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The more I learn of you, the more I dread becoming you.
My time on Earth has been confusing and frightening. My optics open to a new world around me, my home planet dead, my ally a villain responsible for my peoples’ suffering. My body is older, scarred, not my own anymore. All around me, my face is recognized by strangers, but they do not know me, they know you.
You, who bears the weight of fighting a war, of saving worlds, of keeping a noble cause aflame in the face of darkness. It worries me. I cannot imagine myself worthy of the Wisdom of the Primes. I cannot imagine myself leading the Autobots. They look to me, expecting something great of me, and I am lost, disconnected from their reality. I have nothing to give them, but as I understand it, you are the beacon of light to them, their pillar, their muse of sorts. The pressure seems unbearable to me. I dread the crushing weight. Will I remember dreading it? Will I remember these moments, before my memories are returned to me?
Perhaps I should be awestruck. You are a god to many… but you are despicable to me.
The more I learn of you, the more I despise you.
Ratchet took my hand and led me to safety. He laid out the truth for me, he harbored no secrets, he filled every gap that Megatron’s deception had left. He let me comb through unencrypted records, he let me learn of your story with no tricks, no ulterior motive. He is not the ruthless warlord Megatron warned me of. He is even more benevolent than I remembered.
And I loathe you for your treatment of him.
‘Old Friend’ is what you call him, he informed me.
Ratchet followed you here. He followed you through a millennia of war, bloodshed, torturous hardship. Every record puts him at your side, his expertise at your disposal, his aid keeping yourself and the others upright. I am starstruck by his strength and courage. His resilience ignites a fire in my spark. I am entranced by him. Moved by his devotion to you, to me. His effort in bringing you back.
How can I, having been here for mere days, see the way he speaks of you, of me, the way his optics soften, the pain in his spark, but you cannot? Is ‘Old Friend’ truly all he is to you? Is that all he has earned after giving you his life?
Ratchet is in love with you in a way that I cannot understand after speaking with everyone, after observing what I did.
He is running off of scraps. He does not refuel until every Autobot has, and even then, he takes the most minimal ration. He is starving, weak, and tired for the cause. He is insecure and afraid. How could you let him value himself so low? How badly did you neglect him for him to become so self-doubting? The Ratchet I remember was confident in his abilities, and had a bright future of saving lies. I do not feign ignorance of the traumas of war, but with his long list of achievements, how could he be so doubtful? Where were you when he needed reassurance? How could you not notice the way he is starving himself? How could a supposed strong leader let this happen?
He explained the key to Vector Sigma. He explained how it was imprinted by Jack, how you trusted a human with the magic of the ancients.
You did this with no honesty to the human or to Ratchet. You intended on leaving Team Prime behind. Ratchet promises me that you truly did not know what would happen when you used the Matrix, but deep inside, I know you knew you would be taken from them. You lied to the human, and you abandoned Ratchet.
You did not say goodbye to him.
It was with reluctance that Ratchet explained all of this to me. And then he started to cry.
I had never seen him cry. Ratchet was unshakable when I knew him. He stayed strong when everybody else needed him to. I never saw him cry.
And now I have, and it is because of you. You made Ratchet weep, you hurt him, you claim that he is your most trusted friend, and you abandoned him with no farewell.
I despise you for this. I despise what I am to become.
Ratchet has given you everything that he is. He has grown old and bitter, but still, he has kindness, and that beautiful smile, for you. You have taken him for granted. You tried to leave him with nothing.
I am fulfilling my role in the effort to bring you back, for him, and for him alone. He needs you.
I love him. I cannot imagine ever stopping, even with the weight of the Wisdom. How could you ever have stopped loving him? Why did you never tell him, why did you let him dangle for all this time?
I pray that you will be the Prime that he sees in you. I pray that you are not the charlatan I see you as.
- Orion Pax
Optimus set the datapad down. It had been heavy in his hand. It sat on his desk, staring up at him, and he could still feel its burden, the pressure it bore down on him.
He didn't register how his posture crumbled until his backstrut twinged in complaint. He was bent over, helm in his servos.
To Orion, he whispered, “I am not a charlatan, but I am a coward.”
Guilt was a bear trap, its teeth would snap shut, lacerate mesh, crunch through armor, and hold fast. The pain would not relent, for the jaws were impenetrable. Optimus’ spark was crushed in those jaws, ripped open by those teeth, and he would bleed, but he could never bleed out enough for the agony to cease.
The guilt of his mistakes and failures was crushing him on the inside. He could taste the blood. He could feel his servos shaking.
There was no begging Orion Pax for forgiveness. Optimus wanted so desperately to plead his case, to make a promise that he would right his wrongs.
Wanting for the impossible was an excuse not to think about what he must do for Ratchet. His guilt and fear would surely terminate him, if he were to see Ratchet's face now that he had been confronted with his monumental failure.
You do not deserve him.
“I do not. I do not deserve him.” Optimus gritted out. “But he deserves everything.”
