[TFP] Ashes and Embers
Title: Ashes and Embers
Universe: TFP, post-Predacons Rising
Characters: Ratchet, Shockwave
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: Message received. Ratchet ventures into the ruins of Kalis for one last conversation with Shockwave.
For tf-rare-pairings three part harmony challenge, Ratchet and Shockwave, in the ruins of a Cybertronian city, if you don't believe there's a price for this sweet paradise, remind me to show you the scars
The coordinates never changed but the landscape was wholly familiar, at least this time around. Ratchet ached to see what had become of his home: the shambling ruins, the rust-choked streets, the decayed and empty frames.
Cybertron lived again, thanks to Optimus' sacrifice, but one had to consider the cost they had paid to get to this point.
Once upon a time, these ruins were a city - Kalis. It was a haven for scientists of all disciplines, where they could come together, compare notes, and announce discoveries. Where they could be lauded for their accomplishments, names recorded in a massive databank of Cybertronian history for all to remember.
There were museums and laboratories and libraries and research stations. Academies taught bright minds and celebrated the gifted, those allowed to excel beyond their caste or form or function.
Ratchet had onlined here. He'd gone into Ars Mechanica because it had been in his coding and he'd also been lucky. It had also called to his spark.
He vacillated between Engineering and Mechanica, excelling in both but proving more passionate in the latter. That it paid better might have had something to do with it. He earned awards and acclaim, but always fell short of the highest regard. In the end, he remained one of many, many medics.
Kalis was his home.
It was also where he first met Shockwave.
Arriving at the coordinates, Ratchet slowed to a stop, headlights sweeping what was left of the Kalisian Institute of Mechanical Science. It was a complete ruin, and the memory of its destruction was still fresh in Ratchet's memory banks. He could still remember the stench as it smoldered, the ash cloud obscuring the stars overhead, and the sound of thousands of voices raised in terror.
So many dead. So many bright lives and minds lost.
How many miracles would never see Cybertronian history now?
Ratchet shifted to root mode, picking his way across the debris. Footing was treacherous, the air stale and tepid. He tried not to think of the dust beneath him as the remnants of fallen Cybertronians.
There used to be a library here on campus, small and barely visited. It contained nothing but unproven theories, abandoned research and empty dreams. It was the perfect meeting spot for two mechs who barely had time to spare as it was. Two intensely private mechs who wanted to share a moment, a thought, and contemplate future possibilities.
Two idealistic and stupid mechs, Ratchet thought. Fools, the both of them.
The past crunched beneath his pedes. Nothing remained of the library. Ratchet didn't know if anyone had preserved its knowledge or if all that potential had been lost to the ravages of war.
It was then Ratchet realized he was no longer alone.
Ratchet crouched, selecting a cracked datapad from the debris beneath him.
“I'm surprised you still remember,” Ratchet said as he brushed away layers of dust, searching for the marker that would tell him what the datapad might have contained. “And that you didn't delete the information.”
“I have never forgotten,” replied the familiar voice, though the lack of emotion was painfully new, leaving a stranger in place of the partner Ratchet once had.
The marker had been filed away, Ratchet discovered, as well as the glyphs indicating the author. Curious. He tossed the datapad aside, pushing himself back to his pedes.
“I didn't expect you to come. Not after everything,” Ratchet said, dusting his hands. “Not when everyone thinks you are deactivated.” He paused. “Again.”
“The rumors of my fate have been greatly exaggerated,” Shockwave replied, his single optic glowing. “When have I ever disregarded our vow?”
Never.
Ratchet's shoulders hunched. He turned slowly, the ache in his spark as pronounced now as it had always been.
“One could argue that your choice in faction spoke for itself.”
Debris crackled as Shockwave drew closer, stooping to pick up the datapad Ratchet had discarded.
“And yet, I was the one standing alone and waiting,” Shockwave reminded.
Guilt struck, sharp and cutting. Ratchet cycled a ventilation, remembering the comm he'd received, and how hard it had been for him to ignore it. “I didn't mean for that to happen.”
“It was war.” Shockwave rose, one long talon tapping the datapad before he tucked it away. “Such disappointment was inevitable.”
