Chapter Text
The Lost Light was due to re-dock at that same planet Drift had purchased the onesie from. Ratchet had realized that the rate of Roddy’s purging far exceeded the amount of cloth available on the ship and relayed to Magnus that they needed to turn around and pick up more cloth ASAP. It was the best news Magnus had received since his captain was reverted to a new-spark, he was one more unmopped purge-puddle away from a busted gasket. Drift was sure he was on the verge of staging a mutiny if his hallways weren’t completely vomit-free by the end of the week.
‘Suck it up, Magnus’, he thought, speeding down the hallways to the bridge in alt-mode, ‘at least you’ve never had to clean it out of your neck cabling’. Rodimus spent the night fussy and sobbing for no discernable reason, whining and snuffling for something or someone neither Ratchet nor Drift could figure out. As a result, neither mech got any true recharge and ended up recharging far past their alarms once Roddy finally settled in the wee hours of the morning. Ratchet missed Sunstreakers oil change appointment entirely, which was fine as Sunny himself skipped as well, citing a mysterious illness. Drift was fairly sure he was just hungover.
Drift himself ended up monstrously late for his bridge shift, undoubtedly ticking Magnus’ gasket pressure even higher, hence him hitting high double digits speeding down the hallways, squealing around corners, and nearly clipping Cyclonus on his morning walk.
“Sorry, Cyclonus!” he shouted as he pushed his engine harder, tires leaving thick black skid marks on the pristine flooring. Frag, Magnus really was gonna blow a gasket.
Finally, he arrived outside the bridge doors, which slid open upon his arrival. Tumbling out of his altmode, he scrambled into the bridge, cooling vents roaring. Upon his less than subtle entrance, Magnus spun from his position in the captain's chair to fix him with an unimpressed stare, classic Magnus style.
Drift winced and stood to his full height. “Apologies for the late arrival, Magnus, Roddy didn't recharge last night, so neither did Ratch and I.”
Magnus stood from the chair, shoulder stacks ramrod straight, “Going forward, please take measures to prevent late arrivals due to parenthood,” he stepped down from the raised platform the chair was on, coming to stand before Drift. “If your new responsibilities are impacting your performance as a commissioned officer aboard the Lost Light, please inform me so I can alter your schedule accordingly.”
Drift took a calming breath and decided to give Magnus a little leeway about scolding a ranking officer. He was already on the verge of snapping, an official demerit on his pristine record might be the final straw.
“No problem, Magnus, I won’t let it impact me again.”
Magnus gave him a thoughtful nod, probably appreciating the lack of dismissal he had grown used to from Rodimus. He marched off the bridge, off to inspect the hallways for code violations.
Scrap, the tire tracks.
Drift slyly ambled over to the closest console, discretely dispatching two cleaning drones to take care of the evidence before Magnus could find out.
“Morning, acting captain,” Blaster warmly greeted from his position seated next to the console Drift was looming over. “How goes carrierhood?”
Drift chuckled, “Oh, it’s certainly special, Blaster. Certainly special.”
Blaster leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head, “Mech, when I adopted my first cassette, I think I slept 20 minutes a night.”
Drift collapsed over the console with a groan, head hidden in his arms. “Do they ever stop crying? Truly, do they ever, ever stop?”
Blaster laughed, warm and deep, before hauling himself out of his chair to place a commiserating servo on Drift’s shoulder, partially sitting on the console. He leaned in close, audial fins flicking with humour. “You bet your aft they do not.”
Drift groaned even louder while Blaster let out another laugh, this one more raucous at Drift’s expense. “Speaking of which, where is the little bastard today? Ratchet got him?”
Drift’s optics blew wide before he launched up from the console, before whipping around on his heel and sprinting for the door.
“What’s wrong?” Blaster yelled from the console.
Drift cocked his head over his shoulder as he ran, “I LEFT HIM ALONE IN OUR QUARTERS!”
Blaster laughed again, impossibly louder. “I’ll add a baby monitor to the shopping list!”
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Shockingly, they made it to the planet atmo-dock with no further sparkling-abandoment incidents. Ratchet had been nearly incandescent when informed that his conjunx had accidentally abandoned their infant amica/temporary sparkling in their quarters without supervision, until Drift not-so-gently reminded him that it was Ratchet's day to watch him. Ratchet had promptly shut his mouth and left the room to cool off.
