Ratchet is reading a datapad, his optics sharply focused. He doesn’t even look up when Pharma comes in.

“You’re late,” he snaps, and he looks about to say more before his stern, irritated expression cracks and he drops the pad to the desk, his face warming.

“Get in here,” he says, sounding pleased now instead as he leans back in his chair and nods to the one opposite his desk, shoving a few piles of pads and detritus out of the way. “Sit down. How the hell have you been?”