robothell | Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

Entry tags:

ratchet | asafepairofhands

Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

Who: Tarn and Drift and Tarn and You
Where: The city center
When: A few days after the Rodimus incident
What: Tarn has an unfortunate run in with some new friends
Warnings: Tarn. Violence to come

Tarn has had bad days before. Occasionally his latest victim would get a good punch in, perhaps they were particularly good at eluding himself and his team, or they managed to temporarily escape. Maybe the pet decided to gnaw on a particularly important set of data pads. Or Vos decided to poach parts from one of the cleaning drones. Again.

Any of that is a walk in the park compared to the viciously terrible week Tarn has had. So far he has been transported to an alternate Cybertron without his consent. He has been harassed by Autobots, burned, shot at, disrespected,; but really, the proverbial cherry on top of the whole mess, was the incident with Megatron. The founder of the Decepticons, the mech he has sacrificed his identity, his name, his very life to serving, turned traitorous. Betraying his own faction and trading his own badge for an Autobrand. Honestly, Tarn is having a difficult time even wrapping his mind around the whole thing. One thing is for certain though...he is angry and on the hunt for someone to take his aggression out on.

He has been prowling the city ruins for hours, stopping every few minutes to transform a few times, just to take the edge off. He can feel his T-cog grinding more and more with every transformation. He is familiar with the sensation and the knowledge that the cog probably wont last him the month only adds to his every growing ire.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Violence on that scale is effective in bringing out the worst in all its participants."

He doesn't doubt any of his Decepticon followers were responsible horrible things in the past. It was a path he was ready to take himself until recently. But he wanted believed there was more to them than that - and well, may have felt a little responsible for having helped cause it.

"Can you still transform?" The injuries looked relatively minor insofar, but he didn't want to exacerbate something that might not be obvious.

Tarn bows his head, a bit of an incredulous look in his eye. "Yes, of course. I am still completely functional." Ok, maybe not completely. To be honest. not being able to transform would drive Tarn into a complete frenzy. And he is starting to get antsy over the concept of his impending predicament.

Overcome by the urge, he transforms; t-cog audibly grinding and a deep ache spreads through his frame.

This is bad.

The tcog's whine sounds painful, though he holds back a grimace.

Megatron shifts alongside him, treads hugging the ground as black plating reassembles smoothly into place. He leads them back towards the clinic, at this point rather intimately familiar with its location in relation to the nearby area.

It wouldn't be long before the building would find itself approached by a duo of tanks.

Ratchet hears them approach even before he can see them out the cracked glass of the windows. He recognizes Megatron's alt mode as it roars into view, but the other one takes him a few moments.

When he does realize who it is--who it must be--he goes oddly still, the bottom dropping endlessly, nauseatingly from his tanks, his spark whirling. He doesn't move for a long moment, standing blessedly alone in the medibay, but when he can again a shuddering drag of air whines into his vents, cooling suddenly panic-heated systems, and he takes a moment to just stare down at his hands before he turns, going back to the cleaning he was doing before he'd looked out the window.

"No," he says when they walk in the door, not even looking up, his voice crisp and clear and his face oddly calm.

Tarn looks around the Medibay, silently evaluating as he stands quietly beside Megatron. He glares fiercely at the back of Ratchet's head when the medic so rudely brushes them aside. Honestly, though, Tarn expected no less of the Autobot Chief Medical Officer.

He looks at Megatron, giving him a shrug before turning to leave.

"As I expected."

When Megatron enters, he was certainly expecting one of many things - one being a loud earful from Ratchet about Tarn. The dead silence when he enters is new, and concerning, but it's far from successful at dissuading him.

He approaches the medic, taking note of his utterly new and different body language, but unsure what to make of it. His own stance is calm and familiar.

"Someone needs your help," Megatron reminds him, firmly, echoing what Ratchet had told him when they first met. He was still under the impression the doctor would assist anyone in need.

"No," Ratchet says again distinctly, and now he does put the tools down and look up at Megatron, his optics clear and cool.

"Not him. Bring me any other injured person here, Decepticon, Autobot, or otherwise, and I'll do what I can for them, but--not him. I won't have him in my medibay." Ratchet's optics narrow, his tone frigid now, though he doesn't look at Tarn. "He can curl up and rust, as far as I'm concerned. Get him the hell out of here."

