Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Can you please stop pacing? People are going to call the Enforcers on us for suspicious behavior.”

“Sorry.”

Hot Rod plopped down on the wooden bench beside Springer, but she couldn’t sit completely still, bouncing her legs. Springer noticed, his lips curling up in an amused smile, and he rested a warm palm on her bare knee to halt her anxious bouncing.

“You said you called a friend, right?”

Hot Rod nodded.

“So why are you so nervous?”

“Because I—” Hot Rod broke off, unsure how to tell him she was nervous because she hadn’t told anyone about them, but there wasn’t really a them, they were just friends hanging out at the park, but she kind of wanted there to be a them, but she was totally fine with just being friends if Springer didn’t want them to be a them, and she didn’t want to introduce Springer to anyone until she was sure of what they were and…

“Wasn’t telling anyone about me?” Springer asked, filling in the words she hadn’t said.

Hot Rod felt her cheeks go hot, and she wondered how red she had gotten. “I’m not, like, ashamed of you. I was just…” She trailed off before she could say trying to figure out what we are first because that would mean that she was trying to see if they were a thing.

“It’s okay, Roddy.” Springer’s hand moved to her shoulder, his brown eyes warm as his smile widened. “I understand.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Hot Rod said, but she didn’t really know if Springer understood, because if he did, wouldn’t he be telling her if they were friends or something more?

Springer removed his hand, looking at the leg stretched out before him. He rotated his foot, wincing at the movement.

“And your friend is a doctor?” he asked.

“Doctor in training,” Hot Rod admitted. “She’s in her second year of medical school, but I trust her with doctor stuff. It’s better than paying for an emergency department visit.”

“Kup wouldn’t like that,” Springer said.

He always referred to his adoptive father by name. Hot Rod didn’t know if that was because Springer had a relationship with his biological father, but Springer had never offered that information and she hadn’t wanted to ask. That felt like a topic that came later in a relationship…or friendship.

“How do you know someone in medical school?” Springer asked.

She knew he was asking because she was a freshman in college—a freshman with no idea of what she wanted to study on top of that. Medicine was definitely not an option, but there wasn’t a single subject that had snagged her attention, especially not in her first two months of college. She didn’t know what career she wanted either. The thought of picking a job and doing that same thing forever was daunting.

“She’s my brother’s friend.”

“The brother you live with?”

“I only have one brother. We live in a house with Ratchet—she’s the medical student—and Wheeljack and Perceptor. They’re graduate students, too.”

“So that’s why you’re not in the dorms,” Springer said. “I was wondering how you got special permission, but having an older brother also attending the university makes sense.”

“Yeah, and my parents had to write to the university saying they were fine with my living off campus, but it’s for the best.” Her mother was also a history professor at the university, so that probably helped, too, but that sounded like nepotism, so Hot Rod didn’t mention it. “You think Kup nagging you to do homework is a lot? Try having four grad students do that. I mean, I’m not behind in or failing any of my classes, so I’m not complaining, but it can be a lot sometimes, and I’ve been talking too long about this.”

“It’s cute when you ramble,” Springer said.

Hot Rod looked away, hoping Springer couldn’t see the way her cheeks had reddened—again. She knew they were indeed getting red; she could feel her skin heating up. As she did, she saw Ratchet walking across the green of the park, looking around for Hot Rod. Ratchet wasn’t in scrubs, which Hot Rod had been expecting, since she’d said she was close to Hot Rod and Springer, and the university and hospital were both near the park. Instead, she wore jeans and a white tank top (one of the ones with a thin lace layer over a base layer to make it look nice), and Hot Rod remembered that, like herself, Ratchet’s schedule meant that her Tuesday and Thursday afternoons were free. She felt a little guilty for calling Ratchet in on her free Thursday afternoon, but she was also curious about what had had Ratchet in the area in the first place. She usually spent her free afternoons studying at the house.

Hot Rod lifted a hand and waved at the redhead. Ratchet zeroed in on her and started walking more briskly toward the bench.

“That’s Ratchet?” Springer asked.

“Yeah, that’s her.” As Ratchet was rapidly approaching, Hot Rod stood and called out, “Hi, Ratch!”

“Hot Rod,” Ratchet greeted. Her gaze slid over to the blond sitting on the bench. “And you must be Springer.”

Springer extended his hand for Ratchet to shake. She did, because Ratchet had good manners. It had been one of her many attributes that had quickly won Hot Rod’s parents over when Orion Pax had brought her to their home years ago.

“Okay, so, if I understood Hot Rod’s frantic phone call correctly, you hurt your ankle and you want me to look at it,” Ratchet said.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” Springer said.

Ratchet crouched down, looking at Springer’s extended leg. With a professional air, she placed one hand on the toe of his tennis shoe, and another on his heel.

“You know I can’t officially diagnosis you,” she said.

“But you can tell us if we can handle it ourselves or if we should go to the hospital,” Hot Rod said.

“I’d rather not go to the hospital,” Springer added.

Ratchet rotated Springer’s foot in a slow circle. Springer winced but kept silent.

“How’d you hurt it?” Ratchet asked.

“Frisbee golf,” Hot Rod said, gesturing to the white discs next to Springer on the bench.

Ratchet arched an eyebrow, disbelieving. “You hurt your ankle playing frisbee golf?”

Hot Rod shifted on her feet beside Ratchet. “Well, it started as frisbee golf, but then it devolved into a game of tag, and Springer might have tried to juke to tag me when I darted around a tree but rolled his ankle instead of tagging me.”

Springer shot her a look that told her exactly what he thought of Hot Rod making him sound lame. Not that Ratchet would care. She’d been around Orion Pax long enough to know what truly lame looked like. It wasn’t athletic guys rolling their ankles in the park while playing tag with their friends. It was library nerds falling off a ladder amid a cascade of books.

Ratchet let out a hum that Hot Rod couldn’t determine the meaning of. She flexed Springer’s foot back, toes toward his shin, and then extended his foot so his leg and toes were in a straight line. Once finished, she released Springer’s foot and stood, turning to Hot Rod.

“Let me talk to you for a second.” She gestured vaguely away from the bench, toward the pond. “Over here.”

“Yeah, fine.” Hot Rod followed Ratchet about ten feet away from the bench. Springer might still be able to hear them if he strained, but at least it gave the illusion of a private conversation, if one ignored the elderly man feeding the geese and ducks just two feet away on their other side.

“A tag injury, really?” Ratchet said.

“It was! We were playing a game, and I dodged, and Springer tried to weave to get me, and then he rolled his ankle. I managed to help him limp over to this bench and then called you. Sorry for wrecking your plans, by the way.”

Ratchet waved a dismissive hand. “I was just on my way to lunch. It’ll wait.”

“It’s a bit late for lunch,” Hot Rod said, knowing it was nearing two. Then she remembered that Rung’s shift at the hospital was over at two. “Oh, you’re meeting Rung. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Me getting caught up in other business is nothing new,” Ratchet said. “Now, stop changing the subject. Who is this Springer, and why haven’t any of us heard about him before?”

“He’s a friend,” Hot Rod said. “We meet at the start of the semester in the bookstore when we were purchasing supplies. He’s nice. A baseball player for the university.”

“How old is he?” Ratchet asked.

“He’s a sophomore. He’s, like, a year older than me. He’s not even drinking age yet. Seriously, there’s nothing going on here. He’s just my friend. Men and women can just be friends. Look at you and Orion.”

“Orion and I dated for four years.”

Hot Rod threw her hands into the air. “So it took a while for Orion to realize he was gay! But you’re just friends now, so you know what I mean. Besides, what about you and Wheeljack or Thunderclash or Ironhide?”

“I’ve literally slept with all three of them.”

“Oh my god, you have so many exes.”

“They weren’t all exes.”

Hot Rod groaned and shoved her face into her hands. “This is why Orion didn’t tell my parents about your flings before you two started dating.”

“Look, Roddy, I made lots of poor decisions my freshman year,” Ratchet said. “I put myself out there for a lot of guys. More often than not, I ended up the hurt one. Orion gave me four stable years, for which I very grateful, and now that we’re over, I’ve got enough of a head on my shoulders to not go back to bed-hopping and making bad decisions about men. I just don’t want you to be like me.”

“I understand, but Springer is good and nice and we’re seriously just friends.”

“For the moment,” Ratchet said.

“Yeah, sure, for the moment, and maybe forever or maybe…but, right now, we’re just friends, and…”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Hot Rod,” Ratchet said, holding up a hand to gesture for Hot Rod to stop talking. Her previously stoic face shifted, revealing a small smile. “But, now that I know, I want to hear all the gossip about you and Springer. Now, let’s go tell Springer how broken his ankle is.”

“Wait, is it—?”

“No, no, he’s fine,” Ratchet said, the barest hint of amusement in her voice.

A few steps, and then Hot Rod, said, “You and Rung!”

“What?”

“A man and woman who are just friends, no sleeping together involved,” Hot Rod said.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one,” Ratchet said. She stopped in front of Springer and said, “You’re fine. Just stretched out the tendons. Rest easy for a few days and you’ll make a full recovery. It won’t interfere with your baseball career at all.”

“That’s good,” Springer said. “Thank you for looking at it. We could have gone to the hospital or had Kup look at it, but I didn’t want to bother him. Or go to the hospital. So, thank you, again.”

“No problem. Hot Rod, let Orion Pax know what time you’re getting home, please. That way he won’t ask too many questions if you’re late,” Ratchet said. “Now, I have to get to lunch.”

“Thank you for not telling Orion anything,” Hot Rod said. “And have fun with Rung!”

“Have a good afternoon, you two.” With that, Ratchet departed, heading back toward where Hot Rod had first noticed her. It was the opposite side of the park than the side with the bar that Hot Rod’s housemates usually went to, but Hot Rod knew there were a few sit-in restaurants of many food types in that direction.

“She seems nice,” Springer said, “even with the impromptu talk you got.”

“Well, it was the first introduction. I hadn’t told anyone about you, and she was just worried about…you know, she’s had a few rough relationships, and she was just worried, and I told her it was nothing, because we were just friends.”

Springer nodded. “Right, yeah, just friends. Friends who hang out and study together and play tag and call doctor-in-training friends for favors.”

“Yep, right,” Hot Rod said, clapping her hands together to dispel some nervous energy. She was messing this up, she was messing them and their relation-friendship up. “So, do you need any help getting home? You live near the park, right?”

“On the opposite side of the university, yeah,” Springer said. “I don’t want to—”

“I don’t have any other plans,” Hot Rod said. “Seriously, I want to help you. If you put your arm over my shoulders, we can walk to your place.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to have my arm wrapped around you?”

“Oh, um, I…you…it’s…”

“It’s a cute ploy, and I’m in. I need the help, anyway.”

“Right, yeah. Let me carry the frisbees, too.”

“I’m just a little sore, not an invalid,” Springer protested, pushing off the bench to stand. “If you’re carrying part of my weight, I’m carrying the frisbees.”

Hot Rod laughed. “Okay, fine.”

Springer swiped the frisbees off the bench and then slung an arm over Hot Rod’s shoulders. They started in the direction Springer had indicated, Springer leaning only a little bit of his weight on her. She wasn’t sure if it was chivalry or some need to try and tough out the injury and put some weight on his rolled ankle. Either way, it was cute.

“Thank you, Roddy,” Springer said.

“It’s no problem,” Hot Rod said. She smiled at Springer. His face was close to hers but not close enough for the thoughts racing through her head, thoughts that she was ignoring because those were not thoughts people had about their friends. “I’m glad to help.”

Springer bumped his shoulder into hers. “And I’m glad you’re glad to help. I’d hate to limp home alone.”

“The worst type of a walk of shame, huh?”

Her cheeks grew hot. She knew without a doubt that her cheeks were bright red.

“That wasn’t what I meant!”

But Springer wasn’t listening to her spluttered protest. He was too busy laughing, a big, throaty, loud thing that shook his whole body. After a moment, Hot Rod couldn’t help but join in. His laugh was just contagious, and it helped ease her embarrassment to laugh it all away.

Springer lived on the fifth floor of a five-floor apartment complex that was tucked between two fifteen-floor apartment complexes, nestled in a shadowy nook across from one corner of the park. To get to the University of Iacon, Springer could either take the Park Avenue subway north to the university station or walk through the park to the university on the other side. Which route he took depended on the weather and how late he was getting out the door. He was late more often than he would like to admit, especially to someone like Hot Rod.

In the two months he had known her, he’d quickly discovered that her disheveled and under-prepared outward appearance was just a clever mask to hide a deeply responsible and over-prepared individual. Yeah, at first glance, Hot Rod’s class notes were covered in scribbles and non-sensical writing but interwoven in all of that was a mess of top-tier notes, better and more thorough than any notes Springer had ever taken in a university classroom. And, yeah, her metal water bottle was scuffed and dented, but she’d told him she’d had the bottle for over five years, and Springer couldn’t keep up with a water bottle through a single baseball season, but Hot Rod, though dinging hers, had managed to. And, yeah, her curly, auburn hair was unruly and tumbled down her shoulders and back in an uncontrolled mass, but, as far as Springer understood, that was natural for curly hair, and he liked the way the curls bounced when she moved or laughed or even turned to look at him.

And if Springer was smarter, he would have told her hair was the prettiest hair he’d even seen, especially when she was out in the sunlight and its fiery undertones were gleaming, but Springer was an idiot, so he didn’t say anything about them being more than friends. He wanted them to be a thing, sure, but what if he said that and scared her away? He’d rather have Hot Rod as a friend than have no Hot Rod at all.

He wanted to ask her what Ratchet had talked to her about when she’d pulled her aside. He knew he’d been a topic of conversation, because there was no other way Ratchet could have known about his being on the university’s baseball team. He was good, sure, but he wasn’t a known name outside of baseball fans, and Ratchet, no offense to her, did not strike him as a baseball fan.

Not that he wasn’t grateful for the medical student’s help, and he could instantly see how much Ratchet meant to Hot Rod. She got the same loving and admiring look in her eyes she got when talking about her brother as she did when telling him about Ratchet, so he didn’t want to be nervous or concerned or worried about what Ratchet had said to Hot Rod. But he was.

And because he was an idiot, he didn’t just ask Hot Rod, who would have definitely told him, because he’d also realized that Hot Rod withheld nothing. She’d tell the truth, whether or not someone wanted to hear it.

But, really, Springer was truly an idiot because he’d forgotten what time of day it was, and as Hot Rod opened the door and helped him in, saying, “We made it,” he heard Kup yell from the living room, “Who is that?”

Hot Rod glanced at him, her blue eyes wider than usual. “Is that Kup?” she whispered.

“Kup, it’s just me!” Springer said, untangling his arm from around Hot Rod’s shoulders. “And Hot Rod, from college.”

He limped down the entry fake-tile-really-linoleum hallway and stepped into the carpeted living room (it wasn’t good carpet, thin and scratchy). Kup sat in his usual recliner, television remote in his hand as he’d just lowered the volume on whatever Western he was watching, and he studied Springer with a scrutiny he thought was unnecessary.

“Why are you not putting weight on that ankle?”

“I am!” Springer protested, because he was putting some weight on it. It didn’t hurt as bad as before, and maybe he’d been reluctant to walk on his own because he liked holding onto Hot Rod, but the injury wasn’t that bad.

At the same moment, Hot Rod came into the living room and said, “He just rolled it. I had a doctor friend look at it.”

Oop, Springer really was an idiot, because if he was smart, he would have told Hot Rod that Kup was a check-in nurse at the emergency department. He worked the morning shift, went in at one in the morning and was off at noon on weekdays, and though he worked in the emergency department, there wasn’t a staff member in the Iacon Medical Center that Kup didn’t know. He should have told Hot Rod what Kup did, because now Kup was going to ask—

“Oh, did you now?” Kup pushed himself to his feet, tossing the remote onto the glass coffee table. Springer often got scolded for doing the same thing and not taking care of the glass. “And just who was this doctor friend?”

“Well, she’s not a doctor yet. She’s a medical student.” Springer felt his anxiety increase with every word out of Hot Rod’s mouth. She hadn’t seemed to notice Kup’s thinning lips or his narrowing eyes. Or maybe she had, though she hadn’t outwardly reacted, because she added, “She shadows at the Iacon Medical Center, and I have utmost faith in her.”

Kup’s mounting ire and concern stopped accumulating. Springer wasn’t sure if Hot Rod had somehow picked up on Kup being a staff member at the hospital—he wasn’t in scrubs now, just jeans and a seafoam green button-up, but his lunchbox with the medical center’s name and emblem was visible on the counter separating the living room from the kitchen—or if she’d just tossed that bit of information out to make Ratchet seem more valid, but it had snagged Kup’s attention.

“And just who is this medical student?” he asked.

“Ratchet,” Hot Rod said. “She’s my brother’s friend.”

Kup’s annoyance faded altogether, and Springer’s anxiety went with it. He was surprised that Kup knew Ratchet—but not really surprised at all, because Kup knew everyone in the hospital, just more surprised that Ratchet had crossed paths with Kup.

“Ah, I know that young lass,” Kup said. “She shadows in the ED. Good kid, sharp mind atop her shoulders. She doesn’t let any politics or bureaucracy stand in the way of caring for her patients. I like her.”

“Yeah, Ratch is pretty no-nonsense,” Hot Rod said.

“What did she say about your ankle?” Kup asked.

“I just rolled it,” Springer said. “Ratchet said to take it easy for a bit, but that I’d be fine. She told me it wouldn’t mess up my baseball career.”

“That’s good. That baseball is your ticket to free education. How’d you hurt it?”

“Tag,” Springer said, but at the same time, Hot Rod said, “Frisbee golf.”

After an awkward pause, where Kup frowned, trying to figure out why he’d been given two different answers, Hot Rod said, “Frisbee golf that devolved into tag.”

“Of course, as frisbee golf often does.” The sarcasm in Kup’s tone wasn’t subtle.

Another silence.

Springer clapped his hands, shifting more of his weight onto his hurt ankle. It twinged and was sore and tender, but Springer was no stranger to ankle and knee injuries. He wasn’t going to wimp out because of a rolled ankle.

“Introductions. Kup, this is Hot Rod, the girl from the bookstore. Hot Rod, this is Kup, my father. The one who chose me, anyway.”

“Hi,” Hot Rod said, offering an awkward wave. “Springer’s told me only good things about you. He really is grateful for all you did for him.”

It was easy to just see this as Hot Rod being a blabbering fool, revealing too much information that Springer had shared in confidentiality, but Springer knew that Kup would know that he’d only talk about his love and respect for Kup—which he could never bring himself to directly say to Kup—to someone he trusted and really liked. In her own way, Hot Rod was conveying to Kup how close Springer had grown to her. And, in his own way, Springer was grateful that Hot Rod could so easily tell Kup all the things he wanted to say and never could.

And it worked, because Kup smiled and said, “Springer’s said good things about you, too. He really likes your hair.”

Springer should have never told Kup about Hot Rod’s curls and how much he liked them. He should have known Kup would later use that against him.

“Oh,” Hot Rod said. She side-eyed Springer. He pretended not to notice, but he was committing to memory the dusting of faint red appearing on her cheek. It was cute, brightening up her freckles. “I shall refrain from shaving it, then.”

Kup let out a sound that wasn’t quite a chuckle, but he was amused. Springer glanced at his adoptive father, saw the warm curl of his lips, and realized that Hot Rod had passed his initial assessment. What was it? Her bringing Springer home while he was injured (but only a little bit, really, he could have walked home himself)? Her association with a medical student Kup liked? Just her being Hot Rod? Because Springer thought that Hot Rod herself was plenty enough to impress Kup.

He stopped that train of thought. He didn’t want to know what Kup liked about Hot Rod—because he knew it wouldn’t align with all the specific reasons he liked Hot Rod, and he didn’t really want to think about Kup liking someone because he thought they were attractive or whatever, especially not someone that Springer found attractive—but it was enough to know that Kup did like her. At least, he wasn’t kicking her out of the apartment yet, and that was a good sign. Poor Strongarm had been asked to leave within five minutes. It wasn’t her fault that Ultra Magnus was her father, and Springer was sure Kup had other reasons for disliking Strongarm, but that hadn’t been a point in her favor.

“Bit of a walk across the park,” Kup said, starting to walk toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you take a moment to get a drink and rest?”

Despite his polite tone, Kup wasn’t really asking a question. He wanted to talk to Hot Rod, get to know her a little better, and that was a good sign, really. It didn’t stop Springer from feeling a little nervous. He didn’t want Kup to scare Hot Rod away. He liked her more than he had liked Strongarm, and he’d been upset when Kup hadn’t approved of her and essentially sent her packing.

“Help Spring to the couch, will you?” Kup continued. “I’ll get you kids some drinks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Hot Rod said. “To the couch, worst tagger ever.”

Springer snorted. “Maybe so, but you are the worst frisbee golf player ever.”

“I’d never played before today,” Hot Rod said.

“Then why did you agree to?” Springer asked.

“Because you asked me to,” she said, her blue eyes looking toward his face, but not directly at his eyeline. Maybe focusing on his jaw.

“That’s…really nice,” Springer said. “I forgive you for your terrible frisbee golf game.”

“Thank you, and you are forgiven for being bad at tag.”

Springer couldn’t believe that she’d agreed to play a game she’d never played just to spend time with him. There were so few people who’d ever wanted to spend time with him, Kup and a few girls over the years, but the girls had all been short-lived. Prowl, Springer’s biological father, hadn’t ever wanted to spend any time with Springer. He’d shoved him off on someone else as soon as he could, and whenever Springer tried to reach out to him, he’d been dismissive. He hadn’t directly said it, but Springer knew he disappointed his father. Though Kup always said it was impossible to be a disappointment to someone who didn’t want to give him the time of day, Springer couldn’t help but think Prowl would be more interested in him if he didn’t think Springer was a disappointment.

