The Fatal Mistake Of Having Tender Feelings

Rodimus had noticed that Megatron had been spending an awful lot of time “helping” in the medbay lately rather than doing overtime on the bridge. Now, Rodimus was the last mech to really have a right to complain about others shirking their duties, but he did know that it was very unlike his co-captain to forsake his primary role. He and Magnus loved overtime, for some Primus-forsaken reason. Also, the captain’s chair on the bridge was not-so-secretly Megatron’s favorite place to sit and Rodimus, as a good friend should, generously let him have the chair more or less whenever he wanted.

Helping out in the medbay was supposed to be a part-time thing, after hours while he worked towards officially getting his medical license. Normally, Megatron would linger on the bridge even after Rodimus had clocked in for his shift to finish paperwork or probably just to continue enjoying the captain’s chair. Today, and for the last week, however, Megatron had clocked out and booked it somewhere as soon as Rodimus arrived.

Sus.

So, in all of his experience and wisdom, Rodimus decided to follow him. The bridge could watch itself for a little bit. That would be fine, especially since Drift was scheduled to be present as backup for Rodimus’s shift. Totally fine. Everything was covered.

And so Rodimus slipped off the bridge and down the hall, doing his best to be as incredibly sneaky as possible while following after Megatron’s heavy footsteps. With a gait like that, he was pretty easy to track even out of sight. The trail, as expected, led Rodimus right to the medbay.

What was unexpected was what he saw when he poked his head around the open doors to get a peek.

Never once in his life did Rodimus ever think he would see Megatron following anyone around, handing them whatever they asked for, and looking all moon-eyed about it.

Least of all, did he ever expect that person would be Ratchet.

Primus help them all.

It was another quiet shift on the bridge. No wonder Rodimus bailed, Drift thought. He never could keep still. If there wasn’t something interesting going on, he zoned out until prodded.

That was fine.

Drift enjoyed the peace and if something came up, Rodimus would only be a comm away. This was part of why he tended to be the backup whenever Rodimus was scheduled. They tried to keep a member of command staff available whenever it was his turn just for this reason. Besides, whenever his friend wandered off to either take care of something elsewhere on the ship or needed a brain break, that meant Drift got the captain’s chair.

“Drift!” Rodimus’s voice called out from the doorway to the bridge. He disappeared thirty minutes ago and probably got bored again.

“Drift, I have to talk to you about something. Right now.”

Drift turned in the captain’s chair, a place he had more than cheerfully stolen as his own while Rodimus was off doing… whatever it was he was doing instead of being present for his shift. Getting his chair stolen was the least he should have expected.

“Rodimus, you’re the one that left the bridge.” Drift underscored the statement by pointing at his friend’s chest. “This happens every time. We had an agreement about it—“

Rodimus raced over to where Drift sat, arms waving in the air.

“No, forget the stupid chair!”

Drift, still suspicious, tilted his head to the side and squinted. That could have just been a pretext to get close enough to put the third-in-command in a headlock to wrestle him out of the captain’s chair. Like last week.

“This is serious! It’s a full-on emergency!”

“What’s the emergency then, Captain?”

“Look, uh… not in here.” Rodimus grabbed Drift’s forearm, fingers catching under the edge of an armored plate before yanking him up. Deciding it would be easier to not resist, Drift allowed himself to be hauled to the small office at the back of the bridge.

Rodimus slammed the door shut behind them, optics wide like he’d seen something spark chilling.

“Megatron is in love with your conjunx.”

“That’s stupid, Rodimus. No, wait—” Drift put his hand against his forehead, briefly giving the absurd idea consideration. “Yeah, I was right. That’s just dumb.”

“No! Drift, I saw!” He waved his hands emphatically.

“What do you mean you saw?”

“In the medbay! Megs was following Ratchet around!”

“Of course, he was." Drift would be more surprised if he weren't following Ratchet around like an eager turbopuppy trying to absorb all of the information. Megatron had always been a sponge for knowledge. "Ratchet’s training him—“

“No! His optics were like this!” Rodimus held his fingers up in the shape of circles over his own optics… probably not realizing his were already that shape. “All dopey and moony!”

Huh. What a sight. Drift snorted a laugh at the idea. The mighty warrior turned into a puddle of goo over a silly a crush on a married medic, not that he could fault Megatron’s taste here. After all, Drift had made the same choice.

