Chapter Text
Five new warnings pinged on Ratchet’s HUD, as if he was somehow unaware that Megatron’s arm had smashed into him and sent him crashing onto an equally unforgiving rock floor. The rattling in his chassis was worrying and the integrity percentage of his back strut was something he should address before daring to take another hit like that. Requests to shut down and reboot came faster than intakes of cool air for his overtaxed self-repair systems.
Nevertheless, Ratchet forced his optics to online again, searching for the blue light of the matrix, for the red and silver and blue of his Prime, hope and fear warring—
“Megatron – be gone!”
There was always certain satisfaction to be had in watching the Decepticon warlord receive the same treatment he had dished out. This time though, that satisfaction was completely drowned out by sheer relief
Optimus was back. By the Allspark, he was back.
Bumblebee pulled the medic to his pedes, keeping a servo on his shoulder as they made their way up to the platform until Ratchet was steady enough to shake him off. Relief flooded his processor to see Bulkhead and Arcee up and taking their places at their Prime’s side. And Optimus himself—
His canons were already drawn and aimed in the direction he had sent Megatron flying, stance wide and poised to rush forward, his mask out; in every way the leader of the Autobots.
Ratchet’s spark swelled with pride.
However, when the Prime glanced back to take stock of his team and stopped at Ratchet, his optics were not those of the battle weary Prime he had known for the last few million years. Uncertainty was not alien to him, but there was a quiet plea for help that did not fit.
“Ratchet?” he asked, as if it was possible he had the wrong mech.
The Medic’s optics widened and his processor spun before stopping at the most likely reality of the situation. As much as Ratchet tried to rationalize any other possibility, unbidden memories rushed to the forefront as proof of concept – memories of his dear archivist dragging himself out of Cybertron itself, no longer the bot he once was. When his body became far stronger, and wisdom unimaginably old started to intermingle with his spark, and his unbelievingly blue optics were nearly filled to bursting with disbelief and anxiety; when the Prime was like a stumbling new forge.
When he was still just as much Orion as he was Optimus.
Four million years later and Ratchet still knew those optics in an instant.
The Matrix had turned Orion Pax into Optimus Prime once more, but not the one it had taken with it into Unicron’s core. His stature as Prime returned, but his memories of the last millions of years were still lost.
Ratchet ignored the looks from the other team members and his own stuttering spark, instead holding Optimus’s gaze as he nodded in confirmation. The Prime’s shoulder relaxed ever so slightly.
A jet engine roared with rage from across the cavern.
“Fowler, send a ground bridge now,” Ratchet commed to base.
“We’re detecting five signatures now. Is Prime with you?”
“And Jack,” Arcee replied before Ratchet could. The mic at base caught a whisper of June’s relieved sigh that was quickly lost in the whirr of the ground bridge opening beside them. It only took a glance before Arcee turned to the team. “That’s ours.”
Megatron was back on his pedes and sprinting towards them, sword drawn. Optimus shifted and started to fire. His shoulder jolted for a klik, as if surprised by his own movements. “Go!” he called back.
Bulkhead shouted “This time he’s coming with us,” as he and the other two warriors fired off some shots before in turn jumping into the bridge with Jack. Once they were all through, Ratchet had started to move before noticing that Optimus had not stepped any closer to the bridge. While the blasts slowed him, the Decepticon warlord was nearly upon them – soon, the Prime would not have enough time to make his escape as well.
“Optimus!” he shouted, and when there was no immediate response, Ratchet reached out to yank at one of his smoke stacks. “Orion!”
That caught the Prime’s attention and confirmed Ratchet’s fears. Optimus finally looked back, pausing for a moment to consider the medic before nodding. It only took a couple of his long strides before he pushed off the ledge and disappeared through the ground bridge.
The last thing Ratchet heard before he slipped through the vortex behind Optimus was Megatron’s howl of rage.
