Chapter Text
The Autobot base in the Nevada desert was as safe a place as it could be, or at least that was what Optimus needed to believe, the metallic walls offered them refuge from the endless war, it was borrowed peace, and Optimus accepted it as he accepted his own frame. Despite the apparent serenity, there was a weight in his spark that neither the Matrix nor millions of cycles of leadership had managed to ease and it was not the weight of war. Since the beginning of the devastating struggle that had devoured Cybertron and now spread like embers through the universe, he had made impossible decisions. He had ordered retreats that he knew would cost lives, he had sacrificed entire worlds in the name of a greater good, he had carried on his shoulders the corpses of thousands of his soldiers. But none of those decisions had demanded as much from him as keeping the existence of his daughter a secret. Eridanus. That little sparkling who was the product of what once had been love between an archivist and a gladiator who sought a better world.
His mind, treacherous, returned again and again to the moment he decided to hide her from the war and from Megatron. From the mech who had been his lover, his companion in poetry during long nights of uncertainty, the one with whom he had shared the dream of revolution and of a united Cybertron and who had once been the other half of his spark. The fear of what Megatron might do if he discovered the truth, not only about Eridanus, but also about the existence of that empty tomb of what could have been his other child, was a fear that accompanied him to every meeting, to every mission, to every sleepless night in his quarters. The twin spark of his daughter that took with it half of Optimus's hope when its life faded before it could even fully recognize the world around it. He had held its tiny body in his servos, small and fragile, and had understood that the universe not only demanded that he fight, it also demanded that he lose. Since then, Eridanus became not only his daughter, but the focus of his worst fears, the fear of losing her became a virus in his systems, a carrier protocol that operated in the depths of his code even when his rational processor tried to silence it.
For cycles, he avoided her. He found justifications for not being in the same room as her, he took refuge in anyone who needed him or in any activity that required his attention with the excuse of having to be the leader the Autobots needed. Every time her small hands reached for him, every time her optics searched for him, something in him broke and welded itself again into a more defensive position. He could not allow himself to love her, he could not allow her to love him. Not as a creator. That title belonged to another, to a ghost who would never know that it had existed, and Optimus had decided that it was better that way. Neither he nor Megatron deserved to be creators. The war did not deserve to have another reason to take revenge on him, he did not deserve the right to claim her as his daughter. But Eridanus was stubborn, just like her sire, just like himself, and little by little, night after night, with each whispered song and each constellation pointed out through the window of his quarters, she tore down his walls.
But he kept the secret. Because confessing that he was her creator meant confessing that Megatron was her sire. It meant opening the door to a past that he himself had sealed with rubble and silence. It meant, above all, looking Eridanus in the optics and telling her that her entire life had been a lie, and that he had not only built that deception, but had allowed it and ordered everyone to uphold it. And that, more than the war, more than any adversity he had faced, was what Optimus did not feel capable of doing. So he continued to protect her from the shadows, loving her in secret, being for her "Optimus" or "Prime" or anything except what he truly was: Her carrier. And every day, as he watched her grow a little more, as he noticed how her features began to develop with two heritages that in ancient Cybertron should never have been mixed, Optimus felt the weight of that lie accumulate over his spark like gravity.
The burst of metallic and human laughter cut through the dense fog of his thoughts, Optimus lifted his optics from the monitor and allowed his gaze to drift toward the center of the base.
There was his daughter, her frame had become heavier and more agile, no longer that of a tiny sparkling that fit in the palm of his servos, she moved with a grace that Optimus recognized without daring to name it, but it was clearly the heritage of Kaon, of a gladiator who never knew that he had planted his legacy in the womb of an archivist.
Jack had climbed onto a supply crate, using one hand to project his voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in these last minutes a very even match is being debated," he declared, adopting the deep and resonant tone of a professional announcer "In the left corner, team double B, with Bumblebee and Bulkhead, the undefeated until five minutes ago! In the right corner, the defiant loner, Eridanus, the new nightmare of Basketball!"
Bumblebee emitted a series of indignant beeps that Raf translated between laughs "He says it's not fair, that she's taller than him".
"You are two and Bulkhead is still taller than me!" Eridanus protested, despite the tone of her voice a wide smile lit up her face before she ran toward both bots, dodging Bee was easy while it only took a small jump to throw the tire and score cleanly over Bulkhead's head.
She did not even touch the rim.
"WINNING BASKET!" roared Miko, jumping from a pile of tires where she had set up her commentator's post next to Jack's "Eridanus sweeps her opponents! What humiliation! What a sports massacre!"
Eridanus raised her fist in victory, her optics shining with that particular mix of pride and mischief that Optimus had learned to identify whenever she got her way or won an argument. She turned toward Bumblebee and Bulkhead with a smile that showed the small fangs that were no longer so small.
