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“The good news is,” Ratchet said, “your drink was not poisoned. The bad news is, you’re drunk.”
“That–” Megatron, once the most feared mech in the universe, groaned in disbelief. He pressed a palm to his head, the pain excruciating. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
“Honestly, I don’t know how, but that swill Serve served you managed to bypass your FIM chip," Ratchet said. He shook his head; Megatron was one of the most solidly built Cybertronians to ever exist. This was ridiculous, however– “I’ve seen stranger things in this Medbay.”
“It must be the false Engeron,” Megatron muttered.
Ratchet refrained from comment. False Energon wasn’t real, merely a placebo to keep Megatron in line. However, this would not be the appropriate time to tell Megatron the truth. In fact, if Ratchet was honest with himself, there might never be a scenario where he would tell Megatron the truth.
“What do you recommend?” Megatron asked.
It was still strange to Ratchet that Megatron would bother asking for medical advice from him, let alone that Ratchet would be giving it. “I’ve got something that will accelerate the filtration process and help eliminate any foreign particles,” Ratchet said, all business. He frowned. “Unfortunately, it’ll take about a joor of recharge for it to work.”
Ratchet let that sink in.
An hour of vulnerability, a solid hour where anyone with nefarious purposes could assassinate him and as the former leader of the Decepticons, Megatron had lots of enemies, many of whom were aboard the Lost Light.
Ratchet gave the best advice he could: “I think you should com someone to watch over you while you recharge.” The Medbay was only so secure, and Megatron was a high-risk target. Although Ratchet didn’t particularly like Megatron, the other bot was still a patient.
Megatron winced at the overhead fluorescent lights. “Can’t you do it?”
“Considering the state you’re in,” Ratchet said, “I’m expecting a lot more patients from Swerve’s coming any minute.” He was not looking forward to dealing with a bunch of drunk crewmates and his tone reflected it.
Even in his inebriated state, Megatron could see the wisdom in the medic’s words. “Understood,” he muttered. He tilted his head on the slab, a sign he was communicating. After a few moments, Megatron slumped back, exhausted. “Ravage will be my temporary caretaker.”
“Good.” On the entire ship, there were few that Ratchet would trust with such a task. The panther-shaped robot’s loyalty to Megatron was unimpeachable. If anyone tried to mess with the former-Decepticon leader, Ravage would not let the slight go unpunished. “I’m getting the medicine,” Ratchet said, “just sit tight.”
Ratchet moved to the cabinets to look for the right vial. He wanted to be certain he had a full supply if anyone else fell victim to Swerve’s creative bartending.
“In the old days,” Megatron said, meaning during the war, “I would have called Deadlock for this.”
“Drift,” Ratchet said with a snippish tone, “his name is Drift.”
“Right, Drift.” The way Megatron murmured the words, it was a reminder, not a mockery. “When I joined this crew, I was disappointed that he was no longer on the ship.”
Ratchet lost count of his inventory. Drift’s forced exile had always bothered him from the start but recently it had been weighing on his mind. In light of everything that had come to pass afterwards, it was starting to seem like a more unjust punishment. “That’s a-”
Megatron mumbled on, the strong effects of the engex loosening his tongue. “Rodimus attempted to explain but his digressions made little sense.”
That made Ratchet snort in bemusement. He restarted his inventory, cradling a dose in his servos for Megatron. “I see.”
However, Megatron wasn’t finished. “I was looking forward to seeing you two interact.”
The medic did not like where this was going. He kept his face and tone neutral, he wished to betray nothing. Megatron might claim to have changed, but it was still prudent to be wary. “Why?”
Megatron sighed, the drink getting to him. “He was obsessed with you during the war.”
Ratchet didn’t know what to say. Instead he insisted, “I think you’re mistaken.”
“No,” Megatron said, “Because I encouraged it.”
Ratchet forced himself to calm down. Crushing the vial would mean losing a dose for someone. He couldn’t risk that when they were so far from civilization, when he didn’t know when he could synthesize more.
He spun on his peds and made his way back to the medical slab. Ratchet needed to get Megatron recharging as soon as possible, if only to get the other mech to shut up. “Come on, I’m moving you to quarantine,” Ratchet explained, dragging Megatron into a standing position.
