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If Megatron wasn’t informed that he was sentenced to execution the moment he was thrown back into a cell, this would’ve told him.
“Wake up!” the prison guard barked at him. Like he ever slept at all. “Someone wants to see you!”
Confused, Megatron activated his optics. Because if they were allowing a visitor in contrast to a condition for life imprisonment, then it means they have chosen the second option. He knew that already, but the tiniest kindle of hope altogether died in his spark that very moment. Megatron’s not a hypocrite; he didn’t want to die. But those words he told Rodimus, he intends to believe them until his very last moment: that whatever fate befalls him, he deserved worse.
And so life said, why not start by having the mad doctor visit you?
“Ratchet.” Megatron stated, optics trained on the familiar bulk of red and white bathing in the blue of his cell’s energy bars, the medic’s old face set in it’s usual scowl. “What brings you to Garrus-10 this late? I imagined that you’d rather be tinkering with somebody’s T-cog in your lab.”
Ratchet’s own pair of blue regarded him for a long time. “Now that you would cease to exist by tomorrow, I doubt that I would be holding damaged body parts any soon.”
Once upon a time, everybody in the vicinity would’ve had their helms blown off by a fusion cannon five seconds ago. The Megatron of today, weak and helpless and repentant, could only watch in surprise as Ratchet nodded to a guard who in turn raised a servo to signal somebody, before the energy bars parted to let Ratchet in his cell, unarmed and unsecured.
“What is the meaning of this?” Megatron glared after the retreating mech. “Why are they leaving us alone?”
“Relax, they’re still nearby. I only asked them to give us a bit of privacy.” To Megatron’s further shock, Ratchet merely plopped his weary aft on the ground, crossed his legs, then proceeded to stare up at him. “Sit.”
You dare give me an order?! Megatron pushed down the words with ease. “I’m already sitting.” he countered from his metal bench.
“With me, idiot.” The iris of Ratchet’s optics rolled.
“Then come here.” Megatron’s cuffed servos patted the non-existent space beside him. Ratchet scoffed. Yeah right, like both their fat afts would fit together without the damn thing collapsing. Megatron must’ve realized this too, his dermas slowly spread into a nasty grin that was an exact copy of Rodimus’s. By the AllSpark, the kid had rubbed off on the ex-warlord too much. “Well, as you wish.”
Blue strings of energy activated once Megatron stood up. They instantly latched onto the device attached to his pedes, effectively limiting his movement inside the already tiny cell. Ratchet’s gaze was unreadable when it fell on the restraints.
Megatron chuckled as he tried to squeeze himself between the other mech and the bench. “Forgive me, my dear doctor, but I think you’re the idiot for thinking that the floor could accommodate our frames more than the seat could.”
Forgive. Forgive. Forgive.
Forgive me....
The words triggered an opening for the ones that’s been stuck in Ratchet’s vocalizer.
“You don’t deserve forgiveness, Megatron.” He spat out involuntarily. At his desk, in their berth, on his way here, non-stop, he practiced what he wanted to tell Megatron like a desperate prayer.
During his rehearsals, he had tried coating the words with as much venom as possible, and yet right here, right now, Ratchet knew it in himself that he only said it out of habit. He couldn’t even summon the sheer anger he harbored for Megatron for millions of years. It was a mistake looking him in the eyes and see the sparkfelt penitence burning in there.
Frag. So this is how betraying Optimus and the Autobot cause felt like.
Megatron’s optics dimmed, his huge smile dwindling into a resigned look when he realized that Ratchet wasn’t talking about their earlier banter. A part of Ratchet wished that he could take it back, the very part of him that encouraged this visit in the first place.
“I know.” Megatron’s voice was small. Fragile. Ratchet only remembered it booming across battlefields. Somehow, it felt so wrong to hear it like that. Unlike his voice, Megatron refused to curl in on himself. “I don’t even deserve to attempt and ask for it. I could only hope that my death would atone for even a small part of what I’ve done.”
Ratchet let out a derisive snort before he could stop it. “An execution, really? I can’t believe they’re giving you the easy way out!”
