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[Earth, Autobot–Human Outpost Unit E]
Ultra Magnus was accustomed to strict order. Every protocol, every directive, every subclause of regulation was immutable to him — that was where his strength and his resilience lay. War, by its very nature, was endless chaos, where command could be deactivated or lost at any moment right on the front lines. It was precisely the unwavering adherence to pre-established tactical frameworks and core protocols that kept the Autobot army combat-ready.
And desperate stoicism. That, of course, could be blamed on the Autobots’ long years of existing in a state of unrelenting conflict. As well as the undeniable influence of their selfless Prime. They were used to fitting themselves into spaces categorically unsuited to their size: small headquarters, impossibly cramped forward bases, narrow living quarters. In that regard, their new base on Earth, which they now also shared with a contingent of humans, was no different from the previous ones. Though the team now recalled the missile silo they had once occupied with unanimous nostalgia.
Accustomed to life on the front, the Autobots had settled in with surprising comfort even in such modest space. Bulkhead, being an experienced builder, had easily arranged the hangar so that there was room for practically everything: a spacious command center, a compact medbay with a single repair berth, and even a couple of small compartments. The rest of the living modules, for security reasons, he had distributed across different parts of the military base. They were barely large enough to step into, but there was space for a recharge berth and a small shelf for personal belongings — and they needed nothing more.
Bulkhead and Wheeljack — along with Arcee and Bumblebee, who had come to help them — had not yet finished working on the base’s living quarters. Because of that, unlike the doors to the quarters, the medbay door was still in the process of being calibrated. It behaved rather unpredictably, but more often than not it simply refused to close all the way, leaving a gap of a good two feet. And since there was almost always someone in the medical bay (usually its immediate ruler), Ultra Magnus was not surprised when, in the middle of the night while taking watch at the communications console, he noticed two massive figures beyond the half-open door.
“This is just absurd,” Ratchet muttered grumpily, addressing the dark bulk that was unmistakably Optimus, seated on the single repair berth.
The Prime’s engine emitted a low hum of agreement. Ultra Magnus instinctively slowed his step, then stopped altogether. He should not have indulged his curiosity; however, as second in the chain of command, he needed a clear understanding of the tactical condition of every member of the unit.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ratchet spoke again, and he sounded both irritated and worried. “This is the second upgrade of yours I’ve overseen, but last time there definitely wasn’t this much conflicting code. The flight protocols are creating absolute chaos in your sensory-processing subroutines.”
“Whatever the precise diagnostics may indicate,” Optimus replied evenly, “my overall condition is satisfactory.”
“And the interface doesn’t cause discomfort?” the medic snorted darkly.
“Perhaps only a slight tingling.”
Setting his diagnostic datapad aside, Ratchet shifted half a step to the side, and Ultra Magnus caught sight of their tightly pressed servos. They were holding each other by the wrists of their left hands, and over their armor an orange hardline cable shimmered with biolights.
Well, technically there was no violation in this. The medic had the right to establish a direct interface with any mech by virtue of his official duties. After all, a hardline wasn’t used only for sharing sensations and private conversations, but also for transmitting diagnostic data, conducting confidential consultations, joint component calibration, and working with corrupted code.
“Hold on a little longer,” Ratchet lowered his voice, and the reflections of his optics in the Prime’s windshield dimmed — he had squeezed them shut. “I’m almost done with this part…”
“Of course,” Optimus replied quietly.
Ultra Magnus hastily drew his EM-field closer to his frame, but still did not dare to interfere. Perhaps he himself needed a diagnostic — there was definitely something wrong with his optics. Because at that very moment the medic leaned back slightly, and Optimus’s massive hand caught him at the back, carefully stabilizing him. The Prime’s broad digits hooked against the medic’s backpack plates, which shifted apart in an instinctive gesture of trust. Ratchet let out a low ventilation whine, muttered something under his breath — and his engine, dropping into a lower gear, began to sound almost like a grumble as well.
“Don’t distract me,” he said aloud, irritably, giving the Prime’s chestplate a light smack with his free hand. “Otherwise I’ll be stuck here till morning. And you still need to recharge.”
“My apologies,” Optimus answered calmly.
