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Jackson Darby considers himself a bit of a model student.
Nowhere near the natural genius that Raf is, of course. As far as Jack's concerned, the last straight A he'd gotten was probably back in middle school. But what he lacks in perfect grades, Jack makes up for with an impeccable attendance record and a spotless disciplinary file.
His mom raised him well, after all.
To be responsible, respectful, and reliable. The Three R's, as Jack likes to call them in his head. Three R's Miko could definitely stand to take a look at for her own résumé, if you asked him...but that's beside the point.
Not his circus. Not his monkeys.
He's already busy enough making sure Miko doesn't get herself crushed beneath a Vehicon's pede, blown apart by a Seeker grenade, or somehow wedged into one of the Autobots' subspaces after sneaking aboard a patrol.
Compared to all that, whatever she gets up to at school is the least of his concerns.
Besides, Miko is practically a regular in both detention and the principal's office. And while Jack genuinely likes her...He has absolutely no interest in joining her there anytime soon.
Still...Despite all that, he's just a kid.
Well. A teenager. A teenager with a part-time job and an alarming amount of experience dealing with alien robots, but a teenager nonetheless.
Which means he's currently stuck enduring the final class before the weekend.
His blue eyes drift between the teacher's increasingly illegible scrawl across the chalkboard and the clock hanging on the wall to his right.
Something about trigonometry. Or algebra. One of those.
Jack has always been terrible with math, he'll ask Raf later.
At this point he'd long since abandoned feeling embarrassed about getting tutoring from a twelve-year-old. Honestly, he respected Raf far too much to let something as silly as pride get in the way of passing math.
His gaze flicks back to the clock.
Five minutes.
Just five more minutes and he's free for the weekend. Five minutes until Omega-1.
Home away from home at this point.
Someone else might think it's a little sad that a seventeen-year-old spends 90% of his free time inside an old missile silo, surrounded by giant alien robots, fighting in a war between two interstellar factions while risking his life on what feels like a bi-daily basis.
Jack, however, had long since accepted his fate.
More than that...He'd settled into it.
I mean, heck- he's been to an entirely different planet. Find another seventeen-year-old with that on his résumé…!
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he props his chin into one palm, absentmindedly twirling his pencil between his fingers. It taps rhythmically against his notebook while his eyes drift back toward the clock.
1 Minute…Thirty seconds...Twenty...Fifteen...Ten...
BRRRIINNNGG!
The bell echoes through the classroom.
Instantly, chairs scrape across the floor as backpacks are slung over shoulders. Around him, his classmates waste absolutely no time making a break for freedom, while their teacher at the front of the room lets out a sigh that sounds almost as relieved as theirs.
He gives the chalkboard one last emphatic smack with the flat of his palm, gesturing toward the maze of equations behind him in a manner that reminds Jack a little too much of Ratchet during one of his lectures.
Jack has to bite back a smile.
"Okay, kids! Go over this again over the weekend!" the teacher calls after the already half-empty classroom. "The test's on Tuesday! Don't say I didn't warn you!"
Hardly anyone acknowledges him. Half the class is already disappearing into the hallway, excited chatter about weekend plans echoing through the open door.
Jack finishes zipping up his backpack when a familiar ringtone vibrates from his back pocket.
He fishes out his flip phone and snaps it open with a practiced flick of his wrist.
He doesn't even bother checking the caller ID, there are, realistically, only a handful of people who ever call him.
Out of the four contacts stored in his phone, one belongs to his mom.
The other three are either giant alien robots...or people currently hanging around giant alien robots. He decides not to unpack what that says about his social life.
"Hey, 'Hide. The usual spot? I could really go for a-"
BOOM!
The explosion blasting through the phone speaker nearly makes Jack drop it. He jerks the phone away from his ear with a flinch, grimacing.
Yeah...Jazz was already well on his way to destroying his hearing. He really didn't need any extra help.
"-SCRAP! Behind ya, Bee!" The unmistakable crack of plasma fire erupts over the line.
"Hold on-!" Another explosion. Then Ironhide's familiar, gravelly voice finally pushes through the chaos. "Jack? Yeah- sorry, kid…!"
In the background, Bumblebee's frantic beeps and warbling chirps overlap one another as though he's shouting something important in a language Jack still has absolutely no hope of deciphering.
"Can't pick ya’ll up today. We kinda got held up investigatin' an Energon readin' and we're doin' our best not to-" Another blast rocks the call.
"-Bee, for frag's sake, learn to fall back!" Ironhide groans.
A beat later, the thunderous report of his own cannons shakes the speaker, followed almost immediately by Bumblebee repeating Ironhide's scolding back at him in what is unmistakably a mocking imitation.
Jack rubs the back of his neck with a tired smile. "...Yeah, don't worry about it, 'Hide."
He swings his backpack over one shoulder. "I'll just have Jazz pick us up instead."
"No can do, JD." Jazz's voice suddenly cuts across the call, cheerful as ever despite the battle raging around him.
"Guess who had to swoop in and save the day again?" The rapid-fire bark of his signature blasters punctuates the sentence.
Jack can't see him, but he can practically hear the smug grin plastered across the bot's faceplate.
Primus only knows what the battlefield looks like right now. Judging by the explosions, shouted warnings, and the constant plasma fire, it's probably complete and utter chaos.
Honestly... he's almost glad the bots decided to investigate that energon reading before school let out.
For his sake. But mostly for Miko's. She and Jazz are practically attached at the hip whenever they're together. As many times as Prowl, Ratchet, or even Ironhide have scolded the pair over it, Jazz never quite manages to leave Miko behind whenever there's even the slightest chance for adventure.
Bumblebee chirps another frantic warning through the speakers, followed immediately by the unmistakable clang of metal on metal.
Ironhide grunts.
"Quick on your pedes, for an aft that wide, 'Hide- whoa!" Jazz's quip is abruptly cut off by another volley of plasma fire.
Jack finally tears himself out of the mental image of whatever disaster is unfolding on the other end of the call and slings his backpack over one shoulder as he steps into the hallway.
"Anyway,-" Jazz continues, sounding only mildly inconvenienced by the active firefight around him, "-as much as I'd love to grab a soda with you kids, I'm kinda tied up here too. Sorry, JD!"
"No worries." Jack sidesteps a group of rushing students. "But... uh...who's picking us up? Optimus or-"
Ironhide cuts him off with another grunt, the heavy, metallic rattle of one of his cannons reloading echoing through the call. "Nah. Prime's out on a solo trip up in the Arctic. Insisted on goin' alone after wha’ happened last time."
He pauses just long enough to fire another shot. "...Still think it's a stupid idea, if ya ask me."
Jack's smile fades ever so slightly.
The Autobot’s last trip to the Arctic...Yeah. He remembers it well enough.
The Scraplet infestation…Watching Optimus and Prowl stumble back into Omega-1 with frost coating their armor and barely enough strength left to remain standing…
A shiver runs down his spine despite the warm desert air waiting outside.
Before he can dwell on the memory any longer-
"OOF-!"
A familiar force barrels into his side, nearly sending him sprawling into a row of lockers.
"Who're ya talking to, Jack?" Miko asks with a mischievous grin, looping an arm around his shoulders to steady both of them. "Your mooooom?"
Before Jack can answer, she leans halfway across him, grabs his wrist and tugs the phone closer to her face.
"Oooooh! Hi, Mrs. Darbyyyyy-"
"Oh, hiiii Miko~!" Jazz practically swoons back in a ridiculously high-pitched voice Jack can only assume is supposed to be an impression of his mother.
It is...Not a very good one but Miko doesn't seem to mind in the slightest.
"Jaaaaaazzzz!! Where are you, man?! I thought we were gonna go-"
She flinches back as another deafening explosion rattles through the speaker, nearly dropping the phone altogether.
"What?!" she blurts, sounding genuinely offended. "You guys are out in the field without us- without me?! That's so not cool, I-"
Jack gently but firmly tugs the phone back out of Miko's reach, earning himself a dramatic pout before returning it to his own ear. He pushes open the school's front doors with one shoulder, Miko falling into step beside him with a disappointed huff, though she quickly resumes humming some tune beneath her breath as if nothing had happened.
"So..." Jack clears his throat. "Who's picking us up?"
The question pretty much answers itself the second they step outside.
Parked neatly at the curb sits a pristine black-and-white Highway Patrol cruiser, every inch of its finish polished as it gleams beneath the afternoon sun. The bold HIGHWAY PATROL: POLICE lettering stretches across the doors beneath the familiar red-and-blue lightbar, while the little red Autobot insignia resting proudly on the hood removes any lingering doubt.
Jack stops dead in his tracks.
...
No. There is absolutely no way.
Beside him, Miko practically starts bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"NO WAY!" she squeals. "Prowl's driving us?!" Her grin somehow grows even wider. "He never lets us hitch a ride with him!"
Without another thought, she hops onto the stair railing and slides all the way down before taking off across the parking lot at full sprint. "I’m calling dibs on the cage in the back! HA!"
Through the phone, Ironhide lets out a weary grunt.
"I asked Prowl to cover for us today. He's the only bot available right now. Sorry, kid, I know-"
Another explosion shakes the speaker. "...Aw, scrap…! Gotta go, Jack…!"
The line dies with a click.
Jack slowly lowers the phone, staring at it for a moment before taking one long, steady breath.
…Aaand there goes his reputation as the model student.
His blue eyes slowly lift from the cruiser toward the front of the school.
The courtyard is still absolutely packed. Students linger in little groups talking about weekend plans, teachers supervise the dismissal, parents wait by their cars...
...and a good handful of them have already stopped what they're doing to watch Miko enthusiastically launch herself toward an actual police cruiser like she'd finally fulfilled her lifelong dream of getting arrested.
"If my mom finds out I got picked up by a police car..." a familiar voice murmurs quietly from somewhere to his left, "...I'm grounded for years."
Jack nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Primus-" He whirls around. "...Raf!"
The younger boy blinks innocently up at him, backpack already slung neatly over one shoulder.
The two teens slowly turn back toward the waiting cruiser together.
"I mean..." Jack says after a moment. "It can't be that bad, right? We could always...walk until we're out of sight first. Then have Prowl pick us up around the corner or someth-"
The police cruiser's loudspeaker crackles to life and Prowl’s deadpan voice calls across the parking lot.
"Jackson Darby."
Jack freezes.
"Rafael Esquivel."
Raf freezes right beside him.
"Enter the vehicle immediately."
…
Silence.
Then, almost as one, at least twenty heads swivel toward the two boys. Conversations trail off into curious whispers as classmates glance between Jack, Raf, and the waiting police car.
Jack slowly closes his eyes...There goes that idea.
From across the parking lot, Miko knocks enthusiastically against the rear window before waving both arms over her head.
"COME ON, SLOWPOKES! WHATCHA WAITING FOR?!"
She yells loudly enough that her voice carries clearly even through the closed doors. Prowl's entire frame gives the faintest little rattle in visible discomfort at the sheer volume.
Jack contemplates -very briefly- pretending he doesn't know either of them.
