Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Noah thought he understood war. 

A mess of treaties and broken alliances that changed by the decade. The political power plays that went over the heads of grunts like him. The staccato of gunfire around him, no idea what direction it was coming from. Squinting against the glare of the sun, explosions of dirt, and the blood trailing from the gash above his eyes as his CO screamed in his face to get them reconnected with SatComm and keeping his hands steady at the same time he thought about his last call with Kris, who had quietly admitted that his arms had started hurting so bad that he couldn’t sleep some nights. 

But for all the chaos of the battlefield, none of it seemed to matter when he was back home. Noah still jumped every other time he heard an engine backfire, the rattle of the subway sounded like the ratatattat of machine gun fire, and the nightmares were…pretty bad, but on his block, in his borough, in this city, life moved on without incident. Largely unaffected by the outcome of wars taking place hundreds of thousands of miles away. 

It was almost quaint, knowing what he knew now. Having fought beside beings who were trillions of lightyears from home, and still had their war following them on bleeding, dogged feet. Whose war had lasted longer than humans had walked the Earth. 

“Had” being the key word. Past tense. 

Because Cybertron was dying. 

“The core, the Well, they’ve gone dark, Prime,” relayed a gaunt red and yellow mech across a shuddering connection, the reverb only adding to the strain of his words. “Not destroyed, not taken, just—dark.”

For the first time in eight years, the Autobots were able to create a secure communication line with their forces on Cybertron, with help from the Joes’ advanced (by Earth standards) tech. The signal had to be bounced from Arcee’s comm station, between satellites, off a nebula, triangulated by an Autobot spaceship named Cosmos (as in he was a bot who turned into a spaceship), and finally decrypted by Blaster, chief communications officer.

Only Optimus was directly on the call, but the rest of them stood gathered around the projector, secure in the Autobot wing of the base. They were all anxious for news in their own way, even Mirage—or should he say especially Mirage, who tried so hard for nonchalance that he wound all the way back around to deranged, even insisting Noah join him on a quick joyride not even ten minutes before the transmission was scheduled to go live. 

Only Ratchet threatening to weld his aft to the floor got Mirage to finally sit still. That, and maybe Noah letting Mirage gleefully perch him on his shoulder had something to do with it. He rarely let Mirage cart him around outside of vehicle mode, especially in front of the others. Noah wanted them to respect him after all, and he figured that might be a little tough if he let his best friend use him like a personal shoulder angel, no matter how much he maybe sorta enjoyed letting Mirage get his hands on him. 

Unlike Noah, Charlie had no such qualms, today or any other day. If she wasn’t in the medbay or one of the garages, she could be found lounging in Bumblebee’s arms while playing video games or chatting with another bot. Even now, Bumblebee had her carefully cradled in his folded arms. Hell, if he had it his way, he’d probably never let her feet touch the ground at all.

All this to say, because of his unique perch, Noah felt the way Mirage’s plating rattled and the steady hum of his fans went silent when Blaster haltingly explained that transwarp or no transwarp, there would be no going home. 

Most of the explanation went over Noah’s head since he was still playing catchup with his Cybertronian vocabulary. There was talk of energon shortages and bloody battles over resources against Decepticons with scary-ass names (names like Shockwave, Brawl, and Skullcrusher, what the hell ). Ultra Magnus and the Wreckers were MIA. All of the Aerialbots were dead. After four million years of fighting, the planet couldn’t sustain life anymore. 

And all the while, a pit opened in Noah’s gut so deep he felt it might swallow him whole. 

An entire planet, lost. Mirage’s planet. Even with the nightmare memory of Unicron fresh in his mind, this was almost just as impossible to imagine. Made even more so by the fact that he’d actually seen Cybertron—or at least parts of it, thanks to Mirage’s holo tech. 

(“Don’t go snitching on me,” he’d warned as he locked the doors to training room Β behind them. “Don’t even tell Charlie, cuz she’ll 1000 percent tell the Hatchet and I’ll get lectures about straining my emitter for a week.”

“Let’s just see if this light show is worth it, or I might just give you up to Ratchet myself.” Noah grinned. “Performance issues are no joke, man.”

Mirage just rolled his optics, such a purely human gesture in his uniquely alien face that it sparked fondness in Noah’s chest even when Mirage was being a little shit.  

“It’s cute that you think you’re funny. Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

Noah felt his ears go red, an awful tell that used to have him sticking his head under the faucet to make it go away when he was Kris’ age. Luckily, Mirage looked like he actually was busy concentrating, so Noah’s growing inclination to act the fool around his best friend stayed his secret. 

For a couple seconds, nothing happened. The training room was easily half the size of a football field, built out of concrete and steel beams that were already showing signs of wear despite the Autobots only being two months in residence. There were a couple suspicious blaster burns in the ceiling that made Noah think that Ironhide and Aileron might’ve gotten a little too trigger happy with Brainstorm’s latest weapons upgrade.

He started to hear something. Not quite music, since no instrument he knew of could make a sound like this. It was more like a hum, almost too quiet to be registered, but thrumming under his breastbone like a second heartbeat. Utterly unfamiliar, but calming instead of frightening. 

And around Noah, the drab walls of the training room melted away with a flicker of residual blue energy. The ceiling shifted into a purple, starless expanse and the stars were instead flung all around him, stretching seemingly for miles in every direction. Floating everywhere, inches in front of his face and even thirty feet above, were glittering crystals in various shades of blue, green, and teal arranged in intricate geometric shapes. The cement floor under his feet became a path through the crystal artwork, fashioned from perfectly smooth, round metal facets. 

“Holy shit…” Noah breathed, spinning in a careful circle. “This is…How’re you even doing this?” 

It didn’t even feel like he was in the same room anymore. Far overhead, he could spot little specks soaring through the cloudy purple sky that he was pretty sure were Cybertronian flyers. He’d never known Mirage to project a hologram so huge and detailed. 

Mirage chuckled, a low rumble that paired with the humming all around them (the crystals, it had to be coming from the crystals) shot a small thrill up Noah’s spine. “Well it’s not easy, let me tell you.” Despite his flippant tone, there was a hitched quality to his voiceprint that Noah immediately clocked. Not pain, but discomfort, maybe. A projection this complex must’ve been putting a strain on him.

Before he could call him out on it, Mirage went on in a much quieter, reverent voice that Noah had only heard from him a few times before. The one burned into his memory was when Mirage first reawoke after Peru. 

Noah hadn’t left the garage in days, couldn’t remember the last time he slept or ate or did something that wasn’t piecing his friend back together and praying he wasn’t too late, and the half-built Porsche had shuddered under his hands before almost transitioning to root mode, briefly revealing a flicker of those arresting, otherworldly blue optics that Noah thought he’d never see again. Mirage’s voice had warbled out into the air, groggy and disbelieving and maybe a little bit awed: “ Noah, love. That you?”

“All this is footage I pulled outta my memory banks. It’s impossible to create a holo like this from scratch, even for me,” Mirage explained as he stepped up beside Noah. 

He tore his eyes away from the crystal artwork to glance up at Mirage, and found himself mesmerized all over again. 

Privately, Noah had realized that he enjoyed tracing the shape of Mirage’s high silver cheekbones and the curve of his waist in his mind’s eye as much as he did human men and women in the past. Everything machine, everything alien , about his best friend that had so unnerved him in those first frantic hours following his attempted car theft-turned alien abduction wasn’t just familiar now, it was comforting. Breathtaking. Alluring . 

And now, with Mirage’s silver plating reflecting the glow of the crystals like a living kaleidoscope, Noah couldn’t look away if he tried. 

His throat worked uselessly for a second. “So where, uh,” he started, hoping he didn’t sound as hoarse as he felt. “Where are we supposed to be?”

“These are the Helix Crystal Gardens before the war. A place of peace, tranquility and blah blah blah.” Even if he was trying to be flippant, Noah was well-practiced at recognizing the sincerity in Mirage’s voice, so he didn’t take the words or the sarcastic roll of his wrist all that seriously. This place, so indescribably beautiful it almost felt holy, meant something to Mirage as more than just another chance to show off.

Instead of the smartass remark that Mirage seemed to be gunning for, something careless and easy like, ‘Tranquil? You?’ Noah said, “This place is beyond dope, man.” He felt he should whisper like he would in church. “It’s fucking beautiful . Don’t tell me you could come here whenever you wanted?”

  While maybe subtle to the untrained eye, Noah watched the curve of Mirage’s cheeks rise with his smile and the way the tires on his back hitched up slightly, bashfully even, and Noah felt himself go flush with victory usually reserved for the battlefield. 

“Well, Praxus was clear on the other side of the continent, but I could afford to spare the energon back then,” Mirage drawled, looking pleased. 

He started walking, taking the smaller, careful steps he usually adopted when they walked side by side. Noah followed, fairly confident that Mirage wouldn’t let him walk into a wall or anything, and was amazed when the projection of the gardens moved with them, as if they really were journeying along the path. 

“Praxus?” Noah repeated. Another alien word, one of dozens he’d heard and even fewer he’d learned the meaning of, but each one piqued his curiosity like nothing else. 

As usual, Mirage didn’t hesitate to explain but because Noah was still watching the play of light across his face, he recognized the instant Mirage’s easy smile turned brittle. “A city-state on Cybertron. Neutral. Until Megatron had it bombed to the Pit and back about 500,000 years into the fighting.”

Around them, the projection seemed to flicker. Noah turned just in time to watch Helix Gardens vanish and the glimpse into serenity replaced with fire and smoke, the humming Noah felt in his heart turned into distant screams. The path beneath them was coated in ash, pockmarked by craters, and littered with the broken shards of every gleaming crystal that had once floated around them, now gone clear and dead like glass. 

Then, the hologram disappeared altogether and they were back in the training room like nothing even happened.

Then, Mirage collapsed. 

Noah whirled back around, his heart shooting up to strangle him. His immediate terror barely backed off when he saw Mirage was still conscious, if leaning heavily on one knee, his head bowed and expression hidden. 

Still, he rushed forward, practically slapping his palms against Mirage’s shoulder plating in his agitation to get close. The metal beneath his hands was warm and trembling almost imperceptibly. 

“‘Raj,” Noah started, but wasn’t able to even get out an ‘ are you okay?’ before Mirage raised his head, a tired smirk curving his faceplate that was suddenly inches away from Noah’s own face. This close, Noah could count the individual facets that made up his glowing optics, like the crystals of Helix Gardens but about a thousand times as striking. 

“Sorry you had to see that,” Mirage joked weakly. 

“Jesus, don’t apologize,” Noah muttered, his cheeks burning, and he jerked his gaze away to stare at the safety of Mirage’s plating instead. He spread his fingers wide against the warm metal, and felt the rumble of Mirage’s engine under his skin, as familiar now as the steady sound of Kris’ breathing when he slept without pain. “You were there? When Praxus was…”

Mirage shrugged under his hands, his smile fixed and usual drawl rendered toneless. Almost matter-of-fact. “Officially, I was undercover with the ‘Cons. But after the bombs, I…I split. Went looking for survivors.”

Noah made himself look back at Mirage’s face, and though Mirage wasn’t staring back, his hollow expression hadn’t changed. Dread was an old friend at this point—so far, none of the bots’ stories about the war included a happy ending. 

“Did you find anybody?” he whispered, suspecting he already knew the answer. 

“Nah. There was nobody left to find.”)

Noah thought back to all the places on Cybertron that Mirage had shown him: golden Iacon, bars bustling with Cybertronians ranging in size from barely taller than a human to Stratosphere’s height, the skeletal spires of Vos, Helix Gardens, Six Lasers Over Cybertron. Whether the memories were of quiet cityscapes or places crowded with mechs, Mirage had made Cybertron feel alive to Noah. 

How much of that, if any, was still standing? Did it even matter, if the planet itself was unsalvageable? 

Blaster’s news had a ripple effect among the gathered Autobots, who shared expressions of shock or grief or utter shutdown. Noah barely noticed when Ratchet started clinging to Ironhide’s arm, only that he looked ready to collapse, as Ironhide went blank with shock. Arcee and Aileron were holding hands, the pair of them impressively stoic if not for the way their grip shook between them. Bumblebee had hidden his face in Charlie’s hair, and then her shoulder when she turned to wrap her arms around his neck. Noah thought Brainstorm might’ve left the room entirely, sharp wings pulled taught and trembling. Wheeljack simply sat down, staring dazedly at nothing. 

Mirage wasn’t doing any better.

He was glaring at the floor, optics hidden from Noah, and arms folded tightly across his chest. He was still alarmingly silent, though there was a nearly imperceptible whine building from within his chassis, where his fans were straining against his forced stillness. His plating rattled under Noah, like he was trying not to vibrate straight out of his armor.

It was at that moment that Noah realized he’d never seen Mirage angry before. 

He was jovial when facing down Scourge, a monster who’d laid out Optimus and killed Bee, when he was taking blaster shots intended for Noah, when he relived the destruction of a city. 

But this—getting a secondhand account that his planet was dead? It broke through his force of personality, and Noah felt like a voyeur up there on Mirage’s shoulder, intensely awkward and out of place. 

There was a catwalk behind them, just above shoulder length with Mirage, and intended to allow the humans to interact with the bots on more equal footing. Noah started to scoot back towards it. Inelegant maybe, but Mirage had to be way too distracted to care about his stupid ass still sitting up here like a damn parrot.

He’d barely grabbed the railing when Mirage’s hand came down over his middle, holding him in place. It wasn’t especially fast, and it definitely wasn’t painful, but Noah still startled. When he turned back to Mirage, feeling his ears going red, he saw all traces of anger gone from his friend’s face. Instead, he looked unmoored. A little scared. And there was a question in his optics that had Noah nodding in answer and stuffing his own anxieties back in their boxes.

I’ll stay. 

Optimus, for his part, had gone stock still. Every piston, strut, and vent was near vibrating with tension and his hands tightened into fists with an intensity that bordered on pain. 

“I’m sorry, Prime,” Blaster was saying, his professionalism hanging by a thread. Noah couldn’t even begin to imagine the chaos taking place over there on the other side of the galaxy. “There’s nothing you could’ve—”

“How long?” Optimus scarcely moved, even to speak, and his words came out sounding like boulders grinding against each other. “How long ago did this happen?”

Even over this tenuous connection, the distressed whine of Blaster’s fans could be heard loud and clear. “I—sir, it’s been—”

“Sergeant Blaster.” 

A voice interjected from offscreen, and even though the deep voice was utterly calm and measured, Blaster silenced his vocalizer immediately. He ducked his head and stepped back from whatever terminal they were using for the video feed, looking relieved. “Commander,” he said respectfully. 

Another Autobot took Blaster’s place, standing stiffly at attention, and Noah would’ve recognized this new mech even if Optimus hadn’t said his name, sonorous with relief that was almost jarring to hear after experiencing the despondent fury of the last few minutes. 

“Prowl. It is good to see you again, my friend.” 

Black and white, with a red chevron on the front of his helm, this new bot’s doorwings were hitched up high on his back. Compared to Bumblebee’s, which fluttered all over the place with every passing emotion, these were practically immobile, much like his expression, which betrayed almost nothing in its flat impassivity. 

(“Now Prowlie, he’s got a stick so far up his ass it’s a miracle he can even transform! You think Optimus was bad when you first met him? Prowl probably would’ve left you handcuffed in that janky warehouse and that would’ve been the end of it,” Mirage had crowed from within the pile of bean bags that he’d dragged into Noah’s on-base quarters next to his, which Mirage had  basically commandeered for his use too. With Autobot-sized doors everywhere, Noah had just been asking for it.

He flopped onto a beanbag by Mirage’s head, so that they were only a few feet apart. “So, what? The dude Optimus left in charge of all the Autobots on Cybertron is just a huge jackass? Why’d big man even pick him?”

Mirage vented out slowly, like a sigh, and Noah was close enough that it ruffled his curls. “It’s not like that,” he said grudgingly. “He might have the sense of humor of the T-1000, and kept me and the twins in the brig for like half the war, but he’s one of the good ones. Still a huge dick, though.”)

“Prime, sir. You’re still online. There was a 77.344 percent probability that would not be the case,” Prowl said dryly. “The troops will be pleased.”

Optimus smiled, a small thing and unremarkable by most bots’ standards but the equivalent of breaking into song for him. The last time Noah had seen him so relieved to reunite with another surviving Autobot, it had been Ratchet, who’d been pieced back together by Charlie with the Joes’ resources after his disastrous crash landing on Earth. 

“As always, your faith honors me, Prowl. But please tell me, what has happened to Cybertron in my absence?”

The tinge of humor in Prowl’s face disappeared like it had never existed, and he somehow stood even straighter. His words were grim, if short and to the point. “It is as I predicted, and as we feared would come to pass. As of two stellar cycles, the core ceased functioning, and the production of energon has stopped. And as you are well aware, with the Allspark lost, we lack the ability to revive the planet.”

Optimus vented deeply, a sharp, prolonged hiss that was practically deafening in the dead quiet meeting room. “My Autobots?” was all he asked, utterly grave. 

Prowl inclined his head. “Many have already fled. Those who made it past the Decepticon blockade above the planet have scattered. As we speak, the remaining command staff and our squads are preparing the Ark for interstellar travel. We intended to follow the Decepticons, as we all detected the signal beacon of a…a Transwarp Key on the far side of the galaxy.” Here, Prowl’s calm, near-monotone cracked slightly with disbelief. “In fact, though the signal has been lost, it seems to share an origin point with your current transmission.”

“The Transwarp Key was here, Prowl, on Earth,” Optimus explained. “Although I was forced to destroy it, to prevent Unicron from entering this galaxy and devouring this planet, as well as countless other worlds.”

Prowl stared, his yellow optics unblinking. “Unicron exists. And you defeated Him.”

“I had help,” Optimus demurred. 

“ I wish I could say I’m surprised, Prime, but I learned to disable the majority of my logic circuits when conversing with you approximately 3 million years ago. This planet you’re on: if the Transwarp Key was sent there, it would mean that there is energon present.”

“Yes, the planet Earth is rich with it. And if the Decepticons get to it first, I can only imagine that they will seek to reignite our war on this planet. How soon will the Ark be ready for launch? We would welcome your aid in repelling their invasion.”

Prowl held up a hand to stop him. Most startling of all, Optimus acquiesced. 

“Prime, you misunderstand. While we possess an operational spacebridge, the Ark was damaged in the fighting. Its repairs won’t be complete for an orbital cycle at least. And the Decepticons are already on their way. ”

…

Having Sigma 6, G.I. Joe-Autobot headquarters, built deep in the base of the Adirondacks was one of the best things to come out of this alliance. 

With the existence of giant alien robots still being a Secret with a capital “S,” they’d mostly been stuck in hiding these last seven years, traveling between abandoned warehouses to filthy junkyards to dense woods (if they were lucky), and so on. But Sigma 6 was isolated, with a security perimeter of several dozen miles making sure no lost hiker wandered into live fire drills or an Autobot taking a stroll. 

Relocating to the base had itself been a relief to Noah, who’s guilt had grown every month Mirage stayed cooped up in Reek’s garage after Noah finally finished piecing him back together. With all its people and cameras, Brooklyn just wasn’t built for a tirelessly gregarious, unapologetically loud bot like Mirage, who chafed under prolonged solitude and the need to stay incognito. And even worse, Mirage chose the cramped garage over staying with the rest of the Autobots full time. 

