Ficlet: Book of Leaves
Here's to hoping that playing in the pre-2007 movie 'verse still counts. ^_^
Title: Book of Leaves
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related characters do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: A quiet evening alone. Megatron x Optimus.
Author’s Note: I wanted to see what would happen if I stopped agonizing over every line and piece of dialogue and just wrote something. It ended up being some Megatron/Optimus interaction, and it takes place pre-war, when Optimus and Megatron were ruling Cybertron together during its Golden Age.
8888
“We lost our bid to get on the trade committee,” Megatron said as he skimmed through the official notice on his datapad. “And the Chair is being awfully smug about it. Slag it all to the Pit,” he added vehemently as he threw the datapad to the side, letting it crash against the wall with a satisfying crack. “Our votes and petitions aren’t going to mean one damn thing, now.”
Megatron let himself fall into a nearby chair, hand coming up to his forehead as he felt the beginnings of a tell-tale ache in his processor. It was ridiculous, infuriating even, to be blocked by the Union. For them to do it so blatantly without sufficient reason to back the motion up, the Union members were indeed getting bold in challenging Cybertron’s seat in the General Assembly. Megatron looked over to the far side of the apartment, where, by the large bay windows that overlooked the Iacon skyline, stood his co-ruler. Optimus Prime had his back to Megatron, with his arms folded across his chest and remaining silent. He was a study in blue, outlined in the lights pouring in through the windows from the city-the only lighting, as Optimus had turned off the room’s overhead lights earlier in the evening. Having expected a response to his announcement, Megatron frowned.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
“They’ve almost finished the new monorail station,” Optimus said, nodding towards the construction site just visible amongst the spires and skyscrapers of Cybertron’s capital city. Weaving in and out of the towers were steady streams of air traffic: shuttles, individual Cybertronians, all mirroring the road traffic below. Iacon never seemed to quiet, never had a lull in its activity-so different from Optimus’s own hometown of Tyger Pax.
“It should be about another week or so before it’s operational,” Megatron replied, for the moment catering to Optimus’s blatant subject-avoidance. When Optimus fell quiet again, Megatron shook his head and stood, taking a second to brace himself before striding over to Optimus. “What’s wrong,” he pressed.
“It’s just been a long day,” Optimus answered, keeping his gaze forwards and on the city. Megatron stayed where he was, however, knowing that if he waited, Optimus would volunteer the information on his own. Optimus’s shoulders slumped minutely after a few long moments, and there was a soft exhalation of air through his vents-almost a sigh. “Do you remember telling you about my creator, Pyrous?”
Megatron nodded, and Optimus continued. “I heard something earlier that reminded me of him. I’ve just been missing him today, I guess.”
Megatron shifted, uncomfortable. He had never been good at comforting people, especially Optimus, whose sadness, when it surfaced, always seemed so untouchable.
“I’m sorry that he died,” Megatron said, offering up what he could.
“Thank you. You know, it happened such a long time ago, but…but some days, I just miss him so much that it almost hurts to move. And it’s usually when I most need his advice.”
“From what you’ve told me about him, it seems like he was quite the individual.”
Optimus smiled at this, but it was small, and shadowed. “He was. He made me into who I am. Everything I am, everything I think or say, I can trace it all back to him. Whether it was something he told me, or read to me, or taught me. I wouldn’t be who I am if it weren’t for Pyrous.”
Megatron took a step closer to Optimus, reaching out to run his fingers along the exposed plates of Optimus’s face. A gentle pressure turned Optimus’s head towards him, and Megatron stared into Optimus’s blue optics, making sure that he had his brother’s attention. “Then all of Cybertron owes Pyrous a great debt. Myself included.”
Optimus reached up to cover Megatron’s hand with his own, pressing slightly into the gentle contact. “You haven’t told me much about your creator,” he said.
“My creator,” Megatron repeated. “I haven’t talked to her in years. She’s…she’s a crazy, sadistic old bat.”
Optimus’s smile widened, the light in his optics brightening slightly. “Apple. Tree,” he teased as he pulled away from Megatron’s touch to walk back across the room.
“Another feeble attempt at humor, it’s very cute,” Megatron said as he sat down on the edge of Optimus’s recharge berth. Optimus stooped to pick up the datapad that Megatron had thrown aside and read through the letter from the IGU. “The only reason my creator went with me to decide on an alt. form was so she could heckle me.”
