Archive of Our Own

“What do you remember?”

“Well… I remember my faceplate hurting.”

Optimus exvented, his frame sagging in Blitzwing’s arms. His barely functioning optics glitched, temporarily rendering him blind. His battle protocols were running so wild that he found no room to feel panic over the blistering pain. He could feel energon leak from his helm and onto the ground. It felt cold, like Wings’ touch. Except there was no comfort intended in the frostiness of it.

His intake opened, static spilling out uselessly. His vocalizer wasn’t broken. Was it? The steps of how to even speak were escaping him.

“Blitz was there, I believe. His visor was broken.”

Optimus sputtered, energon leaking from his intake as he bit down on his own glossa in his attempt to get words out.

A warm servo cupped his face, tilting his helm up towards Blitzwing. He was propped up by their hold, held securely in their lap. It was as though time had slowed down to a crawl for them, as if the Elite Guard and Optimus’ team weren’t there.

Energon leaked from the deep gouge across Blitz’s nose, his visor nothing more than pieces on the floor. Though even if he had it still, Optimus doubted he would be able to see with the amount of coolant leaking from his optics, spilling onto Optimus’ still form. His teeth were clenched in a furious snarl, contrasting the look in his eyes, as though Cybertron had imploded right in front of him.

“There’s other mechs there, too. I keep seeing this dark blue one. I can never decide if he looks furious or sad.”

Optimus’ optic rolled to Sentinel. He stood just in front of Jazz and Ultra Magnus. Optimus’ energon stained his lance, which was held in a shaky grasp. Sentinel’s face was a mix between horror and disbelief, as if his optics were betraying him.

At least he still had both of his. Ha. Ha.

Sentinel’s frame shook, and for just a nanoklik he reached out towards Optimus.

Blitzwing roared.

“I can’t really remember anything about any of the other mechs. The last thing I recall is you taking me away.”

All at once, time found him again.

“Bossbot!”

Bumblebee’s stingers pierced the hull of Blitzwing’s plating when the mech stood up with Optimus still in their grip. It may as well have been a punch for how little it did. Blitzwing just snarled and shot a wall of flames at the minibot. Optimus opened his mouth to tell Blitzwing to stop, but nothing legible came out.

Blitzwing’s attention all at once snapped to Optimus. They seemed to have come to a decision on what to do.

Using their cannons, they froze every other bot in the area, including Ratchet with his EMP generator. Optimus would really like that right about now.

Blitzwing took off, their thrusters shooting them into the infinite abyss of the sky with Optimus held tightly in their arms.

...

“To be honest, it’s been almost a stellar cycle and I still can’t remember anything concrete before that. Even those memories get hazier as time goes on,” Optimus hesitates, looking at Blitzwing with concern, “should I be worried about that?”

Wings smiles, “no, of course not. Blitz just wanted to know. He worries.”

Optimus exvents, crossing his arms, “a part of me wants to remember more than anything, but another part of me doesn’t care. I suppose I’d just prefer if my processor would choose whether or not I’m going to remember anything instead of making me randomly feel sudden nostalgia for five nanokliks.”

“I understand,” Wings says, “we are just happy that you’re here still. You don’t need to worry about remembering it all.”

“I guess,” Optimus frowns, “I just don’t like not knowing who I am. Or— who I was, technically.”

Blitzwing hums in acknowledgment. This isn’t the first time Optimus has shown a desire to know more about who he was— that was only natural. And he was a rather curious bot by nature. If only he was open to the idea that his previous life wasn’t worth remembering.

“Plus, I do feel bad about not remembering our relationship. I’m sure it was important to us.”

In a moment’s notice they’re Blitz, intently grasping Optimus’ shoulder with one servo and affectionately stroking the side of his helm with their other.

“It’s no trouble at all, Schatz,” Blitz says, feeling adoration well up as they stare into Optimus’ optics, “you being here with us is more than enough. You don’t need to remember our rites to be our conjunx.”

Optimus chuckles, “see, if you keep saying things like that I’m going to think you don’t mean them.” A clear empty threat— not even really one at all. More of a poor joke. If he ever doubts their love, then clearly they’ve made a mistake that must be amended.

“Should we show our love in other ways then?” Zing asks, scooping Optimus into their arms and letting their glossa flick over the side of his face. It’s a gesture that’s more playful than seductive, but the amorous intent doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Like you already don’t?” Optimus smirks, catching their worm-like glossa in his servo and pressing a kiss to it. Zing giggles, clutching Optimus even tighter.

“Is that a yes?” They purr.

Optimus chuckles, reaching his right arm over to boop their nose, “try taking me out on a date first.”

“Oh sweetspark, we’d love to~”

While it was frustrating that they were unable to leave Earth at the moment, it did have the benefit of human entertainment. Blitzwing would admit that it wasn’t their most refined interest — though that implied anything about Blitzwing was refined, hah! — but it kept the time passing when there was nothing else to do. And it had the additional benefit of being able to keep Optimus occupied as well.

The smaller bot was in their lap, resting his chin on his servo while he watched whatever movie Blitz had picked out. Wings couldn’t really remember what. It was so similar to their old dates — before everything had changed — that it almost ached.

“Does this ring any bells for you?” Blitzwing asks when the silence between them is too much.

“No,” Optimus leans back into them, optics still focused on the blue light of the stolen television, “did we do this a lot?”

