Chapter Text
Whirl's entrance into the medbay was quiet, his stride purposeful. He paused, his helm turning one direction and then another until he spotted First Aid across the room, the medic stationed at his desk appearing seemingly unoccupied. Even if he had been busy with something, it wouldn’t have mattered. His optical shutter narrowed and widened in approval.
Carefully held in the points of one set of claws was a small item in a case. It was quickly set on a worktable and straightened just-so to match the line of the workspace. He looked down at it for short moment before starting to pilfer and rummage for tools, setting them out in a practiced way around the cased object. Organization wasn’t important to him. His presence claimed the workspace as his own, and the quiet medic as a part of it.
First Aid silently watched Whirl as he moved about the medbay, selecting tools for some yet to be announced purpose. He felt he should probably be concerned about the ex-wrecker raiding the medbay, but he either couldn't muster up the energy to be worried or simply didn't want to make the attempt to be. In either case, he was curious about what had Whirl in such a determined state.
First Aid moved away from his desk and quietly approached the growing assemblage of devices, his optics focused on the still unopened case Whirl had brought with him. The apparent certainty in the selection of tools and the method to their placement was not unlike something he would see in preparation for surgery, and it was this that made him begin to question a cause for concern.
The medic turned his helm to look at Whirl. "What are you doing?" The tone wasn't demanding or riled, but calm curious.
The mono-opticed mech grabbed a nearby stool and put it in front of the station he had set up. “Working.” It was a cheerful and clipped answer. Whirl pulled the medic over and down onto the seat while he stood ominously behind him, First Aid's visor flashing and his frame becoming rigid at the sudden intrusion of personal space.
"Working," Aid repeated quietly. "You know, I might be making assumptions here, but I'm going to go ahead and assume you want me to help with whatever it is you're working on." He didn't turn to look at the mech looming behind him, but rather focused his attention on the objects splayed out on the table.
The helicopter gently--almost surprisingly so--pinched the young medic’s wrists. “I’m needing your hands, and Ratchet’s too cranky.” He pulled the hands up to the case and positioned them. “These are now mine.” Whirl was pleased and his front pressed against First Aid’s back. Although Whirl was gentle, the medic froze up, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden and close contact. His hands visibly twitched as they were positioned over the case, his fingers settling over the latches.
First Aid was very quiet. He didn't audibly agree or make protest, but either way, he didn't look or feel he was about to be okay with the situation anytime soon. He gently flipped the latches with his thumbs, lifting the lid of the case to reveal its contents.
Whirl leaned close resting the underside of his helm on Aid’s back-mounted kibble. He looked on wistfully. “Not many of these anymore. Isn’t it a beaut.” He guided the medic’s hands to retrieve the clock from the well-worn case. “This was a travel clock. The kind used to time sporting events. Tarn Turnkey company, 5 vorns prewar. Issued with a rust and acid proof case.” Several pieces remained in the bottom of the container. “Dropped and broke.” He huffed and let more of his helm’s weight rest on First Aid’s shoulder.
First Aid became a lot less rigid as it became infinitely clear Whirl was entirely more focused on interacting with the clock than he was with him. He was just acting as a set of hands and a headrest. He could do that. He didn't care for the close proximity or the intrusion of his time and his space, but he could do that. First Aid sat and listened to Whirl describe the object with adoring and precise detail, the oddity of the situation sinking in. He turned the object over in one of his hands, picking up one of the loose pieces with the other, bringing it closer to his optics for inspection. "I didn't know you had such a passion for clocks..."
“Yeah, and tell anyone and I’ll kill ya.” Whirl said unblinking, and without any indication if it was said in jest or not--although he followed it by lightly knocking the side of his helm into First Aid’s. The medic didn't flinch at the threat, but he vented slightly at the bump to his helm. “Start fishing the parts out of the case and don’t lose any. I don’t have many of these left.” His voice had a change in tone--far different from the first, but still very much characteristic of the eccentric flier. His puppeteering of the medic continued.
First Aid leaned more against the mech as he sank into the task. The red and white hands placed the loose pieces in an organized fashion beside the case, taking a look at them and trying to make a guess as to what each gadget's function was. He questioned how inquisitive he should be about this. Aid was a curious person by nature, but he didn't want to press into things Whirl might label as "off limits". With him, it was hard to tell just what those things were. "So you collect them?" he asked lightly, freely allowing Whirl to control his hands.
