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“Chichi no hi is coming up and my mom will NOT stop texting me about it.”
Miko didn’t even look up from her phone as she said it, thumbs flying, her expression halfway between exasperated and amused.
Raf blinked. “Chi–what?”
“Chichi no hi,” she repeated, waving her phone vaguely in his direction. “Father’s Day. In Japan. My parents are already planning some huge dinner back in Tokyo and sending me pictures like I'll wanna groundbridge home for it.”
Jack snorted lightly. “They’re just excited.”
“Yeah, well.” Miko shrugged. “They’re always excited. My dad’s probably already polishing the grill he uses once a year like it’s some sacred ritual.”
"I didn't know Japan had Fathers Day." Raf said, more to himself than anything.
“I just call it Chichi no hi. I’m used to it.”
Raf tilted his head. “You don’t celebrate it here?”
Miko made a face. “With my host dad? Please. He barely remembers what grade I’m in. He doesn’t ask. I don’t remind him. Works out for everyone.”
Jack shifted his backpack higher on his shoulder but didn’t comment.
Raf nodded slowly, absorbing that. “My family’s doing something for Father’s Day too. We’re flying back to Spain for a week.”
Miko’s head snapped up. “A week? During summer break?”
“Yeah.” Raf grimaced. “To visit my abuelo.”
Jack raised a brow. “I thought you hated those big family reunions.”
“I do,” Raf admitted immediately. “There’s like—thirty of us in one house. Cousins everywhere. My aunts won’t stop pinching my cheeks. It’s loud all the time.” He hesitated. “But I still wanna go.”
Miko crossed her arms. “You could totally fake a coding camp or something. You get out of family stuff all the time.”
Raf shook his head. “Not this time.”
Jack studied him. “Why not?”
Raf’s expression softened in a way that didn’t happen often. “Because my abuelo’s the only one who actually sits with me. Like, really sits with me. He’ll make coffee for himself and hot chocolate for me and just.. listen.” He shrugged, a little self-conscious. “He only speaks Spanish. So it feels more personal. Like it’s just ours.”
Miko’s posture eased. “Aw. That’s kinda sweet.”
“He buys me video games too,” Raf added quickly, as if to rebalance the sentiment. “Ones I can’t get here. That’s how I figured out how to bypass region locks on discs. He got me one that wouldn’t run on my console, so I spent all night figuring it out when I got home.”
Jack huffed a laugh. “So your grandfather is the reason you learned to jailbreak your system?”
Raf smiled. “He once told me technology should belong to the people.”
“Your abuelo is hardcore,” Miko declared.
Raf’s smile lingered. “It’s why I like spending time with Bumblebee, I think. It reminds me of visiting him. Just.. being around someone who doesn’t talk over you.”
Jack’s chest tightened faintly at that, though he kept his expression neutral.
Miko looked between them, then zeroed in on Jack. “Okay, Darby. Your turn.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
“Father’s Day plans,” she pressed. “What’s the Darby household doing?”
Raf nodded. “Yeah. Anything special?”
Jack opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then he shifted his weight. “Well, I—”
The low, familiar hum of an engine cut across the parking lot. All three of them turned.
A sleek blue motorcycle rolled up to the curb, its holographic rider perfectly still, hands fixed on the handlebars in an almost eerie stillness. Jack didn’t realize how relieved he felt until it hit him.
“Uh—guess that’s me,” he said quickly.
Miko squinted at him. “You were totally about to say something.”
“Rain check,” Jack shot back, already stepping away. He tugged his helmet from his bag, sliding it on. “Later, guys.”
Raf gave him a small wave. “See you at the base.”
Jack jogged the last few steps, swung onto the bike behind the unmoving holoform, and tapped Arcee lightly. The motorcycle peeled away from the curb in a burst of speed. For a few minutes, there was only the rush of wind and the hum of Arcee’s engine.
“You working today?” Arcee asked over their comm, casual.
“Tomorrow,” Jack replied. “Drive-thru shift at KO Burger.”
“Living the dream,” she said dryly.
“Hey, free fries.”
“Mm. Worth risking your dignity.”
