[May 2008 Entry, #2 of #13] [Ratchet x Constructicons] Sheer Dumb Luck
Title: Sheer Dumb Luck
Rating: M
Universe: Movie
Pairing: Ratchet x Constructicons
Word Count: 28,295
Ratchet showed back up approximately fifteen hours later, feeling distinctly embarrassed. He was met on the road by Hook, and ungraciously opened up a commlink between them when he was pinged with the nonverbal request.
“What is it?” he was asked.
“I forgot my tools.” Ratchet’s tone was harsh: embarrassment made him annoyed. The slight humor, almost unrecognizable it was so faint, in Hook’s voice only made things worse.
“I see. If you can wait for an hour Longhaul can help you transport.”
“Fine.” Ratchet’s voice was resigned: he really couldn’t manage everything he had by himself.
The Autobot followed the Decepticon as they reached an entrance-not the one he was used to, not one he’d used at all. The unfamiliarity threw him off, and he didn’t realized that they hadn’t headed for the med bay until they stopped outside Hook’s room. Hook slipped inside, taking a small stack of datapads, before he said a word. “I needed to pick these up,” he said simply. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
And it still felt-odd, to know that Hook had a room. One he’d seen-recharged in once, even. It wasn’t that it was all that unusual, but the Decepticon struck him as intensely, possibly to the point of paranoia, private. He was certainly obsessive.
Not that it mattered.
The med bay wasn’t far from there, and Ratchet found himself happy to be back in familiar territory. He’d spent a lot of time in the room.
-Although he shouldn’t feel like he was on home ground at all, not on a Decepticon base. Or at least, that’s what he’d always thought. Somehow, he didn’t feel like he was doing anything wrong-
Except for deceiving his teammates and commanding officer, all of them friends.
Ratchet wandered over to Bonecrusher’s still form, briefly checking that nothing had gone wrong, but he was suddenly aware that there was someone inside the body he’d been working on, now, somebody-some Decepticon-he didn’t know. Even the borrowed memories he still had-and he really needed to delete all of them, or most of them, now this, all this, was ended-were fuzzy, blurred by time and distance. They were doubtlessly still strong for Hook and Scrapper, the ones he’d taken them from, but second-hand…
“Nothing’s wrong?”
“No, everything’s fine.” Ratchet could feel an uneasy silence building, and was relieved as Scrapper walked in, smiling at him a little sheepishly.
“Sorry I didn’t think to remind you about what you’d brought, yesterday.”
“You had a lot on your mind.” The sentence was phrased so that it served as reminder-for everyone-of who Ratchet was, of the fact that he was, inarguably, undeniably and unchangeably, an outsider.
“But you’ve done a lot for us.”
Ratchet couldn’t quite hide his surprise at Scrapper’s words-was he telling him that he was of higher importance to them than he’d figured? That made no sense.
He was going to ignore it.
“Here,” Ratchet said instead, holding out the welder they’d made him.
“Keep it.”
“We certainly don’t have any use for it.”
“Alright, then. Thank you.”
“I already told you: don’t thank me, I didn’t make it for you.”
“We made it,” Hook corrected pointedly, but Ratchet ignored him. There was an odd-challenge to Scrapper’s voice…
“But you’re still giving it to me,” he said quietly. “Which you didn’t need to do. Even if you don’t need the welder, it’s still a gift. Even making it at all-didn’t Scavenger tell you that I didn’t really need it? It still made things go a little faster, but mostly it just made things less frustrating. For me.” Ratchet paused. “Even if it wasn’t meant for me, I was the one who used it.”
Scrapper smiled suddenly. “Maybe you’re right. But if that’s the case, isn’t you helping Bonecrusher-us-just as much of a gift?”
Ratchet set down the scalpel he’d been holding as he searched for the correct box in his toolkit. “So what you’re asking is, ‘Is a gift not freely given a gift?’ I’d- Or a gift grudgingly given. I suppose you win this time.” His engine raced briefly, a sign of frustration. “You’re welcome. I’m…”
He stopped, waiting so long that Scrapper almost thought he wasn’t going to continue.
“I’m not sorry I helped.”
“Good,” said Scrapper lightly, pushing his stool away from the table he’d sat down at with a scraping noise, and walking lightly, measuredly, over to him. He stood slightly too close to the other mech. “Does that mean I can thank you properly?”
“Depends,” said Ratchet warily, leaning back. “Is it going to end up like how Scavenger ‘thanked’ me?”
“Probably,” Scrapper said, steel backing the soft words. “In the root of things, at least-on the most basic level.” He held a hand out, fingers almost brushing Ratchet’s side but not quite touching, and waited.
And waited. Ratchet realized, belatedly, that the matter was in his hands: it was up to him. And somehow that made up his mind for him.
“Fine. You’re welcome.”
Scrapper moved his hand away, surprisingly. Ratchet looked at him.
“You don’t want to go somewhere more private?”
“What? You’re a gestalt. Someone feels like watching, they going to, aren’t they? Possibly even if they don’t, for all I know.”
“Good answer.” And then he was being pushed down to the floor, Scrapper kneeling next to him, eyes sharp.
“You know, the greatest work of art is the Cybertronian body. That is what I am trying to replicate when I create. …And you. You can repair those works of art. You’re part of it.”
Ratchet shuddered as the mech placed a single deliberate hand on his shoulder, hyperaware of the contact.
“The height of functionality, the definition, paired with beauty-”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Ratchet said, interrupting. “I am many things, but not particularly beautiful.”
“Quiet,” Hook announced from across the room, then stood and walked over. He placed a foot on Ratchet’s chassis, supporting most of his weight but letting Ratchet take enough for the threat to be tangible.
It figures he’s the kinky one, Ratchet thought, but he obeyed.
“-The definition of functionality, paired with beauty,” Scrapper continued smoothly. “The ideal to strive towards, knowing you’ll never reach it. I try to, with my creations. It’s a pale imitation, even our greatest successes: do you know Crystal City? I still consider it one of more inspired works. But it’s still nothing. Nothing. What you do is so much greater, in a way… Do you see the beauty in the bodies you repair, Ratchet?”
“Yes-” He thought about continuing, but didn’t. He assumed he’d made the right choice when Hook removed his foot, sinking to sit down, so the two Decepticons were flanking him.
“So… You know what I’m doing when I do-this?” He’d carefully shifted his fingers into the shoulder socket, just managing to get the tips of his fingers to brush against a row of neural sensors. Ratchet almost screamed at the sensation, the sudden intensity of touch after its absence.
“Answer,” Hook said shortly when Ratchet failed to reply, still trying to stabilize his processor from the feedback.
“You-agitated the ‘spine,’ or primary line, of the upper left medic-standard neural network, sector seventy-six subline five, sending data through the primary sector seven-six neural cluster which gathers to the primary sensor cable leading to my central processor-ah-!”
“I’m jealous,” Scrapper said softly, working his fingers back out of the seam in the armor. He took up Ratchet’s hands instead, one in each of his own, and placed them on his chassis. “You know how I work. You could take me apart and put me back together again.”
Ratchet sat up, tired of playing the doll. “I think not. That would be-uninteresting. There are better ways to utilize medical knowledge, you know.”
“Show me,” Scrapper said, looking happy again. “Prove it.”
“Give me your hand. You too, Hook.” Ratchet himself produced a pair of pliers, which he put aside momentarily. He took the nearest hand-one of Hook’s-and ran his fingers over it, pretending not to notice the shiver that caused-he had sensitive hands. Good. It didn’t take Ratchet long to find the primary sensory cord, even with its unfamiliar placement on the alien design, and then it was a simple matter to tear out a single wire, pulling it through a gap in the armor. He also didn’t miss the way jerking the wire out made Hook’s engine rumble, the moment of pain arousing. -That wasn’t somewhere he was interested in going.
He repeated his actions with one of Scrapper’s hands before he spoke.
“Most mechs are only aware of a hardline connection, when it comes to forming temporary ties. A fair number of medics are aware of the theory behind simply connecting two sensory systems, but they’re also aware that it’s largely ineffective on a feasible scale.” He drew the two wires closer, so they were almost touching. “Your already-established connection should make this interesting, though.”
And it was. Ratchet smirked as he watched Scrapper seize, temporarily losing control-he’d been mostly guessing, but he’d guessed right, which was what mattered. The theory had been sound.
“Not fair,” Hook murmured into one audio, reaching out to grip him with all four arms, possessively. “You didn’t feel that.”
“Then make it up to me. You were the ones insisting I-”
The sudden expansion of Scrapper’s energy field made him lose speech, fire racing along his nerves and veins, warmth filling him. The way Hook shuddered around him-and then Scrapper tried it again, synching it with Hook, and Ratchet couldn’t help but moan, a low babble of static. He was hyperaware of the other two engines pressed against him, their vibrations.
Ratchet pushed his own energy field out in a quick pulse before the other two had the chance to react, slipping his smaller fingers into Scrapper’s armor as he did so, taking advantage of their distraction-
And they were still connected, by gestalt bond and by wire. They were close to overload, he knew, eyes overly bright-probably a lot like his own, although he couldn’t tell.
“I guess Autobots only pretend they play fair,” Scrapper said, voice laced over with static-he really was close to the edge, his composure cracking. Ratchet guessed Hook was just as close. “It’s too bad you’re outnumbered-cleverness only counts for so much.” The sudden surge of the two comming him, uploading the sensations pouring through them, pushing them into his processor, was too much.
Overload hit him hard, and he only had the satisfaction of holding out a few seconds longer than the other two.
---
“Thank you,” Ratchet said, back at the familiar shack and treeless, dusty hill that marked his material storage.
“Whatever. I always end up hauling things around…”
“Maybe you should change your name, then, Longhaul.”
“Huh.” He paused. “I should go. -Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” Ratchet said, and turned away to store his tools as the sound of Longhaul’s engine faded into the distance.
---
The past three weeks had been boring. Ratchet hadn’t expected that. He’d known that he’d… adapted to the Constructicon presence, but he hadn’t realized to what extent it had changed his life.
He hadn’t always been riveted to his life and work, before, but now he very rarely found himself feeling at peace, fully. He wasn’t unhappy-exactly-it was just…
He wondered how things had worked out. He hadn’t heard from them, which was probably good. Definitely for the best, in the long run and in the short-
So it was likely that Bonecrusher hadn’t suffered any lasting damage, that there weren’t any problems with the repairs-they’d probably already left. After all, Starscream had attacked them nearby-he was likely to recheck the area, looking for them.
And Ratchet knew where their base was. And Ratchet was an Autobot.
This was the way things were supposed to be. Unbreakable, indivisible factions, perfect opposites and as unmixable as oil and water-
Oil and water not mixed with soap, or any other form of cleanser, to break down the polarity-
His metaphor had gotten away from him, but it really was better like this. He didn’t have to think about who he was betraying (just who he had betrayed) and who he could trust (he shouldn’t have needed to think) and what had gone on between him and Scavenger, then Scrapper and Hook, because it was a moment’s insanity and it would pass, along with his memories of what had taken place and if-when-other Autobot’s arrived, maybe he’d find a partner, and that would help.