There was no more repentance in his voice than in the servo that was tracing slow, smooth circles along the medic’s back. If anything, there was an unhurried, familiar smile in his tone. And Ultra Magnus was certain he would never be able to erase that sound from his processor.
This was not an appropriate moment to intervene. Magnus stepped back soundlessly and resumed his interrupted path. He would have another chance to ask his commander what in the scrap was going on. In private — without risking becoming a victim of the medic’s legendary aim.
Come to think of it, the most persistent violator of protocol among the Autobots was their Prime. That was a fact Ultra Magnus found impossible to ignore, no matter how sincerely he respected Optimus’s tactical talents. The commander rarely consulted protocol when it came to saving his warriors or civilian lives. And even more rarely when morale needed support. Without directly disobeying orders, he nevertheless managed to disregard the rules with remarkable regularity and without the slightest hesitation. And it worked; Optimus knew how to be a sire to his warriors, how to support and encourage them while maintaining a reasonable distance.
Ultra Magnus did not like postponing conversations, especially when it concerned breaches of regulations. But this time he allowed himself a delay, because he wanted to be sure he could choose the right words. The situation was highly unusual. He did not wish to reproach or accuse — only to remind his commander of those clauses of protocol that had been written in hot energon.
“Commander,” Ultra Magnus called quietly, stepping closer.
Optimus stood by the main consoles. The whole team had gone out in search of energon, the medic had been recharging for a couple of hours already, and no humans were visible in the command center. This was the right moment.
The Prime turned only his helm toward him, and Ultra Magnus vented heavily. The commander’s new frame did not inspire fear, but it did inspire reverent awe. Magnus remembered Optimus back in the compact body of an archivist, when it had seemed that frame was too small to contain all the energy, all the drive toward a better future, all the nobility of their new leader. Later, after the journey into Cybertron’s core and the Prime’s acquisition of the Matrix, they had stood equal in height and build. That had changed little in Optimus’s behavior, but had granted a significant advantage on the battlefield. Now, however… Ultra Magnus found himself looking up at his faceplate, and the shift in perspective was slightly disorienting.
“You seem troubled, Ultra Magnus,” Optimus said to him with his usual gentleness and depth.
“Sir, I need clarification on one nuance regarding the current priorities in your command style,” he said, drawing his EM-field in with focus. “I have found no recent amendments to the protocol. Was it altered after your arrival on this planet?”
The Prime’s optics glimmered softly in thought. In the trembling reflections of the console lights and halogen lamps, his silhouette seemed even more massive than usual. Yet his gaze held neither threat nor displeasure.
“No, we have not changed the protocol.”
The second officer squared his stance, clasped his hands behind his back in an automatic gesture, and, weighing each word carefully, said,
“In that case, permit me to report my observations regarding the personnel.”
Optimus turned to face him fully — as always, calm and focused. As though the entire burden of war and loss had become so natural to him that he did not fear any new weight.
“Your judgment has always been measured and exceptionally valuable, my friend,” the Prime said evenly, his voice gentle. “Please, speak of what troubles you.”
“Commander, I would not wish to show disrespect,” Ultra Magnus began cautiously, “however, since arriving on this planet, I have observed that our contingent here is bound not only by military hierarchy. Increasingly, I witness what the protocols define as fraternization. We have encountered this phenomenon before and know how dangerous it can be. Personal attachments can interfere with impartial tactical decision-making and may significantly reduce combat effectiveness. The code of conduct regulates this strictly, particularly among officers.”
Without interrupting, the Prime hummed thoughtfully, and when his SIC finished, he allowed a brief pause. Ultra Magnus looked at him with a strange mixture of concern and insistence, striving to keep an expression of respectful restraint on his faceplate.
“You are correct,” Optimus finally said calmly. “Protocol forbids it. However, our team here is small. And it is only natural that interpersonal bonds in such a group will be stronger than in a large military unit. In circumstances like these, ‘fraternization’ can serve a positive purpose. It makes us stronger, gives us a better chance of survival, and helps preserve the team.”
Ultra Magnus gave an automatic jerk of his chin and lowered his helm slightly, trying to process this. Optimus fell silent for a moment, shifting his wings in a smooth motion, and then unexpectedly smiled — barely, just at the corners of his mouth.
