Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Most love stories have mutual pinning. It happens because both are looking for a partner, looking for someone to spend the day with to chase off their loneliness. Or some happen because of necessity. To get out of the house, to feel something akin to love even if it breaks down years later. 

But Blurr's an impatient mech. And he knew that. So why it took him this long to make it anyone's problem was a mystery to him. 

Currently he lay sprawled over a couch, pedes hung over the edge as he stared upside down at another mech. “I'm bored.” 

Heatwave's engine hissed. Blurr could see how his optics shone less, how his movements were shaky and how tightly he clutched the cube of energon. This mech was overworked, slaving away over those datapads he had to sign, and this preppy, good-for-nothing speedster was going to give him a hard time about it. 

So what, he was bored, and Heatwave looked like he could use a change of scenery. 

“I don't care.” His voice box buzzed, and it was audible when he reset it, taking a hasty guzzle of the energon. 

He pouted. “Rude. Aren't you supposed to take care of your team?” He narrowed his gaze. “Can't exactly do that if you're half dying. When was the last time you recharged?” 

“Shut up, Hotshot,” he snapped, clenching the datapad, slamming the drink back down onto the counter. He spat profanities at the energon that now coated some of his work. 

Blurr raised a brow ridge. “Wow.” 

Orange, searing optics burnt into his own and the firetruck just spat at him like an animal. “What was that?! Can't you see I'm exhausted, why do you have to dig your fingers into every problem you see and make a larger mess of it!” 

He sighed. Yup, his boss was pissed. Newsflash of the century. 

With a roll of his shoulders Blurr carefully sat up. Arching his back, stretching his arms above his helm, he gave a satisfied, if pointed, sigh before popping to his pedes and dancing to the desk in short hops. “So,” he purred, placing a hand on the desk, smelling something coming off the firetruck. “It seems like you have a lot of tension. Do you need a lesson on how to upkeep your physical status? Gray doesn't look good on you.” With his free servo he reached over and brushed at the graying, buff arms of Heatwave. 

Blurr had seen him train. Stupid, really, because all he kept punching was a stick, but he liked to see the results. Even now it gave him a fluttery feeling, and he had to work on not biting his lower lip or letting his EM field curl around the other's shoulders. 

His earnest work was made more effective by the stone cold glare he glanced at. “Get. Away.” 

“Hmm.” He made his engine purr, honestly not that much of a strain, and drew his servo back. “Well, I'm just trying to help. Recharging would really do it, have you heard? We all know our places on the team, I'm sure--” 

“No.” 

He blinked, a little thrown off and he hated that feeling. “Hmm?” 

Slowly, deliberately, he stood up and Blurr tried hard to quell the fear and excitement that sparked in his chest. “Not all of us know our places,” he sneered. And kept staring directly into his optics. 

Blurr opened his mouth. Shut it. Licked his lips. “Um?” 

“You think you can flaunt around while I'm working and get away with it?” Heatwave began to move around the desk, slowly, like a predator. “You think you can purr your engine, perk your aft, and then run away to giggle?” 

What the frag. Blurr stared dumbly at him, his spark pulsing faster. “F-flirting works on you?” 

A smirk. As hard and dangerous as it was, it was a promise and that made his knees want to cave. “That was flirting, Hotshot?” 

He pouted, even as he slowly began to step away for every step forward Heatwave would make. Eventually he would run out of room. And that made him want to laugh nervously or pop his panels now and get it over with. 

Blurr did neither. At spark, he was a coward. Not a coward in everything, mind you. But when a hot mech advances and pounces on a sudden need, full of self-satisfied smirks and gloating, he didn't know how to react. So he didn't. 

He gasped when he finally did hit the wall, engine revving, and Heatwave didn't bother to put him out of his misery. The slagger grinned and made his next few steps slower, his gaze pinning him to the wall through sheer spite. 

Blurr was a weak mech. 

Weak enough to struggle as servos gripped his shoulders, to unconsciously hitch his vents when Heatwave's helm edged closer, to yelp when a leg pushed through his own. But he didn't outright fight it, not when absolute need was slipping out from his EM field and he couldn't stop it. 

“So,” the firetruck purred down his audial, sending spasms of electricity up his spine, “how does one properly take care of one self?” The scent was there, stronger , something Blurr should remember but couldn’t at the moment. 

“F-frag,” he cursed in a small voice before realizing his slipup and slamming a hand over his intake. “N-not what I meant! Uhh--” 

Servos grasped his own and yanked them up and over before shifting to one. Blurr didn't fight it, only keened softly as the free servo trailed down his back. The tingling sensation made his spine arch, and he tried to follow it. “Mmmm, yeah? Yeah, that sounds good,” he leered, slotting his body closer. “You're a tiny blue thing, it won't take much to break you.” 

Blurr shuddered. “I-I’m a racer. Stamina.” The firetruck's warmth was so distracting with how Heatwave's glass chassis pressed against his own. When the servo came back to toy with his subplating on his hip, arching his back was near impossible; he was like another wall. 

“I guess we'll have to test that out,” he said lowly. His voice box caught a few times, making it that much more gravely, and it made his spark flutter that much faster. 

A hesitation, a shuffle, and Heatwave cupped his cheek so he couldn't run away, couldn't do anything but squeak when warm, hard lips pressed into his own. He shut his optics off, feeling how the mech moved against him. It tore a moan from his vocaliser, and if his servos weren't pinned above his head he would have been clutching onto the other's shoulders for stability. As it was, his knees bent, not enough to fall, but enough to hear the prideful growl of an engine. 

“You're eager,” he husked out, doing wonders to his touch-starved systems. 

He opened his mouth to reply, but that must have been a plot because Heatwave's glossea shot past his open lips and began exploring. Blurr visibly trembled in pleasure, getting another half moan. 

He didn't know when but servos were running up and down his sides, tickling his subplating and caressing his exoplating. It felt like Blurr was being taken apart price by piece, truly being remembered, and his engine keened from want and attention. 

Heatwave vented, hard and fast as he pulled out of the kiss. “Damn it, Blurr. No wonder you're always such an aft. Just how much attention do you need ?” 

It took him a few stumbling moments to understand. His EM field was out, completely barring his emotions to the firetruck and he flushed, shoving it away and locking it down. “Ahh, n-not so much.” His spark raced. Did he drive him away? Did Heatwave not want to care for someone like him? 

Blurr was used to being pampered. He was the fastest mech alive, of course he would be! He got the best treatments of everything, got free items from stores, and was asked for autographs just walking down the street. 

So coming here, where nobody cared for him, really cut his self-esteem. 

Maybe that was why he hadn't felt the need to get laid in years? 

But now that he was here, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, he found he didn't want to let go. So he didn't turn his optics on, didn't want to see the expression he made. 

He didn't want to be rejected again, but he told himself it wouldn't hurt so bad if it happened. 

The servos tightened on his hips, tight like he wasn't going to let go. “Bet I can make you scream.”

Gasping, he flickered his optics back on, stunned even if those words sent a jolt through him. Yet Heatwave gave him a small, tender smile and fluttered his fingers down his hips, across the top of his legs, until it brushed his modesty panel. 

He whimpered, then second-guessed that stupid choice of noise until Heatwave crooned softly back, petting his panel. “It's okay,” he promised, deep voice hard at work ruining his mind with lust. “I don't mind. You're beautiful, never doubt that. Okay, Blurr? I'm going to make you feel so, so good, just like you deserve.” 

And frag if that didn't make him swoon. 

-----

Somewhere, somehow, something was wrong. With a groan, Blurr opened his optics, seeing the flashes of an emergency. 

He bolted up, half tripping over a large, warm body. His processor panicked, sputtering nonsense faster than his HUD during a mission gone wrong. All his efforts landed him hard on the floor, engine whining, legs weak and sore. 

“Wow, what a sight,” a dry voice said sarcastically. Heatwave chuckled, ignoring how Blurr pouted, and flipped to his pedes. “Really makes a mech stumble.” 

“It's not funny!” he said, struggling to get back to his pedes. Arms wrapped around his waist and gently pulled him up, and his vents blew off, flustered. Even with his help, Blurr’s legs wobbled, trying to find a place that wouldn't put so much strain on his modesty. “Y-you went hard.” 

A pleased rumble. “We both liked it. Now, you’ll stay here while I'll go fix this issue. Can't have you wobbling like a sparkling out there.” 

“Your fault,” he muttered, not fighting it when he was guided back to the couch. This side of Heatwave was weird. Blurr was used to the silent, short fuse who never glanced in his direction. But now he was being taken care of, much less told to sit a rescue out? 