He should probably tell Optimus Prime what had happened. Confess. It wouldn’t make up for what he’d done, but it would help. …He’d wait until he was certain that the Constructicons were gone, even though he didn’t owe them a thing-so it made no sense that he felt like he did.
Very little about any of this had been logical. Ratchet could live with that. It wouldn’t help him explain everything that had taken place to his teammates, but…
He could live with that.
And he still wasn’t sorry he’d helped them.
---
The next day, Ratchet recognized Mixmaster in town. The first chance he got, he headed out into the desert. He’d thought this was over…
The Decepticon followed him, of course. Ratchet waited for him to transform, then followed suit.
“Hello,” he said quietly. “What are you doing here?”
Mixmaster shrugged defensively, remaining silent, his body half twisted to the side.
“Fine,” Ratchet said, hiding a brief flicker of nerves-Mixmaster could be unsettling-and sitting down, stubborn.
A second later, his sulking was interrupted. “Fa-a-ce me.”
Ratchet did, turning to see the mech holding out an interface cable leading back to his neck, looking patient and defiant.
Ratchet’s mind went blank. “…Was that a pun?”
“Yesss.”
“Oh, Primus.” He’d never been propositioned like that before. Of course, he hadn’t had as many partners in the past ten thousand years as he’d had in the past month…
“Please?”
Ratchet buried his face in his hands, no idea what to do. “I… Mixmaster, I don’t think this is a good ide-”
“Hmph. You- do no-t-t think it i-is a g-good id-e-a because you think-k I am a glit-ching lunatic-c-ic. I am not sane but-t-ut-but-t-t-” He paused, clearly recollecting himself. “But I a-am in con-trol of my proc-ess-ors. In the-ese matters.”
Well, that stung. “I never said that! You’re a Decepticon. That’s reason enough for it to be a bad idea.”
“Scavenger, Hook, Scrapper,” he said simply in reply.
“That was a bad idea too,” Ratchet growled.
“One more? Ple-ase.”
“You aren’t going to leave, are you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Mixmaster shrugged, looking slightly frustrated, but stayed quiet. “I-wa-ant -to.”
“Alright.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.” Ratchet half-expected to be jumped, pinned, but the mech simply took a step forward kneeled, holding his cord out to him once more, and waited.
“Alright,” he repeated, reaching out to accept. The other’s engine purred as he clipped it into place and handed him his own, the bond settling down in his mind as a lightning-fast blur of information in his subconscious mind, warm and subtle: there was nothing strong enough to leap out at him, yet.
Mixmaster slowly leaned back until he was flat along the ground, the attachments between them forcing Ratchet to edge closer, until he was alongside him.
Hesitantly, Ratchet ran his hands over a stretch of armor, or tried to, but the myriad of blade-like extensions made it hard. Still, Mixmaster had been designed as a scientist, and there were a higher-than-average number of tactical sensors: not enough to match the chemical ones, but enough to make a difference. Ratchet could feel the subtle shift in the current of energy between them.
He tried again, purposefully grinding hard against one of the sensitive little nodes, and it made Mixmaster twitch, vocalizer making some faint, strangled, babbled noise, and Ratchet shuddered hard as the feedback swept through him. He slid his fingers down one of the bladed struts, slipped his fingers inside the narrow opening in Mixmaster’s armor it was protecting and pulled briefly on one of the wires inside it, forcing his arm to hold still as he thrashed again, the Constructicon beneath him trembling.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” he whispered once he recovered, vocalizer still crackling with feedback.
“Wh-at?”
Ratchet was surprised by the surge of fear that followed the words, not accompanying them.
“What?” he repeated. “You’re just laying there, letting me-poke at you. I feel the feedback, but are you going to do anything?”
“O-oh.” Hesitantly, he touched one of Ratchet’s arms, slowly investigating the hand, touched careful, delicate, light-teasing. It would have been arousing, but that fear hadn’t gone away, and it was irking Ratchet. It was the polar opposite of arousing, to start with.
His irritation surged, and he knew Mixmaster felt it, suddenly leaping back: Ratchet screamed as the line connecting them was almost disconnected, was almost ripped out before the line was terminated. He missed Mixmaster’s own pain as it mixed with his own until his faded, and he was suddenly being flooded with the Decepticon’s thoughts and fears. Shaking, Ratchet terminated his end of the line, then helped Mixmaster with his: his fingers were scrabbling desperately to disengage the connection, but he was shaking too badly to manage it.
Ratchet lay back, trying to sort through the overwhelming welter of emotions that had flooded him.
So none of Mixmaster’s gestalt members were afraid of him: he’d been wrong, when he’d gotten the memories. Mostly, he was afraid of himself: of losing control. Because he was glitchy, and just as badly as Ratchet’s worst suspicions had been. Possibly worse.
“Oh,” he said carefully, out loud, because he needed to say something. Mixmaster was still a silent, unmoving form next to him.
“Oh-you stu-pid Aut-”
“Stick it up your exhaust pipe. Look, you want to interface,--fine, I can… deal with that. But if you don’t actually want to, look for it somewhere else. Most of your team members are downright horny little bastards, you can go bother them-”
“I… d-do.”
“Alright, then. I don’t want to plug into you if I end up getting fear out of it. That’s not…”
“Not-t you-u. It is n-ot you.”
“But I’m still feeling your fear! That is not arousing! It’s not like you’re even going to be a danger, especially here and now-especially now you have a full gestalt again. They ground you, and you know it.”
Mixmaster was silent, the bladed extensions covering his body unusually upright-a defensive position, Ratchet realized.
“…I don’t care, you realize. It’s not really impacting you right now, so it’s… Not a matter. It’s not like you’re infectious.”
“Re-eally.” Mixmaster’s tone was sarcastic.
“Do I have to prove it by plugging into you again?”
Mixmaster eyed him carefully, calculating. “Yes.”
---
Ratchet was less surprised when Longhaul appeared, five days after that. It hadn’t been hard to come to the realization that things weren’t over, really. He didn’t want them to be, even if it complicated things even more.
“What is it?” Ratchet asked as Longhaul pulled up next to him.
“What the slag sort of greeting is that?”
“Fine-hello, Longhaul. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hook wants you to check up on the repairs you made. He thinks something’s gone wrong.”
“Really.” Personally, Ratchet was of the opinion that Hook had his energon processor poisoning his ’facing port, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Not in so many words, at least. “You’ll need to transform.”
“Sure.”
Ratchet carefully poked and prodded at the mech, examining him, but he couldn’t find anything wrong, no matter what, not even any hints that something might be broken, or regressed-He said as much. “I think Hook’s being paranoid-excuse me, overly cautious again. I can run a scan if you don’t mind me jacking into your system, but I don’t think I’ll find anything else.”
“Go for it. Hook’ll just send me back if he thinks you weren’t pit-slagged thorough enough-you know.”
And Ratchet did know. That was thing.
“Alright, I’ll set it up. Let’s hope this works just as well as it did last time-I’m pretty sure the energon loss was relaxing you.”
“Really? The last time it happened I ended up offlining a medic and then jumping Bonecrusher before I passed out. I don’t think it’s ever made me calm before.”
“It can hit differently in different situations. Now, hold still-and try not to fight me.”
He shouldn’t have worried. The connection formed just as smoothly, easily, naturally as it had before, Longhaul relaxing, opening up as Ratchet’s consciousness filtered through his, searching for anything wrong. He didn’t find a thing-he hadn’t been expecting to-and he slipped back to his own body almost surreptitiously. Longhaul didn’t move as he unclipped the cable he’d used, apparently still luxuriating in the comfort of a fitting connection-although it couldn’t be any different from what he experienced as a gestalt. Ratchet could see his own attraction to the feeling, but presumably it wasn’t a novelty for Longhaul the way it was for him.
He looked down at the still form and felt a twinge of interest. But- He shouldn’t be interfacing Decepticons at all, let alone initiating it in an ever-wider group of partners…
Oh, scrap. Ratchet ran fingers over the small antennae on Longhaul’s head, pressing firmly but not quite hard-the Decepticon’s optics flashed back online immediately, and he made a grab for Ratchet’s wrist, grasping it tight enough that it was just short of painful.
“That was on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
---
Bonecrusher followed Ratchet for three days before the Autobot realized who he was and that he wanted to speak to him, and it took him sending a request to open a commlink for the medic to get the second part at all.
He didn’t accept the connection, but he did move out to the desert that night, and waited for the other to show up. It felt… Odd. Because he didn’t know Bonecrusher, just his gestalt-mates: he was agreeing to meet an unknown Decepticon, when you got down to it.
And that hadn’t stopped him.
He was only waiting for an hour before Bonecrusher appeared, and the two sat in silence for an hour longer before either of them spoke.
“So you’re Ratchet.”
“Yes…”
“Thanks.”
“I wish you-all of you-would stop doing that.”
“Oh, don’t you start, Autobot-you think I’d be here if I didn’t think that I needed to be? Slagging no. But you saved me-which wouldn’t matter much except what it means to them. -And then Longhaul and Mixmaster and you might be some bleeding-heart sap taken in by a sob story but I owe you.”
“I don’t know why I did it,” Ratchet said quietly. “Why I’m doing this. I should have reported you-and I would have, so it’s not so much overcome with some selfless need to heal my mortal enemies as it was a moment of insanity-”
“Huh. You did scan us. And you match, that helps.”
“What?”
“You’re the medic, you tell me.”
“You mean I’ve been influenced-as have you, and your team-by the way my mental patterns fit into yours? That’s why we’ve been so-so obscenely trusting of each other? But-”
“I don’t think that it makes much of a difference. It was the start of things-it’s more who you are. It helps, but-mostly it was you helping us. Once, we met someone else who matched us, and I think Scrapper built something out of him after I killed him because he was an annoying little traitor. A boring one.”
“I suppose I should thank you for not killing me, then.”
“Damn straight. …I guess you’re not too bad, for an Autobot. The others like you.”
“You know I’m betraying my team, being here. How’s your feelings when it comes to the Prime cutting off your head?”
“Can’t say I’m not pissy. But he killed Megatron.”
“Actually, that was a human.”
“-Seriously? Hah! Slagger deserved to be offlined by a little insect.”
“Charming. You’re more like Longhaul than, say, Hook, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Me and ’Hauler’ve got a lot in common. Now.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I wanted to destroy everything. I hated everyone. It was kind of fun. Sometimes. I’m still not the nice one-I’d be tracking your Optimus Prime down right now if it wasn’t stupid and if the others were okay with the idea-”
“They’re not?”
“No, you wouldn’t like it, and we owe you. So. I’m still not the nice one, but I can be-not-angry again, now I’m not alone anymore. They like having me there-and it’s not just needing it. Me being there makes ’em happy, it’s not the bond being good again, entirely-And I don’t really hate everything now. This stupid planet is still fragging awful but Scavenger really likes it-he keeps on showing up with weird things to show me-and Scrapper likes the new ideas for designs even if it drives Hook crazy, and Longhaul’s as happy as he ever is, and Mixmaster’s got new stuff to play with…”
There was a moment of silence.
