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“Optimus? Shouldn’t you be on medical leave right now?”
Optimus freezes on the spot while carrying several data pads in his arms. Arcee looks at him with a gentle sort of confusion and concern, clearly having been informed by Ratchet of Optimus’ carrier status.
“Uh,” Optimus looks at his body, clearly growing larger and his plating thickening with excess armor. His hips and waist were getting wider to support the large sparkling too. “…No.”
Arcee gives him a look.
“I’m not that far along yet,” Optimus says, already planning his tactical retreat. “It’s better for me to work until I physically can’t anymore.”
Arce crosses her arms, looking exasperated already. “Optimus Prime, you should know that’s not how that works. It’s not good for you or the sparkling. If high command is being harsh on you, you could definitely ask Ratchet and the others to get them off your spinal struts.”
Optimus winces. Ultra Magnus certainly wasn’t happy about it, and Sentinel was being insufferable — so his usual personality, basically — but Optimus had gotten better at telling the latter to shove it. Ultra’s Magnus’ displeasure came less from the fact that Optimus would have to take off work, and more because… well.
“No one’s making me do anything,” Optimus assures. “I just want to get as much work done before I have to take time off.”
“Oh, so it’s only you making the bad decision. That’s good,” She says sarcastically, then softens. “Look, I get not wanting to be useless, but—“
“Sorry,” Optimus holds up a servo, a small pit of guilt forming in his tanks at his interruption. “I need to go.” He quickly turns around and walks off, going as fast as he can without making it seem like he’s running away.
He doesn’t see Arcee huff and cross her arms, nor when she dials Ratchet.
Optimus manages to work through the stares and whispering. It was obvious to anyone who looked at him that he was carrying. The sight was more obscene than worrisome for bots who weren’t used to newbuilds, the way his protoform stretched and reshaped itself under the weight of his sparkling, how his outer plating got bulkier and stronger to protect both carrier and child. The staring makes Optimus’ nerves stand on end in a way he’s unused to. It calms down when he moves to a more secluded area to do his work, which thankfully is only a couple of datapads for him to read and fill out.
The back of his intake itches with the want for rusted metal. Optimus ignores it— he can go find some on Earth when he’s finished with his duties on Cybertron. Blitzwing was already on Earth, so it was more efficient either way. Optimus understands very well that the sire programming compels them to care for him, but Optimus feels it’s irresponsible to put that burden completely on Blitzwing when he’s still capable of caring for himself. Once he’s nearly immobile or unable to function from the carrier coding or sparkling, sure, then Optimus would allow himself to be coddled. But until then it was much better for everyone involved for Optimus to remain mobile.
A shadow falls over his desk.
“Optimus.” Wings’ tone is clipped. Optimus sighs, craning his helm to look them in the optic. They don’t look upset in the traditional way, but their single optic is blown wide, their posture too-stiff and pupil shrunken to a pinprick.
“You were supposed to head to Earth for your medical leave,” Blitzwing says, his servos clasped behind his back. “Why are you still here?”
“I have work I need to do, Blitzwing.”
“Ratchet issued you medical leave. That should excuse you from any work that needs to be done.”
“He did,” Optimus says, “but I found it more prudent to keep working until I can’t. Getting sparked didn’t take away my ability to read; I can handle sitting down and filling out paperwork for a few megacycles.”
Blitzwing hums his displeasure. “How can paperwork possibly be better than resting in a nest with the sire of our sparkling?”
Optimus sighs again. When Blitzwing puts a servo on his shoulder, he pats it reassuringly. They don’t let go. “I can’t slack off just because I got sparked. Besides, I don’t mind the work.”
Wings stares at him. For an uncomfortable amount of time. Then Blitz switches in, grabbing Optimus into a bridal carry.
“What the—?! Blitzwing!”
“We’re not going to let you work yourself to death,” Blitz snaps, carrying Optimus away from his desk and towards where the spacebridges are stationed. “You were assigned medical leave, you’re going on medical leave.”
Optimus doesn’t try too hard to escape their grip. Not as much as he would’ve liked. Not only does the carrier coding soothe his upset, promising he’s safe in the company of the sire, but it also feels… nice. To be held.
“You can’t just kidnap me from my job,” Optimus still tries protesting as they reach the space bridge, arms crossed.
“I can and I absolutely will,” Blitz says, pressing a quick kiss to Optimus’ helm. “You’re not just an Autobot, Schatz. You’re ours too.”