“Y’know you don’t… owe me or nothing like that, right?” Noah had blurted one night, as they parted ways with Bumblebee after catching Back to the Future at a drive-in in Hoboken. Bumblebee’s taillights were shrinking in the rearview mirror and Noah felt like a selfish bastard for hoarding all of Mirage’s time. “If you want to go back to Bee and the other guys, you can. I don’t want you feeling like you’re stuck with me, man—”

“What, and break up the band!” Mirage demanded, sounding hurt and not just for show. Even without seeing his face, Noah had learned to tell when he was being purposely dramatic. “Noah, forget the fact that I wouldn’t even be here without you; you’re my boy! There’s nowhere I’d rather be. Honest.”

Noah had chuckled, swallowing against a sudden tightness in his throat. “Cross your spark?” 

Mirage laughed, low and warm, the sound seeming to come from all around Noah, and it raised goosebumps along his arms and the back of his neck. “And hope to die.”

Nevermind that back then, Mirage’s paint was still mismatched and his new parts had yet to fully integrate with his protoform (new terms Noah had since learned from Charlie and Ratchet). It hadn’t stopped him from still feeling guilty, but also maybe secretly a little…pleased that Mirage would choose Noah and all that entailed (cooped up in a garage he could barely stand up in and a nosy little brother who’d taken it upon himself to integrate him into human culture by way of every episode of Power Rangers) over his own team. 

Even now, with the rest of the Autobots literally feet away, it was still Noah who Mirage sought out. 

Beyond the east entrance of Sigma 6, there was a small valley that bottomed out into a lake. Thick with pine trees, the shore scattered with thousands of stones worn smooth by the lapping water, it was always empty save for the occasional wild animal, and so far they hadn’t seen anything bigger than a coyote. In the last few months it had become his and Mirage’s go-to hangout spot when they wanted it to be just them. If the others knew about it (which was likely), well, finders keepers was apparently a universal concept. 

Once the direct line to Cybertron was cut and Optimus, Arcee, and Ironhide locked themselves in with Joe command to discuss what to do about the hostile alien invasion force apparently on a beeline for Earth, the rest of the team scattered. They disappeared deeper into the base in pairs or trios, nobody wanting to linger where grief still hung heavy like smoke, noxious and black. It felt like attending a wake with no funeral and no body to bury. 

Mirage glanced at Noah out of the corner of his optic and just said, “Lake?”

Noah barely started to nod before Mirage folded into vehicle mode around him and tore out of the base like Scourge himself was back from the dead and hot on their tail (or more likely directly in their path, as Mirage had proven the sort who sprinted toward danger with a smile on his face). 

They often drove down to the lake when Mirage needed time away from the others, or Noah wanted a taste of fresh air and real sunlight after one too many days underground. They’d even brought Kris up during the winter months to let him see real snow, not the freezing gray street sludge they knew from living in the city.

 But this was no normal lake visit, even by Noah’s now extremely skewed definition of “normal.”

Mirage actually drove them all the way to the lake without a word of protest, even after repeatedly bitching and moaning on past visits about not having four-wheel drive and not being made for offroading despite being an alien robot who literally traveled through space to get to Earth. In fact, after his single request, Mirage hadn’t spoken again. 

Trees blurred past them as they left the dirt road leading to Sigma 6 and crossed over to a rocky, uneven hillside. In the driver’s seat, Noah didn’t complain either as he was bounced all over the place, keeping a hand braced on Mirage’s roof. There was a frantic edge to the silence pressing in around him, like a rubber band pulled taught, and Mirage was racing to reach their destination before everything finally snapped under the strain. 

It was a feeling Noah was familiar with, that anxiety buzzing under his skin, like he was gonna explode if he didn’t sprint ten blocks or beat his knuckles purple and bloody on the heavy bag. It was a feeling that demanded action, not stillness, when he was powerless. For Noah, that meant endless bills, Kris’ health. For Mirage, it was home . 

And as soon as the shine of the lake’s surface came into view, Mirage proved him right, changing to root mode and dropping Noah on his ass between one blink and the next, the fastest transformation he had( ‘nt) seen yet. 

And Mirage didn’t stop. Without any of his usual grace, Mirage stormed down to the shoreline, kicking up stones and dirt along the way. He was shaking his hands out at his sides, a constant, antsy movement matched by the way he was swearing under his breath, mostly in English, other times in Spanish, and some words in Cybertronian, a language that sounded like dialup and Latin had a baby. 

Forget the way Mirage held it together back at base; he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about how he felt now, no bad jokes or swagger. It was an extremely rare display of Mirage’s temper, and on the one hand, Noah knew it meant Mirage trusted him enough to let those defenses drop.

But on the other hand, it hurt to watch his best friend in this much pain, so much that for the first time, raw anger was his only outlet. Mirage’s engine growled as he paced and his steps were loud and heavy, throwing every pound of his several-ton body into his stride, in direct contrast to the usual uncanny grace that had him dancing across battlefields and sneaking up on Noah in the garage. 

With almost anyone else, Elena or Kris or his Ma, Noah wouldn’t hesitate to get close, to cradle their cheek, hug them, anything to try and comfort them. It had always been second nature for him to protect, to try to fix things anyway he could, ever since the front door slammed behind his dad for the last time, leaving Ma frozen at the kitchen table and Kris sobbing in his crib. 

But with Mirage, something always seemed to hold him back. He second-guessed damn near every word, every gesture, and would lose his mind making sure his eyes didn’t linger too long on the curve of Mirage’s lean thighs or the cables that made up the line of his neck. Noah didn’t want to ruin things between them. 

Only now it felt like he was watching Mirage unravel, and for all that Noah wanted to help him, he felt worse than useless. There was still so much he didn’t know, hadn’t thought to ask, about the Autobot-Decepticon War and all the Space Robot: 101 he was still catching up on. 

To make matters worse, he’d had months to ask his questions, not just of Mirage but the other bots too, and unless he wanted to be a total dick about it then he’d lost his chance.

All of which brought Noah back to the fact that Mirage deserved better than him, but as usual all he had to offer was himself. And since Noah was the only one out here, he would just have to try and be enough. 

“C’mon, ‘Raj, warn a guy,” Noah huffed as he got his feet back under him, keeping his tone light as he brushed half melted snow off the seat of his pants, glad that he’d had his parka on him before they booked it. Unlike Brooklyn, which was creeping into humidity in mid-April, the cold up here was constant and jarring whenever they came back to base after spending a couple weeks at home. 

As Noah breathed warm air into his cupped palms, he was unable to take his eyes off the way pale sunlight bounced hypnotically off of Mirage’s plating as he moved, sinuous and silver as the lake behind him and just as untouchable as his namesake. 

Usually, this was the only reason that it hurt to watch Mirage. But seeing the tension knotting his shoulders and putting that scowl on his face made the ache of longing turn into a fist pressing against his sternum, starting to dig in too deep.

Noah called out to him again, breath fogged in the cold and throat gone tight. “Slow it down, man, not all of us have long-ass legs like you do.”

That finally got Mirage talking, but not to Noah. 

“Four million years of fighting for the ‘greater good,’” he barked without looking over, like he hadn’t even heard Noah. “And for what? We still lost the goddamn planet!” He spun around and kicked a hollow log washed up on the shore, and it went searing over Noah’s head with the speed of a jet missile. It exploded into pieces against the trunk of one of the pine trees behind him, knocking the tree itself askew. 

Noah ducked, a second too late, and if the trunk had flown a few feet lower it definitely would’ve taken his head off. His heart slammed against his ribcage like it hadn’t since Nightbird snatched him off the ground in Peru, and he was only saved from getting sliced in half by Cheetor’s sharp eye and sharper aim. 

“Jesus, watch it, ‘Raj!” he hissed, rising carefully out of his defensive crouch. A surge of delayed adrenaline made his hands shake and words come out sharp and fast, but he was too stunned to be truly angry.

Noah barely caught the slight crunch of stones underfoot before he looked up to find Mirage had already closed the distance between them, kneeling over him with his face inches away and optics spinning fiercely.

“Shit, Noah, I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush, all traces of that overwhelming anger gone and the smooth panels of his face crumpled in anguish. “Primus smelt me, I’m a fucking idiot. Is your central processor in one piece?”

Then, with no advanced warning whatsoever, Mirage’s hands were in his hair, big and yet impossibly gentle for their size. His palm cradled the back of Noah’s head as his fingers wove through his curls with more care than even his Ma had ever shown his hair.

Noah’s voice died an instant, inglorious death, shriveling up before he could do something unconscionable like let out a whimper. His pulse thundered in his ears, the fight-or-flight instinct that had started to fade returning with a vengeance that knocked every thought out of his head. 

To make matters worse, at this close range he couldn’t drag his goddamn eyes away from Mirage’s lips. To hell with almost getting his head caved in. Noah wondered, like he had way too many times before (usually late at night, like the lead in some awful romcom) whether his lips would be warm or cold. Would they be soft, with a similar give as a human’s? He’d certainly seen how expressive Mirage could be, his faceplates bending every which way with his emotions. 

With Mirage’s hand behind his head, it would be so, so easy for the bot to drag him forward and connect them at the mouth. 

Did Cybertronians even kiss? Noah thought so. Or, at least he’d seen Charlie kiss Bumblebee all over his faceplate and the scout nuzzle back, seemingly the best he could do without a traditional mouth. 

And hell, he’d been quiet for too long hadn’t he? 

Noah dragged his eyes away from the magnetic pull of Mirage’s lips, grasping at the dregs of his sanity like escaping balloon strings as he tried to remember what it was Mirage had said. All that stood out was one of the Cybertronian vocab words he recognized from plenty of Charlie and Ratchet’s ‘Don’t Be A Fragging Idiot’ safety lectures and he latched onto it.

“You mean my head? Nah, man, I’m fine, didn’t even touch me,” Noah blurted, talking way too fast. 

He knew he wouldn't be able to think straight with Mirage’s hands on him, so he grabbed Mirage’s wrist (so big his fingers could wrap around it and be nowhere near touching) and tugged it away. He barely applied any force—not that it would’ve made a difference if Mirage really didn’t want to move—but Mirage followed even that gentle pressure and let Noah guide his hand up and away until he was holding it in the space between them. 

Noah felt his ears go red and tried laughing it off. “Looks like someone’s gotta work on their aim, huh? What would Ironhide say?”

Mirage didn’t smile back. If anything he just looked more upset, his optics pinched and the glow of the delicate mechanisms dimmed. Just watching him made Noah lose his smile, a pang of worry straightened his spine. 

“Noah…” Mirage ducked his head, just for a second, before making himself meet Noah’s eyes again. He raised his free hand, visibly hesitating, before carefully covering the one Noah still had wrapped around his wrist. “That wasn’t…I shouldn't have…you know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right? Not-not by choice. That back there…I don’t want you to think—”

“Gonna stop you there,” Noah interrupted gently, smiling up at Mirage’s big anxious face. He started to wiggle his hand free and Mirage let him go almost immediately—but Noah didn’t let him get far. Screw his hangups, screw his way-more-serious-than-just-a-crush, Noah grabbed Mirage’s hand and held on tight. Or, technically he grabbed the two fingers he could feasibly wrap his hand around. 

“It was an accident,” he said firmly, not breaking eye contact. As volatile as Mirage seemed right now, it was crucial that Noah’s sincerity got through to him. “I trust you, ‘Raj, probably more than anyone else I know. Nah, definitely . I know that when I’m with you, I’m safe. Me and my family.”

Mirage sighed, warm air from his cheek vents brushing against Noah’s curls, releasing the tension that had been holding his struts so painfully still. He even smiled, bashful and small. “Thanks, Noah. You and Kris and your Ma…you all matter a lot to me. I never had people before, y’know, not like this, and when I’m with you guys, I dunno. It’s the safest I’ve felt in…hell, stellar cycles.”

Noah knew he hadn’t said as much, but he already thought of Mirage as family. He was practically Ma’s favorite already and the less said about his and Kris’ “secret” two a.m. McDonald’s runs the better. But maybe as anxious as Noah was to say it out loud and claim Mirage as his, to belong among the bots, maybe Mirage felt the same way. Unsure of his place and not wanting to overstep. 

Mirage started running his thumb up and down Noah’s knuckles, and he resisted the urge to shiver. Apparently he didn’t do a good enough job, because Mirage frowned and leaned forward, tugging Noah closer by the hand. Noah froze like a damn deer in headlights as their faces got closer and closer and for one breathless, heartstopping moment, he was positive that Mirage was about to kiss him. 

Instead, Mirage split apart around him, his transformation to vehicle mode slower than usual as he carefully accommodated for Noah. Even this felt a little bit like an apology for dumping him on his ass earlier. 

Either way, it gave Noah precious seconds to get over his own wishful thinking before he found himself in the front seat of the Porsche, the heater running on full blast and already warming his chilled fingers. 

“What was that for?” he laughed, stroking a hand across the steering wheel. 

Mirage’s engine rumbled around him, like the purring of a housecat. “You humans are so delicate! Couldn’t let my boy get, uh, frostbite or whatever.”

“Yeah huh. Y’know, doc, one of these days I’m making you sit through one of Ratchet’s lectures on human first aid.”

Mirage made an exaggerated sound of disgust through his radio. “Oh, eugh, mercy! I don’t ever wanna think about having to put you back together.” 

Noah chuckled quietly, moving his hand lower to thumb over the Autobot symbol on the center of Mirage’s steering wheel. Without Mirage’s stare making him self-conscious, Noah couldn’t help touching him when he was in vehicle mode. 

“Nah, I feel ya, man. There’s a lot that I can’t unsee. And people are a lot harder to put back together than ‘bots.”

Mirage didn’t speak again, but his engine let out a whine, plaintive and sad, and Noah knew they were both thinking of the bridge, the heat of blasterfire, Mirage shuddering above him. He flattened his palm over the center of Mirage’s steering wheel and ran his other hand along the inside of his door panel, feeling it tremble. It was just as much a reminder to himself as it was for Mirage that they’d survived and were both far, far from Peru. 

The mood had definitely shifted in a more solemn direction, but Noah didn’t mind it. Not the silence that stretched between them either, heavy with feeling but not strained under the weight. 

Since he brought Mirage back (and hell, he’d never get tired of saying that), he found there was almost nowhere he’d rather be than in his partner’s presence. Whether that was puttering around his work station in the garage back home while Mirage watched MTV or tried to goad Noah into joining him for a drive, or sparring in his new Wheeljack-designed, Brainstorm-made, and Ratchet-approved exosuit, it didn’t matter what they did so long as Noah could lay eyes on him and remind himself that Mirage was alive and in one piece. 

A few minutes passed before Mirage rolled forward, out of the shadow of the treeline and closer to the shore where the sunlight was shining pale through the clouds. Crazy to think after all that had happened, it wasn’t even midday. 

As if Mirage had read his mind, he finally spoke again, resigned in a way that Noah didn’t like. “I guess you must have a billion questions, huh?”

“About you? Sure, but only ‘cuz you’re so damn interesting,” Noah teased with the ease of long practice. 

Mirage rewarded him with a burst of staticky laughter and a bleat of his horn, hastily silenced. Noah grinned at the sound, and wondered when a Porcshe cracking up had become something so charming. 

“Primus, that was embarrassing,” Mirage wheezed through his radio. “You’re a menace. Do the others know how much of a menace you are?”

Noah crossed his arms, leaning back and getting comfortable in the leather seat. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a model Autobot, ask anybody.”

Mirage’s biolights, usually darkened while in vehicle mode, pulsed and illuminated his cabin in brilliant, pale blue. And to Noah’s delight, they didn’t dim again immediately. He preferred them, honestly; they made Mirage look more alive, more himself, even when in disguise. Noah loved tracing the glowing seams of blue when it was just them. 

 “Noah, seriously, we got a whole slagheap dropped on us today,” Mirage’s voice deepened with sincerity, rumbling pleasantly around him in a way Noah tried not to enjoy too much. “I mean, shit, love, the ‘Cons are on their way here right now, and apparently so is Prowl , y’know, eventually , and I know he hasn’t forgotten about the time I switched out his acid pellet ammo for rust sticks and he’s gonna get his revenge when I least expect it but in a way that makes him look totally innocent—”

“Mirage!” Noah interrupted with a laugh, ignoring the way his face heated at the use of the pet name. “Relax, man. If you wanna talk, we’ll talk, but otherwise I’m fine just chilling here with you. Today was a lot for both of us.”

Mirage more than Noah, but he wasn’t about to say that now. 

“Yeah,” Mirage said more quietly. “Yeah, okay.” 

And for a couple minutes, that was it. Silence, a rarity in Mirage’s case, went on uninterrupted. Noah leaned his head back but kept his eyes open, tracing Mirage’s nearest array of biolights with his fingertips. 

Mirage kept kicking his engine on and off intermittently, like he was talking himself in and out of just gunning it back to the main road and not stopping till they hit Jersey. But the most he actually did was flick his windshield wipers at a squirrel that dared jump on his hood. 

His engine roared to life one more time, seats rumbling, and then sharply shut off again. Before Mirage’s engine had completely quieted, he let out a sigh through the radio.

“Did anyone ever tell you how the war got started?”

Starting from the top then. 

Noah leaned forward until his chest was pressed against Mirage’s steering wheel and wrapped his arms around the top. “I assumed it was something’ along the lines of Decepticons bad, Autobots good.”

“Heh. Maybe it got more black and white towards the end, as more of us got killed off,” Mirage said in that mournful, earnest way of his whenever he talked about the war. “But really, at first, the Decepticons were almost what Cybertron needed. A revolution. Until everything flew off the rails.”

This was definitely a side of the story Noah hadn’t heard before. Listening to Ironhide and Ratchet tell it, you’d think the Decepticons ate babies and personally created the hole in the ozone layer. Noah didn’t doubt they were evil—he’d heard about too many friends who’d been cut down, the cities leveled, and a deathtoll that broke his brain—but no one had ever explained where it all began and Noah hadn’t known how to ask. 

“Even before the war, Cybertron wasn’t exactly a paradise. Our society was based around the idea that your alt mode was your Primus-given gift and if he made you a drill, then you literally had no choice but to slave away in the energon mines. If you were a microscope, you were meant for science, and a career-change wasn’t an option. The Senate made it law that your alt mode equaled your class, your function in society, whether that was as a disposable fourth-class sanitation ‘bot with no rights or a filthy stinking rich noble who could do whatever the hell he wanted,” Mirage finished with surprising bitterness. 

Noah stroked Mirage’s steering wheel with his thumb. A weak attempt at comfort maybe but he couldn’t exactly ask Mirage to transform just so he could try to give him a hug. “Which one were you?” 

He could hear the way Mirage preened, but even that fell flat, like his spark wasn’t in it. “What, can’t you guess?

The thing was, Noah could sorta see it: a Mirage with gleaming, undamaged plating living some pampered life on a shiny alien planet he’d only seen snippets of. After all the shit Mirage went through in Peru, he probably deserved to get the royal treatment. But at the same time, it didn’t fit the image of Mirage that Noah knew—the Mirage who raced through a battlefield just to save his sorry ass, who made a promise to Noah’s little brother and almost paid for it with his life. 

