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Ratchet was an observant mech. It was something he had always relied upon in his medical work, and it had saved the lives of many of his patients over the years. He could look at another bot and immediately guess if they were sick or limping or otherwise ailing.
His vigilance extended beyond mere medical professionalism. As old as he was, Ratchet had his friends’ and teammates’ mannerisms memorized down to the smallest detail. He could tell when Ironhide was grumbling in an angry way or in a merely tired way, how Arcee would stand in a closed-off manner whenever she thought about her fallen partners, and how Bumblebee’s door-wings would droop at various increments depending on how upset he was. Ratchet could perceive all of this without his companions ever saying a word.
And now, he could tell that Optimus was avoiding him.
At first, it was understandable. They were all busy after the fall of Darkmount and the subsequent move to a new base provided by the human government. There were supplies to be gathered, ships to be moved, and a GroundBridge to be rebuilt (that last one took Ratchet nearly two weeks all on its own). Optimus was right in the middle of it, planning the team’s next moves and meeting with the humans in charge of the base. It made sense that he didn’t have time to talk with Ratchet.
But then things started to slow down and Optimus still didn’t talk to him. He went out of his way to speak with everyone else - catching up with Ultra Magnus, discussing patrols with Arcee and Bulkhead, comforting Bumblebee and the children over everything that had happened. He even followed Wheeljack out to the Jackhammer to talk with him about Primus-knew-what. But whenever Ratchet even attempted to approach him, Optimus would find some excuse to leave or another task to carry out.
(Ratchet suspected the only reason Optimus followed Wheeljack was because they would have been the only two mechs in the base at the time if he had stayed.)
He understood that Optimus might need some space - a near-death experience and a massive physical upgrade would unsettle anyone - but the longer it went on, the more worried he got. If something was wrong, it was Ratchet’s job as medic to fix it.
His opportunity finally came during the team’s monthly medical examinations. Despite their recent additions and the chaos of the past few months, the checkups were thankfully uneventful and quick. Soon, the only one left to examine was Optimus.
Ratchet found him working on the base’s newly constructed console. While the Prime’s frame was far larger and bulkier than it had ever been, Ratchet still recognized his “typing reports” posture - slightly hunched shoulders and optics narrowed in concentration. Optimus was too focused to notice the medic as he walked up behind him.
“Optimus, it’s time for your examination,” Ratchet said, keeping his tone as authoritative as he could. He did not intend to let him slip away again.
The Prime’s helm jerked up, though he didn’t turn around. Optimus’ shoulders remained stiff as his servos lowered to his sides.
“Does this need to occur now, Ratchet?” He asked in a low, unusually tired tone. “General Bryce insists on having a complete record of what happened prior to the battle at Darkmount as soon as possible.”
“‘As soon as possible’ can wait a few more hours,” Ratchet huffed, jabbing a thumb digit towards his new medbay. “Come on. Not that I doubt the mystical power of the Primes, but I want to make sure the Forge didn’t miss anything.”
Optimus’ lip components twitched upwards for a brief moment as he turned, but they quickly fell into a pensive frown as the Prime followed the medic away from the console. Ratchet did his best not to overthink the silence between them - Optimus wasn’t ever what one would call chatty. This quiet didn’t have to mean anything.
Ratchet still felt thoroughly uncomfortable by the time they arrived at the medbay. Optimus took a seat on the berth as usual, Ratchet grabbed his scanner as usual, and neither spoke, which was decidedly unusual. They normally discussed mission plans or the most recent exploits of their teammates during Optimus’ examinations, but now the silence pressed down on Ratchet’s audio receptors like a steadily-tightening vice.
“Lift your arm,” he said, holding up his scanner. “I want to examine any changes to your internal structure.”
Optimus nodded stiffly as he raised his limb. The medic ran his scanner along the arm, trying to make a note of the larger pistons and greater number of cables, but his optics kept drifting from the tool’s tiny screen to the Prime’s faceplate, trying to catch his gaze. Optimus stared straight ahead, optics stubbornly refusing to meet Ratchet’s.
Ratchet’s patience, never the best when it came to personal matters, finally broke. He growled as he abruptly stepped away from Optimus’ arm and walked around to face him.
“Alright, what is it?” He asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Optimus blinked rapidly at the medic, arm still raised perpendicular to his frame.