Ratchet's hands clenched into fists. “I saw you on the vids. With Megatron.”
“And I saw you beside Orion Pax mere moments after he left Lord Megatron in the dark to become Optimus Prime.”
Who, then, was the first traitor? Which would be called the worst?
A breeze stirred, kicking up flakes of rust. The silence settled between them, as heavy as a triple-changer and equally deadly.
“We both made our choices,” Ratchet said, surprising himself with how calm his vocals remained. “I chose Optimus because of the mech he was. I followed Optimus, not the Autobots.”
Shockwave tilted his helm, shoulders squared. “I followed Megatron because he was stronger. Because he was going to give Cybertron what our planet needed.”
At this, Ratchet could only scoff. “And this is what he had in mind?” he demanded, hand flinging outward to encompass Cybertron as a whole. Their mostly dead planet, core poisoned for millennia by dark energon, the surface nigh unlivable. At least, until prior to now.
“Of course not,” Shockwave retorted. “Such would be illogical.”
“Then this is a happy accident?” Ratchet sneered, hands fisting at his sides. “Megatron wanted to win, Shockwave. It stopped being about freedom and started being about conquest long before the war truly started.”
Shockwave's optic flickered, his ventilations shifting to a high-pitched whirr. “All we are is airing old grievances,” he said. “What use is arguing over decisions long past?”
Frustration ate into Ratchet's calm. He cycled several ventilations, trying to regain his composure, but unable to when faced with a ghost from his past, one who had become even more inscrutable than before
He looked at Shockwave and still saw the scientist and teacher who had fascinated him, but now, that image was overlain with a mech who bore a massive blaster for one hand, and who had committed untold atrocities under the Decepticon banner. Whether Shockwave had always been without morals and Ratchet never noticed, or it was a new development was a mystery into itself.
Somewhere, along the way, the distance had become too great. Ratchet began to think that this was less about rekindling old flames than it was about extinguishing the lingering embers.
He unclenched his fists, plating unlocked from his tense posture. “Shockwave,” Ratchet said, vocals softer than he could have expected. “Why did you comm me?”
The Decepticon half-turned, optic sweeping the shattered landscape. “I believed that there was something here worth salvaging.” His gaze shifted to Ratchet, assessing as coldly as he did his laboratory subjects. “Clearly, I was mistaken.”
“Clearly,” Ratchet echoed.
His spark ached. The war had ruined more than their planet, their home. It had torn apart the very bonds between them.
He turned away from Shockwave, surprising himself with how little he feared his once-lover's response. “It would be better, I think, if you didn't contact me again.”
“I had already deduced as much,” Shockwave replied, a crunch of metallic glass beneath his pedes as he retreated a step.
Words rose in Ratchet's vocalizer, questions about where Shockwave intended to go from here, what he would do now that the Decepticons had been disbanded and the Predacons were unwilling to align with him. He asked none of them, however. He no longer had the right.
Apologies, too, were unnecessary. What was there left to say except goodbye?
“We're focusing our efforts around Kaon,” Ratchet said, a decision made because of the proximity of Vector Sigma. “We'll need all the bright minds that are willing to return. Maybe in the future--”
“Time will tell,” Shockwave said, and the distinct sound of a mech shifting to his alternate mode seemed to crackle loudly in the silence. “Goodbye, Ratchet.”
He shifted to his alternate mode as well, rocking his tires against the debris, headlights highlighting a crumpled section of wall, visible glyphs faded and cracked. “Until we meet again,” he said, but his vocals were soft, lost to the sound of Shockwave's treads tearing through the remnants of the building.
He didn't watch as Shockwave drove away, to wherever it was he had chosen to live, no doubt rebuilding a laboratory and conducting his questionable research. It hurt, but not the knifelike stab of a fresh loss, but rather the dull ache of old grief.
Ratchet turned toward home and left the past behind him.
