Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Optimus surfaced from recharge slowly, blinking away wisps of his dreams. It took a few moments of staring at the ceiling for him to remember everything that had happened. The battle with Megatron, the Supreme clones, Prowl… He had to take a moment just to vent, letting the memories of the last few days wash over him. A lot had certainly happened. 

Once Optimus felt a little more anchored he slowly sat up, and glanced out the window next to him at the sprawling, glittering city of Iacon. Right. After so long, he was finally back on Cybertron - with his team, the Allspark and captive Decepticons to boot. It was… over. 

Their struggles on Earth, the endless hunt for Allspark fragments, the battles with the Decepticons… To be perfectly honest, Optimus wasn’t sure how he felt about it all. For the longest time Earth had been his home, and many of his waking moments were spent planning against or actively fighting Decepticons. Now he almost felt adrift. Devoid of the purpose that had driven him for what had felt like vorns, but in actuality had only been a scant few Earth years. 

Being on Cybertron itself was even stranger - he hadn’t returned once during the course of his millenia long spacebridge tour (which had been the point - it had been exile more than anything) so looking out the window at the bustling city was like stepping back into his own memories. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear he was still dreaming. 

But it was real, all of it was real, which meant it was high time he got out of berth and reported to the Elite Guard headquarters. No matter how strange he found the situation, he still had a job - and a duty.

Unfortunately, at the moment that duty seemed to mostly consist of putting up with Sentinel. Sorry - Sentinel Magnus as he was so fond of reminding everyone, especially Optimus. At one point Optimus hadn’t believed that Sentinel’s ego could get any bigger - now, alas, he knew he had been wrong to think that.

“Optimus, old buddy, good to see you’re finally here! Now, come and look at this.”

The Acting Magnus himself was standing in front of a wall of screens in the centre of Fortress Maximus, Elite Guard brands and cape proudly on display. Behind him, the screens flickered constantly as messages ran across them, each announcing the same thing:

“-It’s the moment all of Cybertron has been waiting for!-”

“Sentinel Magnus presents... the scourge of Cybertron... the great slag-maker...”

“...MEGATRON on trial!”

“Well, what do you think, Optimus? Pretty great, right?” Sentinel boomed, smugness practically oozing out of him.

“...” Looking at those screens, Optimus couldn’t help the surge of trepidation within him - the tiny voice in his helm screaming this is a bad idea . Megatron was so dangerous after all - he had to say something. Not that Sentinel would likely listen, but -

 “...Are you sure about this, Sentinel? Turning Megatron’s trial into such a… a public spectacle… Don’t you think it’s likely to attract Decepticon attention? And with Omega Supreme out of commission…” 

Sentinel, predictably, ignored the main part of Optimus’ complaint and focused on his last point, gritting his dentae with anger and exclaiming “Don’t remind me! Connecting him to Ultra Magnus as spark-support - using our greatest military asset as a glorified hospital bed! It’s a disgrace!” Sentinel turned away towards the screens, continuing to rant  “If you ask me, the kindest thing would be to unplug Ultra Magnus... Let the old coot join the Well of All Sparks with some dignity!”

Optimus had to prevent himself from gritting his own dentae at that comment. Of course Sentinel would suggest such a thing! So much for Sentinel’s supposed dedication to filling in while Ultra Magnus recovered. Admittedly, though, Optimus wasn’t all that surprised. Not at Sentinel. Not anymore. Still, Sentinel could hold his higher rank over Optimus as much as he wanted but it wasn’t going to stop Optimus from checking him verbally.

“Which would just so happen to leave you in charge of Cybertron, of course.” Optimus deadpanned, half with the hope of actually making Sentinel think.

Sentinel visibly flinched - a win in Optimus’ book - before turning back round, smug demeanour back in place.

“Weeell, someone’s got to do the job, Optimus! If not me, then who?” Sentinel leered wider. “A repair-bot like you?”

Sentinel let out a loud bark of laughter, throwing his helm back with mirth. “‘Optimus Magnus!’ Oh, that’s rich! That’s a real servo-slapper!” Still chuckling, he started walking towards the door.

“...Yeah. Funny.” Optimus muttered under his vents, reflexively hiding his faceplate under the brim of his helm and trying to ignore the sudden painful squeeze around his spark. Allspark, how had he ever considered Sentinel his friend? Every time…

“Anyway! I didn’t call you here to trade jokes! Come on, I’ve got just the thing to reassure you...” Sentinel called from the doorway, and Optimus hastened to follow, quickly tamping down on that painful feeling and trying not to flinch too badly when Sentinel landed a ‘friendly’ smack on his shoulder. 

Sentinel turned with another flourish, cape swishing dramatically as he started leading Optimus down a set of winding corridors deep into the underbelly of Fortress Maximus. Although he wasn’t massively familiar with this section of the headquarters, Optimus was fairly sure they were heading for the R&D labs which were constantly working on weaponry and armour upgrades for the Guard. Sure enough, a few clicks later Sentinel headed through a blast proof laboratory door and into a busy workshop, in the middle of which hung… a suit of armour? Yes - it looked to be similar to his own jetpack and stabilisers, but designed to protect far more of the wearer.

Beside him, Sentinel grinned widely. “There she is, Optimus... my Powermaster Armour! Durabyllium-steel construction, fully flight-capable, twin particle beam cannons, user-sensitive electronic paint… She’s more than a match for any Decepticon dumb enough to show their face tomorrow!”

Sentinel, at least, seemed very pleased with himself. And the armour did seem very advanced. But Optimus still couldn’t shake that niggling feeling of worry within him.

“It’s... very impressive, Sentinel, but I’m still not sure. Even allowing Megatron to appear in public seems risky…”

Sentinel snorted. “Optimus, you worry too much! I’ve got something special planned for Megatron!”

“... Oh?” Somehow, Optimus did not feel reassured by that declaration, no matter how confident.

“Just a little trick I picked up on Earth! I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise!” Sentinel leaned forward over the railing, optics flashing. “It’s going to be the event of the millenia! Don’t forget to buy your ticket, eh?

Optimus sighed inaudibly. “Sure, Sentinel.” Even if Sentinel hadn’t just effectively ordered him to go, he probably would have been attending anyway. Just in case…

“Well, chatting has been fun old buddy but I’ve got plenty to do - a Magnus’ work is never done. See you tomorrow for the big event!” With one last vaguely patronising pat to Optimus’ shoulder, Sentinel swept out, leaving Optimus staring at the gleaming suit of armour.

Effectively dismissed, Optimus wandered back to his desk, lost in thought.

It was true that he had a duty here, but Optimus couldn’t seem to stop himself from yearning for the simplicity of Earth. He wasn’t the only one, either - despite how recently they had returned to Cybertron his team already spoke longingly of the life they had built back in Detroit. Perhaps, when the trial was over… Earth had been attacked by Decepticons, after all, and the planet’s inhabitants had been eager to meet the Autobots… Maybe he could petition for an outpost to be set up there, an outpost he and his team would be happy to manage… But that was a thought for later, once this mockery of a trial had concluded. Still, Optimus held onto that thought as he managed tedious reports and ignored the repeated propaganda messages blaring across the intercom. One day soon, he hoped.

Trypticon prison was constructed solidly within the erstwhile Decepticon capital of Kaon and patrolled by a legion of tiny yet ferocious wardens known as minicons. 

And within its depths, the greatest prisoner there smiled. “Guard. I wish to send a message…”

Chapter Text

Optimus had been talking to Jazz about the logistics of the trial when Alpha Trion walked in. The oldest council member had just returned from seeing Sari, Bumblebee and Bulkhead off on their quest to return the AllSpark to the Well. Optimus was willing to admit he was a little nervous about the journey - after all, no mech really knew what dangers lurked deep within the planet. But if anyone could overcome those dangers, it was absolutely Sari - and she wouldn’t be alone, after all, since both of her best friends had insisted on going with her. Still, it was another thing to worry about in a list of worries - and judging by the look on Alpha Trion’s faceplates he may be about to receive some more.

“Optimus Prime. I’m glad you’re well but I’m afraid I have some inopportune news.”

Optimus sighed. “As if things weren’t crazy enough already. What is it?”

“Well…”

“HE WANTS WHAT?!?”

“I can scarcely believe it myself, but yes, Megatron requests that you defend him in court tomorrow.”

Dumbstruck, Optimus could do nothing but stare, intake opening and closing with shock. Megatron wanted Optimus to defend him? After Optimus captured the mech and foiled his plans?

After an embarrassingly long moment Optimus found his voice again and managed to ask the only relevant question. “But... but why?”

Alpha Trion let out a deep sigh of his own, and produced a small holo-emitter. “I shall let him tell you in his own words.”

The emitter activated, drawing a picture of Megatron’s head in midair. Despite his confinement, the warlord didn’t appear to be overly irate. Instead, his voice was calm and steady (and oh so deep) as he spoke his message for Optimus.

“I am... concerned that Sentinel Magnus does not intend to approach tomorrow’s legal proceedings in good faith. As such, I send this message to formally request that Optimus Prime serve as my defence. I am told he is well acquainted with Sentinel’s particular brand of legerdemain. Besides, in my experience, a healthy rivalry engenders the best performance among lesser mechs.”

It was a good thing that Optimus had gotten over most of his shock already, because this would’ve been enough to freeze him for a good minute or so otherwise. Instead, he merely stood quietly, processor whirling a mile a minute, because - 

Because Megatron was right, damn him. Optimus didn’t trust Sentinel to manage a fair trial, and much as he hated the warlord he also wanted to make sure this farce was at least performed correctly.

… Even if it did mean he had to defend Megatron. And probably hate every click of it. (Lesser mechs, indeed!)

To his right, Jazz had also apparently recovered from the shock of the sudden proclamation and had turned to examine Optimus’ own conflicted faceplates. “What are you gonna do, OP?”

Forcefully, Optimus steeled himself for the inevitable. “I’m not sure I have any choice. Megatron might be up to something, but he’s not wrong. If we leave Sentinel to his own devices, he’s going to turn that trial into a circus. If you’ll help me, Jazz… It looks like I’ll be seeing him in court.”

Allspark, he hoped this went well.

Inside Fortress Maximus, Sentinel stewed at the news he’d just received about Megatron’s new defence attorney. And outside Fortress Maximus, the protests boiled, as hundreds of Autobots marched to demand the end of the curfews and the reopening of clubs and bars. In the wake of the attack on Ultra Magnus, Sentinel had ordered a planetary shutdown to prevent more ‘Decepticon action’ but so far it had only led to growing unrest within the population. Of course, none of the protestors made it anywhere near the walls of the Elite Guard headquarters, held back by legions of Autotroopers. But that didn’t mean the protests ceased.

It was a bright and beautiful morning, and the trial beckoned. It would be taking place in Kaon’s old gladiatorial arena where Megatron had seen so many of his past victories - somemech on the planning committee had probably thought it would be poetic or something.

Even this early, the arena stands were already packed with autobots, eager to catch a glimpse of the slag-maker himself brought low.

Just inside one of the arena’s heavy duty gates, Optimus was taking a click to go over some last minute checks with Jazz’s assistance.
“So team Athenia will be guarding Megatron directly… Rodimus is talented, they ought to be fine. And then there’s the arena guard…”

“Take some vents, mech.” Jazz cut in before Optimus could get too stressed. “We’ve covered as much as we can, now we’ve just got to get it over with.”

“I mean, if something happens…”

“I’ve got your back, mech, don’t worry”

Optimus took in a deep vent, held it, then let it out in an attempt to calm down. “ ...Thanks for all your help, Jazz. I appreciate it. Alright, let’s do this.” Rolling his shoulders, Optimus turned towards the gate and walked out into the arena towards the defence’s lectern, definitely looking a lot more confident than he felt.

It wasn’t long before Sentinel swept into the arena as well, followed by a vaguely disgruntled looking Alpha Trion. Taking his place on the prosecutor’s lectern, Sentinel grinned up at the overwhelming crowds, clearly enjoying their adoration as he turned to address them.

(The niggling feeling of trepidation inside of Optimus intensified)

A short fanfare pulled him back to the present, just in time for the large arena gates to slide open and see - 

Megatron.

The Decepticon was adequately restrained, at least. Aside from the heavy stasis cuffs attached to his servos and pedes, he was also lashed to a hover trolley, chained upright to prevent even the slightest movement. Optimus steadied himself, and kept his optics open. The Decepticons were practically guaranteed to try something, and when they did Optimus would be ready.

Team Athenia wheeled Megatron’s trolley over to the three lecterns, before locking it in place and standing at a respectful distance. 

Here we go.

… Megatron was staring at him. Fine, better to break the ice now while Sentinel was busy waffling.

“Megatron, are you sure you want the ‘bot who arrested you defending you?”

The warlord chuckled, a deep velvety sound that nevertheless came off as extremely patronising. “Please. I barely even know your name. But I do know that you are... noble enough to ensure that due process is properly done regardless of any personal feelings you might have.” 

Optimus had to stop himself from snapping back at that - AllSpark, it was just like Megatron to be insulting the mech about to defend him in court. It was even more annoying that he was right, too, and Optimus had to take a deep vent and remind himself that after the trial he would never have to deal with Megatron again.

Alpha Trion slammed his gavel down on his lectern to call for quiet in the arena, before beginning to read out the charges.

“Megatron of Tarn, you stand accused of crimes against Cybertron and the planet Earth. The amnesty granted you at the end of the Great War affords no protection against these new charges, which include: Unlawful interference in the technological development of another species; Blasphemy in the highest - the desecration and destruction of the AllSpark; Unlawful acquisition of Autobot military assets and conspiracy to employ them in acts of insurgency; As well as numerous sundry cases of fraud, theft, coercion, and public incitement to all of the aforementioned, including but not limited to murder, treason, and destruction on a planetary scale. How do you plead?”

Megatron smiled. “Not guilty.”

“Not guilty?” Sentinel yelped, “Not guilty?! My fellow Cybertronians -”

Automatically, Optimus tuned out Sentinel’s angry blustering in order to focus on Megatron himself. The warlord was still smirking, and when he saw Optimus looking he smirked even wider. Optimus growled quietly to himself. You think you’ve got us, don’t you. Well, I’ll be damned if I let you win now.

On his podium, Sentinel had just about wrapped up his ‘speech’ and was calling his first witness. And all the while, Megatron just smiled.

It was looking to be a very long day.

Chapter Text

After joors of ‘witness’ testimonies, or more accurately the captured Decepticons enthusiastically describing their leader’s plans for universal domination, the trial was finally almost over. Optimus would have fallen asleep at his podium halfway through if it wasn’t for the careful watch he had been keeping on Megatron. No matter the claims made, no matter how angry the crowds had gotten, Megatron had remained steadfast and unruffled, calmly watching the proceedings like they were a show that had been put on for him.

At long last Alpha Trion turned to Optimus. “Are there any witnesses for the defence?”

“Just one, your honour.” Optimus shifted in his seat to gesture at the chained warlord. “The defence calls Megatron of Tarn.”

Megatron tipped his helm up, to face the mechs in the stadium, and spoke. “People of Cybertron. You have heard much today about the so-called “evil” I have seen done in the name of the Decepticons, but destruction for its own sake is not the Decepticon cause.”

Optimus sucked a vent in - even though he was the Autobot’s greatest enemy, Megatron was still incredibly enigmatic, and with but a few words the entire stadium full of mecha had fallen silent.

“Have you not stopped to ask what it is we seek? It is the return of that age - the return of Cybertron’s greatness - that all I have commanded has been in pursuit of!

Millions of years ago, Cybertron was a shining jewel in the cosmos, the heart of a vast empire! A return to the days when our world was the most beautiful force in all the universe. More than that, a return to freedom, to the days where mecha were not limited in what they could achieve by their government but merely by what they could imagine. 

When no council forced unjust rulings upon the people. 

‘Desecration’ of the AllSpark? Naught but the desire to give Cybertron itself the power to transform - to defend its people! 

All I seek is a safe and prosperous future for my people, and freedom as well... and for that, I am stripped of my dignity and brought before you thus!”

Around the grand arena, muttering had broken out during Megatron’s speech, which was quickly escalating to a dull roar. A few scattered yells were becoming many yells, and the autotroopers stationed throughout the arena were being pushed back against the walls by the angry crowd.

Jazz yelped at the sight of the struggling crowds, seemingly on the verge of a riot. “What’s with all the hubbub?”

Optimus’ spark dropped like a stone. 

“Oh, no…” Optimus breathed, terror in his optics. “Jazz, young ‘bots like me, Bumblebee, Bulkhead... we weren’t online during the war. We never saw its horrors first-hand until our mission on Earth gave us a taste.” He turned in his seat, watching as the crowd continued to scream, whipped up into a fury.

“But most of the ‘bots in this audience... they’ve never even seen a Decepticon in person before. All they know is what they’ve heard in the history tracks… but here and now, what Megatron’s saying makes sense to them. All the sanctions and curfews Sentinel’s placed Cybertron under - all he’s done is create an angry young population, perfect for Megatron to radicalise with a few well- chosen words.”

All around them, fights were breaking out, civilians turning against the guards.

“This is why Megatron wanted me to ‘defend’ him! Innocent or guilty, win or lose... this is his final victory... and he’s made sure I have a front-row seat.”

On his high podium Alpha Trion was banging his gavel and calling for order, but it was clearly in vain - there would be no containing the riot now. Too much time spent chafing under overly restrictive rules that were put in place out of fear, too much time being told not to question the council…

“Jazz, we have to -”

Before either of them could react, however, a massive explosion shook the arena, briefly quelling the riot as everyone reeled from the shock.

Smoke billowed across the arena floor, and for a moment there was silence. And then-

A huge frame appeared out of the smoke, striding forward with powerful intent.

“Team Chaar! In the name of Megatron, ATTACK!”

Team Chaar! Composed of some of the deadliest Decepticons alive, and helmed by Strika herself, Megatron’s third in command and so-called ‘General of Destruction’. These thoughts raced through Optimus’ processor as he grabbed for his axe and moved into fighting stance, intimately aware of Megatron’s position and the screams of civilians as the Decepticons advanced. At his side, Team Athenia moved in to repel the attackers, while Sentinel - ran away? Optimus couldn’t spare any thought for that, though, dashing forward to block a swipe from a flying, clawed ‘con.

Before he could yell at Sentinel to come provide support, there was a loud yell of triumph - followed by a scream. Chancing a glance over his shoulder between attacks, Optimus grunted as he realised what had happened - Sentinel had put on the powermaster armour but had promptly had his motor cables cut by a tiny Decepticon, leaving him helpless on the floor and the armour useless. Groaning, Optimus dodged the next attack and ran back to drive the tiny scuttling ‘con off the fallen Magnus.

Sentinel whimpered loudly “This wasn’t supposed to happen…!”

What? Never mind, there was no time to waste. Swiftly Optimus scooped the fallen Magnus Hammer off the ground and turned back towards the melee, only to see his worst fears confirmed.

Surrounded by his warriors, unchained and armed, Megatron stood tall and proud, smirking widely at the battle that had appeared around him.

“My, but it’s good to be free again. Excellent work, Strika.” Megatron drawled, carefully twirling his newly-retrieved swords.

“Hah! Not at all, my Lord. In fact, you have that fool of a ‘Magnus’ to thank for much of this escape - he offered me the keys to the arena in return for my promise to offline you when we arrived.”

“Truly? Autobot high command has degraded, then, although I can’t say they had far to fall in the first place.”

“Sentinel?” Across the arena Optimus gasped, staring at his fallen ‘friend’. “You - what have you done!?”

However, before Optimus could question Sentinel further the damaged wall broke apart even more, admitting another hoard of Decepticons to the already packed arena.

With the prisoners freed and reinforcements streaming in, the Kaon arena was utter chaos - Decepticons raged against the forces of the guard, civilians screamed and ducked for cover, and in the midst of it all Megatron stalked, laying waste to all who dared stand up to him. All save one, that was. 

Magnus Hammer in servo and a challenge on his faceplates, Optimus held his ground in the face of Megatron’s deadly approach, daring the ‘Con to engage. And Megatron obliged.

With a wicked grin the Decepticon leader surged forward, huge blades slicing through the air with lethal precision as he attacked. Optimus stood firm, twisting to meet the lunge and blocking Megatron’s swords with the Hammer, grunting aloud from the force of the blow but refusing to give even an inch to the warlord. Megatron was hardly dissuaded, though. In fact, his smile grew even wider before he pulled away from the weapon lock and attacked again, strikes swift and devastating. Optimus countered once more, and found himself easily slipping back into the rhythm of their battles - fluid strikes and even faster pedework that had become second nature to him after all their skirmishes.

After another exchange of powerful slashes, Optimus caught Megatron’s swords on the Hammer again, and this time Megatron held him there, bearing down on the smaller mech.
“Such determination. A shame it is so misplaced.” Megatron growled as he pressed forward, “Haven’t I shown you the truth here today? Your own people have spoken. They are tired of you” Megatron forced Optimus back a step “and all you represent! Isolationism, pettiness, corruption... Why fight for that?”
Optimus barely dodged a stray laser bolt, and lost even more ground as Megatron continued forwards, unrelenting. “Instead, submit yourself to me and I shall see Cybertron and all its scattered children united! There could be a place for you in my kingdom, Autobot.” The warlord smirked now, sharp dentae glinting under the arena spotlights.

“Think of the glories that we could accomplish together - the Emperor of Cybertron and his loyal Optimus Magnus.”

With a mighty yell, Optimus broke out of the weapon lock and jumped backward, absolutely furious. How dare he! 

“You - You’re wrong, Megatron!” growling, Optimus leapt forwards once more, seeking to beat that smug smile off the Decepticon’s faceplate.

“The Autobots may have been let down by their leadership, but they don’t seek a tyrant - and I’d rather be a humble repair bot than a demagogue with delusions of grandeur” he hissed, sudden ferocious strikes taking the warlord by surprise.

“You’re nothing but a thug with a big gun and an empty ideology, Megatron…” Optimus panted, attacking with every bit of strength in him.

“And this time - this time I’m going to put you down for good!”

Optimus lunged forward with a roar, and Megatron quickly moved to match him, meeting in the middle with a massive spray of sparks. They were both enraged now, and neither was going to back down unless they were forced to.

Their fight raged from one side of the arena to another, ignoring all other combatants as they locked weapons again and again, both of them totally focused on their opponent.

It was looking like a fight to the death, no quarter asked for and none given, until-

All of a sudden the ground shook, knocking over Autobots and Decepticons alike. Optimus had barely managed to recover from the first quake when a second struck, this time strong enough to send cracks racing up the structure of the arena.

Equally suddenly, Optimus’ comm link blared static for a long moment, before Jazz’s voice bled through the crackles. 

“-read me? OP, we’ve got a huge problem!”

“I’m a little busy right now, Jazz!” Optimus gasped, struggling back to his pedes just in time to dodge another swing by what felt like millimetres. 

“It’s your problem too, I’m afraid. The Cons have gotten ahold of the plasma dynamic thruster, and they're about to use it to warp the whole of Kaon away - and you with it! Everyone else is retreating, mech, you’ve got to run!”

Optimus’ optics widened- so this was Megatron’s true plan. In which case, he had to get out of here! Across from him, the warlord smirked, likely having guessed the information Optimus had just gained. Carefully, Optimus began to edge backwards, trying to find an exit whilst not looking away from his enemy… only to realise that he was mysteriously surrounded by Cons all of a sudden. Scrap. Optimus swallowed nervously.

“Leaving so soon, little Prime? How very rude of you.” Megatron purred, optics alight with smug triumph.

“Well, excuse me for not enjoying myself much. It’s almost like you’ve been trying to chop my helm off or something”

“Oh, you think I’ve been trying to kill you? No, no… I’ve far greater plans for you than that. Of course, if you’d simply accepted my generous offer earlier, we could have done this in a civilised manner; but as it is, you’ve forced my servo…”

“Forced your servo? Last time I checked you were the one attacking civilians. And you still expect me to join you?!”

Megatron circled closer, twin swords held loosely, exuding confidence. “I suppose we shall see. But right now, it doesn’t particularly matter; you will, I believe, be coming with us.”

Optimus shifted his weight slightly, locking his optics on a small but significant gap between a pair of watching Decepticons. “Wanna bet?”

“Oh my, do you seriously think you can escape? We built this city, we know its every secret. And you think you can outwit us in it? How… adorable. My Decepticons will enjoy hunting you down.”

With that Megatron lunged once again, clearly intending to disable his foe quickly.

Optimus however had other ideas; he dodged one swing, leapt the next, and took off running out of the arena as fast as he could, spark in his intake as the ground shuddered beneath him once more.

Behind him, the sound of Megatron’s laughter rang out across the ruined city.

Optimus was pushing his engine as far as it would go, practically redlining it in his desperate flight from the arena. All around him the shouts of his pursuers echoed off the decaying buildings, creating the illusion of him being surrounded already. Spark practically in his intake, Optimus weaved between the piles of rubble, trying to navigate as best as he could through the city. Unfortunately, despite having travelled into the city just that morning, Optimus was driving practically blind due to the destroyed nature of Kaon. Besides, he hadn’t exactly been expecting this outcome when he came through the first time! At the moment, the best he could do was make sure he kept going in the same direction - at least he would eventually leave the city that way.

The shaking ground was proving a problem as well, frequent quakes forcing him to slow down and carefully manoeuvre, or risk smashing into the crumbling buildings. And with each slower turn and precise swerve, the shouts of his pursuers got a little louder, a little closer.

Abruptly a series of collapsed buildings loomed ahead, and Optimus hastily skidded to a stop and transformed before he slammed into them. The metalwork was rusting and appeared treacherous, but when he turned to search for a way past he realised he’d driven straight into a dead end. For a moment he hesitated, unsure if the debris would hold his weight - but before he could take a single step backwards a laser burst past his helm and hissed into the twisted mass of metal. No time to think, then. Hastily, Optimus fired his grapples and swung forward into the mangled remains of the pile, barely making it inside before the scream of flight engines alerted him to the presence of a seeker missing him by inches. 

Allspark, if he made it out of this alive he’d spend the next vorn in grateful prayer.

By the time Optimus was close to the edge of the city the quakes were almost constant, and the tilting ground beneath his wheels had become increasingly unreliable. 

… The yells of the mechs following him had become much louder as well, and several times now Optimus had been forced to take cover from aerial attacks or risk being stunned. 

He was so close to freedom, but less likely than ever to actually escape - mostly due to the fact that the ground itself had begun to rise, lurching randomly as the entire city of Kaon struggled to tug itself free from Cybertron’s very crust.

As light finally appeared through the buildings in front of him, Optimus swerved precariously around shifting piles of debris, barreling toward the distant spires and the safety they promised.

Just as quickly however, he slammed on his brakes and drifted to a stop, grabbing the edge of a pillar as he peered past the edge of the city… and down . 

The roads into Kaon, the nearby settlements - all of them were miles below him, the city’s edge having broken free and lifted up from the rest of the ground. The distance across was also mighty, a yawning chasm that had appeared as Kaon was ripped free. How in Primus’ name was he going to get across? Abseil down the side of Kaon? A stupid idea, but he didn’t have any better ones. 

Before he could put it into action however, the familiar howl of flight engines above caused him to jerk his helm up and instinctively take a defensive step backwards, as a pair of trines roared over the city’s edge.

Swearing, Optimus backed up. How did they find him so fast? Above, the trines banked through a tight turn, and then came thundering towards him. 

Through some divine luck he managed to dodge the first set, forcing them to pull up or else crash into the buildings behind him. 

The second set didn’t bother rushing him, instead swooping past and into a - a patrol pattern.

Guarding the cliff edge.

Optimus half turned, hoping to find cover in the ruins and maybe shake the seekers off, but froze immediately as he saw the mechs standing ready in the gloom.

Trapped. 

Circling seekers and the mile high drop before him. Powerful Decepticons covering the exits behind him.

No way out.

There was a moment of utter silence as the standoff dragged on. 

Optimus drew the Magnus Hammer. He’d go down fighting.

In the end though, it wasn’t much of a fight. There were simply too many of them and not nearly enough space for him to manoeuvre, a solid wall of mechs surrounding him.

Soon enough Optimus was pinned to the rusted groundplates by an uncountable number of servos, barely able to struggle. His weapons were wrenched from his servos, his grapples grabbed and the panels for them forced shut.

Out of the corner of his optic, he saw a Con approaching with heavy chains and stasis cuffs clenched in his servos, and knew that it was over.

Chapter Text

Megatron surveyed his gathered warriors and smiled. The plan had been a brilliant success, and even now the great city of Kaon was lifting ponderously into the air, soon to warp them all back to Chaar. All of the captured Decepticons had been freed, and now stood to attention in the ruined arena. Within moments they would return to Chaar to a hero’s welcome and with the prize of their ancient city to boot. Yes, this had gone well.

Over to the right Lugnut, Blitzwing and the Starscream clones were being raucously welcomed back into the fold, while Shockwave had already left to oversee the warping operation.

Stomping toward him from the left came Strika, his greatest general and oldest friend, back from assessing the situation. “All things seem to be progressing smoothly -  the soldiers are ready and Kaon is almost finished disconnecting from Cybertron. The warp will be completed in less than a quarter of a cycle and then we’ll be out of here, thank Primus.”

“Good to hear. Things have been well back on Chaar?”

“As well as they can be with someone getting his aft captured. To a repair crew as well! Is the Slag-maker himself, Mighty Megatron, finally losing his touch?”

Megatron grunted. He would have challenged the speaker to prove those words if it was anymech other than Strika, but he’d known her long enough to hear the teasing edge in her voice. “Mock me as you will, but those Autobots were much more than a mere repair crew and you know it. Their Prime especially was really quite impressive.”

“Mhm” murmured Strika, not looking convinced. “Well, at least you’re all free now. Especially since you saw fit to get my conjunx captured, you idiot.”

“Lugnut knows the risks and welcomes them.”

“Of course he does, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to kick your aft later for it.”

“That sounds fun. Anyway, I - ah.”

Sudden movement and loud shouts brought his attention to one of the arena’s gates as a knot of Decepticons spilled through, carrying with them a struggling, swearing captive.

Of course…

“Prime, how good to see you again. Did you enjoy your little adventure?”

The Autobot in question growled and thrashed, chains rattling as he struggled against the arms of the Decepticons holding him. He appeared to be mostly uninjured, save for a few dents, and his battle mask was firmly locked into place over his intake, leaving only his furious blue optics visible.

(To his left, Strika pretended to be engrossed in a datapad.)

“Now, there’s no need to be so upset. I did warn you, after all. Though I will admit that your tenacity is rather impressive.”

Optimus Prime didn’t verbally respond, instead snarling at him from behind his battle mask. Charming.

One his soldiers approached, carrying the captured Prime’s axe in one servo and the Magnus Hammer in the other. “My Lord. He made it to the edge of the city, but the seekers trapped him there before he could escape.”

The edge of the city? That was surprisingly far. Once again, Megatron had to adjust his mental evaluation of the Prime’s abilities. He’d been doing that a lot lately. 

With a flourish, he accepted the proffered weapons and dismissed the soldier, twirling the axe idly between his servos as he turned to properly face his new captive. 

“I must admit, today has gone rather spectacularly. It’s good to be free of my chains after the last orn or so. Not to mention the recapture of Kaon.” The Autobot was glaring at him.

Megatron smiled. “The trial was entertaining, too.” and then smirked all the wider as the young Prime’s optics sparked with rage and his struggles intensified. The little mech was certainly fun to tease and easy to rile up. 

“Of course you enjoyed that, you slagger.” Prime growled, optics narrowed to bright blue slits.

“I see you haven’t forgotten how to speak after all. And yes, I rather did. Watching your precious Magnus rant and rave for joors was very amusing, as was the faceplates of all you Autobots when I broke free.”

"Funny, I thought you were the one ranting and raving.”

“How cutting. Speaking of your Magnus… I don’t see him here. Or any of your comrades, for that matter. They’ve abandoned you, haven’t they?”

The Prime hissed and writhed for click, before seemingly calming somewhat. When he next spoke his voice was cool and venomous. “If you’re going to execute me, get it over with. At this rate it’d be better to die than listen to another minute of your gloating.”

Megatron sighed deeply. “You still think I’m going to kill you? As far as I’m concerned it would be an incredible waste. And I abhor waste.”

Optimus Prime snorted derisively. “What, you think I’m going to defect? Guess again, Decepticreep!”

“Mm, perhaps not. But either way, you are part of my great victory today.”

“A great victory?” Somehow, the Prime managed to sound even more sarcastic than before. “All you’ve done is destroy your own city further!”

“Not as much as you would imagine, Autobot. The main structures are still standing strong, and will be easy to rebuild.”

“You’re deluding yourself. And I have a name”

Megatron chuckled. “Despite my earlier jibe, I haven’t forgotten it. Considering your abilities and tenacity, I would be a fool to do so. After all, I do try to avoid making the same mistakes twice… or underestimating the same mechs twice.”

Optimus Prime hissed. “Well, I did mean what I said earlier. You’re just a bully with a gun who found an excuse to push around other mechs. And I don’t care what you do to me, but I won’t bow to you.”  

“Fighting words. I suppose we’ll have to see if you will hold true to them.”

Before their verbal sparring could continue, Strika interrupted with a rev of her engine. “10 clicks until the warp begins, my Lord, so be sure to brace yourself.”

Megatron grinned down at his captive. “Ah, thank you Strika. Take a good look at the stars, Autobot - it is the last time you will see Cybertron’s sky in quite a while.”

With that, he stepped back and tipped his own helm up as the wave of transwarp energy consumed the arena and the city, watching with pure satisfaction as stars wheeled and blurred overhead, before finally settling into the familiar patterns of Chaar. You fought well but you lost. You’re mine now, Prime.

One cycle earlier

“Move, mechs!”

Organising a mass evacuation from Kaon hadn’t really been in Jazz’s plans for the day, but hey, he was good at improvising.

More worrying was the way the very ground was beginning to shake and shudder as he directed crowds of terrified civilians out of the city, always alert for the presence of any opportunistic ‘cons.

Allspark, but that trial couldn’t have gone much worse -  Megatron had planned the whole thing out from the start, had the entire stadium eating out of the palm of his servo - and that was before the Decepticons attacked! Now the members of the Elite Guard were rumbling with the ‘Cons in the arena, or guiding the arena’s audience members out of Kaon. 

All around him, mechs streamed away to safety, including - was that Sentinel? Mech looked to be unconscious, being carried away by several worried looking mechs. Huh. Well, at least he was alive. Jazz turned back to his work, but thankfully the stream of flowing mechs was slowly easing off now, so he ought to be able to return to the arena - 

“All members of the Elite Guard, fall back! The Decepticons are planning to warp away the city of Kaon! Protect the civilians and retreat!”

Jazz blinked, intake dropping open for a moment. Warping the entire city away? What were they thinking? But anyway, if that was the case he’d better hightail it out of here!

Jazz was nearly to the edge of the city when a thought occurred to him. Last he’d heard OP was still in the arena… but he should have gotten the comm, right? Wait… OP had never been in the Elite Guard. What if he didn’t have access to the frequency? Screeching to a stop, Jazz opened up his comm and desperately dialled Optimus - if he didn’t know, the mech could be in serious danger!

Half a cycle earlier

In the medical bay of Omega Supreme, Ratchet leaned against the wall and panted. Allspark, but that had been a close run thing. If Sari hadn’t shown up when she did and warned him, then that Decepticon - Cyc something - would’ve taken out Ultra Magnus and then himself! Thankfully, they’d managed to drive the ‘Con off before that could happen, but still!

Gathering himself, Ratchet pushed off the wall and rasped “You alright, kid?”

“I’m fine, Ratchet! That guy may have been tough but he didn’t stand a chance against the two of us!” Sari chirped, hovering just over one of the control panels.

“Right.” Ratchet sighed quietly, letting the relief wash over him for a moment. “But we need to get moving, if there’s a Con here then the trial-”

“-Was totally a trap!” Sari finished. “Do you think I should fly ahead?”

“No, you stay with me and Omega - there may be seekers and I doubt they would feel bad about forcing you out of the sky.” Glancing at one of the screens panelling the room, Ratchet  let out a growl of frustration. “Rrgh, the transmission of the trial has cut out! The ‘cons are definitely attacking. C’mon Omega, we need to - huh?”

Beneath his pedes, Omega’s plating suddenly shook, shifted around - but Omega hadn’t moved. Instead, a glance at his mentee’s gyroscopic readout revealed that the very ground beneath the big Autobot had trembled. 

“Woah, was that an earthquake? I didn’t know Cybertron got them!” Sari gasped, clinging to the control panel for stability.

Ratchet gritted his dentae, worry swirling in his spark. “It doesn’t. Omega, you need to take off now.”

A quarter of a cycle earlier

Being warped to the surface by the power of the Allspark had admittedly been a little disconcerting, but Bumblebee certainly appreciated not having to walk the whole way back from the planetary core. He did wish Sari hadn’t immediately flown away, but from the brief explanation she was off to help Ratchet, so he couldn’t reeeally complain about that either. He absolutely could complain about their run in with Blackarachnia and her goons though, and so he did. At length.

“-and all those gross webs and feelers I mean what were some of those guys? Disgusting! That’s what they were! And evil as well!!”

By his side Bulkhead nodded along, although he seemed to be more busy staring into the distance. Which- well, he couldn’t complain about that either. Seeing Prowl again - albeit in ghostly form - had been… a lot. Bumblebee wouldn’t call himself the most devout bot, but seeing his dead friend as some kind of spirit of the Allspark was enough to make anyone believe. And weird as the whole experience had been, Bumblebee was glad it had happened.

He’d seemed… happy.

Bumblebee shook himself. No point in dwelling on it now! They needed to get to Kaon to talk to Optimus or… find a comm station or something. Just as he opened his intake to say that though, the ground shuddered harshly, causing Bee to grab hold of his best friend for support. 

“What the Pit was that? Bulkhead, did you feel-”

“Bee!” Bulkhead gasped, intake falling open in terror. “Look!”

Bumblebee followed the direction his friend was pointing, and his own intake dropped open as well. There in the distance, part of the planet was rising from the crust.

“That’s - that’s Kaon! Bossbot’s in there!”

The two exchanged a look of mutual terror, and then Bee jumped onto the road and transformed, slamming his sirens on and roaring away as fast as his engine could manage. Behind him he could just barely make out the sound of Bulkhead doing the same but paid no attention to it, instead focusing on his own desperate flight.

Bossbot, please… Just hold on a little longer!  

Now

Ratchet stared blankly at the instruments, at Omega’s many screens and windows. Kaon was just… gone. As they had come in for the final approach, the now-flying city had been encircled in glowing energy (Transwarp energy, his processor belatedly identified) before vanishing in a bright flash. The only remaining part of Kaon was the giant crater it had left on the surface of Cybertron, an unbelievably massive chasm.

“Ratchet?”

Each of Omega’s many cameras were trained into that huge hole, relaying back coordinates and assessments of how deep it went and what critical lines it may have damaged. Terrifying, but also a massive mess that he absently noted would require vorns to fix.

“Ratchet? Can you hear me?”

Worse though was the other screen. The one which displayed the location and status of each crew member. The one which now displayed a simple message under one of those names.

Not in range.

The machine pinged, attempting to reestablish the connection every few clicks, but always coming up with that same damning answer.

Not in range.

“Ratchet please, you’re scaring me!”

Something appeared in front of his faceplates, and automatically he jerked back, optics refocusing on the room around him.

“You moved! Are you alright?” 

“I-” Ratchet gasped, reeling back as he remembered where he was and finally identified the flying creature and insistent voice as Sari. “Yeah, I’m - fine.”

“Good, ‘cuz you really freaked me out for a moment then. Were you surprised at the city vanishing?”

“...Yeah, sure.”

Sari paused in midair. “... What is it?”

Ratchet’s voice shook slightly. “I… I can’t contact Optimus. His signal’s vanished.”

“What?! But, I thought you said everyone at the arena had made it out?”

“The Elite guard did.” Ratchet replied dully. “But they didn’t mention him by name and now…” 

“He can’t be-”

“He’s gone, Sari. They took him.” Ratchet buried his faceplates in his servos, suddenly overcome. “They… they took him. Oh, Primus.” It was his worst nightmares come true. Not Optimus, that kind kid trying his best. Not after Prowl. Vaguely, Ratchet registered Sari landing on his arm and curling up against him in shared sorrow. Soon enough, he knew he would have to be strong for the rest of the team, but for now he let himself despair.

Later

Chaar was orange, dusty and loud. 

Well, Optimus was prepared to admit that it probably wasn’t always so loud, but right now - before a massive crowd of roaring Decepticons - Optimus wasn’t really appreciating the noise. Nor was he appreciating Megatron’s servo clamped onto his shoulder, or the chains wrapped around his chassis, or the fact that said crowd of Decepticons were celebrating his capture. All in all, not a great situation.