“We did,” Wings feels a trace of fondness in those memories, boring as they may have sometimes been for him, “it’s more of Blitz and Zing’s prerogative, I’ll admit. They prefer the fictional as opposed to non fiction. My taste in human media bores them.”

You should try having less boring tastes then! Zing jabs, and Wings has to keep from rolling his optic.

“Sounds like finding a good movie was hard then,” Optimus’ voice carries his smile even if Wings can’t see it.

“It is,” Wings playfully flicks one of Optimus’ finials, “it’s even harder when our partner never watches any entertainment for himself, so we have no idea what he likes.”

“You make the old me sound like I was some sort of hobby-less washout,” Optimus scoffs, then pauses, “… was I?”

“You’re our hobby-less washout, sweetspark.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

Blitzwing chuckles at Optimus’ tone, dripping with sarcasm, “well, we didn’t know you to have hobbies. You were always working or spending time with us. Never took a moment for yourself. It was as if you were just a cog— except when you were with us.”

Optimus hums thoughtfully, focusing back on the screen. Wings isn’t too interested in whatever is being played on it, and neither are Zing and Blitz. They’re much more interested in Optimus, on touching or kissing him. As fun as that would be, Optimus would probably prefer to finish the movie first. He always batted Blitzwing’s wandering servos away whenever they tried to initiate interface during a screening. It was quite funny, really— Optimus didn’t even care that much for human media, yet once they started one it was as if he had to finish it. Wings regrets not showing him documentaries when they still had the time, they always felt that it would just bore him when Blitzwing was meant to be a fun release from processor-numbing work.

Well, they have all the time they could ever want now. Perhaps Wings should see how Optimus would feel about documentaries— he did so love those little propaganda history videos the Autobots pumped out back then.

“You’re certain you don’t remember anything from these movies?” Wings asks, just to be sure.

“No,” Optimus shakes his head, “I can’t remember any dates or anything else that could be related to these. I figured I would’ve remembered something at least, but there’s just nothing. Not even a feeling that I’m forgetting something, or an emotion.”

Blitzwing smiles, knowing Optimus can’t see. They wrap their arms around his midsection, pulling him flush against their chassis.

“That’s alright sweetspark,” Zing purrs, “we’ll just make new memories. Doesn’t seem like your old ones will be coming back anytime soon!”

“Or anytime ever,” Optimus mutters. He can’t help but smile when Zing nuzzles his faceplate against his, bringing a servo up to pet his helm, “you know, it’s hard for me to focus on the movie when you keep getting handsy with me.”

“We’ll try to let you focus… next time.”

Optimus chuckles, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Why was I attacked?”

Blitzwing hesitates, “Schatz—“

Optimus pins him with a firm look and a servo on his shoulder, bordering on a glare, “tell me what happened to make me lose my memories. You keep saying I was attacked— why and how?”

They should’ve expected Optimus to become frustrated with their reluctance to divulge the truth to him. It wasn’t even about hiding his memories from him, not really— they just couldn’t relive that solar cycle again. They refused to.

But Optimus was asking. Optimus was upset with them, and Blitzwing knew that cajoling and pleading wouldn’t get him to let it go this time.

“… we were found out,” Blitz begins, servos tightening at his sides, “the Autobots discovered our relationship. They were furious with both of us, but they hated you for it.”

“So they tried to kill us.”

“Yes,” Blitz presses his helm against Optimus’, offlining his optics, “but you especially. They cornered us in a group and struck you in the processor to offline you as fast as possible, and when I tried escaping with you they turned their aim towards me instead.”

Optimus’ voice softens, noticing Blitzwing’s distress, “and that’s when I came to without any memories.”

“After you wouldn’t respond for days,” Blitz hisses, old grief and fear turning to fury within seconds— an aching, familiar burn. Better than the uncontrollable pain of sadness and despair. Fury could be molded into a sharp blade used to cut, and could be properly expelled once the pest irritating Blitzwing was killed. Fury wasn’t helpless like grief was. “If your plating hadn’t stayed vibrant, we would’ve thought you were offline.”

“I’m not dead,” Optimus reminds, brushing Blitz’s visor with his servo. Blitz onlines his optics again to see his conjunx. His digit runs across the length of Optimus’ scar— running from the side of his helm, nearly a clean cut across half of his faceplate, across the plating of his nose and narrowly missing both his optics.

“I know,” Blitzwing pulls Optimus in, tucking his helm in their neck protectively, “I wouldn’t allow it.”

Optimus exvents, patting their back. He doesn’t say anything when coolant begins to drip onto his back, nor when Blitz’s frame becomes racked with silent sobs.

I’m sorry I almost let you die.

We can’t let you go.

I’m sorry for lying to you.

Don’t be mad.

Forgive us.

“He remembered how to fight?”

“In a specific manner,” Wings says, “I recognized the style in which he was fighting— very by-the-book, Autobot academy tactics.”

Blackarachnia snorts disdainfully, “of course he was.”

Wings feels Blitz’s anger spill over into his own, but tactfully ignores it, “this confirms what I already suspected about his condition. He remembered the steps he took to fight, but not any of his battles or the emotions he had during,” they muse, bringing a servo up to their chin, “so it’s not a complete loss of memory. If he’s given a specific trigger, he can remember the steps he took, but not necessarily how or why he took them. I intend to try and reenact some of our past battles to draw forth his more unique fighting style.”

“Bridging the gap.” Blackarachnia summarizes, succinct as always.

“Precisely. The only concern is that I have no idea what memories can be triggered and how they’ll manifest. He still has an aversion to spiders, but he does not remember why, nor does he recall any emotions relating to the incident.”