Some rich prick (former or otherwise) wouldn’t have accepted Kris’ crappy plastic radio and integrated it into his systems just so they could talk video games and keep tabs on Noah from a million miles away. Not to mention everything Mirage had done for his family since then. 

“So, what? Were you like a duke or something?” Noah asked, still trying to wrap his head around it all. Alien robot classism. Huh.  

Mirage made a ‘so-so’ sort of noise. “Something like that. An empty title that came with plenty of perks I didn’t do anything to earn. 

“And since I was blowing all my time on Velocitron race tracks and getting wasted at bougie clubs, I sorta missed the start of the revolution. I mean, I’d seen the Decepticon propaganda—it was all over the place back then—and I agreed with what they were saying. Abolish the caste system, make all Cybertronians equal, give them the freedom to choose what to do with their lives. All good things, right?”

Noah winced at the plaintive strain to Mirage’s voice print. He remembered that Praxus had been neutral in the civil war when the Decepticons bombed and burned it to the ground, leaving no survivors. When Ironhide arrived on Earth, he’d brought the remains of an Autobot named Cliffjumper to give him the proper funeral rites—he’d been found split down the middle, his body in two clean, gruesome halves. 

It was obvious that whatever good the Decepticons promised at the start didn’t mean shit now, and they were uniquely evil in a way Noah hadn’t thought possible. Until he watched Scourge murder Bumblebee and add his badge to his collection. Until he corrupted Airazor, making her rot from the inside out. Until he fired on Mirage, huddled over Noah as a living shield, and kept firing until he’d blown off Mirage’s arm, his leg, and burned a hole straight through his spine. Until he thought he’d killed them both. 

Until Scourge brought Unicron to Earth, ready to sacrifice billions to his master’s hunger. 

“I thought about joining,” Mirage muttered. “I almost did .”

“The Decepticons?” Noah asked with as little inflection as possible. He knew what side Mirage landed on, and more importantly, he knew Mirage . 

But he reacted like Noah had just accused him of masterminding the entire Decepticon agenda, his engine whining in distress. “I thought about it,” Mirage stressed. “But before I could get serious about it, the ‘Cons up and executed the Senate, killed the old Prime, and BOOM we were at war. And we stayed at war for 4 million years. Give or take a thousand.” 

“Jesus,” Noah breathed. He felt a little queasy, like he always did when he was reminded of how insanely long-lived Mirage and all of the ‘bots were. It was easy to forget that his best friend was older than human civilization when he and Kris were tag teaming Noah into letting them stay up late playing Yoshi’s Island on a school night. 

Mirage was a world unto himself; Noah would never see Cybertron except through his eyes, his words. He’d lived an entire lifetime, and a war, on another planet that could never return to the way it used to be. 

“I joined the Autobots ‘cuz I wanted to help end the war as fast as possible,'' Mirage rumbled around him. “I thought it would all be worth it in the end. When we saved Cybertron, I’d be able to look back and know I did my part.” He scoffed. “Well I did my part, all right. Dead core means dead planet, dead people, Cybes at the top of the intergalactic endangered species list. Let’s just name me the next Prime while we’re at it!”

That brought Noah up short. He lurched away from the wheel, and Mirage immediately jolted around him, his frame tensing like he was expecting an attack. 

“The hell do you mean ‘endangered?’” 

That was a word reserved for pretty little birds in the Amazon or dolphins caught in fishing nets, not Mirage , powerful and alien and ethereal. Not Optimus, or Ratchet, or any of the other ‘bots whose bodies were half weapon and all power.

Noah wracked his brain, thinking back to Blaster’s grieving, panicked report and Prowl’s more perfunctory recap. Most of what they’d said had flown over his head, sure, but he would’ve noticed them mentioning something that intensely dramatic on top of the whole dead planet thing , right? 

‘ Endangered’ meant a species couldn’t make any more of themselves. And yeah, it’s not like he thought giant alien robots were having sex to reproduce; he didn’t know how they did it, but he did know that they had relationships and got married, just like humans. There was enough innuendo thrown around on base for Noah to figure out that they did something that was like sex but wasn’t , and he didn’t want to know any more than that (a baldfaced fucking lie. He wanted to know, he really, really did but who could he ask? Charlie? Ratchet? Mirage? He’d rather face down Scourge’s Sweeps again than put himself through that).

“Oh, right,” Mirage murmured, like he’d just remembered something obvious to everyone but Noah, which wasn’t doing him any favors. 

Then Mirage shifted around him, still keeping his transformation slow, and a couple seconds later Noah found himself sitting on one of Mirage’s folded knees instead of his front seat. If Noah wanted to, he could reach out and lay his hand flat against Mirage’s abdomen, a recurring temptation whenever they were this close and he wasn’t doing any repairs on Mirage’s reckless ass. 

Instead of just blushing and fantasizing about tracing his transformation seams (again), Noah looked up at Mirage’s hesitant face and dim optics and determinedly locked down the usual minefield of want-to-touch/don’t-be-stupid that came from being so close. He leaned back, trusting Mirage to catch him, and his boy didn’t disappoint. One of his wide silver palms came up to wrap around the middle of Noah’s back, pressing softly to keep him supported. 

“Do you remember what Blaster and Prowl said about Cybertron’s core? About how it’d gone dark?” Mirage asked gently. His tone reminded Noah of the leadup to Ma explaining that his baby brother, who couldn’t even walk yet, was very sick and he was going to be sick for a very long time. 

Noah nodded haltingly. 

“The thing is, we don’t make new beings the way you humans do. Don’t have the right equipment , y’know?” And Mirage winked, putting his whole body into it, even giving a little hip wiggle that made Noah snort with unexpected laughter. He almost fell right off Mirage’s knee for real this time, but Mirage reeled him back in with both hands, his grin only a little of the shit-eating kind. 

“So how—?” Noah wheezed. 

“Think of us as being born like cabbage patch kids instead,” Mirage interrupted, almost sending Noah into another laughing fit that was toeing the line of hysteria. But even with the tension broken, there was something flimsy about Mirage’s usual easy levity that made it impossible to completely banish the dread from the back of Noah’s mind. 

That dread proved justified as Mirage continued explaining, trying to keep his tone light, but the tightness around his optics and the way he curled around Noah betrayed his true misery. “Cybertron’s core seeded fields of hotspots on the planet’s surface, creating new sparks. New life. So with no Allspark, and a dead core, well, that’s sorta it for us as a species. Zip. Zilch. No new ‘bots, maybe ever again.” 

Noah’s stomach plummeted so fast he almost staggered, horror rushing in to fill its place. “Oh, ‘Raj…” he murmured, at a loss for what to say. What was there to say? 

From a human perspective, it was impossible to imagine his entire species losing the ability to give birth, to create children and watch them grow up to be the next generation. Everyone would just linger, getting older and dying off until there was no one left. It would be the end of human civilization, period. All that on top of a war that already resulted in the deaths of….thousands? Millions? 

What could Noah say to fix that?

Mirage bowed forward until his forehead was almost touching Noah’s, and his voice rumbled through the inches of space between them, so quiet it was almost drowned out by the water lapping at the lakeshore. 

“The thing is…we were fighting for so long over who should control Cybertron’s spark that we ended up being the reason it was extinguished. And now, oops! Our bad! We couldn’t even keep Earth secret from the ‘Cons! Now I just…I don’t want the same thing to happen to your planet.”

And with Mirage sounding so pained and hunched so close to him, close enough for Noah to cradle his cheek and smooth the regret and apology from his faceplates if he was brave enough, it brutally reminded him of Mirage huddled over him, shuddering under blaster fire, and still smiling down at him as his optics went dark.

Blinking past the memory, Noah reached out and traced the ‘Y’-shaped biolights on Mirage’s chest before laying his hand flat against it, covering it with his palm. He focused on the purr of the countless components and gears that made up Mirage, humming their secret song beneath his armor chassis. 

Mirage just watched him, his optics at half-mast. After all that talking, he seemed fine with the quiet now, weary in a way Noah hadn’t seen since the night Ironhide arrived with Cliffjumper’s body. It pained Noah to see him this way, even more than it had back then. 

He knew there was nothing either of them could do to fix this, not now and not in a month. They were gonna be in limbo until the Decepticons made landfall, and Cybertron would still be dead. But the more he thought about packing it in and driving back to base, where Mirage would be trapped under the same roof as the rest of the Autobots’ and their shared grief, the worse it sounded. 

Maybe there wasn’t anything Noah could say to fix this. But then again, they’d already done enough talking. 

“Hey.” Noah patted Mirage’s chestplate. “Let’s get outta here.” 

He looked up in time to catch Mirage’s faceplates going slack with confusion. “Huh?” 

“Let's go home,” he pressed. “Ma’s been asking for you and Kris has been buggin’ me nonstop about this movie he wants you to watch with Keanu driving a school bus or something.”

Mirage gasped, scandalized, as he hid a shitty grin behind one hand. “Nah, it can’t be! No way! Is the model Autobot suggesting we play hooky?”

“Fuck you, man,” Noah laughed, shoving him away–which should’ve been as effective as shoving a brick wall, but Mirage moved with his hand, leaning back obligingly and making Noah’s stomach do an embarrassing flip. “I’m serious! If Prime needs us, we’re a comm call away. ‘Sides, weren’t you the one betting Bee that you could make the drive back in less than three hours? You might need the practice to cash that in.”

Mirage narrowed his optics. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”

“Yeah,” Noah grinned. “Is it working?”

Mirage pretended to glare for a couple more seconds before sighing a very heavy, Optimus-like sigh. “Well, duh.”  

He fell forward and transformed around Noah, returning to alt mode with Noah back in the front seat. Mirage waited long enough to buckle his seatbelt before taking off for the road, their trek through the untamed underground just as bumpy as the first time but without the frantic, breakneck pace. 

Mirage didn’t speak again until they’d leapt out of the treeline and hit the slightly smoother stretch of dirt road leading down the mountain. “By the by, I know you weren’t just slandering the name of Speed earlier, masterclass of suspense and action set pieces—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You can just say you have a crush on Keanu, you know?”

Chapter Text

Six months ago, Noah found himself in another gross, abandoned warehouse, towered over by giant alien robots. Except this time he was there of his own free will and not dangling twenty feet above the ground. 

Sitting on the crumpled hood of what might’ve been a Ford Fiesta before rust ate half of it away, Noah killed time by staring at a broken window, where a spider crawled around on its web. Waiting was the name of the game, and while he wasn’t strictly worried about the outcome of the meeting, the more time went by without anything happening, the faster his knee bounced. 

By contrast, next to and thirty feet above him, Optimus was the epitome of regal patience. Standing still as a mountain and emotive as a statue with resting bitch face, he hadn’t twitched so much as a piston for at least fifteen of the thirty minutes since they got here, when Bumblebee took off to scout the perimeter. If Noah hadn’t chosen a spot where he could keep the Autobot leader in his peripheral vision, he might’ve forgotten he was there at all, and catching his massive red and blue bulk out of the corner of his eye still made him feel like he was dreaming half the time. 

He’d gotten used to Mirage’s height easily enough—at a mere twelve feet, he was shorter than Bumblebee and barely beat out Wheeljack—but Optimus was on a whole other level, towering over everything and everyone with his inscrutable, grim expression whether the battle mask was on or off. But Noah’s days of fearing Optimus, of distrusting and deceiving him , had been left behind on a green hillside among thousand of year old ruins, on a scorched battlefield, and inside Stratosphere’s rickety cargo hold during the long flight home. Till all are one, after all. 

But with trusting Optimus, and dare he say befriending Optimus, came with seeing the Prime as a person and not just an aggro, hundred ton robot general with a gun on his arm bigger than most cars and a grudge against meddlesome little humans. 

Optimus was stubbornly loyal and angry almost all of the time, but his anger and his loyalty were reserved for his people and their pain, and Noah could relate to that from the start, even when he thought Prime was just a hardass. Kris and Ma (and now Mirage) were his world, and while that might be small in comparison to the whole of Cybertron, he’d fought and killed for them and he’d do it all again in a heartbeat. 

Most days, Noah considered Optimus to be the kind of guy (giant alien robot, whatever) he could enjoy long, companionable silences with, which was almost impossible to find even among other humans. 

It had been Optimus who never left Mirage’s side that first, crucial week after Peru, pooling all of the ‘bots’ collective medical knowledge and converting it into a format Noah could understand and use to repair Mirage (one word: holograms. He was never going to make fun of Star Trek ever again). In another warehouse in another desolate part of town, Optimus had sat in the corner and just watched—never hovering or interrupting. If Noah got stuck, or second-guessed himself, Optimus laid down to let him use own internal systems as reference, cracking open his chest like it was no big deal. 

Which was why it struck Noah that OP had been more chill back then, with Noah’s grubby fingers literally inches away from his spark casing, then he was now, waiting for a meeting to start. He was standing still, sure, but only because he was keeping every strut and gear purposely, painfully tense like he was waiting for Scourge to melt out of the shadows and challenge him to a rematch. He was wound up so tight Noah was convinced one wrong move would make something important just snap . 

Could Autobots spontaneously combust? Or have the spark equivalent of a heart attack?

Optimus’ own anxiety almost had Noah ready to try Reek’s dumb breathing exercises again, but since he was partly to blame for the Prime’s latest processor ache, he could at least try to distract the guy. 

“Any word from Bee?” he asked, casually as he could manage as he broke the charged silence.

Optimus’ frame creaked as he turned toward Noah, the first time he’d seen the guy move in almost twenty minutes. “Nothing,” he gritted out in his ungodly deep baritone. “I do not like this,” he added, like it wasn’t obvious. 

Noah shook his head. “I feel ya, man. I’m not a fan of Jersey either.”

He could feel Optimus’ glare boring holes into the side of his head but he pulled a Mirage and pretended not to notice. After a couple seconds, he heard the low hiss of Optimus sighing through his vents and knew it was safe to turn around. 

“You believe I am being overly cautious.”

Noah huffed a laugh. “Big Man, I trust the US military about as much as you do, and considering what you told me about how they treated Bee, that’s saying something.”

 Optimus’ perpetual frown somehow deepened, and his voice rang with pointed disapproval. “Yes, Mirage informed us of your commanding officer’s dishonorable actions toward you.”

Warming with embarrassment, Noah resisted the powerful urge to close his eyes and cover his face with his hands. “‘Course he did,” he forced out. Cuz Noah definitely wanted his friend/leader of an alien rebellion to know about his struggles with unemployment . 

Damnit, ‘Raj.

A smile, tiny and rare, flickered across Optimus’ face and it was almost as startling as what he said next. 

“If you had been one of my Autobots, the loyalty you showed toward your family would have been commended, not condemned. You had every right to turn away from us once your world was saved, and you honor us now by standing at our side as we broker an alliance with your government. As…difficult as Mirage can be, he recognizes that more than anyone.”

“Hell.” Noah let out a strangled laugh, extremely conscious of the way his face burned like the surface of the sun. “Almost sounds like you’re giving ‘Raj a compliment. 

“Hm. Don’t tell him.”

And now Big Man was making jokes; would wonders never cease? 

They fell into a silence that was almost comfortable, and free of Optimus’ stranglehold of before. Hell, Noah would almost call it relaxed if it weren’t for the giant invisible LED clock hanging over their heads adding up every second that passed without an update on their G.I. Joe buddies. 

Obviously not even that fragile peace was meant to last. 

Less than five minutes went by before “Whoomp! (There It Is)” blared without warning, startling Optimus into charging up his barrage cannon. Thank god he wasn’t the trigger-happy sort of guy. 

Noah did the polite thing and pretended not to notice as he raised his wrist and slapped at the gauntlet’s controls with an aggravated sigh that was mostly for Prime’s benefit. Honestly, Noah was surprised he hadn’t been called sooner. 

“Speak of the devil…”

Accepting the gauntlet again had been Noah’s one concession when he forbade Mirage in no uncertain terms from joining them at the rendezvous. With his newfound knowledge of Cyberbiology, he could recognize the parts that Mirage had cobbled together for it: a redundant ammo pack and secondary communication array, both things Mirage could do without, even while recovering. Of course, Mirage couldn’t leave well enough alone and also added a ringtone that changed by the day, sometimes by the hour, and Noah couldn’t be assed to figure out how to get rid of it. 

One actually useful addition were the cordless earbuds Noah could use with the gauntlet, since he obviously didn’t have a comm unit built into his head like the ‘bots did. It also let Mirage’s voice roll over him like the mech was talking directly in his ear, warm and close, a balm that relaxed muscles Noah hadn’t even realized were tense. He hated being away from Mirage, but since rebuilding him Noah was trying very deliberately not to hover too much. It would help them both in the long run. Mostly Noah, though.

“Yo, Sonic, has the A-Team shown up yet?”

If they were face to face, Noah would’ve just rolled his eyes. As it was, he smiled with all the fondness tangled up inside him. “‘Raj. You’re supposed to be on bedrest, man.” 

“Eugh, don’t call it that! ‘Bedrest’ is for old ass mechs like Prime, not a hot, young piece of chrome like yours truly.”

 It would take a few more days, maybe a week, until his self-repair nanites finished integrating with his new parts, or so Noah’s patchwork research told him. And all that meant was that Mirage could finally leave the garage to go out on a drive, forget being even close to ready for anything resembling active combat. His servo motors would still be sluggish and in need of defrag, his holoprojector not yet capable of creating anything substantial, and Wheeljack needed to take a good look at his weapons systems ‘cause that shit was fried . 

A terrible, chilling thought occurred to him, banishing his relief at hearing Mirage’s voice. They hadn’t completely ruled out the possibility of this meeting being a trap—Optimus and Bee’s respective anxiety and stealth maneuvers was proof of that—and the last thing Noah needed was for Mirage to get stuck in a firefight. His boy was many things, and impulsive, self-sacrificing, and idiotic were at the top of the list. 

“Hey, where are you? Cuz I swear, man, if you followed us out here—”

Mirage interrupted him in a rush, voice print strained with sincerity. “Chillax, doc! I’m following orders, promise.” 

Noah’s heart still pounded in his ears, almost drowning out Mirage’s voice. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“Prove it?” Mirage demanded, sounding outrageously offended, like he hadn’t just used his holoprojector to turn invisible last week and give Noah a heart attack when he walked into the garage. “ What, don’t you trust— hey!” 

There were sounds of a scuffle and the line crackled before Kris’ voice replaced Mirage’s. “Sonic, this is Tails. Do you copy?” Noah could hear the grin in his brother’s voice and it automatically made him smile too. 

“I copy. You on guard duty, Tails?” The idea of Kris overpowering Mirage was beyond laughable. ’Raj had to be holding his arm down for Kris to reach the radio in his wrist. 

“He’s merciless, Sonic,” Mirage wailed. “I’ve seen ‘Cons treat their prisoners better!”

Kris shouted over him, high-pitched with glee. “He plugged into my Gameboy and now we’re playing Donkey Kong projected on the wall!” 

The same fondness (yeah, fondness , that was the word for it) from before rose up from the bottom of Noah’s stomach in a flurry of Mothra-sized butterflies, briefly snagging his heart and making it tough for him to find his words. 

