Baisemain
By Any Unborn Child
All it took for Optimus Prime to think of anything besides war was to leave the base.
He didn't know he could dream when he opened his optics and felt the padded, jagged weight of the base's wreckage on top of him.
He didn't know he could gather the strength to leave when he risked further injury by prying his fractured body out of the wreckage.
He didn't know he could lose any more energon than he already had when he looked for his abandoned arm, only to see nothing.
He didn't know he could feel so much pain when he finally looked back at the Autobot headquarters.
He didn't know he could understand how it felt to be truly whole in what was once their home, his home.
It had been such a long time since he had thought of anyone from before - Elita-One, Ratchet, Megatronus - he had been so consumed by the gaping maw of constant strategizing, tireless fighting.
He was tired. So tired.
It was almost as if memories, of any sort, did not belong to him, as if he did not deserve them. They were out of reach, so much like the stars of his fallen brothers.
He didn't know he could remember flickers of happy moments with his friends, comrades, potential mates.
Even so, he had to keep going. He had to refuel. He had to go elsewhere. He had to do something.
Those happy moments, wherever they were, were like the embrace of a kiss. Hopefully one would be waiting for him, wherever he ended up.