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ONE YEAR LATER…
“Bumblebee, are you going to tell me what’s going on or am I to be left guessing?” Ratchet asked, servos on his hips. “You all have been acting strange all day.”
: What? N-no one's acting strange, why would you think that? : Bee beeped, scratching his chin and looking to the side.
“Sure,” Ratchet said, with all the sarcasm he could muster.
The medic swore that everyone had been avoiding him, even the children. Even Miko. When he did catch someone, they made whatever excuses they could and dashed off. Except for Bumblebee, who had not left his side once since he woke up. The scout was up before him, a minor miracle.
Most importantly, Optimus was nowhere to be seen. He’d been around in the morning and had been his normal affectionate self, but at some point in the afternoon, he too had vanished. Ratchet was wracking his processor, but couldn’t think of any reason why anyone wouldn’t wish to be around him. He hadn’t offended anyone in at least a week. That was almost a record for him.
“You’re really not going to tell me what's going on? Bee, you and I both know you are not the secret-keeping type.”
The scout refused to meet his optics, servo going from his chin to the back of his neck.
: I-It’s nothing important, Ratch, everyone’s just busy! :
“With what?” he asked, widening his eyes with mock innocence and a pout and stepping in front of Bumblebee’s stride. The scout stumbled, freezing before the medic. “Surely you can tell me.”
: Stop that… :
“Stop what? I’m just curious as to why the entire team seems to be avoiding me,” Ratchet blinked rapidly and tilted his helm to sell it.
: …If I promise it isn’t a prank, will you stop asking? :
“So something is happening.”
The scout shut his optics and groaned. : You’re killing me, Ratch. Literally killing me. :
The doctor chuckled, stepping aside and shrugging. “At least tell me where Optimus is? I expect this sort of thing from the children and the rest of the team, but it isn’t like him to join in.”
As soon as he finished saying it, Bee let out a high-pitched—something. It could best be described as the combination of a gasp and a shriek. Ratchet swerved back to him, optics wide.
“Okay, now you really have to tell me.”
: Not a chance gotta go bye! :
And then he was gone, speeding out of the medbay faster than he could in his alt mode. Ratchet shouted after him, reaching out, before scoffing and returning to his work. It was already dark, and he could ask Optimus about it when he came to berth. And there was the added comfort that it wasn’t one of the children’s (Miko’s) pranks, so he could wait.
:: Ratchet? ::
Well, as the humans say, speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
“Optimus, where are you? You and everyone else have disappeared on me, and no one is—”
:: Forgive me, old friend, but I was wondering if you’d join me at my coordinates. I believe I’ve discovered a Cybertronian artifact, but it appears Polyhexen in nature, and I can’t make sense of it. ::
“I’m not that attuned to my roots, but I’ll give it a try.”
:: Thank you. I’ll be waiting. ::
Ratchet sighed, pinching his brow ridge and stepping out of the bay. Making his way to the groundbridge controls, he noticed that they were already being manned.
“Optimus sent the coords to us! See you later, Ratchet!” Rafael beamed, waving and readying the bridge on his laptop. The whole team waited in the main hall, pretending not to pay attention to him. Really, who did they think he was? The medic sighed, again, and put one servo back on his hip, slackening his frame.
“Why is Optimus lying to me? And why are all of you avoiding me?”
Every single body in the room tensed.
“W-what?” Jack started with a forced laugh. “Optimus isn’t lying, why would he—?”
“My partner does not use contractions, Jack, unless he is stressed or unless he is lying. And he did not sound stressed. Optimus is many things, but he is a horrific liar. Now, is anyone actually going to tell me what’s going on?”
There was silence for a bit, then wild laughter. The whole base turned to June, who was barreled over with tears in her eyes.
“I-It’s nothing bad, Doctor, honestly. But you should get going. He worked pretty hard on this.”
Her grin was honest and mirthful. He couldn’t help but offer a soft smile back. Of course, he knew it was nothing bad; it was Optimus. But Ratchet didn’t do surprises, and apparently, neither did the rest of their team. It should be comforting how bad at lying they all were.
