[IDW] Walking the Wire 06/11
Aug. 20th, 2018 06:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Walking the Wire 6/11
Universe: IDW MTMTE Season Two, Hot to Trot sequel, Between the Lines series
Characters: Ratchet/Megatron, Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Rung, Ravage, Bluestreak, Perceptor
Rating: M
Enticements: Sticky Sex, BDSM themes, Bondage, Dom/Sub Themes, BDSM Education, Trust Issues, Angst, Vampires/Energy Eaters, mentions of torture, canon-typical violence, the LL always finds trouble
Description: What Megatron and Ratchet are to each other is a matter up for debate, one that gets a little tangled when the Lost Light stumbles into an unexpected complication.
Commission for Larry Draws
Chapter Six
Rewind had indeed come through for them.
Megatron stood on the bridge, scrolling through the dozens of coordinates on a datapad, only half of which they’d matched to legitimate locations. They were spread all across the universe, some within a few weeks travel, others requiring quantum leaps of such energy, they couldn’t possibly make it.
They were, of course, heading for the one shining bright and true in the middle of the Hyades Cluster. But the others held promise as well. Possible locations where the Knights of Cybertron, or at least their associates, could be found.
The scout ship had been a gold mine of information.
They’d destroyed it as a matter of course. Once they finished stripping the computers of all relevant data, and removing the crew to the Lost Light – they’d found a fifth member in a recharge berth in the crew quarters. Megatron was of the mind they didn’t leave anything behind for potential enemies to find.
Fortunately, Ultra Magnus agreed.
They let Whirl pull the trigger, the heli obnoxiously happy as he took aim and fired, obliterating the small ship in a matter of seconds.
The deceased Cybertronians were currently in storage in the medbay. Ratchet had finished his autopsies, but found nothing to indicate their cause of death. He’d determined they died due to complete energon loss, but wasn’t sure what had caused the energon loss.
Unanswered questions made Megatron uncomfortable. Especially when Rewind discovered the point of origin of the scout ship matched the very same coordinates from their original course.
Whatever waited for them in the Hyades Cluster had possibly contributed to the death of the scouts. Megatron was all for waiting until they had more information. Rodimus thought it best they confront, possibly destroy, a potential threat.
Megatron had, once again, been outvoted.
He ground his denta and swept his finger across the screen, saving the data. He downloaded it to his personal datapad just as Ultra Magnus strode onto the bridge, precisely on time. If it had been Rodimus, he’d have strolled in as late as he wished.
Thank Primus for small favors.
“Good afternoon, Megatron,” Ultra Magnus greeted with a tip of his massive head. Though ‘afternoon’ was relative, given their thirty-six hour days and lack of rising or setting sun to mark the passage of time. “All’s well, I presume?”
Megatron tucked his datapad under his arm. “You presume correctly. We hold steady to our course and are set to arrive within several day’s time per previous estimates.”
Ultra Magnus stepped up to the command console, logging himself in and logging Megatron out. “Is there anything you wish me to handle while I’m on shift, Captain?”
His professionalism was so refreshing, even if it did border on obsessive. Often, Ultra Magnus reminded Megatron of Soundwave, who he could always count on to be capable and responsible. His most reliable officer, truth be told.
“Nothing of immediate concern.” Megatron glanced around the bridge, ensuring he hadn’t missed anything, before he dipped his head. “Have a good shift, Magnus.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Megatron left, at first intending to head to the library, but adjusting his course to return to his quarters instead. Research in the onboard library had proven fruitless. Why bother wasting time there?
It was quiet.
There were no groups of mechs playing irresponsible games in the halls. Nor were there trios of inebriated singers wobbling way back to their habsuites. Something rattled in the vents. Perhaps Skids. Perhaps a rodent hitchhiker.
The Lost Light hummed around him, steady onward to its destination.
Ratchet was currently on shift in the medbay. Megatron knew this because he’d checked. Not because as captain he ought to know who was available, but because he’d wanted to see if Ratchet was free. He wasn’t quite sure why.
Embarrassment lingered around the edges. He’d used his safe word last night. It had been too much for him. The flare of unease sharply bursting into panic at the mere touch of Ratchet’s hand to the back of his neck. The memory of needles defiling him, Trepan grinning over him, triumphant and sinister.
