[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Impact Damage [Avalanche,Patch]

[Patch]

Episode 3, Week 1, Day 4.
Takes place immediately after "Making an Impression".

It wasn’t unusual to hear sounds coming from the control room into sickbay.

Especially not in the afternoon. People tended to be busy in the afternoon. People coming and going, starting shifts and duties and ending them. Of course most of the commotion was generally dampened somewhat by the door. It was only really easy to pick out the sounds when sitting rather near to it.

Patch enjoyed making a game of this sometimes.

Listening to the voices and the footfalls as others milled around. Telling stories, and guessing about what they may have been up to. Patch frequently wondered what it must have been like when sickbay and the control room were one in the same. Simply medical resources off to one side, to be used as needed. It was a more familiar set up to her. Less separation between well and unwell- which of course had its strengths and it’s weaknesses.

Less peace for those who were truly ill among the constant bustle. Less peace for those who remained uninjured while their comrade was. Though Patch also figured it must have been easier to get people in back then. Just a matter of steps to the left, instead of a proper threshold. Less unfamiliarity, as people must have walked past it, and looked at the equipment every day.

All thoughts which cycled around Patch’s ever-busy mind, as she struggled to understand what she felt must have been conflict through that closed glass door.

She didn’t stop working, of course. Scrubbing away with a small bristle pad at an energon infuser sans it’s canister. A crimson tinted, translucent liquid with no suds covered the bottom of the basin of the sink. Picked up frequently with the small tangled mat of abrasive metal shavings, and rubbed into the shiny, microscopic scratches all along her work and hands.

As she rubbed away and polished, Patch listened through the door. She cocked her helm as her expression soured toward the object. Already swift pace quickened farther as she worked at a particularly stubborn spot. ‘Blah blah blah’ Someone was in trouble. Sounded like Jazz was out there. Carbine. That new Femme Rain... Miiitch? -NO! It was Prowl…

When Carbine poked his head in, Patch’s helm flicked over her shoulder to face him… Only for him to squirrel back out as quick as he’d come. Lookin’ for Thunder, apparently. Her attention almost dropped back to her project, though was caught at the very last moment by the shoulder and eased back around to face the new form as it entered.

A wash of familiarity hit the young medic. Patch didn’t know this person, but their appearance, their movement instantly murmured ‘frontliner’ in a language the last-sparked spoke more fluently than Cybertronian. This was someone like the people in her old unit. The closest thing to family Patch had ever had before this place. She may have been small for one herself, though the child recognised many of the mars upon the stranger’s plating. Scars of Patch's echoing the soldier’s experiences.

“Hi.” Not quite perky, though very engaged. Pleased to see them. Eager to meet them. She raised her servos above the basin and shook them. Loosely flopping the droplets of cleaner away from her joints as her blue optics remained on the newcomer.

[Avalanche]

Frustration. Uncertainty. Anger, ebbing, but still present in the tightness of her servos. The mixture of emotions swirling around within Avalanche was not pleasant, nor was it helpful, her field still clenched tight against her hull. As the door sealed behind her, she took a deep vent of the cooler, antiseptic-scented air, and tried to let go of at least some of it.

She couldn't help wishing she was back with her own command. Solid mechs and femmes, ones she knew and trusted, as hardened and hammered as she was. But in the end... she'd failed to provide for them. No detachment could go on forever without ammunition, parts, resupply. Medical equipment. Commander Forgelight had all that, and more.

It wasn't unreasonable of him to ask the price that he had.

“Hi.”

The greeting snapped her out of her reverie. She turned, her optics settling on the diminutive frame of a young-looking medical specialist painted in red and white. Young-looking but scarred, Avalanche corrected herself, her brows rising slightly; either the femme was a lot older than she appeared on first impression, or she'd been close-up to some serious combat. Making her way across the quiet medical bay, careful not to knock anything aside, the heavily-armoured femme found her gaze resting on the unusual spatter of imperfections across the small medic's cheeks.

Cute.

Avalanche blinked as the thought registered, immediately pushing it to one side with a flash of embarrassment. Coming to a stop a few paces away, where the other femme wouldn't have to crane her neck too much to look her in the optics, she raised a blunt-fingered hand in greeting.

"Hi. I'm Avalanche. Commander Avalanche." Her low, husky voice lacked the edge it had held during the argument outside, the toxic mix of feelings ebbing moment by moment in the face of the tangible warmth radiating from the medic.

"Just arrived on-planet, a tenth-turn ago." Her black lips pulled into a wry smile. "The bridge opened a long way above the ground. Made a nice crater. I've been advised-" she shot a glance towards the door, then turned her gaze back to the medic, "-to have a medical checkup. I'm guessing you're either Ratchet, or Patch. It's good to meet you."