"Is that all you've got?" she asked, tilting her head with feigned pity. "Not even being two of you managed to beat me in an Earth sport, you should be ashamed".
"Beginner's luck, you still haven't played against Arcee," Bulkhead tried to defend himself.
Bumblebee emitted a burst of beeps so fast and sharp that Raf almost missed some words "He says that next time he won't go so easy on you and that... uhhh I don't think my mom would be happy if I say those words, Bee".
Eridanus let out a laugh, clear and carefree, and Optimus felt something loosen in his chassis. The femme's laugh was not loud or scandalous, it was soft and relaxed, barely showing her dental plates and with her optics closing slightly.
Jack climbed down from his crate with a laugh infected by Eridanus's giggle "Bee, man, you need to improve your defense".
"And Bulkhead needs to improve everything," added Miko, earning a wounded groan from the former Wrecker.
Raf was already next to Bumblebee, Optimus could never avoid worrying when he saw how small he was compared to all of them, but Bumblebee, especially, always took care when the boy approached him "It wasn't that bad, Bee. You almost caught her on the second play".
"Almost," Eridanus repeated, and her tone was so cheeky that even Raf had to smile.
Optimus watched how she blended into that small ecosystem of laughter and jokes and affection. He remembered the first days after the children accidentally entered the base, how Eridanus stayed in the back behind them every time the children tried to talk to her, how her answers were barely audible monosyllables, how her antennas flattened against her helm in a gesture of shyness. However, it did not take more than a few weeks for her to get used to them and for them to become friends. Optimus had accepted the presence of the humans, and had felt, for the first time in years, something like relief. Selfishly, he was glad they had arrived, not because it was the best for the mission since the children constantly got involved in danger. He was glad because Eridanus was no longer alone, because when he could not be present, and he would never be able to be as much as she needed, there were other beings who laughed with her, who understood her and with whom she could share her tastes. The human children had filled a void that Optimus did not even know how to name.
Bumblebee over the years drifted away from Eridanus, not by choice, it was the need to have the small bot on the front line or on special missions, he never stopped being a brother to her but things changed completely after the incident with his voice module. Bumblebee had closed himself off from almost everyone, he found no sense in trying to communicate. Until the small trio of children appeared, the trio that helped those two he considered his sparklings. They had filled a void in Eridanus's life, they had helped her feel part of something, but with that also came the questions, the protests about why the new tiny humans were allowed to go on missions and she, being Cybertronian, was not, or why she was not even allowed to reach the rank of scout despite the training that Optimus himself had put her through. But he did not want her to know the Energon spilled on the battlefield, nor death, nor the hatred that he and Megatron had unleashed upon the universe. He did not want his daughter to become another soldier. That was why he kept her apart, that was why he lied, that was why he endured her anger. Because losing her would mean losing the last remnant of what Orion Pax once was, of what Megatronus once was, of what they once were together.
The shrill sound of the alert tore through the calm and in a matter of nanokliks, the atmosphere of the hangar went from youthful carelessness to the military tension that was, in truth, its natural state. Optimus directed his gaze to the main screen, where the alert data began to deploy in bright characters.
"Decepticon signals," he reported, his voice automatically modulating to a grave tone "It is an Energon mine adjacent to a human processing facility. At least three signals are reported, possibly a reconnaissance patrol".
"Bumblebee and I can handle it. If it's just a patrol, we won't have problems," Arcee commented as she entered the main hangar along with Ratchet.
"Go carefully," was the only response Optimus gave, since being a patrol of only three Decepticons the risks were low, especially with Arcee and Bumblebee.
Bumblebee emitted an affirmative beep, the movement of his door wings that had characterized him since he was a sparkling did not go unnoticed by Optimus. He was no longer the little one who clung to his leg, he thought with a stab of melancholy.
"Night mission, awesome," Miko's voice cut through the air, the girl began to walk straight toward Bumblebee until she was interrupted.
"Don't even think about it," Fowler intervened before Optimus could articulate his own refusal. The agent had his arms crossed and approached them from an elevated platform "It's late, past six and I promised Juno that I wouldn't allow you to stay late at the base".
"It's not even that late, we can go and come back," Miko insisted, while she kept walking toward the scout without noticing that he was backing away little by little.
"Or you can go straight home and come back." Fowler did not give in at any moment "It's a quick mission. By the time you get there, Arcee and Bee will already be back".
Jack, who despite not having said anything, let out a frustrated sigh while glancing at Arcee "Fine. But tomorrow you tell us EVERYTHING. Every detail".
"Every detail," Arcee confirmed, and although her tone was dry, Optimus caught the smallest glint of affection in her optics.
