#ʀ ᴀ ᴛ ᴄ ʜ ᴇ ᴛ » [ bold is the man that heals. Bolder still is he that loves]

[vindictiae]

@fieldmedicine “And it’s hard t’see anything around your swollen ego,” Ratchet gripes, but he’s still pulling Deadlock in by the pauldrons to lock him in a bear hug. Yeah. That’s better than letting this idiot posture. “Where in Pit did you crawl out of, huh?”

----

Deadlock snorts at that, but allows himself to be pulled into that bear hug. There's only a moment's hesitation before he tightens his own arms around the medic's waist. Sunset optics squint in amusement, having missed the other's wit and playful grousing. "Eh, you know my ego's earned, Doc." His voice gentles after a moment, however. "It's good t'see you in good shape, though. Heard you'd deactivated a few vorns back. Glad to see that was a lie."

[vindictiae]

"I wish I hadn't been such a coward. I wish I had asked you to come with me when the clinic was shut down. I wish I'd done more, I-

I wish I could express more succinctly how much I love you. How sorry I am for not being there more than I was. And how happy I am that I've got you here now. I hope you can forgive me for not wanting to let go."

Ratch.

I wouldn't have come with you, not because I didn't love you, but because I did. Because I knew they'd be coming for me, and I knew you'd be even in more danger than you already were. I don't believe in fate, or in some sorta symbolic aligning of the stars- but meeting you again is enough to make me think miracles are a real thing.

There's nothing to forgive, nothing to forget. You did what you had to, and I did what I had to.

Not all journeys begin the same way, but when you meet in the middle?

That's when journeys can end in lovers meeting.

So, how 'bout this, Ratch. Why don't we look at where we've gone, and how far we've come... and we go on from here.

Together.

[vindictiae]

@ofvaporex

He's just going to obtain one very intuitive medic, who offers a hand to see if he'll let him sit with him. A warm, friendly presence, head tilted towards him, field as open and receptive as ever.

------

The mech is thankful, even as he takes the hand with a free one. His other still holds the tumbler of engex, sprinkled with citrine around the edges. Stubbed out cygirettes can be seen in a tray nearby, the amount of them shows that he's been at this for a little bit.

"S'up, mech?"

[vindictiae]

🙃- For a lighter, slightly embarrassing secret

» — ...Tried t'hit on Ratchet once and managed to slide down the wall and smash my face in.

I just told him it was 'cause I got into a fight.

Not exactly my smoothest moment.

[vindictiae]

❛  i don’t care, go on and tear me apart.  ❜

----Warning / Blood / Injury Mentioned Below----

The 'Con crouches down in front of the injured medic. His arms rest on his leg-struts, claws dangling between his thighs as he squats in front of him. The Autobot is valiantly struggling to stay online, a rather nasty wound in his side bleeding out an alarming amount of energon- coupled with the fact he can literally see the mechanism's internals.

Normally, if the mech WASN'T a medic- he'd already have taken them out and collected their unused systems and parts. They would have gone on to help other mecha, help those that didn't have the parts before.

But this mech is different.

It isn't because of the CMO markings on the shoulder-strut, or the snarling, familiar, visage. It isn't even because of the red-and-white plating denoting him to be under Megatron's "Capture, don't kill" orders.

It's because it's Ratchet, and he owes a debt.

The mercenary-turned-general eases up with a faint grunt, and disappears briefly from Ratchet's sight. He returns a few moments later, unspooling a silver batch of repair tape from a first aid kit. He pushes past the other's ineffectual attempts to stop him- beginning to crimp off lines and close off fissures. Once that's done, he pulls a thin welder out of subspace- and shoves a pain chip in the other's cranial slot.

Ratchet's all but bullied onto his side, arm over his helm as Deadlock works in relative silence. The 'Con welds the wounds back closed, careful despite the slick fingertips. He finally pauses for a break as the daylight begins to wane over the horizon of the back-water planet they've landed on.

A pic-line is stuck in Ratchet's brachial energon conduit, with liquid and nutrients being carefully dripped into the other's frame. He eases back, crouching again as he cleans his claws.

"Ain't gonna tear you apart, Doc- not after putting you back together."

The Dead End accent is as strong as ever, but there's a rasp to his voice now. Something that denotes the mech has changed- something quieter and more watchful. Waiting for someone to attack, waiting for the inevitable blow that comes with survival.

[vindictiae]

"scar"

Deadlock's a roadmap underneath the armor.

Precious few know of his prior life as a guard in his cohort, back when he'd been brought fresh off the assembly line and straight onto duty. They hadn't been taught about the routines he'd onlined with, an incredibly sensitive targeting system coupled with a formidable reaction relay protocol. Drift had not been made for an easy life. He had been made and forged in energon and death, and then hardened by war into Deadlock.

Life in the 'Cons hadn't been easy either.

