Chapter Text
Cade tosses the pen away, unable to focus. He slumped against the old sofa, planted on the crummy, little pillow. He tilts his head upwards, legs spread and body slacked, watching the slow rotation of the fan — still reeling from that particular bit of information, logic muddled. He’s disoriented, inattentive, glancing with thoughtless, distant eyes. A state of hollowness that dissuades his entirety and will.
Though, Cade thinks he should at least scream in frustration. But that will raise alarms and uncalled panics. And his daughter will chew him out just because — fatherly love be damned.
He's been taking time off.
Everyone is respectful enough to leave him be, and Tessa understands that this is his period of emotional uncertainty. She isn’t given any reasons as to why, but lets him proceed with his mental recovery inside the barn, nonetheless — no questions asked.
He doesn't know what to feel — an overwhelming myriad of emotions escalating from what once was a deficit. And they're all contending. Should he be furious? Lies stacked upon lies, seeping in a sense of betrayal. Should he be saddened? Having this information something not confided to him almost immediately, rather as something forcefully extracted out of. Is any of this as validated as the unloaded relief washing his whole being when he was told that Orion is alive? Is the latter itself even considered something appropriately okay to think about? Would it be considered selfish at all, or would Tessa think of him as no less a traitor for it?
He pinches the bridge of his nose, overwhelmed. It’d been two days already. He’s restless, still comprehending the fact. And he notices his quiet guest a little too late, the doors left open.
He wonders how long Drift had stayed to watch — a hopeless, miserable old man loitering without purpose. Then again, he doesn’t care.
“Wadja want?” Cade says emptily.
Drift visibly stiffens, speaking in vigilance. “Forgiveness. I came to apologize. We… shouldn’t have kept you away from the truth.”
"You guys lied.” He says it like a reminder.
“Sensei asked us to not involve ourselves in this. He did not want us to answer for his mistakes.”
Cade frowns. “Is that what I am? His mistake?”
“Never.” Drift replies, quick and certain. As though he’s seen him the way Optimus does.
They’ve still yet to look at one another. "He should've told me. He should've… but he didn't."
"He wanted to."
"He still didn't."
"It was difficult for him not to,” Drift explains. “Sensei would have done anything to make it work for him. He loves you, Cade."
Cade scoffs. It tugs at his heart — a weakness he had long accepted. Drift is playing words that cater to his incessant need for acceptance and want, intentionally or not. He’s unsure of the truth. But Drift sounds genuine, as he is sympathetic. He is loyal to a fault, as is each and everyone else in the team respectably. Cade knows that, at least. Had enough time spent with them to arrive at that conclusion and understanding.
These circumstances are not individually the fault of one or many, rather, he was just dealt a bad hand of cards. But that had never mattered to Cade in the sense that it anchored him to one fixed point in life, as he’s always moved past one defeat to the next without halt. Cade is determined himself, circumstances aside. And his past, he’s admitted before, shaped him as he is now.
And to learn about the truth. To finally hear about it, a confirmation, it feels as though a strain of burden was relieved.
And that’s good. He tells himself that it is.
So, he sighs, as he looks at Drift, features coming to life again.
"Tell me everything."
Drift nods, closing the door, preparing for the long day ahead.
====================
Their talk was essential. Cade runs through all the details, and Drift fills in all the blanks in his story. There are things left unanswered, and really, can only be given by the one in space himself. Drift feels like he’s learned something that day, and Cade feels like he gets to understand more about Optimus than about Orion.
He starts in their beginning, and Drift has inquiries here and there, but listens intently from Cade’s view. And instead of asking about Orion, Cade asks about Optimus — what he was like once in the faraway home of Cybertron. A history not known by any humans whatsoever, yet is crucial to his own understanding and knowledge. He asks if the worlds, both Transformers and humans, have been kind to him — Cade finds they haven’t. And that isn’t surprising. Orion hadn’t acted in a world where struggles and conflicts do not arise — beaten and tackled, but standing strong still.
And at some point, Cade comes to realize something.
“Tessa has to know.” He says in the middle of their conversation.
Drift pauses. “Would you like us to?”
He shakes his head. “I love my daughter, and she deserves to know. But if I tell her, she’s just gonna hate Prime more than she does now. At least if Prime tells her, she could hear it herself that he’s sorry. Not that it's gonna be enough, I don’t think.”