“So you just came out here to thank me?”
“And to get to know you a little better-y’know, my own impression, that slag. Want to fuck?”
“We haven’t really known each other all that long.” Mostly, Ratchet was privately amused.
“Like slag-I get memories of you whenever I tie into any of the others. Or all of them. And you started it with Longhaul. And you haven’t known any of them all that well.”
“So why should I interface with you?”
“Figures you’re like some weird mix of Scrapper and Hook- Because I want to. You do too, right? You don’t need any more of a reason.”
“You’re right. I do want it.”
Ratchet was pinned a split-second later, Bonecrusher’s body heavy on top of him, and Ratchet realized the benefits of an engine place surprisingly close to the surface as it rumbled against him. “Good,” Bonecrusher growled. There was nothing subtle about the raw lust in his voice, or the way he shoved a finger at one of Ratchet’s interface ports, fumbling around it, before he found his own cable and, unceremonious, clicked it into place, waiting just long enough for Ratchet to complain or protest. He didn’t.
He was holding back most of the data, waiting, giving Ratchet enough time to complete the circuit before he set it loose, the rush of data-as subtle as a brick to the face-tearing through him, electrifying, overwhelming-Ratchet kept on catching split-second snatches of the other Decepticons looking in, but nothing more-it was more than he could concentrate on.
Bonecrusher dragged his fingers down Ratchet’s hand, metal squealing against metal, and the sensation made him thrash hard enough to almost dislodge the cables connecting them, even pinned the way he was. He responded by pulsing his personal field and Bonecrusher moaned into the sand, grip tightening spasmodically. Ratchet couldn’t hide the sudden pain, not with the volume of their data exchange, and the painful grasp crushing his hand and wrist lessened, even if Bonecrusher wasn’t at all repentant: he turned his attentions to a neck joint, forcing his fingers in and twisting, and sparks burst across Ratchet’s vision before it went black and he passed out, system overloading, dimly aware that the surge of energy he released pushed Bonecrusher over the edge with him.
Ratchet roused himself long enough to set a scan to warn him of anyone approaching, feeling Bonecrusher stir sleepily at the activity-he couldn’t find the energy to disconnect them-and slipped into true recharge.
---
When Ratchet woke back up, someone had disconnected him from Bonecrusher, who was still there. The rest of the Constructicons were there as well, leaning against each other in a baroque tangle of metal parts, some surfaces silvered with moonlight and others dark, their eyes red points of light in the darkness.
“What?” he asked, pulling himself upright, unable to figure out what would have brought the six of them out here. Immediately, all eyes flicked to him, and one figure stirred, just slightly, before they started their transformation.
Ratchet watched, awed, as their forms shifted, interconnected, knotted together, and finally the combiner sat up, dwarfing Ratchet: he was big enough to hold him in his two hands.
It finally occurred to him that gestalts were creations of war, and he felt a sudden spark of fear. Were they going to remove their greatest weakness? Why else would they be combining?
“I am Devastator,” announced the giant, voice booming around Ratchet, surrounding him.
So a combiner was an entity unto itself. “Uh…” Really, it shouldn’t have been so surprising: there had been guesses about that, in the papers that had been written-the ones he’d gotten a hold of; there were definitely others, possibly more definite and more accurate, that he’d never seen.
His hands reached down to surround him, effortless, the touch gentle but insistent, ignoring the way Ratchet tried to subtly deflect the gentle touch. Finally he was just picked up bodily, with an embarrassing squawking noise at the mistreatment.
“What are you doing?! Put me down!”
Surprisingly, he was let down, and there was a still moment while he could just stare at the huge mech in front of him, silhouetted against the horizon, backlit by the bright moon. After a minute, one gigantic hand moved to touch him again, and this time Ratchet let him, curiously running fingers over what he could reach. This had to be why he’d seen so many redundant systems in Bonecrusher, so many apparently useless features worked into his design… for the combination. There had to be some kind of modified valve that worked to attach their energon-processing systems-and something beyond that to make sure that none of them ended up with more or less energon than they could handle when they separated again-
He was being picked up again. This time, he let it happen: it wasn’t like he was going to be able to change it, certainly not easily. Despite that, he felt-oddly comfortable. On edge, yes, but not panicky, the way you’d expect. If nothing else, Devastator didn’t seem to want to hurt him.
Cupped hands-oddly shaped, both of them, and different: clearly, there were limits to the transformation technology-held him against the body. Ratchet could feel an engine beneath him, working maybe a little harder than was normal: probably a side effect of the increased size, he catalogued vaguely. The sensation of the working system next to him was oddly… Comforting.
The Constructicons really were wearing off on him. He was turning out to be almost as deviant as they were.
The steady humming increased, vibrating through Ratchet’s frame, increasingly intrusive. The sensation was… Pleasant.
“Is… That on purpose?”
There wasn’t an answer, but the rhythm picked up again.
“Devastator. Answer me: Is. That. On. Purpose?”
“Yes.”
Primus. A gestalt, in the combined form, was attempting to interface him.
He was torn with misgivings, but his hands curled involuntarily at the growing pleasure. One giant finger ran down his back, seemingly in encouragement.
Oh, slag it. Mind made up, Ratchet shoved most of his arm into the mech, feeling around for the right wires.
---
Ratchet awoke to an unexpected babble of emotions and reactions, the reactions bursting like fireworks through his head.
“What?” he said sleepily.
“Don’t hate us,” Scavenger said miserably.
“What?” he repeated, startled, more awake by the second.
“Congrats, Autobot, you’re bonded.” That was Bonecrusher’s voice, satisfied underneath the growl and the condescension.
And he could feel his happiness, not just hear it. And hesitancy, a different happiness-more than one; one for each of the Constructicons-and a fearful tangle of nerves that was Scavenger, hope from Mixmaster-why was Hook smug?-
He had no way of keeping the panic that welled up hidden from them. He was pathetically grateful that they let him scramble to his feet and back away from them, all of them, even though none of them really wanted to-and they could feel that, too. He could feel what they wanted. Now he understood the reason they were always touching-he wanted that comfort, too. Just… Not from them. Because they were-not perfect, but just right, except they were Decepticons and he loved them-loved them, all of them, slag it-but he had history and friendship and a fierce devotion and respect for his commanding officer and his team, and the Autobot cause, and- He loved them, too: differently, but just as strongly.
He’d wanted love, a romantic love, if it came his way, but not something he had to deny or hide or confess to-
“I’m sorry,” Scavenger said quietly.
“It was a mistake,” Hook added, most of his smug attitude gone, or at least repressed. “We-hadn’t done that. before. Interfaced as Devastator.” Ratchet could tell he wasn’t lying.
“I should have thought,” he said blankly. “Personal fields are individualized by spark energy. Theoretically, if it was concentrated enough and pressed on another mech-The six of you must have made it enough. Oh, Primus.”
“So what now?” Longhaul asked, voice bitter.
“What do you want?” said Scrapper quietly, looking at Ratchet.
“What do you-want? Expect? I don’t know. Need.”
“All we’ve ever wanted is completion-and to create,” Scrapper said, frowning deeply. “You know that-it hasn’t changed, just grown to include you.”
“I can’t-I’ll need to tell Optimus. To help you is potentially-is traitorous behavior, but to be bonded is-it’s another level of… what I’ve done. I’m facing execution, but I need to return-and I don’t think I’ll be put to death, just for this. It’s just a remote possibility, or maybe a little more. It’s in the rules. But you: I doubt any of my teammates would be willing to let you live, bonded to me or not. -Since this is so recent, would you-what would the bond fracturing be like?”
He could feel the instantaneous rage at what he was suggesting, that he might die. He could also feel that they knew that they’d all survive, the way things were.
“So you’re going to-what? Break me out of the Autobot brig if I am sentenced? Keep me from going at all? And I know you’ll be fine if I’m just confined to base or something.”
---
“I can’t believe you put me in the brig!” Ratchet hissed, purposefully pushing his incandescent rage at the three mechs standing across from him. Bonecrusher and Hook remained blank-faced and stoic, while Scavenger flinched.
Ratchet went back to ignoring them, pacing across the cell-admittedly, it was spacious, built to hold mechs much, much larger than he was-but it was still what it was. He knew his frustration was mounting, and that there were other, nastier emotions mixing with it: betrayal, fear, helplessness. He hadn’t meant to bond, but he hadn’t minded the connection itself, just the ramifications it brought with. This, though, this was- He’d made some sort of hideous mistake, letting himself get close, if this was what happened-How long were they planning on keeping him captive?...
“I personally think that you have no reason to give yourself up to the Autobots-”
“I am an Autobot, and you have no close ties to anyone outside the gestalt, so no, you’re not going to understand-”
“-But we can feel you and it’s freaking us out,” finished Bonecrusher.
“I’m really sorry,” added Scavenger abruptly.
The energy field that had been keeping him contained faded with those final words, and Ratchet scrambled out unusually quickly. He started at the feel of Bonecrusher and Scavenger pressing up against him, but he didn’t push them away: he also didn’t return the touch
“I’ll comm him,” Ratchet said at last. “Optimus Prime. It’s the coward’s way out, but I’ll do it.”
“We’re good at the coward’s way out,” said Scavenger, brightening again.
Even Ratchet could feel Hook’s relief, regardless of how he tried to hide it, and it helped. It was hard to stay angry-no matter how unreasonable and frightening someone was being-when you felt what they did.
---
‘You thought I’d execute you,’ said Optimus at last.
‘Sir, I deceived my commanding officer-deceived you-to aid and abet the enemy, then undertook ‘activities of a sexual nature’-you know the rulebook better than I do-then accidentally…
‘I’m bonded, Optimus, to a Decepticon gestalt. Any one of those, and the last one especially, is a hanging offense.’
‘I’ve known you for years, Ratchet, and I thought you knew me better than that. I’m… Deeply disappointed, true, but I don’t believe in capital punishment for mechs I don’t know-for captured Decepticons-let alone for someone I trust. Even if that trust has been betrayed. Why… Have you done this?’
Ratchet tried to ignore the six Decepticons listening in. ‘They needed it. That’s what started it. I know that’s a horrible excuse, sir, but I’m a medic, and I know what losing someone is like, I had no good reason not to, beyond faction, once I determined that they wouldn’t attack any other Autobots unless provoked, or any humans-unless I refused.’ He paused, finding the words for something he struggled to just understand.
‘No interest in attacking humans,’ Optimus repeated.
‘Mostly they find them boring. -Well, except Scavenger. To be fair, they feel that way about most Decepticons, and Autobots.’
‘And how do you end up ‘accidentally’ bonded?’
‘By interfacing a gestalt in their-his-combined form. Sir.’
Bonecrusher snickered.
‘-No need for any more details.’
‘For what it’s worth, Optimus, I’m sorry.’