Turning her helm towards the medical racks, she hesitated. Her sheer density made her heavier than most mecha of her size, which was already considerable; she'd had unfortunate experiences before. "I can lie down, if needed," she offered. "You might need to check the weight capacity of the rack first."

[Patch]

As the medic hung her servos to drip above the sink, whatever the fluid was evaporated off her very quickly. The thin layer of moisture swiftly curled away, with a slight tingeing warp in color. Only to then reveal quite clean silver underneath. The backs spattered with dark, tiny dots of impurity not dissimilar to those on her faceplate.

Avalanche… That sounded familiar…

Patch didn’t have much time to think on that however, as the phrase ‘commander’ served very well to derail her current train of thought. The medic's optics widened just slightly. A jolt of hesitation as the nearest thing she’d had to preschool informed the young enlisted femme it was time to come to attention.

With practiced ease, she clipped into a clean salute. Not too flashy, not too crisp, though meant in her movements. Looking forward, she flashed an easy smile. “Nice to meet you commander.” Patch had five fully articulated digits, blunt round tips at the end of each, which fell nicely in place at the center of her right brow.

"I'm guessing you're either Ratchet, or Patch. It's good to meet you."

“Field-tech Patch, ma'am.” Get that in the air right off the bat- enlisted. Not an officer, and by extension not a doctor. Just your regular, run of the mill- if not slightly glorified- canon fodder medic.

As the large femme continued speaking, Patch began to make her way down the counter a bit. A light, comfortable pace- a bit quick. Loose, though efficient. The last-sparked seemed at home in sickbay. She opened a drawer and drew out a scanner.

“Oh, Naw. We just got a big-aft flier outta here for the first time in a couple months. If he and his buddy’s reunion couldn’t do the thing in, I’m sure you won’t.” Primus that had been… Chaotic. FUN but chaotic- and evidently Ratchet disliked the latter more than he could appreciate the former. Lucky he was a pretty fair mech or they’d all have been screwed...

As the young femme made her way over to her patient, she continued to speak. The whole of her demeanor a noteworthy amount of casual. Half joke, half genuine concern slipping into her tone, and her optics by the end.

“Aaand how high up are we talkin’ here? Bout’ a dozen paces, or a proper *death flight?”

*A quick and easy way to get rid of ground-framed POWs during the war. Idea taken from this person’s comic.(Warning, Robo-gore.)

[Avalanche]

A salute and an immediate declaration of name and rank? By Solus Prime's Holy Hammer, some mecha here knew proper protocol!

Nodding at the medic, field tinged with approval, Avalanche replied, "At ease, Patch."

The big femme watched Patch with interest as she moved around, radiating casual efficiency. Either she'd been at the outpost a while, or she'd put effort into learning her way around to the degree it appeared intuitive. Either way, she clearly knew what she was doing, and if she was confident the racks would hold up, Avalanche had no reason to doubt her.

Reaching behind herself with practised ease, Avalanche unhooked her tower shield and propped it against the medbay wall. That done, she bent down and carefully eased herself onto the medical rack besides her, taking pains not to drop her fifteen-ton weight onto it all in one go. Venting a deep sigh, she lay back fully, and for the first time in far too long, let herself relax. Small creaks and groans escaped her chassis as her frame settled.

"Better. It's been a while," she remarked, half to herself. Showing even that much vulnerability wasn't to be taken for granted in front of mecha she didn't know, but Patch's casual good humour was a balm. Avalanche's optics half-closed, her helm tilting back to settle against the headrest.

"Not sure how high up I was. Hard to take stock when everything happens that fast. I came through the portal, found sweet nothing under my tyres, dropped. I had time to change modes to my root form and grab around hoping for something to stop the fall before I impacted. I didn't get to look around and admire the landscape, though, so I wouldn't go for proper death-flight grade." She shifted slightly, making herself more comfortable. "Ground collapsed into a service tunnel; that helped take some of the impact."

Her frame was marred by fresh scratches and small dents, little momentoes of her sudden stop, but they were near-lost in the accumulation of wear and tear. Her heavy black plating was scarred and pitted, gouged by blades, seared by energy weapons, repeatedly dented in, then hammered back into rough shape by tools often no more sophisticated than her own massive fists. Closer up, welded patches could be made out here and there where repairs had been made by the simple expedient of slapping on more plating and half-melting the back until it had fused to her hull. The dense alloys of her permanent knuckledusters were scratched and worn to the point that almost none of her actual paint remained.

