Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The door slid shut behind Optimus with an audible clunk, leaving the leader of the Autobots alone in his quarters. He didn’t bother turning on the lights as he strode across the darkened space to his berth. Carefully sitting down, he swung his legs up and stretched his back flat against the surface. 

He shut his optics and pressed his servos into the berth, the metal cold against his palms. Drawing in a deep vent, he focused on the feeling of air cycling through his systems, his chestplate rising and falling in slow, steady increments. 

In, hold, and out. In, hold, and out. In…hold…and out.

Optimus could feel it now, while focusing solely on his frame in the dark quiet of his room. The Matrix of Leadership thrummed within his chest, its pulses reaching into his spark, his processor, his very being; seeking out and smoothing over any tensions, discomforts, or fears he possessed. 

And at the moment, he possessed quite a few. 

Sighing, Optimus opened his optics and stared blankly at the ceiling as the day’s events played out in his mind. The mission had been an important one - infiltrating one of the Decepticon’s larger mines in order to access the on-site computer console. Earlier reconnaissance work and Decepticon communication channels revealed that the monitor was used for coordinating shipments between multiple mines. The chance to learn of new sources of energon was too valuable to ignore. 

They had known the risk would be great; the mine’s claustrophobic caverns would be heavily guarded - especially the one containing the monitor. Not only would the team have to successfully hack into the computer, they potentially would have to do so while holding off wave after wave of Vehicons. 

Optimus had run multiple scenarios through his processor, utilizing both his own memory files and the wisdom of the Matrix. The only way this operation could work was if all of them came - including Ratchet. 

A jolt shot through his chassis. His jaw clenched as the tips of his digits dug into his berth. 

All things considered, the mission had been going fairly well. They had managed to sneak through the tunnels and reach the computer without sounding any alarms, only needing to take out a servoful of guards on the way. The cavern had been roughly circular with a circumference of around a hundred yards and a ceiling so high it was barely visible through the shadows. The computer had been installed against the wall, thick cables stretching up from the back of the console towards the surface, likely to a hidden antenna. 

Optimus, Bumblebee, Arcee, and Bulkhead had taken up positions at the room’s two entrances while Ratchet worked on the computer. The medic had been halfway through the console’s firewalls when their presence was finally discovered. Within moments, the tunnels had been filled with angry shouts and laserfire. 

Shooting at every purple-armored form he could see, Optimus had diverted his little remaining attention to preventing Bumblebee from being struck by the scarlet beams and looking over his shoulder to check that Arcee and Bulkhead were holding the line and that Ratchet was making progress. The medic’s optics had never left the screen, focusing solely on the lines of code streaming across it.

As such, it was Optimus who glanced back and first noticed the tiny red dot that appeared at the top of the monitor, slowly moving down to settle on the back of Ratchet’s helm. 

Something clenched painfully in Optimus’ chest. He vented deeply, forcing his ventilations systems to expand until the Matrix’s calming pulses eased the tension. 

No. Not yet. 

Blowing out a long vent, Optimus recalled shouting at Ratchet to get down. His friend, long since used to the perils of the battlefield, had immediately ducked. The red dot had disappeared as the familiar whirring roar of a compact missile echoed throughout the cavern. The projectile had rocketed from somewhere near the ceiling - likely from a smaller access point to a higher tunnel - and struck the console, instantly destroying it.

Optimus had run to the medic’s side, pulling him to his pedes. The goal of their mission lost with the computer terminal, they had contacted Rafael back at base and escaped the mine via the GroundBridge.

Forcing his digits to uncurl, Optimus took another deep vent. 

His logic circuits and the Matrix were quick to point out that it could have been worse; while they failed to gather intel on other mines, they still managed to escape with their lives. Ratchet was the only one injured, and even then he had only been scratched by some shrapnel from the explosion. Unfortunate, but far from the most disastrous possibility. 

It was fine. Everything was fine. 

Optimus’ servo moved up to rest on his chestplate, feeling his spark pulse against his palm. He stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling. 

It had been over six months since the battle with Unicron and nearly four months since the Matrix had successfully been restored by Vector Sigma. He had learned (slowly and often painfully) how to function without constantly relying on the ancient artifact, and he tried to continue doing so even after he had it again. 

And that included deactivating the Matrix’s repression ability whenever he didn’t need it. 

In, hold, and out. 

Reaching inside himself, Optimus focused on the presence of the Matrix within his chest. Faint whispers filled his helm, filling his processor with half-formed ideas and notions for him to use. Ignoring them, he felt around until he found the still, almost solid sensation snugly entwined around the connection between the Matrix and his own spark, like a scarf wrapped so tightly around his neck that he could barely turn his helm. Even now, it was drawing in the emotions twisting in his spark and replacing them with a nearly uncanny calm. 

How did it take me so long to realize this was happening? The Prime couldn’t help but think. He hadn’t noticed the feeling until after it had vanished along with the Matrix’s power in the Earth’s core, yet now it felt obvious. 

He shook the thought away. He needed to focus. 

Slowly, Optimus began pushing at the feeling, trying to nudge it back into the Matrix and away from his spark. It resisted at first, clinging fiercely to his being.

I do not need this protection right now, he steadily responded, not flinching away from the artifact’s ethereal power. You know I will activate it again when I need to. Now let go. 

There was a long, hesitant pause. The sensation tightened for a moment before finally slackening its grip on his spark, slowly retreating into the Matrix. Optimus could have sworn he heard it sigh. 

The Matrix of Leadership continued to thrum in his chestplate, but it seemed quieter, more distant. At last, he was left alone in his own helm. 

He didn’t have the chance to take another vent before the floodgates opened. 

His backplates scraped against the harsh cavern wall as he pressed himself close to the rock. Scarlet lasers streaked past him, inches away from burning through his armor and frying his internal workings. His audio receptors rang from the shots and enraged shouts from Vehicons. His optics kept darting to his left, fear spearing through his spark each time a laser came close to Bumblebee’s frame. 

An invisible fist clenched inside his chest, painfully squeezing his ventilation systems. He shut his optics as he forced himself to vent steadily. 

In, hold, and out. 

The chaos in the hall only grew as more and more Decepticons flooded the tunnels. Bulkhead was shouting insults that echoed across the cavern, punctuated by yet more laserfire. 

“Come on, you rust buckets! You couldn’t hit the broad side of a Titan with that aim!” 

A shot grazed Optimus’ shoulder, singeing his red armor black. He ducked behind the rock, vaguely aware of Bumblebee returning fire as he glanced back at Ratchet. 

At the bright red dot shining on the back of the medic’s white helm. 

His spark thumped faster and faster in his chest. His servos rattled against the berth as they started shaking.

In…hold…and…

“RATCHET GET DOWN!”

…and out. 

His chest was starting to ache.

The missile’s scream drowned out the chaos of battle. He threw himself forward, nearly falling face down on the hard ground. 

He had to get there, he had to reach him.

Ratchet was ducking down, twisting around to scramble away from the computer. He moved fast, his cyan optics blown wide. 

Not fast enough. 

The shaking grew faster. His ventilation systems were being crushed flat. 

In- …In, hold out. In…ho- out. 

The monitor exploded. Orange flames burst out in a tidal wave laced with shrapnel. Heat struck Optimus’ faceplate; when he opened his optics again the cave was blanketed in thick gray smoke. 

He couldn’t see him where was he.

Stumbling forward, optics stinging from noxious fumes. Needed to move fast before the missile launcher was reloaded. Spotting white and orange armor through the smoke. Ratchet, lying face down. Not moving. Energon trickling down his backplates.

No please Primus no no no-

In out in out in out in out- 

Optimus’ optics flew open. His trembling servos clawed at his chestplate as his venting grew to a frantic fever pitch. 

“He got up,” he managed to gasp out. “He got…he got up.” 

The medic had gotten up, jerking upright the second Optimus had touched his shoulder. They had both dashed back to the wall and the relative safety it provided from the launcher. 

Ratchet had been fine. He knew Ratchet had been fine.

His spark kept pounding, fast and hard and painful. 

Wheezing through his too-tight throat pipe, Optimus desperately fought for control. His trembling digits pawed at his chest and neck. He was faintly aware of his frame curling in on itself, twisting onto his side and knees pulling into his chestplate. His armor rattled against the berth as he violently shook. 

Ride it out, some part of his processor whispered. You just have to ride it out. 

Long, agonizing minutes passed. Optimus’ optics squeezed shut, trying to ignore the panicked and self-doubting thoughts whirling through his processor; incessant murmurs of “he could have died” and “you couldn’t keep him safe.”  

He’s okay, he argued. He’s safe, it’s okay. He didn’t- …it’s okay. Deep vents, take deep vents. In, hold, and out. In, hold, and out. 

Finally, the tension began to leak from Optimus’ frame. His rapid vents slowed to deeper, rasping pants. Stiff limbs slackened and fell against the berth with dull clunks. His optics slowly slid back open as he rolled onto his backplates, staring blankly up at the ceiling. 

That had to be - by far - the worst panic attack he had had in months. Certainly the worst since he regained the Matrix. 

“Where did that come from…?” He mumbled aloud. The responding silence felt thick against his audio receptors; he had to resist the urge to reach up and scratch them. 

The attacks he had experienced after the battle with Unicron had been the result of long-standing subconscious problems, but careful examination and many conversations with Ratchet, June, and the others during the following months had greatly helped with them. He knew occasional setbacks were to be expected, but this was still…disconcerting. 

His servo moved up to rub his sore chestplate as he pursed his lip components in thought. 

“Knowing your triggers can help you avoid future attacks,” he remembered June telling him. “Or at least help you prepare for them.” 

So what is the trigger here? 

Optimus frowned, feeling his spark pulse through his finally-stilling digits. The battle certainly wasn’t pleasant - especially given that it took place in a dark, cramped mine tunnel - but it wasn’t the worst fight he’d been in. Nor was the explosion he had witnessed. 

I should have been doing fairly well. I WAS doing well, everything was under control until Ratchet-

His chest clenched and his spark leapt into his throat pipe, forcing a gasp out of his intake. Images flashed through his processor like stun grenades - a red dot shining on the back of a worn white helm and wide cyan optics disappearing under a wave of fire.

Ratchet…

Optimus reminded himself to vent deeply, focusing on the ceiling in an attempt to ignore the horrible flashes in his helm. It made sense, he realized, that this was the trigger. He cared for his teammates not only as a leader, but as a friend. The idea of any of them being harmed filled him with a palpable dread. 

Especially Ratchet. 

The thought was quick, practically automatic. Optimus blinked as he realized this, his frown deepening. 

He suspected the Matrix would note it as evidence that he was being preferential, that he should have felt an equal amount of protectiveness towards all his Autobots, yet he somehow knew it was the truth. 

That the idea of Ratchet getting hurt terrified him. That the mere thought of him getting hit by that missile or caught in that explosion - of him dying - made his spark feel like it was being torn to pieces by claws as sharp as they were cold- 

Shuddering, Optimus wrapped his arms around himself. He shut his optics so tightly that his entire faceplate scrunched up. 

“Don’t think about it,” he whispered aloud. “Do not even think about it…” 

A few moments passed before Optimus could relax again. He stared up at the ceiling, tracing the shadows with his mind’s optic as he absently flexed his digits. 

“You’re allowed to feel all of this,” he remembered Ratchet telling him. 

“I wonder if the Matrix thinks otherwise, old friend…” Optimus muttered aloud. 

“I don’t care,” his memory of the medic seemed to respond. “You’re not a god, Optimus, and it’d be unfair to you to try to be one.” 

A small smile pulled on his lip components. That reply had been quintessentially Ratchet - snappy and sharp-witted, yet attentive and caring. Not everyone saw the medic beyond his role as a doctor and his legendary grumpiness, but Optimus had known him far longer than most. He knew that Ratchet cared for others with a fierceness to be reckoned with. 

His smile grew wider as his processor turned back to the previous weeks; how Ratchet had been one of the first to realize something was troubling him and had insisted on helping, no matter how much Optimus had fought him over it. How he’d listened to his fears and comforted him without any judgment. How he had made it clear that he was worried because Optimus was his friend, not because he was his Prime. 

How his sharp voice had softened whenever Optimus’ anxiety was showing. 

How his cyan optics had shone with genuine happiness whenever he made progress.

How his steady servos had held his own during dark nights and brightening dawns. 

The tension in Optimus’ chest had completely vanished, replaced by a lightness he hadn’t felt in decacycles, if ever. Warmth pooled in his tank and spread to his limbs like fresh energon. His spark brightened until he half-expected to see the glow seeping out through the gaps between his chest panels. 

“Primus,” he said, nearly chuckling as he smiled at the ceiling. “If I did not know any better, I would think I am in lo-” 

Optimus’ voice froze in his throat pipe. His intake remained open as his processor whirred into overdrive, rapidly analyzing hundreds of thoughts and memories and the feelings linked to them. He sat bolt upright on the berth, optics wide and staring blankly into space. 

“...Oh slag.”

Chapter Text

The military base housing Autobot Outpost Omega One was meant to be the peak of human engineering. A structure of metal and concrete cleverly hidden within a desert mesa, designed to simultaneously store a great amount of military equipment and house the personnel who would use them in the event of a national emergency. Agent Fowler had been proud to describe the site when he first introduced it to them, telling them how it could withstand the greatest of bombardments without suffering a scratch. 

“Bull scrap,” Ratchet muttered, glaring at the hole in the wall and the cracked pipe running through it. 

“Um…sorry, doc.”

The medic promptly redirected his glare towards Bulkhead, the former Wrecker sheepishly tapping his knuckles together. Bumblebee stood slightly behind him, big blue optics peeking out from above the lobbing ball he was clutching. 

“You literally have an entire room to throw that thing around,” Ratchet said, fighting a losing battle to keep his voice even remotely calm. “And you decide to mess around in the one place in this whole base where you could potentially damage both important equipment and your teammates?!” 

“It was my fault, Ratchet,” Bumblebee broke in, handing the ball back to Bulkhead. “I teased him to start tossing it around before we got down to the lower levels.” 

Huffing, Ratchet gave the scout a look. Bumblebee met his gaze, optics wide and innocent. 

“...You know that I know that you’re trying to cover for him, right?” Ratchet grumbled.

“Is it working?” Bumblebee asked, his expression still angelic. 

Ratchet stared at him for another few moments before shaking his helm in defeat. “Just…go grab my toolkit. Both of you are helping me fix this.” 

The medic turned back to the hole in the wall, ignoring Bumblebee’s giggle and Bulkhead’s sigh of relief. He liked to think he kept his soft spot for the scout fairly well hidden, but sometimes…

Taking advantage of one of the mechs who raised him… he thought. Little slagger’s spending too much time with Miko. 

The thought was probably a touch dramatic, but whatever.

Focusing on the pipe, Ratchet frowned at the thin, splintered crack in the material. His frown grew as he saw droplets of liquid trickling through the fissure. 

“Of course it’s fragging active,” he grumbled as Bumblebee trotted up behind him with his toolbox. “We’re nowhere near the wash racks, what is this even attached to?!” 

“Maybe something for drinking water, or the temperature system?” Bumblebee suggested, handing him a wrench. 

“Perhaps.” Ratchet kneeled down, looking for (and not finding) a valve to shut down the water. “But how I didn’t know about it before now is beyond me…” 

The scout made a noncommittal hum. Ratchet could hear his pedes scrape against the concrete floor as he shuffled in place. 

“...Are you okay, Ratchet?” He asked, voice quiet. 

The medic’s helm jolted up, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Bumblebee and Bulkhead staring worriedly down at him. 

“Of course I’m fine,” he replied. “Why wouldn’t I be? Hand me that pressure sensor.” 

“You just seem a little…on edge,” Bumblebee said, pulling the device out of the toolkit and plopping it in Ratchet’s waiting servo.

“Plus you kinda almost got blown up yesterday,” Bulkhead added. 

Ratchet’s jaw clenched, his digits digging into the harsh edge of the broken wall. 

“Bulk’!” Bumblebee blurted out, his elbow striking the former Wrecker’s abdomen with a loud clang. “Not helping!” 

“It’s fine, Bumblebee,” Ratchet said, keeping his optics firmly on the pipe as he placed the sensor against it. “You know that I’ve had worse.” 

It was the truth - in the grand scheme of things, getting scraped up by some bits of a destroyed computer while dodging a singular missile was actually one of his milder battlefield experiences. His scratches had required barely any medical attention and were already almost healed. By all means, he should have been completely fine. 

The pressure sensor shrilly beeped, green numbers flashing across its tiny screen. Ratchet bit back a groan and reached up to rub his optics. 

“Well, yeah, but it was still stressful!” Bumblebee said, his door-wings audibly twitching. “We were all worried! Especially Optimus!” 

A tiny jolt shot through Ratchet’s limbs and the sensor nearly slipped out of his digits. The device smacked into the pipe, widening the crack and squirting a small jet of water onto his chestplate. 

“Scrap,” he muttered. “Bulkhead, go to storage and get some sealant. I don’t want this break getting any bigger.” 

“Got it,” the former Wrecker said, walking away with loud, clunking pedesteps. 

Trying to brush the water off his plating, Ratchet glanced back up at Bumblebee, who stared down at him with narrowed optics and servos on his hips. 

“I’m alright, Bumblebee,” he repeated, depositing the sensor back in the toolbox. “Just…had a rough night. You know me.” 

“...Did you at least TRY to recharge?” The scout suspiciously asked. “You didn’t just work straight through the night?”

By the AllSpark, he really does know me. 

“Yes, I did try to recharge,” Ratchet said aloud. “I’ll try to get to the berth early tonight, alright?” 

“...Fine,” Bumblebee mumbled, looking down at his pedes. “I just…want you to be okay.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

The room fell silent, apart from the thin stream of water fountaining out of the crack and onto the floor. Ratchet stared down at his reflection in the slowly-growing puddle, trying to ignore how his spark twisted in his chest as Bumblebee’s words echoed in his helm.

“We were all worried! Especially Optimus!” 

Especially Optimus…

The medic watched his own faceplate glare half-heartedly up at him, lip components pulling into a tight frown as he noted the worn metal and dulled optics. He knew the war hadn’t exactly aged him well, but in that moment he looked fragging ancient - resembling a decaying ruin more than a competent doctor. Granted, he probably wouldn’t look quite this terrible if he had gotten more recharge last night, but…

Ratchet flinched, optics shutting tightly.

It wasn’t the mission that had haunted his brief dreams. Nor was it the explosion or the sensation of shrapnel slicing through his outer layers of armor. 

No, it had been the image of Optimus screaming his name as he rushed towards him, servo reaching out and azure optics wide with utter terror. 

“RATCHET GET DOWN!” 

Ratchet had sat up panting in his berth, Optimus’ voice echoing in his audio receptors. He had attempted to use his usual methods to calm himself - deep venting, counting his digits, cleaning his tools - yet his tank kept somersaulting in his interior for almost an hour afterwards. 

He tried to tell himself that he didn’t know why; that there was no explanation for his actions; that the mere idea of worrying Optimus, or having Optimus be worried about him, didn’t make his spark flutter like it was filled with prisma-flies-

Clenching his jaw hard, Ratchet cut the thought off with the force of a guillotine. 

No. No, I stopped doing this. I stopped thinking about this decacycles ago. I stopped wanting… 

His reflection scowled up at him, as if ordering him to finish the thought. 

He tried. But he couldn’t. He’d never been able to, no matter how hard he tried. 

Ratchet’s jaw unclenched and his shoulders slackened as his frustration collapsed into exhaustion. His reflection’s optics stared at him, disappointment simmering in those dim lights. 

You old fool, they seemed to whisper.

He still wanted Optimus. He’d ignored his feelings for so long - tried to shove them all into a little box in the back of his helm where he couldn’t see or feel them, hoping they would vanish with enough time - but they were still there. No matter how much he told himself it was stupid or hopeless, his desire remained firmly in place. 

If anything, his feelings had increased in intensity over the course of the past couple months. It had been easier to disregard his…crush, for lack of a better word, when it was directed towards Optimus Prime, the invincible and infallible leader of the Autobots. The last in a long line of Cybertron’s near-mythical rulers and defenders. A nearly demigod-like bot thousands of miles out of the league of a grumpy medic who could barely keep himself and his patients functioning after centuries of war. 

But then Optimus had lost the Matrix, and suddenly he wasn’t invincible nor infallible. He was visibly nervous, servos shaking and optics scared. His strong voice faltered and stuttered when he tried to describe his thoughts. He actually talked to Ratchet about what was bothering him (after some convincing) and had specifically sought him out for comfort on the nights when his nightmares got to be too much. 

Optimus was acting like Orion again, and whatever progress Ratchet had made in forgetting how he felt was destroyed so quickly that he wondered if said progress had even been made in the first place. 

He’d kept it under control, of course. Optimus was both his friend and his leader, and he respected him as such. The last thing he wanted was to exploit their relationship to serve his own desires. He had repaired any physical damage and offered Optimus comfort and a listening audial when asked to, but nothing more. 

Even when I want to feel his servo in mine, and his spark pulse against my chest, and his strong arms around me as his lip components meet mine- 

“Shut up!” He hissed to himself. 

“What?” Bumblebee said, his beep confused and a little hurt. 

Ratchet’s helm snapped up to meet the scout’s gaze, guilt and embarrassment flooding his spark. “Not you, Bumblebee.” He groaned and dragged his servo down his faceplate. “I was…talking to myself.” 

“...Why were you telling yourself to shut up?” Bumblebee asked, baby blue optics narrowing slightly. 

“Because I was thinking of something stupid,” he muttered. 

“Since when do you think of stupid stuff?” 

“You’d be surprised…” 

Bumblebee’s optics narrowed further. Ratchet stared back, refusing to let his discomfort show even as his pistons tensed. 

“...You’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, are you?” The scout finally said. 

“No, and nothing’s wrong,” Ratchet bit out, clenching his servo. . 

“Okay, but…” Bumblebee gestured vaguely at him. “There is though.” 

“No, there isn’t!” Ratchet snapped out, throwing his arms out. “I’m fi-” 

KER-CRACK! WHOOSH! 

A jet of water burst from the broken pipe as Ratchet’s servo inadvertently struck it, striking him directly in the faceplate. Cold, stale liquid flooded his intake and streamed down his frame. Coughing and spitting, he fell back onto his aft, his pedes splashing in the now-much larger puddle. 

“Oh cogs!” 

“Pri- gak- Primus fragging dammit!” 

“What is happening?!” 

Ratchet’s spark dropped into his tank. His soaked helm whipped in the direction of the richly deep baritone he knew so well. Optimus was standing in the entryway to the base’s main hall, bright red armor gleaming in the fluorescent lights and azure optics wide as he took in the undoubtedly ridiculous scene before him. 

Embarrassment surged through his systems, tinting his cheek plates blue. He was painfully aware of the dirty water dripping off his chassis and ruining his barely-polished finish. Opening his intake, he tried to explain, but words refused to even properly form in his processor. 

The only exception being You’re gorgeous and I’m a slagging mess.  

“Pipe broke,” Bumblebee finally said, helpfully pointing at the still-gushing tube. 

“I...I see,” Optimus replied. He stepped closer, plating smoothly shifting and thick cables peeking out from behind his armor as he moved. His optics shifted back to Ratchet and the medic wished the floor would open up and swallow him. 

“Are…you alright, old friend?” Optimus spoke slowly, holding his servo out to help him up. His voice was oddly stiff and his optics slightly wider than usual. 

Probably wondering how in the Pits I managed this. 

“I’m fine,” Ratchet gruffly said, ignoring Optimus’ servo and standing on his own. He focused on flicking water off of his digits rather than the Prime’s expression. “Bulkhead went to get some sealant, but apparently he’s taking his sweet time doing so…”

“Oh…” Optimus noted, and Ratchet took the chance to glance up at his faceplate. The larger mech’s lip components were pressed firmly together and his optics were still wide. “Would you…like me to go see where he is?” 

There was a note of nervous hesitance in his voice, and Ratchet swallowed yet another lump of guilt in his throat pipe. 

“I would appreciate that,” he said, optics lowering to his pedes. “...Sorry about the mess.” 

“You have no need to apologize, Ratchet,” Optimus replied. The tremble didn’t leave his voice, sending Ratchet’s spark plummeting further into his tank. “I will be right back.” 

Turning on his heel, the Prime quickly walked back down the hall. Ratchet looked up at his retreating backplates, his spark pulsing with each gradually-quieting pedestep. 

Snapping at him when he just offered to help. Way to express your affection, you dumbaft. 

“You okay, Ratchet?” Bumblebee asked, nudging the medic’s elbow with his own. 

“I’m fine,” Ratchet absently replied. He kept staring at the shadowed hallway, unable to draw his optics away from the afterimage of Optimus’ retreating form. 

Because why would a mech as patient and gentle as him want to be around you when you act like that? Some dark part of his processor muttered. 

“I’ll go get some towels,” Bumblebee said, patting his arm and chuckling lightly. “I know you hate being wet.” 

“Right…thank you,” Ratchet mumbled as the scout left, quiet pedesteps echoing down the hall. 

For several long moments, the medic stood in place, completely still apart from faintly shivering as cold water dripped from his frame. The gushing from the pipe had finally slowed, a mere trickle now adding to the large puddle on the concrete floor. His toolbox lay abandoned and his reflection stared back at him from the grimy liquid - a silent, two-dimensional judge. 

Ratchet glared down at it and huffed out a sigh. Shaking his helm, he once more crouched down before the hole in the wall. He turned his attention to the broken infrastructure, determined to ignore the emotions swirling around his spark. Ruminating on his feelings clearly wasn’t helping anyone. 

His digits carefully brushed against the wet, ragged crack in the pipe. Another, far smaller sigh slipped out from between his lip components. 

Besides, he thought, it’s not like he wants me anyways.

Chapter Text

Optimus was panicking. 

That was the only way he could describe the rapid pulses in his spark and the near-constant gurgling in his tank - complete panic, tightening his pistons and dancing along his wiring. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the anxiety that had plagued him in the weeks following the battle with Unicron, but it was panic nonetheless. 

However, this time it wasn’t caused by his guilt, nor his fears. 

“Primus within Bulkhead, how did you manage this?!” 

“I couldn’t find the sealant!” 

“So you decided to turn the place into a rage room?!” 

No, the cause was currently standing in a storage closet arguing with their teammate, completely unaware of how every word he spoke launched Optimus’ spark into his throat pipe. 

He’d spent most of the night in a daze, staring blankly at the ceiling as memory after memory played in his processor: meeting Ratchet, then a stubborn but well-meaning medical student, in the Iacon Hall of Records for the first time; sharing drinks with him at Maccadam’s as they griped about their respective workplaces and discussed the growing movement; caring for Bumblebee together after the scout had been maimed; clinging to him in the middle of the night as decacycles-worth of trauma hit him all at once, the medic holding him just as tightly. 

Each memory file he processed only deepened his suspicions. 

He was still in a near-stupor when he got up in the morning, only shaking himself free of it when he heard shouting and splashing coming from the command center. Dashing towards the sound, he’d been thrown completely off guard by the sight of Ratchet sitting in a puddle, dripping wet and clearly embarrassed about it. 

Thankfully, Ratchet had been too irritated by the situation to notice how Optimus had been staring at him and trying not to purge from sheer nervousness. 

He was still trying not to do that, hunkered down in another storage closet across the hall from where Ratchet and Bulkhead were arguing. 

It wasn’t that he was hiding from the medic, exactly. He was just…trying to organize his thoughts. 

His many, highly chaotic thoughts.

Why has it taken me this long to realize this is how I felt?! Optimus asked himself as he paced in the dark, constricted storage space. We have been friends for so long, even before the war. Shouldn’t I have realized earlier? 

He frowned, pulling up his older memory files with Ratchet and examining them again.

Standing in one of the study rooms at the Hall of Records. Orion was explaining what he’d discovered in early functionist texts (“Many of the original practitioners were actually completely fine with bots modifying or outright changing their vehicle modes to fit their desired roles, so the idea that no one should change their forms has to be a fairly new invention…”).

Ratchet was listening, resting his elbow against the table and his chin on his palm, nodding along and asking questions when he had them.

For once in his life, the file clerk wasn’t mumbling or stuttering over every other word as he presented his findings. He felt completely comfortable, alone in the room with his friend.

Sitting in a booth at Maccadam’s. Orion slid a glass of high-grade across the table to Ratchet as the medical student continued talking about his day.

“So I ask him how he managed to get burns all the way up his backplates. You want to know what this slagger says to me?” Ratchet took a gulp of high-grade. “He was transporting canisters of concentrated oxygen. You know, that incredibly flammable gas?”

Orion cringed as he sipped from his own glass. “Oh no…”

“ He tried drifting on that pass by Prima Park.”

Orion nearly dropped his high-grade. “No!”

“Yes! Apparently a femme he’s courting works in an office building nearby. Wanted to impress her or some scrap. So, clearly not the brightest bot.”

“Well, I imagine he was, for a few seconds at least.”

Ratchet snorted into his glass, pulling it away from his intake to avoid choking on his giggles.

Orion smiled - he liked making him laugh.

Walking along the path through the Iacon Crystal Gardens, talking about anything that came to mind. Between the growing movement and medical residence, the pair hadn’t been able to spend as much time together. A late night visit to the quiet area was a much needed break.

Ratchet paused by a patch of bright orange and pink crystalline flora, gazing down at them with a soft smile. Orion watched him, looking at his shining cyan optics and gentle lip components and wondering…wondering…

The memories slowly dissipated from Optimus’ processor, leaving him silently standing in the middle of the dark closet. 

…Did I realize earlier? 

He knew that he had deeply valued Ratchet’s friendship and had come to rely on him more and more as the war dragged on. He knew that he enjoyed the medic’s company, often spending what little spare time he had with him. He knew that he often caught himself smiling at Ratchet’s protectiveness towards their team and quietly chuckling at his witticisms. 

…And yes, if he was being honest with himself, he knew that he found Ratchet rather pleasant to look at. That was far less important than everything else, but it was still objectively true. 

I thought I was just seeing him as a friend but maybe…how was I supposed to know? 

Optimus did not particularly feel like reaching into the Matrix to consult its knowledge on the matter. This felt a little too private to entrust to the ethereal relic; a strange feeling, given how much he had trusted it over the years. 

He had to fall back on old habits, which was how he found himself standing in front of the monitors with a search engine pulled up on screen. 

Start with basic information. He recalled his archivist training as his digits danced across the keys. You need a solid base of accurate data if you wish to research a topic or form an argument. 

As such, Optimus’ first order of business (after double-checking that none of his teammates were nearby) was to type “what is love” and hit enter. 

The amount and breadth of results this produced was startling - psychology reports, opinion pieces, personal blogs, pages of related quotes, the phrase “baby don’t hurt me” (for some reason). He scrolled for several seconds, optical ridges steadily rising.

Humans might be even more obsessed with the idea of love than we are…, he couldn’t help but think. 

Focusing specifically on definitions, Optimus skimmed through descriptions of “great affection,” “feelings of attraction and pleasure towards something or someone,” and “liking, but more intense.” Nothing particularly stood out as new or groundbreaking to him.  

Expanding his search, he read articles on comprehending love through scientific, philosophical, and emotional lenses - all of which really liked to point out how difficult and/or impossible it was to truly understand it. There were a couple interesting studies on how it affected the chemistry of the human brain, but he doubted that would really help him with his current predicament. 

He changed tactics, typing “what is romance” into the search bar. The results were similar in number and diversity to the first search, with possibly even less use. 

His search spiraled into varied descriptions of romanticism, which nearly spiraled further into Earth art history before he stopped himself. 

This is getting me nowhere, he thought as he shook his helm in frustration. How am I supposed to determine if I like Ratchet in a romantic sense from such vague information? 

There was a brief pause as he stared at the screen. Backspacing, he somewhat sheepishly typed “how to determine if you like someone in a romantic sense?” in the search bar. 

He soon found himself pouring over a list of questions on an online article. 

“Do you find yourself thinking about this person often?” 

Yes, of course I do. He’s my best friend; I care about his feelings and opinions. 

“Do you feel safe in this person’s presence?” 

Yes. More than anyone.

“Do you wish to spend a lot of time with this person?” 

Again, yes. …But is it not normal for one to want to spend time with their friends? 

“Do you enjoy physical connection with this person?” 

I…think so? Normally it is only initiated when he or I am experiencing emotional distress, so I would not have been able to properly assess this… 

Optimus stared at the screen for a long moment before huffing out a sigh. He was being ridiculous; this list hardly seemed definitive, he couldn’t just accept it at its word. But where did that leave him? 

If you are having a difficult time understanding a concept through theory, do consider finding a more concrete example, whispered a voice in his helm that sounded suspiciously like Alpha Trion. 

“Alright then…” Optimus mumbled, pulling up a different tab on the monitor. There wasn’t really anyone on the team whom he felt he could ask about their experiences. Miko had told them that humans tended to…exaggerate about their personal lives on the internet, so he could not rely on that either. 

The home page of a human novel download site popped onto the screen. 

…Am I really spending this much time on something that only might help me figure this out? 

An image of Ratchet flashed across his vision, smiling gently at him. Optimus could almost feel the medic’s warm, steady servo in his own. 

He clicked on the link without another thought.

If asked, Optimus would freely admit that he hadn’t read a great deal of romantic stories. He rarely had time to read anything purely for entertainment, and when he did he generally preferred poetry or non-fiction texts. Still, he generally tried to keep an open mind about unfamiliar genres, as it was unfair to disregard a work based on its type alone. 

He made it as far as chapter five. 

Pressing his digits against his temples, Optimus stared at the screen, intake slowly moving up and down. He knew that fictional characters could make some incredibly illogical decisions, but what he had just read had nearly short-circuited his processor. 

Multiple times.

“How…?” It was the only question he could think of that even came close to summarizing his thoughts. 

“How what? What are you reading?” 

Optimus’ spark jumped in his chest as his helm snapped to his left. Ratchet was walking out of the hallway and towards him, helm cocked in curiosity. His newly-clean white and orange armor gleamed in the base’s bright lights, highlighting the curves in the medic’s shoulders and hips. 

Venting was suddenly a lot more difficult. 

“Optimus? Are you alright?” 

“Y-Yes.” Optimus shook himself and tried to fix his expression into something normal. “Apologies, old friend. I was…examining an Earth text and found it rather…confusing.” 

“What sort of text?” Ratchet asked. He walked to his work bench and picked up a broken energon scanner, his digits nimbly running along the cracked metal. 

Swallowing, Optimus glanced back up at the monitor. “...A romance novel.”

Ratchet’s helm swiveled to stare at him, optics wide and slowly blinking. 

“A…a romance novel?” He repeated, his tone shocked. 

“Yes.” Optimus scrambled to think of an excuse. “It is…apparently a very popular genre in many Earth cultures. I thought I would examine an often-downloaded example to see what the appeal is.” 

“Oh.” Ratchet nodded and turned back to the scanner, his shoulders slumping downwards slightly. “Fair enough, I suppose. So what is the appeal?” 

“Of this particular novel?” Optimus sighed. “I do not have the faintest idea.” 

The medic raised an optical ridge at him, a small smirk pulling up the corner of his intake. “It must be bad if you can’t find a bright side to it,” he noted. 

“I just…” Optimus looked back at the screen, wondering how he could even start. “Tell me, Ratchet, would you react positively if someone told you they liked to watch you recharge from outside your window?” 

Ratchet dropped the energon scanner, the device clattering onto the table. His helm turned towards the Prime with painstaking slowness. “...Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“Apparently this young man is under the impression that such an action is… endearing,” Optimus explained. He could feel his faceplate scrunching up in a cringe as he spoke. 

“W…what…why?!” 

“He said he thought the protagonist was very beautiful when she slept and that he could not resist watching her.” 

“And she was okay with this?!”

“I told you I was finding this confusing.” 

“That kid would be lucky if he only got arrested!” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

Ratchet gave him a look, silently holding up one of his larger wrenches. 

“I see,” Optimus said, fighting back a smile. 

“He’d still be lucky if this was all I used…” Ratchet huffed, dropping his wrench back onto the bench. He fully turned to face Optimus and crossed his arms. “Do I even want to know what else he did?” 

The words were sarcastic, but Optimus recognized the note of curiosity in the medic’s voice. His lip components twitched upwards. “Would you like to guess what he gave her as a birthday gift?” 

“I’m assuming a nice bouquet of flowers would be too good to hope for?”

This continued for several minutes, Ratchet steadily becoming more astounded. The medic was soon shaking his helm and facepalming through his grumbled snickers. The sight only compounded the warm amusement building in Optimus’ chest. 

“How,” Ratchet said, his digits dragging down his faceplate, “is this one of the most popular books on this planet?” 

“Firstly, it’s not the most overall popular book on Earth,” Optimus said. “Secondly…there is a chance it gets better in later chapters?” 

“Sure.” Ratchet nodded, his tone flat. “About the same chance of someone winning a drag race after driving into a sinkhole five feet from the start line.” 

Optimus chuckled into his fist, his gaze turning back to the monitor. “I admit I am probably not the best judge in this case.” He gestured at the screen. “I don’t really understand this.” 

“Understand what? Human flirting?” Ratchet asked with a bark of laughter. 

Optimus’ brows furrowing in thought. His optics absently scanned the words running across the screen. 

“The two characters have barely known each other for a few days,” he said, slowly voicing his observations. “Yet they seem utterly convinced that they are meant to be together. How can they be so certain that this is what they want?” 

He chuckled softly. “I suppose I just do not understand…falling in love that quickly.” 

Ratchet’s snickers fell quiet. Optimus’ audials heated up and his optics locked onto the screen, his tank squeezing. 

Oh no. That was too much. Is he starting to realize? I’m not even certain if- 

“Hey.” 

Optimus nearly jumped when he felt a steady servo rest against his arm. Heat instantly surged through his spark and pooled in his tank. Looking down, he saw Ratchet standing next to him, so close that he could almost feel the warmth emanating from his frame. Cyan optics shone up at him like a pair of beautiful gemstones. 

“It’s alright if you feel like that, you know?” The medic said. “You feel whatever or however you feel. You shouldn’t force yourself to feel something you don’t. Not for anyone.”

Optimus couldn’t speak. His spark was pounding so fast he could barely differentiate the individual pulses. 

Ratchet shook his helm and stepped back, his servo leaving Optimus’ arm. “Besides, I wouldn’t judge anything based off of whatever you just read.” He let out a laugh and turned back to his work bench. “It is my professional opinion as your physician that that relationship is the definition of unhealthy.” 

Optimus stared at the medic’s servos as they picked up the scanner again. Thoughts raced through his helm. His arm plating felt strangely cold. 

“Do you enjoy physical connection with this person?” 

Yes, I do. 

And I want to be around him. I want to laugh with him and make him smile. I want to hold him and for him to hold me. I can’t even imagine what my life would be like without him, and I don’t want to. 

I know I love him. 

“Optimus?” Ratchet was looking at him again, those sharp, knowing, dazzling optics piercing his. “Are you alright?” 

“I…” Optimus forced his intake to open, even as his spark pulsed faster and faster. “Yes. …Ratchet-” 

“Optimus?” 

Both mechs swiveled their helms towards the hallway as Arcee strode into the room, stretching her arms over her helm. 

“Ready for patrols?” She asked. “I want to get an early start in, road construction in Michigan is apparently terrible this time of year.” 

“Y-Yes,” Optimus said, exiting out of the monitor and stepping towards her. He and Arcee were scheduled to go on dual patrol that day, he was now remembering. It wouldn’t do to fall behind on those. 

He told himself that was why he was moving away from Ratchet; not because he felt like he was about to have a spark attack from sheer nervous excitement. 

“Wait,” the medic called, “Optimus, what- what were you about to say?”

Optimus paused in the middle of the room, forcing himself to turn around and hoping his cheekplates weren’t tinted blue. 

“Not right now, old friend,” he said. “Can we speak later?” 

“Alright…” Ratchet slowly said, optics confused and almost hurt. 

“Thank you, Ratchet,” Optimus said. He swallowed a lump of guilt in his throat pipe as Arcee activated the GroundBridge. Turning away from the medic, he followed their teammate into the bright vortex, his spark still rapidly pulsing. 

I’m sorry, Ratchet. I will tell you how I feel.

…As soon as I figure out how.

Chapter Text

The bell had barely started ringing when the students of the Iacon Medical Academy burst out of their classrooms and spilled into the hallways. As dedicated as many of the mechs, femmes, and bots were to their education, no one intended on staying within the academy’s walls any longer than they had to - especially considering the week-long break that had just begun.

“Red, for the final time, you. Will. Be. Fine!” Ratchet said, punctuating the last four words by smacking his friend’s arm with his datapad. “You’re one of the smartest bots I know - definitely the most thorough. You passed that exam easily.” 

“Are you sure?” Red Alert yelped as a particularly tall bot jostled him. “Professor Chromedome can be pretty intense with anything regarding processor theory-” 

“Oh for slag’s sake!” Pharma groaned, rolling his optics with the assistance of his entire helm. “Red, you are going to fry your own circuits one of these days if you keep this up. Or at least short out our audio receptors! You studied for three solar cycles straight, you’re fine.”  

The jet-former grabbed Red Alert’s wrist and dragged him forward. “Now, come on. We are getting drinks and you are going to relax!” 

Ratchet huffed and followed his friends. He appreciated what Pharma was trying to do, but he couldn’t help but think that that mech would take any excuse to get tipsy. 

After another minute of tight hallways and various elbows jabbing his sides, Ratchet finally stepped through the academy’s entryway and into the bright sunlight. His fellow students pushed past him and dashed down the pearly-white steps and onto the pavilion. Pausing on the top step, he leaned his helm back and closed his optics, letting his shoulders relax and the warmth wash over his frame. 

“Oh Ratty…” Pharma’s lilting voice wormed into his audio receptors uninvited. 

“I told you not to call me that…” Ratchet called back, keeping his optics shut. 

“But look who’s here…” 

Opening his optics, Ratchet shot his fellow student a look. Pharma merely smirked and jabbed this thumb digit towards the pavilion. 

Huffing, Ratchet scanned the open space, carefully dotted with abstract sculptures and beds of crystalline flora. His optics passed over the decorations and the groups of chatting medical students…only to snag on a familiar form. 

