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“You don’t paint as excited a picture as I’d thought,” Ratchet said gruffly, sticking his helm through the bars enough not to look stupid.
Starscream didn’t skip a beat as he rifled through his stashes, “I’ll be excited enough once you’ve been delivered to Mega-Moron.”
Ratchet set his helm against the bars. He saw it coming, he knew he did. Yet what had he done about it? Perhaps it just didn’t seem feasible: a weakened Starscream luring him out for repairs, then successfully bagging him like a rogue circuit-rat out in the wild. The brief flight back suggested Starscream chose the area on purpose.
It was close to the Harbinger. At least the seeker hadn’t drugged him. Probably not wise to waste supplies on temporary poisons.
Starscream left the room a moment, leaving Ratchet with another lengthy time to digest. The seeker had been startlingly calm about the ordeal; he’d gotten what he set out to, and left with meager prattle. Ratchet was a fool not to have Bulkhead in attendance, but after his and the flier's first meeting, Ratchet assumed he could contain any threats that could sprout.
This time one had, and he was too overcome with amazement to fight it.
He scraped his helm along the bars, hoping to scrub his ill-thought-out actions away.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Who knows how well Knockout will be able to replace parts once you’ve been checked in.” The lithe frame stopped in the doorway, idly thumbing through dim datapads.
Ratchet snorted. “Oh really, given his medical expertise? I’d be better off doing it myself.”
Again, in no time he had a concise answer. The seeker still kept his gaze near his own busy servos. “I know you’re far more advanced than he is, but he functions under Megatron’s jurisdiction. You believe he would give you full run of the medbay?”
Digits grazing the pole beside his helm, Ratchet grunted, “No. But Knockout’s easy enough to lead off-task.”
Starscream actually smiled, one devoid of sarcasm over their shared peer, “True he is a bumbling scatter-processor at the mention of his finish, but he will indubitably consociate with Megatron if it means overseeing you.” The seeker’s heels clicked lightly as he reached a top shelf for some item, “You’re practically one step from being his idol. As of now, you’re a fantasy.”
The former SIC, true to reputation, had no issue dishing on his once colleagues. Ratchet found that at the very most endearing if not telling about true loyalties. Whether or not he could or chose to recognize the back-stabbing nuances of his own personality, at least he wasn't unable find fault in others. Especially those which were disgustingly true.
“You seem to have a good idea what he’ll do.”
“I have an exact plan for what they all should do. I’ve coordinated precise directions for each to follow following the bargaining for your life. Should they divert from the plan, they will be terminated.”
What. Roll that back. “Pardon?”
Starscream strolled out of the dark corner of the room, two cubes in servo. He bent curtly to hand Ratchet his before sitting on a stack of small metal bricks not an arm’s length away. Ratchet recognized them as obsolete cube compressors after he shooed away the idea of snatching Starscream by the throat.
“I’ve been in contact with the Nemesis, and Megatron has agreed that upon your gifting, I am to regain my post without fuss. As you are the equal to the worth of said post in Megatron's optics, I will be responsible for your whereabouts as well as your performance among the crew.” The seeker looked down to him over the rim of his lit glass, “Should you fall out of line, discipline will fall to me or Lord Megatron. But I trust you not to allow that to happen.”
Ratchet supposed it went without saying in turn Starscream could then be maimed at the occurrence of Ratchet's misbehavior, but that wasn't sufficient leverage in any sense. A broken limb on him, self-inflicted was still a broken limb. Then it opened a cyclical path for his pain to be Starscream's, which then was his all over again. “I won’t allow any of this to happen,” Ratchet bit back, a little too mildly for Starscream’s tastes.
How very Autobot of him. With a hollow snicker, the seeker murmured, “Oh I’m sure you won’t.” His optics drifted elsewhere.
So, he was worth Starscream? Optimus’ and Megatron’s two secondaries were both worth the same in energon, precious gems, and respect? Well, perhaps not the last one. It’d been a while though since he’d considered any tasks that would fall to him in the event of Optimus’ demise. He’d certainly taken over while he underwent amnesia.
Look how well that turned out. He’d agree no contest that Starscream could even have done better.
The mech above him took a calculated sip from his cup, almost as if paranoid of appearances while he fueled.