Raf approached Bumblebee and placed a small hand on his pede. "Be careful," he murmured, and the yellow mech let out a series of beeps.
It was then that his optics found Eridanus. She was standing by the main console, slightly apart from the group, her arms crossed over her chassis while she avoided looking at the group.
Jack was the first to approach her "Good game, tomorrow the rematch. Bee is probably going to train all night".
Eridanus made a sound that was almost a laugh, but did not fully become one, her expression remained neutral "He can try, it won't do any good".
"That's what you think," Jack said with a smile "See you tomorrow, Eri".
She did not correct the nickname. She only nodded.
Miko said goodbye reluctantly and promised to bring her guitar the next day. Raf raised his hand in a shy wave, and Bumblebee emitted a series of soft beeps before transforming and heading to the ground bridge with Arcee.
Bulkhead, who had remained silent during the entire negotiation, stepped forward "I'll take them. Three stops, fifteen minutes, nobody notices they got home late".
The silence that fell over the base once everyone left. Ratchet withdrew to the infirmary with a pretext about pending calibrations. Fowler shut himself in his improvised office, probably to inform the other humans about the reconnaissance mission. The monitors fell silent, projecting only the real-time readings of Arcee's and Bumblebee's signals.
Optimus positioned himself in front of the main screen, his servos at each side of his body, his gaze fixed on the screens.
The presence at his side materialized as a change in the electromagnetic field, a subtle alteration that Optimus learned to identify even before his visual sensors confirmed what he already knew. Eridanus had moved from her corner in silence to occupy the space next to him. Optimus kept his gaze fixed on the screens, but his processor had already diverted a significant percentage of its analytical capacity toward the figure to his left. Eridanus's posture was impeccable, shoulders straight, back straight and hands resting on her hips. Her optics scanned the data and her expression was a blank canvas where only the slightest tremor in her antennas betrayed the internal activity of her processor.
Megatron.
The name emerged from the depths of his memory with the clarity of a shot. It was exactly how the gladiator of Kaon used to observe anything that interested him. Optimus's chest tightened with that familiar, bittersweet pain that he no longer knew whether it was grief or poorly healed love. But beneath the mask, despite everything, despite four million years of war, his lip plates curved into a smile.
Optimus returned his gaze to the screens, but it was not long before that small moment of peace was interrupted.
"I could have gone," Eridanus continued, and her voice remained in that neutral register, but the frustration in her tone was notable "With Arcee and Bee, or even with Bulkhead".
Silence.
Optimus felt the weight of her gaze shift from the screens to his profile. He did not turn to meet it.
"Do you remember the planet," she asked, and there was a subtle change in her voice that he could not decipher "The one we visited before arriving on Earth, with hostile inhabitants".
Optimus remembered.
He remembered Bulkhead's emergency call, his voice broken by static and pain. He remembered the erratic readings of the Wrecker's vital sign, the cold panic that settled in his processor and the refusal to lose someone whom at this point in the war he considered family. He remembered arriving at the clearing where Bulkhead lay with several open wounds, exposed cables and in front of him, Eridanus.
She had not seen him arrive, she was too focused on the swarm of creatures surrounding her position, their organic forms moving with a speed that defied her sensory readings. Her frame moved among them like a current, she did not fire to kill since her systems failed to identify any corpses, only inert bodies, lives deliberately preserved. Each impact was measured and Optimus, despite the terror that still froze his circuits, despite the fury that boiled in his spark against himself for having exposed her to danger, had felt something else. And that was pride, for the lives she had chosen to preserve, for the compassion embedded in each non-lethal blow, in each enemy neutralized instead of annihilated. His training had worked but she was also following his example.
"You don't answer because you already know what I'm going to say," Eridanus interrupted, and now her voice was no longer neutral. There was edge in it, the sharp edge of frustration held back for too many vorns. "I know you remember, you were there. You arrived with Jazz and Arcee and you stayed watching while I finished off the last ones, you know I know how to defend myself alone".
Optimus kept his gaze on the screens. The points of Arcee and Bumblebee continued their advance.
"I don't understand," Eridanus said, and now her voice was lower, heavier, "what did you train me for?" She paused, and continued asking in a stronger tone "What did you train me for if in the end I'm going to spend my entire life locked up in bases?"
Optimus exhaled. The sound was barely a sigh, the controlled release of pressure in his ventilation systems.
"It won't be your whole life," he said. His voice was patient, the last thing he wanted was to raise it or provoke an argument, but these small talks rarely ended otherwise "Only until the war ends".
"And when is the war going to end? Megatron doesn't give up. You don't give up. Nobody has the upper hand nor is winning, we've been like this for millions of decacycles. How many more are going to pass?"
Optimus did not answer. He could not because deep in his spark and in the silence of the Matrix that was no longer with him, he knew that the only one responsible for the war not having ended yet was him. He and his inability to extinguish the life of the one he once called his lover.
