As mentioned ealier. This is another moment with the Lennox family. I don't imagine many more moments like these happen but there's this one.

Optimus Prime had never been quite accustomed to human fragility, especially not in the way he felt it now. He was a towering figure, built for battle, for leadership, for strength. Yet here he was, far from the battlefield, standing over the fragile form of a thirteen-year-old girl who, despite the clear signs of illness, refused to allow anyone to take care of her in the way she needed.

Annabelle was sitting in the barn, her small body wrapped in a thick blanket. Her skin was flushed, and her eyes—those bright eyes that had always been full of energy—were dull and unfocused. She had insisted she didn't want Optimus hovering over her, didn't want to be babied. But Optimus could see it—knew it well enough from his time with NEST's soldiers—the fever in her face, the unsteady way she moved, the way she couldn't even bring herself to speak without pausing to cough.

Optimus had been standing near the open barn door when he saw her, her small steps slow and unsure, making her way toward the outdoors, drawn by the sun and the fresh air. Her parents had left her home alone, thinking she would spend the day sleeping off the illness that had taken hold of her. However, it seemed Annabelle had other plans for her convalescence. She had always had an affinity for the outdoors, a love for the feeling of open space, something she shared with the Autobot leader, but this time, it was different. She was shivering in the heat of her fever, her steps unsteady as she walked. And despite his best efforts to stay a respectful distance away, to allow her space as she requested, he knew—he knew she needed something. Someone. Anyone. To watch over her now that she had wandered beyond the safety of the house.

She reached the barn's threshold and paused, her gaze sweeping over the expanse of the farm before she slowly sank down to the ground, her hands clutching at her sides. Her breath was shallow, and her face was pale, nearly as white as the cotton of her blanket. Her body trembled from the fever's grip, and though she tried to hide it, Optimus could see the faint signs of distress she had no way of concealing.

"Annabelle," he called softly, kneeling down as much as he could in the cramped space, his voice full of concern. He had no understanding of how to help her in the way she needed. He had tried before—suggesting fluids, offering comfort in his own way, but it was never enough. He couldn't shrink his massive frame to the scale of a child. His hands were too large, his body too cumbersome. Human needs were things he could not quite grasp, though he knew how to care. The instinct was there. The almost-painful desire to soothe and to comfort.

She didn't respond. She simply leaned against the barn wall, shivering, her eyes closing. It was then that Optimus saw the faint tremor in her legs as she tried to steady herself. His spark, his very essence, twisted with the need to help, but he had no idea how to make it any better for her, diseases like this were foreign to his kind. Still, the small part of him that had once been a scientist analyzed her, assessing her, monitoring her vitals as her body fought the insidious virus. There was little else he could do.

His optics narrowed, and for a moment, as he simply stood, watching her, monitoring her, unsure of how else to proceed. What else could he do? What use was strength when he couldn't provide the right kind of care?

But when she collapsed, her knees buckling beneath her as she fell, he didn't hesitate.

With the gentleness of someone used to delicate maneuvers, Optimus's large hand reached out, catching her with a soft thud, concern shooting through his spark as he scanned her. A quick search of the world wide web yielded some consolation that such spells were common with a virus such as this. Still. He could not help but feel a certain irrational concerns. She weighed so little in his palm as he carefully lifted her, as though cradling a precious artifact. She didn't stir, her body limp against the cold, smooth surface of his hand.

Optimus stood then, slowly, careful not to jostle her too much. His gaze fell on the sky above, the sunlight warm against his frame as it streamed through the open barn doors. Annabelle needed to rest. Of that much he was sure. And the open space of the farm was empty, but for the two of them. A gentle breeze brushed across the fields. For a moment, everything was still. The fresh air would do them both some good.

He sat down on the grass, his knees tucked beneath him, cradling Annabelle carefully against the warmth of his chest. Her small form fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, the warmth of her fevered skin almost a sharp contrast against his cool metal. He was focused on the sound of her shallow breath, her face pale in the sun, her small body so vulnerable in a way that reminded him, once again, how delicate human life truly was.

Optimus shifted slightly, careful not to cause her any more distress, and simply sat there. He didn't know what to say—didn't know what to do. He considered summoning the Lennoxes but, after a moment, decided against it. Annabelle was resting, as she needed to do. And really, there was no point in disturbing her slumber. Not right now. The thrum of life was what she needed, it was what she had sought when she wandered out to the barn. She needed peace, quiet, and the presence of another being. At the moment, that was something only he could offer.

Almost on instinct, he found himself rocking his hand gently, his hand cradling her, as if the motion would help ease her fevered state. And when her breathing grew softer, more regular, he knew she had finally drifted into a true healing sleep.