But here was Hot Rod, who was only recently his friend (and maybe more, but he couldn’t let himself think like that, because that might be asking too much and he liked Hot Rod and didn’t want to ruin what was between them), and had agreed to hang out with him doing an activity that was entirely new to her. Just because she wanted to be with him.

Hot Rod extended an arm to Springer, and he linked his through hers. This was less straining than forcing her to take some of his weight on her shoulders, though she hadn’t complained once.
She really was great.

And when Kup joined them in the living room, soft drinks in hand instead of water and asking Hot Rod what she wanted to watch on the television, Springer knew that Kup thought Hot Rod was great, too.

Prowl wouldn’t agree, but, though Springer would never forgive Prowl for not wanting him, Springer had long since stopped caring about what Prowl thought.

Ratchet slid across the fake leather seat and directly into the warmth of another body. Drift had his arm up on the wooden back of the booth bench, a protective but unobtrusive gesture as Ratchet found herself tucked up under his arm. He gave her a quick peck on the temple, sweet and quick, to avoid any chance of being accused of too much PDA.

A quick glance around the restaurant revealed that it was mostly empty and the waitstaff were all in the kitchen, but Drift, as affection as he was, respected Ratchet’s desire to have limited physical affection between them in public.

It meant a lot to Ratchet that he did.

Orion Pax had, too, but there had been others before him that hadn’t, and Ratchet had been worried that Drift would prove to be a bad decision, but he was kind and considerate and thoughtful, and Ratchet had been known to throw herself into bad relationships just to be with someone, but she hadn’t self-destructed by choosing Drift.

Seven months ago, Orion Pax had told her they weren’t working because he was really into men. There’d been a lot of apologies—and more than a few tears, both on his and her part—but there hadn’t been any anger. Hurt, yes, but never anger. Orion Pax was still her best friend, and she still loved him, just not as a romantic partner, not the same way she was starting to love Drift.

Five months ago, she’d met Drift in the campus library. They’d both been deep in the history section on the third floor, hemmed in by quiet rows and rows of towering books from several time periods. Ratchet had been searching for medical history texts to research a mostly exterminated disease, and Drift had been looking for references about a doctor that had worked with the Circle of Light during the Primacy Era, and…they’d talked, gotten their books, had a lunch study session (Drift’s historical doctor had been the one who’d discovered the treatment for Ratchet’s disease), and then kept meeting up.

Maybe they’d jumped from friends to dating pretty fast—they’d been officially dating for four months—but maybe Ratchet was just afraid to go back to how she’d been before Orion Pax.

But Drift was good.

And it’d taken Ratchet a while to admit that to herself. Now, she needed others to see her and Drift, to help her verify that she wasn’t making a mistake, that Drift was good (he was, he was, but maybe Ratchet wasn’t good for him), and she was taking everything one step at a time.

So, lunch date with one important person, and if that went well, then she would introduce Drift to the others.

She was so thankful that Drift was willing to put up with her and her fears of making their relationship more public and known.

“I got water for you,” Drift said, gesturing with his other hand at the table, where two glasses of water sat, “and the first round of chips and salsa just arrived.”

“Thank you, Drift,” Ratchet said. “I’m sorry for being late. I got held up helping Hot Rod with something.”

“I don’t mind,” Drift said. “I love that you’re always willing to help others.”

He threw that around a lot. I love this about you, and I love that about you, and just I love you. The thing was, Ratchet never doubted that he meant it. Every instance of love he voiced was sincere and heartfelt.

He didn’t even mind that Ratchet had a harder time saying it back. He was willing to wait until she could say it back.

He was too good for her. She was the dark spot in the relationship.

“Besides,” Drift continued, “we planned to arrive a good twenty minutes before Rung could make it so that you had a buffer. And it worked.” He plopped a chip with a generous helping of salsa into his mouth, swallowed, and then asked, “What does Hot Rod think you’re doing?”

“She just assumed I was having lunch with Rung, so I let her continue to believe that. I mean, I am, I just didn’t mention you.”

Ratchet had a few chips herself, chasing the slight burn of the salsa with a big gulp of water. Putting the glass down, she turned to Drift, who responded to her mischievous smile with a curious eyebrow raise.

“So, Hot Rod was at the park with a young man named Springer. She claimed it’s ‘nothing,’ but I know a pair of enamored idiots when I see them.”

She saw Drift’s jaw flex, knew he was holding back a Takes one to know one, and she flicked the end of his nose, but she was smiling, and the light in Drift’s golden-brown eyes let her know that he knew she knew his unsaid joke and was amused.

Growing serious, Drift asked, “Did he cause her any problems?”

“No, no. I only talked to him for a second, but he seemed nice. He’d rolled his ankle, and Hot Rod wanted me to make sure he hadn’t broken it. He’s on the university baseball team.”

“Is he?” Drift’s question was quiet, to himself.

He picked up his cellphone and started typing. Not long after, he angled the screen so that Ratchet could see it, too. He’d gone to the University of Iacon’s sports page, proudly displaying all things Iacon Racers, and pulled up the roster for the baseball team. Scrolling through revealed a catcher with dirty blond hair and brown eyes. Number 86, Springer, an Iacon native.

“That’s him,” Ratchet said, pointing at Springer.

“Well, he’s actually smiling for his headshot, so that’s a good sign,” Drift said. “We could look him up.”

Drift’s graduate assistantship included teaching an intro-level history course, and his status as an instructor meant he had access to student records, especially undergrads.

“That’s a little too stalker-y,” Ratchet said. “Thank you for the offer, but, despite what first impressions might indicate, Hot Rod isn’t an idiot. She won’t get trapped in a bad relationship.”

Drift put his phone face down on the colorful table—clay tiles and gold coins under layers of resin and glass. “That’s because she has good role models and support to fall back on.”

He wasn’t saying the unsaid, that younger Ratchet hadn’t had that, which is why she’d ended up with the likes of Pharma, but Ratchet heard it anyway. She’d only mentioned those relationships briefly, to explain why she was hesitating and taking things so slowly with Drift. He’d understood her need to protect herself, assured her he had no intention of hurting her, and then let her lead.

It was more Orion Pax than Pharma, and…

Rung walked in through the glass-and-wood door. Ratchet raised her hand, waving him over. She knew how this looked, having told him she’d be meeting him for lunch alone when his shift was over, but here she was, Drift’s arm over her shoulders, pressed against him in the booth. Other than a quick, surprised glance at Drift—the surprise barely noticeable in the faintest twitch of his eyebrows—Rung took Drift’s presence in stride, walking across the restaurant to their table.

Rung had been a TA in a psychology class Ratchet had taken her freshmen year of college. He’d noticed that, despite her high grades, she’d been failing in terms of life, bouncing from relationship to relationship in an unhealthy manner. At the start of her sophomore year, after they’d developed more of a friendship (if Ratchet was being honest, Rung was the big brother she’d never had), Rung had been, along with Orion Pax, the leading force in getting Ratchet to break things off with Pharma.

Rung had sat Ratchet down and talked her through her bad habits. She was estranged from her family, came from a poor background where nothing had been handed to her, and she’d been jumping from relationship to relationship just to find a sense of connection. A few of her one-night stands had later become her friends—like Ironhide and Thunderclash and Wheeljack—but most of her brief relationships had only ended with her being hurt. Rung, with nothing but care and a dose of tough love, had exposed her need and told her exactly how wrongly she was pursuing it.

When Ratchet had started dating Orion Pax, Rung had been supportive. He’d known Orion Pax, and he knew that he was a good man (he really was), and he’d known that Orion Pax wouldn’t let Ratchet self-destruct. Her four years dating Orion Pax had been wonderful, even when things had slowed down toward the end.

She hadn’t been exactly surprised when Orion Pax had broken things off, but she’d still been hurt. Mostly because the one relationship in her life that had been good and long-lived hadn’t worked out. She was happy that Orion Pax had figured things out, that he was with someone he truly loved now, but she was also terrified that she’d go back to how she was before Orion Pax.

She needed Rung to see her—to see her with Drift—and tell her what he saw. She didn’t think (she knew) that Drift wouldn’t hurt her on purpose, but she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t make decisions to make him hurt her. That’s what she’d done with Pharma and some of the others just so they would pay attention to her, and it was that self-destruction she was afraid of (though Rung would reprimand her for thinking she was the one to blame for the ways she had been hurt and tell her that wasn’t true).

She really was a mess.

Rung sat on the bench across from them with a smile. His ginger hair was tidied and swooped in a professional style, his round glasses perched on the end of his nose, his rusty orange suit spotless, no sign at all that he’d been on shift at the hospital. He’d graduated with his psychology PhD when Ratchet had started her senior year of undergrad, and he worked at the Iacon Medical Center as an on-call psychologist, called in to test the mental health of patients and their ability to soundly make medical decisions. They crossed paths a few times in the ED when Ratchet was shadowing there, but they still made time to meet up for late lunches or dinners.

“Good afternoon, Ratch,” he said. He gave Ratchet a surveying look, and she offered him a nervous smile. Looking away from her and toward Drift, Rung extended a hand across the table. “I’m Rung. Who might you be?”

“Drift,” he said, shaking Rung’s hand with the proper amount of strength and pumps. “I’m Ratchet’s boyfriend.”

Rung retracted his hand. “That’s news to me.”

“I didn’t want to say anything until I was more certain about the relationship,” Ratchet admitted. “It was my idea, not Drift’s.”

“I presume I am the first to be told of this,” Rung said.

“On my end,” Ratchet said. “I don’t know if Drift has told anyone.”

“Just the guy I’m sharing an apartment with,” Drift said. “Wing gave me some sort of harmonizing quartz to ensure the relationship only had good vibes.”

“That’s…” Rung paused, like he was looking for the right words. Ratchet suspected he might have wanted to say scientifically unsound, but he finally said, “…very thoughtful of Wing.”

Maybe she’d been putting words in Rung’s mouth, because he’d never outright dismiss anyone’s personal beliefs as long as they weren’t causing any harm.

A waiter appeared, asking Rung what he wanted to drink. He asked for water, and the waiter disappeared back into the kitchen.

“How long has this been going on?” Rung asked.

“Five months,” Ratchet said. “We met after Orion Pax…”

“Yes, that makes sense,” Rung said. The waiter returned, put a glass of water down, and walked off before Rung could finishing saying ‘thank you.’ “Well, I know all about Ratchet, so what do you do, Drift?”

“I’m working on my history PhD at the university,” Drift said. “My specialty is the Circle of Light.”

“That’s interesting,” Rung said. “I don’t know much about that religious cult from the Primacy Era.”

“Religious sect,” Drift corrected. “All religions are cults by definition, so we try not to add infamous connotations by apply ‘cult’ to only a few religions. The Circle was a religious sect. Perhaps fanatic in the way it treated Primes, but a religious sect all the same.”

“Apologies, I meant no disrespect to your studies,” Rung said.

“No apology necessary,” Drift said, “I’m sure I would get more than a few things wrong about your area of expertise. I can’t even remember the difference between ego and superego.”

Rung let out a small chuckle, and Ratchet felt a tension she’d been unaware of leaving her shoulders. They were getting along, no one was yelling at anyone, Rung wasn’t immediately telling Ratchet she was making a poor decision. This was…good, her pseudo-big brother and boyfriend now discussing whether historians took psychology into account when theorizing about the decisions made by ancient individuals. It was all a little over Ratchet’s head—out of her wheelhouse, most definitely—but she liked the way Drift’s eyes lit up as he discussed history, and watching Rung lean more and more across the table as he got more invested in the conversation was amusing.

She was a little sad when the waiter returned and interrupted their conversation. No one had glanced at a menu, but they still knew exactly what they wanted to order. Ratchet frequented the restaurant a lot—it had a comforting vibe, all bright colors and large windows, looking across the street and the park—and she’d eaten there many times with both Rung and Drift, just never at the same time. As everyone defaulted to a habitual order when dining there, it was unnecessary for anyone to even glance at the menu.

Rung might occasionally peruse the alcoholic beverage section of the menu, but it was too early in the day for him to drink, and the clear liquors and wines served here weren’t to Ratchet’s tastes. She’d never seen Drift drink anything other than water or tea, but he’d never said anything negative about Ratchet having a dark liquor mixed with a soft drink when they were out later in the evening.

Once the waiter had left again, collecting the menus no one had used, Rung asked how Drift and Ratchet had met.

“In the university library, actually,” Drift said. “I was searching for texts referencing a historical physician who worked with the Circle of Light. Ratchet was looking for historical references to cardiovascular-necrosis and early treatments for it. You know, the ones predating our modern-day genetic screening and vaccinations. Anyway, Minerva, the physician I was researching, was the same one who first identified cardiovascular-necrosis and the first to create a successful treatment, so we ended up in the same area.”

Drift smiled at Ratchet. “It was quite providential that history led me to my future.”

Ratchet smiled back at him. She couldn’t help it. His smile was gorgeous, and, yeah, his words were romantic and sweet, and Ratchet had hangups about relationships, but she wasn’t immune to romantic gestures.

“That is indeed quite the meet cute.”

Ratchet had momentarily forgotten Rung was there, so focused she had been on Drift, his warm eyes, the curve of his lips. She tore her gaze away from him and to Rung, who was giving her a knowing look she pretended not to notice.

“Well, it wasn’t a disaster by any means,” Ratchet said. “And Drift had a lot of helpful information on Minerva that directed me to more information about cardiovascular-necrosis. Remedy was quite impressed with my knowledge when she questioned me about it later.”

“Why is she even quizzing you on exterminated diseases?” Rung asked.

Remedy wasn’t an official instructor through the medical school, but she did let medical students shadow with her at the IMC when they weren’t in class. As such, medical officials at the school often asked her how the students were performing, and Remedy liked to test the knowledge of medical students in practical and theoretical situations so she had something to pass on.

“Well, you know the old saying, ‘When you hear hoofbeats, think horses and not zebras.’ But Remedy likes to toss out fake cases where the answer is actually a far-fetched one just to throw a wrench in things. I’ve managed to correctly sniff them all out so far, but the cardiovascular-necrosis one took a little more research.” She smiled at Drift but made sure not to turn entirely away from Rung this time. “Which was very fortunate.”

Their food arrived, momentarily breaking up the conversation. Drift’s arm was removed from the back of the bench so he could eat, and Ratchet did her best not think about the lack of its presence.

Once everyone had sampled a few bites, Rung apparently decided he wasn’t going to hold back with his questions anymore.

“Do you know about Orion Pax?” he asked Drift.

Ratchet spluttered on the water she’d been taking a drink of. Not because she hadn’t told Drift about Orion Pax, but because Rung had asked that without any leadup or prompting. Rung at least did her the dignity of not acknowledging her sputtering and then wiping water from her chin.

“I do know about Orion Pax,” Drift said. He, also, had done Ratchet a favor in not drawing attention to her mishap with the water glass. “I know about his and Ratchet’s previous relationship, I know why it ended, and I know they are still friends and still living together. And before you ask, I know about the relationships before Orion Pax. Not in detail—not all of them, at least—but enough to understand why Ratchet is taking things slow between us.”

“What of your relationships before Ratchet?”

“Well, there weren’t many. The important ones were Gasket and Wing. Gasket was in the wrong place at the wrong time, tried to break up a robbery but ended up taking a bullet himself. The police and EMTs couldn’t revive him. Wing and I dated a bit, but decided we were better as just friends. Not that different from Ratchet and Orion Pax, really. We even still live together.”

Rung lightly kicked Ratchet’s shin under the table, a subtle way to get her attention.

“Did you know about those relationships?”

“Yeah, I did,” she said. “He shared his first. Made it easier to talk about mine.”

Rung took another bit of his food. After he swallowed, he said, “All right, I’m done with the grilling questions. Let us just talk. Say, Drift, do you anything about model ships?”

“Not really, no.”

“Allow me to educate you. First, do you know any famous ships?”

“Uh, the Ark, I guess, that the Primes used to travel from landmass to landmass during the Primacy Era when they were setting the foundations for our planetary society.”

Ratchet smiled to herself. The Ark was such a good answer. That was Rung’s personal favorite ship, with models and models of it all over his office and home.

“And then there was the Dai Atlas, a ship used by the Circle of Light during the same era.”

“I don’t know much about that one. I’ve only completed one model for it. Tell me everything you know about that ship. Maybe it’ll inspire me to start another model.”

Ratchet didn’t even mind that the topic of conversation didn’t relate to her studies or work. Medical diseases and injuries made for poor conversation when paired with food. And, really, Ratchet did love watching Drift lecture about the inner workings of a long lost sailing ship that only survived in documents from the Primacy Era in a long dead language that wasn’t used on modern day Cybertron.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to family drama, and when Drift, who, like Ratchet, didn’t have much in the way of family he was in contact with, mentioned Hot Rod and her new “nothing” of a friend who happened to be a guy, Ratchet was looped into the conversation. For all Rung was a professional psychologist, he soaked in secrets and gossip like an elderly Cybertronian with nothing better to do. But Ratchet knew that whatever Rung heard, he’d keep to himself. Hot Rod’s secret outing with Springer wouldn’t leave this table (it would have, if Ratchet had been worried about Hot Rod, but she wasn’t, and she saw no need to tell Orion Pax without Hot Rod’s permission if no one was in a bad situation).

After the meal, as they stood from the booth, Drift told the others he would cover the cost and said he’d meet Rung and Ratchet outside once he finished paying. His way of giving the two of them some space wasn’t exactly subtle, but neither was it blatant, and Ratchet appreciated it either way.

She and Rung stood outside on the sidewalk in the shade under a blooming tree that Perceptor would know the name of because there wasn’t much that Perceptor didn’t know, but Ratchet just thought the dark pink blooms looked and smelled nice.

“He seems nice,” Rung said, slinging an arm through Ratchet’s.

“He really is,” Ratchet said. “He’s really…good. He listens and he understands, and he’s probably better than I deserve.”

“He’s not,” Rung said. “You deserve to be in a relationship that makes you happy, with someone that adores you. You are happy, aren’t you?”

“I am, yeah,” Ratchet said. “Like I was when Orion and I were at our best. Before we became…”

“Best friends who used to date and now share a room together because rent is expensive?” Rung finished with an amused smile.

“You make it sound both so complicated and uncomplicated at once.”

“That’s how most relationships are.” Rung looked up at a metallic-colored bird fluttering on the branches above them. “And how do you feel about being with Drift?”

“I’m scared that I’m going to do something that’s going to make him hurt me,” Ratchet said. “Not because I think he would—he wouldn’t, I know—but because I don’t know how to be in a relationship that doesn’t end up in flames or with me hurt.”

“You do know how to do that,” Rung said. “Orion taught you that. Yes, it didn’t work out romantically between you in the end, but you still support one another. You know how Orion treated you, and how you treated Orion. That’s what a healthy relationship should be like. If you’re feeling that with Drift, then you’re maintaining a healthy relationship. From how open you two communicate, and how well you respect boundaries and needs, I see nothing but a good relationship.”

“Thanks, I was just…”

Rung looked down from the bird as it fluttered higher into the tree. A few pink petals drifted down onto them. “Afraid you were going back to your dating habits before Orion?”

“Yeah, that.”

“That’s why Orion was so good for you. He showed you what a good, stable relationship should be. Beyond that, you have a support system now. Orion, sure, but Wheeljack and Perceptor and Hot Rod and myself and probably Megatron. Drift, too, as long as he’s here. It was a lack of support and connection that had you so desperate for it, in any way you could achieve it, no matter how it hurt you.”

“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stepped in with Pharma,” Ratchet admitted. “If you hadn’t said anything and I’d stayed with him…”

“Best not to think about what ifs, especially negative ones,” Rung said. He gave her arm a squeeze. “But this—what you are developing with Drift—seems to be a positive what if. Don’t let it pass you by because of your past.”

“I don’t want to mess this up with him.”

“That’s a good sign. Just be open and honest with him. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to be away from you, either.”

Drift exited the restaurant. Ratchet and Rung let go of one another, but Drift was rather touchy-feely with his friends himself and was never threatened by Ratchet being in close contact with others. He slung an arm around her waist, keeping his hand a polite distance above her hip.

“Thank you for covering lunch,” Rung said.

“A pleasure,” Drift said. “It was really great to meet you, Rung. I liked talking with you.”

“It is my hope we can make that a habit.” Rung held a hand out for Drift to shake, adding, “Next time, Ratchet, plan to have Drift accompany you on our lunch date.”

“Will do, Rung.”

“You two have a good evening,” Rung said, waving over his shoulder as he departed.

Drift and Ratchet waved after him, then Drift turned to Ratchet. “He seemed to like me.”

“He did like you. I told you it would be fine,” Ratchet said.

“And I told you that us meeting with your friends wouldn’t be the end of our relationship,” Drift said. “I mean, it went well when you met Wing.”

Ratchet let out a noncommittal hum. Meeting Wing had gone well, though she doubted Wing was capable of disliking anyone. And he’d given her a chunk of moldavite for good fortune, which she hadn’t told Drift, but she kept the moldavite in her everyday bag. Ratchet had Wing’s approval—which meant a lot to Drift—and she hadn’t forgotten that Wing had whispered to her, “You’re special, because you’re the first woman he’s ever been serious about.” A strange endorsement, one that Ratchet didn’t understand the full implications of, but a meaningful one, regardless.

“Maybe we should introduce Wing and Rung. They’d probably get along,” she said.

Drift and she started walking toward the nearest subway station entrance. She didn’t know if they would both end up going to Drift’s place or if they would split and go their separate ways, but they’d figure that out when they got there.

Ratchet’s phone buzzed, and she checked it. A text from Hot Rod. Springer’s dad Kup knows u He says u’re cool Thks for the brownie points

Ratchet knew Hot Rod knew how to use proper punction when texting—she did when texting Orion Pax—but Ratchet had never made a big deal of it, so Hot Rod felt safe to text her jumbled and abbreviated messages. Ratchet had to think for a moment about who Kup was, but once she placed the older male nurse at the ED’s front desk who occasionally came into the back when a patient had been ignored for too long, she smiled to herself. If he was Springer’s father, then Springer was totally safe.