Beside him, Raf wears the exact expression of someone who has just bitten into a lemon.
With one long, stuttering sigh of resignation, the younger boy adjusts his backpack before making his way down the last few steps, speed-walking toward the waiting police cruiser and disappearing behind its darkly tinted windows without so much as another word.
Traitor.
Jack swallows heavily and drags a hand down his face with a groan, pointedly ignoring the growing chorus of whispers drifting across the courtyard. He readjusts the strap of his backpack and takes a steadying breath.
It cannot possibly get any worse than this-
"Jack...?" Never mind. It can.
"What's going on...?"
Jack freezes before slowly turning around, his cheeks already beginning to warm.
Sierra stands a few steps behind him, a puzzled crease between her brows as she clutches her books a little closer to her chest. Her gaze flickers uncertainly between Jack and the waiting police cruiser.
"...You're not being arrested, are you?"
"Ah- Sierra!" Jack laughs far too quickly. "What? No! Me? No, no, I- I would never. It's... it's not what it looks like, I just-"
"As if Darby would ever get himself into that kinda trouble." Vince appears seemingly out of nowhere, casually draping an arm across Sierra's shoulders as he flashes Jack one of his trademark cocky grins.
"I mean, the guy's afraid of his own shadow." He lets out a short laugh. Jack doesn't.
Instead, his eyebrows slowly knit together as he straightens where he stands, the embarrassment momentarily giving way to mild annoyance.
He clears his throat. "...How does that even correlate, Vince?" Jack asks evenly. "Last time I checked, we were both at that race, and if I remember correctly, neither of us were exactly following the speed limit."
"So..." Sierra says, tilting her head ever so slightly as she studies him with growing suspicion. "...You are being arrested?"
Jack opens his mouth to reply quickly, raising both hands in a defensive manner. "No-!"
"Did you get caught speeding or something?"
"With that old busted-up ride he shows up with all the time?" Vince snorts and shoots Jack another cheeky smirk. "Yeah, right. That thing couldn't break the speed limit if it wanted to."
Jack bites down the immediate urge to inform Vince that Ironhide could reduce his precious sports car to a pile of scrap without even shifting into fourth gear...Or first, for that matter.
Instead, he exhales slowly through his nose. "...It's not like that."
He turns on his heel and starts down the steps toward the waiting police cruiser. Behind him, Sierra and Vince exchange a quick glance before following after him, curiosity evidently getting the better of both of them.
Jack opens the front passenger door and tosses his backpack onto the seat.
Just as he's about to climb in, he feels the two of them stop a few steps behind him. He pauses and then slowly looks back over his shoulder, biting the inside of his cheek.
"I... uh..." His cheeks warm immediately. "...It's my stepdad."
The lie leaves his mouth far easier than he'd expected.
"My mom's new husband is...a cop." Jack gestures vaguely toward Prowl with one hand. "He insisted on picking me and my friends up today."
A nervous laugh follows and Jack rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.
"That's all."
The words leave an unpleasant knot in his stomach.
Just imagining his mother remarried is strange enough. Imagining her married to someone even remotely like Prowl...
Jack suppresses a visible shudder.
Both Sierra and Vince immediately straighten. Almost comically so.
"Oh!" Sierra's expression brightens almost instantly to a suspicious degree. "Well, that's actually reeeaalllly cool!"
She smiles toward the police cruiser before calling a little louder, "Tell your dad I said hi, Jack! And... thank you for his service, sir!"
Jack nearly chokes. Beside her, Vince remains conspicuously quiet.
His freckled cheeks have gone just the slightest shade pink as he suddenly finds himself standing considerably straighter than usual, doing his absolute best to look like the most law-abiding teenager in Jasper.
"...Y-yeah." Jack clears his throat. "I'll...let him know." He decides, rather wisely, that saying anything else will only make the lie worse.
"...I've gotta go."
Without waiting for another response, he ducks into the passenger seat and quietly closes the door behind him.
The second it's shut, Jack lets himself collapse back into the seat with one long, defeated groan. Both hands come up to cover his face.
"Oh my goooooood..."
Prowl's engine hums smoothly to life beneath them as the cruiser pulls away from the curb with effortless grace. Jack peeks through his fingers toward the dashboard interface, fixing the police bot with a tired, half-hearted glare.
"...Was the whole intercom thing really necessary, Prowl?"
He lets his hands fall into his lap."...That wasn't exactly... subtle."
"How else was I supposed to encourage you and Rafael to stop lingering?" Prowl replies in the same perfectly even tone.
He pauses for a moment. With three quiet clicks, the seatbelts suddenly pull themselves snugly across their passengers.
Prowl grunts something under his vents in apparent satisfaction before continuing.
"I can’t exactly exit my alt-mode and get you myself."
…
"...You could've honked."
"I’ll consider that for next time."
Jack isn't entirely convinced that's an improvement.
With a quiet sigh, he leans back into the passenger seat and crosses his arms over his chest, watching the familiar streets of Jasper roll past outside the window. The little shops and diners slowly give way to the wider roads leading out of town, the afternoon sun glinting off storefront windows as Prowl cruises along at exactly the posted speed limit.
Behind him, Miko peeks through the metal divider separating the front seats from the caged back, a mischievous grin already spreading across her face.
"Ooooh…~" she sing-songs, her expression twisting into a distinctly catlike smirk. "I saw you talking to Sierraaaaa."
Jack doesn't even bother looking back.
"What'd she want?"
Rafael finally glances up from the laptop balanced across his knees, absentmindedly nudging his glasses a little farther up the bridge of his nose. Though he doesn't say anything, the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth tells Jack all he needs to know.
Great. Now both of them are in on it.
"It wasn't anything important." Jack mutters a little too quickly, pointedly avoiding both their gazes through the rear-view mirror.
Miko gasps dramatically, clutching at the mesh between them as though Jack had just confessed to some great betrayal.
"Ohhh, it was totally something important."
"It wasn't."
"Jack."
"It wasn't."
"Jaaaaack.~"
"...Okay, okay!" Jack finally groans, throwing one hand up in surrender. "...She thought I was getting arrested."
Miko blinks once. And then promptly throws her head back and bursts into laughter. "I mean..." she wheezes between giggles. "...We kinda are!"
Jack slowly turns in his seat to look at her. "What?" she snorts, rattling the divider with both hands. "We're literally sitting inside a police car!"
Before Jack can recover what little dignity he has left, Miko's attention darts out the side window. Her eyes practically sparkle.
"Oh! Oh, hey, Prowler" She eagerly points toward the bright K.O. Burger sign as they roll past. "Can we pleeeease stop? They got those new milkshakes! And Jack definitely gets an employee discount there, and I've wanted to try one all week and-!"
"Absolutely not."
Prowl's answer comes so quickly Jack wonders if the Autobot had already decided before Miko had even opened her mouth. The police cruiser takes a smooth turn onto the main road leading toward the highway, carrying them farther and farther away from the restaurant.
Miko groans loudly, twisting around in her seat to watch K.O. Burger disappear through the back window.
"Oh, come OOOON!" she whines. "I'm starving...! Pleeeease?"
She puts on the pout.
Jack recognizes it instantly.
The Jazz pout.
The exact same overexaggerated expression the blue-and-white bot somehow manages to pull off whenever he wants something. Miko has apparently perfected it.
For a brief moment, hope flickers across her face as silence settles inside the cruiser.
Then Prowl's intercom clicks.
"No. There is perfectly adequate human food back at base."
Miko groans again, louder this time, before pointing accusingly through the divider at Jack.
"See?" She dramatically curls her fingers around the mesh. "We are being arrested."
She lets her head thunk lightly against it."By the Fun Police…Jazz would've stopped."
A distinctly offended scoff echoes through the cabin.
"Well, Miko," Prowl replies evenly as the cruiser merges onto the highway, "while you are inside my vehicle mode, I make the rules. You are, of course, free to continue the remainder of the way on foot."
"...Okay, okay I’ll be quiet!" Miko waves both hands dismissively before sinking back into the seat cushions. "Jeez, talk about bossy..."
Silence. A surprisingly peaceful silence, actually and Jack almost starts believing she means it.
"...Can I use your intercom?"
…
"...Just once?"
Another beat.
"...Please? Pretty Pleeeeeease?"
The rear-view mirror slowly pivots downward until it is aimed directly at Miko and she can practically feel Prowl staring at her.
The back-door security lock suddenly clicks open.
Miko's eyes widen.
"..."
"...Sheesh…! Okay, okay." She immediately raises both hands in surrender. "Sorry I asked, Bossbot."
The lock clicks shut again.
Jack can't help the quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he turns back toward the windshield.
The rest of the drive passes by in relative peace.
Miko has resumed poking away at something on her phone in the back seat, occasionally snickering to herself. Rafael, much in kind, has buried himself in whatever project currently occupies the screen of his laptop, the rhythmic tapping of his keyboard filling the otherwise quiet cabin.
Jack, meanwhile, simply watches the scenery roll by outside.
The familiar desert stretches endlessly beyond the highway, golden rock formations giving way to scattered trees as Prowl's engine maintains its steady, comforting hum beneath them.
It's nice.
Almost nice enough to make Jack forget about the whole incident back at school. Almost.
Because the second his brain inevitably circles back to the image of himself calling Prowl his-
"Jack?"
The police bot’s voice cuts through the silence over the intercom and the teenager looks over with a raised eyebrow.
"Hm? Yeah?"
Prowl remains quiet for a moment, as though carefully considering how best to phrase whatever has wandered into his processor. "...I happened to overhear the conversation you had with those two other human teenagers back there." Another short pause follows. "The girl and boy?"
Jack feels his stomach sink.
"...Yeah...?" he answers slowly, almost cautiously now. Through the rear-view mirror, he catches both Miko and Rafael looking up almost simultaneously, their attention abandoning their respective devices in an instant. Jack doesn't like where this is going.
"You referred to me as your 'stepdad'...and Miss Darby's new 'husband'." Prowl continues, his tone perfectly even, though touched by the faintest hint of genuine curiosity. "What is that?"
Jack's brain promptly blue-screens.
His mouth opens. Then closes again.
A strangled sound somewhere between a cough and a wheeze escapes him as he nearly chokes on absolutely nothing. From the back seat comes the unmistakable sound of Rafael trying- and failing- to suppress an amused snort, while Miko has both hands clamped tightly over her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently as she desperately tries not to burst out laughing.
Jack briefly considers opening the passenger door and throwing himself onto the highway.
At this point...It honestly seems like the less embarrassing option.
Still...Prowl seems genuinely curious. He isn't teasing him or trying to embarrass him. He's simply asking a question, expecting an answer. Jack bites down the overwhelming urge to simply not reply and instead opts to stare determinedly out the passenger window, deciding that counting cacti- cactuses? Cacti? Whatever- suddenly sounds like a fascinating pastime.
"Well... uhm..." Jack clears his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "A stepdad... a stepfather is kind of...oh, man..."
