Been kinda working on Transformers stuff the past couple days thanks to Prime and Botcon helping to inspire me again. So, anyway. Hopefully you'll see more fics in the future.

Title: December Sun
Rating: PG
Warnings: sexuality (just kissing), mild profanity?; blanket spoilers for TF:P episode Con Job
Summary: Transformers: Prime. They appeared as strangers, Ratchet and Wheeljack. But the truth is far more deeper. Wheeljack/Ratchet
Notes: I dunno. I just had this idea and rolled with it. There was going to be sex, but it would sort of ruin the mood. At least to me. Dedicated to beachbumbunny for support and just 'cause I know she really wanted this, haha.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A small draft haunted the bowels of the massive mountain-based Omega One post. With poor lighting, a seemingly endless tunnel desolate of life, the sly wind seemed to add to the perfect backdrop of what Miko referred to as a "creepy horror movie."

Indeed, Ratchet could sense the 'creepy' element, but nothing horrific. There was something about the emptiness that reminded him of space, miles upon miles of darkness stretched and dotted with untouchable white stars. And a cold so uninviting and cruel that even with their built and temperature stabilizers, daunted many Autobots and Decepticons alike.

But over time, the draft had increased. While a few others had insisted it meant nothing, just the old place settling in with its surroundings, Ratchet was not one to ignore even the slightest crack in their only base of defense. Who knew what some crafty Decepticon could do with even the smallest of opportunities, and now that the wind was growing colder, Ratchet couldn't afford to sit back and just let nature take its course.

Of course, what with a war going on and the faulty human equipment constantly shifting through error after error, Ratchet didn't have much time to make minor repairs. He had decided today, early morning, he would find that damn draft and patch it up, no ands, ifs or Decepticons suddenly going kamikaze on the outpost.

Then, naturally, someone hurled an obstacle in his way. This time in the form of Wheeljack and that had been a... ride. Ratchet had kept to himself, mostly, during the "Autobot's" stay. Bulkhead and the kids kept him busy. It had been something of a shock that this Wheeljack turned out to be an impostor; that had been one fine mess to clean up. And just as the real Wrecker took the stage, he bowed and said he was out.

Ratchet remained neutral on the subject. He did not plead for him to stay, did not beg. Instead, as the authentic Wheeljack and Bulkhead made room for real quality time together, the medic gathered his tools and with a "so help me..." grumbled under his breath, made his way down the old, abandoned wing.

Ratchet walked cautiously through the tunnel, optics scanning every nook and cranny. His receptors sensitive to detect even the slightest brush of air. The further he ventured, the more blinding the darkness and with a grunt, he switched on the headlights across his chest, sending twin beams of light through the bleak blackness. He could feel the wind, increasingly cold and stronger with each step forward.

But just as Ratchet was about to pinpoint the location of the tear, sensitive receptors set off an internal warning alarm. Ratchet swung around at the near inaudible sound of footsteps, tool in hand. There was... nothing. Just a distant light some yards away at the end of the tunnel.

It had to be one of the kids, perhaps, because nothing as big as a Cybertronian could stand in here and not be seen. The medic sighed, exasperated. "You know, kids, it's not nice to sneak up on me when I've got a tool in my hand," he said, half-playfully.

"Whatta gonna do with that?"

Ratchet gasped and spun around, nearly pitching the tool at the source of the voice just behind his head. He looked up, optics wide and mouth gaped, to find Wheeljack's face staring directly into his - upside down as he hung from the ceiling. "Don't do that!" the medic hissed, lowering his tool wielding hand.

"You're right," Wheeljack replied, "otherwise you might have tightened some of my bolts with that thing. Ooo, scary!"

The medic glowered, shock turning to agitation; the Wrecker smirked. As he started to climb down from the ceiling, Ratchet scowled, "What are you doing down here?"

Wheeljack grunted as he landed on his feet. "It's kinda eerie, don't you think?" he asked, brushing off his chestplates. He glanced around the shadowed corridor. "Like we're back on Cybertron. Doom and gloom everywhere."

The corner of Ratchet's frown twitched. "You need me to tune your audios?" he spat. "I asked, what are you doing down here?"

Wheeljack smiled at him. "Came to see you."

"Bulkhead and the kids stopped being entertaining? I find that impossible."

