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When they attempted another quantum jump, it was Drift who said, ‘Who knows? Maybe the new universe will be virtually identical or fantastically different.’ or some slag like that.
Well, here’s something fantastic:
A month into the parallel universe, Ratchet and Megatron became best friends.
Now he could only watch as his beloved cozy up with former Public Enemy Number One over cocktail drinks.
And it’s been weeks!
“He does know that I’m heavily pregnant, right?”
“No, he doesn’t.” On the positive side, Drift wasn’t alone in this. Rodimus was more showy of himself being a clingy glitch towards his bonded. Not that Drift misses Ratchet in a lesser intensity but atleast his meditation has helped reel his feelings in. “Because you’re NOT sparked and I know this is your newest scheme to get Megatron to notice your clingy aft.”
“We are courting!” Rodimus dramatically slammed his fist on the table. Helms turned, but Megatron and Ratchet weren’t fazed. Did they even notice their respective lovers wallowing together like kicked turbo puppies on a corner? “I have every right to monopolize that oversized scraplet! Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!”
Drift choked on his drink. Tailgate shouldn’t have put on Finding Nemo last night. “I get you. I miss Ratty too but come on, atleast they’re happy with whatever they‘re doing...or talking about.”
“Talk about? Primus, their little doctor group is all Megatron talks about! I just want to be cuddled and cared for and rubbed all over by those big, strong arms and big, big servos. I just want to talk about our future.” Rodimus slumped helplessly on the table. “Hey, imagine you and me, Drift, both barepede and carrying. Wouldn’t that be adorable? Then we’d be the ones talking everyday about cute bittie names and it’s their turn to get jealous.”
Drift tapped his empty energon cube on the table. “Actually, Ratty once told me that it’s better for the larger framed bot to carry, so when the developed spark drops to the forge, it would have enough space to grow its protoform. Well, both of us still can, but the bigger the better, you know?” He said matter-of-factly.
“Great!” Rodimus threw his hands without facing up. “You’re spewing medical slag too, why don’t you go and join them and leave me here all alone? No one loves me, anyway.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re in this together, brother.” Drift poked two digits on Rodimus’s forehelm to lift his face up.
“Oh yeah? What do you suggest we do together?”
“Uh, cry about it?”
“Ugh!” Rodimus slammed his helm down back on the table, and it took all of Drift’s self control not to scream in pain when his poor digits got pinned under. “I knew it, I knew that double date was a mistake!”
Rodimus groaned in regret. After all, it was his idea. One box to tick off in his Amica Goals <3 bucket list. It was more of an earthling concept but he had always found the idea adorable. Okay, so he acquired a BFF, great. What he didn’t factor was Drift getting engaged with a cantankerous old medic with a single facial expression and him, being in a relationship with fragging Lord Megatron of all mechs.
(Yes, he would still bash his head on a wall sometimes because somebody please snap him out of it. When Megatron blasted him to be left for dead in space back then, he wasn’t really thinking, ‘One day, I’d tap that.’)
Weeks ago...
Two overly eager best friends squirming in their seats and two grumpy mechs with temper issues, the planned double date spelled a capital ‘DISASTER’ out of the fiery carcasses of blown up vessels from lightyears away.
‘Awkward’ lacked the weight to describe the first half a joor. No one could make small talk to save their lives. How in the Pit could they talk about the weather in outer space?
So it was thirty minutes of Drift and Rodimus doing most of the speaking—which was mostly about themselves and no-good scraps they’re up to, of Ratchet only grunting in response, and poor Megatron squashed in the booth, focusing intently on his meal like he was a sparkling forbidden to speak.
Bots who came and went kept shooting weird looks at their pitiful table, probably thinking who fried their processors that bad to decide a romantic get together between them.
Well, not everyone could be as jolly as Tailgate and Cyclonus on a date with Chromedome and Rewind. And with Cyclonus accidentally wounding Rewind once at that. The ruckus those four could make—granted, Whirl fifth-wheeled sometimes, plus Tailgate could talk a titan’s audial off and Cyclonus was a popstar when he’s not brooding so their outings were always fun.
As for their own quartet, Primus.... Ratchet and Megatron never had things in common, except being grumpy and former enemies old enough to try and personally murder each other once or twice, or five hundred times during the war.