Optimus doesn’t protest or deny it even as he retains his displeased expression. Blitzwing crosses the space bridge back to Earth, Optimus tucked securely into their arms. They carry him from Sumdac tower to the old base, kicking the door to his room open and placing him down in a nest made from blankets and pillows.
“So this is what you meant by a nest,” Optimus muses, pressing down the soft padding. Blitzwing settles beside him, positioned so their back is to the door. From here they’re perched over Optimus and anything that could touch him.
“Isn’t it nice?” Zing says, wrapping a servo around Optimus’ waist. “You can rest now, Liebling! No need to keep working,” they make a face. “I don’t get how you can want to work while carrying when there’s a lovely nest for you to rest on here.”
“I can’t just lay around all day, Blitzwing,” Optimus says.
“Obviously not,” Blitzwing scoffs, “we can take you anywhere you want to go! But working?”
Optimus shrugs. “It’s just about being practical. I don’t want to use my current status as an excuse.”
Blitzwing stares at him. Again. Then they grab Optimus’ helm and shove him into the pillows.
“Recharge, Optimus,” Zing commands. “Spark knows you need it!”
Optimus cranes his helm towards them and raises an optic ridge.
“If you don’t I’ll lay on top of you until you go to sleep.” Zing threatens. Optimus quickly turns back around and shutters his optics.
“Uh, Bossbot?”
Optimus looks over his shoulder and raises an optic ridge. “Is there something wrong, Bumblebee?”
“Well… no, but—“ he pointedly avoids looking at Optimus’ thickening plating, instead staring at Optimus’ servos on the keypad. “Shouldn’t you be on carriage leave or some junk like that?”
“Carrying doesn’t prevent me from being able to write reports or streamline communication between Earth and Cybertron,” Optimus says. “Unless you want to write this all out instead of playing games with Sari. It could be a good way to learn more about the responsibilities of a Prime—“
“—On second thought, you can do whatever you want,” Bumblebee quickly exits the room, waving a servo behind him. “Have fun, Bossbot!”
Optimus chuckles and turns back to the screen.
Time passes fairly quickly after that, the Earth’s sun rising and falling in the sky. Blitzwing was called away for some Decepticon business, allowing Optimus some time to work before they got back. After this they would also be put on medical leave, so Optimus would take advantage of the free time where he could.
Several times his HUD pings with the want for different types of metals— most notably copper, steel, and rusted hulls. He ignores it, putting it off until he can't work anymore. It shouldn’t harm him or the sparkling as long as it was just simple cravings rather than a dire need. Optimus can’t redirect his processor power to ignoring those little wants like he used to be able to (thanks to the carrier coding taking precedent over everything else) so he has to ignore his urges the old fashioned way.
After several megacycles, Optimus feels cold servos on his shoulders and a weight on his helm.
“Hello, Blitzwing,” he greets without looking up. “Did everything go okay?”
“It went well,” Wings says. “Why are you not resting?”
“Someone has to get this done. It might as well be me. Besides, there’s only so much resting I can do before I start getting bored.”
Blitzwing’s servos flex against his plating. “… That is true. We didn’t intend to neglect you.”
“You haven’t,” Optimus assures, turning over so he can cup their face in one palm. “I’ve been doing just fine.”
Wings narrows his optic. “You haven’t refueled or eaten in several megacycles.”
“I’m not moving much so it’s not a huge danger,” Optimus says, “and I haven’t really needed anything. Just wanted.”
“That’s just as important.” Wings tries to pry Optimus away from the console, but Optimus grabs the desk with both servos and holds on. They sigh.
“Fine, you can stay for now. But once you start feeling tired or begin craving metals, I’m pulling you away to rest.”
Curse the sire coding keeping them updated on all of Optimus’ needs. “Sounds fair to me.”
Blitzwing shifts so Optimus is sat securely in their grip. Both of their arms rest in his lap, giving Optimus something to rest his elbows against while he works. The position is comfortable, and it calms the carrier coding, cloaking Optimus in a feeling of warmth and safety, so he doesn’t mind it too much. It does make it easier for them to pull him away from work whenever they want to, which is unfortunate.
Optimus manages to work for a few more cycles before his HUD pings with the want for a rusted hull again. Before he can blink, Blitzwing stands with him held tightly in their grip.
“Blitzwing.”
“We had an agreement,” Blitzwing says, batting their optics at him innocently. “Aren’t Autobots all about honor and truth?”
