Dratchet Gift Exchange

He had made excuses- assuring himself that he was only keeping Ratchet around until his wounds were treated.. but here they were, still braving the hostile environment together. Drift had long known attachments were a weakness- only serving to make it more difficult to do his job without regret.

He was right to be so cautious before.. but perhaps he still hadn't been careful enough. These feelings had managed to creep through the walls he had built.

He should despise the thought that Ratchet- an autobot- was, or rather, had been breaking down his defenses, but he couldn't bring himself to be upset about it.

Maybe he had been behind enemy lines too long, missing the companionship of his allies... But it wasn't like he had been terribly close with his fellow decepticons.

He had been deemed a perfect fit to become a spy.. afterall, all his connections- his friends- were long dead. Taken even before the war had truly began.

He had never been noteworthy among the 'cons ranks, he was beginning to think he was chosen as the most disposable option, an unremarkable decepticon... someone that no one would miss. But somehow in his short time missing in action, Ratchet had noticed his absence- cared that he was gone... It was more compassion than he had been shown by his own faction.

He found his resolve was waivering- he was no longer sure of what he wanted, where his true loyalties lied.. which 'him' was the act.

With the factions tossed on their heads.. did it really matter what his alligence had been-?

But.. no one could possibly be willing to overlook what he had done. No matter what he were to decide now, he was a traitor.

Drift found that he didn't care what either faction would think on the matter... there was only one bot he cared to not hurt with the truth.

The thought of Ratchet finding out that he was was spy- a traitor, made his spark twist in a way he hadn't expected.

Drift had already revealed his true nature to some of the autobots- it was only a matter of time before the news spread... this wasn't something he could expect to be able to keep from the doc. Not after everything he had done.. the mechs he had hurt...

"Drift, stay focused," Ratchet urged, pulling them from their thoughts, "We can't afford to be distracted while we are exposed on the surface," Ratchet took ahold of Drift's hand, "Stay close,"

Drift didn't have time to gawk at the destruction before Ratchet suddenly quickened their pace, practically dragging Drift along as they ducked into a crevasse in the rubble. Drift caught on when he heard the sound of something large approaching- it sounded like the same thing that had prompted them to move initially. Drift opened his mouth to question it, but Ratchet urgently signaled for him to stay quiet.

He frowned, but complied, carefully peeking outside to find out what had the doctor so on edge.

He quickly caught sight of movement, a large shadow slid through the rubble. Drift looked up to its sorce- a large mechanical tentacled creature with many red eyes was looming over the rubble, coming right towards them.

Drift let out a sharp gasp- which was quickly muffled by Ratchet slapping a hand over his mouth and pulling him back away from the opening. Thankfully it seemed the creature hadn't heard, as it slowly moved on, continuing to scour the wreckage.

Once the creature had finally slunk out of sight, Ratchet released their hold on Drift's face. Though they remained tense, carefully watching and listening for its return. It was clear whatever that was- it was as dangerous as it looked.

Because of that Drift didn't dare ask for clarification now, instead he remained silent as they continued weaving through the ruined city with a renewed urgency. Avoiding impassable rubble and unknown enemies until they finally arrived at a small, still decently intact building.

Ratchet let out a sigh of relief as they made it inside, the tension they carried in their frame relaxed in the apparently familiar space.

They left Drift to lean against a table as they began to dig through drawers. The building appeared to be an old medical clinic, maybe even from before the war. It looked like it hadn't been stocked since then either, as Ratchet's search seemed to be coming up empty.

"What was that thing?" Drift finally coughed out, it was the first time he had tried to speak since he had escaped the energon pool, his throat felt raw.

Ratchet paused their search to give Drift a baffled look, "The quintesson drone?"

Drift only cocked his head in response. Ratchet's expression shifted to concern when it became apparent he required more of an explanation.

"The quintessons arrived cycles ago.." Ratchet continued, but his tone sounded like he wanted to ask questions. Their voice wavered, "But,  surely you weren't... I- no one has seen you since the battle for the allspark..." they trailed off as they continued to dig through the sparse supplies and empty cupboards, a tense silence hung between them. Their concerned expression had a hint of what looked to be sadness breaking through.. but it quickly disappeared as they finally let out a triumph, "Aha!"

As Ratchet finally retrieved an energon iv and made their way back over to Drift, once again wearing a soft smile, "By the look of you, you were in that energon pool for while... I'll need to do a more thorough exam, but I don't expect you to have any lasting damage,"

Drift nodded with a frowned as Ratchet hooked up the iv. No matter the situation- or diagnosis- the doc always seemed to have a positive spin on things. But their overall cheery demeanor.. felt almost too happy. And the way their expression had changed so sharply- He could recognize it was an act. He knew of their facade.. despite his better judgement, he had called them out on it on the past...

Back when he was new to the autobots, when he had finally gotten sick of the nickname "Red-Eyes"- worrying for the impact it would have on his mission. He had sought out a medic to preform a cosmetic surgery, to change his optic colour.

