I’m only… several months late answering this. >_>
Fulcrum noticed Grimlock growing more lethargic over time, reacting slower and constantly looking halfway to stasis from lack of fuel. His spark pulsed sadly and though they couldn’t up Grimlock’s rations, there just wasn’t enough for that, he *could* share some of his own. After all, his frame was much smaller, and without the excess energy needed for an active alt mode, he could spare it. So each time he went to grab their rations, he gave half to Grimlock, drinking the rest of his own so the other mech wouldn’t notice him coming back each time with only a quarter of a cube.
And for a while it worked great. Grimlock was still under-fueled, but he was more aware and active, and Fulcrum shunted the usual fuel level warning in his own tanks without bothering to look at them. They all got them. There was supposed to be a big battle site on their course and soon they’d have enough to go around again. And who could blame him for recharging more than usual, what with the big, handsy, personal furnace of a mech Grimlock made as a berthmate?
Apart from Grimlock’s occasional studying stare or concerned noises at his optics dimming randomly, no one really noticed. Not until an prank from Misfire actually managed to work up his temper enough for a yelling match. Fulcrum remembered stomping forward, yelling over Misfire’s teasing, about to jab a finger against his chest when his systems suddenly forced him into an emergency shut-down and he collapsed to the floor in a limp heap.
He woke up in the supply closet they’d cleared out and shoved a bench into as an excusable form of a medbay. When his optics came back online he had just enough time to register Spinster glaring down at him before there was a hard slap the side of his head. “Ow!”
“Idiot. You starved yourself and went into emergency shut-down. Are you wasting rations?” Spinster had that paranoid look in his narrowed optics and Fulcrum was quick to hold up his hands and try to talk his way out of being shot.
“No! I promise! I just, I figured I didn’t need as much as the bigger mechs. I didn’t realize…”
Spinster snorted and rolled his optics. “I measure those rations myself. Portioned for best fuel efficiency according to your frame. You’re an idiot. I should shoot you for being so dumb.”
Fulcrum glanced around to make sure Spinster’s guns were in fact, not in his hands at the moment. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. Grimlock wasn’t looking good so I shared mine with him.”
There was a growl from behind Spinster and Grimlock appeared, glaring over Spinster’s shoulder. “No more sharing! Me Grimlock fine, just tired. Bomb need to fuel properly.”
Fulcrum hesitated and Grimlock glared harder. “Promise.”
With a sigh, Fulcrum slumped back against the makeshift berth and nodded. “Alright, I promise. No more sharing, but Grimlock really wasn’t doing well. He burns through more fuel than the rest of us.”
Spinster gave him another look, then glanced at Grimlock critically and shrugged. “I’ll talk to Krok. Even better if Misfire could collect more instead of tasting it all.”
There was an indignant shoult a little further down the hall and Fulcrum chuckled, sitting up once Spinster motioned for him to and as soon as he slid to his feet he was scooped up by an anxious Grimlock. “Feel better now?”
“Much, much better, Grimlock.” Fulcrum smiled, leaning up to brush their forehelms together. Grimlock rumbled a happy little sound and set Fulcrum back on his pedes.
“No more sharing fuel.”
Fulcrum smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “No more sharing. Unless it’s absolutely necessary. I swear.”
Grimlock nodded and nudged Fulcrum down the hall. “Good. Now come show Grimlock how to play game. Misfire cheating again.”