"I'm the only one," Eridanus continued, and now there was something trembling at the edge of her voice, something that refused to break but was dangerously close to doing so. "The only Autobot who is not allowed to ascend, not even to the lowest rank. Bumblebee and I did the same training, the same drills, the same tests. He is a scout. And me?" Her laugh was brief and bitter. "I am... I don't know what I am... I always stay behind, I am locked up or I just watch screens while the others do something important".
"Eridanus-"
"I am no longer a sparkling, Optimus". Against all rationality, Optimus sometimes hated how much he disliked that she mentioned his name with such formality "Frag, I am even almost Bulkhead's height, I am much heavier than Bee. My frame is fully developed, my reflexes were almost at Arcee's level in her speed tests. My aim reaches ninety-one percent effectiveness" the way her voice sounded on the verge of breaking was a blow to Optimus's spark that he had not expected to receive, and it was only worse when he heard the last question "Am I not enough?"
"It's not that you're not enough". Optimus finally turned his helm to look at her, as soon as he saw the pain in her optics he wished that none of this had happened, that she had never known war and that she did not lower her worth to serving as a soldier "I need you to be safe" he said without thinking about the interpretation of his words, but in the way her optics ridges furrowed, he could tell he had not said the right thing.
"And what do I need?" she asked, clenching her dental plates "Have you ever asked yourself that? What I need?"
Optimus felt something tear inside him, as if the crystal that protected his spark cracked little by little waiting for the blow that would finally break it.
"You are not ready," he said, and the words tasted like betrayal even as he spoke them.
Eridanus looked at him. For a long, infinite moment, her optics met his, and Optimus saw in them something he had not seen before, it was anger. Her shoulders, previously straight, sagged slightly. He returned his attention to the monitors. The points of Arcee and Bumblebee continued their mission. The silence between them reconfigured itself and Optimus, who had faced armies and survived countless battles, discovered that he did not know how to fight the silence of his own creation.
Eridanus's hand wrapped around his forearm with a strength Optimus did not expect. It was not the soft and trusting pressure of the sparkling who used to cling to his digit to avoid falling, it was a firm grip, too strong to even surprise him. The tug was abrupt, enough to shift his frame slightly and force his optics to abandon the screens. Optimus found himself looking directly into the pink optics of his daughter. She said nothing. Her teeth, those small fangs that were once adorable and now were simply sharp, were clenched so tightly that Optimus could perceive the microvibration of the effort in her jaw. Her optics had always been an intense pink, but this time he swore that for a moment he saw them burn in an intense reddish hue that managed to burn him from the inside.
"The humans," she said, and each word was colder than the last "are organic. They have atmospheric pressure to breathe, hearts that beat and skin that cuts like aluminum. Jack has helped you and Arcee countless times. Miko is always with Bulkhead wherever he goes. Raf...". Her voice faltered for a moment, only a moment, before hardening again. "Raf almost died that time and even so they go on missions, they help, they...". She did not finish the sentence, but she did not need to. "Why not me?"
The question hung between them, dense and burning. Her optics, those spheres of intense pink that Optimus had contemplated during countless sleepless nights, were beginning to show signs of moisture.
Optimus looked at her. He looked at the fury in her optics, yes, but also at the way her antennas avoided flattening against her helm, the way her facial plates had contracted into an expression that was of frustration, her shoulders slightly tense, almost imperceptible. And his processor, that traitor that had never learned to protect itself from the past, overlaid another image onto reality.
Kaon. An Arena full of bots. A gladiator with hands stained with чуж Energon, trembling from the over-Cybertronian force of his own restraint. The same clenched teeth, the same rigidity in the jaw, the same fists opening and closing in an unconscious ritual of repressed violence; Megatron when he believed there was no way to have a peaceful revolution, when he stopped restraining himself from destroying the senators who mocked his cause, and his failures and decided that the power of the Matrix was something that belonged only to him,
His HUD emitted a silent warning. Emotional overload. Risk of temporary lock. Too many stimuli, too many connections with unprocessed memories, too many memories and fear. Fear of her? Or of what was written in her CNA?
"I- "
"Eridanus!"
Ratchet's voice burst between them saving Optimus's processor. The medic had emerged from the infirmary without either of them noticing, and now was heading toward them with that expression of exasperation.
"You can be frustrated, you can be upset, you can even be furious, but Optimus is still your Prime and your commander, and while you are under Autobot command you owe him the respect that corresponds to his rank," he said, and his tone allowed no replies.
Eridanus turned toward him, and Optimus saw the flash of something dangerous in her optics. But Ratchet continued.
