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Mirage quietly slotted the datapad onto his shelf and flexed his fingers, turning his hand to watch the dim lights of his quarters glint off his armor. Dull. He made a mental note to book a refurbishing appointment, though he doubted anyone would notice.
With a quiet vent, he rolled his head on his neck joint until it clicked, stretching out some of the tension coiled in his frame. The base was unusually quiet tonight. Most of the noisier residents had followed Optimus Prime on a reconnaissance mission. Mirage, naturally, had not.
He stared at the wall, expression blank.
I should’ve gone.
But Optimus, in his infinite wisdom, had suggested Mirage take some time off after a few… spirited disagreements with other Autobots.
“Spend time with the young one,” Prime had said. “Ratchet will appreciate the break.”
The young one.
Some months ago, Optimus had found a sparkling on the battlefield: tiny, yellow, chatty. A minicon-in-the-making, and already adored by half the base. Opinions had been divided, but Optimus had made his decision.
Mirage hadn’t grown up around sparklings. In his circles, they were raised out of sight by caregivers and instructors. The idea of personally watching one now was… less than ideal.
As he brooded over his fate, his comm crackled to life. Ratchet, sounding like he hadn’t recharged in a week, deadpanned: “Mirage. Your sparklingsitting shift is now.”
Mirage sends an unenthused “Affirmative.” back and steps out of the confines of his room. It was nearing night. Ideally, the little mech would be tired and easy to put to recharge, then Mirage could spend the rest of the night ensuring that he didn’t wake the sparkling. Later, he would return the young one to Ratchet and hopefully be assigned to leave the base the next morning.
The walk to the medbay is faster than he anticipated, and he can hear a muffled voice and tiny beeps. He cocks a brow ridge and the door slides open, revealing their doctor, Ratchet, tiredly keeping the little Bumblebee from climbing onto his work desk.
“No, I’m not letting you into my subspace. I have enough things to deal with as is,” Ratchet grumbles, refusing to budge.
Mirage watches Bumblebee strain to try to climb onto Ratchet and doesn’t miss the soft look Ratchet gives to the sparkling before looking up at Mirage.
“Took your time. Okay, brat, see that mech? Name’s Mirage. He’s a friend of Prime.”
Bumblebee’s horns perk at the sound of his caretaker’s name and he looks toward where Ratchet nudges. The little horns deflate as instead of seeing the sturdy figure of Optimus Prime, he finds a new mech, smaller and more sleek.
Bumblebee beeped in curiosity, his little helm tilting as he studied the new arrival. Mirage shifted his weight from one leg to the other, arms folded across his chest with practiced nonchalance.
“…Has he fueled for the night?” Mirage asked, his usual composure faltering.
Ratchet nodded, rubbing a hand over his faceplate. “Yeah, but he might be a little high-energy for a bit. Someone snuck him an energon jelly earlier. Pretty sure it was Jazz.”
As the medic muttered under his breath about irresponsible saboteurs with bad snack judgment, Bumblebee toddled over to Mirage, pulled by curiosity and possibly snack-fueled boldness. He stopped in front of the taller mech and looked him up and down, optics squinting thoughtfully.
Then, he crossed his tiny arms.
Mirage blinked and looked down. Bumblebee stared up, mirroring his every move with unsettling precision.
Mirage sighed.
Bumblebee, in response, let out a long, exaggerated vent, clearly mimicking him.
That finally drew a wheezy laugh out of Ratchet. “Oh, that’s rich.”
Mirage frowned slightly, now feeling the sting of being silently judged by both the medic and a sparkling. “You don’t even know what that means,” he said stiffly.
Bumblebee stared at him for a beat… then narrowed his optics and let out another deeply overacted sigh, swaying slightly for emphasis. It was a perfect, if slightly wobbly, performance.
Mirage stared. “What possible reason does a youngling have to be this tense?”
He crouched down, more out of habit than intent, so that they were closer to optic level.
At that, Bumblebee beamed, a bright, triumphant chirp escaping him as he reached out and latched onto Mirage’s fingers with tiny hands.
Mirage’s optics narrowed as he regarded the little mech. “…Oh. You’re doing this on purpose.”
