The last time he'd witnessed an alien party, he'd pulled an all nighter bouncing around from watching the oxymoron that was drunk robots and the far less funny conversation of a soldier in an unpleasant situation.
Well, Fowler had only that day to compare to this one and so he couldn't help but compare to a degree.
There were, however disappointing it was, no drunk robots this time. Considering the fact that the kids and Ms. Darby were here this time, that may have been for the best. There was also no unhappy Bulkhead to comfort on the roof. Considering the fact that the roof would've exposed him to the exoplanet's air, that was also for the best. Now, Bulkhead seemed pretty happy with partying. He was mainly following Miko around to aid with whatever plan she cooked up, but Fowler still caught sight of the big guy passing time with just about everyone else: including the two deserters he'd been so unhappy with in January.
Time really had flown by since then.
And everyone really did seem so excitedly happy at the moment, even if chaos was going to return the minute they all tried to return to business.
For now, Fowler kicked back and enjoyed the show.
The vehicons had offered their rec rooms up. They were larger than the officer's room, if just because there were so many more of them to fill those rooms up with. While there were far more accessories and comforts in the officer recreation room, the autobots had ultimately decided to accept the vehicon's offer.
Lights were dug up and strung around the room. Wheeljack tried to convert a few of the ship's inflorescences to more exciting lights; and, since he did manage to not make them outright explosive, they were now sitting on top of some of the tables in the room. Knock Out had raided the supply cabinets in search of high grade and came back with boxes of flavors and additives instead. Those now were sprawled out on the dispensary table. A set of empty boxes turned upside down on table tops made up the makeshift counters for the incoming humans. They'd have to bring their own food, but at least on top of a cybertronian sized table they were unlikely to be trampled.
The spacebridge was already fueled with stabilized synthetic energon. Ratchet waited there for the call that would alert him to the humans' readiness to visit. So long as they remained inside the Nemesis (or those areas that the crash hadn't compromised), they wouldn't need to wear any special sort of suits like Jack had when they'd sent him to find Vector Sigma.
Everyone had missed each other. Now that Unicron had been dealt with, it seemed safe enough for the humans to visit. Besides, Orion had been very eager to meet their allies.
And the others liked any excuse to party.
Finally, the recreation room was set up, the humans had gotten ready, and the spacebridge was opened.
The only frustration he had with this all was his mom's extra guests.
Really, it was bad enough that the insecticons had decided to invite themselves into the Darby neighborhood. Now they were inviting themselves to everything else?
Jack had no idea where his mom's patience with them all came from. He just hoped they never decided to start playing bodyguard to him too. That'd be a real good way to kill the chance of any dates.
"You boys really don't need to stick around me," his mom had tried to get them to stay behind or at least mingle once they did arrive on Cybertron.
The insecticons didn't budge. She'd sighed and didn't do anything else. If it had been Jack, he would have been highly frustrated to have his 'suggestion' smothered like that.
Complaints about the quartet disappeared once the bridge had actually opened and let them all through. He was too excited to see Arcee and Smokey and the rest to really worry about them anymore.
And there was someone else to meet.
They'd been called and told about the situation on Cybertron. It had been startling, but Jack wasn't sure it had sunk in all the way. Neither had the empty base in general or their new volunteer jobs as 'junior consultants'.
On the bright side, Ratchet had called earlier to ask Fowler about the enlistment of 'rusty old autobot medics', which was apparently his way of asking to return to the base and help on the human side of things. That likely meant more communication guarantees between the team and Earth and opened the possibility of common visits. Jack rather liked the sound of that.
First things first though. He had a newbie to meet for the second time. Their first conversation had been rather short, after all.
The humans were in his retained memories. What they did, who they were, what they'd meant to Optimus- Orion could see all of it.
He was excited to meet them. A little sad as well, since they seemed like they would be disappointed to lose Optimus's less passionate yet very stable presence, but excited nonetheless.
When the group had exited and been surrounded by their eager cybertronian partners, Orion had held back. He waited for his chance to introduce himself and was not disappointed. Arcee saw him looking from where he'd held back with Ultra Magnus and waved him over.
The rest fell silent when he approached.
"My name is Orion Pax," he greeted steadily. "It's an honor to meet you all."
They spent a breem or so all talking, asking questions, and even giving him reassurances that he would be liked just as much as Optimus had been.
Orion determined that he would be happy to befriend them all.
