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The boat chugs slowly along, and Optimus ponders over the stars. He wonders which ones are really still there, which ones have been out for millennia, and which ones he can see from Cybertron. That one there, the bright one, he's sure that's the same one he's seen from the roof of the Iacon Hall of Records. It brings a smile to his faceplate.
And, ah, speaking of bringing a smile to his faceplates, there's Ratchet. He hands over a cube of energon and huffs at Windblade's sleeping form. He’d gotten one for her too. Now there is an extra cube in his servo.
"Drink two," Optimus insists. "I have a feeling you need it." Ratchet shakes his helm in response. He's been so quiet lately. Undertone snaps from the medic's plating and Ratchet hands him the energon even though he’d already had a cube, patting his head and urging him downstairs where the rest of the minicons are recharging. Now it is just the two of them.
"Sit next to me," Optimus says. He's never been a pushy mech, but tonight he's not letting Ratchet go. Seeming to realize this, his conjux complies. Even next to him he's so far away. Their fields crackle with tension. A million questions hang between them. Optimus wonders about the children, about Cybertron, about the years Ratchet spent out in space. He aches to ask.
"The stars are shining," he says instead.
"Aren't they always?" Ratchet grunts. He's distant again; Optimus wants him close.
"Yes," he answers. "I find it comforting to know that, no matter what, the stars are absolute." He takes Ratchet's servo, massages his joints. His medic has always had such wonderful servos, precise yet strong. They are shaking now.
"You left me..." Ratchet whispers, barely there, but the words make his audios ring none the less.
He brings Ratchet's servo to his intake and gives it a smooch. Kissing was never a Cybertronian tradition. Rather, it was something they'd picked up from their time on earth; a funny story, as Optimus remembers, and kissing soon became somewhat of a secret between them; something special.
"My dearest Ratchet," he begins, and Ratchet shudders with the words. "I'm so very sorry. I hope you can find it in your spark to forgive me."
"Of course I forgive you!" Ratchet snaps. He allows their fields to intertwine to prove it. Suddenly, they are filled with each other's anguish and love and anger. It's overwhelming at first, like stepping into a hot bath. They work through it, though; taking turns and untangling unspoken words until their emotions are sorted. Or, they are for the time being. Optimus is sure there'll be more to discuss, but for now he is content to send little pulses of comfort through their bond. Ratchet squeezes his servo and scooches closer.
That's all the invitation he needs. Optimus scoops his medic up and into his lap. A sudden wave of possessiveness hits him- Primus, it's been too long- and his free servo reaches under Ratchet's plating and massages the sensitive cables there.
"Optimus!" Ratchet whisper-shouts. "Windblade is right there!" He's pressing into the touch, though. It's all so wonderfully familiar.
Optimus brushes their intakes together. “Apologies, old friend. I've just missed you." He hums as Ratchet kisses him back- hard this time.
"I missed you too," the medic says. "But we can at least wait until we're alone. Besides," he adds. "You still need to drink your energon. I won't have you neglecting yourself as soon as I’ve got you back."
Joy fills Optimus' spark. "You've been scanning me." It's not a question. He nuzzles Ratchet, who rolls his optics and shoves the abandoned energon cube in his face.
“Of course,” he snorts.
Later, the two are wrapped up in each other, sleepy and full, when Ratchet gazes up and points to the sky.
"Isn't that the same star we used to see at the Hall of Records?"