Drift was startled by a sudden ping from his amica.
:My back hurts:
:Huh? Why?: He comm’d back.
:From carrying the entire conversation!: Rodimus contemplated throwing his astro-turkey sandwich at a wall. :Let’s get out of here, I can’t take this vibe anymore!:
Was he suggesting that they ditch their partners?!
:No, I don’t wanna leave Ratchet alone!: Drift protested, and may or my have not grabbed Ratchet’s servo underneath the table. Rodimus noticed anyway.
:Wow, clingy much? Just for a while! They’re big boys, they can handle a few kliks without us!:
:If they’re big boys, they could’ve handled talking to each other half an hour ago.:
:Exactly my point!: Rodimus had to stop himself from slapping the table. :Let’s leave them to it and let them bond! We can’t be future neighbors and trade meals over the fence if our own hubbies aren’t atleast amicable!:
Drift stared at him as if he just declared another war on Cybertron. Were those the kinds of slag his best friend’s thinking about while he slack off on paperwork? :You know what? I’m just surprised that you’d want to settle your aft down someday.: He ex-vented, turned to give Ratchet a quick kiss and excused himself out of the booth.
:Heh. Even I want to get conjunxed and have sparklings one day.: Rodimus followed suit. That was when Megatron and Ratchet realized that they were gonna be left alone together. The instant panicked expressions on their partners’ faces would’ve been hilarious if he wasn’t busy imagining red mini Megatrons in his arms.
“Wait, where are you two going?” Ratchet inquired with a frown.
“To get more drinks!” Rodimus hurriedly replied, because Drift couldn’t lie to his Ratty to save his life. But it wasn’t a lie. Maybe they would pop in at Brainstorm and Perceptor’s table for a bit of chatting, and once the queue on the counter thinned (when Megatron and Ratchet had enough alone time.), they could order fresh drinks.
“We’ll be back, Ratchet.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie too. Drift leaned in for an apology kiss. “Love you!”
“Behave while I’m gone, Megs, okay?” Rodimus wished he could smooch the pout off Megatron but it was too cute to risk. “Meanwhile, you two acquaint yourselves and err, talk or glare at random things, or something...see ya!” He all but pushed his best friend away from their table.
“N—No! No, I’ll get them! Just—” Megatron stood up too late, so he just sat back down helplessly, trapped with an equally put off mech sitting across him.
Megatron and Ratchet couldn’t pinpoint where they stood with each other.
They weren’t enemies anymore, so even if ignoring and glowering at the other was easier, they couldn’t actually do that. Minimus would have their heads for disrupting the newfound peace. But they weren’t friendly enough to try to pick up a conversation without it sounding like they were talking for the sake of filling the silence. Words would be stilted. Reactions would be faker than Starscream wearing the Matrix.
“Oh Primus, look at them, Drift!” Rodimus peeked over his shoulder to see their respective boyfriends look at anything but each other. “Sheesh. That’s more awkward than the silence after Ultra Magnus cracks a joke.”
“That’s because we only realize that he said a joke right when we’re about to sleep.” When Drift subtly turned his helm back, Megatron’s intakes was moving and Ratchet was slowly nodding (with his focus set on an empty cube he’s toying with), so an attempt at small talk was made at least. “Come on, let’s not make them wait for too long or we’re both single by the end of this date.”
Megatron cycled his vocalizer for the fifth time in three kliks. He could pretend that his voice box was the issue but a medic like Ratchet and a not-idiot like him knew that there was nothing wrong with it.
It’s finding the words to break the ice.
“So,” The moment he opened his mouth, it became one of the top ten things he regretted, and an ex-genocidal maniac usually regrets a lot. “how are you—” No, too personal. “—yourrr... your patients. How are your patients doing?”
There! Just what a captain should do. Ask after the well being of everyone in the ship.
The other side of Ratchet’s helm tilted upwards in a way that gave him the impression of raising one optical ridge in question. “If you mean the drunk bots throwing up in corridors every night then they’re slag-faced as usual.”
“Every...night?” Megatron stared at Ratchet like he was a moron. Come on,they’re in space. What is night? What is day? Either Ratchet didn’t catch it or he didn’t find it funny. “Ah, it was a jest. Forgive me.” Megatron brought up his drink to save himself from seeing Ratchet’s reaction. The glass was empty. Well, frag. Perhaps he could follow Rodimus in the pretense of getting one for himself?
