Medics on break! Schedule your injuries at a different time :) (3712 words) by IvyCorp
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Arcee/June Darby, Breakdown/Knock Out (Transformers), Pharma/Ratchet (Transformers), Pharma/Ratchet/Shockwave/Soundwave (Transformers)
Characters: Arcee (Transformers), June Darby, Vehicons (Transformers), Knock Out (Transformers), Breakdown (Transformers), Ratchet (Transformers), Pharma (Transformers), Miko Nakadai, Jack Darby
Additional Tags: Riot's TFP AU, Fluff
Series: Part 3 of Riot's Birthday Gifts 2024, Part 29 of Riot's TFP AU Prompts
Summary:
Sometimes even our lovely medics need to have a moment to themselves - and traditions have sprouted from things much less grand than that in the past, anyways.
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This is a part of Riot's TFP AU prompt series
Fighting the war when everyone included knows that their leaders are exes is a fact that most of the alive Cybertronians have come to a resigned kind of acceptance with. The tension that came with that was horrible, but at least it meant they would most likely deal with each other on sight - and when you are on a front line, the knowledge that none of those powerhouses will hunt for you was a bit of a relief.
Thus, whenever these two would end up engaged into yet another tumble, nobody would spare a glance in their direction unless one of them got silent; that usually meant one of two things:
Someone is unconscious (likely)/dead (less likely)
Someone has done something questionable and now everything got too awkward
In option 1, it usually meant a need to run, grab the fallen party and regroup. Not fun, but easy to come to terms with when it happens often enough.
In option 2 though… it was better to wait as one extracted themselves on their own from the other. Sometimes it was innocent enough - a tangle of parts, a breaking surface making both fall down into a hole, getting stuck in quicksand.
Other times, as it was increasingly more often to occur, it was not innocent at all.
That latter option seemed to be the case this time around, as everyone pointedly did not look towards the suddenly silent duo stuck on the ground - Prime having had the luck of stabbing the other through the arm, pinning Megatron down momentarily. The Decepticon leader was in the process of pulling the sword out with a snarl, when he got pinned back onto the rocky floor in a hard shove.
"Yield, Megatron," Optimus grunted out, putting all of his weight onto the other to keep him from wiggling away.
"Not a chance!" Megatron shouted, redoubling his efforts to break free. The Autobot leader sighed, tired, as he shifted his hold so one servo was now around the silver mech's throat cables.
"Don't make me repeat myself, pet, it disappoints me," Optimus warned, digits squeezing threateningly.
Megatron stilled immediately, vocaliser shorting out with a sharp yelp. The hold on his neck became less crushing as a reward - a reminder more than a restriction.
Prime pressed his advantage, registering confirmation of the real mission being completed coming over his comms, as he took a moment to take in the battlefield and decided to begin wrapping things up.
"There, you always took direction so well, thank you for being good for me here," he murmured into the silver audials, as the frame below him was noticeably picking up in temperature. Optimus hummed appreciatively at the hitch in ex-vents.
"I think it's a shame I can't just keep you like this, you always responded so beautifully when I held you by the cables here… maybe a collar would suffice instead, what do you think?" he teased, preparing to get up, as the other struggled to regain enough processing power to shove him away, fans whirring loud.
Prime noticed the digits curling up into a fist, and figured he could buy himself a other moment to safely leave - lifting the servo from the neck cables, he leant down and bit one of them, causing Megatron to gasp in pleasure. Stunned, the warlord did not move when the blue and red mech got up, only shaking the trance when the Autobots were already retreating through the ground bridge.
The Vehicons were all looking the other way, praying that this would not be the case next time around.
*****
At the Autobot base, Optimus stepped to the console, impervious to the judging looks of Ratchet and the strange silence of the other bots.
"Um, Optimus… about today…" started Bulkhead, as he was working up the courage to try and address the unhealthy habit Prime has developed since the amnesiac episode; the general tension was always there, but now their otherwise level headed leader was indulging himself into it.
"Good work on the mission today, everyone," intoned the Prime, a slight smile on his face as he started typing up his report, as he tended to do.
"Yeah, sure, it was nothing, boss," agreed Bulkhead, doing his best to not get himself derailed. "But could we maybe talk a little about what happened today, and well, what was happening for the last few months?"
The soft tapping stopped, before resuming at a slower pace.
"What do you believe is happening, Bulkhead?" Prime asked, face carefully neutral, as Ratchet snapped.
"You are nearly interfacing out in the open when we fight, Optimus! Take a hold of yourself and focus on ending this blasted war!" the medic accused, shaking from anger. The Prime looked at him blankly, and then replied:
"The way I deal with Megatron is my own matter, and since we are experiencing an increase of victories, I am unlikely to change back to the less effective strategy," voice even, the typing resumed at a normal pace. Ratchet mumbled "I hate the fact that he's got a point here," as he could not resist another jab.
"Strategic decision it is then, Optimus? Nothing else? Do you think I should try my luck then, see if the slagger just likes it hard?" the medic goaded, pretending to be half-sincere about his musings. "We could catch him in the crossfire, and one of us would at least finish the job…"
The sound of a crashing console keyboard was loud.
Optimus stood very still, his digits holding fragments of now mangled pieces of equipment, as he turned his helm slowly, gaze dark, his frame suddenly seeming way taller and scarier.
Bumblebee took a step back, hiding behind Bulkhead, beeping in distress.
Prime paid no heed to that, as he focused all of his attention on Ratchet, advancing at a leisurely pace that reminded Arcee of a prowling tiger from the documentaries she saw the kids leave on the TV one time.
"You are forgetting yourself, old friend," Optimus cautioned, a vocaliser full of odd resonance; Ratchet did not move even a bit, despite the odd sharp pain the distortion he was familiar enough to identify as Prime drawing on the power of Matrix in his chest.
"You have the nerve to accuse me of this, Optimus? the medic replied, standing his ground.
The stand off continued for a while, as the Prime finally let out a sigh and shook his helm, air around him full of nearly tangible electricity.
"Your concern has been noted," he stated, frame forcefully relaxing.
Situation momentarily handled, Optimus ignored the snarky comments muttered in his direction, as he set down to repairing the console.
Prime knew there was no chance of getting back together with Megatron, but he could not deny the intense pull that made him crave seeing the warlord open and vulnerable. He tried not to recall the rush of pleasure when they got tangled up again on Nemesis.
"Do you think I should try my luck then, see if the slagger just likes it hard?"
Ratchet’s voice rang through his mind again, as his hold on one of the pieces he was collecting off the floor nearly made him crush it to dust.
Maybe there was no future for him and Megatron, but gods forbid someone tries to touch what the Prime considered his.
*********************
Another one prompted by this post BUT also this post and that post of @paraxodicalundressing, but also this post and this post too
Rival exes who at least pretend to not have feelings for each other Pharma and Ratchet
As old friends, Ratchet and Optimus had been privy to a lot of very… sensitive information about each other.
How each other handles hangovers, what sort of petty pranks were pulled - and, obviously, who they dated; those details were the blackmail to be used at an appropriate time.
However, with Optimus’s ex being their main enemy, it was very easy to tease the Prime over his awful dating history - with a rather obvious proof stirring up trouble every damn week. Medic knew the teasing dance steps well, how to push and pull, to make sure Optimus never gets too angry - but then again, what could he do? All of Ratchet’s flings were off-planet, unlikely to ever meet him again.
At least, that’s what he thought.
After one of rather more obvious digs at Optimus, he went back to the medbay with a joyful sense of accomplishment at the pointed glare sent his way. He had work to do, and this interaction made him happy enough that maybe the state of their supplies and available equipment will not drive him to considering taking synth-en and just going off the rails.
When Prime popped his head into the doorway and announced “There is a visitor for you, old friend” in a very cheerful tone, Ratchet did not register it at first, waving whoever was coming to enter; only after a moment he felt dread fill him as another familiar voice filled his audials.
A voice that had no place to be on Earth and would explain the sadistic glee he could now easily sense in the short message from Optimus.
“I see you are still a workaholic, old mech,” Pharma remarked, as the taller mech drew closer to where Ratchet stood by the open boxes of inventory he was inspecting. A vaguely curious look was sent towards the sparse contents, as he smiled and laughed.
“Though I am not sure what work you even have right now - there is nearly nothing here! It’s a real step-down for you, isn’t it, dear?” Pharma’s gloating tone was as irritating now as it was before, to Ratchet’s dismay.
“Don’t you ‘dear’ me, you slagger, we broke that insanity between us a long time ago - don’t start it up now, when we both know there is nothing there!” he warned, closing the lid on the box and resigning himself to not getting it done tonight.
Not like it mattered - he did it too often anyways, procedure-wise. As much as he loathed to say it, Pharma was on the dot with the workaholic diagnosis; he kept busy despite there being so little to do, it was driving him crazy. Should there be a real emergency, he would be unable to provide the necessary care.
He needed to double down on Fowler to get them at least some supplies he could try to re-model into some of their more advanced equipment.
Maybe if he stole the agent’s credit card, he could get something off the Internet…
Pharma’s laugh got him reaching automatically for a wrench to throw at his stupid face, when his arm got grabbed into a strong, unyielding hold. The taller bot crowded Ratchet closer to the boxes, getting into his personal space as if it was still within his right - after all those years!
“Oh, of course, Ratchet, we are over,” he drawled, leaning close enough that his ex-vents were registering on the shorter medic’s audials, as he continued.
“And there is nothing you feel for me, nor I for you, for that matter - isn’t that right?” he asked, hint of mirth at the fact that the mech below him was warming up despite a cross look on his face. The years of dating cured Pharma of any influence Ratchet’s angry glares could do - they were adorable to him now, truly.