And the first thing he saw on the other side as the bridge closed behind him was the team, Fowler and June, the children, all staring with trepidation at the Prime. All he saw of Optimus was his backside, but Ratchet could imagine the confused look on his face.
As the high intensity of the their fight with Megatron faded, the team was left with a barely balanced tension, as if every process paused waiting for the last data point to indicate how they should proceed.
“Optimus?” Rafael’s voice was small but spoke volumes. All optics and eyes were trained on the Prime.
“I--” Optimus began, pausing as he lifted a servo to his chest where the matrix resided once more. He considered his servo as if it were a stranger’s.
With a quick intake to cool his overheated chassis, Ratchet stepped up to his side and placed a servo on Optimus’s upper arm. He could not help tightening his grip slightly when Optimus looked to him, again seeking confirmation.
“I—I suppose so,” Optimus finally replied, considering the small human before him again. “Although I suspect I am not the Optimus you had been hoping for.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Miko asked as she pushed past Rafael, hands at her hips and head tilted. All around her though were slowly forming expressions of understanding.
Fowler took a couple steps forward as well. “Now hold on a second here, Prime – do you have your memories back or not?”
“I carry the knowledge of the past Primes now, so I am Optimus Prime,” he started, his servo clenched above where his spark and matrix were housed, “but I – I am aware that I was your leader, but I have not gained any memories of that time. I know little of what has happened since—” Again the mech paused, optic ridge furrowed as if searching his own processor. Nothing concrete seemed to come to him as his expression hardly shifted. “—Well, certainly before this war. And most of what little I have learned was from Megatron, so there is no way for me to know what was deception.”
There was a muttered “Scrap” from Arcee and Bumblebee visibly drooped with a whir.
“But this was supposed to fix him!” Miko cried out, her eye locked on Ratchet. Bulkhead had already knelt beside her, his servo massive against her back. He started to speak, his tone soft, but she spoke over his attempt. “You said so yourself!”
Ratchet’s armor pulled tight against his frame, as if to protect him against the words he had already started to berate himself with.
“It was only ever a theory,” Ratchet replied, already regretting the bitterness he could not keep from his tone. His spark ached for the millions of years of their friendship that were beyond his reach. He rebooted his voice box to speak more evenly. “If I had to guess, I would say that Optimus – that you,” he clarified, glancing up at the mech, “did gain back your previous knowledge. After all, you regained fighting instincts, which Orion never had. But the Matrix has always been mysterious, so there was no way to know what it considers knowledge and keeps, and what it discounts as simply memory.”
Optimus nodded slowly, his servos clenching and unclenching. “The knowledge I have does seem to be detached from any personal meaning or significance to any of the Primes. I have no memories from them. It would follow then that my own suffered the same fate.”
Silence settled, cybertronians and humans alike unsure of what to do. It had never occurred to any of them that they might get Optimus back without his memories.
Ratchet wished he had any idea of what to do, but he was far too overwhelmed to even understand what he was feeling. Primus knew he had no solution for anyone else.
It was Bulkhead who stepped up, getting to his pedes and moving to stand in front of Optimus.
“Doesn’t matter how or why,” he started, servo waving as if to dispel the melancholy that had settled. There was a genuine grin on his face. “The only thing that really matters is that we have you back on our side, Optimus.”
A warm smile bloomed on the Prime’s face in return and he reached out to put a servo on his shoulder. Bulkhead’s expression faltered for a moment, shocked at the open expression on Optimus’ face.
“Thank you, ah--” Optimus started, halting awkwardly for a klik.
“Name’s Bulkhead.”
“Thank you, Bulkhead,” he repeated, his smile still in place, and Ratchet could have sworn his spark skipped a beat.
Arcee and Bumblebee shared a brief look before stepping up as well. “For once, Bulk is right,” the femme said teasingly before placing all her attention on the Prime. “Arcee, at your service.”
