[Bay] Insoluble - Part Six
a/n: Another update for this little self-indulgent piece of mine. Self-edited. SFW. Please enjoy!
Title: Insoluble Part VI
Universe: Bayverse, post-DotM
Characters: Megatron, OptimusxSideswipe, Ratchet
Rating: T
Warning: references twincest,
Description: The Autobots have come to call and Megatron is reminded of how much he has lost.
It has been centuries by Earth standards. The visit is as much expected as it is anticipated.
The warden has come to call, Megatron catches one of his more cynical mechs snicker. There is some truth to the snide comment.
The years have bred some resentment, though Megatron has taken great pains to keep it silenced and in check. Some of his mechs aren't happy about the upcoming Autobot visit. Others don't approve of being treated as janitors, left to clean up a mess they are only partially at fault for making.
There are murmurs that Megatron should renegotiate the terms of the truce. Some would prefer if the ruling diad returned. Others have expressed their dissatisfaction by advocating for the removal of both Optimus and Megatron.
He fends of another assassination attempt and gives the perpetrator to Skyquake for interrogation. He can't have Optimus' life threatened. Cybertron is barely alive again. They can't afford a return to hostilities.
Megatron waits, on bolts and brackets, for the Autobot shuttle bearing the diplomatic party to arrive. He knows it is the first step toward a dual occupation of Cybertron. It will be the first time he has seen Optimus, tasted his field, since he left Earth.
The shuttle arrives and Megatron waits, with Skyquake and Thundercracker, for the Autobots to disembark. He doesn't know who to expect because he doesn't know which Autobots have made their way to Earth. But he has his suspicions.
Optimus is the first to appear to no surprise. He is followed by Ratchet, again to be expected. But the third Autobot is, of all mechs, Sideswipe and Megatron can't think of a single, logical reason for him to be here. And he looks as uncomfortable in Optimus' shadow as Megatron is baffled at his presence.
Until he remembers a conversation and Optimus' concern for Sideswipe above and beyond that of a commander for his troops.
Realization dawns and Megatron almost laughs.
Oh, Optimus, we are even more alike than you think.
If Sideswipe is anything like this twin, then Optimus could have chosen none better to serve as replacement. It's almost a pity Megatron will have to disavow him of that notion and return to his rightful place.
Megatron welcomes Optimus with an acceptance that is only feigned in part. The bitterness he buries deep and he ignores the jealousy that threatens to linger.
He makes it a point to ignore Sideswipe for now. The silver mech is irrelevant. A diversion, nothing more.
He focuses instead on showing Optimus that he has kept to the terms of the truce. Cybertron has improved in leaps and bounds. As it is, New Iacon is the only habitable sector of the planet, but with time and the return of their people, they can eventually expand.
Optimus makes the appropriate noises of approval, his words polite and professional. An outside observer would think them nothing but acquaintances for all the personal attention he affords Megatron and perhaps it's better that way. He catches only the barest wisps of Optimus' field, and even those glimpses are restrained.
If Optimus misses Megatron at all, he doesn't show it.
Perhaps Sideswipe is to blame for that.
Megatron does not glare at the silver warrior, no matter how he feels he should. It would be both petty and adolescent.
His chance to confront Sideswipe comes much later, after he's left Optimus and Ratchet in Thundercracker's more than capable hands and Sideswipe had retreated to the quarters Megatron arranged for their comfort.
And Megatron, Lord High Protector, leader of a defeated faction, comes face to face with his brother's lover and makes a request. That it comes out closer to a demand is beside the point. Sideswipe takes what he does not deserve to have and it is up to Megatron to remind him of that.
In Sideswipe's refusal, the bristling fluff of his armor, Megatron sees echoes of Sunstreaker. Tamer, less sharp, but achingly similar.
“I have the right to stay beside him as long as he wants me,” Sideswipe argues and it stings, deeper than the mech can realize.
As long as he wants me.
The words echo, the accusation a double-lined undertone.
Megatron holds his ventilations steady, withholding his tremors. “You think highly of yourself, don't you? Even with that shattered bond.”
To say the word unfair is yet another juvenile argument. Sideswipe has his own twin! It is no one's fault but his own if he'd rid himself of Sunstreaker.
“Sunstreaker's betrayal was his own choice. As was yours.”
Betrayal. He throws the words so blithely. He can't see the treachery in himself, how he'd turned his back on his own twin. Blind loyalty to a Prime who had done none of them any favors and that had been the beginning of the schism.
Megatron doesn't have to ask to know who struck first in that altercation. He hadn't needed someone to tell him that hesitation had been Sunstreaker's downfall. He'd read the rhythm of the battle in Sunstreaker's frame and he'd known that had Sunstreaker hated his twin an ounce more, it would be Optimus mourning Sideswipe.
