Ratchet had taken to sitting down instead of standing at the worktable. Jazz had to prompt him by mentioning where he'd stopped speaking last to get the medic to continue with his story. "So you were sitting at Maccadam's?" The black and white mech's voice was quiet and had a certain undertone of gentleness to it. He was starting to hate himself for volunteering. Now he was witness to their medic's slow decline, unsure if the other would ever even let him help.

Even though Ratchet's hands were no longer steady enough to work on the last project he wished to complete, miscellaneous datapads, and parts sat on the table before him along with Prime's axe. Ratchet shook his helm and increased the power flowing to his optics to make them look brighter. "I was sitting at Maccadam's Oil house after finishing my shift at the academy of sciences repair bay. I believe I already told you how I ended up there. Lousy Council wanting to keep track of their Primus forsaken weapon."

The cyber-ninja nodded. The older mech had told him. Although the stories were out of order Jazz believed he had a good grasp of the timeline of Ratchet's life at this point, reminding himself that the Council of Cybertron had determined him too much of a threat to allow to wander due to the activation codes for their ultimate weapon still lurking in his processor. "Ya did, Doc-bot."

"Good, wouldn't want to have to repeat myself." The medic shot the sports car medic a smirk knowing they both saw the sad humor in that statement seeing that often times lately if Jazz did not stop him he would turn into an audio track on repeat. "Wheeljack came in and took the seat beside me and the bar. I don't know how much you know about Wheeljack but I'm glad they sent him instead of Perceptor to tell me." Ratchet's helm bobbed forward slightly, but he caught himself shaking it again before taking a drink of oil.

"Tell you what?" Jazz what actually sort of surprised this was getting into more current times. He had been around and working partially with the Jettwins under the watchful gaze of 'Jack and Percy. He wondered if he could pin point the day in his own memory files that Wheeljack was not present if provided with enough information.

"They were giving up on Omega. He'd been kept under lock and keycard in some science bunker since the end of the war when we had been separated after the incident that put Omega in deep stasis, and now after all this time they had decided since they couldn't do anything with him to at least get some use out of him as a ship. He was being transported to a local space dock… I hadn't thought I'd get to see my pal Omega again. I'd started my vocalizer to demand to be assigned to the crew and Wheeljack raised a hand and told me I already was. My first assignment was finish the repairs on Omega or what he reminded me, I needed to call Orion, and then be apart of a maintenance crew for some far flung gate. They expected it to be a 'peaceful assignment.' " Ratchet finished that with a mocking tone. His hand kneaded at the glass above his spark chamber. The ache was a constant now even in recharge, or even deeper stasis.

Jazz stood out of his seat leaving the datapad and stylus behind. It was now or never. Ratchet had no more secrets to hide from him or at least very few. Jazz had openly accepted any story Ratchet had supplied him about his life. The black and white mech took a couple steps closing the distance between himself and Ratchet. He leaned down one hand on the other's shoulder, and the other finding a place on top of Ratchet's own as if guarding it. His helm fit in the spot between the medic's helm and his shoulder panel. Without giving warning Jazz pressed his lips softly against the red metal of Ratchet's helm. "You're fading."

The medic's voice was terribly quiet as he responded. "I thought you didn't want to talk about that anymore."

"I don't. I wanna talk about you deciding ta stay with us. Just a little longer, Doc." Jazz tightened his hold on Ratchet's hand entwining their fingers. "I know what would have ta be done. I give my consent. I know more about you than the crew and whatever you learn about me from the merges I'll be fine with. I want ya to stay. Please." The cyber-ninja shuttered his optics as he made his plea. His spark field tested the waters pressing outward till it brushed against the weakening field that he knew to be Ratchet's.

The medic's optics brightened and he sat up slightly at the brush of their fields. He groaned shallowly and let the height of his helm drop. A mere brush of a healthy field had produced a reaction in him. A smirk dragged up one corner of his mouth and squeezed Jazz's fingers between his own. "I guess I could stand a few more stellarcycles…"


It was a slow dance. Jazz had taken the lead, and Ratchet although unsure had followed. The act of merging was something along with bonding that had fallen out of favor after their culture had to endure hundreds of stellarcycles of war. Over time as a way to lessen the impact other forms of intimacy had be crafted by clever programmers, and builders. One of the more notable ones, binary bonding still existed as a cheap substitute for much more gratifying spark bonds. Too many mechs had watched a true bonded pair die, one mate than another. Too many mechs were afraid to doom the mech they loved to such a fate in turbulent times and many had decided to leave spark bonding for when peace had returned. Only it had never really came back.

