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Chapter Text

Rodimus and Drift were fighting. What had started as quiet snide remarks, had since devolved into a full shouting match. Both had been rather short with each other lately, Drift becoming increasingly unable to endure Rodimus's petulant tendencies in recent lunar cycles. And Rodimus, despite noticing the chronic weariness which had also been developing with his amica, simply refused to let anything go. And so, with neither mech willing to back down, the entire command team aboard the Lost Light was stuck enduring the verbal brawl which no one — likely even the bots who started it — had any clue to what it was they were fighting about.

"At least I was never begging for shitty boosters," Rodimus regretted his words almost immediately, looking away but not offering any kind of retraction.

"That's enough," Megatron finally stood up putting an end to the bickering. Drift just stared, lost for words, EM field pulled in impossibly tight. The meeting continued awkwardly.

Drift hardly said a word after that.

The meeting drug on, much to Rodimus's annoyance. The rest of the crew were already planet-side. As the official business was being hashed out, he spared a few sheepish glances to Drift. He did not look well. His paint, which had already been growing less vibrant, was now looking distinctly pale, and his optics were loosing focus. His EM field had even slipped through his grasp a few times desperately reaching out for his amica before he was able to swiftly pull it back. Rodimus would have to find a way to apologize later.

Finally, just under two joors later, the meeting was over, and Rodimus was free to join the rest of the crew on the local streets. Maybe he would be able to find a decent bottle of high grade for Drift.

"Drift?" Magnus's concern had Rodimus and Megatron snapping their focus to the samurai.

Coolant was pouring down his helm despite his fans running on high. He tried to stand but his legs wouldn't stop shaking. "I-" his voice glitched out with a series of stuttering clicks. He clutched his chestplate "M' spark."

Megatron was the first one at his side, guiding him to lay down. Once he was down, he finally relinquished the little control he had over his field, and Rodimus was hit with the full force of pain-confusion-anxiety. It caused him to stubble slightly.

"Rodimus," Megatron snapped, "get your aft over here."

Spurred into action, Rodimus fell to his knees beside Drift taking a shaky servo into his own. His presence seemed to calm him just slightly.

Rodimus looked up at Megatron, "What's wrong with him?"

"How should I know? Magnus, call the medics," Megatron ordered. Drift let out a sharp cry, squeezing Rodimus's servo tightly. "Where does it hurt, Drift?"

"My spark," tears were now slowly leaking from the corner of Drift's optics, "it feels like it's being torn."

That scared Rodimus, "Torn?!"

Megatron also looked startled, "Is it separation? Drift? Are you going through new spark separation?"

"What? No, I — no, can't be. I, um —" he groaned painfully, tears now pouring down his face.

"Spark separation?! Drift you're sparked?"

"Be quiet Rodimus!" Megatron raised a servo to comm Ratchet, "Ratchet, you need to get back to the ship. Drift is experiencing spark separation."

"No 'm not," Drift weakly protested before being cutoff by another sharp pull on his spark. Something was definitely separating from his spark. He couldn't vent properly, couldn't focus on anything other than the stinging tearing in his spark. He needed Ratchet. Rodimus was helping but only so much. Shaky ex-vents left his intake as he tried desperately to regain some control. This couldn't be spark separation, he would have to be sparked for that, and no bot had been sparked in at least 5,000 orbital cycles. No, he was not experiencing spark separation. And yet, something on his spark was snagging in an attempt to tear away. But he wasn't sparked. Sure he'd been a bit irritable lately, and never felt properly rested despite recharging more than usual, and maybe he'd been purging most mornings. And so what if the smell of energon made him incredibly nauseous? He'd done an impressive job hiding it all from Ratchet somehow. But none of that meant that was sparked. It was just stress catching up to him. Or maybe it was a minor coding virus. One that had lasted for nearly three lunar cycles. Had he and Ratchet even done anything that would've resulted in becoming sparked three lunar cycles ago? Oh, they had, actually, hadn't they? How could he have forgotten? Ratchet was so wonderful, so gentle and caring, he was never forceful and was always so attentive to Drift. Where was Ratchet? He needed Ratchet. He would make him feel better. He would know what was wrong. Why Drift's spark felt like it was being torn in two, why Drift had been feeling so nauseous lately.

He couldn't be sparked. Getting sparked was dangerous even for a healthy bot, and Drift certainly hadn't taken proper care of himself without Ratchet. Drift remembered seeing sparked bots in the Dead End. It never went well. Occasionally they were able to carry until emergence, but then at that point they'd have an extra intake to fuel in an environment where there was already so little fuel. Most of the time neither sparkling nor carrier even made it through emergence if they even made it that long. Even wealthy bots in Iacon struggled with carrying, the strain on the spark and then the rest of their systems once the sparkling had dropped into the forge. Drift knew it was all very stressful and came with a lot of pain.

But a sparkling was a gift from Primus. It showed he believed the bot capable and worthy to carry and raise the next generation of Cybertronians. It was the creation of new life. To be a carrier was to understand Primus. Drift certainly would never have been chosen for such a task. No, he was laid out on the floor crushing the servo of his amica for a different medical reason. He was sick, not blessed by Primus.

Drift was brought out of his hazy rumination feeling his conjunx take his free servo and gently petting his finials. In spite of the debilitating pain, Drift's engine managed to purr softly, hiccuping occasionally. Ratchet was here. His EM field washing over him, calm-reassuring.

"Ra'ch't?" Drift's voice was barely a whisper, glitching and cracking, "M'tron says 'm sparked."

"Yeah you are, kid."

"I didn' know."

Ratchet smiled at him. That soft, gentle, knowing smile which told Drift that he maybe hadn't hidden his symptoms as well as he thought.

"Is it supposed to hurt this bad?" Rodimus asked, overcome with distress for his poor amica. He'd been in and out of consciousness, mumbling to himself unintelligibly for the past half joor.

"No. Open your spark chamber for me, sweetspark?"

Drift did as he was told, opening his chassis. Rodimus cringed. His spark, which was heavily scarred, now covered in leaking energon — definitely not a good sign. Drift struggled to sit up, attempting to get a view of his own spark.

"No, don't-" Ratchet went to push him back down, but it was too late. Drift stared passed the torn scars and energon, looking only at the tiny, delicate spark still halfway attached to his own.

"Oh," Drift mumbled, allowing Ratchet to maneuver him back down onto the floor, "We made that?"

Chuckling softly, Ratchet returned to petting his finials, "Yeah we made that."

First Aid arrived surveying the situation with careful professionalism, EM field not offering the slightest inclination to the horror he felt at the look of Drift's greying paint and bleeding spark. He methodically began hooking up energon drips and attaching weak boosters that would do little to actual aid the pain he was in. "Okay, Drift, are you familiar with the new spark separation process?"

Drift shook his head.

"No worries. Your sparkling is strong enough to provide its own rotation so it's separating from yours. Once it's fully separated, it'll travel down into your forge where it'll then develop it's protoform for about nine lunar cycle. Once it begins to descend, your frame is going to lock up, okay? Most carriers say that at that point they disassociate, but remain mostly conscious. For you frame size it should only take up to a joor and a half." First Aid paused making sure Drift was understanding, "Now that's what happens after separation is complete. However, due to the scarring on your spark, your sparkling seems to be having trouble separating. I'm gonna have to make just a few incisions around the remaining areas of concern. This is to help it not snag. I'll also bandage up the spots that have already torn. Once the whole process is complete you're probably gonna need minor surgery to repair the damage. Right now it's best not move you too much. Does all that make sense?"

Drift nodded, wanting nothing more than to just make the pain go away. "How's the bitty?"

"Sparkling is doing great, you're the one struggling right now."

Drift stared up at the ceiling as First Aid began his incisions to direct the tiny sparkling where it needed to go. The incisions were careful and precise, barely even a pinprick. Drift was slightly shocked when First Aid sat back and closed his chassis.

"Alright, Drift, you're all set for right now. The sparkling still has a little bit to go, but it should be much smoother now. We can get you into a more comfy position before the descent."

Carefully the three bots moved Drift so that he was mostly laying in Ratchet's lap, still holding Rodimus's servo. He tensed a bit when he felt the sparkling tug again, but, though it was still painful, it was much more bearable.

"How you feelin', kid?" Ratchet asked brushing a servo over Drift's coolant soaked faceplate.

Sucking in a shaky in-vent, Drift shifted slightly in Ratchet's lap. "'m okay. S'rry I'm keeping everyone from shore leave."

Rodimus squeezed his servo, "None of us are supposed to be anywhere else but right here." He looked up at Ratchet, "How long does this usually take?" He didn't like seeing his amica like this. Usually so strong, Drift could take insane hits and keep going until one of the medics — usually Ratchet — came yelling to get his aft in the medbay. Now though, he was mess, tears and coolant pooling under his helm, unable to focus, barely able to vent.

"It definitely varies, but this is way too long. Sometimes the sparkling separates quickly, you barely feel it until the spark is already descending. Most of the time it takes a full joor at the very most." Drift had been struggling for nearly three joors at that point.

Drift felt one last hard tug before the new spark was ripped away from his own spark and his frame was locking up, sparkling descending into his chassis. The world fell away into a hazy, timeless blur. He vaguely heard voices and sensed more than felt the movement around him.

"You doin' okay, sweetspark?"

He could only hum in response.

More muffled voices, occasionally addressing him, mostly talking quietly among themselves. Drift felt nothing within his own chassis, just a buzzing numbness and muted anxiety. He couldn't feel Roddy's servo, but he knew he was still holding on. Ratchet's legs had probably grown numb. Drift should've considered a more comfortable position for him.

Eventually his frame relaxed, awareness coming back to him — to some extent. The numbness was still present, but faded enough to be cognizant of the lingering pain. How long had it been? He checked his chronometer — nearly two joors, longer than First Aid had anticipated. He let his helm fall back, tiredly gazing up at his beautiful conjunx. Ratchet's still present smile was betrayed by the clear anxiety evident in his optics.

"C'mon, Drift," Ratchet said tenderly lifting him to get him up onto the prepared gurney, "let's get you to the medbay. We got you. You can rest now."

Drift felt his EM field wash over him — serene-soothing-supportive — and let the world fade away completely.

Chapter Text

Drift came around to a rough voice calling to him. Telling him 'you're special, I can tell'. Syk boosters lined his frame. Bots had their servos crawling over his plating. Whatever got him the shanix he needed to survive. Gasket was dead. Wing was dead. The Red Rust was suffocating him and liquefying his optics. Overlord was loose within the Lost Light. Pipes was dead. Rewind was dead. He'd lost his autobot brand. He'd lost his home. He was completely alone. The DJD were coming for him, coming for Ratchet, for all of them. He couldn't protect anyone, couldn't save anyone. Why did anyone trust him? His servos were covered with energon. Stained so permanently they would forever be colored that distinctive energon-blue. He was faithless, a fraud, helpless and hopeless. Why did Ratchet come back for him? What did he ever see? Whatever it was, it was something Drift could never seem to catch in the mirror. He was not blessed by Primus. And he would never expect to be.

You're special. I can tell.

Drift came around to a rough voice.

"— knew he wasn't feelin' well. I definitely hadn't thought it'd be this."

"I shouldn't have been pressing him so hard recently." Roddy? "I could tell something was irritating him. I'm his amica, I should've been looking out for his well-being better."

Ratchet sighed, "He's not gonna be mad at you, kid."

Rodimus was quiet for a moment. "He should be. I said some really awful things."

Drift was getting sick of them talking about him. He tried to say something. I can hear you talking about me or maybe simply shut up. But as he opened his intake, all that came out was a wheezed, "Shuuu—"

Loud movement around him indicated he had startled them, and soon he felt both of his servos grabbed rather tightly. Cycling his optics was a much bigger chore than he remembered it ever being, but when they were finally open and — mostly — clear, he found Ratchet and Rodimus staring down at him. Rodimus seemed much more nervous, but Ratchet was the one who looked like he'd missed several recharge cycles. He was in the medbay, one of the few private rooms. Once his processor had fully rebooted, Drift felt a pang of guilt for stressing them out. They didn't deserve that.

"How are you holdin' up, kid?" Ratchet asked quietly, rubbing lightly on one of Drift's finials.

Drift hummed noncommittally, genuinely unsure of how he was feeling. "I'm sorry, you guys shouldn't have had to see that." His voice was still squeaky and glitching.

The look on Ratchet's face told Drift they were definitely going to have a conversation later.

"Are you serious right now?" Rodimus said, practically in Drift's face, "Your spark was trying to tear itself apart in the conference room. Where the frag did you think we'd be? A heads up might have been nice, though."

It was highly doubtful Rodimus would've reacted any differently had he been aware of the impending incident. Either way, Drift supposed he would've also preferred a heads up.

Gingerly, Drift managed to sit up with the help of his conjunx and amica. He rubbed his chestplate.

"Does it hurt?" Ratchet asked, servo replacing Drift's to offer delicate massages to his plating.

Drift shook his head. "Just a little sore."

His attention then fell to his stomach, still flat of course, no outward sign that anything was different. It almost didn't feel real. Drift was sparked. He had a sparkling growing in his forge. One boisterous night three lunar cycles ago after too many shots of high grade was now coming back to demand responsibility from Drift and Ratchet. Primus, how was he supposed to do this? He was barely able to be responsible for himself. And how could he ask Ratchet to completely reorient his life? The whole ship would have to adjust, a sparkling running around would definitely shakeup some preestablished routines. Poor Magnus, he'd have to review and revise nearly all of their rules. Primus, Drift was selfish. He was asking every bot on board to restructure everything, all because he couldn't keep his legs closed. Of course it was Ratchet he'd opened them up for, no bot could judge him for that.

"Drift?" Ratchet pulled him out of his self-depreciating introspection, "We don't have to keep it if you don't want it."

That caught Drift by surprise, "Huh?"

"We can terminate if you want. Carrying is very difficult, and I would never ask you to put your health in danger like that if you don't even want it." Ratchet was looking deep into his optics sincerity on full display.

"I — but a sparkling is a gift from Primus," The defense sounded rehearsed even in his own audials.

"You can tell Primus 'no'." Ratchet remained ever the blasphemer.

"Do you want it?" Drift asked quietly, somehow afraid of Ratchet's response from either direction.

"Yes, Drift, I would love to have a sparkling with you. But I love having you with me more. The decision's entirely yours, you're the one putting your body on the line for this."

Drift considered his words carefully, "I want it. I do. I'm just a little scared."

Ratchet nodded, "Okay. You're allowed to change your mind whenever you want. Remember, I loved you first."

Things grew quiet for a minute. Of course it was Rodimus who broke the comfortable silence, "So, uh, when do you want to start telling everyone. And how?" He'd clearly been coming up with ideas.

"It's not really anyone else's business," Ratchet grumbled.

"Um, I don't care," Drift said, "it's not like it can stay a secret forever. I don't really care if you want to tell them, Roddy." He figured it would probably be easier to just indulge his amica rather than try rein him in.

"Oh, perfect, let me put something together."

"Just let's wait till he's recovered from the separation, please," Ratchet interjected, not particularly thrilled about Rodimus being left to make plans without supervision.

"That is perfectly fine."

And then Rodimus was getting a comm from Magnus, and he was swept away back to his office.

"Look," Ratchet started, rubbing soothing circles in Drift's servo with his thumb, "I'm not mad you didn't tell me you were sparked. You didn't know. I am, however, a little upset you didn't come to me when you'd been feeling ill for that long. Three lunar cycles, Drift. I don't want to have to drag you to the medbay every time. I want you to talk to me. Especially now."

Drift couldn't offer anything as a rebuttal. "I know. I'm sorry."

A few breems passed as Drift fell into a very light recharge, more resting his optics than anything else. A knock came from the door, and First Aid stepped inside.

"How are we feeling, Drift?" He asked, hooking up a diagnostic cable to check his vitals.

"A little sore, and very tired. Other than that I'm okay."

"Vitals all look good. Sparkling's settled into the forge great," First Aid said, disconnecting the cable after verifying the readouts. "The soreness will probably last for only a couple of solar cycles. You should be fully recovered within a decacycle. I'll send up a recommendation to keep you off duty until then. And I'm also writing up a waiver to keep you on light duty throughout the remainder of your carriage."

"Oh, great," Drift sighed, "nine lunar cycles of writing speeches for Rodimus."

"Ratchet, please keep a similar work schedule to Drift. I already know I can't keep you out of the medbay, but, please, if he isn't feeling well do not come in unless it's an emergency. Velocity and I will let you know if we really need you."

Ratchet seemed almost scandalized. "Obviously, I don't love my job that much."

First Aid and Drift both looked at him pointedly.

"Anyway," First Aid continued, "I'm gonna go over the basics of what you should expect, Drift." He pulled out some diagrams which looked like they'd been stuffed away in some far corner of a storage closet and forgotten about for a few thousands orbital cycles. Which was probably accurate. "You've already gone through the new spark separating your spark. Which is technically the second event in carriage. The first being spark fragmentation when your spark determined the sparkling to be viable and expelled it from your core to the outer layers. Some carriers feel this happening, but not always."

Drift vaguely recalled a cycle right before the exhaustion and nausea had settled in. He'd been by himself in the hab, preparing energon while Ratchet was on duty in the medbay. He had suddenly found himself doubling over, feeling like someone had punched him in the spark, but the pain had disappeared just as suddenly, he had completely forgotten about it until now.

"Once the sparkling is on the outer spark, it grows until it's strong enough to rotate on its own. This is the part with the most variety in time period. Some sparklings develop within just a lunar cycle or two, sometimes it can take up to nearly six lunar cycles. Now your separation was so difficult because of how damaged your spark became during the war. It kept getting caught on the scars, something we would've been able to assist with had we been able to get you to the medbay from the start." Drift distinctly looked away. "Now that it's in the forge, the sparkling is building its protoform by cannibalizing from yours. You'll need a lot of extra fuel and minerals to compensate. Stay away from things like rust sticks. The fatigue will likely persist throughout the rest of your carriage. The nausea should be a bit easier during the middle lunar cycles, but often ramps back up as you get closer to emergence. Emergence is the thing that tends to scare bots the most. I won't lie to you, it's incredibly painful. It is the point where complications are most likely, however, you have me, Velocity, and obviously Ratchet."

