Chapter Text
Perhaps one could call their first meeting after the Dead End grandiose – if one got an eccentric sense of humor, and was willing to overlook the lewd glances the giant metal crab kept sending to Optimus, or the hundreds, maybe thousands of tired soldiers who did not have enough energies to sigh “again?”
When their optics met, the first thought springing out of Ratchet’s processor was Primus’ pipeline, I don’t want my share of an infatuated enemy.
Even with the distance, he thought he can make out the sudden flash in Deadlock’s optics. No, it was bad enough that Megatron’s obsession translateed into his enthusiasm of having a go at his old friend. He wanted an exemption from cliché porn setting as a medic, thank you very much.
And though medicine was a highly regarded profession for Cybertronians, and he was one of the best still performing on the field (to his knowledge), apparently that’s not enough for the Primus or the Thirteens of whatever frag that’s playing their lives like chess but mixing up rules of Go at the worst places. Over the sounds of the battle, he could hear the speedster’s engine – and worse, watching how he'd aimed straight at him.
He ran, of course.
“Ratchet - !” The kid’s voice was wild, and almost joyful, which in a war usually indicated a complete dissociation from reality (or served as a proof for fallen into psychosis. He refused to go that way.) “Haven’t seen you for a while - !”
At least, that’s what he assumed the Decepticon was saying. He might very well have said “Coward – wait until I get your helm!” with how shouts and explosions were distorting the sound. He didn't think it was the latter though. Although Deadlock had howled at his decision of sticking to Optimus’ side, his exact accusation had been misplacing loyalty and mistaking the weak side with the right side, so, guess that’s not what he’s saying.
Kid might be a speedster, but Ratchet didn’t live this long without a few tricks underneath his servos. He took a rather nasty downward turn, aiming to lose his chaser with heavier weight and sturdier built. Though there was a satisfying moment when something crashed into the standing rock, hard, the speedster’s engine keeps thrumming behind him. Bugger. He hit zigzag routes and even once cut his way through groups of waring soldiers, hoping that the commotion would knock Deadlock out of it, or perhaps one of his superiors would yell at his insane pursuit of the Autobot medic and forced him to stop this meaningless chase. For Unicorn’s sake, the kid wasn’t even trying to maim him or kill him. What did Deadlock assume would happen when they caught up – he did not want to think more about it, he really didn’t.
For a last ditch effort, he drove to a cliff and transformed at the last minute. To his relief, the kid hadn’t been quick enough to halt, and was dangling at the precipice with one servo. To his horror, the rock could not afford the combined weight of two metal hunks, so it snapped, taking both of them down to the valley below.
I might have asked to join the war, he thought, but I definitely didn’t ask to die so stupidly.
“Ratchet, are you okay?”
I did not ask to fall some 50 meters, half buried by chunks, and then crushed to death by a hug. Damn, shouldn’t the kid be worse for wear than he was, being the victim of the broken cliff and Ratchet’s weight?
“Get the hell off me!” he shrieked.
Deadlock relented for a moment. But after checking for any visible wounds (amateur!), he resumed his effective assault on Ratchet’s body (and spark. When had someone last held him this yearningly, affectionately?)
“I find you! You’re alive and well!”
“I’m not well, I’m the opposite definition of well! You’re killing me!”
“Liar.” He said, like a love-sick fool. “Over-dramatic about small matters. You simply want to get away from me, perhaps robbing me of my energon and weapons.”
“We’re on the opposite sides of a war, what else do you expect?”
“I don’t know! I just want to see you, alright?” There was a stutter, and then he went on. “I know you’re almost always with the Prime, so my chance of killing you when blowing up Autobot outposts were slim. I try not to think about you but you’re always on my mind.”
“Well, that’s your reward for running with the treacherous, blood-thirsty gladiator. You could have been working with me, instead of having offlining me listed as one of your goals of the vorn.”
“I’ll not – ” There’s a violent shake – what’s wrong with his systems – “Someone has to stop the Prime and his ever expending harem, and it will have to be someone from the outside!”
“Harem? How does Optimus match the word? The most salacious act this mech has ever performed is being surrounded by confiscated datapads and reading them. If you think of books as lovers, then yes it’s a harem of sort. But never the living mechs!”
“Power corrupts. And of course you’re speaking for him. You love him more than you like me.”
“He is my best friend.” He said quietly. Just when a wounded expression showed on the kid’s face, he pulled out his wrench and knocked, hard.
It was his luck that he had a stasis cuff in his sub-space. He was truly impressed by the kid’s energon collection. Who still keep lead shaving as part of their saving? He even had a gold leaf wrapped up in in layers.
“At least eat it yourself.”
“Just for that sentence, I’m bringing it back to Optimus.”
Deadlock glared, but it was more mournful than anything else.
