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Today, it seemed that there was a rarely seen and experienced moment of peace and quiet on the Lost Light.
As Ratchet walked down the hall leading to the ship’s personal health and wellbeing support office, a strange sense of dread grew and sprouted over his struts. Despite his unending griping about the noise that permeated the ship, it was still so strange how everything seemed almost too…quiet. There was none of Nautica’s idle chatter, nor was there the sound of any of Whirl’s pedes pounding on the ground. It was merely just Ratchet, approaching the door to Rung’s office, his hand ghosting against the doorknob. After years of being surrounded by noise, Ratchet found the silence to be rather off putting.
Still, Ratchet thought, he wanted to at least try to keep a good attitude - it was, after all, one of the keys to a healthy mindset, which was something Rung always pestered- or, uh, gently reminded him. When Ratchet came into the room, Rung was sitting at his desk - fiddling with what looked like a fidget toy while the medic before him stood so casually in the doorway, looking at him with a slight smile. When Rung raised his helm, one of Ratchet’s sensors pinged when the psychologist’s spark seemed to skip a beat. Perhaps, Rung was excited with the anticipation of seeing his lover - or maybe, it had skipped with dread. Ratchet knew that Rung wouldn’t just call the retired medic over nothing during their office hours. Perhaps something was wrong with Rung? The pessimist in Ratchet reared its head at the thought of something grave and grisley happening to his lover.
“Good evening, doc.” Ratchet greeted.
“Oh, Ratchet!” Rung piped. “How lovely it is to be seeing you!’
Ratchet plastered a plain and simple smile to his faceplate as he made himself comfortable on the polyester cloth couch Rung kept in his office.
“So, you called me in for something, Rung?” Ratchet asked.
“Ah…yes, of course.” Rung got out of his chair, and began the methodical process of closing his office down for the day - a process that included logging his computer out of the Lost Light’s shared network, pulling down the tin shutters from his office’s porthole, and then locking his file cabinets. After he concluded his routine for the day, Rung then sat on the other end of the couch - sitting stiffly and straight.
With an uneasy feeling in his field, Ratchet looked at the psychiatrist with wary eyes. Rung seemed small against the couch they sat in together - his skinny, thin frame sinking deep into the polyester plush upholstery of the chaise. There was a good distance between them, with Rung curled up lonely against the corner of the chaise. Ratchet itched to inch closer to him - merely to feel the other mech’s presence in the cold, sterile room. However, Rung didn’t seem much in the mood for comfort.
“I…” Rung averted his gaze away from Ratchet, before he rubbed the back of his neck. “I never thought that I would be having this conversation - especially with you. But, um…something about our, ahem, personal relationship has come up, and I believe that it’s necessary that I share it with you.”
“Is something wrong, Rung?” Ratchet asked.
“I…I don’t know.” Rung took a minute to clasp his servos together, before he wrung them together. “It depends on what you define as wrong, really. It’s all subjective, I mean-”
Ratchet huffed out a restrained sigh.
“Rung, stop with the rambling, and just tell me what’s going on - please.”
Rung looked towards Ratchet with big blue optics, his optics sparkling with what seemed to be tears.
“I’m sparked, Ratchet.” He said in a small, fragile voice.
The medic was quiet for a moment before his vocalizer began to try to find an inquiry. Rung watched with a dreadful and grim expression as his lover struggled with static, before he finally settled on whispering out a question.
“How?”
Rung sighed heavily, before averting his eyes from Ratchet’s gaze. He began to ramble out a long response.
“I…I don’t know how. I assumed that since I'm old, and you're old, that we couldn’t possibly have been able to kindle. I mean, unless the Will of Primus somehow made its way into my forge, I thought it was almost impossible for anything like this to happen.”
“I mean, it IS impossible. We’re fraggin’ ancient, even by Cybertronian standards. I'm honestly surprised that my transfluid tank still functions.” Ratchet looked at Rung sympathetically. “Are you sure you don’t have an infection or something whatever instead, Rung?”
Rung shook his head.
“I’m sure that I don’t have anything like that growing in there. Spinister and Velocity had ultrasound photos taken, coding tests done, and have had my circulatory system checked and looked through. Each and every one of the results that came back point towards me being sparked.” Rung pulled his glasses to rest on top of his head, and then buried his face in his hands. It seemed he was on the brink of tears. “I- I’m lost on what to do.”
In an awkward display of intimacy, Ratchet wrapped an arm around Rung’s lithe frame, drawing him closer to his side. Rung curled up to his lover, easily falling against Ratchet’s sturdy and steady frame.
“Oh, Rung,” Ratchet muttered. “You ain’t gotta do anything much right now. It’s gonna be okay. We’ve both been through worse, you know. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I know - it feels so silly, but I'm still scared. I’ve walked this world for 12 million solar cycles, and I've survived everything that the universe’s thrown at me - but I don’t think I've ever been as scared as I am right now.”
“Well…that’s understandable - but you’ve got plenty of time to think about what you want to do with the split spark. You can’t be too far along with carrying it, after all. Just so you know, I'll be there for whatever you wanna do - even if you wanna snuff it out, or keep it.”
Rung’s vents seemed to hitch at Ratchet’s words. With watery, saucer like eyes, he looked up at Ratchet.
“You’d really do that for me?” Rung asked incredulously.
“Well, I'm the whole reason you’re in this whole mess, aren’t I?” Ratchet asked. “I've gotta step up, you know.”
Rung let out a sob before he buried his helm into the crook of Ratchet’s chest. In kind, Ratchet clung on to him tighter, allowing his partner to treat him as a lifeline. The light of Rung’s spark shone dimly upon both of them as they held each other, both basking in its light by simply existing.
Maybe, he thought, it was best for both of them to just hang on to the present instead of occupying themselves with the near distant future.