Cogwheel is borrowed from the Covenant of Primus and I love her to bits. Arachne is the Arachnicons' primary deity, a goddess who wove the world out of her webs, and also the title of their queen.

...

when the world has fallen out from under me
i'll be found in you, still standing
when the sky rolls up and mountains fall on the need
when time and space are through
i'll be found in you

…

LIKE THE WATER FINDS THE SEA

Ratchet leant back on his remaining arm and shuffled awkwardly onto the medical examination berth.

"I can't wait until this is over," he muttered, lowering himself to the berth.

Whether he referred to the appointment itself or the entire kindling, Optimus could not guess. He touched the back of Ratchet's hand, sending a warm pulse of encouragement over their bond. "Perhaps we can get some energon afterwards, or go for a walk."

The exam room was in the south wing of the hospital, on the tenth-floor maternity ward. The walls were painted warm pinks and oranges rather than the clinical steel of everywhere else, and late morning sun streamed in through the half-shuttered windows, casting barred patterns on the floor. It was pleasantly unlike any of the other hospital rooms which they had visited thus far.

Ratchet turned his servo over and gave Optimus' hand a nervous squeeze. "I'd like that."

The hallway door slid open with a smooth hum of mechanisms. Cuirasse strode in, burdened by a stack of datapads.

"I apologise for our lateness," she said, placing the datapads on the room's small datanet workstation. "The lower floors are busy today."

Optimus acknowledged her apology, but his attention had been stolen by the smaller mech whom had followed her into the room.

She stood in the long shadows by the closing door, her EM field held politely close to her frame in the northeastern fashion. Her shoulders were heavy and curved to accommodate four arms, with a further two slender limbs, much longer than the others, rose out of her back and draped down like wings.

Optimus frowned, but Ratchet pushed himself straight upright, antenna twitching in rigid attentiveness.

"Cogwheel?"

The small mech smiled. She had eight green optics, and all of them glowed with good humour. "I was wondering whether you would remember me," she said, approaching him. "It's been a long time, Ratchet."

"Far too long." Ratchet offered her his hand. "Datanet communication is all well and good, but I wasn't even aware that you were in Altihex."

She placed her servo palm-down against his and tapped the knuckles of her other against her slim chest. "I wasn't, up until two orns ago. There was a dipygia case down in Crystal City, and the antenatal warden there called in a few favours."

Interest flared in Ratchet's field as he returned the gesture. "Which category?"

"Equilateral, offset to the posterior by about forty degrees. One of the neatest manifestations I've ever seen, almost centaurian in form." Cogwheel took a pair of datapads from Cuirasse's pile. The second pair of arms unfolded from her sides and began to flick through the files. "I took detailed notes if you'd like to read them later on. Arachne knows I could do with a structural specialist's point of view."

"I've got nothing but time to fill in at the moment," said Ratchet. "I'd welcome the distraction."

Cogwheel nodded solemnly. "I'll send them to you as soon as I get back to the hotel tonight."

She glanced over his shoulder, straight at Optimus. Her optics widened, the outer four shuttering rapidly, and her field flared in the sort of recognition Optimus was beginning to tire of, that of someone familiar with the position of Prime but not the mech whom occupied it. "Ratchet, I wasn't aware that you knew Optimus Prime in anything more than a professional capacity."

Ratchet grimaced, a flicker of embarrassment drifting through his EM field. "I was getting to it." He turned to Optimus. "This is Cogwheel. We were roommates at the Academy of Medical Mechanics in Protihex. Classmates for a while, as well, but then she went into developmental cybiology and I carried on in structural mechanics." Back to Cogwheel, and his field opened up, begging understanding. "Cogwheel, Optimus and I are bonded. I told you about Orion Pax, back before the war? This is him."

Cogwheel stared at them for a while. Slowly, she nodded her helm, and her field reached out in warm sympathy. "Congratulations," she said, smiling.

Cuirasse, whom had watched the reunion with gratified surprise on her narrow face, strode around the med-berth to Optimus' side. "Cogwheel is one of the most well-known gestational specialists in the northeast. I'm a structural mechanic by specialisation, which means that while I'm presiding over Ratchet's physical recovery I'm not qualified to look after his kindling cycle."

Enlightenment dawned in Ratchet's field. "You never said you were going right to the top of the field."