“Ratchet, I—”
“No, no, you listen to me!” Ratchet prodded the Autobot symbol in Megatron’s chassis. “Alright, so you die and what? Would everyone you offlined come back? The lives you stole, the lives you ruined, would they magically rebuild themselves the moment that rust bucket roll off your shoulders? What are they going to kill you for, Megatron? Retribution? Punishment? You have never been afraid of dying, their vengeance would mean scrap! You’re more useful scrubbing the waste bins in Whirl’s quarters than you peacefully rusting in some junk yard! Imagine us struggling to pick up after your mess while you get eternal beauty sleep in the comfort of Primus’s fluffy aft or something—”
“Rung’s aft was thinner than your patience.”
Ratchet grumbled incoherently. “My point is, they should’ve opted for suffering. I’m a medic, I’m aware of your past and your traumas but oh you deserve torture, Megatron. Like...they could release you in my custody. You know, I could use a living body to gauge the pain caused by my wrench throwing skills.”
A long time ago, if somebody would tell him that he would one day have a spark-to-spark talk with Megatron, sitting intimately close on the floor like best friends on a sleepover, he would’ve believed in Primus earlier because only prayers and divine intervention could’ve saved their damaged processors.
“Alas, the Council had already decided.” Megatron leaned back, a smirk worming it’s way to his face at the thought of Ratchet taking him home. If only to be his target practice. “Why are you really here, Ratchet?”
“I—” Ratchet gaped at Megatron as if he had asked him a life or death question. “I hate you, Megatron. Countless galaxies out there hate you. I hate you for what you did to my friends, to the bots I cared about, for your endless attempts at Optimus’s life. My hate for you had been boiling inside me for millions of years. If only I didn’t take an oath, I would’ve ripped you piece by piece on that operating table that night Bumblebee asked me to save your pathetic life.”
“So you’ve come all this way just to tell me what I already know?” Megatron ex-vented harshly. True, he would never seek for anyone’s forgiveness but maybe an apology could ease, if only a little, the turmoil in the medic’s spark. Maybe he could give Ratchet something akin to a closure. He would be happy to, as a final good deed. “Look, Ratchet. I know you will never forgive me but I should still say it and I mean it, I’m sor—”
“Save it! I don’t need your apologies!” Ratchet snapped. “I don’t want to hear it! That is not what I came for! I’m here to tell you —”
“That this serves me right? That I deserved dying alone?”
“—THANK YOU, Megatron.” Ratchet’s cries reduced to a low, wobbly static. “I’m here to say ‘t-thank you’.”
Megatron’s optics quickly shuttered thrice. “I’m pretty sure you meant ‘frag you, Megatron’.
“Ugh, I would so offline you right this second! Don’t make me repeat it!”
Megatron shook his helm like he’s waking up from a trance. “I mean, you’re welcome?” He would do it all over again if it meant boarding that ship once more. “The Lost Light and her crew was the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I didn’t deserve such privilege. I would gladly risk my life—”
“No, I wasn’t talking about the Lost Light.” Ratchet cut off. “You were our captain and it was your duty to sacrifice your dumb fat aft as it was my duty to treat that said aft—no, Megatron. This is personal. I want to thank you for saving Drift.”
And Megatron truly wished that Drift didn’t get shot but he was grateful nevertheless that he was able to put his medical skills to help someone. The pride he felt for himself that day, was greater than what he felt when he razed the Senate to the ground. He wished Terminus had seen it. Megatron had to celebrate that little victory alone. Until Drift said ‘Urrgh, thank you’ and he couldn’t believe how a few simple words could mean the world to him that moment.
“Drift already thanked me, Ratchet.” Megatron allowed himself a smile. It was a sweet memory. “You don’t have to worry.”
“Just between you and me,” Ratchet whispered as if Drift would pop out of a waste bin. “That little speech you said? Of him being better as an Autobot? He has that recorded and wouldn’t shut up about it!” Sometimes, when Drift is on the edge of a powerful overload, his circuits would go haywire and out would come Megatron’s recorded voice the way Ratchet should’ve been coming from his beloved partner’s spike.
Megatron chuckled. The Scavengers, Drift...it was sad that he was getting fond of his former subordinates too late. “I take it you and him are close if my voice is constantly annoying you.”
“Megatron,” Ratchet gave him an ‘are you stupid?’ look. “I said thanking you for saving Drift’s life was a personal business. Without you, I wouldn’t have an annoying, walking helmache as a conjunx and my apartment wouldn’t smell like spicy deity fart all the time.”