For hours, he remained there, under the bright sky, the warmth of the sun soaking into his frame, as he sat protectively with the child in his hands. He couldn't understand the experience of her biology or the full reach of the human perspective, but in that moment, he didn't need to understand. What mattered was that she was no longer alone.

And despite the enormity of his form and the weight of his purpose, despite everything he had seen and done, Optimus Prime simply sat there, keeping watch over Annabelle, rocking her to sleep as the world spun on around them. It was a simple act, one that required no words, no grand gestures—only the presence of someone who cared. And he cared. He cared very much.

This—this was the role he had always dreamed of: to be the protector not just of the world, but of the small, fragile lives who had entrusted him with their care.

With Annabelle resting in his palm, her fever finally starting to ease, Optimus looked out across the fields, his gaze distant. This was who he had always wanted to be—a presence that could comfort, that could soothe, that could offer solace in the dark moments of life. Not just a leader or a soldier, but something more.

~0~

The sun was dipping lower when Will pulled into the driveway, dust from the tires settling in the evening light. He stepped out of the truck, stretching his back with a tired groan before heading toward the house. It had been a long day, and all he wanted was to check on Annabelle, maybe make her some soup—something normal after being gone for so long.

Then he saw the front door cracked open, just enough to catch his eye. And then he noticed a pair of her slippers, discarded carelessly on the front porch next to the shoe rack where he noticed her boots conspicuously missing. His stomach twisted.

Why the hell would she go outside?

His boots crunched against the dirt as he strode toward the barn, heart picking up speed, thinking he would have to ask Optimus to help him locate her. Annabelle was sick—too sick to be wandering around, too sick to be anywhere but bed. But as he turned the corner to see beyond the barn's shadow and look around back, what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks.

Optimus Prime was sitting there, leaned against the side of the barn, massive and still. His body was curled inward, shoulders hunched in a way that Will had never seen before—like he was protecting something, like he was holding something.

And then Will saw her.

Annabelle, his little girl, was curled up in the giant palm of Optimus's hand, fast asleep. Her tiny body was completely relaxed, her fever-flushed cheek resting against the metal of his palm as if it were the safest place in the world. And Optimus—Optimus—was rocking her. The Autobot's movements were slow, deliberate, the kind of careful that only someone deeply afraid of hurting what they held could manage. The way he cradled her, the way his optics softened as he looked down at her—it wasn't just duty. It wasn't just responsibility. It was something more.

Will swallowed hard.

Optimus lifted his head slightly, his optics meeting Will's, and there was something unspoken in that gaze—something solemn, something tender. He said nothing, just inclined his head slightly, as if reassuring Will that she was safe, that she had been safe all along. In a strange way, Optimus had never looked more...natural at anything Will had ever seen him do. Not on a battlefield. Not in a briefing room. Not in matters of state. No. It was here, cradling his daughter, as if he had been charged with her care and her care alone.

Will exhaled slowly, tension draining from his shoulders. He wasn't sure what he had expected—maybe a moment of panic, maybe a lecture about how Annabelle shouldn't be out here in the first place. But instead, all he felt was the weight of realization pressing into his chest.

Optimus wasn't just doing this out of necessity.

He cared.

Will stepped closer, his voice quieter than he'd intended. "She okay?"

Optimus nodded, his voice a low, reverent murmur. "She was fevered and restless. She did not want to be alone." A pause, as if the words meant more than what they said. "I could not allow that."

Will's throat tightened, a strange kind of warmth settling in his chest. He should have been surprised, but he wasn't—not really. He had always known Optimus to be selfless, to be protective in ways that went beyond orders and battlefields. But this? This was something else entirely.

This was love.

Will sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before shaking his head with a small, tired smile. "You're gonna spoil her, you know that?"

Optimus's optics flickered with something like amusement, a soft hum vibrating through his chest. "Perhaps," he admitted. Then, after a moment, quieter, "She is... very small."

Will let out a huff of laughter, shaking his head. "Yeah. Yeah, she is." He stepped closer, placing a careful hand against Optimus's forearm. "Thanks for looking out for her."

Optimus didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted back down to Annabelle, still sleeping soundly in his palm, her little fingers curled loosely against his plating. He watched the slow rise and fall of her breath, felt the steady warmth of her against his hand.

Then, softly, like a promise:

"Always."

Please give me a review/favorite if you want to see more one-shots like this. To be clear, this is part of the same universe as To See Gods Bleed, Caring Comes in Cobalt Crayons, etc.