[IDW] Walking the Wire 12/12
Oct. 1st, 2018 06:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Walking the Wire 12/12
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 Twelve
“I don’t know if I should congratulate you or offer my sympathies.”
Megatron startled at the unexpected voice, and then cursed himself for not being more aware of his surroundings. He’d been too preoccupied with his own thoughts while soaking in the warm solvent, and not paying enough attention to his passive perception.
Behind him, Ravage chuckled.
Megatron cycled a ventilation and went back to scrubbing his armor clean – paying more attention to the paint streaks this time. Apparently that was what had clued in First Aid, according to Ratchet. It didn’t help that what he and Ratchet had done in the medic’s private rack had not counted as getting clean. Megatron was forced to use the public facilities if he had any hope of showing up for his shift looking respectable.
“Perhaps both,” Megatron replied.
Ravage snorted, but whether he disagreed or agreed, it was hard to say. He sat on his haunches, head tilted, gaze steady. His field was completely unreadable, and he was not on any of Megatron’s sensors. If he hadn’t spoken, Megatron wouldn’t have known he was there.
“Do you disapprove?” Megatron asked as the fall of the solvent helped mask their conversation, but not by much. Luckily, the racks were otherwise deserted, as they often were whenever Megatron saw fit to use them.
“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove,” Ravage replied in an even tone he had to have taught Soundwave, for its lack of inflection.
Megatron glanced over his shoulder. “Yes it is.”
“Well, in that case, you can’t trust him,” Ravage said. His front paws kneaded the ground, talons extending and retracting as though aching to sink into something and cause mayhem.
“Yes, I know. But he can’t trust me either, to be fair.” Megatron flicked off the spray and stood there for a moment, letting the initial rush drip free of his frame.
“Then why are you together?”
Megatron snagged a towel, wiping his face before he turned toward Ravage. “Because there are different kinds of trust.” He rubbed himself dry, wicking away the more obvious bits of moisture.
Silence settled between them. Heavy, but not tense. Ravage looked at him, and Megatron felt the weight of his assessing gaze. He let the silence linger while he methodically cleaned himself before he added, without looking at Ravage,
“I want to be with him,” he said, tone firm without being commanding.
“And you’re sure that’s what he wants, too?”
Megatron bundled the towel in his hands, twisting the fabric. He considered Ratchet’s confession, what Ratchet had done for him with Ultra Magnus.
He tossed the towel into the laundry bin. “Yes.”
Ravage’s head tilted. “Then that’s all that matters.” Something in his posture relaxed, plating unlocked as he dialed down from what was a defensive mode.
Megatron’s lip curled in a half-smile. “You’re not wrong, you know.”
“I rarely am,” Ravage replied, tone amused, mouth curving in a way that suggested a grin.
Megatron laughed, and it felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders, this tension between he and Ravage which had curled into a tight knot between his shoulder blades. He had missed their cameraderie, and had loathed the ache of guilt he’d felt in the interim.
“I need to ask a favor.”
“I’m listening.”
“Can you contact Soundwave and arrange a conversation?”
Ravage’s optics narrowed, head cocking. “Are you..?”
Megatron shook his head in a sharp negative. “No. I just…” He paused and cycled a ventilation, hoping to unknot the twisting coils of tension in his spark. “There are things I need to say. Words I owe him.” He owed Soundwave a great many things. An honest conversation was only the beginning.
“It can be done.” Ravage stood, padding without sound toward Megatron, only to pass him by and flick him with the stub of his tail. “Of all the sparklings I helped raise, I think you’re the most troublesome.”
It was Megatron’s turn to snort. “I hardly count as a sparkling.”
“In comparison to me, you definitely do. You and Soundwave both.” Ravage’s field flicked out, ripe with amusement and something that tasted of approval. “I’ll make contact and let you know.”
“I appreciate it.” Megatron moved past the mirror, giving himself a cursory glance. There were no obvious red or white streaks in his paint. Not on his thighs, his shoulders, his – he twisted to check – his back. All was clear. “Now I have to be on shift shortly. You know where to find me.”
“In Ratchet’s berth, yes, I know.”
Megatron rolled his optics. “I’m not always there.”
“More often than not, as of late.” Ravage stepped past him, toward the exit, tail twitching. “This is not me judging, by the way. Just making an observation.”
The door opened ahead of them.
The corridor wasn’t empty. Megatron’s co-captain stood in wait, leaning against the wall opposite the door, his arms folded over his chassis. He had one ankle crossed over the other, in a pose that was probably meant to be nonchalant, but didn’t quite manage it.
Ravage slunk down the hallway, leaving Megatron alone with his co-captain. Blue optics slid his direction as Rodimus pushed off the wall.
“Did you think I wasn’t coming to relieve you?” Megatron asked with a raised orbital ridge.
“No. I just didn’t think you wanted to have this conversation on the bridge.”
Megatron’s fairly good mood plummeted. He frowned. “And what conversation would that be?”
For once, Rodimus appeared serious and not so much his playful self. “The one where we talk about the fact you’re fragging my CMO, and he made the mistake of telling you about the fool’s energon.”
“Ah.” Megatron crossed his arms, standing firm. “I don’t think it’s any of your business whose berth I warm. You’re talking about the interfacing choices between two consenting mechs.”
Rodimus’ optics narrowed.
“Not to mention the fact Ratchet is no longer your CMO,” Megatron continued, because he could, and he felt Rodimus ought to remember that little detail about one of his crewmembers. “Technically, that position is First Aid’s.”
Rodimus audibly cycled a ventilation and rolled his optics. “I knew that, and don’t sidestep my point.”
“You’ve yet to make one.” Megatron shifted his weight. “Are you warning me? Threatening me?”