Arcee had waited for both Darby's to don their clunky envirosuits and then took them both for a drive over Cybertron's countryside. When they'd paused for a break a good click away, she'd smiled at the humans resting against her shins.
"This is how I wanted to show it to you," the two-wheeler told her junior partner.
This- full of life and wild beauty, even as it still was covered in unconstructed rubble.
June had taken in the sights. It was both unbelievable and terrifying to be on another planet; she'd never been one to fantasize about visiting other worlds and, quite frankly, heights scared her too much for space flight to ever appeal to her.
It was incredible as well.
"It's amazing, Arcee," she'd said.
Arcee felt the compliment sink all the way in.
"Yeah," Jack grinned. "10 out of 10, best campground I've ever gone to. We should bring a tent over and stay here."
She'd cracked the side of her mouth into a grin of its own.
"You sure you brought your bug spray, partner?"
Miko had taken a liking to the two.
Bulkhead wasn't entirely sure he supported that fact. At the same time, he wasn't exactly surprised she liked them. They were both heavy duty, loud, and as willing to get into trouble as Wheeljack was.
She had wordlessly recruited Smokescreen in her mission to get near the 'metal dragons'. The rookie was completely on board with the plan. It didn't really surprise Bulkhead.
"Uh, Miko?" Bulkhead felt the need to protest.
The human made a very loud shushing noise at him from where she was standing on his shoulder. Her attention never left the trio she had assigned to carry out her "evil plan".
The two predacons and Smokescreen crept near Wheeljack and prepared the prank of their (and by that, it meant Miko's) choosing. A moment later and they were sprinting for the exit. One of the clones crushed a chair in his retreat and didn't even seem to notice that chair pieces were stuck in the many spines and joints of his leg.
Miko cackled and pounded against his shoulder in her amusement.
Wheeljack held out his arms and looked down at himself. Blue fuel trickled down white plating. The arms dropped against his hips with a clang and obvious exacerbation before he made his way over to the duo.
"Hey Jackie," Bulkhead smiled completely innocently.
Wheeljack saw Miko and lifted a brow at her.
After that, the other wrecker joined their little trouble team. Bulkhead had a feeling it was mainly so he could keep an optic on their plans.
So this was a...'party'.
There had been forms of celebration in his memories, but they had typically come in the form of great hunts and the relaxation that came in their wake.
This thing Bumblebee had invited him to was an entirely new beast to conquer.
The first step was the same as it would be in any challenge: observation.
Since this was not a concrete opponent, there was no way to search for weaknesses. Instead, he looked for what routines the others seemed to uniquely utilize the most and why those routines seemed the most common. So far, he saw that many approached the dispensary, took energon, and then left that table. The rest of the mingling seemed to carry less structure to it. Still, he planned on figuring it out.
The old age was gone. Even if more predacons flourished, they would still have to deal with the sheer amount of mechs that existed now. As much as Predaking planned to continue their species and its mighty cultures, he also was attempting to learn the societal marks of the others he was sharing this world with. There seemed to be a great likelihood that this species would be the ruling one on this world. And he did find these mech fascinating. Megatron and the decepticons had made it clear that he did not belong with them, even after he took on a form like theirs and spoke with the language they were limited to. He would like to find a way to spite that belief of theirs.
So he would need to learn how these boring, non-hunt related celebrations operated.
He'd been saying that to himself for a while now. Perhaps it was time for him to admit that he was overwhelmed by the number of fields in this room with their different complexities and emotions oozing from them. But that would be to admit defeat. He, of course, refused.
"You're analyzing this far too much," a voice said at his left. Predaking shook from the overwhelming fields he had been observing and looked at the newcomer. Ah. The Prime. Or the not-Prime, as it was.
"What else am I to do?" he replied calmly. "This is not my typical battlefield."
The other smiled at him.
"Is everything a battlefield to you?" Orion asked and then shook his head before a response came. "You don't have to answer that. It's just curious. I suppose I have to adjust to how predacons view the world. I have never met a predacon before you."
There was something far too open about this mech. From those conversations Predaking had engaged in with the Prime, there was an official filtering to all he said aloud. This one didn't seem as apt to do so.
Orion pointed over at where the other two clones were currently running around with the autobot Smokescreen. The autobot threw a cube of energon supplied by Darksteel at the wrecker Wheeljack and then all three sprinted into the hall cackling.
"They seem to get the spirit of it," he said.
