[video] + 001

[asafepairofhands]

[The feed cuts on to show a Cybertronian with a red and white helm, blue optics, and what appears to be a habitually irritated expression on his face. His voice is brisk and no-nonsense.]

This is Ratchet, former Chief Autobot Medical Officer. I've been assigned here as a field medic, apparently, though I'm volunteering to lend my hand in the medical bay on the ship in my off-time. I have no idea where we are or what happened to get us here, which I can deal with considering everything else that's happened the last year or so, but I really don't like not knowing the effects this "Ingress" [brings bright red hands, chipped in places to reveal specks of blue paint, up to add scarequotes] thing may have had on us, so I want people in for checkups.

Autobots, since there seem to be some of you on the ship, I'm assuming I'm still ranking medical officer here so I'm making that an order--report to Moro deck room 022 earliest. Non-Autobots... I obviously can't order you to do anything, but barring any wild extenuating circumstances you're welcome to drop by for a systems check also. You won't be turned away out of hand.

I specialize in non-organic medicine so if there are any non-Cybertronians on board who fit that bill, I can't promise anything, but I'll take a look. If you're strictly organic, you should probably just hit the regular medibay, but I've got some experience and I won't turn you away if you want to come here instead for whatever reason.

Any current medical officers seeing this, I'd like to talk supplies and if I can get put on rotation--I have a holomatter avatar, same as the others, so I'll fit just fine. Unless any of you expect my field medic duties to take up the majority of my time, in which case I would like a much more thorough briefing on what the fresh hell is going on here.

Ratchet out.

Comments

[tsunclonus]

[Cyclonus's lips twitch, pulling away from clenched teeth, anger boiling up in him at the implication that he doesn't respect Tailgate. He's quicker to anger than usual with the corruption in him, and he takes a silent moment to school his features back into a stoic mask.]

I have told him. This isn't a matter of feelings or desires, it's about permanence.

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet watches that mask crack and reassert itself, his face smoothing to a watchful impassivity as he regards Cyclonus.]

And what about this, exactly, do you seem to think is impermanent?

[tsunclonus]

[He intends to shrug Ratchet off, to tell him it's none of his business. Instead his lips part and it all spills out - perhaps because he's tired and irritable from his sickness, perhaps because he's guilty about having hurt Tailgate with his rejection, perhaps because he has his regrets about his decision and is disgusted at his own selfishness - whatever reason, he talks.]

We've known each other for years, Ratchet. Years! [And as a Cybertronian, he doesn't mean that as a long period of time.] In decades, centuries, millenia - Primus knows he'll have the time, I will make certain of that - he will find someone!

Someone who trusts, and cares. Who thinks the best of others and brings them closer instead of pushing him away. Who enjoys the company of others, and dancing and parties. Someone who has no trouble talking about the things they feel, who can say the things he wants to hear. Someone good, like he is.

And when that happens, I will not be the one to stand in the way of his happiness.

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet weathers this sudden storm without too much of a reaction, though his optics dim slightly. He doesn't look annoyed anymore--his face is serious as he regards Cyclonus over the feed.]

So, what I'm hearing is, you don't want to be his conjunx endura because you think he'll find somebody better suited to him and then he'll be stuck with you. But you also won't even give seeing him a shot, conjunx or not, because, what, you think he'd stay with you out of some mixed-up sense of obligation if he wasn't happy, or if he found somebody else, or if he didn't feel like it anymore for whatever reason?

[Ratchet isn't needling anymore--he sounds genuinely curious.]

Are you afraid of him being unhappy, or are you afraid of losing him if he is?

[tsunclonus]

[The rush fades, and as Ratchet speaks he's left feeling tired and empty. Old and worn. He's silent for a long moment, and when he speaks his voice is quiet.]

He is not mine to lose.

I will be anything else he requires of me, but I cannot be his conjunx. I won't break that vow.

[It's too important, too sacred to him, and yet he knows he would break his vows if it meant Tailgate finding happiness with someone deserving of him.]

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet is silent for a long moment, digesting this. He seems to almost... deflate after a minute, rubbing chipped fingers over his mouth.]

Come in for a systems check, Cyclonus. [His voice is quiet.]

I'll leave you alone about this Tailgate stuff, but I still want to make sure you're all right.

[tsunclonus]

I can assure you I am not alright.

[He's wasting away. Again. Like he watched his crew waste away. Like he watched Scourge. He's not alright at all.

Not that he intends to share that part.]

But I'll let you assess my physical condition.

[asafepairofhands]

Relatively, I mean.

[Ratchet's voice is tight.]

And once I've done that, I can get working on a cure.

[tsunclonus]

... I'm still mobile.

[Which means he can get to Ratchet on his own, with some use of the wall to prop him up.]

[asafepairofhands]

I'll come to you.

[His voice is very flat.]

Just give me the deck and room. Not like I have any equipment to move just now anyway.

[tsunclonus]

[Cyclonus knows how to pick his battles, and this isn't one he's likely to win.

So he nods and gives Ratchet his and Tailgate's room number and settles in to wait.]