Cogwheel chuckled. "Flatterer. I admit I was surprised to receive a request for a simple case of hypoumbilicus, but when I heard the patient's name I came right away."

Ratchet's entire field went unexpectedly dark. "It's not quite that simple," he said.

Optimus looked from medic to medic, searching for clues. "Might someone explain to me the problem?" he asked after a moment, taking hold of Ratchet's servo in an effort to comfort him. "I am listening, but you might as well be speaking in Old Centralian for all I understand it."

Cuirasse and Cogwheel both looked to Ratchet, as if for permission.

Ratchet vented deeply. "I have a condition called delayed-onset hypoumbilicus," he said, squeezing Optimus' servo. "It automatically makes any kindling I choose to go through with high-risk. Essentially, the umbilicus, the support networks that supply the newling frame with minerals and keep it developing the way it ought to, doesn't form properly. The risk is that the frame doesn't develop enough to support the newspark once it detaches from the parent spark, thus causing the newspark's dissolution and a late-term miscarriage."

Cogwheel nodded, her optics narrowing at the files on the datapad screens. "Hence my presence. If you don't mind, Ratchet, I'd like to do a comprehensive examination of my own. The local specialist's work is good, but things can change quite rapidly during the early stages of a kindling and even if they haven't, it would be good to confirm her results."

Ratchet nodded mutely.

The shadow of a frown appeared on the Arachnicon's face, but she diplomatically refrained from commenting.

Cuirasse and Optimus helped Ratchet to lie back against the medberth, raising the headrest so that he could comfortably lay his helm on it. Cogwheel assembled a set of tools and scanners, then washed her four primary hands and dried them under a hot air blaster.

Cuirasse took another datapad from the pile and opened a new file. "Patient, Autobot Identification Number 682-99457, designation Ratchet. Well-born, attained majority at twenty-eight lunar cycles. Twenty-two thousand eight-four-six vorn of age. Heavy Standard frame, Boreal subtype, true coefficient system configuration."

"Reproductive history?" asked Cogwheel, taking up a bulky handheld scanner. "Ratchet, could you open your left ventral network panel?"

"No children," Cuirasse reported as Ratchet obeyed. "Patient reported persistent, irregular and sometimes severe cramps from embodiment, was prescribed respectively Blackdale and Infraguard brand energy sinks, silicon intragenerative contraceptives and finally exploratory surgery in order to treat them, all of which failed. Nineteen ghost kindles from eight hundred to twelve thousand vorn of age, two late-term miscarriages at eleven thousand and fifteen thousand. Hypoumbilicus diagnosed shortly afterwards. Current kindle is the result of budding; gestational age eight quartexes and three orn."

Optimus knelt by the berth, tucking his pedes out of the way of the medics and gently squeezing Ratchet's servo. Ratchet's optics flickered across to him, then cut away, his EM field skittish.

He hadn't known about the previous miscarriages. Ratchet hadn't seen fit to tell him and Optimus would respect that, but still a part of him wondered why his bondmate would keep it a secret.

:: What is a ghost kindle? :: he asked instead, over short-range comms. His own education in sexual and reproductive health had been narrow of breadth and supremely unhelpful, amounting more or less to 'Don't do it'. He wondered sometimes whether it had been helpful to any one of his tutors, or if they, like him, had had to figure things out on the fly. (Perhaps that was what had informed their lessons, come to think of it.)

Ratchet looked back at him, and smiled gratefully, if tiredly. Evidently he'd been expecting a different question.

:: It can be a kindle that doesn't stick, or a catalytic entity that only half forms, or an overload without a catalytic reaction that tricks the generative components into coming to life for an orn or two, thus giving the mech concerned a false positive. Nine times out of ten it fades before they figure out anything is amiss, but their gestational histories will record the blip, and most mecha that interface with their valves will have at least one or two over the course of their lives. It's one of the first things that gets looked at if you seek treatment for fertility issues, or you have a miscarriage. A higher number is generally indicative of issues with some part of one's generative components. ::

Cogwheel ran a series of increasingly involved scans, plugging more and more devices into Ratchet's abdomen. "Twelve for twelve for the main lines, running between eighty-five and eighty-nine percent efficiency. Chamber expansion is up to thirty-two percent. How have you been for nausea and expansion cramps, Ratchet?"

