Ratchet stood at the monitor, having been locked in a still position for quite some time. The screen in front of him, just inches away, glared at him in what seemed to him like triumph. His servos laid flatly on the keyboard, having typed a while ago, but were now as stiff as the rest of his chassis. Ratchet's optics could only stare back, his expression one of turmoil and doubt.
The day had begun and immediately Ratchet had been forced to get to work again. Already, much of the code had been encrypted, but it seemed to be an endless stream of work and rabbit trails. Ratchet was a bit glad for this; the longer those things were away from Megatron's servos the better. Yet, that meant more trouble for Ratchet, and his family back home in Nevada. The warlord would become impatient if it took too long, he knew, and his team would stop at nothing to get him back, especially after the last recording.
Which meant that they were more than likely to get seriously injured.
The thought made Ratchet shudder, his spark sinking and his tanks churning anxiously. The thought of his team, at any given time, made the medic anxious, if he was being honest with himself. Megatron had told him that none of them had come for him. Which, Ratchet told himself, is what he wanted, what was best.
So why was there still a feeling of betrayal and hurt stinging deep down inside him?
He tried to push it back. Ratchet knew they were doing what was right, what he had first ASKED them to do. At the time, Optimus coming to decode it was worse than him decoding it himself. He had a wanted them to stay away, right? Because these horrible weapons couldn't and shouldn't be found. The risks, the dangers, the losses. All was too great for such a thing as that.
And here Ratchet was, working on decoding it.
The medic growled in frustration at himself. He felt ridiculous, stupid even, for surrendering to the likes of Megatron. Over the lives of simple Vehicons. Ratchet tried to convince himself to forget them, let Megatron kill them ALL, as long as they were safe from being plundered of their minds and personalities. They were clones, practically tools, only there for the numbers and really nothing else. But Ratchet's medic code, his morals, were getting in the way of him fully convincing himself of that. He was a life saver, not taker. He didn't like to see those without a chance get slain without a hint of mercy. He was not a warrior, and that was a huge reason why. He cursed himself for it.
Or maybe it was a little more than that. Ratchet, after all, had lived through the war on Cybertron. He knew loss well, and he knew sacrifice. More than he liked to think about. Even as a medic, trading one important thing for the greater good was nothing he hadn't experienced before. No, perhaps it was more than just his code that had made him step in like that, that had brought him to decoding this monstrosity.
Ratchet sighed in frustration, raising his servos and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He had an idea of what it was. He was angry at himself for it, but that couldn't shake the feeling away, no matter how hard he tried.
Loneliness. The every present, anxiety inducing feeling of loneliness. Of being left behind.
Megatron had to be lying, a small part of him whispered, in the corners of his processor where he let his emotional problems get pushed back. He bit his derma, his chest feeling like it was being crushed from the inside out. He shouldn't have the desire to know. He should have been satisfied with the answer that they had made the right choice.
The medic jolted, looking up at the screen again with a new look of intrigue. While this was only one monitor, all of them had to be connected to the ship in some way. Which meant that maybe, just maybe, he could get into the mainframe. If he looked into the ship's log, or even the security cameras on the outermost parts of the ship, maybe he could find out if Megatron had deceived him. He hesitated, rubbing his digits together as he stood there in thought, his feelings colliding with themselves. He could easily get caught doing this, especially if they were keeping track of his activities. But the urge was so strong, it was almost too much for him to bear any longer.
Three days of doubting. Three days. What harm was there in finding out for himself, keeping it to himself?
Grunting in irritation with himself, he threw his servos at the keyboard again, making up his mind. A familiar feeling washed over him as he worked away, the screen flashing and words flying as he saved his progress with the data record of Iacon. He pushed that away, monitor and mind, and began hacking into the ship's systems, searching and breaking in rather easily, despite its impressive make up. He grinned with a small hint of pride as he flew through it all, having brought the cybernetic security down to its knees, in only an hour. Growing a bit excited, he typed faster, read faster, processed faster. Despite his weakened condition and horrible state of mind, he worked thoroughly and quickly.
There. The ship's log. Ratchet quickly glided through, skipping down to the specific date Optimus had been given to show. His spark fluttered a bit in happiness as he read it, a smile bursting out. Megatron had lied to him. There, right there. It said plainly and clearly that Bumblebee and Bulkhead had tried to shoot their way in, not far from the rendezvous point. It even had a file attached to the date, the feed of a few security cameras that had caught the action.
For a moment, Ratchet hesitated again. Did he want to see it? He realized quickly that if the two of them hadn't even made it close enough to the ship for Ratchet to hear them, or even WORD of them, that one or both of them could be injured. He hated the thought of their agony, and him not being able to help them. He quickly opened the file, a bit frantically. He had to know.