“Yes, yes, we all know that your upbringing screwed up your life. You have made that abundantly clear in the past,” Optimus said with a long-suffering air as he returned to his berth. He hopped up onto it, stretching out so that his lower leg was pressed up against Megatron’s hip. “So, we lost the bid.”
“Yes,” Megatron replied darkly, his mood shifting. “And for no other reason than the Chair wants to keep us from attaining the Tenth Seat. If we got into the top ten, it would knock the Digamma system out, and the Chair is allied with those senators.”
“Can we petition a bid re-evaluation?”
Megatron shook his head. “We could, but it wouldn’t do anything. The Chair has the Majority Whip on his side, any petition or bid we make is going to be blocked or result in a filibuster. The Chair is going to block us any way he can.”
“I don’t understand why,” Optimus said as he continued to skim through the datapad highlighting the minutes from the previous session. “The Chair has tried to make trade deals with Cybertron in the past-he wants our technology. If he let us in on the trade committee, he’d be in a better position to negotiate.”
“You’re right, he does want to trade with us. But not as badly as he fears us.”
“Fears us?”
“The Chair’s afraid that if we got into the top ten seats, we could start gathering influence to get the First Seat and become Chair. He doesn’t want to give up his power,” Megatron answered as he took the datapad from Optimus. “That slagging piece of scrap,” he grumbled.
“But I don’t care about having the Chair position,” Optimus countered. “All I wanted was for us to get on the trade committee so that we could try and get the our mining costs down. It’s nearly robbery what Rho is charging us for land use on moons that aren’t even inhabited.”
“Well, I’ll see if we can initiate an embargo with Rho. That will get their attention. But leave it to me. It’s a rotten, rotten business,” Megatron conceded as set the datapad aside and moved to stretch out alongside Optimus on the berth. “No place for someone like you,” he murmured, tilting Optimus’s head so that Megatron’s mouth plates were nearly brushing Optimus’s audio sensors.
“Gladly,” Optimus responded. “I could never be as ruthless as you are. And I’m not nearly as good at posturing.”
“I am a sight to behold,” Megatron said, making Optimus shake his head in exasperation.
“Speaking of which, did you happen to see that group of femmes at the last public hearing at Iacon’s City Hall?” Optimus questioned, poking Megatron in the chest. “All very lovely, and none could take their optics off of you the whole time you were speaking. Absolutely hanging on your every word-I could tell that they all wanted to be bonded to you.”
“Hmm,” Megatron hummed. “I wanted to be bonded to them, too.”
Optimus burst out laughing-a full, hearty sound that was priceless in its rarity, however short-lived it was. Still, his earlier sadness had all but dissolved, melted away by the lightness in his optics and the smile arching his facial plates. “You sure are full of it,” he said.
“I have to be,” Megatron responded, smirking as he ran a hand up Optimus’s arm, the tips of his fingers teasing the plates that covered connection ports. “Since you don’t give me any attention.”
“What!” Optimus exclaimed, incredulous, as he pushed Megatron’s hand away. It did little good, however, as Megatron instead lifted his hand up to stroke the tiny plates behind Optimus’s audio sensors. “I give you plenty of attention.”
“Then what was that the other day, when I had to make an appointment with your secretary to speak with you?” Megatron accused. Optimus gave another of his lilting, gentle laughs.
“Because I thought it was funny,” he answered. Megatron growled in response, internal systems revving as he abruptly shifted to bring himself on top of Optimus. It was easy to stop Optimus’s half-hearted resistance, his weight and size trapping Optimus’s legs while he pinned the Prime’s wrists to the berth. Megatron lowered his head, pressing his temple against Optimus’s armored head.
“You’re too good for someone like me,” he whispered. He moved his hands, letting Optimus open up his storage compartments in search of the connection cables and listening the sound of Optimus’s own plates shifting aside to reveal the thin, delicate ports. A Cybertronian’s cables and connection ports were not originally meant for linking two individuals-they were designed for communicating with sparkless machines, for networking to computers and hardline machines in order to retrieve and upload data or to diagnose software problems; it was easier than having to manually enter in information. However, at some point in the past, an enterprising individual had discovered that two individuals could connect to each other, and share information that way. While networking could be done wirelessly, and usually was, a hardline connection was far deeper, more solid, and more intense.
