••playlist••
Just Give Me a Reason - P!nk
Human - Rag'n'Bone Man (Ratchet)
You Are Enough - Sleeping At Last
Can't Help Falling In Love - Haley Reinhart
My Body Is a Cage - Peter Gabriel (Deadlock)
Butterfly's Repose - Zabawa
The Night We Met - Lord Huron
Gilded Lily - Cults
Lovers Rock - TV Girl
Midnight City - M83
Tongue Tied - GROUPLOVE
Poker Face - Lady Gaga
The Only Exception - Paramore
Hella Good - No Doubt
•••

"You better have a good reason to pull me away from my work."

"Ratchet, you and I both know how frustrating it is to be taken away from our work for things that can wait. This, however, cannot wait."

I can tell. Ratchet thought to himself with a soft huff.

Prowl had unceremoniously entered one of his examination rooms while he was with a patient to inform him that his presence was needed, but wouldn't tell him why. As frustrating as the situation was, he knew Prowl didn't mess around when dealing with serious matters and something that prompted him to enter the infirmary without being summoned was serious indeed.

Upon reaching his office, Prowl ushered Ratchet inside and shut the door behind him.

"So what's so important about this conversation that it must be held in private?" Ratchet asked, trying his best to ignore the aggravating amount of clutter on Prowl's desk.

"I prefer privacy when I'm working." Prowl replied. He shuffled through a small pile of papers and files and pulled out a pristine manila folder. "Earlier today, the corrections department brought in a Decepticon defector who'd been caught not too far from base."

Ratchet took the folder when Prowl handed it to him and opened it. Inside was a mugshot of someone he thought he'd left in his past: Deadlock. This wasn't the Deadlock he remembered, though. Long, greasy strands of unkempt black hair hung by his face, framing dark, sunken eyes that refused to meet the gaze of the camera. His lips were pressed together in a tight scowl that accentuated the bloody split in his lower lip—the work of Prowl's henchmen, no doubt.

He looked like he was haunted by something—tormented, even. Words couldn't explain the emotions that the photo brought up from the depths of Ratchet's core.

"You two have quite the past, but I need you to act like it didn't happen." Prowl spoke first, breaking the silence that had held the room.

Ratchet finally tore his gaze away from Deadlock's photo and frowned at Prowl. "What?"

"Having prior affiliations with a Decepticon is a bad look, especially for you. It's best to keep everyone in the dark about this." Prowl explained in that nonchalant business tone of his.

"First of all, that was years ago—back when the Decepticons were actually fighting for equality. Secondly, why were you digging around in my files? Are you investigating me?"

Prowl kept a straight face, which infuriated Ratchet further. "No." He stated plainly. "I'm just tying up loose ends and making connections, which is all standard procedure when taking in a dangerous criminal. You of all people should understand the importance of following procedure."

"Not this time." Ratchet snapped. He tossed the picture on Prowl's desk and headed for the door before his face could get any redder. "Mind your damn business and stay out of my files!"

Prowl flinched when the door slammed shut and sighed. Perhaps he should've taken a different approach, but it was too late now. He knew Ratchet well enough to know that the medic would ignore everything he said out of spite, and that could create problems later down the road. He would deal with them as they came, though, like he did with everything else.

•
•
•

Unfortunately, standard procedure required Ratchet to give incoming prisoners a health check in order to make sure they weren't sick or injured in a way that would threaten their life or the lives of those around them. He hated calling them prisoners, but that's what they were. No point in sugarcoating it.

Deadlock was a special case. Since he defected from his faction, he was legally entitled to a safe haven within the opposing faction for his own protection. That was the rule. However, the rule was susceptible to change depending on the situation and open to different interpretations. That being said, while Deadlock had technically been given a safe haven within the Autobot faction, he was still being treated as a Decepticon prisoner. Figuring out how he should be punished for his crimes was an entirely different issue—one that Ratchet wasn't particularly interested in.

The trip down to the brig was long and tedious, giving Ratchet's brain far too long to worry about what was still to come. This would be the first time he'd seen Deadlock in years and he wasn't sure if he was emotionally prepared for it, let alone mentally prepared. However, he needed to do his job. He couldn't let his personal feelings get in the way, as they often did.

Upon stepping out of the elevator, Ratchet was greeted by a stench like no other. He was used to the heavy scent of metal and had smelled his fair share of bodily fluids, but the difference was he vigorously cleaned every surface until the smell had mostly dissipated. In the brig, thorough cleaning was obviously not a top priority, which allowed a multitude of smells to build up over time and ultimately create a stench that made your eyes water if you breathed in too deeply.

Ratchet white-knuckled the handle of his medical kit as he headed down the rows of cells, listening to the soft click of his shoes against the concrete floor. As he came closer to reaching his destination, the knot of anxiety in his gut that had formed the moment he entered the elevator began to tighten. He tried his best to suppress those feelings of anxiety, but it was hard to ignore them.