He swallows dryly, suddenly struck by the horrifying realization that he's skating dangerously close to giving the birds-and-the-bees talk to a several-million-year-old alien robot.
...Somehow that feels backwards.
"So..." He gestures vaguely with one hand. "Humans usually have two parents. And...it's pretty common that, if one parent is raising a kid on their own..." Jack fidgets absentmindedly with the strap of his backpack, searching for words that don't somehow make the entire concept sound ridiculous. "...they eventually find someone else. A...stand-in, I guess? Someone who helps raise the kid..." He shrugs helplessly. "...Or just...someone to keep them company, you know?"
The explanation leaves a strangely sour aftertaste in his mouth.
Now that he's actually saying it out loud, the whole thing sounds...kind of dumb.
Jack's seventeen. He doesn't exactly need a new dad anymore. His mom had done a pretty fantastic job raising him all on her own.
And his mom...Well...She didn't need a new partner either, Not really at least.
Jack knows the thought is silly. Childish, even. His mom deserves to be happy just as much as anyone else. Still...The idea of her remarrying has never exactly sat well with him.
Maybe it's selfish. Maybe it's because he'd grown so used to it just being the two of them.
Or maybe it's simply because the idea of coming home one day to find some random guy sitting at their kitchen table and calling himself Jack's new father makes him want to crawl into a fetal position.
Considering the overall level this conversation had dropped to about ten minutes ago...Jack decides he's fully entitled to be at least a little petty about the whole thing.
Prowl's engine revs lightly, and Jack can imagine the Cybertronian giving one of his thoughtful little nods if he were in his bot-form.
"Oh...I think I understand." Prowl says, his tone growing just a touch lighter than usual, almost warm, the ghost of a smile somehow carrying through the car's speakers. "Well...in that case, I am honored that you consider me part of that unit, Jack. It’s not entirely different from how we take care of younger Cybertronians. They are rarely raised by only two caretakers and we usually have an entire community to help raise and mentor the younger generation."
Jack isn't entirely sure what he expected as a response, but...it certainly wasn't that. Still, Prowl seems oddly pleased with the explanation Jack has given him and, thankfully, doesn't pry any further.
Jack silently thanks Primus for that, because explaining the second part of what he'd said back at school would be infinitely more awkward.
"...Weeeeeelll," Miko immediately reminds the universe otherwise.
"I think Jack forgot to mention that being a stepdad usually means being a husband." She says between barely contained giggles, twirling one of her pigtails around a finger. "Y'know... married to the mom. His mom, in this case."
Jack slowly turns around in his seat and fixes her with the flattest glare he can manage, making a discreet slicing motion across his own throat in a desperate plea for her to stop talking.
Miko grins. She understands exactly what he means but simply chooses to ignore it.
Prowl hums thoughtfully as they begin closing in on the canyon hiding Omega-1, the towering walls steadily climbing higher before them.
"...'Married?'" he asks at last, the rear-view mirror adjusting itself ever so slightly toward the back seat. "I am unfamiliar with that term."
Rafael is already typing before the question has fully left Prowl's speakers. His fingers dance across the keyboard for a few kliks before he clears his throat.
"'Marriage, also called matrimony or wedlock, is a culturally and often legally recognized union between people called spouses,'" he reads matter-of-factly from the screen.
Prowl is quiet for a moment. "...I fail to see how that clarifies the concept."
"...Yeah." Raf admits sheepishly, adjusting his glasses. "Wikipedia does that sometimes."
Jack quietly sinks another inch into his seat.
"And..." Prowl continues after another thoughtful pause, "...what exactly am I required to do now that I am apparently Miss Darby's 'spouse'? What responsibilities do ‘wedlocked’ humans have while caring for children such as yourselves?"
Jack groans loudly into both palms. "Oh, please don't answer that..."
Neither Miko nor Rafael pay him the slightest bit of attention.
"They kiss." Miko answers immediately.
"And argue." Raf adds.
"They usually split the housework."
"Help with homework."
"Cook."
"Do laundry."
"Set dumb rules and curfews." Miko contributes with an exaggerated eye-roll.
"They're also generally affectionate toward one another," Raf continues, scrolling farther down the page. "Marriage usually implies a committed romantic relationship. They're expected to be emotionally devoted and exclusive."
"Eugh." Miko waves the thought away dramatically. "Right... and then they make even more kids.-"
Jack whirls around so quickly he nearly pulls something in his neck. "OH-KAY! I think we got it!"
Both teens finally look up at him, Miko smirks playfully while Raf only blinks innocently.
"What I meant," Jack says quickly, trying very hard not to look anywhere near the dashboard interface, "was that it was just...a stupid excuse to get Vince off my back. That's all. It wasn't for real." He scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck before glancing out the passenger window again. "...I don't really think of you as my dad or anything, Prowl. I'm...sorry if I made things weird."
Silence.
The only sound inside the cruiser is the steady hum of Prowl's engine as they continue further towards the canyon. Even Miko has the good sense to keep quiet now, though Jack can still hear the occasional suppressed giggle from the back seat. The longer Prowl says nothing, the more Jack begins worrying he'd somehow offended him.
At last, the intercom crackles back to life.
"Jackson Darby." Prowl says slowly, his voice stern enough to make all three teenagers sit up a little straighter. "This is a highly inappropriate topic to lie about. Based on Rafael's explanation and your…‘elaboration’ on these marital duties, 'marriage' appears to be a sacred social bond between individuals. To falsely be part of such a bond is a lie I don’t want to be involved in whatsoever."
Jack swallows dryly at the tone Prowl is using- one he recognizes all too well. The kind of parental scolding that has you sitting ramrod straight before you even realize you've done it.
"I- uhm... I get it." Jack rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, refusing to look anywhere near the dashboard. "...I'm sorry, Prowl."
He instead forces his attention back outside the passenger window. Behind him, Miko and Rafael awkwardly avoid eye contact as well, Raf busying himself with his laptop once more while Miko quietly whistles some tune beneath her breath, tracing little patterns into the partition mesh with one finger.
Thankfully, the towering blast doors of Omega-1 finally come into view and slowly begin sliding open before them. Daylight quickly gives way to darkness as Prowl rolls into the familiar tunnel, his headlights flaring to life while the soft red and blue LEDs inside the cruiser illuminate the cabin in alternating flashes.
It's still awkward.
Jack opens his mouth, his eyebrows knitting together as he desperately searches for something to loosen the tension before the weekend properly begins. Spending the next two days like this would be unbearable.
"...I, uhm..." He scratches awkwardly at his cheek. "...I'll just tell everyone at school that you and my mom got divorced in a couple weeks." He offers a weak little shrug. "...No big deal."
Prowl's engine stutters just once.
The intercom crackles, though for several long seconds nothing follows. When Prowl finally speaks again, a long, tired sigh precedes his words, almost as though the Praxian has already decided he no longer enjoys learning about human relationships.
"...'Divorced'...?" he repeats slowly, carefully sounding the unfamiliar word out.
Jack lifts his head from where it had nearly met the dashboard and gives another apologetic shrug.
"You know... uhm..." He makes a vague motion with both hands, pulling them apart. "...Un-married?"
Silence. Again. But the slow increase in volume of Prowl’s engine tells the teens that he seems increasingly more irritated by the new term.
The tunnel gradually brightens once more as they finally emerge into the vast interior of Omega-1. Before Prowl can so much as ask the three teenagers to exit his vehicle form so he can transform, Miko practically tears the rear door open the moment the security lock disengages and hops out of the cruiser with enough enthusiasm to make the suspension bounce.
"Welp! I'm gonna go see if Jazz is back!"
Raf quietly follows after her, slipping his laptop beneath one arm before climbing out as well. Jack lingers for only a moment longer before stepping out onto the concrete floor himself, giving the dashboard one last sheepish glance just as Prowl's frame begins unfolding with the familiar mechanical whir of shifting panels.
Prowl straightens his backstrut with a quiet grunt and rolls one shoulder before cracking his neck. His door-winglets twitch restlessly as he tries to ease the tension building between his shoulder pauldrons- or perhaps stave off the inevitable helm-ache this entire conversation has gifted him.
"'Un-marry'..." Prowl repeats beneath his vent, the words tasting wrong on his glossa. "...You humans are unbelievable."
Rafael lingers at the police bot‘s side and, before his better judgement can stop him, curiosity wins out.
"...Do Cybertronians not...divorce?" he asks innocently, peering up at the towering mech through his glasses.
Prowl actually recoils a fraction. The following look he gives Raf borders on offended.
Both human boys exchange a quick glance. "...Do you guys even marry?" Jack asks carefully, tilting his head as genuine curiosity overtakes his earlier embarrassment.
Prowl is quiet for a long moment.
His gaze drifts away from the children and settles instead upon the servo he'd unconsciously curled into a fist. Slowly, almost reverently, he uncurls his digits before resting that servo over the center of his sparkchamber.
"We...form bonds." His voice is calmer now, though no less firm. "We have rites not entirely unlike what you refer to as 'marriage.' Ceremonies that bind two sparks together eternally as ‘Conjunx Endurea’ before their family, their community and, if one is religious, before Primus himself."
His thumb brushes absentmindedly over the plating covering his spark.
"But from what I have gathered..." Prowl's optics narrow ever so slightly. "...Your species appears to value such unions...considerably less."
The words come quietly. Almost disappointed. "If they can be entered into so casually..." He pauses, visibly searching for the correct human expression. "...And then simply become... 'un-married.'"
His faceplate twists ever so slightly. "I find the very notion upsetting...To fabricate a sparkbond for convenience..." His door-winglets twitch again. "...Or to speak of dissolving it so easily..."
He shakes his helm once with a final disappointed ex-vent."...It’s very difficult for me to comprehend."
Jack can't help but flinch at the sheer venom in Prowl's voice. Beside him, Raf bites the inside of his cheek, silently deciding that perhaps this particular rabbit hole didn't need any further digging.
It lasts all of three seconds.
"...Whoa..." Jack murmurs, his curiosity once again getting the better of him. "...Wait..."
He exchanges another look with Raf before turning back toward Prowl.
"...What's a Conjunx?"
"And..." Raf adjusts his glasses. "...You said rites?...As in...a ceremony? Wha-"
"Wohohoa- Prowler, what's gotten your processor all heated up like that, man?" Jazz's voice cuts across the main area of the base before any of the three can continue their conversation. "I can feel your EM field from all the way over here!"
The white-and-blue mech is currently busying himself with what used to be Miko's bass speaker, holding the little box in one servo almost like a calculator while the built-in blowtorch extending from his index digit hisses quietly against the exposed circuitry. His glossa pokes out ever so slightly between his derma in concentration as he carefully solders another connection, his visor flickering with every little shower of sparks.
His human partner, meanwhile, is bouncing excitedly up and down on the balcony directly above him, both hands wrapped around the railing as she enthusiastically watches every little movement.
"So you're saying I can crank the bass up even more with this one?!" Miko practically squeals, leaning so far over the railing that Jack instinctively flinches. "Oh, scrap, Jazz- that's so cool! You’re the BEST!"
