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"Reason for Arrival to Earth". Lennox had filled out this form plenty of times before for each new Autobot landing. Every time he filled in "War Refugee" and it was good enough for the higher-ups. But now Lennox was at a loss for explanation for the handful of new bots. He doubted the powers-that-be would accept "Alien robot visitors from a parallel dimension were brought to this world by a tiny glitch in the Groundbridge programming that somehow connected their portal to one in our world and maybe ripped open a hole in the fabric of the universe". That was Que's less than helpful explanation, not Lennox's.
They now had a gaggle of duplicate bots standing around awkwardly at base. Not to mention new versions of Megatron, Starscream, and Soundwave had crossed over at the same time and the ensuing battle had severely damaged several city blocks in Manhattan. The universe couldn't give Lennox and his team a break, like depositing the new bots in a desolate field or forest. No, it always had to be a large city.
For all his professionalism, Lennox was tempted to write on the form "Robot science caused a big oopsie" because his meager paycheck was not enough to put up with this alien shit. If his government overlords had any questions, they could address all comments and concerns to the soldier's ass.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and shoved the stack of papers aside. There were bigger issues to solve, like where each new bot was to sleep. As he left his office to sort out the sleeping arrangements, he envisioned the Cons having to do the same for their newly arrived doubles. Though he doubted they could even peacefully share a bed, let alone a planet.
--
"Do you have enough space on your side?" The flame-painted Prime asked. He was laying on his side, pressed spine to spine with the other Prime.
"Yes," Optimus answered. He hugged his arms closer to his body so as not to dangle over the berth's edge.
"My apologies," the flame-painted bot offered as he felt his counterpart shift uncomfortably. "Space has become more limited with each new Autobot finding refuge here. Some have taken up residence at NASA, others at our decommissioned base on Diego Garcia. I would offer you a larger berth, one you could share with your conjunx, but I'm afraid they are all in use amongst our own couples."
"It is alright. Even with a larger berth, I would recharge alone. Ratchet does not sleep as much as he should. Nor does he consume enough energon. I worry about him. Our supply is limited and he insists on decreasing his intake for the sake of our warriors."
"You and yours are welcome to share in our supply. Our Ratchet has been able to formulate and concoct numerous brews."
"I appreciate the offer. Perhaps your Ratchet could inform mine of the formula for when we return to our world."
"Of course."
They fell silent after that. When, not if. That was the hope. They would return home in time.
Both Primes tried to settle into an uncomfortable sleep for what could be the first of many nights like this. That was until the newly arrived Optimus rolled forward as he dozed off and crashed to the floor with an awful sound. Face planted on the cold concrete, he let out a sigh heavy with all the stresses weighing on him and his team.
The flame-painted Prime sighed as well, his exhaustion-heavy frame rising to a seated position.
"Do you want to grab a drink?"
"...Yes."
--
"Optimus! You're just in time to see me win!"
The two Primes entered the recreation room and were greeted with the sight of both medics squaring off in a game of flipping energon cups. Or it had been a game, but the chartreuse medic stood back from the table triumphantly, looking on at the red and white bot who was still working on their second cup, and failing horribly.
"I see you've already had your fill of energon, Ratchet." The newly arrived Prime arched an optic at his conjunx. He wasn't disappointed, more so amused to see the medic fully tanked up, and his old party-hardy self showing again in such a long time.
"He was more than excited to fill his tanks when he learned there's no supply shortage. Unfortunately he was three cups in before we realized he grabbed from the high-grade taps," Ironhide chimed in. He moved beside the neon-plated mech and wrapped an arm around his waist, pecking his cheek. "You haven't lost your touch," he whispered.
"That's because I'm sober," the neon medic chuckled.
Optimus looked between his drunken medic, unsteady on his feet as he successfully flipped the second cup, and the room's furniture which consisted of several makeshift couches.
"Perhaps we can sleep here tonight. It will be a challenge getting my medic back to quarters in his current state."
"I believe that is best," the flame-painted Prime agreed. Ratchet put up a verbal fight as he was lured away from the table, but resisted little physically.
"I'm also in agreement,"Ironhide added. "Ratchet and I can resume where we left off yesterday," he winked at his conjunx.
"You're the one who fell asleep during foreplay."
"Ratch!" Ironhide looked embarrassed at being called out, despite having shown no shame in advertising their sex life. "Not in front of our guests."
But Ironhide need not have worried. Over on the couch, Ratchet had collapsed against his Prime and quickly fallen asleep. Optimus was drifting off as well.