Chapter 1: Siblings bicker
Chapter Text
“Stop it!” Heatwave yelped. He batted furiously at Bumblebee’s muzzle, though kept his claws sheathed. “Stop ruining everything!”
Bumblebee fluffed up his fur, though he resembled a cyber-fox rather than a fearsome warrior with his uneven spiked pelt. “Maybe you if you actually listened for once, maybe you’d actually be decent at training,” he growled back.
“Shut up!”
“Enough,” came Optimus Prime’s sharp reprimand, catching both younglings’ attention. The larger mech padded into their small living quarters, his large frame looming over his younglings. He regarded both with a pointed frown. “What are you arguing about?”
Heatwave wasted no time. He whirled back towards Bumblebee with an angry frown. “He called me weak in front of Ironhide!” he spat.
“I did not!” Bumblebee argued back with an exasperated look at Optimus. “I told Ironhide that Heatwave wasn’t ready for the double-leap-forward-slash training exercise today. But this idiot—” The yellow and black tabby added with a glare at his brother. “—went along anyway and ruined our training session.”
Furious, Heatwave shoved his muzzle in Bumblebee’s. “There’s nothing you can do that I can’t,” he spat heatedly. This time, his claw unsheathed, causing Bumblebee to bare his teeth into a snarl.
“Enough.” Their guardian’s voice was firmer, and Optimus Prime’s used a forepaw to nudge the younglings apart. “Claws should never be unsheathed on your fellow warriors,” he scolded.
“Even when they deserve it?” Heatwave argued back, trying to sidestep the Prime’s large paw to leer at Bumblebee. The yellow-and-black mechling hissed.
His guardian’s paw was firmer yet still gentle as he nudged Heatwave back. Their guardian paused to think for a few seconds before beckoning them with his large tail. “Come, allow me to show you two something.”
At once, Heatwave froze, and he couldn’t help the flicker of fear in his spark. Was he in trouble? He glanced at Bumblebee and saw the similar worry in his brother’s eyes. But his guardian’s tone was even and calm, and Heatwave and Bumblebee dutifully followed the Prime out of their quarters. The blue, gray, and red mech led them down empty hallways, as if he knew which ones were secluded from prying eyes. After scaling a slim staircase, the door slid open to reveal a balcony near the top of the base. It was night, and Cybertron’s two moons shone brilliantly on the Iacon skyline in the distance. Only distant plumes of smoke alluded to the ever-present war that scared the planet.
Optimus sat on his haunches, and his two younglings sat on either side. Heatwave waited for Optimus Prime to say something, but as he glanced at his guardian, the Prime’s eyes were closed with his muzzle slightly upwards. The breeze was gently waving at his pelt, and it looked as if he were leaning into the wind’s comforting embrace. Heatwave swore he could see a faint smile on his guardian’s muzzle.
The persistent silence was apparently too much for Bumblebee. “What are you doing?” he finally asked.
Their guardian’s tone was gentle. “Rebalancing my spark,” he Prime merely replied without opening his eyes. His tail-tip flicked. “Whenever I feel overwhelmed, I remind myself of Primus’s presence in the breeze, in the moons and stars above, in every Cybertronian around us. At times, I can almost feel Primus’s spark beating beneath my paws.”
“No way,” Bumblebee gasped, his anger forgotten. His frame wiggled with excitement. “Can we do that?”
Optimus Prime’s golden eyes glowed in the darkness. “Try to feel every spark around you,” he instructed kindly, turning his muzzle back towards the night sky.
While Bumblebee eagerly closed his eyes, Heatwave was confused. He was expecting a reprimand for their argument, not a random lesson about mindfulness. But as his guardian glanced down at him, Heatwave obediently closed his eyes, scrunching up his face. He tried to focus on the silence, but the eager tapping of Bumblebee’s tail nearby and the sharp cold wind stinging his pelt caused him to grow irritable.
“I don’t feel anything,” he grumbled, his eyes still squeezed shut.
His guardian’s breath was warm on his ear. “Relax,” the Prime gently soothed with a low rumble. “Focus on the breeze.”
Stifling a sigh, Heatwave forced himself to relax, letting his posture limp. The Prime’s kind wisdom caused a sudden wave of calm to rush over Heatwave’s spark. His anger seemed to fade like twilight fading into night with each breath he took. He focused on the silence of the moment, his brother’s tapping tail and his guardian’s even venting fading into obscurity. For a split second, Heatwave swore he felt something against his paws. Or perhaps it was his own sparkrate tricking him.
“Heatwave.” His guardian’s voice was quiet. “Your spark burns as strong as the brightest flame. Bumblebee does not underestimate your capabilities as a warrior. Sometimes the wisest revelations come from listening to others.”
Instead of feeling anger, Heatwave felt understanding. His brother was just looking out for him, as always, yet Heatwave had interpreted it as an insult.
“Bumblebee,” his guardian went on. “Your greatest strength is your care for others. Be mindful of how others might interpret your assistance as judgment.”
Heatwave exhaled as he reopened his eyes. He felt better than he had in solar-cycles, and he felt impressed that his guardian knew of a technique to calm his anger.
Bumblebee was more visibly impressed. “Whoa,” he chirped eagerly. “That was amazing. I feel so much better! Do you know everything?”
Optimus Prime’s eyes glimmered with slight fondness. “Not everything,” he soothed, brushing his tail against Bumblebee’s slim flank. “But I do know this.” Regarding both mechlings, the Prime went on more seriously. “Anger can cloud even the wisest of judgements, clouding even what may be clear for the most logical of decisions.” He rested his gaze on Heatwave. “Your strengths will serve you well as you grow but never forget their inherent faults.”
The reddish mechling felt grateful for his guardian’s gentle wisdom. Despite the endless tirades of the war, Optimus always had spare time to educate his younglings.
Heatwave nervously shifted his paws, his guilt emerging in place of his anger. “…Sorry, Bumblebee,” he grumbled. “I know you meant well but I…” He wasn’t sure how to articulate how he felt.
“Insulted? Offended? Like I betrayed your trust by telling Ironhide that you weren’t ready?” Bumblebee finished.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “That.”
“I get it,” Bumblebee replied softly. “I should’ve told you directly instead of going to Ironhide. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Yeah.” Heatwave paused for a second. “Thanks for looking out for me.” He finally looked up at his brother, still sitting on the other side of their guardian. “Could…could you help me practice? Sometime?” It hurt to admit that he needed help, but Heatwave knew that Bumblebee merely wanted to help. As always.
Bumblebee’s smile was gentle. “Always.”
There was a faint hmm of approval from their guardian. Optimus Prime was watching them earnestly. “Well done, you two,” the red, blue, and gray mech praised mildly, though fondness continued to flicker in his golden eyes. “Never forget the bond you two share. It will outlast any fracture as long as you remember your kinship. As long as you have each other, you will be alright, even if I am no longer with you.”
His guardian’s sudden sullen comment sent a shiver in Heatwave’s pelt. What could he mean?
Bumblebee was also worried. “But you’ll always be with us!” he insisted, his voice slightly raised with dismay. Bumblebee sought their guardian’s broad chest for comfort. “You’re not going anywhere.”
As Bumblebee snuggled closer, Heatwave felt the urge to receive physical reassurance from his guardian as well. Optimus Prime was always there, and the mere thought of him dying was enough to send shivers down Heatwave’s pelt. Not wanting to appear desperate, Heatwave gingerly nudged closer to his guardian’s flank, his fur barely touching the Prime’s. Their guardian rarely offered or allowed physical touch. If he did, it was always brief. But Optimus did not remove himself from their embrace. Instead, he curled his tail gingerly over Heatwave’s frame. “Even if you cannot see me, my spark will always watch over you two.”
Chapter 2: Kin for kin
Summary:
Arcee and Optimus Prime tell Bumblebee about his adoption
Notes:
tw: minor on-screen character death and violence
Chapter Text
“We need to tell him,” Arcee whispered to him fiercely. She had cornered Optimus as soon as he emerged from the command center.
The large mech paused midway in the doorframe. He had a suspicion what Arcee was referring to, and something in her stern gaze told him it was a private affair. She left it vague for a reason. After a moment, Optimus sidestepped her, the door to the command center sliding shut behind him, and he padded down a hallway to avoid prying optics.
Arcee followed him, keep her mouth shut until her sparkmate stopped in an empty corridor to address her. Few optics would be watching them here. “Well?” she offered with a glare.
“Bumblebee is about to begin his training,” Optimus Prime whispered. “He does not need any distractions.”
“How is the truth a distraction?” Arcee shot back in a fierce whisper while Optimus avoided her gaze. He knew it was a faulty argument. Optimus could remember the day twelve years ago as I it was yesterday when he first laid eyes on Bumblebee cradled in Arcee’s paws. Despite being wounded, Arcee was beaming with energy as she relayed how her squadron rescued the newspark from the Decepticons. He knew immediately what she was asking at that moment.
“Our younglings are growing up, and both will be sent off for training any day now,” Arcee went on when he didn’t respond. He could tell she was frustrated by his silence. “Heatwave knows he’s adopted, but Bumblebee deserves to know the truth as well.”
“Why?” Optimus Prime asked, finally meeting his sparkmate’s eyes. “He is content knowing otherwise.” It felt selfish to even argue with her. Of course Bumblebee deserved to know the truth about his real creators. Yet Optimus Prime’s family meant more to him than he could ever put into words, and the Prime couldn’t imagine hurting his youngling’s spark with the reality.
Arcee lashed out her tail in frustration. “Because if I die on that mission next cycle, then I want to die knowing that we at least told Bumblebee the truth!”
Optimus Prime widened his optics in surprise as she winced and looked away at her sudden admission. Jazz had informed him about the secret stealth operation into the heart of Kaon. Casualties were to be expected, though the potential intel this mission could acquire was priceless. He had no idea that Arcee had volunteered for the mission.
“Before you argue,” Arcee put in after a few silent moments, noticing the look on his face. “I am a warrior first, and you know that.”
He knew that she was right. Arcee was one of the best stealth warriors in the Autobot resistance, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. After a few moments, the blue, red, and gray mech nodded. “Alright,” he replied softly.
Arcee noticed his forlorn expression and gingerly put her paw over his. “I’ll come back,” she meowed softly and gently pressed up against his pelt.
He touched his nose to her ear. “I understand,” he replied, knowing that it was a lie. They could never promise each other that they would survive the war.
In the middle of battle nearly a cycle later, Optimus Prime felt his spark sink at the sight of a familiar yellow and black mechling amid the fight. Bumblebee! What was his son doing here? Warpath oversaw training the newest recruits, including the young Bumblebee who was finally of age to begin his training, but the Prime thought the recruits were training elsewhere. The Decepticons had ambushed Tagan Heights in one of the safe neutral areas. Yet the Prime couldn’t help but faintly nod in approval as Bumblebee swiftly ducked underneath a Con’s swipe then attacked with a powerful front swipe of his own. His son had learned swiftly in the few days of his training.
Suddenly, a dark blue mechling slammed into Bumblebee, knocking the youngling off his paws. The mech—also a youngling but much larger and older—had the younger mech pinned down. Before Optimus Prime could rush into action, a memory surged up that he had long forgotten. The dark blue had distinctive yellow markings that were strikingly familiar.
Orion Pax walked briskly into Kaon’s largest gladiatorial arena, doing his best to ignore the shambling structure or the bots who scowled at him as he walked past. He clenched his jaws over the energon he carried, hoping no one would interrupt him until he made it to his destination. He promptly made his way to the quarters on the top level where only the most powerful gladiators resided. He turned the corner only to be stopped by a stocky black-and-dark gray mech.
“Pax,” the mech scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”
Orion Pax gently dropped the energon he’d been carrying on the floor. His golden optics met the angry mech’s own blue ones. “I am just here to drop off a gift for the little ones, Barricade,” he calmly insisted, not wanting to start an argument with the buff security guard. “I had informed Megatron I was on my way.”
Barricade growled. “No one is allowed entry, per Megatron’s orders.”
Before Orion could open his mouth to reply, a sharp voice came from behind Barricade. “Barricade, what have I told you about Orion Pax’s visits?” The large silver gray mech insisted with a frown as he strode up to the pair. “My friend is always welcomed.”
Barricade opened his mouth to retort but clearly thought better of it. The black-and-gray mech nodded his head and stepped aside to let Orion pass through. Dipping his head at Barricade, Orion Pax picked up his energon and greeted his brother in arms. “I just had to come see the little ones,” he meowed happily. “I brought fresh energon for Strikewire as well.”
Megatron dipped his head in respect. “Very much appreciated, Orion,” he replied with a small smile. “Come, I’ll show you the newsparks.” With a wave of his tail, Orion followed the large gladiator down the hallway.
“I am surprised that the tough and menacing Megatron decided to sire sparklings,” Orion retorted in good nature. He gave his friend a wry grin. “Who would have thought sirehood would be for you?”
Megatron slightly grimaced yet smiled at his brother. “Decided is a strong word for it,” he replied. “It sort of…just happened.”
“I see,” Orion replied with a fond twitch of his whiskers. Yet even Megatron wasn’t immune to the allure of femmes. “Still, newsparks are always a blessing.”
His friend’s next words shocked Orion. “I am not so sure if newsparks during this time are considered a blessing, my friend,” Megatron softly muttered. “Especially times like these.” He glanced at a nearby opening that gazed into the large gladiatorial pits where a few warriors were practicing for their next rounds of combat. Dark splatters of spilled energon permanently stained the arena. “Because of their class, my sons will grow up to fight and die in the pits. What kind of future is that?”
Orion Pax frowned as he considered his brother’s dilemma. He gently flicked his tail on Megatron’s shoulder. “Then that should give us more resolution to take our fight to the High Council to abolish the caste system. For a better future for our sparklings and future Cybertronians to come.”
Megatron nodded in agreement. “If my sons are destined to fight, they should fight for their freedom.”
The pair had finally reached their destination, and Megatron gestured for the guard to step aside for them to enter. The room was small yet lightly dimmed. The only occupant was a dark blue and gray femme, much smaller than Megatron and Orion, curled in a nest of plush. Two newsparks slept her flank, only a few days old. Strikewire awoke when the two mechs entered her room, lifting her head up from her nest. She appeared tired, and Orion Pax would rightly assume so after giving birth to twins.
As she and Megatron gently touched noses, Orion Pax dropped his gift at Strikewire’s paws. “Energon, for you Strikewire,” he politely offered in a soft voice.
The femme blinked kindly at him. Orion Pax only met the flier a few times prior, and she seemed nice. “Thank you, Orion,” Strikewire replied quietly.
As he gazed upon the two sparklings—one dark blue with yellow marking, and the other a faded green with gray stripes—Orion Pax let out a tiny purr. “Congratulations you two on beautiful sparklings. I’m sure you two are very proud,” he purred.
Megatron, in all his awkwardness around Strikewire, puffed out his chest in pride. “Dreadwing and Skyquake will make fine warriors,” he declared as Strikewire turned to groom her sons.
“Typical Kaon names,” Orion noted with a raised brow.
Megatron nodded in agreement, though his friend regarded him with a mischievous smile. “Though I suppose my sons won’t be expecting any cousins any time soon? You and Ariel have always been close.”
Orion Pax felt a rush of energon across his muzzle. “W-Well…it’s not something we’ve considered yet,” he insisted awkwardly as he shuffled his paws.
Megatron twitched his whiskers in amusement. “Just you wait, Pax,” Megatron went on good naturedly. “One day you’ll have sparklings with your special femme and you’ll know what it’s like to suddenly feel responsible for tiny lives.” He smiled. “Maybe our sparklings will fight alongside each other one day.”
As Orion gazed upon the two newsparks sleeping at Strikewire’s flank, the blue, red, and gray mech wondered what it would be like to have sparklings of his own with Ariel one day. He could just see it: beautiful pinkish-gray femmes and mechs like their carrier, Orion and Ariel gazing at their sparklings with love in their optics. What a day it will be.
Optimus Prime’s vision ended with a pang in his spark. Of course, that would never come true as Elita One, then Ariel, had perished long ago. Optimus had Arcee now and their two adopted sons. But the dark blue sparkling from his memory…
It was Dreadwing! Megatron’s son, now nearly grown into a powerful warrior. And he had Bumblebee pinned down. And unlike Megatron’s amicable vision, their sons were fighting against each other amid a long civil war.
He couldn’t let Dreadwing kill his son. But he also didn’t want to kill Dreadwing as to not harm Megatron’s spark. As much as Optimus Prime wanted to end the war, he refused to let Megatron know the spark numbing pain of losing someone close to you.
Optimus Prime raced over to the sparring younglings. He quickly yanked Dreadwing’s scruff, casting the older youngling aside as he stood between them.
Dreadwing’s amber eyes lit up in recognition. “Prime!” he snarled at the Autobot leader as he scrambled to his paws. The youngling had grown significantly since Optimus had last seen him. His ears were slashed and there were a few scars laced around his pelt. But his face still had the innocent frame of a young bot. Prime felt a pang in his chest; this youngling shouldn’t be fighting in a war.
Optimus Prime stood in front of Bumblebee, and he heard his son slowly get to his paws and recover from the shock of his sire rescuing him. “This is no place for younglings,” Optimus Prime commanded. He narrowed his eyes and loomed over the young mech. “Leave. Now.”
“I’ve been in this war since I was a sparkling,” Dreadwing growled and crouched down, preparing to pounce again. “And Lord Megatron’s told me plenty about you.”