Megatron was making some speech about Decepticon superiority, and his grand return, and the recapture of Kaon, etc etc. Optimus meanwhile was mostly trying to avoid the gazes of the hungry crowd, especially when Megatron’s speech turned to his ‘capture of the Autobot Prime that caused their defeat!’

Half of Optimus wanted to shrink away and hide, but the proud part of him wanted to stand firm and show the gathered Decepticons that Autobots could be strong, too. In the end, that part won; he squared his shoulders and stared out over the crowd, attempting to project an image of aloofness.

Steadfast, his gaze did not falter, not even when Megatron leaned down slightly and murmured into his audial, low and intimate, “Welcome to Chaar, Optimus Prime.”

Chapter Text

Megatron swirled the oil in his chalice, sipped delicately, and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction before turning his attention to the mech seated across from him. “Sitting comfortably, Prime?” Megatron purred, followed by a pointed look at the as yet untouched cube in front of the other, “Is the energon to your liking?”

Said Prime did not respond, instead choosing to sullenly ignore both warlord and cube in favour of picking at his cuffs. They really were rather ingenious creations. In place of the standard stasis cuffs most mecha used, these consisted of four metal bands, one around each wrist and ankle which were not connected to each other in the traditional manner. Instead, the bands could be magnetically linked to each other in a variety of positions, or even used to stick the unfortunate wearer to the walls or floor itself. At the same time, the cuffs prevented the wearer from transforming any part of their frame, and could even generate a stasis pulse to paralyse a potential escapee. Perfect for an unruly guest.

Currently, the bands around the young Prime’s ankles were magnetised to the legs of his sumptuous chair, preventing the mech from leaving, while his arms remained free for him to fuel with. Or not, as it was turning out.

“There’s no need to be so glum, you know.” Megatron murmured, carefully watching his captive's movements.

Optimus Prime pointedly did not answer.

“Well, if you need anything, do ask - you are, after all, a guest here. And as such, your comfort is my priority.”

“My comfort? You know, what would make me a lot more comfortable would be not being a captive in a Decepticon fortress!” 

Despite Prime’s outburst, Megatron remained unruffled, merely sipping from his goblet and patiently waiting for his captive’s anger to ebb.

“Perhaps,” he continued after the Prime had calmed “but as your host your wellbeing is my responsibility. And I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

“As if I have any reason to believe you.”

"There's no need to be so angry, you know. A true warrior accepts defeat with grace"

Silence stretched between them again, with the shorter mech shifting uncomfortably in his seat for a long moment, before grunting. "Fine, I’ll bite. What do you want from me?"

Megatron let out another sigh. "Have you considered that your very presence may be enough?"

Optimus Prime stared at him blankly.

Autobots. Megatron vented deeply. "I suppose I will have to explain a little of Decepticon culture, then. Consider for a moment the fact that we Decepticons are almost wholly warframes. While we value many skills, strength and tactical intelligence are among the most important to us. As their leader, I am one of the mightiest Decepticons. And you defeated me. Therefore, it stands to reason that you are stronger and smarter than most Decepticons. As such, your capture brings honour to us all, by proving we can defeat one as powerful as yourself, and then keep you captive."

The Prime snorted incredulously. "Honour, huh? Yeah, right - I don’t believe you know the meaning of the word."

Megatron sighed internally again. Oh well, it wasn’t like he’d expected the Prime to accept this easily. Optimus Prime was too strong, too proud to cede any ground easily. Any work would need to be careful and slow, starting with showing him how Decepticons really were rather than how Autobot propaganda portrayed them. “Believe me or not, it will remain the truth. Now, onto the terms of your… stay here.”

Prime snorted again, but Megatron ploughed on regardless. “As a guest here you will have a measure of freedom, but that freedom will vanish for some time should you misbehave. I’m sure you know what I mean, but just to be perfectly transparent: attacking other mechs, sabotaging any part of the base, leaving traps and of course attempting to escape are all forbidden. If I find you to have done any of those things I will have you sent to an empty cell for as long as I deem fit, and I can promise that you will enjoy it much less than roaming around the citadel.”

The Prime grunted. "Oh of course, just a cell. Like you’re going to let me off that easily."

"Again, I am not lying. You will see in time. For now though, if you have no questions I would be happy to show you to your new quarters."

"… Sure, why not. Not like I have anything better to do." He looked pointedly at the bonds keeping him restrained in the chair.

"Very well. Do bring your energon with you, after your earlier exertions I dare say you are still in need of fuel. Perhaps a short tour is in order as well."

"Sounds delightful."

The citadel itself was, admittedly, quite impressive. It was certainly large, with sprawling corridors that seemed to go on forever, populated by countless Decepticons striding towards unknown destinations in a business-like manner. Judging by the occasional glimpses Optimus caught out the huge blastproof windows, they were quite high up in the citadel, although he wasn’t sure how large the place actually was - after Megatron's speech on the edge of Kaon he'd been bundled up and dragged into the bottom of the building, and hadn't managed to get a very good view at all. 

After that, he'd been brought to a medbay and given a quick checkup before being fitted with the infernal cuffs currently holding his servos together. Then of course he'd been forced into Megatron’s… sitting room? Receiving room? It had been pretty nice, all soft padded chairs and low lighting, and it had a selection of fuels as well, so maybe some kind of lounge for high command? 

Either way, it hadn't really revealed much about the rest of the place. Now at least he was getting a better look at the citadel… even if it was confusing as the Pit and he had to deal with Megatron's servo solidly gripping his shoulder as he walked the halls.

Said halls were also surprisingly nice compared to his previous experiences with Decepticon architecture (i.e the jagged remains of Kaon) and contained many arched windows and swooping ceilings, and while the walls and floors were the classic Decepticon purple it was much better lit than their usual ships.

As for the windows themselves… he had tried to subtly walk towards them a few times, but Megatron had just tugged him back and claimed that "his first sight of the city should be from a better viewpoint", before nudging him forward in a prompt to continue walking. Optimus had considered snapping at Megatron each time, but ultimately it didn't seem worth it right now, despite his rising annoyance with the Decepticon Emperor. Megatron just kept treating this like a sideshow - treating him like an amusing pet rather than a warrior in his own right, and it was really starting to tick Optimus off even more than the rest of the situation. He seemed to think everything was so funny.

Silently fuming, Optimus didn't even notice where they were going until Megatron ushered him through a sleek door. Abruptly pulled out of his reverie, he looked up and saw that he was in a large, circular room inhabited by various desks and screens around the edges… and in the centre of the room there was a purple and grey throne, the back of which formed the base of a huge Deceptibrand, demanding the attention of all who entered.

Behind him Megatron squeezed his shoulder. "As you may have already guessed, this is the command centre, seat of our power here on Chaar."

"Of course, so you can constantly remind everyone that you're in charge. Has anyone ever told you it's a bit much?"

"Not to my faceplates. But that isn't what I brought you here to see. Come." Megatron started walking again, leaving Optimus no choice but to move or else end up dragged along by his shoulder. The big Decepticon towed him around the raised dais of the throne, and towards the back of the room. 

"Now it is time for you to look upon my city."

Megatron gestured grandly, and before Optimus could voice a sarcastic comment the entire back wall of the command centre began to lift and pack away, revealing itself to actually be a heavy curved shutter over a massive window. As the shutter rose, light spilled into the room and Optimus lifted his servos to protect his optics from the sudden change with a wince. 

As his optics adjusted though he gingerly lowered them, able to look out the window and see-

A sprawling, shining city.

He was unable to conceal his gasp - he had heard about the Con capital before of course, but now that he saw it he was amazed at the sheer immensity of it. Autobot propaganda has always made out that it was a disgusting, underdeveloped place but the sight of it spread out before him immediately debunked those ideas. Of course, he knew that the government endorsed information was often exaggerated, but looking at the capital now…!

Unlike Iacon’s carefully regimented structure, Chaar’s capital seemed to be much more chaotic, different sized buildings spread unevenly across the baking orange rock. Despite the lack of uniformity however the city appeared to be incredibly vibrant, tall spires and squat dens side by side, shimmering with every colour imaginable under the desert sun.

He couldn't help but gawp at the sight, drinking in the image of the gleaming city.

A deep chuckle filled the room, and Optimus was reminded once more that he wasn’t alone.

“From the look of awe on your face, I’d say you like what you see. Incredible, isn’t it - our beautiful city and home. Darkmount. A place we made for ourselves, apart from you Autobots’ stifling rules and laws. There are many of your kind who claimed that we could never survive apart from Autobot authority. And yet, we thrive . One more folly on the part of your government.”

Optimus was impressed, but one part of that sentence stuck out. "So you built your perfect haven… and you called it Darkmount?"

“You may jest, but that name has plenty of history - Darkmount was originally one of our dreadnought-class battleships which we migrated here in, but it was also an older ship, so we chose to scuttle it and strip it for materials to build shelters.”

That was… surprisingly reasonable, actually. Still a fragging stupid name for a city, but a reasonable explanation.

"Since you like the look of it so much, a tour may be in order in the future - provided you behave yourself. For now though, I believe I ought to show you to your quarters. It has been a long day, after all."

Optimus didn't have the energy to protest as he was towed away for the umpteenth time that day.

Collapsed on a huge berth, Optimus stared blankly at the wall of his 'quarters'. Glorified cell, more like.

The entire room was massive, actually; clearly it had been designed for a Decepticon and not a singular Autobot prisoner.

If it weren't for the locked door and guard outside, he could almost believe himself to be in some sort of luxury hotel. Not that he had ever had the money for such a thing.

Still, the berth itself was surprisingly soft, and the rest of the room equally nice with en-suite washracks - probably because it was officer quarters. Megatron had led him through the winding corridors for some time before arriving at a set of marginally larger doors, which were apparently housing for junior officers. After pushing him inside Megatron had sweetly 'requested' Optimus' presence for mid-afternoon fuel the next day before locking the door, remarking that Optimus was entitled to some privacy.

He'd already spent several minutes searching the berth and storage unit for bugs. He wasn’t going to trust anything that came out of Megatron’s intake.

He didn't trust Megatron's words about his place here, either - Megatron obviously desired some sort of revenge. As if his actions in the arena hadn't spelled it out enough!

… But maybe Megatron had been telling some of the truth, and keeping him here was going to be that revenge. His justification had made a twisted sort of sense, that he would be kept here as proof of Megatron's superiority - meaning that Megatron likely viewed him as some sort of trophy or war prize… which made him a whole other kind of angry. Despite that though, being some kind of pet on a loose-ish leash would make it much easier for him to escape later down the line. His first priority would definitely be figuring out how to remove his cuffs, but he felt too drained to start examining them now. 

He felt strange - wrung out, from the high emotions of the day. Idly, he was aware that he should be angrier at Megatron, more afraid of his captivity, but his processor was full of fog and none of those new emotions were registering correctly.

Optimus rolled over to face the ceiling and huffed. Allspark, what a day. Just that morning he had been worrying over the finer details of the trial, and now he was a captive in the Con capital itself!

… He hoped his team was alright.

Turning over his worries in his processor, Optimus drifted into an uneasy recharge.

Chapter Text

Morning brought Optimus no reprieve, although at the very least he wasn’t exhausted anymore. Waking had been an upsetting endeavour, as confusion over his location had washed over him before getting utterly crushed by the memories of the past day. He still couldn't quite believe how quickly things had fallen apart, and now- 

For a moment his spark flared with pain as he began to fully take in his situation. 

His family - when would he see them again? When would he be freed or negotiated for, or manage to escape? Surely the council would open communications as soon as they had sorted out the situation on Cybertron, but how long would that take? 

And in the meantime he was at the mercy of the Decepticons, and the seemingly fickle whims of Megatron. He didn't know if his captor would keep to his word - he didn't know if anything Megatron said was true.

Optimus felt like he was frozen, terrified thoughts chasing one after the other as he gripped the bunched up sheets of the berth like a lifeline.

The Decepticons had no reason to treat him well - in fact, most of them probably wanted to see his helm on a pike. And Megatron - Megatron had claimed that he just wanted to keep Optimus here, but what would that include? Torture? Beatings? Death by sheer humiliation? He had no idea of what to expect and it was terrifying.

Yesterday, consumed by anger and desperation, he had managed to keep it together but now, alone and unwatched, he fell apart.

The uncertainty and dread of the situation were just so overwhelming that he couldn’t think of anything else, petrified by his own fears and doubts.

He'd been trying so hard to remain strong and unruffled in front of Megatron, and now that the totality of the situation had come crashing down on him he was swamped by unavoidable terror. What if he couldn't escape? What if Megatron got bored of him and decided to-

Vent. He needed to vent. Burrowing deeper down into the sheets Optimus struggled to control his panic and cut off those worrying lines of thought as a memory of a grounding servo on his shoulder and a gruff yet kind voice in his audials surfaced. Just vent, kid. It's going to be alright.

By degrees he managed to calm down, the memory of Ratchet’s soothing presence slowly quieting his overtaxed processor.

Allspark, what he wouldn’t give to see Ratchet right now.

… He’d have to try to avoid spiralling like that again - it certainly wouldn’t help him out here, and he very much didn’t want to know what his captors might do if they caught him like that.

For now, he ought to focus on what he could do about his situation - starting with his restraints and cell. Optimus pulled himself up until he was sitting, thoughts ceasing their whirling as he calmed. He needed to get ready for his meeting with Megatron too, so planning a little of what he wanted to say would be useful.

After all, doing something about his worries usually helped.

Megatron’s sitting room(?) was much the same as the day before, although this time he was able to appreciate it a bit more due to not being magnetised in place. Soft chairs, high quality energon, smirking warlord; check, check, check. Unfortunately.

Speaking of…

Across from him, Megatron lounged carelessly, ostensibly focused on the goblet of energon in his servos. Nevertheless, between sips his ruby optics flicked to Optimus, alert and calculating, gauging his captive’s state.

They had been sitting like this for some time now, but Optimus wasn’t going to take this lying down anymore. The only way to find out his true position here would be confronting Megatron head on, so when Megatron next looked over at him Optimus met his gaze and held it steadily, a silent challenge in his own optics.

Megatron didn’t seem overly surprised, and continued watching Optimus watch him for a long moment before breaking optic contact to place his empty goblet back on the table as the corners of his mouth curved up gently.

“I take it you found your quarters sufficient?”

Optimus didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to rise to the obvious bait Megatron was laying out - but staying sullen and silent wasn’t going to get him anywhere. For the time being he was trapped at Megatron’s mercy, so playing along would probably be safer in the long run. Even if he wanted nothing more than to slap that strange grin off his captor’s faceplates.
“… The room’s fine. A little large, I suppose.”

Megatron smiled wider at the response, before reaching forward to pour himself another drink, huge servos gripping the fragile crystal bottle with delicate precision. 

“Well, that’s good to hear. I do want you to spend your stay here comfortably.”

Of course. Optimus steeled himself - time to start asking the important questions. “Right, about that: what am I actually supposed to do during my ‘stay’? Because if the answer is ‘have tea parties’ I’ll end up dying outright due to boredom.”

For a moment, Megatron looked taken aback, and then let out a rich chuckle. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised - you’ve repeatedly proven yourself to be a mech of action, after all. If you are as deathly bored as you say, then I may be able to provide you with a little intellectual challenge.”

Reaching under the table, Megatron drew out a stack of boxes with various logos. They almost looked like… 

“You want me… to play board games with you. I take back what I said, I’m not that bored yet.”

Megatron shrugged, lightly placing the stack to the side. “They’re strategy sims actually, but it’s just a suggestion. I’m happy to provide you with entertainment and material comforts - as long as you continue to obey my rules.”

Optimus had to hold in a snort at that one. “Sure. So I really am just supposed to sit around and do nothing, then. You know, for all your claims of my capture bringing honour it feels more like you just wanted a trophy to show off.”

At last, Megatron seemed genuinely affected by something Optimus said - stilling in his motions before turning to face him, optics sharp with something Optimus couldn’t identify.

When he next spoke his voice was low and deliberate, and he was watching Optimus closely.

“Tell me, Prime, when you captured me and brought me to Cybertron did you not feel pride? Did your people not feel accomplished? My treatment of you has been far kinder, far more respectful than the way your Elite Guard treated me . And even if I did treat you as a war prize - is that not exactly how you and your people treated me and mine?”

Optimus stared, how dare he -

“That’s - that’s not the same! You’re a criminal, you’ve killed and hurt uncountable numbers of mechs! I brought you back to Cybertron so you could face justice.”

Megatron let out a patronising little sigh, like he was actually disappointed. Gradually he leaned forward, optics flinty, almost accusatory. Optimus was filled with the urge to get away, to escape that silently burning gaze and the judgement it carried.

“Isn’t it the same? You say you captured me in the name of justice, but that wasn’t your only reason, now was it? I’ve seen the way your peers and precious Magnus treat you, even after your victory over me. You wanted to prove yourself to all of them, not just them but the entire planet, hence the grandeur of your return. Handing myself and my lieutenants over to the Elite Guard directly would have been far safer than showing us off the public as you did… and I believe you know that.” 

Optimus reared backwards in his seat, spark loud in his chest. No! That wasn’t - he hadn’t brought in Megatron for his ego! That’s the kind of thing Sentinel would’ve done, he wasn’t - he wasn’t like that!

… Right? 

But he had wanted everyone to see that he had succeeded. He had wanted to prove himself for so long.

Apparently, his extended silence was enough of an answer for Megatron, as the bigger mech leaned back in his own chair, gaze reserved yet attentive. 

“Hm. I see that you’re actually thinking about it. Another point to your credit then, since most of your kin wouldn’t even consider the flaws in your reasoning.”

For once, Optimus had no response.

Allspark, he hated that Megatron was right.

Pacing back and forth in his habsuite, Optimus mentally wrestled with himself, turning over the sides of the argument in his helm. He truly hadn’t thought about the exact details of their reversed roles, too concerned with his own captive state, but now that Megatron had pointed it out the similarities were glaringly obvious.

Still, that didn’t mean that Megatron was completely right - after all, he had committed hundreds, nay thousands of crimes in the past. But his point about how Optimus had treated him… Optimus had humiliated him upon their return to Cybertron, and despite his own claims of desiring fairness, he hadn’t really achieved it - or meant it. He’d - he had wanted to hurt Megatron, just a little, for everything the mech had put him and his team through.

Heavily, Optimus settled on the edge of the berth, servos clasped tightly together.

There was still that knot of grief and resentment strung tight in his spark, ever since Prowl died. After everything Megatron had done, Optimus was hardly in the mood to forgive him. But in regards to his treatment only… Megatron was right. And Optimus supposed that he couldn’t really blame the warlord for it.

That didn’t mean he was going to take this treatment lying down, or stop attempting to escape - but he supposed he shouldn’t argue overly with his captors provided they continued to behave decently towards him. Again, acting civil with Megatron would likely keep him safer in the future.

Despite that though, he still needed to find a way out of here, and his cuffs were the obvious place to start. He’d given them and his cell a cursory look that morning while calming down from his little… episode, but hadn’t been able to deduce much. His room had evidently been cleared of potential dangers before he was moved into it, and was decidedly empty apart from the huge berth, a few cubes under the energon dispenser and the serviceable washracks. All of which meant that he didn’t have a lot of resources to work with. 

As for the cuffs themselves, the slim bands of metal sat almost completely flush with his plating, with only a tiny gap to pick at. The medic that had installed them had warned him that the cuffs had an anti-tamper mechanism - apparently any attempt to damage them would cause the cuffs to generate a stasis pulse to render him helpless, while alerting nearby guards to his efforts. So that put simply smashing them against a wall out of the question. A more subtle approach, though… 

He didn’t have anything to fashion tools with at the moment, but Megatron seemed interested in showing him around at least some of the citadel. Of course, the cuffs prevented access to his subspace or use of his integrated tools and grapples as well, so hiding anything he swiped might prove to be a little difficult - but Optimus had ways around that. 

1000 years fixing up space bridges had been tedious at the time, but in hindsight he had gained plenty of useful skills…

Chapter Text

A week dragged by. The days mostly followed a similar pattern: wake up, drink morning ration, sit around and plot until midday, get escorted to somewhere in the citadel to take fuel with Megatron, get escorted back to his room afterward, plot some more, drink evening ration, go to berth, toss and turn for a few cycles plagued by his anxieties, fall into recharge. Rinse and repeat the next day - not that ‘day’ had much meaning on Chaar, since the planet had multiple suns and rarely knew true night. The only change was the location of his meetings(?) with Megatron - it turned out that the citadel had a small courtyard containing a crystal garden.

The garden itself was pretty - softly glowing crystals twining up elaborate trellises, cultivated in such a way to enclose around the visitor as they wandered along the winding paths until the pathway suddenly opened up into a spacious yet cosy-feeling clearing complete with elegant garden furniture and a little field that glittered invitingly - an effect spoiled only by the massive grey and purple walls towering over the whole thing. Despite that, the sight of the sky far above had been enough to stop Optimus in his tracks the first time he entered, even with the blistering heat of Chaar’s suns beating down on him.

In truth, he'd only been a captive for the last week, had only been missing his family and home for the past week, but already it felt like months. Disconnected from the world around him, knowing only his cell and his meetings with Megatron, time seemed to stretch interminably every day. He'd spent joors investigating every nanometer of his cell, poring over his cuffs for miniscule flaws, trying to mentally fill in a map of the citadel with the tiny amount of knowledge he had.

As for his talks with Megatron, they tended to be… strange. He seemed genuinely interested in spending a cycle or two each day talking to Optimus, even though he was probably busy Emperor-ing the rest of the time or something. Megatron would bring up various subjects to start off their little chats, and continue to engage Optimus for upwards of a cycle on them, no matter how inconsequential the topic was. Optimus had been pleasantly surprised by Megatron’s knowledge of literature and history, although since Megatron had lived through a lot of the latter he supposed it wasn’t that shocking. 

Take one of their meetings a few days before, for example.  Megatron had simply set a stack of datapads on the table and then asked-

"Do you have much experience with non-Autobot literature?”

Optimus had stared at the datapads for a long moment, before registering the question. “What sort of question is that? Do you think I just sat around twiddling my thumbs on Earth?”

“Fair enough. I will be more specific, then - have you read any Decepticon literature, or anything pre-war that was not in line with what would become the Autobot government?”

“You don’t have to dance around the point. You want to know how ‘poisoned my processor is with propaganda’.” Optimus acted out the air quotes with a sardonic expression on his faceplates. Allspark, Megatron was barely trying to hide his motivations here.

“… I would word it more as wanting to know ‘how much of an open processor you keep’. Although considering your attitude towards organics, I can already assume that you are a little more accepting than many of your fellow Autobots.”

“Sure. I take it those are some seminal Decepticon works, then?”

Megatron chuckled lowly. “I’m not that foolish. No, these are some collected poetry and short fiction by Decepticon writers. They are not propaganda, but true art created by my people. I simply thought that you might be interested in broadening your horizons.”

“… You know what, sure. But in exchange” Optimus locked optics with Megatron, so as to better gauge his reaction, “I want to know what your opinion on Earth literature is.”

Megatron didn’t appear overly surprised by the request, agreeing with a simple nod.

“A fair deal. I did explore their Internet plenty while locked up in that human’s lab, mostly for want of nothing better to do. Why do you ask?”

I want to know if your offer of non-propaganda Deception works is genuine, Optimus thought. Out loud, he replied “To check if your taste is any good.”

Megatron smiled, and laid his servos upon the table. “Very well. Where do you wish to begin?”

In the end, they never made it to the datapads, too busy debating the merits of Poe, Shelley and countless others.

Afterward, while packing up, Megatron had implied that he had a personal store of datapads somewhere in the fortress, and that some could be procured for Optimus if he continued to behave, which - well, Optimus wasn’t going to cease any of his future escape efforts but he was certainly going to act like he was on his best behaviour if that was on the cards.

In general, their conversations were actually fairly enjoyable, and Optimus didn’t have to make much effort to remain civil - until they reached the point of politics, that was. Then it was like being on the field of battle once more - both fiercely defending their points and neither conceding their own view, and it often ended in a tense agreement to drop the topic, at least until the next meeting anyway.

And then there were those times when after some exchange or other Megatron would go completely silent and watch Optimus keenly, staring at him as he desperately tamped down his desire to squirm under the intense scrutiny. Actually, now that he was spending more time with Megatron he could safely say that everything about the mech was just - intense. His calculated words, his precise movements, his piercing gaze. Sometimes Optimus would forget all of that for a little while, only for Megatron’s gaze to turn downright predatory and abruptly remind him of who exactly he was chatting with.

But if anything, Optimus supposed he was a little less afraid of Megatron now, despite the circumstances. Back on Earth… Megatron had just been the enemy, an unimaginably powerful force that he somehow had to defend against to protect everyone around him. Back then, Optimus hadn’t really had the luxury of time to ponder Megatron’s motives or personal ideology, too busy trying to keep his team and himself alive. Now he was learning more about Megatron’s opinions than he had ever really wanted to and he had to say, it was actually a little - exciting? Intriguing? 

Optimus had always loved history after all, had always found solace and enjoyment in wartime documentaries and aged datapads, so getting to speak to a mech who had not just lived through those times but had been an active part of it all was unbelievably interesting - especially since all of his prior research had barely even touched on the Decepticon side of things, except for their battle tactics and cruel treatment of Autobots.

… He was prepared to admit that his previous sources may have been propaganda, at least in part.

Of course, he still wasn’t happy about the situation, but so far being a Decepticon prisoner was a lot more hospitable than he’d initially expected. That included how Megatron was acting, as well.

After their initial conversation, Optimus had expected to be treated as a pet of some kind - kept locked away and ignored, only brought out to be flaunted in front of others - but that hadn’t been the case. In fact, since their little argument over it Megatron hadn’t brought it up at all - and he didn’t talk to Optimus like a trophy or prize, either. Megatron… Megatron was treating him like an equal. Intellectually, at least.

He frequently brought up complicated strategic manoeuvres and detailed ideologies, all the while acting like he simply expected Optimus to understand. And when Optimus did understand and responded in kind, Megatron would listen carefully and then respond to that , paying close attention to Optimus all the while. No matter what point Optimus was making, or what subject they were talking about, Megatron always listened and replied with every indication of genuine interest.

In the moment it was nice, but afterward Optimus was mostly just - annoyed.

Why did Megatron have to be the mech actually listening to him and not Autobot Command, fraggit? If anymech in the Elite Guard or the Council had paid the same amount of attention to his concerns, he probably wouldn’t have been captured in the first place!

Still, he didn’t think Megatron was acting like this out of the kindness of his spark. He clearly had a motive, and Optimus was fairly sure of what it was - he hadn’t forgotten the offer Megatron had made him back in the arena. Megatron was trying to convince him to defect by acting polite and open minded - or at the very least, seeking to portray the Decepticons as reasonable rather than murderous and shake Optimus’ faith in his own faction's teachings. Optimus wasn’t going to be fooled, though - nothing would make him forget Megatron’s ruthless actions or the calculated savagery of his attacks or his own status as a helpless captive.

So Optimus stayed on his guard, but still engaged with their conversations rather than outright ignoring Megatron.

That day, the crystal garden was slightly cooler than usual, all of Chaar’s suns beneath the walls of the citadel, lending a pleasant evening environment to the grove.

Megatron actually hadn’t been present yet when he was escorted in, so Optimus was forced to put up with having his pedes magnetised to the chair again while he sat waiting. His usual energon was in handy reach on the wrought steel table, along with several datapads and smaller devices that looked to be holo-emitters. His guard had already vanished among the crystals, so Optimus was left to examine the devices while time dragged by - and the datapads were password locked, so he couldn’t even entertain himself by reading them.

Eventually, heavy ped-steps sounded in the quiet garden and Megatron finally appeared from behind a towering crystal pillar, with the air of a mech out for a refreshing stroll and not a warlord meeting with his prisoner.

“Ah, my apologies for my lateness. I’m afraid some rather important business came up that I had to attend to.”

“So you left me sitting here for the last quarter cycle. You could have at least let me read the datapads.”

Megatron merely chuckled and carefully lowered himself into the other chair.

“Again, I am sorry to have taken so long. I do hope you didn’t become overly bored. “

Optimus grunted. “As you can see, I survived. What’s the point of all these, anyway?”

“Well, I thought you might want some information on how Cybertron has reacted to the end of my trial.”

Optimus couldn’t help but look up at that - Megatron was willingly offering information about Cybertron? He hadn’t expected to learn anything without a fight. But then… Megatron was probably doing it to look reasonable. Again. Of course, that was no reason not to listen, but he would at least need to be critical of whatever Megatron said.

In the meantime, Megatron was reshuffling the datapads and holo-emitters, placing some in easy reach while setting others to the side. Noticing Optimus’ attention, a slow smirk spread across his faceplates. “I take it that you are interested, then.”

“Yes, I’m interested . Cybertron is my home, of course I care.”

“Reasonable. I suppose I shall start with the physical state of Cybertron.” 

With that, Megatron activated some of the holo-emitters, grunting quietly when one proved to be nonfunctional. The rest turned on happily, displaying images of where Kaon used to be. The crater was… shockingly massive. True, Optimus had looked down from the city’s edge and seen the growing abyss beneath his pedes, but it had been hard to put into perspective beyond ‘too deep for him to fall down’. Now, satellite imagery clearly showed the huge crater to scale with construction bots crawling all over it, miniscule brightly coloured dots. Beside the picture a news feed was scrolling rapidly, further statistics and damage reports flashing by.

It took him a moment to regather his composure and recover from the shock, especially under Megatron’s watchful optics, but Optimus managed to regain his voice fairly quickly.

“... So you created a big hole. I’m glad you’re proud of it.”

“It is just a hole to you . To Decepticons everywhere, it is a momentous victory over the Autobots, and a message - that we have stolen back our heritage, our homeland, from right under your people’s watch.”

“Sure, whatever. But you know that’s not what I’m actually interested in.”

Megatron chuckled, and shifted the holo-emitter in his servo, changing the display to the feeds of several of Cybertron’s most prominent news sites.

“Very well. As you can see, the removal of Kaon caused… quite a stir.”

The news feeds ran constantly: updates on the situation, pundits debating the actions of the Guard, interviews from shaken witnesses, but what popped up most frequently was - 

His own face.

Hundreds of headlines about his actions in the arena, his capture, his potential fate in the servos of the Decepticons. Some of them discussed his duel with Megatron; others, his desperate flight from the arena. Many speculated on whether he was already dead, executed by Megatron’s servo, or else being tortured in the depths of Darkmount’s citadel. 

Sitting there, in that beautiful crystal garden with plenty of fuel and completely uninjured, Optimus had never felt more disconnected from his home and people, not even during his time on Earth. The truth - the one he was living - was jarring in comparison.

“My, you seem startled. Whatever could it be?”

This time, finding his voice was much harder, doubly so with Megatron’s mocking tone ringing in his audials.

“I… I wasn’t expecting there to be so much about me, that’s all.” Optimus desperately tried to keep his voice steady, to not show how uncomfortable he truly was, with questionable results.

Megatron snorted.

“I’m not sure why you’re surprised - your capture of me and return of the Allspark was more than enough to make you Cybertron’s darling. They were calling you ‘The Saviour of Cybertron’ for a reason, after all. And now, they’re all very upset about your capture. I understand that Sentinel Magnus has been forced to resign, and the Elite Guard is having to answer some very tough questions on how they let you get caught. ‘Oversight in comm channels’ doesn’t seem to be satisfying anyone.”

Optimus’ train of thought abruptly stopped, halted by Megatron’s words. “… You wanted this. You - did you plan for this?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I suspected something like this might happen, considering your status, and then capitalised on it. After all,” and Megatron’s lazy smile grew wider, “I called upon you to be my attorney for a reason. Yes, I wanted you in that arena to witness my victory - but I also wanted you there for another, more pertinent reason: to bring you back to Chaar as my captive. Otherwise, my triumph would not have been complete.”

“You planned to capture me all along.” Optimus breathed, as the true scale of Megatron’s manipulations finally unfolded. Allspark, Megatron had played him for an utter fool, and he hadn’t even known it. He’d sort of assumed that Megatron had opportunistically chosen to capture him because he hadn’t known to retreat, but - convincing him to be in the arena, setting up the warp, separating him from his comrades - Megatron had planned the whole thing, down to the damn public outcry. That trial… it had been a farce in every way. And Optimus had fallen for all of it. 

“Oh, yes - the mix up with the Elite Guard’s comm channels was just a fortunate coincidence.” 

Optimus gripped his chair’s armrests tightly, processor working overtime to make sense of the new information. It was all so much, but at the root of it one question remained.

“Why me? For all your claims of triumph and honour, you’ve done nothing with me. And fame aside, I have no real power on Cybertron - it’s not like you’ve captured Ultra Magnus! In the grand scheme of things, it will make little difference to the Autobots as a whole.”

… Megatron was staring at him. And the expression on his faceplates - it wasn’t something Optimus was used to seeing. Not anger, smugness, calculation or attentiveness, but… disbelief? Annoyance? Something between the two? Whatever it was, it made him feel uneasy, and he shifted awkwardly in his seat.

At long last, Megatron finally spoke. “You truly believe that your capture will cause ‘little difference’. Did your capture of me cause ‘little difference’ to your people? Did your recovery of the Allspark do the same?”

“I - well…”

“You have proven your skill in battle, your strategic abilities and your tenacity tenfold by now - as I have already said. That is why I sought to capture you, why your mere presence brings honour upon us. Denying the Guard your abilities is already a victory, as far as many are concerned. Beyond these walls my people are celebrating our escape, our recovery of Kaon, and no less importantly, our capture of you . Cease your protestations of humility. You have no need for them here - for I already know what you are capable of.”

“Fine.” Optimus muttered, looking down at his servos rather than facing Megatron or the news feeds still endlessly scrolling. “You’ve gloated enough for one day, can I go back to my room now?”

He wasn’t looking at Megatron, but the creaking of armour on his chair was enough to know the warlord was gathering up the datapads.

Megatron sighed hugely. “Very well. I suppose they will have finished installing it by now.”

Wait, what? “Installing…?”

“A gift. A comm console and entertainment system that can connect to Chaar’s public network - for your good behaviour, and to alleviate your boredom. I will warn you ahead of time, it is not capable of sending messages and if you attempt to tamper with it the guards will be alerted, and then I may just have to take it away again. However, should your good behaviour continue I will perhaps allow you to wander part of the citadel in future, escorted by your guards of course.”

Optimus blinked, stunned into silence for the umpteenth time. That was - that was great, actually. Being able to stay abreast of the news, even if he couldn’t send out messages, was fantastic. He was just - being given that?

Megatron wasn’t paying attention to Optimus as he cleared up the table, and within moments a guard appeared out of the shrubbery to collect him, and Optimus had to walk away like Megatron hadn’t dropped multiple bombshells on him.

Back in his cell, Optimus was still kind of bewildered. All of that information and then the surprise of the comm console as well was simply too much to process. 

As for the skills thing… Optimus knew of his own abilities. Once upon a time he would have denied those claims, said that he wasn’t even a true soldier. Now, after all his time with his team/family, all those times one mech or another had called him out on his own self deprecation and made him face facts, Optimus believed in his own abilities - and trusted in them, too. That didn’t mean he was going to go around bragging about them, though! And his questions had totally been valid - skills or no, Optimus was still just a mid ranked Autobot soldier, nothing special in the optics of the army and government. The nerve of the mech for acting like that-!!!

Ugh. Anyway, the point was that Megatron didn’t know scrap about Optimus.

Seeking to distract himself from that annoying line of thought, Optimus glanced around the room, looking for the promised entertainment console.

Said ‘gift’ was front and centre on the wall, positioned so that he could use it from his berth, and still smelling of freshly welded metal. 

So many allowances, and so quickly, as well as all those speeches about Optimus’ skills…  Megatron really seemed intent on buttering him up. And Optimus was happy to take advantage of it all, of everything he could until he escaped. Speaking of…

Casually, he walked into the washracks and shut the door behind him, turning the spray on low as he stepped beneath it and grabbed a long handled brush. For a few moments he went through the motions of washing himself, scrubbing the brush into the gaps between the plating on his back, before reaching up with his other servo and carefully prying open the cover on his light bar.

Optimus allowed himself a little grin as he retrieved the selection of stolen parts from their hiding place in the hollow part of his light bar. After all, despite the cuffs preventing his subspace use Megatron hadn’t actually restrained his servos, and leaving him alone with those holo-emitters definitely hadn’t been one of the warlord’s best ideas. Thank the Allspark Megatron hadn’t wondered why one of them was suddenly nonfunctional.

With one easy movement he dropped the parts into the small bottle of liquid wax that had come with the room - he’d have to wash the parts off properly when he wanted to use them, but for now the opaque liquid and natural weight of the bottle would hide their existence from any searches. 

Optimus took his time finishing his shower, still grinning slightly. If Megatron thought Optimus was being well-behaved, he was in for the surprise of his life .

Ratchet stormed out of Fortress Maximus, boiling over with indignation. In his wake, Bumblebee and Bulkhead hurried after him, Jazz tripping along behind them .

He could hear the calls of the others behind him, and Sari trying to talk to him at helm height, but at that moment he couldn’t focus on anything but his own fury. How dare they! After everything Optimus had done for them!

It wasn’t until they were nearly back to Omega Supreme that Ratchet’s thundering pace finally slowed, anger cooling to something icier, but no less powerful. He took the steps up into Omega lethargically, the rest of the group following in unhappy silence. It was only when he finally settled into one of the command room seats with a dismal sigh that anyone dared speak.

“Sooo… that could have gone better.” Bulkhead murmured, glancing awkwardly at Ratchet.

Immediately, Sari exploded. “I can’t believe the Elite Guard said that Optimus ‘wasn’t a primary concern’! He’s been captured by the Cons!”

“Yeah, and he was the reason they got the Allspark back in the first place. They owe him, big time - all Autobots do!” Bumblebee chimed in, practically vibrating in his seat with anger. “I mean, I guess it shouldn’t have been a surprise that they blew us off - we already know how the Guard feel about us. Remember when they left us on Earth?”

“Or when they didn’t believe us about the Allspark?” Bulkhead rumbled.

“Or when they thought you were dead and didn’t even bother to look for you?” Sari piped up. “It isn’t fair!”

“I’ve got to agree, I thought they’d do something, but just saying OP isn’t important enough? I can’t believe it.” Jazz chimed in from his corner, confusion and upset clear in his voice.

“I… I can.” All the other mechs in the room stilled as Ratchet finally spoke, servo pressed into his forehelm. “It’s like you all said - they don’t care for mechs like us. And for everything that Optimus has done, to them he’s just another soldier. If we want to help him… we’re going to have to do it ourselves.”

“Right! Screw the Guard!” Bumblebee yelled, servos clenched. “They’ve never helped us anyway.”

“Yeah, we’re the ones who actually care.” Bulkhead interjected, gently rubbing Bumblebee’s back.

“I know plenty of mechs, especially through my fellow cyberninjas. I can get optics inside Darkmount, no problem.” Jazz pitched in.

Ratchet vented in deeply. “After my work in the war, I have plenty of favours I can call in as well.” Looking up, he glanced around the room to see the resolve clear on the faceplates of the team, eager to save Optimus - their leader, their friend, their beloved family member.

“For our Prime.”

“For Prime!” The other mechs chorused, faceplates set determinedly.

Stay strong, kid. We’re coming.

Chapter Text

The lab was quiet, save for the humming of various machines and the gentle bubbling of liquids being heated. Nimble digits danced between beakers and datapads, adjusting instruments, decanting chemicals, coordinating the nigh-magical process of transforming useless elements into fuel or solvent or coolant. Yes, the lab was quiet and peaceful, a haven from the chaos outside - at least until the door opened and somemech sauntered in.

"Still in here, huh?” the visitor remarked, poking a flashing display with one sharp claw. “I thought you were supposed to be on break at the moment.”

The scientist let out a deep sigh. Of course. “I’m busy. What do you want?”

“What do I want? Mm, not much. I’m here to talk to you, actually.” With that, the visitor wandered over to a desk and promptly sat on it, rifling through the datapads on top of it with every indication of interest.

The scientist bristled at the casual disregard for her property. “Get off my desk, I’m working.”

The visitor grinned, examining her claws. “Really? Because it looks an awful lot like you’re hiding in here. From a certain Autobot prisoner, perhaps?”

The scientist damn near dropped the beaker she was holding as she was abruptly reminded of the one thing she’d been trying to ignore. The knowledge that Optimus was somewhere in the citadel at that very moment, not even locked in a true cell but walking around relatively free… It was uncomfortable to think about. Sure, they’d met on Earth, but back then she’d been able to retreat after each of their little… confrontations. Now, she was working in the same building as him, which was also the one she lived in, even if she hadn’t actually seen him in the metal yet - mostly because she’d been making a concerted effort to avoid him. Hence, staying in her lab all day. (The last time she'd seen him was a broadcast of Megatron's return speech she'd had the misfortune to catch. Standing there, cuffed and shackled, Optimus had looked aloof and unbothered, but she’d known him long enough to see when he was putting on a brave face over his fears.)

