[TFP] Turning Tables
a/n: Starting off March with the first of many fics I have on tap, please enjoy another installment in my self-indulgent TFP series starring Ratchet and Starscream. This one's SFW.
Title: Turning Tables
Universe: TFP, S3 episode Scattered, Once Burned series
Characters: RatchetxStarscream
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: A conversation, an implication, and Ratchet's the one left ashamed. (Sequel to And Bridges Burned)
Twice.
He could have pressed the button twice, stopped this madness, possibly saved them all.
Twice Ratchet had hesitated.
Now look where it has gotten him.
He's in a scrapyard, literally, carrying the knowledge that Optimus is dead, the Autobots scattered, their base destroyed, and Megatron has won. It is the latter that burns the worst, that makes his gears grind, and his spark ache.
An error in judgment, Ratchet calls it, and then sulks lower on his shocks. He can't blame Starscream for what he is, a Decepticon. Ratchet can only blame himself for daring to believe.
He has failed everyone so he is where he belongs, in a scrapheap, waiting for the rest of his world to end.
Ratchet has a small quantity of energon to sustain him for however long it lasts. Not, Ratchet supposes, that it matters. What can he do on his own against the might of the Decepticon army?
He spends a week in silent solitude, worrying over the fate of his fellow Autobots and mourning the loss of his Prime, one of his oldest friends. He had never imagined the end of the war without Optimus in it, and now that it's before him, he still can't believe it.
He never realized how much he could miss the children until now. Even Miko's energetic chattering would be welcome. This quiet isolation feels like exile. But then, maybe it's what he deserves.
He should have pressed that button. If he had...
Ratchet cycles a ventilation, burying his face in his hand. He leans back against a stack of rusted, decaying vehicles, thinking that this is where he will spend the rest of his functioning. If the Decepticons don't find him first, then gradual energon starvation will take him. It's not a pleasant process. He'll turn Empty long before he offlines and that... that will be the worse fate.
If it gets to that point, he'll activate his beacon and go out in a fiery blaze, taking as many Decepticons with him as he can.
Something pings on the furthest edge of his scanning range.
Ratchet leaps to his pedes, battle protocols cycling online. He presses closer to the scrap, powering off all visible lights and activating a couple of stealth programs. The ping is too big to be a human, too full of intent to be a passing vehicle.
Nothing moves but Ratchet knows he's not alone. The ping didn't register as Autobot either. There's a Decepticon out there, watching him.
“I think, medic, that this is the first time I've ever seen you afraid.”
Ratchet stiffens, helm swiveling toward the familiar voice.
Starscream slithers out of the shadows to his left, the dim streetlight illuminating his plating. There's a smirk on his lips, his wings raised with cocksure dignity. His plating shines with fresh wax, all signs of his previous injuries gone from his armor and his field.
He returns to Ratchet a confident mech, in comparison to the Seeker he had been, scrounging for an existence outside the Decepticon horde.
Ratchet's blades snap into view, a growl rising in his engine. “You mistake anger for fear.” He, however, is no fool. He might outmass Starscream, but the Seeker is fast and tricky and probably fully energized. The fight is skewed in Starscream's favor.
“Hah.” Starscream waves a dismissing hand. “You're wrong but that's beside the point. I'm not here to kill you.”
Funny how Ratchet doesn't believe him. Or lower his weapons. “Am I supposed to believe that?”
“Yes.” Starscream smirks and makes a pointed effort to look around, disdain curling his lip. “Nice place you have here.” His optics swivel back toward Ratchet. “It's suitable for a mech of your disposition.”
“What the frag do you want, Starscream?” Ratchet snaps, protocols cycling through several threat levels, plating raised.
A rolling chuckle escapes Starscream as he clasps his hands behind him, at the base of his wings. “My, how the tables have turned.” He saunters closer, optics never losing their predatory glint. “Once, I was the one at your mercy and now you are the one on unstable ground.”
Ratchet watches the Seeker. Perhaps he is just here to mock Ratchet, which isn't beyond belief for Starscream.
Ratchet retracts his blades. Once upon a time, he'd repaired Starscream. Once, he'd done something unthinkable. Perhaps he could give Starscream the benefit of the doubt.