“::And I’m Bumblebee.::”
“Arcee,” Optimus repeated as he had before with Bulkhead, tilting his helm to her before turning to the scout, “and Bumblebee. You also have my thanks.”
“And I’m Miko!” the human girl shouted while scrambling up onto Bulkhead’s pede, as if the couple of extra feet helped. Ratchet simply looked on with amusement as Optimus knelt down on one knee and then leaned even further down so he was closer to her level. The other humans made their introductions as well, albeit in much less exaggerated ways. Even Fowler managed to be polite, even though he insisted they talk at length soon so he could explain their working relationship and expectations.
Optimus made certain to repeat every name given to him. June mentioned that she would not take it personally if he had to ask again – he was learning several names all at once, after all – but the Prime released a small, amused vent. “While the circumstances suggest otherwise, I promise I usually have no difficulty remembering information. I appreciate the consideration nevertheless, June.”
Finally, the Prime straightened his back and turned his helm, and even while kneeling he did not have to look up too far to meet Ratchet’s gaze. His optics still looked too young, but at least they held mirth instead of unease.
“I’m glad to see that you’re still by my side, Ratchet,” he said warmly as he stood, clasping a servo to the medic’s upper arm.
“Where else would I be?” Ratchet replied with a shrug, grinning despite himself.
And then Optimus’s face shifted, and this time when he smiled his whole face lit up. There was – no, it could not have been, Ratchet assured himself, but yet there it was – adoration in the look and it sent Ratchet’s spark whirling. His optics were blindingly bright, the grin lopsided, and it was all almost as if he – as if—
“I must admit that I was temporarily taken in by Megatron’s lie. I should have known better than to doubt you.”
Ratchet’s processer came to a screeching halt.
“What – he—what did he say about me?”
“Stop that!”
“Stop what?” Miko asked in a singsong voice. Ratchet did not bother to look up from where he was reattaching the last of Optimus’ abdominal plates. Luckily for the Prime, the beating he had apparently taken while aboard the Nemesis had only loosened some of the wiring and nicked one of the tubes that lay beneath the armor.
“Miko,” Bulkhead softly chided. “It’s not a good idea to make fun of the doctor.”
Ratchet heard the grin and turned his helm to glower. “No, no--”
“You mean the--”
“No.”
“Doctor of Doom?” Bulkhead finished and Miko crumpled with laughter. Ratchet could not contain the frustrated rev of his engines.
“I’ll give you a doctor of doom,” Ratchet grumbled while returning to his work, his systems running hot under his plating. Knowing that Megatron had not only remembered his synth-en induced rambling, but had then used it to mock him from afar made his fuel lines boil. The only saving grace was that the team did not know that Megatron was quoting him. It would have been all the more insufferable if they knew that he himself came up with the phrase.
He supposed the bright side was that it distracted everyone. Soon after introductions Ratchet had opened a private comm with the team telling them not to overwhelm their Prime with questions just yet. While Optimus seemed to be doing better than he would have expected, the medic was sure this must have been a very confusing time for him. No need to stress him out further with an interrogation.
Ratchet could only assume the team managed to get the message to their favored children (and Jack to his mother, and she to Fowler) as they were led to the med bay since they had also kept their questions to themselves. They busied themselves with trying to help with the medical equipment.
If being mocked as the ‘Doctor of Doom’ meant Optimus would have an easier transition then so be it.
The armor plate finally clamped into place.
“That should be it,” Ratchet said, standing up straight and stretching out his back. A reminder that he needed to have his back strut tended to popped up on his HUD and was quickly excused. He would have time once the rest of the team was up and running. “Now sit up and we’ll take care of your shoulder.”
Optimus did sit up, swinging his pedes over the side of the berth, but he raised a questioning optic ridge.
“But that was the last of my injuries.”
Ratchet waved the comment off as he moved to his work table to grab a laser torch. “I’m not going to leave those unsightly things on you a moment longer.”
Once Ratchet had turned back to his patient, Optimus had rotated one of his shoulders to consider the Decepticon insignia branded onto the armor.
