[TFA] ASD 17 - Push
a/n: Another update. Wahoo! The plot inches forward, moving toward the end of part one. A new character is introduced. Stuff happens. Enjoy!
Title: Push
Universe: TFA, Post S2 AU, The Art of Self-Destruction
Characters: Megatron, Turmoil, Optimus
Rating: K+
Warnings: None
Description: Optimus finally asks what Megatron wants from him.
For dellessa's flash fiction prompt of Megatron/Optimus, needy
He's spending more time than he cares to spend in communications, but with them speeding toward Cybertron, it is a necessary evil. He is so close to reclaiming his home that Megatron can almost taste it, sweet like victory on his glossa. Everything is going perfectly to plan, without a single hiccup to be found.
Even, dare he say, Optimus' progress. Megatron is most pleased with that development, though there is a particular anger that rises every time he thinks of the Decepticon protoforms that had been turned into Autobot minions. Ultra Magnus will pay for that.
Just as soon as Megatron reclaims Cybertron.
“And injuries?”
“None reported,” Turmoil replies, sounding bored. He, of all Megatron's commanders, is nearly the least respectful, only a step above Onslaught on account of the fact he's never tried to overthrow Megatron with Starscream's assistance.
“A few minor scrapes, but nothing requiring medical attention. Autobots weren't so lucky.” Turmoil grins, baring a row of sharpened denta that makes many uneasy, including no few Decepticons.
Megatron has heard rumors of what Turmoil gets up to in his spare time. But as no one has made an official complaint, he hasn't looked too deeply into it. And there is the small matter of him being out of commission for five decades and only recently returned. He'll have to deal with Turmoil later.
“Survivors?” Megatron asks.
“None,” Turmoil replies with far too much relish.
Megatron scrapes a palm down his face. “Did you even try to take prisoners?”
“I didn't see the point. I've no use for Autobots. Well, most of them at any rate. They are, occasionally, worth some entertainment. But this Prime was not.” Turmoil's vents huff in derision. “Far too noble for my tastes.”
“If we slaughter every Autobot we defeat, it will only be that much harder to take Cybertron without being forced to execute half the population,” Megatron says, something he's quite certain he's told Turmoil before. “So unless you want to reformat into a data clerk or an accountant, take prisoners.”
The dark mech rolls his optics and sags in the vid-screen. “Yes, my lord. I will keep that in mind for future endeavors. It is, sadly, too late for Hot Spot Prime and his team.”
Megatron's helm begins to ache. “Secure the space bridge and await my orders to attack,” he says, biting back a frustrated ex-vent. “You received Shockwave's script regarding Autobot communications?”
“Yes and I have passed it on to my CO.” Turmoil sounds bored and he shifts his weight, chair squeaking beneath his bulk. “But speaking of Autobots, if I might make a request.”
Megatron arches an orbital ridge. “You did not manage to acquire any prisoners for me, Turmoil. What makes you think you've earned one?”
“I've gained control of this space bridge. Isn't that enough?”
Insubordinate. Every last one of them. Megatron's field flickers with irritation but he reins it in.
“Make your case, Turmoil. I shall consider whether or not I'm feeling generous.”
Turmoil grins and leans forward, eagerness spelled across his faceplate. “When we take back Cybertron, I want Deadlock.”
Megatron frowns. “Who?” He doesn't recognize the name, but there is something familiar about it. He makes a mental note to look into this Deadlock.
Turmoil snorts. “He's an Autobot. Calls himself Drift now. Used to be my second until he defected. And we have a little score to settle.”
“I see.”
Megatron is almost willing to grant Turmoil that boon because if there's one thing he despises it is a mech who has turned away from the Decepticon cause. But given the rumors regarding Turmoil's track record, perhaps there is more to this situation than meets the optic. He is willing, for the moment, to give this Deadlock a chance to explain himself.
“I will consider your request,” Megatron says as he leans against the desk edge, clasping his hands in front of his mouth. “After all, rewards are certainly due those who are successful in my service.” Though he isn't about to reward any of his Decepticons with Autobot slaves.
That would defeat the purpose of convincing Optimus to defect to his side to help win the Autobot's favor. Oh, fear would cow the Autobots for a while, but eventually, they will do what Megatron has done, rise up and destroy their oppressors. Megatron wants to reclaim Cybertron and keep it, not embroil the planet in another war.