But finally, the Lost Light arrived at Tarus IX with no sparklings harmed, no Magnus’ combusted, and no extra hallway vomit.
Rodimus was loudly beeping from his position between Drift's helm fins, little round body wriggling with excitement. Drift had dressed him in his green onesie that had undergone a thorough cleaning after the projectile purging, detachable pacifier tucked away in Drift’s subspace for when Roddy inevitably tired himself out and wanted a nap. Ratchet was packing snacks and various toys into his subspace, while Drift loitered by the door waiting for him.
“Don’t forget his carrier.”
Ratchet looked up from the pack of rust sticks he was weighing in his palm, before gently rolling his optics in exasperation. “We don’t need to bring that ridiculous thing.”
The carrier was a creation of Perceptor’s, a cross between a portable cat-crate and a baby carrier. It was the solution to Rodimus’ anger at being left with anyone other than Drift or Ratchet, and Drift and Ratchet’s inability to personally carry him everywhere they went, especially when he napped. Now, the carrier went with whoever was watching Roddy for the day so he had a comfortable place to nap when he eventually exhausted himself.
Whirl was campaigning to call it the ‘Hot Box'. Drift was praying it didn’t stick.
“We do need that ridiculous thing, unless you want him to miss his nap and scream-cry all afternoon? He won’t fall into recharge unless he’s cradled by us or in the carrier, and I don’t feel like carrying him all day.”
Ratchet glared up at him. From the top of Drift’s helm, Roddy peaked over the edge with bright optics and squeaked.
“See, Roddy agrees with me.” Drift said, smugly. He gently reached up to stroke the little bald patch behind Rodimus’ crest. Roddy closed his optics and purred, helm still dangling over the edge and into Drift’s line of sight.
Sighing, Ratchet packed the last snack into his subspace. “Fine, but I ain’t hauling that thing around all day.”
“Too bad, Roddy chose me to carry him and whoever isn’t carrying the sparkling carries the carrier.” With that, Drift reached into his subspace and popped Rodimus’ pacifier into his waiting mouth and spun out the door.
“We didn't agree to that!” echoed down the hallway.
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The carrier was very needed. Roddy spent an hour loudly beeping, squeaking, and whining at the various sounds and smells of the market. Every new sight demanded a full investigation, which meant Drift and Ratchet spent the first hour of their family outing setting Rodimus down on each stall they visited so he could waddle around and sniff and lick each object for sale. One memorable stall resulted in Ratchet prying an artfully bent steel statue out of Rodimus’ mouth after he decided it was snacktime. After copious apologies, the pair had agreed to pay the frankly ridiculous price to purchase the piece once they realized the bite-marks couldn’t be buffed out. Roddy had completely conked out not long after that.
Currently, he was belly-up in the carrier, the statue hanging out of his drooling mouth where he had fallen into recharge chewing on it. Drift had to continually suppress the urge to tickle his fingers over Rodimus’ fat belly to see his face scrunch up as he laughed. Maybe a sparkling of their own wouldn’t be so bad…
“Next up on the list is a baby monitor,” Ratchet steered them away from the art section and towards the technology section. “Of course, they won’t sell a human baby monitor on a planet without any humans, but a simple radio-visual link up shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
As they walked along, passing through the textiles district, Drift spotted the stall that had sold him the onesie and binkie when they first arrived here.
“How about we split up? Cover more ground, get back to the ship faster? Roddy will need a bath tonight, so we should hustle to make his berth time.” Drift turned to smile at Ratchet as they walked, as innocent as could be.
Ratchet squinted in suspicion. “Hmmm,” he grumbled, "I'll take Roddy and find some good burping clothes and you go find a suitable monitor for the room.”
Drift's innocent expression fell. “I was more thinking that I could buy the burping clothes. And maybe some soft toys for him,” Drift glanced down at the recharging sparkling, who had abandoned the statue to curl up on his belly into a tight ball, snoring all the while.
Ratchet rolled his optics. “So you can spoil him with more unnecessary onesies? I think not.” With that, he tugged the carrier out of Drift’s grasp, causing Rodimus to snuffle in his recharge. “Make sure that monitor has clamps so the camera can be mounted to the bars of his crib.” Ratchet turned and marched into the textiles district, quickly being lost in the moving crowd.
“At least buy ones with cute patterns!” Drift called into the melee.
“CLAMPS!” was barked over the bustle of the walkway in response.