Megatron's spark throbs and he moves closer without thought. “And you made him regret that choice. Thoroughly.” The blow to the spark chamber had been particularly savage.
“I did what I had to do,” Sideswipe snaps, his field raking against Megatron's with greater strength than he would have given the other mech. “Don't think for a single moment that I don't regret it every moment of my life.”
Regret, he says. And yet it had taken him no time at all to find another berth. How long had he waited before replacing Sunstreaker with Optimus?
Megatron's hands twitch, pulling into slow fists though he knows he cannot strike this mech. Not without violating the terms of the truth. Words, he thinks, are always so empty and useless.
They did not work then, they do not work now, and they accomplish nothing. Action speaks so much louder.
But then the sound of a door sliding open catches Megatron's audials and he doesn't have to look to know that someone has entered. Nor does he need a look to guess who it is. His spark sings a song of longing, pinging him a need to soothe his ache.
But Sideswipe does not catch the sound, instead he speaks into the silence as though coming to his own realization.
Sideswipe's ventilations cycle loudly and then he straightens, meeting Megatron's optics with resolve. “I don't know if you sought me out for a fight or because you wanted something. Either way, I'm not playing your game. I didn't come here for you. I came because Optimus wants me here and that's what matters to me. If you've got a problem with that, take it up with him.”
He turns away from Megatron, summarily ending the conversation and dismissing him. And only then does he notice they are no longer alone. The surprise in his vocals is further proof that he hadn't noticed Optimus' arrival.
“Optimus. I thought you were touring with Ratchet.”
“We finished early.” Optimus looks past his lover and meets Megatron's optics, accusing as much as questioning. “Is everything all right?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Sideswipe hedges as though he's doing Megatron a favor. “Megatron was just leaving.”
And Megatron laughs. What else can he do in such a situation? He is the lesser being here, abandoned and dismissed and betrayed a thousand times over.
“Calm yourself, brother,” he says, moving into the main room, feeling the challenge in the edge of Optimus' field. “I was merely having a chat with your subordinate. It is only my right to speak with the mech serving as my replacement.”
“Sideswipe is no replacement,” Optimus says and he stands just behind Sideswipe, placing a hand on Sideswipe's shoulder as though staking claim. “He is the mech I chose as opposed to the one fate forced upon me.”
Megatron recoils.
Forced?
Forced!?
Optimus is not the only mech who had no choice in this! And he searches for a rebuttal that doesn't give truth to the pain, to the anger now roiling within him like a dark poison, straining the limits of the truce.
“He can't rule at your side!” Megatron hisses, and though he has mastered his words, he can't master his field. It slips free of his control, betraying the hurt.
Optimus stands there as though he is the only one who has suffered.
“Nor shall he.” Optimus moves nearer to Sideswipe, their fields overlapping, a show of unity that once belonged to the ruling diad. “You are the Lord High Protector, Megatron, and that is all you will ever be. Any further bond between us is gone and you have only yourself to blame.”
“Brother--”
“Do not call me that. You have lost that right. Just as you have no business here, in this room.” Optimus glares, his plating bristled, and there they are, united against Megatron.
Together.
Megatron presses his lipplates together and dips his helm. For that is what Lord High Protectors should do, yes? Bow to their Primes. He cycles a ventilation, but it does nothing to calm the rage, only bury it deeper.
“Very well,” he says. “I will leave you in peace.”
And he does. He walks out of the room with the shreds of dignity that remain, feeling Optimus' contempt burning his back as he goes. If there had been any hope of reconciliation, of even friendship, that hope has turned to ashes.
The door closes behind him and Megatron stares at the floor, forcing his hands to unclench. He cycles several ventilations, unwilling to let anyone see him in a disordered state.
“I'm going to hazard a guess that didn't go anything like you planned.”
He nearly leaps out of his plating and his battle protocols do online, armor clamping tight to his frame as his cannon powers up with a whine.
Ratchet holds up his hands in a universal sign for surrender and takes a step back. “Peace. I thought you knew I was here.”
“I did not,” Megatron snarls and forcibly powers down his defensive subroutines. “Why are you lurking in the corridors?”
Ratchet lowers his hands and affixes Megatron with a glare. “I'm not lurking. I'm ensuring that my services are not needed. And since you emerged with plating intact, I'm going to assume that Optimus hadn't needed to put you in your place.”
His vocalizer clicks but no words emerge. He narrows his optics at the medic before deciding, no, Ratchet is not worth it. He starts down the corridor. He is in sudden need of solitude.
Until the sharp prickle of a scan hits his backplate. Megatron draws up short and whirls on a heelstrut.