Blackarachnia looks confused for a moment, as if she’s wondering why Wings is droning on about this for so long, before she smiles sardonically, “oh, I see. You’re worried he’ll remember his little team and organic friend.”

“That is a potential concern,” Wings says amicably, ignoring Zing’s and Blitz’s hostility that’s beginning to leak into his own emotions, “thankfully, so far he’s recalled very little about his team, and doesn’t have much interest in them for now. Perhaps with enough time, some memories will be unable to resurface entirely.”

Blackarachnia shakes her head, laughing to herself, “you’re crazy,” she says, clearly amused, “you have fun with your little amnesiac conjunx. Just don’t forget our deal.”

“I have not,” Wings rolls his optic, “speaking of, you mentioned that as your reason for coming here before you inquired about Optimus. Have you finally made some progress?”

“Watch your tone,” Blackarachnia snaps, “but yes, I have. The scraps of the Nemesis you brought me were in good enough condition for me to estimate what I’d need to repair the rest of the ship. It shouldn’t take too long as long as you keep supplying me with what I need.”

“I have no desire to stay on this planet any longer than you do, Blackarachnia,” Blitzwing reminds her, “the sooner we’re off it, the better we can evade the Autobots.”

“And you help me with whatever I need to finally purge my organic half,” Blackarachnia hisses. Wings resists the urge to roll his optic again.

“Yes yes, that as well,” Wings waves a servo dismissively, “if that is all?”

“One more thing,” Blackarachnia says, “if you’re so concerned with Optimus remembering his team, I can poke around in his processor. See what memories are most likely to come back—“

Blitz grabs her throat with one servo, pulling her up to his gaze.

“I made it very clear what would happen if you so much as laid a servo on his processor!” Blitz yells, steam billowing from his intake. Like scraplets crawling on his plating, he feels the phantom sensation of her claws on his processor, probing and touching and changing him irreversibly, ripping him apart. His two extra faceplates, hidden by his helm, weigh heavier with this reminder. Their processor, split into three, marking Blitzwing as what they are— a broken, fractured freak.

“I will rip you apart, circuit by circuit, and crush you until you’re nothing but scum underneath my pedes,” Blitz hisses, his optics flaring enough to be visible through his visor, “you will never know peace for the last few cycles you’ll remain on this planet before I personally send you to the Allspark!”

He tightens his grip, watching her choke, “do you understand?”

Blackarachnia tries to speak, but static comes from her intake instead. In lieu of words, she nods feverishly, trying to pry herself from Blitzwing’s grasp. He lets go, dropping her onto the snow.

“We’re done here,” Blitz says, turning back to the entrance of the cave they’d made home, “don’t come back unless it’s an update on the ship.”

Their exit is stopped when they hear Blackarachnia chuckle.

“He’ll never be a Decepticon,” she says, “you do know that, right?”

Blitz stays silent. He deigns to glance over his shoulder at her, watching her slowly rise back up from the snow, clutching her throat.

“No matter how much you lie to him or hide him, he’ll never be one of us. Even if you keep him away from it all, eventually he’ll hear something and be inspired into action,” she narrows her optics, “it’s how Optimus is, self-righteous heroic morals and all. If Megatron actually succeeds in taking back Cybertron, do you think Optimus will just lie down when he hears how the mech runs things? No. Optimus is too soft for that.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m right,” she snaps, her smug smile falling into a scowl, “even if you convince him he used to be a Decepticon, do you really think he’ll stay once he sees how we operate? Do you think he’ll be satisfied with the life you’re giving him, cooped up in a cave the whole time?”

“It’s just until we get off Earth—“

“So you say, but I don’t see a reason to believe that. I’ve seen how you look at him. You never plan on letting poor little Optimus go, do you? Any friends he makes once you two get off this mudball will probably just end up dead at his pedes because of you. You’ll cling onto him like space barnacles until one of you ends up dead. Or do you think Megatron will just overlook you abandoning the Decepticons to play conjunx to the Autobot who’s defeated him three times already?”

Blitz invents and exvents. When the air leaves his ventilation systems, he’s Wings again.

“Ever since Lord Megatron was caught in the space bridge explosion, we have been without a means to contact any Decepticons not already on Earth. Furthermore, the Elite Guard has been around, rounding up any Decepticons unfortunate enough to be caught. Not only have we been evading Autobot forces while our leader is missing, we have been keeping the main component of Lord Megatron’s recent defeats unawares of his abilities and past. That will be enough for Lord Megatron to understand our absence should he succeed in taking back Cybertron. Besides, it’s not as though you have been the most loyal either, Blackarachnia. Or should I remind you how you vanished from the cause as soon as Lord Megatron appeared to be felled?”

“Should I remind you that he picked his team over you?” Blackarachnia fires back, “he’ll do it again— you may love him, but I know Optimus. He will leave you behind.”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Wings says, words as easy as the Earth’s breeze, “the Optimus you knew is dead. The Autobots killed him. The mech I’m with now is far happier— obviously because that “team” of his and the Autobots aren't in his life anymore. They turned on him for the Elite Guard. I did not.”

Blackarachnia scoffs, but doesn’t say anything. Simply narrows her optics. Wings nods, satisfied, knowing they’re at an impasse. He pauses when something lands right behind his pedes. It’s a small, round device, far smaller than Blitzwing’s palm.

