Work Text:
It had been cycles since Tailgate had found himself on the Lost Light. His legs have been repaired, thanks to Ratchet's quick hands. But, there was something else.
His legs had obvious issues, they did not exist when he came to. His arms had less obvious issues. Tailgate could only explain it by him falling on his arm badly when he fell down the hole. His right arm hurt.
Tailgate had told Ratchet about his pain. Ratchet had given him advice and treatments. But nothing was working. Surely if it was an effect of the fall he had taken million of years ago, it should have been an easy fix.
Ratchet had tried to explain that because he was older, ancient, that the pulleys in his arm were not operating at full health. There were temporary fixes, but nothing permanent.
During the day, when he was doing task around the Lost Light, his arm bothered him. Bothered him to the point of taking frequent breaks, writing reports slower, sometimes not at all. The pain was sharp and hot, and treatments only provided temporary relief.
Sometimes at night, when the life Lost Light was settling down, he would rest, and all he would feel is the pain in his arm. Ratchet said that massaging the tender areas could help. It was always something that could help, never something that will help.
In their shared habsuite, he and Cyclonus would rest together at the end of the day. Sometimes Tailgate did not bother to massage his arm, knowing that it would not do much for him anyways. But he would complain, only slightly, as if to have Cyclonus share his pain with him.
Sometimes, in their shared habsuite, Cyclonus and Tailgate would rest together. Sometimes, when Tailgate complained, but did not do anything, Cyclonus would. Cyclonus would listen to Tailgate's complaints and hold onto Tailgate's servo, while using his own servos to gently massage Tailgate's arm.
Tailgate would thank Cyclonus, as if to have Cyclonus share his thanks and gratitude with him.