“Oh!” Megatron’s optics widened. Right. Ever since coming back from the Necroworld, they had become more open, more touchy, and were often seen next to each other. Drift had been absent during his stay before Ratchet followed him so he wasn’t actually aware of their dynamics but according to the gossip at Swerve’s, the former CMO and the swordsmech’s closer proximity was a ‘tea’ itself. (Megatron was alarmed. Why would they want to drink the two mechs?) He remembered that after he treated Drift’s wounds, the two shared an embrace in public. The signs of them ending up together have been there all this time. “I’m sorry, I was merely surprised that there’s someone who would put up with an old crank like you. You and Drift are perfect together, so congratulations, I wish you both happiness.”
“T-thank you.” Ratchet was willing to pass up the insult for the sincerity behind Megatron’s smile. Slag it. As if not wanting the ex-warlord to be executed wasn’t a moral dilemma enough. “Enough about that, though. I’ve done what I came for.”
“Oh.” Megatron repeated in a somber tone. The thought of the inevitable fate awaiting him tomorrow slammed onto him like a titan’s punch. His spark started warming up, the heat uncomfortably hurtling down his tanks which began tying itself into chain knots. Never in his life did he imagine that Ratchet would be the last good thing he’d see before his death. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“NO!” Ratchet cried out far louder than necessary, startling them both. “I—not yet. I asked for half a joor, we still have about twenty kliks.”
“Thirty minutes? They wouldn’t even give Minimus five!” Megatron frowned.
“Well yeah,” Ratchet reached in his subspace. “Minimus doesn’t have a conjunx he could pool shanix with to buy their way in. This budget was supposed to be for our hot tub but eh. Have you taken your energon?”
Megatron’s in-vent could cause a tornado. “What?! You bribed the guards—?!”
“Shut up!” Ratchet slammed a square of energon jelly right on Megatron’s dermas
“Oomphff!”
The force created a rather unsightly splat around Megatron’s mouth. Ratchet snorted. In a low voice he pressed on, “I know they aren’t giving you proper nutrition so I brought you something.” He waved a box containing sliced energon treats. Megatron’s tanks let out a rumble of longing. It was true that he was being given the bare minimum. Why waste energon when he was going to die anyway? He was inclined to agree with them. “These plain ones contained medical-grade, I made them. And these pieces of multi-colored slags with crystal shavings are from Drift, sweetened by his thoughts and prayers, he would like me to tell you.”
An extra time and snuck-in food! “Ratchet, did YOU seriously just break the law to see ME?! That could put your medical license at risk!”
“I ain’t breaking anything but your face if you won’t eat.” Ratchet picked a jelly from the box. It jiggled between his digits. When Megatron refused to budge, he ex-vented. “Look, I’ve been a medibot long before you were constructed. All my life, basically. I’m aware of my fearsome reputations. I’m aware how valuable to society I am. So yes, maybe I’d pull ranks just this once. But I was a soldier too, I broke laws to save lives. Megatron, if our adventures in the Lost Light taught me something , it’s that sometimes I’m willing to look the other way in the name of a happy ending. Now eat and enjoy the time bought by our hot tub money.”
“Sorry about your hot tub.” Megatron mumbled before opening his mouth to receive the jelly. Being handfed by Ratchet was never in his cards too. “You know, you would’ve made a fine Decepticon.” He couldn’t resist adding in jest.
“Yeah, nice. I get to clang Drift sooner.” Ratchet deadpanned. Did the slag maker actually give him and his conjunx opposing ‘compliments’? Silence stretched for a while, broken only by the sound of Megatron’s enthusiastic chewing. The caregiver side of him broke at seeing someone so frail and starved. It was Megatron, but of course weakening him was a way to ensure safety. But still...”So, tell me how you became a medic in the Functionist Universe.”
Megatron froze mid-chew, and then his entire face lit up.
A part of Ratchet wished that Megatron stayed in the alternate universe. He could tell how happy the other mech was in there as he watched him blab about his profession without stop. Turns out, they weren’t quite different from one another. Like him, Megatron ran a free clinic while juggling his duties as a medic and a part of the Anti-Vocanionist League. A movement that he also became a leader of. Ratchet would’ve collapsed (albeit happy) at the intense workload on top of heavy responsibilities.