“I didn't comm you for help,” Ratchet retorts.
“But you need it anyway,” Starscream purrs, stepping close enough that the distal edges of their energy field's buzz, sticking together with static charge. “You're all alone now, Ratchet. How does it feel?”
He bristles, plating ruffled. “You still haven't told me what you want.”
Starscream clucks his glossa, something he must have picked up from the humans. “So grouchy. Are you underenergized?” He pulls out a cube of energon, glowing beautiful blue and much brighter than Ratchet's emergency stock. “I might be convinced to share if you ask nicely.”
Ratchet growls. “Not interested.” His tanks, however, rumble quietly. The Decepticons have the lion's share of access to energon and the better equipment to process it. No doubt their energon tastes and energizes ten times better.
“You might change your mind. I'll just leave it here.” Another smirk and Starscream sets the cube to the side, on a stack of scrapped vehicles.
Anger and shame rumble through his systems, along with the hungry clench of his tanks.
“I should have pressed that button,” Ratchet mutters.
Starscream laughs, but it's not an amused sound, and something ripples through his field, still bumping against Ratchet's own. “Yes, you should have.”
Ratchet startles.
“Not that it would have helped,” Starscream continues, pushing closer. “Did you think I wouldn't notice?”
Wordless, Ratchet stares as Starscream closes the distance between them, looming without trying. They are of the same height, but those wings give the Seeker an advantage when it comes to intimidation.
It doesn't help that their fields are clinging together as though eager to reunite, sending short bursts of pleasure through Ratchet's systems.
He's not going through this again.
“Of course I noticed.” Red optics seem all the brighter the closer Starscream gets. “And regardless of what you think, Knock Out's at least competent enough to remove it.”
That his countermeasures wouldn't have mattered is no consolation to Ratchet who should have never betrayed his principles twice in one setting.
“What do you want from me?” Ratchet demands, and surprises himself with the harsh quality of his vocals. He should have more self-control than this.
Starscream's close enough now that Ratchet can feel the brush of his ex-vents. “Why didn't you press the button?”
His ventilations hitch and Ratchet's hands pull into fists. “I don't have to--”
“You owe me that much!” Starscream hisses and grabs Ratchet's wrists before he can avoid them, the fragged Seeker is fast. “For all intents and purposes, I was a Neutral and that was a flagrant breach of trust! So you frag well better answer me, medic.”
Ratchet cycles a ventilation, dragging his field inward, away from the anger and betrayal vibrating so strongly in Starscream's. He stares at the Seeker, flipflopping between answers, sure that all of them are wrong, or lies.
“Well?”
Ratchet is the first to look away and there's a part of him that doesn't give a frag how much weakness it reveals. “If you have to ask, then my reason is unimportant.”
“Or maybe I wanted to hear you admit it,” Starscream snarls and he squeezes Ratchet's wrists before abruptly letting him go, shoving back and away. “I should've known than to expect more from an Autobot coward.”
“What did you think was going to happen?” Ratchet demands, taking a step forward. One hand slashes through the air. “We're on opposite sides with leaders who have killed for less!” It's harsh, but true. Fraternizing has been traditionally punished with death, though Optimus had claimed he wasn't going to adhere to that particular law.
Starscream's energy field is so withdrawn, Ratchet can't even feel a wisp of it.
“Once upon a time, I might have considered defecting,” the Seeker says, showing Ratchet his back, the stiff line of his wings. “I'm glad I didn't. At least I know the Decepticons are sneaky liars.”
He fires up his thrusters, heat blasting the ground and scorching the rocks as Starscream takes into the air. An acrobatic shift to alt-mode later and Starscream is gone, a blip on Ratchet's scanning range and a flash of light in the night sky.
Ratchet watches him leave, unsure what to call the sensation crawling through his chassis and sitting leaden on his spark. Certainly, there's shame and disappointment. He can't be sure of the others, emotions crawling through his internals and keeping his optics on the sky.
He should have never responded to that first comm.
