(Untitled)

[helpful_squid]

WHO: Vergil and Ironhide
WHAT: Ironhide finally decided to go see a medic.
WHERE: Vergil's clinic in zone 5.
WHEN: Sometime after Jazz convinces Ironhide to get seen to.
WARNINGS/NOTES: Doubtful. Maybe medical things.

Comments

[show_my_cannons]

To say he was hesitant would be a gross understatement of the facts. Ironhide hated seeing medics. It didn't matter who. He just hated being poked, prodded and otherwise lectured about things he didn't want to bother with. If he was functioning, then he shouldn't have to see a medic.

And so, he was standing outside the clinics for a good half hour before actually forcing himself inside. His engine was growling quietly, vibrating his heavy frame. Even then, Ironhide just sort of lingered in the entryway, shifting his heavy weight.

Well. He was here. That should say something, at least.

[helpful_squid]

The unfamiliar engine sound attracted Vergil's attention, and shortly after Ironhide stepped through the door, the orange mech came to see the source. "Oh," it said, canting its head to one side, "it's you. It's good to see you, Ironhide."

[show_my_cannons]

"Yeah," he grunted.

Optics scanned the individual. There was no indication that this was an organic. Strange, how that worked. He shifted again, rolling his shoulders slightly.

"Said I was coming."

[helpful_squid]

"Of course," said the orange mech. "Thank you for doing so. I'll do what I can, of course."

The voice was accented, an artifact of Vergil's first exposure to human languages. He'd absorbed the recorded data of a city-spanning AI upon arrival on Earth, and the AI in question used Kiswahili first, English second. It showed whenever Vergil had to use the mech shell's speech circuitry.

"If you would come this way, please? I have an exam room ready. Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?"

[show_my_cannons]

"Figured."

He wasn't trying to be curt. It just sort of happened that way. A product of nerves he was doing his best to repress. Or, at least, pretend didn't exist. That was helpful. In... a way.

"Joints are worn," he ground out, starting to limp in the indicated direction. "Hip is bad."

He mentioned nothing about his chest. The lingering soreness was a product of his death. Nothing more.

[helpful_squid]

If there was any offense taken at the curtness, Vergil didn't show it. Whether that was because the Huragok inside the suit understood the reason behind it, or merely because he'd forgotten to signal emotional responses via the Cybertronian body, well, who could say. It didn't matter. The mech merely dipped its head in a nod. "I will see what I can do about that," it said. "I have been looking for suppliers with compatible older parts, since you mentioned that might be a factor."

[show_my_cannons]

"Yeah..."

He trailed off, still limping his way down to the indicated room. As he went, his shoulders drew up more and more, the tension building visibly in his big frame. He knew this was necessary. But the knowledge did little to relax him. The old warrior hated this - and nothing could ever change that.

"Just want things looked at. Replacement is... unnecessary right now."

At least, he hoped so.

[helpful_squid]

"Very well. Unless something is in an emergency condition, I won't move to replace it yet," said Vergil, doing his best to sound soothing. "Now, please, hold still. There will be surface scans first, and then deeper ones. The more data I can gather now, the sooner this will all be over, yes?"

The orange form had a few advantages over most mechs Vergil had seen in the city. Four arms meant more tools could be held and used at one time than other medics might be able to manage. There was also the series of circuits he'd gone to some pains to build into the forward pair of arms- the ones that ran directly from the cilia of his two forward tentacles all the way to the fingertips, effectively making them extensions of his natural ability to connect to circuits. Between the handheld scanners, the equipment Ratchet had left in the clinic rooms, and his own innate structure, Vergil had little doubt that he would be able to find any parts or places in need of maintenance and care.

[show_my_cannons]

Ironhide only nodded. Admittedly, it was somewhat reassuring that this organic wasn't about to go replacing his parts wherever he saw fit to do so. But, even so, the tension lingered, and he fidgeted slightly, despite the admonishment to stay completely still.

He cycled air through his intakes, forcing himself to relax. This Vergil was right. If he get it over with quickly, he would be better off -- both of them would. Besides, he was confident there wasn't any severe damage. His joints were worn, catching on rough spots. The hip was always a problem -- despite the replacement earlier, the heavy scarring in the area hadn't been smoothed over, or taken care of. It still rubbed the wrong way.