Talk of emergence had Drift's anxiety raising. He'd barely caught up to the idea that he was sparked, he hadn't even thought about what emergence was going to look like.

"Ratchet's assisted in countless carriages. I'll also make sure to send you home with plenty of reading material so you're better prepared at every stage. Make sure you're fueling properly, and get plenty of rest. Do not push yourself at any point. If you need to take a break, recharge all day, do that. There is no shame in let your body rest. You are doing more work just laying around than any other bot on this ship right now. Just take it easy. You're in good servos, I promise."

— — — — — —

Later that cycle, Ratchet was helping Drift get settled back in their hab. He handed him an energon cube, "Just drink as much as you can."

Drift had been given anti-purge medication, but even still it took several more breems than it should've to finish the cube. He shivered slightly, trying to keep the nausea from pushing the energon back up.

Ratchet crawled into the berth next him with his own energon cube, and Drift wrapped his arms around his middle and snuggled his face into his tanks. Ratchet started rubbing Drift's finials.

"This is gonna suck, isn't it?" Drift mumbled, voice vibrating through Ratchet's plating.

"Yeah it is. You'll be alright though. You've got me, you've got Rodimus, and the whole crew. We'll take care of you."

Drift wasn't so sure about the rest of the crew, but he had Rodimus and he certainly had Ratchet. And that was enough.

Chapter Text

"Megatron and Magnus are asking about you," Rodimus entered the berthroom holding a cube of energon and a bowl of palladium chips, pulling a chair up to sit by the berth. Drift eyed the fuel wearily. He'd been in their hab resting for a few cycles at that point, and though his spark felt much better, his carriage symptoms were still kicking his aft.

"Is Magnus mad?" he asked, taking small nibbles of the palladium chips. "That was very unprofessional of me. I should've at least gotten proper authorization before having a medical emergency during official work hours."

Rodimus snorted, "Nah, I don't think he'll even think to be mad at you for the next orbital cycle. You could probably get away with anything while you're carrying. You scared the slag outta him. He's already started writing up plans to sparkling-proof the ship. Megs actually seems actually excited about the idea of a sparkling running around. I think he sees it as proof that the war is actually over. First sparkling in 5,000 orbits. And it's gonna be a mini you and Ratchet."

"More than a vorn, actually," Drift corrected.

"Huh?"

"Ratchet told me a while back that even though bots were still getting sparked up until 5,000 orbits ago, the sparklings hadn't been surviving for a long time before that. Even if they made it to emergence, which they usually didn't, they weren't making it past their first orbit."

It was a morbid thought. One that Drift hadn't been able to get out of his head. He may have been sparked, but that didn't necessarily mean he was going to bring in the first sparkling to signal the end of the war.

The silence that came after was awkward. Drift figured Rodimus was just then catching on to how serious his condition was.

"You really didn't know you were sparked?"

Drift shook his head sheepishly.

"What'd you think was wrong then?" Rodimus couldn't imagine feeling that ill for multiple lunar cycles and not going to somebody about it. Of course Rodimus couldn't go more than a few breems of discomfort without complaining.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Drift shrugged, "I guess I thought it would just go away, but then I kinda just got used to it. I think my first thought was latent side effects of the rust virus."

"Dude, that would've also been really bad! Why the frag would you just ignore that?"

Drift shrugged again. He didn't know why he was so opposed to seeking help. At one time, he was rushing to the medbay for the most minor injuries as an excuse to pester Ratchet, but whenever it had come to genuine ill health, he always found himself trying to deal with it on his own. He supposed it must have been a comfort thing. In the Dead End poor health meant an easy target, and when he was with the Decepticons, there had always been a shortage of competent medics (somehow, he generally preferred going to Knock Out, at least his polish would look nice afterward). It was usually always better to handle one's own injuries. But he was no longer with the Decepticons, and he had long been out of the Dead End. He was with Ratchet now, and Ratchet actually liked taking care of him — no matter how much he pretended to be bothered.

"Do you know when the sparkling had started separating?"

"I think I felt the first tug right before I got to the conference room. I was gonna talk to First Aid after the meeting." As it wound up playing out, First Aid had to come to him. Oops.

"Primus, Drift." The entire time they were discussing boring things like travel plans and budgets, Drift's spark was being torn apart. And Rodimus had been yelling at him about nothing. "Hey, um, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. It wasn't fair."

"Hmm?" Drift glanced up from tapping on his flat stomach. "Oh, uh, it's fine. I'm not mad."

"It's not fine," Rodimus pushed back, "it was really uncalled for and I shouldn't have said it. You would be totally valid to be mad at me."

"Well, I'm not," he said, effectively ending any argument Rodimus would've had. In truth, Drift had mostly forgotten about Rodimus's insult, in the moment he'd been so hurt he had to fight back tears, but it had quickly become a far less painful event of that day.

Drift took a few careful sips of energon. He went back to tapping on his stomach, hoping to find some evidence of his growing bitlet aside from the consistent nausea he was currently fighting. But the bitty was quiet, EM field not yet developed. "I'm gonna get huge," he bemoaned.

Rodimus giggled, "Yeah give someone else the chance to be the pretty one around here."

He was subsequently pushed out of the chair he was in. He laughed harder from the floor, eliciting a fanged grin from Drift.

"Stop wrestling," Ratchet shouted from the hab's main area.

"We're not," Drift shouted back, giggling now himself.

Ratchet appeared in the doorway, arms crossed sternly over his chestplate. "Drink that," he pointed at the nearly full cube of energon in Drift's servos.

"I'm trying."

Ratchet glared at him intensely until he took another sip. Drift checked to make sure he had a waste bin ready by the side of the berth. Rodimus remained giggling on the floor.

— — — — — —

"No, so Megatron was totally obsessed with Optimus, but he was using Starscream to try to get over him. It didn't work. But Soundwave was in love with Megatron, but Megatron didn't seem to really care."

Drift and Rodimus were now sitting on the couch in the main area, gossiping.

"No," Rodimus gawked.

Drift nodded, "Personally, I think Megatron just didn't want to hurt Soundwave's feelings, 'cus, like I said, he was still obsessed with Optimus, but he didn't really give a slag about Starscream's feelings. But, but, but Shockwave was in love with Soundwave."

"No!"

"Yes! But he was so in love with Megatron that he didn't notice Shockwave was in love with him!"

"Primus! What about Starscream? Like what was he getting out of this whole thing? Don't try to convince me that he was in love with Megatron, I will not believe it."

"I don't know," Drift said honestly, "I think he was using Megatron just as much as Megatron was using him, but I don't really know what for. Like, he definitely hated Megatron, so maybe it was just a ploy to get close to him. But that doesn't really make any sense because he was already Second-in-Command, and the whole thing went on for way too long. Some of the other Decepticons thought that Starscream did have feelings for Megatron at the start, and only grew to resent him later because of how Megatron treated him. Which I do think is definitely plausible. I have a conspiracy that Starscream had someone from his past he couldn't get over, but I don't really have any proof."

"Do you think Shockwave and Soundwave are together now?"

"I hope so. They had the most functional dynamic of the High Command. Shockwave seemed to actually have emotions whenever Soundwave was around. It was kinda weird."

"I think Optimus and Megatron were clanging during the war," Rodimus confessed.

"No," Ratchet said, staring at Drift until he finally finished his cube from earlier. He replaced the empty cube with a new one. "Elita would've kicked the slag outta him. They did definitely frag before the war, though." He may have always claimed to not care about gossip, but he certainly wasn't above correcting anyone who happened to gossip in front of him.

Rodimus gasped, suddenly remembering something very important, "I caught Megatron and Magnus in the office the other cycle!"

"What?!" Drift shouted, "Why are you just now telling me this?"

"Well I was going to. But that secret sparkling of yours decided it was time to separate. Anyway, I don't think they were actually doing anything, but they were definitely making out."

"Primus." Ratchet ran a servo over his face.

"Oh," Drift said, "but to answer your earlier question, I have no idea who's the sire to Soundwave's cassettes. All of the ones that are biologically his were born before the start of the war."

He went to take a sip of energon before Ratchet started glaring at him again, but as soon as the energon touched his glossa, his tanks decided to inform him they'd had enough. He set the cube down and covered his intake with a servo, venting slowly.

"You okay Drift? Do you need the bucket?" Rodimus asked, already reaching for it.

Drift hesitated before nodding. He felt Ratchet rubbing soothing circles down his spinal struts as Rodimus pushed the bucket under his chin.

"It's okay, Drift, let it out," Ratchet said. Drift gulped a few times before giving up the fight and purging everything he'd managed to consume that cycle.

He continued to purge for several breems before his tanks were finally emptied, thoroughly undoing all of the hard work he'd done to keep properly fueled. He slumped into the couch, optics shut tightly, venting harshly. Someone took the bucket from him and wiped down his faceplate before gently scooping him up to carry him back to the berth. Ratchet and Rodimus spoke softly in the other room before Drift heard the main door open and close, signaling Rodimus's departure to allow him to rest.

A calloused servo checked his vents and faceplate. He cracked open a single optic when he felt Ratchet gently stroke a red stripe on his face

"Ratty?" He croaked. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He said, placing a tender kiss to the top of Drift's helm, "And for the record, you'll always be the prettiest one here."

— — — — — —

Drift felt much better several cycles later when Megatron came by to visit.

"Oh," Drift startled a bit when Ratchet opened the door to the berthroom with Megatron right behind him. He sat up a little straighter. "Good morning, Captain."

"Good morning, Drift," Megatron said, sitting awkwardly in the chair previously occupied by Rodimus, "how are you feeling?"

"Good. I'm good."

"That's good to hear."

Interactions between Drift and Megatron were always uncomfortable. Being at work was one thing, but they both tended to avoid each other when off-duty. Drift recalled when he first got back to the ship to find Megatron, someone he'd been hiding from just a few orbital cycles before, as co-captain of the Lost Light. He'd promptly fainted — he later blamed it on the lack of maintenance during his exile. Drift was now trying very hard to not think about Megatron and Magnus making out in their offices.

Megatron cleared his intake, "And how's the sparkling?"

Drift poked at his stomach, "Quiet. First Aid says they're developing normally."

"Good. Very good. Ultra Magnus and Rodimus are setting up a recharge area in your office so you can rest if you need to once you're back on duty," he reported.

"Oh. Thank you."

Megatron nodded, "Of course. You've undertaken a very serious burden, it would irresponsible of us to not insure your comfort to the best of our ability."

Drift supposed carriage must've come with some perks, he couldn't imagine any other situation that would allow a bot to take a nap at work and not incur the wrath of Ultra Magnus and Megatron — Rodimus had certainly tried enough times.

The former warlord glanced around the berthroom stiffly. "Have you made an announcement to your friends yet?"

Although Drift didn't have too many friends, he decided not to mention that. "Rodimus wants to be the one to make the announcement. He's probably planning some big spectacle."

Megatron raised an optic ridge. "Why?"

"He likes to feel important."

"You know that's probably a bad idea, right?"

"Yup."

— — — — — —

The next visitor to arrive a few joors after Megatron had left was Velocity, carrying a crate full of mid and medical grade energon along with various mineral shavings and chips.

"You should be in your berth," She said glaring at Drift who was laying on the couch watching something mindless on the holonet.

"I'm literally resting," Drift argued. He'd only been allowed to cycle between the berth and the couch. Of course, any time he even thought about complaining, he would be hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea.

"He's fine, Velocity," Ratchet interjected before she had a chance to properly chew him out, "I'm keepin' him outta trouble."

Ratchet took the crate from her, and began sorting through it. Unwinding a diagnostic cable from her wrist, Velocity approached Drift on the couch.

"Mind if I run a basic diag real quick?"

Drift offered an arm without complaint. He didn't dare sit up, not wanting to risk a wrench to the helm — although he may have been exempt from wrench-based corrections for the time being.

"Confidence checks out good." The test program only took a couple of breems. It was a very basic test only designed to check if his systems were online. Velocity tucked the cable back into her subspace. "How are you feeling?"

"Nauseous," Drift replied honestly.

"I'll bet. I brought over some anti-nausea patches." She turned to Ratchet, "Let me know if he needs more."

He had already ran through the patches First Aid had sent him home with. And they hadn't seemed to help all that much.

"Thank you, Velocity," Ratchet said, "I'll make sure to bring him in for his follow-up in a few cycles."

"Yeah, we both know he can't be trusted to come in on his own."

"I'm right here," Drift complained, propping himself up on his elbows.

Velocity pulled a wrench out of her subspace. Drift laid back down.

Chapter Text

Nine solar cycles after having his spark effectively split in two, Drift was back in the medbay. The performance diagnostic took several joors, revealing a few systems which had fallen out of alignment and some readings slightly below optimal. Overall, there was nothing to be exceedingly concerned about.

"The nausea has been pretty bad," Ratchet reported, assisting the removal of the multiple cables to Drift's systems, "maybe some selenium drops?"

First Aid decided not to comment on Ratchet's attempt to aid in his conjunx's medical treatment. He was right, of course.

"One drop in your energon as needed, and don't take more than four drops a cycle," First Aid instructed, handing Drift the drops. "Other than the fatigue and nausea, are there any other symptoms you've experienced that you're concerned about?"

Drift shook his head, "I don't think so. I haven't noticed anything at least." His mood had improved for the most part now that he knew what was wrong with him. He hadn't experienced any cramping or bad processor-aches, though he suspected they weren't far behind. "When should I expect the EM field to develop?"

The sparkling's field was probably the thing he was most excited about, he couldn't wait to start communicating with them. Even though the communication would be rudimentary, Drift was still incredibly eager to at least get familiar with the presence feeding off his internals.

"Now that it's in the forge, the field should start to develop within a lunar cycle or two. Usually, only the carrier is able to feel it at first, but it should only take a few decacycles for the sire to also feel it. Rodimus might be able to feel it later down the line, but most everyone else likely won't feel anything until they've fully emerged. There's a lot of variety around EM field development, so don't stress yourself out if it takes a bit longer. Some sparklings don't develop their field until just before emergence, though that is incredibly rare."

Ratchet grabbed Drift's servo to prevent him from tapping on his stomach again, his new nervous habit.

First Aid handed Ratchet a pack of extra drops and pain patches in case of processor-aches. "You've got a long road ahead of you, Drift, it probably won't be pleasant. Sparkbonds are going to be your best help right now. Any kind of bond will be good. Make sure to stay close to Ratchet and Rodimus."

Drift nodded, not as if he'd been planning on being very far from either of them.

"Well, you're looking pretty good. I'll go ahead and clear to return to duty after the cycle after tomorrow. Call one of us if you need anything."

— — — — — —

"You sure you're feelin' okay? We can always call Magnus and tell him you still need a few cycles," Ratchet eyed Drift has he attached his swords to his hip.

"I feel fine, Ratty. Look," he grabbed a rhodium chip and ate the whole thing without cringing, "don't even feel sick. I've got my drops, I've got my patches. I'll be fine."

The selenium drops had helped significantly, though, Drift didn't dare hope they'd eliminated his purging problem for good.

"Are you sure you don't at least want me to walk you to the office?"

"I'm fine, Ratchet. I promise I'll call you if I need anything. I gotta get going. I love you." He placed a kiss on the bridge of Ratchet's olfactory.

"I love you too," Ratchet said, only a little bit anxious.

Drift could never blame Ratchet for being apprehensive, in truth, he was incredibly nervous himself. His nightmares, which had already been a chronic problem, had gotten worse the past decacycle. The contents hadn't necessarily changed all that much, but now, instead of dying on the streets of Rodion by himself, he was dying with his bitty. He was slaughtering Autobots and his own sparkling. The DJD were coming after him and the new spark. The Lost Light was abandoning him and taking his bitlet. Ratchet knew about the nightmares, Drift suspected he was having nightmares of his own. They had long since developed systems to easy the anxiety that followed. Though, they did have to rework some of those methods. Whether it was due to Drift not being able to handle the strong scents from his incense or him not feeling well enough to… engage with the type of activities they both enjoyed.

"Drift!" He turned to find Perceptor jogging up to him, "You feeling better? Nobody's seen you all decacycle. Rodimus won't tell anyone what happened and we all know he can't exactly keep a secret."

"Oh, yeah, I'm feeling a lot better," Drift said, not offering an explanation, "I was just cleared for duty. I don't really wanna piss Mags off by being late on my first day back."

Perceptor walked with Drift despite the labs being in the opposite direction. He didn't really mind, Perceptor was one of the few bots Drift knew considered him a friend. He was probably worried, especially with any rumors he was sure were flying around.

"Rodimus is calling a meeting with everyone at Swerve's today at 1500," Perceptor said, "any idea what it could be about?"

Drift cringed, "Oh, yeah, it's about me."

Perceptor looked at him expectantly. Drift couldn't look him in the optics.

"… I'm sparked."

"What?!" The sharpshooter microscope grabbed him by the shoulders forcing him around to face him properly. "Since when?"

"About three lunar cycles ago," Drift said sheepishly, "but I just found out… when it started to separate."

Running a servo over his face, Perceptor resumed his walk with Drift, "Seriously, Drift?"

"Hey, nobody told me it was something I should've been looking out for now."

"How bad was it?"

"Bad. I barely remember it." He kneaded his chestplate, definitely remembering the excruciating pain, "According to First Aid, it took at least twice as long as it should've."

Perceptor cringed, "And how are you feeling now?"

"I feel okay right now, but I still haven't gone a full cycle without purging. Staying fueled has been really difficult. And I'm really tired, like, all the time."

"Yeesh."

"Yeah," Drift agreed. "It's probably just gonna get worse for a while. Reconsidering trying to spark-up Brainstorm?" He teased, offering a fanged grin.