The blue-and-white mech doesn't even bother looking up. With the ease of someone who's had to catch Miko from doing something reckless far too many times, he simply reaches his free servo upward and gently pushes her back by the forehead before she can topple over entirely.
"Consider it a little apology gift for me leaving without ya, kiddo."
He chuckles warmly before giving her head a fond little ruffle with the tip of one digit. Jazz follows it with the familiar tilt of his helm that always accompanies one of his exaggerated winks, his visor briefly flashing before his attention shifts toward the newly arrived group.
"...Though..." His smile grows playfully as it settles on Prowl. "...You look like somebody just told ya Optimus legalized street racing."
Prowl scoffs loudly and dismisses the comment with a wave of one servo, crossing both arms over his chassis once more as he pointedly avoids looking at the smaller bot.
"Forget it." His tone leaves very little room for discussion. "It doesn’t matter."
Jazz raises an optical ridge behind his visor but wisely decides not to pry further…yet.
Prowl simply brushes past him and heads toward the med-bay area where the remainder of Team Prime- minus Optimus- has gathered after the energon raid.
Ratchet is diligently bent over Ironhide's exposed shoulder assembly as he carefully manipulates a bundle of delicate wiring. Bright blue sparks spit from the open circuitry every few kliks as the medic works on what appears to be a fresh battle wound.
Nearby, Bumblebee stands with remarkable patience, both servos occupied by the heavy armor plate Ratchet had removed for easier access. Judging by the increasingly uncomfortable expression in the scout's bright blue optics, however, patience is beginning to wear thin.
A series of uncertain chirps and warbles leave Bee's voicebox as he deliberately averts his gaze from Ironhide's exposed internals, his optics squeezing shut every time Ratchet's tools disappear a little deeper into the wiring.
Ironhide notices immediately and lets out a hearty laugh before peering over his shoulder at the younger Autobot, a broad grin pulling at his faceplate.
"Didn't think ya'd be this squeamish, Bee." Ironhide chuckles, shifting just enough to earn himself an immediate warning glare from Ratchet. "Ain't nothin' you haven't seen before, so quit lookin' like you're about to hurl-"
"Hold still."
"I am holdin'-"
Ratchet gives one particularly firm twist to a cable.
"OW! Ratch- for frag's sake!" Ironhide shoots the medic an offended look over his exposed shoulder. "Would it kill ya to be just a little gentler?!"
Ratchet doesn't so much as glance up from his work. He merely scoffs beneath his vent and furrows his optical ridges even further, entirely focused on the damaged circuitry beneath Ironhide's shoulder plating. At this point, he'd probably welded the same bundle of wires back together more times than he could count.
"I wouldn't have to be gentler if you'd simply sit still and let me work. Optimus and Prowl somehow manage that just fine without complaining every five kliks."
He reaches one servo out toward Bumblebee without so much as looking, impatiently wiggling his digits.
Bee follows the movement with confused optics for a moment before realizing what Ratchet is asking for. Balancing Ironhide's bulky shoulder plate against one hip, he awkwardly stretches for the tiny screwdriver lying on the workbench beside him. A few uncertain chirps leave his voicebox as he finally manages to pass the tool over without dropping either it or the armor plating.
Prowl, who had remained quiet throughout the exchange, finally tears his attention away from the group. His derma presses into a thin line as his gaze sweeps across the room, worry gradually settling onto his faceplate. His optical ridges knit together ever so slightly before he turns back toward Ratchet.
"...Where is Optimus?" he asks, unable to completely hide the concern in his voice. "Has he returned yet?"
Jazz doesn't even look up from the speaker box in his servo.
"Calm your headlights, Prowler." He waves one servo dismissively, the tiny blowtorch retracting back into his index digit with a quiet hiss. "OP got back before me, 'Hide and Bee did."
A grin tugs at his derma.
"He's down in the washracks trying to get rid of all the frost n’ snow." Jazz chuckles to himself at the memory, giving the stereo another little tap with his digit. "You shoulda seen him, man. Pretty sure he brought half the Arctic back with him."
Prowl's optics narrow into an immediate glare.
The Praxian had never particularly appreciated jokes made at Optimus' expense, even when they came from fellow members of the Autobot High Command. Perhaps it was because he'd served beside the Prime for the shortest amount of time out of the four of them. Or perhaps it was simply the unwavering respect- and admiration- he held for their leader.
Either way, Jazz merely flashes him an unapologetic grin.
"...He's fine." The blue-and-white mech adds more gently this time, finally looking up from his work. "Ratchet already gave him the all-clear. He's probably just thawing out."
Prowl's door-winglets lower ever so slightly.
"...Good." The single word leaves him in a quiet ex-vent.
At last, he allows himself to settle beside Jazz beneath the balcony, leaning one shoulder lightly against the railing as though he'd only come over to watch the other. His azure optics, however, keep flicking absentmindedly toward the corridor leading to the washracks every few moments.
Raf, who has since settled onto the couch on the balcony while Miko eagerly watches Jazz tinker away at her stereo, quietly opens his laptop once more. The tab he'd previously used to look up marriage for Prowl is still sitting open on the screen and, despite his better judgement, curiosity gets the better of him yet again.
His gaze lifts from the laptop and searches for Prowl first, only to find the police bot standing nearby with his arms crossed. Then it drifts toward Ratchet, who is still elbow-deep inside Ironhide's shoulder assembly, diligently reconnecting another bundle of wiring. Every now and then the medic reaches up to smack Ironhide's good shoulder whenever the larger mech shifts too much.
"Uhm... Ratchet?" Raf starts hesitantly.
The medic doesn't even look up. Instead, a familiar little grunt leaves his vents.The sound is so distinctly Ratchet that the children have long since learned it translates to 'I'm listening. Continue.'
"We and Prowl had a conversation on the way back about... uh..." Raf scratches awkwardly at his cheek before glancing down at his laptop again. "...Marriage."
Jack drops onto the couch beside him with an exhausted sigh, tossing his backpack carelessly behind him before letting himself melt into the cushions.
"...Sparkmate?" The older teen offers tiredly, already feeling the confused gazes of the other Autobots on them. "Or...what was the other word...? Conyax...? Cunjax...?"
For the first time in several kliks, Ratchet actually pauses what he's doing.
His aqua optics flick upward toward the two teenagers and one optical ridge slowly climbs his faceplate.
"...Conjunx Endurae?" he supplies carefully.
Raf immediately brightens. "Right!" He eagerly pushes his glasses a little farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask... is that, like... a common thing for Cybertronians? To get married- I mean...sparkbonded?"
For one brief moment the entire room is quiet.
Then Ironhide barks out a laugh so loud the entire silo seems to rattle with it.
His shoulder pauldrons bounce as he doubles over, clutching at his chassis with his good servo while Ratchet hisses something thoroughly unrepeatable beneath his vents as the larger mech almost jerks the freshly repaired wiring loose again.
"Hahahaha!" Ironhide wheezes. "Now that's one helluva bot to ask ‘bout romance!"
Jazz is no better. He has to set Miko's stereo onto the balcony before he drops it from laughing too hard.
"Ohhhhh Hahaha, that's rich." Jazz wipes theatrically beneath his visor before pointing an accusing digit toward Prowl. "How in the pits did ya manage to land on that conversation with Prowler of all mechs?"
He turns fully toward the Praxian now, his visor glinting with unmistakable mischief.
"Tight-aft over here barely talks about anything that ain't boring enough to put a mech straight into recharge."
Prowl's response is immediate. A withering glare settles squarely on Jazz, making the smaller bot only grin wider. The police bot’s faceplate warms ever so slightly beneath the attention suddenly fixed upon him and, with a quiet grumble beneath his vents, he lifts one servo to cover the lower half of his faceplate, pointedly refusing to acknowledge the laughter surrounding him.
Miko, who had until now been completely enthralled by Jazz tuning her stereo, finally tears herself away from the speaker and strolls over to where Prowl is standing by the balcony railing. She leans against it beside him and gently smacks his shoulder pauldron with the back of her hand, earning nothing more than a sidelong glance from the bot.
"Prowler…~“
The mech deliberately looks away.
Miko's grin only widens. "Ohhh, come on." She laughs before turning back toward the others. "Didn't you guys hear the news yet?"
With both hands she forms little talking mouths, pressing her fingertips together dramatically before making the puppets loudly ‘kiss’ each other.
"Prowl and Miss Darby are married now!" she announces proudly to the entire room, barely able to finish the sentence through her laughter. "And- aaand he's Jack's new stepdad!"
The room falls silent for a long moment until-
CLANG!
The deafening sound of several dozen pounds of metal hitting the floor echoes through the entire base as Bumblebee had accidentally let go of Ironhide's shoulder plating in shock.
The scout stumbles back a step in sheer shock, his bright blue optics widening until they're nearly perfectly round. Both servos immediately fly to the sides of his helm as he helplessly stares at Prowl...then Jack…then Miko...before finally settling on Rafael.
His door-winglets tremble violently and a rapid barrage of panicked chirps, horrified buzzes and increasingly frantic beeps pours from his voicebox so quickly that it all blurs together into one incomprehensible stream of ‘Bumblebee-se’.
Unlike the others, Bumblebee had spent enough time around humans (and TV…) to immediately understand words like marriage and stepdad. Unfortunately, that only seems to make things worse.
Much, much worse.
Bee's optics dart frantically between the three humans as he continues rambling at a speed that even Raf struggles to keep up with.
Jazz, Ironhide and Ratchet exchange thoroughly confused looks before all three pairs of optics eventually settle on Prowl.
The police bot, meanwhile, simply stares at the floor beneath his pedes. His faceplate has somehow reached an impressively brilliant shade of azure.
Jazz slowly moves over and rests one servo on Bumblebee's shoulder pauldron, giving the younger scout a gentle shake. "Bee..." he says carefully. "Slow down, champ."
The chirping only gets faster.
"Bee." Another gentle shake. "Buddy."
Finally, Bumblebee pauses long enough to catch a vent. "...What in the Pits’ gotten ya so spooked?" Jazz asks, his helm tilting in confusion. "What's Miko on about?"
Bumblebee's optics flick toward him.
Then toward Ironhide. Then Ratchet. He freezes.
...
Right. They don't know.
The scout shutters his optics for a brief moment before taking another deep vent. Then both servos immediately begin gesturing so wildly that Raf almost loses track of them. Accompanied by a frantic stream of buzzes and chirrups, Bumblebee points emphatically at Prowl, then Jack and then makes an awkward little circling motion with both index digits before pressing his fists together.
As Bee continues his increasingly animated explanation, the expressions on the three Autobots change one after another, shifting from initial confusion into slow realization before finally settling into complete horror.
Jack follows the entire spectacle with growing annoyance. His blue eyes flick from Bumblebee's frantic gesturing, to Jazz's increasingly bewildered expression, to Ironhide and Ratchet's shared horror before finally settling on Prowl, who still seems content to stare at the floor and pray Primus simply ends the conversation for him.
