"Ratchet, come in Ratchet."
The medic looked up from his work on Cliff Jumper's arm and furrowed his brow at the urgent tone of his leader's voice. "What is it, Optimus?"
"Bridge us back to headquarters immediately, and prepare the medical bay," the Prime sternly ordered. Ratchet nodded to himself and then quickly stepped over to the space bridge controls.
"Autobot down?" Cliff called, retesting his arm with a casual glance towards the older bot. The emergency vehicle shook his head.
"While you were gallivanting around looking for trouble, Optimus and Jazz went on a rescue mission. We received a distress call from old friends of Optimus' and they set out immediately," Ratchet said impatiently as he quickly pulled the activation switch. "I assume one of them has been gravely injured."
"Ah, so we get to meet the big man's old crew, eh?" Cliff chuckled, pushing himself up and looking at the glowing green portal.
"… you could say that," Ratchet mused as he watched the small figure of Jazz dash through the portal hole with a disgusted look on his face.
"Damn cons…" the old bot heard him spit as he skid to a stop and turned to watch his leader hurry in, something secured tightly in the crook of his left arm. The medic waited a moment for another figure to come through, but knew Optimus well enough that he always left last to make sure all would come through safely. Reluctantly, he closed the bridge and then held his hands out. Immediately, the Prime carefully placed a youngling into his arms.
"Can you save him, Ratchet?" he gravely asked, his hand hovering over the small bot's forehead. Weak blue optics swiveled open and the youngling reached for Optimus' protective hand.
"Barely," the medic hastily replied, turning and hurrying towards a work gurney.
The youngling cried out as he was separated from Optimus' presence.
The Prime pinched the area between his eyes with a silent sigh, his mask retracting to reveal his solemn frown. Cliff glanced at Jazz in question. The silver bot hesitated before he began to explain the events of their mission. "… Prime got an SOS message from some old archiving friends from his days as Pax. By the time we got there… nothing. No life. Just…" Jazz flailed a hand in thought. "… debris. Bodies tossed around like scrap."
"So… who's the kid?"
"My Spark-Charge," came Optimus' voice. Cliff jumped and turned to look at his leader, who was solemnly staring at the squirming yellow youngling. "His name is Bumblebee. And as of today, he is the last youngling on Cybertron." His optics swiveled from his new son to his fellow warriors. "… as such, he deserves our protection and care."
"Optimus, care to give me a hand?" Ratchet called, struggling to keep his hold on the frightened Bumblebee. In one swift motion, the warrior had stepped over and scooped the bot up into one arm before he sat on the gurney. "Ah... not what I had in mind, but… well, at least he's still," Ratchet huffed before he began work on Bumblebee again.
Bumblebee's optics were wide and frightened as he stared at the hands reaching towards him. "Bumblebee," Optimus tenderly scolded, grabbing his ankle as he tried to kick the tools from Ratchet. "Ratchet is only trying to help you, hold still." The youngling fell still and folded his arms nervously against Optimus' forearm. The larger bot could feel the small one tremble and softly rested his hand against his back to comfort him. Bumblebee's tiny hand quickly wrapped around his thumb and held him close, making the Prime smile slightly.
Ratchet worked thoroughly, yet quickly, making sure that no part of the youngling was out of place. Finally, he put his tools down and stood with a huff. "That should do it. Keep him out of trouble and he should be fine," he stated, patting Bumblebee's head—he laughed, making the old medic smirk.
"Thank you, old friend," Optimus said, releasing his tight hold on the yellow bot. Bumblebee blinked, but did not hop out of his guardian's lap. "… it seems that a great deal is about to change in the autobot league," he mused as he watched Bumblebee shift and climb up to latch onto his neck. He hummed thoughtfully and then rested a hand on his back, the other wrapping around his legs, keeping the curious bot close. Ratchet laughed lightly.
"Of course. More regulations, tighter security, turns caring for the boy—"
"No, Ratchet. That, I intend to do myself," the Prime interrupted as he rose to his feet. The medic blinked and looked at his leader.
"Optimus, really—you won't have the time. How can you give him the full care he needs and still maintain our troops?"
"I will manage. I promised his father I would take care of Bumblebee, and I intend to do so. He is my son now, Ratchet, and I will tend to him. When I must be absent, others may have to care for him." He paused and looked at his son, who had dropped into a recharge cycle, and listened quietly to his humming mechanics. "I will balance being father with leader—Bumblebee deserves such."
Metal hit metal as Ratchet folded his arms in thought and eyed the primary colored duo. "… well, if anyone can do it, it is you, Optimus."