Rodimus squared his jaw. “Both.” He jabbed a finger toward Megatron’s chestplate, right below his badge. “Ratchet can make his own choices, so I’m not about that. What I am about is how much you better be genuine with him. He put a lot of faith in you. Don’t repay it by being… well, you.”
It was almost sweet, his concern for Ratchet. Megatron could tell it was genuine. Rodimus’ field was all but shouting at him, and he bristled with protective anger. He wasn’t particularly close to Ratchet, Megatron knew this much. So was it a generic protectiveness for his crew? Or distaste for Megatron in general?
Perhaps it was both.
“Again, it’s none of your business,” Megatron repeated, but the anger he expected to burst inside of him did not come. “But I’m sure Ratchet will appreciate you speaking on his behalf.”
Rodimus scowled. “You can’t threaten me with his temper.”
“Is that what I was doing?” Megatron’s lips twitched to conceal the smile wanting to break out.
Rodimus’ jaw twisted, optics narrowing like he wanted to show his pique, and held back at the last moment. “This isn’t a game, Megatron.”
Megatron hardened his gaze. “I never claimed it was. I certainly don’t think it is, and neither does Ratchet.” He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Our relationship is our business. As for the fool’s energon, that is my burden to bear.”
“Until you realize how strong you actually are and decide it’s time to stop pretending you’re an Autobot,” Rodimus retorted. His hands pulled into fists at his side.
“After this long, you still think I’m pretending?”
Rodimus tapped his chestplate again, and he was damn lucky Megatron was trying to be better, because his old self would have decked the other mech already. “I think you’ve been a Decepticon for a long, long time. And as much as I want to believe in Optimus’ little experiment, my crew needs me to be cautious. So that’s what I’m going to be.”
“Trust but verify,” Megatron said. “How prudent of you.” He stepped back, out of Rodimus’ reach, readying himself in case Rodimus tried touching him again. “If only you displayed such intelligence more often.”
Anger flashed in Rodimus’ optics. His lips formed a thin line, and then he stepped back as well, furthering the distance between them. His vents whooshed in a hard burst, and he looked like he might consider saying something else. But then he spun on a heel and stomped away, spoiler flick-flicking in gestures reminiscent of Starscream.
Megatron didn’t think either of them came away the victor in that conversation.
He sighed and headed to the bridge.
~
His shift was quiet, if not uneventful. There was a dull haze lingering around the ship right now. Their hope of finding the Knights of Cybertron had been dashed on the jagged rocks of a horror show. They hadn’t found answers, just more questions. They’d turned around, heading back the way they came, but it would take an equal amount of weeks to retrace their steps.
Megatron spent the ship reviewing the data they’d pulled from the computers at Clandestine. It was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment to learn their ancestors, whatever offshoot of the Knights they’d been, were capable of equal amounts of horror and death as they were now.
For all that the Lost Light was searching for the Knights for answers, Megatron was starting to believe that they’d find no salvation in the ancient mechs.
Or maybe the search wasn’t about finding the Knights at all.
Midway through his shift, the bridge staff changed, staggered as always to ensure there was no moment without proper coverage. Megatron noted it absently, trusting the crew to change over without issue.
A presence in his periphery, however, attracted his attention. He marked his place in the report and looked up to find Bluestreak within speaking distance, giving him a curious look. The sniper’s threat lingered at the back of his mind, and Megatron had taken it seriously.
“Yes?”
Bluestreak moved a step closer, head tilted. “I’m trying to decide if I should congratulate you or wish you luck.”
“You’re the second person to say that to me today,” Megatron said. “Is there something about Ratchet I should know?”
Bluestreak folded his arms over his chassis. “There are a lot of things, but it’s not my place to tell you. It’s his.” He looked over Megatron’s shoulder, staring into the distance. “I still don’t trust you. But I’m beginning to.” His gaze wandered back. “Don’t frag that up.”
He should not feel as threatened as he did.
“Noted,” Megatron said.
“Good.” Bluestreak paused before he offered a hand to Megatron, his posture relaxing and his tone shifting to something more congenial. “If you need some information, let me know. I may not trust you, but what you and Ratchet are doing requires trust, and you still deserve proper knowledge and care.”
Megatron cycled his optics. “I… might take you up on that,” he said as he clasped Bluestreak’s hand for a firm, companionable shake. “Resources around here aren’t--”
“They’re slag, I know,” Bluestreak cut in, blunt but with a cheerful edge. He chuckled and withdrew. “You know how to find me, sir. If you want something a bit more informative.”
“I do. Thank you.”
Bluestreak nodded and slipped away, switching with Blaster on comms and letting the communications specialist take a much needed break.
Megatron couldn’t decide if he’d just made a mortal enemy or a tentative friend.
Autobots were strange.
The rest of his shift passed without incident.
Megatron made notations in the datapad throughout the report and put together something to send back to Cybertron to warn other potential spacegoers. He started a plan of action for future encounters with the estrix, planning on sending it to Ultra Magnus before he finalized it. He valued the other mech’s input.
Megatron paused.
He cc’ed Rodimus as well. He was, technically, the co-captain, and even though he vanished when there was important paperwork to be done, he seemed to take the safety of his crew seriously. Maybe, for once, he’d actually read this report.
He’d just clicked send when Ultra Magnus walked onto the bridge, early for his shift, per the usual. He didn’t like to be rushed when it came to the transfer of command.
Megatron saved his work, closed out his datapad, and tucked it into subspace. “You drew the short stick this evening, I see,” he said by way of greeting.
Ultra Magnus cocked his head. “I’m sensing that’s a turn of phrase that I’m not familiar with, but if you’re referring to having the late shift, then yes, I fear I did, ah, draw the short stick.”
