Work Text:
Title:
The Best Medicine
Verse:
Multi-Continuity A/U
Series:
Pursuit
Rating:
T
Warnings:
Xeno, Family, Spoilers for the future of Pursuit, Implied Culturally Accepted Incest
Pairings (in order):
Sideswipe/Bluestreak/Sunstreaker, Jazz/Prowl, Optimus/Ratchet, Jack/Arcee
Summary:
Laughter can hurt, heal, bond, and break.
Notes:
I was trying to poke the muses into working on something, anything, and all they wanted to do was gnaw on a four sentence idea. Delle and I were trying to decide which couple it sounded like and somehow that turned into this.
OoOoOo
(Sideswipe/Bluestreak/Sunstreaker)
Bluestreak’s laugh is light hearted. His progenitors had protected him from the ugliness of the war and then sent him away before he was old enough to feel the full brunt of it. The colonies where he finished his growth and received his training saw few skirmishes. He has been allowed to retain all the joviality he would have had if this whole thing had never happened.
Sunstreaker doesn’t find things quite as funny as his much younger mate. He never did and probably never will. Their offspring are all oddly like him. Solace is the liveliest of the group, something builds inside her and she just has to let it out, but those incidents are rare and quick to pass. Tonight she is sitting quietly with her siblings, Solarstreak and Firebreak, ignoring the chaos happening around them in favor of a puzzle.
Sonata and Moonlight, on the other hand, are tearing through their quarters; while he understands Bluestreak wanting to help out with his siblings he doesn’t understand why it had to be tonight. And with no prior warning. He knows Prowl and Jazz aren’t out on a mission. Frag, he knows they’re not even on duty.
Sideswipe is as obviously amused by the whole thing as Bluestreak, optics shining and smile broad. He is in his element, the best big brother easily transitioning into caring creator.
He makes sure to scowl a little harder when his twin smiles over at him.
“Relax, Sunny.” He growls at the nickname, Sideswipe ignores him. “We were this bad when we were growing up. Look how we turned out.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the yellow twin spits.
Sideswipe’s laughter is instantaneous. Bluestreak blinks at him for a few seconds before giggling in that younger than his vorns way again. The sparks are all tittering now. He wonders what he did to deserve this then promptly closes that line of thought. Ratchet would have a list a mile long.
OoOoOo
(Prowl and Jazz)
Prowl is fairly certain Bluestreak learned to laugh from Jazz. Jazz tries to find the amusement in any given situation. He often succeeds. Tonight he’s laughing at something on their private vid screen in their quarters. Braying like some Terran pack animal .
The Praxian tells himself he’s only going to peek to ascertain that Jazz hasn’t done anything to land himself a trip to the brig again. Then he is going to make him turn the slagging thing off. Their time alone together is precious and has been in short supply since the sparking of their latest offspring.
It takes him a moment to understand what he’s seeing, but when he does he can’t help the small smile that flits across his face. Jazz has attached a camera to one of the sparks, Moonlight since he can see Sonata in the camera’s screen, and it’s broadcasting their night with their sitters back to their progenitors. He can see Bluestreak giggling. Sunstreaker looks ready to burst a line. Sideswipe has fallen to the floor he’s howling so hard.
He leans over to kiss his errant mate, a slight chuckle reverberating through him. “My naughty Jazz, whatever shall I do with you?”
“Love me for the rest of our lives, Prowler?” Jazz has turned the monitor off and is now facing him full on, his smile every bit as beatific as the first time Prowl saw it.
Prowl can’t help but return the gesture, overwhelmed (not for the first time) with just how much he loves this mech and his laughter. “For the rest of our lives and beyond.”
The laughter is soft, shared, and every bit as intimate as what quickly follows.