They rode in silence until the buildings thinned and the road grew lonelier, dust kicking up behind them. Once they were far enough from prying eyes, the holographic rider flickered and vanished. Jack immediately leaned forward, gripping Arcee’s real handles.
“Better?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re quiet today,” she said, mot accusing, merely noticing.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
He hesitated. “Father’s Day.”
“..Okay.” She waited.
Jack frowned slightly. “Huh?”
“Humor me.”
He huffed, remembering she was an alien. “It’s a holiday. You celebrate your father.”
“Jack.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You’re gonna have to define ‘father.’”
Jack almost jerked back. “Didn't I tell you how moms and dads work?”
“I know the biology, that's about it," she shot back. “You scarred me for life with that explanation, remember?”
“Arcee!"
“You used hand motions.”
“I was trying to help explain, you're the one who asked!”
“Uh-huh.”
He groaned. “It’s just.. the guy who raises you. Teaches you stuff. Family patriarch. That kind of thing.”
Arcee was quiet for a moment longer than usual. “And?”
Jack stared at the road. “And I don’t have one.”
Her engine note dipped slightly. “That’s not possible,” she said automatically. “Humans don’t just, spawn.”
“You’re hilarious,” he muttered. “Biologically, yeah, sure. But that doesn’t mean he’s.. there.”
“Oh.” The teasing edge faded.
“Yeah.”
A few seconds passed before she added, lighter again, “So what, he bail?”
Jack winced. “Can we not?”
She ventilated softly. “Okay. Okay.”
He rubbed at the side of his helmet. “It’s complicated. I don’t really want to get into it. Let’s just say girl trouble runs in my family.”
“Figures,” she said. “You do have a type.”
“Arcee.”
“I’m just saying.”
They rode another stretch of empty road before she spoke again. “Anyway. Leave it at school.”
Jack frowned. “What?”
“Optimus isn’t in a great mood.”
That got his attention. “Why? What happened?”
She hesitated. “It’s complicated.”
Jack let out a breath through his nose. “Fair enough.”
Dust trailed behind them as they sped down the empty road, the horizon stretching wide and bright. Neither of them said anything else.
The groundbridge flared green, humming low and steady. When it dimmed, Optimus stepped through.
He didn't speak.
Dust clung to his armor from reconnaissance, fine sand caught in the seams of his plating. He moved across the main floor of the base with deliberate calm, every step measured. Controlled. Too controlled.
Ratchet glanced up from his diagnostics console. He watched Optimus cross the room. Waited.
“Optimus,” Ratchet said finally, optics narrowing slightly. He shot the other with some sarcasm. “You are uncharacteristically silent.”
Optimus paused mid-stride. He looked at Ratchet and held the medic’s gaze for a beat before looking away.
“I am fine, Ratchet.” The response was immediate. Too immediate.
Ratchet’s mouthplates tightened. “You have been ‘fine’ for several cycles now.”
Optimus resumed walking. “I do not follow.”
“Oh, spare me.” Ratchet turned fully now. “You have been avoiding the others. Cutting conversations short. Leaving the command center the moment strategic discussions conclude. The base has been quiet for days, no Decepticon activity, no crises to manage yet you behave as though there is something to evade.”
Optimus stopped again. The desert wind howled faintly through the upper vents within the base.
“There is nothing to evade,” Optimus said evenly.
Ratchet’s optics softened. “Then why the withdrawal?”
A long pause. Optimus’s shoulders squared. “I am fine.”
Ratchet studied him. Then sighed through his vents. “Very well. I won't press.” He swiveled himself halfway back to his console before adding, more gently, “However, as your physician, if you are experiencing any physical or.. mental distress, I expect you to confide in me.”
“I am not,” Optimus cut in quietly. “But I will remember your counsel, should the need arise.”
Ratchet’s optics flickered with frustration while Optimus turned toward the exit ramp.
“I will be going out.”
Ratchet blinked. “You just returned from extended reconnaissance.”
Optimus didn't slow. “A brief drive will suffice.”
“You require rest.”
There was no reply. Instead, Optimus transformed in one fluid motion, metal folding and shifting with familiar precision, and rolled down the ramp without another word.
