In These Hands

by TheThirdTime'sACharm

For rejecting a Senator's advances Ratchet finds himself stripped of his job, his home, and his titles. Cast into the lowest regions of Cybertron society the once-medic becomes entwined with a rising anti-fuctionist movement, tangled further with their gladiatorial leader. MegatronXRatchet, MechPreg, Non-Con Elements

10. The State of Things

"It's crazy. Populace pleasing, obviously, but crazy."

Orion turned from the data files he was filing out and looked toward his fellow cadet. Whirl was a servo-full in his own right, and more than rambunctious in his patrols and wiling service scenarios, but his blunt opinions more than thrilled his cohort in that he said things Orion was better tempered not to say. Right then, Orion couldn't quite understand what he was droning on about.

"The Captain finally cave to staff pressure and start serving ener-spheres in the break room?" Orion chuckled at the ongoing petition. Whirl seemed to brighten at the idea as well.

"That battle's not over yet," He pointed toward him before crossing his arms. "No, I'm talking about the recall. Haven't you heard about it?"

Orion looked at him quizzically.

Whirl motioned again. "You know, about the trials. The Council and Senate passed the Act and now the judicial courts are going through all those cases. It's like one giant retrial for all the ones involved in court casings since the past vorn. It's some kind of 'second chance' ruse to come off as the good guys. Yeah, sure. It's got the forensic department in a tiff, same with the detective division. Haha, serves them right. That'll make those afts work, but, you know in the end it's going to be 'bots like you and me they're gonna shirk their datawork on."

"Wait . . ." Whirl looked at Orion curiously. He could see that sharp processor of his ramping. "You said they're opening cases as far back as last vorn?"

Whirl nodded. "We're about to be up to our optics in proceedings. And here I thought you'd be as annoyed as the rest of the department."

Orion was quiet again, those optics of his bright, flashing with processing thoughts before they zoned in back toward Whirl. "Do you have a list of the cases coming into retrial?"

Whirl shrugged and then nodded. "Sure. Want to get a head start on your homework or something?"

The moment the list was in Orion's grasp the mech zoomed through the numbers and subjects, heading straight to the names of the 'bots involved. He scrolled so far back that Whirl assumed he was just going to go straight to the Case A junction of the list, instead he picked out a particular case and opened it. That was when he froze.

"By law these 'bots have to appear before a judge and jury in their sentenced jurisdiction." Though Orion Pax has said it Whirl didn't think he was particularly telling him as much as he was simply reminding himself. Whirl nodded regardless. "And that's going to be the jailer's processorache."

Whirl hadn't even gotten the chance to complain further with his coworker. Orion moved the next moment and left his desk, left the office, left the building and the department all together. Whirl hadn't seen how shock and disbelief and fright gripped the young mech to the point he had to leave so he could run to his friends, the ones he was certain would share in the same upset that was currently gripping him.

He met them in the middle. Thunderclash had found out first and shared his hysteria with Pharma who in turn contacted Jazz who was in the process of comming Orion who only appeared before the gathered. Without further stall they all raced off to the holding barracks where those under the heaviest sentencing were kept until their scheduled retrial. And it was there they saw the frame of the mech they've been so desperately trying to return to the city.

Ironically enough Prowl happened to be the stationed Guard and he had no qualms with letting the group move into the cell and wrap themselves around the pending condemned.

"Ratchet!" Where Orion Pax, Jazz, and even Prowl had the privilege of reuniting with their old friend, Thunderclash and Pharma had yet to properly reach out and wrap tight arms around him. Those two happened to be the ones nearly constricting him to death right then.

"Primus, you're back!" Jazz was bouncing, his grin so wide that his facial plating twisted around it. "You're actually back in Iacon!"

Even with everything that's happened, Ratchet smiled along with his friends, hanging off their arms and sobbing for their fields as much as they were. And what a mess of adoration they were.

"Slag, you've got to let me check you." Pharma scooted back, sending his scans into their highest capacity as he let his hands roam over Ratchet's frame, scrutinizing even the smallest of dents.

"Pharma, please." Ratchet attempted to pull himself away from his friend's examination but each tug only tightened the aerial's grip. Pharma glared and made sure that the few tugs he enacted reasoned enough with his old friend. "I'm fine," Ratchet once more persisted.

"You've be gone for . . . for . . . longer than I want to actually recount," Pharma said with bright optics. "The sublevels, and Kaon's especially? There's no way you can convince me you walked away from all of that untarnished." It was thanks to Pharma's meticulous scan-over that he noticed the subtle injuries, particularly the bent wrist joints. "What's this?" He looked at Ratchet knowing firsthand how well-kept he was, especially with his hands. "Did they drag you here?"

That was when Ratchet's face shifted. The features of love and happiness over being within the close fields of old friends faded away and revealed the hidden distress. He bowed his helm and rubbed digits over his damaged gears.

"I was forced to leave my clinic. They even hurt my assistant and the ones who were there to help me . . ." Ratchet glanced toward Prowl, toward the emblem on his chassis. "They gave me no other choice."

"Does Megatron know?" Optics turned toward Orion who pressed the question into the fray, knowing the severity of it.

Ratchet looked at him with pain swirling in his optics, the pain of a deeper kind that Orion knew better than to poke at right then. With a shake of his helm, Ratchet answered the question.

"We weren't together when it happened." Something else flashed across Ratchet's features then, something that could be felt even through his EM field. "I don't know what he'll do if . . . Primus, just what is happening?" He stressed, looking toward Prowl who may know more than the questioning others. "A retrial? Why? Did they find some other evidence? Did that damn judge finally open up his muddled processor and realize the misconduct? Why am I back in Iacon?"

"You're not the only one." When the group turned to the additional voice they turned their optics upon the senator Dai Atlas.

"Senator?" Orion took a step forward, wary optics on the two guards at the Senator's side, but as he approached they stayed their distance.

He came until he was lined with Ratchet. He looked at him for a moment, scanning him over and assessing him and everything about him. Then he held out a hand in greeting.

"We finally meet," Dai Atlas inclined his helm politely. "I regret to have held off this introduction for so long."

Wary, but susceptible to polite customs, Ratchet took the Senator's hand.

"I did not agree to the terms beset upon you at your trial," Dai Atlas clarified, trying to wash away the upset visible in Ratchet's optics. "However, I am but one voice against too many alike. Your friends have inspired me to follow your plight, one I wish to see redeemed, though, given these circumstances I wanted to personally come and clarify that this is likely no work of goodwill."

"What is happening?" Orion pressed. "Why are these cases being reopened?"

"To hide a darker intention," Dai Atlas replied. "I can see no other reason than to acquire those too far to come closer." He looked to Ratchet with worry. "My friend, I would hold onto that worry." He looked to the others. "As well as you all. Even I am unsure of what this Act will fulfill."

"Do you think Ratchet's here to receive the same sentence?" Thunderclash asked.

"Or worse," Pharma suggested with a horrified tone.

"No, no, we can't let that happen." Jazz pressed. "There's got to be something. The other trials are getting just as much attention, and the ones before, there were some acquitted. There's got to be some leeway here. Ratchet's innocent after all."

Dai Atlas shifted in thought, for only a moment. "He'll be innocent if that's what the officials want him to be." He gave them all a pitying look, one he's ashamed to have come to understand. "I have heard that there were differences found in the evidence concerning this case, as well as other vital components. I have not been given any more detail than that. But know that this will end in either of the extremes. I don't doubt that for a moment."

Silence washed over them all. Optics looked away, delving into thought and the possible futures to come. In the end, each light strayed back toward Ratchet, the one who had the most to lose. Again.

"Ratchet?" Thunderclash's vocals were gentle, as was the touch of his hand that laid upon his friend's shoulder strut.

"It's fine." His response echoed off the walls only because his friends were silent in their worry, a worry pounding down upon Ratchet like his own. "I've done this before, and I can do it again."

Fields shifted against one another, unease intensifying.

"I won't be able to live with myself if something happened to you." Jazz spoke for more than himself. "I can't see you go through all of that again."

"And I don't think Ratchet is particularly fond of going through it once more as well," Thunderclash said, pushing against Jazz. He looked just as grieved, but his own couldn't equate to what he felt within his old friend. "Ratchet, I . . ." He sighed. There was nothing he could say. What could he? How could he? His life really wasn't the one on the line now was it?

"If I am sentenced again, do you know what will become of me?" Ratchet was standing straight, looking at no one in particular, speaking to no one in particular except the one 'bot who could give him the best answer.

It was Dai Atlas who responded. "Offlinement. To coincide with the law."

Even though everyone knew it, the truth further proved how damaging it felt against spark chambers. But Ratchet, Ratchet was still standing; straight and tall and kept. Orion was impressed, but he didn't deny sensing that fear lacing his field.

