Prequel to this is Ch 8 in Caring Comes in Cobalt Crayons, but doesn't need to be read.
Epps had sounded worried. And when the ever-unflappable Epps sounded worried, that meant Lennox paid attention. He knew Optimus was bad off. He'd seen more intimately than anyone when the Prime had practically keeled over in his presence. But when Epps asked him to do what was all but a 'wellness check' on the Autobot leader, he had his worst suspicions confirmed-the incident in the supply room had not been an anomaly or a fluke. Optimus was tired and he was hurting and he was handling this alone.
Naturally, Lennox had to go looking for him.
Lennox hadn't meant to find him out here, sprawled out on the soft grass, a figure so massive against the night that he almost seemed to blend into the shadows. The stars above caught the sharp edges of Optimus Prime's frame, casting the metal contours in a soft, celestial light that made him look... almost fragile. It didn't feel right—seeing him like this.
The whole base had been bustling with activity, officials arguing in their suits and military garb, their demands piling on top of each other. But Optimus had stayed, standing tall through it all, listening, nodding, absorbing every harsh word and clipped tone thrown his way. And yet, Lennox had seen the signs, even setting aside the incident that had occurred during their argument. The way Optimus had been holding himself a little more stiffly, his movements less fluid than they had been in the past. The quiet coughs he'd tried to hide earlier, the way he'd caught his breath every so often as if something was constricting his chest. Nothing, the Prime had assured him each time Lennox had asked. Just a minor inconvenience. It is nothing.
It hadn't been nothing. Lennox knew better.
After the most recent meeting had finally cleared-a meeting Lennox had been unable to cancel-and after the last of the foreign dignitaries had stormed off, demanding answers they knew no one could give them, Lennox had gone to check on the Prime.
He wasn't surprised to find Optimus had disappeared into the cool night, seeking some solitude away from the pressure, the noise, the expectations. Optimus didn't need to be told when to retreat; he sought out the quiet like an instinct.
What had surprised him, however, was seeing the Prime stretched out, his massive chassis not resting against a wall or in some secluded corner, but here—outside, under the stars, his cooling vents rising and falling with the uneven rhythm of someone who wasn't quite well. He had taken to the overlook, a place with a view of the ocean below, the vast expanse of water glistening under the pale light of the moon. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of saltwater, and it seemed to ease the tension in Optimus's frame. But even as the cool breeze rushed over his large plating, Lennox could tell it wasn't enough to alleviate the strain in his movements.
The Prime had fallen asleep, not with the calm serenity Lennox had come to expect from him, but stretched out and vulnerable. The sight of it—the quiet, the stillness, the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his chest—reminded Lennox of something darker. It reminded him of the day Optimus had been lying in state, lifeless, his optics dimmed. Of the cold, lifeless metal, the lack of breath, the absence of the commanding voice that had been both a beacon and a shield for them all. He'd never thought he'd see the day that Optimus would fall asleep in such a way, alone and fragile beneath the stars.
Lennox's throat tightened as he watched him. It felt almost like an intrusion to see the mighty leader in such a state. But it wasn't the weight of his body that made him ache. It was the reminder that the Prime was, for all his strength, still healing. Still recovering. Still fighting battles, both in the world and within himself.
The quiet coughs earlier, the subtle discomfort, the signs he'd hidden behind that impenetrable façade—it all came rushing back. Optimus had been trying to play it off, trying to act as if he were invincible as always. But Lennox knew. Optimus wasn't invincible. He had the weight of an entire race on his shoulders, and even the strongest could falter under such a burden.
Lennox wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, just observing, letting the quiet stretch on. It was peaceful here. The only sounds were the soft lapping of the waves below, the distant hum of the base, and the occasional creak of Optimus's frame as he shifted in his sleep.
The rising and falling of the Prime's chassis felt like a gift. Each breath, even the ragged ones, reminded Lennox of the fragility beneath the metal—of how close they had come to losing him. The cold night air seemed to settle into his bones, and Lennox wrapped his arms around himself, unsure of what he felt more—anger, sadness, gratitude. The kind of gratitude that couldn't really be expressed, not with words.
