Megatron snapped online with a violent spark of passion to live, thrashing out of the berth sheets and tangling up in his support line. After the initial static and confusion, he realized he was in the last place he'd ever thought to be: a bedroom on Cybertron.
Once the initial haze of audio static faded, he realized the soft noise he heard in the background was recorded organic ambience. Earth sounds. For a desperate klik, Megatron thought he was saved by one of his own; an old lieutenant or vehicon perhaps.
No, the room was far too nice, too pristine and organized for vehicon tastes. The berth was too large- why would they have excess? This was the room of an elite.
Megatron thought the worst for a moment- he'd become part of some odd Decepticon trafficking ring. They'd fix him up only to have him serve some kind of master. But there was no collar, no tracking device, and no resistance when he pulled off his support line. It only chirped happily. He wasn't trapped and he'd been treated with the highest medical care. Not even Shockwave could be this delicate with his medical setups. He hadn't even been form-locked to assure he wouldn't transform out the very illegal weapon codes he still had in his hardline.
He'd been buffed as well, he noticed as he felt himself out, this was not a dream's manifestation. His hard, rough edges were sanded and artfully sculpted away. The char marks were healing up nicely and aside from a few dents, Megatron looked and felt fine.
Some bot had done a very thorough job at assuring he was well.
It was humbling and flattering all in one go. Megatron had many enemies and really no one in this universe would he call a friend. It was unfamiliar to know he was cared for. He flicked off the berth covers to prowl around his surroundings.
There was no way an Autobot would let him live. Megatron had his fair share of Autobots after him, Decepticon's too. No matter how deep he put himself into exile there was always some bot there wanting to rip his spark from his frame. It was rare he woke up from heavy damage with anything more than an empty tank and aching spark.
A sudden beeping made Megatron lurch back to the safety of the berthside. A small shuffling from the other room could be heard and the alarm stopped. A voice began speaking; muffled, low and familiar.
It couldn't be possible, not this bot and not in this universe.
Megatron leaned against the wall, studying the room. Now that Megatron had an idea of who his savior or captor was, he wasn't too sure he could face him.
There were few bots who didn't let the passage of time change them and Megatron knew him to be one. The muffled speaking stopped and Megatron cleared his intake and stepped into the adjoining room.
Ratchet was busying himself with work, a familiar sight after all this time. When he saw Megatron looming from the corner of his optics he engaged his blades. Just like old times.
"Primus, you scared me," Ratchet confessed, transforming his servos and clenching them reflexively.
"Is this a simulation?" Megatron asked, just to make sure he wasn't being duped.
Ratchet ignored it, asking a question of his own, "What were you doing to close to Cybertron?"
Megatron didn't wish to answer so he countered with another, "Why did you save me?"
"Medical Protocol," Ratchet gruffed out, turning back to his work.
Megatron knew it to be a lie. Long ago, Ratchet himself told him there was no hidden line of code that forced medics to fix patients. Knockout was definitely proof of that. It seemed neither of them wanted to share how they ended up here.
"Optimus-"
"Optimus," Ratchet bristled, "Is not here. Don't pretend as if that news surprises you."
Megatron allowed a silence to fall between them. The medic seemed hostile as ever; there was no reason why he should expect any different. After the fall of Cybertron, Megatron managed to get his servos on the medic. They came to words and he'd pointed out to the captured Ratchet that he alone did not cause its downfall. The medical officer sneered and stated that out of all those at fault, he was the only one left alive and shared all of the blame. It was believed their rivalry began when Optimus staged the most daring rescue to retrieve his watchdog. But Ratchet disliked Megatron from the start of Orion and his relations.
Megatron felt his spark waiver and he clutched at his chamber. Dizzy was the least of it.
"You jerked out your support lines didn't you?" Ratchet asked flatly. The war's end had not allowed his optics' keenness to ebb.
Somehow, the medic was right there with him. They didn't touch, but his presence served as a stabilizer.
"Easy there," Ratchet said softly, far opposed from his harsh tone. "You really shouldn't have done that."
Megatron didn't dare lean on the Autobot, "Am I dying?"
Ratchet laughed, "Puh-lease, as if I'd let a patient die in my apartment."
"Are you going to kill me?"
Ratchet looked genuinely surprised and turned away, his roughness returned, "I'd bet you'd like that. You should return to your berth."
Ratchet didn't offer any assistance walking, but instead waited patiently for Megatron as he dragged himself back.
"I'm going to put some fluxitive in your lines," Ratchet informed him in a very traditionally calm doctor-y tone. "It will stabilize your field, but you'll probably recharge a lot. Don't worry. You're in good hands."
Megatron watched as the medical officer did his best to cover, reconnect, and busy himself over the warlord.
"This won't last long. By tomorrow you'll probably stabilize on your own."
Megatron was sure this was some trick by Ratchet's servo, some means to get him to live miserably. He did his best to sound ungrateful. "Thank you, Doctor."
Ratchet's concerned faceplate was the last thing he recalled to before drifting into a medicated recharge.