He was gone too long.
There was no way he was at work. Megatron explicitly reminded himself, per his readings, labor services demanded half-shifts to prevent burnout of certain functions including miners and medical units.
Megatron didn't bother to stop his pacing this time. He was far too nervous. What if they were torturing Ratchet, trying to get information from him? How exactly had he made it from the outer reaches of the system to the glory of Cybertron itself? Someone had to know he was here besides Ratchet. The damned medic should just tell them. Megatron didn't deserve to be cared for or protected. Ratchet knew that best of anyone!
It was only hours, but it seemed like entire days had passed leaving Megatron prone to fancy. This was still Cybertron after all. Perhaps they were taking the medic apart piece by piece. The warlord could practically hear the screams of agony from the medic.
Each noise at the door made him jump and check for some news, some indication that Ratchet was well.
The medic would get it when he returned for sure. Megatron would make him talk about where he'd been, even if it meant forcing him down for an answer. If that scrapped up piece of junk was whole and unharmed the ex-Con was going to make him wish he was offline. How dare he make him worry like this?
Worry?
Megatron's sudden questioning of his emotional was interrupted by a click of a latch unlocking, but the door didn't open.
Curious, the warlord stalked to the door, only to see two frames waiting by the door.
Quickly, Megatron turned. He couldn't make it to the berthroom in time. Instead he attempted to squeeze into the small wheel closet by the door. He'd almost squeezed in when the outer door hissed open and the remains of a conversation were heard.
"-absolute moron can't tell between and energon line and an exhaust port," came the unfamiliar whiny voice.
"Well, not everyone was forged a medic," Ratchet sounded detached from the conversation, obviously concerned for the presence of his guest.
"Yes, well. He needs to learn quicker, we have memory chips for a reason."
Ratchet gave a noncommittal noise before Megatron heard the hiss of the door closing. Whoever the whiny bot was, he was intent on staying.
"Oh," came Ratchet's voice, "Did you want to stay and have something to drink?"
From Ratchet's tone it sounded like that's exactly the opposite of what Ratchet wanted to do. Megatron leaned in and listened against the door frame.
"I could afford one before I go."
"Of course."
Megatron listened to the flurry of noise.
"They say they might revive the Forge, or even start letting us cold-construct bots again," the other Autobot sounded too close. Megatron pulled back, hoping that the jammer on his em field was still working.
"Yes, I heard. The Council wants a population boom I presume," From Ratchet's tone it seemed like he was distracted.
The stranger laughed, "Yes. I think it would be good to have some medical builds."
Primus, Megatron could have dropped to his pedes. Whoever this was decided to come on strong.
"Yes," was Ratchet always this oblivious, "I would enjoy the help."
"I think two intelligent medical units; one with the breadth and knowledge of eons of medical innovation and another with the youth and capability of carrying, could partake in that sort of ritual."
"I really couldn't say Medicon has eons of medical innovation," Ratchet snorted.
Megatron winced, Ratchet was out of the game. He almost felt sorry for the other bot. Then again, this stranger is why he was stuck in the closet. He really wasn't sure he would stay there for the duration of the kind of encounter this 'Bot wanted.
"I was talking about you," the voice was further away, the youngster was spelling it out for him. Megatron had to admire his boldness, "I was talking about us."
"Ah."
There was an awkward pause as Ratchet presumably mentally kicked himself in the aft.
The young stranger broke the silence, "I've heard the rumors about you losing that patient."
The ex-Con knew that was a mistake, if Ratchet lost a patient it would push out any though of interfacing or sparking.
"You don't have to overwork yourself to make up for it. As a team, you and I could do wonderful things for Cybertron. I know you miss the Prime but you don't have to do this on your own anymore."
Megatron couldn't help but peep, he cracked the closet door open with his claws. The youngster had Ratchet cornered, servo in hand practically pressing him against the door of the refrigeration unit. The movement rewarded him with a glare from the irate medic and he ducked back in the closet.
"First Aid, I understand your sense of duty to the Cybertron community. But now is not the time to discuss this sort of thing."
First Aid sound crestfallen and did his best to hide his pain behind mature words, "I understand, another time then, Ratchet?"
"Of course."
Megatron knew that was a no. This whelp would have a hard time finding Ratchet alone for a few millennia.
They dispensed pleasantries for a few more minutes, but the mood was far from sensual. The young bot probably took the hint and they exchanged goodbyes shortly after.
Ratchet opened the closet door and Megatron stared down at the fuming.
"Far be it for me to judge, but I don't understand why you compromised yourself for a glimpse into my personal life."
He was angry but for which reason, Megatron could only hazard a guess.
But there was something else bugging Megatron.
"It's been a long while since you lost a patient, Ratchet."
Ratchet turned on his heel, angrily cleaning up, "It was you, you half baked…"
Megatron allowed the string of explicatives to continue, once he heard the final half muttered 'glitch' he continued, "So, is that a friend from work?"
"No, he is an understudy. He'll take over for me as head of hospital training," Ratchet huffed, "He's ambitious and uses the drivel the Council spews as a mask for his own desires. Don't."
Ratchet turned on his heel again, pointing a single digit to Megatron, "Don't think for one moment you can tease me with this. We are not friends."