Nodding, Ratchet quieted himself. Digits curled and face scrunching. He was worried, but for more reasons than he disclosed right then.

Turning, Orion looked to Dai Atlas. "Then this will have to be our chance to be heard. Is there any way that you can ensure Ratchet's defense will be heard and analyzed?"

Crossing his arms, Dai Atlas nodded. "I know a friend, he's a lawyer, a good one. But I still can't guarantee a fair fight. As I've stated before: his fate's already decided."

"We have to try," Orion pressed. He looked back to Ratchet. Their optics met, and even as Ratchet's wavered, Orion stood strong. He had to.

"If that is what you want." Dai Atlas inclined himself and bid them a farewell before parting.

Turning completely, Orion Pax took Ratchet's hands in his own. He said nothing about the faint trembles he initially felt in those red servos. But he was glad those nervous optics looked up at him.

"Just like before, we're here for you," he assured.

Ratchet managed a smile, but let his helm hang. Orion at least felt the mech squeeze his hands in return. "That both eases me and scares the slag out of me." He finally looked to them again. There was a lighting in his optics that looked like reservation. "Last time, even though I was distraught out of my processor, I was content. Content that it was just me. You all are my best friends, I love you all for everything you've been to me and have done for my sake, but, please, if it comes to the end we think it, please don't fight it. Let it just be me."

That was when Orion pulled Ratchet away from those thoughts by another squeeze of his hands. Ratchet looked back up at him. "Who do you take us for, Ratchet? We've pressed on for this long? We're not done yet. None of us, and especially you." He tugged, pulling Ratchet into his arms, letting him hide his tremors behind his larger frame. "We're going to face this together. You can't get rid of us that easily."

It felt good when Orion Pax felt Ratchet wind his arms around him and hold him against him. For a short moment, that hysteria faded away from fields.

. . .

It took some coaxing and more than enough guidance for the 'bots surrounding Damus' damaged frame to give him proper help. Once the rustic mech was well enough to stand without shaking over he moved his aching limbs to the two minibots beaten outside. From assisting Ratchet for so long he was able to provide patching repairs to the two, enough to boot them.

After further minor patches the three took off to inform Megatron of all that had happened.

When the anti-functionist movement fell onto unstable bearings—with the media and its supporters—the bulk of its most faithful moved into the outskirts of Kaon territory. Just close enough to the city, but far enough to be isolated from the authorities it confined. It was there temporary homes were erected and 'bots resided under the guidance of the movement's leader whilst he also scheduled further courses.

It was in that encampment Damus, Rumble and Frenzy, found the mech they were looking for.

"Megatron! Megatron!"

Damus hadn't even gotten a cry in between the two minibots who were flailing arms and shouting to rouse the camp. Optics fell on them and audials tuned in to focus on their hysteria.

"Megatron!" Finally they managed to push their way through the crowds and the more intimidating mecha guarding the spot where Megatron stood hunched over tables of spanned city maps and stacks of both nonofficial and official messages.

When those red optics turned toward them, Damus knew he wasn't the only one that noticed the annoyance glowing in that paneling.

"It's Ratchet!" Frenzy pitched.

They all heard Megatron sound a sigh. "And what does he have to say this time?"

Damus and Rumble and Frenzy all shook their helms. "He's gone! Ratchet's gone!"

In an instant, that annoyance vanished and shades darker than Damus has ever seen lit those optical panels.

"Gone?" Optics glared harshly at them, notably at the smaller mechs, and as soon as Megatron took a step closer he said, "What do you mean he's gone?"

"The Guard!" Rumble spoke up. "They came and they just took 'im!"

Megatron's gaze quickly flicked toward Damus, urging confirmation. Damus realized how utterly terrifying it could be to be underneath the ex-gladiator's stare. He couldn't help his tremors.

"I-It's true, all of it. The Elite Guard just came in and said that Ratchet was ordered back to Iacon for some retrial. They said he had to go."

For a brief moment Damus caught the horror flash across Megatron's gaze. He leaned back as if struck by some invisible blow. He staggered for only a moment before his features shifted into the deepest upset. Then he was shaking his helm, squaring his shoulder struts and glaring.

"And what were you doing?!" He was looking at Rumble and Frenzy in specific, but the pitch of his tone still gave Damus just as much startle. "You're telling me the Elite Guard came to the clinic and they happened to just waltz in and take Ratchet?"

"No, we-we tried to stop them," Rumble assured. "But they overpowered us. We did everything we could."

In their plea Damus watched Megatron's facial plating shift, morphing into twisted rage that looked ready to be let out.

"Useless!" Megatron turned, his frame taught but twitching, like an urge to strike and unleash destruction. Damus was amazed by his resolve, but even in that amazement those closest didn't waste further moments to distance themselves in the chance of it. "I should have made him come. Frag it all, I should have made him stay by my side!" Megatron arched, leaning and placing his fisted hands onto the nearest table. Heated glares continued to turn toward Frenzy and Rumble and the two quaked underneath their intensity. Damus knew the two blamed themselves more than anything, but to have Megatron's own disapproval was heavy and terrifying.

"A retrial?" Damus turned to look at Barricade's curious face. "You said he had a retrial?"

Damus nodded. Megatron was looking at him as well. "That's what the Guard said and that he was summoned to Iacon by law. They didn't even let us close the clinic. They just . . . they just . . ." They just took him.

Barricade and the others looked upset, Nowhere near as Megatron did, but Damus knew the depths of their concern. Many in the encampment cherished Ratchet despite his standing, and by Primus, Damus would gladly stand beside them if they so needed him to in their plight to get Ratchet back to safety.

"Get Senator Starscream on the line." Megatron's order was not questioned and executed as quickly as possible. The moment the seeker received the call the atmosphere silenced, every audial keening.

'A personal call? Why, whatever do I owe the pleasure?' Starscream's holographic face shifted, smiling sharply even when Megatron offered him no pleasant curtesy in return.

"What are these retrials?" Megatron's tone was pressing, demanding, something he's never quite used with the likes of the Vosian before.

Starscream was quiet for a moment, his smile gone when he churned into his processor. After a moment his optics lit with recognition. 'Are you referring to the current wave of retrials? The Senate and Council passed the Act just last deca-cycle. It went into effect a mega-cycle ago.'

"Then it's true that those summoned have no choice but to return to the sector they were sentenced in?"

Starscream nodded. 'So the law still stands.'

Megatron dipped his helm, shaking it as he realized the truth and the severity of the situation.

'What's got you so troubled? Unless you've had any run-in's in the last vorn you shouldn't be concerned.'

"Ratchet was summoned back to Iacon for a retrial." Megatron looked back at the Senator's face.

Though new news, Starscream didn't openly show shock. 'Well, now that trial's bound to draw a crowd.'

"Is there any way I can help him out of that?" Megatron looked to the Senator for answers, hoping he'd provide him the ones he needed to hear.

'Not lawfully.'

That wasn't the response Megatron wanted and it showed. Damus and the others could feel his frustration, his utter worry oozing out into his field and it was so overwhelming and potent that it near physically pushed the perimeter around him further.

'If I were you I'd keep out of it entirely.'

The anger that flared rattled a few frames around and as Megatron jerked his helm back and bared his denta, Damus swore he detected a growl in his frequency. "He is my endurae! You can't expect me to do nothing!"

'Coming from you, Megatron, I have no expectations. However, seeing as I'm the mech with his helm leveled enough it would be wise on your part to heed my advice. Iacon is the seat of the government and the last time you and it came face to face you left a bad impression, so gallivanting into the city to help a fellow should be the least of your concerns. No matter what the medibot is to you, he's just a small portion in the grander scheme. Your duty right now is to the movement. It's already on unstable legs and should you move yourself from holding up those beams, well, I'm not a constructionbot but I'm certain I don't need to educate you on what'll happen.'

There was a look on Megatron's face, a resisting one, but he was quiet. Didn't say a word. That opening gave room for Starscream's smile to return and him to say—

'I'll keep you updated if you want. Just try not to do anything too compromising.'

The call ended with that and a klik later Megatron was throwing the table he was leaning against across the room. No one uttered a word and so it wasn't hard to take in the static in Megatron's frequency nor the whirl of his internal fans in an attempt to cool his heating core.

. . .

There wasn't too long of a span for Ratchet to wait until his trial was represented. It was the same faces; the same judge, the same jury, the same witnesses and liaisons. The crowd was probably damn near nearly the same and it rattled Ratchet's nerves just as it had before.

Primus, even after as long as it's been, and the distance Ratchet has come in accepting the fate handed to him on that day, he felt that creeping nostalgic terror seep into his core, bleeding through his systems.