No problem, kiddo. Don’t forget to text Orion if you’re going to be late for dinner.

Hot Rod responded with a thumb’s-up emoji. She would definitely text Orion Pax, if only to make sure he didn’t learn she was hanging out with a boy and his father.

Putting her phone away, Ratchet said, “Hot Rod is meeting Springer’s dad.”

“Wow, she’s moving fast,” Drift said with a chuckle.

“She doesn’t know how to take things slow,” Ratchet said. “I think it honestly kills her a bit, being from a cautious family that’s fine to take things one step a time when she’d rather just jump in and hope for the best.”

“It’s important for people like that to have cautious supporters to pull them from dangerous situations,” Drift said. “Gasket did that for me before I learned to look before I leap.”

Ratchet took his hand and squeezed it. She knew about bad relationships, she knew about breakups, and she knew about families that didn’t want you, but she couldn’t imagine being told that your loved one had died during what was supposed to be nothing more than mundane errand run. Ratchet’s father was dead, had died two years ago, and she’d heard of it only in passing. She hadn’t attended the funeral (had no desire to, really), so she couldn’t even begin to understand the true depths of pain the loss of Gasket had caused Drift. That was a loss that had hurt him, had carved out something within him. She just hoped she could be enough so that he didn’t focus only on the loss of Gasket. Wing hadn’t, not romantically, but that didn’t mean she and Drift couldn’t work.

After all, she and Orion Pax hadn’t worked romantically, but Orion Pax and Megatron most certainly were. So…maybe she could make this work with Drift. She really wanted it to work (she didn’t want to imagine a world where it didn’t work, and Drift slipped from her grasp, never to be seen again).

She was comparing Drift to Orion Pax a lot, always in a positive connotation. What was it Rung had said? That Orion Pax had showed her what a good relationship looked like? Well, since Drift was so much like him in regards to how he approached Ratchet, then Rung had to be right. This had to be a good relationship, too.

“There’s a musical performance at The Lost Light tomorrow night,” Drift said. “It’s late enough that you and I can attend after courses and work obligations.”

“Who is it?” Ratchet asked.

“Jazz and the Notes,” Drift replied.

Jazz was a passing acquaintance of Ratchet’s. He was friends with Orion Pax but not a personal friend of Ratchet’s. She knew, through Orion Pax, that Jazz had been trying to get started in musical performance. He’d formed a band with some of his friends and they’d been performing at various bars and clubs in Iacon. If he had booked a gig at The Lost Light, they were gaining more traction.

If Jazz was going to be at The Lost Light, Orion Pax would likely be there to watch his performance. Megatron, too, since he was with Orion Pax most of the time these days when they weren’t both busy with work and university obligations. Hot Rod would likely want to go, but Swerve, the bartender and owner, was serious about not letting anyone under twenty-one in. That would exclude Hot Rod and Springer. Wheeljack and Perceptor wouldn’t go because that wasn’t the scene either of them enjoyed; besides, Wheeljack would be traveling to Crystal City Friday night.

But The Lost Light would be packed, and if Drift and Ratchet stayed in a back corner…and Drift had mentioned it, which meant he really wanted to go. He liked music more than Ratchet did, had stronger opinions about bands. And he’d named the full band name, which meant he was paying attention to whatever music Jazz was playing.

“That sounds nice,” Ratchet said, “but we get there early and find good seats tucked away somewhere.”

“And if Orion Pax sees us?” Drift asked.

He wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly what Ratchet had been thinking.

“We hope he doesn’t, but I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Ratchet said. “Maybe set it on fire and barricade it.”

Drift laughed. “Or we could just leave the bridge free for crossing.”

“That wouldn’t be the worst idea,” Ratchet admitted.

They started down the steps, descending into darkness lit by annoyingly too-bright too-white lights. Seriously, they were worse than the hospital lights. But, as Ratchet hadn’t turned to walk to her house on the sidewalk and instead walked into the underground, she supposed she’d made the decision to go to Drift’s apartment, located farther away from the university and park where the rent was cheaper.

“Why don’t we go to your place? You can tell me what you like about Jazz and the Notes’s music,” Ratchet suggested, pressing herself more closely to Drift’s side.

“And I have brownies, assuming Wing didn’t eat them all,” Drift said.

“Let’s hope he didn’t because I’m really looking forward to those brownies now.”

Drift laughed. “If he did, we’ll force him to make us some more. So, music samples and brownies?”

“That sounds perfect,” Ratchet said.

Yes, yes, this was good, and she hadn’t really needed Rung to verify that, but it was nice that he had. This was good, and she wasn’t letting go any time soon.

Orion Pax had just turned the burner on the oven off when Hot Rod skipped into the house. Perceptor had been sitting at the kitchen island that also doubled as the dining table, and he yelped in surprise as Grimlock—Wheeljack’s massive, gray bullmastiff—bumped into his chair in his haste to greet Hot Rod. Orion Pax’s younger sister laughed and crouched down so Grimlock slammed into her chest and not her legs, wrapping her arms around the big dog and scratching his head around his ears.

“Hey, Grim, so happy to see you, too, boy.” She giggled as Grimlock licked her face.

Slag, Wheeljack’s long-haired yellow tabby, blinked down from the fridge in an unimpressed manner, though Orion Pax really should stop assigning human emotions to animals. Personification or whatever it was.

Swoop, Wheeljack’s grey parrot, squawked from his perch on the back of a chair near Perceptor, then took off, flying toward the living room and the bedrooms beyond.

Orion Pax had long since gotten use to Wheeljack’s many pets and their many interruptions in his life. At least Snarl the horned lizard was trapped in a terrarium in Wheeljack’s room. Between Swoop, Grimlock, Slag, and Sludge (the erstwhile brown ferret that Orion Pax just hoped wasn’t sleeping in his bed), there was always an animal nosing into his business. At least Grimlock hadn’t eaten the raw chicken Orion Pax had been cutting for fajitas off the countertop before Orion Pax had put it safely in a hot skillet.

“You made it just in time for dinner,” Orion Pax said to Hot Rod as she gently pushed Grimlock away and stood. “Have a good time at the park with your friends?”

“A great time. I played frisbee golf for the first time.” Hot Rod sat at the kitchen island across from Perceptor. The astrophysics PhD student ignored her presence, even when she waved at him, but Orion Pax knew Perceptor wasn’t being rude—he was just focused on whatever article he was reading for his dissertation research. “Did you make chicken fajitas? I love chicken fajitas.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You’re the best big brother ever,” Hot Rod said.

Orion Pax smiled. Hot Rod and he had their moments—he was perhaps too overprotective, and she was perhaps too carefree and absentminded for him—but they had a good bond. It most likely stemmed from the six-year age difference between them and their having often been left alone with only each other while their parents worked. Alpha Trion had been—and still was—the legal consultant for the elected president of Cybertron, the one who consulted the constitutional planetary laws before another law was made or amended. Codexa was a historian and history professor at the University of Iacon. Due to their busy schedules, most of Orion Pax’s teenage years had been spent caring for his younger sister.

Even when Orion Pax had started attending college and had moved into an on-campus dorm, it wasn’t uncommon for Hot Rod to spend evenings with him. Orion Pax’s suitemate, a young pre-med student named Ratchet, hadn’t been bothered by Hot Rod’s presence either, though Hot Rod often being around meant that Ratchet’s various rendezvouses and one-night stands took place at others’ accommodations. Until his sophomore year, that was, when he’d started dating Ratchet, and then Ratchet wasn’t running off to meet other guys and Hot Rod was always around when she wasn’t at school.

When Ratchet and Orion Pax had started their graduate studies two years ago—medical school for Ratchet, a Cybertronix literature PhD program for Orion Pax—they’d moved into a rent house near campus along with Thunderclash (a nursing student), Perceptor (an astrophysics grad student), and Wheeljack (who already had an architecture degree but was now working on his engineering degree). Thunderclash had moved out last summer to pursue a travel nurse career that had him traveling all over Cybertron, and Hot Rod, ready to enter her freshman year of college, had begged to be allowed to stay off-campus with Orion Pax and his friends.

Their parents had agreed, and special permission had been granted for Hot Rod to live off-campus, since freshmen were typically required to live in the dormitories. Alpha Trion and Codexa had allowed it because Orion Pax and Ratchet were in a relationship, and Hot Rod wouldn’t be the only female in the house. Also, Perceptor was asexual, which Orion Pax’s parents found non-threatening (though Perceptor did like romantic relationships, but, as far as Orion Pax knew, his interests were more in male-presenting individuals). Wheeljack was the outlier, but after meeting him and realizing he was more invested in his work than any people (he’d only had one relationship, a brief one with Ratchet her freshman year that had quickly fizzled into friendship), Orion Pax’s parents had felt safe to let Hot Rod live in the house.

Of course, Alpha Trion and Codexa didn’t know that Orion Pax hadn’t been dating Ratchet when that decision had been made. He’d been with Megatron by then. He and Ratchet still shared their room in the house, but only because the only bedroom not taken by Perceptor or Wheeljack had been occupied by Thunderclash and then Hot Rod. It was just easier to keep sharing space as they had been for six years, with four of those years being in an active relationship.

Hot Rod knew about Megatron, of course, as did everyone in the house, but Orion Pax hadn’t mentioned his boyfriend to his parents yet. He’d had family dinners with Alpha Trion and Codexa that Ratchet had attended so everything seemed normal between them. To be honest, he was surprised he’d keep his parents out of the loop for seven months. It was getting to the point where he should say something before his silence went on for too long. Well, more too long than it had already been too long.

Standing aside so Hot Rod could begin constructing her chicken fajita, throwing all the components she wanted in her flour shell, Orion Pax said, “Percy, can you tell Wheeljack dinner is ready?”
Without looking up from his reading, Perceptor waved his red phone. “I texted him. He should be on the way.”

With an “I’m already here,” Wheeljack did indeed arrive, the missing Sludge sleeping in the hood of his white hoodie. Grimlock bounced happily around his owner’s legs, and Wheeljack laughed as he petted the excited dog. Slag didn’t move from his seat on top of the fridge, as unbothered by Wheeljack’s arrival as a random stray that had wondered in (in fact, Orion Pax double-checked to make sure the cat was Slag, but his silver collar was in place). Orion Pax wasn’t sure where Swoop was, but the grey parrot hadn’t returned with Wheeljack, not that Orion Pax was complaining about that. He didn’t want to fight a large bird who sprouted screechy insults for his food.

Not long after, the four of them were gathered at the kitchen island, eating dinner. Grimlock sat beside Wheeljack’s chair, his tail thumping against the chair leg as he looked at Wheeljack and begged for a treat. Perceptor had cleared his reading, setting it on the coffee table in the living room as he took a study break to eat.

“Percy, Orion, can I trust you guys to watch the beasts this weekend?” Wheeljack asked.

Tomorrow afternoon, Wheeljack would be catching a train for Crystal City so that he could attend a conference at the Nova Cronum University at Crystal City. He had a presentation that he was doing as part of a panel Saturday afternoon, some engineering idea he had for extracting energy from the underground rivers in the walls of the Sonic Canyons. From Friday evening to Sunday afternoon, he would be away from the house.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Hot Rod asked.

“Because if I did, I would have to ask to someone else to make sure you took care of them,” Wheeljack said.

Hot Rod pouted, but she didn’t say anything else. Orion Pax made a note to talk to her later. She was young, yes, and appeared disorganized and absentminded, but she wouldn’t forget about the well-being of an animal, even if they were as mildly irritating as Wheeljack’s pets were. He’d tell her that the others didn’t think so little of her ability to be responsible. He most certainly didn’t.

“Yeah, we can take care of them,” Orion Pax said.

“I’ll be busy this weekend,” Perceptor said. “I don’t have time for pets.”

“You barely have time to remember to be a functional person,” Wheeljack said. “Pick your nose up out of your textbooks some time, yeah?”

Perceptor glared at Wheeljack, but there was no real heat behind the look. Wheeljack grinned, his facial hair scrunching and shifting with the expression.

Ratchet entered the house. Grimlock took off for her, and she braced herself before the dog slammed into her legs. She was holding a tubber ware container in her hand, and she lifted it up and away from Grimlock as she bent down to pet the bullmastiff.

“I’m home,” Ratchet said.

Giving Grimlock one last pat, Ratchet walked toward the others.

“Hi, Ratch,” Orion Pax. “Chicken fajitas?”

“Sounds amazing,” Ratchet said. “They smell good. Your special seasoning?”

“Of course,” Orion Pax replied.

Ratchet put her tubber ware on the center of the kitchen island. “I brought brownies for dessert.”

“Rung made brownies?” Hot Rod asked. Orion Pax hadn’t known that Ratchet had been spending the afternoon with Rung, but it was Thursday, and it wasn’t unusual for Ratchet to spend some time with Rung on Thursdays.

“More or less,” Ratchet said.

“How do you more or less make brownies?” Perceptor asked.

But Ratchet had turned away to make her fajitas and didn’t answer Perceptor. After everyone had eaten and then had brownies (Orion Pax had told Ratchet to give Rung his compliments because the brownies were amazing, and Ratchet’s expression had been strange when she said she would), Wheeljack put away the leftovers while Orion Pax and Ratchet did the dishes. Perceptor retreated to his room to keep reading his articles and Orion Pax knew he wouldn’t see Perceptor again until tomorrow. Hot Rod was in the living room, supposedly studying, but she kept texting someone on her phone with a soft smile on her face. At least she was making friends.

“Do you have weekend plans?” Orion Pax asked Ratchet.

She shrugged. “Same as always. Saturday morning shadowing at the ED, then studying and resting the rest of the weekend. I might take another shift Sunday evening if any of the doctors I like are scheduled then. What about you?”

“Well, other than making sure that Wheeljack’s pets aren’t so hungry they start eating the walls, I don’t have much going on. Would you mind if Megatron spent some time here this weekend?”

“Orion, you know I don’t mind. I’m glad you’re with someone who makes you happy.”

She leaned across Orion Pax to grab a different scrubber for the skillet he’d cooked the bell peppers and onions in, and Orion Pax caught a whiff of an unfamiliar cologne. He didn’t say anything, but it wasn’t the first time recently that he’d picked up on an unfamiliar scent. He’d been keeping an eye on her, but she seemed fine. If she was having one-night stands—which was her right to do as an adult who was no longer in a committed relationship—they weren’t draining her the same way they had been when they were younger. He hadn’t noticed any strange bruises or scratches, either.

He also didn’t like that this drew attention to the fact that Ratchet had to have known about Megatron before he’d said anything about him or broken up with her. The spicy scent that always clung to Megatron must have followed Orion Pax home a few times. He felt the urge to apologize once again—technically, he had cheated even if he and Megatron hadn’t made anything official until after he’d explained everything to Ratchet—but he knew that Ratchet would just tell him that he didn’t need to apologize, that she understood. She might even splash him with the soapy dishwater if he made the apology too emotional.

“When are you going to tell Alpha Trion and Codexa?” she asked, scrubbing the skillet. “I don’t mind continuing to join you for family dinners—Codexa certainly knows how to cook a brisket—but you’ve been hiding your boyfriend for over half a year.”

“I need to say something soon,” Orion Pax agreed. “It’s starting to feel criminal how long I’ve been silent on the matter. I’m sorry I’ve roped you into sort of pretending to still be with me when my parents are around, but I can’t thank you enough for keeping silent on the matter.”

“You’re my friend, Orion. You know I’d do anything for you.” She pointed at him with a sudsy sponge. “Except clean the litter box. I know Jackie asked you to look after the critters, so don’t you dare try to get me to help by scooping poop. Between Slag and Sludge, that box is a monstrosity.”

“You literally stitch people back together,” Orion Pax protested. “Why is cleaning a litter box too far?”

“We all have our things, Orion. That’s mine. That’s the one thing I won’t do for you.”

“Fine, fine,” Orion Pax laughed. “So, Jazz is playing at The Lost Light tomorrow. Megatron and I are going. Want to come with us, decompress a bit?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I already have plans,” Ratchet said. She very carefully did not look up from skillet she was examining for any more food residue. “You and Megatron go have fun. I’m sure Jazz will do great.”

“He really is getting very popular all of the sudden,” Orion Pax said. “Maybe he will be able to make a career out of it.”

Hot Rod walked back into the kitchen. “Hey, Orion, is it okay with you if I spend Saturday afternoon with my friends?”

Beside him, Ratchet had turned to give Hot Rod a look he couldn’t quite read. She seemed both thoughtful and amused, a knowing tilt to the corner of her lips. Orion Pax didn’t have time to unpack whatever all that was. Instead, he looked at Hot Rod, who stared at him with the large, blue eyes she’d inherited from their mother.

“Will you be out late?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I’ll be back before dinner. It’s just a study date thing.” She hitched her voice a bit on the last three words, but Swoop had, well, swooped past her shoulder at that moment, so that had to have been what distracted her. Nothing else. Because if it was something else, then Orion Pax was going to need to have a long conversation with his sister about…

And she was still waiting for an answer, and he was getting lost in thought.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine. What are you studying?”

“Chemistry,” Hot Rod said. “The exams are kicking my ass, but I’m doing well in the labs.”

Well, Hot Rod had always done better with hands-on things and action than sitting and learning. It was probably that undiagnosed ADHD that their parents insisted she didn’t have because she managed to keep her grades high even if she struggled with procrastination.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Orion Pax said. “You could always ask Perceptor to help you study.”

“Do you understand what Percy says when he starts talking science?”

“I suppose his knowledge far out-measures mine,” Orion Pax admitted.

“He’s too smart and he doesn’t know how to dumb it down,” Hot Rod said. “That’s the less diplomatic way to say it. But he did help with my college algebra last week, and that went well. He could reach my level on that.”

“That’s because your level isn’t as low as you think it is,” Orion Pax.

“Yes, yes, I have potential, I just need to believe in myself. You give me the same speech all the time,” Hot Rod said, but she was smiling, and he could tell from the spark in her eyes that she was glad he’d said it. For all that Hot Rod pretended to hate compliments, she felt overlooked and unappreciated when her accomplishments weren’t acknowledged.

It was normal, Rung had assured Orion Pax, for a child often overlooked by their parents—though not maliciously, in Hot Rod’s case—to adore compliments but not know how to respond to receiving them. Or how to properly go about getting acknowledgement. So, Orion Pax was working on it, making sure that he didn’t ignore Hot Rod as their parents had, even if their overlooking Hot Rod had been unintentional. They loved his sister, he knew, but Hot Rod wasn’t a child they had planned for, and she, with her high energy and interests lying outside of the academic, was the odd one out. It had been harder for their parents to connect to her when they didn’t understand the appeal of the sports, action movies, and car races that had gripped Hot Rod’s attention.

“Breakfast is on me tomorrow, right?” Hot Rod asked, skipping out of the kitchen.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Orion Pax called after her.

She flashed a thumb’s-up in his direction as she flopped down onto the couch. Slag jumped over the back of the couch, his tail fluffed up. Evidentally, he’d been hidden among the pillows lining the couch and had been thoroughly startled by the Hot Rod missile slamming into the cushions.

“Well, that means a cereal bar for breakfast,” Ratchet said.

“Yep.”

They finished up in the kitchen. Orion Pax joined Hot Rod in the living room, where she was watching an off-season benefit baseball game, the Iacon Primes versus the Kaon Gladiators. Hot Rod’s textbooks were spread on the coffee table, but she wasn’t even pretending to study anymore.

“I thought you didn’t like baseball. You said it was too slow of a sport.”

“It is slow,” Hot Rod agreed, “but there’s a surprising amount of strategy involved. Plus, I’m trying to familiarize myself with the rules of the sport.”

“Can’t stand having a sport out there that you don’t understand?” Orion Pax teased.

Hot Rod smiled at him. “That’s it exactly.”

But her phone chimed with an incoming text whenever the Iacon Primes scored, and Orion Pax was beginning to suspect that one of Hot Rod’s new friends—maybe Arcee or Bumblebee—was a fan of the sport and Hot Rod was just getting to know one of her friend’s interests.

After the game ended, with the Iacon Primes winning by one point (one run, Hot Rod corrected him), an announcement was made by Ultra Magnus—the owner of the Iacon Primes—and Tergamax—the owner of the Kaon Gladiators—that all ticket sales and concession profits would be put toward the Feeding Cybertron Foundation, which provided meals for Cybertronian families struggling to make ends meet. As the post-game analysis began, with former baseball players beginning to speculate which players from the Primes and Gladiators would be the best when the season officially started, Hot Rod turned off the television.

She stood, stretching her arms above her head, and her back audibly popped.

“Well, I’m going to bed. My Cybertronix 101 class is way too early for me.”

“It’s at ten,” Orion Pax said.

“Too early.”

“You have to get up early enough to get breakfast ready,” he reminded her.

“Getting up at eight would be early enough, right?”

Not for Perceptor or Ratchet, but Perceptor only ate yogurt in the morning, and Ratchet usually just swiped a coffee on the way to class or the hospital, so Orion Pax said, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good night, Orion,” she said.

“Good night, Roddy,” he said.

He straightened up her books, piling them on one corner of the coffee table, then headed toward his bedroom. Ratchet hadn’t been interested in the baseball game, and she sat in the middle of the large bed they shared in an old U of I shirt from undergrad and athletic shorts. Her red hair was wet from the shower, and she looked down at some medical textbook nestled in the nest of her crossed legs.

She looked up when Orion Pax walked in. “Bedtime?”

“Yep.”

Ratchet closed her textbook and set it aside, then rolled onto her side of the bed, getting under the covers. Used to her presence and not bothered by her, Orion Pax stripped to his boxers and switched into the shirt he slept in and then crawled onto his side of the bed. He hadn’t been settled long when Ratchet pressed her back against his.