"I didn't think it would actually be possible," Perceptor said, not denying having thought about it. He was suddenly rather concerned about some of their activities lately.

The two former wreckers chatted amicably until they reached the command offices. Perceptor waved Drift off after an invitation of availability should he need any help with the coming sparkling. Drift knew he was rushing to tell Brainstorm the news.

"Hi, Drift!" Rodimus greeted him as soon as he got into the conjoined office. "How are we feeling? You look okay."

"Hey, Roddy. I feel fine."

Magnus stepped out of his and Megatron's office — Drift didn't want to know what happened in there once the doors were closed. "Welcome back, Drift. I trust you've been recovering well?"

"Thank you, sir, I feel much better."

Gripping Drift lightly by the shoulder, Ultra Magnus inspected his frame before nodding his approval. "We've set up a cot in your office in case you need to rest at any point. Please feel free to bring in anything you may need from your hab to make it more comfortable. And don't worry about bridge duty, you've been taken off the schedule during your carriage."

"Bridge duty isn't too hard, I can still work, sir."

"Absolutely not," Magnus said, holding up a servo, "your waiver was very clear: 'light desk work only'. And nothing that could cause stress to you or your sparkling."

It was looking more and more like it would in fact be nine lunar cycles of writing Rodimus's speeches for Drift.

— — — — — —

Drift's first day back at work passed rather uneventfully. He had to lay down for a couple of joors around mid-cycle and he did purge one time, but it wasn't bad enough to need to return to his hab. He still made sure to inform Ratchet who showed up to check on him. By the time the work-cycle was over, Drift had almost forgotten about Rodimus's looming announcement and what would likely be his subsequent embarrassment. Almost.

"C'mon, Drifters," Rodimus said, looping his arms under Drift's and pulling him to his pedes, "you can't be late, this meeting is all about you."

"Oh, great."

"Are you sure this won't be too stressful for you, Drift?" Megatron asked, exiting his office with Magnus close behind.

"I should be fine, sir. I appreciate the concern though."

It was a little cramped at Swerve's when the command team arrived.

Drift heard a few whispers as he walked by certain bots.

"— he was coughing up energon on the bridge."

"Nah, he got possessed by a sparkeater and tried to attack Rodimus."

"I thought it was a security incident and they caught him selling secrets to the Decepticons."

"I hope they kick him out again."

Rodimus found Ratchet and positioned him and Drift in front while he climbed on top of the bar — Swerve did not look happy.

"Okay everybody," Rodimus shouted to quiet the room, "I'm sure we've all heard about Drift's little medical emergency recently, and I'm here to clear up any rumors. Also to offer some good news and some bad news."

There were a few murmurs around the room.

"How many of you have been fragging recently?" Nobody raised a servo. "Liars. Well, the bad news is, if you and a partner have been fragging, you might wanna reconsider because the good news is," he grabbed Drift by the shoulders, "this guy is sparked!"

Drift cringed into himself, bashfully, while his fans kicked on low.

"Now, I know what you're all thinking: 'oh wise Rodimus, who is a much better Captain than Megatron, how is this possible? No bot has been sparked in half a vorn.' Well I'm here to tell you all, I have no idea. Maybe Drift, as a devote spectralist, is just that adored by Primus that he believed Drift to be the only one of us worthy enough to be called 'Carrier'. Perhaps Ratchet is the one Primus has blessed in other ways. All I know is any one of you could be next so let's all do the responsible thing and get our bearings updated."

Drift's fans kicked all the way to high. Ratchet's followed immediately after.

"Anyway, to celebrate these two lovebirds, and their transition to creatorhood. All drinks are on me tonight… Oh, sorry Drift."

— — — — — —

"I was expecting a lot worse." Drift said after everyone had finally calmed down.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ratchet grumbled, "that was mortifying."

"Congratulations, you two," Swerve said, "I take you're not allowed high-grade or engex, Drift?"

He shook his helm.

Ratchet produced a data pad from his subspace, "I have a list of his approved fuel."

"Good to know." Swerve said, studying the list, "What about you, Ratchet?"

"I'm not havin' anything he can't have."

"Ratty, you don't have to do that," Drift protested.

"Epp," Ratchet held up a servo to silence him, "I've made up my mind. It's not fair that you have to be so restricted, and I just continue on as normal. What kind of example would I be setting as a sire if I don't consider my conjunx and his hardships?"

Drift's fans kicked on again.

Ratchet was soon swarmed by well-wishers some of whom thought it might be appropriate to at least offer Drift a half-hearted 'congrats'. He did recognize one of the bots who had wished him kicked off the ship now sporting a swollen optic and a crooked olfactory.

"Congratulations, Drift," Cyclonus shook his hand along with Tailgate, "this is a very noble endeavor you have chosen to undertake."

"Thanks, Cyclonus," he didn't really feel like he'd gotten too much of a choice in the matter.

"Drift!" Brainstorm practically shoved Cyclonus and Tailgate out of the way, "You have to come to the lab so I can run some tests on your sparkling while it's still gestating."

"Um… I don't really think Ratchet would feel very comfortable with that." Drift didn't feel very comfortable with it.

"Please, please, please."

Drift noticed a slight abrasion on Brainstorm's knuckles.

Ultimately, Drift and Ratchet weren't able to stay long as just over a joor into the celebrations the smell of mixed energon and cyg smoke became too much for Drift and they were rushing to their hab to prevent him from purging in the hallways.

They didn't quite make it.

Chapter Text

Drift exited recharge with ease — as much as he could manage these days. Cycling his optics a few times, he found his gorgeous conjunx venting softly still deep in recharge. He laid there for several breems just watching Ratchet dream until his chronometer pinged signaling it was probably time to get ready for work.

Rolling over to sit on the side of the berth, Drift went to stand to his pedes. He suddenly noticed a small trickle of something wet on his thigh. Inspecting it with a single digit, he found the slightest stream of energon.

"Ratchet," Drift was loath to wake him from such deep recharge, "Ratchet."

"Hmmmmm."

"Is leaking normal?"

Ratchet shot out the berth, flicking on the lights, and kneeling in front of his conjunx. "Let me see."

Drift obediently moved his thighs and opened his panel for Ratchet to inspect the leak. He observed Drift's valve skillfully before shutting his panel and producing a wash cloth from his subspace to clean off his thigh.

"It's a small leak, nothing to be concerned about. Leaks can be normal, we'll just have to make sure you get extra nanites in your energon. Keep an eye on it, if it gets worse at any point we'll go to First Aid. For now though, I have some disposable rags to put on the inside of your panel."

Drift cringed.

"I know," Ratchet tried to ease, "it's what we got. Do you wanna stay home today?"

Drift shook his helm, "No, I feel okay, I should work while I can."

The past few decacycles in which Drift had been back at work each had their own ups and downs. He just took everything one cycle and a time. He had more bad cycles than good. One morning, he was overcome with such dizziness that he couldn't get out of the berth.

"At least let me walk you to work."

Drift conceded without argument. He liked walking with Ratchet. At the very least he didn't have to hear the side remarks from some of the other bots.

'Leaker'

'Buymech'

'Murderer'

They weren't wrong. Drift just hated to hear it.

— — — — — —

He had to call in sick the next cycle.

His processor was splitting down the middle and he couldn't cycle his optics without needing to purge.

<hem hurt cxnt mke t work> He sent a message to Rodimus, not checking it for any mistakes. Ratchet placed a damp cloth on his helm and Drift fell back into recharge.

— — — — — —

Drift stumbled into the hab, clutching his stomach, and knocking over some items sitting on the entryway table.

"Drift!" Ratchet exclaimed, rushing to help guide him to the couch, "What's wrong? Why didn't you call me?"

"It just started. I think it's just cramps." He said, attempting some controlled vents.

"Where? Your stomach?"

"And my legs, they feel really restless. It hurts."

"Here, this should help," Ratchet placed a heated pad on his lower belly. He discretely ran a quick confidence check to ensure there were no underlying issues which would require a medbay visit. "Just try to relax."

A few breems and some cozy Ratchet snuggles later, the tension in Drift's legs and stomach started to ease.

— — — — — —

"What the frag do you have in your energon right now?" Rodimus asked, staring at the strange contents in Drift's cube.

Drift looked up from his energon, drinking it from a curly straw, "Cesium jellies with scandium and ruthenium shavings."

"You hate all of those things."

"Uh-huh. Hey, do you think anyone would have any rubidium cookies?"

Rodimus stared at him. "No."

At least he was staying fueled.

— — — — — —

The glyphs on his data pad didn't make any sense. They were swimming and tumbling together in strange ways. Drift figured it must've been a sign that he needed to lay down. He dragged his pedes over to the cot and fell into it, shivering but not wanting to be draped in the blankets. He somehow felt too hot and too cold at the same time, his joints felt like they were on fire, and the feed from his HUD was operating several kliks too slow.

I should call Ratchet. He thought, but even that task, which took little to no effort, felt nearly impossible. I'll just take a quick nap and have him come get me when I wake up.

"—ift? Drift?" He felt a large servo gently shake his shoulders.

Drift couldn't cycle his optics. His vents were rattling. Everything hurt.

"You've been in recharge for five joors. I'm calling Ratchet."

His optics finally opened, blurry and unfocused, but he still found Ultra Magnus looming over him, shocked concern evident in his face.

"'M f'n'," Drift slurred.

"No, you're not. You're burning up and shivering. Ratchet's on his way, you're going home for the cycle," Magnus said resolutely.

Drift tried to sit up hoping it would help him vent better. Primus, he felt awful. Magnus helped him up the rest of the way. Drift purged all over Magnus and himself.

He continued purging until Ratchet arrived — now into a waste bin.

"Shh," he felt Ratchet's servo gently running down his spinal struts. "You're gonna be okay. Shh. Just keep venting. I'm here."

Gagging and sputtering, Drift finally slumped over, nearly dropping the filthy bin. Ratchet caught him easily, and calmly — but swiftly — swept him away to the medbay.

Soon enough — at least to Drift's hazy and sluggish processor — he was being tucked safely into his berth with a simple diagnosis of 'coding virus' and small set of patches and a booster. A damp cloth ran over his faceplate and down the back of his neck. Drift sighed, trying to follow the cooling effects of the cloth.

He flinched hard when he felt Ratchet inject the booster into the crook of his arm.

"I know, sweetspark," Ratchet murmured, kissing softly at the point of injection. "You're gonna be okay. I'm here. Nothin's gonna happen to you."

Drift slipped into a fevered recharge. He was back in the Dead End, high on Syk for the first time. He'd already experimented with other boosters, but Syk was the one he swore he'd never touch. It was too volatile, too addictive; Drift had watched too many bots' processors melt from Syk. 'Don't worry, it'll make you feel better.' He was too weak and under fueled to fight his attacker off. He tried, Primus, he'd tried to fight. But there was nothing he could've done. He could only watch hopelessly as the unfamiliar bot emptied the contents of the vial into his arm and he fell into an unwanted drug-induced haze.

What will this do to the bitty? Drift realized, servos flying to his now heavily swollen stomach — much more swollen than he thought it should've been. He sat up to find his servos colored bright blue nearly up to his elbows, and energon pouring from his valve leaving him drowning in a cyan blue pool growing underneath him.

Ratchet was sat at his desk he used to work from home, flipping through various data pads and making notes for First Aid and Velocity. He'd been working from home a lot more as of late, keeping true to his promise to not leave Drift alone any time his health started to dip — it was an unnecessary promise to have been made, but he supposed his previous track record did warrant some assurance he would stay out of the medbay when not needed.

"Ratch't?" Ratchet started to turn around at the sound of his conjunx — who should have been resting in the berth. He froze when he saw him standing in the doorway, swaying. "I think — I think 'm leakin' 'gain."

Drift collapsed, falling into the doorframe. Energon was pouring out of him, running in rivers down both thighs and pooling under his pedes. Ratchet barely took notice of a large blue stain on the berth. For the second time that cycle, he was grabbing the carrying Third-in-Command, and rushing him to the medbay. During his sprint, he frantically pinged First Aid and Velocity. It was rather late in the cycle, and as such, Ratchet was the first to arrive, though the other medics were not far behind. He was already hooking up cables and adapters and starting up the test program.

"First Aid, get CST running, we need to know if there's anything not initializing," he ordered, no care at all for his brazen violation of the conflict-of-interest rule. First Aid, nonetheless, complied because Ratchet, as always, was right.

"Ratchet," Velocity stepped in taking over the set-up from him, "we got this. I know you're worried, but you should talk him through it instead."

Ratchet looked over to Drift, realizing his optics were still online, dim and flickering, but online. "Hey, kid," he said, stroking a finial, "can you hear me?"

Drift's optics cycled a few times before settling on Ratchet. Frantic anxiety ran through his EM field, he wasn't entirely sure if was awake or not. Maybe his nightmare had just shifted? But the relief that washed over him from his conjunx's own field told him this was probably real. Ratchet softly explained each step of the test program, what each test group was looking at, where each cable was going, all of the readouts and what they meant.

"CST shows all your systems online." First Aid reported, "We're running CPD right now. It's looking like the virus might've knocked some of your internal frequencies out of alignment, I'll need to get behind some of your main panels to realign everything. It shouldn't hurt but it might be a bit disconcerting to watch. Do you want me to put you under once we get to that?"

Drift shivered and shook his helm fervently.

Ratchet stroked his other finial in an effort to calm him, "It's okay, sweetspark. It's okay. You're okay. You don't have to. They are gonna have to administer a few boosters. They're just medicine. I promise nothing is going to happen to you."

Blearily and half-focused, Drift watched as the test program finished and the medics got ready to run alignments. There was a strange, muddled discomfort when his panels were opened and probes were attached. He gazed listlessly while waveforms were observed and adjusted.

"10 MHz good now."

"Move the probe to A62, TP10."

"How's the A64 looking?"

"Hmm a little out of range. Requires slight adjustment."

"Moving to A79, probe one on TP7 and probe two on TP 10."

The strain on his systems slowly eased with every alignment, and by the time First Aid declared, "All aligns complied with", Drift had finally fallen into a steady recharge.

— — — — — —

A few cycles later, with Drift mostly recovered from the virus, Rung came by their hab.

"Hello, Drift," he said, taking a seat next to the couch Drift was sat upon, "how are you?"

"Did Ratchet ask you to come by?" He had been incredibly withdrawn for awhile now. Even before he'd caught the virus. His nightmares had been steadily increasing in both frequency and intensity. It often would take several breems — a few times up to half a joor — for him to calm down and realize where he was. He'd grown quiet, a bit sullen, and extremely sensitive. Optics often becoming misty with coolant for no particular reason. Ratchet had been as patient as he could, but Drift still saw the toll it was taking on his conjunx. For all of his rants about bots not taking proper care of themselves, Ratchet was also one of those bots. With his attention almost entirely on Drift, he wasn't properly fueling and very regularly skipped a recharge in favor of easing his partner. It crushed Drift, knowing that he was the cause of so much stress, and yet there was nothing he could do about it.

"No, I'm here as your friend, not as a therapist." Rung replied, "But if there's anything you would like to talk about, I'm more than willing to lend a professional audial."

He should talk, Drift knew that.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I don't know if I can do this."

Rung tilted his head, "Carry a sparkling?"

Drift felt his dermas quiver and his voice catching in his intake, "The only thing I've ever been good at is violence. I can't create anything, I only ever destroy. I don't save people, I don't bring anyone together. Why did I think I could do this? Create life? Me? Even my frame knows I'm not worthy of being a carrier."

"I think you're good at a lot of things, Drift. You've had a very difficult past, you’ve often trusted people who've led you astray. But you've never once let that stop you from caring about others. You've always done what you've believed to be best for everyone. Even if it may have been a bit… misguided at times. The things you've done, the things you've sacrificed for everyone on this ship, I can't think of anyone more worthy of being a carrier."

"Rung?" Drift drew his legs up to tuck his chin over his knees, "Do you think Primus picks who to be creators?"

Adjusting his glasses, Rung pondered for a moment, "I'm not sure. Personally, I don't necessarily think it works that way, but I also can't find anything to be any more reasonable explanation. Do you think Primus chooses?"

"Yes."

"Well, I do believe that, even if Primus does take the time to choose two bots to be carrier and sire, I think he would definitely be understanding enough to allow you the agency to decide if the burden is too much. Drift, I think the important question is: do you want this sparkling for Primus or for yourself?"

Drift was quiet for several kliks, "I… I want them for me."

"Okay, then."

Chapter Text

Ding

Ding

Ding

Ratchet finished putting away the dishes he was cleaning and stepped into the berthroom to find Drift sitting cross-legged on the floor ringing a small bell with a tiny hammer. He had several crystals at his side and one particular one was placed in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Ratchet asked.

"Cleansing my crystals, I haven't done it in a while, and since I can't exactly use my incense for smoke cleansing, I gotta use sound cleansing."

He rang the bell over the crystal in front of him. Ding.

Ever since his talk with Rung, he had resumed many of his religious practices which had somewhat fallen into hiatus since his carriage. As much as Ratchet disliked hearing about whatever weird theological nonsense Drift believed — he was far too intelligent to believe in any of it — he knew how much good it always did for Drift's mental health.

"Here," he grabbed a smooth opaque reddish stone and a deep purple crystal holding them out for Ratchet, "take these. I've already cleansed them. They're good for healing and stress."

"Uh… thanks," Ratchet decided to just accept the crystals without argument this time and put them away in his subspace. Though Drift was still too reserved for Ratchet's liking, he did seem much more at peace with his situation. He didn't want to risk that by getting into a round of pointless religious bickering. The soft, bewitching smile he received wasn't wide enough to reveal his fangs, but it was enough to make Ratchet's spark flutter.

"So, uh, explain how — what was it — sound cleansing? Explain to me how sound cleansing works." Ratchet requested, forcing his aged knees to bend in order to sit in front of his conjux.