"And if you are not happy with that, if you think you deserve different treatment, the doors of the Decepticons are always open. I am sure Megatron would welcome a soldier with your training with open arms".
The silence that followed was so absolute that Optimus could hear the hum of his own systems trying to regulate an internal temperature that refused to stabilize.
Eridanus looked at Ratchet. For one second, two, three. Her optics traced his face with intensity, then, without a word, she looked away. Her fingers loosened around Optimus's forearm.
"Sorry," she said. Her voice was flat, devoid of all emotion "It was inappropriate. It will not happen again... Prime".
She did not wait for a response. She turned and walked toward the interior of the base, her steps echoing on the metal floor heavier than they really were. She disappeared into the gloom of the corridor that led to the quarters without looking back, without a last word, without anything that could be interpreted.
Optimus exhaled. All the air he had been holding during the conversation escaped from his vents in a long, trembling sigh, that should have been silent but echoed in the empty hangar like an echo of itself. His servos found the edge of the console, and then, when his legs stopped responding with the firmness his rank required, his weight collapsed against the keyboard, his helm hid between his arms. The metal groaned under his frame. The keys emitted a cascade of protesting clicks.
"Calm down". Ratchet's voice was softer now, stripped of the harshness he had used with Eridanus. "It's just a phase. Sparklings go through these stages, Cybertronian youth is... complicated".
Optimus did not lift his helm to look at his old friend. "I should not have given her that option".
"What option?"
"The Decepticons". The name tasted like acid. "I should not have given her that possibility, not even as a warning".
Ratchet was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was soothing, it almost reminded him of the one he had used on the day of his emergency, when he brought her into the world.
"She is your daughter," he said. "She carries your ethical code embedded in every line of her programming. She has the same nobility, the same ideals about life and respect for all living beings that you instilled in her since she was a newly formed spark. Do you think any of that would disappear just because you use the Decepticons as a warning?" He shook his head. "Besides, she has been here, she has seen the casualties, just like you, me and everyone else, she has lost bots she cares about, she lost Cliff. She knows what this war costs, she is not going to leave just because the option is open".
Optimus remained silent. His servos, still resting on the keyboard, drummed an unconscious rhythm. "The problem is not that she will go with the Decepticons," he finally said. His voice was barely a murmur. "The problem is what I see when she gets angry".
Ratchet looked at him and waited.
"In that anger," Optimus continued, "in the way she clenches her teeth, in how her servos open and close because she wants to hit something but does not allow herself to do it... I see Megatron". The name floated in the air between them, a ghost that neither of them had invited but both knew too well. "I see the mech I have faced for so many cycles," Optimus whispered. "That accumulated rage, the way his optics seem to want to burn your spark, reminds me of that day when..." He did not finish the sentence. He did not need to.
Ratchet observed him for a long moment. Then, with a gentleness that contrasted with his usual brusqueness, he said: "If that is your fear, then you have the answer. Any tantrum she wants to throw, any outburst, any moment when you feel that that anger could dominate her... you can stop it, you can show her that there is another way. You already did it once, with another mech who also had the entire universe angry inside his spark".
Optimus did not respond. His servos had stopped drumming. They were motionless over the keys, as if the weight of those words had paralyzed them.
"I am not sure I can do it again," he finally admitted. "With Megatronus... I failed. I was not enough. Neither love, nor the revolution, nor our promises were enough. In the end, his anger was greater than all that. What makes me think that with her it will be different?"
The silence that followed was heavy, dense, loaded with everything neither of them dared to say. It was Ratchet who finally broke it.
"The excuse that 'she is not ready' no longer works, Optimus". His voice was firm, but not without compassion. "You may not want to hear it and you may not be ready to accept it, but she is right about one thing, she has completed the training, her frame is functional, her techniques are exceptional. You are not protecting her, you are locking her away and at some point, that will cause more damage than any battlefield".
Optimus closed his optics. "I do not want them to hurt her".
"That possibility will always exist, as long as the war continues".
"I do not want Megatron to set his eyes on her".
Ratchet exhaled slowly. "That possibility too. Especially now that she is growing, developing her features... You are not the only one who can see the resemblance".
Optimus opened his optics. He fixed his gaze on the screens, on the luminous points of Arcee and Bumblebee, nothing had changed.
"And what am I supposed to do?" he asked. His voice was that of a tired mech, not that of a Prime. "Let her go? Send her to a battlefield where any Decepticon can extinguish her spark forever? Risk Megatron seeing her, recognizing her, and claiming her as what she is?" What if she hates me when she discovers the truth? was what he did not dare to say.
Ratchet did not answer immediately. When he did, his words were measured, carefully chosen.
"I do not have an easy answer for that," he admitted. "I never have. But I do know one thing. Fear will not protect her. You have to prepare her for the world, trust that the training you gave her, the values you instilled in her, the love you feel for her... all of that will be enough for her to face our reality, you cannot keep her locked in a ship or a base forever".