“That’s hilarious.” Drift gave Rodimus a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Anyway, let’s get back to work. The bridge won’t watch itself.”

“No, Drift, you don’t get it!” Rodimus grabbed Drift’s upper arms like he was genuinely frightened. “Megs is going to steal your mech!”

He snorted again, smacking Rodimus’s hands away. The very idea was ridiculous.

“Megatron may be many things, Rodimus, but he’s not a homewrecker.” Drift scoffed. “You’re worried over nothing.”

Probably.

Ratchet was hesitant to admit it, but he was glad for Megatron’s assistance in the medbay. Sure, First Aid ran the place these days and he did a great job, but they always could use more hands on a ship of idiots who were prone to hurting themselves.

Presently, they were patching up a pyrobot that had gotten a little too friendly with his work.

Kindle cringed away from Megatron’s hands when he reached for the scorched plating of a leg with one of the topical analgesic solutions used for burns. It was only temporary pain relief, just to numb the area long enough to assess damage and see how much material either needed replacing or adjusting.

It was still an alien thought that the “Slagmaker” could actually have a talent for healing. Well, more like a talent for learning. And the determination to do something with it.

“Hold still—“

“Kindle, it’s alright.” Ratchet put a gentle hand on the orange mech’s shoulder. By the way his optics spiraled wide, Kindle, normally fairly brave and regularly assigned guard duty when not working the furnaces, was obviously struggling. Even if they all knew, at least cognizantly, that their captain wouldn’t actively hurt them, fear and memory still lingered in Autobot sparks. It was an understandable reaction. However, it still spoke volumes to progress that patients didn’t outright run away.

Anymore.

“That’s just a numbing agent so that we can have a look at your burn, alright? This happens every week.”

That reassurance from Ratchet was apparently all the poor thing needed to let Megatron at the injured limb. Analgesic applied, he and Ratchet went to work.

Within twenty minutes, Kindle was hustling out of the medbay in a better mood, whether from the excellent tag-team repairs or from being able to get away from Megatron or both, it was hard to say. It was still a good job and Kindle would live to hurt himself another day.

Ratchet appreciated that, at least in this, Megatron tended to follow his lead. Given the skill he’d shown and experience he’d gained in that other universe, Ratchet would have thought he’d assert himself more. Confidence in his abilities, and what not, but no. It was almost uncharacteristic how he had been deferring to Ratchet’s judgment.

Though, Megatron’s habit of being… surly with patients didn’t help his reputation, though it did make Ratchet feel better about his own brusque bedside manner.

At least, with their patient gone, there was the opportunity for a “teachable moment.”

“Good, Captain, that was good, but could you try to be more… oh, I don’t know, soothing?”

“Soothing? That’s what the analgesics are for.” He raised an optical ridge in confusion, as though technical know-how and confidence in his skills was sufficient to put a patient at ease.

Megatron’s social skills left a lot to be desired, no matter his seemingly good intentions. He had a gift for words but no cultivated skills for positive social interactions. A glaring gap that spoke to the type of life he’d lived. There had been marked improvement over the years as an Autobot but Megatron’s confession to a lack of patience right before his defection remained true.

“We’ll work on it.” Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nose, not noticing Megatron’s shoulders drooping like a scolded new-build. “Your bedside manner makes me seem downright peppy. When the next patient comes in, maybe try to say something like ‘it’ll be okay’ or anything reassuring.”

“Noted. I suppose it is easier to practice medicine when patients don’t think I’m about to violently amputate their limbs.”

“That’s still your own fault.”

“Yes, I am well aware—“

The door to the hallway outside of the medbay slammed open as Rodimus shoved it into the wall faster than it could retract on its own. It was probably broken now. Again.

“Ratch!” he hollered, dramatically blocking the door as he held onto the frame. “Doc bot! You gotta help me!”

Ratchet could only sigh and roll his optics before waving Rodimus over.

“What’s the matter this time?”

“I’m hurt real bad, doc. Incredibly bad. Grievously, in fact.” A likely story.

Ratchet waved at the empty exam table behind him and Megatron.