"Better than last time," said Ratchet. He glanced at Optimus, his expression measuring. "I'd be purging most orns, but it comes and goes in a manageable manner. The cramps are maybe a four out of ten."

"Hmm," said Cogwheel. She frowned down at the device in her primary hands. "I'm getting a slight discrepancy between your system blueprints and my results."

"Where?" Cuirasse peered over her shoulder.

"Here." Cogwheel motioned to something on the screen. "It's subtle; I almost missed it beneath the electrical map. Ratchet, we might need to perform an internal ultrasound."

Optimus felt Ratchet's EM field dip and shudder, unspoken reluctance. "What's wrong?"

Cogwheel disconnected a handful of the cords from Ratchet's systems. "I'm not certain yet. I'd guess dysmorphia of the generative chamber in some form, but it must be extremely well-hidden if exploratory surgery failed to find it. Was the procedure laparoscopic or transcervical?"

"Transcervical." Ratchet stared up at the panelled ceiling. "The surgeon in charge wanted to try a laparoscopic procedure afterwards, but I decided that the cramps weren't severe enough to warrant the expenses. I just took painkiller chips and limited myself to paperwork on the orns when they got particularly bad."

Cogwheel's frown grew deeper. "A gamma scan then, perhaps. What I'm seeing is a shadow on the rear wall of your gestative chamber, just behind the biphase arms. It's likely a transcervical scan wouldn't be able to penetrate the rear wall of the chamber, but the walls of your valve are significantly less thick and at this stage of gestation the chamber is tilted slightly forward anyway, allowing for an easy scan of the area concerned."

There was a silence as the medics waited for Ratchet to respond. He had gone very still at the mention of internal examination, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he wrestled with his thoughts.

Cogwheel hadn't been told the full circumstances behind his kindling. She didn't know about the rape. Whether that would have changed her suggestion, Optimus didn't know. But Ratchet's reaction, informed by both his experiences and his medical knowledge, seemed to suggest that it wouldn't have mattered either way.

Optimus' internal comms chirped. :: I don't want anyone to touch me there :: Ratchet said, :: but if it means I don't have to lose another baby, it has to be worth it. ::

Optimus pushed love and reassurance through their bond, resting a gentle hand on Ratchet's shoulder. :: It's your choice, old friend. Remember that I'm here to support you. ::

"Do you think it has a high likelihood of having contributed towards my... difficulties?" Ratchet asked, the pause as he searched for a word to describe his miscarriages small and subtle.

Cogwheel made a thoughtful hum. "It really depends on what it is. Certain forms of dysmorphia could certainly cause problems when interacting with your existing condition. The worst-case scenario is a fissure in the chamber wall; best-case is probably a cyst. The former is life-threatening and practically guarantees miscarriage, the latter simply uncomfortable and maybe, maybe a potential cause of problems. Either way, I would highly advise we diagnose it before you continue much farther with this kindling."

"Then we should do so," Ratchet asserted. His voice was steady, but his spark pulsed rapidly, high-frequency notes drifting through his EM field.

Cogwheel gave him a long, measuring look. "You're certain, Ratchet? It doesn't have to be today."

"Yes!" he snapped. "I'm going to do everything I can to make sure this one survives."

She opened her mouth, but bit back whatever she'd been planning to say. "Okay. It you feel any discomfort, anything at all, you speak up as soon as it happens – all right? Cuirasse, please get the stirrups. Ratchet, you'd like your mate to stay in the room?"

A large part of Optimus was gratified by the speed with which Ratchet said, "Yes, I would."

The medics adjusted the berth, folding the end down and lifting Ratchet's legs onto stands which caught his knees and held his thighs apart. Ratchet shuttered his optics and tightened his grip on Optimus' hand.

"Would you like to open your panel yourself, or prefer us to pop it with medical protocols?" Cuirasse asked, as Cogwheel took up a tool Optimus vaguely recognised as a speculum and covered it with generous amounts of lubricant.

They were giving Ratchet as much control over the procedure as they possibly could, Optimus realised. Cuirasse's field was drawn professionally flat, but her dimply lit optics and faint frown gave away her worries. Cogwheel was suspicious; that much he could tell.

"I'll do it," Ratchet grunted. There was a moment, and Optimus heard the achingly familiar sound of his bondmate's valve panel folding away.