“Speaking of,” Ratchet pressed on in a steady voice, pretending that he wasn’t disturbed at Megatron attempting a joke. “we have to make a landing at the next mechanical planet we come across. Medic-grade energon is running out, but idiots getting themselves sick do not.”
Megatron nodded. “Noted. I shall inform Minimus.”
And that was that.
Megatron was back to staring woefully at his plate. Ratchet’s neck cables already hurt from looking around the bar too much, his face set in a casual poker face. Nothing’s wrong here. Megatron and I are having the time of our lives, thank you very much.
Still, helms turned in curiosity at their quiet table. Ratchet’s aware how intimate they look sitting at the furthest end of the booth face-to-face. Should he slide to his right and put some distance? Wouldn’t that be even more awkward?
“How are you and Drift?” Megatron suddenly popped out, to which Ratchet responded before he could finish the sentence.
“I don’t think that’s your business.” Ah, crap. Ratchet mentally cursed. It’s not that he was against sharing anything about his relationship with Drift...but it was Megatron. His processor warred with what left of his hostile coding towards the ex-warlord. The idea of him sharing something personal with his former enemy was outright rejected by his entire system. Seeing Megatron’s red optics dim for a bit and his dermas sag was quite uncomfortable, however.
He was genuinely upset. “Oh, of course. I apologize.”
“N-No, it’s me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude.” Ratchet sighed, one servo crawling up his scowling face. “Well, yes, I am rude all the time but I’m not. I-It’s just...it was millions of years, Megatron, you have to understand.
“Ratchet, please. I do understand, really.” Megatron pacified. “I hear worse everyday from the security and maintenance bots whenever I attempt a harmless conversation.”
So Megatron being a manipulative glitch never stopped. If he was trying to make him feel bad for him? It's working.
“We’re good.” Ratchet picked up. “Yeah, Drift and I are good. Never better, actually.” There was no need to tell Megatron that they’re getting the hang of their meeting halfway dynamic day by day, especially when Drift managed to make him call Primus by his name during optics-shattering, processor-blowing orgasms. “How about you and Rodimus?”
Megatron swirled his digit around the rim of his glass. There was so much to tell about Rodimus, but he doubted that the doctor wanted to hear the fifty seven poems he had composed for his courted last night.
“Uh, good. We’re good.”
They’re so slagging bad at this.
“Aaaand BOOM!” Whirl cackled when Brainstorm pulled the Exploding Cyberkitten holocard. “ I won! Pay up!”
“This game doesn’t involve credits, Whirl.” Brainstorm protested like the loser that he was. “Nor we agreed to anything.”
“Then perhaps—” Whirl pulled out a blaster. “—a ransom, or your helm will be the one exploding next!”
Spectators took off to different directions like startled bot-cockroaches.
Drift nudged his amica amidst the sudden chaos. “Let’s go back, we’ve been gone for too long.”
“Like the earthlings say, amen to that.” Rodimus was too happy to throw the holocards back and escape from the two arguing freaks. “Imma be honest, I forgot about them. Scrap. How could I forget that I’m on a date with Megs, Drift?”
“Well, I hadn’t.” Drift replied, although he was thinking more of Ratchet than his ex-boss. Perceptor’s card games were fun and riveting but his sparkmate remained his top conscious thought. “Hopefully, Ratty won’t be too pissed.” Hopefully, Ratchet haven’t gone up and left Drift’s aft without a word.
Rodimus scoffed. “You mean, hopefully, they grew up and started socializing like mature, millions of cycles old mechs.”
“Yeah, that too.”
Drinks. They were supposed to get drinks. Which would turn out as a wasted effort, because their table was somehow filled with scattered empty cubes all over.
Bu that wasn’t the strangest sight.
It was Megatron and Ratchet talking animatedly like they were given only a minute to discuss every topic in the galaxy. Helms shook, servos swung here and there to help visualize their words, and Primus, did Megatron just smile?!
When Ratchet laughed along, Rodimus was instantly alert.
What is this new Pit-slagging devilry the Lost Light is about to go through?
Presently...
