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Ratchet hated being on the Nemesis. Sure, there was fancy gadgetry and everything a medic could ever want but he was stuck between a micromanaging overbearing one-eyed bot with neurotic tendencies and KnockOut. At least KnockOut was helpful and showed him a few useful luxuries around the ship.
The one thing the Nemesis had that the Autobase didn’t made Ratchet’s spark twinge with jealousy: the washracks.
It was tricky to find time in the communal racks when no one was there. He had to be left in the care of a single vehicon who, for some odd reason, allowed him ten minutes under the cold spray of solvents.
It was after a long work cycle of Shockwave and Knockout shouting. In-fighting between the Decepticon seemed commonplace as children chittering around the Autobase. Ratchet knew that his sharp tongue didn’t belong. However, holding back remained maddening. Which is why he welcomed his little luxury.
As soon as he stepped into the room, there was a hurried command, “Time to go.”
“Can’t have a moment, can I?” He muttered as he turned back to exit the communal place but stopped short. Gone was his drone. At the entrance stood the leader of the Decepticons.
“We all get our moment, doctor.”
Ratchet frowned, “Not when you’re around.”
The Autobot switched to defensive, “Knockout-”
The warlord held up a servo, “No one is getting punished. I am extending a courtesy.”
“What kind of courtesy would you extend an Autobot?”
Megatron narrowed his optics and motioned with his digit to follow him. Ratchet obeyed. To the warlord, victory was imminent. Ratchet really didn’t want to give him any ideas to the contrary.
“How proceeds our little project?”
He kept himself from spitting out a response, “It would proceed better with help.”
“Shockwave is fond of you,” the warlord gave a dark chuckle as if it was a joke. Ratchet couldn’t imagine the scientist getting attached to anything but data.
“He hasn’t much intellectual stimulation if the present company is any indication.”
Ratchet expected a reaction but Megatron reached his destination, an unmarked door in this strange, quiet corner of the Nemesis. He typed in a passcode to open the door and stepped back to indicate the Autobot was to step inside.
Whatever Ratchet was expecting, it wasn’t the spacious berth room. Well, spacious for him, it probably was a little tight for Megatron’s needs. It was unexpectedly small and the only indication it was Megatron’s was an old, well-worn trinket that Ratchet wished he didn’t recognize.
“This way,” the warlord brushed past him.
Ratchet knew he was up to something, or wanted something from him, “What’s your game, Megatron?”
Megatron shrugged and motioned for Ratchet to proceed to the adjoining room. It was a washroom and just as sparse as the berth room.
“Unlike the communal showers, my quarters allow you to control temperature.”
“What do you want?”
“Merely extending a medical officer the luxury of a job well done.”
“I’m not your medical officer.”
“I never accused you of it,” Megatron grinned giving Ratchet shivers down his struts, “Autobot.”
They stood in silence.
“Aren’t you going to leave?” Ratchet snapped.
“An uncuffed enemy needs to be guarded.”
Ratchet didn’t like the indignity of having the warlord watch him wash, which was no doubt the irritation he wanted to cause. He could always go back to his cell, but the warlord didn’t bring him to his personal quarters to just take a shower.
“Here,” Megatron was leaning over him, breaking him from his thoughts, “Do you not know how to turn it on?”
Ratchet’s battle protocols activated and he pushed the warbuild’s servo away from its reach.
“Leave me alone.”
Megatron narrowed his optics, “I think I have been more than kind-“
Ratchet couldn’t help the anger that bubbled through his processor, “Kind? At what point in this war did you start being kind,” he stepped forward, not caring that the warlord stood at twice his height. “When you kidnapped me or sometime before?”
“I didn’t-“
“Right, you didn’t kidnap me, that was Soundwave,” Ratchet practically hissed, “Anything to deflect the blame from you. You didn’t start this war, Optimus did. You didn’t blow up Iacon, the Senate made you.”
Megatron finally lost his temper and pushed the Autobot back. He stumbled and raised a servo to defend himself and felt claws wrap around his wrist. As Megatron loomed over him, he scrambled to find something to defend with. His servo brushed against the washroom controls, sending a stream of water into the Decepticon’s faceplate. The surprise gave the medic the opportunity he needed to draw his blades.
Megatron snarled over the noise of the wash fluid and lunged. They struggled but Megatron was overpowering.
“Disarm,” the warlord sneered, “Or I’ll disarm you.”
He growled and Megatron bit into his neck cabling. As fangs dug into his neck cabling it caused pinpricks of pain. And more.
A heat bloomed on his faceplate as his blades retracted. He scrambled for armor, lifting up to pinch wires between the plates and Megatron groaned and his jaw went slack. Ratchet released quickly, worried the warlord would retaliate.
He was lifted again, drawing against the wall, which was now wet with condensation from the warm washfluids. Ratchet kicked out only to have a ped hooked against his foe’s side.
“Did you enjoy that?”
“Eat slag.”
The warlord wrenched back his helm and bit into his sore neckcabling, this time it was more than a twinge that lit his sensors. He hated this mech with every pulse of his spark, he wanted to strike him more, to feel the heat of this strange battle where Megatron remained unable to injure him except to draw this unholy reaction from him. He pinched a wire cluster again and his foe groaned into his neck.
Megatron finally raised his helm to focus burning optics on the Autobot medic. His voice with a grating, primal harshness,“Hate me more than you ever have, Ratchet.”
“With pleasure, Megatron.”