Tarn remains a few paces back from where Megatron and Ratchet are talking, still half turned toward the exit. His eyes continue to blaze in fury at the Autobot's comments, but he remains silent in his rage, determined to remain on the moral high ground in his leader's eyes.

He can't help but to make a quip about his attitude, however.

"Yes, yes, I'm leaving- no need to be so impolite."

"No, you're not," he directs to Tarn, keeping his own expression level at Ratchet despite a little indignation entering his voice,"I understand you have every reason to despise your enemies, but personal preference shouldn't decide whether someone gets treatment."

Megatron rests his hands on the counter Ratchet was working on,"We have more than enough supplies to spare for him."

"Supplies aren't the issue, and I won't pretend they are." Ratchet cuts his optics at Tarn, finally, his lip curling back in vicious satisfaction. "Let me guess. Spot of t-cog trouble on top of all the injuries you managed to sustain trying to beat the hell out of my captain? Paint me scandalized."

He sweeps the tools he was cleaning into a drawer and slams it shut, anger mounting steadily.

"If my problem was that he's my enemy I'd just get over it and give him the care he needs. It's not. We'd all be better off if he dropped dead where he stood and left me to clean up the mess, and I'm not lifting a single finger to prevent that from happening." He looks down at them for a moment, faint chips of blue clear through the vivid red, at least to him. His tanks churn. "I can't, and I won't. Now get out."

Tarn stills upon Megatron's command. Ratchet’s comments needle at him, yes, but he remains stubbornly silent all the same.

The medic's anger is getting the best of him, Tarn can tell. This could prove to be more fascinating than he expected.

He begins approaching Megatron, glancing down at Ratchet with a smug satisfaction that just barely made it through the mask. He would come out on top of this one way or another. Either he receives treatment, or he gets kicked out- giving him a bit more ammo against the Autobots in his battle to prove his point to Megatron.

There's a look of concern that crosses his expression for the doctor. He didn't know why Ratchet was being so difficult about this, but it was obviously something very personal.

"I have made it very clear to Tarn that we will both be collaborating with Autobots from here on out. Whatever hate he holds for them will also be put aside.."

"Besides, your reasoning could be applied to me," he remarks, a little undirected bitterness seeping into his voice.

"We all know what lies in my future."

"I've treated you, when you've landed in my medibay. Not just here." Ratchet straightens, something too angry to be fear tightening at the corners of his mouth as he looks to Megatron and then up at Tarn, unflinching.

"You can collaborate with him all you like, though I wouldn't recommend it. I won't have anything to do with him, and he's not welcome here." His chin jerks up at Tarn, his optics bright and furious.

"These were Pharma's hands, and I'm not using them to fix you."

Edited 2015-01-27 01:03 (UTC)

Tarn stares, levelly, down at Ratchet.

"Then I assure you that they have repaired me more than once already."

Perhaps antagonizing the medic in front of Megatron is not the best course of action. But he certainly isn't lying-- Pharma replaced Tarn's transformation cog on multiple occasions.

"However, I am wondering how you came into possession of them. Surely, as a medic, you appreciate the importance of a medic's hands."

He's quiet as the two speak up, uncertain of what was being referred between them. It's getting clearer now that Tarn must have done something to a contemporary of Ratchet's. Probably executed him - or maybe kept him prisoner? It was a war, he was certain there was any number of awful things both sides did to each other.

It actually does beg the question why Ratchet would do something as morbid as take his hands, but there was no way to know without opening what was clearly a very big can of worms.

Megatron does give Tarn a harsh, cold look, not expecting the first words to come out of his masked mouth to be something to exacerbate this. It was difficult enough trying to convince Ratchet without anatagonizing him. His expression only slightly alleviates when returning to the doctor.

"I didn't leave Sentinel's cog with you so you can withhold it because of whatever past you two have had."

Ratchet's optics blaze white with fury and he actually takes a step forward before he stops himself, cool air catching in his fans as he struggles for composure.

"Pharma's dead," Ratchet spits, bare poison in his voice. "He was crazy, as you well know, and now he's dead because of it." He turns on Megatron, venting hard, his lips peeling back from his teeth.

