CHAPTER TEN

XXX

Megatron observed through the crack in the closet doors as June hovered over her boy, his optics dimmed to ensure they did not alert her to his presence. She kissed the top of Jack's head, whispering something to him before setting a bottle of pills on the bedside table, then made her leave from the door. It was approximately thirty minutes before her shift began, however the Darby household was a fifteen-minute commute from the hospital by vehicle. Soundwave had carefully calibrated everything, constantly checking in on the nurse's schedule to see when she would be working.

Jack's sickness was driving the tyrant nuts, and he was not convinced that the boy suffered from mere influenza. His own research had come up with some very concerning results, however he was reluctant to share his suspicions and cause unnecessary panic. And if Jack required a hospital stay, then the revelation of his diagnosis would raise questions.

Though there were multiple possible diseases Jack could have contracted, Megatron had it narrowed down to a few: malaria, dengue fever, and yellow fever. With Jack asleep he had taken the liberty of doing a deep scan of his body. It was rudimentary, as he was no medic, and his scanners were not equipped to take in details of organic matter. Yet there was only one organ he was concerned with at the moment - one in which minute details were not compulsory.

Malaria and yellow fever were notorious for affecting the liver, as the malaria parasites burrowed into the tissue, and yellow fever involved infection of the massive organ. Jaundice meant it was too late, as the diseases had advanced to the late stages and killed the toxin-filter. He was not about to wait for Jack to indicate such symptoms, electing to examine the tissue as thoroughly as his limited technology would allow.

With careful evaluation he also sent his scans to Soundwave, who combed over them slowly and methodically. Two Earth hours later, the mech gave them a clean bill of health. No sign of infection, no parasitic activities. Megatron planned to continue sending scans, however he was certain there was only one culprit left.

Dengue fever was commonly transmitted through mosquitoes, and the organic had been bitten by several of these creatures. Additionally, symptoms began four to seven days after contracting the disease, Jack just barely making the window. Luckily, the disease presented similarly to influenza and could be treated using the same medications - acetaminophen - however his high fever and persistent vomiting was concerning. It was indicative that he might develop more severe symptoms: internal bleeding, shock . . . then death.

He could also tell Jack's musculoskeletal system was aching, as he walked very gingerly and barely moved when he could help it. The culmination of these things convinced the tyrant that he needed to keep a close, careful optic on the human - even if it meant stuffing himself in the closet when the maternal unit would come check on Jack.

Not the most elegant or graceful of situations, however the tyrant refused to let Jack slip from his grasp by a mere virus. Soundwave had already taken over operations for the day, Megatron focused solely on ensuring that if something did happen, that Jack would receive help swiftly.

As soon as he heard June leave for good he slid from his hiding spot, striding over to Jack's bedside and picking up the bottle.

Ibuprofen - NSAID.

No, he would not allow Jack to risk taking this medicine, Megatron gripping the container and slipping out of the room. He had to orient himself awkwardly and stoop through the door, not wanting his broad shoulders to scrape the doorframe and cause questionable marks. Looking around, he attempted to determine if the humans had their own medical unit within the home, though he assumed if Jack was staying in his room, and not in this unit, that such a thing did not exist. If that was the case, where would the next best place be?

A quick search of the World Wide Web told him a medicine cabinet, commonly placed in the bathroom. He knew vaguely of its location thanks to Jack's showering habits, finding the room on the first try. Pushing the door opened, he noted with some dissatisfaction that it was going to be a tight fit, especially for him.

Sliding in he took a look at the mirror, optics running along its slit. There was a tiny crystal protruding from one corner near the bottom, revealing that it was a swinging door. He gripped it between two claws, yanking it open.

The force caused something to crack, the tyrant realizing he had severely overestimated the necessary strength to open it, the poor door now hanging at an awkward angle. Something had snapped in one or both of its hinging mechanisms, leaving it crooked. He frowned in an annoyance, ignoring that little fact for the moment to gaze into the cabinet. Looking inside, he only found one single medication bottle, the oddly-shaped white cap over a transparent orange body. The logo said Pharmacy, which he knew to be where most medications were obtained. Taking it in his servo, his optics skimmed over the label swiftly to determine if that was what he was looking for.

June Darby. Fluoxetine. 20 mg. Take once per day PM.