Just like that hint of blush he coils see forming on the other’s face.
“I am glad we got that one straight then,” growled Ratchet, as he ignored his frame’s reactions, attributing them to the surprise more than anything else.
“Whatever helps you recharge, Ratchet,” he chuckled, drawing back, letting the other free from the harsh grip. “Because we both know I am too good for you anyways,” he added, as the shorter bot froze and started visibly shaking in anger.
“You? Too good for me?!” he hissed out, ready to throw whatever he had around at the prick smiling at him with condescension. “You are insane! And it was not me leaving long voicemail messages, begging to come back to being together, you aft!” The box that flew toward the other was side-stepped just in time with a loud laugh.
“That’s it, you need to go, I can’t look at your stupid face without wanting to break my oaths,” Ratchet barked out, as he took hold of the other and started pushing him towards the exit, the taller medic relenting in the end with an air of superiority.
The slagger was humoring him, like he was a sparkling throwing a tantrum!
“Ah, Pharma, I trust you had a pleasant reunion with our CMO,” exclaimed Optimus, as they emerged from the corridor to the base proper.
“Yes, Prime, it was good to speak again to such an old… acquaintance,” the taller medic said, sending over a pleasant smile.
Ratchet loathed it with all of his spark.
“Will you be staying long? We would not mind providing you shelter, if you are in need of one,” offered Optimus with glee, to the surprise of the humans and bots alike.
Oh, he will weld Prime’s faceplates to his interface array for this, Ratchet promised to himself, as Pharma looked at the Autobot leader’s expression, CMO’s anger, and concluded that the situation was fully in his favor; he smiled wider, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of thanks.
“You know what, I think I should stay, show you all how a real medic works - one that is not old enough to fall asleep during an ‘operation’,” Pharma bragged, putting emphasis on the last word with such an obvious innuendo, it made the medic glitch for a moment, blush on the faceplates burning high at the one time disaster night they shared after one of his longest time in the OR.
“It was one time!” he snarled, turning with an aggressive jab of the digit aimed at the others sensitive wings, as Optimus held him back, putting on his most Prime’ish ‘all is well, all is peace’ expression - like the angry medic in his arms was not straining to launch himself at their new addition to the team with an intention of extreme violence.
“We will settle you in then - Arcee, please lead our guest to the spare berthroom, the one by Ratchet’s,” the blue and red mech said, pulling the medic along, as Pharma smirked and turned towards the femme, who waved at him to follow her.
“... Anyone senses some… tension?” Jack asked, turning towards Miko and Raf sitting on the couch, playing a video game.
“You kids don’t know the gist of it,” mumbled Fowler, who stood not far away, checking his phone for any fresh Vehicon gossip; he had already managed to get some information down from some of the angry rants between Prime and Ratchet to know just who Pharma was and why Optimus was so eager to have him around.
He sighed, and resigned himself to create another file for the newcomer - he might as well get one up for the mysterious ‘Tarn’ he saw mentioned on the groupchat; with his luck, the arrival of both in the similar time frame was not a coincidence…
*********************
Another one prompted by this post of @paraxodicalundressing
Riot's TFP AU: Megatron as a patient, or how Soundwave tries to not go insane with his leader's unfortunate addiction to a certain Prime
From the moment Megatron left his quarters knowing that Soundwave was really cross with him, he knew there would be more consequences than just the communication blackout. Walking to the bridge he was barred from entering by the TIC, who simply pointed him in the direction of the medbay.
There were battles to be picked in one's life - and usually the warlord picked them all - but this time the guilt from disappointing his most loyal friend (beyond acceptable parameters) could not be stopped. It flooded his circuitry, making him flinch away and nod; he turned away from the door and followed the path to Knock Out's domain. Soundwave followed him like a shadow, most likely to ensure he reached the medic and stayed there for whatever reason he deemed necessary.
Megatron doubted he would like the outcome, but he knew that the blue mech was not actually plotting his demise - if Soundwave wanted him dead, he would already be melted down for the Cause before he stepped out of his room.
He wouldn't even blame him - TIC did not wish to lead, so it would not even be a selfish decision to climb rank. If Megatron ever became unsalvageable, Soundwave would put him down, simple as that. But before that ever happened, he would exhaust all the other options first.
Which, apparently, included getting the warlord examined.
Knock Out turned towards the opening door, unsurprised to see their leader sulk inside, nor to see the company. He gestured towards the berth the warlord was repaired on just a day prior.
"Hop on, my Lord, I have been informed you require a full physical," the medic began, as he took a relevant datapad in his servo to take notes on.
Megatron shot a look at his TIC, and upon seeing a small motion of the helm indicating the direction of the berth, he crossed over and laid down his tired frame. When he felt a gentle tap and heard a firm but polite 'please open the mediport for me, sir', he allowed a rarely used panel to reveal the port entrance, feeling oddly vulnerable. He didn't have to worry about Knock Out doing anything dangerous in Soundwave's presence, but the multitudes of professionals had taken a look at him and either gave up at once, or did the same just after a short while - when they realized how uncooperative of a patient he was.
The silver mech didn't really mean to be so difficult - but nearly every piece of medication tasted so bad to him that he would end up throwing it up or away instead of taking it. His body was in a permanent state of screaming, and his coding had not been updated in eons. Because of this, there was a limited patience to explain to yet another doctor that:
Yes, he couldn't recharge regularly;
Yes, he was very sensitive to the bright lights, and it made his helm feel like it was splitting apart at times;
Yes, he was aware his optics were no longer working as before.
No, he was having enough exercise;
No, he was not trying to off-line himself from lack of maintenance;
No, he would most certainly not discuss his self service schedule.
Meds, injections, operations - and, of course, therapy. The standard result.
This only meant he would be purging his tanks for a month trying to follow any instruction and fail from the distasteful residue from the medicine - all of this causing him to lose hope of the diagnosis being correct. He would feel let down at the lack of effect, get angry, and the cycle continued. There were periodic attempts to get this addressed - until he finally went out to get Dark Energon and was under nobody's care for a couple of years.
Not that he needed somebody to take care of-
An image of smiling Optimus crossed his mind, and he scratched out that last thought.
Knock Out used his distraction to plug into the exposed port, completing handshakes with his old programming and starting the check-up procedure. He raised the datapad, frowned at it, and took a look at the warlord.
"My Lord, when was your last full frame medical check-up?" Knock Out inquired, tapping the empty log on the patient file.
Megatron muttered something quietly.
"I didn't catch that, sir, you need to speak up, please," he asked again, a bit less patiently.
"I think it was before we left Cybertron," the mech answered without looking at the medic. He knew what to expect by then - a huff of anger, an exasperated sigh, or a combination of both.
Instead, Knock Out grew silent.
The red bot turned towards Soundwave, clearing his intake to catch his attention. TIC flashed a questioning glyph on his visor, as the medic asked:
"Is there any upcoming operation that requires Lord Megatron's presence or particular skill set?"
The blue mech paused, visor flashing with a flurry of images as he cycled through the upcoming plans and schedules. When the screen blanked once again, Soundwave shook his helm negative.
"Lord Megatron: not critical to operations before next rota generation," he added in a short burst of combined recordings. Knock Out nodded thoughtfully, still connected to the silver mech, and reached out to another datapad, filling it up and passing it to the TIC.
"That would be probably enough, if we don't take too many breaks," the mech said matter-of-factly, as the blue mech read up the contents of the form - before adding his own signature.
"Splendid, that's taken care of," the red mech smiled, and added as an afterthought prompted by the newfound professional concern:
"Some of the tests will take a while, so I believe we could turn this into an opportunity to check up on the entire staff," Knock Out observed the TIC for a moment, and after receiving a tired nod, waved the mech politely away.
"Fantastic, I will send over the list for the worst offenders and for the necessary shopping - or specialists to start looking for," he added, as he already was opening up a call to his conjunx to get cracking on the personnel's files.
Megatron was slightly confused at the odd exchange, but when the form was passed back to the medic, pieces fell together.
The rota is generated every six Earth's weeks. He could vaguely recall seeing the update warning a few days prior. The fact that the TIC signed anything the medic gave him, meant he was officially approving something.
They benched him.
As Soundwave turned to leave, Megatron blurted out a short chirp of distress, but remained in place when the visor turned to look at him one last time.
If it had been anger, he would have understood, possibly tried to overwrite the signature with his own - but he knew his loyal friend for a long time, and this was not that.
No, Soundwave was trying to hold onto hope. That Megatron could still be 'fixed'. The door slid shut, and the warlord felt hollow as his CPU supplied him with a number estimate of that happening.
It was depressingly low.
"Well, My Lord, your file is currently very patchy, I will need to check everything," the medic's voice drew his attention back, as he stared at the smaller mech blankly. He tilted his helm curiously, but his silence was taken as a permission to speak more. Knock Out started explaining the details, the plan of a lengthy cycle of checks and possible treatments, when Megatron raised his servo to cut him off.
"Why do you bother telling me this?"
The implied 'it's not like I can disagree and leave' hung in the air.
The red Con looked at him with a mix of worry and hesitation; putting the data pad he was holding on the side table, he decided to respond:
"Because you are not a subject to be studied, sir; you deserve to know what am I going to ask you about and why, especially since I would rather we worked together instead of me having to fight you on providing you medical care," said the medic, looking Megatron straight in the optics. Normally, it would make the bigger mech tense up, sensing competition - this time, he felt it was more of a look of careful wish for cordiality.
He sometimes forgot that Knock Out was an actual medic that could do his job well. And apparently, for some inexplicable reason, decided to employ his skill fully in his case.
Megatron nodded his helm, and tried to focus on what his old-new doctor was saying. It seems he would be in for a long haul.