Megatron be damned for his sins but he was fragging amazing at his passions. In another life, they could’ve built a golden era of healthcare together. The conversation soon turned into a round of quizzing each other and correcting whatever inaccuracies they’ve said as if Megatron still had a tomorrow to rectify his mistakes.
“Hmm. Met some good mech in there?” Ratched teased when they slid to lighter topics.
“Lots of hook-ups, no someone special.” Megatron shook his helm. “Besides, I already had my amica endura, Terminus. He was all that I needed, until I lost him for real this time.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry.”
A wave of his hand, and Megatron stirred the subject back to their careers.
Debates followed after. Their voices raised in volume, their arguments had become heated enough for the guards to start approaching again. Or maybe because they needed to tell Ratchet that he had only five minutes left.
Ratchet raised his servos in surrender, ending their debate.
For the last time, he let Megatron win at something.
They celebrated through a duet of Megatron’s triumphant cry and Ratchet’s applause.
When the noise died down, so did their words.
Five minutes jumped to two in an instant. Ratchet scrambled his processors for something to say. Anything. He couldn’t leave Megatron without something of a farewell, but the damn son of a glitch seem content to stay silent and smiling until Ratchet was escorted out of the prison. Slagging Pits, of all times to go blank. Goodbye, Megatron was the only appropriate thing to say, yet it felt heavy on his glossa. Like the words themselves were the guillotine that would pre-maturely end Megatron’s life.
Saying it would make everything real and final.
Oh, but my dear doctor, this is real and final. Megatron would surely say.
Frag! Why, why do I not want to leave him?! Why do I not want him to die?! Why is a small part of me tempted to break him out?
Ratchet un-subspaced a fistful of credits and threw it at the guard’s pedes. “Give me three more minutes!”
The guard greedily shoved it all in his subspace. “You have four kliks and seven nano-kliks.”
Thankfully, they were left alone again.
“I truly hope that wasn’t for a vacation.” Megatron finally picked up. “You deserve all of Drift’s lovemaking.”
How the scrap are you talking so casually when your tomorrow is doomed?! Get angry, Megatron! Have enough strength to run away from here!
“DRIFT!” Ratchet yelled suddenly. His servos shot forward to grip Megatron’s cuffed ones. “Drift, he— Megatron. Right now, Drift is praying for you. Ever since we were told of your fate, he kept you in his prayers. It wouldn’t have changed anything but he hopes that somehow, you find comfort d-during your...during your last moments.”
Pray, Megatron! Pray that a door to another universe where you could live again opens right now!
“He’s a good mech.” Megatron squeezed his hand back. Clinging. As if begging him to not let go.“You’re very lucky, doctor.”
“M-Megatron—” Ratchet whimpered with a hint of desperation... “Please, g-get out of here.” ...and a whole lot of madness. The moment his plea left his mouth, Ratchet shut his optics in shame, hardly daring to believe that he begged the ex-warlord, the genocidal maniac, the murderer of his friends and the sworn enemy of the Autobots, to escape his punishment.
Megatron’s optics flared dangerously. He snatched his bound servos out of Ratchet’s grip. “Your foolish statement could’ve gotten you killed!” He snarled through gritted denta. “I will not run away, Ratchet. I am prepared to walk to my demise with my head held high.”
“Could you blame me for this last minute sympathy?” Ratchet felt Drift’s concern pulse through their bond. The thought alone that it couldn’t have been possible without Megatron broke something inside him. Ratchet would’ve crumpled to the ground if he wasn’t already sitting. “I almost lost him—Damn it, Megatron! Is it wrong of me to set aside everything you did and only care about you saving the mech I love?!”
“Yes, Ratchet, are you insane?!” Megatron fumed. “You’re a medic, snap out of it!Don’t speak as if the lives I took were worthless, I already made that mistake!”
“N-No, that’s not what I—”
“I could’ve extinguished Deadlock’s spark if I happened to be in the mood back then!” Megatron shut his optics. Yes, he would have had his best assassin killed without hesitation. All it required was a bad day and a bad news with Deadlock having the bad fortune of delivering it. “So don’t act like I was the salvation you’re making me out to be! I might as well be the reason you never get to reunite with the love of your life!”
