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Something crashed, and Ratchet resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands and groan. Why he’d agreed to train First Aid’s sparkling, he still had no idea. A moment of temporary insanity, perhaps? Possibly Brainstorm’s fault.
“Nothing broke!” Holo called from the storeroom, and Ratchet scrubbed a hand down his face with a heavy sigh.
“Get out here, kid.”
Holo was at his side faster than a half-grown ambulance should be allowed to move, bright blue optics shining up at him, and Ratchet gave him a flat stare. “What did I ask you to do?”
“Catalogue everything in the main storeroom, ask for help if I need it, and tell you what everything is for once I’m done.” he said dutifully, folding his hands behind his back and standing up straighter.
“And what were you doing?” Ratchet asked, crossing his arms and projecting stern authority in his field. He may not be the Lost Light’s CMO anymore, but he was this bitlet’s mentor and that meant the kid needed to listen to him.
“Trying to get a box of parts down from the top shelf, so I could count and record them.”
“The top shelf, which is well above your runty little helm.” Ratchet narrowed his optics in a glare. Holo was, aggravatingly, utterly unruffled by this. Little slagger still thought that his carrier being CMO made him all but invincible. “What part of ask for help did you not understand?”
Holo’s optics dimmed slightly, shoulders hunching as his field fell flat. “You’re the only medic on shift, if someone needed help-”
“You needed help.” Ratchet cuffed Holo upside the helm. “Now, show me the mess.”
“Yes, sir.” Holo nodded, his field furling in tight. Dammit, this was why he’d brushed off as many guest lecturer invitations as he could manage, before the war. He should talk to First Aid about shifting Holo over to Velocity for tutoring, she was better with sparklings than him.
“Here it is.” Holo picked up a box which had spare servos for various major joints, and Ratchet bit back a curse.
“Nothing broke, my aft!” he plucked a lone knee servo from the box. “Tell me, what is this made of?”
“Uhhhhh, alloys?” Holo hedges, and Ratchet shook the bent servo in his face.
“Very rare, very specific alloys! Metals which reduce the risk of rejection to a fraction of a percent. I needed this for Thunderclash’s surgery tomorrow!”
“I can fix it!” Holo blurted, dropping the box in his haste to reach for the part. Ratchet held the servo up over his helm.
“I will fix it”.he said, pressing stern authority at Holo through his field. “You’re lucky it didn’t break worse than this, or I’d be making you explain to Thunderclash why his surgery has to be delayed.”
Holo ducked his helm, shoulders shaking slightly, and Ratchet gritted his denta. Frag, this was the other reason he didn’t like working with bitlets. Medic coding and creator coding were far too similar. “Bring the box out when you’re done with inventory.” he said as he turned back to the door. “Some of them could use refurbishing anyways.”
Holo perked up immediately, field pulsing out bright and happy, and Ratchet waited until the storeroom door slid shut behind him to let out another sigh. Teaching was harder than any surgery he’d ever performed, far too often he had to remind himself to substitute alternative learning for discipline, but at the end of it the ship would, in theory, have another medic for the duty roster.
Assuming Holo could pass the exam Ratchet already had half-drafted on his desk.