Megatron felt he should have been stronger. But there had been no pity in Ratchet’s optics, no mockery in his field. He’d stopped because Megatron told him to, and he pushed for nothing more. It had sent Megatron’s spark into a roil of emotion.
Megatron was not a mech experienced with the concept of trust. That he should offer any to Ratchet left him unsteady.
He keyed himself into his habsuite, absently noticing the distinct lack of offensive graffiti this time around, and slipped into the dim. He paused, as he always did, sweeping inside with several sensors first. One could never be too careful on a ship full of Autobots.
Ravage slunked out from beneath the berth, jaw cracking open in a yawn. He had to have picked that up from the Autobots.
“Enjoy your field trip?” Ravage asked with a languid stretch of his backstrut that should not have been possible.
“Did you?” Megatron asked. He hadn’t seen Ravage sneak aboard the Rodpod and join them in creeping around the scout ship.
However, he was quite certain Ravage had been there. Curiosity was one of Ravage’s strongest traits. He never seemed to lose that need to seek out all information, though he had no one to report it to anymore.
“It was productive,” Ravage answered. His toothy smirk said it all.
Megatron unloaded his compartments into his cabinet, though he kept a datapad on hand. “Anything I might find useful?”
Another long, languorous stretch where Ravage extended his talons, and withdrew them. “That depends.” He sat back on his haunches, tail flicking.
Megatron closed the cabinet, locking it. “On?”
Ravage’s optics narrowed into small slits. “You’re losing your grip, Megatron.”
He touched his Autobrand, but he suspected that wasn’t what Ravage meant. “You’re referring to Ratchet.” Megatron sat on the edge of the berth, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees.
“He’s Prime’s amica,” Ravage reminded him, as if Megatron had forgotten that small detail. Which, admittedly, he had. “He’s the Autobot CMO. He’s the worst choice on this ship to try and manipulate.”
Megatron frowned. “I don’t intend to manipulate him. It’s not a game.”
Ravage tilted his head, audials flicking back. “Isn’t it?”
Megatron clasped his hands together, fingers interlacing. “I am many things, but I’ve never used romance as a weapon. Or friendship for that matter.”
“Tell that to Soundwave.”
Megatron’s optics and his tone flattened. “What?”
Ravage rose, pacing back and forth. “You abandoned him.”
Anger flared in his field. “Soundwave abandoned me,” Megatron snapped. He jerked off the berth, feet hitting the floor with a loud stomp. “His trust in me should have been absolute. He should have understood. He was the one mech who should’ve seen the truth in my spark. He--”
Megatron cut off as Ravage’s ears flattened, and he curled closer to the floor. It wasn’t fear in his optics, but only just. There was wariness. Perhaps a touch of disdain, too.
Megatron vented, his hands forming fists. He stepped back against the berth, cycling several ventilations.
Silence descended.
Ravage crept to the door, standing in front of it. He returned Megatron’s gaze evenly.
“He is only behaving true to his spark,” Ravage said. “We lost the war, Lord Megatron. And when we looked to you for guidance, you became an Autobot. It is you who betrayed him.”
Megatron flinched. Cold sank through his frame, every word hitting like a blaster shot. Worse that Ravage wasn’t completely wrong.
“I am not an Autobot,” Megatron said, softening his voice. “When a world is divided into either and or, if you cannot be one, you must be the other. That is the choice I had to make.”
“If it’s the lie you tell yourself to recharge, it’s no concern of mine.” Ravage rose up on his hindlegs and keyed the door open. It slid aside, and he paused. “But remember, just as you chose to abandon your badge as the lesser of two evils, Soundwave chose to cling to his. And none of us are any better than we were before.”
Ravage stalked out, silent and nigh invisible, the door sliding shut behind him. Getting in the last word, just like his carrier and dear friend. Megatron should not be surprised.
He perched on the edge of the berth. Ravage’s words circled around and around in his processor.
It was not a lie, he seethed. It was the truth.
He’d faced a decision then. He’d looked back on the destruction he’d wrought, and realized that for all he’d done, while yes there was freedom of a sort, they were all still caged, only the bars were made of violence rather than tyranny. There was so much anger, so much hate, so much that would keep them on the path to their doom. They were a dying species. If they continued, they would find their end.
