Universe: G1
Characters: Elita One, Arcee, Hot Rod

Rating: T
Warnings: 'Breastfeeding' with robots having semi accurate human breasts. War related circumstances. Comfort.

Disclaimer: I claim nothing but my own poor writing and ideas.

They were running much too low on energon.

Elita One pinched her nasal ridge as she again ran through their inventory. They had so little energon, and with a sparkling that still needed to feed…

She shuttered her optics and leaned her head back, tired processor sluggishly moving through various plans and solutions that were barely better than what they were doing now.

Shockwave had energon, it was getting it that was the problem. With the amount of drones everywhere and as low on energy as her femmes were they had to be especially careful not to expend what they couldn't replace.

Slag.

Faintly, she heard the muted wail that came from the starving sparkling as one of the femmes tried to keep him quiet. They were so vulnerable here, and having to care for the tiny mech only made them more so.

But she couldn't abandon him, she couldn't.

If they left Hot Rod, it would go against all of her morals, all of her instincts as a carrier. It simply wasn't an option.

Even if they died for it, she couldn't turn away the sparkling.

The wail started up again in the other room and Elita pushed herself to her pedes and out the door. She'd recharged and refueled enough to produce a little enriched energon, she would relieve the femme that clearly was out.

Arcee tried to force some energon into her empty feeding lines, even just a little, to comfort Hot Rod with.

"Come on Roddy, it isn't so bad. You'll get some as soon as I can manage."

The sparkling in her arms quieted a little at her voice, hiccupping sobs fritzing his vocalizer every few klicks, and patted her arm.

He was such a sweet bot, trying to comfort her even when he was thin and hungry. His protoform wasn't forming quickly, but at least it was steady.

Arcee tried again to force her feeding lines to boot and fill, cycling her own energon to try to mix up her own depleted minerals and metals for Hot Rod.

She knew there wasn't anything left, but if she could even just get a little for him to suckle on…

Hot Rod petted her lines softly, chirring and clicking, trying to encourage the feeding mix to come in.

There was nothing though. Arcee moved Hot Rod to her shoulder and shifted her chest plates back into place. She was empty, she couldn't force even a drop more out.

"I'm so sorry Roddy, so sorry."

The sparkling wailed into her neck cables even as he tried to move back down to the hidden nubs.

Elita One walked in to find a distraught Hot Rod and Arcee.

She rested her hands on each of their helms for a klick before taking Hot Rod from Arcee and gently pushing her to the door.

"Get some rest, 'Cee. Take as long as you need."

Arcee gave a half smile to her commander and shuffled off to the one working recharge booth they had scavenged.

Elita petted Hot Rod, her movements soothing him for the moment, and flared her EM field around them both.

Optimus had been so proud of her when they'd last been able to talk. She was surviving, not only with her group of femmes, but with a sparkling that had no way of protecting himself.

"I am proud to be bonded to such a courageous and beautiful femme."

Those words had bolstered her again and again. She believed in Optimus, she believed in what he stood for. This was what she could do for her team, for Hot Rod.

Hot Rod was chirring softly again, drifting into a hungry recharge, lulled by her movement across the floor and she found herself crying silently against his helm.

Chromia and Firestar were out on a raid, and she hoped that the bounty was worth the injuries they were sure to receive.

Still, she had work to do, and the longer she could keep Hot Rod sleeping the more mix she could produce for when he woke up. She picked up the piece of metal-mesh they'd found and tied it around Hot Rod and herself, snugging the sparkling to her body, and rearranged her chest plates to hold him there securely.

Her worn, paint bare fingers stroked his tiny body for a second before Elita pulled herself upright and moved to the door.

They'd survive. This sparkling was hope for their future, and she would make sure that he had one to live in.