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Ratchet sits on an old stool before the large satellite that is the most crucial part of their communications array. Unfortunately, it’s been the most recent thing to malfunction as of late. During his last call with Bumblebee the screen went to static three minutes in, and while the audio played crystal clear that time, the time before it the audio was raising the pitch of everyone’s voice. Of course the visual had been clear. Ratchet checked everything. Each wire was carefully re-threaded and examined, all the cords were unplugged and replugged in. Old parts replaced with hand-made new ones, the computer processor was cleaned until it shone more pristinely than Ratchet ever has in his long life.
All that work only to find it was the satellite itself. Well at least he did find the problem’s source. Now after groons of working away at it, he was almost certain it was in perfect working order. Hopefully they won’t have to deal with interference again. If he’s learned anything from Wheeljack, let it be that.
The old medic flexes his digits. He rolls his joints and stretches his cables.
He wanders outside, carrying the satellite. Ratchet moves to a clearing behind the small base. Green grass, shorter than most kinds on the planet, bends beneath his pedes.
Ratchet sets the satellite in the middle of the field, hanging from two poles. He takes a few steps back and presses a button. The satellite roars to life. It shoots straight up cutting through the atmosphere, and back to it’s designated location. Ratchet’s HUD pings. All is well and the satellite is back up.
Well that’s done.
He wanders around to the front of the building. A grove of trees lies a few hundred meters from it. The first in what is planned to be many. Eventually they will surround the base on all sides.
Ratchet gazes out. His optics scan the vegetation.
Light flickers in and out of the shadows. Browns and greens are soon outshone by the metal frame of Megatron. He stands beside the growing trees. The taller ones are high above him now, but it’s the smaller trees, those that haven’t quiet reached his helm that he focuses on.
With a light touch, Megatron’s digits sift through branches. They pluck and prune the weak, sick, and dead. Their lives have changed since the war, but not so much the roles they play.
“How are they doing today?” Ratchet asks, tucking one servo under his opposite arm.
After everything Megatron could never go home, and Ratchet? Well he refused to leave. Anything could happen to a lone bot. No it was best for someone to be here just in case. Besides a former monster staying on an unprotected planet alone, living out the rest of his years in exile. Yeah Ratchet could imagine about a thousand ways that could go wrong.
The two of them becoming close again after all those years on opposite sides, well that was the biggest surprise of all.
“Good.” Megatron looks up at the taller trees. “Could be doing better.”
Ratchet leans against a tree. It creaks and tilts under his weight. He hops off. Nervously he tries to pull the tree back into place. The tree continues to lean to one side of the other. Megatron’s hand on his shoulder stills the retired medic. The larger bot moves by, his formerly heavy steps carefully controlled to keep from completely destroying the ground and roots underneath.
Somehow the giant has learned to be gentle again.
Megatron carefully lifts the tree with one servo wrapped around it’s trunk. He olds it a few meters above the ground. Megatron then dives his digits beneath the dirt, picking up as much as he can hold. Shadows tint his silver armor grey. He carefully lays the tree back down. It sinks into the hole as if it’s going home. Megatron holds the tree steady, twisting branches don’t even shake as dirt is laid and patted down around its roots. The tips of which had never left the ground.
Once he’s done, Megatron pulls back and carefully looks over the soil. The tree is a little shorter now, but stable.
“I used to be better with such fragile things.”
Megatron’s optics close as he rises. When he stands again he turns. Cord-threaded metal knuckles brush gently across the side of the medic’s helm. “It is easy to forget when the fragile things do not speak.”
The words are filled with a weight of things unsaid.
Ratchet holds Megatron’s servo, pinning it against his helm. He wants to ask him to explain. What is he thinking? At first Ratchet suspected Megatron had a plan. This was the former leader of the Decepticons after all. Surely he was planning to take advantage of Optimus’ kindness and mercy.
In the end, the only one who felt they had taken advantage of anything was Ratchet of Megatron’s listening skills. For so long Ratchet listened to everyone about everything. It was second-nature. Expected. After all who else could the bots turn to? Optimus had so few close enough that he could trust with the harder things. Emotions that swirled complicatedly within him. Of course the rest of the autobots followed suit.
Ratchet had nearly forgotten how good it felt to vent and be heard. Then Megatron reminded him. There are many things they’ve learned again.
“The communications array is back up.”
Megatron smiles. Such a simple, small thing. It ignites Ratchet’s spark. “Bumblebee will be happy to hear from you again.”
“And Optimus would appreciate updated photos of your garden.”
Megatron rolls his optics and withdraws his servo. “It’s hardly a garden.”
“It’s a large patch of trees your tending too. Sounds like a garden to me.”
“Humans refer to them as a nursery.” Megatron moves back over towards the smaller set of trees. He raises his helm again. “I may have to trim the branches above these so they may get the adequate amount of sunlight.”
“You’re like a surgeon but for trees.” Ratchet jokes.
Megatron looks back at him with a smirk. “The humans call that an arborist.”
Ratchet chuckles. “Humans have words for everything.”
He closes the gap between them. White arms wrap around Megatron’s waist. Red servos interlock in front of the bigger bot, holding him in place.
“Arborist.” He repeats the word, letting it roll along his glossa and run through his processors. “Arborist.”
Megatron looks down at him. Rows and rows of trees lay out in front of them. The tallest of which are just beginning to surpass the bot’s heights. They’ll keep growing though, and eventually, they’ll be so tall Megatron will need a jetpack to reach their tops to trim. Ratchet will have to put one together for him.
It should be a fun challenge given their limited resources. Maybe Bumblebee can send some materials over from Cybertron.
“Arborist,” he repeats one last time. An arborist and a former medic. What a pair they make. He smiles up at Megatron. “It suits you.”
Megatron rests a servo ontop of Ratchet’s. Gently he pats, “Well I have learned a few things since coming here.”
Ratchet lets him go. With a wave of his hand, he announces sarcastically, “Well at least I’m able to still teach someone, something.”
Megatron lets his helm hang back. “Ratchet,” he reaches out trying to hold his partner. Ratchet deftly moves. He keeps just out of Megatron’s grasp. The pair move in tandem reaching and dodging away from the grove and back to their little home.