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“You must be joking.” Flat blue optics glared pitilessly.
“But look! It’s hurt!” Sideswipe held up his loosely closed hands, the large metallic fingers forming a makeshift cage around a small furry organic that wasn’t actually injured at all.
“No, it isn’t.” Ratchet peered between Sideswipe’s fingers. “It’s perfectly healthy.”
Sideswipe opened his hands just enough to get a better look. “It’s making a funny noise.”
“It’s a kitten. Kittens purr. Kittens purr to express satisfaction, fear, and to reassure potential hostiles, and where did you even find it?”
“Why do you know that?” It was difficult to tell whether or not Sideswipe was avoiding the question deliberately; he had perfected the art of the innocent expression.
“I know what I know,” Ratchet told him. “Get rid of it.”
“But it followed me home,” Sideswipe said, and there was the explanation, inserted into the conversation where Sideswipe felt it had the greatest chance of getting the desired result.
“It did not follow you home.” Ratchet reached out for the organic, very carefully disentangling it from Sideswipe’s hands. It sprawled bonelessly across his palm and vibrated harder, eyes wide and ears pricked forward. Ratchet stifled a sigh and went to find Bumblebee; he got along well enough with their human friends that Ratchet was fairly sure he could find the kitten a home.