"No, no," the Wrecker chuckled. He shrugged halfheartedly. "Just... I want to spend a little time with everyone before I leave."

"Hmm, yes," Ratchet retorted, appearing to agree. He walked past the mech, said simply, "That way goodbyes are a little more hard hitting."

Wheeljack frowned, turned and watched him go. He followed a minute later. "I don't know," he conversed, managing to lighten up again, "I expect you to be seeing me off with great enthusiasm."

"Problem with that is you assumed I was going to see you off."

"Now that's not nice," the Wrecker chortled, a twinge of bitterness in the soft laughter. He finally caught up to the medic's side. "And I assure you, my leaving has nothing to do with... well, you know."

Ratchet snorted. "Of course," he agreed, halting before the large wall. "It's because you're a coward." The Wrecker grimaced. "We're at war, possibly outnumbered, on an alien planet suffering because of our mistakes; we need all the help we can get, but I understand." He half-slammed down his toolbox. "Sometimes you just need to extend your vacation."

Wheeljack glowered. "You're wrong," he insisted, "I'm not leaving because I don't want to help. It..." He paused, exhaled heavily. "Would you even appreciate me becoming a part of your team anyway?"

The red and white Autobot sorted through his tools. "At this junction in time, I'd even accept the aide of a malfunctioning Dinobot. ... Okay, maybe not a Dinobot, but you get the point."

"Even with all that has happened?"

"You're the one who keeps bringing it up."

"And you're the one who won't let us let go," Wheeljack hissed.

Ratchet threw down his welder, turned to acknowledge the Wrecker with a furious but dark glare. "Perhaps because I don't want to talk about it, and you obviously do," he said. The lack of frustration or anger in his voice was more potent than being outright enraged. As if speaking simply would cause a more slow burn.

Wheeljack winced. "It's been how many vorns, Ratchet?" he replied, raising a hand. "Two? Three? And we haven't talked about it once. We haven't resolved anything."

The medic smirked. "As far as I see it, there is nothing to resolve," he said. He ran a hand along the wall, feeling for the hole. "What's done is done. We can't change it. So let it be."

"This is so morbidly hilarious coming from you, the medic with a bleeding spark who would cannibalize his own parts just to cover a random, unknown soldier's dermal wound," Wheeljack snapped back.

"Time changes people, as the humans say," Ratchet replied, eyed the mech, "as you very well know."

"It hasn't changed the fact we're both nursing old wounds," the Wrecker murmured. He turned away, back against the wall. Ratchet was quiet, still seeking out the tear. Wheeljack watched him, his optics steady on his task. He smiled sadly. "You're right. You have changed. But in a way, you haven't changed at all."

Ratchet stopped, shut his optics. Inhaling deeply, he turned and regarded the Wrecker with a weary gaze. "What is it that you want?" he asked quietly.

"A talk. That's all."

"What good will it do? Make you feel better while you aimlessly and carelessly cruise the stars?"

"I'd be lying if I said that wasn't one of the reasons, yes," Wheeljack pressed, pointed a finger, "but another is to give you some closure as well." He examined the older 'bot's face. "You still blame me, don't you?"

Ratchet groaned, dropping his forehead to hand. "No," he sighed, annoyed, "I don't. I never did."

"That's a lie," Wheeljack countered, "for a while, you did. Maybe not now, but once."

"And I guess I'd be lying too if I said you weren't a little right," the medic grumbled. He folded his arms across his chest. "I've learned to live with this. This so-called talk won't change anything."

Wheeljack replied, "But it might make it easier."

The red and white 'bot snorted bitterly. "It doesn't get easier," he disagreed, "you just go numb."

"It was hard for both of us, but even more for you," Wheeljack said. He frowned. "It's because you loved her."

Ratchet twitched; just the slightest, barely noticeable. But Wheeljack saw it as a violent shiver. The medic took a deep breath and nodded. "I did. But she's gone now, and has been gone for a long time," he said firmly, "that is that."

"You knew, Ratchet," the Wrecker murmured, touching a hand to his shoulder, "you knew she wouldn't make it."

Ratchet scowled. "Yes, I know that, I knew that, are we done?" He jerked his shoulder back and turned to the wall again. "I've got work to do and you have to finish packing."

"We're not done."