Turmoil tilts his helm, one functional optic gleaming at him. Come to think of it, Turmoil had been rather evasive when Megatron inquired about how he received the injury. And why he never saw fit to have it repaired.
“I have always been nothing if not--”
A relentless pinging at Megatron's door interrupts whatever self-glorious nonsense Turmoil had been about to spew. Megatron's optics narrow and he shifts his gaze to the security feed, finding that the little Prime is outside his door. He looks frazzled, but also determined.
Perhaps he has come to deliver good news.
Megatron smirks and slides his gaze back toward Turmoil.
“Wait for my signal,” Megatron says, excitement daring to stir within his spark. “I'll contact you when the times comes.”
He cuts the feed before Turmoil can protest and turns to face the door. He sends the signal for it to open and somehow manages to smooth the smirk from his face before Optimus Prime strides inside.
The Autobot is probably trying to mask his emotions, but the optics give him away. There's a grim determination present, as though he's come to a decision and no one will convince him away from it. Well. Megatron will see about that.
“Optimus, welcome,” Megatron says and gestures to the empty chair. “Please, have a seat. What can I do for you today?”
“Don't play me for a fool,” Optimus bites out as he lowers himself to the chair. His hands rest on his thighs as he sits to attention, as though he's been called before a tribunal. “I want to know what your endgame is.”
Megatron arches an orbital ridge. “The reclamation of Cybertron. I thought I had made that abundantly clear.”
“And the slaughter of the Autobots, too, no doubt.” Optimus is almost aggressive, as though he's angling for a fight. Perhaps trying to prove to himself that he is Autobot no matter his origin.
Megatron leans back in his chair. “When have I ever professed such an intention?”
Optimus' mouth opens as though ready to respond with a sharp retort, only to close again. He looks disgruntled. He folds his arms and leans back in his chair.
“It's pretty clear you don't like Autobots.”
“In general, yes.” Megatron let a slow smile creep over his lips. “But I've come to recognize the value of certain individuals.” He gives Optimus a long, lingering look, leaving no room for confusion as to who he meant.
Optimus' optics widen. He twitches. “Then what are you planning?” he demands, but there's a touch of color on his faceplate now.
“The liberation of Cybertron,” Megatron replies. At this point, there's little Optimus can do to screw up his plans, even if he did somehow become an expert computer hacker that could contact the Autobots and be believed. “And while, yes, some Autobots may die in the process, my goal is to regain control and keep it. Not wipe the planet clean. And that, dear Optimus, is where you come in.”
Optimus' frown deepens. “Explain.”
Any other mech and Megatron would have backhanded him for what is essentially an order. But he can be forgiven. He is this close. Megatron is sure of it. Optimus is teetering on the edge of Megatron's victory. All he needs is a little push.
“Starscream is dead,” Megatron says. “And I need a second in command. One the Autobots will trust.”
Optimus scoffs. “A mech who is all but half-Decepticon is an Autobot they'll trust.”
“They don't know what you are. No one has to know. It's no one's business but yours.”
Optimus presses his lips together and looks away, studying the wall behind Megatron with forced intent. “It would be a title in name only. I wouldn't have any influence.”
“Who says?”
Optimus' field spikes and he's too slow to reel it in, Megatron catching a glimpse of surprise and anger and disquiet.
“You would have an Autobot share your throne,” Optimus says slowly and his helm inches back toward Megatron.
“Advisor,” Megatron corrects. “And no. But I would have you.”
Optimus startles, physically jerking. His hands scrub down his thighs, clutching on his knees.
Megatron wonders if Optimus has ever heard someone say that to him before. Buried beneath Optimus' bravado is a streak of self-loathing, his self-confidence beaten down, no doubt by what happened to his schoolmate and the punishment that followed.
“I do believe that between you and I, we can make a change for the better,” Megatron says as he rises to his pedes and almost smirks as Optimus' optics follow him. The mix of suspicion and wariness is almost intoxicating.
He circles around his desk, keeping his gaze locked with Optimus'. “I need Autobots to be civilians as much as they need Decepticons to be soldiers. And if there are any that wish to change their future, we can arrange it. That is my dream, Optimus Prime. A Cybertron where every mech has the freedom to pursue his spark rather than his frame. Is that acceptable to you?”
Optimus' intake works. “Lofty goals,” he says, after an audible reboot of his vocalizer. “You almost sound like an idealist.”
“Almost?” Megatron repeats.
Optimus stares at his hands before dragging his optics slowly back to Megatron's face. “Your hands are a little too stained to give you that pass.”