“I’d apologize but something tells me you don’t mind.”
“I don’t, in fact. It’s quieter.” Ultra Magnus’ lips twitched in the closest thing he had to a smile.
“That’s good to know, for future reference.” Megatron slid away from the command console and let Ultra Magnus take his place. “There’s nothing to report. All’s quiet.”
Ultra Magnus nodded slowly as he logged into the system, registering himself as in-command. “Also good to know.” He paused and gave Megatron a sidelong look. “I had a discussion with Ratchet earlier today.”
Megatron didn’t tense, but it was a near thing. “So I was told.” He crossed his arms. “Is this something we need to have an official conversation about later?”
“No. Ratchet covered the pertinent points. As everything is consensual, the only one in a place for discipline is Ratchet,” Ultra Magnus answered in a steady tone, but his attention was focused on the console. Something in his posture suggested unease.
“I see.” Megatron inclined his head. “And do you have an opinion you wish to share?”
Ultra Magnus’ fingers swept over the console screen before he half-turned to face Megatron. “I have an opinion, but other than the potential ramifications regarding the chain of command, I don’t think your relationship is any of my business.”
Megatron chuckled quietly, trying not to gather the attention of the crew on the bridge. “I appreciate your discretion.”
“Mm.” Ultra Magnus turned back toward the console. “For what it’s worth, you are good for each other,” he added, so quiet Megatron almost didn’t catch it.
“Thank you.” A genuine flush of gratitude struck Megatron’s spark. For all that he expected Ultra Magnus to be one of his most vocal detractors, he’d quickly learned to appreciate the second in command’s professionalism.
What little Megatron could sense of Ultra Magnus’ field, there was a hint of embarrassment in it.
“Have a good shift, Magnus.”
“Enjoy your evening, Megatron.”
Megatron left before the moment could drag on any longer.
He found himself heading toward Ratchet’s suite without thinking about it. Ravage’s words lingered at the back of his mind, and Megatron almost changed course. But what did it matter if he spent more time in the medic’s berth?
He checked for Ratchet’s location and slipped down an adjacent corridor. Ratchet wasn’t off-shift yet, but he would be soon. They’d not gotten to the point of exchanging room codes yet. Another discussion to have.
Megatron walked through the front doors of the medbay, which gave a little ding of announcement as he entered. No one was immediately in sight, but Medibot came trundling down the main hallway, beeping a triple tone of greeting.
“I’m fine,” Megatron answered, lifting a palm to the drone. “You don’t need to summon anyone for my care.”
Nevertheless, a scan washed over his frame. Megatron sighed and waited for Medibot to complete its assessment. He knew what the result would be before Medibot finished, and sighed again as a flurry of sounds and lights erupted over Medibot’s frame.
Megatron palmed his face. “Please don’t send out an--”
Lights flashed in the lobby. Another, louder chirp started to echo from the rarely-staffed desk.
“--alarm,” Megatron finished. His shoulders sank. Yes, he knew he was quite literally falling apart on the inside. He didn’t need Medibot to inform him of such.
He might be co-captain of the ship, but he did not have the authority to deactivate Medibot’s call for emergency services. He could only wait for someone to do so.
“Alright, what stupid thing did you do now…?” First Aid emerged from the main hallway, wiping his hands with a mesh cloth, a streak of some kind of fluid painted across his chest. He caught sight of Megatron, and his shoulder tires swun with irritation. “You’re not injured.”
“Medibot seems to think I am,” Megatron said.
First Aid vented noisily, walked up behind the drone, and plucked an override into a panel. The shrill alarms ceased, Megatron’s audials rang, and Medibot honked. It spun around, back down the hallway, in a huff if Megatron had to guess.
“One of these days I’ll update his programming where it concerns you.” First Aid watched the drone retreat deeper into the medbay. His gaze shifted back to Megatron. “I guess you’re looking for Ratchet, since you can drink regular energon now.”
Was there anyone on the ship who didn’t know of their relationship now?
“I am.”
First Aid swept the cloth over his chest, wiping away whatever fluid spattered his armor. “He’s in his office with Rung.”
“His office?” Megatron echoed, arching an orbital ridge.
“Yes, we’re still working on that.” Humor edged into First Aid’s tone. His visor brightened. “You know how it is. Once you start something, it’s hard to let go.”
Megatron snorted and gave First Aid a sidelong look. “Is it your turn to threaten me?”
First Aid shrugged and tucked the dirtied mesh cloth into an arm compartment. “I think you’ve probably been warned off by enough mechs. At this point, you already know what’ll happen if you hurt him.” He dusted off his hands and peered up at Megatron. “He’s a grumpy old pain in the aft, but we still love him. And I think you’re starting to figure out why.”
Words wouldn’t come.
Damn, but Megatron hated medics. Why did they have to be so insightful?
“He is a force of nature,” Megatron admitted.
First Aid snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.” He gestured over his shoulder. “You can go on back there. They aren’t doing anything that can’t be interrupted. I already asked.”
Megatron moved to pass First Aid, but he hesitated, searching the mech’s visor for a clear answer to his friendliness. “You don’t seem opposed.”
First Aid slipped past, and Megatron followed him with his optics as he moved to sit behind the unused receptionist desk. “I think if you’re faking it, the truth will out sooner or later. But for now, you and Ratchet seem to be good for each other, and it’s the kind of thing that makes for a peaceful afternoon for me.” He ducked behind the desk, rummaging the contents of a cabinet. “That’s all I need to know.”
Fair point. And something to contemplate later.
Megatron left First Aid to his business, and made his way to Ratchet’s office, passing by Medibot’s recharge station, where the tiny drone was plugged in and charging, lights twinkling across the small frame.