Even with the threat of Unicron hanging over their heads and Bee’s murder so fresh in their minds, Mirage had been good with Kris from the first hour, respecting him in a way even some of Noah’s friends had never managed to. 

Mirage gave him a promise and Kris gave him one of his walkies and they kept each other company on the long flight to Peru, while Noah was sleeping, stressing, or getting his Indiana Jones on. Seeing the radio in Mirage’s wrist while wading through that river almost had him falling on his face, because Kris had never trusted anyone with that much access. Not his few school friends that stuck around through all the hospital trips and absences, not even their Ma. Only Noah. And now Mirage. 

Once Mirage was stable enough to transport to the garage after that harrowing first week, Noah hadn’t wanted Kris to see him until he was back in one piece. But Kris had snuck down anyway and stood pale and brave over Mirage’s half-built shell, demanding only once, “You’re gonna fix him. Right?” 

And now, in the weeks since Noah brought Mirage back online, he and Kris had become inseparable. Mirage let Kris use him as a jungle gym half the time, together they watched hours of Star Wars and Power Rangers, all of Kris’ favorites, and when they couldn’t hang out, Mirage happily accepted the comics Kris foisted on him. 

Having Kris around had the added benefit of letting Noah run much-needed maintenance on Mirage when he couldn’t try to run away, but more than that, he saw how earnestly Mirage listened to his brother, took him seriously, and actually seemed to enjoy spending time with him, just like Noah did and so few made the effort to. 

So many people had let Kris down throughout his life: friends, doctors, even Noah himself. Mirage had become the one person to come through for Kris, and in doing so, helped Noah do the same. 

“So that settles it, right? I’m the coolest giant robot you know?” Mirage said smugly. 

“Nah, Dino Megazord’s still the best,” Kris replied matter-of-factly, because hero worship or not, he was still a shitty little brother. 

Noah cut in before they could devolve into an(other) argument while he was still on the line. He was growing increasingly conscious of Optimus’ bulk beside him, politely looking the other way while Noah had this nonsense conversation playing in his ear. 

“Anyway, I’ll be home later. Kris, love you, bro. Keep an eye on him for me, okay? And ‘Raj, Kris’s gotta be in bed by 9:30, I don’t care what he says.”

“Dude!” 

Mirage chuckled, the low sound raising hairs on Noah’s arms and down the back of his neck. “You got it, Noah. And hey, uh,” Mirage’s voice caught, tripping on an edge of uncertainty. “Stay safe, alright? Make sure OP isn’t sleeping on the job. Y’know how old ‘bots are.”

Kris hissed at Mirage to shut up, but even if Optimus heard the diss, he had no visible reaction. That could mean he really didn’t hear or he was already plotting his revenge. Kris hadn’t met the Prime yet, but when Mirage projected a life-size hologram of him, it clipped straight through the ceiling. So safe to say Kris was a little intimidated. 

“We’ll be fine, Mirage. Don’t stay up too late playing video games.”

Another round of goodbyes later and the call was over. Noah fiddled with his sleeve, tucking it back over the gauntlet—no reason to give the Joes a sneak peek of Cybertronian tech before they decided if these guys were on the level. 

A minute or two went by before Noah felt the weight of eyes on him. And considering his present company was one giant robot, it wasn’t hard to guess who was responsible. 

Noah glanced up, and sure enough Optimus’ optics, unreadable as flecks of ice, were staring back at him. “What’s up?” he said, trying to keep a straight face. God, if this was about Mirage’s joke, Noah was gonna have to disavow his best friend. 

Optimus considered him with familiar, if sudden, intensity. “I don’t believe I ever thanked you for saving the life of one of my Autobots.” 

He saved me first, was his first thought, but even that was too honest to say to the Prime, and exposed all of Noah’s “fondness” for what it really was. 

Mirage tried to thank him too, back when he first onlined for real, not the false starts and garbled words, desperately calling out his name like they were back on the battlefield, until Noah flattened his palms over Mirage’s spark chamber and let Mirage register his presence. He thought for a second about what he’d told Mirage when he’d been of a mind to understand him.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he told Optimus once his brain to mouth filter was back under control. “Mirage is…we’re partners. No matter what, I would’ve tried to bring him back. He doesn’t owe me anything, and neither do you.”

Optimus looked amused. “For saving the life of a Prime, you are owed a great deal. It is a debt that can never be repaid.”

Noah tried not to sweat too much over the thought of Optimus Prime thinking he owed him anything. Dude already did him a favor by not stepping on him that first night. 

Truthfully, Noah didn’t think he could’ve lived with himself if he’d left Prime standing alone on that bridge, Unicorn’s maw looming above, the Sweeps closing in around him. How could he have faced Mirage, who razzed Optimus to his face and defended him with all the sincerity in the world behind his back? How could he face Kris , having left a man (alien, robot, whatever ) to die knowing he could’ve done something to save him? 

As the bills piled up, as the war raged on, he’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone in his fight to survive, just like Optimus had. Nearly letting the Earth get eaten by an immortal planet god had a way of recalibrating one’s priorities. 

“How about you just keep kickin’, huh?” Noah huffed. “We’re in no hurry to lose you, Big Man.”

 Optimus nodded, face curving with the hint of a smile. “Nor am I eager to join the Well of Allsparks just yet.” 

He glanced away for a moment, staring so hard at the distant wall of the grungy warehouse it was almost like he was looking through it. Noah doubted the bots had X-ray vision or anything, but with their wicked array of sensors he could guess that the Boss Bot was seeing more than just the wood and corrugated plastic in front of them. 

“Then if you’ll allow me, my friend, to at least thank you for accompanying me on what will likely be the first of several meetings with these…G.I. Joes,” Optimus rumbled, turning back toward Noah. “Though we are few upon your planet, my people cannot continue to hide in the shadows, expecting a way home to fall into our path. My Autobots have befriended humans three times over, and we have been rewarded greatly for that trust. Perhaps it is time I put a little more faith in humankind as well.” 

Noah scrubbed a hand down his face. Sometimes he wondered if he really was worthy of Optimus’ trust. That shit he pulled with the Transwarp Key could’ve damned them all if things had gone just a little bit differently. If the corrupted Airazor had killed Elena. If the inactive energon hadn’t brought Bumblebee back from the dead. If Mirage had been a little slower, a little less determined, Noah would’ve been blasted into a smear of blood and carbon in the seconds before Earth was torn apart piece by piece. 

But he had to remember that he did put his trust in Optimus before the end. Earth was safe, and Mirage was alive. Now, Noah just had to keep things that way. 

“I think it’s worth a shot too,” he said, letting his hand drop from his face. He was lucky he remembered to shave. As chaotic as his life was now, the last thing he needed before mediating an introduction between the leader of an alien race and a secret government organization was a five o’clock shadow. “I just don’t wanna come off as biased ‘cause they’re paying for Kris’ hospital bills and all.”

Optimus tilted his head. It was a strange, almost birdlike motion that he’d seen Bee and Mirage do before. Right now, it was as close to a skeptical expression as Noah had ever seen on the Prime. “You helped save your planet from utter decimation, Noah, by a being whose evil lies beyond the bounds of comprehension. That alone should earn you far more than the proper treatment your family is already owed.”

 Well, when Optimus said it in that voice it almost made Noah believe he did deserve free healthcare and other nice things. At least Kris definitely did. 

Optimus stiffened, raising a hand to the comm in the side of his helm. 

“Bumblebee has just reported in,” he said, a touch of relief softening the gravel of his voice. “The G.I. Joe envoy is approaching. Five klicks and closing. And…” His optics went wide, and he spun toward the warehouse entrance so fast that Noah got whiplash. 

He scrambled to his feet, his gauntlet whining as he instinctively charged up the mini-cannon. “And what? We good, Optimus?”

“It cannot be…” Optimus muttered, like he hadn’t even heard Noah. 

The last time he’d seen the Prime so spooked, Bee had been dangling on Scourge’s blade. Noah wasn’t feeling particularly optimistic about what might’ve happened to make him react the same way. 

Even though Big Man didn’t bring any weapons to bear, which was strange all on its own, Noah stepped forward and readied his own. With the gauntlet on one arm and the concealed blade on the other (thank you, Arcee), he was ready to be Optimus’ first line of defense if this meeting turned out to be a trap. 

About two minutes after Optimus reported Bumblebee making contact, the envoy arrived. But whatever show of force or intimidation that Noah had been expecting never appeared. Only two cars drove through the warehouse entrance: a stereotypical black SUV and, strangely, an ambulance. Optimus was watching the latter very intently. 

They came to a stop and the driver of the SUV, a middle aged Black man in a suit and tie, climbed out first.

The passenger door of the ambulance opened next and out hopped not a paramedic but a young woman somewhere near Noah’s age with shoulder length brown hair, wearing practical coveralls under an oversized bomber jacket. Noah almost missed the door closing behind her on its own, before she took a step back and the ambulance split apart, transforming into a red and white Cybertronian with a black chevron on his forehead. 

Optimus lurched forward at once, grabbing the shorter Cybertronian’s arms and pinning him in place. 

Noah's heart skipped a beat and he dropped into a battle ready stance, low to the ground and light on his feet, prepared to dart out of the way of a giant robot beatdown. He expected to hear the shriek of living metal being wrenched and pummeled and to feel the sting of blasterfire overhead. 

When absolutely nothing happened, Noah’s mind spun out; his senses, wired from adrenaline, couldn’t comprehend the silence. 

But meeting Mirage had been good for a lot of things, and one of them was learning to adapt quickly. Noah was only wrongfooted for a couple seconds (after all, no insane, deadly robot fight breaking out was obviously a good thing) as he got control of his fight or flight response and refocused on their welcome party.

Noah was the only one who’d looked ready for a fight. Optimus was still holding onto the new Cybertronian, staring at him like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Ratchet,” Optimus uttered, sounding so wretched it had Noah looking back up at him in alarm. “My old friend. How…how can this be? We thought you lost. I …we watched Ramjet shoot you down. Your escape pod burned.”

The ambulance bot barked a short, sharp laugh, reaching up to clasp Optimus’ forearms in turn. “Yes, I would be exactly the sort of unlucky son of a glitch to get a Decepticon tracker placed on him, wouldn’t I?” The lines of his faceplate smoothed out, his sardonic smile fading as he explained. “The wreckage of my escape pod, what was left of it, was strewn across the human province of ‘Montana,’ along with most of my parts. My frame had lost 78% of its integrity, and I would have joined the Well of Allsparks if I hadn’t received help in time.”

The woman who’d stepped out of Ratchet’s vehicle mode raised her hand in a wave, smiling brightly. “Hi, Mr. Optimus, sir. He’s talking about me.” 

Ratchet rolled his eyes, stepping back to give a conciliatory hand flick in her direction. Optimus let him go with obvious reluctance. 

“Yes, yes, Charlie Watson, Optimus Prime. Optimus, Charlie Watson. She and her team located me and—though it took them several months—they rebuilt me. I owe her my life.” 

Ratchet’s admission was stiff, like he had to force the words out from between his teeth, but judging by the way Charlie grinned up at him, just shy of teasing, made Noah think that was normal for the ambulance. 

Optimus tore his eyes away from Ratchet long enough to finally acknowledge Charlie. He looked about as in awe of her as Noah probably did, and he was already ready to give up his firstborn if it meant he could talk shop with her. “I…Charlie Watson, thank you. I do not know how I can ever repay you for this kindness.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Ratchet’s got you covered,” Charlie replied. “His voice box was part of the 22% of him that wasn’t damaged, and he put it to good use criticizing our repairs every step of the way. So now he gets to train me on how to do them ‘the right way.’”

“So no other mech needs to suffer like I did,” Ratchet sneered, and Charlie bared her teeth right back. 

Optimus chuckled, a sound more alien than the bot it came from, and it had Noah doing a double take all over again. Big Man had his battle mask up now, and if Noah didn’t know any better, he’d suspect it was to hide a smile. “It is good to see you again, my friend.”

Ratchet straightened, this time eying Optimus with a narrowed optics. “I’d say the same but you look awful . When was the last time you ran a full repair diagnostic?” 

Optimus’ engine rumbled from within his chest, which might’ve been more intimidating if it didn’t weirdly resemble a human clearing their throat. “Later, Ratchet. We have pressing matters at hand.”

Right, the G.I. Joe agent. The whole reason they were in another shitty warehouse to begin with, though Noah could admit that this surprise alien encounter had gone better than his last. 

Optimus dropped carefully to one knee so he could better address the agent. “My apologies, Agent Fowler, for the delay in our introduction. It is good to meet you face to face.”

To Noah’s relief, the agent waved a flippant hand. “Don’t sweat it, Prime. I expected the family reunion to take precedence today. And anyway, since neither of us technically exist, this meeting never even happened.” Even with two giant alien robots towering over him, Fowler was remarkably at ease, something even Noah still struggled with sometimes. Or he was just really good at faking it. 

“Indeed. And do I have you to thank as well for Ratchet’s safe return to us?” Optimus asked. Although his deep, level voice and hidden face almost made his tone unreadable, there was a clear undercurrent of warning beneath the words. It wasn’t even directed at him, but it still made Noah want to give OP a couple hundred feet of extra space. 

His real question was clear: were you intentionally keeping Ratchet’s survival a secret from us? 

US government involvement notwithstanding, there might not have been any nefarious intent, as hard as that was to believe. The Autobots didn’t exactly have a landline for secret global agencies to give a ring; they’d been off the grid for seven years, until Noah got himself roped into the mess and gave the Joes someone with a social security number to track down. Plus, if it really had been as touch and go with Ratchet as it sounded, they probably didn’t want to announce they’d found a missing Transformer only for him to die on them. 

The Autobots mentioned other teammates sometimes, or told stories. Most of the subjects were missing, if they hadn’t been killed in action, and it sometimes left Noah half-afraid that his friends were the only Autobots left in the whole wide galaxy. Ratchet had been brought up once or twice, only by Mirage and never when Optimus was around. Seeing the intensity of Optimus’ reaction to Ratchet’s survival, he could understand why. Not only had Ratchet getting shot out of the sky probably cost them their first chance at proper medical attention in years, it also explained their rough state when Noah first met them. 

Fowler shook his head. Either he couldn’t sense the potential for danger oozing off the Prime or he was ignoring it. Again, the suit could very well be the best actor on earth. 

“Not me,” he said quickly. “That was all Agent Watson. She refused to leave your medic behind when our scientists decided he was a lost cause. Hijacked a crew and everything to retrieve him. Ahem . All of him.”

“I’m only working with the Joes because I want to help the Autobots,” Charlie said fiercely, and in front of a Joe agent? That was cold. 

She pressed her hand against the plating of Ratchet’s ankle. “I wasn’t going to let them or anyone else bury Ratchet in some lab or use him as a bargaining chip.”

“For which I am very grateful,” Ratchet assured, slanting her a quelling look. Down, girl. He pinned Optimus with the same look. “I’m here of my own free will, Optimus. You can be sure of that.”

Optimus held onto that stare for several long seconds, and Ratchet silently obliged him. It became clear that Optimus’ (justified) paranoia had been appeased when his battle mask retracted and the tension dropped from his massive frame. Even while kneeling, the power coiling through his struts had been enough to make the air around him crackle. With it gone, Noah felt like he was able to take his first real breath in minutes. 

“Very well,” Optimus rumbled. “In that case, Ratchet, Charlie Watson, Agent Fowler, I would like you to meet my fellow Autobot, Noah Diaz.”

It was never easy to suddenly become the room’s center of attention, and that was never more true than when there were giant alien robots in the audience. Ratchet in particular was eyeballing him with a concerning amount of scrutiny. 

Noah stubbornly reminded himself that he’d stared down the barrel of a gun bigger than himself at least half a dozen times. 

 “Uh, hey,” he said, crossing his arms so he didn’t wave hello like an idiot. “‘S a pleasure to meet you all.”

“The kid who helped save the planet,” Fowler said, nodding in recognition. “Pleasure’s mine, Diaz.”

Ratchet leaned forward until he was practically throwing a shadow over Noah, staring him down with narrowed optics. Before Noah could start to wonder if this Autobot introduction was actually gonna go worse than his first one, a bone-deep shiver rushed over his body, like he’d been doused in icy water, and he let out a yelp. It was the freakiest thing he’d ever felt and it made all the hair on his body stand on end.

“The hell was that?” he demanded, rubbing his arms with a shudder. 

Ratchet scowled unrepentantly. “You’re injured, human.”

“Huh?”

“Ratchet!” Charlie exclaimed. “You can just scan people without their permission! I told you how weird that feels.”

“Injured?” Optimus repeated. Without even looking, Noah knew he was on the receiving end of the disappointed frown that was normally reserved for Mirage. Aw, hell. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

“Well I didn’t—I’m not—” Noah sputtered. When he first met and got tossed around by giant metal aliens, he never would’ve thought they’d turn out to be bigger mother hens than his own Ma. 

Ratchet pointed at him like he was guilty of a crime. “There are numerous contusions as well as ecchymosis along the superficial extrinsic muscles of your erector spinae and biceps femoris.”

Noah’s face screwed up in confusion as he parsed the medical jargon. “Those-those are just bruises! From sparring with Bee!”

Charlie whirled around. “Bumblebee’s here?” she asked in a rush. 

 “Yes,” Optimus answered, still eying Noah like he was worried he was gonna drop dead any second. As if he hadn’t survived his first alien beatdown while wearing a windbreaker for protection. “He was ensuring that you were not followed. But I believe he will be joining us—”

Like he’d been sitting around the corner waiting for his cue, Bumblebee came shrieking through the warehouse entrance in vehicle mode, nearly clipping Ratchet in the ankle as he skidded to a stop. 

“Hellooooo, Nurse!” blared out of his speakers. Noah recognized the line from one of Kris’ cartoons. 

Ratchet spun, finding a new target and locking on, and thankfully taking his glare with him. “B-127!” he snapped. “Watch it, you hot rodding slagger . I need that heelstrut to walk on, thank you very much!”

That was a designation Noah had only heard once or twice, and he wasn’t surprised when Bee transformed to root mode in a flurry of canary yellow parts and indignation, glaring up at Ratchet with his hands on his waist, uncaring of the ten feet of height difference. 

“ ‘Scuse me,” he fired off, “ but ‘round these parts, I’m known as—”

“Bumblebee.”

And Bee—froze. 

Stepping out from behind Ratchet, Charlie was grinning so wide that Noah’s face ached in sympathy. She was staring at Bee like there was no one in the building but the two of them. 

Bee took a staggering step back, the mechanisms in his wide optics spinning. 

 “....Charlie?” The recording he played was of a trembling, male voice, too visceral, too real, to have come from a movie. 

There were tears in Charlie’s eyes but her smile only seemed to get brighter. “Long time no see, little bee.”

Bumblebee overcame whatever shock locked him in place and rushed her, plucking her off her feet and into his arms with barely a hitch in his movement. “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie!” he sang, spinning her in circles. 

Noah could feel himself gaping, and he scrambled to get his expression back under control. 

For such an expressive mute, Bee was actually the most guarded of the Autobots. Despite being a fan of humans, at least according to Mirage, he’d kept Noah at arm’s length with his tongue-in-cheek movie quotes until Mirage was stable enough to come back online. Until Noah had managed to bring him back online. And even though he’d rebuilt one of their own kind, when it came to repairing his voice box, Bee hadn’t asked, and Noah had known better than to offer. 