Ratchet laid back on the flat plane of his single mech berth and could feel his spark pulse nervously. When it had been noticed that even a simple overlay of their spark fields had produced a positive result Jazz continued to project his field allowing it to flirt and casually brush against the medic's.

The ambulance mech knew what it was like to be on the cusp of death. He'd known it in battle, and now he knew it in peace. Initial when he'd learned what was happening Ratchet had easily accepted it but as time went on his resolve had been shaken. He was not brave enough to face death without a weapon in his hand. He did not see himself as a brave mech, although he'd been a vital cog in the machine that brought peace to his home. He had not accepted the role of hero that had been draped upon his shoulders like a victory garland when he had finally returned to his home after the war. He'd seen heroes, many, many dead heroes. He cycled air and moved over on the berth to allow the younger mech to move in beside him.

Jazz gracefully slipped onto the berth and pulled himself close to the other's form. If they were going to do what they had set out to the time for shyness had passed. He raised his hand and carefully traced the edge of the damaged tine of the medic's chevron. "Doc, ya don' have to do this. We can't make ya stay." Shuttering his optics and lowering the brightness of his visor to reflect that the cyber-ninja tapped he crest of his helm against the crest of Ratchet's and held it there. His hand left the tine to rest loosely on the back of the other helm, keeping the other close.

"I should be the one talkin' you out of this." He could feel the soft vibrations of the younger mech's engine against his plating as they lay on their sides facing one another. His hand smoothed the sleek plating of the sports car mech's side. "You know there was a time when mechs wouldn't have thought twice about this."

"Would it be entirely uncool of me to ask ya to forget the stardate and just go with the flow? Forget you're a hero for a klik." Jazz's lips brushed against Ratchet's.

The tension in the medic's frame was slowly giving way. Ratchet shuttered his optics, trying to remember a time he wouldn't be worried about what they were going to do as he pressed into the kiss. This wasn't about forgetting, but remembering. The red and white mech pulled his helm back and disengaged from the kiss. "I'm not a hero."

"Ya are in my optics." The words were said with certainty and Jazz wasn't surprised when he felt the coaxing nature of Ratchet's spark field tug on his in response to those few words.

It was a slow dance in which both partner both had to learn not to step on each other's pedes. Their hands moved mapping the details of their partner's frame, and their fields playfully tested each other. They were quiet. They had no need to be loud. When they did speak it was in comfortable whispers that seemed to tickle their audio sensors and seemed to spur them into heated action further.

Ratchet had never realized how used to hearing Jazz's chuckle he'd become. It was reassuring and as his chest plates parted to bare his spark chamber to the black and white mech Ratchet looked up at both the ceiling and the lithe mech that had moved onto top of him during the course of events. Jazz's chest plating had also folded away. They looked at one another.

"Ya know one merge ain't gonna fix ya." Jazz spoke as he investigated the open edge of the medic's chest compartment, his optical visor darker in hue.

"Just consider it damage control." Ratchet's hands had found their way to his partner's hips. He hadn't realized how much his own plating's sheen had suffered from the lack of necessary spark energy. He supposed it was a slow way of graying.

"Ready?" The cyberninja leaned over him placing their chest compartments flush as they could be with their armor retracted. Their fields surged against one another in their closeness. Wisps of their emotions traded hosts.

"Ready." They pulled the final barrier between their cores away. Bright light pored between the gaps in their armor. Tendrils of their life force reached for the other pulling them out of their housing units and closer to the temporary completion of a merge.

Their frames shook at the needy pleasure. Their fingers found places to clench at as they arched with a quiet medley of whimpers and gasps coming from their vocalizers. In the moment of the merge there wasn't two mechs. Their consciousness intertwined, memories, thoughts, and feeling both physical and spark driven were exchanged as well as the revitalizing spark energy.

The connection broke and their sparks retreated into their heated frames. They lay against each other, neither wishing to put distance between them, and both equally tired. Jazz's hand stroked lightly at the medic's collar armor while one of Ratchet's hands playfully slide over the black and white mech's aft plating. Jazz cleared his voice before speaking. "Lech"

Ratchet chuckled, "Little late to cry foul."