The door to Ratchet/First Aid/the Chief Medical Officer’s office was open and voices drifted out, though Megatron couldn’t make out the words. He rapped his knuckles on the edge of the frame as he popped his head into view. He immediately spied Ratchet behind his desk, and Rung sitting in front of him. They both looked up as he knocked, Rung with a warm smile.
“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Rung said as he pushed himself out of the chair. His plating fluttered around his frame in a gesture Megatron had learned to recognize meant he was pleased.
Ratchet scowled. “I’m not going to frag him over the desk. You can stay if you want.”
“Now, now, don’t disappoint him like that Ratchet,” Rung said, clicking his glossa. He turned and flashed Megatron a soft smile.
Ratchet's face colored.
Megatron had to fight off a grin, because he had to admit, it was hilarious to watch Ratchet get flustered, because it didn't happen often.
"He did not come here for a... a tryst!" Ratchet spluttered.
Megatron leaned against the door frame, folding his arms. "Now, why are you so sure about that?"
Rung chuckled.
Ratchet glared and pointed a finger at him. "Don't you encourage him, Megatron. He doesn't need it."
“If anyone needs the encouraging, it’s you,” Rung replied with a wink Megatron’s direction. “Stubborn old mech, isn’t he?”
Megatron huffed a laugh. “Bit rusty, too.”
Ratchet’s glare darkened into a scowl. He looked half a second from blowing his top, and all he could manage was a splutter of words.
Rung didn’t seem the least bit phased. He patted Megatron on the upper arm as he passed. “Congratulations, Megatron.”
Somehow, Megatron thought he meant more than his newfound relationship with Ratchet.
He tipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Just go!” Ratchet hissed.
Rung chuckled and slipped out the door without a backward look. If anything, he had a jaunty step about him, and a sense of delight glimmered in his field.
Autobots were just fragging weird.
Megatron twisted his jaw and directed his attention to Ratchet. The medic cycled a long, steadying ventilation, as if gathering his patience around him like a mantle. Only then did he lift his gaze to Megatron, immediately following it up with a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m surprised you can tell.” Megatron pushed off the edge of the frame and stepped into the office, triggering the door to close behind him.
Ratchet frowned and rose from the desk, moving around it. “I’ve been making it my business to know. It’s part of being a decent Dom.”
“Ah.” Megatron leaned against the wall, not trusting his bulk to those delicate chairs. “Nothing is wrong. I’ve just finished running the gauntlet of everyone who wants to protect you.”
Ratchet scowled. “Those idiots,” he muttered, gaze shifting away for a moment, color staying in his cheeks. “Well, if it makes you feel better, you have at least two mechs willing to give me the shovel talk on your behalf.”
“Two?” Megatron cycled his optics. He could only think of one mech who would conceivably threaten Ratchet, and he wasn’t certain Ravage approved enough to bother.
“Your pet cat, for one.” Ratchet leaned against the desk, hands braced along the edge. “And Rung.”
Megatron startled. “Rung?”
“Yeah. That’s why he was here.” Ratchet shrugged, but it was far from nonchalant. His frame language was visibly tense. “He wanted to remind me of the enormous responsibility I’m accepting by bringing those dynamics into our relationship. As if I didn’t know.” He scowled, but there wasn’t much heat about it.
Megatron’s spark warmed. He wasn’t sure why Rung would speak on his behalf, but he appreciated it nonetheless. It made him feel less separate from the crew of the Lost Light.
“Don’t. Don’t do that.”
Megatron’s lips curved, fighting off a smile. “Don’t do what?” he asked innocently.
“Don’t look so smug.” Ratchet pushed off the desk and stalked toward him, not with menace but with intent. If it weren’t for the coil of heat winding through his field, Megatron might have been concerned. “You’re not usurping my crew just yet.”
Megatron barked a laugh and lowered his arms, slipping them around Ratchet as the medic came within reach. “They’re your crew are they now? How many captains does this ship have?”
“Still not enough.” Ratchet gripped his hips, fingers sliding into Megatron’s seams. “This ship is a madhouse, and we’re all the afflicted.”
Megatron snorted. “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”
Ratchet hummed a noncommittal noise and looked up at Megatron. “You’re too damn tall,” he grumbled.
“You could tell me what you want instead.” Megatron’s engine rumbled a quiet purr. The air thickened with anticipation, and Ratchet’s field stroked over his with intent.
“Since when have I ever taken the easy way out?” Ratchet asked. He looked up, glossa flicking over his lips, his field pressing in on Megatron, ripe with heat and want.
“And they say I’m stubborn,” Megatron sighed.
He slid his hands to Ratchet’s face, cupped him gently, and brought their mouths together in a soft, warm kiss. Ratchet relented, lips parting to welcome his glossa, his hands tightening on Megatron’s seams. Need pulsed a steady beat in his field.
“Are you going to bend me over your desk after all?” Megatron asked against Ratchet’s lips, his hands sweeping down to trace a delicate path over Ratchet’s intake cables.
Exasperation spiked in Ratchet’s field. “I’m going to maim, Rung.”
Megatron chuckled and pressed a kiss to the corner of Ratchet’s mouth. “Your habsuite then?”
“Yes, my fragging habsuite. I’m not an exhibitionist.” Ratchet’s tone was sharp, but there was humor in the harmonics of it.
Megatron swallowed his irritation with a kiss, and then another one, because that was what people in relationships did. They were soft, and they were playful, and they teased each other, and they trusted one another.
They shared habsuites and came to each other’s workplaces and made friends with their friends and talked about things.
He and Ratchet still needed to work on the latter.
Progress, however, was being made.