Orion Pax was standing in the leftmost area of the courtyard, far away from the dispersing crowd. Sunlight reflected off of his carefully-polished, cheerfully-bright red armor. His servos were clasped loosely behind his back, his helm tipped back as he examined the tourmaline tree he stood by. The file clerk was smiling, his pale azure optics tracing the twisting branches and rainbow-hue leaves.

Ratchet felt his tiredness and annoyance melt away almost instantly at the sight, his optics widening and vents catching in his throat pipe. 

“Wow…” Pharma leaned into his field of vision, chin stuck out in a caricature of thought. “You can see the exact moment your spark goes supernova.” 

“Shut up,” Ratchet grunted, shoving him back. Heat rushed into his cheek plating as Pharma merrily cackled. 

“Orion does seem really nice,” Red Alert offered with a timid smile. “I can see why you like him.” 

“I don’t-” 

“You do,” Pharma sing-songed. He cocked his helm teasingly at him. “So, have you asked him out yet?” 

Ratchet swallowed, trying to ignore the sensation of his spark abruptly dropping into his tank. “No. Wouldn’t matter, someone beat me to it.” 

“Scrap, seriously?” Pharma crossed his arms and frowned. “Who?”

“Elita-One. She’s a recruit for the Elite Guard who started visiting the Hall of Records a while back. They started talking and I guess she asked him out last week.” 

Because who wouldn’t want to go out with a pretty femme with a bright future and more confidence than an overcharged zapper terrier? He thought. If that’s my competition, I never even stood a chance.

“That’s bullscrap,” Pharma grumbled.

Ratchet carefully flexed out his digits. “No, it isn’t,” he argued. “She’s nice, and they have a lot of common interests. They'll be good together.” 

“And you and him wouldn’t be?” 

“Pharma, drop it.” Ratchet glared at him, trying to look purely irritated rather than reveal the numerous emotions swirling in his spark. “It’s Orion’s slagging choice, not mine and sure as the Pits not yours. As far as you or anyone needs to be concerned, we’re just friends. Got it?”

“Okay, okay!” The other mech lifted his servos in surrender. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get your gears in a bind. Just trying to help.”

“Right…” Ratchet huffed, looking away. “...You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.” 

“Alright...” Pharma said, turning away with only some hesitance.

“We’ll be at the Victory if you and Orion want to join us!” Red Alert added, his lip components pulled back into a forced grin. He had never been that great at being the one to cheer bots up, but Ratchet appreciated the effort.

As his two friends walked away, he made his way down the steps and onto the pavilion. Most of the students had left by now, apart from some scattered individuals and groups sitting on benches, reading or comparing their notes. Orion was still standing by the tree with his back turned to him, completely engrossed by the glossy bark and shimmering leaves. 

Ratchet’s mood lifted and a grin broke out across his faceplate. He slowly crept towards the file clerk, keeping his helm ducked and pedesteps light. Orion remained blissfully unaware of his presence even when he stood right behind him. 

Fighting back snickers, he reached out and poked the taller mech square in the back. 

“AUCK!” Orion squawked, jumping in place and flailing his lanky arms out. He whipped around with wide optics and blue flushing across his faceplate. “R-Ratchet? What was that for?!” 

“Sorry,” Ratchet gasped out between peals of laughter. “I saw my chance, and I slagging took it.” He bent over double, clutching his shaking abdomen.

It felt good to laugh, to loosen the coils of tension wrapped around his chassis by hours of testing and Pharma’s questions.

A smile slowly spread across Orion’s faceplate. “I’d expect that from Jazz, not you,” he coyly noted. “Hopefully that means your exams went well…?” 

“About as well as they could have,” Ratchet chuckled, finally able to stand up straight. He held up his datapad and waved it at him. “Worst case scenario, I’ll just consult the scrap-ton of notes I had to write down for the rest of my residency.” 

Orion laughed, the sound light and pleasant in Ratchet’s audios. 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he said. “Notes or otherwise.” 

“Yeah.” Ratchet walked over and sat on the raised edge of the tree’s bed, smiling up at him. “Seriously though, if you came all the way over here just to see how I did…thanks.” 

“It’s no problem.” Orion sat down next to him, looking up at the crystalline branches stretched out above them. “You didn’t tell me how beautiful this place was.” 

“Eh, it doesn’t seem that pretty when you’re dragging yourself in here before the sun’s even up,” Ratchet said. He looked over, his vents nearly stuttering in chest when he took in Orion’s expression - azure optics wide and keen, a gentle smile spread across his faceplate, beautifully content with the simple sight of the tree they sat under. 

Ratchet swallowed and followed his gaze upwards. “But…I guess you’re right,” he quietly added. “You should see the Iacon Crystal Gardens though, some of the flowers they have are incredible.” 

“I’ll have to,” Orion agreed, his optics moving back to Ratchet. His expression shifted into a nervous one. “Were you and your friends planning on doing something after classes? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh, no,” Ratchet quickly said, flippantly waving his servo. “I mean, Pharma did suggest drinks at the Victory Bar, but, well…when doesn’t he suggest that?”

“True,” Orion said with a soft chuckle. 

“Red Alert told me to invite you to come along if you want,” Ratchet said. 

He paused and took a deep vent. 

“You can call Elita too, if you want to make it a regular old party,” he added, proud that his voice didn’t shake.

“Oh.” Orion’s smile faltered and his digits tightly grasped each other. “Yes. About that…”

The tension twined itself around his chassis again. 

“What?” Ratchet twisted to face him, concern shooting through his wires. “Are you two…?” 

“We broke up yesterday,” Orion said, sighing and reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

“What? It’s only been a week-” Ratchet clamped his intake shut, mentally kicking himself. After a moment of hesitation, he reached over and rested his servo against his arm. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” 

“Yes, actually.” Orion shifted in place, lip components pursed in thought. “I mean, it’s still sad, but…” 

He looked down at his twiddling digits. “We both knew it wasn’t working out. I tried, but we just weren’t getting that connection Elita was looking for. We talked it over, and we still want to be friends, but that’s it.” 

“Well that’s…good, I guess.” Ratchet wasn’t sure what else to say. Not without sounding thoughtless or revealing something he wouldn’t be able to take back.

“Honestly, I’m a little relieved,” Orion continued. “I was flattered when Elita was…” 

“Shamelessly flirting with you?” Ratchet suggested, forcing the corner of his lip components up. 

“Y-yes,” Orion said, blushing slightly. “But I never looked at her and felt…desire, for lack of a better word. I talked with Alpha Trion about it, and he says that some bots are just like that.” 

He shrugged. “Honestly, I’ve never even thought about starting a relationship, much less looking at someone and automatically…wanting them, that way.” 

Ratchet blinked, trying to vent as deeply as he could. Trying to keep his expression calm. Trying to convince his spark to not break. 

If he doesn’t want someone like Elita…, he thought, …then he’s not going to want anyone. Certainly not me. Forget me not standing a chance; there’s not even a competition.

Ratchet blinked and nearly smacked himself in the faceplate. What was he doing, moping like this? It wouldn’t accomplish anything apart from making them both uncomfortable.

Primus, you haven’t even known him for a whole stellar cycle, what right do you have to feel crushed? He scolded himself. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. And even if it is…if Orion doesn’t want it, you should respect that. Being his friend is more than enough. 

“...Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” he said aloud. He forced on a smirk and bumped his elbow against Orion’s. “Honestly, you’re probably dodging a bullet. I’ve been asked out exactly four times and they were all some form of a disaster.” 

“Oh dear.” Orion laughed even as his optics filled with sweet concern. “Do I want to know?” 

“The best one involved me having visco-laced energon spilled all over me and then falling flat on my faceplate on a roller rink.” Ratchet mock-shuddered. “And that was his idea of the first date.”

Orion snorted, servo clamping over his intake in embarrassment. Ratchet’s smile became real as he laughed. They were soon leaning against each other, freely giggling like a couple of newly-forged protoforms, nearly regaining control until they glanced at each other and set themselves off again. Undoubtedly, they looked like idiots.

It felt wonderful. 

“If…if you want to catch your friends,” Orion finally gasped out, “we should probably get going. If you don’t mind me tagging along.” 

“Oh, please do,” Ratchet said, sitting up and shaking his helm. “Red and I will probably need all the help we can get to drag Pharma back to the dorm.” 

Orion laughed again as he stood. He turned around and offered Ratchet a servo, his smile as sweet as it was stunning. 

Ratchet swallowed yet again, digits nearly trembling as they touched his. 

Yes, he was more than lucky enough, just to be Orion Pax’s friend.

Ratchet blinked, memories slowly dripping off of his vision like paint being sprayed off a window. Age and the ache of old wounds settled back onto his chassis. The phantom warmth of Orion’s servo in his was replaced by the solid, cold steel of a wrench. 

Shaking his helm, he looked around, reacquainting himself with the present. He was alone in the medbay, standing before a workbench with his tools and cleaning supplies neatly arranged upon it. His other servo clutched a gray rag, so frayed that it could only be used for polishing up his instruments. 

“Frag…” Ratchet muttered, dropping both items back on the table and reaching up to massage his temples. 

It had been a long while since he last recalled that day. He thought he’d forgotten it, successfully shoved it all down to the bottom of his processor, apart from one detail. 

“I’ve never even thought about starting a relationship, much less looking at someone and…wanting them, that way.” 

And you better slagging remember it, because if you actually cared about him, you would accept it and not still stare at him and wonder what it would feel like to- 

Ratchet groaned and bent forward, letting his elbows slam onto the table. His palms pressed against his closed optics until they ached. 

“I’ve got to be some kind of crazy if I’m still thinking like this…” He mumbled aloud, letting his servos fall to the table with a soft clunk. 

Optimus didn’t want him - want anyone - as anything other than a friend; he’d all but told him as such millenia ago. It was a part of who Optimus was, just as much as him being a courageous leader or kind-sparked friend was. Ratchet knew that, respected that, accepted that.

What is it the humans say? “...If you love something, you have to let it go.” Well, I’m letting it go, or keeping it to myself if nothing else. No matter what my stupid processor comes up with.

Nodding firmly to himself, Ratchet picked the rag and wrench back up and began to carefully scrub the worn tool. 

“Ratchet?”

He almost dropped the objects again, barely catching the wrench before it clattered against the table. Venting carefully, he turned around with a neutral expression. 

“Come in, Optimus,” he said, hoping his tone was as normal as ever. “Did you need anything?” 

The Prime stepped into the medbay, optics flickering around in that instinctively inquisitive way of his. A thin layer of dust coated his plating, a few layers thicker on his legs and between his wheels; he must have just gotten back from his and Arcee’s patrol. 

“I was hoping we could talk, if you have a moment,” he said. His voice was quieter than usual. “About our earlier discussion.” 

Ratchet blinked as the memories from the morning replayed themselves. “Right…” he said, setting the wrench and rag down. “You got a weird look on your faceplate, stuttered when I asked you what was wrong, then took off with Arcee with barely another word.” 

Optimus’ shoulders bunched up and his optics flicked downwards. 

“I apologize if I upset you earlier, old friend,” he whispered, his servos moving up to clench together. 

“No…” Ratchet pinched his olfactory sensors, guilt pooling in his tank. “No, I’m sorry. It’s your business, I shouldn’t be shoving my bumper in it.” 

He leaned against the table, pressing the heels of his palms against the cool surface. “You said you wanted to talk?” 

“Yes,” Optimus said, his frame relaxing as he stepped closer. Azure optics once again met his; not as innocently wide or bright as they used to be. 

But still gorgeous. 

Ratchet swallowed thickly (and hopefully quietly). 

Focus, dammit. You are letting it go, remember?

“To begin, I want to apologize if I worried you earlier,” Optimus said, settling down on a medical berth in front of Ratchet. “I did not mean to, but I can understand why you would feel that way.” 

“It’s fine.” Ratchet shrugged. “Like I said, not my business.” 

Optimus gently smiled. “You inquire about our ‘business’ because you care about us,” he said. “We appreciate that. I appreciate that.” 

Ratchet’s lip components twitched into a smile despite himself. He ducked his helm and tried to huff. “That’s an awfully nice way of saying I can be real slagging nosy, Optimus.” 

A soft chuckle rumbled out of the larger mech’s chest, but soon his expression fell into one of solemnity. “Secondly, you asked me if I was alright earlier, and I declined to answer you at the time.” 

“Yes…?” Ratchet said, suddenly nervous. 

Optimus pursed his lip components, then stood. Ratchet’s spark pulse pounded in his audio receptors as the Prime closed the gap between them, joining him in leaning against the table. His servo, large and warm, settled atop the medic’s. 

“Something occurred to me this morning,” he said slowly, gazing straight ahead. “I do not believe it is anything bad, and either way it is nothing you need to trouble yourself with, old friend. I am just…not ready to voice what I realized out loud yet.” 

Ratchet looked at his friend’s profile; still jaw, pursed lip components, azure optics dim with thought. He didn’t look particularly stressed out…a little tense maybe, but not distressed. 

And after everything, he would tell me if something was really wrong.

“Okay,” he said, “but when you are ready, you know that you can trust me with whatever this is, right?” 

Optimus turned his helm, his expression relaxing into a smile that made Ratchet’s knees feel weak. 

“Of course,” he said. His servo gently squeezed the medic’s. “There is no one I trust more than you, Ratchet.” 

Spark somersaulting in his casing, Ratchet rotated his servo so his digits could grasp Optimus’. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “Y-You too.” 

Smooth. 

“Optimus! You in here?” 

A jolt shot through Ratchet’s frame as his helm snapped in the direction of the medbay’s door. Bumblebee leaned into the entryway, cocking his helm and hanging from the doorway by his servo. Ratchet automatically loosened his grip on Optimus’ servo, ready for him to pull away now that the younger bot had interrupted them. 

Except…he didn’t. His larger digits remained snuggly wrapped around Ratchet’s, heedless of the bright blue optics keenly observing them. Heat rushed through his fuel lines and flared across his cheek plating.

What happened to the “high-and-mighty Prime who definitely doesn’t need to hold his medic’s servo” act you’ve been cultivating for the past millennia?!

…And why the slag am I complaining about this?

Because it is making it incredibly difficult to let it go, idiot! 

“Yes Bumblebee?” Optimus said, completely unaware of Ratchet’s ongoing short-circuit. “Did you need anything?” 

“Just wanted to let you know that we’re going to head out to pick up the kids,” Bumblebee replied. His optics flickered between them. “...Everything okay?” 

Depends on your definition of “okay.” 

“We’re fine,” Ratchet said aloud. “Just talking about…things.” 

“Yes,” Optimus agreed. He smiled at him. “I should go to the monitor, in the event something occurs while they are gone.” 

“Right.” Ratchet nodded, his spark pulse quickening for what must have been the hundredth time that day. 

Optimus squeezed his servo once more letting go and straightening. “Thank you for your understanding, old friend.” 

Ratchet couldn’t find any words good enough to respond with before the Prime was already out the door. Bumblebee gazed at him for another moment before waving and following Optimus down the hall. 

Silence fell upon the medbay like a weighted blanket, thick and heavy against Ratchet’s audio receptors. He remained frozen against the table, tools forgotten behind him. His empty servo felt cold. 

“There is no one I trust more than you, Ratchet.” 

He said it so readily…

“Something occurred to me this morning. I do not believe it is anything bad. I just am not ready to voice what I realized out loud yet.” 

This morning. When I found him reading a romance novel. And then he started acting flustered when I asked him questions. 

He was so worried when he thought he upset me.

He held my servo. 

He kept holding my servo, even when someone else walked in. Like he was proud to be holding it. 

Like…like he wanted- 

Ratchet ducked his helm and gritted his jaw. He sucked in deep vents between his dentra, trying to calm his rapidly-pulsing spark. The table’s edge dug almost painfully into his digit joints as his servos clenched it. 

“Stop it,” he whispered to himself. “Stop thinking like that, you’re just making a fool of yourself. None of that is hard evidence. You are going to let it go, you are letting it go, you are- you…” 

His trembling voice finally cracked. Air rushed out of his intake in a choked gasp. He pressed his digits over his optics, his palms squeezing the sides of his helm. 

“...Why can’t I let him go?”

The question - the admission - was barely loud enough to qualify as a whisper, yet it made his legs quiver and his tank churn with guilt-ridden shame. 

Because you’re too much of an idiot to realize you’re being hopeless? Because you’re too cowardly to do the right thing? Because you’re too selfish to be a real friend to the mech you love- 

Ratchet cut the thought off. Venting carefully, he lowered his servos to his sides and stared blankly ahead. The medbay’s opposite wall seemed to swim in his vision. 

In the end, the “why” didn’t really matter. He had no intention of dumping his unrequited feelings on Optimus, even if that meant keeping his intake shut from now till the end of time. Primus knew he had enough to deal with without Ratchet’s scrap. 

Whatever it is he’s waiting to tell me about, I’ll help him with it…as his friend. Nothing more. 

Ratchet looked down at his servos, near-famous for their steadiness no matter the situation. He watched his digits begin to tremble, like dried leaves barely clinging to a branch buffeted by cool winds. They continued to faintly shake as he turned around and picked up his wrench and the rag once again. 

Nothing more.

Chapter Text

“Ratchet, I have been looking back at our relationship and how it has changed over the stellar cycles. Considering everything we experienced and all the hardships we’ve overcome together, along with more recent examinations of my own feelings, I came to the conclusion that…” 

No, that is far too formal. I do not want to sound like I am giving a report. 

“Ratchet, have you ever considered the possibility that the two of us could-”

Too presumptuous. 

“Ratchet, I do not know how else to say this - I am in love with you.”

Too blunt.

“Hello, old friend. You look lovely today.”

…No. 

It would be true, but if I am getting this nervous now, then I wouldn’t be able to finish if I start with that- 

“-urn. Turn. Optimus, we turn here!” 

Bumblebee’s beeping crackled over the comms and into Optimus’ audials. Awareness of hot sunlight on his frame and patches of asphalt crunching under his tires crashed into him - as did the realization that the junction he was supposed to turn right at was mere feet away. 

He slammed on the brakes and violently twisted his steering wheel, tires skidding and rubber burning against the road as he barely made the turn. A plume of dust flew into the air when his back tires clipped the curb. He swerved back onto the right side of the road, his chassis swaying on his axles. 

“You okay?” Bumblebee called over the comms. The scout was a little ways ahead of him, rolling gently along in his sports car mode. 

“I’m fine!” Optimus quickly replied, embarrassment shooting through his circuitry. 

I should have waited until we finished patrolling to resume planning this… 

“You sure?” Bumblebee asked, quiet as he moved closer to him. “...You’re not getting flashbacks again, are you?” 

Guilt briefly flashed through Optimus’ spark at the worry in the young bot’s voice. “No, Bumblebee, I am not,” he gently said. “I was merely…lost in thought.” 

“You’ve been ‘lost in thought’ a lot this past week.” Bumblebee pulled back to drive alongside the Prime. “Want to talk about it?” 

Optimus would have frowned in thought if he currently had access to his lip components. He had been thinking for days, dedicating most of his spare processing power to the task of confessing his feelings, yet he hadn’t really gotten anywhere. Perhaps discussing it with someone else would give him the insight he was missing. 

But I cannot just say what I want to tell Ratchet…

…at least, not in specific terms… 

“...I realized something last week,” Optimus said, choosing each of his words carefully. “It is not anything wrong or dangerous; however, it is important and I want to handle it with due care. It involves both Ratchet and I, and I wish to explain it to him, but I am struggling to figure out how.” 

“...I’m guessing you don’t want to tell me what it is yet?” Bumblebee said. Optimus could picture the scout squinting his optics and cocking his helm at him. 

“I would rather not,” Optimus replied, his panels pulling closer to his chassis. “As I said, it mainly involves him and I.”

“Okay.” Bumblebee’s beeps were light, almost cheerful. “Let’s see…did you try practicing what you wanted to say in your helm?” 

“...”

“...Was that what you were doing just now?” 

“That was what I was doing just now.”

“Okay, maybe not that then. Is there a reason you can’t just tell Ratchet what’s up? Like, just straight up tell him? Rip off the sealant patch before you get too worked up?” 

Optimus’ engine quieted as he slowed. Nervous thoughts circled in his processor like watchful vultures, ready to swoop down and tear at his growing anxiety. Bumblebee remained quiet, though his own speed decreased to match the Prime’s. 

“The thing I want to tell Ratchet…” Optimus paused, struggling to organize his thoughts. “As I said, it’s not bad - I might even call it good - but it is very personal and I…I do not know how he will react to it. I want to tell him, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable and-” 

Heat rushed through his energon lines; he knew he would be blushing if he were in bot mode. 

“...And I worry that he will not accept it,” he quietly finished. “I would be fine with it if he did - I would never force anything he does not want on him - but…it would still hurt.” 

“Hurt” hardly seemed to cover it. Optimus’ imagination was all too eager to supply possible results of Ratchet rejecting his feelings: the medic’s faceplate scrunching up in awkwardness or irritation at the sight of him; easy and pleasant conversations being replaced with stilted and forced ones; their relationship deteriorating entirely under the weight of unrequited and unwanted feelings-

He shook himself as best as he could without swerving off the road. 

Calm down. It could not possibly be that bad. 

…I think. 

Bumblebee hummed thoughtfully, gently weaving left and right within his lane. The sun beat down on the two quiet Autobots; the desert they were driving through offered no shelter from the heat, apart from the occasional thin line of shade cast from saguaro cacti. 

“Optimus, how long have you and Ratchet been friends?” He finally asked, swerving slightly to avoid a drift of sand stretching onto the road.

“Since long before the war,” Optimus slowly replied. 

“And you trust him, right? Talk to him about stuff you wouldn’t with anyone else?” 

“Well…yes. I do.”

“Then I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.” The scout’s tone was as bright as it was confident. “Whatever it is you want to tell him, I’m sure he’ll be understanding about it. He’s like that…well, when he’s not being a grumpy gear train, at least.” 

Optimus chuckled, the tension in his systems loosening. 

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, wishing he could smile. “Thank you for your advice, Bumblebee. I will keep it in mind.” 

“Good!” The younger bot moved closer to him until their fenders were inches apart; the vehicular equivalent of a friendly brush of the shoulders. “You’ll figure it out - both of you. Now come on, race you to the next turn!” 

Optimus chuckled again as Bumblebee roared ahead, recognizing the scout’s attempt at distraction for what it was but not truly caring. His own engine rumbled as he sped up, chasing after the yellow sports car, the surrounding dunes and rocky hills blurring together into sandy brown lines.

“Hey…hey…hey… hey-” 

“Miko, will you quit it?!” 

Ratchet glanced away from the chemical equations spread across the monitor (the incomplete formula for synthetic energon was forever mocking him) and looked towards the elevated platform. Jack and Miko, freshly arrived from school, were seated on the old couch. The boy was swatting his hands half-heartedly at his fellow human, who merely blocked the smacks with the pillow she’d been hitting him with. 

“You’ve been staring into space for like, ten minutes,” Miko said, lounging backwards until her back was wedged between the cushion and the armrest (she’s going to put a kink in her spinal strut if she keeps doing that…). She jabbed the pillow at the other teen. “Quit moping and tell us what’s up.” 

“I’m not moping!” Jack protested, pulling his shoulders back and glaring at her. “I’m thinking.” 

“With a mopey expression.” 

“It was pretty mopey,” Arcee offered with a small smirk. The femme was leaning against the platform, elbow resting by the railing. 

“Is ‘mopey’ even a real word?” Rafael asked from his place on the battered armchair, his eyes remaining locked onto his computer screen as he spoke. 

“Should be,” Bulkhead, seated on a storage crate, said. “It’s how Earth words work, right? Jump, jumpy. Run, runny. Mope, mopey.” 

The children giggled, much to his confusion. Arcee shook her helm and commiseratingly patted the larger mech’s shoulder. Ratchet rolled his optics and tried to refocus on the monitor. 

“Seriously, dude, what’s up?” Miko asked. “I didn’t think Mr. Wilcox’s chemistry test went that horribly wrong.”

“No, it’s…” Jack sighed. “I…want to try asking Sierra out again.” 

Miko promptly groaned, dropping the pillow onto her own face with a soft plop.  

“Isn’t she the girl who got you roped into street racing?” Rafael asked, his curious tone tinted with just the faintest trace of sarcasm. Ratchet couldn’t help but feel a bit proud. 

“No, she didn’t!” Jack blurted, faintly blushing. “Vince was the one who kept challenging me!” 

“But would you have kept accepting his challenges if you weren’t trying to impress her?” Arcee deadpanned. 

“Et tu, Brutus?” Jack frowned at her, crossing his arms. “You were also pretty eager to beat him the first time, if I remember right.”

“Yeah. The first time.” 

“Ignoring all that,” Miko jumped in, sitting up and letting the pillow fall onto her lap. “I don’t get what the problem is. I mean, she’s cute, I get why you like her, but why are you moping about asking her out instead of…you know, just asking her out?”  

“Well…” Jack looked down, scratching the back of his head. “I want to do it right, you know. And I’m still figuring out how.” 

Ratchet pursed his lip components; the calculations and chemical equations he was attempting to concentrate on kept sliding off of his processor like raindrops. He liked to think he wasn’t that nosy, but…

Oh, who am I kidding. If I was any nosier, I’d be a beryllium bloodhound. 

“How complicated can it be?” Miko asked. “Just give her some flowers or chocolate or a cute stuffed animal and ask her if she wants to go out. Easy!” 

“Yeah, but everyone does that,” Jack said. “I want to do something special.” 

“Like, breaking into song or something? Charm her with your fabled harmonica skills?”

“...Maybe not that special.” 

“You and Arcee could try and impress her with your driving skills again,” Bulkhead said. “Just pull up in front of the school right when she gets out and do a wheelie!” 

“No,” Arcee flatly refused. She pointed at the teen. “Jack, you’re like a little brother to me, but I am not helping you impress a girl like that again.” 

“Fair enough,” Jack weakly chuckled. “...Maybe I can do it on my bike.” 

“I wouldn’t suggest that,” Ratchet called out. He could already feel the secondhand embarrassment such a plan would cause him. 

Four helms swiveled towards him, having apparently forgotten he was there (Rafael continued to focus on his laptop). 

“Well, what would you suggest, Ratchet?” Arcee asked, raising a vaguely interested optical ridge at him. 

Ratchet was tempted to just huff and turn back to his work, like he usually did when the others tried to drag him further into whatever random conversations they had. After all, he was the cranky old medic who grumbled about the noise and made occasional sharp comments when someone did or said something particularly foolish.

“You inquire about our ‘business’ because you care about us,” Optimus’ voice appeared in his helm. “We appreciate that. I appreciate that.” 

“...Jack,” Ratchet slowly began, “have you actually ever talked to this Sierra? Actually talked to her, not just say a few words at random intervals?” 

The teen frowned, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Not really? We talked a little when Arcee and I gave her a ride around town, but that’s about it.” 

“Well, first of all, do that.” Ratchet pointed a digit at the teen. “You want to make sure you actually like this bot- er, person, for who they are, not just what they look or sound like. Trust me, you don’t want to waste time taking someone out on a date when it turns out you can’t stand them.” 

“Oh, you know what you’re talking about, doc-bot?” Miko teased with a small smirk. Clearly not expecting an actual answer. 

Ratchet looked at her for a long moment, cycling his optics and grinding his jaw. Silently debating. 

Oh, slag it.

“Thrillseeker,” he said. “Velocitronian racer who came to the Iacon Medical Academy for some experimental treatment during my first semester. I made the mistake of asking him out for a drink the second time we talked. I have yet to see another faceplate go from ‘pretty’ to ‘punchable’ as fast as his did.” 

Miko’s jaw dropped open. They were all openly staring at him now; even Rafael’s red-rimmed glasses were peeking at him from just above his laptop’s screen. Ratchet stared back, barely stopping himself from sticking his chin out in defiance. 

“...Did you punch him?” Bulkhead finally asked, optics wide. 

“No,” Ratchet replied. He looked back at the monitor, pulling his shoulders back and trying to look dignified. “But I didn’t bother sticking around when he got into a fight with a trio of Cube players from Helex…or paying the tab, for that matter.” 

Miko snorted, clamping both hands over her mouth. Bulkhead and Rafael glanced at each other before breaking out into giggles. Jack blinked rapidly, clearly fighting back a smile. 

“I am learning things I was not expecting to learn today,” Arcee said. 

“I did have a life before the war, you know,” Ratchet said, a faint grin pulling on his lip components despite himself. 

“Yeah, but we didn’t know you had a wild dating history!” Miko squealed, sounding all too delighted. “I want details. All the details!”

“Don’t expect to hear about it all at once,” Ratchet said, frowning at a particularly snarled chemical structural formula. “Most of it happened when I was younger anyways. Before I-” 

He cut off the rambling thought just in time.

“Before you settled down?” Arcee jokingly offered. 

“Something like that,” Ratchet muttered, his spark shrinking in its casing. 

Before I found the best mech I could ever ask for. 

The potential equations for synthetic energon glared at him from the screen. His optics stung from the light and he reached up to rub them, splashes of lurid green flashing across his vision. Biting words filled with anger and hurt began to replay in his helm. 

“Yet you seem to have no problem endangering ours! Just ask Cliffjumper! Oh, I forgot! He couldn't be here today!”

“You know what your problem is, Optimus? For such a big, strong bot, you’re soft. You didn’t pound Megatron into scrap when you had the chance! Many chances, in fact!” 

He knew that he hadn’t been in his right mind when he was on the incomplete SynthEn. He knew that he’d apologized to Optimus and the others multiple times in the following weeks. He knew that they’d forgiven him; that Optimus had forgiven him. 

Doesn’t change the fact that you’re the kind of bot who would lash out at his team, who would take all your rage out on your best friend for having the gentle, ideal spark you fell in love with. 

You really are just a bitter old rustbucket. 

“Ratchet? You alright?” 

Dragging himself out of his dark spiral, Ratchet looked back at Arcee. The femme peered at him, expression blank but her optics concerned. 

“I’m fine,” he huffed out. “Just…thinking in circles and not getting anywhere. I’ll be fine.” 

Arcee nodded, not looking quite convinced but thankfully saying nothing. 

“Okay,” Jack said. “New plan: figure out how to talk to Sierra before we get to the ‘ask out’ stage. Got it.” 

The teen looked over at him, his expression bashfully grateful. “Thanks, Ratchet.” 

The medic didn’t trust himself enough to open his intake right then, so he merely gave the boy a nod.

“Are you going to mope about that now?” Miko asked, resting her chin on her hands with a teasing expression. 

Jack’s head promptly snapped back towards her with an annoyed look. “Oh, shut up.” 

“Hang on, I’ll look up a how-to guide,” Rafael said. 

“Humans have how-to guides on how to talk to each other?” Bulkhead asked incredulously. 

“Trust me Bulkhead, humans have how-to guides on everything.” 

Ratchet sighed, finally returning his attention to the monitor as the conversation continued without him. His processor whirred with calculations and half-formed theories and his digits rapidly typed the information into the computer. The work was cold and logical, all numbers and equations. 

He was thankful for that - it made it easier to ignore the dull, ever-present ache in his spark.

Chapter Text

Optimus’ pedesteps echoed down the dim, empty hall. The two energon cubes he held in each servo bathed his armor and the nearby walls with a soft blue light. He moved slowly, careful not to spill a single drop. 

He couldn’t help the smile growing across his faceplate as he approached the medbay, nor the way his spark brightened when he heard the rapid typing of a keyboard and familiar muttering trailing out the open doorway. Peering around the entryway, he quickly spotted Ratchet standing at one of the monitors. The medic squinted at the small screen, cyan optics focused and brows crinkled in thought. 

Cute, a quiet corner of his processor observed. 

Optimus felt his smile grow a little wider, his spark a little giddier. Careful not to splash the energon, he gently knocked his knuckle against the doorframe. Ratchet’s helm shot up, his shoulders quickly relaxing when he recognized who was standing there. 

“Good morning, old friend,” Optimus said, lifting one of the cubes in greeting. “I assume you have not had your energon yet?” 

“You know me too well,” Ratchet said, a smile tugging on his lip components as Optimus approached him. He accepted the offered cube. “Thanks. Is there a special occasion that I forgot?” 

“No, I just thought I’d bring it to you,” Optimus replied, even as his spark jumped into his throat pipe. He cleared it and took a sip of his own energon. 

Remember what Bumblebee said. I just need to wait for the right moment, then tell him. That is all. Simple. 

“Good.” Ratchet huffed out a chuckle. “It’s too early for any calamities. Or for Bulkhead and Miko to start blaring that noise they call music.” 

Optimus glanced over, his nervous excitement waning as he took in the finer details of his medic’s appearance. Ratchet’s optics were dim and his frame pulled close to his chassis. His shoulders were tense even as he lifted his cube to his lip components. 

Without thinking, Optimus settled his servo on the medic’s shoulder.

“Are you alright, Ratchet?” He asked, voice low.

“What?” Ratchet’s helm whipped around, optics darting back and forth between Optimus’ faceplate and the place their armor touched. “No, I’m fine. Why?” 

“Nothing,” Optimus quickly said, pulling his servo away. His spark fluttered anxiously in his chest. “You just seem…tense.” 

Ratchet blinked at him. He looked into his cube, absently swishing the energon around. Optimus felt his spark sink as his expression fell into one as discouraged as it was exhausted. 

“No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have snapped like that, you didn’t do anything. I’m just…just…” 

His free servo reached up to rub his brows, before dragging itself down his faceplate and dropping back to his side like a crumbling sand castle. 

“Frag, I can’t keep doing this…” He muttered.

Concern coiled tightly around Optimus’ chest like a platinum python. Setting his energon down on the nearest berth, he gingerly reached forward and wrapped his digits around Ratchet’s servo. He lowered his helm, hoping to get closer to his optic level.

“Ratchet, if there’s something you need to talk about, you can come to me with it.” He spoke gently, pouring sincerity into each word. “No matter what has happened, I want to be there for you. As you’ve been there for me.”

The medic looked up at him, those lovely cyan optics wide and searching. Optimus’ spark skipped a pulse as his digits entwined with his; cool and faintly trembling. 

…When was the last time his servos weren’t steady? 

“It really isn’t anything you need to worry about, Optimus,” Ratchet said after a long moment. He shook his helm, weakly chuckling. “Believe me - it’s my problem, not yours. I’m just being an idiot.” 

“Ratchet…” Optimus whispered, taking a tiny step closer. He wanted so badly to close the distance between them; to hold him, comfort him, shield him from whatever troubled him.

“Don’t-” Digits tightening around his, Ratchet shut his optics and pursed his lip components, venting shakily. When he looked up, his expression was more vulnerable than Optimus had ever seen him. 

“I- I know you’re trying to help, Optimus, but please just drop it. It’s just…something I’ve got to deal with on my own, alright? Don’t…don’t make me talk about it.” 

Optimus’ spark was swirling with a cyclone of emotions. Through the storm, he felt a faint but insistent tug of the Matrix in his chest, promising relief. Promising to let him act like the Prime he had been chosen to be.

…No, he silently whispered to it. Ratchet does not need his Prime right now, he needs his friend. And I don’t want to diminish his feelings by hiding from mine. 

“Okay,” he said aloud, squeezing the medic’s servo. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. What do you need from me?” 

Ratchet slumped in relief. He smiled up at him, his thumb rubbing Optimus’ knuckles.

“Thank you,” he said. “Just…keep being yourself. I’ll get over myself eventually.” 

Optimus returned his smile, reluctantly letting go of his servo. 

I will tell him later, when he’s in a better state for it. 

“Would you like some company?” 

Ratchet gulped down the last of his energon before nodding, cheeks tinged a faint blue. “If you’re not too busy…I’d appreciate it.” 

“Of course, old friend.” 

The atmosphere in the medbay lightened significantly after that. Ratchet continued to run status checks on the monitors, while Optimus began sorting and storing the various medical and engineering equipment according to the medic’s instructions. Their conversation turned to casual chatting, lazily drifting from topic to topic.

“...May I ask why you are keeping spare levers in the medbay?” Optimus asked, peering into a crate full of said devices. 

“We live in a base with Bulkhead,” Ratchet deadpanned. He scowled at a particularly battered-looking monitor, poking at the glitching screen. “Okay, what’s wrong with you now, you little slagger…” 

“I was referring more to the ‘medbay’ part of that statement,” Optimus said. He pushed the box into the back of a shelf before turning and walking back to one of the workbenches. “And Bulkhead really has gotten better with his…mishaps.” 

“Yes, he’s gotten better.” Ratchet looked up from the monitor with a smirk. “But I think I’ve got a right to nag him about it as long as he continues to break my things.” 

Optimus shook his helm, faintly smiling. He pulled another crate across the table and started examining its contexts. 

“Those should be drill bits,” Ratchet called. “You can set it on this smaller shelf once you’ve gone through them.” 

Optimus dipped his servo inside the box, carefully rifling through its contents. Spotting a mismatched shape amongst the metallic bits, Optimus plucked up a small gear, his digits running along the tiny, even protrusions. 

“...Do you remember that underground gallery I took you to once, right before the movement truly took off?” He absently asked. “There was a piece that resembled a hill covered with wildflowers, but the flowers were made of screws and lugnuts, and gears like this one.” 

He looked over his shoulder; Ratchet was gazing at him and the component, optics soft and a small smile spreading on his faceplate. 

“Yes…the artist was a laborer, and used extra tools and parts from his worksites for the pieces, right? It was good…optic-opening.” His smile turned into a frown, and he shook his helm. “It was fragging unfair that he had to hide it in some dark warehouse on the city outskirts.” 

“Agreed.” Optimus nodded, staring down at the gear before gently setting it on the workbench. He thought for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. “Although, our attempts to sneak over there were rather amusing.”

“Tsch. Amusing for you, maybe!” Ratchet shuddered, but Optimus could see the smile returning to his face. “Peeking around corners, darting from shadow to shadow, nearly having spark attacks every time we thought we heard a police siren. A medical apprentice and a file clerk trying to sneak around like secret agents…we must have looked like idiots.” 

“In our defense, we did not get caught,” Optimus pointed out. Content with his search, he picked up the box and began walking towards the shelf. 

“True,” Ratchet chuckled. He had moved over the shelf himself, double-checking its organization. “No thanks to me. I think I tripped over every single empty visco bottle left in those alleys.” 

“I doubt I was much better.” 

“You were. At least you didn’t trip over anything!” 

Optimus was fully focused on Ratchet; his brightened optics, his small but genuine smile, his carefree joking that was as rare as it was sparkwarming. 

“No, but I-” 

He didn’t even realize how close he was getting to one of the medical berths until the tip of his pede snagged on its corner. His tank dropped as he felt his upper body pitch forward.

“Wait, look out-!” 

His pedes scraped along the cement. He flung his arms out, desperately trying to correct his balance. Drill bits spilled onto the floor like hardened raindrops. He shut his optics on instinct.

“Scrap!” 

CLANG! 

Optimus’ palms slammed into the concrete wall, stinging pain shooting through his wires from the impact. His tank lurched from the sudden stop. The newfound purchase allowed him to rest solidly on the balls of his pedes once more. 

Thank Primus, I must have missed the shelf. That was close-  

He opened his optics, expecting to see dull gray concrete. He was instead greeted by two cyan orbs, wide with shock and mere inches away from his own. 

Oh sla-

-ag cogs frag this is happening. Primus within I’m not dreaming this is actually happening.

Ratchet’s processor spun in his helm like a top. His spark hammered in his chest. He barely vented, not wanting to blow too much air into Optimus’ face because sweet Solus Prime he was right there. 

Having leapt back in an attempt to avoid the stumbling Prime, his back was pressed against the wall. Optimus’ servos were as well, planted on the concrete two centimeters away from Ratchet’s torso on either side, toned red arms barely brushing against his shoulders. He held his own servos close to his frame, very aware that the tips of his digits were almost touching Optimus’ broad, shining chest. Heat rushed through his circuitry and pooled in his cheek plating. 

He could just lean forward a little and be-

No. Don’t you fragging dare. This was clearly an accident. He’s going to move in a second and act all sweetly embarrassed and we’re going to move on, don’t make it weird! 

Except Optimus wasn’t moving. His servos remained pressed against the wall, his face a mere wire-width away from Ratchet’s. Light azure optics flitted in tiny movements back and forth, up and down. His lip components were parted in a slight, gentle o.

“Are…are you alright, Ratchet?” His ocean-deep baritone was barely above a whisper and it still sent shivers down the medic’s spinal strut.

“Y-Yeah,” he squeaked out. His faceplate felt like it was melting. “Per- Perfectly fine, good, great. You?”

“I am…I am okay,” Optimus said. His optics flickered, blue light seeming to seep into his cheek plating. “I’m sorry for…for this.” 

“Don’t be.” 

The words slipped out before Ratchet could think to stop them. His spark promptly shot into his throat pipe. Optimus’ optics widened even further and he swallowed just loud enough for Ratchet to hear. Yet he still didn’t move.

He was so close. So achingly close. 

The warmth radiating off Optimus’ frame wrapped around Ratchet like a blanket. He didn’t realize his servo was moving forward until the tips of his digits touched the other mech’s chest panels; Optimus’ spark pulse thrummed through his joints, quick yet gentle, he was always so gentle. 

Neither of them seemed to vent. Ratchet couldn’t pull his optics away from those gorgeous azure orbs, their light pouring into him and filling his spark until he was sure it would burst. He wanted so desperately to believe that they were really moving closer, that Optimus was dipping his helm nearer and nearer and soon they would- 

“Uhhh…you guys okay?” 

Reality slashed through their warm, enclosed atmosphere like a cold knife. Optimus jolted and sprung back, his right pede crunching down on some of the spilled drill bits. Ratchet was frozen against the wall. His optics just about bulged out of his cranium when he saw two pairs of optical units staring at them from the medbay entrance. 

Bulkhead was the one who had spoken. The former Wrecker’s arms dangled by his sides like broken tree branches, his jaw hanging open. Bumblebee’s baby-blue optics were wide and slowly blinking, giving him the appearance of a startled cartoon owl. It was pretty obvious that they had seen everything, or at least the majority of it.

Primus, if you want to take me now, I won’t complain. 

“I…tripped,” Optimus explained, vaguely gesturing at the upturned crate and drill bits scattered all over the floor. 

“And used Ratchet as a cushion?” Bulkhead asked, still clearly in shock. 

