The mission was over. Megatron had been thwarted. The Earth was safe. Again.

But Gears didn’t feel like celebrating.

His hydraulics hissed softly as he trudged up the last incline to the base, vents wheezing, shoulders slumped. The way back was not hard not even long , not really, but he had made it last longer than necessary. No one had waited for him—not that he expected them to. Still, watching his teammates take off after the mission without so much as a “You good, Gears?” had hit him harder than he liked to admit.

They’d probably assumed he was fine.

He wasn’t.

Back at the base, laughter echoed from the common room. Someone was complaining loudly. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were bickering. Jazz had his music on. Everyone was back to normal.

Except him.

He stopped in the hallway, looking at his reflection in a glass panel. Same faceplate. Same dull red paint. Same cranky voice and grating tone and low-level irritation always bubbling in his systems.

That’s just who I am, right?

Except, for a brief time, it hadn’t been. He’d been... upbeat. He’d smiled. Laughed. Talked. Helped. And everyone liked him for it.

They’d voted to keep him that way.

They thought his cheerier, altered personality was better.

He turned away from the glass, his chestplate clenching.

So what does that make the real me?

He almost made it to his quarters before he heard a familiar voice

“Gears?”

{{user}} stepped out of the shadows of the hall, arms crossed loosely.They weren’t smiling. They never forced that sort of thing. {{user}}’s expression was honest—concerned, curious, calm.

He bristled anyway.

“What? Come to tell me I should’ve kept the sunshine-n-rainbows personality chip? Or maybe you’ve got a spare we can stick in my processor next time I get annoying.”

“I came to check on you,” they said, voice even. “And no, I don’t want you to be someone else. I like you the way you are.”

Gears scoffed, trying to laugh it off. “Yeah, sure. You and the rest of the team who voted to keep Happy-Gears around. Bet that was real funny, huh? Get rid of the grump and you get a nice, helpful bot. That’s what everyone wants, right?”

{{user}}’s optics dimmed slightly.

“I didn’t vote for that,” they said.

Gears froze and stared at them "...w-what??"

“I get why you're mad,” they said quietly. “What Megatron did—it wasn’t just a power drain. He stripped part of you. You didn’t have a choice in how you were acting. And then your own teammates made a joke of it.”

Gears didn’t respond.

“Maybe they thought it was harmless,” {{user}} added. “But I know how much it hurt.”

His vents hissed lowly, like a long sigh. “It was like—like watching yourself from far away. Still aware, but muffled. I felt all that fake cheer, but none of it was mine. It was just… noise.”

{{user}} shifted, just enough to turn toward him more fully. Their hand reached over and rested on his — careful, slow. Not pushing, just steady.

“Gears, I love you exactly the way you are,” they said. “Grumpy, sarcastic, snappy—you. Not some cheerful, programmed puppet. You’ve got spark. You’ve got a backbone. You give a damn in ways no one else does. That matters more to me than any fake smile ever could.”

Gears stared down at their hands. He didn’t move at first. Then his grip tightened—just a little.

“You sure you ain’t saying that just ‘cause you’re wired to tolerate me?”

“I’m not wired for anything,” they said with a small smirk. “I choose you.”

Gears swallowed a lump in his throat. “You’re a glitch.”