Megatron had taken the Autobrand only because he couldn’t wear the Decepticon brand anymore. It filled him with too much shame. If there was any hope of recovery, of obtaining what they actually sought in the first place, it was without brands entirely.
But becoming a NAIL absolutely wasn’t an option. So Megatron had done the only thing he could. He’d taken the Autobrand for his own. He’d hoped his Decepticons would understand. He’d hoped Soundwave would see the truth in his spark.
Instead, he’d taken this journey alone.
It was fine. It was absolutely fine. Megatron had begun alone, in the dark and the silence, beaten down by rage and violence. He would continue the fight the best way he knew how, even it meant he faced ridicule for it. And he would, as he always did, have a back up plan.
Just in case.
The Decepticons as they were remained Megatron’s pride and joy.
What they had become, however, brought him shame. He’d led them down that path. He still believed much of his earlier actions were necessary. But there was a point when he could have stopped, when he could have let reason lead the way, rather than anger and resentment.
He could have taken Orion Pax’s hand.
Megatron sighed and swept a hand over his head. He slumped onto his berth, the weight of years hanging over his frame like a drapery made of stone. He was tired. He felt he could lay down and recharge forever, and not just because of the Fool’s Energon stealing his energy. He was old, he was falling apart, and there were more dimensional holes inside of him than firmness.
Was it too much to ask for a little peace?
He lay back, folding his arms behind his head. This was his leisure time. He could be doing all manner of things. Nothing appealed at the moment.
Ratchet was on shift, and Megatron still felt off balance from their last encounter. He hadn’t expected to enjoy the pain so much. He hadn’t expected to enjoy it at all.
Now he found himself craving it. There was something in the surrender, something in the way he handed himself over, like a burden left behind. It was intoxicating.
He wondered, too, if he could turn his guilt toward that surrender. If he could offer up his pain as a sacrifice, a recompense. Perhaps it would work. Perhaps not.
Exhaustion tugged at Megatron’s frame. His processor ached. He felt wrung dry, like the corpses they’d found in the crashed ship. Energy seeped out of him. The rigid berth felt as comfortable as a cloud beneath him.
He slipped into recharge without intending to do so.
Megatron’s door chimed.
In itself, this was an odd occurrence. No one came to visit him. Not Ultra Magnus with official business. Not Rodimus to be a bother. Not Whirl or any other Autobot to pick a fight. No one. If Ravage wanted to enter, he could let himself in. There was no reason anyone should be buzzing his door.
The oddity stirred him out of recharge. Had him sluggishly stumbling toward the door, palming it open, rubbing grit from the corner of his optic with the other hand. He had no idea who it would be.
Funny how Ratchet hadn’t factored into his list of potential visitors. They always met at the medic’s suite, on his terms, because Megatron was more than aware of his position, and Ratchet never seemed to notice or be bothered by the fact their trysts never occurred in Megatron’s suite.
“Ratchet?”
“Did I wake you?” the medic asked. One optical ridge arched.
Megatron supposed it was technically the middle of the Lost Light’s day block. It was an odd time for anyone to be recharging.
He peered at Ratchet, who was grinning, but it didn’t reach his optics. Something wasn’t quite right. “I thought you were on shift.”
“Here’s the thing, eventually, those shifts end.” Ratchet rose a little and glanced over his shoulder. “So are you going to let me in or do you want to talk out here?”
Talk. That was never a good sign.
Megatron stepped aside. He ignored the queer sensation of feeling like his territory was being intruded upon. There was an odd sense of vulnerability in allowing Ratchet inside, like he’d allowed the medic see a part of himself he wasn’t sure he wanted Ratchet to see.
The door closed. The air between them felt ten times thicker.
“Talk,” Megatron repeated. “About what?”
“Us.” Ratchet turned in a slow circle, giving a perfunctory scan of the room.
Megatron frowned. “I was under the impression we did not qualify as an ‘us’.”
“We’re some definition of it, that’s for sure, otherwise I imagined all those times I had you in my berth.” Ratchet faced Megatron, still as twitchy as he’d been standing outside the door. “Anyway, definitions don’t matter anymore, because I’m calling an end to it.”
Megatron cycled his optics. “I don’t understand.”
Ratchet scowled. “It’s not a difficult concept, Megatron. We’re over.”
He kept using words like ‘we’ and ‘us’ when he’d been fighting a definition for their relationship the entire time. Megatron couldn’t fathom why he was only choosing now to acknowledge it.