Before the youngling could strike, Optimus Prime saw a blur of dark blue fur out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly he felt sharp claws heave at his throat. Caught off guard, the Prime was yanked to the ground by his throat, and he struggled to defend himself from the abrupt attack. Optimus felt teeth sink into his throat and claws dig deeper into his shoulders. The massive mech wiggled around, trying to throw off his attacker. He felt energon rush down his throat, and Optimus Prime flailed his claws in a desperate attempt to save himself.
His claws hit flesh, and he felt warm energon soaking his back, though not all his own. His attacker’s grip ebbed, and Optimus Prime quickly got to his paws to dislodge himself from their grasp. A ragged dark blue-and-gray femme fell to the ground. He saw recognition flare in his enemy’s red eyes before they faded into emptiness.
It was Strikewire, Dreadwing’s carrier. And Optimus Prime felt utter horror sink into his stomach. He’d killed her. As Dreadwing looked in horror, Optimus realized the femme was only protecting her son as he was doing with Bumblebee.
As Optimus Prime stepped away in shock from the Decepticon’s body, Dreadwing inched forward. “Carrier?” he tepidly asked, hoping she could hear him. He gently nosed her pelt. “Carrier?” his voice was louder now, almost a wail. “No! You can’t be dead!”
The battle was beginning to fade around them as a few Cons padded forward to stare in horror at Strikewire’s body.
“Sire?” Bumblebee’s quiet voice pulled Optimus Prime away from his thoughts. The youngling was looking up at him in horror at what he had witnessed.
Dreadwing sharply looked up from where he was grieving his carrier. “Sire?” he echoed in question, staring puzzlingly at Optimus Prime and Bumblebee. The Prime felt his spark sink even further; no one outside of a few Autobots knew about Optimus Prime’s connection with Arcee, Bumblebee, and Heatwave. As recognition flared in Dreadwing’s amber optics, Optimus Prime knew his secret was now in enemy paws.
Optimus Prime broke his gaze from Dreadwing’s hatred one. He gently pushed Bumblebee away with his muzzle. “Go,” he quietly tutted before letting out a yowl for the Autobots to retreat. No one had won this battle. His Autobots rallied around them as they raced away, though Optimus Prime felt Dreadwing’s menacing glare all the way home.
Optimus Prime paced anxiously in the medical bay while Ratchet and the other medics treated the other wounded first. He was dimly aware of the dripping energon from his neck wound, but he insisted to Ratchet to treat the others first. Bumblebee was with the other trainees, having sustained only minor injuries to be cleared for duty.
It was only after the others had left did Ratchet finally approached his pacing leader. “I heard what had happened from Warpath,” Ratchet offered quietly. He gazed at his leader with kind optics. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I killed her, Ratchet.” His voice was mild yet tinged with anger.
“You were protecting Bumblebee. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t intervened?”
“No, if I had not intervened, Strikewire might still be alive. And Dreadwing would still have his carrier.” His mind recalled Alpha Trion’s warning so many eons ago when he first started seeing Arcee. Was his old mentor warning him about the future so long ago? Yet he did not listen. He didn’t want to. He wanted the closeness of a mate, the passion, the fire, all of it. His selfishness cost him Strikewire’s life, Dreadwing’s anger, and furthered Megatron’s hatred. Optimus Prime knew that Megatron and Strikewire were never close, that their conception of their twins was a one-time thing. But Megatron valued Strikewire as a loyal warrior and honored her as the carrier of his sons.
Now she was gone, and Optimus could only imagine what his former brother was feeling.
Ratchet looked like he wanted to argue further but thought better of it. Instead, he said nothing more as he treated the Prime’s wounds, only muttering under his breath. Ratchet was Optimus Prime’s eldest friend, one of the few remaining ‘bots who knew him as Orion before he became a Prime. He knew what Ratchet was thinking, how hypocritical Optimus was currently being.
“Megatron killed Elita, and this is how you react?”
Yet the thought only furthered his frustration with himself.
At last, Ratchet stepped away to analyze his work, satisfied with an approving nod. The white-and-orange mech glanced away to take a private communication, and he looked back at his sullen leader when he was done. “Arcee and Bumblebee are asking about you,” he whispered, though the old medic’s gaze was still narrowed. “Despite their misgivings, they are the best thing that’s happened to you. Don’t push yourself away.”
Optimus Prime couldn’t find the words to reply.
Arcee and Bumblebee were in their old quarters waiting for him when he returned. They rarely used it anymore, with both Heatwave and Bumblebee off for training and Arcee and Optimus busy with the war. Arcee comforted her sparkmate by touching her nose to his own. “I’m sorry,” she quietly whispered. Normally Arcee would celebrate the death of a ‘Con, but she knew her sparkmate regretted shredding his claws on Strikewire.
Bumblebee was gazing at him with somber optics. “Is it true? Are we kin with those bots that attacked us?”
The Prime exchanged a glance with Arcee. They still haven’t told him the truth about his parentage. It was mostly his fault for putting it off for so long before Arcee’s upcoming mission. Choosing his words carefully, Optimus Prime nodded slowly. “Strikewire was Dreadwing’s carrier, yes,” he replied. “And Megatron is his sire.”
Bumblebee looked away in shame. “So, we are fighting against kin.”
“Bumblebee,” Arcee began softly, padding forward to sit next to her son. She gently rested her tail on his shoulder. “There is…something we need to tell you.” As Bumblebee’s optics widened in mild shock, Arcee’s flashed to Optimus.
When he didn’t say anything, she went on carefully, “Years ago, there was this young couple who had recently had a newspark. A lovely newspark with a kind smile and bright blue optics.” She smiled at the youngling. “And they were very fortunate to have him.” Arcee briefly cast her gaze downward. “But…the Decepticons attacked, killing everyone in their sector…including the young creators. Their newspark survived and was discovered by an Autobot warrior who risked her life from the remaining ‘Cons. The Autobots were too late to save the civilians who were hiding from the war, but the femme was determined to save the newspark.” The navy-blue femme rested her paw on Bumblebee’s, who had grown quiet as he stared at his carrier. “Since they didn’t have sparklings of their own, the femme and her sparkmate raised the newspark. They loved him as their own son, and they wanted nothing but the best for him.”
“And they will never stop loving him,” Optimus Prime finished, stepping forward to sit by Bumblebee’s other flank.
The youngling was silent while processing all his creators had told him. Neither Arcee nor Optimus wanted to interrupt his thoughts. After a few moments, Bumblebee spoke. “I understand why you did it,” he quietly murmured. “And I understand why you didn’t tell me before.”
Arcee gently nuzzled his cheek. “We will always love you, Bumblebee,” she purred softly. “And we’ll always be here for you. You are our son, and that is a bond that cannot be broken.”
“I…I just…” Bumblebee broke off quietly with a sob. “I just always thought I was the son of Optimus Prime.”
Optimus shared a look with his sparkmate. Primus, this is what he feared would happen. “Bumblebee, your destiny is yours to follow, not a path that must abide to mine.” He gently touched his nose to Bumblebee’s ear in comfort. “And I am looking forward to what you will accomplish.”
Bumblebee had retired to his own quarters, and Prime and Arcee were content to let him rest in his own nest instead of the military training center. Once things were quiet, Optimus Prime sat next to his mate. “I suspect Megatron knows.” He didn’t need to elaborate. Arcee’s blue optics were widened in shock. “Dreadwing overheard Bumblebee refer to me as his sire. He has undoubtedly already informed Megatron. That means you are all in danger now. Because of me.”
“I knew the risks,” Arcee insisted firmly, resting her smaller paw on his giant one. “And we instructed Heatwave and Bumblebee about it, too. We all know the risks. It was bound to happen eventually.”
He hummed in response, musing on his own thoughts.
“And I’m still going on that mission, regardless of what you say,” Arcee added firmly with a frown.
“You will be a greater target now that Megatron knows our connection.”
“Who’s to say he knows about us?” she rebutted with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Megatron may know that Bumblebee is your son, but does that mean he knows about us? He’s never said anything about it.”
He nodded thoughtfully. Perhaps she was right; the pair made sure to take extra precautions in public. They never showed any types of affection towards each other outside of base, beyond expressions that the Prime would make towards any of his warriors. Their bondage isn’t located on any public record. Only a handful of ‘bots—Optimus Prime’s closest advisors—knew about his relationship with Arcee, and he trusted them to keep their word. Maybe Megatron was still oblivious.
“Perhaps,” Optimus Prime finally replied, though he was still privately skeptical.
Arcee seemed pleased with his answer. She got to her paws and gently gave his cheek a quick lick. “I’ve never regretted any of this,” she insisted firmly.
She was saying goodbye. Her squadron would leave in the early morning. A selfish part of him wanting to ask her to stay the night—they hadn’t shared a nest since their younglings left for training. Despite Arcee’s earlier reassurance, Optimus Prime was unsure if he would see her again. The thought of losing Arcee after Elita’s death felt like a void he could not survive. He wanted her warmth, her reassurance, her love one last time…but he couldn’t.
Instead, he nuzzled her cheek fondly. “Good luck,” he whispered. He lingered longer than he should have before breaking apart.
Arcee would survive the mission, though when Bumblebee’s voice box was destroyed cycles later, Optimus Prime knew Megatron had inflicted it to personally hurt his former brother.
Chapter 3: Hey, I heard your sire died
Summary:
Heatwave learns of his "sire's" death
Notes:
tw: mentioned canonical character death
Chapter Text
“Hey, I heard your sire died.”
Heatwave tripped over his own paws, and he nearly tumbled face-first onto the treadmill before he quickly regained his balance. Biting back a snarl, Heatwave haphazardly turned off the machine, and the treadmill began to power down.
Fireshadow was doing his stretches a stone’s throw away. The Fire-Bot cadet was arching out his forelegs, most likely preparing for his own exercise routine. The mechling’s gaze was unreadable, but he kept his bright amber optics locked onto Heatwave.
Fortunately, Smoke Tap was quick to retort on Heatwave’s behalf while the cadet struggled with how to respond. “Fireshadow!” the silver femme scolded. “Have some tact!”
“Well, clearly no one told him yet,” Fireshadow sneered at their classmate. “Might as well tell him now.”
Heatwave finally found his voice. “Where did you hear that?” He tried to muster all his courage into his tone, but judging by Fireshadow’s amused expression, it didn’t work.
“My sire told me,” he mocked.
Heatwave doubted the leader of the Rescue Bots would reveal any classified information to his son. “You mean you spied on him,” Heatwave shot back. Inferno was one of the few ‘bots who knew the truth about Heatwave’s guardianship. Was it possible that Fireshadow overheard Inferno speaking about Optimus? Maybe. Maybe if Inferno was told that—
Fireshadow shrugged. “Does it matter? Anyway—” The orange-and-black splotched mechling bore a concerned expression, though Heatwave knew he was faking it. “—you might want to ask the admin’ for a leave of absence. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
Heatwave’s paws felt like they were welded into the floor. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even think. He couldn’t even fathom Optimus Prime being dead—
Why didn’t anyone tell me?! He felt a rush of anger crash into his sorrow, creating a torrential storm in his own spark. Was their secret that important that Arcee and Bumblebee couldn’t even meet with him face-to-face?
Smoke Tap must’ve seen the panic on his face because she gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s alright, Heatwave,” she soothed. “You should go.”
Her words finally uprooted his paws.
As he headed towards Iacon, Heatwave could barely recall stumbling from the gymnasium, ignoring the concerned looks from his peers, and muttering an excuse to Voltswitch, who was on duty in the administrative building.
Heatwave’s mind was tumbling with a million different thoughts on his journey to Iacon. Surely Inferno would make an announcement if the leader of the Autobots was dead? Optimus was their divinely appointed leader—surely his passing would at least warrant a mention?
There was also the problem of Fireshadow learning his secret. Primus, now he has another reason to hate me! It was bad enough that Fireshadow scorned Heatwave because Inferno was his mentor. Now he had to deal with the public knowing that Optimus Prime was his guardian!
Fortunately, it was a short drive from Polyhex to Iacon, though despite his rushing, Heatwave was delayed slightly due to the numerous military checkpoints. His credentials were wiped clean from any reference to his guardians, resulting in the guards’ painstakingly examination of his public DataNet file for any indications of malintent. The last time he hurried to the Autobot HQ, Bumblebee’s voice box was ripped from his throat. He tried not to dwell on that memory…
Regardless of his racing spark, Heatwave couldn’t help but feel stupid. By Primus, he was nearly an adult! Soon he would advance to one of the final stages of his training and eventually assigned to his own team. Despite his grief, he felt a shudder of excitement through him. Soon he would no longer be a recruit or a trainee, but a yearling—a graduated, fully-qualified Rescue Bot. Apart from the elevated status and freedom from mandatory coursework and training exercises, Heatwave knew his instructors would still be monitoring him and the other unassigned Rescue Bots for the next several cycles. He hoped to impress them enough to be assigned to lead his own team. To be a leader of his own team…Heatwave wanted that more than anything. All the extra coursework and arduous training sessions would’ve all been worth it.
He finally arrived at the Autobot HQ, looking none the worse than he had last seen it. The guards bore their usual bored expressions as Heatwave walked by, though the youngling assumed that they could’ve looked a little unhappier about the passing of their leader. His paws automatically led him through a waiting room, down a corridor, around a corner, and through another waiting room. He mechanically lifted his credentials to the scanner, though Heatwave nearly ran head-first into the locked door when it refused to budge.
The reddish mechling paused. Huh? He tried scanning his paw again. Maybe the system was faulty? He looked closer at the screen.
Designation: Heatwave
Rank: Rescue Bot cadet
Status: Alive
Access denied. Invalid security credentials.
What? Heatwave had entered through this very door nearly his entire life! Beyond the door was the rest of the Autobot HQ, including the military barracks, the command center, the medical center, and the rest of the confidential Autobot administration. He always had access to this area. Why was it suddenly dismissing him?
Heatwave felt a chill run through his spine. Was Optimus Prime’s death occurred long enough for new leadership to arise?
“Hey kid, move it.” A gruff voice broke Heatwave from his stupor. A paw roughly shoved him to the side. Even though Heatwave was just about fully grown, this Autobot loomed over him, and they didn’t look pleased. “No loitering,” the larger ‘bot snapped. “Authorized Autobots only.” They swiped their own paw, causing the security door to obediently slide open.
Part of Heatwave was tempted to dart right through. He was fast and nimble enough. Perhaps he bore that thought on his face because the larger ‘bot swerved in front of him before Heatwave could make up his mind. “Get out,” they barked. “What are you, some sort of ‘Con spy?”
Heatwave was flabbergasted as the accusation. “Of course not!” he argued, gesturing with a forepaw to his collar. The Rescue Bot trainee symbol was etched onto his tag indicating his rank and affiliation. “I’m a Rescue Bot.”
The larger ‘bot scoffed as if Heatwave’s response didn’t validate anything. “Everyone knows they help both sides,” they derided and suddenly loomed over Heatwave’s smaller frame. “’Con sympathizer!”
Heatwave bristled his fur. The ‘Cons tore my brother’s throat out and left him for dead! He wanted to yowl at the warrior, but he knew Optimus Prime—wherever he was now—would never appreciate Heatwave lashing out in anger.
“Soldier, that’s enough.” The sharp command caused both ‘bots to jolt. Ultra Magnus was observing from the other side of the doorway. As always, he bore an unamused expression. His tail-tip was flicking irritably.
Heatwave winced inwardly. Does he recognize me? He’d only met Ultra Magnus a handful of times, but the second-in-command always looked unimpressed every time he encountered Heatwave. Or perhaps Ultra Magnus was like that with all ‘bots.
The other Autobot immediately stood at attention. Ultra Magnus’s icy gaze then flickered to Heatwave, causing him to inwardly panic. Out of all of Optimus Prime’s seconds-in-command, Heatwave knew that Ultra Magnus was the one to most likely succeed him. Was Ultra Magnus already the leader of the Autobot resistance?
“Given the circumstances, I’ll permit this infraction to pass,” Ultra Magnus began. His firm tone indicated he was slightly annoyed at Heatwave for not following appropriate protocol. “However, I assume you are here because of your sire.”
Heatwave blinked. Did Ultra Magnus learn Optimus Prime’s secret after his passing? Jazz was the only second-in-command who knew the truth about Heatwave and Bumblebee. Ultra Magnus arched a brow at Heatwave’s silence, causing the youngling to quickly stammer a reply. “Uh, yes—" Ultra Magnus narrowed his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
The large mech seemed content with that response. He indicated with a forepaw down a corridor to the left. “I assumed as much. Arcee is in the medical bay, though I’m sure Ratchet will inform you about the rest.” The silver, blue, and maroon mech’s gaze softened slightly, much to Heatwave’s disbelief. “He was a good warrior.”
Heatwave nodded his thanks, making sure to lower his head far enough to appease the second-in-command’s pension for protocol, before scurrying down the hallway. His paws couldn’t move fast enough. Ultra Magnus knew the truth, of course he did. It only made sense that Optimus Prime’s top advisors were informed of that after his demise. Did Heatwave imagine the look of disdain in Ultra Magnus’s gaze when he saw Heatwave just now? Yeah, I’m the sorry scrap of fur that Optimus Prime decided to raise, he bitterly thought.
In the medical bay, Heatwave immediately scanned for Ratchet, the chief medical officer, but the old mech was nowhere to be seen.
Rustblade, a junior medic who was a few stellar cycles older than Heatwave, was the one who noticed Heatwave’s arrival. “Ah, Heatwave,” the slightly taller ‘bot greeted and padded over to meet him. “I’m afraid Arcee isn’t accepting any visitors, but I’ll let her know that you stopped by,” they explained before Heatwave could say anything.