*****
The check-up took a long time. As the warlord and medic were cooperating to help get a complete picture of what was out of the acceptable norm, Knock Out cursed not being able to discuss this with another professional - he was sure even Ratchet would not scoff at the multitude of issues he kept on adding to the file.
Lord Megatron was a medical disaster.
The silver mech had been riddled with pain that became such a norm that only the strongest pain relief would have made any difference. He did admit that the Dark Energon provided a dampening effect, and the medic immediately pushed the internal fluid check to highest priority.
Contamination from the use of the mysterious substance was spread out across the frame, lingering despite lack of external exposure at surprisingly active levels. Knock Out noted with alarm that the normal Energon digested was being tainted, most likely keeping the warlord sedated without his knowledge.
To remove the influence of the Unmaker would be to remove the only relief - and Megatron was still in a lot of pain despite its presence.
The red bot called for Soundwave's support when he had to share this particular piece of diagnosis, afraid of a possible lapse in the arrangement he managed to turn this situation into - worried it would cause the warlord to lash out. In an unlikely turn of events, Megatron's face blanked out, before he tersely agreed to get the flushing procedure started.
When he woke up afterwards, he stared at the ceiling of the medbay for a long time and turned to Knock Out:
"I severely underestimated just how much the Dark Energon numbed the pain," he said, gritting his denta, and the medic took the hint, excusing himself for a moment.
The low wail of pain could be heard through the walls. When it stopped, the red Con let a couple of short, measured in-vents out, before he got back. The silver mech was back to his stoic expression, but the curled servos indicated he was still struggling to get back to living with the actual amount of pain he knew he managed to suffer in silence before.
The return to the prior state of things was way harder than he expected.
Knock Out did not hold any viable alternative that could have rivaled or surpassed the effects of the substance they just purged from Megatron, but he was going to try to get one - or possibly get some of his patient's aches away.
One of the easier identifiable issues came to when the red bot examined the warlord's optics. When the silver mech flinched away at the passing light, Knock Out nearly dropped his tool - he knew there were going to be problems connected with them, the medic himself left some notes with a string suggestion for corrective action, but it never went beyond a temporary measure in form of shaded corrective visor.
Mostly because Megatron kept on 'forgetting' to wear it.
This time around, however, the access to mediport allowed the smaller mech to see the intense flare of pain, suggesting a helmache forming. He hummed before reaching out and deactivating the light, and ordering the other lights to dim.
The ache receded, systems noting lower strain.
"My Liege, I know we talked about this, but you really should be wearing the shaded visor we prepared for you," Knock Out mentioned, putting the tool away on a prepared tray table. Megatron grumbled a bit, but the medic had grown to know by then that it did not mean he reached the end of his tether, but that the mech was reluctantly listening.
The warlord not doing some sort of token protest usually meant he tuned the conversation out. Knock Out learned to sense those moments, usually waiting for the mech to get out of this particular tactic from sheer boredom.
"Do you still have the old one we made you?" asked the doctor, and seeing the shake of the silver helm, sighed.
Another thing to make.
"I will get one more done for you, sir, but if you don't use it, I'll have to wield the next onto your frame - your optics are set for much darker surroundings and no matter how many times I fix it, it shifts to pre-sets every time, causing you helmaches," he promised, putting a note down on the file. The medic could see Megatron was observing him, trying to gauge the seriousness of the threat; and at that point, Knock Out was very serious.
His momentary suggestion to check out the entire ship had ended up with way more work on his servos than he expected - worse yet, the mechs he was treating needed help beyond his skill.
Soundwave was updating him daily on the procurement and negotiations, but the millennia of war effort meant there were not many who would be willing to provide help to Decepticons - unless, of course, they paid a hefty fee.
Starscream was handling the budgeting, and seeing this supplied his recommendation: they needed to call Swindle. He would be most likely to get the results despite the cut he would be taking, so they allowed the mech to search the markets for their targets.
The shopping list grew every day.
Swindle was ecstatic.
Knock Out additional concern was the odd disposition of their supreme commander - namely, the distaste for one of the most common additives there existed. It was nearly in all of the medications as a stabilizer, and it was very rare to have any perception of it in the Cybertronian population.
Obviously, Megatron had an extreme case of it.
At first, when the medic realized his patient was very reluctant to take the meds, he tried hiding it in refueling rations.
It was also the last attempt of this solution pathway.
Megatron was able to feel the slightest presence of it in whichever substance he consumed, making it impossible to hide. Knock Out had to go apologize to the SIC who got accused of trying to poison the warlord that day.
For some reason, however, when the medic found colored glass in a similar pattern as the meds, the warlord ended up loving them - crunching on the marbles happily. Bribing the mech into taking more medicine became slightly easier with the promise of getting more of these in return.
Luckily, this time around the oddities of the Decepticon commander's frame came in handy - the glass didn't cause any issues, instead processing them easily. Knock Out checked a few times for possible residue buildup which occurred in some mechs with foreign substances, and noted with relief no adverse effects. For all he cared, Megatron could eat as many as he wanted, if it meant he would take the medicine.
Especially that they were still battling his insomnia…
The silver mech's recharge logs were all over the place - with no rhyme or reason, and an alarmingly low average time of rest.
There were, of course, exceptions - but the analysis of those, run in tandem with the known occurrences of loud music being played in particular quarters made it clear why that would be.
Knock Out cringed inwardly; since they were trying to solve this problem too, that was not the answer they could utilize.
*****
Solar cycles passed, and the life on Nemesis carried on.
With the warlord confined to a rigid schedule and the SIC at the helm, everyone seemed to lose some of the tension that came with Megatron's return from space.
Dark Energon was now fully isolated in Shockwave's lab, behind three different access codes held between Starscream, Soundwave, and Knock Out - their commander was banned from approaching the substance under threat of getting Tarn as a round-the-clock minder. As the DJD's leader volunteered readily to do it, the warlord kept far away from the lab.
The peaceful time was met with enthusiasm: the Vehicons were thrilled to have time to indulge in their hobbies and getting slagged less, thus the sense of community grew. The trinkets that got collected from around the Earth started showing up in shared spaces, colors and soft lights getting incorporated into spartan decor of the Nemesis. The dimness remained, as per Knock Out's insistence, but the variety of the glittering points strewn across the halls provided enough coverage in a pleasant manner that even the officers found appealing.
As the majority of the crew had been either dragged or came in willingly for a check-up at the medbay, the morale improved; who knew that showing concern for the troops would make them feel better?
The communication blackout was still in effect, but there were exceptions added to the list, allowing the troops to be contacted on operations outside of the ship; the ongoing income streams have been re-opened too, due to the increased spending estimates.
The Nemesis has changed - but none of its inhabitants could say anything negative about it.
*****
After the first three weeks, both Soundwave and Knock Out were satisfied with Megatron's progress - to the point they found it fitting to provide positive reinforcement.
Namely, returning the access to his private room for recharging.
Releasing the warlord from the all-cycle supervision was done on a condition that he would still show up at scheduled times so the medication could be monitored, but the privacy of own berth and trinkets was to help facilitate a gradual adjustment back to the normal daily routine. They couldn't shut him in medbay forever.
Though it seemed Soundwave wouldn’t mind this idea, if it kept him away from Optimus.
For a while, it worked as intended - Megatron followed up on their agreement, coming on his own volition to see Knock Out before he would be escorted by Soundwave to the office, where he would be finishing up on the reports back-log. He was not yet allowed back on the bridge, but there was not so much happening with the operations schedule keeping things on the down low for at least another couple of weeks. Starscream had a good hold of matters, so he couldn’t even have an excuse to be more involved - it was annoying, but as the medication went on, he appreciated having time to deal with the most irritating of side-effects at his own pace, without multiple witnesses.
Coming back to his own quarters was odd, at first - he didn’t miss the sounds of resident medical staff getting it on, but that was mostly because he couldn’t reach the same level of completion in his own self-servicing due to his odd arrangement with Optimus; not to mention that he couldn't deny the couple their happiness when one of them was his direct physician which could (and would) leave Nemesis at the mere suggestion of this sort.
He got used to the red mech, and would rather avoid having to lose the one medic they have around - or at least the only one they had that did not look at every patient as a science experiment.
As he closed the door and started getting on the berth to rest, he sighed, feeling the buzz under his plating come to the forefront of his mind yet again. In the medbay, it was easier to avoid the temptation, but in the privacy of his room, it came back in full force. The warlord was trying to wait the desire out, already sensing that he was fighting a losing battle. He could not allow himself to overload, his mind reminded, indulging into it would only drive the frustration higher.
Megatron managed to wait it out for the entire three days.
As his systems reported increasing signs of struggle, on the fourth day he found himself stepping over the threshold and going automatically to the interior sound controls.
He didn't think consciously about what he was doing - his servos moved in a well-known pattern, familiar music filling the space, as he turned to resign himself to losing himself for a bit in another fantasy.
A small explosion rocked the ship, stopping him from arranging himself in a preferred position on his knees. Momentarily distracted, he went to check it out, his combat systems greedily hoping for something to punch. When it turned out to be nothing major, he took off back to the room, where he was stopped by Soundwave standing by the door.
The music was still playing, only fractionally muted by the walls.
Megatron's plating tightened defensively, but when the TIC pointed him away with an air of disappointment, the silver mech sagged and obediently dragged himself to the medbay.
*****
The Decepticon leader had known payment for his relapse was due - the reinstated ban of his quarters was proof of that, but even he couldn't expect what his friend would choose as a revenge tactic.
When he heard the news of Autobots showing up to Starscream's operation, he was understandably curious, but as the fighting occurred during his scheduled medbay visit, he didn't pay it much thought.
Until the message arrived later on with two attachments. No words. Just the files.