“End. Over.” Megatron tasted the words. Both were foul, unpleasant things. “Interesting that you should use those words when there was never an ‘us’ and the ‘we’ that didn’t exist, never had a beginning.”
Ratchet folded his arms over his chest. “If you’re trying to guilt me into changing my mind, it’s not going to work.”
“No, you seem very set in this decision.” Megatron crossed his arms as well, his armor slicking tight to his frame. “Can I ask why or is that too much like a real relationship for your comfort?”
Ratchet’s weight shifted, plating reshuffling around his protoform as though he couldn’t decide where it should sit. “Does it matter? It’s not going to change anything.”
“Yes,” Megatron replied, alarmed by the amount of hurt echoing through his spark. “It matters to me.”
Something flickered across Ratchet’s face and in his field, too quick for Megatron to grasp. “Look,” he said with a sigh. “I just… the truth is, I can’t trust you. And that means I can’t trust myself.”
Megatron’s denta gritted. “You’re just now deciding this? What changed?”
“Nothing.” Ratchet shook his head, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’ve always wondered when you were going to betray us.”
It hurt, far more than it should have. “Us as in the you and me that doesn’t exist or the Autobots at large?”
“Both. Either.” Ratchet rubbed at his forehead, suddenly looking every bit as old as he was. The dermal layer of his face wrinkled as he closed his optics. “Look. Like I said, it doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision. This is what I have to do.”
Megatron worked his intake. “Clearly.”
Ratchet glared at him, optics sharp and icy. “Don’t act like you didn’t know this was coming. We started as a mess, it shouldn’t be a surprise we’re ending as one, too.”
“And if I were to call you a coward, would that emerge as a surprise?” Megatron bit out. His denta ground together, his jaw aching.
“Cowardice and having a set of moral principles are not the same thing,” Ratchet hissed. His hands formed fists at his side.
“Ah, so now it’s a morality issue.” Megatron nodded in the way mechs often did when they didn’t actually agree. “But of course. How could I be so blind? You’ve reached the quota of behaviors to activate your sanctified Autobot guilt codex. Now that you’ve had your taste of pleasure, it’s time to bow and confess, is that it?”
Trust, Ratchet had spouted so often. Respect, he’d even claimed. And yet the truth was, here he stood, saying how he was too good to stoop to the lowly level of being with Megatron. Because he had morals. And principles.
Funny how those didn’t stop him at all in the past six months.
“Don’t put words in my mouth!” Ratchet demanded, his voice raised, much louder than Megatron’s had been. He took a step forward, but his field was a thing of leashed violence. “Someone like you, who did his level best to destroy our entire world because it didn’t bow to your demands, can’t begin to understand it.”
Megatron’s back hit the wall before he realized he’d begun to retreat, and he hated himself for that, for the weakness. He was Megatron; he did not withdraw. And yet.
And yet.
In the face of an angry medic/lover/Autobot, his back was against the wall, fury swirling with hurt, the desire to lash out battling with the urge to fix things before they were ruined.
But then.
There was no fixing something that had begun fractured. They were already missing the pieces.
“Fine.” Megatron ground out and shuffled to the side, within reach of his door panel. “Then there’s no reason for you to be here. Being as we have nothing more to do with each other.”
The door whooshed open.
Ratchet stared at him, his face drained of color. His mouth opened, closed, set in a firm line. He eyed the open doorway.
“It might have been wrong,” he began slowly, haltingly. “But it wasn’t a bad thing.”
Megatron snorted. “No. It was definitely a bad thing. We were two mechs who know better, playing pretend. Lying to each other and ourselves.” He pointed to the door. “No more lies.”
Ratchet moved to the door and paused, his hand rapping against the jamb. “It wasn’t all lies,” he said, almost too quietly for Megatron to catch, and then he was gone.
The door shut and locked behind him, wrapping Megatron silence, save for the sound of his vents and hisses of his frame. He stared at the door, fans raggedly whirling, anger broiling inside of him for a reason he couldn’t quite name.
No, he was fine. He’d anticipated this. He should have known. He was fine. He was—
Megatron’s fist slammed into the wall. It gave an enormous thud, but did not fracture. It barely dented, truth be told. That damn fool’s energon. It left him weak and pliant, it gave him hope when there was none. It promised things it could not deliver.