What hadn't been inflicted by Autobots, Neutrals or the occasional organic— had instead been wrought upon his frame by his own kind and faction. These, however, he'd bourn as stoically as possible- taking each punishment as his due, or returning the injury inflicted upon him onto another.

So it's a toss up of what Ratchet is touching; be it past or present. All the medic will know is that it is deep, the sort of wound that could very have well be fatal without decent medical intervention. It starts over the right lateral edge of his chest, and slithers down at an angle over his midsection to curl over the gymbal of his left hip. It's nearly half a foot wide, and just as deep- a furrow that is still healing with a soft base of sentio-metallo that's still trying to fill the void.

A soft rumble escapes the former 'Con's throat at the touch, chin lifting a little as his sunset optics offline. Ratchet's touch has no memories of pain, and very little of discomfort. He turns into them the way a flower's blossom shifts to the sun- following it's path across the sky.

"Mm. Nothin' interestin' in there, 'doc- if yer lookin' for infection or some slag."

The rasping voice is more amused than anything, lips quirking up just a touch at the corners. One optic onlines, the focusing ring rolling to zero in on the medic's rugged face. He even wiggles one orbital ridge playfully- the slight grin cracking wider at his own playful innuendo.

[vindictiae]

The touches are soft, careful, but affectionate. Spreading across the mech's chestplate before trailing up to cup his face, drawing him close to press their helms together. Fields mingling, bodies close, trying to express through those warm touches how much he means to him. How much he cares about him.

It's absolutely reciprocated. Mouth that works against his, pressing helms and lips against each other. He devours each little sound, each little breath away from the medic- swallowing them as if they were the finest of engex. His claws dig in, but not painfully so- hooking into seams and plating to hitch Ratchet against him as close as he can.

To breath in the same vent as him, push his face against his to scrape their cheeks together. Everything he can to all but press Ratchet's very presence into his protoform and under his plating. To mouth at his neck cables, suckle there to bring energon to the surface- to taste the way the other's field changes and ripples with the static of arousal.

Ratchet is the finest of engex, a high more intoxicating and potent than Syk.

More addictive than any booster that can be imagined.

[vindictiae]

“  what did you want to tell me? ”

Deadlock is not a mechanism who is known for admitting any sort of weakness that might hinder him. Sure, he'll release the less savory parts of his past before he wound up in that clinic. He'll admit to the less-than-legal things he's done as a Con. Murder and death is no stranger to him, spoken about as generally as a cadre.

No, the actual vulnerabilities that he refuse to mention are soft things. Things like loneliness, and the feeling of shame- the craving of the touch of another mechanism in kindness and companionship?

These are the things he does not mention.

So, even to Ratchet- a mechanism he comes the closest to trusting- his lips are still hesitant to part and speak his needs. Instead, he reaches forward with clawed fingertips and grasps one sensitive hand. It's stared down at for a moment, orange-red optics flickering over the seams and delicate mechanisms there.

Finally, and with some exaggerated slowness- he lowers his helm to rest his cheek against the palm.

Like a wolf, Deadlock is jealous of his helm- where his most delicate sensors and sensitive components lie. To deliberately put himself in this position to the other?

It's the most obvious declaration of trust towards Ratchet that he can give.

[vindictiae]

💋💋

The first kiss gets him by surprise.

Originally, it had been him taking the initiative, and giving the old medic something of an affectionate gesture. However, the soft press of lips on his facial derma makes him react by turning to face him. He's surprised out of his words when the second kiss presses against his lips.

A startled sound escapes the Decepticon's intakes, but only for a moment.

Those wicked claws come up to curl over the edge of the medic's windshield, clutching almost desperately at the armor there. He surges up, returning the kiss by turning his helm to slot them closer together. He doesn't stint on the effort, turning the kiss into something both sweet and assertive, hungry and passionate. Those claws trail up to cup the side of the red and white helm, pressing his helm against Ratchet's, finials twitching slightly in pleasure.

A low, throbbing rumble vibrates deep in the merc's chest, optics closing as he gives himself over fully to the medic's ministrations. There's trust there, despite his growling words and aloof demeanor. An orbit that keeps pulling him back towards the other mech, like a star flung far out in space, pulled back by the necessity of his center.

[vindictiae]

💗

Ratch's one of the good ones. I'll admit I'm pretty biased, but he's also the mech that pulled me out of the gutters after seein' not just a dirty siphonist an' leaker, but also a mech that was in actual need o' help. He's the reason I didn't go back to syk-usin', or any other boosters.

I got clean, wound up somewhere he didn't appreciate- but y'know, y'can't always steer your life in the way ya want. Sometimes, y'gotta take the best option handed to ya when ya got it. I miss 'em. My Ratch didn't need me 'much as I needed him, an' that's okay. Y'don't force mechs t'like ya.

So, the ones I meet? Try to treat decently, hopin' their versions of me were just as nice.

And if they ain't?

Well, I got two guns and a sword for a reason, yeah?

[vindictiae]

tag dump.