“Sensei would prefer it that way.” Drift adds. “He wanted to face you both himself.”
“I can’t say about Tessa. She’s my perfect angel, but I dunno if she has it in her to even talk to him.”
“And you?” Drift questions, curious.
It takes him a minute, inhaling deeply, finding in him to seek any answer. “I can’t exactly say. I was hurt, but I moved on. Sometimes, I feel stupid for still thinking ‘bout him back then. But… he saved me. He saved my daughter. And then this… It’s a lot to take in.” He hesitates for a while, looking at his clasped hands, then back at Drift. “But I guess, the bottom line is… I do want to talk to him about it.”
“He’ll be grateful for it.”
“You sound so sure.” Even more than Cade is.
“Sensei has told me about it.” Drift reveals. “It’s all he wanted.”
Cade hums, letting the knowledge in, until a thought crept its way in.
“Hey… when ya said about a more shocking couple than you and Cross… was that…?”
Drift stops, a smug smile appearing. “Yes. It was you and Sensei.”
He gets flustered, realizing this is as close as being in hot, juicy gossip. A small laugh comes out of Drift, as it too came out of him. And that’s especially comforting.
====================
Cade finds himself alone by the porch swing in the evening. Another instance of peaceful seclusion that enhances him more than it does debase him. He goes through a mental log — reviewing the day’s agenda and work. Tessa had announced she’d be buying groceries some hours ago, which she stole Hound for and left her father to his own thoughts just like that. It feels more like an escape than it is an excuse. But Cade understands that there is only so much of her father's emotional unavailability Tessa can endure, and that he has been specifically hermetic to her these past few days.
He thinks to treat her something, as a way of apologizing. In those simpler days, a strawberry cake would’ve worked. Then again, it likely does even now.
He's in between a decision to reassess the quality of his supplies or resign himself to having dinner when the yellow Camaro enters the edge of his peripheral. Bumblebee is keeping his distance and out of sight, as though he was a child with terrible hiding intuition during a party game. Cade thinks this was partly due to receiving the brunt of his anger, or Tessa possibly warning him about his mental withdrawal. Cade doesn’t blame him, regardless of whether his temper was justified or not.
“I ain’t gonna bite ya, Bee.” He calls. The car gives an abrupt alert, the sound on the radio rings in the tune of skepticism. “Yeah, sorry. Was a bit over the top with my yelling was I?”
Bee rolls forward, his radio singing in agreement. “Yeah, my bad. Ain’t my intention to scare ya like that.”
He seems to accept that as it is, shifting from his alt-mode. His helm turns, then audios blend to make his sentence comprehensive, also insinuating with hand gestures — Cade’s sure the name of his daughter was spoken audibly by the scout, which likely means Bee’s just asking if he happens to know where she is.
“Hound told me he’s escorting her to buy some last-minute groceries,” Cade informs.
“Oh.” Bee sags in disappointment.
“Aw. don’t be like that, Bee. Ya know yer her favourite.” Cade reassures, and finds his particular reaction adorable. As though they are literal siblings. Siblings that need no share of genetics. Siblings that care. Siblings that stood with you through thick and thin. He wishes for his own to have worked out, though he doesn’t dwell in the past now. Instead, his current attention is on the Camaro sitting beside, with his audacity of playing Across the Universe and brazenness to nudge him alongside — implications very obvious.
He thinks it’s not that obvious he misses Optimus, the same way it wasn’t obvious he was already pining for an alien resembling one of his past lovers — which, it turned out, was said lover all along who disguised himself in efforts of… something unknown. And Cade mentally records it among his increasing list of inquiries to ask upon return.
Though, he firmly believes that Orion, for how long he'd known him, was not manipulative, nor does he use people for the benefit of his own entertainment. And neither does their situation and history entail that he would be. Optimus' very existence is a testament to that. Simply, it was matters beyond one's control, Cade would think. Or something forced upon them.
“Yeah, I miss him,” Cade admits. “Or-... Optimus returning ain’t gonna fix things just like that, and having things like what we had is gonna get a lot of getting used to, but…. but at least I get to talk to him after all these years. I’ve been mad at this person for some things, but I wanna start somewhere, ya get?” and Bee claps in understanding. He snickers, nudging a return to the scout. “Reckon I get to be your favourite again? Only until Tessa comes back?”