It was the new normal, back-to-back, two friends comfortable in one another’s presence. Even after the breakup, they couldn’t fully extract themselves from one another’s lives. Orion Pax wasn’t sure one of them would have moved out even if the fourth bedroom had been vacant.

If the others found it weird, they didn’t say anything. Hot Rod, Wheeljack, and Perceptor were used to seeing Orion Pax and Ratchet together, they didn’t care if it was romantically or platonically. Hot Rod had even mentioned “platonic soulmates,” but then she’d laughed and added, “just with a romantic spell first.” Megatron didn’t care, either. He knew that Ratchet meant a lot to Orion Pax, even if Megatron was now the one Orion Pax loved romantically and wanted to build a romantic relationship and partnership with.

Whatever cologne Ratchet had had on her earlier was gone, washed off in the shower.

Orion Pax didn’t want to think about it too much. Ratchet would tell him when she was ready. He trusted that. Ratchet was just more secretive and private than Orion Pax (withholding his relationship with Megatron from his parents aside).

“Good night, Orion.”

“Good night, Ratch.”

After a brief moment of silence, he asked, “Do you know which one of Hot Rod’s friends likes baseball?”

“It’s late, Orion, go to sleep.”

“Right, sorry.”

Ratchet snorted softly, muttered something that could only be “overprotective big brother,” and then stilled in a way that meant she was serious about getting to sleep.

Orion Pax took a deep breath, pushed aside his suspicions about Hot Rod and his concerns about Ratchet (and his guilt about being concerned and not trusting her to make good decisions), and closed his eyes. He didn’t open them again until the morning, when his alarm went off.

“Good afternoon.” Megatron pressed a quick kiss to Orion Pax’s temple—he was only a little taller, though Orion Pax was considerably leaner—and then slung an arm across his shoulders.

Together, the two walked in perfect sync through the brick tunnel leading from the football field to the parking lot used by the athletic staff and student athletes. Exhausted and sweaty football players, most wearing U of I Racers t-shirts or tank tops, flocked toward their vehicles around them, but they paid no mind to their team’s sports medicine specialist or his boyfriend. A few offered Megatron cheeky grins and thumb’s-ups of approval, but Orion Pax had long gotten use to the leers and wolf whistles that often accompanied the young athletes until Megatron shooed them away. The kids didn’t mean anything by it.

Megatron was two years older than Orion Pax, and, in his undergrad at Kaon University, he’d been a star running back. A knee injury his senior year had prevented him from going professional, but he’d changed his focus to ensuring that other athletes received proper care and support for their injuries, something he hadn’t received at Kaon. He’d started working with the Racers football team one year ago. He’d met Orion Pax in the writing lab when he’d been sent by the head coach to see about helping get a defensive lineman’s Cybertronix 101 grade up so that they didn’t have to kick him off the team, and, well, one thing had led to another and now they’d been happily dating for seven months.

“No Ratchet tonight?” Megatron asked.

“She said she had plans.”

“She really needs to get out of the hospital.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Orion Pax agreed, although he wasn’t so sure that Ratchet’s plans involved taking another shift at the hospital, especially since she was shadowing there tomorrow morning.

“I need to stop by my apartment and get out of these sweaty clothes,” Megatron said. “I’ve got some leftover pizza if you want to eat something before we go to The Lost Light. Swerve serves good food, but…”

“50/50 on if you’re going to regret it in the morning,” Orion said.

Megatron laughed. “Exactly.”

Once at Megatron’s home, Megatron jumped into the shower for a quick rinse, and Orion Pax dug through Megatron’s disorganized fridge for the leftover pizza. It was left over from Wednesday, when they’d had a pizza dinner with Soundwave, the football head coach, and his toddlers, Rumble and Frenzy. That had been the cleanest Orion Pax had seen Megatron’s house, just before Soundwave had arrived. Not that Megatron lived in slop, but he didn’t have a Perceptor in his house obsessively keeping everything clean and tidy.

He’d just set the cold slices on paper plates when his phone buzzed. Hot Rod, telling him to have fun tonight. That text message was followed by music note emojis and then a four-leaf clover, her cheeky way of telling him to get lucky. Orion Pax shook his head, ignoring his sister’s crass humor, and replied that he would have fun. He reminded her to feed Grimlock so that the dog didn’t eat the couch cushions. Hot Rod responded with a selfie of her and Grimlock on the patio and a thumb’s-up emoji.

Orion Pax was blatantly ignoring the text from his mother, asking if he and Ratchet wanted to come over for dinner on Sunday. He was going to have to come clean eventually.

He put his plate in the microwave and set it for 45 seconds. Farther back in the house, he heard the shower shut off.

He’d just pulled Megatron’s reheated pizza from the microwave when Megatron walked in, in jeans and shirtless, toweling off his brunette hair. Orion Pax let himself shamelessly look at Megatron’s broad shoulders, the muscles flexing on his abdomen. He appreciated the view, even knowing he couldn’t let it lead to anything else if they wanted to get to The Lost Light at a decent time in a decent state. The afternoon football practices ran late to avoid the heat of the day.

He’d liked looking at Ratchet, too, back when he was dating her. But Orion Pax had struggled to touch her. The way her soft curves felt under his broad palms, the way his hands could encompass so much of her body, could make her feel so small and fragile whether she was beneath and above him. He knew, objectively, that Ratchet was beautiful, that the shapes of her curves and the structure of her face turned heads, but she never took his breath away, not like seeing Megatron the first time had.

It had been easy to convince himself he didn’t like her that way—that he didn’t like being physical with her—because he was worried about hurting her, that he didn’t want to be like Pharma or her other partners who had thrived on overpowering and hurting Ratchet.

It had been harder to admit that he just didn’t like her that way because he wanted hard planes for his hands to roam over, he wanted someone to be stronger and bigger than him, he was attracted to another type of body altogether.

Ratchet had taken his explanation with grace, far more grace than he deserved. They’d been in a relationship for four years, and he’d ended it abruptly because he was gay. He’d been so sure that that would be the end of their friendship, but no, they were just as entangled in one another as they had always been. There wasn’t any awkwardness (not now, at least). They were much the same as they had been, just without any dates or kissing or sex. And Ratchet had congratulated Orion Pax for starting to date Megatron shortly after he’d confessed to her that he was attracted to the man.

He just wished that Ratchet could find happiness beyond him, just as he’d found happiness beyond her.

“Pizza,” Orion Pax said, putting the paper plate in front of Megatron on the counter.

“Thanks.” Megatron sat down at the counter, tossing the towel behind him somewhere. He caught Orion Pax’s look and said, “I’ll pick it up before we leave. I still have to pick out a shirt.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Orion Pax, making sure his voice was laced with amusement so that Megatron knew he wasn’t just nagging him.

“You know, this pizza was better the first night,” Megatron said.

“Most things are.”

“Not you. You only get better the longer I know you.” His brown eyes were sincere—and Orion Pax felt his chest warm at the love in his gaze—but there was a darker undercurrent in his gaze, too.

Orion Pax smiled at him. “That’s very sweet. I think the same about you.” He leaned forward. “But what doesn’t get any better is the organization of your fridge and cabinets.”

“That’s what you’re for,” Megatron said, that darker undercurrent still present, his voice lowered just enough to be perceivable, “to help me cover all my flaws.”

Orion Pax leaned forward enough to kiss him on the nose. “Any other night, that would get you exactly what you’re imagining, but right now, we have places to be, so behave.”

Megatron chuckled but relented and went back to eating his pizza.

Not long after, Megatron had returned with a black button-up shirt, a direct contrast to the blue one Orion Pax wore, and the towel had been hung up properly in the bathroom. Though Orion Pax and Megatron had both driven from campus to Megatron’s small house, Megatron drove them both in his truck to The Lost Light.

The Lost Light was a few blocks from campus and frequented by University of Iacon students. Swerve was, despite his carefree and party-driven nature, quite serious about keeping underage patrons out of his bar and no one under twenty-one was permitted entry. Because of Swerve’s harsh stance on the matter, freshmen and sophomore students knew they could sneak into Visages, a nearby club, especially if they looked good and dressed in bright colors and glitter. Since Mirage, the owner of Visages, ran a tight ship regarding patron safety—and was quick to put a stop to unwanted advances, as well as responsible in ensuring that all bar-goers had safe ways home—law enforcement turned a blind eye. Better to keep the underage drinkers safe in one location was the general consensus.
Orion Pax and Megatron had to park farther away they had been expecting—some event was happening at Visages, and Jazz and the Notes was garnering a big crowd at The Lost Light—and they walked in through the black front doors about twenty minutes before Jazz was scheduled to start.

The Lost Light was indeed crowded. Red and blue overhead lights cast dark shadows and colored bright spots on the mass of people crowding the bar, sitting at the tables and booths, and swaying on the dance floor to the generic EDM music playing from the bar’s speakers. Orion Pax knew the dance floor would only get more crowded and the dance more frantic once Jazz started playing. Something about his music just encouraged people to move, like the notes he strummed plucked directly at whatever bodily system coordinated dance.

Megatron and Orion Pax pushed their way through the crowd, heading for the bar, a dark wood with blue and white under lights. Swerve saw them coming, and the little man smiled and waved. Orion Pax had been a consistent patron since he reached drinking age, and it was Orion Pax that had suggested Swerve book Jazz and the Notes.

“Great idea you had, man!” Swerve said as Orion Pax and Megatron reached the bar. “Look at this crowd. I don’t care if Jazz plays shit music. I’ll put up with it if it brings in this much revenue.”

Making a mental note to not tell Jazz what Swerve’s personal opinion of his band was, Orion Pax grinned. “Glad I could be of help.”

“The usual?” Swerve asked.

“On my tab,” Megatron replied.

“You got it, big guy.” Flashing finger guns, Swerve departed to prepare their drinks.

Orion Pax looked up at the stage. There was Jazz’s gleaming guitar, all chrome and overly shiny, next to the microphone centerstage. Bluestreak’s keyboard was off to the left side. Bluestreak was the youngest member of the band, and technically not drinking age yet, but Orion Pax figured Swerve had made an exception for the band member (or Jazz had lied about Bluestreak’s age, which was plausible). Firestar’s red guitar and microphone were to the right of the stage. In the back was a large drum set with decorative red splatters. Cliffjumper was Jazz’s newest drummer and bandmate, replacing Smokescreen, who’d had to quit the band to accept a job in his hometown of Praxus. Orion Pax wasn’t entirely sure—because Jazz himself hadn’t been entirely sure—but he thought that Smokescreen was doing psych evals for the Praxian Enforcers.

“Maybe we should get Jazz to do a performance on campus,” Megatron said. “The students would love it.”

“You pay him, he’ll do it,” Orion Pax said. “He’d probably even do it for a discount if you asked him.”

“Why not if you ask him?”

“Because there’s nothing special about me asking him for a favor. He’d think it was funny if you did, though, and probably offer a reduced price.”

“I do not understand his sense of humor,” Megatron sighed.

“Most people don’t,” Orion Pax said.

“Here you go, chaps.” Swerve reappeared with their drinks—a glass of dark beer for Megatron and a rum and soda for Orion Pax, a habit he’d picked up from Ratchet.

“You’re not Junkion,” Orion Pax said, taking the drinks from the bartender and referring to a region near the planet’s north pole.

“I just added fish and chips to the menu. I can be Junkion if I want,” Swerve retorted in a Junkion accent.

“That Junkion accent was very good,” Megatron said. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“Hit me up when you want another round,” Swerve said, returning to his natural Iaconian accent. With a wink, he slid away to take care of another customer.

“I don’t get his sense of humor, either,” Megatron said, taking a sip of his beer.

“No one does.”

Megatron chuckled. He turned, leaning his elbows against the bar, to survey the crowded interior. “Want to move closer to the stage?”

“Not with a drink in my hand,” Orion Pax said.

“That’s a fair point.”

Orion Pax had been looking at Megatron’s face, memorizing the way the blue light highlighted his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, so he noticed when Megatron’s brows rose slightly with surprise. Before Orion Pax could ask him what was going on, he whipped his head around to look at Orion Pax.

“That’s Ratchet,” Megatron said, dropping a shoulder to indicate a spot across the bar.

Orion Pax turned, just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Ratchet sitting on the wooden bench of a booth across The Lost Light. It was a corner booth, tucked into a dark corner, the reds and blues not quite clearing the shadows. She wasn’t in her scrubs, meaning she hadn’t come directly from the university or the medical center, just wearing a simple red blouse and jeans.
And she wasn’t alone. A tall, slender man sat next to her, eyes nearly closed as he smiled so largely it seemed his features were designed around his smile. Dark hair was pulled up in a messy bun at the back of his head, a few strands falling around his face. He wore a dark shirt, pulled taut across his shoulders as he slung an arm around Ratchet.

Orion Pax studied his friend. She was smiling, though more subdued than her…partner…in the booth. She leaned into his touch, into his side, and not away from him. Orion Pax didn’t know who he was or why Ratchet was with him (though the why was easy enough to deduce), but Ratchet was happy and comfortable with him, so Orion Pax wasn’t worried about their…Relationship? Dynamic? Friendship?

“Do you know who that is with her?” Orion Pax asked.

Megatron shook his head. “Haven’t seen him around.” He started to push away from the bar. “Should we introduce ourselves?”

Orion Pax shook his head, gripping Megatron’s wrist and pulling him back. “Ratchet didn’t tell me she was coming here tonight. It’s probably a new thing, something she doesn’t want public yet. We should let them be and pretend we never saw them.”

Megatron settled back down next to Orion Pax. “She knew we would be here.”

“Yeah, she did. This is probably, like, a soft introduction or something. I’ll talk to her later, but she’s not going to like being cornered in public.”

“She’s got some hangups,” Megatron said.

“Who doesn’t?” Orion Pax took a big swig of his drink, a mildly burning warmth following the popping carbonation of the soda.

The lights shut off momentarily, no longer than a blink. The bar’s background music stopped. Then, Jazz literally bounded onto the stage, silver zipper on his black leather jacket gleaming, and a cheer reverberated throughout the bar.

“Who’s ready to jazz out!?” Jazz hollered into the microphone as Bluestreak, Cliffjumper, and Firestar joined him on stage.

As Jazz and the Notes began playing—a fast beat song that had Orion Pax bopping his head and tapping his foot to the beat—he and Megatron quickly finished their drinks as the dance floor quickly became crowded. On the third song, the two of them squeezed their way onto the dance floor themselves. Jazz’s music wasn’t slow, wasn’t designed for intimate couple dances, but Orion Pax didn’t mind. He threw up his arms and moved his hips and bounced and laughed when Megatron clumsily copied his movements, but he was dancing, and he was with Megatron, and the music just wouldn’t let him be still, and the crowd and the music and Megatron being right there made him feel giddy with joy.

At some point, Megatron and Orion Pax had worked their way toward the front of the dance floor, near the stage. Jazz, strumming away at his electric guitar, winked at Orion Pax.

Later—Orion Pax couldn’t be sure how much time had passed—Jazz and the Notes began their concluding act.

“Give it up for the beautiful, unstoppable Firestar!”

The redhead—an unnatural redhead, hair dyed a fire engine red—strummed her guitar and bowed. Some of the men wolf whistled at the sight of her cleavage. It was part of her act, playing up the sex symbol, Orion Pax knew, but he still sometimes hated seeing it in action.

“Short but not to be overlooked, Cliffjumper at the drums!”

Cliffjumper played a fast-paced drum solo, tossing the drumsticks for extra flare, and the crowd cheered and clapped.

“He says ACAB directly to his cop cousins, it’s keyboarder Bluestreak!”

Bluestreak twisted up a hand, then gave a dramatic bow over his keyboard. If the instrument was not in the way, Orion Pax figured Bluestreak would have bent nearly in half. What his day-to-day job was, Orion Pax didn’t know, but from the few times he’d spoken to him, Orion Pax knew that he certainly disliked his hardcore blue blood family members.

“And, of course, me, the fabulous Jazz.”

Another round of cheering and clapping.

“That’s it for Jazz and the Notes. Catch you Jazzies at the next jazzing out function!”

With another series of bows and waves, the band exited the stage amid a cacophony of cheering and clapping. Swerve turned the usual background music back on, and the dance floor began to empty, though some people remained to dance to the EDM. More than a few were plastered, barely able to functionally move, let alone dance well.

Orion Pax looked around, suddenly remembering that Ratchet had been there earlier, but she and her partner had disappeared. Maybe they’d slipped out a while ago—Ratchet wasn’t the biggest fan of Jazz’s band—or maybe they were in the large cluster of people exiting now that the band set had ended.

Megatron and Orion Pax sat at the bar, much less crowded than before. Now, they actually had seats to occupy.

“Second round?” Swerve asked.

“Yes,” Megatron said.

“And some cheesy fries,” Orion Pax added. “Worked up an appetite.”

“You got it, man!”

“Hope you don’t mind that going on your tab, too,” Orion Pax said.

“Cheesy fries sound wonderful,” Megatron said. “I’m not complaining about that.”

They shared another round of drinks and the largest platter of cheesy fries Swerve offered. Jazz joined them, briefly, but exuberant and joyful. He stood next to Orion Pax, stealing fries, stringing cheese from the countertop to his mouth. The rest of the Notes had joined the remaining patrons of The Lost Light. Bluestreak and Firestar danced together—in a way that could only mean they were together—among a group of other couples, all examples of physical, borderline sexual intimacy in the blues and reds and shadows. Cliffjumper had joined a drinking game farther down the bar.
Jazz blathered on and on about whatever popped into his head. Orion Pax was only half-listening, humming in acknowledgement at the right moments, but he was mostly watching Megatron. He’d denied Megatron earlier tonight, but the rest of the night was free…Megatron gave him a knowing look, raising an eyebrow in a look that shouldn’t have been a smolder but was, and Orion Pax reminded himself they were in public.

“Even your doctor ex was dancing,” Jazz said.

“What?”

Forgetting the sexy look Megatron was giving him (but not really, because he wanted to see that same look again later, in another context), Orion Pax looked at Jazz.

“Oh, yeah, she was in the back with some guy I don’t know, but they were really moving together.” Jazz shoved another fry in his mouth, continuing to talk without swallowing. “Seems she’s gotten over you, Pax.”

“Yeah, seems so,” Orion Pax said.

Ratchet wasn’t opposed to dancing, but she did have resistance to dancing in public. Orion Pax had always had better luck getting her to dance in their living room to music playing on his phone than at any bar or public outing. Whoever this guy was, he’d got Ratchet to dance in public after knowing her for less than a year. Orion Pax had been dating Ratchet for two years when she finally danced with him at Swerve’s.

He shoved down a bit of jealousy. He and Ratchet were just friends now. She could date—and dance with—whoever she wanted. Besides, Megatron had danced with Orion Pax after just two months of dating.

This was such a foolish comparison to be making.

He looked at Megatron. He didn’t say anything, but Megatron understood. He nodded, then waved at Swerve, indicating he wanted to pay the tab.

“Jazz, you and the band did a wonderful job, but I’m afraid I’m all partied out,” Orion Pax said. “Time for me to head home.”

Jazz rolled his eyes. “You PhDs, always so quick to flee to your homes.”

“PhD candidate,” Orion Pax corrected on reflex.

Jazz laughed. “I’m going to make sure Cliffjumper doesn’t give himself alcohol poisoning.” He gestured to the remains of the cheesy fries. “Do you mind if I…?”

“No, that’s fine.”

Jazz snatched up the cheesy fries and then bounced toward Cliffjumper and the crowd cheering around him, telling the drummer to keep throwing back shots. “See you around, Pax!”

Megatron settled the tab, then, taking Orion Pax’s hand in his own, he led him out of the bar.

Orion Pax leaned into him as they walked down the sidewalk toward Megatron’s truck. “You look very handsome tonight. I should have told you that earlier.”

“And you looked absolutely stunning on that dance floor,” Megatron said. “I love when you pop your pelvis like that.”

Orion Pax kissed his cheek. “I knew you would.” He withdrew, looking down the sidewalk, at the other shapes of people walking to and from where they were going. “I know we planned for me to spend the night with you, but…”

“You really need to have a conversation with Ratchet.”

“Yeah. Megs, I’m sorry, but—”

“It’s okay, Orion. Seriously. When we get back, you go home, and I’m not going to be mad. I remember when I first saw Starscream with someone else, I had questions, and Starscream and I weren’t even friends when we ended things.”

Megatron rarely talked about his ex Starscream. Orion Pax still wasn’t sure entirely what had happened between them, but Starscream had started over in Vos with a scientist named Skyfire, and Megatron had started over in Iacon and met Orion Pax, so…people did move on from bad relationships.

“You live with Ratchet. You have to talk to her,” Megatron continued. “I do have one request, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Text me all the details. I’m really nosy.”

Orion Pax laughed and kissed Megatron. Properly, on the mouth. It halted their walk for a moment. When he pulled back, and they started walking again, with Megatron’s arm now slung around his waist, he said, “I can do that.”

When he got home and successfully dislodged himself from Grimlock when the bullmastiff practically tackled him in his enthusiasm to greet him, Orion Pax checked on the others—both human and animal.

Hot Rod slept on the couch, cuddled up in all the pillows and with a magenta blanket tucked up around her chin. A favorite show of hers—a sci-fi one about aliens blending in with Cybertronian society to avoid the genocide being committed against their people by a corrupt government on their home planet—played on the television, the volume low. Slag was curled up in the crook her knees, and Orion Pax couldn’t bring himself to disturb either his sister or the cat. The couch was comfy, and Hot Rod wasn’t bothering anyone. He turned off the television and the floor lamp Hot Rod had left on, then moved on.

