Chapter Text
When his chronometer alerted him that the session was up, Rung very politely reminded Tailgate to schedule his next session, and sent him with a few rust sticks before he left. It was always difficult to move a client out when he felt they were making progress, but Rung needed all the time he could get.
The time that he needed was specifically a forty-five minute session he had scheduled to recharge. Having his door open for patients all hours of the night made it difficult to get a proper recharge cycle, so the next best thing was planning shorter rests throughout his day that would last the length of a session. It put stress on every part he had, but it was worth a little physical stress to relieve the mental stress of his crewmates. He kept a small recharge pack, something he'd picked up centuries ago, under the desk he kept in his office. It wasn't worth going back to his habsuite if someone had an emergency; they all knew that they could him in his office, there wasn't much reason to make them look elsewhere.
He groaned softly as he took his seat, every joint groaning in protest. Realistically, Rung knew that he should have headed to the medibay cycles ago but it was difficult to find time to slip away. It was hard enough to find time to rest, medical care was a different beast entirely. Gently sliding a side panel open, Rung connected a few wires and offlined his optics, thankful a little reprieve before he entered statis.
Rung loved helping people. He wouldn't have made a career of it otherwise, or at least would have gone into theoretical work instead of active practice. There was a pleasure and joy he found in helping his patients, from helping them overcome issues to helping them get medications they might need. He'd been a bit frugal with prescriptions since they left Cybertron, knowing medication could become few and far between if he wasn't wise and entirely positive of a patient's need for it. Of course, there was also the process of helping clients understand that taking medication was a valid method of coping and growth. Even with the war over, the stigma around mental health was still very present, even far from home. It wasn't the way that he preferred to conduct his practice, but sacrifices, unfortunately, had to be made. One sacrifice entailed patients undergoing both an evaluation from himself and from Ratchet before any approval was given for prescriptions; ensure that candidates didn't risk having too many negative side effects and had to switch medications, only further dwindling a mediocre stash. That wasn't to say he didn't keep a small stash in his subspace in case of real emergencies but...
As badly as he wanted to enter stasis, it seemed like there was always a handful of thoughts in his way that prevented it until his time was almost up. He was certainly tired, there was no questioning that, he needed the charge, but it never came. Usually, it was thoughts anyway. Sometimes it was the dull ache that had been eating away at his spinal struts since Vos fell, but it wasn't all that long ago, and eventually it would fix itself. At least that's what he told himself.
The ache was never bad enough to ask Ratchet or First Aid to waste their time. There were plenty of other patients who needed care more urgently. Sometimes, Rung thought back on Ratchet repairing his arm, impressed by his own upkeep. He wished he had been able to keep up with it after boarding, but it was near impossible with how many people he was responsible for now. Back on Cybertron he'd had a much smaller practice, the sort that went unnoticed on busy streets with so many other options. He had never minded having a small practice, it had never felt like a bad thing. However, to go from maybe a hundred clients or so a month to over two hundred, at all hours of the day, whenever they needed treatment... It was fulfilling, while exhausting.
Processes were starting to offling and prompt a recharge stasis; audial, olfactory, EM field.... Slowly the world became a soft and gentle hum, and Rung was in recharge.
It was atypical of Rung to dream during stasis; usually, his cycles were so short that the secondary processes that prompted dreaming didn't have time to initiate. This time was no exception, which always left Rung feeling a tad unfulfilled when he woke. He felt groggy and his vision was blurred at the edges as his optics came back online, processing the view of his desk. A monitor, a small datapad, a nice silver container of rust sticks, a small bowl of energon candies.... Something seemed like it was missing. Rung looked over his models, finding all of them in place; all of his datapads remained unmoved, right where he'd left them; nothing, truthfully seemed out of place.