Optimus remained silent. His optics remained fixed on the screens, but his processor no longer registered the information they displayed. He was elsewhere, in another time, remembering a gladiator who had also been too bright, too fierce, too beautiful to be contained. Remembering how he had seen him burn, and wondering if he was destined to see his daughter burn as well.
The first howl of the alarm pierced the air like a shot, and Optimus felt his spark lurch immediately, his systems switching to combat mode in a fraction of astrokliks. The red lights began to spin over the control panels, casting liquid and urgent shadows over the metal walls, and before he could articulate a word, Arcee's voice emerged from the communicators, torn by static and something Optimus instantly recognized as contained panic.
"Optimus, respond. Optimus!"
"This is Optimus. What is happening?"
"Megatron". Arcee's voice was a thread of steel tempered in ice. "He arrived at the mine. It was not a patrol, it was an ambush. Bumblebee is...". Another pause, longer. Optimus could hear, in the background, the erratic and weak beeps he had not heard in vorns. They were the ones Bumblebee had integrated into his frame since he was a sparkling, those that once had desperately called his creators the day they found him among the ruins of a destroyed city of Iacon.
"Bee is gravely injured," Arcee continued, and now her voice trembled enough for Optimus to feel his own systems begin to fail "We managed to hide in a cave adjacent to the mine but he is losing too much Energon. I don't know how long he can, I don't know if...".
Optimus was already in motion, his processor firing orders in cascade. "Hold your position. Do not expose yourselves. I will contact Bulkhead so that he comes immediately with reinforcements. I will be there in-"
"I am going".
Eridanus's voice cut into the conversation. Optimus turned and found her at the threshold of the corridor, her frame projected in the same maximum alert posture he himself adopted before each battle.
"I am going," she repeated. She was not asking for permission, she was demanding it.
"No".
The word came out of his vocalizer before he could process it, too grave and cold. Optimus was already turning toward the communications panel, his fingers flying over the keys to open a channel with Bulkhead.
"Optimus-"
"We are not going to discuss this now". His voice was cutting "I need to focus on-"
"It is an emergency!" Eridanus's shout went through him like a cannon. "Bee is injured! And you tell me to stay here sitting while he bleeds out?"
Optimus stopped. His fingers, suspended over the panel, trembled slightly.
"I am going with you". Ratchet's voice burst in at the right moment "If the damage is structural, every minute counts".
Optimus barely nodded, his processor would not stop repeating the urgency in Arcee's voice or Bumblebee's static-filled beeps "Prepare your equipment. We leave in-"
"I am going too. You can't leave me locked up, you can't-".
"I SAID NO!"
Optimus's shout echoed throughout the base. He could almost feel the burn in his voice modulator, the way his frame trembled and the slight pain from how hard his servos had struck the keyboard. If there was something that had characterized him since he became Prime it was that he never lost his composure, he did not lose it when he learned that Elita's spark had extinguished, or that of all his other soldiers, his friends, his family. He did not lose it the day he brought his two small sparklings into life, and he only cried when that small frame had gone dark in his servos. But lose his composure in anger? Never.
When the silence filled the room, when he saw the frightened optics of the femme in front of him, for a single moment, he wished that Megatron had managed to extinguish his spark long ago.
"Eridanus-"
But that fear in her optics did not last long. She did not look at him, she turned her helm just enough to avoid him.
"You are always going to need someone to open the space bridge, right?" Her tone changed, from pleading to something sharper. Sarcasm dripped from her modulator "Bulkhead can open it, Arcee can open it, Ratchet can open it, you can open it, even Fowler could probably learn to open it if you gave him enough time. But even so you need me to be here to do it".
Optimus felt something break inside him. A tiny fissure in the wall he had built around his spark. But he could not stop now, not when Bee was injured, not when Megatron was there, not when the entire universe conspired to take everything he loved from him.
"Agent Fowler". His voice sounded hollow even to himself. "I need you to watch Eridanus while we are away".
Fowler, who had remained in eloquent silence since he arrived, straightened his shoulders and nodded with that expression of forced professionalism "Understood, Prime".
Optimus did not look at Eridanus, instead, he turned to the control panel and began to enter the coordinates for the space bridge.
The bridge opened. A vortex of green light unfolded before them, revealing on the other side the desolate landscape of the mine. Ratchet crossed first, his frame loaded with the medical equipment he had assembled in record time. Optimus followed him and at the last moment, just before the vortex began to close behind him, Optimus allowed himself a single look back.
Eridanus was motionless in the center of the hangar, her arms fallen at her sides, her expression completely neutral. There was no fury in her optics, there was only an icy serenity, the kind of stillness that precedes the most devastating storms.