Snarl was, thankfully, still in his terrarium in Wheeljack’s room, the first one to the right of the hallway. Swoop and Sludge were sleeping in Wheeljack’s room, too, Sludge on a swinging hammock meant for cats and Swoop on a metal roost Wheeljack had built himself. The room across the way was Hot Rod’s, and Grimlock trotted inside, throwing himself on Hot Rod’s bed to sleep. Grimlock slept with Hot Rod sometimes, so that wasn’t unusual, but Orion Pax hadn’t known Grimlock claimed the bed if Hot Rod wasn’t occupying it.

The bathroom was next to Hot Rod’s room, and Orion Pax took a brief moment to get ready for bed, using the bathroom and washing his face. He’d have to change into his sleep clothes in his room.
Once finished, he walked down the final bit of the hallway. Perceptor’s room, like Hot Rod’s was on the left. Those rooms were smaller, as the bathroom was on that side of the hallway. Wheeljack had a larger room on the right side because of all his pets, and Orion Pax and Ratchet had the other larger room because they shared it. Perceptor’s door was closed. A light glowed from within. He was probably still researching, or maybe he’d gone to sleep while reading, the light still on. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The door to Orion Pax’s room was just barely cracked, and he opened it. The only light on was the lamp on his side of the bed. Ratchet was lying on the bed in an old, red tank top with her high school’s name and mascot—the Vaporex High Hot Spots—and a pair of athletic shorts that Orion Pax thought had been Hot Rod’s at one point. She was on her phone, scrolling, but he couldn’t see the screen to see what social media site she was on. Orion Pax couldn’t help himself. He glanced over her exposed skin, searching for bruises or scratches or something, but he found nothing.

Ratchet looked up from her phone. “Have a good time with Megatron?”

“He’s not that good of a dancer, but he tries so hard it’s endearing,” Orion Pax said.

He turned away, grabbing the shirt and shorts he was going to sleep in. As he changed, he thought of the guy in The Lost Light, the way Ratchet had been with him. Happy and not at all like she had been in the depths of her worst relationship, before the four years she’d been with Orion Pax.

At the start of their sophomore year in undergrad, there had been Pharma, a young man in his medical residency who was, in Orion Pax’s opinion, entirely too old and predatory for Ratchet’s own good. When Ratchet had come home from Pharma’s apartment to the apartment that she and Orion Pax had shared with Thunderclash that year with a torn blouse and a blooming bruise on her cheek, he’d stepped in. There’d been police reports, which had gone nowhere legally, and Pharma had eventually transferred jobs to some other city, but Orion Pax and Thunderclash and Rung had managed to convince Ratchet that she needed to stay away from Pharma. By the time the fall semester ended, Orion Pax had found himself dating Ratchet.

Maybe that hadn’t been healthy, jumping so quickly into a relationship when Ratchet was so fresh out of an abusive one. Maybe that had made it easier for Orion Pax to ignore the red flags in his own mind, the gentle resistances to being in a relationship with Ratchet (because he wanted to be around Ratchet, just not as her romantic partner). But despite the perhaps questionable circumstances to the start, their relationship was great, it was. They supported one another through their harder academic years, through applications to med school and PhD programs, and they lived their lives in an entangled knot, always one involved in the on-goings of the other.

Even now that their relationship had ended, Orion Pax still loved Ratchet, even if he wasn’t in love with her anymore. She was still his best friend, still Hot Rod’s pseudo-older sister, and he didn’t want her hurt in any way. He’d hurt her enough when he’d blindsided her with an abrupt end to their four-year-long romance and introduced a new boyfriend two weeks later.

He lay down on his back on his side of the bed. He wasn’t really looking at Ratchet, but he could still tell from the faint shift in the mattress when she put down her phone. He glanced at her. She was staring up at the ceiling. There were glowing stars there, faintly green in the shadows not quite dispelled by the lamp. Ratchet had put a similar set in Perceptor’s room as a joke, and the astrophysics graduate student had retorted by plastering glowing stars in their room. Their stars were properly arranged in constellations, not like the ‘completely unintelligible attempt at star figurations’ Ratchet had put up Perceptor’s room.

Orion Pax rolled over onto his side to face Ratchet. She stayed on her back, looking up at the ceiling. “I saw you at the bar tonight,” he said quietly.

Ratchet didn’t look at him, but he saw her chest still as she sucked in a breath. After a moment, she released it, breathing out a quiet, “Yeah?”

“You seemed really happy,” Orion Pax said, still quiet.

Grabbing his hand, Ratchet turned her head to look at him. Even in just the tightness of her grip, Orion Pax could tell she was nervous. He took it as a good sign. She cared enough to be worried about his response, which meant the guy at The Lost Light wasn’t just some passing fling. As unfair as it might have been, he’d been concerned that Ratchet might go back to her earlier, unhealthier habits, and throw herself into relationships where she became a victim. He’d felt more than a little guilty that he’d had such thoughts about Ratchet since the breakup. He wanted to think better of her—he did think better of her, because he knew her—but he’d just been worried about his friend, and he’d let himself consider bad scenarios.

“I am happy,” she said. “He’s good.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that,” Orion Pax said. “I’m happy for you.”

Her hand relaxed in his, and he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Who is he?”

“His name is Drift. He’s working on his history PhD,” she said. “He’s focusing on the Circle of Light.”

The Circle of Light was an old religious sect from the time of the Primacy Era, back when Cybertron was ruled by a bloodline of monarchs known as the Primes. All documents relating to the Circle were in the dead language known as Primacy Cybertronix, a language that Orion Pax had studied last year as his foreign language requirement for his Cybertronix PhD. He’d read one Circle of Light poem in his course, and he could understand the interest in a religious sect who preached pacifism but relied heavily on swords and shields for its ceremonies and aesthetics. Not to mention the perhaps zealot-adjacent belief in the divinity of the Primes the sect had held.

“That’s interesting,” Orion Pax said.

“His dissertation is on how the Circle of Light has evolved into the modern senate and that their belief in the righteousness of the Primes has shifted into a righteousness of elected politicians.”

“He thinks there’s a direct line between the Circle of Light and the senators of today?”

“He has evidence there is,” Ratchet said. “I don’t understand everything—the Primacy Era is far from my expertise—but it seems compelling and convincing.”

“He might want to be careful he doesn’t expose the secrets of the Circle. They won’t like that.” Seeing Ratchet give him a slightly horrified look, he added, “I was just joking. The Circle was full of pacifists, remember?”

“Pacifists with swords,” Ratchet grumbled. “I still don’t understand that, no matter how much Drift tries to tell me that you can be staunchly pacifist and practice swordplay.”

“Defending oneself when left with no choice is probably allowed by a pacifist organization. I just think the Circle couldn’t attack first or without provocation.”

“That is a much simpler explanation than the lecture Drift gave me.” Ratchet’s tone was full of amusement, however, and Orion Pax could tell she’d loved listening to Drift prattle on about his favorite subject.

“How long have you been with him?” Orion Pax asked.

“About five months,” Ratchet said, rolling over onto her side in a mirror of Orion Pax’s position. “I didn’t want to say anything because I was afraid…Drift is so good, and I was so sure that, aside from you, I just don’t know how to be in a good relationship. I kept it to myself, so when—if—the relationship self-imploded, it would just be me aware of the situation.”

“Do you think it’s going to self-implode?”

“No. At least, I really don’t want it to. I really want to make it work.”

“Then you’ll make it work,” Orion Pax said. “And, Ratch, you weren’t the problem in those bad relationships. It was always their fault, and never yours.”

“Oh, no, some of it was me,” Ratchet said. “I’m selfish sometimes, and sometimes I prioritize work and my problems over others. But, yeah, it was never my fault that anyone hurt me. Drift’s not like that, anyway. He’s nothing like Pharma. He’s more like you.” She paused, then added, “I meant that in a non-weird way. He’s not like you, but he treats me like you did.”

“I get it,” Orion Pax said. “Does anyone else know about Drift?”

“Just Rung.”

Not surprising. Ratchet had probably turned to Rung to make sure her head was on straight, that she was getting involved with Drift without blinders on. She’d probably needed Rung to assure that she wasn’t throwing herself senselessly into a relationship with Drift. Knowing her, she’d probably been as worried about returning to bad habits and bad relationships as Orion Pax had been concerned about her doing so.

Orion Pax scooted forward and pressed his forehead against Ratchet’s, closing his eyes. It was an intimate gesture, yes, but undercharged only with companionship and familiarity.

“I want to meet him someday.”

“He’s been wanting to meet you. He knows about us, but he doesn’t care. He lives with his ex, too.”

It was good to hear that others could stop being romantically involved but still maintain a friendship or even a civility with one another. Not every relationship had to end like Megatron and Starscream, where they never spoke to one another again.

“Jazz said he saw you dancing.”

“Jazz needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

“Drift is good for you, if he can get you to dance with him.”

“Drift is a fan of Jazz and the Notes. I was there for him, and I danced because he was having so much fun. Drift is great, but his music taste is…the opposite of great.”

“Awful?”

“Yes, awful is a good word.”

Orion Pax let out a quiet laugh. “You still shadowing at the hospital tomorrow?”

“Mmm-hmm. My shift ends at two.”

“I’ll be here, unless I pick up an afternoon shift at the writing lab. Then I’ll be home later, about four-thirty.” A pause, then he said, “Sorry, but I have to get the light.”

Ratchet grumbled at him, the words unintelligible, as Orion Pax rolled over to switch off the lamp. Then, he rolled back into his previous position, pulling a fuzzy, blue blanket up over Ratchet and himself.

Ratchet let out a deep, sighing breath as Orion Pax settled the blanket and pressed his forehead against hers again.

“We should have a double date sometime,” Orion Pax said softly.

“That would be nice,” Ratchet said.

“Good night, Ratch.”

“Good night, Orion.”

“The first game the Iacon Primes have this season is against the Vos Seekers.”

Hot Rod looked up at Springer, squinting a bit as the sun was bright behind his head before he sat down at the picnic table, changing the angle she was looking at him. “What does that mean?”

Springer started rummaging through his green backpack. He pulled out a textbook—a Badlands dialect foreign language book—and a notebook, then kept digging through his bag. “You know where Vos is, don’t you?”

“Spring, I’m not a dolt.”

“Right, sorry. Well, anyway, Vos is so high in the Manganese Mountains that its players are used to playing in low oxygen due to the altitude. Away teams often have to bring oxygen masks because they’re just not used to the thin air. It’s a hard field to play on when you don’t have the homefield advantage, and that’s going to be Iacon’s first season game.”

“Yeah, that might be a problem, and a rough start, but it’s just one game. As long as the Primes win the other games, then one loss against the Seekers won’t matter.”

Springer pulled out the pretzel rods and sodas he’d evidentally packed for them to share. “You know nothing about how baseball teams are selected for the finals, do you?”

“Not a clue,” Hot Rod replied. “I’m relying on you to teach me.”

“Teach you, I shall.”

He was leaning across the wooden table into her space, and she felt her cheeks getting warm, and then he was quickly looking away, passing a soda to her.

“All right, Roddy, some sugar to help fuel the brain.”

“Ratchet would disagree with that.”

“Kup, too, so they’re probably in the right, but I like soda too much to give it up.”

Hot Rod popped the tab on her can. “Hear, hear.”

Springer pointed at her with a pretzel rod, the movement jostling salt onto the boards of the table. “What did you bring to study?”

“Chemistry.” She hadn’t been lying to Orion Pax when she’d told him she was going to study chemistry on Saturday afternoon. She’d just omitted the part where she’d be at the park alone with Springer and not with the two friends that Orion Pax knew about, Bumblebee and Arcee. “You?”

“I have to do a translation for my Badlands dialect class.”

“My brother had a Primacy Cybertronix class,” Hot Rod said.

Springer shuddered. “That would be awful. At least the Badlands dialect is directly related to NeoCybertronix and uses the same letters. Primacy just looks like scribbles.”

“Listen to you, Spring, you have been paying attention in class!”

Springer paused, like he was looking for an insult in Hot Rod’s words. She hadn’t meant them as anything but a genuine compliment, and Springer seemed to realize that, a grin beginning to stretch across his face.

“I suppose I have been. Look at me go.”

“How’s your ankle?” Hot Rod asked.

“Fine. Kup said we overreacted and told me I was being a baby for limping around on Thursday.”

She snorted a brief laugh. “I like your father,” Hot Rod said, snatching a pretzel rod from the bag Springer had placed between them. “He doesn’t hold back, just says what’s on his mind.”

“Yeah, I never had any issues figuring out what Kup was thinking because he always told me point blank.”

“That’s better than trying to figure out what your parents are thinking.”

“Yeah.” The way he said it, it sounded like Springer was speaking from experience.

Hot Rod still didn’t know exactly how Springer had ended up with Kup as an adoptive father, or what the situation with his biological parents was, and she sensed that was a sensitive topic, so she quickly steered the conversation away.

“Can you speak in the Badlands dialect?” she asked.

“Sort of,” Springer said. “I’m better at reading it and writing it than I am at understanding it verbally.”

“Yeah, Orion said the same thing about learning Primacy,” Hot Rod said, “but he seemed to pick up on the language fast. It seemed a nonsense language to me, but Orion kept trying to explain its grammar rules to me—he got them, but I didn’t. I’ll be avoiding any classes relating to Primacy—either the Era or the language—as much as I can.”

“You always do that.”

“Do what?”

Hot Rod looked across the table at Springer. He was looking at her in a way she couldn’t describe. Serious and heartfelt and, though his brown eyes were pinning her, it didn’t feel restraining; and though he was looking right through her, it didn’t feel like she was being exposed but seen and understood.

“Talk about your brother like he’s some genius, but you do it in a way that makes it seem like you’re an idiot in comparison. But you’re not. You like to pretend you are, that you’ll never compare to your brother or your parents, but there are different types of intelligence. Maybe you can’t read Primacy or maybe you can’t recall the exact date the Quintesson Invasion began or why that led to the end of the Primes—I don’t know that, either—but you do mental math faster than anyone I’ve ever met. You can hear a car engine and know what needs to be done to make it run smoothly. I don’t even know how to change a tire. You’re not an idiot, Hot Rod, and I don’t like when you imply that you are.”

Hot Rod took a deep breath. She wanted to look away from Springer, but she couldn’t. She dropped her pretzel rod. Springer’s hand gently clasped hers.

“No one’s ever said that.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Orion Pax had said it more than once, but not exactly in those words. He was more eloquent and poetic. That was the Cybertronix grad in him. But her parents had most certainly never expressed such a sentiment.

“Thank you, Springer. I’ll…I’ll work on it.”

“Small steps,” Springer said, squeezing her hand. “So, let’s prove that brain of yours works by cramming in some chemistry studies.”

Hot Rod laughed, pulling her hand from his. She missed the warmth of his skin against hers, the roughness of small calluses against her palm, immediately. She didn’t focus too much on it, but she did memorize the way his hand felt in hers. Friends could hold hands, right? Orion Pax and Ratchet did…and they’d dated for a while, but that was beside the point.

Hot Rod quickly opened her chemistry textbook so she could stop thinking about Springer’s hand holding hers.

Surprisingly, she quickly lost herself in the textbook and the practice problems scattered throughout the chapter. Her notebook quickly filled with practice problems and horribly sketched doodles of chemical compounds, plus more than a few scribbles where Hot Rod had angrily scratched out the formulas and problems she’d gotten wrong. There were also a few doodles of flaming baseballs, but she was focusing mostly on chemistry. Still, the time passed, and she had to admit—even tentatively—that she was improving. Nowhere near Perceptor’s understanding of chemistry (there was a lot Perceptor knew that Hot Rod didn’t) but getting better. Maybe better than Orion Pax’s understanding of chemistry. There was a reason he had pivoted his studies to Cybertronix and the humanities.

When she went to take a drink of her soda and realized she’d drained the can, she startled herself out of her studying brain-space. She’d been a little worried she wouldn’t be able to focus with Springer so close to her, but he’d been doing his own studying, murmuring a bit under his breath in the Badlands dialect, but his voice was comforting. Besides, it blended in with the surrounding noise of the park.

But, thrown out of her studying mindset, Hot Rod’s gaze slid from her empty soda can to Springer. His head was down, focusing on translating something from the Badlands dialect into NeoCybertronix. His handwriting was neater than Hot Rod’s, tight, little letters that didn’t bleed into one another. He occasionally gnawed the end of his mechanical pencil when he was concentrating hard.

A red, rubber ball—about the size of a tennis ball—bounced off the table just to Hot Rod’s left. She yelped and jumped, and Springer’s head snapped up just as a dog—a shaggy mutt of dark browns and blacks—leapt onto the picnic table. Yipping happily, it jumped off after the ball, chasing it down the slope sparsely populated by trees. A young teen ran by the end of the table, apologizing and calling for the dog to come back.

Springer closed his Badlands dialect reading. “Well, I think that’s a good sign to end the study session.”

Hot Rod laughed. She glanced at her cell phone. It was just a few minutes pass two, which meant they’d been studying for almost two hours. They’d talked a bit when they’d first arrived at noon (well, Springer had arrived at noon, but Hot Rod had panicked and had been sitting at the table by 11:45).

She stood and stretched, her spine popping in a way that felt nice and not painful, then trotted over to the nearest tree. It had a low branch, and she reached up and got her hands wrapped around the top of the branch. It was an old oak, the bark worn smooth, especially on this section of the branch, where many people had pulled themselves up to start climbing the tree. Hot Rod had done so more than once in this particular tree—the picnic table she’d sat at before she’d texted Springer her location was her father’s favorite spot in the park, as it had a good view of the park’s green and the pond, and it caught a breeze from the wooded slope. She’d climbed this tree several times to drop acorns onto Orion Pax.

Bracing her feet on the trunk for an extra boost, Hot Rod pulled herself onto the tree limb, straddling it. She was grateful she’d decided to go with jeans instead of shorts today because the bark scraping the inside of her thighs would have been most unpleasant.

Grinning widely, Springer walked up to the tree. Hot Rod was taller than him for once, her feet the perfect height to kick him in the chest. She settled for tapping him with the toe of her shoe on his shoulder. He made a playful grab for her ankle, and Hot Rod pulled her foot up onto the branch. Laughing, she leaned around the trunk slightly and moved up onto a higher branch.

Below her, Springer reached up for the branch she had just vacated.

“Careful,” Hot Rod teased. “You wouldn’t want to fall out of the tree and break your ankle.”

Springer mocked insult, miming that her words had been a physical blow to his chest.

Hot Rod glanced up into the higher branches of the tree. When she was younger, she could climb much higher, high enough that Alpha Trion began yelling for her to come back down. She’d loved getting far from the ground, far above her parents and their judgements, like she might just one day fly off into infinite freedom, free of expectations she never could quite meet. Today, however, she wasn’t so keen on getting too far from Springer.

She hooked her knees on the limb, then leaned her upper body down, keeping her hands on her shirt hem so it didn’t fall to her shoulders and expose the entirety of her midriff. When she caught Springer’s expression—upside down as it was, from this angle—he looked momentarily worried before his face morphed into a smile.

“I thought you falling for a moment,” he said.

“I have better control than that,” Hot Rod said.

He stepped forward. It was strange, his face even with hers but entirely upside down. Faces weren’t supposed to meet at this angle. Not that she was thinking about how their faces would meet. But Springer was so close, his breath just ghosting over her face. She hoped her own breath didn’t smell bad. Springer’s didn’t.

“Your face is turning red. Are you okay?”

Oh, she supposed she had been hanging upside down for quite a while.

“Can you catch a whole person?”

“Um…”

She leaned up enough to put her hands on the limb, then unhooked her knees and pulled her legs to her chest until her feet cleared the limb and she let herself drop. She didn’t fall very far before Springer’s arms were around her waist, his face somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach, and she let go of the tree. Springer sat her down on the ground, loosening his grip, though his arms didn’t quite leave her waist.

Hot Rod grinned up at him. “Good catch.”

“I was going to say that I wasn’t sure I could catch a whole person.”

“You catch baseballs all the time. And those are much smaller.”

“But people are much heavier.”

Hot Rod playfully slapped his shoulder. Springer grinned at her, amusement shining bright in his brown eyes. He liked getting her to react, she realized.

His arms were still around her waist, his hands loosely pressed to her spine. Her shirt had ridden up when he’d caught her, and some of his fingers were splayed on a sliver of skin exposed on her lower back. He was looking at her, his face getting slightly closer to hers, and…

A red ball bounced off the tree trunk. It went just passed Springer’s head as it bounced and rolled toward the green. Predictably, a mutt ran toward them. As it wasn’t checking its speed, Springer and Hot Rod had to spring apart to let the dog pass. Once again, it’s young teen owner—now incredibly out of breath—followed the dog, offering a wheezing apology.

Hot Rod straightened her shirt. Springer was close again, within arm reach, but it wasn’t like it had been a moment ago.

Springer cleared his throat. “There’s a food truck on the other side of the pond. It’s got frozen chocolate-covered bananas if you want to try one.”

“That is something I’ve never tried before,” Hot Rod said, “but it certainly sounds interesting. Let’s do it.”

They gathered their textbooks and notebooks, putting them in their backpacks. They joked, laughed about the dog that had interrupted them twice, and said nothing about what had almost happened beneath the tree. Then, as they started their walk across the park, Springer surprised her by taking her hand.

She smiled to herself, but she was sure Springer noticed, because he tightened his hold when she didn’t pull away.

It wasn’t a kiss, and maybe it wasn’t something friends did, and maybe Hot Rod wasn’t quite sure where she stood with him—where they stood as a them—but she didn’t want to let go of him any time soon.

Hot Rod threw her backpack on the living room floor. It skidded across the hardwood that Perceptor kept meticulously clean, sweeping once a day and mopping every Sunday (the house’s self-proclaimed laundry and deep-cleaning day). Hot Rod might have been tempted to ignore the house’s Sunday cleaning day rule on some weekends if not for Orion Pax supporting the rule and forcing her to participate. She did have to admit that living in a clean space was nice, so Perceptor’s rigidity on upkeep wasn’t unwanted.