Megatron faked being wounded.
"Don't," Came the warning tone again, "I will undo the damaged I fixed if you utter another word."
"Ah," Megatron leaned against the kitchen peninsula, "So you finally hold it above me. Finally getting what you desire from the broken Decepticon warlord."
It crossed some unseen line. He'd only been teasing but Ratchet looked hurt, his professional pride wounded, "That isn't…"
It was an oddly raw moment from the medic and Megatron already wanted to take it back. To retrieve the anger from just kliks before. Although, the thought did cross his mind that the medic wanted something for his care, his pained expression quelled any rebellion that the act wasn't some glitch in his systems.
"Ratchet."
"Don't," Ratchet turned away, hiding his optics. But Megatron wasn't dumb. He couldn't mistake the slumping shoulder plates or the way his helm leaned against the refrigerator door.
There had to be something Megatron could do.
"I miss Optimus as well," Megatron stated, "I know it's my fault he's gone and I'm sorry for it. I was blind."
"You've already apologized," Ratchet talked mostly to the appliance in front of him, "I have to go get some supplies before my next patient arrives."
Megatron didn't want to be alone but it was unthinkable to reach out for that servo. To pull the Autobot back and tell him as much. To tell him the reason for his proximity to Cybertron was the possibility of rejoining the Prime in the Allspark was unthinkable. This was the last being in the universe he could confess that kind of selfishness to.
"What if your patient arrives before you return?"
Ratchet opened the door, "Just stay hidden, please. I don't know what to do with you here."
Megatron watched as the door separated them.
In his exile, Megatron thought a lot about his past actions. He thought about the war and those who joined him on the side of Decepticon fury. Those who were berated, called scum, and hated for the beliefs Megatron instilled. In hindsight, his descent into tyranny was almost immediate, once he had the power he sought, he reveled in it and he turned his most trusted lieutenants, strategists, scientists, and intelligent Decepticons into nothing but tools for his reign. He didn't recognize the decay of the planet under his watch or his ranks growing with those who only wanted to be on the winning team. This is why so many wanted him offline. This is why he should be offline.
Having Ratchet save him out of kindness was humbling, and Megatron did not like being humbled. He wanted the medic's morals impure for that reason. If Ratchet saved him for glory or some dark purpose, it would remind him that the scars of war didn't plague only the warlord.
If he burnt or scarred himself, he would only be gently repaired by the medic, so he resigned himself to the berthroom, to wait until Ratchet allowed him to leave.
Megatron was pensive. He didn't recharge, instead he lay on the floor, listening to muffle tones of the apartment around him. His processor turning to that familiar dull static when he thought about what brought him to this place. Part of him wanted to leave, to return to the inevitable whispers of war that followed him. Fighting was safe. He'd been fighting since he was forged. Fighting for his survival, his spark. It seemed Ratchet wasn't the only one returning to the way things were before.
A loud clatter broke the warlord's attention. He almost waved it off but he heard a worried, unfamiliar voice shout out the medic's name.
Ratchet told him not to expose himself, which was the only warning that held Megatron lingering at the door.
"I'll take you to your berth," came a low offer.
"No," Ratchet, despite whatever happened, was still concerned, "I'll just sit a moment in here."
Something happened, that surge of worry fluttered at the edges of Megatron's processor. He cursed the presence of the patient. The voices outside the door turned into noise until finally, in relief, the outer door opened and closed.
"Megatron."
He was surprised to hear Ratchet call for him. He opened the door and saw him sitting on the couch.
"I'm sorry to trouble a patient, but I might need some help preparing for the next one."
Megatron frowned, "Next patient."
"Yes, please."
"What happened?"
Ratchet avoided his optics, "Nothing a little sit won't help."
Megatron accessed his memory, recalling words from another about the medic, "You haven't been recharging."
Megatron did the math in his helm, how long had Ratchet had an actual recharge? Last time Megatron saw the medic resting it had looked like an accident.
Megatron loomed over the medic, who tiredly looked up at the behemoth. Megatron was more firm this time, "You haven't be recharging."
"Of course not," Ratchet snapped, "There hasn't been time. I've made it up in fuel."
"Your systems burn double for every cycle you don't have at least four hours of recharge," Megatron sneered, "Your recommendation, medic. What kind of fool doctor can't even take care of himself?"
Ratchet shook, an obvious engine heave.
"And you're still going to see the next patient aren't you?"
"Who else will?" Ratchet snapped, maintaining his attitude even while exhausted.
"You are too foolish to be admirable," Megatron bit out.
"I know."
Megatron angrily stormed to the refrigerated energon storage, he stalked back to the medic and slammed down the fuel. He didn't know why he was so angry.
"I'm sorry."
Megatron growled out, "What's that, Autobot?"
Ratchet looked angrily up at him, "I was apologizing-"
Megatron curled up his mouth, "You don't even know what for. You're apologizing because you think it will fix something. What do I care, fix them until you die and they move on to the next medical unit willing to throw away their life for nothing. How many patients will you lose if you exhaust yourself so much you become obsolete?"
Megatron stormed away, back to his infuriating prison of Ratchet's berthroom. He was becoming more and more indignant about that glitch fixing him.