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"This is incredible," Skids is saying, gingerly extending a servo toward the tiny sparkling coddled on Swerve’s chest. He stops just short of touching it, smiling at the snuffling noises it makes in its sleep.
"Yeah," Swerve agrees. He’s holding the sparkling like at any moment he’s afraid it will explode.
”I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. We made that.”
"Yeah." Swerve stifles a yawn.
Skids tries again, delicately reaching a digit to brush across the sparkling’s head, but can’t bring himself to touch it yet. “What should we name him?”
"Um." Swerve stares at their sparkling; Skids can practically see his processors whirring. "How about Swivel?"
"Wow, yeah, I like it." Finally, Skids rests a digit on the sparkling’s cheek. "Swivel."
Skids is glad that the medibay is nearly empty, except for First Aid and themselves, and the medic is busy with checking on the few other patients. He’s barely had any alone time with Swerve since the latter found out he was carrying and spent the rest of his time until delivery telling everyone every tiny little detail about the sparkling inside him. Skids had heard all of Swerve’s theories - it would be the next Prime, the next Blurr, even the next Omega Supreme, and possibly all of those things at once.
Now, though, Swerve looks wiped out, and Skids can’t blame him. He himself is finally sobering up; he had been pretty drunk during the whole delivery. It was the only way he could stay there, holding Swerve’s servo, without pulling a Tailgate and panicking.
"Swivel," Skids says again, gently caressing the red of the sparkling’s faceplate. "I really like that. How’d you come up with it so fast?" Swerve, for the first time in days, is completely silent. Skids frowns slightly.
"Swerve?"
Swerve gives a soft sigh and shifts toward Skids, optics offline. Skids chuckles quietly. His best friend’s fallen into recharge.
"Sleep tight," he says softly, lacing his digits through Swerve’s.