“I finished that energy signal dampener for Optimus you kept pestering me about,” she says, “maybe now you can let him out of that cave instead of keeping him inside like a pet cybercat.”

She stalks off, leaving Blitzwing alone with their thoughts. Clutching the device in their palm, they head back inside.

It wasn’t a wise idea to return to the mine where the Autobots had just attacked not a few solar cycles ago. Blitzwing knew that. But there was nowhere else they knew of that could hide Optimus’ energy signature. There was nowhere else that they could tend to him, even if most of the supplies had been destroyed by the cave in. Such was the flaw of primitive Earth metals.

They kept Optimus in their old habsuite, resting on what remained of their old berth. It was too small for them now, but it was perfect for an Autobot.

“We’re back,” Wings said as he stepped into the room, even though he knew Optimus wouldn't respond. Maybe he couldn’t even hear them. “I’m sorry for taking so long. Most of our supplies were damaged by the rubble.”

Optimus didn’t respond. His intake remained shut, any potential optic movement obscured. Blitzwing’s optics trace over the metal covering they’d put over his helm. It was crude, but it was the best Wings could manage with his limited medical knowledge and limited materials. Optimus’ self repair protocols would eventually patch the wounds — as long as he consumed enough fuel and metals for it — but for an injury that large, it would take a while, and that risked infecting or damaging Optimus’ processor even further.

Blitzwing knelt next to the berth. Both of Optimus’ optics remained in good condition, mostly unharmed, but they had lost most of the protective plating around it, necessitating that Blitzwing cover them as a precaution.

“The Autobots haven’t found us,” Wings began to recount, because all they did these days was look for materials to keep Optimus alive or vent their thoughts to him. “We haven’t flown in solar cycles. It’s eating at our protoform, but it’s not safe for us to be in the sky right now,” if it was just them they would risk it, but they couldn’t afford that risk when Optimus was still here. They wouldn’t put it past the Elite Guard to finish the job. “… We miss you, Optimus.”

This was far worse than missing Optimus when they’d broken up. At least then, he was right there. Still within reach of their grasp, still online and functioning. Now, he was immobile, not moving or speaking. Blitzwing hated leaving or looking away from him, terrified that his plating would turn grey the moment they looked away. They couldn’t even fathom the idea of flying off and looking for fellow Decepticons— it was as if their entire world had become this habsuite. Optimus.

“For spark’s sake,” they sighed, putting their helm in their servos, “we’re pathetic.”

“Spark. Sake.”

Blitzwing shot up, their wings following their sudden movement. They whipped their helm around, but saw nothing. They looked back at Optimus, who neither twitched nor turned their way. He remained utterly still, laying motionless on the berth like a corpse.

“Optimus?” They asked. They watched in awe as his lips repeated the word, but no sound came out. His glossa stood stationary.

Blitzwing felt exhaustion creep into their circuits. Yet they also felt the smallest spark of hope.

Over the course of several solar cycles, they concluded that the blow had affected Optimus’ neural processor as well. Obviously. They couldn’t believe they hadn’t thought about that. It was difficult for Optimus to speak— a few times Blitzwing had to keep him from choking on his own glossa. It was hard for Optimus to even move. Surprisingly, disconnecting and reattaching his limbs actually seemed to help with that. Without Optimus to tell them, Blitzwing could only assume that the sensation of them missing reminded him how to use them.

Which implied that, thank the Allspark, it wasn’t a complete and total memory wipe. To the contrary, whenever Optimus remembered something minor — like how to say certain words or move in certain ways — he would then recall how to say other words Blitzwing hadn’t repeated to him. He would gesture and idle in a way that was so like him it swept relief through Blitzwing’s frame.

One night they were recharging next to each other— the best they could, anyway. Optimus rested on the berth while Blitzwing leaned their frame against it, keeping their helm next to his. It had become common for Blitzwing to guide Optimus while he was functionally blind. His optics still worked, but Blitzwing couldn’t risk the plating around them becoming damaged or infected while it was healing.

They onlined their optic when they heard Optimus turn his helm towards him. His lips purse, curious in some manner. His servos twitched but remained motionless at his side. Failing any words, he hummed, the sound both musical and intrigued.

Wings remained in front, pushing away the others who wanted to beg for Optimus to say something, anything. “Yes, Optimus?”

Optimus stared. His lips curved into a frown, confusion coming to the front.

“Who?”

Blitzwing cycled their optics. “Optimus?”

“Yes,” Optimus said, “is that me?”

A pit formed in Blitzwing’s fuel tanks, “do you not remember?”

Optimus remained still for a moment, “no,” he said, “who is Optimus?”

Blitzwing was such a fool.

“Ooh, what are you reading?”

Optimus looks up at Blitzwing’s approach, huffing in amusement when Zing immediately sits behind him and pulls him into their lap.

“Just some Decepticon architecture schematics. Specifically the ones relating to space bridges,” Optimus’ optics flick back down to the data pad, scrolling through the small text, “it’s actually quite interesting.”

Zing hums, “do you like reading?” It would be useful to know what Optimus liked so they could get it for him. Datapads and other such things wouldn’t be difficult at all— they’d even managed to bring a few back from the Decepticon mines, much like what Optimus was reading right now.

“I’d say so,” Optimus says, “it’s a little hard remembering some of the words, but once I manage to figure one out sometimes more will come to me. It gets easier the longer I go on.”

“We’ll get you some more as soon as we’re off Earth,” Wings promises, “do you have a specific genre you like?”