“While I do want them to be removed eventually,” he started, allowing his shoulder to return to its natural position, “they’re not causing me any harm either. You should move on to someone else.”
“Absolutely not! They’re coming off now.” Optimus started to get to his pedes, only stalling when Ratchet raised a servo in a halting fashion a few feet from the Prime’s chest and tutted him. “It won’t take long, so sit back down.”
There was definitely whispering coming from where Arcee was doing her best to tend to Bumblebee’s external injuries. No doubt making ‘Doctor of Doom’ comments.
Optimus’s optics narrowed.
“Ratchet, this is ridiculous. You should attend to Bumblebee or Bulkhead. I wanted to look through the database to educate myself on our situation anyway,” he stated, continuing to get to his feet. Ratchet’s servo did not yield, staying in place even as Optimus’s chest came up to meet it. “Once you’re finished, you may come and get me.”
Ratchet hesitated, but did not move.
“Who’s the doctor here, hm? Now sit back down.”
Optimus took in a vent, but before he could continue to argue, Bumblebee whirred from where he sat on the other med berth. “::You know, you can just tell him to do it. He’s the doc, but you’re the Prime.::”
The medic whipped his helm around to see Bumblebee shrug and Arcee smirking at him. Miko leaned over to Rafael, no doubt to ask what Bumblebee had said, and with his response she grinned and cupped her hands around her mouth as she let out an “Oooooooooooh burn!”
“Ratchet,” Optimus said gently, and when Ratchet focused back on him, the Prime had a conflicted look on his face. However, he still continued on. “Work on the others and let me know when you’re finished.”
No ‘you should.’ Just a statement. An experiment, really, testing out what felt to him like a new role.
With a sharp ex-vent, Ratchet dropped the servo.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
Optimus’s mouth actually gapped a bit at that, looking surprised despite having made the order himself. “That’s it?”
Ratchet waved him off as he turned back to his work table and put the torch away again, snapping, “You heard them.”
Despite Ratchet’s bitter tone, there was amusement in Optimus’s when he replied, “You’ll have to forgive me then. I’m not used to this.”
Ratchet pulled up the scans he had done of the team when they first settled into the med bay. Bulkhead’s scans showed some damage, that was certain, but when placed next to Bumblebee’s, they were minimal. The scout would come first. “Don’t lie. You always got your way in the end.”
“Not without at least ten minutes of argument.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Do I?” Optimus was teasing him.
Ratchet shook his head as he swept the medical scans to one of the side screens and brought up a few new windows. A report Optimus himself had written for Agent Fowler when they first arrived which gave a brief summary of the Cybertronian war and what had brought them to earth; a database of the reports Agent Fowler wrote up for each of their missions (with annotations correcting his mistakes that he often ignored); profiles of each the team members, including Optimus’s; an inventory of the base’s equipment and energon supplies.
“Now look who’s wasting time.”
Optimus hummed as he walked up next to the medic, his lips quirked in a small smile, and it was truly disarming how easily he smiled now.
“This is still more time efficient comparatively.”
“Stop gloating. It’s unseemly for a Prime.” His tone had been chiding, but it got a genuine chuckle out of Optimus. “Just remember, the second I’m done, you’re sitting your aft back down on my med berth.”
“Of course, Ratchet.” Optimus caught his gaze, nodding, before he turned his attention to the screen. Once his optics started to scan the documents, his expression went lax, as if the mech’s processor had already forgotten he had a face at all. Ratchet just huffed with humor. Optimus had always been quick to get immersed in research, but war had taught him to still always be aware of his body and surroundings. When he had been Orion, however, he would literally lose himself in the work. One late night, seemingly lifetimes ago, he had even confessed to Ratchet that he had to regularly set alarms before starting his work after an incident where he nearly ran himself out of energon because he had become too absorbed. It was only once another archivist realized Orion had not left in nearly three whole cycles that he was sent to the nearest hospital and once fueled again he was forced to take a decacycle off.
