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“And you’re positive that’s normal?”
“As I’ve said the last few thousand times you’ve asked; yes,” Ratchet replies, rolling his optics in exasperation. Hyperbolic, but not too far from the truth; it had been the fifth time the speedster had asked the question in the past hour. But it didn’t miss the others’ notice that there was a bit of humor woven in there as well, with the way his lip twitched in barely contained mirth. As annoying as the constant questioning and the pacing had been, it was a bit amusing to see the youngest mech in their ranks so worried. Hot Rod wasn’t the type to show it, normally so unflappable and maintaining a ‘cool guy’ image.
Suffice to say, everyone was taking a shot at his expense. Everyone. Even if Optimus would claim no such thing.
“Carly’s perfectly fine, if a little stressed out. It’s just how organics are before kindling a new human,” Ratchet continues on, tightening one of the bolts to Wheeljack’s leg. Hopeless fragger had gotten it caught in one of his own inventions, slabs of metal crunching down on the armor. It would take a while to fix, not that Ratchet was too concerned about it. A bit of medic-mandated bedrest would do them all a heap of good. “Even if I didn’t know that much, that’s what the human doctor is for. You know – the one she’s been seeing these past few months. Periodically. Every few weeks. E—oh, slag it all Wheeljack, would you stop messing with your plating for five kliks!”
“Hey? You’re saying that as if I’m the only one doing it! What about Perceptor!” To emphasize his point, the engineer thrusts his servos into his lab partner’s face. He seemed rather proud of his retort as well, optics squinted in the best glare he can manage as they all turn their attention to the microscope.
Ratchet gives Wheeljack an unimpressed look.
“Unlike you, I at least trust Perceptor to have an idea of what goes where. He wouldn’t even be in this room if it wasn’t for your own mistake, anyway, so nice try, wise guy.”
It’s hard to know exactly what kind of expression Wheeljack’s making under his mask, but Hot Rod’s willing to bet that it’s all sorts of indignant. Probably a pout, but he doesn’t want to imagine that, so he will not be calling it that. Because that would acknowledge the fact he’s caught in some sort of lover’s spat and that’s just. Gross.
Ignoring, well, everything going on, Hot Rod can only give a sheepish, apologetic grin in the face of such a dry response to his question. “Right, right. Sorry. I’m not trying to doubt you or anything, I’m just… worried? I guess? Humans are just so – different – from us.” His words came out in a stilted rush, his servos waving in the air as he started to walk back and forth in a line once more, agitated. Agitated and struggling to articulate himself, it seemed, his spoiler wagging. “You’ve all had years on this planet to get used to them and whatnot, yeah? So I guess you would know better than me… Huh…
Anyway, my point is they’re weird. We don’t normally have to stay on bedrest so long after anything, and it’s bugging me that we can’t go see them and make sure that they’re really okay. Anything could be happening right now!”
Springer—who had been listening the entire time with nothing less than impatience—gave Hot Rod a scrutinizing look. “You sure that’s not just your boredom talking? It has been a while since Kup’s allowed you in on a fight.” And he and Arcee both haven’t heard the end of it.
The other, however, seems to have forgotten his many sessions of whining. “Shut it,” Hot Rod says, fixing his friend with a glare. “That doesn’t have anything to do with this, and you know it.”
And, well. As petulant as he is being, Springer figures he is probably telling the truth. Probably. He had been oddly protective of the humans these past few Earth months; going around and insisting on driving them when Ironhide and Bumblebee were unable to. Any time he was questioned on it, he’d just get defensive and try to deflect. Only Ultra Magnus and Kup—Kup especially—seemed to understand why the speedster was being so uncharacteristically cagey.
Probably something he should ask them about, but, well. Teasing Hot Rod was way more fun.
Ratchet, on the other hand, was mulling over Hot Rod’s words a bit more carefully, even if his gaze was still trained on fixing his partner’s entire being. The knowing glint in the two scientists’ gazes told him all he needed to know as well.
Hiding a smile, the medic stands and turns to the two young soldiers, who had gone off on some other tangent to bicker about.
“Alright you two – out. I can’t work if the two of you insist on causing a ruckus every other klik. Spike said Carly and the baby should be good to go home by tomorrow, so you’ll get your chance to check in on them then. Until then, I don’t wanna hear another peep out of either of you. Got that?”
“Yes, sir,” both reply, giving mock salutes on their way out. Ratchet only rolls his optics once more, already too engrossed in his work to bite with something worse. The two of them could easily give the twins a run for their money with how lively they’ve kept the place since their arrival from Cybertron. He can only hope that something like this will mellow them out a bit more.