“I’ve been enjoying reading about the Decepticon’s architecture and infrastructure. It also mentions some of their history. So I guess that? I’m not really feeling picky— any literature sounds good.”

“Look at our Optimus! Finally picking up hobbies,” Zing laughs, hauling Optimus up by the undersides of his arms and delivering a peck to his finials, “I thought I’d never see the solar cycle~”

Optimus snorts, “yeah, well, whatever reason I didn’t have any hobbies before, I don’t seem to have the same scruples now. And it’s a better use of my time than staring at cave walls all day.”

Blitzwing’s expression wavers, a small pit of guilt forming in their fuel tanks. They’d done it to keep Optimus safe— he didn’t have an energy signal dampener like they did, and the only other thing on Earth that could shield them was water or carbon deposits— of which this cave had plenty. There was nothing more beautiful than an unrestrained Optimus, whether wild and free on the battlefield or bright and happy with Blitzwing. All of this was necessary, to keep Optimus safe and happy. If he could see them now with all his memories, perhaps he’d be angry— but wouldn’t he see how much happier he was now? Without any burdens or responsibilities, without any guilt taught to him by the Autobots to weigh him down. He had no responsibility to anyone anymore, least of all his team. All that was here was him and Blitzwing, who loved him above everything and would do anything for him.

This was necessary, they reason. To keep Optimus happy.

“That reminds me,” Wings says, holding out their palm in front of his chassis, “we have this for you.”

Optimus sets down the data pad, taking the signal dampener between two digits. He looks it over. “What is this?”

“It’s an energy signal dampener. It will shield your life signal from any Autobot sensors,” Blitzwing shifts uncomfortably, “an associate of ours made it for you.”

Optimus turns to them, raising an unimpressed brow, “and why exactly have you not told me about this associate?”

“We didn’t want you to worry,” Blitzwing says, familiar words leaving their glossa, “we’re working together to get off this planet as well, but we didn’t want to get your hopes up,” a lie, “we thought it was better for you to focus on your recovery. We have no guarantee she’ll be able to pull it off.”

Optimus turns around, rising so he’s above eye level to Blitzwing. He jabs a digit against their chassis. “I understand you worry about me because of what happened, but that doesn’t mean you should keep things from me,” he scolds, “you said yourself that we’re conjunxed, which means we should be a team. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me anything.”

“There’s no way for you to help in this,” Blitzwing tries to reason, but Optimus won’t have it.

“Maybe so. But that doesn’t mean you should keep it from me, especially when it’s this big. You would’ve had to tell me eventually if it worked— or if I ever saw this associate of yours.”

It’s clear to Wings that Optimus won’t let this go. So they bow their helm, “I understand. I apologize Optimus, we simply didn’t want to worry you or give you false hope. I understand if you don’t trust us, or don’t wish to speak to us for now.”

Optimus’ expression falls, “listen, I don’t want to ignore you over this. I just need you to tell me these things. I do trust you, Blitzwing. So I want you to trust me as well. Do you hear me?”

“I do,” Blitzwing says, knowing very well that hearing and listening are two different things, “I’m sorry, sweetspark.”

They see Optimus’ expression soften a fraction at the endearment, “look, it’s… it’s fine. Just don’t hide something like this from me again.”

“I understand.”

“And I want to meet this associate of yours too.”

Internally, Blitzwing narrows their optics.

We should keep them as far apart as possible! Blitz yells. Wings can’t hear anything from Zing, but he feels their agreeing sentiment in Blitz’s words.

Ultimately, this was for the best. It was likely Optimus and Blackarachnia would cross paths when leaving Earth. If not then, then at some point in the future. Keeping them separate would only lead to doubt on Optimus’ end, which could make everything fall apart. But there was the insurmountable risk of Blackarachnia causing memories to resurface- important memories. Memories that would lead to other important memories, based on what Optimus had told Blitzwing before he lost them.

Still, better to scrape off the space barnacles now rather than putting it off until it’s consumed half the ship.

“Reasonable, I have no reason to refuse,” Wings soothes, watching Optimus’ anger at them slowly relax. Not disappear, but it was a start. “And, now that you have the signal dampener, we could explore together.”

Optimus’ eyes widen. He doesn’t smile, but the excitement is clear in his optics. “Really? You’re sure it wouldn’t be too risky?”

“It would be a risk,” Blitzwing concedes, “but we don’t mind as long as we’re with you. It’s boring without your voice or presence, Optimus. We do miss taking you places.”

A small blush creeps onto Optimus’ faceplate and he looks away, “I can’t exactly remember going anywhere with you, but I’m sure I had fun,” he smiles, “I look forward to being able to see more of Earth. Not that I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

Seeing that smile makes this risk worth it. “It’s no trouble at all, Optimus. Anything for you.”

It had been a nearly complete loss of memory. Though Optimus seemed to recall a few things — such as the existence of Cybertron, what Cybertron was, and that it was run by Autobots, even if he couldn’t remember what exactly Autobots were — he didn’t remember Blitzwing. Not a single part of them. No alter drew any emotions or memories from him. He just stared at them, uncomprehending.

They still kept him in the mines. What else could they do? When he remembered enough to realize how much he was missing, they divulged that he’d suffered a processor injury and lost most of his memories, which didn’t seem to ring any bells. He truly didn’t remember anything.

He still stuck by them. He waited for them whenever they had to leave to search for materials he could digest to speed up the self repairs. Sometimes, they’d even get a smile from him. Those smiles became more frequent as the front of his face began to heal, meaning Blitzwing would be able to removed the covering around his optics soon.