But they came from Soundwave.
Megatron braced himself, and opened the first one.
The recording opened to his quarters, quickly led towards the storage compartment. The silver mech was mortified when a slim servo reached inside the closet and pulled the box with interfacing toys out. There was no looking around - Soundwave knew where it was and came for it directly.
As he watched the path of the TIC lead to the incinerator in Shockwave's lab, he started to panic.
The warlord was in denial the entire time, until he saw the box get tossed inside, opened slightly to allow the heat to reach the interior. The blue digits turned the settings lower - the container would not incinerate completely, but it would be greatly damaged nonetheless.
As the fire raged, Megatron's spark filled with anguish so visceral, he let out a noiseless cry the entire time the box burned. When its charred remains were moved into another container, his throat hurt despite him not uttering even a whimper.
The recording ended.
He didn't want to see the other one, but he knew that if he didn't see it, Soundwave would force him to watch it the next day in the office. He resigned himself to being mortified beyond what he already felt.
Megatron was not disappointed in that regard.
It must have been the fight earlier this cycle, as they didn't get to face the Autobots in the meantime; he could see that the TIC emerged from the ground bridge carrying the same box he saw on the previous file.
The warlord was initially alarmed that the blue mech would just give it to the Prime, but instead a fight broke out, the box forgotten.
Seeing Optimus struggling against his top lieutenants was difficult, but he could not stop feeling proud of his crew - he knew they were capable, and seeing it was always fantastic to witness. As much as he didn't want the Prime dead, he couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of Starscream and Soundwave partnering up.
At least if they off-lined him in the end, he knew that they could take on anything.
He was surprised to notice the newcomers to the field, recognising the frames easily from memory - nearly forgetting what this all was about.
When a sharp order to retreat came, he noticed Soundwave pointed towards something, prompting Starscream's goading towards the Prime, who was barely holding himself from overheating from exhaustion.
The box.
The TIC stepped through the portal, but he looked back towards Optimus one more time.
Megatron knew he saw it too.
The wide blue optics filled with dread.
Optimus suspected what was inside - and if the warlord knew his lover as well as he hoped, he would have confirmed his guess.
Prime knew their collection was gone.
The silver mech curled in on himself, his spark pulsing with sadness and humiliation.
*****
Megatron was devastated - and it showed.
The progress made with Knock Out, the changes to Nemesis, the general improvement of morale, even increasing the rate of victories - all of this didn't matter.
Their box was destroyed. There was no fixing it.
And Optimus knew about it. They gave it to him, after all. Like a cursed gift.
The warlord felt unmoored - carried only by the routine he had complied with so far, missing at least a solar or two from his memory. He was mostly staring into nothingness, barely acknowledging anyone.
At least Soundwave did not act like he didn't know why he behaved like this. The TIC was waiting him out, as the silver mech would not even speak to his friend, communicating in nods instead. Megatron still followed the schedule they set up for him, but the balance has shifted - the repetitiveness of his days was grating, instead of grounding.
He felt trapped inside his frame.
Lying down on the slab in the medbay, he idly noted Knock Out's presence - he opened the medical port without prompting, and the red bot plugged in while maintaining a bit more distance than before.
The warlord couldn't explain why it bothered him, so he kept his mouth shut; with the other monitoring his systems, it was hard to avoid confrontation.
"There was an odd spike across your multiple processes right now, my Lord - would you be able to tell me why that happened?" Knock Out asked tentatively, more carefully than he used to. Megatron didn't think he actually needed to provide an answer, but something in the medic's posture prompted him to say:
"You are acting differently."
The red mech startled at the reply, expecting another session of complete silence. He weighed his options, and sighed.
"Lord Megatron, your recent behavior led me to believe you wish to be left alone - as your physician I am unable to comply with this preference, but I will not force my presence on you more than necessary," Knock Out explained, tapping idly on the pad in hand.
"I do wish to be left alone, but this has nothing to do with you, doctor," Megatron's words sounded perplexed, but honest. The title had been slipping into their conversations before, so the medic was pleasantly surprised it was not rescinded.
"I will take that as a vote of confidence in my skills then," Knock Out smiled, letting himself slide back into a more relaxed stance, as he pulled closer the tray with assorted meds for his patient. The frown on the warlord's faceplates did not go unnoticed, but there was little to be done there.
He needed to get the alternative medications soon, the rate at which they were going through the marbles collection was concerning.
Megatron took every pill into his servo and as fast as possible swallowed them in one go - the taste was dreadful and the quicker it went down, the less suffering would be there to experience afterwards. The worst was when something got stuck and he could not flush it down - he would rather claw his throat out at times like that then let it stay there to dissolve on its own.
The silver mech started to power down, knowing he should try to allow the new concoction from the Pit to do its job. Knock Out let out a quiet sound of relief, as the evening routine went by the easy way this time around. He bid his commander a quiet farewell and locked the door to the medbay behind.
*****
Megatron didn't realize when recharge claimed him, but an undefined time after he laid down, he found himself being shaken awake by a pair of familiar servos.
He scoffed, unwilling to wake up, because he must still be asleep.
There was no way it was actually Optimus - he wouldn't do something as stupid as come onto Nemesis, so he must be dreaming.
The touch became more insistent, so he lazily on-lined his optics.
Red and blue filled his vision.
"Hello, love - you're finally awake, I was worried I wouldn't have a chance to talk to you," said Optimus with a smile, as he stood right by Megatron's shoulder like this situation was completely normal for them.
"What are you doing here?" Megatron hissed out, starting to get up, when a servo on his chest pushed him down.
"No, don't get up - I need to leave soon, it took me a while to get around the lock and I'm expecting alarm to be raised pretty soon," rushed the Prime, patting the silver plating pacifyingly, placing a kiss onto the other's helm.
Right as the warlord was about to say something, the shrill sound of intruder alert sounded out throughout the ship.
The Autobot cursed, as he fumbled around some item in his servo, before he pushed it into Megatron's hold.
"Here, I got you something - I had some time and well… couldn't stop thinking about you, and suspected I was not the only one like that," Optimus chuckled right over his audial, so he could be heard over the sharp sounds filling the medbay.
Megatron, who could not comprehend this surreal situation while still fighting off the effects of interrupted recharge, just nodded and curled his digits around the gift. He was rewarded with another kiss, and a thrilling purr of "thank you, darling," as Optimus stepped away, watching the door to the medbay.
The warlord sat numb, observing as lights of a ground bridge flickered in the dim room, and loud shouts were heard through the walls in the corridor.
Prime lunged into the barely formed portal right as at least ten Vehicons, Breakdown and Starscream burst into the medbay, nearly falling over Knock Out's short frame as he keyed the entrance open. The shots they sent towards the source of light never reached the mech going through it, instead leaving scorch marks on the walls.
"Lord Megatron, have you been injured?" Starscream inquired after it became obvious they came too late. The silver bot shook his helm negative, as he kept his field tucked in tightly.
"Move the ship and check how he had been able to pinpoint our location," he ordered, shifting focus away from himself towards the security of the Nemesis. The seeker shot a suspicious look towards his leader, but nothing seemed out of order - and the concern raised by the mech was valid. They needed to understand how the Prime was able to get onto the ship and so far inside before the alert went out.
They couldn't let it happen again.
Decepticon SIC nodded, offering an acknowledgement of the order back to the warlord, and waved everyone out. The seeker had to find and talk to Soundwave - the TIC would be most likely the only one who would be able to trace Optimus's path, and who could counter it.
Megatron watched them all go away, and when the doors closed with a soft whoosh, his field unwound itself, spreading around the space like an explosion.
He was filled with so many contrasting emotions, there was no way he would be able to recharge again.
Curling his digits around the small item in his servo, he pondered:
Perhaps he could spend the time on something more… pleasurable.
******************************
Another ficlet inspired by @transingthoseformers's TFP AU, a direct follow-up to this and running parallel to this - and fleshed out by these posts about Nemesis time wth Megs as a patient.
Riot's TFP AU: Have you tried turning your Prime off and on again?
Agent Fowler kept a folder on everyone - the one for Optimus for a very long time contained a log of dates and places. The frequency of whatever he was tracking decreased at some point significantly, coming to a halt - and judging from the man's smile, it was a good thing.
When Agent Fowler was informed he would be dealing with giant alien robots from space, he was torn between being understandably stupefied by the notion of lifeforms from beyond the stars existing at all, and wondering if he had actually pissed someone off on the last work party. His superiors specified he was mainly to collect intel from within as a ‘liaison’ - to help them figure out what made the Cybertronians tick, and let them prepare for the eventuality when the Earth would have to deal with them as their own enemies.
“Precaution, agent - we can’t let ourselves be caught unawares should they turn on us,” his commander said, handing over a slim file of what they already knew. It was barely a few pages long, with more blanks than any actual information - which meant he was essentially going in blind.
Marvelous - it was truly an ideal state of matters when talking with huge robots that can squash you like a bug.
Someone up there in senior command really didn’t like him.
Fowler accepted the job in the end, but on the inside he hoped it wouldn't last too long; he would usually choose shorter gigs to not grow attached to his targets. And when aliens were added into the picture, there was no place to get mushy - he needed to stand firmly on the side of humanity and his country.
In the beginning, it wasn't too difficult to keep the necessary emotional distance while remaining adequately civil - the differences between them were so numerous, the Autobots appeared standoffish and weird at first; he suspected that to them, he most likely seemed the same. They worked together, but that was it; he struggled to make progress beyond what he was told directly. Dry recounts, a few remarks, a hushed conversation here and there of which he heard a fraction at best.
He was almost considering reassignment, anything to alleviate the boredom - he'd even take the traffic duty over yet another day of silence. The paperwork was filed, ready to be sent out to his supervisor with a note that his skills were not being properly utilized, when he heard a loud clash.
