In These Hands

The Sentence

"And that's a wrap. One, two, three, four, five sparklings all accounted for and thriving." Ratchet was in the process of packing away his equipment. His smile a reflection of the carrier's features. "At this rate we'll be seeing the litter within the next meta-cycle. Senator Proteus should be proud."

The femme carrier; she was beautiful. Her frame cascaded in various shades of emerald with accents of clean beige, and her optics a dazzling shade of cerulean. An individual most expected to find occupying a lord's estate.

At Ratchet's comment her smile seemed to dwindle. She sat up on the lounge bench where the medic had taken the opportunity to examine her in comfort, and didn't do much to hide her bordering negativity.

"Yes, he should. It would be nice if he showed it by a few more visits than what I receive." There was something that sounded like a sigh emitting from her vocal processors. She wasn't the first forlorn carrier Ratchet has gotten to know.

"Well, with all his responsibilities, I wouldn't blame him for being kept busy," Ratchet reasoned. Even so he watched her optics roll.

"Held up at the Grand Imperium I can understand, but here? In his own home? It's an absolute travesty." Even as she pouted, she lost no aspect of her radiant beauty. "And I'm certainly not the only one who misses his presence." She didn't explain further because there was no need to. Ratchet knew of her position as well as the others in the concubinage. What he couldn't work his internal processors around was why the Senators would collect so many and then leave the 'bots starved of proper interaction. It just seemed like a waste to him, but not something he could currently oppose seeing as this concubinage's need of a more attentive doctor is what landed him this coveted and high-ranking job in the first place.

The silence from the femme's troubled position faded quickly, dispersed by her laugh as brighter optics shown on her medic. "There I go again, laying the weight of my menial troubles on you like you're my psychotherapist. Oh, Ratchet, you've become such a dear companion I just can't seem to stop myself."

Ratchet's smile returned with hers. He waved off her previous bout as he often did. "You know it's no trouble by me, Mistress Greenlight." At that the femme motioned a cringe.

"Would you drop the 'mistress' title? Primus, it sounds so scandalous at times. I mean, sure, I'm a senator's lover currently living in his household and carrying his litter but 'mistress' just sounds so . . . so . . ." There was a pause for processing before Greenlight clapped her hands and threw her helm back in a laugh. "Yes, I guess that title about sums my entire predisposition up."

Greenlight was always one to get herself in and out of moods quite fast. She was an absolute privilege to get to know.

Taking up his medical kit, Ratchet moved toward the door. "I best be going. Got to make sure the report finds its way to Senator Proteus' desk by midday or else I'm out of a job." Greenlight only tsked behind him, and when he turned to have one last glance at her, he watched the femme wave her hand dismissively. Standing then, coming toward him, mindful of each step with premediated balance for the protoforms developing inside her.

"You're my doctor, not his," she said. One hand patted his white shoulder while her other rubbed over her growing chassis. "You're out a job when I say you are." She chuckled, the fingers over her chassis dancing on shifting plates. "And that time isn't going to be anytime soon by the looks of it."

Ratchet nodded, easing into Greenlight's assurances. "Well, then expect to see me next deca-cycle for our usual checkup. But, I'll be running by tomorrow for Datazone's examination. If you need me to mix a formula for erratic energon imbalances or further proto-nutrients at the facility it would be opportune to make the order."