Together.
Megatron had to admit, it had a nice ring.
*
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 Twelve
“I don’t know if I should congratulate you or offer my sympathies.”
Megatron startled at the unexpected voice, and then cursed himself for not being more aware of his surroundings. He’d been too preoccupied with his own thoughts while soaking in the warm solvent, and not paying enough attention to his passive perception.
Behind him, Ravage chuckled.
Megatron cycled a ventilation and went back to scrubbing his armor clean – paying more attention to the paint streaks this time. Apparently that was what had clued in First Aid, according to Ratchet. It didn’t help that what he and Ratchet had done in the medic’s private rack had not counted as getting clean. Megatron was forced to use the public facilities if he had any hope of showing up for his shift looking respectable.
“Perhaps both,” Megatron replied.
Ravage snorted, but whether he disagreed or agreed, it was hard to say. He sat on his haunches, head tilted, gaze steady. His field was completely unreadable, and he was not on any of Megatron’s sensors. If he hadn’t spoken, Megatron wouldn’t have known he was there.
“Do you disapprove?” Megatron asked as the fall of the solvent helped mask their conversation, but not by much. Luckily, the racks were otherwise deserted, as they often were whenever Megatron saw fit to use them.
“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove,” Ravage replied in an even tone he had to have taught Soundwave, for its lack of inflection.
Megatron glanced over his shoulder. “Yes it is.”
“Well, in that case, you can’t trust him,” Ravage said. His front paws kneaded the ground, talons extending and retracting as though aching to sink into something and cause mayhem.
“Yes, I know. But he can’t trust me either, to be fair.” Megatron flicked off the spray and stood there for a moment, letting the initial rush drip free of his frame.
“Then why are you together?”
Megatron snagged a towel, wiping his face before he turned toward Ravage. “Because there are different kinds of trust.” He rubbed himself dry, wicking away the more obvious bits of moisture.
Silence settled between them. Heavy, but not tense. Ravage looked at him, and Megatron felt the weight of his assessing gaze. He let the silence linger while he methodically cleaned himself before he added, without looking at Ravage,
“I want to be with him,” he said, tone firm without being commanding.
“And you’re sure that’s what he wants, too?”
Megatron bundled the towel in his hands, twisting the fabric. He considered Ratchet’s confession, what Ratchet had done for him with Ultra Magnus.
He tossed the towel into the laundry bin. “Yes.”
Ravage’s head tilted. “Then that’s all that matters.” Something in his posture relaxed, plating unlocked as he dialed down from what was a defensive mode.
Megatron’s lip curled in a half-smile. “You’re not wrong, you know.”
“I rarely am,” Ravage replied, tone amused, mouth curving in a way that suggested a grin.
Megatron laughed, and it felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders, this tension between he and Ravage which had curled into a tight knot between his shoulder blades. He had missed their cameraderie, and had loathed the ache of guilt he’d felt in the interim.
“I need to ask a favor.”
“I’m listening.”
“Can you contact Soundwave and arrange a conversation?”
Ravage’s optics narrowed, head cocking. “Are you..?”
Megatron shook his head in a sharp negative. “No. I just…” He paused and cycled a ventilation, hoping to unknot the twisting coils of tension in his spark. “There are things I need to say. Words I owe him.” He owed Soundwave a great many things. An honest conversation was only the beginning.
“It can be done.” Ravage stood, padding without sound toward Megatron, only to pass him by and flick him with the stub of his tail. “Of all the sparklings I helped raise, I think you’re the most troublesome.”
It was Megatron’s turn to snort. “I hardly count as a sparkling.”
“In comparison to me, you definitely do. You and Soundwave both.” Ravage’s field flicked out, ripe with amusement and something that tasted of approval. “I’ll make contact and let you know.”
“I appreciate it.” Megatron moved past the mirror, giving himself a cursory glance. There were no obvious red or white streaks in his paint. Not on his thighs, his shoulders, his – he twisted to check – his back. All was clear. “Now I have to be on shift shortly. You know where to find me.”
“In Ratchet’s berth, yes, I know.”
Megatron rolled his optics. “I’m not always there.”
“More often than not, as of late.” Ravage stepped past him, toward the exit, tail twitching. “This is not me judging, by the way. Just making an observation.”
The door opened ahead of them.
The corridor wasn’t empty. Megatron’s co-captain stood in wait, leaning against the wall opposite the door, his arms folded over his chassis. He had one ankle crossed over the other, in a pose that was probably meant to be nonchalant, but didn’t quite manage it.
Ravage slunk down the hallway, leaving Megatron alone with his co-captain. Blue optics slid his direction as Rodimus pushed off the wall.
“Did you think I wasn’t coming to relieve you?” Megatron asked with a raised orbital ridge.
“No. I just didn’t think you wanted to have this conversation on the bridge.”
Megatron’s fairly good mood plummeted. He frowned. “And what conversation would that be?”
For once, Rodimus appeared serious and not so much his playful self. “The one where we talk about the fact you’re fragging my CMO, and he made the mistake of telling you about the fool’s energon.”
“Ah.” Megatron crossed his arms, standing firm. “I don’t think it’s any of your business whose berth I warm. You’re talking about the interfacing choices between two consenting mechs.”
Rodimus’ optics narrowed.
“Not to mention the fact Ratchet is no longer your CMO,” Megatron continued, because he could, and he felt Rodimus ought to remember that little detail about one of his crewmembers. “Technically, that position is First Aid’s.”
Rodimus audibly cycled a ventilation and rolled his optics. “I knew that, and don’t sidestep my point.”
“You’ve yet to make one.” Megatron shifted his weight. “Are you warning me? Threatening me?”