Ratchet made a note to keep an eye out for newly revived habits in their Prime.
“Alright then, Bumblebee, you’re next--” he started before noticing the looks he was receiving. All three warriors’ optics were cycled wide. Even the children looked surprised. The medic raised an optic ridge. “What?”
“Nothin’,” Bulkhead quickly replied before clearing his voice box. Nevertheless, he glanced past Ratchet, and he did not need to turn around to know that Bulkhead had look at Optimus.
Already put out by the beating around the bush, Ratchet stepped up to the team and said more quietly but all the more sternly, “What?”
The team just looked at each other awkwardly until it was Rafael of all beings who spoke up. “Well, it’s just that we knew you guys were old friends, but we’ve just never seen you guys actually act that… friendly, I guess?”
“Friendly,” Ratchet repeated, unimpressed. “You’re surprised we can act friendly.”
“He actually laughed,” Arcee pointed out. “I don’t think even we’ve heard that for a few decades at least.”
“Not to mention he acted like he actually did remember you,” Jack pointed out. “Like you were talking about the good old days or something.”
Miko immediately picked up on that. “Yeah, how did he remember you when he forgot the rest of us? That’s not fair.”
Ratchet took a slow, deep intake of air as he closed in on Bumblebee, pulling out his tools to get started. “I was friends with Orion long before he became Optimus,” he explained. “So he remembers me from when we were young.”
“Wait, wait, so, those stories you told us about Orion? You were there when they happened?” Jack asked.
“Most of them,” Ratchet replied. Once Bumblebee’s sensornet was shut down, he motioned for the children to move and started on the process of removing the armor in his way. The scout had three leaking tubes, and while they were slow and would eventually be closed off by his auto-repair systems, they did not have the resources to let even the smallest amounts of energon go to waste. Once those were welded shut, he would address the damaged hydraulics.
“So you also knew Megatron back then?” Rafael asked quietly. He seemed hesitant, afraid to ask, but as Ratchet let the question roll around his processor, a smirk pulled at his lips.
“Oh yes. Did you know he wrote poetry?”
Revenge was petty, but Ratchet never claimed to be otherwise.
By the time Ratchet had finished patching up the team, the children were long gone, having been dragged off by June since it was getting late by human standards. Fowler had managed to bring Optimus out of his research stupor and after speaking with him for about an hour seemed satisfied and had left as well. Arcee was on monitor duty while Bumblebee and Bulkhead had been sent to their quarters to recharge.
Now that warriors were treated, Ratchet considered dragging Optimus away from the screens as he had said he would. However, his systems were running themselves ragged. Something still rattled in his chest and the entirety of his back was a constant ache.
Besides, Optimus was still completely absorbed in his research. The pages that Ratchet had pulled up had already been fully digested and dismissed and new pages brought up. Ratchet was surprised to see that he had already dug up the personal logs Optimus had been keeping and updating since his days as Orion. While a very large file by virtue of it containing over four million years’ worth of entries, it was always buried deep in whatever computer system it was stored on at the time and heavily protected. The medic could count on one servo how many bots knew about it. Furthermore, Ratchet had been the only other mech entrusted with the knowledge of how to access the files in case something were to happen to Optimus himself, and to date he had never done so.
Ratchet had thought he would have to dig it up at some point, but clearly he should have never worried. Optimus had no doubt forgotten he kept up with his personal entries, but had managed nonetheless to not only find but break into his former self’s person recounts of his life.
So Ratchet decided to take some time to fix what he could on his own frame. It took careful programing to shut down his sensory receptors in his chest while maintaining those in his servos, but he knew the insides of his body the way others knew their own names. Over the next hour, his wires, tubes, and organs were carefully righted in not only his chest, but also his legs and arms.
However, his back was simply out of the question. Ratchet would have to leave it up to his auto-repair systems to stitch together the hairline fractures. It would take a few days, but it would eventually right itself.
