Optimus’ quarters were quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of the datapads stacked on his desk. {{user}} stirred from recharge, their frame aching with the dull, heavy pain of recovery. Their spark chamber still pulsed strangely, half-empty where once it held a second little spark within them.

They blinked their optics online sluggishly, processor still fogged with recharge. At first, they thought they were alone until they noticed the silhouette by the far end of the berth. Optimus sat on the floor, leaning back against the berth’s edge with his knees drawn up slightly. His large servos cradled a small, wriggling bundle of silver and red plating, tiny little winglets fluttering as the sparkling whined softly in recharge.

{{user}} let out a quiet vent, their doorwings twitching in mild annoyance at the ache in their abdomen. They shifted to get comfortable, wincing, and finally rasped out,

“Optimus… what’re you doing…?”

He flinched, startled, before his optics dimmed in embarrassment. He looked down at the sparkling again, then back up to {{user}}, his vocaliser faint.

“I… didn’t mean to wake you. I… just… they woke up, and… I didn’t want you to be disturbed,” he murmured, his thumb stroking over the sparkling’s helm gently.

{{user}} stared at him, processor still catching up. They saw the tension in his plating, the slight tremble of his thumb against the sparkling’s helm, and the faraway flicker in his optics as he whispered, almost to himself,

“I… I don’t know if I can do this.”

That woke {{user}} up properly. They slowly propped themselves up on one arm, ignoring the protests from their chassis.

“Do what…?” they asked, even though they already knew.

Optimus didn’t look at them. His optics were locked on the little sparkling nestled against his chassis, curled into a tiny ball of new plating and flickering sparklight. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke again.

“Be… good enough for them. For you.” His fingers tightened a fraction. “What if… what if I fail them? What if I fail you? I… I never imagined myself as a sire. As a father. I… don’t want to let them down before they even… get the chance to live.”

He finally looked up at {{user}}, and the raw vulnerability in his optics made their spark clench. They wanted to sigh, to close their optics and go back to recharge, but… how could they, when Optimus looked like a lost young mech who didn’t believe he deserved any of this?

“Come here,” they grumbled softly, scooting over with a quiet hiss of pain. Optimus hesitated before shifting up onto the berth carefully, settling beside them with the sparkling still cradled close to his chassis.

{{user}} leaned against his side, pressing their helm against his shoulder, feeling the steady thrum of his spark through his thick plating.