He found her prone and webbed on the forest floor. Despite her assurances over the comm that she was alive, his spark seemed to skip a pulse. But her eyes opened at the sound of him, and she tried to maneuver herself into a sitting position before he rushed to kneel at her side. She failed—he had to help her.
She glared at nothing as he transformed his servo into sword. The webbing on her back was sliced through easily but it still clung to her. He didn't berate her for the stunt she pulled; she didn't ask his forgiveness. Both would have been half-sparked, redundant, and meaningless.
Still, their eyes wouldn't meet. But as the webbing was ripped away and the blade passed in front of her vision, she flinched, and Optimus—hesitant—cupped the side of her helm with his transformed servo.
"Are you alright, Arcee?"
She nodded, turned her head. For a moment, her hands clutched at his wrist. Then her hands hovered uselessly in front of her, him. Unsure.
"Could you just..." Arcee's servos rested on the glass panes of his chest and she finally met his gaze. "Hold me? For a while."
He did.