Drift's finials perked up and his optics lit up in genuine delight.

"Well, cleansing in general is very important, it removes any negative or unwanted energies. Before you perform any ritual or begin any practice you must cleanse yourself and your environment. There are many different forms of it…"

Ratchet realized he should indulge him more often. He was truly beautiful. It was awfully distracting. As he spoke, his fangs would peak through his dermas every so often, and though his color was still rather dull, the red in his plating still seemed to sparkle when caught by the light. Ratchet had always loved how small Drift's waist was, it made his hips look even wider and his aft more voluminous, creating the most alluring curves which he could never resist. And yet, now he seemed almost more captivating with stomach swelling just slightly, only recently enough to be noticeable. Drift complained about it often knowing before long his figure would be completely ruined, but Ratchet would simply pull him close and kiss him all over. His finials, his faceplate, his neck, and of course, his gorgeous belly which held his forge, held Ratchet's sparkling. What a gift it was to simply know Drift. He could never admit it out loud, but he did feel truly blessed anytime he remembered how much he was loved by someone so kind, so beautiful, so… divine.

"… Water cleansing is something I learned on Earth. Usually just a little sprinkle works fine, but some cultures would completely submerge people as a cleansing ritual. Ratty, are you listening?"

"Hmm?" Ratchet realized must've been staring, clearly not paying attention to this very important religious lesson. He had been the one to ask about it after all. He was being rather rude, "Sorry, you're just so distracting."

Drift laughed at that. "What?"

Pulling him close, Ratchet kissed him passionately.

"You're so beautiful," he said, pulling back just barely, words ghosting over Drift's dermas. Gazing at his dim optics and lightly parted dermas, Ratchet couldn't resist pulling him into another kiss.

Drift melted into the embrace.

— — — — — —

Ratchet had Drift seated between his legs, spinal struts to chestplate. He thumbed his stomach in gentle, rhythmic circles, and rested his chin on the top of Drift's helm just between his finials. They sat in silence, EM fields washing over each other, blending and mixing in a shared peace-devotion-safety.

"Did I ever tell you that Pharma got me sparked one time?" Ratchet said suddenly.

Drift tilted his helm back to look up at him. "When was this?" There was no judgment in his voice, and examining his field brought only reassurance-empathy, maybe a slight twinge of concern.

"A long time ago," Ratchet kept his optics gazing forward, "it was well into the war, but not so far in that we were worried about our species' survival."

Not wanting to press and make him feel obligated to say any more than he was comfortable with, Drift placed a servo over Ratchet's and let his field ask the silent questions.

"I terminated it." After a few moments of silence, Ratchet spoke so quietly he may as well have whispered.

Drift asked almost as quietly, "Because of the war?"

"The war took a lot from everybody. Even if they hadn't lost someone yet, nobody felt safe. Most bots who got sparked wound up terminating. I assisted in as many terminations as I did carriages during that time. But no, the war made the decision an easy one, but that wasn't why I made the choice that I did." He hesitated for a klik, "Pharma was too… unstable. I knew he could never be a good sire. Our relationship was… not a good one."

He'd spoken occasionally of his time with Pharma, rarely going deep into it, but saying enough for Drift to know it was not a pleasant time for him — even without the seemingly endless war.

"I made a lot of excuses for him. The war had made everyone a little unstable. And as medics, we were both put under a lot of pressure. I certainly wasn't always fair to the people around me. But Pharma was… erratic. Unreliable. He didn't like when people were better than him. And he was good at the job, but his ego often got in his way. Something we couldn't afford to let go uncorrected. He never liked that… Anyway, almost as soon as I found out I was sparked, I terminated… I never told him."

Letting the information settle in, Drift asked, "Did you ever tell anyone? I mean before right now."

"I only ever told Optimus after we'd gotten to Earth. Before that, Lifeline was the only who knew. I had her assist me. I'm sorry." He apologized unnecessarily, "I should've told you before. Truthfully, I hadn't really thought about it in a long time."

Drift reached up to touch his faceplate, gently stroking just beneath an optic. "You don't have to tell me anything. I'm glad you did though. How do you feel about it now?"

Ratchet thought for a moment, digits playing over Drift's stomach while he considered his feelings, "Not much differently than how I felt back then I think. It was the logical choice, I knew I couldn't carry a sparkling during the war. Mostly I thought it wouldn't be fair to them. The war clearly wasn't gonna end anytime soon, and I didn't want my child's sparklinghood to be shrouded in destruction and death. I hadn't really thought about sparklings before that, but I did think about a lot for a while after. It was hard to envision being at peace, but anytime I did, I always saw a sparkling or two running around. But after some time, it became obvious that wouldn't be an option. I don't necessarily feel sad about it. I think the hardest part about it was just that I was with somebody I didn't even feel safe enough to talk to. But now we are at peace, and you're here, and you're so beautiful." He kissed Drift between the optics, "Is it wrong of me to rather be the sire than the carrier? Does that make me selfish?"

Grabbing the servos resting on his stomach, Drift planted light kisses on either one, before turning himself around to kiss Ratchet's dermas. He settled himself down to rest his cheek on Ratchet's stomach. "No. I like carrying your sparkling."

"Liar." Ratchet accused, "You're miserable."

"Maybe. But knowing what exactly all the misery is for makes it all worth it. Anyways, I think I prefer making the sparkling as the carrier rather than the sire." He looked up with a mischievous fanged-grin.

Ratchet laughed, lifting Drift up slightly so he could kiss him all over his face. Drift giggled squirming in mock resistance.

"Did you ever think about having sparklings?" Ratchet asked, resting Drift's helm on his chestplate letting him listen to his spark beat rhythmically.

"Not really," Drift said, "the Dead End wasn't a place for sparklings. I wasn't exactly healthy enough for it either." There were a lot of things he'd done in the Dead End in order to survive. He wasn't particularly proud of any of it. There still were some things he hadn't told Ratchet about, though he knew he could put certain pieces together. "And then when the war started — when I helped start the war — I was just focused on making change. At the start, there was hope. I remember early on discussing the future with some of the other Decepticons. When things got better, when we weren't being forgotten about to die in the gutters, when the rich weren't driving us into the ground, then we could all have families. Everyone would be free to live as they chose, have sparklings with whoever they chose, and those sparklings would be able to grow-up free. They would never have to know what it was like to die from a lack of fuel when bots just a few miles up the road wasted fuel on extravagant energon fountains." He had imagined having sparklings only once, and he could only picture one bot as the sire — Ratchet. "But until then we had to stay focused on the mission. We had to win the war… And then the war just consumed everything. And then sparklings weren't even possible anymore."

Regret-sorrow-shame started to consume his field. He tried to push it away — everything was in the past now, he wasn't there anymore — but the harder he tried to fight it, the more his optics started sting with unshed tears. Ratchet's own field fell over his, wrapping him up in solace-comfort-praise. He struggled to regain control of his emotions. He was carrying. The war hadn't taken everything. They could still rebuild. He was going to give Ratchet a sparkling.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." Ratchet said, kissing him softly once more.

"It's okay. I'm not there anymore. I'm sorry about everything you had to go through with Pharma."

"I'm not there anymore."

— — — — — —

Drift cycled his optics online. The hab was quiet. He rolled over seeking to snuggle close with his conjunx, but found the berth empty. It was cold, no sign that Ratchet had been there any time recently.

"Ratty?" He called voice still rough from recharge, rubbing his optics to clear the fuzz.

No response.

He stumbled out of the berth, and into the main room and kitchen area. Empty. The office that would soon become the nursery. Also empty. Knocking on the washrack door granted him only silence.

Drift pinged him. The ping was returned undelivered. He tried Rodimus. Same response.

Anxiety rising into his intake, Drift stepped out of the hab trying to find someone. Anyone at this point. The hallway's were dark, only the dim emergency lights provided any illumination. Had something happened to the power? He turned a corner cautiously. The walls were littered in deep gashes and splatters of energon. He spotted the marks of fusion canon blasts. Had someone attacked Megatron? What happened? Where was everyone?

He tried to send out a general ping. Someone had to be on the ship. Should he try to find them? Or try to hide? If there was a fight would he be any help?

He turned another corner and found himself looking up at a towering, dark purple bot.

Tarn.

The DJD had found them.

And in his massive, brutish, energon-coated servos he held a sparkling. Drift's sparkling.

"Hello, Deadlock."

"Drift………."

"Drift…"

"Drift!"

Drift shot upright in his berth, venting heavily, servos flying everywhere. Clutching the sheets, feeling his frame. Strong, but gentle servos fell over his, rubbing circles over his stomach. He followed the frame attached to the servos, finding Ratchet's compassionate face. He looked tired. What time was it? Drift didn't have the processing power to check his chronometer.

"Ratchet?" He said shakily.

"I'm here," he said, stroking his face, and pulling him into his chestplate, "I'm here. It was just a dream."

It took several breems for Drift's venting to even out. He stayed pressed up against Ratchet.

"What time is it?" He mumbled.

"Late. Do you wanna talk about it?"

Drift shook his helm. He rarely wanted to talk about his nightmares.

"Are you able to go back to recharge or do you need to stay up?"

Drift hesitated, sure that the second his optics shuttered he would see Tarn again. "You can go back to recharge.

"That's not what I asked."

Pulling back, Drift looked down at his servos. "Ratchet, you're tired. You shouldn't have to stay online just because I can't turn my processor off."

Ratchet sighed and pulled Drift down to lay him securely in his arms, "I don't have to do anything. I'm choosing to. And just like you're choosing to suffer to bring this bitty into the world, I'm making the choice to stay online so that you don't have to suffer alone."

Drift finally relented, snuggling closer into his conjunx's chestplate and letting his calming field lull him into a gentle sense of peace. He felt Ratchet's digits ghost over his plating, the warm breath of his vents, the scent of disinfectant and medical chemicals. He was safe, Tarn couldn't get to him so long as Ratchet was near. He meditated on his conjunx's mere existence, on his dependable aura, on the quiet and melodic presence that was definitely not Ratchet. It was soft and unacquainted yet intimately familiar.

Wiggling out of Ratchet's cozy grip, Drift sat up.

"Drift," Ratchet mumbled into the pillows, "lay back down."

"Do you hear that?"

"Hmmm?"

"Ratchet," Drift said, shaking his shoulders, "do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

He climbed out of the berth. Grabbing a few recently cleansed crystals and lighting a few sent-less candles, he sat to meditate properly.

Ratchet sat up rubbing his optics, "Drift, come back to berth. What are you doing?"

"Shoosh."

All Ratchet could do was wait and watch from the berth.

"I think…" Drift started after several breems of meditation. He turned around, clutching the foot of the berth, optics glistening like stars, "I think the EM field's started developing."

"What?!" Ratchet scooped Drift up back onto the berth and put his audials to his stomach. Predictably, he could neither hear nor feel anything. "What does it feel like? Are they saying anything?"

"It's… singing. I think." A few teardrops of coolant fell from his shining optics, "I think they're trying to talk. I can't really understand it though."

"Singing," Ratchet sighed.

He cradled Drift's face, kissing away the coolant tears, but more kept replacing them in the unbridled bliss.

Chapter Text

"Singing?" First Aid was tearing down the diagnostic set-up as Drift reported the most recent development with his sparkling. "I know the EM field can present differently to the carrier especially while still in the forge. Singing is interesting."

Drift was in the medbay for one of his regular check-ups. He was just under four lunar cycles after the separation, making his total carriage time roughly seven lunar cycles. The early developmental stage was nearing completion, eliminating most of the risk of any faults within the basic protoform that could have resulted in self-termination of the sparkling. Now the sparkling was beginning to construct the finer components of the frame, components which, if faulty, had a much better possibility for medical correction. First Aid had said the nausea should lessen around this time. Drift did not dare insult Primus by praying for it. Now though, his fatigue was expected to worsen even further and his joints and other points of his frame should begin to ache due to not only the gaining of weight but also the anticipated added strain on his systems. Other symptoms First Aid had listed for Drift to look out for included (but were not limited to): increased processor-aches and dizziness, olfactory leaks, indigestion and sparkburn, hot-flashes, and increased risks of valve infections. Drift had originally expected the middle third of gestation to be somewhat easier. How silly of him.

"Is it like specific songs? Or just vague music?" While First Aid had assisted many emergences and had been a nurse for many carrying bots, he hadn't had the same opportunities as the primary medical professional during the entirety of the carriage. As such, he had been just as interested in the development of the EM field as Drift.

"It's just… melodic sound waves. I guess." Drift's servos had barely left his stomach since he'd first heard his sparkling sing.

"And you can understand it?"

"Kinda." Drift paused, tilting his helm as if listening to something in the distance, "It's more… a feeling. I think. I mean it's kinda like with any other EM field. Like an impression of emotions, she's just got less… refined emotions. Maybe?"

"She?" Ratchet asked.

"Hmm?" Drift listened for a moment again, "Um… yeah. She."

"A femme," First Aid remarked surprised, jotting down a note on Drift's charts.

Gender expression on Cybertron was a deeply personal experience and as such, would not be shown on any medical scans First Aid could perform. Femmes were rare. Some studies had been done as to why femmes were so rare, but that had been before the war. Most of the research had been lost. Somewhere in the back of Drift's processor, he found something poetic about his sparkling — the first in the budding peace — would be one of the rarer forms of Cybertronian. All he could really think to care about though, was holding his daughter in his own servos and hearing her voice with his own audials.

— — — — — —

"Are you sure you'll be okay if I go in? The situation's not that bad, they'll understand if I say no. Might prefer it actually, give me extra points with First Aid if I actually turn down working for once." There had been a major ventilation failure on the ship (which had already been repaired) and though there had been no health episodes reported from it, most of the ship still needed to get checked out. Drift himself had been the first to be checked — just in case.

"Yes, Ratty, I'll be fine. I don't feel sick, I'm just kinda tired." Drift said having already assured Ratchet multiple times, "If it makes you feel better, you can wait till Percy and Brainstorm get here. They should be here soon."

The scientists had both already been expected to come by that cycle to help prepare for building the nursery. Drift hadn't gotten much social interaction in the past several lunar cycles outside of work, generally either too sick or too tired to be around too many bots. Ratchet was getting concerned about his growing hermetic behavior. He had already become much more distant since returning from his exile — he had especially avoided Chromedome and Rewind, every time he saw the archivist, particularly, the guilt he'd experienced over Overlord felt fresh all over again. It wasn't uncommon for carrying bots to become a bit reclusive. For some carriers it was a subconscious protective measure to ensure that no undesirable characters had a chance to get close to their sparkling — even while they were still nestled safe within their own frame. Even though Ratchet knew it was perfectly rational for a carrier to be more selective with the company they kept, he was still greatly bothered by how isolated Drift had become. And so it was by his suggestion that Perceptor and Brainstorm had been invited over.

Ratchet embraced his conjunx from behind, servos interlocking over the belly which held his sparkling — their daughter — and gently swayed with him, "I'm sorry, I just worry. It's been hard seeing you like this."

"I know," Drift said, resting his helm back onto Ratchet's shoulder. They stayed there rocking back and forth until there was a knock on the hab suite door.

Perceptor and Brainstorm were welcomed in with the latter nearly tripping over the threshold from behind the giant crate of building supplies.

"His selenium drops are in the cabinet along with extra pain patches." Ratchet said halfway out the door but refusing to actually step out into the hallway.

"We got it Ratty, thank you." Drift said, ushering him away.

"And if his joints lock-up there's a heating pad. Use that for cramps too, but it has to be on the lowest setting."

"Thank you, Ratchet."

"And keep a waste bin nearby in case he needs to purge."

"Thank you, Ratchet."

"Okay, okay, I'm gone. Call me if you need anything. I love you." Ratchet stepped back in the hab suite for a quick kiss before finally leaving for the medbay.

Drift led Perceptor and Brainstorm to the room they planned to convert into the nursery. Many of the bookshelves and Drift's shrines had been pushed to the corner beside Ratchet's desk. Drift hoped by the time the bitty actually arrived it wouldn't feel too cluttered. He and Ratchet had already discussed rather extensively about what they wanted the nursery to look like, and though it was doubtful any actual building would happen today, Drift knew Ratchet was slightly disappointed to not be part of the actual initial planning. Ratchet had surprisingly put more thought into what it should look like than Drift, and even more surprising, he had been the one to suggest utilizing spectralist colorism. They had ultimately decided on a color pallet of yellows for optimism and positivity, blues for calmness and patience, and pinks for love and kindness. With that color scheme, Drift had been reminded of the soft, pastel early sunrises on Earth. A symbolism both had readily agreed upon.

"Ratchet seemed awfully… worried," Brainstorm said as they were reviewing the different materials they had for the crib and bassinet. "I've never seen him that reluctant to go into the medbay. For all the time he spends yelling at everyone for injuring ourselves all the time, I'm pretty sure he would be more mad at us if we all just stopped giving him work to do."

"You're probably right." Drift said, "But yeah he's been pretty worried. It's been… not great recently."

Perceptor eyed him discreetly, noting his lack of vibrancy and horribly overtired optics, "How are you holding up?"

Drift shrugged, "It comes and goes. Honestly, it's mostly pretty bad. I try to do what I can when I feel okay, but then I usually wind up over doing it and I feel even worse the next cycle. Ratchet's been helping a lot, but I know it's wearing him out. I keep trying to get him to take a break, go do something without me for like half a cycle. Now he doesn't even want to go to work."

"Wow, sounds like the worst conjunx," Brainstorm said sarcastically.

"I know, right?" Drift picked up a particular metal sample, "What's this one I don't recognize it."

Brainstorm perked up, "Oh, that? It's nothing, just a little experimental titanium and platinum alloy I've been working on. I can work on perfecting it if you wanna use that."

"It's pretty. Sparkly."

The three continued to match up materials and colors, and draw up plans.

"You know, I was a carrier once," Brainstorm said suddenly.

Both Drift and Perceptor stared at him, thoroughly baffled. "What the slag are you talking about?" Perceptor demanded.