He slung Megatron’s arm over his shoulder, bracing the massive Cybertronian’s weight against himself. They moved slowly in staggering steps toward the safety of the quarantine room. Megatron was slumped against him, hardly any help at all. Ratchet found this whole experience quite unpleasant. Unfortunately, his curiosity demanded satisfaction. “What do you mean encouraged?” Ratchet asked, despite knowing better.
“I found rivalries were good for cohesion to the cause.” Megatron’s speech grew slurred as they walked. “Dead– Drift,” he corrected himself, “made it clear that you were his concern. Never had I heard someone speak with such reverence and such resentment at the same time. He hated the fact that you were an Autobot, that you once saved his life and then– nothing.” The former tyrant chuckled to himself. “As he climbed the ranks he told everyone that you would be his priority.” Megatron’s smile, doped up as it was on engex, was still intimidating. “Interference in his plans would not be tolerated, not even by me.”
Ratchet practically threw Megatron onto the medical slab in the quarantine room. The former warlord did not protest, nor did he stop his inane smirking. It was frustrating how Megatron was still intelligible even when inebriated.
Where was Ravage? Ratchet had the medication, but he couldn’t administer without–
A rough voice cut through Ratchet’s thoughts. “There was a betting pool over what he would do once he caught you.”
Ravage. How long had the smaller bot been listening?
“I don’t care,” Ratchet snapped. He wanted this little heart-to-heart with Megatron and company over and done with.
“Some thought he’d kill you,” Ravage said, his tail flicking back and forth, a non-verbal taunt. “Some thought he wanted to frag you.”
Ratchet pointed to the interior of the quarantine. “Get inside,” he ordered, trying to assert authority. He wouldn’t hear any more of this.
“Considering you’re still alive,” Ravage said as he slinked on in, “I think Deathasaurus owes me a few shanix.”
Ratchet’s scowl had cowed many an Autobot and even a few Decepticons back during the war. At the patented look, Ravage’s ears flattened back against his head in distress. Good.
“Once he drinks this, he’ll need to recharge for a full joor,” Ratchet explained, speaking quickly so he wouldn’t be interrupted. “The door to the quarantine room will be secured on a timer for the same amount of time. No one should be able to get in but this ship–” his frustration leaked from every seam of his frame, “stupid things keep happening.” An understatement if there ever was one.
Ravage understood. “What should I do if there’s trouble?”
“If he has an adverse reaction, I want you to call me on a private com.” Ratchet pinged Ravage with a secured line. “And If someone tries to break in, call me on the same line.”
Ravage’s feline face curved into a frown. It seemed he wasn’t convinced of Ratchet’s intentions.
Reassurance would be necessary. “You also have my medical authority to beat up anyone who tries to interfere with his recovery,” Ratchet said.
The noise Ravage made was a close approximation to a laugh. With ground rules established, Ratchet gave Megatron the medicine. “You should be fully functional when this has run its course,” Ratchet said, making sure his patient took every drop. “I already have one idiot captain on this ship, I don’t need a second one.”
The sound of harsh laughter fading into snores followed Ratchet as he left quarantine. He pressed the necessary codes, leaving Megatron to his sleep and Ravage to his vigil.
That settled things.
Ratchet had already been considering leaving the ship. First Aid was coming along as a CMO, Ratchet wasn’t needed here. And after what happened during the confrontation with Tyrest–
Ratchet put a stop to that thought before he could go down a dark path. He didn’t need to focus on Pharma. What was important was Drift. He missed how the other bot would come in to bother him during work; he missed their verbal sparring matches over the tenants of faith versus those of science; he missed the quiet times when they would simply sit together and refuel. He missed– he missed everything.
Ratchet wasn’t entirely sure what they were to each other and after what Megatron said, it felt even more complicated. Too complicated to leave alone, to let things remain unsaid. He needed to hash things out with Drift for better or for worse. There was a history they had only just started to confront, had only just started to reconcile. Ratchet needed to know if his growing (there was no better word for it) affections were returned.
Once this shift was over and Megatron was in control of his faculties, Ratchet would prepare. There was much to do if he was going to learn to say goodbye and even more if he was going to learn to say hello.