift.

well now, I'm curious what could have the great Autobot chief medical officer abandon his posse so callously. I'm sure there is a hell of a story behind this one.

[WELL HE SURE AS SHIT ISN'T ANSWERING YOU, BUDDY, HAVE FUN TALKING TO AN EMPTY COMM]

[That was more than Drift was expecting so HEY SCORE.]

You're welcome. And I mean it. If you need anything, just say the word.

[Ratchet's right, because if he were in a similar place he'd likely make a similar choice. If it's between barely being able to function and being able to work at all...well, he does get it. And that's the really awful part. Whirl uses the edge of his rotor to press against the front of his helm for a moment, while he vents, and the other claw clicks rapidly.

Okay.

Okay.

The worst part is knowing if he leaves, and just decides not to, that there's really no one who can. As much as he wants to go get very very drunk or hide in storage until someone else deals with the problem....that is not exactly in the cards. After venting again, Whirl puts his claws up. His optic is wide, his plating's flared, and it's more than a little obvious that he'd decidedly not very fond of where he is at the moment, but he doesn't make to leave.]

If you start apologizing for this I'm going to put your helm through a wall.

[He does not sound quite right, but he's clearly present and working with whatever is going on in his head, which is at least better than most people hope for with him.]

Let me guess, you want this done 'ASAP', don't you.

Did something else happen?

[dude seriously Starscream's had a wing off (again!!!!!!) for MAGICALLY a year now what is this bullshit timing Ratchet

it's bullshit that's what.]

[Ratchet just nods, taking the threat in stride, and doesn't apologize again.]

It doesn't have to be right now. But the sooner I can swap them out the faster I'll know if I can work with the empurata limbs, and what modifications I need to make.

No. Well, not exactly.

[Ratchet's voice is very, very steady as he speaks over the comm, no hint of blame or accusation or anger.]

When you die here, something is taken from you, it seems like. For Riptide, it was memories. For me, it was... my hands. They were swapped out for my old ones when I came out of cryo. The reason I left Cybertron on The Lost Light was because my hands were failing, and I needed to find someone else to be CMO. I was able to acquire a new set, instead, but--they're gone. And after a year on that planet, my hands are all but useless. There's nothing I can do about it now.

Just try to stay out of trouble and ,if it's absolutely necessary, go see Tony. He knows how to contact me if he needs help.

Edited 2016-09-20 02:10 (UTC)

[Starscream's quiet for a few moments while he turns all of this over in his head, and wow buddy he's starting to feel bad about oopsie killing Ratchet all over again.]

I... oh.

[He doesn't sound dismissive at all, he just has no idea what the hell to say to this. Wow why is everything always his fault?]

Edited 2016-09-20 02:11 (UTC)

I'll figure something out, Starscream.

[The words catch in his throat like rough-grit sandpaper, leaving him raw.]

I always do.

[You know what's funny is that Starscream has essentially ruined Ratchet's life and Ratchet isn't even yelling at him that is Impressive.]

Yeah. I mean, you've always seemed like the resourceful type.

I've had to be. [Flatly.] And I'm the only medic here, so I don't exactly have a choice.

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