"Field-tech, huh?" she asked after a moment's pause. "Good. Known a lot of good field-techs. Know how to slap you back together in a handful of nano-kliks and kick you back out into the field. From the look of you, I'm in good hands."

[Patch]

'Better. It's been a while,' Patch smiled quietly down at her scanner. There was very little in the universe the last-sparked had grown to like -to crave, anywhere near so much as knowing she was useful. It made her feel appreciated when people, especially patients felt they could let their guard down around her. When they could relax, even just for a moment.

It was an act of trust, and not one to scoff at. The young femme made a silent promise to herself -and to the commander- not to let it be disrespected.

There were a few steady ‘padunks’ as Patch made her way across to the foot of Avalanche’s slab. A few soft acknowledgements from the device she held. Small peeps as she tapped at it and told it what to look for. As the commander continued to speak, a wide, flat beam of light began emitting from the scanner. As it swept from helm to pedde, then up again, it was softly accompanied by a high, light hum- which chirped cleanly out of existence once more after a rudimentary scan had been taken.

The young medic brought the scanner up to her optics for a moment, reading down the lines of information as it spilled across. Central neural conduit appeared intact and active, that was a good sign. Nothing appeared too out of order from the preliminary… She’d clearly been through hell, but she didn’t look immediately life-threateningly broken in any obvious way.

Given the more settled, less erratic state of the commander’s vital stats, Patch figured she likely carried a few more miles than her- though that was nothing to be disrespected; quite the contrary in fact. It took effort to stay alive in the world they’d lived in. The longer someone managed to do it, the more they must have learned… Patch idly hoped the femme would be willing to teach… She musta’ known some good slag, what with how many scars she’d managed to carry away with her...

'From the look of you, I'm in good hands.'

The young femme smirked. Her optics popped up, then back down to the scanner again.
“Thank you ma’am. That’s always good to hear.”

With another few steps, Patch moved up to her patient’s side. She un-subspaced something from a pocket near her lower back- small and pen-like by the looks of it. She curled it easily into her palm, and set the scanner down on a table beside the head of the slab.

Leaning over just slightly, the young medic flicked on a light at one end of the device, then shone it in one optic, then the other. Paying careful attention to whether they contracted, how much, and weather they were operating as a pair. Her expression remained mild as she worked. Concentrated, though at ease. Her voice drew low and light now, as she was closer.

“Got any pain anywhere? Stiff joints, limited movement?”

[Avalanche]

"You can drop the 'ma'am'. I'm not the kind to stand on ceremony too much, and you're my medic here."

Some mecha only used respectful terms like that as though the words were being dragged out of them, resentful of having to knuckle under to the likes of her. For them, then she'd get officious, make sure they were standing straight, didn't move from attention until released. Petty, selfish stuff. It wasn't a great trait in a commander, she knew that, but she couldn't just let it go, and it was one of the universally accepted ways for a superior to indicate they didn't like you very much.

For someone like Patch, who showed nothing but respect and goodwill, they got to talk to her like equals, got to joke around with her. It really was an incredible relief to find a medic she could relate to; she'd had postings with medics that despised her, and they'd been some of the least pleasant campaigns of her career.

Avalanche looked up as Patch leaned over her, her ring-shaped optics glowing a hot orange against black sclera. She blinked as the light shone into them, the rings contracting smoothly, then widening again as the light moved away.

“Got any pain anywhere? Stiff joints, limited movement?”

It was an obvious question to ask, but somehow it still took her by surprise. A brief laugh escaped her, her lips quirking into a smile that slowly faded.

There were a lot of instinctive answers, queuing up in her vocoder.

'Running just fine.'

'Nothing new.'

'Good enough shape to punch out a combiner.'

All of it came from a couple of simple facts. Yeah, she was hurting, that was just... how things were. She was used to limited medical supplies, limited repair facilities; the ones that were seriously damaged were the ones that needed looking after. Everything else could wait. Better to get off the slab and make room for some other mecha that really needed fixing.

Besides. She was holding together her command with her bare hands, and her image, as much as anything, was vital to morale. Minor aches and pains were flat-out unfitting for a head-on fighter like her.

Except that none of that was true anymore.

Her silence as she hesitated was noticeable. Her field shrank back towards her hull, then eventually bled outwards again, tinged with a note of weary resignation.

"...yeah. Plenty of that." The admission cost her, and it took an effort of will to keep talking. "My left arm doesn't go above shoulder height anymore. Something bent in the rotator, I think. My hands have gotten pretty stiff. Shocks in the wrists ache. Right calf isn't right; tightness there that doesn't extend properly. There's a place..."

