All things with Deadlock tend to require either a light touch or a firm hand, and the former is a rare thing indeed in the majority of his experience.

"Good." he says gruffly with one last squinty look, then he obligingly rotates in his chair to allow better access to the wound in his side and whatever is making his back ache like he's been pummeled by a giant fist. Because oh right, he has. He presses his good side to the back of the chair and wraps his arms around it, a convenient gesture to keep them out the way but it feels undeniably nice to have something in the circle of his arms. There's a shiver of emotion in his field before he pulls it in tight to his plating, and he lets his chin settle on his upper arm, relaxing slightly for the first time since this whole encounter started.

Maybe it's the weird way this mech talks, that voice that sounds even less familiar now with that gentle warmth in it, but it kindles old, old memories of the first mech that was ever kind to him. His arms circle a little more tightly around the chair back, warm air sighing ruefully from his vents, optics dimming as he keeps a pensive silence.