The helicopter mech finished retrieving the parts. He guided the medic to pick up a tool in order to remove the back plating. “Not really. Just don’t like to see ‘em broke. Got it from a NAIL before we left. Traded a couple rations and some stims for it. Start popping the corners first.” Whirl was intently focused, his helm craned forward on his long neck. He wanted this and it was becoming more evident the closer he got to seeing the workings.
"...I see," Aid replied. He didn't want to question why Whirl had stims in the first place, although it wasn't surprising. However, he wasn't really in the mood to report this bit of information to Magnus. All of this just seemed really odd. Why clocks, of all things? He popped the corners, setting the backing aside as he revealed the internal mechanisms of the device. From the sight of the thing's innards, it looked like the task was going to be complex and tedious--although it wasn't like he was doing much of anything before this.
"Since you've had it for a while, is there any reason why you waited so long to get it fixed?" he inquired. His tone didn't indicate he was questioning Whirl's logic, but rather asking out of curiosity.
They switched to a new tool, and Whirl directed certain areas to be tapped prodded. They were the motions of someone inspecting damage. “Well Ratchet wouldn’t take this, so it was between you and the ex-con. The Good Doc Pharma made the decision.”
First Aid's hands twitched and slowed, feeling something twinge and curdle in his tanks from Whirl's response. And here he was almost starting to get comfortable. He suddenly felt very reluctant about this whole thing as his mind began to wander. "Yeah. I suppose he did." He didn't feel like correcting Whirl. In that his name was "Ambulon" and not 'ex-con', or that Pharma wasn't a 'good doc', even though the title was given with obvious sarcasm. He didn't feel like asking more questions. First Aid continued to let Whirl have control of his hands, but he wasn't focusing.
Their work continued in silence. Whirl stood for the quiet longer that most would have anticipated, but he eventually had to break it. “So which one is getting you--him picking Ambulon or you killing him? Because I would’ve got him if you didn’t. I would have enjoyed it.” The large mech’s engine rumbled, and in a weird display almost cuddled the medic’s back.
First Aid was still, save for his index finger and thumb which rubbed apprehensively at the metal of the tool in his hand, uncomfortable in Whirl's motion against his back and in the abrupt question for answers he didn't want to give. He lowered the tool, giving it a single tap against the table.
There were a lot of things about it that were 'getting him'. Aid wasn't even sure where to begin for a response to that, and he didn't feel that he was obligated to give one to Whirl. However, there was also a point of realization that Whirl was the first one to even broach the subject with First Aid since it happened, as coarse and intrusive as he was about it. First Aid had been avoiding Rung, and the rest of the crew seemed content with letting him deal with it in his own time. There were far more important things for people to worry about than how First Aid was feeling. Of all mechs, why Whirl? Why couldn't he let it be like everyone else?
First Aid answered--not out of feeling that the copter’s prodding deserved a response, but out of an inner need to say anything about what happened with Pharma and Ambulon. "Both..." he spoke, his voice hush." And it's more than that."
They moved into the next phase, slowly taking the clock apart and laying the inner workings out in a beautiful array around it. Whirl looked to be an expert. He mentally catalogued the pieces, and the broken ones were set-aside in a line to be paired with a replacement. “It’s guilt, sorrow, devastation, distress, and anger. So much anger. It’s justified.” His voice was very matter-of-fact, as if to make the point that these things were responses that were natural, and in a way, correct to have with something like this.
"I killed someone, Whirl," First Aid replied bitterly, an odd twinge in his vocals as he admitted something he had never said aloud. "I'm not supposed to kill people. I made an oath, and I broke it. I'm supposed to save lives, not take them away, no matter the circumstances. I never wanted to." He wasn't paying any attention to the task now. He couldn't. He didn't know what his hands were doing. Whirl had prodded at something that had gone untouched for too long.
"I was so angry. I hated him so much.. For what he did to Ambulon, for all the lives he took on Delphi. For what he did to me, for everything. I wanted him dead. I had never felt like that about anyone before--I didn't think I was capable... but I was." His voice trailed off, an overwhelming feeling of guilt and shame descending over his processors that trickled down to clench at his spark.
Whirl issued a small byte of dismissive static. “I’ve killed loads of people. The difference is you actually feel guilty. You aren’t a killer, neither is Ratchet. Speaking of Ratchet, he’s killed people. Does that make his oath worth any less? Is he any less of a doctor? You took out one fragger and in the long run probably saved lives. No difference than deleting a virus, just a matter of scale. He was a big ol’ nasty aft virus.” He paused to concentrate on his work, which appeared wouldn’t continue until the medic had calmed somewhat. He couldn’t use the hands as they were.
