Chapter Text
Megatron saved him, turned him into a new and better mech, and gave him a bright future to look forward to. Tarn owed his life and spark itself to him, to the cause, and to the Decepticons. Pits, Tarn would leap off a cliff or tear off his own modesty panels if Megatron even so much as made a peep for him to. He need not demand of him to do it.
Nuke engulfed him and swam deep in his circuits, so much so that he could barely keep his optics opened.
Megatron gave and gave, and all Tarn did was take and take. He never gave back the equivalent and had taken things for granted, and now, he was gone.
Tarn was selfish. Tarn was idiotic. Tarn was a good for nothing, someone Megatron should have left behind to rust and disappear.
Tarn was a slagheaded, unstable fool who clung too hard to useless emotions.
Were his achievements and accomplishments not enough? Were his efforts in capturing and dealing with traitors to the cause not enough? Was he not enough to Megatron?
Call him overconfident, brainwashed, perhaps silly, but in this current moment, all his processor could think about was if it was him, the reason Megatron had left. Tarn was the reason he had left. Tarn did not do enough to keep Megatron.
No, no, that was stupid. Downright ridiculous to even have a smidge of a thought like that. Those Autobots had simply brainwashed Megatron and had stolen him from him. From them.
He did not leave on his accord.
Tarn did not want to believe it.
Yet, that singular datapad—the clearest evidence that Megatron had willingly defected—which was currently sitting abandoned on his berth and still displaying that jarring video, had shook him to the core. He had turned on the loop button and watched it over and over unwillingly.
He could have turned it off, but it did not matter, for it had already forced him to open his optics and audials to something he wished was just an illusion.
Not even the vicious fights he has had with Decepticons, traitors, who were on the same frame and strength level as him has hurt this badly. Not even the aching pain of losing his comrades and burnt-out transformation cogs had hurt this much. Not even his Voice could compare to the levels of pain he had, and still is feeling, felt watching that one cursed video.
Tarn's life flashed before his eyes; from meeting Megatron, to getting his new frame, to being transferred to the DJD team, to meeting said team, to meeting Pharma.
Oh, Pharma. Sweet, endearing Pharma. The Pharma who had declared the day Tarn fell would be to his servos. How much he loved and adored those perfect servos of his. A pained chuckle slipped out of his dermas at the thought of Pharma fuming at the fact that it was not him who had taken down the big, bad Tarn.
A light thunk on the glass sounded from behind him but he did not hear it.
This was a bad time, Tarn should not be thinking of an Autobot of all things right now. He should be thinking of how he could enact revenge on Megatron and command his team to victory, not weeping and wallowing in self pity here.
The thunk turned into a bang.
Tarn fleetingly wondered what his team was doing right now. Had they noticed what was happening yet? Did they care about him like (he thought) he did with them? Surely not, with how he treated them, wielding his ability over them.
Tarn longingly wondered what Megatron was doing right now. Was he basking in the glory of turning to the winning side or chained in a cell for the Autobots might not have trusted him just yet? Maybe not, with how confident he appeared in that video.
Pharma appeared before him, kneeling in the thick Nuke, optics focused on just him, filled with concern and fear. He could see the way Pharma bit down on his glossa and his wings slightly fluttering as he reached out towards him, touching his helm with surprising gentleness.
Oh, Pharma. Why are you dirtying your precious servos on a no-good con like him? Your servos deserve to be touched by only of the finest mechs and femmes.
Not him.
He had failed everyone.
Tarn had failed everyone.
Warnings and pop-ups flooded his HUD, yet they were perfectly positioned to where he could still see Pharma.
The bang turned into a crash. The reinforced glass sputtered and broke into a million thousand tiny sharp pieces, stabbing everyone's pedes. Just like how that video had stabbed him.
The imagination of Pharma dissipated and a stretched-out servo cruelly dragged him outside.
"Oh, slag! Frag it all! He's dead, he's a goner!"
"Tarn, wake up! Wake your aft up, please!"
"Move it, I need to tend to him! Move it! Now!"
Tiny servos, ones that were rougher and smaller, replaced the spots Pharma had touched. It swept over his frame and avoided certain areas, careful in its assessment of his condition.
Oh, Pharma. How he wished he had ran to you to cry instead of here in this now-shattered glass dome of Nuke, even if it meant putting his pride aside for once.
But that was wishful thinking.
Reality would be Pharma ending Tarn's life swiftly while he had the chance to. A sick part of him, one that used to be interested in only Megatron like the rest of his processor, thought that death to Pharma would have been much nicer.