Avalanche's left hand moved over her chest, coming to rest half-covering a welded patch just a little lower than her fuel pump. "Got hammered here pretty good. Dented in. Too close to the pump to easily strip the plate and bash it out. Hurts. Been carrying that momento for a while."

Her lips pressed together, and her optics shifted away from Patch, feeling a wave of frustrated embarrassment. She just didn't go on about her frame like this. "...the usual stuff. Lower spinal strut wear. Hips." If she had to detail every part of her that was aching, she'd have been there all day.

She vented softly, meeting the medics' gaze again. "If Frosty was here - he was my medic - he'd tell me to quit bitching and go kill something. 'Everyone's got problems'," she quoted, wry fondness in her voice. "He's an aft."

[Patch]

Ohhh Primus, Patch knew that silence.

She couldn’t make her share. Couldn’t force the commander to say the words so many people she’d known and cared about just couldn’t.

Holy scrap, she was actually doin’ it. ‘Pick up a stylus’ old words, from an old teacher as the surprised, and pleased young medic turned to the table beside the slab, set down her light, and flicked on a monitor. Small taps, as she recorded the damage in short-hand; cautious not to be even a decibel louder than necessary, as not to interrupt the surely quite difficult confession.

She would have much rather just stood there and listened- though, there was a lot, it was important all the details were grasped, and she certainly didn’t wanna force Avalanche to repeat all this. In lieu of quiet optic contact, Patch flicked her attention over every so often, expression serious. A quiet nod, every now and then.

“Sounds like an aft…” The medic spat lowly through a devious grin, optics half-lidded and quiet. Almost mumbling, as though there was anyone else around to hear her, and reprimand. Mm, that comfortable hatred of the people you love… It was clear Avalanche's old unit meant a lot to her.

“We can do something about most of that I think.” There was an intense pride, utmost pleasure that Patch got to say these words. Cool smile spreading all through her freckled features. Now granted, they likely couldn’t repair everything to the extent they would in a hospital. They were still at war, and their supplies were still limited; though between time, skill, and resources you only really needed to pick two in order to make solutions.

For once, their side seemed to have plenty of time- and skill was clearly doubtless...

“Given all ya got, surgeon’s probly’ gonna wanna have a look at ya too.” With a click of the track-pad, Patch forwarded the new file directly to Ratchet’s personal data-pad. That way he could review and advise at his own discretion- if not come in a bit later while the Commander was still in, and assess for himself.

“In the meantime though-” The young femme swept up her scanner once more, turned it on, and began waiting for it to load. “I wanna get a little more detail on that dent, first things first. Pump slag’s no joke.” Her tone was still light, though her face was more somber as she watched down at the device for a sign it was ready. She wanted to see just how deep it went. Make certain it wasn’t pushing on any internal components. Get a bead on current structural integrity.

“Haven’t noticed any bigger problems with it, have ya? Is it slowin' ya down?” The beam of light flicked active once more. Angled to hum across from the bottom of her neck to the top of her abdomen, as the young femme staired carefully down at the readouts.

[Avalanche]

“Sounds like an aft…”

Avalanche laughed once, nodding. "He'd be flattered by the assessment. Seriously warped." She glanced up at Patch, relieved to have gotten through the awkward necessity of talking about her long-term damage, and caught the devious grin on the medic's face.

Oh no. That's not fair.

The shorter femme was undeniably cute, with her expressive faceplate spattered with freckles, and Avalanche had acknowledged that, then put it aside. Her sneaky little grin, though... that was distracting all over again, and a flicker of embarrassment touched Avalanche's field at her own flash of interest. Later. It would be nice to get to know Patch, but not now, not in this setting.

Then Patch said something that pushed such thoughts out of the Commander's helm entirely.

“We can do something about most of that I think.”

A lot of her damage had been with her so long it was hard to imagine being without it. She'd had to learn to adapt her fighting style, relying on her right arm to go high when she needed to, shifting her gait to work with the tightness in her calf. The thought that at least some of it could be finally fixed...

The surge of hope was distracting, and a sensation that she wasn't used to. Her voice deepened, a little gruffer as she murmured, "If you could fix my shoulder at least, that'd help a lot." It was easier to imagine one thing being repaired. Anything more than that... maybe it was possible, but she didn't dare expect it to be.

Shifting position as Patch approached again, Avalanche rolled onto her right side slightly, shifting her left arm back to expose the welded patch. Perhaps only a medic would have caught the subtle way she adapted the movement of her arm to work with the limited rotation she had in the shoulder joint.

“Haven’t noticed any bigger problems with it, have ya? Is it slowin' ya down?”

