A/N: Takes place during the season 2 Orion Pax episodes.

"Ratchet," Arcee said from behind him. She kept her distance, gave him space, didn't let her field cross with his. "We'll get him back."

Orange and white plating shook. The medic gripped the tool in his hand before finally letting it go and it clattered noisily to the floor as he took in a sharp gasp. Cleanser reserves flushed, veiling his vision in a blur, overflowing in a quick release from tightly shuttered optics. He brought an arm to his faceplate to hide it, but could do nothing to stop the choked anxiety that emitted from his vocalizer.

Now the two-wheeler stepped forward, small servo and petite fingers resting on Ratchet's arm. Her sensors immediately lit up with readings of his field, marred and at a frequency that was hard to grasp.

"We'll get him back," she repeated, and Ratchet shook his helm hard.

"How do you know?" He barely got it out through the sobs, and then pushed his faceplate into his servos.

Arcee felt her vocal gears tighten. She let her optics close, taking in some steadying ventilations.

"I just know."

She didn't say anything more. Words were ineffective. Speculations were scrap. She didn't know how she knew, she didn't know what was going to happen. All she knew was that Optimus would never leave them. No matter what memories he'd lost. No matter what was branded into his plating.

Ratchet had to know it too, in his spark, no matter how much he thought he would never see Optimus again.

All Arcee could do was stay with him until his field calmed. Until he was able to think straight. Get back on the computer and try to figure things out.

They were going to get him back.