Just you and Ratchet.

The atmosphere was tense, almost sparkling.

The lab was empty. Unusually empty.

Arcee and Bumblebee had gone on reconnaissance, Optimus was communicating with command, Bulkhead and Smokescreen were hauling something to the hangar. And you... quietly entered the lab, where only one Autobot remained — your own.

Ratchet stood with his back to you, sorting through tools on the table. The metal of his body reflected the soft light of the screens, making the entire lab seem warmer.

You stepped closer — surely, smoothly. Ratchet heard only the light sound of your footsteps... and for some reason froze.

"You're back early," — he said evenly, but his voice gave him away: too low, too focused.

You took a couple more steps and leaned unobtrusively toward the table next to him, resting your hip on the edge. Ratchet wanted to say something, but he glanced at her — and the words stuck.

He didn't remove his optic lenses. The scanners activated automatically, but he... ignored them. As if he wasn't looking at her like a doctor. Or an officer. But like someone who had hidden their feelings for too long.

Silence fell heavier than the metal floorboards. He leaned slowly toward you, resting his palms on the table on either side of your body — as if inadvertently caged you.

"You know..." — His voice grew lower. Muffled. Warmer.

"Some details of you... your structure..."

He fell silent. To his surprise — as if the words wouldn't obey.

You raised your head slightly:

"Which ones?"

Ratchet sighed — quietly, almost frustratedly. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, there was a fire in them you hadn't seen before.

"Your movements. Your lines. Your proportions."

He slowly traced his optics over your silhouette.

"You don't even understand... how much influence you have on me."

You took a step closer. A very small one. But enough to leave almost nothing between you.

Ratchet lowered his head just below yours, but didn't touch — only closeness, only tension, only an inner impulse.

"You come close — and my core goes haywire."

He exhaled:

"You hypnotize me."

Pause.

"Completely."

His hand rose, but he stopped it a few centimeters from your waist, as if struggling with himself.

"You're driving my sensors crazy..."

He looked into your optics, and his voice became almost hoarse, though mechanically it shouldn't sound that way:

"...And, frankly, I stopped trying to hide it a long time ago."

The lab became so quiet that even the faint crackle of servos could be heard.

You stood before him — and for the first time in his life, Ratchet looked at you not as a wounded man, not as a soldier, not as a colleague.

And as the only one he was drawn to.