One look at his chronometer told him the issue. Rung had been in stasis a few minutes too long, a total of fifty-five minutes instead of forty-five, but found he wasn't the only one late for a session. It appeared that Ratchet was also late to their appointment, as he usually was. The Chief Medical Officer had a tendency to avoid any kind of medical treatment himself, seemingly for similar reasons as Rung - there was too much to be done, and no time to stop for a little help. Despite that Rung, naturally, disagreed. Ratchet was an old mech, a mech who had been active during the war, a mech with things he needed to talk about and wouldn't. Rung didn't like the idea of coercing him into appointments or making him feel as though he had no choice but to talk to someone, but he was certain it would help. Most of the mechs on board were aware of Ratchet's post-traumatic stress disorder and how it had an influence on his work. A little help could go a long way, if he would simply take it.
Rung stretched, letting his systems work their way up to their usual functions before opening his commlink and sending a message to Ratchet. He always did his best to avoid sounding too forceful; even being friends, Rung still had to be professional and do his best to make his clients feel comfortable. Even a client as stubborn as Ratchet.
[[Ratchet,]] Rung knew he didn't have reason to clarify who he was. [[I apologize for my lack of punctuality, but you had an appointment that was scheduled for a few minutes ago. It seems I'd slipped into recharge, and time got away from me-]]
A soft ping of Ratchet's responses coming through.
[Can't leave.]
Ratchet didn't need to say much more for Rung to understand that he was up to his chassis in work. Despite that he insisted that First Aid was qualified, and that most every mech on board knew that First Aid had to be if Ratchet wanted him as a successor, Ratchet tended to not actually leave him alone in the medibay.
Rung figured if Ratchet wasn't going to come and try to get treatment, maybe he could use the opportunity to go to the medibay and get himself some instead.
[[If you're not terribly busy,]] If asked, Ratchet was always terribly busy. [[Would you mind taking a look at my spinal struts? I've been experiencing some stiffness and now seems as good a time as any.]]
[Always time to do my job.]
With a thankful smile, Rung helped himself out of the chair, joints once again squealing in protest. He helped himself to a small energon candy from his desk before slipping out into the hall and making his way towards the medibay. There was the soft hum of conversations from behind closed doors and from corridors that were still ways off. The hallways of the ship always seemed infinite and alien when compared to the warm, compact space of his office. A singular wrong turn and he could end up not knowing where he was - which, of course, was simply rectified by pulling up a schematic of the ship on a holopad, which may have been the reason that he kept one in his subspace. So many doors looked the same, so few crewmates had bothered to keep the name plates on their door, so few of them had concerns about seeing Rung wandering absently through the hallways. Despite having a great memory, and remembering more than most over the years, Rung had been finding it challenging to remember his way around the ship if he got turned around. If he'd had to attribute it to anything, it was likely the consistent lack of decent recharge and his perpetual alone time with only one mech at a time. Seeing more than two mechs at a time was a little disorientating if he wasn't at Swerve's, which it felt he hardly ever was anymore.
Rung didn't actually realize he wasn't heading towards the medibay until he realized that he was instinctively headed to Swerve's. He flushed, a bit embarrassed but thankful to have gone unnoticed, turning and moving back down the hall to make the proper turn. It seemed that he would unfortunately be a little later than intended.
He toyed with the idea of comming Ratchet to alert him of his delay, but reasoned that Ratchet would have only been upset by the second interruption.
Ratchet was, however, unfazed by Rung's lack of punctuality, instead having his servos full with a Swerve who had somehow gotten his hand stuck in a glass and hadn't thought to break the glass to free himself. Ratchet, it would seem, had lost his temper while Swerve remained positively bemused, either hoping to invoke this reaction or stunned at his own foolishness. Instinctively, Rung wanted to make an effort to get between the tension and help Ratchet calm down, but he reminded himself that he was here to see Ratchet. The medibay was the medic's turf, and while Swerve would have benefited from the support, Rung knew that the conversation wasn't going to be pleasant regardless. It was best to lay low and... well, wait his turn.
Rung took a small seat close to the door, waving politely to a very uncomfortable and quickly approaching First Aid.