Rodimus squared his jaw. “Both.” He jabbed a finger toward Megatron’s chestplate, right below his badge. “Ratchet can make his own choices, so I’m not about that. What I am about is how much you better be genuine with him. He put a lot of faith in you. Don’t repay it by being… well, you.”
It was almost sweet, his concern for Ratchet. Megatron could tell it was genuine. Rodimus’ field was all but shouting at him, and he bristled with protective anger. He wasn’t particularly close to Ratchet, Megatron knew this much. So was it a generic protectiveness for his crew? Or distaste for Megatron in general?
Perhaps it was both.
“Again, it’s none of your business,” Megatron repeated, but the anger he expected to burst inside of him did not come. “But I’m sure Ratchet will appreciate you speaking on his behalf.”
Rodimus scowled. “You can’t threaten me with his temper.”
“Is that what I was doing?” Megatron’s lips twitched to conceal the smile wanting to break out.
Rodimus’ jaw twisted, optics narrowing like he wanted to show his pique, and held back at the last moment. “This isn’t a game, Megatron.”
Megatron hardened his gaze. “I never claimed it was. I certainly don’t think it is, and neither does Ratchet.” He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Our relationship is our business. As for the fool’s energon, that is my burden to bear.”
“Until you realize how strong you actually are and decide it’s time to stop pretending you’re an Autobot,” Rodimus retorted. His hands pulled into fists at his side.
“After this long, you still think I’m pretending?”
Rodimus tapped his chestplate again, and he was damn lucky Megatron was trying to be better, because his old self would have decked the other mech already. “I think you’ve been a Decepticon for a long, long time. And as much as I want to believe in Optimus’ little experiment, my crew needs me to be cautious. So that’s what I’m going to be.”
“Trust but verify,” Megatron said. “How prudent of you.” He stepped back, out of Rodimus’ reach, readying himself in case Rodimus tried touching him again. “If only you displayed such intelligence more often.”
Anger flashed in Rodimus’ optics. His lips formed a thin line, and then he stepped back as well, furthering the distance between them. His vents whooshed in a hard burst, and he looked like he might consider saying something else. But then he spun on a heel and stomped away, spoiler flick-flicking in gestures reminiscent of Starscream.
Megatron didn’t think either of them came away the victor in that conversation.
He sighed and headed to the bridge.
His shift was quiet, if not uneventful. There was a dull haze lingering around the ship right now. Their hope of finding the Knights of Cybertron had been dashed on the jagged rocks of a horror show. They hadn’t found answers, just more questions. They’d turned around, heading back the way they came, but it would take an equal amount of weeks to retrace their steps.
Megatron spent the ship reviewing the data they’d pulled from the computers at Clandestine. It was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment to learn their ancestors, whatever offshoot of the Knights they’d been, were capable of equal amounts of horror and death as they were now.
For all that the Lost Light was searching for the Knights for answers, Megatron was starting to believe that they’d find no salvation in the ancient mechs.
Or maybe the search wasn’t about finding the Knights at all.
Midway through his shift, the bridge staff changed, staggered as always to ensure there was no moment without proper coverage. Megatron noted it absently, trusting the crew to change over without issue.
A presence in his periphery, however, attracted his attention. He marked his place in the report and looked up to find Bluestreak within speaking distance, giving him a curious look. The sniper’s threat lingered at the back of his mind, and Megatron had taken it seriously.
“Yes?”
Bluestreak moved a step closer, head tilted. “I’m trying to decide if I should congratulate you or wish you luck.”
“You’re the second person to say that to me today,” Megatron said. “Is there something about Ratchet I should know?”
Bluestreak folded his arms over his chassis. “There are a lot of things, but it’s not my place to tell you. It’s his.” He looked over Megatron’s shoulder, staring into the distance. “I still don’t trust you. But I’m beginning to.” His gaze wandered back. “Don’t frag that up.”
He should not feel as threatened as he did.
“Noted,” Megatron said.
“Good.” Bluestreak paused before he offered a hand to Megatron, his posture relaxing and his tone shifting to something more congenial. “If you need some information, let me know. I may not trust you, but what you and Ratchet are doing requires trust, and you still deserve proper knowledge and care.”
Megatron cycled his optics. “I… might take you up on that,” he said as he clasped Bluestreak’s hand for a firm, companionable shake. “Resources around here aren’t--”
“They’re slag, I know,” Bluestreak cut in, blunt but with a cheerful edge. He chuckled and withdrew. “You know how to find me, sir. If you want something a bit more informative.”
“I do. Thank you.”
Bluestreak nodded and slipped away, switching with Blaster on comms and letting the communications specialist take a much needed break.
Megatron couldn’t decide if he’d just made a mortal enemy or a tentative friend.
Autobots were strange.
The rest of his shift passed without incident.
Megatron made notations in the datapad throughout the report and put together something to send back to Cybertron to warn other potential spacegoers. He started a plan of action for future encounters with the estrix, planning on sending it to Ultra Magnus before he finalized it. He valued the other mech’s input.
Megatron paused.
He cc’ed Rodimus as well. He was, technically, the co-captain, and even though he vanished when there was important paperwork to be done, he seemed to take the safety of his crew seriously. Maybe, for once, he’d actually read this report.
He’d just clicked send when Ultra Magnus walked onto the bridge, early for his shift, per the usual. He didn’t like to be rushed when it came to the transfer of command.
Megatron saved his work, closed out his datapad, and tucked it into subspace. “You drew the short stick this evening, I see,” he said by way of greeting.
Ultra Magnus cocked his head. “I’m sensing that’s a turn of phrase that I’m not familiar with, but if you’re referring to having the late shift, then yes, I fear I did, ah, draw the short stick.”