He was not fine.
***
Universe: IDW MTMTE Season Two, Hot to Trot sequel, Between the Lines series
Characters: Ratchet/Megatron, Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Rung, Ravage, Bluestreak, Perceptor
Rating: M
Enticements: Sticky Sex, BDSM themes, Bondage, Dom/Sub Themes, BDSM Education, Trust Issues, Angst, Vampires/Energy Eaters, mentions of torture, canon-typical violence, the LL always finds trouble
Description: What Megatron and Ratchet are to each other is a matter up for debate, one that gets a little tangled when the Lost Light stumbles into an unexpected complication.
Commission for Larry Draws
Rewind had indeed come through for them.
Megatron stood on the bridge, scrolling through the dozens of coordinates on a datapad, only half of which they’d matched to legitimate locations. They were spread all across the universe, some within a few weeks travel, others requiring quantum leaps of such energy, they couldn’t possibly make it.
They were, of course, heading for the one shining bright and true in the middle of the Hyades Cluster. But the others held promise as well. Possible locations where the Knights of Cybertron, or at least their associates, could be found.
The scout ship had been a gold mine of information.
They’d destroyed it as a matter of course. Once they finished stripping the computers of all relevant data, and removing the crew to the Lost Light – they’d found a fifth member in a recharge berth in the crew quarters. Megatron was of the mind they didn’t leave anything behind for potential enemies to find.
Fortunately, Ultra Magnus agreed.
They let Whirl pull the trigger, the heli obnoxiously happy as he took aim and fired, obliterating the small ship in a matter of seconds.
The deceased Cybertronians were currently in storage in the medbay. Ratchet had finished his autopsies, but found nothing to indicate their cause of death. He’d determined they died due to complete energon loss, but wasn’t sure what had caused the energon loss.
Unanswered questions made Megatron uncomfortable. Especially when Rewind discovered the point of origin of the scout ship matched the very same coordinates from their original course.
Whatever waited for them in the Hyades Cluster had possibly contributed to the death of the scouts. Megatron was all for waiting until they had more information. Rodimus thought it best they confront, possibly destroy, a potential threat.
Megatron had, once again, been outvoted.
He ground his denta and swept his finger across the screen, saving the data. He downloaded it to his personal datapad just as Ultra Magnus strode onto the bridge, precisely on time. If it had been Rodimus, he’d have strolled in as late as he wished.
Thank Primus for small favors.
“Good afternoon, Megatron,” Ultra Magnus greeted with a tip of his massive head. Though ‘afternoon’ was relative, given their thirty-six hour days and lack of rising or setting sun to mark the passage of time. “All’s well, I presume?”
Megatron tucked his datapad under his arm. “You presume correctly. We hold steady to our course and are set to arrive within several day’s time per previous estimates.”
Ultra Magnus stepped up to the command console, logging himself in and logging Megatron out. “Is there anything you wish me to handle while I’m on shift, Captain?”
His professionalism was so refreshing, even if it did border on obsessive. Often, Ultra Magnus reminded Megatron of Soundwave, who he could always count on to be capable and responsible. His most reliable officer, truth be told.
“Nothing of immediate concern.” Megatron glanced around the bridge, ensuring he hadn’t missed anything, before he dipped his head. “Have a good shift, Magnus.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Megatron left, at first intending to head to the library, but adjusting his course to return to his quarters instead. Research in the onboard library had proven fruitless. Why bother wasting time there?
It was quiet.
There were no groups of mechs playing irresponsible games in the halls. Nor were there trios of inebriated singers wobbling way back to their habsuites. Something rattled in the vents. Perhaps Skids. Perhaps a rodent hitchhiker.
The Lost Light hummed around him, steady onward to its destination.
Ratchet was currently on shift in the medbay. Megatron knew this because he’d checked. Not because as captain he ought to know who was available, but because he’d wanted to see if Ratchet was free. He wasn’t quite sure why.
Embarrassment lingered around the edges. He’d used his safe word last night. It had been too much for him. The flare of unease sharply bursting into panic at the mere touch of Ratchet’s hand to the back of his neck. The memory of needles defiling him, Trepan grinning over him, triumphant and sinister.