Ratchet stared after him as the sound of his engine faded into the Nevada desert.
“Stubborn mech.”
Moments later, the distant whine of another engine approached. Arcee sped into view just as Optimus’s red-and-blue frame disappeared behind a turn.
Jack twisted in his seat to look back at the shrinking silhouette. “Was that Optimus?”
Arcee slowed to a stop near the entrance ramp.
“Yep.”
Jack hopped off as she transformed, landing lightly beside her.
“Where’s he going?” Jack asked, pushing his helmet up.
Ratchet answered. “For a drive.”
Jack frowned. “That’s it?”
“That is what he informed me,” Ratchet said dryly. “He has been avoidant.”
"See? Told ya.” Arcee glanced down at Jack. She walked past him into the base, stretching her arms overhead, joints popping softly. “Big guy’s been in a funk.”
As if on cue, the distant rumble of two more engines echoed through the canyon. Bumblebee and Bulkhead rolled in, Raf and Miko visible through their windshields. They transformed near the entrance, Raf hopping out immediately while Miko launched herself off Bulkhead’s shoulder into his servo.
“Did we miss anything?” Miko asked.
“Optimus just bailed again,” Arcee replied.
Jack stayed near the ramp, staring out toward the doorway where Optimus had vanished. He began thinking. He turned and walked back toward Ratchet.
“Do you know where he went?”
Ratchet glanced down at him. “I maintain a general read on all Autobot signatures within range.”
“So you know where he is, then.”
Ratchet narrowed his optics. “Why?”
Jack hesitated only a second. “I wanna talk to him.”
Ratchet’s expression hardened instantly. “Absolutely not.”
Arcee turned her helm sharply. “Yeah, that’s a bad idea, Jack.”
He looked between them. “Why?”
“Because,” Arcee said, stepping closer, voice lower now, “when Optimus wants space, you give it to him.”
Ratchet nodded. “He will return when he has finished his brooding.”
“I’m not trying to bug him,” Jack said quickly. “I just—”
“Jack,” Arcee cut in gently but firmly. “He’s not in the mood for a spark-to-spark.”
“What makes you sure?"
Her optics flashed. “I know him.”
Jack swallowed. He kept his voice even. “So do I.”
That made her pause.
Ratchet crossed his arms. “And what precisely do you intend to accomplish that we haven't already?”
“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “Maybe nothing. But if something’s bothering him, and we're just letting him ghost everybody, it's not exactly helping, right?"
Arcee studied him carefully. “This about earlier?”
Jack didn’t answer directly. “You said he wasn’t in a good mood. I just.. don’t like the idea of him dealing with stuff alone.”
Ratchet’s tone sharpened. “Optimus Prime has endured four million years of war, of loss, of all kinds of hardship you couldn't even comprehend. I assure you, he is capable of solitude.”
“I know,” Jack said softly. “That’s kinda the problem.”
Silence settled between them. Arcee’s expression shifted—subtle, conflicted.
“He doesn’t lean on people,” Jack continued. “Not really. And when he does, it’s usually because things are really bad.” He looked up at her. “What if this is one of those times?”
Ratchet opened his mouth only for Arcee to beat him to it.
“It’s still a risk. You don't wanna make the big guy angry.”
“I’m not asking to fight Megatron,” Jack said. “I just wanna check on him. He'd do the same for me.”
Ratchet scoffed. “Puh-lease. I've prodded him enough as is. What if he doesn't wish to be checked on?”
“Then I’ll leave.”
Arcee’s optics searched his face. “You’re not gonna push him?”
Jack avoided eye contact. Ratchet made a noise of disapproval. “This is highly inadvisable.”
“Yeah,” Jack agreed quietly. “It probably is.”
Arcee exhaled through her vents, long and reluctant. “Scrap.”
Ratchet turned sharply. “Arcee, don't tell me you're allowing this.”
She looked at Jack again. “You get one shot. If he tells you to leave, we leave.”
Jack nodded immediately. “Deal.”
Ratchet threw his servos up. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Noted,” Arcee replied.
Jack gave her a small, grateful look. “Can you track him?”