“No,” Optimus sternly replied. He pulled his shoulders back and tipped his chin back, adopting his favorite “I am a dignified Prime who should be respected” stance (It was only somewhat ruined by the crushed drill bits he was sheepishly shaking off of his pede). 

“I almost collided with him by accident. Thankfully, I was able to catch myself.” 

Yes, thankfully. Definitely thankfully. ‘Thankful’ is the singular slagging thing I am feeling right now. 

“Oooookaaaay…” Bumblebee slowly whirred, his optics darting back and forth between the Prime and the medic. “We came over to ask if you were ready for patrol, but if you two are busy here…” 

“It’s fine.” Ratchet finally forced his intake open and stepped away from the wall. He ignored how his knees wobbled. “You can head out, Optimus. I’ll pick this up.” 

“You don’t have to do that, old friend,” Optimus said. He turned back around to meet his gaze, azure optics gently glowing and lip components pulled into a concerned frown. “It was my fault, I should be the one to clean up.” 

“You’re going to need the rest of the day for those patrols.” A smile came to Ratchet’s face all too easily and all too giddily, and he could only hope his blush had died down. Or that Bumblebee and Bulkhead weren’t looking very closely. “I can handle it. You all get going.” 

“If you’re certain…” Optimus said, a small smile of his own growing. His servo moved up and rubbed his chestplate. Right where Ratchet had touched him. 

Vent. Remember to vent, dumbaft! 

“Don’t worry, I’m not that old yet. Go on, roll out and all that.” 

Amusedly shaking his helm, Optimus turned and headed for the door, following their teammates into the hall (Bumblebee had to practically shove his entire weight into Bulkhead to get him to move out of his stunned position). He paused for a moment in the entryway, looking back and lifting his servo in farewell. Smiling that small, sweet, stunning smile. 

Ratchet nodded back, keeping his intake shut. He didn’t trust himself to not blurt something out if he let it open. 

Why didn’t you just stand back up?

Did you like being that close to me?

Did you feel what I did?

You’re so gorgeous.

Don’t go. 

I want you to stay, I want to be with you, I want you. 

I love you. 

Then Optimus was gone, his pedesteps echoing down the hall. The medbay was suddenly silent. Ratchet stared at the doorway, processor spinning and spark so full it ached. 

He’d clean up the drill bits and get back to work in a minute. He would. 

He just needed a moment to sit down and remember how to function again.

Chapter Text

Dust flew into the air as Bumblebee turned off the main road, aiming his grill towards home. Tiny pebbles struck his undercarriage with soft plinks. His engine rumbled smoothly, even as his processor whirred at full capacity. 

“Are you sure?” He asked the young boy sitting in his backseat. 

“Positive.” Raf pushed his glasses back up his nose, cocking his head at the dashboard. “Are you sure? I mean, about what you told me. He could have just been curious or something.” 

“No, I don’t think so. Normally I’d say yes, but things between them have felt…different, lately.” 

He paused for a moment before adding: “Finally.” 

The hidden door to the base slid open, and Bumblebee drove inside. Pulling to a stop by the staircase, he popped his door open, letting Raf hop out. He transformed smoothly, pulling his shoulders back and flaring his door-wings out. Glancing at the console and seeing they were clear, he let out a loud beep.

“Team meeting!” 

Five heads promptly snapped in his direction - one more than he was expecting. Arcee and Bulkhead were leaning against the platform, facing the battered furniture. Seated on the couch between Jack and Miko was Ms. June, her lap occupied by a human medical kit. 

“Team meeting,” Raf translated, setting his backpack next to the armchair with a soft thunk.  

“We’re having a meeting?” Bulkhead alarmedly asked. “I thought the next one wasn’t until next week.”

“And aren’t we missing some rather key components for a ‘team’ meeting?” Arcee dryly noted, her pointer digit gesturing at their distinctly Prime-and-medic-less surroundings in a lazy circle. “Also, we’re busy learning how to keep humans from bleeding out.”

“I can come back and finish this later if we need to,” Ms. June offered, closing the medkit. 

“Yes, no, and please stay, we might need all the help we can get.” Bumblebee pointed at each of them as he beeped. 

“All the help we can get for what?” Arcee asked, standing up straight and frowning. “What’s going on?” 

Bumblebee glanced over his shoulder, his audio receptors tuned for approaching pedesteps. 

“I think we need to talk about Optimus and Ratchet,” he began, facing his friends again. “The whole thing going on with them.” 

“What thing?” Bulkhead questioned.

“You know…the thing?” 

The green mech stared blankly at him. 

“The thing we walked in on yesterday?” Bumblebee dipped his chin and raised his optical ridges significantly. “In the medbay?” 

“Oh…” Bulkhead’s optics went wide, a faint blush spreading across his faceplate. “Oh. Right. That.”

“Yes, Bulk’, that!” 

“Wait, hang on, what happened in the medbay?” Jack asked as soon as Raf had finished translating. 

“But I thought Optimus said he tripped.” Bulkhead ignored the teen, his brows furrowed in confusion. “I mean, you don’t really think he pinned Ratchet to a wall on purpose, do you?” 

For a second, the base was so quiet they could have heard a pin drop. Bumblebee blinked at the increasingly shocked expressions spreading on his teammate’s faces.

They can’t be that surprised by this, can they?  

“...What?” Jack’s eyes resembled small moons.

“Oh my gosh…” Miko squeaked, pressing her fingers over her lips.

“You’re joking.” Arcee’s expression rested solidly between confusion and horror. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

…Okay, I guess they can.

Bulkhead’s optics bulged out of his cranium as he realized what just left his intake. “I- I mean, Optimus wasn’t really pinning him to the wall! He just- just had his arms by each of the doc’s sides…” The former Wrecker held his own arms straight out in front of him, mimicking the Prime’s position. “You know, only kinda boxing him in! He definitely could have just slipped out or pushed him away!”

“Did he?” Miko asked, a grin rapidly growing on her face. 

Bulkhead stared blankly at the backs of his servos. “Uh…no. He just…sort of…stood there.”

“Holy crap…they did a scene right out of my favorite romance anime and I missed it.”

“I think it definitely started with Optimus tripping,” Bumblebee broke in, feeling a need to defend his mentors. “There was stuff all over the floor. But at the same time…we were standing there for almost a minute and they weren’t moving.” 

“They could have just been staring awkwardly at each other?” Jack offered. 

“For more than a minute?” Raf asked, raising his eyebrow. 

Jack opened his mouth, then shut it; unable to find an argument. 

“Ratchet didn’t even act that embarrassed afterward, just kinda blushed and smiled at Optimus…” Bulkhead muttered, his arms still hanging stiffly in front of him. 

“Ratchet blushed?” Arcee asked incredulously. “He can do that?”

“Barely even noticed us. And the boss was pretty distracted on patrol afterwards. He almost drifted into me a couple times.” 

“What?!”

“Almost! He only scraped my wheel rims!”

“Okay, okay, hang on,” Arcee said, holding up her servos. “If you’re all suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, well…” She frowned. “Wouldn’t we have noticed something before now?” 

Bumblebee looked over at Raf, giving him a nod.

“Actually…” Raf said, scratching his scalp. “I was looking through the downloads on the main console a few days ago, and I found something a little… weird downloaded when Optimus’ credentials were logged into the computer last week.” 

“How weird?” Miko asked, leaning forward. 

“Um…romance novel weird?” 

“What?!” 

“I also looked at what he was looking up beforehand,” Raf added, wrinkling his nose. “A bunch of online dictionary entries for love and romance, advice columns for asking someone out, stuff like that.” 

Arcee’s intake had formed a perfect o. Bulkhead’s arms dropped limply to his sides. The base was silent under an invisible blanket of shock. 

(Well, almost silent. Bumblebee was pretty sure he detected a faint, high-pitched squeeing coming from Miko.) 

“Wait…” Ms. June broke the silence. The nurse was frowning, her hands folded on top of the medical kit. “I think I’m confused. You’re all talking like Optimus and Ratchet are…” 

Bumblebee’s optics narrowed ever so slightly.

“...Like they’re what, Mom?” Jack asked, a note of hesitance in his voice. 

“Are they…” Ms. June paused, then looked up with a confused frown. 

“Are they not already a couple?” 

Bumblebee’s fists unclenched even as he bit back a giggle. He did better than Miko, who threw her head back with a wild cackle. 

“N-No, Mom?!” Jack sputtered, his face turning a deep shade of pink. He glanced up at the bots. “At least I don’t think so?!” 

“Don’t look at me!” Bulkhead exclaimed, holding his servos up. 

“No…” Arcee glanced over at Bumblebee (he helpfully shook his helm). “No, they’re not! Why…?”  

“Oh.” Ms. June blinked. “I guess I just assumed…they seemed so close. And there were things Ratchet would say, or the way he said them…” She shook her head. “Well, I guess I just assumed wrong.” 

“Well, you’re not wrong wrong…” Bumblebee slowly beeped. Raf interpreted for his fellow humans as he continued. “They’ve known each other since before the war. Ever since I’ve met them, they’ve been close - closer with each other than either of them have been with anyone else. Optimus trusted Ratchet with everything, including stuff he didn’t talk about with his advisors. And Ratchet always stuck close to him, even when he could have been reassigned to safer locations. They’re definitely friends, but…”

The scout looked down, clenching his servos together. “Sometimes it feels like they want to be more, but they don’t know how. Like, they both always go out of their way to make sure the other is okay. They stick close to each other in the field and always hang out together when they’re not. And that’s only happened more since Optimus lost the Matrix!”

Optimus’ words to him from days ago returned to him. “I realized something last week. It involves both Ratchet and I, and I wish to explain it to him, but I am struggling to figure out how.” 

“I just…” Bumblebee looked up at them, optics wide and pleading. “I know they’d be happy together, and I’ve been trying to nudge them closer since we were on Cybertron, but for some reason they just can’t spit it out! I want to help them - they basically raised me together for cog’s sake - but I don’t know what else I can do!” 

Quiet settled across the group. Bulkhead scratched the back of his helm. Arcee pursed her lip components in thought. Raf, Jack, and Miko looked at each other, while Ms. June idly tapped her nails against the kit. 

“Okay, Bumblebee…” Ms. June carefully said, making eye contact with him as she spoke. “What you’re trying to do is really sweet, and I’m sure Optimus and Ratchet would appreciate it. But you know it will be okay if they don’t end up together, right? Either way, it has to be their decision.” 

“I know, Ms. June,” he softly beeped, offering the woman a small smile. “I just want to help.”

“We’ve got to get them to talk about it together,” Arcee said, crossing her arms. Her expression and tone were as serious as when she was discussing mission strategies. “That’s the only way anything’s going to change.” 

“But they already talk to each other all the time!” Bulkhead pointed out. “What are we supposed to do, just wait until they’re in the same room and say ‘hey, do you guys like each other?’” 

The Wrecker pouted slightly. “If that does end up being the plan, I do not want to be the one to do it. Ratchet’s threatened me with a wrench enough times.” 

“No…” Jack said, pressing his chin against his fist. “I don’t think we can be involved. Optimus is pretty private with his feelings, even after he learned how to work the Matrix’s emotion-dampener-thing. So’s Ratchet. If they’re actually going to talk about it, I’d guess they’d do it on their own.” 

Ms. June nodded in agreement, looking more than a little proud. 

“I already basically told Optimus he should talk to Ratchet about it,” Bumblebee mused. “But that was before the medbay incident, so maybe…” 

“We know they can talk to each other,” Raf said, fiddling with the frames of his glasses. “So the part we can help with is getting them alone. We just gotta figure out how.” 

“Ooo, I got this!” Miko bounced up in her seat, clapping her hands together. “So, we lead them both into a room - one of their bedrooms or the medbay, maybe a closet if we have to - and we lock them inside for the night, or until they confess their feelings. They’re alone, and the only thing they’ll be able to do is talk to each other. Foolproof!” 

Bumblebee counted exactly seven seconds of complete silence as they all stared at her. 

“What?” She asked.

“Yeah, ‘foolproof’ isn’t the word I’d use…” Jack said with an accompanying facepalm. 

“Why not?”

“One; locking two robot warriors in a room is probably a lot harder than that.” Jack began counting off his fingers. “Two; they might assume that we’ll be listening in the whole time, so they won’t actually say anything. Three; knowing our luck, the Decepticons would probably choose that exact moment to break into a government facility or something, so we’d either have to deal with it alone or let them out anyway!” 

“Four; I’m pretty sure that that idea is a crime on at least some planets,” Arcee noted with faint horror. 

“Five; Optimus could probably just break down the door,” Bulkhead added. “And then we’d all have double the patrols and wash rack cleaning duty for months. And that’s not getting into what Ratchet will do to us.” 

“...Okay, maybe not that, then…” Miko admitted, frowning at the tips of her shoes. 

“Yeah, probably not,” Bumblebee chuckled.

Still, his spark felt warm as his teammates began discussing ideas and possible plans, none of them questioning or joking about what they were doing. He had half-expected to get laughed out of the base when he brought this up. 

He blinked, his processor quietly whirring in his helm. 

…laughed out of the base…

A grin slowly started to spread across his faceplate. The others’ conversation petered off and they looked at him curiously. 

“I’ve got an idea.”

Chapter Text

“See you later, Bulkhead!” Miko called out, waving her arm wildly as the former Wrecker dashed through the GroundBridge. “Knock a few heads together for me!” 

“He is only going on patrol, Miko,” Optimus gently pointed out, though a slight smile was growing on his lip components. “But I am certain he will keep you in consideration if he were to encounter Decepticons.” 

“As long as he punches Breakdown in my name at least once the next time we see him, I’ll be good.” Miko plopped herself onto the chair, her legs dangling over its arm. 

Team Prime had gathered in the base’s main room that morning to begin their individual patrols, the children joining them from the platform and Rafael operating the GroundBridge. The only one not present was Ratchet; the medic had risen early to perform maintenance on their energon storage units.

Optimus couldn’t help but feel disappointed by this, his optics drifting away from his teammates and towards the dimmed hallway leading into the depths of the base. His servo, seemingly of its own accord, reached up and settled against his chestplate. 

He wished it were another set of digits resting there, steady and sure. That gentle vents were brushing against his lower faceplate. That beautiful cyan optics, sharp and warm in equal measures, were meeting his own. 

Did you feel the same as I did? Did you not push me away because you wanted me close to you? 

I want to be. I want you. I love-

“Next bridge is to Death Valley,” Rafael announced. “Who’s is that?”

Optimus shook his helm, his servo dropping from his chest. “It is mine,” he said, stepping forward. 

“I’ll take it.”

Optimus blinked in surprise as Arcee headed towards the GroundBridge array, a portal exploding into existence with a sizzling blast. “There is no need, Arcee. It is my turn to patrol there.”

“It’s fine,” she said, throwing a grin over her shoulder. “I’ve been craving some desert driving. You can take mine in Tall Point State Park.” 

She transformed, her tires squealing against the floor as she sped through the vortex. 

“...Are we not surrounded by a desert?” Optimus confusedly asked. 

“Maybe she wanted to drive in a different desert,” Bumblebee suggested, bumping the older mech’s arm with his elbow. “Besides, you like that park. Don’t look a gift cow in the intake!” 

Before Optimus could reply (or correct the scout’s usage of Earth sayings), the GroundBridge burst open again. 

“Your turn, Optimus!” Rafael called, spinning in his chair to grin at him. 

Something was nudging the back of his processor; whether it was the Matrix’s wisdom or his own intuition, he couldn’t tell, but something was off. Rafael’s smile was a touch wider than usual, as was Bumblebee’s. Miko was staring rather determinedly at the ceiling with lips pressed firmly together. Jack glanced up from his homework, only for his eyes to quickly dart back down to his textbook. 

“...Is something going on?” He carefully asked, raising his optical ridge at them. 

“What? No!” Bumblebee said, flicking his wrist. “The kids just…have plans, that’s all! They’re probably trying to hurry up and kick us out so they can get to it!” 

Optimus blinked, wondering if Miko was actually making a muffled “eeeee” noise or if he was just hearing things. 

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “I hope you all have an enjoyable day, then.” 

“We will,” Rafael said, still wearing that odd grin.

“You too!” Bumblebee added.

Shaking his helm at the often-unfathomable antics of children, Optimus turned and headed into the GroundBridge. He imagined he would get a vivid description of whatever they got up to from Ratchet later. 

The crackling scent of ozone filled his olfactory sensors, and the white light of the Bridge’s center gave way to a sunlit clearing. His pedes left the swirling pathway of particles and settled on a bed of emerald green grass. 

Optimus smiled to himself. Odd train of events that led him here aside, he was happy to have this patrol location. Tall Point State Park was a protected stretch of wilderness in the northwest region of the country, filled with thick forests, clear rivers, and gently-sloping mountains. Trails meant for the public were few and far between, preserving the area’s beauty through isolation, along with minimizing any possible encounters with humans. 

The GroundBridge had deposited him near the top of one of the mountains, far from any of the human footpaths. Looking to his left, he took in the sprawling view of the valley below, layered with treetops of countless shades of green and spotted with two small lakes. Thin yet fluffy clouds drifted lazily across the distant horizon. 

Optimus closed his optics and tipped his helm back, allowing himself a moment to relax. His armor loosened from his chassis as he soaked in the warm sunlight. Wind faintly whistled by, tickling his audials. He took a deep vent, letting his systems expand in his chest.

If he were being honest, he would much rather be here than in Death Valley. After the last couple weeks of wrestling with his emotions, it would be a lovely opportunity for peace and quiet-

“OPTIMUS!” 

Nearly jumping in place, Optimus spun around, his servo transformed into a sword. His optics widened as he took in the white and orange form rushing through the GroundBridge towards him. 

“Ratchet?!” 

“I got here as soon as I could,” the medic gasped. His optics flickered frantically across Optimus’ frame, his scanner already pointed at him. “I didn’t hear all of what Bumblebee said, but if you need medical attention we need to get back to…base…you’re alright?” 

“Yes…?” Optimus confusedly responded, putting away his blade and cocking his helm. “Why would I not be?” 

“But…Bumblebee and Rafael said you commed in a minute ago saying something was wrong-” 

With a crackle and a soft whoosh, the GroundBridge smoothly closed behind him. 

The pair stared at each other for an agonizingly-long moment, their silence punctuated by the cool breeze and a distant twitter from a bird. 

“...The Bridge did not just close.” 

“I am sorry to disappoint you, old friend, but…” 

Ratchet sucked in a vent and turned on his heel strut, his back facing Optimus as he reached up and jabbed a digit against his comms unit. “Rafael, open the GroundBridge.” 

“Has something happened?” Optimus jumped on the comm link to add. 

“No, we’re good here!” Rafael said, his voice accompanied by the muffled clattering of keys. “The GroundBridge just…um…closed on its own.” 

“What do you mean it ‘closed on its own’?” Ratchet demanded, his fist clenched and tapping against his thigh. “I just did a maintenance check on it last week, and everything was in order. Try turning it back on!”

“...It’s…uh…not working.”  

“Did you try remotely recalibrating the sensor array?”

“Um, hang on…” 

“Sorry about this, Ratchet,” Bumblebee piped up. “I guess I overreacted a bit.” 

“You think?” Ratchet quietly huffed. 

“At least you’re still on the same continent!” The scout’s tone was oddly cheerful. “Worst case scenario, you guys can just drive back on your own, right?” 

“That would take us the better part of a day!” Ratchet balked. “Bumblebee, I’ve got inventory to do!” 

“I can start it if you need! Besides, some fresh air could do you good, Ratch’. And it’ll give you and Optimus some nice, quality time together.” 

“For Prima’s sake, Bumblebee…”

Optimus had opened his intake, intending to diffuse the situation, only for the words to freeze in his voice box. His servo fell to his side, deactivating his comm link. His processor began whirring in his helm like an Insecticon’s wings.

He glanced over at the surrounding forest - at the beautiful place he had been to so many times, yet Ratchet had never experienced - before looking back at the medic. 

His spark fluttered in his chest. 

“It’s fine…” Ratchet turned so Optimus could see his profile, pinching his olfactory sensors. “Just…I’ll look at it when we get back. Let Bulkhead and Arcee know so they don’t burn themselves out with apparently no way to get back on their own, got it? …Good. Comm us if anything comes up.” 

The medic’s servos dropped to his sides and rolled his helm back, groaning at the sky. “Well, this is just perfect.” 

“I’m sorry if this inconveniences you, old friend,” Optimus said, stepping forward. He cleared his throat pipe. “But…Bumblebee is right. This could be a good opportunity for you to take a well-deserved break from your duties.” 

“I might have agreed,” Ratchet huffed, “if I’d done it on my own time, not gotten tricked into it by those little scraphelms!” 

“We do not know you were tricked-” 

Ratchet rolled his helm to the side and raised his optical ridges at him.

“...Alright, you were likely tricked,” Optimus admitted, “but I imagine there was a reason for it.”

“A reason I’m looking forward to hearing,” Ratchet grumbled, glaring down at his pedes. He tossed his servos up. “How am I supposed to do anything useful out here?”

Optimus’ spark sank slightly. 

“If you truly wish to return to base, Ratchet, I am certain I can convince them to send a Bridge,” he said. “I do not wish to needlessly trouble you.” 

He meant for his voice to be neutral; but there must have been some tremble or touch of sadness in his tone, because Ratchet’s helm swiveled to stare at him. His vents caught in his throat pipe as those sharp cyan orbs focused on his face. Looking for something, waiting for something.

Maybe…wanting something? 

Optimus swallowed the lump in his throat pipe and tried to remember that he had overcome far more terrifying things than this. 

“Alternatively, I would be happy if you joined me on this patrol route.” He offered the other mech a timid smile. “The park is quite beautiful, and has very little human traffic. I can show you some specific locations I’ve found that are very pleasing to the optic.” 

Ratchet’s optics widened until they looked like two blue suns gleaming at him. The sight was nearly enough to flip Optimus’ tank upside down. 

“Only if you want to, old friend,” he quickly added. 

“I…” Ratchet blinked rapidly, ducking his helm. He looked down at his servos, digits slowly clenching and unfurling. When he looked up again, a tiny smile had spread across his faceplate, cheeks tinged with a faint blue. 

“Well, I guess stretching my leg cables a bit wouldn’t hurt,” he said. “If you really don’t mind.” 

Joy surged through Optimus’ systems like a flood laced with electricity. His spark flipped excitedly in its casing. The corners of his lip components shot upwards of their own accord. 

“I would love it, Ratchet.”

The park’s terrain was such that moving in vehicle mode was difficult; outright impossible in some areas. Even if it hadn’t been, Optimus doubted he would have transformed unless he had to. Leaving tire tracks and kicking up dirt all over the protected area felt reprehensible. 

For that reason, he and Ratchet were walking through a large grove of pine trees, their pace slow and serene. They weaved between the trunks, often ducking under the lower limbs. Fallen needles, orange and dry, crunched softly under their pedes.

“These are the ones that those hood ornaments are supposed to smell like, right?” Ratchet said, peering up at the thin branches and tiny budding cones. 

“I believe so, yes,” Optimus replied. 

Pursing his lip components, Ratchet grabbed one of the lower branches and pulled it down in front of his face. He gingerly sniffed a cluster of needles. 

“Your verdict?” Optimus amusedly asked. 

“Not bad,” Ratchet said with a shrug, releasing the branch. “Definitely better than those tacky things.” 

“Ratchet, it was very kind of June to gift those to us,” Optimus said, trying to sound stern. “...Even if they did smell rather odd.” 

“I didn’t mind those ‘fuzzy dice’ things,” Ratchet mused. “They would have made good fidget devices if they’d been bigger.” 

They continued walking, falling into pleasant silence. A cardinal flitted past with a sharp chirp and a flutter of scarlet wings. Optimus reached out, the tips of his digits brushing against the ridged bark of a nearby trunk. 

“I can’t remember…” Ratchet nudged a half-rotten log aside with his pede. “Why did we assign a patrol route for this park specifically? Did we think it might have energon deposits at some point?” 

“There is a small network of caverns under the mountain,” Optimus replied. “I believe we confirmed that there was not any energon, but given how isolated the area is…” He shrugged. “There is no harm in occasionally checking in.” 

“Especially if it means not being in vehicular mode while patrolling for once?” Ratchet asked, his tone mildly teasing. 

“It is certainly an added bonus,” Optimus chuckled. He tipped his helm back, taking in a deep vent of air, tinged with the tangy scent of pine. “I cannot say I understand why more humans do not venture here, but I am glad they don’t.” 

Glancing over, he saw Ratchet gazing upwards towards the treetops. Sunlight streamed through the branches, casting thin, criss-crossing golden beams across white and orange armor. His shoulders were relaxed and his cyan optics crinkled as he smiled. 

“I guess I can see why you find this place beautiful,” he said. 

“Yes, beautiful…” Optimus murmured, unable to pull his optics away. His spark was fluttering faster than the cardinal. “I’m glad you ack!” 

Something thin and piercing jabbed into his left optic. He stumbled backwards, pressing the heel of his palm against his watering optic. 

“What’s wro-” Ratchet stared at him. “Did…did you just walk into a tree branch?” 

“...I might have,” Optimus said, glaring halfheartedly at the still-twitching limb. His digits rubbed at the stinging optical unit. His dentra clenched from the discomfort; he hoped it would hide the blue blush he could feel spreading across his faceplate. 

“Wait, stop.” Ratchet stepped forward, servos reaching out. “Quit rubbing it.”

“Something’s still in there,” Optimus gritted out, fighting the urge to activate his battle mask from sheer embarrassment. 

“You’re going to irritate your optical unit further if you keep doing that. Let me look.” 

“It’s fine, Ratchet-”

“I have smaller digits, it’ll be better-”

“I can do it-” 

“Oh, just lean down!”

Optimus immediately recognized the other mech’s “I am your medic and you will listen to me, so help me Primus” tone. Huffing softly, he let his servo drop from his twinging optic. He leaned down until his face was only a little higher than Ratchet’s. 

“Let’s see…” The medic murmured, optics softly whirring as they zoomed in on Optimus’ face. “Yeah, looks like a couple needles slipped in between the main unit and the neuro-links…scrap, how fast did you walk into that branch?” 

“I was…distracted,” Optimus said. Heat rushed through his face and coiled around his throat pipe. “Any damage?” 

“No, just irritation,” Ratchet replied. “I should be able to pull them out.” 

“Very well.” 

Ratchet nodded and stepped even closer. He reached up and grasped Optimus’ chin, gently tilting it to get a better angle. His digits were steady and cool against his mesh. 

Optimus gulped and silently prayed the medic wouldn’t notice his pulse spiking. 

“Hold still,” Ratchet said, frowning in concentration. His thumb and pointer digit appeared in Optimus’ vision. “Try to keep your optic open as wide as you can.” 

Optimus did so as best he could, hissing air between his dentra as Ratchet’s digits pinched the first needle and plucked it out. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Ratchet whispered. “Just one more…” 

Ratchet carefully grasped the second needle and, even more gently this time, pulled the tiny plant part free. Optimus sighed in relief, blinking away the last of the pain. 

“Thank you, old friend,” he said, smiling as his vision finally cleared. 

Ratchet’s optics glowed in triumph. “I’m just glad that’s all they did,” he said, flicking the lubricant-soaked needle onto the forest floor. “And that I didn’t push them in deeper or anything.” 

“You wouldn’t have,” Optimus said, his voice softening. “I trust you not to.” 

Ratchet blinked, cyan optics flashing with quiet joy. His servo shifted - his thumb digit nearly brushing against Optimus’ lip components -  to cup the side of his face, palm warm against his cheek. 

Optimus’ vents caught in his throat pipe. His spark thumped rapidly in his chest and his joints grew hot. He didn’t dare so much as twitch. Ratchet’s optics seemed to grow wider, his lip components clamping together. 

This feels like…he’s so close…is he actually going to- 

“W-Well, good.” Ratchet abruptly pulled his servo away. He stepped back, rubbing his forehelm and looking around at everything that wasn’t Optimus. “Glad you have faith in me.” 

“...Of course.” Optimus slowly straightened his spinal strut. He swallowed down the disappointment surging from his spark, clenching his servos together to keep them from reaching towards the medic. “Thank you again, old friend.” 

Ratchet’s gaze finally met his once more; his optics were still bright, but his smile looked oddly strained. “No problem. Should we keep going?” 

Optimus could see the diversion for what it was, but he didn’t push the issue - no matter how fast his spark was pulsing or how warm his faceplate felt. 

Not yet. Don’t push him if he’s still uncomfortable. He deserves better than that. 

…He deserves the universe and so much more.

“Of course. This way.”

Chapter Text

Ratchet knew damn well that one’s spark could not actually reside in one’s throat pipe; at least not without very quickly expiring.

But by the AllSpark, his was doing a good job of convincing him otherwise. 

Pedes light and electricity dancing through his wires, he felt like he was floating over a precipice as they left the pine grove. Optimus was walking right next to him - his steps deliberately slow to allow Ratchet and his shorter legs to keep up - close enough that their armor nearly brushed against each other. The larger mech had his helm tipped back, azure optics gazing up at the clouds drifting overhead. His smile was soft with contemplation. 

Ratchet couldn’t help but sneak a look. Or three. 

Try as he might, he hadn’t really been able to deny that something had happened in the medbay. He couldn’t stop thinking about it - Optimus’ arms on either of his sides, his faceplate mere inches from his, the fact that he hadn’t pulled away. Even after centuries of overthinking his observations and shoving his own feelings down, he struggled to find an explanation for Optimus’ actions that didn’t involve him wanting to be that close. 

Now they were walking together through a wildlife park, surrounded by beautiful scenery and serene sounds, because Optimus wanted to share something he enjoyed with him. 

And when Ratchet had caught himself nearly caressing his face and backed away - trying to maintain their status quo for fear of going too far, as he had done for centuries - Optimus hadn’t appeared relieved or confused. If anything, he’d looked dismayed. 

And as exhilarating as that was, it was also terrifying.

He couldn’t have possibly wanted me to- but he didn’t seem to mind-

No, you know he’s not into that, and he’s not into you. He’s just being a good friend. 

But what if- what if it is more? What if this is his way of trying to tell me?

But I’ve been acting like a grumpy old cranker and pushed him away, and now he probably thinks I’m not interested and I’ve ruined my only chance-

He shook his helm, gritting his dentra so hard it hurt.

What in the Pits am I thinking? I still haven’t let this slagging fantasy go, and I’m probably just projecting my feelings onto his actions and ruining everything. But what if- 

“Ratchet?” Optimus’ gentle baritone broke through his swirling thoughts.

“I’m fine!” Ratchet blurted, snapping his helm towards the taller mech. 

Optimus blinked down at him, optics wide with startled confusion. 

“Good…?” He hesitantly replied, shoulders bunching closer together.

Ratchet’s spark promptly relocated itself from his throat pipe to his tank. 

“No, I…” He covered his faceplate with his servo, the mesh hot under his digits. “I’m sorry, that was…I’m being an afthole again, ignore me…”

Optimus paused mid-step. Ratchet froze, unease churning in his tank as the larger mech rested a servo on his shoulder and gently turned him to face him. He reluctantly looked up and met his friend’s steady gaze. 

“Ratchet,” the Prime said with a firm yet soft voice, “you are not an idiot, nor an…unpleasant bot. You sometimes act out of frustration or anger, but you always work to keep us safe and healthy. You saved our lives countless times and you’ve helped me in so many ways.”

He paused for a moment, quietly swallowing. His optics were twin oceans; Ratchet would have been happy to dive into their beautiful blue depths and never come back up. 

“When you speak as if you have such a low opinion of yourself, I wish I could convince you otherwise. Because you are one of the best mechs I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.” 

Ratchet stared at him for a long moment. His optics drifted down until he was looking at Optimus’ chestplate, where his spark pulsed. His beautiful spark that shone so much brighter than his ever could.

“I should be better,” he mumbled, the heavy knot of shame in his tank tightening. Words he always kept carefully locked in his processor came spilling out. “I should have fixed Bumblebee’s voice box, I shouldn’t have said all those things to you when I was on SynthEn, I should have realized you were struggling long before you broke down in front of me.” 

He gulped; his vision was going fuzzy. 

“I should be better to the team - better to you - but I’m not. Just now, you wanted to share this place with me and I was being too much of a fraghelm to realize it. I’m always getting more grumpy, more bitter. I’m falling into some dark pit, and I just…I don’t want to drag you down with me.” 

Even if you wanted someone, why would someone like you want someone like me? 

Optimus was quiet. His servo was warm and solid on his shoulder; a sharp contrast to the cool wind whistling through the gaps in their armor. Ratchet pulled his plating closer to his chassis, still staring at the other mech’s chestplate.

He startled when the Prime leaned down, his faceplate dipping into Ratchet’s vision. Optimus’ expression was soft, his azure optics gently glowing. 

“Come with me,” he said. “I think you need to see something.” 

Something was caught in Ratchet’s throat pipe. He swallowed and managed a tiny nod. Optimus’ smile nearly made him choke.

They continued walking. The rough path began to dip down and narrow, patches of grass and young trees giving way to well-weathered dirt and jagged rocks. Optimus took the lead, carefully picking his way down the incline, Ratchet on his heel struts. The mountain’s peak stretched into the sky above them, casting a shadow over them as they descended. Tiny clusters of white bell-shaped flowers (snowdrops, he believed they were called) sprung out from between the boulders. 

Five minutes had passed when Ratchet became aware of a faint, rushing sound. It grew louder and more distinct as they continued, drowning out the crunching of dirt and pebbles under their pedes. They were soon enveloped in a thin mist; he glanced down to see tiny droplets forming on his arm plating. 

“We are almost there,” Optimus called out. 

“Almost where?” Ratchet couldn’t help but ask. “And what is that sound?”

Optimus looked back over his shoulder, his smile verging on a full-blown grin. “You shall see,” he replied, optics alight with joyful excitement. 

He hadn’t looked like that since he was Orion Pax.

Ratchet’s spark lit up like a firecracker. It was impossible not to return that smile. 

The path had tapered until it was little more than a narrow ledge running down the mountainside, and the rushing had transformed into a dull roar. Turning a corner, Optimus paused, pivoting to look at Ratchet and sweeping his arm out. 

Ratchet’s optics widened as he took in the small ravine before them. It was roughly triangular in shape; two cliffsides converging at one end and opening out to reveal grassy slopes and forests on the other. The rock walls were sheer and spotted with clumps of deep green moss. A waterfall as wide as Ratchet’s shoulders poured into the gully, forming a pool that took up most of the bottom before trickling down the mountainside as a river. 

“I only found this place the fourth time I patrolled here,” Optimus said, gingerly stepping down onto a smaller shelf just below their ledge. “It is too isolated for humans to construct a trail to.” 

“Shame for the humans,” Ratchet said, resting his servos on his hips. 

“Indeed,” Optimus chuckled. He hopped off the shelf and landed in the pond, splashing water onto his legs and lower torso. “Still, I cannot bring myself to complain.” 

Turning back around, he tipped his helm back to look up at Ratchet. He held his servo out to him, optics as bright as his smile. 

Ratchet’s spark skipped a pulse. Sitting down on the ledge, he took the offered servo, leaning into the large, warm palm as he carefully clambered down the rocks. 

“Primus!” He yelped as his pedes plunged into the water, chilly liquid seeping into his joints and rushing up to just above his knees. He stepped closer to Optimus, nearly pressing himself against his frame on instinct. 

“Apologies, old friend,” Optimus said, grasping his elbow to steady him. “I should have mentioned the temperature beforehand.”

“It’s- it’s fine,” Ratchet stuttered out. His optics flickered from his pedes to Optimus’ face to their intertwined servos in rapid succession. “Just need to get used to it.” 

Optimus’ digits squeezed his. The larger mech turned and waded further into the pool, gently pulling him along until they stood in the center of the water, where the thundering waterfall could cast tiny droplets on their frames. 

The deep, steady sound settled on Ratchet’s processor like a weighted blanket. Shoulders slowly relaxing, he absently rubbed his thumb along Optimus’ knuckle. Optimus stepped a little closer, his hip nearly touching Ratchet’s. They stood together, enclosed in their own peaceful world of clear water, dark rock, and pale mist. 

“I’m not normally much of a water bot…” Ratchet said, “but this is beautiful.”

“I am glad you enjoy it,” Optimus said, smiling down at him. 

Ratchet returned it, though soon his grin faltered. He looked down; the water was so clear he could easily trace the edges of his pede. 

His spark jumped when Optimus’ pedes appeared in his vision, their points edging closer to his. Heat rippled across his frame from both his nerves and the large frame mere inches away from his faceplate. 

“I know you often don’t like to discuss your feelings, old friend…” Optimus said, rubbing circles into Ratchet’s servo with his thumb. “But I am becoming worried about you. You’ve been acting unusually tense for more than a week now, and I…” 

He reached forward with his free servo, tucking his curled thumb and pointer digit under Ratchet’s chin and tilting it upwards. Tired cyan optics met anxious azure ones. 

“If something is troubling you, I want to help,” Optimus said. “I…I care about you a great deal, Ratchet, and I hate to see you upset.” 

Forget being in his throat pipe or tank, Ratchet’s spark was slingshotting all throughout his frame. Optimus’ face was wide open with sweet concern, and so achingly close to his. He had to look away, had to stop himself from standing on his toe struts to bridge the gap between them, instead pressing his forehelm into the broad chestplate in front of him. His very core shook and throbbed with want, his vents coming in deep, shuddering gasps.

He would not cry. He’d gone this whole war without crying in front of someone, he wasn’t going to start now. Certainly not over this.

Optimus didn’t speak. His arm slipped around Ratchet’s back and pulled him closer, his chin resting on his helm. Ratchet shivered and squeezed the Prime’s digits until he was worried they’d break. 

“There’s…there’s something I haven’t told you,” he scratchily whispered. He pressed his palm against Optimus’ chest, warm and solid compared to the cold water they stood in. “Something that…I don’t know if you would accept it. I know I should probably just tell you and get it over with, but if you don’t take it well, it…it would just make things worse. So I try not to think about it. But…”

But you’re the one who protects me and the ones we care about. You’re the one who treats me as a friend instead of a medic. You’re the one who shows me the beauty in everything, no matter how bad things are.

You are the light in all of my darkest hours. 

“...But I can’t stop myself, no matter how hard I try.” He blinked; all he could see was blurry shapes of red and gray. “Normally I can ignore it, but lately I…I can’t stop thinking…I’m sorry.” 

He choked out a strained bark of laughter. “Like I said, I don’t want to bring you down. You don’t want- you deserve better than me.”

You deserve the universe and so much more. 

Optimus’ arm tightened around his torso, his helm twisting so his cheek rested on Ratchet’s helm. Shuddering, the medic snaked his arm around his frame, digits digging into his back plating. He shifted closer, closing his optics and burying himself in the warmth of Optimus’ frame. The roaring of the waterfall and the sensation of water in his leg struts faded away. 

In that moment, the world contained nothing but him and his best friend, the secret love of his life.

I could stay like this forever. 

I know I can’t, but it’s true. 

“There is another reason I wanted to show you this place,” Optimus murmured, his chestplate gently vibrating with the words. “This waterfall is fed by a spring further up the mountain. The water starts there, moves through these falls, and travels all the way down to rivers and lakes in the valley.” 

“Mhhmm?” Ratchet hummed in reply, keeping his optics shut. 

“The water begins at the very top of the peak,” Optimus softly continued, “nearly touching the sky. Yet it will fall, all the way down to the lakes and river below.”

Ratchet’s optics snapped open. 

“Why are you telling me this?” He whispered. 

Optimus’ vents were warm against his audial. His large servo rubbed his backplates, tense metal relaxing under gentle digits. Ratchet swallowed and looked up to see optics bright with an endless compassion gazing down at him.

“Because it doesn’t stay there forever,” Optimus said with a smile. He tipped his helm back and nodded at the sky above them. “Are you familiar with the Earth water cycle, old friend?” 

“Vaguely?” Ratchet blinked confusedly, following the Prime’s gaze upwards. The silvery-gray mists above them rippled and twisted together much like the water they stood in. 

“It’s quite fascinating,” Optimus said. His voice took on that excited energy it had whenever Orion had discovered a new favorite topic. “Ponds, rivers, lakes, and even oceans are fed by natural springs and rainfall. These bodies of water are then warmed by the sun, which causes the water to evaporate and float up to the troposphere, the lower layer of Earth’s atmosphere. Clouds will form from these vapors, growing heavier and heavier with water, until it finally releases the liquid through raindrops, which fall to the earth. And the cycle will repeat, over and over again.” 

Optimus looked back down at him, lip components pulled up in a soft smile. “The water may travel to the lowest point on the earth, yet there is always a chance it can change and rise back up to the sky again. It takes time and effort, but it can happen.” 

Ratchet’s spark was finally back in his chest, and it was swirling with more emotion than he could process. 

How can I not love this mech? 

He didn’t even bother trying to push the thought to the back of his processor. 

“You and your inspiring speeches…” Ratchet weakly chuckled before slumping forward, burying his face in the larger mech’s chestplate once more. “Thank you.”  

“Any time, old friend,” Optimus murmured, tightening his embrace. “Any time…” 

Cool water kept lapping at Ratchet’s knee joints. The falls kept rumbling as water cascaded down the mountainside. Mist kept leisurely churning above their helms like a cauldron filled with whites and grays.

A dark part of Ratchet’s processor kept whispering in his audios, hissing doubts, fears, and condemnations as it so often did. 

But Optimus was holding him, so close that he could feel his spark pulsing through his frame alongside his own, and he could almost believe everything would be okay. 

“There is one more thing I wanted to show you,” Optimus said after a long moment. “If you feel up to it, old friend.” 

Ratchet stepped back; his frame felt more relaxed than it had in stellar cycles. His smile came easily when he met Optimus’ gaze. 

“I’d love to.”

The mountainside grew less steep as they continued down, harsh rock paths transforming into stretches of grass and copses of trees. They had left behind the stream fed by the pool a while ago; Ratchet’s pedes were just starting to feel dry again. Mist had given way to bright sunlight, the beams pleasantly warm against his frame. 

Optimus had grabbed his servo to lead him out of the ravine and hadn’t let go of it since. His digits felt warm and reassuring around his, and Ratchet couldn’t help but run his thumb along his knuckles as they walked along. Especially since Optimus kept responding with small smiles and gentle servo squeezes. 

