TFA Oneshots + Imagines

And The Flowers Were Grey (Ratchet x Optimus Prime)

It was a quiet, solemn day Ratchet thought as the familiar ebb and flow of delicate classical music seeped into the med bay through the walls- no doubt from Bumblebee's room, as the little yellow bot hadn't ceased playing Prowl's old favorite CDs since the day of the final battle.

A sigh fell from in between his lips. He was there alone, shouldering the weight of everyone's grief as well as his own, stuck as second in command to hear Bulkhead and Bumblebee's questions and concerns- and, worst of all, regrets.

But where was first in command?

Out of commission, laying in front of him in the med bay on a single berth, tossing and turning in his sleep and having tossed the blankets off of himself the night before. Following the full retrieval of the All Spark, Optimus had some minor injuries to nurse, but they'd planned on healing those on the way back to earth. It just so happened that the Prime happened to catch a nasty infection that would require them to stay on earth a little longer for him to rest and fight it right before they were set to leave for Cybertron.

It was just his luck. Prowl was dead, the team was left in shambles, and he was stuck caring for a sick and freshly repaired Optimus Prime. He didn't even have time to process his own emotions, too worried about caring for everyone else, but... Maybe that was just what he needed. Maybe he didn't want to have to go through what everyone else was going through.

The fight against the Decepticons was over, they had won, but at what cost? And what would happen when they got home? All they had wanted when they'd landed on earth was to find their way back to Cybertron, but now that it was happening, Ratchet was terrified. He'd grown too comfortable with his team, and he didn't want to lose them, but why would any of them want to stick around when he was so... Grumpy? Unapproachable? Something like that. He wasn't sure they cared for him much outside of the working environment he'd created. When they all went back to Cybertron, they'd probably split up and do their own thing, and Ratchet would be alone with his struggles yet again.

Just like before.

And that brought him to Optimus, who was mumbling incoherent nonsense in his sleep. Ratchet sat right by the bed, keeping a close eye on him, but he wasn't sure of whether to wake his friend up or not.

What would become of them when they returned to Cybertron? He was well aware that, given the circumstances, Optimus was surely next in line for Magnus- it didn't take a genius to figure that much out, but if that was the case, they wouldn't have much of an excuse to see each other nor would they be working closely together anymore unless Optimus hired or appointed him for something... Though he doubted that would even happen.

He was aware of the fact that whatever feelings he'd developed for Optimus were inappropriate. They went beyond what was normal for a medic and his team captain, and him knowing all of Optimus's nervous tics and deepest secrets and favorite colors and flavors of energon wasn't quite right.

Some of their late night talks and fleeting touches bordered intimate.

But surely, Optimus didn't feel the same. He couldn't; he was young, attractive, smart, strong, kind- almost everything that Ratchet wasn't, and while that was okay, it was enough for Ratchet to know that he didn't have an inkling of a chance, nor did he want one. Optimus was still relatively innocent. He deserved much better than a worn out, jaded, traumatized, mentally ill grump of a medic.

The truth of the matter? Optimus had stolen his spark and was refusing to give it back without even realizing it.

Suddenly, the leader of Team Prime was jolting up with a gasp, optics snapping open. His expression was familiar and spark-wrenching, as Ratchet had seen it enough times to recognize that the Prime had just had a nightmare of some sorts. But then, his gaze fell to Ratchet, and he seemed to calm down in a matter of seconds.

The red and white bot blinked at that, flattered that his presence could soothe his friend so quickly, but then again, there had been countless nights of Optimus coming to his room to seek comfort in the middle of the night that they just didn't talk about both because neither of them dared and because Optimus slipped out of his bed by morning so seamlessly that half of the time, Ratchet thought those nights had merely been dreams.

"Ratchet?" Optimus blinked, seemingly much more aware as he settled, the tension leaving his joints.

"Yeah, Prime?"

"Don't leave," It was a plea that Ratchet knew wasn't necessary, so he wondered why Optimus even made it as he watched the red and blue bot lay back down on his back, dulled optics staring at the ceiling instead of at Ratchet now. "Please."

"While you're sick like this? I wouldn't make it back to Cybertron in one piece if I let you go offline on me, old friend-"

"No," Optimus objected with a weak laugh, as if correcting him, and Ratchet gulped at that. He knew what Optimus was trying to convey because it wasn't don't leave me while I'm sick, it was don't leave me when we go home because just like Ratchet, he feared change and knew that everything was going to be so incredibly different when they finally got home. "I mean don't leave me."

Ratchet knew that he should've pushed him away like he always did. Whenever Optimus got too close or tried to seek solace in him more than what was normal for a relationship between coworkers or friends, he put a distance between them- it was for their own good, but... Optimus was sick and weak and emotionally vulnerable, and Ratchet just couldn't bring himself to do it no matter how much he knew he needed to.

"...Wouldn't dream of it," He murmured with a bittersweet smile and dared to reach out to give Optimus's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but the second the Prime leaned into his touch, he retracted it. "Now get some rest for me... I know you need it."

"Okay," Optimus nodded and moved to curl up on his side, facing where Ratchet sat on his bedside.

But then he was reaching out and grabbing Ratchet's servos in one of his own, holding it tight and not letting go. The medic felt his vents catch, butterflies welling up in his stomach and threatening to spill out in the form of a confession before Optimus's sky-blue optics were fluttering shut and he was falling asleep again with what sounded like a sigh of relief.

Of course.

Ratchet sighed and looked at the flowers sitting in the windowsill. Just a week ago, they were vibrant and full of life, bright red carnations and white roses standing straight on their green stems in a clear vase full of water. Now, they were wilted, downturned and dull, many of their petals having fallen and fluttered to the wood the vase sat upon, and the water they were in was a murky brown. With a tilt of his head, Ratchet couldn't help but notice how grey those flowers appeared now.

He would surely be the same soon enough, he thought as he tentatively ran a servo over the back of Optimus's helm.

The Prime was scalding hot and weak, whining as he tossed and turned in his sleep, but eventually, he would wake up. Eventually, he would recover and go back to Cybertron, become Magnus and make everything better, merge the Autobots and Decepticons into a union like they had been before the war.

And Ratchet would be left behind, left to retire or go back to work like he had been before- nothing remarkable, nothing like Optimus and the brilliance he was destined for.

But, as the red and white bot looked down at his old friend, young and fiery and bold yet so weak and unsure and wavering, he realized he could come to terms with that, because as long as Optimus was happy, he didn't mind that he himself was slowly turning grey.

"I love you," The words fell from in between his rough, chapped lips before he could even realize it, but Optimus was long asleep, so he found that he didn't quite mind. "My dear Prime..."