She shook her helm slightly. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this.” Then she transformed. “Get on.”
Jack didn’t hesitate.
As they sped out of the canyon, Ratchet’s voice echoed faintly behind them. “Terrible idea!”
The desert swallowed the sound.
Optimus drove alone. As usual.
The Nevada horizon stretched endless and gold before him. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the dunes. Wind carried sand across the asphalt in thin, whispering sheets. He felt it in his grill.
He drove without destination. Without objective. His own memories filled the silence.
Iacon.
Before the war.
Before the title.
Orion.
The name echoed in his processor like a distant chime.
And he saw her.
She was the most beautiful frame he had ever seen, every single cycle he saw her she looked just as radiant as the last. It was like seeing her for the first time again and again.
He saw her as she had stood beside him in the Iacon Vaults, the polished floors gleaming under white luminescence, data streams cascading in towering columns around them.
She had always stood close. Never crowding but perfectly near. Just as he needed her.
“Relax. You overthink everything, Orion. You can't keep losing your cool over every little thing when it comes to politics.”
Her voice had been warm. Amused. It always was in those days.
He remembered had been holding a datapad too tightly. “All I'm meaning to say is that this data doesn't align with the Senate’s claims. It doesn't make sense, you heard what they said."
“So what, you're trying to say the Senate is wrong?"
"Well, what if they are?" He had looked at her then, uncertain. “But what if I'm wrong? Or, or, or what if the council doesn't believe me if I tell them?"
She had stepped closer.
“I believe you.”
He remembered the first time he had opened his spark to her—truly opened it. The vulnerability had felt unbearable. His fears laid bare before her. Inadequacy. Obscurity. The sense that he was meant for something he didn't yet understand.
She had not recoiled. She had taken his servos in hers.
He remembered that sensation vividly.
“I don't know my purpose here Elita,” he had confessed.
“You don't need to know it yet,” she had replied softly. “You just need to do what you think is right. I know you'll always do what's right.”
Later—much later—he had initiated the gesture, and held both her servos more tightly.
“I care so much for you, I love you. I love you, Elita. I don't know what I'd do without you.” he had said, the words feeling monumental. She had smiled.
“Orion, I returned that affection cycles ago. I thought you knew that.”
Relief had flooded him so completely he had nearly lost structural integrity.
Their Conjunx Ritus had begun quiet. Sacred. Almost unknowingly.
He remembered the first act of intimacy—the way their EM fields had intertwined, clashed, then harmonized. The closeness of their frames. The vulnerability of it. Her cable transmitting a wash of loving data to him as she held his faceplate gently promising to never give up each other.
He remembered the act of disclosure—confessing the depth of his fear. That he feared failure. That he feared becoming irrelevant. That he felt responsible for Megatron's fall. That without her, the universe felt unbearably vast.
She had rested her helm against his.
“You aren't alone,” she had whispered. "I'm here. My beloved."
Even in war, she had made time for him.
Acts of profference—small offerings of affection amidst chaos. A touch to his shoulder before battle. A shared recharge when others slept. A datapad message simply reading:“I love you, Optimus Prime."
And then—Devotion. The final act.
He remembered begging her not to stay.
“Come with us,” he had urged. “We can regroup.”
"I'm not leaving."
"What do you mean?"
“Someone has to stay and protect what's left of Cybertron.”
“Elita..”
“This isn't the life I imagined for us either, but it's one worth fighting for.”
She had insisted. She had stayed.
For the Autobots. For him.
The Ritus was complete.
When he returned the battlefield had been smoke and ruin. He had found her. He had found her frame. But her spark was gone.
The memory pressed heavy against his systems.
A voice cut through it. Familiar. “Optimus!”
His processor snapped back to the present. He pulled to the side of the road abruptly, gravel crunching beneath his tires.
“Optimus!” Jack’s voice again, closer now. Optimus transformed slowly, rising to his full height.
Arcee rolled to a stop behind him. Jack hopped off before she had fully settled.
“Optimus?” he called again, stepping forward carefully. “Are you alright?”