Ratchet snorted, shooting Mirage a pointed, clearly exhausted look. “Now you get it. He likes to mess with new mechs. Especially the serious ones.”
Bumblebee gave Mirage’s hand a victorious squeeze and offered yet another, even more theatrical sigh, just in case his message hadn’t landed.
Mirage looked to the ceiling. “Fantastic. A sparkling with a sense of irony.”
Ratchet smiles and gets up, crouching by Bumblebee, “C’mon Bee, Mirage might be a little serious, but he’s a friend. You like meeting new friends, right? He’s gonna take care of you for a bit.”
Despite likely not processing everything Ratchet had said, Bumblebee turned his little helm and looked up at the medic with visible worry. Ratchet, in a rare display of softness, patted the top of his head and nodded toward Mirage, who still knelt nearby, quietly watching the exchange.
After a moment’s hesitation, Bumblebee chirped in reluctant acceptance.
Mirage resisted the urge to vent in relief. He caught himself—no need to give the little mech more material to mock. He stood and keyed open the door to the hallway, glancing behind him with a nod.
“Come along, then.”
To his surprise, Bumblebee didn’t walk. Instead, he toddled up and raised his arms, chirping expectantly.
Mirage blinked. “You can walk just fine,” he muttered, casting a look toward Ratchet, who was already back at his bench pretending he couldn’t hear.
Mirage pursed his lips. This wasn’t what he signed up for.
Unfortunately, Bumblebee was quicker than he looked, and before Mirage could step away, he latched onto his leg. Mirage froze, mentally calculating the odds of walking without accidentally punting the sparkling across the corridor.
He sighed, defeated.
With a reluctant groan, he leaned down and scooped Bumblebee up. The moment he lifted him, his frame paused.
Bumblebee was light Shockingly light. Not fragile, but new. Warm in a way Mirage hadn’t expected, like holding a freshly charged datapad that practically hummed with internal energy. His plating vibrated with barely contained excitement, and soft, erratic squeaks pulsed through his little chest as his systems thrummed at rest and play simultaneously.
And the trust. Primus, the trust. Bee immediately curled against Mirage’s chest, tiny hands clasping instinctively around the back of his neck, face nuzzling into the warmer cluster of cables where his helm met his collar. He let out a little trill, content and snug, his doorwings twitching gently against Mirage’s arm.
Mirage stood perfectly still, stunned. His optics dimmed slightly in confusion. Maybe awe. No one had touched him like this in ages. No one had just sought him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“…You are a very strange little youngling,” he muttered.
Bumblebee’s only response was a happy chirp and a soft beep that vibrated against Mirage’s chestplate.
The contentment was too good to last long. Mirage should have known.
His quarters, usually quiet and pristine, now resembled a war zone designed by an overactive sparkling, a little yellow, bug-like one, to be specific.
“The amount of energy you have is disproportionate to your size,” Mirage muttered, watching as Bumblebee happily darted into corners. His little feet tapped against the floor in a frantic scurry as he explored, pausing only to poke at Mirage’s carefully organized shelves.
“No—don’t touch that, that’s—!” Mirage barely caught a fragile trinket before it hit the floor. He let out a tight vent. “That was custom-forged…” He didn’t mention the questionable black and purple mech who had made it, but hoped the little sparkling would somehow resonate with the sentimentality.
Bee chirped, clearly unbothered, before crawling under the berth to investigate the uncharted territory below.
After the third failed attempt to coax him into recharging, which ranged from a firm command to soft-spoken reasoning, and even simply lying very still on the berth hoping Bumblebee would imitate him, Mirage gave up. He sat on the edge of the berth, arms slack, optics unfocused, staring into the void as the little menace made whirring sounds from inside one of Mirage’s storage cabinets, mimicking a ship.
He didn’t hear the teleportation hum at first, processor too occupied with his current situation. At least, not until space folded with a distinctive VOP, and a very familiar deep voice broke the silence.
“Mirage, sweetspark, didja miss me?” Skywarp’s voice rang out cheerfully as he phased into view mid-stride, arms spread like he expected applause.
Mirage startled upright, optics flaring. He immediately held out both hands in a sharp, panicked motion.Stop. Don’t. Someone else is here.