‘So am I. You won’t be returning to the base?’
‘I’d… Like to. We’ve been working together for longer than I can remember, all of us-with Bumblebee since he onlined, really. But…’
‘But?’
‘I’m under considerable pressure to stay in contact with my bondmates-and I’d like to. Very much so. Even if you don’t follow procedure and execute me, I’d be confined, presumably permanently-and, honestly, that would probably mean the Constructicons attacking you to get me out, which I want to avoid most of all. I don’t want to leave you without a medic-if there’s an emergency, I’ll come. And I’m trusting you not to take that as an opportunity to take me back forcefully. -I’m being informed that I’m an over-trusting fool for that.’
‘They’re listening in?’
‘I haven’t figured how to keep them out yet. I do have any sensitive information behind firewalls, though-which they could probably get through, but haven’t tried to-and I don’t think it matters much. They hated Megatron, hate Starscream, and have no tolerance for any other Decepticon they’ve met. As far as they’re concerned, the war ended with the Allspark.’
‘I wish more of us-and them-felt that way. We’re picking up Decepticon activity again.’
‘For what it’s worth, the Constructicons were attacked by Starscream and two more seekers, over a month-a month and a half-ago. They’re out there, somewhere.’
‘Attacked?’
‘I told you there was no love lost.’
‘I see. Ratchet?’
‘Sir.’
‘If you do return, you’ll be confined to the brig for a month for a failure to pass on vital information. The second part to your punishment detail is to inform both Bumblebee and Ironhide of the situation. Don’t make them hear it from me. Optimus Prime out.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Ratchet said slowly, to the dead line.
---
Ratchet looked up from his datapad at the sound of approaching feet-he couldn’t be sure, with the echoes in the hallway, but it sounded like more than the Autobots at the base-
He started, dropping his datapad with a loud crash, as Scrapper walked into the room, followed by the other Constructicons and then Optimus Prime, escorting them with a blank face and both cannons at the ready.
“I-what?”
“Nice to see you!” said Scavenger happily.
Ratchet boggled. “I… This slagging sure shouldn’t be what it looks like…!”
“What does it look like?” asked Longhaul with a smirk.
Optimus Prime interrupted them. “They gave themselves up.”
“…What?”
“Witty,” said Hook, dry and sarcastic.
“We’ll break out once your month is up-it’s just two more weeks, right?”
“Uh, yes. Where’s Bonecrusher?” He was the only one of the six missing.
“We figured it would be better if he stayed out of the way of the Prime.” Scrapper paused for a moment. “And not in a situation where his temper is likely to flare.”
“What were you thinking? You’re relying on the fact you can just break out-that’s ridiculous, that is so far beyond crazy there’s no words for it.”
“We wanted to see you,” said Scavenger.
“Ye-es,” said Mixmaster happily; Optimus had picked up on the speech impediment, Ratchet realized, as he gave the mech an odd glance. “Dibs o-on shar-ing his cell-.”
“I don’t think they let you pick your own cell, even on the Autobot base,” said Scrapper dryly.
Optimus seemed to be aware of the fact that he was losing control of the situation. “Into the cells, now. Two to each.” They only had three of them working: there were another six still being constructed, a little further down the hallway. If only… He would have liked to put more room between the members of a gestalt, even a gestalt missing a member.
Ratchet feigned indifference as Mixmaster pulled him close, but couldn’t hide the way he tangled his hands in the complicated structures of the other.
Optimus didn’t miss that, either.
---
“So you’ve decided to talk to me again.”
The yellow Camaro-not brand new anymore, but even as a model that had been out for seven years Bumblebee drew attention-shifted on his wheels before he spoke.
“Sorry about that, but I still don’t think I was being all that unreasonable.”
“You weren’t-which is why I’m not going to take you apart and reformat you as a Volkswagen beetle: I could probably enlist some help that would make it fairly easy. Where are Sam and Mikaela?”
“Stuck using public transport for a day or two. So… What are the Decepticons like?”
“I see living with humanity hasn’t improved your tact any.” Ratchet waited just long enough for Bumblebee to get antsy before he continued. “Everything’s going well. I need to get in touch with Optimus and see if I can convince him to talk to the government about getting construction permits. I think it would calm things down-one or two of us are getting restless.” He sounded fond, amused, underneath the tart annoyance.
“So, how does a Decepticon get ‘restless’?” Bumblebee sounded wary.
“Kidnapping innocent humans and terrorizing them, of course-didn’t you know that? Oh, don’t you give me that look, I was just saying what you were thinking, and you know it-although only one of us believes it. What actually happens is that the arguments get a little louder and more likely to turn violent, everyone’s just a little more volatile… More interfacing. Little things like that.”
“Ratchet-ew. I’ve had enough time with this without imagining that-” He shuddered demonstratively.
“I have trouble believing that you were visualizing anything, considering that you don’t even know what they look like.” Ratchet stopped abruptly, then slowly continued. “It’s really taken you this long to adjust?”
“…No. Not really. It did take me a long time to forgive you, but for a while after that I just didn’t know how to approach you. Ironhide just yelled at me, finally. And Mikaela had been dropping hints.”
“I’ve known you since you were young and stupid, Bumblebee-even stupider than you are now. Haven’t you learned anything? I might yell, but I don’t stay angry for anything that petty.”
“Says the mech who assigned me to punishment detail for a week and a half after I repainted your tools-that hardly even qualifies as a prank!”
“No, I assigned you to cleaning the mess you left up-an entirely different situation. It just happened to take a week. And a half. -Ironhide told you to show up here?”
“Well, he’d been hinting at it. Not subtly, because it’s Ironhide, but that’s what it amounted to. Mostly, I’m here with news.” He stopped, and didn’t continue until Ratchet spoke again.
“You do like being an obnoxious brat-”
“Just for you, Ratchet, and remember that turn-around is fair play. The big news is that we might have picked up another Autobot signal approaching-we’ll keep you posted.” He paused to let that sink in. “And then Sam and Mikaela are inviting you to their wedding.”
“…Really?”
“Really. In Mikaela’s words, ‘If he’s too stubborn to break this stupid silence non-contact not-gonna-be-first thing, we’ll have to do it instead. Or you will, at least, for our benefit. Don’t tell him I said that.’”
“I was asking about the Autobot, actually, but-
“I’d mostly given up hope.”
“That is because you are old, and a cynic. But we would like you to come-we even talked Ironhide into it, so if you show up, they’ll have the whole team there. Speaking of which-I can’t believe he actually came to see you-he even implied he visited twice when I talked to him!”
“Three times, actually.”
“Ironhide? Even with the Decepticons?”
“He was accused of being better-suited to the Decepticon cause on a regular basis for a period of time, back when we transferred to Prime’s unit-but you weren’t with us then. I think it still brings out a rather perverse stubborn streak in him.”
“Huh.”
“That’s not to say things went well. A brawl almost broke out when he was introduced.”
“Wait, he met them? He didn’t tell me that!”
“It wasn’t my idea. Or my decision. Scavenger decided he wanted to meet him and dragged Mixmaster along. Scrapper went too, to act as chaperon, Longhaul insinuated himself into the party, Hook went with them because he’s-Hook, which means kind of obsessively controlling and defensive sometimes, and Bonecrusher followed because he doesn’t like or trust Autobots on general principal-although I would like to think that he’s learned to make exceptions. He was the one who almost caused the fight, anyway, him and Ironhide.”
“So has Optimus met them?”
“Yes-they spent a week in the brig with me back at base, you know. Mostly, they got along fairly well. Hook took the opportunity to ask questions about me. Bonecrusher wasn’t there, though. He still feels distinctly ambivalent about getting his head cut off, so he decided to stay home.”
Bumblebee snickered. “I’d feel a little torn myself. So… Tell me about these bondmates of yours. All six of them. It figures you’re the kinky one.”
“Hmph,” Ratchet said, but his tone was more amused than annoyed. “No respect, that’s your problem.”
“It’s my mentors-they led me astray.”
“Watch it, young’un-”
“Or what? If you’re going to reformat me as a bug, you’ll have to catch me!”
“That’s what the morally ambiguous partners are for-one of the things you learn as you get older is how to deputize.”
“‘Morally ambiguous?’”
“Don’t ask Scrapper why he switched to architecture from art.”
“I’ll admit that you’ve roused my raging curiosity, but I still know better than to actually ask.”
“Well, I guess you learned something from me, then. You didn’t get that from Optimus or ’Hide.”
“I am programmed for recon, Ratch’. Learning there are things you’re better off not knowing is step number one-right after you end up listening in on something you shouldn’t have for the first time.”
“Fine, fine…” Ratchet trailed off. “How’s the wedding planning going?”
“I think it’s mostly Judy and Mrs. Banes working on it-Mikaela would have signed in a judge’s office then thrown a party if it wouldn’t have created an interfamily incident of nuclear proportions. Sam’s putting in his two cents whenever he can, but I don’t think it’s all that big of a deal, for him.”
“Which Mrs. Banes are you referring to?”
“Mikaela’s grandmother. Her mother isn’t too involved-she’s too emotional, I think. No really strong opinions so long as the wedding happens.”
“Hmmm. Human customs are odd…”
“…Yeah. Honestly, you’re right. Still, I think it’s going to be fun.”
“Yes. I’ll see if I can come.”
There was a period of comfortable silence.
“I see you cleverly managed to weasel your way out of describing your new team.”
“Want to meet them, instead?”
“…Alright.”
---
“You’re really happy.”
“What?” Ratchet said, looking up, confused.
“You’re happy,” Mixmaster repeated.
“We can feel it. Don’t argue.” Hook didn’t even bother looking up from his datapad as he delivered his cool statement.
“Why would I deny that? Of course I’m happy. It’s been two years-more-since Bumblebee’s spoken to me. Now I’m back on speaking terms with my team, all of them. We’ve gone through a lot together.”
“Good,” Scavenger said, reaching over for one of Ratchet’s hands. “It’s nice to have you happy.”
“I am in a good mood on a regular basis. You’re acting like I mope continually.”
Bonecrusher snorted. “It’s not just moping-you think too much. Of course he was going to talk to you again. And if he wasn’t, then it wouldn’t matter. It would’ve been a stupid thing to do.”
Ratchet made an annoyed noise. “I swear, communicating with all of you would be so much easier if you had any ties to any mech outside of this room.”
“Give us credit,” said Longhaul lazily. “We did make friends with you.”
“-And then we ended up bonded. I’m not sure that counts.”
“That was an accident.”
“An accident that occurred because you were all trying to get me off every time I turned around.”
“Hey, you went after me.”
“And I don’t remember you ever saying no.”
“Our technique has to have some merit,” Scrapper added, looking over. “I mean-everything worked out well.”
“I think it was sheer dumb luck,” announced Bonecrusher.
Mixmaster shrugged-“It’s not like it matters,”-and went back to meticulously cleaning a stack of dirty tools. Ratchet stood, and moved to help.