"Rung," The medic tried to sound surprised instead of exhausted. "If you could do me the favor of filling out this form while you wait, it'll make everyone's job a bit easier once we're able to see you."
Rung politely took the holopad. "I know you're not going to like hearing this, but I'm here to see-"
"I'm just as qualified as Ratchet, Rung."
"Oh! No, please don't misunderstand." Rung hastily waved a hand, knowing that First Aid had trouble with the crew despite earning his title. "Ratchet was late for a session, but agreed to speak with me if I came here. I have no doubts of your qualifications, First Aid. Ratchet trusts you. Everyone on this ship should."
The small medic visibly relaxed, a smile playing off his vocalizer.
"Uh, thanks. Sorry to go off. You know how it is. Ratchet should be done... uh..." He shot a glance over at the CMO. "He should be done eventually."
Rung smiled, thanking First Aid before going over the form, filling in his symptoms and some additional medical details. Ratchet eventually opted to forcibly pushing Swerve out of the medibay, leaving a bit of broken glass on the examination table in his wake. After a few minutes of grumbling and cleaning, Ratchet was less than content but content to give Rung his undivided attention.
"Good afternoon, Ratchet." Rung beamed, handing the doctor his holopad and watching him read it over. He had to admit that he had a certain admiration for how quickly Ratchet was capable of absorbing most information when it came to his work.
"Back pains?" Ratchet stood up, crossing to the examination table that had previously been occupied by Swerve and broken glass and giving it a firm pat in invitation. Rung did his best to hide a grimace as he stood, finding that maybe the ache had been worse than he thought. To his relief, he squeaked and squealed a little less as he made his way to the table, easily sliding up with apparently having been set to accommodate his height.
"Go ahead and lie down, I'll take a look at your spinal struts and see what kind of issues we're dealing with."
Rung obeyed, resting his head on the small pillow at the head of the table. He dimmed his optics, letting his processor flood with the scent of saline and cleansing fluids, and the faint scent of energon underneath it all. While Rung had spent very little time in medical facilities in his time, he'd never had it be an unpleasant experience - even with bedside manner as inappropriate as Ratchet's. It was nice, he had to admit, to occasionally have a mech’s undivided attention.
Ratchet's hands were quick and diligent, more skilled than even rumors would imply, easily moving from strut to strut and inquisitively looking for any inflammation or displacement. Typically, Rung would have scolded himself for relaxing so unprofessionally, but a little part of him reminded himself that he was here for treatment, after all. Relaxing meant it was working, that he felt safe and comfortable. Ratchet would probably benefit from being told he made people feel that way, he thought.
"Ratchet," Rung flushed, realizing his vocalizer would benefit from a reset before he said anything else. A little too relaxed it would seem. "I know my experience as a patient is minimal, but you really do exceed your reputation."
Under most circumstances, Ratchet shrugged off flattery as an attempt to get better treatment or to get some better bedside manner or medication. Rung, however, was an unusually authentic mech. While he passed around compliments like they were energon candies, they were always genuine. The only thing more scarce than a genuine mech was a mech who did their job, and Rung was both. Ratchet had respect for that.
"If I wasn't good at my job, they wouldn't let me keep it." Ratchet mumbled, skilled servos working over several struts. "It looks like it's long term physical stress. Wear and tear and lack of upkeep." The words stung more to say than to hear. Ratchet knew that Rung was capable of taking care of himself, he remembered replacing Rung's arm, remembered how there was hardly even a scratch in his paint, how the window showcasing his spark didn't hold a single speck of dust...
Rung bit his lip, knowing that his negligence was certain to come up. It wasn't as though he was going to deny it, or that Ratchet would believe him with the medical knowledge he had. Too many patients, too little time, too few resources. Rung also knew that Ratchet would be painfully empathetic of why Rung had been neglecting his self-care... But empathy didn't always equate to any particular brand of kindness.
"In truth, Ratchet, lack of upkeep is part of the reason we agreed to meet like this."
