Title: Late Nights
Fandom: Transformers:Prime
Author: Feathered Fiend
Characters: Ratchet, Bumblebee
Genre: Family, Humor
Rating: K+ for silly, nonsense late night visits from Bumblebee.
Status: One Shot, Complete
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, else things would have been a lot different.
Warning: This is part of a new series I'm running called "A Father's Love". It's going to show a Father/Son relationship between Ratchet and Bumblebee. I'm sorry if everyone seems terribly out of character.

"He was saying, I love you, the only way he knew how."
-"A Father's Love", Bucky Covington

A shift next to him, the medic awoke and onlined his optic sensors—because he had certainly drifted into recharge alone. His form moved to a bit to remove himself from the situation—because he didn't dare look just yet—but the figure just scooted closer to him. Giving up on just ignoring it, he decided it was due time to see what the frag was going on. He turned his gaze to the left—because that was where the trespasser was currently located—and scowled slightly at the sight—because it was not even remotely right in his mind.

At his side was a little yellow scout, he had folded his form gently against the medic's and fallen deep into recharge. He didn't speak—because he wasn't sure about waking the little brat—and carefully leaned over to run a scan. His faceplates twisted and optics dimmed—because sometimes it was just too much, because the little scout was perfectly fine. He lifted a servo from the berth—because he'd made his decision and planned on waking the youngling up—but stopped, uncertainty showing its face—because there was something about this that unnerved him, because this started when the mech was young and frightened.

He twisted his form—careful not to disturb his bedmate—and gently laid a recharging Autobot. The yellow bot did not wake—because he was comfort—and the medic didn't move—because he enjoyed seeing the youngster so relaxed. However, this did not stop from scout from moving about the berth and cuddling closer to the older bot—which was embarrassing as Pit to the medic.

Metal scraping together startled the older Autobot, he jumped a bit before realizing the scout's chest plates brushing against his—because this wasn't as simple as it used to be, because Bumblebee had grown. He realized in that moment, optics dimming in comprehension that his once little bug was now a grown warrior—because it was bound to happen, because they don't stay small forever. His faceplates twisted in dread—because someday his little bedmate was going to grow out of this completely, never to return to his berth on a whim like tonight.

As if he sensed the elder's distress, the scout stirred from his recharge and shifted even closer. His head nuzzling against the medic's shoulder—because he wanted to make sure he was actually there—before the swirl of his optics onlining echoed through the otherwise silent room. His head lifted, much to the medic's dismay, and those large azure orbs stared up at him. He beeped and whirled—asking if his friend was all right—before tilting his head in a curious manner.

"You're getting a little too grown-up for this," Ratchet grunted—because he didn't want to admit that he was scared, because he didn't want the little bugger to grow up just yet. The younger seemed a bit disheartened by the medic's words—evident when his shoulder sank and his head tilted down—and the white and red bot felt guilty—because there he was pushing the poor youngling away, because he was frightened of the closeness. He didn't show it—because he wouldn't allow such things to get out—and scolded, "What are you doing in here anyway, Bumblebee?"

The youngling answered with a series of clicks, beeps, and whistles—telling him about a dream he had, about how scary it was but didn't go any farther. The medic frowned deeper and sat up, nearly knocking his bedmate off the berth—because the once puny youngling was now almost into full adulthood, much larger then before and the berth hadn't grown with him. "Don't be ridiculous," he huffed at the younger. "We do not have dreams. I think you should go back and—"

For once the little scout interrupted the elder, his optics shone with determination and his body stance was that of a solider, not a youngling like normal. He beeped and clicked—claiming that he did have a dream, a memory more like it, and that it was frightening, so frightening that he needed Ratchet—all the while resituating himself to sit up. The medic was surprised—because this wasn't like his little youngling—and the revelations kept coming. In his own language, the yellow warrior wailed a story—one about a little hatchling that almost lost his substitute creator, a fear that still concerned him to this day when this alternate figure in his life when on missions as well.

The medic was left feeling extremely guilty when the younger bot was finished—because he didn't know his younger companion was troubled by anything that he did—and found himself laying back in the berth, back turned to the robotic lad. There were a few more beeps and clicks—asking what was going on—before the older Autobot grunted and barely glanced over his shoulder. "Just tonight," he replied. "You can stay in here for tonight, but Primus as my witness, if you dare come in here again, I rewire you to be nothing more then one of the children's play toys!"

It seemed to take a moment for the scout to understand but when it did, the medic almost regretted it. The yellow bot beeped happily—speaking too quickly for the medic to understand what was being said—and sprung into the spot next to his alternate creator. Nearly rolling his optics, Ratchet offlined them and turned his head, beginning to power down his systems carefully. He could feel the youngster nuzzling against his back, arms trapped between his chest and the older bot's back—because he would wait until Ratchet as in recharge before showing too much affection towards him.

As the last few systems began to shut down for the night, the medic knew his little bot would be there when he awoke—as close to him as he could get—and would still be in deep recharge—because his young systems enjoyed the feel. He nearly smiled at the thought—because someday this wasn't going to happen anymore, because one day soon Bumblebee would finally be a grown mech—and without realizing it, he rolled over and wrapped an arm around the little yellow bugger. He pulled him close—because he was going to miss this—and could hear the little beeps of cheerfulness—because Bumblebee was receiving the affection he adored. Just like that, the two slipped into complete recharge—because they were happy.

.Author's Note.

Oh dear God, I think I'm going to make myself sick. This was just so fluff and sweet, and I cannot believe I wrote it. However, I think its what I needed to write, get me out of the funk I've been in and maybe something light hearted once in awhile won't be so bad, right? Sorry if anyone is out of character or something. Reviews would be awesome, just saying.

Also, thanks to char0lastra who this is sent out to.