“I need to see her,” Heatwave insisted regardless. He couldn’t bear the thought of Arcee managing her grief on her own. Primus, what must be going through her spark right now? She and Optimus had their disagreements, but Heatwave knew their love for each other could outlast any trial.
Rustblade grimaced. “She’s rather…adamant, at the moment,” they explained. “She…just needs time to recover.” The medic gave Heatwave a commiserating look. “I’m truly sorry about your sire. I know how close your creators were. Tailgate will be missed by us all.”
Tailgate.
He swore his spark stopped for a single beat. He felt a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow. Tailgate. Tailgate is dead, not Optimus.
The world seemed to freeze around him. Optimus Prime wasn’t dead. But Tailgate was. Heatwave felt a mixture of relief and grief simultaneously. He was reassured that his guardian was still alive, but he also felt tremendous sorrow about Tailgate’s death. Tailgate, the friendly mech who always had a jovial smile every time he saw Heatwave. Tailgate, who readily played with Heatwave and Bumblebee when they were sparklings no matter how exhausted he was. Tailgate, who gave him rides on his back and affectionate nuzzles during his youth. Tailgate, the mech who Heatwave sometimes guiltily wished was his real sire.
He was gone.
While no one specifically claimed that Tailgate was Heatwave and Bumblebee’s sire, everyone knew he was close with Arcee, his work partner. Arcee never openly claimed Bumblebee and Heatwave as her own. She was occasionally openly affectionate with both younglings, unlike Optimus who purposefully kept his distance. Heatwave knew that Arcee and Tailgate were close partners and their relationship never strayed from work. Without any clear statements from either party, ‘bots must have put two-and-two together after noticing Arcee’s sporadic affection towards the two mechlings.
Rustblade must’ve interpreted Heatwave’s apparent silence as grief, because the junior medic gently rested a tail against his flank in comfort.
Heatwave eventually found his voice. “What…what happened?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Rustblade shook their head. “It’s…it’s not my place to say.” They sighed. “She just needs time, I think. She wouldn’t even accept Optimus Prime’s visit earlier.”
Heatwave perked up. “Optimus was here?” He tried to keep the hope out of his voice. Maybe his guardian was still around.
“Yes, he visits the wounded occasionally for moral support,” Rustblade explained thoughtfully. “Primus knows that it certainly helps.”
Makes sense, Heatwave thought. Optimus was most likely using it as a cover to check-in on Arcee without showing any favoritism. “Is he still around?” he asked.
Rustblade shrugged. “Not sure. I see him occasionally throughout the base, but I’m certain he’s busy as always.”
The red mech felt conflicted. Part of him longed for reassurance from his guardians. He felt like a sparkling again, yearning for their voice and comforting spark-beats to ease his own worries. Despite his intentional distance, Heatwave always felt consoled by their presence.
He erased those thoughts from his mind. Primus, he was nearly an adult and here he was, yearning for his guardians like a sparkling! Graduation was approaching, and he wasn’t a sparkling anymore. What was his mind even suggesting? That he ask around the base for their leader, Optimus Prime? Utterly ridiculous. Their leader was obviously busy, as Rustblade mentioned. He’s always busy, Heatwave sourly gloomed.
“Alright, thanks,” Heatwave contumely huffed out. He tried and failed to hide the bitterness from his mew. This is a waste of my time. He began to turn to leave the medical bay when Rustblade stopped with him a forepaw on his shoulder.
“Heatwave.” The junior medic appeared nervous. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your sire died defending the Autobot cause.”
He thought back to Rustblade’s earlier words. “…and Arcee witnessed it, right?” The medic didn’t say that she was injured. Heatwave only assumed that the reason his guardian was refusing visitors was because she was drowning in her own despair. They were both similar in that way, both preferring to deal with their emotions alone. Rustblade didn’t reply, but their sullen expression gave Heatwave all the answers he needed.
As he walked away, Heatwave tried to recall his memories of Tailgate. The Rescue Bot cadet would mourn the warrior’s death. Even if his guardians were busy with the war, Tailgate always spared a moment to play with Heatwave and Bumblebee. He wondered if Arcee and Optimus were aware of that open assumption. Did the silver-and-blue mech know the truth about Arcee’s relationship? If he did, was Tailgate purposefully posing as their sire to protect them?
He felt a chill rustle through his pelt. Was that why Tailgate was killed? To purposefully hurt Arcee?
The questions plagued Heatwave’s mind as he returned to Polyhex.
Chapter 4: Isolation / Found Family (Whumptober)
Summary:
Quickshadow mentally shook herself. No, this was Heatwave, her leader and teammate. He and his team had proven that they could be tentatively trusted.
"But to those who’ve said that you don’t deserve to be happy," Heatwave went on, "when has their word ever meant anything?"
Notes:
Found some writing prompts for whumptober, which perfectly describes the Heatwave/Quickshadow relationship haha. I'm not going to participate in all, but I might write a few drabbles if the inspiration arises.
Prompt list: here
Chapter Text
"Quickshadow?" It was Heatwave, and Quickshadow berated herself for not realizing that the Rescue Bot leader was missing from the group. He must have arrived separately on his own from the rest of the team from the mainland training center.
The red mech stopped a pace away, his eyes questioningly flickering between her and the rest of the group. Around the corner, the rest of the Rescue Bots were happily mingling with the Burns family for their weekly Sunday get-together. Already she could hear hearty laughter and pleasant chatter from both ‘bot and human alike.
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
"Everything is fine," Quickshadow succinctly replied, perhaps a bit more sharply than she intended. Heatwave’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Blast, he noticed. "Just taking some time to mentally catalogue that everything is as it should be." Her excuse flowed easily over her tongue. Masking herself felt like second nature.
Unfortunately, Heatwave didn’t look convinced. Her pelt prickled with apprehension. She only joined their team a few months ago and still wasn’t quite sure about Heatwave and the others. Sure, they were nice and friendly, but she would consider them pleasant acquaintances. Amicable teammates, as they worked together to build the training center’s final structural details and curriculum.
"Sorry for being blunt, but I’m not buying it," Heatwave insisted as he sat down. "What’s wrong?" he asked again, his tone gentle yet firm.
She felt a flicker of irritation wash throughout her pelt, both at herself and at Heatwave. "Nonsense, there’s nothing wrong for you to worry about—"
"Quickshadow, you’re my teammate, and I’m your leader," Heatwave interrupted resolutely, though there wasn’t a trace of anger in his mew. "It’s my job to worry about everyone."
There was an uneasy silence between them as they reached a stalemate. After several long moments, Heatwave glanced at the rest of the team in the distance. They were still chatting harmoniously and hadn’t noticed them yet. "Is it about them?" he quietly asked.
She felt her pelt burn with shame and frustration at his correct guess. She huffed, looking away from his earnest gaze indignantly. Quickshadow paused, and slowly her scowl morphed away. "It just seems so…" The words tumbled out of her before she even realized it. Quickshadow trailed off before she could say much more. Primus, who was she even to confide in him? She felt like a fool that Heatwave saw through her illusion.
Yet she was utterly shocked when Heatwave seemed to guess her exact thoughts again. "Nice?" he offered gently. To her relief, there wasn’t concern or pity in his amber eyes, merely a kind understanding that caught her off guard. "Domestic, almost?" He paused again, as if reconsidering his words. "Something you think you don’t deserve?"
Her shock must’ve been obvious, because then the Rescue Bot turned his gaze back towards the others. Cody, Dani, and Blades were laughing over something while Blurr stuck out his tongue at Salvage, who gave a cheeky grin. Even High Tide looked amused from where he rested nearby, his tail-tip twitching as he watched.
"Yeah, I get that," Heatwave finished.
Quickshadow wanted to retort. Who was he to assume what she’d been through? The horrors that she’d accomplished with her own claws? The struggle between saving lives and eliminating them? Heatwave and his team spent the dwindling days of the war in stasis and perched safely in Griffin Rock! They never knew the brunt of the war like she did.
Before she could open her jaws to argue, Heatwave spoke again. "I’m not gonna pretend like I know what you’ve been through," he insisted, his voice soft yet firm. "I’m sure you have your own demons, and I know better than to even think about pressing you about them."
The red mech looked at her again. Instinctively, her mind began to whirl with possible counters to defeat him. Her stellar-cycles long training regiment kicked in without her realizing it: he was within arm’s reach. A swift kick to his forepaw which he favored—an old injury?—followed by a succinct swipe to the exposed jugular. He could be easily apprehended by then due to the drained energon—
Quickshadow mentally shook herself. No, this was Heatwave, her leader and teammate. He and his team had proven that they could be tentatively trusted.
"But to those who’ve said that you don’t deserve to be happy," Heatwave went on, "when has their word ever meant anything?"
She opened her mouth to riposte but her words died on her tongue as she reflected over his words. Her captors, her tormentors, her superiors who treated her like a weapon…she frequently dismissed their opinion, their attempts at berating her, to entice a reaction out of her, as nothing. She ignored them—every single time.
So why should this specific taunt matter?
Heatwave got to his paws, preparing to join the others. "Well, we all deserve to be happy," he said after letting her scramble with her thoughts in the silence, a curious thought on his muzzle. "That includes you too." He waited.
She rolled her eyes. Quickshadow had a feeling he wouldn’t budge on this. Without a word, she grumpily got to her paws. She expected a smug expression on his muzzle at his victory, but Quickshadow was surprised yet again by his sincere and warmth-filled smile.
"There’s more to you than it seems on the surface, Heatwave," she quietly mused as they approached the others. Blades at noticed them first and raised a paw in greeting at their imminent arrival.
"Well, it takes one to know one," Heatwave softly replied. Quickshadow wanted to ask more, but their conversation was cut short when they joined with the rest of the group.
She noticed Heatwave’s usual scowl return on his muzzle the second they arrived, a retort for Kade ready to fire without a moment to delay. His mask had returned, and the moment was over. It took her a second later than usual to slide comfortably into her own façade. She spent the rest of the evening quietly observing Heatwave, who gave no indication about their quiet conversation. She was touched yet puzzled by his display of vulnerability with her. Perhaps they were more alike than she originally thought.
Chapter 5: Unreality (Whumptober)
Summary:
Heatwave briefly nodded his thanks. Judging from Ratchet’s sullen expression, Heatwave could easily guess what the High Council spoke to him about. He shook his head in disbelief. "Ratchet, they’re…" He broke off. "They’re trying to erase Optimus’s legacy."
Ratchet merely gave him a pain-filled expression. "I know," he uttered. The old mech sounded defeated.
Notes:
Whumptober prompts will be updated twice a week.
Alternate prompt for whumptober: here
Chapter Text
"That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard," Heatwave bitterly growled. He knew better than to curse at the High Council, but by Primus, this was utterly foolish! Optimus, being blamed for the Great War? His guardian had spent his entire life fighting to save Cybertron from the Decepticons. He’s heard more logic coming out of Blades and Dani when they were gushing about their latest television drama show that Heatwave didn’t bother to comprehend.
Cyberwarp took a step forward. "Be mindful of your tone, Heatwave," she warned.
He glared at her. "You dragged me all the way from Earth to hear my opinion then berate me when I give it to you," he argued. He turned his attention back to Sigil and Cyclonus, the heads of the new High Council since Cybertron’s restoration. "Optimus Prime gave up everything to save our planet. I was there. I witnessed it firsthand. Blame Megatron and his followers instead but attempting to blacklist Optimus Prime’s name is insane."
Treadshock flicked their tail. "Not everyone shares your opinion, Heatwave," the councilmember began stoically. "A majority of Cybertron’s refugees were neutral in the war. They never distinguished between Autobot or Decepticon. Well." They shrugged as if that was a minor inconvenience. "Someone has to be at fault, in their eyes."
"You want him to be a public scapegoat?" Heatwave growled, his pelt bristling. At the councilmembers’ visible confusion, Heatwave quickly prattled on. "Earth term, sorry. Point is, it’s immoral to place the blame on Optimus Prime and the Autobots!"
Sigil raised a forepaw to stop Heatwave’s tirade. "We understand your concern, Heatwave," the eldest ‘bot began. "But we speak for the will of our people, and this is what Cybertron wants. His statue that was recently erected in the memorial gardens will remain to commemorate those lost in the Great War. Other than that, there must be limited mentions of the factions that split our world apart." He exchanged a look with Cyclonus. "As the Prime’s son, we needed to know your stance on this matter before we proceed."
Heatwave’s pelt bristled again. I’m not his son! "If you think I’m going to stand in your way as his supposed heir, then don’t worry. You have nothing to worry about." He turned on his heels and began to leave the council chambers.
However, Skyjack stood in his way defiantly. "You’ll be exiled from Cybertron," she warned. Her blue eyes narrowed cautiously at the gravity of her words. "What if we need the Rescue Bots?"
"Not a problem for me. Earth is my home now," Heatwave insisted indifferently. "And we’ve been dead for thousands of years, what’s a few more?"
The blue-and-white femme refrained from moving, even as Heatwave towered over her. She glared at him. "That includes all of your teammates," she pressed.
"I’ll send you the full roster," he quickly replied. "Helper ‘bot included." He bore his teeth when she still didn’t step aside. "I’d rather extinguish my own spark than renounce my loyalty to Optimus Prime," Heatwave lowly growled.
"Let him pass, Skyjack," Cyclonus commanded from behind Heatwave. Skyjack shared a look with Cyclonus over Heatwave’s shoulder and bitterly scowled at him as she stepped aside. The red mech glared at her one final time as he left the chambers. "Let it be on the record that Heatwave and the Rescue Bots under his command are hereby banished from Cybertron—" Cyclonus’s words cut off as the door slammed shut behind Heatwave.
Heatwave felt his anger roar into an inferno. How dare they? He wanted to yowl, to scream, to loudly curse at the council for even thinking about dishonoring Optimus Prime’s name. He desperately wanted to break something, but he fought to keep his anger in check. Instead, his claws clicked as he padded away. The Elite Guard members stationed along the hallway kept an ominous watch. Heatwave knew he was on thin ice for berating the High Council. He didn’t want to give them any excuse to actually arrest him.
To Heatwave’s shock, he found Ratchet waiting for him in an empty lobby. He hadn’t seen the medic since the dedication of Optimus Prime’s statue in Iacon a few cycles ago. The usually irritable and wry chief medical officer instead looked sullen. He looked old, and that realization surprisingly worried Heatwave.
"Ratchet," Heatwave greeted. "I didn’t expect to see you here." Ratchet was a member of Team Prime and one of Optimus Prime’s closest advisors and confidants. Heatwave’s known Ratchet his entire life, and the medic was the primary physician for both him and Bumblebee as they grew up. He was family.
"The High Council requested my attendance earlier," the white-and-red mech elaborated. "I noticed you were being escorted in as I left and decided to wait."
Heatwave briefly nodded his thanks. Judging from Ratchet’s sullen expression, Heatwave could easily guess what the High Council spoke to him about. He shook his head in disbelief. "Ratchet, they’re…" He broke off. "They’re trying to erase Optimus’s legacy."
Ratchet merely gave him a pain-filled expression. "I know," he uttered. The old mech sounded defeated. "I’m assuming they gave you the similar lecture they gave me. I am prohibited from speaking about the Autobots’ role in winning the war, for myself and so many other veterans."
The red mech’s anger faded. He slumped his shoulders. "They…they can’t just do that," Heatwave argued softly. "After everything you and Team Prime did to save Cybertron? After Optimus sacrificed his spark?"
Ratchet shrugged indifferently, though Heatwave could tell how much it was bothering the older mech. "Optimus would say that it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Cybertron is restored again."
"That’s foolishness," Heatwave scoffed.
Ratchet gave him a look that Heatwave couldn’t quite decipher. "We don’t have a Prime anymore," he insisted. "Optimus departed without naming a successor. The High Council can do as they please, just as they did before the Great War."
"Then what’s changed?" the Rescue Bot pressed.
"We are free to choose our own destinies," Ratchet went on more firmly. His blue eyes narrowed, as if Heatwave openly criticized Optimus Prime’s sacrifice. "No more caste systems. No more pre-determined livelihoods. Newsparks will no longer prematurely extinguish due to lack of energon just because of their social status. Lower ranks will no longer have to risk their lives in the pits just to feed themselves. We have a greater say in our government. We are a liberated Cybertron."
Heatwave scowled, though his frustration wasn’t at Ratchet. "Doesn’t feel like it," he huffed.
Ratchet frowned. "You could change that."
His head shot up with a snarl. "Drop it," Heatwave growled.
Instead, Ratchet went on. The older mech’s frown remained. "That’s why the High Council personally requested you, Heatwave. You and Bumblebee have every right to claim the title if you so desire. They wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t interfere."
"Stop it, Ratchet," Heatwave rumbled again. "I know that already. Don’t put the blame on me for any of this. My place is on Earth with the rescue team, and that’s final."
Ratchet held his gaze, though Heatwave could tell that the medic still quietly disproved. Heatwave looked away bitterly, not wanting to argue any further with the older mech. After a moment, the red mech softened. He didn’t want their conversation to end sourly. Heatwave gently rested his tail on Ratchet’s shoulder. "You’re always welcomed on Griffin Rock, you know," he gently offered.
The Rescue Bot was pleased to hear Ratchet’s signature scoff. "Please," he huffed good-naturedly. "As if Blades would tolerate my presence in his medical bay. At least now with Cybertron restored, you’ll finally have some proper medical equipment." His face became solemn. "No, I already have a place for me on Earth."