“You’ve barely spoken four words to me since everything’s happened and you’ve been going out of your way to avoid me.” Ratchet crossed his arms and tried his best not to look hurt. “I understand that you’ve been busy these past few weeks, but you can talk to me if something’s wrong. You know that, right?”
“Nothing is wrong, Ratchet,” Optimus said, lowering his arm and shifting his optics to the ground. “I am just…busy, as you said, adjusting to my new form and ensuring that our teammates settle in.”
Ratchet blinked, slowly.
“Optimus Prime, are you seriously trying to lie to me?”
Optimus flinched, optics hesitantly raising to meet Ratchet’s gaze.
“...Am I really that obvious?”
“Ridiculously so,” Ratchet replied, caught between exasperation and amusement. “And I’ve known you for several centuries, so I don’t know why you’re even bothering at this point.”
A noise that was almost a chuckle slipped out of Optimus’ intake, though his amusement quickly gave way to clear discomfort. His gaze again shifted to the side as one arm slowly grasped his elbow. Ratchet remained silent, letting the Prime take his time.
“There is something wrong, old friend,” Optimus admitted, his voice strangely soft. “But…I am not sure it is something you should have to deal with.”
“Optimus,” Ratchet said, sighing slightly. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m your medic and your friend. You can talk to me about anything.”
“And I appreciate that,” Optimus said, a little too quickly. “But you do not have to concern yourself with all of my problems, Ratchet. I can handle this.”
“Well, clearly you’re not handling it well ,” Ratchet huffed, pacing around in front of the Prime. “It’s been nearly three weeks since Darkmount and this is the first time you’ve had an actual conversation with…me.”
Ratchet froze mid-stride as his processor finally made the connection. Normally, Optimus had problems talking with literally anyone when he was upset. However, Ratchet had seen him speaking with everyone on the team lately, even taking the time to console Jack, Miko, and Rafael about the loss of their homes (apologizing when it wasn’t his fault, again ). The only individual who Optimus wouldn’t speak with was Ratchet himself.
“Optimus, does this have something to do with me?” Ratchet asked. Normally he tried not to be quite this blunt, but a sudden burst of dread had taken hold of his systems. Primus, what had he done now?
“I…It really is nothing, Ratchet…” Optimus was practically squirming on the berth, an image made all the stranger in his new, gigantic frame. His optics flickered around, looking at everything that wasn’t Ratchet’s faceplate.
“Optimus, please,” Ratchet said, allowing just a touch of his desperation to enter his voice. “Just tell me.”
The Prime’s shoulders sagged as if he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. He finally looked fully at Ratchet, his optics dull with some emotion Ratchet couldn’t quite identify.
“I am sorry, old friend,” Optimus said, his voice soft with sorrow. “For everything.”
“I - you - what?” Ratchet said, his worry spiking along with his confusion.
Where in the AllSpark is this coming from?!
“For what happened to Cybertron,” Optimus said, gaze moving down to rest on his own pedes. “Both in the past and…more recently.”
What is he…oh. Oh.
Right before their base was destroyed, right before Team Prime separated to avoid being captured by the Decepticons, Optimus and the others had gone to Cybertron with the Omega Keys. Ratchet had expected them to return with news that their planet - their home - had finally been restored. What he received was the disclosure that the Omega Lock, their one hope of healing Cybertron, was gone and that Optimus was the one to ultimately destroy it.
Ratchet…hadn’t handled the news as well as he could have.
“Optimus…we needed that.”
“All of our struggles and energon spilled and countless sacrifices, for NOTHING?!”
No, Ratchet had completely lost his temper and by the time he had come to his senses, the Nemesis was bearing down on their base like a monstrous Predacon ready to strike. Optimus had ordered them all to run and Ratchet had spent the next several days believing one of his oldest friends was dead, blown up by a vindictive Megatron.
His anguish during that time, followed by the sheer elation when an alive and well Optimus had rocketed into Darkmount, had nearly obliterated the memory of their last conversation. But now that he was taking the time to actually think about it…
Of course he’s been avoiding me like the fragging cybonic plague.
“Optimus, I…what I said after you returned from Cybertron, I didn’t mean any of it-”
“You did.”
Ratchet’s stuttered attempt at an apology ground to a halt.
“What?”