Skywarp, in his usual idiot fashion, didn’t notice.
“I swear,” he huffed, stepping forward, “if I have to hear Starscream talk about ‘strategic efficiency’ one more time, I’m going to shove his tactical plans somewhere deeply unstrategic—”
“Skywarp—” Mirage tried, standing quickly, processor reeling in quiet panic.
“—and when he gets mad, he shrieks like a faulty converter. My processor is still throbbing! I had to warp three times just to shake him off. Pretty sure he tried to tag my wing.” The wings Mirage normally admired flicked up in an obvious drive to be seen. Especially by a little impressionable sparkling Mirage had yet to figure out the location of.
“Skywarp.” Mirage stepped closer, increasingly desperate, arms raised in a subtle block.
Skywarp finally stopped, grin crooked. “Wait, wait, what is this? You flustered?”
He leaned in, voice low and smug. “You gonna kiss me or somethi—?”
Mirage grabbed him by the shoulders with a death grip and in an attempt to keep Bee from noticing, silently mouthing: THERE. IS. A. SPARKLING. IN. THE. ROOM.
Skywarp blinked. “...A wha—?”
Beep.
Both of them froze.
Skywarp slowly looked down to find Bumblebee standing at his feet, head tilted in wonder. The little mech beeped again and flared his doorwings.
Skywarp’s wings jolted upright. “Is that a tiny bot?”
Mirage sighed through his vents. Too late. “Yes... the base took him in. He lives here now.”
Bumblebee chirped and reached up toward Skywarp with grabby little hands.
Skywarp stared. “What is it doing?”
“He obviously likes you,” Mirage said blandly.
“No. Nooo. I don’t do sparklings. You didn’t tell me there’d be a—Hey!” he yelped as Bumblebee latched onto his leg with impressive speed.
Mirage just folded his arms. “You have a few seconds before he starts copying everything you do. You will cease any vulgar motions from here on out.”
Skywarp opened his mouth, then paused as Bumblebee let go and grinned up at him, dramatically sticking his arms out, shooting his doorwings upward to mimic Skywarp’s own, and letting out an exaggerated vent.
Despite the panic Mirage was in, he couldn’t help but smirk at the look of confusion and then offense on the Seeker’s face.
“You have no right to say I didn’t warn you,” Mirage said calmly, biting back the grin threatening to splay across his face. “You know you’re not supposed to come here unannounced.”
Skywarp looked at Mirage for a long moment, then shrugged. “Missed you?”
Mirage shakes his head and rubs his face.
Skywarp hadn't moved in a while, partially out of sheer confusion, partially because Bumblebee was now circling him like a scout sizing up its next challenge.
The tiny bot’s optics were wide and locked onto Skywarp’s leg-mounted thrusters with something bordering on reverence. He let out a fascinated little beep, then poked one with a single finger.
Skywarp twitched. “Hey–hey, that’s sensitive you–!”
He stops as soon as he feels Mirage’s glare and mutters an apology.
Bumblebee beeped again, undeterred, and went in for another jab.
Skywarp gently nudged him back with his foot.
Mirage’s voice came immediately, dry as ever. “Don’t kick the youngling.”
“I didn’t kick him!” Skywarp snapped, looking genuinely offended. “I moved him.”
Bumblebee, utterly unbothered, stumbled back a step and chirped brightly. Then, as if nothing had happened, he tried once again to poke at the thruster, his little hand now patting it curiously.
“They’re not toys,” Mirage said without even looking up from where he sat resigned on his berth.
Bee beeped in protest. Another pat.
“They’re still not toys.”
Skywarp, grinning now and suddenly feeling camaraderie with the sparkling in their unified efforts to stress out Mirage, crouched down to Bumblebee’s level with a conspiratorial gleam in his optics. “Guess I gotta detain you for crimes against my personal space.”
Bumblebee let out an excited squeal as Skywarp scooped him up like he’d just captured an escaped criminal. The little Bee squirmed happily in his grip, beeping and buzzing, tiny limbs wiggling in exaggerated protest.
Skywarp held him upside down for a second, then righted him with a laugh. “I like you.”