(“A lot of us didn’t make it off Cybertron, and even more of us are scattered hell knows where. Bee was the first of us to get to Earth, and he was alone for a while,” Mirage explained quietly. He was leaning over Noah, who had one of his hands open in his lap, carefully testing the wiring that ran from Mirage’s palm down to his fingertips. Noah was also carefully not imagining how that big hand would feel completely engulfing his, or exploring any other part of his body. 

Mirage’s voice sharpened with bitterness, kicking Noah’s mind out of the gutter. 

“Well, alone except for the ‘Cons who beat us here. One of them ripped out Bee’s voice box. Left him for dead. He probably wouldn’t’ve made it if a human hadn’t found him, fixed him up.” As quickly as his tone darkened, it gentled again and he curved over Noah that much more, until the warmth of his exvents brushed Noah’s cheeks and Mirage’s nearness sparked a flash of heat in his belly. “Sound familiar?” Mirage murmured, playfully wiggling his fingers. The back of his middle finger traced a line down Noah’s sternum, turning that flash into an inferno until Noah clamped a hand on Mirage’s wrist, stilling the movement. 

Just an accident, Noah told himself. Get over it. 

“Yeah,” he drawled, with only the slightest waver in his voice to betray him. “Except Bee was probably a better patient. Now seriously, quit moving, man. I don’t wanna cut your pinkie off or something.”

Mirage hummed, his engine joining in with a rumble Noah felt deep in his own chest. “I know you’d fix me.”

Noah swallowed, his tongue heavy. The hand he still had wrapped around Mirage’s wrist burned , and he wondered what might happen if he tugged and tilted his head back at the same time so he could reach up and kiss Mirage’s bottom lip. 

“But nah, Bee used to be more fun,” Mirage said, saving Noah from embarrassing himself further. Luckily, he didn’t cut off anyone’s pinkie either. 

“You wouldn’t think so, but I’m actually older than him. Like, give or take a few million years. But after his voice box and meeting his human, he changed. Grew up.” Mirage looked away, something like guilt twisting his smile into a grimace. “Since none of the Autobot commanders have made it to Earth, Bee basically stepped up as Prime’s de facto lieutenant.” 

Noah didn’t look up from Mirage’s hand, dutifully keeping his eyes on his work, but his mind was thrown back to the museum battle all those months ago. Bumblebee, proud, lethal, and aloof until he had a blade through his torso and Optimus’ grief ringing in their ears. It wasn’t until then that his hold on his emotions broke and his optics softened in apology.

O Captain, My Captain

“So that’s why he didn’t trust me at first? He was trying to protect Optimus?”

“Dunno. Could be. The only time he cuts loose anymore is when he meets up with his human. That’s why he was going to so many drive-in theaters, so they could hang out in private. Uh…don’t tell Prime I told you that.”)

Noah hadn’t given another thought to be Bee’s human friend. Judging by the way Mirage described them in uncharacteristically vague terms and Bee’s own private nature, he got the feeling that it wasn’t his story to know. 

But now, it was like the Bee who played things close to the chest never even existed. His optics were closed in pure bliss and he was pressed cheek to cheek with Charlie from where he cradled her against his chestplate. Instead of playing any movie sound bites or toggling through the radio, Bee was making soft buzzing sounds reminiscent of his namesake. Happiness looked good on him. 

And Noah would get to know Charlie, the source of that happiness, in the weeks and months that followed, as they upgraded from old abandoned warehouses to new abandoned warehouses before they finally got legit and moved into the newly built Sigma 6. Mirage might’ve been his favorite person to talk to, but it was a relief to be around another human who was in the know and valued the bots like he did. Noah still had to censor himself around Ma, Kris, and Reek, sometimes for security reasons, but mostly just so he wouldn’t scare them. 

Decepticons had been steadily making their way to Earth and though Prime and the team were picking them off one by one, the prevailing fear was of an all out invasion. And in a world that relegated the existence of aliens to sci-fi bullshit? He couldn’t imagine the chaos. Not to mention Unicron was somewhere out there in the black recesses of space and for all they knew he could show up again next month or ten thousand years from now. 

Noah usually had trouble sleeping, even when his body ached from the training Ironhide and Sgt. Hauser put him through, because every time he closed his eyes he saw a burning skyline where Brooklyn used to be and Mirage laying in pieces in the crater of what used to be the house Noah bought for his mother, broken like a discarded child’s toy, while Seekers roared overhead, surveying their carnage. 

So, yeah. Being an Autobot wasn’t for everyone. 

Elena split almost as soon as they landed stateside, and Noah couldn’t blame her. She’d earned her new life, her career, safe from the danger that naturally followed giant alien robots and their million-year intergalactic war. She wasn’t a soldier, and she shouldn’t have to be. They still talked, or met up at the Tony’s Pizza on Knickerbocker and Greene to shoot the shit when she was back in town, and while she’d ask about Mirage’s recovery, they rarely talked about the other Autobots, much less the Maximals. Noah hadn’t even told her about G.I. Joe. 

He knew that Airazor’s death still weighed on her, and he didn’t know how to help without reopening old wounds like a jackass. 

They’d held a funeral before leaving Peru, a short, simple thing compared to the liturgies he was used to, but Noah had never helped dig the grave before. Everyone stepped up, the bots each scooping up small hills of dirt to Noah and Elena’s meager handfuls. Under different circumstances, he might’ve felt embarrassed by their inability to contribute more, but that wasn’t the point. The act itself, digging the grave and then filling it once Primal tenderly placed Airazor’s body within, was meditative, and as much a part of the grieving process as any eulogy. As he got dirt under his nails and stained his jeans, he’d looked over at Elena while blinking back tears and found her not making any such attempt. 

Her shoulders shaking silently, she’d worked with tears streaming down her face, stopping only to wipe her nose on her sleeve. 

It reminded Noah of her empty expression when he’d finally made it down to her among the ruins, the earth around them sizzling and blackened, with gouges carved into it like wounds. And in the middle, Airazor’s body, half rotted from Scourge’s poison. 

Elena’s face had been blank, numbed by shock, even as he shakily took her in his arms. There was blood on her face, on her chest and her shoulders from where Airazor had violently grabbed her and swept her over trees and mountains, but even in his almost blind panic, Noah realized that her wounds could’ve, should’ve , been worse. Airazor’s talons could’ve pierced muscle, broken bone, mangled her soft human body in ways that didn’t bear imagining. 

Even while under the thrall of an untold, alien evil, Airazor had died protecting Elena. Though that was of cold comfort to Elena. 

And while he could relate on some level—Noah had his own self-sacrificing guardian in the form of Mirage—the difference was that Mirage came back. So did Bumblebee. Airazor wasn’t so lucky, and Elena had been alone when she watched her friend die, drawn out and painful. 

So Noah tried to be there for her when he could, when she wanted him there. But the more Elena pulled away, the more he found his purpose with the Autobots. 

Charlie was the same way, going so far as to leave her family and what might’ve been a comfortable life out in California cause a bunch of aliens needed a mechanic. The thing was, not only was she damn good at her job, she thrived around the bots. Noah had gotten over his fear of being stepped on/swatted like a bug/shot with a deadly space laser pretty fast, in his opinion, but Charlie acted like fear had never crossed her mind.

It amazed him how effortlessly she scaled Bumblebee’s frame, not just to complete repairs but to cuddle up with him during movie nights, or even on a random Tuesday morning briefing, always fully confident of which handholds were safe, that Bumblebee would keep still, and she was right every time. She ordered around the bots in medbay like a little Ratchet Jr., even cannon-toting behemoths like Ironhide, who even Mirage thought twice about pissing off. 

By contrast, Noah had only ever worked on Mirage and swung between anxious sleep deprivation and nausea basically the entire time. And sure, he got Mirage back in one piece, walking and talking just like his old self, but in the end it still felt like sheer dumb luck. 

Mirage underwent a deep frame scan as soon as Ratchet could coax/threaten his way into the garage, to determine “just what kind of unholy mess” Noah had left behind. Noah might’ve been more offended, and worried about having fucked up after all, if Mirage hadn’t rolled his eyes and loudly whispered, “He’s just butthurt about so many humans upstaging him,” automatically censoring himself on account of Kris, who was trying to get a look at the new robot crouched in their garage. 

Ratchet did end up declaring Noah’s work “passable,” which might as well have been a standing ovation. But more importantly, it got Ratchet to start mentoring him alongside Charlie. It was only practical, what with just one Cybertronian medic to go around, and as much as Ratchet bitched about the risk of their tiny organic fingers getting jammed between transformation seams or their lack of protective shell, Noah knew he wasn’t imagining the little approving nod Ratchet made when Charlie removed the dents from Bee’s doorwings without additional pain or when Noah helped him find and crimp the fuel lines spilling out into Brainstorm’s partly crushed torso cavity. 

Noah and Charlie got thrown together early on as the only human Autobots (Kris’ membership was pending until he turned eighteen), and they partly served as sort of a go-between for the other mecha and G.I. Joe, but it was training together that brought them closer as friends. 

Since leaving the army—hell, since graduation—Noah increasingly isolated himself. He jumped from job to job so Ma would finally have help with hospital bills and start taking those night classes she’d been talking about for years. He joined the army because it meant a steady paycheck, free college, a sense of purpose—so said the recruitment officer smiling over a stack of brochures in his high school gym. What he got was his Ma struggling alone, Kris teaching himself to suffer in silence, and a black mark on Noah’s record because he put his family before a flag. 

Even among the Joes, Charlie had been alone. Far from anyone she knew and constantly on the move, she’d only joined as a means to keep Bumblebee and the Autobots safe. She wasn’t a soldier, and like Noah, her loyalty to the bots made her wary about trusting the Joes too much. 

It was a relief when they realized that they could trust each other. 

“You’re crazy.”

“Charlie,” Noah managed, holding back a laugh, but was interrupted before he could get anything else out.

“Crazy!” she declared, throwing her hands in the air and pacing away from her console. “That is not how spark chambers work! You can’t just rewire them.”

Noah did laugh this time, reaching out to Charlie as she stormed away. “Wha-hey! C’mon, Charlie, it’s not rewiring , I’m relying on redundant systems to piggyback off each other during emergency open spark surgery only . Charlie, come back! Run the simulation for yourself.”

Charlie stopped pacing at the other end of the medbay’s human-sized scaffolding and hit Noah with a Ratchet-grade scowl. He reminded himself that he had military training and she did not as she stomped back over to her console, stubbornly not looking at him as she keyed in the redundancy system he’d just applied. 

The glow of the hologram ( hologram , bonafide, because his boring old life was fucking Star Trek now) splayed across their faces and chimed once when the simulation was complete. All greens across the board, and Noah glanced away, trying not to look too smug. 

“Oh shut up,” Charlie said, but she was laughing now too, shoving him as she sat back down. “You’re showing that to Ratchet when he gets back and I’m gonna watch him and his oil pressure hit the ceiling.”

“No problem,” Noah sneered, elbowing her right back. “That’ll be right before he agrees that I was right and promotes me to CMO-in training.”

By the time Mirage swanned in, gleaming and clearly fresh from the washracks, Charlie had Noah in a headlock and he was holding one of her mixtapes hostage over the railing. 

“What’s up, nerds?” he announced, throwing himself onto one of the medbay tables with all the confidence of a mech who knew he was out of wrench-tossing range with Ratchet far from base, investigating a possible Autobot crash site with Optimus. “That doesn’t look like nerd homework. You finally done, or do I have to report you to teacher?”

Finding an even greater enemy in her sights, Charlie released Noah and he handed her back her mixtape. A truce, for now. 

“Are you also gonna tell Ratch you’re the one who broke his energon scanner pretending it was a lightsaber?” Charlie asked sweetly. “Cuz I’d be happy to.”

Mirage practically rolled off the exam table with the force of his betrayed dramatics. “Et tu, Noah? You promised you wouldn’t tell!”

“Ah, ah, don’t bring me into it,” Noah said, waving a hand at him. He fiddled around on his console, knowing that Mirage wouldn’t recognize his work as already completed and call him out on it. He just needed a few minutes to get a hold of himself; he could already feel the beginnings of a blush turning his ears red and he didn’t need it to get any worse. 

It was happening more and more often now, Noah getting overwhelmed, flustered , around Mirage, because of Mirage. They hadn’t seen each other since last night, when Mirage left for patrol, and Noah hadn't been prepared for the way he lounged in front of him, his sleek, polished curves on full display under the dimmed lights of the medbay. And Mirage couldn’t know that Noah was checking him out —realizing that he found giant robots attractive (or just one in particular) was his secret. He was pretty sure that a different alien race wasn’t meant to fall under the umbrella of bisexuality. Probably. 

Charlie relented, and Mirage was allowed to live another day. “Where’s Bee, anyway?” she asked, shutting down her console with a flick. “Weren’t the two of you on patrol?”

“Huh?” Noah glanced up just in time to see Mirage look away from him and back at Charlie. “Oh, yeah. B Squared is still in the wash racks cuz he decided to do a little offroading and got like half of the Canadian wilderness wedged in his undercarriage.”

  Charlie sat back, looking pleased. “Oh, good.”

Mirage leaned forward with the sort of shit-eating grin that put Noah on high alert. “Why? Hot date tonight?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Typical!” Mirage threw his hands in the air. “I should’ve guessed with Bumblebee’s girlfriend’s back, it’d just be me and Noah from now on. But like a wise man once said, bros before—”

In a flash, Charlie was brandishing one of the tools she almost always carried on her person, this one a wrench. “Finish that sentence, and I’m gonna have to undue all of Noah’s hard work putting you back together.” She only sounded like she was half joking. 

“Who, me?” Mirage rolled to his feet, self-effacing as Kris when he got caught on his Gameboy at 2 am. “I didn’t say anything. What’s that?” He held his hand up to his comm link, well and truly hamming it up now. “Sorry, I’m getting a call from Ms. Diaz, gotta take this.”

Charlie scoffed. “Coward!” 

Noah, silent and reeling from hearing the words Bumblebee’s girlfriend , mentally shook himself off. “Why’s Ma calling you?” he managed, and thought he sounded mostly normal when he said it. 

Mirage was already walking backwards toward the Autobot-sized doorway. Making a strategic retreat, as it were. “Maybe she knows I’ll actually remember to stop and pick up eggs on the way home this weekend,” he said smugly. 

A laugh burst out of Noah, as out of his control as that old familiar fondness welling up in his chest, pressing against his ribs and shooting down to warm his fingertips. As off-kilter as he felt, their banter was a welcome comfort. “Funny, I don’t remember seeing your chrome-plated ass at Manny’s. He install new ceilings to fit your big head?”

“Well who’s driving you to Manny’s, huh?” Mirage snipped back. 

Noah pointed at the doorway. “You gonna call Ma or not, man?”

“I am! And we’re gonna talk about you behind your back!” he spun around on his heelstrut and stalked out into the hall and Noah definitely didn’t use his higher vantage point to stare at the sway of his hips as he went. 

Mirage uttered a surprisingly sincere, “Buenas, Ms. Diaz! And how’s the most beautiful girl in the star system doing today?” as he disappeared around the corner. Considering Mirage had done something to the landline to let it tap into his comm, it was entirely possible that Ma had wanted to talk. At any rate, he was easier to reach than Noah. 

With Mirage gone, he finally shut down his console, not needing the distraction as a cover any more. 

Charlie spoke up beside him, strangely subdued. “Your mom’s met Mirage?”

Noah huffed a laugh, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “Oh yeah, he’s the new favorite. Doesn’t give her any attitude—it’s all ‘yes, ma’am,’ ‘whatever you say, Ms. Diaz’ with him. She loves it.”

“My mom met Bee. Once,” Charlie admitted with a rueful smile. Noah straightened at once. As much as he talked about his family, Charlie did the exact opposite. He knew that they thought she was just a normal automotive tech, nothing to do with the Autobots. 

“Yeah?” he said, gently encouraging. 

Charlie sighed. “It was years ago, but it didn’t go great. She wouldn’t talk to him. Would barely even look at him. Bee . My best friend. The only one who really saw me after my dad…” She took a deep breath, shaking her head as she composed herself. 

Noah’s heart went out to her. Mirage was so integral to his life now that he couldn’t imagine what he’d do if Kris wanted nothing to do with him. Or if Ma hadn’t overcome her initial, understandable fear of the twelve foot tall alien robot and accepted him as a dorky latecomer to the family. 

It was doubly hard because Bee and Charlie were so good for each other. She was never happier than when Bumblebee was with her and since she arrived, Bee had been using the radio to speak in sentence fragments, not just whatever witty movie lines fit the situation. He felt more present, more real, as he allowed his personality to come out to play. 

“I’m sorry,” Noah said heavily. Embarrassment twinged in his gut but he went on. “And I’m sorry for what ‘Raj said back there. I know most people don’t appreciate the girlfriend jokes. I swear, he gets half his sense of humor from Kris.”

Charlie blinked. “What joke?” she asked. 

Noah winced. “Y’know, about you being Bee’s girlfriend or whatever,” he said haltingly. 

“You didn’t…” She trailed off, still staring at him like he’d sprouted a second head. “No one told you?”

“Told me what?” he demanded, exasperated now. Charlie just kept watching him, but she was smirking now, raising her eyebrows like she was waiting for him to come to some…grand realization…

Like a blast from Scourge’s canon, he was struck dumb. 

“You’re... It’s not a joke?” He gaped, torn between shock and disbelief. Shock was winning out. Was this what an out of body experience felt like? Were his hands numb? “But–but he’s–you’re not–you and-and Bee —”

Charlie’s expression fell. “Is it that weird?”

Blind panic rushed in, thickening his tongue and making his nerves sing, neither of which was anymore conducive to speaking clearly. “What? No, it’s–I mean,” Noah stumbled all over himself, feeling like a jackass and a hypocrite. 

Charlie laughed at his stuttering, giving him a shove. “I’m joking, of course it’s weird! At least from our perspective.”

“But not–not for the bots?” he guessed weakly. 

“Nah,” she drawled. “That's probably why none of them thought to bring it up. It’s not exactly common, but apparently they’ve been conjunxing with aliens since they started traveling off Cybertron, like a billion years ago or whatever.” 

Noah was really starting to feel like he’d been hit over the head. “Con… what?”  

“Wow,” Charlie said, slowly shaking her head in disbelief. “No one told you anything, huh? I mean, I guess I thought you and Mirage…”

His chest went tight, and something distinctly heart shaped leapt up into his throat. “What about Mirage and me?”

Charlie ignored his question. “Conjunx endurae are like spouses. It’s the Cybertronian equivalent of marriage.” 

“They…they have that?” 

He felt stupid even as he said it. The bots were as alive as he was, he’d known that from almost the first second he sat in Mirage’s alt mode and felt an energy thrumming around him, like the anticipation of a held breath before the plunge. He’d seen with his own eyes as the bots laughed, grieved, shot the shit. He knew Mirage loved Kris, and that Optimus would kill, fight, and die for any of his Autobots. Was it the idea of them falling in love that was brain breaking? Or who they could fall in love with?

