Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…
Time
The sound of joints creaking ominously reminded Ratchet once again for the thirteenth time this orn why it was that he didn't particularly like time. It wasn't as if he had a personal grudge against it. If Ratchet held a grudge against anything that he shouldn't, it would be against Primus for multiple reasons that Ratchet didn't even want to think about.
Time wore away at his frame, maintenance was greatly needed, but he didn't have the time to do so. He was going to upgrade his frame over several vorns ago, but every time, something prevented him from doing so. Often times, he used the parts on a mech who needed the parts more than he did.
More commonly, Ratchet just didn't have the time for it.
The Autobots came back damaged too often for him to take a break, let alone work on his own frame.
Time was a double-edged sword.
He had known this for a long time now. It was a bit hard to ignore this fact when he was one of the oldest Autobots on the Ark.
As if without a thought, Ratchet popped a joint back into its rightful place before going back to his paperwork. Paperwork and the Autobots in general were digging away at his free time.
A vacation was so alluring to the CMO, but alas, it wouldn't last long even if he tried to resist fate. Battles broke out so often, or bots simply messed around and injured themselves, and so his medbay just about always had patients needing his tender, loving care.
Ratchet rolled his optics.
The next mech that wandered in the medbay for a minor, insignificant injury was going to be target practice.
Maybe then he could get done with his work so he could get some time off. His frame really needed that upgrade…
Finishing everything up and informing First Aid of his break, he marched over to Prowl's Office. Ratchet wasn't going to delay his own maintenance any longer. Ratchet was going to demand a decacycle long vacation. Maybe then he'd be able to get at least a few orns off.