"With the human children?" Heatwave asked, recalling his quick visit to Team Prime’s hanger base on Earth when the war ended. At Ratchet’s nod, the Rescue Bot went on, "well, stop by for a visit then anytime. I’m sure it’ll be a lot quieter."
Ratchet abruptly sneered. "Are you trying to get me to retire?" he snarled.
Heatwave raised a paw in mock surrender. "No, of course not," he quickly insisted with a fond chuckle. "Griffin Rock is far from uneventful, but it’s…" He paused to find the proper word.
"Home." Ratchet finished for him. They shared a fond, knowing look. "I understand."
Heatwave gently nuzzled Ratchet behind the ear in a rare embrace. So much has changed in the past few cycles, but Heatwave knew that he and Ratchet would remain firm. They would honor the truth of Optimus Prime’s sacrifices to save their world.
Chapter 6: Touch
Summary:
He spotted her muzzle leaning down to his face, a fond purr in her throat. “Since when does the enemy tell you when you’ve won?” she gently teased. Her blue eyes were bright with amusement.
Something flickered in his spark as he met her jubilant gaze. His ears abruptly felt hot.
Notes:
More fluff than whump but sue me, I had fun writing it
Prompt list: here
Chapter Text
1.
Heatwave didn't want to explain his relationship with Quickshadow to the others. It was none of their business, frankly speaking. Yet he couldn't deny the strange feeling he felt in his spark when he saw her.
"Care if I join you?" It was Quickshadow observing from the sidelines with a peculiar smile on her muzzle.
"Sure," Heatwave readily obliged. It was just him in the training room, so he figured there was plenty of room to share the space and workout on their own. He resumed his own routine for a few more moments, and he was dimly aware of Quickshadow doing her own a few paces away. He finished his set and gave his pelt a good shake before waving his paw in the air for the controls to appear. A portion of the room shifted into a tall blocky mountain for climbing practice.
Heatwave noticed that Quickshadow had paused. "Race you to the top?" he offered before he could stop himself.
"What are you, a sparkling?"
"Maybe."
She flashed him a grin. "You're on."
Heatwave leapt first. The solid hologram felt like rock beneath his paws as he quickly scaled the vertical climb. His muscles tensed with each lunge, but his footing was steady. He heard Quickshadow scrambling to his left. Heatwave took a moment to check on her but was surprised to see her tail disappear from view. He looked up, and Quickshadow was nearly at the summit several paces ahead of him.
Primus, how is she so fast? Heatwave irritably thought, but he shoved his crossness to the side. A few more lunges and Heatwave scrambled on the flat peak. He looked for Quickshadow, but the femme was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she saw her neatly hop onto the ground floor. The silver and blue femme looked up at him victoriously at her triumph.
"For the record," Heatwave called out as he scaled down the side more slowly. "I said ‘to the top' – not back to the bottom."
Quickshadow lightly grinned as the mech leapt the final few feet and landed next to her. "Care to switch it up?" she offered, swiveling her paws to assume a battle crouch.
He grinned and eagerly mimicked her pose. As they circled around each other, Heatwave recalled the first time they sparred, which quickly resulted in Quickshadow throwing him across the bunker like he was a scraplet. No way am I letting that happen again!
Heatwave waited for Quickshadow to make the first move; he wasn't going to make that same mistake twice.
Quickshadow smirked, as if recalling their original match, before abruptly lunging at him. Heatwave was caught off guard by her speed—she swiped at his muzzle; claws sheathed. Heatwave barely had time to counter before she leapt back out of range of his own swipes. Stifling a growl, the reddish mech braced himself for Quickshadow's next assault, doing his best to keep his temper in check.
The silver, black, and blue femme lunged at him again, though Heatwave managed to deflect this time. Her second swipe came in quick succession, which Heatwave quickly countered with his own. Quickshadow quickly shifted on her forepaws and kicked Heatwave's flank with her hind paws, sending the red mech reeling. Heatwave managed to brace himself from losing his balance, though his respite was short. The femme launched herself at him with paws outstretched, hoping to take advantage of this brief distraction. Recalling his youth playing with Bumblebee, Heatwave sidestepped and grabbed her scruff, doing his best not to hurt her, and threw Quickshadow to the side.
Quickshadow's claws skidded as she scrambled for balance, and Heatwave was worried that he took it too far. Instead, Quickshadow's blue eyes flashed with mischievousness, and their sparring match continued. While Quickshadow was swift and lean, Heatwave instead relied on his bulkiness and strength to resist her attacks. Yet he couldn't underestimate her own strength: Quickshadow once again threw his entire frame. Their mountain structure was still standing. Thinking rapidly, Heatwave angled his paws so he landed on the side of the mountain perpendicular to the floor. Bracing himself, he used his momentum to launch himself back at Quickshadow without missing a single step.
For once, Quickshadow was caught off guard by his dexterity. He quickly pounced on her, one paw between her shoulders and another on top of her outstretched forepaw. Heatwave thought he'd won. He let out a hearty chuckle. "Did I finally win?" he gently teased, his muzzle close to her ear. The thrill of the scuffle was still surging through him.
He half-expected Quickshadow to let out a snarky reply. Instead, the femme lashed out her hind leg, smacking right into Heatwave's own hind paw. With a yelp, the larger mech lost his balance, and in his stumbles to not fall on top of her, Quickshadow managed to expertly slip away and pin him down. Heatwave was now the one with his muzzle shoved into the floor. He attempted to brute force his way out, but Quickshadow's paws were firmly holding his to the floor. No escape.
He spotted her muzzle leaning down to his face, a fond purr in her throat. "Since when does the enemy tell you when you've won?" she gently teased. Her blue eyes were bright with amusement.
Something flickered in his spark as he met her jubilant gaze. His ears abruptly felt hot.
"Alright, alright, you win," Heatwave conceded, adjusting his shoulders to indicate for Quickshadow to get off him.
The femme pointedly smiled as she elegantly hopped off. "You're getting better with each match," Quickshadow insisted approvingly.
Heatwave begrudgingly got to his paws. "Thanks," he grunted, though even Quickshadow's praise couldn't hamper his mood.
She helped him the rest of the way up, and a forepaw lingered on his shoulder. "Keep practicing and perhaps one of these days you'll come out on top," the silver-and-black femme added.
"Right." He felt unsure about the prolonged silence that lingered between them, but for some reason, her touch felt right.
Quickshadow was the first to break away, and Heatwave swore he saw a blush on her face as she looked away. "Right," she replied lamely, her usual confident demeanor floundering. The spy got to her paws and began to pad away. "Thank you for training with me." She smiled encouragingly as she left, and he couldn't help but smile back.
2.
Heatwave narrowed his eyes at his sparkmate's frontal assault, grounding his legs to keep him steady as he lifted a forearm to block Quickshadow's strike. He stopped her blow and held his stance firmly. Amusement flickered in both of their gazes as they grinned mischievously at each other. Both enjoyed their friendly sparring competitions with each other to test out their strengths.
Heatwave took the moment to kick out his hind legs at her forepaws. Quickshadow was caught off guard, but it was all the time he needed. He pounced, hoping to pin her down and win this match.
However, to his surprise—or should he ever really be surprised by her anymore?—Quickshadow evaded with a backwards lunge, causing Heatwave to miss her. His paws landed firmly on the ground, and by the time he looked up to scowl at her, Quickshadow had rebounded with a leap of her own. Her paws expertly toppled him. Heatwave attempted to roll out of the way, but she merely followed with another leap and landed on his chest. Her claws slightly dug into his flank and a forepaw had his muzzle shoved to the ground. Utter defeat.
He bit back a growl. "Get off," he scoffed underneath her paw.
Quickshadow raised a brow. "And suppress my well-earned victory?" she heartedly laughed, leaning down so her muzzle was a whisker-length away from his.
Primus, he loved her. But his back legs were still free from her grasp. As quickly as he could, Heatwave wiggled his hind legs free and shoved them against Quickshadow's stomach, hoping to surprise her. He felt his muscles ripple as he shoved forward to unbalance her and come out on top.
Yet, Quickshadow had been expecting that. By the time he rolled them over to pin her down, Quickshadow had carried over their momentum, causing them to roll over again with Quickshadow back on top. Heatwave attempted to try again, but Quickshadow firmly pressed his shoulders down with a loud smack. Her whiskers twitched in amusement as she gleaned down at him. "Care to try that again?" she mocked. This time, her hind claws were gently digging into his thighs to immobilize him.
Heatwave scowled. He thought he had her that time. "No," he grumbled. Her forepaw pressed more firmly into his cheek. "Fine, you win. Get off already."
With a happy bounce, Quickshadow hopped off, though she helped Heatwave back to his paws. "You'll win one of these days," she insisted encouragingly. Her forepaw lingered on his shoulder.
The Rescue Bot leader playfully rolled his eyes. "I'm starting to think you're only saying that just to be nice," he drawled fondly.
Her gray forepaw moved to cup his chin lovingly. She smiled warmly at him. "And I'm starting to believe you enjoy having your tail handed to you," Quickshadow shot back without missing a beat. Her paw moved to playfully shove his face downwards before he could even sputter a word out.
Chapter 7: Insignia (Whumptober)
Summary:
Teeth abruptly yanked on his scruff, and Heatwave suddenly went skidding backwards down the hall. He tried to scramble to his paws, but his momentum kept him sliding away. Someone had created a path through the rubble to allow him to escape. He stopped with a jolt as he crashed against a pile of rubble in the hallway. Heatwave could make out a frame in the distance. Inferno. The room suddenly illuminated with a radiating heat.
Notes:
back to your regularly scheduled whump
t/w character death
Prompt list: here
Chapter Text
Heat radiated Heatwave's pelt as they arrived at the blaze. The fire seemed to engulf the entire roof of the five-story building, and its tongues lapped at the black night sky. A group of civilians lingered a safe distance away from the blaze. The stench of soot and burnt fur was heavy in the air.
Heatwave broke away from the other senior cadets to approach his mentor, Inferno. The Rescue Bot leader was speaking on his comm unit, presumably to HQ for intel. "A possible Decepticon blaze," Inferno reported to the other Rescue Bots nearby once he was done. He cast his gaze over the flames, and it glistened off his protective visor. "Let it burn. The structure is highly flammable, and it would be a hinderance on our resources to extinguish it otherwise."
"Shame," Hot Spot, a younger Fire-Bot cadet, muttered sarcastically under his breath. The black mechling was sitting behind Heatwave to also eavesdrop on their leadership. "I was looking forward to washing out smoke from my pelt again."
"I think our pelts will always smell like smoke," Smoke Tap commented next to him.
"It's part of the job," Fireshadow added unenthusiastically.
Heatwave didn't share his fellow cadets' banter. The civilian crowd rippled, and the mass parted as a lone mech lunged forward desperately. "Please, sir!" the slim mech begged, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "I cannot find my daughter! We were forced to evacuate before I could find her. I just know she's still inside!" The insignia on his collar gleamed in the light from the blaze: Decepticon.
Inferno narrowed his eyes. Heatwave could tell what his mentor was thinking. Only a limited number of 'bots had responded to this call, excluding the Police-Bots, who frequently secured the perimeter to deter any Decepticon attacks. More than once, Rescue Bot squadrons were killed while responding to an emergency call by Decepticons looking for a quick opportunity to shed energon in Megatron's name.
The large mech made up his mind. "Skid, keep watch while we venture inside for a quick recon," Inferno ordered to the sole medic they had in their response unit. Skid looked like they were going to protest, but the medic changed their mind when Inferno gave them a glare.
Inferno studied his squadron, and Heatwave shuffled his paws eagerly. The Rescue Bots' numbers were dwindling due to the war, leading to Heatwave and the other senior cadets being called to respond frequently to help with rescues. But this operation seemed dangerous. Perhaps he would finally earn his insignia and become a full Rescue Bot after this mission!
"Blazestorm, Firestar, and I will scope out the building for any survivors," Inferno ordered. "Take your mentees with you. The rest of you, stay here and keep watch." Inferno gave Fireshadow, Smoke Tap, and Heatwave each a hard glare. "Stay with your mentors," he firmly commanded. "Ten minutes is probably all we have." To the others, the Rescue Bot leader added, "Rescue Bots, roll to the rescue."
Inferno briskly took the lead into the building, pausing only momentarily in the smoke-filled lobby to give directions to the others. "Blazestorm, take the east wing. Firestar, the west. Heatwave and I will check the north." The large mech didn't wait for their confirmation before scaling the north stairs. Heatwave quickly followed his mentor, extinguishing some flames as he ran to make sure their escape route was secure. Inferno directed his apprentice down one end of the corridor to check for survivors. Heatwave expertly weaved between fallen rubble to access the abandoned compartments for the lost sparkling. Some rooms were completely barricaded by debris and others were immersed in flames. Heatwave skipped those.
The pair searched with urgency, calling out for the lost sparkling. Heatwave could faintly hear their teammates doing the same in the other wings. Their time was nearly out by the time Heatwave and Inferno reached the fourth floor. Already the fifth floor was completely engulfed in flames, and the fourth floor wasn't doing any better. They only had a few moments to search.
"Any sign?" Inferno rapidly asked as he met his apprentice in the common corridor.
Heatwave shook his head. "Nothing," he huffed as he let out a small cough.
A piece of flaming debris fell next to them, causing Heatwave to flinch. The fifth floor was beginning to collapse. "We should turn back," Inferno instructed as another piece of burning rubble fell near them. The floor was beginning to creak as Inferno headed towards the stairwell. It was growing weaker by the flames. "The 'Cons have undoubtedly seen the fire already, and we don't want to be here when they blow it sky-high." The Rescue Bot leader paused and looked over his shoulder. "Heatwave?"
Heatwave cast one more glance around the burning corridor before sighing. "All right," he muttered before following his mentor.
Inferno gave his apprentice a reassuring look. "We can't save everybody, Heatwave." He rested his tail on his apprentice's shoulder briefly before taking the lead down the stairs. "I think the sooner you accept that, the easier this job becomes."
Heatwave didn't reply. He wasn't unfamiliar with death, but he didn't want each casualty to feel any easier.
They were passing the third level when they both heard it. "Help!" It was a faint yelp in the distance, but it was unmistakably a sparkling's.
Both Fire-Bots stopped in their tracks and exchanged a look. Hope reassured through Heatwave. "But this one's still alive!" Without waiting for his mentor, Heatwave hurried down the hall towards the sound. That sparkling is still alive!
"Heatwave, wait!" Inferno ran after his apprentice, but the younger mech didn't obey. Heatwave weaved through collapsed beams and dodged tongues of flame that lapped at his pelt. A wall partially collapsed behind him, but Heatwave pressed on. To Heatwave, every single life was precious in the midst of this terrible war. The sparkling was still alive, and this was a risk he had to take.
He stopped abruptly as the ceiling collapsed in front of him. Skidding to halt, Heatwave noticed that the flames were rolling on the ceiling like storm clouds. His energon froze. The temperature abruptly spiked, and nearby structures began to radiate gasses. The telltale signs of a flashover—the room was about to ignite into a deadly blaze.
Heatwave panicked. He knew many experienced Fire-Bots perished from the sudden and deadly flashovers, and he would only have mere seconds to react before the entire room was overcome with flame. But was he already too late? The flames above him rolled with growing intensity. There wouldn't be much time to climb through the fallen debris that littered his path. The youngling thought of his brother and his guardians. Would there even be anything left of his body?
Teeth abruptly yanked on his scruff, and Heatwave suddenly went skidding backwards down the hall. He tried to scramble to his paws, but his momentum kept him sliding away. Someone had created a path through the rubble to allow him to escape. He stopped with a jolt as he crashed against a pile of rubble in the hallway. Heatwave could make out a frame in the distance. Inferno.
The room suddenly illuminated with a radiating heat.
"Inferno!" Heatwave yowled, but the bright flames obscured his vision from his mentor. He instinctively took a pace back to avoid the intensifying heat, causing him to stumble down the stairs. The blinding heat and light concealed his vision, but in the midst of the noise of the collapsing floors and the raging flames, Heatwave thought he heard the pain-filled yowls of his mentor being burned alive.
The floors heaved as they finally gave out from the inferno, and Heatwave scrambled down the rest of the stairs to the lobby. He collapsed when he reached the ground floor. He wanted to go back and search for Inferno, but his paws struggled to cooperate. His mind was rushing with a million different thoughts. Inferno! But—but he needed to get help first! Inferno could be hurt.
"Heatwave!" It was Firestar, and the tall femme was rushing towards him from the entrance. She ushered him to rise to his paws. "We need to leave. A Decepticon air raid is coming." The fiery ginger femme's pelt was caked with soot.
"B-But Inferno!" Heatwave stammered, fraught with worry and grief. "The flash-flashover. He's trapped upstairs!" He could no longer hear Inferno's screams.
Firestar momentarily froze. Inferno was her sparkmate and the sire of their younglings. Surely she would understand and help their leader? Heatwave internally pressed Firestar to help, but his spark sunk into his chest when Firestar shook her pelt free of her grief. "We need to go, now," she pressed again, this time more firmly.
"No!" Heatwave yowled.
Blazestorm had joined them, casting Firestar an urgent look. "Help me with Heatwave," Firestar ordered as she grasped the cadet's scruff.
"No!" Heatwave screamed again. He attempted to lash out at Firestar and Blazestorm as they dragged him out of the building, but Heatwave knew it was fruitless. Rarely did 'bots survive a flashover, and even fewer survived without fatal injuries. Regardless, the cadet continued to protest as his superiors hurriedly hauled him out of the building. His haunches scraped roughly against the gravel as they yanked him towards safety with the others. Blazestorm kept him pinned down as the familiar streaks of Seekers approached from the south. Decepticons, just as Inferno anticipated.