***
a/n: I wanted to take this one in an entirely different direction, but I couldn't get the muses to cooperate and then RL intervened and made it impossible to concentrate. Alas. Still, I hope it was an entertaining read.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. :)
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/243330.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Universe: TFP, post-Predacons Rising
Characters: Ratchet, Shockwave
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: Message received. Ratchet ventures into the ruins of Kalis for one last conversation with Shockwave.
For tf-rare-pairings three part harmony challenge, Ratchet and Shockwave, in the ruins of a Cybertronian city, if you don't believe there's a price for this sweet paradise, remind me to show you the scars
The coordinates never changed but the landscape was wholly familiar, at least this time around. Ratchet ached to see what had become of his home: the shambling ruins, the rust-choked streets, the decayed and empty frames.
Cybertron lived again, thanks to Optimus' sacrifice, but one had to consider the cost they had paid to get to this point.
Once upon a time, these ruins were a city - Kalis. It was a haven for scientists of all disciplines, where they could come together, compare notes, and announce discoveries. Where they could be lauded for their accomplishments, names recorded in a massive databank of Cybertronian history for all to remember.
There were museums and laboratories and libraries and research stations. Academies taught bright minds and celebrated the gifted, those allowed to excel beyond their caste or form or function.
Ratchet had onlined here. He'd gone into Ars Mechanica because it had been in his coding and he'd also been lucky. It had also called to his spark.
He vacillated between Engineering and Mechanica, excelling in both but proving more passionate in the latter. That it paid better might have had something to do with it. He earned awards and acclaim, but always fell short of the highest regard. In the end, he remained one of many, many medics.
Kalis was his home.
It was also where he first met Shockwave.
Arriving at the coordinates, Ratchet slowed to a stop, headlights sweeping what was left of the Kalisian Institute of Mechanical Science. It was a complete ruin, and the memory of its destruction was still fresh in Ratchet's memory banks. He could still remember the stench as it smoldered, the ash cloud obscuring the stars overhead, and the sound of thousands of voices raised in terror.
So many dead. So many bright lives and minds lost.
How many miracles would never see Cybertronian history now?
Ratchet shifted to root mode, picking his way across the debris. Footing was treacherous, the air stale and tepid. He tried not to think of the dust beneath him as the remnants of fallen Cybertronians.
There used to be a library here on campus, small and barely visited. It contained nothing but unproven theories, abandoned research and empty dreams. It was the perfect meeting spot for two mechs who barely had time to spare as it was. Two intensely private mechs who wanted to share a moment, a thought, and contemplate future possibilities.
Two idealistic and stupid mechs, Ratchet thought. Fools, the both of them.
The past crunched beneath his pedes. Nothing remained of the library. Ratchet didn't know if anyone had preserved its knowledge or if all that potential had been lost to the ravages of war.
It was then Ratchet realized he was no longer alone.
Ratchet crouched, selecting a cracked datapad from the debris beneath him.
“I'm surprised you still remember,” Ratchet said as he brushed away layers of dust, searching for the marker that would tell him what the datapad might have contained. “And that you didn't delete the information.”
“I have never forgotten,” replied the familiar voice, though the lack of emotion was painfully new, leaving a stranger in place of the partner Ratchet once had.
The marker had been filed away, Ratchet discovered, as well as the glyphs indicating the author. Curious. He tossed the datapad aside, pushing himself back to his pedes.
“I didn't expect you to come. Not after everything,” Ratchet said, dusting his hands. “Not when everyone thinks you are deactivated.” He paused. “Again.”
“The rumors of my fate have been greatly exaggerated,” Shockwave replied, his single optic glowing. “When have I ever disregarded our vow?”
Never.
Ratchet's shoulders hunched. He turned slowly, the ache in his spark as pronounced now as it had always been.
“One could argue that your choice in faction spoke for itself.”
Debris crackled as Shockwave drew closer, stooping to pick up the datapad Ratchet had discarded.
“And yet, I was the one standing alone and waiting,” Shockwave reminded.
Guilt struck, sharp and cutting. Ratchet cycled a ventilation, remembering the comm he'd received, and how hard it had been for him to ignore it. “I didn't mean for that to happen.”
“It was war.” Shockwave rose, one long talon tapping the datapad before he tucked it away. “Such disappointment was inevitable.”