In other words, inability to understand parties wasn't a predacon thing. It was just him.
But if the spirit of it was making a fool out of himself, Predaking could hardly bemourn his own inability to fit into the festivities here.
"If this had happened a few cycles ago, I wouldn't be in here," Orion started up after another moment. The predacon looked back at him. "Primes do not tend to party."
'Partying' did seem rather beneath a regal leader. At least the words made him feel less ashamed of how he was so out of place in this; the Prime would have been as well and everyone had still respected that mech.
"Do you want me to help show you around? Give you an explanation for the activities in here?"
Predaking considered the offer. He considered mainly just how much he stood out while he was a stiff statue at one corner of the room.
"I...would not be opposed," he admitted.
There were actually a good number of vehicons here. None seemed particularly loose or relaxed, but they were still attempting to remain in the same room as the partying forged were. There was no mingling between vehicons and autobots, but Phoenix supposed it was good enough just to see that some vehicons attended to talk to each other.
Breakdown had 'officially' invited him to come with some excuse that all four medical officers should go. He did not like the idea. It sounded crowded and noisy and just unnatural altogether.
There was very little to discourage that impression once he had gone. While the autobot medic kept his distance, in the least, the other autobot he desired to see the least did not. The wrecker had tried to speak with him at the dispensary table about something as inane as which additive flavors were the best. Phoenix hadn't been sure how to respond to those questions. Fortunately, the autobot seemed happy to do most of the talking himself.
Unfortunately, they still ended up talking.
"You ever think of fixing that?" Bulkhead had pointed at his face and Phoenix had forced his frame to not backstep away from the gesture.
When he hadn't responded within the socially expected timeframe, the wrecker had acted very apologetic about it all.
"Sorry, sorry. It's just- Ratch did that, right?"
Had this one been among those who had run over and stopped the medic from decapitating him? Maybe he had. Phoenix did not truly remember the details of who had been there. He'd been rather caught up in the thought-stalling pain on his face, after all.
"That's why you did- you know. What you did back at the mine. Right? Look, I'm not holding a grudge about it," the wrecker tried to sound casual.
Phoenix had tried to be just as casual in leaving the tableside.
Somewhere along the night, Smokescreen had eloped with the two smaller clones and was no doubt goofing off with them outside of the ship. The wrecker trio stuck around each other for longer than those two had, even if Wheeljack was ansty (that was, after all, rather typical for him).
They devolved into just making commentary on the others and trying to get the human teen's opinion on certain recent events.
"Isn't that the guy who scrapped your face?" Miko pointed at a vehicon who was slipping out of the rec room. "Ratchet wouldn't let me pound him when he stuck him in the base. Can we pound him now?"
Wheeljack visibly thought about it. Bulkhead shook him.
"Let's think of something else to do," he offered with a laugh.
The other two still looked tempted towards her idea. They really were typical wreckers.
It was for the sake of diplomacy.
That was the reasoning Raf came up with and the other two had been willing to follow his lead. Bumblebee was always rather excited at the prospect of helping people get along. Breakdown was just there to be with Bumblebee. And Raf? Well, he wanted to help with the boredom of someone who didn't have anything else to do, but he also wanted a chance to put his mind up against another's. Even if he'd probably get beat pretty fast.
"Alright," the tween whispered to the other two once he'd finished peeking into the medbay. "So he's in there and not doing anything. We can pitch the idea to him, right?"
Bumblebee nodded.
"I think it's worth a try," he reassured earnestly. It made the boy straighten his glasses and look away in light embarrassment. Bumblebee was always so nice.
"You'll both be on my team, if he says yes," Raf explained. "It's a two person game but...it's Soundwave. I think I'm allowed to have backup."
It would've been fair, if either of them could really give him help in winning it.
"I'm not going to be much help," Breakdown said to the other two. Bumblebee glanced down at Raf and then shrugged at him.
"Honestly, I probably won't be either," the other mech laughed. "There's a reason we stick to racing games. He creams me."
"You're my moral support team then-" the human grinned.
That sounded more likely.
After that, the trio went in. Bumblebee set Raf down on the main berth in the room. The occupant didn't move from the berth against the wall that he sat on.
"H-hey Soundwave," the boy greeted. "We were wondering if you wanted to play a game?"
There was no verbal reply, but at the least the other was looking at them blankly. Raf gestured at Bumblebee and the mech supplied him with the jumbo box he'd brought from Earth. While he tried to set it up, he began to talk about the game.