“I know~” 

And with a last caress to his wings on his helm he was gone, leaving him sitting on the couch, alone, in his office. Soon after the alarms turned off and he was left in the silence. 

And with nothing else to do, he thought about yesterday. 

Like Heatwave promised, they tested his stamina. Round after round, on the wall, against the couch, on the floor (that one hurt sometimes, leading the mech to apologize for squishing him). 

And the praise. Sweet, whispered words he tucked into his spark, sometimes nothingness, sometimes about his speed, beauty, or his little quirks. Blurr hadn't known Heatwave paid him any attention, let alone coddle him over his pede taps when he got nervous. It was beautiful, all of it had felt so right in the moment and he had never wanted it to end. 

He never expected someone like Heatwave to be that soft. To never press, never cross a line, always make sure he was feeling all right, if this was okay or not. It left him feeling warm inside. 

Except now he hurt. Blurr vented. 

Worth it. 

When the alarms screeched, he nearly fell off the couch. “Again?!” he hissed, already struggling to his pedes. 

Nobody else was in the hanger. Only he and Heatwave were the ones in the mainland, and Blurr didn't feel like calling the other members for something he should be able to do. Even if Heatwave was giving him a literal pass to rescue work, Blurr . . . didn't quite feel right about that. Trauma or whatever they wanted to call it, but his plating itched with the need to get out there and do his job before someone scolded him. 

So, folding himself into a car he sped off, wheels screeching against the floor the robo-cleaner’s going to have a blast with, and sped out of the training center and into the bright light of a morning. 

At least this way his legs didn't hurt. He would need to work on those dents later. 

“There's another one!” 

Confused, Blurr turned on his cameras and looked into the sky. Three jets flew above, and as he watched they pointed their guns at him. 

“Fire!” 

Oh, slag no. 

Revving his engine he sped ahead. Bullets rained down, laughter cackled, and he winced every time the ground shook with each explosion, no doubt ruining the concrete. “Heatwave!” he screamed into the call as soon as the other picked up. 

“What are you doing ?!” he hissed. “I told you to stay inside! I'll get the other emergency too! What did you do?” 

His engine gave a distressed whine when the three jets split, trying to cage him with their bullets. “Nothing! It's not me, I’m being shot at!” 

Sharp turn left. Away from the city. Yes, he was more open, but he had a duty to do. 

“Autobot!” one jet taunted, his voice high-pitched and scratchy but not in a good way. “Come out to play!” More ugly laughter. 

He suddenly felt really, really cold. They were here. How?! Of course he wasn't blind or def, he's heard of them, he knows about the slagging war going on! Yet, landing there in Griffin Rock he had felt that cocoon of protection like he was safe from anything like that. And that cocoon had stubbornly followed him even in the mainland, or China, or anywhere else he needed to be teleported to. 

That bubble burst with a sudden, icy clarity. 

“Hah, uh, Heatwave?” He didn't bother to give him time to answer. “I think they're Decepticons.” 

“Get out.” 

Gravel crunched harshly under his wheels, striking his undercarriage, but that wasn't why he winced. “What?!” 

“Go to these coordinates. I know you can outrun them. Hide there. I'll meet you as soon as I can.” 

Like frag he was! “That's it? We’re not fighting back?” 

“On your legs?” 

An angry engine growl. “I told you it's not funny.” 

“Neither is saving your life! Blurr, if I don't find you at those coordinates, I'm going to hunt you down and you’ll wish I was a deception instead.” 

He didn't like the tone Heatwave used. His frame tensed, feeling the spark to disobey, to challenge. But, boss’s orders and frankly Blurr didn't know what else to do. “Fine!” he snapped, ending the call. His spark pulsed, urging him on faster, faster. He could feel the road behind him being chopped up and it pained him. But he didn't look back. 

He shot ahead. 

“Woah!” the jets exclaimed. 

Boosting ahead, the front wheels actually lifted off the floor as he turned his excess power into usable power; speed. Within a sparkbeat he was gone, zooming like a blur over the lands. 

And this wasn't even his fastest. He could tap directly into his spark and go faster while being in complete control over himself. The one and only time he had done that was exhilarating. To know that he could go from one end of a planet to the other in seconds. Nobody could catch him then. A blink and he's already hundreds of miles away. 

But never again. 

He's learned the hard way what so much power brings him. He hadn't been the same for years. 

So for now he's content with his current speed. Already it's faster, faster than any earth vehicle, faster than most racers like himself. 

And definitely faster than those seekers he left behind. 

When he nears the coordinates he slows, listening closely for the sound of buzzing jet engines. He rolls to an idle in front of a door, in the middle of an abandoned car garage. It takes a moment, then the ancient scanners flicker on. 

“Huh, this thing still works,” he breathed out, being washed in its red glow. “How did Heatwave know about it?” 

With a soft shake it opened. Quickly transforming, feeling his body shift back into place, he takes a couple wobbly steps forward and peers inside. 

It's dark. Maybe the lights need to be changed. He vents. 

Why did Blurr come here? Sure, Heatwave was going to tear his limbs apart if he didn't listen, but surely they could have done something other than run from the deceptions. Their training academy had weapons attached to itself for pits sake! 

‘I'm here,’ he sent in text, crossing his arms at the door. 

Blurr didn't get a reply. Even as the chronometer ticked on, counting the minutes, then hours, he didn't get a reply. So Blurr just stood there, shoulders hunched in on himself, and waited. 

He wasn't stepping into that thing. Decepticons had been in the sky during his call. Who knows if more had been around, intercepting the call and tricking him? 

He wondered what Heatwave was doing. Whether his mission from earlier was because of those seekers or if it was simply bad timing for a regular emergency. If he was done with his first mission, wouldn't he be here by now? Of course the firetruck wasn't as fast as he was, and never would be, but surely he wasn't prowling along at ten miles an hour? 

Eventually, he got tired of waiting and walked in circles. His pede steps were the only sound that echoed, long and deep, and he shuddered, ignoring the pleasant stretch between his legs. Outside the sky was turning darker, changing and shifting, but Blurr didn't dare to turn his lights on. 

If someone was watching, waiting, he would know. 

A small echo, from something being thrown made him gasp and whirl in its direction, his spark pounding. If someone was here--

“Ack!” 

An angry engine rev met his startled proclamation when he ate the ground. But he knew that brand of angry! 

“Heat--” 

“Don't say anything if you want to live!” the firetruck growled. 

He vented and gave up struggling. “Nice try.” 

One second. Two seconds. Three--

“What the frag.” 

Blurr pushed himself up when Heatwave finally got off, only to yelp when a servo grabbed onto the top of his chest plate. 

“What the hell were you doing outside of the room?!” he spat, his face inching close. It was too dark to see just how angry he was. “I told you to go inside! I could have hurt you!” 

“There were deceptions!” he shouted back. “I'm not trusting anything less than a conversation face to face. And that was not face to face!” 

He was roughly shoved away, and all that walking he had done to ease the strain came in clutch now. “You. You, I just--uuughhh,” he groaned, storming into the still open doorway. 

Blurr followed at a much slower pace. “Happy to see you too, cap.” 

Fiddling with something in the darkness the lamp in the corner flashed and glowed, finally letting Blurr have a look at it. 

It was a room, large enough to sleep four bots. A table, a fridge, a small kitchen, a couch, an unhackable TV, and berths was what filled it.

He tried not to let his spark sink. Just how long were they staying here for? 

Blurr strolled over to the fridge, glancing at its contents. “Aha! Some high grade!” 

“One bottle, lightweight,” Heatwave snarked, closing the door. “You don't deserve much else.” 

He smirked. One was more than he thought he’d receive anyway. A win-win. Still, he grabbed three. “Catch.” 

“Don't throw them!” he glowered. 

With an agonized sigh and because he's so nice , he closed the fridge and walked around, plopping on the couch. “Then come sit.” 

Heatwave was already lost in a datapad. Seriously, for all the work he did he should get paid. In vacations. Or high grade so Blurr could steal more containers. “I'm busy.” 

“Right.” Popping a container open, he took a swig. “Guess I'll have these three to myself, then.” 

He glowered. Seriously, that face was going to get stuck on him one of these days. And then fragging wouldn't be much fun. Blurr was having a hard time connecting the dots from this porcupine of a mech to the sweet, if rough, one from last night. Gingerly, he touched the bite mark on his neck, feeling it still dented some of his wires. 