Ratchet begrudgingly kept his pace, smugly satisfied to feel the smaller mech relax beneath his servos. It was nice to get to work with new patients, even if it was under less-than-ideal situations. There was a certain thrill in working with new patients; new bodies, new details, and more often than not, more work that needed to be done. While more work was generally viewed as a negative thing, Ratchet found himself most at peace when he was in his element. No place in his experience was more his element than an examination table; except, perhaps, an operation table. Rung's form, albeit in mostly good shape, had enough maintenance that Ratchet could keep him busy enough for at least a few cycles. A few joints here could use replacing, a few lines there needed better patches, paint needed retouching in a few places and Rung seemed like he would benefit from detailing and the work kept Ratchet's new hands busy. In the past, more work had kept his hands busy and made the seizing up a little less frequent and it had become rough to ditch the habit. Nowadays, it kept his hands busy and kept him from worrying about other things. Things that, in truth, he should talk to Rung about.
Rung, however, was perfectly content letting Ratchet make a habit out of similar examinations. Attention for himself, attention for Ratchet; the old mech could surely benefit from someone to talk to.
"And I imagine... to a certain extent, it's the same reason I haven't been seeing you."
Ratchet only grumbled in response, with the usual flair that he gave to questions that he didn't feel like entertaining. It was difficult to make progress when a patient didn’t want to, but Rung had been through the solar cycle enough times to know how to work with someone difficult. Shortly after trying to prompt him, he tried again.
"Unless there's something you don't want to talk about." Rung always tread carefully when working with his clients, especially early on. Some patients, like Rodimus, had a tendency to need to hear things they didn't like, but mechs like Ratchet usually needed more finesse. A tip of the proverbial hat, the planted seed that helped them start with their own ideas, instead of trying to tell Rung what they thought he’d view as most important. "Which is perfectly fine, I respect your wishes for privacy. We don't have to discuss anything you don't wish to discuss. You're not obligated to talk about things if you don't want to."
Giving patients the option to keep secrets had almost always been a benefit. If Rung didn't pry, they could take their time adjusting until they felt ready to share on their own. While many in his profession were a bit more assertive in getting information, there was no rush to open doors clients wanted to keep locked. If they were pushed into talking, they'd end up keeping more secrets or end up lying. Sometimes they lied anyway. While Rung was very used to clients who tended to avoid the truth, it made it difficult to make progress or give any real kind of treatment. Honesty was the way to get things done; he knew that Ratchet knew that too. Lying to a medic had real life consequences; medication issues, misdiagnosis, and sometimes in Ratchet’s case, refusal for treatment. He had heard rumors that he gave the patients who wouldn’t work with him to First Aid.
"Nothing to talk about." Ratchet murmured, sending a sharp shudder through Rung as he realigned a spinal strut. Rung involuntarily tightened his servos over the small cushion he'd been resting his head on, averting his attention to something other than Ratchet's undeniable skill.
Unfortunately, what he happened to notice was First Aid, happily working and minding his own business. First Aid wasn't typically an unfortunate sight or even a negative person, but First Aid being present meant one very, very important thing: Ratchet had no intention of talking to Rung today. By keeping First Aid present, by keeping Rung in the medibay, Ratchet assured himself a lack of privacy that he knew Rung wouldn't dare breech; conveniently barring Ratchet from speaking about personal matters, and giving Rung enough cause not to bring them up. If it hadn't been so brilliant, Rung would have been furious. Well, maybe not furious, but certainly more frustrated. Ratchet was an incredibly intelligent mech, there was no debate surrounding that, and one of few who held Rung in some kind of regard; Rung considered it as some sort of courtesy between doctors, regardless that they dealt with two different sorts of health.
Rung understood Ratchet didn't want to talk. He valued his work over his own health.... Rung could relate. This check-up could have been their first step into his office. They couldn’t make any progress together so long as one of them was trying to hold the other back - be it Rung’s reluctance to work on his physical health, or Ratchet’s to work on his mental. However, Rung sat on an examination table and was clearly making an effort at progress. And, so long as Ratchet kept his hands moving, Rung didn't know that he could complain very much at all. At least he wouldn't have if it hadn't been for the sudden and sharp pain that replaced the released tension from the repositioned strut.
