Work Text:
Millions of years of fighting, and for what? A nearly destroyed planet and some concessions that had a slim possibility for lasting change. Yes, the Senate was dead, and an election was on the horizon, but Deadlock didn’t hold out much hope.
The Deceptions and Autobots had reached an accord in the face of a greater threat: extermination by the Galactic Council. Megatron’s rampage had extended too far to be ignored by the organic races of the universe. To avoid extinction, the warring factions had to agree to peace.
Fearing Megatron’s Technoism would prevent him from acquiescing, there had been a coup amongst the Decepticons. Alive but humbled, he was given the ultimatum: death or peace.
It turned out the Deception Leader valued his life more than his ideals. So now, in an effort to prove that the Cybertronian race was sincere, the Autobots and Decepticons were to form marital bonds across faction lines. A plan that seemed naive in the face of centuries of violence.
It was rare for Cybertronians to find a Conjunx and it seemed crass to force such unions in the name of politics. At least, that was Deadlock's opinion.
He sipped at his engen, trying to drown out his disappointment. Today there was to be a meeting to determine which Decepticons and Autobots were to undergo the rites. He should have been there, if only to guard Megatron against any attempts at assassination. Instead he was here, fighting his own urges to descend into full inebriation.
“Hey,” Swindle sidled up to Deadlock at the bar, grin stretching across his face. The end of the war had made him bold, it seemed. He tapped at his data pad. “Check out who’s going on the chopping block.”
Under other circumstances, Deadlock would have avoided Swindle’s company, however this occasion left him wanting a distraction.
Swindle was gleeful over an article about today’s meeting and which high-profile members of each faction were being considered as candidates to fulfill the treaty.
Deadlock swiped through the photos. “Starscream?” Deadlock was surprised.
Swindle laughed. “Feel sorry for whatever slagger gets stuck with him.”
“No kidding.” Deadlock kept looking. “Overlord? They have got to be joking.”
“Let me see.” Swindle took the datapad back for a moment. He squirmed in his seat. “That’s got to be a mistake.”
Deadlock agreed. He gained some amusement from the other Decepticon victims, even Megatron himself wasn’t exempt. Deadlock idly wondered if the possibility of a chance with Optimus had persuaded the warlord. Though Deadlock was wise enough never to say that out loud.
The Autobots Deadlock was only marginally familiar with. Usually when he learned of one, it had been on an assignment to kill them. There were a few of the big names, the Prime of course and Prowl—
Deadlock felt his spark seize in his chest. There was a face, familiar and tender to Deadlock’s own spark, that shouldn’t be on this list.
He would know that paint job and frame anywhere. The medic had saved his life on and off the battlefield countless times. Even if Ratchet protested that it was all in the name of adhering to the Tyrest Accords, Deadlock knew better.
“This is just a quick patch up, Deadlock.”
“Don’t kill any of my friends this time, Deadlock, you aft.”
“Stop making googoo eyes, Deadlock, half your arm is gone.”
Ratchet could be caustic but was ultimately kind, a soft touch. The idea of someone like Ratchet matched with one of the sociopaths in high command—
No. NO! Deadlock, deadliest of the Decepticons, would not let that happen.
“Bill, now!” Then with a fierce and sudden sobriety, Deadlock turned on Swindle. “Where’s the meeting?” He growled.
Swindle quivered in fear. He rattled off the address in the article before slinking off his chair and running. Deadlock threw some shannix on the bar without bothering to count it.
The bartender knew enough of the Deception’s reputation not to object. Deadlock transformed into his alt-mode; he would put an end to this farce right now!
As he approached the skyscraper, he reminded himself that the war was over. Killing was out of the question. Some light maiming on the other hand—
Deadlock battled his way through security, felling foe left and right. His guns were swift and his aim true as he fired. None would die this day but they would wish they had just stepped aside. He was Deadlock and he would not be deterred. He would not be stopped.
The door to the conference room was large, grand and in his way.
Deadlock kicked in the door with his pede, powered by raw fury. “Ratchet of Vaporex!” he shouted.
Every face at the conference table turned to look at him. Autobot and Decepticon alike, all expressed a deep confusion.