Charlie looked amused, but thankfully she didn’t laugh in his face (again) like he probably deserved. “What, dating? Marriage? Just because they don’t have sex like we do—”

Alarm bells, loud as the blood pounding through his ears, went off in his mind. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I don’t wanna know!” 

Charlie did laugh this time and he felt about three inches tall as he ducked his head, blushing furiously. “Sorry, I didn’t mean–I meant…I was just trying to say…are you and Bee…?” he finished lamely. 

“Conjunxed?” Charlie said, clearly pitying him. “No, we’re not there yet.”

“‘Yet’?”

“Bee wants to wait a bit. Complete the ritus properly, he says. I think he’s just worried I’ll have second thoughts. Fat chance of that.” Charlie smiled fondly, her voice going soft the same way it did when she spoke to Bumblebee. 

It was so obvious now, the love between them, and not the friendly kind he’d blinded himself into assuming was the only option. It all took on new meaning: the way Bee’s optics never left Charlie whenever they were in the same room, or how tenderly she always touched him, whether to make repairs or climb into his arms for a hug, cradling his jaw with her palms as though his alloy were fragile as glass. 

“How long have you been together?” Noah asked, curious.

“Seven years last month,” Charlie replied proudly.

A rush of air blew through his mouth, leaving him hollow and a little lightheaded. Seven years. And most of them were spent apart, from what Noah understood. Not that that stopped them. A human and the Cybertronian that she chanced into meeting. That she saved. Together. Committed to staying together. 

Noah’s eyes dropped, palms sweating as he tapped on his knees. “So…it’s not weird?” His voice wavered, making him grimace. “For a human and…and a bot to…”

He was just making Charlie repeat herself at this point. And for what? To soothe his own insecurities? To make him feel like he actually had a chance of…

“Be together?” Charlie finished the sentence for him again. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “No. Why? Do you have someone in mind?”

Noah’s breath hitched. Every unspoken word in his throat dried up and turned to dust, crumbling down to choke him because.

The thing was. 

The thing was, Noah knew he was in love with Mirage. 

He’d known since he came downstairs to find his Ma in the garage folding laundry with Mirage, the bot dividing his focus between the tiny clothes in his hands, their conversation in Spanish, and the novela playing on the boxy CRT they usually used for video games. Since Mirage opened his optics for the first time after Peru and said Noah’s name, tender like a prayer. Since Mirage showed him the walkie in his wrist as they waded through a river. Since Mirage smiled down at him, the warmth in his optics devastating as any blow, as blaster bolts tore apart his body.

Noah had never been in love like this before, had never felt it creep up on him in a hundred different ways and still feel like a foregone conclusion. He’d devoted himself to his family and their love was all he thought he’d ever have, ever need, but then Mirage barreled into his life and made him feel seen , not as the older brother or faithful son, not the failed soldier. Just him. And the loneliness in him found a kindred spirit in Mirage, who was alone even surrounded by his fellows, and he reached out to Noah too. Just Noah.

And maybe that made him selfish, having all that attention and open affection directed at him by a being that took his breath away every time he turned to look. But it had been a private selfishness, furthered by the certainty that his hands would never touch Mirage’s body for any reason that wasn’t professional, to fix and heal. The friendly warmth of Mirage’s optics would never turn to love when directed at Noah. They would never belong to each other in the way Noah already accepted he’d given himself to Mirage. He would never learn if Cybertronians kissed the way humans did. 

He’d been quiet for way too long, which was an answer in of itself. When Noah risked a glance Charlie’s way, probably looking as pathetic as he felt, she just nodded sagely. 

“I knew it. It’s Wheeljack isn’t it?

Noah choked on his next inhale, dissolving into hacking laughter as Charlie looked on unapologetically. “That little shit?” he gasped out. Wheeljack might play at being the harmless nerd, but he was just a different flavor of mad scientist than Brainstorm, and a worse instigator than Kris.

“Okay, okay,” Charlie said, waving her arms. “Real talk. It’s Mirage. Obviously.”

Obviously . 

Noah tried, uselessly, to swallow. “Does…does Mirage know?”  

“Mirage is an idiot,” Charlie said, fixing him with a look that said she thought Noah was really the idiot here. “He doesn’t know anything. And he won’t know, until you tell him.”

The thing was. 

The thing was, Noah could face down giant aliens, warzones, even planet-devouring gods. That was all survival. 

But the risk of cracking open his heart for Mirage and seeing his expression turn apologetic and guilty as he found a gentle way to turn him down because Mirage was many things, and cruel wasn’t close to being one of them, was too great. 

They were best friends. They were partners. They were boys. And Noah didn’t know what he’d do if he lost that. 

Chapter Text

Until Noah saw Unicron with his own two eyes, a gaping orange maw taking shape beyond the churning storm clouds of the transwarp, he hadn’t been able to fully wrap his head around the idea of a planet-killer. 

Giant, alien robots that transformed into cars were one thing, and already insane enough on its own, but an evil robot god hellbent on eating entire planets? And the aforementioned giant robots were telling him that Earth was next on the menu? 

It was brainbreaking. Impossible to imagine. Comic book shit, the kind where Superman would fly up into space and punch the evil planet into dust and save the day. 

Even when Noah had his borrowed gauntlet poised over their half of the transwarp key, trembling and telling himself to fire, the sounds of battle raging in his ears as he gritted his teeth against the urge to puke, he wasn’t thinking about saving the whole world. How could he? He wasn’t Superman. 

He thought of Little Manny at the corner bodega. His ex-boyfriend who couldn’t even wait till he left for bootcamp to send him a Dear John letter. Reek and the Twizzler obsession he adopted so he’d quit smoking. 

Ma. Just…Ma. What more was there to say? Between work, night classes, and Kris’ rising hospital visits, the last thing she needed to worry about was his jobless ass, but she still helped him scour the classifieds and came into his room to press a kiss against his hair when he stayed up late fixing another neighbor’s VCR for way too little money. 

Kris, who was stronger than Noah could ever be, who deserved to have a life, to be healthy and make friends and be a kid. Not to worry about his own body betraying him and knowing that they didn’t have the money to make him better. Making do with warm compresses and Noah’s clumsy massages to ease the stiffness in his little brother’s cold, skinny fingers. 

Destroying the transwarp key wasn’t about saving the world. It was about saving his family. 

But then the transwarp gate tore open, and Unicron started to take shape in all his unholy glory, and Noah’s understanding of the world was shaken for the second time since the car he tried to steal spat him out onto a cold warehouse floor, broke apart and reformed into twelve foot tall member of a wartorn alien race. 

The threat of the planet-killer was no longer an impossible to imagine, abstract horror. It was real, and raining hell down on his head.

And Noah’s understanding of the world—of the universe—shifted again. Planets could die. Planets could be killed. 

His whole world used to stop at the end of the block. Now, the galaxy rolled out around him, all the way to Cybertron and back. 

And like a foregone conclusion, the final dregs of Cybertron’s war had come to Earth. 

Almost two months to the day since Prowl’s devastating report, the Decepticons made landfall. Careful monitoring revealed them as soon as they reached the solar system, but it wasn’t until they hit atmo that their target became clear. 

The Grand Canyon, like the Cordillera de Vilcabamba, was rich with veins of energon lying dormant in the rock until the transwarp gate opened. That’s where they first found Brainstorm, trying to extract the energon, to explosive effect.

That, too, had been Noah’s first introduction to emergency surgery. With only Mirage and Ironhide for backup, Ratchet had needed all the help he could get to stop the energon bubbling out of Brainstorm’s shattered chassis. 

Extracting the energon became a priority, but one they’d shelved until they could actually find a safe way to do so that didn’t blow up a national landmark or the Autobots trying to get it. 

The Decepticons didn’t exactly share the same concerns. 

Months of training couldn’t match the fervor of real battle, the grit of smoke and scorched earth as blasterfire left blackened craters in the dirt, the crush of giant metal bodies overhead. Noah navigated between the fighting as well as he could from within his exosuit, HUD identifying friend from foe, safe routes through the chaos, and which of his weapons were still online. 

A bestial shriek tore through the air seconds before a blur of red and black divebombedd him, taking the gruesome shape of a metal vulture as it drew nearer. His HUD identified it as Lazerbeak in the instant before Mirage leapt forward with his blade, shearing through the cassette’s wing as it dodged too late and spun off into the brush with a pained squawk. 

Noah looked up from his shield, deployed a second too late, and let out a rattled breath. “Thanks, ‘Raj,” he murmured, hoping he could be heard over the comm even with the chaos rampaging around them. If not, the gratitude in his expression would have to be enough.

Mirage smiled down at him from under his seldom deployed battlemask, optics crinkling. “That’s what I’m here for, love.” 

Twin snarls alerted them to the presence of two more cassettes bearing down on them, Rumble and Frenzy, cracking the earth with their piledrivers. In unison, Noah and Mirage split up to engage them. Noah used his boosters to get overhead of the unstable ground and fired a series of shots at Frenzy, nailing him in the optic and collarfaring with a spurt of energon and cascading sparks. Meanwhile, Mirage disappeared in a sea of holographic decoys and reappeared leveling a punch that buried Rumble’s head in the rock. 

Noah landed solidly, the exosuit compensating for his inertia, and reunited with a waiting Mirage. A brief thumbs up and they were off again, delving into the chaos with blades singing and cannons charged. 

Mirage had stuck to his side like an extra-large shadow since the battle started, support and protector alike. The Autobots had run countless training missions with the Joes, and the soldiers were doing their best now to lay down cover fire, but Noah and Mirage had spent these long months learning how to fight as one. There would be no repeat of the transwarp bridge, with Mirage alone and overpowered while Noah was less than useless, protected by nothing more than the cotton of his shirt and Mirage’s body. 

They were on the uppermost rim of the Grand Canyon, somewhere that was thankfully free of civilians or buildings, but the terrain was doubly treacherous for all that. The orange earth crumbled and slanted underfoot, and they were pinned down only a few hundred feet from the edge and a sheer plummet of several thousand feet (around 7,000, his HUD helpfully informed him). And even then, they had bigger problems to worry about. 

The fighting was close quarters, throwing up rust colored dirt to obscure vision, with multiple Seekers taking to the air and firing down upon the mostly landlocked Autobots. Aileron and Brainstorm did their best to even the odds, but it was two against eight last Noah had checked. Though the rest of the Autobots were pitching in too. 

Optimus snatched Dirge out of midair and smashed him face first into the ground with a suplex worthy of WWE. Meanwhile Ironhide took potshots at Slipstream and Ramjet, nailing the first straight through the cockpit and sending her careening into the opposite end of the canyon in a fiery blaze before clipping Ramjet’s wing and forcing him to land, where Ratchet was waiting with his own handheld blasters and wicked aim. 

There had been briefings, plenty of them, about the Decepticons they might encounter. It was a refresher for the bots but a full introduction for Noah, who only knew the names he’d been told in war stories. Now he knew names, faces, and their crimes, all as alien and horrifying as they were. 

Firing from high above and shrieking with a voice like nails on chalkboard was Starscream, Air Commander and Second-in-Command to Megatron, who’d led the annihilation of Praxus. G.I. Joe had jets trying to personally shoot him out of the sky, alongside every Autobot not locked in active combat. 

There was Soundwave, spy and communications officer. Alarmingly tall and spindly, he had a blank reflective surface for a face and was the source of all the cassettes who had it out for Noah. He caught a glimpse of Bumblebee going after him, the yellow bot a blur of blades and blaster fire as he crowed, “ I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass… and I’m all out of bubblegum!”

Noah didn’t get a chance to see the outcome before a deafening crack, like a lightning strike, rent the air behind him and Mirage. A new Seeker appeared in a flash of red that left her afterimage seared into Noah’s vision, huge and hellish. Her plating was black, purple and gunmetal gray, with burning rings of crimson for optics: Skywarp. One of Starscream’s trine. An outlier like Mirage, she could teleport over short distances. And she was grinning at them like the cat that caught the canary. 

“Shit,” Mirage muttered.

“Miragey!” Skywarp called out in a syrupy voice. “Long time no see, sweetspark.”

Mirage trained his cannon on her head. “Yeah, not long enough,” he snarked, all casual bravado. But Noah saw the way Mirage’s other hand hovered over him, like Mirage was fighting the urge to grab him and run. 

Skywarp was so much taller than Mirage, her silhouette thickened by her wings and cockpit folded over her chassis. Noah swallowed dryly, forcibly pushing aside any comparisons to Scourge that his brain wanted to make. They weren’t alone this time. Mirage wasn’t alone.

Skywarp giggled, flexing her talons as she started to move, circling them with glee. Mirage moved his blaster arm to follow her. 

“What’re the chances that we’d run into each other on the same disgusting little mudball? So much organic life,” she said with an exaggerated little shudder. “Wasn’t that friend of yours a fan? The one I met on Biosfera trying to protect those little hairy things. Oh, he screamed for ages. What was his name? Hoard?”

“Hound,” Mirage snapped, the humming of his cannon growing in intensity, until Noah could feel the vibration in his own armor. He hoped he was the only one who heard how Mirage’s voice wavered. “And you better keep his name outta your mouth.” 

Noah pressed his hand against Mirage’s thigh. “Keep it together, bravo,” he murmured over the comm, not taking his eyes off Skywarp. 

“Come now, Miragey,” she whined, even going so far as to pout. “What if I rounded up some of those squishies over there? They’re so much fun to play with before they pop.” 

Noah fought against a shudder at the mental image but Mirage—Mirage flinched . He stepped back, keeping Noah in his shadow, but it was enough. Skywarp’s eyes tracked the movement like a shark that scented blood. The smile that split her black lips made Noah’s heart stop in his chest. 

“Ooh, you’ve got a fleshy little pet!” she crooned giddily. “All to yourself, too. Are they good sport? On those little legs.”

Tendrils of crimson, like arcing electricity, wrapped around Skywarp’s body and with a deafening bang —she disappeared. 

Only to reappear a split second later and vanish just as fast.

Flash

Flash 

Flash 

With each blink, Skywarp appeared somewhere new. On their right, their left, in front of them again, purposely disorientating them and cackling the entire time. 

Noah swore, turning in a tight circle with his blasters live but functionally useless without a fixed target. Above him, Mirage growled before projecting half a dozen doubles, each of them as furious and jumpy as the original. 

Then, behind Noah, a lilting voice whispered. “Can I play with him too?”

Bands of iron wrapped around his middle, ripping him off the ground. It was so sudden, he couldn’t even draw breath to cry out. The world spun end over end in blurs of nauseating color, and when it finally righted, he was dangling so high off the ground that Mirage looked small beneath him. The wrongness of that shook him as much as the talons pinning his arms to his sides, Skywarp’s grip so punishing that without his exosuit Noah was sure all his ribs would’ve snapped. 

“Noah,” Mirage gasped, sounding wretched. His doubles stood around him in a frozen tableau. 

“Mir–” Skywarp’s hand clenched, cutting Noah off with a wheeze. 

“Noah,” she repeated slowly, as if she was savoring the shape of the new word on her tongue. “Noah, Noah, Noah. So much simpler than what’s-his-name. Are you Miragey’s new partner? Your shiny shell matches his.” She brought Noah up to her face, so close he could see the individual segments of what passed for her teeth. For a breathless second, he was terrified she was going to bite his head off. “Any last words, No-No Noah?”

With his arms pinned, couldn’t maneuver with his blade or even fire his blaster without blowing his own leg off. He was useless to Mirage, just like before. Only this time, he couldn’t even say goodbye. He couldn’t even look at him to say—

“Raj,” Noah gritted out. Tears burned the back of his eyes, only partly from the pain of Skywarp’s crushing grip. “‘M sorry. Please—Kris—”

He strained to keep his eyes open, but could only hear the way Mirage’s voiceprint went harsh with fear. “Shut up, Noah!”  

Skywarp shook him from side to side, and his head jerked painfully with the movement. He bit back a groan as she said, “Aww, won’t you hear him out, Miragey? He doesn’t have much time left.”

“You don’t get to talk! You don’t get to touch him!” Mirage snarled, all of them, before they lunged. 

Noah’s world went dark, like something out of a movie. Color and chaos one moment, blank the next. 

When he came back to himself, they were rolling, end over end, and Noah felt the claws around him loosen before he fell. He hit the ground hard, enough to drive the breath from his lungs even with the protection of the exosuit, and he rolled some more. His vision was a whirlwind of orange sand and blue, blue sky. 

Then finally, he was still. He pushed himself up off the dirt and the world kept on spinning. Around him, the battle raged on in blurs of flashing metal, red and black and glowing blue of spilled energon.

He turned, his head heavy, like it was full of lead and his neck was rubber. On some instinct, imagined or otherwise, he turned away from the fighting and looked toward the cliff’s edge. Gunmetal black and purple–Skywarp—on her knees. Arms pinned behind her back, but one that was reaching, clawing at a blue and silver face, inches away from burying into one of a pair of blue eyes. Blue, blue eyes, bluer than the sky, staring straight back at Noah. 

And in that instant, his vision snapped back into focus. 

Mirage had one blade embedded in Skywarp’s midsection, another in her forearm, keeping her talons from digging any further into his face. They were teetering on the edge of the canyon, swaying backward, tipping, tipping further the more Skywarp struggled, hissing like a feral cat. 

His and Mirage’s eyes locked and the rest of the world dropped away. 

“Noah,” he said. 

With a flash of silver, his blade moved and he separated Skywarp’s head from her body. In the next breath, they both disappeared, tumbling over the side of the cliff. 

.

.

.

Noah’s mind whited out. 

He couldn’t breathe. His chest spasmed, but no air filled his lungs. Blackness was crowding in to replace the white, spots dancing across his vision. The sky was too blue. 

He took a step forward. It almost took all his strength. 

Another step. 

Was he shaking?

A blink, and he was running, sprinting with all his might for the edge. His lungs burned as his legs ate up the short distance, and he ground to a halt a mere foot away from the edge. His exosuit compensated, the boots clamping down to keep him from tumbling over the side and into the yawning emptiness below. 

His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his teeth and he was sure his armor trembled from the force. That his ribs would crack and cave in. Blood roared through his head, loud as Stratosphere’s engines. 

He fell to his knees and leaned over the drop. 

7,000 feet, his HUD reminded him. That’s how deep the canyon went here. The emptiness was gaping, the wind fierce, and the bottom a distant smudge of brown cut through by the shiny ribbon of the river. But the metal plating of a Cybertronian was impossible to miss against the earthy orange and browns of the canyon. A Cybertronian, or two, shattered against the rocks.

Fingers trembling, Noah activated his comm. 

“Mirage,” he said, a whisper of sound. “M-Mirage, can you hear me?” He got louder as the silence stretched on and on, hearing nothing but his own heavy breathing and the clash of metal titans behind him. “Mirage, baby, I need you to answer me. Please. Mirage . Damn it, Mirage. Answer me! Are you there? Can you hear me?” 

He clung to the edge, his gloved fingers digging furrows into the earth. He wished he was out of the exosuit so he could feel the painful grit against his skin. Feel anything that wasn’t his heart shattering and the shards tearing his insides bloody. 

“Fuck,” Noah hissed, his lashes heavy with tears. The canyon morphed into one big brown blur.

A crash next to him and blue eyes filled his vision. They were all wrong, though.

“Noah!” Bumblebee shouted in dismay, a recording of Charlie’s voice, spliced with others. “What happened? Where’s….Mirage?”