The medic backed away from the rudimentary prison bars, aft on the stark floor as he took his fuel in hand. Starscream had put enough measurement in to this scheme to impress even him, but he’d never set foot on the Nemesis, even under- and he couldn’t believe himself for calling it such- Starscream’s careful watch. He was cargo to the flier, not merely a trophy to lord over the Decepticons like Cliffjumper’s death. No, he was an item to be monitored and guarded. As long as he existed, Starscream existed.
And if he sullied his good name, there’d be Pit to pay.
“So I’m entitled to an endless, grueling life among your cohorts?”
“As much as I am, doctor.”
Now Starscream was bothering him. This whole past hour he’d paced in the cell, then sat in feigned despair, and now he couldn’t even so much as prod him into some misstep. The seeker’s imbalanced persona wasn’t present, so Starscream himself may not as well be too.
The seeker interrupted the medic's thoughts in a serious, almost urgent tone, "However I should clue you in to the fact that should Megatron wrongfully antagonize or injure you, we depart. The same goes for my well-being as well. That would violate the terms of agreement."
That clarified as much as Ratchet felt he needed, but he wouldn't confide himself to a life bound to a self-preserving narcissist. Even if it did provide a long life. It just wouldn't do. “Let me out.”
The flier almost appeared to consider it if those steady red optics were any indication. Subtle ripples in the seeker's glass indicated tremors, something that undernourishment easily caused. If Starscream was in this to save himself, why not return and grovel to Megatron like all Autobots knew him to be so skilled in? Why concoct this overly confusing plan just to save himself from dying? Better yet, why not hole up with Ratchet’s team? Optimus would’ve been more than open to it should Starscream comply once inside. They had chains, cuffs- for wings and servos- and best of all, a place to shut him up in until dawn.
But the mech in front of him didn’t need to be shut up. If anything, he needed to be riled.
Then Ratchet could break the loose bar a third from his left, and run out.
“I know you know I cannot. Valuable is an understatement in regards to you, Autobot.”
Ratchet made a purposeful look of distaste, “You could have asked us for assistance you know. Optimus would’ve-“
“Been ‘fine’ with it, I suppose you think. He may have been easily persuaded to let me do so the first go around, but what makes you think his little two-wheeler wouldn’t slash me in my recharge cell?”
“Arcee wouldn’t have been let anywhere near you. And besides,” time to lay it on thick, “You could have just as easily vanquished the rest of us. Blunt force to escape bonds isn’t something you seem to shy away from. You’ve lasted through far worse, haven’t you.”
Oh my, how this Autobot loved to talk once his well-being was put on the chopping block. “Indeed I could. This is simpler.”
“It isn’t and you know that.” Ratchet took the edge from his voice, replacing it with something bordering on flirtatious, “You’re only satisfied when the planet is in your palm, Starscream. Going through with it under Megatron’s demands would be an insult to your tactician intellect and life's work.”
Starscream shifted, facial expression unreadable. “They were my demands, actually.”
What kind of cluster-frag was this. Ratchet continued to swoon like the psychophant before him should be, “So you care what happens to me?”
“As it stands you are a bargaining chip, so, naturally. I was promised your safety which in turn promises mine.”
That seemed a very peculiar way of thinking. Surely this whole thing was just circling in on itself, the plan constructed by some sort of uroboros-inspired thought train. Decepticon politics, despite their roots in anti-council rhetoric, still escaped Ratchet in situations such as this. It only sounded as though Starscream wished to pretend to be in a position of authority as he prepared for reentry to his master’s reins. He himself was a consolation prize, a pacifier and walking, talking reminder of the good Starscream was able to accomplish on behalf of his and Megatron's intertwined whims?
Then again it did seem like the Lord of the Decepticons to destroy a prisoner away from prying eyes in order to justify a means to torment the little seeker.
The medic shifted his peds, letting them graze a bit over the deteriorating tile work as he sat up onto his knees. “Release me, and I’ll cooperate. You’re far too strong for a mech my age to quarrel with and win.”
Starscream’s systems made an intriguing purr, “No.” The seeker followed up that let-down by standing and making his way out again to Primus knew where. Ratchet’s façade was weakening under a lack of response on the seeker’s behalf; Starscream wasn’t succumbing to his usual ego stroking. The next course of action would be infuriating him enough to pry open the cell to “teach you a lesson, you filthy Autobot.”
