In These Hands

The Writer

Ratchet booted with a start. He didn't give his systems the proper span to languidly start up when he realized the currently given time.

"Slag!"

Further prerogative programs were ignored in order to override scheduled data maintenance to then prioritize the task of gathering his work equipment. With this switch of routine he almost forgot to allow himself a cube for the day, and agreeing to that directive put him in a reluctant mood. Seeing his roommate still present put him into a further descending mood.

"Why didn't you wake me?!" Ratchet's optics were bright, wide at first, then narrowing with accusation and resentment. "To add to that, why are you even still here?" Ratchet knew for a fact Megatron had early matches that day, and it was already passed mid.

What frustrated the medibot the most was how collected Megatron remained. Irked more by his excuse. "After yesterday I thought it best you get a proper recharge."

"'Proper recharge'," Ratchet muttered, finishing his distasteful energon cube before crushing the evaporating sealant. "A proper recharge is six cycles, not . . ." Ratchet once more reluctantly looked at the present time. "Primus, you let me recharge for eleven cycles!"

Megatron looked apologetic, but at the same time he didn't. He simply sat at the table, drumming his fingers next to his laid datapad, rolling his shoulder rotators. "You looked so peaceful, I thought it'd be a shame to disturb you. And then the objective to meet my morning matches fell undercurrent when I came to the conclusion that you'd be angrier at me for leaving and not waking you than staying and not waking you. I chose the lesser of two evils."

Ratchet gapped. What kind of reasoning was that? "You're the most irritating mech I have ever met."

And then Megatron smiled, like he was proud of the accusation. "Good, it sets me apart."

With a huff Ratchet moved, giving Megatron a push, nudging him toward the door. "Just get out of here, you're bleeding funds too!"

Ratchet wasn't wrong. However, Megatron continued to remain the mech holding resolve. "The latter matches are always higher profile. There's not much of a loss."

"Says the mech whose match is in half a cycle," Ratchet pressed. On his way out he made sure to pick up his cloak, trying to get himself back into the habit of wearing it again. Just in case.

From his lead, Ratchet couldn't see the displeased look forming on Megatron's features. Displeasure given, nothing was further voiced. Instead Ratchet simply focused on moving himself down the staircase and into the walkways. Whether Megatron trailed was entirely up to him, Ratchet, on the other hand, wasn't going to waste another moment.

Moving toward the sub conjunctions was simple enough; that is if traffic was fair. Unfortunately at that time of day the streets tended to be cluttered with midday relief where everyone and their coworker headed to the cafeterial districts. After some minor groans and curses—all of which were pitching from Ratchet's vocal frequency—they took to walking through the congestion.

Shorter routes were attempted only to be met with disappointment. The longer roads were covered with pedestrians as well. One pathway even led them to a congregational gathering.

"Great." Ratchet rolled his optics. "Why do they always seem to pop up at the most inopportune times?" He could already pick up the pitches of 'bots heightening their frequencies so that the crowds could hear the sentences they were reading, they were quoting. Anti-Functionists.

Megatron looked at him, a flash of a smile twitched the corner of his lip plates. "Actually it is quite opportune, for them."

"Yeah, but not for us," Ratchet reminded with a cynical look. He then twisted himself, trying to scan for possible escape routes. "There's got to be a way around all this. We didn't try B-70 yet. There's a chance we can transfer on there." When he pushed to sift through the crowds, Megatron made a noise of protest.