Megatron snapped awake.
There was a sharp rip as the berthsheets tore in his abrupt and vicious revival. The warbuild's cooling fans ran high and he did his best to suck in some cool air to calm his systems.
How long would that lifelike dream have continued if he hadn't been so desperate to deny its conclusion? Megatron did his best to shutter out whatever dark place it came from. It was easy to cut away the emotion. Even one so embedded within him.
He reactivated his em field jammer and it grounded him, finally pushing away any excitement from the last flickers of imagery from the dream. He freed himself from the tangle of berthsheets, guilty now that he witnessed exactly the damage he wrought on them. Doing his best not to injure anything further, it was best to rinse himself clean of the shame of the night before so he headed to the shower. It would cool off his nerves.
Although his frame was clean, his mind was anything but. The washfluid would do no good to tear his neural net away from the unanswered questions.
When Megatron finally emerged from the shower he was jolted to see Ratchet waiting out there for him.
Ratchet's grim expression confused him until he spoke, "It wasn't a good wish then."
For a moment, Megatron was confused. But the events of yesterday came rushing back to him passed the confusion of the morning. Megatron must have looked faint because Ratchet rushed forward.
"Are you alright?"
Ratchet touched him. Allowed him to brace up against his frame. His cool metal pressed delicately against his. It made Megatron's tanks roil but he rested his servos on the medic's shoulders. "Ratchet."
"I warned you both about this," he fretted, checking over his patient, "What did you feel?"
Megatron wanted to draw the real medic into his servos, to apologize profusely for the images that haunted his recharge. Instead he drew back, no longer relying on the support of the smaller frame.
"It was nothing."
"'Nothing' doesn't ruin a set of my sheets." Ratchet met his optics and frowned, "She must have been frightened by you. She emits her own emotions and yours."
"Frightened is not the word I would use," Megatron admitted.
He felt backed into a corner with Ratchet being so close to him. Desperately, he picked up the medic and set him aside.
He seemed a bit miffed to be pulled aside like that and pressed the issue. "What happened in it?"
Megatron stepped away, suddenly wanting to escape the Autobot, "Nothing of importance."
"Pardon my curiosity, but I think I should know," Ratchet paused. His vocalizer cracked a little.
He would question until he got his answer, so Megatron countered with his own, "What did you see in yours?"
Ratchet flushed bright and turned his helm down and to the side, "I…I saw Optimus again."
Megatron felt himself frown at the sickly sweetness of that, sneering, "How faithful his lap dog remains."
Ratchet flared up with that, "I understand you think I was Optimus' personal harlot. But you'd be to blame for that too. I'm sorry your dream of him was so violent."
"It wasn't Optimus," Megatron replied, "It was you."
"What did you do, rip me in half for annoying you?" Ratchet folded his servos, "If I'm half a thorn in your side as Starscream was, consider it payment for your treatment."
Before Megatron could stop him, the medic picked up the crumpled berthsheets, huffing something about replacing them.
"I'm leaving but don't forget your morning energon," Ratchet called back to him.
Ratchet left, desperate as always to be away from him tossing out a casual servo.
Once Megatron found himself alone again, he covered his faceplate with his servos. Primus, this had gotten out of control. The more he lingered on the past few days, the more he realized he was growing unhealthily attached to the Autobot medic.
The self-sacrificing bastard was too hard to read, and of course he pretended as if nothing happened a few nights ago. Granted, Megatron had been the one to lean in but Ratchet closed the gap and kissed him. Then out of all things, Ratchet finally touched him, even if it was so casual. He would fry his circuitry trying to figure out why.
He would return and get irate about Megatron not eating so he did his best to recover from the strange churning of emotions within his spark. Ratchet was the one bot that would pick up on them and one bot who couldn't know.
Ratchet seemed bright and happy on his return from the trash, "Did you take your energon?"
Megatron pushed a cube to him, his own sitting by the counter.
"Oh, thank you." An awkward silence that followed, at least to Megatron. He didn't know what to say after his rather rough morning and the older bot seemed to savor the energon.
"Do you work today?"
"Tonight yes," Ratchet didn't smile, but seemed happy about the knowledge.
"You should rest then," Megatron looked at his energon cube, watching it ripple with each movement.
"Soon I suppose."
A heavy silence filled the room and Ratchet drained down the cube and set it on the counter. With nothing to keep his servos busy Megatron noticed he rubbed against his own digits.
"How was the hospital?"
"It was fine," Ratchet bit out far too quickly, a little softer he repeated himself, "It was fine."
"Is that younger Autobot still pursuing you for the Council initiative?"
"No, he's calmed down. Most of the office is under the impression I'm suffering mentally. Luckily, Cybertronian infrastructure isn't developed enough to have referrals. Usually I have to determine if the patient is at risk and there's only a handful of social assistants and alienists to refer them to."
"Why are you suffering mentally?"
Ratchet's optics flickered up to the harsh glare of the warbuild, who leaned in to study him.
"To them, I lost a patient, remember?" Ratchet met his gaze, "Any stress you put on me can easily be explained away with that."
from Megatron flicked the edge of his cube and then grasped it to lift it up to his mouth.
Ratchet stretched, "Do you mind cleaning up? I'm going to try and get some rest in my uncovered berth."
"Do you have any patients coming today?"
"No," Ratchet walked away, waving a bit as the door shut behind him.
Megatron dutifully cleaned.
He almost laughed. With the dissonance of his terrors, it felt surreal being in this strangely domestic situation. Almost as if the war was some far-off nightmare and this was where he truly belonged.
That wouldn't do. Soon he would be turned away from this strange island. Covertly taken to live on Junk or some far off planet where he would not be allowed the companionship of another. Ratchet didn't have to be lonely, he could afford to be positive. What Megatron needed was to continue to feel angry at him for saving his life.
He wanted it all to end.
The noised of the door opening and the movement of Ratchet poking his helm out made him jerk.
"Hey, Megatron," he sounded irate, "Since you ruined my berth, lend me your warmth."
The warbuild masked his surprise, smoothing over his faceplate and calming his raising optic ridges. Any noise or words he could say now would only betray the very thing he'd sworn himself to only a few moments before.
Ratchet seemed just as terrorized by his presence, flinching as Megatron loomed over him. He was frozen in the doorway so Megatron gestured inward, "After you."
For the most part, Ratchet ignored him and flopped onto the berth. Although he didn't pat the berth, or point out where the hulking enemy should lie, Megatron clambered in after him. The Autobot sank a little with the weight of the other mech on the berth.
"Ratchet," he began, burning with questions.
The medic turned, meaning only to look over his shoulder, and rolled into the divot of the other's weight, "What?"
He rolled too close for comfort. Guilt wracked his processor but he couldn't help but wrap his servos around the back of his berthmate. This was far too good to interrupt with prattle, "Nothing."
Surprisingly, the white and red mech curled up into the sparkbeat of the warlord. He seemed unfettered that the massive bulk of his enemy was pressed against him.
"Why, Ratchet?"
But he knew the medic was already asleep.
Anything besides embracing him would be a betrayal, but Megatron was tired of denying his own senses. Especially so close.
Megatron trailed a single digit along a seam of his shoulder, the one open and exposed. It was a forbidden comfort. He should have more self-control; he was a war hardened criminal. Yet, it felt so nice to trace the hardlines of Ratchet's armor. To rhythmically wander to and fro on the plating of the ambulance. He would listen for him to awaken, to show hatred and chagrin for the action. But if he touched lightly, and nuzzled softly perhaps he could buy himself the lingering chance to imprint this moment into his memories.