Ratchet could only watch as the two bondmates were torn apart, Knock Out struggling desperately against Smokescreen's pull and Breakdown writhing in Bukhead's grasp. But both were too weak and undernourished for their struggles to do much good.
His spark broke at the look of pain, terror and utter helplessness in Knock Out's eyes as Smokescreen pulled him away, sharp digits clawing at the chain and his helm turned in the direction of the stage where his mate was.
Ratchet hadn't even known up until recently that the two cons were bonded, none of them had. They only found out when he had performed a medical examination on each decepticon before allowing them to be claimed. He was the one to block it off and he regretted it ever since.
A block was usually used when both parties wanted to go their separate ways. It prevented the excruciatingly painful and, in most cases, fatal outcome. But this time he was using it for the wrong reason. Knock Out and Breakdown's bond was a problem for both Smokescreen and Bulkhead. Neither of them wanted to risk their pet's death when they broke it, although something told the medic that if not for the possibility of death they would've enjoyed watching the slaves writhe in agony.
He turned away from the scene in disgust. Ratchet very well knew what Smokescreen would do the minute he got to his suite and he couldn't bear thinking about it. The sight of the two 'cons writhing in a desperate bid to get to each other brought the unwanted feelings of pity and remorse forth and he didn't want to dwell on them. He knew that this was wrong, that this went against his every principal, against everything he fought for, but he also knew that he couldn't do anything about it. Not at that moment.
What he could do, was help the deception he had been forced to choose. He didn't want to do anything with Shockwave, nobody did and for that reason the council had wanted to lobotomize the scientist. It took everything for Ratchet to convince them not to, that he could deal with him.
He may despise Shockwave, but at the same time he could not watch such a great mind be destroyed. So, he stepped in, which now found him leading the unusually complacent 'con through the dense crowd.
He ignored the looks of jealousy towards him, or the looks of hatred, anger and glee towards the larger cybertronian trailing behind him. When Shockwave stumbled, he helped him, ignoring the laughter or the disgust and pity welling up in his chest. Disgust towards the council and pity towards the purple 'con. Shockwave did not stumble.
Ratchet did not lead him to his suite, something told him that that was the last thing he should do, instead he veered to the right, taking the road that would lead him to his clinic.
After the war had ended, Ratchet set up a small clinic of his own in a relatively nice and quiet place on the edges of rebuilt Iacon where he could work in peace. He had no desire to take part in the political corruption like the rest of Team Prime did.
His comrades had found it odd at first, questioned him about it, but eventually left him alone. They had always known the old medic loved the quiet more than anything and now that he finally had the chance it was obvious that he would take it.
Shockwave seemed to get more and more confused, judging by his glances towards the buildings that got smaller and poorer as they walked. It was obvious that he had expected the medic to take him to his fancy suite in the center of the city.
It didn't take much longer for them to reach the small clinic. As Ratchet went to unlock the door he felt the chain grow taut and looked back to see Shockwave standing motionless and still refusing to approach.
"Why have you brought me here?" He asked and Ratchet internally winced at the cracking static filled sound. First thing he was going to check was the 'con's voicalizer.
Shockwave stared at him expectantly, dim red optic boring into teal ones. Ratchet huffed as he turned back to the keypad. "You expected me to take you to my hab suit." It wasn't a question.
"That'd be the logical course of action." The chain rattled slightly as the 'con finally dared to approach. "Seeing as your comrades are doing so."
The door slid open smoothly and Ratchet wastes no time leading the injured cyclops to the nearest examination room. "I don't tend to agree with everything my 'comrades' do." He rolled his optics as he said it while adjusting the medical berth to a horizontal position and gesturing for the 'con to sit.
To his surprise, Shockwave did just that, looked relieved even as he finally got off his pedes, his joints whining softly as he moved.
Grabbing the scanner from one of the drawers, Ratchet turned back to the slave, the slight flicker in the red optic telling him that Shockwave was surprised as the 'con registered the object in his servo.
Ratchet avoided scanning the area where the T-Cog would normally be. He knew that it had been removed and he doubted Shockwave would want to be reminded of that. Instead he focused on other things.
The first thing that got his immediate attention was that the 'con was terribly undernourished. His energon levels were below 30% and he immediately remedied that by filling a cube with medical grade and shoving it into the astonished 'con's servo as he continued the examination.