Avalanche snorted, shaking her head. "This old hit? No. Doesn't do anything for my combat effectiveness. Just a reminder not to get cocky."

The scanner's beam pried into her chassis, piercing layer after layer of dense metal. The first thing that it registered was that her plating was irregular where she'd indicated; it was relatively flat on the surface, but beneath, a deep dent had simply been filled in with more metal, forming a truncated cone that pushed into her inner workings. No energy blast had caused this; the strain marks of physical trauma were apparent.

Above and behind the damaged area, the scan picked out the shape of Avalanche's fuel pump. It was huge, a pre-war design for heavy construction vehicles, ruggedly robust with minimal maintenance. It was immediately apparent that her frame required a serious amount of energon to keep functioning, without any of the delicate tuning that later models had received to make them more fuel efficient. The intrusive mass of crumpled armour had twisted and broken several of her structural support ribs, and was pressing on the thick hoses leading from the base of the pump.

For a smaller Cybertronian, or one of a more sophisticated design, the damage would have been immediately dangerous. The robust crudity of the mechanism had helped a lot, simply having to work a bit harder than it once would have in pushing past the constriction in her wide-bore fuel lines. Nevertheless, it didn't look pleasant.

Growing self-conscious as the small machine beeped and chittered, the scanning beam sweeping back and forth as it mapped her inner contours, Avalanche broke the quiet. "Tankformer. Most Decepticons can't be too heavy, not if they want to fly. This guy, though. He could take it and dish it out. Grabbed on to his main gun to start bending, and he sucker-punched me right there. Hell of a fight."

[Patch]

Hm... Big heart. The young femme mused to herself as she watched the readouts.

It was a good thing they were -for the moment- out of their energon shortage. Patch had shown up at around it’s peak, spent a lot of days aching even with her frame adjusted to a lack of fuel. She didn’t wanna imagine what kinda’ awful it would have been for a frame like the commander’s.

Primus, this was pretty bad...

“I take it you came out on top?” She hummed through a smirk. Voice rather sly, not showing an inch of her concern. It had been a slow skill to learn for the kid, but an important one. After all, there was no way to shut up a frontliner quite so quick as pity.

Those ribs would need to be stabilized- it was a miracle they hadn't already self-repaired into deviant positions. The pressure on her line was likely a harsh ache. Whether it bothered her daily, Patch expected things got worse as energon demand went up; namely in combat, when it was needed most...

Bad as it was, Patch could easily see why it had been left for as long as it had.

It would take a relatively major operation to fix. Internals likely fully exposed while they did whatever needed doing to get everything back into shape. One small slip during removal, and they could strike something vital. Patch didn’t wanna tackle this alone; and with Ratchet available, she wouldn’t even need to take point. This was almost definitely something he’d wanna deal with, she figured.

The femme’s shoulder, however, did feel a bit more within Patch’s scope of practice. She uploaded the more detailed scan to Avalanche’s medical file as well.

“Ya know what, I think you might be right. Shoulder seems like a good place to start. Slag goes deep; you’ll want a proper doc for it. Though good news, you might just notice a difference in your endurance once it’s out. I can give you a program for the pain in the meantime, if you like.”

Patch flicked the beam on once more. This time focusing it’s light upon her patient’s shoulder. She spoke as she worked. “If things go quick here, I can see about those wrists and servos too. You got anywhere ya need to be?”

[Avalanche]

It very much wasn't a coincidence that Avalanche had stayed away until after the energon shortage had been resolved; putting more pressure on the Earth garrison's limited resources was the last thing she'd wanted to do. If that had had to mean spending some time alone, waiting for the right moment... well, it was better than the alternative.

Patch's cheeky little question about the outcome of the battle was just the kind of playful distraction from the awkwardness of the examination that Avalanche needed. The big femme grinned, and gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Guess you'd have to call that one a tie. I wrecked him but good; pulled his tracks off, crumpled his gun barrel. He did largely the same to me; torched my tyres, pounded me like a wrecking ball. He was good with his fists, better than I was expecting. We went at each other like you wouldn't believe. It was a good fight." Satisfaction rode her voice, a remembered pleasure in how evenly matched they'd been. "He pulled back when the enemy lines collapsed. He was repairable, though, same as I was. Always hoped to get another go at him, but we never crossed paths again."

Other mecha might have shaded the retelling to make themselves more cleanly victorious, or expressed more frustration that their opponent had gotten away. For her, though, it was clear that there was a joy in the way she fought, and a hard opponent something to be treasured.

