Author's Note: Sentinel writing bad poetry he's embarrassed about was revealed when he was one of the guest columnists for Ask Vector Prime!
I wrote this fic because I was surprised there wasn't any shipping fic like this already.
As Optimus raced toward Fortress Maximus, its communication towers with their beacons shining like gems in a giant crown, he could not shake the feeling that a bot like him did not belong there. It was a ridiculous notion—not only had Sentinel sent him an invitation, but Optimus had already been to other highly restricted areas since arriving on Cybertron. Such as right after he and his team had brought in Megatron, and Optimus's wounds had been treated in the most guarded sector of the Central Infirmary, where Ultra Magnus had—but there was no use dwelling on that.
Optimus arrived at the side entrance of the fortress and transformed. Sentinel was there waiting for him. "Good, you're here," he said curtly, and pulled Optimus inside. And not a moment too soon, because Optimus did not want to think about how much the red and blue ceremonial guard lingering outside the door looked like Prowl.
In the transparent elevator, Optimus was in awe at the many levels as they went by, each packed with scores of glowing monitors that had multicolored diagrams on every screen. He could only imagine how much data was being processed in the communication hub of every military base in the Commonwealth! Maybe he could convince Sentinel, who was being weirdly silent, to declassify some of the historical documents for him in exchange for whatever favor he was about to ask for.
A faint clattering sound distracted Optimus from his thoughts. At first, he was concerned it was the elevator malfunctioning, but then he turned to look at Sentinel and noticed he was quivering, like he was awaiting a reprimand. Which was odd, given his position as acting Magnus—it was not like he had any superior officers. The hand he gripped the Magnus Hammer in was clenched tightly, and Sentinel was holding the long handle far too low.
"Didn't you learn in Basic Programming that it's rude to stare?" Sentinel asked.
"I guess I'm just wondering why you have the Magnus Hammer with you right now, Sentinel," Optimus said. "Come to think of it, I've never seen you with it before, even though Ultra Magnus used to take it with him everywhere. What's going on?"
Sentinel looked askance. "Well, I guess you'll just have to wait until we get to my office and I tell you, Optimus," he said. "That is, if you can find it in your spark to be patient!"
Optimus sighed. "Your private office? Now I know something has gone horribly wrong. As if seeing that you're shaking didn't make it obvious enough," he said. "Don't tell me—did Decepticon prisoners break out under your supervision… again?"
Unsurprisingly, Sentinel's nervousness was replaced by abrasiveness at that. He turned toward Optimus and tapped him on the windshield with his free hand while glaring at his face-plate—though he was looking below Optimus's optics and seemed to be glaring right at Optimus's lips instead. "I've taken you on so many—um—outings since you've returned, which have been great, and you're assuming something's wrong?! You're such a glitch head!" he exclaimed. He straightened back up, but continued to hold Optimus's gaze. "Besides, you know I never make the same mistake twice!"
"Sure, Sentinel…." Optimus said, rolling his optics. He could not help but look at the hammer again, which was awkward in Sentinel's hand—the blue of the hammer and the blue of Sentinel's door were not quite matching shades. Optimus continued, "I guess I expected you to at least write a terrible poem about how much you deserve the honor of wielding the Magnus Hammer."
"And I guess there are things about me you still don't know," Sentinel muttered. "And you can't call my poems 'terrible' when they're all just drafts!"
"Oh, you're right!" Optimus smirked. "So for example, I can't call that acrostic poem based on my name that you left unfinished because you couldn't think of lines for all the glyphs 'terrible.' And I definitely can't say that other poem was 'terrible'... how did it go, again? 'Your plating is red/Your plating is also blue'—"
He was rewarded by Sentinel lightly—but not that lightly—hitting him in the shoulder. "For the last time, those were only sent to you because of a system-wide glitch!" Sentinel snapped. "And we agreed never to speak of them again," he added, in a strained voice.
Optimus hummed more in amusement than in agreement, his smirk just widening. "If you don't want to discuss your poetry, would you care to explain why you were quivering like a newly-onlined protoform?
"Uh," Sentinel glanced up at the light fixture before deciding on, "i-it's obviously the electricity from the Magnus Hammer! Can't you feel all the… ions bouncing around in the elevator, Optimus?"
"That isn't going to fool me. I know the Magnus Hammer doesn't actually produce any charge unless you activate it. I should know!" Still bothered by the way Sentinel was holding its handle, Optimus reached out and put a hand over Sentinel's and slid it upward.
Sentinel jolted, nearly colliding with the elevator's glass. "What are you doing?!" His high-pitched voice sounded like when he would freak out after being caught breaking rules in the Academy.