It appeared that Starscream had been holding court before Deadlock’s untimely intervention. He scowled in annoyance. “Can’t you see—“
Deadlock’s guns itched in his servos, they weren't taking him seriously. He pointed them at the stunned attendees. “Where is he?” Deadlock repeated. He would not ask again.
Out of the corner of his optics, he saw Optimus Prime turn his head. There, at the Prime’s side, sat Deadlock’s target.
Deadlock indicated Ratchet should stand, pantomiming with his weapons. Ratchet did as he was silently bid, hands held up in surrender.
Optimus Prime’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Deadlock. He would not take this intrusion lightly. “Ratchet—“
“It’s all right.” It sounded like a hollow reassurance. Ratchet shimmied around the table, approaching Deadlock with due caution.
It had been a long time since Deadlock had seen Ratchet look so polished. After the war, he must have gone through some clean up to prepare for this meeting. He looked good, really good.
The sight made something deep in Deadlock’s soul ache. Primus, just seeing the medic was doing things to him.
“Deadlock,” Ratchet greeted, voice neutral. He came slightly closer. “Put the guns down and tell us—“
The medic was a mere arm’s length away. This was his chance. With great speed, Deadlock grasped at Ratchet. Before anyone could react, Ratchet was plastered against his side like the adventure melodramas of the Golden Age. Deadlock's strong arm pinned Ratchet into place. The Autobot was safe as long as he was by Deadlock's side.
“Autobots and Decepticons,” Deadlock addressed the room, “let it be known that though you might subject yourselves to this farce of a treaty, I refuse to allow Ratchet of Vaporex to be used as a pawn in your game.”
Several of the delegates seemed completely baffled about what was happening. Low murmuring broke out.
Deadlock continued delivering his manifesto. “To be Conjunxed is to express your love, your devotion to the fullest. It is not a cheap, tawdry bond to be entered lightly. Ratchet is too good, too kind to be subjected to a life bound to one such as Starscream.”
“Excuse me!” Starscream squawked in protest.
The faceplate made Optimus Prime less inscrutable than most but Deadlock detected a hint of amusement in the Prime’s voice. “What do you intend to do about it?” he asked.
That gave Deadlock pause. “I—“ he hesitated. He glanced down at his captive. Ratchet hadn’t tried to get away, he simply looked tired. It then occurred to Deadlock that he hadn't really thought any of this through.
“Do I want to know what’s going on?” Ratchet asked.
Starscream sighed. “It seems that in making the attendees list,” he said, his tone pure venom, “I neglected to invite the fool with the worst hidden crush in the Decepticon army!”
Awkward silence descended.
Deadlock was a little offended. He didn't think he had mentioned Ratchet that often. It was true that he had once beat Bludgeon with a steel beam after learning the other Decepticon had once tortured Ratchet before the war. And he had threatened other Decepticons for targeting the medic. And he had shot a few soldiers before for even looking at Ratchet the wrong way--
Finally Megatron, the most feared of all Decepticons, leader of a revolution and the inspiration to many would-be despots, spoke. “Do you intend to waste our time?” he asked, “or will you make a formal declaration of courtship?”
Deadlock hadn’t realized that was an option. “I declare my intention to court Ratchet of Vaporex.”
More silence, more stares.
Ratchet rolled his optics. “Fine,” he mumbled, scrambling out of Deadlock’s arms. He was over this. “If we’re done here, I’m going back on shift.”
“Um.” One the universe’s deadliest assassins felt lost. “Can I call on you later?” Deadlock asked. He scraped his pede against the floor.
“I’m off at sunset,” Ratchet told him. He gifted Deadlock with a small, nearly imperceptible smile before sauntering out of the room.
Optimus Prime tried to regain control of the meeting. He drew upon all his dignity and power as he intoned: “With that bit of business out of the way—“
“Wait a moment ,” Overlord’s silky yet terrifying voice interrupted. He steepled his fingers, clearly plotting. “Did this mean we can just grab any Autobot we want and forget this whole meeting?”
At the realization, chaos reigned. Bots grasped at other bots, fists flew and arguments broke out. In the centuries to follow, the day would become known as the Great Courtship Battle, an event so terrible that it nearly caused a second civil war.