Chapter Text
Bill Fowler didn't know the exact nature of the emergency, but in the interests of continued amicable human/Cybertronian relations, he was willing to put forth a little extra effort. None of the substances requested had been in any way dangerous, either singly or combined, but it was an odd request nonetheless.
Especially considering the source.
Megatron.
Regardless of the fact that the eons-long war between the two factions was evidently over, and had been for some time, he still didn't trust that mech as far as he could throw him.
And Fowler was man enough to admit that wasn't very far at all, much to his chagrin.
There. June would be pleased. He was finally learning to admit he had limitations. At least as far as flinging giant alien robots was concerned.
But it had been almost a year since the Autobots and Decepticons had seemingly resolved their differences, and Fowler hadn't laid eyes on Prime since then. In fact, their last conversation had been voice-only, and the Autobot leader had sounded somewhat . . . odd, so this time he'd decided to contact Ratchet instead.
He wanted to make sure Megatron's request was on the up-and-up and not some sort of back-sliding, diabolical attempt to blow up shit. Somewhere. Somehow. With stuff that shouldn't even be capable of blowing up shit.
However, this was Megatron they were talking about, so Fowler was justifiably concerned.
When he'd contacted him, Ratchet had said, "Megatron asked for what?", then his optics had narrowed dangerously, and he'd proceeded to bang his helm against the console . . . twice, before adding, "Of course he did. I told that slagger he shouldn't be giving into his mate's every whim -- not everything Optimus wants right now is a good fragging idea -- but why listen to the lowly medic? What the frag would I know?"
Fowler winced. Not so much at the Cybertronian cursing. He was used to that, especially since this was Ratchet he was speaking to. However, he still cringed at the "mate" term. At least as it applied to Megatron. And Prime.
Megatron and Prime together.
The first time he'd heard the term "mate" bandied about, he'd assumed it meant something like the Australian definition of the word. Ratchet's optics had unfocused briefly as he'd evidently looked it up on the Internet, but then he'd huffed and said, "I wish. But noooo, our Prime has to do things that are guaranteed to stress my processor, and in the most horribly glitched manner possible to boot."
Ratchet had (correctly) interpreted the resultant blank look on Fowler's face as incomprehension, because he'd finished with, "No, unfortunately, not mates as in 'friends'. Those two are fragging like they've suddenly remembered that they had interface equipment after a few million years of blissful ignorance, and then suddenly it's, 'Hey, this is cool. You know what, why don't we do something with it? Together. Wouldn't that be fun?'"
At that point, Fowler had been understandably horrified, but the medic had only gotten started.
"Then, then, mind you, they had to go ahead and actually sparkbond too." Ratchet crossed his arms and scowled. "Regardless, it wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so blasted loud during the whole fragging process, each and every time. Especially Optimus. Huh. I've been his personal medic for eons, and I didn't know his vocal range even extended that high."
Offscreen, he'd heard Ironhide mutter, "You gotta trust us in this, Agent Fowler. Falsetto Optimus is just . . . wrong."
Now that had been a mental image Fowler could have lived without.
But Ratchet had huffed, then stabbed a finger at the screen so violently that Fowler had actually taken a step back. "And you know why they did all this?"
Fowler's eyes had widened, and he'd shaken his head.
"Just to fragging annoy me, that's why!"
Well, even Fowler had to admit the end result of all the fragging and sparkbonding had been the cessation of hostilities between Autobots and Decepticons after millennia of war, but he'd known better than to argue with Ratchet.
Nobody argued with Ratchet. And he didn't plan to argue with him either, 'cause he'd seen the medic swing that wrench. He was even scarier than June when she was on a rampage. And that was actually saying something, especially recently.
However, Ratchet had finally agreed that the stuff Megatron requested wasn't inherently dangerous, especially not to humans, so he had reluctantly agreed to the deal, "Just so I don't have to listen to all the whining, because let me tell you, whining is something they both excel at."
So, this was why Fowler currently found himself back in the decommissioned Jasper base with barrels of . . . stuff . . . and June, who had insisted on coming along.