Megatron felt he should have been stronger. But there had been no pity in Ratchet’s optics, no mockery in his field. He’d stopped because Megatron told him to, and he pushed for nothing more. It had sent Megatron’s spark into a roil of emotion.
Megatron was not a mech experienced with the concept of trust. That he should offer any to Ratchet left him unsteady.
He keyed himself into his habsuite, absently noticing the distinct lack of offensive graffiti this time around, and slipped into the dim. He paused, as he always did, sweeping inside with several sensors first. One could never be too careful on a ship full of Autobots.
Ravage slunked out from beneath the berth, jaw cracking open in a yawn. He had to have picked that up from the Autobots.
“Enjoy your field trip?” Ravage asked with a languid stretch of his backstrut that should not have been possible.
“Did you?” Megatron asked. He hadn’t seen Ravage sneak aboard the Rodpod and join them in creeping around the scout ship.
However, he was quite certain Ravage had been there. Curiosity was one of Ravage’s strongest traits. He never seemed to lose that need to seek out all information, though he had no one to report it to anymore.
“It was productive,” Ravage answered. His toothy smirk said it all.
Megatron unloaded his compartments into his cabinet, though he kept a datapad on hand. “Anything I might find useful?”
Another long, languorous stretch where Ravage extended his talons, and withdrew them. “That depends.” He sat back on his haunches, tail flicking.
Megatron closed the cabinet, locking it. “On?”
Ravage’s optics narrowed into small slits. “You’re losing your grip, Megatron.”
He touched his Autobrand, but he suspected that wasn’t what Ravage meant. “You’re referring to Ratchet.” Megatron sat on the edge of the berth, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees.
“He’s Prime’s amica,” Ravage reminded him, as if Megatron had forgotten that small detail. Which, admittedly, he had. “He’s the Autobot CMO. He’s the worst choice on this ship to try and manipulate.”
Megatron frowned. “I don’t intend to manipulate him. It’s not a game.”
Ravage tilted his head, audials flicking back. “Isn’t it?”
Megatron clasped his hands together, fingers interlacing. “I am many things, but I’ve never used romance as a weapon. Or friendship for that matter.”
“Tell that to Soundwave.”
Megatron’s optics and his tone flattened. “What?”
Ravage rose, pacing back and forth. “You abandoned him.”
Anger flared in his field. “Soundwave abandoned me,” Megatron snapped. He jerked off the berth, feet hitting the floor with a loud stomp. “His trust in me should have been absolute. He should have understood. He was the one mech who should’ve seen the truth in my spark. He--”
Megatron cut off as Ravage’s ears flattened, and he curled closer to the floor. It wasn’t fear in his optics, but only just. There was wariness. Perhaps a touch of disdain, too.
Megatron vented, his hands forming fists. He stepped back against the berth, cycling several ventilations.
Silence descended.
Ravage crept to the door, standing in front of it. He returned Megatron’s gaze evenly.
“He is only behaving true to his spark,” Ravage said. “We lost the war, Lord Megatron. And when we looked to you for guidance, you became an Autobot. It is you who betrayed him.”
Megatron flinched. Cold sank through his frame, every word hitting like a blaster shot. Worse that Ravage wasn’t completely wrong.
“I am not an Autobot,” Megatron said, softening his voice. “When a world is divided into either and or, if you cannot be one, you must be the other. That is the choice I had to make.”
“If it’s the lie you tell yourself to recharge, it’s no concern of mine.” Ravage rose up on his hindlegs and keyed the door open. It slid aside, and he paused. “But remember, just as you chose to abandon your badge as the lesser of two evils, Soundwave chose to cling to his. And none of us are any better than we were before.”
Ravage stalked out, silent and nigh invisible, the door sliding shut behind him. Getting in the last word, just like his carrier and dear friend. Megatron should not be surprised.
He perched on the edge of the berth. Ravage’s words circled around and around in his processor.
It was not a lie, he seethed. It was the truth.
He’d faced a decision then. He’d looked back on the destruction he’d wrought, and realized that for all he’d done, while yes there was freedom of a sort, they were all still caged, only the bars were made of violence rather than tyranny. There was so much anger, so much hate, so much that would keep them on the path to their doom. They were a dying species. If they continued, they would find their end.
Megatron had taken the Autobrand only because he couldn’t wear the Decepticon brand anymore. It filled him with too much shame. If there was any hope of recovery, of obtaining what they actually sought in the first place, it was without brands entirely.
