Megatron's signal did not appear again, and the fear of him died out. Those anxious by his closeness calmed over time, and soon the guards stationed outside the city seemed unnecessary. Ratchet never brought up his worries about the warlord after the walk in the hallway with Optimus, and Optimus wondered if he was still unsettled.

Arcee had pulled him aside and asked him a question that he had hoped to avoid: "What if Megatron wants to join us?"

He didn't know. Personally, he was an advocate for change. He believed that everyone could change for the better, and had been proven right with all the former Decepticons joining them in rebuilding the city. But did Megatron deserve the same opportunity they were given? Could he be forgiven?

At the time, Optimus brushed it off. "Megatron has no intention of living alongside us." He had told her.

Hoping to forget about the thought, Optimus busied himself with his work without the distraction of Megatron.

Working wasn't fun on Ratchet's days off. Optimus missed joining him for energon during breaks, bantering when they passed each other in the hall, bouncing ideas off of one another when discussing reports. He had grown so used to having Ratchet around, that when he wasn't, everything lost his interest.

Today was one of those days. Ratchet was at home, most likely relaxing and swiping through a datapad, and Optimus was working.

The second apartment building was doing wonderfully. He was participating in some of the heavy lifting with Kickback and Ultra Magnus, taking orders from Bulkhead. Never in his life did he think that the wrecker would be exercising authority over him, and he found that he was honored to work with the new, responsible mech Bulkhead had become. It was hard work. His back and shoulders ached, but it felt good to be doing this rather than writing reports. During his break, he sat down with Knock Out and Bumblebee. It was nice to spend time with them, outside of the war, just for the sake of being friends.

He had made friends for the first time in a millenia. They were no longer his soldiers, they were his friends. The thought was delightful.

The day wound up being his most exhausting one in weeks. His frame wasn't built for construction, and he wasn't as fit as he used to be, now that all he did was write reports and cuddle with Ratchet. When it finally came to an end, he was eager to return home.

He was dropping reports off on the Nemesis, prepared to leave for his unit, when Kickback burst through the door, breathing hard.

"There's been an accident."

Optimus' expression hardened, and he followed Kickback at a run through the corridors of the ship and through a groundbridge.

The sight made his spark clench.

The second apartment, halfway built, had collapsed, and was hardly more than a pile of rubble and debris. Mechs and femmes were waving through a thick cloud of dust, calling to one another, pushing rocks around. There were frantic cries and pleas for help.

"Bulkhead!" Optimus shouted for the wrecker, weaving through everybody to get to him. "What happened? Is anyone hurt?"

Bulkhead looked ready to blow a fuse. "I have no fragging idea," he waved his servos around. "I'm not sure yet, we're checking who exactly was supposed to be here and who is present now."

While that information was being found, Optimus called for Knock Out and began helping carry the wounded to safety. He sent Kickback and a few others to start digging for any salvageable resources. When the wrecker approached him again holding a datapad, Optimus tried to take the bad news in stride. Arcee and four mechs weren't anywhere to be found.

"Nobody leaves until they have been found." He ordered, and Bulkhead nodded in agreement, turning to instruct those around them where to start digging.

It took hours. The rubble proved hard to navigate and sift, and the dust made it hard to see and breathe. Optimus' muscles screamed at him as he heaved rocks aside, calling out for any of the missing mechs, or Arcee. The mates and friends of the buried ones were crying and frantically searching.

Optimus was glad that Ratchet wasn't here during this.

At home, Ratchet was mixing energon at the counter, staring into the solvent absentmindedly. He had begun integrating nutrients for his sparkling into his fuel, and they made it bitter. Energon sweetener production wasn't available, not yet, at least. He was watching the clock, waiting for his mate to come home. He had made a list of names that he wanted to go over.

There was a noise outside, and he slowed his stirring. A thud and a crack, and the sound of the door hissing open. Ratchet froze. Optimus wasn't supposed to be home for hours.

Slowly, he moved away from the counter, and towards the hallway. The cursed thought of Megatron popped into his helm, and anxiety coursed through him. If he could lock himself in the berthroom and call Optimus. . .

The mech that came around the corner wasn't Megatron, and neither were the two behind him. Ratchet dove for the hallway, and a clawed servo closed around his wrist, and he was pulled back. Drawing his blade, he swiped at the arm of his attacker, and the mech jolted and released him. Stumbling forward, and knocking over a vase, Ratchet now made for the door. A short, very short, mech stepped in front of him to block, and Ratchet easily shoved him aside and into a shelf, toppling it over. Before he could make it to the door, however, the third mech managed to slip an arm around his waist and throw him backwards, sending him off balance and pressing an activated blaster to his chest.

"There, see? Easy." Red optics were glinting with laughter. "Hold still, Autobot." The tiny mech clambered his pedes and brushed himself off, and the first mech that had attacked him now stood behind him, pressing his own blaster against his backstrut.

Ratchet stood frozen, looking down at the cannon with panicked optics. His spark was pounding in it's chamber, so hard he thought it might burst.

"Well," the small mech's voice was shrill and annoying. "Let's get him all tied up and on camera."

After hours of digging, everyone was found. Arcee and three of the mechs bore injuries, but would be fine with minor repairs. The fourth mech had died from his wounds. The mech's mate sobbed as they pulled his husk from the rubble, and Optimus did his best to comfort him, rubbing his shoulders and speaking soothingly. Knock Out had the survivors brought to the medbay, and last he had checked, they were all fine.