It’s subtle. Cade’s asking for a start, with him specifically — nothing overcomplicated, only as comrades, preferably family if they can cross that gap quickly. They’ve been there and back a few times, though Cade prefers they would begin fresh. No more secrets. No more lies. He’s a human inventor turned somewhat half-hero and half-fugitive, depending on the government’s painstakingly long answer. And Bee’s the Autobot’s well-liked, designated scout, who could run ten miles on laps for the heck of it. And that’s their basis. That’s their start.
Bee cheerily agrees, responding to the nudge with his own that’s more resembling a hard shove. Cade tips over, landing on concrete. But he chuckles more than he does wince — because he feels like he has his son back again. And he's confident in that title for the scout. He's confident that's what Tessa wants as well. Bee is like his son. And he will never want that changed, regardless of anything.
Cade's promising him a check-up, last-minute and abruptly. Some wires crossed or screws missing, perhaps both, happening a few hours prior because Bee plays rough with the other bots. It's partly why he came to Cade in the first place, despite the impassiveness of the human — the other reason was still Tessa. Cade snorts and shakes his head slightly in disapproval when Bee tells him, but puts on his glasses and digs his pockets for a flashlight nonetheless.
He actually gets Bee to crouch so Cade could inspect him at an agreeable height — Bee doesn't really make fun of him for it but plays him a song that leaves open something for Cade to think about. Cade makes a face, flicking one of his antennae as Bee ducks down. Looking ahead, he realizes, so does Bee now that they've ceased away from being in their own little world, a vehicle is approaching.
Specifically, a semi.
“Is that?” Cade asks, stunned at the unexpected.
Marked flames on the familiar blue vehicle.
He bolts out of there, hurried and without another word.
“Bee, take five!” He says back to the kid, pocketing his glasses. “Get the bots! Get the team here!"
====================
He's… he thinks himself composed. Optimus knows of himself to that certain extent, with an infinity of years substantiating this quality. Of the same thing said by comrades as much as enemies. Whether within each passing war, or the aftermath of one. He has faced unstoppable, overpowering foes with courage. Threats sent across the vastness of many skies. Experienced defeats, yet recover almost always. None of them has he once faltered in such apprehensive manners, neither will he succumb to dangers looming over him.
But Cade Yeager has power over him. Optimus knows that. Has lived under it. In his home, in that barn. That generosity with a kindness that resonated his spark, a familiarity that accompanied similarity, an understanding they shared. All above are traits not many divulged in the eons of his lifetime, yet Cade possesses them and adorns it on his sleeves bravely.
They are not one and the same — Optimus is rustic, ancient even. Oftentimes phlegmatic. Many times too burdened. He acts alone in his thoughts and actions. Cade is fragile, save for his well-maintained stance and figure. With a stubborn resolve to act in the best interest of everyone concerned. Things he tries to prove, whether to add to his self-esteem or to make a point of. All above are things to directly oppose their compatibility.
But they have, at some point, found ground. Quite easily, matter-of-factly.
Cade has become one with his spark. Though, not in the matter of sparkbond. Perhaps, a concept of the same circumstances. And Optimus acknowledges that they’ve long passed their fated crossroads — he commits himself to a little inventor, defying the sensible, safe logic of disengaging with another species. He masquerades along to a father of a youngling, putting both in harm’s way. He finds himself ‘love’, by a human whose spark had a place big enough to contain a Prime.
There is still strain — Autobots and humans, no doubt…
He stores the thought and in the back of his processor — he'll cross that particular bridge when it comes. He focuses on his destination instead, the road clear of traffic. His speed is picking up, admittedly eager, breaching road limits. He’d arrived hours prior, having accomplished his recent obligations — borrowing time, for himself and his team. The day is close to setting, a sky of orange with the descending sun. But he should be arriving soon — it's a bit of muscle memory with every turn, as much as it was his navigation foretelling the path. And it’s becoming familiar by the second until…
Ah… there they are. There he is.
Optimus finds them outside, as though expecting. Did the Prime seem so noticeable from afar? It doesn’t show but his optics trail along Cade, beginning to speed towards their middle in strides. He’s adorned in casuals — a red-black checkered flannel pajama set. His glasses were on until he hung them in the pocket of his top. He's looking as he was, though his hair seems to be growing. His cap is elsewhere, probably left behind. And he's not smiling. Exhaustion catches him up, and Cade moves his mouth at Bee, sending signals.