At last, Jack scoffs and sinks farther into the couch cushions with an irritated huff, blowing the bangs out of his face before gesturing exasperatedly with both hands.
"I really don't get why this is such a big deal!"
The room falls quiet as Jackson Darby's legendary patience has apparently reached its limits.
"I just made it up so Vince would get off my back, that's it!" Jack continues, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Nothing happened! Zip, nada! It was just an excuse because I couldn't explain why a police car was picking me up from school." He drags one hand slowly down his face before letting himself collapse back into the couch with an exhausted groan. "And like I said..." He points vaguely toward Prowl without even looking at him. "...I'll just tell everyone they got divorced in a week or two."
Bumblebee immediately chirps something toward the others, apparently having just translated divorce. The collective recoil from the three older Autobots is almost impressive. Ratchet physically flinches, Ironhide's engine abruptly rumbles louder as his entire frame gives a faint shake, and Jazz places one servo dramatically over his sparkchamber as though personally wounded by the very concept.
"...What?!" he chokes breathlessly. "JD-" He points accusingly at the teenager. "...You can't be joking about stuff like that, little dude!"
Jack can only offer him the most exhausted, thoroughly defeated look imaginable. "So I've been told." He gestures helplessly toward Prowl with both hands. "I just don't get why it's such a huge deal."
Ratchet finally clears his voicebox. One servo remains buried inside Ironhide's shoulder assembly, absentmindedly holding a bundle of freshly repaired wiring in place while his free hand comes up to rub slowly at the side of his faceplate, already nursing the beginnings of what promises to become a spectacular helm-ache.
"Of course you don't." The old medic sighs through his vents. "Cybertronian culture is vastly different from human culture, Jack."
His aqua optics sweep over all three teenagers in turn before he gestures first toward Prowl, then slowly circles his servo around the other Autobots occupying the room, never once taking his gaze off the children.
"You three are looking at this through the lens of human customs. We, however, are not."
Ratchet's optics soften just a fraction as he carefully weighs his next words. "To a Cybertronian, a sparkbond- and the Conjunx Endurae rites that accompany it- are not merely a romantic commitment." His servo rises almost unconsciously to rest over the center of his chassis, lingering there over his sparkchamber. "They are some of the most sacred vows our species is capable of making."
The room grows noticeably quieter. Even Jazz's grin slowly disappears.
Without realizing it, he mirrors Ratchet's gesture, one servo settling over his own sparkchamber in a movement so gentle and instinctive that it hardly seems like him at all. Ironhide follows suit in his own way, resting a balled fist over the broad center of his chassis while his expression loses much of its usual rough amusement. Prowl says nothing, his arms merely tightening a little around his chassis as his optics drift toward the floor, his faceplate softening into quiet contemplation.
"And once such a bond is formed..." Ratchet continues, his voice carrying a warmth the kids rarely hear from the old medic. "...It's expected to endure until both sparks cease to exist."
He pauses, letting the words settle.
"There are exceptions, of course. Tragedy exists. Circumstances change. But a Conjunx Endurae bond is never entered into lightly, nor is its dissolution treated casually."
His gaze flickers toward Prowl for only the briefest of moments before returning to Jack.
"So perhaps you can begin to understand why casually speaking of 'faking' such a bond..." Ratchet's derma twists faintly around the unfamiliar human expression. "...And then simply becoming..." Another pause. "...'Un-married'..."
He slowly shakes his helm.
"...Would sound rather horrifying to a bonded mech such as Prowl."
Jack shifts awkwardly on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck as his shoulders sag. Completely preoccupied with the lecture itself, the teenager misses the last part of Ratchet's sentence entirely.
"...I... I guess I never really thought about it like that."
Miko, however, most certainly does.
Her eyes widen almost comically as her gaze immediately snaps toward Prowl. Then to Ratchet. Then across the rest of the room, as though waiting for someone- anyone- to react to the little piece of information the medic had just so casually dropped.
Nobody does.
Miko slowly squints.
...Hold on.
Ratchet had just said...
Prowl was... bonded?
As in taken.
As in...Married?!
"...Naturally." Ratchet grunts with another quiet sigh, blissfully unaware of the gears now turning inside Miko's head. "To you, marriage is merely a social construct."
His servo presses just a fraction more firmly against the center of his sparkchamber.
"To us..." The old medic's voice softens. "...It is quite literally a lifelong physical merge made with one's very sparks."
The room falls quiet for a few long moments.
None of the Autobots speak. Each seems content to linger on Ratchet's words in their own way, allowing the weight of them to settle.
Ratchet instinctively takes a step closer to Ironhide as he resumes working on the larger mech's shoulder assembly. The red mech follows the movement without even seeming to realize it, subtly leaning his broad frame into the medic's space as Ratchet continues tending to the damaged circuitry, his movements noticeably slower and much gentler now.
Across the room, Jazz catches Prowl's optics for only a brief klik.
A soft smile tugs at the corners of his derma. Prowl answers it with one of his own- quiet, almost imperceptible, but genuine nonetheless- before both mechs look away again.
Bumblebee stands amidst it all, finally having recovered from his earlier panic. His optics shutter peacefully as the calm, familiar hum of his fellow Autobots' EM-fields washes over him like a warm blanket, the scout's door-winglets settling comfortably against his back.
For just a moment, everything is peaceful.
The moment lasts exactly three seconds.
Miko suddenly leans so far over the balcony railing that Jazz instinctively reaches one servo toward her again, just in case.
"...Okay, I'm sorry." She holds both hands up dramatically, her lips curling into a grin. "This is all super cute and stuff..." She gestures vaguely around the room. "...But can we PLEASE rewind for, like, one second?!"
Every pair of optics- or eyes- turns toward her.
Miko points so emphatically at Prowl that the Praxian actually glances over his shoulder to make sure she isn't pointing at someone standing behind him.
"You're telling me..." she begins slowly, as though testing the words herself. "...That PROWL is married?!"
The hangar goes quiet again. Jack blinks owlishly and Raf slowly lowers his laptop.
"HELLO?!" Miko continues, throwing both hands into the air. "Since when?!" Her accusatory finger swings right back toward the police bot. "...And more importantly..."
A dramatic pause.
"...TO WHO?!"
The question hangs in the air as Miko squints suspiciously at every Autobot present. It has to be one of them... right? Surely Mr. Tight-Aft would've become even more uptight if he'd been eternally separated from some long-lost sparkmate and stranded on Earth for the rest of eternity.
Her gaze settles on Bumblebee first.
The scout notices almost immediately and tilts his helm with an innocent questioning trill, his door-winglets twitching slightly as he looks back at her.
Miko squints.
...No. Absolutely not.
The thought alone makes her visibly shudder. Nope. Definitely not Bee. That's just... no.
Her gaze shifts toward Ratchet. Nah.
Then Ironhide. Surely not...
That only leaves-
Her hazel eyes slowly settle on Jazz.
The blue-and-white mech looks up from his stereo interface, one optical ridge lifting behind his visor as he notices her staring.
Miko's eyes narrow.
"...Is it YOU?!"
Jack and Raf immediately whip their heads toward Jazz as well.
And against every expectation Miko had for her bestest best buddy on Earth- and Cybertron too, while she's at it- the blue-and-white mech doesn't fluster.
He doesn't crack a joke. He doesn't laugh it off. He doesn't even try to dodge the question.
He just smiles.
Not his trademark cocky grin. Not that smug little smirk that usually gets him into trouble.
Just a warm, unmistakably fond smile.
His shoulders lift in mock surrender as both servos rise into the air, the faintest dusting of cyan already creeping across his faceplate.
"Heh..." he chuckles softly, glancing briefly toward Prowl before looking back at Miko. "...Guilty as charged."
He turns his helm toward Prowl, who looks back with an exaggerated roll of his optics despite the warm azure spreading across his faceplate. The Praxian lets out a long, thoroughly defeated ex-vent, his door-winglets drooping ever so slightly. “So much for trying to keep it under wraps around the children...” he grumbles beneath his vents.
“Wuh...what?!” Miko stammers, her expression twisting into complete disbelief as she exchanges wide-eyed looks with Jack and Raf. “So... wait... You two are actually...?”
“To be fair though...” Jazz says with an easy, fond laugh, scratching sheepishly behind one audial before casually hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “...You would've guessed correctly regardless of which one of the three of us you pointed at.”
He gestures first toward himself, then Ratchet, and finally Ironhide.
Silence.
Jack’s mouth slowly falls open. Raf blinks once, then twice, his laptop slipping another inch into his lap.
Miko’s gaze slowly travels from Jazz...to Prowl...to Ratchet...to Ironhide...then back to Jazz again.
“...”
“...THE FRAG DO YOU MEAN REGARDLESS, MAN?!”
Ironhide’s broad grin slowly returns and, without a second thought, he leans a little farther back into Ratchet’s frame. His engine slips into a low, content rumble the instant the medic’s warmth presses against his back, and Ratchet merely huffs beneath his vents, making absolutely no attempt to shove the larger mech away.
“What he means, sweet pea,” Ironhide drawls, glancing toward the three teenagers with a knowing grin, “is that us four old-timers’re sparkbonded to each other.”
Ratchet scoffs, the tip of the little antenna on his back curling slightly despite himself as a soft aqua bloom creeps across his faceplate. His optics remain stubbornly fixed on the circuitry beneath Ironhide’s shoulder armor as he gives one last cable a firm press.
“...Hmpf. I suppose there isn't much point in keeping it a secret anymore.” The medic lets out a long sigh through his vents. “...Not after that.”
Miko finally manages to snap her mouth shut, which clearly takes considerable effort. She slowly leans against the railing, one hand pressed dramatically against her forehead as she stares down at the four Autobots like they'd collectively announced the Earth was flat afterall.
“...Oh my scrap...”
A long pause.
“...This is...” She blinks once. Then again. “...Wow.”
“I...” She points weakly toward Jazz. “...I need a moment to process the fact that Jazz is...” Another gesture. “...Married.”
She squints at him, her expression souring into a cringe. “Married to Prowl and... eugh... Ratchet.” Her face scrunches. “That’s so uncool.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Miko,” Ratchet scoffs while Ironhide merely snickers to himself.
Jazz gasps so dramatically that Bumblebee actually startles.
“Miko!”
Jazz clutches both servos over his sparkchamber as though she'd physically wounded him before stumbling theatrically across the room and letting his entire weight flop against Prowl.
“How could you?!” he laments, pressing the back of one servo against his forehead-plate. “Me? Not cool anymore?” He releases the most pitiful ex-vent imaginable. “Might as well have ol' Buckethead point his fusion cannon straight at my spark while you’re at it.”
Prowl barely budges beneath the added weight.
“...Jazz.”
“I’m grieving.”
“...Jazz.”
“My spark has been shattered.”
“...Get off.”
“...Fine.”
Jazz pushes himself upright with an exaggerated sigh, though not before pressing an obnoxiously loud kiss against the side of Prowl’s helm just to earn himself another eye roll.