Getting up and peering over the railing, he saw Optimus Prime sprawled on the floor by the console. Fowler cursed to himself; the one day when everyone was on patrol but their leader, he suffered some malfunction. How was he supposed to react? Should he get some jumper cables or something?
Deciding he might at least investigate, he went down and approached the mech with caution. Maybe it was some sort of robotic narcolepsy? Was Optimus sleeping?
The agent's brows furrowed - could they even sleep?
He called out to the bot, hoping it would stir some reaction, but it all fell on deaf audials. He noticed the lights and noises that he associated with their kind were absent.
To Fowler, Prime looked pretty much dead.
He spent the next few minutes panicking, trying to discern how he would break the news to the command (and well, to bots too) - when the mech shook and on-lined with a soft gasp. The man stepped away, instinctively trying to give space to breathe to a being that didn’t even have lungs; he cursed quietly, trying to stamp out the flash of empathy that tried to read its ugly head at the obvious discomfort he was witnessing, as the Autobot leader got himself up to a sitting position, wincing at the stray electricity dancing on his plating.
"What was that?"
The Prime turned his helm, one of his servos massaging the middle of his chest gently; seeing the human, he raised the other one to wave the inquiry away.
"Nothing serious, Agent Fowler, do not concern yourself with this - it's not the first time it happened, and it will not be the last," said the mech placatingly, composure slipping at the end of the sentence to reveal… exhaustion? Seeing the bot already start to gather himself up, legs shaking slightly, the man decided to drop it. He would add it to the report and keep his eye out on the Prime to make sure it doesn't occur too often.
He repeated to himself that he was not growing concerned - that would imply caring, and that would imply getting attached. Very unprofessional.
The reassignment paperwork was not sent out that day, though.
*****
Over the next few weeks, he kept to his routine without any major changes. Yet, something about that odd incident made him ask Ratchet a vague question about Cybertronians rest cycles. The medic was never very talkative, usually outright dismissive, but the question caught him by surprise - he actually gave a brief, but clear answer that turned the agent even more pensive. They were able to recharge, but they would not power down completely for it - so whatever struck the Prime was not a nap or a fainting spell.
Thanking for the information, he walked back up to the raised platform and stopped, looking around. Arcee and Bumblebee were out on patrol, Cliffjumper and Bulkhead took off on a joyride…
Where was Optimus?
The man walked around the base, looking at every nook and cranny in search of the missing Autobot leader; a familiar sound of restarting machinery caught his ear, letting him follow it to the source. He found the Prime resting between storage boxes, frame barely visible in the dim room, biolights glowing in the darkness. When the agent got closer, he started recognising what the mech was muttering:
"What was it this time… you can't keep… this is not… please…"
Fowler tried to remain stealthy, as he wanted to hear more of what Optimus was talking about; however, before he could actually catch anything, the automatic light sensors tripped and the room illuminated, startling the bot.
"Who's there?" came a loud question, as the sounds of a Cybertronian scrambling to get up joined in. The agent cursed internally, before he put his shoulders back and strode inside.
"It's me, Prime, relax," he said pacifyingly, trying to look confident and not at all like a man who just failed at trying to eavesdrop on an alien. The red and blue bot looked at him, shoulders dropping; the bright optics focused on him, and he had a feeling the mech was looking inside of his soul directly. Fowler intently did not think about spying, even though he was certain there was no way the other would know he was trying to listen in on whatever was happening.
"Agent Fowler, what can I do for you?" Optimus inquired, slipping back into the familiar dynamic - most likely hoping the man wouldn't ask what he was doing in the dark storage room.
"Nothing, I wasn't looking for you - I was just passing by, must have walked too close to the sensor," the man decided to leave the matter be for now, gesturing towards the lights. The mech stared at him, before nodding in understanding.
"Then don't let me stop you from your duties, Agent Fowler, I'll be back at the main console in a few minutes if you do require my help," the Autobot leader acknowledged, and the man took it as a great opportunity to leave without raising suspicion.
As he walked down the hallway, he wondered why the lights weren't on in the first place - just how long was Optimus not moving in this room?
*****
On one of the few occasions where the Autobots were asked to help the human side of the alliance months later, Fowler had the dubious pleasure of getting stuck between rock and a hard place - quite literally.
When he rode inside Optimus's cabin, writing up his report after they successfully delivered some sensitive military cargo without encountering the mercenaries they expected, he forgot that the lack of engagement was not equal to lack of possible excitement; a tremor shook the ground caused a landslide, which barrelled straight into the truck and threw them out of the road, off the edge of the cliff. The agent noticed the bot shift, turning to cushion the fall in a more controlled fashion, before they hit the bottom with a loud thud.
Dizzy but alive, Fowler got up on his legs, panting, adrenaline coursing high through his veins, as he started making his way towards the unmoving Autobot. Optimus had taken the brunt of the damages, and while the man got thrown to the side, the remaining rocks and pieces of road landed right on top of the mech.
"Prime, you good?" he called out, and upon hearing no response, frantically began to clear the rubble. His hands hurt, but he managed to dislodge a piece of the structure so that it unveiled a familiar red armor. After a bit more digging, he unburied the blue helm, dirty and scratched up.
There were no signs of life, and mech's chest was impaled right through by a piece of what he could recognize as a mangled crash barrier. The agent patted himself down for a phone, before he pulled out the wrecked device. It was beyond recovery, and he cursed not being able to hail anyone for help - the return trip was just him and Prime, so there would be nobody looking for them for a while.
He supposed at some point Ratchet would realize their leader dropped dead - he knew the medic was monitoring all the crew's stats. It was actually weird that there was no space bridge in there yet.
Worry growing, he shrieked when the mechanism emitted a disharmonious sound - and Optimus groaned. The bot got up, hissing as the metal embedded in him started sliding out. The screeching and squelching of unknown origin combined into a sickening discordant noise that made him want to barf.
"Watch out, Prime, it nearly killed you!" Fowler threw his hands up, hoping to catch the attention of the mech; the blue optics shifted towards him in a mix of surprise and relief.
“Ah, you had not been harmed - that’s good,” Optimus said, smiling weakly as he propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the metal jutting out of his torso. The long servos tried to reach behind his back, failing to grasp at the end of it - the piece got buried deep into the ground.
The only way off it was up.
“You said it ‘nearly’ killed me, correct, Agent Fowler?” the Autobot asked aloud, though the man felt this was less of a question and more of an acknowledgement, as he could swear he could hear the quotation marks in the sentence. Numbly, he nodded, and nearly snickered from stress when the bot said something that sounded suspiciously like a curse in a foreign language - the emotion behind the words was very much recognizable. He grabbed the barrier and tore it as close to his windshields as possible, before he leveled Fowler with a tired look.
“There is a chance this will ‘nearly’ kill me again - if this happens, don’t worry, just give me a few minutes. If I try to do this again after that, tell me it didn’t work and to call Ratchet instead,” came the orders, voice of the mech devoid of any humor - the agent could only nod his head again, as Prime sighed and started pulling himself off it, inch by inch.
At some point the rubble he was in shifted, making him sway; the mech seized up with a guttural sound in his vocaliser, and his biolights blinked away. Fowler stood there, watching the bot dangle like that for a couple of minutes, before the sound of re-starting systems filled his ears again.
Optimus groaned, looking around disoriented, as he tried to move again.
“No!” shouted the man, successfully stopping the bot, as he quickly followed it up with “it didn’t work, call Ratchet,”; to his amazement, Prime listened, opening the comm line to the base, as the familiar lights of a ground bridge appeared close by. The medic came out, shouting at his leader, as he started chewing the mech’s audials off for getting stuck into another weird situation again. The blue and red Autobot apologized the entire way back, as he limped to the medbay - agent following silently, wondering what had he actually witnessed.
*****
“Optimus, please, let me take a look at it,” said Ratchet, poking at the mech’s internals, mending the remaining wires with care and precision. Prime shook his helm negative, mumbling:
“You tried that already, old friend, and we both know I can't remove it yet.”
Fowler froze with an arm raised, as he was about to knock on a pipe and ask the medic some questions about Cybertronian biology he was getting more curious about lately - instead, he darted to the wall, hiding behind one of the storage boxes, telling himself he was not feeling guilty for listening in on a private conversation between a doctor and their patient.
He was not the one sworn to secrecy in that matter.
This was expected from his job!
Why did he feel so bad about listening in, then?
“Still, this is not healthy for you!” the angry words came back at the Prime; the man had to strain his ears to pick up what followed after, muscles aching from trying not to make a sound and stop this conversation.
“The fact that I had to add a delay on the medical alert for when you drop off-line just because that one time you kept on dropping and coming back several times in a row because of whatever you and this piece of scrap in your chest disagreed about - you don’t even remember what was the subject of the discussion! - it’s simply asking for trouble! Had you not called, I would have never known you needed assistance!” Ratchet fumed, angrily slamming something closed, before gathering the equipment and leaving it to clatter on the tray for treatment later on. A sympathetic hum was heard, and the medic emitted a sound of exhausted disappointment.
“I really wish you would let me try again - Decepticons aren’t around, so you suffer for nothing,” he mumbled, as he went back to the sanitizing unit, to get the equipment cleaned up.
Fowler could see the familiar legs of Optimus at the edge of his field of vision behind the crate, as the mech calmly patted his friend on the shoulder and stated:
“If in a year we will be able to say the same, I will be open for another attempt - for now, I have a feeling we are not alone here.”
The agent stood still, mulling these words over, as he finally slipped away into the base proper. From such an odd piece of intel, he wasn’t sure if he could explain it in his report - so for now, it remained out of the official documentation.