Mirage sighed and stepped over to check the lock on the door, pressing the keypad to confirm it was sealed. He turned his head, giving Skywarp a sharp glance. “Keep your voice down.”
Skywarp gave Bumblebee a look, exasperated, and the sparkling returned it with an all-too-knowing one.
“He’s so mean to me. You get it, right?” Skywarp said, gesturing at Mirage like he was the victim of great injustice.
Bumblebee nodded with a dramatic flair and offered a long, exaggerated beeep…
Mirage shot them both a half-sparked glare, optics narrowing with thinly veiled judgment. But he said nothing as he moved to sit back down on the berth, arms folded loosely across his frame.
As he watched Skywarp continue his mock conversation with Bumblebee, now pretending to be scandalized that Mirage never lets him have any fun, the frown lines in his faceplates began to ease. The tension in his frame gently melted away at the display, replaced by a warmth that blossomed quietly from his spark.
“Skywarp,” Mirage finally murmured, a hint of reluctance in his tone, “you need to leave.”
Skywarp blinked, looked at Bumblebee, then back at Mirage. “...Do I?”
Mirage sighed. But it wasn’t sharp. It was quiet, tired. He watched as Bumblebee let out a small chirp and leaned against Skywarp’s chest, his previous energy beginning to dwindle.
For someone who claimed not to “do sparklings,” Skywarp had adjusted quickly. He’d stopped moving so much. His voice had gone down to a murmur. He didn’t even flinch when Bumblebee curled against his chest, doorwings tucked loosely in.
Mirage observed all of it, quiet.
“Come here,” he said finally, patting the empty space beside him on the berth.
Skywarp raised a brow but didn’t argue. He stepped over and settled beside Mirage with a soft thud, shifting carefully so Bumblebee wouldn’t stir.
He set the little sparkling against his own chest, keeping a stabilizing hand on Bumblebee’s back as the sparkling let out one final tired beep and began to settle.
“Well,” Skywarp whispered, glancing down at the yellow bundle resting on him, “didn’t think I’d be playing sire to a sparkling tonight.”
Mirage didn’t laugh, but he smiled faintly, optics lingering on the sight. He reached out, slowly brushing his fingers over Bumblebee’s helm with practiced delicacy, tracing over the faint ridge of his crest. The soft touches and ambient warmth seemed to lull the little mech fully into recharge, vents slowing.
Mirage’s fingers drifted away from Bumblebee… and toward Skywarp’s hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it.
Skywarp blinked at him with quiet surprise, then softened, leaning closer. His hand closed gently around Mirage’s in return.
They sat in silence for a while. Skywarp reclined slightly with Bumblebee curled up on his chest, Mirage beside him, their hands loosely entwined.
Skywarp’s gaze lingered on the little sparkling’s peacefully shut optics. His voice came low, almost unsure, as if speaking too loud might shatter the calm.
“Y’ever think about what it could be like if there wasn’t war? If we… could have one of these lil mechlets?”
Mirage didn’t answer right away. His optics lingered on the curve of Skywarp's helm, tracing evey line like a memory he wished he could hold onto. Then, his gaze drifted down to Bumblebee's small, nestled frame, fragile yet so full of life. Slowly, with a tenderness known only to his seeker, he lifted Skywarp's hand to his lips and pressed a soft lingering kiss to his knuckles, trying to seal a promise they both dared only to dream of.
“We might not be able to have one of our own now,” Mirage said quietly, “but… Bee’s not so bad. He’s like you.”
Skywarp raised a brow ridge. “What? Loud, impossible to manage, and trying to keep touchin' things he shouldn’t?”
Mirage gave a soft hum, a trace of amusement in his voice. “Exactly.”
Skywarp chuckled, head tipping back against the berthframe. “It’s been so long since I’ve been around one. Back on Vos… sparklings nested together. Whole groups of us, raised by the whole cluster.”
He glanced at Mirage, his tone gentler. “I think if we had one… I’d want them to look like you.”
Mirage’s optics flickered, startled by the earnestness. “Me?”
Skywarp nodded. “All sleek and graceful and… y’know, with that weird fancy pout you use when you’re annoyed.”
