Chapter Text
Ratchet was not having a good day.
Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a day that he would consider anything other than grueling and exhausting. In the midst of a brutal and seemingly never-ending war, good days were rather hard to come by.
He blinked down at the datapad in his servo, which kept shifting in and out of focus. Every fiber in his frame ached with exhaustion, but he couldn’t stop just yet. He had to get inventory done and send supply requests to Optimus. He was running dangerously low.
The Autobots had suffered several devastating blows in the most recent campaign. The medbay had been filled well over capacity, and Ratchet and his colleagues had worked for days on end with little to no rest. In the end, the lifeless bodies still outnumbered the ones they managed to save. Optimus had finally pressured Ratchet to recharge, but even when he made an honest attempt, he barely felt rested. His recharge had been plagued by strange dreams… most of them incredibly sensual in nature. He could certainly do without his processor’s insistent reminders that it had been centuries since he’d last gotten laid.
He realized he’d lost count of the cabinet he was currently inventorying, and, with a frustrated cry, flung the datapad across the room. He heard it crack as it made contact with the floor, and immediately regretted his action.
“What’s wrong with you?” He murmured to himself, bending over to sweep up the fragments of broken glass from the datapad. First you can’t focus, then you’re having inappropriate outbursts, and… dammit, why is it so slagging hot in here?
One of the nurses must have cranked up the heat again. Ratchet had already griped at his staff about it twice today. They couldn’t keep wasting power just because some spoiled mechling felt a bit chilly. Oh, of course they all claimed they hadn’t touched the damn thing, Ratchet knew better. His internal thermometer was functioning just fine.
He deposited the broken pieces in a waste bin, grumbling the entire time, then marched over to the thermostat, half tempted to leave a note on it demanding that no one touch it. Before he could make it, however, he was struck by a sudden dizziness. He barely managed to collapse into a nearby chair, clutching his helm until the dizzy spell ceased.
What was happening? He could be suffering the effects of exhaustion, sure, but all day Ratchet had felt… off. The past several days, in fact.
Once he’d regained his sense of balance, he made his way to one of the diagnostic stations, trying to quell the worry that was quickly building within him. He couldn’t afford to get sick now… not with so many bots depending on him. His spark thrummed as he unspooled the cable of the diagnostic device and shoved it roughly into his medical port.
Within mere seconds, a reading came back to him, and Ratchet’s spark nearly stopped.
Heat cycle protocols activated.
No. Oh, hell no. This was not happening. Any kind of normal illness was bad enough, but a heat could take days to get through. Ratchet yanked the cable carelessly from his port and stumbled back towards the supply cabinet he’d been in the middle of inventorying. He began to rummage through it, searching desperately for the heat suppressants.
This certainly explained why he’d been feeling so strange the past several days. The restlessness, the warmth in his frame, the sensual dreams, and the moodiness that was out of character, even for him. He kicked himself internally for not having realized sooner. He of all mechs knew what could happen when other bots were exposed to a mech in heat, especially if they hadn’t been exposed to one in a long time. Cliffjumper had recently had a close call, and Ratchet had just barely managed to get him suppressants in time.
Ratchet froze, and a horrifying realization began to set in.
No. Oh, Pit no.
Cliffjumper had taken the last dose of suppressants.
For the first time in ages, Ratchet began to panic.
Frag, frag, frag.
What was he going to do? He couldn’t let himself become incapacitated now, he refused to let that happen. He practically was the medbay. Without him, how would his comrades function? What if there was an attack? Millions of scenarios raced through his mind, each one worse than the last.
Not only would it put him out of commission, but it would affect the crew in other ways. Mecha who went for long periods of time without being exposed to a heat tended to react in ways that were rather… extreme. Violent, even. He’d never witnessed it firsthand, but he’d heard the stories. Bots ripping each other apart for the chance to get at a mech in heat, for the chance to breed. He wondered whether the effects of the heat would be stronger on himself as well, but he suspected he already knew the answer.
Ratchet paced, servos clenching and unclenching as he tried to work out a solution. He loathed asking for help, but given the gravity of this situation, he knew it couldn’t be avoided. With a heavy sigh, he sank into his chair and commed Optimus.
-
Optimus leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak under his weight. He sat on the other side of Ratchet’s desk, a physical barrier that mirrored the discomfort crackling between them.
“This is a troubling situation.”
Ratchet thought that was putting it mildly. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or alienated by the Prime’s practical, measured response to his situation. On the one hand, it was somewhat reassuring to have a calm, commanding presence to stave him off from the breakdown Ratchet had been on the verge of for weeks. On the other, it felt strange to have his dire situation treated with such an impartial mindset.
“It’s not ideal, but if you are open to it, you could spend your heat with another Autobot. I’m happy to volunteer myself-”
Ratchet held up a hand, cutting him off.
“No. It’s bad enough for me to be missing from the medbay. The Autobots need you. I can’t just take you away.” Once upon a time, he’d have happily accepted the offer. But they’d both been different mechs then. Some days, he felt like he barely even recognized Optimus anymore. Even now, the mech seemed like a stranger to him. The way he’d so matter-of-factly offered himself as if Ratchet was merely another of his duties, and not one of his oldest friends. There had been no promise of intimacy in his offer, only practicality. It was the only thing they could afford these days, Ratchet supposed.
Optimus was silent for a moment, stroking his chin in deep thought.
“How long do you have until your heat protocols take over completely?”
“About three days, give or take. It gets harder to predict the longer a mech goes without experiencing a heat, but I think three days is a safe estimate.”
Optimus cast a glance behind Ratchet at the disheveled supply cabinet.
“And you are low on other supplies?”
“Yes.”
Optimus lifted his helm, an idea clearly forming.
“There is a small outpost on a moon not far from here. It serves as a communications hub of sorts, but they should also have a well stocked medbay with plenty of suppressants. My scouts often stop there to have their injuries tended to on their way back from a mission. It’s a two day journey from here if you take my personal shuttle, and is well hidden from any Decepticons. You’ll be safe there.”
Ratchet mulled over the idea. He hated leaving his post, but this seemed like the best option. If he didn’t make it in time, at least he’d be alone. Experiencing a heat on one’s own could damage a mech’s frame, but it wouldn’t kill him. Worst case, he’d end up self servicing for a week until the heat passed. It was better than being stuck in a base full of randy bots who hadn’t encountered a cycling mech in centuries- or, in some cases, ever.
“It sounds like that’s my best option,” Ratchet sighed. “At least I can gather some medical supplies while I’m there.”
An awkward silence hung between them, and for a moment, he picked up a feeling in the Prime’s field that felt very close to rejection. But, just as fast as it came, the feeling was gone. Optimus cleared his intake, cutting through the thick silence like a scalpel.
“Pack what you need. I’ll go ready my shuttle. We shouldn’t waste any time.”
“Agreed,” Ratchet mumbled, looking regretfully at the messy state he’d be leaving the medbay in. Optimus got up to leave, but before he was out the door, Ratchet called after him
“Optimus. Thank you.” His thanks encapsulated many things. Thank you for offering yourself. Thank you for lending me your shuttle. Thank you for letting me interrupt your busy schedule with a personal problem… a problem that only arose because I was too neglectful to keep the medbay properly stocked. Shame burned through Ratchet at that. He hated being caught so unequipped to handle his own problems. Hated forgetting something so obvious.
Optimus simply nodded and departed without another word, leaving Ratchet to wallow in his shame as he gathered his things.