heavyweaponsbot | 13th Transmission

[ Fortunately, he wasn't expecting much from him.

It was awkward to say the least, but he had no intention of being the one to relieve the tension.

He knelt at the other's side as he leaned closer to examine the wound. It was a nice mess, but he was still without his tools. If he could only get his internal heating to a high enough temperature, he might be able to do something... but as of yet, no luck.

He started it all the same, hoping that perhaps he could work it up to a suitable heat, and at least patch some of the internal damage, if he couldn't help the armor for the moment. ]

[He wanted to help - to talk to him, and fix things. But every time he tried, he kept picturing that night. And he couldn't say anything.

Contrary to previous medical procedures, he held perfectly still. He'd turned off his own pain receptors as best he could, but they were starting to come back online. His optics shuttered, and he leaned against the wall, simply waiting.

Even if their friendship was ruined, nothing could shake the amount of trust he had in Ratchet's medical skills.]

[ Ratchet knew things were amiss when the Weapons Master actually remained still during the procedure. Ironhide fidgeted at the best of times - he often thought that he would return from the brink of death, if only so he could restless move through surgery.

He leaned closer, optics narrowed as he analyzed the severed connections, warmed fingers able to fuse the thinner metal back together.

But still not enough to do any real welding.

It was frustrating, enough to make him fidget himself. He rerouted his power, attempting to force his internal temperature higher - He could salvage the metal needed for repairs from parts of the ship if he could just get his welders working.

His temper was certainly helping him along. ]

[Holding himself still was keeping his processor focused on other matters entirely--namely, the procedure at hand--and not on what had happened, on what was broken between them now. And it helped to keep himself from wincing as heat was applied to aching, broken parts.

Still, his intakes hissed, and big hands tightened at his sides.

It had been a terrible idea to seek out fights. But that hadn't really sunk in until the second blow to the chest, driving armor and metal into sensitive parts.

He looked up at the ceiling, swearing softly.]

[ With some of the smaller damage repaired, he carefully removed some of the fractured armor where it was digging in. He knew it was uncomfortable, but said nothing of it - Ironhide did not need reminding of what he'd done. It didn't take a doctor to see he'd made the situation worse with his brawling.

Unfortunately, he was running out of repairs he could administer without his tools. Once again.

Drawing back his hand with the metal fragments, he placed his fingers at the edge of the wound, testing the heat. His internal heating was pressed to its enforced limit... not even close to what it should be. ]

[This was so familiar, it was almost soothing, in its own painful sort of way. It probably said something for how many times he'd been repaired that the simple action of the medic working on him calmed his rather notorious temper--eased some of the tension out of his shoulders. He even fidgeted a little.

Still, he said nothing, did not look at the other. The only sound he made was a low, pained growl whenever the damage was handled. It was all he could do, while still maintaining the careful distance.]

[ Resigning himself to the fact that he could do no more for the chest wound at the moment. It only made him all the more determind to retrieve his tools, if only to be useful again.

He withdrew with a small, curt nod to Ironhide, to indicate that he was finished.

... Ratchet refused to be the one to speak, not when he was told so specifically not to talk about anything. ]

[The tension returned as soon as he pulled back. Shoulders hunched up, and he fingered the injury, just for something to do with his hands. It wasn't fixed--he doubted it ever would be while they were on this ship.

"Talk to him. Please. As a favor to me?"

He was silent a moment more, intakes working.]

... You did as well as you could.

[ The voice surprises him, his optics widening slightly as he glances over at the other.

He hadn't expected him to say a word, let alone attempt to reassure him. That was dangerously close to showing some modicum of friendship. ]

Which was not enough, unfortunately.

[He still won't look at him, and apparently the floor is the most interesting thing in the room. What is he supposed to say? Or do? He doesn't want to make contact... have this or any other conversation.

But he hates this distance too. What else is he supposed to do?]

Did well enough.

[ Personally, Ratchet prefers the ceiling. My, it is very interesting - almost moreso than his hand. ]

I suppose.

I... will leave you be, then.

[He shifts, pulling away as best his position will allow. He promised Mikaela... but that doesn't mean he knows how.]

...

What... do you want me to say?

[ He pauses, joining him in staring at the floor. Anything but at Ironhide himself. ]

... I do not expect you to say anything.

[If he looks at him, all he can think about is what they did. The floor is safe. Even safer when he covers his faceplates with a hand.]

... do too. Do not... lie about it.

There is nothing to be said.

You told me not to speak about anything.

[ He internally winces at the cold tone, a soft sigh of air escaping his intakes. ]

I am not going to force you to speak to me, Ironhide. If you do not wish to talk, then... there is nothing to be said.

[He does not move, nor wince. Just shutters his optics behind his hand.]

I...

It... cannot... occur. Again. Avoiding you... I can ensure that.

...

[ He tilts his head slightly to actually look at the other, his expression not changing. ]

You could have ensured that by telling me. If you do not want it to happen again, simply say so - I understand.

We were intoxicated, and influenced by organic hormones. You did not have to avoid me.

[He still won't look at him. Or anywhere near him. He can't.]

... best if you... believed I... did not want to see you. Get intoxicated regularly around here... Who says it would not happen again?

[Some part of him, however, winces at that. It was only organic hormones and alcohol... nothing more. That hurts somehow.]

[ It was far easier to blame it on the hormones and alcohol, rather than admit that Ironhide was avoiding him because of what he felt. If he admitted it was anything other than that, he would likely never want to be around him again... ]

I would... better control myself, knowing that you feel uncomfortable.

[He wanted to blame the alcohol and hormones. But doing so made a part of him, a part he was in no way ready accept, ache. It just added to the reasons why he should avoid his friend.]

... Would not. Too much of a lightweight.

[ He put a hand on his hip, temporarily forgetting himself. ]

Oh?

You think I am incapable of controlling myself after a little Energon?

[Thankfully, he can't see it. He's too busy studying his palm.]

... You are putting words in my vocalizer.

Then what are you suggesting?

That...

[His intakes work.]

... Neither of us... control ourselves... well. After we ... have too much.

... What do you feel is the most appropriate course, then?

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