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Soft toys. What a ridiculous notion for a sparkling that was made of metal. No bitlet on Cybertron ever had soft toys, the closest thing they could get was metal-mesh sheets to recharge in. But on the Lost Light? The infant Rodimus slept in sheets made of some exotic organic wool, soft as could be, spoiled little brat.
The spoiled little brat in question was in dire need of something to mop up his spit up, so Ratchet set his sights on a nearby stall, overflowing with fabrics of every color and texture.
The transaction went smoothly, thank Primus. Ratchet had had it up to here with merchants trying to upsell him on every little thing they could think of. Luckily, this seller just retrieved his requested rags and towels and handed them over once payment was secured. No muss, no fuss, just the way Ratchet liked it.
As he made his way back to the mouth of the walkway to head into the tech section to find Drift, a familiar yellow helm caught his eye.
Sunstreaker, standing in front of another textile stall, this one filled with fabrics of various patterns, his pet Insecticon Bob laying at his pedes.
What in the Pit could he need with baby clothes? Had he suddenly decided to expand his re-paint business into fashion design? Ratchet wouldn’t put it past him, Sunstreaker was always looking for ways to reinvent his look.
Ratchet squinted, but the stall was on the opposite side of the way, and Ratchet couldn’t make out what Sunstreaker was purchasing. He frowned, but slowly stepped away and headed back towards Drift.
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“Clamps, Drift, you were supposed to get one with clamps.”
“As I said, they didn’t have a system available with clamps.”
The parts of the monitor system lay disassembled between them, half dangling off of the crib.
“We can just ask Brainstorm to make us some, I’m sure he’ll be happy to help out.”
“Oh, so he can make ones that send the crib back in time? Or maybe clamps that send him to an alternate dimension!”
Ratchet was kneeling next to the crib, performing a full autopsy on the parts of the monitor system so it could be connected to his and Drift’s HUD’s, allowing them to check up on Rodimus whenever need be.
“Brainstorm wouldn’t do that to a sparkling.”
Ratchet fixed him with a flat look.
“Okay, maybe he would do that to a sparkling. But Perceptor would make us some.”
“Perceptor wouldn’t know what to do with a sparkling if it bit him in the aft.”
“He built the carrier.” Drift replied.
Ratchet was silent at that.
Drift softly laughed to himself in victory, but fired off a request to Perceptor for some clamps to attach the camera to the crib.
A loud squeak echoed from the main berth in the center of the room. Drift had made a slight detour on his way back to the ship to purchase Rodimus a new toy. A chew toy specifically.
It was shaped like a big cylinder, made of textured purple rubber. But in the center, a loud squeaker was embedded so every time the user bit down, it squeaked. Rodimus was enraptured.
On the berth, he was growling like a feral mechanimal, rolling and kicking as he attacked the toy with all his might. At the moment, he had the toy trapped in his front legs and mouth as his backlegs bunny-kicked rabidly. His tiny body rolled back and forth as he tried to rip the toy in half, kicking up the sheets and spreading his drool everywhere.
It was an adorable, if slightly terrifying sight.
Drift stood up from where he was leaned against the doorframe, moving to grab Rodimus from the berth. He carefully fit his servo over the back of Rodimus’ neck, avoiding feral teeth and kicking legs, to grab the scruff there and pull him up off the berth. Rodimus clung on to the toy, but his optics went wide and innocent as Drift lifted him up. Drift smiled at him, and pried the toy from his little nub legs, dropping it back to the berth. Rodimus whined, but was quickly sated as Drift brought him up to rest against his chest and neck cabling to snuggle.
“I’m gonna take Rodimus to the rec room so the rest of the crew can spend some time with him. I’ll be back to help wire the monitor system to our HUD’s.” Drift walked past the berth to grab the portable playpen, another Perceptor gift, and tucked it under his arm.
Ratchet, lost in the carnage of the dissected baby monitor, only grunted in response.
______________________________
The monitor ended up taking the rest of the cycle to figure out. Mass-produced parts needed quite a bit of modification to fit to Cybertronian bodies, so Perceptor was called to the habsuite in the end to help out.
Rodimus had been parked at the central rec room in his playpen under the watchful eye of Tailgate. Armed with his squeaky toy and a dozen or so bots who would bend over backwards to make him giggle even once, Rodimus was content to spend a few hours basking in the attention of his many admirers. As Drift was leaving, Rodimus was making his groupies clap and praise him as he rolled over onto his back and wiggled his pedes to showcase his squishy belly, every ounce the showboat his adult self was.