“You’re right,” he said. Everything had turned out all right in the end, by luck or practice-or a lot of the former and possibly a little of the latter, if you asked him.
Rating: M
Universe: Movie
Pairing: Ratchet x Constructicons
Word Count: 28,295
Ratchet showed back up approximately fifteen hours later, feeling distinctly embarrassed. He was met on the road by Hook, and ungraciously opened up a commlink between them when he was pinged with the nonverbal request.
“What is it?” he was asked.
“I forgot my tools.” Ratchet’s tone was harsh: embarrassment made him annoyed. The slight humor, almost unrecognizable it was so faint, in Hook’s voice only made things worse.
“I see. If you can wait for an hour Longhaul can help you transport.”
“Fine.” Ratchet’s voice was resigned: he really couldn’t manage everything he had by himself.
The Autobot followed the Decepticon as they reached an entrance-not the one he was used to, not one he’d used at all. The unfamiliarity threw him off, and he didn’t realized that they hadn’t headed for the med bay until they stopped outside Hook’s room. Hook slipped inside, taking a small stack of datapads, before he said a word. “I needed to pick these up,” he said simply. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
And it still felt-odd, to know that Hook had a room. One he’d seen-recharged in once, even. It wasn’t that it was all that unusual, but the Decepticon struck him as intensely, possibly to the point of paranoia, private. He was certainly obsessive.
Not that it mattered.
The med bay wasn’t far from there, and Ratchet found himself happy to be back in familiar territory. He’d spent a lot of time in the room.
-Although he shouldn’t feel like he was on home ground at all, not on a Decepticon base. Or at least, that’s what he’d always thought. Somehow, he didn’t feel like he was doing anything wrong-
Except for deceiving his teammates and commanding officer, all of them friends.
Ratchet wandered over to Bonecrusher’s still form, briefly checking that nothing had gone wrong, but he was suddenly aware that there was someone inside the body he’d been working on, now, somebody-some Decepticon-he didn’t know. Even the borrowed memories he still had-and he really needed to delete all of them, or most of them, now this, all this, was ended-were fuzzy, blurred by time and distance. They were doubtlessly still strong for Hook and Scrapper, the ones he’d taken them from, but second-hand…
“Nothing’s wrong?”
“No, everything’s fine.” Ratchet could feel an uneasy silence building, and was relieved as Scrapper walked in, smiling at him a little sheepishly.
“Sorry I didn’t think to remind you about what you’d brought, yesterday.”
“You had a lot on your mind.” The sentence was phrased so that it served as reminder-for everyone-of who Ratchet was, of the fact that he was, inarguably, undeniably and unchangeably, an outsider.
“But you’ve done a lot for us.”
Ratchet couldn’t quite hide his surprise at Scrapper’s words-was he telling him that he was of higher importance to them than he’d figured? That made no sense.
He was going to ignore it.
“Here,” Ratchet said instead, holding out the welder they’d made him.
“Keep it.”
“We certainly don’t have any use for it.”
“Alright, then. Thank you.”
“I already told you: don’t thank me, I didn’t make it for you.”
“We made it,” Hook corrected pointedly, but Ratchet ignored him. There was an odd-challenge to Scrapper’s voice…
“But you’re still giving it to me,” he said quietly. “Which you didn’t need to do. Even if you don’t need the welder, it’s still a gift. Even making it at all-didn’t Scavenger tell you that I didn’t really need it? It still made things go a little faster, but mostly it just made things less frustrating. For me.” Ratchet paused. “Even if it wasn’t meant for me, I was the one who used it.”
Scrapper smiled suddenly. “Maybe you’re right. But if that’s the case, isn’t you helping Bonecrusher-us-just as much of a gift?”
Ratchet set down the scalpel he’d been holding as he searched for the correct box in his toolkit. “So what you’re asking is, ‘Is a gift not freely given a gift?’ I’d- Or a gift grudgingly given. I suppose you win this time.” His engine raced briefly, a sign of frustration. “You’re welcome. I’m…”
He stopped, waiting so long that Scrapper almost thought he wasn’t going to continue.
“I’m not sorry I helped.”
“Good,” said Scrapper lightly, pushing his stool away from the table he’d sat down at with a scraping noise, and walking lightly, measuredly, over to him. He stood slightly too close to the other mech. “Does that mean I can thank you properly?”
“Depends,” said Ratchet warily, leaning back. “Is it going to end up like how Scavenger ‘thanked’ me?”
“Probably,” Scrapper said, steel backing the soft words. “In the root of things, at least-on the most basic level.” He held a hand out, fingers almost brushing Ratchet’s side but not quite touching, and waited.
And waited. Ratchet realized, belatedly, that the matter was in his hands: it was up to him. And somehow that made up his mind for him.
“Fine. You’re welcome.”
Scrapper moved his hand away, surprisingly. Ratchet looked at him.
“You don’t want to go somewhere more private?”
“What? You’re a gestalt. Someone feels like watching, they going to, aren’t they? Possibly even if they don’t, for all I know.”
“Good answer.” And then he was being pushed down to the floor, Scrapper kneeling next to him, eyes sharp.
“You know, the greatest work of art is the Cybertronian body. That is what I am trying to replicate when I create. …And you. You can repair those works of art. You’re part of it.”
Ratchet shuddered as the mech placed a single deliberate hand on his shoulder, hyperaware of the contact.
“The height of functionality, the definition, paired with beauty-”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Ratchet said, interrupting. “I am many things, but not particularly beautiful.”
“Quiet,” Hook announced from across the room, then stood and walked over. He placed a foot on Ratchet’s chassis, supporting most of his weight but letting Ratchet take enough for the threat to be tangible.
It figures he’s the kinky one, Ratchet thought, but he obeyed.
“-The definition of functionality, paired with beauty,” Scrapper continued smoothly. “The ideal to strive towards, knowing you’ll never reach it. I try to, with my creations. It’s a pale imitation, even our greatest successes: do you know Crystal City? I still consider it one of more inspired works. But it’s still nothing. Nothing. What you do is so much greater, in a way… Do you see the beauty in the bodies you repair, Ratchet?”
“Yes-” He thought about continuing, but didn’t. He assumed he’d made the right choice when Hook removed his foot, sinking to sit down, so the two Decepticons were flanking him.
“So… You know what I’m doing when I do-this?” He’d carefully shifted his fingers into the shoulder socket, just managing to get the tips of his fingers to brush against a row of neural sensors. Ratchet almost screamed at the sensation, the sudden intensity of touch after its absence.
“Answer,” Hook said shortly when Ratchet failed to reply, still trying to stabilize his processor from the feedback.
“You-agitated the ‘spine,’ or primary line, of the upper left medic-standard neural network, sector seventy-six subline five, sending data through the primary sector seven-six neural cluster which gathers to the primary sensor cable leading to my central processor-ah-!”
“I’m jealous,” Scrapper said softly, working his fingers back out of the seam in the armor. He took up Ratchet’s hands instead, one in each of his own, and placed them on his chassis. “You know how I work. You could take me apart and put me back together again.”
Ratchet sat up, tired of playing the doll. “I think not. That would be-uninteresting. There are better ways to utilize medical knowledge, you know.”
“Show me,” Scrapper said, looking happy again. “Prove it.”
“Give me your hand. You too, Hook.” Ratchet himself produced a pair of pliers, which he put aside momentarily. He took the nearest hand-one of Hook’s-and ran his fingers over it, pretending not to notice the shiver that caused-he had sensitive hands. Good. It didn’t take Ratchet long to find the primary sensory cord, even with its unfamiliar placement on the alien design, and then it was a simple matter to tear out a single wire, pulling it through a gap in the armor. He also didn’t miss the way jerking the wire out made Hook’s engine rumble, the moment of pain arousing. -That wasn’t somewhere he was interested in going.
He repeated his actions with one of Scrapper’s hands before he spoke.
“Most mechs are only aware of a hardline connection, when it comes to forming temporary ties. A fair number of medics are aware of the theory behind simply connecting two sensory systems, but they’re also aware that it’s largely ineffective on a feasible scale.” He drew the two wires closer, so they were almost touching. “Your already-established connection should make this interesting, though.”
And it was. Ratchet smirked as he watched Scrapper seize, temporarily losing control-he’d been mostly guessing, but he’d guessed right, which was what mattered. The theory had been sound.
“Not fair,” Hook murmured into one audio, reaching out to grip him with all four arms, possessively. “You didn’t feel that.”
“Then make it up to me. You were the ones insisting I-”
The sudden expansion of Scrapper’s energy field made him lose speech, fire racing along his nerves and veins, warmth filling him. The way Hook shuddered around him-and then Scrapper tried it again, synching it with Hook, and Ratchet couldn’t help but moan, a low babble of static. He was hyperaware of the other two engines pressed against him, their vibrations.
Ratchet pushed his own energy field out in a quick pulse before the other two had the chance to react, slipping his smaller fingers into Scrapper’s armor as he did so, taking advantage of their distraction-
And they were still connected, by gestalt bond and by wire. They were close to overload, he knew, eyes overly bright-probably a lot like his own, although he couldn’t tell.
“I guess Autobots only pretend they play fair,” Scrapper said, voice laced over with static-he really was close to the edge, his composure cracking. Ratchet guessed Hook was just as close. “It’s too bad you’re outnumbered-cleverness only counts for so much.” The sudden surge of the two comming him, uploading the sensations pouring through them, pushing them into his processor, was too much.
Overload hit him hard, and he only had the satisfaction of holding out a few seconds longer than the other two.
---
“Thank you,” Ratchet said, back at the familiar shack and treeless, dusty hill that marked his material storage.
“Whatever. I always end up hauling things around…”
“Maybe you should change your name, then, Longhaul.”
“Huh.” He paused. “I should go. -Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” Ratchet said, and turned away to store his tools as the sound of Longhaul’s engine faded into the distance.
---
The past three weeks had been boring. Ratchet hadn’t expected that. He’d known that he’d… adapted to the Constructicon presence, but he hadn’t realized to what extent it had changed his life.
He hadn’t always been riveted to his life and work, before, but now he very rarely found himself feeling at peace, fully. He wasn’t unhappy-exactly-it was just…
He wondered how things had worked out. He hadn’t heard from them, which was probably good. Definitely for the best, in the long run and in the short-
So it was likely that Bonecrusher hadn’t suffered any lasting damage, that there weren’t any problems with the repairs-they’d probably already left. After all, Starscream had attacked them nearby-he was likely to recheck the area, looking for them.
And Ratchet knew where their base was. And Ratchet was an Autobot.
This was the way things were supposed to be. Unbreakable, indivisible factions, perfect opposites and as unmixable as oil and water-
Oil and water not mixed with soap, or any other form of cleanser, to break down the polarity-
His metaphor had gotten away from him, but it really was better like this. He didn’t have to think about who he was betraying (just who he had betrayed) and who he could trust (he shouldn’t have needed to think) and what had gone on between him and Scavenger, then Scrapper and Hook, because it was a moment’s insanity and it would pass, along with his memories of what had taken place and if-when-other Autobot’s arrived, maybe he’d find a partner, and that would help.
