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A knocking on Optimus' office door snaps him out of his trance.
Optimus had been on his office for the last few cycles. If he's not fighting with the, Decepticons—he's still getting used to it—he's with the news bots or in his office.
And right now, he's in his office.
Optimus battle mask immediately activates at his stratled state. He'd noticed he had been using it a lot lately, he had it on most of the time when he wasn't alone.
He, consciously, deactivates it, clears his intake and finally calls out, "Come in."
The moment he does, Elita-1 barges in, that look on her face plate as she stomps down to his desk, stamping her servos on said desk.
"We need to talk. Now."
Optimus battle mask activates again.
He sighs, shooing it away once more before meeting her optics, "What do you wish to talk about?"
Elita's gaze sharpens, her optics boring into Optimus' very spark, "You. Need. A break."
...what.
"What do you mean, a break?"
Optimus Prime stared at her commander incredulously as he clutched the data pad in servo. But said commander didn't even blink. Instead, Elita-1 nodded firmly as she crossed her arms with an unimpressed look towards her Prime.
She sighed, pinching the end of her nasal ridge, "Yes, a break."
Elita continues, "Please, Prime," she spat, yet the words held a subtle undertone of concern only she could manage, "For the love of Primus at least go into recharge tonight."
Now was Optimus turn to sigh. He raised an optical ridge at her and cracked what he hoped was a convincing—albeit small—smile, "I did recharge the other day though? Even in the middle of - of whatever we have going on."
In the middle of a war basically.
Well. To be honest, Optimus wasn't that sure that the maybe fifteen klicks nap could be considered actual recharge but something is something! Right..?
"That does not fragging count."
Okay, seems like Elita may disagree with Optimus on this.
"Optimus," Elita's optics soften for a moment, before they return to that fierce determination, "You can't keep doing this to yourself. To us. Even Bee can see how tired you are!"
She takes his servo on hers, clutching it in a firm yet comforting way, surprising said mech. Optimus knows Elita-1 has never been one for touch—Orion learned that the bad way—which made this small gesture making him well aware she couldn't be more serious about this. Which, he also found very surprising. Still, he found himself frowning.
Optimus' bravado falters for a moment as he glances to his servos on hers. They look so tiny on his. But he can't help but remain firm on his desicion, who else is gonna do all this but him?
'Literally anyone or everyone else', Elita's scolding voice echoes in his processor. But he stomps it down as quickly as it came.
Optimus finally responds, "Elita. You know I have to do this," He ex-vents, looking down at his servo still in Elita's grasp, "I can't— I physically can't take a break. I'm not sure if I'd... if I'd be able to rest anyhow."
Optimus slowly takes his servos away from hers, the cold immediately setting in them once again.
Elita is unmoving for a moment, before she locks optics with him, her gaze almost indecipherable as she bores into his very spark, making Optimus feel... queasy. Like he's being put under a lense for analisis.
Maybe its a bit dumb for a Prime to feel like bouncing his pedes or bite the end of his digits just because a femme is staring at him menacingly. But this is... a very commanding and stubborn femme who had punched Orion in the face more than once...
Oh, Elita is definitely planning something alright. If it isn't that she already did.
Said femme sighs defeatedly as she looks down, glancing at the data pads long forgotten. But the small curl of her derma was what had a tense Optimus grabbing fidgeting with his digits.
"Well, can't say I didn't try," She looks back at him, "But you left me no choice."
She suddenly presses at her comm link, and Optimus freezes.
"Operation E, go."
"...Wait what-"
And Optimus felt Cyberton get upside down.
Elita-1 jumped over his desk and kicked him, hard, sending him backwards and through the window. The fragile glass cracked behind him, and as he could feel Iacon's early lights, he couldn't have felt more confusion. Not pain, not anger, not considering if this could be a federal crime, just simple confusion.
If Elita wanted him to get into recharge this bad, Optimus thinks it could have been a comm.
It was also way too early for this slag.
The next few things were a blur. Optimus was aware a few Autobots in jet alt-modes got him—a part of him wished to know what would have happened if they didn't get him—or something along those lines, and somehow ended up back in the tower.
And inside his habsuite.
Locked in.
Optimus wonders how did he end up locked inside his own room. Well, he knows what happened he was (mostly) awake when he got here, but still.
He opened the frequency Elita sent him.
::Sorry Prime, but we care about you.::
Optimus scoffed.
"So we can't let you keep overworking yourself out."
Elita's voice suddenly echoed, but this time outside his processor and through his door. He walked and pressed his audials over it, his servos supporting him against the door.
"Even if it means taking some... measures for it." Her voice sounded slightly muffled through the door, and Optimus felt somewhat happy she couldn't see his face—that surely was a mess of emotions at the moment.