“Just give me two.” 

“Nope.” He took another swig, feeling the bubbly, wined drink in his throat. “I'm not a lightweight. I'm just fast in everything, and drinking is one of them. So I'll be able to handle it.” 

“ Blurr .” 

He paused. That voice was reserved for when he really was stressed and didn't need anymore crap Blurr pressed him with. Which . . . Happened every week. Usually, he got the memo and backed off. 

Usually. 

“Come sit or I'm stealing that datapad.” And he meant it, too, even if he couldn't stomach the hard look Heatwave was shooting him. Blurr hated authority. He hated anyone who thought they were better than him. And Heatwave did, though he wouldn't say it in so many words. Instead he would sigh like he was a child (he was not! He was technically older than this fragger and look at how he's treated!), or he would dismiss his concerns entirely, or flat out ignore him. 

And Blurr hated that. 

Which was why he loved last night. Then, he had been given attention. He had been made special, glorified in a way he remembered and craved. So much passion in a mech who Blurr thought hated him that he had to wonder what went wrong in Heatwave's life to make him hide it. 

“I'm not sitting.” 

He pouted. Seriously, for being the leader of the rescue team, he could sure be a child. 

Tilting his helm back, he finished the first bottle with a satisfied smack of his lips. Everything he did was loud. Obvious. And then he grabbed the other bottle and popped that open too. 

A servo snatched it away. But Blurr had been planning on that. 

Shooting his arm out he grabbed the datapad and shoved it into his subspace before the firetruck could blink. “So, you’ll come sit?” he asked with a friendly smile. 

It slipped off when he met the mech’s blazing gaze. “Blurr,” he snided like he was going to speak really simply to a really stupid person, “give. That. Back.” 

Blurr coughed. Okay, so maybe he crossed a red line. But he could be just as stubborn as Heatwave and he was going to prove it. “Take a break--” 

“Yesterday wasn't enough, you spoiled brat?” he snapped, making him flinch. 

“Not with me!” he spat back, pulling his exoplates around his body to protect himself. This was new, this was wrong, and he found himself getting defensive. Was it Blurr's fault? Did he push too hard last night and forced Heatwave to do something he didn't want to do? It hadn’t seemed like that yesterday! “Why the frag would I want to do it with you again? I'm just trying to get you to breathe once in a while!” 

His looming figure towered over his stationary one, and Blurr's pedes itched to stand. But he worried that one movement would make him snap. “You wouldn't understand! All you think about is how to polish yourself up the next day in that airy helm of yours! You wouldn't understand the deadlines I have to meet, the papers I need to sign because of another destroyed property!” 

He bristled. “Oh, yeah? I've been on time crunches too. Racing isn't easy, despite--” 

An arm raised back. Blurr didn't move because he couldn't believe it. Still didn't believe it as he touched his stinging face, vents sputtering in disbelief. A glance up told him Heatwave didn't believe it either, his optics wide as he finally registered what the heck he just did. 

“You hit me.” 

Coolant began to leak from his optics before he could stop it, stinging their way down his face. 

“Listen, I--” 

Blurr opened his subspace and yeeted the datapad across the room, hoping it would break as it crashed into the kitchen counter. He was disappointed it didn't spark and erupt in flames. 

He couldn't believe it. 

After all of their teamwork, all of those tiny milestones to get to know each other, to stop being peeved by everything, Heatwave didn't care. “You didn't listen to me. Thank you for that, by the way. Everything that happened yesterday was fake? A lie? I was there for you to use? Good to know.” He didn't even know what he was saying at this point. He just kept rambling, touching the dented surface of his cheek. “I-I thought we were going somewhere. Acting more like a team! But if-of this is what you really think of me then fine .” Blurr straightened. “G-go. Choose which one is more important.” 

Heatwave looked lost in a way Blurr had never seen him. His useless servo just hanging in the air, body frozen, face torn in a grimace. His engine whined, but with Heatwave's EM field too coiled to feel it, Blurr didn't know if that was for show or not. “It . . . It was a one night stand.” 

And he went for the datapad. 

He sucked in a breath, louder than he meant to. So. He had chosen. 

Blurr scrambled and sulked in the corner of the room by himself. But at least he got the rest of the high grade. 

Stupid silver lining. 

°°°°°

There were a lot of things Heatwave had done wrong. One of them was to believe that the world was safe. 

He knew Deceptions were a thing, and were actively searching for Optimus. But he thought it would take them a lot longer to actually find him, let alone find the rescue team. 

As he scanned over the datapad, he internally winced at how much damage they already had done. Cities were being burnt down, forests were ablaze with fire. But it wasn't safe to go out there and help anyone. 

And that killed him. 

Heatwave, the leader of his own team, wasn't doing what he should be doing; rescuing people. Instead he was cowering away, forced to hide himself because of Optimus' orders one night not too long ago. 

 But that, oddly enough, wasn't the main issue that was eating him up when another, unbidden, thought slipped right back into his processor. 

With a vent he glanced over into the corner where a familiar blue mech hunched, still asleep. 

If guilt was alive, Heatwave would be drowning in it. 

He had done plenty of things he wasn't proud of. Leading a team wrong and getting more people hurt. Forgetting to eat, or, heck, recharge, only for it to bite him in the aft later. Which led to another source of guilt because, while he was annoying , Blurr had a way of making everything he did stick to the processor. Even if it was not so subtle pushes and drags to the kitchen to go eat for Primus’ sake. 

But this? This had to be the worst. 

Looking down at Blurr's pathetically beautiful frame for the tenth time, he fisted his servos, opened his intake, and--

And sped back to the other side of the room like a coward. Luckily, Blurr was in recharge. He would never know just how badly he was struggling. 

He felt like a failure. 

During that . . . night, Blurr had let a little too much slip. Every praise Heatwave had whispered was for him, just to see the stars and joy in the other's optics. It was such a different look from the moody, pouting face he was used to, and he had drunk it all up, even as the disturbing realization that nobody exactly cared for him continued to grow in size. Blurr was annoying, too fast for his own good, strutting around like a speedy peacock. 

But he was alone. Because of those qualities he was ignored, or even shunned. And as he thought about it, Blurr never used to act so bad. In the beginning, while he had been a grade a jerk, he was confident in himself. Now, this looked more like a desperate show, just to say that he was okay, thanks for not asking.  

At this point Heatwave would rather fight Megatron by himself than face Blurr and his stupid mistake. 

Just what had he been thinking when he fragged Blurr? He must have been high on fumes. Maybe a glitch. Over-processed processor. Any and all above? 

The point was, he regretted it. This was going to change everything in their relationship. Blurr was probably going to act like a child and whine around a little longer. Or wouldn't bother to whine in favor of destroying. Either way, his helm already had a processor-ache and it wasn't even five in the morning. 

He should have just taken Blurr up on sitting on the damn couch and drinking. If he wasn't half as stubborn as he was they wouldn't have gotten to this position. 

His engine whined at the memory of Blurr's hurt optics as he felt his new dent. Heatwave never meant to do that. He didn't know where it came from. Never in his entire life had he hit anyone past his protoform stage.

He was doomed. And it was his fault, too. 

He didn't like the feeling of sitting, doing nothing. His servos itched to move, to get out of here before the ticking bomb that was Blurr woke up and only added to his plate. 

With a groan he sat down on the chair in the kitchen, rubbing his helm. Primus, he screwed up. Why did Optimus think he could handle this, he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was to curl up into a ball and never wake up again. 

He flinched at the blue movement he saw in the corner of his optics. His spark sank, his plating crawled and shifted over himself, and he waited. Waited for the mech to open his intake and drag him even worse through his guilt. 

He met bright blue optics that glanced at him, empty and lidded. A quick glance told him the dent was there: he really had hit a mech who didn’t deserve that from him. “You look like slag. Couldn't sleep?” 

Heatwave shifted, uncomfortable. Not what he expected, but okay. Blurr was going to take it slow and built up his anger. It's happened before. 

A vent and Blurr opened the fridge, pulling out two energon cubes. He slid one over the counter. “Drink this if you are going to rebuke sleep.” Then he popped his elbows on the other side of the counter, his optics still dull but now alive with something close to concern. 

“Um.” 

Blurr held a finger up, stopping him. “Look,” he said instead with a tired engine rumble. He rolled his helm around his neck, getting the soreness out from sleeping against a corner of the room. “I'm sorry.” 

He blinked. What? This wasn't how this was supposed to go! Why did Blurr sound a million years older all of a sudden? But before he could say anything the mech went on. 