Darkness filled his vision and swallowed him whole, filling the gaping hole in his spark where Megatron once resided in.
...
A loud crash roused Tarn from his slumber. His optics carefully cracked open and winced at the bright light. His systems rebooted itself once or twice and he forced his frame to turn its helm to see what was causing all that ruckus.
"You fragger! Why did you do that?!" Nickel screeched, "Control yourself! Stop destroying equipment I'll need!"
"It's just Tarn is— Why did he...!"
"Tarn is— will be fine! Now, sit over there! I don't need you wrecking my slag!"
Pedesteps crossed the room and a groan as someone sat down. Nickel wheeled herself back over and climbed up the stool to get a better view of him.
"Hi," Tarn greeted shyly.
"Hi," she greeted back, her dermas curled with anger. "Is that all you have to say?"
"I... don't know," he croaked out, "Is Megatron...?"
Nickel left for what felt like only an nano-klik to pick up a tool. She leaned down and pressed on his chassis to get a better grip on what she was fixing. "What about him?" she asked, as if having had expected that question.
"He left us."
"Indeed."
"Indeed," Tarn parroted bitterly.
A tense silence settled upon them like a thick, suffocating blanket. Even the most talkative amongst them kept their mouths shut and helms down. Even The Pet kept quiet, having noticed the scary atmosphere.
"No matter. We shouldn't let this weigh us down," Nickel said, like it was so easy to do. "Get some rest."
"But—" Helex started.
"No buts," she interrupted, "Tarn, you need to rest and recover your energy. If you guys don't have anything to say, get out."
Helex crossed his arms and clicked his glossa in annoyance but kept his trap shut. He got up and left the medbay without another word, most likely to blow off some steam. Kaon stood up as well, tugged on The Pet's chain leash, and followed behind him.
Tarn forced himself to sit up, much to Nickel's dismay.
"Where is he?" he asked, "Where is Pharma?"
"Pharma?" Nickel repeated, aghast. "Are you hearing yourself? You overloaded your systems with Nuke and tried to kill yourself, and now you're asking for that medic? That Autobot medic? If you're worried about my capabilities, I—"
"Quiet. I don't doubt you and you shouldn't. I'm asking because I... I," Tarn paused. A wave of embarrassment rolled over him.
"I...?" she said, staring intensely at him. "Go on."
A voice spoke softly from behind her. "You miss him."
"I don't," Tarn growled, "Watch it."
They gasped as their sparks jumped for a klik. He ignored them and swung one leg over and got off the medical slab. Nickel hopped off the stool and ran in front of him, stopping him from leaving.
"Where do you think you're going? You're still injured. You can look for him later."
"Move, Nickel."
"You're my patient. I can't let you do that," she protested.
"Yes, I can. A medic's word holds no ground when challenged by a commander's. Now, move."
Nickel gritted her dentas but moved aside with her shoulders slumped. Tesarus muttered something under his breath but he did not stop him like she did. Tarn made a mental note to punish him for the former later.
Tarn walked through the ship and, on his way to the exit, spotted Helex standing in a dark corner sticking random things into his smelter. Kaon and The Pet were presumably huddled up in their shared suite waiting for his next command, not that he cared much.
The familiar chilly cold of Messatine bit at his plating. Snowflakes drifted around and on him, feeling like little pin pricks, melting in the heat of his frame. He sent an urgent comm to Pharma, something he has done so many times before that he could do it half online.
::...Hello? Tarn, it's not drop day yet. Why in the Pits are you calling? Did you burn out your cog already?::
::Pharma, I need you. Wait for me. Don't hang up.::
::I'm already in the clinic, I live here. Also, you know, you could at least thank me. But whatever, fine, fine. I'll wait for you like a good little mech. Hurry it, will you? I have patients to tend to tomorrow.::
Tarn could hear an audible rustling as Pharma got out of berth. He checked his chronometer and realized that he must have called while he was in the middle of his recharge.
::You're oddly quiet. Quieter than usual,:: Pharma pointed out.
::So?::
::So, that's suspicious. Quiet Tarn is bad. It means you're up to something.::
::You wound me, Pharma. I'm just... hurt.::
Pharma let out an unimpressed hum but said nothing further. He said nothing either, appreciating the temporary silence he has given him. Tarn transformed, despite his cog's aching plea, and rolled out into the deep, harsh snow.
Although he could have easily gotten the medic to meet with him in one of the many dilapidated buildings littering the outskirts of Messatine, he felt hesitant and another emotion he did not want to address.
It was simply easier for him that they meet up at Delphi like always, he reasoned. The hospital was mostly well equipped and Pharma knew better than to attack him, even in his weakened state.