He had to know.
The file was clean and precise, as he expected it to be. It showed the images clearly. Ratchet grit his teeth as he watched the several platoons of Vehicons standing in wait. They suddenly began shooting and dividing strategically before the medic even saw what happened, which meant the Vehicons had caught sight of the scout and wrecked before the cameras did. Ratchet gripped the console hard as he watched the Decepticons fire mercilessly at them. Bumblebee popped into view first, firing with ease and determination in every step as he ran. Bulkhead was not that far behind, his jaw firm and anger in his movements as he barreled through the Vehicons.
Ratchet knew it was coming. It made logical sense. Still, he gasped in horror as Bee was finally brought down, after having taken many wounds to his frame. Bulkhead quickly came to his head, although he was not looking very clean himself. The wrecker helped Bumblebee up and through the what seemed like endless wave of Vehicons, before a GroundBridge appeared ahead of them. The two hesitated, making Ratchet's spark twitch with a certain feeling of longing, but they quickly transformed into their vehicle modes and drove in, just escaping the enemy.
The videos abruptly ended, the recording no longer than it needed to be. Ratchet stood there, feeling uncertain about how he should feel about what he had found. Relief and gladness has filled him, knowing that his family had come to try and find him, despite everything. At the same time, however, he knew that they shouldn't have. It had only hurt them, and Ratchet had no way of knowing if Bumblebee was in better health. It made him tremble a bit, his spark sinking. He stood there in silence, the only light present at all being the screen. Emotions battled within him, and he let them, making him shake and his physical pain feel worse.
When was the last time he had been so overcome with emotion like this? The turmoil within himself made him hurt, and he hated it. He just wanted the pain to go away, no matter how childish that sounded. The medic was good at keeping the troublesome feelings out of the way, normally. Decisive and stern was all he really needed to be most of the time. It helped keep the vulnerable part of him in check. He was the medic, and all of his team's senior. They didn't need to see him at such a loss, though that wasn't to say they hadn't before.
But this hurt more than anything had in a long time. He wanted to shut down and remain that way for a while. Wake up refreshed and refraining any of this pain. This conflict within himself that made him feel worthless for not being able to think straight. Ratchet's fists clenched at his sides, his helm bowed, as darkness creeped at the corners of his vision.
A sharp sound quickly snapped Ratchet out of it. He gasped, fear striking in his spark as he moved quickly. He didn't care who it was; they couldn't see what he had been doing. He practically smashed the console as he put away the ship's log, the screen appearing just the way it had been before, just as the door finished throwing itself open with a loud sound.
The medic turned sharply, his wonderfully practiced scowl on his face, but was surprised that it wasn't Megatron. Or even a security drone for that matter. No, instead it was that same small Vehicon from a few days ago, the burned one looking at him with an unreadable expression from the door. The medic faltered a little, unable to keep his gaze away from the horrible burn on his helmet, guilt crashing down on him all over again. In his servo, the small Decepticon held a cube of Energon. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment, before the Vehicon finally broke the silence.
"Lord Megatron ordered that you get a fresh refuel," he said stoically, holding out the cube to Ratchet. "He doesn't want you to go into shut down in the middle of decoding. His words, not mine," he added, turning his helm away a bit.
Slightly confused and still caught off guard, the Autobot hesitantly walked forward, reaching out and taking the cube. He frowned at the Vehicon in uncertainty, backing away slowly and turning. He quickly drained the contents of the cube, already feeling refreshed as it ran through his systems. He sighed in relief, shrugging and stretching his tensed shoulders and neck cords.
Realizing that the other bot hadn't left, Ratchet turned his helm to look at him. Frowning, he was silent for a moment, before he begrudgingly spoke. "I suppose you want a gesture of gratitude?" he snapped sarcastically.
The Vehicon scoffed loudly, crossing his arms and leaning against the door, which had closed again. "Hardly. If anything, I should thank you. For giving me the honor of providing me with a name," he seethed, angrily pointing to the burn scar on his helm.
Ratchet was taken aback, his optics widening in horror and dismay as he flinched. He swallowed thickly, unable to say anything now. The Vehicon glared at him for a few minutes more, before snorting and standing straight.
"I'm called Scorch now," he said, a fake sound of greeting in his voice as he mockingly held out his servo. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Oh wait, we've met before," he snarled bitterly as he just as quickly drew his servo back again.