She didn’t want to see Optimus again, didn’t want to think about him, would love to stop remembering the look on his faceplates when he’d promised that there was a place for her - as if she was some charity case that needed to be saved! (Never mind the respectful way he’d treated her, even as she tried to kill him. Never mind his repeated pleas to talk. Optimus had been doing it to feel better about his failure, of course he had.)

So anyway, it was really getting annoying that nomech would shut up about Optimus getting captured. Apparently, that even extended to her irritating visitor.

“Slipstream.” She hissed, tone full of warning. “Get out before I use my stingers on you.”

Slipstream snorted. “Wow, rude. I thought we were friends, Blackarachnia.”

“If you don’t leave me alone, we won’t be anymore.”

Leaning back on the desk, Slipstream smirked at her. “Now you’re definitely overreacting. That Prime has you feeling stressed, huh?”

Blackarachnia wasn’t sure whether she wanted to snap at Slipstream or throw a beaker full of acid at her. Damn jet trying to get under her plating. Another reminder not to forget who Slipstream was created by.

Still, could Slipstream not leave it alone for five clicks? Sure, maybe she was a little stressed about the situation, but that didn’t mean Slipstream had to provide commentary on it!

Blackarachnia turned on Slipstream, fangs bared. “I don’t feel any way about him. He’s nothing to me. Shut up and leave me alone.”

Slipstream sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. But either way, you can’t stay in here forever.”

She could. Really, she could kick Slipstream out or ignore her, but… Well, despite Chaar’s more accepting culture, she still couldn’t say she had masses of friends. Probably because she rarely left her lab or interacted with anymech outside of command. Until a certain pushy jet had started regularly invading her lab, that was. Slipstream was… she’d never admit it to anyone, but she felt something of an understanding with Slipstream. Both of them were considered less than mechs by some, both of them had little choice in their current forms, and both were relatively unfamiliar with Decepticon culture as a whole. So maybe she let Slipstream get away with a little more than she should. And despite her complaints, hanging out with Slipstream was even… fun.

Slipstream was still sitting on her desk, pretending to read her datapads.

“You’re not leaving until I agree, are you?”

“Obviously. Come on, everyone’s still celebrating the theft of Kaon, even though it’s already been more than a week since. Let’s go out and party, enjoy ourselves for a bit. Work can wait until later.”

Maybe taking her processor off things would be enough. Burying herself in her experiments certainly hadn’t worked.

“… Fine. I need a moment to clear up first, though.”

Slipstream hummed, picking up a datapad. “I can wait.”

Sitting in the middle of his over-large berth, Optimus flipped through the channels of his new entertainment console. So far, the console was proving to be informative, but not necessarily useful.

Decepticon entertainment was certainly… different. The channels were filled with televised sparring matches, discussions on whether trionium or durabyllium made for better weapons, ridiculously gorey action flicks and more. That wasn’t to say there was no other content - on the contrary many channels were devoted to more mundane topics like soap operas or game shows or home decoration. It was just that compared to Autobot media, there was proportionally a lot more about fighting - and that comparison included all the Autobot documentaries about the War, which got reruns frequently. In fact, apart from the shows covering Megatron’s trial and return, there was barely anything about the war at all, and even less blatant propaganda. 

Other than that surprise and the entertainment value of the shows there wasn't really anything interesting - even the many televised fights seemed to get treated more like a standard sport than the dangerous matches they were.

… Which made sense, he supposed. To his knowledge, the Decepticons had begun as Cybertron's army and defence force, large 'warframes' created to protect the smaller 'civilian framed' worker force and advance the efforts of the empire. Time had passed, the army became unsatisfied with their work and attempted a military coup which then kickstarted the great war. According to his history classes, the Decepticons had wanted to return to the expansionist days of the distant past, Cybertron's so-called 'golden age' where the empire stretched to a thousand different planets… and bulldozed over whatever life already existed there.

Which led neatly into the other weird thing which was, well, clicking to a Decepticon game show about soap opera trivia only to find that half of the contestants weren’t even Decepticons - neutrals, other mechanical alien races and even organic races all featured prominently. And - he guessed he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, the Decepticons welcomed techno-organics with open arms and had little open animosity toward other races, especially if they could trade with them.

He supposed that applied to the Decepticon’s treatment of the humans, too. Although Megatron’s actions on Earth were reprehensible, he hadn't ever really directly attacked humans who had not personally wronged him as Professor Sumdac had. He hadn’t even openly directed attacks at them in their final battle - he’d ignored the potential harm said battle could cause to the humans to be sure, but that had felt like it was just because he hadn’t even bothered to factor them in to the equation, as they were neither allies or threats but bystanders.

At the same time, Megatron willingly worked with some of the humans to get what he wanted, and despite how he’d captured and threatened Professor Sumdac the man had come back fine in the end.

With a deep sigh, Optimus turned the console off. Interesting or not, it wasn’t getting him anywhere. At least the Decepticon channels also covered some Autobot news, so he would be able to keep up with future developments on Cybertron.

Because Allspark, just sitting around and waiting for something to happen was driving him insane.

Despite the few parts he'd managed to steal so far, he wasn’t that much further forward than he was a week ago. The cuffs were still inscrutable and his cell was still exactly as useless. He did have some more ideas now, though. If he couldn’t find a way out of the cuffs there were other options to negate their effects - namely, finding a way to block signals from registering with them, which would prevent both the tracker and the stasis generators from working and dropping him to the ground mid-escape.

Although, even if he could figure out the cuffs, he still needed a point of exit - which was why he was beginning to think that he should wait a little while longer before attempting anything to see if Megatron truly would allow him to roam the citadel. Finding a valid escape route would be much easier if he could actually explore part of the citadel. And as much as he wanted to get home as soon as possible, he also knew that a fully fledged plan had a much better chance of succeeding than one thrown together hastily, even if he had to wait a while first. 

Gathering resources without raising suspicion was his main priority, so that when that golden chance arrived he would be able to take full advantage of it.

Once he was out of the citadel proper, he would also need to commandeer a space-worthy ship and actually escape the planet, which would also be easiest done if he couldn’t be tracked… or if he could send the citadel itself into chaos. 

Optimus sat up a little straighter, processor whirling with possibilities. Ideally, he’d find a way to knock out the camera system or cut Soundwave off from the feeds to prevent the mech from tattling on his every move and shutting every door he tried to go through. But aside from that… well, any kind of mayhem he could cause to distract as many Decepticons as possible would be useful.

Besides, a little sabotage would probably make him feel better.

Afternoon rolled around eventually, and soon enough Optimus was being escorted to Megatron’s sitting room(?) once more. As the door hissed open however it was clear that today would be different - mostly because a third chair had been dragged round and General Strika herself was lounging on it, apparently deep in conversation with Megatron. Both Decepticons looked up as he entered - Megatron with a slight smirk, and Strika with a subtle narrowing of her optics that gave him an intense feeling of being judged. Optimus swallowed and desperately tried not to look intimidated. Sure, he’d gotten a little more used to Megatron now but Strika was a comparative enigma, known only to him by her fearsome reputation.

While Shockwave was Megatron’s left servo, manipulating and spying in the darkness, Strika was his right - his advisor, enforcer, and according to some sources, oldest friend. When Megatron was away managing the army, Strika governed Chaar and much of the Empire, commanding the operations of the Decepticons with brutal efficiency. That efficiency was only matched by her skill on the field of battle and her tactics when it came to commanding the land forces of the Decepticons, who often appeared as a vanguard to crush the opposition before the rest of the army swooped in to bomb whatever remained into oblivion.

So yeah, you could say Optimus was a bit wary of Strika. Especially since she was currently eyeing him like a hawk assessing the abilities of an overly clever mouse. Nevertheless, he steeled himself and stepped into the room, servos clenched tightly at his sides.

“Ah, there you are.” Megatron gestured grandly at the third chair, situated on the other side of the table from both himself and Strika. “Do come and sit. As I’m sure you can see, Strika is joining us today.”

Strika closely watched Optimus as he cautiously moved to sit, ignoring the energon on the table.

“So, you’re the Prime that’s impressed Megatron so much. You’ve certainly stirred up the rest of the army as well, considering the celebrations. I can’t say I’m so easily awed, though.”

To her side, Megatron sighed deeply. “Strika, there’s no need to be so critical. He’s more than proven himself.”

“He’s proven himself to you. I require more than hearsay to judge a mech’s worth. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about.” Abruptly, Strika leaned back in her chair and pulled out a datapad, before locking optics with Optimus once more. “For your information, Megatron has requested my presence to explain our plans for Kaon - and Cybertron.” She snorted when Optimus perked up. “Personally I don’t think arming you any further is a good idea, but it is apparently considered the honourable thing to do.”

Megatron grunted, clearly impatient. “Yes, you’ve spent the last few joors complaining about it. Let’s get on with things, shall we? Our return of Kaon has mostly resulted in the aforementioned celebrations so far, but they won’t last forever.” 

“Right. What are you actually going to do with it, leave it rotting on the edge of Darkmount?” Optimus asked, warily watching Strika out of the corner of his optic.

Megatron opened his intake to speak, but Strika got there faster. “After all that effort, I should hope not. No, Kaon will be integrated into Darkmount as a new area of the city, once it is adequately repaired anyway. Our warriors are eager to rebuild and return to their original homes, to finally unite our unfortunate origins with the triumphant present state of our Empire.”

Optimus supposed that he should have expected that - half the point of the trial plot had ultimately been to recover Kaon. Aside from the fiasco of the trial, Kaon would be an easy propaganda tool within the Decepticons to inspire their soldiers, while also providing plenty of work for their citizens. 

(Megatron was shooting Strika an annoyed look. Strika was ignoring him.)

That wasn’t the whole answer though, so…

“And Cybertron? Somehow I don’t believe you’re just going to leave the Autobots alone while you rest on your laurels and build one city.”

This time Megatron managed to speak first. “Not quite. Although an open gambit would be foolish, we already have plans for Cybertron.”

Strika stiffened, shooting Megatron a look. “Offering an enemy a tactical advantage-”

“Would only be a problem if he could actually pass it on to his faction. As it is, one prisoner will not cause lasting harm to our plans.” Megatron cut in swiftly. For a long moment, the two Decepticons stared each other down, tension rising between them. Judging by the micro-expressions that raced across their faceplates they were arguing over comms, although Optimus could only guess at who was winning.

Strika broke off first, letting out an angry grunt but relenting. “… Fine. Well, we’re not exactly planning to make a military move for Cybertron yet - Kaon demands our time first. Information warfare however is fair game. The riot in the arena proved enough, proved that the Autobot citizens are straining against their government. It won’t take much to inflame the citizens further - I have no doubt the espionage department is already working on it.”

Of course. “So you’re inciting further riots.”

Strika leaned forward, optics hard. “It’s hardly unreasonable, the conditions on Cybertron are more than bad enough to deserve it - after all, riots and protests are already taking place. We’re just… helping them along.”

Optimus felt himself getting incensed, fury slowly building. For all his time on Chaar so far he’d never felt this angry, not even at Megatron’s jabs. Innocent mechs were going to get hurt in those riots.

“And if mechs die? If fighting breaks out and citizens are killed? Do you care? Do any of the Decepticons? Or are they all just grist for you machines of war.” Optimus was practically shouting by the end of it, absolutely livid.

Strika looked equally mad, servo gripping the datapad so hard that the frame began to warp and splinter. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, sparkling. Those mechs saw our suffering and looked away, spat in our faces and told us to die. Why shouldn’t they die in turn? Don’t we deserve our revenge?” In her servo the datapad crumpled, circuits sparking as they were crushed.

Optimus could feel the energon rushing to his helm as he slammed his fist down on the table. “And you’re a hypocrite - if I’m a sparkling then so are the majority of Autobots today! They haven’t done anything to you, yet you’re still willing to use them for your precious revenge. If you ask me, it sounds more like an excuse to be cruel.” Optimus hissed, leaping up from his chair so that he could stare Strika in the optics without having to crane his neck up.

“Cruel? I can promise you, Autobot,” Strika leaned forward until there was barely any space between their faceplates, rage clear in every line of her chassis, “The entire history of Decepticon cruelties could not match the atrocities your people committed to us.” 

Before Optimus could respond Strika was swiftly yanked back into her seat by Megatron, who immediately initiated another intense staredown. This time, Strika did not back down as easily - in fact, Megatron was the first to look away, but moments later Strika calmed herself, plating settling back down. At length, she spoke. “Forget it. We’re not here to talk politics. You know the main points now, so I don’t believe I’m needed any longer.”

Optimus vented, trying to relax and deactivate all of his battle protocols. He should probably say something, but right now words - especially civil ones - were pretty much beyond him.

Megatron watched Optimus closely for a moment, potentially attempting to gauge his ire. “Well, perhaps it is time for us both to go. Come, Strika.” He stood up and headed for the door, energon abandoned.

Megatron swept out, Strika following behind him. However, when she reached the door she turned back to Optimus, optics harsh. “One last thing - Megatron may lead the Decepticons, but Chaar is my territory. Attack my people, damage my city, and I will be unrelenting in delivering punishment to you, honourable or not. Do not test me, Autobot.” With that, she stomped out.

Optimus shivered in his seat.

And tightly gripped the broken datapad behind his back.

Chapter Text

Optimus stood in front of the door to his habsuite, working up the courage to knock. According to Megatron there ought to be a guard outside, and he didn’t exactly have any other way to call someone, so…

He vented in deeply, raised his servo and rapped it firmly against the door. For a long, painful moment nothing happened. As he raised his servo to knock again however the door slid open, a large Decepticon facing him - not one he knew, but that wasn’t exactly hard.

Okay, time to be really persuasive. “… Is there anywhere I can go to exercise in this place? I feel like I’m about to start bouncing off the walls.”

The guard regarded Optimus stoically. “I will ask Lord Megatron for permission. Wait inside.” With that, the door shut in Optimus’ faceplates, leaving him to stand there with his servo still awkwardly raised.

After about a minute the door opened again, the guard having concluded his comm call. Immediately, Optimus’ cuffs activated, forcing his servos together as the guard grabbed them. “Lord Megatron has permitted me to escort you to the training room. Do not resist.” The guard began practically dragging Optimus along, strides swift and determined. Optimus took a moment to get his pedes back under him, trying to memorise the twists and turns they were taking through the citadel. He was whisked past uncountable rooms: one with mechs filtering in and out of it, another with heavy duty doors locked firmly in place, a third filled with constantly blinking screens, and still more stretching into the distance as they continued on their strange journey. 

Soon enough his guard slowed and opened another door, and Optimus was unceremoniously pushed into the new room.

Optimus glanced at the room in front of him, then whirled back towards the door. “I, uh, thanks… ah, what was your designation?”

“I am Cyclonus. Train well.” And then he shut the door on Optimus again. 

Weird mech.

Well, at least he was there now. A proper look at the training room revealed racks of equipment, battle simulators lining the walls, various sparring mats… and three surprised looking Decepticons. Great. 

The Decepticons stared at Optimus. Optimus stared at the Decepticons, feeling like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

The pause stretched uncomfortably. Eventually, one of the Decepticons turned away, reactivating their battle sim. That seemed to be enough for the other two, and they also went back to their exercising - but not without keeping an optic trained on Optimus. At least he didn't recognise any of them, so hopefully that meant he hadn’t fragged any of them off with the whole “capture of Megatron and his lieutenants” thing.

Riiight. Optimus looked around the room again, before beginning to edge toward the empty sparring mats. Those Decepticons probably wouldn’t appreciate him going straight for the racks of weapons or simulators they were using, so the mats it was. Well, he could easily get some exercise in with them, and hopefully he wouldn’t look too dangerous to the other mechs.

The sparring mats themselves were clearly well-used, but in good repair. Optimus bounced slightly on one, finding it to be pleasantly springy and with a slightly textured surface that provided a decent grip. Perfect.

Venting deeply, Optimus tried to clear his processor and ignore the still-watching Decepticons. Sure, he’d asked to leave his room to get more information on the citadel, but he did actually want to do some exercise. Sitting around in his room really was driving him up the wall. And although he’d attempted exercising in his own room, it was just too awkward, even with its larger size. So he hadn’t been lying, really.

After one more deep vent, Optimus began stretching his arms, carefully working out kinks in the wires of his shoulders as cables and protoform shifted under his plating. As he slowly shifted his arms backward behind his helm, he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief at the satisfying sensations in his neck and shoulders.

Gradually, Optimus worked through the rest of his stretches, limbering up at a leisurely pace. When he at last settled into a ready stance, Optimus felt clearer-helmed than he had since the announcement of the trial. Now, time to get started on his favourite kata - a modified Elite Guard routine that included many elements that Prowl… had taught him. For a moment, Optimus blinked furiously, blindsided by the sudden wave of grief that washed over him. Every time he thought he’d gotten over it the memories came back and stabbed him in the spark. 

Not now, please. Not now. He couldn’t break down here. Not with the watching Decepticons, and whatever cameras were in the corners of the room. Optimus had to steady himself, had to wait out the long moment before the surge of grief calmed itself and went back to nestling cosily under his spark.

Emotions finally back under control, Optimus began to go through the familiar motions of the kata, moving with surety as he punched and kicked. Each movement was swift and accurate, carefully testing the limits of his range as he twisted on the mat, attacking invisible enemies.

As he continued to move Optimus felt himself relax, slipping into a meditative state as he worked through the routine, something that he’d practised long enough to become second nature at this point. 

The training room, the Decepticons, his situation - all of them fell away as he worked to perfect himself, his own beautiful challenge to his own exacting standards. Nothing else mattered but each subsequent strike, each careful step and twist, each motion calculated to the rhythm of his dance.

Allspark, it felt good to be moving properly again.

He couldn't guess at how long he was practising - it felt like joors, even though logically he knew this kata only took about 20 minutes.

At long last Optimus slowed to a stop, still smiling faintly from the joy of his craft. He let out a deep sigh, and -

“Very nicely done. Your form in particular is rather impressive.”

Jolted out of his relaxed state, Optimus instinctually jumped away from the sudden sound with a strangled yelp, whirling to face the threat with his servos raised.

Just outside the sparring mat, with one brow raised and crossed arms, Megatron was standing with an amused smile. Optimus was abruptly aware of his awkward, half defensive position with one ped raised. Megatron chuckled quietly as Optimus embarrassedly placed his ped back on the floor and shifted to a more natural position. 

"Apologies, I didn't mean to startle you. It seems you were more engrossed in your practice than I realised."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have snuck up on me!" Optimus gasped, trying not to show how shocked he actually was. How had he let himself get so distracted? Favourite routine or not, he shouldn't have forgotten where he was. Now that he was actually paying attention to the rest of the room, he could see several Decepticons - more than had originally been there when he arrived - lingering on the other side of the room and pretending not to be paying attention to his little chat with Megatron. Great, just what he wanted - an audience.

Megatron glanced down at himself and his tons of heavy duty military grade plating with a wry smile. "I've been accused of many things during my functioning, but sneaking isn't one of them. And any Decepticon can walk in here, you know. Especially myself."

"Am I not allowed in here? My guard said you'd given permission." Optimus responded defensively, carefully watching for Megatron’s reaction. After the sheer relief practising his kata had brought him he definitely didn't want to get kicked out of the training room before he could have a go at something else. Prisoner or not, he did want to try out those battle simulators.

"Of course you are," Megatron purred in an indulgent tone, "Again, I'm happy to let you use our facilities provided you behave. I'm glad you're enjoying them."

"Yeah, they're, uh… nice?" Optimus replied, slightly off balance after Megatron completely ignored his defence and immediately agreed with him.

“Mhm. Tell me, were those Metallikato moves I saw? I wasn’t aware that the Elite Guard taught the discipline to their cadets.” Megatron responded, helm tilted with interest.

Just as quickly that forgotten pain flared in Optimus’ spark, and he had to clench his servos to stifle his own reaction. Damn Megatron for bringing it back up. 

“They don’t. I learned it from a friend.” Optimus retorted curtly, hoping that Megatron would get the message and drop the topic.

“Ah. From one of those cyberninjas, I take it.”

Megatron did not appear to have gotten the message.

"Yes. From the one who died to stop you." Optimus hissed from between gritted dentae, fury rising back up as he turned on Megatron. "His name was Prowl, by the way. Not that you care." Through his anger and grief he could see Megatron retreating in the face of his furious advance, visibly backing down with his servos raised placatingly. Good.

Before he could snap at Megatron - at the murderer responsible for his friend’s death - again, Megatron spoke first, tone and stance as unthreatening as an 11 metre tall warlord could manage. “I’m sorry for your loss, but that is how war is-”

No, Megatron wasn’t getting away with that excuse. Optimus cut in with a snarl “We were civilians! Only technically part of the army. Prowl wasn’t a soldier at all! But you still attacked us. You were still willing to kill us all.”

"Perhaps you were civilians, but you acted as soldiers. You could have given up the Allspark and I would have left you alone." Megatron countered, tone and words turned more challenging than his earlier attempt at placation.

"Would you really? Would you have left us alive to tell Autobot Command that you had the Allspark? I don’t think so!" By now, Optimus was practically shouting at Megatron. (The Decepticons in the back of the room weren’t even trying to disguise their staring anymore.)

Megatron paused noticeably before answering. "… That's beside the point, as it didn't happen. Either way - "

Optimus laughed bitterly - Allspark, Megatron wasn't even trying at this point. "I don't hear you refuting it! Of course you don't care about damage to potential innocents - you only care about your own goals." 

Megatron actually looked offended at that, which Optimus noted with some amount of feral glee. “I care about the future of my people, which the Allspark would have secured. Autobot lives are secondary to that, as I’m sure Decepticon lives are to you.” 

Optimus growled - again, Megatron having the nerve to assume such things about him. “You don’t know that! You barely know anything about me. And that’s not the point - the point is that because of you an innocent civilian died!”

Stepping back, Megatron seemed to be trying to de-escalate their little tiff. “I understand your anger but I am not trying to downplay what happened. Civilian or not, he was the bravest of warriors to the very end - I can respect that.” 

“I don’t want you to respect him! I WANT PROWL BACK!” Optimus screamed in Megatron’s faceplates.

In the immediate moments after as he stood there panting, shaking with not just rage now but overwhelming grief, he was abruptly aware of the utter silence in the room. Megatron looked like Optimus had slapped him round the faceplates. Maybe he should have.

His thoughts circled, nipping at each other in the sudden stillness. If only Megatron hadn’t been there, if only he hadn’t broken the Allspark, if only he could have been just a little better then maybe Prowl would still be alive. Maybe things wouldn't have fallen apart like this. 

From across the room, the other Decepticons were openly staring at him. He… oh Allspark, he'd completely lost it. In public. Yelling at Megatron. Just as swiftly as his rage and anguish had swamped him, it utterly deserted him, leaving him to be filled with incredible fear. How could he have forgotten about his situation? How could he have let his anger destroy his careful act of civility? He'd just screamed in the faceplates of the Decepticon leader, in front of a load of Decepticons. If Megatron decided to retaliate…

Before he could start panicking properly though, Megatron recovered from his own shock.

"… My condolences. I know it's terrible to lose a loved one."

Optimus stared at him.

"Your anger is more than justified.  All I can say is that the death of your friend was not my intent. Neither was it my intent to kill any innocents."

Stunned as he was, Optimus was having some difficulty processing Megatron's sudden change in temperament. He would've expected Megatron to be angry with his outburst, not to mention the fact that he'd yelled in the mech's face. Instead, Megatron seemed serious and… genuine.

He was probably telling the truth, too. After all, it wasn't like he'd pulled the trigger on Prowl himself - during their battle, Megatron wouldn't have even known about Prowl's sacrifice. But still…

"It doesn’t matter if you wanted to kill him or not. He’s still dead because of you." Optimus replied, the words coming out flat and empty. "You think I'm going to forgive you?"

"Perhaps not." Megatron stepped backward, and inclined his helm toward Optimus. "My apologies for intruding on your exercise. Would you like to return to your room now?"

Megatron was still giving him a choice, instead of having him dragged back to his cell? After everything?

Optimus sighed quietly and finally unclenched his servos as the last vestiges of tension drained from him, disarmed by Megatron's calm reaction to his loss of temper. "No. I came here to actually do some training. I'd like to get on with that." 

To be perfectly honest, he did kind of want to go back to his room, curl up on his giant berth and maybe cry a bit. But he also wanted to work his nervous energy off and finally do some proper exercise, if only to try and take his mind off Prowl.

"Very well." Megatron paused for a moment, considering something. Then added "I came here to do some practice myself - if you wish to talk to me, I will be over by the simulators."

Optimus had to bite back an automatic complaint at that - he still wanted to try out those sims himself! However, he managed to stay quiet and offer Megatron a curt nod before turning his back to the watching Decepticons and returning to the forgotten sparring mats. There was silence for a long moment, followed by Megatron’s heavy ped-steps as he too walked away. Gradually, the other Decepticons went back to their own training, and quiet murmuring filled the room. None of them came over to use the other sparring mats, though.

The next couple of cycles were… frustrating. Despite Optimus’ best efforts, he couldn’t sink back into the meditative state of his kata, leaving him annoyingly aware of the Decepticons in the room, some of them still watching him, others watching Megatron. Speaking of Megatron the warlord’s own workout on the battle sims was certainly pretty loud and, judging by the reactions of his audience, very impressive. 

Eventually, Optimus couldn’t pretend that he was enjoying his exercise anymore. With a defeated sigh he collapsed onto the mat, feeling far more annoyed than when he started. 

…Maybe he should ask to use the sims. Megatron would probably allow it, since he’d let everything that happened earlier slide. Somehow. 

Before he could force himself to get up however, the sound of heavy ped-steps alerted him to someone approaching - when he looked up, he jerked and scrambled to his own pedes as he saw it was Megatron returning. “Do you… want something?”

“Actually, I have an offer for you. I take it you have come to the end of your workout?”

Optimus blinked, slightly suspicious and still upset about earlier. He wasn't going to forget just because Megatron was acting nice now. “Just about. What offer?”

“I was wondering if you would like to spar with me? To train your skills, perhaps.”

Once he was over his initial surprise at the suggestion, Optimus folded his arms, considering. On the one servo, he didn’t exactly want to interact with Megatron at the moment. On the other servo, he’d spent the last cycle doing his best to ignore the mech and it hadn’t helped at all. Sparring with Megatron might be the perfect way to work out some of his current frustrations, as well as honing his skills even further. And his own workout methods clearly weren’t doing the trick. Besides, if Megatron really was angry with him it would likely be best to play along with the warlord’s demands for a bit to placate him.

“... Why not.” Optimus glanced at Megatron’s empty servos. “Do you want to spar bare-servoed?”

“Actually, we have a fabricator that can create harmless blanks of any chosen weapon, if you’d prefer that.”

“Really? Yeah, sure.” Optimus eagerly followed Megatron over to the sims, interested in getting his servos on something weapon-shaped even if it couldn’t damage anything. The group of Decepticons still huddled around the sims scattered as they approached, spreading out to the edges of the room without taking their optics off the warlord and his ‘guest’. Megatron paid them no mind, but even as he demonstrated the abilities of the weapon fabricator Optimus could feel the stares prickling the back of his neck. You think I’m going to fold, don’t you? Fine. Let’s put on a show.  

Megatron stepped aside from the fabricator with blunt replicas of his swords, gesturing for Optimus to use the device himself. Optimus deliberated over the control panel for a moment before entering the information for a replica of his axe - after all, the Magnus Hammer wasn't his weapon, he'd just had the privilege to wield it. His axe would always be his favourite, especially with the centuries he’d spent perfecting his skills with it. The fabricator whirred for long moments before printing a perfect clone of his axe, save for the dull grey colouration and lack of energy blade.

Even if it was a harmless copy, the sheer relief of feeling that familiar weight in his servos was incredible, and he ended up giving in to his desires to feel it in motion by swiftly extending the axe’s haft and twirling it round in a neat, controlled circle before snapping into a ready stance with the axe held defensively in front of him. Yes.  

(Megatron was grinning at him again.)

“Not bad, I guess. But what about my grapples? They’re a big part of my tool set, and it’s not like I can use them with these .” Optimus gestured at the cuffs clasped over the panels of his grappling hooks, secretly hoping that Megatron might remove them.

“I don’t think giving you access to those would be a good idea for anymech here. I’m afraid you’ll just have to make up for it - I’m sure you’re quite capable enough.”

A little disappointing, but about what he’d expected.

The next few moments rushed by, and before Optimus knew it he was back on the sparring mat and about to face off against Megatron. Technically it shouldn’t be a new experience considering their previous fights, but Optimus was suddenly aware that this would be their first ever match where someone’s life wasn’t on the line. Each of their previous encounters had been high-stakes struggles over the Allspark or desperate battles to survive, but this match had no such inherent danger. Neither would be fighting to kill, either, so Optimus supposed it would be the first time he’d fought Megatron without being terrified for his life. How strange.

“We’ll judge it based on what hits would ordinarily be fatal, or at the very least maim.”

Megatron’s own stance was open and relaxed, practically oozing confidence as he carefully gauged his opponent, the points of his twin swords held inches above the ground. “The first to three such strikes wins.”

And then Megatron charged, and there was no more time to think.

Fighting Megatron was like fighting a whirlwind - a fast, extremely calculated and tactically minded whirlwind with some very large swords and an interest in running Optimus through with them. Although, since this was a friendly match he supposed that wasn’t the case. Nevertheless, it required just as much focus, and Optimus soon found all of his mental faculties taken up by the rhythm of the fight as he strove to dodge or block Megatron’s swings. This much was familiar at least - trying to free up as much of his processor for the fight as he could in a desperate attempt to stay on top of things. 

After the first few swings exploring and testing Optimus’ defences, Megatron drew back again, apparently not having found any major flaws. At least, that was what Optimus fervently hoped. Despite the ‘friendly’ nature of the spar, he was still more than a little afraid. At the same time, he felt more alive than ever before. Across from him, Megatron grinned. “A solid start, but you’ll need more than that if you hope to win.” With that, he surged forward again, a solid wall of military grade metal advancing at a frightening pace.

Those exploratory attempts were over, and now Megatron seemed to be attacking in earnest, optics gleaming as he slashed and jabbed. Optimus was forced to leap back, retreating across the mat. Seeing his opponent giving ground Megatron lunged, one sword held out in front of him and much too fast to dodge. Optimus just barely caught the sword on the haft of his axe and then twisted, trying to find the other-

Cold metal kissed the opposite side of his neck, and he saw too late the other blade resting gently against his vulnerable neck cables.

“My point.” 

Megatron disengaged gracefully, stepping back a short distance away as he patiently waited for Optimus to recover.

Optimus laid one servo against the side of his neck, panting quietly from exertion. Allspark, he hadn’t even seen that sword coming. He couldn’t fall for a feint like that again. I’ve got to get my helm in the game. Fighting defensively wasn’t going to work here - he needed to go on the offence and get some solid blows in.

“Ready to resume our match?”

Optimus bounced on the heels of his pedes, considering his next move. “Yeah. I’m ready.” He narrowed his optics, carefully thinking over his new ideas. He needed to finish this as quickly as possible, else he ran the risk of exhausting himself against Megatron’s superior strength and stamina.There wasn’t any point in bashing away at Megatron’s armour since he didn’t have the raw power of the Magnus Hammer with him - instead, he needed to be strategic. Gaps between plating, relatively unguarded joints and exposed cables would be his best bet.

This time, Optimus was the first one to move, dashing toward Megatron as fast as he could. As he approached he briefly saw a glint of wicked glee in Megatron’s optic, joyful recognition of a worthy adversary.

Running into Megatron’s range, he weaved around the expected blows as he began to attack more aggressively, no longer holding back. Megatron guarded himself carefully, but his knees were relatively lightly armoured. He had the size advantage on Optimus as well, but perhaps that could be turned against him - if he could just get close enough to slip under Megatron’s defences he could land a potentially maiming blow.

Ducking under another swing, he took the chance to slide under Megatron’s range with his axe extended, aiming at the bigger mech’s knee joint. Another blade whistled over his helm, barely missing him, but his bold move - just about worked. At the end of his slide he was in an awkward spot crouched by Megatron’s ped, but his blow had struck true and his blunt axe blade slammed into the back of Megatron’s knee joint. For a moment there was silence as he knelt there, intimately aware of the danger he’d put himself in for this ‘friendly’ match. 

“Risky… but successful. Very bold.” Megatron moved at long last, stepping back and letting Optimus get back to his own pedes. “One point to you.”

The next few exchanges were even more ferocious, both opponents taking ever more risks and trying even more complicated moves in order to triumph. Soon enough, two more points were scored - the first going to Megatron again with a vicious slash to Optimus’ chest, while the second went to Optimus with yet another risky manoeuvre as he baited Megatron into a heavy attack before aiming a blow at the warlord’s helm while he was still bent over.

It was match point for both of them, but with the way things had been going so far Optimus knew he wasn’t going to win unless he pulled something spectacular out of the bag. The problem was, Megatron recovered from all of his attacks far too quickly. If he couldn’t figure out a way to stagger Megatron properly he wasn’t going to win here. Which meant… It was time to get really creative. Optimus examined Megatron warily in the brief moments between their clashes, working on his plan. 

As he dodged another swing, he made certain to watch his own position and wait for the perfect opening.

Almost… Now!  

Optimus started running forward, extending his axe’s handle to the fullest and planting it in the ground as he went, using his momentum to vault toward Megatron. He sailed right over the waiting swords, one ped aimed ahead of the other - directly at Megatron’s helm. For a single frozen moment, he had the intense satisfaction of seeing the realisation race across Megatron’s faceplates, far too late to do anything about the incoming attack. An instant later his ped connected, crashing into Megatron’s faceplates and pushing his helm back with surprising force.

As his momentum threatened to slam him into Megatron’s chassis, Optimus used all of his strength to kick back off and away from the staggered mech - who was already beginning to move again, far quicker than he’d hoped. Immediately, Optimus twisted his body and aimed his servo to fire off a grapple-

They’re locked!

Instead of effortlessly zipping out of the danger zone, he was still in mid-air when Megatron recovered from the blow and turned, one huge servo coming round to snatch him up and dash him against the mat. Through his ringing audials and the hundreds of alerts about the crushing pressure on his back, he just barely made out Megatron’s deep voice, resonating through his own armour as he lay pinned.

“And I believe that makes three. My win.”

Just as soon as it had arrived the paralysingly heavy force retreated, although Optimus still couldn’t quite find it in himself to move. Dammit. He’d hoped - he wasn’t sure what he’d hoped for. To win? To simply show himself as more than what the Decepticons thought? Either way, he’d failed. 

Before he could sink into the floor out of shame a huge servo grabbed his shoulder and he was abruptly pulled up to his pedes, letting out a strangled yelp of surprise. Megatron smirked down at him, swords and axe already discarded to be deconstructed. Of course.

“Well fought - I hope you found it as refreshing as I did.” 

“Refreshing, sure.” Optimus groaned as he brushed himself down, noting with annoyance the myriad of new scuffs in his paintwork. “You kicked my aft.”

Megatron patted him on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Don’t be too demoralised - I can assure you, landing any sort of hit on me is far more than most Autobots could ever dream of, even in a friendly match. For that matter, I dare say most Decepticons would find it nigh impossible as well.”

Optimus supposed that was true. The only other Autobot to consistently match Megatron was Ultra Magnus, and he had millenia of practice at it on his side. So yeah, his own track record wasn’t shabby.

… Megatron’s servo was still on his shoulder. This wasn’t new, considering how many times Megatron had towed him around like that, but this time it was just resting there rather than holding him in place. It almost felt - encouraging? 

Optimus shrugged out from underneath it with a murmur, although the sensation of warmth lingered.

“Again, I must congratulate you on your proficiency. That was quite the spectacular showing - I found myself truly challenged, which is often rare for me. Your skills with your axe are very impressive. Not to mention your resourcefulness and adaptability during battle, which are definitely some of your greatest strengths.”

Hmph. Megatron was laying it on pretty thick. Still, the recognition was nice. Sure, the public knew him as a hero, but they portrayed his skills as just - normal for him, like he hadn’t worked incredibly hard on them. Like everyone just expected him to be good enough. 

Megatron suddenly froze, one servo going to the side of his helm - likely because he was receiving a comm. “Well, that was enjoyable but I’m afraid I have urgent work to get back to. Until tomorrow, Prime.”

With that Megatron left, sweeping out of the training area with purpose. Gradually the other Decepticons dispersed, leaving Optimus standing there alone filled with conflicting feelings. In his defence the last few cycles had been a rollercoaster of emotions, from his joy at exercising to his argument with Megatron to the frustration while practising and finally to their spar. He touched his shoulder again, thinking.

That potent cocktail of terror and exhilaration he’d felt… All of his focus on the sparring match, pushing himself to the limits of his own capabilities…

Fighting Megatron was truly like nothing else.

Chapter Text

The next morning found Optimus hunkered down in the ensuite washracks, hopefully out of sight of any cameras as he carefully salvaged what he could from the broken datapad. The case and screen were obviously ruined, but he didn’t really need either of those. Instead he focused on stripping out the wiring and also - thank the Allspark! - the completely undamaged power cell. That was going to be integral for the plan he was currently forming, a bare-bones thing at the moment but getting more detailed with every new fact he slotted into place. 

When Cyclonus had dragged him to the training room… he’d seen quite a bit of the citadel. Including one room full of screens. At the time he’d been too busy trying to memorise the route they were taking, but with the power of hindsight and some careful prodding of his memory banks Optimus had realised that it was some sort of security room - upon closer inspection those screens had been showing camera feeds. In other words, if he could get in there it would be the perfect place to cause some chaos and open as many doors as possible for his escape. If he was very lucky, he might even be able to break some of the systems.

Of course, getting into the system in the first place wasn’t going to be easy… and he had to escape his own room and cuffs before he could even get to that. But that was why his stolen parts were so important. With the useful wiring removed from the datapad as well as some of the parts from the holo-emitter, Optimus was able to construct an extremely rough screwdriver and soldering iron. They’d probably fall apart if he held them wrong, but after scorching the tips of his digits a few times he was able to confirm that the soldering iron did in fact work despite its somewhat shoddy construction. And with these basic tools it would be easier for him to steal parts from other devices, as well as start breaking into some off-limits areas. Like that security room, for example.

Next up were his cuffs, but he would still need something more advanced than these homemade tools to even think of taking them off. Which meant even more risky attempts to steal parts, and an even higher likelihood that he’d get caught in the act. There was really nothing else for it, though. He’d need to-

A loud knock sounded from his berthroom, causing Optimus to jump and almost drop his tools. Immediately after the familiar shnk of the door opening made him quickly stuff his tools into his lightbar and the parts back into the wax bottle. Internally grateful for his earlier decision to turn on the solvent spray, Optimus climbed to his pedes and grabbed a brush, attempting to look like he’d just been having a shower. Allspark, why was somemech in his room? It wasn’t anywhere near time for his meeting with Megatron! 

Heavy pedesteps filtered through the wall as the mech shuffled around the berthroom; after a long pause, the other mech knocked on the closed door the washracks. “... Prime. Please leave the washracks.”

Was that…? Huh. Slightly less nervous, Optimus unlocked the door and found Cyclonus standing to extreme attention on the other side. “Do you need something?”

“No. I am to escort you to the medbay.” Cyclonus replied, faceplates still and stoic. At Optimus’ own confused expression, he relented. “Lord Megatron desires that you be checked for injuries from your sparring match.”

Really? Well, Optimus wasn’t going to complain if he could explore more of the citadel. “Alright. Let me just turn off the-” Cyclonus grabbed his servos and activated the cuffs, forcing him to drop the brush or risk poking himself in the optic with it. Just as quickly, the larger mech began towing him out of the room. “Hey! Can’t I even dry off?” 

“Lord Megatron has commanded it, so I shall make it so as soon as I can.” With that Optimus found himself being dragged through the citadel again, this time leaving a trail of solvent behind him. Eventually he was pushed into another room, the door locking behind him and leaving him standing there awkwardly as solvent dripped off his frame and made a little puddle on the floor. 

The room he’d been left in was… definitely a medbay. Several berths rested against one wall, with larger pieces of medical equipment sitting on a series of shelves. Before he could make any sort of move, another door opened at the back and a cherry-red mech bustled in, scanner held in one clawed servo. 

“Aha! Lord M’s guest finally arrives for his checkup. So you’re the Prime that’s got everyone in a bother, hm?” 

Optimus blinked. This mech was - Autobot sized? Shorter than Optimus with what appeared to be some kind of car alt, the shiny red mech planted one servo on his hip and grinned. “Oh? Does my beautiful finish leave you lost for words?” Glancing down at Optimus’ own scratched up frame, he remarked “Yours could certainly use… some work. Well, you’re in the best of servos. This way, Prime.” He snapped his sharp digits imperiously.

“Okaaay. You are…?” Optimus hazarded, still somewhat confused.

“Why, I’m Knock Out, premier Decepticon medic. Now, if you’d be so kind.” The medic gestured again.