“You did mean it,” Optimus repeated, his tone exhausted and sad and slightly bitter all at once. His optics remained locked onto the floor. “You meant it, even if you do not believe you did. You have always been good at hiding your opinions for the greater good, particularly regarding me. They only become apparent when you are pushed too far.”
“I…” Ratchet clenched and unclenched his fists as he desperately searched for the words to fix this. “I was upset when I said all of that, but that doesn’t mean I really believed it-”
“Ratchet, you do not have to lie to me about this.” Optimus’ words grew more forceful, optics narrowing as he continued staring at his own pedes. “You have every reason to be upset with me and every right to display your true emotions. I have dealt with far worse than whatever opinions you have. I am not as soft as you think, Ratchet.”
The medic opened his mouth to argue some more, but his voice box locked up when the last of Optimus’ words hit him. He found himself remembering another conflict a couple of years ago, tinted by a chemically-fueled aggression so great that Ratchet still struggled to recall the full details of those terrible twenty-four hours. His words during that particular argument, however, now rang loud and clear in his processor.
“You know what your problem is, Optimus? For such a big, strong bot, you’re SOFT. You didn’t pound Megatron into scrap when you had the chance! Many chances, in fact!”
“...Primus, this is also about what I said on SynthEn, isn’t it?” Ratchet asked, dragging his servos down his faceplate. He had thought that unpleasant incident and the harm it had caused was over and dealt with, cleanly repaired like the massive puncture wound Megatron had given him, but clearly there were still some wounds that Ratchet had somehow missed.
By the Thirteen, how often does he think about it if he still remembers it so well?
Optimus blinked rapidly, as if he too had just realized the unplanned implications of his own words.
“That was…not my intention,” he said. His expression had changed into something almost nervous. “I know you were not in your right mind during that time, Ratchet, and you already apologized-”
“That doesn’t change what I said,” Ratchet replied, pressing two digits against the side of his temple, though what he really wanted to do was smack himself in the forehelm, repeatedly. “Or how you feel about it.”
“What I feel is not what we are discussing,” Optimus said, shaking his helm. His next words came fast and hard, like he was forcing them out of his voice box. “I am trying to tell you that you, along with everyone else, have every right to resent me and my decisions. You do not have to act like everything is fine for anyone's sake, especially mine.”
“‘Resent’ you...?” Ratchet faced the Prime, utterly incredulous. “Optimus, do you really think I hate you for what happened?”
Optimus didn’t say anything. His servos were now wringing together, a nervous gesture he had barely shown since becoming a Prime. His entire frame was tense: shoulders strained, lowered helm, optics tightly shut and jaw piston clenched so rigidly that Ratchet worried he would break his dentra. For all the universe, he looked ready for Ratchet to throw words or fists or wrenches at him. Ready for his oldest friend to lash out at him in a rage.
Ratchet felt his arms go slack at his sides, his lip components parting slightly as the entirety of the situation sank in. He was a medic, someone who had vowed to fix what was broken and heal all he could. And yet somehow, he had failed to notice how his own words tore his closest friend apart time and time again. Yes, he had apologized when he realized he went too far. Yes, Optimus had forgiven him almost instantly when this happened.
But how could he expect Optimus to believe that he didn’t truly blame the Prime for the destruction of Cybertron when he accused him of doing exactly that multiple times? Why wouldn’t Optimus assume that he secretly scorned him?
Feeling weak in his knee joints, Ratchet wobbled in place as he looked at his friend. Optimus remained tense even as the minutes dragged on, not daring to look up.
Ratchet was a physician, not a psychiatrist. He could repair most physical ailments with relative ease, but emotional problems were admittedly not his strong suit; this fact only seemed to become more true as he aged. If Optimus had been shot or stabbed, the Prime would already have been repaired. But the mental wounds that Ratchet himself had thoughtlessly dished out were beyond him.
Oh Primus, I don’t know how to fix this. How do I fix this?
Through the storm of horrified thoughts swirling about his processor, Ratchet instinctively reached into his spark and found the resolve that came during particularly difficult operations, the kind where his patient was at risk of being permanently or fatally hurt. A determination to make things right as best he could, no matter how helpless or terrified he felt in the moment.
He didn’t know how to repair the damage he had caused or even if he could - but Primus be rusted if he let it go completely untreated.