If Optimus thinks that an insult, he is sorely mistaken. Megatron laughs and it's hard to keep the mockery from it.
“Oh, little Prime, there is so much you do not know about what it means to be a Decepticon. If there is energon on my hands, it is because your precious Autobots ensured I would put it there.”
Megatron shakes his helm and leans his hip against his desk, looking down at Optimus. “I want a better Cybertron and I believe you are the mech who can help me obtain it. And so I ask again, Optimus, there is a place for you at my side. If you want it.”
Blue optics widen. “That's not...” He pauses, cycles a ventilation, and straightens his shoulder. “And if I say no? Is it a choice between this or death?”
“No. Though you understand I can no longer let you roam my ship freely. You will be safely detained until I have retaken Cybertron, after which I will reevaluate your use. The same as with all the other Autobots I have in custody.” Megatron issues his most charming smile, one that had won him the loyalty of countless Decepticons.
His words do little to reassure the suspicious Prime.
Optimus does, however, rise to his pedes, keeping a fair distance between them. “Fine,” he says. “I'll... consider it.” He looks away, gnawing on his bottom lipplate. “You'll have your answer tomorrow.”
“I'll look forward to it with bated breath,” Megatron purrs.
Optimus' field spikes with surprise and his faceplate heats, an embarrassed reaction that shouldn't be as alluring as it is. He stammers something about needing some time to himself and all but flees, taking the enticing feel of his field with him.
Megatron watches him go with bemusement and shakes his helm. He is beginning to see what might have attracted Onslaught to Autobots in the first place. Though it is still a wonder. How does one even berth something that small without causing damage?
Megatron returns to his desk and the stacks of reports awaiting him, including missives from every one of his commanders and an updated timeline from Shockwave. They are speeding ever closer to Cybertron with Ultra Magnus and his fool of a council none the wiser.
Come this time next week, Megatron will finally set pede on his home planet again, and cycle familiar atmosphere through his vents.
He'll be home.
****
a/n: What does Turmoil have planned? Why did Deadlock leave the Decepticons? What is Optimus going to do? Will they ever get to the naughty stuff? How does one frag something that small? ;) Answers to come eventually.
I hope to update the nice and edited chapters this weekend. I'll let you know when I do.
I hope everyone is still enjoying. Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/292700.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Push
Universe: TFA, Post S2 AU, The Art of Self-Destruction
Characters: Megatron, Turmoil, Optimus
Rating: K+
Warnings: None
Description: Optimus finally asks what Megatron wants from him.
For dellessa's flash fiction prompt of Megatron/Optimus, needy
He's spending more time than he cares to spend in communications, but with them speeding toward Cybertron, it is a necessary evil. He is so close to reclaiming his home that Megatron can almost taste it, sweet like victory on his glossa. Everything is going perfectly to plan, without a single hiccup to be found.
Even, dare he say, Optimus' progress. Megatron is most pleased with that development, though there is a particular anger that rises every time he thinks of the Decepticon protoforms that had been turned into Autobot minions. Ultra Magnus will pay for that.
Just as soon as Megatron reclaims Cybertron.
“And injuries?”
“None reported,” Turmoil replies, sounding bored. He, of all Megatron's commanders, is nearly the least respectful, only a step above Onslaught on account of the fact he's never tried to overthrow Megatron with Starscream's assistance.
“A few minor scrapes, but nothing requiring medical attention. Autobots weren't so lucky.” Turmoil grins, baring a row of sharpened denta that makes many uneasy, including no few Decepticons.
Megatron has heard rumors of what Turmoil gets up to in his spare time. But as no one has made an official complaint, he hasn't looked too deeply into it. And there is the small matter of him being out of commission for five decades and only recently returned. He'll have to deal with Turmoil later.
“Survivors?” Megatron asks.
“None,” Turmoil replies with far too much relish.
Megatron scrapes a palm down his face. “Did you even try to take prisoners?”
“I didn't see the point. I've no use for Autobots. Well, most of them at any rate. They are, occasionally, worth some entertainment. But this Prime was not.” Turmoil's vents huff in derision. “Far too noble for my tastes.”
“If we slaughter every Autobot we defeat, it will only be that much harder to take Cybertron without being forced to execute half the population,” Megatron says, something he's quite certain he's told Turmoil before. “So unless you want to reformat into a data clerk or an accountant, take prisoners.”