“Fine, fine. But for future reference, avoiding someone all day is not how you derail suspicion,” he said, marching towards the metal frames. Raf (also wearing a healthy grin) opened the bridge in front of him. Out of the corner of his optic, he spotted similar smiles on the faces of the team, even a thumbs up for Bumblebee. It was obvious that something had been done for him, but he still couldn’t fathom why.
Oh, well. He’d figure it out soon enough. The sounds of the groundbridge roared as he stepped through, walking only a short distance before reaching his destination.
A darkened wood, with a clear direction in mind—guided by two rows of warm fairy lights on the grass. He cocked a brow ridge, smirking at the almost playful guide. Then he spotted the other lights—blinking all around him. A quick scan revealed them to be a tiny Earth insect called fireflies, known for their glowing abdomens. He was also very familiar with the sound of crickets now, after the children had dragged them on at least four separate camping trips. He began his trek, pleasantly confused. The grass tickled his pedes, and the weather was even. Not too hot or cold, with a slight breeze and clear skies. This atmosphere was calm and easy in a way that left Ratchet smiling, content. He understood why Optimus had taken such a liking to it since their arrival on the planet. As he kept moving, he began to hear faint music in the distance. He knew it. A live folk song, a genre Raf had introduced to the team during a heated debate with Miko over taste. The memory had him snickering and lost in thought.
They had really settled down, hadn’t they? They’d found their little corner of the universe and made a home out of it. He could scarcely believe it. A part of him thought they’d spend the rest of their life running. Somehow, they’d gotten so damn lucky.
It took time for Ratchet to come around to that, but Optimus had been more than willing to help him see the light as of late.
Speaking of which, the path seemed to end at a break in the trees, the lights bright enough that as the medic approached, his optics had to adjust. The music rang out softly as he emerged, stepping into a small clearing.
Fairy lights of at least a dozen different colors were strung across the trees and overhead. There must have been hundreds, each showering the clearing in colored hues. There were also Cybertronian lamps, big circles that floated and provided a warm base light that filled the whole clearing. It was still dark enough, however, for thousands of fireflies to dance along the edges of the clearing, with hundreds more within it. A few speakers sat at the edges as well, playing the music lightly enough as not to scare away any wildlife while still being audible to the mechs it was playing for.
The medic was in awe before he spotted his partner, standing in the center. He had polished and buffed himself, gleaming under the various lights, and wore a gentle smile. His servo was raised, where he watched as several fireflies climbed across his digits.
He looked ethereal, and Ratchet felt like he should have at least ragged himself off before departing.
It only took a moment for Optimus to register his arrival and to gingerly shake his servo to send the bugs away. He turned fully to Ratchet, his optics brightening before shutting as his smile turned to a full grin.
“Hello, old friend,” he said, extending a servo. Ratchet took a few steps into the clearing, shaking his helm in jilted movements as he took in the scene before him.
“O-Optimus, what—”
“We never did get that proper dance.”
Ratchet’s optics sparkled brighter than the lights. His servo moved on its own, reaching up to loosely grip his chest.
Let us dance again sometime. You were wrong—of course I wanted to—I just didn’t get to enjoy it as I should have, given the circumstances.
The medic exvented, stunned and deeply touched. He moved forward and took the Prime’s servo, tilting his helm up and stealing a kiss.
“We never did, did we?” he muttered once they separated, forehelm to forehelm. “I can’t believe you—how long has it been since the gala?”
“One year. Exactly.”
Ratchet’s optics widened, snapping his helm up. That’s what was important about today. Primus, he hadn’t even thought about it.
One year was a blink of the eye for them. On Cybertron, it wasn’t considered to be worth a celebration. You partied every decade, if you were overdramatic. It was why he hadn’t remembered.
But Optimus did. He had taken this entire day, a day he could have spent doing a hundred more productive things, and taken Ratchet for a dance. He felt tears brim in his optics, moved by the attention to detail. He should have known the archivist would keep track of the dates.
Every year was important now. And Optimus was going to make sure he knew it.
“I’d—I’d forgotten,” he whispered, starstruck.
“Humans celebrate more frequently than we do,” he said, kissing his forhelm before continuing. “I suppose I wanted to use their culture as an excuse to dance with you.”
“Ho, ho, the real Prime slips out,” Ratchet laughed, no heat in his accusation. Optimus just smiled wider. “I’m assuming our humans had some say in the matter?”