The medic felt the sharp tug at his arm, whipped around quickly. His surgical blade unsheathed itself, its violet glow bright in the darkness, cast a pale shadow against the Wrecker's blank face. Its edge at his throat, pressed delicately against a vital energon fuel line. Even with the fury suddenly clouding his judgment, Ratchet knew that Wheeljack could have very easily escaped in that split second, could have met his blade with his twin swords. After all, the mech he once knew as a humble, but stubborn scientist, was now an elite Wrecker.

"I," Ratchet hissed, and withdrew the laser-scalpel, "am done." A tremor of alarm at his sudden violent reaction made plating softly shiver-clak against his frame. He shook his head slightly and forced optics on the wall, hands fiercely patting it down.

Wheeljack watched him a few minutes, waited until he was calm again. "So, you want it to end this way?" he asked, leaned against the wall. "We go on estranged old friends and colleagues for, Pit, who knows, maybe another three vorns? Is that what you want?"

Ratchet didn't answer.

Wheeljack frowned, disappointed. "You only make it worse, you know," he stated, "because you don't want that." But silence was the only reply, the soft clak-pat of metal against metal as Ratchet continued his slow but determined search. The Wrecker waited another minute, two minutes, three, hoping the medic would change his mind, speak to him. But in those three minutes, Ratchet had not once looked at him, only stopped to grab a tool for light.

Wheeljack's hands fisted slowly at his sides. Pressure and exhaustion and anger built around his spark. "Fine," he growled, optics bright. Holding his head up, he started to leave, footfalls heavy. If Ratchet wanted to stew in his pain, to let it consume him, then it wasn't his problem. At least he'd leave knowing he tried to fix the issue; that would remove some of the mountain carried on his shoulders.

"I'm tired."

Wheeljack stopped, ten footsteps away. He did not turn back. The noise of Ratchet working and tinkering continued, but the medic spoke again: "I'm tired and I'm old, let's face it. I don't have the energy to carry old tragedies, when I know there's hundreds more in the future. I'm not the same sterner stuff as I once was."

Now it was time for Wheeljack to listen, to let Ratchet hang.

"So perhaps you're right," the medic continued, work pausing, "perhaps talking about this is the logical thing to do. We should have done it vorns ago, when the pain was still fresh."

The Wrecker half-turned. "We've both re-opened the wound, Ratchet," he stated. The medic looked up, the distant light seeming to halo around the weathered soldier's chassis. Highlighting the look of sadness and hope on his scarred face. "Don't you think it's time it heals for good?"

Ratchet frowned. He slowly approached Wheeljack, who stepped aside, the two face to face. Ratchet studied the ground a moment before connecting optics again. "I did blame you for the first few cycles," he confessed, but the Wrecker nodded, understanding. "I thought if you hadn't left your post, if you had stayed, we might have saved her. And that's why I insisted we stop working together and part ways."

"So we would become strangers again."

"And it seems we have," Ratchet admitted, bitterly. "When I first saw you today - the real you - you were someone entirely different. You might as well have just shared a name with the Wheeljack I knew." He shut his optics, smile half-cocked. "I bet I'm the same grumpy, bitter old mech you once worked with for those short, few cycles."

Wheeljack smirked. "Well, maybe a little," he said, and they both chuckled. He leaned forward. "But you have changed. In so many ways. Some good, some... not so good."

"Yeah, well, no one's perfect."

"If it makes you feel any better, I spent many cycles blaming myself for her death," Wheeljack stated, "many sleepless nights and orns where I felt as if I was being torn apart from the inside by a thousand tiny scraplets." He rubbed the back of his helm. "It sounds melodramatic, but yet it doesn't nearly convey the amount of guilt I felt."

Ratchet frowned. "... That doesn't make me happy, nor comforted," he said, "I don't take pride in seeing an old friend - even one I turned away from - suffering. Even when I did blame you for Moonracer's death, I never wished you torment."

The Wrecker smiled, sad but relieved. "But I guess it made the anguish even."

"Maybe it will comfort you knowing I do not blame you anymore," Ratchet continued. "I am being sincere when I say this: you were right. What you did... It helped to save dozens of lives in the end. But a personal loss has a way of making everything and everyone else insignificant." He looked at the edges of the twin blades crossed over Wheeljack's back. "I see now that you probably felt the worst of it. Perhaps abandoning your old life to become a soldier helped you cope."