Fowler really didn't trust Megatron, so he'd tried to convince June to stay behind, especially given her current delicate condition, but all that had gained him was a solid THWACK on his arm.
Which hurt, a lot. Ratchet had evidently been giving June lessons in something other than Cybertronian medicine.
Hell, maybe all that thwacking was Cybertronian medicine. If so, Ratchet was definitely an expert. With June a very close second.
Hearing the groundbridge activate, he turned to watch the imposing form of Megatron emerge with Ratchet close behind.
The bridge closed just as quickly, and he heard June let out a disappointed sigh. She'd clearly hoped to see the Autobot leader again.
But then, it had been entirely too long since either one of them had seen him.
Fowler turned to Ratchet. "Where's Prime?"
Ratchet hesitated slightly. "He is . . . indisposed at the moment."
"Is he okay?" June asked, clearly concerned.
"He's fine. Just restricted from using a bridge. He's still aboard the Nemesis and does send his regards."
Fowler shifted his gaze from Ratchet to the atypically silent, but more than usually smug-looking Megatron. Fowler's job required him to be paranoid, and he still wouldn't put it past Megatron to have some kind of sinister hold on the Autobots that he wasn't aware of. After all, Ratchet did look a tad stressed and uptight.
But then, Ratchet always looked stressed and uptight.
Scrap. He'd just have to take the cybercat by the tail and confront Megatron about it directly.
Huh. He must be spending too much time around Cybertonians, considering how he'd picked up the local lingo. Too bad he still couldn't understand his stepson half the time. Teenager -- now there was an utterly alien lifeform for you.
Fowler glared up at Megatron, crossing his arms across his chest. "Before we turn over the requested supplies, Megatron, I'd like to see Prime first. It's not like him to avoid his human friends for this long."
Ratchet's optics widened, and he said, "I really don't think that's a good idea."
Megatron held up a servo and said, "Now, now, medic. We don't want our human allies to think we are withholding information, do we? That would be dreadfully impolite."
"Since when do you give a frag about politeness?" Ratchet snapped back. "You know darn well Optimus wants to be the one who . . . "
But Megatron was already rooting around in his subspace. "Nonsense. I wouldn't want Agent Fowler here to think I had done anything . . . despicable to our revered Prime." He found what he was looking for with a pleased, "Ahhh, there you are," and held up a large cube that Fowler recognized as a Cybertronian holoprojector.
Megatron set it on a convenient console and activated it. The result was a near life-size image of Prime. At least, Fowler thought it was Prime. He couldn't quite process the peculiarities of the image. In fact, those peculiarities seemed to have caused Fowler's speech processing to shut down completely. Along with most of his higher brain functions.
Perhaps permanently.
Once he could convince himself to remove the hand covering his eyes, Fowler glanced at the image again, but unfortunately, it still looked the same.
It was Prime, and he was standing next to what looked like a berth, leaning backwards while bracing himself against the berth with one servo. And he evidently had to brace himself, because his abdominal plates were bulging almost obscenely far outward. He looked like he'd tip over face-first if he let go, and yes, Fowler knew exactly what that implied about Prime's current condition, he just didn't want to admit it.
He certainly wasn't going to attempt speech at this point, 'cause he was terrified what might come out of his mouth.
June, however, was either quicker at processing that absurd information, or her current condition gave her a more sympathetic connection. "Oh," she murmured, her entire face going soft as she held her own protruding belly with one hand, "Optimus is pregnant."
With that blunt confirmation, Fowler's brain formally requested permission to shut itself down.
However, Megatron chose that moment to stomp closer, and Fowler's innate warrior instincts indicated it might be better to remain conscious, at least for a little while. If only for June's sake. He promised himself a nice quiet breakdown later.
The big mech stopped next to the holoprojection of the heavily pregnant Prime. Smiling broadly, Megatron pointed to the image and said proudly, "I did that."
Ratchet groaned, covering his optics with one servo.
Glancing again at the image, Fowler said, "He's positively huge."
Such was the state of his mental disarray that he barely felt June's resounding thwack against his arm, but Megatron only smiled wider.
"Yes, he is," the warlord agreed, crossing his arms and openly admiring the holo. "Isn't the carrier of my sparkling magnificent?"