“Right. I don’t think I’m injured though.” Optimus replied as he followed Knock Out into the back of the medbay, where several berths were located and even more esoteric medical equipment was littered across them. A large blue mech was busy cleaning one of the berths, washing off what looked suspiciously like energon stains.

“That’s for me to decide. Sit here.” Knock Out shot back from over his shoulder, patting one of the berths.

Optimus sat, bound servos clasped in front of him.

Knock Out fussed around him, calibrating the scanner briefly before waving it over his chassis. 

“Hm… It looks like you’ve nothing worse than surface level scratches, and your self-repair has managed most of them already. Still, your paint is absolutely ruined.”

“So I can go back to my room now? That’s not really a problem.” Optimus tried, very aware of the trays of sharp tools around him, not to mention the Decepticon medics who he really didn’t know. Surely they’d get in trouble if they tried something? Unless nothing could be proven…

“Nonsense! Besides, it’s not for me to doubt Lord Megatron’s commands. He wants you in perfect repair, right down to your paint - so we shall provide. Breakdown, bring out the sanding set would you? I’ll get started on our guest.” Knock Out immediately turned and grabbed Optimus’ arm to examine it closely, reaching for a nearby cupboard with his other servo. 

Optimus flinched and tried to pull away but the medic was much stronger than he looked, leaving him tugging awkwardly and not getting anywhere. In the meantime, the hulking blue mech (presumably Breakdown) had finished up his work and returned with a box in his servos, ambling over to place it on a nearby berth. With practised ease the two Decepticons set about arranging various mysterious bottles, passing tools between each other as they circled Optimus.

“Now, stand up so we can start taking this old paint off.” Knock Out approached, holding an electric sander at the ready.

“Wait, I thought you were just going to touch my paint up! It’ll take joors if you’re going to peel all of it off and repaint me.” Optimus jerked backwards on the berth, servos raised defensively. 

“Just touch up your paint? Do you have any idea what that would do? Give you a lumpy, uneven finish, that’s what! We are professionals , thank you very much. Besides, we’re hardly short on time. So stand up and we can start getting the paint stripper on you.”

Optimus looked helplessly from one ‘Con to the other, and attempted one last act of protest. “... What about my cuffs? You won’t be able to change the paint underneath them.”

“Oh but we will, Lord M gave us the codes. Though before you get any ideas I can promise we’ll only be taking one off at a time - and if you get rowdy, well, that’s what Breakdown’s here for. So if you’re quite ready…”

Sighing quietly, Optimus acquiesced and stood, surrendering himself to his fate. Immediately they were on him - Breakdown spraying him liberally with paint thinner while Knock Out got to work sanding his arms. Between the two of them they swiftly worked Optimus down to bare metal, leaving him a uniform grey all over. 

Knock Out let out a triumphant hum as he stepped back to admire their work. “Perfect - no more nasty scratches now. Lord M really did rough you up, although from what I’ve heard you gave as good as you got.”

Optimus stared at him. “... You heard about that?"

“At this point it’s all over Darkmount - you’re the talk of the city. From the clips I’ve seen it was quite the match, you certainly landed some impressive blows.”

“Somemech recorded it?!” Horror filled Optimus' spark - he'd kind of hoped that the Decepticons would start to forget him after a little while, mostly so none of them would decide to take some revenge for his past actions. Instead, he'd managed to catapult himself into the spotlight again.

"Well, of course. Besides, you're already something of a celebrity here." Apparently having decided to get back to work, Knock Out walked over to a rack of chemicals, leaving Optimus full of regret and quiet dread.

The next step involved a Breakdown using a canister of compressed air to blow any excess dust out of the seams of his armour, Knock Out busy mixing chemicals and paints together.

Looking up from his station, Knock Out chuckled. “Looking good, Breakdown. Pass me the primer, would you?”

As he turned to grab the primer, Breakdown’s elbow knocked into a tray full of medical tools, sending them crashing to the floor. Most of the tools skittered under the berth, but one came to a stop just a few scant metres from Optimus’ ped. A quick glance down revealed it was a laser scalpel. Oh Allspark, if he could just get his servos on that without the Decepticons noticing…!

Breakdown groaned. “Ugh, I’ll pick ‘em up later. Here’s the primer, Doc.”

Optimus was left standing there as both mechs started brushing the primer onto him, desperately trying not to look at the scalpel. Time to make sure they forget all about it. “Can’t you just spray it on? I feel like that would be quicker than using brushes.”

“Oh, we could just spray it on but I find the end result lacking - doing so prevents you from properly covering the edges of the armour plates. There’s no substitute for careful, professional work.” 

Knock Out gestured with his paintbrush as he spoke, while Breakdown was busy dipping his brush back in the primer. Perfect . Very carefully, Optimus kicked the scalpel until it was just under the edge of the berth, out of sight but easily reachable if he could make an excuse to sit down. At the end of the painting process, hopefully.

Once the primer was fully applied it was time to get sanded, again. Most of his previous paintjobs had only included a quick sand after the primer, but the medics spent almost half a cycle working on it, and when he’d protested Knock Out had simply assured him that it would contribute to a perfect finish before continuing anyway. The next layer was chemicals to limit potential rust spread, followed by (finally!) the first layer of paint.

“So I’m assuming you want something similar to what you had before?” Knock Out asked, gesturing to a screen which displayed the scan he’d taken earlier.

“Yeah, exactly the same if possible.”

“Are you sure? It’s… alright, but don’t you want something more interesting? That chassis of yours is already so sleek, I could highlight those angles even more if you let me design your look.” Knock Out replied, blatantly raking his optics up and down Optimus’ frame.

“I’m good, thanks!” Optimus blurted out, feeling his faceplates heat slightly. Sure he’d been hit on plenty before, but not exactly in these circumstances!

“Really? Pity. Oh well, I suppose I’ll have to settle for giving you a silky smooth finish.” Knock Out picked up a spray can and started programming Optimus’ paint colours into the console, hemming and hawing as he altered saturation and hue. “Breakdown, get his arms.”

“What- hey!” Optimus yelped as the larger blue mech grabbed him by the wrists and held them above his helm. Both mechs ignored his protests as Knock Out started precisely applying the layer of base paint, Breakdown manipulating his chassis to whatever angle Knock Out desired. It was, to put it bluntly, an extremely awkward half-cycle.

Eventually the first coat was fully applied and Optimus was allowed to stand on his own for a bit while it dried. As he stood there waiting it took all of his self-control not to try to pick up the fallen scalpel, or even look at it for fear of the medics noticing. Careful… he had to wait. Even if the extended painting session was fraying his patience.

The next few coats of paint were much the same - uncomfortable and embarrassing in parts -  and then at last it was onto sealant and polishing. The sealant smelt awful, and Optimus had to try very hard not to crinkle his nasal ridge and ruin the paint on his faceplates. When it was at last dried, the two medics moved in with cloths and buffers at the ready, but Optimus held up his servos and shuffled backwards before they could reach him. “I was wondering if I could sit down for this bit? It’s just that I’ve been standing for a while…”

Knock Out tilted his helm in thought, then nodded. “I don’t see why not. In fact, I dare say it will make things easier.”

Gratefully, Optimus sat on the berth, relieved to take the weight off his pedes - and also to feel the laser scalpel just behind them. Very slowly, he nudged the scalpel with his ped until it was right under his servo - now he just needed the perfect moment to lean down and grab it, then stash it in his lightbar. That would be easier said than done though, as the medics immediately started work with polishing him. And what a process it was - by the time they were only halfway done it felt like every plane of his chassis had already been worked over ten times at least.

Each time the medics turned away he fought the urge to grab for the scalpel, and each time they turned back quickly enough to make him flinch, despite not having actually done anything.

His next big opportunity came when Knock Out broke off from the laborious work to get started on preparing the final coat of wax, leaving just Breakdown to continue buffing him. As he lay down to let Breakdown work on his pedes he was intimately aware of how close the scalpel was to his servo - Allspark, he could probably reach it from there. If only it weren’t for Breakdown’s position and proximity - if the medic looked up for a single click he’d notice what Optimus was doing immediately. He seemed pretty absorbed by his work, though…

Gradually, Optimus shifted until his servo hung over the side of the berth. Breakdown was busy polishing up his ped; Knock Out seemed preoccupied mixing up waxes; Optimus let his servo drop a little further. He flipped his palm to face the floor, digits reaching downwards. 

Knock Out moved to a different workstation, arms full of bottles.

Optimus’ digits brushed the handle of the scalpel.

Breakdown moved on to his other ped.

Knock Out made a triumphant noise and whirled around, cloths and wax held high.

Optimus jerked his servo back, attempting to make it look like a natural movement. 

Somehow neither Decepticon seemed to notice his weird behaviour, both continuing with their own work as Knock Out headed back over to the berth. With both medics at work his pedes and legs were soon finished, and he felt his spark drop as he realised he would probably have to stand up while they applied the wax, making it even harder for him to try again. Before he could start trying to figure out a new plan, Knock Out tapped his leg.

“Alright, turn over so we can finish with your back.” Seeing the surprise on Optimus’ faceplates, he laughed. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to get up yet. Just lay there and look pretty while we finish you off, hm?”

Optimus was so eager to lay on his front instead that he barely registered the salacious complement, quickly turning over as commanded. While the medics began work on his backplates, his optics focused on the scalpel again. If he waited until both medics walked round the other side of the berth, they wouldn’t be able to see his servo and he’d have another chance. He spent long, tension filled minutes waiting for a good opportunity as the Decepticons chattered away happily to each other. Eventually, Breakdown walked to the other side of the berth to assist Knock Out with a tricky bit of detailing.

This was likely his last chance - there was no more time for caution. In one swift movement, he scooped up the laser scalpel and tucked it under the med-berth’s sheets, hiding it from sight. He waited with tense shoulders for cries of outrage or anger, but when none came he slowly relaxed back onto the berth. It wasn’t over yet, though - he still needed to transfer the scalpel to his lightbar to truly get away with the theft.

The rest of the polishing went by easily, and at last waxing could begin. Optimus sat up again so that the medics could reach both sides of his chassis, one servo resting lightly over the concealed scalpel, if only to reassure himself it was still there. As Knock Out finished up with his back, both medics moved on to the front of his chassis and legs, and Optimus shifted the scalpel back into his servo, ready to move it behind his back. When Breakdown got distracted replacing the power cell for his buffer, Optimus hastily stashed the scalpel before shifting into a relaxed position, heist complete with the Decepticons appearing none the wiser.

At long last the medics stepped back, Knock Out letting out an appreciative whistle while Breakdown opened a nearby cupboard and drew out a large mirror. “Well, I believe you’re done; why don’t you stand up and take a look?” 

Optimus had to let out a vent of awe as he stood and ran a servo down his chassis, optics fixed on his image in the mirror. Allspark, Knock Out hadn't been kidding about the smoothness. The silky finish and crisp lines were so unlike the cheap and utilitarian paintjobs he was used to. Despite how vaguely uncomfortable the whole experience had been, Knock Out and Breakdown were clearly professionals, and he felt - and looked! - like he’d just been to an expensive detailing salon, the kind he’d never been able to afford before.

“I take it you like what you see? I know I do.”

“Yeah.” Optimus murmured, half to himself. He glanced away from the mirror to see Knock Out and Breakdown’s proud looking faceplates. They might be Decepticons, but… “Thank you. It’s really impressive - I don’t think I’ve ever had such an expert paintjob.”

Breakdown grinned widely at him from above the mirror. “That’s what we do! Pleasure working on you.”

To his side, Knock Out chuckled and nudged him good naturedly. “Absolutely, I hope it serves you well. Oh, and don’t worry about damaging it - that finish can survive flights through the atmosphere perfectly, I doubt you’ll be able to scratch it terribly.”

Optimus nodded, gaze straying back to the mirror. He wouldn’t exactly call himself conscientious about his appearance, but what mech didn’t like to feel handsome every now and then?

Heading back to his room, it took a lot of effort to hide his rising glee at both his perfect new paintjob and stolen laser scalpel.

It was a late night in Darkmount, towers and stadiums glittering in the low light as the suns hovered on the horizon. The city was as busy as ever, night markets in full swing and streets filled with a festival atmosphere as the Decepticon residents continued to celebrate their recent successes. Parties raged from the rooftops to underground cellars, and the clubs were absolutely packed with elated mechs-

“This sucks.”

In a slightly darker corner of one of Darkmount’s most popular clubs, holding a half-drunk engex cocktail, Blackarachnia scowled at the animated crowd. Admittedly, it wasn’t the thumping music or swirling lights annoying her, and even the masses of mechs on the dancefloor weren’t so bad. No, the cause of her frustration was coming from the huge screens covering the walls of the club, and the mech constantly appearing on them. 

No matter where she looked she kept seeing his face, since apparently the whole club was enamoured with him. Repeated clips of the trial intermixed with shaky footage of the Primus-forsaken sparring match, while pundits discussed the events and the same three pieces of news scrolled along the bottom of the screens. 

And just leaving the club wasn’t even really an option because the entire city was obsessed with Optimus and the recording of the damn sparring match had just made things even worse. This wasn't even the first party she'd been to, but they'd all been the same. Everymech just seemed so impressed by Optimus, even though he’d gotten himself captured like an idiot - wherever she went it was “Prime this” or “Prime that” and she was fragging sick of it. She’d gone out hoping to distract herself and forget, but instead was just reminded of him at every turn.

Allspark, she knew she should have just stayed in her lab.

Beside her, Slipstream snorted. She was leaning back against the wall, watching the crowd and munching through a pack of rust sticks. “I’ve certainly been to some better parties. It’s not the worst I’ve seen, though.”

Blackarachnia rolled her optics - and since she had four of them she could manage a very impressive optic roll. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

Slipstream hummed noncommittally.

Blackarachnia stared down at her drink.

If only she could get just over her tangled feelings. She’d loved Optimus, once - not exactly romantic love, but not quite like friends or family either. Then, Archa 7… and she’d wanted nothing more than to kill him. But when her chance finally came on Earth - her many chances - she hadn’t been able to, somehow. And in her spark of sparks, she knew it hadn’t entirely been because of Optimus’ attempts to convince her to stop. Then ever since, she’d just been trying to - what? Ignore him totally? Just run away from this problem forever? Not exactly sustainable, but what the Pit else was she supposed to do?

Maybe Slipstream would understand. Admittedly, she didn’t really know how Slipstream felt about her own ‘family’, but considering how strangely Slipstream acted around her ‘brothers’ - and how she often tried to distance herself from Starscream - it seemed likely that Slipstream had some mixed feelings, too.

Before she could voice any of those thoughts though, Slipstream finally replied.

“You know what, you’re right. Let’s get out of here.” Slipstream looked down at the smaller mech. “Wanna come back to my hab?”

Blackarachnia froze, utterly stunned by the brash invitation, before turning to stare at Slipstream. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“That depends. Are you interested in what I’m suggesting?” Gently, Slipstream leaned in and pulled Blackarachnia’s unfinished drink out of her unresisting servo.

Blackarachnia looked up at Slipstream, really trying to take her all in - the slight smile, the stolen cocktail, the close but unthreatening stance. She was certainly attractive. And despite her mischievous streak she was actually fun to be around. Or perhaps because of it. She… really enjoyed just hanging out with Slipstream, sitting in a corner and taking the piss out of other partygoers, or working in her lab while sharing gossip about the rest of Decepticon Command.

After their time spent together… Yeah, Blackarachnia could see Slipstream being something more to her. Even if only for a little while. And if Slipstream wanted to hang around for more than that… 

Who knew. Perhaps she just needed to move on.

“… I guess I could be convinced.”

“Great.” Slipstream downed the cocktail and grinned wickedly. “It’s a date.”

Chapter Text

With screwdriver, soldering iron and precious laser scalpel before him, Optimus finally felt that he was almost ready to begin his escape. With the scalpel he’d be able to reliably cut through his cuffs, the pinpoint accurate edge precise enough for him to prevent activating the anti-tamper mechanisms. He remembered how Knockout had removed and attached the cuffs to him; despite the uniformly flat surface, each of them did have a seam which opened to let the cuffs off. In theory, if he cut there… Well, he’d only find out when he tried it.

Combined with the screwdriver and soldering iron he’d be able to get out of his own room and into the security room without issue.

As much as he wanted to start breaking things immediately, he had a meeting with Megatron coming up so now wasn’t really the best of times. Assuming that he was awake during Darkmount’s day shift, the best time would likely be some time during his normal recharge period when things had wound down and the day shift had gone to recharge themselves. That didn’t mean he was just going to sit around until the evening, though. 

Now was the time to work on his plans - sure, he knew he wanted to break into the security room to open all the doors and probably create some chaos, but he would also then need to make his way outside the citadel, find a ship and steal it. With a little luck, the security room would have a map of the citadel he could use to figure out a route.

The last step… probably wouldn’t be terrible. Hopefully. All he had to do was steal some codes, even if he had to threaten them out of a mech. 

As plans went it wasn’t the best, and he really didn’t like the number of holes in it. Unfortunately he didn’t really have any way of filling those gaps, so he’d just have to improvise if things went terribly wrong. 

A knock on the door led to him carefully stashing his tools back in his lightbar. This was it. After today, Optimus was never going near Megatron again. Sure, he’d told himself that before, but this time he was extremely determined to make it true. All he had to do was act civil for a cycle or two and he’d be done.

Steadying himself, Optimus stood and headed for the door. No more.

The garden was as pretty as usual, crystals glittering invitingly in their little groves. Optimus sat, trying desperately not to let his anxiety bleed into his actions. Thankfully, Megatron seemed absorbed by the datapad he was holding, only looking up when Optimus picked up his cube of energon.

“How are we today?” Megatron tilted his helm, putting down the datapad and visibly taking in Optimus’ new paint job, optics widening slightly. “I see that your visit to the medbay ended well.”

Somehow, Megatron looking at him like that was much more annoying than Knock Out doing it, but Optimus swallowed his anger as best he could - there was no point in snapping at Megatron now and potentially provoking the mech. “It was fine. Nice not to be scratched up anymore.” The sheer neutrality of the statement ought to dissuade further commentary, even if his rage bubbled up and burned the back of his intake as he spoke.

Megatron looked vaguely taken aback by the simple answer, but just nodded and moved the conversation on. Trying to prevent another argument, probably.

“Well, that’s good to hear. I must apologise for leaving the training suite without checking whether you were injured - urgent work or not, it is my duty to ensure you are healthy and unharmed.”

Of course, it wouldn’t do for Megatron’s ‘guest’ to be seen damaged. Optimus had to put real effort into not letting his lips curl sourly. “Sure. At least it’s fine now. I don’t suppose I’ll be allowed in there again?”

“I don’t see why you should be kept from it. Again, I am more than happy to indulge you provided you behave.”

“Right.” Optimus just crossed his arms and looked at the wall behind the warlord, trying not to let his frustration show. “Glad my behaviour has been up to your high standards.”

Megatron raised an optical ridge, examining him closely. “I don't believe there have been any issues, unless you are about to confess to me that you have committed some sabotage or other.”

He had to be joking, right? “Of course not. I just feel like you've been letting an awful lot slide.”

“Ah.” Megatron let out a deep sigh, leaning back in his chair easily. “You refer to our little arguments, no? You needn't worry about losing your privileges due to mere words - I do try very hard to avoid losing my temper, especially over such topics.”

“… What do you mean by 'such topics'?”

“I believe you already know the answer to that. Your outburst in the training room was certainly… understandable. As for our quarrels over politics, I am well aware that we have differing views on many matters.” Megatron smiled, a long and lazy thing more fitting to a satisfied predator after a hefty meal. “If anything, I must confess to enjoying our little debates. It is rather rare for me to find a worthy adversary, on the battlefield or otherwise.” 

Well, at least Megatron was recognising him as an equal. Still, the insinuation that he was some kind of pet Autobot was a little irritating. “Really? I’d imagine that there are plenty of Autobots out there who could offer the same service, if that’s what I’m here for.”

“I think not. I’m quite used to the same Government approved talking points that most Autobots endlessly regurgitate, and I cannot say that I find them overly stimulating.” (Fragger. Optimus wanted to introduce his faceplates to a government-approved laser rifle.) “You however are very much not most Autobots , as obviously evidenced by your easy acceptance of organic races that your own command considers lesser ."

Okay, he did have something of a point there. Optimus still remembered when the Elite Guard had locked their ship behind a forcefield and ordered the spacebridge crew into decontamination showers before even talking to them. Organiphobia was rife at all levels of Cybertronian society, especially with the attached stigma that organics 'less developed' than the superior Cybertronians - an unsavoury holdover from the imperialistic days of Cybertron. Still, that wasn't to say the Decepticons were much better with their blatant disregard for 'unimportant' races. “Then… I think I want to know what your opinions on organics are. They certainly feature heavily on the comm channels, but considering your conduct on Earth I’m not sure what to think.”

Megatron grunted, anger briefly flickering across his faceplates. “I hold no enmity against organic races, but considering what Professor Sumdac did to me I believe my actions were quite understandable. That man dissected and defiled my body for his own gain, then used my servo as a chair! My desire for retribution was reasonable.”

Being violated in that way was undoubtedly awful, but it didn't justify his attacks on the city.

“Maybe, but you threatened the lives of every human in Detroit! I wouldn’t call that reasonable - they had nothing to do with Professor Sumdac.”

“Rest assured, our final battle had little to do with the humans and everything to do with the Allspark. I would have preferred not to cause any casualties among the bystanders, but securing the Allspark was much more important than the potential loss of human lives.”

Optimus stared at him. “How can you say that? How can you just… discard so many lives?” His words came out flat and unbelieving, confusion tinging his tone.

“War begets terrible choices. And no, do not try to tell me that the war is over - you and I both know that our conflict never truly ended.” Megatron paused, appearing to consider his next words carefully.  “As far as I was concerned, the benefits of the Allspark were worth the potential deaths. On this, you need not argue with me - I realise that we do not agree.”

“Well you’re right, I don’t agree with you. I don’t understand how you could think like that.”

“In part, necessity. In another… We Decepticons are much more used to making such choices. I suppose you could chalk it up to differences in culture, if you wanted a simple way to think of it.”

“I must admit that I’ve been learning a lot about Decepticon culture. I… didn’t realise that it would be so different.”

“But of course it is - we’ve had millions of years to develop without influence from you Autobots, after all. This-” Megatron gestured widely at Optimus and the room in general “is but another unique part of Decepticon culture.”

“You mean my current status as a war prize? Yeah, it’s certainly unique .”

“If you want to put it like that, then yes. The honouring of an enemy by their capture and subsequent imprisonment is a very old tradition from the times when warframes were free to form their own clans and partake in ritual combat with one another.”

Warframe clans? Weird, he'd never heard of that time period before - most of his studies had just covered the various wars the Decepticons were created to fight, and then their own attempted coup against the Autobot government and the war that followed.

Interesting or not though, it still irked him to hear Megatron talk about his capture as if it was not just a good thing but an honourable one, like he should be happy about it. For his own  piece of revenge, he muttered to himself “Lucky me that I get a gilded prison.” No matter what Megatron thought, he wasn't going to pretend to enjoy this.

Megatron glared at him and sat up. That hadn't been quiet enough, apparently. “‘Prison’? I can promise you, your treatment could be much worse.”

Hah! “So you’re threatening me if I don’t stay in line?”

“No. I am simply making the comparison that you are being treated well as opposed to, say… how Autobots treat their prisoners.”

Optimus clenched his servos. “Didn’t we already go over this? You’ve got the moral high ground because you’re being nice to me, I get it.”

Megatron growled, actually growled, low in his throat. “I don’t mean that. I mean what your actual government and command do to Decepticon prisoners. What happens to them once they’re taken to your prisons and detention centres. The cruelties you Autobots commit against them.”

Oh, he was not getting away with that. “Like you haven't tortured Autobot prisoners! I've seen some of the mechs that come out of your prison camps, they're barely alive.” Inwardly, Optimus recognised that he was forgetting his civil act again and getting way too angry. Somehow, it just kept happening - Megatron was simply adept at drawing out his carefully smothered rage.

“If they have relevant information, then yes. Some things are necessary. However, if they do not we negotiate their returns as soon as possible. But you Autobots… once a Decepticon is captured, they are never released. Instead, when they are done being tortured, they are invariably turned over to the Autobot Science Division to be studied and dissected. So yes, I would say you are being treated well.” Megatron slammed one servo down on the table with a bang, glaring at Optimus severely and effectively ending the conversation.

Optimus promptly shut his intake, leaning away in his seat from the angry warlord. For a long moment, Megatron stared him down, before shaking his helm and relaxing back in his seat.

So Megatron wanted him to believe that it was alright for Decepticons to torture prisoners, because the Autobots were doing worse? Yeah, right - that justification was fragging ridiculous. Besides, he didn't even know if it was true or not, and Decepticons always lied. It was in the name! Which he’d known all along, anyway.

If Megatron was going to lie right to his faceplates, then why should Optimus care about what else he said? It wasn’t like he’d really been listening to Megatron’s arguments in the first place, the mech was obviously trying to manipulate him.

Despite his reasonable facade, Megatron was a murderer and a monster and Optimus wasn’t going to listen to a single word that came out of his intake. Processor made up, Optimus placed all attention on his drink, completely ignoring the warlord sitting across from him.

Silence stretched between them.

At long last, Megatron let out an annoyed huff of air. “As a rule, I do try to avoid losing my temper. However, I cannot allow you to deny the terrible truth many of my Decepticons have died to.”

Optimus lowered his drink. “Fine. Let’s talk about something else.”

Cybertron was stunning in the evening, the many windows glittering and flaring as the light slowly failed. The twisting spires and swooping arched roads made for a dazzling display in the low light, a handsome image of elegance and industry.

Watching the vista with her forehead placed against the window, Sari felt like she couldn't really focus on the beautiful display. It was pretty, sure, but right now Cybertron's incredible sights weren't enough for Sari. It was hard to enjoy the scenery when all she could think about was the people that weren't there with her. Optimus… and Prowl.

Sari cuddled her legs closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and curling further into herself. Her friends were working hard to rescue Optimus, she knew that. Jazz was corresponding with his contacts in intelligence and Ratchet was out networking more nights than he was in. As for Bumblebee and Bulkhead, her friends may have quit their jobs in the Elite Guard when they refused to help, but now they were busy going round news networks, raising awareness and demanding justice for Optimus. Which wasn't bad, all of those things were really good, it was just that Sari couldn't help with any of them - not even the talk show thing. Most Cybertronians were still too afraid of organics, apparently. And Blurr was still recovering, the Jettwins were away on a training program, Arcee was helping out Ratchet and Prowl… wasn't around, for obvious reasons. All of which meant it was just Sari and Omega most days, and Omega wasn't much of a conversationalist. Of course her friends returned to the ship nightly, having given up their new apartments for the familiarity and closeness the ship brought, but it still made for long boring days. And while nobody would mention it, the ship just felt empty without Optimus and Prowl, even though Arcee had moved in to stay near Omega.

So yeah, Sari wasn't really having the best time right now. She sighed quietly, letting her forehead drag down the cool glass. Why did this all have to happen? She'd been so excited to see Cybertron, explore the other side of her heritage, but those stupid Decepticons had taken that away from her… just like they'd taken Optimus and Prowl. It wasn't fair.  

At least she knew how Prowl was. Her experience with the Allspark had certainly been strange, but seeing Prowl again had totally made it worth it. She fervently hoped that she'd see him again, even if he was some kinda force ghost now.

Optimus' fate was much more uncertain. For all she knew he was suffering at Megatron's hands right now, or alone and in pain. Though… somehow she doubted that. It was just a peculiar feeling she had. 

More worryingly were some of the weird dreams she'd been having recently. It felt like every time she closed her eyes she was bombarded with odd, ethereal images of people, Cybertronians and other aliens she couldn’t hope to name. They were probably just leftovers from her close encounter with the Allspark, but some of the dreams or, or visions also seemed to be almost… prophetic. Sari felt like she was seeing things that were actually happening in different parts of the universe, or - would happen? Or were happening in some other universe? It was really difficult to tell.

Her friends featured in a surprising amount of the visions although in many they were different, whether in subtle ways or as almost entirely different people. The dreams were often convoluted, snapshots of scenarios flickering past her eyes before she could take most of it in.

However, there was one recurring motif in her dreams in the last few days. Desperation. Overwhelming fear. Utter panic. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t escape the trepidation in her heart. Spark. Whatever it was.

Either way it was pretty worrying. She couldn’t help but hope that these feelings were just leaking over from another universe or something, that it wouldn’t apply to anyone she knew.

As the light finally faded and the scintillating display of reflections came to an end, Sari reluctantly uncurled herself and stood, walking away from the window with a heavy heart/spark. Her friends would be returning soon, hopefully with good news - or any kind of news, really - but failing that at least she’d have their company for the evening. She’d get to play some video games with Bumblebee, probably get a short lesson from Arcee and listen to how everyone’s days had been. She’d feel better then. It’s going to be alright. It has to be.

Chapter Text

If he had calculated it correctly, Darkmount was some way into the night shift. In his room’s washracks, Optimus lifted the scalpel and activated it, the laser-formed edge coming to life with a quiet buzzing noise. He was as ready as he was going to get: tools stashed away in his lightbar as he prepped the scalpel. Now there was nothing left to do but start cutting away the cuffs.

If it didn’t work… well, he’d know about it pretty quickly.

Holding himself as still as he possibly could, Optimus aligned the scalpel with the seam of the cuff on his left wrist and carefully pressed down. The metal cuff hissed and squealed as the laser came into contact with it, but gave no real resistance, and after a few moments he felt the heat of the scalpel against his own plating underneath. So far, no alarms had rung and the cuffs hadn’t dropped him into stasis, so…

He worked the blade further down the length of the cuff, cutting through whatever internal locking systems held it together, until with one final screech of protest the blasted thing popped open and fell to the floor.

A wave of strange giddiness suffused him at his success, but Optimus quickly tamped down on it - he still had a long way to go. Working quickly, he sliced the other cuffs off, relishing the freedom as they popped open one by one. When they all lay smoking on the floor, it was time to move into the main room for the next step.

Optimus knocked on the inside of his door, like he had done just a few days before. When there was no response for several moments he knocked again, one servo held up to do so while he kept the other servo - and the activated laser scalpel he was holding - hidden carefully behind his back. He needed to move quickly once the door opened, before the guard could notice his lack of restraints.

After several minutes of waiting the door finally opened, and a large Decepticon he wasn’t familiar with stared at him from the other side. “What do you-”

The moment the door was fully open, Optimus launched himself at the Con, slashing at the mech’s unguarded neck cables. The Decepticon stumbled backward, trying to fend off their attacker, but was much too slow - Optimus struck home and sliced right through the cables, spraying himself in the mech’s energon. Before they could recover, he stabbed them through their vocaliser, silencing them.

Optimus landed, scalpel at the ready in case the Decepticon retaliated. Instead, he was left staring as the mech fell backward in slow motion, scrabbling at their neck, trying to keep their own energon in. Abruptly Optimus was reminded of his studies, and that cut cables were a slow way to die, energon gushing out before it could reach the processor as vital systems gradually went dark until the spark guttered out. The Decepticon hit the floor, writhing in the pool of their own energon.

The scalpel in his servo felt heavy. He could hear the energon dripping from the tip into the growing puddle.

He’d… that mech was going to… he’d-

Energon was flowing thick and fast from those vulnerable cables. Automatically, he took a step forward to do something, staunch the bleeding or-

No, he couldn’t wait here - he had to, he had to get out of the citadel! The riots, he had to…

Optimus stared at the mech’s fallen weapon, a huge gun that was practically a cannon to him.

The mech was making a gurgling noise as they thrashed.

It was just a Decepticon.

He had to go.

Before he could think on it more, he grabbed the gun and turned away, running for the security room and firmly not looking behind him.

The alarm was - if it hadn’t been raised yet, it would be soon. He’d- what had he been thinking? 

Somehow, he didn’t run into any mechs on the way there, and the room itself was empty. As soon as he was inside he crouched beside the door, swiftly vandalising the control panel and forcing the door to lock up tight. 

Optimus leant against the wall with one servo, panting. He hadn’t - he didn’t want to hurt any of the Decepticons here, despite the fact they were his enemies, but… he had to get out of here. And if it was necessary…

Optimus slapped himself in the faceplates, once. Get it together! He was running on borrowed time. The screens blinked invitingly, and he stumbled over to them, desperate to distract himself. Most of the displays were camera feeds from various places in the citadel, situated in a low semi-circle around a chair, while a large window looked out over the city.

Typing at the main terminal he managed to pull up a list of… something, data about the citadel probably but he couldn’t figure anything out about it. He tapped through menus frantically, exploring as many options as he could. Scrolling through unimaginable amounts of data he spotted words he understood but nothing cohesive, nothing that made any sort of sense. Panic rising, he clicked more urgently at the terminal, practically stabbing the keys in his desperation.

Suddenly one of the screens switched off, and then in its blank surface all Optimus could see was - himself, and the lurid streaks of pink energon dripping from his neck and upper chassis. He lurched back in shock staring at the neon liquid, still warm from its owner’s organs. Oh Allspark, he’d been fighting Decepticons for a while but he’d never killed one before, especially one that wasn’t even actively attacking, and now-

In the black screen, the evidence of his crime was reflected back to him, glowing prettily against his plating.

Before he could move again, try to escape from his frozen state, a massive bang sounded from the security room’s door and he jerked back in shock. As he stared, a large dent appeared in the tough metal, and a glance at the camera feeds showed a whole group of Decepticons hammering at it. How had he not seen them? Another bang sounded, and the door strained inward.

Nononononono 

He had to get out of here

How-

Optimus’ gaze landed on the fallen gun. 

With shaking servos he grabbed it, pointing the business end at the large window. They were made to be blastproof, but surely with enough shots-

The first time he fired, the recoil launched him metres backward and he almost dropped the gun. The window buckled slightly.

Behind him, the door dented further inward, stress lines forming in the metal of it.

Optimus fired again and cracks appeared across the window.

Part of the door tore open with a terrible noise.

Optimus fired twice more in quick succession, and the window shattered, bursting outwards. 

The door buckled fully and Decepticons poured into the security room.

Optimus raced for the window and jumped.

For a moment he hung weightlessly in the air, suspended over Darkmount. 

It took a moment to adjust to the sudden change in brightness, but his optics were swiftly met by the city sprawled out beneath him. Low buildings glittered in the fading light while huge spires punctuated the skyline, each crowned with a halo as the setting suns lit up the gathered clouds. From up here the city was still, scurrying mechs barely visible between the towering buildings.

Then gravity took control and he plummeted like a fire truck dropped off a skyscraper.

Behind him he vaguely heard the shouts of the other mechs but more pressing was how quickly he was falling down the side of the tower. With effort he flipped himself over in midair, pointing one servo at the wall. 

And this time his grapples were unlocked. Optimus aimed at a ledge and fired, grappling hook arcing through the air. After a long moment it struck true, violently arresting his fall and jerking him so forcefully he felt like his arm was about to be ripped off his chassis. He swung wildly on the grapple, trying to reorient himself and ultimately failing as he slammed into the tower at some speed.

Optimus wheezed as he clung to the side of the citadel, feeling like his organs had switched places with each other. Allspark, he never wanted to do that again. As if his prior experiences with tall buildings hadn’t been bad enough!

As much as he wanted to spend the rest of his life clinging to the tower like a limpet and not letting go, the familiar roar of jet engines had him looking up as numerous Decepticons dove toward him. I can’t stay here.

Swallowing his fear Optimus released his grapple and dropped again, air streaming around his chassis as he plunged downward. He was ready though, and swiftly aimed his other grapple, the line jerking him suddenly to the side and away from the pursuing jets as he continued his hurried descent.

Working his way down the citadel was a terrifying process. Each grapple he fired off was a gamble; each attack he dodged was a miracle. By degrees he fell down the edge of the citadel, growing ever closer to the city spread out below. But despite his progress, escape was further away than ever as the crowd of his pursuers continued to grow, new Decepticons joining the chase or flying up at him from below.

Another loud roar alerted him to a low-flying shuttle, bay doors open and Decepticons thronging the entrance with weapons at the ready. And things got even more hectic as they immediately started shooting at him.

Optimus twisted, trying to avoid the sudden rain of lasers and various projectiles. He fired his next cable to the side in an attempt to pull himself out of the danger zone. 

A laser burst hit his grappling cable. With agonising slowness, fibre was torn from fibre, Optimus watching helplessly as the wire shook, vibrated horribly, and snapped.

He turned, firing off his other grapple, which flew straight and true until a second laser burst hit it in midair, breaking through in an instant.

He’d been just about managing to keep his panic at the whole situation under control, but as his last line snapped that control went with it. As did his ability to survive the fall. 

Gravity dragged him down instantly, well out of the Decepticon’s range but much too quickly to be safe. A scream ripped from his intake as he fell, floors flashing by at increasing speed. Optimus flailed desperately in the air, fear utterly consuming him.

Why this? Why did he have to die like this again? How unlucky did one mech have to be to die the same way twice?

But then again, it was his own fault. Maybe it was what he deserved.

Optimus let his optics offline. None of the Cons were close enough to catch him, after all. Not like they’d want to anyway.

With any luck the impact would kill him outright and he wouldn’t have to lay there and feel his systems and spark slowly fail like last time.

As he fell, all he could hear was the wind rushing in his audials, the cries of the Decepticons above him, and - the growing howl beneath him?

Before he could try to react something slammed into him from beneath, jolting his entire chassis and rattling his dentae in his intake. Extremely painful, but he wasn’t falling freely anymore. Instead, when he onlined his optics again he was surrounded by - dark green and purple plating? Wait, was this- “Lugnut?!” 

“LORD MEGATRON’S GUEST CANNOT BE HURT!” Yeah, that was Lugnut alright. Peeking over Lugnut’s huge arms, Optimus could make out the citadel walls still racing past, although they were visibly decelerating. Presumably, Lugnut had flown up from beneath him and caught him in midair, matching his falling speed before beginning to slow him. Cradled in the giant Decepticon’s arms Optimus could feel his spark pulsing in his audials and his ragged, uneven vents. He’d- Lugnut had caught him. He wasn’t going to die.

Optimus let himself go limp. There wasn’t really any point in fighting, now.

At long last Lugnut came to a halt and landed with a loud bang. “MY GLORIOUS STRIKA, I HAVE BROUGHT THE PRIME TO YOU!”

Strika? Oh, Allspark. Maybe he wasn’t safe after all. There was no time to react to that though, as Lugnut proceeded to dump him on the hard metal floor, leaving Optimus struggling to his knees before a furious looking Strika.

“I knew this was a bad idea. Now, Autobot-” Strika surged forward and grabbed Optimus by his shoulders, holding him up to her faceplates, “You will tell me what you have sabotaged, where you have planted bombs and who you have killed, or I will beat the answers out of you, Megatron's orders be damned.”

“I-I broke the doors to my room and the security room, I haven't planted any bombs and I killed… I killed the mech guarding me.” Optimus gasped, pain shooting through his processor as Strika's grip threatened to crush his shoulders. Now that the rush of action had faded he was mostly just terrified, acutely aware of how easily Strika could kill him.

Strika roared, the vibrations of her engine transmitting up her arms and into Optimus, sending his plating rattling. 

“You had better not be lying to me Autobot, or I will tear you to shreds myself!”

“I'm not- it's the truth, I swear!” His shoulder plating was beginning to crumple under Strika's servos, pain intensifying as his inner joints were ground together. “Please, I'm not lying!”

“I find that difficult to believe-”

“STRIKA! Release him!” The yell cut through the air, the gathered crowd of Decepticons parting to reveal their leader storming over. Megatron looked just as angry as Strika, optics flashing as he absorbed the scene.

Strika snorted loudly “Took you long enough. And considering what your pet Autobot has done, I don't think I should.”

Megatron stopped scant metres away, servos flexing as he levelled a stare at Strika. “That is immaterial - he is my duty to deal with. Put him down.”

“Like you've been dealing with him so far?”

Megatron's optics narrowed. “What are you trying to say? That you don't trust my judgement?”

Strika grunted, clear frustration colouring her voice. “Usually I wouldn't even begin to doubt you, but I don't think you've thought this through.”

“Are you questioning my leadership?” Megatron's tone was low but deadly, a silken promise of death. 

There was a long, tense silence

“No.” Strika answered at last.

“Then I will deal with him.”

“Fine.” Strika dropped Optimus, striding away before he even hit the floor. As she left, she gestured to the other Decepticons to follow her. “The rest of you, get back to work - Lord Megatron has the situation under control.”

The courtyard emptied fairly quickly after that, leaving only Optimus crouching on the floor and Megatron towering over him and looking aggravated. Not the greatest of positions to be in.

Megatron was still staring in the direction Strika had gone, servos clenched and faceplates set in a frown. Optimus chose to remain crouched rather than potentially attract Megatron's ire any more than he already had.

After several awkward clicks Megatron seemed to come back to himself, turning to look down on his captive who was definitely not shaking from a mixture of pain, fear and adrenaline.

“… Here.”