The doors of Delphi welcomed him, even if the residents inside did not. Like he promised, Pharma stood waiting behind the doors and opened them to let him in. He transformed back into root mode and waltzed on in like he owned the place, which he kind of did even if the CMO of said place disagreed.
Pharma scrunched his olfactory at the smell of his burnt out cog, about to commentate on it, only for Tarn to raise one digit at him—a silent demand for him to keep quiet. He pushed him aside and stalked deeper down the hallway to Pharma's office instead of the surgery room.
"Where are you going? Surgery room's that way," Pharma called, trailing behind him. Even with his taller than average frame, he struggled to keep up with his longer strides. "Did you need a therapist? I'm afraid that's not in our deal. I'm not interested in listening to whatever scrap you got yourself into."
"Very funny, Pharma," Tarn grumbled, slowing slightly to let him catch up and not because he was running haggard. "Not now."
"Not now what? Also, you look like you just crawled out of Unicron's aft. What happened to your heel struts? No wonder you're walking funny."
Tarn glared at him but he paid him no mind.
"Don't worry, no one will hear. Everybody's asleep already and I can erase the footage before First Aid wakes. Now, indulge me, Tarn," Pharma said, seemingly under the impression that Tarn was scared over something so trivial as being found out by a weak Autobot. That was Pharma's fear, not his.
"You're awfully chatty today."
"Of course I am. You woke me up, I deserve to know what happened. Was your medic not good enough?" he spat.
"You're also awfully mean. I hope you're not jealous of her."
Pharma stilled but just as quickly brushed it off and continued walking. "I'm not jealous. You're a dumb slag heap of metal and bolts, and the sight of you makes me sick. I really wonder how she puts up with you, considering how you've killed more cogs than traitors."
His spark stopped as Tarn slammed him against the nearest wall, one servo beside his helm and the other on his intake. He instinctively gripped on his wrist and kicked his legs, a futile attempt to stop him from choking him.
"Tarn...!" Pharma panted, kicking weakly at his legs. "Someone's going to hear. Let me go."
He barely had time to catch himself before he was promptly dropped on the floor like a piece of trash. He wisely made no further comment, though he could see he desperately wanted to.
Without waiting for him, Tarn tapped in the code to his door himself. What Pharma did not expect was for him to suddenly turn around and step aside, pressing his bulky frame against the door frame and motioning for him to head inside first.
"Femmes first," he smirked.
Pharma rolled his optics but did as told. "First of all, I'm not a femme. Second of all, you're lucky I'm allowing you to lay on my berth. Go on, I need to prep."
"Yes, doctor," Tarn drawled.
Pharma pressed a control on the wall to release the slab and pulled it out fully. While Tarn laid down and made himself comfortable, he rifled through his cabinets and drawers for the equipment he needed.
"Stay here real quick. I need to leave for a bit."
"Why?"
"I need to retrieve the box of cogs. I don't store it here, if that wasn't obvious."
"Why?" Tarn asked again, a cheeky grin plastered on his faceplate, not that he could see it.
"Because a certain oaf decided to call me in the middle of my down-cycle and I usually don't do surgeries in my office."
"But you do sleep here."
"Why does that matter? It's easier not having to move between two rooms constantly. Anyway, enough chattering. I'll be back soon," Pharma said, waving him off.
The more time passed without any signs of Pharma's eventual return, the dimmer his optics became, threatening to shut themselves whenever he began to drift off. Tarn stood up and transformed a few times, then paced around the room, then looked around, then sat back down, anything to keep himself from falling into recharge.
Even with his strength, he knew Pharma would come up with something heinous if he ever found Tarn's recharging frame.
Soon, Pharma came back holding an ordinary-looking box. He lifted an optic ridge at the comical sight of the DJD's leader hunched over and inspecting a snow globe like some sort of wide-eyed sparkling.
"Isn't it cute?" Pharma said, placing down the box on his table.
Tarn jumped and nearly dropped it in his haste to collect himself. He whipped around and hid the toy behind his back.
"Ambulon gifted it to me. I'm not sure why he did and why I kept it. You're free to take it if you want it."
"Are you sure? It looks important," Tarn questioned, holding out the globe.
The snow globe was made out of a common type of glass and wood, and nothing about it screamed expensive, but it was the contents inside that made it special.
There was a little pine tree decorated with icicles and brightly-coloured ornaments. Three figurines stood in the middle holding hands with each other, smiling happily at the viewer together.
When he shook it, the tiny specks of white inside danced and floated around, covering the figurines and tree. Tarn kept it safely tucked away in his subspace and laid back down on the slab.