There was a flash of light and great big boom of explosives. Heatwave watched as they obliterated the building into rubble before soaring away. The fire was gone, leaving behind smoldering patches of embers and a giant plume of smoke. Only then did Blazestorm relinquish his hold on Heatwave. The cadet quickly scrambled to his paws but staggered. It was useless. Inferno was gone. He dug his claws into the ground and attempted to withhold the dobs threatening to wrack his frame.
"Inferno?" Heatwave heard Flashpoint ask Firestar. She must've shaken her head, since the Flashpoint let out a heavy sigh. "Primus," they cursed.
"Heatwave." It was Blazestorm. The older Fire-Bot grabbed him firmly by the shoulders to face him, though his eyes were gentle. "What. Happened."
Tears were already obscuring his vision. "Inferno…he…he saved me," the cadet stuttered. "From…from the flashover." Not to mention that the sparkling was also dead. Heatwave could hear the grieving sire in the distance.
Blazestorm's yellow eyes hardened as he let go of Heatwave, causing the youngling to sway on their paws. Plume approached, having scouted the remains of the rubble while the others were debriefing. She carried a scorched collar in her jaws, the golden tag dangled below. The yellow-and-orange femme presented it to Firestar, who gingerly accepted it before drawing it close to her spark. Inferno's collar, perhaps the only thing left of his body.
Fireshadow let out a grief-stricken wail. Heatwave unexpectedly wanted to comfort his teammate. Despite never quite getting along with Fireshadow, Heatwave could only imagine what the Fire-Bot recruit was going through. Instead, claws dug into his shoulders as he was abruptly shoved to the ground. Shards of glass and stone lacerated his cheek as he was met with Fireshadow's angry dark amber eyes.
"What did you do?" he shrieked at Heatwave.
The red mech didn't even bother to defend himself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he sobbed. "This is my fault, I swear." Fireshadow's claws dug deeper as Heatwave rambled on. "I-I heard the sparkling nearby and ran off, b-but then a flashover happened! I-Inferno saved me, and he—" Heatwave broke off as he recalled Inferno's dying screams. "He's gone, Fireshadow." He met his fellow cadet's eyes. "I-I'm sorry."
Grief welled in Fireshadow's gaze, but it was quickly replaced with rage that rivaled the blaze that killed his sire. "Murderer!" the splotched orange-and-black mech shrieked. "You killed him!"
"That's enough Fireshadow," Skid interrupted, yanking the recruit off, leaving Heatwave to struggle to his paws. He noticed none of his fellow Fire-Bots made a move to help him. The medic instead took the lead, making sure to meet every 'bots' gaze. "Let's go home."
Heatwave struggled to even listen to Streetwise's speech. The new Commander-in-Chief was saying a few words about Inferno's demise to the full assembly of Rescue Bots. Heatwave's scratches and burns ached, but he kept still as he sat near the front with the other Fire-Bot cadets. Ahead, he could make out Firestar's frozen frame and Fireshadow next to her. Both of their heads were bowed as Streetwise spoke of their kin.
"Before we sit vigil for our fallen Commander," Streetwise went on. He stood at the head of the plaza with his new second-in-command, the commander of the academy, and the division chiefs next to him. "I believe it is only appropriate that we celebrate Inferno's life by honoring one of his accomplishments. Heatwave—" The black-and-white mech singled out the red cadet with a stare. "—please come forward."
Heatwave uneasily got to his paws. What was Streetwise planning? Would he be assigned a new mentor? He tried to gauge his peers' reactions, but most of them refused to look at him. Fireshadow glared at him. Firestar refused to meet his eye. Only Chase gave him a neutral expression. Heatwave's thoughts were turmoiled as Heatwave sat down in front of his new Commander.
But Heatwave could've never expected that Streetwise would say next. "I believe it is time for you to become a full Rescue Bot."
What?
"Streetwise," Blazestorm immediately objected amongst the murmurs in the crowd. It seems everyone was surprised by Streetwise's decision. "There are several valid concerns about Heatwave's rescue capabilities from today that remain to be addressed."
"Like killing Inferno," Fireshadow sneered from the front with a vengeful scowl.
"Not to mention that there are, perhaps, others who also deserve to graduate," Blazestorm went on as if Fireshadow hadn't spoken up. It was true; normally, recruits graduated in groups, and it was rare that a single cadet was singled out for promotion.
Streetwise readied his gaze on Heatwave. He raised his voice to address the assembly. "Some doubt that you deserve this, me included, but Inferno's loss today has demonstrated our dire need to accelerate our training regimen. We need more rescuers, and despite today's…unfortunate mishap, I cannot deny your skills. Inferno has taught you well, and we should honor his memory by recognizing his final triumph."
He raised his muzzle. "Heatwave, do you swear to support the Rescue Bot code; to maintain the standards of our profession; to never allow your personal feelings to deter you from your responsibilities; to recognize the badge as a symbol of public faith and trust; to serve, save, and protect all denizens of Cybertron, regardless of affiliation, against fire and other perils, even at the cost of your life?"
Heatwave straightened himself and met Streetwise's defiant golden gaze with his own. "So help me, Primus," he replied firmly. And no 'bot can dare question how much this means to me.
Streetwise swiftly pressed his muzzle to Heatwave's forehead. When he withdrew, Streetwise fiddled with his soot-covered maroon collar. He removed the tag and replaced it with another offered by the Fire-Bot division chief. Heatwave knew this one would display his full rank. And one day, he thought, it'll bear my team's name.
The Rescue Bot insignia glistened on the front. Heatwave stared at the insignia. He wanted to feel pride in his accomplishment, but Heatwave instead only felt grief.
Chapter 8: Failed rescue attempt (Whumptober)
Summary:
Part of her felt regretful for tenaciously taunting him. The week had already been difficult enough, but she needed to make sure he could defend himself. It never should’ve happened, not on Quickshadow’s watch, and it will not happen again. Even though both of their occupations were dangerous, Quickshadow was used to being the one in more dire peril. It was her job that relied on utmost secrecy, deception, sabotage, and efficiency with her claws.
Chapter Text
Five days had passed since that fateful day when everything changed in an instant. One moment, her eldest was held hostage by a wannabe terrorist from one of the forgotten colonies. The next, her sparkmate was dead in a pool of his own energon. Then he was back, calmly requesting her to remove her claws from his killer's throat.
Physically, Heatwave hadn't changed. Outwardly, he was still the same mech she fell in love with. Rippling maroon fur with paler undersides and fiery amber optics. The familiar old scar on his shoulder and his ripped ears. But something was different. There were subtle changes about him. He spoke with a new air of authority. His presence symbolically illuminated any room he entered. He always seemed to have a diplomatic answer ready for every query. All changes were expected for someone who was recently anointed as the new Prime, though it still unnerved Quickshadow to some degree.
But what haunted her the most was the imagery of seeing her sparkmate's lifeless corpse lying on the ground. The soldiers who had him pinned down stepped aside once they were sure he was gone, and one of them kicked his body for good measure. Heatwave hadn't reacted; his head only lolled to the side, his optics staring into nothing.
Quickshadow had felt his passing in her spark. She and her work partner Gray Dawn had finally reached Paradox's hideout through the vents when they discovered the group. The first thing she saw was Heatwave limp on the ground. Her spark already knew what had happened. There had been a rush of adoration from his end, which was unusual from him, then…silence, as if he never existed.
She wasn't exactly sure what happened next. Paradox was suddenly pinned beneath her claws while Gray Dawn tackled the three guards harboring Kindle. Paradox crumpled beneath her like frail prey. The fear in her optics was palpable, but Quickshadow was unfazed. She only saw blue—the color of her sparkmate's freshly spilt energon. She would begin her new world without Heatwave by spilling the energon of his killer.
But then the unthinkable happened. Heatwave was on his paws, calmly requesting for her to relinquish her death grip from Paradox. His wound had disappeared, and his pelt was clean of any energon. The Primes had resurrected him as Heatwave Prime, their new leader. While Quickshadow was overjoyed, to say the whole experience was overwhelming would be an understatement. It was for their entire family, but the sparkmates hadn't found much time to actually talk about what had happened. They instead focused on their two younglings and adjusted to their new normal.
Until today, Heatwave finally found an opportunity to corner her. "We need to talk," he had said, though both parties knew it would be more than a simple discussion.
But Quickshadow didn't want to just talk. She couldn't. Voicing her worries felt like giving them the power to harm her and her family. Instead, her claws were itching for a fight. She wanted to tear into her irrational emotions that she'd been bottling up thus far. The storm that she kept hidden in her spark was threatening to swell over. He had agreed, thinking it would be their typical sparring sessions in the training area that they were accustomed to. But this one was far from a normal training period.
"Fight back," she ordered sternly, her tail brandishing wildly behind her.
Heatwave blinked. "What?"
"I said, fight back," Quickshadow echoed, this time her voice nearly a growl.
His amber eyes narrowed. Heatwave had picked up on the unusually tense atmosphere, but he chose not to comment on it. Now it seemed that the thunder would soon break. "I don't want to hurt you—" She didn't give him a chance to finish that sentence. Quickshadow barreled into him with claws outstretched. The Prime leapt backwards as her claws sliced through the air. Heatwave still didn't defend himself but rather studied her curiously.
"You need to be stronger," Quickshadow huffed as she paced around him heatedly.
"Why?" he shot back, and Quickshadow recognized the hints of anger in his tone. His eyes were stalking her suspiciously. "Am I not strong enough?"
"No."
Her answer caused him to lowly growl and his eyes to narrow. She was purposefully poking at topics that typically stoked his anger. Part of her felt regretful for tenaciously taunting him. The week had already been difficult enough, but she needed to make sure he could defend himself.
It never should've happened, not on Quickshadow's watch, and it will not happen again. Even though both of their occupations were dangerous, Quickshadow was used to being the one in more dire peril. It was her job that relied on utmost secrecy, deception, sabotage, and efficiency with her claws.
Was he stronger now that he'd became the Prime? Physically, he looked the same, but maybe the Primes increased his strength tolerance. Or was it just the strength of his spark?
Her emotions surged like lightning in her spark. The storm was only growing.
Only one way to find out. The spy bounced on her forepaws as she lunged again, this time aiming for his flank. He attempted to unbalance her with a shove, still not wanting to unsheathe his claws on her, but Quickshadow pivoted and clawed her way onto his back. Her claws lightly dug into his pelt, though not deep enough to shed energon.
Heatwave snarled and reared back. His foreclaws instinctively extended but he quickly withdrew them. Instead, he reached back to yank her off with his jaws, his teeth carefully pulling on her bright blue collar. Despite his gentleness, his pull was instantaneous and powerful. Quickshadow scrambled to her paws, and she noticed that one of his brows was bleeding from a thin scratch. Good, she darkly thought. Maybe he'll finally get the idea.
The red mech maintained his battle stance, but he still didn't make a move to retaliate. He was breathing heavily from the exertion of their bout. "You can wound me all you want, but I'd never raise a claw on you," he insisted worryingly. "What are you doing?"
Instead, her tail lashed out again with frustration. "I'm trying to help you!" Quickshadow spat out. "You need to be stronger." She lunged again.
He blocked her strike this time with a raised forearm. Her storm was lashing out against the resilient cliffsides of Griffin Rock. "Why do you insist that I need to be stronger?" Heatwave demanded with exasperation. He blocked another. Her moves were becoming sloppier. "Quickshadow, stop!"
"Quickshadow, stop!" It was the same words he yowled when he came back to life. The memory sent another insurmountable quiver through her entire frame. She felt a final crack of violent thunder inside her.
"I'm not losing you again!" she spluttered out, finally reaching her mental breaking point. Her breaths were coming out in staggard gasps.
He froze. There was silence as the storm faded. The fight forgotten, Heatwave stood up from his crouch. She saw pity in his eyes, which only fueled her desperation. "Quickshadow—"
"Primus, Heatwave, you were gone," the silver-and-black femme choked out. "You were dead. I didn't see how it happened, but Gray Dawn and I saw the aftermath, and I…" she broke off, avoiding his gaze. Her words were choking in her own mouth as she struggled to voice what she experienced. The wild storm in her spark was subsiding. "…for the first time in my life, I realized what life would be like without you." His death had only lasted seconds, but it had felt like an eternity for her.
"Oh, Quickshadow," Heatwave muttered. "I'm so sorry." He gingerly padded towards her to sit at her side. Hesitating to touch her, Heatwave's breath was warm on her ear. "I…it pained me, too. I'm still here, I promise."
Stifling a sob, Quickshadow pressed her head against his, consenting to his comfort. He gently purred and touched his forepaw against hers.
"I didn't mean for it…I never intended for…that to happen," Heatwave quietly explained. His voice reverberated throughout her slightly smaller frame. "I keep replaying it in my head. What if I had been more careful? What if I hadn't gotten caught? Would the outcome still be the same?" He let out a low whine as he pressed his forehead against hers again. "You don't have to say it, but I know it was my own foolishness that got me killed."
"No." Her disagreement was instant, and she met his eyes fiercely. "That's not what I mean. I just…" She broke off for a few moments. "I can't bear the thought of it happening again."
His amber eyes slightly narrowed. "It might, now that things have changed," he softly insisted.
Quickshadow flattened her ears in disapproval. "Don't say that," she admonished.
Her sparkmate merely gave her a sympathetic look. "I'd give anything to protect you and our family," he softly admitted. "That hasn't changed. That will never change."
The strength of his conviction rendered her speechless. She was at a loss for words. Of course, she knew that was true. But Heatwave was now the most important political figure on Cybertron. How soon would it be before someone attempted to take his life again? The two sparkmates stayed there, comforting each other with quiet purrs, mourning the echoes of what could've been and the implications of their new realities.
Chapter 9: Symptomatic (Whumptober)
Summary:
She's experienced this before: the subtle aches and pains, the ever-present fog of exhaustion, the fluttering in her spark as it grew accustomed to providing energon for two. No, this didn't scare her at all. Instead, Quickshadow was terrified that she wanted to keep it.
Notes:
t/w mentions of past abortions
Prompt list: here
Chapter Text
She's experienced this before: the subtle aches and pains, the ever-present fog of exhaustion, the fluttering in her spark as it grew accustomed to providing energon for two. No, this didn't scare her at all.
Instead, Quickshadow was terrified that she wanted to keep it.
The previous ones were all terminated; she convinced herself that they were nothing more than temporary complications of what she had to do to accomplish her missions. The quick procedure always seemed to leave a deep chasm in her spark despite being non-invasive, but she couldn't afford to dwell on it—not when lives were at stake if she didn't achieve her task. It was a situation she was unfortunately accustomed to, and it had become almost a necessity.
Until she met Heatwave. For the first time in her life, Quickshadow had met a mech who never judged her invisible energon-stained paws, who genuinely enjoyed sharing in her company. She felt herself changing because of him for the better. There were times when they didn't need to say a single word to enjoy each other's company.
"One day," they had mutually decided about starting a family. "One day" had implied far into the future in her mind. Did that mean now?
She could easily imagine their sparkling growing up with Kade's two kids and Dani's newborn. Their human-and-Cybertronian family would be expanding, just as both parties aspired for. Quickshadow knew that Kade and Hayley secretly hoped that the former's father, now retired from rescue work, would live long enough to see the first Cybertronian newspark born in their ever-growing family. The former Chief was still kicking, though he was growing frailer with each day. His days spent with his grandchildren, though, seemed to enlighten him. Blades and Dani also endlessly teased Quickshadow and Heatwave about future newsparks, much to the latter's visible displeasure.
"Why do you keep pestering me?" Heatwave always shot back. "You keep acting like I have a bigger say in that decision! Go bother Quickshadow, not me."
"No way!" Blades had gaped in mock fear. "She'll tear out my spark before I can even finish that sentence!"
"Well then, there's your answer," Heatwave had huffed back irritably.
She smiled at the memory. The two were still partners, not sparkmates—yet. Both were hesitant about expectations and grand emphasis on it all. Both preferred to just…be themselves, happy and content otherwise.
Yet a sparkling would definitively anchor them together, sparkmates or not. She had to tell him; would he even want this sparkling? He deserved to have a say in their newspark's future. Quickshadow's pelt prickled apprehensively. Primus, what would he say?
At first, Heatwave didn't say anything. His gaze morphed into a mix of confusion and awe as he processed her words. She had led him down one of their usual quiet trails behind the training center in the forest. They frequently took a walk around sunset, peacefully enjoying each other's companionship. Sometimes they catch up on recent gossip. Other times, they just walked in comfortable silence.
Quickshadow had stopped a few paces ahead. She could tell that Heatwave sensed something was on her mind, but he didn't press. He waited patiently for her to open up.
And now her spark felt frigid with ice as she awaited his words. His mouth was still ajar, and it took him a few more moments to find his voice. "You…you are?" he quietly asked. Instinctively, Quickshadow tried to read him, attempting to gauge what was on his mind.
But she only found genuine adoration.
She allowed herself to slightly smile. "Yes," she confirmed, but didn't offer anything else.
Heatwave's gaze flittered over her frame with continued awe. It vanished like the light fading into night when his amber eyes met her own blue ones. He must've noticed her apprehension. It took him a few more moments to speak again. Heatwave slightly furrowed his brow as he thought. "What do you want to do?" he gingerly asked.
She felt herself letting go of the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "I was going to ask you the same thing," Quickshadow replied fondly, relief automatically easing her posture.