“I understand you’re busy, and I'll do my best to stay out of the way. I shouldn't have been stupid and selfish and taken away your time. You're the leader for a reason.” He gave a stretched smile, wobbling over the edges. 

That was when he understood. “No, Blurr--” 

“Don't!” The word rang in the air. “Just. Don't. Don't make this worse for us. You can't deny all of this was my fault.” His servos fisted and the blue racer looked away. “I'll stay out of your way. Okay? Unless you need something done then I'll do it. Don't make it awkward.” 

So he just wanted to forget. To move on. The guilt only increased. Nobody brushed off something like that unless it had happened before. But what could he do? They had to work together eventually if they were going to combat the issue of rescuing people while avoiding the new Decepticons flying around. 

But that didn't mean this was over. Taking the energon, Heatwave gave a slight nod. Satisfied with that, Blurr left to curl up on a berth, looking so small it almost physically hurt Heatwave to know he had caused this. 

He would make it up to him. He had to. 

Heatwave always knew Blurr was going to be the death of him. 

Chapter Text

Transforming had become a bit of an issue. An annoying one. 

It was the stretch from somewhere that mostly got to him. Like something was changing in his body and the fact that he didn't know was driving him up the walls. 

Still, work had to be done. 

As soon as the light scanned green, Blurr transformed back into a bot, wincing and placing a servo over his abdomen. The problem seemed to emanate from there, for whatever reason, but he hadn't mentioned anything to Heatwave yet. 

A glance around told him he finally had the bunker to himself for the moment. 

Time for a shower. 

Grabbing a towel from the kitchen, already knowing that Blades was going to squawk and mutter angrily once he found out Blurr had used it again, he strolled to the bathrooms and turned the water on to hot. 

See, the problem with sharing the bunker with three other bots meant that the shower was a rare privilege. Only for ten minutes, only on a lukewarm setting, and then it's off limits for the rest of the week. 

But whenever Heatwave wasn't around, Blurr pretty much told him to screw it. 

Waiting for the water to heat up, he fished around the cabinets for more polish, crowing when he found a half-empty bottle. More than enough before he would have to sneak under his roommates backs and get more. Which was actually harder than it sounded. 

Then, with another glance around the still-empty bunker, he slipped into the shower. 

The hot water made him shiver delightfully. He loved how it pinged against his body, freshening up his dusty metal, and he reached for the soap bar before rubbing it between his plating, getting to his subplating and gears. 

The frothy bubbles grew and spilled away, making sure that his skin was squeaky clean and perfect inside and out, and his engine thrummed happily at the idea of being clean again. The last time he had taken a shower like this was almost two months ago, now. There was always someone in the other room to monetize his shower privileges. 

Blurr still didn't fully get why this rule was in place. Something about pipes and running from the dam, and how if they weren't careful the humans might figure out they were stealing from them and blah, blah, blah. 

Then why not just make it connect to a pond or something, like, com’on! 

Eventually satisfied with how every part of his body felt squeaky and clean he shut the water off and grabbed the towel. 

The soft fabric brushed over his body, chasing off every last droplet from his subplating. If not properly taken care of his metals could rust and be a worse problem later. Yes, he was a car and had sturdier metal than Earth vehicles, but that didn't mean he shouldn't not be concerned about his own body! Plus, water spots didn’t look good on anyone. 

“O-oh.” 

Flinching, the towel slipped from his fingers and he stared up at Heatwave who just entered the bunker. He could see the orange optics scanning him, watching the mist spill out of the shower and narrowed them. 

Blurr tensed. 

“Don't make me catch you doing that again,” was all he said before lumbering to the fridge and taking out the rest of his energon he hadn't finished since last night. 

A pause. “U-um, okay.” 

He wasn't going to argue with that. Not when Heatwave had been acting . . . different. In Blurr's favor. 

Ever since that night, his dent had been fixed, and while relations weren't the smoothest, it definitely wasn't the worst. 

Blurr did blame Heatwave, even if he outwardly said it was his own fault. Toxic, much? But nothing he said or did seemed to warrant literally getting punched by the same mech that had fragged him almost twenty-four hours ago. He just couldn't understand it, so he didn't try to. And if anyone knew what happened to Heatwave's datapad a month ago, well, Blurr definitely doesn't. 

So, yeah. He was still upset. Enough to get random bursts of anger and take it out on the mech responsible. Especially since Heatwave made the big brain move to add Blades and Quickshadow so the room wouldn't be silent all the time, instead of moving either Blurr or himself which would have saved the problem. 

Blurr scrubbed harder at his plating. 

But, well, for all his righteous anger, he wasn't exactly mad. More hurt than anything else. He had been cast aside, maybe even replaced by Quickshadow and all her aloof yet watchful presence, completely different from his own needy one. Like he wasn't anything more than a cogless machine, like a bug. One to squish. So, yeah. Of course he would still be miffed about it, even if he thought the mood swings of his were random and odd. 

He shook his helm and grabbed the towel again, rubbing himself dry. 

But, at least it meant he wasn't getting yelled at by Heatwave anymore. Three months and the mech hadn't raised his voice at him once. Not like Blurr did anything worse than take extra showers on hot, because he did keep to his side of the bargain. He didn't annoy him when he was working, and only complained marginally less when told to find something around the city or rescue a troubled person. 

The latter was getting more and more rare as time went on, though. 

Tossing the towel into the dirty bin, he went back for his polish and carefully began applying it on. Not much different from makeup, he thought, watching as his exoplates began to shine again. He loved to look his best, which was why he had taken the surgery from his ugly ancient body into a slimmer, more aerodynamic body. The extra flashiness was just a last minute impulse, something to really catch other's optics with. 

Because without it he felt alone. 

The door opened again and Blades bustled in, all a-glory with soot and rough scrapes from his most recent activity. He winced for the helicopter. 

“Hi guys! My mission went a liiiittle sideways, but the person's all right.” He smiled, trying to ease the uncertain ice in the atmosphere. Blurr almost felt bad for him, stuck with two bots who were barely on speaking terms and an awkward relationship between their leader and the only femme on the team. “How about you, Blurr?” 

“Fine,” he murmured, applying it to his faceplates next. The cool temperature helped to ease some of the anxiety Blades had unwittingly brought in with him. “No more Decepticons. Nothing on the long range scanners either, I checked.” 

As soon as they had come, dragging chaos with them, they had left with a city falling to its knees. Almost nobody stayed. Those who they rescued now were medical or police personnel, trying to figure out what the heck to do. Rarely any survivors were found. 

And although he never exactly took his rescue work seriously, Blurr still felt the hitch in his vents when he looked at the crumbling, gray city. He could have stopped this. Could have distracted the seekers away, they were already on his tail! 

But Heatwave had to listen to Optimus’ orders more, and a city was gone because of it. 

“Maybe they won't return?” he asked, hopeful. “I mean, it's been a long time since anyone has seen them. Chase reports nothing, neither does High Tide. And Boulder is still working on that machine.” 

Blurr just shrugged and revved his engine softly, looking over himself in the mirror. He looked good. Fresh and beautiful, ready for anything. He smiled at himself before locking gazed with Heatwave who also looked in the mirror before the firetruck whipped away. 

Oh. Well. 

Rolling his shoulders back, Blurr plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. The newscaster spoke boldly about renovation happening all across America in the hopes that the people could pick themselves up again like they always have. Images of desolated cities hung like a bad fog, of the charred ruins of some cities by aircraft they had never seen before. 

“It's even worse up close,” a feminine voice said. Blurr’s lips tightened. “On TV it doesn't seem real until you're there yourself and actually see it.” 

“Hey,” Heatwave said softly. Bots shuffled, softly, slowly, and Blurr didn't look back even if the pang in his spark cut through his chassis. “The shower’s open.” 

Nobody said anything about the mist still clinging to the walls in the bathroom. Like they didn't care. Like nothing Blurr did would catch their attention anymore. 

Like he was invisible. 

Blurr slept fitfully that night. 

-----

Optics fluttered on. The world was still and silent for a moment. Held like a breath, waiting, watching, Blurr lay in the silent tranquility and felt his body start to wake up as well in a slow, lazy manner. 

Until his tanks churned and he shot off the berth and out of the bunker entirely to purge yesterday’s food out of him. 

Hacking softly he groaned and shakily fisted his hands, pressing them into the floor as he sat on his knees in the cold, crisp morning. 

“Again?” 

He growled in Blade's direction. 