Until he knew a little bit more.
Not at all because he was actually worried.
*****
Ten months later, Fowler noted at least twenty of those strange occurrences - and when Cliffjumper died, alerting them to the enemy presence, he had to restrain himself from looking at Ratchet’s offended face, as he grumbled about ‘stupid Cons not waiting with this slag for two more months’. The man had by then grown a bit more attached to the Autobots, but he still periodically considered calling it quits - the paperwork sitting in drafts all this time, ready at a click of a button to get him into a less weird job.
When he observed the Decepticons in action, he congratulated himself on the patience - they were providing him more information than he could ever hope to piece away from the Bots alone! They talked so much and with so little care, it was like taking candy from a baby.
He quickly picked up on some sort of prior history between the two factions’ leaders, though he was surprised at how little Optimus seemed to be affected by this weird dance between him and Megatron; to Fowler, it looked like the silver mech was putting so many innuendos about their lives that he started using it as a reference under what was previously a blank slate of ‘Prime’s past’ in his file. The red and blue bot did not show the same level of engagement, and the man could see it was driving the former gladiator into anger. It was like watching a telenovela - and he was quickly sucked into the drama.
The agent wrote down ‘possibly exes?’ in the file quite early on, later scratching out the first word, instead underlining the latter four times.
Month after that, he added exclamation marks.
It later came into being the central part on the mind map he created to keep up with all the information he was getting.
And there was a lot of it.
As more and more Cybertronians showed up, his job became way more dynamic - between reports, missions, and increasing liveliness of the inhabitants of the base, he barely had time for boredom. He was sure he was close to getting into internal communication on board the Nemesis, and that would for sure give him even more intel. He needed more insight, to give them an edge in this conflict - to both the Autobots and humankind.
Especially since the Bots somehow managed to get kids involved in the mess.
‘Still’, he mused, looking around from where he stood finishing up a phone call, ‘at least the guys have some life in them now.’
He stopped on the stairs, realizing how true that statement was. Fowler racked his brain trying to recall if he saw Arcee smile so openly before. Had he heard Bulkhead’s laugh so loud? Had Bumblebee allowed himself some time to play around? Brows furrowing in concentration, he opened his notepad and checked his personal tally he kept on Optimus.
There had been no new entries from when the Decepticons returned.
*****
The appearance of Unicron into the equation caused an uproar; even worse was the fact that the only solution they could think about involved cooperation with Megatron. There was not much time left for dilly-dallying, and Optimus did not leave much room for argument, having tried the diplomacy route and failing spectacularly before getting rescued by his nemesis - who was way too giddy for such an event, gloating and flirting the entire time.
It made the agent laugh internally to see the Autobot leader ignore all of it, in favor of dealing with the situation on hand - to the Decepticon’s obvious dismay.
Knowing the silver mech was inside the base felt like a horrible intrusion, nonetheless. There was nothing that could be done about it, and the agent prayed that he would not have to write down today’s date in his little log.
As he watched them cross the space bridge, he admitted that at least if he needed to add another entry, the Prime would be there, alive and well.
The entire operation passed quickly, nerves flying high, as the tremors finally ceased - crisis averted. The Earth would see another day, and the public would be none the wiser that the planet was, in fact, a giant robot.
Opening the space bridge again, the Bots returned, oddly quiet for such a success.
Fowler looked at them, and his face fell.
Optimus wasn’t with them.
“Where is he?” he asked, walking closer to the guardrail, right as Ratchet piped up with the same sentiment. The agent knew that if the mech had been killed, they would have dragged the husk back - and he would probably wake up after a few minutes.
As always.
He always came back.
No matter what, no matter how bad - he always powered up, looking around before his memory caught up to him enough to start thinking again.
When the bots explained their leader couldn't recognize them and left with Megatron, he decided the group chat he got into would be way more closely monitored than he initially suspected.
*****
Getting Optimus back was a relief.
Fowler already knew a bit more than others what had happened from the Vehicons recount of the events, as he lurked on as an anonymous presence with them on the comms. He decided to keep the majority of it to himself, expecting the rumors to be at least slightly exaggerated - he could try to let the mech retain his dignity.
The notes he took were for now out of the official documentation, hidden in the depths of his archiving cabinet under lock and key. It could have been an insinuation of a bored staff, he knew how easy gossip spread and mutated.
And it's not possible they had been going at it as often as the messages implied. They were at war, on the same ship as Soundwave who listened in on anyone at any given time - that must put a bit of a damper on the horizontal tango.
Prime walked between his Autobots, smiling, letting them touch him; understanding the need for reassurance, his presence grounding the others. He allowed himself to be pulled into hugs, right before he was dragged away by the medic who already raged at all the check-ups he needed to run ('I expect you to carry tons of malware, so you ain't touching any consoles before I clear you' Ratchet threatened, pulling the mech by a servo insistently).
Right as it should be: down to the mumbled curses, laughing kids, and their exhausted but relieved Bot companions.
Their worries were finally over, their leader returned, and things would be back to normal soon. If they gave him time and space, he would be the patient, wise figure they got used to.
Fowler later guessed they never really knew the actual 'normal' for the mech, so they really shouldn't have been as surprised as what followed.
*****
There was something different about the Prime, but the agent wasn't sure yet if this was actually a bad thing.
On one hand, the mech had been way more expressive, open to conversation and emotion; there were more positive interactions, as the underlying stiffness he associated with Optimus being, well, a Prime - he heard Ratchet say like the sole fact was the worst thing that could have happened to the bot - was gone. The kids enjoyed that a lot, responding well to his smiles and encouragement shared at their curiosity.
On another, it became very obvious that the past Megatron was alluding to was, in fact, precisely as he implied.
And the feelings were very much returned.
The agent kicked himself mentally for not believing the group chat more - the staff on board Nemesis obviously knew what was going on and were not shy to gossip about it. At least he was not forced to be within the same ship as Megatron, who seemed to be most affected by the shift of this dynamic.
After one of those missions that ended with everyone being very weirded out, he decided it wasn't bad to ask him about one of his suspicions on an unrelated topic - it's not like the day could get much stranger.
"So, Optimus, the Matrix ain't bothering you as much these days?" Fowler asked without preamble, hoping the bluntness would make it less inappropriate. The mech grinned, and confirmed:
"Yes, there should be no more spontaneous deaths triggered by SOMEONE," he looked down at where the Matrix resided in his frame with a frown, "who decides that the best option to win an argument is to make me forget the topic of it by killing me out of the blue, removing the last few minutes from my memory as a by-product."
He placed his servos on hips, as he spoke to the middle of his chest disapprovingly:
"Very mature approach, for sure."
Optimus cocked his helm to the side, as if listening to someone speak, before he added an angry "No excuses, you ain't pulling this on me ever again, you piece of scrap - ‘will of Primus’ or not, we will talk things out like grown mechanisms, you hear?" slapping his torso right above his spark, driving his point home.
Fowler couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him in response, as his theories were getting validated.
"Has the Matrix been turning you off and on again, hoping you would drop whatever the issue was? Would it be happening again anytime soon?" he asked to clarify, as his brain was filled with an image of an ethereal looking bot insistently pushing the power button to force a shutdown, only to do it again when the same issue popped in right after and getting mad that it's not working with such a stubborn mech that Optimus was turning out to be. It made him laugh, but it also was worrying to think that it could start again.
Prime nodded, smirking, as he added:
"It surely seemed that way, but the game has changed - no more 'blue screens of death' for me, I'm glad to say."
The agent decided in the end that the change was good - this Optimus smiled way more often.
*****
Laughing at the last messages from the chat, Fowler saved yet another file onto his phone; he would need to print this out and include it in his reports, though he expected other agents would grow only more concerned at the mess the Cybertronians were creating lately. For a brief moment, he wondered if maybe there was a problem with him, before he shrugged - it really didn't matter, he enjoyed this too much. His documentation was thorough these days, and as Prowl remarked, very well organized.
Plus, he was getting very good at fancy presentations - he wouldn't give up a chance to whip up another one for the matter of a surprise addition to the lives of certain faction leaders. He had so many pictures saved, he had to use them for good.
Aside from the baby album he was preparing in secret for Optimus, of course. He should have probably written it down - he kept on forgetting to check up on the large print order he placed, so a physical memo could help. The agent flipped his notepad open, pen at the ready.
The little thing no longer carried the tally log of all the Primes Deaths And Returns; these pages were transferred into the side file cabinet, as another reference in the 'no longer applicable concern' category: it fit right by 'estimation of chances of Megatron killing off Optimus' and 'list of injuries and treatments related to being grabbed by a Cybertronian'.
A message piped on his phone, and he snorted at the picture sent by the kids from the day at the beach, visiting Griffin Rock for some well deserved R&R. He went to type a reply, when he found the old and forgotten reassignment request. Fowler shook his head at his old worries.
With no hesitation, he deleted the draft.
This job was not boring at all.
************************************
@transingthoseformers I couldn't find the post in which it was mentioned that Fowler has seen Optimus die enough time to know how to react to it, but it's been sitting with me for a while so... yeah.
The long distance (with temporary short distance) who actually made it work, Bulkhead and Wheeljack
Some mechs say that distance makes the spark grow fonder - Bulkhead has never considered it very true. But then again, when he looked at his friends, he realized that their relationships were different from his own, so maybe he was not the best judge of this particular sentiment.
He saw mechs driven to madness from separation, afraid their loved one was dead or worse; he saw affectionate couples fall apart after a relatively quick deployment, washer fluid leaking as they professed they do not want to be together anymore, as they found another.
Everything was so intense, so dramatic, it did not make sense - the ex-Wrecker would ponder at times if there was something off about how he interacted with others, and then ultimately decided it was not worth the hassle to worry about that.