"Don't worry," The door abruptly opened, making Optimus stumble before he quickly recomposed himself. He could feel his face plates burning with energon. And for once he was happy he had his battle mask on—for another purpose than looking cool with it.
Great. Another reason for Elita to send him to recharge.
Elita—thankfully—ignored it. But the way her derma tugged slightly at the pathetic sight of the Prime didn't go unaware by him. Ugh.
"...That means you'll stay to rest for the day."
As Optimus stared at her disappearing frame as the door shut once again, he was hoping this was just a prank (even if he's well aware Elita doesn't do "jokes" or "pranks"). A big, stupid, dumb fragging prank, because one can hope alright?
Spoiler alert. This was not a prank.
○●○
Optimus couldn't sleep.
At least that much wasn't new at all.
No, the thing this time was that Optimus was still locked inside his habsuite. By force. Has he already mentioned he was locked in? Thanks to Elita-1. Optimus came to realize that she even got Prowl on with this when he tried to comm him!
He can't even begin to comprehend how that was possible to begin with.
It was still somewhat early into the solar-cycle. Optimus thinks it has been some jours already, around the time when he got up to serving himself some energon before returning to his office. But. He couldn't.
At least his little comrades were friendly enough to leave him some besides his berth.
So. Optimus was on said berth. His weirdly comfortable, horizontal berth—even after so many vorns it was still a bit weird sometimes—with a data pad of the history of someone he didn't care about because he didn't know what to do. Even the archives kept Orion more entertained than this.
Optimus was aware that they wanted him to recharge. To rest. That was the point of this whole ordeal, wasn't it? They needed him at his best in the middle of the war brewing. Hah. Well, sorry to say, he'll have to pass out or starve himself to be able to do one of those things.
Because resting? Yeah, it's a lost cause, and he knows it.
So he couldn't help but feel rather, bored at his current situation. Yes, than seems somewhat fitting for this.
It wasn't a strange or unknown feeling on it's own, really. Orion used to be well aquantinced with it, back in the mines. But what was strange was Optimus feeling it as well, which was now a new case.
Between all of his work, fighting and talking with the press, not to mention the meetings with the Council, ugh, the meetings—he had little to no time to relax or have time for his thoughts. Let alone even try and get bored.
There was always something, anything, to be done.
But right now, there was nothing he could do. It finally left him some time with his thoughts, too much time if you ask him.
Optimus didn't want and try to take it anymore, and so he got up from the berth, and headed to the door. Holding an ex-vent, he tried to open it.
And the door opened.
Optimus... blinked.
"How long had that been open..?" He caught himself thinking outloud stupidly.
He wasn't able to open the door earlier. Did Elita or Prowl open it? Already?
Well, he sure wasn't going to complain about it.
Optimus stepped outside.
—
This was weird. Horrible, actually. He should have stayed in his habsuite.
First off, Optimus tried and going back to his office. Which was... obviously locked. That much was to be expected.
What surprised him was that there were literal guards over it. And while he may have been able to move them aside using him oh so powerful Prime authority, be didn't want to try Elita's wrath anymore, so... Eh, worth a shot, he supposed.
Next off, he went to find Bee. See if he needed help with anything, or maybe if he just wanted to, hang out or something?—okay, he lied, he just wanted to see if there was something he could do. Just this once he truly would love to hang out sometime again okay?
But what Optimus got wasn't exactly what he would call a desired outcome...
"Sorry bossbot!" Bee cheerfully crushed Optimus' hopes as he offered said mech his help, "Commander Elita warned me that if you appeared that I under no circumstances give a job to you!"
Optimus couldn't help but frown. He wasn't trying to work, he just wanted to help at least, was that really so bad?
"—and so, I wouldn't try my luck for her to, you know," Bee made a dying sound, "have my head in a platter or something. She's pretty scary when she wants to be, but we all know she's definitely a softie underneath and she does this out of love!"
Bee continued to ramble happily, Optimus tuning in here and there, much to the smaller mech's joy. Yet he couldn't focus completely.
"—uh, hey, Optimus? You okay?" Bee suddenly flicked at his chassis, because he's too short to maybe try and flick at his optics, snapping him out of his processor.
"Oh, yes," He replied lowly, averting his gaze, "Apologies, I'm... I'm alright."
Bee didn't look so convinced, "You sure? You still tired? Oh, don't worry at all Op'! It's all going swell over here, you just rest!" He grinned while he placed a servo on his hip and another encouraging servo on the Prime's one.
Optimus nods slowly, "Okay, thank you, Bee," He backs away, turning to the hallway once again, "I'll check on... some other stuff before, doing that."