The medic said nothing, his shoulder plates slouching in guilt. He stared for a few moments more, before hardening his face again and turning away. He was angry, but not really at the Vehicon. It was his fault, anyhow, and Scorch had every right to be angry with him. Ratchet went over to the console, starting to type again, though it was rather aimlessly. He could still feel Scorch's optics boring into him from behind. He wasn't leaving, and it made the crushing feeling in Ratchet's chest grow worse. He sighed, stopping and gripping the console tightly again.
"I.. I was under chemical influence at the time," he explained, his voice pained and apologetic, but also aggravated. "Though that is hardly an excuse for what I did. I broke protocol, and I harmed a defenseless Cybertronian." He finally looked up at Scorch, his face firm and serious. "I apologize. Even to a Decepticon, I went too far."
The small mech was still staring, and while it was hard to see his expression behind his helmet, his stature had nearly changed entirely. He was no longer rigid, but rather his playing had deflated in surprise. His arms were at his sides and his helm was tilted to the side. Ratchet quickly looked away again, clearing his throat awkwardly. The silence was uncanny, and rather uncomfortable.
"I'm not defenseless," Scorch finally muttered, leaning on the door and crossing his arms again. "..But thanks, I guess." He looked up, his helm tilted at Ratchet again. "You Autobots sure are saps. Especially for one another."
It was Ratchet's turn to scoff now, shaking his helm as he began to work on decoding again. Somehow, with company, he felt a bit more at ease. "Maybe you see it as weakness, but we consider ourselves as family. I wouldn't expect you to understand, especially after the display I saw the other day."
"Hmph, no kidding," Scorch said, turning his helm away again. "You'd think after going through all kinds of stuff together we would treat each other a bit differently. No room for weakness, I guess," he huffed, kicking the floor with his pede.
Ratchet paused and glanced back at him. Rather suddenly, his demeanor had changed. He still sounded.. angry, but their was also sadness in it. And a familiar sound of loneliness, one that Ratchet could resonate with all too well at the time. Perhaps Scorch wasn't the radical Decepticon he acted.
He sighed and turned his head again. "Loyalty shouldn't be considered a weakness. Your ranks have been in quite the uproar, with all your people's rashness and pride." He tapped at a few more keys, the monitor beeping as one more thing, out of hundreds, was decoded.
Scorch actually let out a quick chuckle, much to the medic's surprise. "I'll say. Though that's mostly Starscream, if you really think about it." He remained quiet after that, staying still for a while as another awkward silence settled over them.
Eventually, Ratchet turned and scowled at him, slightly confused and flustered with the fact that they had held a semi-normal conversation only minutes ago. "I wouldn't have thought they would send a bot like you as security detail."
Scorch looked up, a jolt going over his frame as something crossed over his usually hard to read features. But before he could say anything, the door behind him suddenly slid open, making the Vehicon stumble. A large shadow loomed in the doorway, red optics glinting.
"That's because he is not, good doctor," Megatron sneered, his voice a teasing hiss.
"Lord Megatron!" Scorch yelped, stepping back and raising his servos defensively. "Sorry, I didn't realize you-"
"Rather," Megatron growled, ignoring Scorch's words completely, "he is your servant." He suddenly lifted his servo and grabbed the Vehicon's face.
Scorch let out another yipe as he was harshly shoved backwards, stumbling as he went back. He wasn't able to catch himself in time, falling down on his aft with a grunt. He instantly tensed, raising an arm over his head as if to deflect an oncoming strike. When none came, he looked up nervously, his shoulder plates trembling a little. Ratchet watched it all in horror and pity, noting just how terrified the smaller boy seemed. He looked up at Megatron as well, unable to hide the spark-sinking look on his face.
"Scorch," the warlord spat. "You are to tend to Ratchet's every need and desire. I'm sure he will require refueling and help as he learns our systems," he explained in a low voice, optics sliding back up to Ratchet. He raised an optic ridge, obviously making a point.
"But, Lord Megatron, sir, I-"
"Do not attempt to defy me, pitiful one," he snapped, taking a threatening step forward and making the other flinch. "It is a direct order." He said nothing else, straightening himself and slowly turning.
Ratchet looked down at Scorch again dreadfully, and caught the Vehicon minor glancing back with a similar expression. Both of them knew what this really was, why Scorch was really to remain here. This was merely a test, a threat.
Megatron knows that the both of us can't be trusted.
The door shut loudly, leaving the two of them alone in a dark room, with only fear, each other, and that ever mocking monitor.
~
IT IS ABOUT TIME!!
Welcome back to this book, fellas! Sorry it took so long to write it out. I lost motivation for a little while, plus I wasn't entirely sure what to do next.
This book might not turn out to be that long, but I'm sure it will be enjoyable all the same!