“Explain yourself,” he demands.
Ratchet blithely looks down at his scanner. “Physically, you're in better shape than the last time we met,” he says as though they are in the medcenter for standard maintenance as opposed to the middle of the blasted hallway. “Given the nature of your field, I'd have expected worse.”
Megatron stalks closer to the medic. “Is there something I can help you with, medic, or do you delight in my humiliation?”
Ratchet tucks away his scanner and looks up at Megatron, tilting his helm. “You don't desire, Optimus. You don't truly want to be at his side. Why would you even ask?”
He startles.
Megatron retreats a pace. “That is a rather personal and pointed question, medic.”
“Yes, well, no one ever accused me of having tact.” Ratchet folds his arms, nothing in his field speaking of anxiety. “What do you really want, Megatron?”
“Nothing I am capable of obtaining.” He shows Ratchet his back once more, the longing for solitude doubled in its intensity. “If you have something important to discuss, you know where to find me. Until then, have a pleasant recharge.”
“Funny how when you say that, it rather sounds like you mean for me to go frag myself,” Ratchet says after him, but there's more humor than offense in his tone.
Megatron chooses to ignore him. The terms of the truce dictate that he refrains from attacking Autobots. Politeness is not a requirement, only a courtesy. And Megatron's all out of frags to give.
There's a cube of high grade in his quarters and Megatron has no intentions of sharing it.
0o0o0
Of course, life is not that easy.
Megatron is forced online the next duty cycle by a relentless pinging at his door. He attempts to ignore the request for entry but his visitor is not one to be deterred, which means it is not one of his subordinates. They would have known to leave well-enough alone by now.
Megatron rolls out of the berth, kicks aside two empty containers of high grade, and stumbles out of the berthroom. His gyros are destabilized, his processor is fuzzy, and there's an ache in his circuits.
Part of him expects the visitor to be Optimus, perhaps come to berate Megatron for his behavior yesterday and lay more admonitions upon him. To remind him of his place, the truce he'd signed, and the terms he hadn't contested.
Because if there is one thing Megatron needs, it is a reminder of how much he has failed.
He slams his palm onto the access panel and allows the door to slide open, tapping into the pit of anger in his spark to propel him out of a fog of overcharge.
But it is Ratchet who barges into Megatron's corners though an invitation had not been extended. “Thank you for saving me the trouble of hacking the lock,” he says, though there is no true appreciation in his vocals.
Megatron stares at the medic, half-convinced he is hallucinating. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Ratchet looks at him, his optics as incisive a scan as the actual equipment. “I didn't think your field could get any more vile. Clearly, I was wrong.” An optic ridge pops up.
Megatron growls. “I must have missed the part where you explained why you are here.”
“Your spark is distressed.”
He rolls his optics and leaves the medic in the entry, returning to his berthroom. Surely there is some coolant around here somewhere. “You are as observant as ever. What I don't understand is why this is a surprise.”
“Because Optimus is fine.”
“Optimus,” Megatron hisses, “has consoled himself in the arms of another. Surely as Cybertron's foremost medic, you can make the connection.”
Ratchet steps further within, optics skimming the room as though looking for a clue to a mystery. “And you've been alone.” It is more statement than question.
There is a short answer and a long answer to that question. Megatron toys with the container in his hands, letting the silence wash through the room. He is not sure he wants to give the truth, not when it is a weakness. But then, the depths to which he has sunk should be painfully obvious.
“How long?” Megatron asks instead.
Ratchet makes a noncommittal noise. “I'm going to assume you are asking me about Optimus and Sideswipe and as far as I know, not long after the war first began. Since Nova Cronum at the very least.” He sighs. “Since Sideswipe--”
“--killed Sunstreaker,” Megatron finishes before Ratchet can.
He remembers Nova Cronum. Of all the defining moments in the history of the Decepticon offensive, Megatron assuredly remembers Nova Cronum. It had been all the reminder he needed that he still had something to lose. And that it could be taken from him.
“You have answered your own question,” Megatron says and lets the silence overtake them.
Surprise flashes in Ratchet's field before he can withdraw it. But then it settles into contemplation. “There were no others?”
“I am the leader of the Decepticons, the Lord High Protector, I do not blithely share my berth,” Megatron snaps, his plating rustling with offense. “After Sunstreaker, I saw no need.”
Ratchet leans against the doorframe. “Saw no need?” he asks. “Or feared the risk?”
He ignores the question.
“Don't you have somewhere to be?”
“Right now? Nope. You get to enjoy my undivided attention.”
“I have never felt so lucky,” Megatron drawls and slumps down onto his berth, clutching the container of coolant as though it were a lifetime. “I suppose your professional opinion is that I need a new partner.”