Optimus turned. For a fraction of a second, something raw lingered in his optics. Then it was gone. The desert wind moved between them. Optimus regarded him steadily.
“What are you doing out here, Jack?”
Jack shifted his weight in the sand. “Looking for you. I was worried.”
“I am in no imminent danger,” Optimus replied calmly. “You and Arcee may return to base.”
"No,” Jack said quickly.
Optimus’s optics flicked past him to Arcee. She transformed with a smooth motion, crossing her arms the moment she was upright.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “This was his idea. I told him it was a bad one.”
Optimus held her gaze sternly for a moment longer before turning back to Jack. He lowered himself onto one knee, massive frame settling with a muted thud, bringing his face more level with the boy, as level as it could be at that height.
“Explain.”
Jack swallowed.
“Look, I know you’re a Prime.” He gestured vaguely. “Leader of the Autobots. Ancient war hero. The guy who never loses his cool.”
Optimus said nothing.
“But,” Jack continued, words picking up speed the way they always did when he was nervous, “you’re also the one who told me that bottling stuff up clouds your judgment. That shutting people out builds walls between you and the ones you trust. That it makes you.. I don’t know. Isolated. And if Arcee has taught me anything it's that people can’t carry everything alone because eventually it just.. crushes them.”
Silence fell heavy between them. Arcee slowly uncrossed her arms. The wind shifted the sand at their feet. Optimus looked away first. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, slowly, he placed his servo on the ground before Jack, palm open. Jack blinked. “..Seriously?”
Optimus didn't answer. He simply waited. Jack glanced back at Arcee. She gave him a look that very clearly translated to Don’t screw this up. He climbed carefully onto the servo and Optimus rose to his full height, lifting Jack effortlessly.
“Arcee,” he said evenly, “return to base.”
She hesitated only a fraction of a second. “You sure?”
“I wish to speak with Jack alone.”
Her optics softened. “Understood.”
She pointedly looked at Jack again, then transformed and sped off toward the distant canyon. Optimus watched until she disappeared over the ridge. Then he transformed himself.
Jack barely had time to brace before the world shifted around him. Panels folded, metal aligned, and suddenly he was seated in the passenger side of a massive red-and-blue semi-truck. The door sealed gently beside him. Jack blinked, hands hovering awkwardly near the dashboard.
“Okay,” he muttered. “That’s new.”
The engine rumbled to life. They pulled back onto the road. For several long miles, neither of them spoke. The cab was quieter than Jack expected. The steady hum of the engine felt grounding. Finally, he broke the silence.
“Why does everyone keep saying you’re in a mood?”
Optimus’s voice resonated softly through the cabin. “I have been mourning a fallen comrade.”
Jack nodded slowly. “Yeah. That.. makes sense.”
Another stretch of road passed beneath them.
“It must be rough,” Jack said carefully. “Losing that many friends. In a war like this.”
Optimus did not respond immediately.
Jack picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Were they.. close?”
A slight shift in engine tone. “They were very important to me.”
Jack hesitated. “Like.. a special friend?”
Optimus seemed to consider the phrasing. “Clarify.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “You know. Special special. Someone you like a lot. Take out to dinner.” He gestured vaguely at the windshield. “Or whatever giant robots do for fun together.”
A long pause.
“She was a very special friend.”
Jack’s throat tightened as he quickly understood. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Her name was Elita One,” Optimus said.
The name seemed to carry weight with the way Prime said it. Jack didn’t interrupt.
“She knew me before I was made a Prime,” he continued with a very softened voice. “When I was merely Orion Pax, a data clerk within Iacon. We had fallen in love. She had believed in me long before I believed in myself as a leader.”
Jack listened, unmoving.
“She encouraged my biggest doubts, challenged my loudest assumptions. She reminded me that compassion was not weakness but a great strength in our war for our home.” A faint pause. “When the war came, she was the first who stood beside me. She had eventually chosen to remain behind on Cybertron to protect our planet from a terrible siege. I urged her to withdraw, but she refused. She understood the cost. And she paid greatly for it.”
His engine note dipped. Jack’s chest tightened.
“I returned too late to save her.”
The words hung heavy.
