A/N: Ratchet/Wheeljack sads.

Optics stayed cut downward, though for their dim glow they may as well have been off. Static bandages strained over split plates, some reinforced with steel wire stitching to encourage healing. Blue was drying over helm, trailing down after having pooled in his collar. Ratchet had spent an hour picking the shattered pieces of metal out, all the while keeping his vocalizer locked.

Wheeljack refused anesthetics and sat quietly. This spiked the medic's anxiety even more. The external damage would be easy to weld, but deeper examination would be required to make sure... to make sure his processor wasn't impaired in any way. Ratchet's servos had begun to shake.

The others were gone now. Wheeljack still hadn't uttered a word though there had been no damage to his vocalizer.

"Where did you go?"

It came as a whisper. Shaking.

The Wrecker only ventilated shallowly.

"Wheeljack," Ratchet tried again, voice still low. Despite the trembling, his hands rose. It took a considerable amount of control—he rested them upon the silent mech's face. Palm smoothed to cup jaw, other fingers shyly stretching, touching.

Poorly fueled optics closed at the contact. Plates shifted noisily as Wheeljack stiffened.

Ratchet raised his voice now. "Wheeljack." It cracked. The doctor pressed his mouthplate into a line and only had control for a faint nano-klik. He pulled his servos away harshly.

"Are—you—glitched?" he shouted now, emotion faltering his vocals again. "What were you thinking?"

Wheeljack opened his optics. Ratchet's were brimming with cleanser.

The medic stood quickly to leave, and a bandaged servo grabbed his arm. A free arm came up to hide his face as fluid finally shone down plating. Wheeljack kept his hold and stood slowly.

Both arms came around Ratchet and pulled him close. The orange and white mech rattled in hushed gasps and Wheeljack let him cry into his shoulder.

"You are an idiot."

He squeezed Ratchet and let his burning optics shutter once more.

"I know."