Unfortunately, that meant his rate of energon consumption would also increase. Ratchet checked the screen in his forearm; everyone else was alright, though he would have to make sure they refueled a bit extra the next day to make up for their own self-repair systems. Optimus was practically full – it was a small relief to know he was at least well fueled while in Megatron’s keep. Ratchet’s own level was nearing the red end of the spectrum.
He needed to refuel soon.
Ratchet chewed on his bottom lip before ex-venting with a shake of his head. For the moment, it was nice to simply lie on the med berth. He still had half of yesterday’s ration somewhere around the med bay, so he would go get it in a bit.
Just a moment to let his optics shut off.
“Ratchet?”
It took a few moments for the auditory information to be processed, and still more to understand it was his name being called. The mech made an attempt to online his optics, but all that filtered through was a blur.
“Are you online?”
It took longer this time to parse what the sounds meant. It took a couple aborted attempts, but finally he managed to lean up on his elbows. Restarting his optics helped some – the singular blur was now a scene of distinguishable blurs.
There was steadying pressure pressing up against his back, helping him to keep his head up. A servo. Probably from the mech speaking to him. And then there was a softer, gentler pressure drifting across his cheek, cupping it in a warm hold. There were lights in the main blur in the middle of his vision, brilliant blue that bled into the rest of the image, giving everything a blue hue.
Ratchet restarted his optics again, and this time he could make out Optimus’ face watching him carefully.
Seconds later, his HUD finished booting up, and immediately a giant warning took up half his vision.
WARNING: LOW ENERGON LEVELS
The medic groaned. His processor felt heavy and slow, still groggy from the interruption of the deep recharge he had not meant to fall into. To make matters worse his tank felt as if it was collapsing in on itself.
Optimus removed the servo that had cradled his face – odd that it was there at all, but Ratchet did not have to capacity to think deeply about it – and picked up a cube of energon that was sat on the berth next to Ratchet. It was not the half ration he still had stashed somewhere nearby, but rather a full, new cube from their supplies.
“Here,” the Prime said simply. Ratchet grabbed the cube and without further instruction brought it to his mouth and started to chug. He was aware it was hardly polite, especially in front of his Prime, and there was guilt nudging at the back of his helm, reminding him of how low their supplies were. And yet once the cool liquid started to slide down his intake, his starved systems refused to let him stop until the last drop had been emptied from the cube.
“I can go get more.”
Ratchet shook his head as he shifted to sit up fully. Optimus’s servo on his back moved with him, warm and comforting. “Was more than enough,” he mumbled before rebooting his voice box. “Sorry. I hadn’t meant to recharge without refueling.”
“I had guessed as much,” Optimus replied with a soft ex-vent. “I’m hardly much better. I hadn’t realized how late it had become or that you were even still here until the warning notification appeared on the screen.”
Ratchet stared at the Prime, puzzled as to what he would be researching so diligently and why he had done it on the med bay computer. It took a few seconds longer than it should have, but eventually the events of the day came back.
He was not sure if Optimus caught him in his lapse, so Ratchet scrambled to say something to cover up his faux pas.
Any attempts were lost though when he felt something brush against his energy field. He jolted and instinctually drew it in flat against his armor. “What in Primus’ name--?”
Optimus quickly removed his servo and shifted away, his expression twisted with confused guilt. “I’m sorry, Ratchet. I had thought – is that not alright?”
Ratchet opened his mouth to respond, but found he had still had no words because his processor had come to a screeching halt at the thought that it had been Optimus. He tried to think of any reason he might have imagined what had happened; he had been dragged out of deep recharge, after all, so surely it had all been a glitch. He just needed a good defrag and these hallucinations would cease.
But no. Optimus continued to stare at him, searching for an explanation.
And then the pieces finally clicked into place.