It was more obvious that something was glitched when Ratchet started thumbing through his weapons. The kid had guns, his arsenal more than enough to supply for a small squad. There was some violent shaking that the medic was sure had nothing to do with his handling or the gunner struggling. And while the Decepticon protest against the theft, he didn’t seem angry that he was parting with his carefully curated collection.
He had once seen Wheeljack whining when one line of his favorite bullets ran out. Soldiers were more protected of their possession that.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s almost like someone take out the aggressive part of your processor and - ” A thought, horrible and unbidden, came to him. “What do your liege find with your infatuation of me?”
Deadlock squinted.
“Come again?”
“Does Megatron not know that you love me?”
“Oh, yes, but we have it settled. Just a little chip, and I’m saved from my raging state.”
“A chip?”
“For rewriting certain emotional pathways. It’s harmless. Look, I’m talking to you civilly, instead of pointing a gun at you and shouting why you’ve abandoned me. That would have been pathetic, wouldn’t it?”
Perhaps, but he was more furious at Megatron messing with his subordinate’s processor. It was strange that he didn't argue strongly when they gave out relief patches to soldiers, but the thought that someone was messing with Deadlock’s mind for a “greater good” made him want to tear out someone’s spark – preferably Megatron’s.
“Open your port for me.”
“Hang on, you can’t take advantage of my affection just because you wanted some stress relief – ”
“I’m giving you a medical examination, don’t scrap the whole thing with your dirty mind, exhaust fume.”
Deadlock offlined and onlined his optics. “It’s too good to be true.”
“Lucky you, it’s happening.” He offered his cable. It wasn’t so hard to convince the kid then to slide back his port cover.
And, well, he should have thought it through before deciding on the procedure. Perhaps there was some unknown processor malfunction that tipped Deadlock into a killing machine, or made him into an empty-headed junkie who felt and said nothing, that the Decepticon medic – he had his bet it was Hook – had a valid reason of enforcing outward control. What he was trying to say was, he regretted deactivating the chip the moment it was done.
Of course Deadlock had his own tricks with cuffs. Of course the newly minted nightmare of Autobots could throw an ambulance roughly twice his weight as easy as swiping the gun he'd laid down on the ground.
Fine. He deserved it. He only had so much care left for mechs he'd had once known and was fighting for the opposite faction. Most of them were medics, the only combatant being Deadlock. Now he was paying for his stupid, feeble hope.
“You’re killing me?” He asked. “Go on, shoot and be done with it. Megatron would be so pleased that you’ve conquered your weak point.”
The Decepticon’s expression was dark, with a hidden trace of hurt.
For a moment Ratchet thought he had really pulled the trigger with how much his helm hurts, but turned out that resounding clang and pain were the result of Deadlock hitting him with a rifle’s handle.
“That’s payback.” He rasped.
Through the pressing helmache, he watched as Deadlock did the reverse thieving and secured his and Ratchet’s cubes, as well as tools and weapons.
He peeled a medical grade and pressed it to his intake. “Drink.”
There was a long and uncomfortable silence.
“Fine.” The gunner gulped, and smashed the container on the ground. He pulled out another cube, and shoved it roughly into Ratchet’s subspace.
“I don’t understand.” Ratchet said. “To deal with your infatuation of me, the medic gave you a chip of suppressing your violent tendency?”
He barked a laugh. “No, the chip stops me from trying to run to you. Such a shame that you’re here, and took advantage of the medical hardline to make a wrong move.” He tweaked Ratchet’s cable. “Perhaps I should return the favor?”
“Medic has better firewalls than you think.”
“There are other ways of interfacing.”
“Is it really a smart move to rape the mech you love?”
“I hate you.”
“I’m mad at you as well, kid. That cancels out nothing.”
Deadlock gave out a defeated chuckle. It was almost like a sob.
When he leaned down, Ratchet did nothing to resist the kiss – nor did he do anything to deepen it. Deadlock’s lips were chapped and supple, his kiss alarmingly soft.
He could tell from Deadlock’s face that he understood what Ratchet meant: though the medic may not despise him enough to resist him, he did not love him enough to answer him either.
There was a crackle. The egotistic warlord’s sound came out of Deadlock’s receiver. “I don’t care if you’ve caught up with the medic or not, Deadlock. It’s time for regroup. Get back as fast as you can.”
“On it, my liege.”
He looked solemn when he ended the call. It was unnerving, but also a relief to see him concentrated, instead of being high and dreamy. He might have fixed Deadlock – Ratchet realized – but all it did was giving the Autobots an assassin with a clear processor to hunt on them.
“You should call your side.” He said quietly. “Make them pick you up. You wouldn’t like it if other Decepticons find you.”
“Like Unicorn I will.”
Deadlock grinned – just a little, just enough to show the tip of his lovely sharp denta – and then he transformed and drove off, leaving Ratchet alone.
Leaving Ratchet and the fourth incoming call from Optimus Prime.
“There’s a scuffle, but I’m fine – I swear.” He sat up slowly. “Though a lift would be appreciated.”