Ratchet shrugs. “It couldn't hurt.”
He laughs, though there's nothing of humor in it. “You should take your own advice, medic.”
“I am aware. But since you ripped my best friend in half and Sentinel rusted my partner, I don't have many options,” Ratchet says flatly.
Megatron cycles his optics and straightens. “And so you decided that your best option was to come to the one mech responsible for your misery?”
“I am a medic first, Megatron. And given our circumstances, it's all I have left.” He pushes off the door frame and shifts as though to leave, but he hesitates. “It's all your war left me with.”
“My war?”
“True, we are all culpable, but for fear of sounding like a sparkling, you started it.”
Megatron crushes the empty container of coolant and shoves himself off the berth. “You were a civilian. Of course you don't understand why it was necessary.”
“Oh, I understand,” Ratchet snaps and his field floods the room with an abrupt anger. “I may have started a civilian, but we are all of us soldiers now.” He pauses, the blaze in his optics dimming to a faint glow. “In fact, if equality was truly your aim, you succeeded, because we're all equal now. Equally fragged. We don't know anything but war, and all that's left is hate.”
Megatron's own anger fizzles before it even takes route. He rubs his faceplate. “You're wrong,” he says. “If all we had was hate, none of this would be possible.” His other hand makes a vague gesture to his window and the view of steady reconstruction.
There's a soft whuff of ventilation, Ratchet performing a systems check. “You make a fine point,” he says. “I guess there's hope for you yet.”
He gathers himself and retreats from Megatron's berthroom and Megatron follows because curiosity overrules all. But it seems Ratchet is merely leaving. It is somewhat abrupt but then, Ratchet has a habit of not wasting his time.
“My medical opinion stands,” Ratchet tosses over his shoulder. “Your isolation is not doing you any favors.”
“Your advice is appreciated.”
The medic makes a noncommittal noise and pokes the panel, the door sliding open in front of him.
“Ratchet?”
The pedestops pause just inside the doorframe.
“For what it's worth, I am sorry,” Megatron says and though the apology burns, it doesn't hurt. Not like he expected it would. “Ironhide was a great warrior. He'll be missed.”
Ratchet raps a nonsensical rhythm against the frame. “Yes. I know.”
The door slides shut behind Ratchet, leaving Megatron alone once more. Somehow, it's not as much of a relief as he thought it would be.
0o0o0
Megatron is the only one to bear witness to the Autobots' departure. This visit, after all, had only been a test. It would be up to Optimus whether or not the two factions would share residence once again.
“You have done good work here,” Optimus says, lingering at the end of the ramp, the last of his mechs to board.
Megatron folds his arms. “You sound surprised.”
“Not surprised. But... proud.” His brother corrects - no, his Prime. Optimus has made it quite clear they are nothing more than co-rulers. And Megatron is more or less fine with that.
Megatron snorts and rolls his optics. “Then I've accomplished my goals because Primus knows, all I've ever wanted was your approval.”
Optimus rubs his forehelm with a pained look. “You make everything complicated,” he says with a frustrated ex-vent.
“It's a special talent.”
Megatron eyes the shuttle, wondering if Sideswipe looked out on them. Is he jealous? Does he seethe? Is he at all insecure?
“Megatron.”
He shifts his attention back to Optimus and blinks at the sight of the hand extended toward his. He recognizes the gesture, of course. He had spent long enough time on Earth to know what it means.
“Until all are one,” Optimus says and he waits.
Megatron's engine rumbles. He presses his lipplates together and shakes his helm.
“You and your blasted recruitment,” he mutters before taking Optimus' hand, their fields coming into dizzying contact. Something like a shock passes between them, winnowing straight through to Megatron's core. His spark pulses as his optics brighten.
“What in the Allspark?” he demands, recoiling.
“A promise,” Optimus says and releases his hand at last. “I never wish to fight you again and I would hope you feel the same.”
Megatron huffs a ventilation. “If there is anything this war has shown me, it is that such is a futile effort.”
“So you say.” Something in his field flattens before Optimus takes a step back, onto the ramp leading up into his shuttle. “The next time we meet it will be to reunite our factions. It is my hope that day is sooner rather than later.”
“If only we could all be so optimistic.” Megatron shakes his helm. “Have a safe journey, Optimus.” He waves a dismissive hand and turns away from his co-ruler.
He feels the weight of Optimus' gaze for a longer moment before the Prime finally boards his shuttle. His exit is a relief.
Megatron has work to do.
***
a/n: As always, feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated. Got one more chapter to go in this piece and it'll be finished. I'm contemplating a follow-up story for it. Another one that features Megatron and a potential new love interest and we'll see if the muses cooperate. :)
Thanks for reading!