His displeased frown deepened, and he placed the medicine back in its original spot before also closing the cabinet, not bothering to take the time to straighten it out. Truly, it was not his problem.

Sliding out of the bathroom with care, his patience was wearing thin. He needed to find acetaminophen, and would have to ensure the maternal unit did not attempt to give him any form of NSAID. According to his research they increased chances of bleeding, which he was not going to risk for the sake of secrecy. Was it his mistake to take the human to a place where he could contract such a disease? Perhaps. But who was he to know the pesky creatures were capable of transmitting such a severe disease? If anything, Jack should have warned him once the first mosquito bit him.

Regardless, he was on a mission, focusing on the now.

His next option, he decided, was the kitchen. It was another common place of commune and where they stored their sustenance. Perhaps they also stored their medications there as well.

Making his way there, he struggled to step around the table and chairs which were planted right in the middle of the room, leaving just enough space for a busy body to operate the cooking machinery and stand at the counters, but otherwise the furniture just stood in the way.

He had no idea where to start, noting several hiding places the bottles could be stored. Right away he decided to rule out the refrigerator, as June had been comfortable leaving the medicine out at room temperature; that meant the medications could likely be stored the same. Question was . . . which door were they hiding behind?

Deciding it was best to just start at one end and work his way around, Megatron made an effort to remain gentle when prying open the wooden doors. They gave way easily to his wishes, swinging open to reveal what he soon discovered were glasses and bowls. The next door had plates, and cookware, the tyrant becoming increasingly frustrated as each door revealed nothing but useless items.

It was not until he nearly reached the end that he found it: a plastic bin, filled with carefully organized bottles of medications.

Eagerly he plucked it from its space and put it on the counter, his sharp digits shifting each one aside. Much to his displeasure they were brand-name, meaning he had to take a pause to research each one to figure out what it was and if it was the acetaminophen he was looking for. It wasted precious time, only prompting him to further question the reasoning behind the human race's thought processes. Things would be much easier if they simply used the universal medication names, and did not bother themselves with trivial labels which meant nothing.

Finally, finally, he came across Tylenol, taking it and setting it aside. Then, he shuffled through each one he had yet to come across, checking to see what was an NSAID. When he had also successfully separated them out from the rest he put the container back, tossing all but the Tylenol into his subspace. He would deal with the threatening medication later.

Returning to Jack's room he placed the acetaminophen on the same spot where June had on the nightstand. Satisfied with his work, the tyrant turned his attention back to Jack, who was still sleeping.

He was pale, however his cheeks were still full and even tinged pink, his chest rising and falling slowly. There appeared to be improvement, however Megatron did not dare to hope. He refused to see any positivity until it was clear Jack was returning to full health. Until then, he would assume only the worst.

There was still a debate on how he felt about the human's bed. It was soft, a strange contrast to his inflexible metallic armor, and it gave in easily to his weight. It almost made his back struts curve uncomfortably, however he could manage to shift into a position which had the least amount of ache. Laying on his side was the most helpful, which was also useful when it came to his interactions with Jack.

Sliding in beside the human, he took up his usual residence between Jack and the wall. It seemed like the most obvious place for him, though if June decided to pop in there was no use in hiding him. Laying flat he easily pushed Jack within half an inch of the edge, and on his side his sharp shoulder plating was obvious. Nevertheless, it was a position he gladly settled into at night.

He would never admit it out loud, but there was something strangely comforting in having Jack at his side. Perhaps it was a creature comfort he enjoyed, though never truly paid attention to. Maybe it reminded him of better days, of when he had his Amicus, however this feeling was different. He loved Amicus, but he craved Jack. He was a dangerous distraction, and sometimes the dictator found thoughts of the human interrupting almost intrusively. He was unsure if it was because Jack was making things difficult - the thrill of the chase - or if he found pleasure in the secrecy, possessing the human right under his Autobot master's noses.

Regardless of what it was, he knew he had to keep himself under control. If he moved too swiftly, Jack would resist him, and would never truly be his. He had to convince the human to be a part of him, in whatever way he was willing. Despite what Jack might have been thinking, truly the tyrant did not care about physical intimacies; he just wanted Jack to confess that he was his, and his alone.