Somehow with the way the night was going, he felt that wouldn’t go accordingly either. Third option was to wallow in moderate self-pity as Team Prime congregated.
Starscream vacated the premises for quite a while, leaving the white mech to do little else than ponder alternative escape routes and stare at the floor. Had he been so out of practice he couldn’t so much as mislead Starscream? Any Autobot could do such a thing. Ratchet would be embarrassed if he’d had anything left inside to feel for at all. Flirting with the enemy was even his first resort. Now that, he thought, said something despicable about him.
“It was a bold move on your part to entice me in such a way, Autobot. Does Optimus instruct all his underlings to engage in such prisoner practices?”
There he was. His servos were as empty as he’d made the room upon departure. Ratchet felt uneasy at the conversation’s turn.
“I bet you imagined I’d spread for you listening to all the ways you thought my plan was impenetrable.” Starscream scrutinized him with unmoving optics, his voice even brimming with an unfamiliar truth, “Beauty aside, I’d still transport you in the morning as ordained by my own desires.” The flighty mech perched on a poor excuse for a plush berth a safe distance from his prisoner.
Ratchet envisioned his next barb and pounced on it, “I suppose Megatron provides you with better than you can synthesize here. No wonder you’re trading me in.”
Volumes of information came from the studies of the mysteriousness of seekers’ wings. Ratchet had read not even a fraction; it didn’t take a genius to see the lowering of their stance as Starscream tried to make himself comfortable on the shabby fabrics.
“I receive worse. I have my survival to consider.” His attitude was cold about the subject, contrary to all the hullaballoo he was arranging in order to keep himself alive.
“What about your well-being?” Ratchet inquired. “Surely this isn’t a hospitable environment?” His upward inflection was accidental; this was indefinitely a sub-par home.
“I do not disagree,” the former commander said neutrally. His claws were fingering a hole in his sheet. "But I make do."
Ratchet frowned at the lack of a heat-tarp but caught himself. Starscream was responsible for his own actions.
His internal chronometer pecked at him, signaling two hours since his capture. Bulkhead would have sent out notice by now. It was only a matter of piecing his location together; this holey ship would only serve as coverage for spotty signals for so long.
Perhaps he should ask him some questions to pass the time. Morning was far off, and in reality his level of concern was as low as a dry lakebed. Starscream’s demeanor wasn’t chaotic, nor did he physically possess the fight he was renowned for. Ratchet was- for lack of a cleaner word- safe.
Still, he continued to consider batting the weak bar of steel with his foot.
“How much energon do you have left?”
Starscream’s frame groggily sat up from his recumbency. “Enough for one morning ration. You’ll receive one and so will I. There’s no telling when you’ll fuel again. I hadn’t the chance to discuss it.”
In seeker speak, Ratchet knew that to really be one portion split in two. Starscream’s frame was more efficient and flight burned his fuel a hair faster than grounders' driving. It was just… bizarre he’d bother spending part of it on a mech other than himself. If this was part of Decepticon Prisoner-Taking School, Ratchet wasn’t so sure he’d like to participate again. It irked him, the weirdly self-sacrificial bits and pieces. Maybe that only came with Starscream bordering on insanity from energon deprivation.
Turning over once more, the seeker peered over a box of scattered contents, something that looked unintentionally cluttered probably from passing out at some other time, “Do you require something to recharge with?”
You, if it will set me free any sooner.
Yikes. Ratchet looked ill and Starscream picked up on it. “Are you all right?”
“I, …yes. Just a… an interesting inquiry,” Ratchet stated, covering a set of tracks he wouldn’t be caught dead making. Maybe the flier’s insanity was contagious. Desperation was not in his personal coding- not after having endured it for the entirety of the war.
Starscream remained oblivious to his inner dialogue. “Some builds such as myself prefer blankets to a plain slab. I can locate one if you wish, though I should warn it will not be swift.”
Ratchet sat back slowly onto his backside. “That’s fine.”