“What is a baby human supposed to look like, anyway?”
“Like a human, but uglier.”
“Huh…”
It was quiet for a moment, before inevitably being broken again.
“Do you think it’d break easily?”
Springer rubbed a hand down his face, already tired of this game of twenty questions. Twenty, and then some more. It’d already been a long night.
“Probably?” His answer doesn’t sound very certain even to his own audials, and he’s learned the hard way that that isn’t acceptable, so he tries again. “I mean, all it really takes is a little nudge to nearly knock Spike and Carly down. So a baby’s gotta be like, even worse. 'One wrong move and splat' kind of worse.”
It’s a good answer, if Springer may say so himself. Yet, Hot Rod only gives him a small hum of acknowledgement, arms crossed and fingers drumming as he leans against the wall.
In moments like this, Springer really regrets not shoving Hot Rod down that one jagged, sharp cliff on Cybertron. But only a little.
(He’s not that tired yet).
He has a nice few moments to savor what silence has befallen them before, once again, Hot Rod interrupts it with his big mouth.
“Do you think it would fish with me?”
“Hot Rod,” Springer begins through gritted teeth, giving his friend a wicked smile as he claps a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve known you for how long?”
The question is odd enough to snap his friend’s gaze from the wall he had been fixated on for the better part of the hour. “I don’t know. Whenever you guys found me, however long ago that was.”
“Right, right.” Springer sagely nods his head before growing serious, looking the younger of the two dead in the optics. “A long time. A long enough time to know that even I hate fishing with you, and you’re practically family. What makes you think a dumb Earth baby is going to want to?”
“Oh, frag off!”
As mean as the words are, they’re said with a smile and playful shove. Playful, but not careful. Hot Rod was never careful, so therefore it was only fair of Springer to shove him back twice as hard, smiling in victory as his friend met the wall.
“You better shut up soon, before I sic Arcee on you,” he warns, wagging a finger like he’s seen Ultra Magnus do on numerous occasions.
“Too late.”
Both mechs yelp, turning to find an irate Arcee standing there. It was clear she had been recharging just a moment ago. Nothing got Arcee quite that mad outside of interrupting her sleep.
“He started it!” Hot Rod rushed to say, pointing a finger at Springer.
And Springer? All he could do was shake his head at such naivety. He had more experience, already bracing for what was to come.
Arcee steps closer. He takes a step back. Over, and over. Until she’s standing before Hot Rod (who doesn’t look as nervous as he should, frankly) and Springer’s practically out the room.
“And I’m ending it,” is their only warning.
“Oh, c’mon. I already said it was okay! For real. If I was so worried about it, I wouldn’t have offered.”
“It’s true,” Spike chimes in, giving his wife a quick peck on the cheek. “Never underestimate the protectiveness of a new mother. She nearly bit her own father’s head off for pretend-dropping him.”
“I did not! It was not that bad!” A pause. A pause full of Spike giving her a Look. “Was it?”
Spike only laughs, turning his attention back to the hulking figure of Optimus Prime, whose hand still lingers too far away despite their reassurances to come closer. Even with his face covered, it’s easy to see how nervous he is. It is his first time around a child only a few days old. It’s endearing how careful he is with his every movement, afraid of upsetting the slumbering baby in Carly’s arms.
“You better act fast before you lose your chance; the second he wakes up; it’ll be another crying fit. Little guy doesn’t seem to like being held very much, even by me.”
“But…” Optimus’ eyes – those kind eyes that had promised to protect Spike and all of humanity – dimmed with what could only be described as fear. It wasn’t hard to guess why, either. He wasn’t like Bumblebee, who, while still large, had hands that wouldn’t so easily smother something as small and fragile as a newborn.
Yet still, Spike wasn’t worried in the slightest. It was that hesitation and reluctance that made him all too happy to present his life’s greatest achievement to someone that had done so much for him.
He was lucky to have someone of such a similar mind, he thought, watching as Carly gave a huff.
“No ‘but’s! None! You either take this baby from me right now, or so help me Prime, you’ll have an incident on your hands. I mean it!”
Those tired blue lights search her face a bit longer before, finally, the mech gives a soft laugh, reaching further down. Carly all but plops their son into his large hand, grinning from ear to ear as she scrambles to get her camera.
Soon, other mechs join in on it all, taking their turns and smiling and posing for the camera. They’re all so wrapped up in it all that Carly almost misses the shadow looming by the door, away from the chaos.
Slinking away for a bit and trusting her husband to take care of everything, she makes her way over until she can identify them.