"It's better if you hold it higher up the…" he trailed off, suddenly feeling some actual charge as he gazed into Sentinel's wide optics. Their hands felt warm where they touched, and when had their chests been drawn so close together? And Sentinel's stupid cape that was brushing against their joined hands—had it always been this soft?
The elevator chimed. It arrived at the upper level, and the sudden stop caused Optimus and Sentinel to rock away from each other.
Sentinel pushed past Optimus, who was too distracted by the cape brushing over his frame to be irritated. The hall was lit by warm yellow lights and was wide and tall enough to comfortably accommodate even the largest of Autobots, but somehow Optimus still felt like he and Sentinel were in close quarters, even as Sentinel stuffily marched ahead of him.
When the door to Sentinel's office slid open, Sentinel paused at the threshold and gestured toward it in a belated show of hospitality. Holding back another sigh, Optimus walked inside.
The lights were a lot lower than those in the rest of the building. Other than a hologram of Cybertron in the corner of the room, there was very little decoration. It was not ostentatious at all, unlike Sentinel's embarrassing Magnus attire—it reminded Optimus most of the offices of his professors back at the Academy, but with every piece of furniture meticulously arranged to be at precise angles, and all their surfaces polished to a mirror sheen. The tidiness was no surprise, but the lack of decoration suggested Sentinel had not had much time to really move in with how stressful the transition of power had been. There was a stack of many PADDs on Sentinel's desk—all perfectly stacked to be as balanced as possible, of course—which confirmed Sentinel must be constantly busy. Strange, then, that he was always bringing Optimus along on public appearances with him despite that.
Next to the PADDs was a holo-scan. It was pointed toward Sentinel's chair, so Optimus could not see what was in it. He walked toward it, getting a glimpse of a pale blue face. "Wait, who is this picture of?"
The words had scarcely left his vocal components when Sentinel rushed past him and slammed the picture down on his desk. "Nobody!"
Optimus raised a brow but said nothing. He could not help but look out the windows behind Sentinel and frown as he took in the deep magenta of the sky and realized he expected indigo instead, and for the buildings along the skyline to be shorter, more rectangular—and for their lights to be a wide array of colors.
Sentinel's face fell. His expression reminded Optimus of right before he had taken up the mantle of Magnus, back on Earth, when he had said it was too late for apologies. When Sentinel had left for Cybertron as Optimus had been pushing for him to do since the attack on Ultra Magnus, but Optimus had realized, as he watched Sentinel leave, that part of him wanted to ask him to stay.
Fortunately, Sentinel's expression quickly cleared and Optimus did not have to think about that fraught moment anymore. Sentinel cautiously lifted his hand off the holo-scan, then let out a little mechanical cough. Optimus could not help but smile at the sound. But no words followed. Sentinel looked each and every which way, fiddling with the Magnus Hammer.
When he started shaking again, Optimus had enough. "Sentinel, just say it!" he exclaimed. "You're the one who invited me here!"
"That's rich coming from you! Look at what you had to go through before you ever tried to tell anyone how you really felt about anything!" Despite his antennae tilting all the way back in emotion, Sentinel finally managed to speak. "Besides, this is important, and I need to say it at the best possible time and in the best way!"
Optimus crossed his arms, unimpressed. "If you wanted it to be in the best way, you wouldn't be wearing the big hat. And the cape and those giant shoulder guards on top of your wheels. Can you even transform with all of that on?"
Sentinel scowled. "Fine." He took a step closer. "You know I… had a lot of trouble trusting you after you forced me to leave Elita behind that day, after I was already ready to go offline protecting you both. And then! On Earth, you were just as ready to hurt me as help me at first! And whenever I tried to help you out, you treated me like a complete numb node!"
What was going on? This did not sound like the usual Sentinel lead up to admitting he was in over his head, nor did it sound like he was about to offer Optimus a position. "I, uh, thought we had grown past this," Optimus said. Remembering their frankly horrendous communication skills brought up a mix of shame, and, unfortunately, nostalgia. It was not fair to Blackarachnia and his and Sentinel's suffering subordinates that Optimus found this amusing in retrospect. Focus on the fallout of the trial, he told himself. On how you thought taking official blame and being strong and detached was the right choice, when what Sentinel had longed for—but not asked for—was an emotional, genuine apology.
"Stop spacing out for a nanoclick, will you, Optimus?" Sentinel said.
"Sorry. But why bring me to Fortress Maximus to say this?"
Sentinel leaned forward, into Optimus's personal space, like he was ready to argue with him. "Because, as I was saying, that's when you proved me wrong!"
"What?" Optimus's optics widened.