The half-medic only sighed and stepped forward. Only this time he held a box in his dusty servos. He wondered where the mechanics got it from, and why he didn't take a shower last night. No form of guilt appeared in his processor from yesterday's selfishness. 

“Look, this has been happening for over a week already. You're obviously not fine. Eating more only to throw it all up again.” Blades set the box down and rummaged through it, oblivious to the glare. “And you and I both know that's not normal.” 

“Blades,” he sighed, wiping his mouth and sitting up. “I'm okay. We'll get through this, I'm sure it's just a small virus. We all have things to do.” 

He didn't want to be a problem again. He didn't want to annoy Heatwave that he was useless again. He didn't want to be punched again. 

“Well, good thing I now have the equipment to check that out for myself. This will run through your code to figure out what's going on. Okay?” He finally held up a small scanner, smiling to make it all safer. 

Hearing the dull footsteps behind him stop, he vented and gave a reluctant nod. 

The cool wash of the scanner started at his helm and ended at his pedes, and after Blurr forced himself to stand. “I'll go clean this up,” he said dejectedly, feeling a small processor ache coming on. His tanks rumbled unhappily, and he placed a servo like that could guard it off, and was relieved when it settled down a moment later. 

He passed Heatwave who stood awkwardly in the doorway to grab a few napkins. The firetruck usually washed away what he couldn't immediately clean up. 

The sharp, startled gasp shouldn't have made him flinch so hard. “W-what, what's happening?” he demanded, spark pulsing with fear, fear, fear as he rushed back outside, napkins forgotten. 

It even caught the attention of Quickshadow because she slipped behind him and stood next to Heatwave, her optics curious. 

Blade’s faceplate looked paler than normal. “U-um,” he stammered, blades twitching behind his back. “N-nothing bad! Honest! It's just . . . Bad timing?” 

“Tell me!” Blurr was an impatient mech, who didn't know that? 

An audible reset of a voice box. “Well, congratulations! You're sparked.” 

Silence. 

And more silence. 

Eventually the twittering of a bird cut through it, but still the gaping hole of sound remained. 

He whirled on Heatwave only to find the mech was already looking at him. “What the frag ?!” 

The firetruck recoiled, looking as pleased as he was about all of it. “Y-you can't be serious--B-Blades, are you sure ?” 

The helicopter was busy looking over the scanner. “Well, I, uh, found these laying around. They aren't the newest but that shouldn't be an issue. All this morning sickness does prove its point.” He pulled his shoulders back. “Have you been feeling any tightness around your stomach when you transform?” 

“Yeah,” he breathed out, engine whining. 

Sparked. 

No. Fragging. Way. 

And the only one mech it could be had punched him. Yes, Blurr had a thing with Salvage for a while, but since landing on Earth he hadn't really been as interested in keeping it up. He felt like he was toxic to the kind recycler, no matter what Salvage had said. 

So he hadn't gotten laid in years. Until Heatwave came along. 

Blurr felt the prickling of coolant threatening to spill out but that got shocked away when servos grasped his shoulder wheels and shook him so he looked up into orange optics. 

“Why didn't you say anything?!” 

This wasn't safe. Not for a sparkling. 

Wrenching himself away Blurr stumbled to the doorway and leaned heavily against it. “I-I--” He simply shrugged. “Couldn't.” He didn’t even know what he was asking, but that seemed like a good enough answer.  

“Well you can't transform anymore,” Blades cautioned. “Doing that might squish the sparkling, especially later on.”  

A strangled squeak. He had been feeling that tug for ten days already. What if he had already squished it, what if he hadn't been eating enough, hadn't been--

“Blurr!” 

He snapped out of it when Quickshadow touched his servo. “Come on. It will be all right, we’ll figure this out. Okay?” He wanted to believe in her smile, but his optics strayed to Heatwave and he doubted it all over again. He made plenty of mistakes, ones that Heatwave reminded him of. “Do you know who the sire is?” 

Blurr clenched her hand with his own. “Y-yeah.” She waited, expectant, when he realized. “O-oh. Um. I-I don't want to say it, um, right now.” His engine rumbled, uncomfortable. 

She didn't frown, didn't pull away. She only nodded like that was completely fine and he didn't understand. Wasn't a random sparkling important? Important enough to dig? “Well, in the meantime we won't tell anyone else. I'm sure we can figure out a new, safer schedule for you to do while Blades gets everything you need.” 

“But--” 

“No,” she said firmly. “Don't worry, Blurr. How far along do you think you are?” 

He took a shuddering vent. “Three months.” 

“Three?!” Blades exclaimed. “Primus, you have late symptoms.” 

Blurr curled away. He was a mistake, he was already carrying wrong, his child was probably hurting so much and he hadn't even figured out he was sparked! He always did something wrong. 

He must have made some sort of noise because they all whipped their helms in his direction. Blades looked like he got smacked and ate something sour. “Wait, wait, that wasn't--frag. It's okay, Blurr, some symptoms are late. I just thought, you know, since your body speed runs medication and, well, everything, I thought this would be faster too. But it's perfectly normal, trust me.” 

Quickshadow squeezed his hand in reassurance. 

Slowly, slowly, he felt himself relaxing and the heavy feeling clouding his processor faded away but didn't quite leave. He wasn't sure if ever would, but he was going to put on a brave face. “We’re keeping it?” he asked softly. 

“What do you want?” she countered warmly. 

“I-I want to keep it.” 

It felt weird. To be in the center of attention, something he craved , and asked what he wanted to do. The same bots who easily dismissed him earlier now touched him gently, leading him to the couch and fretting over a new member in the rescue team, and he didn't know what to think about it. It felt wrong, weird, and so right at the same time. 

At least now he understood his mood swings. 

The only one who didn't share Quickshadow’s and Blades’ excitement was Heatwave, the most important one, who couldn't stop staring at a wall. 

“Don't burst any wires, Blurr, I'll be back with some more equipment to help, all right?” Blades asked, already muttering about a call to Optimus as he flew out of the room. 

Quickshadow took a moment longer, but then she smiled, patted his helm, and left to do her own daily rounds. 

Leaving him with the firetruck. 

“You . . . don't want to tell them?” 

He blinked at the small, hesitant voice. “W-well, I didn't want to just blurt it. If you don't want any part of this, there's a window out.” 

He fisted his servo. “Oh.” 

Blurr fiddled with his fingers. “J-just let me know what you want as soon as possible.” 

His spark hurt at the thought of Heatwave actually leaving him. He . . . he didn't want to go through it without a sire figure for his sparkling. Blurr knew Blades and the other team members would be ready to help him out, but it wasn't the same. 

Even though he had just found out he was sparked, a part of him also felt . . . comfortable with the idea. Clearly his body had already known he was a running factory for the small being even if he himself didn't. Three months was definitely a stretch, though. He couldn't believe he didn't know sooner. 

The gentle tapping against a table brought him back to Heatwave. Blurr knew the red mech would be able to care for them. He was strong, confident, and able to lead. Everything that Blurr couldn't do. And he admired that, as much as he also despised them. “I’ll be around.” 

He tilted his helm, feeling more upset than he probably should. “That's it? Uhh, not like I was expecting anything else--b-but if you wanted to I would be more than happy! Frag. I, well, I just mean . . .” His gaze dropped to his lap, unsure how to go on. Blurr wanted to cling onto Heatwave and never let go. To find some stability, some form of reassurance that he was doing okay, he was better than okay. 

But that made him sound clingy and weak, and compared to everything the firetruck believed in, it was too much work. Too much emotion. 

A large red servo draped over his own, linking their fingers. “I'll be around. If you're ever uncomfortable, just tell me, or if you need something. Anything, okay? I know we didn't mean for this to happen, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to ignore you. If you want to carry our sparkling, then I don't mind. Or if you don't. That choice is yours.” 

Our sparkling . Those words sent a thrill through his body and he felt himself smiling despite it all. “I'll do my best.” 

Blurr was no stranger to asking for what he wanted. Everyone knew that. But, still, getting support from Heatwave felt like he won a battle all on its own

Who knew getting knocked up could get him so much attention? He should have done this a while ago. 

°°°°°

The first thing Heatwave had truly thought about Blurr was that he was fearless. 

Sure, he had a scarily fast processor and pieced together that rescuing was the end all, be all right after he woke up from stasis. And he was annoying. But those were easily dismissed during the first two days because, well, maybe he wasn't so bad? A young (ish) bot coming from the high fame of winning Iacon 5000 twice would take some time to get used to this new and quiet world. 

