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...Sarge?

[Goddammit can you just quarantine yourself for like one week? Everytime you appear you've got some new illness like ghost or sick.]

[GHOST IS NOT AN ILLNESS.]

[But fine.]

... Yes?

You aren't affected, are you?

[Sorry were you expecting a response? He's getting ready to head out the door.]

[Wait, what.]

Wheeljack?

I'm headin' over.

[Wheeljack, do you even know what permission is.]

N--

[The sudden burst of coughing sounds cuts him off. Intakes rapidly firing and dying.]

No! It's quarantined.

We'll see about that when I'm done with it.

[Because no, you're not being out of his eyesight with the way you randomly get ailments. You might go ghost again.]

I'm changing the access codes now.

[The better to keep him out. And therefore safer.]

What.

You're not.

[Because that's not going to stop him.]

I -- [And there's the hacking, static sounds again. The word "am" is probably in there somewhere, but voicing it is suddenly difficult.]

... Just stay.

[His voice is very rough, as if damaged.]

Stay put.

[If anything, that only fuels him to hurry himself over there.]

Sorry Sarge, got priorities.

[That static sound was almost cringeworthy. He didn't want to hear that coming from the scientist.]

So... so do I.

Stay out.

[Too late, there's already a pounding at the door.

Five guesses as to who it is, and the first four don't count.]

[And he's not answering.]

[Even if he wanted to, suddenly crossing the distance between his work station and the door feels like far too much effort.]

[Maybe if he pretends to be asleep--]

[BAM.

Well...something was hitting against the door. And from the sound of the sickening crunch after, it was working.

This is what happens when you don't open the door for Wheeljack, Percy.

JSYK.]

[That's about when Wheeljack's comm sputters to life with a crackle of "coughing".]

Stop! St-top.

[A pause.]

Give me -- give me a moment.

[The more Percy did that, the more worried he got. ...Not that he'd admit to being worried around the Scientist.

This was just what he did when he didn't know what else to do. He acted on impulse.]

Just...open up, Sarge.

Please.

It's... fine.

It's open.

[If the door will even open after what Wheeljack did to it.]

[But once it does open, he hasn't moved from his console, leaning heavily against it, half slumped over it, optics gone dim and flickering.]

[It doesn't take long for Wheeljack to stumble in, seeing the scientist slumped over the console. He doesn't even say anything as he puts his forge back, working his way over to the desk itself. Sitting there.

Nothing said, just sitting there.

Like some kind of statue.]

[He's focused completely on the computer. On the console. His fingers move stiffly, poking at keys rather than hammering them as usual. Movements look pained, and he doesn't look up at the Wrecker.]

[Every now and then, he lets his head thunk against his own shoulder, letting it list to one side, before righting himself, and returning to work.]

[The coughing, though, that doesn't seem to be easing up, no matter what he attempts to do.]

...

Yes?

Not leavin'. So you better go power down.

[It almost sounded like a threat, but you can tell that it's just the Wrecker. Worrying.]

I can't.

[Small words are easier. His throat, his head -- everything -- seems to hurt less if he sticks to smaller words.]

[Shaking his head makes the room spin, so he opts not to do that.]

I need to. Work. Try to fix this.

's all you do, Sarge.

[And he moves, if only to try to drag the scientist away from the module.]

Ya can't do it like this, even I can see it.

I have to...

[He doesn't even realize he's repeating himself. His voice cracks and breaks on the words.]

[After a moment, he has to pause, gripping the table tightly to stay upright. It looks, for a moment, as if he's going to fall over.]

... can't allow you to -- others can't catch this.

[He'd be more guarded in his speech, but. It's too much effort, suddenly.]

[Hands press against his waist, stubbornly, as a small, rather irritated Wrecker holds them there. Whatever Perceptor was going to try to do, he was there to stop it.]

No.

You're gonna rest, ya got that? I've got this covered.

[Because he's not letting anything happen to you, idiot.]

I'll look it up.

[Hopefully, Wheeljack doesn't mind heat. The temperature coming off the scientist's paneling could have scorched organic life. Even there, at the waist.]

[He debates fighting it. Debates planting his feet and struggling against him. On any other day, he might have been able to.]

[Today... he can feel his knees start to buckle under him. There's no fight in him.]

Don't catch this.

Please.

[The lack of fight from such a big bot tells enough, and the heat the was exerting only added to it.]

Yeah, you're powering down, now.

[It was like a demand rather than a suggestion as he leads the scientist to a berth.]

I won't Sarge. Wrecker's honor.

[Even if that did hurt to say now.]

Just...take care of yourself.

You can't--

[There was more to that sentence, but coughing cuts it off. Coughing, trembling, and the sudden twist of expression that almost looks as if he's going to be physically ill all over the place.]

[Whatever this is, he's apparently been hit hard. Either that, or his lack of rest has exacerbated it.]

[The scientist stumbles. One big hand reaches out to grasp at a wall or something. Anything to stay on his feet.]

Take care of -- you.

I need -- need you.

[At that last part, his whole body goes numb. Thankfully Perceptor wasn't using him as a support, because he would have just buckled his knees.

