Bun's Belly Blog

"P.rimus, O.ptimus, it's about time I've managed to wrangle you down here," R.atchet growled under his breath, though loud enough for the P.rime to hear. "What's gotten into you? You're usually better at making these maintenance checks." The medic used a handheld scanner to analyze his patient's vitals as he continued speaking. "And it seems like nowadays I can hardly get you to step into the med bay at all."

"Apologies. I've been a little preoccupied lately with the uptick in D.ecepticon activity," O.ptimus replied, though R.atchet knew better than to dismiss the red and blue mech's unusually ridgid posture from his place on the berth, or to buy into the complete nonsense excuse. Even under the most intense stress since arriving on Earth, the P.rime had always been diligent in meeting with R.atchet weekly for a checkup. He along with every other A.utobot knew the importance of scheduled maintenance, if the team's medic had anything to say about it. And with the near constant battling and limited resources, making sure everyone was functioning properly was an absolute must now more than ever.

R.atchet raised an unamused optic ridge, which made O.ptimus fidget under his glare. Yet, he merely continued his examination. The medic had a nagging suspicion in the back of his processor, but he held his glossa. For now.

The inspection continued as normal, which only made O.ptimus' behavior all the more strange. There had been no change in protocol that could warrant such avoidance by the P.rime. R.atchet's suspicions were only confirmed during the inspection of O.ptimus' abdominal plating, to which he all but tensed up and near broke the edge of the berth in an iron grip. The medic pressed his derma into a thin line. He waited until he finished the examination before he looked up at O.ptimus with the calm, collected doctor-is-giving-a-diagnosis gaze.

"Sir, you know my processor isn't filled with nuts and bolts, yes?" R.atchet set his scanner down and folded his digits in front of him as he addressed his patient.

"Of course. You're one of the most intelligent bots I know," O.ptimus replied with that spark-melting enthusiasm that only he could muster. It almost made R.atchet feel bad for the lecture he was about to give.

"Then surely you won't be surprised that I've kept records of your last visit and noticed that your abdominal plating has thinned significantly?" R.atchet felt his spark twist as O.ptimus' spinal strut stiffened, his expression guilty like a child getting caught taking something they shouldn't. "Or that I've connected your recent avoidances in the med bay with last month's fuel shortage?"

O.ptimus' audial fins lowered against his helm in a rare moment of shame. He turned to the side and tried to hide the growing blue flush on his faceplate with his servo. "I— um…" For once, even to R.atchet's surprise, the P.rime was speechless. Whether to his fortune or not, his tank had much to say in his place.

The low, drawn-out gurgle that followed was not only loud but uncomfortably long. O.ptimus near choked on air while all R.atchet could do was stare with wide optics and a slack jaw as the P.rime's tank near shook the entire room. Smoke billowed out of O.ptimus' smokestacks as he pressed a servo over his stomach, his faceplate burning a bright blue even over his battle mask. The noise finally tapered off into a small, pathetic whine, still quietly voicing its complaints.

R.atchet sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, I take it you've been skipping out on your required rations?" The glare he shot O.ptimus made the latter squirm in his seat, though his reluctance to speak was more of an answer than anything. R.atchet shook his helm with a quiet, frustrated groan. "P.rime, you of all mechs can't be doing that. We need our leader in top shape."

O.ptimus huffed softly, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck cables with his free servo. "I know. I just don't know how fair it is for me to consume more energon than everyone else." A sharp growl bellowed from under the P.rime's palm as if to argue. O.ptimus winced and lightly rubbed over his empty fuel tank, though it did nothing to quell the noise.

"I admire you just as much as the next bot in this place, but P.rimus, O.ptimus. Sometimes you're too selfless for your own good," R.atchet scolded, though there was more concern in his tone than any real bite. He sat down next to his patient and pressed a gentle servo along his grumbly fuel tank. O.ptimus flinched at the sudden contact, but it didn't take long for him to lean into the touch with a soft sigh. Scrap, he feels so empty, R.atchet noted as the P.rime's belly rippled under his digits. His servo traced over the particularly active areas and kneaded out the aches as best he could. "You're bigger than almost everyone. Big bots naturally need more fuel. And the M.atrix practically gives you the appetite of even bigger bots like S.kyfire."

O.ptimus couldn't stop the warm flush tainting his faceplate blue. He turned his gaze to the opposite wall, his audial fins flicking in his embarrassment. "Can we… not talk about my fuel intake?"

"No, because as your physician, I need to ensure you don't pull a stunt like this again," R.atchet stated firmly. O.ptimus' stomach groaned under his servo, and he couldn't help the small smirk that graced his faceplate. "See? Even your tank wants us to have this conversation." The medic lightly patted the P.rime's midriff, and from the slouch in the red and blue mech's posture and his amused expression, R.atchet's attempt to lessen the tension was a success.

"Alright. I promise I won't skip rations again. You have my word," O.ptimus assured the medic.

"No no, I'm not done. Don't think you can get out of my lecture," R.atchat chided with a playful undertone. "You require more fuel to function properly. We don't need you going into a forced shutdown in the middle of a meeting because your fuel levels were too low. Do you know how much of a pain it would be to carry you to the med bay?" A few warm chuckles were shared between the duo before R.atchet's expression became more sincere. "You shouldn't be feeling guilty over your fuel intake. And I know your sense of responsibility over your team makes that a little hard. If it makes you feel any better, the recent bust on the D.ecepticon powerplant heist has provided us with a surplus." The medic rested his free servo on O.ptimus' shoulder plate. "You need to eat more. Doctor's orders. It will keep you functioning."

O.ptimus hummed in quiet submission. "I see your point. I need to be at my best for everyone. And I suppose I don't have much of a choice in this war…" His faceplate managed to flush a darker shade of blue as his belly rumbled under R.atchet's servo. A soft, embarrassed laugh left his vocalizer. "And I think my tank will appreciate having something substantial. It has not been happy while running on empty for so long."

R.atchet shared the laugh and continued firmly pressing along the hollow gurgles in O.ptimus' stomach. "Luckily, that has an easy cure. Expect a hefty increase in your fuel intake for the foreseeable future," the medic promised with a sly wink.

"That sounds perfect, thank you." O.ptimus hummed pleasantly and leaned into R.atchet's touch on his midriff. Usually he wouldn't let his guard down for anyone to do such a thing, and whether it was the hunger or something else, he didn't know, but he found himself enjoying the belly rubs more than he thought he would. "This feels amazing. You're very good at this."

R.atchet grinned proudly and puffed out his chassis. "I'm a medic. I've seen my fair share of upset tanks." From his subspace, the medic handed O.ptimus a small cube of energon. "Here, something to snack on for now."

The P.rime took the cube with an amused look in his optics and opened up his battlemask. "I must commend you on being so readily prepared. Truly deserving of the position as our esteemed medic." He tilted his helm back and downed the cube in one swig. His tank burbled greedily around the newfound sustenance. It wasn't near enough, but it was a start. A soft groan left O.ptimus' vocalizer accompanied by a gentle pat on his belly.

R.atchet offered a warm smile. "Better?"