"That's one word for it," Fowler said. This time he actually felt the thwack from his wife and turned patiently to face her. "Would you stop doing that? Please?"
"Once you stop acting like an ignoramus." She glared at him for a few moments, then turned to gaze at the holo. "I think he's absolutely beautiful."
Megatron grabbed Ratchet's arm and pointed at June. "See? See?" Megatron said excitedly.
Ratchet roughly disengaged his arm. "Megatron, you glitch. Does Optimus even know you took that holo?"
"Of course!" Megatron replied indignantly, then seemed to think about it. "Well, no. Maybe?"
Ratchet stabbed a finger in the direction of Megatron's chest. "Huh. Since he hasn't off-lined you yet, my best guess would be, 'No.'"
"But why would my mate be angry?"
The weird thing was, Fowler believed that Megatron was actually sincere. At least judging by the expression of utter confusion on his faceplates.
Unfortunately, the big mech hadn't quite finished digging a gigantic hole for himself.
"Our race hasn't had a sparkling in eons." Megatron pointed at the holo again. "This is proof of both Optimus' fertility and my own robust virility. He should be proud that I've managed to spark him. I know I am."
"Oh, for the love of Primus." Ratchet took a threatening step closer to Megatron.
Fowler grabbed June's arm and took a few steps back. Better safe than sorry.
Ratchet poked his finger into Megatron's chest. "There's a reason Optimus is keeping to himself recently -- he's more than a little self-conscious right now. If he knew you were blithely showing that around to everybot you meet, he'd take your virility and stuff it in the nearest trash compacter!"
Megatron looked confused. "But my spike wouldn’t. . . "
"Ack! No. Don't you dare finish that statement, just don't." Fowler could hear the grinding of dentae from here. "Trust me, Megatron. Optimus is a very determined mech. If he wants it bad enough, he'll make it fit."
Megatron's face brightened, and he smiled beatifically. "That's almost exactly what he said the first time we . . . "
Ratchet thwacked him with his wrench. "No, no, no. I said, I don't want to hear it!"
"And here I'd thought Megatron had been overcompensating for something," Fowler muttered.
"No," Megatron said simply. Turning back to Ratchet, he added, "Optimus is quite aware he can't hide in our quarters forever, and it was you who said he had at least half a stellar cycle remaining before emergence."
"Oh, my God," Fowler said, as he automatically converted that into months. "He's going to get bigger?"
June thwacked him again.
Wincing, Fowler said, "Target the other arm for a while, dear," while simultaneously trying to figure out how Prime could possibly get any larger and not explode.
Thankfully, his contemplation of Prime's impending detonation was interrupted by his wife. "What's wrong with his feet?" June said, concern in her voice.
Ratchet took a break from glaring malevolently at Megatron in order to reply. "Nothing," he said, almost kindly for him. "Given his current . . . condition, I thought he might have more stability on his pedes if I removed the outer plating. That way, he could spread the mesh on his pedes and balance a little easier." He sighed. "However, since I've recently put him on berthrest, I can probably reattach the plating. He won't be standing on his pedes again until emergence."
Megatron was shaking his head, however. "Not advisable, medic. In the event of an emergency when I'm not nearby, it would be best if Optimus has the best opportunity for stability he can obtain. Besides, my mate has been enjoying the increased dexterity of his pedes, especially since he is no longer able to bend over and use his servos for some tasks." He smiled fondly. "Not to mention that his bare, sinfully soft mesh feels absolutely wonderful on my spike when he. . ."
This time Fowler thwacked Megatron, and both mechs looked down at him in surprise.
Fowler shook his hand, wincing, but glared up at Megatron. "I agree with Ratchet. There are some things I'd rather not know about Prime. That happens to be one of them."
Ratchet, however, was staring at Megatron suspiciously. "And the fact that Optimus can't transform without the plating and accompanying armature has nothing to do with your decision, does it?"
"Of course, it does," Megatron said. "If he can't transform into his alt mode, it's much harder for him to escape me."