Noah pointed. He couldn’t say the words. Besides, if he opened his mouth now, he’d probably start screaming. 

Bumblebee’s big optics circled even wider. He spun, leaning over the edge as Noah had done and saw what Noah had seen. 

A long, pained warble rose out of his chest. “We can’t,” Bumblebee babbled. His expression was an apology. “ We can’t.”

Noah nodded, the barest movement of his head. “I know, Bee,” he rasped. 

The dirt next to him erupted in a hail of blasterfire, but Noah hardly reacted. He watched, like he was outside of his body, a dispassionate observer, as Bumblebee furiously returned fire. His battle mask dropped back over his face, and the blue of his optics dimmed through the slats, replaced with a darkening red. 

Noah pushed himself back onto his feet. He felt numb after shoving his agony down deep, cramming it into a box and viciously locking it shut. He was compartmentalizing, like he hadn’t done since he was Private Diaz and his only friend from basic training slumped against him with dead, dark eyes. 

“Let’s finish this, huh?”

He and Bumblebee had trained together almost as much as he’d trained with Mirage, so it was an easy adjustment for them both, even now. For as much as Noah knew (from Charlie) that Bee didn’t like fighting, no other Autobot besides Optimus and Ironhide was as good at it as he was. He was a demon on the battlefield, putting his entire spark into every punch, every running leap and blastershot. He was all lethal intent in a bright, round package, but even in Peru, after literally coming back from the dead, Noah had never known him to fight while utterly silent before. 

Truly mute for maybe the first time, Bee wasn’t using his radio for quips or sound effects, or even using his radio at all. 

Even in the heat of battle, Bee could be a little shit and crack jokes, moreso now with so many other Autobots to shoulder the weight of Prime’s expectations. But this Bee was a creature of passion. Rage like nothing Noah had ever seen, so powerful it rattled his plating until he was buzzing like his namesake. It had him nailing Novastorm’s jet-engine heel with a series of blasterbolts and forcing her to land, where he pounced and stabbed furiously at her wings and back. 

Almost in contrast, Noah was cold. Clinical, as he used everything his medical training taught him to cause harm as efficiently as possible. 

Sever the heelstrut, and the leg collapses. Slice a primary energon line and the mech will be drained in minutes. A precise shot through the optic will pierce the brain module. 

He trained to be a medic so he could protect Mirage. So he could try to pay him back for the way he so effortlessly took care of Noah’s family and burned his life away for Noah without hesitation. 

Now, Noah could only use his training to hurt those that took Mirage away from him.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before there was a lull in the fighting. Where there had been clashing metal, the whine of blasterfire, grunts and screams, it was suddenly so silent that Noah could hear the wind whistling through the canyon.

Noah ached , from his heart down to his toes, a burning exhaustion that he only felt once he stopped moving. His blade dripped energon and his blaster was almost dangerously overheated. He remembered the desperate, dirty fighting of the last several minutes (hours, days?) as if through a fog. 

Above him, Bumblebee twitched, one arm curled protectively around Noah, his helm on a swivel. 

Then, the ground began to rumble. Small stones bounced, and Noah reached for Bee’s calf to keep from falling over. 

An earthquake? Right now? 

No. The ‘Bots and ‘Cons reacted, but in polar opposite ways. He watched Bumblebee’s battle mask actually retract, awe painting his optics blue again. Starscream sounded the retreat, his screeching the only sound other than the thunder beneath their feet. Until that changed too. 

A warbling hum filled the air, making Noah’s hair stand on end and his teeth vibrate in their sockets. From within the canyon, a colossal golden shape rose as if born from the rock itself, at least five football fields long. It reminded Noah of the scale of the transwarp gate, impossibly huge, impossibly alien . 

A spaceship. Bona fide. 

Noah gave himself a good ten seconds to just gape at it. At this point, he’d earned it. 

“They’re on our side, right?” he croaked. 

Bumblebee knocked him gently in the shoulder and made a teasing sort of buzzing sound.

The surviving Decepticons were specks on the horizon by the time the ship touched down, leaving their dead behind. Optimus didn't order a pursuit. 

The air calmed, even with the lingering stench of smoke and the ozone tang of spilled energon, and as the Autobots took stock of each other, Noah allowed himself a moment to be relieved that they hadn’t lost anyone else. 

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Bumblebee’s shadow and face the others’ grief and pity. The pain he’d put aside for the good of the mission was returning with a vengeance now that he had nothing to distract him. 

Lungs struggled to take in air, tears blurred his vision and his head ached from Skywarp’s manhandling. The agony of losing Mirage was like losing a limb, like someone reached into his chest with clawed fingers and ripped out half of his heart. 

His cheeks were streaked with tears, Noah couldn’t stop them at this point. He retracted the face shield, the gauntlets, the entire exosuit, until he was left standing sweaty fatigues, weak-kneed and swiping futility at his face. Maybe not the wisest decision, but the battle was over, and he knew Bumblebee wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He also didn’t care. 

Noah got Mirage killed. Again . But this time there was nothing left for him to rebuild. 

What was he gonna tell Ma? What was he gonna tell Kris?

What was he going to do with the rest of his life besides drown in regret? 

Noah should’ve told Mirage that he loved him. He should’ve kissed him on their last day at the lake. In the garage with MTV playing quietly in the background. Or after their first training session, when Noah was sweaty and buzzing with adrenaline and Mirage was crouched over him, laughing at one of his dumb jokes until his vents made that cute wheezing sound he vehemently denied. 

Noah should have had the guts to fucking tell him.  

It was enough to bring him to his knees, and clinging to the back of Bee’s leg was probably the only thing keeping him standing. 

When Noah looked up again, Ratchet was picking his way over to them. He’d seen to the more critically injured first (no one was worse off than Aileron, who had her wing torn clear off, but luckily she’d only been a few dozen feet off the ground when it happened). 

Bumblebee shuffled closer to Noah as Ratchet scanned him and immediately clucked over the broad gash in the scout’s arm that revealed sparking circuitry. It wasn’t too deep, and not a single fuel line was touched, but it looked pretty nasty, jagged and scorched on the edges from a blaster bolt at close range.

“What’ve you done to yourself?” Ratchet sighed, slapping a temporary mesh patch on the wound. 

Bumblebee shrugged sullenly. 

Ratchet turned his optics on Noah, and the chagrin that softened his frame made Noah want to puke. 

“And you, Noah?” he asked, almost tentative. “Any injuries to report?” 

Noah could feel the scan passing over his body even as the words left Ratchet’s mouth. On any other day, he might’ve laughed and given Ratchet shit for not trusting him. But on this day he could only meet his mentor’s eye for a few seconds before he ducked his head, closing his eyes against the misery swimming through him, viscous as tar, and poisoning him from the inside out.

“Nah, Ratch,” he muttered, knowing he’d be heard. 

A mechanical hiss was enough to draw his attention. 

A doorway was opening in the gold spaceship, the likes of which the best sci-fi movies wished they could imitate. Several new Autobots emerged, varying in colors and size. Some, toting guns, were clearly establishing a perimeter. Others ran straight for Noah’s Autobots, greeting each other with hugs, clasped hands, and the sound of Latin spoken via garbage disposal that was the Cybertronian language.

One Autobot, a lean, black and white mech with a red chevron on his forehead, stood out from the rest. He looked familiar to Noah, so he kept watching him as he crossed the battlefield, a rifle held steadily in his hands. The doorwings high on his back twitched every which way, gathering information from around him—conducting surveillance without even batting an eye. 

He stowed his rifle once he reached Optimus, who was suddenly standing much closer to Noah than he remembered five minutes ago. Noah probably wasn’t imagining the worried look Optimus shot him either.

The black and white mech bowed lightly, a slight incline of his helm. “Prime,” he said, nearly monotone. He looked to Ratchet and nodded to him as well. “Medic. Arriving with reinforcements, as requested.”

Optimus reached out and clasped the mech’s hand between both of his. “Lieutenant Prowl,” he intoned, optics softened by his hidden smile. “You’ve arrived just in time, my friend.”

“If that were true, we would have arrived joors before the battle had begun in order to provide you with a winning strategy,” Prowl responded stiffly, before tipping his head in a conciliatory gesture. “Though I suppose this worked out just as well.”

His icy blue optics left the Prime’s and flickered over the gathered Autobots, most of which snapped to attention the second his gaze landed on them. Noah wasn’t expecting that same piercing gaze to land on him. 

Their eyes locked, and alarm zinged up his spine when Prowl didn’t look away. Instead, he moved closer, so close that he would’ve been standing on top of Noah if Bumblebee hadn’t been running interference. 

Prowl was at least a head taller than Bee but that didn’t stop the scout from mad dogging him, crossing his bulky arms over his chest and pushing Prowl back. Bee still didn’t speak, but his angry buzzing was practically akin to growls. 

Noah leapt back, visions of a gnashing Skywarp flashing through his mind and sending his heart shooting up into his throat. While he got a hold of himself quick, he was still spooked and not a little confused to have become the focus of Prowl’s single-minded attention, especially considering he’d never met the guy. 

“Pardon me,” Prowl asked carefully from over Bee’s shoulder, utterly unfazed by the bodyguard act but at least he wasn’t trying to force his way past. “Are you Noah Diaz?” 

Even Bumblebee flinched at that, looking as confused as Noah felt. 

Noah eyed Prowl warily. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice coming out a rasp. “Who’s asking?”

Prowl’s brow furrowed, but the expression cleared as quickly as it appeared. “I see, you intended that rhetorically. Truthfully, I am asking on another’s behalf. Mirage was adamant I locate you and ensure you were still online and intact. As you are not missing any limbs as far as I can determine, I believe that to be the case.”

Noah stumbled, and would’ve hit the dirt if he hadn’t caught one of the grooves on the back of Bumblebee’s leg again. 

He heard wrong. He had to have heard wrong . 

“Who?” he wheezed. 

Prowl eyed him critically, like he suddenly wasn’t so sure about his quick-glance assessment of Noah’s health. “Mirage,” he said slowly. A miracle . “Were your audio receptors damaged in battle, Noah Diaz?”

Noah opened his mouth, but the only sound he was able to make was short and choked. His chest felt tight, too tight, and the rushing in his head began to make him tremble. He felt like he was dying. 

“Prowl,” Optimus interrupted urgently. “Are you saying that Mirage is still alive?” 

Prowl frowned. “Of course he’s alive. And a terrible patient, as always. He would have commandeered the medbay’s comm unit to demand an update on Noah Diaz’s condition every nanocycle if First Aid let him.”

“How?” Bumblebee blurted, his first words since Mirage fell. Fell but didn’t die . His radio was loud by Noah’s ear, and he realized that Bee was crouched by him now, holding him steady with a hand around his shoulders. 

“Teletran-1 located him in an alcove along the cliff face below us. He had been knocked into stasis and suffered some minor damage from the battle,” Prowl explained, his voice print strained as he became increasingly, visibly agitated. “Although…” He glanced quickly between Optimus, Bee, Ratchet and Noah’s stricken expressions. “I am beginning to suspect you weren’t aware of that.”

“Where is he?” Noah lurched forward, out from under Bee’s supportive grip, and ignored his friend’s bleat of alarm. He felt like he was about to pass out. He felt like he could fly . “Mirage,” he demanded again. “Where is he?”

Prowl blinked. “The Ark’s medbay, of course.”

And just like that, Noah was gone. 

He ran, faster than he’d ever run in his life. Forget basic training, forget the end of the world; his legs ate up the stretch of sand between him and the alien gangplank in what felt like seconds. The bots cried out behind him, but he didn’t care to listen, except for Bumblebee, who blared a giddy audio clip: "Have fun stormin' the castle!"

Noah scrambled up the entrance, his fingers catching the grooves in the metal, and ran through the opening and into an alien spaceship. He maybe should’ve engaged the exosuit again, in case the bots inside didn’t get the memo about the squishy humans being friendlies and decided to shoot first, ask questions later. But all he could think about, running through his head on loop, pounding like his heartbeat:

Of course he’s alive.

Of course.

Of course.

And anyway, Noah needn’t have worried about getting stepped on. While the halls were crowded with Autobots, all in varying sizes and colors like something out of one of Mirage’s holograms of Cybertron, they all leapt out of his way like people trying to avoid a rat scurrying between their feet. It was incredible to see so many Cybertronians in one place, to know that Mirage wasn’t as alone as Noah had feared just a few months ago, but that was all at the back of his mind right now.

Right now, he was single minded. He was also extremely lost. If there were signs pointing him in which direction to go, he was too short to see them. 

“Medbay,” he barked at the strange, boxy red and white Autobot with huge tires taking up most of the real estate on his shoulders who didn’t back away from him fast enough. “Where is it?”

“Oh, uh, that way,” the bot said at once, blatantly startled, and pointed down the hallway to Noah’s left.

Noah was running again from almost the second the bot started to raise his hand, but he threw a “Thanks, man,” over his shoulder before he could get too far. These bots were going to be his new teammates, after all. 

There were no further branching hallways from that point and the foot traffic died down until he was alone, his panting bouncing back at him from the five-story high ceilings. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but his pounding heart still skipped several beats when he reached a set of doors with the same four-pointed symbol as Ratchet’s medbay in Sigma-6, meant to represent a Cybertronian’s spark.

Noah walked right up, wondering if he should knock, when the doors slid open for him before he could even touch them. Not taking any chances, he bolted through as soon as the gap was wide enough. 

Inside, everything was Cybertronian-sized. Berths and counters laden with medical equipment towered over his head to an insane degree. Even back at base, surrounded by the bots 24/7, Noah had never been made to feel like one of the kids from Honey, I Shrunk the Kids , zapped when he wasn’t looking and thrust into an uncanny world. 

Organizing supplies beside an empty berth was a white and red Cybertronian with a solid blue visor in a masked face. Judging by the medic symbols on his shoulders, Noah guessed this was First Aid. 

He looked up when Noah all but threw himself into the medbay. 

“Mirage?” Noah gasped, incapable of saying anything else at this point. His chest was still heaving like he’d just run ten miles. Considering how ridiculously huge the Ark was, it was a real possibility.

The medic’s visor flashed, almost like a blink. “Oh, you must be the infamous Noah Diaz.” Even without a real face, Noah got the feeling that he was grinning. “I trained under Ratchet too, y’know. We’ll have to exchange horror stories later.” 

He pointed to one of a series of doors across from him, individual patient rooms maybe. 

“Mirage is in the middle. Try to tell him to keep still, yeah? His repairs still need a bit of time to settle.”

Noah nodded dumbly, unable to speak at all now. His heart pounded as though he were still running, sprinting for Mirage’s life, and the stillness of an empty medbay was almost more of a shock than the gunfire of the last hour. 

Mirage was just behind that door. It felt too good to be true. It felt impossible . 

Twenty feet away. Then fifteen. Ten. Five.

Like before, the door slid open with barely a gesture from Noah. Beyond was a typical medbay berth, with plain walls where the more complex medical equipment was folded away. And laying on the berth, singing the DuckTales theme song and looking bored out of his mind, was Mirage. 

Noah stepped through the doorway without conscious thought, letting it seal shut behind him. But he stopped there and just…stared. Looked his fill at Mirage laid out before him, every gleaming, beautiful, living inch of him unaware of how a little bit of Noah died every minute he never thought he’d see Mirage like this again. 

He spotted fresh weld lines on the right side of Mirage’s helm, where his communication relays were housed. The raised lines, almost akin to scars, continued along his cheek, with more curving around his waist. It was proof he was whole. That he was healing. But that wasn’t enough for Noah. Like this, Mirage was still out of reach, truly living up to his namesake, and Noah trembled out of desire to touch him. To feel that spark pulsing under his hand, against his ear. 

“Here I am, not moving, as ordered,” Mirage sassed, glaring up at the ceiling. “Now can you call Prowl again, Aid? I need to know if he found—”

At the sound of Mirage’s voice, all the things he thought he’d never get a chance to say tried to leap out of Noah's throat all at once, battling it out with knives. He only made a short, choked sound that was either dangerously close to a sob or almost a laugh. 

Mirage whipped his head down to him, optics going wide. 

“Noah,” he breathed. 

His optics were the perfect shade of blue. 

“You’re alive,” Noah said, at the same time Mirage looked him over and said, frowning, “You look horrible, man.”

Noah did laugh this time, scrubbing his hands over his dirty, tearstained face and probably just spreading the dirt around more. Then he couldn’t stop laughing. “Jesus,” he swore. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the fucking donkey, too. I hate you, ‘Raj.”

“Noah–”

He clenched his jaw to keep the hysteria at bay and marched straight up to the berth, as close as he could get. “Get me up there,” he ordered. “ Carefully . Don’t screw up First Aid’s repairs.”

Mirage turned on his side and reached down with his left arm to pull Noah up. First Aid was a lot shorter than Ratchet so that berth wasn’t too out of reach, but his stomach still gave a familiar little swoop when Mirage lifted him off the ground so effortlessly. 

Once he pulled Noah onto the edge of the berth, Mirage leaned back onto his elbows and just gazed up at him, the delicate mechanisms in his optics whirring gently as he took in every inch of Noah, as if he were the one to have gone tumbling over a cliff.

All of a sudden, looking at Mirage was too much for Noah. 

“Okay, what’s your self-repair telling you?” he asked briskly, just as he would after a sparring session gone wrong, with Ratchet hanging over his shoulder ready to criticize his technique. 

“Noah, c’mon,” Mirage cajoled him. 

“Shut up, ‘Raj.”

“Noah, I’m fine—”

He summoned a control console like he would in their medbay back home and was gratified when the hologram appeared under his hands almost immediately. 

“Hey, computer.”

A cool, synthetic voice responded. “Autobot identification has been authenticated. Hello, Mr. Diaz. I am Teletraan-1. How may I help you?”

“Get me Mirage’s medical record, please. The most recent.”

“Apologies, but that will require a medical authorization code—“

“Authorization HJ12.”

“Accepted.”

Scans and reports appeared, translating into English before Noah’s eyes. He stared hard at them, clenching his shaking hands into fists. He read how the fall had knocked Mirage offline for seventeen minutes. Skywarp’s talons had been two inches away from puncturing his right optic. The lacerations to Mirage’s waist had been deep enough to require an energon transfusion. 

Mirage whistled appreciatively. “Stealing old Hatchet’s clearance codes, huh? How’s that for a model Autobot?”

Noah swallowed with shuddering difficulty. Standing by Mirage’s hip, he was close enough to touch. His thigh, his waist, even his chest, all within reach. But now that Noah was here, he was suddenly so sure that Mirage would shatter if he even so much as stretched out his hand. 

“You’re comm relay got fried,” he croaked, all pretense of self-control crumbling. “That why you didn’t let us know you got a pickup?”

“Noah,” Mirage murmured to him, so gently that he shivered, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Can you look at me?”

Noah stared at Mirage’s knee with burning eyes. “Don’t know if I can,” he said, forcing the words past a suddenly uncooperative tongue. “I’m mad at you, man.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Mirage sit up, and bit the inside of his mouth before he could snap at him for not being more careful with his injuries. At the first feeling of smooth metal against his fingers, Noah clenched his eyes shut. 