Speaking of Perceptor, the black-haired astrophysics PhD candidate was sitting outside on the bricked patio, the sliding glass door open because it was a temperate day. At this point in the afternoon, the indoor and outdoor temperate was nearly identical. Without looking up from the textbooks and tablets sprawled on the patio table before him, Perceptor called, “That better not have scratched my floor.”

Hot Rod supposed the sound of the many keychain bobbles and pins attached to her red backpack sliding across the hardwood did sound bad, but a quick glance revealed that Perceptor’s maintained floor was still pristine.

“Your floor is fine,” Hot Rod called back.

She flopped down on her back on the couch, her feet hanging over the arm of the couch. The many pillows that Orion Pax had put on the couch—all colors, some clashing with the couch’s pale-yellow leather—mostly cushioned her side, but a few were crumbled beneath her body. With a sigh, she turned her head to look at the coffee table. It was covered in magazines and textbooks and abandoned coffee mugs, but she was really looking for the television remote.

Across the living room, Perceptor was visible through the open glass door, studying whatever he needed for his classes. Or maybe he was doing dissertation research. Hot Rod couldn’t remember if he’d said he was switching to working only on his dissertation or if he still had course hours to complete.

Wheeljack’s pets were gathered around Perceptor. Swoop perched on the edge of the umbrella shading Perceptor and his workspace. Sludge was sprawled on his belly under Perceptor’s chair, and Slag lounged on the table across from Perceptor, languidly batting a tablet stylus back and forth between his large paws. Grimlock had been sitting next to Perceptor, begging for head pets as Perceptor ignored him, and now the large dog was trotting into the house. The only one of Wheeljack’s horde missing was Snarl, but the horned lizard, fortunately, did not have free reign and was restricted to his large, wall-encompassing terrarium in Wheeljack’s bedroom.

“Wait, Grim, don’t—”

Ignoring her plea and her outstretched hands, the massive dog launched himself on the couch, pressing his immense weight on Hot Rod’s body as he happily licked her face in greeting. His tail smacked into the pillows lining the back of the couch. Hot Rod groaned at the dog’s over-enthusiastic greeting but then couldn’t help but smile and begin petting him. Grimlock was large and scary-looking and often destructive, but he really was a friendly and good dog. Hot Rod enjoyed having him around, especially since Wheeljack’s other pets hated her (Snarl, Sludge), insulted her (Swoop, who only knew how to say mean things), or didn’t acknowledge her existence (Slag).

Pushing up on Grimlock just enough to get his weight mostly off her chest, Hot Rod asked, “Who’s home?”

“You, Ratchet, and I,” Perceptor replied. Hot Rod didn’t look at him, but she imagined he was still looking at his work and not her.

She hadn’t seen Ratchet in the combined kitchen/dining room when she came in, and Ratchet usually studied with Perceptor when both were home, but if she’d had a tiring morning shadowing at the IMC she might be resting alone in her bedroom.

“Your brother took a shift at the writing lab.”

Orion Pax had gotten a full ride for his Cybertronix PhD studies as long as he worked at University of Iacon’s writing lab, and he wasn’t afraid to take the Saturday shifts. It seemed like a horrific job to Hot Rod, reading other people’s essays and providing editing notes all day, but Orion Pax loved it. Just another reminder that Hot Rod and her older brother were vastly different from one another.

When she was younger, Hot Rod had often wondered if she was adopted. Orion Pax was undoubtedly the son of their parents, with Alpha Trion’s laid-back personality and Codexa’s love for literature. Alpha Trion had laughed and told Hot Rod that her fiery personality mirrored his sister’s, Zerta Trion. Zerta Trion had died in a car accident before Hot Rod was born, so Hot Rod just had to take her father’s word for it. At least Hot Rod looked too much like Codexa—an exact, slightly younger copy—for her to really believe she was adopted.

Grimlock stilled, looking over Hot Rod’s head and the arm of the couch down the hallway leading to the bedrooms. With a happy yip, the bullmastiff jumped off the couch, using Hot Rod for a launch pad, which she was not pleased about, and ran toward the hallway. Rolling over, Hot Rod watched Grimlock rush toward Ratchet.

Ratchet looked like she’d had a tiring day, her face a bit pale and her eyes sunken just a bit. Her dark red hair was in a messy bun, strands flying freely about her face in uneven curls. She was wearing an old t-shirt of Orion Pax’s and athletic shorts. She wasn’t wearing any shoes, which indicated that she’d tried lying a bit in her bed for a nap, which was a strange thing for her to do. She walked into the living room, a hand pressed on her abdomen.

Grimlock trotted toward her, tail wagging, and Ratchet flinched back, clearly anticipating the dog slamming into her legs. But Grimlock slowed, stopping before her, and whined, his tail going stiff and still. Gently—far more gently than Hot Rod thought possible for him—the gray dog pressed his snout against Ratchet’s stomach, just below her hand, and whined again.

Ratchet rubbed Grimlock’s head between his ears. “Hey, boy, thanks for slowing down.” When Grimlock only pressed harder into her abdomen and whined again, she added, “Yeah, still hurting, Grim.”

Hot Rod sat up. “Are you okay?”

“Just stomach pangs,” Ratchet said, walking behind the couch. “Probably a bad cycle.”

Ratchet had irregular menstrual cycles, but, more often than not, when she got them, they came with severe cramps. Hot Rod, though annoyed once a month, was fortunate enough that her cycles didn’t cause her much pain, so she’d stopped complaining about her periods after she’d been introduced to Ratchet.

“Did you take any ibuprofen?” Hot Rod asked.

She leaned over the back of the couch, grabbing at Ratchet’s hand as she passed. Ratchet gave her fingers a brief squeeze, before releasing her hand and continuing to walk toward the kitchen. Grimlock walked alongside Ratchet, lightly butting his head into her side with every stride.

“When I got home,” Ratchet said, ignoring Grimlock continuing to press into her space. “I’m going to try eating something. I skipped lunch.”

“And breakfast,” Perceptor added from the patio. “Coffee does not count as breakfast.”

Pushing off the couch, Hot Rod followed Ratchet into the kitchen. “Aren’t you the one always harping on everyone about the importance of regular meals?”

“I had a granola bar at some point,” Ratchet replied, opening the snack cabinet that Wheeljack always kept supplied.

“Doctors make the worst patients!” Perceptor called from the patio.

“She’s not even a doctor yet,” Hot Rod retorted.

Perceptor didn’t add anything else, but she heard him release a quiet snort of laughter, which she took as a win. It was hard to get him to audibly express amusement.

“Oh, ha ha ha,” Ratchet mocked, pulling a bag of sour cream and onion chips out of the cabinet. She opened the bag, then pointed a chip at Hot Rod. “Did you figure out what you’re studying yet?”

“Wasn’t that type of study meeting. Besides, I don’t have to figure that out until the end of my sophomore year,” Hot Rod said. She darted her hand into the chip bag, grabbed a handful, and shoved the chips into her mouth. Talking with her mouth full, she added, “I have over a year to figure it out.”

Perceptor appeared. “Perhaps university isn’t for you. There’s no shame in that, but your dislike of regular, rigorous studying suggests that you are not academically inclined.”

Hot Rod swallowed, shoving down her immediate defensiveness. She knew that Perceptor wasn’t trying to be rude or intentionally calling her stupid, and, really, it wasn’t bad advice. Hot Rod didn’t enjoy studying, and she didn’t always feel that excitement of learning something new that Orion Pax always described. Sure, she’d made progress studying today, but that was only in one subject. She might be better off learning a trade (electricians earned a decent amount of money) or just giving up on academics and pursuing some other source of income (like becoming a racecar driver or sports announcer). Even if she stayed in university, she had no idea what she wanted to concentrate her studies on. No one thing had ever captured her attention enough to make it her primary educational focus.

Grimlock, abandoning his fascination with Ratchet’s torso, shoved his face against the bag of chips, demanding some chips for himself.

“Don’t tell Jackie,” Ratchet said, and Hot Rod wasn’t sure if she was talking to Grimlock (who she was looking at) or Perceptor and her (who were in the room with her).

She tossed a few chips at Grimlock, and the dog snatched them out of the air, tail wagging the whole time.

“You will give him gastrointestinal issues,” Perceptor said. “Don’t you know how canine digestive systems work?”

“Percy, I’m a doctor, not a veterinarian.”

“You are not a doctor yet,” Perceptor reminded her.

Ratchet rolled her eyes, but she’d had longer to get used to Perceptor’s bluntness than Hot Rod, and she let his words simply pass by, like water droplets off a duck’s back (Springer and Hot Rod had seen ducklings while they were eating their frozen bananas, and while Hot Rod had gushed over how cute they were, she had noticed that Springer was looking at her, a soft smile on his face, and…)

With a groan, Ratchet pressed both hands into her abdomen. She bent forward a bit. Perceptor made an aborted gesture, like he’d instinctively tried to catch her before he realized she wasn’t really falling. The bag of chips had been abandoned on the counter, and Grimlock took the opportunity to snag it, trotting back toward the patio.

“Did the ibuprofen do anything?” Hot Rod asked.

Ratchet shook her head. Taking a deep breath, she straightened but leaned her hip heavily against the counter.

“You do not seem to be getting any better,” Perceptor said.

“Maybe I just need to lie down some more,” Ratchet said.

“Doctors make the worst patients,” Perceptor said. His voice was quiet, like he was trying to direct the words only to Hot Rod, though Ratchet could absolutely hear him, too.

“What’s going on, Ratch?” Hot Rod asked.

“Just abdominal cramps.”

“For how long?”

“They started this morning, but they weren’t that bad then. They’ve been getting worse.”

“And over-the-counter pain meds didn’t do anything?” Ratchet nodded, but Hot Rod hadn’t needed her confirmation. She’d just been thinking aloud. “Isn’t that usually when people go to the hospital, when home remedies don’t work?”

“Yes, but this isn’t anything serious,” Ratchet said. “I’m fine.”

She took a step forward, but gasped and bent forward again, wrapping her arms around her middle. Perceptor slung an arm around her shoulders, and he didn’t remove it when Ratchet straightened. His other hand darted to her upper arm, slender fingers curling lightly but purposefully over her skin. He held her like he was afraid she would fall. Ratchet looked paler than before, and Hot Rod felt a cold bolt of concerned fear shoot down her spine. This was worse than when Springer had rolled his ankle Thursday, and Hot Rod had overreacted then.

“That doesn’t seem un-serious,” Hot Rod said.

“Ratch, you need to go to the hospital,” Perceptor said. His glasses caught the light when he minutely tilted his head toward the door, indicating he wanted Hot Rod to help him get Ratchet out. “Whatever is going on, it has you shaking, and I know that is not a good sign. You still have your appendix, yes?”

“Appendicitis,” Hot Rod said, nodding as she caught on.

“That…” Hot Rod saw the moment the fight went out of Ratchet. She must really be hurting if she let her protest die. “It is plausible, I suppose.”

“Hospital,” Perceptor said. “I’ll drive.”

“I need shoes,” Ratchet said.

“I’ll grab some. Percy, you get her to the car. I’ll meet you out there.”

Perceptor nodded, beginning to guide Ratchet toward the door. Her black cross-body bag was hanging there on the coatrack, along with everyone’s keys, and Hot Rod knew Ratchet would get it when she and Perceptor exited.

Hot Rod jogged into the living room, leaning her head through the sliding glass door and calling in Wheeljack’s pets. Grimlock skidded into the house, the empty chip bag on his head, and Hot Rod jerked it off as the dog ran past. Swoop flew in, purposely close to Hot Rod’s head, wings grazing her face. Sludge slunk in, his fat ferret body flopping over the threshold as he rolled inside just because he could. Slag sat up on the patio table, staring at Hot Rod with a look that could only mean the cat wasn’t going to listen. Hot Rod stepped outside, gathered Perceptor’s research and the yellow tabby, then slid the glass door closed once inside.

She threw Slag onto the couch (the cat was fine, he landed among the pillows) and set Perceptor’s things on the coffee table, then ran into Ratchet’s and Orion Pax’s room. She grabbed a pair of black sandals she knew Ratchet wore often. After patting her back pocket to make sure her phone was still there, Hot Rod hurried out to the driveway.

Perceptor’s car was running, the blue prescription sunglasses Perceptor always wore when driving regardless the weather visible on Perceptor’s face through the windshield. Ratchet sat in the passenger seat, looking uncomfortable, but Hot Rod didn’t think anything could be done to make her more comfortable during the car ride.

Hot Rod slid into the leather backseat rather ungracefully, practically falling into the car, and Perceptor was backing out of the driveway before Hot Rod was fully settled and buckled. Once she was, she leaned forward and handed Ratchet her shoes.

The ride was silent, aside from the film soundtracks playing rather quietly from the car’s speakers. Hot Rod had forgotten that Perceptor didn’t like music with lyrics. There were a few times when Perceptor had tried to get Ratchet to think through her symptoms, but he’d given it up after she’d snapped at him a few times. Hot Rod understood Ratchet’s short temper, though. She was in pain, had no clear cause, and going to the place she worked as a patient had to be a little embarrassing in some respects.

Too bad it wasn’t a weekday before noon. Then Kup would be there. Strange that Hot Rod had only met the man once and she was already thinking of him as a safe person. But Springer had been raised by him, and Springer was so good, so Kup had to be good, too—and he’d been so nice after initially trying to figure out who Hot Rod was.

Hot Rod pulled out her cellphone. She should text Orion Pax, let him know they were going to the hospital. But she hesitated. She didn’t have any information and just telling him they were taking Ratchet to the hospital would panic him. She tapped her fingers on the back of her phone, then put it away. She’d text him later, when they had a better idea of what was happening with Ratchet.

The doctor who arrived to examine them was Remedy, one of the doctors Ratchet often shadowed. She seemed nice, Hot Rod guessed, but stern, but she did soften a bit when she recognized Ratchet.

“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” she said. An attempt at a joke, probably, but the inflection was slightly off, like when Perceptor tried to make a joke but misunderstood what made something funny.

Hot Rod glanced at Perceptor. He was sitting in a chair next to Ratchet’s medical bed, holding her hand. Okay, so just friends could hold hands, too, which didn’t help Hot Rod in her dilemma on if Springer wanted to be more than friends…and she should not be thinking about Springer right now.

“It’s a surprise for me too,” Ratchet said. She was wincing, experiencing another bout of pain.

Remedy looked at the tablet in her hand. Hot Rod, from her place leaning on the wall near the door, could just glimpse enough of the screen to tell it was patient information. Presumably, Ratchet’s current case was being described. The intake nurse and the nurse who had brought them back to this room had asked enough questions to have Ratchet’s symptoms perfectly described somewhere in all that documentation.

“You still have your appendix, yes?” Remedy asked.

Perceptor shot Ratchet a smug look, which she ignored. “Yeah.”

“I’ll get a portable ultrasound. We’ll take a look at your abdomen and see what’s causing all this pain,” Remedy said. “You’re under a lot of stress. It wouldn’t be surprising if it was something as mundane as an ulcer.”

The doctor stepped out.

Ratchet glared at Perceptor. “Don’t you dare say a thing.”

“I was not going to say anything.”

“I could see it on your face.”

“Preposterous.”

With a faint gasp, Ratchet curled when another spike of pain shot through her. Perceptor winced, and Hot Rod figured Ratchet must have tightened her grip on his hand. No one had given Ratchet any pain medication, as they were uncertain what the problem was and wanted to keep track of the pain progression until they had it identified, and Hot Rod resisted the urge to step outside and demand something. Ratchet was clearly in a lot of pain, and no one was doing anything. Didn’t they care about their patients? Their reasoning for withholding pain-managing medication seemed foolish, if not complete made-up bullshit.

Hot Rod pulled out her phone. She could text Orion Pax now, since Remedy seemed to think it wasn’t anything too bad. Unlike when texting Ratchet, Hot Rod needed to use proper Cybertronix. Orion Pax didn’t always correct her grammar, but he did always notice when she used improper grammar in texts. (Hot Rod had mental lists of people who she had to use proper grammar with (her parents, Orion Pax, Megatron), people she used improper grammar with just to annoy them (Perceptor), and people she could use text lingo with (Ratchet, Wheeljack, Springer, Bumblebee, Arcee)).

At IMC hospital with Ratchet (she is the patient). She has abdominal pain, likely something with her appendix or an ulcer or something minor. Just letting you know.

Before she could send the text, Remedy returned, pulling a portable ultrasound behind her. As Remedy got the machine set up beside Ratchet’s medical berth, on the opposite side that Perceptor was sitting on, Ratchet scooted down the bed until she was lying mostly flat. She pulled up her t-shirt to expose her abdomen. Everything looked normal on the outside, at least to Hot Rod. Not that she’d made a habit of studying Ratchet’s stomach. Orion Pax would be the one to ask about that.

Hot Rod shook her head, dislodging the thought. Orion Pax and Ratchet were still friends, but that wasn’t a question she could ask her brother about his ex-girlfriend.

“Cold gel,” Remedy said.

Ratchet’s only reaction was a sudden, sharp inhale as Remedy put the gel on her stomach. Perceptor reached for her, taking her hand in his again.

There was silence as Remedy moved the wand around Ratchet’s stomach, looking at the grayscale screen which was turned away from Ratchet but visible to Hot Rod. Not that Hot Rod could make any sense out of the readings. She wasn’t a medical student by any means; she didn’t even have rudimentary knowledge that some picked up from medical dramas because she hated those.

Hot Rod did notice when Remedy frowned and began running the wand over the same spot, near Ratchet’s belly button. Ratchet noticed too, and Hot Rod could see the building anticipation and anxiety in her, especially when Remedy put the wand away in a hurry.

“What’s wrong?” Ratchet asked.

Remedy ignored her. She turned and hurried to the door so she could yell into the hallway. “I need an OBGYN in here, stat!”

Perceptor choked on thin air. Hot Rod dropped her cellphone. She knew what those words meant (she wasn’t completely ignorant of medical things), but she didn’t know why they were being said in this context. The words didn’t make sense, and they should have made sense.

“What?” Ratchet asked. The panic and confusion were palpable in her voice, even in just that one word. “That’s not possible…there’s no need for that.”

She pulled her shirt down and tried to clamber out of the bed, but Perceptor stood and held her down. He wasn’t entirely restraining her, and Ratchet could have easily shoved him off, but the gentle resistance was enough to keep her in place, especially when Remedy came back to the bed.

The doctor put a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder. “Look at me.” She waited until Ratchet had looked her, then said, “It’s scary, and you weren’t planning for it, but you are having a baby. Right now. So, let me help you get the medical care you need. It’s going to be all right.”

Remedy stepped back, and Hot Rod could see Ratchet beginning to take shallow breaths, the kind that were quick but provided no air. The heart monitor spiked. Perceptor leaned forward, talking gently to Ratchet, redirecting her attention to him to try to stave off her incoming panic attack.

Hot Rod squatted down to scoop up her phone, and Remedy gripped her wrist when she stood. “Who were you texting?”

“My brother. He’s the…”

Because that had to be the case. Nothing else made sense. They’d broken up seven months ago, sure, but it took nine months for a baby to be born. Oh, Orion Pax was going to spiral, and Megatron would…who knew how Megatron would react.

“Tell him, but make sure he knows that if Ratchet wants him gone, he will not be permitted to stay.”

Hot Rod nodded. “Okay.”

Remedy exited, still calling out for an OBGYN and specialty equipment.

Hot Rod erased her previous text and typed out At IMC hospital with Ratchet. She’s having a baby. Come quickly.She hit send.

At IMC hospital with Ratchet. She’s having a baby. Come quickly.

Orion Pax ran out of the writing lab, saying he had a family emergency and he couldn’t stay. Someone would cover for him, and he’d apologize about that later (especially since he was making someone come in on the weekend), but right now he had to get to the hospital.

A baby? Ratchet having a baby?

How had they not known? How had she not known? She looked exactly the same as she always did, had kept up all her normal habits, and now there was suddenly a baby?

Orion Pax ran out of the university library, where the writing lab was housed, and toward the graduate assistant parking lot.

How was Drift going to react?

But Ratchet had only been with Drift for five months. There were an unaccounted four months…

Orion Pax stopped and gagged, hands on his knees as he leaned over. Thankfully, on a Saturday, the campus was mostly empty, and no one was around to witness as he lost composure. His whole body went numb, his hands tingling like they had suddenly lost blood flow. The baby was his. The baby was his, and he hadn’t even known there was a baby.

Ratchet hadn’t known either. The shock and terror that he was feeling had to be tenfold—a hundredfold, a thousandfold—for her. It was her body that was fighting to expel a baby that she hadn’t known about, hadn’t planned for, hadn’t…

Orion Pax needed to get to the hospital. Ratchet was scared and hurt, and, yeah, maybe he wasn’t prepared to be a father to his former girlfriend’s/current best friend’s baby, but he needed to be there for Ratchet.

He didn’t remember the drive to the Iacon Medical Center. He kind of spaced out, or maybe he was running high on adrenaline. He was scrambling into his car at the University of Iacon one moment, and then he was parking haphazardly, barely in the lines, at the parking lot beside the IMC Emergency Department.

He ran inside, so fast the automatic doors almost didn’t have time to sense his presence and open enough to admit him. He slid on the over-waxed linoleum tile floor and hit the check-in desk. To her credit, the nurse running the desk didn’t seem bothered by his state. She was probably used to panicked family members and friends rushing in.

“Ratchet,” he said. “I need to see—”

“Are you Orion Pax?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I have a note from Remedy to let you back.”

She snapped her fingers and a male orderly appeared. He led Orion Pax back into the rooms of the ED. Turning a corner, Orion Pax saw Hot Rod standing outside a room, and he jogged past the orderly to reach her. He heard the orderly turn back—figuring Orion Pax could handle himself—as he stopped beside Hot Rod.

