Small and slender, her hand all but vanished in his, the plating of her fingers marked with the scratches and scrapes a ship's engineer couldn't help but collect, little things that would heal themselves and leave no scars on her hands or her mind. Nautica would not have made it through the war whole, whether she died outright or merely survived with the sparklight behind her optics turned cold and hard.

Not thinking of wars or even of violence, she smiled up at Optimus, happy to hold his hand if that was what he felt like doing. "I am entirely relaxed," she informed him.