"It's called go," Raf started to explain nervously. "It's a strategy game, so I thought maybe you'd enjoy it? I-I've got the rules with me now, so I can explain it to you i-if you want to play."
Soundwave's visor lit up and flashed through dozens of images. Rule book pages, strategy guides, walkthroughs-
Raf gulped.
"We're gonna get creamed, aren't we?" he said.
Soundwave nodded once, for their sake.
A half a breem later, Knock Out broke away from a very intense interrogation on his abilities to manage a medbay (courtesy of Ratchet) and wandered out of the main rec room in search for his partner. He was only slightly insulted that Breakdown had decided to ditch him; there was nothing exciting about sticking around while Ratchet was being weird. If anything, he just wished his partner had managed to snag him when he left.
The others had given him a heads up on where they'd last seen Breakdown disappearing to. It seemed that he'd been convinced by Bumblebee to leave the main party and go to the medbay. Why? Who knew. There really weren't that many things of excitement in the medbay. Nothing age appropriate for young optics to see, at least. So there really was no-
...he'd forgotten the one other little detail about the medbay.
Knock Out pulled up short in the doorway, took one look at the proximity of his partner and a certain Soundwave, and screeched.
The wrecker had been right about the energon additives. They were amazing. He'd never tried any before. It wasn't like the decepticon army had bothered to give its disposable drones something as extra and rare as additives.
He couldn't find a favorite out of those he sampled. Maybe in a few more tries, some sort of opinion could form. For now, all he knew was that they all added something to fuel he had never experienced before.
Phoenix had snagged a cube and pushed as many of the flavorings as he could into it as he could before someone noticed. Then, he took his prize and left the room. Others had come and gone already and it didn't seem that they had drawn attention for doing it. No one bothered him either.
Once in the halls, he sent a comm to XL-3T09. The two met near the barracks and then Phoenix guided them semi-cautiously to another hall. The door they beelined for opened after the first set of knocks.
Dreadwing had not left this room much. He was no longer confined to a brig- not since the first decepticon commander had returned and struck an official truce with the autobots rather than a surrender- but he did not seem comfortable mingling in a ship of loud autobots and quiet vehicons. It was rather understandable, really.
Phoenix presented his prize for the other two.
"I brought them from the party," he explained as he held the cube out.
They were invited in cordially a moment later.
While the autobots had their loud party and the vehicons spent time enjoying the safety of a peacetime warship, they sat together in Dreadwing's room. The lights were dimmer than those of the rec room, but brighter than they had been that one other time Phoenix had entered it. The vials of innermost energon from the memorial ritual were sitting on the shelf above a desk lined with organized weapons. The room managed to be clinically sparse while holding antique items of mystery. It was far more inviting than a brig. It was far more inviting than Phoenix remembered it being from his first time here.
They added the flavors he'd brought to what energon cubes were inside the cabinet of this room. Conversation was slow coming but still preferable to the activity of the autobot party. And there were no tiny organics at risk of being hurt here, so no one had to watch where they sat.
The seeker offered a small portion of one of his Polihexian-cured high grades. They were stored in fascinating metal spheres and Phoenix had almost been tempted to try some. The additives he'd tasted tonight were wonderful- surely high grade would be as well?
He also knew the basic makeup of being overcharged and determined he wouldn't feel safe being so. XL-3T09 had no such qualms and took the blue mech up on the offer. While Dreadwing intook a tiny cubes worth and hardly seemed to have changed at all after its intake, the vehicon lost what caution he had left around the forged. And most of his remaining filters as well. Phoenix found himself very glad he had not tasted the high grade after all.
At one point, XL-3T09 had attempted to mimic Starscream's victory dance again and had been pleaded by Dreadwing to cease.
"You must stop. It resembles a dying turbofox," he had said as flatly as ever.
Not long after, both vehicons were being taught a dance dating back to the Age of Wrath. It was, as XL-3T09 complained, incredibly slow moving; which fit its teacher, unsurprisingly.
The night passed contentedly enough. Energon was taken, more culture of ancient days was shown, and the noise of the outside world never crashed into this room.
Neither Phoenix nor Dreadwing needed to speak much. XL-3T09 spoke more than enough for all three of them.
It was amusing to watch someone so much smaller (relatively) than his pal drag said pal around with a strength he probably didn't have.