It wasn’t uncommon for Ratchet to get back late. Today, the usual tired smile was absent from his face. Granted, it turns into a genuine one as soon as he gets under the care of Drift’s very adept digits, but this time, it wasn’t only the joyous facial expression that told of his late night endeavor. Ratchet’s EM field hummed with fun and satisfaction, magnified tenfold by the mere presence of his sparkmate.
Drift sat up from the berth, took one look at Ratchet’s contagious smile, and then opened his arms. “Hmm, so the party went well? Come here. It’s my turn!”
Ratchet huffed, the irises of his optics rolling at his beloved. It was a struggle not to rush in his embrace, Drift patiently waited for him all the same.
To his surprise, Ratchet dived straight into the berth. Strong arms wrapped around Drift’s waist as the medic dragged himself closer, inhaling his sparkmate’s scent after a long day’s work, and reacquainting himself with the homely warmth of Drift’s frame after spending time with less familiar bots.
Drift’s arms fall to caress Ratchet’s helm. He chuckled. Well, this is great too.
“Turns out,” Ratchet began, dermas pressed against Drift’s abdomen. “it’s not like I hate fun and parties, I just have to do it with my people.”
His people. A circle that started with him and Megatron at the center. When Drift and Rodimus left their respective partners to ride out the awkwardness between them, they didn’t expect that another kind of bond would form instead. Somehow, the forced small talk led to Megatron’s time in the Functionist Universe.
And then they found a common ground: medicine.
Small talk generated questions, questions expanded to discussions, discussions gave way to easy conversations that lasted well into the night—or whatever counts as night in space.
When the next work week came around, Ratchet had welcomed Megatron in the medbay as a colleague. So on top of being Captain Megatron, Doctor Megatron started walking around to take care of drunk mechs and repair misaligned aft plates.
Eventually, they had dragged in other medibots in their never ending discussions. They sparked debates left and right, and someone basically said, hey, talking about medicine as medicine experts is kinda fun! And that’s how Ratchet found his people—Megatron, Velocity, Nickel, First Aid, and everyone who has a background in healthcare—they were with him all along.
Tonight was their first trivia night at Swerve’s.
Judging from the big, grumpy old mech melting into a happy mush in his lap, Drift knew that it went well.
“Believe it or not, fun looks good on you.” Drift cradled Ratchet’s face between his servos. Ratchet’s optics narrowed at the comment, but he met Drift’s waiting kiss halfway. “Just try not to smile too much around others, please? I’m actually a very jealous mech. I’ll cry too.”
“Idiot.” Ratchet grumbled. “You’re the only dumbaft to have a crush on someone old and withered like me.”
“Ratchet, I’ve told you as many times as the stars in this universe, you’re gorgeous, buff, and hot.” His beloved is simply beautiful inside and out. If all his suffering led to him getting bonded with this mech, Drift would do it all over again. Ratchet’s worth everything.
“Hot-headed, definitely.” Ratchet argued. “Well, good news for you, I never smiled at anyone. I had my resting glitch face on even when I won all the rounds.”
Drift rewarded him with another peck. “Congratulations.” No offense to the other medics, but Ratchet sweeping the floor with them was already given. “You smiled at Megatron, though. During the date.”
“Might be the only one he’ll get for another million years.” Ratchet sassed, though his glowered softened upon remembering that day. Whether he admitted it or not, he and the ex-warlord had become fast friends over the weeks. And with this new friendship, his time with Drift was being cut short. Not that drastically, but they’ve been apart long enough these days to realize that Pits, he’s fragging missing him so bad, everytime he walked back to their habsuite. He reached up to brush his digits on Drift’s side vents. “I’ve been neglecting you lately, haven’t I?”
Drift caught Ratchet’s servo and kissed his palm. “I can handle a few joors without you, Ratty. I’m a big boy.” He chuckled. “Missing you’s worth it as long as you’re coming home to me happy like tonight.” Oh but Drift, the big part of me being happy is coming back to you. Ratchet doesn’t say, but translates it to his EM field. “Besides, I’m glad that you’re enjoying your time with some friends. That’s not a bad thing.”
“It’s not.” Ratchet sat up, parted his legs and gestured for Drift to come between. It was his turn to be the big spoon. “Still, thanks for being patient with me. I know I don’t say it much but, I love you.”
“Same here.” Drift turned his helm sideways, Ratchet caught his derma in a sweet, loving kiss.
