[The ping was all he needed. He'd been up on the top deck, as he was so often lately, just firing rounds into the ocean. Maybe he'd hit a whale. It was pointless, but no other option presented itself.
He still felt lost.
If he were a more thoughtful, less linear 'Bot, he'd make some metaphor about the boat and the ocean in relation to his feelings, but that didn't do anything but clutter up his processor. It was stupid. Still half-silent, still somber, he answered the summons almost mechanically.
He didn't speak when he stepped into the room, just limped in, and stood in front of his medic - his partner - his expression distant.]
[It didn't take a genius to notice Ironhide's solemn mood - Particularly in light of the fact he had his cannons back. There were times that Ratchet wondered if he didn't consider them his closest teammates... So for him to still be so downcast, it was a serious issue.
Then again, he had seen the same images. That broken red and blue armor had burned itself into his memory core, whether or not he believed it. Considering the information they had been given after the fact, it was hard to refute...
But after so many millennia, and seeing Optimus return from death once... He refused to allow himself to give up hope. He hadn't the first time he'd lost his leader - To do so now would only cheapen the sacrifices Optimus had made for them.]
On the floor. It will be easier to work with you sitting down.
[He sits, as told. Every joint seems to creak and groan as he does so. This is routine, it's familiar, and, oddly enough, some part of it is comforting. There might very well be nothing left, but, no matter what happens, he'll always need repairs.
And there's only one medic he ever wants looking at his injuries.
Still, he can't shake off the melancholy - the sudden wave of despair. He's tried, Mike and Xanth tried. He just doesn't know what to do anymore. So he sits there, slowly raising his good optic to meet Ratchet's.
[Ratchet settles himself in front of the larger mech, fingers brushing over chest plating - Probably more than he needed to, considering how frequently he'd assessed the damage. But then, the injuries weren't only physical in this case.
Meeting his optics, the medic can only maintain a neutral expression, tilting his head slightly. He would be there with him, even if their world was lost. He didn't want to believe that it was; it wasn't even logical that it was gone. The variances in their timelines, the reappearances of those from their world... How would it be possible, if that universe had been obliterated?
But it was hard to dispute the evidence that had been piling up... And even harder to reassure when he didn't have enough hope for himself. This wasn't something that could be fixed with a surgical blade.]
I doubt this will be a particularly sightly repair - You've lost a large piece of the external plating. It will be solid, at least
( ... )
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He still felt lost.
If he were a more thoughtful, less linear 'Bot, he'd make some metaphor about the boat and the ocean in relation to his feelings, but that didn't do anything but clutter up his processor. It was stupid. Still half-silent, still somber, he answered the summons almost mechanically.
He didn't speak when he stepped into the room, just limped in, and stood in front of his medic - his partner - his expression distant.]
Yeah?
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Then again, he had seen the same images. That broken red and blue armor had burned itself into his memory core, whether or not he believed it. Considering the information they had been given after the fact, it was hard to refute...
But after so many millennia, and seeing Optimus return from death once... He refused to allow himself to give up hope. He hadn't the first time he'd lost his leader - To do so now would only cheapen the sacrifices Optimus had made for them.]
On the floor. It will be easier to work with you sitting down.
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And there's only one medic he ever wants looking at his injuries.
Still, he can't shake off the melancholy - the sudden wave of despair. He's tried, Mike and Xanth tried. He just doesn't know what to do anymore. So he sits there, slowly raising his good optic to meet Ratchet's.
Tell me you can fix this.]
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Meeting his optics, the medic can only maintain a neutral expression, tilting his head slightly. He would be there with him, even if their world was lost. He didn't want to believe that it was; it wasn't even logical that it was gone. The variances in their timelines, the reappearances of those from their world... How would it be possible, if that universe had been obliterated?
But it was hard to dispute the evidence that had been piling up... And even harder to reassure when he didn't have enough hope for himself. This wasn't something that could be fixed with a surgical blade.]
I doubt this will be a particularly sightly repair - You've lost a large piece of the external plating. It will be solid, at least ( ... )
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