"Your opinion matters more," Heatwave insisted. He padded to sit at her side, his amber eyes never leaving hers. "Tell me what's on your mind," he gently prodded.
Her black tail-tip flicked apprehensively, mulling over her words carefully despite knowing that he would never judge her. "You know that I've…terminated, the previous ones," Quickshadow began.
Heatwave grimaced at the reminder. "I still don't like how your superiors approve putting you in those situations," he scowled.
"They don't anymore," Quickshadow promptly corrected. "Not since the war ended." Her partner's scowl lingered momentarily, and he kept his silence to allow her to continue. "But this time…" She broke off, biting her lip as she struggled to clarify what she meant. Heatwave waited patiently at her side.
"…I'm scared that I want to keep it," she finally admitted quietly. She broke off, and she felt Heatwave gently pressing his muzzle against her cheek in comfort. Her voice wavered as she found the strength to continue. "You'll make an excellent sire, Heatwave," she purred, meeting her partner's worried gaze. "But, as for myself, I…" Quickshadow couldn't finish the sentence. Her gaze lingered on her forepaws. As she blinked, energon pooled from the stains on her paws and snaked down-hill into tiny streams. She blinked again, and they vanished, but she knew they would always be there, trailing after her like lost newsparks following their carrier. What kind of carrier would she be with this burden she carried?
"Oh, Quickshadow," Heatwave began softly, a purr beginning to rumble in his throat. "You'd be a wonderful carrier. I share the same worries for myself," the red mech admitted. He gave a wry grin. "What kind of sire would I be when I cannot even remember my own creators and I grew up surrounded by the war?"
"You're more than that, Heatwave," Quickshadow immediately insisted. "Courageous. Caring. Devoted."
"And you are as well," Heatwave replied with a smile. "Dedicated. Compassionate. You're the strongest ‘bot I know." He gently nuzzled her, giving her an opportunity to step away if needed. "I'll support whatever decision you make," he vowed.
"I want to keep it." She was surprised by how quickly that decision came to her.
His purrs deepened as Quickshadow leaned against his shoulder. "Together, then."
"Together."
Chapter 10: Collar (Whumptober)
Summary:
At the reminder of the attack, Heatwave tightened his grip on the tattered remains of his collar next to him. Trex had torn it clean from his neck when the animatronic attacked, and it was beyond repair. Despite not being the sentimental type, Heatwave couldn't bear the idea of parting with his collar. His mentor, Inferno, had given it to him when he was still a recruit. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
Notes:
t/w violence and blood
Prompt list: here
Chapter Text
Heatwave winced as he attempted to stretch his neck, feeling his wound flare with pain. He grimaced as he rubbed a paw over the bandage plastered on his neck; he could feel a faint simmer of heat from his exposed energon permanenting through the fabric.
It had happened at lightning speed. One second, Heatwave and his team were called to the Greene residency due to their animatronic Tyrannosaurus rex, Trex, behaving oddly. The last time Trex when haywire, it was because of the Morocco virus, so it was worth checking in. The giant robot appeared fine though noticeably still. While Heatwave was chatting with Chase, Trex suddenly lunged forward like a viper, his sharp teeth exposed in a fearsome roar.
Heatwave had noticed Trex lunge for Quickshadow out of the corner of his eye. On instinct, Heatwave leapt and shoved her to the side, letting out a yowl in warning to the rest of his teammates. He had hoped he was far enough to evade Trex's jaws, but the machine's teeth scraped his neck. He felt his hot energon pouring down his chest and his teammates crying out his name.
As Trex prepared to lunge again for another abrupt attack, Heatwave saw Quickshadow leap onto Trex's head, digging her claws into his optics. Boulder and Chase joined her as Heatwave struggled to his paws. He had to help his team! They were still in danger. But his paws were slow to move. Trex's tail swatted into Heatwave as he attempted to fling his attackers off, finally crumpling the last of Heatwave's strength.
The pain had finally registered within him, but his eyes were becoming more difficult to keep open. He was dimly aware of Blades frantically yowling at him when Heatwave finally let go into the darkness.
Heatwave had woken up the day prior in the medical facility in the Rescue Bot Academy with staunch bandages plastered to his neck and strict orders to rest from Blades. Though Heatwave was more worried about the rest of his team—were they safe? What happened? What about the humans?
His teammates, both Autobot and human, had slowly trickled in throughout the previous two days, wishing him well and expressing gratitude that he was alright. Chase had informed Heatwave that Trex experienced a violent malfunction, according to Dr. Greene's best estimates at the time. Though Heatwave always thought that sparkless machine was more trouble than he was worth.
A particular visitor had noticeably not visited him yet. Quickshadow. Not that I'm expecting her, Heatwave reminded himself sharply. He just figured she was busy, but part of him wanted to make sure she was alright.
He didn't have to wait long. Quickshadow's silver and black head peered through the medical bay door a few hours later. She entered after finding that Heatwave was alone. "Blades told me that you were feeling somewhat better," she meowed in greeting as she padded inside.
"Feeling well enough," he grunted, though he was glad to see her. She seemed mostly unharmed except for a nick above her left eye.
Quickshadow was perceptive as always and noticed his gaze. "You saved my life." Her dry tone implied it was more a statement than question. They both knew that if Trex had attacked Quickshadow before Heatwave had intercepted, it would've resulted in a dire injury.
He shrugged, though winced from the movement aggravating his wound. "That's what teammates do," Heatwave insisted indifferently.
She padded closer, her paws nervously fidgeting. Since when was Quickshadow nervous? Her bright blue eyes flickered to his neck injury. "Does it still hurt?" she quietly asked.
"It's just sore, but I've dealt with worse." At the reminder of the attack, Heatwave tightened his grip on the tattered remains of his collar next to him. Trex had torn it clean from his neck when the animatronic attacked, and it was beyond repair. Despite not being the sentimental type, Heatwave couldn't bear the idea of parting with his collar. His mentor, Inferno, had given it to him when he was still a recruit. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
Quickshadow noticed it. Her gaze was sympathetic. "Perhaps we can patch it up," she insisted.
Heatwave barely withheld the scorn in his mew. "Unlikely," he scoffed.
"Oh I don't know about that," she mused with a dry smile. "I've heard that Dr. Greene and his family can craft anything if they put their minds toward it. What's a bit of Cybertronian technology to stump their scientific prowess?" When Heatwave didn't reply, she went on more softly, "Besides, they feel ashamed for what happened."
"It wasn't their fault," Heatwave immediately protested. He paused for a few seconds. "Do they really feel that bad?" he tentatively asked.
"They feel responsible," Quickshadow explained softly.
"They shouldn't."
Quickshadow placed her paw over his, and he slowly unclenched his tattered collar. She gazed at him reassuringly. "Let's see if we can fix this, hmm?"
Relenting, Heatwave stifled a purr. "Sure, I guess," he mewed.
Quickshadow seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, then began to slowly lean near to his muzzle. Sensing no resistance from him, Quickshadow gently touched her muzzle to his cheek. The affectionate nuzzle surprised Heatwave—Quickshadow was always sensitive to touch, even politely declining friendly nuzzles from Blades and Boulder over the years. But Heatwave found himself unwilling to draw away.
Just as he was about to lean into her touch, Quickshadow abruptly pulled away. "I'm sorry," the silver, black, and blue femme stammered. "I shouldn't have assumed—"
"Wait—" Heatwave interrupted, reaching out his paw for hers. His larger paw enveloped her smaller one. At her stark silence, Heatwave pulled his paw away, worrying he went too far. "I…" What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to describe what he was feeling? He cared for Quickshadow, and she maybe cared for Heatwave too?
To his surprise and relief, he felt Quickshadow's paw gently touch his, reciprocating his touch. She slowly moved to take his ragged collar away, flashing him a quick smile. "I'll take care of it."
Upon Ratchet's insistence, Heatwave was transferred briefly to the Iacon Medical Center for a follow-up.
"Stop complaining. You're not a sparkling anymore," was Ratchet's unsympathetic growl.
"This is a waste of time," Heatwave argued back, not caring that he sounded like a whining sparkling or if others in the large examination room for non-serious injuries could hear him. "I'm fine. You and Blades are just overreacting."
Ratchet tepidly shoved him towards the medical berth in a sectioned off exam area, though there was some force behind that nudge. "Sit down! The sooner you stop whining, the sooner you can be out of here."
Begrudgingly, the red mech sat down on the berth, fidgeting nervously. He hated visiting doctors; even a simple check-up from Blades caused him to squirm. It wasn't the pain, but rather the aversion of numerous negative experiences built up over the millennia. Despite Ratchet's scathing remarks, he knew the former Autobot Chief Medical Officer his entire life. Ratchet always took great care of him.
Even if it came with terrible bedside manners.
The larger white-and-red mech hummed as he examined Heatwave's neck injury. It was already healing due to Blades' earlier treatment, though apparently not to Ratchet's standards. A few pokes and checks on Heatwave's other vitals gave him the all-clear from Ratchet.
"Make sure you replace that bandage in a deca-cycle and come back if that still hasn't healed up in a cycle for further treatment," Ratchet firmly instructed while Heatwave rubbed his neck. The mesh felt smooth under his paw. He frowned, regarding Heatwave with his infamous disapproving gaze. "You should be more careful."
"'course I'm careful, Doc-Bot," Heatwave insisted immediately.
"Humph," Ratchet huffed as he turned away. "Give me a second to jot down my report and then you can go."
To his mild surprise, Quickshadow peered around the corner tepidly. How she knew that Heatwave was in Iacon, he would never know. But he's long been used to her sudden appearances and subsequent disappearances.
"Ah good, you're still here," Quickshadow mewed, seeming pleased to find Heatwave in the sectioned exam room.
"At the mercy of the Ratchet's wonderful care," Heatwave couldn't help but tease. He spotted Ratchet's tail-tip twitch irritably as he examined his datapad.
The silver and black femme trotted towards him eagerly. "I'm sure you will readily heal under his excellent paws," she gently teased back. "I was hoping to catch you before my next mission. I wanted to give this to you."
It was a neon blue collar, the rough cloth now sleek and shiny. He recognized the collar tag; it was his original tag, the very one he was granted when he joined the Rescue Bots as a youngling. But something else caught his eye: three solid lines etched in gold stitched next to the shiny buckle. The ranking stripes represented his position as commander, a promotion that Mortar mentioned last time he was visiting the Kalis Academy with Quickshadow.
"Remind me to put in a motion to officially promote you as Commander," Mortar had stated. "You deserve it, not only as the head of the academy on Earth, but in recognition of your achievements on Earth. We might as well make it official, since you've been playing the part for stellar cycles now."
He wasn't quite sure what to exactly to say—both from the shock of the award and the fact that Quickshadow had remembered overhearing that conversation. Heatwave immediately thought of his mentor, Inferno. Would he be proud of him? "I…I…" He felt like a bumbling idiot in front of her. "…thank you."
Quickshadow's eyes shimmered with warmth. "You are most welcome, Heatwave." She helped to fasten the collar on, being mindful of the bandage on his neck. He hoped she could tell how appreciative he really was. Quickshadow gave him a nod, seeming to understand. "I'll leave you to rest," she meowed, excusing herself from the room. "Doctor." Quickshadow acknowledged the medic as she passed by.
Heatwave felt something in his spark as Quickshadow left. Though Ratchet's unexpected comment caught him in his stupor. Ratchet mumbled from the corner; his eyes darted across his datapad as he quickly jotted something down.
Heatwave couldn't make out his mutter. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The red-and-white mech looked up, his signature frown etched on his muzzle. "It just reminds of…your creators." Rarely did Ratchet ever speak about Optimus Prime; the old mech still heavily grieving the loss of his close friend. Heatwave was shocked that the medic willing brought the topic up. "They often visited each other in my medical bay, especially when you were younger," he added lamentingly, though the apparently fondness of the memory seemed to lift the medic's mood.
Heatwave didn't know whether to scowl or roll his eyes, but Ratchet beat him to it after a few seconds. "Oh, don't give me that look!" the medic snarled with a roll of his own eyes. "It's obvious you two have feelings for each other."
Heatwave stifled a sigh, burying his muzzle in his paws. "What am I supposed to do?" he grumbled, not even bothering to deny Ratchet's claims.
He expected the old medic to scathingly reply, but to Heatwave's surprise, Ratchet gently nuzzled his ear. The unexpected comfort reminded Heatwave of his youth, when he and his brother Bumblebee were placed in Ratchet's care when their guardians were away in battle.
"Optimus used to worry the same when he was still courting Arcee," Ratchet admitted softly, flickers of long forgotten memories in his blue eyes. "You've never been the overly affectionate type, Heatwave, and I doubt Quickshadow expects that from you. Sometimes actions speak louder than words. You can demonstrate affection in your own manner."
The red mech was shocked by Ratchet's sincere advice. He tried to imagine the old medic providing the sage wisdom to a much younger Optimus Prime. "You sound like you almost have a spark, Doc-Bot," Heatwave teased. He'd rather knowingly press Ratchet's infamous temper than continue to talk about his own feelings.
"We all have sparks, idiot," Ratchet shot back with a gentle smack at Heatwave's head with his datapad for good measure. "Now, get out of my medbay."
Heatwave chuckled as he leapt off the berth. He straightened his collar. The tag now said "commander" on the back along with his name and team affiliation. He smiled. It wasn't a proper promotion ceremony like his original graduation. Yet for some reason, Heatwave didn't seem to mind at all.
Chapter 11: Lost faith (Whumptober)
Summary:
It was a stupid rumor, Kindle knew that, but it nagged at the things they'd noticed their entire life. Kindle was clearly the odd-one out. But did that make the rumor true?
Notes:
Edit: I accidentally published this chapter early and then deleted it. It still shows as the work updating, whoops, so to make things fair, here's this chapter early :) It was for day 25.
Prompt list: here
Chapter Text
"Are you sure they're the Prime's kid?"
"Yeah, they look nothing like them!"
"There are rumors that Quickshadow slept with vigilantes to obtain information…"
"Great Primus! Imagine being the offspring of that affair."
Kindle's ears burned with shame as they heard their classmates' whispered taunts. They knew what their younger sister would say—"Just confront them and that'll get them to shut up!" But Kindle wasn't the confrontational type.
It felt like a spotlight had zoomed in on their family ever since their father became the new Prime. Every ‘bot on Cybertron and all the colonies wanted to know who their new Prime was, which unfortunately came with the unsanctioned rumors. Their creators never paid any attention to them. Most of them were blatantly false and the ones that were correct were merely half-truths; one rumor circulated that Heatwave had been the leader of all the Rescue Bots on Earth. He'd only been appointed the leader of the Rescue Bot Academy on Earth, which, in turn, made him the de-facto leader for all Rescue Bots on Earth. "Semantics," their father had argued.
But this one nagged at Kindle's pelt, unearthing a doubt they didn't even realize they had. Kindle wasn't Heatwave's.
It was a stupid rumor, Kindle knew that, but it nagged at the things they'd noticed their entire life. It didn't help at all of Kindle's obvious dissimilarities. Their younger siblings, Wildfire and Firethorn, were both spitting images of their creators, and both had bright blue eyes like their mother. Meanwhile, Kindle had golden-reddish fur with green eyes—where had that come from? Kindle was also shy and soft-spoken compared to their siblings, who were more boisterous and openly stubborn like their creators.
Kindle was clearly the odd-one out. But did that make the rumor true?
It was only a matter of time before Heatwave found out. Kindle and their creators were about to enter their home, one of Iacon's many skyscrapers, when a group of small reporters abruptly pounced on them. Heatwave casually ignored them, intent on leading his family through the front doors, when a reporter brought up the rumor.
At once, Heatwave had whirled around. Pure fury was emanating from his entire frame, and Kindle couldn't help but flinch at the scene. They've seen their father angry, but never this furious.
"How dare you say such a thing in front of my family?" Heatwave snarled. The Prime's pelt was bristling aggressively, and he slightly held a forepaw raised with claws extended. "That is the most utterly ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Not only are you insulting my own loyalty, but my sparkmate's." He took a menacing pawstep forward, causing the reporter to slink back. "And I will not tolerate any such thing."
Quickshadow instinctively hurried Kindle inside, safe and secure in the presence of the Elite Guard members who guarded their home. She kept Kindle close to her as she observed her sparkmate's tirade through the glass front doors.
But Kindle couldn't help but worry. "Mom," Kindle began softly, catching their mother's attention. "Is it…" They paused, biting their lip. "Is it true?" they tepidly asked.
Their mother's blue eyes widened with shock. "Of course it's not true!" she argued. She grasped Kindle's slim shoulders to look them in the eye. "Please don't ever believe otherwise," she insisted fervently.
"But I look nothing like either of you!" Kindle claimed, their fears tumbling out before they could even stop. "And the others were talking about your past and…"
Kindle expected anger, but Quickshadow's stern gaze morphed into sympathy. "My sweetspark," she soothed. "Don't forget that your sire can't recall his biological kin. You have a whole genetic lineage that we are not privy to." She gave Kindle a small smile. "Your sister's dorsal pattern resembles my carrier's, actually." Quickshadow gently caressed Kindle's face with a gray forepaw. "It's true that my job previously required certain measures to accomplish the mission, but I promise you that I was only with your sire when you were sparked."
"Why don't you tell them that?" Kindle objected, though they were inwardly relived.