**** a/n: This oneshot is more or less a bridge between "And Bridges Burned" and the next piece in the series, "Out From Under" which is only waiting for me to edit it. I couldn't fit this scene anywhere else so it got it's only little posting. I hope you enjoyed! Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. And don't forget Flash Fiction Friday is this Friday, the 7th! :) This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/243832.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Turning Tables
Universe: TFP, S3 episode Scattered, Once Burned series
Characters: RatchetxStarscream
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: A conversation, an implication, and Ratchet's the one left ashamed. (Sequel to And Bridges Burned)
Twice.
He could have pressed the button twice, stopped this madness, possibly saved them all.
Twice Ratchet had hesitated.
Now look where it has gotten him.
He's in a scrapyard, literally, carrying the knowledge that Optimus is dead, the Autobots scattered, their base destroyed, and Megatron has won. It is the latter that burns the worst, that makes his gears grind, and his spark ache.
An error in judgment, Ratchet calls it, and then sulks lower on his shocks. He can't blame Starscream for what he is, a Decepticon. Ratchet can only blame himself for daring to believe.
He has failed everyone so he is where he belongs, in a scrapheap, waiting for the rest of his world to end.
Ratchet has a small quantity of energon to sustain him for however long it lasts. Not, Ratchet supposes, that it matters. What can he do on his own against the might of the Decepticon army?
He spends a week in silent solitude, worrying over the fate of his fellow Autobots and mourning the loss of his Prime, one of his oldest friends. He had never imagined the end of the war without Optimus in it, and now that it's before him, he still can't believe it.
He never realized how much he could miss the children until now. Even Miko's energetic chattering would be welcome. This quiet isolation feels like exile. But then, maybe it's what he deserves.
He should have pressed that button. If he had...
Ratchet cycles a ventilation, burying his face in his hand. He leans back against a stack of rusted, decaying vehicles, thinking that this is where he will spend the rest of his functioning. If the Decepticons don't find him first, then gradual energon starvation will take him. It's not a pleasant process. He'll turn Empty long before he offlines and that... that will be the worse fate.
If it gets to that point, he'll activate his beacon and go out in a fiery blaze, taking as many Decepticons with him as he can.
Something pings on the furthest edge of his scanning range.
Ratchet leaps to his pedes, battle protocols cycling online. He presses closer to the scrap, powering off all visible lights and activating a couple of stealth programs. The ping is too big to be a human, too full of intent to be a passing vehicle.
Nothing moves but Ratchet knows he's not alone. The ping didn't register as Autobot either. There's a Decepticon out there, watching him.
“I think, medic, that this is the first time I've ever seen you afraid.”
Ratchet stiffens, helm swiveling toward the familiar voice.
Starscream slithers out of the shadows to his left, the dim streetlight illuminating his plating. There's a smirk on his lips, his wings raised with cocksure dignity. His plating shines with fresh wax, all signs of his previous injuries gone from his armor and his field.
He returns to Ratchet a confident mech, in comparison to the Seeker he had been, scrounging for an existence outside the Decepticon horde.
Ratchet's blades snap into view, a growl rising in his engine. “You mistake anger for fear.” He, however, is no fool. He might outmass Starscream, but the Seeker is fast and tricky and probably fully energized. The fight is skewed in Starscream's favor.
“Hah.” Starscream waves a dismissing hand. “You're wrong but that's beside the point. I'm not here to kill you.”
Funny how Ratchet doesn't believe him. Or lower his weapons. “Am I supposed to believe that?”
“Yes.” Starscream smirks and makes a pointed effort to look around, disdain curling his lip. “Nice place you have here.” His optics swivel back toward Ratchet. “It's suitable for a mech of your disposition.”
“What the frag do you want, Starscream?” Ratchet snaps, protocols cycling through several threat levels, plating raised.
A rolling chuckle escapes Starscream as he clasps his hands behind him, at the base of his wings. “My, how the tables have turned.” He saunters closer, optics never losing their predatory glint. “Once, I was the one at your mercy and now you are the one on unstable ground.”
Ratchet watches the Seeker. Perhaps he is just here to mock Ratchet, which isn't beyond belief for Starscream.
Ratchet retracts his blades. Once upon a time, he'd repaired Starscream. Once, he'd done something unthinkable. Perhaps he could give Starscream the benefit of the doubt.
“I didn't comm you for help,” Ratchet retorts.