"For so long I thought I knew who you really were—that as much as you wanted society to think you were some high and mighty hero, that it was just an act, and if the likes of Ultra Magnus weren't watching, you'd be as much of a backstabber as anybody else," he said, "but whenever you helped somebody out on Earth, whether it was me or the other Autobots or even those organics, I saw how happy it was making you… even when you complained about it. And then you even had the grace to finally apologize to me, which I could tell wasn't easy. That's when I realized what was really going on—you've made mistakes, you're not perfect, but you are a hero because you're trying hard to be one. And I'm… sorry for not letting myself realize that sooner, Optimus." Sentinel started to reach out, hesitated, then squeezed his optics shut and worked up the courage to put a hand on Optimus's shoulder even as he struggled to look him in the optic. "I know you'd still be happier on that dirt ball than you ever would be here. Th-That's why, before you leave, I need to tell you how I really feel. So, um, I…"
Optimus suppressed his intensifying urge to turn on his emergency lights. His face-plate must be glowing purple with how warm it felt! Everything was falling into place in Optimus's processor—why this was a private meeting, not a public one, and now that he thought about it, back when Sentinel had taken him to see that stunt troupe and they had been in the best seats, that had been the rehearsal and nobody else had been in the audience. It should have been clear all along. Now, Optimus was quivering under Sentinel's touch, awaiting his confession.
"I-I think you should keep the Magnus Hammer!" Sentinel exclaimed.
"Oh." Optimus blinked. "Wait, really?!" he asked, taken aback.
"I know you don't want to be an official member of the Elite Guard, and sure, it's a great honor that it's technically in my possession, but I'm not trained in using a weapon like it, you know? It's a lot simpler to go from an axe to a hammer than a lance to a hammer, and I still prefer my battle lance, so…" Sentinel rambled, "…besides, you've already wielded the Magnus Hammer before and I know you're too uptight to ever let anything happen to it. It just makes sense, okay?!"
"Wow." All of Optimus's systems kept idling until he realized it would be rude to just beam his thoughts as datatrax. "That's very kind of you, Sentinel," he managed to say.
"You're right, it is, and it's good you have it in you to appreciate it." There Sentinel went again, leaning in to being prissy to cover up tenderness. Which was undermined by his hand still lingering on Optimus's shoulder.
"Surprised you didn't take advantage of this moment and make honoring the big hero I am a public event!" Optimus said, despite knowing exactly why.
"Oh, you're not getting out of a photo op that easily." Sentinel's smug grin seemed to light up the entire office. "I just know you get all freaked out whenever somebody suggests you deserve a gift. Consider this the rehearsal!"
"Ugh, of course." Optimus put a hand on the Magnus Hammer, intentionally touching Sentinel's hand as he did. As they touched, the weight of the weapon felt more right in Optimus's grasp than ever before. He and Sentinel were chin-to-chin now—which admittedly was always likely to happen when Sentinel was concerned—but it also felt just right. "…But, Sentinel, you're not going to say it all like that, right?" he added.
"What is that supposed to mean? My sparkfelt speech to you was perfect! Do you have any idea how much I practiced it?!"
"I think I may have some idea," Optimus said with a smile. "But your tone is what I meant. It was fine for a private meeting, but it wouldn't be appropriate for a more official setting!"
"There was nothing wrong with my tone!" Sentinel was so close, Optimus felt the heat of his pink blush. And Optimus revelled in it, realizing he had not seen his friend blush since their Academy days.
"No, but you're a complete and utter sap, Sentinel Prime!" Optimus leaned forward even more, nudging Sentinel toward the desk. "Or should I say, Sentimental Prime?"
"You mean Sentimental Magnus—!" Sentinel blushed harder. "H-Hey, the Elite Guard needs to hold on to the hammer until I hand it over in public, you know! Give it back!"
But Sentinel's pull on the hammer only resulted in Optimus turning his head and the two of them ending up chest-to-chest. Optimus chuckled. "You realize," he said softly, "there's nothing keeping me from visiting y—Cybertron again, and that I am planning on visiting, don't you?"
"Really?" It was more of a whimper than a question. When Optimus nodded, Sentinel let go of the hammer and surged forward to embrace him.
"You should bring back your plow," Optimus murmured into Sentinel's shoulder. He was so close to the dial Sentinel's antennae were connected to, his lips were almost touching it. "It would be great to press my face into when we're hugging."
"What."
"Nothing!" Optimus yelled and pulled back. And if his arm was still tired and healing and his scuffle with Sentinel resulted in the Magnus Hammer tipping over, crushing Sentinel and sending lightning bolts leaping all over the pristine office, well. It was a good thing Optimus was well-versed in the art of repair.