In These Hands

The Beginning

Ratchet never figured himself a materialistic 'bot. He had taken nothing worthy of note into his Academy years and for the span after he remained modest, carrying with himself and his lodging only the necessities his occupation and maintenance called for. But after his fall from grace Ratchet couldn't help but yearn for a few more necessities and unnecessaries. Like accents and well-crafted furnish to fill up his home with, as well as a new paint job.

Ratchet doesn't want to begin to recall the last time he was able to procure a full-body repaint.

"Out of all those color assortments, you decided to keep your whites and reds?" Despite the words, Megatron looked quite approving of Ratchet's repainted scheme.

"I'm still a medibot. It's nice to look the part," Ratchet reasoned, albeit unofficial. He twisted, his smile wide at the clean scape of his frame. He damn near looked brand new. "What, you don't like it?"

Knowing optics caught the way Megatron's frame tensed. Those hands of his were fisted, as if he was restraining himself. "I . . . never said that," the gladiator defended. He came closer, and when he was within an arm's reach away he stretched out his hands. "But I must say you look ravishing."

"Ah." Ratchet held up a halting red hand. "That ravishing will have to wait until after the paint's dried." Megatron looked stunned and more than a little disappointed, all of which made Ratchet laugh. "What did you expect with a repaint?"

That usual pouty frown set in whilst Megatron shifted, crossing his arms though keeping his distance respectful. "Some gratitude and one slag of a fragging, obviously."

Ratchet chuckled along, his optics running over his plating. So pristine and perfect. "You continue you to spoil me, you know? New tools and machinery for the clinic, a home in Diagonal Tower, furniture, and now a new paint job." Optical lighting fluttered at Megatron endearingly. "I think you've earned a solid week's worth of 'facing." He snickered when he heard Megatron's fans kick in. Any more suggestive talk and he'd likely fall into the same temperature. "But, for the record, I'd frag you even without all of these things."

"It does me good to know my approval rating is still so high," Megatron teased back, grinning sharper as he stepped closer to which Ratchet countered with a step back.

"Ah, one more step, and I take back everything I said," Ratchet warned, though the smile on his face and undertone in his words were anything but threatening. "Besides, don't you have some 'bots to meet?"

Megatron nodded. "I was hoping you might join me in the meeting."

Ratchet's helm rolled with his optics. "Whatever for? It's not like I can bring anything to the table. They want to see Megatron."

"And they've seen me. I think it's about time they see you." Megatron shifted closer, on instinct he wanted to reach out and place comforting hands on the medic, but caught himself, stopping subconscious motions. Instead he let his field brush out, rubbing against Ratchet, looking for the worries he so oft chased away.

Ratchet sounded a sigh. "Do they even know who I am?"

Megatron nodded. "Of course they do. They know you're my mate, and know how important your voice is in this cause."

Flattering as the words were, Ratchet could only shake his helm. "How about my banishment? Or the murder accusation? Do they know about that?" Ratchet's optics glared, a frown dampening his features. He didn't hate Megatron for leaving out what he considered unimportant information, but in the same aspect those details were just as crucial to announce, especially to mecha Megatron was coming to closely associate himself with. "Megatron, if you want them to see me then they have to see me."