He'd been in the middle of talking with Magnus (who did not seem to grasp the concept of a party was to leave business behind and have fun) when Knock Out dragged Breakdown up to both and planted himself there.
"Is something wrong?" Magnus had greeted them instantly with a frown. It almost seemed like the guy felt assured that something was going to explode in their face during this little celebration and now here was his first sign of evidence.
"I found him, and Bumblebee and his human, in the medbay!" the medic said with far more enthusiasm than a sentence like that really warranted. "In the medbay-" the mech said again when no one reacted in scandalized horror at his first proclamation. "Playing games with Soundwave."
Alright? Yes, it was a little surprising since the decepticon hardly seemed like the type to participate in games or fun in general, but it wasn't exactly news that some sort of horrifying ritual had been occurring in there.
"Knock Out, will you drop it?" Breakdown pried the other's hand off his arm and then slumped his head backwards when it was immediately replaced.
"They were fraternizing with Soundwave!" Knock Out repeated to Magnus like it was some sort of sin. Maybe in decepticon culture it was. Honestly, Fowler couldn't be surprised by anything anymore.
Magnus gave out a textbook sigh that the agent was almost certain came from human influence. Looked like even the big stickler wasn't immune to humanity's contagious charms.
"As much as I want to side with you on this," the commander nodded at the flashy red mech, who beamed under it. "-Soundwave accepted the order to cease combat. We are not required under law-" his normally stiff voice sounded a tad strained "-to keep contact at a minimum."
Knock Out hardly looked satisfied. While he started some sort of protest on why this guy in specific (something about sticking his arm through someone's face; whatever the details, it sounded highly unpleasant) should be an exception, Breakdown groaned.
"He's fine, isn't he?" Fowler interrupted. "No one got any arms stuck through their face, did they?"
The medic fluttered his mouth in wordless protest. Breakdown looked ready to thank the human (which sounded very awkward and thus was something to be avoided).
"Right?" the human crossed his arms and looked up at the blue mech. "How are you doing? Alive?"
For a second, a smirk had started to roll- then Breakdown froze up. The smirk fell into a confused frown; the mech crouched to get nearer to Fowler and narrowed his optics at him.
"Wait a minute..." Breakdown started slowly. "I knew I'd heard you before."
Fowler smiled nervously and decided that now was a great time to find a new table to crawl onto.
It had been such a wonderful night.
But even wonderful nights came to an end. Orion had enjoyed his time mingling with others. He had spoken with the humans, talked with Predaking until Bumblebee had relieved him, and watched some of the others shove the tables aside to try to dance to Miko's strange human music that she played on a fascinating little instrument.
Eventually, it seemed that the humans had grown ready to recharge. The amount of their alien 'yawns' grew until June suggested they all head back. That was when Ratchet had explained that he wanted to go with them.
Orion had snagged the other and led him to the hall to talk privately.
"We discussed this already," the smaller mech protested. "That's where I'm needed."
They had discussed this, when he was still Optimus. And he had asked then for the other to wait longer.
"I can't stay here." Ratchet added. "Please understand. I can't."
It felt like a personal offense of his was driving the other away. He did not know what it was and it hurt him.
"Ratchet..." Orion started softly. The medic grimaced and tilted his head away.
"I care about you," he said. "I always have and always will. But I've spent millennias at Optimus's side."
His words cut off for a moment. It made Orion's spark pang.
"I loved him," Ratchet stated only what both of them already knew. "I can't just stay here now while he's gone. I can't just see his body and know that he's not the one inside it."
They both grimaced then. For as much as Orion retained every memory and experience of Optimus Prime, their beings were not identical.
Even with those memories in his cortex, Orion felt as though he had only just come out of the holy place where he had found the Matrix. He'd left that room and found himself in a world millions of stellar cycles older than him; he was surrounded by friends who had aged nine million stellar cycles without him.
"And this world isn't for me," the medic began anew with a hollow bark of laughter. "There are cons everywhere and-" he lifted a servo in preemptive interrupt. "-I know, I know; there's a reason they are. I get it. But this isn't where I'm needed."
Orion wanted to argue that Earth wasn't where Ratchet was needed either.
There were only a few of those he remembered: Jazz may live yet, but his status was one of prolonged communication silence. The feisty little two-wheeler from the archives was one of his trusted soldiers now. Ratchet had remained at his- at Optimus's- side for all the vorns since they had first met.