Megatron had done his fair share of research on humans. Once Jack formed a true bond with him, came to care for and desire the Decepticon, it would become easier to pry him out of his Autobot grip. Three months was plenty of time for this to occur, Megatron already seeing how the human became normalized to his presence. He was patient, the only thing he did not tolerate were threats to Jack's life. And with Optimus Prime completely out of the picture, he could better exert his influence.

Things were falling into place easily, the stars aligning much more favorably for him this time. As long as he remained careful, he would succeed.

XXX

Jack opened his eyes with a painful groan, feeling as if he was burning up. Wiping the thin layer of sweat on his forehead he looked at the clock, seeing it was almost 11:00 and sighing. As nice as it was to sleep in, he felt like scrap for doing so. And it was no surprise his fever had returned - he was doing a poor job of controlling it.

He made to move, shock shooting up his spine he something tightened against him in retaliation for his movement, the familiar feeling of claws on his chest making him panic.

What-

"What are you still doing here?!" He demanded with a yelp, pushing the arm away while sitting up in bed to get a better look at its second occupant. His head spun from the action, however he tried to mentally control his nausea. Megatron lazily opened his optics, gazing at Jack with indifference.

"Ensuring you are meeting all of your basic needs," he said simply. "You are severely sick."

"You're supposed to be gone," Jack hissed between deep breaths, his arms aching. "What happened with the night being your domain?"

"Your illness takes precedence," Megatron sat up, moving his helm side to side to quickly work out the kinks.

Great. Awesome. Just what I needed - a 7-foot tall metal man in my house in broad daylight.

"It's the flu. I'll get over it soon." Jack huffed, swinging his legs over the side. They felt wobbly and he still ached profusely, however he needed to get himself around the home. He was not about to let Megatron be his knight in shining armor.

The reply stopped him cold in its tracks. "No, it is not. It is far too early for your 'flu season,' and there is a more fitting explanation for your symptoms. Dengue fever."

Jack wanted to ask about how he knew so much, but the revelation overrode that curiosity quickly. "Dengue fever? But isn't that only in . . ."

Megatron watched his face fall in realization. "Yes. And it is transmitted by mosquitoes. It is also a viral illness, therefore you can only treat its symptoms."

I'm the son of a nurse yet somehow this tyrant knows more about medicine than I do. Jack huffed to himself. Of course Dengue fever made more sense than the flu. They had similar symptomologies and treatment, but Jack had never been exposed before. What if it got worse? What if he went to the hospital? What would he say then?

"I can't tell my mom," he told Megatron, "she's a nurse. If she figures out what this is, not only am I going to end up in the hospital, but she'll start asking questions."

"That is precisely why I am here," the dictator said, Jack panicking for a split second and taking that to mean he was going to somehow hurt his mom. "To ensure your disease does not progress to a critical level."

"How kind of you," Jack muttered, finally rising to his feet. He was still nauseated, an unpleasant feeling, but at least now he did not have the intense desire to vomit. Gripping the edge of his dresser he uncapped the Tylenol bottle and took a pill, downing a glass of water with it. From there he found new clothes, double-checking to ensure he had pockets somewhere before he left the room, going to the bathroom and shutting the door.

He had been keeping the Key to Vector Sigma tucked in his pants, too paranoid to go too far from the relic on the off chance it would feel the need to teleport to him, exposing itself to someone like Sierra - or Megatron. However, he felt more paranoid at the idea that Megatron would somehow find the Key in his pocket. For that to happen, though, there would need to be some seriously awkward series of events.

Regardless, he was keeping it close, protecting it. He had to.

Changing into a new set of clothes he took a moment to look at himself in the mirror, frowning when he saw how crooked it was.

Weird . . . maybe mom accidentally broke it?

He could not imagine how it happened, but the mirror was several years old. Something was bound to give eventually, and frankly he was too sick right now to care enough to puzzle it out.

Washing his face and doing a brief morning routine, he sighed as he waited for the Tylenol to kick in. He was feeling a little less nauseated, and he hoped getting some food in him would fix that problem for good. Truthfully, he definitely did not feel as bad today as he had been for the past couple of days. Maybe things were getting better.

Stepping out of the bathroom he nearly jumped out of his skin, staring at a purple Decepticon insignia.

"Megatron!" He hissed. "What are you doing out here?!"