“But you need it anyway,” Starscream purrs, stepping close enough that the distal edges of their energy field's buzz, sticking together with static charge. “You're all alone now, Ratchet. How does it feel?”
He bristles, plating ruffled. “You still haven't told me what you want.”
Starscream clucks his glossa, something he must have picked up from the humans. “So grouchy. Are you underenergized?” He pulls out a cube of energon, glowing beautiful blue and much brighter than Ratchet's emergency stock. “I might be convinced to share if you ask nicely.”
Ratchet growls. “Not interested.” His tanks, however, rumble quietly. The Decepticons have the lion's share of access to energon and the better equipment to process it. No doubt their energon tastes and energizes ten times better.
“You might change your mind. I'll just leave it here.” Another smirk and Starscream sets the cube to the side, on a stack of scrapped vehicles.
Anger and shame rumble through his systems, along with the hungry clench of his tanks.
“I should have pressed that button,” Ratchet mutters.
Starscream laughs, but it's not an amused sound, and something ripples through his field, still bumping against Ratchet's own. “Yes, you should have.”
Ratchet startles.
“Not that it would have helped,” Starscream continues, pushing closer. “Did you think I wouldn't notice?”
Wordless, Ratchet stares as Starscream closes the distance between them, looming without trying. They are of the same height, but those wings give the Seeker an advantage when it comes to intimidation.
It doesn't help that their fields are clinging together as though eager to reunite, sending short bursts of pleasure through Ratchet's systems.
He's not going through this again.
“Of course I noticed.” Red optics seem all the brighter the closer Starscream gets. “And regardless of what you think, Knock Out's at least competent enough to remove it.”
That his countermeasures wouldn't have mattered is no consolation to Ratchet who should have never betrayed his principles twice in one setting.
“What do you want from me?” Ratchet demands, and surprises himself with the harsh quality of his vocals. He should have more self-control than this.
Starscream's close enough now that Ratchet can feel the brush of his ex-vents. “Why didn't you press the button?”
His ventilations hitch and Ratchet's hands pull into fists. “I don't have to--”
“You owe me that much!” Starscream hisses and grabs Ratchet's wrists before he can avoid them, the fragged Seeker is fast. “For all intents and purposes, I was a Neutral and that was a flagrant breach of trust! So you frag well better answer me, medic.”
Ratchet cycles a ventilation, dragging his field inward, away from the anger and betrayal vibrating so strongly in Starscream's. He stares at the Seeker, flipflopping between answers, sure that all of them are wrong, or lies.
“Well?”
Ratchet is the first to look away and there's a part of him that doesn't give a frag how much weakness it reveals. “If you have to ask, then my reason is unimportant.”
“Or maybe I wanted to hear you admit it,” Starscream snarls and he squeezes Ratchet's wrists before abruptly letting him go, shoving back and away. “I should've known than to expect more from an Autobot coward.”
“What did you think was going to happen?” Ratchet demands, taking a step forward. One hand slashes through the air. “We're on opposite sides with leaders who have killed for less!” It's harsh, but true. Fraternizing has been traditionally punished with death, though Optimus had claimed he wasn't going to adhere to that particular law.
Starscream's energy field is so withdrawn, Ratchet can't even feel a wisp of it.
“Once upon a time, I might have considered defecting,” the Seeker says, showing Ratchet his back, the stiff line of his wings. “I'm glad I didn't. At least I know the Decepticons are sneaky liars.”
He fires up his thrusters, heat blasting the ground and scorching the rocks as Starscream takes into the air. An acrobatic shift to alt-mode later and Starscream is gone, a blip on Ratchet's scanning range and a flash of light in the night sky.
Ratchet watches him leave, unsure what to call the sensation crawling through his chassis and sitting leaden on his spark. Certainly, there's shame and disappointment. He can't be sure of the others, emotions crawling through his internals and keeping his optics on the sky.
He should have never responded to that first comm.
**** a/n: This oneshot is more or less a bridge between "And Bridges Burned" and the next piece in the series, "Out From Under" which is only waiting for me to edit it. I couldn't fit this scene anywhere else so it got it's only little posting. I hope you enjoyed! Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. And don't forget Flash Fiction Friday is this Friday, the 7th! :) This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/243832.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.