“You know, my friend, I have often violated protocol. I have given orders that did not fit standard strategy. I have pulled units from advantageous positions when the wounded needed saving. I have entered negotiations when protocol demanded we open fire. I did what seemed right — and yes, that was undoubtedly a breach.”
He inclined his helm slightly and lowered his voice, and a tired conviction entered it.
“We might lose ground, but we preserved the lives of those who would otherwise have been doomed. They knew that even on the most dangerous mission, they had reliable cover. That we would never abandon them to their fate. That is what preserved the warriors’ trust. Because an army can survive without protocol. But without trust in its command — never.”
“However, trust,” Ultra Magnus repeated slowly, “also leads to fraternization.”
“In some cases,” Optimus agreed calmly. “Still, within our ranks, such violations have almost always served the greater good. Do you remember how many times our CMO rushed onto the battlefield for those protocol said to leave behind? Disregarding his own safety and the directives of his programming for the sake of others? His Spark chose the preservation of life over a line in the codex.”
Ultra Magnus averted his gaze stiffly. He knew — it was true. But they had come too close to the line in this conversation that he had been trying so hard to avoid crossing.
“If everyone begins deciding for themselves when to break protocol,” he said quietly but firmly, “we will lose even the army we still have. Only groups bound by personal attachments will remain.”
The Prime gave a short nod, not arguing.
“That is why the protocol is necessary. But there are circumstances when it does not give us complete answers. And then a commander must decide whether to break the rules for a greater good. We are on a foreign planet, and we are few. And I hope, Ultra Magnus, that under these conditions you can come to terms with the fact that such deviations from protocol are practically inevitable. And that one day you may feel yourself not only an officer and a commander, but also one who binds warriors into a single whole.”
For a moment, silence settled between them. Their massive frames vented almost in rhythm. For the two old comrades, debates about hierarchy and command were nothing new. As many times before, Ultra Magnus held the pause, then inclined his helm slightly.
“For now, I cannot agree with this. But I have heard you, Commander.”
His words carried their usual firmness, and Optimus gave a soft nod in return, finding in that some quiet, irrational reassurance.
Ratchet was weathering a storm of emotions, cycling from grief to anger, from longing to faint flickers of hope. Even though he had raised mental shields, walling himself off from his sparkmate, the sparkbond still blazed and trembled under the gusts of that intangible tempest. Glancing at the medbay doors yet again, Optimus absently rubbed his chestplate with his fingers, fighting the urge to rush along the bond and soothe his partner. The medic had not emerged from the medbay all day, and it was not hard to guess what he was doing — studying the scan data obtained the previous night and preparing several stabilizing patches for the Prime.
He often needed personal space, so Optimus remained behind his own shields. Far enough to give Ratchet room to fully process his emotions, yet close enough that he would need only to reach out for support.
By nightfall, the mental shields had weakened, and the emotional storm had subsided. The medic was exhausted now, his presence in the bond worn out, warm, and cautiously leaning against his sparkmate. Optimus finally vented in relief, reclining on his berth and spreading his upper wings across the free surface. He knew he would not have to wait long now.
Sure enough, not even a quarter of an hour passed before the door to his suite slid aside with a soft whisper. Ratchet cast an automatic glance around the dimly lit space with faintly glowing optics, spotted his sparkmate on the berth, and, his shoulders dropping in relief, stepped inside. His fingers scraped lightly against the frame of the datapad he had brought with him.
“That… that was…” he forced out as he approached. He faltered, but Optimus remained silent, watching him attentively, allowing him to say whatever he needed. And Ratchet, wearily lowering himself onto the edge of the berth, finished with difficulty: “…too much.”
“I know,” Optimus said softly, without moving. “And I am sorry to have been the cause of your distress.”
“Distress…?” The sound that escaped the medic’s vents was low and plaintive. “Do you have any idea…? I felt all of it down to the last impulse. I knew what was happening. And I didn’t even try… to find you, to do anything at all. I just waited, not knowing what to do. You shouldn’t have sent me away…”
“It was tactically necessary, you know that,” Optimus replied, a faint note of reproach threading through the sadness in his voice. “Someone had to lead them if I had joined the AllSpark.”