As Optimus walked away, he could feel Bee's optics on him. He may appear a bit silly at times, but the bot is incredibly observant, he's come to realize.
And then, with most—if not all—of his main options down, he turned to one last mech. One who, under any other circumstance, would have looked at him in such a way for asking for work that Optimus wouldn't have left his habsuite in cycles.
But Prowl had been on board with this from the very beginning.
Optimus still had to try though.
It wasn't that there weren't any other mecha that wouldn't appreciate his help or give him something—in fact, this place was huge and full. But if this specific bot couldn't give him something, then no one could.
"Prime, I cannot and will not give you anything. In fact, there is not anything to give you in the first place." Prowl replied without missing a beat, "So go and continue resting."
"We're handling ourselves just fine."
Then Prowl left.
And so, as Optimus now stood against the rusted railing at the very top of the blindingly golden tower, he couldn't help but feel... discouraged, to say the least.
His mecha didn't need him, it seems. Yes, Optimus supposed they were, hm, how had Bee said it? Ah yes, doing it out of love. But it feels almost insulting the way they pushed him away from his labor in this place. Elita didn't try and check on him again, probably busy handling what was supposed to be his job. Optimus could even bet all his hard earned shanix that she was doing a way better job than him.
Because they never needed him, did they? No. They just needed the Matrix, the energon flowing and finally some cogs that only Optimus could give them.
And he couldn't blame them.
Optimus sighed, long and defeatedly, helm hanging low as the city bustled below with way more life than what he was feeling right now.
This feeling of inadequacy, of uselessnes, of pain, of grief- of tiredness, it may never leave him. Orion knew them, and they never left. Maybe none of them ever will, not even Optimus.
Optimus has already thought of how, of who could be better for this in case something happened to him. And kind of everyone else is, to be honest.
He can just be the nice face plate! The one doing the talking, or well maybe not even the talking it doesn't always go so well- but they can tell him what to say! What to do!
What to feel!
A Prime, feeling this disgust directed at himself, how pathetic. What would Orion have done, would he be proud of Optimus?
Or would he be just as repulsed as he now felt?
Well, suppose Optimus will never know, but one sure can try be optimistic sometimes.
Hah—pun not intended.
It's just, he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand how he got here, both literally and figuratively—he didn't even know there was a rooftop with this view.
Optimus knows he was once better. Way more naive, that's for sure, but with this certain shine that lit up everywhere he went that was never even on purpose. And yet, even behind his battle mask, he has to force out the thinnest of smiles.
Orion, he knows it, he feels it, but he can't seem to be able to recall it. Optimus can't remember it.
He can't remember what Orion would have said, would have done, would have felt.
He can't remember. Why can't he remember, why can't he even begin to fathom it?
The old railing is shaking under his grip.
Optimus can't feel his servos.
He knows Orion Pax once was, why can't Optimus remember then? Why is Orion not here instead? Why? Why is Optimus the one standing today?
Why why why why why why is he here why why why is he even here in the first place he's not worthy of anything why why WHY?—
Optimus freezes as the railing he had been holding like a lifeline snaps beneath his servos with a loud crack. Only then does he realize the feel of, something on his faceplates. Oh.
Coolant is sliding down his faceplates.
And, with no more dignity left to lose, he lets himself have it. His already down frame hunched over once more as the substance sticks to his metal.
His servos, once holding the rusted metal of his surroundings, find way to his faceplate to wipe away some of the liquid.
And Optimus can't help but wonder, what the world for his mecha must be.
He didn't have time to properly enjoy his newfound liberty, just for it to be taken away once again—though not in the way one would have thought it'd be.
As he looks down—and up—to the city, he wonders, if maybe, just maybe... er, what someone else would look like with the Matrix. Yes, that.
His derma curls slightly at imagining Elita-1, her already intimidating aura with a matching frame.
Everyone— including Optimus—would tremble before her.
And he can't help the chuckle he let's out as he thinks of B-127 being a little taller than him—if he's able to get taller, that is.
Their names would sound good too! Or, well, with the information he has: Elita Prime—eh, it's fitting enough. And Bee Prime—that's just...cute. They may not be the most accurate names they could get, but they're the only ones Optimus' processor is able to get out while trying to distract him from earlier trains of thought.
And... even Megatron Prime sounds alright.
Ah, Megatron. What a deal on its own that is.
Of all the things he can remember of Orion, he has memories of D16—unfortunately, not the best ones. But he supposes it's Dee all the same, right?
Optimus wouldn't think of what Megatron would do, but Orion would certainly wonder what D16 would do, even if he didn't do it in the end.