He was what he was, and that was that.
Still, he could see what he and Jackie had was an anomaly - they fell into their love surprisingly easy, in as unlikely a place as it could be: a covert action going haywire.
As they ran for their lives, explosives planted and triggered while they were way too close, they started laughing - and when they escaped the tunnel with only nanoseconds to spare, Wheeljack smiled so beautifully that Bulkhead knew he was a goner.
From then on, they built a dynamic some could not fathom - they would depart and come back as if no time had passed, their relationship steady across the ages. They would trade stories as they cuddled, wish each other luck on their missions, and hold their servos together whenever possible.
Bulkhead suspected that it might have come with the territory - both of them expected to die any day, and thus enjoyed what they could take as they went along. No expectations, no oaths that would need to be broken, but the touch of the other was honest every time - and it would be perfect.
Like ships in the night, they would pass each other by and take strength from those stolen moments of love. There was no hesitation, nor second guesses.
And when there is certainty, the time and distance are irrelevant.
When Wheeljack came to visit the Autobot base, Bulkhead felt happy to see him, just as if they parted just yesterday, not years ago; their fields brushed in familiarity, touches light but reassuring.
Later that night the green bot would lift the other up so they could nuzzle their helms together, their little tradition after each successful return. They basked in each other's presence and their mutual joy was keeping them both smiling for the entire solar cycle.
The days fell into a rhythm, Jackie now a part of it as if he never was gone, at least from Bulkhead's point of view. His partner was safe and sound, they were both alive, they had a place to rest - what else would they need?
The love filled them both like a harmony they've been attuned to constantly - across the universe, the certainty of their bond grounding them in the storm to come. Fighters, lovers, they remained unmovable as the war waged on.
When the time came to part ways again, Bulkhead held Wheeljack close and offered their usual farewells. He received a soft nuzzle in return and a squeeze of the servo, followed with a quick request to keep an eye on Miko.
The child grew on them both, and Bulkhead was happy to hear that Wheeljack's feelings were mirroring his own precisely. Their family was usually just the two of them - now, the human girl managed to worm her way into their sparks, as they discovered another type of love after so many eons together. He promised he would do his best; they both knew to not offer any certainties. Especially with a young woman such as Miko - she had a knack for trouble. They smiled and shook their helms in fondness.
And so, they were apart again.
The time moved on.
Miko later asked him if he already missed the other, having only had such a relatively short reunion; he looked at her and chuckled, having had that question a lot throughout the years.
"I guess I never stop missing him, like one would miss the warmth of a fire on a cold windy night," he mused, sitting down by her on the rocky cliff, looking at the setting sun painting the clouds into beautiful orange.
At times like that, the desert and firmament seemed to blur together, and Bulkhead felt his spark fill with love for this experience too.
It was a different love than the one he had for Jackie, but he already knew it was a valid one still. He grew up understanding that he may never experience a love like those in the holos, but as the craving for it did not really manifest itself, he was glad to hold all of those emotions like an exquisite collection to cherish in his spark.
It was still love.
Not worse, not better than that which others felt.
Just love.
"I miss him, but I also never truly feel he's gone, you know? I still love the stars when the sun is up, and so I love Jackie even when we're far apart,," Bulkhead added, tearing his optics away from the view to look at Miko, who sat quietly, not wanting to break the rare moment of softness in their explosive lives. He smiled, reaching out to offer his fist up for her to bump, as he said:
"And I know I will hold you in my spark forever, you menace," he promised, as the soft human hand connected to his hard metal one.
The night was approaching.
The sun will come up.
Bulkhead loved Wheeljack and Wheeljack loved Bulkhead.
*********************
Another one prompted by this post of @paraxodicalundressing
The battlefield shifted since Megatron stopped showing up.
The Autobots had to admit that they had encountered a very odd dilemma - on one hand, they were glad for the reduced tensions, as the most obvious source of contention had been removed. On another, the Decepticons were way more difficult to handle without the warlord’s presence; he usually was a good indication of the general state of their side of the struggle.
If he fought on, they usually did too - and when he stopped, they most often followed suit.
Now, without him, the fights became more unpredictable, and the Autobots were at the disadvantage once more. The Nemesis was maintaining communication blackout, which mostly irritated Agent Fowler, who has grown attached to the regular updates from the ship’s crew chat and had to learn how to deal with getting a rush of notifications at random intervals instead, as the Vehicons went outside of the jamming range, making him miss out on important details.
They were faced again with the nagging sense of being left out of the loop - they were learning about operations being carried out days after they have already been completed, which reminded them of the silent years before Megatron returned from space to unleash on them the Dark Energon madness.
This meant that Starscream was back in the driving seat of the Decepticon forces, but not yet as the actual leader - all of them knew they would have heard from the seeker had the silver mech actually meet his demise. There would most likely be some sort of an elaborate ceremony to keep up appearances before the jet would take control over the faction into an iron grip; this time most likely without Soundwave’s opposition, since he must have initiated and kept the communication jam for a reason.
All of this, combined with a gradually worsening mood of their Prime, made the prior status quo appear slightly appealing - even with the horrible embarrassment that came with seeing their leader engage the enemy in a more intimate way than they all preferred.
At least it was familiar.
Optimus was growing steadily more incensed in a frightening way to the rest of the Autobots, obviously affected by the prolonged separation. Initially the quiet was not causing any outward impact on the mech, but a few days later, when they would normally expect to see Decepticon movement, there was nothing.
It continued to stay silent for another week.
Then another one after that.
They only realized there had been a change of management when Fowler mentioned that there had been an accident at one of the mining operations - which should have attracted their attention. The fact that it didn't meant it has been kept very well under wraps - and that was not Megatron's usual concern.
They scrambled to try and gain insight into any Decepticon-related activity - and kept on drawing blanks. While the locations they already knew about were unguarded and thus easily accessible, providing opportunities for raiding, there were not enough traces to see where the enemy actually was.
There were odd signs of other involved parties, but no concrete details - so instead of gaining insights, they were met with even more questions.
Finally, after nearly a month, they managed to pinpoint a minor Decepticon operation in progress by luck alone - Bumblebee was out on patrol and managed to spot a familiar alt form of the seeker in the sky. Following the jet with caution proved fruitful, as the scout pinged the base with coordinates of the active site, asking for backup.
Moments later, part of the Autobot crew came out from the portal, peering over the distance in hopes of scoping the field before engagement. A couple of Vehicons, lots of Energon and Starscream - risky, but manageable.
Arcee pointedly ignored the way Optimus curled his fists at the prominent lack of the warlord on site.
Finally motioning them to approach closer, they tried to keep out of sight, hoping to maintain an element of surprise. Unfortunately, there wasn't much cover available; with a sound of alarm, one of the Vehicons pointed towards their position right as they tried to surround the Decepticon SIC.
Optimus lunged at the seeker, leaving the rest of the enemies to be handled by his team, as he had his servos full with trying to not get his optics scratched out.
"Starscream, what happened to Megatron?" he asked with a hint of worry, keeping the jet at a distance that prevented the effect of intimidation he intended for.
Starscream looked at him and blurted out:
"Fell into a coma after bad Energon he got as a gift from Tarn, it was way past expiry date."
Optimus leveled him with a look that clearly said 'I don't believe you', and was about to say the same, when a shot to his side started him. One of the Vehicons got away from the fray, risking gaining Prime's attention to rescue the flight commander.
Starscream took the opportunity at once, squirming away and calling out to the Nemesis under the cover fire from now three Vehicons.
"Soundwave, open the bridge, we have company!" snapped the seeker, and then, with a look of pleasant surprise on the faceplates, grinned.
"Well, if you think so, then I won't be a nay-sayer," was the clue for the bigger mech that instead of an escape, he would be now faced with an additional enemy, as swirling lights appeared with additional Vehicons…
And Soundwave.
The Decepticon TIC was carrying something in a container, but he set it down on the ground the moment the bridge blinked out, as he chose to stand tall, the entirety of the bot screaming 'challenge'.
This made matters significantly worse in Prime's opinion, but he had the best chance of surviving the encounter out of all of his team, which was fighting with more enemies than before - they would not be able to help out anyway. Optimus turned away from the seeker, expecting to be engaged by the blue mech and bracing for it.
A swipe of claws came out of nowhere and nearly connected with his side, right when the data cables raised to strike. His optics widened in aperture, as he realized his mistake - he would not be fighting the TIC.
He was going to be attacked by both Starscream and Soundwave at once.
He swore internally, as the fight began in earnest, as he tried to ignore the whispers of memory with regards to the Pits - and how Megatronus found the blue mech an impressive opponent of formidable skill.
If he listened to them, he would panic - and then for sure he would slip up and most likely die, if the angry field of the mech was any indication. The fact that Soundwave allowed those emotions to show was a warning he knew not to ignore; the intent to kill was present in every motion and he could not allow any of these to reach his spark or helm.
The data cables were trying to either trip him or trap him, with the way they kept on curling around his pedes, as he tried to cover his vitals from a combined strikes from his opponents. Prime was not used to the lethal skill of these two, as they were way faster and smaller than Megatron, making it harder to counter in time.
They worked well together, to his horror - whenever Starscream retreated to find a better angle of approach, the TIC would slide in, allowing not even a moment of rest. Optimus's processor was working overtime trying to keep up with the unfamiliar setting, frame growing warmer with the exhaustion; it was doing its best to survive the onslaught.
There was no time to think about winning, truly, as the combination was deadly: what the seeker lacked in strength, the communication officer would supply in spades; when Soundwave would lose the upper hand, Starscream interrupted with a vicious exploration of vulnerability, whatever it might have been.