Jack presses his lips into a thin line as he looks from his own partner to the four other Autobots. “I...” He scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “...I guess it... kinda makes sense?”
He shrugs helplessly. “...A bit? I think?”
His gaze drifts toward Raf beside him. Surprisingly, the youngest among them seems to have accepted the revelation with the most grace.
Raf quietly closes his laptop before making his way over to Bumblebee. The scout immediately bends slightly and offers his open servo without a word, allowing his partner to hop aboard like they'd done it a thousand times before.
Comfortably perched in Bee’s palm, Raf adjusts his glasses and looks toward Ratchet.
“So...” he begins thoughtfully. “...Are all Cybertronians...uhm...polyamorous?”
He tilts his head innocently, genuine curiosity replacing the shock everyone else seems to be experiencing.
“Prowl mentioned earlier that younger Cybertronians are usually raised in communities, and I was wondering if...”
His gaze drifts toward Bumblebee. Almost visibly, another puzzle piece clicks into place.
“...Oh.”
He smiles warmly at the scout before patting Bumblebee’s thumb. The yellow scout returns the smile naturally, his big blue optics squinting cheerfully.
Bumblebee then gently sets Raf back down and wanders closer to his guardians.
Ratchet looks up from Ironhide’s shoulder with an unmistakably fond expression. Ironhide follows his conjunx’s gaze, the corners of his derma lifting into an equally soft smile.
Prowl, meanwhile, finally succeeds in disentangling himself from Jazz and folds his arms once more.
“No.” His tone is calm and patient. “While polyamorous sparkbonds are by no means unheard of, monogamous bonds remain considerably more common.”
He pauses for a brief moment before his optics drift toward Bumblebee.
“...Nonetheless...” The faintest smile tugs at his derma. “...Our little scout here-”
A loud stream of thoroughly embarrassed chirrups immediately cuts him off.
Bumblebee’s door-wings flare so quickly they nearly smack Jazz in the face as the young scout unleashes a long, drawn-out string of protesting beeps that sounds suspiciously close to a very exasperated ‘Daaaaaaad…’
Jazz immediately loses it.
“Oh, c’mere, you.”
Still laughing, he steps over and cups Bumblebee’s faceplate between both servos, affectionately squishing his cheek-plates together while the scout half-heartedly tries to squirm out of the embrace.
“Hush now.” Jazz pulls Bumblebee’s helm down against his chest and presses him theatrically tight against his chassis, completely ignoring the increasingly offended stream of chirrups. “You’ll always be our little bitlet~.”
“Damn right.” Ironhide rumbles with another hearty laugh, settling even farther back against Ratchet until the medic finally gives up pretending to mind and sets his free servo gently on Ironhide’s good shoulder pauldron.
“And ya ain’t gettin’ outta that one no time soon, kiddo.” His cerulean optics glint with amusement. “Doesn’t matter if yer ten vorns old or ten million.”
Bee lets out one final, dramatically offended warble, but Ironhide only laughs harder.
“Heh...Ya can complain all ya want, champ.”
The laughter gradually dies down as Jazz and Prowl finally make their way over to the med-bay. Prowl quietly stoops to retrieve the shoulder pauldron Bumblebee had dropped earlier before stepping beside Ratchet, holding the heavy plating ready without so much as needing to ask.
Ratchet doesn’t protest. He merely glances sideways at the Praxian, the corners of his derma lifting into a small, genuinely affectionate smile as the little antenna on his back gives a content little wag.
Prowl answers it with a soft smile of his own before returning his attention to the damaged shoulder assembly.
Jazz, meanwhile, simply hops up onto the edge of the medical berth beside Ironhide. He leans back onto both servos with an easy sigh, though before long his helm drifts sideways until it comes to rest comfortably against the much taller red mech’s shoulder.
Without a word, Ironhide wraps his good arm around him and gently pulls him closer.
It all happens so naturally. So effortlessly.
Like they’d done it a thousand times before.
Jack, now leaning beside Miko against the balcony railing, can't help the small smile tugging at his lips. He's never really been one for overly sappy stuff.
But...Seeing Ironhide- his partner- and the others so completely at ease for once...
It's Nice. Comforting even.
To think they'd hidden this for their sake all this time…It almost feels a little silly now. I mean, they're all old enough, right?
Beside him, Miko lets out a long, defeated sigh before a smile slowly finds its way onto her own face as well. She nudges Jack lightly with her elbow and the teenager chuckles under his breath, returning the gesture.
The comfortable silence lingers for a few more moments before Jack finally speaks again.
"...You said you kept this hidden for our sake..." He scratches thoughtfully at the back of his neck before looking down toward the five Autobots. "...But I gotta ask..."
"...Does Optimus know about this?"
Five sets of optics are immediately on him.
"I mean..." Jack continues obliviously, "...you've known him way longer than you've known us. Keeping something like this from your leader had to've been even harder, right?"
"Keeping what from me, Jack?"
The deep, familiar voice rolls warmly through the room and the heavy pedesteps that follow as Optimus draws closer immediately draw the attention of every Autobot- and human- present.
The Prime approaches and, for lack of better words...He is quite literally steaming hot.
Thin wisps of vapor lazily curl from the broad planes of his still damp frame, condensation trailing upward from armor that must have only moments ago been submerged in water hot enough to thaw the Arctic itself. Tiny droplets continue to run down the edges of his pauldrons, disappearing between seams of crimson and cobalt plating before another takes its place.
...Yeah. Jazz hadn't been exaggerating.
If Optimus had come back covered in literal frost, the washracks must've been running nearly at boiling temperature.
The Prime comes to a stop beside the medical berth, absently continuing to dry himself with what can only generously be described as a towel. In reality, the thick sheet of fabric resembles more of a tarp than anything made for humans.
He smiles down at the gathered Autobots.
His blue optics shutter once, then a second time, clearing the last lingering beads of water from their lenses as one finial gives an absent little flick, sending another handful of droplets scattering harmlessly onto the floor. Lifting the oversized towel once more, he gently dabs at the side of his faceplate before tilting his helm in quiet curiosity.
"...Well?"
Silence. Apparently everyone has forgotten how to speak.
The three teenagers all share increasingly panicked glances as they desperately try to think of some way to sidestep the conversation entirely. If this had been kept secret from them, perhaps it had been kept secret from Optimus as well.
The older Autobots, however, have fallen silent for an entirely different reason.
The low rumble of four ancient engines suddenly fills the room as the four of them are looking- no blatantly oogling at Optimus.
Prowl, despite a valiant attempt to remain composed, utterly fails to hide the effect the sight has on him. His door-winglets snap upright almost instantly before beginning to twitch every few kliks, the lower half of his faceplate quickly disappearing behind one servo as his index digit finds its way between his denta in an unconscious attempt to hide the growing blue blooming across his faceplate.
Jazz isn't doing much better.
His visor has long since retracted, revealing bright cyan optics that shutter owlishly before very unapologetically roaming over the Prime's frame. From the broad sweep of his shoulders...across the wide expanse of his chassis...down to the narrow lines of his waist...
...And back up again. His optics lazily follow a single droplet of water as it trails down Optimus' armor before disappearing beneath one of his abdominal plates.
Ratchet's antenna gives a sudden, violent twitch. Then another. Before slowly curling together into a thoroughly uneven little heart.
The medic's intake hangs ever so slightly open, half-lidded aqua optics lingering on the still-damp Prime far longer than he'd ever willingly admit.
"...Scrap!" With a startled little yelp, Ratchet jerks his servo out of Ironhide's exposed shoulder circuitry as though he'd just touched a hot stovetop.
The former weapons specialist's entire frame has noticeably heated beneath the armor, his engine slipping into a deep, unmistakably pleased rumble as he watches Optimus. A slow grin spreads across his faceplate before he catches himself biting lightly at his bottom derma.
Optimus, who apparently is blissfully unaware of the collective processor failure he'd just caused, merely raises one optical ridge.
"...Is something the matter?"
Bumblebee perks up visibly at the sight of the Prime.
The scout steps up to Optimus and begins to gesture towards the other four Autobots, seemingly blissfully unaware of the sudden charge in the room.
Little cracks, chirps and beeps leave his voicebox as he babbles on, Optimus nodding along patiently as he listens. Every now and then the Prime hums thoughtfully, his optics flickering between Bumblebee and the four unusually quiet members of his former High Command.
"I see, Bumblebee," he says at last, setting one broad servo upon the scout's shoulder pauldron and patting it softly.
"I must say though..." His smile changes, but only just. The corners of his derma curl into the faintest knowing grin, subtle enough that it doesn't feel entirely out of place upon the Prime's silver faceplate.
His optics half-shutter almost allusively. Even his voicebox clicks into a slightly lower register, every word carrying a warmth that borders on a soft, playful purr as his gaze slowly drifts from Prowl to Ratchet, before finally settling on Ironhide and Jazz.
"...It would be quite the travesty if I did not know."
A brief pause. "...After all..." the Prime continues, amusement quietly dancing behind his optics as he leans just the tiniest bit closer towards the former High Command.
"...I am their trusted Prime."
Stillness.
Four ancient engines collectively seem to forget how to function for a moment. Optimus, meanwhile, appears all but entertained by the stunned silence
His servo wanders from Bumblebee's shoulder onto the scout's helm, gently rubbing it affectionately.
And for the first time Bumblebee doesn't protest. At least not visibly.
A few sheepish clicks and electronic warbles leave his voicebox, but instead of wrestling the Prime's hand away, the young scout leans ever so slightly into the touch, his optics shuttering contentedly not entirely unlike a cyber-kitten.
Miko leans over the railing and gasps, her lips curling into a wide, excited grin.
"So- since the cat's outta the bag- I gotta know how...this whole thing..." She gestures broadly at the Autobots with both hands. "...happened-! How'd you meet? How did it come up and-"
Ratchet ex-vents heavily and rubs the side of his faceplate with his free servo, silently praying that the warmth beneath his plating isn't nearly as obvious as it feels.
Optimus had since wandered over to help both Prowl and Ratchet finish up Ironhide's maintenance.
The Prime gently takes the shoulder plating from Prowl's servos and seems to either miss or simply ignore the way the Praxian's back-lights flare for the briefest of kliks as their digits brush together. Likewise, he remains entirely unphased of Ratchet's antenna, which immediately gives a vivid jitter before slowly curling into a little heart as Optimus steps closer to help hold the heavy armor in place so the medic can solder it back onto Ironhide's shoulder.
"I..." Ratchet starts with another slightly shaky ex-vent, optics fixed very firmly on the exposed circuitry in front of him. "...Think this is hardly the time to dwell on such memories. After all we've-"
Ironhide's chuckle cuts him off.
The former weapons specialist's voice rumbles warmly through his chassis as he instinctively shifts ever so slightly backwards, settling more comfortably against the Prime's broad frame while Optimus steadies the plating.
"Aw, come on, Ratch." Ironhide hums, glancing over his shoulder pauldron with a crooked smirk aimed at both the medic and the Prime. The latter merely answers with one of those small, outwardly innocent smiles of his, as though he hadn't just become the source of four different mechs' processor problems within the span of a nano-klik.