“Why’re you mad at me?” Mirage all but crooned. He tugged Noah’s hands forward and eased them out of their clenched fists until they laid flat in the cradle of Mirage’s hands, his thumbs rubbing circles in Noah’s palms with the barest of pressure. 

Noah tipped his head back with a disbelieving grin, tears burning hotly under his eyelids. Why, he asked. Whoever said aliens would be all knowing needed a smack upside the head. 

“I watched you die for me. Again. You didn’t think I’d be cool with that, did you?”

“Weellll, I wasn’t technically dead the first time, technically speaking,” Mirage wheedled, like the absolute shit he was. On instinct, Noah opened his eyes to glare at him. 

He realized his mistake too late, freezing under Mirage’s piercing, luminous stare, alien as hell and all the more beautiful for it. 

The strength in his legs finally abandoned him and he sat shakily, landing somewhere on Mirage’s thigh. Without thinking, he wrapped his hands around Mirage’s thumbs, still pressed against the center of his palms. He thought he’d lost this forever. 

Mirage ducked his head with a wince, leaning forward until he nearly bowed over Noah, enveloping him with his nearness. 

“Aw, Noah,” he sighed, faceplates drawn tight with pain. Despite dreading it before, Noah couldn’t look away now, devouring every tiny shift of Mirage’s expression, starved for it and aching to touch. To hold Mirage’s face in his hands, close enough to... “I didn't mean to make you cry. Again.”  

Was he crying? Or maybe he’d never stopped. 

Noah scoffed, those pesky tears making his throat stick. “ M aybe stop dying on me then . Next time, find another way to save the day.” 

Mirage frowned. “But I can’t let anything happen to you.” He tugged Noah’s hands, inching them closer to his spark. But not close enough.“I made a promise, remember? If you don’t come back, Kris’ll use me for spare parts.”

“Nah, nah, listen here, ‘Raj.” Noah scooted forward on Mirage’s thigh until he could press both hands flat against the ‘Y’ of Mirage’s biolights, right over his spark. He fixed Mirage with a hard look, which wasn’t easy through his lingering tears and the way fondness outweighed his exasperation. 

“This ain’t day one. We’ve been partners for almost a year, and you’ve lived with my family for almost as long.  At this point, you’re as much of a brother to Kris as I am. How do you think he’ll feel if you don’t come back? Or what about Ma? She only freaked out about your whole alien deal for like a week. Now she keeps accidentally bragging about you at her poker nights.” 

Mirage ducked his head, avoiding Noah’s eye with an embarrassed laugh. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t…” He tentatively stroked the back of Noah’s hands, his touch paradoxically featherlight in comparison to his size, the power at his disposal. 

Noah craned his head around until Mirage had no choice but to look him in the eye again. “What?” He asked with a grin, the tear tracks on his cheeks all but forgotten. “Did you think that I’d be the only one who’d miss you?” 

“Yeah,” Mirage replied, almost thoughtlessly, before jolting with wide optics. “Uh, no! I mean, you’re more than enough!” One of his hands skimmed Noah’s side and he resisted the urge to shiver. “Sorry,” Mirage said with a chagrined little smile that Noah kinda wanted to devour too. “I guess I'm still not used to…having people. Y’know. Worried about me.”

Noah considered Mirage for a moment. 

He knew better than anyone that the bots weren’t invincible, or immortal, despite how easy it was to mistake them for ancient, old world gods just by looking up at them. Everyone’s time came at some point, or as Ironhide liked to put it, “The Necrobot waits for all Cybes.”

That didn’t mean Noah liked to think about the glaring imbalance between their existences; the unchangeable fact that of the two of them, Noah would be the first one to go, while Mirage could go on living for countless lifetimes, provided he didn’t keep screwing around. And Mirage needed to understand that, because he was more than just a soldier in an endless war, or a spy, or even an Autobot. 

In his new life with Noah and his family, Mirage wasn’t depended on to lay down cover fire or infiltrate an enemy strongholds. He was wanted for his company, for McDonald’s runs and chisme, for the force of his irrepressible personality. He was Noah’s . Even if he could never put that into words. 

“How would you feel if I pulled what you just did?” Noah challenged instead. “Risked my life for you, maybe died, as far as you knew.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mirage responded at once, with conviction that struck Noah in the gut like the swift stab of a knife and just as unexpected.

“Yeah, I would ,” Noah snapped, voice going hard to disguise how desperate he felt. The knife had been yanked free, leaving him shame-hot, bleeding out and shaky at the notion that he’d done something to make Mirage think so little of him. 

Mirage hastily took his head, easing the panic roaring through Noah’s ears. 

“No, I mean…you’re smarter than me, Noah. You’d find another way. Me? I'm no tactician. When I jumped on Skywarp, I wasn’t thinking. I just knew that I had to get you away from her.” His optics traced over Noah’s features with a heaviness locked behind those delicate mechanisms and panes of glass that made it tangible as a caress. “I had to save you or…die trying, I guess. What happened to me didn’t matter. I’d do it again in a spark pulse.”

See, it was that kind of devotion that Noah didn’t know what to do with. He didn’t understand how someone so otherworldly, powerful, unreal , could look at him and the blip that was his life and put everything on the line for him. Without thought. Without hesitation. What was Noah compared to that? 

Before Noah even understood what he was feeling, sheer disbelief had him shaking with laughter, and he dropped his forehead against Mirage’s chassis. He sorta felt like crying again. Hell, he’d punch Mirage if he didn’t know all it would get him was bruised knuckles and his boy pretending he wasn’t laughing at him. 

He spoke without thinking, exasperation warring with exhaustion and the sheer depth of feeling he was drowning in. 

“Christ. I love you, ‘Raj, but you do that again and I'm killing you myself, okay?”

He didn’t realize what he’d said until the silence dragged on, and on, and on , the words hanging over them with ponderous weight. Words that he never said because they were the kind of words there was only pain coming back from, if you did at all. 

Mirage spoke after what felt like hours. 

“…you love me?” he asked, so softly that Noah might not have heard him if he wasn’t still pressed against his chassis. Speaking of which:

Noah moved back, ignoring how bereft he felt without the thrum of Mirage’s spark as close to his heart as politeness allowed. At the same time, his eyes slid away from Mirage too, a hot flash shooting up his neck and flooding his face. 

How to salvage this. Was there even a way?

“I…of course I love you,” he found himself saying. “You’re family.”

Mirage grimaced. “Oh.” He was even quieter now. Muted in a way that was all wrong. “That makes sense.”

Noah closed his eyes, hating himself a little. Or a lot. If he couldn’t be honest now, after everything, then there really was no hope for him.

“No, Mirage, that’s not—” Noah’s throat was already drying up, heart seizing and shuddering in his chest. He stopped and took a breath that did nothing to settle him. “I’m in love with you.” Noah focused on Mirage’s shoulder. He couldn’t handle anything close to his optics. “You changed my life. Changed it for-for the better. I owe you… everything .”

“You don’t,” Mirage said at once.

Noah laughed, an ugly, choked burst of sound. He felt cold all over. “Sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but you don’t get to tell me if I love—”

“No, not that part!” Mirage rushed forward to fill the empty space Noah had created, hands not just skimming Noah’s sides but wrapping around his waist and drawing him closer than before. The slide up Mirage’s leg made his breath catch. 

“No, no, you don’t owe me anything , Noah, cause I’m pretty sure I owe you, and you gave me—you gave me a family and a purpose, and I’m happy—with you I’m happy for the first time since we left Cybertron. Just—being around you, I feel—I mean I’m not a total idiot, obviously I love you too, obviously , and I want to keep being around to love you, but—”

In a fit of bravery, he covered Mirage’s rambling mouth with his hand. His lips kept moving under his palm for half a second, soundless, almost a kiss, and a shiver raced down his spine, over his knees, down to his toes. 

“Do you mean that?” Noah breathed out, buzzing with anxious energy he couldn’t name.

Mirage grinned under his palm, and yet something like fear sparked in his optics. “What, that I’m an idiot? I thought everyone knew that…”

Mirage had to stop because Noah’s face came very close to his.

As Noah leaned forward, he realized where he was, nearly straddling Mirage’s waist, pushing himself up with a hand on the bright ‘Y’ of his biolights. He moved his hand from Mirage’s mouth to his cheek, cradling the vent that curved along his jaw. 

“Noah…?” it was Mirage's turn to ask breathlessly. His optics shot between Noah’s eyes and his mouth, heavy and blue and too kind to bear.

Noah swallowed. “Tell me no, ‘Raj. I’ll-I’ll stop if you don’t…if this isn’t…” Like when he first sat in Mirage’s front seat, he found himself on the edge of a precipice, tipping forward into the black. 

Mirage’s hand swept up over his shoulders and back down to cradle the small of his back. “Why would I wanna do that?”

“I need you to tell me, ‘Raj. Tell me no, or—”

“Yes,” Mirage whispered against his lips, before they crashed together. 

It had been a while since Noah kissed anyone, much less put his back into it, but time alone couldn’t explain why electricity zipped down his spine at the first touch of Mirage’s lips, warm, nearly pliable as a human’s, and with a tongue that eagerly responded to Noah’s. Their size difference wasn’t daunting, but just as intoxicating as he’d always imagined. But where Noah’s fantasies might’ve had Mirage taking the lead, tossing him around with his impossible strength, the reality was even more appealing. 

Mirage melted under his hands, like they were the only things holding him up, holding him together. Noah’s hands, that roamed freely now, cradling Mirage’s cheeks, the sides of his neck, kissing Mirage back with all the passion he’d spent so many endless months trying to deny and hide, and every gasp or moan or curse that fell from Mirage’s lips was music to him, a secret symphony only meant for his ears. 

And every time their lips parted, even for an instant, Mirage gasped out, “Yes,” and “Please,” and “Noah,” again and again, even when his vocalizer fritzed and the words came out drenched in static. Even then, when the words were barely understandable, Noah shuddered at every one, devastated by Mirage’s overwhelm, and moved down to kiss his throat or smooth his hands over Mirage’s waist, gripping where he was most narrow, mouth everywhere, hands all over him, exploring his plating like he’d die if he didn’t touch every single part of him, caress him everywhere and stake his claim. 

It might’ve been minutes or hours later, but the bonfire raging between them steadily calmed, banked into a low simmering heat that lost none of its feeling, only its intensity. 

While Noah might’ve wanted to lay Mirage out and take him apart at a leisurely, burning pace, he was also conscious (in the back of his mind) of his own exhaustion and Mirage’s need to recover, not to mention that they were still in the medbay with First Aid and every other Autobot just on the other side of the door. There was no boner killer quite like the threat of Optimus Prime walking in on them mid makeout. 

Noah pressed his lips against the ‘Y’ shape of the biolights on Mirage’s chest, smiling against his plating when he felt Mirage shiver under him. A tug on his curls with the hand still in his hair and he leaned up, kissing Mirage once, twice, three more times on the lips, slow and tender as a sated, syrupy feeling overtook him. 

“Damn,” Noah whispered. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Mirage vents were wheezing, warm air ruffling Noah’s hair in the bot’s version of heavy breathing. He tried not to feel too smug (and failed). 

“Yeah? Uh, h-how long? Just curious if we’re talking days, weeks...”

Noah covered Mirage’s hand with his, tracing his vambrace and gauntlet before linking their fingers together. Now that he’d been given permission to touch, he found it hard to stop.

“How long have I wanted to kiss you?” Noah blew out a breath, pretending to think hard on it. “Probably since the last time I thought you died for me.”

 Since he caught a flicker of blue optics and a voice he never thought he’d hear again, after sleepless weeks of hoping against hope: Noah, love. That you?

Mirage froze in place, staring down at him with startled intensity. “But that was almost a year ago.”

Noah hummed. “One year next month. Not exactly an anniversary I was looking forward to celebrating with a repeat performance.”

Breaking from his trance, Mirage’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said, surprising Noah with his most earnest apology of the night. “Not for keeping you safe, never that , but the way I did it…if I were you, I’d be pretty pissed too.”

 He was surprised again when Mirage untangled their fingers and cupped the side of Noah’s face in one hand, cradling the sharp point of his jaw against his palm and threading his fingers through Noah’s hair. “But if…if we could’ve been kissing, and y’know, doing other stuff, since all the way back then, why didn’t we?”

Noah turned his head enough to press a kiss against Mirage’s palm. “I didn’t know I could.”

“Well, duh,” Mirage scoffed, though his thumb was trembling as it stroked the rise of Noah’s cheekbone. “I have optics ! What sorta glitch wouldn’t wanna kiss you?”

Noah grinned, blushing hotly, but mostly just relieved that Mirage seemed to find him at least a fraction as attractive as Noah found him. “Good to know. I think you’re pretty hot too.” 

Mirage was on a roll now. “‘Pretty hot?’ Please, try spark-breakingly sexy! Or the ideal aerodynamic form!”

“You’re very sexy, I promise. After you kidnapped me and dumped me in an abandoned warehouse, the first thing I thought was, wow, this possessed car’s got legs for days! I wonder if I should ask him out.”

Mirage waggled his brows. “I would’ve said yes,”

“Course you would’ve,” Noah said, rolling his eyes. “Cuz it was guaranteed to piss off Prime and you’ve got no self-preservation instinct.”

“But you still love me,” Mirage teased, although his optics were still a little too wide, almost disbelieving, as they flickering searchingly over Noah’s face. 

Noah stroked the plating of his back, tipping his head against Mirage’s shoulder to really appreciate the play of emotions across his face, a still hungry part of him reveling in how much a few kisses had peeled back Mirage’s composure so completely. It was sweet, and also kinda insanely hot. 

“Yeah, I do, baby,” he said, voice gone rough.

Mirage giggled, high-pitched and flustered. “Baby, huh? You just…you just had that one locked and loaded?” 

“You don’t like it?” Noah asked, more seriously now. He wrapped a hand around Mirage’s wrist. 

Mirage squeezed his waist, like he was afraid Noah was about to get up and walk away. “Did I say that? Might want to get your ears checked, love.”

Noah smiled, leaning up to kiss Mirage’s chin like he’d wanted to months ago. “Good to know.”

He settled back into Mirage’s arms, making himself comfortable. Mirage seemed to have the same idea, maneuvering a control for the berth that made it fold up slightly like a hospital bed would. 

The seconds trickled leisurely into minutes, and as he traced nonsense patterns on Mirage’s chassis, a sense of unreality crept up on him. 

After almost a year of hiding that he was in love with his best friend because he was just one random human and Mirage was, again , the literal alien robot millions of miles away from home, Noah finally confessed only for Mirage to…love him back? Mirage had the gall not to reject him, or let him down easy. Instead, they kissed like every one of Noah’s dumb, heartsick fantasies come to life. But better. 

Because now he knew what Mirage actually tasted like. 

Noah’s eyes were getting heavy, adrenaline having run its course, when Mirage leaned down to kiss the back of his head and stayed there, nestled against Noah’s curls. Part of him wanted to bat Mirage away—he’d been cooped up in the exosuit for the last hour running around a battlefield, and there was no way he smelled like anything but sweat and dirt. 

Then again, he’d grown to find reassurance in the ozone tang of a discharged blaster or the exhaust fume burn on Mirage’s plating after a rough sparring session, because it meant Mirage was with him, despite whatever danger he’d just fought through.

“...do you want one?” Mirage mumbled against his hair. 

Noah hummed. “One what?”

Mirage tugged on the hem of his shirt, an absentminded gesture rather than one meant to rile him up. “A….name. Like you have for me.”

“Why?” Noah smiled, turning his head so that Mirage had to stop hiding in his hair. “Got one in the tank?

“Hi-larious,” Mirage scoffed, gifting him a tremendous eye roll. “The car jokes never get old.”

Noah shrugged. “It’s cool, I get it if you can’t think of one.”

“Didn’t say that, love,” Mirage murmured, lips moving against Noah’s ear. 

His heart skipped, as much at Mirage’s bulk so close to his as his voice. It was his turn to be the flustered one. “But you’ve…you called me that before.” 

“Huh? Did I?”

  Noah, love. That you?

“The first time was months ago. Almost-almost a year. ‘Raj, ” Noah pressed, sitting up when it became clear Mirage was avoiding eye contact again. The thought that Mirage had felt the same, loved him for as long as Noah had…

Mirage glanced down at him hesitantly. “It…might’ve slipped out a couple times. Back when I wasn’t sure if you…y’know.”

“If I loved you back,” Noah guessed dumbly. 

“Yeah. That.” 

It was impossible. It was ridiculous . He let his fingers trace Mirage’s chestplate, wondering at the time they’d wasted and the second chance they’d been given. “But…you loved me? All this time?”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Mirage huffed. He seemed to want to cross his arms but refused to move his hands from Noah’s waist, his thumb slipping under Noah’s shirt to rub circles against the skin of his back. “So what if I did? I didn’t know if you’d be into an alien so I just…y’know, dropped hints—”

Noah pushed himself up, kissing Mirage and taking the words from his mouth with his tongue. 

“As soon as you’re cleared, and there isn’t another fight about to drop on our heads, we’re gonna go home,” he pulled back to murmur against Mirage’s lips. 

“I gotta wait that long?” Mirage whispered back, blinking big, dazed optics. They were still so close that his lips brushed Noah’s with every word. 

“We’re gonna go home,” Noah repeated firmly. “We’re gonna talk some more, we’re gonna—”

“Kiss some more?” Mirage interrupted, tilting his chin up enticingly, mischief turning his lazy smile into more of a smirk.

It was blatant a lead-in as anything but Noah gladly gave into temptation now there was nothing stopping him, including himself. His hands slid up the cables of Mirage’s neck, stopping to cup his jaw, and tilt his head down. Mirage gasped, and Noah closed the distance, sweeping his tongue past Mirage’s parted lips. 

He was rapidly falling as in love with Mirage’s sounds as the bot himself, but Noah could only trace the roof of Mirage’s mouth for so long before he overwhelmed them both and turned this into something better suited for their on-base quarters with a locked door between them and the rest of the world. 

“That,” he said, once he’d tore himself away from Mirage, panting. His hands went flat against the berth on either side of Mirage’s helm, no longer touching, except for every other part of his body that was pressed against the contours of Mirage’s. “And you’re gonna explain to me what it is you guys do that isn’t sex. If you want.”

Mirage’s engine positively roared under him, and it was Noah’s turn to gasp. “I want,” Mirage rumbled, optics burning hungrily as his voice vibrated through Noah’s chest. 

They lingered there, Noah hovering over Mirage, their bodies flush and lips barely brushing. A scorching tension kept them suspended, at risk of pouring lighter fluid on months of pent up frustration and attraction, burning them from the inside out. 

But then Mirage slowly raised a hand between them, brushing a curl off Noah’s forehead. Noah caught his wrist and kissed the heel of his palm as Mirage’s fingers cupped the back of his head, weaving carefully between his hair. 

Naturally as breathing, the heat between them dropped back to a simmer. Noah again made himself comfortable against Mirage’s shoulder as Mirage slipped a warm hand under his shirt to span the middle of his back, tugging him that much closer.

“What are we gonna do right now?” Mirage asked against his crown. 

Noah pressed his palm against the middle of Mirage’s chest, over his biolights, feeling his spark thrum with life. Everything that made him Mirage. “Right now, I've got orders to keep you right here. And I'm a model Autobot, remember?"