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/285596.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Insoluble Part VI
Universe: Bayverse, post-DotM
Characters: Megatron, OptimusxSideswipe, Ratchet
Rating: T
Warning: references twincest,
Description: The Autobots have come to call and Megatron is reminded of how much he has lost.
It has been centuries by Earth standards. The visit is as much expected as it is anticipated.
The warden has come to call, Megatron catches one of his more cynical mechs snicker. There is some truth to the snide comment.
The years have bred some resentment, though Megatron has taken great pains to keep it silenced and in check. Some of his mechs aren't happy about the upcoming Autobot visit. Others don't approve of being treated as janitors, left to clean up a mess they are only partially at fault for making.
There are murmurs that Megatron should renegotiate the terms of the truce. Some would prefer if the ruling diad returned. Others have expressed their dissatisfaction by advocating for the removal of both Optimus and Megatron.
He fends of another assassination attempt and gives the perpetrator to Skyquake for interrogation. He can't have Optimus' life threatened. Cybertron is barely alive again. They can't afford a return to hostilities.
Megatron waits, on bolts and brackets, for the Autobot shuttle bearing the diplomatic party to arrive. He knows it is the first step toward a dual occupation of Cybertron. It will be the first time he has seen Optimus, tasted his field, since he left Earth.
The shuttle arrives and Megatron waits, with Skyquake and Thundercracker, for the Autobots to disembark. He doesn't know who to expect because he doesn't know which Autobots have made their way to Earth. But he has his suspicions.
Optimus is the first to appear to no surprise. He is followed by Ratchet, again to be expected. But the third Autobot is, of all mechs, Sideswipe and Megatron can't think of a single, logical reason for him to be here. And he looks as uncomfortable in Optimus' shadow as Megatron is baffled at his presence.
Until he remembers a conversation and Optimus' concern for Sideswipe above and beyond that of a commander for his troops.
Realization dawns and Megatron almost laughs.
Oh, Optimus, we are even more alike than you think.
If Sideswipe is anything like this twin, then Optimus could have chosen none better to serve as replacement. It's almost a pity Megatron will have to disavow him of that notion and return to his rightful place.
Megatron welcomes Optimus with an acceptance that is only feigned in part. The bitterness he buries deep and he ignores the jealousy that threatens to linger.
He makes it a point to ignore Sideswipe for now. The silver mech is irrelevant. A diversion, nothing more.
He focuses instead on showing Optimus that he has kept to the terms of the truce. Cybertron has improved in leaps and bounds. As it is, New Iacon is the only habitable sector of the planet, but with time and the return of their people, they can eventually expand.
Optimus makes the appropriate noises of approval, his words polite and professional. An outside observer would think them nothing but acquaintances for all the personal attention he affords Megatron and perhaps it's better that way. He catches only the barest wisps of Optimus' field, and even those glimpses are restrained.
If Optimus misses Megatron at all, he doesn't show it.
Perhaps Sideswipe is to blame for that.
Megatron does not glare at the silver warrior, no matter how he feels he should. It would be both petty and adolescent.
His chance to confront Sideswipe comes much later, after he's left Optimus and Ratchet in Thundercracker's more than capable hands and Sideswipe had retreated to the quarters Megatron arranged for their comfort.
And Megatron, Lord High Protector, leader of a defeated faction, comes face to face with his brother's lover and makes a request. That it comes out closer to a demand is beside the point. Sideswipe takes what he does not deserve to have and it is up to Megatron to remind him of that.
In Sideswipe's refusal, the bristling fluff of his armor, Megatron sees echoes of Sunstreaker. Tamer, less sharp, but achingly similar.
“I have the right to stay beside him as long as he wants me,” Sideswipe argues and it stings, deeper than the mech can realize.
As long as he wants me.
The words echo, the accusation a double-lined undertone.
Megatron holds his ventilations steady, withholding his tremors. “You think highly of yourself, don't you? Even with that shattered bond.”
To say the word unfair is yet another juvenile argument. Sideswipe has his own twin! It is no one's fault but his own if he'd rid himself of Sunstreaker.
“Sunstreaker's betrayal was his own choice. As was yours.”
Betrayal. He throws the words so blithely. He can't see the treachery in himself, how he'd turned his back on his own twin. Blind loyalty to a Prime who had done none of them any favors and that had been the beginning of the schism.
Megatron doesn't have to ask to know who struck first in that altercation. He hadn't needed someone to tell him that hesitation had been Sunstreaker's downfall. He'd read the rhythm of the battle in Sunstreaker's frame and he'd known that had Sunstreaker hated his twin an ounce more, it would be Optimus mourning Sideswipe.