Optimus begins to hesitate when it had Bee retracts in his steps, seemingly fleeing. To call the Autobots, perhaps? Or has something occurred? A pang of fear spawns internally, like instincts alerting an ambush.
Optimus makes the first move by transforming, just in case. And in this, he is still composed, mostly.
And they meet, at a proximity with clear eye contact. Cade halts his steps, glancing upwards, hands on hips. Optimus pauses, dipping his helm. Silence trickled into their space, almost intense. Cade has no words, or chooses not to say — though, Optimus did have his impromptu travel occur without a word to him beforehand. He hadn't even confessed, yet. So, the silence from Cade is karma, if anything.
A minute lasts. He feels his urge to speak freed, but Cade gets to it first.
"If ya were gonna up and leave us like that, tell us a return date next time before ya rocket yerself."
He says, albeit no disappointment palpable. Optimus catches his tone, shoots a quick reply.
“I told you I will return, did I not?”
“That didn’t come with a notice now did it?” Cade bites back humouredly, an indent aimed at his forehead. “See these wrinkles, Prime? Ya got me all worried in yer lil' space exploration.”
“You'll live,” Optimus says simply, and he indeed will. Cade snickers, pulling back. “It is nice to see you again, Cade.”
“Feelin's mutual, Prime.” He kicks away at a small pebble, looking elsewhere. “And whattabout that seed?”
“Hidden away. Hopefully, where it will remain.” Or until he could be in better circumstances and standings. The Autobots are his priority. “I had to return.”
“Did ya miss me so much it made ya come back?”
“You came running to me,” Optimus mentions airily, partly ignoring the statement.
“Yea, well, I came to say thank you.” He rubs the back of his neck, body signals unaligned. Tensed? Or relieved? The response was ambiguous, and truthfully, unfounded. He found his way back to earth only hours prior.
“Thank you? Whatever is this for?” He asks, genuine, clearly confused.
But then Cade makes eye contact, boldened. “For being here for this no-good planet, for being here to save my family.” Cade clarifies, unneeded in all honesty. That Optimus will do each of those for him without hesitation and-
“For being my friend all those years ago.”
He stops, taken aback.
“You… you know.”
Cade laughs tiredly. “Your team... Quite the mouthful.”
He’s… not surprised by that, just disappointed. “Begrudgingly so.”
Optimus doesn’t really know what to say, or do. He had hoped to confess it himself in words, and reeling others into the drama, as well as having them confess in his stead during his absence, will just lessen its sincerity. And Cade deserved to hear it directly from him, more than any of his other excuses. But now he’s robbed of that chance. Optimus frowns.
“But they told me, and it's just... It felt needed.” Cade admits, eyes noticing his motley crew approaching in caution. Respectful not to disrupt anything else they haven’t. “Because I get to know yer real, and here, and alive. Because I still get to say how much I missed ya, and gettin' to say that…” He reverts back to looking at Prime, breathing slightly shallowed but ever more hopeful. “Getting to still say that. It- it felt good, Prime.”
“Cade…”
“So, ya know, don't get mad at 'em.” He sincerely asks, not wanting a Prime's ire placed on them. “They told me ya were gonna tell me. But I don't exactly know when yer comin' and looking at the stars for your soul ain't exactly helping me out.”
The mech sighs, posture straightening, wanting to be truthful now more than anything. Distinct noises rumble, and the screeching of metals loudly fills the air, coming from Prime’s center. His orbs glow vibrant blue, the same shine emitting from within. His chest began to unravel, the light breaching out. But Cade seems aware of his plans, and first tells him before the procedure.
“No, ya don't have to, Prime.” As he does, Optimus halts his holoform from manifesting. “I just- I want to see YOU. Not him.” He asserts. “For now, show me you. But at least tell me if you want to be called Orion or Optimus.” He digs his shivered hands into the pocket of his pants, seemingly unable to contain them. Either due to the internal, emotional chaos or the chilly winds hitting. It’s getting dark, they realized. “I… I like the sound of Optimus better though, it's more... You.”
“Cade-”
“I'll be by the barn, kay?” Cade interjects, an invitation laced in his words. “Come in whenever.”
He spares no time speeding to the barn, seeking privacy. There’s an urgency in his voice, imploring him to follow. And the Autobots march to their leader guardedly, having overheard. Optimus turns, features exasperated.
“Who told him?”