After an excruciating 6 hours, one huffy Perceptor, a giggling back-up Brainstorm, two rolls of electrical tape, one medbay trip for a light electrocution, 4 clamps, and a 20 minute, First Aid mandated break for everyone to cool off before Ratchet strangled the Lost Light's resident mad scientist, the monitor system was wirelessly connected to Drift and Ratchet's HUDs. A small box was displayed across their optics that held a live-feed of Rodimus’ crib. Brainstorm called them both helicopter parents before he was forcefully evicted from the premises by Ratchet. Perceptor simply sighed and followed him once the job was done.
While Drift hung back to prepare Roddy’s evening cube, Ratchet strolled back to the rec room to put Rodimus down for the night after his meal.
However, he was greeted with a very empty playpen upon his entrance to the rec room. The purple squeak toy was missing. So was the captain.
Ratchet’s spark clenched, optics darting around the room for Tailgate and an answer. Tailgate was perched by the holoscreen, watching some inane human reality television program with Whirl balanced on the back of the couch.
Ratchet stormed up to them, a thunderous expression on his face. He stomped in front of the screen, eliciting an offended ‘What the Hell!’ out of Whirl.
“Where,” Ratchet growled, “Is Rodimus?”
Tailgate shriveled under his gaze for the second time in as many weeks. “Sunstreaker came in and said you told him to take him back to your quarters! He said you finished setting up the monitor and asked him!”
Whirl’s singular optic was pinched as he stretched his neck out to peer around Ratchet at the screen, claws snapping in impatience. “Do you fragging mind, mech? They’re about to confront Sandy about her affair with Marcus!”
Ratchet pivoted every ounce of his ire with Tailgate onto Whirl. Spinning around on his heel, he stamped over behind the holoscreen and yanked the plug out of the wall. Whirl screeched in response.
“That was live! I’m gonna miss the finale now!”
Ratchet ignored him, rounding back to Tailgate. The minibot sank further into the couch.
“Why,” Ratchet hissed, “Would I leave the captain with the most legendarily irresponsible person on this entire ship?”
“Actually, I think that's the Captain himself.” Whirl piped up, still angry at missing his show. The rotors in his arms had begun to spin with discontent.
Ratchet's gaze turned murderous.
Tailgate interrupted the moment before Ratchet was convicted of homicide. “I figured, well… You helped raise Sunstreaker, right? So maybe, maybe you wanted him to spend time with Rodimus? As like a way for them to uh, bond? Not that they’re like brothers or anything, because that would be so weird, but like, I don’t know, a way for Sunstreaker to appreciate all the work you did for him? Or maybe you just, um, well, I’m not sure really…” He trailed off.
Ratchet pinched his nose.
“Tailgate, going forward, never assume I trust Sunstreaker with anything small and delicate, got it?”
Tailgate nodded furiously.
“Any idea where he went with Rodimus?”
Tailgate shook his helm this time.
Ratchet pinched his nose harder, helmache beginning to form.
“This is the last time you and Whirl are trusted with the captain without Cyclonus around, understood?”
Tailgate nodded even harder, but Whirl just snapped his claws and stalked off the couch to turn the holoscreen back on.
Ratchet sighed, walking away from the screen to figure out why in the Pit Sunny would have wanted to take Rodimus.
On the screen, someone threw a drink in someone else's face and called them a slut. Whirl cackled.
______________________________
Ratchet bullied Red Alert into using Teletraan to figure out where Sunstreaker had frolicked off to with the captain. Red initially held out, stating it was unethical to use the computer to locate crew members around the ship in non-emergency situations, but Ratchet then threatened to make an emergency situation, so Red gave in pretty quickly.
Sunstreaker had taken the captain from the Rec Room down to his own quarters, disappearing into his berthroom once the doors shut behind him. Ratchet hustled down there as fast as possible.
Pounding his fist against the door, Ratchet shouted into the slab of metal, “Sunstreaker, you have 30 seconds to get your shiny yellow aft out into this hallway before I use my medical override on this door and throw you out an airlock!”
There was no response from within the habsuite. Ratchet tapped his pede in annoyance, patience wearing thin as the seconds ticked on. Ratchet folded his arms and tapped his pede faster.
Still no response.