A pair of regular stasis cuffs clattered to the ground next to Optimus' ped. He put them on, slumping over slightly as they stole the energy from his systems. The toll of his actions was coming back to bite him now, pain and exhaustion overtaking his processor as he tried not to completely collapse.

As it turned out that didn't matter, as Megatron had apparently also reached the conclusion that Optimus wasn't walking anywhere and instead chose to bodily pick him up, around the waist this time. Which was a good thing because his shoulders were killing him, crushed plating digging into the more sensitive mechanisms underneath.

Optimus slipped into a dreamlike daze as he was carried back into the citadel, endless walls blurring together until they finally came to a stop in what he muzzily recognised as the medbay. This was confirmed when Megatron cuffed him to a berth and stood back,  leaving Optimus staring at some fuzzy red and blue shapes until they resolved themselves into Knock Out and Breakdown.

“Well, I see someone's been naughty. And ruined the work we put into their new paintjob to boot!” 

“Scan him.” Megatron responded curtly.

“Of course, my Lord.” Knock Out approached, scanner at the ready. Optimus winced slightly as the deeper scan tingled painfully through his systems, scraping at his organs and spark.

Knockout studied the readout intently. “Mhm… Oh, there’s something hidden in here! Let's open this up.” He tapped his servo against Optimus' light bar, running a claw along the join between the cover and housing. Carefully, he dug his claw into the groove and popped the cover off, reaching inside the hollow to pull out the hidden tools.

“You know, I did wonder where that had gotten to. I suppose I probably should have expected you to have sticky servos, after all-”

“Show me.” Megatron cut in tersely.

“Ah- here, my lord. Looks like my missing laser scalpel and some other tools.”

Megatron examined the cobbled-together screwdriver and soldering iron for a moment, then tucked them into his subspace. So much for all Optimus' hard work. Not that he was really appreciating it himself at the moment.

“Is that all?”

“It looks to be, aside from the damage of course.” Knockout leant back, dusting off his servos. “Breakdown, you get to work on his plating while I check on our other patient.”

Other patient? Optimus turned to watch Knock Out go, and saw on another slab - the guard. His guard. Hooked up to numerous wires and tubes, but…

“They’re… alive?” His voice was filled with static, but he managed to force out the query through his own disbelief.

Knock Out let out a derisive snort. “No thanks to you. Luckily, a patrol managed to find them before their spark guttered and successfully stabilised them.”

“… Oh.” Optimus slumped over even further as a rush of awful relief overwhelmed him. He'd been trying so desperately not to think about what he'd done, the crime he'd committed, and now he found himself shaking with those repressed emotions as he watched the other mech's steady spark rate on the monitors.

Allspark, what a terrible Autobot he was, filled with relief that he hadn't killed a Decepticon.

Megatron grunted. “When you're finished, take him to the cells.” With that, he turned on his heel and left.

The ensuing silence lasted for several minutes, before finally being shattered by Breakdown. “Wow, he's really angry. Ain't heard him go all terse like that in millenia.”

“True, but I can understand why he's so… displeased.”

The medics' conversation washed over Optimus as he was repaired, nothing really registering until heavy servos pulled him to his pedes and out of the room, a guard on either side of him to keep him in check.

They descended deep into the citadel, past the actual ground floor and on into the bedrock of Chaar. Uncountable rooms flashed past, many of them fitted with heavy doors to block out all light and sound. Optimus didn't want to know what went on in those rooms. At long last, he was brought to a brightly lit corridor and unceremoniously deposited in a cell, still cuffed.

The cells were built of bare brushed metal, simple and unyielding. One entire wall of the cell was composed of a containment field, leaving him no place to hide - not that he could’ve under the unblinking stare of the camera attached to the hallway ceiling. The berth was a narrow ledge of metal attached to one wall, cold and unadorned. Sitting there on it, Optimus found it hard to feel anything at all, let alone anger.

After all, this was entirely his own fault.

Chapter Text

For a long time, nothing much happened. He sat. The cell was cold. The camera stared at him. Occasionally, a guard walked past.

After a time, a tiny mech appeared in the hallway - a minicon. An erstwhile warden of Trypticon, perhaps. It carried an energon cube almost as large as itself, which it summarily passed through a small open window in the containment field. Duty complete, the minicon beeped to itself and left.

Optimus drank the cube.

Feeling tired, he lay down on the hard berth.

More time passed.

Eventually, he fell into recharge.

His dreams were soaked in energon and filled with impossibly tall drops, ever present fear tearing away at him. The faceplates of his family whirled in front of him - falling, failing, covered in energon themselves.

When he woke with a start, things were much the same, and if it weren't for his internal chronometer he might have assumed that he'd slept for mere clicks rather than multiple cycles.

A little more time passed and another cube was delivered. Optimus stared at the floor.

At long last, something changed. Shortly after one of the guards had patrolled past, a second set of heavy ped-steps sounded from down the corridor, drawing nearer with every moment.

The ped-steps stopped in front of his cell.

Optimus looked up, and met Megatron's optics.

Megatron watched him steadily, no emotion visible on his faceplates, but Optimus still felt like he was being judged.

Optimus looked away first.

Megatron let out a deep, rumbling sigh.

“Well, you've managed to make quite a mess of things. I'll admit that I expected you to try something, but as usual you have seen fit to exceed my expectations.” His tone was oddly flat - no anger, annoyance, condescension, nothing. He almost sounded tired.

Optimus could feel his automatic answer on the tip of his tongue - a snide response about how he was glad for 'exceeding expectations' - but he bit down on it. It wasn't right to do that here. Not now.

Instead, he carefully clasped his servos together before replying. “I had to try. You… understand that. It wasn't my intention to hurt anymech.”

“Yet you almost killed the mech guarding you.”

“I know. I just wanted to stop them from raising the alarm.”

“Hm.” Thankfully, Megatron didn't press him on that. “At least they survived.”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

“I suppose the news about the riots was what motivated you.”

“Of course it did. Those riots are going to kill so many innocent Autobots. I had to try to prevent that.” Optimus hoped he was convincing. Surely, Megatron understood why he would try this.

“Even if you had to kill Decepticons to do it?” Megatron tilted his helm, his manner accusing.

“I… I guess so.” But I didn't want to, he thought. He just wanted to escape.

Megatron didn't reply to that, and Optimus couldn't think of anything else to say. What was left?

Objectively, things were worse than they had been before - Optimus locked in his cell, Megatron free and in control, their positions utterly inequal.

And yet, this was truer than any of their previous conversations, both of their status' and views made clear. No more hiding behind tradition and courtesy. No more pretending everything was fine.

It was just all so fragged up. Optimus had tried to escape to save innocents, but in the process he'd almost killed a different innocent mech. But he couldn't just give up, even now.

Thinking back on that argument with Strika, the terrible feeling when he realised the cost of what they were attempting, the disquiet in his spark even after Megatron pulled Strika back… Wait a click.

Optimus’ optics widened. He hadn’t noticed it before, too caught up in the argument, but now... “I didn’t hear you disagreeing with Strika.”

Megatron frowned, looking confused. “I just did. As I’ve already said, I do not want to see you hurt-”

“Not that.” Optimus gripped the side of the berth tightly. “About the riots. You pulled her back… but you didn’t disagree with what she was saying.” He stared directly at Megatron, accusatory.

The look of regret on Megatron's faceplates gave him his answer, even if it vanished an instant later.

“You - you're the leader here, you had to authorise those plans! Or… did you make them?” Optimus gasped, indignant and angry that Megatron had lied.

Megatron didn't answer.

“Of course. Of course you wouldn't tell me your part in this.” Somehow, Optimus felt betrayed, even though he hadn't trusted Megatron in the first place. Sure, he'd known the mech was lying to him, but to be confronted by the truth in such a manner… Not to mention the sheer callousness of it all.

“Do you even care?! Innocent mechs will die in the riots-”

“They will not die in the riots, they will be killed. By Autobot enforcers. Do not let them hide from the blame.” Megatron cut in suddenly, optics flaring with some concealed emotion.

“That doesn't excuse what you're doing!” How dare he! How dare he try to shift the blame away from his own actions.

“Nevertheless, it is necessary.” Megatron growled, tone filled with warning.

“Necessary for innocents to die?” How could he-

“YES!” Megatron roared, the heavy rumble of his flight engines filling the room and drowning out all other noise. The unaffected mask was gone now, anger freely displayed on his faceplates as he heaved in vents of air to cool his heated systems. His servos were clenched into fists at his sides and he was looming over Optimus, steam hissing out of his intake.

Optimus found himself pressed up against the back wall of the cell, instinctively trying to escape the furious Decepticon. It was a struggle to push down his rage and fear, and actually think about the situation. Megatron was so angry, even for such a reasonable line of questioning. There had to be something else going on. “… Why? What more do you want? You already have your empire - you're clearly doing fine without us! Leave Cybertron alone.”

Megatron huffed, visibly attempting to calm himself. “That simply isn't an option.”

“Why not?” Optimus demanded.

For a long moment, Megatron did not speak. At last - “… We need the Allspark. There is a reason I spent as long as I did searching for it.”

“I thought you wanted it to conquer Cybertron.” That was what all the Autobot texts claimed, and Megatron himself had practically confirmed it while on Earth.

“It would have been useful for that as well, but it was not my primary motivation.” Megatron looked - regretful, serious.

“Then…?”

No movement, no noise. Megatron was a silent statue, a grey corpse only marked as alive by his burning red optics. When he spoke, his voice was low and grave. “The Decepticon population is declining.”

Optimus stared.

“Without access to the Allspark, we have no way of producing newsparks, even if we could manufacture protoforms. And your Vector Sigma only produces Autobot sparks.” Megatron crossed his arms, resentment tainting his serious tone. “That is the true reason the Allspark was launched into space in the first place - so that whether the Autobots won or lost, the Decepticons would eventually die out.”

Megatron paused, perhaps to gauge Optimus’ reaction or opinion, but Optimus was too shocked to even register it. That was why the Autobots had-

“Of course given how long we live that will take a great deal of time, but already it is in effect. We lose mechs through injury, through battle, through slow decay. We are going extinct. But I do not intend to let us go quietly.” Megatron bared his dentae, plating flaring out as his optics burned with righteous anger. It was a terrifying display, but Optimus barely noticed, too caught up in the revelations.

That was- Megatron was talking about genocide. A slow, calculated destruction of the Decepticons by denying them the ability to reproduce. He’d never heard of this plot before, but… somehow, it wasn't as much of a surprise as it should be. Somehow, it felt like something he should have already guessed.

On the other side of the containment field, Megatron had calmed somewhat, straightening back into his normal regal stance. “That is why we seek the Allspark. It is the only possible future for the Decepticons.”

Optimus had to cover his intake and stare at the floor, unable to keep looking at Megatron as the enormity of the situation crashed down on him. His own people had sought to put a permanent end to the Decepticons, and once upon a time he might have agreed upon the method. But now, having met various Decepticons and knowing them for the mechs they were - now, the prospect only horrified him. To attempt such a thing, to attempt to destroy an entire race, over time…

“I didn't know.” It felt like the only thing he could really say.

“I didn't expect you to. It's not common knowledge, especially since Autobot command has been so intent on convincing Cybertron's citizens that the Decepticons are long gone.” Megatron sighed quietly, shoulders sagging minutely. “Besides, while the general idea is well known among the Decepticon forces, the actual… severity of the situation is not. It is better for morale to let them believe that their commanders have the issue in servo.”

Wait, what? “You're lying to your own people?”

“Believe me, I do not want to. But some things are… necessary. As are the actions we must take.” 

“Right… I understand that the situation is terrible, but the riots, the deaths- does it have to be that way?” Optimus hated the thought that deaths on one side or the other were inevitable - that somemech had to suffer for another. Surely Megatron could-

“My people are dying! There is no other way. While you Autobots sit in complacency, the Decepticons waste away day by day. Should we just give up and die out?” Getting a word in edgewise was impossible in the face of Megatron’s passionate outburst, his normal aloof demeanour completely abandoned.

“Without the Allspark, we will never survive. And currently, a destabilised Cybertron is the only way to achieve that - the planet is too well protected for an attack to succeed. So yes, I have authorised my spies to incite riots. I have ordered them to sow chaos and confusion. I will order them to do worse if need be.”

Megatron sought out Optimus’ optics, ruby gaze piercing through him and holding him in place. “If you still believe that the Decepticons are just a faction, you are being willfully foolish. We are a race, a culture, a people. And I will do anything and everything in my power to preserve my people.”

The warlord turned away from the cell, gazing down the hall away from his captive, shoulders heaving. “I do not wish to harm innocents. But I will not spare your people at the cost of mine.”

With those ominous words he stalked out, apparently finished with the conversation, and Optimus was alone once more. 

In his cold, empty cell Optimus curled into himself, as if he were trying to hide on the hard metal berth. The sudden ringing silence after their explosive argument was almost too much for him to bear, thoughts whirling uncontrollably as he struggled with the sudden revelations.

But he couldn’t escape them. And the knowledge - the truth - hurt. Of what the Autobots had done, and why.

Of course it was possible that Megatron had been lying, but he didn't believe that. The way Megatron had acted had just been too raw, too genuine. 

And besides, that story made a lot of sense. Optimus had always wondered at the reasoning the textbooks gave for sending the Allspark away - that the Decepticons had planned to use it to control Cybertron - when in the very next line those same books admitted that very little was known about what the Allspark was actually capable of. Strange, but only a small discrepancy. Now, everything slotted into place neatly.

And the other lies, about the Decepticons being defeated? They were true, in a way. After all, the Decepticons had no way of reproducing. All the Autobots had to do was wait.

A whole race, gone forever.

It might even happen within his own lifetime.

They were doomed.

But not if Megatron had his way. If Megatron made a successful bid for the Allspark, the Decepticons would live on. It was possibly even the only way - the Autobot government would never give the Allspark up to the Decepticons, or consider sharing it. Especially since he knew now why they'd launched it in the first place.

Which reminded him of another past discrepancy. When he'd dispersed the Allspark to keep it out of Megatron's servos… Sentinel had been horrified, but Ultra Magnus hadn't been that upset about it. He'd chalked it up to the Magnus' general stoic demeanour, but if Ultra Magnus had known about this plot…

It wasn't a comforting realisation.

None of this was comforting. On the one servo, he felt like his entire worldview had shifted. On the other, it felt like he'd subconsciously known the truth for a long time. It all made a disgusting amount of sense. And he probably could have worked it out by himself if he'd properly thought things over, but he just… had never really considered what the loss of the Allspark truly meant for the Decepticons. There had always been Vector Sigma, after all, the Autobots didn't have to worry about a lack of future generations. So Optimus in turn had never had to think about it, had never really considered his own creation - or the fallout from losing the Allspark. 

Optimus had devoted his life to the Autobots, to protecting his people and furthering the cause, always believing they were in the right - but condemning an entire race to death? Even if they were sworn enemies? That wasn’t justice. That wasn’t right. No matter their past crimes, they didn’t deserve such a fate - not the army, and not Megatron. Speaking of…

He’d seen the warlord angry before, but the intense mix of passion, rage, and even - desperation? - had been overwhelming in the moment. Megatron had always had such an incredible presence, dominating every room he walked into, but that interaction had been something else entirely. Something almost truer, past Megatron’s usual unbreakable facade. The smugness, the regal manner, the aloof and cultured nature - all of it had fallen away in the face of the terrible truth.

He shivered slightly, Megatron’s words still ringing in his helm. Anything and everything in my power… in the moment it had sounded like a threat, a brutal vow of further pain. But now he’d calmed down, he realised that it was actually a promise of protection - a solemn oath that Megatron would safeguard his people no matter the cost. And Optimus… Optimus could understand that. By the end of their time on Earth he would have willingly laid down his life for his team’s survival, and even risk the lives of others if necessary - case in point, his decision to have Ratchet revert Sari to her uncontrollably powerful state. Thankfully that hadn’t been needed, but at that moment he had been guilty of the same ideology as Megatron. If he compared Megatron’s priorities to his own, they matched up; the only difference was a matter of scale.

Truthfully, he didn’t know what he would do if push came to shove and he had to choose between the lives of his team and those of innocents.

But the deaths of countless civilians, to save a dying race? The whole situation was just wrong. Megatron was so certain that his was the only way out, too. And yet… Optimus couldn’t believe that. Refused to believe it. There had to be a better way - it just needed to be found. And if Megatron wouldn’t consider it, then Optimus would have to be the one to work it out.

Now the only question was what he should do about it all - if anything. After all, he was still stuck in this cell beneath the larger prison of the citadel. The Decepticons would be much more vigilant now as well - any potential escape attempts in the future would be much more difficult. And even if they moved him back to his original quarters they would likely be stripped to the minimum and under heavy guard and surveillance.

So, what? He was just going to sit in this cell for a few days and then go right back to how it was before, plotting more escapes and ignoring the mechs around him? That wasn’t sustainable.

Was he supposed to just keep assuming Megatron was lying? Never even consider that he might be telling the truth? That's what his mentors, his superiors would have told him. And Megatron had been lying to him, hiding away the truth…

But Optimus didn't want to keep living that way. He didn't want to keep disregarding the lives of these mechs, even if they were Decepticons. 

Maybe it wasn't fair that Megatron had been lying to him, but it also wasn't fair that Optimus had refused to even consider that Megatron might have a genuine grievance. And since Optimus had automatically assumed that Megatron was lying, why should Megatron bother to tell the truth in the first place?

No, something had to change or they wouldn’t get anywhere. He’d stay stuck in a cell, attempting escapes to warn his people while Megatron harmed said mechs in an effort to preserve his own. And since Megatron was unlikely to just stop, then… maybe Optimus needed to be the one to change things. 

Optimus looked down the hall, in the direction that Megatron had left.

He hadn’t been listening to Megatron. But if he started, then perhaps… perhaps he could convince Megatron to find another way. Perhaps he could find out more of the truth of the situation. It might be his only chance.

Chapter Text

This late in the night shift, the training rooms were usually deserted due to the lack of mechs on duty. As the shift wore on, most Decepticons finished their work and went straight to berth rather than spending extra time training - after all, there was always the next morning when they would be feeling more refreshed. Tonight, though…

A titanic crash echoed through the room as two huge forms clashed, drew back, and charged again. Two engines roared defiance at one another - a heavy duty tank and a powerful fighter jet - fuelling the fighters’ attacks. Punches, kicks, claws aimed at optics - no weapons were drawn, but no quarter was given in the brutal battle.

Plating dented and crumpled with each attack, both mechs damaged as they grappled, trying to edge out the other's strength. Then the tides of battle shifted and Strika got loose long enough to punch Megatron right in the optic.

He felt the lens crack slightly, pain flaring across his processor, but refused to let it slow him down as he caught Strika's fist in her next attack and squeezed, grinding the inner joints together until she howled and kicked him in the chest, forcing him back.

In the moment before he could react, Strika caught him up around the waist and drove him into the wall, his back slamming into it at strut-breaking speed and with an almighty crunch.

Undeterred, Megatron forced his digits into her unguarded vents and pulled, tearing the delicate inner filters until she relented and backed off again, leaking energon. Pressing his advantage Megatron leaped after her, seeking to pin her to the mat and end the fight - but Strika wasn't going down so easily. Instead of being caught off guard she pivoted suddenly on one ped, grabbing Megatron's servo and using his own momentum to fling him several steps away, long enough for her own chance to pounce.

She grabbed at his back; he elbowed her in the optic; she kicked at his pedes, overbalancing him; he gripped her arm and forced her to go down with him.

They hit the floor wrestling for control. Strika was already on top but struggled to maintain the position as Megatron did his utmost to flip her off him.

Eventually, and with a great deal of difficulty, Strika managed to pin Megatron properly, and even his best efforts couldn't dislodge her. They were faceplate to faceplate, chassis to chassis as Megatron struggled stubbornly.

“Yield!” Strika growled, firmly gripping Megatron's wrists. 

Megatron refused, kicking at her front in an attempt to force her off.

Strika gave no indication of the pain, bearing it stoically as she slammed Megatron into the ground again. “I've won, yield already. Or do you just not want to admit that you were wrong?”

He let his engine roar, heavy-duty turbines highlighting his fury. “You went against my orders.” Strika knew, she knew what that meant-

“To protect my mechs! And I know you understand that, so why are you acting like this?”

Megatron growled, ripping one servo free from Strika's grip and punching her in the faceplates before she could grab him again. “I have plans for the Prime which you may well have ruined. Not to mention that you ignored my orders in front of 'your' mechs - I don't need more disobedience right now!”

Strika' answering snarl was just as passionate. “As if I've ever been obedient to you! I should hope we're closer than that at this point.”

“Well, with the way you've acted it's hard for me to know!” Undermining his authority like that, damaging his prisoner, questioning his judgement.

“Oh, for the love of-” Strika finally caught Megatron's servo and slammed it back to the floor, shifting her bulk to stare him straight in the optics. “I don't want to lead the Decepticons! You know that! Just as you know that I'm not challenging your authority. Please, stop this foolishness. I don't want to fight you over this.” Though Strika's voice still contained her rage and pride, there was an undercurrent of pleading now.

Megatron went limp - fighting wasn't going to get him anywhere. And besides, Strika… was right. He knew she wasn't challenging him. But after everything that had happened, it was difficult to let go of his anger. “Then why did you do that? ”

Strika gentled her grip but didn't release him, letting out a quiet grunt of frustration instead. “You know why. He almost killed one of my mechs. One of our mechs. And he might have hurt more - I couldn't let that happen.”

If it had been any other Autobot, he probably would have reacted the same. And Strika didn't want to lead the Decepticons and he didn't want to ruin their long friendship and this was a stupid argument. “… Fine. I yield.”

Above him, Strika let out a huge sigh and finally let go of his servos, though she didn't bother to get up herself. “Accepted. I… One moment.” After a few clicks, and accompanied by some very loud clanks, Strika awkwardly rolled off Megatron before landing with a resounding clang on the floor beside him.

They lay there for a while, both staring at the ceiling. And while Megatron's chassis ached, his processor was quiet for the first time since the alarms had sounded almost a day ago. 

But even if he wanted to, he couldn't stay on the floor all day. With no small amount of effort Megatron pulled himself up to his pedes, swaying slightly as all of his injuries took the opportunity to flare with vicious pain. Strika stayed laying down, watching him from half-closed optics.

Strika was blunt. She could be aggressive. She challenged him in ways he often hated. And sometimes, loathe as he was to admit it, she was the only one able to force him to unbend his pride long enough to see when he was wrong. It was probably why they'd been friends so long.

So Megatron leaned down and grabbed her servo, helping her up from the floor. By the time she was upright they were both leaning on each other, injuries taking their toll now that they'd both calmed down from the fight.

“Medbay?” Megatron murmured as they shuffled toward the door.

“Drinks first.” Strika replied, decisive as always. And so it was a very good thing that nomech was about that late at night, else they would have seen their leader and his most trusted general stumbling down the hallway looking like they just came out of a week-long battle.

By the time they reached the officer's lounge Megatron was very relieved to collapse into one of the plush chairs, offlining his optics and taking a moment to pant from the workout. Of course, it wasn't like his injuries had incapacitated him - in times gone by he'd fought for days on wounds like these - but since those times were gone he was more than happy to take more time to relax. To his side, Strika settled heavily into another chair, fumbling a bottle of high-grade from a nearby cabinet as she did. She poured him a generous glass then opened up part of her mask, taking a huge swig directly from the bottle. A deep sigh; the clink of the bottle being set down; then silence, save for the whirr of fans compensating for overheated frames.

Megatron was left with nothing but his own thoughts for company - and he couldn't help thinking about the events of the last few days. How quickly things had gone wrong. Prime had seemed - at the very least receptive, likely to consider some of Megatron’s points. Now of course it was obvious that he hadn't really been listening at all.

At long last, Strika let out a sparkfelt groan. “Remind me why you thought this was a good idea again?”

“I seem to remember you agreeing to it.” Strika hadn't exactly been enthusiastic, but she'd seen what he had - the sheer potential that Optimus Prime had.

“That was before the Prime almost killed his guard and sent the citadel into a frenzy.”

Megatron sighed, idly swirling the energon around in his glass. “Then I'll say it again: he has conflicting loyalties and could be a potential defector.”

“And now?” Strika turned in her seat, catching Megatron’s gaze. 

He wanted to still believe it, but after recent events it was difficult. “… I don't know.”

“Mhm.”

“I told him about the Allspark plot.” He hadn’t planned to reveal it to Prime yet, simply due to the danger to morale the whole situation posed. But during their argument, when Prime had demanded his reasoning, well... He could understand why Prime would want to know.

“And what was his reaction?” Strika didn’t seem overly surprised that he’d explained things.

“Mixed. He was shocked - horrified, even - by the news, but he also refused to accept that ours is the only possible plan of action.” Insisting that there had to be another way, that some better option existed, like Megatron hadn’t spent millennia trying to save his people. Trying to find any easier options.

“I suppose that's to be expected. And what of your ulterior motives?”

“I only wish to convince him to defect.”

Strika snorted. “Sure.” She emptied the bottle and rose to replace it, effectively ending the conversation.

In her absence, Megatron leaned back in his seat and sighed. His intentions had been exactly as stated, at least to begin with: encouraging Optimus Prime to defect, as well as showing him that Decepticons weren't the unimaginably evil monsters Prime had doubtless been taught about. His only ulterior motive, aside from raising his people's morale with the Prime's capture, had been his own sense of curiosity - wanting to know more about the mech that managed to defeat him. And it still was, no matter what Strika cared to insinuate!

Optimus Prime was just so… interesting. He was a walking dichotomy - a mech who clearly cared for so-called 'lesser races' and was willing to bend the rules for what he believed was the right choice, yet still slavishly upholding Autobot ideals. He tried to help those that suffered but seemed apathetic about Decepticon lives. His strong moral compass was utterly contrasted by the crimes his own government had committed, yet he seemed either ignorant or accepting of the atrocities - but he'd been horrified by the Allspark plot, so…

Or perhaps all of his conjecture was completely wrong and Prime was just a fool, but Megatron didn't quite believe that either. The contradiction - the mystery - was endlessly intriguing to Megatron, and getting to know the mech had just made him even more invested to find out. A little too invested, perhaps.

And all that was without even mentioning his skill as a warrior and strategist, or his meteoric rise from obscurity to besting Megatron himself! Taking on so many high level Decepticons with zero back-up and a team consisting of repair bots was undeniably stupid, a forgone conclusion. And yet he'd done it. Prime had not just survived but triumphed, and if that wasn't worth respect then he didn't know what was. 

It had certainly garnered Megatron's own respect, at first grudging and then gleeful as he began to realise the scope of Optimus Prime's potential. Being defeated may have smarted somewhat, but the blow to his pride had been alleviated by his plans to capture the young Prime and convince him that his remarkable abilities had better uses. Plans which were… not going ideally at the moment.

Admittedly, Megatron may have underestimated Prime yet again by assuming that his predilection for ignoring unfair orders would mean he was likely to be receptive to what the Decepticons had to say. As was becoming apparent by his unflinching loyalty to the Autobots. Which was, frankly speaking, even stranger.

Upon his command Shockwave had provided a dossier with every single document the Autobot government had on Optimus Prime, and reading through it had certainly been enlightening. The fact that he'd achieved some of the Elite Guard Academy's highest ever scores wasn’t all that surprising considering what else he’d seen the mech do - although he had been rather amused to find out that Prime had set the record high score on that ‘Megatron battle’ simulation they liked to run. He’d always been vaguely insulted by it, but now he just found it entertainingly prophetic.

More interesting though was the report about the Archa 7 incident. Three cadets had gone on an unauthorised mission to a crashed Decepticon warship, and two had returned. One of them had been killed by a race of monstrous spiders, apparently. (Though considering the mech Strika had picked up on Archa 7 that was likely false. Perhaps he ought to have a talk with Blackarachnia.) 

And Optimus (not yet) Prime had taken full responsibility for the incident. In return, he was permanently expelled from the Academy, banned from ever entering the Elite Guard, and assigned to space bridge maintenance for the foreseeable future.

Exile, essentially. Likely to teach the mech a lesson in obedience - after long enough, he'd be begging for another chance and willing to behave as his superiors saw fit. Until the Allspark threw a spanner in the works, that was.

Still, Ultra Magnus hadn’t been totally willing to just get rid of the mech, as evidenced by how he’d given Optimus the title of Prime anyway. And according to Shockwave, that was because Optimus Prime had been one of the mechs being considered for the next Magnus, along with both of his fellow cadets apparently. But his ‘failure’ on Archa 7 - or whatever had really happened there - had led to his expulsion from both the Academy and the consideration for the Magnus position. So Ultra Magnus had presented him with a pity prize and sent him away to punish him for whatever his supposed failing was. 

Typical Autobots. They had a tendency to discard anything less than perfection, no matter the potential.

But that was why Megatron had decided to capture Optimus Prime. He’d clearly been mistreated by his superiors, and at the same time had proven to have a much more open processor than many of his peers. Which made what had just happened even worse.

Somehow, he was disappointed.

And, sure - Optimus Prime didn’t owe him anything. Megatron was well aware that he’d captured the mech and was holding him against his will. He wasn’t angry - or even surprised - that the Prime had attempted to escape, he had made his own escape from Cybertron after all. No, the problem was the mech’s immediate attack on his guard. Soundwave had shown him the clips of Prime’s escape, and it was sickening to see how he had automatically aimed for the vulnerable neck cables. After the guard had collapsed he’d frozen for a moment, but ultimately left the Decepticon to die. And that was the problem.

For a mech who cared so much about the lives of others, he had been very willing to murder his guard. Of course Megatron had killed many Autobots himself, and unfortunately some of them had been civilians. No, the true problem was that Prime had chosen to kill when he didn’t need to. He’d destroyed his guard’s vocaliser easily enough - he could have taken down the guard non-lethally, by damaging their motor cables or using a grapple cable to restrain them. Instead, he’d almost killed the mech for the crime of guarding him.

It spoke of an extremely ingrained Autobot mindset. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised considering the current state of Cybertron, but… he’d still hoped that Prime might be able to see past his indoctrination. And yet-

“Stop it you fool, I can hear you overthinking things.”

Abruptly shaken out of his melancholy, Megatron looked up and saw a returned Strika, new bottles in servo.

“Allspark, we're supposed to be relaxing. You haven't even finished your drink!”

Megatron glanced down, and sure enough his goblet was still completely full - he'd forgotten to take a single sip. “I was… preoccupied.”

“Of course you were.” Strika grabbed the back of her chair, turning it until it properly faced Megatron before sitting back down, servos clasped before her. “Well? Spill. Better you get it out than keep chewing on it forever.”

“I’m not sure what I thought would come from this. I… suppose I was hoping that Prime could learn to care about Decepticons.” And even if he couldn't convince the mech to defect, then perhaps he could convince him to spare any Decepticons that he found at his mercy in the future.

“And now you're disappointed to find that he won't.”

“Yes. Though I feel like I shouldn't be.”

Strika tilted her helm, inspecting him with a calculating air. “Hm. You were hanging a lot on this, weren't you. Why? Talented or not, it's just one mech.”

Strika was, objectively, correct -  Optimus Prime was a single mech, no matter his skills. Yes, the mech was extremely competent; yes, he had an open processor. But… there was another, more selfish reason that he wanted Prime to defect - even more so than his interest in the mech.

It was a foolish reason. He knew that. But… Some things were difficult to let go of. Like the secret he kept tucked away deep in his spark - the remains of the mech he'd once been. A soldier, a poet, an idealist who believed he could change Cybertron for the better. That mech was long gone now - destroyed by millenia of fighting and suffering and committing terrible crimes.

Or so he liked to think. The real truth was that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much pain he endured, the spark of that bright young revolutionary remained within him. Part of him still believed - still wanted to believe - that the Autobots weren't totally beyond them. 

And admittedly, that was why he had become so… invested in Optimus Prime. 

Because… “Because if there's hope for a mech like him - if he could learn to accept and understand Decepticon ideals - then there is hope for the rest of the Autobot youth. Maybe even hope for Cybertron.”

Strika stared at him for a moment, before groaning and slumping back in her seat. “Oh, Allspark. 8 million years and you're still not willing to give up on them.”

Mehatron grunted, finally taking a gulp from his goblet. “Of course not. Why else do you think I've put so much work into securing young Autobot defectors? They may be the most indoctrinated with Autobot ideals, but at the same time they're far less set in their ways than the older generation. If we can show them the truth-”

“Then they’ll shank a guard in the middle of the night?” Strika snorted, rolling her optics.

Megatron glared at her.

She met his gaze, paused, and let out a low sigh. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. I just… I don’t see how you can continue to hope after everything that’s happened. But I guess that's the difference between us two. You've always been the idealistic one - I just get the job done.”

That was true enough - Megatron made the speeches and masterminded strategy, while Strika managed attack plans and bashed helms together. It was a formula that had worked for millions of years now - but it meant that they didn’t always see optic-to-optic on certain issues. “Is that why you disagree with my capture of the Prime?”

Strika grabbed another bottle and half-drained it. Plunking the bottle back down on the table, she ran a servo over her faceplates and huffed. “Capturing him was a good move for morale. No, I disagree with a lot of the things you’ve been doing as a result of capturing him. Mostly the leeway you decided to grant him.”

“Would you have preferred I had him thrown in Darkmount's deepest cell? Somehow I doubt that would have encouraged any thoughts of defection.” Megatron was very much aware of the horror stories Autobots told about Decepticon captivity, and had been actively trying to avoid them by indulging all of the Prime’s benign requests. 

“Considering the way things turned out, maybe. Though, I really don't understand why you were so keen to share our plans with him - honourable or not, it was stupid.”

“If you hadn't been so combative, he probably wouldn't have reacted so strongly.” Expecting Strika not to speak her processor was a fool's errand, but he’d at least hoped that she wouldn’t enrage the Prime too much.

“Oh, of course the problem was that I wasn't tactful enough and not that he wasn't ready to hear the truth!” Strika slapped the arm of her chair, engines growling.

“Autobots are never ready to hear all of the truth at once! I was attempting to break it to him gradually, else I risked alienating him to the cause.” Megatron growled right back at her. 

“Then this was inevitable! He was always going to find out, one way or another. If that's the case, why bother sugarcoating things in the first place? He'd only be angrier when he discovered that you withheld the truth.” Sitting back in her chair, Strika glared at him accusingly. Megatron was silent. “… He already found out, didn't he?”

“He guessed at the truth, and demanded to know my reasoning for the riots. That was why I told him about the fate his people doomed us to.” 

“So it didn’t work anyway! In which case, why bother?”

“It was worth a try. Unless you simply expect me to give up on all of them?” 

“I didn’t before, but now? You can’t tell me that you’re just going to keep letting him get away with this.”

“I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m going to let him damage more of our mechs. No, he’s in a cell at the moment.” Megatron had been willing to give Optimus Prime plenty of leeway, but he was not stupid enough to continue after the mech’s actions.

“And later?”

He wanted to keep a better optic on the mech, keep him in a more secure environment. But… “We’ll see.”

“Of course, so that you can let him out and he can kill others. I feel like your desire to ‘save’ Autobots is biassing you towards the mech, and blinding you to the dangers of this ‘experiment’ of yours.”

“As if you aren’t biassed as well. I’m not oblivious to the fact that he’s the one who imprisoned Lugnut.” Strika was an incredibly sensible and levelhelmed mech in a crisis, even when her consort was in danger, but she had a tendency to hold terrific grudges once the disaster was over.

Strika snorted. “That was much more reasonable - it took place in lawful combat. I object to his attack on the guard more, since they didn’t even do anything. But I don’t…” She let out another quiet sigh, absently rubbing at one of the injuries on her chassis as she thought. “I don't absolutely hate the mech, he's clearly skilled and principled - it's just that he's an Autobot.” 

Megatron immediately sat up, ready to point out her hypocrisy, but Strika cut back in before he could. “Wait, listen to me. I mean Autobot in the sense that he follows their ideals and believes them wholesparkedly, including the ideals that preach how barbaric and irredeemable and lesser Decepticons are. We’re pests to them, vermin to be exterminated!”

Megatron couldn’t say anything to that. 

“If he cared for Decepticon lives he wouldn't have tried to kill that guard, or he would have secured better treatment for his prisoners. But he didn't. Clearly, we aren't worth as much to him. And that's not something you can fix with pretty words.” Strika looked tired, nearly as tired as Megatron felt. “I'm sorry. I wish it wasn't like this - it shouldn't be like this! But it is. And you have to face facts eventually. If he can’t see us as equals, then he’s not capable of understanding us.”

Neither of them spoke for some time.

In the silence, every single one of Megatron’s injuries pinged him insistently, demanding attention, but he paid them no mind. He was too busy chewing over Strika’s words, and coming to a conclusion that he hated - because the problem was that Strika was right.

He knew of what Autobots taught their mechs, but he’d hoped that Optimus Prime might be willing to look past those views. Now that Strika was demanding he think about it, it seemed much less realistic that the mech might willingly expand his restrictive worldview in order to care for those he automatically considered lesser than himself. It just wasn’t that sensible for him.

Which left only one likely outcome. “You want me to abandon this ‘experiment’.”

“I just don’t think that it’s going to end well, considering what’s happened. And I’m worried that he’s going to crush all of your hopes.”

If she’d tried to convince him to give up before Prime’s escape attempt, he would have dismissed her worries immediately. But after everything that had happened, he simply couldn’t anymore. “I’ll… consider it.”

The corners of Strika’s optics creased, her indication of a slight smile. “That’s all I ask. Now let’s drink until we don’t have to think about this anymore.”

Megatron sighed, downing the rest of his goblet. “I suppose we might as well.”

The elevator ride back down to the cells was maddening. 

After some time spent (slightly) drunkenly shooting the breeze with Strika, they’d dragged themselves over to medbay and finally had their injuries seen to, at which point Megatron had proceeded to collapse into his berth and turn all his alarms off. His recharge was long but dreamless, and feeling much more alive he’d spent most of the day shift belatedly slogging through the backlog of work that had resulted from the Prime’s escape attempt and trying not to think about what he needed to do later. Unfortunately it was ‘later’ now, and Megatron was left staring at the elevator wall while he tried to formulate some kind of plan.

It would be easiest if he just went along with Strika’s idea. If he went in there and told the Prime in no uncertain terms that he would be spending the rest of his stay in the cell, ignored any complaints and left to oversee the repair efforts. It would be the most sensible option, too. And yet…

Somehow, he still didn’t want to give up on Optimus Prime. The mech’s idealistic nature, his naive desire to change things for the better, his sheer tenacity - Megatron would be lying if he said he didn’t recognise (or admire) any of those traits. Strika was probably right that he was biassed about this. But still, he couldn’t just abandon his attempts. At the very least, he should let Prime make a case for himself.

Processor made up he headed down the hall toward the Prime’s cell, nodding briefly to the guards as he passed by. Things were much as they’d been when he left - the cell, the containment field, and Optimus Prime - though he was laying down when Megatron approached, only sitting up as Megatron drew to a halt. 

He looked - a little better than before. Less haggard, better rested. Some of the shadows had vanished from his optics, but Megatron wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not. The day before, he’d looked absolutely wrecked - his optics and voice tainted by the distinctive vacancy of shellshock. Now, he seemed more put together, more certain of himself - he didn’t tremble or shake, and met Megatron’s optics readily.

“Good morning, Prime.”

“Morning. Did… something happen to you?” Prime was examining the fresh welds across his chassis, the bare metal standing out as the welds were still too fresh to be repainted yet.

Perceptive little Autobot. “Ah, these? Just some scrapes from training. How are you?” 

“Fine. Caught up on my recharge at least.” He shifted on the narrow berth, looking vaguely uncomfortable. It was just about what Megatron felt, too. For all his musing on what decision to make, he found himself wordless when it came time to actually mention it.

Before he could find something to say though, Prime broached the matter himself. “So, how long do I have to stay here?” His tone was steady, but contained an audible undercurrent of tension.

“I believe it would be wise to leave you down here indefinitely, after what you did.” For all his desire to turn Prime to his side, he wasn’t going to risk his own people’s lives to make the mech more comfortable.

“I can understand why you’d think that. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.” Bright blue optics bored into his own, both a request and a challenge.

“Why shouldn’t I? You’ve caused enough trouble already. Unless you think you can persuade me to free you.”

“Actually… I want to offer you a deal.” 

That wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. “A deal?”

Prime kicked his pedes back and forth underneath the berth, considering something. When he replied he spoke slowly, words clearly coming from a great deal of thought.

“I haven’t really been listening to what you have to say. Everything I know labels your views as dangerous, your words as propaganda. And maybe I’ve been right not to listen to you - you’ve been hiding the truth from me. Feeding me easily digestible ideas while keeping the less palatable ones away from me.” He looked back up at Megatron, gaze accusing.“If you only do that, how am I ever supposed to make up my processor?” 

“But I think I understand you a little more, now. And why you’ve done what you have. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t forgive you for those crimes, but I understand your reasoning. I don’t think it’s fair that your people die out, but I also don’t believe it’s fair for you to kill my people to preserve them.”