The sight before him was humbling. Optimus, in his brokenness, was more human than Lennox had ever given him credit for. It wasn't just the physical pain, the cracks in his frame that had been so painstakingly repaired. It was something deeper. There was a vulnerability to him now that Lennox hadn't seen before. A quiet resignation, but also a strange peace. Optimus had fought so long to protect them, to be their symbol, their unwavering leader. But at the end of the day, he was still a being, still someone who needed time to heal.
And here, under the quiet stars, with nothing but the sound of the ocean around them, he was allowed to rest. Lennox wouldn't wake him. Whatever checking-in he needed to do, he could always do it later.
When he turned as if to go, a sound suddenly drew his attention back. Lennox let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he saw Optimus stir, slowly waking. The movement was tentative, the shift of his great body far from graceful, his joints stiff, his movements more mechanical than fluid. He blinked slowly, his optics focusing in and out of clarity as he processed his surroundings.
"Optimus..." Lennox murmured quietly, taking a step closer, though he made no attempt to disturb him further. "It's just me. You should rest."
Optimus's optics finally cleared, fixing on Lennox with a look that conveyed something both weary and thankful. For a moment, it seemed as though he might try to sit up, but then he stilled, taking in a deep, measured breath. His voice, when it came, was hoarse, but still familiar. "I... I did not mean to fall asleep here."
Lennox gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't need to explain. I'm just glad you're getting some rest. I'll leave you to it."
As Lennox turned to leave, a sound stopped him.
Optimus's voice, though weak and hoarse, reached Lennox before he could turn away completely. The words caught in the air between them, heavy with an unspoken vulnerability.
"Please stay..."
The plea was so quietly desperate, so at odds with the strong, unshakable image Lennox had always had of Optimus, that it stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly, his feet still planted in the cold gravel, and found Optimus's optics fixed on him. There was something there—something raw and unguarded in those ancient, knowing eyes.
It was a moment of fragility that Lennox hadn't expected to witness, and it disarmed him. He stood still for a moment longer, unsure. But then he stepped forward and lowered himself beside the Prime, the soft crunch of his boots on the ground sounding impossibly loud in the stillness of the night.
Optimus shifted slightly, his massive form groaning with a subtle creak as he adjusted his position. He winced at the movement, but his gaze softened, watching Lennox carefully. The cold night air was biting, and as Lennox lowered himself to sit beside him, he could feel his own body trembling against the chill. It was more than just the temperature; the tension, the weight of everything that had happened, was making him shiver more than he cared to admit.
Noticing Lennox's discomfort, Optimus shifted again, his broad frame tilting slightly toward him. His optics dimmed for a brief moment, and then, with a quiet rumble in his voice, he spoke.
"You are cold," Optimus observed, the soft flicker of concern beneath his tone impossible to ignore. His large hand—once capable of effortlessly lifting and carrying—extended toward Lennox. The movement was slow, deliberate, and Lennox couldn't help but notice the strain in the Prime's posture, as though even the simple motion of reaching out caused him some pain.
Optimus paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Rest against my side. It will help."
Lennox hesitated for only a heartbeat. The offer, though simple, felt deeply intimate. It was rare for Optimus to open up like this, to make himself vulnerable in any way. Yet another sign that the Prime was not in peak condition. But he saw the subtle invitation in the Prime's posture, and before he could second-guess himself, Lennox moved closer.
The ground was hard and unforgiving beneath him, but Lennox didn't mind. He settled against Optimus's side, carefully at first, so as not to jostle him. The heat emanating from the Prime's chassis was like an oasis in the cold, and Lennox's body instinctively gravitated toward it. As he leaned back against Optimus's vast side, the heat from the Prime's body seeped into his own, and he couldn't help but sigh in relief.
For a moment, everything seemed to still. The chill of the night air seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the steady hum of Optimus's systems and the quiet rhythm of his breaths. Lennox could feel the weight of the Prime's body shifting slightly as he breathed, the slow, grinding rise and fall of his chassis. It was a reminder of how much Optimus had been through, how much he still bore, even as he rested. Even as he sought solace in the cool night air.