Her smile faded as Patch looked back at her pad, making more notes. A little tremor of uncertainty entered Avalanche's spark, the newly-ignited hope that something could be done about her frame damage wavering slightly. She couldn't read the younger medic's reactions at all - unsurprising, given how newly introduced they were - and that suddenly felt like a blindness. Too set in your ways, she chided herself.

Patch looked up. The prognosis for her chest damage was fairly serious; couldn't be messed with lightly. Well, that wasn't anything new, and Avalanche vented a little exhalation of air as she accepted that, nodding once. The fact that it was impinging on her endurance wasn't hugely welcome news, but not completely surprising either.

"...I'll take whatever you recommend," Avalanche replied more slowly, her lips tightening a little. It was dumb to reject something to ease the ever-present aches in her chassis, but it was still difficult to unbend enough to accept that it would help.

She wasn't expecting Patch to be able to begin work on her damaged components right then and there, though, and a flash of brief surprise leaked into her field. "I haven't been instructed to report to a commanding officer yet. I have time." She thought again about walking unfamiliar halls, trying to find a place for herself, tensed for resentment and trouble. "And there's nowhere I'd rather be. If you can fix some of this..." She glanced away, embarrassed by the moment of vulnerability. "...please do."

[Avalanche]

Settling her arms by her sides, Avalanche lay back and went still as the scanner's light played over her shoulder. Beneath her off-white shoulder guard, a thick shaft with a huge circular collar connected solidly into her torso, built to carry extreme loads of weight, shock and pressure. By the naked optic, it seemed in decent repair. The scanner, however, penetrated beneath the surface, betraying deeper, longer lasting damage.

Within the side of her torso, the load-bearing shaft had kinked, bending slightly. That, by itself, wouldn't have been enough to lock the limb rotation. Thick metal fins mounted to heavy parallel actuators gave the necessary leverage to rotate the shaft, but the base of the actuator rack had twisted at an angle, forcing the actuators to grind against each other once sufficiently extended. Reseating the actuator rack to push squarely against her frame was likely the most attainable way to restore her range of movement, though with sufficient mechanical force, the kink in the rotation shaft could also be straightened.

Rather than a single shattering incident, the joint gave the impression of slowly failing over a long period of hard wear. Metal shavings and cracked fragments were dimly visible on the scan as a haze of cloudier interference, half-absorbed, half-embedded in the mechanism like splinters.

[Patch]

Patch liked that Avalanche didn’t seem to be swaying the fight one way or the other. Didn’t sound like she was exaggerating details, didn’t sound like she was upset about the outcome. Granted, Patch didn’t know the femme real well either. But from what she could tell… She was pretty chill. A good fighter, a good sport. It was a breath of fresh air, even more so to know she was gonna be in charge.

Others would likely be expected to follow suit, and… That sounded nice.

“Eh, ya never know. Seems like just about every Cybertronian spark left alive is trying to make their way to Earth. Maybe you’ll get to finish that dance after all.”

As her patient acknowledged the pain relief, Patch’s expression remained quiet and professional, still looking down at the screen as she nodded a little, and got right to work. Continuing to speak as she set down the object in her servo yet again, and opened a drawer in the bench beside her. Ensuring she wouldn’t be impeding on the Commander's surely quite valuable time.

Patch recognised the vulnerability in Avalanche’s response. She paused what she was doing, looked up, and nodded a little. Soft smile, and serious optics. She didn’t have anything to say besides that. Her actions would speak for her, one way or the other- and by Primus, the little medic was gonna do all she could to take care of her.

There was a full, completed list of medicine -both chemical and Digital- that Patch was not permitted to prescribe. Addictive slag, mostly, except in emergencies. A simple pre-programed anti-inflammatory? Thankfully not on the list- and Hoo boy could that be a superpower when the majority of your friends pretty much just lived in constant pain.

From the drawer, Patch drew out a secondary device. Much like the scanner it did have a screen- though it was slightly smaller, boxier, and had a keypad at the bottom. As she turned back to Avalanche, she drew a length of wire out from one of the top corners. “Can I see this?” The young medic carefully leaned in, and settled her servos on Avalanche’s quite... large arm. Admiring slightly, as she made sure to use the one that wasn’t proximally damaged.

Provided such a thing was temporarily donated, Patch would mutter “Perfect, thank you…” She carefully eased it over so her patient’s palm would face the ceiling. A very slight pop of a static-y sensation as the jack was cleanly tucked into her medical port. Like the small jump of static from a finger to a doorknob. An immediate, buzzy sort of hum that swiftly faded. Present, though inert as it almost seemed to quietly converse with the surrounding circuitry, and the major receptor beside it.

Well… Conversing was a stretch… It almost seemed to be listening more than speaking for itself.

