Work Text:
When the human military agency known as “G. I. Joe” spent weeks meticulously building a custom private office room for Optimus, he had not imagined that he would so often be using it as a quiet place for him to stare at a blank wall so he could process new information in peace. This time, however, there was not much information to process. When one of the soldiers had heard him booting up from recharge – the Autobots still had to recharge in designated bays in the main hangar – he had greeted the Prime with a phrase he had never heard before as he walked by:
“Happy Valentine’s Day!”
Optimus had responded with a simple, safe “Good morning.” He didn’t know the proper reply to such a phrase, but the man didn’t seem offended by his choice of words. While maneuvering himself out of the bay with utmost caution, he noticed an unfamiliar weight on his left door. Something small had been stuck to his armor. A quick scan revealed it was a magnet, like the one Elena had stuck to him a few cycles ago for research purposes, only this one was an odd shape. Once he was clear of the bays, Optimus transformed. He briefly inspected the magnet now on his arm, then ran an image search across the humans’ datanet on the way to his office.
Optimus was bewildered. The results were consistent in one common word throughout the page titles attached to the images: heart. He had — once, and only once — researched human anatomy before, so he knew, and he knew that humans knew, that the human heart was not shaped like that. He dove deeper into the datanet the humans called “the Internet.” He found little more than theories as to how the “heart” symbol came to be. He was not disappointed, though. He didn’t expect any species to have one-hundred percent of their history recorded.
What he did learn about “Valentine’s Day” gave him enough to contemplate for a couple of joors. At least, it would have if there had not been a quiet knock on the larger door of his office.
Mirage poked his helm into the room.
"Hey, uh…Sir Optimus. You…you doin’ good in here?" he asked. Optimus didn’t respond immediately, so he put on a hopeful smile and continued. "You know...the humans are throwing a big party in the mess hall if ya wanna join us. And we’re gonna play Capture the Flag later. The Joes are really good at that one. Not as good as me, though! And Noah and Elena are-"
Mirage trailed off when Optimus finally fixed his intense gaze upon him. It wasn’t a glare, for once. No, he wasn’t trying to instill any emotion into Mirage. He was searching for something deeper. Deeper than the youngling’s antics. Deeper than his happy-go-lucky front. Deeper than anything he’d ever looked for in the mech. Indeed, this was the farthest from a glare he had ever thrown Mirage’s way.
Optimus wanted to know if he was alone in his pain.
Mirage frowned. Optimus was taken aback by the abrupt change in his expression, but he simply continued to look into Mirage’s optics from across the room. Had he noticed? Did Mirage even have the mental or emotional capacity to notice such intricate, subtle cues? And with his battle mask up, no less?
The smaller mech vented and stepped into the office, sliding the door shut behind him.
"Not feelin’ too hot, huh?” Mirage’s tone felt so…uncharacteristic. “Well, I'm here for ya. If you just…want someone to talk to, I guess. Dunno if you’re into that, but…yeah. That’s, uh…that’s all I got, boss. Sorry I’m not very good at this talkin’ thing.”
“Talking is what you do best, Mirage,” Optimus stated.
“Heh,” Mirage huffed, smiling. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
The Prime smiled back, briefly. Mirage would never know. “You asked me if I was doing well. I must admit that I am not. I was not prepared for this cycle to be one which is intended to be celebrated with a loved one.”
“Oh…” The young speedster eased himself into the makeshift Cybertronian-sized chair forged from steel crates. “You miss…Elita, right? That was her name?”
“It is.”
Mirage perked up. “You think she’s still alive?”
“I know she is alive.”
Mirage opened his mouth, then shut it. He tried again. “Of course she is. She’s Elita.”
Optimus nodded. The two sat in silence for a few moments, Mirage taking a look around the office. His optics came to rest on the Prime’s arm.
“Hey,” the young bot said as he leaned forward, “I like your magnet!”
Optimus glanced down at his forearm. His finials twitched slightly.
“Thank you…”
“You should stick it to your file cabinet or something, spruce the place up a little.”
The Prime looked back down at the magnet, then vented. He held his arm out over the desk.
“Would you mind doing so for me?” He asked quietly, his optics averted. “I am afraid it is too thin for me to get off of myself.”
Mirage snorted, but he managed to stifle any laughter when Optimus did glare at him.
“You got it, boss,” he finally got out as he carefully peeled the magnet off. He slapped it onto the side of the metal file cabinet in the corner, then stood back to admire his work. “Nice. Who gave it to you, anyway?”
“I do not know,” the larger mech replied. “It was placed while I was recharging.”
“Ooh,” Mirage started as he sat back down, “Optimus Prime has a secret admir-“
“Get out.”
“Yes, sir!”
Mirage stood back up, saluted, and quickly departed.
Optimus leaned back with a heavy vent. He observed the magnet for a moment, then pulled out his battered transmission datapad. He addressed a message to Elita.
Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetspark.
Below it, he attached a small image of the magnet; a little pink heart.