But all that was minor. He was sure of it.

[helpful_squid]

Vergil hummed to himself as he worked, scanning some systems and testing others. In his experience at the clinic where he'd served as an intern, taking too long in silence tended to put mechs off. True, making too much noise sometimes irritated them, but silence tended to make them uneasy. It seemed to him to be a fair trade. Even if the examination did go on for an awfully long time.

Eventually he settled back from Ironhide and put his scanners down on the nearest table. "Well," he said, "I have results for you, if you are ready."

[show_my_cannons]

It wasn't the sound. Sounds didn't bother him. He'd been in too many medbays, too many times, for such things to get to him. Instead, it was the amount of time it took the medic to do his job. There wasn't supposed to be anything wrong. Why was it taking so long?

Finally, when there was speech, it didn't exactly fill him with confidence. He shifted, his joints creaking. "Yeah, sure. Tell me."

[helpful_squid]

"First of all," said the orange mech, "there is nothing seriously wrong with you. I have looked, several times, and there is no emergency or great problem with any of your systems. You are in fair health and will probably be so for a good time to come."

"But there are many, many small problems. Wear and tear on metal parts, thinning of protective pads, lack of lubricants and maintenance fluids, metal fatigue... none of it is serious, nothing will kill you, but the list of little things that could be repaired to make your life easier and performance better is very long."

"I can give you the list, if you like. There is nothing that would be an emergency. But you would be better off if you had at least some of it attended to."

Honestly, Vergil was a little surprised at the number of sub-critical issues he'd found. A lesser frame would've developed serious problems by now.

[show_my_cannons]

That was reassuring, at least. He nodded, letting out a rush of air from his intakes. At least he wasn't about to keel over again any time soon.

But then the rest of the news came, and Ironhide's burgeoning pride slowly began to deflate. He hadn't thought there was that many problems. He frowned, shifting awkwardly in place. Yes, it could wait. But...

He could just hear Jazz's objections. And see the look on his face every time the worn old joints started up their usual complaints.

"Do what you wish," he said, finally. "Worst bits of damage. Take care of those."

[helpful_squid]

"Thank you," said the mech, dipping its head in visible gratitude. (Visible to Vergil's kind, at any rate. Whether a Cybertronian would recognize it or not was debatable.) "I will be as quick about it as I can for you. I know you don't want to be here."

The purpose of Vergil's race was set long ago by their creators, the Forerunners: fix, maintain, and improve whatever machinery they came across. To be presented with a system in need of upkeep and care, and not be allowed to extend it, was an unnerving experience for any Huragok. Ironhide's permission came as a positive relief; the mech began retrieving parts and elements from their cases around the examination room immediately.

The work would be quick. Even when moving slowly to allow members of other species to follow along, Huragok repairs were swift and sure. Vergil did not intend to put Ironhide through any more time in the clinic than absolutely necessary.

[show_my_cannons]

He stared. Thank you? Of all the things he thought he was going to hear, thank you wasn't one of them. Neither was expedience. Usually, he got kept around for needless observation, poked and prodded at until he was ready to shoot something. But this one wanted him sent on his way...? Because it knew he wanted out?

... It was different, to say the least.

Nodding slowly, he gave the medic a grunt of affirmation. Or appreciation. Either way. Part of him was relieved, while the rest was still trying to figure out how it felt about all this.

"Where do you want me?"

[helpful_squid]

Just one difference of many between the thought process of a Cybertronian and that of an alien, perhaps. Ratchet and other medics had their preferences, and a small, squishy organic whose life until very recently had been composed of doing exactly as he was told as quickly as he could manage had his.

"There is a repair bay just over here. Ratchet needed it more than I do, I think; he had fewer arms. But it will be helpful anyway, to make sure all goes smoothly and quickly. If you can settle into that, and tell me what sensors and systems you would like temporarily disabled while I work, I will do that and begin."

A human might say, local anesthetic or general? Or at least something to that effect.