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To be fair, Ratchet didn’t have any business lecturing Optimus about his recharging schedule.
As the the team’s only medic and scientist (unless you counted Wheeljack, but honestly calling that mech a scientist was an insult to the field) Ratchet had to balance work on the Synth-En formula, dealing with faulty human tach, making sure his teammates weren’t dying, and keeping his own systems from shutting off due to exhaustion.
And when faced with the need to do all of those things at once, getting a proper night’s recharge was the lowest item on the list.
But it was different for him.
He didn’t fight, so he had to pull his weight in other ways.
As many times as he had received the “You’re worth as much as the rest of us,” speech from Optimus, he knew he needed to make certain sacrifices for their team.
However, Optimus had absolutely no business working himself to near shutdown.
He already did so much, took so many hits, stepped between the others and blaster fire and other attacks. He shouldn’t have been pushing himself so hard.
“Optimus.”
His friend moved his helm to face him, his movements sluggish and slow for someone who was normally graceful and quick. Ratchet's own bright blue optics met faded ones.
“Hello, old friend, what is it?” His voice just sounded so… off . The strong and confident assurance buried within his normal tone had completely vanished, replaced with a subtle exhaustion.
“You know what I’m here about,” Ratchet responded, ire growing slightly.
“I’m sorry, Ratchet, but I simply cannot stop now. The Iacon Database is far too important.” Optimus turned back to the screen, the green light reflecting faintly on his tired figure.
Ratchet slowly moved closer to his leader, servo reaching forward and up until it found his shoulder plating.
“Optimus,” he said, taking a soft tone, or as soft as he could manage, “I’m not denying that what you’re working on is important, but simply stating that your wellbeing has equal, if not greater, value.”
Optimus declined to turn his chassis, perhaps from exhaustion, or perhaps because he clearly intended to ignore Ratchet’s advice.
“I shall keep that in mind, old friend,” he responded in monotone.
Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge with two digits and let out an almost invisible vent.
He had been expecting resistance, and his partner always gave it, because over years and years of their life together, they had been through some variation of this conversation hundreds of times.
His conjunx was sacrificing, caring, and he put others' needs first to an unhealthy degree, and despite the fact that they had been together for millions of years, Ratchet still had no idea if he loved or hated that about Optimus.
He walked around to Optimus’ side, near the computer controls, and placed a digit behind the screen, searching for the power down button.
“Ratchet…” Optimus began, optics angling downwards, “Please d-”
The medic’s servo found the button, and the screen’s soft glow of green was no more.
Optimus vented, removing his digits from the keyboard.
“Sweetspark, please, I need to-”
Ratchet held up his servo, pressing one digit to Optimus’ intake.
“What you need is rest, plain and simple,” The orange and white mech said, strengthening his voice to firm.
Optimus moved one servo to Ratchet’s, pushing it away from his faceplates.
“I do not require you to talk to me as if I was a sparkling. I am perfectly capable of continuing work, so please leave me to it.”
Ratchet folded his arms and shifted his weight, irritation growing. “You need to recharge. It’s been three cycles since you’ve started, and you haven’t recharged once yet! You don’t need to be a medical professional to see that it’s not healthy.”
“I’m sorry, Ratchet, but-”
“And!” Ratchet interrupted, stepping forward and pointing a digit to Optimus’ chest. “You can’t give me some scrap about being fine, I can hear the fatigue in your fragging voice!”
Optimus averted his optics at this, avoiding Ratchet’s glare.
“I- I can’t take a break,” he nearly whispered, “I just can’t.”
“Why?” The medic asked, narrowing his optics.
The red and blue mech’s fists clenched.
“Optimus,” Ratchet said. He moved forward again, one servo resting on his leader’s chest, and the other moving up to cup his faceplates, tilting them downwards. “Tell me why.”
“This- This is all my fault,” He began, his dull optics clouded with sadness.
“I decoded the database and supplied Megatron with the coordinates, when I was Orion Pax.”
“ That’s what this is about?!?” Ratchet’s optical ridges shot up. “You had lost your memory, you were completely blameless in that situation!”
“I should have been more suspicious of Megatron! The things he said didn’t make much sense, and I must have known he was lying about some things, but I still followed him! I still helped him!” Optimus yelled, brows furrowed.
Oh, and now it was so clear; the Prime had been tearing himself up over this for days, throwing himself into work to try and relieve the guilt. Ratchet felt a pang of sadness hit his spark.
How could I not notice?
“Listen to me, Optimus,” Ratchet said, running a digit in a soothing circle on his partner’s cheek, “You never stopped being an Autobot. You never stopped trying to do the right thing. While knowing that Megatron was a gladiator of the pits, you still came to face him, despite believing that you had no fighting experience.”
The medic paused, talking both his servos and grabbing one of Optimus’ with them.
“You cannot blame yourself for that, or even begin to call into question your morality.”
And there they stood, seconds passing in silence, with servos intertwined, both of them contemplating the words of the other.
Finally, Optimus was the one to break the stalemate, bending down to press a light kiss to his conjunx’s cheek.
“Thank you, love,” He said, gratitude pulsing in his voice, “Truly.”
“Yes, yes,” Ratchet mumbled, huffing slightly, “Take better care of yourself, you slagger.”
Silence hung in the room once more.
“I do really need to work.”
“Optimus!”
“Your words, however much I appreciate them, can’t change that!”
He made a move to leave, but considering that the mech hadn’t had a proper recharge in nearly four cycles, Ratchet was quite easily able to stop him.
“Optimus… please. Please , for once, do something for yourself.”
The bot stood still, considering the prospect, but then shaking his helm.
“Ratchet, I can’t-”
“For me, then?”
The Prime froze, and then huffed out a loud vent.
“Fine. But only- only for you.”
Figures, Ratchet thought, smiling at his victory as he led the weary mech to their shared berthroom, He’ll only rest if it’s for the benefit of someone else.