Ratchet tried to tell himself that there was a possibility for a different outcome this time around. He tried to assure himself that more consideration and regulation would file through the evidence and credentials of the witnesses unlike before. Even his friends tried to keep this pattern of processing. The optimism didn't last long. The outlook sucking itself away, disappearing when Ratchet felt familiar optical lights wash over his taut frame.

As independent and resilient as Ratchet's become he still struggled to turn his optics and meet the gaze of Senator Proteus. The mech was sitting with his entourage and two other senators in attendance, one being Dai Atlas the other Decimus. There was just something about that mech's stare that made Ratchet feel as isolated as he felt the first time he was tried—the feeling very similar to that defining moment within the confines of Senator Proteus' office.

That was when Ratchet knew. That was when he understood that he was there because of that 'bot. Proteus swore to come back into his life and now there he was, holding a look of utmost satisfaction especially when the quoted new evidence came out in the form of the Senator's personal physician.

Right then he claimed full responsibility for offlining Greenlight and her sparklings.

Disbelief and shock shook the courtroom. Camerabots zoned in, tuning every word, every reaction. They had clear view of even Ratchet's dumbfounded face.

Looking at the medibot, Ratchet could clearly see the way the mech shook as he announced before the entire room his involvement, even going as far to detail a disdainful statement for the family and his plight to end the Senator's concubine and their litter. He claimed his intention was to hurt Proteus and his household as well as pin the blame on another, of whom he verified was Ratchet. Yet, even after all of this, Ratchet could see the fright, he could see the absolute grief wash over the personal medic, and he knew that it wasn't because of his current confession.

Suddenly, everything fell into place just as it fell out of place; evidence, aligning witnesses, mishandlers within the forensic depart, and finally a confessor. Ratchet's processor was whirling with the other mechs and femmes in attendance, and now the verdict was being announced.

"In light of everything received within the course of this opened hearing, under oath and law it is hereby ordered the complete reinstation of the mech Ratchet's credentials and titles as well as citizenship. Full reparation will be offered and extended until the accused so deems it. Moving over to the convicted, you are hereby responsible for the duty of punishment for the crimes you profess, the result is death, unless the sentence is swayed by a mediator of a controlling third party."

And just like that, it was over.

There were cheers, talk rising up so loudly that Ratchet couldn't hear himself think. He felt hands on him. They were from his friends. They were smiling, sobbing, reaching out and hugging him. It was in the mayhem that Ratchet wanted to join their cries, but as he saw the one who took his place he felt something cold slither through him.

Cuffed and bound, the medibot was escorted out of the courtroom by a line of Guard. They pulled at him, jerked him harshly and sneered. They gave him the same treatment as they had Ratchet when he was sentenced. Suddenly, Ratchet felt his spark thrum painfully, constricting within his chamber as he looked upon a grief-riddled and broken 'bot, one forced to comply to a sentence because someone had to.

He wore his worry further even as pressbots pushed to claim an interview with him, and mecha he's never associated with came to send their apologies and regards. His friends did well to shield him from the extreme attention and pitying public, but none of them could protect him from the growing feeling of absolute dread that he took very seriously in this sudden change of circumstances.

. . .

They were all crowded around the monitor, watching with wide optics and bated fields. Curious and skeptical murmurs arose when the new evidence was presented and scoffs of disbelief bounced around when the medibot confessed to the crimes and silence returned when the details were considered and examined. As soon as the final verdict rung out and the courtroom erupted in surprise so too did the viewing crowds.

There were cheers and congratulatory exclamation. Too many excited to welcome in justice after it had been swept away before.

"He didn't do it! I knew it! They finally found out. Ratchet, he can finally go back to his home in Iaco—" Barricade's shared excitement quickly died when his excited frame turned to the likes of Megatron. He remained still, stoic, but the laces in his field revealed his true opinion on the matter.

"He's not banished anymore," Rumble assessed, his own tone sounded incriminatingly disappointed. "Does that mean he's going to stay away for good?"

"If he's free then won't he be free to come back?" Frenzy questioned his brother.

"He's a doctor isn't he? They're gonna give him his title back and, I dunno, put him back where he used to work, right?" Rumble wasn't the only one dwelling on such things. Despite the relief of his revealed innocence, they understood the position now expected of the returned doctor.

Even with the cascading silence of realization a voice broke out, a voice that belonged to no one present.

The voice of a senator of Iacon.

'I can't be the first to tell you how utterly alarmed I am to finally know of what has been festering in my own household. Discontent, greed, envy? I am a mech, I make mistakes, but I never thought it would cost me someone I love.' Senator Proteus could be seen laying his hand over his chassis, a gesture of lost affection. He even looked remorseful. Despite that, the present 'bots couldn't detect so much in his vocals. 'As for the verdict, I hope that bastard gets everything he deserves for all the grief he's caused me and my household . . . and Ratchet. I can't express enough remorse for how I treated him after believing he . . .'

'Senator Proteus, what gave you and the others the instigation to issue the Prestate Act?' Reporterbots pressed close, the question embedded deep even in the encampment.

'Well . . .' Proteus' smile, though friendly, didn't really come off like such. 'Believe it or not it was the unrest sweeping over our planet. The contempt for societal composition and the numbers behind this surge. Believe what you will but I've been listening to them, and the one who speaks for them. It was through this and those words that inspired me to look back on our judicial structure and turn my optics as if in their viewpoint. I hope that I honor those devastated by inaccurate verdicts with these second chances.'

The Senator remained to answer a few more questions but he was drowned out by dissent and division. Mecha murmured, sneered and outright growled. Their leader looked on disapprovingly and without his faith in the governmental move they too lacked it in the approved bill.

Suddenly, Megatron turned and moved. Those closest shone curious optics until they realized he was attempting to leave the camp entirely.

"Where are you going?" Overlord sounded accusing, and turned, shifting as if to chase the mech down. His call alerted the others and now every optic watched Megatron's next move.

Megatron wasn't looking at anything or anyone in particular, his field was unstable, full of too many emotions to isolate and name. That in and of itself moved those closest to create a space around him, unease intensifying with Megatron's prolonged silence.

"We all heard what Starscream said." Overlord crossed his arms, those closest could feel his disagreement. "And most of us agree with his reasoning."

"Yeah." Barricade stepped forward ushering looks from Lugnut and Damus who stood nearby. "Look, Ratchet's fine. At least now he is. We, you, us, this movement, I don't think Iacon will want to see us anytime soon."

Megatron turned to them, to the ones speaking out. They were honest and true and have been faithful since near the beginning. He meant no ill intent toward them, but in the same sense he couldn't help but feel as if they were road blocks agitating his path, and it wasn't hard for them to understand this.

"I can't just stay here," Megatron finally spoke. He looked at the others, reached out to them still as if they were his brothers. "I expect you to understand that most."

There was a short silence before Barricade shifted and dared cite his opinion again. "But it wouldn't be right, not right now." He looked nervous going against Megatron's obvious wishes and looked toward the likes of Lugnut and Soundwave who proved the more devout to every choice Megatron's made thus far.

"The riots in Nyon, when Grimstain and the others were arrested they damn well deserved what they got." Megatron's gaze was heavy on those around him. "But did we abandon them?" He shook his helm in answer. "Are we not brothers? Locked arm in arm in this fight for equality? If so then where is your allegiance? If not to me then to Ratchet. Without him I wouldn't have ever taken this movement as far as it has gone. He deserves every much respect as a founder as I."

"But what danger is he in?" Overlord stressed.

"He's in danger of the shackles of Iacon," Megatron stressed in return. "I know many, if not all of you were aware of the crimes he was sentenced for. Iacon is not a city that forgets, and too many lurk in its shadows with ill intent." He knew Ratchet was in danger, he knew it in his very spark. He was pushed away only to be brought back. The reasons were no doubt more sinister than any could comprehend.

Sounding a sigh Megatron collected himself, squaring his shoulder struts against the wave of opposition. "I have to know for certain that the city will keep its shadow away from him." There was an apologetic light in his optics as he left the others nervous and unsure of how to handle what may or may not come of this.

. . .

It really did feel like graduation day, getting inducted into the medical service; receiving his titles and honorary annotations, as well as the medical chevron and insignia. Getting the standard paint job had been nice as well, not that Ratchet had particularly been due for one. But looking the part as well as actually being the part was something that made Ratchet's systems preen and a smile move his face plates to near permanent.

There he stood, looking himself over after the official reinstatement. It was a little embarrassing with how much time he's currently spent looking at his reflection, but he couldn't help it.

He was an official, licensed doctor now, complete with the symbols.

The giddiness muddling through him Ratchet was content to ride. Despite the worries of the past days he couldn't be dampened in that moment. The look on Chief Remedy's face as he fastened on his chevron made Ratchet want to break down and sob right there, and he knew his old teacher felt the same after that unprofessional tight hug he gave him after it all. And there were others; colleagues who came to offer him condolences and apologies as well as congratulations. Of course there would forever be those disapproving of his presence even after the courts found no fault in him, but Ratchet was prepared to live with that.

