[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]ICU (Closed for now, Ratchet, Patch)
Apr 5, 2019 16:26:04 GMT -5
Post by Patch on Apr 5, 2019 16:26:04 GMT -5
Patch lowered her helm, and nodded quietly as Ratchet spoke. It sounded like he genuinely did know what to do. Or at the very least how to start. The only thing she would have added, was a reminder that she was there. Patch could always run errands, or collect things, or handle scut-work. That was her job, she was proud of her job.
So when Ratchet went so far as to enlist her help in taking samples? A strong sense of duty filled the femme. Granted, sticking people wasn't exactly her favorite task. (It had the nasty tendency to get you the cold shoulder from some.) Though it was still very important, especially now. The fact he was willing to let her help? Earned him some points in her book.
But then? He mentioned something that, disturbed her. Twisted her farther than she wanted to admit. Patch was hungry, she was tired, she’d just found out the whole world -her whole world, at least- had fallen apart in her absence. And no, that wasn't any excuse. But her temper was still short. Her emotions where raw, her edges frayed… And this was a button for her.
She barely heard his next words, ‘one day at a time’ though if she had? Patch would have found comfort in them.
Instead, as Ratchet finished, her optic ridges lowered, and her field drew close. Spiking lightly in… What could only be described as disgust. “...What do you mean ‘muscle’?”
Patch wasn't a dumb-aft. She knew exactly what he meant, and she didn’t like it in the slightest. But she still needed to at least give him the benefit of the doubt; the time to explain. It was the right thing to do. It was… It was…
...Frag it.
“-Nope, you know what? For that matter? What do you mean by ‘trouble’? You mean death threats? Cause, if not I don’t see how that could possibly be necessary.” She sassed. Her voice suddenly low and hard, all chest and throat. Dead serious as an echo of her past filled her vents, and made her chest puff forward.
The muffle of a tarp fell over her face again. Clinging to her vents as she rasped through it for air. Squirming on the floor of a barracks as not-so-unknown strangers pinned her, and beat her in the middle of the night. For nothing but turning around. Refusing an order. Getting them all in trouble, making them all pay… They had made her pay. She had looked them in the optic the very next day, with fuel still on her recharge slab, and dents still in her frame. She had still trained alongside them that morning… She had never forgiven them. And she still hardly ever felt entirely safe...
She had thought, Ratchet was safe.
Patch felt utterly betrayed by the Physician. She’d thought he was different. She’d thought this whole situation was different. Her spark was burning in her chest, her field flat, her face cross, staring straight up at him. It didn’t matter that that, had been spite, and this would be necessity. They where both restraint, and they where both pain. They were both aggressive, and they were both not okay with Patch.
But she wasn't just angry. She was afraid. She was afraid of the fact that he could turn like this on a dime, without so much as asking if his patients would see reason. Without at least trying to talk to them first! Her helm was darting a mile a minute, drawing connections that didn’t exist-
...What would he do if it turned out Patch had it?
Would he hold her down too? Would he hurt her too? Like they had. Like she had so many; Those who had begged for mercy against that which she was actively trying to give!
No. Patch wouldn't do that again. She couldn't, do that again. She’d give her spark not to.
And she’d give her spark before she let Ratchet do it to anyone either.
So when Ratchet went so far as to enlist her help in taking samples? A strong sense of duty filled the femme. Granted, sticking people wasn't exactly her favorite task. (It had the nasty tendency to get you the cold shoulder from some.) Though it was still very important, especially now. The fact he was willing to let her help? Earned him some points in her book.
But then? He mentioned something that, disturbed her. Twisted her farther than she wanted to admit. Patch was hungry, she was tired, she’d just found out the whole world -her whole world, at least- had fallen apart in her absence. And no, that wasn't any excuse. But her temper was still short. Her emotions where raw, her edges frayed… And this was a button for her.
She barely heard his next words, ‘one day at a time’ though if she had? Patch would have found comfort in them.
Instead, as Ratchet finished, her optic ridges lowered, and her field drew close. Spiking lightly in… What could only be described as disgust. “...What do you mean ‘muscle’?”
Patch wasn't a dumb-aft. She knew exactly what he meant, and she didn’t like it in the slightest. But she still needed to at least give him the benefit of the doubt; the time to explain. It was the right thing to do. It was… It was…
...Frag it.
“-Nope, you know what? For that matter? What do you mean by ‘trouble’? You mean death threats? Cause, if not I don’t see how that could possibly be necessary.” She sassed. Her voice suddenly low and hard, all chest and throat. Dead serious as an echo of her past filled her vents, and made her chest puff forward.
The muffle of a tarp fell over her face again. Clinging to her vents as she rasped through it for air. Squirming on the floor of a barracks as not-so-unknown strangers pinned her, and beat her in the middle of the night. For nothing but turning around. Refusing an order. Getting them all in trouble, making them all pay… They had made her pay. She had looked them in the optic the very next day, with fuel still on her recharge slab, and dents still in her frame. She had still trained alongside them that morning… She had never forgiven them. And she still hardly ever felt entirely safe...
She had thought, Ratchet was safe.
Patch felt utterly betrayed by the Physician. She’d thought he was different. She’d thought this whole situation was different. Her spark was burning in her chest, her field flat, her face cross, staring straight up at him. It didn’t matter that that, had been spite, and this would be necessity. They where both restraint, and they where both pain. They were both aggressive, and they were both not okay with Patch.
But she wasn't just angry. She was afraid. She was afraid of the fact that he could turn like this on a dime, without so much as asking if his patients would see reason. Without at least trying to talk to them first! Her helm was darting a mile a minute, drawing connections that didn’t exist-
...What would he do if it turned out Patch had it?
Would he hold her down too? Would he hurt her too? Like they had. Like she had so many; Those who had begged for mercy against that which she was actively trying to give!
No. Patch wouldn't do that again. She couldn't, do that again. She’d give her spark not to.
And she’d give her spark before she let Ratchet do it to anyone either.