Alright, time was up for this self-absorbed speedster. Ratchet jabbed in his medical override codes into the small panel beside the door. Just as he was about to punch the last glyph and rip into Sunstreaker for absconding with his sparkling, the door wooshed open.
And there stood Sunstreaker, a smirk on his face and a chubby magenta sparkling wedged in the space between the horn of his finial and the side of his helm, happily napping on the little platform there.
Dressed in a brand-new onesie, with little flame decals traveling up from his round rump. It was mainly orange, with a layer of gold flames, then a layer of red flames.
It was Rodimus colored. Well, Rodimus in his adult frame.
It fit better than the green onesie Drift had bought. It didn’t pinch around his joints or bulge against the fat on his nubby legs, and the neck was made of a yellow knit material that wouldn’t rub or chafe. Instead of holes for his legs, it just had little…pockets. Little pools of extra materials that Roddy could fit his nubs into on his own, instead of trying to maneuver his tiny legs through a pinprick sized hole. A matching binkie in the shape of a Rodimus star sat in his mouth, gently bobbing up and down as Rodimus sucked in his recharge.
Ratchet's words died on his glossa. Sunstreaker smirked.
“Doc, don’t tell me you’ve grown overly-paternal of our dear infant captain?”
Oh, this little slagmaker was riding for a fall. But Ratchet still couldn’t wrangle his glossa into coherent speech. Instead, he just stared dumbly at the chubby frame of the captain.
Sunstreaker noticed and darted his optics over to glance at the little bitlet. “It would be criminal of me to let our esteemed Prime be hauled around in something so ugly. It’s criminal for him to be demoted into a tiny, fat, incoherent, purging-machine but a tiny, fat, incoherent, purging-machine, with bad taste in fashion? Not when I have something to say about it.” Sunstreaker grimaced, then looked back to the awe-struck ambulance. “He really is a purging machine.” His face contorted in disgust, “There are things in my helm-vents that I never want to think about again.”
“You vomited on me, once.” Oh, now Ratchet’s glossa decided to get its act together, just to show his soft, sentimental, underbelly to a mech known to be cruel with his words.
But Sunny didn’t say anything. His face had gone slack in surprise, mouth hanging open.
Well. In for a penny, in for a pound, Ratchet supposed. “It was when you had first been rescued. I made the mistake of giving you low-grade with supplemental iron to help you develop. Your tanks weren’t used to nutritious energon, and you purged all over my chassis.” Ratchet’s voice grew soft with affection. “You sobbed and sobbed as I tried to clean you up. It was the first bath you had.” The memory was warm, gilded around the edges with the allure of a different time. A calmer time. “I was worried you were gonna put yourself into stasis, with how hard you cried. But when I put Sideswipe in the tub with you…you calmed right down.”
Sunstreaker’s face grew forlorn at the mention of his deceased twin.
“Suddenly, I had two little hellions on my servos, splashing solvent and trying to eat the bubbles. You fell asleep against my servo as I washed your belly, you had tuckered yourself out by crying so hard. It was the day I knew I was stuck with you two for the rest of your contemptible lives.” It was surprising how easily Ratchet could recall that day. The feeling of a warm weight snoring against his servo, the grime of sparkling-purge in his gears, the booming voice in his head telling him he would do unspeakable things to keep these sparklings safe.
As he met the optics of one of those sparklings, all those unspeakable things came rushing back to him. The warm weight of a happy sparkling was replaced with the warmer ooze of spilled energon, the sounds of fusion cannons and back-handed strategies, the screams of patients too far gone to save…
For every life lost, Ratchet and the rest of the Autobot medical team saved 9. But it hadn’t been enough. One of his sparklings had left him, gone to a place neither where Sunstreaker nor Ratchet could follow him. Where a dozen servos weren’t enough to save him.
Ratchet shook the sentimental fuzz out of his processor and cleared his throat, pausing for a beat to look away from the oddly still Sunstreaker.
“Anyway, don’t run off with Rodimus without clearing it with me or Drift against, understood?”
Sunstreaker slowly, slowly, looked back at Ratchet where his gaze had fallen to the side. He still didn’t speak.
“Well,” Ratchet grumbled, “I suppose if you aren’t going to do anything stupid with him, and as long as you don’t let that ridiculous Insecticon of yours anywhere near him, you can have him every now and then.”
Sunstreaker still didn't say anything. Ratchet coughed, then snapped his digits in front of Sunstreaker’s optics.