"Ah-!" Rung ducked his head against the pillow, shoulders up and back. He knew enough to know that sometimes even healing hurt. That appeared to be universal in their professions.
Ratchet grumbled what Rung was fairly certain was an apology, opting to surprisingly open his commlink for a private conversation.
[There's a lot of damage to your spinal column.] Ratchet was subdued and masking what Rung was fairly certain was fury. [You've got chips in some, cracks in others, and frankly the fact that you've been walking around with this kind of damage shows that you shouldn't have been walking around at all.]
Rung went to start, but Ratchet wasn't done.
[I had thought that I caught most of these details after Swerve, but it slipped past me. A lot of this slipped past me. You've got all these tiny nicks and problems that add up to enough damage to warrant uninterrupted work for... slag, weeks?]
Rung was actually thankful that his commlink was closed as he privately rejoiced in the amount of time that he could spend in the medibay.
[[I appreciate the helping hand.]] Rung wasn’t entirely sure how else to respond. Ratchet had just as many patients as himself, more in fact due to the social stigma that came with mental health treatment. The fact that Ratchet would take time out of his day, that he would take several solar cycles, that he would be giving all that attention to Rung…
He dismissed the HUD warning that suggested he turn on his fans.
Ratchet sighed, a hand sliding over the side of his helm in contemplation. With Rung needing as much work as he did, there were only two viable options and neither of them were exceptionally good. The first, worst, option, was a pseudo-quarantine. Rung would just be kept away from work and Ratchet would be able to spend his off shifts working on repairs and during his work, First Aid could work on some of them. The repairs were gratuitous but mostly routine and definitely within First Aid’s capabilities, most of the work that needed to be done were within First Aid’s capabilities, despite what mechs onboard seemed to believe.
However, there was a certain benefit to putting time aside and working on Rung. Regardless of how much he hated the idea of having to take time away from other patients and get treatment himself, he could… consider talking to Rung about a few issues. Little issues, naturally. Nothing dramatic. It would also be a fantastic opportunity to give First Aid some real responsibilities and see how he fared in the field. It also took away the opportunity for patients to specifically request Ratchet’s touch. Gave him a chance to not have to worry about every mech onboard, if only for a little while. He would hardly find the time to worry about anything if he was spending all his time fretting over Rung. The little mech could probably stand to have someone fret over him every once and a while.
And while Ratchet didn’t want to discuss it, he did feel a certain amount of responsibility to take care of what was realistically his own unfinished business.
[Here’s my suggestion.] Ratchet picked up a cloth from his small table of tools, wiping his hands. [You’re going to have to come in, repeatedly, for treatment. It’s unthinkable to make these repairs in one sitting. So we’re going to assemble a schedule for you to come in here and get this taken care of.]
Thankfully, the sharp surge of light from his spark was swallowed by the examination table.
[[I’m afraid I’m unable to take much time away from my clients. Only a very short bit a time, forty-five minutes at best.]]
Ratchet grumbled audibly, despite continuing via the link. [Fine, forty-five minutes at a time.]
[[And I hate to press, but it will have to be private to ensure I can give you treatment as well…]]
Another groan from Ratchet, but a nodded and a severed link.
“Fine, fine.” He threw the cloth into a small trash bin, waving over his shoulder. “I’ll grab a datapad, we’ll work out something. These repairs need to get done.”
“Thank you, Ratchet.” Rung turned his helm to the side so he could better face the medic. “I can’t thank you enough for being so accommodating, given the circumstances.”
“Your survival means something, Rung.”
If he hadn’t known better, he would have almost said Ratchet was smiling when he walked away. Rung sat up with a smaller wince than he previously had, feeling the sharp crackle of a charge dancing under his plates.