But when first challenged against the obstacle course, when Blurr was flying fresh and unknown into the jaws of the racetrack, even speeding up to counter the gravity of the no-road jump, the first true thought he had about him was; that mech's fearless. 

Only reinforced a day later after Blurr willingly took the chance to destroy a falling satellite even if it took his own life. For a moment, fleeting as it was, Heatwave had understood it; Blurr had nothing to lose. 

And, regrettably, he was fearless in everything he did. 

Racing. Smart quips. Rescuing, even if he did a little too much or not enough so it soured. Even recharging. While Heatwave was out busting his aft to get these papers in, Blurr would lounge around and head to recharge whenever he wanted to. He didn't run on a schedule except his own if Heatwave didn't drag him into something. 

Because that was the thing. Heatwave was the only one, other than Quickshadow, to put him in his place. He didn't listen to Blades, Chase, Boulder, even High Tide couldn't find a way to get through his thick helm. Salvage was a hit or miss, mostly miss, and only because the recycler was true to his spark no matter what he said so Blurr knew Salvage couldn't have any hidden meanings. 

And now, once again, with this whole sparkling thing, Heatwave was looking at a mech who didn't crumble, didn't so much as make a small, unconscious lip wobble when he asked if he wanted it to stay or leave. He was strong. Stronger than most might think of the bratty, sometimes catty mech who denied it every time if he got in trouble. 

As Heatwave drove along the empty, broken road, soaking in what little sun rays he could, he tried to understand it. 

Blurr hadn't been upset at the idea of having a sparkling. He wanted to keep it. What did that mean? Did he like Heatwave enough to have a sparkling with him, even if they never saw eye to eye on a lot of things? Did he want something more? Or was he reading too much into this? 

A sparkling was a big deal. Especially with Decepticons, this world wasn't as safe as it used to be four months ago. Maybe it never would be as safe. 

That thought made his engine hiss in agitation. 

It wasn't smart, wasn't safe, wasn't some long-awaited event. This was just another Blurr moment. Just when the plans were all laid out, when the rescuing sequences were nailed down, along comes this blunder to uproot everything and make his own plans if he meant to or not. Except this time Heatwave was heavily to blame, too, and he cursed himself a thousand times over for that sudden, irreversible impulse. 

“You're . . . Quiet.” 

He flinched visibly, going off on the wrong side of the road by accident. Kade, gripping the steering wheel tighter, had slipped his processor entirely. “Sorry about that.” He didn't bother to explain. 

“Okayyyyy?” his partner pressed, attempting a smile. It was a ghost of what it used to be, though. The same city his family and he had helped to rescue people in was decimated, and they were only out on the road now to check that no deceptions were anywhere near their area. And to hang out. Ever since Optimus ordered them into those bunkers they were split from their partners for safety. 

Secretly, Heatwave thought it would have the opposite effect. 

“It's nothing.” A lie. One that churned inside him until he blurted out, “Okay, well, not nothing. But I can't say now. You wouldn't understand it.” 

A scoff. “Oh, yeah, this again. Look, just because I didn't get top marks in my class doesn't mean I don't know nothing .” He crossed his arms, eyes lowered. “I'm the oldest in the family. I have a wife, tell me what I don't understand at this point.” 

They drove on, Heatwave avoiding any large debris left over in the chipped, broken road. Or, trying to. Sometimes they would pinch his wheels anyway. 

“Okay, look. I did something I'm not exactly proud of.” 

Kade glanced up at the console. “Oh? That's a first.” 

Heatwave didn't bat an eye at the remark. “And I don't know what to do. This mistake, well, no, it's not a mistake, but this . . . new development isn't something I want right now. Maybe never. Optimus gave us a mission to do and I'm content with that. But now I have something else to take care of and I don't know how to do that. Especially now.” 

“Heh, let me guess, Quickshadow?” Kade guessed, crossing his arms. “See, women could be elusive and once you’ve figured them out they do something crazy and make you wonder what you got yourself into. But in the end? When the child's asleep and everything is done, and you spend some alone time together, it's all perfect in the end.” 

Heatwave tried to imagine it. A late night hang out, simple and comfortable between himself and Blurr. He couldn't. Especially not the faceless sparkling recharging in the next room. It just didn't seem real. And Blurr wasn't so far where it was obvious he was carrying. Eventually he would get there because he was too slim to hide like some mechs Heatwave knew, and that thought made his engine buzz. 

Kade grinned harder. “See, I know some stuff.” 

“Well, you're wrong in that it's Quockshadow,” he gruffed out, embarrassed. Yet he couldn't get the idea of Blurr out of his thoughts, bloated in the right places with that pout, shining with all the polish he liked to moan about. 

That seemed to throw him off. “Wha-huh? But it's definitely a relationship thing. And only you and Quickshadow fit the bill!” 

“I told you it was a mistake,” he muttered. The word felt odd on his glossa, though, and he tensed. 

“S-so who is it?” 

He paused. The name was on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spoken about. He hadn't told anyone, not even Quickshadow and he told her lots of things. 

But Kade might understand. He might be able to help. 

“Blurr.” 

Heatwave watched as Kade’s jaw dropped and tensed worse before the blonde burst into laughter loud enough to ring in the car. “What?! No wonder he looks like that! Heatwave, you never told me Blurr was transgender! When is he due?” 

Heatwave stopped. Literally froze in the middle of the road, engine sputtering. “What?! Okay, one, Blurr isn't transgender. Unlike humans, bots of either gender can carry or give the spark. And two, what the frag?” 

“HOLD ON!” Kade shouted, holding up a finger. “You mean to tell me that even you can carry? I'm sorry, that's disturbing.” 

He hissed. “Yes. But some bots choose to while others don't want to. I, for one, will never carry.” 

He sat back, chuckling softly under his breath in a feathery, breathy way. “Damn, would have loved to see Quickshadow top you.” 

Heatwave growled and drove on. “Very funny.” 

Kade just smirked. “Okay, but, back to the point. You got Blurr knocked up, right? When was that?” 

“Three months ago.” The edges of the city began to come into view, looking broken and desolate as ever. It made his spark sink even worse than it already was. Blackened bits of buildings continued to fall, unable to support their own weight and Heatwave watched one finally crumble into dust. “But he's late in having any symptoms.” 

“That's normal,” he assured with a wave of his hand. Somewhere, a weight lifted inside Heatwave. “It even happened to Hailey.” But then his face grew serious. “But he might be freaking out right now since he's normally fast in literally everything. Do your best and try to calm him down, reassure him.” A pause. “Heatwave, did you already reject him?” 

“No! No, of course I didn't. I told him I'd be there, but I don't know how to,” he fretted, seeing the ocean flashing in the distance. “And I don't even know if he wants me. We fragged, yes, and I made it special for him--” 

He got interrupted. “Look, if you're going into the details, I really don't need to know.” 

“Shut up. Anyway, that was when I noticed he's alone. He still hasn't fully accepted not being someone special, and I treat him like a pest, which may or may not lead everyone else to do the same.” 

“Holy shit,” he agreed, crossing his arms. “That’s definitely a lot to unpack. But what makes you think he won't want you near? Especially if it's his first time, he's definitely going to need your help.” 

His engine cried out, making Kade’s brows furrow. “Heatwave,” he warned. “What the frick did you do.” 

“I hit him! A day later I hit him because he was trying to get me to stop working and sit down for some high grade. I-I didn't know what to do, how to fix it, so when he threw the tablet and demanded I choose, I went for the datapad! Decepticons had just arrived out of nowhere, cities were burning, and I was drowning in the chaos.” 

With every word he spoke he saw Kade getting stiller and stiller until he was a sitting statue with hard eyes. Heatwave hadn't seen that expression in a long time and it made him feel cold. He messed up big time. 

“You.” Kade shut his eyes, fisting his hands. “Have no idea what you did, do you?” 

“How do I fix it?” Heatwave was desperate at this point. “Ever since then I've never yelled at him, never raised my hand. But sometimes I see those flashes of anger, and sometimes it's fear. Kade, when Blades told him he was sparked today, when I grabbed his shoulders he looked terrified of me and yanked himself away. A-and then when they asked for the sire he didn't tell them. Because if I didn't want to be part of this I didn't have to. He told me.” 

“First, you big dumbass, you're going to apologize to him,” Kade said. “He doesn't want you to be more gentle around him, he wants you to apologize! Guessing you won't hit him again isn't the same as hearing it directly from you. And second? You do your damn job as a father and make sure Blurr feels perfect and wanted. I don't know how a pregnancy works for bots, but with Hailey she felt insecure and ugly, and she's a strong, confident woman on a normal day. If Blurr's already having problems it's not going to get better.” 

