Megatron woke slowly once again as his recharge inertia slowly dropped to the end of its cycle. Only this time it was to a familiar place: Ratchet's berthroom. He knew better to bolt up. Instead he languidly sat up and looked around his resting place.
Ratchet sat on a chair- obviously pulled from another room- taking a recharge of his own. He was slumped over a datascreen, helm nestled in his own palm- a picture of an unintentional slumber. Megatron had to wonder if he was being guarded, or just kept company.
There were no support cables connecting to his spark chamber and despite how miserable Megatron felt, his systems checked out. Ratchet did his job; Megatron was alive despite all efforts in the contrary. But why had this Autobot saved him?
Their history was anything but pleasant.
Megatron leaned over to the medic, easily closing the gap between them. As he outstretched his claw, Ratchet's optics flew open and he shifted. Megatron drew back and looked away.
"Glad to see you're feeling better," Ratchet spoke as he usually did. "Care for anything to drink?"
"No." Megatron really did feel low, but he didn't want to admit it to the medic.
"Very well, but you will be eating something today," Ratchet retorted. They sat in silence before he began again, "If I recall, you enjoyed reading so I can provide you with as much data as you'd like until we figure out how to smuggle you out of here."
Megatron didn't reply as Ratchet threw his datapad onto the berthsheets.
"If you're worried, no one else knows you're here. I can't imagine the mass hysteria if anyone knew. If you want to leave, I won't stop you. However, as your physician I know you'll need rest, refueling, and a little time so at least stay a few cycles. But while you are here I'd like for you to do your best to stay under the radar. No renewing a revolution in my berthroom please."
If Megatron could believe it, Ratchet was almost joking. But he still gave no reply, just pulled the datapad across the sheets to him.
"I'll be seeing patients in the other room today so don't come out until I go to work. Even if it sounds like I'm in trouble or there is a scuffle, do me a favor and don't start being a hero."
Megatron couldn't afford to pass up the opportunity to know more about the planet he exiled himself from. He nodded. He could stay until it was no longer beneficial. He nodded absentmindedly.
It was only after Ratchet left the room did Megatron fully realize what was said as a parting insult. What did the medic mean by trouble?
The Autobot returned a little later with energon in servo.
"Eat this sometime before the end of the day or I'll raise hell when I come back from work."
Megatron ignored the Earthen phrase. It had been awhile for the two of them and Ratchet seemed attached to the Autobot allies.
"What kind of trouble?" Megatron finally grumbled out.
Ratchet frowned, "Pardon?"
"You said 'trouble' what sort of trouble would you be getting into?"
"Ah," a smile, practiced much like his medicine, rose to the medic's faceplate, "Well, I accept patients here that hospitals might turn away. A great deal of them are unruly."
Megatron clutched the datapad, "I won't trouble you then."
He expected the words to soothe the medic but he was only given that same worried look he remembered. But if Ratchet had any concern he did not voice it as he left the room.
Megatron wanted to revive the burning hatred for the Autobot medic, he truly did. To find some deception or treachery in his actions. Perhaps he was just too weary to feel something so vivid.
It wasn't as if Megatron didn't remember why their rivalry extended well beyond the reach of the war. Megatron had made it clear it was personal when he put a bounty on the medic's helm, so high that Optimus had hid him away, further seating the medic in a dark place in Megatron's spark.
Ratchet felt the same. He did his fair share of insulting Megatron's pride at every chance. Their feelings were mutually hot, but Ratchet's last encounter with him was more of a weary hatred, one that the ex-con couldn't imagine would abate.
Which brought back the question: why did this Autobot save him?
That question wouldn't be answered now, especially since the mech in question was gone.
Megatron opened the datascreen. Ratchet had already queued up a few documents of interest. It was obvious that is what he was doing before he fell into recharge. Megatron vented out softly, there were definitely catered to his tastes. He clacked his claws against the screen, opening the first file.
Although he read the words on screen, his attention was divided. If Optimus was here he would demand Megatron's harmony with the Autobot. He had no recent reason to do anything vile to Ratchet, him not having not done anything outside his usual grumpy demeanor.
Megatron squinted at the screen. It was becoming rather difficult to concentrate. He glanced at the energon.
It felt refreshing as it slid down his throat. Cooling and fresh; it was the best that Megatron had the privilege of enjoying in quite some time. He was glad for his solitude as he greedily drank it down.
Once the energon fueled his systems he recalled Ratchet's reluctance to touch him and his engaging of his blades.
Knockout had once commented that Ratchet's medical method was far too "hands-on" for him. Knockout had vanity and sterility all down to a simple science unless the bot in questions met his standards. Ratchet showed a personal touch with all of his patients but seemed almost the polar opposite with him. Despite his careful medical treatment, Megatron realized he shouldn't take his rescue personally.
For the first time, the document in front of him distracted him from his Ratchet problems. It was a passage from the new council constitution. It read almost glyph for glyph identical to an addendum he proposed in pre-war Cybertron.
Megatron restarted the document, poring through and finding his language interwoven throughout.
A loud noise outside the berthroom dragged his attention from research. It annoyed him at first, the loud noise and then low arguing. Apparently Ratchet did get unruly patients.
Although he did entertain the thought of what would happen if the Autobot was in trouble. He was far too invested in the words to care. There was little he could do given the circumstances anyways.
Megatron pulled up the next file.
Ratchet found him hours later, transfixed by data. When he broke the warlord's concentration it looked as if he was resurfacing into the world.
"I'm going to work now," the medic didn't hide the concern in his tone, "Don't answer the door. Try to recharge. If any police unit finds you here they'll call me so don't be loud or rash."
The Autobot lingered, as if he wanted to say more, fretting as he always did over a familiar patient. But ultimately he scurried out the door and the warlord was left alone with nothing but the dwelling thought that perhaps he was wrong to think Ratchet was not somehow invested in his care.