Mirage shook his head slowly, an affectionate smile spreading across his face. “They’d end up with your wings. And your attitude. Little, uncontrollable, beeping to no end… Trying to crawl into our frames at every opportunity. ”
Skywarp smirked. “So a little terror .”
“A charming one,” Mirage murmured, thumb brushing across Skywarp’s hand again as he meets Skywarp’s red optics. “Like their creator.”
Skywarp fell quiet at that, and for a rare moment, didn’t joke. He just looked at Mirage and then back at the sparkling between them.
They carefully shifted, tucking Bumblebee between them delicately. Mirage adjusted the mesh blanket over the tiny Bee, cautious not to disturb his quiet recharge. Bee's doorwings fluttered once in his sleep, but he settled quickly, frame still.
Skywarp let out a quiet, muffled grumble. “Primus, I was hoping I’d be kissing you silly by now.”
Mirage arched a brow ridge, but his voice was barely above a whisper. “If you wake him, I’ll cause a scene, citing a Decepticon was infiltrating, and have you sent to the holding cells.”
Skywarp smirked and stifled a laugh, pressing his hand across Bumblebee’s sleeping frame to find Mirage’s waist. His fingers curled there gently, pulling the other mech closer with a content sigh.
“Kinda like we’ve got our own little family.” The word felt foreign in his mouth, but not unpleasant.
Mirage exhaled softly, the corners of his mouth lifting as he rested a hand over Skywarp’s. “One day,” he murmured, leaning in close until their forehelms just barely touched above the tiny, recharging frame. “We’ll have one. I promise.”
Skywarp smiled softly, watching Mirage stubbornly fight against his exhaustion just to keep their conversation going. He could see how deeply Mirage wanted to savor these fleeting moments of peace they had together.
Slowly, Mirage's words grew quieter, his frame loosening as he finally gave in to the pull of his own much-needed recharge. Between them, Bumblebee recharged peacefully, a small warm presence that somehow made the silence feel full. Skywarp's hand trailed up gently, brushing lightly over Mirage's cheek and the groove of his helm as he settled closer, aching to hold onto this fragile moment.
He startled slightly at the soft beep emitted from the sparkling nestled between them, then huffed quietly, voice low and fond. "Ruinin' my plans... Ya get a pass this time, mechlet, just 'cause Mirage thinks you're cute...
Carefully, he shifted his position just enough to let one hand settle over Bumblebee's frame, his palm nearly engulfing the sparkling. His other arm stretched out, curling protectively around Mirage;s side. He stared at the two of them for a moment, optics dimming from something close to yearning, or maybe something more daunting, like hope.
A quiet groan rose in his systems as he became aware of the dull ache in his wings, twisted awkwardly from lying on his side too long. He wouldn't be flying anywhere fast tomorrow, and he certainly would not be fast enough to dodge Starscream's questioning glare and remarks.
However, for now, it was worth it.
_____
The overhead light in Mirage’s quarters had shifted to the pale gold of early morning, catching faintly on the polished edges of the berth and the scattered evidence of last night’s chaos—one of Bumblebee’s chewed datapads, a toppled trinket or two, a soft cloth tossed half over a chair.
Mirage stirred, slow and drowsy, his systems humming back to full consciousness. It was the gentle sensation of something touching his hand that pulled him out of recharge completely. He blinked his optics online.
Bumblebee was awake and perched quietly beside him, legs curled underneath his small frame. The sparkling was gently pressing on Mirage’s hand with both of his tiny hands, poking at his fingers one by one. Occasionally, he paused to trace the seams in the plating with surprising concentration, letting out soft chirps then pressing the flat tips to his cheeks searching for touch.
Mirage stayed still, watching the sparkling in silence for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward his desk. There sat a sealed cube on energon, neatly sat beside a small case of rsut sticks. That was new. He didn't need to guess who they were for. They were the only sign his seeker had been there.
His spark slowly and deeply ached.
Last night had been… warm. Easy. Full of a tenderness he didn’t realize he had longed for. Skywarp’s laugh muffled against his shoulder, Bumblebee nestled between them like a cherished gem. A family, if only for a moment. The way Skywarp had looked at Bumblebee, then at him with unspoken affection. The stillness they shared. The quiet promise Mirage had whispered.