“I’d apologize but something tells me you don’t mind.”
“I don’t, in fact. It’s quieter.” Ultra Magnus’ lips twitched in the closest thing he had to a smile.
“That’s good to know, for future reference.” Megatron slid away from the command console and let Ultra Magnus take his place. “There’s nothing to report. All’s quiet.”
Ultra Magnus nodded slowly as he logged into the system, registering himself as in-command. “Also good to know.” He paused and gave Megatron a sidelong look. “I had a discussion with Ratchet earlier today.”
Megatron didn’t tense, but it was a near thing. “So I was told.” He crossed his arms. “Is this something we need to have an official conversation about later?”
“No. Ratchet covered the pertinent points. As everything is consensual, the only one in a place for discipline is Ratchet,” Ultra Magnus answered in a steady tone, but his attention was focused on the console. Something in his posture suggested unease.
“I see.” Megatron inclined his head. “And do you have an opinion you wish to share?”
Ultra Magnus’ fingers swept over the console screen before he half-turned to face Megatron. “I have an opinion, but other than the potential ramifications regarding the chain of command, I don’t think your relationship is any of my business.”
Megatron chuckled quietly, trying not to gather the attention of the crew on the bridge. “I appreciate your discretion.”
“Mm.” Ultra Magnus turned back toward the console. “For what it’s worth, you are good for each other,” he added, so quiet Megatron almost didn’t catch it.
“Thank you.” A genuine flush of gratitude struck Megatron’s spark. For all that he expected Ultra Magnus to be one of his most vocal detractors, he’d quickly learned to appreciate the second in command’s professionalism.
What little Megatron could sense of Ultra Magnus’ field, there was a hint of embarrassment in it.
“Have a good shift, Magnus.”
“Enjoy your evening, Megatron.”
Megatron left before the moment could drag on any longer.
He found himself heading toward Ratchet’s suite without thinking about it. Ravage’s words lingered at the back of his mind, and Megatron almost changed course. But what did it matter if he spent more time in the medic’s berth?
He checked for Ratchet’s location and slipped down an adjacent corridor. Ratchet wasn’t off-shift yet, but he would be soon. They’d not gotten to the point of exchanging room codes yet. Another discussion to have.
Megatron walked through the front doors of the medbay, which gave a little ding of announcement as he entered. No one was immediately in sight, but Medibot came trundling down the main hallway, beeping a triple tone of greeting.
“I’m fine,” Megatron answered, lifting a palm to the drone. “You don’t need to summon anyone for my care.”
Nevertheless, a scan washed over his frame. Megatron sighed and waited for Medibot to complete its assessment. He knew what the result would be before Medibot finished, and sighed again as a flurry of sounds and lights erupted over Medibot’s frame.
Megatron palmed his face. “Please don’t send out an--”
Lights flashed in the lobby. Another, louder chirp started to echo from the rarely-staffed desk.
“--alarm,” Megatron finished. His shoulders sank. Yes, he knew he was quite literally falling apart on the inside. He didn’t need Medibot to inform him of such.
He might be co-captain of the ship, but he did not have the authority to deactivate Medibot’s call for emergency services. He could only wait for someone to do so.
“Alright, what stupid thing did you do now…?” First Aid emerged from the main hallway, wiping his hands with a mesh cloth, a streak of some kind of fluid painted across his chest. He caught sight of Megatron, and his shoulder tires swun with irritation. “You’re not injured.”
“Medibot seems to think I am,” Megatron said.
First Aid vented noisily, walked up behind the drone, and plucked an override into a panel. The shrill alarms ceased, Megatron’s audials rang, and Medibot honked. It spun around, back down the hallway, in a huff if Megatron had to guess.
“One of these days I’ll update his programming where it concerns you.” First Aid watched the drone retreat deeper into the medbay. His gaze shifted back to Megatron. “I guess you’re looking for Ratchet, since you can drink regular energon now.”
Was there anyone on the ship who didn’t know of their relationship now?
“I am.”
First Aid swept the cloth over his chest, wiping away whatever fluid spattered his armor. “He’s in his office with Rung.”
“His office?” Megatron echoed, arching an orbital ridge.
“Yes, we’re still working on that.” Humor edged into First Aid’s tone. His visor brightened. “You know how it is. Once you start something, it’s hard to let go.”
Megatron snorted and gave First Aid a sidelong look. “Is it your turn to threaten me?”
First Aid shrugged and tucked the dirtied mesh cloth into an arm compartment. “I think you’ve probably been warned off by enough mechs. At this point, you already know what’ll happen if you hurt him.” He dusted off his hands and peered up at Megatron. “He’s a grumpy old pain in the aft, but we still love him. And I think you’re starting to figure out why.”
Words wouldn’t come.
Damn, but Megatron hated medics. Why did they have to be so insightful?
“He is a force of nature,” Megatron admitted.
First Aid snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.” He gestured over his shoulder. “You can go on back there. They aren’t doing anything that can’t be interrupted. I already asked.”
Megatron moved to pass First Aid, but he hesitated, searching the mech’s visor for a clear answer to his friendliness. “You don’t seem opposed.”
First Aid slipped past, and Megatron followed him with his optics as he moved to sit behind the unused receptionist desk. “I think if you’re faking it, the truth will out sooner or later. But for now, you and Ratchet seem to be good for each other, and it’s the kind of thing that makes for a peaceful afternoon for me.” He ducked behind the desk, rummaging the contents of a cabinet. “That’s all I need to know.”
Fair point. And something to contemplate later.
Megatron left First Aid to his business, and made his way to Ratchet’s office, passing by Medibot’s recharge station, where the tiny drone was plugged in and charging, lights twinkling across the small frame.
