::Yes, yes...:: Mirage grumbled, waving a hand as Ratchet departed.

What a mess indeed.

"Come Tracks. Let us get this cleaned up..."

Mirage stretched his arms over his head, popping out the stiffness born from pain and anger; he was spotted with drizzles of energon and tiny fragments of welding slag wrought from his own frame. He turned toward the hot oil baths, Tracks laying a supportive hand on his shoulder as they went.

At least they could take some comfort in kvetching together in the washracks.