And now... he was gone.
Mirage exhaled slowly, his fingers curling gently around Bee's tiny hands. The sparkling startled for a moment, then let out a delighted beep and flopped onto Mirage's chest with a soft puff of vents. Mirage smiled faintly, his hand rising to stroke the top of Bee's helm in slow, steady motions.
“Wish you could’ve seen him last night,” Mirage murmured, mostly to himself. “He was grinning like a fool. Like he belonged here. Like you were meant to be here with us.”
Bee chirped in response, then mimicked Mirage's sigh with comical flair before nuzzling into the warmth of his chest. Mirage's spark squeezed at the sensation.
His optics lingered on the quiet room. For just a moment, he let himself imagine this scene stretched into the future. A future riddled with Skywarp's harsh laughter echoing from another room, the sound of tiny feet scampering after him, another sparkling tumbling into his arms. Their own little mechlet, as Skywarp would call it. Not borrowed. Not temporary. Not an assignment.
He looked down at Bumblebee, small and trusting, and let his hand settle over him once more.
"Would he... still smile like that? If it was ours?" he whispered softly, receiving a hushed beep from Bumblebee.
The question hung in the air, unanswered. Was Skywarp wondering the same?
Mirage remained there for a few more moments, quietly soaking in the warmth of a scene he wished could stretch forever. Eventually, he sat up, gently scooping Bumblebee into his arms.
“Alright, little explorer," Mirage murmured, gently shifting the sparkling in his arms. "Time to return you before anyone thinks I’ve smuggled you off-base."
His gaze drifted to the desk, lingering on the cube of energon and the case of rust sticks. His own tanks signaled a desire for fuel.
"But first..." His voice lowers, uncharacteristically fond. "Looks like our friend left you a gift."
___________
The medbay was still quiet when he arrived, and Ratchet was already sorting through a tray of medical tools with his usual gruff efficiency. He looked up when the door slid open, one optic ridge arching.
“There’s the troublemaker,” he said, setting down a scanner. “You too, Bee.”
Bumblebee chirped brightly as Mirage lowered him to the ground. The moment his feet touched down, he spun and tugged insistently at Mirage's hand, trying to pull him back down with him.
Mirage blinked, caught off guard not by the tug, but by the flick of Bumblebee's wings.
A light, fluttering motion. Confident. Joyful. Familiar. Yet too limited in motion.
His spark stuttered. The rhythm was unmistakable.
Bee kept his grip tight, determined as ever, and Mirage let himself be pulled, kneeling again beside him. The ache in his chest softened marginally.
Ratchet snorted. “Huh. He really likes you now.”
“I… suppose so,” Mirage replied quietly, looking down at Bumblebee’s little hands wrapped around his fingers.
“Normally he won’t stop climbing on Optimus,” Ratchet continued, folding his arms. “Doesn’t follow anyone around like that.”
Mirage smiled faintly, trying to gently disentangle Bee's grip. "Well," he sighs, brushing the sparkling's helm once more, "I suppose I may have grown on him."
Bumblebee gave him one last drawn-out, theatrical beep, then turned to scamper off toward a stack of toys Ratchet had set out. As he went, his wings flickered again in fluttery twitches so full of excitement. Mirage watched the motion carefully this time.
Joy. Eagerness. The same fluttering cadence that had pressed against his side the night before. The recognition twists his spark.
Bee chirped and paused mid-step, glancing back at him, wigs giving another flicker as if echoing a silent invitation.
Mirage smiled quietly. "Go on," he said, voice nearly lost to the mechanic hums of the medical bay.
He lingered there a moment longer, watching Bee settle among the toys, venting softly as he picked through them. His wings twitched.
Ratchet looked up from his station, studying Mirage. He says nothing as the quiet bot watches the sparkling.
Mirage's hand drifted absently to his own side, to the memory of the warmth that still lingered there.
One day, he promised again, this time deeper. A wish lodged so stubbornly in his frame that it was painful.
Then, with a final glance toward Bumblebee, he turned and quietly left the medbay in search of a reason to leave the base and the sensations of longing.