Ratchet is in love with you.
“Please, let me go to him, let me have him,” Optimus begged. To the bear trap that had kept his mouth shut for so long, to the Matrix that forced him into his god status, to the burden of war that robbed him of a life.
Nobody is stopping you. You fabricate barriers because you are a coward.
“He deserves my truth, my vulnerability.”
“He deserves everything that I could give him.”
“He deserves to be valued.”
“He deserves to be told how perfect and wonderful he is.”
Now, Optimus was standing. Had he been speaking aloud? This conversation with his past self had him all turned around.
Pull yourself together.
He stored the datapad in his subspace, and pinged Ratchet’s comm with his request for a private conversation on the roof of their silo.
Ratchet sat down beside him, a reasonable distance from the edge, and regarded the setting sun, and the scarce patches of clouds. There was something unspoken between them, born of centuries of friendship. Ratchet didn’t question what Optimus was doing, sitting on the rocky surface by himself and staring at the sky. He knew the demeanor of a Prime that very much needed to talk.
“I am here.” His voice was soft in the way that made the Prime’s spark and voicebox melt. Ratchet’s voice had range, from shouting at whoever plundered through his workspace, to speaking in that tender tone, gentle like a breeze. A day without either was a day without purpose.
Optimus let himself stare at Ratchet. He hoped it came across as longing, and not odd.
The sunset painted Ratchet in the most complimentary way. His white armor was a sweet, pale yellow, and his orange glowed, and Optimus wanted to rest his head against the warm colors and listen to Ratchet’s spark beat.
“If you need to talk, I will listen. If you just need this,” Ratchet gestured to himself, to Optimus, and their general surroundings, “Then I will be here for an hour. I have too much work to be done for me to be sitting around in silence.”
“I often wonder what Alpha Trion would think of me now.”
The medic inclined his helm thoughtfully. “Alpha Trion would be very proud of you. He guided you to make the right decisions, he trusted you to follow through in his absence.”
“There have been numerous wrong decisions.”
“Few and far between. There have been innumerous good ones.” A pause. “Is there something specific eating at you?” Ratchet finally looked at him, and his face told that he was surprised to catch Optimus gazing at him.
“Please accept my apology, for my mistakes, and how I have failed you.” He said as their optics met.
“...What?” Ratchet asked.
“I wrote a letter to myself,” Optimus stopped to clarify, “Orion Pax wrote a letter to me. I have been confronted with the ways that I have wronged you, and I must make it right.” His vents sucked in a big breath as he worked his voice out of his throat, glossa heavy. “I did not say goodbye to you.”
Something clicked behind Ratchet’s eyes and he looked away, frowning. “It’s fine.” Optimus opened his mouth, but Ratchet raised a hand. “It’s fine, I don’t want to discuss that.”
“It was deplorable of me to leave you the way I did. I profoundly regret my actions.” Optimus pushed on. He had to make this known. “I should have bid you farewell, thanked you for everything, told you the truth. I should have informed you of the key. I wish to have treated you in a better manner for the last several centuries.” The bear trap was loosening. Optimus’ hand drifted to brush his medics’. “Please, forgive me.”
“Yes, yes, fine.” Ratchet muttered. His servo twitched under Optimus’.
“It is not fine. Please, tell me how I have hurt you, tell me of your anger, so that I may apologize for every moment of pain I have caused you.”
The medic sighed, gazing in the other direction. “I thought that you trusted me.”
“I truly do.”
“Obviously not!” Ratchet snapped back. “Obviously we are not all that good of friends! Can you at least try harder to survive, so I don’t have to clean up your mess?”
“I abandoned you.” Optimus whispered. His servo closed over Ratchet’s, squeezing it, lifting it off the ground to hover between them. “You deserved far better.” His thumb stroked the back of Ratchet’s servo. “Please, look at me.” The expression he received was sparkbreaking. “Thank you for bringing me home. Thank you for the countless times you have kept my spark beating, for the times you made me laugh when no other could, for the friendship you have given me. I would not be here without you. I could not be me without you.”
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Optimus couldn’t get it out. Instead, he opened his subspace and produced the datapad. Ratchet took it as it was offered, grateful for a break from eye contact. He was a fast reader, but his optics lingered for too long, and Optimus let him process in silence.
“Oh.” He said after several minutes. “I… don't know what to say.”
“My debt to you is incalculable. My appreciation of you is boundless.” Tell him you love him. Say it.
Silence.
Silence.
Say. It.
“I love you, Ratchet. I ask for your forgiveness, and nothing more. I am honored to be your friend, and anything else that you desire of me. The choice is yours.”
Was that him speaking, just now? Did he just say it? His voice seemed so far away as his nerves peaked. Fuzzy, in the distance, a valley between them, swallowing up the sounds.
What grounded him was the warmth of Ratchet’s hand against his lips. He had raised Ratchet’s servo to his mouth, and pressed a chaste kiss to it. He came back into himself as Ratchet’s frown softened.