Ratchet was the most competent option. Everyone knew they were a good doctor, but from what Drift observed it seemed the autobots saw them as only that. Even the other medics didn't tend to socialize with Ratchet outside of the medical bay. Not that he entirely blamed them, despite Ratchet's medical brilliance- they didn't seem to understand what was or was not appropriate for casual conversation.

Admittedly, Drift was probably the only one among the autobots that could stomach Ratchet describing in graphic detail how they had reattached a severed limb.

But Ratchet had initially refused to preform the alterations he requested-

"You know, you don't have to change anything about yourself just because you've joined the autobots," Ratchet had assured him with a soft smile.

Drift frowned, he hadn't thought they'd outright deny his request. But maybe he should have expected it considering the chilly welcome the rest of the autobots had shown him.

Ratchet continued, tilting his head slightly, "Is there a reason you're inquiring?"

Drift's scowl deepened, he would honestly be shocked if they were unaware of what he was being called. No one was exactly being subtle about it. Either way, he didn't need his sympathy or support- he needed his skills.

"I don't want to stand out more than I already do." He tried, maybe he could manipulate them and use their pity as a tool to get them to change their decision.

"There isn't an autobot dress code. If somone is telling you otherwise, you need to let someone know." Ratchet reiterated, "If you tell me, I could talk to them."

Drift held back a scoff- yeah, the autobots would respect him so much more if he got a medic to fight his battles for him. Besides, the doctor didn't know what he was talking about- how he was being treated was proof enough of that. The autobots wouldn't consider him one of them, not when they still viewed him as an enemy.

"That won't change anything," Drift snapped, accidentally allowing his true irritation to show.

"And this change would?" Ratchet pointedly asked. The doctor wasn't completely wrong, but he wasn't going to let them know it.

Ratchet shook their head as the y added, "I want you to be certain you are doing this for yourself, not because of others."

He may be doing this to fit in, yes, but would that not help himself in the long run? Drift shifted the topic away from himself, poking at the doctor's sudden slip in bedside manor. "Aw, careful doc, you forgot to sugar-coat that one."

Drift smirked as Ratchet flinched, deciding to press further. "I've been around assasins, backstabers and any other form of deception for most of this war, if you're going to put on such an obvious act it won't get past me."

Ratchet was clearly taken of guard by Drift's comment. They shifted uncomfortablyas they tried to form a response, "Most bots prefer.. a delicate approach to news and diagnostics,"

"I am not most bots." He countered dryly.

Ratchet paused for a moment before asking, "Then.. what would you prefer?

"For you to agree to this procedure." Drift stated firmly. He wasn't going to tell the doc how to act, but he certainly wasn't letting up on his demands.

"If you're sure this is what want," Ratchet finally relented.

Once again Ratchet had offered a few alternatives, including the modification he ended up going with. Allowing him to cycle his optics between blue or red. He kept the reason why he truly decided on that treatment to himself... after this mission was over, it would be easier to return to his own faction if the alterations were reversible.

Drift ended up spending a fair amount of time around the autobot medical bay. Many times he caught himself gravitating towards the odd medic, but he forced himself to remain at a distance. Maybe a better spy could have feigned relations, and succeeded in gaining the autobot faction's trust. But Drift remained an outsider, the nickname he had received from Hot Rod- "Red-Eyes"- pointed out that he was different. Even when he tried to outwardly change- his lighter paint job, his changing optic colour- things that should have made him be just like any other autobot. But despite all his efforts, it amounted to nothing. The autobots still couldn't or wouldn't trust him. ..Though they may have been correct to keep their guard up- he had never given them any reason to do so. He would almost feel bad for an actual deserter.. almost.

The only autobots who interacted with him with some frequency, were Bumblebee who checked in on him a few times to "see how he was settling in", and Ratchet. Even long after his treatment was complete, and they had no reason to.. the doctor had continued to be friendly towards him.

At first Drift had worried the medic might be suspicious of him, but it became apparent that they just genuinely wanted to be his friend. He wasn't there to make friends. And he didn't dare risk forming a relationship that would become difficult to betray...

The doc only made it more difficult when they actually respected the boundaries he put up. Why couldn't they have just been more annoying?? If they had perhaps then he wouldn't have felt so guilty turning them away.

.

.

.

"I thought we established that I know when you're trying to sugar coat things doc?" Drift pointed out, "And that you wouldn't with me?"

Ratchet sighed, but relented. Their expression shifted, dropping their smile as if it were a battlesheild, "Where have you been? No one has seen you since battle for allspark!"

Drift shifted uncomfortably as he recalled the battle, perhaps he shouldn't have pushed them- if only to avoid this line of questioning.

He shrugged, "I.. don't know," he slowly admitted, "Last thing I know.. I was.."

...betraying the autobots, by confronting Cheetor, Bumblebee and Hot Rod. But he couldn't admit to that.

"-I ended up on the outskirts of the battle, during the fight I ended up dragged into the energon pool.. not one of my best moments."