“Alright, get on the table. My apprentice—“ It was always worth it to rub the inherent ridiculousness of the situation in Megatron’s face a little bit. “—and I will take a look at you.”

Spoiler twitching, Rodimus stayed by the door, gripping the frame for dear life.

“No, Ratch, you don’t get it. It’s a devastating injury of an unspeakably personal nature that only you can help me with.”

“Again? What did you get lodged up—“ Ratchet patted Megatron on the arm to shush him before he could say anything else that no one wanted to either know or hear about.

“No, no, let me handle this. You can put his limbs back on the next time he ‘misplaces’ them in some stunt. You’ll get plenty of practice.”

After some reluctant agreement to vacate and negotiation for Rodimus to get out of the door so Megatron could actually leave, Ratchet and the smaller of the two captains finally had the necessary privacy.

Rodimus casually sat on the exam table, clearly in no obvious pain and otherwise appearing to be in perfect health.

“Alright,” Ratchet started, crossing his arms. The toolkits were nearby if he needed to pull something out for a threat. “What’s this improbable injury of yours?”

“I don’t know how to put this gently.” Rodimus was staring at the floor… for some reason. He wasn’t usually that shy, not about hurting himself like a klutz anyway. “So, I’m just going to say it, alright?”

Why didn’t he just do it then? No need to talk in circles.

Ratchet waved his hand in a “continue” gesture.

“Get on with it, Captain.”

“Megs has a massive crush on you. Just bucket head over giant, treaded heels.” Rodimus finally met Ratchet’s gaze, augmenting his pronouncement with melodramatic arm movements.

Ratchet straightened up, frowning down at Rodimus and his frantic hand motions.

“That’s one of the stupidest things you’ve ever said to me, Rodimus, including the time you talked backwards for two hours during a staff meeting.”

Annoyance simmered in Megatron’s processor at his training for the day being cut short by Rodimus pulling some sort of foolish stunt.

He had no idea what the Rodimus’s problem was this time, though he doubted it was truly a medical situation. More likely he wanted to be aggravating or it was part of a prank. Maybe Rodimus was just distracting Ratchet while Drift did something that the medic wouldn’t approve of like an untethered spacewalk outside of the ship to get something Rodimus accidentally threw out.

That was more likely.

All the same, it was probably unimportant—unless they had to go back get Drift—and nothing to worry about.

Perhaps Megatron ought to have been grateful for some additional free time. He didn’t really have much of it lately while working towards earning his proper medical license.

However, as he pressed his palm to the access panel for his habsuite, he felt a distinctly melancholy yet otherwise indescribable pull on his spark. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he’d been having pangs of this strange feeling off and on for weeks. While not quite painful, it was uncomfortable, something to be avoided if possible.

It could theoretically have been preventable.

A shelf in his habsuite contained several datapads of medical texts, copies provided to him by Ratchet and First Aid to assist in his studies and supplement his hands-on training. Of course, he’d looked through many of these volumes before and, in the other universe, he had taught himself from many such works. There always remained the possibility that he had missed something.

Megatron plucked a likely candidate, a tome focused on allergic reactions, from the shelf before booting it up.

The sensation in his spark seemed to appear most frequently when leaving the medbay. Perhaps he had developed a sensitivity of some kind to something in the environment there, something that hadn’t quite yet become an acquired allergy.

No need to sit, he thought. He’d just filter through, perhaps find something that had similar symptoms. Words scrolled as he eagerly thumbed past detailed descriptions of known Cybertronian allergies and chemical sensitivities.

The sensation also always seemed to follow other ones he seemingly couldn’t make sense of. Ahead of his bridge shifts ending lately, he had noticed an excess of energy in his circuits, along with a warm and light feeling around his spark chamber. The energy made him want to jump around to dissipate it, but that would have been undignified, especially when the energy always disappeared when the second phase arrived. Perhaps it was an autonomic response to some as yet unidentified nonconscious source of stress.

So far nothing in this text was helpful. None of the descriptions seemed to match his symptoms. Perhaps it wasn’t a developing allergy. Megatron swapped the text with another one. Perhaps it was psychosomatic….

The second phase still had that imagined sensation of heat, but also a fluttering feeling, as though the gears and mechanisms that processed fuel were trying to escape his frame. This always seemed to occur while he in the medbay, practically as soon as he passed through the double-doors and saw Ratchet waiting for him. The third phase, the sad and chilling discomfort, kicked in, like clockwork, after he passed back through the doors after his training.