He dropped his helm and pressed a short kiss to Ratchet's shoulder. I'm here, he sent, pushing his presence through the bond.

Ratchet's lips moved minutely. Counting, an effort to take his mind off what was happening.

Cuirasse's ident glyph blinked over a short message that suddenly arrived in Optimus' inbox. :: He's doing better than I'd expected. ::

:: That is good. :: Optimus glanced along the berth to Cogwheel, whose expression was gradually clearing of worry. :: Have you got results yet? ::

:: Well, it's not a fissure. :: Cuirasse tagged the end of the message with a smiley emote and a glyph of relief. :: I'm not exactly sure what I'm seeing, to be honest. I'd say a partly-detached cyst, which appears to be pressing against several of his internal abdominal stays and therefore is a likely contributor to those cramps of his. ::

That was another thing Optimus hadn't known about before today. He resolved to speak to Ratchet about the ills of keeping everything to himself, though not without a small flash of rueful awareness that he wasn't exactly one to talk.

"All right, we're done." Cogwheel removed the instruments and put them aside. "You can close up now, Ratchet."

Ratchet did so with a deep vent of relief.

"The good news is this – it's not a fissure," Cogwheel continued, as she and Cuirasse returned the berth to its former position. Ratchet pressed his legs together sparkbreakingly quickly. "It's also not a cyst, or anything so easily dealt with."

She picked up her former datapads and moved around the end of the berth, kneeling beside Optimus. She turned the pad so that he and Ratchet could see the screen the right way up, and brought up a complex diagram of a mech's internals.

"This is the basic blueprint for someone of Ratchet's frametype and system configuration. Here are the generative systems – interface components, cervical valve, gestation chamber, umbilicus and endometrial mass, and up the top here the duct the newspark travels down during separation." She swapped the image out. "This is Ratchet's blueprint. Pretty much the same at first glance."

Ratchet pointed at a faint shadow at the lower part of his gestation chamber. "That wasn't on the first one."

Cogwheel nodded. "Watch this." She converted the blueprint to 3D, turning it forty-five degrees. The shadow disappeared.

Ratchet blinked. "It's a blip?"

Optimus frowned. "Explain, please."

"A very technical term for a blueprint error that gets spotted and corrected sometime during the construction of a cold-construct's frame," said Ratchet with a flash of dry humour. "Sometimes the blueprint doesn't get edited properly, and you spend hours looking for an anomaly that isn't actually there."

"That's not quite the case here, unfortunately." Cogwheel brought up a new picture, and this time it was immediately clear that something was not quite right. "This is Ratchet's lower abdominal cavity, looking up past his terminal node cluster here—" she pointed out the bright white patch near the bottom of the screen— "at the small of his back. This curve here is the edge of his gestation chamber; you can see how much it has expanded already. And this big dark thing right between them is what's causing all the trouble."

Ratchet stared at the indistinct blob on the screen. "What is it?"

"I think it's a second gestation chamber," said Cogwheel.

Optimus took his optics off the screen long enough to give her an incredulous look. Ratchet and Cuirasse, he noticed, were doing the same thing.

"I'm cold-constructed," Ratchet said, shaking his helm. "Designed. One of four in my batch. How would something like that be overlooked for so long?"

Cogwheel tapped the screen. "Thanks to the things that are missing from this scan. Stays, cables, protomass. Generative components are one of the parts of the cold-construction process that can't be machine-tooled due to their high protomass content. We grow them in vats, with artificially fostered protomass and round-the-clock monitoring. Maybe there was a new employee on watch, maybe it was just well-hidden to start with, but my guess is that by the time the blip in your blueprint was discovered, the physical manifestation had already been partly constructed. Removal of the blip would have halted its construction, but what was already there would have remained unless physically removed. If, due to the parts already constructed, it hadn't been immediately obvious that anything was physically out of the ordinary, I doubt that anyone would have noticed later on."

"Hence why it wasn't in your medical history," Cuirasse murmured.

Ratchet vented slowly. "Will it have any effect on my ability to carry?"

Cogwheel pursed her lips. "It will, but we have very little data as a species on this sort of thing. Most likely, it will put added strain on your systems as your sparkling grows. It may restrict the amount of expansion your components are able to achieve, which thanks to your medical upgrades is already limited. It would be major surgery to attempt to fix it – certainly possible, but not while you're carrying."