"You were there, Percy. Megatron. I carried Megatron's spark for like… I don't actually know how long. So technically I'm Megatron's carrier. Do you think I could get Megatron to listen to me if I brought that up?"

Perceptor opened and closed his intake several times, utterly aghast at the sheer absurdity of his partner, "Brainstorm, no! That's — that's not. Primus, Brainstorm, no! That's nowhere close to the same thing. And you tried to kill him!"

"Oh, what do you know?"

"Hold on, hold on," Drift interrupted before they started arguing in earnest. "What the frag happened?"

"Oh, uh. It was during the whole time travel incident. When somebody —" Perceptor pointedly glared at Brainstorm, "tried to erase himself from existence by killing Megatron."

Drift had heard most of that arc from various different sources, but Brainstorm didn't like talking about it in front of Drift. He felt somewhat guilty about the fact that while Drift had been completely abandoned and outcasted for something he really should not have been held solely responsible for — something that many of the crew members still held resentment over — Brainstorm had ultimately received very little accountability for his attempt to demolish their own timeline — aside from the destruction of his life's work. Most everyone had been incredibly angry with him for sometime — mostly about the whole poisoning thing — but in comparison to the alienation Drift was still experiencing, Brainstorm essentially had endured no social consequences. His worst punishment had been his own guilt over his failure to save his beloved Quark. Truthfully, Brainstorm really enjoyed Drift, he just didn't have any clue how to approach him. Maybe trying to relate his rather idiotic side plot to Drift's life altering arduous situation was probably not the most appropriate way to go about it.

"Brainstorm," Drift said after getting the full story on the origins of Megatron's spark, "I think you're Megatron's carrier."

— — — — — —

A half-decacycle later, the Lost Light was touching down on the planet Larunda. Mostly, the crew was looking forward to visiting the city of Cissonius, a sprawling urban trade hub filled with shops from all reaches of the galaxy. Drift was exceedingly excited. Through planning out the nursery with Perceptor and Brainstorm, he had realized that the thing he really needed to work on in the hab was the berth. It was decidedly not comfy enough. Not enough pillows, not enough blankets. He couldn't fully burrow and nestle into the berth. And so, in the streets of Cissonius, Ratchet followed his conjunx throughout every store, arms becoming more and more weighed down from far too many bags of unnecessary berthroom items. Drift had begun experiencing the one symptom of carriage Ratchet had somehow forgotten all about. Nesting.

"Drift," Ratchet whined, "didn't you get that exact blanket two stores ago?"

Drift looked back at him, offended, "No, this is more of a throw blanket. It's for my office."

He was wrapped in a thick, heavily decorated black cloak. The black cloak he'd worn for their conjunxing ceremony. Not wanting to advertise his carriage to possibly unsavory locals and travelers, they both decided it best to try to hide Drift's growing belly. Ratchet tried to not be too distracted by his glowing elegance.

"Oh, Ratchet look," Drift exclaimed. He had found a small, delicate music box clearly Cybertron-made. From the look of it, it was an antique, made sometime before the war. The ornate detailing showed a scene from a classical golden-age play which featured two star-crossed lovers tragically fighting on opposite ends of some complex war. Drift opened the box. The song that played was an old lullaby Ratchet recognized from Vaporex. Their daughter seemed to sing along with it. He didn't complain when Drift bought it, not even bothering to check the price tag.

— — — — — —

"I think I over did it yesterday." Drift was bundled and tucked snugly into his new pillows and blankets. "I'm sorry, Ratty."

"Don't be," Ratchet checked his vents, "it's not your fault. I'll call the Larian Medical Academy to cancel the lecture."

Drift tried to sit up but stopped as his processor spun horribly, optics unable to tell the difference between the floor and the ceiling, "No. They asked for you specifically. You can't cancel."

"Don't worry about it, Ratchet. I can watch him for a few joors while you're gone," First Aid said, having already been at their hab to drop off some medication when Drift had started violently purging.

"What about Rodimus?" Ratchet asked uncertainly.

"He and the rest of the command are meeting with the Larundian council. I was supposed to be there with them."

"I don't know. I don't like it."

"Ratchet," Drift said as sternly as he was able to muster, "please go. I'll be fine. First Aid can take care of me. It would make me feel a lot worse if you were unable to go and experience things because of me."

Clearly fighting the urge to argue, Ratchet finally relented, but not before rearranging Drift's nest to tuck him further into the burrow of soft, plush pillows and softly kissing the crest of his helm.

"Be good," he said quietly, "I'll be back soon."

Drift smiled softly, watching as his beloved conjunx finally left.

After First Aid administered an anti-nausea patch, Drift dozed off. A couple of joors of dreamless but fitful rest, multiple rounds of purging, and awful coolant-soaked heat-flashes he felt horribly disgusting. It took quite a bit of pleading and negotiation with First Aid, but in the end, with him promising to take a stool to sit on and to wash himself just the bare minimum, Drift was given permission to shower.

He sat under the solvent, relishing in the freeing feel of cleanliness. Figuring First Aid was about ready to barge into the washracks and tell him off for taking too long, Drift stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off. Unfortunately, his tanks decided he'd been out of berth for too long. He had just enough time to grab the waste bin before, once again, purging violently. He coughed and gagged and retched for a truly uncomfortable amount of time. He wished Ratchet were here. A shadow eventually covered him and a figure knelt beside him, silently. Finally having finished purging, he turned to the bot.

It wasn't First Aid. Nor was it Ratchet. The figure was far too large. Far too dark. He was cloaked in a horribly familiar ominous aura. No, the face which engulfed Drift's vision held intense glowing red optics which held no inference of mercy and wore the mask of his previous allegiance's brand.

Then he heard the music.

The Empyrean Suite.

He was really here.

Tarn.

In the flesh.

"Hello, Deadlock. Feeling unwell?"

Chapter Text

Ratchet's lecture bored him. Usually, he loved giving lectures to young medics, eager-spirited and full of the unyielding desire for the endless pursuit of knowledge. But this time, all he wanted was to hurry through his detailed explanations of the Cybertronian nervous system and all the delicate ways things can go wrong during surgery. He needed to get back to the ship. Back to his ill, beautiful, procreant conjunx. Back to his expected daughter. As he hurried through the bustling streets of Cissonius he found himself driving past a metaphysical shop advertising the sale of crystals. Against the screams of his processor about the ridiculous nature of crystals, Ratchet couldn't help but to stop at the shop. He spent less than twenty breems before walking out with three crystals. The first stone he'd immediately been drawn to was a stunning swirl of deep, Venusian-green and nicknamed 'the Midwife's Stone'. It's placard boasted of it's abilities to 'alleviate labor pains', 'grant emotional strength', and 'supports change and transitions'. He'd also picked out a pale-blue translucent crystal claiming to aid with anxiety, communication, and promote tranquility, trust, and clarity. And lastly, he had found a similarly pale and translucent pink stone carved into the shape of a heart. It was said to a beloved stone for pregnant mothers of many various species, strengthening the emotional bond between mother and child as well as supporting harmony and love within marriages.

Ratchet carefully stored the precious stones in his subspace, and transformed into his alt-mode and nearly sped off, but stopped once more when he noticed the tiny shop directly to the right. Drift's second favorite organic commodity: Earth flowers. How the flowers were able to be grown all the way out here, Ratchet didn't know. Even still, he once more quieted his own desperate need to get back to Drift just for a moment more.

"Hello, sir," a cheery looking Larundian greeted him, "we grow flowers from the far-off planet Earth right here in a greenhouse on Larunda. It's a pretty small planet with an incredibly diverse organic ecosystem."

"Ah, yes," Ratchet said, "I am rather familiar with Earth."

The shop keeper looked surprised, "Oh! Well then, are you looking for something in particular? Something for a wife or girlfriend, perhaps?"

"Er, yes, someone like that."

He spent much longer with the florist than he'd intended, but ultimately he was very proud of the bouquet of chrysanthemums, jasmine, lisianthus, and pink roses wrapped in red ribbons. Reveling in his indulgence of his spark-mate, Ratchet had decided to continue shopping while he made his way back to the ship. Surely being showered in gifts would help Drift feel better. A flash of light streaking through the sky above the Lost Light had him immediately abandoning his plans in favor of frantically radioing Rodimus, heedless of whatever conferences he might be engaged in.

.:Rodimus, are you seeing the flares?:.

— — — — — —

Drift was walked into the main room of his hab with his servos raised where Kaon was waiting with First Aid in a similar position. They stared at each other silently shaking. Neither dared speak or move any more than they were directed.

"Oh, Deadlock," Tarn said, "you are a very hard bot to find. But you didn't really think you could actually hide from us, did you?"

Drift said nothing.

"Now, I promise to leave your Autobot friends alone if you just tell me where Megaton is."

Drift said nothing.

"Your silence won't save him. I know he's somewhere on this planet. The sooner we cross the two of you off our list, the sooner we'll leave."

Drift said nothing. Tarn was lying and he knew it. The notion that he would actually leave the Lost Light alone was far too much of an insult. They had all been a thorn in the DJD's side for much too long to be disregarded. Even if Tarn simply killed him and Megatron and left, their friends would never rest until the entire division and their allies were wiped out. Drift needed to fight, he couldn't let him touch anyone. But he wasn't in any condition to fight. And he knew that. He could try to run, but he couldn't transform, his t-cog had been locked ever since his sparkling had separated and descended into the forge. All he could do was remain silent.

Tarn sighed, "You're trying my patience, Deadlock." He gestured Kaon over to Drift. "I'll give you one breem to try to remember where Megatron is hiding on this tiny rock."

Kaon grabbed him by the wrists and twisted his arms painfully behind his back. His grip tightened as he snapped the left wrist. Drift's vents stuttered but he held his silence.

"No?" Tarn asked mockingly, "Still nothing within that processor?"

After a nod of approval Kaon's hold on Drift moved to clasp his finials. Drift's whole world vanished instantly in a horrible haze of blinding white pain. He vaguely heard someone scream.

"No, stop," he heard First Aid shout over his own shrieks.

Eventually the pain dulled leaving Drift twitching and shivering violently. He was only still on his pedes because of Kaon's restraint on his finials.

"How about now?" Tarn was now in his face, "Wanna tell me where your dear captain is?"

Drift said nothing.

"Wait—"

Tarn nodded again, and again, Drift was consumed in burning agony. It must have been a higher voltage this time and was held for longer. He could feel coolant pouring out of his optics and energon leaking from his olfactory. His vocal components sparked and fried. This time, when Kaon let up, he fell to the floor.

"Let him go, please!" First Aid begged.

Tarn ignored him pulling Drift up by his already dented finial to dangle in his grasp. "How about this? If you don't tell me, I'll kill your obnoxious friend here."

Drift wheezed and spit a glob of energon in his optic.

Snarling furiously, the Decepticon zealot struck him violently in the abdomen. Drift gasped.

"He's sparked!"

Everyone froze. Tarn raised Drift a bit higher to get a better view of his gestating stomach. "Huh," he mused, "and here I thought you were just getting fat."

"What do we do with him?" Kaon asked uncertainly.

Both Decepticons hesitated, unsure of what this development should mean for the traitor.

"I think 'congratulations' are in order. How far along are you?"

Drift wanted to say nothing, but there was fusion canon pointing at First Aid. "F-four lunar cycles," he squeaked.

"What are you thinking, Tarn?" Kaon questioned wearily, "He's still got five lunar cycles left. Too early to just rip the thing out and kill him."

"You're right Kaon. Looks like we'll have to take him with us."

Panic rose in Drift's intake. He had to find a way out of this. What could he do? He needed to get help. Who was still on board? Rung? He wasn't much of a fighter. Rewind? Drift would never forgive himself if something happened to him. Again. Whirl could maybe be some help, but he had to get him to his hab. No, he needed to alert the command team. He needed Magnus. He needed Megatron.

Pushing down the terror and pain, Drift kicked a leg around catching Tarn in the helm. He hit him with enough force that he was dropped to the ground. Holding onto his senses as best he could, he rolled towards his twin swords he had resting in a corner.

"The flares," he shouted at First Aid, voice cracking. Trying to give First Aid enough of a distraction, he stabbed Tarn in the back of the knees. The tank roared angrily before ripping the sword out of himself and punching Drift hard in the helm, sending him sprawling onto the floor, optics flickering.

First aid sped out into the hallways with Kaon chasing after him. But Kaon didn't have a vehicle alt-mode, and while First Aid might not be as fast as the speedsters, ambulances still held a considerable amount of speed. Drift silently prayed that Primus grant just a little boost.

— — — — — —

As First Aid tore out of the ship, he spotted Rodimus, Megatron, and Magnus with Ratchet not far behind.

"What's happening?" Rodimus demanded transforming into robot-mode.

He didn't need a verbal answer as immediately after he identified Kaon sprinting towards them.

"No," Ratchet gasped.

"Tarn has Drift in the hab," First Aid reported to Megatron.

Megatron wasted no time trying to deal with Kaon, he fired one shot at the Decepticon and transformed back into his alt-mode, racing towards the residential suites. Ratchet followed only a few kliks behind. Kaon tried to pursue, but was met by Magnus's fist in his face.

Ever since his time in the mines, Megatron was not generally a praying mech, but this once he pleaded with Primus that he was able to make it there in time. Turning the last corner to Drift and Ratchet's hab he, nearly collided with Rewind, Chromedome, and Whirl. He transformed just in time to keep from running the trio over.

"Megatron? Ratchet?" Rewind questioned, "What's happening? We saw the flares go off. It sounded like there was a crash this way."

"Move." Megatron ordered, shoving them out of the way, not caring about appearing boorish.

Finally making it to the habsuite, Megatron knew his prayer had been denied. The hab was practically destroyed, furniture smashed, walls charred and scratched, and two twin swords Megatron recognized as the ones Drift always carried on his hips now laid shattered on the floor. In the center of the hab, surrounded by splatters of energon, was a broken off finial point.

"No," Ratchet stumbled into the room, collapsing by the severed finial and cradling it to his chestplate. "No," he choked on wailing sobs.

"What happened?" Chromedome whispered, horrified. No one dared move. Megatron stood frozen in a shock rarely seen from the former warlord.

Ratchet barely registered the squealing of tires and transformation sequences. There was hesitation before he heard two sets of pedesteps gently approach. Rodimus and First Aid knelt next to him.

"He's still alive," First Aid said quietly, "Tarn wants the sparkling."

"That's not better," Ratchet shouted rather harshly. No one held it against him.

Rodimus pulled him into his chestplate in a gesture he'd so often offered to Drift, "I know. We have Kaon in custody. We're gonna get him back."

Ratchet broke down into a howling mess of tears and screams.

— — — — — —

Ultra Magnus was finding it very difficult to keep his cool. Looking into Kaon's inhospitable, opticless face, he wanted nothing more than to rip his psychotic, egotistical helm from his frame and erase that cold grin from the galaxy forever.

"I take it you didn't reach your friend in time." He chuckled, self-contented, "It's a shame really. This whole thing was entirely avoidable. Deadlock had been such a good Decepticon. So loyal. So dedicated to the cause. I used to really admire him. Personally I think Turmoil changed something in him. You should ask Megatron why Turmoil had requested him for so long."

He grabbed him by the helm and slammed his face into the interrogation table. Kaon cackled deliriously, energon staining his dentae.

"Why are you so set on defending him?" He continued, "Do you know how many Autobots he's slaughtered? Everyone on this ship has had somebody they loved dearly torn apart by Deadlock. And wasn't he the one responsible for Overlord? Really we're doing you a favor taking him off your hands. You should thank us."

Magnus stood up and kicked the chair out from under Kaon, pinning him to the floor and crushing his cuffed arms behind his back. He shattered a forearm mercilessly.

The door to the interrogation room slid open as Megatron stepped inside, face pulled haughtily in unsympathetic rage. He nodded for the other Autobot to exit the room.

Having been forced to vacate, he had no choice but to wait outside with Rodimus and Rewind.

"That's the one that kept Dominus as a 'pet' isn't it?" Rewind asked.

"It is," Magnus said seething.

Rodimus punched the wall behind him. "I'm gonna kill them all," he declared. "I'm gonna rip them to shreds and light their corpses on fire. I'm gonna feed them their own sparks and watch them choke." He slid down the wall and buried his face in his arms, sobbing loudly, "How did we let this happen?"

"We got complacent," Ultra Magnus said gravely, "and now Drift is paying the price."

Inside the interrogation room, Megatron glowered at Kaon coldly.

"What?" Kaon demanded, "You gonna start asking questions? Wanna know where we took your precious spectralist?"

Megatron sat forward resolutely. "I'm not here to waste time with questions. I know you won't tell me anything useful. I just wanted you to know this: I created the lot of you. I turned you all into what you are. And I know how to destroy all of you. We are going to find your ship. We are going to rescue Drift and his sparkling. And we are going to kill every last one of you."

— — — — — —

"You left Kaon?" Tesarus followed Tarn through the halls of the Peaceful Tyranny. He tried his best to keep any judgment out of his voice lest he incur the wrath of the volatile fanatic.

"I understand your concern, Tesarus," Tarn soothed as they arrived at the medbay, "but we have more important things to worry about. Like the future of Cybertron and the Decepticons."

He opened the medbay doors revealing Nickel working furiously over a twitching, noticeably sparked Drift.

Chapter Text

Ratchet laid on the floor, no energy to move. He stared at the three crystals he had clutched in his servos. It had been nearly a decacycle since Drift had been kidnapped by the DJD. With no way of knowing where he was or what was happening to him, Ratchet's processor decided to fill in the blanks with the most horrific images of their past victims. Bots torn in half, processors stuck between denta, charred and smoldering frames still smoking from electroshock. Ratchet saw it all every time he closed his optics. That was what Drift was facing right now. What his unborn daughter was facing. And he was laid there on the floor. Not doing anything. He had been banned from the interrogation room after he'd nearly ripped Kaon's helm off, and though he knew Rodimus was trying to make a rescue plan they couldn't do much without even knowing where the DJD ship was. There must have been something he could do, but for the first time since coming online, Ratchet was still, no energy to move. What a horrible conjunx he was.