There was an officer waiting by the cell when he arrived. He went through the usual motions of presenting his I.D. to confirm his identity and listening to the safety precautions before the officer opened the cell door using a keycard.

Deadlock sat in the corner of the cell with his legs pulled to his chest and his face buried in his arms. Ratchet dismissed the feeling of unease that sprang up in his chest and set his medical kit down on the table to his left.

"My name is Dr. Ratchet and today I'll be giving you a brief medical exam." Ratchet said, though his eyes never left his kit. Usually he'd keep one eye on whoever he was dealing with for his own safety, but today he discovered that he couldn't do it. "You have the right to refuse any of the tests I'm going to perform on you, but I assure you they are only done in order to help me determine your health status."

While Ratchet talked, Deadlock lifted his head to look at him. It only took a few seconds before he recoiled in slight shock, his lips slightly parted and his eyes narrowed in a scowl.

"It's... you." He spoke softly. "Why are you here?"

Ratchet grimaced at the sharpness of Deadlock's words. He put on his glasses and finally turned to face him, appearing stoic.

"I go where I am needed." He replied.

"How long have you been here?"

"That's irrelevant information." Ratchet was quick to shut him down. "Let's begin the examination."

Deadlock's scowl deepened. "You're avoiding the question."

Ratchet ignored him. "Before I start, are there any tests that you wish to refuse?" He asked as he began unpacking supplies from his kit.

"No."

"Good."

Ratchet followed his usual routine, starting with the basics and moving on from there. He checked Deadlock's eyes, ears, and mouth for any abnormalities, trying his best to ignore the uncomfortable feeling created by him being in such close proximity to him. Although he was sure Deadlock's reflexes were fine, he decided to check anyway and was rewarded with an unintentional kick to the knee.

To finish the exam, Ratchet took a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around Deadlock's upper arm. He couldn't help but notice the toned muscles that existed despite him being rather thin. It brought back memories of tank top summers and long nights spent at the gym making sure Deadlock didn't work himself to death when he couldn't sleep.

A sense of longing arose in Ratchet's heart. Those times had been so carefree, and he missed them dearly. But what he missed most of all was the time he spent with Deadlock, whether it be waking up in bed next to him after a night of fun or going on day trips with him to the countryside when he could get away from the clinic for a while.

Even his happy memories harbored sadness within them—though perhaps it was not sadness at all. Perhaps it was guilt or regret. Perhaps he regretted not being able to say or do what he wanted to in the moment. There were so many things he could've done, so many words left unsaid that may have changed the outcome and kept them together.

However, the past was the past. He couldn't afford to dwell on it. His focus needed to be on creating a better future, but even that was a difficult and draining task. His pessimistic (though he would say realistic) outlook on life didn't help much either.

"You're spacing out. That's new."

Deadlock's voice cut straight through Ratchet's thoughts, disrupting their flow. Ratchet blinked and hastily removed the blood pressure cuff.

"I wasn't spacing out. I was checking your blood pressure reading." He muttered, turning to mark Deadlock's blood pressure down on his clipboard.

"Whatever you say." Deadlock said with a shrug. Then, a wry smile tugged on his lips. "Do you find it stressful to work here?"

Ratchet cast him a perplexed glance, then went back to writing. "No, why do you ask?"

"Your hair, it's almost completely grey on the sides. People in their mid-forties don't usually get a lot of grey hair unless they've been under a lot of stress."

"People can start greying when they're thirty. That doesn't mean a thing."

"You're lying."

"About what, the greying thing? That's been proven."

"No, the fact that you said working here isn't stressful. Assuming you're the doctor with the most experience in this entire base, the amount of stress you face on a day to day basis must be incredible."

Ratchet scoffed and began packing up his kit. "Okay, yes, my job is stressful and it may be causing me to go grey faster. Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't. I just found it interesting that you were a full redhead when we last saw each other and now here you are a few years later with grey hair." Deadlock said as he hopped down from the table.

"You say that as if I've gone completely grey." Ratchet said while rolling his eyes.

Deadlock returned to his corner and sat down with his cuffed hands in his lap. "Sorry, I hope that didn't offend you."

Ratchet wanted to believe his apology was genuine, but it sure didn't sound like it was. A heavy sigh escaped him as he closed his medkit and clicked the latches shut. He could use a coffee right about now...

"Behave yourself so I don't have to come back in here and stitch you up." He grumbled, turning to face Deadlock with his medkit in hand.

"No promises." Deadlock replied with a slight smile, his tongue brushing over his split lip as if to say there'll be more than this soon enough.

Ratchet looked over Deadlock one last time before the officer opened the cell for him and let him out. As he made his way back down the long, empty hallway, his thoughts wandered to the past again.

Oh, the things he'd give to be able to go back in time.

•••

HELLO GUYS!!

Welcome to yet another fic! This time, it's about Dratchet, one of my all time favorite ships! I haven't read any of the comics, so I'm not gonna make any references to them. This is kinda just my own universe where they're humans instead of bots.

I hope y'all enjoyed the first chapter! Leave a comment and tell me what you think 💖