At the resultant stunned silence, Megatron looked around, apparently confused about the glares he was receiving from all comers. "What? I know the medic is boring and uptight, but don't you fleshlings play berth games to spice up your interface life?"
"Oh. My. God," Fowler said, eyes wide. "Why the hell didn't I just stay in bed this morning?"
"Exactly the question I asked you," June said darkly, "but you said you had a headache."
Everyone turned their gazes to Fowler.
Well, this is awkward.
"Hey! If Prime is supposed to be on berthrest, why is he standing in that holo?" Fowler pointed out desperately, hoping for a distraction.
Ratchet's optics narrowed as he turned slowly to Megatron. "If you've been ignoring my instructions because of your infernal 'facing shenanigans . . . just how long ago did you take that holo, Megatron?"
Megatron rolled his optics. "Before you put him on berthrest, medic. He knows he'd best behave himself."
"We're talking about the same mech here, aren't we?" Ratchet shook his head. "I had trouble keeping Optimus in berth when he was a few kliks from off-lining. How do you know he's not out wandering the corridors of the Nemesis while both of us are here on Earth?"
Megatron reached over to flick off the holoprojector, and Fowler breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Smiling broadly, Megatron then leaned back against the console and said, "Two reasons. The first is that there are seekers on the Nemesis. Lots of seekers."
"You have them keeping an eye on Optimus?" June guessed.
Megatron raised an optic ridge at her. "Not by choice. Seekers are insanely curious by spark, and they are utterly fascinated with my mate and his sparkling." He smiled. "Even locking himself in our quarters has only minimally reduced the frequency of their flitting about in an attempt to reach Optimus' belly. Skywarp has made a fortune in shanix, charging an exorbitant fee to warp them into our quarters and catch a glimpse of my mate."
Ratchet rolled his optics again. "Yes, and he was charging extra if he managed to get them close enough to accomplish a fly-by grope of Optimus' belly. It was driving him absolutely insane."
Fowler's eyes widened. "So, that's why Prime requested the giant flypaper strips!"
Megatron actually laughed. "Optimus has always been resourceful, above all else. It only took once with Skywarp dangling helplessly from the ceiling and facing the sheer disappointment on my mate's faceplates up close and personal to resolve that issue permanently." He sounded extremely proud of Prime, and Fowler's opinion of the mech went up a tick, despite his better judgement.
"But then, of course," Ratchet remarked drily, "Optimus felt bad about upsetting the little glitch and allowed Skywarp to burrow against his belly so he could feel the sparkling move. I thought it would require surgical intervention on my part to pry him off again."
"The look on Optimus' face was worth it," Megatron smirked. "He wasn't that leery of seekers when they were doing their best to snuff his spark."
Rachet hmphed loudly. "So, Optimus will stay in your quarters to avoid the clingy seekers, but that won't keep him in the berth," he warned gravely.
"No, but the berth will."
Ratchet looked at him with horror. "You haven't restrained him, have you?"
"What's wrong with that?" Megatron replied innocently. "You can have a lot of fun in berth with restraints. Just ask Optimus, if you don't believe me."
Spluttering, Ratchet finally managed to get out, "Only you would chain a carrying mech to his berth!"
Megatron sighed. "Autobots. You're so impossibly vanilla." He straightened to his full height and glared. "No, as a point of fact, I have not chained my cherished mate to the berth. However, it is currently next to impossible for him to get out of it without assistance. I had Shockwave make some modifications."
"What kind of modifications?" Ratchet asked suspiciously.
With another put-upon sigh, Megatron turned and keyed something into the console. The screens flickered, then dissolved into an interior view of a suite of rooms, one of which showed an oversized berth occupying much of the immense room. The tips of blue audials and a generous mound of belly were barely visible in the middle of the vast expanse of berth.
"You have Prime under constant surveillance?" Fowler asked.
"No, but Soundwave does. I'm just hacking into his feed."
June looked up at him doubtfully. "And why does Soundwave have him under surveillance? Doesn't he trust Optimus? I thought you had gotten past your factions' disagreements."