“I will have you know the children were mortally offended when they found out I had nothing planned a month ago. They helped with the lights.”
“I knew they were all acting odd.”
They chuckled together, Optimus pulling him into a hug. One year, and they were still alright. Better, even. They were “sickeningly” in love, according to Arcee.
“Well, Ratchet?”
The Prime untangled himself from his partner, taking a step back and offering one servo to him and holding the other next to his helm.
“May I have this dance?”
Even with the time they had already had together, Ratchet’s spark still skipped beats over Optimus. Over every little thing he did: always staying until Ratchet woke in the morning, sending him the few human songs he thought he’d like, writing “my Ratchet” at the end of all his messages. He felt like he was living in a dream every second he was awake, his spark bared for something unimaginably good.
It skipped yet again at this gesture—at the care and choice he offered him. Optimus did not take; he gave. It was something so small, but it meant worlds.
Ratchet wouldn’t deny he was still scared of waking up, but he was slowly coming around to the idea that his Prime would be there if he did.
He smiled with closed optics, taking both servos in his.
It was a quiet affair, and kind of ridiculous. Optimus was the only dancer between the two, but they both laughed every time Ratchet trampled his pedes. They only played two songs—two of the only human songs they could agree upon enjoying. The first one was a lively tune with soft violins. It was a song to be laughed to, a song to dance joyously and warmly to. Optimus spun him around in quick steps, leading him in circles around the clearing. Flawlessly on beat, he let the medic swoon in his arms, moving one servo to his side and intentionally letting loose his dancing. It probably looked like nonsense, but both of them were smiling too hard to care. The song repeated several times, giving them ample time to make fools of themselves.
Ratchet hadn’t seen Optimus smile like that since long before the war. He looked so beautiful when happy.
Unfortunately, they were old, and age caught up with them. Their pace slowed until they were merely swaying in each other's arms.
It was then that Optimus switched the song.
Ratchet gasped as his favorite human song drifted over him, a soothing comfort in a dark time. He laughed wetly against his partner, who took his helm in one servo and kept his other on his side, resting his helm atop his. The lamps went dark too, leaving nothing but the gentle colored lights and the fireflies.
This song reminded him of home, Ratchet had told him. It reminded him of the grief and love and awe of their tale. A collection of violins and cellos and a piano had him teary-eyed, daydreaming of all the good days and taunting the edges of the bad. It was a song that had you reaching up and clutching what you held dear—a reminder that nothing is eternal and every moment matters.
Ratchet smiled into Optimus’s chest as the song repeated again and again, the two of them blades of grass, lilting in the wind. His optics closed, content to stay right there for as long as they lived. They could’ve been there for hours, and Ratchet wouldn’t have known—swept away by the sounds of crickets, violins, and a sparkbeat.
When his optics opened again, they were made to believe in magic.
“Optimus,” he whispered, reverent. The Prime hummed, lifting his helm to see what his medic had.
They were surrounded.
A herd of deer danced around the edges of the clearing, watching them with careful eyes. Seven of them, with three fawns. The fireflies had finally warmed to their presence and had swarmed, blinking all around them. They littered the sky, only outshone by the brilliant stars overhead. Somewhere nearby, an owl called, adding to the cacophony.
He stared for a few more moments, then turned to Optimus.
The Prime looked close to tears, optics filled with wonder. His mouth sat softly agape as he took it all in, drawing in a shaky invent. If Ratchet dared, he could see Orion in that gaze—marveling at all that life on any world had to offer. Before he could stop himself, the song had taken on a new meaning, and Ratchet was smiling hopelessly at his lover.
“We’re home, aren’t we?”
Optimus straightened, then turned to Ratchet slowly. Hope pooled in his optics, shining like morning dew. The medic held up his servo, which the Prime took gingerly, running his thumb over the mesh. He flashed a trembling grin, pulling him in for another kiss.
“It seems we have been welcomed,” he answered, turning back to the deer. “It would be rude not to stay.”
They stayed there for hours more, without the music. This world provided a strong enough tune for them to sway to. They watched it live around them, life dancing before their optics in a careful waltz.
They really had gotten so damn lucky.