Ratchet woke up from his recharge as usual with a power saving recap pinging his neural net and a growing need for more energon. There was a warmth to his systems as well, but nothing outside the ordinary. He probably forgot to turn on the central cooling again.
Yet, there was a more uncomfortable situation pressing him to wake up quickly, something was tickling him, right at the small of his backstruts and it was starting to be uncomfortable. Ratchet stretched before his optics finally flickered online.
His cabling tensed. He couldn't help it. Millions of years of habit couldn't be fixed in a few days.
Megatron had one servo tucked underneath his helm and a pillow, cradling the medic in the crook of his servo. The other was flung over him, the clawtips brushing gently on the sensitive part of his plating between his aft and his medical storage.
He unintentionally moved forward, away from the servo, as if arching his back would do anything but draw him closer to the warlord.
Ratchet finally accessed the powersave file from the night before. It was quite common in a medic's systems to switch memory function to preserve power. It just meant recall was temporarily postponed and backed up to review once his systems got enough rest and energon to make room for high-energy medical function. There wasn't anything too noteworthy until his confession that he couldn't sleep with Megatron in the room. It went downhill from there.
Ratchet always hated how honest he got when his functions slowly ticked off one by one, but it seemed Megatron was far more honest. He surfaced from the simulation feeling no better than when he went in.
So Megatron did want to die. Ratchet had mixed feelings about that. He wanted to rage, to wake up the slumbering monster and holler at him until he spoke his mind. How dare he when Optimus was willing to sacrifice himself for him.
But that was selfish thinking. Ratchet fidgeted, drawing closer to the warm spark of the warlord. There were countless times Optimus sacrificed his own personal safety and life for the spark of others. Megatron wasn't special yet he was to Optimus. Ratchet knew that the two of them shared a place in the late Prime's spark. Ratchet was coddled, people wanted him to live on. Megatron didn't have that luxury.
The monstrous figure tightened his grasp, pulling Ratchet into a vice-like grip that by any other servo would be a hug. Ratchet braced his servos against the broad expanse of the Decepticon's chest, just in case he would need to push away.
But it was just that, a tightening embrace and then the rebooting of a slumbering beast.
"How long have you been awake?"
This close to Megatron's chest, he could hear the words rumble and reverberate through him. It brought back a familiar feeling.
"Not that long," Ratchet spoke before setting his faceplate into a neutral way and looking up at Megatron. As if he was unaffected by any of this.
Megatron's harsh red gaze looked down on him. Knowing the events of last night, Ratchet would almost call it critical. Anything less and it wouldn't be Megatron.
"Are you aware of the events of last night?"
"Yes," Ratchet felt he did enough apologizing the night before until the end of time so he left it at that.
"Hmph," Megatron's optics narrowed coldly, "I highly doubt it. Do you recall marching into your living room and throwing a fit when I wouldn't let you walk out the window, which you insisted was a door."
Ratchet's optics widened and this time he did push up to see his grey companion's faceplate clearly, "What?"
"You called me a sorry excuse for an Autobot."
"Well, that's true," Ratchet settled back into a more comfortable position.
Comfortable?
Ratchet turned his servos to push against Megatron, "I need energon."
Megatron let up him easily enough and Ratchet swallowed the strange emotion that bubbled up with that.
"Do you want any?"
He didn't need an answer so he didn't listen for one. Would it be better to discuss it or just leave it alone? Ratchet played back the words Megatron so carelessly let fall last night as he walked to the refrigeration unit and opened it.
Megatron didn't choose to be revived after the end of the war, merely told the devil yes. Ratchet mused as he looked at the neatly stacked energon cubes in his fridge, if it meant reviving Optimus how far would he go? It would be just as selfish as Megatron's resurrection, if not even more so. But Megatron still didn't tell him why he was so close to Cybertron.
How am I going to get him out of here? The sad revelation continued. He couldn't keep Megatron here forever, how long would it take before they drove each other mad? Ratchet's self-assurance that he did it for Optimus would only last so long. Optimus would want him alive, yes, but Ratchet secretly hoped that Megatron could call some old lieutenant and skip out of town leaving him alone again.
A claw startled Ratchet and he stumbled back into Megatron's peds. The warbuild reached over top of Ratchet and pulled out two cubes before closing his other claw over Ratchet's on the door.
"Energy is not meant to be wasted, Ratchet," Megatron's voice rumbled out next to his audial fin.
"True, you've wasted plenty for the lot of us," Ratchet knew his snappy comebacks were a progression of fear, but it didn't help that deep down he enjoyed it. It was petty, yes, but Megatron was used to rolling words right off his backstruts.
Megatron shrugged and released his servo, "Why waste more?"