The new text had nothing similar to what he’d been experiencing.

Nothing.

Megatron grumbled under his breath as he put the datapad away, futilely rubbing his badge with his thumb, a vain attempt to soothe the not-quite-ache behind the brand.

A knock sounded at his door.

A visitor? That was unusual.

Perhaps Minimus had a document for him or wanted to show him some new poetic work.

He rarely had visitors, even with the crew no longer running at the sight of him. Not that he often desired visitors. Solitude with the occasional intrusion of a familiar friend suited him just fine. Generally.

That solitude had become loneliness more often than not lately.

The knock sounded again.

Opening the door, Megatron barely had the chance to register what was happening before Rodimus ducked under his arm into the habsuite.

“Megs, close the door!”

“What?” he asked, still closing the door on reflex.

Rodimus bounced in place, arms held very near his chest like he was dying to wave them around.

“We gotta talk, okay?”

“… About what? Did Ratchet find something, suggest a course of treatment, and now you want a second opinion?”

And there went the arms, crossing wildly to ward off that explanation.

“No, no, nothing like that. It was a miracle cure and I’m fine now.”

Rather than dignify that with an answer, Megatron just lifted a skeptical optical ridge.

“Look, I know what’s been going on and I know you’re trying really hard to be a good guy, so this for your own good, okay?” This was bound to be interesting, Megatron thought, deciding to take a seat to better observe Rodimus’s ranting. “You can’t poach Drift’s conjunx! This is an intervention!”

“Excuse me?”

To say Minimus was surprised to find Megatron at his habsuite door late into the afternoon was an understatement. For two mechs who didn’t care for surprises and preferred to plan their joint leisure activities, it was almost unheard of for either of them to just… show up.

Unless it was an emergency.

“Minimus, I need your assistance with a….” Megatron hesitated, already a bad sign. “Matter.”

Yes, this certainly qualified as an emergency.

“You’d best come in then.” Minimus waved his much larger friend into the habsuite before closing the door for what would likely require a degree of discretion and privacy.

“Please, sit down—“ Minimus turned to see Megatron had already planted himself on the sofa, leaning his elbows on his knees. For all of his personal growth since the end of the war, he still tended to be a little presumptive. “I see you’ve thought ahead.”

With a sigh, he walked over to the small armchair to get comfortable. Who knew how long this would take or what all would be involved, not that he minded Megatron’s company, but Minimus was unsure what to make of the captain’s discomfort.

“So, what is it you need?”

Minimus folded his hands politely over his crossed leg, wanting to come across as patient.

A moment of silence passed as Megatron stared at the floor, probably trying to find the best way to word whatever this “matter” was. It must have been deeply unsettling if someone usually so articulate struggled to verbalize the issue. Perhaps Minimus ought to have offered something warm to drink.

“Would you like some warm fuel—“

“It seems I’ve developed… feelings for someone.” There was no need to put that much vitriol into the word “feelings,” but Megatron had always seemed to value his emotional detachment or, at least, the public perception of that detachment. Minimus knew better, of course, that it was only a mask.

Still, Minimus paused at the pronouncement, unsure of what it could mean exactly. Euphemistically, “feelings for someone” tended to mean of the romantic or alterous variety. He shifted uncomfortably in his armchair while Megatron continued to look at the floor like he was ashamed.

The obvious question lingered in the air.

Who were these “feelings” for?

There were some obvious candidates, of course. The mechs Megatron spent most of his time around were the most likely. Probably not Drift, but it wouldn’t have been a total shock, though a bit of an upset due to Drift’s recent bonding. Surely not Rodimus, otherwise he would have probably looked even more ashamed of himself. Who else? Maybe someone from the bridge crew or perhaps even—Oh. Oh dear.

Minimus put his hand over his mouth, hoping that the quickly heating fuel in his lines rushing to his face wouldn’t discolor the thin plating in embarrassment.

“Megatron, that’s very flattering, but I don’t think—“

“It’s Ratchet.”

“Oh.”

That was almost worse, though Megatron had been spending a lot of time with Ratchet lately… and he’d always seemed to respect the medic’s skills….