Optimus was suddenly very grateful for having his usual enemy in Megatron, who was ruthless, but usually engaged him alone.
If these two tried to gang up on him before - or worse, had they managed to cooperate with Megatron as a third power - he would have been dead ages ago.
When Soundwave's servo nearly stabbed him through the chest armor, he finally caved in and sent out a distress call to the base. The most recent additions to his team, including the three SICs that were getting used to the odd dynamic on Earth, were all responding affirmative.
He was relieved when he noticed the portal shimmering into existence, while he strained against the cable that threatened to cut off his arm if he allowed it even a bit of leeway. The claws of the seeker already left gauges in his plating, but his major Energon lines were not compromised for now - he only hoped it would remain true long enough for the others to reach his position.
A familiar voice of Jazz reached his audials, and the seeker withdrew hissing in pain, as a shot caught his wing. Soundwave did not let go, but Prime noticed the calculating pause, as the Decepticon turned his visor to check the battlefield. The Vehicons were losing ground with unfamiliar enemies, and Optimus had taken the opportunity to free himself of the data cable, throwing it away to the side, creating distance between them; his vents were working overtime to cool him down, now that he had a moment of respite.
Starscream snarled in anger, but motioned to the TIC to fall back, and as a portal to Nemesis opened, he shot out a quick command to the rest of the army to withdraw. Cover fire allowed Vehicons to get back to safety, keeping Autobots at bay.
Soundwave pointed towards the box he carried over, and the seeker smiled with malice, gesturing to it as well.
"A farewell gift, Prime - or rather, a return to the owner in this case," Decepticon SIC gloated, laughing as they both disappeared into the portal.
There was a silence across the battlefield, as the Autobots turned to eye the container critically.
"So… everyone else is also in favor of burning this to the ground from a safe distance?" Elita asked, taking aim.
"No, I will check it out - do not approach it now, though" disagreed Optimus, stopping her with a raised servo. Her face twisted, but in the end she lowered her blaster, watching critically as their leader approached the container.
"If it explodes, I am going to tell him off for a week," she muttered to Jazz, who was watching the mech with concern.
"I will join you in that," he replied quietly, as Prime's digits brushed the top of the box.
He lifted it open and peered inside - and froze.
"What is it?" Arcee asked, taking a tentative step closer, but as the optics of Optimus met hers, she stopped as well.
Prime was pissed off.
"It's nothing of concern," he answered, taking another pained look at the contents of the box, letting it close shut. He took a glance at the sky, in-venting loudly, and consciously relaxed his frame, signaling an all-clear.
The Autobots approached him, and Bulkhead risked a look inside the container. He saw the ruined remains of another box in there, charred beyond any chance of salvaging.
Whatever was in the box was burned down too, leaving only traces of pieces that looked suspiciously like…
Bulkhead decided it was better to stop thinking about it. Jazz, who sneaked a peek also reached this conclusion, and they both shut the outer container with more force than necessary.
"Prime, I swear, if this was what I think it was…" he started, just as their leader was finishing his comm to Prowl at the base to open a bridge back for them. He shot out a quick request to Elita to blow the container up, which she gladly followed through on, sensing it was a more personal issue than he tried to make it look like.
"It doesn't matter any longer," countered Optimus, not looking at anyone in particular.
Mostly avoiding the direction where the container exploded into smithereens.
"It matters, if you are pulling the same slag again," argued Jazz, but his complaints fell onto deaf audials.
Prime already crossed over to the base.
When they arrived, the mech was glued to the console, pouring over the data at a rate faster than they could keep up with. Prowl was looking at him with worry, unsure how to deal with sudden takeover from where he spent the last few days compiling reports up to his own standards.
"Optimus, please, stop, talk to us," Elita asked, placing her hand on one of his shoulders, only to have it shaken off with a displeased sound.
"I have something to take care of, please, let me do it, Elita," he managed to reply in a more civil tone, optics fixed onto the screen as his fingers flew across the buttons.
"Just this once, you hear me? When you calm down, I expect us to have a long talk, are we clear?" she warned, deciding to let him work his frustration out with whatever mission he set himself on. She would take care of the rest in the meantime.
"Crystal," Prime promised slightly distractedly, as his processor turned the energy priority away from his senses and more towards the data. She sighed, and waved at the others to join her to go to the medbay, where both resident medics were waiting for them.
Optimus stood at the console, lost to the world aside from an occasional refueling for over eighty hours - with a breakthrough in his search occurring when others were recharging.
His joints creaked from lack of use, as he moved towards the ground bridge controls. Hastily typing in the coordinates, he set it for a quick turn on and shut off. After consideration, he put a tracker on himself, and prepared an emergency message on a timer; he would need to hurry, and retrieval would be necessary.
He doubted his team would let him do this again - or anything at all - when he returned, so he needed to make this count.
The bridge onto Nemesis opened, and Optimus crossed the threshold.
***********
Inspired by @paraxodicalundressing post, continued on this and this, follow up to the consequences of this.
Living as a Decepticon on Nemesis held its pros and… well, cons, pun unintended.
On one hand, the ship was well equipped, the energon was plentiful, there was a place to recharge, and if one liked routines, the lull of chores and battle allowed a particular feeling of safety of certainty.
On the other hand, it carried a huge chance of being slagged on the field, either by Autobots or their own supreme commander by accident, and there were also some unexpected events that very few mechs considered before actually encountering them first hand.
One of those was the medical staff, which everyone had interactions with, for better or for worse. It was good to have them, but witnessing them together made one either groan internally or externally, depending on the seniority in the command line.
Nobody would risk offending the CMO without rank to pull it off - one tended to live rather… short, when that happened.
Starscream had the most recent pleasure of sustaining damage in battle, as the chatter filled the OR.
"Darling, pass me the clamp, if you don't mind?" Knock Out said, holding out his servo expectantly, as his assistant readily handed over the prepared equipment.
"Thank you, love, I knew I can count on you to be ready for me," he continued, innuendo heavy in his words; Starscream was trying very hard to not roll optics too hard, should they get stuck in that position and the visit would drag on longer than necessary.
"We work so well, don't you think, commander?" Knock Out asked, voice filled with adoration, as the clamp was placed and the operation started drawing to a close. The seeker looked down and grimaced.
"You do an… adequate job, I suppose," came the reply, through gritted denta and last dregs of patience, as Starscream tried to erase the memory of the last mega-cycle.
These two were sickening in their love, honestly, the seeker just wanted to leave at this point.
"Coming from you, it's a compliment, so thank you, commander o'mine," grinned the medic, as his husband started the cleanup. A few moments later the last of the panels clicked in place and the Decepticon SIC nearly leaped out of the berth at that sound.
"Oh no, not a chance, you are on a strict berthrest," a servo shot out, preventing that particular maneuver from happening.
"I will go back to my berth and rest then, shall I?" Starscream snarled, venom dripping from the vocaliser so heavily that most mechs would scurry away in fear.
Unfortunately for the seeker, being a CMO had its advantages - one of which was being immune from officers throwing around their weight. Even Megatron would relent if necessary - of course, to be fair, in his presence the shameless flirting usually was severely scaled down.
"I would rather you rested for a complete solar cycle where I can monitor you, commander - we both know you have a record of not listening to my recommendations," stated Knock Out matter-of-factly, as he made sure the patient did not move anywhere, motioning with one of his servos at Breakdown to come closer as backup.
"There is much to be done, medic, but I promise I will abide by your words this time," quickly reassured the flier, as the chance of escape started getting slimmer. The red mech smiled sweetly, as his partner braced the seeker's side, cutting off the way out bodily.
"I'm afraid it's not enough in this case, the work I did on you is quite delicate and could unravel upon any strenuous activity - I am putting you officially off the rota for a solar cycle, with strict limit of movement restricted to medbay," chattered Knock Out, typing out the form as he spoke, not bothering to look at Starscream who started to panic like a cornered animal.
"This requires approval of a senior officer, and I won't sign this off!" The seeker shouted, only to freeze when a soft ding came from the offending datapad, followed by another one soon after.
"Well, it seems I just got Soundwave's signature AND an official approval to detain you by force if necessary, co-signed by both our lovely TIC and our glorious leader," he laughed, as Starscream's face fell. If it was just Soundwave, there would be a slim chance of talking things out, but there was no way Megatron's signature could be overwritten now.
"I believe it is enough backing to ask you politely to stay here and rest - I will clear you off tomorrow after a check-up," promised the medic, humming to himself softly.
The medbay darkened, as the equipment was cleared away and stored for future use; a soft duo of farewells was shared, as both Knock Out and Breakdown left for their quarters, locking the medbay behind.
Starscream did not have the clearance to overwrite CMO's lock, so all that was left to do was praying for mercy.
As a loud slam was heard right on the other side of the wall, along with a "Oh darling, you should have told me you were this charged up - you need only ask!" filtering through the thin wall in the medic's voice, the seeker groaned and covered the audials, hoping to cut off all audio input.
Breakdown let out a desperate "Knock Out, love of my life, please, don't tease me today," Starscream considered the conversation shared with Soundwave about this exact problem, proposing insulation similar to the laboratories as a solution.
"Knock Out and Breakdown relationship: officially recognised. Their behavior: successful deterrent from reckless battlefield engagement or on-ship accidents. Medbay: at a manageable turnover rate. Staff accidental injuries since arrival: significantly lowered," explained the TIC one day, when the seeker pressed the matter after a short visit with a lot of flirting happening throughout the entirety of it.
Starscream had to agree, as the walls shook and the enthusiastic sounds were filling the otherwise quiet medbay - the seeker promised to think twice before doing another dangerous stunt again.
How could these two remain so energetic after such a long time being together, the SIC would never know…
*********************
Another one prompted by this post of @paraxodicalundressing