"I hardly see why we shouldn't tell the lil’ squirts."
Jazz peeks around Ironhide with an equally eager grin, his visor glinting mischievously before he suddenly hops off the medical berth and practically dances over towards Optimus with his usual swagger.
Bold as ever, he hooks an arm around the Prime's midsection- considering it's about the highest he can comfortably reach thanks to their rather unfair size difference.
Optimus merely chuckles beneath his vents but otherwise remains perfectly still, entirely unbothered by the smaller bot's touch. One large servo settles against Jazz's shoulder in return.
"Well, back on Cybertron- a long, looooong time ago, when our big, glorious Prime here was around half the size and went by Orion Pax- Ough... what a cute little fella he was."
Jazz elbows the Prime playfully, earning himself one of those familiar half-smiles and a patient shake of Optimus' helm, the Prime's finials flicking in quiet amusement despite himself.
"It was just him and lil' old me, bestest buddies all across Iacon, goin' through thick and thin and gettin' ourselves into all kinds of trouble." Jazz chuckles fondly beneath his vents, his visor glinting slightly as it always seems to whenever he reminisces about old Cybertron.
"Like that one time we got caught sneakin' around the Hall of Records after Pax's shift...or when I snuck him into Six Lasers." He laughs, shaking his helm. "Aw man, runnin' from security that cycle had me burnin' my rubber like never before. Thought they were gonna throw our afts into Kaon for good."
Optimus exhales through his vents, one finial giving a fond little twitch.
"If I remember correctly..." he says, the corners of his derma curling upwards ever so slightly. "...You were the one getting us into that trouble, old friend."
Jazz gasps dramatically.
He immediately reaches up with one digit and presses one of the many little buttons embedded into the stereo interface on his chassis.
BZZZT! A loud incorrect-answer buzzer echoes throughout the silo.
"Ehhh!" Jazz wags his digit triumphantly before pointing it straight at the Prime. "Wrong answer."
He turns back toward the three teenagers with the most self-satisfied grin imaginable.
"I merely provided opportunities." He gestures dramatically toward Optimus with one servo. "OP here was perfectly capable of making questionable decisions all on his own."
"I recall some of them being your ideas."
"Details, Details, my dearest Prime." Jazz tuts playfully and Optimus can do little more than ex-vent, another tiny smile tugging at his faceplate.
Jazz beams victoriously, looking positively insufferable before turning back toward Optimus, his grin somehow growing even wider.
"Besides..." He reaches up with one digit and lightly pokes the Prime's chest plating. "...Who was it that got soooo infatuated with a gladiator and had me sneak him into the Pits?"
The laughter dies almost instantly.
Optimus' expression falters only for the briefest of moments.
His optics flicker with an uncertain emotion before drifting somewhere far beyond the walls of Omega-1, as though they were once more looking across the towering spires of Iacon instead of the familiar walls of the old missile silo.
Jazz catches it immediately.
The teasing disappears from his faceplate almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Without another word, the arm around Optimus' waist tightens ever so slightly in silent apology and Optimus sends Jazz a melancholic but forgiving smile in return.
It's soft around the edges, the teasing glint from earlier long since gone. His finials tilt back ever so slightly and his digits curl gently around his former SIC's shoulder pauldron, giving it a soft squeeze before letting them linger there.
The Prime's gaze slowly drifts across the room.
To Ratchet, whose antenna has slowly begun uncurling again as he fixes his attention back toward Ironhide's long-fixed shoulder. After a moment, his aqua optics wander back up to Optimus, lingering there with a quiet ache.
To Ironhide, whose easy smirk has long since disappeared, his servo unconsciously seeks Ratchet's which is still resting against the red mech's shoulder pauldron with quiet familiarity. His cerulean gaze remains fixed on Optimus with furrowed optical ridges.
To Prowl, whose arms remain folded tightly across his chassis. The Praxian's expression has softened into something almost mournful before his optics inevitably find their way back to Optimus once more, lingering there with unmistakable concern.
And to Jazz, who never once lets go of the Prime's side. The bot's grin has faded into a small, worried frown. His visor reflects Optimus' faceplate as he studies him for a long moment while his arm around the Prime unconsciously tightens just a little more.
Each one of them carries the same look in their optics.
Some more bitter than others as they all remember the bot their Prime had once carried impossibly close to his spark and the one who now stood as their fiercest enemy.
The silence lingers for several long kliks before Optimus finally tears his gaze away from his fellow High Command.
His optics settle upon the three curious human protégés and finally Bumblebee.
"Many things have happened since then," Optimus says quietly, his deep voice carrying throughout the still silo.
"As more and more Autobots joined our side in the war against the Decepticons..."
A small smile slowly returns to his faceplate. "...Comrades became friends."
His gaze drifts back toward his former High Command once more, lingering there with unmistakable warmth. "Friends became family..."
His voice softens almost imperceptibly.
"...And sometimes..." He pauses, his blue optics never leaving the three mechs before him before the flick downwards to his side where Jazz softly smiles up at him. "...Feelings such as those change over time."
Jazz's engine immediately begins to rumble affectionately as he lets himself melt against Optimus' side with unmistakable fondness.
"You hit the nail on the head, OP." He hums affectionately. "Poetic as usual."
Optimus chuckles fondly and leans down ever so slightly, Jazz following the motion without a second thought until their forehead plates gently meet with a little thunk. Both their engines answer with soft, content rumbles that seem to blend together for a brief, comfortable moment.
The Prime's optics half-shutter ever so slightly.
"I fear..." Optimus says, his voice warm around the edges. "...I myself was not immune to those feelings."
His derma curl into a small, almost sheepish smile before he straightens his backstrut once more, his digits lingering for just another klik on Jazz's shoulder paludron before finally slipping away.
At last, Optimus' blue optics drift back toward his three human protégés…
The Prime pauses.
Jack is staring.
Rafael's laptop has finally slipped clean out of his hands and lands on the couch cushions with a soft thump, the youngest teen frozen with his mouth hanging just slightly open behind where it had been moments before.
Miko looks as though her brain has completely flatlined. Her hazel eyes dart wildly between Jazz and Optimus then back again and then over to Ratchet, Ironhide and Prowl, searching desperately for any indication that she'd somehow misunderstood what she'd just witnessed.
Optimus blinks once before he looks down at Jazz helplessly and then back to the three speechless teenagers.
"...Have I said something incorrect?" he asks, tilting his helm ever so slightly, not unlike a puppy learning a new command would.
Miko is the first to recover. Or perhaps explode is the better word.
"Whaaaaaaaatttt!?!" she practically screeches, springing upright from the railing that she almost topples over it.
She points accusingly between Jazz and Optimus. "So- Optimus is in on it too?!"
Bumblebee tilts his helm in confusion before turning toward the three humans with an innocent shrug of his shoulder pauldrons. He gestures toward his five guardians with a series of clicks, cheerful chirps and questioning whirrs, looking genuinely puzzled as to why everyone suddenly seemed so surprised.
Raf watches him for a moment before awkwardly scratching at the back of his head, ruffling his already messy brown hair even further.
"Uhh..." he laughs weakly. "...Not really, Bee. I wouldn't exactly call it...obvious."
"Obvious?!" Miko chokes, throwing both hands into the air and sends Bumblebee a flabbergasted glare. "How the heck would anyone assume something like that was obvious?!"
Jack swallows drily before sending Optimus an apologetic smile.
"I- uh... no offense, Optimus..." he says with a nervous laugh. "...But it's just... surprising, you know? You being... well..."
He gestures helplessly toward the towering Prime. "...The Optimus Prime and all."
Miko slowly deflates against the railing again until she's practically hanging over it, one cheek thoroughly squashed against the cool metal.
She lets out a long, defeated sigh. "...I guess..." she mumbles into the railing. "...A big guy like that gotta have a lotta love to give..."
She glances up at Optimus."...So... at least that checks out."
Ironhide snickers and stretches both arms over his helm, arching his back until the metal along his backstrut groans loudly in relief after having been hunched over on the medical berth for so long.
With a pleased rumble of his engine he lets himself lean back on both servos, rolling one shoulder experimentally before his cerulean optics flicker with unmistakable mischief as they wander up and down the Prime's frame.
"Oh, for sure..." he drawls, the grin on his derma only growing. "Prime's got a whole lotta love ta give-"
SMACK!
"OW-!" Ironhide jerks violently as Ratchet scoldingly smacks the freshly repaired shoulder pauldron. "Ratch! What-!"
The medic fixes him with an utterly unimpressed glare, his own faceplate painted a soft shade of aqua as he strides past him, pointedly refusing to acknowledge the snickering coming from Jazz. Ratchet tosses the used soldering tool onto the nearby workbench with perhaps a little more force than strictly necessary.
"Behave yourself, you big oaf." Ratchet huffs, accusingly pointing one warning digit at Ironhide as he continues walking. "There are children present."
Ironhide scoffs dramatically and rubs at his shoulder. "Oh, don't act like ya weren't thinkin' the same thing, Docbot."
Ratchet's antenna gives one sharp, offended twitch. "Don't you ever put me on the same level as yourself-"
Ironhide reaches for him with one servo, the corners of his derma curling into another teasing grin. "Oh, c'mon now, Ratch-"
"Servos. Off."
Ratchet bats the offending servo away before Ironhide can so much as brush against him, leaving the larger mech blinking after him in mock offense as the medic all but tears himself away and retreats toward his usual place beside the data-hub, grumbling something thoroughly undignified beneath his vents the entire way.
Optimus merely chuckles beneath his vents at the all-too-familiar exchange before, rather reluctantly, untangling himself from his former SIC's embrace.
"No offense taken, young Jack," the Prime says warmly, turning his attention back toward the teenagers. "I can imagine it may come as quite the surprise."
His smile softens. "I myself would never have imagined I would one day find myself in the position I am now..."
He trails off, the silver of his faceplate slowly dusting over with a faint blue flush. His left finial twitches sheepishly as he glances toward the other four Autobots surrounding him.
"...Although," he admits quietly, warmth creeping into his voice, "...I am most certainly no bot to complain."
Another small pause. "...Nonetheless..." Optimus hums thoughtfully, his expression growing just a little more bashful. "...I do hope you can forgive me for being so...greedy."
His blue optics drift toward Bumblebee for the briefest of kliks before lowering ever so slightly.
Prowl, who had just helped Ironhide stand back onto his pedes, finds himself cradling the red mech's servo as he ponders. His azure optics lift and they meet Optimus'.
The Police bot’s optical ridges draw together almost immediately, his derma pulling into a stern little pout despite the unmistakable warmth blooming across his own faceplate.
"...If you call yourself greedy, Optimus..." he murmurs quietly, his gaze lingers on the Prime for just another klik.
"...Then what does that make the rest of us?" The Praxian averts his optics with an embarrassed flick of his door-winglets. "...You're not the one with a Prime for a Conjunx, after all."