Did he really just...?

It's delirium. It has to be.

There's no way that Perceptor would mean anything else by that.]

I'm not gonna get myself scrapped, Sarge. But you already are, and ya better recover.

See to it ... see to it you don't.

[His fingers tighten on the wall, the only thing keeping him on his feet. That, and his concern. Wheeljack can't fall sick. If he does -- who's going to look after him?]

[Who's going to make sure he keeps coming back to be an irritation? A dependable distraction?]

[The room starts to tilt sideways. But the chair is nearby. He can make it, or so he thinks. Holding onto the wall, he edges forward a little, plodding toward it.]

If you're... if infected... no one else. No one else looks after. This. Me.

[I need you.]

[Wheeljack's almost acting as a spotter here, attempting to guide him towards the berth. Really, it was like moving a semi. You kind of had to let it give. But in no way was he leaving until Perceptor was okay. Until he was sleeping this off.]

's not gonna happen, Sarge. I told ya.

[There's a slight twinge in his spark. As if what he's saying is really hitting him. He wants it to be real...but of course he'd be saying it out of desperation. It's not like he could even--]

This place'll be fine. But only if ya do as you're fraggin told.

Not this place. Not the problem.

[At length, he makes it to the chair. Getting into it is not exactly graceful, it's more like a semi falling over than a scientist taking a seat. At least the thing reclines, easily enough. He's less sitting, more curled up in it, cooling vents working rapidly and raggedly.]

[But this is better. Things have stopped spinning.]

[One hand gropes blindly at a shelf, where a few glowing cubes are lined up, though Perceptor himself appears to abide by the wisdom of not moving an inch, himself.]

Not worried about it.

Worried for you. You idiot.

[Well. That last bit was entirely coherent. So maybe that's a start.]

[It was like moving an elephant in a china shop, if Wheeljack knew what either of them were. And his plating relaxes once the scientist finally slows, plopping down into that chair. It wasn't the berth like he originally wanted, but you cut your losses when you can.

He'd learned that all too well.]

On it.

[He sees the hand gesturing to the shelf, hopping over to grab one gently before placing it in his hands. Hovering around it.]

...

[At those words, his head dips. Eyes diverting.]

I told ya not to. Pretty sure the Docs chip'd me. High-risk, I think they'd call it.

Frag it, Sarge...

[Why do you do this to him.]

[His hand keeps gesturing, reaching, up until the cube is actually pressed into it. As if he hadn't even noticed Wheeljack moving. Or heard him. He has enough presence of mind to drink it slowly, rather than chugging it like he wants to.]

[He lets the empty container simply fall from shaking fingers, though, once he's emptied it.]

You are. Anything with you. It's... a risk.

[Like feeling things.]

[He's watching him, now, though his optics stay dimmed, bleary. His hand moves again, of its own accord, for the Wrecker, now, instead of fuel.]

Had to be done. The work.

Wouldn't be me if I didn't.

[He's trying to keep it together, by not looking at the scientist. It makes things easier, this way.]

Yeah well...

[A hand rubs the back of his neck, reaching over to shut the monitor off.]

Not anymore it doesn't.

Don't argue with...

[He just trails off. There was an angry retort in there, but it dies down. The combination of lying down and refueling starting to do him in. And not in a bad way.]

[He's drifting off. Finally.]

[That hand makes one last, abortive gesture in Wheeljack's direction, before going still, relaxing in sleep.]

Perceptor!

I...

[Wow, this is suddenly awkward. How to you start a conversation when the last time that you talked to someone you really wanted to take a bite out of them?]

Look, I'm feeling better and I just wanted to say that I am sorry.

[Clearly the best apology of all time]

Yes...?

[This is literally the worst timing. His head is spinning, everything aches, and the tank wants nothing more than to just lie down.]

[He keeps typing.]

I -- apology accepted...? I suppos--

[And there's another stifled fit of backfiring intake vents.]

-- now isn't. Really a good time.

I know. I'm sorry.

I just didn't want to start worrying about you out loud until I'd taken care of that.

...

Can I bring you anything?

Not -- it's not your fault.

[Talking has become more and more difficult as he tries to continue the conversation.]

[There's a long pause between answers, full of ragged, static noises and short coughing sounds.]

Don't. Don't worry. Tank physique. It's -- [The word "fine" is lost in more coughing.] -- fine.

Could be contagious. I don't. Know if that's wise.

[Perceptor, you sound terrible. If Skids could look any more worried, he would.]

You're saying you are all alone there? Sounding like THAT?

...

Can I at least come shove an energon cube through the door? I...owe you one.

[He feels terrible. Hanging out in the Sea Of Rust felt better than this.]

Yes. It's ... I'm just in the lab. There's a chair.

You don't -- [Pause.] You don't owe me...

A chair?

That's it, I'm coming.

[He is, and you may hear more grumbling about a chair as he transforms.]

Of course I do. Unless you have to fend off friends from drinking your energon on a regular basis?

What's wrong with a chair...?

[He ends up sounding a little more groggy than intended. His chair is comfy thank you.]

Mm. No. That was ... that was new.

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[Audio] okay now i sleep oops

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