Ratchet

One brow ridge lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile. Generally he didn’t take promises made when he was servo deep in a mech’s internals seriously, but this time he’d made an exception.

“Something something date, I believe. Unless I’m wrong, in which case sit down anyway, I could use a drinking partner.”

aeonmagnus

doc-on-deck:

And like each time before, it was met with a roll of his optics and a slightly harder then was necessary uncoupling of the port juncture he needed to filter through the fluid. Though that was the only thing he did roughly, and only because nothing would be damaged by the bit of indelicate handling.

At least not by him, he knew what he was doing.

“I’d smack you if I thought you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Fluid lines were plugged in, and he set the machine to refresh the mech’s hydraulics. Checking the waste as it came out with a critical optic, and sighing as he saw, once again, that Ironhide would need internal integrity manually checked out. Not because of that, but because he knew Ironhide didn’t like what he termed ‘unnecessary slag’. Something Ratchet just called ‘maintenance’.

“Mmm, I’ll have to replace at least one filter. One, if I’m lucky, two or three if I’m not. I hope you don’t have anything to do for a few hours.”

He grunted at the rough treatment, but didn’t complain. If anything, his smirk grew wider. Was always a little boost to his ego, being able to push Ratchet into mechhandling him with just a few words and a well placed optic-ridge waggle.

His grin fell when he heard the doctor’s prognosis. Should have figured. His systems didn’t keep up like they used to. Parts were always needing repairs and a lot of what he had been built with were no longer in production. The veteran had just gotten lucky Perceptor was damn good at fandangling new parts that could act as a replacement and that Ratchet was damn good at finding ways to make them work with Ironhide’s outdated systems.

“Hrm,” he pursed his lips, pretending as though he was thinking the medic’s words over. “Think Ah can make time fer ya. Cab make a date o’ it,” he teased.

“A date of it, you say? Well I hope you’re alright with me showing up dull, I haven’t time for a wax and polish.”

It was all delivered in the same bland voice he’d used before, but the corners of his mouth twitched up in a hidden, half smile. He enjoyed the banter, not that he’d ever tell Ironhide that. The old mech had far too much of an ego already, in Ratchet’s opinion.

Though he did pat the outside of his thigh. Almost absentmindedly, almost nonchalantly.

“Though I’ve heard stories, Ironhide, I expect those paws of yours to stay against your own chassis.”

With the fluid filtered properly, he moved to refill the older mech with new. Humming as the pump whined, and deftly recapping the juncture when it was finished, sliding the small access panel back into place.

“You’ll need to turn over, please.”

ash-d-young-deactivated20150811

Mh.

He’ll sit in the rec room, just about hidden in the corner, and sip on his high grade. Watching. It helped him identify who needed what, of who was trying to hide something. Not always medical, but good to do to keep his skill sharp, nonetheless.

There. Bumblebee was favoring his left servo, just enough to make him think it was more then a passing strain. He’d need to be looked at.

Jazz hadn’t moved in much longer then normal, meant he was waiting for someone that hadn’t shown up just yet.

Sideswipe had a bit of static in his voice, more then likely he and Bluestreak would be disappearing shortly.

And so on.

He sipped at his drink again, leaned back, and let the nuances of the mecha around him pull him in for a while.

#ic status

enimitty

Palette 10: Ironhide?

doc-on-deck:

“I see that.”

He pointed to a berth, one brow ridge cocked, and stood up from his desk to walk over. Pulling out the little tubes from the end of the cycling machine and hooking them up against the front, ready to be used.

“You know the drill, Ironhide. Face down, aft up. Let’s get this done so you can go back to shooting off those guns of yours, or whatever it is you find more important then being here when you’re supposed to be.”

And the droll look in his optics brooks no argument. He’s had to do this with Ironhide every damn cycle since he was promoted to head medic, and he’s sure it’ll happen every cycle after.