A sliver of the true story, surrounded by half-truths and precise wording. A carefully crafted story that hopefully wouldn't raise any red flags. He wished he could fill in the blanks for himself that easily... Something still wasn't sitting right him, but he couldn't figure out why.

Ratchet's eyes widened with realization, "You've been in the energon pool that long?"

Drift narrowed his eyes, that long was an odd statement.. though he too was slowly piecing together how much time has passed since that battle...

Ratchet continued, with their brow furrowed in concern, "Stagnant energon can be caustic with extended exposure, you're extremely lucky that you're not worse off."

Drift couldn't help but smirk, the doc would usually have great bedside manners- but he actually preferred when they didn't.. even if it was about his own unfortunate condition. He'd rather they be transparent than try to give him false hope.

It was Drift's turn to flinch as Ratchet suddenly leaned closer, carefully inspecting Drift's damaged frame.

"I had assumed that you just had some grime built up on your paint.. but the stagnant energon has stained your plating." Ratchet frowned as he delicately poked at Drift's plating, "No doubt it has gummed up your internal systems too. But to have survived so long.. the shock must have sent you into stasis."

When the doc was so concentrated, their concept for personal space was lacking. Drift stayed frozen in place as Ratchet continued to check him over more thoroughly.

Normally he would expect himself to bristle at someone being so close, even if they were a medic. He found himself watching the doctor closely, but not out of fear or malice...

"I can't treat the extent of your injuries here.. I don't have the tools or supplies. We'll have to search for a medical centre that is still functional." Ratchet said as they concluded the exam.

Drift gave a dry chuckle, "Given Cybertron's current state, that might be too big of an ask,"

Ratchet didn't seem deterred, "We at least need to find more medical supplies." They reiterated, extending their hand to Drift.

Drift coughed and sputtered as he finally managed to break the surface of the stagnant energon. His systems screamed with warnings, but he paid them no mind as he desperately fought his way to the edge before he could be pulled under again. He clawed his way out of the foul pool, it took so much energy to move his stiff joints, he barely managed to drag himself clear from the energon before collapsing onto the ground.

He gritted his teeth, fighting to remain concious. Determined that it would take more than that cocky autobot's attempt at a final stand to finish him off... But his eyes flickered- signaling how  utterly exhausted he was. It had taken all the energy he had to pull himself free. If anyone strayed from the nearby battle, they would easily finish him off. But oddly he didn't hear the fighting anymore... Could it be that the battle was already over? The thought gave him pause, if it was over- had they won? Had the autobots been defeated?

The heavy silence was suddenly interupted, as he became aware of soft footsteps approaching. He strained to lift his head, he had just blown his cover among the autobots- and only a few decepticons even knew he was a spy. Either faction discovering him in such a compromised state would spell the end of him...

"Drift?" A familiar voice called out to him, followed by a hushed exclamation, "..Primus, what happened to you?"

He wasn't sure if he should count himself lucky or not.. He had been found by an autobot, more specifically, Ratchet.

He couldn't help but feel a little relief, an autobot medic was by far the least likely to kill him on sight- but their allies would be a different story.

With that in mind, it would be to his benefit to get treatment before the other autobots showed up.

...Though by Ratchet's reaction, it seemed news of his true alligence had not spread through the autobot ranks yet. They still saw him as another loyal autobot soilder, and he wasn't going to tell him otherwise. But he could feel his eyes flickering as he strained to change their colour back to blue.

"Save your energy," Ratchet urged, setting a comforting hand onto his shoulder, "I'll get you patched up enough to move- but then we'll have to get to cover quickly."

So, the autobots were on the run? Sounds like the decepticons had won the battle after all... Good, that meant blowing his cover hadn't been in vain.

Drift tried to keep track of what the doctor was doing as they worked, but he could feel himself fading in and out of consciousness. He wasn't safe here, he sharply reminded himself as he fought back the haze that threatened his processor.

He didn't understand how he had gotten into such a terrible state- these injuries hadn't come from his battle with Hot Rod, and he found it hard to believe that his impromptu swim would have caused so much damage...

But with the medic's quick work he began to have a firmer grip on reality, though overall he still felt sluggish and weak.

A distant rumbling suddenly snapped Ratchet's attention away from him- they carefully scanned the skies for what could be approaching. Whatever it was it sounded large...

Drift decided to take advantage of this distraction, with his injuries mostly treated- it was time to ditch the doctor.

He despised relying on others, being disconnected from any meaningful relations- especially among the autobots- made his line of work far easier.

He had no reason to stay with Ratchet- or any autobot for that matter. He could finally return to his place among the decepticons.

He forced himself onto his feet, though quickly regretted the action as his vision swam, tank churned and legs threatened to give out.

"Easy now-!" Ratchet jumped to steady him, "You're going to be alright, but you need to take it slow." They assured in a hushed tone as they cautiously watched the sky, "Though, you are right- we have to get moving,"

Ratchet slung Drift's arm over their shoulder and wrapped their arm around him to hold him up as they began to walk. Though Drift may be beginning to feel better, he didn't have the strength to reject Ratchet's help. And if he did, he wasn't sure he would have...