Prime let out a deep sigh, sagging slightly for a moment before straightening again, optics shining with resolve. “So, here’s my deal - I’ll listen to you. Actually engage with your point of view and what you have to say. But in return, I want you to tell me the truth. All of it, not just the convenient parts.”

In the moments after Prime's little speech, Megatron was struck silent. He'd been preparing for the very worst. Not this. And Optimus Prime seemed to be sincere about this little deal, genuine in his offer.

Suddenly, a new opportunity was open to him, and Megatron wasn't going to squander it. Though, as great as the offer was, there was still something missing.

“… Very well. But I want one additional condition. You are correct that I haven’t been entirely truthful with you. However, I don’t believe you’ve been entirely truthful with me either - through your act of civility that you’ve been keeping up. So I request that you abandon that act while you are here. I want to know you as you are, not as how you think I will best treat you.” Megatron injected as much sincerity into his voice as he could, hoping the mech would understand that he wanted to know the real Optimus Prime, not his many masks: soldier, leader, prisoner.

It seemed to work, too. Prime looked taken aback for a moment, before nodding slowly and walking to the front of the cell.

“Then it’s a deal.” Optimus placed a servo against the containment field, smiling slightly at Megatron’s minor confusion. “Since we can’t shake on it…”

It was such a simple action for the monumental peace offering it represented. Megatron gently placed his own servo against the other side of the field, completely covering the smaller mech’s.

He held it there for a moment, watching Optimus Prime. There was no deceit in those sky blue optics, just genuine conviction and resolve as they stood faceplate to faceplate, separated only by the containment field.

Looking into Prime’s optics now, he was abruptly aware of something fragile coming to life between them, if not trust then understanding: a mutual promise to do better.

At last he gently pulled away, servo returning to his side. “In which case… I believe it would be best for us to start anew.”

Prime stepped back from the containment field himself, settling back into his berth.“I think I could do that. If you don’t mind a suggestion for this new start, I know I’d like to learn more about the Decepticons and their history.”

“I will gladly help you, then. However, you must stay here for the next few days, so that my people know you have been adequately punished for your actions. Besides, a more secure room will need to be prepared.”

The Prime looked a little disappointed, but nodded nonetheless. “Makes sense. I'll, uh, see you…?”

It would be reasonable - expected, even - to leave Prime alone for the duration of his punishment, but somehow Megatron was afraid that doing so might undo the progress they had made. Besides, he did enjoy talking to the mech. “Tomorrow.”

“Right. Have a nice day.” Such a pointless piece of courtesy, but it seemed no less sincere.

“And you.”

Prime sat back down as he left, though he could feel the mech's optics on him all the way down the hall. Megatron had to force himself to focus on navigating the citadel rather than consider their exchange until he reached the privacy of his quarters. Once there, he could barely think of anything else. 

Allspark, but Optimus Prime really was something special. He’d captured the mech with the hopes of convincing him to defect, and had assumed those hopes were dashed by Prime’s refusal to listen followed by his escape attempt, but once again he’d been proven completely wrong - and he couldn’t be happier. It seemed the mech had an extraordinary talent for exceeding his expectations.

And now, Prime had surprised him by offering up a truce, just between the two of them. Megatron was- he was excited at the prospect like he hadn’t been in a while. Clashing against Optimus Prime’s abilities was immensely satisfying, whether the battle was mental, physical or verbal, so he found himself looking forward to discovering more about the mech soon.

Of course Prime was obviously going to try to escape again, but in reality that was no different from his own efforts. Hopefully next time he wouldn’t hurt anymech too badly - it hadn’t been part of their deal, but Prime had certainly seemed remorseful about the attack. At the very least, Megatron would be able to give him more reasons to stay his servo in the future.

Megatron found his way into a chair, grabbed a datapad and immediately began compiling a list of history books and Decepticon literature to fulfil Prime’s request. He’d hold off on actually introducing Prime to them until he’d been moved to his new quarters, but there was no harm in getting started right away. Perhaps he could even… oh yes, that would do nicely. 

He smiled slightly to himself, as that old hope glowed faintly in his spark. Strika had been wrong about Prime, so maybe she was also wrong about the Autobots.

And Optimus Prime had been right - they’d both been lying to each other. With this fresh start and new understanding, they might be able to actually make some progress.

Chapter Text

The rest of his stay deep beneath Darkmount was uneventful. His energon arrived at regular intervals each day, a simple schedule that was easy to fall into. The main break to it was Megatron - he usually arrived some time after Optimus’ second cube of the day, engaging him in conversation for a short period of time before excusing himself.

While their conversations were mostly meaningless, something between them had undoubtedly shifted - Optimus was certainly trying to be less confrontational, and Megatron seemed to be following his example.

It was almost nice to see Megatron every day, and Optimus found himself looking forward to his visits, as well as counting the days until he'd be moved out of this cell. By the time the last day had arrived he was shifting restlessly back and forth in the bench, impatiently waiting for his escort.

At last, a hubbub in the corridor and a set of heavily armoured guards appeared, stasis cuffs in servo. “Arms out.”

A small section of the containment field deactivated, and Optimus obediently put his servos through it to be cuffed again, the new pair clamping his forearms together while the original pair still held his servos in place. Once restrained, the guards wasted no time in opening the cell up fully and marching him off down the halls. Now that he was a little more aware than before Optimus made an effort to actually take in the halls he was being led through, though the low lighting and similarity of it all made things difficult. The trip to the elevator seemed a lot shorter this time, and before he knew it he was being hustled back into the brightly lit medbay.

Knock Out grinned widely at him as soon as he entered. “I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to see you again for a while.”

His check-up was swift - his shoulders having healed nicely - and even Knock Out attaching a new set of stasis cuffs to him that looked like an upgraded version of the ones he escaped couldn't dampen his mood for long.

Finally, he was brought down some new corridors and lightly shoved into a new room, the door of which promptly locked behind him. His new quarters, presumably.

Which were… well. 'Secure' was definitely the right word for them. 

The berth sheet was made of heavy metalmesh and fixed to the end of the berth, which was welded to the floor of the room. The walls were conspicuously bare, no windows or even a light switch, while the room itself contained nothing more than the berth. It did still have adjoining washracks although they were barren too, and the spray head was set deeply into the ceiling.

All in all, about what he'd expected - although he was a little surprised to find that there still didn't seem to be any cameras. Either Megatron was an idiot, or he had omitted them as a show of good faith. Considering the care that had been shown to the rest of the room, Optimus suspected the latter option. In which case, it would probably not be a good idea to immediately break their truce. Especially since he had an objective other than ‘escape’ now - finding the truth.

Optimus sat on his new berth with an exhausted huff, resting his optics for only a few moments before resolutely snapping back to awareness. Much as he wanted to, he couldn't relax right now - and despite the time spent down in the cells, he didn't feel like he'd gotten much rest. Most of his waking moments had been spent either worrying over past events or trying to plan for future ones. Even though things had improved, he needed to keep his wits about him. He still had a lot of work to do.

At the moment, he could make a start on that work by talking to Megatron. Although most of him really didn't want to. Even their meaningless conversations so far had been difficult for him to navigate, mostly since every time Megatron opened his intake Optimus had to consciously tamp down on his automatic reaction of assuming the Decepticon was lying. Everything his tutors had ever taught him about Megatron told him not to listen - that the warlord would drip delicious poison into his audials until he willingly took the Deceptibrand and swore himself to the cause. And just because he’d agreed to listen to Megatron didn’t mean he liked the mech - all his crimes were still fresh in Optimus’ memory.

So admittedly it had been something of a struggle so far, but Optimus wasn't going to give up. He needed to find the truth, and Megatron was unfortunately his best option right now, which meant it was about time he started listening.

It was something of a relief to be led back into Megatron's lounge/sitting room/whatever it was, partly due to his time spent in his cell but also due to the confirmation it provided: that Megatron was truly extending the olive branch of peace. A brimming cube of energon awaited him on the table, and although he found his ankles secured to the chair when he sat, it wasn’t that unexpected.

Megatron glanced up from his datapad with a slight smile. He had a second datapad balanced on the arm of his own chair, while several others were stacked neatly before him on the table. “Good morning.” 

“Morning.”

A vaguely awkward silence followed as they both searched for what to say next. Out of embarrassment, Optimus grabbed his cube and took a huge gulp, almost spilling energon all over the front of his chassis. By the time he’d managed to avoid making a mess and had carefully placed the cube back on the table, Megatron had stacked all the datapads and was watching Optimus over them. “So. I believe we have much to talk about.”

“Yeah. Can’t say I’m exactly sure where to start, though. It’s all… a lot. There’s a lot.” The days spent in his cell had been ample time for his helm to fill with a thousand swirling thoughts about the situation, and now he wasn't quite sure how to go about things.

“Fair enough. I’m also a little uncertain, if only because I’m not sure what you do and do not know already. I suspect you may know some of the truth, but twisted or contaminated by lies.” 

Immediately Optimus wanted to reject the possibility, but he managed to hold in his automatic denial before it could escape. He didn‘t want to believe that his superiors had lied to him, but how could he really know? He had to keep listening.

“Maybe, but I’ll be the judge of that. How about you start by telling me what you know as the truth, and then I can figure things out for myself.”

Megatron let out a low hum, and gathered up the datapads on the table. “Very well. In which case, I must now ask: what do you wish to learn about first?”

“I’d like to learn more about Decepticons and the war - all the things my tutors never told me, good and bad.”

“A large question indeed. I hope you understand that I cannot achieve this in a day.”

Optimus glanced down at his new, heavier restraints. “I think we have time. And if you think I’m going to just give up if things take a while, then you’re dead wrong.”

Megatron let out another soft chuckle. “If that is so, I believe it would be best for us to relocate now, since I don’t think my current resources will be sufficient.”

“Relocate where?”

“You'll see. Don’t forget your energon.”

Megatron guided him on another confusing trip through the citadel, although this time they were definitely moving upward by degrees. Although he had no idea where they were going, Optimus was certainly noticing an increased number of windows and the ensuing views of Darkmount beneath them. At last Megatron came to a halt outside a surprisingly ornamented door, turning to face Optimus instead of immediately ushering him inside.

“I will ask you to be respectful in here. While I understand your desire to escape, if I find that you have damaged or stolen any of the contents of this room I will be very displeased.”

“Alright, but what even is it?”

Instead of answering, Megatron merely opened the door and gestured for Optimus to enter, following a few steps behind him. Optimus barely made it past the entryway before he was shocked silent, gawping at the sight before him. 

At his back, Megatron lightly rested a servo on his shoulder. “Consider this… an incentive towards your good behaviour. Obey my rules and you may spend as much time here as you would like. Misbehave again, and you will find your access restricted. Choose wisely.”

Optimus however barely registered a word of what Megatron was saying, instead hungrily drinking in the sight of shelf upon shelf filled with precious datapads.

The room itself was spacious, high walls sweeping up into a vaulted ceiling. All noises seemed hushed, the heavy curtains draped over the windows and the thick carpet covering the floor swallowing up the sounds. In the centre of the room there were several plush armchairs arranged in a semicircle with a larger table between them, various bowls and empty cubes arranged across it.

But the most important thing to Optimus was the countless datapads the room contained. They seemed to spiral up into infinity along every wall, shelves vanishing into the ceiling at the limits of his vision. In fact, it looked like-

“You- you have a private library? ”

Megatron chuckled softly in his audial. “I allow myself the occasional vice. My datapad collection is one of them, as I've always had a love for literature.”

“I mean- I kinda guessed that already, but a whole library to yourself?”

“Oh, but yes. Many of them are originals, too - I am something of a collector of rare works.”

Seriously? Optimus stumbled forward a few more steps, optics wide. He’d read plenty of datapads in the past, spent many happy hours poring over old texts. And Megatron had not just a library but a collection of rare datapads? Not to mention the fact that the last time he'd seen so many datapads was when he visited the Archives back in Iacon, which was over a thousand years ago now! He'd wanted to go again since returning to Cybertron but his schedule had simply been too hectic to allow it. But now, somehow he had the opportunity to access original, rare datapads without Archives or Autobot restrictions.

Megatron had apparently taken his silence as some kind of complaint, lightly patting Optimus’ shoulder in a placating manner. “Don’t worry, I’m not hoarding them all to myself - there is a public library down in Darkmount where they have copies of every single work in here. And I won’t be keeping these texts from you either. Now…”

Gently, Megatron pushed Optimus forward out of the doorway before depositing his stack of datapads in Optimus’ still bound servos and striding ahead into the library, heading for the shelves at the back of the room. He walked along the bookcases with purpose, optics running swiftly over the titles as he delicately snagged the works he wanted. Over his shoulder he gestured for Optimus to sit, gathering up the datapads in the crook of his arm. “As neither of us are sure where to begin, I think the very start of things would be relevant.”

Optimus staggered over to the table, still a little stunned from the sheer size of the library. By the time Megatron made it back over to him he had accrued a veritable mountain of datapads compared to the paltry stack Optimus still held, and he promptly deposited his load on the table and began sorting through them.

“I believe the Quintesson wars are the best place to commence studying, although I assume that you already have some knowledge of them thanks to your Academy.”

“Uh- well, yeah. Mostly analyses of the tactics used, and also some basic history of the wars as a whole.” Optimus carefully set his own datapads to one side, taking a seat as he watched.

“A decent grounding for military purposes, I suppose. How much history did you cover? Just the causes of the war and the various battles, or anything more?”

“Pretty much just the causes and major battles. Why are you asking? Those wars were billions of years ago, they don't seem very relevant to the current situation.” His studies may have touched on the conflict with the Quintessons, but most works he’d read had made it clear that even the tactics used held little significance in the modern day.

Megatron paused in his sorting to stare at Optimus, giving him a strange look.

“To us Decepticons, they are very important- as the Quintessons are what the original warframes were created to fight.”

What.

“Wait, it was for the Quintesson wars? I was taught that warframes were created for the expansionist age.”

That had been what his tutors and textbooks claimed - the government of the expansionist era had needed better soldiers to conquer and colonise worlds, and so had created a whole new and far more deadly class of Cybertronians to swiftly destroy and enslave the natives of any world they came across. Because of that warframes were naturally larger, stronger and more violent than their civilian counterparts, and had proceeded to wreak incredible damage across the galaxy.

Nowadays, the age of Cybertron's empire was considered a bloody mark on their history, a terrible mistake that along with the previous functionalist government must never be repeated. It was true that those in power had ordered the expansion of the empire, but the warframes had been more than eager to comply with those orders.

The crimes of the empire were common knowledge - so to suddenly hear that the warframes weren’t created for that purpose was more than a little jarring.

Megatron tilted his helm slightly, considering Optimus’ words. “Truly? Curious. What an odd thing for the Autobots to obfuscate, especially since the expansionist era began many millions of years after the Quintessons withdrew.” Megatron looked genuinely bemused, rubbing his chin with one servo and a thoughtful expression. A few moments later he seemed to return to himself, shaking his helm slightly. “Well, I suppose that makes this reading all the more important.”

He ran his servos over the stacks of datapads, swiftly extracting a few of them before placing them before Optimus on the table.

“Of course I do not expect you to get through all of this in one day, but I thought that you could start by reading some key titles, and then we could discuss whatever piqued your interest.”

“That sounds reasonable. Where do I start?” Optimus glanced up and down the new stack in front of him.

Megatron smirked, and gestured to the top datapad. “Take as much time as you need.”

Optimus had been a little nervous about what he would be reading to begin with, but soon enough he found himself utterly absorbed with the datapad in his servos. He loved literature, but he loved history just as much, so getting to read a detailed account of the ancient Quintesson wars was as intriguing as it was thrilling. Sure enough, the datapad claimed that the Cybertronians of the time had been losing badly to the invading Quintessons, who had plans to capture and enslave the planet’s population. 

Apparently, the invading aliens had simply been too powerful and advanced compared to the ancient Cybertronians. Completely out of options and utterly desperate, the Cybertronians had prayed to the Allspark for salvation, and it had produced a new kind of mech for them; larger, stronger, equipped with wings and weapons, and capable of taking much more punishment. The first warframes had then beaten back the invading Quintessons, driving them back into their own space and preventing their return for billions of years. 

Taken as a whole, the account came off as almost a myth or legend - yet the amount of detail and evidence included made it difficult for Optimus to remain sceptical. The text included various image captures of ancient murals - technically impossible for him to verify if they were real, but they appeared consistent with other murals he’d seen before when he trawled through antique texts in the past.

Eventually he reached the end of the pad and reluctantly put it down, thoughts whirling. It was such a different narrative than what he’d been taught before, but he supposed it wasn’t totally unreasonable.

Still, one part stood out to him… Optimus glanced up from the table and saw that Megatron was watching him, the warlord's own datapad having vanished under his neatly folded servos. Might as well ask, then.

“This excerpt… it claims that warframes were created by praying to the Allspark?”

Across from him, Megatron chuckled lightly. “I understand why you question it - once, I myself doubted that assertion. Now, after I've seen the Allspark bring life to toys, human vehicles and an actual pile of garbage, I find the claims a little harder to dismiss.”

“I- well, I guess I have to agree.” Yeah, the idea certainly didn't seem as far-fetched anymore. The Allspark had created mechs and clones seemingly of its own volition, and when the power was actually channelled by a mech, he'd… seen… what could be done. Optimus quickly hid the sharp flare of pain in his spark by pretending to examine the other datapads.

“Um, so, do those ones have any more evidence? I'm guessing that they corroborate with this one.”

Thankfully, Megatron didn't seem to notice his little slip.

“Most of them do, although a few do offer a better grounding in warframe biology and creation, if you are curious.”

He let out a huge sigh, although Optimus wasn't sure whether it was from fatigue or something else. “However, I believe our time grows short, and my work beckons.”

Already? Checking his chronometer, Optimus realised they were well past the usual end time for their meetings - he'd lost track of time while reading. Normally he was quite glad to get away from Megatron, but he found himself reluctant at the prospect of leaving this wonderful library. “Oh. Can I… take some back to my room?”

This gave Megatron pause, and he levelled Optimus with a piercing stare.

“That depends. Can I trust you with them, unsupervised? If I find that you've damaged them or tried to use them for sabotage-”

“No more library for me. I understand. I won't damage them.” Besides, this truce was too important to break so frivolously. He would find other ways to acquire tools.

Megatron scrutinised him silently for a moment, then nodded.

“Very well, then. Which ones would you like?”

Megatron strode through the citadel with slightly more haste than was necessarily appropriate. He ought to be getting back to his office and his work now his little teaching session with Prime was over, but he simply couldn't calm his thoughts. One of the things Prime had mentioned had really stuck in his processor, and he just needed to know more.

Thankfully, he knew a mech with detailed knowledge of Autobot teachings.

Drawing to a halt in front of a heavy, blast proof door, Megatron tapped the nearby console, sending an alert to the occupant. Mere clicks later the door opened, and he entered into the darkened laboratory. The tables and walls were covered in an uncountable number of strange machines, some appearing more like normal lab equipment while others were twisted, nonsensical or incomplete. Nevertheless, they were all set out in neat, organised rows across every surface in the lab, save for a large desk set before a bank of monitors, at which sat Megatron's quarry.

“Shockwave, may I borrow a moment of your time?”

The mech in question tilted his helm in deference and respect, carefully setting aside his work. “Of course. I am always happy to help, my lord.” Shockwave gracefully clasped his huge clawed servos before him, giving Megatron his full attention.

Megatron couldn’t help but note how much better Shockwave looked since he had last seen him - his paint and plating had been tended to, but most of all his general demeanour seemed vastly improved. Megatron was grateful for Shockwave’s loyalty, but he did not take for granted the long years of difficult work his spymaster had spent on Cybertron amongst his enemies and their prejudices.

“I was speaking to Optimus Prime earlier, and he remarked that he thought we warframes were created for the expansion of Cybertron's empire rather than to fend off the Quintesson invasion nearly 500 million years before. I don't suppose you would know anything about this?”

Shockwave straightened, recognition in his posture. “Ah. Yes, I am already aware of that discrepancy from my time at the Academy. However, I believed it was inconsequential at the time so I did not include it in my reports.”

“I see. Well, I suppose what I really want to know is why the Autobots teach that as the origin. It does seem, as you say, inconsequential.”

“I was of the same opinion initially - it seemed an obvious and pointless lie on the part of the Autobots. It piqued my interest, so I decided to look into the matter, but results were not forthcoming - as it turned out, Autobot texts from much further back than the Decepticon revolution agreed that warframes were created during the expansionist era.”

“Really? That is… even stranger.” If that was true, then the Autobots had been labouring under that misapprehension for longer than Megatron himself had been alive.

“Exactly. I continued digging, and eventually I was able to conclude that it was a misconception caused by the Great Purge. Apparently, among the historical records destroyed were most of the texts regarding how we warframes were created. From there, in the chaotic aftermath of the Purge, the truth was slowly lost.” 

Shockwave let out a low noise of derision, shaking his helm. “Most civilian frames didn’t have much knowledge of us in the first place, so it wasn’t actually all that difficult for the truth to be confused - especially since the oldest records of warframes that survived the Purge were from the expansionist era. The new ‘truth’ was then taught to their newer generations through the newbuild teaching programs.”

“Well, I suppose that's why we never found out about it. Still, it's strange to think that such misinformation was being spread - to the point that practically all Autobots today believe it - and that we simply never knew.” Incredible. The Autobots had managed to misconstrue the truth so completely without the warframe population ever finding out, to the point where his people - oppressed as they were! - knew more than their so-called betters. For once, the separation between their peoples had almost had a beneficial effect on the warframes.

Still, now he had what he wanted he needed to get back to work, and let Shockwave return to his own. “Thank you for your help. I shan’t take up any more of your time.” Megatron stood and made his way to the door, but before he reached it Shockwave interrupted his progress.

“You are teaching him our history, then?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at his spymaster. “I am. I believe he has potential.”

Shockwave was silent, watching him carefully.

Megatron sighed. “You don’t believe it’s possible for him to change?”

“After all that I’ve seen of the Autobots, I find it difficult.” Shockwave tidied up some of the datapads and devices on his desk, aware that he’d been effectively dismissed. 

“But, my lord - if anymech can do it, I believe you are the one.”

Chapter Text

Curled up on his enormous berth, Optimus scrolled through the datapad in his servos. The rest of the provided datapads were scattered across the sheets, the few he’d already finished set out of the way on the floor. Diving through these accounts was both a joy and a punishment; for as much as Optimus delighted in the texts he’d been provided, the dissonance with his own beliefs was more than jarring. He had to constantly remind himself of his own potential biases, as well as the fact that the texts themselves were likely biased as well.

The datapads mostly contained a series of highly detailed accounts of the Quintesson wars, each from the perspective of a different soldier who had fought in them. Reading about the devastation caused by the wars from a mech who’d actually been there was horrifying - especially since some of the pads included blurry image captures of the battles themselves. In the Academy, Optimus had studied the tactics of both sides of the conflict, but the sanitised version he’d been taught was nothing like the visceral accounts he was now reading. Sure, he’d always known that battles were neither simple nor clear cut, but seeing things laid out so bluntly was definitely giving him pause.

One text in particular described a charge against the Quintesson lines in grisly detail, from the way the Cybertronian forces had fallen on an unprotected camp to how they in turn had been swamped by battle hungry Sharkticons, and the slaughter that mission had become. Despite the downright gruesome tale, Optimus found himself enraptured by the struggles of the soldiers as they slogged through the Sharkticon squad and at last escaped back to the bulk of their own army.

A few of the other datapads also dipped into the actual creation of the Decepticons - mostly their specific biology. Optimus wouldn't claim to be any kind of scientist, but learning about how warframes were constructed was actually very interesting. Apparently, Decepticons really did have physically different sparks, but said differences were far less pronounced than Optimus had once been taught. The texts he was reading now claimed that warframe sparks were much larger than Autobot sparks and generally more powerful - this allowed them to sustain a larger sized frame and power their in-built energy weapons. It was… certainly different from the teachings of the Academy and Autoboot Camp.

Their lessons about Decepticons hadn't really been focussed on anatomy or biology, aside from how one could reasonably kill them. He could still remember how his lecturer had paced back and forth across the front of the hall, gesturing to a huge diagram of a Decepticon.

Of course, you should try to avoid fighting a Decepticon at all costs. But if you must: aim for their joints and seek to disable them. A large group of Autobots can successfully bring down a 'Con, but not without risk. If you're close enough, try for their neck cables - it's one of the few parts of their frames that aren't armoured.

He'd been terrified by the lecturer's introduction of Decepticons; the shaky video clips showcasing their strength and brutality, the fragments of thick armour displayed on the front tables. At first glance they had simply seemed unstoppable, machines of war that could never be sated, so hearing that they could be defeated and even killed had been massively reassuring. 

From there, lectures about the Decepticons had covered their tactics both in and out of battle, their common combat styles, and prominent members of the army. How strange to think that he’d met many of them now. At the same time, his history lessons had emphasised how the Decepticons were brutal conquerors, naturally violent and eager to decimate and colonise new planets, with grisly details of their repeated barbaric practices. He'd learned that it was the duty of all Autobots to combat the Decepticon threat wherever it reared its ugly head, to protect the lives of the many lesser organic races that would otherwise be endangered. 

Though he'd been rethinking that recently…

Focus, Optimus! He shook himself, refocusing on the pad in his servos. He was supposed to be reading through the texts, not reminiscing on his own ancient history.

But maybe it shouldn't be such a surprise - in many ways this was similar to the long evenings he’d spent in the Archives as a cadet, surrounded by stacks of datapads retrieved from the shelves, either studying for his classes or exploring a variety of texts to satiate his own curiosity. Of the many subjects he’d ended up reading about history had fast become his favourite, followed by a healthy love of literature in general - partially due to the ancient myths he’d ended up voraciously consuming in his travels through the past.

Now that he was retracing his steps once more, even if through a different lens than before, Optimus found himself slipping into his own processor. The act of reading both soothed him and became a gateway to his own past, especially the part of it that had involved his original studies. Unbidden, more and more memories of his life at the Academy sprang up, replaying behind his optics as he tried to focus on the pads. 

He was feeling pretty tired too, drained after the tumultuous events of the past few weeks. So much time spent planning, calculating, fighting, running, and for what? All it had added up to was heavier restraints, a better guarded cell, and of all things, homework. Homework he enjoyed, for sure, but it was still ultimately work. But this was so important…

Eventually though, he had to admit defeat after reading the same paragraph 4 times and not taking any of it in. Giving up for the time being, Optimus fell back on the berth and let his processor drift, all the way back to the Academy and his time there.

The day's lectures had run long, but at last class had been dismissed and Optimus had packed up his notes. Or more accurately, he was attempting to.

“Elita, could you please get off my datapads?”

From the desk she was sitting on, Elita grinned at him innocently. She'd hopped up mere clicks after their lecturer left, trapping Optimus' notes underneath her pedes and fixing him with a winning smile. Now, he was trying to diplomatically shove her off them, but not finding much success despite his larger frame. That was due to Sentinel's decision to drape himself across Optimus' back and simply hang there, lightly heckling Optimus for his attempts to move Elita.

“Optimus, I thought you were a hauler! Put your back into it already.”

“I'm trying. And you're not helping either - get off!” He elbowed Sentinel in the side, but it was mostly ineffectual since he didn't want to use enough force to actually hurt his friend.

“Aww, where would be the fun in that?”

“It's not supposed to be fun, I just want my notes back!”

So far, Elita had seemingly been content to watch her friends bicker, but now she sat straighter and turned her full attention on Optimus.

“He's right, y'know - it is fun, and personally I think you could use a little more fun in your daily life. C'mon, it's the end of the day - the perfect time to relax and forget about work for a while.”

Optimus paused in his futile efforts to dislodge Sentinel, staring at Elita. “Is that what this is? An intervention?”

“Sorta!” laughed Sentinel, right in his audial. “Mostly since you've dodged allll our other offers to go out together.”

“Wh- I was busy! You know what my workload is like.”

Although Optimus enjoyed every single one of his extracurriculars, he couldn't deny that taking them all had more than tripled his weekly workload.

“Busy every night? I don't think so.” Elita levelled Optimus with a sharp stare, optics daring Optimus to challenge her on it.

“I- well-”

“No excuses! We’re taking you out tonight.” Behind him, Sentinel finally slipped off his back in favour of slinging Optimus' own arm over his shoulder. “It'll be great!”

Somehow, Optimus couldn't bring himself to reject their offer, though he protested weakly all the way to the club.

It was fairly full, mechs weaving back and forth on the dancefloor while others bunched up around the bar. Sentinel had snagged them a secluded booth away from the main crush, before promptly vanishing to get drinks - although currently he appeared to be flirting with a pretty cyclebot instead. Back in the booth, Optimus leant against the plush seating while Elita watched the crowd with idle interest.

“Sooo……”

Optimus sighed inwardly. They were really doing this, then. “So what?”

“You been enjoying your lectures?” Elita messed with a spare glass, still looking out into the club. Nevertheless, her entire focus was squarely on Optimus.

“Yeah.”

“That's good.”

More silence. Optimus stared at the table, unable to think of anything.

After several frozen moments, Elita let out a frustrated huff and slammed a servo down on the table. “Fine, I'll ask.” She turned to him, gaze questioning. “Why didn't you want to come out with us? You've been avoiding this for months.”

Optimus had to try very hard to avoid visibly cringing at the accusation. Of course they noticed. “That's…”

“I mean, you got something against parties? Or is it the amount of mechs? I get it if that's the problem, but you can tell us these things, y'know.”

He found himself fervently wishing that Elita had never noticed his reticence about going out. She and Sentinel were equally stubborn, and Elita had a habit of continually picking at a problem until she came to a solution, no matter how long it took. “It's not…”

“Or is it us? I mean, I'd get that too.” 

She looked so concerned, and Optimus winced at the thought he'd made his friends worry so. He scrambled to allay her fears, afraid that she had the wrong idea. “What- no, it's not you! I promise, you haven't done anything wrong, please don't think that. And, I don't…”

Some of the worry had smoothed out of Elita's faceplates, although discontent lingered. “Don't what?”

“I don't hate partying, or large groups of mechs, it's just not…” Optimus opened and shut his intake helplessly, desperately grasping at some kind of answer, at some way to explain his problem - his failing. His friends shouldn't have to waste their time worrying about him, not when it was a dilemma of his own creation.

Frustration grew within him as he struggled to find a way to express what was wrong, until it all burst out of him in a rush - “It's just not useful!” 

In the relative quiet that followed, he was acutely aware of every noise in the club, every minute adjustment of Elita's posture. She was silent for a long time following his little outburst, expression strangely blank. Eventually, though, she tilted her helm back with a soft sigh. “And the extra work you've been doing instead - all the reading and studying - is useful?”

What sort of a question was that? “Obviously! Information is vital, especially to an officer. Knowing previously used tactics or the history of a certain race could save lives in the future!”

“But partying isn't useful.”

“I mean… It's fun, definitely. I do enjoy it! But I…” How could he ever hope to explain the strange feeling of guilt that followed him no matter what he did? Eventually, Optimus just slumped down onto the table, despondently tracing the old scratches that decorated the top of it.

“I don't know. I feel like I'm letting the side down.”

Elita let out a low hum, joining him in staring at the table. “Would it help if I said you need to lighten up?”

“Probably not. It's just… we're probably going to be officers one day, with soldiers underneath us who we're responsible for protecting. Those soldiers - they'll rely on us to make the right decisions, maybe even to save their lives. I have to be at my best for them.” 

“I understand, but it's not just your social life that's suffering right now. Don't think I haven't also noticed how tired you've been recently.” Elita's gaze was accusatory now, pinning him to his seat and making his excuses to evaporate instantly.

“You noticed? Allspark, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to worry you -”

Elita snorted and smacked him lightly on the arm. “I'm your friend, dummy - I can worry about you if I want to.”

“Then-”

“Drinks!” Both of them jerked backwards violently as Sentinel plunked their cocktails down on the table before sliding carelessly into the booth beside Optimus. His own drink in servo, Sentinel lay back against the plush seating and took a quick slurp, optics closed as he relaxed. Optimus and Elita stared at him blankly, still mentally stuck in their argument. Sentinel set down his drink, letting out a deep sigh of contentment and reopening his optics to glance at his friends. He glanced from one faceplate to the other, finally noticing the tension between them. “What are we talking about?” 

“Nothing!” Optimus yelped hurriedly, hoping to deflect Sentinel before he too became embroiled in the argument. Like Elita, Sentinel rarely let such a topic lay unresolved.

“Optimus' terrible work-life balance.” Elita replied immediately after, grabbing her own drink.

“Hah, what's new?”

Sentinel gulped down some more of his drink, before leaning against Optimus and resting a servo on his shoulder. “But that's what we're here for, clearly. Making sure you don't collapse in the middle of lectures is our job!”

“And I'm grateful that you help me out, but I can look after myself. You don't have to spend so much of your own time on me.”

Elita and Sentinel exchanged a look of utter exasperation.

“What? I can!”

Across from him, Elita let out a quiet sigh. “I'm not saying you can't take care of yourself, I'm saying that sometimes you need a mech to pull you out of that big processor of yours and make you put away your work for a bit.”

“Right! Nothing wrong with relying on us for that every now and then.”

“I-I know, but-”

“Alright, fine.” Elita slammed her now-empty glass down on the table, fixing Optimus with a glare. “Tell me this: You want to do your best to support your fellow soldiers, right?”

“Of course. We're all cogs in the Great Autobot Machine-”

“-and all machines need scheduled maintenance.”

Optimus stared at her while Sentinel snickered.

“She's got you there!”

“Listen, I understand why you feel the way you do, but the truth is you've got to take breaks every now and then, especially if you want to be at your best when it matters.”

“Exactly. If you wear yourself out, you won't be able to help anyone.” Sentinel huffed, dumping his empty glass on the table. 

As much as he didn't want to accept what his friends were saying, Optimus couldn't deny the sense in their words. Still, his sense of Autobot duty continued to tell him that he had to give everything he had for his faction. “You're really sure, huh?”

“Duh! Just take a couple extra cycles for yourself, Optimus. Cybertron won't fall if you relax every now and then.” Sentinel slung his arm back round Optimus' neck, pulling him back against the back of the seat. The position was vaguely uncomfortable, but Optimus didn't move, leaning into his friend's touch.

“I… Fine, fine. I'll try to take more breaks. Happy?”

Elita snorted quietly into her glass. “I'll be happy when I see that you're doing it, but sure.”

Optimus sank further into the soft seat of the booth, guilt rearing its ugly helm once more. He hated that his friends didn't trust him on this, even if knew that was due to his own actions. Apparently noticing his discomfort, she put her glass back down and reached across the table to nudge him on the shoulder.

“Hey, we're not saying you have to stop - it's obvious to everymech that you love spending as much time as possible with your datapads. We're just asking that you… take things a little slower, for a while. If not for yourself, then for us.”

An impossible task. But if his friends were the ones requesting it of him… “Okay. I'll try.”

Both of his friends grinned at him, and Elita pushed his forgotten drink into his servos.“That's all we ask.”

Optimus stared up at the ceiling. They'd spent a few cycles in the club before staggering home, ending up collapsed in a heap in Elita's room. He'd recharged soundly that night, and hadn't gotten up until midday, rather than his usual early start. From then on, he'd made efforts to improve his terrible schedule, not wanting to let his friends down. And that had been the end of it.

How simple things had been. How easily resolved.

All he'd had to worry about was his grades, his lectures and whatever trouble his friends had managed to get in now. He'd… made an effort not to think of those times recently, there was no way to change the past after all. No point in fixating on old hurts when he had work to do.

But laying on his berth, here and now, he couldn't deny how he felt anymore. He missed his old friends. He missed his family. How dearly he wished that they were there to help guide him through the troubled waters he found himself in.

Optimus curled in on himself even further with a quiet sob, crippled by the sudden bout of grief and homesickness. How long he spent like that, trembling helplessly in the grip of the pain coursing through him, he had no idea; it felt like days, like it would never end. When the furious longing at last abated he was left an empty husk, wrung out of all feeling.

He lay there for a while, not moving. And then, in the quiet aftermath of those waves of emotion he realised with sudden clarity that this had been a long time coming. That he had been pushing himself too hard for far too long.

Pit, when was the last time he'd had a proper rest?

He’d spent the days before his escape planning, and the days before his capture worrying. His stay in the cell hadn't been restful either; every time he'd closed his optics the thrashing, bleeding guard had appeared to haunt him. He'd managed to recharge, but not easily.  And before all of that, he’d spent his days stressing about fighting Megatron and protecting his team.

Allspark, but he was exhausted. The brief excitement from leaving the cell and seeing the library had long since faded from his system, and now he wanted nothing more than to just lay down and not get up for a few years.

It was all just… too much right now. And he remembered the vow he’d made to his friends, and reached a decision. Homework could wait - it wasn’t like Megatron was going to give him detention for not finishing the pads. He needed to just be for a little bit.

And so, with a shuddering spark, Optimus pressed his faceplates into the berth and let himself finally, properly, relax.

Chapter Text

When morning came, Optimus at last made himself get up again. He still couldn't say he felt great, but he definitely felt better. More… settled. Comfortable again in his own plating. He certainly felt refreshed, at least.

With a lazy yawn, he shuffled into the washracks and spent a few interesting minutes attempting to figure out the shower controls. After fumbling madly for a while he eventually managed to get the solvent to run nice and hot, and ended up just standing underneath it with his plating flared out to enjoy the heat against his protoform. He turned to look up into the spray, luxuriating in the delicious sensation against his faceplates. Fancy fuel and parties were fun, but sometimes the simple pleasures were the best.

Almost a cycle later and feeling outrageously relaxed he finally stumbled out of the washracks, and was met with the sight of his 'homework' strewn across the berth and floor like he'd left it the day before.

Right. He'd given up on it, at least for a little while. Thankfully, none of the datapads seemed damaged (hopefully meaning that he hadn't accidentally recharged on any of them) and he was able to quickly gather them back up. After a few clicks of thought, he organised them into two stacks: the ones he'd read, and those that he hadn't gotten to yet. The 'read' stack was a fair bit shorter but Optimus still felt that he'd made some good progress before throwing in the towel.

The only question was what he should do next. Should he attempt to get through as many as possible before his upcoming meeting with Megatron? While Optimus didn't particularly care for impressing the warlord, he did desperately need the mech to take him seriously and respect his desire to learn. Failing to make it through enough texts might come off as a lack of dedication in Megatron's optics. 

However, rushing through the datapads wasn't exactly Optimus' idea of a good time: he'd be stressed, focussing on the quantity read rather than taking the time to critically consider each work. By the end of it he might not even remember key details from some of the texts, and that felt like another surefire way to damage Megatron's respect for him.

Whatever he chose he needed to choose quickly, the minutes ticking by inexorably as he stared at the stacks of datapads.

Ultimately, he decided to leave the 'unread' stack alone and focus on the questions he wanted to ask about the pads he had read - surely Megatron would understand that he couldn't get through them all in one sitting. Engaging with the information and viewpoints of the historical accounts would hopefully also show his dedication and diligence for learning, neatly striking through his other worry. 

Processor made up, Optimus pulled the 'read' stack toward him and started skimming back through the titles, finding the intriguing or controversial parts he remembered and using them to create a list of questions for Megatron, as well as a few extra datapads he wanted to request. The time passed quickly in that way, and when Cyclonus appeared to escort him to the library (servos firmly cuffed before him) he also carried with him both his stack of finished datapads and his mental list of unasked questions. 

Although he'd seen the library already the sight of all those datapads was still absolutely incredible, and he couldn't help craning his helm up to stare at the higher shelves as he padded over to the table where Megatron waited.

“Good morning, Prime. You look well - I take it your new accommodation is adequate?”

Megatron was looking at him a little strangely, and after a click or two Optimus belatedly realised that his long shower had resulted in his plating absolutely gleaming in the low lighting of the library.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I appreciate the washracks.”

Megatron grinned slowly, his intake curving up into a sharp slash.

“I'm glad.”

Optimus shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat, and elected to move the conversation along. “Right. So, about the reading…”

“Ah, of course. Did you enjoy the datapads I gave you?”

“I did. Though-” Optimus placed his neat little stack on the table, running a digit down the edge to properly line them up. “-I didn't get through them all. These are the ones I finished.”

Across the table, Megatron tilted his helm to check the titles of the datapads, nodding slightly as he read down the stack. He didn’t seem disappointed by the amount of them, at least. “I see. And what were your thoughts on them?” 

“They're incredible. I’ve never read such a detailed account of the Quintesson wars, most of the ones I could find in the Archives only really covered the broad strokes of things.” Not for lack of trying, though. In his quest to learn Cybertron’s military history he’d pretty much exhausted the Archive’s meagre store of information on the conflicts with the Quintessons.

“Hah! That sounds about right - I can’t imagine the Archives have much information left on those events.”

A weird comment, especially with Megatron’s audible mirth and borderline smugness. 