The hab was still pretty trashed. Swerve and a few others had come by to help sweep away any broken glass and splintered furniture. That was as far as clean-up had gotten. Trophies and portraits still laid on the floor, broken furniture still sat flipped on their side, and Ratchet couldn't bear to remove the shards of Drift's swords.

"Ratchet?" Velocity entered the hab and sat down in front of Ratchet. "Those flowers you got for Drift?"

"I was late getting back because I was shopping for flowers," he said listlessly. "I should've been there." He should have never gone to that useless lecture anyway. He had promised. Promised not to leave Drift's side when he needed him. And had so desperately needed him then.

"If you had been, you probably would've been killed. I know it hurts, but everyone's doing everything they can to find him. And when we do you, me, Aid, Hoist we're gonna put him and the bitty back together." Ratchet stared at her. "But, anyway, Nautica and I wanted to make sure you were able to give Drift his flowers."

"They'll already be wilted by then."

Velocity reached into her subspace. "You'll have to forgive me for working on an art project in time like this, but we were able to preserve them for you."

She produced the bouquet he had assembled now carefully dried and arranged meticulously in a hexagonal resin mold. Ratchet sat up, gently taking the arrangement with shaky servos. Clutching it to his chestplate, he allowed a few silent tears to slip from his optics.

There was a knock on the door.

"Ratchet?" Rodimus stood in the doorway. "We need you. You too, Velocity."

On the way to the conference room, Rodimus and Velocity had to hold him back from attacking two bots gossiping in the hallway. "I just don't really get why we keep wasting so much energy on some syphonist Decepticon? Are we supposed to think he's special just because he was able to use his buymech tricks on the medic?" Rodimus was already planning on how to get them off his ship.

Waiting for them in the conference room was the assembled rescue team. Also present were all the medics.

"Alright," Rodimus began once everyone was seated, "Kaon's managed to take an escape pod, he should be on his way back to the DJD now."

Ratchet stood up furiously, "You let him escape?!"

"Call down, Ratchet," Megatron eased, "he didn't escape, we let him go. We weren't going to get anything out of him. We were able to get a tracker on him. He's leading us straight to Drift as we speak."

"Exactly," Rodimus continued, "and we need to be ready to act as soon as we know where he is. Rewind, Tailgate, Anode you three are surveillance. I want you all in the vents, find exactly where they're holding Drift, and if possible, get a visual on each member of the DJD. Magnus, you take Perceptor and Bluestreak. Brainstorm, Chromedome, and Nautica you three follow Cyclonus. Krok, you take your Scavengers. Once we have sight on Drift you'll all be our distractions. Take your teams and make noise on the opposite ends of their ship, keep as much attention on you as you can. Do not get caught, please. Megatron, Ratchet, and myself will actually retrieve Drift. Chances are Tarn won't be fooled by our distraction and will likely stay by his side. We need to be prepared to fight him. First Aid, I have no doubt Drift will be in poor condition and we may wind up with a number of injuries during the rescue, have the medbay ready. Ratchet, you're with me and Megatron specifically so that you can provide whatever field medicine he might need. Can you handle seeing him however we find him? It will almost definitely not be pretty."

"I will not be left behind on this," he replied heatedly.

Rodimus conceded. "Alright. The rest of the crew is on stand-by and will provide back-up as needed. Everyone should prepare to deploy within the cycle. Don't die."

— — — — — —

First Aid and Velocity were whispering frantically just out of listening shot of Ratchet. They clearly were trying to decide who should deliver some piece of information. Ratchet was too busy checking on Drift's detached finial. It had been cleaned, wrapped, and carefully stored so it could be reattached. He tried not to think how poor Drift's equilibrium would be, missing nearly an entire finial.

After a full breem of heated debate, First Aid clearly was one chosen to confront Ratchet.

"Hey, Ratchet," he approached as if trying to comfort a wounded turbofox. "Hey, so we need to talk."

"I swear if you're about to try to make me prepare for the possibility of losing—"

"No Ratchet," Velocity interrupted, "Primus, no, nothing like that. It's just. We know the DJD's whole plan involves taking your sparkling which would mean they have to keep Drift alive at least until the sixth lunar cycle mark, but we also both know how fickle the DJD can be. And they're likely… not treating him well."

Trying to keep the irritation of his voice, Ratchet said, "Make your point."

"Well… there's likely to be a possibility that whatever they're doing to him will also… negatively affect the sparkling. In the case that there is damage like that done… how do you want us to handle that?"

They all knew it was a possibility that this conversation wouldn't matter. That neither his sparkling nor Drift would even be alive long enough to need treatment. Nobody mentioned it. There was no sense in mourning the dead before their spark had been extinguished.

This conversation did matter. They were going to find Drift, they were going to save him from the clutches of the DJD, and then they were going to repair him. And to do all that they had to be prepared for any possibility. Ratchet was not going to lose Drift and he was not going to lose their daughter.

"If Drift's condition is that serious, the rest of you will prioritize Drift's treatment. I will perform whatever surgeries may be required to the sparkling."

"From inside the forge?" First Aid questioned.

"Yes."

"Is that possible?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever done that before?"

"No."

— — — — — —

Rodimus's hab was thoroughly demolished. It was not the first time Rung had entered his room in that state. And it was incredibly doubtful that it would be the last. Punched holes and scorch marks littered the walls and floor, there was hardly a place to step that was not covered in shattered glass, Rodimus's knuckles were still dripping energon.

Stepping carefully to avoid potential injuries, Rung made his way over to where the Captain sat seething in the corner.

"Don't say it," Rodimus commanded.

"Don't say what?"

"Don't say that throwing tantrums is beneath me." Rodimus said bitterly, "Don't say that my rage is a waste of energy and it's not gonna do anything for Drift. Don't say I should be a better captain and look out for my people better."

Rung analyzed him. "I wasn't going to say any of that. I think we both know that tantrums are certainly not beneath you. And though I do I agree you should probably find a better outlet, they come from a place of passion. You rage because you care. You care very deeply for the people around you. Not just what they think of you. You care what happens to them, you care about what they think of themselves. You care, Rodimus. What happened to Drift was not your fault. And you are already doing all that you can to get him back. Trying to hold back your feelings would do far more harm to you right now."

Tears slowly fell from his optics. Rodimus let his helm fall back, hitting the wall with a soft thunk. "I'm the world's worst amica."

"Rodimus—"

"It's not just this. I'm mean to him. I'm so mean. Like all the time. I insult him, I make threats, I bring up his past all the time. And I make fun of his visions all the time. I know they're a lot for him to deal with. I can't imagine how much worse they've gotten with the bitty. He sees all of these horrifying things that are supposed to happen and he just goes about pretending like he hasn't seen anything. And I just laugh at him. I only started that stupid quest to find the Knights of Cybertron because he was so passionate about his visions. I know that I'm the cause of so much of his stress. And he doesn't need that right now. I made him feel like Overlord was his fault. That he was the one who needed to take the fall. And then I just abandoned him. I didn't know what was happening to him. I didn't want to know. He'd made all kinds of enemies and I just left him to take care of himself. He could've been found by the DJD, by bounty hunters. Do you know how high his bounty is, Rung? It's high. Like multiple billions of shanix high. And I just left him. You wanna know the real reason I never went looking for him? I was scared he was dead. Either someone else got to him or he'd killed himself. He never says it but I know — I know — he's thought about it. I was so scared he was already dead and I didn't want to be proven right. So I just did what I always do. I ignored the problem."

Rung placed a servo on his shoulder. "You've already apologized for Overlord. Drift doesn't hold it against you anymore."

"Well he should." Rodimus threw a spare piece of a table across the room. "You know what I never said during that apology? 'I'm sorry'. I never said 'I'm sorry' in my apology. I forced him to do all of my dirty work, let him take the fall for it, just abandoned him, and I never even said the words 'I'm sorry'." He was quiet for a moment, fighting to retain the tears that hadn't already fallen. "I can't understand why he's like that?"

"Like what?" Rung asked.

"Like—" Rodimus struggled to find the right words. "Like he just forgives everyone. He never stays mad at anyone, he forgives way too quickly. Even if the other person really doesn't deserve it. All it takes is one half-assed apology and he forgives you. We don't deserve him. Nobody on this ship deserves him. Except maybe Ratchet."

Rung polished his glasses. "You know all that has been very hard earned for him. It didn't come naturally. He had to learn it over many years. Many failures and a whole lot of pain."

"You can say it, Rung."

"Say what?"

Rodimus buried his face in his arms. "That I'm the world's worst amica."

"You're not, Rodimus. You're really not."

— — — — — —

"We have a lock on the Peaceful Tyranny," Blaster announced as Rodimus strolled onto the bridge. "We'll be on it in approximately fifteen joors."

Fifteen joors. That felt far too long for Rodimus's liking. He tried not to think about the damage Tarn could be inflicting on Drift during that period of time. He especially tuned out the images of what could have been happening throughout the past decacycle. It wasn't the most ideal, but fifteen joors was still a timeline and therefore Rodimus couldn't complain too much.

"Alright," Rodimus said, "fifteen joors. Brainstorm, is the cloaking device ready?"

Brainstorm gave a thumbs-up. "It'll keep the Rodpod cloaked for about a joor or two."

Rodimus nodded. "Should be enough to at least get us there and inside. I don't expect we'll be able to get Drift out undetected, we just need to get to them. That being said, our objective is Drift. Don't waste time trying to take out the DJD. We get in, get Drift, and get out. We're not losing anyone tonight. Not each other, not Drift, and not the bitty."

— — — — — —

Fifteen joors away Drift's optics flickered online, blurry and out of focus. His processor was fuzzy and for a klik he couldn't quite remember where he was. He listened for his bitty. Her song was found easily, but why did that song sound so scared? She was safe, still tucked away snugly within her carrier's forge. Her sire would keep them both safe. So why did Drift only hear a refrain of distress? She shouldn't know those feelings yet.

He cycled his optics as he tried to rollover and call for Ratchet. He couldn't move. Something was pinning his wrists to the berth. No, it wasn't a berth. A medical slab? What happened? He cycled his optics again. He wasn't on the Lost Light. Memories of the past decacycle caught up at the same time as the searing pain slammed into him. The DJD. Tarn. He was on the Peaceful Tyranny. Ratchet was nowhere near him. Everything hurt. His leg, his helm, his spark burned both physically and emotionally. A pathetic whine escaped his intake.

"Quit squirming so much. You're just gonna hurt yourself more." Drift's helm flopped over to find the DJD's Mini-Con medic bandaging his knee. Everything on the right side of his helm hurt, his optic, his audial, his finial throbbed in horrible agonizing pain. It made him excessively dizzy. The little under-processed energon they had given him was making its way up his intake uninvited causing him to gag and choke.

"Aw, slag," the Mini-Con cried, unlocking Drift's cuffs and turning on his side, allowing him to purge properly. "You really gotta work harder to keep your fuel down, you know how much Tarn hates wasting resources." After completely emptying his tanks, Drift was left gasping, desperately trying to suck in a proper vent. The Mini-Con — Nickle, he vaguely recalled — forced him to lay back down, re-locking his cuffs. "Oh don't give me that look, he wouldn't be so hard on you if you just stopped fighting him over every little thing. Think about the well-being of your sparkling and stop antagonizing him."

Drift silently sobbed, trying uselessly to send calming feelings to his daughter. He failed miserably.

Chapter Text

Ratchet had proposed to Drift not long after they'd begun their return trip to the Lost Light.

"Conjunx?" Drift startled. "Like Conjunx Endura? Like Sparkmates?"

"Yes, Drift."

"Junxies. You wanna become Junxies with me?"

"Yes, Drift."

"Me?"

Ratchet turned back to the control panel and pretended to be checking their coordinates. "You can just say no. You don't have to make fun of me," he grumbled.

"No, no, no," Drift exclaimed, latching onto Ratchet's arm. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to make fun. I'm just a little surprised, honest."

"I don't know why you'd be surprised, we've both already performed all of the Ritus. Some of them probably multiple times."

They had? Drift considered it.

The Act of Intimacy: Many of Drift's prayers and rituals were meant to be very private but he had often invited Ratchet —and only ever Ratchet — to join him. He had accepted the invitation only once. Ratchet had come to Drift's aid and shielded him and embraced him gently when he was being very publicly sent into exile.

The Act of Disclosure: Drift had admitted his fear of the DJD to Ratchet despite insisting to everyone else that they meant nothing to him. Ratchet had once confessed his remorse over his inability to save certain patients.

The Act of Profference: Drift was always giving Ratchet gifts. Crystals — which always annoyed Ratchet — his hands which he'd taken from Pharma, he would always buy whatever Ratchet wanted he didn't even have to ask. Ratchet had given Drift the greatest gift anyone ever could: he'd saved his life multiple times. Though he suspected he meant the time Ratchet had gifted him some new swords he'd found on Hedonia.

The Act of Devotion: Drift protected Ratchet from Overlord, fully prepared to die for him. And Ratchet had flown halfway to another galaxy to take him home.

Drift looked into Ratchet's optics, studying his aura. "I, yeah, I guess we have. But… why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you want to 'junx me?"

Tilting his helm, Ratchet studied the samurai carefully. He found only sincere confusion in his optics. He sighed, "Drift I like you. A lot. I know I'm not the best at showing it, but you do mean the world to me. I love you, actually. Truthfully, I never said anything because I'd assumed you and Rodimus must've been 'junxed already."

"Me and Roddy?" Drift shook his helm, waving his servos dramatically, "No, no, we're Amicas."

Ratchet had already realized he'd been wrong about the relationship between the two speedsters after the way Rodimus had treated Drift for the Overlord incident. Hearing that they did in fact have a sparkbond — albeit a different kind than Ratchet had assumed — had him enraged all over again. He contained that rage, however, it was not the time for that.

"Honestly I never even considered it with Rodimus," Drift continued, "or with anyone else for that matter."

"I understand if you're not interested," Ratchet said, pulling away. "I just thought I owed it to you to tell you how I felt."

Drift grabbed his arm again. "No, Ratchet, I'm sorry, I'm making a mess of this." He cycled a vent deliberately, taking a moment to find his words. "I never considered Conjunx Endura with anyone because… because I only ever wanted you. I just never thought you would be interested in me. I've loved you for a really long time, Ratchet. About four million orbital cycles actually."

"Drift—"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you after we first met in Rodion. After you saved my life." Drift could feel himself about to start rambling, unable to contain the words he'd wanted to say for hundreds of vorns. His spark was thundering violently in his audials and he could no longer look Ratchet in the optics. "At first that's all it was. Just thinking about the gorgeous medic who'd saved me from spark burnout. I never thought I'd get the chance to see you again… But then there was the battle of Mavortis and there you were and you were still so beautiful. And then you were there again on Laran, and Turan, and Aatos Polemoio."

"I guess we did see a lot of each other during the war, huh?" Ratchet interrupted.

"Yeah. And every time I couldn't help but to watch you work. You were so precise, so determined, so… indomitable. Even back then I thought you must have been touched by Primus. I'd tried avoiding you at one point, every time I found out you were there during a battle, I tried to position myself on the opposite end of the fighting. You were very distracting, I kept getting in trouble with my supervisors. And then the Decepticons left me for dead after the Battle of Theritas. And you patched me up even though I was the enemy and I'd killed so many of your friends. And I got to see you working up close again and I think that was the moment I realized I was gonna love you forever. I almost left the Decepticons then. I wish I had." Drift was now holding both of Ratchet's servos, studying them and rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs. "I never once considered that you would ever love me too. I just don't understand why a mech as beautiful, and brilliant, and… radiant as you would ever even look at me."

He hadn't realized he'd started crying until Ratchet was delicately wiping away coolant that fell from his optics. "Oh, Drift. You are the most beautiful bot I have ever seen. I thought that the first time we met in Rodion and I still think that right now. And yes, I even thought that when you were Deadlock. Not just your frame, but your spark, your… aura." Drift giggled. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You're beautiful, intelligent, creative, compassionate, brave, and beautiful."

Drift giggled again, "You already said beautiful."

"Okay then." Ratchet began kissing every part of Drift's face with each word, "Stunning. Magnificent. Bewitching. Enchanting. Transcendental. Divine."

They became Conjunx Endurae in a tiny shuttle far away in the middle of nowhere, sealing their love with a long-overdue ardent kiss.

— — — — — —

Drift didn't know how long he had been with the DJD. His chronometer was broken and his processor struggled to comprehend his surroundings every time he woke from forced recharge. He did know he'd been there far too long for his liking. Everywhere hurt. He tried to take stock of his injuries.

Helm, right finial had been snapped off when Tarn had kidnapped him. It caused such horrible vertigo, leaving his processor unable to find any sort of balance. His processor ached. He'd been smacked around so many times, there was no way of knowing which time caused the obvious damage. He could barely hear anything from his right audial and there was something sticky sluggishly leaking from it. He had no idea what had caused that. His right optic seemed to not be working properly, constantly flickering and falling out of focus, and that entire side of his face stung with a collection of inflamed cuts. Drift shivered as he recalled Vos coming to him in his cell trying to force him to wear his face before Tarn had chased him off claiming that his "condition" made their favorite torture methods off-limits. For now. Tarn then beat Drift senseless after he suggested that he was living vicariously through him, wishing that he was the one who was sparked and that Megatron had been the sire.

Mentally moving down his frame, his neck ached, no doubt sporting heavy bruises in the shape of large servos from the multiple times Tarn had attempted to choke him out before regaining control of himself. It was causing his venting to come out in awful, staticky wheezes. The wrist Kaon had snapped remained untreated.

He reached out for his daughter through their EM Fields. He found her easily, though she was highly distressed.