The dark mech rolls his optics and sags in the vid-screen. “Yes, my lord. I will keep that in mind for future endeavors. It is, sadly, too late for Hot Spot Prime and his team.”
Megatron's helm begins to ache. “Secure the space bridge and await my orders to attack,” he says, biting back a frustrated ex-vent. “You received Shockwave's script regarding Autobot communications?”
“Yes and I have passed it on to my CO.” Turmoil sounds bored and he shifts his weight, chair squeaking beneath his bulk. “But speaking of Autobots, if I might make a request.”
Megatron arches an orbital ridge. “You did not manage to acquire any prisoners for me, Turmoil. What makes you think you've earned one?”
“I've gained control of this space bridge. Isn't that enough?”
Insubordinate. Every last one of them. Megatron's field flickers with irritation but he reins it in.
“Make your case, Turmoil. I shall consider whether or not I'm feeling generous.”
Turmoil grins and leans forward, eagerness spelled across his faceplate. “When we take back Cybertron, I want Deadlock.”
Megatron frowns. “Who?” He doesn't recognize the name, but there is something familiar about it. He makes a mental note to look into this Deadlock.
Turmoil snorts. “He's an Autobot. Calls himself Drift now. Used to be my second until he defected. And we have a little score to settle.”
“I see.”
Megatron is almost willing to grant Turmoil that boon because if there's one thing he despises it is a mech who has turned away from the Decepticon cause. But given the rumors regarding Turmoil's track record, perhaps there is more to this situation than meets the optic. He is willing, for the moment, to give this Deadlock a chance to explain himself.
“I will consider your request,” Megatron says as he leans against the desk edge, clasping his hands in front of his mouth. “After all, rewards are certainly due those who are successful in my service.” Though he isn't about to reward any of his Decepticons with Autobot slaves.
That would defeat the purpose of convincing Optimus to defect to his side to help win the Autobot's favor. Oh, fear would cow the Autobots for a while, but eventually, they will do what Megatron has done, rise up and destroy their oppressors. Megatron wants to reclaim Cybertron and keep it, not embroil the planet in another war.
Turmoil tilts his helm, one functional optic gleaming at him. Come to think of it, Turmoil had been rather evasive when Megatron inquired about how he received the injury. And why he never saw fit to have it repaired.
“I have always been nothing if not--”
A relentless pinging at Megatron's door interrupts whatever self-glorious nonsense Turmoil had been about to spew. Megatron's optics narrow and he shifts his gaze to the security feed, finding that the little Prime is outside his door. He looks frazzled, but also determined.
Perhaps he has come to deliver good news.
Megatron smirks and slides his gaze back toward Turmoil.
“Wait for my signal,” Megatron says, excitement daring to stir within his spark. “I'll contact you when the times comes.”
He cuts the feed before Turmoil can protest and turns to face the door. He sends the signal for it to open and somehow manages to smooth the smirk from his face before Optimus Prime strides inside.
The Autobot is probably trying to mask his emotions, but the optics give him away. There's a grim determination present, as though he's come to a decision and no one will convince him away from it. Well. Megatron will see about that.
“Optimus, welcome,” Megatron says and gestures to the empty chair. “Please, have a seat. What can I do for you today?”
“Don't play me for a fool,” Optimus bites out as he lowers himself to the chair. His hands rest on his thighs as he sits to attention, as though he's been called before a tribunal. “I want to know what your endgame is.”
Megatron arches an orbital ridge. “The reclamation of Cybertron. I thought I had made that abundantly clear.”
“And the slaughter of the Autobots, too, no doubt.” Optimus is almost aggressive, as though he's angling for a fight. Perhaps trying to prove to himself that he is Autobot no matter his origin.
Megatron leans back in his chair. “When have I ever professed such an intention?”
Optimus' mouth opens as though ready to respond with a sharp retort, only to close again. He looks disgruntled. He folds his arms and leans back in his chair.
“It's pretty clear you don't like Autobots.”
“In general, yes.” Megatron let a slow smile creep over his lips. “But I've come to recognize the value of certain individuals.” He gives Optimus a long, lingering look, leaving no room for confusion as to who he meant.
Optimus' optics widen. He twitches. “Then what are you planning?” he demands, but there's a touch of color on his faceplate now.
“The liberation of Cybertron,” Megatron replies. At this point, there's little Optimus can do to screw up his plans, even if he did somehow become an expert computer hacker that could contact the Autobots and be believed. “And while, yes, some Autobots may die in the process, my goal is to regain control and keep it. Not wipe the planet clean. And that, dear Optimus, is where you come in.”