"It's not life-threatening, though?"

Cogwheel hesitated before answering. "For you? I don't think so. It will likely come with an added risk of miscarriage, though."

"Of course," said Ratchet. His expression went flat, his mouth drawing down at the corners. "Is there anything else I should know?"

Cogwheel spun the datapad around. She tapped the screen with the stylus, and stood. "At the moment, I don't believe so. Is there anything else you want to know?"

Ratchet thought for a while. "I want a copy of the scans," he said at length, and squeezed Optimus' servo. "Anything I can see her in."

Cogwheel nodded, and smiled. "It's the least we can do."

Altihex was located on the western border of the Tagan Heights, tucked into the hanging point of a valley more than four leagues above the planetary ground standard.

The prevailing winds blew east off the open expanse of the Sea of Rust, forcing moist air across the narrow plains east of the Sea and up onto the high plateaux of the Heights. As the air rose, it cooled; the moisture it carried was forced to condense into clouds, rain, and finally snow.

Optimus and Ratchet were halfway through the Fifth Street crystal park when the first clouds blew into the valley. The sun faded, slowly at first, and the air temperature dropped sharply, twenty degrees in ten minutes.

Ratchet laughed as the first frozen flakes drifted down out of the sky past his face. "We should find shelter, Optimus."

"I've never seen snow like this before," Optimus said. He looked around with the eagerness of a first experience, but let Ratchet lead him through the elaborate crystal growths and out onto the street. "Iacon doesn't really compare."

"Iacon's too big," Ratchet sniffed. "It falls in clumps and melts as soon as it gets between the towers, or the polar storms freeze you inside and by the time it's safe to go out they've frozen together in dirty drifts. You need the smaller, higher-altitude cities."

A gust of wind made snow swirl dizzyingly around them. Ratchet stumbled. Optimus instinctively looped his arm around Ratchet's shoulders and steered him into the shelter of a subway stairwell.

Only once they were into the shadowy, gaping maw of the stairwell did he recognise the thick, nauseous terror pouring out of Ratchet's EM field.

He let go on automatic, stepping back. "Ratchet?" he asked, furling his plating, instinctively hunching his shoulders to make himself less threatening. "What's wrong?"

Ratchet shuddered, mouth opening, gasping through his secondary intakes. He reached out a shaking hand and fell against the stairwell wall, hardly able to support his own weight. "Optimus," he said, his voice faint.

Optimus crouched, holding his hands out as if in an offering, ready to catch Ratchet if he fell. "Ratchet? Can you hear me?"

Ratchet blinked rapidly. He shook his helm and reset his optics, but the look in them was distant, as if he was seeing a place far away. A bombed-out church in the Polyhexi hinterlands, perhaps.

"It's all right, Ratchet," Optimus said, pitching his voice low and drawing out the terminal vowels in a calming croon. "I'm here. Can you hear me, Ratchet?"

"Optimus?" Ratchet's voice was small, shaky. He reset his optics again, refocused them in the gloom. He slid down the wall and his aft hit the floor. He braced his servo against the ground and raked his fingers across, grounding himself.

Optimus kept talking to him, the words less important than the tone he used, trying to coax Ratchet's conscious mind back from wherever it had gone. It took a few minutes, but soon Ratchet's optics focused on his and the agonised relief in them almost broke Optimus' spark.

"What happened?" Optimus asked. "Are you feeling better now?"

Ratchet licked his lips and shook his helm again. "I... I don't know. Something reminded me. I felt—" he cut himself off, and his hand went to the stump of his shoulder. "I think you touched me here. I just remember... and then it was like I was back there. Couldn't really see, but it hurt like then."

"I am sorry," Optimus said. He reached out tentatively with his field. Ratchet's still echoed with remembered pain and fear, but it was duller than it had been.

Ratchet pressed his knees together and drew them up to his chest, looping his remaining arm around them. He vented audibly. "Just... let me stay here for a moment? I feel sick."

"Take as long as you need," Optimus said. He shuffled a little closer, and it must have looked ridiculous to Ratchet, long legs and arms tangling at every opportunity, but he needed to be closer. Not quite close enough to touch – that didn't seem like a good idea – but close enough that their fields meshed and he could comfort Ratchet and protect him from the world around.