He should probably tell Optimus Prime what had happened. Confess. It wouldn’t make up for what he’d done, but it would help. …He’d wait until he was certain that the Constructicons were gone, even though he didn’t owe them a thing-so it made no sense that he felt like he did.
Very little about any of this had been logical. Ratchet could live with that. It wouldn’t help him explain everything that had taken place to his teammates, but…
He could live with that.
And he still wasn’t sorry he’d helped them.
---
The next day, Ratchet recognized Mixmaster in town. The first chance he got, he headed out into the desert. He’d thought this was over…
The Decepticon followed him, of course. Ratchet waited for him to transform, then followed suit.
“Hello,” he said quietly. “What are you doing here?”
Mixmaster shrugged defensively, remaining silent, his body half twisted to the side.
“Fine,” Ratchet said, hiding a brief flicker of nerves-Mixmaster could be unsettling-and sitting down, stubborn.
A second later, his sulking was interrupted. “Fa-a-ce me.”
Ratchet did, turning to see the mech holding out an interface cable leading back to his neck, looking patient and defiant.
Ratchet’s mind went blank. “…Was that a pun?”
“Yesss.”
“Oh, Primus.” He’d never been propositioned like that before. Of course, he hadn’t had as many partners in the past ten thousand years as he’d had in the past month…
“Please?”
Ratchet buried his face in his hands, no idea what to do. “I… Mixmaster, I don’t think this is a good ide-”
“Hmph. You- do no-t-t think it i-is a g-good id-e-a because you think-k I am a glit-ching lunatic-c-ic. I am not sane but-t-ut-but-t-t-” He paused, clearly recollecting himself. “But I a-am in con-trol of my proc-ess-ors. In the-ese matters.”
Well, that stung. “I never said that! You’re a Decepticon. That’s reason enough for it to be a bad idea.”
“Scavenger, Hook, Scrapper,” he said simply in reply.
“That was a bad idea too,” Ratchet growled.
“One more? Ple-ase.”
“You aren’t going to leave, are you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Mixmaster shrugged, looking slightly frustrated, but stayed quiet. “I-wa-ant -to.”
“Alright.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.” Ratchet half-expected to be jumped, pinned, but the mech simply took a step forward kneeled, holding his cord out to him once more, and waited.
“Alright,” he repeated, reaching out to accept. The other’s engine purred as he clipped it into place and handed him his own, the bond settling down in his mind as a lightning-fast blur of information in his subconscious mind, warm and subtle: there was nothing strong enough to leap out at him, yet.
Mixmaster slowly leaned back until he was flat along the ground, the attachments between them forcing Ratchet to edge closer, until he was alongside him.
Hesitantly, Ratchet ran his hands over a stretch of armor, or tried to, but the myriad of blade-like extensions made it hard. Still, Mixmaster had been designed as a scientist, and there were a higher-than-average number of tactical sensors: not enough to match the chemical ones, but enough to make a difference. Ratchet could feel the subtle shift in the current of energy between them.
He tried again, purposefully grinding hard against one of the sensitive little nodes, and it made Mixmaster twitch, vocalizer making some faint, strangled, babbled noise, and Ratchet shuddered hard as the feedback swept through him. He slid his fingers down one of the bladed struts, slipped his fingers inside the narrow opening in Mixmaster’s armor it was protecting and pulled briefly on one of the wires inside it, forcing his arm to hold still as he thrashed again, the Constructicon beneath him trembling.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” he whispered once he recovered, vocalizer still crackling with feedback.
“Wh-at?”
Ratchet was surprised by the surge of fear that followed the words, not accompanying them.
“What?” he repeated. “You’re just laying there, letting me-poke at you. I feel the feedback, but are you going to do anything?”
“O-oh.” Hesitantly, he touched one of Ratchet’s arms, slowly investigating the hand, touched careful, delicate, light-teasing. It would have been arousing, but that fear hadn’t gone away, and it was irking Ratchet. It was the polar opposite of arousing, to start with.
His irritation surged, and he knew Mixmaster felt it, suddenly leaping back: Ratchet screamed as the line connecting them was almost disconnected, was almost ripped out before the line was terminated. He missed Mixmaster’s own pain as it mixed with his own until his faded, and he was suddenly being flooded with the Decepticon’s thoughts and fears. Shaking, Ratchet terminated his end of the line, then helped Mixmaster with his: his fingers were scrabbling desperately to disengage the connection, but he was shaking too badly to manage it.
Ratchet lay back, trying to sort through the overwhelming welter of emotions that had flooded him.
So none of Mixmaster’s gestalt members were afraid of him: he’d been wrong, when he’d gotten the memories. Mostly, he was afraid of himself: of losing control. Because he was glitchy, and just as badly as Ratchet’s worst suspicions had been. Possibly worse.
“Oh,” he said carefully, out loud, because he needed to say something. Mixmaster was still a silent, unmoving form next to him.
“Oh-you stu-pid Aut-”
“Stick it up your exhaust pipe. Look, you want to interface,--fine, I can… deal with that. But if you don’t actually want to, look for it somewhere else. Most of your team members are downright horny little bastards, you can go bother them-”
“I… d-do.”
“Alright, then. I don’t want to plug into you if I end up getting fear out of it. That’s not…”
“Not-t you-u. It is n-ot you.”
“But I’m still feeling your fear! That is not arousing! It’s not like you’re even going to be a danger, especially here and now-especially now you have a full gestalt again. They ground you, and you know it.”
Mixmaster was silent, the bladed extensions covering his body unusually upright-a defensive position, Ratchet realized.
“…I don’t care, you realize. It’s not really impacting you right now, so it’s… Not a matter. It’s not like you’re infectious.”
“Re-eally.” Mixmaster’s tone was sarcastic.
“Do I have to prove it by plugging into you again?”
Mixmaster eyed him carefully, calculating. “Yes.”
---
Ratchet was less surprised when Longhaul appeared, five days after that. It hadn’t been hard to come to the realization that things weren’t over, really. He didn’t want them to be, even if it complicated things even more.
“What is it?” Ratchet asked as Longhaul pulled up next to him.
“What the slag sort of greeting is that?”
“Fine-hello, Longhaul. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hook wants you to check up on the repairs you made. He thinks something’s gone wrong.”
“Really.” Personally, Ratchet was of the opinion that Hook had his energon processor poisoning his ’facing port, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Not in so many words, at least. “You’ll need to transform.”
“Sure.”
Ratchet carefully poked and prodded at the mech, examining him, but he couldn’t find anything wrong, no matter what, not even any hints that something might be broken, or regressed-He said as much. “I think Hook’s being paranoid-excuse me, overly cautious again. I can run a scan if you don’t mind me jacking into your system, but I don’t think I’ll find anything else.”
“Go for it. Hook’ll just send me back if he thinks you weren’t pit-slagged thorough enough-you know.”
And Ratchet did know. That was thing.
“Alright, I’ll set it up. Let’s hope this works just as well as it did last time-I’m pretty sure the energon loss was relaxing you.”
“Really? The last time it happened I ended up offlining a medic and then jumping Bonecrusher before I passed out. I don’t think it’s ever made me calm before.”
“It can hit differently in different situations. Now, hold still-and try not to fight me.”
He shouldn’t have worried. The connection formed just as smoothly, easily, naturally as it had before, Longhaul relaxing, opening up as Ratchet’s consciousness filtered through his, searching for anything wrong. He didn’t find a thing-he hadn’t been expecting to-and he slipped back to his own body almost surreptitiously. Longhaul didn’t move as he unclipped the cable he’d used, apparently still luxuriating in the comfort of a fitting connection-although it couldn’t be any different from what he experienced as a gestalt. Ratchet could see his own attraction to the feeling, but presumably it wasn’t a novelty for Longhaul the way it was for him.
He looked down at the still form and felt a twinge of interest. But- He shouldn’t be interfacing Decepticons at all, let alone initiating it in an ever-wider group of partners…
Oh, scrap. Ratchet ran fingers over the small antennae on Longhaul’s head, pressing firmly but not quite hard-the Decepticon’s optics flashed back online immediately, and he made a grab for Ratchet’s wrist, grasping it tight enough that it was just short of painful.
“That was on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
---
Bonecrusher followed Ratchet for three days before the Autobot realized who he was and that he wanted to speak to him, and it took him sending a request to open a commlink for the medic to get the second part at all.
He didn’t accept the connection, but he did move out to the desert that night, and waited for the other to show up. It felt… Odd. Because he didn’t know Bonecrusher, just his gestalt-mates: he was agreeing to meet an unknown Decepticon, when you got down to it.
And that hadn’t stopped him.
He was only waiting for an hour before Bonecrusher appeared, and the two sat in silence for an hour longer before either of them spoke.
“So you’re Ratchet.”
“Yes…”
“Thanks.”
“I wish you-all of you-would stop doing that.”
“Oh, don’t you start, Autobot-you think I’d be here if I didn’t think that I needed to be? Slagging no. But you saved me-which wouldn’t matter much except what it means to them. -And then Longhaul and Mixmaster and you might be some bleeding-heart sap taken in by a sob story but I owe you.”
“I don’t know why I did it,” Ratchet said quietly. “Why I’m doing this. I should have reported you-and I would have, so it’s not so much overcome with some selfless need to heal my mortal enemies as it was a moment of insanity-”
“Huh. You did scan us. And you match, that helps.”
“What?”
“You’re the medic, you tell me.”
“You mean I’ve been influenced-as have you, and your team-by the way my mental patterns fit into yours? That’s why we’ve been so-so obscenely trusting of each other? But-”
“I don’t think that it makes much of a difference. It was the start of things-it’s more who you are. It helps, but-mostly it was you helping us. Once, we met someone else who matched us, and I think Scrapper built something out of him after I killed him because he was an annoying little traitor. A boring one.”
“I suppose I should thank you for not killing me, then.”
“Damn straight. …I guess you’re not too bad, for an Autobot. The others like you.”
“You know I’m betraying my team, being here. How’s your feelings when it comes to the Prime cutting off your head?”
“Can’t say I’m not pissy. But he killed Megatron.”
“Actually, that was a human.”
“-Seriously? Hah! Slagger deserved to be offlined by a little insect.”
“Charming. You’re more like Longhaul than, say, Hook, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Me and ’Hauler’ve got a lot in common. Now.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I wanted to destroy everything. I hated everyone. It was kind of fun. Sometimes. I’m still not the nice one-I’d be tracking your Optimus Prime down right now if it wasn’t stupid and if the others were okay with the idea-”
“They’re not?”
“No, you wouldn’t like it, and we owe you. So. I’m still not the nice one, but I can be-not-angry again, now I’m not alone anymore. They like having me there-and it’s not just needing it. Me being there makes ’em happy, it’s not the bond being good again, entirely-And I don’t really hate everything now. This stupid planet is still fragging awful but Scavenger really likes it-he keeps on showing up with weird things to show me-and Scrapper likes the new ideas for designs even if it drives Hook crazy, and Longhaul’s as happy as he ever is, and Mixmaster’s got new stuff to play with…”
There was a moment of silence.