He gives in to an eye-roll when digits point in all directions, following Cade. This time, he finds himself not composed at all.
====================
It wasn’t needed to tell Optimus to close the doors, he does it regardless of any words or their lack of. They have things to open up about, subjects Cade long desired to reach and speak about at one point or another. But he sees Optimus watching the little things in his barn, as though analyzing with a comparison of what once was — how the couch is looking more dilapidated than ever and older-looking than both of them, there’s a noticeable hole among one wall of the barn, and the desk positioned to a different spot for convenience, with scraps taking space. How the little things changed without him witnessing their progression.
And his Cade… he looks distinctly older, stark differences very prominently shown. Finer lines on his face indicative of gradual aging, creases beginning everywhere, with gray strands starting to show, even if little. His body itself speaks of changes, Optimus can tell, he's not as young but has built himself well enough for what he can attempt to be. Cade Yeager has changed, he daresay moved on, in ways without him.
Which he is very happy about — it lightens his spark to see Cade advancing in his life without halts. That he is capable himself and dependency was never a trait ingrained in him. It was a choice itself, rather than necessity.
For better or worse, many things changed. Cade has, despite still being himself.
Vibrant blues roam the surroundings. Optimus had hidden here once, but never took in the differences as he does now — occupied over bullet holes scattered to his frame and the underlying feeling of guilt and shame to notice. Now is calmer, if only for a while.
Optimus realizes they're both out of it — he's too fixed on the past, and Cade's too patient in waiting for his start. And they're both not talking about the issue which they sought privacy for. Because this is all that his secrecy has amounted towards — the inescapable end of being transparent to one another.
“So…” Optimus starts.
“So?” Cade copies.
Optimus sighs and asks. “Do you want to see him?”
Cade’s somewhat confused about that question. Confused as to why it was as necessary of a precaution for him to make it be than it supposedly is. Because it’s not, shouldn’t be. Because he’s adamantly clear with his decisions to settle their problems first. Because Optimus shouldn't be asking in place for someone who was more make-believe than his actual self.
Why is Optimus treating Orion as someone different? How is he any different than Orion?
“You ARE him, Prime.” Cade reminds, expression stern.
“You missed him,” Optimus emphasized, making it apparent.
Cade shuts his eyes, breathing in air and his pity. A problem hangs — why does he not believe they are one and the same? Why is he so stubbornly, and stupidly, convinced their love is set by a pretense of appearance rather than the legitimate bond they’ve nurtured with time and devotion? He loved Orion for who he was, and by proxy, that love is transferred to Optimus. Was that itself not enough of a conviction?
“I missed you.” Cade corrects, assertive.
And Optimus allows himself to inch closer. A permission Cade would grant countless times without question.
“I did not expect for our proper reunion to have been like this, Cade.” He confesses.
Cade lightly scoffs. The admission sounds almost like a lie — Prime never had many options to begin with. “Did ya mean it to be when you're in yer holo or as you are now?”
“Cade,” And he loses air, tension spiking. The intensity in Optimus’ voice directed him to eye the Prime gravely. It’s inevitable for them to talk about what is apparently and blatantly obvious. “I am made of metals and wires, while you are of flesh and bones. I am made of that which you are not, even he is made of only my projections, Cade. How can we be as we desire if so?"
Cade stares blankly, and he wants to mockingly laugh, specifically towards his ridiculousness, another to his own short-sightedness. He'd almost forgotten that itself is considered taboo-like, attraction towards a species not alike to your own. But he has never bent to pressure, or unneeded sentiments, that rings true now especially — why would he? When the world has robbed him well enough of what he should consider a happier life. And with or without approval, from anyone really, Cade thinks he would never stop loving what is essentially a piece of his heart and soul.
So, this all falls down to Optimus, simply.
Will Cybertronian culture permit this? Or is it something of an unorthodox relationship just as years of tradition would dictate it to be? He doesn't know — hadn't delved deep enough to understand the specifics. Maybe it is? Which explains the hesitancy so well.
But Optimus didn't outright reject him, only discussed circumstances. So, is this problem internal? Something borne through his lack of self-esteem compared to Orion? Is the issue that Optimus does not deem himself worthy to replace Orion after all that's transpired?
Or is it that Optimus thinks so highly of Orion he doesn't even think they are the same? Regardless, Cade confronts him, if only to clear the air.
