#piningforpeace

Ratchet hadn’t really been paying attention to Jazz’s presence until he heard the smaller mech’s voice say that. He whipped his gaze from his workbench, optics fixing on Jazz’s.

“What now, Jazz?”

It’s the fact that his optics can fix on Jazz’s that brings him here to medbay, one servo on the wall to guide himself and the other holding the shattered crystal of his visor. He’s staring at a point slightly to the left of Ratchet’s shoulder, until the taller mech speaks and, audials twitching, Jazz slides his gaze over to... his mouth, still not quite his optics, but as close as he could get. 

The statement almost makes Ratchet wince as he steps back, watching the much larger mech as Starscream’s optics bore into him. His optic ridges rose, the medic having long since lost the ability to hide his emotions.

“Optimus was within reason to trust them and abide by their rules. We were, and might I add still are, visitors on their planet. It was only logical to associate with the humans. You would understand that if you had a code of ethics.”

“And where is he now? Your Prime? Hiding and cowering like the rest of us!”

Crimson optics continue to glare at the Autobot medic, his tattered plating rattling as he ceased his neurotic circling. Incensed, he took a step forward, negating the distance the medic had hoped to created by backing away. His greater bulk enables him to loom over his foe, yet still he declines to close the distance further. Hand to hand combat was never his specialty, and Autobots were known to be treacherous at close quarters.

Or, at least, that is what he tells himself.

“Can I take your temperature? You’re looking hot today.” So, how did he do Ratchet? 

@pining-for-peace

“Oh? Did I touch a nerve?”

His optics follow the Autobot’s movements closely, his wings hiked high as he circles warily. Medic or not, Autobots were not to be trusted, and Starscream had no intention of being taken by surprise.

Crimson optics glare, raking up and down the autobot’s body with a wild expression. His wings hike upwards even as his posture stoops ever lower; a circling beast, ready to defend against any perceived threat with a flurry of talons and hidden weaponry. He no longer cares to lend the appearance of an honorable warrior, nor does he seek to place personal bravado over the possibility of injury or death. He can no longer afford such luxuries. Now, his only concern is to neutralise this potential new threat and to return to his remaining charges unharmed.

“ratchet.” mikaela greeted, walking up to the medic. sure, she and sam may have split up. and she may have only known about the autobots through him. but they were her family now-- and she didn’t plan to leave them. “what are you working on today?”