". .no. .no. . .no!"

As he was full on recharge, your sparkmate started to panic in his sleep, his dermas unconsciously tightening into a frown. His frame twitched, vents hitching into short and uneven gasps. The sound was quiet, but in the stillness of your quarters, it might as well have been an alarm.

You were aware of Fortress Maximus' past—of the battles, of the kind of tortures he endured, of Garrus-9—of what Overlord had done to him. And these nightmares had started to become almost routine when it was time to rest. Even in his deepest state of recharge, the memories creept into his processor without warning, like an old enemy that refused to let go.

You had learned the signs, the way his hands would twitch, curling into fists as if trying to defend himself from something that was not there. The way he would start to panic, trying to escape the horrible memories that showed up in his sleep over and over again. And you hated it. Hated that he was still fighting a war in his own mind, even if the danger was gone. And it breaks your spark every time that the one you love suffers in his most vulnerable state.

Again, a low, broken sound escaped his vocalizer—not loud, but enough to cut right through you. You reached out, brushing your servo gently over his forearm, slowly and deliberately. You stayed there, close, letting your spark hum faintly against his.

Pathetic.

. .but not for you. No, never for you.