A plan. Kade already had a plan all mapped out for him. Heatwave thanked the primes he spoke. While his partner may be a doofus, he did have his moments. 

“So, like, how do I do that?” 

Kade shrugged. “You know him better than anyone at this point. But just talk to him. Nothing will happen if you two don't find a solid ground.” 

His engine purred. Talk. Yeah, he could talk. That sparkling was his too and he was going to take care of it. Even if that meant putting his differences (and pride) aside. 

Chapter Text

Three months was a long time. 

Time enough for Blurr to have already realized he was pregnant and taken the necessary precautions to ease the strain on himself. Time enough to have been content with this knowledge and thinking of names. Time enough to be comfortable in himself and the future. 

And yet it had not been long enough. 

Blurr could feel his subplating itch. His servo rested against his stomach and he swore on Primus he could already feel the bulge. It was barely there, but the more he stared at himself in the mirror the more he saw the subtle arch, the barely-there factor in why his frame stretched whenever he transformed. 

He wasn’t sure if he should hate it or not. And honestly? Blurr didn’t know what to do now. 

Venting in frustration he tore himself away from the mirror and grabbed a towel, scrubbing it against the doorframe, watching as the dirt fell away. Seriously, everything got dirty way too quickly these days. Blurr wasn’t nesting yet, he knew he wouldn’t for a few months still, but Heatwave and Blades more or less isolated him with nothing to do in their bunker and he didn’t have anything else going for him other than morning sickness. 

So he cleaned. Willingly. Without his nurture coding affecting him. Heatwave would probably blow a fuse from shock. 

That made a small smile crawl on his lips, even if only for a moment. 

Subconsciously he touched his stomach, again, running his fingers up and down. The touch soothed him, even if it was his own, calming his processor with the knowledge that his stomach wasn’t tearing, wasn’t ripping, wasn’t doing anything but what it was supposed to do; inflate. Yet, it seemed like though he was the fastest mech alive, even millions of years later, nurture couldn’t be rushed. Blurr easily tore through sedatives, could think four times faster than anyone else, and had a body that could handle going mach speeds despite his light armor. But throw a sparkling into the mix and his body couldn’t figure out what to do with itself. 

He shuddered, gripping the towel harder than he needed and squishing some of the dirty water out. Reluctantly, he moped it back up. Even though Blades assured him that he was doing fine, a lot of pregnancies had late symptoms, that shouldn’t have been Blurr! It shouldn’t have happened to the fastest mech in the universe. The one who’s body worked faster than most mecha could dream. 

Yet it had. 

And so Blurr was scared. 

But of course he couldn’t tell anyone about it. Maybe to Blades, but he might offer a lot more problems than solutions. Blades was that type of bot who didn’t know when to stop. He was childish to a fault, but so happy and lovable about it nobody much cared. He grew on everyone like a vine. Yes, he could turn that side of himself off when it came to medical emergencies like this one, but Blurr didn’t want either side of Blades to fret around him and cause him more anxiety than he already had. He knew Blades meant the best. But a doctor was a doctor and Blurr saw him more than enough times whenever he accidentally ran into something and needed his frame unbent again. 

Quickshadow was a tricky one. Blurr knew she would figure it out when the sparkling was born. If not before that. Maybe she already did know. It wasn’t like Blurr and Heatwave didn’t have a strained relationship or anything, one starting months ago. It wasn’t like Heatwave let Blurr take longer showers than necessary when he chewed anyone else out. But Blurr was still a coward and he could live with not knowing if she already figured it out or not. Ignorance is bliss and all that other stuff Cody would say. 

Cody. His shoulders hiked together. What he’d do to have his partner back. He really hated the ban on humans in their bunker. If Cody was here he would have blurted everything out to him since last week. He was the only human who ever tried to understand him and that was worth his own spark if he could keep it forever. Before coming to Earth nobody cared what truly lied inside the racer’s head. He had fame and shanix and friends but he didn’t have someone he could truly open up to. And to have it taken away hurts.  

But he refused to tell Heatwave because he was not a baby! 

He wanted to cry. Damn his stupid mood swings they went way too fast for their own good. 

When the door hissed open he flinched and fumbled with the towel, looking wide-eyed at the bots that entered. Heatwave’s optics searched him out and when they locked gazes he relaxed before moving away. Still as protective and refusing to admit it as ever. Sigh. 

Blades pushed past Quickshadow, holding a bundle in his arms. “Ta daaaa!!!” he exclaimed, holding them out. His smile pulsed wide, clearly very pleased with himself. 

Blurr set the towel in the sink, yes he could be clean when he wanted to, especially after he wiped the walls, and dried his hands before taking the blanket. It was a fuzzy one, and in a shade of blue, soft to his fingers where his outer plating was thin and sparse, easily letting his subplating feel the soft texture. He hummed, moving it in his arms when something plopped to the ground from inside it. 

A heating pad, large enough to cover his stomach comfortably, a plush-looking pillow, and small cubes of crystal blue energon, obviously medigrade. Blurr felt his spark twist and his lower lip trembled before he could control himself. The gifts—so unexpected—wrestled with his feelings of self-loathing. 

Arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. Blurr let himself melt in the embrace, hiding his face in Blade’s neck cables. “T-thank you,” he stuttered, shuddering softly. Blades moved his servos down his back, petting him soothingly. 

“It’s all right, it’s okay,” he assured, his voice unusually soft. “We’ll get through this, okay? If there’s anything you need just let me know. I wasn’t able to get everything just yet, but these are the most needed basics, and I hope they will make things more comfortable for you.” 

“Yeah, all right,” he said. Blurr made sure his EM field was still coiled tightly around himself and, yep, it was. So Blades must have read off his face how much this meant to him. Cautiously he unspooled some and prodded it at Blades in a way of saying he was happy and thankful. The helicopter’s EM field brushed his right back, warm and soothing. 

It wasn’t Heatwave’s field, but it would do. Blurr would drown in whatever affection he got no matter who it came from. 

Now, more than ever, he needed it. 

When Blades pulled away he already missed his touch. But he made do by scooping the items up and placing them on his berth, already smitten by the blue blanket. He didn’t know where or how Blades got one in almost his shade of paint but he felt touched. The softness was something he could easily get cozy up to and he curled up in the corner of his berth, letting his engine purr without a care in the world. The fuzz soothed him and he already felt warmer, loving how the blanket reached through to his more sensitive subplating. It almost tickled but not quite. Blurr placed the extra items away in his cabinet, not needing them at the moment. He wasn’t even sure what the medigrade was for, exactly, but he wasn’t alone in this anymore. If he had a question, a concern, they would always help him. 

He let himself bask in the warmth, let his engine purr die out and simply listen to the groans of armor and the squeaks of gears of the others. Seriously, Blades needed to get some oil once in a while if lubricant was a dream of the past. The soft sounds continued on and on. 

“He seems to take it well.” 

Finally, after half an hour of sitting still, they were talking. Blurr didn’t dare move. 

“What other choice does he have? It’s not like I can take the sparkling out. Maybe before Starscream and his trio bombarded the city it would have been possible, but now? Now I barely have the medical equipment to keep him safe and healthy.” Blade’s voice shook slightly, making the inner panic inside of Blurr’s spark do its twirls. 

“Well, he wants to keep it,” Quickshadow started again, her own voice box soft and quiet. “So that’s a good thing. It means he won’t hate it despite everything. What are we going to do, though? If any of the Decepticons find out about a sparkling they’ll try to take it. Especially one that comes from Blurr. You know how Starscream tried to recruit Blurr earlier. Once they know about the sparkling, they’ll want it.” 

“They won’t get it.” Blurr had to fight with himself to keep the delighted shiver from running down his spine. Heatwave sounded so sure and strong, and he couldn’t help but believe it himself. “They can try, but they won’t.” 

A hum. “Well, let’s think about this realistically. There’s only so many places we can hide Blurr, and if the sparkling shows the same speed as his carrier he’ll be running before we know it and it’s not good to keep racers stuck in a room. I heard they get angsty fast.” 

Blades grumbled. “Entertainment. How am I supposed to find out what Blurr likes to keep him occupied? I’m sure he doesn’t want to sit around and binge my entire collection of downloaded movies forever.” 

