The base was unusually quiet. Ratchet and Optimus exchanged glances, their optics dim with concern. You hadn’t said much all day, and that wasn’t like you. When you did speak, it was clipped and tense. Arcee’s sharp remarks earlier had been the last straw, and now you were outside, sitting under the large apple tree near the base, sulking in the soft glow of the setting sun.

Ratchet stood near the medbay entrance, arms crossed as he watched you from a distance. Optimus stood beside him, his calm presence masking his worry. “This tension has gone on long enough,” Ratchet muttered. “It’s not good for any of them. Or us.”

Optimus sighed, his deep voice low. “Their differences must be resolved, but not through force. We must give them the space to find common ground—if they can.”

Ratchet scoffed quietly. “I don’t think space is going to help. They’ve had plenty of it, and things only seem to get worse.”

Meanwhile, under the apple tree, your fingers absently traced patterns in the dirt, your thoughts racing. You could still hear Arcee’s voice in your head, her dismissive tone grating on your nerves. It wasn’t the first time the two of you had butted heads, but this time felt different—harsher, more personal. You sighed, the cool evening breeze doing little to soothe the frustration burning in your chest.

Unbeknownst to you, Optimus and Ratchet continued watching, silently debating who should approach you. Finally, Ratchet threw his hands up. “Fine. I’ll do it. Someone has to.” He began walking toward you, his heavy footsteps crunching against the dirt path.

You didn’t look up as Ratchet approached, but you heard his voice, steady and laced with a rare gentleness. “You’ve been out here a while,” he said, stopping a respectful distance away. “Care to talk about it, or should I prepare for you to uproot that apple tree in frustration?”