Spark tight his chestplate, Ratchet forced his legs to move forward. He walked slowly to Optimus’ side, as if he were approaching a distressed cyberhound. Still moving cautiously, he turned and hoisted himself onto the berth beside Optimus. The Prime glanced confusedly in his direction before returning his gaze to the floor.
The pair remained silent for a few more moments as Ratchet tried to gather his thoughts. Finally, he reached out and carefully grasped Optimus’ wrist. The Prime stiffened in shock, his wringing servos freezing.
“...Look, I know you’ve already heard me say things like this a hundred times,” Ratchet began, staring down at his servo. “But I am sorry for everything I said right before I left the base. I was…devastated, but that’s no excuse for taking it out on you.”
Ratchet took a deep vent before continuing. “It’s…hard, just standing around the base while the rest of you go out on missions. That’s why I was so eager to try the SynthEn. It made me feel like I could actually help in the fight, make a difference instead of just waiting for one of you to get hurt.”
Optimus’ servo slowly rotated until his digits could carefully grasp Ratchet’s.
“You do more than enough, Ratchet,” he said, voice gentle and oddly hoarse. “You have saved our lives countless times-”
“I-I know, I know, just let me finish,” Ratchet said. Optimus instantly fell silent and Ratchet unthinkingly squeezed his digits in reassurance. “And…I guess, feeling like I can’t do anything to change things means that when something bad does happen, I get so frustrated because I wonder if I could have done something if I was there.”
“So when you all came back and told me what had happened to the Omega Lock, I just - I felt so helpless , and…well, it wasn’t like there were any Decepticons around for me to scream at…”
Ratchet sighed and pinched his olfactory ridge with his free servo.
“I took the easy way out. I chose to be angry at the only bot I could conceivably lash out at, even if it wasn’t their fault .”
The medic risked glancing up at the Prime’s faceplate. Optimus was staring at him, pale blue optics wide with shock.
“It wasn’t your fault, Optimus,” Ratchet repeated. “Even if my scrap-processor sometimes forgets it, none of this was ever your fault. You might be willing to fight, but it was Megatron who decided to destroy everything we ever swore to protect. If I actually blame anyone, it’s him. Not you.”
Optimus blinked, taking a few deep vents himself.
“I…I appreciate your words, Ratchet,” he whispered. “I truly do, but…”
How do I know you’re not just saying whatever it takes to make me feel better? Ratchet mentally finished.
He sighed again, his gaze returning to their now-entwined servos.
“...Did Bumblebee tell you what happened when he and Rafael first found me after the base fell?” He quietly asked.
He hadn’t intended to think about that time ever again (short of the occasional inevitable nightmare) but if it was the only thing that might be able to fix this, then so be it.
“He mentioned what happened in the scrapyard, if that is what you are referring to,” Optimus responded, equally quiet. “That you…did not see the point of continuing to fight, after losing Cybertron and our base.”
“And essentially being as helpful as an over-energized slothitron, I know,” Ratchet huffed, shaking his helm at himself.
“You did not remain like that for long, old friend,” Optimus reminded him, the slightest smile appearing on his faceplate. “You came back and helped reunite the team, and that is the important part.”
“Yes, well…” Ratchet said. “That’s almost correct.”
“Almost?” Optimus repeated, the smile shifting into a confused frown.
“I didn’t want to give up because I thought we lost Cybertron.” Ratchet determinedly ignored the heat rushing across his faceplate as he pushed the next words out of his voice box.
“I wanted to give up because I thought I lost you.”
Optimus’ frame jolted and his digits tightened around Ratchet’s servo. The medic didn’t have to look over to know that the Prime was full-on staring at him now.
“You’ve been our leader since this whole scrapfest started,” Ratchet continued before he could lose his nerve. “But more to the point, you’ve been my friend for far longer. You opened my optics to the injustice back on Cybertron and inspired me to fight for a better future even after Megatron lost his mind. When you had an entire army to run, you still took the time to ask my opinion and check on me. There were times when you were the only thing keeping me going - giving me actual fragging hope for our future - and when I thought you were gone for good…”
Ratchet had to pause for a moment before continuing. He still had enough pride left to not cry in front of anyone, for the Thirteen’s sake.
“I just shut down. All I could think about was how I could have prevented it. I could have insisted you come with me instead of destroying the GroundBridge; I could have thought to make Smokescreen give you the phase shifter so you could escape; by the AllSpark, I could have prevented everything if I had taken two minutes to pick the children up from their slagging school!”
