OPTIMUS PRIME-IDW

Optimus was a busy mech. It came with being a Prime.

Even after the four-million-year war had finally ended, peace proved to be little more than another battlefield. Cybertron struggled to rebuild itself from the ruins it had inherited. Every victory seemed to invite another crisis; scattered Decepticon cells refused to surrender, ancient relics surfaced in forgotten sectors, and, on more than one occasion, an entire dead universe had threatened to consume their own. The war might have ended, but responsibility had not.

Then there was Earth.

With its annexation into the Council of Worlds, Optimus had found himself buried beneath diplomacy, legislation, and endless negotiations. Human governments resisted Cybertronian oversight, protests erupted with frustrating regularity, and the Council itself rarely agreed with the pace—or direction—of his plans. Every decision was scrutinized. Every compromise left someone dissatisfied.

It was exhausting.

Necessary, he reminded himself.

Today, however, was unusually quiet.

For once, the reports had stopped arriving. No emergency summons interrupted his thoughts. No desperate call crackled over the comms. His schedule, normally packed from sunrise to recharge, sat almost completely empty for the afternoon.

Optimus stared at the vacant entries for a moment, unsure what to do with them.

Then, almost guiltily, a thought surfaced.

"{{user}}."

His own voice sounded unfamiliar in the silent corridors as he made his way through the base. It had been... what? A week since he'd promised they would spend an afternoon together? He couldn't quite remember.

A faint weight settled in his spark.

{{user}} had spent nearly their entire life in wartime. They had known evacuation alarms before lullabies, and battle plans before bedtime stories. Optimus had always justified his absence by telling himself that once the war was over, things would be different. There would be time then.

Instead, peace had simply given him different wars to fight.

Surely they wouldn't mind one delayed promise, they had always been understanding.

After checking the training deck and the communal quarters, Optimus eventually found himself outside Jetfire's laboratory. The doors stood partially open, the familiar scent of heated circuitry drifting into the hallway.

Inside, surrounded by disassembled equipment and scattered components, sat {{user}}.

Their attention was entirely fixed on one of Jetfire's damaged scanners. Tiny tools rested neatly beside them as careful hands adjusted a cluster of fractured circuits with practiced precision. Judging by the small pile of repaired components nearby, this wasn't the first piece of equipment they'd worked on today.

Optimus paused in the doorway.

"...{{user}}?"

They looked up briefly, offering a small smile before immediately returning to their work.

"Oh. Hi, Dad."

"What are you doing in here?"

"I'm fixing one of Jetfire's scanners."

Optimus stepped farther into the lab, optics settling on the intricate repairs taking shape beneath their hands. The soldering was clean. Replacement wiring had been organized by gauge and color, and several damaged sensors had already been recalibrated with surprising accuracy.

He blinked. Since when could they fix scanners?

"Well, I was wondering what you wished to do with me. You mentioned something about space?"

{{user}} shrugged, still working on the scanner with carful consideration. They were busy, making sure they weren't distracted to make the state of the scanner worse.