Krok starts to shake his head, then stops; his neck hurts too much for it, and when he speaks again, his voice is rougher, optics dim. His hand shakes faintly, actuators trying to fire and failing. He'll have to just let Ratchet keep holding his hand.

"I never went to the clinics myself," he says, now looking at the wall to Ratchet's left. "Never needed them. But I heard… knew why they were there." He glances up for a moment, then off to the other side, then back to Ratchet again. "I knew others who got treatment there. Some of us down there only survived because… because of what you did," he murmurs, humbled. Almost shy. His fingers tighten spasmodically around Ratchet's hand as he tries to will himself to work. "It… it meant a lot to us. That you cared."