Hm.

Now Minimus was embarrassed for an entirely different reason, but at least he didn’t have to explain to Megatron that he wasn’t interested in those sorts of relationships.

“I’m not sure what to do with these feelings.” Less outright derision would probably have been a good place to start, but that wouldn’t be sufficient in the long-run. While, of course, there was nothing inherently wrong with having tender feelings, there was a potential problem when having them for someone who was already bonded. “They’re inappropriate and—“

Minimus coughed, interrupting Megatron before he could spiral. He knew he was the perfect person to go to for this sort of advice.

“Have you tried suppressing them?”

Rodimus pressed the side of his head to the door to the bridge office. It was hard to hear through the sturdy construction and the soundproofing that had been installed for the crew’s benefit after Megatron had been brought onboard. No one needed to hear the two of them arguing. It was bad for morale to see your commanding officers bicker like one of them was going to take the turbofox in the divorce.

Now, unfortunately, that same soundproofing was keeping him from effectively eavesdropping on what was happening in the office.

A few minutes ago, Ratchet had just walked onto the bridge and asked to speak to Megatron in private. Megatron, either unsuspecting or playing dumb with that horrible moon-eyed expression on his face, had immediately agreed without any qualifiers. The moment the door had closed behind them, Rodimus had scrambled out of his beloved captain’s chair to hear the impending disaster.

On one hand, he felt like it wasn’t very “good friend” behavior to want to witness Megatron getting his spark crushed into tiny pieces, but on the other hand… who wouldn’t want to see that?

Megatron hadn’t seemed to believe him during Rodimus’s intervention, but it had always been a little hard to read what was going on under that bucket.

Ratchet’s voice came through somewhat, but it was muffled. Quiet. Whether that was because of the soundproofing or because he was trying to let the big guy down gently, it was hard to say.

Maybe if Rodimus just… pulled the door open a tiny bit. It wasn’t like it had been locked. Rodimus had broken the lock while trying to escape an incredibly boring command meeting several months ago. No one had bothered to put in a work order to get it fixed.

He wriggled his fingers into the handle and gingerly shuffled the door open just enough to get an opticful of the proceedings.

Oh boy, oh boy—

Megatron was seated in the chair behind his desk, stock still and optics wide like someone had a blaster to the back of his head. He apparently hadn’t noticed this was no longer a private conversation.

Rodimus couldn’t see Ratchet’s face from here, not with his back to the door as he stood by the desk, but he had that posture he usually used to tell mechs that a patient had either died or wasn’t going to make it.

“Now you need to understand, it’s nothing personal against you.”

It looked like Megatron’s little crush was dead on arrival.

Rodimus needed a crunchy snack for this.

“And I’m very flattered, but some things just aren’t going to happen. I’m very happy with Drift and I’m glad for your help in the medbay. Why don’t we just keep things like that? I think that would be for the best.”

The absolutely dumbstruck, slack-jawed expression on Megatron’s face spoke volumes to how much he probably would have rather just been shot pointblank in the face. Ratchet was clearly trying to be nice about it, but that probably made it worse than simply telling Megatron to frag off would have.

“Rodimus, what are you doing?”

He looked back over his shoulder to see Drift standing a few paces away. Was it already almost time for shift change?

“Checking the door to see if the lock’s still broken. Obviously.” Rodimus coughed, hoping to deflect suspicion. “What’s up?”

Before Drift could say anything in response, the door was yanked out of Rodimus’s hands. An entire swear-spitting ambulance tumbled over him, pinning Rodimus to the ground.

“Ratchet! Are you okay?” Drift was immediately upon them, hauling Ratchet up by his arms.

The medic waved Drift off as soon as he was on his feet, insisting he was fine before heading for the door. Patients needed him, blah blah.

Rodimus remained prone on the ground, groaning with his limbs splayed out.

“I’m fine, Drift, thanks for asking about me. Your best friend.”

“Hey, wasn’t Megatron in there with Ratchet?” Drift continued, completely ignoring Rodimus’s request for care and attention. “I thought I heard Ratty talking to somebody.”

Rodimus cautiously lifted his head from the floor to peer through the wide-open door. No Megatron in sight.

“I’d check under the desk,” he said, flopping back down against the floor of the bridge.

Worth it.