A whole new data-set began scrolling down the little screen- though was swiftly acknowledged and set aside. A few almost frighteningly well-practiced key-strokes and -though there was no sensation at the site itself- the pain, all of it elsewhere, would quietly subside. It still wasn’t gone, more sidestepped into the shadows for now. Hopefully the analgesic program would help Avalanche feel a bit more comfortable for the next couple hours, until it wore off.

With that done, Patch set the new device down on what little edge of the slab remained- using that lovely little space between the femme’s waist and the edge- and set off across the room to begin rustling around through still more drawers. Gathering equipment it seemed.

[Avalanche]

“Eh, ya never know. Seems like just about every Cybertronian spark left alive is trying to make their way to Earth. Maybe you’ll get to finish that dance after all.”

Avalanche laughed, a warm sound that thrummed through her chest. "There's still a wide, wide war going on out there. You're not wrong, though, the Prime's message got a lot of attention. Even if only a few that hear it respond to it, that's still a lot of combatants." Large scale redeployment wouldn't come quickly, if it ever came at all. Too many fortifications, too many contested fronts, too many places both sides were pinned down, refusing to leave because the other side refused to leave... but Patch was right, a lot of mecha now knew about Earth that had never heard of the world before.

The big femme hummed thoughtfully, then added, "It would be good to have a rematch, if someone hasn't dealt with the old monster. Never got his name, but I'd sure recognise him." Unconsciously, Avalanche stroked the weld patch near her pump, before her hand settled at her side once more.

Drawn from her thoughts by the medic's gentle touch and request to expose her medical port, Avalanche nodded and turned her arm wrist upwards. Beneath her thick forearm, a greased, shining piston was exposed, recessed into a hollow, with a heavy, brooding weight mounted on top, ready to slam down against the end plate like a piledriver. While the mechanism lacked elegance or refinement, it had sheer, brutal simplicity in spades.

A little tingle of sensation shivered through Avalanche as Patch's device was plugged into her med port. She held still as Patch rapidly stabbed at the keys, chassis instinctively tensed for the onset of the medical program, and then-

All throughout her frame, pain sensors ramped down their output, nanite behaviour altering as the new instructions gently shepherded them into draining over-pressurised fluid pockets away from damaged internal structures. Avalanche released a quiet vented sigh, a murmured half-sound escaping her lips. It was like laying down a heavy weight after a long, long march. She'd have to take it up again soon enough, but for a little while... it was good. It was good.

Her optics closed completely, her frame settling back a little more loosely against the medical rack as residual tension she hadn't even been aware of bled away. It occurred to her, in an abstract kind of way, both how completely she was laying her trust in Patch's hands, and that she didn't mind that at all.

After a moment, without opening her optics, she murmured, "You look like you've been through some rough stuff yourself. Pick up those scars on Earth? Where've you served?"

Maybe that was why she'd taken to Patch so quickly. She felt familiar, a field tech with the bearing of a proper soldier and the scars of being up close and personal with the enemy, just like many Avalanche had once known. They'd never met before, but... in a place whose rules and nature the heavily armoured femme was yet to understand, Patch was a touchstone. A rock.

[Patch]

“Ehh.” A noncommittal sound, that appeared from behind the young femme’s back and shoulders. Still facing the counter as the light tap of a metal tray against the metal countertop plunked out. Not upset, not angry, not scared by the question just… It was a complicated sort of feeling. Pride, and honor all mixed up with dirty emotions Patch didn’t really wanna think about.

Come to think of it… She hadn’t really… Talked about her old unit since getting here.
Nobody had really asked.

“Never off-world.” There it was. The simple phrase that could mean so much, or so little to so many. “Not before here.”

“I was with the Gauntlet Runners for my first couple decades.” A small, controlled clatter as clean instruments were settled in a handful on the tray. A smile laced her lips. “Idiots, each and every one of em.”

A warm tone ebbed it’s way into her voice as she continued through that same clear smile. She Opened yet another cabinet, and brought something else down; a large bottle by the sound of it. “All of em were still smarter than me though. Primus. Ya ever look back at some of the tactical decisions ya made when you were a boot and ask yourself how in the hell you’re alive?”

A subtle sound of liquid patterned out into a container. “Oh by Solus, it wasn’t just me though. We had this one fragger called ‘Axle’?” A half-lidded, shit-eating grin peaked over the young femme’s shoulder, gaze falling back down as she screwed the cap back on. Her helm loosely shook. Another bobble of a laugh.