The commander’s nod went unseen as he bowed out. Once the pedsteps faded, Ratchet kicked right through the third bar, parts of the other brittle poles snapping. The hole was pulled wider by sheer strength.
It took no time to see his scalpels in a deplorable cardboard box across the room, the only shining things he’d seen since he got there. He slid them in place without the expected resistance; Starscream had done an amendable job severing them at his arrival. Where would he have learned something like that? Regardless, he’d need to find the door out. Turning in simple circles, Ratchet considered which one he entered from.
This one? The one to the right? No! This one-
“Ugh.”
The one with the seeker in it. The seeker who seemed depressed at his exit, but not shocked in the least.
“I wasn’t gone that long. I take it your keen medical senses detected the faulty point.”
“Something like that,” Ratchet said, voice wavering without his permission.
Starscream was insignificantly disturbed by the conversation with his unbound captive. He stood very still; whether he expected a fight was unclear.
The Autobot sheathed his blades. He’d use his servos if anything. Starscream could get mangled on his own time by his own sadistic medic. Fighting him with anything more menacing made him queasy. Optimus wouldn’t approve.
“I-“
“I don’t want to hear it. Please get in the chamber.” The seeker’s wings ticked, “Or I’ll make you.”
It was disconcerting to hear such typical dialogue leaving the seeker when his frame didn’t show any indication of acting on it. If this was some sort of reverse psychology, he seemed practiced at it. Ratchet made a single step forward and was terribly surprised.
Starscream’s servos enclosed around his throat and he was immediately shoved back against one of the closer doorframes. Starscream’s frame had the same weight it always seemed to. Like the opposite to a pumice stone he looked fragile and packed a heavy punch. He just didn’t bother to emote the anger to match. “I said get in the chamber, Autobot.”
Ratchet’s servos vibrated at not knowing what to clamp onto. One for one, he pictured. His right hand clamped on Starscream’s cabled neck, left one wringing the jet’s wrist. “You couldn’t hold me in that thing if you wanted t-to.”
Wow that was an alarmingly tight grip. Starscream could try all he wished: Ratchet wouldn’t be the future he was trying so urgently to keep.
“I didn’t think you’d notice. Shame on me,” Starscream hissed in his low voice. The clarity of having the medic this close made him tingle with uncertainty. Or maybe that was another system dying off inside him.
The medic tried not to give the illusion he was squirming as he considered another last-ditch option. “Yes shame on you,” he grit out, rolling his weight to the side to reverse their positions. Starscream’s optics didn’t so much as blink.
A piston in his wrist made a puffed sound. He couldn’t stay like this forever, trying ridiculously to choke out a mech who’d grown used to being handled in such a way. He was probably immune at this rate. Ratchet’s feet settled atop the seeker’s pointed heels, keeping him from kicking back with any bottled fury. He kept his weight on his own heels, trusting himself not to pinch the flier’s feet unless it was for a better reason than to subdue him. Sometimes gentle went far enough with the silver bot.
“Which hallway leads off the ship, Starscream?” Ratchet questioned, voice back to its steady timbre.
Starscream’s optics dimmed at irregular intervals. It would seem he caught him mid-initiating recharge. This night was too full of opportunities to abuse.
And to think he didn’t feel contented taking any of them. Maybe next time-
A hand flew by his optics, snatching his helm painfully by the crest as the claws left rivets along it as it balled. Starscream continued to be unremittingly baleful, optics not so much as darting away from the mech he dared to call his prisoner. “Frag you if you think I’m letting you off this ship.”
By the Allspark, that was painful. Not the hollow comment, the hand. The medic bristled but didn’t recoil. In hindsight he should have snatched the other wrist. Now it was too late.
But not for the first option. Primus, how Optimus would be dismayed.
Thrusting his blocky form forward, the medic angrily kissed the skinner framed mech against the wall, already feeling the vice on his helm lessening in confusion. His face went horrifically hot at the small sound Starscream made at the back of his enclosed throat.
Once the talons slipped off his helm, Ratchet made a hasty grab for them, stapling their wrist to the wall with his grip as the seeker splayed without his own consent. Starscream’s fight hadn’t dwindled if his rough bite to Ratchet’s lower lip was any indication. The medic drew the flier’s servos up over his helm, sidestepping the clattering wings on either side. He felt glued to the angular helm, not even flinching when he detected the tired brush of a glossa against his denta.