Quickshadow's tail-tip flicked with annoyance. "It's none of their business," she insisted with a frown. "And your sire agrees." She moved her forepaw to cradle Kindle's ear as her eyes softened. "You may not physically resemble your sire, but you have the shape of his ears and affinity for head-fluff." Quickshadow jostled Kindle's head-fluff for added measure, causing the youngling to grin. She cupped Kindle's face again and smiled. "You are ours."
Heatwave entered the lobby with his signature scowl. "Good for nothing squawkers," he grumbled as he approached. He stopped when he noticed Kindle and Quickshadow. "Everything alright?"
Kindle exchanged a glance with their mother. "We're good," they assured.
Their father seemed pleased. "Good," he replied with a nod before frowning again. "Have they been bothering you about that before?"
Kindle nervously shifted their forepaws. "…it wasn't the first time I've heard about it," they gingerly admitted.
Heatwave bore his teeth again. "They should know better than to pester you with stupid questions," he snarled lowly. "Next time they do that, I'll rip out their throats."
Quickshadow rubbed her muzzle against his to comfort him. She smiled. "That's illegal, my darling," she soothed with a soft purr.
"I'll make it legal." The anger was gone from his voice as Heatwave leaned into her touch. "You're a spy. I'm sure you can convince anyone of anything."
"My abilities do not extend into manipulating the legal system," Quickshadow playfully argued. The pair were heading towards the elevator, and Kindle dutifully followed them. "Interpersonal relationships, however…well, that's my specialty," she added mischievously.
"They certainly are," Heatwave purred.
But Kindle was caught up on their mother's words. Interpersonal relationships…Primus, how could they forget that their mother's entire career was built on carefully developing and curating multiple layers of falsehoods and personalities. The realization felt like a gaping chasm within their spark. Their mother would never lie to them…would she? Of course not, Kindle tried to reassure themself as they hurried after their creators. However, a smaller voice spoke in their mind. But how would I even know the difference?
Chapter 12: Yearning (Whumptober)
Summary:
His creators called his birth a "wonderful surprise." The press called it a "celebration for Cybertron's future." So why did Firethorn feel that he was constantly ignored?
Notes:
Alt prompt, yearning. Prompt list: here
Chapter Text
His creators called his birth a "wonderful surprise." The press called it a "celebration for Cybertron's future."
So why did Firethorn feel that he was constantly ignored?
He heard pawsteps nearby. Chase. Firethorn had left the Rescue Bot Academy on Earth abruptly to return to his home on Cybertron. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed and came looking for him. "Firethorn." Firethorn didn't even look up as the larger blue-and-white officer approached. "You shouldn't be abusing your SpaceBridge privileges without notifying your creators about your absence."
He expected the admonishment, though that didn't hamper the anger he felt in his spark. "Are they too busy to tell me this themselves?" he argued heatedly.
Chase sat down, wrapping his tail around his forepaws. "You know they are preoccupied with other obligations, Firethorn," he gently offered, but Firethorn was growing tired of hearing that same excuse. He drew back his ears in anger and scored his claws on the ground.
"Too busy to even care for their own son?" Firethorn snarled, finally looking up at Chase.
The senior Police-Bot met his anger with even yellow optics. "They care about you very much," Chase insisted softly. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, and the Police-Bot was running out of things to say to try and convince the youngling otherwise. "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the good of Cybertron."
Firethorn scoffed, and the behavior reminded Chase of Firethorn's sire. "Yeah, and I guess that means me," he grumbled, studying his small paws. They were a pale cream, like his sire's. "Kindle and Wildfire don't seem to mind. They're busy with training anyway," Firethorn added on lamely. His siblings were much older than him, and as much as Firethorn adored both of them, both Kindle and Wildfire never seemed to fully sympathize with his problems.
Chase tipped his head thoughtfully. "You can request your sire for an expedited pathway to enter the Rescue Bot Academy if you wish—" he offered tentatively, but that only stirred Firethorn's anger.
"No!" Firethorn abruptly yowled. His blue eyes were like tiny flames in the dim light. "That's just another excuse for them to get me out of the way," he insisted with a growl. "Besides." He looked away again, his pelt prickling with unease. "I'm…I'm not sure I want to become a Rescue Bot."
He was grateful that Chase didn't immediately say anything. It was a few moments before his uncle spoke up again. "That is entirely your decision, Firethorn, and I am confident your creators will support you, whatever you decide."
"Really?" Firethorn mewled incredulously with a raised brow that mirrored his sire's. "My creators are some of the best Rescue Bots in existence. My grandsire and sire are Primes. Do I really have a choice in deciding my destiny?"
Chase tepidly rested his tail on the youngling's shoulders. "You can be whoever you want to be, Firethorn," they insisted softly.
Firethorn held his uncle's earnest gaze with his own. "I…" he began quietly. "I want to be seen for who I am." The youngling's voice was without scorn. To Chase, Firethorn suddenly looked his age instead of the youngling he was forced to grow up to be all too soon.
"And I have faith you will accomplish that, little one."
Chapter 13: Surgical scars (Whumptober)
Summary:
"So." Quickshadow joined him on the shore. She looked around at the recruits still playfully tussling. "Which one is yours?" Her voice was full of mirth.
Heatwave chuckled. "Unfortunately, all of them."
Notes:
Prompt list: here
Chapter Text
"Quickshadow, you're back!" Cody's happy shout alerted Heatwave from his silent vigil. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the others surrounding Quickshadow as she emerged from the GroundBridge portal. The spy must've just returned from her extended mission, right on time to enjoy the remaining hour of their Sunday get-together with the Burns family in Blossom Vale. Quickshadow gave a small smile as Cody and Frankie hugged her forepaw while Blades happily embraced her.
The recruits looked up briefly at the excitement, but they soon returned to their playfights once they realized it had nothing to do with them. Heatwave was watching them not far to make sure they didn't wander off or get into trouble. Whirl let out a shrill of glee when Hoist tackled her, swiping the Cube toy from her jaws and running off with Wedge and Hot Shot on his paws. Even Medix was joining in on the fun, though he seemed more preoccupied by wading in the waves. Heatwave wasn't sure what they were playing, some sort of fusion between Cube and the Earth game tag? Regardless, Heatwave decided to keep observing. He knew Quickshadow would find him eventually.
He felt her approaching a few minutes later. "So." Quickshadow joined him on the shore. She looked around at the recruits still playfully tussling. "Which one is yours?" Her voice was full of mirth.
Heatwave chuckled. "Unfortunately, all of them." Wedge darted by with a Cube in his jaws. Hot Shot was right on his paws with claws extended, though Heatwave quickly stopped him with an outstretched paw. Hot Shot crashed and landed on his haunches with an oof. "No. Claws." Heatwave sternly reminded him with a scowl before removing his forepaw.
Hot Shot looked embarrassed as he glanced between his paws and Heatwave's unamused expression. "Oh! Right, sorry! I hadn't noticed." The youngling sheathed his claws before scampering away to resume the chase. "Sorry, professor!" He kicked up clouds of sand as he bolted.
"He's fast," Quickshadow commented approvingly. "They seem like a fine bunch."
"Yep," Heatwave agreed. "They're a little rusty, but they'll make a great team one day."
"I don't doubt that they will otherwise, with you as their teacher," Quickshadow gleamed.
"How was your mission?"
"Abysmally long, though unfortunately, my leave is short. I have another long-term assignment approaching," Quickshadow elaborated with a small frown. "I'm sorry."
Scrap. He'd hoped that she would stay longer, but he instead shook his head. "Don't be. It's the nature of the job, I'm sure," Heatwave insisted.
"Hot Shot!" came Medix's annoyed yowl. "Get off!" The two Rescue Bots looked up to see Hot Shot on top of Medix. The smaller mech had the Cube in one forepaw and was attempting to keep it away from his teammate by stretching out his arm. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Hot Shot, who was busy concentrating with his tongue sticking out. One forepaw was accidentally smushing Medix's face into the sand while the other attempted to grab the Cube, though Hot Shot's arms were too short. Medix was struggling to wiggle out from Hot Shot's weight. "Hot Shot!"
Quickshadow twitched her whiskers at the interruption. "Sounds like you're needed," she gently teased. She got to her paws again. "I'll see you later. Hayley wanted to review her choices for the baby's name."
"She's trying to get ideas into your head," Heatwave replied with a frown as he stood up to address the scuffle.
Quickshadow smiled. "Did she tell you it's a boy?"
"Primus help us all." Heatwave leaned down to grasp Hot Shot by the scruff. "Play nicely or I'll drag you all back the Academy by your tails," he sternly warned.
Hot Shot gave him a cheeky grin as Heatwave dropped him. "Ah, but we are playing nicely," he insisted. "We're playing by the rules."
"What he means to say, is that the only rule in this game is that there are no rules," Medix clarified dutifully as he got back to his paws and resecured his grip on the Cube with both forepaws. "Though by extension, the Cube is still mine, so therefore, I am still winning."
"Not for long!" Whirl cried as she darted by with a friendly swipe. Medix easily lunged out of the way. The femmling dramatically leapt again with both paws outstretched, though Medix once again leaned out of the way. "As soon as you stand still!" she yelped. She lunged for the Cube again.
"I am standing still," Medix insisted, dodging yet again.
"Hey, Heatwave!" Kade called from the rest of the group a few meters away. "Need your opinion on somethin'."
Deciding that the cadets were fine on their own for a little while on the shore, Heatwave joined the rest of the group, who were congregating around the picnic benches in the grassy meadow. Kade, Hayley, Dani, Taylor, Anna, and CeCe were sitting on lawn chairs with Quickshadow and Blades.
Kade spoke up as soon as Heatwave came into comfortable earshot. "I need you to convince Hayley that I'm right."
Heatwave chuckled as he tucked his paws underneath his chest. "Sorry, that's above my paygrade."
The others laughed, except for Kade, who dismissed his reply with a dramatic wave of his hand. "I'm being serious!" he insisted loudly. "We're discussing baby names and want your input."
"What's the name?"
"Cayden."
"Cayden?" Heatwave echoed, arching a brow. "You're that egotistical that you're gonna name your kid after yourself? It's like you're actively trying to for him to grow up as a nuisance."
Kade laughed. "Ah, actually, that one is Hayley's idea," he humorously with a gesture to his wife.
Heatwave's reply was immediate. "Which is why it's an excellent idea. Best one I've heard all day."
Hayley laughed while Kade sputtered indignantly. "Wha—hey! You were on my side!" the firefighter insisted.
The red mech shrugged. "Not my fault her ideas are always superior to yours," he claimed mockingly, causing Kade to throw a nearby stick at him.
Dani laughed. "It is a cute name," she chimed in. Her fiancé Taylor sat next to her.
Blades wagged his tail. "Oh, I cannot wait for Cayden to arrive! It'll be such a special occasion, and I'm so happy for you both!" He gently nuzzled Hayley and Kade affectionately. He then gave Heatwave and Quickshadow knowing looks. "Perhaps…?" he teased.
Hayley placed a hand on her stomach. "It would be nice for our little one to grow up with one of yours," she added politely.
Heatwave rolled his eyes. "See, ideas," he muttered to Quickshadow, who merely smiled at him wider.
Their conversation broke off by a shrill at the beach. "Help!" came Hoist's panicked yowl. "I'm bleeding out!"
"Hoist!" Heatwave's yowl was immediate, and he quickly got to his paws. The blue-green youngling was standing in the shallows with the water roughly up to his belly fur. Swirls of bright energon were rippling around him in the waves. As Heatwave approached, he noticed it seemed to emanate from his forepaw beneath the water. The others were pressing around him with worried mews.
"Hang on," Heatwave ordered as he sloshed in the shallows. He calmed down a bit once he realized that Hoist's cry was an exaggeration. "It's just the sea water doing that." He grasped Hoist by his scruff and carried him back to shore.
The four recruits gaggled around him as he trudged back to shore. "We were playing in the shallows when Hoist suddenly yelped! Did a shark get him? Oh, I bet it was a killer squid!" Whirl chattered nervously.
"Earth has killer squids?" Hot Shot yelped.
"No, it doesn't," Heatwave droned through a mouthful of Hoist's fur. The youngling was trembling. He plopped him down on the grass. "Blades?" he called.
Fortunately, the medic was already at his side. "Let me see," he meowed as he examined Hoist. He took a closer look at Hoist's forepaw. "Ah, looks like you gotta little gash there, pal." Hoist's forepaw had a bright blue gash. It looked deep enough to leave a scar. Energon was still seeping from the wound, though not as quickly. The damp fur around it was sticky with watery energon. "You might've accidentally scraped it on the rocks. Those are pretty sharp."
Blades leaned down to Heatwave's ear as he reached for his medical kit. "He's in shock. Warm up his fur while I address his wound." Heatwave nodded and began rhythmically grooming Hoist's fur backwards. The blue-green youngling was still shivering as Blades applied a temporary wrap around his forepaw. "This should hold until we get back to the Academy. It looks like it might need some stitches."
"N-Needles?" Hoist yelped.
Blades soothed him with a comforting lick on the forehead. "You won't feel a thing, I promise. You'll feel a whole lot better!" The orange-and-white mech got to his paws. "I'll call a GroundBridge, and we can head back, okay?"
"Okay." Hoist seemed less nervous.
Wedge gently shouldered Hoist as the rest of his peers gathered around. "Look on the bright side," the orange youngling added cheerfully. "You'll get a cool scar out of it."
Despite Wedge's intention to make Hoist feel better, it seemed to only have the opposite effect. The youngling began trembling again, prompting Heatwave to intervene.
"Alright, let's head back now," he insisted. Heatwave regarded Kade and the others with a slight wave of his tail. "I'll see you around," he meowed before picking up Hoist again by the scruff.
After Heatwave, Blades, and the recruits vanished through the portal, Hayley placed her hand on Quickshadow's forearm. "See, I was right," she stipulated. "He'll make a good father."
Chapter 14: Mirror (Whumptober)
Summary:
She saw the spy who did what was necessary to accomplish the mission, even at the cost of her own sanity and morality. What do her sparklings see? Kindle and Wildfire were still young and couldn't comprehend the nature of her work. This would be the first serious mission that resulted in a major injury since their sparking. Would they judge her invisible energon-stained paws?
Notes:
Prompt list: here
Chapter Text
Quickshadow attempted to relax underneath Heatwave's rhythmic laps of his tongue on her pelt. Usually, his grooming would ease her spark like the gentle waves that splashed the shore of Griffin Rock. Instead, her pelt felt prickly like thorn bushes, and Quickshadow unintentionally shivered.
Her partner must've noticed her shudder because he stopped grooming. "Everything alright?" he hesitantly asked. His voice was soft.
Quickshadow squirmed again slightly. "Just a trying mission," she insisted. That was putting it lightly. She could tell that Heatwave was thinking the same thing; she caught his amber eyes flicker to the tight bandages on her belly. The bleeding had finally stopped, but it was still severe enough for the doctor to order bed rest for the next several days. She'll have a new scar from her lower chest along her stomach – courtesy of her latest extraction mission gone wrong. The guard didn't live long enough to savor their temporary victory. Her claws prickled at the memory.
The red mech studied her. She wondered what he was thinking. He never prodded about the details of her missions, not that she would ever share if he asked. Some things she never wanted to burden him with. Part of Quickshadow feared what Heatwave would think if he knew the truth – some of her missions ended in spilled energon – but another part suspected that he already knew.
"Get some rest," Heatwave gently ordered as he got to his paws to leave. He nuzzled her cheek in farewell. "I'll come visit in the morning."
Quickshadow stretched once Heatwave left. Despite his advice, she was exhausted from sitting around. A little bit of movement surely wouldn't hurt…
There was a small wash-rack attached to her room. A petite mirror hung on the opposite wall. The Rescue Bot studied her reflection. Despite Heatwave's grooming, her pelt was rumpled from sitting in one position for so long. Her eyes looked tired. The gray light from the nearby window made her pelt appear dull and lifeless. She saw the spy who did what was necessary to accomplish the mission, even at the cost of her own sanity and morality. What do her sparklings see? Kindle and Wildfire were still young and couldn't comprehend the nature of her work. This would be the first serious mission that resulted in a major injury since their sparking. Would they judge her invisible energon-stained paws?
She must've missed Heatwave's arrival in the morning, yet she stifled a small jolt when she recognized his scent in the room. Quickshadow stirred when she felt a warm bundle plop into her nest. Wildfire, their youngest. The sparkling was asleep and instinctively curled against her carrier's flank like she used to do as a newspark. Quickshadow raised her head to see Heatwave carrying Kindle gently by the scruff and placing them next to Wildfire, being extra mindful to avoid irritating Quickshadow's bandages. He tucked Kindle next to their sister before giving both of their sparklings gentle licks on their foreheads.
"You looked like you could use some company," Heatwave quietly explained to his partner. His voice was soft so the sparklings wouldn't stir. "Doc said it would be alright." There was something in his eyes that told Quickshadow that he knew more than he let on.
She hadn't realized her tail had already wrapped around her sparklings to draw them closer. Kindle and Wildfire were fast asleep, and both sparklings were visibly relaxed resting at their carrier's flank. Kindle's cheek was laying on Quickshadow's stomach while Wildfire's face was buried in her carrier's fur.
The familiar waves of adoration and protection soothed her entire frame. Love for her sparklings poured through every fiber of her being. She was reminded of the reasons why she got up every single morning, why she sacrificed so much for her job, and why she continued to fight every single day. For her family. The strength they gave her was enough to overcome any obstacle. Her children didn't see her as a monster. They saw her as their mother.
Her blue eyes met Heatwave's amber ones. "Thank you," she whispered. He knew she needed this reminder.