“So you just came out here to thank me?”
“And to get to know you a little better-y’know, my own impression, that slag. Want to fuck?”
“We haven’t really known each other all that long.” Mostly, Ratchet was privately amused.
“Like slag-I get memories of you whenever I tie into any of the others. Or all of them. And you started it with Longhaul. And you haven’t known any of them all that well.”
“So why should I interface with you?”
“Figures you’re like some weird mix of Scrapper and Hook- Because I want to. You do too, right? You don’t need any more of a reason.”
“You’re right. I do want it.”
Ratchet was pinned a split-second later, Bonecrusher’s body heavy on top of him, and Ratchet realized the benefits of an engine place surprisingly close to the surface as it rumbled against him. “Good,” Bonecrusher growled. There was nothing subtle about the raw lust in his voice, or the way he shoved a finger at one of Ratchet’s interface ports, fumbling around it, before he found his own cable and, unceremonious, clicked it into place, waiting just long enough for Ratchet to complain or protest. He didn’t.
He was holding back most of the data, waiting, giving Ratchet enough time to complete the circuit before he set it loose, the rush of data-as subtle as a brick to the face-tearing through him, electrifying, overwhelming-Ratchet kept on catching split-second snatches of the other Decepticons looking in, but nothing more-it was more than he could concentrate on.
Bonecrusher dragged his fingers down Ratchet’s hand, metal squealing against metal, and the sensation made him thrash hard enough to almost dislodge the cables connecting them, even pinned the way he was. He responded by pulsing his personal field and Bonecrusher moaned into the sand, grip tightening spasmodically. Ratchet couldn’t hide the sudden pain, not with the volume of their data exchange, and the painful grasp crushing his hand and wrist lessened, even if Bonecrusher wasn’t at all repentant: he turned his attentions to a neck joint, forcing his fingers in and twisting, and sparks burst across Ratchet’s vision before it went black and he passed out, system overloading, dimly aware that the surge of energy he released pushed Bonecrusher over the edge with him.
Ratchet roused himself long enough to set a scan to warn him of anyone approaching, feeling Bonecrusher stir sleepily at the activity-he couldn’t find the energy to disconnect them-and slipped into true recharge.
---
When Ratchet woke back up, someone had disconnected him from Bonecrusher, who was still there. The rest of the Constructicons were there as well, leaning against each other in a baroque tangle of metal parts, some surfaces silvered with moonlight and others dark, their eyes red points of light in the darkness.
“What?” he asked, pulling himself upright, unable to figure out what would have brought the six of them out here. Immediately, all eyes flicked to him, and one figure stirred, just slightly, before they started their transformation.
Ratchet watched, awed, as their forms shifted, interconnected, knotted together, and finally the combiner sat up, dwarfing Ratchet: he was big enough to hold him in his two hands.
It finally occurred to him that gestalts were creations of war, and he felt a sudden spark of fear. Were they going to remove their greatest weakness? Why else would they be combining?
“I am Devastator,” announced the giant, voice booming around Ratchet, surrounding him.
So a combiner was an entity unto itself. “Uh…” Really, it shouldn’t have been so surprising: there had been guesses about that, in the papers that had been written-the ones he’d gotten a hold of; there were definitely others, possibly more definite and more accurate, that he’d never seen.
His hands reached down to surround him, effortless, the touch gentle but insistent, ignoring the way Ratchet tried to subtly deflect the gentle touch. Finally he was just picked up bodily, with an embarrassing squawking noise at the mistreatment.
“What are you doing?! Put me down!”
Surprisingly, he was let down, and there was a still moment while he could just stare at the huge mech in front of him, silhouetted against the horizon, backlit by the bright moon. After a minute, one gigantic hand moved to touch him again, and this time Ratchet let him, curiously running fingers over what he could reach. This had to be why he’d seen so many redundant systems in Bonecrusher, so many apparently useless features worked into his design… for the combination. There had to be some kind of modified valve that worked to attach their energon-processing systems-and something beyond that to make sure that none of them ended up with more or less energon than they could handle when they separated again-
He was being picked up again. This time, he let it happen: it wasn’t like he was going to be able to change it, certainly not easily. Despite that, he felt-oddly comfortable. On edge, yes, but not panicky, the way you’d expect. If nothing else, Devastator didn’t seem to want to hurt him.
Cupped hands-oddly shaped, both of them, and different: clearly, there were limits to the transformation technology-held him against the body. Ratchet could feel an engine beneath him, working maybe a little harder than was normal: probably a side effect of the increased size, he catalogued vaguely. The sensation of the working system next to him was oddly… Comforting.
The Constructicons really were wearing off on him. He was turning out to be almost as deviant as they were.
The steady humming increased, vibrating through Ratchet’s frame, increasingly intrusive. The sensation was… Pleasant.
“Is… That on purpose?”
There wasn’t an answer, but the rhythm picked up again.
“Devastator. Answer me: Is. That. On. Purpose?”
“Yes.”
Primus. A gestalt, in the combined form, was attempting to interface him.
He was torn with misgivings, but his hands curled involuntarily at the growing pleasure. One giant finger ran down his back, seemingly in encouragement.
Oh, slag it. Mind made up, Ratchet shoved most of his arm into the mech, feeling around for the right wires.
---
Ratchet awoke to an unexpected babble of emotions and reactions, the reactions bursting like fireworks through his head.
“What?” he said sleepily.
“Don’t hate us,” Scavenger said miserably.
“What?” he repeated, startled, more awake by the second.
“Congrats, Autobot, you’re bonded.” That was Bonecrusher’s voice, satisfied underneath the growl and the condescension.
And he could feel his happiness, not just hear it. And hesitancy, a different happiness-more than one; one for each of the Constructicons-and a fearful tangle of nerves that was Scavenger, hope from Mixmaster-why was Hook smug?-
He had no way of keeping the panic that welled up hidden from them. He was pathetically grateful that they let him scramble to his feet and back away from them, all of them, even though none of them really wanted to-and they could feel that, too. He could feel what they wanted. Now he understood the reason they were always touching-he wanted that comfort, too. Just… Not from them. Because they were-not perfect, but just right, except they were Decepticons and he loved them-loved them, all of them, slag it-but he had history and friendship and a fierce devotion and respect for his commanding officer and his team, and the Autobot cause, and- He loved them, too: differently, but just as strongly.
He’d wanted love, a romantic love, if it came his way, but not something he had to deny or hide or confess to-
“I’m sorry,” Scavenger said quietly.
“It was a mistake,” Hook added, most of his smug attitude gone, or at least repressed. “We-hadn’t done that. before. Interfaced as Devastator.” Ratchet could tell he wasn’t lying.
“I should have thought,” he said blankly. “Personal fields are individualized by spark energy. Theoretically, if it was concentrated enough and pressed on another mech-The six of you must have made it enough. Oh, Primus.”
“So what now?” Longhaul asked, voice bitter.
“What do you want?” said Scrapper quietly, looking at Ratchet.
“What do you-want? Expect? I don’t know. Need.”
“All we’ve ever wanted is completion-and to create,” Scrapper said, frowning deeply. “You know that-it hasn’t changed, just grown to include you.”
“I can’t-I’ll need to tell Optimus. To help you is potentially-is traitorous behavior, but to be bonded is-it’s another level of… what I’ve done. I’m facing execution, but I need to return-and I don’t think I’ll be put to death, just for this. It’s just a remote possibility, or maybe a little more. It’s in the rules. But you: I doubt any of my teammates would be willing to let you live, bonded to me or not. -Since this is so recent, would you-what would the bond fracturing be like?”
He could feel the instantaneous rage at what he was suggesting, that he might die. He could also feel that they knew that they’d all survive, the way things were.
“So you’re going to-what? Break me out of the Autobot brig if I am sentenced? Keep me from going at all? And I know you’ll be fine if I’m just confined to base or something.”
---
“I can’t believe you put me in the brig!” Ratchet hissed, purposefully pushing his incandescent rage at the three mechs standing across from him. Bonecrusher and Hook remained blank-faced and stoic, while Scavenger flinched.
Ratchet went back to ignoring them, pacing across the cell-admittedly, it was spacious, built to hold mechs much, much larger than he was-but it was still what it was. He knew his frustration was mounting, and that there were other, nastier emotions mixing with it: betrayal, fear, helplessness. He hadn’t meant to bond, but he hadn’t minded the connection itself, just the ramifications it brought with. This, though, this was- He’d made some sort of hideous mistake, letting himself get close, if this was what happened-How long were they planning on keeping him captive?...
“I personally think that you have no reason to give yourself up to the Autobots-”
“I am an Autobot, and you have no close ties to anyone outside the gestalt, so no, you’re not going to understand-”
“-But we can feel you and it’s freaking us out,” finished Bonecrusher.
“I’m really sorry,” added Scavenger abruptly.
The energy field that had been keeping him contained faded with those final words, and Ratchet scrambled out unusually quickly. He started at the feel of Bonecrusher and Scavenger pressing up against him, but he didn’t push them away: he also didn’t return the touch
“I’ll comm him,” Ratchet said at last. “Optimus Prime. It’s the coward’s way out, but I’ll do it.”
“We’re good at the coward’s way out,” said Scavenger, brightening again.
Even Ratchet could feel Hook’s relief, regardless of how he tried to hide it, and it helped. It was hard to stay angry-no matter how unreasonable and frightening someone was being-when you felt what they did.
---
‘You thought I’d execute you,’ said Optimus at last.
‘Sir, I deceived my commanding officer-deceived you-to aid and abet the enemy, then undertook ‘activities of a sexual nature’-you know the rulebook better than I do-then accidentally…
‘I’m bonded, Optimus, to a Decepticon gestalt. Any one of those, and the last one especially, is a hanging offense.’
‘I’ve known you for years, Ratchet, and I thought you knew me better than that. I’m… Deeply disappointed, true, but I don’t believe in capital punishment for mechs I don’t know-for captured Decepticons-let alone for someone I trust. Even if that trust has been betrayed. Why… Have you done this?’
Ratchet tried to ignore the six Decepticons listening in. ‘They needed it. That’s what started it. I know that’s a horrible excuse, sir, but I’m a medic, and I know what losing someone is like, I had no good reason not to, beyond faction, once I determined that they wouldn’t attack any other Autobots unless provoked, or any humans-unless I refused.’ He paused, finding the words for something he struggled to just understand.
‘No interest in attacking humans,’ Optimus repeated.
‘Mostly they find them boring. -Well, except Scavenger. To be fair, they feel that way about most Decepticons, and Autobots.’
‘And how do you end up ‘accidentally’ bonded?’
‘By interfacing a gestalt in their-his-combined form. Sir.’
Bonecrusher snickered.
‘-No need for any more details.’
‘For what it’s worth, Optimus, I’m sorry.’
‘So am I. You won’t be returning to the base?’
