[He turns one of the cogs over in his claws, and then his optic narrows. Tourbillons were not exactly meant to be made by claws, which meant that often times he sat there staring at it instead of actually working on it, and then went back to trying the more digital varieties. At least then when he failed it didn't make his spark twist. It just was irritating. But for the moment he's not feeling terribly awful, only bored and itching to do something, and if he's holding the pieces he can at least pretend he's actually going to make some headway in turning the bits of metal into something beautiful.

He is still looking intently at the small piece when he starts talking again.]

You got time, Bee. Got plenty of it.

[He looks down with his optic without ever actually changing the placement of his helm.]

There's probably nothing you can do and people better made for cleaning, so scrap it all and recharge.