“... Because they were billions of years ago?”

“Because the information was destroyed. Or do the Autobots simply pretend that the Great Purge never happened these days?”  Megatron’s victorious smirk told him what answer the warlord was expecting - that the Autobots had lied to him, again. Well, the joke was on Megatron this time. And Optimus certainly wasn’t going to back down from the challenge.

Still, it was an active struggle to downplay his reflexive outraged response to a scathing one instead. “Seriously? Of course I know about what the Protectobots did! Our teaching system isn’t that corrupt, thanks.”

Apparently that had still come out a little more aggressive than he’d intended, considering the way Megatron immediately raised his servos in placation, smug grin vanishing from his faceplates. “Fine, fine. What do you know of the Purge, then?”

Optimus stared at him closely, trying to gauge whether he was serious or not. That jab about the Purge had been exceedingly irritating, and he was tempted not to comply if Megatron was going to act like this. But he’d agreed to tell the truth, agreed to engage sincerely, so…

“The Protectobots, led by Nova Magnus, tried to remove what they considered ‘undesirable elements’ from society, mainly by deleting all information that didn’t fit with their ideology. Several other factions rebelled against the attempted Purge and forced the Protectobots to stop - but even though the Purge was aborted millions of documents were lost. Do I have that right?” 

His lessons at the Academy had covered the incident in some depth, and in his own studies he’d looked even further into the events leading up to and out of the crisis. And all the information he’d seen had agreed on the same thing: what the Protectobots had attempted was not just immoral but had also actually weakened Cybertron substantially as vital data was lost.

“I believe you are correct.” Megatron paused, letting out a huge sigh. When he next spoke, his voice was softer than before, probably in another effort to placate Optimus.

“My apologies for insinuating otherwise. It is not you that I doubted, but the state of Autobot education - considering everything else I know of it. Especially since it now seems that the origins of warframes were potentially lost due to the Purge itself.”

Huh. Megatron sounded sincere, at least. 

“… I guess that’s fair enough. But I’d still appreciate a little more credit in the future.”

“I will do my best.” Megatron held his gaze for a long moment, optics seemingly earnest, before turning back to the stack of datapads. “Well, aside from that, I suppose I should ask if you have any questions?”

“A few, but the main thing I wanted to know more about was this biological text: it claims that Decepticons have- higher powered sparks? It’s not something I’ve ever heard of before.” It was certainly a curious concept, although not one he was quite sure he understood. Sure, it made an amount of sense that they would need stronger sparks to support a larger frame, but he didn’t exactly see how that would work.  

Megatron looked at him quizzically, lips twisted slightly in confusion.

“Not at all? What do you Autobots teach about warframes, then? I was under the impression that young Autobots are taught that Decepticons are inherently different from them, and I can’t imagine the only reason they give is ‘Decepticons are built bigger’.”

Optimus opened his intake to reply, and then immediately shut it again. The instinctive answer was one that he'd been taught ever since he was first protoformed: Decepticons were naturally violent mechs. Their sparks were characterised by an innate propensity for cruelty and brutality, and that was why Vector Sigma had been programmed to produce only Autobot sparks, who were innately calmer and kinder.

But somehow, he didn't think Megatron would appreciate that answer. Great, now he felt like an absolute hypocrite for ragging on Megatron’s expectations of his knowledge earlier. And he suspected that Megatron would gleefully call him out for that, so instead of saying anything he just sank further into his seat and gave an awkward little shrug.

Unfortunately, Megatron definitely picked up on his hesitation and discomfort, letting out a little sigh. “Nothing good, then. Still, I'd like to know.”

He paused briefly at Optimus’ continued hesitance, then added-

“I’m hardly going to be angry with you for whatever you’ve been taught. ‘Shooting the messenger’ is an utterly reductive idea, in my experience.”

“I was taught that… Decepticons are… inherently violent. They’re… naturally murderers, willing conquerors.”

“I see.” Megatron was absolutely still, an immense grey statue.

“Well, I suppose it’s no real surprise.” His optics flickered slightly, refocusing to stare directly at Optimus. “And do you still believe that?”

Optimus met those ruby optics steadily, seeing the challenge within them.

“No. Not anymore.” It was the truth, too. Optimus didn’t like Megatron, or for that matter many of the Decepticons he’d met on Chaar, but even so… he could still see that they were just mechs. Knock Out and Breakdown’s easy banter was an obvious enough example. And the way Megatron was acting… even if it was an effort to encourage defection, it just didn’t line up with that image of the cruel destroyer, slaughtering for the sheer joy of it.

Megatron nodded, once, and sat back in his seat, breaking optic contact at last. During the silence that followed, Optimus found himself studying his captor, his… companion. In the light given off by the library lamps, his bulk threw deep shadows across himself and the chair, his sharp edges at odds with the soft padding of his seat. His expression was pensive, optics staring off into nothingness, while he idly rubbed his chin with one huge servo. At rest like this, despite how utterly massive he was and all the experience Optimus had of him, it was somehow difficult to equate him to the ruthless war-machine he’d fought against.

The quiet dragged on, but didn’t feel particularly uncomfortable. Megatron seemed utterly lost in his own thoughts, probably considering Optimus’ words. He was tempted to just sit for a while, but ultimately decided against it - their meeting time was limited, after all, and he still had questions that he wanted to ask. Especially since he hadn’t actually gotten a proper answer earlier. Now, how to broach the topic when Megatron was so obviously preoccupied…?

After a few silent moments, Optimus elected to awkwardly clear his intake. When that failed to produce a result, he opted for a little cough, and then a louder one. That finally did the trick - Megatron blinked and visibly shook himself a little, turning his helm to look at Optimus again.

“I really would like to know more about Decepticon sparks. Do you have any other texts I could read?”

“A few, but I suspect they won’t answer your question fully. Extensive though my library is, it does mainly focus on literature and history over the sciences. And I myself am no expert on the topic. Perhaps…”

He was quiet for a few clicks, clearly considering something. Then- “I believe one of my science officers would be able to shed some light on the situation. Yes, I’m sure Shockwave could explain things for you adequately.”

Megatron wanted him to talk to Shockwave?! After everything the mech had done? He’d almost killed Ultra Magnus and Blurr, as well as causing untold damage to Cybertron and the Autobot Intelligence Division. Optimus didn’t want to go anywhere near the mech! 

… But he really wanted to know more about how Decepticon sparks worked. It might provide some reason as to why such an abyss existed between their two peoples, and maybe even help explain why the Allspark had to be sent into space in the first place.

“Well if he’s willing to, then I guess so…” Didn’t mean he was thrilled by the prospect, but if Shockwave could give him answers then surely it was worth it to try. He could be the bigger mech and put his distaste aside as long as was necessary.

“Aside from that though, I do have some other questions. And, also…” He was probably being a bit forward with this request, but truthfully he was just dying to get a proper look at some of the literature in the library. “If it’s alright, then I’d like to check out some other datapads as well.”

“Don’t you already have plenty of pads in your room to be getting on with?”

“Oh, yeah, but I- I’d like to read some literature as well. To, ah, round out my studies?” Not the best excuse, but he just wasn't sure how else to put it. Though he was better rested now he still wasn't operating at anywhere near 100%, and somehow he didn't think revealing that weakness to Megatron was a particularly good idea. But how else to persuade the mech? Megatron didn't look convinced in the slightest, his expression a mixture of suspicion and vague confusion.

Frag. He needed another approach. Or… maybe adding just a little of the truth would do the trick. “I mean, I enjoy reading the history pads but it’s not exactly restful since I need to concentrate so hard, y'know? Sometimes I need a bit of a break with something a bit simpler.”

Megatron's faceplates cleared at that, and he nodded. “I can understand that - Allspark knows even the most enjoyable work can be a bore given enough time.”

He paused momentarily, and when he next spoke his voice had lowered to an indulgent purr.

“I'm perfectly happy to fulfil your request. After all, what a terrible host I would be, leaving my guest so bored.”

Allspark, Optimus had almost forgotten how annoying he was.

Megatron wasn't done though, leaning forward slightly in his seat with a smirk.

“Now, I believe I have only one more question for you.”

“Which is…?”

Optimus steeled himself - what more could Megatron want to know? Extra details about what was taught at the Academy? Information about Autobot sparks? The exact location of the Allspark???

And then Megatron smiled widely, and gestured at the shelves of datapads behind him. “Where would you like to start?”

Almost a cycle later, Optimus trotted back to his room with a new stack of precious datapads held carefully between his servos. His chosen works spanned a variety of genres, from historical fiction to mystery to even a few romance novels, all of them picked on a whim in his efforts to try as many pieces of Decepticon fiction as possible. He even had a slim volume of collected poetry and another of short stage plays, both of which he was really looking forward to reading - mainly since Megatron had recommended them to him, and he couldn't help but be curious as to where the warlord's tastes lay.

Once back in his room he flopped onto the huge berth, eager to start reading through his new treasure trove.

Still, work before play - he had a duty to fulfil. Optimus sorted through the 'unread' stack still sitting on his berth, and after some thought selected 5 titles that seemed especially important to his studies. 5 was a good target to aim for, and then he could relax and explore some of the fiction. Processor made up, he snuggled down onto the berth and turned on the first datapad, A History of Cybertronian-Quintesson Conflicts, and settled in to read.

Chapter Text

The next morning began all too early, as far as Optimus was concerned. He'd been having such a lovely time, surrounded by his stacks of datapads and avidly working through whatever title was in his servos, and now he had to stop doing that and instead go and talk to Shockwave. Eugh. 

Even if it had been his own request, and even though he'd agreed to this meeting, Optimus went about his morning routine with a sense of growing resentment. He constantly had to remind himself that this was for the good of Autobots everywhere, although it was with limited amounts of success.

At last the door to his room beeped a warning and opened, and he glanced at it to see if Cyclonus was escorting him again today, only to find Megatron waiting there for him instead. He was standing just on the other side of the door frame, servos folded before him and helm slanted down gently in order to catch Optimus' optics.

Clearly sensing his surprise and confusion, Megatron smiled lightly. “May I come in?”

“I- sure?”

Optimus wasn't sure why Megatron was bothering to ask, since the mech ruled the planet, but he supposed it was probably in an effort to be polite. A few extra moments of thought and he added 'attempting to appear unthreatening' to that assumption, since the warlord seemed to be purposefully keeping his movements slow and deliberate. 

Nevertheless, he awkwardly edged backward as Megatron stepped into the room, bumping into the berth after a few moments and ending up perched on the end of it. The cell had seemed so massive to him these past few days, yet Megatron fit the largeness of it perfectly, bringing it into proper perspective. For a Decepticon, it was almost too small, but at the same time if it hadn't been for the stasis cuffs Optimus could have probably driven in circles by the berth. It wasn't like Megatron was having to hunch over or pull his plating in to prevent scraping it on the walls, it was just that he filled the space entirely.

He also didn't miss the way Megatron surveyed the room with a quick glance before relaxing slightly, presumably having found nothing that would suggest an escape attempt. Optimus wasn't overly insulted, but he was suddenly very glad that he hadn't left his reading material scattered haphazardly across the berth and floor again.

Optimus should- he should probably say something, since Megatron was just sort of standing there, looking at him and the room.

“Do you… need something?”

“Not at all. I just thought it would save time to take you down to the labs myself, rather than meeting you there.”

“Oh, makes sense.”

Megatron was silent once more, examining the room - and the various stacks of datapads on the berth. “How did you find those fiction datapads you wanted?”

“Ah- I've only finished one of them so far.”

Optimus reached back across the berth, plucking the finished pad from beside his pillow. Admittedly, it wasn't the most high-brow piece of fiction, but he'd found it very compelling and had a lot of fun reading it after finishing off his 'work'. “This one, Troubled Skies over the Spires - I've never read any Vosian fiction before so I was curious to try it.”

“And what did you think?”

“I really enjoyed exploring the mystery, especially with the way the relationships between Cloudbolt and their friends were slowly revealed.”

Troubled Skies was a mystery novel full of intrigue and suspense, set against the tumultuous backdrop of the 2nd Cybertronian civil war many hundreds of millions of years ago. While the surrounding factions squabbled, the warframe forces of the army had yet to be deployed - and the barracks/city that was Vos, home to the Seekers, was a hive of anxiety and fear as the inhabitants waited nervously to see if they would be sent to war. The protagonist found themselves involved in a string of murders within the boiling city, soon diving into conspiracies and high altitude chases, as well as a turbulent romance with a mysterious rebel warframe. Optimus hadn't been quite sure what to expect going into the story, but had found himself gripped by the thrilling mystery in no time, and ended up reading through the entire thing in one sitting.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, though I must ask - were there parts of it that you didn’t understand?”

“… Yeah. There were some references to things that I’d never really heard of before, like ‘courting flights’.  I assume that’s because it’s something to do with warframe culture?”

“Just so.” Megatron paused momentarily, seemingly considering something before nodding decisively. “I know you originally wanted to learn about us Decepticons in relation to the war, but if you’re willing I believe it would be pertinent for you to learn a little of our culture as well. Does that interest you?”

Such information wouldn't be necessary for Optimus to learn, but it did seem like a good idea. Their cultures were just so different, there seemed to be barely any overlap. And everything that had been hinted at in the book had just made him even more curious.

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. Still, I think it’s best if I focus on your history first, and then maybe later…?”

“Reasonable enough. Well, do say when you’d like to learn more - I’m happy to fill you in on any element of our society that you do not understand.” Megatron was offering to teach him personally? He supposed it made sense, but the bigger surprise was that Megatron was willing to take the time - surely it wouldn’t be quick. “Now, I believe we ought to be going.” 

Oh, right. Shockwave. With some difficulty, Optimus hid his distaste and got down from the berth, making for the door. Megatron stepped out of his way with grace, before moving to stand behind Optimus. Despite recent events though, Megatron didn't bother to activate his stasis cuffs, instead lightly resting one huge servo on his shoulder and nudging him forward out of the cell. A show of faith, perhaps? It was certainly a good sign if Megatron was already being a little more lenient with him. Or it could just be that Megatron didn't expect him to misbehave as long as he was being watched.

Either way, they were soon heading back down into the citadel, eventually reaching a part of it that seemed to have much thicker and stronger walls. The doors were all blast proof and several seemed to have been repaired multiple times, some featuring buckled metal plates held together by hundreds of rivets. The door they actually stopped in front of was in much better repair than the others, but was also by far the heaviest one he’d seen so far. Optimus couldn’t help but tense up slightly as the door slid open, and Megatron had to practically push him into the room.

The lab was dark, littered with dangerous-looking experiments, and… empty. Aside from all the strange devices arranged across the various tables, there was a desk complete with adjustable chair and monitors, but the screens were off and the chair was tucked neatly under the table.

“Hm.” Behind him, Megatron had drawn to a halt, and when Optimus glanced back he could tell that the Decepticon was in a comm call with somemech, presumably Shockwave. “How vexing. It seems something has come up unexpectedly.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing that would be important to you, but I think that I may need to go and assist with the situation as well. It’d be best if you wait here while I deal with this.”

Without pause, Megatron grasped Optimus’ arm and pulled him sideways towards a nearby empty table. Optimus was so surprised that he didn’t try to resist, which he regretted less than a click later as the stasis cuff on his arm promptly magnetised to the tabletop.

“Hey!” Optimus tugged at the cuff indignantly, finding his forearm to be completely immovable. With the cuff located just below his wrist his servo was also practically useless in its current position, leaving him standing there helplessly and unable to take even a single step away from the table. “Is this really necessary?”

“I think that keeping you away from all the precision laser weapons in here is perfectly necessary. Besides, it's just as much for your own protection - some of the devices in here could easily kill, and I can’t have you wandering off and getting hurt while in my care.” Megatron patted him lightly on the shoulder, before stepping away and heading for the door. Optimus clenched his servos into fists and stared intensely at the table, trying not to let his frustration boil over. Of course Megatron would just abandon him here to go deal with whatever ‘important’ business had ‘come up unexpectedly’, the absolute fragger-

A loud clank sounding behind him caused Optimus to flinch violently and spin round - or attempt to, as his servo was not moving - in order to see… Megatron, a chair, and a smirk. 

“What? I’m not so cruel as to leave you standing here for however long this takes.”

He pushed the chair close enough that Optimus could comfortably reach it, before walking back toward the door. “I’ll do my utmost to make this quick, for both of our sakes.” He added over his shoulder as he left, the door sliding shut an instant later.

Which left Optimus… shackled to a table… in Shockwave’s creepy lab… in the dark both figuratively and literally… and completely alone.

Allspark, but he hated Megatron.

He kicked the table leg and let out a frustrated huff. So much for thinking that Megatron was showing some faith in him. He was tempted to remain standing out of spite, but that impulse was swiftly overridden by his sense of pragmatism, and he flopped gracelessly onto the chair.

Staring at the ceiling got boring pretty quickly and he couldn't make sense of most of the devices in the lab, so Optimus ended up doing what he usually did when seriously bored: overthinking things massively.

It was just so easy to fall back into the habit of attempting to figure out how his life had gone so wrong, of trying to piece together why he was in this Allspark-forsaken situation. Well, he supposed he could blame at least part of things on the Allspark itself, for… teleporting to them? Choosing to reveal itself to them? It was impossible to know. All he remembered was that one golden instant as the rock fell away, imprinted on his memory banks forever. Still, it was both incredible and more than a little annoying to think that the sudden appearance of the Allspark on that day had led to here.  

Of course, he could also absolutely blame his situation on Megatron - and he did! Megatron had attacked his team, and caused them all to become stranded on Earth. Megatron was the one who’d elected to kidnap him at the trial, and keep him prisoner on Chaar. And Megatron had been the one to chain him to a table in Shockwave’s lab and then abandon him there. It was really very easy to hate the mech, even without considering his uncountable crimes.

He acted so smug all the time, so self-assured and confident in his actions no matter how terrible they were. Megatron was very certain that he was right about everything and it was so incredibly annoying to deal with. And yet, he wasn’t always as terrible to deal with.

Because, well…

Discussing history and literature with Megatron was genuinely enjoyable, something that continued to surprise Optimus. He found himself looking forward to learning more through their meetings, and Megatron’s new offer to teach him about Decepticon culture was certainly an exciting proposition considering how knowledgeable the mech was. And when the both of them were absorbed by whatever they were debating, he forgot all of his complaints about Megatron - the mech was eloquent, his points well-thought out and precise. He was interested in what Optimus had to say, and willing to hear about Optimus’ differing opinions and worldview. Allspark, Megatron had even apologised to him the day before, and Optimus was pretty sure that wasn’t something the warlord did often.

All of that meant that occasionally Megatron threatened to become bearable, or even almost likeable - but soon after he would pull something like this stunt that reminded Optimus why he hated him. It seemed like Megatron was just incapable of acting like a decent mech long enough for Optimus to come to like him.

At the same time, it was kind of hard to know how Megatron actually felt about him - sure, he was definitely trying to encourage defection, but Optimus couldn’t quite write off the interest being shown in him as solely related to that goal. He kept thinking to himself, surely Megatron wouldn’t offer critical information about Decepticon biology, surely Megatron wouldn’t be willing to actually go into the crimes of the Decepticons… but he’d been happy to oblige so far. There had to be something more going on here.

The shf of the door reopening roused Optimus from his contemplative state, and he looked up with a scathing quip ready to needle Megatron for taking so long.

“Shockwave, about that proposal-”

His train of thought instantly slammed to a halt. Standing in the doorway was-

“Blackarachnia-”

“You!”

She was little more than a silhouette against the bright light of the hallway behind her, red optics and gold armour standing out against dark plating. 

Her faceplates were cast in deep shadow, but even so he could see the open surprise in her optics, or how her intake twisted in disgust. Her posture had instantly snapped to a defensive position, stingers poised threateningly while her upper body curled forward.

Yet she didn’t make any other movement, staring at him from where she stood as the door shut behind her. Optimus stared back.

That shocked stillness only lasted for an instant however, before Blackarachnia let out an audial-splitting hiss and scuttled away from him, back toward the door.

Instinctively Optimus tried to move toward her, but was immediately yanked back by his cuffed arm and the table it was stuck to. He tugged fruitlessly at it, desperate to reach her. 

“Wait, please!”

Please don’t go. Please don’t leave again.

“No way!” Blackarachnia gasped, hastily slapping the door release button, backing into the doorway- and immediately slamming into a heavy chassis. Looming over her was the intimidating form of Shockwave, and behind him was the recognisable mass of grey plating that was Megatron. 

“Blackarachnia. Did you need something from me?” Shockwave craned his helm down to examine his fellow Decepticon, his single red optic flashing.

Optimus could hear the scowl in her voice, but at the same time it was mixed with rising fear. She raised her servos slightly, an almost placatory action that was at odds with her hissed tone. “Not at all. I was just leaving, thanks.”

It was difficult to tell if Shockwave believed her or not, but either way he stood aside to let her pass. Megatron, however, did not.

“Ah, Blackarachnia. I’d appreciate it if you stayed a few moments - I’ve been meaning to speak with you for a while.”

“… Of course, my lord. I’d be… happy to.” 

“Well then, no point in standing around in the doorway.”

Megatron stepped carelessly into the lab, as if Blackarachnia wasn’t visibly uncomfortable and obviously trying to stay as far away from both Optimus and Megatron as she could. Shockwave also ignored Blackarachnia, but to be completely fair he was ignoring every other mech in the room as he headed straight over to his desk and began booting up his monitors. 

“And how are you, Prime? I apologise for leaving you for so long, but the situation required my attention quite desperately.” 

“I’m… fine.” Optimus managed to choke out, finally remembering himself enough to step back toward the table so he wasn’t pulling on the cuff anymore. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite keep himself from staring at Blackarachnia, settling for watching her out of the corner of his optic while trying to pay attention to whatever Megatron was saying. Sue him, he was a little distracted right now.

“Good to hear. I will endeavour to prevent something like this from happening in the future.” 

Megatron smiled contritely and gestured with one servo; suddenly, his arm was free from the table, and Optimus shifted awkwardly on his pedes. This whole situation was so strange. 

“Now, before I forget - Blackarachnia.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron?” Blackarachnia had moved so far away that her back was to one of the laboratory walls, with her servos crossed defensively in front of her. She didn’t sound particularly happy, but wasn’t trying to leave yet like Optimus had expected her to.

“Strika picked you up from… Archa 7, I believe. You asked to join the Decepticons, and she handled your recruitment.” No. Please, no. He really hoped Megatron wasn’t going where he thought he was. It wasn't like he knew, right?

“Yes.” 

“You used to be an Autobot, correct?” Megatron’s tone had become deceptively gentle, almost friendly.

“... I was.” Blackarachnia replied, pressing herself even further against the wall. She clearly wasn’t falling for the act either, optics narrowed to red slits.

He had to stop this, now. Hastily, Optimus cut in, stepping between Megatron and his prey. “I’m sorry, why is this relevant? I thought we were here to talk about Decepticon sparks?” Not the best attempt at changing the topic, but at least he was trying.

Megatron turned to focus on him, smiling wider. “Well, while we were searching for the Allspark fragments I asked Shockwave for the file the Autobot military had on you, so as to assist in my planning. It was mostly composed of test scores and the like, but there was also a section on a certain… incident that led to your appointment to space bridge maintenance.” 

Oh, Allspark. Of course Megatron would have found out about the reason for his expulsion. And since he knew where Blackarachnia came from… Optimus swallowed nervously. He wanted to shake Megatron, make him stop talking. Surely he could see that neither of them wanted to talk about this!

“I didn't realise until I went back over those files recently, but the timeframes and location do seem to match up. So, I thought it pertinent to ask-”

“No.” Her tone was flat, devoid of all emotion.

“No?” Megatron's voice was still mild, but it carried an undercurrent of warning, the suggestion of a threat.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but you’re mistaken.” Against the wall, Blackarachnia straightened out of her defensive half-crouch in a single decisive movement.

“I am?” Now Optimus could feel a different type of tension rising between the two Decepticons, all amusement having drained out of the warlord's voice. Somehow, despite his lack of knowledge about Decepticons, he could tell that Blackarachnia had challenged Megatron. 

And she wasn’t backing down. “Yes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to attend to.” Her servos were curled into tight fists, shaking slightly by her sides, though he didn’t know if it was from fear or anger.

Without moving an inch or even adjusting his posture, Megatron had started to loom over Blackarachnia - and by extension, Optimus. Again he was reminded of Earth, of the unstoppable warlord laying waste to everything in his path, of the sheer terror he’d felt in the face of that power and malice. Megatron’s gaze promised death, and even though it wasn’t aimed at him Optimus felt like wounded prey trapped before a predator. Utterly doomed. Despite his best efforts, he felt his shoulders and servos rising defensively in the face of Megatron’s ire, stumbling backward in an instinctual attempt to get away and almost tripping over himself.

That was enough to finally get Megatron’s attention - his gaze snapped downward to Optimus, and after a few moments he relaxed, plating settling and optics losing their sharpness. He stepped away immediately, settling into a unthreatening stance. 

In the next moment, his voice was neutral and steady. “… Very well. I shan't keep you any longer.”

“Thank you, my lord. ” Blackarachnia stepped past both of them, giving Megatron a wide berth and refusing to look at Optimus. Helm held high, she walked out of the lab. She didn't look back. 

Optimus couldn’t help but stare after her, feeling lost. He didn’t even register Megatron moving in front of him, until-

“Do you know her?”

“I- what?” His helm swung round to look at Megatron, trying to pretend that he hadn’t been gazing at the door for almost a minute.

“Do you know Blackarachnia?” Megatron had seated himself in the abandoned chair, and was watching Optimus avidly, suspense in his optics. He knew what answer Megatron wanted. But… he didn’t want to betray Blackarachnia again. Even after everything.

“No.” He murmured distantly, only vaguely aware of Megatron's disappointed expression. “I’ve never met her before.”

Chapter Text

Holding it together all the way back had been near impossible, but the door sliding shut was the final straw. After everything that had just happened, maintaining a level helm now was simply not an option. An unholy scream tore free from her intake, and Blackarachnia punched the nearest wall as hard as she possibly could, uncaring of the way the bottles of chemicals rattled. 

Damn him! She'd been doing so well, been moving on and focusing on the good in her life, and then he'd just had to appear and ruin things all over again!

How dare he look at her with that stupid scared pleading face! How dare he ask her to stay! How dare he make her feel this way!

 A furious kick caught the edge of a nearby table, sending datapads full of notes clattering across the floor around her. She kicked at it again, denting the tough metal, and it wasn’t enough. 

She wanted to destroy it.

She wanted to tear something to shreds.

Somehow, she managed to stagger away from the damaged table and to her desk, grabbing the edge of it and digging her claws into the surface. Curls of metal sprang up amid a terrible screeching noise, and it wasn’t enough. It certainly did nothing to calm her whirling processor.

She just couldn’t stop thinking about that disastrous chance meeting, the moment of sheer horror and shock when she realised who was there. The whole thing had just been an utter fiasco from the moment she’d laid optics on him until she’d been able to escape Megatron and make her exit.

Speaking of Megatron! Pushing his way into things he knew nothing about. Prying at delicate, painful topics just because he could. And even worse, he'd almost definitely done it because of his twisted interest in Optimus, without a care for her feelings on the matter. The absolute bastard.

Underneath her servos the edge of her desk slowly began to bend upward, warping under her crushing grip. She was boiling over with rage and needed to let it out before she exploded from the pressure. 

With an angry yell, she swept an arm across her desk amid a satisfying smashing noise as beakers and instruments went flying. A punch cracked the glass of her monitor; several more rendered it utterly nonfunctional, screen shattered.

As she landed the last strike on her monitor, she snapped it fully off its stand, and it fell off her desk trailing sparking wires. As it fell her servo was briefly caught by the jagged remains of the screen, digging deeply into her wrist and spraying energon across the desk and floor.

The sudden shock of pain finally cleared her helm, briefly quelling her rage and letting her see what had become of her lab. At the destruction her anger had wrought.

She stared at the shards of glass and broken tools scattered around her pedes. 

Her work on boosting energon conversion efficiency, the alien cell samples she’d been culturing, the little side project where she’d been trying to understand more of her own biology; all of it, ruined. Weeks of work destroyed in a few moments.

And something in her just- broke. The anger was still there, but grief was rapidly bubbling up her intake and escaping as great, heaving sobs. Blackarachnia found herself collapsing to her knees, clutching desperately at the desk she’d just been destroying as misery and rage warred within her. How was she supposed to move on when things like this just kept happening to her? When her past followed her no matter how far she ran?

Was this some sort of karmic retribution for becoming a Decepticon? Like she’d had any other kind of choice! Even if her ‘friends’ hadn’t abandoned her on Archa 7, returning to Cybertron would’ve still spelled doom for her - everymech knew that bots who vanished into the Autobot Science Guild headquarters were never seen again. So yeah, when Strika’s warship had arrived after picking up the explosion, she hadn’t looked back. It’d been easier to join the Decepticon ranks, to focus on her work and her desire for revenge than mourn what she’d lost.

Even when she had come across her old comrades, and attempted to hurt them for what they did to her, she'd done all she could to block out her grief and focus on her efforts to avenge herself.

And now…

Allspark, the whole point of moving on was that she wasn't fixating on the past and seeking revenge on those who abandoned her. Wasn't that good enough? Wasn't she good enough?

In her despair she almost didn't notice the door opening behind her, didn't register the other mech until Slipstream sat down beside her quietly. After a few moments, a large clawed servo began to gently rub at her back. A simple gesture, but it felt… good. With each careful stroke across her plating, Blackarachnia found it easier and easier to slow her vents and focus on the room around her rather than the tempest that was her processor. 

Slowly, she let her helm fall forward until it clunked against the leg of her desk, resting there as she calmed down. She stayed there for several minutes, the only movement in the room being Slipstream’s servo as she comforted her, a silent yet steady presence.

It took a little while, but eventually Blackarachnia felt grounded, her emotions under control again. She let out a quiet little sigh, releasing the leg of her desk from her vice-like grip and sitting up properly, no longer needing the desk for support.

Behind her Slipstream finally moved from her seated position, her servo sliding round Blackarachnia’s hip as she gently tugged her partner to nestle against her side. Again, a simple offer of comfort that she readily accepted, pressing her helm to the large warm chassis and luxuriating in the feeling. It was tempting to just slip into recharge there and then, exhaustion from both that meeting and her little breakdown welling up within her. She knew she could trust Slipstream to watch over her, and wasn't that a strange thought?

It was funny, she'd never thought that she would feel so safe - so protected - while leaning against a Decepticon, but it was true.

The last few weeks had been… so nice. Getting back into dating hadn’t been the big change she’d imagined, but just- enjoyable. She’d already been hanging out with Slipstream during most of her free time, so the shift to actually dating her had been pretty easy. They spent more time in each others habsuites, took their fuel together and went on little dates - Slipstream had even taken her flying for one of them, carrying her up to a restaurant in one of the spires. And she had a great time! It was just fun: idly chatting about stupid subjects over lunch, hanging out in the corners of bars, even awkwardly trying to sort out their extra limbs so they could comfortably lie together in berth while Slipstream pressed lazy kisses to her helm. She'd enjoyed - whatever they had - so much more than she thought she would.

But all of that just meant that her current crisis sucked even more, since now she knew that things could be better, and what that felt like. At least Slipstream was still here.

Speaking of, they’d been sitting in silence for almost half a cycle, it was probably past time that she said something.

“Thanks. For- for this.” 

Words failed her, but Slipstream seemed to understand anyway. “No problem.”

More silence. What else was there to say? Apologise for her breakdown? Like that had been her fault.

She racked her processor for something more to say, but nothing came. Slipstream shifted beside her, huffing quietly. “Sooooo… Do you want to talk about what happened?” 

Her tone was casual, but Blackarachnia could make out a hint of curiosity, and- concern?

Did she want to talk about it? Not particularly. She’d have stabbed any other mech who asked that, but this was Slipstream… 

“... I went to meet with Shockwave about some work.”

“And? I didn’t think you hated him that much.” A teasing quip, but without a trace of mockery. Slipstream was so solid against her, so reassuring.

“The Prime was there. I tried to leave and… Lord Megatron didn’t want to let me. Wanted to know about my past. Like he had the right to ask. I managed to get out, made it back here. Then… well, I’m sure you can guess the rest.”

“Ah.”

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Some kind of judgement? But Slipstream said nothing more, seeming content with her explanation.

She hadn’t really… spoken to Slipstream about her past. Sure, her partner knew more than most Decepticons; that she’d been an Autobot, that she was changed against her will, and most importantly that she had history with Optimus Prime. In a bad way. Aside from that, Slipstream had never pried, and in return Blackarachnia hadn’t pressed about some of Slipstream’s own sore spots - mostly her creator and brothers.

Still, she felt strangely guilty for not explaining more. “I just- It was a lot.”

“Mhm.” More silence. And then- “You didn’t want to see him.”

She didn’t have to tell Slipstream anything. But something in her wanted to. 

I want to trust again. “No. I didn’t want to see him.”

“Because you hate him?”

She wanted to say that she hated him. She wished she did. It’d be so much easier if she did.

“I… I don't know.”

“Oh, I get that.” Slipstream sighed, before suddenly sitting up, pulling Blackarachnia with her. She stretched massively, chassis arching and wings pinning back before standing and hauling her partner to her pedes. “C’mon. I’ve got a big warm berth with our names on.”

Allspark, but that sounded good, especially with the way her exhaustion was weighing her down. “Yeah. Okay.”

Shockwave's lab was cold, and somehow darker in Blackarachnia's absence. He was now sitting on the other side of Shockwave’s desk while Megatron and Shockwave were speaking to each other over his helm, and he should probably be trying to listen in, but Optimus wasn't sure if he was capable of that right now. At the moment, all he could do was sit and try to hold himself together. And that alone was practically impossible. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams, his whirling thoughts too much for his plating to contain.

She was alive. The last time he’d seen her, she’d vanished into a mighty transwarp explosion, and no matter how he scoured the lab afterward he hadn’t been able to find any sign that she could’ve survived.

“Prime.”

But Blackarachnia had lived, and made it back to the Decepticons somehow. And now, she was… here. Working and potentially living somewhere else in the very same fortress he was being held captive in. And- maybe that should be an awful thought, but all he could feel was a terrible sense of relief.

“Prime!”

And yet, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Buried deep within his spark was a murmur of anger, a small yet bright flame that burned with rage. But at who? Blackarachnia, for making him grieve for her again? Megatron, for both bringing him here and prying into his past? Himself, for failing to convince her to stay? He couldn’t say, all he knew was that these feelings were nigh unbearable-

“Optimus Prime!”

“Ah-” Optimus jolted backward, gaze snapping up. Megatron was leaning on the edge of his chair, curled over practically in half in order to meet his optics. 

“You wanted to speak to Shockwave?”

Right. Optimus did his utmost to refocus on the present situation, glancing across the table to Shockwave. Since he lacked facial features, it was a little difficult to gauge Shockwave’s expression, but Optimus still managed to pick up a general feeling of annoyance from him. “I’m ready to answer your questions. About Decepticon sparks?”

“Oh. I…” He’d prepared some questions earlier, but all of a sudden he couldn’t remember a single one. His processor felt so slow, his thoughts oddly fuzzy. He blinked, and both Decepticons were staring at him. Had Megatron been standing in front of him a moment ago? Frag, he needed to ask something! Maybe he could just start simple? “I wanted to know how they… how they work. Why they’re different to Autobot sparks.”

“I assume that you’re referring to the differences in spark sizes and strengths.”

“Uh- yeah. That.”

“Well, you are correct in thinking that there is more to it than mere size and power. Spark frequency is also a major factor, as Decepticons tend to have-”

Shockwave was explaining things like he’d asked, but Optimus could barely hear him through the static buzzing in his audials, making it a struggle to focus on the scientist. Part of him was frustrated at his inattention, he'd asked for this meeting and now he wasn't even listening! This information could be utterly vital. 

But the rest of him was still reeling from the shock of seeing Blackarachnia again, old pain flaring within him and making just sitting there without breaking down a challenge. Last time he'd seen her - maybe it'd been impossible to know for sure, but he'd feared she was dead, and he'd mourned her. Twice, now.

How many times could you lose a mech? How many times could you grieve for them?

He didn't want to go through this again!

A sensible answer would be that he just shouldn't. That it would be best for him to harden his spark and stop letting this hurt him. After all, she was a Decepticon, she'd committed multiple crimes, hurting others in the process, and tried to kill him on numerous occasions…

At this point, most mechs would likely say it was stupid to still care about her.

But try as he might, he couldn't give up, couldn't lock down his emotions enough to forget her. Even though he wanted to.

The loud noise of metal scraping across the floor made him flinch, and pulled him back to the present. Wait, Shockwave was standing up. Oh frag oh frag what did he miss? 

“- think we should revisit this at a later date.”

He flinched again as Megatron’s servo came down on his shoulder, gripping it firmly and gently tugging him to his pedes. “Yes, I believe that might be for the best. Thank you for your time.” Megatron replied above him, guiding Optimus away from the desk. “Until later.”

The rest of the journey passed in a haze. At times, he was fairly sure Megatron was talking to him, but nothing registered, noise passing through his processor without resolving into words. Seemingly moments later he was back in his room, the door shutting behind him.

He stumbled forward, clumsily grabbing at the edge of the berth and just barely managing to pull himself up, collapsing face down in the middle.

His internal fans were spinning as fast as they could, drawing heat away from his overclocked processor as he desperately tried to make sense of things. And despite that it still felt like his processor was overheating, a painful helmache beginning to build behind his optics. No matter how he tried, his thoughts just kept going back to Blackarachnia, to their past.

It was yet another thing he couldn’t escape. He had no idea how long he lay there for, thoughts chasing each other in a dizzying spiral - Blackarachnia, Archa 7, Elita - trapped in his own processor until exhaustion eventually overcame him, and reality faded out for good as he slipped into a welcoming darkness.

Optimus had gone into recharge half hoping that it would bring his chaotic thoughts back into some semblance of order, but unfortunately the next morning wasn't much better - although at least his shock had dulled to the point where he could actually concentrate on things again.

Upon waking, he found himself curled up into a ball under the berth sheets, in what seemed to be an unconscious attempt to hide away from the world around him. And to be perfectly honest, Optimus was happy to stay that way for a while as he tried to work through how he felt. The little cave under the sheets was comforting, allowing him to focus on just himself without having to think about the rest of his worries caused by this situation. He still didn’t feel fantastic, but snuggled up under the sheets in relative peace it was a lot easier to sort through his troubled emotions.

The truth was, he didn’t know how he felt about Blackarachnia.

There was simply too much history between them, and he’d had no chance to reconcile it - seeing her again only ever made things worse, not least because she was usually trying to kill him. If anything, that had probably been their most amicable meeting yet, despite how they’d both reacted. Still, it definitely could have gone better. 

Perhaps the worst part was that Blackarachnia had left again - even if she was somewhere in the citadel, he had no idea where and couldn’t go and find her. He just… wished he could talk to her. Get some kind of closure, even if she made it clear that she still hated him and never wanted to see him again.

But maybe that would never be an option. Again, it was just impossible to know for sure whether they would be able to get anywhere, to move on or reconcile. If only he could stop worrying about it.

Optimus huffed quietly, pressing his faceplates into his pillow. Allspark, but this little den was so cosy. He didn’t want to ever get up, despite the fact that he probably needed to get started on his reading for the day.

Even the alarm he'd set to remind him that he needed to go meet with Megatron wasn't enough to motivate him. Wait, scratch that- the thought of Megatron made him want to stay in berth even longer, especially after the slag he’d pulled yesterday.

In fact, now that he was back to himself he felt a flare of anger begin to burn fiercely within him. Megatron had been the one to cause his breakdown the day before, had pushed him too far and pried into his personal, private, painful history. Allspark, how was he supposed to remain civil after yesterday?

If he saw Megatron now, he wasn’t even sure that he’d be able to prevent himself from screaming in the mech’s faceplates. And yet he had to get through a cycle or more of conversation before he could escape, and Megatron was definitely going to try and ask about what happened, or make some kind of comment, and he just didn’t want to deal with it!

… Actually, maybe he didn’t have to. He’d asked to learn about the Decepticons from Megatron, but right now he already had a load of datapads to work through. Talking to Megatron would probably just slow his research down… so in the meantime, he might as well just focus on his reading and ignore the warlord entirely.

Was it petty? Yes. Passive aggressive? Almost definitely. A good idea? Not even remotely. 

But after what had happened in the lab, Optimus was in no mood to talk to Megatron.

Chapter Text

Optimus spent the next few days reading. It was partially to distract from his thoughts; partially to further his research; and partially so that he didn't have to talk to Megatron, with mixed success. At least his research was progressing decently.

Megatron, on the other servo… 

Sure, he’d made up his processor to ignore the mech, but Megatron seemed utterly incapable of accepting that choice.

When Cyclonus had turned up to collect him on the first day, he’d gone along obediently, stack of reading material carried with him. Upon reaching the library, he’d made his way over to his usual chair and settled into it silently, not even looking up when Megatron greeted him.