The door to Ratchet/First Aid/the Chief Medical Officer’s office was open and voices drifted out, though Megatron couldn’t make out the words. He rapped his knuckles on the edge of the frame as he popped his head into view. He immediately spied Ratchet behind his desk, and Rung sitting in front of him. They both looked up as he knocked, Rung with a warm smile.
“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Rung said as he pushed himself out of the chair. His plating fluttered around his frame in a gesture Megatron had learned to recognize meant he was pleased.
Ratchet scowled. “I’m not going to frag him over the desk. You can stay if you want.”
“Now, now, don’t disappoint him like that Ratchet,” Rung said, clicking his glossa. He turned and flashed Megatron a soft smile.
Ratchet's face colored.
Megatron had to fight off a grin, because he had to admit, it was hilarious to watch Ratchet get flustered, because it didn't happen often.
"He did not come here for a... a tryst!" Ratchet spluttered.
Megatron leaned against the door frame, folding his arms. "Now, why are you so sure about that?"
Rung chuckled.
Ratchet glared and pointed a finger at him. "Don't you encourage him, Megatron. He doesn't need it."
“If anyone needs the encouraging, it’s you,” Rung replied with a wink Megatron’s direction. “Stubborn old mech, isn’t he?”
Megatron huffed a laugh. “Bit rusty, too.”
Ratchet’s glare darkened into a scowl. He looked half a second from blowing his top, and all he could manage was a splutter of words.
Rung didn’t seem the least bit phased. He patted Megatron on the upper arm as he passed. “Congratulations, Megatron.”
Somehow, Megatron thought he meant more than his newfound relationship with Ratchet.
He tipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Just go!” Ratchet hissed.
Rung chuckled and slipped out the door without a backward look. If anything, he had a jaunty step about him, and a sense of delight glimmered in his field.
Autobots were just fragging weird.
Megatron twisted his jaw and directed his attention to Ratchet. The medic cycled a long, steadying ventilation, as if gathering his patience around him like a mantle. Only then did he lift his gaze to Megatron, immediately following it up with a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m surprised you can tell.” Megatron pushed off the edge of the frame and stepped into the office, triggering the door to close behind him.
Ratchet frowned and rose from the desk, moving around it. “I’ve been making it my business to know. It’s part of being a decent Dom.”
“Ah.” Megatron leaned against the wall, not trusting his bulk to those delicate chairs. “Nothing is wrong. I’ve just finished running the gauntlet of everyone who wants to protect you.”
Ratchet scowled. “Those idiots,” he muttered, gaze shifting away for a moment, color staying in his cheeks. “Well, if it makes you feel better, you have at least two mechs willing to give me the shovel talk on your behalf.”
“Two?” Megatron cycled his optics. He could only think of one mech who would conceivably threaten Ratchet, and he wasn’t certain Ravage approved enough to bother.
“Your pet cat, for one.” Ratchet leaned against the desk, hands braced along the edge. “And Rung.”
Megatron startled. “Rung?”
“Yeah. That’s why he was here.” Ratchet shrugged, but it was far from nonchalant. His frame language was visibly tense. “He wanted to remind me of the enormous responsibility I’m accepting by bringing those dynamics into our relationship. As if I didn’t know.” He scowled, but there wasn’t much heat about it.
Megatron’s spark warmed. He wasn’t sure why Rung would speak on his behalf, but he appreciated it nonetheless. It made him feel less separate from the crew of the Lost Light.
“Don’t. Don’t do that.”
Megatron’s lips curved, fighting off a smile. “Don’t do what?” he asked innocently.
“Don’t look so smug.” Ratchet pushed off the desk and stalked toward him, not with menace but with intent. If it weren’t for the coil of heat winding through his field, Megatron might have been concerned. “You’re not usurping my crew just yet.”
Megatron barked a laugh and lowered his arms, slipping them around Ratchet as the medic came within reach. “They’re your crew are they now? How many captains does this ship have?”
“Still not enough.” Ratchet gripped his hips, fingers sliding into Megatron’s seams. “This ship is a madhouse, and we’re all the afflicted.”
Megatron snorted. “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”
Ratchet hummed a noncommittal noise and looked up at Megatron. “You’re too damn tall,” he grumbled.
“You could tell me what you want instead.” Megatron’s engine rumbled a quiet purr. The air thickened with anticipation, and Ratchet’s field stroked over his with intent.
“Since when have I ever taken the easy way out?” Ratchet asked. He looked up, glossa flicking over his lips, his field pressing in on Megatron, ripe with heat and want.
“And they say I’m stubborn,” Megatron sighed.
He slid his hands to Ratchet’s face, cupped him gently, and brought their mouths together in a soft, warm kiss. Ratchet relented, lips parting to welcome his glossa, his hands tightening on Megatron’s seams. Need pulsed a steady beat in his field.
“Are you going to bend me over your desk after all?” Megatron asked against Ratchet’s lips, his hands sweeping down to trace a delicate path over Ratchet’s intake cables.
Exasperation spiked in Ratchet’s field. “I’m going to maim, Rung.”
Megatron chuckled and pressed a kiss to the corner of Ratchet’s mouth. “Your habsuite then?”
“Yes, my fragging habsuite. I’m not an exhibitionist.” Ratchet’s tone was sharp, but there was humor in the harmonics of it.
Megatron swallowed his irritation with a kiss, and then another one, because that was what people in relationships did. They were soft, and they were playful, and they teased each other, and they trusted one another.
They shared habsuites and came to each other’s workplaces and made friends with their friends and talked about things.
He and Ratchet still needed to work on the latter.
Progress, however, was being made.
Together.
Megatron had to admit, it had a nice ring.
*