“Where are you taking me, anyways?” Ratchet asked as they entered a clump of birch and spruce trees. The space was suffused with a soft, golden-brown light.

“Patience, old friend,” Optimus teased, flashing a smile at him as he ducked under a low branch. “You will see soon enough.” 

“I am plenty patient, thank you very much,” Ratchet playfully huffed. “I’m just showing curiosity, aren’t you all about that? …Can you at least give me a hint?” 

Optimus chuckled, lightly bumping his arm against the medic’s shoulder. “I will tell you that it makes me think of good memories.” His expression softened. “I hope it will for you too.” 

“Knowing you, I’m sure it will.” Ratchet hoped he wasn’t blushing too much as he looked down at their intertwined digits. 

“It should be just on the other side of this treeline…” Optimus said, gently pulling him towards a strand of umber-speckled birch trunks. He reached out and carefully swept the leaf-strewn branches aside, flooding the shaded grove with sunlight. Squinting against the bright yellow rays, Ratchet stepped through the created hole, Optimus following close behind. 

Ratchet had to blink several times for his vision to adjust. He let out a small gasp once it did. 

“By the AllSpark…” He whispered. 

“It is beautiful, is it not?” Optimus said. 

They stood on the edge of a meadow stretching nearly half a mile down the mountain. The plain was filled with wildflowers, pale green grass spotted with countless petals of pink, yellow, white, and purple hues. Grazed by the gentle breeze, the flora dipped and rose like ripples across a lake. 

“...Is it not to your liking, Ratchet?” Optimus asked, hesitance tainting his tone. “I understand if it is not.” 

Ratchet finally tore his optics away from the meadow before him to look up at the Prime. Optimus was watching him closely, optics anxious and lip components pressed together. 

“It’s gorgeous,” he said. He didn’t even care if he was blushing anymore. 

Optimus’ face melted into a joyous smile. Ratchet’s knee joints quivered at the sight. 

The Prime walked forward, carefully picking his way through the flowers, leading Ratchet along by the servo. Grass rustled against their pedes with each step. Sunlight poured down on them, warm and soothing. 

“Here,” Optimus said, gesturing towards a large, flat rock near the center of the meadow. “This is a splendid place to sit.” 

“I knew you spent more time on patrols than you needed to,” Ratchet noted, even as he snickered and squeezed the larger mech’s servo. 

Optimus chuckled and settled onto the boulder. Ratchet sat next to him; the rock felt nearly hot against his mesh. Their thighs were a mere inch apart. 

Venting deeply, Ratchet made himself stare ahead. A comfortable quiet settled over them along with the sunlight. Grass and flowers twitched and waved in the breeze. Optimus’ digits were snug against his. 

“The diversity of the wildflowers here is truly incredible,” Optimus murmured, his baritone soft with wonder. He nodded towards a small cluster of flowers a few feet before them. “Just here, there are Western trillium,” he pointed at some white flowers with three narrow petals, “and some arrowleaf balsamroot,” his digit moved towards a bunch of bright yellow blooms, “and right next to them are-”

“Lupine,” Ratchet filled in, nodding at the thin stalks clustered with purple buds. 

“Yes,” Optimus said, sounding pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t know you had an interest in Earth flora, Ratchet.” 

“I did a bit of research when we first got here.” Ratchet offered him a rueful smile. “Before we…got so busy.”

“Yes…” Optimus solemnly nodded, his optics dimming slightly. “I remember how much you loved the crystalline gardens in Iacon.” 

“Yeah…” Ratchet said, his smile growing more genuine. 

Memories lazily flickered through his processor; visiting the gardens for the first time as a young bot and being astounded by the sheer amount of color, dragging Pharma and Red Alert there repeatedly for their study groups; taking Orion late one night and feeling relief as the constantly-working, constantly-stressed file clerk relaxed, his digits gently stroking the crystalline petals and smiling as brightly as the stars above them. 

Feeling happy that no matter what, he could at least be with him; at least be his friend. 

“I’m sorry, old friend.”

Ratchet blinked, his helm snapping to his right. “What?” 

Optimus just looked at him, his free servo rubbing his chestplate. His azure optics were dull with deep pain and old sorrow. 

Ratchet knew that look. 

“No,” he said, pointing a digit at his friend. “Do not feel guilty about Cybertron or the war right now, Optimus Prime. Don’t even think about it.” 

“How can I not?” Optimus weakly smiled at him. “You miss our home so much, Ratchet, and…I know now that I am not solely responsible, but…if this is what is troubling you, I still…”

His gaze fell down due to his pedes, his vents sharp and shaky. His digits started to tremble against his. 

Ratchet’s spark shrunk in its casing. He settled his palm atop his and Optimus’ clenched servos, squeezing those gentle digits. 

“I do miss Cybertron,” he admitted, his gaze shifting to the rippling field before them. “I miss the academy, I miss the crystalline gardens, I miss the Hall of Records…” He smirked slightly. “I even miss that crummy bar Pharma used to drag us to after class. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing it.”

He looked over again. Optimus was gazing at him with an anxious expression. 

Please let me use the right words, Primus or the universe or whoever’s listening…

“But something you’ve shown me is how to find a home anywhere,” Ratchet said. “Even on planets as strange and different as this one. And I know I’m not as good at finding it as you are…” 

He huffed and wrinkled his brows. “Really not as good at finding it,” he pointedly added. 

Optimus’ lip components quirked upwards, a spark of amusement lighting in his optics. Relief flowed through Ratchet’s processor at the sight. 

“But you make me want to try,” he continued, gesturing out at the meadow. “You tell me about places like this, try to make me see the good in everything, even when I’m…not exactly the most positive bot in the universe. You still try, for all of us. For me.” 

Optimus smiled again, not as weak this time. “Thank you, old friend,” he said, digits squeezing his. “You are not as bad at being positive as you think.”

“It’s easier with you,” Ratchet said with a chuckle. He looked down at their entwined servos. “I always feel more at home with you.” 

The words slipped out of their own accord, but he felt no desire to try and snatch them back. 

They fell into pleasant silence once more. A nearby clump of bright pink fireweed flowers swayed in the breeze. Ratchet’s optics zoomed in on the fluttering petals, watching tiny particles of pollen spiral into the air. 

He was so focused on them that he barely noticed when the Prime’s servo slipped out of his.

However, he did notice when Optimus wrapped his arm around him. 

Ratchet’s spark leapt and his faceplate went hot. He was acutely aware of the strong, well-cabled arm pressed against his back and the large, gentle servo settling on his side, right above his hip. 

He didn’t dare look up at Optimus’ face. His servo shifted, as slowly as a techno-snail, to rest atop the Prime’s thigh. The plating was solid and warm against his palm. 

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm… 

Optimus’ arm tightened around him, pulling him closer. The tiny gap between their frames disappeared. 

He isn’t pulling away. 

Ratchet’s spark brightened, filling his chest with radiant light. A giddy, incredulous grin spread across his faceplate.

He…he isn’t pulling away! 

The fear that had coiled around his desires in a chokehold dissipated like smoke. He slowly leaned into Optimus’ frame, his helm tipping back to rest on his broad shoulder. His thumb gently stroked the pale gray metal of his leg. 

Optimus tightened his grip even further, holding him flush against his side. His digits rubbed small circles into Ratchet’s armor. His helm fell against his with a soft clunk.  

Ratchet’s optics slid shut. He forgot about the inventory he had to do. He forgot about how the kids tricked him into running through the GroundBridge in a blind panic. He forgot about Megatron, the Decepticons, and the war (as much as he ever could).

He only knew sunlight, colorful flowers, and Optimus’ arm around him. Their frames pressed close, sharing warmth and gentle touches. The whistling breeze and Optimus’ soft vents against his audial were the only sounds. 

Quiet. Peace. Love. 

I love him so much. 

…However he feels, I can’t hide that anymore. 

“Optimus?” His voice was little more than a trembling whisper. He kept his optics shut. 

“Yes, Ratchet?” Optimus quietly replied, his rich baritone rumbling through his frame and into Ratchet’s, leaving his cables quivering. 

Just vent. You can do this. It’s Optimus; no matter what, he’ll at least try to understand. 

“...Optimus, I-” 

Something under their pedes shook.

Ratchet’s optics snapped open. Optimus’ frame tensed and his helm shot upwards. 

“What the frag was that?” He asked, even as his spark shrunk in disappointment. 

“I am not sure…” Optimus said with a tight frown. His arm left Ratchet’s back. He got off the rock, crouching and pressing his servo flat against the ground. “It felt like it was coming from underground…” 

“From those tunnel systems?” Ratchet stood up, peering at the dirt. “I thought humans couldn’t mine in their national parks.”

“They can’t.” 

The ground shook again; a distant yet persistent rumble. Flowers were trembling, petals and buds nearly shaking off their stems. The meadow’s tranquility had vanished.

“Well, somebody is,” Ratchet muttered. 

Optimus stood, his back facing him. His shoulders pulled back and his fists clenched. Ratchet could practically see the Matrix slipping back into control. 

“This needs to be investigated,” Optimus said. He looked over his shoulder, optics flickering in concern. “You can stay here if you wish, old friend.” 

He’s still trying to be protective…even if that means he checks this out alone.

“I don’t wish,” Ratchet huffed. He walked past Optimus, leading the way towards the end of the meadow. “Come on.” 

They moved quickly now, no longer pausing to admire their surroundings. Grass and flowers transitioned to pines and rocks. Optimus soon took the lead, helm swiveling from side to side as he strode forward. Ratchet stayed on his heel struts, his posture instinctively sinking into a combat-ready position. 

The landscape became steeper, pebbles skittering down the path when Ratchet’s pedes brushed against them. He had to hold his arms out to keep his balance as he practically scampered downhill. Optimus jogged a little further ahead, coming to a stop at a ledge lined with weathered boulders. 

Ratchet saw his friend’s shoulders go tense as he peered into the valley below. When he crouched down beside him and saw the multiple purple-armored forms several hundred feet below, he knew why.

“Don’t tell me…” He groaned.

Optimus looked at him, those beautiful azure optics both worried and annoyed.

“Decepticons.”

Chapter Text

The Matrix had enveloped Optimus in a cloak of calm. His digits were steady as they gripped the rock he was leaning over, his optics diligently scanning the valley below. 

A Decepticon mining detail, his processor noted. Six to ten miners, with at least half a dozen guards. Usually such a team has at least twice that number; either this is a smaller one, or they must already be underground. 

The entrance into the mountain was oddly shaped; pointed and narrow at the top, but wide and nearly square-shaped at the bottom. The orange-brown rock closer to the ground was cracked and scorched black.

They likely used explosives to widen the entrance enough for them to use. That was likely what we heard earlier.

We have never detected energon in these tunnels, which means it is unlikely that that is what the Decepticons are seeking.

Energon is not the only thing from Cybertron hidden under the earth, and some of those things are dangerous in the wrong servos. 

“They’re up to something.” Ratchet’s voice drifted into his consciousness. Optimus blinked, suddenly aware of the medic’s frame inches away from his own. He looked over at his friend’s tense shoulders and pursed lip components. 

Chestplate torn open; a gash of splintered armor revealing shredded interior mesh. Drops and streaks of luminous blue painted the air before splattering onto the cold cavern floor- 

The Matrix rippled over the memory, blurring its harshness and dimming the terror it sent through his spark. 

“Yes,” Optimus agreed, taking a deep vent. 

He returned his focus to the valley below. “We need to determine what the Decepticons are looking for. Depending on what it is, we may also need to intervene quickly.” 

“Well, we won’t find out from up here,” Ratchet said. Keeping in a crouch, the medic began shuffling to their left. “Come on.” 

Optimus’ tank clenched. His servo shot out and grabbed Ratchet’s elbow. “Stay here. I will climb down to investigate.” 

Ratchet peered at him over his shoulder, optical ridges raised. “And what happens if it does turn out to be important?” He asked. “You might need back-up.” 

“I could also be caught,” Optimus said. “And you could end up in the middle of a firefight.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Ratchet blandly noted. 

“I know, but-” 

Something twisted violently in his chest. His digits tightened around the medic’s arm.

Be calm. The Matrix’s stream of nearly-formless whispers spiked in his processor. Do not let fear rule you. Respond rationally. Trust your allies. Do what needs to be done. 

“...Alright,” Optimus finally said. He released the medic’s elbow, his empty digits folding in on themselves. “Just promise me you will be careful.” 

Ratchet’s expression softened, the corners of his lip components twitching upwards. “I will. I can handle myself, Optimus.” 

“I know you can.” Optimus felt a small smile growing despite himself. 

The medic’s cheeks blushed a faint blue as he turned and continued moving towards the trees. Optimus’ spark fluttered.

Focus on the mission, the Matrix intoned. 

Optimus frowned, his pistons stiffening for the briefest moment. Huffing, he shook his helm and crept after Ratchet. 

I am focused, he silently insisted.

They made their way down the mountainside, slipping between clumps of trees and rocks both worn and jagged. Their pedes were light and careful, avoiding any patches of brush and fallen branches, like wild turbofoxes stalking their oblivious prey. Optimus had taken point once more; his optics flashed between the path before him, Ratchet close behind him, and whatever glimpses of the Decepticons he could catch.

The ground began to level out, gravity no longer pulling on their frames quite as insistently. Their moderate pace slowed even further - they would soon be within audial range of the mining crew, if they weren’t already. 

“Stay close,” Optimus whispered. 

“Will do,” Ratchet replied, shoulder brushing against his arm. 

Optimus swallowed at the sudden thickness in his throat pipe. 

He didn’t want to be here, crouching behind shadowed pine trees and preparing to spy on Decepticons. He wanted to be back in the meadow, warm sunlight on his frame and flowers by his pedes, his arm wrapped snugly around Ratchet. His friend leaning against him and caressing his thigh, sending thrills of pleasure through his systems, about to tell him…something. 

What were you about to say, old friend? 

I know what I badly want you to say, but I can’t just assume- 

Focus, the Matrix hummed.

Gritting his dentra, Optimus strode forward once more. He didn’t look back to check Ratchet’s progress - partially out of trust, and partially because he didn’t know what he would do right now if those exquisite cyan optics met his.  

Dull shouts and the crunching of pedes on dirt pervaded the air as they drew closer to the cave entrance. Optimus, Ratchet on his heel struts, stayed close to the valley’s staggered wall, keeping a thick line of trees between them and the mining crew. Glimpses of purple armor flashed between the gnarled brown trunks more and more frequently.

“Move!” A Vehicon barked. “We need to prep the rest of this equipment now!”  

“How much equipment do they need?” Ratchet muttered. “What are they looking for?” 

“I do not know,” Optimus said, frowning to himself. He rested his servo on a large boulder resting a few feet in front of the mountainside; he suspected it had once fallen from the hills above. “As I said, it’s likely not energon.” 

“We might be able to figure it out if we see what exactly they’re lugging in there,” Ratchet said. He tiptoed forward into the narrow clearing between the valley’s edge and the treeline. 

“Agreed,” Optimus said, taking a step to follow his friend. 

Plink. Whoosh. Plink. 

Optimus froze. His shoulders hitched up and his pistons stiffened. He instinctively tuned his audio receptors to their highest setting. 

Plink plink plink. 

A light sound, carrying over the treetops with the near-silence of an owl in flight. It could have easily been mistaken as the clattering of pebbles or a trick of the wind. A harmless sound.

Plink plink swish plink plink plink- 

Optimus knew better. 

Rushing forward, he grabbed Ratchet’s elbow and pulled him back, nearly yanking the other mech clear off his pedes. His other servo clamped over the medic’s intake, muffling his startled protests. He dragged his friend behind the boulder, wedging their frames against the grainy rock. 

Ratchet grabbed his wrist and yanked his servo away from his faceplate. “What was that for?!” 

“Quiet!” Optimus whispered back. Looking up, he spotted a thin crack running from the top of the boulder to his optic level, just wide enough for him to look through. Resting his servo on Ratchet’s shoulder, he pressed his faceplate against the fissure.

The clearing was empty and still. A mourning dove fluttered down from a nearby tree, tiny beige feathers kicking up dust. The bird twittered and pecked at the ground in search of insects. 

Plink plink swish THUD! 

A metal form shot from the treetops and landed in the dirt. Feathers exploded as one of its six spindly legs speared through the dove’s chest, crushing the poor bird under its weight. The figure rose, ebony black armor reflecting the faint sunlight like a broken mirror. Pink optics gleamed as they lifted their leg to examine the blood and tiny bone particles splattered on their pede, thin lip components twisting with cold delight. 

“Airachnid,” Optimus whispered, just loud enough for Ratchet to hear. 

The medic flinched. Optimus couldn’t blame him. 

The spider-like femme flicked the dove’s remains into nearby brush. With a quick shifting of metal, she retracted her insectoid legs and settled on two pointed pedes. She slowly turned her helm, scanning the clearing like a hawk.

Optimus instinctively pulled away from the fissure. Ratchet was staring at him with wide optics. 

What is she doing here? Ratchet signed, digits snapping through the air like crickets springing up from the grass.

I do not know, Optimus signed in reply. Our intel did point to her rejoining the Decepticons, but I would be surprised if Megatron put her solely in charge of a mining detail this soon. 

So she’s probably not alone? Ratchet’s optics rolled upwards. Great. 

“Airachnid!” An irritated shout came right on cue. Optimus peered through the slit just in time to see two mechs tramping through the trees and into the clearing; one slim-framed and glossy red, the other bulky and dull blue.

“Knock Out and Breakdown?” Ratchet whispered. 

“Knock Out and Breakdown,” Optimus confirmed.

“Slagging perfect.”

“I was starting to hope you’d gotten lost,” Airachnid said, a mocking lilt to her voice. “Or did you let your cyclops muscle lead the way?” 

“You asked us to come along on your little scavenger hunt,” Knock Out said. The Decepticon medic was scowling down at his frame. “We could have just stayed on the Nemesis. Actually, we should have; if my wheel rims get any dustier, I might as well paint myself brown!” 

Breakdown didn’t reply, but Optimus thought he heard him grumble under his vents. 

“You should consider yourselves lucky I brought you along.” Airachnid absently examined her purple, talon-like digits. “I believe I might be onto something very interesting.” 

“And why didn’t you go to Lord Megatron with this ‘very interesting’ discovery?” Knock Out asked, optics flicking upwards.

Yes, why didn’t you? Optimus thought. 

Airachnid looked around the clearing once more; her movements were seemingly casual, but Optimus recognized the careful scanning for what it was. Her optics raked through the treeline that stood between them and the Vehicon mining crew before tipping back to scrutinize the sky. 

“I think we can all agree…” She slowly began, her gaze finally turning back to her companions, “that Lord Megatron’s behavior these past couple of months has been rather…odd.” 

“Let me stop you there.” Knock Out held his servo up. “You’ve already tried this ‘Megatron is unfit to lead so we should do our own thing’ schtick before, and I remember that ending with you pinned under Soundwave’s pede like a…well.” He gestured vaguely at her. 

Airachnid’s lip components pressed firmly together. Knock Out returned her stare with a cocked helm and a raised optical ridge. Breakdown’s single optic darted nervously back and forth between them. 

“Well, speaking of Soundwave,” Airachnid continued through gritted dentra, “both he and Lord Megatron have been shut in an intelligence room for weeks now, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Our master, meant to lead us in glorious victory against the Autobots, has barely shown his faceplate since he returned from his last outing.”

He hasn’t? Optimus blinked in startlement.

“Have neither of you wondered what exactly has been distracting Lord Megatron and his living security system for so long?” The femme smirked. 

“Uh, no?” Breakdown replied. 

“Haven’t felt the need to,” Knock Out added as he picked specks of dirt out of his grill. 

“Well, I took the initiative and listened in on one of their conversations a few days ago.” Airachnid began to pace back and forth, her heeled pedes scraping against pebbles scattered on the ground. “And apparently, they’ve been busy trying to decrypt a database stolen from the Iacon Hall of Records during the final days of Cybertron. And do you want to know what it holds?” 

“Logs tracking the Council’s high-grade consumption?” Sarcasm dripped off of Knock Out’s voice like suds from a squeezed sponge. 

Airachnid’s digits twitched, but her voice remained snug. 

“A list of coordinates,” she declared, “leading to Cybertronian artifacts hidden on this very planet. A list compiled by Alpha Trion himself.” 

A jolt shot through Optimus’ systems as his mentor’s name, a name he hadn’t heard in stellar cycles, echoed across the clearing. 

“What?!” Ratchet whisper-yelled. “Here? On Earth?” 

Optimus turned his helm to look at him, unable to hide the shock spreading across his faceplate. “Alpha Trion said he had a plan for the relics he safe-guarded,” he murmured, “I suppose this was what he meant.”

Though it would have been nice if he had at least mentioned it to me…

The Matrix thrummed in his chest, coiling around his faint hurt and filling his helm with words. 

He may have wished to prevent word of the relics from spreading, or to ensure you would not reveal anything if captured. Do not be upset because of a logical decision. The past cannot be changed. The future must be protected. 

I know, I know! Optimus gritted his dentra and shook his helm. He pressed his optic against the slit, forcing himself to focus. 

“Okay, so an old relic made a list of other old relics,” Knock Out said. “What’s your point?” 

“The point, doctor, is that Megatron believes that these artifacts must be incredibly powerful if the old scholar put this much effort into hiding them,” Airachnid said. “To the point where he and Soundwave are using every spare moment to try and find their locations.” 

“Meanwhile…” Her grin widened until her sharpened canine dentra were visible. “I might have already found one.” 

Optimus’ shoulders bunched up, his digits reflexively tightening around Ratchet’s shoulder. The medic’s servo flew up and grabbed his wrist. 

“Wait, here?” Breakdown asked, helm twisting in the direction of the cave entrance. 

“We must have double-checked this hole at least thirty times since we landed on this rock and never found anything,” Knock Out scoffed. “And you just happened to stumble upon some powerful piece of Cybertronian tech that we failed to notice?” 

“As I’m sure Muscles here told you, I have a unique way of moving underground.” Airachnid gestured at the narrow limbs folded neatly against her back. “After learning of Megatron and Soundwave’s endeavor, I decided to re-examine some cave systems on my own. I came here a few days ago, and my sensors detected Cybertronian metal under this very mountain. I was unable to find its exact source at the time, but…”

She smirked, holding her palms out. “As I said, it could prove very interesting.” 

“Yes, yes, good for you.” Knock Out lightly clapped his palms together while rolling his optics. “You still haven’t said why you came to us instead of Lord Megatron.” 

Airachnid’s gaze flickered cautiously around yet again. Optimus hoped she wasn’t paying too much mind to the boulder. 

“I do not know what has come over Lord Megatron lately,” she said, “but in between his previous obsession with Unicron and his newfound reclusiveness, he has been far from present. The Decepticons need decisive decision-making and leadership, and he is not giving us either.” 

“Oh for the Fallen’s sake!” Knock Out threw his servos in the air. “So you decide to go behind his back and dig up some artifact to either use against him or prove your ability to take over? That’s your grand plan?!” 

“Knock Out…” Breakdown muttered, placing a large servo on the other mech’s shoulder. 

“And now you’re trying to drag us into your scrap!” Knock Out shook his servo off, stomping forward and jabbing a digit at Airachnid’s angular faceplate. “What, are we your back-up plan in case things go wheels-up and you need someone to blame? I swear, you eight-legged, crosswired nutcase, if you try to pull anything, I’ll-” 

Black and purple armor flashed, and suddenly Knock Out’s pedes were five feet off the ground. Four of Airachnid’s insectoid legs were planted firmly on the dirt; the two foremost ones grasped the Decepticon medic, pinning his arms to his sides. Pointed pedes pierced through his plating, light blue droplets running down cherry red armor. He yelped and squirmed with thrashing legs, only to freeze as needle-like claws lightly ran along his jawline. 

“The way I see it, I am giving you both an incredible opportunity.” Airachnid’s voice was little more than a smooth hiss. Her face was mere inches from his. “Follow my lead, and you will be amongst my trusted lieutenants. Or if nothing else, you will reap far more benefits than you will by being tugged along on Megatron’s leash. Of course, if you’d rather be a good little pet and report this to his lordship…” 

Her pointer digit slowly moved to hover over Knock Out’s optic, the violet tip aimed right at the crimson orb.

“You’d be far from the first bot who disappeared on a mission with me, doctor. And I can’t imagine you’ll be the last-” 

The low whirring of a weapon charging up cut Airachnid’s words off. Her smirk shifted into a frown upon seeing Breakdown glaring at her, his shoulder-mounted missile launcher aimed at her torso. 

“Put him down, Airachnid,” he said, clenching his fists so hard they shook. “Or I’ll give you a reason.” 

The two Decepticons stared each other down. Knock Out audibly gulped, servos helplessly clenching against his thighs. Ratchet’s digits were digging into Optimus’ plating; the larger Autobot kept watching the standoff even as he shifted his grip on the medic’s shoulder to his servo. 

“...You really ought to be careful using that thing,” Airachnid said, her optics little more than pink slits. “You’ll blow yourself to pieces one day.” 

With that, she released Knock Out, the medic dropping to the ground in a heap. The spider-like femme turned and skittered into the treeline, her ebony black form disappearing behind the leaves. Breakdown stared after her for another minute before depowering and retracting his launcher.

The clearing seemed to let out a sigh of relief. A trio of finches flitted through the air, making Breakdown jump in place. Optimus felt Ratchet slacken beside him, and he silently squeezed the medic’s servo.

Stay quiet, he said without words. We are not alone yet. 

“You alright?” Breakdown asked, stepping closer to Knock Out and holding out a servo. 

“Fine,” Knock Out shortly replied. He stood, ignoring the other mech’s servo, and glared down at the energon staining his armor. “Fragging spider ruined my finish. We should go before she gets our mining crew buried or blown up or whatever.” 

Huffing, the Decepticon medic stomped towards the treeline. 

Thank Primus, they are leaving. I cannot believe they did not see us- 

“Hey, wait.” Breakdown grabbed Knock Out’s arm, halting the other mech mid-step. “What was that?” 

“What was what?” Knock Out’s frown grew even deeper. 

“That!” The bulky mech waved his free arm towards where Airachnid had disappeared. “Were you trying to get yourself gutted?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Knock Out said. He haughtily tipped his chin back, even as he half-heartedly tugged at the larger mech’s grip. 

…Or not.

Optimus could see Ratchet signing questions at him out of the corner of his optic. He could only shrug in reply.

“You told me after Lord Megatron nearly sent Starscream to the scrap heap a few months ago that we should keep our helms down from now on. Let the other Cons do all the infighting and backstabbing and…uh…”

“Power-grabbing?” Knock Out offered.

“Yeah, that! But now you’re out here, snapping at her every chance you get and practically asking her to claw your optics out!” 

“I was just screwing with her, I had it under control!”

“Yeah, you looked real in control when you were dangling like Sharkticon bait!” 

The two Decepticons’ bickering grew louder and louder. The few birds still near the clearing quickly flew away. Optimus’ wires squirmed under his plating. He could only imagine the incredulous expression Ratchet was wearing right now.

“And why the frag do you care anyway?” Knock Out barked, finally yanking his arm out of Breakdown’s digits and pointing at the other mech’s faceplate. 

“Because I don’t want my partner getting killed! Especially by her! You’ve seen some of the scrap she’s left behind!” 

“Oh, really?! Where’s all the ‘I’m intrigued by her’ talk now?” 

The clearing went quiet so fast that Optimus had to check his audio receptors were still functioning.

“Oh Prima, that’s who he was talking about?” Ratchet whispered in quiet horror.

“What?” Optimus’ optical ridges nearly raised to the top of his helm.

“...You know about that?” Breakdown said. His optic was suddenly wide with nervousness. 

“The Vehicons are chattier than pit crews, of course I know about that!” Knock Out threw his arms into the air. “What were you expecting? Slag, what were you thinking? That she’s interested in doing anything with anyone besides taking them apart bit by bit?!”

“It’s not like that!” Breakdown said. “I’m not actually interested in her; I’m not crazy! You know that!” 

“Then why did you do it?!” Knock Out nearly shrieked. “I don’t give a retro-rat’s aft about her, but what about us?! Didn’t you stop and think about how I’d feel?!” 

Optimus’ optics widened as they zoomed in Knock Out’s faceplate. The medic’s dentra were clenched and his lip components trembling. His crimson optics were sparking with rage, yet Optimus couldn’t help but notice how wet they looked. 

Breakdown fell quiet, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Knock Out stared at him, chestplate quietly heaving. 

“...I didn’t think you’d care that much,” the bruiser finally said. He frowned as his pede scuffed the dirt. “Given how much you flirt with literally everyone.” 

“What?” Knock Out blinked. “No, I don't.”

“The frag you don’t!” 

“Name one time I’ve actually flirted with someone.” 

“You told Starscream his wings were as shiny as Crystal City chrysanthemums.” 

“I was teasing him. Primus knows that mech needs to learn how to make conversation beyond giving orders and scheming.”

“You told Soundwave you were open to ‘having fun’ with his data cables.” 

“You told me yourself it’s funny when I can actually get a reaction out of him!” 

“You wolf-whistled Optimus Prime and called him Sweet Rims!” 

Optimus’ wires suddenly felt like they were on fire. A quick glance to his left confirmed that Ratchet’s jaw was dangling open like a dead fish. 

The actions of others cannot be controlled, only your reactions to them, the Matrix murmured in his helm. 

Yes, Optimus thought, covering his faceplate with his servo. And I am choosing to react by wishing I could turn invisible right now.

“That was strategy!” Knock Out was saying. “I drive in next to him and catch him off-guard, then you come in behind him and take him out!”

“Yeah, but did you have to do it like that?” Breakdown said. “I just…”

The larger Decepticon’s servos unclenched, digits hanging limply by his sides. He stared at the ground for a long moment before looking back up at his companion. Optimus’ embarrassment was replaced by surprise at the emotion on the mech’s faceplate. 

“I just got tired of watching you do all that right in front of me,” he said. “I know you like playing around, but you’ve done it so much that I started wondering if you even still… Well, I figured if you could do all that, I could do it too. Fair’s fair and all that.” 

Knock Out stared at him, intake soundlessly opening and closing. His crimson optics flickered down to his pedes. He shook his helm slightly and let out a weak laugh. 

“Yeah, fair is fair,” he said, “and how do we both feel?”

“...Like scrap?” Breakdown mumbled.

“Like scrap,” Knock Out agreed. He scratched the back of his helm. “Look, I…I didn’t realize you were getting upset by all that. I’ll lay off the flirting. Or try to, at least.”

Breakdown’s shoulders loosened and he beamed. “Thanks, Knocks.” 

Knock Out’s optics met his companion’s, his lip components twitching upwards to return the smile. 

“Knocks?” Ratchet quietly repeated. 

Optimus opened his intake, planning on pointing out the possibility of slips of the voice box or nicknames. 

Whatever he was going to say was lost when Knock Out grabbed Breakdown by the chestplate, pulled him down to optic level, and planted a solid kiss on the larger mech’s lip components. 

Optimus jolted away from the slit and spun around, pressing his backplates against the boulder and slapping his battle mask over his steaming cheekplates. 

“What?” Ratchet leaned over to peek around the rock before he could stop him. “What are they do-” 

Optimus stared at the back of his friend’s helm for a few silent seconds. Ratchet slowly pulled back and rested against the boulder, optics wide and faceplate as blue as the sky above them.

“What the frag is even happening?” He whispered.

“We are seeing something we were not meant to see,” Optimus weakly replied, his mask still firmly on. 

“No scrap.”

After a very, very long moment, Knock Out spoke again. “Come on. We should go check on the Vehicons. Make sure Lady Legs-a-lot isn’t using them for target practice.” 

“Right,” Breakdown said, his rough voice noticeably cheerful. 

Frame tense, Optimus listened to the two Decepticons leave the clearing, leaves softly rustling as they pushed through the branches. Quiet settled back over the woods, only punctuated by the muffled sounds of the mining crew. 

“Well, that was…informative,” Ratchet finally said. His cheeks were still noticeably blue. 

“Yes.” Optimus shortly nodded. His faceplate thrummed with heat. 

The pair were silent for a long moment.

“...Did he actually call you Sweet-”

“Yes.” 

Optimus looked over to see Ratchet staring at him, lip components squirming in place. 

“...You can laugh if you wish.” 

“I’m not-” Ratchet snorted, then sharply inhaled and jutted his chin out. “I’m not laughing.” 

“Then you are developing a very odd cough, old friend.” 

The medic’s serious expression cracked. Shoulders shaking, he facepalmed, digits gripping his brows. Snickers slipped out of his intake, lip components curling upwards like a blooming flower.

Optimus deactivated his mask and felt himself smiling, his spark warm in his chest. 

The threat is not yet vanquished, the Matrix rumbled in his helm like distant thunder. Focus on your mission. 

The warmth vanished, and Optimus’ smile morphed into a frown. 

“What Airachnid said concerns me,” he said, “particularly if she has actually found an artifact Alpha Trion once safeguarded here.” 

Ratchet’s mirth quickly dissipated. “Why? How dangerous are these things?” 

“I am not certain.” Optimus pursed his lip components. “Alpha Trion was always very secretive about what was kept in the deep vaults, even after I became Prime. But I do know how dangerous some of the devices we seized from the Decepticons over the cycles can be.”

“And we gave them to him to protect,” Ratchet finished with a groan. 

“We need back-up,” Optimus said. He activated his commlink. “Optimus to base. Team, report in.” 

Nothing. 

“Report in. Rafael? Bumblebee? Can you hear me?”

His commlink was silent. There wasn’t even static. 

“Our comms are down,” Ratchet said. He repeatedly jabbed his digit against his comm in frustration. “They likely set up a scrambler to keep themselves hidden from our scanners.” 

“Or Soundwave’s,” Optimus agreed. He stepped out from behind the boulder, staring at the treeline. The shouts had been replaced with the steady whirring of drills. “But I do not know if we have time to travel out of range to contact the team.” 

“Not if there’s a weapon of mass destruction somewhere in there,” Ratchet said, moving to stand next to him. His arm brushed lightly against Optimus’ plating. 

Fear bubbled up from his tank and clustered in his throat pipe, slipping through the Matrix’s calming influence. His servo instinctively twitched towards his friend’s.

“I am starting to wish you had insisted on returning to base, old friend,” Optimus quietly admitted.

“And leave you to deal with this alone?” Ratchet shook his helm as his digits closed around Optimus’. “I think not.”

Optimus looked over at his friend, optics trailing over armor colored pearly white and bright orange and cyan optics, quick and sharp. He tried to focus on the joy the sight brought him, rather than the unease growing in his systems. 

It will be fine. And even if it isn’t, I will protect him.

I will always protect him. 

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

They moved towards the cave entrance slowly and quietly, ducking behind trees and carefully stepping over fallen branches. Optimus took point, keeping his torso low, and Ratchet followed closely behind him. 

There were three Vehicons guarding the caverns, standing in a loose semi-circle in front of the jagged gash leading under the mountain. Their frames were straight-backed and scarlet visors alert as they scanned the forest and sky. However, they stood several yards in front of the entrance, and there was a cluster of trees stretching behind them, mere feet away from the cave. 

Using the copse as cover, the pair tiptoed past the watchful Vehicons, pausing right as they reached the narrow strip of sunlight between them and the shadows of the tunnel. Optimus glanced over his shoulder to meet Ratchet’s gaze. He pivoted at his waist so the medic could see his servos.

No going back, he signed. Are you sure about this? 

Ratchet nodded, expression serious and sure. Trusting him completely. 

Venting through the tension in his chest, Optimus returned his nod and turned back towards the cave entrance. His optics flicked towards the Vehicons; two were dutifully scanning the treeline, while the third’s helm was tipped back to watch a flock of geese flying overhead in a V-formation. 

He sprung forward and dashed through the light and into the darkness of the tunnel. Barely audible clunks followed behind him; Ratchet had learned how to be simultaneously quick and quiet from sneaking behind enemy lines to tend to fallen Autobots. Roughly five yards inside, a portion of the wall jutted out just far enough for both of them to duck behind. Optimus dove behind it, pressing his backplates against the rock, and pulled Ratchet next to him. 

“Hey!” One of the Vehicons shouted.

They froze and held their vents, waiting for the Vehicons to charge into the cavern. Optimus didn’t let go of Ratchet. The medic clutched his arm in turn.

“What are those angry flesh-birds called again?” 

“Pigeons. And stop staring at the sky!”

“I’m watching for attacks!” 

“You think the Autobots are going to roll in from the clouds?!” 

The bickering continued, and Optimus sighed in relief. 

“That was closer than I would have liked,” Ratchet murmured, his frame sagging slightly against his. 

“But the best we could have reasonably hoped for,” Optimus replied, gently squeezing the medic’s digits. 

Ratchet looked up at him, optics glowing in the dim and bathing his faceplate in soft cyan light. His lip components spread into a small smile, his digits absently rubbing Optimus’ arm.

It took nearly everything Optimus had to not take that beautiful face in his servos and gently press his intake against his- 

“What are we even looking for here again?” One of the guards shouted. “I thought KA-73 in Communications said we cleared this place already!” 

“And you believed her?”

“Would you two please shut up before Airachnid hears you and decides to disassemble us?!” 

They both jolted at the yells. Ratchet pulled away, frame dropping into a defensive stance and smile disappearing faster than an ember dropped into water. Optimus’ spark twisted with dismay, his desire to soothe away his friend’s fears and bring that smile back to his face drowning out everything else.

Focus on the mission, the Matrix rumbled in his helm. 

Well, nearly everything. 

“...We should continue,” he said, struggling to hide his moroseness. “Before one of them decides to check the tunnel.”

“Right.” If Ratchet noticed Optimus’ near slip, he didn’t mention it. 

The pair crept forward, even more quietly than their trek through the woods. Optimus’ digits brushed against the tunnel’s wall at regular intervals, his optics recalibrating as the shadows became darker. Ratchet’s pedesteps were barely louder than a glitch mouse; soon, they were masked by the steadily growing sound of mining equipment biting into rock.

They came to a fork in the tunnel. Signaling Ratchet to halt, Optimus carefully peered around the corner of the leftmost branch. The tunnel continued for a few feet until opening up into a larger cavern. Airachnid stood at the center of the cave, surveying the Vehicons as they dug into the limestone with servo-held drills. 

“Hurry up!” The spider-like femme barked over the shrill whirring of their tools. “You are built to dig, so dig!”  

Optimus frowned, pulling back from the tunnel. “It appears Airachnid still doesn’t know exactly where the artifact is.”

“Well, that’s good.” Ratchet pursed his lip components in thought, tapping his digits against his knee. 

“Yes, but that does not help us locate it,” Optimus pointed out with a frown. 

“Doesn’t it?” Ratchet rubbed his chin, optics narrowed in thought. “Airachnid said her personal sensors detected Cybertronian metal while she was drilling through here, so she must have been fairly close to it. And we can assume that she’s ordering them to dig here because she thinks it’s nearby.” 

Optimus stuck his helm around the corner again; this time, he aimed his gaze towards the cavern’s ceiling and quickly spotted a rough hole carved through the rock.

“You are correct,” he said as he turned back around. “It looks like she bored into this cave.” 

“So it’s close,” Ratchet said. “Do you remember if any of these tunnels loop back around near this cavern?” 

Optimus pursed his lip components, pulling up the rough map of the cave systems in his memory files. A slight smile slipped across his faceplate. 

“No, but there is a cavern almost directly beneath this one,” he said. He nodded towards the other branch of the tunnel. “The route is fairly narrow and twisted, but if we leave now, we can reach it before the Decepticons think to drill down. Excellent thinking, old friend.” 

Ratchet faintly smirked and ducked his helm, flapping his servo. “It’s easy enough to figure out. We’re just lucky the Cons didn’t think of it beforehand.” 

The disparaging undertone in the medic’s voice was not lost on Optimus. Frowning, he reached out and took his friend’s servo, digits gently squeezing his. 

“Regardless of the Decpticons’ lack of forethought, you are very intelligent, Ratchet. Do not doubt that.” 

Ratchet stared blankly at him. His cyan optics were wide, giving off just enough light for Optimus to see a blue blush creeping across his cheeks, nearly reaching his audio receptors. 

“W-well, thank you,” Ratchet mumbled, looking down at their entwined servos with a tiny smile. “I don’t know why…thank you.”

Oh Ratchet…why can you not see how wonderful you are?

Optimus was very thankful that he had long since fallen into the habit of taking certain items with him on patrol, no matter how small the chances were of him actually needing them. The small flashlight clasped in his servo was the only light in the pitch-black tunnel they were trudging through. 

“I could turn on my emergency lights,” Ratchet said, pebbles crunching softly under his pedes. “...Actually no; even without the sirens, that’s a helmache waiting to happen.” 

“And noticeable.” Optimus grunted when his shoulders snagged against the walls in a particularly narrow section of the passageway. Rock scraped against his red armor as he turned sideways to shuffle through. “We should avoid attracting the Decepticons’ attention if at all possible. I am uncertain if I can hold Airachnid, Knock Out, and Breakdown all at once.” 

“I can help, you know.” Ratchet huffed, cyan optics narrowed at him. “I might be a medic, but I still know how to throw a punch.” 

“I know, old friend, I just-” 

Optimus’ optics slammed shut, his vision overtaken by Ratchet lying sprawled on the floor of a different cave at a different time, optics closed and limbs still, lurid green liquid slowly spreading around him like a horrible halo-

“...I don’t want you to get hurt,” he whispered, fists clenched and shaking. The flashlight rattled in his grip. “I don’t want to even risk you getting hurt.” 

His spark twisted so violently it was painful. Panic threatened to bloom from the fear the Matrix couldn’t smooth out. The relic’s half-formed messages thrummed in his helm. 

You must remain strong. You must remain in-control. Safe-guarding your fellow Cybertronian is your duty. Primes must be present and sure in order to lead. Focus on the mission, do not let your feelings rule you. 

I know, I’m trying, I’m trying- 

Something warm and steady settled over his trembling servo. 

“Easy, take it easy. Deep vents…”

I’m trying, I’m- I’m okay. Ratchet’s here.