Wheeljack nodded. "It was a driving force, yes," he admitted, "when you start thinking less about yourself and more about the enemy, how to stop them, accepting that sometimes innocent bystanders are just collateral damage, losses sort of become commonplace. So you grow used to it."

"I suppose the best way to deal with pain is to embrace it."

The Wrecker nodded. "But I..." He took a moment to breath. "I wouldn't have left if I knew there was hope. You know that, right?" His optics were hopeful.

Ratchet smiled weakly. "After years of thinking otherwise, I finally realized you had been right from the start," he reassured. It didn't seem to lighten much of the load, however. The medic stared down at his hands. "She was beyond repair, just as you said. It was only a matter of time."

"Nothing you or I could have done could have saved her," Wheeljack added.

"I think she knew that," Ratchet replied, feeling something heavy drop inside him, "I think she knew she was going to die. But to spare me some remorse, she pretended she would be okay, that I would do fine, even if I kept doubting my skills by myself. Even if I believed I alone could not save her, she told me it would be all right. She understood." He clenched a fist. "I took her reassurances and twisted them to use against me; she only wanted to tell me it was okay to let go, it was okay if I could not save her. And I just thought it meant I'd fail her if I didn't, that she'd think so lowly of me if I wasn't able to bring her back."

Wheeljack bowed his head. "I should have stayed when you told me to go. I shouldn't have let you push me away out of my own self-pity and guilt," he murmured. "I might have been able to spare you this pain."

"It was my own fault for not allowing myself to cope and listen to you," the medic said, "and because of that, I lost two people I loved that day."

The Wrecker shook his head. He moved forward, placing his hand on the back of Ratchet's helm. He pulled the red and white 'bot closer, lips rested against the center of the red crest. "No," he reassured, kissed lightly, "you didn't."

Ratchet swallowed. "Now you're just making me feel even more stupid."

Wheeljack snickered. "Sorry. Wasn't my intention." He stepped back, met gazes with the mech again. They studied one another, the new scars and emotional bumps and bruises they had earned after centuries of separation. The certain way expressions had changed, the age that imprinted itself around optics and frowns. The yawning, expanding void between them seemed to dwindle and close until it was simply the length separating them from one another.

Wheeljack closed the space, once and for all. Sweeping in, he took Ratchet's face in his hands and kissed him deep. The passion was heavy, but it was not hot. It was cold; desperate, needy, wanting. The sting brought when cleaning a wound; it hurt, but it was good all at once. Ratchet's hesitation unnerved him, slightly; he wanted to let go, but that would mean the space between them would return.

Ratchet's hands slipped slow and calculating along the Wrecker's helm. He held him, kissed back with the same power of hope. The weight seemed to lift, crumble and fall and decay to a nothingness as its immortality through the ages reached the death it had been running from for so long. Things would never be completely okay between them; her demise, his choices, their paths taken. They lost what happened so long ago, but that didn't mean they couldn't create something new.

Though it had taken them millennia to reconnect, the kiss lasted for only a few minutes. Wheeljack stepped back first, the two connecting gazes again. Ratchet took a deep breath, felt air cycle through his heated chassis. "... Well," he said, relaxed, "that was a good 'chat.'"

Wheeljack laughed. "It had a wonderful finish, if I do say so myself."

Ratchet sneered. "You know, I never thought we'd cross paths again. And through Bulkhead of all mechs," he gibed. "How is it you two got into the most elite and powerful class of soldiers on Cybertron? A retired crackjob scientist and med assistant and a clumsy, playful dimwit."

The dormant sirens on Wheeljack's head flashed. "They liked our charisma," he purred, brushing a hand to his chest. The two laughed for a moment before he glanced down the end of the tunnel. "It wasn't easy. But... In a way, it felt natural. And I never fully stopped my scientific studies, you know." He removed a sword, twirled, spun it elegantly before slipping it back in its sheath. "I'm still the creative 'crackjob scientist' you knew."

Ratched gave a small 'pfft.' "Trade brains for guns," he taunted.

Wheeljack took no offense. "... I will come back," he said, suddenly. The medic cocked an optic ridge. "I'm not good with goodbyes. I... never really was." Ratchet knew all too well. "There are still a few things I have to finish, loose ends I must tie up." He smiled. "But this won't be the last time you'll see me."

"Well, I didn't expect to see you this time," Ratchet snorted, folding his arms. "But I trust whatever business you have out there is important. Like I said, we could use the help right now."