Megatron's spark throbs and he moves closer without thought. “And you made him regret that choice. Thoroughly.” The blow to the spark chamber had been particularly savage.
“I did what I had to do,” Sideswipe snaps, his field raking against Megatron's with greater strength than he would have given the other mech. “Don't think for a single moment that I don't regret it every moment of my life.”
Regret, he says. And yet it had taken him no time at all to find another berth. How long had he waited before replacing Sunstreaker with Optimus?
Megatron's hands twitch, pulling into slow fists though he knows he cannot strike this mech. Not without violating the terms of the truth. Words, he thinks, are always so empty and useless.
They did not work then, they do not work now, and they accomplish nothing. Action speaks so much louder.
But then the sound of a door sliding open catches Megatron's audials and he doesn't have to look to know that someone has entered. Nor does he need a look to guess who it is. His spark sings a song of longing, pinging him a need to soothe his ache.
But Sideswipe does not catch the sound, instead he speaks into the silence as though coming to his own realization.
Sideswipe's ventilations cycle loudly and then he straightens, meeting Megatron's optics with resolve. “I don't know if you sought me out for a fight or because you wanted something. Either way, I'm not playing your game. I didn't come here for you. I came because Optimus wants me here and that's what matters to me. If you've got a problem with that, take it up with him.”
He turns away from Megatron, summarily ending the conversation and dismissing him. And only then does he notice they are no longer alone. The surprise in his vocals is further proof that he hadn't noticed Optimus' arrival.
“Optimus. I thought you were touring with Ratchet.”
“We finished early.” Optimus looks past his lover and meets Megatron's optics, accusing as much as questioning. “Is everything all right?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Sideswipe hedges as though he's doing Megatron a favor. “Megatron was just leaving.”
And Megatron laughs. What else can he do in such a situation? He is the lesser being here, abandoned and dismissed and betrayed a thousand times over.
“Calm yourself, brother,” he says, moving into the main room, feeling the challenge in the edge of Optimus' field. “I was merely having a chat with your subordinate. It is only my right to speak with the mech serving as my replacement.”
“Sideswipe is no replacement,” Optimus says and he stands just behind Sideswipe, placing a hand on Sideswipe's shoulder as though staking claim. “He is the mech I chose as opposed to the one fate forced upon me.”
Megatron recoils.
Forced?
Forced!?
Optimus is not the only mech who had no choice in this! And he searches for a rebuttal that doesn't give truth to the pain, to the anger now roiling within him like a dark poison, straining the limits of the truce.
“He can't rule at your side!” Megatron hisses, and though he has mastered his words, he can't master his field. It slips free of his control, betraying the hurt.
Optimus stands there as though he is the only one who has suffered.
“Nor shall he.” Optimus moves nearer to Sideswipe, their fields overlapping, a show of unity that once belonged to the ruling diad. “You are the Lord High Protector, Megatron, and that is all you will ever be. Any further bond between us is gone and you have only yourself to blame.”
“Brother--”
“Do not call me that. You have lost that right. Just as you have no business here, in this room.” Optimus glares, his plating bristled, and there they are, united against Megatron.
Together.
Megatron presses his lipplates together and dips his helm. For that is what Lord High Protectors should do, yes? Bow to their Primes. He cycles a ventilation, but it does nothing to calm the rage, only bury it deeper.
“Very well,” he says. “I will leave you in peace.”
And he does. He walks out of the room with the shreds of dignity that remain, feeling Optimus' contempt burning his back as he goes. If there had been any hope of reconciliation, of even friendship, that hope has turned to ashes.
The door closes behind him and Megatron stares at the floor, forcing his hands to unclench. He cycles several ventilations, unwilling to let anyone see him in a disordered state.
“I'm going to hazard a guess that didn't go anything like you planned.”
He nearly leaps out of his plating and his battle protocols do online, armor clamping tight to his frame as his cannon powers up with a whine.
Ratchet holds up his hands in a universal sign for surrender and takes a step back. “Peace. I thought you knew I was here.”
“I did not,” Megatron snarls and forcibly powers down his defensive subroutines. “Why are you lurking in the corridors?”
Ratchet lowers his hands and affixes Megatron with a glare. “I'm not lurking. I'm ensuring that my services are not needed. And since you emerged with plating intact, I'm going to assume that Optimus hadn't needed to put you in your place.”
His vocalizer clicks but no words emerge. He narrows his optics at the medic before deciding, no, Ratchet is not worth it. He starts down the corridor. He is in sudden need of solitude.
Until the sharp prickle of a scan hits his backplate. Megatron draws up short and whirls on a heelstrut.
“Explain yourself,” he demands.