Optimus inhaled and forced his chest components to expand, his servo rotating to grasp his friend’s digits. His optics flickered as he weakly smiled at him.

“Thank you, old friend,” he said.

Ratchet’s lip components quirked upwards in return. Glowing light from his optics brightened in the dim space between them. Tension in his faceplates smoothed into gentle lines, concern shifting to relief. Maybe even fondness. 

If he hadn’t been practically wedged between two cavern walls, Optimus might have pulled him to his chestplate and kissed him right then and there. 

The thought and the desire spiraling around it had Optimus’ spark backflipping as they continued through the tunnel. Claustrophobic walls of rock finally began to widen out, revealing a circular cavern only a few feet taller than Optimus himself. Thumps and whirrs, muffled by several feet of limestone, sounded out from above them. 

“Here we are,” Optimus said, panning the flashlight’s beam across the dark space. Shadows retreated into shallow crevices before slipping back out as the circle of white light passed by. The air tasted cold and stale his intake. 

“Doesn’t look like much,” Ratchet muttered. The medic walked to the center of the cave and looked around in a slow circle. 

“No,” Optimus agreed with a frown. “It does appear empty. Are your sensors picking up anything?” 

“Nothing. But considering what Airachnid does for both a living and fun, it wouldn’t shock me if her sensors were more advanced than mine.” 

“True.” Optimus swallowed down a surge of disgust. “It might not have even been an artifact she detected-” 

“Wait, stop. Bring the light back.” 

Optimus promptly snapped the flashlight back. “What is it?” 

“I thought I saw a flash.” Ratchet strode over to the wall, optics trained on a particularly larger cleft in the stone. “...I think there’s a gap here…probably made during an earthquake some time ago…” 

Optimus joined him, aiming the flashlight’s beam at the crevice. Narrowing his optics and twitching the device back and forth, his optics quickly snagged on a faint glint within a sea of shadows. 

“Looks like there’s a whole other cave back there,” Ratchet noted. “But how are we going to-”

“Please move aside.” 

Ratchet promptly did so, automatically holding out his servo for the flashlight. Dropping the device in his palm, Optimus stepped up and grabbed the edge of the crevice. His digits dug into rough stone as he pulled at broken pieces of rock, the fissure steadily growing wider and deeper.

“You’re right, old friend,” he grunted after a few minutes. “An earthquake likely weakened this section of the wall.” 

“Which is good,” Ratchet said, resting his servo on his hip and angling the flashlight’s beam down the newly-forged tunnel. “I doubt any of those Decepticons would be willing to lend us their drills.” 

“I could attempt to ask them nicely,” Optimus suggested, throwing a playful smirk over his shoulder. 

“Yes, and I’ve heard that Earth pigs have sprouted wings,” Ratchet chuckled. 

“Those on this planet do say that ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ are magic words.” 

“Oh, you-” 

A pebble struck the back of Optimus’ helm with a soft plink. His laugh was cut off by the last of the wall giving way, sending a wave of dust across the uneven floor. Stepping inside, he peered at their newfound surroundings, which were somehow even darker than the cavern they were just in. Shadowed boulders bigger than he was were scattered around the space like blots of ink on black construction paper.

“Primus,” Ratchet said as he came up beside him. “It’s not a thumbdrive, whatever’s in there.” 

“Certainly not a singular thumbdrive.”

The pod was huge, twice as tall as Optimus and wider than his shoulders. Its hexagonal shape leaned against the opposite wall, partially embedded in the rock. Metal once shiny and silver had been reduced to a dull gray coated with scratches, dirt stains, and scorch marks. 

Unease began to build in Optimus’ tank as Ratchet slowly scanned the capsule with the flashlight. The medic looked up at him, a matching worry in his optics. 

“Any idea what could be in there?”

“There is only one way to find out.” 

They cautiously approached the pod together. Optimus shuffled a little in front of Ratchet as he reached towards the worn metal. 

“Pods this large usually can open up at the sides, rather than only on top,” he murmured, “hopefully the locking mechanisms haven’t rusted up-” 

With a low groan and dull pop, one of the capsule’s sides detached from the container and fell to the ground next to them. Optimus instinctively threw his arms back, forcing Ratchet behind him. He stared at the crescent-shaped slab of metal as it rocked back and forth on the cavern floor. 

“...Well, it’s not another scraplet trap,” Ratchet said after a few seconds. “Thank Primus.” 

Optimus didn’t respond. His optics had moved to the pod’s interior. His voice box was frozen in his throat. Dread coiled around his interior parts like barbed wire. 

“What? Optimus, what’s-” Ratchet sidestepped Optimus’ arm and aimed the flashlight inside the pod. “...Oh scrap.” 

The beam of light fell on a device roughly as large as Ratchet. A cork-shaped apparatus of silver-gray metal propped up by six thick legs sat in the center of the pod, bolted to the floor. Tightly-coiled bundles of wires and tubes filled with faintly-glowing blue and yellow liquid peaked out between the loosely-fitted panels. A lurid purple Decepticon insignia was painted near the top of the apparatus at a crooked angle. 

“Optimus…” Ratchet’s voice trembled. “Please tell me that isn’t a seismic-shock warhead.” 

Memories flashed through Optimus’ helm; a kaleidoscope of destruction and death. Megatron grinning sadistically at him with pointed dentra and crimson optics, bragging about the Decepticons’ newest weapon. Sprinting up the interstellar shuttle’s ramp as it prepared to depart for the Eukarisian solar system. Standing on the bridge by the windows, spark heavy and trembling as Eukaris’ largest moon exploded, the planetoid reduced to dark chunks of rock drowning in fiery-orange billows.

“Ironhide did say that his squadron seized a prototype during the invasion of Tesarus…” Optimus whispered, optics bulging in his sockets as he stared down a bomb meant to destroy entire planets. “He likely brought it to Iacon so our scientists could find exploitable faults in its design. But they never got the chance.” 

“By any happy chance, does ‘prototype’ equal ‘harmless model’ in this situation?” Ratchet asked through gritted dentra. 

“Unfortunately no,” Optimus said. “I doubt one this size has the power to shatter this planet, but…” 

“It could still do a lot of damage if the Decepticons get their servos on it.” Ratchet finished. He turned his helm to look up at him; the fear in his expression was already shifting into determination. “What’s the plan?”

Optimus shook his helm, focusing through his nerves and the Matrix’s murmurs. “We won’t be able to carry it,” he said. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Certainly not without the Decepticons noticing.” 

“Not in one piece.” Ratchet frowned. He took a step forward, slowly pulling out his built-in scanner. 

Optimus bit back a warning as the tool’s thin blue ray ran over the warhead. The medic peered down at the scanner’s tiny screen; pale green light was cast across his faceplate, accentuating his pursed lip components and crinkled brows. His cyan optics gently flickered in thought like fireflies on a summer evening.

Optimus’ spark did a little flip, and it had nothing to do with the bomb sitting next to them.

If anyone can figure this out, it is him. He flexed his digits out, forcing them to relax. I just need to trust him, like I always do.

“I think I can dismantle it,” Ratchet finally said. He looked up again, expression cautiously confident. “Not completely, but I can extract the triggering mechanisms and deactivate the worst of the explosives. It’d buy us time, if nothing else.”

Optimus nodded, offering him a small smile. “If you believe you can do it, old friend, then I trust you to do so.”

Ratchet blinked. “I’d better get started then,” he said, a faint smile tugging on his intake. His shoulders pulled back slightly and his optics brightened. Optimus could see the confidence seeping into his friend’s frame from his words. 

It was the most beautiful sight he’d seen all day.

Minutes slowly passed. Ratchet worked steadily, carefully removing panels from the warhead and setting them aside, exposing more wires and tubes. The flashlight was propped up against the pod’s wall, giving the medic enough light to work with. Optimus stood nearby, his gaze flickering back and forth between Ratchet, the hole in the wall he’d created, and the ceiling where the sound of drills still lowly whirred. 

They haven’t realized they are digging the wrong way yet. Good.

“What is your progress, old friend?” He asked. 

“I can just about reach the trigger,” Ratchet said. He softly huffed. “For a weapon of mass destruction that can reduce a planet to dust, this design is remarkably simple. Not that I’m complaining.” 

“Nor am I,” Optimus replied, forcing out a weak chuckle. “I suppose this is one situation where we should count ourselves lucky that we only found a prototype rather than the finished product.” 

“Yes, I’d rather not get blown up today, thank you.” Ratchet nervously snickered before slowly blowing out a vent of air. “Here we go. If you feel like praying, now’s the time.” 

“You can do this, Ratchet,” Optimus said. “I believe in you.”

The medic’s vents caught for a moment. He nodded, not looking at Optimus, and carefully reached forward with his strikingly steady servos. The Prime held his vents, leaving no sound in the cave apart from Ratchet’s digits clinking against the bomb’s interior. 

Click. Squeak squeak. Plink. 

A moment of silence. Optimus’ tank clenched. 

Ratchet stood and turned around, a triumphant grin on his faceplate and a component that resembled a cluster of small metal hoses fused to an equally tiny shotgun barrel resting in his palm. 

Optimus’ frame promptly relaxed, and he returned his friend’s smile. “Good work, Ratchet.” 

“Thanks.” The medic idly tossed and caught the part. He slid it into a compartment on his back. “They won’t be able to set it off with a push of a button anymore.” 

“Can you safely extract any of the explosive material?”

“I think so. Some of the capsules of cybernitrate, at least.” 

Emboldened by his success, Ratchet twisted around and kneeled back down. Optimus watched as his friend’s servos parsed through the warhead’s cables and easily plucked a sickly-yellow tube from its inner workings, his digits moving as gracefully as butterflies darting through a meadow. He couldn’t help but watch his work, spark warm and static dancing along his wiring. 

I could watch him all day, whether in the medbay or in a dark cave with Decepticons drilling above us- 

CLANG! 

“Ow! Primus frags, that hurt!” 

Optimus whipped his helm around, spark dropping into his tank. Dim lights that were rapidly growing brighter flashed through the passage to the original cave, followed by the dull clunks of pedes on rock. 

“You alright?!” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll need the dent puller when we get back though. Stupid uneven cave floors…” 

Knock Out and Breakdown’s voices echoed sharply across the limestone walls. Optimus’ helm snapped back to Ratchet, meeting cyan optics wide with startled fear. The medic’s servos flew out of the warhead’s components and snatched up the flashlight, turning it off in the same motion. With a soft click, they were plunged into near-total darkness. 

The Matrix rumbled in Optimus’ helm like artillery fire. You must remain aware of your surroundings. Alertness is key to survival. Do not let your emotions distract you. Focus on the mission. 

Optimus gritted his dentra and violently shook his helm. I know, I know, please let me focus now! 

“Do you really think there’s anything down here?” Breakdown asked with a low huff. “I almost got stuck three times on the way!”  

“Would you rather stay in the same room as an angry Airachnid?” Knock Out replied. He audibly shuddered. “The sooner we find this thing, the sooner we can get back to the Nemesis and away from the wicked webshooter of the west.” 

“I knew we should have just snuck off to the drive-in…” 

“Heh. Maybe later, Breaks.” 

A beam of white light began seeping down the hole to their cavern. Spark pounding in his audio receptors, Optimus silently stepped backwards, moving towards the nearest boulder. At the same time, he waved his servo at the still-crouching Ratchet.

Hide. 

The medic nodded, his optics growing wider as the light crept closer and closer. There was no time for him to exit the pod and dash over to one of the boulders; not without immediately drawing the Decepticon’s attention. Instead he quietly edged around the warhead, taking cover behind it. 

It was a poor hiding space, and both of them knew it. Optimus felt like his spark was crawling up his throat pipe even as he ducked behind the large chunk of rock. 

Remain calm, the Matrix murmured. Do not act irrationally, or you shall risk defeat. 

For the first time in his life, Optimus wished the relic would be quiet. 

“Hey, what’s that?” 

Metal scraped against rock, the sound grating against Optimus’ audials. The light grew brighter as a wine-red form shuffled sideways through the tunnel. 

“This - slag, I’m going to need a new polish - this thing!” Knock Out waved his flashlight at the open pod, a grin growing on his faceplate. “I think we’ve found our target!” 

Breakdown stuck his helm into the cavern, his single yellow optic gleaming with delight. “Finally! Anything good?” 

“It’s a…” Knock Out narrowed his optics at the warhead. “Some type of bomb, I think? Or a drill? It’s big, whatever it is.” 

Breakdown stepped inside, stretching his arms over his helm in a faux-casual flex. “Bet I could still carry it.” 

“I’m sure you could,” Knock Out replied, smiling as his optics ran along his companion’s frame. He pulled out a scanner of his own. “And I’ll gladly watch after I make sure this thing won’t blow up on us.” 

Fire and ice shot through Optimus’ wires in rapid succession. His spark pulsed faster and faster as the Decepticon medic stepped closer and closer to the pod - to Ratchet. 

Just scan it and walk away. Do not get any closer. If you lay so much as a digit on him, I’ll- 

Do not let your feelings control your actions, the Matrix declared. A careful plan is the first step to victory. 

A plan. I need to think of a plan. I have time, they haven’t seen him yet- 

“Do you think that movie with the giant butterfly will be on again tonight?” Breakdown asked. The bulky mech strolled deeper into the cave until he stood a few feet away from Optimus’ hiding place, his back to him. “I still haven’t seen the ending!” 

“If it’s even vaguely scientifically accurate, the lizard will win,” Knock Out teasingly said. He paused mere feet away from the pod. “...Huh.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be seeing this many wires. Looks like this thing’s panels came off.” 

“Maybe they fell off when the pod crashed?” Breakdown suggested. 

“Or someone took them off…” Knock Out muttered. His flashlight twitched to the side; the warhead’s dark shadow jerked in response. “Yeah, there’s a pile of them here.”

A black hole was forming in Optimus’ core. His limbs quivered. Images of Ratchet lying in a pool of SynthEn, cold and still, flashed across his vision. He couldn’t vent. 

The connection between his spark and the Matrix throbbed like a live wire. The artifact reached into his being, trying to soothe away the fears threatening to strangle him. In his helm, its whispers warred with his racing thoughts.

He’s getting too close. 

Stay calm. Primes must be strong and in-control. 

He’s going to find Ratchet. I can’t let them hurt him again. 

Do not act in violence unless first provoked. Acting irrationally will only cause more destruction. 

They can’t hurt him, he has to be okay, I haven’t even told him I- 

Knock Out’s pede clanged against the pod’s floor, the harsh sound echoing across the cavern like a warning shot. He slowly leaned towards the warhead, faceplate tight with suspicion. 

Optimus’ spark froze. Terror exploded in his processor and drowned out everything else. The links between him and the Matrix tightened, shook, and shattered within the span of a second. 

I have to protect him. 

Without another thought, he jumped out from behind the boulder and launched himself forward, slamming into Breakdown with the force of cannon blast. 

The momentum sent them tumbling forward, armor scraping against the cavern floor. Breakdown shouted and flailed in shock. Optimus kept his arms locked around the other mech’s waist, gritting his dentra as tree trunk-thick arms smacked against his frame. They only stopped moving when his back collided with one of the boulders; the impact, along with Breakdown’s weight crashing into his chestplate, left him gasping for air. 

“Breakdown?!” Knock Out yelled. Over his foe’s shoulder, Optimus saw the Decepticon medic pull out his taser staff and sprint towards them. Away from the pod and Ratchet. 

Good. 

A giant elbow slammed into Optimus’ chin. Black stars exploded in his vision. His arms slackened, Breakdown squirming free before he could tighten his grip. 

“You good?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Takes more than a knock on the helm to bring me down.” 

“He knocked you about everywhere besides the helm!”

Optimus staggered to his pedes and away from the boulder, shaking his helm before facing the two Decepticons bearing down on him. 

“Guess that solves the mystery of the neatly-stacked panels,” Knock Out said. He held up his staff, tiny bolts of electricity crackling between its prongs. “What are you doing here, Your Primeliness?” 

Optimus didn’t speak, his optics darting back and forth between the pair. His processor still felt like it was simmering with stress. 

Two opponents who are used to fighting together. Close quarters. I can’t use my blasters without risk of hitting Ratchet or the warhead.

“Probably trying to steal our find,” Breakdown said, punching his fist into his palm.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Knock Out’s smirk morphed into a full grin. 

“You do not want this fight,” Optimus said, pouring as much authority into his voice as he could. He straightened his spinal strut and activated his battle mask, glaring at them. “Leave, now.” 

Knock Out and Breakdown stared at him for a long moment, then looked at each other. 

“...Nah,” the Decepticon medic replied. 

Breakdown lunged forward with a roar, clenched fist rocketing towards Optimus’ faceplate. Optimus dropped down into a crouch and thrusted his arms out; his forearms connected with the bruiser’s abdominal plating. Using his momentum, he tossed him over his helm and sent him crashing into the wall. 

Knock Out was already moving forward, staff raised to strike. Optimus’ servo shot out and caught it. The weapon’s prongs sparked and crackled inches away from his neck cables. 

Digits tight around the slender cylinder, Optimus stood and pushed the smaller mech back, trying to wrench it out of his grasp. Knock Out’s crimson optics went wide, his dentra gritting as he pulled back. They wrestled over the staff, pedes stumbling across the cavern floor in uneven strides and circles. 

Optimus lifted his arms, hoping to use his height to his advantage; Knock Out yelped as his pedes left the ground, sharp digits still hooked on the staff like coat hangers. Whatever sense of triumph he might have felt was diminished when the red mech’s pointed pedes struck his torso in a frantic flurry of kicks. 

He became aware of metal scraping against rock; over Knock Out’s shoulder, he saw Breakdown charging towards them, servo transforming into a hammer and faceplate twisted in rage. 

Optimus stepped back, shaking the staff more violently. Twisting left and right, he tried to keep the flailing Knock Out between him and Breakdown. 

“I could use some help here!” Knock Out shrieked. Optimus couldn’t help but wince from the pitch he managed to reach. 

“You’re in the way!” Breakdown shouted back. “Let go!” 

“And let him zap us?!”

Breakdown opened his intake, but no sound left it. His optic drifted past them and focused on something behind them. Spark leaping into his throat pipe, Optimus turned his helm, optics snagging on Ratchet’s barely visible form. His friend stood just outside the pod, clearly realizing he had been caught trying to sneak out of it. 

…Scrap.

“You’re here too, huh?” Breakdown said. He jabbed his hammer in Ratchet’s direction. “I’ve got a score to settle with you, old mech!” 

Ratchet frowned. “For the record, I was not in my right mind when that happened,” he said. 

His optics darted over to meet Optimus’. They flickered towards Breakdown, then Knock Out, then back to him. He pursed his lip components. 

Optimus blinked, realization dawning. He gave a tiny nod. 

“Yet somehow…” Ratchet said, sticking his chin out at Breakdown. “This old mech managed to kick your tailpipe. Even without chemical enhancement, I bet I could knock you over like a house of cards right now!” 

Breakdown’s optic blazed like a yellow fireball. He charged towards the medic with a roar, hammer raised in the air. 

He only took three steps before Optimus swung Knock Out to the side. Letting go of the staff, he flung the medic at Breakdown, sending both Decepticons crashing across the cavern in a tumbling blurr of cherry red and dull blue. 

Optimus allowed himself a small grin as he ran over to the pod. 

“You alright?” Ratchet asked, cyan optics darting over his frame in concern. 

“Yes.” Optimus deactivated his battle mask, his grin shifting into something softer. He held out his servo. “I believe we’ve done all we can do here.” 

Ratchet looked up at him, cyan light tinting his cheeks. His faceplate brightened even more as he smiled, his lip components a gentle curve. His servo was warm against Optimus’ when he took it, sending shivers of joy through his systems. 

He’s okay. It’s okay. We’re going to be okay- 

“Okay, that does it!” 

Optimus whipped around, instinctively placing himself in front of Ratchet, his digits tightening around his. Breakdown was staggering to his pedes, dentra bared in a furious snarl. Knock Out stood behind him, staring at his scratched arm plating in horror. 

“I’m going to make you regret ever landing on the same mudball as me, you makerfragger!” Breakdown said. His shoulder-mounted launcher popped out with a smooth clunk. “Even Knock Out won’t be able to weld you back together when I’m done!” 

Optimus’ spark pulsed skyrocketed as the launcher’s hum grew louder. 

“Don’t!” He barked, holding his free servo out. “You do not want to do that!” 

“Why not?!” Breakdown said, grinning at his obvious fear. 

“Do you want to get blown up?!” Ratchet shouted from behind him. Out of the corner of his optic, Optimus saw him jab a digit at the open pod. “What do you think that is?!” 

“Some fancy tool, why should I care?”

“It’s a fragging bomb, you nitwit!”

“Ratchet…” Optimus whispered. He squeezed his friend’s digits in warning. 

The medic took several deep vents. His thumb digit ran along Optimus’ knuckles in a quick yet gentle motion. 

“It is a bomb,” Ratchet repeated more calmly. “A ridiculously powerful one. And if you fire that in here, we’ll all be blown to pieces.” 

Breakdown opened and shut his intake, optic flickering between them and the pod. His servos clenched at his sides. His launcher remained out, quietly whirring and glowing a threatening yellow. 

“Breakdown…” Knock Out said. His voice was unusually quiet. “I think they’re telling the truth.” 

“What?!” Breakdown whipped his helm towards him in shock. “Why? They could be trying to trick us!” 

“I don’t think they are.” Knock Out’s optics were wide, casting crimson light across his pale faceplate. “...I think that’s a seismic-shock warhead.” 

“A planet-cracker?” Breakdown’s shoulders stiffened. “I thought those were rumors. Autobot talk and all that.” 

“So did I, but that looks pretty damn similar to those ‘hypothetical diagrams’ Laserbeak showed me when he was tipsy on high-grade once…” Knock Out said with a tiny gulp. 

“I thought they were supposed to be huge,” Breakdown said, unconvinced. 

Ratchet’s digits were nearly crushing Optimus’ palm now. He glanced over to meet the medic’s gaze; sharp optics were staring at him questioningly. He gave him a tiny nod. 

“It’s likely only a prototype,” Ratchet said slowly, trying to give as little information as possible. “But it’s still got enough power to demolish this entire cave. Including all of us.” 

Breakdown narrowed his optic at him. His digits still twitched in anticipation. The launcher droned on his shoulder like a copper cobra ready to strike. 

“I’m being serious, Breakdown,” Knock Out said through clenched dentra. “If nothing else, that looks like cybernitrate in there, and I don’t think I need to tell you what that’ll do to my finish!” 

“And what if they’re lying?!” Breakdown barked. “I’m not letting us get caught off guard by Prime and the doctor of doom again!” 

Optimus blinked, his processor whirring. The scene they had witnessed in the woods replayed in his helm as he simultaneously reevaluated the situation. Breakdown was standing slightly in front of Knock Out, his broad arm thrown out. His helm rotated back and forth in small, tight twitches, waiting for them to charge towards him and his companion. His single optic was bright not only with anger, but with fear. 

He’s trying to protect who he cares for. Just like I am. 

“I know you feel like you have little reason to trust us,” he said. He kept his gaze locked with Breakdown’s as he spoke. “We have fought one another too long for me to expect anything else. But if nothing else, trust me when I say that this device is capable of destroying all of us if it goes off. …And I think we can both agree that there are those in this cave we do not want harmed.” 

Breakdown blinked, vents hitching for a moment. His frame was tight as a drawn bow. 

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Optimus couldn’t tell whose digits were shaking, his or Ratchet’s. Or both.

Finally, the humming of Breakdown’s launcher slowed to a stop. The barrel disappeared back into his shoulder components with a soft schlunk. 

Optimus’ frame sagged in relief. Ratchet let out a quiet vent of air. 

“Good call,” Knock Out said, gripping the side of his helm. “Burns are a glitch to wash off.” 

“I’m only doing this because I believe you,” Breakdown grunted at him before hunching his shoulders and glaring at them. “You two Auto-slags can go jump in the Pit.” 

“The feeling’s mutual,” Ratchet blandly replied. 

Optimus might have chuckled in another situation. 

For several long seconds, the four of them stared at each other. The cavern was deathly silent - apart from the cacophonous drilling above them. 

“So now what?” Knock Out asked. “...Feel like surrendering?” 

“Not particularly,” Optimus replied. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the grinding of metal moving through rock. 

“Well, we’re not letting you just walk away with a giant bomb!” Breakdown nearly shouted. “We’re not that dumb!” 

“And you think we’re going to let you use it?” Ratchet hollered back. 

Wait. Why is the drilling suddenly so loud- 

The ceiling exploded in a shower of harsh dust and rock shards. Metallic shrieking flooded the cavern, drowning out Breakdown’s shouts and Ratchet’s curses. Optimus stumbled back as a slim figure dropped from the newly-burrowed hole. Through the shadows and cascading dirt, narrow pink optics gleamed. 

“I thought I heard something.” Airachnid’s voice was a sheathed blade; a smooth purr with a core of sharpened steel. “An Iaconian artifact and the helm of Optimus Prime. This mission is proving to be quite productive.” 

Two magenta circles appeared below her flashing optics, humming and ringed with claws. 

“Move!”  

Ratchet’s digits tightened around Optimus’ servo as he grabbed his arm and yanked him to the side. Airachnid opened fire, white-pink lasers streaking through the cavern and missing his shoulder by inches. 

“Get to the tunnel!” Optimus shouted, shoving the medic in front of him as they raced along the cave wall. 

“Don’t let them escape!” Airachnid screeched. “If either of them leave this cavern, you’ll be the ones I tear apart!” 

Breakdown’s stocky form leapt in front of them, hammer raised. Optimus lunged forwards and snagged Ratchet’s elbow, pulling him away. He shoved the medic behind him in one quick motion as he pulled out his blade.

“Stay behind me,” he murmured. 

“You can’t take all three of them!” Ratchet whisper-yelled in alarm. 

Airachnid smirked, baring pointed fangs in the dim light. Knock Out’s optics darted nervously back and forth. Breakdown’s expression was grimly determined. All of them capable of snuffing out one of the brightest lights in his life.

“I have to try.” 

Breakdown charged at them with a small roar. Optimus met the hammer’s swing with his blade, catching it at its hilt. Shoving the berserker back, he drove his fist into the side of his helm. Breakdown’s helm snapped back, and Optimus pulled his arm back to punch him again. 

Fwip! 

Something light and sticky smacked into his forearm, halting his movement. Whipping his helm to the side, he saw a strand of sickly-white web fluid running from his plating to Airachnid’s wrist. 

“Would you care to do the honors, doctor?” The femme hissed in delight. Optimus turned his helm again to see Knock Out approaching, taser staff raised towards the gap in his back armor. 

“Oh no, you don’t!” Ratchet barked as he raced forward, grabbing the staff with both servos. Knock Out squawked as they stumbled across the floor, grappling for the weapon as it crackled and buzzed with blue electricity. 

Fear rose in Optimus’ throat pipe, but it was accompanied by fondness. 

I should have realized I could count on you, old friend. Just hold on until I can help. 

Optimus’ pede flew out, kicking Breakdown in his midsection. The other mech doubled over gasping for air. Taking advantage of his distraction, Optimus distangled his blade from his hammer, transformed it back into a servo, and backhanded him, sending him tumbling backwards. 

Turning to Airachnid, Optimus pulled at the webbing, but the sticky substance refused to detach from his plating. He grabbed the strand with his free servo and firmly planted his pedes on the ground. Airachnid grinned and leaned back, clearly expecting him to try to pull the webs off. 

Her smile vanished when he instead pulled on the strand so hard that he lifted her pedes off the ground. Flinging her over his helm like a huge, spider-shaped flail, he threw her into the nearest boulder with a strut-shaking thud. She collapsed to the ground with a groan. 

Prying the webs off of his digits, Optimus turned around just in time to see Ratchet thrust the staff forward, smashing the metal pole into Knock Out’s faceplate. The cherry-red mech yowled in pain, but still refused to let go.

“You never know when to quit!” Ratchet barked before letting go of the staff in favor of punching the other medic squarely between his crimson optics. Knock Out staggered backwards, whining and clutching his helm, his staff laying forgotten on the cavern floor. 

Ratchet dusted his servos, cyan optics as bright as embers and lip components pulled into a confident smirk. 

Optimus’ spark fluttered faster than a hummingbird. He couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his faceplate.

He’s so beautiful. 

If he lets me, I will tell him that every day. For as long as he wants, for the rest of our lives, until we become one with the AllSpark- 

“That’s it!”  

Airachnid’s screech shot into Optimus’ audio receptors. He whipped his helm around to see the femme rising up on her insectoid legs, her palm blasters glowing and shrieking like the call of a hunting hawk. Pink light exploded across her snarling faceplate as she fired in a wild rage. 

Optimus watched the lasers soar past him like sharks in the dark ocean. His optics traced their path on instinct, flitting past Knock Out and Ratchet before landing on the device sitting almost innocently in the opened pod. 

His spark had been doused with cold water. Sound had been sucked out of the cave. He thought he heard Breakdown shouting and Knock Out’s tires screeching against harsh rock, but he ignored them. 

All he could see was Ratchet, standing mere yards away from the warhead, expression startled and pedes moving far too slowly. There was no cover, no boulders to duck behind, nothing but open air between him and the fiery shockwave about to erupt. 

There was no shock, nor fear in Optimus’ processor; just a single, unwavering thought. 

Protect him. 

His pedes barely touched the ground. His arms pumped through the air like pistons. Airachnid’s lasers streaked towards their unintentional target, closer and closer. 

They were three inches away when he reached Ratchet. 

One inch away when he grabbed his friend. 

Striking home when he pulled his love against his chestplate, wrapping his arms tightly around him and turning his back to the pod. 

Please, please let him be okay.

A deafening roar. 

A flood of light. 

Heat. Agony. Falling.

Then, nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Something was digging into Ratchet’s backplates. 

He grimaced in discomfort, trying to shift away from the pointed edge biting into his mesh. His limbs scraped against the floor, little more than heavy, unwieldy hunks of metal. His processor pounded in his helm like a Titan’s pedesteps. Each vent of air he drew in was an effort against the weight sprawled across his chestplate. 

What…happened? 

Did I fall asleep at my work bench again? I would manage to pass out with a screwdriver digging into my spinal strut.

But then…what fell on top of me? 

It was heavy and uneven, whatever it was. Groaning, he tried to bend his knees to plant his pedes on the ground, only to realize the weight stretched to his legs as well. His processor felt like melted noodles, soupy and slow as sludge. He could only feebly twitch like a pinned, wounded insect. 

Something’s wrong. There’s nothing at my desk this heavy. Even the desk itself wouldn’t feel like this if it fell on me. 

And wasn’t…wasn’t I somewhere else? 

His optical lids felt like they were caked shut by grit. The air smelled stale, laced with whiffs of smoke and the bitter aroma of burnt paint. A high-pitched ringing filled his audio receptors, muffling his labored vents and the skitter of pebbles against rock.

Rock.

Right, I was underground. Underground with…

A fear he couldn’t name started bubbling up his throat pipe. He managed to lift his arm, his limb clunking against metal. Gritting his dentra, he moved to push the weight off of him. 

I need to get up, I need to move, I need to find- 

His servo settled against the edge of the weight. He pushed as hard as he could. 

Metal creaked, then snapped. Something gave way under his servo, crumbling in his digits like dry cinders. 

The weight flinched, letting out a faint, agonized gasp. 

Horror tore open Ratchet’s optical lids. His vision was dark and blurry, but he could still make out the familiar red armor inches away from his faceplate. 

“...Optimus?” He whispered. 

A soft groan came from his left. Gingerly turning his helm, he saw an audial, coated in ash and broken at the tip. The helm it was attached to slowly rotated, revealing dull, flickering azure optics. 

“Ra…chet…?” Optimus’ voice slurred as it left his intake, frail and confused. 

“What happened?” Ratchet asked, painfully aware of the broad chest rising and falling far too weakly against his. “How…why are you…?”

“H-hurt…”

“What?”

“The war…the warhead…” Optimus’ optical lids fluttered for a moment before refocusing. “Are…are you hurt?” 

The warhead. 

Memories slammed into Ratchet’s processor with the force of a comet. Finding the pod. Fighting Knock Out and Breakdown to a standstill. Airachnid bursting into the cave from the ceiling. The femme firing wildly. Realizing the shots would hit the warhead with him mere feet away. Feeling someone grab him and hold him close as…as the warhead…

Oh no. 

Oh Primus, no. No, no, no no no nonononono- 

“Ratch- Ratchet.” Optimus’ optics flashed with fear. “Are you hurt?” 

“No, but I’m not the one who just-” The words hitched in Ratchet’s chest. He forced himself to vent through the lumps in his throat pipe. “Just- just hold on, okay? I need to- scrap…” 

Moving as carefully as he could, Ratchet shimmied his way out from under Optimus’ frame. The larger mech twitched and grunted with each scrape; Ratchet could just barely see his tightly gritted dentra in the dim light. Sitting up, he swung his legs under him to rest on his knees, ignoring the dull aches in his frame. He nearly dropped Optimus’ flashlight when he pulled it out and clicked it on, aiming the blindingly-white beam in front of him. 

His spark almost extinguished at the sight. 

Optimus - strong, beautiful, wonderful Optimus - lay face-down on the cold floor, limbs askew and chassis faintly shaking from pain. His right arm was sprawled above his helm, elbow bent at an angle just a little too wide to be normal. A giant, jagged piece of shrapnel was jammed clear through his left thigh; the metal Ratchet had so tenderly stroked mere hours ago, punctured and slowly dripping energon onto the rock. His back-

Sweet Solus Prime, his back.  

His armor had been burnt so badly that there wasn’t an inch of red left, just black charr and malformed gray, peppered by bits of ragged shrapnel. Only one of his exhaust pipes remained, shredded and melted into a vaguely cylindrical lump. What was left of the plating had been left thin and brittle; patches of it were gone altogether, exposing scorched internal mesh and struts. Ratchet could see the hole his unaware digits had punched through the metal, a tiny bubble of energon welling up in the new wound, like a worm burrowing out of a wildfire’s ashes. 

He looked away, panting and trying not to purge all over himself. 

This is horrible. I’ve seen corpses that looked better than this. 

He shielded me with his own body. 

I don’t know if I could fix this even if we were in the medbay, and we’re trapped under a mountain surrounded by Cons.

This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been standing next to the bomb. Or if I’d moved faster.

This should have been me. 

“How…” Optimus’ wavering voice broke through Ratchet’s thoughts. “How bad is it, old friend?” 

Ratchet looked back, his optics drawn away from the horrific injuries and towards the pair of azure orbs he knew so well, filled with agony he was struggling to swallow down. Yet there was no fear there, no panic. Just a steadfast, expectant gaze.

He’s trusting me to fix this. 

Ratchet took a deep vent, stilling his digits and steeling his nerves. He needed to focus. 

There is no way I am failing him again today. 

“Well, it’s not…great,” he admitted. His free servo settled atop Optimus’. “We need to get back to base as soon as possible. And by that, I mean now.” 

“I will not disagree with you,” Optimus mumbled, optical lids drooping. His servo rotated to clutch Ratchet’s digits. 

“I need you to stay awake.” Ratchet squeezed his large, trembling digits and hoped his voice wasn’t also shaking. He pulled his scanner out, casting the thin beam across Optimus’ broken body. “I won’t be able to do anything about…about your back here. And…frag.” 

“What is it?”

Ratchet forced himself to vent. “The shrapnel in your leg nicked two major fuel lines. I don’t know if I can safely pull it out before getting a transfusion started. How’s your arm?” 

“Mostly numb, below the elbow.” Optimus’ vents shook in his chest. “Above…not so much.” 

“Probably a partial break, at least.” Ratchet pressed a digit against his comm link, clenching his dentra when he heard the familiar static. “Comms are still down. The Decepticons’ jammer must have been out of the range of the blast.” 

Optimus’ optical lids were fluttering again; Ratchet’s spark jolted with each dipping movement. 

“Where do you think we are?” He asked, squeezing Optimus’ digits a little harder. 

Keep him talking. Keep him awake. 

Optimus blinked, his optics refocusing as he looked around. “The warhead was designed to…to fire downwards into a planet’s core, destabilizing and igniting its contents. Turning the entire planet into a bomb. The prototype likely…likely destroyed the cavern’s floor, and we fell into a lower cave system.” 

“Makes sense.” Ratchet nodded, forcing himself to smile encouragingly. “At least we’re alone down here. We won’t have to worry about-” 

Whirrrr-shreeeeeeeeee…

The sound was tiny, muffled by layers of rock, but Ratchet still recognized it for what it was. 

“Is that…” Optimus shakily lifted his helm a few inches higher, optics flicking around. “Am I actually hearing this, or…” 

“They’re drilling.” Ratchet stood, twisting the flashlight’s beam around. “We need to move, now.” 

The cave they were in was small and narrow, little more than a tear-shaped chasm, likely cut off from a bigger cavern by the debris. Dark shadows stretched above them, cloaking the distant ceiling in a thick black. The comparatively miniscule circle of light passed over piles of burnt and broken rock before falling on a dark gap in the wall. Stepping around Optimus, he walked over and peered inside, feeling relief when he saw it opened into another cavern. A way out. 

As he turned back around, something glinted in the corner of his optic, half-buried by gritty dust. Crouching down, he brushed dirt off of a broken device. The piece of metal easily fit in his palm, its prongs scratched and singed at the ends. 

The head of Knock Out’s staff…could be useful. 

“Graagh!” 

Ratchet whipped his helm around to see Optimus on his knees, helm drooping and injured arm hanging from its socket like a broken tree branch. His hurt leg shook and spilled droplets of energon onto the rock. He was visibly swaying in place, his expression shifting between rigid and slack with alarming frequency. 

“Careful, careful!” Ratchet dashed back to Optimus’ side, tucking the staff head away. “Here, lean on me. And I mean actually lean; don’t hurt yourself trying to not put weight on me.” 

Throwing Optimus’ arm over his shoulders, Ratchet slowly stood, pulling the larger mech up with him. Optimus wobbled dangerously, his digits digging into his mesh. Ratchet could hear air hissing between his friend’s clenched dentra as he shuffled slightly in front of him, bracing an arm against his chest and letting his weight rest on his back. 

“Ready to start walking?” Ratchet asked. 

“I think…yes.” Optimus sluggishly shook his helm. “I…apologize, Ratchet, I don’t…I can barely think straight…” 

“Your pain sensors are beyond overloaded right now, and you’re probably going into shock.” Ratchet spoke concisely, swallowing down the fear threatening to override all of his systems. “Just…one step at a time, okay? We’ll go one step at a time.”

“Okay…” 

And they did, step by shaky step. They stumbled over to the passageway, Optimus haphazardly hopping along on one pede. Their combined shoulder width barely scraped through the gap in the rock. Optimus leaned on him more and more as they stepped into the next cavern; Ratchet’s struts were already creaking under the weight. 

Not that he was going to acknowledge that. 

This cave was much larger than the one they landed in, stretching into a roughly crescent shape. The ceiling was just as high; a dark abyss hanging above them like an executioner’s blade. 

“Stop here for a nanoklik,” Ratchet murmured. He felt Optimus’ helm graze his as he nodded, his great frame faintly trembling.

Keeping one servo braced against the larger mech’s chassis, Ratchet used the other to pull out the flashlight and aim it in front of them. The beam fell on broken rocks strewn across the space, likely thrown to their new positions by the blast. He swept the light towards the far corner of the cave; a pile of stones sat there, covering all but the pointed top of another breach in the wall. 

“There!” Ratchet grinned. “That’s our way out. I’ll just have to do some digging-” 

There was a groan by his audial, Optimus’ helm dropped onto his shoulder with a dull clunk, and suddenly the weight on his frame doubled. 

“Optimus?!” Ratchet gasped, spark leaping into his intake. His knees were nearly buckling under the larger mech’s sagging frame. He dropped the flashlight, his servo flying up to clench his friend’s digits. “Optimus, wake up. D-Don’t you dare- Open your optics, slag it!” 

Optimus’ helm snapped back up, his azure optics flickering like dying lightbulbs. “Sor…sor…ry…rash…shet…” His mumbles were barely comprehensible. 

Ratchet pursed his lip components so hard they nearly trembled. “Come on, we need to keep moving. We just need to get into that tunnel. There’s got to be a way out of this mountain, right?” 

“Y-yes…” Optimus whispered. “But…don’t think…make it…” 

“Don’t talk like that, we’ll get there.” 

“No.” Optimus forced his helm up, his optics determinedly focusing on Ratchet’s face. “I don’t think… I can make it. You can.” 

Ratchet stared at him, feeling like he’d been punched in the tank. “You’re not being serious.” 

“I am.” Optimus winced as he spoke, gingerly trying to put weight on his wounded leg. “I will only slow you down. Go, I can…urgh…I can at least buy you some time-” 

“Have you lost your fragging mind?!”  

Optimus nearly fell over, optics wide as moons. “What?” 

“I am not leaving you!” Ratchet cried, spark pounding in his chest. “How can you even- why do you think I’d- I couldn’t live-” 

He clamped his jaw shut, inhaling sharply. 

Deep vents. You can’t afford to panic now. He can’t afford for you to panic now.

“...I am not leaving you,” he whispered, voice shaking but sure. “I know you’re trying to keep me alive, but I don’t care. I don’t care if I have to fight Primus himself, I will never leave you. If I did, I…I might as well leave my spark behind.” 

I would be leaving my spark behind. 

Optimus stared back at him, intake opening and closing, his expressions shifting too quickly for Ratchet to analyze them. His beautiful azure optics flickered, welling with emotion. 

Behind them, the muffled shrill of metal boring through rock had only grown louder. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Ratchet,” Optimus finally said, voice trembling from a mixture of pain and fear. “Please, I can’t…I can’t protect you like this.” 

“Then I guess it’s my turn to protect you,” Ratchet replied, squeezing his servo. “Let’s find somewhere for you to rest for a minute.” 

They hobbled over to the wall, where piles of broken boulders and fallen stalactites lay. Shuffling between two of the mounds, Ratchet carefully lowered Optimus to the floor, propping him against a large rock. Tiny trails of energon trickled down his shredded backplates and onto the ground. His friend’s faceplate contorted in pain, but at least his optics were staying open now. 

“Just stay here for a second,” Ratchet said, resting his palm against the side of Optimus’ helm. “I’m going to look around.” 