“Are we together?” He asked one day.

Zing froze. “What?”

Optimus held the back of his neck with his servo, suddenly embarrassed, “sorry, I just… you’ve been helping me with my memories and with recovering, and sometimes I’ll notice you look at me in ways that feel… wanting, for lack of a better word. I was just wondering if we were a couple before I lost my memories.”

Zing kept his smile on his faceplate like was carved into him, “why do you ask?”

“I just thought that maybe… we could date again? Just to see if that would help me with my memories,” Optimus quickly added on, faceplate flushing a slight pink, “if— if I’m wrong just ignore me. Forget I said anything.”

Blitzwing was silent. They had been dating before. Before Optimus broke up with them. Because of conflicting loyalties, he reasoned. They couldn’t keep this up anymore, not when Optimus was supposed to be a leader to his team. He couldn’t continue to date someone who hurt them. Blitzwing saw the way it tore him up to end it, saw the regret and conflicted emotions in his optics.

And they… let him go. They agreed. Well— they and Wings agreed. They both had to drag Blitz kicking and screaming. They agreed to end the relationship and went their separate ways.

Yet still, it hadn’t been enough. Even when they were apart, with nothing to offer Optimus, he still tried to step in for them when the Elite Guard came. Still tried to advocate for their fair treatment— even if he would concede to them being in a prison. Still tried to protect them, aaaaaaaall the way up until the end, even when all they’d done was make things worse.

This was their fault. Optimus was like this because of them. He was too good for them. He could never really love someone like Blitzwing now that he’d seen them at their worst.

“Yes.”

Both Wings and Zing startled. That wasn’t them.

Blitz took Optimus’ servos in his own and squeezed them tightly, “we are together,” he said firmly, “we’re conjunx endura.”

Zing and Wings watched in disbelief as Optimus’ faceplate flushed a bright red.

“Oh— oh!” He cleared his throat, “uh— I’m sorry for forgetting, then. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

Blitz pulled Optimus in tightly, making sure not to jostle his helm, “it’s alright, Schatz,” Blitz says, running his warm servo over Optimus’ back in a comforting manner, “you’re still ours. We would never leave you because of this.”

Optimus shuffled, clearly embarrassed but not minding the affection. When Blitz pulled back, Optimus ran a servo over the still fresh gash across his nose.

“Did you get this from protecting me?” He asked.

Why should Optimus be the one to sacrifice everything? Why was it always him who had to be the one to leave, who had to be responsible, who had to take the blame for everything? Why was it that the one mech all of Blitzwing loved seemed hellbent on destroying himself and everything good he had just because the Autobots said he didn’t deserve it?

Why can you never love yourself as much as we do?

“Don’t worry about it sweetspark,” Blitz bumped his helm against the non-damaged side of Optimus’, pressing a kiss to his finial, “it doesn’t matter anymore. All you need to know is that we love you.”

“Uh— thank you,” Optimus said, clearly flustered. It was adorable, “could you… recharge with me? I mean— if we did that before—“

“Of course we will,” Wings said, picking Optimus up in their arms. The berth wasn’t large enough for Blitzwing, but Blitzwing had made a nest for themselves next to it. They laid down with Optimus still in their arms, letting him sprawl out on their chest. He rested his helm on their shoulder, his servo latching onto their neck.

“…Thank you,” Optimus said, looking away from them awkwardly.

“Of course,” Blitzwing replied, but Optimus had already powered down into recharge. Leaving Blitzwing alone with just themselves.

What were you thinking?! Wings couldn’t help but yell, but Blitz didn’t respond. Wings couldn’t feel anything from him.

…It was fine. They could deal with this later. Optimus would regain his memories at some point, surely, and they could explain away the conjunx claim as Blitz’s wishful thinking. It would be better for Optimus anyway, for him to trust that they did have his best interests in mind. He’d likely be wary of them, knowing that they were his ex.

Optimus would regain his memories, heal, and… leave them again, presumably.

The two of them could discuss it. Later. When Optimus had regained more of his memories, and when Blitzwing was ready to talk.

After the last time, Blitzwing wasn’t exactly pleased to see Blackarachnia, but they acknowledged that her sudden appearance was likely a good sign.

“Is the ship ready?” They ask before she can get a word in.

“Almost,” she says, sounding annoyed at their impatience, “I just came to see how the signal dampener was working.”

Blitzwing raises a disbelieving optic, “really?”

“I take pride in my own work, Blitzbrain,” Blackarachnia scoffs, “and I’d rather catch any potential issues now than have you show up at my door and rip my helm off because your little boyfriend’s energy signature was unmasked for two nanokliks.”

Wings chooses to ignore the dig, “well, I’ll have you know it’s been working as well as you said it was. It’s impressive work.”

“Good,” she says, “then I’ll be out of your helm now—“

“What are you doing here?”

Both mech’s helms snap around at the sudden voice. It’s Optimus, looking at Blackarachnia with undeniable distrust. He didn’t have his axe since getting his processor ripped open, but if he did Blitzwing was certain he’d be bearing it. His frame was tense, clearly poised for action at any moment.

Blitzwing freezes in place, their servos shaking. With the way Optimus was looking at Blackarachnia, he could easily be remembering things. Not everything, but enough to distrust her, which could lead to everything Blitzwing had made for him falling apart.