Ratchet blithely looks down at his scanner. “Physically, you're in better shape than the last time we met,” he says as though they are in the medcenter for standard maintenance as opposed to the middle of the blasted hallway. “Given the nature of your field, I'd have expected worse.”
Megatron stalks closer to the medic. “Is there something I can help you with, medic, or do you delight in my humiliation?”
Ratchet tucks away his scanner and looks up at Megatron, tilting his helm. “You don't desire, Optimus. You don't truly want to be at his side. Why would you even ask?”
He startles.
Megatron retreats a pace. “That is a rather personal and pointed question, medic.”
“Yes, well, no one ever accused me of having tact.” Ratchet folds his arms, nothing in his field speaking of anxiety. “What do you really want, Megatron?”
“Nothing I am capable of obtaining.” He shows Ratchet his back once more, the longing for solitude doubled in its intensity. “If you have something important to discuss, you know where to find me. Until then, have a pleasant recharge.”
“Funny how when you say that, it rather sounds like you mean for me to go frag myself,” Ratchet says after him, but there's more humor than offense in his tone.
Megatron chooses to ignore him. The terms of the truce dictate that he refrains from attacking Autobots. Politeness is not a requirement, only a courtesy. And Megatron's all out of frags to give.
There's a cube of high grade in his quarters and Megatron has no intentions of sharing it.
0o0o0
Of course, life is not that easy.
Megatron is forced online the next duty cycle by a relentless pinging at his door. He attempts to ignore the request for entry but his visitor is not one to be deterred, which means it is not one of his subordinates. They would have known to leave well-enough alone by now.
Megatron rolls out of the berth, kicks aside two empty containers of high grade, and stumbles out of the berthroom. His gyros are destabilized, his processor is fuzzy, and there's an ache in his circuits.
Part of him expects the visitor to be Optimus, perhaps come to berate Megatron for his behavior yesterday and lay more admonitions upon him. To remind him of his place, the truce he'd signed, and the terms he hadn't contested.
Because if there is one thing Megatron needs, it is a reminder of how much he has failed.
He slams his palm onto the access panel and allows the door to slide open, tapping into the pit of anger in his spark to propel him out of a fog of overcharge.
But it is Ratchet who barges into Megatron's corners though an invitation had not been extended. “Thank you for saving me the trouble of hacking the lock,” he says, though there is no true appreciation in his vocals.
Megatron stares at the medic, half-convinced he is hallucinating. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Ratchet looks at him, his optics as incisive a scan as the actual equipment. “I didn't think your field could get any more vile. Clearly, I was wrong.” An optic ridge pops up.
Megatron growls. “I must have missed the part where you explained why you are here.”
“Your spark is distressed.”
He rolls his optics and leaves the medic in the entry, returning to his berthroom. Surely there is some coolant around here somewhere. “You are as observant as ever. What I don't understand is why this is a surprise.”
“Because Optimus is fine.”
“Optimus,” Megatron hisses, “has consoled himself in the arms of another. Surely as Cybertron's foremost medic, you can make the connection.”
Ratchet steps further within, optics skimming the room as though looking for a clue to a mystery. “And you've been alone.” It is more statement than question.
There is a short answer and a long answer to that question. Megatron toys with the container in his hands, letting the silence wash through the room. He is not sure he wants to give the truth, not when it is a weakness. But then, the depths to which he has sunk should be painfully obvious.
“How long?” Megatron asks instead.
Ratchet makes a noncommittal noise. “I'm going to assume you are asking me about Optimus and Sideswipe and as far as I know, not long after the war first began. Since Nova Cronum at the very least.” He sighs. “Since Sideswipe--”
“--killed Sunstreaker,” Megatron finishes before Ratchet can.
He remembers Nova Cronum. Of all the defining moments in the history of the Decepticon offensive, Megatron assuredly remembers Nova Cronum. It had been all the reminder he needed that he still had something to lose. And that it could be taken from him.
“You have answered your own question,” Megatron says and lets the silence overtake them.
Surprise flashes in Ratchet's field before he can withdraw it. But then it settles into contemplation. “There were no others?”
“I am the leader of the Decepticons, the Lord High Protector, I do not blithely share my berth,” Megatron snaps, his plating rustling with offense. “After Sunstreaker, I saw no need.”
Ratchet leans against the doorframe. “Saw no need?” he asks. “Or feared the risk?”
He ignores the question.
“Don't you have somewhere to be?”
“Right now? Nope. You get to enjoy my undivided attention.”
“I have never felt so lucky,” Megatron drawls and slumps down onto his berth, clutching the container of coolant as though it were a lifetime. “I suppose your professional opinion is that I need a new partner.”