“Please…please be careful,” Optimus breathed out, his optics briefly brightening with worry. 

Ratchet stood, smiling reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I will,” he said as he stepped away. “You know me, nothing slips past ow frag!” 

He tripped, barely regaining his balance before he fell on his faceplate. He glared down at the object his pede had caught on: a broken, singed leg from the warhead. 

Guess bits of that Prima-be-rusted thing survived along with us.

“Ratchet?” 

“I’m fine!” He growled and kicked the leg away, the piece of metal smacking against a crushed stalagmite several yards away with a dull thunk. It didn’t make him feel better. 

Retrieving the flashlight, Ratchet swept the beam around once more. Only the tips of Optimus’ pedes were visible from here, which was good. What wasn’t as good was the complete lack of proper cover in the cave’s center, aside from occasional chunks of debris that would barely reach his calf cables. He would have one chance for a sneak attack, and that was it. 

No cover, no blasters, no back-up.

…I’ve definitely had better diagnoses. 

Groaning, Ratchet stalked through the cleft in the rock and back into the first cave. The drilling was getting louder, sounding like a mix between a buzzsaw and a blender - unique enough that he could guess exactly who was coming for them. 

Airachnid would probably tear this mountain apart if it meant adding Optimus’ helm to her “collection.” 

The thought of his handsome helm sitting, cold and dead, in that femme’s claws sent a shudder down Ratchet’s spinal strut. He had to force himself to vent, drawing air in and out of his ventilation systems like a stiff accordion. The drilling grew even louder - and closer.

He guessed he had a little over fifteen minutes before Airachnid would burst through the wall, slice him open, and leave him to bleed out on the floor as she skittered into the next cave to slaughter the love of his life like a cyber-hog. 

His fist clenched at his sides, digits digging into his palm until the metal creaked. 

No. I am not even going to think about that. I’m a medic for slag’s sake, I operate well under pressure. I just need to think. 

There’s no way I could take her on in a fight. If she assumes we’re alive, she’ll be on alert. I’ll need to catch her off guard in a way that will take her out immediately. 

Her sensors will detect me if I try to hide, and I doubt I’ll be able to sneak up on her. Optimus won’t be able to help me. How am I supposed to lure her into a trap- 

Ratchet’s helm snapped up. Energy shot through his digits as they pulled out the things he had picked up earlier: the warhead’s triggering mechanism, the tube of cybernitrate, the head of Knock Out’s staff…

Enough to direct, fuel, and spark another explosion. 

Ratchet’s processor whirred in his helm like a nest of helium hornets. His circuits generated rough schematics, ideas rapidly clicking into place. He turned and sprinted back into the larger cavern, heading towards the piles of rubble. 

“Come on…” He muttered, flashlight and optics scanning the broken rock. “There has to be something that could work…” 

There. A glint of metal amongst the dark gray dust. Brushing the grit aside, he found a torn-up panel from the warhead, charred almost black apart from the faded purple of the Decepticon insignia. Lifting it, he found the bomb’s singed inner workings, including…

“Oh, thank the AllSpark!” He gasped when he found a tangle of cables wedged between two pieces of rebar. He pulled them out, gently tugging them to test their strength. They were scorched an ashy gray and would likely fall apart with a firm jerk. 

Perfect. 

“Ratchet…?” Optimus’ strained voice carried across the cavern. 

Standing back up, Ratchet quickly walked back to their hiding place. Optimus was struggling to straighten his posture, using his good arm to push on the boulder he leaned against. Even through clenched dentra, his pained grunts were audible. 

“Hey, hey, don’t move.” Ratchet dropped to one knee, resting a servo on his shoulder. “I’ve got a plan. Just stay right here and keep quiet, alright? With any luck, you won’t have to lift a digit until it’s all over.” 

“Are…are you sure?” Optimus asked, even as he practically collapsed back against the boulder. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Ratchet said, rubbing his thumb against his ash-streaked plating. “Just trust me.” 

Optimus looked up at him, his tense expression softening. “Of course I trust you, Ratchet,” he murmured, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. 

Ratchet’s spark swelled in his chest. For a moment, he felt like he was back in the meadow, warm sunlight on his frame and Optimus’ arm curled around his back. Filled to the very brim of his being with joy and affection for this mech he loved more than anything. 

If Airachnid hadn’t been so close, he might have leaned forward and kissed him right then and there. 

Instead, he just squeezed his shoulder and stood. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”

Ratchet crouched down in a shadowed corner of the cave they had woken up in, pistons tense and spark pounding in his chest. His digits were steady as they reached down and began digging through a small stack of stones. He forced himself to vent slowly, drawing air in and pushing it out like the steady strokes of an oar.

In, hold, out.

A few yards to his left, the wall was beginning to shake. The drilling was now a near-deafening shriek. 

In, hold, out.

It would be pretty hard to believe that he hadn’t realized she was coming, but he was banking on her assuming that his audio receptors had been damaged in the explosion. 

Flecks of rock skittered off the wall and fell to the floor. 

In, hold, out. 

He tossed a couple rocks to the side in his “search.”

In, hold, out.

Besides, he doubted she would think too deeply about it. A defenseless medic like him would be as tantalizing as a chunk of fuel-drenched mesh to a predator like her. 

Cracks blossomed across the wall like a lily of death. 

In, hold, out. 

The wall exploded outwards in a cloud of dust, chased by a spinning cyclone of insectoid legs. Ratchet’s shoulders snapped back, his helm twisting around to face his guest. His digits curled around two chunks of rock as if in surprise. 

The audial-splitting whirr finally died as Airachnid’s thin pedes settled on the hard floor. She slowly rolled out her neck, flexing her violet-tipped digits like a hungry cybercat. The only sign of her nearly getting caught in an explosion less than an hour ago were some faint scorch marks on her legs and abdomen. 

She scanned the space with a practiced ease, helm smoothly turning until her cold gaze fell on Ratchet’s frozen form. 

Pink optics flashed in the dim light, her lip components curling up in a cruel smile. 

“Looking for something, doctor?” She crooned. “I doubt you’ll find any escape routes under that rubble.” 

Ratchet stayed quiet, though he opened his optics as wide as possible. He didn’t have to fake the fear in them. 

“Having trouble hearing?” Airachnid’s grin grew wider. She lifted a slender leg and stepped closer. “Yes, I can’t imagine you escaped that blast unscathed. Even if you used your precious Prime as a shield.” 

Ratchet clenched his dentra, sending pulses of pain through his jaw. The rocks dug into his digit joints.

“Where is he, I wonder?” She continued, flexing her digits. She slowly crept forward, step by whisper-soft step, her shadow passing over the glowing puddle of energon. “He couldn’t have gotten far. Not while spilling all of this. I wonder how many of your wires I’ll have to pull out before you tell me where he’s hiding-”

Yeah, that’s enough. 

Ratchet’s right arm shot out; the rock he’d been clutching flew from his servo and beamed Airachnid in the temple. Her helm snapped back, a startled cry bursting out of her intake. Springing to his pedes, he ran for the hole in the wall. 

“You old slag-pot!” Airachnid shrieked. Thin strings of webbing shot from her wrists and struck the wall, missing Ratchet’s frame by inches. The femme snarled in fury, her pink optics flashing like angry searchlights in the corner of his vision. 

Ratchet flung the second rock over his shoulder. She crossed her arms over her faceplate, the rock bouncing off her plating with a harsh crash - blocking her vision long enough for him to jump over the threshold of the hole. Running to the center of the cavern, he whipped around and clenched his fists in front of him. 

“The old dog still has some bite to him, I see…” Airachnid hissed, her lip components slowly twisting back up. Her pedes clicked against the stone floor with soft plinks.  

“Stay back,” Ratchet said, raising his voice to a near shout. 

“‘Stay back’?” Airachnid called mockingly, cocking her helm until her sharp grin resembled a crescent moon in the darkness. “No, I don’t think I will, doctor. But please keep running. I would hate for this little game of ours to come to such an abrupt end!” 

The spider-like femme lunged forward, fangs bared and claws outstretched. Her legs skittered rapidly across the ground, through the puddle of Optimus’ energon, and into the narrow entryway between the caves. 

She didn’t even notice when her razor-thin pede struck a line of singed, fraying cables stretched across the bottom of the hole, attached to a cobbled-together device tucked against the wall. 

Ratchet smirked as his makeshift tripwire snapped. 

BOOM!

Airachnid disappeared in a blast of yellow flame and gray dust. A shockwave of noise and heat rippled across the cave. Ratchet threw his arms up to shield his face, sharp pebbles striking his plating. The sound of rock crashing against rock nearly deafened him for real. 

The crash of falling boulders faded to the soft clattering of pebbles. Lowering his arms, Ratchet peered at the damage, blinking away dust. The hole was gone, buried under a pile of broken rock and collapsed wall. Scorch marks dotted the visible rubble. Airachnid was nowhere to be seen. 

Ratchet let himself sigh in relief, his shoulders slackening. He turned around and began walking towards Optimus’ hiding place, relief pooling in his tank. 

“I think we’re good,” he called out. “She’s buried. We can make it-”

“RAAAAAGH!” 

The pile of rocks exploded. Ratchet whipped around, fear shooting through his wires. Something struck the right side of his faceplate, white strings scratching at his optic until his vision blurred into wavering blobs. 

“You think…you’re awfully clever, don’t you?!” Airachnid’s snarls echoed across the cave like gunshots. The webbing stuck to Ratchet’s face sharply yanked forward; his arms flailed out to catch himself as he fell to his knees, rock scraping against his palms.

He blinked his uncovered optic until he could clearly see the femme’s dark outline. The purple and gold accents on her plating were now singed completely black, giving her the appearance of a coal-dark shadow. Dents and tears covered her armor, energon seeping from shredded mesh. Her right optic flickered at uneven intervals; the pink light flashed across her face, revealing plating burnt and torn off from brow to chin. Her dentra were fully visible, pale sharp lines against darkened interior mesh. 

“Well, let me tell you something, doctor,” she hissed, the half of her face still recognizable contorted into an enraged scowl. She staggered forward; one of her legs was snapped off, the broken stump weeping blue sparks. “No one gets the drop on me twice. And while you might have gotten incredibly lucky this time…” 

Airachnid loomed over him, optics gleaming like a hawk’s. Her frown flipped to a grin so fast that it made Ratchet’s tank clench in terror. His limbs were frozen at his sides. 

If that didn’t kill her, I’m scrap metal.

Talon-like digits, blackened and burned, reached towards his face.

“Your luck just ran out-” 

Something gray and the size of an energon cube smashed into the femme’s chest, sending her stumbling back with a grunt. Ratchet leapt back to his pedes, his servo transforming into his surgical blade and slicing through the strand of webbing. Tearing the remaining threads free from his face, he looked in the direction the rock had flown from. 

Optimus was standing, if only barely. He leaned heavily against a boulder, his good servo gripping the top of it like a lifeline. Energon dripped from his back and thigh, his dentra were gritted, and his vents came in harsh pants, but the familiar gleam of determination shone in his optics. 

A part of Ratchet’s spark warmed even as it plunged into his tank. 

“Optimus Prime,” Airachnid said. She’d steadied herself on her five remaining legs, and now smiled at the injured mech. “I was wondering where you were.” 

“Leave… now, Airachnid,” Optimus grunted out. His bad leg shook violently as he struggled to put weight on it. “Your goal has been destroyed. There is…no point in further combat.” 

“Really?” Airachnid’s smirk grew, her digits twitching by her sides. “I can see a perfectly good prize, right here.” 

“Don’t you fragging dare,” Ratchet growled, pointing his blade towards the femme. He hoped she somehow didn’t notice how it shook. 

She narrowed her optics at him. “Don’t bother, old mech. I wouldn’t so much as stick your helm on a pike. It’d be a waste of metal.” 

“You- aargh!” Optimus’ pained cry cut off his angry exclamation. Ratchet’s helm whipped around. His tank clenched at the sight of the larger mech bent over at the waist, his grip on the boulder the only thing keeping him from pitching forward onto his face. Even in the dim light, he could make out the outline of his nearly-exposed spinal strut.

Ratchet swallowed down an intake-full of bile. 

Fwip-fwap! 

Webbing struck his toe struts, sticking his pede to the floor. He barely had time to realize what was happening before Airachnid leapt forward, claws raised high. 

“No!” Ratchet shouted. He lunged towards her, the clump of webs on his pede halting his movement. He fell to his knees, his digits barely scraping against her leg as she passed him. 

Airachnid slammed into Optimus, sending the larger mech stumbling back into the wall. Burnt metal crunched against rock. Optimus’ optics flew open in pain even as his good servo flew up to grab the femme by the throat. He pushed her back, the two of them struggling and staggering along the wall behind him in a tangle of stifled shouts and broken limbs. 

“Frag, frag, frag!” Ratchet gasped out, sawing through the sticky strands with his blade. Ripping his pede free, he ran towards the fight. 

Optimus twisted and pulled back his helm; Airachnid’s claws scratched along the side of his helm rather than stabbing into his optic. His gaze flickered towards Ratchet, and a moment later he had spun in place, dragging his spider-like opponent around so her back faced the medic. 

Even now, he knows how to control a fight, Ratchet thought with a faint smile. 

He sprinted forward, pedesteps light. Airachnid didn’t hear him, too busy trying to stab Optimus with her sharpened pedes as he violently shook her. He raised his blade, its razor-sharp point aimed for the square of the femme’s back. A single, paralyzing strike that would stop her in her tracks long enough for them to get away. 

Look who’s luck is running out now- 

Something solid and gray plunged into Ratchet’s vision and struck his arm. His blade shattered, polished shards of broken metal raining to the floor. The blow’s force rippled up his arm, his wiring systems quaking in shock. He fell, elbows scraping against rock and sharp bits of metal stabbing into his abdominal plating. 

“About time, muscles.” Airachnid’s voice purred from above him. “Hold our guest, would you?” 

A large servo clamped onto Ratchet’s arm and yanked him up onto his pedes. Jerking his helm around, he found himself looking at Breakdown’s ash-streaked faceplate, yellow optic narrowed and expression grim. 

Growling, Ratchet transformed his servo back into a fist and swung at the larger Con, aiming for his optic. He didn’t even get close before a pair of servos snagged his wrist, carefully manicured digits digging into his plating. 

“Oh no, you don’t!” Knock Out barked, pulling his arm down and behind Ratchet’s back. “You’re not scuffing up his paint job anymore today!” 

Ratchet tugged at their grips, helm whipping back and forth between the two Decepticons. Neither of them were in perfect shape: the arm Breakdown wasn’t holding him with hung limply at his side, most of the outer armor torn off to reveal singed inner workings, and Knock Out’s plating was badly scratched and stained smokey gray. But their digits didn’t loosen their hold on him, no matter how hard he pulled. 

“R- Ratchet!” Optimus gasped out, optics wide with fear. He shoved Airachnid back, pulling his fist back to punch her in the faceplate. 

Faster than Ratchet could blink, webbing shot from Airachnid’s wrist and stuck Optimus' arm to the wall. More strands thwacked onto his pedes, trapping them against the floor. 

“That’s better,” Airachnid said, rolling out her shoulders and steadying herself on her pedes. 

Optimus’ vents hissed between his dentra, his optics narrowing at the femme through his visible pain. “I do not know…what you want, Airachnid,” he gritted out. “But, I assure you…you will not get it.” 

Ratchet’s spark pounded in his audio receptors. Breakdown’s thick digits tightened around his arm. Knock Out audibly gulped. 

“You want to know what I want, Optimus?” Airachnid asked. 

She looked over her shoulder, her optic flashing balefully at Ratchet. Her exposed dentra glinted in the shadows of her ruined face like a hidden blade. 

No, please Primus, no… 

One of Airachnid’s legs shot forward, her claws stabbing deeply into Optimus’ injured arm, just above the elbow. Metal groaned, mesh tore, energon spurted and splashed the black insectoid limb blue. Optimus’ optics went wide and his jaw clenched, faceplate turning pale. Choked cries slipped between his gritted dentra. 

His intake only opened when a second leg plunged into his arm. 

“RAAARGH!”

“I want…” 

With a sickening, ripping shriek, Airachnid tore Optimus’s forearm clean off and threw it aside, casting an arc of blue droplets through the air. 

“...to hear a Prime scream.”  

Her legs slammed into Optimus’ shoulders, pressing his wounded back into the harsh rock wall behind him. He gasped and shuddered, what was left of his severed arm helplessly flailing at his side. The off-white clumps of webbing held his remaining servo and pedes in place, even as his struggles grew more and more frantic. 

“No!” Ratchet shouted, throwing himself forward. Knock Out and Breakdown pulled him back, their servos tightening around his arms. “Let him go!” 

This wasn’t helping; he knew it wasn’t helping, but he couldn’t stop the words from escaping his intake. Panic surged through his systems like an overload of electricity. His spark climbed up his throat pipe, threatening to choke him. 

Airachnid ignored him. She pressed Optimus further into the wall. His broad chestplate heaved in short, agonized pants. His optics were mere pinpricks of flickering light. Energon and flecks of charred metal seeped down the wall behind him; a macabre cape of gore. 

“Stop it!” Ratchet screamed. He pulled and fought against his captors’ hold, thrashing in place like a helpless sparkling. “Stop it! You made your fragging point, just let him go!” 

Airachnid looked over her shoulder again, just far enough for him to see the cruel twist of her remaining lip components. 

“You carry on worse than Arcee.”

Her servo grabbed the shrapnel embedded in Optimus' thigh and jiggled it, just enough to send a fresh stream of energon running down his leg. His pained gasp stabbed into Ratchet’s audio receptors like knives. 

“You sick slagger!” Ratchet was kicking now, haphazardly flailing his pedes around. The sight of Optimus’ beautiful faceplate twisted in agony shattered his pride into a million pieces. “Don’t- you can’t- please, no!” 

“Airachnid, is this…” Knock Out’s normally haughty voice trembled. “Is this really necessary? I mean, can’t we just-” 

“If either of you get in my way, I will make the deepest pits of Kaon look like a spa day,” Airachnid coldly whispered. “Hold the medic, and don’t move.” 

Optimus’ frame violently shook, his helm drooping forward like a dying flower. His pained gasps grew labored. His pedes were soaked in a puddle of his own energon, Airachnid’s webbing turning blue. He wasn’t even trying to pull his arm free anymore.

“Optimus, you have to get out!” Ratchet said, voice cracking. His pedes scraped against the floor, tips leaving grooves in the rock. “You have to- I can’t- please, get out!” 

“All of this time, Megatron struggled to bring down his greatest enemy…” Airachnid said. Her pointer digit traced up the center of Optimus’ chest, right over his spark. “Imagine what I’ll be able to do when I return to the Nemesis with your helm. No more bowing to that arrogant dirt hauler, no more looking over my shoulder for his muted soundboard. No more orders or restrictions. Nothing but time for me to play. True freedom.” 

Her digit reached Optimus’ chin, lifting it up. His beautiful azure optics were dim and flickering. 

“Isn’t that what your little Autobot cause is all about?” She whispered. 

Optimus stared blankly at her for a moment. Then his gaze shifted over her shoulder, brightening when it settled on the cyan optics locked onto him. 

Ratchet couldn’t speak, could barely draw in air through his frantic gasps. He pulled against Knock Out and Breakdown’s grips until his shoulders felt like they would pop out. The tips of his pedes throbbed, droplets of energon trickling into the grooves they made. 

“It…it’s okay…old friend.” Optimus’ voice was little more than a trembling whisper. His lip components pulled up into a gentle smile. “It…it will be okay.” 

“No…” Ratchet whimpered. That smile should have been surrounded by light and warmth and beautiful flowers, not cold rock and spilled energon. “Please, no…” 

This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening, the universe had already taken too much from him. It couldn’t take this. 

It couldn’t take him.

“It’s okay.” Optimus still smiled, still trying to comfort him as his life fuel dripped onto the floor. His optics shone like the brightest stars. “I’m…okay, Ratchet…Ratchet…I…I l-” 

“Shut up.” 

Two of Airachnid’s legs plunged into Optimus’ chest, right below his window panels. Black claws sunk through armor and mesh, then ripped themselves out. Energon, thick and tinged with oil, spurted from the twin holes. 

Optimus’ optics flashed once in shock. A pained wheeze of air escaped his intake. His optical lids fluttered, then fell. His body slumped forward, knees buckling and helm hanging down, like a broken marionette held up only by its strings. 

Something inside Ratchet shattered. 

He was only vaguely aware of falling to his knees, of the digits still clamped around his arms. His wires were numb. His processor soundlessly buzzed in his helm. He had no idea if he was venting. 

The only thing that still worked was his memory files, flashing across his vision in a beautiful, terrible dance. 

Orion peering up at him from an ancient book, only his bright optics visible above the dusty pages. 

Optimus stumbling off the battlefield, dented and leaking, but victorious. 

Orion snorting into his drink at Maccadam’s as Ratchet told him stories from his patients. 

Optimus sitting on a medical berth with Bumblebee, talking him through the sign language guide he found after Tyger Pax. 

Optimus raising his optical ridges at Miko and Bulkhead’s latest antics, and actually rolling his optics when Ratchet jokingly suggested sending them to the middle of the Sahara until they calmed down. 

Optimus clutching Ratchet’s torso and burying his face in his chest when the nightmares became too much. 

Optimus smiling down at him as he woke up after the SynthEn incident. 

Orion stroking the shining petals in the crystalline garden, optics glowing with wonder. 

Optimus holding him close in the meadow, soft and warm and loving. 

Memories. Wonderful, precious memories. 

Only memories. 

The mech who made them was gone. 

Ratchet sucked in a vent. His gaze shifted to the side, settling on the back of Airachnid’s horned helm.

…Murdered. 

A coldness began to settle over his frame, steeling his nerve wiring and enveloping his processor in a shroud of calm. It was not an unfamiliar feeling to him - such cool collectiveness was needed when performing life-saving operations under battlefield conditions. There was no room for error or mistakes - just clear thought and action. 

This was different though. Sharper. Heavier.

Angrier. 

Breakdown’s grip was still as strong as ever. But Knock Out’s had loosened slightly. The slim mech was standing almost directly behind him, both sets of digits circled around his wrist. 

Ratchet took a deep vent. The chemical scent of spilled energon filled his olfactory sensors. 

No room for fear. Or doubt. Or restraint. 

He leaned forward, as if lost in grief, taking weight off of his knees. 

“Breaks, I don’t…” Knock Out was whispering, barely even paying attention to his movement. “I don’t know about this, I think we should-” 

Ratchet’s pede shot out from under him, his heel connecting precisely with Knock Out’s knee joint with a swift, gruesome crunch. 

“ARGH!” The other medic screamed in pain. His digits left Ratchet’s arm to clutch his leg, hopping backwards before falling onto his skidplate. 

Ratchet didn’t stop to look. His newly-freed servo flew to Breakdown’s wrist, jabbing his thumb digit against the central cable running into his servo. The larger mech’s digits spasmed from the pressure, loosening enough for Ratchet to wrench himself free. 

“Wha- Knock- ow!” Breakdown yelped, too slow to comprehend or stop what was happening. 

Ratchet sprung to his pedes and raced forward. He didn’t stop to see what Knock Out and Breakdown did. 

They weren’t his target. 

Airachnid turned her helm, her flickering optic widening. 

Ratchet crashed into the femme, easily knocking her off of her thin legs and sending both of them tumbling across the floor. Metal crashed against rock. Debris bit into his backplates as they rolled across the rough ground. 

When they came to a stop, Ratchet immediately pushed himself onto his servos and knees. Looking up, he saw Airachnid struggling to her pedes, her many legs bent awkwardly under her. 

“Still looking for a fight, doctor?” Airachnid asked, her marred face splitting into a grin. Tiny streaks of Optimus’ energon ran diagonally across her faceplate. “A little late, don’t you thi-” 

Ratchet charged forward, a scream exploding out of his intake. His clenched fists flew into a flurry of punches and strikes. He aimed for her face, her throat, her joints, the points where her metal was thin and burnt - anywhere it would hurt. 

“Do you really think you stand a chance, rustbucket?” Airachnid gleefully asked. Her singed arms whisked around, easily blocking his blows. “Or are you just eager to die?” 

Ratchet snarled. Baring his dentra, he stomped forward, trying to push the spider-like femme against one of the boulders. His knuckles clashed against her plating over and over, ringing in his audials like a hammer on a bell. His processor whirred in his helm; a wasp’s nest of thoughts too loud and fast for him to process - or to even dare try - apart from one, repeating phrase. 

Don’t let her get away, don’t let her get away, don’t let her-

SHRIK! 

Airachnid’s servo flashed between Ratchet’s furious blows. Her claws raked across his left brow, missing his optic by an inch. Pain exploded through his wiring and he threw his helm back with a shout. He instinctively raised his servos towards his faceplate to check the damage. 

Fwap!  

Sticky strands of webbing struck and bound his wrists together. His optics went wide as he realized his mistake. 

“You should have stayed in your med bay,” Airachnid said, fangs flashing in delight. “But I’m glad you didn’t. This may be the most fun I’ve had in stellar cycles.” 

She lashed out a clawed pede. Ratchet stumbled back, the sharpened point barely scraping his abdominal plating. Chestplate heaving, he kept backing away, his retreating pedes sending pebbles skittering across the floor. He pulled and strained, but his wrists remained hopelessly stuck together. Energon leaked into his optic from the stinging cut, even as he fruitlessly tried blinking it away. 

All the while, Airachnid crept after him, digits flexing and optics gleaming a poisonous pink. 

“You’re a lot more dignified than some of my past prey, I’ll give you that,” she casually noted. “You haven’t even tried biting through the webs yet. It’s pretty funny, watching their dentra sticking together until they choke.” 

Ratchet’s optics darted around, his spark pounding in desperation. His heel strut nearly snagged on the broken stump of a stalagmite, sending him lurching backwards and nearly toppling onto his aft. Airachnid’s torn-up grin widened. Her legs straightened, lifting her higher into the air, ready to strike him down like a defenseless glitch mouse. 

Out of the corner of his vision, something glinted. His optics snagged on the leg of the warhead he had kicked earlier; more specifically, the jagged point where it had been torn from the device. 

I need to get these webs off. 

Ratchet turned and sprinted towards the leg. His own legs stretched out in broad strides. His bound arms swung in front of him. He didn’t dare look behind him. 

Not that that helped. 

Pain stabbed into his back as something slammed into him. He fell forward, arms above his helm and chestplate crashing against rock. Air knocked out of him by the force of the fall, he weakly gasped, even as two of Airachnid’s sharpened pedes sank deeper into his mesh. 

“Trying to run?” She chuckled. “No, I don’t think so.” 

She yanked her claws out of him. Gulping down vents of air, Ratchet tried to shimmy forward and out from under the mechanoid spider. 

“No…” Airachnid said. She seized his shoulders, halting his movement. “I don’t think you’ll be leaving this cave. Not in one piece, at any rate.”

Ratchet clenched his jaw shut as her digits pierced his shoulder pauldrons. He wouldn’t scream; he would give her that satisfaction. 

“I’ll bring back just enough to prove you’re dead,” Airachnid continued. Her servos pressed down on his shoulders, her claws stabbing through his armor to reach his mesh. “Your spark chamber, probably. The rest I’ll leave down here to rust in the dark.” 

Ratchet could feel energon bubbling up from his wounds, spilling across his backplates and onto the ground. His vents wheezed between his clenched dentra. He dragged his helm up until his chin rested against the floor; through his blurred vision, he spotted the warhead’s leg inches away from his digits, just too far away for him to reach. 

No, no, I have to, I have…I can’t. 

Ratchet’s limbs went limp. He let his optics shutter close. His spark flickered and dimmed to a tiny, dying ember.

I can’t do this. I couldn’t protect him. I can’t even avenge him.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my light…

“Look on the bright side, Ratchet,” Airachnid whispered, her voice a wire’s width away from his audial. “You’ll be following your precious Prime into the AllSpark. That’s all a worthless old mech could really hope for, isn’t it?” 

It is. It’s all I deserve, why should I hope for anything else-

“There is no one I trust more than you, Ratchet.” 

The deep baritone he knew so well echoed in Ratchet’s helm. His vents caught in his throat pipe. 

“...nearly caused the loss of something irreplaceable. Our medic, and a most trusted friend.” 

“ You have been there for me since the beginning, through more hardships than anyone should ever have to face, and you’ve saved my life more times than I can count. Even when my life was not in immediate danger, you saved me.”

“ You are one of the best mechs I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.” 

Optimus’ voice filled his helm, full of kindness, trust, and affection. Through the fog of pain and grief, Ratchet could still see his gentle smile and beautiful optics. Could feel large, warm digits wrapping around his own. 

Forcing his optics open, Ratchet stared ahead, vision clearing until he could make out the warhead’s leg. 

“You can do this, Ratchet. I believe in you.” 

Some of the last words Optimus said to him. 

Ratchet gritted his dentra, calculating how deep Airachnid had sunk her claws into him. 

I’ll be damned if I let those words be a lie. 

“Nothing left to say, doctor?” Airachnid asked. “Thankfully, I have plenty-” 

Ratchet bunched his knees under him and lunged forward, stretching his arms and digits until he thought his struts would disattach. His intake fell open in an agonized scream as Airachnid’s digits ripped through his shoulders from the movement. The pain didn’t stop his digits and palms from closing around the bar of cold, ash-coated metal. 

Pushing off his elbows, he twisted around, tearing his shoulders free. He smacked the leg against Airachnid’s abdomen, sending her stumbling to the side. 

He’d barely steadied himself on his knees when Airachnid rebounded, crashing into him and trying to wrench the leg from his servos. They rolled across the uneven ground, dentra bared and elbows clashing. Airachnid’s rageful shrieks nearly deafened him, her optics blazing like nuclear blasts. He tried to push her away with the leg, but her pedes stubbornly gripped his sides. Her talons scratched across his arms and chestplate, inching closer and closer to his neck. 

They finally stopped rolling when they struck the cave wall. Ratchet found himself on his knees, leaking energon and clutching the warhead’s leg. Beneath him, Airachnid snarled, clawed digits thrusting upwards towards his faceplate. 

Ratchet didn’t think. One moment, he was simply holding the leg. 

The next, it was plunging down, jagged point first. 

SCHLUNK! 

Ratchet froze. He was panting, but his vents sounded muffled in his audio receptors. He stared down, optics painfully wide. 

Airachnid stared back at him; at least, she might have. It was hard to tell, with the warhead’s leg pierced clear through her forehelm, penetrating her cranium and digging into the rock under her. Cracks ran across her half-destroyed faceplate and interior mesh from the wound like branches on a tree. Her angled optics were almost perfectly round, their pink light flickering and rapidly dimming. Her dentra parted with a faint, rasping expiration of air. 

Ratchet could only watch as her optics flashed one last time, then faded entirely. Her broken face went still. The servos that had been racing towards his faceplate seconds ago fell limp by her helm. Her insectoid legs slowly curled inwards, scraping by his sides before jerking to a final halt. 

Ratchet released his makeshift weapon, digits trembling and mechanical in their movements. He stood, knees nearly buckling, and stared down at the dead Decepticon. He couldn’t look away. His audio receptors were full of cotton. 

Dead. She’s dead. You killed her.

You’re a medic and you killed her.

…She killed Optimus. 

Something touched his elbow. 

Ratchet snarled and twisted around, nearly tripping on Airachnid’s torso. He swung his bound arms at his attacker. 

“Woah, Ratchet, calm down, it’s me!” 

Chestplate heaving, Ratchet stared down at the slim blue femme looking up at him, optics wide with concern. 

“...Arcee?” He mumbled, his voice hoarse. 

“Yeah, Ratchet, it’s me.” Arcee held her servos out placatingly. Her optics kept darting up and down between his face and the body lying between his pedes. “We got here as soon as we realized something was jamming comm signals in the park. Let’s…let’s just get you away from-” 

She stared down at Airachnid’s shattered face for a long moment before tearing her gaze back to him. Her expression was impossible to read.

“From…from here. Come on, let’s get those webs off…” 

Arcee’s digits grasped his as she pulled him away from the wall and Airachnid’s body. He stumbled after her, nearly tripping on fallen chunks of stalactites. Coming to a stop, she pulled out her blade and began gently sawing at the dirty-white strands, lip components pulled into a thin, concentrated line. 

Dazed, Ratchet shifted his gaze to the rest of the cavern. Breakdown and Knock Out stood close to the opposite wall, the smaller mech leaning against his companion with a visibly-busted knee and a pained expression. Bulkhead glared at them from a few yards away, both blasters aimed at their faceplates, silently daring them to move. 

Bumblebee crouched in front of Optimus’ limp form, tearing away the webs trapping his pedes. 

Ratchet looked away, vision blurring and vents caught in his throat pipe. 

“There.” Arcee put her blade away, peeling the remaining webbing off of his wrists. “This stuff sticks like you wouldn’t believe, but thankfully you can cut it pretty easy…you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, not meeting her gaze. 

“You sure? You’re sort of leaking all over the place…”

“I’m fine.” He was trying not to think.

“If either of you so much as twitch an antenna, I’ll blast you the rest of the way to the AllSpark,” Bulkhead was growling, his blasters whirring in concert. 

“We don’t have any antennas,” Breakdown grumbled.

“But if we did, I assure you they would be perfectly still right now,” Knock Out quickly added. 

“Bulk’, can you lend me a servo?” Bumblebee called. 

“Little busy here, Bee.” 

“I’m trying to get Optimus down before he gets a crick in his neck cables! He’s already venting kind of funny!” 

Ratchet’s helm whipped around, his spark nearly going supernova. 

“He’s alive?!” 

Bulkhead and Breakdown jumped in place. Knock Out yelped, nearly falling onto his face. Bumblebee, now standing, looked back at him with wide optics. 

“Y-Yeah, he’s alive, Ratchet, wh-” 

Ratchet must have sprinted across the cave, but he didn’t remember doing so. He was just suddenly in front of Optimus, looking up at his ash-strewn, horribly-slack faceplate. Reaching up with trembling servos, ignoring the piercing throbs from his shoulders, he rested a palm against his jawline and pressed his digit against his neck. He didn’t dare vent. 

He almost didn’t believe it when he felt the feather-light pulse. But it was there, along with the faint, wheezing vents coming from his intake. 

Alive. Passed out from pain and loss of energon, but alive.

Relief poured into his frame like a waterfall, and it was only residual adrenaline that kept him from collapsing under the wondrous weight of it.

“Oh, thank the AllSpark…” He whispered.

A faint flinch shivered through Optimus’ frame, and Ratchet realized that he was still far from out of danger. 

The calmness that had kept him and his patients alive on the battlefield promptly leapt back into action. “Help me get him down,” he told Bumblebee, moving his servos from Optimus’ neck to under his arms. 

The scout nodded in understanding. Using a sharp bit of rock, he cut through the webs trapping Optimus’ arm against the wall. The larger mech slumped over, and Ratchet and Bumblebee lowered him to the ground. 

“Keep him upright,” Ratchet said. “We can’t put any more pressure on his back.” 

Bumblebee blinked in confusion and glanced over Optimus’ shoulder. When he looked back, his optics were wide and his faceplate as pale as ice. He mutely nodded in agreement. 

“We need to get him back to base as soon as possible,” Ratchet said. 

“What about them?” Arcee asked, jabbing her thumb digit at Knock Out and Breakdown. “Are we still taking prisoners?” 

Ratchet looked at the pair of Decepticons. Breakdown’s good arm was tightly wrapped around his companion’s shoulders, his single optic darting between the various Autobots with growing fear. His gaze met Knock Out’s; his crimson optics gleamed with careful thought. 

“You know, Breakdown…” The Decepticon medic spoke slowly, almost casually. “It really is a shame, what happened to Airachnid.”

Bulkhead tensed. Arcee gritted her jaw. Ratchet just pursed his lip components.

“What?” Breakdown stared down at him in shock, then back up in alarm. “Knocks, I don’t think now is the time-” 

“Yes, real shame,” Knock Out interrupted, raising his voice and optical ridges at him. “That Airachnid put in all that effort to try and find that artifact, only for it to just blow up in her face. No warning at all! Just boom, and then we find her with a metal bar sticking out of her helm. Already dead. Nothing I could do.” 

Breakdown blinked at him, realization slowly dawning on his face. 

“Oh! Y-yeah.” The Decepticon bruiser nodded rapidly, his gaze flickering back and forth between Knock Out’s face and the Autobots watching them. “Yeah, real shame. We found her like that. Didn’t watch any Autobot kill her! No Autobots anywhere! She just…blew up.” 

The pair nodded at each other, then nervously looked over at the Autobots. 

Bulkhead, Arcee, and Bumblebee stared at them for several long, silent moments. Slowly, all three of them turned their helms to look at Ratchet. 

…Oh, what the frag.

“Just…” Ratchet huffed and shook his helm. “Just get out of here.” 

The Decepticons did so all too happily, hobbling towards the hole Airachnid had punched through the wall. Knock Out, hopping on one leg, clutched Breakdown’s arm as they moved. The larger mech purposely walked slowly to let him keep up. 

Ratchet watched them, his spark strangely heavy and warm. 

“Well, that was…weird,” Bulkhead said, hesitantly putting away his blasters. 

“Probably better than a fight.” Arcee wasn’t looking at him when she replied, her optics again drifting towards the silent corpse on the other side of the cavern. 

“Ratchet…” Bumblebee’s beeps were quiet. “Optimus is going to be okay, right?” 

The medic stared the scout’s wide, baby-blue optics for a moment. His gaze shifted back to Optimus, whose helm still drooped like an old tulip. His servo reached over to rest on his broad chestplate, right above his spark. Each weak pulse against his palm made his own spark race. 

“There is no one I trust more than you, Ratchet.” 

“He will,” Ratchet said, cool determination streaming through his circuits. He waved Bulkhead and Arcee closer to help them. “I’ll fix him.” 

I will, old friend. 

I almost lost your light already today. I won’t let it go out.

Chapter Text

Optimus ached.  

Dull pain throbbed through his frame with the regularity of a spark pulse. Trying to ignore it, he drew in a deep vent. His slowly-inflating chest pressed against the berth, raising his back. 

Odd. He didn’t normally fall asleep on his abdominal plating. 

Optimus’ closed optical lids twitched in discomfort, his awareness slowly growing. He was lying down, his helm turned to the side so his audial pressed against the berth - which did seem to be a berth of some sort, too comfortable to be the floor but too hard and smooth to be dirt or grass. His back was strangely stiff, individual plates feeling almost fused together. 

Pursing his lip components, Optimus tried to stretch out his limbs. His jaw clenched as a particularly sharp throb of pain rippled from his left thigh. His arms were tucked by his sides, heavy with exhaustion. 

What…happened? 

Unease prickled in the back of Optimus’ throat pipe. His systems were rebooting unusually slowly; his audio receptors were just now picking up a quiet, steady beeping. Fighting through his sluggish thoughts, he peeled his optical lids open. 

His vision gradually clarified, revealing cement-gray walls and a medical monitor, complete with a small green screen and thin wires leading from its bottom to his own frame. Relief streamed through his systems, and he let out a small sigh. 

The med bay. Whatever had happened, he was safe now. 

A soft warble met Optimus’ audio receptors. His gaze shifted down until it fell on a familiar yellow form. Bumblebee sat on a chair by his berth, his arms folded on its surface. His helm was tucked between his arms; small, whirred snores emanated from within the yellow-plated limbs. 

Despite his aches and confusion, the corners of Optimus’ intake curled upwards. He slowly lifted his arm, frame lightly scraping against the berth’s surface, and rested his servo on Bumblebee’s helm. His digits gently rubbed the bright yellow dome. 

Bumblebee chirruped softly, helm leaning into the touch. One of his door-wings twitched like a cyber-puppy’s ear. Arms shifting, the scout lifted his chin, faceplate peeking out from his arms and optics sliding open with bleary blue light. 

“Hello, little one…” Optimus whispered, his voice little more than a quiet rasp. “I take it that something happened?” 

The younger bot blinked at him, optical lids drooping and expression uncomprehending. His door-wings flicked, he blinked again, and suddenly his optics were as round as dinner plates. Trilling, he lunged forward, helm clunking against Optimus’ shoulder and arms wrapping haphazardly around his torso. 

“Urph!” Optimus grunted at the impact, rolling onto his side and sending shocks through his half-numb backplates. “Bumblebee, wha-” 

“Optimus thank Primus it’s been days and you weren’t waking up and Ratchet couldn’t tell if you ever would and he’s barely said anything since yesterday and me and Bulk and the kids were so scared even Arcee was starting to freak out please promise you’ll never shut down that long ever again-!” 

The frantic stream of binary words crumbled into unintelligible bleeps, muffled by Optimus’ chestplate. Instinctively patting the scout’s shaking back, he frowned in bewildered thought. 

Shut down? Why would that have happened? And why would Ratchet be…unsure… 

Ratchet. 

His processor suddenly began whirring, nearly screaming inside his helm. The cave system. The warhead. Fighting Decepticons. Fire laced with metal washing over him. Ratchet trying to drag him to safety. Struggling to defend himself from Airachnid. Webs, cold and sticky, sticking him to the wall. Pain, so much pain, daggers across his back and claws in his mesh. Ratchet’s optics, cyan and beautiful and terrified, the last thing he saw before- 

Optimus sat up, dragging the surprised scout up with him. His gaze whipped around, searching for white and orange armor and finding none. 

“WHERE’S RATCHET?!” 

“Woah, be careful!” 

“Nani?!” 

“Huh…whuz happing…?”

Optimus almost immediately regretted sitting up so quickly, his frame throbbing like an anvil struck by a hammer. He ignored it; his servos grasped Bumblebee’s shoulders, barely keeping his digits from digging into the younger mech’s armor. 

“Where is Ratchet?!” He repeated, voice shaking in terror. “Airachnid, did she- is he safe?!”

“He’s okay!” Bumblebee blurted. His servos flew up to clutch his wrists, his optics wide in reassurance. “He’s okay, Optimus. He was a little…scratched up when we found you, but Arcee and I helped him with that and he fixed you up. He’s safe, you’re…you’re both safe.” 

The fist squeezing Optimus’ spark slowly released as the scout’s words sank in. He pressed a servo over his faceplate, taking several deep, shaking vents. When he looked at Bumblebee again, he managed a weak smile. 