“And don’t you ever forget it,” Optimus responded before snapping the cables in place. Megatron jerked at the sudden connection, body stiffening before he relaxed into the link.
As soon as the cables connected, the data stream began, each thought and sensory input traveling in a cycle: from one, through the other, and back again. It was almost impossible to keep up, and near liberating in its irresistible, sweeping current. It was…a feeling of a dissolution of one’s self, of stretching, of soaking up sunlight, of breaking up into something larger. Their thoughts, their emotions, were one. It felt good, and raw.
We have to do something about this. We cannot let Cybertron continue to be undermined like this. We are stronger than they are.
And escalation? The Third Law, after all.
Let me handle it. You trust me, don’t you?
Yes. But I think I’m a little frightened of you, too.
Megatron tensed, unable to prevent a tiny lick of anger from seeping through the link. He felt Optimus recoil under it, and he quickly locked his cables in place, making it painful for Optimus to try and disconnect. Megatron hurried to soothe the sting, apologizing for his loss of control.
I have given you no reason to be afraid of me. I could not afford it.
Megatron settled more firmly atop of Optimus, who groaned slightly under the added weight and strain. Through the connection, Megatron probed at Optimus’s processor, urging him to initiate the sequence that would open his chest plates and expose his Spark. As expected, Optimus froze at the request, hesitant and cautious, but Megatron kept his prodding gentle.
Sparks were funny things, curious in every way. But perhaps the most intriguing was their polarity: the All Spark had its own unique magnetic signature, generating a specific polar directionality. Every so often, however, and without warning, the All-Spark’s magnetic signature would instantaneously reverse, causing a different alignment in a newborn individual’s Spark crystals than that of a Spark from the previous polar directionality. They were termed ‘normal’ and ‘reverse’ Sparks, and neither polarity was harmful or detrimental to an individual in anyway; the only difference between a normal and a reverse individual was the alignment of their Spark’s crystals.
It was what allowed for bonding.
Like a magnet, or a battery, two opposite polarity Sparks could bond to each other. Individuals with the same polarity could pair off and lead perfectly happy, monogamous lives, but only those of opposite polarities could bond. It was what made bonding so rare, since polar reversals in the All Spark occurred once every several hundred thousand years or so. Optimus Prime, like all the Primes before him, had a reverse Spark. Megatron knew his own to be of normal polarity-the All Spark had switched to reverse polarity shortly after his own ‘birth.’
We could bond, if we wanted, Megatron coaxed through their link. But we don’t have to.
Optimus relaxed at the assurance, and he let the locks holding his chest armor together release to expose his Spark. Megatron shifted, returning his grip to Optimus’s wrists and holding him firmly while he opened his own chest plates.
Why do you do that? Afraid I’ll fly away?
Try and fly from me, Optimus. Just try it. I could catch you. No, I’m afraid that you’d disappear. I’m sure I’m not allowed to have this sort of reward, not for things I think and do. …Would you want to bond with me?
But Optimus did not answer, his end of the link quiet and pensive, and Megatron closed the distance between them to bring their Sparks together.
The connection fluttered and caught, wrenching them both as negative and positive, light and dark, the paradox that was them came together in a strong undertoe of energy. Both tumbled like leaves in the wind, helplessly strangled and tangled and gasping for the wonderful stretching of being pulled to breaking point. It was a roar of sounds, a rush of solar wind, the crushing, undeniable weight of gravity-like a star pulling ever inwards on itself, straining so tightly before breaking in half and releasing outwards: the foundation of the universe itself.
This is how it’s meant to be
Megatron reared back, releasing his cables and closing his chest armor before he could not stop himself from bonding or from falling apart under the onslaught. A Spark connection was intense, and overwhelming, and could only last for so long before separation would be impossible. He collapsed next to Optimus, who was still and quiet.
“We are a most unusual pair,” Megatron said, earning the slightest of smiles from Optimus before it faded.
“Are you sure we’re okay?” Optimus asked, turning on his side. It was unusual, for him to assume such a recharge position-Optimus usually preferred recharging on his back, but Megatron let Optimus tuck in closer to hide from whatever sadness was still chasing him. They were strange, these moments. Beautiful and whole, but something was still dry, like leaves pressed into a book.
“We’ll think of something,” Megatron replied. Optimus nodded and pillowed his head on Megatron’s arm. Both remained awake for a long time afterwards, neither saying a word and trying to understand what was going wrong.
