Work Text:
The Decepticon snarled at him, mouth open and dripping with fuel, one fang cracked right down the middle. He loomed, even hunched over on his side and with both clawed hands planted on the floor; his rotors were fanned out wide in a real clear display of threat, back off!
Ratchet raised one unimpressed optic ridge. "You done?"
The mech blinked at him, optics squinting suspiciously. Ratchet planted his hands on his hips, waiting, and when he didn't get an answer raised his voice a little. "I said, are you done."
"Frag off 'n smelt it," the 'copter snapped, which - well, fair, probably.
"Sure, right after you're fixed up." That got him a glare fit to set something on fire, and Ratchet huffed heat. "You can posture all you want about it, but right now you're grounded with that leg and messed-up hip assembly, that denta's gonna kick off one slagger of a processor ache if my guess about the amount of damage popups you're getting is accurate, and the sooner someone gets you up and moving the sooner you aren't stuck damaged and out in the open. Am I right?"
The 'Con stared at him, the sharp-edged snarl easing off some, his knife-edged mouth softening into something wary and almost confused. "...the frag d'you care?" he asked, and instead of more aggression it actually sounded like a genuine question.
"I'm a medic. 'Course I care." Genuine question and a daft one, but at least he wasn't arguing anymore. "Come on, sit back, there you go."
At Ratchet's direction the 'Con shifted around to lean back against the wall, optics never leaving Ratchet's frame. The static rattle of his field eased off into something less aggressive, bumping up against Ratchet's almost clumsily, like he wasn't sure what to do now, and Ratchet absently patted his thigh in between getting the smashed-in panel at his hip off and getting his tools transformed out and ready. "Good job," he said, and a strange, soft little sound escaped the 'Con's vocaliser. "All right, you want a pain patch for this?"
"No," the 'Con said quietly, and Ratchet hummed a confirmation before getting to work. It was easy enough, after that, working through crushed components and replacing parts, and the entire time his patient was a silent wall of heat and faint system-noise under him. It was comfortable, almost, and by the time he'd finished working from pelvic span to knee and beating out the dents in grey and white plating, Ratchet was feeling pretty satisfied with his work.
"How's that?" he asked, and glanced up to see scarlet optics still focused on him. "Shift your leg a little, any pain?"
His patient blinked at him, and without looking away lifted his hips off the floor just enough to make a long, straight line from thigh to pede-tip, not even a quiver in his motors, like he was making a point. "Great," Ratchet said, pleased and not bothering to hide it, and prodded him in the knee. "Come on, flex this, I meant it when I said to shift. Any errors?"
Silence. Ratchet glanced up at him, starting to frown and wondering if his patient needed his audials or maybe his processor checked, considering the damage he'd already picked up to his face. "...no," the 'Con said after a second, focussing rings behind the glass flickering from Ratchet's face to his hands. Weird. "Doesn't hurt."
"Okay, good. Now look, I'm not an expert when it comes to dental work, but I can give you some nanite bonding gel to cap that split and get your self repair working on it. I can give you a couple recommendations for treatment there, but it's likely to repair stronger on its own with the nanites than with most other options you'll find. In the meantime - c'mere, lemme take a look."
This time the mech bent over after only half a click's pause, leaning low on one elbow so Ratchet could reach his face. Ratchet pulled out a cloth and wiped his plating clean with brisk, careful swipes and hissed disapproval through his vents when the dried-on stuff refused to budge, dunking some cleanser onto the metalmesh to help break it down without having to scrub at him and risk any more damage. The entire time his patient just watched, the glow of scarlet optics turning Ratchet's plating a deeper red, systems humming softly under his hands.
"Show me," Ratchet said when he was done, and kept one hand on the mech's jawline as he slowly opened his mouth. In the very back of his processor, he had to admit it was kind of cute how his faceplate scrunched trying to bare the broken fang, lip pulling up and nose wrinkling. "Oof. Yeah, there it is, looks nasty and probably feels worse but it'll seal. Hold still."
To his credit, his patient did just that, letting Ratchet wipe the break down and working the nanite goop into the split before it could harden on exposure to atmosphere. Ratchet gave it a professional once-over when it'd dried, just to make sure there weren't any potential points of failure, but - nope, all clear. "There. All right, unless there's anything you're being an idiot about and not telling me if it hurts, you're good."
It took a couple tries for the big mech to restart his vocaliser, and Ratchet's medical protocols were sitting back enough to wonder just what that was about when he actually spoke. "'S all good. ...I mean. .....nothin' hurts."
Why on Cybertron did that sound halfway to surprised.
"Yeah, well, I'm just that good," Ratchet said, grinning up at him, and what do you know - the mech grinned right back, lopsided and like he didn't do it all that often and half surprised into it, and slag if it wasn't a good look on him. "No more crashing in alleyways, all right?"
"Guess I can't rely on you bein' around all the time," the mech said, and rocked up to his pedes with an easy grace both like and unlike the few Seeker models Ratchet'd seen on the outskirts of Iacon. "So, uh - what's your name? In case I hit another alley. ...I mean."
Ratchet snickered, couldn't help it. "It's Ratchet," he said, and frag if the mech didn't look surprised. So much for all those mechs who insisted warframes were hard to read. "I'm Chief Medical Officer at Iacon General, if you need any more dental work doing."
"Ratchet," the mech said, and there was something in his voice that made Ratchet wonder if he should've checked the mech's processor for damage after all.
The way he chose the glyphs for essential rather than useful, though, that was -
Huh.
"See y'round, Ratch," the mech said, with just a brief flicker of that lopsided little smile, and Ratchet took a few startled steps back as he crouched and leaped straight up into the air - rotors slashed around, plating flashed grey-black-white with little yellow accents pulling his optics here and there, and right as his patient swung around to leave-
"Hey!" Ratchet yelled after him, chasing his shadow out onto the main drag. "Kid! What's your name?!"
That got him another of those odd little soft sounds under the racket his rotors were making, and the 'copter jinked around a little like he wanted to keep optics on Ratchet for the answer.
"It's Deadlock," his patient shouted back, and Ratchet's spark did something peculiar as Deadlock vanished against the stars.