Drift had attempted escape several times in spite of his numerous crippling injuries and drained systems. During his most recent attempt, he'd not even made it halfway to the shuttle bay before Tarn had caught him and nearly tore his left leg apart. The joints had all been ripped from their sockets with his knee particularly feeling as though it had been completely shattered. Everything below that had been thoroughly wrecked, his processor had automatically shut off any sensory receptors leaving the entire leg utterly useless.

He cycled his optics. Tarn had him pinned to a wall by his neck. They weren't in his cell. When had they left his cell? Drift tried desperately to suck in a vent but the crushing servo allowed no room for air. Rewind was laying sprawled out not far from them. Rewind? Why was Rewind here? No, no, no. Rewind shouldn't be here. He would never be able to face Chromedome if they lost him again. Panic was swiftly overtaking Drift as he struggled hopelessly. His vision was fading, being replaced by black spots and flashes of alerts from his HUD.

Kliks away from forced shutdown, Drift realized he wasn't pinned to the wall but rather he was being held in place on the floor. He was still in his cell. An uncomfortable weight was being pressed down upon him, no care for leaving room for his growing sparkling. The servos that Drift had previously felt constricting his neck were instead crushing his wrists. The grip tightened, snapping both wrists. Drift flinched hard.

"— Sparkling in your tanks is the only thing keeping you alive," Tarn was whispering directly in his busted audial. "Don't forget it. Such a small thing." One servo was removed from his wrist and began rubbing the broken end of his finial, sending shooting blinding pain through his helm. He choked back a sob. Only Ratchet was ever supposed to touch his sensitive finials. "Doubt worry, I'll raise it well. It'll know its place within the Decepticons. Above all other Cybertronians. Loyal only to our cause. It won't turn out like you." He pressed a thumb roughly into Drift's finial causing him to cry out while energon trickled out of the now reopened wound. "What happened to you Deadlock? You were one of the earliest Decepticons of any worth. So ruthless, so vicious, so… powerful. I used to love watching you on the battlefield. You were breathtaking. Now look at you. Weak, pathetic, spiritual…"

Drift's processor started floating, no longer caring about Tarn's cynical rant. His optics roamed around the cell. What was that earlier? Was it a vision? A hallucination? He'd become prone to both. Being stabbed in the spark to avoid possession — by his own servos — had the unexpected side effect of prophetic illusions. Unfortunately, it wasn't long after that the war was over and more than four hundred vorns of trauma caught up to him, triggering nightmarish mirages. Ratchet, ever the skeptic, always insisted that the visions and hallucinations were one in the same. But Drift knew there was a difference. He just sometimes couldn't tell what that difference was. He hoped this time it was an image of the non-divinatory kind. It wouldn't make sense for Rewind to be here. It must have simply been his processor making up falsehoods again. Though usually whenever he started seeing Rewind in his mind, Overlord wasn't far behind.

His optics continued to wander.

Oh scrap.

Drift's sight locked onto a vent above him. Rewind was looking down on him.

Up in the ceiling, hiding in a vent Rewind sent a comm to Rodimus.

RWND: <I have visual on Drift. Are you seeing me?>

RDMS: <We see you. We're locked on your location, keep your optics on Drift. Do not engage. We're on our way.>

RWND: <Copy.>

Rewind hated hiding. He couldn't see too much of the sparked mech under Tarn, but he was struggling and squirming against his tormentor, trying desperately to free himself. Although he had no way of hearing the taunts from the massive Decepticon, it was obviously causing Drift a considerable amount of distress. Their optics met briefly before Drift looked away not wanting to draw attention to the small archivist hiding in the vents. But even in that short moment of contact Rewind saw all the fear and panic held within his optics.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before Tarn was pushing himself up off of Drift and making his way out of the cell. He turned back to Drift just before stepping fully into the hallway. "I've been thinking," he said, "maybe we should pay a visit to that medic of yours. Bring him in, give you a nice audience. You have such a lovely voice when you scream, it'd be a shame not to share it with more people."

The door was slammed with a heavy thud causing Drift to flinch and cover his damaged audial. After waiting a few breems to make sure Tarn wasn't coming back, Rewind tried to get Drift's attention. But the speedster had curled up on his side, one servo wrapped protectively around his middle and the other clutching his bleeding finial. Rewind was about to toss a tiny stray pebble at him when the cell door was thrown back open. The resulting clang was much louder and Drift cried out while curling around himself even tighter.

"You dirty traitor!" Kaon shouted, yanking Drift off the floor. "Why in the pits are you so important to that obnoxious crew you're with? Do you see what they've done to me?" He still was scuffed up and battered from his time with Megatron and Ultra Magnus, but the damage he'd sustained was nowhere near the level that Drift had. "All because of some Syk addicted gutter-mech who would've massacred them all without a single thought. What did you do? Huh? How did you enthrall them? Did you learn some secret spells with that freakish cult of yours?"

Drift thrashed in Kaon's grip. He found enough strength to kick him in the shin, and though it wasn't hard enough to cause any actual harm, he was rewarded with a shot of electricity. His entire frame felt like it was lit on fire. Every connector, every relay, every capacitor was burning as excess voltage passed through his chassis. He barely recognized the scent of burnt electrical coming from his circuitry. When Kaon finally let up, he gave Drift no time to recover before shocking him again. And again. And again.

Agonizing shrieks echoed through the cell, reverberating off the walls. Rewind covered his audials.

Alarms blared through the Peaceful Tyranny, promptly distracting Kaon from his ceaseless torture. Drift coughed harshly as he fought to control his vents, heaving globs of energon onto Kaon. He snarled, but before he could shock him once again, he was ambushed by a Mini-Bot jumping from the ceiling, wrapping his legs around his neck and his arms tightly around the helm.

Not giving Kaon time to recover from the surprise attack and shock him instead of Drift, Rewind constricted his hold around his neck and pulled up on his helm. Kaon's helm was freed from his shoulders, a small piece of his spine coming with it. The body dropped to the floor.

"Rew—" Drift's voice glitched out in a stutter of binary code.

"C'mon," Rewind pulled him to his pedes, taking on as much of his weight as he could. "Can you walk?"

Drift shook his helm.

"Alright then, just lean on me. Ratchet's on his way. We're getting you out of here."

Together they limped out of Drift's cell, making their way down the hall as quickly as Drift was able. Rewind's hold was incredibly awkward given the height difference, and they had to stop several times to readjust. Drift tried to speak. Ask why he was here. Say anything. But his vocal components were completely fried.

"Sorry it took us long to come get you," Rewind apologized. "For such a massive ship, the DJD can make themselves very difficult to find when they don't wanna be."

"Is that so?" They rounded a corner to find themselves staring up at Tarn.

Rewind not so carefully dropped Drift, assuming a defensive position. He was getting Drift off the ship and if he had to fight Tarn do that, so be it. His resolve amounted to nothing as Tarn swiped him away with a single hard blow with the back of his servo. A small pool of energon began to grow under his helm.

Drift tried to crawl away, but Tarn slowly made his way over and grabbed by the neck, slamming him into the wall.

No. Drift clawed at the servo, kicking his pedes. His HUD was flooding with errors and damage reports, the feed began folding over itself. Black spots were growing in his optics.

"As much as want that sparkling for yours," Tarn said directly into the audial he knew was broken, "you've become far too problematic. And anyways, judging by the amount of energon you're leaking right now, I'd guess the thing isn't making it."

Drift felt an alarming stream of energon running down his thighs and dripping off his pedes onto the floor. Coolant pooled in his optics.

Just as the black spots were overtaking his vision, three shots hit Tarn directly in the face, cracking his mask and causing him to drop Drift to the ground. Sucking in gulping vents, he was barely able to lift his helm to find Ratchet, Rodimus, and Megatron bounding towards him. Ratchet still had his blaster aimed at Tarn.

"You two get Drift and Rewind out of here," Megatron shouted, "I've got Tarn."

Ratchet stopped by Drift, momentarily cradling his face before transforming and allowing Rodimus to load Drift carefully into him.

"We got you, buddy," Rodimus soothed. "You're safe now."

Tucked securely inside of his Conjunx, Drift curled around his sparkling held within his own chassis. He tried to whisper words of encouragement, 'It's okay. Sire's here, he's gonna take care of us,' but his voice only came out in a mess of beeps and binary.

Drift let himself fall away into stasis.

Chapter Text

"What's his spark type?…. Match on stand-by."

"…Energon line in."

"Multiple systems not initializing."

Beep… Beep… Beep.

"Blown capacitors… Mother Board."

"….. Solder kit… wires too…. need to splice."

Beep….. Beep………. Beep.

"Processor not holding OFP."

"Losing too much fluids."

"How long…. new optic….. no visuals…. swelling……."

"Get me…. boosters for….."

Beep…. Beep…………..

"We're losing both of them."

Beeeeeep

— — — — — —

"He's still in stasis, but you can go see him."

Rodimus quietly entered the private medical room. He reverently placed a vial of innermost energon by Drift's berth and took a seat opposite of Ratchet. Drift had been in surgery for over five joors. He was covered in diagnostic cables, energon drips, and mesh wrappings. A tube was stuck down his intake to help his vents cycle properly. His left leg was braced and propped up, a patch rested over his right optic. Rodimus found the data pad at the foot of the berth documenting his repairs.

Fails OFP verify, fails E/L/V; 1A2 reqs 48hr hold.

FTG 5/50; R² 5A6, 5A4; G/F. N/F TG 12/110; R² 5A12; G/F. RGTE.

Fails 10Mhz Early/Normal Pulse; R² 2A79; G/F. RF Spread C/W (10, 4, 9, 5). All aligns C/W.

FTG 3/320; R² 2A75; G/F. RGTE.

Screen folded over R² A1, G/F. RGTE.

R Optic INOP; non-repairable, NRTS; reqs O/O.

AWTing R Optic (DUO), A1P3 Conn (ISU), A2P1 Conn (ISU)

Rodimus couldn't understand any of it. "How is he?"

Ratchet let out a rattled vent, stroking the top of Drift's helm with a shaking servo. "It's bad. His left knee's completely destroyed, it'll take multiple surgeries to reconstruct it. Vocal components all had to be fully re-soldered. His right optic is completely nonfunctional, we couldn't salvage it. We've got a new one on order, just waiting for it to come in. The cuts on his face were infected. Those injuries will probably have some lasting effects, but I'm not as worried about them. We're gonna have to keep him in stasis until we can get OFP to hold, at least another two cycles. We won't know how bad some of the damage is until he's awake. Even after he's out of stasis, it'll be a while before he's able to walk on his own."

"What's the OFP do?"

"It's basic processing codes. If it gets corrupted, rudimentary functions will be affected, memory won't hold, it could potentially lead to full processor shut-down."

"And… what about the bitty?"

Ratchet hesitated. "She's okay. It was… close. But she's okay. I don't know if there's gonna be any lasting damage. It's highly possible this will affect her development. We just don't know."

They both fell silent. The damage Drift had endured horrified Rodimus.

"I almost lost both of them," Ratchet said tearfully. "We haven't even discussed names yet. I could still lose her without ever giving her a name to be known by. I can't lose him. I can't lose either of them."

As Ratchet began to weep, Rodimus reached over his comatose Amica to grasp his servo gently.

— — — — — —

"The connectors came in for the vocal components," First Aid said quietly. "Still don't have a ship date on the optic, it's looking like it'll take a lunar cycle or two. Do you want to do the repairs or would you rather one of us do it?"

"I've got it," Ratchet said, taking the connectors from him. "Just get the soldering kit over here."

He opened Drift's neck panel and flicked on an overhead lamp, bringing the light source close. Ratchet worked mostly in silence with First Aid providing whatever assistance needed: adjusting the lamp, handing over a scribe or hemostats, holding wires out of the way. Ratchet didn't need any help. They were simple repairs, the connectors were small with only a few wires on each. Even with the slight shaking over his servos, Ratchet easily could've done it alone. Nonetheless, he appreciated the quiet company. He hated to watch Drift like this. The silence without peacefulness, the stillness without tranquility. Drift should never be like this. If he was quiet it should be while praying. If he was still it should be during meditation.

With well practiced servos, Ratchet stripped each wire and fastened them onto their respective pins. He'd done it countless times. It was mindless to him at this point. Even with old and dulled wire strippers and a solder iron which took far too long to heat up, Ratchet appreciated something for his servos to do. It was easier than sitting and staring at Drift, unmoving.

"Who else was injured?" Ratchet asked as he finished the repairs, discarding the broken connectors. He ran through a quick ohms check before screwing the new connectors in place. They would have to wait until Drift was awake to know if there was any remaining damage requiring repair.

"There were only a few," First Aid reported. "Rewind had minor processor damage. Should clear up in about a decacycle. He's not happy that I told him no screens. Brainstorm got shot through a wing, he's hurting but he'll be fine. Whirl and Cyclonus both lost an arm. They've already been replaced. Other than that it's just been cuts and bruises. Ultimately, there's no one that won't be healed up within a decacycle." 'Except for Drift' went unsaid.

Ratchet sighed. "I'm sorry. I should've helped."

"Don't be stupid, Ratchet. We needed you in here not out there. It was better to have someone with Drift in case he crashed."

Ratchet hummed, stroking Drift's cheek.

— — — — — —

With Drift having been out of surgery for two full cycles, Ratchet was allowing a few visitors to come by — the quiet ones. He knew everyone was worried.

Megatron and Ultra Magnus came in together, each with their own small vial.

"How was the rest of the operation?" Ratchet asked, not moving his gaze from his unconscious Conjunx. He didn't necessarily care, he just needed something to distract himself from the oppressive silence.

"Kaon and Vos are both dead," Megatron recounted. "Cyclonus's team was able to do quite a bit of damage to their ship. We're hoping that it keeps them busy for a while."

Ratchet nodded absentmindedly. He was pleased that at least two of those creeps would never be able to bother them again.

"I take it Tarn is still kicking?"

"Unfortunately," Megatron said apologetically. "I didn't let him walk away completely unscathed, but I highly doubt any of his injuries were enough to kill him. I'm sorry. I wish I could give you some consolation."

Ratchet shook his helm. "I didn't expect anything else. I'm just relieved we got him back."

Megatron tried to conceal his extreme guilt. He knew it wouldn't help Drift now and Ratchet would have little patience for it. Still though it was undeniable, at least to Megatron, that the DJD's recent assault on Drift was another product of his past sins. The DJD only existed because of him. They had been formed and molded by Megatron's servos, acted only in accordance with Megatron's will. Tarn only became what he was because of him. Because he was too inefficient of a leader to be able to contend with anything less than blind faith.

Even Drift's past as Deadlock should have been counted among Megatron's many evils. He couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering into the past. He had initially considered Drift for the DJD. Not only for his impressive prowess on the battlefield, but also for his unwavering allegiance. The now gentle and compassionate spectralist had once been amongst the most fiercely loyal Decepticons. His extreme faith in the cause had brought countless bots to their faction. But it was quickly noted that for all his devotion, there was one bot who would always make his helm turn. No matter how harsh the reprimand, how steep the punishment, Drift would always be unable to ignore a particular Autobot medic. It was becoming increasingly obvious that there was something with a stronger hold on the spark of their loyal gunner than the Decepticon crusade. And so, in an attempt to not lose one of their best assets, Megatron had him sent away to be Second-in-Command to Turmoil. The change in station had worked well for a time. Turmoil and Deadlock had worked well together initially. Until the Battle of Theritas. He'd been reported dead only to return nearly six lunar cycles later. And when he did return, it was without his famed fidelity. As Deadlock lost faith, he grew more and more ruthless. The rage that had always been present had now consumed him. He could no longer be controlled. His strength was no longer a valuable weapon, but a liability. His focus was only on killing everything in his path. And soon after, Deadlock had left the Decepticons and Drift had become the good-natured Autobot he should have always been.

Having now seen the kindness and tenderheartedness Drift was capable of, Megatron often wondered what kind of life he could have lived had the warlord simply left him alone and had allowed Optimus to find him instead. It was a useless thought.

"We have been reviewing our faults in security," Magnus said. "We will be placing security guards outside your hab at all times. Bluestreak and Blades are currently guarding the medbay and we're putting together a schedule to ensure that there will always be at least two individuals who can provide security. At least while Drift is… in delicate condition."

An argument died on Ratchet's glossa before he even opened his intake. He knew Drift would hate the idea of needing security guards. And being described as 'in delicate condition'? Magnus may as well have referred to Drift as feeble, useless, pathetic. But one look at his sparkmates scuffed and bruised face and the patch over his optic, and Ratchet knew he couldn't protect him on his own. He was neither feeble, nor useless, and certainly never pathetic, but Drift was sparked. And even the strongest bots, while carrying, were terribly vulnerable.

"Thank you, Magnus."

"We are both truly sorry for all the harm that's been done to you and your family. It was an error on the entire command team to not have security measures in place before something like this happened. I am sorry."

The apology was needless but appreciated nonetheless.

— — — — — —

"This is from me and Domey." Rewind placed his own vial of innermost energon among the growing collection by Drift's berth.

"Thank you, Rewind," Ratchet said. "It's very appreciated."

It was a scripted and detached response, but it was all Ratchet could manage. For the past three solar cycles, he hadn't left the medbay. He recharged either on the cot that had been brought in or sitting in the chair slumped over his oblivious Conjunx. Velocity and First Aid pushed a cube of energon into his servos every time they came in to check on Drift. Nobody pushed him to do anything more. His friends visited often to both offer their wishes of recovery to Drift and to commiserate with Ratchet.

"How's your processor feeling?" Ratchet asked.

Rewind lightly felt a spot on his helm. "Oh it's fine. Domey still has me resting most of the time, but it doesn't really hurt anymore." Ratchet decided not to mention that the lack of pain was likely only due to the patches he'd been prescribed. "How's Drift?"

"He's off medical stasis. He should be online within a cycle or two."

Many of the cables had been removed and he no longer required energon transfusions, but he was still intubated. His vents still rattled and stuttered far too much for any of the medics' liking. They had been working tirelessly to repair his respiratory systems.