Optimus winced again, the soft groan of his systems breaking the silence. Lennox felt it in his back, the slight tremor that passed through the Prime's massive frame. The way Optimus's body resisted the weight of even his own healing. It was a small but powerful thing, that moment of vulnerability. And it made Lennox's heart ache. At least Optimus didn't have to be alone. At least he had allowed, no, invited, Lennox to stay. That something, if not much.
Lennox shifted slightly, careful not to disrupt the Prime's rest.
"Does it hurt?" Lennox asked, his voice soft and steady.
"Yes," Optimus replied, his tone tinged with something that might have been pain. Or perhaps just the weight of exhaustion. The Prime's voice had always carried the weight of leadership, of command. But now, there was a softness to it, a vulnerability that Lennox had never truly seen before.
"Epps said you were coughing blood earlier." It was not accusatory. Simply a statement of fact, an abbreviated explanation of his concern, and reason for being there.
The Prime stiffened but did not respond. Lennox, likewise, let the words hang there. Unacknowledged, but no less impactful. Optimus was thinner, too. Lennox could see it, his edges taking up just a bit less space than they should have, his systems likely burning their reserves in an effort to heal. Even so, Lennox didn't mention it. Best not to push him too far, after all.
Lennox shifted again, his back resting against Optimus's side, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He could sense the tremors in the Prime's body, the slight tension in his frame. The weight of it all. The war. The resurrection. The constant strain of leadership. The knowledge that, no matter how strong or capable he was, Optimus had no choice but to endure it all alone.
It was then that Lennox asked the question that had been nagging at him for hours. The question that had been sitting heavy on his chest since he had first found Optimus out here, alone in the cold. He dared once more to ask a question.
"What are you really doing out here, Optimus?"
For a long moment, Optimus was silent, his optics dimming slightly as if in thought. His chest heaved a little more sharply, the weight of the question pressing down on him. Lennox thought that, once again, he would opt for silence, but it was only when the wind shifted that Optimus finally spoke, his voice softer than it had ever been.
"Praying," Optimus said, his tone almost reverent. "Praying for the strength to carry on. For guidance. For patience. For wisdom."
Lennox's heart tightened at the simplicity of the words. The great Optimus Prime, who had led armies, fought wars, and carried the fate of entire species, was praying. Not for victory, not for protection, not even for his own restoration, but for virtues, for the ability to keep going in the face of his own fragility. It was so unfathomably philosophical. And yet so right, so appropriately pious, for the warrior-saint beside him.
Lennox shifted again, shaking his thoughts aside has he pressed a little closer against the Prime's feverish side, grateful for the warmth. He could feel the tension in Optimus's body, the deep strain that ran through every part of him. But at the same time, there was something else—something powerful. Optimus had endured more than anyone should have to. And yet, despite all of it, he still carried on.
The weight of that truth was more than Lennox could comprehend.
"You already have all of those virtues and then some, Optimus. You are the strongest, most patient, and wisest person I've probably ever met," Lennox murmured after a moment, his voice thick with the quiet understanding that had been growing inside him for days now. "...I don't know if this is an answer to your prayer, but I know you're tired, I know this is hard, and I'm here for you. I will try to help you, however, I can. You know that."
Optimus didn't answer immediately, but the faintest shift in his posture suggested that the words had been heard. Maybe they comforted him. Maybe they were simply another affirmation of the impossible weight he carried, even now, even as he rested under the night sky.
For a while, neither of them spoke again. They just sat there together, Lennox resting against Optimus's side, the warmth from his body seeping into Lennox's chilled skin. And for the first time in a long while, Lennox found himself grateful for something he never thought he'd need: the simple gift of being there for the Prime. Of offering something, no matter how small, to a being who had given everything.
And in the quiet of the night, under the stars, with the great warrior at his side, Lennox wondered if the Prime would ever fully understand just how grateful he was for each laborious breath, each slow movement of that colossal body. And with that thought, Lennox said a prayer of gratitude all his own to whatever deity was listening: Thank you, thank you for letting him live again.
There was no way Lennox would ever take that miracle for granted. He'd do whatever it took to get the Prime back on his feet. And if that meant sitting out here watching the stars with him, then so be it.
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