Then the bridge closed.
Fowler exhaled slowly. His hands, which had remained rigid at his sides throughout the entire scene, moved in a poorly disguised gesture of bewilderment. He ran a palm over the back of his neck, adjusted the collar of his shirt, and finally tried to speak.
"Well...". He paused. "Did you see the hockey game last night?". Another silence. Fowler continued, desperate: "The Knights are having an incredible season, that new goalie, number thirty-one, is a machine".
Eridanus did not respond. Her optics, still fixed on the place where the space bridge had closed, did not blink. Her antennas were completely motionless, pressed back against her helm in a position Fowler had never seen her adopt before.
A growl escaped from her vocalizer. Low, guttural. Then she turned and walked back into the base. She did not stop. She simply walked away, swallowed by the dimness of the corridors, until even the echo of her footsteps faded.
Fowler was left alone in the hangar, surrounded by flickering screens and silent consoles. In that moment he wished the kids had stayed a little longer.
"Well", he muttered to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Shit".
The atmosphere in the abandoned mine was of a different quality than that of the base. It smelled of burned metal, of ozone, of that particular scent battlefields left behind after everyone was gone. Optimus remained motionless beside the entrance of the structure, his frame casting a long shadow over the rubble, his peripheral sensors registering every movement of Ratchet as he worked on Bumblebee, every beep of the medical instruments, every sigh of relief when a cable was successfully reconnected. But his gaze was fixed on the horizon, on the blurred line where the polluted sky met the ravaged land.
Megatron had been there. Only kliks ago, they had shared this same space, shooting at each other, dodging, telling each other everything they had been telling each other for millions of vorns without saying anything new. Optimus could still feel the resonance of their shots in his own arms, the sick familiarity of anticipating every move of the other, of knowing exactly where his cannon would be before he aimed, of calculating with precision the angle of his evasions.
It was like dancing with a ghost. One that knew all your steps because it had been with you when you learned them.
"Done". Ratchet's voice pulled him back to the present. The medic straightened, wiping his instruments with a cloth already stained with blue Energon. "He lost more than I would have liked, but I managed to stabilize him. He'll need prolonged recharge and extra rations for the next cycles, but his spark was never truly at risk".
Bumblebee let out a weak beep from the improvised stretcher. It was a sound meant to be reassuring, but his optics blinked with less intensity than usual and his movements were slow. Arcee was at his side, one hand resting on his back, her expression softer than Optimus had seen in cycles.
"I'm glad to hear that", said Optimus. His voice sounded distant even to himself. "Contact the base. Request the space bridge for our return".
Ratchet nodded and went to the communications equipment, leaving Optimus alone with his thoughts and the desolate landscape.
The fight had been, like all recent fights, perfectly predictable. Megatron had appeared at the mine, not by chance, but because someone, probably Starscream, had detected Arcee and Bee's patrol and had seen an opportunity. Optimus had arrived, as Megatron knew he would, they had exchanged shots and words as always, Megatron had said something about Autobot resistance, Optimus had replied something about Decepticon tyranny, and neither of them had truly listened to what the other said because the words no longer mattered.
They had been saying exactly the same things to each other for millions of cycles.
Optimus closed his optics for a moment and let the memory of the battle unfold in his processor. It was not painful, not exactly, it was more like the feeling of reading a file you had already memorized, of reviewing the same data over and over without ever finding a new conclusion. Megatron had charged at him with that fury that was no longer fury, only habit. Optimus had deflected the blow with the precision of one who had practiced that defense millions of times. Megatron had turned, anticipating his counterattack, and Optimus had already been moving to compensate for the turn. Choreography. Ritual. A dance neither could leave because neither remembered the steps to retreat.
When had it stopped being a battle and become a loop? Optimus could not identify the exact moment. Maybe there had not been an exact moment. Maybe it had been a gradual process, they no longer fought for Cybertron, or for justice, or for revolution, they fought because it was the only thing they knew how to do, because the alternative was too frightening.
At some point, Optimus had collapsed the roof of the mine. Not to achieve victory, it was simply... a full stop. A way of saying "this is over for today" without having to admit that "this" never really ended. Megatron had looked at him through the cloud of dust and rubble. His optics, those two crimson points Optimus had seen shine with passion, with rage, with desire, with hatred, with everything in between, were empty. All that remained was the mutual recognition that both were trapped in the same endless cycle. And then the Decepticons had withdrawn.
Optimus opened his optics. The landscape before him had not changed. The mine was still a scar in the earth. The sky was still that dark blue that still seemed beautiful to him despite everything. And he was still the same Prime he had been for so long, unable to win, unable to surrender, unable to do anything except continue, but something broke through the reflections in his processor.