“A good frag can take out a lot of unused energy—”

“He doesn’t like any of us here like that,” Heatwave snapped, cutting that sentence off. Blurr curled tighter into himself, but his movements must have been noticed because they quieted down. The silence ran thickly in the room, and he let himself drift off thinking they were done when Heatwave went on in a lower voice, “Blades, maybe you can have Boulder rig something up for Blurr? I know he’s busy, but maybe something like a treadmill is what he needs.” 

“Well I still think fragging is a cheaper option,” Quickshadow huffed, somewhat saucily. Like a double edged sword. “I don’t see why you’re so against it when you love to rant about putting him in his place.” 

She knew. Of course she knew. Blurr sighed internally. His bliss didn’t last for very long. A shame. 

Heatwave sputtered. “N-not like that! Prumis, you make it sound like I’m hungry for him. I’m not! I’m not looking for anyone other than you.” 

“Aaaaaand I’m going to call Boulder about that treadmill,” Blades cut in, obviously not eager for that conversation to continue. 

Blurr felt his spark clench. He knew Heatwave and Quickshadow were a thing. Ish. They tried to be subtle about it but some things like mixed paints on each other's bodies couldn’t be missed. Still, he hated how he had been shot down. Heatwave was just fine with helping him in secret, but not when faced with other mecha. 

Fine. He didn’t need him anyway. 

He let himself fall asleep. 

°°°°°

Three months was an eternity for something that should have happened a while ago. 

“How much longer until we find him?!” 

The scratchy voice rang out in the room, echoing in harsh tones to the other bots scattered around. Everyone paused, and he could sense their tenseness, see how their optics strayed away and their servos suddenly found something to do. 

He couldn't blame them, but Starscream clenched his teeth in frustration and stormed down the hallway and into his room. He only got a marginal satisfaction slamming the door, only for it to be doused like a candle drowned in water when he spun around. “What. Do you want?!” 

In his chair was a red menace that had no right to be there, tapping his claws over his desk. “Starscream! Finally.” The blue glimmer in his eyes was dull, as it typically was these days. “I've been meaning to talk to you.” 

With a sharp twitch of his wings Starscream stormed over to the front of the desk and slammed his hand down. Neither backed down and he sneered. “You think you can sneak into my office and give me orders within the same walls I command others?” 

Knock Out held up his hands and stood. “Listen. I can't just sit around anymore and you’re so stressed about Optimus that you wouldn't have heard me out.” 

Fuming, Starscream remembered why he wanted to enter the room in the first place and pulled out a few datapads from the shelves. “And what makes you think I'm gonna listen to you now?” 

The red deception sighed, but he was too busy turning the datapads in and searching through the files. 

The attacks weren't working. Things were being destroyed, yes, but like vermin the autobots kept running and hiding instead of fighting. Bumblebee’s team was gone. Even pet projects like the Rescue Bots vanished without a trace. 

“What is their goal here?” he muttered, wings twitching again. By now Optimus was supposed to have been captured and killed. Earth wasn't supposed to have this many casualties, it wasn't worth anything. They weren't supposed to have stayed here for so long. 

But Optimus had found something in the fragging planet and everyone was paying the price. 

“Listen--”

“No time,” he growled, his pinched vocals striking a piercing chord that worked most of the time. His claws tapped on the maps, drawing a circle around yet another city destroyed for nothing. Trial and error. Surely sooner than later the damned leader of the autobots would realize hiding is futile and would get every human killed. 

“That's not fair.” 

“Is anything?!” Starscream snapped, wings flaring wide. “Here I am, running on low hours of recharge, but what can I do about it?! Megatron wants his greedy hands on Optimus so I have to organize the next strikes on Earth, to figure out where they might be hiding. I don't have the funding or the materials to continue doing this but if I don't fulfill Megatron's orders it’ll be me he murders!” 

There. That felt much better. He didn't rant nearly as much as he'd like to because he was too exhausted and high-strung these days. Three months. Ninety-one days. Way too long. 

“You're doing it wrong.” 

He leveled the other the coldest, most murderous glare he could form. Of course he was doing it wrong, why did this mech think he had a helmache more often than not? “Oh, really?” But he could play along. If Knock Out thought he had the correct recipe, he could wait to hear him out and ridicule him. “What else am I doing wrong?” To further egg him on, Starscream dropped the datapads to the floor, half hoping they cracked. 

Now that he had his undivided attention, Knock Out went on. “Look, I'm not doing anything important anymore. I can't keep sitting here. If you want to draw out the autobots, maybe stop bombing them? Clearly that hasn't worked.” 

Starscream huffed, his engine hissing in frustration. “So you believe you can find Optimus.” 

A smirk, dry and hollow as it was. The mech standing before him was nothing like the old version, the flashy doctor that had the guts to challenge other autobots to races. He was almost on par with Starscream in terms of smarts and flashiness, but in a more catty way. At the very least his doctoring was solid. 

But there was one patient he couldn't save. 

“I'll act like I'm running away. If I'm injured and fighting one of you guys, maybe the autobots can witness it and save me. You know how they are.” 

Starscream stared at him. Then burst out laughing. 

Knock Out stood straighter, a righteous flush painting his faceplate. “Hey, it's not so stupid if you think about it.” 

“Stupid?” he giggled, scooping the datapads back up and plopping them onto the desk. “No, it doesn't sound stupid. It sounds ludicrous. Like you want to leave the Deceptions.” 

And there was a good reason for him to leave. He had no strings holding him back anymore. Because nobody helped him out of the good of their sparks, no, there was always a hidden motive at work. 

Knock Out’s engine rumbled irritably. “I want to get out of this stupid place!” For a moment, pain and anguish flickered across his face and then it was gone. “The sooner we find the autobots the sooner we can leave.” 

For a moment, Starscream eyed him. The silent, broken resilience. Yes . . . he could work with that. If he had somebody else on the ground, if he had somebody else infiltrating the autobots to find their camp, that would save the wasted time and effort to keep raining bombs. 

Whatever Optimus’ plans, if he even had one, would finally be revealed with a good scout. 

Shutting his optics with a sigh, Starscream fitted his wings back and sat down in his chair. The lightbulb buzzed ahead, the primitive Earth knowledge, only adding to the clutter going around in his head. 

“Why do you think this is going to work?” He asked, irritably tapping at a map. So many places in the world have been bombed, major cities, militaries, governments. Optimus wouldn't want the destruction of innocent people, so why wasn't he out of hiding? 

Knock Out stepped forward, eying the map. “Well, it's simple enough to work. They're hidden somewhere. They can't stay in hiding forever, sure, but what if they have an underground bunker we didn't find? If I can get inside we can take them out so much faster.” 

“Sure,” he amended, seeing the thought process. “That's how it can work. But why do you think it could? Where are we going to drop you in hopes of those turborats to find you?” 

Taking the datapads from him, Knock Out panned through it before coming to a small island off the coast of the United States and tapped it. “Here. Griffyn Rock. You wouldn't believe the technology they used to have here. Even had rumors of aliens.” 

Starscream scoffed, pulling the datapads back to himself. “I don't know how you learned that, but that place was bombed three months ago.” 

“Exactly. There's been nowhere to run.” 

Scowling, Starscream swiped away. “No. No. Three months is more than enough time for them to hightail it out. A little salt water is nothing on our bodies, our paint nanites would come right back. If they were smart they would have left as soon as they could.” 

“But there's people there, right?” He challenged, his optics firm. “If they really were rescue bots, they couldn't have simply left the people to die.” 

Wings twitched. “No. Not even autobots would stick around for that long for the humans.” 

Drawing away, his armor plates shifting tighter with the words he wanted to say but didn't, Knock Out nodded. “Well. I believe that is our best bet. If it doesn't work out we can always move on.” 

“Don't waste my time,” he growled, tensing up. “I've been consulting these maps for far longer than you have.” 

At the doorway, Knock Out paused. “How about we make a deal? If you drop me off there and I see nobody for a week I'll give you a polish.” 

A polish. When was the last time Starscream had one? Far too long, he already knew. 

Slowly, his fingers found the tiny island again and he stared at it for a while like that alone will give him the answers he needs. It didn't, and Knock Out shuffled by the door. “So?” 

“Fine,” he snapped. What was a week longer to wait? They’ve been stuck for this long already. 

Despite the challenge that was definitely against him, the red mech smiled. It was dry and mechanical, but it was a smile. “All right. I'll see you soon.” 

No thankfulness. No relief. Nothing else as he stepped out of the room and the door shut with a quiet hiss, sealing Starscream away from any other annoying bug. 

He couldn't wait for his polish.