The Wrecker nodded firmly. "It is," he insisted.

"I'd ask what, but I probably don't want to know."

"I sort of have a mess to clean up on Xetaxxis."

"... Mess?"

"Well, let's just say one of my, uh, projects sort of... blew up during a, um, peace conference I was helping with as security."

Ratchet beamed. "Well, well, well. Why am I not surprised?"

Wheeljack snickered. "Practice makes perfect," he winced, "just wasn't the right time or place." He reached out, fingers brushing the medic's arm. "And in my voyage, I think it might help me with my own issues before I return. I miss having company. Like this. With Bulkhead and these human children. But..." His fingers withdrew. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to form bonds after cycles of shutting them out."

"Don't let them go," Ratchet ordered, shoved a digit against his chest. "You hold on to those you have. Or else Bulkhead will sic the kids on you, and I tell you, humans can be very nasty when upset or angry, especially the young ones."

The Wrecker took Ratchet's hand, leaned in to give his forehead a kiss. "I haven't yet, now have I?" he smirked. "But don't worry. If I start to slip, I'll remember your chilling warning."

"You better! I'm not kidding! You see the way they eat? Even a Wrecker like you would fall shaking and sobbing at their feet."

Wheeljack sneered. "All right, all right," he said and swished a hand. He then turned toward the wall behind them, arms akimbo. "So, how about we find that little leak of yours before I go?"

The red and white 'bot shouldered past him. "Knowing you," he jeered, "you'll probably just make it worse."

"Hey now!"

The Warrens Autobot ER Base was in shambles. Most of the wings had been blown out by seemingly endless explosions. Most of the staff and patients had been evacuated, but some were lost to the ambush.

Yet even as the place was falling apart around them, they had no choice but to stay. "We can't move her!" Ratchet shouted as the explosions ripped loudly through the base and all around them. Wheeljack looked over Moonracer lying on the surgery table, her body nearly mangled and soaked in energon and oil. "There isn't another medical facility for fifty megamiles! She won't last long unless we take care of her here and now!"

"It's too dangerous!" Wheeljack shouted. There was another loud boom that rang like sharp bells in their audios. Moonracer groaned, head falling to the side. The scientist frowned. "She... She isn't going to make it."

"Of course she will!" Ratchet spat, gathering any available medical instruments. "I just need a little time and some help! She'll be okay; just stay and help me keep her stabilized!"

Wheeljack looked into the femme's dim, cracked optics. He knew she knew, but she smiled anyway. "It... It'll be okay..." Moonracer wheezed. "R-atchet... It'll... fine..."

"Don't talk!" the irate medic snapped. "You're going to be fine! Stay with me!" He snapped his fingers at Wheeljack. "I need your expertise here! She's suffering from spark edema, and you - "

A loud shriek caught Wheeljack's attention. The explosions had changed into those of gunfire - not far from their location. "The Decepticons got inside!" he shouted. "I need to stop them from - !"

"No!" Ratchet snarled, wrenching the mech back by his arm. His optics were burning. "I need you here! Let the guards take care of them!"

"But - !"

"Slaggit, Wheeljack! You're a scientist, a physician! You're not a soldier!"

"Ratchet!" Wheeljack snapped and freed his arm. The medic looked shocked. "Ratchet," he said, calmly, "the others... need my help. I can't stay."

"Moonracer needs your help!" Ratchet barked. "I need your help!"

The white and green 'bot frowned pitifully. "Ratchet... Moonracer... She's - "

The femme raised a shaking hand. "Let... him go," Moonracer whispered, vocalizer cracking. "I... It'll be okay, R-Ratchet..."

Ratchet took her hand and forced it back on the berth. "There are guards out there. Experts in their field. They know what they're doing. Go out there and you'll probably be nothing but a burden." He took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. "Now, Wheeljack," he said, firmly, "pass me the electro-welder." However, as he went about assessing the extent of Moonracer's injuries, Wheeljack remained quiet and unresponsive. He looked up with a confused glare. "Wheeljack? Get over here."

"No."

Ratchet widened his optics.

Wheeljack was standing at the door. Behind him, shrieks and gunfire, maniacal laughter and cries for help. "They need me out there," he insisted, "I have to go."

"But Moonracer - !"

Wheeljack swallowed. "I'm sorry," he murmured before darting out of the room.