Somewhere else in the Lost Light, a stressed out Megatron recalibrated his vocalizer’s settings for the nth time as he prepared to recite his sixteenth poem. He had written about twenty five of these, for when he needed to woo Rodimus into forgiving him for being too busy.
Only Rodimus’s spoiler responded to his attempts so far. It was just... there, irritatingly too yellow for his mood. Its owner remained seated on the edge of the berth with his back turned on him. A part of Megatron reveled at this sight, which is why sometimes, he lets Rodimus walk out from a fight.
His curves never fail to drive him crazy.
But if he wanted those curves, and his dearly beloved back, he needed to up his game.
“For even when I have my optics elsewhere, I still yearn.
My love for you haunts me at every turn.
Oh, darling, won’t you meet me there?
Around the corner I wait and let my spark flare.”
There, the sixteenth version of him saying basically the same thing: he’s sorry for not paying attention to Rodimus for ten minutes.
Well, okay, Megatron had been spending too much time with Ratchet and the other medibots lately but come on, he never had friends before without danger or suffering chasing their afts. He had never been to meet ups that didn’t have life-and-death agenda behind them.
What he had with their little group was just pure, plain fun.
He thought Rodimus understood that.
Rodimus didn’t even turn an inch. Megatron ex-vented. Nevermind, onto the seventeeth.
“As I gaze upon—”
“Your poems won’t work.” the Prime bitterly spat. Finally, he had acknowledged Megatron, but not in the way the ex-warlord anticipated. Hearing his voice is still an immense relief, Megatron would take anything from him other than silence. “Which is, don’t get me wrong Megs, they are beautiful. So, so beautiful. But words can only ease my spark so much.”
“Rodimus—”
He was rudely cut off again, but it was worth it this time. Because Rodimus at last turned, if only to glare daggers at him. “It means touch me, you undercooked oil-waffle!”
“Oh!” Oh, so that’s what he was pouting about. “Apologies, I didn’t know if you were in the mood. Last time I attempted to, you threatened to burn me alive.” Megatron chuckled as he sat behind his lover. Rodimus shrieked when he was picked up like a sparkling, before Megatron sat him on his lap facing him.
Rodimus whole frame sagged against his courted’s. His arms wrapped around Megatron’s neck, feeling the rest of his annoyance instantly melt away.
There’s no place he’d rather be than in Megatron’s embrace.
(Atleast when they’re not interfacing, because Rodimus would just looove to get all over him.)
“When I say don’t touch me, it actually means touch me, and when I say don’t touch me, it means don’t touch me for a few nano-kliks, then chase after me and touch me.”
Megatron stilled for a few seconds. When he moved again, he pressed a kiss on the side of his beloved’s helm. “You’re a piece of work.”
Rodimus scoffed. “But I’m your piece of work, and you love me.”
“Indeed.”
Quiet laughter punctuated their conversation. Silence stretched for a while as they sat there, just holding each other, until Rodimus ex-vented. “Look, I’m sorry if I got upset. I’m proud of you, Megs, really. And I know how much your new friends mean to you, but once in a while, I would like to feel that I mean to you too.”
“Rodimus, you mean the whole universe to me.” Megatron insisted, but Rodimus laid a servo on his intakes to shush him.
“I know. I know how you feel about me, it’s just...I have this need to be constantly reminded, you know?” Rodimus shook his helm. “It’s immature, yes. Maybe I’m just really insecure, I don’t know—but it’s why sometimes words aren’t enough for me. I just...I don’t know...Primus—”
Megatron grounded him back with a fierce kiss. their servos wandering to the back of each other’s helms to pull each other closer. “Don’t worry, I hear you loud and clear, Rodimus. I got you.”
A heated debate ignited at Swerve’s. Bots turn to the madnesss unfolding in front of their optics. Bots including the very famous doctor group. For once, they weren’t the ones screaming at the highest setting of their vocalizers.
It was Rodimus and Drift, locked in an argument about whose boyfriend is better.
A question that started passing around the crew. Bets were placed. Surveys were conducted. Pictures of Ratchet's and Megatron’s helms were pasted on model-bot posters. More arguments ensued. Nobody’s sure who will end up winning.
The one thing that’s sure: Drift, Ratchet, and Rodimus, and Megatron would never have a peaceful double date to save their lives.