It was getting late, and there was little more they could do. Everyone was tired, and it wasn't like they could rebuild the tower overnight. Optimus thanked those who had helped, and dismissed them to return home. His spark ached for the mech who had lost his mate as he departed.

Optimus' pedes dragged as he walked, he hardly had enough energy to lift them. His shoulders sagged, plates in his backstrut ached, and his optics strained tiredly. He was exhausted. Luckily, the trip to his home was short.

The thought of his warm unit was what kept him moving, knowing his loving mate was waiting for him, ready to kiss him and tuck him into bed. Their berth would be cozy, Ratchet would heat up energon for him, and slip in beside him for a cuddle before they drifted off. Optimus' spark skipped a beat thinking about Ratchet's soft lips, pressing to his forehelm, and then, at his nudge, his mouth. Ratchet would stroke his helm gently, and Optimus would bury his face into his chest, to listen to the beating of his mate's spark.

He very much looked forward to returning home, the promise of his medic's love his driving force.

Sighing softly, he trudged up the sidewalk and onto the patio, striding blindly up the walkway to his unit. His tired optics missed the damaged keypad beside the front door; it had been punched in and ripped out, wires torn and hanging out from the hole.

The door was open. No sounds came from inside the unit.

Optimus had taken two steps in when he stopped, his processor finally catching up with him. His tanks dropped, and a sickening flood of dread took its place. He stepped back outside, finally noticing the damaged keypad. "No," he breathed, his spark taking off like an unbroken stallion. "Ratchet!" He made no effort to hide the panic in his voice as he barreled through the hallway and into the main living space of the house, calling out for his mate.

The room was in a state of disarray. Two shelves had been knocked over, the datapads stored there sent about. A vase had fallen and shattered, and there was a large puddle of energon on the floor. Optimus panicked initially, but found an overturned cube beside the shattered vase.

"Ratchet!" He called out again, frantically throwing every door open and checking every room. While he searched, his com link to Ratchet activated and he desperately tried to contact him that way, but the calls never went through.

His mate was nowhere to be seen.

His exhaustion forgotten, Optimus began to panic. His servos trembled as he dialed Knock Out over his com, swallowing to keep his voice from shaking as the surgeon's sultry voice answered him. "What do you need, Big Rig?"

"Is Ratchet with you?" He asked steadily.

"Negative, it's his day off. Haven't heard from him once."

Optimus leaned against a doorframe, tensely rubbing his temple. His spark was pounding so hard his helm hurt.

"Is he not with you?"

"I thought. . . If he wasn't here, he'd be at the medical center. . ." The Prime was mumbling, trying to calm his breathing.

"Have you tried calling him?"

Something on the counter in the main living space caught Optimus' optics, and he didn't absorb the red doctor's question. He felt nauseous with fear as he approached it.

"Prime? Hello? Should I call someone?"

Optimus came to the counter, clenching his jaw. On the countertop was a datapad, deactivated, decorated with a big red bow on top. There was a small tag that read 'for Optimus <3'.

"Optimus?"

Without a second thought, Optimus ended the call with Knock Out, taking the datapad into his shaking servos and activating it. The screen lit up, displaying a video. Hesitating, spark clenching, Optimus pressed play.

It opened with the face of a Decepticon he had never seen before. He wore a cruel grin, clad in shining purple armor, red visor glinting as he adjusted the camera. "Why, hello there, SAVIOR OF CYBERTRON," he drawled rather giddily. His voice was shrill.

Behind him, there was scuffling, and quiet mutters.

"Lookie who we have, Prime. . ." The mech's laugh was raspy and cruel as he stepped aside and out of the frame, revealing Ratchet, trapped between two large seekers. Optimus recognized Thundercracker and Skywarp immediately with a noise of anger, deep in his throat. Between them, Ratchet was bound and gagged. There was a splotch of blue on his cheek, which was slightly swollen, evidence that he had been struck. Optimus bristled, his servos balling into tight fists.

"Look at the camera, Mama-bot," the unnamed 'con cackled, and Skywarp took Ratchet's throat in his claws and forced his helm upward, level with the datapad. The medic made a noise and resisted, before the servo tightened around his neck and drew a choked sound from him. "I just want to say, congratulations, Prime. You must be so proud to sire the first sparkling born since the war, your dear mate here looks wonderfully well on the way."

A servo moved into the frame to brush Ratchet's swollen middle, where their sparkling grew. The medic visibly tensed against the two seekers, twisting in his restraints.

"I'll keep it short." The mech moved back, cutting off Thundercracker but keeping Ratchet well in view. Beside the seekers and Ratchet, he was rather short, barely coming up to their waists. "Megatron may be done fighting, but we are not. We feel that you don't deserve what you've won. You'll have to compensate us, of course, if you want to see your mate alive again. Tomorrow morning, this datapad will have downloaded a list of demands and deadlines. So stay tuned, OPTIMUS PRIME." He sneered.

The mech whirled around and nodded to Skywarp, who promptly pulled the gag from Ratchet's mouth. The purple seeker tightened his hold on the medic, chuckling as Ratchet shied away from the approaching mech. "Stay the frag away from me," he hissed tensely.

"Not until you scream." The mech purred, slipping a dagger into his palm and raising it so it glinted in the light. Ratchet stared at him with furious, challenging optics. "Come now, for your big strong mate." The mech moved quickly, before Ratchet could react, burying the blade to it's quillion in his thigh.

Ratchet screamed.

The video ended, cutting to black. Optimus found himself staring at his reflection. He watched himself, watched the angry expression on his face, and how it slowly dissolved into pure fear.