But becoming a NAIL absolutely wasn’t an option. So Megatron had done the only thing he could. He’d taken the Autobrand for his own. He’d hoped his Decepticons would understand. He’d hoped Soundwave would see the truth in his spark.
Instead, he’d taken this journey alone.
It was fine. It was absolutely fine. Megatron had begun alone, in the dark and the silence, beaten down by rage and violence. He would continue the fight the best way he knew how, even it meant he faced ridicule for it. And he would, as he always did, have a back up plan.
Just in case.
The Decepticons as they were remained Megatron’s pride and joy.
What they had become, however, brought him shame. He’d led them down that path. He still believed much of his earlier actions were necessary. But there was a point when he could have stopped, when he could have let reason lead the way, rather than anger and resentment.
He could have taken Orion Pax’s hand.
Megatron sighed and swept a hand over his head. He slumped onto his berth, the weight of years hanging over his frame like a drapery made of stone. He was tired. He felt he could lay down and recharge forever, and not just because of the Fool’s Energon stealing his energy. He was old, he was falling apart, and there were more dimensional holes inside of him than firmness.
Was it too much to ask for a little peace?
He lay back, folding his arms behind his head. This was his leisure time. He could be doing all manner of things. Nothing appealed at the moment.
Ratchet was on shift, and Megatron still felt off balance from their last encounter. He hadn’t expected to enjoy the pain so much. He hadn’t expected to enjoy it at all.
Now he found himself craving it. There was something in the surrender, something in the way he handed himself over, like a burden left behind. It was intoxicating.
He wondered, too, if he could turn his guilt toward that surrender. If he could offer up his pain as a sacrifice, a recompense. Perhaps it would work. Perhaps not.
Exhaustion tugged at Megatron’s frame. His processor ached. He felt wrung dry, like the corpses they’d found in the crashed ship. Energy seeped out of him. The rigid berth felt as comfortable as a cloud beneath him.
He slipped into recharge without intending to do so.
Megatron’s door chimed.
In itself, this was an odd occurrence. No one came to visit him. Not Ultra Magnus with official business. Not Rodimus to be a bother. Not Whirl or any other Autobot to pick a fight. No one. If Ravage wanted to enter, he could let himself in. There was no reason anyone should be buzzing his door.
The oddity stirred him out of recharge. Had him sluggishly stumbling toward the door, palming it open, rubbing grit from the corner of his optic with the other hand. He had no idea who it would be.
Funny how Ratchet hadn’t factored into his list of potential visitors. They always met at the medic’s suite, on his terms, because Megatron was more than aware of his position, and Ratchet never seemed to notice or be bothered by the fact their trysts never occurred in Megatron’s suite.
“Ratchet?”
“Did I wake you?” the medic asked. One optical ridge arched.
Megatron supposed it was technically the middle of the Lost Light’s day block. It was an odd time for anyone to be recharging.
He peered at Ratchet, who was grinning, but it didn’t reach his optics. Something wasn’t quite right. “I thought you were on shift.”
“Here’s the thing, eventually, those shifts end.” Ratchet rose a little and glanced over his shoulder. “So are you going to let me in or do you want to talk out here?”
Talk. That was never a good sign.
Megatron stepped aside. He ignored the queer sensation of feeling like his territory was being intruded upon. There was an odd sense of vulnerability in allowing Ratchet inside, like he’d allowed the medic see a part of himself he wasn’t sure he wanted Ratchet to see.
The door closed. The air between them felt ten times thicker.
“Talk,” Megatron repeated. “About what?”
“Us.” Ratchet turned in a slow circle, giving a perfunctory scan of the room.
Megatron frowned. “I was under the impression we did not qualify as an ‘us’.”
“We’re some definition of it, that’s for sure, otherwise I imagined all those times I had you in my berth.” Ratchet faced Megatron, still as twitchy as he’d been standing outside the door. “Anyway, definitions don’t matter anymore, because I’m calling an end to it.”
Megatron cycled his optics. “I don’t understand.”
Ratchet scowled. “It’s not a difficult concept, Megatron. We’re over.”
He kept using words like ‘we’ and ‘us’ when he’d been fighting a definition for their relationship the entire time. Megatron couldn’t fathom why he was only choosing now to acknowledge it.
