「combat medic」

                    “I know, I know.” Jolt tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, the constant discomfort of the electric current pulsing across his frame was reminder enough that one wrong move would kill the ‘patient’. “Slag, wait–the scanner needs–”

    The concentration lost when he lifted his optics to find the scanner that he would have needed had the barely put together drone been a real Cybertronian. All it took was that little moment of stress and a slightly broken focus for a spark to occur, alarms blared which startled him–and soon they were left with a smoking drone.

                    “Primus be damned,” the botanist hissed as he backed off, hands slamming against the medical slab. “I’m sorry–frag, this is just… I… I’m sorry.”

[⚕] — a sense of pride overtook

                   the older medic at the sight of his apprentice’s work, no matter how short-lived it had been. He knew better than to reach out to Jolt, had read medical files on both the volt and his accidental victims, so instead he approached the table.

          Fingers moved to the crackling, smoky remains of the drone and gathered the pieces for disposal. He knew he should continue to speak English, but the anger that bubbled from the young Autobot deserved something more... intimate.

[⚕] — “easy, easy; try not to overload

                    the processing unit. Take a deep vent in, steady your servos. I know it’s frustrating but I also know you can do this, Jolt.”

          The old medic didn’t move forward or take the younger mech’s servos to guide him, but instead remained back some ways. He shifted his gaze from Jolt’s work to his armor, watching for any signs of distress that could lead to an electric zap.

Step 1: Find a partner

[⚕] — “you need to take a seat or 

                    I cannot complete your medical review. And thus, you won’t be permitted to stay on this outpost--which means, you’ll be out there with the Decepticons and probably be deactivated.”

          He motioned with the servo that didn’t rest on his hip, beckoning the speedster to sit up on an open medical slab. His voice was by no means threatening or bitter, though it did lack the gentle kindness he displayed with other patients.

[⚕] — “you listen here, you little....

                    you march your bumper back into the base right this moment. You’re on medical leave, do you know what that means?”

          He was angry, fuming even, as his frame rearranged itself to his bipedal form. Blue optics flared with both disbelief and annoyance, and the medic descended upon the golden warrior.