The first sign that something was wrong was not a new alert, not even a possible return of the Decepticons. It was Ratchet's voice, filtering through the communicators with concern.
"Base? Fowler? Eridanus?". A pause. Then more urgently: "Base, respond. Over".
Something cold settled at the base of his spine.
"Ratchet. What's going on?"
The medic did not turn toward him. His fingers remained at the side of his helm, pressing his communicator again and again. "I've been trying to contact the base for three kliks. No one's responding".
Optimus did not answer. There was no answer to give. Instead, his systems executed an order he did not even register as conscious: transformation.
The roar of his engine tore through the silence of the abandoned mine. Arcee shouted something, probably his name, but the words were swallowed by the wind of his departure. Gravel exploded beneath his wheels, the landscape became a blurred smear of ochre and blue tones as he accelerated beyond the safe limits of his own frame.
It's a distraction.
The thought rose from the depths of his processor. The mine. Megatron. The attack that had been, like all recent attacks, perfectly predictable.
"And he knew it. He knew I would come. He knew I would stay long enough. He knew-"
"Optimus". Ratchet's voice in his communicator cut into his processor "Calm down. It could be a system failure. Or a power outage. Or Fowler just... isn't listening".
"Soundwave". The name escaped his vocalizer with a growl, like a curse "He's the only one capable of completely silencing our communications without leaving a trace". A silence on the other end.
"Soundwave can only do that if he is physically present at the base and the Decepticons don't know our location, we've kept it safe for cycles, there's never been-"
"Bulkhead, this afternoon", said Optimus, his voice flat "When he took the kids home, he didn't use a bridge and we know Megatron has been trying to discover our location".
The engine roared louder. The speed gauge, an indicator he barely registered under normal conditions, crept dangerously close to the red threshold. Optimus did not slow down.
The base appeared on the horizon, from the outside he could not see anything that indicated a confrontation or even that someone had been there. The tunnel door opened normally, there were no signs of smoke or cracks showing it had been forced open. Optimus braked so hard his tires left smoking grooves in the pavement. His transformation was an explosion of movement. The blasters deployed before his pedes touched the ground, sweeping the perimeter in search of targets, of hostile Energon signatures, of any sign of Decepticon presence.
Nothing.
The silence was absolute.
The doors were intact. No impact marks, no signs of forced entry. His sensors detected no traces of Decepticon energy. Nothing. That was not reassuring. Soundwave did not need to force doors.
The hangar was empty. The only sound was the barely audible hum of the monitor systems that never stopped running, there were no signs of struggle, of resistance or of desperation. Only that vast absence spreading through every corner like an oil stain. Optimus advanced, his blaster still deployed, expecting to find Megatron standing in front of the consoles, his smile sharpened by the triumph of having found his base, Soundwave, downloading every file he himself had encoded with what little he remembered of his skills as an archivist. He expected to find Starscream, because he knew he was clever enough to watch them and manage to locate their refuge.
He found Fowler. The agent lay on the floor, just behind the main console and not on the platform where he usually stayed, his body face down in a position that looked anything but comfortable, his chest rising and falling, breathing, alive, only unconscious, but there were no signs of violence on his body. No visible wounds. No trace of blood.
Optimus deactivated his blaster. Fowler was alive. Just asleep, or drugged, or the victim of some non-lethal sonic attack. But that was not a relief and he felt disgusted with his own selfishness, because if Fowler was here, unconscious but alive, and the base was silent but intact, and there were no signs of forced entry or struggle or resistance...
Then Eridanus had not been captured, she had left of her own will.
Optimus looked around him, at the empty hangar, at the silent consoles, at the space where only cycles ago his daughter had looked at him with that icy serenity that preceded the storms.
"You will always need someone to open the space bridge, right?"
Ratchet's incoming call appeared in his processor.
"Optimus. What did you find? Are they...?".
Optimus opened the Intake but said nothing, there were no words for what he had found, there were no words for what he had not found.
"Fowler is unconscious", he said. His voice barely a whisper "Alive. No visible injuries".
"And Eridanus?"
Optimus looked toward the corridor that led to the quarters. It was empty, dark, silent.
"She's not here".
On the other end of the line, Ratchet said nothing, there was nothing to say, both knew what it meant, because the one responsible was not Soundwave, nor Megatron, nor Starscream, nor any other enemy Optimus could point a digit at. He lowered his optics. The lubricant burned behind his lids, but he did not allow it to fall.
"Track her signal", he ordered "Locate her last position".
"You don't have to repeat it".
The line closed. Optimus was left alone in the empty hangar, beside the unconscious body of a human who had not been able to keep his daughter, surrounded by dark screens and silent consoles.
"You will always need someone to open the space bridge".
Yes. And today, that someone was no longer there.