Red digits ran over the secure chevron for the hundred and eighteenth time. It all felt surreal and more than once Ratchet had to correct himself in reminding that this was all very real and very much happening.

"I'm very glad they returned those to you. You look good in them."

Ratchet froze. He didn't need to turn around to know who that voice frequency belonged to, but he did because he didn't like having his back to Senator Proteus.

Mouth open, Ratchet was ready to say something, anything, but something stopped him, just as that something kept his limbs taut and still. The fear that gripped him was the same as ever, all because he knew what this mech could do and has done.

Proteus rose his hands as if a sign that he meant no harm. "I understand why you look at me like that. You must think me a monster after all I put you through."

Ratchet watched him cautiously. He glanced toward the doors to be aware of an escape route, and with a mech such as Proteus there he more than felt the necessity for this rising bout of flight.

"Monster is a kinder name than what I had in mind." Ratchet finally found his voice if only because he knew that he couldn't be caught off guard the same way he had before.

"And what did you have in mind?" Proteus' smile made Ratchet ill in his circuitry. His field made his own try to pull away. There was nothing welcoming about the medic and he wanted to make sure the Senator was very aware of that.

Refusing to reply made Proteus nod. "I admit I was rash in my judgment. It's just Greenlight was everything to me and losing her and our children created a crater inside me." He moves his hands and his form, shifting constantly as if to assure Ratchet this was honest and sincere. It was an act he remembered, one he wouldn't forget. But, damn if Proteus wasn't good at it.

When Ratchet didn't budge, when he held fast and remained indifferent the senator finally shifted back, pulling his extended field away as if in respects to Ratchet's stance.

"I understand the reservations. I was unjust to you and too quick to see you condemned. You have every reason to hold any grudge as you may. I would accept no less after all you've been through. But, I do hope that one day we can put this all behind us."

Ratchet's processor was wracked with confusion. Senator Proteus went on as if this was just some simple misunderstanding in lieu of the supposed uncovered situation. Not once did he bring up a single threat he'd dealt him, both inside and outside of the city. Was he just going to carry on as if those never occurred?

"Doctor Ratchet?"

Pulling his focus away from his internal strife, Ratchet noticed the Senator standing still, his hand held out in a gesture of goodwill. Ratchet glared at the extended servo. He didn't want to shake it, the thought of touching Proteus made his plating crawl, but Ratchet was approaching a desperation to get the mech out of the room and so if a parting etiquette is all he wanted then Ratchet would give him that much.

Stepping forward, Ratchet reached over and gave his hand to the mech. Ready to retract it less than a klik later the medibot never quite got the chance as digits wound around his hand and a strong arm tugged him forward.

Startled and more than alarmed, Ratchet was ready to fight his way out of the Senator's grip hadn't his other hand came around him, pressing against Ratchet's backside, a hold to keep him still.

"I wonder what it was like," Ratchet heard Proteus speak, his tone low so that no outside source could chance upon their conversation. "Being in the sub levels. Kaon is no moralistic city so I'm curious what you did to survive for so long. Helping disposables?" His chuckle was insulting. "I doubt it."

Ratchet continued to put up some sort of struggle but Proteus would not release his clasped hand nor remove his other from the medibot's back plating. If anything, Ratchet could feel a threatening squeeze the further he continued to fight.

The moment fingers brushed down his chevron and his cheek plates, Ratchet was shaking his helm, rejecting the touch.

"Come now, you must relay your secret. I've been patient long enough and even did you the favor of arranging a means to get you back into the city under the cloud of that prestate act." Proteus' hand cupped Ratchet's jaw strapping, making him look at him. Ratchet's continued silence only made the mech chuckle. "No?"

Finally he let go of Ratchet's helm which the medic took the opportunity to turn away, the very sight of the senator a sore of the utmost degree. There was another minor struggle to pull his hand out of Proteus' grip but it ended in another defeat.

"Was it because of him?" Ratchet felt his tank tensing. The tone in Proteus' vocals teased his acuteness. "That revolutionist. Was it because you let him frag you that kept you out of the darker patches?"

Ratchet finally looked back, finally locked his optics with the Senator's. How could he have known? How could he have . . .?

"What was it like, hm? Was he good, did he make you feel a part of his redundant movement?" Ratchet thought he felt a digit brush across the underside of his lip plates but he couldn't be sure, not when Proteus' heated optics captured his full attention. "I'm sure you're aware of how incriminating that movement is. If others found out about your involvement—"

"I don't care." Ratchet found himself leaning forward, reaching out his field to cling. "I don't care what they'll think or even do to me. Leave the movement out of this. They haven't done anything to illicit a dangerous label."

"That is pending," Proteus replied. "There is a gathering, isn't there? Of city officials to discuss the future of those anti-functionists. You know, I think they have a chance to right their wrongs, but, I think there's also the chance they could collapse, especially if one of their followers happens to magnetize an explosive to their frame and detonate themselves in an act to garner attention."

Ratchet's optical lights flickered. His core cooled dangerously and the claws of the fear that gripped him were digging in, penetrating his very spark. Right then Ratchet didn't doubt the Senator's resources. He knew there would always be someone, some unfortunate 'bot so used and twisted by him that would beckon to any whim or scenario, even one as extreme as previously explained. And he was right, Proteus was right in that if that happened, setup or not, the officials wouldn't waste a moment to label Megatron's movement as terroristic and begin arrests and ostracizing. After that, those indicted will be at the mercy of the ones in control of normalcy.

Ratchet understood quite well what being on that side meant, and it wasn't anything he wanted for his friends and the ones he loved.

He wanted to cry. Ratchet felt like shaking out of his skeletal frame and breaking down right then. He should have known this second chance wasn't anything more than a ruse, one too well crafted.

"Of course you know I'm a sympathetic mech." Ratchet looked at Proteus, actually looked at him. Behind that smile and those pleasing features, the Unmaker himself stared back at him. "When the others wanted you executed, I was the one whom pleaded for your life. When they then settled for empurata, I was the final decision against it." As if to remind Ratchet of what could have happened he raised his hand, the one he'd been gripping all this time, viewing it. They could have been lost in the ravage of the courts, but in truth those hands and his own helm existed because of Proteus.

In truth, Ratchet was spared to be further tortured. He knew that much. All the foretold punishment for previously rejecting the Senator.

"It would be wise on your part to show me some gratitude, after all I've done for you." Ratchet felt his denta grind at those words, words he's heard before and understood just as clear. "I didn't think I'd have to wait this long for some form of reciprocation, but, know I'm willing to wait a little longer. Just a little." Moving that hand to his mouth, he moved his lip plates against Ratchet's knuckle gears and then released it with a smile. He held the expression even as Ratchet stumbled out of his embrace, creating a distance far too extreme. "You know, even after your miraculous and historical retrial, I can't expect the city is ready to willingly come to you. I'll be curious if you can even hold an office at the ward." With a shrug he shifted, turning to move back toward the door. He stopped though, leaving with one last comment. "Though, if you're as compromising as I think you are, and want to hold onto clients, I, myself, am in need of a personal doctor."

When Proteus left, when Ratchet was the only one in the room, the medibot's knee joints buckled and he moved to lean his trembling form against the wall before he slid completely to the ground. He felt trapped, absolutely caged. Dread filled him so deeply, reaching sectors of his spark that hadn't even been touched during his banishment.

Iacon, the city of his rearing, a beloved home he cherished, has now become his crypt.

Ratchet dwelt on that realization for some time in the silence around him. In the end, he decided that if it were to be finalized then he would accept it. What he refused was letting this encroaching end be shared with those he cared most for.

. . .

Orion Pax's plans for that day was to finish patrols, submit ticketed files, clock out, head home for a quick snack, and then drive to the medical facility to meet up with Pharma, Thunderclash, Jazz, and Ratchet to go and catch a feature film together. Prowl had been invited but evening duties hailed him away. Despite that backset, Orion was still enthused about the upcoming activities. It will be just like old times, and he couldn't help but feel his spark sing at the thought of finally being a whole group again.

However, nowhere in Orion's plans after office hours did he intend to run into the head of the anti-functionist movement, especially in his own apartment.

"My apologies. I didn't intend to startle you." Megatron help up his hands politely, but Orion simply stood in his doorway, optics bright.

"Intended or not, it certainly happened." Orion turned to close his doorway, making sure to take the next step to lock his premises as a precaution. This would make it the second time he's hosted the ex-gladiator within his home, but the first time harboring a potential outlaw with the way things were going. "I didn't expect you to have the bearings to come into Iacon after everything that's happened."