“I should have insisted her more. I should have altered the strategy to—”
“Don't say that.”
The truck slowed slightly as they approached a four-way stop. Optimus’s voice lowered again as his turn signal activated. “Your reassurance is understandable and appreciated, Jack. But I know the fault is mine.”
Jack shook his head. “No.”
Optimus turned carefully through the intersection. The turn signal switched off once he straightened.
“It is difficult not to assign responsibility,” he said. “As I was her standing commander—”
“Optimus.”
The truck eased back up to speed. Jack stared out the window for a few seconds, watching the desert slide by. Then he spoke.
“My.. dad left.. when I was six.”
Optimus did not react outwardly. “I didn't realize. I am deeply sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be.” Jack swallowed. “He wasn’t really there before that anyway.”
The road stretched long ahead.
“My mom was wrecked,” Jack continued. “Like, devastated. She was still in medical school. She had to put everything on hold to take care of me and give up her dreams. And she was trying to hold it together while basically falling apart.”
“I was unaware that you had endured such hardship within your family.”
Jack let out a breath. “Yeah. Well. I didn’t exactly advertise it.”
A moment passed. “Why are you sharing this with me now?” Optimus asked.
Jack stared at the dashboard.
“Because I blamed myself for it. For years. He didn’t want a kid,” Jack said. “I was an accident. And I kept thinking maybe he fell out of love with my mom because of me. Maybe I was the reason everything fell apart. And my mom had to give up her dream because of me. She settled on nursing but she'd be a successful doctor out in Washington or something by now if I hadn't held her back after dad left. So I thought I was a burden. Like, I ruined both their lives.”
Optimus remained silent while listening.
“Every Father’s Day felt like torture,” Jack admitted. “I’d lock myself in my room. I know I look like him. I didn’t want to remind my mom."
“Jack,” Optimus said solemnly after a long pause, “none of those circumstances were your fault.”
“I know,” Jack said quickly. He leaned back into the seat. "I do. Now I do. It just took me a long time to get there.”
The sunset was beginning to bleed a deep orange across the sky.
“I finally realized my mom did what she felt she had to do because she loves me,” Jack said. “And I’ve been punishing myself all these years because I thought I wasn’t worth the sacrifices she made. But I don’t get to decide that. She does. To her, I’m her whole world. She’d do anything for me.”
The truck rolled steadily forward to another winding road. Jack swallowed, holding back tears.
"And I’d do anything for her, Optimus. I mean that. I think you’re probably never gonna feel like you were worth what Elita did. Because you’re not her.”
Optimus’s engine quieted slightly so he could listen closer.
“She was your whole world, but you were hers too. And she stayed to protect Cybertron because she loved you. Because she believed in what you were fighting for.” He shifted in his seat. "You would’ve done the same for her.”
Optimus didn't deny it.
“You shouldn't take that away from her by blaming yourself,” Jack said, voice earnest despite its awkward edges. “That was her choice. You don’t get to rewrite it into some kind of mistake you made. That's like saying she shouldn't have loved you so much. But if she didn't love you so much I don't think you'd be Optimus Prime."
The desert wind whispered against the truck’s frame. A very long silence lingered.
Then, finally—
“You are correct, Jack."
Jack let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“However,” Optimus continued, “knowing this does not immediately dissolve the weight of my regret.”
Jack gave a small, understanding nod. “Yeah. I totally get that.”
“It will take time,” Optimus said.
“Yeah,” Jack echoed.
They drove in thoughtful quiet for a while longer.
“Thank you,” Optimus said at last.
Jack glanced over. “For what?”
“For trusting me with your truth.”
Jack shrugged slightly. “You trusted me with yours.”
The horizon burned gold and crimson ahead of them.
After a few more miles, Jack spoke again.
“Should we head back?”
Optimus considered quietly.
“I will return to base in time,” he said. “After driving a while longer. If you are comfortable. We may talk of lighter subjects if you like."
Jack leaned back in the massive passenger seat, watching the sun sink lower. “I’m good with that.”
The truck rolled on beneath the fading light, engine steady, carrying them both into the quiet of the desert sunset.
They both knew things would be alright.