8888
END
Title: Book of Leaves
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related characters do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: A quiet evening alone. Megatron x Optimus.
Author’s Note: I wanted to see what would happen if I stopped agonizing over every line and piece of dialogue and just wrote something. It ended up being some Megatron/Optimus interaction, and it takes place pre-war, when Optimus and Megatron were ruling Cybertron together during its Golden Age.
8888
“We lost our bid to get on the trade committee,” Megatron said as he skimmed through the official notice on his datapad. “And the Chair is being awfully smug about it. Slag it all to the Pit,” he added vehemently as he threw the datapad to the side, letting it crash against the wall with a satisfying crack. “Our votes and petitions aren’t going to mean one damn thing, now.”
Megatron let himself fall into a nearby chair, hand coming up to his forehead as he felt the beginnings of a tell-tale ache in his processor. It was ridiculous, infuriating even, to be blocked by the Union. For them to do it so blatantly without sufficient reason to back the motion up, the Union members were indeed getting bold in challenging Cybertron’s seat in the General Assembly. Megatron looked over to the far side of the apartment, where, by the large bay windows that overlooked the Iacon skyline, stood his co-ruler. Optimus Prime had his back to Megatron, with his arms folded across his chest and remaining silent. He was a study in blue, outlined in the lights pouring in through the windows from the city-the only lighting, as Optimus had turned off the room’s overhead lights earlier in the evening. Having expected a response to his announcement, Megatron frowned.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
“They’ve almost finished the new monorail station,” Optimus said, nodding towards the construction site just visible amongst the spires and skyscrapers of Cybertron’s capital city. Weaving in and out of the towers were steady streams of air traffic: shuttles, individual Cybertronians, all mirroring the road traffic below. Iacon never seemed to quiet, never had a lull in its activity-so different from Optimus’s own hometown of Tyger Pax.
“It should be about another week or so before it’s operational,” Megatron replied, for the moment catering to Optimus’s blatant subject-avoidance. When Optimus fell quiet again, Megatron shook his head and stood, taking a second to brace himself before striding over to Optimus. “What’s wrong,” he pressed.
“It’s just been a long day,” Optimus answered, keeping his gaze forwards and on the city. Megatron stayed where he was, however, knowing that if he waited, Optimus would volunteer the information on his own. Optimus’s shoulders slumped minutely after a few long moments, and there was a soft exhalation of air through his vents-almost a sigh. “Do you remember telling you about my creator, Pyrous?”
Megatron nodded, and Optimus continued. “I heard something earlier that reminded me of him. I’ve just been missing him today, I guess.”
Megatron shifted, uncomfortable. He had never been good at comforting people, especially Optimus, whose sadness, when it surfaced, always seemed so untouchable.
“I’m sorry that he died,” Megatron said, offering up what he could.
“Thank you. You know, it happened such a long time ago, but…but some days, I just miss him so much that it almost hurts to move. And it’s usually when I most need his advice.”
“From what you’ve told me about him, it seems like he was quite the individual.”
Optimus smiled at this, but it was small, and shadowed. “He was. He made me into who I am. Everything I am, everything I think or say, I can trace it all back to him. Whether it was something he told me, or read to me, or taught me. I wouldn’t be who I am if it weren’t for Pyrous.”
Megatron took a step closer to Optimus, reaching out to run his fingers along the exposed plates of Optimus’s face. A gentle pressure turned Optimus’s head towards him, and Megatron stared into Optimus’s blue optics, making sure that he had his brother’s attention. “Then all of Cybertron owes Pyrous a great debt. Myself included.”
Optimus reached up to cover Megatron’s hand with his own, pressing slightly into the gentle contact. “You haven’t told me much about your creator,” he said.
“My creator,” Megatron repeated. “I haven’t talked to her in years. She’s…she’s a crazy, sadistic old bat.”
Optimus’s smile widened, the light in his optics brightening slightly. “Apple. Tree,” he teased as he pulled away from Megatron’s touch to walk back across the room.
“Another feeble attempt at humor, it’s very cute,” Megatron said as he sat down on the edge of Optimus’s recharge berth. Optimus stooped to pick up the datapad that Megatron had thrown aside and read through the letter from the IGU. “The only reason my creator went with me to decide on an alt. form was so she could heckle me.”