Ratchet burst forward. "Wheeljack!" he screamed, but his partner was all ready gone.

The next time they met was hours after the battle. The medical base had been completely annihilated. Many were saved, but many more killed. What remained were ashes, ruins billowing smoke and debris into the cool, black sky. Autobot troops had been called in to wade through the wreckage for any survivors and intact equipment.

Wheeljack spoke briefly with the team's commander, earning a proud pat on the back for his valiant efforts. He turned to watch the larger mech go before his optics caught Ratchet emerging from the smoke, followed by an uneasy femme asking him questions. When he looked up, Wheeljack was staring back at him, apprehensive but relieved.

Ratchet waved the femme off before heading over to his old friend and partner. Wheeljack carefully approached him, quiet. The two stood before one another; only a few feet apart, but to Wheeljack, it might as well have been a mile. "The commander said my efforts had saved at least fifteen Autobots, as well as provide them with a wounded Decepticon hostage," he explained, noting vaguely he was trying to sound more convincing to his friend than reassuring. The medic said nothing, grease and soot still clouding his optics. "He said that he would like to transfer me to their base in Kaon for formal military training." He smiled. "I asked if you could join me. He said he'd be honored to have your services aboard."

"So, that's it then?"

Wheeljack blinked. "Excuse me?"

Ratchet looked on - almost through the other mech. "Our facility was ravaged, destroyed; many of our comrades and patients taken down with it. And... You're just excited to move on to a new base of operations?" he asked, voice cold and icy. "Do you look at the decay around you and only see new opportunities? Does... Does none of this upset you?"

Wheeljack frowned. "No," he replied, "no... Like you, I'm angry, pained to see all this, knowing that - "

"Like me?" Ratchet interjected, raising an optic ridge. He frowned. "Moonracer deactivated five kliks after you ran off. She might have survived, if you had stayed with us and did what I instructed."

"There was no saving her, Ratchet," Wheeljack pressed, "and if I hadn't gone out to fight, we would have lost many more lives."

"The soldiers could have handled it! In the end, they're the ones who brought the raiding Decepticons down!" the medic snapped, optics feral and wide. "Those fifteen Autobots you saved would have been fine in their care, but the two people who truly needed you...!" He stepped back, denta clenched together as his body shook.

Wheeljack tried to remain calm for his friend. "Ratchet," he said softly, "there was nothing we could have done to save her." He slowly approached the mech. "We... We have to get the wounded to the new base and tend to them immediately."

"I all ready have my assignments."

The white and green mech blinked. "Other assignments?" he inquired.

"A few kliks ago, I was asked to help treat patients at the Iacon base," Ratchet explained. "The request was sent in from Optimus Prime. We're good friends, so I wish to take him up on his offer."

"But - "

"You go to the Kaon base. You offer your services," Ratchet interrupted. "Not as a medic or scientist, but as a solider now, I suppose." He glowered, but kept his composure. "I'm staying behind to help the troops find any survivors before I dispatch to Iacon."

Wheeljack watched as the medic marched past him, trailing a chill in his wake. "Maybe I can help you out at Iacon sometime?" he offered.

Ratchet froze. He turned slowly, expression blank. "I don't think so," he said, "and I don't think we should bother seeing each other again." He looked at the ruins smoldering before them. "Let it stay here. Where it belongs."

The scientist stepped toward him, shocked. "You can't be serious."

"Please," Ratchet pleaded, met Wheeljack's alarmed gaze with his own; sad, wounded, angry. Betrayed. "Go away."

The gaze broke then and the medic headed into the destruction to help the search team. Wheeljack watched him go until he was just another silhouette digging through the debris. He stayed there for a long time, staring until a low, heavy voice tore him away.

"A few of my troops are heading back to Kaon for supplies," the squad commander stated, "I want you to go back with them and help with the injured."

Wheeljack bowed his head. He nodded. "Yeah," he murmured, moving to the group waiting on him, "nothing left here for me anyway."

THE END

A/N:

Units of time:
cycle = year
vorn = over or around 100 years
klik = minute

The title, December Sun, comes from the Death Cab For Cutie song, Brothers on a Hotel Bed. Alongside it and Someday You Will Be Loved on loop, I wrote this fic. Both songs sort of fit and I just wanted to use a lyric or something for a title.

Felt this was a biiiit too angsty, but eh.