“End. Over.” Megatron tasted the words. Both were foul, unpleasant things. “Interesting that you should use those words when there was never an ‘us’ and the ‘we’ that didn’t exist, never had a beginning.”
Ratchet folded his arms over his chest. “If you’re trying to guilt me into changing my mind, it’s not going to work.”
“No, you seem very set in this decision.” Megatron crossed his arms as well, his armor slicking tight to his frame. “Can I ask why or is that too much like a real relationship for your comfort?”
Ratchet’s weight shifted, plating reshuffling around his protoform as though he couldn’t decide where it should sit. “Does it matter? It’s not going to change anything.”
“Yes,” Megatron replied, alarmed by the amount of hurt echoing through his spark. “It matters to me.”
Something flickered across Ratchet’s face and in his field, too quick for Megatron to grasp. “Look,” he said with a sigh. “I just… the truth is, I can’t trust you. And that means I can’t trust myself.”
Megatron’s denta gritted. “You’re just now deciding this? What changed?”
“Nothing.” Ratchet shook his head, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’ve always wondered when you were going to betray us.”
It hurt, far more than it should have. “Us as in the you and me that doesn’t exist or the Autobots at large?”
“Both. Either.” Ratchet rubbed at his forehead, suddenly looking every bit as old as he was. The dermal layer of his face wrinkled as he closed his optics. “Look. Like I said, it doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision. This is what I have to do.”
Megatron worked his intake. “Clearly.”
Ratchet glared at him, optics sharp and icy. “Don’t act like you didn’t know this was coming. We started as a mess, it shouldn’t be a surprise we’re ending as one, too.”
“And if I were to call you a coward, would that emerge as a surprise?” Megatron bit out. His denta ground together, his jaw aching.
“Cowardice and having a set of moral principles are not the same thing,” Ratchet hissed. His hands formed fists at his side.
“Ah, so now it’s a morality issue.” Megatron nodded in the way mechs often did when they didn’t actually agree. “But of course. How could I be so blind? You’ve reached the quota of behaviors to activate your sanctified Autobot guilt codex. Now that you’ve had your taste of pleasure, it’s time to bow and confess, is that it?”
Trust, Ratchet had spouted so often. Respect, he’d even claimed. And yet the truth was, here he stood, saying how he was too good to stoop to the lowly level of being with Megatron. Because he had morals. And principles.
Funny how those didn’t stop him at all in the past six months.
“Don’t put words in my mouth!” Ratchet demanded, his voice raised, much louder than Megatron’s had been. He took a step forward, but his field was a thing of leashed violence. “Someone like you, who did his level best to destroy our entire world because it didn’t bow to your demands, can’t begin to understand it.”
Megatron’s back hit the wall before he realized he’d begun to retreat, and he hated himself for that, for the weakness. He was Megatron; he did not withdraw. And yet.
And yet.
In the face of an angry medic/lover/Autobot, his back was against the wall, fury swirling with hurt, the desire to lash out battling with the urge to fix things before they were ruined.
But then.
There was no fixing something that had begun fractured. They were already missing the pieces.
“Fine.” Megatron ground out and shuffled to the side, within reach of his door panel. “Then there’s no reason for you to be here. Being as we have nothing more to do with each other.”
The door whooshed open.
Ratchet stared at him, his face drained of color. His mouth opened, closed, set in a firm line. He eyed the open doorway.
“It might have been wrong,” he began slowly, haltingly. “But it wasn’t a bad thing.”
Megatron snorted. “No. It was definitely a bad thing. We were two mechs who know better, playing pretend. Lying to each other and ourselves.” He pointed to the door. “No more lies.”
Ratchet moved to the door and paused, his hand rapping against the jamb. “It wasn’t all lies,” he said, almost too quietly for Megatron to catch, and then he was gone.
The door shut and locked behind him, wrapping Megatron silence, save for the sound of his vents and hisses of his frame. He stared at the door, fans raggedly whirling, anger broiling inside of him for a reason he couldn’t quite name.
No, he was fine. He’d anticipated this. He should have known. He was fine. He was—
Megatron’s fist slammed into the wall. It gave an enormous thud, but did not fracture. It barely dented, truth be told. That damn fool’s energon. It left him weak and pliant, it gave him hope when there was none. It promised things it could not deliver.
He was not fine.