“Yes, yes, we all know that your upbringing screwed up your life. You have made that abundantly clear in the past,” Optimus said with a long-suffering air as he returned to his berth. He hopped up onto it, stretching out so that his lower leg was pressed up against Megatron’s hip. “So, we lost the bid.”
“Yes,” Megatron replied darkly, his mood shifting. “And for no other reason than the Chair wants to keep us from attaining the Tenth Seat. If we got into the top ten, it would knock the Digamma system out, and the Chair is allied with those senators.”
“Can we petition a bid re-evaluation?”
Megatron shook his head. “We could, but it wouldn’t do anything. The Chair has the Majority Whip on his side, any petition or bid we make is going to be blocked or result in a filibuster. The Chair is going to block us any way he can.”
“I don’t understand why,” Optimus said as he continued to skim through the datapad highlighting the minutes from the previous session. “The Chair has tried to make trade deals with Cybertron in the past-he wants our technology. If he let us in on the trade committee, he’d be in a better position to negotiate.”
“You’re right, he does want to trade with us. But not as badly as he fears us.”
“Fears us?”
“The Chair’s afraid that if we got into the top ten seats, we could start gathering influence to get the First Seat and become Chair. He doesn’t want to give up his power,” Megatron answered as he took the datapad from Optimus. “That slagging piece of scrap,” he grumbled.
“But I don’t care about having the Chair position,” Optimus countered. “All I wanted was for us to get on the trade committee so that we could try and get the our mining costs down. It’s nearly robbery what Rho is charging us for land use on moons that aren’t even inhabited.”
“Well, I’ll see if we can initiate an embargo with Rho. That will get their attention. But leave it to me. It’s a rotten, rotten business,” Megatron conceded as set the datapad aside and moved to stretch out alongside Optimus on the berth. “No place for someone like you,” he murmured, tilting Optimus’s head so that Megatron’s mouth plates were nearly brushing Optimus’s audio sensors.
“Gladly,” Optimus responded. “I could never be as ruthless as you are. And I’m not nearly as good at posturing.”
“I am a sight to behold,” Megatron said, making Optimus shake his head in exasperation.
“Speaking of which, did you happen to see that group of femmes at the last public hearing at Iacon’s City Hall?” Optimus questioned, poking Megatron in the chest. “All very lovely, and none could take their optics off of you the whole time you were speaking. Absolutely hanging on your every word-I could tell that they all wanted to be bonded to you.”
“Hmm,” Megatron hummed. “I wanted to be bonded to them, too.”
Optimus burst out laughing-a full, hearty sound that was priceless in its rarity, however short-lived it was. Still, his earlier sadness had all but dissolved, melted away by the lightness in his optics and the smile arching his facial plates. “You sure are full of it,” he said.
“I have to be,” Megatron responded, smirking as he ran a hand up Optimus’s arm, the tips of his fingers teasing the plates that covered connection ports. “Since you don’t give me any attention.”
“What!” Optimus exclaimed, incredulous, as he pushed Megatron’s hand away. It did little good, however, as Megatron instead lifted his hand up to stroke the tiny plates behind Optimus’s audio sensors. “I give you plenty of attention.”
“Then what was that the other day, when I had to make an appointment with your secretary to speak with you?” Megatron accused. Optimus gave another of his lilting, gentle laughs.
“Because I thought it was funny,” he answered. Megatron growled in response, internal systems revving as he abruptly shifted to bring himself on top of Optimus. It was easy to stop Optimus’s half-hearted resistance, his weight and size trapping Optimus’s legs while he pinned the Prime’s wrists to the berth. Megatron lowered his head, pressing his temple against Optimus’s armored head.
“You’re too good for someone like me,” he whispered. He moved his hands, letting Optimus open up his storage compartments in search of the connection cables and listening the sound of Optimus’s own plates shifting aside to reveal the thin, delicate ports. A Cybertronian’s cables and connection ports were not originally meant for linking two individuals-they were designed for communicating with sparkless machines, for networking to computers and hardline machines in order to retrieve and upload data or to diagnose software problems; it was easier than having to manually enter in information. However, at some point in the past, an enterprising individual had discovered that two individuals could connect to each other, and share information that way. While networking could be done wirelessly, and usually was, a hardline connection was far deeper, more solid, and more intense.
“And don’t you ever forget it,” Optimus responded before snapping the cables in place. Megatron jerked at the sudden connection, body stiffening before he relaxed into the link.