"No one is home," the Decepticon replied evenly. "What does it matter if I do not remain in your recharge room? Besides, I came to ensure you did not need my assistance."

"I'm fine," Jack suppressed a groan, squeezing past the tyrant in the hall and tossing his clothes into his room. He resisted the urge to touch the Key through his pocket, not wanting Megatron to get suspicious. "I'm going to the kitchen to get something to eat."

"I will join you," not a question, nor a request, but a statement. Jack cringed.

"There's windows. What if the neighbors see you?" He countered.

"I have already explored the layout of your home, that will be no concern," the rebuttal made Jack even more hysterical. He whipped around to confront the dictator, but the sudden motion made him feel as if he had been smacked in the side of the head, his vision spinning. He reached for a wall, arm flailing as he tried to keep his balance and not fall. As he leaned in a desperate attempt to find some stability a strong arm wrapped around him, the second servo gripping his hip to provide further support.

Megatron's deep, throaty laugh caressed his ear. "You are clearly still experiencing some dizziness."

"Nevermind that," Jack hissed, grabbing his forearms and helping himself stand up straight. "You're walking around my house!"

"Your maternal unit is not home," Megatron pointed out, "and your friends are at your . . . learning institution. I doubt there is any chance my presence is problematic at the moment."

Jack paused. "Did you break the bathroom mirror?"

"If you are referring to the medicine cabinet, I did," Megatron said dismissively. His red optics flashed in amusement at Jack's bewildered expression. "It is made of your fragile earthen materials; I was not expecting it to be so easy."

"What were you doing in the bathroom?" Jack had so many questions. He had no idea where to start, though he was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that Megatron had yet to remove his servos from where they gripped his body, especially the one at his hip.

"I was searching for your medication," Megatron said simply, changing the subject. "You were on your way to the kitchen?"

"Yeah," Jack gave him a glare, wondering if he was attempting some sort of avoidance, or if the tyrant was just changing the subject on a whim. He was absolutely flabbergasted by the idea of Megatron wandering around his house, looking for . . . medication? "I'm not on medicine."

"Acetaminophen," the word sounded very strange from the tyrant's tongue. "It is what you have been using to combat the fever."

"Oh . . ." Jack nodded slowly. "Yes. And Ibuprofen."

"No. Never treat Dengue fever with what you may call a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug," the tyrant just spouted out medical facts like it was his hobby, however Jack knew better - he only did it because he had researched the disease extensively. "It increases your risk of hemorrhaging."

Jack looked at him, frowning. His mother would insist he took Ibuprofen, however the fact that he was considering doing what Megatron said made him even more nauseated than what he already felt from the illness. Who put him in charge of his life?

He cringed at the conclusion he came to. Megatron was the leader of the Decepticons - he took charge of everything. Jack was just another person he could tell what to do.

"Sure, no Ibuprofen, got it," he huffed just to satisfy the dictator. Pushing his servos away from his body, he turned and continued his way to the kitchen, though he did so with more caution this time. The sound of Megatron's clicking joints followed him, though his steps were eerily silent against the carpet floor.

Grabbing chicken noodle soup from the fridge, he poured some in a bowl and heated it up. Leaning against the counter he waited for it to beep; despite not feeling hungry, he had to force himself to eat something. Chicken broth was probably the best way to go, even if he did not take in actual food.

Megatron watched him in silence as he took the bowl, the Decepticon standing there while Jack sat and ate soup across from him. Awkward silence filled the void, Jack thinking, for a brief moment, how funny it would be to offer the tyrant some. Megatron would probably just call him an idiot, though part of Jack liked to imagine he would humor the human and try some.

"If you were planning on doing anything exciting, don't get your hopes up," he grumbled to the Decepticon. "I'm sick."

"I merely assumed I would be overseeing your basic needs," Megatron replied truthfully. "However, I see you are managing just fine. So I am ensuring your condition does not worsen."

"I haven't vomited in a while," the human pointed out, "I'm probably doing just fine."

Megatron tilted his helm. "That does not mean things will not take a turn for the worst."

"Well, you know what to do, right? Call 911?" Jack was not feeling well, however he realized he was sounding short and crabby. He hoped Megatron would just brush it off.