Rewind pulled a chair up to the berth. "Hey, um, some of us have been talking. I know Drift always turns down movie night but Percy was saying how he's not really getting out much. So we were wondering if it might be easier if we do it at your place? Just like a few of us maybe? We wouldn't want to overwhelm him or anything. We just all hate that Drift seems so left out all time."

"I— yeah. Yeah, that would be real nice. I'll talk to him. Thanks, kid."

"Of course. Everyone really likes Drift. It's been tough just watching him with everything he's been going through lately. I can only imagine how hard it's been for the two of you." Rewind looked over at Drift. "He does know that we like him. Doesn't he, Ratchet?"

Ratchet sighed bitterly. "Honestly? I don't think he does."

"I know it's not really fair to compare the two, but the Drift I originally knew was always part of the gang." Rewind didn't often talk about the other Lost Light. There was little point in bringing up the dead when he could instead enjoy the people was with now. "After he came clean about Overlord, he was constantly planning events and getting everyone together. I think it was initially just an excuse to get to hangout with him outside of the medbay. He tried to be friends with everyone, even the people who didn't like him. Was he always this secluded? What happened?"

"Kind of, I guess. Not this bad, but when we first took off, a lot of the crew didn't necessarily trust him. Not as much as they didn't trust Cyclonus but it was definitely still there. People started to warm-up to him after a while. But I guess the deeper they got into the whole Overlord thing, the more Drift withdrew himself. I don't know if it was guilt or just they were all too busy trying to get caught. But after Overlord got out and he got sent away, I think he expects everyone else to blame him as much as he blames himself."

"It wasn't his fault though. Not really anyway."

"Try tellin' him that," Ratchet scoffed. "He cares about everyone very deeply. I don't think he'll ever forgive himself for the part he played in all that. Or the war for that matter. He's always searching for some absolute unshakable thing that will absolve him of all his sins. Even the things no one blames him for. But that thing he's searching for doesn't exist and I think, deep down, he knows that."

That's so sad, Rewind thought. Before he was able to say anything of the sort, Drift suddenly began choking and convulsing. His frame was locking up and jerking about uncontrollably. Limbs moving without input.

"What's happening?" Rewind asked, panicked.

"He's having a seizure." Ratchet said no less distraught, but certainly more controlled. He moved Drift into a position on his side, removing some of the less important cables he was hooked up to. Rewind was ushered out by Velocity who had come running as soon as the alarms started going off. Energon began leaking from Drift's olfactory as the convulsions continued.

Velocity rushed to grab their anti-convulsants. Seizures were incredibly uncommon, they were lucky Ratchet had insisted on making sure they were stocked. Drift's frame relaxed within a few kliks of the medication being administered. Energon continued to seep from his olfactory.

"Ratchet, Velocity said worriedly, "if this becomes a regular problem—"

"I know."

"Are anti-seizure medications even safe during carriage?"

"They're safer than seizures."

"Let's just hope it was a one off thing, I guess."

— — — — — —

Rodimus was deep in recharge on the cot while Ratchet dozed sitting next to Drift. His helm was laying on the berth directly next to Drift's hip. He had one servo clasped around Drift's while the other caressed his belly gently. The bump was still small enough to not be noticeable under the blankets. Ratchet rested his optics and allowed a soft gentle melody to wash over his EM field, embracing the delicate peace it brought.

The tube had finally been removed from Drift's intake, and though his vents were still a bit shaky, his systems were running within a much more tolerable range. He hadn't experienced any seizures like the previous cycle. It was still the primary concern for the medics. Velocity had been researching which medications were safest during carriage. There hadn't been nearly enough study into it. It was still the hope that it wouldn't become a chronic problem. Ratchet doubted Drift's luck would allow for that.

A small twitch of a digit encouraged Ratchet's optics to cycle online. He didn't immediately look up. Drift had been fidgeting more and more recently but still remained in stasis.

"Mmm…"

"Drift?" Ratchet lifted his helm to find a single optic slowly flickering online.

""Hmmm……."

He reached towards Drift's face and tenderly stroked the uninjured check, tracing along the red streak. "Hey, sweetspark, can you hear me?"

Rodimus stirred behind him but remained in recharge. After several tedious kliks, Drift was able to focus on Ratchet hovering over him. He swallowed hard, trying to rid his intake of the awful scratchy feeling.

"Hey," Ratchet said, "can you try speaking? We need to make sure there's nothing wrong with your voice box."

"Ratch—" Drift broke off in an uncontrollable dry coughing fit. He tried to speak again, but instead he hissed, a twinge of pain sliding up his intake.

"It's okay," Ratchet soothed. "It's still healing, let's not push it." Drift's servo wandered to his abdomen. "She's okay. You hear her?" Drift nodded. "She's okay. You feelin' any pain?" Drift hesitated before nodding again. "Can you show me where it hurts the worst?" He pointed to his left knee. "We're still working on reconstructing it, you're gonna have to be on crutches for a little bit. Does it hurt anywhere else?" Predictably, he pointed to neck.

"Wha's happ'nin'?" Rodimus slurred, sitting up and rubbing his optics. "Drift!" He rushed over to the berth and wrapped him into a tight embrace. Drift tried to hide a wince.

"Careful," Ratchet warned. He cautiously separated the two, allowing Drift to sit relaxed against a stack of pillows.

"Rod—" Drift was cut off once more as the pain spiked again. He cleared his intake. "Wh-wha' ha—?"

"We got you back," Rodimus interrupted before Drift strained himself too much. "You're home now."

"Anyone h'rt?"

Ratchet kneaded soothing circles through his spinal struts. "No serious injuries apart from you. Stop talking."

"Rewin'?"

"He's fine. He's worried about you. A lot of people are. Now stop talking, I'm serious."

Drift pouted.

"You want us to tell you how everything went?" Rodimus asked.

Drift nodded. As Rodimus recounted his rescue and the resulting deaths of Kaon and Vos, Drift suddenly seemed to lose awareness. He stared blankly, optic flickering lightly. It only lasted a few kliks before he regained mindfulness.

"You okay, Drift?" Ratchet said, "We lost you for a second there."

"Hm? I'm okay," He rasped.

Ratchet exchanged a worried glance with Rodimus. "How about you get some rest," he suggested tucking him into the berth. "You're gonna be feelin' pretty awful for a while."

Drift fell into a light recharge, still unsure if he was truly home safe or if he would wake from this lovely dream back into that horrible nightmare.

Chapter Text

Drift heard voices. Someone was shouting. They lowered their voice as he shifted, trying to use the voices as an anchor to drag him into awareness. It was difficult to make out. He was pretty sure they were talking about him.

"That shit ruined him. He hasn't been the same since you two came back…"

"Feel your guilt but don't… He's got enough of his own."

It wasn't a surprise to realize Ratchet and Rodimus were the ones talking. Drift lost the conversation for a while. His right audial was ringing horribly and his processor felt like it had been split down the middle. His whole frame felt achy and sore.

"… Shouldn't be his shame to bare. I just wanna make it up to him."

"I know. But words aren't gonna make him feel better. He'll just eat your guilt along with his own."

" I just want things to go back to how they were."

"I know, kid."

Drift groaned, helm falling in what he assumed was Ratchet's direction. His single optic flickered online with great difficulty. Ratchet's beautiful aged and weary face filled his limited visual feed. He was clearly stressing. Drift hated how much stress he was causing him. He opened his intake to greet his Conjunx but his voice box fizzled and glitched, his glossa felt heavy.

Ratchet held his servo and kissed his knuckles tenderly. "Hey there, beautiful," Ratchet said. "You with us?"

"Hmm? R'tty?" He slurred. "Wha'—?" His throbbing processor struggled to remember what was happening. Why did he feel so awful?

"You had another seizure," Ratchet said bluntly.

"Huh?" Seizure? Another one?

"You're tired. Get some rest." Ratchet went to tuck the blankets more securely around him but Drift waved him away.

"No. No, I'm okay." He shakily pushed himself up.

He looked around. He was in the medbay on the Lost Light. That made sense. He vaguely remembered his rescue from the DJD. How long ago had that been? There were piles of vials of innermost energon on either side of his berth spilling over the nightstands and onto the floor. Had everyone left something? It must have been for his sparkling, there was no way so many people were concerned for his health. He deserved everything that happened. But his daughter didn't. Among the vials Drift found the three precious stones Ratchet had bought for him on Larunda. That seemed so long ago now. He grabbed the small heart shaped pink stone with trembling servos, turning it over in his palm.

Drift looked up at Ratchet and then Rodimus. His Amica looked just as stressed as Ratchet but also… guilty? "We were talking about… something?" Drift said. His voice was quiet and raspy. "I'm sorry. My processor's kinda fuzzy."

Rodimus looked away sheepishly. "Don't worry about it. It was nothing."

"I'm sorry."

"No. No, don't be. You're fine." Rodimus lightly patted his upper arm. "Really, don't worry about it."

Drift frowned but dropped the subject. His servos wandered to his stomach. The sparkling was quiet. Ratchet had assured him multiple times that was completely normal, she couldn't project her EM field as often as a full grown bot could. Still, Drift didn't like the silence. Especially after everything that had happened recently. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he would lose her, the anxiety that he would wake up and find himself back with the DJD completely alone. He still wasn't quite sure how long it had been since his rescue. He had spent more time in recharge than awake. And whenever he did wake he was frequently confused, processor often not able to catch up with his surroundings before being forced into another shutdown. He was suddenly reminded of the seizures he'd been having.

"Seizures are really bad, aren't they?" He asked, turning to Ratchet.

Ratchet recoiled slightly. "Yeah. It's… really bad."

"Why am I having seizures?" Drift asked desperately.

"We're pretty sure it's processor damage instead off carriage complications. I know it sounds scary, but that's actually easier for us to deal with. If it is in your processor, your self-repairs should eventually fix itself."

"How long is eventually?"

"Could be a couple of orbits, could be upwards of a vorn." Ratchet answered honestly. He would never lie to anyone about their medical information, least of all his own Conjunx. "It is also possible that it never fully heals."

Drift's face became etched in despair. "So… what? I just continue to have seizures for probably most of the rest of my life?"

"Not necessarily." Ratchet grabbed both of his servos sympathetically. "It's not really something that's curable. The damage would be on a microscopic level that I wouldn't be able to repair. It is more common than not that the self-repair systems are eventually able to restore it. It is treatable though. We have treatments that'll minimize the seizures. As soon as we figure out the right medications you should have a completely healthy carriage and you'll be able to live a normal life." The despair lessened in Drift's face only a little. "I'm sorry. I know that's not exactly what you wanted to hear. Rodimus and I are both here. We're gonna get through this, I promise."

Drift looked as though he might start crying again. Between his carriage and the after effects of the seizures, tears had become embarrassingly common. Ratchet kissed his Conjunx between his optics and eased him to lay back down. "Go ahead and get some rest. You're gonna need it even more now."

— — — — — —

After multiple rounds of different medications over the course of a decacycle, Drift had finally gone nearly three cycles without a seizure of any kind. Unfortunately, he was unable to celebrate the improvement as he'd found himself folded over a waste basket purging horribly. It had been the second cycle he had been stuck in this state, barely capable of even lifting his helm, vomiting up whatever fuel made it past his intake. The purging was far worse than it had been throughout the duration of his carriage often lasting several breems. This current round had started nearly half a joor ago with only a few moments of respite. First Aid had attached an IV drip in the crook of his arm to ensure he still received the fuel he desperately needed along with anti-nausea drugs which did very little to help.

Coolant fell from his optic, continuing to retch into the basket. His vents stuttered with every stream of unprocessed fuel. Through the haze of unrelenting misery, he vaguely felt Ratchet's servo running down his spinal struts. He was whispering words of comfort but Drift couldn't hear past the ringing in both audials.

Drift thought the purging was finally starting to lessen when he tasted raw energon on his glossa. The offending tang caused his tanks to constrict sharply, ejecting even more fuel from his intake. His already strained vents became nearly nonexistent. There was a flurry of movement around him.

The world seemed to disappear entirely.

He came back to awareness some breems later leaning on Ratchet's shoulder while his Conjunx wiped away the energon and fuel that was stuck to his dermas and running down .

"This one's not working." Drift assumed Ratchet was speaking to First Aid.

He tried to push himself off of Ratchet's shoulder to sit up on his own. His vision blurred, turning into a nonsensical pattern of vague shapes and colors, and his spatial orientation vanished completely. Ratchet caught him swiftly as he started to fall to one side.

"Easy." Ratchet said, steadying Drift. "You have a leak in the back of your intake from excessive purging. It should clear up soon, your self-repairs are already closing it up. I know you're dizzy, but you can't lay down right now. We don't want you choking."

"What's wrong with me?" Drift said pitifully.

Ratchet held his face softly, swiping stray tears that dripped from his optic. "Hey, look at me. There's nothing wrong with you. These medications always affect people differently. We just gotta figure out what your body needs right now. We're gonna figure this out."

Coolant streamed down Drift's check, vents hiccuping. "What if we don't? What if I'm too broken?"

"Then I'm gonna keep taking care of you. I'm not leaving. Okay? I promise, I'm not leaving you."

Drift knew he was being irrational. He just felt so awful. His doubt of Ratchet's medical capabilities was completely unjustified. Yet Drift couldn't shake the feeling that this misery would be never ending.

Ratchet held him close as he cried himself into recharge.

"You're not broken, Drift."

— — — — — —

As the medication adjustments continued, Ratchet had stayed by Drift's side, only leaving when First Aid or Velocity would force him get fuel for himself. Currently he was only as far as his office, leaving the door open for Drift to call for him if needed. Rodimus had also made sure to be around whenever he was off-duty. He kept their conversations light, ensuring Drift a welcome distraction from the stress of his ill-health and recent trauma. Often they spoke of gossip or the various events with the rest of the ship. He intentionally avoided any heavier topics after an earlier attempt to apologize for the handling of the Overlord incident had resulted in Drift convulsing.

"Look I don't know if there's anything going on, I just know Whirl had been spending an awful lot of time around Tailgate and Cyclonus."

Rodimus supported Drift lightly as he hobbled around the small medical room on crutches. His servos hovered behind his spinal struts but not fully touching him. Now that he was responding to the treatment, it was important for Drift to be moving. Between his decacycle long torture by the DJD and his time laying in his berth, Drift's frame had weakened significantly. Both Ratchet and Rodimus had been diligent in keeping him active and not dwelling on how frail he had become.

"I thought Whirl and Cyclonus hated each other." Drift said, voice hazy and scratching slightly.

"That's why it's so odd," Rodimus replied, pleased that Drift was actually engaged in the conversation this time. Most cycles the discussions tended to be much more one-sided. "I know they'd stopped trying to kill each other all the time after the Necroworld. But I don't know when they actually became friends."

Drift hummed in contemplation.

Rodimus continued chatting aimlessly, effectively distracting Drift from his trembling frame and rattling vents. He hadn't smiled once in the nearly two decacycles since his rescue, but his EM Field was relaxed and mostly untroubled. That was good enough for Rodimus. It would have been unnecessary to mention the dullness in his voice or the cloudy look in his single optic. Even the sensation of his daughter's EM Field intertwining with his own was no longer enough to spark joy in the sickly carrier. They all knew there would be a conversation about sending him to talk to Rung soon.

Drift's vents stuttered and he started to lose his grip on the crutches. Rodimus swiftly took hold of him lightly but firmly and eased him into a nearby chair. His EM field remained comfortable as if nothing was wrong.

"So what are you thinking about for names?" Rodimus said as Drift was attempting to regain control of his venting. "What about Bolt?"

Drift shook his helm, that sounded terrible.

"Okay, Starbolt."

"That… that sounds… that sounds like a… a seeker," Drift said completely out of breath.

Rodimus continued to rattle off names, each sounding worse than the last.

"Damn, you don't like any of my ideas."

"G't b'tt'r… ideas." Drift was fighting off recharge, helm falling to his chestplate.

"Okay, okay," Rodimus said, lifting him into his arms. He didn't like how light his Amica had become. "Let's get you back to berth. You need to rest."

Drift didn't complain.

— — — — — —

"You're saying he wants us all to hate him?"

Drift heard voices. They were talking about him again. He was too tired to make them stop.

"I don't think he wants everyone to hate him, I think he thinks he deserves everyone hating him."

"Why though?"

It was Rodimus and… Tailgate? Why would Tailgate care about Drift's feelings? It didn't sound like Ratchet was there, he must have stepped out for fuel. He would only do so if Rodimus was there.

"For Overlord. And also for being a Decepticon I think."

"I mean I guess. But like I thought he left the Decepticons long before the war ended. Wasn't he a wrecker or something?"

"It wasn't much before the war ended. And yeah, he was a wrecker. I think Kup was his main defender for a while. Perceptor knows more about that time, they worked together."

"Okay, so he helped the Autobots win the war. Doesn't that mean that him originally being a Decepticon shouldn't matter? He, like, atoned for his sins or whatever."

"It should, but a lot of people don't really see it that way. He definitely doesn't. He did a lot of damage as a Decepticon, a lot of damage that can't really be undone. Drift's very aware of that. And then for a lot of people, when something like Overlord happens, whatever feelings they may have had about Deadlock comes back just as strong as during the war. Even if they hadn't really been thinking about it much before."

"I mean the war was really messy. Everyone was kinda terrible to everyone. I know that I'm probably being, like, super dismissive because I didn't see any of it, but like why does Drift have to keep being punished for all that when he's already paid his dues or whatever?"

"I don't think he'll ever really feel like he's paid enough. He'll never be to able look at himself without seeing Deadlock. And he's convinced that we all look at him the same way. Some people do."

"Only Primus can erase his sins, huh?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Both Rodimus and Tailgate were quiet for a moment. Drift was starting to sink back into recharge.

"Tailgate?"

"Hm?"

"If you ever hear anyone talking about Drift like that, please let me know. I won't have unforgiving bastards on my ship."