Optimus' frown deepens. “Explain.”
Any other mech and Megatron would have backhanded him for what is essentially an order. But he can be forgiven. He is this close. Megatron is sure of it. Optimus is teetering on the edge of Megatron's victory. All he needs is a little push.
“Starscream is dead,” Megatron says. “And I need a second in command. One the Autobots will trust.”
Optimus scoffs. “A mech who is all but half-Decepticon is an Autobot they'll trust.”
“They don't know what you are. No one has to know. It's no one's business but yours.”
Optimus presses his lips together and looks away, studying the wall behind Megatron with forced intent. “It would be a title in name only. I wouldn't have any influence.”
“Who says?”
Optimus' field spikes and he's too slow to reel it in, Megatron catching a glimpse of surprise and anger and disquiet.
“You would have an Autobot share your throne,” Optimus says slowly and his helm inches back toward Megatron.
“Advisor,” Megatron corrects. “And no. But I would have you.”
Optimus startles, physically jerking. His hands scrub down his thighs, clutching on his knees.
Megatron wonders if Optimus has ever heard someone say that to him before. Buried beneath Optimus' bravado is a streak of self-loathing, his self-confidence beaten down, no doubt by what happened to his schoolmate and the punishment that followed.
“I do believe that between you and I, we can make a change for the better,” Megatron says as he rises to his pedes and almost smirks as Optimus' optics follow him. The mix of suspicion and wariness is almost intoxicating.
He circles around his desk, keeping his gaze locked with Optimus'. “I need Autobots to be civilians as much as they need Decepticons to be soldiers. And if there are any that wish to change their future, we can arrange it. That is my dream, Optimus Prime. A Cybertron where every mech has the freedom to pursue his spark rather than his frame. Is that acceptable to you?”
Optimus' intake works. “Lofty goals,” he says, after an audible reboot of his vocalizer. “You almost sound like an idealist.”
“Almost?” Megatron repeats.
Optimus stares at his hands before dragging his optics slowly back to Megatron's face. “Your hands are a little too stained to give you that pass.”
If Optimus thinks that an insult, he is sorely mistaken. Megatron laughs and it's hard to keep the mockery from it.
“Oh, little Prime, there is so much you do not know about what it means to be a Decepticon. If there is energon on my hands, it is because your precious Autobots ensured I would put it there.”
Megatron shakes his helm and leans his hip against his desk, looking down at Optimus. “I want a better Cybertron and I believe you are the mech who can help me obtain it. And so I ask again, Optimus, there is a place for you at my side. If you want it.”
Blue optics widen. “That's not...” He pauses, cycles a ventilation, and straightens his shoulder. “And if I say no? Is it a choice between this or death?”
“No. Though you understand I can no longer let you roam my ship freely. You will be safely detained until I have retaken Cybertron, after which I will reevaluate your use. The same as with all the other Autobots I have in custody.” Megatron issues his most charming smile, one that had won him the loyalty of countless Decepticons.
His words do little to reassure the suspicious Prime.
Optimus does, however, rise to his pedes, keeping a fair distance between them. “Fine,” he says. “I'll... consider it.” He looks away, gnawing on his bottom lipplate. “You'll have your answer tomorrow.”
“I'll look forward to it with bated breath,” Megatron purrs.
Optimus' field spikes with surprise and his faceplate heats, an embarrassed reaction that shouldn't be as alluring as it is. He stammers something about needing some time to himself and all but flees, taking the enticing feel of his field with him.
Megatron watches him go with bemusement and shakes his helm. He is beginning to see what might have attracted Onslaught to Autobots in the first place. Though it is still a wonder. How does one even berth something that small without causing damage?
Megatron returns to his desk and the stacks of reports awaiting him, including missives from every one of his commanders and an updated timeline from Shockwave. They are speeding ever closer to Cybertron with Ultra Magnus and his fool of a council none the wiser.
Come this time next week, Megatron will finally set pede on his home planet again, and cycle familiar atmosphere through his vents.
He'll be home.
****
a/n: What does Turmoil have planned? Why did Deadlock leave the Decepticons? What is Optimus going to do? Will they ever get to the naughty stuff? How does one frag something that small? ;) Answers to come eventually.
I hope to update the nice and edited chapters this weekend. I'll let you know when I do.
I hope everyone is still enjoying. Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/292700.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.