“You're terrible.” Optimus says without any heat.
“You agreed to this when we planned for one of us to be sparked.”
Optimus rolls his optics but doesn’t protest further. Blitzwing carefully lays him down in their nest-slash-makeshift berth, tucking him in with all the care one would afford to a fragile human.
“Stay here, Liebling,” Zing boops Optimus’ nose and stands up. “We’ll be back before long!”
They do one last sweep of the room, looking for any openings or potential threats to Optimus’ safety before they’re satisfied. They exit the room, locking the door on the way out. Optimus and any other Cybertronian could easily break the door down, so it was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else. “Stay away or we’ll tear your exhaust ports out.”
With not much else to do, Optimus puts his systems to recharge to conserve energy for the sparkling. When Blitzwing returns it’s with a bucket full of scraps, junk, and rusted metals. Optimus recognizes most of the materials as being from Cybertron. Blitzwing cuddles up next to him and hands him the scraps one by one, engine purring whenever Optimus finishes a piece. Soon all the scraps are gone, and the bucket lay forgotten to the side while Optimus recharges in Blitzwing’s arms.
Optimus blinks.
He looks at Blitzwing. Then at the charred, destroyed remains of Headmaster’s robot head. Then at the beat up body of the human, who was being escorted into a police car. Then back at Blitzwing, who is turned away from him with their arms crossed.
“So…” Optimus begins, awkwardly. “I assume you’d like to head back to base.”
“Yes.”
Optimus winces, patting Blitz’s back comfortingly. He can’t tell if they’re embarrassed or angry. It’s probably a bit of both. It was Optimus’ fault for getting into a fight while carrying, knowing it would set off Blitzwing’s sire programming. But his team had been struggling a bit, so he had felt like it was his duty to step in and assist.
“Let’s go.” Optimus runs his servo back and forth their shoulder in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. Blitz growls, grabbing Optimus and storming off. This time Optimus doesn’t protest being picked up.
When they get back, he’s deposited into the nest, with Blitzwing shoving their helm into his lap.
“Sweetspark, we love you,” Blitz groans. “But you’re going to give us a spark attack.”
“I’m sorry,” Optimus pets the top of their helm, noticing their wings flutter at the touch. “It’s just hard for me to stop working. There’s not much else for me to do and I don’t like sitting on my laurels when I can help.”
“I don’t get it,” Blitz grumbles, but Wings just sighs. “Optimus, I’ll be honest, we care about you much more than any of your team.”
“I know.”
“I’m aware it’s a lot to ask, but please, I’m begging you,” Blitzwing looks up at him. “Rest. And allow us to take care of you. Even if the city is burning down.”
“Well, I suppose you are begging me,” Optimus can’t help but joke. “I’ll… try. I haven’t exactly had a vacation in over thousands of stellar cycles, so I’m not really used to the concept.”
“We’ll take care of that!” Zing insists, coming up to snuggle against Optimus’ stomach plating. “We’ll find plenty of things for you to do!”
“What, you mean other than you?”
Blitzwing cackles. “We’ll find things for you to keep yourself occupied, but we’d never deny you your favorite,” at Optimus’ fond eye roll they continue. “All you need to do is rest, Sweetspark. Anything you want, we’ll give. Just let us take care of you because we really want to.”
“Alright,” Optimus relents. Then he remembers something. “By the way, I noticed on the news there were several reports of all the other criminals we used to deal with being captured again. The reports said they were all frozen in place. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
Blitzwing stares.
Optimus smirks, raising an optic ridge. “Would you?”
“I’m sure it’s another dashingly handsome sire keeping his carrier and sparkling safe!” Zing says. “You should really rest, who knows what toll fighting that fleshy organic took?"
“Blitzwing—“
“Rest! It’s very important for carriers, you know. Especially carriers who are still in the early stage of sparkling development.” Blitzwing picks him up into their arms, still laying against the warm pillows. “Rocka-bye Optimus!”
“Alright, fine,” Optimus raises his servos in surrender, allowing Blitzwing to cradle him against his chest. “We are talking about this when I wake up again, though. You really can’t go around freezing humans to surfaces, that can really damage their skin.”
“Sure we will,” Blitzwing says, in the tone of someone planning to use his best pleading face and seduction to get out of explaining himself.
Optimus snorts, lightly punching their arm before offlining his optics. In their arms, knowing how he likes to be held, it’s quite easy to find recharge and stay there.