Blackarachnia notices their panic, and like the heinous scum she is, smiles. She stalks forward, holding a hand out.

“My name is Blackarachnia,” she says with the clear tone of ‘you know who I am,’ “though, my friends used to call me Elita-1.”

If Optimus wasn’t standing right there, Blitzwing would’ve cracked her helm open on the snow. They still might.

Optimus stares at her, expression pulled into a distrustful scowl. It’s as if all of the air has stopped entering Blitzwing’s body.

Optimus’ expression smooths out, and he nods, looking faintly abashed, “I see,” he says, taking her hand and shaking it before quickly retracting it, “I apologize for my hostility. I have an… aversion to spiders, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, even if you’re a stranger. My name is Optimus.”

Blackarachnia stares.

“Right,” she says after a beat, “it’s… nice to meet you.”

“You as well. I assume you’re the associate Blitzwing mentioned to me,” Optimus says, “thank you for helping us, I can’t imagine it’s easy work.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Blackarachnia says. Her tone and face is relaxed, but her body language is that of a mech who’s seen a freshly ripped apart corpse, “I was always the more… scientifically minded of my friend group. Not like Sentinel.”

Not a trace of recognition enters Optimus’ optics, “I understand. I really appreciate the help— I understand we both have enemies on this planet we’d rather not run into again.”

“Yes,” Blackarachnia’s optics all twitch, her smile more like a baring of teeth, “if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. The cold doesn’t agree much with organics, and I better get back to my work. You understand.”

“I do,” Optimus nods once, “thank you again.”

Blackarachnia turns around and all but sprints away, doing her best to act casual with Blitzwing’s gaze burning into her spinal struts.

Optimus crosses his arms, “she seems… tense. Are you sure she can be trusted?”

Blitzwing exvents, fighting a smile as they come over to rest a reassuring servo on Optimus’ shoulder, “we have a deal, and we know she will uphold her end of it. It benefits her as well, like you said.”

“That’s good,” Optimus’ tense expression slowly relaxes, “should we go back inside? We were in the middle of something.”

Wings doesn’t fight the smile anymore. He cups Optimus’ face in his servo, smiling with all his teeth, “of course, sweetspark,” he says, brushing Optimus’ lips with his thumb, “I’d love nothing more.”

Aquarius was a beautiful planet. Though organic, it had no lifeforms or landmasses that posed significant threat to Cybertronians, and thus it had quickly become one of a few safe havens for Cybertronians or other species looking for a reprieve from the Autobot regime.

Optimus exvents, admiring the sky. It was a deep purple and pink, a far cry from the blue of Earth. It also lacked a moon, making the sky feel much emptier than Optimus had gotten used to.

Were he a more artistically inclined mech, Optimus would be tempted to write a poem about it. He did enjoy literature, but his interests were closer to non fiction and informative pieces. He had found an odd sort of peace in journaling, but poetry… not really his thing. Never minded reading it, though.

He wonders if Cybertron has any moons. He can’t remember if it does. That was par for the course, though. Optimus was beginning to accept he may never regain all his memories.

Optimus turns on his pedes and walks back inside into the place he and Blitzwing have turned into their home for the time being. It was inevitable they’d have to move soon, with both of them being recognizable former members of their respective factions, so it wasn’t exactly decorated. But Optimus didn’t mind— he preferred to get out and do things as opposed to staring at the wall all solar cycle.

Optimus walks into Blitzwing’s studio, careful not to disturb the various stone and metal carvings littered around the room. Some more finished than others— though Optimus wasn’t one for art himself, so he wouldn’t judge. Blitzwing remains hunched over their desk, focusing intently on something in their servos.

“Blitzwing?” Optimus puts a servo on their shoulder, making them jolt.

“Slag—! Oh! Optimus!” Blitz fumbles, desperately glancing at whatever is in his servos, relaxing when he finds it’s undamaged. They place it on the desk and stand up, obscuring Optimus’ view, “ah— do you need something, Schatz?”

Optimus gives them a bemused look but chooses to let them have this one, “I was wanting to go out the market,” he says, “they’re having a new shipment of data pads, and I was thinking we could also refill your supply of carvable stone and metal.”

It irritated Optimus that Blitzwing was still so fiercely protective. Sure, it had only been a few stellar cycles since they’d left Earth, and Optimus knew his injury had rattled them, but he felt that Blitzwing following him everywhere was a tad much. If Optimus were to leave without them, it wouldn’t be long before they found him, usually storming towards him in a huff and needing several cycles to be calmed down. Optimus knew it came from a place of love and worry — Blitzwing seemed to fancy themselves as his protector — but it still grated his gears. Hopefully if he indulged their protectiveness for a little longer, they’d eventually take a step back and let Optimus have some room.

Zing brightens, “oooh! Sounds fun— do you think they’ll have more music?”

“I don’t know,” Optimus says, smiling as he feels their servo trace the metal implant on the side of his helm, “guess we’ll have to go see.”

Optimus always felt a little guilty for not remembering their relationship or their rites. Blitzwing had told him a little, but nothing could ever replace Optimus’ actual memories of the event. Blitz had suggested they redo their rites, an idea Optimus liked. After renewing their rites, they’d gotten jewel-shaped, fine metals implanted into their frames for each other. On both sides of his helm, Optimus had three blue, red and black metals embedded into the rim around the bolt that connected his finials to his helm, and a small, hanging metal sheet that would reflect blue, red or black depending how the light caught it. Wings had gotten ocean-blue metals embedded into the rim of his scope-optic, some sticking out like minerals in a cave. Blitz had his visor redesigned entirely, making room for a blue gem against grey rubber in the middle of his visor so it wouldn’t impede his vision. Zing got a piercing in their glossa— sometimes it would catch against Optimus’ frame whenever they licked him.