"Are you referring to the march riots, or Ratchet's recall?" Megatron's field was defensive, even after coming into a home not his own. In that reply, Orion understood where he'd overstepped.

"I . . ." Orion was quiet for a moment, reeling himself back to think for better words. "I didn't mean for it to come off like that." He took a few steps toward his storage. "Do you need anything? I can get you something to eat, or drink."

"I don't need anything." Megatron looked neglected. Even if he denied it, Orion could see he hadn't been taking care of himself. The stress in his field was no doubt the cause for such unkempt.

"Then what do you need?" Might as well cut to the point.

When Megatron turned those red optics on him, the lighting was off. Orion could see the worry, the fear, and the plea in the paneling. He understood then.

"I watched it all, but, after the trial was over I was left further in the dark." Even in his shifting field, Megatron, the great speaker, was having trouble extracting the words on his spark. "Is he well?"

Orion nodded. "He's still getting integrated back into society, but he's doing well."

Megatron nodded. He was quiet again. Orion could feel his questions, the ones of why Ratchet had yet to come to him, of why he hadn't so much as attempted to open a communication line with him. Orion wondered the same, but settled in his current assumptions.

"He's been busy," Orion spoke up again, for the sake of them both. "He had to meet with a property manager the other day in regards to the city granting him legalization to a new apartment, and just four days ago Chief Remedy had given him his titles and rank back. Sometimes it takes time for everything to balance out. I'm certain he'll contact you when all the chaos settles."

"Do you?" There was skepticism felt within Megatron's field and seen in the way his facial plating shifted. "Would you think it controversy if the newly inducted doctor were to associate himself with a rebel?"

Orion knew that the upset was simply a mask to cover the larger mech's anxiety. "Wasn't it more of a scandal for Cybertron's finest gladiator to form an intimate relationship with a sentenced sparkling killer?"

Megatron snickered. "How the roles have reversed, haven't they?" He shook his helm. There was a soft sadness lacing his features and seeping into his field. A reminiscent one. No doubt of the times he cherished with Ratchet.

"Megatron, if you want, I can transfer Ratchet's new address to you."

"No." Megatron looked at him, his features hardening. "I came here, to you, to understand where he was." Ah, not necessarily location but of state. Orion understood Megatron's caution, but he could see his longing and it didn't look good on him. "I don't want to trouble him."

"I don't think you'd do that." Orion has witnessed the way the two speak of each other, and had more than once seen their interactions. He didn't believe any could ever go as far as to trouble the other.

The sigh sounded from Megatron. His field dampened, and it was heavy within the room. "The last time I had seen Ratchet it was at the clinic. I left without so much as a farewell. We'd come to a disagreement before and I regret ever falling into it, especially if that is going to be the last interaction I ever get with him." His arms shifted, almost like a shrug. "I can understand if he roots himself into this city, it was his home before."

Orion took a step forward, his field reaching out, brushing against Megatron's. "He was worried you know, when he was taken here. He told us that the Guard just took him out of the clinic, away from his patients, before he could do much of anything. But, you know who he was most worried over? You."

Megatron perked at the information, more so at the fact of Ratchet's reactions. "He told you that?"

Orion nodded. "He told us he was worried you'd do something rash."

Megatron's smile was slowly coming back. "He knows me well."

Orion motioned to the mech's very presence. "That he does. He still loves you, Megatron. I've never stopped sensing that in his field."

Those words lifted Megatron's field a fraction. "I just hope he knows I feel the same."

"Why don't you tell him that yourself?" Megatron looked to Orion warily. "I'm going to meet him and others later this evening. We could pick a place, a secluded one where it'll be safe to reunite."

Megatron was quiet, processing it all. After a moment he straightened and nodded. "You'd help me?"

"Of course," Orion assured. "Ratchet would constantly berate me and tell me that a restless spark wasn't healthy for a frame, so I think it's fair to make sure he takes his own advice."

"I can't thank you enough, Orion. You're a good mech." Megatron inclined his helm in respect and Orion offered the gesture in return.

Seeing that Megatron would risk so much for those he cared most about encouraged Orion's support and belief that he was indeed the right mech to lead the coming change. He just hoped Megatron's spark would never change.

With coordinates set, Orion allowed Megatron to remain in his home until the appointed time. Leaving, he drove faster to the facility, eager to tell the others, especially Ratchet of the change of plans. He met Jazz on the courtyard and relayed the happenings and plans just as they moved to meet Thunderclash, Pharma, and Ratchet. However, it was inside Pharma's office that a disruption hindered cause for excitement.

Currently, Thunderclash was trying to pry Pharma away from a telecommunicator only for said medic to snatch the device up and toss it against the wall, shattering it.

"Damn him then! The fragger is out of his fragging processor!"

Thunderclash, looking as equally frustrated, churned it towards Pharma. "Oh, yeah? And destroying your tech is going to help?"

"What the slag?" Jazz skidded up to them, trying to pry himself in between to create some sort of wall. "What's got you both so fried?"

It was Pharma whose heated glare met Orion's. "Ratchet's going to enter Senator Proteus' employment!"

"Again?" Jazz sounded just as alarmed.

Thunderclash nodded. "I tried talking to him, but he wouldn't budge. Wouldn't even open his office to me." He motioned to Pharma. "So, we tried paging him but he cut communications as soon as he knew it was Pharma."

"That glitch, that absolute glitcher!" Pharma leaned, frame tense. "Ah! Why is he doing this?"

"He can't," Jazz said. "He just can't. Not after all that slagger did to him. I mean, did he just forget it all when he was away?"

"No." Everyone turned to Orion. "No, there's more to it. There has to be. We just . . . we just have to find out what."

"Good luck." Thunderclash was shaking his helm, field riddled with gripping worry. "He won't see us."

Orion understood, but still. "Let me try."

The only reason Orion was even remotely successful in seeing Ratchet was for the fact the medibot was just leaving his office. Kit in hand, he was quickly locking the room by the time Orion bounded around the corner.

"Ratchet!" Their optics met briefly and in that moment Orion swore he saw the look of agony swirling in those lights. It struck against his spark chamber, especially when Ratchet turned, averting his gaze and twisting until he was walking away. Orion only chased until he was beside him.

"They told you, didn't they?" Ratchet sounded as if he were gritting his denta, and Orion couldn't tell if it was over the fact of his choice or an upset over Thunderclash and Pharma disclosing his decision.

"Regardless of that, Ratchet, what are you doing?" Orion moved to keep up with the smaller whose pace was hurried as if trying to leave the facility as quickly as possible, or maybe even the ones inside behind.

"It's my business, not yours." Ratchet touched a control panel, calling for a lift. The moment it came, Orion only joined him in the compartment.

"Like the pits it isn't our business," Orion pressed. "We didn't work as hard as we did to fight for your innocence against that mech only for you to come back to the city and just, just return to him."

"Again, it's my business." Ratchet wasn't looking at him. He stared straight at the doors, an urgency for them to open stressed through his field.

"Then why?" The doors opened and Ratchet once more sprung out, intent to leave Orion behind, but he followed. "Is everything you have now so bad that you'd go back to working for him?"

They were out in the courtyard now, just paces away from the road. But Ratchet stopped. He stopped, but didn't turn.

The next moment, Ratchet was turning. He looked at Orion. The look in his optics reminded him of . . .

"No," Ratchet said. "It's perfect, and so, so good. But you see, that's what's wrong." He shook his helm. There was regret in his field, but it wouldn't move away, nor that look in his optics, that look of pending doom. "Do you think it all happened for our sake? For the ones who were beat by the judicial system without a spare thought for our truth? No, even this good is held for a price. A price I have to pay."

Orion wasn't sure if he was understanding Ratchet perfectly, but the clairvoyance he was receiving wasn't sitting well with him. "Ratchet, what . . . did he say something to you?"

Ratchet shook his helm, sounds huffing out, frustrated and bitter sounds. He turned, looking back to the road. Orion knew he was ready to run.

"Megatron came to me." The medibot stalled. Slowly, he turned his helm and looked back at Orion. "Cycles ago. He came into this city and met me to ask for you." Those optics shifted. Orion could see longing, the same look in Megatron's panels. "He told me he was worried; you haven't come back to him or even attempted to open a call. For as long and as much as I've known him, I've never seen him so distraught, and he's troubled, Ratchet, troubled over his last parting with you." Orion saw the recollection in Ratchet's optics. He could see the medic shift, he could see him sink further into a rising regret. "What am I going to tell him, Ratchet? What do you want me to tell him?" He motioned to the smaller mech and then toward the road, the one that would take him to the place he was trying to stop him from going to. "I can't tell him that. Don't make me."

They stood there, staring at one another, letting time pass by without a care. Orion could see Ratchet, he could see his very spark. He could see the trouble, the agony, the despair, the absolute struggle. And all Orion wanted to do was let Ratchet know he didn't have to fight this alone. Instead, he said—

"Ratchet, don't go."