He couldn’t help but fold his younger sister into a hug, holding her tight to him. Hot Rod wasn’t the one hurting, but Orion Pax was frazzled and Ratchet wasn’t here and he just really needed someone to hold on to. Hot Rod wrapped her arms around him, holding him just as tightly as he clung to her.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Um, everyone says it’s going well,” Hot Rod said. He heard her unsaid But I don’t know anything about having a baby. “They said it shouldn’t be long. Apparently, she’s been in labor all day, but because she didn’t know she was pregnant, no one realized what was happening.”

She pulled back to look at Orion Pax, and he could see the fear in her gaze. She loved Ratchet, too, just not the same way as he did. She didn’t like seeing Ratchet in pain, and he knew she felt out of depth with medical issues, especially one as drastic as this that no one had been prepared for. There should have been months of preparation that just hadn’t happened.

“She’s really scared, Orion,” she said.

“Yeah, me too.”

Orion Pax gave Hot Rod a quick kiss on her temple, then released her. He took a deep breath, then, after confirming from Hot Rod through hand gestures this was the right room, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Two doctors and one nurse hovered around the bed, monitoring machine readouts and Ratchet. One of the doctors, old and bald, sat at the foot of the bed on a stool. Perceptor stood at the head of the bed, holding Ratchet’s hand. Ratchet, in a light pink medical gown, a color that Orion Pax knew she hated, looked…exhausted was the best word. A thin sheen of sweat covered her exposed skin, her red hair was plastered to her forehead, and she was paler than she should have been. Beneath the pain, Orion Pax could see the underlying panic and fear she was struggling to hold back.

Perceptor shot Orion Pax a relieved look. Though a good friend, he wasn’t always the best at emotional things, so he was no doubt glad to have Orion Pax there. He was also, despite how much he might pretend otherwise, a bit squeamish, and being the frontline comfort for a birthing woman might have been pushing him too far.

Ratchet reached for Orion Pax with her free hand, which trembled. Whether that was exhaustion or fear or a mixture of the two, Orion Pax wasn’t certain, but he stepped forward, pushing in beside Perceptor, who stepped back to give him space. Perceptor’s hand slipped from Ratchet’s, and Orion Pax took both of her hands in his.

“Orion,” Ratchet gasped, and then she was blinking and there were tears sliding down her cheeks.

Freeing one hand, Orion Pax began wiping her tears away. Her skin felt weird, both too hot and too cold in splotches, like her body had forgotten how to maintain its temperature as it focused on having the kid.

“Hey, Ratch, it’s okay, I’m here,” he soothed.

He glanced around the room. The doctors and nurse, true professionals, were ignoring him and Ratchet, focusing instead entirely on the medical aspects. He didn’t know enough to know exactly what each of the machine outputs meant, but none of the numbers seemed like alarming stats. At least, they weren’t flashing red, and no alarms were going off.

Hot Rod and Perceptor had pressed themselves against the wall behind Orion Pax, present but allowing space for the others. They’d also chosen a spot that kept the actual act of the birth out of their line of sight. Hot Rod looked freaked out, wide-eyed and shaking with anxiety, and Orion Pax was grateful for Perceptor, who slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. Perceptor looked anxious, too, but only in his eyes—if not for the slight panicked light there, he would have looked calm and composed.

He focused on Ratchet. Perceptor and Hot Rod were going to have to handle themselves. Right now, Orion Pax only had time for Ratchet.

The doctor closest to him, the one he thought was Remedy, said, “She’s doing fine, just a little emotional. Everything is progressing exactly as it should. She can start pushing on the next contraction.”

He saw the flash of panic on Ratchet’s face and decided comforting her took precedent over thanking Remedy for her update.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re doing so well, and—”

“I didn’t know,” she gasped out. “I didn’t know, and I’m sorry, and I should have—”

She broke off into a strangled sound of pain. The noise struck Orion Pax in his core, an instinct to fight off the entity causing Ratchet pain rising deep within him. He hadn’t felt that way since Pharma. Only, there was nothing he could do, nothing he could fight and protect her from, no abusive boyfriend to threaten.

“Push,” the doctor at the foot of the bed said.

The contraction passed.

“You were supposed to push,” the doctor said.

Orion Pax glared at him. “Let her calm down a moment. She’ll push on the next one.”

The doctor was going to say something back, his eyebrows drawing together in defensiveness, but Remedy told him to be quiet, snapping her fingers in his direction for emphasis.

Brushing strands of sweaty hair from Ratchet’s forehead, Orion Pax said, “It’s okay, Ratch. I’m not mad. I’m not upset. I’m scared, sure, and surprised, but I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Ratchet nodded at him. She clung to his hand tightly, like she was scared he would pull away, but he had no intention of letting go of her any time soon.

Another contraction. This time, Ratchet strained, pushing on command and trembling. When it passed, she sagged into the pillows propping her up, and Orion Pax gave her a quick kiss on the temple. His lips were salty afterward, but that was a such a minor thing compared to everything else.

“I wish I could take some of this pain from you,” he said.

“Just don’t leave,” Ratchet gasped.

“I won’t, Ratch, I won’t. No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you and the kid. I promise.”

Another contraction. Ratchet cried out sharply this time, and Orion Pax shot a panicked look at Remedy, who just gestured at him that everything was okay. He knew childbirth wasn’t painless, that it was hard and painful, but he didn’t like it.

Once the contraction was over, Ratchet gave Orion Pax a look he couldn’t decipher. Fear, yes, but not fear of the current moment, some unforeseen future thing that scared her.

“We don’t even have baby supplies,” she said.

Behind Orion Pax, Perceptor cleared his throat. “I contacted Wheeljack. He is on his way back from Crystal City, and he is stopping for supplies.”

“See? The baby will have a whole store’s worth of supplies,” Orion Pax said because Wheeljack never did anything in small measures. The whole house would be full of baby supplies.

Ratchet smiled at him, and then cried out, a pained noise which faded into a grunt as she pushed through another contraction.

“It’s crowning,” the doctor at the end of the bed said.

The nurse stepped forward, ready to help catch the baby.

Ratchet gasped for breath, her face contorted with pain, and Remedy leaned forward to whisper, “Almost there, Ratchet. Just one more push, okay? You can do it.”

With a strangled screech, too bogged down with pain to be loud, the last contraction passed. Orion Pax saw a flurry of motion in his peripheral as the doctor and nurse caught the baby, and somewhere behind him he heard someone slide down the wall. Remedy went to join the rest of the medical staff, telling the nurse to make sure that Ratchet stabilized.

“I don’t…” Ratchet trembled and shook, too tired to properly sit up, but she was trying to get a glimpse of the baby. “There’s no crying.”

A wail pierced through the noise of the machines and the murmuring going on behind Orion Pax.

Ratchet sagged into the bed like all her bones and muscles had decided to protest at once. The nurse was checking the monitors, and Remedy and the other doctor were looking over the baby.

“You did it,” Orion Pax said. He kissed Ratchet’s cheek. “We have a kid now.”

“You didn’t—”

“I didn’t plan for this, and I didn’t ask for a kid, but I’m not opposed to a kid,” Orion Pax said. “It’s not like Megatron and I can have one, and while I was thinking of adoption sometime far in the future, this isn’t a turn of events I’m going to resent. We’ll make it work.”

He paused as another thought came to him. “Do you want the kid? Are you opposed to keeping the kid?”

“I’m…not sure,” Ratchet said.

Remedy appeared on the other side of the bed, holding a bundle in white cloth with blue firework designs, little starbursts announcing the presence of the newborn.

“Are they okay?” Ratchet asked. The words tumbled out of her mouth, one after the other. “I didn’t know, and I was drinking and I didn’t do any prenatal care and I might have—”

“He’s just fine, Ratchet,” Remedy said. “You have a very healthy baby boy.”

She held out the bundle. There was moment of hesitation where Orion Pax wasn’t sure Ratchet was going to take the baby, and while he wanted a chance to know his son, he understood why Ratchet had concerns, why she felt like she couldn’t have her son in her life.

Then Ratchet reached for the bundle and Remedy helped her get the baby secured against her chest, opening the blanket so they were pressed skin-to-skin. The baby was gross looking, his skin tinged purple and covered in drying fluids and some waxy substance and very wrinkly, his skull not yet settled into its proper shape, but he was also alive and perfect, his little nose crinkling as he listened to his mother’s heartbeat.

“Oh, he’s…” Ratchet trailed off, tracing a fingertip tenderly across his forehead. “He’s so tiny.”

“Yes, but he’s not underweight,” Remedy said. “Just small. One of the factors that led to your cryptic pregnancy.”

Orion Pax hadn’t heard the medical term before, but he could deduce what it meant. It certainly applied here.

“You don’t seem to have started lactating—could be hormonal, could be that every extra bit of food you consumed was going to the baby—so I’ll go get some formula.” Remedy placed a gray blanket over Ratchet’s torso. “You’re fine, and he’s fine. Now it’s time to recover before we send you home.”

Remedy departed, the other doctor and nurse leaving with her. Orion Pax tucked the blanket around Ratchet, making sure to leave the baby uncovered, but hoping the extra layer would help alleviate some of the trembling coursing through Ratchet. Her body was probably in some sort of shock and needed time to re-center itself.

The baby gurgled and wiggled, but he didn’t seem upset, more like he was trying to get closer to his mother. He didn’t have hair yet, and Orion Pax wondered if he’d have Ratchet’s dark red hair or his own black. Maybe he’d be like Hot Rod, with auburn hair. Both Ratchet and Orion Pax had blue eyes, so that seemed like a given.

“You promise we can make this work?” Ratchet asked softly. She was looking down at the baby, not at Orion Pax.

“I can’t promise it will be easy, but I promise we will make it work,” Orion Pax said. “You and me and our son and whoever else we bring into this family dynamic.”

Ratchet looked down at the baby. He could see it, the war in her as she mentally battled the pros and cons against one another. She still had medical school to complete and a residency and there was their no-longer-romantically-together relationship and Megatron and Drift.

“I want that,” she finally said.

The relief that went through Orion Pax nearly had him leaning his entire weight against the bed. He wanted the baby, he realized, he wanted his son, but he hadn’t been sure how he could do that if Ratchet had decided she didn’t want the kid. The ethics behind that, the complications between them if he had taken guardianship of the baby and Ratchet hadn’t…but it didn’t matter, because Ratchet wanted him, too.

“Me, too,” Orion Pax said. “An unconventional family, but a family.”

“A family,” Ratchet agreed.

She looked up at him and smiled. It was a tired smile, but it was a smile. He couldn’t help but smile back. Her gaze slid behind him. “What’s wrong with Percy?”

Turning, Orion Pax saw that Perceptor had crumbled at the base of the wall, looking a little nauseous. Hot Rod crouched next to him, patting his shoulder.

“Oh, he wasn’t ready for the birth,” she said.

“There were so many fluids,” he said.

“He’ll be fine a minute,” Hot Rod said. “We’ll get him some food and water, and he’ll be okay.”

Orion Pax grinned at Ratchet. “An unconventional family indeed.”

There were his parents, who he was going to have to tell were grandparents, and though Ratchet was the mother, she wasn’t going to be their daughter-in-law. Oh, he was going to have to confess about Megatron at the same time he told them about the baby. He should have just told them about Megatron earlier. But, maybe distracted by the three subsequent hits of “Ratchet and I broke up,” “I’m dating a guy named Megatron,” and “Ratchet and I have a baby,” his parents wouldn’t focus on the “I’m dating a guy” part.

Not that he thought they would care, they certainly hadn’t before when it was others, but it was the fear that they might care if it was their own son that held him back.

Besides his parents and what they decided after his upcoming confessions, his son would have a multitude of other family members. Hot Rod was going to be a doting aunt who Orion Pax just knew was going to be an enabler, but he knew she would never endanger the kid. Rung, Perceptor, and Wheeljack were all going to be honorary uncles, though Orion Pax already had varying trust levels regarding them and childcare. Ironhide and Thunderclash would be honorary uncles, too.

And Megatron. If the way he had interacted with Soundwave’s toddlers Frenzy and Rumble was any indication, he would be more than helpful and happy to help with the baby. Since he already knew of Orion Pax’s and Ratchet’s past and was now friends with Ratchet, too, he wasn’t likely to be jealous about the situation. If he stuck around (and Orion Pax had no reason to think he wouldn’t, and couldn’t imagine a future where he didn’t), then he’d be a great stepdad.

The baby would have two stepdads, if Drift…Orion Pax didn’t know enough about Drift to know if he would stay. For Ratchet’s stake, he hoped he did.

Ratchet pulled the baby up to press a soft kiss on his head. The baby wiggled, but once again, the wiggle seemed content, like a need to get closer to his mother. For all these months while Ratchet had never known he existed, Ratchet was all the baby had known. He had bonded with her before he was even born, and now it was time for Ratchet and Orion Pax to play catch-up, for them to bond with their surprise son.

“I don’t know how I’m going to explain this,” Ratchet said quietly, looking down at the newborn. “There are so many others…”

“Megatron will understand,” Orion Pax said, brushing hair away from Ratchet’s forehead again. She was still sweaty, and he made a note to get her some water soon. “He knows what our relationship was like.”

“No, I meant Drift,” Ratchet said. “What if he…” She looked up at Orion Pax. “He was only signing on for a relationship with me, not a kid, and what if he thinks that’s too much and he doesn’t…”

“If he doesn’t stay, if he thinks a kid is too much, then he wasn’t worth it,” Orion Pax said. “We’ll figure it out, with or without Drift.”

Ratchet nodded, but he could see it in her eyes, her desperate want for it to be with Drift. He supposed he looked much the same when thinking of the future with Megatron. That protective instinct rose up again, and he shoved aside thoughts of punching Drift if he bailed. The baby was a surprise, and not something Drift had gotten into a relationship expecting. He had the right to step back or ask for time or just leave, if he wanted. He had that right, even if Orion Pax didn’t like that Drift could. He also might not do any of that, and stay, but…

“Who’s Drift?”

Orion Pax looked back at Hot Rod and Perceptor. Hot Rod, who had asked the question, had that look she got when she was going to be nosy and start stalking someone on social media to figure something out. Perceptor, for his part, just looked intrigued, but he still looked like a good portion of his mental fortitude was focusing on not vomiting. Orion Pax could practically see him repeating the mantra of I will not throw up I will not throw up I will not throw up again and again in his mind.

“No one,” Orion Pax said.

Hot Rod raised an eyebrow, disbelieving, then she looked at Ratchet and asked, “Is this like a park on Thursday situation?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Oh, okay. Can I see the baby?”

“Of course you can.”

“What happened at the park on Thursday?” Orion Pax asked.

“Nothing,” Ratchet replied, and then she was busy showing the baby to Hot Rod.

“He’s very…fresh,” Hot Rod said. “And kind of gross looking.”

“Hot Rod,” Orion Pax scolded.

But Ratchet let out a light chuckle. “He’ll look better once he’s less ‘fresh’ as you said. The birth was hard for him, too.”

On the floor, Perceptor groaned. Orion Pax glanced at him, saw that he had buried his head into his knees, but he didn’t seem like he was going to vomit, just like he was pretty grossed out.

“Are you okay?” Hot Rod asked Ratchet. She had apparently decided that Perceptor was on his own for the time being.

Orion Pax reached out to give Perceptor’s shoulder a supportive squeeze before reverting his attention to his sister, his son, and his best friend.

“Sore and tired and…shellshocked, maybe, but I’m okay,” Ratchet told Hot Rod.

Hot Rod shuffled her feet awkwardly. “I know I can be a little irresponsible, but I want to help. Even if that means babysitting or changing diapers or whatever.”

Another groan from Perceptor at the mention of changing diapers. Okay, maybe Perceptor shouldn’t be left alone with the baby. His germophobia might cause him undo stress when dealing with a small Cybertronian who would be prone to releasing liquids and semi-solids at any moment. Wheeljack and Perceptor could probably babysit as a team, but not individually. Wheeljack could handle the grossness, and Perceptor could make sure Wheeljack’s absentmindedness didn’t accidentally get the baby hurt.

Orion Pax placed a hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder, recognizing that Hot Rod referring to herself as ‘irresponsible’ was a fear that she wouldn’t be able to live up to his and Ratchet’s expectations, that she might fall short in the baby-caring category. They were all going to fall short from time to time. That was a part of parenting. The hope was to grow and mature and not continue making mistakes relating to the kid.

“We would be glad to have your help, Roddy,” he said. He gave her a gentle shake. “You’ll be a great aunt.”

Bouncing happily on her feet, Hot Rod beamed at him. He pushed aside the urge to ask her about the park on Thursday, because that would disrupt the moment. It was best he let Hot Rod bask in the trust he had in her. He moved his hand to clasp her other shoulder and pulled her to his side in a one-armed hug.

“So…” Hot Rod glanced between Orion Pax and Ratchet, “what are you going to name him?”

A security guard let Drift into the hospital. He had dark hair, and his name badge identified him as Sideswipe.

“Thank you for letting me in after visitor hours,” he said.

The guard closed the door behind, locking it once again. While the Emergency Department remained open 24/7, Ratchet had been relocated to the main portion of the hospital for an overnight stay, and the doors locked after visitor hours, but Ratchet told Drift he would be allowed in. He’d trusted her, of course, but he hadn’t been expecting a personal escort to her room by a uniformed guard.

“Remedy and Ratchet threw around some medical codes, but it really comes down to you having special permission because the patient is a respected member of the staff.”

Drift was glad to hear that, even if Ratchet was just a medical student. He knew that Remedy was guaranteeing Ratchet a residency once she graduated, but now it sounded like Ratchet would have a whole career at this hospital. Since Iacon was where Rung and Orion Pax and Hot Rod were, he knew she wanted to stay in the city. He himself was partial to the city, and while his studies on the Circle of Light might lead him to Crystal City, it wasn’t a long commute between the two cities. Besides, he could study the Circle of Light while staying in Iacon. It wasn’t like Primacy Era documents were hard to obtain in the planetary capital.

“You’re the guy who drops off and picks up Ratchet sometimes,” Sideswipe said.

“Yeah.” He did do that occasionally, just to be nice. He and Ratchet had had many good conversations in his clunker of a car.

“But you’re not the guy who they say is the father of her baby.”

“Complicated family dynamics,” Drift said. “I’m sure you can understand that.”

Sideswipe snorted. “Oh, yeah. I got a twin. Fraternal, he’s got blond hair. I love him, but I also want to pommel him. Sometimes, he understands me better than anyone, and other times, it’s like I’m talking to a stranger.”

“Nothing more complicated than family,” Drift said. “They help you and hurt you in ways no one else can.”

“That was strangely poetic. You another one of those degree-chasing grad students?”

Drift couldn’t tell if Sideswipe meant it as an insult. He didn’t seem particularly rude, more like he was just stating his opinion of the many graduate students in the area. And, technically, degree-chasing was a correct way to describe grad students.

“Yeah, history.”

“Ah, the boring past.”

Drift bit down a retort about how history was necessary, that one must know the past to accurately move into the future. He had a distinctive feeling that Sideswipe was baiting him. The rest of the walk through the winding first floor hallways was silent between them, but there were faint noises of nurses and doctors making night rounds, machines monitoring vitals and working to keep people alive.

He hated hospitals. He’d lost his mother to cancer when he was just sixteen, then ended up on the streets. He’d been back in a hospital to confirm Gasket’s identity when he died. Hospitals made him nervous. They felt oppressive, and he worried that he’d find a physical form of Death every time he rounded a corner. Ironic that he’d fallen in love with someone who was going to spend so much time in hospitals, but he’d never felt that anxiety around Ratchet. Instead, he felt that she could fight Death, that she could keep him safe.

Perhaps too much importance to put on Ratchet, and something he’d likely never be able to express to her, but she brought healing to him without the fear that accompanied hospitals.

“Here you go.”

Sideswipe gestured to a door. A piece of paper with a series of hospital codes had been placed in a plastic sleeve on the door. Drift didn’t know the Iacon Medical Center codes, but these were likely indicating that there was a newborn and a mother inside. Maybe there was even a code for cryptic pregnancy.

What a surprise. For him, who hadn’t seen any progression of any such pregnancy the five months he’d been with Ratchet. Of course, the surprise had to be much worse for Ratchet. When she’d called him, she’d sounded so scared and nervous, and his fear had skyrocketed. He couldn’t lose her, not like he’d lost Gasket, not like he’d lost his mother. But, as she explained, Drift had felt his fear give way to uncertainty and surprise and then understanding.

Ratchet and Orion Pax had broken up, but a reminder of their love had been growing within Ratchet the whole time. A piece of the past carried into the future. Drift understood that. He also understood the future being uncertain. So, he’d told Ratchet he was coming to her immediately.

He didn’t want to let her slip between his fingers. A baby? Something Drift had only considered in passing, but children were something he had considered out of his reach. He’d never had a father, he didn’t know how to be father. But a baby had literally been plopped down unexpectedly into his life, and now he was thinking he could figure it out. It wasn’t like Ratchet had been preparing to be a mother this whole time. Besides, the baby would have Orion Pax, Drift would only be one father figure of many. It would be okay if he messed up a little.

Thanking Sideswipe, Drift twisted the doorknob, then slowly opened the door.

For a moment, he didn’t see the room, not really. Instead, he saw the gray hospital morgue, Gasket’s body covered by a white sheet except for his face, an Enforcer asking, “Is this Gasket?” He shoved the memory, the vision, whatever it was away. That was the past, but it wasn’t his future.

Reality appeared before him.

Inside the bare room, Ratchet lay on her side on a medical bed, while Orion Pax slept in a chair beneath the window, the light outside blocked by white plastic blinds. A cradle next to the bed contained a swaddled thing that could only be the baby.