Springer was among the offlined. Wingblade had been MIA for over three million stellar cycles. Prowl was gone. Alpha Trion was dead.
And on and on and on.
It would have meant everything to keep just one of those old friends who lived on at his side.
Even with that wish, Orion knew the volatile nature of time and bonds.
He took Ratchet's shoulders and embraced him; it did not feel correct with all the height and mass he now had over the friend he used to match in size.
Things had morphed.
It was evolution- transformation- that remained irreversible so long as time was set as a linear constant.
Orion felt the incorrect embrace and accepted the farewell it represented.
It was during cleanup that he noticed Wheeljack fidgeting. The wrecker ended up slipping from the room in a manner his old partner found very suspicious. Bulkhead trailed him all the way to the groundbridge control room before he interrupted the attempts to fiddle with those controls.
"You going somewhere?" the green mech tried to laugh. Wheeljack spun around.
"What?" the other said. "No, 'course not. Just...Earth. Gotta get something back."
Sure he did.
This was a song and dance they'd done before.
"Jackie..." Bulkhead grabbed his arm. The smaller wrecker looked at his servo and then up at his optics with an expression unimpressed.
"Are you really going so soon?" he elaborated and felt proud that his voice managed to stay steady. "We just got this place back!"
He'd just got the other back.
Wheeljack smiled at him. It didn't meet his optics.
"I'm not goin' anywhere permanently," he reassured flatly. "I have to retrieve the Jackhammer, don' I?"
If it wasn't for the long list of abandonment, Bulkhead might have believed that was it.
"Yeah," the green wrecker smiled back. "Don't take long with such a fast task."
The other saluted lazily.
"Will do, Bulk," he said and strolled back to the controls.
Bulkhead watched him go while his own smile turned melancholy. He really had hoped Wheeljack would stay this time.
He'd been organizing his medbay for the third time since the humans had all left when the groundbridge activated. Ratchet dropped a wrench and shot up, knocking his head against the open drawer above him, and beginning a very colorful string of curses. When the momentary pain faded just enough, he disentangled himself from his desk and stomped out into the main room to find the culprit.
Said culprit was casually approaching.
"Wheeljack!" Ratchet snapped. His head was still aching. "What are you doing here? Get back to Cybertron!"
The other scoffed.
"Just gettin' my ship back, doc," Wheeljack waved him off. "Don' get all in my face 'bout it."
This time, he was the one who scoffed and muttered something unflattering about wreckers while he returned to the medbay.
It didn't take long for him to notice that he was being watched. Instead of going outside the base to retrieve the Jackhammer, Wheeljack had leaned against the entrance and watched him picking up all those tools that had fallen out of the drawer his head had hit.
The medic ceased what he was doing to turn and glare at him.
"You're not just here to get your ship," Ratchet said flatly.
The wrecker gave him a roll of the shoulders.
"'spose not," he replied. "Maybe I'm here to bother you."
That hardly seemed unlikely.
"Then you're already succeeding," the medic quipped back.
Wheeljack's scarred lips peeled back wider.
"Sorry to disappoint, then. That's not entirely it either."
Lovely. Perhaps it was another conversation like those they'd had after retrieving June Darby from Airachnid.
"Hurry it up," Ratchet waved the tool at him. "Out with it before I have to kick you out of my workspace."
The other glanced at the offending tool and then looked back to him.
"I was hopin' to convince you to leave it too," Wheeljack said while he jerked his head towards the hallway meaningfully.
Ratchet glared at him. After a moment of that, the wrecker tried to laugh.
"Come'n. Don' you wan' to prove your metal outside of war and doctorin'?"
Hilarious.
And the worst idea he'd heard this orn. And this was the orn in which Optimus decided reverting to Orion Pax and instating Megatron into the government was a good idea.
He had lost loved ones before. He'd met those he considered bonds with and then let them drift away. Now, he had lost one who mattered more than any other mech at current.
Now was not the time to be filling a void with substitutes and choosing quick thrill over bitter disappointment.
Then what time was it?
Should he just sit here and rust while he mourned missed opportunities?
Wheeljack put a servo out into the air.
"You up for it?" the wrecker asked.
They both knew that answer.
They also knew how slowly it would come.
Ratchet looked at the offered servo.
"...I'm going to regret this," he finally said as if in explanation for his own hesitance.
The other didn't even manage to summon his trademark smirk.
"How 'bout you share that regret for once."
As poor an idea as it was, Ratchet took the offer.