“Oh. Oh, ok, I see, it’s – it’s alright,” Ratchet managed, willing his frame to relax despite his spark pulse still racing. That did seem to put the Prime a bit more at ease though he still looked concerned. “The war changed a lot of customs, after all. I was surprised because, well, energy field communication is now essentially extinct outside of committed relationships.”
Optimus’s optics cycled wide. “But—why? And how is that even possible?”
“Field scrambler. It’s a program that was developed by a gladiator before the war and never became popular outside those circles until the Decepticon revolt. Once the war began, it quickly spread until all Autobots and Decepticons alike had in their catalogs. Here, I’ll show you,” Ratchet said when he saw that Optimus still looked disbelieving. It felt almost scandalous after all these years, but he allowed his field to spread out again and then further until it touched the very edge of Optimus’. The medic was emanating the carefully constructed cocktail of emotions he had perfected back when it was an integral part of his bedside manner: contentedness with a touch of concern.
However, the years had weakened his ability to maintain it. When his old friend’s field eagerly accepted the invitation to intermingle and radiated a warm gratitude and comfort, Ratchet’s professionalism shattered.
His embarrassment at being unable to control what he expressed bled out into his field in its place. Ratchet was flustered, shutting down every request from his frame to turn on his cooling fans.
It was made all the worse by the fact that Optimus’s field felt so nice.
“We don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable,” Optimus offered. “I’ll take your word by itself.”
Ratchet shook his head, taking a moment to in-vent deeply before expelling some of the heat building in his frame. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just out of practice,” he insisted. It took a moment, but he managed to partially quiet the shame and instead send a ripple of reassurance.
The medic shifted a bit to better face Optimus before he began. “As the name suggests, the field scrambler program doesn’t get rid of a bot’s energy field but simply scrambles it. So when I engage it--” it took only a moment to awaken the program, and with a final shutter his energy field went silent, “the field is left mute and deaf.”
Optimus was quiet, his optic ridges drawn in close as he seemed deep in thought. Ratchet could only assume he was using his field to press against his now scrambled one.
“It’s static,” the Prime finally confirmed, and he sounded a bit saddened with the admission. “And you feel nothing?”
“Nothing at all.”
Optimus frowned.
“Why would anyone use this programming?”
“We have been at war,” Ratchet replied, his tone matter of fact. “While warriors can keep their fields hidden or blocked off during battle, it does still take up some of their processing power, however small. But it’s imperative that they not allow their opponent to know how they feel. And that extends to espionage and interrogation as well. Energy fields ended up being a weakness.”
“So the rest of the team has it?”
“Oh yes. I’m sure they all have had them since the day they were forged.”
“But you did not have yours engaged.”
“Medic protocols. Even though they’re rarely used anymore, energy fields are still a way for bots to let a medic know they need help. So I leave my field open outside of battle on the off chance someone wishes to reach out that way.”
Optimus considered him carefully before asking, “If you don’t mind, when was the last time that happened?”
“Honestly? I don’t remember. It was more common during the first parts of the war, but now…” Ratchet huffed as he searched his memory. “At least a few centuries.”
Optimus’s frown deepened.
“And for personal reasons?”
“That – by the Allspark, that would have been a little over a million years now,” Ratchet replied with a disbelieving shake of his head. “What a mistake that was – Optimus?”
The frown had given way to horror.
“A million years. You went a million years without--” The Prime stopped himself, his servo moving to rub his face.
And maybe it was because Ratchet could still clearly remember the warm feeling of comfort that radiated from the Prime when he opened his energy field to him; maybe it was because Optimus reminded him of himself when field scramblers had cut their entire species off from one another; maybe Ratchet simply missed Optimus’s field.
Regardless of why, Ratchet deactivated his scrambler and reached his field out. This time Optimus momentarily resisted before allowing Ratchet back in.
Optimus was exhausted. He was exhausted and overwhelmed and weary.
“Everything has changed,” he said quietly. It was all he had to say. Ratchet could only imagine how it must have felt to learn that nearly everything Orion had once known had changed or been all together destroyed in his years as Optimus.