Orion watched the struggle's end. Ratchet turned, pulled his field away from his and glared at the road. "I have to do this for you, and for Megatron. Tell him to leave this city. Tell him to stay away."

Ratchet transformed and drove off.

Orion was at a loss for words. Words he couldn't relay to the others when he returned to them, nor to Megatron when the expectant mech stood at the appointed meetup, hoping to see a certain 'bot alongside Orion as he came to him.

"Could Ratchet not come?" Megatron looked more than disappointed.

Orion felt his tank churn and his core cool to near extreme temperatures. "He . . . he didn't . . ." A hard sigh shook Orion's frame as he took a seat on a nearby bench. The park was located in a less trodden sector of the city. Despite its serenity, too many citybots passed the place over in favor of speeding down the highways; a reason Orion had found it a perfect place to hide away Megatron's presence.

"What's wrong?" Megatron's tone deepened, a push to urge Orion to speak.

Turning, Orion met Megatron's accusing gaze. The mech was close, waiting. "Ratchet won't be coming."

There was a worry seeping out of Megatron. "Why?"

"He took a job with Senator Proteus." Orion expected Megatron's reaction, he expected the startle, the shifting, and the heavy press of his field as it flared out in upset.

"Will you open your intake and tell me why?" Megatron's tone was harsh and demanding.

"I would like to, Megatron, I really would, but even I don't understand why he did it." Orion's answer wasn't good enough for Megatron, of course it wasn't. It wasn't even good enough for Orion, himself.

"You're telling me that that fragger who took everything from Ratchet because he couldn't get his spike wet has now somehow appealed to him that Ratchet would willing return to him?" Megatron's denta were grit, the snarl heavy on his face and his tone. His optics were bright and frightening. Orion could completely understand why many of his past opponents didn't like looking at the mech in the optics.

"I don't know if it's willing." Orion couldn't believe it was. He just couldn't.

"It isn't!" Orion turned to see Megatron twisting himself, walking away.

Standing, Orion followed. "Where are you going?" From squared shoulder struts, to clenched fists, he could see the tension, feel it as well.

"I've never met him, but tonight seems like as good a night as any." The growls from his vocals only further disturbed Orion to the point he had to lean forward and reach out, grabbing Megatron by the arm to cease his movement.

"You can't!" Orion pressed, but he noticed the look Megatron was giving him, as if he was disgusted that one such as himself had touched him, had dared to try and stop him.

Yanking his arm out of Orion's strong grasp, Megatron leaned forward. His field threatening and more than imposing, even against a friend. "If that is your best attempt against me then I can see why you couldn't stop Ratchet."

Orion looked immensely offended. "At least I tried! You, you just left. You left Ratchet when you swore you'd defend him and now he's here, he's here and Proteus has him and it's because of you. And now you want to go—do what?—kill him? And how is that going to help but get you killed and put your followers, and Ratchet, into target scopes?"

Harsh, and more than uncouth, but true. Orion Pax realized he could have kept himself better and worded things differently, but the affect was the same. Megatron was quiet, convicted, and Orion knew it.

Megatron shifted uncomfortably. Stress fell off of him in waves as well as anger, and frustration, and more than anything there was the deepest of regrets. "You're right. All of it. You're absolutely right, Orion. I regret all of those things. But, if there is one thing I won't regret it's getting the chance to kill that bastard." Fists were clenched again, the need to use those strong hands was prevalent and all that was stopping Megatron from giving into that need was the young mech standing before him.

"Like he'll give you the chance." Orion hated himself for being as impressed as he was, but he had to admit it; Proteus was tactical. "I've more than once underestimated him. I don't want you to do the same."

"Then what am I supposed to do?!" Megatron's voice echoed, and the quiet that followed pressed down on them both. "Am I just supposed to let him have Ratchet? You can't ask me to do that. You. Can't."

Orion's known only a few endurae in his life, none as close in relational status to observe so close, but seeing Megatron right then and the state he was in, he could understand how it changed a 'bot. The silver mech was always an upright and strong figure but before Orion he looked broken, he looked desperate and more than ready to pit himself against the entire planet. Orion couldn't imagine what he was feeling inside his spark. Then again, there was no doubt Ratchet felt the same.

"Stay strong." Megatron looked at Orion with the most miserable optics. "Keep your helm, your spark. I can't speak for your bond, but I know I still felt Ratchet's love for you even as he left. But . . . you'll do no one any good here. Leave Iacon until it'll see you. Just as I trusted you, trust me, us. We'll see to Ratchet and I promise you this: if Proteus does any more harm to him, I will be the one to take the bastard out."

Even with Orion's word, there was discontent inside Megatron's field. He nodded though. "Don't think I leave in peace. Far from it. I will refuse until he is safe back in my arms. But know that I'll leave to reorganize and push back. I will return to this city, sooner if you fail in your part. And when I do, Orion, it'll be with any army." He didn't elaborate further, leaving his true meaning left to interpretation, one Orion Pax didn't need to process further into. It was now his duty to ensure that coming army had no reason to fight.

. . .

Walking away from Orion and the others had been one of the hardest things Ratchet has ever done in his existence. Leaving Megatron behind had been the hardest.

Ratchet was a wreck when he pulled up to Senator Proteus' estate. And he sat there in the driveway trying and failing to stop the tremors and the sobs wracking his core. It took more than a few moments of debate amongst himself to shape up and do what he was there to do. The internal struggle wore him down only more than he needed right then, and with his strength even physically failing, Ratchet fretted over his performance.

"Lord Proteus said to expect you." The Senator's head of estate looked at Ratchet with disapproving optics the moment he walked into the foyer, but his own opinions were suppressed in order to follow his duty to his master.

With a wave, he ushered Ratchet into his office to file information and seal signatures for secured employment. Sitting there, filling out all those requirements felt like an eternity, but perhaps not as much as walking into the main lounge room had.

Nostalgia hit Ratchet like acid rain. While this section was not a part of the concubinage wing, he had occupied this room a few times before, long ago, with Greenlight for a brunch or two. Memories of her accompanied, and he suppressed the pain in order to hide it from the one responsible for its creation.

Senator Proteus sat in a status chair, seemingly observing the city from the window spans. He turned when they entered, a smile pulling his features.

"Ah, you're here." He stood, approaching his chief of staff and Ratchet. He nodded to the other mech and said, "It feels like a quartex since my last refuel, get the kitchen to prepare me something, and make sure it's doubled, I want to make a good impression on my company." Optics flickered toward Ratchet just as Proteus' COS bowed and left.

The silence that followed was unnerving, at least to Ratchet.

"So, I was thinking you start with my wrist rotators." Proteus shifted into a lounging couch, pedes kicked up, and frame finding the relaxation Ratchet couldn't. "Momus means well, but that son of a retrochip has one slag of a handshake." Proteus was chuckling, shaking his hand as if he felt some kind of pain. Ratchet highly doubted the mech was even capable.

Another short silence persisted until Ratchet blinked out of his fret. Putting down his kit on an accent table, he moved through the selection.

"Is there any routine or perimeters your past medic took that I may be aware of?" Ratchet tried to keep to himself and his work. He wanted this as professional as possible despite knowing better. Taking out a needle tweezer, he then moved to grab hold of the Senator's extended wrist.

"None that I can think of." Proteus tone held a smile, his field fluctuating with mirth. "Of course given the predicament, we can always create a new routine."

Ratchet didn't reply. He didn't need to. He focused his attention on gears that simply needed decluttering and lubrication. Afterwards he eagerly announced his finish.

"Wow, that was fast." Proteus grinned as he maneuvered his wrists, clenching and unclenching hands out of necessity testing. "Say, do you think you could manage fixing an old ribal abrasion that I've been carrying with me for a millennia? My old doctors wouldn't bother with it because it doesn't really cause me any pain, but the thing's uncomely."

Ratchet held in the sigh and simply nodded. "I'm here to be of service."

"Great."

The old wound really was a simple fix, but Ratchet understood the hesitation from previous medics. Even he'd advise leaving it alone, but at the moment he was in no such position to deny the Senator anything.

A sander, and a swath of cybernite was all it took to seal up the indent situated on the blue mech's side. A splash of mimicking color helped to further hide any hint of it once being there. As soon as he finished Ratchet pulled away, abhorring each time he was forced to lay his hands on the mech in a none-threatening manner.

"Well, I'll be damn." Proteus sat up, twisting his torso and glancing down at the patched plating. "I feel fresh off the line now." He turned his blue optics to Ratchet then. "You certainly haven't lacked in your skills. I'm feel ashamed that I hadn't made you head household medic sooner." He only shrugged afterwards. "Eh, lost opportunities I won't cry over. You're here now, that's all that matters."