“You chose the wrong mech,” Ratchet cut in, hunched on the edge of the berth, elbows braced on his knees, clutching the bridge of his chevron with his free servo. “I couldn’t even do that. Do you know they came to me? Bumblebee and Rafael. And I told them to leave me alone. I couldn’t…”
He fell silent, venting with strain and nervously turning the datapad in his hands. Sensing the renewed surge of horror in the uneven fluctuations of his EM-field, Optimus lifted one servo and gently touched the medic’s shoulder.
“You did exactly what I asked of you,” the Prime said softly. “You preserved your life. I don’t know whether you will ever find the strength to forgive me for that… I put you through a terrible ordeal; no one should have to endure such a thing. You drove them away because you were in indescribable pain. And no one has the right to judge you for that. Not even you. And in the end, you found them and helped bring the team back together. I never doubted you for a single moment, old friend.”
The joint of his bent forefinger traced an invisible line along the back of the medic’s arm, gently and teasingly tugging at the edges of armor plates and transformation seams. Ratchet shuddered, vented sharply, and, glancing sideways at his sparkmate’s servo, muttered hoarsely,
“That tickles…”
“I know.”
Narrowing his optics in a faint smile, Optimus touched the tire at the medic’s elbow, his fingers lingering on the raised tread. Then his large palm wrapped fully around the wheel and gave a light pull. Snorting, Ratchet tipped backward, pressing his backplate against his sparkmate’s raised knees. His armor trembled and shifted involuntarily in a wordless expression of exhaustion and fading despair. For a couple of minutes they were silent; Optimus allowed him to process what had happened and come to terms with it. Then, with measured calm, he asked, nodding toward the datapad in Ratchet’s hand:
“It seems you have something for me?”
Ratchet quickly refocused his optics, as if suddenly remembering the purpose of his visit, and straightened up.
“Yes, I… worked on your code. I sorted out the broken chains in your sensor links. And I found one nasty glitch in the weapons systems. I made a patch that, I hope, will make things easier for you.”
Again lightly tugging at his elbow, Optimus wrapped Ratchet in an EM-field, shimmering with joy and warm from attachment, lowered his voice, and said,
“My hardline is at your full disposal, oltfrent.”
The medic rumbled awkwardly in response, leaving unspoken his usual harmless expletive, and allowed his sparkmate’s huge, careful hands to guide him, gently lifting him onto the berth. This upgraded frame was indeed incredibly strong.
“Just so you know, I understand perfectly well what you’re doing,” Ratchet muttered, bracing one servo against the Prime’s broad chassis and absently pressing his fingers to his emergency-access neck port.
The solid armor he leaned against shivered quietly — Optimus, as usual, laughed silently. He waited until Ratchet connected the datapad, and only then spoke:
“Apparently, I’m violating protocol once again.”
The medic frowned, his optics flashing tensely, and the EM-field tightened, resonating with cautious notes. But there was no cause for concern; Optimus knew that expression on his faceplate well — not irritation, but fierce concentration. Finally, Ratchet looked back at his sparkmate and raised his optic ridges:
“Ultra Magnus…?” Optimus responded with a gentle smile instead of an answer, and the medic snorted quietly, clarifying: “Alright, what did he find? Overdue reports? A mess in the suites? Someone’s blaster left in the mess hall?”
“You underestimate the scale of the disaster, my friend.”
Ratchet frowned automatically again, glanced at the datapad, and seeing that the patch had finished loading, disconnected from the port. For a moment, increasing his ventilation, Optimus integrated the program.
“Better?” Ratchet asked, setting the datapad on the table, as the Prime’s optics stopped flashing tensely and focused on him.
“Now we’ll see…”
Optimus reached for his sparkmate again, grasped his waist firmly with both hands, and pulled him onto the berth with ease. The medic’s gyroscopes caught up with the sudden change in posture only a moment later. His EM-field flared with a greedy, embarrassed joy. Snorting in surprise, Ratchet braced his hands against Optimus’s chassis.