He let out an entirely exaggerated long, suffering sigh. Followed by incoherent grumbles and a scowl in his friend’s direction. Mech just had to be cheeky. Made maintaining any real ire of the situation difficult. The dry humor Ratchet casual laid into his everyday conversation always managing to get a reluctant chuckle from the weapons specialist.

Ironhide held it in though. Would do to let Doc know. Give the bot too much power over him.

“Ya know,” he started. Stepping over to the mediberth. “If all ya wanted ta do was grope mah aft,” he continued as he climbed up onto the metal slab. Pressing his chassis to berth as far as his kibble would allow him to go. Then spreading his legs and raising his aft high, wiggling it for good measure.

“Ya coulda jus’ asked.” The words were routine and Hide smirked as he said them. They had been what he said during last cycle’s hydraulics flush. And the cycle before that. And the cycle before that. And the…

And like each time before, it was met with a roll of his optics and a slightly harder then was necessary uncoupling of the port juncture he needed to filter through the fluid. Though that was the only thing he did roughly, and only because nothing would be damaged by the bit of indelicate handling.

At least not by him, he knew what he was doing.

“I’d smack you if I thought you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Fluid lines were plugged in, and he set the machine to refresh the mech’s hydraulics. Checking the waste as it came out with a critical optic, and sighing as he saw, once again, that Ironhide would need internal integrity manually checked out. Not because of that, but because he knew Ironhide didn’t like what he termed ‘unnecessary slag’. Something Ratchet just called ‘maintenance’.

“Mmm, I’ll have to replace at least one filter. One, if I’m lucky, two or three if I’m not. I hope you don’t have anything to do for a few hours.”

doc-on-deck:

The medical bay is ready, it always is, and Ratchet is sitting at a small desk with a bland expression on his face as he waits for the weapon’s specialist to come in. And filing papers, he might as well get something done while Ironhide drags his pedes down here.

“You’d think he was a sparkling about to get a shot, tch.”

Hide’s helm is thrown back as he walks. Sounds of protests coming from his vocalizer. His pedes stomp and the veteran does everything he can to look the picture of discontent. He hates going to medical. Unless he was near dying, it was a waste of his time and Ratchet’s. And Ironhide hates to wast time.

When he finally reaches the medbay, even the doors drag as they open. He straightens his posture and loses the grimace, if only out of respect for the white bot across the bay from him, sitting at a desk.

“M’here,” he grumbles. Hopefully the CMO would make it quick. As the medic looks to be busy filing datapads. They had to be important. More important than a hydraulics flush the veteran doesn’t really need. He had been given one last year for Pit’s sake.

“I see that.”

He pointed to a berth, one brow ridge cocked, and stood up from his desk to walk over. Pulling out the little tubes from the end of the cycling machine and hooking them up against the front, ready to be used.

“You know the drill, Ironhide. Face down, aft up. Let’s get this done so you can go back to shooting off those guns of yours, or whatever it is you find more important then being here when you’re supposed to be.”

And the droll look in his optics brooks no argument. He’s had to do this with Ironhide every damn cycle since he was promoted to head medic, and he’s sure it’ll happen every cycle after.

The medical bay is ready, it always is, and Ratchet is sitting at a small desk with a bland expression on his face as he waits for the weapon’s specialist to come in. And filing papers, he might as well get something done while Ironhide drags his pedes down here.

“You’d think he was a sparkling about to get a shot, tch.”

::You're late for your hydraulics flush, Ironhide. Do I need to come get you?::

::But Doooooooc. They got flushed last solar-cycle.::

doc-on-deck:

::Mmm, funny thing about that, how they need constant maintenance. Now, please.::

::Cain’t ya put meh last on the list fer once?::

::You ARE the last one on the list. Come now, Ironhide. I’m not going to ask again.::

::You're late for your hydraulics flush, Ironhide. Do I need to come get you?::

::But Doooooooc. They got flushed last solar-cycle.::