Somewhere in the depths of Fortress Maximus, a communicator beeped.
"Bulkhead to Optimus. Prime, you there? Err - I guess I should say 'Magnus' now, huh?"
"Good to hear from you, Bulkhead. How goes it?"
"Well - Bumblebee finally figured out that Sari didn't age much while we were missing. Took him long enough."
"He could have asked me, like you did."
"You know him. He just makes assumptions and runs with them. It was so hard to keep a straight face."
Optimus chuckled. "Typical Bumblebee. What about the the rest? How's he dealing?"
There was a pause. "They went to visit the graves today."
" I see." There really wasn't anything else to say.
"Yeah." Bulkhead snuffled. "It tanks, being human. I'm glad you were here for Sari. Sounds like it was rough on her. Well, I better let you get back to being Boss-bot. Guess I can still call you that, huh, can't I? Bulkhead out."
Optimus leaned back from his desk, a familiar homesickness washing over him. He pulled up the visual from one of many Cybertronian satellites orbiting Earth and watched it for a while. Hurricane swirls of cloud, deep blue oceans, city lights like organic circuitboards clustered together on the dark side of the planet. Weather systems marched across North America. Rain was predicted for Detroit.
He missed it.
In a way, he was where he was meant to be: guiding Cybertron, restraining the dangerously misguided efforts of Sentinel Prime (once acting Magnus and sore that he wasn't still) to sanitize Cybertronian society, acting as first liaison and visionary in contacts with Earth and other worlds. But he couldn't help feeling that his time on Earth had been, and would always be, the most meaningful in his life. While a young bot yet, in that way, he was already over.
"I disagree," said a voice in his head.
"What?" He blinked. "Who's there?"
He saw another image, superimposed on his view of the command center. It was a moment before he could focus on it such that became comprehensible. When he did, it sent a shock through his circuits.
"Blackarachnia." The old, familiar, sometimes savage ache that never quite slept; the old wound that ran so deep it had become a part of him.
"Relax. I'm not here to fight." The image wavered. "In fact, it's debatable whether I'm 'here' at all. As far as I can tell, I'm contacting you from another dimension. Maybe. Certainly from another timestream."
"We'll get you out -"
She raised a hand. "Save it. I'm happy where I am. That's why I needed to talk to you, in fact."
Her voice had gone hesitant, even vulnerable. He waited.
"Ever the gentlebot, Optimus. Even after everything I've done to you. You've got class. Don't forget that."
She shook her head. "That wasn't what I called to say. Listen, Optimus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened. For - for all of it, and everything that happened afterward. It was Sentinel's idea, but he wouldn't have pursued it if I had put my foot down. The truth is, the two of us couldn't even get along without you to dump on, and I guess that was why we wanted you to come."
He waited, until it was clear that she had finished and was starting to squirm. "Thank you. I'm sorry too."
She smiled her old smile, and he saw for a moment Elita-One. "Don't worry about me, Optimus. I've found my place. I hope you find yours."
She faded. He found himself staring at his desk, at the visual from the satellite, at a serenely rotating sphere of green and brown and blue.
His communicator beeped, jolting him out of his reverie.
"Optimus here. What is it?"
"Uh, Prime?" This time Bulkhead didn't apologize for using the wrong rank designation. "The City of Detroit just sent you an email. Guess they never took me off the carbon copy list. Bureaucracies, huh? After three hundred years! Ha, ha! There's a bunch of photo attachments in it. Along with a bill. Woops! - gotta go meet the others for dinner, talktoyoulaterPrimebye."
Optimus checked his email. A series of photos replaced the satellite visual, showing the gouges in the street fronting Sumdac Tower. Optimus knew exactly what had caused it.
"Bumblebee!"