Ratchet sat still for a long time, but eventually lost his battle with his fuel tank. He gagged, tipping forward on his pedes and grabbing for Optimus. Figuring that that was as good as an invitation, Optimus held him up while he purged down the middle of the stairwell.

Ratchet dragged in a couple of deep, harsh vents and stubbornly pushed himself upright. "I hope there wasn't anyone underneath that," he said. The dry tone almost disguised the shudder still apparent in his voice. "Let's go home."

They took the underground rails into the central station, and switched routes to one that passed the closest to their residential tower. Optimus hadn't had reason to take the rails in a very long time – not since before he'd Ascended. A few of their fellow passengers recognised him, and stared at him for almost the whole journey. Consequently, not many paid attention to the one-armed orange and white mech who rode silently by his side.

The apartment door clicked shut behind him.

He watched Ratchet climb the entryway stairs. The memory came unbidden into his processor of their bonding night, the warm lamplight shining off Ratchet's plating, his orange fiery and his whites gleaming. It was a while ago now, but he would never forget it.

Despite everything, happiness swelled in his spark. He watched Ratchet turn around at the top of the stairs and frown at him as if to ask what he was doing down there.

He smiled, and climbed up to join his bondmate.

It was still early in the evening, though the snowy sky outside the apartment was dark and wild. Ratchet refused a cup of energon when offered, but when Optimus turned around again he'd found the container of dry oxide crackers Optimus habitually kept in the top shelves.

They ended up curled together on the couch, watching an old Golden Age movie. The plot was ridiculous – Ratchet ended up shouting at the characters on multiple occasions to just sit down and talk things out, fraggit, it would solve everything! – but the special effects were beautiful and the Praxian Towers setting gave them both a terrible case of nostalgia.

When it was over, Ratchet turned himself over and pressed himself close against Optimus' chest. Optimus wrapped his arms around Ratchet's waist, careful not to touch the stump of his shoulder that had caused such a harsh reaction earlier.

They held themselves in silence for a long while. It was a comfortable silence, full of warmth and love and companionship. The memories were there and they would never fully go away, but for once they did not rule.

Ratchet tucked his helm in against the curve of Optimus' neck, and spoke. "I missed this."

"As did I," Optimus murmured. He stroked his thumb down the curve of Ratchet's back, an intimate touch couched in comfort rather than desire.

Although there was some of that too, according to their fields. Warmth licked along Optimus' sides, following the slow progress of Ratchet's servo up to his shoulder.

"How do you feel?" he asked, cupping his palms over Ratchet's back. "Not in general, but now – about us."

Ratchet worked his servo between Optimus' side and the back of the couch, propping himself up. He gave him a considering look for a moment, then quickly kissed him.

"A lot of different ways," he said, visibly testing each word for veracity before he spoke it. "I'm getting better at figuring out what I want and when and how I want it, but... I'm not quite there yet."

He was running hot; his frame beneath Optimus' hands was tangibly warm and tantalisingly close. He chuckled softly, and the faint movement of their frames together sent tingles through Optimus' neural net.

Ratchet sighed through his lateral vents. "Doing this, part of me doesn't want to be here. It's a small part at the moment, but it's usually a lot bigger, and I'm not going to be able to ignore it for long. I want to keep going and see where this takes us, but... I'm afraid of making it harder on myself."

"Don't push yourself," Optimus advised. A large part of him wanted to say the opposite, recognising with no small relief the attraction circling through him for the mech in his arms. In the quartexes since Ratchet's rescue he had been terrified that it had changed the dynamic of their relationship entirely. To know that the element of their shared attraction – and especially that Ratchet still felt it of him – still existed, was comforting.

Ratchet's lips quirked up at the corners in a tiny smile. "I know. At least, not if I don't think it has a good chance of working out all right."

Optimus returned the smile. "I would expect no less of you, old friend."

Ratchet kissed him again, longer this time. When they parted, he wriggled off of Optimus and off the couch, looking to their berthroom door.

"Berth, I think," he said. Tiredness crept into the edges of his EM field. "It's been a long orn."

Optimus attempted to sit up. It took a couple of tries – apparently he'd used up more of his energy than he'd thought. "I may join you. It seems like a tempting prospect."

Ratchet laughed, and disappeared through the door. His voice floated out into the living room. "Don't be too long. I want to fall asleep next to you."