“You are… Orion was harsh. He was under immense turmoil. I know that you have always put yourself under scrutiny, but you are not a dishonest ‘bot, you are not despicable.” His medic assured. “I'm embarrassed to have so much personal baggage laid out like this. Orion saw right through me. I hadn't meant to break down in front of him. So much of this, he gleaned from his observations, and I feel foolish that I gave him enough to come to these conclusions.” He watched Optimus kiss his servo, and the Prime revelled in the tinge of blue in his cheeks. Handsome. Flustered. “We have known each other for a long time. I am honored to have spent my life at your side. And yes, I developed feelings along the way.” Ratchet smiled, his features still marked by the sunset, still glowing, and Optimus wanted to feel that smile against his own, wanted to kiss the wind out of him. “I love you with my entire spark, Optimus.”
“I have more to apologize for.” The Prime whispered. Ratchet had moved closer to him, and there was magnetic energy between them, drawing them dangerously close.
Ratchet’s face was so close to his, optics soft and needing. “Don't. You're alive, and you're home. It's all I could ever ask for.”
“Ask more of me.” Optimus ordered. “Ask everything you can of me.”
His medic watched his lips as he spoke, his own lips parted ever so slightly. He closed his optics for a moment. “Please, just have me. Let me be enough for you, when I'm not enough for myself. I need you.” His servos trailed up Optimus’ neck to cup his face. Optimus nuzzled the touch. “I need you to kiss me.”
Optimus did. He closed the minimal distance between them and let their mouths sweep against each other. It was delicate and pliant, perfect, a perfect first touch between soft lips. So much unsaid, laid so clear in one simple action. Their engines sang together, and Optimus felt unexplainably hungry, the feeling of Ratchet so delectable to him.
Ratchet's cheeks were next, his forehelm, his chin, his jaw, and then his lips again, nowhere was left unexplored by Optimus’ closed mouth. He kissed the blush Ratchet wore, kissed between his closed optics.
“You are beautiful.” Optimus breathed. “Do you desire more?”
“Yes, obviously,” Ratchet huffed, pulling his mouth back where it belonged.
“May I touch you?” His Prime asked when Ratchet nibbled on his lower lip pleadingly.
“Anywhere.”
Optimus opened his mouth to taste his beloved for the first time, to drink in his scent. Ratchet's glossa was fluid in its exploration. Optimus swallowed his gasp as strong hands felt his body in a new, experimental way. His waist held firmly, the curve of his frame fitting in that hold like a puzzle piece. Fingers petting him where he was sensitive beneath the doors on his chassis.
Ratchet gave his jaw a good graze with his dentae and found a cable along his neck to suckle on. The teasing of his tongue could melt Optimus’ circuits.
Ratchet's hands on his chest, fingers sliding beneath his windshield and touching him, fondling him, making him lose himself. Sensitive wiring and mesh being tickled, kneaded. Lips pressing to his throat, glossa flicking, dentae scraping just enough to make him shiver.
Primus, that was good.
He made it his turn to play by taking Ratchet's hips and hoisting him high enough to give his mouth easy access to his lower chest. Optimus slid his glossa under Ratchet's doors, plucked at gaps in his armor with his teeth. Ratchet let out a breathy whine when Optimus’ tongue slid into his grill, while his thumbs eased into the gap between his thigh and his hip. Ratchet gripped at his smokestacks to balance himself, watching his chassis become a playground for his Prime’s ministrations.
“Are you well, my Dearest?”
Ratchet's smile was the sustenance that Optimus craved. Right now, he couldn't imagine ever needing something else. “More than, my Beloved.”
“How do I convey to you just how stunning you are right now? How perfect you are to me? How much I love you?”
He wanted Primus to be envious of the worship he gave Ratchet. He wanted to live and breathe for him. To give his spark to something other than the war for once. Something for him.
“I am yours for eternity. You have plenty of time to show me.” His medic's face was flushed and hot. He was blushing. “Kiss me again, please,” he pulled at Optimus' smokestacks insistently, and he was lowered, his mouth captured in another searing embrace.
The stars had emerged. How long had they been doing this?
Optimus stared at the sky, one servo cupping Ratchet's helm, the other intertwining their digits. The medic gave his windshield wiper one last long suck before looking up at him, breathless. Their vents were screeching, engines sputtering, sparks pounding. It was exhilarating. How could he be so winded when they hadn't even interfaced?
“I feel old.” Ratchet panted.
“From this night on, whenever I call you my Old Friend, picture this, us, in this moment. I beg of you to never doubt what we share.” Optimus stroked his face, and then held it, absolutely infatuated. “My Dearest. My Forever.”
Ratchet melted into him, tucked against his chest, arms looped around his neck. Optimus wrapped him up tight in his arms. The stars glittered over them, and the desert’s chill was creeping up, but there was no place warmer than pressed against his medic's frame.