...Is Optimus even in place to call him Dee? He sure the answer is no.
Would that spark, the once so kind, the one that once watched Orion's back, still tolerate Optimus? Well, Elita-1 and B-127 still do at least—or, well, that's what he hopes.
He found himself sitting on the edge of the building, his servos looking for something—anything—to hold onto. A piece of old, rusty, sharp metal slided to them, and as he felt something liquid on them, he couldn't find himself to care, not even sparing a glance.
Optimus just needed to feel alive.
To feel anything to remember that he wasn't with D16 anymore, that he wasn't working on the mines, that he didn't have a smaller frame, that he could easily crush metal that once hurt his pedes, that he wasn't Orion. Optimus needed to remember.
He needed to remember. He needed to remember to remember to remember remember remember remember remember remember REMEMBER REMEMBER REMEMBER—
The city below called him.
...
...Maybe, just maybe, if he fell once again, Orion could come back.
Maybe, just maybe, he'd be doing everyone a favor.
Maybe, he wouldn't come back. Maybe never again.
All he needed to do was just...
"Optimus!"
The Prime felt his spark jump out of his chassis while his frame remained deadly still.
Still on the edge.
When did he sit just on the edge? How did he get here?
Why did Optimus let himself get here?
He snapped back as quickly as he could, repositioning himself as he stumbled in his movements, clumsily turning to look at the bot that called for him.
"Uh- Yes, Commander Elita?" Optimus' battle mask activated before he fully turned to face her, his nervous—and probably concerning—smile hiding behind it.
"Oh, there you are," Elita rolled her optics as she approached him, "I looked for you everywhere. What did you think I was gonna think after I was told you went around asking for work?"
Optimus blinked as Elita pressed a digit at his lower chassis mencacingly, "I...apologize for the inconvenience. I was, looking for somewhere to be while resting," he then mumbled, not meant to be heard, "since you wanted me to so much."
They just didn't want him being useless around them, didn't they?
Elita either didn't hear him or perfectly ignored that last comment as she sighed, her servos going back to her sides, her optics back at his, "...Alright then," she gestures him to follow, "Did you rest well? I sure hope so after dissappearing for the whole fragging solar-cycle."
Optimus abruptly stops in his step at her words, Elita looked back at him confused.
He just thinks of that last sentence. What did she mean whole cycle? Did they seriously got him out the whole solar-cycle? Now that he was paying attention, the natural light from the surface had greatly diminished, the only signs of life the bright lights of the buidling around.
"Hey? Cybertron to Prime?" Elita snaps her digits at his faceplate—or as close as she could at least.
But Optimus can't hear her. Not over his overheating processor louder than the confused and slightly exasperated femme.
Becuase how could he have been so fragging stupid? How could he have ever thought someone would want to even be around him? No one wanted to be around Orion Pax, messy annoying naive and lovable troublemaker that never thought of anyone else Orion Pax.
And if no one standed Orion—the better him—how could someone want to even associate with disgusting, selfish and foolish Optimus?
"-ime! Optimus!"
The world finally came crashing back to Optimus as a cold servo was slapped against his helm, snapping his neck to the side.
"Ow?!" Optimus groaned as he rubbed the side of his helm that was slapped, turning to the side to a Elita that was standing over a small bunch of scrap.
She had a look that was contorted in... concern—hah, as if—even if her faceplates scruched in dissaproval or even anger. But he must have been imagining it, because how could he believe Elita actually cared about him?
Maybe someday, but not today.
"Now you hear me?" The femme huffed, crossing her arms over her chassis, "What even was that? Do we need to get you checked? You randomly zoned out for almost five whole klicks for Primus' sake! Do we need to lock you to your fragging berth this time?"
Optimus holded back a wince, "I... apologize. That won't be necessary," He doesn't want them to waste resources on his scrap, "I may just need... some energon?"
He has never been a great liar, but Optimus isn't really lying. He does need some energy after not having ate for all the solar-cycle. All he hopes is that it'll be enought for his Commander to leave him alone.
Elita had a completely emotionless look as she processed his words, but somehow Optimus could feel her growing exasperation, "You're... hungry. Ugh, of course you are," She sighed as she pinched the end of her olfactory sensor.
She continued scolding him even as they made their way to the exit of the roof, "-and to think I was actually concerned! Just for it to be your stupid processor forgetting to get food."
Optimus found it wise to remain silent as she spoke, and yet he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at getting her worried over nothing.
His optics scanning over the city, wondering how long it'd take to hit the gro-
Over nothing.
And Optimus won't get his allies worried over nothing at all.
Not now, not ever.
His gaze lingers across the roof one last time before he follows Elita down the stairs.
Not if he can help it.