Ironhide chuckles and gently squeezes Prowl's smaller servo before turning toward Optimus with an easy, lopsided smirk.
"-A Prime..." he drawls, gesturing lazily toward Optimus with one thumb-digit. "...And three High Commandin' Autobot commanders as Junxies. If anyone's greedy 'round here..." his cerulean optics flicker fondly across the other three mechs before settling back on the Prime. "...It's for sure the rest of us."
Jazz nods enthusiastically beside Optimus, his visor glinting mischievously as he looks up at the Prime with a smirk. He gives the taller mech a quick wink beneath the visor before looking over his shoulder pauldron toward Miko.
"So..." he claps his servos together once. "...We still owe the pip-squeaks an origin story, don't we?"
His grin somehow grows even wider.
"How 'bout we start with ol' Ratch over here..." he says, already strolling across the room before anyone can stop him. "...Considerin' he was the toughest nut to crack."
Without a shred of hesitation, Jazz practically drapes himself across Ratchet's shoulders with a snicker, completely ignoring the long-suffering sigh that immediately leaves the medic's vents.
"Oh, don't even-"
Jazz playfully twirls Ratchet's antenna around an index-digit, earning himself an immediate glare, before using that very same digit to poke the medic's cheekplate.
"You should've seen the amount of pining happenin' from this old tight-aft." Jazz laughs, nearly wheezing. "Never woulda taken him for a shy one, but it took Optimus makin' the first move before he finally opened up about his little puppy crush on the Prime."
Ratchet's faceplate immediately blooms a brilliant shade of aqua.
"Oh, don't gimme that look!" Jazz continues between laughs, waving one servo dramatically. "Everyone on the Ark knew already! I swear, askin' one of us outright would've been way less embarrassin' than whatever the Pits that was."
"Oof-!" Ratchet's elbow collides squarely with Jazz's chassis, the white-and-blue bot folding around the hit with an exaggerated grunt before the medic gives him one firm shove for good measure.
"Get. Off."
Ratchet scoffs hotly, all but prying the other mech off his frame as his antenna flicks and wags in agitated little twitches. His aqua optics narrow into angry slits, though the furious rumble building in his engine does very little to hide the fluster steadily spreading across his faceplate.
"...I am going to dismantle you one component at a time if you do not stop talking." Ratchet all but hisses, pointing one accusing digit at Jazz threateningly.
Before Jazz can even think of another comeback, Optimus quietly steps beside the medic.
The Prime reaches out and gently takes Ratchet's raised servo into his own, their digits lacing together with practiced ease.
The angry rumble of Ratchet’s engine melts away almost instantly, simmering down into a quiet, content purr despite the medic's obvious attempts to remain offended. Even the little twitching curls of his antenna slowly relax.
Optimus smiles softly before turning his attention back toward Jazz. There is a mischievous glint in his blue optics now. One that looks almost dangerous.
"Oh?" the Prime hums innocently, one optical ridge slowly wandering upward. “Need I remind you..." his derma curl into a knowing little smile. "...How very gracefully you proposed sparkbonding to Orion Pax, dearest Jazz?"
Jazz freezes completely.
The little door-winglets usually folded neatly against his back flutter upwards by an inch or two before he slowly, very slowly turns his helm over his shoulder.
His optics meet Miko's.
...
She is staring at him.
Not with admiration. Not with excitement.
But with the single most profoundly disappointed expression Jazz has ever seen on the girl's face.
The former Special Operations Officer visibly deflates and Jazz purses his derma, desperately trying to salvage what little remained of his carefully maintained reputation as ‘The Cool One’.
He points a thumb squarely at Prowl.
"Yeah, well-" Perfect diversion. "At least I managed to get all the steps of the rite done in a single day." His grin immediately returns. "Unlike Prowler."
The Praxian immediately stiffens.
"We had to wait three whole solar cycles for him to come up with secrets worthy enough to share..." Jazz continues with growing amusement.
"...And another five before he finally settled on a gift for you, OP."
Prowl scowls immediately, his door-winglets snapping upwards before jittering in indignation.
"...You are one to speak, Jazz." His azure optics narrow dangerously. "Your Act of Profference to Ironhide consisted entirely of a self-composed song dedicated to how aesthetically pleasing you found his aft."
"And it worked!" Jazz fires back with an genuinely offended pount. Ironhide throws his helm back and laughs heartily, the booming sound echoing throughout the room.
"Damn right it did!" he rumbles proudly. The larger bot leans over and affectionately nuzzles Prowl's helm, earning himself an annoyed huff as he simply laughs harder.
"I'm a simple mech." Ironhide shrugs with an unapologetic grin. "Tell me I'm handsome an' I'm sold."
His cerulean optics flick warmly toward Jazz. "He knows me well after all."
Jazz beams victoriously. "I did rhyme 'aft' with 'craft,' sooooo."
Ironhide points at him proudly. "See? Romance."
Prowl groans loudly and squirms out of Ironhide's grasp before rubbing the side of his forehead-plate, his optics half-shuttering tiredly.
"...Sometimes I really ask myself what got into me when I sparkbonded with you two." he mutters beneath his vents, his door-winglets giving an exasperated twitch. "Unbelievable."
"Oh, but Prowl..." Optimus murmurs warmly, a large servo settling against the Praxian's shoulder pauldron before slowly wandering upwards until one careful digit gently tips Prowl's helm back up to meet his gaze.
"...Don't you think those words are a little harsh for our sparkmates? A little banter is to be expected." The Prime smiles with that familiar warmth of his, his thumb brushing lightly across the side of Prowl's faceplate.
"Besides...I still think those solar cycles were very much worth the wait. I was thoroughly delighted by your gift."
Prowl immediately starts stammering, his faceplate blooming into a brilliant azure as his door-winglets spring upright and tremble helplessly behind him, but despite the embarrassment he makes no move to pull away.
Instead, one servo slowly rises to gently cradle Optimus' where it still rests against his faceplate. "...I- I am glad you think so, Optimus..." he mutters quietly, unable to keep the tiny smile from tugging at his derma.
Ratchet looks over his shoulder, and his gaze softens almost immediately as he watches the exchange. Quietly turning away from the data-hub, the medic steps back toward the Prime, folding his servos across his chassis before stopping beside him.
"...One thing we can surely all agree on..." he begins, his aqua optics finding Optimus' once more. "...Is that your acts of devotion far outmatched any of ours. I still feel the need to return it every solar cycle, and even then..."
His antenna gives the faintest little wag as he smiles almost sheepishly. "...It would not be enough."
Jazz's grin grows impishly while Ironhide's engine gives another deep, content rumble beneath his chassis. Neither of them says anything at first. They simply drift a little closer toward the Prime, their charged EM fields slowly bleeding together.
"...I think today's act of devotion is long overdue." Ironhide hums at last, his large servo settling against the small of Optimus' back. The Prime's entire frame gives the faintest little shiver at the touch.
"Hmhmmmm~ Totally agreed, ‘Hide." Jazz hums approvingly, lazily walking two digits across the side of Optimus' arm plating before glancing over toward the police bot with a mischievous shimmer to his visor. "...Prowler?"
The Praxian's flustered state does very little to stop the tiny feline smirk curling at the corners of his derma. "...I second that." he says simply.
Optimus looks between the four of them almost helplessly, his finials flicking uncertainly as his blue optics wander from one beloved faceplate to the next. "...Ah... but...that truly isn't necessary." he says with a sheepish little chuckle.
"I do not expect acts of devotion in return after our rites were completed. I merely…-" Before he can finish, Ratchet quietly steps forward onto the tips of his pedes and in the same motion tugs him downwards by his chassis, pressing the gentlest little kiss against the corner of the Prime's derma.
Their optics meet immediately afterwards, Ratchet's antenna having curled itself into a tiny uneven heart in the process. "...Hm." the medic purrs with quiet satisfaction, aqua optics half-shuttered. "...Doctor's orders, Prime."
The collective rumble of five engines fills the room almost instantly, warm EM fields humming together so naturally that for a few peaceful kliks nobody says another word.
SLAM.
The sharp smack of a car door closing echoes throughout Omega-1.
Five helms immediately snap toward the source of the noise.
Sometime during the last few moments Bumblebee had quietly transformed into his alt-mode and, judging by the sight before them, the three kids had wasted absolutely no time piling inside. The yellow scout is very obviously avoiding making optic contact with any of his guardians whatsoever.
Optimus' intake opens almost immediately.
"...Bumblebee, I-"
A frantic stream of hurried beeps, embarrassed clicks, buzzes and increasingly panicked electronic whirrs cuts the Prime off before he can utter so much as another word.
Ratchet slightly leans back from Optimus with a flustered ex-vent, both servos still on the Prime's chassis.
"...Hm..." he clears his voicebox and straightens his posture. "...Okay. But you’re back by 8pm sharp."
"Oh, c'mon, Ratch." Jazz chuckles coquettishly, his visor glinting with fresh mischief as though the previous embarrassment had never happened. "...Make it 10." He throws the medic an exaggerated wink from underneath his visor. "...Ya never know."
Bee immediately answers with one long, absolutely scandalized BWEEEEEP!
His engine roars to life.
Prowl folds both servos across his chassis once more, the stern parental expression returning to his faceplate with remarkable speed despite the lingering blue flush across it. "...Drive responsibly, Bumblebee. And use seat belts."
Ironhide simply puts his helm comfortably on Optimus' shoulder pauldron and lazily waves two digits toward the scout. "And if ya need us..." he rumbles with a grin. "...Just comm."
Optimus exhales beneath his vents, his finials flicking upwards as his optical ridges furrow into that familiar parental look. "...We mean it, Bumblebee."
Another loud, indignant BWEEP!
And Bumblebee absolutely floors it.
Inside the cabin the scout intercom immediately erupts into an absolutely frantic barrage of flustered chirps, rapid-fire clicks, embarrassed whirrs and helpless electronic buzzing as he speeds out of Omega-1 and away from what was, without question, the single most embarrassing thing he had ever witnessed his guardians do.
Miko, who is still rubbing both hands over her eyes as though physically trying to erase the memory from existence, slowly turns toward Raf beside her. "...What'd he say?" she asks before immediately cringing. "...Please don't tell me it's anything that'll ruin Jazz even more for me... Can we please trade partners, Raf?"
Jack groans loudly from the passenger seat and buries his face in both hands. "...I hope my mom never remarries..." he mutters miserably. "...Oh my God...that was awful."
Raf quietly pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose before looking between his two friends and letting out a helpless little sigh. "...Bumblebee says..." he begins, glancing toward the road ahead as Bee gives another embarrassed little warble from his intercom.
"...That we're never allowed to complain about our parents again after seeing what he has to deal with."
The silence that follows lasts all of two seconds.
"...Fair point."
"...Yup."
Miko slowly slides farther down into her seat until only the top of her torso remains on the seats.
"...Let's get those milkshakes from K.O. Burger." She lets out one long, exhausted groan."...I need serotonin back in my brain chemistry..."
Another pause.
"...Or I might actually throw myself in front of the next train I see."