Servants came in then, carrying trays of finely prepared meals. They set up a selection table and then laid every plate down.

"Yes! Fuel." Proteus moved toward the layout and began helping himself. He motioned toward Ratchet. "Come have a helping. I promise my cooks are some of the best on the planet."

Ratchet remained at a distance, intent to keep it. "I'm in no need to refuel."

Proteus shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Ratchet hated waiting on the mech. He hated standing there, watching the object of his torment gouging himself on the luxuries of the planet, paid for in part by sparks who meant nothing to the Senator. The frustration came to the point where Ratchet couldn't take it anymore.

"Am I no longer required?" Proteus paused from a cube, turning his gaze on the medic. Ratchet forced himself to speak again. "Are my services further needed?" He wanted to leave, to return to his apartment and lock himself inside and just collapse in on himself.

Proteus' smile was sharper as he finished his cube, his optical lights swirling with intent as he moved, approaching Ratchet. "Why the rush? You can't possibly have other patients waiting for you back at the facility."

"But I do have duties to perform," Ratchet excused, anything to likely entail an early leave.

"And you can't shirk those just to spend a little bit more time with me?" Proteus reached out taking a hold of Ratchet's hands. He smiles, suggestive, and then he brings those digits to his mouth and moves his lip plates against them. Ratchet tries to repress the shudder but he can't and worries over Proteus' reaction. If the senator was offended in any way by Ratchet's obvious repulsion he doesn't make mention of it. Instead he kisses Ratchet's hands again and turns to nuzzle them.

"There, there. It's not so bad, hmm?" Proteus rumbles in his chassis, tugging Ratchet forward. Ratchet tries not to completely collide with the other's frame and does his best to keep some measure of distance apart. His effort doesn't go unnoticed. Proteus simply tugs once more and Ratchet cringes when their chest plating bumps.

There is a startle when Ratchet hears movement. He turns his helm, looking at staffbots, all cleaning up the array of prepared fuel. They didn't at all bat an optic their way. None at all cared.

A digit against his chin turned Ratchet's helm back. He looked at Proteus once and then averted his gaze when he felt hands wander down plating they never had before.

"Don't fret, they're just doing their job," Proteus said, taking notice of Ratchet's unease to the presence of the staff. His hand rested against his pelvic plating then, digits teasingly dipping into seams. "Just as you are."

Ratchet felt like someone had shot a sonic cannon into his tank. Having the Senator say exactly what he already knew just made him implode. By the Allspark! Ratchet just wanted to go to the Well already!

From getting groped by the last mech on Cybertron that he wanted and then listening to the staff moving about to clean up the area, Ratchet was more than a little stressed. And Proteus could tell.

"Relax, Ratchet. I have no intention on hurting you." Proteus' vocals hitched with assurance, but it was useless to a 'bot whose already been hurt by the mech. Redundant misplaced comfort. When Ratchet refused to loosen Proteus reacted with a laugh. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

Without warning, Ratchet felt lip plates against his helm. Initial reaction had him flinch away, but he couldn't go far when arms wound around him, keeping him still for another kiss that fell against his neck cabling. The mouth was more than gentle, but that still didn't prevent Ratchet from shaking.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" With lower pitches, Proteus moved his mouth down Ratchet's necking. A kiss was planted against his collar structure following. "Neither was this." Another kiss to his shoulder strut. "Or this." Then those clinging hands moved, Ratchet felt them cup his face, turning him to look up at the mech molesting him. Leaning down, Proteus rubbed his mouth against Ratchet's. Against moving lips and a prodding glossa, Ratchet tried to refuse, but when those hands tightened ever so slightly, Ratchet understood the threat very well.

Senator Proteus tasted like highgrade and engex. Too rich for Ratchet, but one that he was forced to intake as the mech shifted, deepening the kiss and keeping hold of Ratchet for as long as he wanted.

"Mmm, I'll get you to respond yet." Proteus pulled away with a swipe of his glossa and then pulled Ratchet, shifting them both before those tugging hands flattened against the medibot's torso and pushed.

Ratchet stumbled back, his legs hitting the lounge couch before he teetered over and fell against it. Bright optics watched as Proteus' form came over him, straddling and hindering any idea of returning to his pedes. Proteus descended in another kiss and just as he leaned his weight, Ratchet brought his hands up, trying as he might to keep some semblance of a separation. It was only useful for a moment, but with another shift, as Proteus pushed Ratchet's thighs apart and nestled himself between, those forceful hands came and took Ratchet's restricting servos and pushed them beside him while he kissed his mouth dry.

Ratchet's reluctance to participate was a likelihood of his discomfort, but he found it extremely difficult to even attempt to arch against Proteus or sigh out some pleasant sound to his ministrations. For a mech whose concubinage is swollen, he was in a position to understand fully well how to pleasure a berthmate, but Ratchet found no appeal to those hands rubbing his thighs, nor attraction to skilled lips that nibbled bio lights and tender wiring. There was no coaxing interface panels open, Ratchet simply manually opened them, as well as activated his lubrication cycle. Where Proteus looked immensely pleased by Ratchet's submission, the medibot knew there was no means of him truly giving himself to him, not in the way he has before.

"Nhm." Ratchet bit his glossa. Feeling Proteus push three large digits into him at once took him by surprise, but he held back any retort.

"Hm?" Proteus looked down at him, as if in consideration. "Did that hurt? I thought you'd be used to a wider stretch given your previous partner." He smile was snickering, a fourth digit added anyway. "That's just fine. I intend to take my time with you and enjoy every little thing."

Ratchet was stressing over that statement. He didn't want this to last any longer than necessary. Not at all. So, in turn he reached out, tugging at Proteus' hand, pulling his fingers out of him and then wrapping his legs around his pelvic structure, tightening and rubbing hot plating over his still concealed spike. Proteus just observed him for a moment before the actions turned him toward the quicker unification.

Leaning down, Proteus pressed his frame down, closer than Ratchet wanted, but it was necessary. All of it was. "Alright, we can go fast too."

Proteus didn't hurt Ratchet, but damn if that mech didn't have libido. Ratchet was brought through three minor overloads before Proteus even reached his first. He seemed more intent to thrust, to push his spike into every crevice of Ratchet's valve until he was certain the very shape of his phallic appendage would be indented into the medibot. And even after that, Proteus insisted on further pleasure.

Ratchet tried. He tried his damnedest to pull himself away. Tried to tuck himself into the corner compartments of his CPU, but Proteus was always touching him, always kissing him when he didn't want him too, always digging his fingers into seams that just tipped him into an unwanted overload. And the positions, Primus, Proteus was demanding and constantly wanted to shift after every round. There really was only so much Ratchet could do—or even wanted to do—on a lounge couch.

Their last round, Proteus had shifted until Ratchet was seated on his lap. He pushed into his wet valve already full of his transfluid, and from there he expected the medic to ride him. Ratchet was more than loathing of himself by that time, and after realizing Proteus wasn't going to be the one moving them along anymore, he fell into a deeper depression.

Finding some leverage with bent knees, Ratchet moved, sliding up and down. He didn't like the fact that he was facing the senator and so mostly glared at the wall behind him, but caressing fingers moved him to look at that face, the one that was responsible for where he was right then. And then Ratchet was tugged closer, the other deciding it was better kissing him than staring at him.

Hands settled on his hips, holding him there as he moved and they remained there even as Proteus' overload splattered inside Ratchet's canal. Signs of low energy levels flared across his display and Ratchet leaned into them all, even the mech he still straddled. He hated that Proteus didn't leave right then, instead he held him, his spike still nestled inside his valve for a longer moment.

He said things, words of praise, words Ratchet didn't remember because he didn't want to. What he wanted to remember was when the Senator pulled out of him, when he moved away, when he issued him leave, because when he did Ratchet was out of that estate faster than he had been when the city of Iacon had banished him.

It was the moment he got back to his apartment that he realized he had left his tool kit. Not that it mattered, he'd be returning inevitably. He was Senator Proteus' official personal medibot. Such an honor.

The wash racks was Ratchet's first destination after entering his apartment. It was there he stayed all night, trying to clean himself, but no matter how much he tried he couldn't seem to get the Senator off or out of him. And it frustrated him to the point he began chipping paint away, hands denting into spray nozzles, blaming their inadequacy for the failed task.

As soon as he had tossed the nozzles down, Ratchet's clenched fists uncurled digits so they could lay against his lips as those awful and pathetic sounds left his mouth. Those sounds that echoed off the walls even amongst the spray of cleansing fluid. The following echo was of Ratchet's frame sliding down to the floor after he shook over the realization of what he'd done, of what he'd chosen for himself.

He'd been prepared to live with it, but in the end, Ratchet wasn't as prepared as he thought he would have been.