He handed over the second cube before returning to his perch on the couch. Ratchet did have to note that Megatron moved visibly slower from old times. Once, he would have described the warbuild's frame as unnaturally agile. He stalked through the battlefield and vaulted over obstacles like a voracious predacon consuming everything in his path. Now, Megatron lumbered around like an old spark.
"Are you feeling alright?" The words popped out of Ratchet mouth unintentionally, "Do you feel any pain?"
"No," Megatron didn't meet his optics, coldly blinking away the concern.
Ratchet took a sip from his energon to fill the silence. His systems demanded more but he didn't want to look as energy deprived as Megatron knew him to be.
"You walk differently."
Megatron vented out a sigh but didn't respond.
"I'm just concerned," Ratchet didn't hide the irritation burning the edge of his tone. He walked away from the shield of his kitchen island, taking his energon with him.
"There is no need to be."
Ratchet took a heartier gulp from his cube before turning to set it on the opposite end of the counter, "Yes there is, Megatron. You confessed to me you wanted to end yourself."
Megatron looked unaffected.
"What am I supposed to do? Kidnap a psychiatrist and have them see you?"
Megatron raised up and Ratchet defiantly stood his ground, determined not to raise his servos engaged in weaponry.
"You need to be more worried about yourself," he leaned down and threatened.
Ratchet didn't mean to raise up on his tiptoes and match the warlord. He didn't mean to snap out, "You've taken away everything I worried about."
Without warning, Megatron lifted Ratchet and threw him onto the couch.
Ratchet scrambled at the servo akin to a pylon which now clawed his chestplating. His kicking peds were easily pinned by the warlord's own, his own couch now serving as his prison.
Megatron drew away one of the medic's servos with an easy strength and calm, "You can fight me because I am not a patient."
Ratchet railed against the claw scraping at his wrist, focusing entirely on that. He hadn't meant to rile Megatron up to the point where he would be taught a lesson. The medic knew better than this; it was like kicking a scraplet nest.
"Did you hear me?"
Ratchet snapped his helm to look up at Megatron who gingerly sat down on him, further stapling him to the soft cushions. Megatron looked cold, his red optics looking down on him and his brows furrowed with resentment.
"Yes," the Autobot stated breathily.
"Would you be able to fight me if I was not a patient?" Megatron looked down at him with such burning anger that Ratchet froze, "Answer me."
"Yes."
"What kind of a fool do you think I am," Megatron sneered, and Ratchet felt clawtips scrape against his doorframe. "I know what happened between you and Starscream. You should have let him bleed. Instead, he returned to me, miraculously patched after another one of our indifferences."
Ratchet vented out, practically shouting now, "I fixed Starscream for the benefit of information. What intelligence he had was wasted on you."
"You never struck him," Megatron shot back, "You worried about him and he never once felt grateful for your treatment. Optimus wanted to protect you from what he thought I'd do but you're worse to yourself."
Ratchet was slowly cooling his throbbing, shocked spark, "That was the war, none of my patients now have his capacity for treachery."
"You take the one's no one else will. What happens when a Decepticon wakes up and believes himself still in the war? You're the famed Autobot medic. How do they know the difference between you putting them back together versus tearing them apart?"
Ratchet's faceplate flickered and it was the first time Megatron saw any vestige of such powerful emotion on his face. The doctor always had a careful and cool composure in the face of interrogation and threat. It was only one lingering moment, but Megatron felt his spark twist with pain. He bared his denta as if Ratchet wounded him. The medic turned his helm away, no longer struggling up against Megatron's heavy grip.
If Ratchet slashed at him it would hurt less than the feeling that now permeated through Megatron's spark. But there was no chance for recalling his actions or those words. He'd said his piece.
"Who will help them if I don't?" Ratchet replied softly, still not meeting the warbuild's scornful glare, "Let me up please, Megatron."
Megatron released his servo before letting up on his chestplating. Ratchet sat up and rubbed his scraped joint and waited patiently for Megatron to shuffle up, releasing him. This taste of fear remained new yet familiar and Ratchet wasn't too keen on how it cut through his systems.
"I do not expect anything from my patients except survival," Ratchet said quietly, returning peds to the floor.
Megatron glared as Ratchet did his best to deadpan as he continued, "That includes yours, Megatron. I will do my best to give you an exit from Cybertron but I must first be assured you will not make an attempt on your life again."
"Some wounds are not meant to heal, doctor," Megatron echoed a sentiment from the night before.
"Granted," Ratchet stood, gathering up his lonely cube and clutching it, "But those would can be improved upon or filled. I do not claim to be perfect or aware of all my flaws however," the medic sighed, "I like patients to leave my operating table improved."
Megatron glinted in the light of Cybertron, "You can't improve me, Ratchet."