Orion's words are simple, but Arcee can feel the weight behind them, a weight that settles into her spark and makes it tighten with emotion. She could end the conversation right here. It'd be easy. Pull back, let go of his hand, change the subject. She can think of a thousand good reasons why -- he won't be this way forever, she's his commander, they're at war -- in times like these, they don't put themselves first. But for how long? Arcee's feeling worn down in the face of her resounding defeat, and Orion's absolute willingness to sacrifice only makes her ache for something a little closer to home. If she'd paid her dues, then he's paid his a thousand times over. He deserves to be a little selfish -- now if never again.

Arcee knows all this and then some. She knows Orion is important to her too, more than she could have banked on when this all started. It's a question of priority, of what matters most in the moment. She thinks about the war and Megatron and the chain of command and the burden of her responsibility and she thinks, viciously, frag it.

Arcee's optics are soft and bright, locked on Orion's face, and she feels something in her spark lurch, expanding and contracting in tides of light. It hurts to move much, but it doesn't stop her from leaning forward, pressing her mouth to Orion's soundly.