“Prime,” Cade straightens, eyes trained on the Autobot with trust. Certain to burn the issue away. “I really, REALLY, don't give a fuck.”
He feels himself about to explode outwardly. He feels his fists tightening from the overwhelming drive to speak his truth.
“Prime… Why do you think I bought you from that theatre?” He asks him.
“Regret?” is Optimus’ first answer.
“Not completely.” Came the honest, sheepish reply.
“Obsession?” is the second answer.
Cade shakes his head, as he steers the conversation to some form of point. "Optimus… when I bought that truck in the theatre, it wasn't for money. It wasn't because it was a Transformer and it wasn't because I needed a new ride.” And Cade glances up, pleading for him to listen intently. That he'd accept himself with love just as Cade would. "Prime… I bought it because it reminded me of him. Of you.”
And by some miracle, it did turn out to be him.
“Yer… Yer still my Orion. My Optimus. This difference between us…” His hand gestures to themselves, recognizing their sheer contrast in features that does nothing to deter his love from Optimus in his feeble, battered heart. “It don’t matter. Not to me, at least.”
Optimus hunches closer. Cade's breathing in, closing his eyes — anticipating any ensuing argument with an obstinate determination to fight for the candle of love that had been sizzled. That Optimus has beyond dozens and more to counter him, to absolutely assert that they have no place called home in this house of comfort they built within this universe and the next.
Instead, a metallic finger runs across Cade's jaw and pauses when it slides to the side of his face. Optimus possesses this undying adoration in his gaze as Cade slowly unravels his eyes, looking at a softness that always seems to be evident. His hand meets the giant's indent, still pressing to his cheek, allowing the indulgence to feel — that Optimus is real. They are real.
“My Cade... What have these earth years done to you?"
“It did a lotta things, big guy," Cade admits loosely. "It, uh... It hit me that, well, I can't live without you. I mean I can, obviously. I'm still here, and Tessa's just as great of a reason to keep myself going for something in life. But to actually live? Geez, I forgot what that felt like." It was an emptiness, unshaped and unformed, but always there. Always inside. Cade knows it. "I'm getting older, Prime. I love Tessa, but I don't think I can burden her with my problems, y'know?"
His very obvious expression of astonishment comes, Optimus clearly anxious and surprised. "These years you writhe in grief all due to my indecision. I am sorry. I am deeply sorry, and if there exists any way for my apology to make amends, Cade, I would seize it to no end."
Cade listens — he's shaky at the apology, slowly gripping himself with crossed arms, trying to find confidence. His heart pulses rapidly, too suffocating. His breathing is labored, a hand pulled to clench his chest. He's overwhelmed at it all, and his speech is impaired, unable to translate his mind into words, such severity leaving him aphonic to reply.
It's all he's ever needed, unbeknownst. An indifference bloomed into necessity — Cade Yeager has never once asked for an apology, only an explanation, yet to hear one breaks him. It takes him apart, but rebuilds him back the next. His spirit rises along with it.
Cade Yeager hasn't believed he deserved love for a long time. Accursed to live in desolation and emptiness, with many leaving him — yet, Optimus challenges that in such resolute, untroubled manner. And of course, he would win. He knows he would win. Losing is unfathomable as it is impossible, and Optimus is one to tear his belittling walls, reminding him of a man that one Orion Pax loved infinitely. He proves it with his offered hand, and that is becoming customary — like a hammer tearing down his walls. Cade Yeager hops onto it without a doubt.
He's brought closer to him. And Cade eases finally, showered under his brisk blue orbs. Lights he would allow to be blinded by, if momentarily.
"We're okay, Prime. We're okay." He chants, words uttered wanting to be real. His hands open, as his heart does for him. Now and forever. "Come here, big guy."
It's as close to a hug as what it can be between them — Cade's dominant hand finds its place near his temple, and the other is somewhere beneath his chin. And Optimus… softens, by way his shoulder unwinds and loosens, succumbing into the tiny embrace.
"Your love runs deep for me," Optimus says, almost sounding like he'd found realization.
"That even a question?" Cade's a bit baffled — that even now, despite all they've endured, through all that they've been tested, his skepticism remains. But one he'll continually break forever and after. "I love you, Optimus. I've BEEN in love with you. I love you so much, it's... it's scary. I don't know if that's the right word but yeah. I love you. I've loved you for a long time."
