Stardate 21147:
I almost did it. I locked myself in the most remote storage room I could find with a bottle and syringe. Wheeljack walked in, almost jovially, and grabbed my wrist. I didn't offer more than token resistance. He twisted my arm around, revealing my suicide attempt. His optics filled with surprise and horror. "Ratchet?" His voice pierced me in a way I thought nothing could. Days upon days, weeks upon weeks, I'd been operating on unlucky mechs, mechs unlucky enough to survive the battles, and none of them hit me like this. He didn't condemn me, knowing what I tried to do. He lifted me up. He tried to understand.
He sat with me on the storage room floor the rest of shift.