Her partner settled on the other side of their sparklings. Heatwave's forepaws touched hers as they wrapped around their sparklings in a warm and protective cuddle. "Enjoy while this lasts," he joked softly. "They're menaces when they're awake."
Quickshadow stifled a purr. "Just like their sire," she quietly teased. She rested her chin on her forepaws.
Heatwave mimicked her. "Funny, I was just about to say the opposite."
Quickshadow faintly huffed in amusement before closing her eyes. With enough concentration, she could feel her sparklings' sparks beating against her flank. The tiny fluttering grounded her, anchoring her dark thoughts away like a lighthouse in the night.
Chapter 15: Acid rain (Cybercember)
Summary:
His mind went back to Ironhide and Chromia’s ceremony. Optimus half expected Arcee to query when he was planning on asking her to be his Conjunx Endura. They’ve danced around the topic before, and it was a matter he’d been reflecting about privately. What would change between them? It would still have to be a secret. There couldn’t be a grand ceremony like Ironhide’s. It couldn’t even be documented in any records. Would it just be putting a larger target on Arcee? Yet it would unite them both as conjunx eternally. He would belong to her, and she would belong to him. Even if they told no one, nothing would be able to challenge their bond to each other.
Notes:
I've been meaning to participate in DragonsGirl572's Cybercember Transformers prompts, but finals have been a pain! Now that they are finally done, I plan on going back and writing some shorts for a few of these days :) Full list if you're interested in participating!
Chapter Text
It was easy enough to follow Arcee's scent. Her trail followed the standard operating procedure for sentry duty: a singular route following the path of least resistance through the rough terrain while maintaining eyeshot of the hideaway. Optimus Prime quickened his pace to catch up.
The two Autobot squadrons were sharing the safe house after a long day of warfare. Optimus Prime's own brigade had just successfully defeated the Decepticons territorial skirmish when they decided to rest at the nearby shelter. They were too far away from Iacon to make the long trek back to the Autobot HQ. The empty base was small, but it housed enough energon and resources for small teams to bunk down for the night.
He had been surprised to see Mirage's team join them shortly after. The blue-and-white mech immediately gave Optimus Prime a debriefing about their own mission. He had done his best to listen attentively while scouring the weary soldiers who sluggishly drifted into the main room. There were hardly a member of the Delta and Beta squadrons who weren't injured in some capacity. Already, the field medics had begun triaging the wounded. Optimus Prime's eyes scoured the crowd for a particular femme. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry root in his spark as he tried to focus on Mirage's report.
There! At last, he had spotted Arcee entering the room, deep in conversation with Tailgate. Her wounds appeared to be only surface-level, and the Prime had let himself relax inwardly at the confirmation of her safety.
The ambient chatter dwindled as day ended. The two teams settled into spare nests or clustered into small groups to catch up with comrades. A few trainees were assisting the field medics with the remaining injured, though fortunately none were life threatening. Mirage had suggested sharing sentry duties between the two teams. Arcee had immediately volunteered and left the base without waiting for a rebuttal.
Mirage had scowled at her abrupt departure, but Optimus had gently flicked his tail against his teammate's flank. "I will accompany her," he softly reassured. That had seemed to reassure the team leader, who gave his nods of thanks.
The darkening sky was gray like faded metal and thick with dark clouds that beckoned imminent rainfall. The area was deserted; the safe house was the sole building around for kilometers, hidden away in the densely packed ridges and raised grooves of metal of the Ripples. The landscape reminded Optimus of puddle frozen in time while a sparkling playfully splashed in it; random curves in the ground were accompanied by arches that towered over the Prime.
As he predicted, Arcee was waiting for him a few paces further. She sat dutifully on top of a ridge as she surveyed their surroundings. Her tail was delicately curled over her black forepaws. Her dark blue eyes lit up when she saw him.
"Arcee," he greeted as he approached.
"Optimus." Her voice and warm smile made his spark flutter. He didn't know if he would ever get used to it.
"Anything to report?" His greeting was coded. Are we alone?, he was asking. The larger mech sat down next to her, his pelt barely touching hers.
Her reply was automatic. "Nothing out of the ordinary." No one followed me, she was saying. Her eyes met his. "How about you?"
He suddenly realized that he had been too busy in his own musings to check if any ‘bot had followed him from the small base. Optimus slightly grimaced at his own foolish mistake. "Distracting, unfortunately," he mildly replied. He grimaced again when he noticed Arcee twitch her whiskers amusingly at his childish mishap.
She got to her paws. "Let's resume this patrol, then," Arcee suggested.
He briskly nodded. "Lead the way."
Arcee gracefully leapt down the ledge, and Optimus followed more slowly. The smaller femme set a brisk pace; her black tail-tip was already disappearing behind a shattered column of metal by the time he made his way down. He only moderately increased his pace. Because of his own careless daydreaming, there was still a good chance they were being watched. They had to maintain their professional aliases for a bit longer.
It was a carefully calculated routine they were both accustomed to by now. After Elita's death several stellar cycles ago, Optimus couldn't bare the thought of his loved ones being targeted again because of his status. He swore to himself not long after his beloved's murder that he would never let anyone close to his spark again. He willed himself to focus on the war and adhere to the wisdom of the former Primes within him. It was his own foolish spark that led to Elita's death, and he had vowed to never let that happen again.
"We plan for one outcome," Ratchet had told him once, "and our sparks laugh."
Naturally, that was before he had met Arcee. He recalled when they first met at the HQ. At first, Optimus was privately hesitant about how well she would perform due to her smallish size. Yet he'd been a fool to misjudge her. Arcee had proved to be a valued warrior on the battlefield. What she lacked in size, she more than exceeded with her speed and stealth. It wasn't long until she was recommended to join Mirage's specialized stealth squadrons.
While she excelled in combat, Optimus Prime had privately noticed that she wasn't as successfully socially. He frequently noticed that she would eat her rations alone, excuse herself from team social events, and prefer to linger on the edges in crowds and meetings. Wanting to promote the personal wellbeing of all his troops, Optimus made an effort to approach her.
They hadn't spoken much prior. At first, Arcee was distant and answered his questions with a professional and stern tone. It took a few more conversations before she began to open slightly. To his surprise, Arcee didn't treat him like he was a divinely appointed messenger from their god—much to his relief. He had, begrudgingly, grown accustomed to the highly revered mannerisms from his troops who believed in his every word and honored him as the Matrix bearer. It privately annoyed Optimus that the others insisted on treating him as such despite never requesting it. Part of the reason he cherished his long-standing friendships from his archivist days was because those ‘bots still treated him privately like Orion Pax and not just a Prime.
Elita had always treated him like Orion.
"I believe in things I can see," Arcee had explained gruffly when he had asked about it. "I know what the others say about you. That Primus himself personally appointed you as our new Prime and granted you the Matrix. But we only have your word that it happened, and I prefer to judge with my own eyes. I have never heard Primus's voice either, so who is to say that he even exists?" She had met his eyes then. "But I can tell you what I have seen, and I see a leader who is worth following."
The smaller navy-blue femme had held his gaze for a few moments. Optimus had felt something in his spark. He knew he could trust her judgment from then on.
He found himself seeking out her counsel frequently. When he needed someone to give him a frank answer, Optimus knew he could rely on Arcee. They also grew closer as comrades. He quickly realized she had a tendency to be prickly and sharp-tongued, yet there was usually a logical reason behind every barbed word. She had lost loved ones before and, like himself, was hesitant to form new connections. She eventually found the courage to befriend her squadmates after Optimus Prime's gentle encouragement.
Yet, the Prime regularly found himself casually chatting with Arcee more often than for official discussions. Simply put, he enjoyed her company, and as much as he attempted to subdue his own feelings…Optimus realized he was falling in love with her. He admired her capacity to be both fierce and gentle, her resolute dedication to her teammates, her willingness to challenge him, and her ability to comfort him merely with her presence.
And here they were stellar cycles later, carefully obscuring their courting with professional public displays and sparse greetings. His spark lifted whenever he saw her; in the stellar cycles they'd been together, the two rarely had time for themselves. Only brief moments or a few solar cycles in between battles and meetings when their schedules happened to overlap. Despite the short snippets, Optimus Prime came to cherish each and every one. Being around Arcee gave him a small respite from the burdens of the war.
Arcee was waiting for him ahead in a dry, ancient riverbed. He broke from his musings and quickened his pace to join her. "Seems all clear," the navy-blue femme reported.
"It would appear so."
She smiled. Wordlessly, the smaller femme got to her paws. Optimus remained on his haunches as Arcee gingerly brushed her pelt against his. He let out a faint purr at her touch. While he wasn't fond of physical touch, he knew Arcee preferred it. He was more than willing to provide it for her now that they were alone. They stayed like that for several moments, cherishing the precious moment together.
"How have you been?" he asked after they broke away.
Arcee gave a noncommittal shrug. "Things could be worse, I suppose," she replied. "Though I'm glad to see you. I didn't expect to see you until next cycle."
He dimly nodded. "We successfully apprehended the Decepticons at Damaxus with minimal casualties. We will be returning to Iacon tomorrow."
She huffed. "Finally some good news."
The pair got to their paws to resume the patrol, though this time they moved more slowly as they walked side-by-side. The two warriors exchanged small chatter as they kept their eyes and ears pricked for danger. They did have an obligation to protect their fellow Autobots. The sky was continuing to darken as twilight approached. The dark clouds billowed in the sky. Optimus could detect a faint tangy scent in the air of acid rain. It will rain soon.
Arcee leapt over a fallen metal formation while Optimus easily walked over it. The debris reminded him of the rubble remains in Damaxus—the once flourishing neutral city was now a desolate wasteland. Did the destructive effects of the war reach as far as the barren Ripples?
There was a lull in their conversation. Not that they minded; savoring each other's company was more than enough.
A rare smile flashed on Arcee's muzzle. "Chromia told me about Ironhide's confrontation the other week," she gently teased.
The Prime merely twitched his whiskers at the memory. "He could have chosen a more prudent expression," the large blue, gray, and red mech insisted.
Optimus Prime recalled how the large red warrior had managed to corner him when Optimus happened to be alone in the hallway. His friend wore a thrilled yet offended expression, and before Optimus could ask what was wrong, Ironhide loudly accused, "You have a thing for Arcee, and no one told me?!"
The Prime had immediately flustered at the sudden and loud confrontation, which only confirmed his friend's suspicions. Only a few ‘bots knew about their relationship; Optimus insisted it must be kept a secret to keep Arcee safe. Only his seconds-in-commands, the chief medical officer Ratchet, and Arcee's friend Chromia knew the truth. Yet apparently Chromia had thought her sparkmate knew already, resulting in Ironhide's flabbergast. Optimus knew that his old friend was merely excited; much of his inner circle secretly hoped that their leader would find happiness again after Elita's death.
Arcee laughed. "Chromia says she's sorry," she insisted. "She swore that Ironhide knew already."
"He told me all about it," Optimus replied dryly. "And scolded me for not telling him sooner."
"So you're fine if he knows?"
Optimus paused to gingerly walk down a steep slope. Gravel scattered as he steadied his paws. He waited for Arcee at the bottom. "I have known Ironhide for a very long time," he explained. "He can keep a secret."
Arcee slid down the slope, gripping with her claws to slow her descent. Optimus raised a paw to stop her from falling in case she needed it. "Why didn't you tell him sooner?" she asked.
He pondered her query. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ironhide. He trusted the weapons specialist with his life. "I suppose I never intended to exclude him," Optimus eventually clarified.
"I'm surprised that Ironhide was even alone without Chromia," Arcee added with a mischievous smile. "He's been attached to her pelt when they're both on base together since the ceremony."
He hummed, recalling Ironhide and Chromia's bonding ceremony two cycles ago. It was a rare joyful celebration at the HQ for once as the entire base commemorated the two warriors becoming sparkmates.
The rain that threatened to downpour finally arrived. The drizzle splattered on the Prime's pelt. It only lightly stung, though the clouds looked dark enough for signal additional precipitation. Optimus took the lead to a nearby outcropping. The curved metal would provide enough shelter for both of them to wait out the rain. Optimus waited for Arcee to enter first before joining her. It was large enough for her to sit on her haunches, though Optimus had to crouch.
Arcee began to groom herself while Optimus maintained vigil. He recognized some of the formations nearby. He guessed they had nearly finished looping around the safe house. The Prime hoped that any nearby hostiles were also sheltering and not take advantage of their minimal defenses while he and Arcee waited for the rain to stop.
His mind went back to Ironhide and Chromia's ceremony. Optimus half expected Arcee to query when he was planning on asking her to be his Conjunx Endura. They've danced around the topic before, and it was a matter he'd been reflecting about privately. What would change between them? It would still have to be a secret. There couldn't be a grand ceremony like Ironhide's. It couldn't even be documented in any records. Would it just be putting a larger target on Arcee?
Yet it would unite them both as conjunx eternally. He would belong to her, and she would belong to him. Even if they told no one, nothing would be able to challenge their bond to each other.
He risked a glance at Arcee, but the femme was contently observing the rainfall. She seemed so happy celebrating with Chromia at the ceremony; he hadn't seen her that happy in a long while. He wanted her to be like that forever.
Optimus Prime closed his eyes and breathed in the tangy scents of the rain on the metal. He felt Arcee's warm gaze on him and her tail wrap against his. It was these quiet moments when the war seemed far away with Arcee at his side that he enjoyed the most.
Part of him wanted this moment to last forever, but eventually, the acid rain began to dissipate. When it slowed to a faint drizzle, Arcee got to her paws to resume their patrol but halted when Optimus made no move to follow her. "Optimus?" she asked.
The Prime was still briefly lost in thoughts, so his question was frank. "Have you considered becoming sparkmates?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Arcee blinked at his abrupt question. "Where did this come from?"
"It has been on my mind since Ironhide and Chromia's engagement," he admitted softly. "I…I was not sure if you were waiting for me to mention it."
Arcee studied him quietly for a few moments. She was frowning now, though he couldn't tell what she was thinking. After a few moments, she rejoined underneath the outcropping, positioning herself so she could meet his eyes. He expected her gaze to be stern, but instead her blue eyes gazed thoughtfully at him. "Do you want to?" she asked.
"Your choice in this manner is—"
"I know what you're going to say," Arcee interrupted decisively, "but your thoughts are just as important too. I know that if I say we should become sparkmates, you'll readily agree. But that doesn't matter." Her gaze was firm. "Your choice is just as important. You won't break my spark if you say no."
Optimus pondered over her words for a few moments. Yes, Arcee was right that he would immediately advocate for their bonding if she said she wanted to. He would do anything to make her happy. But did he want to become sparkmates with Arcee? For so long, he thought he and Elita would become sparkmates, they'd been together since they were younglings. But that future is gone now. He could take this moment to get what he never could with Elita. But would that be fair to Arcee?
"I know that I love you, Arcee," Optimus Prime eventually said quietly, fearful someone might hear them. "I know I want to be together with you, but…" He trailed off, unsure of how to properly word what he was feeling.
"…you're afraid that I might perish like Elita," Arcee finished. It seemed strange to say that Optimus Prime was afraid of anything, but she recognized the worry in his optics. He was afraid of disappointing her, of losing her to the war. Their bonding would only inevitably increase her risk of becoming a target because of him. "I'm afraid as well," the navy-blue femme went on. "I'm afraid of losing you. I'm afraid every time we go into battle that it'll be the last time I ever see you." Arcee pressed a forepaw against his. "But I know one day the war will be over. That's why I fight for it every day, but I refuse to not live my life now while I still can."
His spark lifted at her words. "You know I cannot promise you much. I may not be able to provide the life that you deserve. However, I can promise you my spark…if you so desire it."
Her eyes glimmered. "Only if you feel I am worthy of your spark," she purred.
"You are always worth it, my dear," he murmured. Filled with what only he could describe as a surge of unprecedented love and admiration, the blue-and-red mech gave Arcee a loving lick across her cheek before rubbing his muzzle affectionately against hers. Arcee blinked in surprise but quickly pressed her muzzle back in a fond purr. The two stayed like that for several moments as the sun disappeared over the war-torn horizon.
"What about sparklings?" Arcee tepidly asked, causing Optimus to break away. "Is that something you want?"
The Prime thought for a moment. He and Elite had always planned to start a family one day, though it didn't seem apt to bring up her name again. "Yes, if that is something you would also want. I will be happy with however many newsparks you are willing to bare." He gazed out at the dark horizon. With the sun gone, dim fires lit in the distance. Smoke pillars billowed into the sky to replace the vanishing clouds. The impacts of the war were constantly around them, reminding them of its detrimental effects on their planet and all who lived here. "Though I do not believe that now is the time."
Arcee seemed to relax at his answer. "Not with the war going on, no," she agreed. Her tail flicked once. "But one day…once things are peaceful again. I think it could be nice."
He rested his tail-tip against hers, causing her to smile at him. "I will be satisfied with that," he concurred. Her tail-tip wrapped around his as they both gently smiled.
Optimus wanted to savor this moment for eternity, but the pull of his responsibilities beckoned him. He crept out from underneath the metal and Arcee wordlessly joined him. They didn't need to say anything as they resumed their silent patrol, both savoring their future together.
cayennesugar on Chapter 8 Wed 15 Oct 2025 02:56AM UTC
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Vector_Sigma on Chapter 8 Mon 03 Nov 2025 04:50AM UTC
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cayennesugar on Chapter 14 Fri 31 Oct 2025 02:39AM UTC
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Vector_Sigma on Chapter 14 Mon 03 Nov 2025 04:51AM UTC
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