"If such an extreme intervention is required," of course he knew what to do. It was here that Jack realized just how in-depth Megatron had truly researched into taking care of a human. He probably knew basic CPR at this point, if not how to operate a full-blown emergency department in the Darby kitchen. He was dedicated to ensuring Jack would survive, though the human guessed that if Dengue fever was anything like the flu, all of those precautions were overkill.

"Alright then," he had no idea where to go from there, sipping on his soup until he could not take anymore, throwing the rest down the sink drain. "I need to do homework and catch up. In my room."

Megatron angled his body so Jack could slip past him, then following the human. Jack sighed. It was like having a large, looming, awkward shadow behind him. Was he expected to entertain Megatron? That was difficult to do, since he doubted anything about his home life was interesting. He also guessed that the Decepticon would want to do something more exciting than, say, videogames, like world domination.

Well, Plague Inc. might be up his alley. Destroying the entire human race? Definitely his thing.

Pushing that thought out of his head, Jack wrapped a blanket around himself while he sat at his desk, trying to ignore the fact that Megatron was just staring at him. The tyrant had stationed himself at his bed, sitting and becoming as still as a statue, almost. A living, breathing one, though the breaths were fake for the most part.

The hours were grueling, Jack quickly becoming bored out of his mind as he moved from equations to sentence structure to trying to remember what a Arctictis binturong was. And memorizing the steps of glycolysis? Forget it.

Three hours went by, and Jack felt like he was going to explode. That, and his eyes were getting heavy again. He just wanted to sleep.

Eventually he stood and trudged to his bed, Megatron's optics brightening as he came over. Despite the awkward, uncomfortable situation, Jack could not help but feel a little bad that he just sat there. It was ingrained in him to be an accommodating guest, despite said guest being the Cybertronian equivalent of - yeah, he did not want to go there.

"Don't you have a warship to run?" Jack asked as he approached the bed.

"I am more than capable of relaying my commands from here," Megatron assured, though Jack was not exactly looking for reassurance. His optic ridge quirked up when Jack stood in front of him, his blanket still wrapped around him, instead of just sliding into the bed beside him.

Jack looked at the tyrant. It was only a little over a week since they made their agreement, one out of twelve. Or day ten out of . . . what had Megatron said? Ninety-one days? The finish line was so far away, it made his heart sink.

But he had to convince Megatron that it was working. That they were slowly forming a relationship. His gut turned as the tight, nauseated feeling he had come to expect with his anxiety reared up at the thought: that he was falling for him.

He allowed the tyrant to sleep in his bed after one week, even "snuggle" up against him - though the idea of calling it such a thing made him want to hurl. For this second week . . . the very least he could do was walk into his arms. Just this once.

Just this once. Not too far.

"I'm tired," he said, trying to figure out a way to do it without it being so weird. Even considering sitting in Megatron's lap gave him the willies. "Are you going to nap with me?"

Red optics regarded him, then a slow grin curled up his faceplates.

"If that is what you wish," Megatron acquiesced.

Jack motioned for him to get comfortable, the tyrant complying with that infuriatingly satisfied smile on his face. Jack tried to ignore it, crawling into bed after him. Instead of the usual, he forced himself forward, wiggling as he tucked himself into Megatron's chest.

The Decepticon insignia vibrated as Megatron made a noise, one Jack could not place at first. He assumed the Cybertronian was surprised, closing his eyes and deciding not to look to see if that was the case. As per usual, a large arm wrapped around him, but this time it slid up, up, until digits could tangle into his hair.

Jack exhaled in surprise, his body producing the natural response when someone played with his hair - a pleased tingle which arced down his spine and across his chest, the feeling continuing as Megatron continued the ministrations.

On instinct he wanted to hiss at the mech to stop, but he held his tongue. Was it a crime for it to be pleasureful? Did he have to hate everything about this?

You have to. You have to, because if you catch feelings, it's game over. He wins.

He mentally shook his head. He was stronger than that. Surely something as simple as hair playing was not enough to turn him to the dark side. It was fine. He was fine.

And besides, he was also sick. Maybe he was not thinking straight. That made sense.

With a sigh, Jack forced himself to relax, pushing the problematic thoughts aside as he settled. It was nice; he could handle nice.

This, in combination with the sound of the air cycling that he had become so used to, quickly pulled him down into pleasant sleep.