Ratchet drew his head back, mindful of his confidence to not project the vibe of a retreat. Lava-red light lit his visage as he noticed Starscream opening his optics to the world again, less hazy this time.
Face screwed into a moderate scowl, the doctor admitted, “This didn’t go as I planned.”
Wrists tied overhead, Starscream tinted his words with deflated temerity, “You didn’t pull away upon that realization now did you?”
The boredom this newfound attitude was marinating in an affront to the war at best, a kick in the bearings at worst. Ratchet gripped the lieutenant’s helm, “What is the matter with you?”
Starscream didn’t so much as twist out of the lone servo entrapping his.
Ratchet leaned onto the forefront of his peds, taking no pleasure when the seeker stifled a wince. “For a moment I thought staying here and preying on your impetuosity would reap a benefit, but I was wrong. I’m a doctor, Starscream. What’s wrong with you?”
His features pinched, “Shut up, I know what you are.” Still, no formidable temper. The flier sensed a ghosting touch of a thumb over part of his chin and jaw. “I am… I am tired. I wish not to fight. Couldn’t win if I tried.”
Ratchet didn’t mean to break contact as he tilted his helm. He could have sworn he heard a rustle outside. Prime couldn’t have been there already so he stowed the worry. If he couldn’t get out, nobot else could come in.
“Your precipitateness consequent to my escape doesn’t reflect that.”
“You were my intended property. You are a ticket to my survival.”
Ratchet shook his helm, mind swimming in disbelief, “Starscream, you can’t honestly think Megatron will come through on any concessions he’s ‘promised’ you. When has he ever?”
Predictably, the truth was no cause for comment. He wasn’t sure- not at all. In the end, he was trusting Soundwave’s word to keep Megatron from going back on his. Soundwave had proven himself to be loyal enough to the Cause that Starscream’s agenda could wedge in here and there; he wasn’t unaware of the endless ulterior motives, but Soundwave had confessed to the decadency among the ranks without him there to at least be a distraction.
How flattering, Soundwave, remind me to leave crystal daisies on your desk as a thank you for that loving comment.
Ratchet’s voice punctured his roaming interest, “As weak as you want me to agree that you are, you could effortlessly incapacitate me.”
Shakily, he exhaled with tattered laughter, “Look at me, look at me! How could I possibly? A physician should comprehend the duration of adrenal input.”
The medic hadn’t failed to notice, but he refused to accept it. As Starscream defended his image, he became aware of how this conversation was adjacent to a spat he’d had with Arcee and her heinous sleep habits not two weeks back. This conversation- physical stances aside- was the most normal one he’d ever had with Megatron's first lieutenant. His spark mellowed at finding the grain in his gear, so to speak.
“Shh.”
Ratchet expected spitfire but instead the seeker grumbled, “You asked, you imbecile.”
“I know I did.” There came the skittering outside again. Ratchet figured they must be near the base of the ship. He tapped his comm, lurching off the seeker lest he step on his toes again. Figuratively and literally. There was no clear response, only muddled static.
Ratchet could almost find some sort of ersatz conciliation in being worth bartering for if Megatron himself had come before dawn. Of course he'd enjoy going a few winnable rounds with the elder medic as Starscream waited his turn. Hopefully that wasn't the case. In the meantime he could fuel Starscream, and fashion any remaining debris into something the two could share for the night. Clearly there wasn’t enough garbage in here for two mechs to live apart.
He relinquished his hold and Starscream dropped like a brick of lead.
So he was telling at least one iota of truth. Ratchet didn’t feel guilty at not adopting medical procedure so soon; Starscream’s veracity was only known to rear its head when under extreme threats.
Yet pins and needles stung his torso, spark tight like wound wire. The seeker looked so crumpled, as deplorable as the rest of the place. Once again in this life, he took pity. “C’mon. Up.” He hoisted the sickish mech up and carted him to the equally lame berth. Ratchet curved the rolls of crinkling materials around the seeker in an effort to keep him cradled. Last thing he needed was to sustain another fall.
Ratchet couldn’t help the chuckle at what it’d be like to see him plop out, but it felt too unforgiving. Then again, so was Starscream’s murder count.