OoOoOo
(Optimus/Ratchet)
If you were to ask which progenitor Sunstreaker inherited his temper from you would receive vastly different answers depending on whom you asked. Starscream would happily tell you it was all Ratchet’s fault. Ratchet would just as happily tell you his ex is a psycho bitch monster, to make use of human vernacular, and they’re lucky Sunstreaker is only slightly sociopathic and only on his bad days.
Then there are days, days like today, where Ratchet is quite sure he got it from, well, Ratchet. He’s been palming a wrench back and forth for the entirety of their guests’ visit. Optimus is elbow to elbow with Megatron in a way that always makes him howl internally. His mate’s mirth when spending time with his brother is a tangible thing, it warms the room. Megatron is only answering when he has to and seems vaguely uncomfortable to be there. Well good, he should be.
He tries not to think about it too often. Megatron is the Lord High Protector, Optimus is the Prime, and together they were meant to rule them all. He doesn’t belong here, he wasn’t sparked for this. Even Starscream seems like an intruder in this scene and Ratchet knows he is Megatron’s sparkmate.
And what is he? Not even a bondmate. Not yet and maybe not ever if he has his way about it. Optimus asks, hints, cajoles on an almost daily basis for him to upgrade his programming so they can be a fully bonded couple. He doesn’t understand what the Prime is playing at. He has his Lord High Protector back; brother, counselor, lover, and friend in one predestined package.
Optimus is laughing again, loud and open as Ariella tries to teach Morningstar how to tumble. His own laughter answers it, quiet and bitter. There is that. Megatron’s coding is not compatible with Optimus’, he supposes he’s being kept around in case his Prime desires more offspring.
Optimus seems to know what he’s thinking, he always seems to know what Ratchet is thinking, and he gestures the medic over almost as soon as that thought has flashed through his processor. He sighs and grudgingly makes his way toward the pair.
He’s snagged as soon as he is within reach, pulled down into his Prime’s lap and snuggled. Another of Optimus’ quirks. Kisses now mixed in with pleased laughter. Fairly certain Optimus is sending a message and not quite sure who he’s sending it to.
He supposes it doesn’t matter and he should just enjoy the laughter while he can still have it.
OoOoOo
(Jack/Arcee)
Jack’s parents are visiting the base. She doesn’t know how she feels about this. She has met the step-father before, he has a liaison position and is the reason Jack was shuffled onto the embassy for his first assignment. She doesn’t know much about him past his willingness to get the job done. The mother looks stern, but her eyes are what most humans refer to as kind.
They are sitting nearby, the patio section off of the human’s mess hall. William Fowler is bellowing at something Jack has told him, clutching his gut as it shakes from the exertion. Next to him his mate (wife, she corrects herself) looks equal parts amused and exasperated. Jack is telling them about his first day on base, how he hopped on a motorcycle thinking it was just a motorcycle and how a sentient alien took him for a ride.
He’s moving on now, telling about their month of shared guard duty. Nights of boredom that were cut with idle chit chat. Feeling each other (up) out. They technically didn’t begin dating until after their month of guard detail was over, but she won’t deny they spent most of the last week on the floor of the guard shack. It was never supposed to last after that, she’d told him as much, and she does not understand why she agreed when he’d asked against her wishes.
Jack’s laughter is beginning to sound nervous as he gestures towards her, forced. “So she was a really good sport about everything and has even allowed me to be her unofficial ambassador of Earth culture.”
“What he means,” William Fowler is laughing still, and she idly wonders why so many human males are named William. “Is that he can watch tv on his shift and claim he’s helping acclimate one of our visitors.”
Jack’s laughter is even more nervous now, he’s rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, yeah, how many jobs pay you to explain the beauty of Fight Club to your girlfriend?”
If she had been in root mode she would have cringed when June Fowler’s glass dropped out of her hand and hit the cement of the patio. Jack isn’t laughing anymore, and she’s fairly certain his mother is about to give him the lecture that ends most xeno relationships around here.
She doesn’t understand why that thought, and the sudden absence of his laughter, hurts.