“Yes,” the Prime drawled with feigned thoughtfulness, while the sparkmate, distantly puzzled by the new scale of Optimus’s frame, tried to assume their usual pose for joint recharging. “This is definitely better.”
Ratchet responded with a hoarse chuckle. He shifted briefly, then lounged his chestplate against his partner’s windshield and squeezed Optimus’s waist with his hips, as if it were his personal platform. Resting his faceplate against the base of Optimus’s shoulder, he vented tensely, listening to the engines and the rustle of fuel conduits, allowing himself even for a moment to wrap in the soft hum of another Spark.
“I don’t care what disaster I missed or who caused it, as long as I can still hear this,” he muttered, keeping his optics closed and holding firmly to the Prime’s chassis.
Instead of replying, Optimus rumbled his engine with understanding and sympathy. In the oscillations of his EM-field, playful impatience still flickered. Ratchet rubbed his helm softly against the Prime’s neck cords and, feigning nonchalance, asked:
“Alright… who caused the disaster?”
“Apparently, you and I.”
The medic lifted his helm to look at him and caught Optimus hastily erasing a grin from his faceplate.
“I don’t understand…”
“Ultra Magnus came to me to ask whether the protocol had been changed after our arrival on Earth,” Optimus explained, still smiling lightly. “He found several breaches within our team and was concerned that the chain of command was not fully in accordance with regulations.”
“What exactly did he find?” Ratchet shrugged with mild unease. Ultra Magnus was a skilled warrior, but a rather conservative commander, and at times that drove his subordinates nearly to white-hot frustration.
Optimus’s large hands wrapped fully around Ratchet’s hips, pulling him higher. Aligning their faceplates to the same level, he vented warmly through his cheek vents and, dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper, said:
“He discovered that among the Autobots on this planet, fraternization is thriving.”
Ratchet stared at him silently for a few seconds, then let out a low chuckle and, leaning his helm closer, pressed his chevron against the Prime’s cheek. His EM-field trembled and contracted — not from annoyance, but from a rapid flash of embarrassed irritation. Unfazed, Optimus captured the tip of the chevron with his lips and increased his engine output, making the medic’s sensory net shiver under the dual sensations.
“No way. And what could have led him to such shocking conclusions?” Ratchet asked with a grin.
He replied with a sly move — lazily, deliberately sliding his fingers into Optimus's armor seams that immediately expanded under the familiar touch along his sides. Prime shivered softly, dropping the chevron, and shifted automatically, following the sparkmate’s movements.
“No direct accusations were made. However, I suppose he may have… seen us last night, when you were gathering my diagnostic data,” Optimus said, lost in the pleasurable sensations, making no effort to add a guilty tone to his voice.
Ratchet’s servo, just reaching the sensory tracks, froze abruptly.
“You mean… when you started feeling me up, right?”
“Apparently,” Optimus replied, making a hilariously serious expression with his faceplate, though the quick flickers of his EM-field and the barely perceptible tremor in his strong servos betrayed just how much the medic’s teasing was distracting him. “I tried to convey to him as accurately as possible the dynamics and hierarchy in our current team, but…”
“Wait, let me guess,” Ratchet said, propping his chin with one servo in mock thoughtfulness. “He countered your argument by saying that closer relationships in the team reduce efficiency?”
“Almost verbatim. I suppose it will take him some time to get used to this new reality. Ultra Magnus has always relied on protocol. Often — more than he ought to.”
The medic’s EM-field mingled with the Prime’s in gentle harmony. Then it flickered unsteadily in a torrent of emotions — scattered, yet overwhelmingly pleasant. He lifted his optic ridges with an innocent expression. Sensitive servos left the lateral seams of his partner’s armor alone and drifted softly toward the center of the chestplate — precisely where, beneath the heavy armor, the warmth of an active Spark could be felt without difficulty.
“Ratchet…” Optimus’s voice finally carried something between a warning and a suppressed laugh.
“Enough about protocol,” Ratchet muttered with a slight grin, deliberately moving his hands beneath his sparkmate’s windshield. “I have more important matters to attend to.”
Pressing him closer, Optimus laughed quietly and deeply. And he allowed these “more important matters” to lower his engine a few gears, down to a serene purr.