They’d changed their frames a bit over the stellar cycles, Optimus would admit, though he knew he had gone through the most changes. He kept his Earth alt mode, as he found it rather versatile, but some extra armoring around his hips, pedes and servos had been added just to ensure he was more sturdy in battle. Silver linings ran up and across his arms, and his pedes were bulkier than they’d used to be. Blitzwing hadn’t needed to change much, but they had added yellow to their frame to match Optimus— which was a sweet gesture, even if Optimus hadn’t asked for it. Their frame also gained some additional detailing, and even if it served little purpose other than vanity Optimus still liked it.

“Ah— wait!” Optimus turns back at Blitzwing’s words, watching them turn and grab something off the desk. When they turn back around they’re Blitz, and holding something between cupped servos. They approach him with fluttery wings, biting their lip from nervousness.

They give Optimus a small carved statue of himself. Its optics are set in a firm look, lips pulled into a serious frown. Despite this, its shoulders are light and confident, servos resting on the blunt end of an axe, the blade pointed downwards. Something about the weapon looks familiar to Optimus in a way that tells him he’s forgotten something.

“You will never have to fear losing your memories again, because we will not allow it,” Blitz says, faceplate flushed fuchsia, “but if you ever find yourself doubting who you are… we wanted to make you something that you could look at to know that you are strong, and that we love you above everything else.”

Optimus cycles his optics, unable to repress his smile. He chuckles, tucking the statue close to himself. He looks at Blitzwing, looking adorable and flustered by their own gift.

“Thank you, Blitzwing,” Optimus says, grabbing their servo and kissing the back of it, “I’ll take good care of it.”

“Of course— ah, you’re welcome!” Blitz stumbles, unable to keep his wings fluttering from happiness.

Optimus smiles, tucking the statue in his subspace for now, “you know,” he says with a grin, “when you first told me you were my conjunx, I almost didn’t believe it. I mean, you were beautiful. I couldn’t believe someone like you wanted to be my conjunx.”

Blitz huffs, crossing his arms and looking to the side, “you’re just saying that,” he grumbles, but the flap of his wings betrays him.

“I’m serious!” Optimus says, “you’re still the most handsome mech I’ve ever seen. Always will be,” he holds Blitzwing’s face in his servo, feeling the heat from them scorch his palm. He leans forward and kisses them, their lips a searing heat against his. Blitz grabs his helm and pulls him forward, nanokliks away from shoving his glossa inside Optimus’s mouth before Wings suddenly switches in.

“You’re… happy?” Wings asks tentatively, their face still a bit flushed from Blitz. Optimus exvents, smiling fondly. He’d learned quickly that Blitzwing was rather anxious, even if it made no sense to Optimus.

“Yes, Blitzwing,” Optimus bonks his helm against theirs, “very.”

Blitzwing’s entire body relaxes, and Wings hums, “the happiest you’ve ever been?” They grin, tone taking on a more mischievous expression. Optimus snorts.

“You know my reference for that is smaller than what it should be,” he says, playfully swatting their servo away, “but… yeah, I think so.”

“Good,” Blitzwing grabs his servo and kisses his palm, “you know that’s all we’ve ever wanted.”

“Uh-huh,” Optimus smiles, “now let’s go, I know you still have some shanix to splurge.”

Optimus’ thoughts are drawn back to the statue as Blitzwing giggles and begins leading him out the door. Specifically the axe it holds. Optimus has gotten used to the reality that he’ll probably never regain all his memories, but he’s still… dissatisfied. Who did he used to be? What was he like? Did he have any friends? Was anyone else looking for him, not out of malice but out of grief? Blitzwing would sometimes answer his questions, but they were always vague about it.

From what Optimus gathered from them, he was once part of some maintenance crew that caught the attention of the Elite Guard when they found Decepticons stranded on Earth after being marooned there themselves— it’s how he and Blitzwing met. Then when the Elite Guard came back and saw their relationship, they were furious enough to attempt to kill them both, almost succeeding with Optimus.

Optimus knew why Blitzwing didn’t want to tell him much— who he used to be could be dangerous for him to know, as it could potentially lead to him being offline by the Autobots. Both he and Blitzwing had scrubbed their faction symbols from their plating.

Optimus knew why, and he agreed with them that it was probably for the best. And yet.

And yet.

It itches at his processor in the quiet moments. It’s an ache Optimus walks with, talks with, eats with. An ache where Optimus didn’t know if it would ever fully go away, but he wanted to try. But he knew Blitzwing would get upset if Optimus told them that, so he kept his intake shut.

More than something new, Optimus was hoping these new data pads would contain information about the Autobots that would lead Optimus into knowing who he was. Even if the information horrified him, he had to know.

It wouldn’t hurt Blitzwing for Optimus to find out who he was— Optimus wouldn’t let it. It was just for his peace of processor, after all, and if anyone did come after them somehow Optimus would take care of it. He and Blitzwing still sparred, and while Optimus wasn’t naive enough to believe that made him an expert or even anything impressive, Optimus wouldn’t allow himself and his conjunx be made helpless by malicious forces they didn’t even know about.

Ultimately, what Blitzwing didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Optimus wouldn’t let it.