At that moment, Ratchet remembered that in terms of life lived, the Optimus before him was younger than even Bumblebee. He was a young archivist who by circumstances beyond his control found himself crumpling under the weight that the former Optimus Prime had learned to carry over the span of four million years.
Ratchet’s spark ached for him.
“Optimus,” he started softly, reaching out to touch the Prime’s shoulder. “You’ve had a long day and a lot to process. You should recharge.”
“There is still so much I don’t know though--”
“The files will still be there tomorrow. Furthermore, the team and I will still be here.” Ratchet did his best to wash as much reassurance as he could through his field. “So go recharge. Doctor’s orders.”
That managed to get a small glimmer of humor out of Optimus.
“I thought I gave the orders around here.”
“If your health’s at risk, I can override you,” Ratchet explained and patted the Prime’s arm, “so go to your berth before I pull rank as your CMO.”
“Very well, my friend,” Optimus finally obliged and stood up. Ratchet was slower to get to his pedes, the pain in his back blooming as he straightened it out. “But Prime’s orders are that you return to recharge.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the medic replied with a wave of his servo. “Now go. Unless you need something, I better not see you again for at least six hours.”
With a nod, Optimus turned to leave. While Ratchet’s quarters were just off the medical bay, the Prime’s were at the other side of the base along with the rest of the teams’ quarters.
Ratchet had to suppress a shiver when their fields separated again.
He was at his own door when Optimus asked, “Ratchet, may I ask two last questions?” Ratchet turned his helm to find the Prime was at the edge where the command center met the medical bay, far enough away that while he could make out his basic features, the dimmed lights left the finer details indistinguishable. It was difficult to tell what expression Optimus had on his face.
“Of course.”
There was still a pause though before Optimus continued, “When did I download and start using the energy scrambler?” No doubt the Prime had quickly searched his banks to find the very program and already knew the implications.
“A couple days after you became Prime.”
Optimus’ optics dimmed, but that was all that Ratchet could make out from the distance.
“I see. And when was the last time we communicated through our fields?”
Ratchet’s spark burned in his chest and coolant raced to cool his systems. The miserable memory was quick to replay in the back of his processor. Ratchet ignored it though with an ease only ages of practice could produce. This was hardly the time to wallow in that mess.
As he placed the memory in their timeline, however, another thought came to mind. Ratchet still did not know where Orion’s memories ended. It had to have been at least a few months before he had first become Prime, since he had not remembered Megatron’s betrayal. The number of months matter, though, because if it were several months before, Ratchet was in the clear. But if it had only been shortly before, then he would know what happened between them, would remember Ratchet’s confession and the aftermath—
“Ratchet?”
The medic was sure that while physically impossible, his spark was going to burst out of his chest with how hard it was pulsing. It took a moment to recall the question he had been asked.
“36 days,” Ratchet blurted out before restarting his voice box. His cooling fans were threatening to turn on despite him dismissing their requests. “I mean, approximately, somewhere around 36 days after you became Prime.”
It was silent. Optimus’s optics dimmed further before off-lining altogether. Finally, they glowed again.
“I see. That’s all I needed to know. Good night, Ratchet.”
Ratchet just nodded dumbly, watching the Prime turn and disappear into the base. Once gone, Ratchet yanked his door open and quickly shut it behind him so he was safe in his own quarters. He managed to get to his berth and all but fell onto it face first, burying it in his arms.
His cooling fans clicked on and Ratchet groaned.
How had it taken this long to realize the problem he could have on his hands? That the Orion Pax that the Matrix had left behind, the one who was now their Optimus Prime, would certainly have had no idea how it ended, but there was a strong possibility that he would remember how it started.
That he would remember when Ratchet had mangled his confession of love for the archivist who by some stroke of luck returned his feelings.
That he would remember that they had been lovers.
“Scrap.”