Ratchet's hands clenched into fists. “I saw you on the vids. With Megatron.”
“And I saw you beside Orion Pax mere moments after he left Lord Megatron in the dark to become Optimus Prime.”
Who, then, was the first traitor? Which would be called the worst?
A breeze stirred, kicking up flakes of rust. The silence settled between them, as heavy as a triple-changer and equally deadly.
“We both made our choices,” Ratchet said, surprising himself with how calm his vocals remained. “I chose Optimus because of the mech he was. I followed Optimus, not the Autobots.”
Shockwave tilted his helm, shoulders squared. “I followed Megatron because he was stronger. Because he was going to give Cybertron what our planet needed.”
At this, Ratchet could only scoff. “And this is what he had in mind?” he demanded, hand flinging outward to encompass Cybertron as a whole. Their mostly dead planet, core poisoned for millennia by dark energon, the surface nigh unlivable. At least, until prior to now.
“Of course not,” Shockwave retorted. “Such would be illogical.”
“Then this is a happy accident?” Ratchet sneered, hands fisting at his sides. “Megatron wanted to win, Shockwave. It stopped being about freedom and started being about conquest long before the war truly started.”
Shockwave's optic flickered, his ventilations shifting to a high-pitched whirr. “All we are is airing old grievances,” he said. “What use is arguing over decisions long past?”
Frustration ate into Ratchet's calm. He cycled several ventilations, trying to regain his composure, but unable to when faced with a ghost from his past, one who had become even more inscrutable than before
He looked at Shockwave and still saw the scientist and teacher who had fascinated him, but now, that image was overlain with a mech who bore a massive blaster for one hand, and who had committed untold atrocities under the Decepticon banner. Whether Shockwave had always been without morals and Ratchet never noticed, or it was a new development was a mystery into itself.
Somewhere, along the way, the distance had become too great. Ratchet began to think that this was less about rekindling old flames than it was about extinguishing the lingering embers.
He unclenched his fists, plating unlocked from his tense posture. “Shockwave,” Ratchet said, vocals softer than he could have expected. “Why did you comm me?”
The Decepticon half-turned, optic sweeping the shattered landscape. “I believed that there was something here worth salvaging.” His gaze shifted to Ratchet, assessing as coldly as he did his laboratory subjects. “Clearly, I was mistaken.”
“Clearly,” Ratchet echoed.
His spark ached. The war had ruined more than their planet, their home. It had torn apart the very bonds between them.
He turned away from Shockwave, surprising himself with how little he feared his once-lover's response. “It would be better, I think, if you didn't contact me again.”
“I had already deduced as much,” Shockwave replied, a crunch of metallic glass beneath his pedes as he retreated a step.
Words rose in Ratchet's vocalizer, questions about where Shockwave intended to go from here, what he would do now that the Decepticons had been disbanded and the Predacons were unwilling to align with him. He asked none of them, however. He no longer had the right.
Apologies, too, were unnecessary. What was there left to say except goodbye?
“We're focusing our efforts around Kaon,” Ratchet said, a decision made because of the proximity of Vector Sigma. “We'll need all the bright minds that are willing to return. Maybe in the future--”
“Time will tell,” Shockwave said, and the distinct sound of a mech shifting to his alternate mode seemed to crackle loudly in the silence. “Goodbye, Ratchet.”
He shifted to his alternate mode as well, rocking his tires against the debris, headlights highlighting a crumpled section of wall, visible glyphs faded and cracked. “Until we meet again,” he said, but his vocals were soft, lost to the sound of Shockwave's treads tearing through the remnants of the building.
He didn't watch as Shockwave drove away, to wherever it was he had chosen to live, no doubt rebuilding a laboratory and conducting his questionable research. It hurt, but not the knifelike stab of a fresh loss, but rather the dull ache of old grief.
Ratchet turned toward home and left the past behind him.
***
a/n: I wanted to take this one in an entirely different direction, but I couldn't get the muses to cooperate and then RL intervened and made it impossible to concentrate. Alas. Still, I hope it was an entertaining read.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. :)
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/243330.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.