Shockwave had multiple ruptured lines that were crudely sealed and still leaking, his hip strut was damaged, hence his limp and there was a crack in his optic that definitely obstructed his vision.
Gritting his dentae, the old medic set about repairing, trying to ignore the unsettling optic assessing his every movement.
Shockwave set aside the drained cube on the berth, relief washing over him as the tank levels rose to 64 %. It was logical for Ratchet not to give him more than that due to his condition. What was illogical however was his whole behavior.
The autobots didn't care about their captive's condition. If anything, they made it their job to worsen it if possible. And here he was, with one of most loyal autobots kneeling before him, repairing his injured strut. It set off several alarm bells in the 'con's head.
Ratchet was obviously trying to fool him with supposed 'kindness'. He wanted something. Why else would he do this?
Finally done, Ratchet slid the plating back over the wires he'd repaired and stood up, wiping his servos off with a clean cloth and placing the empty energon cube in the sink. He expected the 'con to slip right into recharge as the relief surged through his system, so when Shockwave spoke it took him by surprise.
"You want my research."
Ratchet didn't give any sign of surprise as he cleaned the work area only shooting a glance at him over his shoulder plate. "I do, but that's not the only reason as to why I'm helping you." He stated calmly as he placed the medical items on their respective shelves and closed the cabinet doors.
Shockwave tilted his head, his sharp digits curled tightly over the edges of the berth as he struggled to stay upright. "What else is there?" There was confusion now.
The medic sighed as he approached the 'con to stand in front of him. He understood of course why Shockwave wouldn't understand his actions. The decepticons weren't known to be big on kindness and naturally expected nothing but cruelty from the autobots. And they were right to do so as well. But Ratchet wasn't like the other 'bots.
"I don't agree with what the council is doing, Shockwave. Don't get me wrong, you deserve to be punished for tour deeds, but not like this. Using you as our personal frag toys is disgusting, especially now that we went through all this pain and suffering of the war only to land back where we started. I do want your help, your research, your mind, but I don't want to be your 'master'" The last word was spat out with undeniable disgust.
Shockwave nodded, much too exhausted to pursue the conversation, his shoulders slagging as his optic dimmed even more. Ratchet picked up on both those signs and gently settled the 'con to lay down on the berth. They could continue their talk later.
He shut off the lights as he exited, glancing back at the still firm on the berth before locking the door.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The first thing Smokescreen did upon reaching the suit was make Knock Out clean up himself. Internally Knock Out was grateful that the rookie was too disgusted to help.
He could still feel the phantom touch of those unwanted servos on his frame and was quick to try and wash them away with the cold solvent he had been given, shivering as he did so. It seemed that even though the autobot wanted him clean, he would make sure that the process was as unpleasant as possible.
The paint didn't quite match his and the medic's lips curled in disdain. He would regain his usual dark cherry red exterior as soon as he was fed properly, which he doubted would happen. But knowing Smokescreen, the rookie would want to show off his prize as soon as possible and he couldn't have Knock Out not looking presentable. He hoped for a better meal as the painful churning in his tanks reminded him of his hunger.
When it came to the buffer though, he hesitated. Knock Out still remembered how Breakdown would offer to do it over him. His servos light and gentle on his frame as he would buff him meticulously until his mate's armor shone with perfection.
Blinking back tears, Knock Out grasped the buffer in one shaky servo. He couldn't stop thinking about his bondmate no matter how hard he tried. Images of their time together would come up every time he closed his optics. Breakdown was always so cheerful in his memories, except now he wasn't. Now the smile was replaced by an enraged snarl, the golden optics that so full of love and care were replaced by dim hollow ones of pain, anger and despair. He wanted to reach out to his mate, to find out if he was ok, if he was safe, but he couldn't as the ache in his chest reminded him. He would never see Breakdown again.
Just as Knock Out was placing the buffer back down there was a sharp tug on the chain and he was hard pressed to remain standing. The medic let out a painful yelp, sharp digits coming up immediately to claw at the collar strapped tightly around his throat, terrified red optics fixing on the blue form standing in the doorway.
He had no strength to fight as Smokescreen pulled him towards himself, the rookie's servos instantly starting to roam over his frame with greed. Knock Out felt one of them clamp painfully over his chin and his helm was forced to tilt up to look at the silver faceplate of the autobot.
Smokescreen grinned, an evil glint in his optics and his other servo curling over the slim waist of his slave.
"Let's get down to business, shall we?"