. . .

When Ratchet returned to Iacon his friends had hoped he was there to stay. He was. Then they hoped to continue where they had left off and carry on their relationship with him as they always had, but those dreams were dashed when the medic took that controversial job under Senator Proteus.

More than not Ratchet distanced himself from his friends, shutting down any dispute regarding his occupation if they took an evening together. Each one; Orion Pax, Thunderclash, Jazz, Pharma, and even Prowl attempted to casually converse during separate times, but they were excused away. In the end, Ratchet isolated himself and no amount of coercion or plea would get the doctor out for even an afternoon cube.

His friends were having trouble dealing with these latter developments.

"He was so much more reasonable when he was banished." Thunderclash leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and optics glaring up at the ceiling of the facility's mess hall.

Despite his crude comment, no one combated it.

"You think that damn senator's been telling him to do this?" Jazz swung his helm toward Orion. When the mech hadn't answered he jerked his leg out and nudged him. "What say you? You've been talkin' to Megatron, right? How's he handling all of this?"

"Probably as good as we are." Pharma sounded a pitiful sigh. He'd been staring at his fuel for as long as they'd all come together and slouched at the table. All too troubled to focus on menial things.

Expectant optics shined on Orion Pax.

Straightening, Orion considered his words. "You know . . . Megatron's leading an entire movement, one that consists of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of faithful followers. I don't think that the Senator's employment and Ratchet's reclusion are happenstance. I believe it has its purpose, one that is just starting to take effect. I'm not sure if a lot of you are aware but Ratchet laid his signature in a lot of Megatron's writings. Have any of you read his latest publications?"

The others were silent but it was Prowl who shifted and broke it. "I have. There's definitely a difference."

Orion nodded. Very. It was clear Megatron expressed himself flawlessly through his words and those of late told of his upset, of his sparkache and frustration. Rambles of injustice plagued his paragraphs and accusations of thievery were more than blunt, a voice less kind to those living level than ever before. And the unrest that backed those writings was unsettling.

Leaning forward, Orion clasped his hands, resting elbow joints against his knee rotators. "I don't need to be the one to remind everyone about Ratchet and his intimate relationship."

Pharma made a face and Jazz sounded a noise, but other than that, they nodded, confirming their once suspicions.

"Then I will be the one to tell you that they were bonded."

"Bonded? Thunderclash sat upright. "When?"

"Sometime before the movement's bad paint," Orion relayed. "Given that you understand what a bond does to a 'bot."

"You mean to a 'bot whose conjunx is thousands of miles away," Thunderclash commented further. He was the third one to make a face. "Well, that's just brilliant. If the whole damn movement is centered around Megatron then we'll likely have one slag of an issue in the not-so-far future."

Orion's thoughts exactly.

"Then what'll we do?" Jazz flapped his arms, frustration flaring. "Should we just nab Ratchet and get him out of the city? See, now that just sounds strange, especially after we spent so long trying to get him back here."

"All in vain," Pharma drawled.

A silence fell upon them, uncomfortable and too ugly to accept.

"You know . . ." Thunderclash looked at the others. "Even considering where we are now I can't say I regret working my aft off for that goal."

Jazz nodded next. "I second that."

Prowl chortled. "Then I'll be the third."

Pharma made a motion, rolling his optics. In the end he settled for a small, reminiscent, but proud, smile. He nodded. "Yeah, no regrets."

Orion Pax smiled wider than any of them, absolutely proud and honored to call the lot his good friends. "You're right. So, I think it's fair we not give up; on ourselves, on Megatron, on especially Ratchet, not when we hadn't before."

Standing up, Orion made to depart.

"Where are you going?" Prowl asked, getting to his pedes as well.

"To see my sources and perhaps get my helm wrapped around what we're actually up against."

With Orion's departure he drove to meet a senator.

"Was this his plan from the beginning?" Orion Pax hadn't meant to let his tone rise so inadequately but Dai Atlas had never minded his honest expressions before. "Is Senator Proteus doing this because he knows what he can do?"

Dai Atlas sat, pondering all of the information and group speculation he's collected. Pleading optics gazed, looking to the older for a verified reason, an answer and explanation. Something to settle his internal unrest.

"Ratchet has never been as isolated from us as he is now, and I know . . ." Orion collected himself for a moment. "I know he is doing this because he must."

"It has been a pleasure getting to know you, Cadet Pax." Dai Atlas spoke with a slow contemplative tone, each response well-meant and aimed. "In these times of restlessness and disregard I am privileged to find my faith restored in a mech so young." Dai Atlas smiled, nodded, but the expression was gone just as quickly as it came. "But should you ever have been given the chance to come to know and remotely understand Proteus then you might come to the same realization of just how receptive he is."

Orion stood near, too tense to take the offered seat next to Dai Atlas. But from the Senator's own EM field, it was easy to discern he too was struggling with rising as well as pending frustrations.

"This all began as a miniscule offense which Proteus treated in the most reprehensible of ways. You and your friends, especially Ratchet, learned to steer clear of crossing him again, a desired result expected from him. His further ploys to delve deeper, personal damage was both intended and unintended I believe."

Orion cocked his helm. "How so?"

"There was no way Proteus could have foreseen the relationships Ratchet would form. He expected the trauma, the desolation and torment, but he hadn't expected the likelihood of a new beginning or opportunities." Dai Atlas shifted in his seat, leaning forward. He looked weary, mostly over the fact of having dealt with his fellow congressmecha for so long. Orion could say he felt a sympathy for him, though had no desire to take a similar place for empathetic measures. "Proteus keeps to his plans, ensures they are fulfilled, but he can adapt to change so well. Better still, he can divert it." Shaking his helm, Dai Atlas sounded a sigh. "It is truly a shame that your friend had drawn so close to the spark of that movement. His position compromised more than it should and unfortunately Proteus saw that leverage."

Orion understood Dai Atlas' view on the anti-functionist movement. The mech had his worries over it, but never outright condemned it in front of him, however he never spoke kindly of it either. But now, even Dai Atlas was realizing how dangerous it had the potential of becoming.

"It's unfortunate, it truly is, where fate has brought you all." Dai Atlas was quiet for a moment, optics shifting in thought. "As if this might be the necessary to dive into to break down the chaos we've wrought and are unsure of how to tear down."

Shaking his helm, Orion took a step closer, hands waving as if to push away the negativity bounding into the room. "There needs to be no necessary, only amending. My friends and I have been thinking of getting Ratchet out of the city."

"I mean no offense, Orion, but I do not find any faith in your intentions." Hard optics looked toward the younger.

"It is risky considering our positions, yes, but we're not afraid to fight to keep our peoples from tearing each other's throats out." Orion spoke heavily for himself, but he knew even Jazz, Thunderclash, Pharma, and Prowl felt the same. "And if Ratchet is that middle point then shouldn't we at least try?"

Dai Atlas considered the plan, but the look in his optical paneling told Orion that the senator wasn't quite enthused about his devotion.

"After he returned to Iacon there was a quick sever. Even after all this time you believe he holds any more influence over the unrest that's been gaining friction?" Dai Atlas shook his helm in disagreement. "You have a higher chance at being the harbinger than the emancipator. You've pushed the boundaries already, Orion. I would advise you to not do so again, especially since your friend is in no position to reach out to do the same."

"But Ratchet will, I know he will," Orion said. "If we could help, get him out of the city, then I know that he'd be able to find his voice again. You said so yourself; Proteus has his hands in everything, even on Ratchet's will. And I can't just stand by and let Ratchet use himself as a shield just so we can live in peace. Because if living in peace means living without Ratchet then it's no peace to me."

Dai Atlas was watching him, listening to his responses, and observing the way his field opened to truth and passion. Orion Pax, so young and rightly noble.

"You may have gotten the pleasure to know me, Lord Dai Atlas, but you've never gotten to know Ratchet or even Megatron. Where you faith falters mine thrives in believing that this is not the end to accept. Even if it means the city, the very planet, turn its back on me and my friends, I would rather it do that then tear itself apart with all of this discontent. And like it or not, Ratchet has the ability to play a major part in that steadiness given that Megatron is the pillar. He'll either topple over and let our society break apart or he'll keep it steady while further pillars rise up alongside him."

Dai Atlas smiled. Laced with pride, but ending with solace. "I admire your resolution, Orion, I do, but despite the right goals I cannot see any means to obtain them, given Ratchet's current predicament."

Shoulder struts shifted. Orion looked annoyed, ready to argue his belief further. "No matter where Ratchet is now, there is always a way to fight against the shackles. And I know that if we tug on those chains, so will he."

Dai Atlas still didn't look convinced and it perturbed Orion. "Even though he's carrying Proteus' sparkling right now?"

Orion paused, trying to process just what he'd been told. "What?"