Ratchet let his face drop into his free servo at that point, his entire frame shaking and longing to either curl up or transform into his vehicular mode like he had back in the scrapyard. To hide from all of his short-comings and mistakes.
The only part of him that wasn’t caving inward was his other servo, the digits still clinging to Optimus’ servo like a lifeline. Ratchet was aware of the Prime’s optics on him and could feel his digits tightening around his own. He nearly jumped out of his frame when he also felt a massive servo rest on his forearm.
“Ratchet,” Optimus softly intoned, “you do know that none of us are upset with you for what you said, right?”
“I’m pretty upset with myself right now…” Ratchet admitted. He rotated his helm so he could peek up at Optimus. The Prime wore a gentle expression that made Ratchet feel even worse. Optimus was willing to sacrifice so much for everyone, for him , and Ratchet had still snapped at him like an ungrateful glitch-helm. And now he was trying to comfort him when really it should have been the other way around.
“Everyone is capable of making mistakes, Ratchet,” Optimus said. “The ability to acknowledge and make amends for those mistakes is what is truly important; you have demonstrated that ability whenever necessary.”
“How do you always manage to turn everything you say into some dignified speech?” Ratchet weakly chuckled as he sat up, turning to fully look at Optimus.
“I did read a fair amount in my youth,” Optimus replied, a tiny, almost mischievous smile flickering onto his faceplate.
That brought Ratchet another chuckle, though his feeble mirth dissipated soon afterward. Taking a deep vent and squeezing Optimus’ servo once more, he continued.
“What I am trying to say,” Ratchet said, “is that I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted you to sacrifice your physical or emotional wellbeing for my sake. But…I guess I made you feel like you had to, and I am sorry for that.”
He put as much emphasis into those words as possible, desperate for their meaning to sink into his friend’s processor.
“I appreciate that you don’t want me to stifle my emotions or whatever you were saying earlier, but you shouldn’t have to subject yourself to an old mech’s rants or hide how upset you are. You have every right to defend yourself or be upset with me if I do something wrong, alright?”
Optimus exhaled, and Ratchet was very nearly elated to see the tension leaking out the Prime’s giant frame and light returning to his optics.
“If you insist, old friend,” Optimus said. His smile was small and tired but utterly relieved. “Thank you. Your forgiveness is…it means a great deal to me.”
“Hey, I’m asking for your forgiveness,” Ratchet said, lightly bumping his shoulder against Optimus’. “But you're welcome. I’m just…” The medic, with some hesitation, leaned against the Prime’s side. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“Then I forgive you, old friend,” Optimus replied as he leaned against the medic’s side in return. “And I am glad that you and the others are safe as well.”
The pair remained like that for several long, blissfully peaceful moments. Ratchet closed his optics and listened to his friend’s breathing, reassuring himself that Optimus was here and safe and as happy as he ever got (and that they would have time to work on the latter later). They had problems, yes, and Ratchet had helped cause some of them. But as long as they stuck together, Ratchet could help repair any damage Optimus suffered, no matter the cause.
…Primus, I’ve overheard too many of Bumblebee and Rafael’s cartoons.
“Can I make a request, Ratchet?” Optimus asked, breaking the pleasant silence.
“Of course, what is it?” Ratchet promptly sat up and looked at the Prime in concern.
“Can you please stop referring to yourself as ‘old’?” Optimus was almost smirking. “I am barely three stellar cycles younger than you, so I do not think I like what you are implying-”
“Oh for frag’s-” Ratchet playfully shoved the Prime away. “You can shut your intake, you’re the one who grew nearly ten feet a few weeks ago.”
Optimus actually chuckled; Ratchet’s spark brightened at the sound he hadn’t heard in years.
“Alright,” Ratchet said, sliding off the berth with a soft huff. “I do actually need to finish your examination.” He retrieved his scanner. “Can you lift your arm again?”
Optimus did as Ratchet requested. As the scanner’s bright green beam ran along his limb, the Prime looked back at the medic, his expression sober but still happily relieved.
“Thank you, old friend,” Optimus said. “For everything.”
Ratchet felt his lip components shift into the smile he reserved only for his closest friend.
“Are you kidding me?” He said. “Thank you.”