Aid was silent as he weighed on what Whirl had said. "A virus..." The other mech made a lot of good points he couldn't form a good argument for. He killed someone, but he didn't enjoy it. Was that seriously the only line that drew a difference between murder and necessity? The medic cycled air, trying to relieve the weight in his chassis.
"I know Pharma would have gone on to kill more people if he wasn't stopped," Aid replied, his voice low. "And no, Ratchet isn't any less of a doctor. I--" He shuttered his optics briefly, cycling more air into his system. He lifted one of his hands, opening his optics again to look at it, regardless of Whirl still gripping his wrists."I just... I wish things could have happened differently."
As the medic pulled his hand away, Whirl released it. Damaging the wrist won’t fix his clock. “Yeah, you ain’t the only one. So congrats. You earned your ‘I wish it didn’t go that way’ merit badge. Chromedome’s run out of room for all of his.” Whirl knocked his helm against Aid’s again. “Now, you, me, the clock.” He shook First Aid’s other wrist playfully.
First Aid marked that as an unnecessary comment at Chromedome's expense, but the jarring bluntness helped to shake him back from his train of thought. "...right. The clock." He turned his helm lightly in a small attempt to thoughtfully give a partial look at the mech behind him, before returning his gaze to the still-broken device. He raised his hand, offering it to Whirl again for him to guide.
The copter took the hand back. It was time to concentrate, and he didn't hesitate in getting straight back to work. There was a thing about Cybertronian timepieces, and that particular thing was everything had to be precise. It was one thing to build them correctly, but repair was almost more complicated. Whirl murmured the entire time, and--for once--it seemed almost normal for him to.
First Aid settled back into letting Whirl work his hands, it being much easier for him to actually give his attention to the task now. He didn't pay much mind to the muttering, occasionally catching single phrases or words as they worked, but he didn't make an attempt to make much sense out of it. In the quiet of the repairs, his mind was left to wander about what Whirl had said--about what he had done, about Pharma and Ambulon, and how he felt about it. About what it all meant to him. He sank into the quiet, accepting the relative silence and not feeling especially motivated to break it.
Everything was tested and then tested again before the pieces of the clock were slowly put back together. Every piece was individually cleaned, becoming glistening bits of gold, silver, and blues. The meticulous attention to detail was a skill somewhere between healing and art.
Once it was whole again, Whirl had the medic lift the Clock upright. One of the wrists was dropped in order for Whirl to flip an almost hidden switch that started the mechanism. It began to move, lines counting the smallest units into the next size and then into the next. The helicopter stared at it for a long moment as his free claw and arm laid on Aid’s, which was now finally allowed to rest on the table. It was unclear whether Whirl was simply counting, or marveling in the completion of the task. “You did it!” It was a very quiet cheer from the larger mech. “It’s going to keep.”
First Aid's optics brightened as he watched the clock perform its function, feeling a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. He felt a twinge of a smile beneath his faceplate at Whirl's tone, feeling the weight of the other's arm over his own. "It's a lovely piece," Aid commented lightly, his tone much more relaxed and tinged with hints of how pleased he was. "I'm glad we could get it working again."
It was such a curious and odd thing for Whirl. His clear interest and knowledge on such a subject that required near artisanal finesse was striking against the normal associations of death and destruction that came with the image of the mech. There was something more to this, and as he looked on at the clock, his curiosity grew.
“I think the prettiest part is covered up.” Whirl answered very matter-of-fact. He flipped the switch on the clock, stopping it, and neatly placed it back in the case it came from. This had put the helicopter in a good place, mentally. It was a taste of something he rarely got to do, and if he did, it usually meant nothing but frustration and impatience. “People need to be more like clocks. I actually like them.” The large mech didn’t think about putting up the tools or helping to clean up. He just left as quickly as he arrived with the timepiece stowed safely away in his briefcase.
First Aid turned around in his seat to watch the mech go without a chance to put in another word before he was out the door. The medic stayed like that for a moment, taking in the mech's parting words, the almost surreal event that had just taken place, and the oddity that came with his returned solitude.
He brought his now free hand up to his mask, a finger curled thoughtfully at his chin. He turned around in his chair to once again face the table, venting at the small mess of tools he would need to re-organize. In a pause of thought, he let his optics drift over to Ambulon's still untouched desk. Sure, he had a little bit of cleaning up to do thanks to Whirl's sudden visit. Although he had made a mess, Whirl also had given him a lot to think about, and First Aid couldn't help but feel some sense of gratitude for that.