I've got nothing. Just throwing this here.
The base was unusually quiet, the kind of stillness that felt unnatural, as though the air itself was holding its breath. Sergeant Epps had just finished the last of his paperwork, his mind wandering as he moved through the corridor toward the mess hall. He hadn't seen many of the Autobots today, but that was nothing new—they kept to themselves mostly, especially Optimus Prime, who preferred to retreat after the long debriefings.
It was when Epps passed the empty briefing room, though, that something caught his attention. A faint sound—a cough—drifted out from under the door. Epps stopped in his tracks, the sound cutting through the silence with an unsettling clarity. It wasn't a human cough, not even close. There was a wetness to it, something rough and strained that made Epps's pulse quicken. He couldn't help but pause, trying to decide whether to investigate or keep moving. But curiosity won out, and he moved closer.
Slowly, carefully, he eased up to the door and peeked through the crack. The sight that greeted him was enough to make his stomach churn.
Optimus Prime, the towering figure of strength and stoicism, was alone in the room. He was leaning heavily against the wall, his massive frame hunched, his hands gripping the surface for support. His mouth was open slightly, chest heaving with shallow, strained breaths. A trickle of energon dripped from his mouth, staining his hand as he wiped it away. It wasn't much, but the sight of it made Epps's breath catch in his throat.
For a moment, he just watched, frozen. Optimus was never this vulnerable—never this human , even though he wasn't human. But the sight of the mech's shaking hands, the subtle tremble of his frame, and the faint, strained coughs... it was wrong. It was not the Optimus Prime that stood tall in the face of battle, not the one who carried the weight of his people with unshakable grace. Even in death, Optimus had seemed regal, and yet...
Optimus's voice came next, low and rasping. He muttered something under his breath, words in Cybertronian that Epps couldn't understand. The tone, though, was unmistakable—one of quiet pain and frustration. His optic shutters fluttered, the light in them dimming just a fraction before he forced himself to straighten.
Epps clenched his fists, something uncomfortable pressing in on him. Something had happened during the previous meeting. He'd seen it—Optimus had gone stiff, his posture rigid as though a bolt of pain had shot through him. But no one had said anything. No one had even acknowledged it. Lennox, ever the professional, had been running interference, making sure the rest of the team didn't notice anything out of place. Epps hadn't put it all together—at least, not until now.
The blood on Optimus's hand, the way he struggled to regain control, was a sign. A bad one.
Epps's mind raced. The Prime wasn't just fatigued or run down. He was still hurt. And while it looked like Ratchet had repaired the worst of the damage, something was clearly not yet healed. He didn't understand what had happened—what had caused this sudden break in Optimus's stoic armor—but it was clear that whatever it was, it had left him more worn down than Epps had ever seen him before. He hadn't known Optimus had been this bad off, even if he had seen the odd moment of stiffness or discomfort over the last few days. It was as if the Autobot leader was barely holding himself together.
The cough came again, rougher this time, and Epps flinched, unable to tear his gaze away. Optimus reached up, wiping the energon away, his movements slow, deliberate, but there was a weakness in them now. And that realization hit Epps like a cold wave.
The mech muttered more Cybertronian words to himself, his voice barely audible, like a whisper of pain buried beneath layers of pride. The only word that Epps understood was one that he'd heard Ironhide use in battle, it translated to "steady," "keep going," or "don't stop." Whatever he was saying, the words were a mantra, a reminder to himself that he had to keep going. But the crack in his voice, the way his hands trembled as he tried to keep composure—Epps could see it all. It was hard to ignore.
They had only just gotten the beloved mech back, the last thing Epps wanted was to lose him again. He wanted to do something, anything, but he knew he couldn't. Optimus had made it clear more than once that he was not someone who needed or wanted help. The Autobots, and Optimus especially, had their own way of handling their burdens, their pain. And as much as Epps wanted to burst in there and ask what happened—wanted to offer help—he knew better. He'd already seen Lennox work the angles, running interference to cover up for Optimus, making sure the humans didn't see just how bad off the Autobot leader was.
For all his size, for all his power, Optimus Prime was still a soldier. He was still a leader, and Epps knew that meant hiding his vulnerabilities at all costs, even if it meant risking his own health.
The pain of this thought sharpened as Epps continued to watch a sudden change in the Prime's demeanor, followed by a flash of movement. Optimus looked down and extended his palm, staring into it, as if examining something within-it was then that Epps spotted the scrap of paper that had appeared, as if by magic, in the mech's titanic hand.
The room was dim but Epps didn't need the light to know what it was. Its contours were familiar. The edges of the envelope committed to his memory. His breath hitched as the great Prime, the ancient leader of the Autobots, who had survived and meted out massacres, regarded and then clenched the small artifact in his palm, his optics squeezing shut as he murmured under his breath. As if the envelope was a talisman, a prayer bead, a reminder of something so holy and set apart, it could overcome whatever pain plagued him and whatever misgivings disturbed him.
And in that moment, Epps had never been more humbled than to know that his daughter's unthinking act of kindness seemed to be the only thing to which the Prime could cling in this moment of private weakness.
His throat clenched. Emotions swirling that he scarcely knew how to name. He was never more glad than in that moment to have given Prime that little envelope, it had seemed so inconsequential to him, but apparently mattered so much more to the extraterrestrial giant beyond the door.
With a heavy heart, Epps stepped back from the door, not wanting to intrude any further. His heart was touched and humbled that the small gift had meant so much, but his mind was a swirl of confusion and concern. There was little he could do right now. All he knew was that for the first time, he had seen a side of Optimus Prime that was too raw, too vulnerable to be ignored. He saw the cracks in the armor, and he wasn't sure what would happen if those cracks were ever to widen.
Rank and protocol be damned. He couldn't leave Optimus like this, with a child's drawing for his only consolation. And while he wasn't sure the Prime would take kindly to an intrusion from Epps, he wasn't going to let this go without doing something. He was going to go talk to Lennox...
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