Megatron said wryly, "Soundwave has everything under surveillance, but in Optimus' case, it's not even remotely about distrust. Soundwave is even more smitten with Optimus and the bitling than the seekers. In fact, he's downright fanatical." Turning to face Ratchet, the warlord added, "Just be glad you don't have to listen to him ramble on about my mate's care and feeding every single cycle. He's about to glitch my processor with his incessant nagging."
"Might be an improvement," Ratchet snapped.
Clearing her throat, June prompted, "When you say 'fanatical' . . ."
Megatron ex-vented sharply. "You mean besides the constant surveillance? I can't seem to convince him to turn off the feed, even when I have Optimus spread out before me, pleading for my spike. . . "
Horrified, Ratchet said sharply, "Argh! Stop. TMI, Megatron!"
Megatron merely stared at Ratchet, obviously confused.
"Too . . . Much . . . Information, you stupid glitch! Please get it through your processor that nobody here wants to know about your thrilling 'facing exploits with Optimus!"
June cleared her throat, raising one hand hesitantly, and both Fowler and Ratchet stared at her, horrified.
"Ignorance isn't always bliss, you know," June said, crossing her arms.
"Well, I agree with Ratchet," Fowler said. "It sure beats the alternative in this particular case!"
"Hmph. Says you." She glared at him. "Remember. You aggravate me too much, and you won't just be sleeping on the couch -- you'll be sleeping six feet under it."
Megatron's optics widened when he looked up the reference and caught onto her implicit threat. "Agent Fowler, where ever did you find this intriguing femme?" He crouched down to examine her more closely. "If you're ever interested in galactic domination, give me a call. Since I plan on being helm-deep in bitlets for the foreseeable future, I'm looking for someone to do a buyout."
"Megatron!" Ratchet yelled.
"What? Optimus is always telling me I have to get out of the tyranny and mayhem business. Besides, we have a duty to produce as many bitlets as possible, and I certainly plan on doing my part to save our species from extinction." He stood, putting his servos on his hips and pushing out his chest plates proudly. "My mate is young and strong, and he shall bear my bitlets for megavorns to come."
"Oh goodie, won't Optimus be thrilled?" Ratchet said sarcastically. "Does he know you plan on keeping him barepede and carrying, indefinitely?"
Megatron's optics narrowed, and he glared at Ratchet. "My mate is loyal, dutiful . . . and practically insatiable. Besides, if I am to give up galactic domination, I must have something productive to do. It might as well be enjoyable, for both of us."
Deftly avoiding the wildly thrown wrench, Megatron looked down at June and said, "So, what do you say, fleshling? After we have finished revitalizing Cybertron, I can throw in the Nemesis as part of the deal."
June's eyes widened. "Uhm, thank you, Lord Megatron. I'll keep your generous offer in mind, and uh, see about enlarging my garage. But you were telling us about Soundwave. . .?"
"Oh, yes," Megatron said. "Knitting. He's been knitting. Incessantly."
"Knitting?"
Megatron nodded. "He's been attempting to knit a bitling covering for deca-cycles, with a little help from his symbionts of course." He hummed a little then added, "Well, Frenzy has been helping, but the others -- not so much."
"Is a bitling covering a complicated project?" June asked. "Because I'd be happy to give him some tips."
Megatron raised a servo to his chin, then said, "No, I don't suppose it's all that complicated, but by the time Soundwave actually manages to get one finished and holds it up to my mate's abdominal plates, he discovers that it's far too small. Optimus' belly keeps enlarging faster than he can knit."
"Color me surprised," Fowler said, but stepped away before his wife's latest thwack could make contact.
"Soundwave has been getting more and more distressed." Megatron rolled his optics. "My mate is entirely too sweet sparked and keeps apologizing to him, as if it's his fault. However, Optimus carries my progeny, so of course the bitlet is going to be impressively large." He ex-vented deeply, gazing skyward. "Impeccable coding and excessive virility. What's a mech to do?"
"Primus," Ratchet muttered. "I think I preferred it when was trying to off-line us. It was harder to hear him over the sound of blaster shots and screaming." He paused. "At least when Starscream was still around. Huh. Never thought I'd actually miss that pompous twit."
"Uhm," Fowler said, looking up at the screen. "It looks like Prime is on the move. Sort of."