On Cybertron:
Optimus pressed his face into his palms. Tears hadn't come yet, and he half wished they would, but he remained like that, frozen in place. Silently weeping without tears over the palest pink body laid in a six-foot deep hole in Cybertron's plates. He slowly replaced the bits of metal he had carved out to form such a hole and he laughed a little.
Though he had replaced every bit of Cybertron, the hole was still not covered completely, even with Aleta's body inside. He brought his fists down on the plates and he kicked the shovel he had brought as far away as he could.
Never would he love again. Never would he break his spark over a pretty face and a pretty body. Never again!
He walked right into the base, slammed the door behind him, and stared down anyone that looked at him. They had lost, they had suffered, but they still had some sympathy and concern for their leader. Ratchet, who lost his mate, leaned into Optimus, and the mech softened only to crumble like a sugar cube in water. He closed his optics and hid his face in his friend's neck, his shoulders lowering and his knees coming to rest on the floor.
"I need some High Grade..."
Ratchet chuckled a little and patted his helm before pulling out of his friend's embrace to retrieve the cube.
Optimus lounged on the floor, propped up on the wall and sighing gently every so often. He smiled and nodded when his cube came. He sipped it slowly, then set it down on the floor. "Oh, Ratchet..." He clutched his chest and curled up, lowering his helm to rest it on his knees. "Aleta.."
His team left him to mourn, and when they returned, their leader and cried himself to exhaustion.
It took three mechs to carry him back to his berth, and Ratchet remained to make sure his friend was sleeping peacefully. He laid a full body pillow in front of the larger mech, tucked a stuffed toy in his arms, and slowly closed the door.
Optimus tightened his grip on the toy, discarded the pillow during the night. The toy was one of Aleta's favorite things to hug and play with while she was in Optimus' berthroom, and the pillow was despised by her.
I'm more cuddly than that sack of fluff. Optimus' mouth twitched at the corners as he remembered and he sighed gently.
On Earth:
June fought her husband again. He had gotten laid off, and she had more and more work in the hospital. She was getting promoted, and her husband was getting nothing. That always resulted in some physical abuse, some smart comment how she's only wanted there because she's pretty and no one wants him because he's not good looking.
"It's not my fault you can't get hired..." June bent down to lift the eleventh can of beer off the carpet. Jack was playing with his trucks in the other room, and when she looked at him, the little three year old smiled and waved, his face red and puffy on one side. She went to examine it. "What happened to him?"
"Jackie? Oh, he fell down."
She frowned and turned her son's face, looking at the bruising in the shape of a hand. She sighed and tipped Jack's head up, kissed his forehead, and lifted him up. "Come on, now...bath time."
"It's bath time when I say it's bath time." June winced at the correction, held her son closer. "Put the kid down."
She slowly knelt back down, laid Jack on his belly. "Stay," she pleaded. Last time Jack walked in on her punishment, Jack had paid dearly. The marks were still around his neck.
No wonder Jack was home-schooled...apparently by his father.
She walked to the bedroom, glancing slowly back at Jack, who smiled and waved, but hid himself away when the screaming started.
June was a tough girl. She had been picked on, raised in a home where they picked who she dated, who she married...she was limited wherever she went. Limits were very close to her, and she was never taught to "reach for the stars" until her junior year of high school. Straight-C June got A's, B's...beatings.
Straight out of one abusive home and into another.
Her husband loved to hurt her. He got a special enjoyment of making her cry, making her skin red from her waist to her knees. He enjoyed her pain. Jack was the first creation of pain, and the child before and after him were lost in miscarriages caused by their father. Jack had slipped by the radar, and she thanked whoever was watching them every day that Jack still went relatively unharmed.
He grew bored of whipping her with his genuine leather belt, and he let her nurse her wounds with a white rag. She excused herself, pulled on a nightgown, and hustled herself to Jack's hiding place under the sink before snatching him away and bathing him.
He loved bubbles. He loved it when his body wash made them, and he'd laugh and squirm and splash at his mother, who would smile and gently wash his black hair. All the while, the dark figure that was his father stood in the doorway. Just watching.
Until one day, he had left, and he didn't come back. Ever.
Thirteen years went by, and until Jack brought home a blue motorcycle, she thought nothing of getting another husband. Why should she when the first one was terrible, abusive, and rude? Sure, she supposed, not all men were like him, but would she be able to make it? Would she cringe every time he went to stroke her hair, kiss her cheek? Would she jump in the way every time he went to Jack for any reason? Work was so demanding, and yes, she had gotten that promotion, and three more after that. She was a dedicated mother and nurse. She didn't need a husband...
But alone in the night, she sometimes found herself craving for warmer sheets, a heart beat thrumming beside her own, and someone to roll over to and kiss awake.
Would she ever get that chance?