"No dampeners," he reminded.
"No dampeners, I know," Pharma huffed.
Under Tarn's watchful gaze, Pharma quickly got to work, wanting to get this over with so he can go back to sleep as soon as possible. Dainty digits gripped a scalpel, making careful incisions and cuts into his protoform to expose the near melted cog underneath.
Coolant welled up in his optics as he pushed through the smell, replacing the cog and making sure it lined up well enough. Then, he picked up a piece of suitable metal and welded it to his frame, fitting the hole perfectly.
He fought the urge to push Tarn back down as he sat up and inspected the work. He roughly dragged his claws against the metal and grinned at how Pharma cringed at the loud screeching.
"What are you doing? You're going to leave marks," Pharma complained.
"I'm not like you, always needing to make sure that my finish is smooth and paint job fresh. This will do. Thank you, doctor."
Pharma waved him off and, like usual, turned away to put away his tools, making sure to remember to clean them tomorrow. He was too tired to do it now. The tankformer knew when to remove his presence and should have been gone by now, so he did not bother to check, a mistake he would regret.
A towering shadow loomed over him, blocking out light and preventing him from seeing where his tools were. Tarn pressed his frame right up against his, chassis to back.
Pharma shivered at the way Tarn traced the medic symbols on his wings with the tips of his claws, the pressure light enough to not leave marks behind but hard enough to send tingles down his spinal strut. He drew lines down the sides of his hips and teased the protoform underneath, clearly playing with him.
He was stuck between pushing him away or accepting his fate.
"Tarn, get out already. The surgery is done," Pharma whispered, "Your team must be waiting for you."
Tarn hummed quietly in response, leaning down to where he could press his mask against the side of Pharma's helm while also watching how his optics darted around nervously. He lightly pinched his neck cables and dipped in between the seams every once in a while.
"They aren't. They know to only contact me if I'm gone after a certain amount of days without getting back to them. Besides, you look so pretty under me like this. Would be a shame if we ended it here," Tarn crooned with that deep baritone voice of his.
"You're," he murmured, deciding between question or statement. "Ridiculous."
"So are you."
"Afthole."
Like an immature sparkling, Tarn chuckled and replied, "Only if it's yours."
"What are you talking about?" Pharma sputtered, nearly hitting him in the mask and scraping his turbine as he hurriedly turned around. "Out. Now."
"I don't think so, Pharma."
"Why not? I—"
Tarn pressed a digit on his dermas and smirked deviously down at him. Making sure that he would not speak anymore, Tarn slid both servos down and placed them atop of Pharma's, which were gripping the table tightly.
It was only now that Pharma realized just how close they really were and how much of a disadvantage he was at.
Even while hunched over, Tarn still stood a head or two over him. And if that was not bad enough, he was also wider, trapping Pharma in even more, especially with how he positioned his arms.
"You're like a cute little petro-rabbit. You tremble just like them," Tarn commented.
"Are you in heat or something? What has brought this on? You usually just leave after surgeries."
"I don't know, you tell me."
Pharma glared at him. "I can't read your mind, Tarn."
Tarn tightened his grip, forcing a gasp out of him. He tried to shake him off with no avail.
"Release me. You're going to damage my wrists," Pharma squeaked, caring more about his precious medic-forged servos than someone else potentially hearing him.
"He betrayed me. He betrayed us," Tarn growled.
"I don't care," Pharma grunted, yet changed his mind last second and asked, "Who?"
Tarn rested his helm in the nook of his shoulder and neck, breathing in the smell of Pharma. As much as he wished he could take off his mask and let his glossa take control, he could not risk it.
"Tarn, who are you talking about?" Pharma asked once more, his curiosity peaking. "Who betrayed you? Who's us?"
"You're an Autobot. Of course you didn't know," Tarn muttered bitterly.
"Then tell me. I'll listen."
"Megatron," Tarn started, speaking of his designation as if he were a longing widow. "He defected to your side. He left us. He left me."
Pharma gasped as he nuzzled his mask deeper and grinded their crotches together, contorting his own body because of how tall he is. Hot steam blew out of his vents in large puffs as he tried to adjust to the sudden onslaught of heat creeping up his frame. Tarn's overwhelmingly hot warframe was not helping at all.
"What does that have to do with me?" Pharma questioned, "Just because I'm an Autobot, it doesn't mean that I was the one who told him to defect. Primus, I didn't even know he defected in the first place."
"You Autobots are strange. All Decepticons were immediately notified of this announcement."