“What’s going on, Hot Rod?”
The mech in question’s eyes flit over to her quickly before locking back on the crowd. “Just. Thinking.”
“Uh huh… You sure it has nothing to do with the fact this is your first time seeing anyone younger than yourself?”
Hot Rod frowns at that. “But you’re also younger than me?”
“You know what I mean,” is all Carly answers with, crossing her arms and giving him a good-natured smirk. “I think these guys forget it when they’ve lived in a time before the war, but for you, this is weird. Different. You never lived in peaceful times where there could be children.”
Hot Rod doesn’t have a response to that, it seems. So, Carly continues on. “But that’s not all of it, is it? If it was, Springer and Arcee would be acting a bit differently than they are. So, I ask again; what’s going on?”
“Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t really sure?” The mech laughs, but it lacks any of its usual humor. His spoiler has sunk down low, his shoulders hunched forward. Defeated – that’s what he looks like. “I guess I’m just surprised? Everyone’s taking this all so well. Better than I thought they would. Springer, Arcee and me – we don’t talk much about what life was like for us growing up. Primus, I don’t think I even know where they’re originally from. But for me, it was… there was always something going on. Always someone starving, always someone dying. I just hate to think there’s going to be someone so young who has to deal with that. I know Optimus said the guys have known you, Spike and Chip since you were fourteen Earth years – and trust me when I say that’s already weird to me – but it’s just hard to wrap my head around the idea of someone younger than that having to put up with us.”
Oh. That… was heavier than Carly expected. A lot heavier, coming from Hot Rod. Maybe it was due to the fact she already had a similar conversation with Optimus, or perhaps it was simply the fact Hot Rod reminded her of a human child often, but she hid her apprehension behind the warmest of smiles.
“Thank you for your concern, but it’ll be okay. I can’t say I know that it will all be okay, as I’m sure this kid of ours will lead the strangest life imaginable. Nonetheless, it’d be a real shame if he grew up not knowing all of his family.”
Wide, incredulous eyes stare down at her. Mechanical as they are, the emotion there is as human as can be. There’s fear, uncertainty, gratitude, and a myriad of other emotions all swirling in there. Yet she forces him to crouch until his hand is close enough for her to grab one of his fingers, pulling him into the midst of it all.
She might be unable to get a full read on him, but she can feel him shrink away from their gazes. Two years on Earth, and still he seems so embarrassed when he’s not desperately trying to impress them all. It makes her want to pull him down into the closest thing to a hug she can manage. She doesn’t think he’d appreciate it right now, though, as cool guys apparently didn’t do ‘mushy’.
So instead, she opts for keeping hold on his hand, never letting go, until her baby’s back within her arms. Then, with a small pat to his palm, she sets the swaddle of cloth and joy into that large hand.,
Hot Rod’s even more of a wreck than Optimus. Carly thinks it takes him a full minute to even process what has happened, his optics audibly resetting a few times, the inner mechanics of it adjusting.
He’s tongue-tied, his mouth moving but no words escaping. It would be funny in any other scenario to see him so flustered. But Carly just rolls her eyes, making a shooing gesture of sorts.
“You have to rock him, or else he’ll wake up. Go on.”
“Uh—well. His eyes are already…open?” Hot Rod tries, not sounding like he even knows the meaning of his own words. But Carly gets the gist of it and boy, does that news make her jaw hang open.
“Awake? But he doesn’t like to be held!”
“Ah- um.” For lack of a better answer, Hot Rod sort of just turns his hand so Carly can see. And lo and behold, there her baby is in all his cross-eyed glory. Awake, and quiet, looking as happy as ever.
“Wow… You’re really good at this!” the human praises, her heart full of warmth at the sight. “He’s almost never like this!”
But Hot Rod doesn’t seem to hear any word of it. He doesn’t even blink as he lifts his hand up towards his face so he can get a better look, all the world’s marvel in his eyes. He’s the stillest he has ever been, utterly captivated as he watches the small life coo up at him, arms reaching. It’s almost automatic, the way he lifts a finger for the baby to grasp.
No one says anything. The world could be ending and still no one would dare to disturb such peace.
“What’s his name?”
Carly startles, not expecting the question. “Hm?”
“His name,” Hot Rod repeats, still not looking at her.
“Oh! It’s Daniel – Daniel Witwicky.”
“Daniel,” Hot Rod whispers, repeating it under his breath a few times, as if committing it to memory. A smile splits across his face. “Hi, Daniel. It’s me, your best friend. Welcome home, little guy.”