You have shown your gratitude. Go home, Ratchet. Drift is waiting for you.
Heavy pedesteps echoed from outside. “Time’s up. Would love to accept more ‘gifts’ but the bosses are getting sus.”
“Indeed.” Megatron said flatly. “He was just leaving. Please escort the good doctor out and see to it that the stunt he pulled resulted to no consequences.”
“Aye, sure, Big M.”
Megatron silently reveled at the fire returning in the medic’s glare. Looks like whatever was muddying Ratchet’s judgment earlier had been cleared away by how little he regarded Drift’s life in the past. He watched as pain and fury joined together in a dance that had Ratchet’s expression contort into despise.
“I hate you, Megatron. I would always.” Ratchet gets to his pedes. “I hate you for everything. I hate you for what you told me about my conjunx. Most of all, I hate you for making this goodbye so difficult.” He reached out to Megatron’s chassis. Unlike his seething words and the hatred behind them, Ratchet tenderly caressed the red insignia like it was a friend he would never see again. Perhaps, in a way, that was true. “I may be constantly reminded of who you were. But I will also remember you as who you are. An Autobot to the very end. Farewell, Megatron.”
Millenniums of getting his shit together was what steadied Ratchet’s trembling frame as he walked away from Megatron’s cell. There’s a proper place and time to fall apart, to think of the absurdity of his momentary desire to free the former Decepticon leader, to apologize to a boundless field of blue flowers—Garrus-10 wasn’t it.
“Hey, Ratchet!” a voice called out. Sue him for turning back so quick with hopeful optics. But Megatron remained seated with that same soft smile on his face. “Tell Drift that his prayers already came true thirty-three minutes ago!”
Ratchet’s throat cables choked on his own energon. Without another word, he bolted the rest of the way out of Garrus-10, immediately folding into his alt mode the moment he slammed onto the road. He tried not to look back at the shrinking building through his side mirror.
Megatron. Megatron was in there, left alone as he waited for his last tomorrow.
A tomorrow filled with rough servos and EM fields laced with killing intention. Just like in the gladiatorial arena. Only this time, he couldn’t fight back. No audience to scream his name to celebrate his victory. This time, they would cheer for his death. This time, he would stay down forever.
Luckily, the road was empty this late, as Ratchet couldn’t find it in himself to control his steering correctly. He kept swerving from side to side, his wheels loudly screeching against the pavement. It was obvious that he was in no condition to drive.
The sudden explosion of his tires was probably a blessing in disguise. Ratchet jumped back up into his root mode, using the momentum to throw himself on the side of the road. “Okay, relax. You got this.” Ratchet stayed still to soothe the erratic palpitation in his spark chamber. He reached for a cube of magnesium-based medical grade to ease the excess charge in his fuel lines that was causing his jittery movements.
When he had calmed down a little, he tried to activated his comm.He was stopped, however, by the roar of an engine cutting through the quiet night. A blinding light hit Ratchet’s frame. It was gone in the next second, uncovering a sleek, white car with accents of red speeding towards him.
The car didn’t bother stopping before it unfurled into a handsome, pointy-helmed mech. Ratchet crashed right onto Drift’s waiting embrace. “Ratty! I sensed your distress and I came as fast as I could!” Drift wasted no time blanketing his conjunx in his EM field. Love-home-protection wrapped around Ratchet like a second hug.
That and Drift’s familiar smell took him over the edge. Ratchet finally broke down in tears, knowing that he was at the safest place he could ever be. Drift didn’t ask about anything, only soft coos, words of comfort, and the non stop forehelm kisses went past his lips.
“D-Drift, I couldn’t...I don’t understand what I’m feeling!” Ratchet sobbed, staring at his conjunx through blurry optics. “W-Would you hate me if I tell you that I didn’t want Megatron to die?”
“Oh never! Why would I hate you, Ratty?” Drift leaned closer to smooch the tip of his nose. “You have your reasons for feeling that way.”