"We 'Autobots' are in Messatine, if you forgot. Those scrapheads clearly don't care about us, considering that they put us in the middle of DJD territory, and the fact that they never replied back to my calls for help."
"I know. I had Kaon intercept your connection. But don't worry, even if it did connect, it wouldn't as you've said."
Pharma ex-vented and looked away, avoiding his gaze. "Don't rub it in my face."
"I'm not."
He did not seem convinced but Tarn did not care.
"Megatron left the Decepticon cause, stating that he believed that our ideology was flawed. He preferred the Autobot way, which I argue is more flawed. I'm hurt, doctor, I'm hurt," Tarn sighed, "Megatron saved me from that scrap heap, but now he's left me behind."
"That's not my problem."
Again, he ignored him. "I'm lost, Pharma. What should I do now? Who should I look to?"
"I don't know," Pharma answered truthfully, "And I don't care."
"You should. If you don't take care of me, I might do something impulsive. Maybe Delphi will vanish one day."
Pharma froze, his vents stuttering with fear.
"Perhaps that nurse of yours should go first, right in front of you. Or that other one. What was his name again? Ambulon?" Tarn hummed.
"I get it," Pharma gritted out, "What do you want? I've fixed your cog already and I'm not going to give you a whole box of cogs when it's not time yet."
"I can make changes to our deal any time I want, Pharma, remember that. If I want my cogs now, I'll take them," Tarn threatened, "But I'm feeling merciful today. I want you. You'll make me feel good. Not as good as transforming, but good."
Pharma managed to catch himself in time, masking his disgusted grimace with a neutral yet tired look. "Charming."
"You should come with me, Pharma. Leave these mechs behind, they clearly don't care about you. I'll care for you more than you could ever want."
"You're not a very good liar, Tarn," he snickered, "Let's say that if I really did come with you, who said that your team would be accepting of me? I've seen the way they stare at me. I'm not stupid."
"You're not stupid," Tarn confirmed, "With me here, they wouldn't lay a digit on you. They know not to, they know the consequences if they were to disobey me. Come with me, Pharma," Tarn said, borderline pleaded, lifting a servo to cradle his cheek.
Without thinking, Pharma leaned into his soft touch. It has been vorns since someone has touched him like this. "Convince me then, Tarn."
Tarn gently swiped his thumb over his cheek and moved to press his mask against it like a mock kiss. Before he could dip further down, another mech's voice sounded from outside.
"Hello?" someone called.
Pharma stiffened under his hold and stared back at him, silently begging for him to not make a sound or continue. Tarn was never a good listener to those he considered lower.
"Ambulon, quiet. Are you trying to wake everyone up? Are you trying to wake him up?" First Aid quietly hissed.
"Sorry, I swore I heard something rustling," Ambulon murmured.
"Ignore it, it's probably just a glitch-mouse. You can inform Pharma of it tomorrow. C'mon, let's check over there and head back. I'm tired."
Pharma ex-vented a sigh of relief at the sound of pedesteps trailing away. He slapped Tarn's roving servos away and took the chance to slip out of his grasp. He knew better than to escape and risk Tarn destroying his office, so he chose to stay on the other side of the room to put some distance between them.
"You need to leave. You're going to get us caught. If you lose me, you'll lose your supply of T-cogs. Get out."
Tarn narrowed his optics, frustrated that their time together was cut short. Pharma was right though. It is better if he were to bide his time first. He kicked a stack of paperwork aside and stomped out the door, uncaring if he might have purposely pushed a shelf or two in his way.
By the time he reached the Peaceful Tyranny, most of the lights were off, indicating that his team was most likely in the middle of recharge now. He decided to follow suit, foregoing washing up altogether and fell in berth.
As if aware that he was about to sleep, Pharma appeared in front of him again, now dressed from head to toe like how an average housemech would. Two blurred-out sparkling-shaped blobs jumped beside him, distorted jumbles of cheering and whining from them.
Pharma turned towards him, a spark-stopping and uncharacteristically gentle smile on his face. "Tarn, you're home," he greeted, "Come, you two. Go give your sire a hug."
Before he could kneel down to accept them, his vision warped and the Pharma from earlier came back, the one that sat in the Nuke fussing over him. Tarn could not hear what he was asking or saying, but he nodded along like he was there. Like he could hear it. Like it was real.
His optics dimmed until they turned dull.
It was not his imagination, it was his memory. Tarn was sure of it. Even with all of his eccentricities, arrogance, and snark, he could not deny that Pharma was pretty and attractive, both physically and, as much as he loathed to say it, possibly emotionally.
Pharma will be his.