Bumblebee returned it, squeezing Optimus’ wrist a little tighter. 

“Took you long enough to wake up, big guy!”

Both mechs jolted at the sudden voice; a voice, Optimus was just now processing, that he had heard a minute ago. Craning his helm around, he spotted three small lumps on the berth next to his. One was scrambling to its feet, the second sat up at a roughly ninety-degree angle, and the third remained still on the cot’s surface. He stared down at them in surprise.

Miko looked back up at him with a huge grin, clad in fuzzy gray-and-pink-striped pajamas. Her hair, normally in pigtails, hung loose behind her like a lion’s mane. 

“I thought we’d have to move our beds here!” She added.

“Optimus…awake?” Jack mumbled from where he sat. The teen was enclosed in a blue sleeping bag, only his sleepy face visible. 

“Yep!” Miko chipperly replied. She tossed one of her pillows at the third and smallest lump. “Rise and shine, Raf, boss bot is awake!” 

A small groan issued from the bright yellow sleeping bag, followed by a hand that fumbled for the pair of glasses sitting nearby. 

“Why do you two sleep like you’re in cocoons?” Miko asked. “We’re in the middle of the desert!” 

“Yeah, and deserts get cold at night!” Jack grumbled, arms unfolding from his sleeping bag like a butterfly’s wings. 

Optimus blinked down at them, then glanced over at Bumblebee. “...How late is it?” He hesitantly asked. 

“Late.” Bumblebee settled himself cross-legged on the foot of the berth. “They wanted to be here in case you woke up.” 

“Oh.” Optimus didn’t bother hiding the soft smile that slipped onto his faceplate. 

Heavy pedesteps suddenly crashed down the hall. Bulkhead charged into the medbay, optics wide and mace held high. Arcee darted in behind him, helm swiveling back and forth. 

“What’s going- boss?!” Bulkhead’s faceplate broke into a grin. “You’re awake!” 

Arcee blinked, her tense expression lightening into a smile. 

“Good to have you back, Optimus,” she said. “You were out for a while.”

“So I have heard,” Optimus said. 

“How do you feel?” Jack said. The teen had freed himself from his sleeping bag, his previously bleary gaze sharp as it ran over him. 

Optimus gritted his dentra, ignoring the phantom sensations of talons in his mesh and a torn grin hanging before him like a malicious moon. His optics flickered towards the door, instinctively searching.

“I…will be alright, Jack,” he said. “I am just sore.”

“I’ll bet.” Jack crossed his arms, nervously chewing his lip. “You didn’t exactly look…good, for a while there.” 

Optimus couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Slowly, he reached behind him, his servo tentatively touching his stiff backplates. His digits brushed across smooth, sensitive plating, only to suddenly scrape against a far rougher, almost scale-like texture. A jolt shot through his systems, spiking the aches throbbing through his limbs. 

“Ratchet spent a lot of time back there,” Arcee said. Her tone was neutral, but the worry in her optics was clear. “He had to graft new plating for some patches, and the mesh that was left…” 

She shrugged. “It’s not pretty, but it’s stable, so you don’t have to worry about anything breaking. Ratchet made sure of that.” 

“I do not doubt that…” Optimus’ servos moved across his frame, tracing the welding marks on his thigh and torso. All of them were precise and nearly indistinguishable from the rest of his armor, clearly repaired with a great deal of focus and care. Undoubtedly Ratchet’s work.

His gaze flickered again towards the door, anxiety prickling in his processor. 

“How did you find us?” He asked after a moment. “I thought our comms were still being jammed.”

“You can thank Raf,” Bumblebee said, nodding towards the other berth. The boy in question was half out of his sleeping bag, head drooping and face pale. “He was keeping an optic on anything about the park, and he saw some local laboratory detected an earthquake. We decided to check it out, and then we saw smoke and dust coming out of the cave and…” 

He trailed off and stared blankly ahead, optics dimming and door-wings drooping. 

“We went in,” Bulkhead said, lightly tapping his knuckles together. “The Vehicons didn’t even try to stop us, so we were able to just climb down through the hole the planet-cracker blew through the caves. By the time we got there, you were already out and Ratchet was- uh…” 

The former Wrecker nervously glanced around. Optimus’ spark began to pound, crawling up his throat pipe. 

“What?” He asked, forcing his voice to remain calm. “Ratchet was what?”

“He, erhm…” Bulkhead gulped. “He sorta…kinda…”

“He killed Airachnid.”

Optimus whipped his helm around. Arcee stared back at him, faceplate carefully blank. Her fists trembled as they clenched her elbows. 

“He killed her,” she repeated. Her voice was quiet but hard. “He thought she killed you, and he fought her and ended up killing her. He’s pretty shaken up about it, not that he’s letting it show…or that he should feel bad about doing it.”

“He’s a medic, Arcee,” Bumblebee said with a sharp look. “He doesn’t like killing anyone, crazy spider or not.”

Optimus’ ventilation systems were being crushed in his chest. Shock enclosed his nerve wiring like a too-tight glove. He was unable to ignore the conspicuous absence any longer. 

“...Where is he?” Optimus finally asked. His voice sounded strangely small in the spacious room. 

Bumblebee’s optics dimmed further. Jack scratched the back of his head. Bulkhead and Arcee glanced at each other, lip components pursed. 

“Ratchet said he was going to be here until you woke up.” Miko was the first to speak. Her usually cheerful demeanor mellowed, her hand rubbing her arm. “But you’ve kind of been out for…over a week.” 

Optimus’ faceplate slackened, optical lids pulled back and jaw falling open. 

“We didn’t have much choice,” Arcee cut in. “He didn’t want to risk you going back into shock, and with our basically non-existent painkiller options…” She frowned. “A hard system reset was our best bet. We were hoping it would only be a few days, but…” 

“Ratchet didn’t want to leave,” Bumblebee said. “He didn’t leave, the entire time. I kept telling him he needed to rest, cause he was still recovering, but he just kept saying he was fine.” 

“He said he took naps,” Rafael piped up. The boy was sitting on his sleeping bag, eyelids drooped and hair even messier than usual. “But… yawwww… I don’t remember ever seeing him napping, so I dunno about that.” 

“He almost passed out a few hours ago,” Bulkhead said. “I barely caught him before he faceplanted on a berth. We finally convinced him to go back to his room after that.” 

Optimus’ audio receptors were in a vacuum, his teammates’ words flitting around them like bats in a cave. 

He thought she killed you, and he killed her. He’s pretty shaken up about it, not that he’s letting it show. Out for a week. A hard system reset. He didn’t leave the entire time. He just kept saying he was fine. He almost passed out. 

“I don’t care if I have to fight Primus himself, I will never leave you. If I did, I might as well leave my spark behind.”

Oh, Ratchet… 

“Is he still in his quarters?” He asked. 

“Yeah, he should be-” 

“Good.” Optimus swung his legs off of the berth, his pedes gently clunking against the floor. He grabbed the monitor’s wires and pulled the sensors attached to him free. “I am going there now.” 

“Woah, wait, hang on!” Bumblebee bleeped in alarm, grabbing the larger mech’s arm. “You literally just woke up, you need to rest-” 

“I will not be doing anything strenuous, Bumblebee.” Optimus gently grasped the scout’s wrist. “I just…I need to see him. Please.” 

Bumblebee’s optics recalibrated, his door-wings twitching anxiously. 

“Let him go, Bee,” Arcee said. “It’ll be good for both of them. Slag, we could all use some rest.” 

“Agreed,” Jack mumbled with a yawn. 

After a long moment, Bumblebee nodded, his digits reluctantly loosening their grip. 

“Just…be careful, okay?” He quietly beeped. His expression shifted into a stern frown remarkably similar to Ratchet’s, his digit jabbing at Optimus’ faceplate. “And promise me you’ll comm me if either of you start feeling weird, okay?” 

“I will,” Optimus said, gently patting the young bot’s shoulder. 

He stood slowly, waves of tingling numbness and discomfort washing over his systems before settling. Strange sensations rippled across his backplates; patches of plating hardened and nearly unfeeling, other parts of his armor sensitive and keenly aware of the faint chill of the base’s air conditioning. Bumblebee stood with him, letting him rest some weight on him.

Patting the scout’s shoulder one last time, Optimus took a few cautious steps forward. His limbs were still stiff, his systems still calibrating, dull throbs of pain still pulsing from his wounds, but he was otherwise completely fine. 

You’ve saved me once again, old friend. I’m coming. 

Softly smiling, he looked back at his team. “Thank you. All of you. Please get some rest, you all deserve it.” 

Tired nods and mumbles of agreement were his reply. Rafael was already crawling back inside his sleeping bag, his small body almost immediately slumping over. 

“...Is he already out?” Miko asked. 

“Jealous,” Jack groaned, flopping onto his back. “Sleep, please come to me…”

“Didn’t you promise to text your mother updates?” Arcee pointed out. 

The teen snapped back upright, hand flailing for his phone. “Oh, gosh love it-!” 

Optimus chuckled softly as he turned and left the medbay. The base’s halls were dim, ringed with circular shadows where the overhead lights didn’t quite reach. His pedesteps echoed like gears in a ticking clock as he walked, dull but steady. Faint jolts of discomfort pulsed from his thigh with each step. Noticeable, but far from the worst pain he’d felt. 

“Optimus, you have to get out! You have to- I can’t- please, get out!”  

Anxiety coiled in his tank as Ratchet’s door appeared from the shadows. He pressed his palms against his shoulders, phantom claws still digging into his mesh. Stopping before the dark entryway, he vented deeply, forcing his tightened chest to expand. 

You’re safe. You’re both safe, but he needs you calm right now. 

Shoulder struts relaxing, Optimus opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him with a soft clunk. The room was nearly pitch-black; he had to pause for a moment to let his optics adjust. Angular, shadowed shapes of the worktable, chair, and berth slowly appeared in his vision. His vents caught in his throat pipe as his optics fell on the form lying on their back on the platform before him. 

Ratchet looked awful. His armor, normally clean and discreetly polished, was dull and scuffed. Thin layers of dust and ash peeked out of the cracks of his armor and joints; anywhere that couldn’t easily be reached by a rag. Scratch marks ran down his arms and chestplate in a wild, criss-crossing pattern. A particularly deep gash cut across his left temple, through his optical ridge and ending half an inch from the corner of his optic. Dark shadows ringed his closed optics, and his jaw gritted even in his sleep. 

“Oh, love…” Optimus murmured, shaking his helm. He shuffled around the berth, moving to grab the chair and carry it over. 

Ratchet softly groaned, arm plating scraping against the berth’s surface. 

“Ratchet?” Optimus dashed back to the berthside and lowered himself to a crouch.

“No…” The medic mumbled. “No, don’t…you can’t…” 

“I’m here, Ratchet. It’s alright, you are safe now.” 

“No, no…” Ratchet’s helm rolled side to side, his faceplate scrunching up. “No, please, no-” 

“You’re okay…” Optimus felt his spark breaking. He reached forward, his digits folding over Ratchet’s clenched servo. “You’re okay, old friend, you’re safe-” 

“No no Optimus no!” 

He bolted upright, nearly screaming. His optics tore open in a burst of cyan light. Chestplate heaving, he stared blankly ahead, air rushing in and out of his gaping intake. 

“Ratchet?” Optimus gently prompted, squeezing his friend’s digits. 

The medic’s shoulders bunched up in a flinch, his heavy gasps halting with a faint whine. Slowly, he turned his helm, his gaze falling on him. His optics were wide and blank with shock. 

“...Optimus?” His voice was so quiet that he would have missed it if he hadn’t watched his lip components move. 

“Yes,” Optimus said, a smile splitting across his faceplate despite himself. “It’s me, old friend. It’s alright, you were just having a nightmare. You’re safe.” 

“How…” Ratchet blinked. His frame was eerily still. “How are you…Bumblebee said he’d come get me if you woke up…” 

“I did not give him time to do so,” Optimus explained. “I woke up less than an hour ago. They told me what happened after I…lost consciousness. How are you feeling?” 

“I…I’m…” Ratchet stared at him, optics flicking up and down, scanning Optimus’ frame. “I’m fine. You…” 

He looked down at the large servo covering his, blinking rapidly. Faster than Optimus could process, he grabbed his arm and turned it around, firmly but gently. He pressed the tips of his digits against his wrist. 

“Ratchet?” Optimus stared in confusion as the medic checked his pulse. “What are you-” 

“Quiet,” Ratchet snapped out. His digits faintly trembled against Optimus’ armor. “Are you experiencing any chest pain? Any trouble venting?” 

“No…?” Optimus slowly replied. 

“What about your arm?” Ratchet’s servos moved up to his elbow, and he peered down at the joint with dim, suspicious optics. “Pain? Numbness? I double-checked the wiring, but Primus knows how much damage she did…” 

“I feel fine.” Optimus pursed his lip components. “Ratchet, are you-” 

“Your welds seem to be holding up alright…” The medic muttered, not looking up. “Slag, looks like your thigh is going to scar, I knew I could have handled that left edge better…” 

“Ratchet-” 

“I’m fine.” Ratchet said, still not meeting his gaze. Swinging his legs around, he stood up from the berth, knees nearly buckling before snapping straight. 

“Wait-” Optimus stood up, energon rushing from his helm to his tank. “Ratchet, please be careful, you just woke up-” 

“Turn around.” 

“What?” 

“Turn around.” Ratchet gritted the words out, his gaze locked onto Optimus’ chestplate. He clasped his servos before him. “I just- I need to examine your back.” 

Optimus blinked, staring at the medic’s oddly blank expression. His optics moved down to his servos. Those endlessly steady servos that had saved so many lives, held him together when he was falling apart, and brought him such joy when they were wrapped around his. 

They were shaking.

Weight settled on Optimus’ spark, dragging his shoulders into a droop. He turned around, tipping his helm back so he could still somewhat see the other mech. “Ratchet…” 

His friend’s vents stuttered for a second, before he sharply inhaled. “Well, it definitely could have been worse,” he said. “The grafted patches will be sensitive for a week or two, but they should be stable.” 

Quivering digits touched Optimus’ back, carefully tracing the weld marks running along his plating. His spark fluttered in his chest. He couldn’t help but lean back, closer to him. 

“As for the rest of it-” Ratchet’s vents audibly shook in his chest. “I barely had enough materials to replace the destroyed plating. It shouldn’t hurt, but it…it will feel weird.” 

The tips of his digits paused on a particularly thick weld. After a moment, they drifted onto the stiff, scarred plating. Optimus could barely feel it, only aware of the faint pressure and a light scraping. 

“Any pain?” Ratchet tightly asked. 

“Not really.”

“Lift your arms above your helm. Slowly.” 

Optimus did so. Metal softly squeaked from within his plating. He winced as the mesh and cables in his back and shoulders, rigid from lack of use, groaned and slowly stretched out. Tingling sensations trickled up his arms and through his torso. 

“Still no pain?” Ratchet carefully pressed down on his shoulder pauldrons. “Anything at all?” 

“Some soreness,” Optimus admitted. “But that could be because I was recharging for several days.” 

“Probably. You can put your arms down.”

Ratchet fell quiet. His digits gently ran down Optimus’ shoulder blades, moving to check his exhaust pipe. The silence felt heavy against the larger mech’s audio receptors. He pursed his lip components, anxiety bubbling up his throat pipe. 

“...What does it look like?” He hesitantly asked. “I haven’t gotten the chance to look.” 

Ratchet’s digits stiffened, then trembled even harder. 

“...Darker,” he said after a long moment. “More of a brick red mixed with maroon than your typical color. Texture looks like charred wood. Pretty noticeable. …I’m so sorry.” 

“There is no need to apologize, old friend.” Optimus turned back around, offering the medic a small smile. “It will… ‘build character,’ as the humans say.” 

Ratchet still wasn’t meeting his gaze. He clasped and reclasped his digits over and over. His servos were almost spasming now, digits rattling together like empty cans in a garbage bag. 

“I might be able to smooth out some of the scarring,” he said, his voice slowly quickening and growing louder. “The metal is still healing, but in theory the armor should actually be thicker once it has. Stiffer and more numb, but definitely thicker, so filing down the worst of it could be done. The color would be harder; you could paint over it, but it would likely just flake off.”

“Ratchet…” Optimus stepped a little closer. 

“But I’d definitely understand why you wouldn’t want anyone near your back anytime soon. …Primus, I probably shouldn’t have touched it just now, I should have known better than that-” 

“Ratchet-”

“I just spent so much time trying to piece everything back together, and I needed- I needed to make sure everything was stable, that you’d be- be fit for duty, we can’t afford any more of us to be confined to base, it’s bad enough that I-”

“Ratchet.” 

Optimus reached out and grasped his friend’s servos, cradling the trembling digits in his palms. Ratchet startled and fell silent, his optics finally flashing up to meet his. 

“I am okay,” Optimus said, slowly and clearly. He wouldn’t break his optical contact with those beautiful cyan orbs for even a moment. “You saved my life. I am a little sore, but I promise I am okay. The only thing I’m concerned about now is you. Please, talk to me.” 

Ratchet stared up at him, intake silently opening and closing. The shaking in his servos traveled up his arms, into his shoulders, and across his entire frame. Air shuddered in and out of his chest in uneven gasps. His optics began glistening like puddles reflecting moonlight. 

“I…I… oh Primus, Optimus…” 

His voice broke. Shaking servos lunged forward, clutching Optimus’ forearms like lifelines. He nearly toppled forward, helm clunking against the larger mech’s window panels. His shoulders spasmed and his knees began to buckle. 

Optimus stumbled back, his thighs crashing into the berth. Without much thought, he sat down, pulling Ratchet up onto his lap. The smaller mech sat sideways, knees tucked against his side and frame curling into his chest. Trembling digits grasped at his plating with near desperation. 

“It’s okay,” Optimus murmured, wrapping his arms snugly around him. “It’s okay, Ratchet. I’m alright, I’m here now. Just…just let it out.” 

“Op…I…” Ratchet’s words crumbled into whimpers. He pressed himself against Optimus’ chassis, burying his faceplate in his chest. He weakly panted, plating violently rattling in the larger mech’s embrace. 

“We’re okay,” Optimus whispered. He rested his chin on his helm, stroking small circles into his back. “We’re safe, we’re home…”

“I thought…I thought you were… I thought I lost you.” 

Ratchet barely choked the words out before he began to sob. Shoulders heaving, he gulped in air and gasped it right back out. Faintly-glowing optical lubricant slipped out of his squeezed-shut optics, dripping down his faceplate and onto Optimus’ chest. 

“You didn’t,” Optimus said, tightening his hold. He dipped his helm until his forehelm pressed against the pearly-white dome. “I’m here. I’m right here, and I’m not letting you go. I promise.” 

Ratchet just cried, his digits tightly gripping Optimus’ shoulders. 

Minutes slowly ticked by. Ratchet quietly sobbed, his frame heaving and shaking. Optimus vented, deep and steady, and continued rubbing the medic’s back. He let his optics drift shut, reducing the world to soft sounds and warm touch.

Optimus couldn’t remember Ratchet ever crying like this; certainly not in front of anyone. 

He would have appreciated the trust being placed in him if those cries weren’t tearing his spark to shreds. 

Eventually, Ratchet’s sobs faded. His tight, trembling frame slackened, slumping against the larger mech’s chest. When Optimus opened his optics, he saw Ratchet’s faceplate tipped up to look at him, optics dazed and cheeks streaked with tears. 

“...’m sorry,” he mumbled, gingerly releasing the larger bot’s shoulder to scrub at his faceplate. “I haven’t…I shouldn’t be…you should be resting-” 

“Shhh…” Optimus settled his palm against his jawline, gently wiping his thumb through the tracks of lubricant. “Don’t apologize for your emotions, old friend. You are allowed to feel all of this, remember?” 

Ratchet wetly laughed, a grin splitting across his worn face. He rested his helm against Optimus’ chestplate and closed his optics. 

“Quit using my words against me,” he said. 

“Not if they are good ones,” Optimus replied with a chuckle. 

Nestling his forehelm against Ratchet’s helm once more, he stroked his drying face in slow, gentle circles. Their venting slowly synced, chestplates steadily rising and falling in tandem. Ratchet’s digits, resting on his chest panels, were finally still.

The aches throughout his frame and the numbness across his back were distant memories. Warmth suffused his spark. Relief and happiness streamed through his systems like water running down a mountain stream. 

He was barely aware of what he was doing as his helm tipped up, just enough for his lip components to gently press against Ratchet’s pale forehelm. 

Ratchet gasped, his digits squeaking against Optimus’ armor. 

Optimus snapped his helm back up, his lip components thrumming like live wires. Heat rushed through his chassis, blazing across his cheeks and shooting up his audials. His spark dropped and his tank clenched. 

Slowly - painfully slowly - Ratchet looked up. He was blushing so deeply that his gray faceplate looked as blue as the ocean. His optics were wide and his intake parted in a slight oval. Cyan light shone across his shocked face.

Shocked…but not horrified. 

Optimus swallowed down the lump in his throat pipe, trying to steady the trembles in his limbs. 

You need to tell him. After everything, you need to tell him. 

“Ratchet…” Optimus straightened his shoulders. His processor whirred, trying to pick the right words. He couldn’t mess this up.

“There is something that I need to tell you. I have been…reevaluating our relationship and my feelings about it for the past few weeks now. I- I have cared about you for a very long time, and I valued your friendship immensely. And I still do! But…upon further consideration, I realized that…that there was something else. Or that there could be something else, if you- I mean, if you wish, we- I-”

His stutters ground to a halt when steady digits touched the side of his faceplate, a warm palm settling over his cheek.

Ratchet gazed up at him, beautiful optics shimmering. His thumb digit caressed the smooth metal and brushed over his lip components. 

Optimus shivered, his arms automatically tightening around the medic’s torso, pulling him closer. 

Ratchet gasped near silently. His optics flashed like shooting stars. His other servo glided up Optimus’ chest to curl over his shoulder. 

Optimus had forgotten how to vent. His gaze flickered down to Ratchet’s intake, then back up to meet those dazzling cyan orbs. 

Ratchet gave him a tiny nod. 

Optimus didn’t let himself think. He dipped his helm, optics sliding shut as the gap between their intakes closed to nothing. 

Ratchet’s lip components were soft against his, shifting to meld together perfectly. Warm air tickled the inside of his intake, sending ripples of delight throughout his frame. His arms shifted; one coiled snugly around Ratchet’s waist and the other slipped up his back, his servo cupping the back of his helm. 

Ratchet’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling himself even closer. His digits grasped at his shoulder blades and the back of his helm. Their chest panels clinked together, not an inch of space between them. Their spark pulses, calm but quick, slowly came to match. 

Optimus was floating through clouds, helm light and spark glowing with a blinding joy. His frame soaked in their shared warmth like rays of sunlight. Every slight movement of their lip components shot ecstasy through his wires. 

Ratchet’s chestplate faintly shuddered against his. Optimus’ optics gradually slid open, his vision filled with blurs of gray, white, and orange. He was so close that he could see the tiny droplets of optical lubricant seeping out of his closed optics and trickling down his cheeks. 

Alarm bolted through Optimus’ systems. He quickly pulled his helm back. 

“Ratchet?! I- I apologize, I didn’t mean- are you alright?” 

“I’m okay!” Ratchet exclaimed. He wetly laughed, grinning and wiping his optics. “Don’t be sorry, I just…I can’t believe this is happening, you…”

His smile faltered. He lowered his servo, revealing optics glistening with tears. 

“You actually want this?” He shakily whispered. “You…you want me?” 

The shock - the sheer disbelief - in his voice crushed Optimus’ very soul. 

Slowly, Optimus uncoiled his arms from around Ratchet’s torso. He reached up and took his love’s face in both servos, gently rubbing his thumbs across his cheeks to wipe away the lubricant. Ratchet looked up at him, wet optics wide and vents quivering. 

He held the Matrix of Leadership in his chest, but he knew the most precious thing in the universe rested in his servos. 

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss into Ratchet’s forehelm. Ratchet let out a soft gasp, a faint shiver running through his frame. Smiling slightly, Optimus dipped his chin until their forehelms rested against each other. Warm puffs of air from Ratchet’s intake brushed against his lip components. Their optics were so close that the azure and cyan light blended together into a gentle, luminescent blue. 

“I want you,” he whispered. “I want you so much, Ratchet. I admire your intelligence, your wit, your kindness, and your determination. I have cared for you as a friend and confidant for stellar cycles, and I would be honored to receive the opportunity to care for you as a partner. But only if you want that too.” 

Ratchet’s optics welled up again. He sharply sniffed even as an elated grin spread across his faceplate. 

“Yes,” he said. “I do, I want that. I- You have no idea how long I- frag it, I can’t be elegant right now-” 

He leaned forward, his lip components nearly crashing into Optimus’. The larger mech squeaked in surprise, though he quickly relaxed as steady digits touched the side of his helm, stroking his audials from their bases to their tips. Pleasure pooled in his tank, his engine softly purring within his torso. His spark glowed so brightly that he was sure the light would seep out of his chest. 

“That a good enough answer?” Ratchet asked with a chuckle. 

“More than sufficient,” Optimus breathed out, dizzy with joy. 

Ratchet laughed again, his lip components pulled up in a brilliant smile. He wrapped his arms around Optimus’ chest and pulled himself close, nuzzling into his neck. Optimus returned the hug and rested his cheek against his temple. 

“I love you, Ratchet,” he whispered into his audio receptor, the words finally free from his voice box. 

“I love you too,” Ratchet replied, cuddling a little closer. “So much…” 

Several minutes passed, warm and peaceful. Optimus felt Ratchet’s limbs slacken against his chassis, more and more of his weight leaning against him. His vents would even out, then quicken once more. 

“I think you need to rest, love,” Optimus gently noted, rubbing his back. 

“Probably…” Ratchet mumbled. He lifted his helm, looking up at him with flickering, anxious optics. “I…I know you probably want to rest too, but…could you…?” 

“Stay?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Optimus couldn’t help but smile. Holding Ratchet close, he swung his legs up onto the berth. He slowly laid down, Ratchet tucked on top of his chestplate. 

“Wait-” Ratchet’s helm snapped up. “Your back, shouldn’t you-” 

“I feel fine, Ratchet,” Optimus gently interrupted. He settled his servo atop Ratchet’s, squeezing his digits. “You repaired it, did you not?” 

The medic blinked, surprise blooming into happiness on his face. His helm lightly clunked against Optimus’ chestplate, his audial resting over his spark. “Slagging smooth talker.” 

“Go to sleep, old friend,” Optimus chuckled. 

He wrapped his arms around Ratchet, stroking small circles into his mesh. He listened as his vents slowed and evened out, his frame relaxing under his digits. Cyan optics slid closed and soft snores began trickling out of his intake. 

Joy still thrummed through Optimus’ wires, but it was quickly being joined by exhaustion. Even after a week of unconsciousness, his systems were still worn out repairing themselves. His optical lids grew heavier by the moment. Dull aches pulsed across his frame, quietly begging for the relief recharge would bring. 

Lifting his helm, he pressed one last kiss onto Ratchet’s helm. He tiredly smiled as his old friend - his new partner - sighed and nestled closer to him in his sleep. 

“Good night, love,” he whispered, finally letting his optics drift close, his last thought one of utter happiness. 

I am in love…and he loves me back.

Chapter Text

Ratchet was used to waking up fast. Being a medic in a centuries-long war meant resting when he could, then snapping awake at the drop of an energon cube to weld a bot back together as gunfire exploded around him. There was no room for drowsiness or slow movements. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up feeling this…heavy. As in armor hanging on his chassis, boulders strapped to his limbs, and optical lids dragged down by anchors heavy. 

Warm, too. Gentle heat seeped into his chest and abdomen, wrapping around his waist and settling against his back. He felt more comfortable than a cyber-cat in a sunbeam. 

Breathing out a sigh, Ratchet cuddled closer to the warmth, not even trying to open his optics. The grasp around his frame squeezed a little tighter. A soft, rhythmic pulse thrummed against his audio receptor, waves of calm rippling through his wiring systems. 

Primus... He smiled to himself. Even his spark sounds gorgeous. 

…Wait. 

Reality rushed into Ratchet’s cables like an adrenaline shot. Clawing his way to full consciousness felt like swimming through molasses, but he finally managed to pull his optical lids open. 

Blackness gave way to red and gray, less than an inch from his faceplate. The plating rose and fell in slow, steady intervals, lifting and lowering his helm in turn. Slowly, he craned his neck back, raising his cheek plate off the armor so it wouldn’t scrape against it. 

Optimus’ optics were closed, his helm tilted to the side. The faint lines on his faceplate were slack with sleep. His lip components parted ever so slightly, air gently swishing in and out of his intake. 

Entranced, Ratchet let his helm drop back onto his broad chest, sinking into his hold. Optimus’ beautiful spark pulsated inches from his audio receptor. Heat rushed through his wiring, gathering in the places on his frame where their mesh met. 

It wasn’t a dream…sweet Solus Prime, none of that was a dream! 

The corners of his lip components twitched upwards despite himself. His servo rested against Optimus’ chestplate; the window panels pressing against his palm. He began stroking circles into the warm metal, digits slowly flexing in and out. 

I want you, Optimus’ gentle baritone echoed in his helm. I want you. I love you. I want you. 

He wants me. 

His smile grew until his intake ached. His digits tingled with joy as they caressed his plating. 

Optimus’ arms shifted on Ratchet’s back, their armor lightly scraping against each other. Faceplate faintly twitching, the larger mech sighed, helm listing from side to side. Gentle light flickered under his optical lids as he began to wake.

Slowly reaching forwards, Ratchet touched his chin, the tips of his digits stroking along his jawline. His spark twirled in its casing when Optimus leaned into the touch, cheek pressing against his palm. 

“You old soft-bot…” Ratchet fondly murmured, brushing his thumb along smooth metal. 

Optimus’ optics slid open, casting hazy light across his faceplate. His lip components gradually curled up as his gaze focused. His arm tightened around Ratchet’s waist, his digits latching onto his plating. 

“Good morning, old friend,” he whispered, the words slightly raspy in his intake. “I hope you recharged well?” 

“I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed since before I started at the academy,” Ratchet replied. He traced a circle along the base of Optimus’ audial with his digit.

Optimus chuckled, sending gentle rumbles through his chestplate. Ratchet pressed himself close, soaking in the vibrations like a sponge in water. 

“I like this,” he said, stroking Optimus’ cheek. The words slipped freely from his intake; he didn’t even care how smitten he must sound. “This is nice.” 

“Agreed,” Optimus said with a pearlescent smile. His large digits kneaded Ratchet’s back, loosening his mesh until it felt like gelatin. Ratchet could almost feel his wiring systems unraveling. “While I accept how it happened, I wished we’d done this sooner.” 

Ratchet barked out a laugh. “Yes, less tears would have been nice, I imagine.” 

Optimus’ gaze softened. One of his servos slid up to cradle the back of his helm, digits rubbing his dome. Ratchet let his optics drift close, resting his cheek against his chest panels, venting slow and deep. 

I could stay like this forever.

“How long have you felt this way?” 

Ratchet opened his optics, looking back up at Optimus. “Sorry?” 

The Prime met his gaze, optics gleaming with curiosity. The familiar sparkle sent quivers of joy through Ratchet’s tank. 

“I realized how I felt about you a little less than a month ago now,” Optimus said. He smiled, his faceplate faintly blushing. “The night after we attempted to access the Decepticon’s network from that mine. I was just wondering how long you have felt the same.” 

The quivers of joy in his tank quickly turned into thrashes of embarrassment. 

“Ah, well…” Ratchet’s optics darted around, heat rushing into his face and painting it blue. “A while. A long, long while. Too long to mention, really.” 

“Really?” Optimus cocked his helm, the curiosity growing in those bright, beautiful orbs. His lip components teasingly quirked upwards. “Too long for even a hint?” 

“Um…” Ratchet gulped, unease bubbling in his throat pipe. He pulled his servo away from Optimus’ face, resting it against his chestplate. Ocean-deep pulses thrummed through his palm. He took a great vent of air, trying to draw in some of that spark’s strength. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he said, shifting his gaze back up to meet Optimus’; trying to lose himself in those incandescent optics as he spoke. “For stellar cycles. But if you want a specific date, I guess I started developing a crush on you about…a few months after we met?” 

Optimus’ entire faceplate fell open, jaw dropping and optics blown wide. Ratchet was close enough to see the miniscule lines worn onto his mesh stretching out in some places and crinkling in others. He could have sworn he saw his audials twitch forward.

“That long…?” Optimus whispered, tone coated in shock. “This whole time? I never…” He blinked, digits running up and down the back of Ratchet’s helm. “I do not mean this to come across as accusing, old friend, but why did you never say anything?” 

“Because I didn’t think there was a point to it,” Ratchet replied. The thoughts that had plagued his processor with grief and guilt slipped freely from his intake; they seemed so small now, nestled in Optimus’ arms. “After you broke up with Elita because you weren’t getting a connection, I thought you weren’t interested in others…like that.” 

Optimus’ optics dimmed for a moment, his processor quietly whirring as he accessed his memory files. Ratchet watched him and vented as deeply as he could. 

“Outside the academy,” Optimus said, his gaze refocusing on him. “I told you that I spoke with Alpha Trion about it all, and I said I never wanted anyone in a romantic way…and that happened almost a year after we met so you would have been…oh, love.” 

“It’s fine,” Ratchet broke in, reaching up and resting his palm against Optimus’ face once more, hoping it would soothe away the devastated look he was giving him. “It’s okay, Optimus, really. The last thing I wanted was to push you into something you didn’t want. So I decided not to say anything.” 

He wryly chuckled. “I wanted to avoid the awkwardness, if nothing else.” 

Leaning into Ratchet’s servo, Optimus looked at him with wide, affectionate optics. “I…I truly appreciate how much you cared for my preferences, Ratchet,” he murmured. “Is that what was troubling you on the mountain? The thing you didn’t want to tell me?” 

“Yes,” Ratchet said. “I was able to push my feelings down for a long time, but then you started acting less like a Prime and more like how you used to, and I just…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. No matter how ridiculous I thought it was, because you wouldn’t want me. Even if you were interested in relationships, you’re Optimus Prime and I’m…me.” 

Optimus’ optics flickered, his lip components pressed into a thin line. He tightened his grip on Ratchet’s waist, pulling him closer to his face. His servo shifted from the back of his helm to cup his cheek. 

“Yes, you are you,” he said. “You are Ratchet, the doctor who has saved countless lives across the universe. Who has held our team together through thick and thin, from Cybertron to Earth. You are determined and caring, brave and true. You are the one who stood by me this entire time, and I wouldn’t have accomplished nearly as much without you. I know you, and that is why I love you.” 

Ratchet stared back at him, vents caught in his throat pipe. 

“Are you trying to make me cry again?” He finally said, lip components trembling even as they pulled up in a grin. 

Optimus smiled with a soft chuckle. “It is the truth, love,” he said. 

“If you say so…” Ratchet said, leaning into Optimus’ servo. Turning his helm, he kissed his warm palm. 

Optimus shivered, optics crinkling in delight. Sliding his servo around to the back of Ratchet’s helm, he gently pulled him close, pressing a kiss against his cheek plate. A laugh burst out of Ratchet’s intake, and he nuzzled into Optimus’ neck. 

“You’re turning into a regular romantic,” he said, lip components brushing against his neck cables. 

“For you, Ratchet,” Optimus whispered into his audio receptor, reducing Ratchet’s pistons to mush. “...Perhaps that’s why.”

“What’s why?” Ratchet mumbled. 

“Why I fell in love with you,” Optimus said, voice soft in contemplation. “We’ve been friends for so long; I know you and I trust you more than anyone else. Perhaps that is what needs to happen for me to want a relationship.” 

Ratchet smiled, slightly shaking his helm. “Analysis is written into your code, isn’t it?” He said. 

“That would be a safe bet,” Optimus chuckled. 

Ratchet’s smile grew mischievous. He lifted himself off of Optimus, servos planted on either side of his helm and knees braced on either side of his waist. Optimus looked up at him, optics sparking with gorgeous azure light. 

“I’ll give you something to analyze,” Ratchet teased. 

Dipping his helm, he kissed him with every last bit of tender desire he had stored in his spark for so long. Their intakes shifted and melded together, Optimus’ lip components soft against his. Warmth flooded his intake like the sweetest energon. He slipped his servo under his helm, pulling him closer. 

Optimus melted under him, his great frame slackening like unspooled wire. He longingly groaned against Ratchet’s intake. One of his servos slid up the berth to clutch at Ratchet’s, the other reaching up to tug at his waist, trying to pull him closer. 

Smiling to himself, Ratchet kissed him harder. He adjusted his servo, his digits interlocking with Optimus’, their palms pressed close. Optimus’ hips twitched and brushed against his inner thighs, sending waves of pleasure rushing through his systems. 

Heat was building up in Ratchet’s frame; pings demanding increased ventilation beginning to pop up. Reluctantly, he pulled their lip components apart, intake hanging open as he gasped for cool air. Optimus looked up at him, panting and optics hazy. 

“Primus…” Ratchet breathed out, grinning despite himself. “Are you okay? Sorry, I’ve just been wanting to do that since-” 

Optimus lunged up, his lip components crashing into Ratchet’s. Squeaking, Ratchet felt his knees give out, his frame slumping onto Optimus’. 

Not that he cared. 

Optimus’ intake enveloped his, swathing his lip components in warmth. His arms wrapped around Ratchet’s torso and pulled him flush to his chestplate. His servo cradled the back of Ratchet’s neck, holding him as close as he could possibly get. 

It didn’t feel close enough. 

Ratchet flung his arms around Optimus, pressing himself into that broad chestplate, his digits nearly digging into red armor. He returned the kiss, drinking in the taste of Optimus like his fuel reserves were utterly depleted. They rolled onto their sides as one, servos grasping and legs tangling together. Ratchet’s processor, usually busy with multiple trains of thought, was blissfully blank. 

All he wanted - all he needed - was here, warm and close. Strong arms with gentle digits. Lip components pressed against his intake. A beautiful spark thrumming with care and desire, inches away from his own. His whole universe. The light of his life.

Optimus. 

Ratchet’s inner workings felt like they were overheating when the kiss finally broke. They both laid on the berth, chestplates heaving as they wearily gasped for air. Their arms remained coiled around each other; one of Ratchet’s legs nestled snugly between Optimus’. When he looked up, dazzling blue optics sparkled back at him. 

“Just when I think I cannot possibly love you more…” Optimus murmured, voice soft and faceplate flushed. 

Delirious with joy, Ratchet responded by peppering Optimus’ neck cables with kisses, smiling at the little giggles he felt through their touching chest panels. 

“Easy, love,” Optimus said, gently nudging Ratchet’s helm back and nestling their forehelms together. “I do not want you short-circuiting yourself.” 

“Make me,” Ratchet said with a grin. 

He did stop though, content with gazing into those fathomless blue orbs. Optimus smiled and stroked his thumb along his cheek. Their sparks pulsed slowly and in time. 

“We probably should have gotten up by now,” Optimus said after several long moments. 

“Probably,” Ratchet agreed, lip components curling upwards. 

They did sit up, eventually. Their movements were slow, almost lazy, and they tried to stay as close to each other as they could. Ratchet tucked himself close to Optimus’ chest, and Optimus kept his arms loosely wrapped around Ratchet’s shoulders. Roughly vertical, they leaned against each other, Optimus’ helm resting atop Ratchet’s. 

This can be what mornings are like now. He smiled at the thought. Heh. If somebot told me a couple weeks ago I’d be waking up in the same berth as Optimus, I’d probably have smacked them over the back of the helm. 

…back. 

“Wait…” Ratchet straightened, looking up at Optimus in alarm. “Scrap, I didn’t even think- How’s your back?” 

Optimus blinked. He uncoiled his arm from Ratchet’s waist and reached behind him, digits lightly scraping against his scarred plating. Ratchet closely observed his expression, looking for any signs of pain. 

“It still feels stiff,” Optimus admitted. His servo moved back into view, settling over Ratchet’s digits. “But otherwise not uncomfortable.”

Ratchet nodded, lip components tightly pursed. “Do you mind turning around so I can check?” 

Nodding, Optimus shuffled around on the berth until his back faced Ratchet. Bright red armor charred into a darker, wine-like shade met Ratchet’s gaze, and he had to take a few deep vents at the sight. Patches of too-shiny new metal dotted the rough, scarred plating, like bits of plastic scattered across an alligator’s hide. 

Reaching out and gently tracing the various bumps and welding marks, Ratchet tried not to think of the previous week. They were some of the worst days he’d ever experienced, even compared to countless hours of battle and death. 

Repairing Optimus’ back over the course of a day and a half, optics stinging from overwork and jaw clenched so hard it nearly broke. Waiting for him to wake up, waiting to hear his soft baritone in that silent med bay. Staring at the slowly-beeping monitor, wondering if he had messed up and condemned his light to a never-ending coma. 

Venting sharply, Ratchet gripped Optimus’ shoulders, his spinal strut bending until his forehelm clunked against scarred armor. He shivered, struggling to focus on the rise and fall of Optimus’ frame. 

He’s here. He woke up. It’s okay. 

Optimus shifted, armor creaking against the berth. Ratchet released his shoulders as he turned around. When he wordlessly spread his arms, Ratchet fell into his embrace, curling close to his chestplate. 

“I’m sorry that I worried you, Ratchet,” Optimus whispered. 

“I’m just glad you woke up,” Ratchet replied, venting in time with the larger mech’s spark pulse. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, light.” 

Optimus’ frame stilled for a moment, then he nuzzled Ratchet’s helm. Ratchet smiled at the soft purring he felt in his chest. 

Guess that answers whether he’d like that nickname or not… 

“You have looked me over,” Optimus said, “now I would like to return the favor.” 

“Huh?” Ratchet looked up at him, optics narrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

Optimus gazed back at him, the corners of his lip components tipping downwards. Cupping Ratchet’s face, he stretched his thumb over his brow, the pad of the digit skirting the gash through his optical ridge. 

“Oh.” Ratchet frowned. “Right, those.” 

“Do any of them hurt?”

“They’re fine-” 

Optimus’ frown deepened, optics suspiciously cycling. 