"I took that t-cog from you for the express purpose of keeping it from him. I'm not installing it and I'm not giving it to him for someone else to install and this conversation is over. We'll discuss it further later."

At first, Tarn goes to withdraw from conversation with Ratchet upon Megatron's cold look. That is until he mentions Sentinels Transformation cog being on the premises. He cocks his head and, of course, does the logical thing and begins to look more closely around the Medibay for where it could possibly be hidden- ignoring Ratchet's furious gaze in favor of beginning to wander around a bit.

"Hm, a shame about Pharma, really. But his death was his own doing." Tarn pauses,turning to look Ratchet in the face. "I certainly didn't kill him. In fact, those hands of yours are rather incriminating. Perhaps it was your doing."

Ratchet's optics widen slowly, a kind of thick, choking rage numbing his brain and sending a faint crackling through his audials, soft white noise in his head for a long moment before he manages to draw in a shuddering vent of cool air.

"Pharma was one of the greatest surgeons and researchers we ever produced," he snarls, voice a little unsteady, "and he was my friend,, and you ruined him, and you murdered him, as surely as if you'd put a gun to his head. You aren't getting one single more t-cog from an Autobot medic, not if I can help it. We are done here."

Tarn continues to stare at Ratchet, embers of rage beginning to burn inside him. He almost wants to laugh at Ratchet's audacity but is finding it quite difficult after everything else that has happened. After a quick glance at Megatron he moves a bit closer to the Autobot medic.

"I hate to break it to you, Ratchet, but every decision Pharma made was his own. I'm afraid i had no part in it, as easy as it would be to blame on me. Look inside yourself, for that one. Perhaps you should have kept in better contact with your friend. You may have seen something amiss."

"That's enough," anger adds an authoritative weight to Megatron's voice, now thoroughly annoyed at Tarn's needling. He stands in front of the soldier to address Ratchet and keep the two from closing in any further.

"I've just received a message from Nautica. She's delirious and panicked."
Which means he's going to go. Now.

He looks back at Tarn as he slips from in between them,"We will discuss this again later, unless you're inclined to press salt into whatever Red Alert has suffered from the war as well."

"You can bring her here," Ratchet says immediately, his optics focusing on Megatron. "I'll do what I can to help calm her down, injured or not." He watches Megatron leave, his gaze steady as it flicks back to Tarn, a harsh blast of air shunting from his vents as his jaw sets.

"The answer's still no," he says, voice frigid. "And I'm not telling you where it is, so you may as well either leave or kill me and stop wasting my valuable time."

Tarn lets out a theatrical sigh, shaking his head as he pushes past Ratchet to move further into the medibay.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way. But, i assure you, Ratchet, that i will be leaving this clinic with a t-cog in hand." He lets his voice just barely caress against the medic's spark. Just a tease of what he is capable of. He doesn't expect it to scare Ratchet, of course, but it does give him a certain satisfaction anyway.

"Give me the transformation cog and I will leave both you and your medibay intact. If not..." he chuckles lightly, optics flaring, "well, then I can make no promises."

Ratchet's fists clench so hard that the seams of his wrists ache, that faint pain sharpening his optics more than the slow silken coil of Tarn's voice curling in his chassis, its weight settling like knuckles pressing dread down against the top of his fuel tanks.

"Shove it up your tailpipe, Tarn," he snarls, bare hatred in his voice now. "You aren't going to find the t-cog unless I tell you where it is, and I won't. Let's get this the hell over with."

Laughing, Tarn flings a cabinet open.

"Is that so? We will see, wont we?"

Determination sets in as he starts to rummage through supplies; coming up empty handed he methodically moves on to the next.

"I assure you, I will be very thorough."

Grabbing a drawer he yanks it free from its housing, emptying the contents on the floor.

Ratchet's on him in an instant, following him across the room. He knows if he stops to think about what he's doing, if he hesitates, the terror swelling in him will overtake him completely. So he doesn't; he just flicks the largest scalpel he has on hand out of his wrist and swings it in, intending to bury it in Tarn's flank, to the side of his spinal strut--right into his t-cog.

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