Drift gently closed the door behind him, but it still made an audible click. In the dim light of the room—there was a small lamp on, on the side of the bed where Orion Pax slept—he saw Ratchet shift and blink open her eyes.

Walking quietly, Drift approached the bed. He put a finger to his lips, but it was too late, and he saw Orion Pax beginning to stir.

“Sorry, Ratty,” Drift whispered, crouching down between the bed and cradle. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She placed a hand on his cheek. “I wanted to know when you got here.”

He pulled her hand from his face, intertwining their fingers and gently placing their clasped hands on the bed. She had an IV in that arm, and he didn’t want her moving around too much and pulling on the IV.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Tired, but okay,” she said. Her expression turned brittle. “Thank you for coming, I was afraid…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Ratty. As long as you want me around, I’ll be right by your side.”

She smiled, the fragility giving way to strength, to hope and joy. Drift only knew of Pharma from what she’d told him, but he hated him. He hated that anyone had made Ratchet believe that if a relationship was good, then it was not for her; he hated that Pharma had convinced her that hurting her and leaving her behind was the choice that others would default to.

Thank goodness for Orion Pax, who had stood by Ratchet, who had taught her that love and relationships didn’t have to hurt. As broken as Drift was—he was healing, but he had his moments—he might have made Ratchet worse, if they’d met immediately after her time with Pharma, but he’d met a Ratchet that had healed—not completely, no one ever did completely—and she inspired him to continue his healing journey.

Speaking of Orion Pax, he was sitting up straight in his chair (a chair that looked padded, but that Drift could tell was uncomfortable and lying about how padded it was), silently watching Drift and Ratchet. His expression was neutral, but observant. There was an aura of kindness around him, but Drift knew that, if push came to shove, he would defend Ratchet, even against Drift. A loyal friend, one that Drift would never dislike Ratchet having.

He gave Ratchet a quick peck on her cheek, which only made her smile more (maybe she was on some really good pain meds, Ratchet was known for her small, rare smiles, not these big ones), and then stood. Still holding Ratchet’s hand in one of his own, Drift stretched his other arm across the bed.

“Drift,” he said. “I’m Ratchet’s boyfriend.”

Orion Pax stood and shook his hand. “Orion Pax. I’m the ex.”

“And the dad.”

“And the dad,” Orion Pax repeated.

“All right, so clearing the air, yeah, it’s a little weird that my girlfriend just had a surprise baby with her ex, who is also her best friend. But what is family if not messy, so we’ll work past it.” He looked down at Ratchet, made eye contact. “I’m staying, and I may not be that baby’s father, but you’re his mother, and I’m so ready to be his uncle or stepdad or whatever.”

Ratchet squeezed his hand. “I’m so happy to hear that.”

“Kid’s not going to have a shortage of father figures,” Drift said, “between myself and Orion Pax and Megatron.”

Orion Pax looked down at Ratchet. “You told him about Megatron?”

“I told him about everything. Except the baby.”

“I didn’t even know you could be pregnant and not know it,” Drift said. “You didn’t even look pregnant. That’s so wild.”

“You’re telling me,” Ratchet said.

Drift offered her a crooked smile. Yeah, it must be so much worse and bewildering for her. Wing was going to crash out when Drift told him that Ratchet had given birth to a surprise baby. He decided to tell Wing by himself, so Ratchet and the baby wouldn’t be present while Wing lost his composure due to the shock. Once he’d calmed down and acquainted himself to the idea, then he would get to meet the baby.

“Does anyone else know about the baby?” Drift asked the question because he knew Ratchet was pretty private about her personal life, and there was nothing more personal than suddenly having a baby.

“Hot Rod and Perceptor were here earlier, but they’ve gone back to the house,” Ratchet said.

“Wheeljack knows,” Orion Pax added. “Hot Rod and Perceptor were supposed to make sure that the baby supplies he bought were actually useful. And Rung also knows. He hasn’t been by yet, but he’ll take us to the house tomorrow morning. I told Megatron. He wants to meet the baby, but only once we’re at the house. He doesn’t like hospitals.”

That was something Drift and Megatron could agree on. Drift didn’t know much about Megatron, except what Ratchet had told him, and she didn’t have much to say about Megatron other than he was good for Orion Pax and she was glad that Orion Pax had gotten with someone so wonderful.

“Want to see him?” Ratchet asked.

It took Drift a moment to realize she meant the baby and not Megatron.

“Go on. He’s sleeping. You’re not going to bother him.”

Slipping his fingers from Ratchet’s hand, Drift looked into the cradle. Inside was a tiny baby, red hat on his head to help keep his body heat in place and wrapped in white and blue blankets. He was sleeping, face loose and content. There was no scrunching of his face in discomfort, no unhappy wiggling. He just was, alive and happy and lost in whatever kinds of dreams newborns had.

“Oh, Ratty, he’s so cute,” Drift breathed.

“You can hold him if you want,” Ratchet said.

“I do really want to, but I don’t want to wake him. It’s okay if I wait until he’s awake, right?”

He heard Orion Pax chuckle, but it seemed like approving amusement. Ratchet, her voice full of endearment, said, “That’s fine, Drift.”

“What’s his name?”

“First Aid.”

Slowly, carefully, so afraid to disturb and wake him, Drift gently took one of First Aid’s so, so tiny hands in his own, his small hand resting against his fingers. His fingers, which had wrought pain to his own skin when everything was just too much, could not be allowed to bring any harm to this perfect, innocent newborn. He would not allow it. He was not that broken anymore.

“It’s a perfect name,” he said softly.

“Orion and I came up with it together, with a little input from Hot Rod.”

“He’s perfect.”

He was going to have to text Wing, ask him what crystals and stones and gems could provide protection for newborns and new mothers.

Drift slowly extracted his hand from First Aid’s, and the baby continued sleeping soundly. He turned and kissed Ratchet. He surprised her, he knew, because it took a moment for her to respond, but it was a quick kiss, anyway, not one that he wanted to lead to anything.

He pulled back. “I love you.”

Ratchet met his gaze. “I love you, too.”

Drift’s heart stuttered. Maybe he was in the hospital because his heart had exploded and this was a vision just before he died. But, no. Orion Pax wouldn’t have been in his imagination if he was imagining the first time Ratchet told him she loved him. And this was real, the love glowing in Ratchet’s eyes, the way her hand had found his again. And, yeah, he had envisioned this moment without a baby and without Orion Pax and not in a hospital (preferably in his own bed with Ratchet in his arms), but it was still perfect.

At Ratchet’s urging, Drift managed to squeeze onto the bed next to her. It took a bit of maneuvering, as he crawled over her legs so he wouldn’t be between her and First Aid and he didn’t want to walk onto the side of the bed where Orion Pax was still standing. The bed wasn’t really made for two adult people, and he wasn’t even going to attempt getting under the white sheets and beige blanket, but as he turned himself sideways and stretched out an arm for Ratchet to cushion her head on, it worked just fine.

Orion Pax settled back into his chair. Drift pretended he didn’t feel Orion Pax staring at his back, but it wasn’t threatening, more like Orion Pax was trying to familiarize himself with Drift’s presence, like he was forcing himself to get used to Ratchet and Drift being a thing.

Kissing Ratchet’s temple, Drift whispered, “Good night, Ratty.”

“Good night, Drift.”

Then, unplanned but simultaneously, they both said, “Good night, Orion,” though Drift had added on the ‘Pax.’

“Uh, good night, you two.”

Yeah, this was incredibly far away from where Drift had imagined his life would go, what he thought his future would be, and this wasn’t anywhere close to where he had thought his and Ratchet’s relationship would develop, but it was perfect. Everything was perfect. He couldn’t wait for the future.

“We need to take out this wall, build a big room here. Ratchet and First Aid can have that room, and it’ll be big enough to share with Drift. You can keep your room. There’s enough space there for Megatron if he decides to move in.”

Orion Pax stood next to his father, looking at the end of the hallway.

“We can’t take out a whole wall or add an addition. This is a rental house.”

“Not anymore,” Alpha Trion said. “I bought it.”

“When?”

“About an hour ago. Oh, and you’ll stay here rent free, no arguments.”

“Father, why would you do that?”

“Because I can.” Alpha Trion caught his look, though maybe he just knew the look Orion Pax was giving him, because he wasn’t looking at him, still staring at the end of the hallway. “It’s not that big of a deal, Orion. Look, you and Ratchet have two years of schooling left. At that point, you can figure out what to do with the house. Maybe one of you will stay and pay rent or just purchase the house from me. Maybe both of you will move out. I figure Hot Rod realizes before the end of her sophomore year that she doesn’t actually want to be in college and pursues something else, so I won’t need to worry about keeping her housed here. If none of you are staying in this house, then your mother and I will rent the space out to other grad students. It’s done, and I can have Ratchet’s space completed by the end of the week.”

“You’re not going to accept anything but a thank you, are you?”

“That would be correct, son.”

“Thank you, Father. I’m sure Ratchet will be grateful, too.”

Alpha Trion turned to him. His mustache trembled like he couldn’t decide what expression to settle on, a frown or a smile or a neutral face. “I can’t believe you never told us that you and Ratchet weren’t dating anymore.”

Rung had picked up Ratchet, Orion Pax, Drift, and First Aid from the hospital that morning. Sure, that meant Drift’s and Orion Pax’s cars had been left in the massive IMC parking lot, but they’d just get them later. Rung had driven them to the house, then had helped Perceptor, Hot Rod, and Wheeljack organize all the baby supplies and babyproof the house while Orion Pax had called his parents. He’d told them he couldn’t meet for Sunday dinner, but he really needed to talk to them, could they come over as soon as possible?

Megatron had arrived just before his parents, and, gathering in Orion Pax’s and Ratchet’s room with the baby, Megatron, and Drift, Orion Pax had come clean to his parents. They had been surprised, yes, by everything, but they hadn’t been upset. Instead, they’d been rather accepting.

There had been a brief bobble, at the very start, when Drift had realized that Orion Pax’s mother was his dissertation advisor, but that had quickly passed.

“You never told me you were dating anyone,” Codexa had said.

“That’s probably a good thing,” Drift had replied. “It would have been really awkward when I told you I was dating Ratchet.”

He had chuckled awkwardly, nervous about the new personal spin on their dynamic, but Codexa had simply stared at him, apparently not seeing the humor in the situation that Drift did. Ratchet had taken pity on her boyfriend, passing First Aid to him so he could have something to focus on that wasn’t the family conversation going on around him. Despite his concerns, Drift was a natural, gently holding First Aid in a safe hold, close to his chest so the baby could hear his heartbeat.

The biggest personal shock of the conversation had come when Alpha Trion had clapped Orion Pax on the shoulder and said, “It’s no big deal that you like men. My sister Zerta Trion—your aunt—liked women.”

Yeah, knowing that about Zerta Trion would have prevented Orion Pax’s anxiety and he would have told his parents about Megatron as soon as they had become a thing, but he didn’t know much about Zerta Trion, other than the few tidbits Alpha Trion had passed on. Zerta Trion had died when Orion Pax was four, and he had better memories of her funeral than of her.

Codexa and Alpha Trion had decided to have Sunday dinner at Orion Pax’s house, a dinner that would double as a welcome to the world party for First Aid. Out of respect to the crowd in the house and the newborn, Wheeljack had shoved most of his pets inside his room, but Grimlock was running happily outside, occasionally looking into the house and panting against the patio door until parts of the glass fogged up before sprinting around the yard again.

Orion Pax forced himself to meet his father’s gaze now. His father wasn’t upset, exactly, just trying to understand why Orion Pax hadn’t told him about breaking up with Ratchet, about dating Megatron. “I wasn’t trying to…I just didn’t know how to say it, especially when I got with Megatron so soon after.”

“I understand, Orion, but never hesitate to tell me or your mother anything.”

Orion Pax nodded, but he was thinking of Hot Rod, of all the things he’d never said—would likely never say—to his parents about their treatment of her.

Turning together, Alpha Trion and Orion Pax headed back to the living room. A football game was on, some teams that Orion Pax didn’t follow. Megatron liked football, though, so he’d started picking up on the rules and strategies. Codexa was cooking in the kitchen. Hot Rod and Perceptor helped her, bustling about in the kitchen under Codexa’s orders. Megatron hovered around the kitchen island, ready to jump in if asked, but uncertain if he should just insert himself into the on-goings. Orion Pax would go talk to him in a moment.

Ratchet sat on the couch, First Aid in her arms. Drift sat on one side of her, pressed up against the arm of the couch closest to the hallway and television, while Rung was on Ratchet’s other side. Drift had an arm slung around Ratchet’s shoulders and was quietly talking to her. Rung was busy waving his fingers and cooing at First Aid, who looked more aware than he had when he’d been freshly born but still not entirely aware of the fact that he, in fact, existed.

Ironhide sat on the other side of Rung. Their freshman year of college, Ironhide and Ratchet had had a one-night stand, then promptly decided they were better as friends and had remained close friends since, even when Ironhide had dropped out of college and joined the Iacon Enforcers. Chromia, Ironhide’s fiancé and a detective for the Enforcers, sat on the arm of the couch next to him. They’d been holding First Aid earlier, when Alpha Trion had pulled Orion Pax aside to explain his plans for the house, but now they were talking quietly to each other.

On the other side of the living room, Wheeljack sat in a reclining chair. Thunderclash—who had fortunately been working at a hospital in Nova Cronum, close enough that he could visit—sat in the other reclining chair. The two played Uno on the small, darkly stained end table between the chairs.

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!”

Hot Rod started toward the door. Megatron stepped forward to begin overseeing whatever pot she had been monitoring. Orion Pax caught Ratchet’s eye, and she titled her head toward the door. She mouthed “Thursday.”

Oh, so the answer to Orion Pax’s questions about Thursday at the park was coming in the door.

He passed behind the couch, glancing down at his son, who was content and happy and sleepily watching Rung make a goofy face, and then arrived at the door just as Hot Rod was pulling it open.

On the other side was a young man with dirty blond hair and brown eyes. He smiled at Hot Rod, and she smiled at him, and Orion Pax realized the two were thoroughly enamored by one another.
Orion Pax cleared his throat. Hot Rod startled, then turned to him. “Orion! This is Springer, my friend.”

“When you said you were inviting a friend, I thought you meant Arcee or Bumblebee,” he said.

“I have other friends,” Hot Rod said.

But Springer had grabbed her hand and she hadn’t released it and the way they subtly leaned toward each other wasn’t entirely platonic. It wasn’t quite romantic, either, but leaning that way. Orion Pax decided he would let them figure it out on their own, at least for now. They could work it out without Orion Pax breathing down their necks. He’d give Springer a shovel talk later, once he had confirmation they were dating.

And he would definitely be using the university’s system to check on Springer’s academic records and see if any disciplinary issues lurked in his background.

“Clear the door,” an older voice grumped, and Hot Rod and Springer passed Orion Pax, Hot Rod calling, “Mother, this is my friend Springer!”

An older man with white hair stepped into the house, closing the door behind him. He held out a hand for Orion Pax to shake.

“Sorry for self-inviting myself, but I have a suspicion that my son is going to be spending a lot of time with your family, and I wanted to meet you all. I’m Kup.”

“I’m Orion Pax. This house has an open door, so don’t worry about inviting yourself in.” He released Kup’s hand. “Springer seems nice, the few seconds I saw him.”

“Thank you. I tried with that kid, and he could be difficult, especially in the early days, but I love him. And I like your Hot Rod. She’s a good kid.”

“Oh, she’s not mine.”

“Not your kid, no, but she looks up to you a lot. You did a good job being her older brother when she needed you.”

Springer and Hot Rod must have been more serious than Orion Pax had initially thought, if Kup had talked with Hot Rod about their parents. Then again, he was starting to suspect that Kup was an adoptive father due to the age difference between him and Springer (more similar to a grandfather-grandson age difference) and his wording. Maybe he was better at reading between the lines of family dynamics than Hot Rod had expected and she’d unintentionally revealed a lot.

“Thank you,” Orion Pax said.

“I understand you do have a kid now, though,” Kup continued. “Springer told me, and, truth be told, I partially came here today to check on Ratchet.”

“You know Ratchet?”

“I work at the hospital,” he said.

“She’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure.”

Ratchet blinked in surprise when Kup walked in, but then she smiled and greeted him. Rung greeted him, too, and Kup waved at the psychologist before he leaned over the back of the couch to look at First Aid.

Orion Pax stood between the kitchen and the living room, smiling softly as he watched Kup interact with his son. Rung was invested in the conversation between Ratchet and Kup, but Drift was smiling lovingly at First Aid, his golden-brown gaze fixed on the baby. His hand was still on Ratchet’s shoulder, his thumb lightly tracing up and down her neck, a familiar gesture since Ratchet wasn’t reacting to it.

Ironhide and Chromia had moved across the room to sit on the floor before Thunderclash and Wheeljack and had been dealt into the new round of Uno. The four of them were laughing and joking amongst themselves, Chromia threatening Ironhide when he threw down a +4. Boxes beside the chairs contained baby toys that Ironhide had promised to get started on putting together after the meal (likely, the construction team would consist of Ironhide, Chromia, Thunderclash, and Wheeljack), though First Aid was too young for the toys presently. At least that was something Orion Pax and Ratchet wouldn’t have to do later, so he didn’t say much to discourage Ironhide.

Hot Rod and Springer were outside, playing some sort of game—some combination of fetch and tag, maybe—with Grimlock. As Orion Pax watched, Grimlock tackled Springer, and the young man sat up with a bewildered look while Grimlock bounced in giddy circles around him. Hot Rod laughed, hands clasping her knees. Springer threw Grimlock’s dinosaur-shaped toy at her feet, and Hot Rod was the one knocked down by an overexcited dog as Springer laughed. She sat up and poked her tongue out at Springer, which only made him laugh harder. Grimlock’s toy bounced off Springer’s head, and then Springer was buried under a massive dog.

Megatron appeared next to Orion Pax, wrapping an arm around his waist. He gave Orion Pax a quick peck on the temple, accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his waist.

In the kitchen, Codexa and Perceptor had been joined by Alpha Trion. Perceptor gathered plates and silverware, while Orion Pax’s parents completed the last of the food preparations.

“First Aid is going to have a whole village,” Megatron said. “It’s nice.”

“It really is.” Orion Pax leaned his head against Megatron’s shoulder. “Did you pick the television channel?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I know you like football,” he said.

Megatron laughed.

“You know, there’s going to be an opportunity for you to move in here really soon,” Orion Pax said. “I know you have your house, and I’m not pressuring you, but it would be an option, if you wanted.”

“Would I have to share my room with you and Ratchet?”

“No, no, just me. If you’re interested.”

“That would be nice,” Megatron said. “I can rent my house out to some of the older football players. Or maybe Soundwave. His kids could use the backyard.”

“You don’t have to make the decision so quickly,” Orion Pax cautioned.

“I want to be with you. It’s not a hard decision,” Megatron said. “I can get Springer and Hot Rod to help me move, see how well they work together.”

“You noticed that too, huh?”

“It’s pretty obvious, except maybe to the two of them.”

Orion Pax snorted.

“All right, time for everyone to get a plate,” Codexa announced.

The house descended into chaos for a few minutes. When it settled, Ratchet and Drift sat next to each other at the kitchen island, Alpha Trion next to them. Ratchet held First Aid, who had had a bottle of formula earlier, and Drift was helping Ratchet eat while one arm was occupied with a sleeping baby. Orion Pax and Megatron sat across from Ratchet and Drift, and Codexa had taken the vacant chair across from Alpha Trion. Kup had been given one of the reclining chairs, his plate and drink on the end table. Perceptor had the other chair, primly balancing his plate on his knees. Thunderclash, Rung, and Wheeljack were eating on the couch, while Ironhide and Chromia were standing at the kitchen island by Ratchet and Orion Pax. Springer and Hot Rod sat on the floor, their food on the coffee table before them.

Codexa pointedly cleared her throat, then gave Orion Pax a look.

Taking his mother’s cue, Orion Pax stood. Everyone looked up at him. He didn’t mind being the center of attention. He’d taught a few lecture classes for his GA-ship and speaking to a crowd was nothing to him.

“Thank you all for coming here today. First Aid was a surprise, for all of us, and some certain relationships have been surprises for some of you, so thank you all for taking them in stride.”

A few chuckles. Ironhide snorted, a sound that nonverbally said That’s an understatement, and Chromia lightly elbowed his chest.

“This is perhaps the most unconventional family,” Orion Pax continued, “but it is a family, nonetheless. A family that I am grateful to be a part of. Thank you, all of you, for everything you’ve done for one another in the past, and everything you will do for each other going forward. There’s going to be a lot of babysitting and diaper changing in the foreseeable future.”

Another round of chuckles, a few murmured protests that some would not be changing diapers, all good-natured (except maybe Perceptor, but his complexion still paled whenever anyone mentioned the birth, so he was getting a pass).

This was followed by Wheeljack saying, “I’m hungry. Hurry up, Orion!”

“All right, all right. Let me just wrap this up by saying that this is a day of celebration, and today is the day we all say, ‘Welcome to the world, First Aid!’”

“Welcome to the world, First Aid!” everyone chorused, and then the house erupted into many side conversations as everyone began to eat, talking to their nearby neighbors.

Orion Pax took First Aid from Ratchet to give her a break, and she smiled in thanks before she was swept up in a conversation about swords going on between Ironhide and Drift. They were happy, Orion Pax thought, watching Ratchet and Drift as they leaned their shoulders together.

He was happy, too, Megatron at his side, First Aid (his wonderful, surprise son) held tight against his chest as he slept, and his best friend and the love of her life across the table from him. His friends and family surrounded him, content and joyful, laughing and joking amongst themselves. He caught Megatron’s eye and smiled. Megatron’s mouth was full, but he managed to smile back.

It was chaotic, but it was happy, and Orion Pax wouldn’t want his life to be any other way.