“Well…maybe they twinge a little,” Ratchet admitted, heat flashing across his faceplate. Touching his brow, he grimaced as the tips of his digits dipped into the cut, brushing against the sensitive interior mesh.

Charred purple claws flashed out, carving through his plating like a knife-

Ratchet gritted his jaw until his dentra ached. 

“It looks deep,” Optimus noted, lip components pursed with worry. 

“Yeah,” Ratchet admitted. “It’d probably need a plating graft, but I used pretty much all of our supplies on you.”

He reached up and patted Optimus’ forearm. “Besides, once it heals it’ll be mostly cosmetic. I’ll be fine.” 

“What about these?” Optimus asked. Servos moving down to grasp his elbows, he peered down at the wild, criss-crossing scratches spread across Ratchet’s arms and chest. 

“Not as bad,” Ratchet said. He shifted in place, inhaling sharply. “They sting a bit, but they’re narrow enough that they should repair themselves.” 

“By the AllSpark…” Optimus murmured, optics dim. “What did she do to you?” 

Pain streaking through his wires as her talons lashed out again and again and again. Optics blazing with rage, pink flames wishing to burn him to ash. 

His ventilation systems stuttered in his chest like a stalling engine. He stared down at his servos, curling and uncurling his digits, trying to focus on counting them. 

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. 

He couldn’t let himself go back there. Back to those dark tunnels, choked with dust and stinking of burnt mesh-

One, two…three, four. One, two…two-

Ratchet could hear Optimus’ voice, but it was distant and muted. All he could hear was-

Screams filling his audio receptors, but they were nothing, nothing, compared to other scream he heard, the pained shout, the wheezing death rattle as his precious light was extinguished- 

One…one…one- 

Digits, larger and warmer than his, cradled his servos, thumbs gently stroking his wrists. 

Ratchet blinked rapidly, his vision blurring into hazy gray and red shapes. His vents felt harsh in his throat pipe. 

Optimus grasped his wrist, drawing his servo up and resting it against his chestplate. Ratchet’s palm pressed into the strong, warm panels as they steadily rose and fell.

“Deep vents, love, deep vents…” Optimus murmured. “You’re safe, we are safe now.” 

Forgetting his digits, Ratchet focused on the gentle movements of Optimus’ chest. Memories cleared from his processor like fog under the rising sun. His vents evened out, struts slackening with relief. Optimus cupped his faceplate with both servos, thumb digits stroking circles into his cheeks. 

“The tables have really turned, huh?” Ratchet weakly laughed. 

“I suppose they have,” Optimus said with a faint smile. “...Do you think discussing it will help you too?”

Ratchet bit his lip components, unease prickling in his tank. Scooting forward, he crawled back into the safety of Optimus’ lap, tucking himself close. Optimus’ arms easily slipped around him, his palm resting against the side of his helm. 

How does this already feel so natural?

“I’m just…so glad you’re okay,” he whispered. “I was so scared that you…that I’d done something wrong and that you wouldn’t…it was days, Optimus. Days.”  

“I know, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t- you don’t have to apologize for getting hurt. I just…you weren’t waking up and all I could think about was that fragging cave. How she hurt you and enjoyed it. How I couldn’t stop her until I thought you were-”

Ratchet shuddered, burying his face in Optimus’ chest. 

“You almost died, light. Promise me you’ll never do that again, alright?” 

Optimus was silent for a long moment, digits absently rubbing Ratchet’s plating. His spark softly pulsed in Ratchet’s audio receptor. 

“I will promise to try to not get that hurt again,” he finally said. “It was unpleasant, and I hate that it upset you so.” 

He tipped Ratchet’s helm back, bathing his face in gorgeous azure light. Ratchet was certain that the AllSpark must look like this. 

“But everything I did down there, I did to protect you. Because I love you. And I cannot promise that I wouldn’t do it again, because I loathe the idea of you being hurt just as much as you do I. I will try to prevent things from ever getting that bad again, but I hope you can understand why that promise is beyond me.” 

Ratchet gazed up at him; at his bright optics, his anxious frown, the tiny microexpressions passing over his faceplate like wisps of clouds on a spring day. They were so close, and there wasn’t a trace of awkwardness or discomfort between them. Only earnestness and care.

How is this even better than I ever imagined? 

Stretching up, he brushed his lip components against Optimus’; barely a kiss, but it still sent ripples of affection through his frame. He felt Optimus’ frame relax, helm dropping until their forehelms rested against each other. When their optics opened, Ratchet couldn’t help but smile at him, all of his fear and frustration forgotten. 

“Alright,” he said. “I guess I can’t expect you to do that; protecting others is practically in your programming. And I love that part of you just as much as the rest of you.” 

He reached up, stroking Optimus’ audial. “Let’s just try to stay alive, okay? I don’t know about you, but I want to keep doing this for as long as we can.” 

I want to hold you close. I want to see you smile, hear you laugh, feel your servos on my frame. I want to trade stupid stories and share my secrets. I want to face whatever the future holds together.

I want to love you, with every wire in my chassis and every photon in my spark, until the stars burn out and all are one. 

“As do I, love,” Optimus said. His smile was as radiant as the most beautiful crystal garden. “As do I.”

Chapter Text

Optimus’ pedesteps once again echoed across the base’s empty hallway. He carried an energon cube in each servo, careful to not spill any luminous liquid as he walked. 

He was fairly certain he hadn’t stopped smiling for hours. His spark twirled joyfully in his chest with each step, dancing faster and faster as he drew closer to the medbay. When the doorway came into view, he thought it would burst out of his chest entirely. 

I forgot what it was like to be this happy… 

Turning the corner, Optimus paused in the entryway. His wires went warm when his optics fell on the room’s sole occupant. 

“Primus above…was I drunk when I organized this drawer?!” 

Ratchet stood in front of a bench, peering into one of its cabinets and dragging his digits in its contents. His lip components were slightly pursed, his optics narrowed and flickering with confusion. His armor shone in the light; his shoulder pauldrons were still visibly damp from the shower he’d taken. 

Spark thrumming in his chest, Optimus stepped inside the medbay, drawn towards the medic like a honeybee to a flower. Ratchet looked up, cyan optics brightening and lip components quirking upward at the sound of his pedesteps. The sight made Optimus’ tank quiver with delight. 

“There you are,” Ratchet said, closing the drawer and straightening. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.” 

“Apologies, love,” Optimus said. He held out one of the cubes with a smile. “I thought I would check on our teammates before I got our energon.” 

Ratchet’s cheeks flushed blue, his optics gleaming with joy. He accepted the cube and pressed it to his squirming lip components, trying to hide the grin growing across his faceplate. 

Cute, Optimus warmly thought. 

“And what were they up to?” Ratchet said. “I’m hoping at least some of us got up before noon?” 

“We will have to ask them when they return.” Optimus chuckled. “I found a note Arcee left on the computer. She and the others took the children for a drive.” 

“And left the monitor unattended?” Ratchet pursed his lip components for a moment, then shrugged. “Eh. The alarm’s loud enough to wake the dead anyway, we would have heard if anything went wrong.” 

“True,” Optimus said. He gestured towards a medical berth. “Shall we sit down for a moment?” 

“I would, but I’ve got to reorganize these drawers, I don’t know what I was thinking when I last used them-” 

Smiling gently, Optimus grasped Ratchet’s elbow and nudged him towards the berth. “The drawers will still be there after we finish refueling. You have had a long week, old friend. You deserve a break.” 

Ratchet opened and shut his intake, not resisting as Optimus guided him to sit down. “Well… I guess it could wait for a few more minutes.” 

Optimus settled next to him on the berth and pressed a kiss to his helm. “Good.” 

Faintly squeaking, Ratchet held his cube to his intake, mumbling something about “playing unfair.” Optimus softly chuckled, taking a drink of energon to resist the urge to kiss him again. 

The medbay fell into a comfortable silence as both mechs sipped their fuel. Optimus shifted his leg until it rested against his companion’s. Ratchet’s free servo settled atop Optimus’ thigh. His steady digits stroked circles into his plating, sending gentle, pleased thrills through his systems. Optimus smiled into his energon, leaning closer to him. 

Close enough to feel the slight hitch in Ratchet’s frame when he lifted his cube to drink. 

Systems jolting, Optimus turned towards him. “Are you alright?” 

“What?” Ratchet blinked. “Oh, nothing. My shoulders are just sore.” 

“...Why?” Optimus asked, worry prickling in his wires. 

Ratchet blinked in confusion, then his optics flickered. His lip components twisted into a wry half-smile. 

“Right, I guess I didn’t mention that bit…” He humorlessly chuckled. Shifting around so his back faced Optimus, he tipped his helm back and nodded downwards. 

Setting his energon down, Optimus peered at Ratchet’s back. He hadn’t noticed it in the medic’s quarters - the light so dim and he so distracted by the more visible wounds - but now that he leaned closer, he could see the warped, still-healing metal along Ratchet’s shoulders. The white and orange pauldrons dipped at their centers, deep gray welding marks pooling in the divots and running down his shoulder blades.

Throat pipe tight, Optimus reached forward, his digits brushing against the mesh around the welds. 

“Airachnid pinned me down.” Ratchet spoke slowly, his voice quiet and rough. His chassis twitched under Optimus’ servos. “Dug her claws in deep. I was trying to grab something to cut through her webs, and the only way I could reach it was if I…” 

He shook his helm with a soft huff. “Well, it wasn’t fun. I’ll leave it at that.” 

“How-” Optimus inhaled sharply, pushing down the protective rage sparking in his chest. “How badly were you hurt?” 

“It could have been worse,” Ratchet replied. “She missed the struts and major fuel lines. Bumblebee and Arcee were able to clean and weld everything up. I’m probably just feeling it now because I used my arms too much too soon.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

Ratchet chuckled, leaning back into Optimus’ palms. “Not really, but I appreciate it. I’d do it again in a spark pulse if it meant saving you and-” 

His voice trailed off. He hunched over slightly, digits tapping rapidly against his cube. Optimus felt his frame stiffen and begin to tremble. 

“Ratchet?” Optimus asked. Grasping the medic’s elbow, he turned him back around to face him. 

Ratchet stared vacantly ahead, his plating pulled tight to his chassis. His digits clinked against his cube like a woodpecker striking a window. 

Gently prying the container free from his servos, Optimus sat it next to his own. He took Ratchet’s servos, settling his palm over his clenched digits. He lowered his helm to meet his gaze. 

“I’m here, Ratchet,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?” 

“I- I’m sorry, I just-” Ratchet violently shook his helm. “It’s that ‘falling into a pit’ feeling again, but…” 

Pursing his lip components, he finally looked directly at Optimus, his expression tight with unease. 

“I… I killed Airachnid,” Ratchet whispered. “I don’t know if the others told you already, but I did. And when I thought you were dead, I don’t think I regretted it. Even now, I just… I don’t know. Between that and everything I did when I was on SynthEn…”

He took a deep, shaking vent, his digits curling around Optimus’. 

“For slag’s sake, Optimus, I’m a doctor. I shouldn’t be thinking like this; I shouldn’t want to hurt anyone, let alone actually do it. Being grumpy and snapping at you all is one thing, but this…” 

Ratchet’s optics dimmed until they were as dull as stones. He curled in on himself, spinal strut hunching until his elbows clunked against his thighs. His digits trembled within Optimus’ palms.

“I should be better than this.” He spoke quickly, almost feverishly. “But I’m not, and the more I think about it, the more it scares the Pits out of me. I can barely keep all of you in one piece in the medbay, and every other time I go into the field I lose it. I’ve hurt others, frag, I went out of my way to hurt others. What… what kind of medic does that make me? What kind of bot does that make me?!”

Ratchet snapped his jaw shut before any more words could escape. His vents shuddered in his chest. Cyan light flashed across his stricken face, optics wide and lip components faintly trembling. 

Spark aching, Optimus scooted over until their thighs were pressed together. He wrapped an arm around Ratchet’s waist and held him close. Resting his cheek against Ratchet’s helm, he stroked slow circles into his mesh. 

“Sorry…” Ratchet mumbled, leaning into Optimus’ embrace. “I don’t normally… I shouldn’t be dumping this on you…”

“I admit I am new to this, love…” Optimus said, a faint smile pulling on his lip components. “But are romantic partners not meant to support each other during their difficult moments?” 

Ratchet barked out a watery chuckle. “I know, I just… I don’t want to take advantage of this. Of you.” 

“Was I taking advantage of you after I lost the Matrix?”

“...No. I offered to help you.”

“And I am offering to help you now.” Optimus gently squeezed his digits. “I understand how… terrifying it can be to encounter darkness in yourself, Ratchet. We have all been at war for so long that sometimes it feels like we do not remember how to use peace rather than violence.” 

Ratchet grasped at Optimus’ servo and pulled it close to his chest, his spark faintly hammering within his chassis. “Yes, exactly.” 

“But I believe you do remember.”

“Why?” The question was a tiny, anxious whisper.

Optimus hummed softly into Ratchet’s audials. “Because I’ve seen you work so hard to keep us all healthy. Because while you do get angry at our enemies, your ultimate goal is always to help and protect us. Because you are the strongest, most dependable mech I have ever met, no matter what mistakes you’ve made or what your processor may tell you.” 

Ratchet stilled in Optimus’ hold. He turned his helm, nestling his face in Optimus’ neck cables. His spark pulse began to slow, settling into a beat as steady as the tide. 

“...Like water,” he whispered. “As low as it seems to go, it can always get back up again.” 

A grin broke across Optimus’ faceplate, and he nuzzled Ratchet’s helm. “Exactly.” 

Ratchet laughed, and when Optimus looked down he was relieved to see a smile pulling on the medic’s lip components. 

“Thanks,” he said, cyan light softening his tired-but-content face. “That was probably a lot to deal with out of nowhere.” 

“You’re welcome, love,” Optimus murmured. “Whenever you need to talk, I will be there.” 

“Same here,” Ratchet said. He reached up and stroked a knuckle along Optimus’ jawline. “Primus knows we both probably need it.” 

Optimus’ wires quivered at the touch. He leaned forward, resting his forehelm against Ratchet’s, soaking in the sight of the slight smile curling up his lip components. The smile brightened, as did the exquisite optics gazing back at him. Steady digits traced the base of his audial, delicate as a flower petal in the breeze. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” Ratchet whispered, his vents warm against Optimus’ faceplate. “Stupidly gorgeous.” 

“I am?” A smile tugged on Optimus’ intake. He squeezed Ratchet’s waist a little tighter. 

“Yes.” Ratchet pursed his lip components in a faint, playful pout. “It’s unfair, honestly, you slagger.” 

Optimus chuckled and pressed a kiss against his olfactory sensors. Ratchet let out a sound between a squeak and a snort, promptly burying his face in Optimus’ shoulder. 

“Unfair,” he grumbled, his voice muffled by armor. 

“Apologies, Ratchet,” Optimus said, softly laughing. “I saw my chance and I took it.” 

“Quit stealing my words!” The medic’s attempt at indignation was ruined by the snickers bubbling up his throat pipe. 

When Ratchet’s blush finally faded, they pulled away from each other to finish their energon. Ratchet eventually rose and returned to his work, his digits nimbly plucking up parts and setting them in their proper places in the drawer. Optimus remained on the berth, watching him with bright optics and a fluttering spark. 

The Matrix was little more than a distant afterthought; a barely-there pull in his chest. 

Would I have ever realized how I felt if I hadn’t learned how to control its emotion-dampener abilities? He couldn’t help but think. Would I have ever realized how much he meant to me? How much I meant to him? 

His spark stilled, a faint chill passing over it.

…Would Ratchet have really never said a word, no matter how much it pained him? 

A fizzling sound drew Optimus from his thoughts. He looked over to see the monitor Ratchet had been complaining about last week, sparking and sending a thin wisp of smoke into the air. 

“Oh, for Primus’ sake!” Ratchet groaned. He slammed the drawer shut and stomped over to the monitor. “What’s wrong with you now, you one-byte scraplet-in-disguise…” 

He continued to grumble; muttered words and half-formed threats with no real heat behind them. Optimus gazed at his back, his optics tracing the curve of his shoulders and the lines along his frame where pearlescent white turned to vibrant orange. The sight settled over his spark like a warm blanket. 

No need to dwell on what might have been, he thought. We are here and together now, that is what matters. And I don’t plan on letting him go anytime soon. 

A smile creeping onto his faceplate, Optimus stood. Ratchet continued tapping at the monitor’s keyboard with soft huffs, occasionally poking at the glitching screen. He was so focused on the device that he didn’t notice as Optimus stepped closer and closer to him. 

Reaching out, Optimus settled his servos on Ratchet’s waist, his palms curling to match the curves of his hips. The medic jolted at the unexpected contact, though he quickly relaxed. His annoyed mutterings ceased and his frame leaned back, closer to Optimus. 

Optimus took a tiny step closer, the tips of his pedes mere inches away from Ratchet’s heels. His digits stretched down, stroking the smooth metal of his thighs. Ratchet quivered in delight, a quiet giggle slipping from his lip components. 

Joy spilling over in his spark, Optimus slid his servos back up Ratchet’s frame, gliding across his abdominal plating as his arms wrapped around his torso. He held his partner close to his chest, basking in the warmth of his armor. His chin rested on Ratchet’s shoulder, and he couldn’t help but seize the opportunity to nuzzle into his neck. 

Ratchet laughed again; the low, slightly-gravelly chuckles filled Optimus’ audio receptors like music. His servo lifted off the keyboard and moved to one of Optimus’, steady digits interlocking with far larger ones. He drew them up so Optimus’ palm pressed against his chest panels, soaking in the gentle pulses of his spark. 

They were quiet, close and venting as one. Optimus inhaled the faint scent of energon and soap emanating from Ratchet’s armor. He let his optical lids droop, the monitor blurring into vague gray and green shapes in his vision. His chassis was loose on his frame, his wires slack. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this truly and utterly relaxed. 

“I’m not complaining,” Ratchet quietly chuckled. “Seriously, I’m not, but what’s with all the affection? I’m feeling better now, you don’t have to do all this.” 

Optimus blinked his vision clear. He tightened his hold, his digits gently rubbing his partner’s mesh. 

“I want to do this, Ratchet,” Optimus said. “I love you, and I wish to care for you as a partner should. And I admit, I am finding that I enjoy being this close to you.”

Ratchet laughed at that. He tilted his frame back against Optimus’ chest, nearly standing on his toe struts to get closer. Optimus rested his forehelm against Ratchet’s temple so his intake was right by the other mech’s audio receptor. 

“And I want you to know that you deserve this, love,” he whispered. “Regardless of what your processor tells you sometimes, you deserve to be loved. And not just when you make great accomplishments, or when you doubt yourself. You are loved all of the time, Ratchet, and I want you to know that.” 

Ratchet’s vents shook. He lifted Optimus’ servo to his lip components, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. 

“You too,” he murmured. The two, tiny words brimmed with tenderness. “You can’t imagine how much I love this.” 

Optimus smiled. “I am glad, old friend.” 

They were silent for a moment. 

“...I really need to keep working, Optimus.”

“I know.”

“...You’re not going to let go, are you?” 

“Do you wish me to?” 

Ratchet huffed and shook his helm, but Optimus recognized the playful tone in his voice. “I suppose I did ask for this.” 

“I can let go if you need me to,” Optimus said as Ratchet reached for the monitor once more. 

“Oh no, you don’t! This base is as drafty as the Pits, and you make a good cloak!” 

Optimus chuckled and resettled his chin on the back of Ratchet’s helm. He watched as his partner poked and prodded at the monitor’s keypad, experimentally tapping the flashing screen. His arms loosely circled Ratchet’s torso, his digits casually stroking his plating. The medbay, apart from the soft clicking and the medic’s huffs, was blissfully quiet.

A thought popped into his processor just as Ratchet frustratedly yanked out the connecting wire between the keyboard and the screen. 

“What should we tell the others?” 

Ratchet’s movements paused. Optimus could easily picture the thoughtful frown spreading across his faceplate. 

“About us?” He said. “I don’t know. In other circumstances, I would suggest we keep quiet for a while. But this base isn’t exactly huge - someone’s going to find out eventually, by accident if nothing else.” 

“I would like to tell Bumblebee,” Optimus said. He thought back to the desert drive he took with his scout, the young mech’s cheerful beeps streaming through his comm line as they rolled along. 

“I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. Whatever it is you want to tell him, I’m sure he’ll be understanding about it. You’ll figure it out - both of you!”

A small smile pulled on his intake. “I suspect he will be pleased by this development.” 

“You think? He tried stranding us in the wilderness together.” Ratchet snorted. “He was probably hoping for this. …And Raf helped him, which means he’ll probably want to know.” 

“Jack and Miko as well,” Optimus pointed out, pursing his lip components. “In hindsight, they were certainly hiding something right before I went through the Bridge.”

“And Arcee and Bulkhead come with them…” Ratchet sighed. “Frag, they are all going to find out.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Optimus asked. “I do not believe our relationship is anything we need to be ashamed of.” 

“Of course not!” Ratchet quickly blurted. His servos moved away from the monitor to settle on Optimus’ arms, digits brushing along his forearms. “I just… you know that not everyone would agree with us. Some bots practically worship Primes. The idea that you’re in a relationship with anyone, let alone a simple medic, is going to upset someone.” 

He shuddered, pressing himself closer to Optimus’ chest. “And that’s not considering how some Decepticons would definitely take advantage of it if they find out.”

Fear shot through Optimus’ wires like icy water. He squeezed Ratchet a little closer, trying to focus on the rise and fall of his chestplate, rather than the dark visions threatening to swarm his processor. Taking deep vents, he let the swirling anxiety pass over him until the tremors in his servos stilled. 

“I do not think we need to concern ourselves with how others view our relationship,” he slowly said. “It is our business, not theirs. If anyone tries to cause a problem, I will tell them as such. And as for the Decepticons…”

He patted Ratchet’s plating reassuringly. “You are right to be concerned about that, love. But I trust everyone in this base to keep this a secret if we ask them, and they would not give us up to the Decepticons. Regardless of what happens, we will keep each other safe, as we’ve always done.”

Ratchet took several large vents, tapping his digits against Optimus’ armor. He turned his helm so his cheek pressed against the larger mech’s chest. 

“You’re right.” He chuckled slightly. “Of course you’re right.” 

“We do not have to tell them today,” Optimus added. “We can take our time, figure out exactly what we wish to say and how to say it.”

“Probably a good idea,” Ratchet said. “...I don’t know how we would even begin.” 

“We will figure it out,” Optimus replied with a smile. “I was in a panic, trying to decide how I would tell you.” 

Ratchet snickered. “You weren’t the only one,” he said. “At least you’re better at hiding it.” 

Optimus huffed out a laugh. “Really, Ratchet, you of all bots would know that that is not always true.” 

“Yes,” Ratchet laughed. “Primus, I thought your mask was going to melt off your face when we heard that Knock Out called you Sweet Rims.”

Optimus’ spark jumped in its casing. His vents caught in his throat pipe, forcing him to swallow. 

Ratchet tipped his helm back to look at him, optics bright and sharp. His optical ridges rose along with the corners of his intake. 

“What?” He asked, his tone turning teasing. “Do you actually like that nickname? Sweet Rims?” 

Tank full of fluttering cyberflies, Optimus couldn’t help the smile spreading across his faceplate. 

“It sounds better when you say it…” He admitted. “But then again, I imagine nearly everything does.” 

“That so?” Ratchet’s grin grew wider. His servo left Optimus’ arm, drifting down until it rested on his leg. Steady digits ran along the smooth metal, trailing up his thigh, curling to follow the curve of his waist. “Hmm… you do have sweet rims…”

Optimus’ spark flared in his chest like a lit firecracker. He tightened his hold, one servo flying up to grasp the back of Ratchet’s helm. His forehelm clunked against Ratchet’s, his optics blown wide, wanting to drink in every last photon of that cyan light. He barely resisted the urge to kiss him, lip components thrumming with electricity. 

Ratchet laughed, optics bright with joy, and snuggled closer to Optimus’ frame. His servo moved up to his helm, palm pressed to the base of his audial. 

“You’re adorable,” he said. His smile faltered a fraction, vulnerability slipping into his gaze. “...A part of me still can’t believe this. That I’m really yours, light.” 

The wild desire in Optimus’ systems tempered into something gentler. He shifted slightly in place, hoping it would put less strain on Ratchet’s neck cables. His servo slid forward so his thumb could stroke his partner’s cheek. Tenderness pooled in his tank as the unease fled Ratchet’s expression, his jaw relaxing under his palm.

“You are mine as long as you wish to be, love,” he whispered. “And I am yours. Have no doubt of that.” 

Ratchet smiled, optics gleaming. His smile stayed as their lip components met. Optimus let himself melt, optics drifting shut. The world was reduced to the shared warmth of their frames. 

“Well, scrap.” 

Optimus’ optics snapped back open to meet Ratchet’s moon-wide orbs. As one, they whipped their helms towards the medbay’s door. 

And the small crowd standing just beyond it.

Arcee had been the one to speak; she stood with her servos on her hips, slowly nodding with a carefully blank expression. Bulkhead’s jaw hung open like a broken ceiling hatch. Bumblebee was standing so still that he might as well have been a statue.

By their pedes, Jack was raising his hand to cover his eyes. Miko’s knuckles were pressed to her cheeks, her feet rapidly tapping against the floor. Rafael blinked and cocked his head at them. June’s eyebrows were raised, a small, oddly knowing smile growing on her face. 

Optimus stared back at them all, heat rushing across his faceplate. He could feel his partner’s spark pulse spiking and see the blue blush spreading across his cheeks out of the corner of his optic. His arms remained locked around Ratchet’s torso. 

“...By the All-Spark, do none of you know how to knock?!” Ratchet squawked. He jabbed a digit at them all even as his other servo grasped Optimus’ wrist by his waist. “I swear, every other time we turn around, one of you is standing there gaping at us like a granite guppy!” 

Bulkhead, intake still open, reached out and gingerly tapped his knuckles against the doorway. 

“You know damn fragging well that doesn’t help now Bulkhead-!”  

“Eeeeeeeeee!” Miko’s squeal drowned out Ratchet’s shout. The girl’s tiny body was practically vibrating, her smile brighter than a supernova. “I can’t believe this is actually happening!”

“Remember to breathe, Miko,” Jack deadpanned, still covering his eyes. 

“Your mom’s right here if I pass out, it’s fine!” 

“Please don’t,” Ratchet groaned, pinching the bridge of his olfactory sensors. “My spark pulse is just starting to get back to normal.” 

“We didn’t mean to… um… interrupt you guys, Ratchet,” Rafael said. “You weren’t by the monitor, and we were hoping you were awake by now. So we thought we’d check here.” 

The boy looked up at them both, eyes curious and a small smile forming. “So… did anything happen while we were gone?” 

Well… I suppose this does solve the problem of how we tell the team… 

“Yes, Rafael…” Optimus said. Releasing his hold on Ratchet, he stepped around him to stand at his side. The team watched, their expressions still showcasing various levels of shock. Swallowing, he offered his partner his servo, silently asking for permission. 

Ratchet nodded, his digits steady as they folded around his. 

“Ratchet and I are now partners,” Optimus said, unable to hide the small smile that statement brought. “We decided to be together only last night, so this is very new to us. We hope that you will give us time and space as we explore this.”

“Preferably without tricking either of us into running through any more GroundBridges,” Ratchet added. His attempt at sternness was somewhat diminished by the softness in his optics when he looked at Optimus.

Their teammates stared at them for several long moments. Optimus squeezed Ratchet’s digits and vented as deeply as he could.

“Well, I would hope you two were together,” Arcee said, her lip components curling upwards. “Considering you were all over each other two minutes ago.” 

“Arcee!” Jack yelped, his face turning pink up to his ears. The teen quickly looked up at them with an anxious smile. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Just- um- glad you’re happy.” 

“Smooth,” Miko teased. She returned her attention to Optimus and Ratchet, her grin threatening to split her face in half. “Holy scrap, I am so happy for you guys! You two are such a cute couple!” 

“Cute?” Ratchet questioned, raising an optical ridge. Rafael giggled, and Optimus couldn’t help but smile. 

Bulkhead shrugged and smiled at them. “I mean, like Jack said. If you’re happy, we’re all good.”

“Congratulations, you two,” June said with a laugh. “And I’m glad to see you’re doing better, Optimus. How does your back feel?” 

“Thank you, June,” Optimus replied. “I am feeling well. My backplates are a little stiff, but otherwise they are fine.” 

“Good. You got very lucky, from what I hear.” 

Optimus smiled, a surge of boldness racing through his systems. “That is true. But I also had a very talented physician.” 

Ratchet let out a squeak, which he quickly disguised as a cough. 

“Flatterer,” he mumbled. His thumb discreetly stroked Optimus’ knuckles. Optimus’ spark blazed like a warm hearth. 

“Oh, my gosh-”

“Breathe, Miko.” 

Arcee smirked, then turned to look at Bulkhead. “Hey Bulk’, I think we’ve got some inventory to do on the lower levels. We should probably go take care of that.” 

“What? I just did that last week-” 

Arcee narrowed her optics and aggressively cleared her throat pipe. 

“Oh!” Bulkhead’s optics widened in realization, and he quickly nodded. “Uh, yeah, inventory. We should… uh… go do that. Right now.” 

“That sounds like a great idea,” June said, stepping away from the doorway. “The kids and I will come help you.” 

“But-” Miko protested. 

“Nope.” Jack walked over, grabbing Miko’s wrist and pulling her behind him. “We are giving them time and space, Miko, time and space.” 

“Okay, okay!” Miko let herself get dragged away, twisting her head to beam and wave at Optimus and Ratchet. “We’re so proud of you guys, this is amazing!” 

The team shuffled out of view, Miko continuing to gleefully chatter and Arcee throwing a wink at them over her shoulder. As their voices and pedesteps slowly faded, Optimus turned his gaze to Ratchet, not bothering to hide his smile. 

“All things considered, I think that went very well,” he said. 

Ratchet opened his intake, an argument clearly on the tip of his voice box. He looked up at Optimus, down at their clasped servos, then back at the empty entryway. His intake slowly closed and his shoulders relaxed. He shook his helm with a chuckle, a faint blush blooming across his faceplate. 

“I guess so,” he said. “‘All over each other,’ my aft…” 

“In all fairness, she wasn’t entirely wrong,” Optimus admitted, his cheek plating almost hot. 

“Hey Bee, are you coming?” Rafael shouted from down the hall. 

A jolt shot through both of them, instinctively turning their helms back towards the doorway. Bumblebee stood there, peeking around the doorframe with round optics, looking for all the world like a scared cyber-hound puppy. 

“I… I’ll catch up in a klik, Raf!” The younger bot called, his gaze not leaving Optimus and Ratchet. He stepped inside the medbay, pedesteps light and tentative. His servos were clenched and his door-wings tucked close to his back. 

Optimus released Ratchet’s servo, concern growing in his tank. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw his partner beginning to frown, undoubtedly realizing the same thing he had. 

He’s being too quiet. He hasn’t even said a word to us yet. 

“Is something wrong, Bumblebee?” Optimus asked, taking a step closer. “You seem troubled.” 

The scout’s shoulders bunched up. He clasped his servos before him, digits rapidly tapping against each other. 

“You don’t need to be so tense,” Ratchet said. He barked out a laugh. “Slag, I thought you’d be thrilled by this news.” 

Bumblebee flinched. His baby blue optics widened even further, fluid welling up along the bottom of the orbs. A faint whimper slipped out of his throat pipe, his chestplate twitching as he choked down larger cries. 

Scrap, Optimus thought. 

“Scrap!” Ratchet said. “Bee, I didn’t mean- It’s okay if you didn’t think that!” 

“I- I’m okay-” Bumblebee pressed the heels of his palms against his optics. “I’m not- I’m not crying. I’m fine.” 

“Bumblebee…” Optimus stepped a little closer, reaching a servo out. His processor whirred in his helm, trying to determine the reason for the scout’s distress. “I apologize if our announcement startled you, but it truly isn’t anything to be upset about. I… I can imagine this is surprising to you, given how long you’ve known both of us, but-”

“It’s not a surprise!” Bumblebee’s bleeps were nearly electronic shrieks. Optimus almost jumped; Ratchet actually did. 

The young bot lowered his servos, revealing optics as wide as they were wet. His plating, usually relaxed on his frame, was tucked tight to his chassis. His curled digits visibly shook. 

“I- I always hoped you might get together one day,” Bumblebee said, beeps trembling and laden with static. “I waited for stellar cycles for something to happen, and- and when you told me you wanted to tell Ratchet something, I got so excited because I thought it was finally happening and I- I-” 

He sharply inhaled, his chestplate nearly heaving. “I convinced everyone to trick you both, to get you alone in the middle of the woods. I wanted you to talk so much that I didn’t think about what might happen if you ran into trouble out there without back-up and- and-” 

“Bumblebee…” Understanding dawned in Optimus’ mind and settled heavily on his spark. 

“You could have died!” Bumblebee shouted. He shrunk in on himself, clutching his helm. “Airachnid almost killed you and Ratchet! You were hurt bad and- and if I hadn’t- you could have- I almost got you both-” 

Optimus closed the distance between them in two strides. He grasped Bumblebee’s arms and gently pulled them away from his helm. Watery optics looked up at him, his scout’s half-blubbered words stumbling to a halt. 

“...Would you like a hug, little one?” Optimus asked, holding his arms out. 

Bumblebee didn’t need to be told twice. He nearly threw itself into Optimus’ embrace, slim arms wrapping around his torso and forehelm clunking against his chestplate. His door-wings weakly twitched as he heaved shaky, uneven vents. Optimus held him close, cradling the back of his helm. 

Looking over his shoulder, Optimus saw Ratchet watching with clenched fists and an anguished expression. Ratchet took a step forward, then moved his pede back. When his gaze met Optimus’, it was filled with equal parts guilt, worry, and nervousness. 

Optimus gave him a small smile. He lifted his arm from Bumblebee’s back and extended it towards Ratchet, gesturing him to come closer. 

With only a little hesitance, Ratchet approached them. He gingerly placed a servo on Bumblebee’s shoulder, as if afraid he would crumble under his digits like ancient parchment. 

Bumblebee’s helm jerked up at the touch; when he saw Ratchet, his servo shot out and grabbed the medic’s elbow, dragging him into their embrace. 

Ratchet grunted in surprise, optics wide and arms instinctively flailing out. He froze when Bumblebee whimpered, digits digging into Ratchet’s armor almost pleadingly. Frame loosening, he sighed and wrapped an arm onto Bumblebee’s shoulders, pulling him flush to his side. His other arm snaked around Optimus’ torso, tightening their three-way embrace. 

Optimus hugged them both close, rubbing Bumblebee’s back and letting his helm drop onto Ratchet’s. He vented slowly and deeply, feeling relief when his scout began mimicking his inhales and exhales. The young bot’s sniffles slowly quieted until the medbay fell silent. 

“I’m sorry…” Bumblebee finally mumbled. “I want to be happy for you both. I am happy, but all I can think about is how you both almost died because… because I wanted this. How can I let myself be happy if I nearly killed you-” 

“No,” Ratchet interrupted. He squeezed Bumblebee’s shoulder and lowered his helm to meet his gaze. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think about it, Bee. You were not the one trying to hurt us. Don’t blame yourself like that.” 

“But…” Bumblebee’s beeps wobbled like a broken seesaw. “But if I hadn’t lied to you and closed the Bridge behind you, you wouldn’t have-” 

“Wouldn’t have gotten hurt?” Ratchet finished. “Probably! But how in the universe were you supposed to know that the Decepticons were crawling around a park we knew had no energon under it?” 

Bumblebee froze and fell quiet. Ratchet shut his optics, taking several deep vents before meeting the younger mech’s gaze once more. The cyan light of his optics had softened considerably.

“Look, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t annoyed when you pulled that stunt, or that it technically led to Optimus and I getting in trouble. But we chose to go into those caves on our own, because we didn’t know if we had time to get out of the comm jammer’s range to call for back-up. That was our choice, not yours.” 

“Exactly,” Optimus said. His servo cupped the back of his scout’s helm, waiting until those baby-blue optics were looking up at him to continue. “You could not have possibly predicted the train of events that led to what happened. And more importantly, we know that you would never knowingly do anything that puts us in danger.” 

“As Ratchet said, your methods may have been somewhat… unorthodox in nature, and had unintended consequences.” He gently smiled. “But your spark was in the right place. You were trying to help us, to give us the opportunity to be happy. Please do not be so hard on yourself for something out of your control, little one.” 

Bumblebee looked between them both, lubricant slipping out of his optics when he blinked. Vents shaky, he hugged them a little tighter, helm clunking against their armor. 

“I’ll try,” he quietly beeped. “...I’m still sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Bumblebee,” Optimus murmured.

“And we forgive you for tricking us,” Ratchet added, patting the scout’s shoulder. A tiny smirk crept onto his face. “And quite frankly, you were right. Before the Decepticons showed up, that was one of the most pleasant afternoons I’d had in stellar cycles.” 

Optimus’ spark lit up despite himself. He gave Ratchet’s helm a quick nuzzle. “I’m glad you think so, love,” he said. 

“Optimus, not in front of the kid!” Ratchet snorted, clearly trying not to laugh. “We still have some dignity to maintain!” 

Bumblebee giggled, his door-wings twitching in mirth. The sound brightened Optimus’ spark like kindling in a fireplace. 

“Don’t worry, Ratch’, I won’t tell anyone.” Bumblebee stepped back, grasping their servos. His optics were still a little damp, but he was smiling now. “This… this is really happening, right? You’re really getting together? I’m not dreaming?”

“Yes, Bumblebee, we are,” Optimus chuckled, gently squeezing his scout’s digits. He kept his other arm curled around Ratchet’s torso. “None of us are dreaming.” 

“Somehow,” Ratchet murmured. His voice still had traces of wonder in it. Optimus hugged him a little tighter. 

Bumblebee’s smile exploded into a full-blown grin, door-wings flared out and optics glowing like a pair of bright blue stars. He bounced on the balls of his pedes; his visible excitement was rapidly coming to mirror Miko’s. 

“I’m so excited for you!” His beeps were akin to a cyberhound pup’s yips. “If you ever need anything or want the team to leave you alone, just let me know! I promise I won’t use the GroundBridge, but I’ll help!” 

Ratchet’s optical ridges rose faster than a signal flare. 

“We will keep that in mind, Bumblebee,” Optimus said with a fond smile. 

Bumblebee took a deep, somewhat whistling vent, clearly trying to calm himself down. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave you guys alone now,” he laughed. “Raf and the other’s are probably wondering where I am.” 

His cheerful expression sombered slightly, and suddenly he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Optimus and Ratchet once more. His helm burrowed into the corner formed by Ratchet’s shoulder and Optimus’ upper arm. 

“I love you,” he whispered to them both.

Optimus’ spark melted. “We love you too, little one.” 

“Yes,” Ratchet agreed, his voice faintly quivering. “And you already help us, more than you could ever realize.” 

They all held each other for a long moment; trying to convey thousands of thoughts and feelings usually held close to their chestplates or locked securely in their processors through touch alone. 

“Alright,” Ratchet gruffly said, patting Bumblebee’s helm. “That’s enough emotions for one day. Get going before someone comes looking for you and interrupts us. Again.” 

Bumblebee giggled as he stepped back, smiling at them both. “You got it, doc,” he teased. “I’ll see you later.” 

Their scout nearly skipped out of the medbay, shoulders relaxed and frame loose, his previous anxieties thankfully forgotten. 

Ratchet sighed, his forehelm thunking against Optimus’ chestplate. “Scrap,” he mumbled. “He was blaming himself this whole week, and I didn’t even notice…” 

Optimus pulled him closer, pressing a quick kiss against Ratchet’s helm. “I suspect he didn’t want you to worry, love,” he said. “And you were otherwise occupied.” 

Pivoting in place, Ratchet coiled his arms snugly around Optimus’ waist, hiding his face in his chest. His digits were careful even now, delicate against Optimus’ scarred backplates. 

Optimus returned the embrace, dipping his helm until his forehelm rested against Ratchet’s dome. He cupped his partner’s face, his thumb skirting the deep gash across his optical ridge. His chest went tight.

She almost killed him. She almost killed both of us. We both encounter so much danger so often. I don’t know what I will do if he gets hurt or… or… 

Ratchet opened his optics, his gaze flickering up to meet Optimus’. Cyan light streamed out of those beautiful orbs, softening the faint lines on his faceplate and muting the fresh scar. His lip components curled upwards like a lily’s blooming petals. He didn’t even seem aware that he was smiling. 

The tension coiled around Optimus’ chest loosened, his fearful thoughts fading to the back of his processor. His thumb moved away from the gash to stroke his partner’s cheek. He smiled, affection blossoming in his spark. 

Yes, they often found themselves in trouble, fighting an endless war. Yes, there was a chance - a strong likelihood, in fact - that they would both get hurt again. And yes, as much as it terrified him, death was always a possibility. 

But these things were going to be true no matter what. If he had a choice between continuing as they had or having the mech he loved by his side, he knew which he preferred. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you smile this much in stellar cycles,” Ratchet softly said. “It’s good to see.” 

“It is because of you, love,” Optimus said. “I just hope I can do the same for you.” 

“Heh.” Ratchet smirked. “You know you already do.” 

Spark glowing with fondness, Optimus tipped his helm forward, closing the tiny gap between their lip components. Ratchet’s engine purred at the kiss, and he stood on his toe struts to get closer. Their arms tightened around each other until they resembled a giant cocoon of shared warmth and safety. 

“Thank you,” Ratchet breathed out when they broke apart. His frame was relaxed against Optimus’, his expression one of utter happiness. 

“For what, old friend?” Optimus asked. 

“For being my light,” Ratchet said, blushing. “...Primus, that was cheesy. Please don’t tell the others I said that.” 

Optimus laughed, amusement and affection suffusing his very being. Warmth pooled in his tank. He held his partner close to his chest, his spark glowing in joy at being so near Ratchet’s. He drank in a sight more filling than the purest energon; his love’s small smile, sweetly embarrassed expression, and beautiful cyan optics gazing up at him with adoration that had nothing to do with his Primehood and everything to do with him being him.

“Your secret is safe with me, love,” Optimus said, pressing one more kiss to his forehelm. “And thank you. For everything.”