“Trained with the guy; Glitch was a nutjob. This one time-” Yet more exuberance laced into the young medic’s voice. “We had a grenade lobbed right up to the edge of the line, so of course Mr.Big-Bearings fraggin’ ran out, and punted the thing.” A servo came up in a claw as her voice rose and octave. “Just straight up kicked it into the fraggin’ abyss!”

With her instruments ready for the moment, it seemed, the young medic started making her way back over. As she walked, she extended one pedde to catch a small rolling-table for the tray with the edge. With a controlled sweep, she pushed it to glide over ahead of her. “Made it all the way back into enemy camp before it blew. And you should have SEEN his face, when he turned back around...”

With cautious fluidity, Patch set her tray down on the stand, eased a light down from above -though didn’t turn it on just yet- then reached for a small apparatus on the wall above Avalanche’s helm. “Aw, it was priceless. Just this big ol'-” The young femme loosely brought her features into a half-sparked replication of the two widened optics, small circle of a mouth; though it quickly spit back into a grin once more as she fiddled with the small, clear, flexible tube. Attaching a slightly curved extension to the end with a blunt, almost filter-looking stopper on the tip before she placed it back from whence it came.

“Alright, let’s see whatcha got here.” A lower mutter as she turned her attention to the other femme’s shoulder plating. Searching for the most efficient manner in which it could be comfortably removed.

[Avalanche]

Mixed memories, huh.

The way that Patch hesitated to speak... yeah, Avalanche had seen that before. Not every mecha was eager to talk about their past, and every mecha had some parts they didn't want to talk about at all. No one had come out of the war with clean hands. Still, the knowledge that the medic hadn't ever left Cybertron before coming to Earth painted a lot of pictures with very few words.

Patch had had the unenviable privilege of watching their world die, slowly and painfully, right up close. The rust seas spreading, the battlefields littered with the mingled dead of both sides that had become too vast to clean up; titanic open-air mausoleums commemorating the brutality of what their species had done to itself. Watching the battalions being stripped away by the high commands of both sides as it became ever more obvious that there was nothing left to fight over; that their surviving troops were better put to use fighting over colonies, or resource mines, or advanced worlds with technology fit for the stripping.

Avalanche and her regiment had been one of those, pulled away in the dying days to fight over distant colonies around long-forgotten stars. She'd never been back. Stories travelled though; the slow guttering of the remnants, the shattering of the last towers. The dying of the last embers. Patch had seen all of that. For a moment, the older femme considered offering words of sympathy.

Habit stayed her hand. You didn't acknowledge wounds that others might not want seen. You understood, and they knew you understood, and that was enough. She let the conversation move on. Patch's tone lightened, turning to fondness as she cast back to her old unit.

“Ya ever look back at some of the tactical decisions ya made when you were a boot and ask yourself how in the hell you’re alive?”

Avalanche chuckled, nodding her agreement. "All the time, believe me. I was dumb back then. Scream my name and charge, that was the start and end of it. I've learned better since then. Now, I see to the disposition of my troops, then I scream my name and charge."

A little flash of something stirred in her field at Patch's casual invocation of Solus Prime, her orange optics opening; Avalanche wouldn't have called herself a worshipper of the primordial constructor, but she'd always felt closer to Solus than any other of the great figures, even Primus, and tended to think of her in moments of need. It was... nice, to hear Solus's name upon the medic's lips.

Watching Patch as she moved around the medical bay, gathering instruments and tools, Avalanche laughed along with the other femme's recounting of her former squadmate's exploits, an easy grin on the her black lips.

Careful not to dislodge the cable jacked into her medical port, Avalanche reached up to indicate a few places around and under the edges of her heavy shoulder armour. "Locking bolts under here, here and here. Then you should be able to disengage the main catches, and separate the outer layers."

Resting her hand on her plated abdomen, the black-plated femme went on fondly, "I knew an idiot that tried the grenade kicking trick. Plasma detonator flew in over the barricades, and this glorious dumbaft pulls back his pede and suddenly thinks he's in the Praxian kickball championships. So yeah, he kicks it. Thing was set to contact detonation. Boom. Survived, somehow. I think Primus loves the dumb ones most of all. Had a lot of rebuilding to be done, though."

She looked upwards, as if she could see all the way back to the planets she'd come from. "Hypo did not appreciate this display of athletic prowess. So when he rebuilt Taillight's legs, he inscribed a few markings onto them. Didn't look like anything much in his root form, but when he changed to vehicle form, big glyphs right along his back bumper reading 'Dangerous idiot, stay away!' - that was six planets ago, and I don't think Taillight ever noticed."

She snorted, fond amusement in her tone. "Not that I can talk. I ran straight into a minefield once. It didn't go well."