“Hello, is there a processor inside that frame? Do I need to take you down to medical for a checkup?”
Sunstreaker violently startled, helm snapping to attention and frame tensing up as he realized how long he had been distant from.
“No, no, you take him back. I don't want any more purge on my paint, it corrodes my finish.” Sunstreaker snapped.
“Right, right, well. You let me know if you change your mind, alright?” Ratchet moved to pluck Rodimus, still fast asleep, from Sunny’s finial, but suddenly Sunny reared back into his habsuite, leaving Ratchet’s arm outstretched across the doorway.
Sunstreaker looked off to the side, then up to the ceiling, then down at Ratchet’s pedes with a constipated look on his face.
Ratchet didn’t have time for this, it was past Rodimus’ berth-time and he was not willing to deal with a sleep-deprived sparkling in the morning. “Sunstreaker, I need the captain back now, or else you can be in charge of his 2 am bottle feeding.”
Sunstreaker winced, but finally spoke up. It took him a few tries, but he managed to spit out, “Thank you for caring about him. Sideswipe, I mean. Thank you.”
That…wasn’t what Ratchet had been expecting. He relaxed and let his arm fall back to his side.
“Yes, well. Your brother was certainly special. Remind me to tell you about the time he had to be in a full-body bandage and managed to thwart 3 medics on his escape to freedom.”
Sunstreaker softly laughed, optics crinkling. “That certainly sounds like ‘Swipe.” He pivoted away from the door frame and ducked around the bench in the middle of the habsuite, coming back with a small purple toy in his fist.
Ah, Rodimus’ chew toy. That explains why it wasn’t in the play pen. Sunstreaker walked back and handed it over to Ratchet, who tucked it into his subspace. He then reached up grab Rodimus around his ample middle and take him back to Drift when suddenly Sunstreaker yelped.
“Wait! He doesn’t like being taken out of that spot, he’s gonnafreakout OW! Owowowowow!”
Sunstreaker was right, Rodimus did not like being removed from his helm. With a sob and a growl, he had latched on to the metal of Sunstreakers helm fin, all 4 claws and all 30 teeth firmly anchoring him in place.
Ratchet dropped Rodimus and sprung back in shock. Sunny doubled over in pain, Rodimus dangling upside down as he hissed and growled.
“I-, oh Primus that hurt so bad, I can’t get him to move.”
Well, that was a problem.
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“I’m telling you, he just latched right on to Sunstreaker and would not let go.”
Drift threw his helm back and laughed from his position on the bed, Rodimus tucked in one arm, guzzling energon from the bottle in the other arm. “How did you get him off?”
Ratchet smirked. “Evidently chewing on a squeaker toy is far more appealing than over-polished metal.” He finished cleaning up the energon additives and closed the last cabinet, making his way to lay next to Drift on the bed.
Rodimus was still dressed up in his new onesie, the gold flame decals softly glinting in the dim light of the habsuite. Drift was completely enraptured.
“All that aside, it was nice of Sunny to make Rodimus a new outfit. And such a cute one, too.” Hearing his own designation, Rodimus softly whined, but a little rock and coo from Drift settled him back down.
Ratchet rolled his optics. “You mean it was ridiculous, right?”
Drift rolled his optics right back. “Cmon, Ratty, you can’t tell me he doesn’t look at least a little adorable, all dressed up in his adult colors?”
Rodimus finished his bottle and Drift set it down on the berth-side table. In his elbow, Rodimus yawned and snuggled down into the warmth of Drift's frame, little optics shuttering in exhaustion.
Ratchet did have to admit, it was… rather cute. The onesie highlighted his rather chubby frame, each little roll of squishy protoform covered in a soft layer of warm fabric.
Drift took one arm and popped the matching pacifier back into Rodimu’s slack mouth before standing from the berth and softly padding over to the crib. With precision movements and a slow pace, he gently placed Roddy down into the plush mattress. With a tired little groan, Rodimus rolled over onto his belly and tucked his helm and pedes under himself, becoming a little ball of orange cloth with two teeny tiny yellow helm horns sticking out from the top.
Well scrap, if that wasn't the most adorable sight in all the known universe, Ratchet didn’t know what was.
Drift leaned one arm on the side of the crib and gave Ratchet a knowing look.
“Admit it, it's adorable.”
“It’s still ridiculous.”