The Moment I Saw the Smoke
The sound of the Ground Bridge opening was supposed to be a relief.
A sign that the team had made it back safe. Another mission, another successful return. No casualties. No alarms. No last-minute comms cutting out mid-scream.
You were already prepping the medbay—just a routine sweep. A few energon scrapes, a dent or two. Maybe Bumblebee would come in grumbling and chirping about needing a cube and a recharge. Arcee with her usual tough-it-out ‘I’m fine’ energy while bleeding from somewhere. Bulkhead apologizing for sitting on something expensive again.
But it wasn’t the usual sounds you heard.
There was a tension. A beat of silence that followed the sound of the bridge shutting. The heavy thump of metal pedes hitting the base floor, but slower. Measured.
You paused mid-scan of a med-instrument. Something—it was like your spark jolted. Prickled.
“Optimus?” you called, already moving.
Ratchet looked up from his own terminal as the door whooshed open, but you were already out of the medbay, moving faster than you meant to. Your systems surged with static.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t felt it before—this pull, this thread of your sparks tied together—but when it twanged like that?
You knew something was wrong.
And Primus, when you saw him—
He was standing there, just inside the base hangar, massive frame still and squared like he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Bumblebee was talking, fast and high-pitched, gesturing in a way that clearly meant something had gone wrong. Arcee had that coiled-anger look, like she’d punch a satellite out of orbit if it looked at her wrong. Bulkhead had a hand behind his helm, sheepish.
But you didn’t care about any of them.
Because Optimus Prime—your bondmate, your leader, your impossible, selfless mech—was hiding an energon leak.
“Why are you—why—why didn’t you say something?!”
You bolted, engines revving with a screeching whir. The others stepped aside instinctively, like they’d seen this movie before. Optimus barely turned his helm before you were there, servos skimming over his arm, over his—
The blast wound was on his shoulderplate. A clean shot. Too clean. The outer plating had blackened, crumpled inward in a molten spiral. Energon was seeping sluggishly down his upper arm, glinting in tiny streams against the red of his armor.
His frame shifted, like he was trying to pivot away from you.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He met your optics—those impossibly gentle, ancient pools of quiet strength—and his voice, low and soft, came out as if he were the one soothing you.
“Fine?” Your voice cracked. “You are leaking. You were shot. You—you—!”
Your digits were already glowing, scanning over the shoulder. “Don’t move. Don’t dare move. Primus, you stubborn, heroic, illogical glitch of a mech—!”
His optics flickered in something that could have been apology. Could have been affection. Could have been resignation. He always took injuries like they were just another day at the office. Another necessary sacrifice.
You could feel the bond humming now, full of worry—not his own, but yours. He was trying to suppress it. You could sense the shielding, the way he kept his own pain minimal in the bond just so you wouldn’t spiral.
That only made you spiral more.
“You shielded it,” you hissed. “You masked it from me. What if you’d collapsed before I noticed? What if I couldn’t feel it through the bond at all?”
“I could not risk you panicking during an active skirmish,” he said, calm as ever.
You looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You don’t get to make that call.”
“Come with me. Now. Medbay. Or I swear I will tether you to a berth with surgical wire.”
There was the tiniest twitch of his mouth. A faint smile. It wasn’t mocking. It was… adoring. And guilty.
You marched back toward the medbay like your pedes were on fire.
He followed without a word.
Once inside, Ratchet glanced up, took one look at Optimus’ shoulder, and immediately let out a growl of, “Of course he didn’t mention it.” He didn’t even look surprised. Just mildly, eternally annoyed.
“Your sparkmate’s going to murder you,” Ratchet muttered. “And I’ll help hide the body.”
Optimus, for once, didn’t argue. Just eased himself down onto the medberth with a barely perceptible wince.
You were already in motion, hands trembling slightly as you activated the disinfectant drone, sterilized the laser scalpel, and began cutting through the melted plating with a gentleness that bordered on reverent.
The room was quiet except for the low hum of med-tools.
Your vents were hitching. You hated that. You were supposed to be calm. You were the medic’s assistant, the soothing one, the one who always had the cube of energon ready and the right words when everyone else was too shell-shocked to speak.
Not when it was your Prime.
“Talk to me,” you whispered.
“I mean really talk to me.” Your voice shook. “Tell me what happened.”
Optimus hesitated. “We encountered Decepticons. A scouting ambush. Bumblebee was pinned. I intervened.”
You worked in silence for a beat, then paused, optics meeting his again.
“You took a hit for him.”
“Even though you didn’t have to.”
“I always will,” he said, simple as air.
You exhaled shakily, finishing the patch weld and replacing the outer panel. The energon leak was sealed now. But your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
“I hate this,” you said suddenly.
“I hate that you keep doing this. I hate that you don’t tell me when you’re hurt. I hate that you think your pain is less important than everyone else’s.”
You turned, struts quivering, and finally broke.
He sat up slowly. Reached out. Strong servos curling lightly around your trembling ones. The bond between you flickered open again, fully this time, and what you felt was a flood.
So much love it nearly stopped your spark.
“I am sorry,” he said, and those three words from him were sacred.
You collapsed into his arms before you could think. Let yourself press against his chassis, head resting right over the beat of his spark.
It pulsed strong beneath your cheek.
“I felt it,” you whispered. “Through the bond. It was like static, like fire. Like something cracked open in me.”
His servos stroked your back with infinite care. “I was not careful. And I should have told you. I know the cost now. I will not make that mistake again.”
Your vents hitched. “Promise?”
He leaned down, forehead gently touching yours.
Later, long after Ratchet grumbled that “This is still a medbay, not a cuddle chamber,” and you shooed him out anyway, Optimus was still holding you.
Still quiet. Still strong.
“You scared me,” you murmured.
He nodded against your helm. “You scared me, too. The moment I saw your face. The fear in your optics.”
“I’m supposed to help you. Keep you going. What am I if I can’t even do that?”
“You are my sparkmate. And you do keep me going. In ways I could never repay.”
And there, surrounded by med-tools, the faint scent of sterilization fluid, and the warmth of the mech you loved more than anything in the galaxy, you finally let yourself breathe.
“I’m gonna weld a tracking beacon to your aft next time you go out.”
You smiled into his armor. “You better not.”