“I don’t know. Slag him. Slag that spawn of a glitchy turbofox, he should be slowly fed to a pit of scraplets. I hate him.” Ratchet grumbled. “It’s not like I could ever forgive him! But Drift, whether we like it or not, he was part of our crew. Pits, he saved you, and I can’t fragging imagine my life without you! Y-You’re here...because of him. And now he’s in there all alone, acting like everything’s okay and I just can’t...I know I’m supposed to—”
Drift’s initial response was to smash their dermas together in a wet, messy kiss. This. Everything Ratchet could touch and taste that’s his conjunx was something he owed Megatron.
“Sucks that we got to know Megatron when he was simply like the rest of us.” Drift cupped Ratchet’s face, swiping his tears away with his thumbs. “It doesn’t erase the atrocities he did, but what are we supposed to do when we talked to him, laughed with him, and fought with him during the time he was the kind of mech we wanted him to be? A captain, a friend, and a former master who still owed me scraptons of unpaid overtime fee.”
Ratchet’s gruff chuckle vibrated between his servos. “So, who else?”
“Me? Not so much. We have a bad history, after all, but Magnus, Rodimus—oh I’ll let you read his messages, he’s having a total meltdown! And I’m pretty sure the rest of Megatron’s Fan Club felt the same way as you.”
“I’m sorry, Drift.” Ratchet bumped their forehelms together. “Pitying the mech who turned you into something terrible—I shouldn’t have. For what it’s worth, I snapped out of it when he started talking about you.”
“Hey, none of that, love.” Drift crooned softly, digits tipping Ratchet’s chin up to meet his optics. “I told you, becoming Deadlock was my choice. The only thing Megatron contributed was the dumb aft name—feel free to add that to the list of his personal offenses, by the way—you can pity him without offending me at all.”
At some point while he was listening to Drift talk, his sobs had completely subsided. He knew that it was his conjunx’s love and comfort that turned his frown upside down. Warmth bloomed in his chassis. Ratchet couldn’t believe his luck. What noble sacrifice did he do in his past life that the universe gifted him Drift? He might believe in the divinity, after all.
“Drift, I love you.” Ratchet nearly collapsed from the sheer weight of his feelings suddenly pouring out. “Primus, I love you so, so much.”
Drift’s mouth fell open. “Y-You called Primus!” the idiot pointed out. “You acknowledged Primus!”
“Listen to this because I would never say it again for five hundred cycles. ” Ratchet growled, snipping off Drift’s reply when he claimed the speedster’s lips hungrily. “Drift of Rodion, my conjunx, my forever. I would call all your dang gods and swear to them one by one how much I love you!”
An audial-shattering shriek echoed around the empty road. Before either realized it, Drift’s pedes were already off the ground as Ratchet spun him in midair until he set the giggling swordsmech down for a long overdue kiss. Their arms wrapped securely around each other like a fixed mechanism. No matter how much they were prodded, twisted, and turned away from each other—they would always fall back in the same embrace.
“You know, Ratty,” Drift swayed their bodies in a slow dance. “Sometimes it’s so scary how much I love you. One day, I wouldn’t be able to handle it anymore then I would have to eat you so you’d live inside me forever.”
Ratchet pulled back a bit, incredulous. “You couldn’t just say a normal ‘I love you’?”
“We were aboard the Lost Light. What even is ‘normal’ these days?”
“Ah, you’re right. Seems like I married a sparkeater” Still swaying, Ratchet ignored Drift’s indignant ‘Hey!’. He switched their places, with his conjunx’s back to the facility in the distance and Ratchet’s chin resting on the other mech’s shoulders where he could stare intently at the dark building. At the mention of the Lost Light, his thoughts strayed back to Megatron.
Ratchet’s just gonna have to accept it: there was nothing more he could do. None of them would be able to rip Megatron’s fate out of his own willing servos. Goodbye, Megatron. Thank you for saving Drift. He prayed, hoping one of his conjunx’s deities would carry it back to their reluctant friend.
He would forever treasure the gift Megatron had given him. A second life.
“Come, let’s go home.” Ratchet laid a soft kiss on the gift. His love, his forever, his conjunx, his Drift. “I’ll let you rub your Primus-blessed essential oils on me.”
“Walk?” Drift grinned, already lacing their digits together.
Ratchet glanced at his busted tires. Even if it wasn’t blown up, he knew what choice he was going to make.
“Walk.” Ratchet squeezed their joined hands. Drift watched the night sky twinkle through the reflection of his conjunx’s optics.
“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”