As his warden began to drift off, Ratchet made an effort to tune up his portable IV. His forearm snapped open and he dug for the single tube as he too rummaged mindlessly. Damaged and with debatable coherence, the jet’s premeditated mindset was strangely alluring if not exclusively optic-opening. This less formulaic general at the top of the pyramid would have been able to siphon all kinds of things from Autobot troops, not to mention slice them into perfect pairs of body parts. The lieutenant that Megatron had always wanted and then groomed himself. Rationality at its zenith once out from under his very tutelage.
The medic couldn’t help but consider he’d ironically lose that once returning to his master.
Ratchet had a flyby thought: oh what kindnesses could buy. This version of Starscream was virtually a sedated, well-raised cadet sans years of inexperience. Maybe more intimacy with those who didn’t fear him would smooth his rough exterior among Autobots, he entertained, though they did resent him. Optimus was his hopeful of the bunch. Ratchet had met many bots hell-bent on proving respect and care went a long ways, but nobot more so than Optimus. He'd respect Starscream's reasonable wishes without a doubt at the cost however low ran the risk of insulting the seeker's proud nature. If he stayed within his current realm of relative mindfullness, they all may have a chance, but no experiment could prove that.
Only time.
*
Instantaneously, he manifested his blades, the embarrassing crick in his backplate not off-putting enough to keep him down against the crook of the commander's leg. He’d only been asleep a few minutes before he overheard a telling conversation.
“All I’m saying is I hope the wormy fragger didn’t pick him to pieces for scrap metal.”
*Ew, Arcee.*
“I ask that you curtail your commentary as we search for Ratchet, Arcee,” came the warm warning. “Might I request you to cut through the ceiling for us?”
“Sure thing, Optimus, but we’ll have to discuss the first part of that,” the femme quipped.
The racket above wasn’t enough to stir the slumbering mech, and Ratchet was for the moment not going to bother. He stood like a spurned lover in the rain, gazing upward to catch a glimpse of his team after the time they’d kept him waiting.
Bumblebee’s overjoyed helm poured through the jagged opening first. *Ratchet!*
“Hello, Bumblebee.”
*Hi! Have you been here this whole-* Bumblebee sacrificed his speedy beeps for even quicker blaster deployment to point just over their team’s medic’s shoulder. *Back off, ‘Screamer.*
The flier didn’t exactly fly out of bed at the threat or butchering of his name. His helm was heavy and riddled with repressed alerts.
*Let’s get you out of here. Bulkhead’s gonna open a bridge down here. Do you have the coordinates?*
“I do. Now peel out of there before I have scratches to buff.”
*Sir, yes, sir,* he chirped. His small helm fled, gun in tow, and Ratchet was left at the mercy of making yet another last minute decision. He turned to see the seeker now upright, expression grim.
“How morbid for a doctor to abandon a patient.”
The room was quiet in between banter and Ratchet felt eerily content listening to somebot else’s engine thrum aside from his own.
He nearly waited for the next spark to his kindle, hoping that if the seeker said something worse out of the blue, he’d have a reason not to take him. He stood, aged presence in the ship making Starscream wish he would speak. “Come with us.”
“To be harassed by the members of your kind? To be reminded of my necessary evils day in and day out as Prime goads me into dispensing intel?” Starscream had considered the option more than once, even acted on it prior to Unicron's appearance. His first thought after the Earth stabilized was that he should have taken the full opportunity.
Ratchet looked like he could tell. Perhaps a concession of his own, the intimate promise that he’d be supervised by somebot capable: “Then come with me.”
For a split second, he saw Starscream’s look of infatuation with the notion. It wasn’t unlike the acceptation of patience he made on his behalf while Ratchet sifted through grossly romantic versions of interrogation. The medic was concerned he’d refute the proposition, too enamored with the idea of resuming an old post that had completely been drained of its glamor or productivity.
Skittish coding within the seeker screeched at him, however muffled it was underneath his common sense:
Get out or die trying.
And oh how he wanted to get out. His arm raised, beckoning the medic to help him up. The musical whir of the groundbridge hit his fuzzy audials, but the salvation it promised was clearer than day. Ratchet didn’t hesitate to walk him through it.