As soon as the cables connected, the data stream began, each thought and sensory input traveling in a cycle: from one, through the other, and back again. It was almost impossible to keep up, and near liberating in its irresistible, sweeping current. It was…a feeling of a dissolution of one’s self, of stretching, of soaking up sunlight, of breaking up into something larger. Their thoughts, their emotions, were one. It felt good, and raw.
We have to do something about this. We cannot let Cybertron continue to be undermined like this. We are stronger than they are.
And escalation? The Third Law, after all.
Let me handle it. You trust me, don’t you?
Yes. But I think I’m a little frightened of you, too.
Megatron tensed, unable to prevent a tiny lick of anger from seeping through the link. He felt Optimus recoil under it, and he quickly locked his cables in place, making it painful for Optimus to try and disconnect. Megatron hurried to soothe the sting, apologizing for his loss of control.
I have given you no reason to be afraid of me. I could not afford it.
Megatron settled more firmly atop of Optimus, who groaned slightly under the added weight and strain. Through the connection, Megatron probed at Optimus’s processor, urging him to initiate the sequence that would open his chest plates and expose his Spark. As expected, Optimus froze at the request, hesitant and cautious, but Megatron kept his prodding gentle.
Sparks were funny things, curious in every way. But perhaps the most intriguing was their polarity: the All Spark had its own unique magnetic signature, generating a specific polar directionality. Every so often, however, and without warning, the All-Spark’s magnetic signature would instantaneously reverse, causing a different alignment in a newborn individual’s Spark crystals than that of a Spark from the previous polar directionality. They were termed ‘normal’ and ‘reverse’ Sparks, and neither polarity was harmful or detrimental to an individual in anyway; the only difference between a normal and a reverse individual was the alignment of their Spark’s crystals.
It was what allowed for bonding.
Like a magnet, or a battery, two opposite polarity Sparks could bond to each other. Individuals with the same polarity could pair off and lead perfectly happy, monogamous lives, but only those of opposite polarities could bond. It was what made bonding so rare, since polar reversals in the All Spark occurred once every several hundred thousand years or so. Optimus Prime, like all the Primes before him, had a reverse Spark. Megatron knew his own to be of normal polarity-the All Spark had switched to reverse polarity shortly after his own ‘birth.’
We could bond, if we wanted, Megatron coaxed through their link. But we don’t have to.
Optimus relaxed at the assurance, and he let the locks holding his chest armor together release to expose his Spark. Megatron shifted, returning his grip to Optimus’s wrists and holding him firmly while he opened his own chest plates.
Why do you do that? Afraid I’ll fly away?
Try and fly from me, Optimus. Just try it. I could catch you. No, I’m afraid that you’d disappear. I’m sure I’m not allowed to have this sort of reward, not for things I think and do. …Would you want to bond with me?
But Optimus did not answer, his end of the link quiet and pensive, and Megatron closed the distance between them to bring their Sparks together.
The connection fluttered and caught, wrenching them both as negative and positive, light and dark, the paradox that was them came together in a strong undertoe of energy. Both tumbled like leaves in the wind, helplessly strangled and tangled and gasping for the wonderful stretching of being pulled to breaking point. It was a roar of sounds, a rush of solar wind, the crushing, undeniable weight of gravity-like a star pulling ever inwards on itself, straining so tightly before breaking in half and releasing outwards: the foundation of the universe itself.
This is how it’s meant to be
Megatron reared back, releasing his cables and closing his chest armor before he could not stop himself from bonding or from falling apart under the onslaught. A Spark connection was intense, and overwhelming, and could only last for so long before separation would be impossible. He collapsed next to Optimus, who was still and quiet.
“We are a most unusual pair,” Megatron said, earning the slightest of smiles from Optimus before it faded.
“Are you sure we’re okay?” Optimus asked, turning on his side. It was unusual, for him to assume such a recharge position-Optimus usually preferred recharging on his back, but Megatron let Optimus tuck in closer to hide from whatever sadness was still chasing him. They were strange, these moments. Beautiful and whole, but something was still dry, like leaves pressed into a book.
“We’ll think of something,” Megatron replied. Optimus nodded and pillowed his head on Megatron’s arm. Both remained awake for a long time afterwards, neither saying a word and trying to understand what was going wrong.
8888
END