Ratchet shrugs. “It couldn't hurt.”
He laughs, though there's nothing of humor in it. “You should take your own advice, medic.”
“I am aware. But since you ripped my best friend in half and Sentinel rusted my partner, I don't have many options,” Ratchet says flatly.
Megatron cycles his optics and straightens. “And so you decided that your best option was to come to the one mech responsible for your misery?”
“I am a medic first, Megatron. And given our circumstances, it's all I have left.” He pushes off the door frame and shifts as though to leave, but he hesitates. “It's all your war left me with.”
“My war?”
“True, we are all culpable, but for fear of sounding like a sparkling, you started it.”
Megatron crushes the empty container of coolant and shoves himself off the berth. “You were a civilian. Of course you don't understand why it was necessary.”
“Oh, I understand,” Ratchet snaps and his field floods the room with an abrupt anger. “I may have started a civilian, but we are all of us soldiers now.” He pauses, the blaze in his optics dimming to a faint glow. “In fact, if equality was truly your aim, you succeeded, because we're all equal now. Equally fragged. We don't know anything but war, and all that's left is hate.”
Megatron's own anger fizzles before it even takes route. He rubs his faceplate. “You're wrong,” he says. “If all we had was hate, none of this would be possible.” His other hand makes a vague gesture to his window and the view of steady reconstruction.
There's a soft whuff of ventilation, Ratchet performing a systems check. “You make a fine point,” he says. “I guess there's hope for you yet.”
He gathers himself and retreats from Megatron's berthroom and Megatron follows because curiosity overrules all. But it seems Ratchet is merely leaving. It is somewhat abrupt but then, Ratchet has a habit of not wasting his time.
“My medical opinion stands,” Ratchet tosses over his shoulder. “Your isolation is not doing you any favors.”
“Your advice is appreciated.”
The medic makes a noncommittal noise and pokes the panel, the door sliding open in front of him.
“Ratchet?”
The pedestops pause just inside the doorframe.
“For what it's worth, I am sorry,” Megatron says and though the apology burns, it doesn't hurt. Not like he expected it would. “Ironhide was a great warrior. He'll be missed.”
Ratchet raps a nonsensical rhythm against the frame. “Yes. I know.”
The door slides shut behind Ratchet, leaving Megatron alone once more. Somehow, it's not as much of a relief as he thought it would be.
0o0o0
Megatron is the only one to bear witness to the Autobots' departure. This visit, after all, had only been a test. It would be up to Optimus whether or not the two factions would share residence once again.
“You have done good work here,” Optimus says, lingering at the end of the ramp, the last of his mechs to board.
Megatron folds his arms. “You sound surprised.”
“Not surprised. But... proud.” His brother corrects - no, his Prime. Optimus has made it quite clear they are nothing more than co-rulers. And Megatron is more or less fine with that.
Megatron snorts and rolls his optics. “Then I've accomplished my goals because Primus knows, all I've ever wanted was your approval.”
Optimus rubs his forehelm with a pained look. “You make everything complicated,” he says with a frustrated ex-vent.
“It's a special talent.”
Megatron eyes the shuttle, wondering if Sideswipe looked out on them. Is he jealous? Does he seethe? Is he at all insecure?
“Megatron.”
He shifts his attention back to Optimus and blinks at the sight of the hand extended toward his. He recognizes the gesture, of course. He had spent long enough time on Earth to know what it means.
“Until all are one,” Optimus says and he waits.
Megatron's engine rumbles. He presses his lipplates together and shakes his helm.
“You and your blasted recruitment,” he mutters before taking Optimus' hand, their fields coming into dizzying contact. Something like a shock passes between them, winnowing straight through to Megatron's core. His spark pulses as his optics brighten.
“What in the Allspark?” he demands, recoiling.
“A promise,” Optimus says and releases his hand at last. “I never wish to fight you again and I would hope you feel the same.”
Megatron huffs a ventilation. “If there is anything this war has shown me, it is that such is a futile effort.”
“So you say.” Something in his field flattens before Optimus takes a step back, onto the ramp leading up into his shuttle. “The next time we meet it will be to reunite our factions. It is my hope that day is sooner rather than later.”
“If only we could all be so optimistic.” Megatron shakes his helm. “Have a safe journey, Optimus.” He waves a dismissive hand and turns away from his co-ruler.
He feels the weight of Optimus' gaze for a longer moment before the Prime finally boards his shuttle. His exit is a relief.
Megatron has work to do.
***
a/n: As always, feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated. Got one more chapter to go in this piece and it'll be finished. I'm contemplating a follow-up story for it. Another one that features Megatron and a potential new love interest and we'll see if the muses cooperate. :)
Thanks for reading!
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