‘I’d… Like to. We’ve been working together for longer than I can remember, all of us-with Bumblebee since he onlined, really. But…’
‘But?’
‘I’m under considerable pressure to stay in contact with my bondmates-and I’d like to. Very much so. Even if you don’t follow procedure and execute me, I’d be confined, presumably permanently-and, honestly, that would probably mean the Constructicons attacking you to get me out, which I want to avoid most of all. I don’t want to leave you without a medic-if there’s an emergency, I’ll come. And I’m trusting you not to take that as an opportunity to take me back forcefully. -I’m being informed that I’m an over-trusting fool for that.’
‘They’re listening in?’
‘I haven’t figured how to keep them out yet. I do have any sensitive information behind firewalls, though-which they could probably get through, but haven’t tried to-and I don’t think it matters much. They hated Megatron, hate Starscream, and have no tolerance for any other Decepticon they’ve met. As far as they’re concerned, the war ended with the Allspark.’
‘I wish more of us-and them-felt that way. We’re picking up Decepticon activity again.’
‘For what it’s worth, the Constructicons were attacked by Starscream and two more seekers, over a month-a month and a half-ago. They’re out there, somewhere.’
‘Attacked?’
‘I told you there was no love lost.’
‘I see. Ratchet?’
‘Sir.’
‘If you do return, you’ll be confined to the brig for a month for a failure to pass on vital information. The second part to your punishment detail is to inform both Bumblebee and Ironhide of the situation. Don’t make them hear it from me. Optimus Prime out.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Ratchet said slowly, to the dead line.
---
Ratchet looked up from his datapad at the sound of approaching feet-he couldn’t be sure, with the echoes in the hallway, but it sounded like more than the Autobots at the base-
He started, dropping his datapad with a loud crash, as Scrapper walked into the room, followed by the other Constructicons and then Optimus Prime, escorting them with a blank face and both cannons at the ready.
“I-what?”
“Nice to see you!” said Scavenger happily.
Ratchet boggled. “I… This slagging sure shouldn’t be what it looks like…!”
“What does it look like?” asked Longhaul with a smirk.
Optimus Prime interrupted them. “They gave themselves up.”
“…What?”
“Witty,” said Hook, dry and sarcastic.
“We’ll break out once your month is up-it’s just two more weeks, right?”
“Uh, yes. Where’s Bonecrusher?” He was the only one of the six missing.
“We figured it would be better if he stayed out of the way of the Prime.” Scrapper paused for a moment. “And not in a situation where his temper is likely to flare.”
“What were you thinking? You’re relying on the fact you can just break out-that’s ridiculous, that is so far beyond crazy there’s no words for it.”
“We wanted to see you,” said Scavenger.
“Ye-es,” said Mixmaster happily; Optimus had picked up on the speech impediment, Ratchet realized, as he gave the mech an odd glance. “Dibs o-on shar-ing his cell-.”
“I don’t think they let you pick your own cell, even on the Autobot base,” said Scrapper dryly.
Optimus seemed to be aware of the fact that he was losing control of the situation. “Into the cells, now. Two to each.” They only had three of them working: there were another six still being constructed, a little further down the hallway. If only… He would have liked to put more room between the members of a gestalt, even a gestalt missing a member.
Ratchet feigned indifference as Mixmaster pulled him close, but couldn’t hide the way he tangled his hands in the complicated structures of the other.
Optimus didn’t miss that, either.
---
“So you’ve decided to talk to me again.”
The yellow Camaro-not brand new anymore, but even as a model that had been out for seven years Bumblebee drew attention-shifted on his wheels before he spoke.
“Sorry about that, but I still don’t think I was being all that unreasonable.”
“You weren’t-which is why I’m not going to take you apart and reformat you as a Volkswagen beetle: I could probably enlist some help that would make it fairly easy. Where are Sam and Mikaela?”
“Stuck using public transport for a day or two. So… What are the Decepticons like?”
“I see living with humanity hasn’t improved your tact any.” Ratchet waited just long enough for Bumblebee to get antsy before he continued. “Everything’s going well. I need to get in touch with Optimus and see if I can convince him to talk to the government about getting construction permits. I think it would calm things down-one or two of us are getting restless.” He sounded fond, amused, underneath the tart annoyance.
“So, how does a Decepticon get ‘restless’?” Bumblebee sounded wary.
“Kidnapping innocent humans and terrorizing them, of course-didn’t you know that? Oh, don’t you give me that look, I was just saying what you were thinking, and you know it-although only one of us believes it. What actually happens is that the arguments get a little louder and more likely to turn violent, everyone’s just a little more volatile… More interfacing. Little things like that.”
“Ratchet-ew. I’ve had enough time with this without imagining that-” He shuddered demonstratively.
“I have trouble believing that you were visualizing anything, considering that you don’t even know what they look like.” Ratchet stopped abruptly, then slowly continued. “It’s really taken you this long to adjust?”
“…No. Not really. It did take me a long time to forgive you, but for a while after that I just didn’t know how to approach you. Ironhide just yelled at me, finally. And Mikaela had been dropping hints.”
“I’ve known you since you were young and stupid, Bumblebee-even stupider than you are now. Haven’t you learned anything? I might yell, but I don’t stay angry for anything that petty.”
“Says the mech who assigned me to punishment detail for a week and a half after I repainted your tools-that hardly even qualifies as a prank!”
“No, I assigned you to cleaning the mess you left up-an entirely different situation. It just happened to take a week. And a half. -Ironhide told you to show up here?”
“Well, he’d been hinting at it. Not subtly, because it’s Ironhide, but that’s what it amounted to. Mostly, I’m here with news.” He stopped, and didn’t continue until Ratchet spoke again.
“You do like being an obnoxious brat-”
“Just for you, Ratchet, and remember that turn-around is fair play. The big news is that we might have picked up another Autobot signal approaching-we’ll keep you posted.” He paused to let that sink in. “And then Sam and Mikaela are inviting you to their wedding.”
“…Really?”
“Really. In Mikaela’s words, ‘If he’s too stubborn to break this stupid silence non-contact not-gonna-be-first thing, we’ll have to do it instead. Or you will, at least, for our benefit. Don’t tell him I said that.’”
“I was asking about the Autobot, actually, but-
“I’d mostly given up hope.”
“That is because you are old, and a cynic. But we would like you to come-we even talked Ironhide into it, so if you show up, they’ll have the whole team there. Speaking of which-I can’t believe he actually came to see you-he even implied he visited twice when I talked to him!”
“Three times, actually.”
“Ironhide? Even with the Decepticons?”
“He was accused of being better-suited to the Decepticon cause on a regular basis for a period of time, back when we transferred to Prime’s unit-but you weren’t with us then. I think it still brings out a rather perverse stubborn streak in him.”
“Huh.”
“That’s not to say things went well. A brawl almost broke out when he was introduced.”
“Wait, he met them? He didn’t tell me that!”
“It wasn’t my idea. Or my decision. Scavenger decided he wanted to meet him and dragged Mixmaster along. Scrapper went too, to act as chaperon, Longhaul insinuated himself into the party, Hook went with them because he’s-Hook, which means kind of obsessively controlling and defensive sometimes, and Bonecrusher followed because he doesn’t like or trust Autobots on general principal-although I would like to think that he’s learned to make exceptions. He was the one who almost caused the fight, anyway, him and Ironhide.”
“So has Optimus met them?”
“Yes-they spent a week in the brig with me back at base, you know. Mostly, they got along fairly well. Hook took the opportunity to ask questions about me. Bonecrusher wasn’t there, though. He still feels distinctly ambivalent about getting his head cut off, so he decided to stay home.”
Bumblebee snickered. “I’d feel a little torn myself. So… Tell me about these bondmates of yours. All six of them. It figures you’re the kinky one.”
“Hmph,” Ratchet said, but his tone was more amused than annoyed. “No respect, that’s your problem.”
“It’s my mentors-they led me astray.”
“Watch it, young’un-”
“Or what? If you’re going to reformat me as a bug, you’ll have to catch me!”
“That’s what the morally ambiguous partners are for-one of the things you learn as you get older is how to deputize.”
“‘Morally ambiguous?’”
“Don’t ask Scrapper why he switched to architecture from art.”
“I’ll admit that you’ve roused my raging curiosity, but I still know better than to actually ask.”
“Well, I guess you learned something from me, then. You didn’t get that from Optimus or ’Hide.”
“I am programmed for recon, Ratch’. Learning there are things you’re better off not knowing is step number one-right after you end up listening in on something you shouldn’t have for the first time.”
“Fine, fine…” Ratchet trailed off. “How’s the wedding planning going?”
“I think it’s mostly Judy and Mrs. Banes working on it-Mikaela would have signed in a judge’s office then thrown a party if it wouldn’t have created an interfamily incident of nuclear proportions. Sam’s putting in his two cents whenever he can, but I don’t think it’s all that big of a deal, for him.”
“Which Mrs. Banes are you referring to?”
“Mikaela’s grandmother. Her mother isn’t too involved-she’s too emotional, I think. No really strong opinions so long as the wedding happens.”
“Hmmm. Human customs are odd…”
“…Yeah. Honestly, you’re right. Still, I think it’s going to be fun.”
“Yes. I’ll see if I can come.”
There was a period of comfortable silence.
“I see you cleverly managed to weasel your way out of describing your new team.”
“Want to meet them, instead?”
“…Alright.”
---
“You’re really happy.”
“What?” Ratchet said, looking up, confused.
“You’re happy,” Mixmaster repeated.
“We can feel it. Don’t argue.” Hook didn’t even bother looking up from his datapad as he delivered his cool statement.
“Why would I deny that? Of course I’m happy. It’s been two years-more-since Bumblebee’s spoken to me. Now I’m back on speaking terms with my team, all of them. We’ve gone through a lot together.”
“Good,” Scavenger said, reaching over for one of Ratchet’s hands. “It’s nice to have you happy.”
“I am in a good mood on a regular basis. You’re acting like I mope continually.”
Bonecrusher snorted. “It’s not just moping-you think too much. Of course he was going to talk to you again. And if he wasn’t, then it wouldn’t matter. It would’ve been a stupid thing to do.”
Ratchet made an annoyed noise. “I swear, communicating with all of you would be so much easier if you had any ties to any mech outside of this room.”
“Give us credit,” said Longhaul lazily. “We did make friends with you.”
“-And then we ended up bonded. I’m not sure that counts.”
“That was an accident.”
“An accident that occurred because you were all trying to get me off every time I turned around.”
“Hey, you went after me.”
“And I don’t remember you ever saying no.”
“Our technique has to have some merit,” Scrapper added, looking over. “I mean-everything worked out well.”
“I think it was sheer dumb luck,” announced Bonecrusher.
Mixmaster shrugged-“It’s not like it matters,”-and went back to meticulously cleaning a stack of dirty tools. Ratchet stood, and moved to help.
“You’re right,” he said. Everything had turned out all right in the end, by luck or practice-or a lot of the former and possibly a little of the latter, if you asked him.