Cade smiles gently, an action that shouldn't matter greatly — but it is. A legitimate resurgence of content that had disabled his underlying fear and doubt, happiness he finds coursing through within, travelling across his body. It's an elation that can never be mimicked, reserved truly for Optimus. It lightens him, as though he lost his footing and grip, as though he can dance around amongst the birds and stars in the skies. Cade feels… alive.
"I love you as well."
Cade's features freeze, hands reeled back to their sides, knees weakening, undoubtedly shocked to his core. He pulls himself back, admittedly almost losing balance. Almost losing focus. Eyes widened, lips slightly ajar. Something unprepared that rendered him immobile, nearly to an abrupt trance.
When Cade breathes again, it's as though he surfaced himself after having drowned.
"Can you- can you say that again," Cade stutters, water dwelling in his eyes. "Please?"
When Optimus speaks, it's as though every word gives life inside, saving him.
“I love you, Cade Yeager.” Optimus smiles so wonderfully, a hand tracing the very outline of his human fondly. His touch sends shivers, his gaze sends adoration. It's as much of a quiet display and devotion to Cade and nothing else, or simply a forgotten reminder — that his being belongs to Cade Yeager. And that, in spite of everything, has never changed. "I loved you all those years ago. I still love you now."
A silent gasp escapes. He's stricken to another voiceless stupor — Cade has always… he'd always thought that he'd be strong enough, a hardened shell of experience. That, wordlessly, he knew their love existed as though it was common, as much as he knew the colours of the rainbow or that gravity existed. Yet, to hear Optimus say it — a verbal confession to something he'd thought unbelievable, his soul cries as though it was a needy child in search of affection and attention. A reduction of himself displayed, but something he'll allow to expel, if only this once.
Stifled sobs break through his walls, his breathing shortens. And his tears run down finally, a flurry of his emotions cascading out.
Cade cries the tears he's been holding for so, so long.
And Optimus speaks in a strained, broken cry, almost out of voice — his spark hurting as much as it did when he left his human.
“I am sorry, my love.” He's attempting to calm them both, raising his hand to stroke soothingly behind the human. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I've failed you. I’m sorry for leaving you and Tessa. I’m sorry for all that I've caused."
“I- I thought I lost you, big guy.” Cade stammers in between sobs. “I thought something bad happened to you."
“Oh, my Cade.” Glitches emerge from his voice as though it was a hiccup. “My beautiful Cade.”
They'd lean themselves to each other like departed souls finding a way to bridge the distance. Cade questions how this ever came to be — in the expanse of space, in the mysteries of the unknown, in the heart of Texas, that Optimus found him like a moth seeking flames for light and comfort, and vice versa. How they become each other's flames is something beyond the both of them, yet had occurred so naturally and without thought, but also as simple as opening one's heart. But 'how' matters only partly in the present moment, because right now, all that is important is their presence finally reuniting in the wrecked aftermath of a disaster.
And when Cade arches himself upwards, drifting closer and closer, Optimus dips his helm and seals his optics, their lips meeting, one metal and the other flesh. When they kiss, fireworks blaze delightfully in the background. Like a hit of nostalgia and something they'd call home, but also something incredibly more than that. Like a lifeline intent to aid his survival. Like a craving that begged to be done over and over again, bordering an addictive drug. Like the pieces of a story in preordained fate. It was tender, as it is searing hot — a warmth within burning ardently, their fire growing. It felt like everything.
Cade parts the kiss first, a small laugh rising, blended with his subsiding tears. He's flushed, and realized he'd kissed the Autobot, someone multiple times his height. But it worked. Before he knew it, Optimus initiated the second kiss gently.
It takes only seconds before they find the compromised angle, and the contact is burning. Fire he'd let engulfed him.
It's in the third attempt that Cade draws his head back, eyes glancing at the beautiful orbs, trying to redirect the priority to something crucial.
"What are we?" Cade asks, though they both know the answer.
"We are whatever you want. Wherever you go, I will follow. Whatever you choose, I will respect.” Optimus answers, pausing, hastily adding, “If you will have me, that is."
"I want us together, Optimus,” Cade replies. “Just like how things were."
"You're certain?"
The human nods, confidence established. "Do you trust me?"
Cade asked him this time, a repeat of the same question how many years ago.
"I love you, my Cade." Is all Optimus says, reaching for another kiss.
As he sinks into renewed the fire burning his spark.
====================