“Good morning, Prime. How are you feeling?”

Not engaging, not engaging. Optimus picked up the datapad he’d been working through and flicked it on, beginning to read about the tactics leveraged against the Quintessons during the battle of the Centauri System.

“Prime? Are you feeling alright?” Oh, now he was pretending to be worried. Out of the corner of his optic, he could see that Megatron had sat up and was watching him carefully. Well, he could watch all he liked; Optimus wasn’t going to pay him a lick of attention. He continued to scroll idly through the datapad, refusing to look up even as he heard Megatron stand up from his own chair and make his way across the room towards him. After a moment, the warlord’s pedes and legs appeared in front of him, and Megatron cleared his intake loudly. 

Optimus pointedly looked down at the datapad, using the brim of his helm to block his view of Megatron and hide his own faceplates from the room. A little childish and fairly petty, but an effective way to avoid Megatron’s gaze.

“Optimus Prime. I realise that you may be upset with me, but as you are my guest it is my duty to ensure that you are appropriately cared for. To effectively do that, I need to know how you are.” Hah! It was a bit too late for that! Perhaps Megatron should have considered that his actions might have consequences before going ahead and ignoring Optimus’ privacy and boundaries.

As Megatron kept talking it was getting harder to ignore him, mostly due to his overwhelming desire to yell at the mech and maybe slap him a few times for suggesting that he was entitled to Optimus’ time. Not to mention the insulting notion of being ‘cared for’, like he was a newbuild or some kind of invalid. Like Megatron hadn’t caused his little breakdown in the first place.

Somehow though, Optimus managed to keep his cool - and more importantly, his silence,  even if he found himself gripping his datapad a little too hard as he resisted lashing out. Several minutes dragged by, neither mech budging an inch.

At last, Megatron let out a low, rattling sigh, before finally backing off. “... Very well. I will be here when you’re ready.” His pede-steps slowly receded to the other side of the table, where a low creaking indicated that he’d settled back into his chair.

Optimus just barely concealed his own sigh of relief as soon as Megatron was gone, relaxing his vice-grip on the datapad in his servos. Well, at least that… had worked? It seemed like that was the case anyway, as Megatron didn’t try to engage him in conversation again. After a few minutes of suspiciously waiting for the other shoe to drop, Optimus got back down to reading and managed to finish the whole datapad by the end of the session. Speaking of…

Their meetings tended to vary in length, but generally ended after a cycle or so. By the time a cycle had elapsed, Optimus was surreptitiously checking his chronometer and fidgeting in his chair, eager to escape Megatron’s wary attention. And yet, Megatron made no move to end the meeting, and no guards appeared at the door to escort Optimus back to his room. A few minutes stretched to an extra half-cycle, and then soon enough they were coming up on the two cycle mark. So, he was trying to get Optimus to crack and speak to him. How bold of him to assume that Optimus would give up so easily. Silently, he picked up the next datapad on the stack and started working through it.

The silence of the library had turned into something oppressive, something heavy that weighed down Optimus’ shoulders even further with every passing minute. It had almost been three cycles since the beginning of their meeting, and still there was no sign of it ending.

Allspark, if he ever wanted this to end he needed to make some kind of move. But he still didn’t want to break his silence, so how… hm.

Before he could overthink things, Optimus gathered up his datapads and stood, earning a surprised noise from Megatron across the table. Still keeping his optics away from the warlord, Optimus started heading for the door, making his way through the thick carpet with intent. When he reached the door, he simply stood in front of it and waited, datapads in servo.

Megatron was following him over to the door, but Optimus kept his gaze locked to the wall in front of him, refusing to look in his direction. Idly, he wondered how Megatron was going to try to reason with him. Well, he’d wait as long as he needed to, no matter what the warlord tried. 

Megatron came to a halt before him, purposefully standing where Optimus had been looking. More silence. Optimus stared at the grey expanse of chest armour in front of him, desperately fighting the urge to look up and see Megatron’s expression. Was he annoyed? Angry? Surely he was not truly concerned.

Eventually, the door opened, a trio of guards on the other side, Cyclonus at the forefront. Wordlessly, Optimus turned away from Megatron and walked out of the library. He could feel the other mech’s gaze burning away at his back for long moments before the door slid shut.

Okay, that could have gone a little better. But hey, he made it out in the end. Arriving back at his room, he could practically feel the stress leaving him, and the instant the door shut behind him he slumped to sit on his berth. Somehow, he hadn’t expected this to be so hard. He also hadn’t really… figured out how long he was going to keep the silent act up for. Ideally, it’d be until Megatron apologised to him, but he had no idea how long that would take, and despite all the datapads he had to work through he would eventually run out and need to ask Megatron what he should focus on next.

… Whatever. He’d just call it the foreseeable future and see how things went. After all, if Megatron was serious about their little agreement then he would hopefully apologise sooner rather than later. And even if he didn’t… Well. If Optimus’ past experiences had taught him anything, it was how to be patient - or alternatively, extremely stubborn.

Megatron was prepared to admit that things were not going as well as he’d hoped.

To be fair, he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d thought would happen after that catastrophic meeting in the lab. Some amount of rage, presumably, but…

Although he’d expected Prime to be angry, he’d sort of assumed that the mech would put that anger aside in favour of his desire to continue learning about the Decepticons. And, well, that hadn’t been an entirely incorrect assumption, as Prime was still clearly working through his datapads. 

What Megatron hadn’t foreseen was Optimus Prime completely ignoring him. Not looking at him, not listening to him, not speaking to him. A simple yet effective protest. And to be perfectly honest, it was absolutely working on him.

Even if he understood why Prime was so angry with him, the silent treatment was grating on him more than ever, almost as much as his own regret over what had happened.

Meeting Blackarachnia in Shockwave’s lab hadn’t been intentional, at least, but he’d sensed an opportunity to satisfy his curiosity about Optimus Prime upon seeing the two mechs standing there. Something that he now knew had been a terrible idea.

They’d both been uncomfortable, but he’d pressed the topic anyway, hoping to find whatever truth they’d buried. He hadn’t expected Blackarachnia - one of his soldiers - to deny him and lie to him. To challenge him so blatantly. And so, he’d reacted in kind to that challenge, showing Blackarachnia his own strength and authority as he dared her to continue her challenge, right up until Prime had stumbled away from him in obvious terror.

That fear - scaring Prime was the last thing he wanted to do, so he’d immediately backed off and let Blackarachnia leave, not wanting to push either mech any further and risk jeopardising his work with Prime. Even if he probably shouldn’t have pushed them at all.

He certainly should have broken off the conversation with Shockwave sooner, since it had been clear that Optimus Prime wasn’t feeling well almost immediately after Blackarachnia left. At least he’d stopped things and pulled the mech out when it became obvious that Prime was dissociating from the conversation, although it seemed that had been too little, too late, judging by the way Prime had barely reacted to anything around him during the journey back.

Causing such an adverse reaction definitely hadn’t been his intention, and with hindsight it was obvious that he shouldn’t have tried to force the issue. He’d broached the topic in the first place out of his desire to learn more about his captive, to try to uncover the truth about his ‘accident’ and expulsion from the Autobot Academy. 

He… hadn’t expected Prime to just shut down like that. It had been more than a little worrying, watching the mech struggle to understand the conversation and pay attention to his surroundings, optics and expression oddly vacant. None of his attempts to bring Prime back to himself had worked either, so in the end he’d just guided the mech back to his room and hoped that he’d be able to recover on his own. And then immediately afterward he’d contacted medbay and inquired after a good registered therapist, because he was aware that he wasn’t qualified in the slightest for this situation. 

Making his way to the library the next day, it had been difficult to tamp down on his concern and regain control of himself as he settled down to wait for Prime’s arrival. When the door opened at last he’d felt a sudden rush of relief at seeing the confidence in the other mech’s stride and posture, the certainty as he headed for his usual seat.

A rush of relief that swiftly dwindled when Prime did not respond to either of his greetings, prompting him to stand and head over as worry rose within him once more. Even standing directly before the mech, Prime hadn’t so much as looked at him or acknowledged his existence. For a moment he’d feared that Prime was still dissociating, still lost in his own processor and unable to tell what was going on around him.

And then Prime had very deliberately looked down even further at his datapad and it had become clear that the mech was ignoring him on purpose.

He'd stood there like an idiot for several moments, silently willing the other mech to look up, to talk to him. No response. He'd cleared his intake, but Prime hadn't so much as twitched. He'd made an attempt to appeal to the mech's sensible nature, which had also failed. Eventually it had become apparent that Prime wasn't going to speak to him any time soon, and he'd decided that he might as well wait in his own chair for his captive to cool off. 

It had been obvious at that point that Optimus Prime was very upset with him, but at the time he'd hoped that the next just needed a little time to make that anger felt before he was willing to talk again. Not so. After more than a cycle Prime still hadn't moved, so Megatron had chosen not to either. He knew how to fight a war of attrition, after all. Another cycle had passed in awkward silence, as Prime refused to speak and Megatron refused to give up.

In that time, he'd slowly realised that Prime was either much angrier than he'd initially assumed, or incredibly stubborn. Either way, the sinking realisation that he'd fragged up far more than he'd thought had not been a happy one.

By the end of the second cycle he'd been increasingly uncomfortable, unable to focus on his own work and finding his gaze repeatedly straying over to rest on the silent Prime. And still the silence had stretched, a near unbearable monotony. He'd ended up settling into a state of quiet half-sleep, a soldier's battlefield recharge from which he could rise at a moment's notice if needed, and like that another cycle had drifted by.

Sudden movement from across the table had jolted him out of recharge at last, and he'd straightened up out of his seat in an instant before even registering that Optimus Prime was walking to the library door. He'd hastily followed after the mech, realising only when he was halfway to the door that Prime was trying to leave. 

He'd joined Prime in standing by the door, waiting in front of him and hoping that he'd look up. Nothing. Staring down at the smaller mech did no good, as Prime kept his own gaze resolutely forward at his chest armour.

How could he solve things if he didn't know what Optimus Prime wanted? If Prime wasn't willing to communicate with him?

He could have just made Prime stay until he agreed to speak again, but… 

That would've just made things worse. Would've been wrong. With a heavy spark, he'd commed Cyclonus. 

:I need you to escort Optimus Prime to his room. Bring some extra guards with you:

:Acknowledged: Cyclonus had pinged back promptly. A good soldier, that mech.

Time continued to crawl by interminably, until the door slid open to reveal the guards standing ready. He could've stopped Prime from leaving again, then… He didn't.

Tomorrow will be better, he remembered thinking as he watched Prime leave.

How foolish of him.

The second day had followed the same pattern: Prime arrived, Megatron attempted to convince him to speak, he was summarily ignored, and after a cycle or so Prime would stand up and wait by the door until the guards arrived.

By day three Megatron just called the guards himself when their usual meeting time had elapsed. Prime was working through his stack of datapads at a furious rate, and he'd spent the session wondering what would happen when he ran out of texts to read. Would he continue his defiant silence, sitting there and doing nothing? Megatron had no idea, not after he had misjudged Prime's reaction so completely.

Their session on day four felt endless. Megatron found himself helplessly trying to work out what to do, even though he had none of the answers he needed. How was he supposed to fix this? Would an apology be enough? Or would Prime refuse to acknowledge him, refuse to continue with their agreement?

On day five, Prime began his last datapad.

On day six, he finished it.

On day seven, he sat in silence and stared at the table.

On day eight, Megatron cracked.

It was almost time for Optimus Prime to arrive, and Megatron was waiting impatiently in his usual chair. He'd made his own way to the library almost a cycle early, and had already spent much of that time rearranging the library furniture in anticipation of their meeting. Now, he sat facing the only other available chair across the table, servos clasped before him in an effort to maintain his composure.

The door sliding open was enough to make him jolt in his seat, but with some difficulty he managed to regain control of himself. Prime entered, optics downcast as he began heading to his usual seat; only to draw to a halt upon seeing that it had been moved to face Megatron's. He stood in the centre of the room for a long moment, clearly unwilling to take the offered chair.

“Optimus Prime. I believe we need to have a proper conversation. Please, sit.”

He sat, but still did not make optic contact. 

“Very well, then. First of all, I… wanted to apologise.”

Optimus Prime looked unconvinced, servos crossed and expression somewhere between suspicion and disbelief. Megatron suppressed a sigh.

“I caused you harm and I am sorry for that. I swear that it will not happen again.”

He hoped that Prime would understand what he meant. I didn't mean for this.

Prime let out an incredulous snort, helm snapping up to glare at Megatron.

“ That's your apology?”

“I-”

“Of course! I don't know why I thought you'd actually understand what you did wrong.” He slapped the side of his chair, frustration and fury bleeding into his voice.

Alright. Clearly he was missing something here. Megatron tried his best to stay calm and project that serenity into his words.

“Then… can you explain how I upset you?”

Prime groaned loudly, helm rolling to the side as he glared off into the middle distance. He held the pose for a long moment, servos digging into the armrests of his chair as air whooshed in and out of his vents, visibly trying to calm himself down.

At last he turned to look at Megatron again, optics shining with both anger and resolve and voice tight with anger.  

“I don't think it's that hard to understand. You decided to dig up my personal history - for fun, or curiosity, or whatever. Because you could.” He practically hissed the last sentence, tone accusatory, continuing on before Megatron could try to respond. “You then tried to confront me over that, without caring for how painful the confrontation was. And then you tried to act like you'd done nothing wrong for more than a week! Like you didn't cause me to have a breakdown to sate your damn curiosity!” His voice had risen to something close to a yell, but just as quickly it dropped back down to a barely-controlled growl. “ That is why I'm angry with you.”

Megatron found himself leaning back in his chair, bringing his servos up in an attempt to calm the other mech. Allspark, Prime was furious. He needed to fix his insufficient apology quickly. “I'm sorry for pressing you about it. I truly did not realise it would hurt you so much.”

Prime growled again, glaring at him. “… And you're still missing half the point. I'm angry because you decided to- to read about the worst times of my life for fun!”

It sounded terrible when he put it like that, but it also wasn’t quite what had happened. “I'm sorry about it, but those records are readily available to any Autobots who want to look and I had good reason at the time.”

“And? That's not any excuse!”

“I'm just saying that I did it as a security measure when I brought you here-”

“Sure, how could I forget? You captured me and you can do what you want to me! Well, destroy my privacy all you want, but don’t expect me to just lie down and take it!”

In the immediate aftermath Megatron was struck utterly silent. Optimus was panting slightly, shoulders heaving with his heavy vents and the sheer force of his anger. His faceplates were twisted with a mixture of fury and pain, servos gripping the armrests of his chair so tightly that the material tore beneath them.

When he next spoke, his voice was quieter but still full of emotion, cracking on some of the words as rage bled through.

“You can’t just do things like that and avoid the consequences. I’m certainly not going to let you get away with it.”

Megatron had pushed things too far. Had tried to ignore the problem he'd caused, then offered excuses and apologies to preserve his pride. And all of it had led to this moment and this hurting mech, a mech who he was supposed to be looking after and convincing to defect. So he said the only thing he could.

“I'm sorry.”

Prime shook his helm savagely, dentae bared. “Sorry isn't good enough. You claim to respect me? Start acting like it.”

“Of course I respect you - I’ve done my utmost to ensure that you are safe and treated well.”

“Really? You pry into my personal life and constantly push me around both figuratively and literally, so yeah!  I sure don't feel respected!”

Unspoken apologies and excuses lay heavy in his intake, but Megatron swallowed them down with some effort. That wasn’t what was needed here. Besides, Optimus Prime was… right. Despite his protestations of respect, he hadn’t been treating his captive right. And Allspark, if he wanted to convince Prime to defect he needed to do better. “... How can I make amends to you?”

Some of the fire had gone out of Prime, and now he just seemed… tired. That spark-deep sort of exhaustion that recharge could never hope to fix. “Just… try to be better. Stop doing this to me.”

Megatron caught Optimus' optics with his own, and pushed as much of his sincerity into his voice as he could.

“I will.”

Megatron was many things, but he did not break his oaths lightly.

And this was a promise he absolutely intended to keep.

Chapter Text

Standing before a dizzyingly tall shelving unit, Optimus tilted his helm back as far as he could, trying to decide where he wanted to start. The library was blessedly quiet and empty, curtains drawn against the blazing suns outside and leaving the room in a pleasant state of semi-twilight. It was, in other words, the ideal place to do some reading - exactly what Optimus was eager to get to, if only he could actually pick what to read. For once, he was faced with the unusual problem of having too much choice.

Even his discovery of the human internet hadn’t left him quite so indecisive - true, the sudden multitude of options after close to a thousand years of reading and rereading his small store of personal datapads had been a little much at the time (and had left him severely deprived of recharge for several days after they awoke on Earth), but at the time he hadn’t been so utterly invested in the available content. Now, though…

The information in the library was not just important but potentially vital - and even more than that, incredibly interesting to him. Optimus may have made his little deal with Megatron with finding a way to save his people in mind and the actual information as merely a means to that end, but as soon as he’d actually started reading he’d been utterly consumed by the texts. In hindsight, it was a pretty obvious outcome considering his lifelong love of literature. At the end of the day, this influx of new information had left him with a voracious appetite to explore the furthest reaches of the library’s collection, and his current dilemma.

Where in the Allspark’s name was he supposed to begin?

The most sensible option would be to ask Megatron for suggestions, but since the warlord was apparently running late by several cycles Optimus had been left to entertain himself in the meantime. Which, to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t that upset by. A little extra time to himself was welcome.

It seemed like Megatron was at least trying to improve his behaviour, since Optimus’ guards hadn’t attempted to secure him to a chair like usual, instead letting him freely roam within the library as he waited. Whether that would continue… well, it remained to be seen. Megatron had certainly seemed sincere, but Optimus had thought that about him before. He… hoped that Megatron was going to keep to his promise, though it was near impossible to tell. Obviously having his leash loosened a little would be nice, but mostly he was hoping that it would translate into a little more personal autonomy. 

Even if Megatron didn’t intend to upset him, being constantly pushed and pulled around like some kind of toy made Optimus feel like a naughty newbuild who couldn’t even be trusted to walk without aid. Rationally, he was aware that Megatron was probably worried about additional escape attempts or attacks; emotionally, it lent an even greater feeling of powerlessness to his whole situation. Sure, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it certainly wasn’t helping his overall mood - and it definitely wasn’t doing anything for his opinion of Megatron. With luck, that treatment would end soon, since it seemed like Megatron really didn’t want to upset him any more. Though it was always difficult to tell with him.

Besides, Optimus wasn’t the only mech Megatron had hurt down in that lab. Blackarachnia deserved an apology too, though he doubted she’d get one if he didn’t press Megatron on the matter. Which he fully intended to at some point, although not until he was sure that his captor was actually behaving better. He didn’t want to bring Megatron’s ire down on Blackarachnia again, after all. Blackarachnia… it was impossible to know how she was handling things, but he hoped she was alright, that she had somemech to support her. For now though, he knew it would be best not to worry about what he couldn’t change. Even if it was difficult to do.

With a quiet sigh, he traced the tip of one digit across the spines of the datapads before him, optics skipping from title to title as he walked. Nothing really seemed to stand out to him as he wandered the shelving units, getting lost in a world of stacks of datapads, plush carpets and velvet drapes. Many of the datapads were well out of his reach, but he didn’t think it was an intentional slight - instead, it was probably more an issue caused by a library built for flight-capable mechs who could just hover up to whatever shelf they needed to access. So since he didn’t think climbing the shelving unit would end well, he’d have to wait for Megatron to fetch them for him. Still, there were more than enough datapads at his own level to peruse, and every now and then he slipped one from the shelf to scan the blurb. Eventually he came across a padded seating area set into the wall, surrounded by loose datapads and what appeared to be writing implements as well as fluttering sheets of flimsy. By the looks of things he’d found the very back of the library as the shelves curved back toward the main reading room.

Curious, he picked up one of the fallen datapads, flicking it on to find something he actually recognised - an Autobot Academy textbook, he realised with surprise. Scrolling through the text he found it to be about the history of Decepticons - the one that he’d been taught ever since he was created. More interesting though were the notes scribbled in the margins and between the paragraphs of the text, apparently commenting on highlighted sentences and citations.The notes were difficult to read given the space they were crammed into, but immediately the glyphs that made up his own name jumped out at him. Ask Optimus Prime about this.

He stared at the textbook, not sure what to think.

Megatron had been… reading here recently. It really didn’t seem like any other mechs could access the library, and yet judging by the paraphernalia surrounding the reading nook it received frequent usage. No, he realised as he picked up a second datapad and found it to be a different Autobot textbook, Megatron hadn’t just been reading here. Megatron had been doing his own research. 

… Probably for Optimus’ sake, too. Weird.

He’d probably have remained staring blankly at the datapad for cycles if a shout hadn’t abruptly broken him out of his reverie.

“Prime?”

Well, it looked like Megatron had finally finished with whatever had been keeping him. Despite all of their agreements, Optimus still didn’t want to get caught digging through Megatron’s personal notes, so he quickly put both datapads back on their stack and began walking back to the main area, calling out as he went. “Coming!” 

It took him a good minute or so to actually get back to the main reading room, winding his way between the shelves until they at last opened back up into the spacious main area where Megatron awaited him.

“Ah, there you are. I do apologise for keeping you waiting, although it seems you managed to keep yourself plenty occupied.”

He was acting like nothing had happened, it seemed. Well, as long as he started behaving better Optimus supposed he could put up with him. “More or less. I wanted to take a look at the options but I guess I ended up getting a little carried away. ”

“Well, I can completely understand that sentiment. If it weren’t for my own duties I’d probably spend most of my time here, working through my collection. But now that we’re both here, shall we get to work?” His tone was light and friendly, not a hint of anger or annoyance from their little argument.

“Right. So… I, uh, finished all the datapads you gave me.” Because I had nothing else to do, he thought but tactfully did not add. An aura of vague awkwardness surrounded the conversation, the events of the last few days set aside but not forgotten. Not that Optimus wanted to forget what Megatron had done to him - and neither was he in any mood to forgive. But he couldn’t just ignore Megatron any longer, not if he wanted to find some answer for his people. At the very least the mech seemed ready to move the conversation along.

“Of course. I believe it’s time we move onto a new time period as well, since I think we’ve covered the Quintesson wars adequately now. The next era we should touch on is… more for your understanding of our culture, though I believe it is just as vital, mostly since the times directly following the wars were rather formative to what we Decepticons would become. Besides… I think you will find some of the information particularly relevant.” Megatron smiled slightly as he finished, reaching behind him to pick up several datapads and place them on the table.

Okay… Vaguely worrying, but Optimus elected to press on regardless.

“And why would that be?”

“The era I am referring to is known as the tribal period, and among other things it is responsible for many of our traditions - including that which has resulted in your own capture and stay here.”

“… Right. I think you mentioned that before- just before… yeah.” Just before he’d tried to escape. He’d been pretty upset at the time, so he hadn’t really cared to remember the minutiae of the conversation other than how angry the suggestion that his capture was honourable had made him.

Megatron inclined his helm slightly, presumably in agreement. Again, he seemed willing to keep the conversation moving along. “Of course, though it was more of a passing mention. I believe the full context would be much more useful to you.”

“Alright. Then what was this… ‘tribal period’?” He didn’t really believe that the ‘full context’ would make him feel better, but at least it ought to help with his research.

“After the Quintessons were pushed back into their own space, the newly created warframes found themselves free to start their own lives on Cybertron. At the time, Cybertron was not a united front, instead divided into hundreds of smaller states and towns scattered across the surface of the planet, so when the invaders had been defeated there was no one city for the warframes to integrate into. This led to the fledgling warframes establishing new settlements, which in time became various distinct clans with their own cultures and rivalries.”

Again, it wasn’t something he’d ever really considered, since he’d originally been taught that warframes were created for the expansionist era and put straight into the army. “That makes sense, I guess. Did those warframes interact with the preexisting settlements much?”

“A fair amount - more than you’d imagine. The existing Cybertronians were grateful for their saviours and more than willing to trade supplies and information, as well as access to the Allspark. Plenty of warframes did start up their own settlements, but just as many chose to move into existing ones. And there was peace.” 

“I’m guessing those settlements eventually became the main Decepticon cities?”

“Eventually, yes - but not as soon as you’d imagine. It was many millions of years before the disparate clans became one people, around the same time that the other Cybertronian cities formed and after several other important events.”

“Really? Huh. Most of what I was taught implied that the Decepticon cities were founded pretty much immediately after the creation of warframes, to house the new population.” To create somewhere for the dangerous warframes to live, well away from the civilian population where they couldn’t do any harm.

Megatron chuckled softly at that, shaking his helm. “As if Cybertron was anywhere near prepared to house hundreds of new mechs after the devastation the Quintessons had wrought.”

“Fair enough, I guess.” Still, he wasn’t going to let Megatron distract him from what he wanted to know. “Now that you’ve given me the basic grounding, I’d like to hear the context I was promised.” Let’s hear you try to convince me.

“Very well. Where to start… Hm. Battle is something warframes take great pride in, even as far back as that era, but those clans did not want to break the peace they had fought so hard for merely so that they could whet their desires for warfare. Instead, a complex set of rules and traditions arose around battle, with clans partaking in ritual combat to showcase their might both physical and strategic. These conflicts rarely resulted in deaths, with most of them involving short clashes or raids on other settlements to steal supplies; and yes, taking prisoners of their most powerful rivals to prove their strength and bring honour to their clan.”

Technically, it was a sensible explanation. It didn’t stop indignation from coiling around his spark at the mention of ‘honour’, but it served to assuage his curiosity decently. Clearly Megatron could see the distaste on Optimus’ faceplates, for he added a little more, perhaps in an attempt to alleviate Optimus’ annoyance. “It might sound barbaric to you, but it’s something that worked to prevent true conflict for us for thousands of years.”

He supposed it made some sense, but it was strange to him that these traditions were still an active part of Decepticon culture. “This tribal era… it was such a long time ago, but you still hold to the traditions?”

“Of course. They are part of who we were, and so part of who we are. We do not forget our origins… especially since it seems the Autobots have forgotten.”

That was actually something of a decent point. After all, Optimus had been taught the incorrect version of history since his own people apparently didn’t remember what had actually happened. Keeping old traditions alive was certainly one way to keep the past in mind. Although, now he thought about it, Optimus couldn’t name any similar Autobot traditions. Pit, he wasn’t even sure what would count as an Autobot tradition. Autobot culture just… was. Until Earth, it had been everything he’d ever known. True, he had a frame of reference now with regards to human and Decepticon culture, but he still wasn’t exactly sure what Autobot culture was compared to them. It was a little unsettling to think about. 

Feeling uncomfortable, he hurriedly tried to move the conversation along. “The warframe clans can’t have lasted until the expansionist era, Cybertron’s people had settled into proper cities by then. What changed things?”

“War did. The disparate clans were called upon to fight as a united force once more, and afterwards the great warframe cities were founded. But that is a topic for later.”

Good, he was genuinely interested in how that had actually happened now that he knew he’d been taught incorrectly.  “Fine by me. I still can’t believe these traditions have lasted so long.”

“Why not?”

“I mean, I feel like they’re not applicable very often these days.” Megatron tilted his helm quizzically, giving Optimus a Look, and he sighed internally. “… present situation notwithstanding.”

The warlord laughed quietly, giving him a small nod in return. “Much of those traditions in regards to combat do endure within our culture, mostly since in our present day and age they are applied to sparring and friendly matches instead. It is… rare for captives like yourself to be taken, partially because most Autobots do not reach the… requirements, so to speak.”

Okay, now that was too much. “Because we’re not up to your high standards?!” First off, how dare he suggest that most Autobots weren’t worthy opponents or good mechs in their own rights. Second, the idea that Optimus had only been captured because he matched some unknown, arbitrary list of conditions was extremely annoying. He opened his intake again, ready to ream Megatron out for the insulting implications, but the warlord got there faster than he could.

“Not exactly..” He paused for a long moment, seemingly considering his next words carefully, before continuing. “Let me put it this way: if Ultra Magnus was at my mercy I would capture him, but only so I could immediately throw him in the deepest, darkest cell available. He would not be the honoured guest you are despite his skills in combat and strategy, due to his many crimes against my people.” 

Again, Optimus was ready to yell at his captor, and again Megatron cut in first, raising a servo in placation and motioning for Optimus to wait and hear him out. “Which - no need to argue with me about that, I’m quite aware of your viewpoint. Just accept that, by our laws, there are certain criteria for an honoured prisoner to be taken and treated as a guest.”

Optimus snapped his intake shut again, considering Megatron’s words. Much as he hated the insinuations about Ultra Magnus, he could sort of understand why Megatron wouldn’t offer him the same courtesy. They’d been at odds for millions of years, after all, and although he didn’t like the thought of it… he was aware that not all of the actions Ultra Magnus had taken were good ones. Especially since he now suspected Ultra Magnus’ part in the plot to keep the Allspark from the Decepticons. All of that aside, Megatron’s words boiled down to one thing, something he’d denied before but was beginning to accept as time passed. “… You care a lot more about honour than I realised.”

Megatron nodded, expression cautious. “We do. Though I suspect that you didn’t notice originally because our definitions of ‘honour’ are not quite the same.”

That was something Optimus had been slowly becoming aware of ever since he was first captured, so he could actually agree with Megatron there. “Yeah. It’s certainly hard for me to understand. I mean - I do know that your capture brought… an amount of pride to the Autobots, but I… that wasn’t what I really felt. I really don’t know about honour.”

Megatron sat up in his chair, curiosity evident as he examined his captive. “What did you feel when you captured me then, if not pride?” He seemed… almost confused - or insulted?

Optimus narrowed his optics. He wasn’t exactly keen on baring his spark and feelings to Megatron, not after what the mech had done to him. But lying to a Decepticon’s faceplates wasn’t the best of ideas. The most basic truth, then. “… Relief, mostly. A lot happened.”

“That is true. But as far as I am concerned, you fought incredibly in spite of the circumstances. There are few mechs who can claim to have defeated me, and all of them did so with the might of an army to back them up. All of them, save for yourself. That is why I considered you worthy.”

For once, the blatant flattery didn’t bother Optimus so much. It was true, after all. Still, there was one thing he’d wanted to know for a little while - Megatron’s stance on him had clearly taken a drastic change some time after their final battle, but at what point?

“When did you decide you wanted to enact your little revenge plot and capture me, anyway?”

“On the journey back to Cybertron. I’m prepared to admit that it took me some time to calm from the pressures of our conflict on Earth and begin thinking about you critically, but when I did my course of action became apparent.”

“That soon?” He’d known that Megatron had masterminded the entire trial plot, but he’d sort of assumed that he’d started plotting the kidnapping attempt while cooling off in prison.

“Oh yes. I knew what I wanted before I even arrived back on Cybertron, though putting my plan into action took a little more time, on account of my own imprisonment.”

Optimus grunted, tamping down on his vague annoyance. “How did you even manage to organise the breakout, anyway? I was under the impression that Trypticon prison was pretty secure.”

“It is. All I’ll say is that Shockwave wasn’t the only mech I had on the inside. And no, I cannot tell you who.” Typical. There didn’t seem to be much point in arguing though.

“… Makes sense, I suppose.” They sat in silence for a moment, Optimus idly tapping his digits on the table. His mild frustration aside, that whole conversation had been pretty enlightening, and definitely useful. If those traditions were truly still important parts of Decepticon culture, then learning more about them could really be vital for him and his people. Which meant he needed to start working. “Well, time to get to the research then.”

“Of course.” Megatron slid a stack of datapads over to him as Optimus reached across the table, although his servo remained on top for a long moment, flicking off invisible particles of dust before withdrawing reluctantly. Optimus elected to ignore that, scooping up the proffered datapads and beginning to skim through the blurbs in order to decide where to start. At the edges of his vision, he just barely glimpsed Megatron’s smirk, before the warlord stood and made his way over to the shelves.

Chapter Text

An internal alarm pinged insistently. Blackarachnia groaned and shut it off, pushing her faceplates further into the berth. Peace reigned for a few minutes, and then the alarm started pinging again. Urgh. She so did not want to get up.

By her side, Slipstream shifted sleepily, letting out a sigh before snuggling closer into her partner. Annnddd now she wanted to stay in berth even more. Even if she was supposed to get up and actually go to work about now. Still, the mere thought of going down to her lab where she could be found by Megatron - or anymech else - was more than enough to dissuade her. If she continued to refuse to get up, would there be repercussions? She had no idea. 

It was much easier to turn onto her side and face Slipstream properly, taking in her larger partner’s slumbering form. Slipstream was curled almost defensively around Blackarchnia’s body, forming a safe and comforting cocoon. Blackarachnia found herself reaching up to gently brush the edge of the blanket away from Slipstream’s faceplates, before resting her servo on the edge of her helm. 

Slipstream… Some days it was hard to understand what the seeker saw in her. Some days all she could see was her own failures, her own twisted appearance. But Slipstream never seemed to care. That was the understanding they had, she supposed. A mutual agreement of acceptance despite their circumstances. It was an agreement not to pry into each other's troubles, as well. Despite the fact that trouble seemed to follow Blackarachnia wherever she went. Her mood darkened as she remembered the events of the lab, her uncontrollable breakdown.

Her partner had been right, at least. Relaxing in berth together had done wonders to calm her down, and she’d managed to slip into recharge with barely any issues. Now, days later, she certainly felt better… but not really good enough to rejoin society proper, or get back to her actual job. Strangely enough, what she did find herself wanting to do was talking to Slipstream about… well, everything. She hadn’t quite managed to pluck up the courage for it yet, but had at least spent the last week slowly pressing onward to that goal - mostly by trying to bring up the subject and then dancing around it awkwardly.

It was just so weird, wanting to talk to somemech about the worst times of her life.

Of course, Slipstream herself might not be eager to talk about these things. Somehow though, after the way her partner had reacted to her little… moment… she had a feeling that Slipstream would be willing to listen to her problems. How reassuring, to know that part of her had been accepted and not judged. And knowing that, it made her want to bare the rest of her spark, to have every part of her accepted. It was only now that she realised how long she’d ached to have another mech understand her flaws and still see her as a real mech, not a broken organic mess. One day soon, she hoped.

With a quiet huff, she turned back over and stared at the ceiling. Blackarachnia knew that she couldn’t stay in berth forever, couldn’t hide from the outside world forever. But maybe, just for a little while longer… She pressed closer to Slipstream’s side, forcefully shutting off the alarm again. Forget getting up today. 

Optimus stared at the datapad in his servos. After more than a little wheedling he’d convinced Megatron to give him a single blank datapad to take notes on, albeit one that was heavily tamper-proofed and lacking a network connection. Admittedly, he had sort of hoped to use the pad to get out of his cell, but at the moment he was putting it to a different use. Well, attempting to put it to a different use. Right now all that he’d managed to get down was a pair of lists - one headed by ‘Autobot’, and the other by ‘Decepticon’. The Decepticon list had a couple of notes in it - ‘culture of ritual combat’, ‘kidnapping enemies’ and ‘honour???’ - but the Autobot side was giving him grief. He was tempted to start smacking his helm against the screen, unable to figure out what was going wrong. 

He’d started this little exercise in the hopes of sorting out the muddied thoughts that all the talk about warframe culture had stirred up, by writing down everything he could think on the matter. Writing everything down had seemed like a sound idea before he’d actually gotten started on the lists, but now he was utterly stuck on one simple question: What was Autobot culture? He really felt that it shouldn’t be so hard to pin down!

He’d lived on Cybertron, as an Autobot, for the majority of his life - surrounded by Autobot culture. Theoretically. And yet…

All he could really list out was what Autobot culture was not. It wasn’t Decepticon culture. It wasn’t any of the hundreds of Earthen cultures he’d experienced. It wasn’t any of the alien cultures he knew - not Quintesson nor Nebulon nor anything else he’d ever heard of. And it wasn’t getting him anywhere. But he didn’t want to just give up.  

Okay. He clicked the pad back on and started adding to the list; this time merely writing out what he would consider Autobot traits.

Autobots were loyal. They had a strong sense of community. They prized teamwork highly. They… 

Gah!

Any group could have these traits!

And he was right back to wanting to slam his helm into something.

This wasn’t helping in the slightest. And he had real work to do, he’d just sort of hoped that this would help him figure things out. With a frustrated huff, he dropped the datapad on the bunched-up berth sheets in front of him. Whatever, it wasn’t like it particularly mattered. Hopefully he just needed to give it a little time and it’d become obvious to him.

Maybe a little exercise would help clear his cluttered processor. With some effort, Optimus dragged himself off the berth and made for the door, flagging down Cyclonus to escort him again.

The sparring room was emptier than before, at least. Completely empty in fact, and Optimus was more than a little relieved to see that he wouldn’t have an audience this time around. Part of him was immediately attracted to the invitingly complex battle sims which he’d missed out on last time, and he was filled with a yearning to test his skills against whatever combat standards the Decepticons had. 

The other more pragmatic side of him however was enticed by the weapons fabricator, which stood alone and completely unlocked near the sparring mats. There were no watching ‘Cons or wary warlords, this time around. If he could get the machine to make him a true weapon, then getting out of this prison would be a whole lot easier. 

Nervously, Optimus glanced up at the vigilant security cameras in the corners of the room. Even though he was lacking subspace access, he was sure that he could find a way to smuggle weapons out with him if given enough time. Going straight for the fabricator didn’t seem like the best of ideas without a plan though, so Optimus headed for the sims without a backward glance. Exercise and plotting first, weapon smuggling later.

The control panel for the sims was a little confusing at first since most of the buttons were completely unmarked, but some trial and error had a relevant menu popping up at last. He found himself hesitating for a long moment, digits hovering over the screen. What to pick… Eventually he settled on a routine involving a few simple enemies with no weapons, to get used to the system and warm up his own skills.

Around him holograms fizzled into existence, the outside world fading away as an empty environment appeared. Optimus took in a deep vent, stretching and flexing his arms as he prepared for the upcoming battle. Various simulated enemies - blank, blocky Cybertronians - materialised, and Optimus let his worries and plans slide to the back of his processor as he focussed on the fight. Leaping forward, he ducked under a punch the closest ‘bot’ aimed at him and used his momentum to slam his ped into the other mech’s side, the enemy crumpling beneath his blow before dissolving into pixels. Not that tough at all. In which case…

With his spare servo, Optimus called up the simulator menu and ratcheted up the difficulty a few levels, causing several much stronger enemies to spawn in all around him, clutching crude weapons. Perfect.

Without pausing he surged forward again, slipping into the familiar mindset of combat as he dodged blows and responded in kind, ripping one of the rudimentary weapons from blocky servos and using it to smash the fake bots to pixels. He wasn’t focussed totally on the fight, though - in the back of his processor he continued to slowly work at the problem of the fabricator. He couldn’t access his subspace after all, and his light bar had been welded shut by Megatron’s command. What else could he do? Blocking a strike with his stolen weapon and kicking the other mech’s ped out from under them, he briefly considered trying to swallow a few smaller sheathed blades, before ultimately deciding that he’d keep that as a last resort.

One of the enemies had managed to get in close, feinting at his side before slashing again at his front and forcing Optimus to jump backward. He frowned slightly - alright, these things were cleverer than he’d thought. Well, that was fine by him. Shifting into a proper fighting stance, he waited for the fake bots to approach before launching back onto the offensive, knocking his enemies down with vicious precision.

Hm, what were his other options? It was already pretty obvious that he’d only be able to hide very small weapons, but where? Maybe he could slip small blades between his plating and protoform, although he had a feeling it’d be very uncomfortable, not to mention potentially dangerous. Prowl’s sharpened hubcap disks came to mind, but the stasis cuffs were cinched tightly over his tires, so that was out. Allspark, what he’d give to spin his wheels a little… Well, if he could pull an escape off then he’d have all the time in the world to go for joyrides. 

There were only a few enemies left now and Optimus pursued them with a vengeance, shoulder charging right through one of them, shattering it into a million pixels. He fell on the last few bots moments later, crushing blocky helms and chassis until he was the only mech left standing, panting slightly as he scanned the environment for any other opponents.

“Simulation Complete. Disengaging.”

The crude weapon dissolved out of his servos, the training room reappearing around him, and Optimus had to take long moments to calm his raging spark. Admittedly he hadn’t been able to formulate a concrete plan yet like he’d hoped, but at least the experience had been cathartic. It had been fairly enjoyable as well, although he still wanted to test out the limits of the simulator system. Hopefully he’d be able to do both at the same time. The control panel lit up happily under his servos, and he started to program in a new, more complicated scenario. Again, the world around him flickered as the new environment and a squad of vicious Decepticons faded into view. Alright.

What followed was several satisfying cycles of near-mindless combat. Of course, he needed to focus on his enemies and their basic strategic manoeuvrings, but higher thought quieted down save for the small piece of his processor slowly munching on the fabricator problem. It was delightfully freeing, letting his larger worries go for a little while as he idly worked at the far simpler puzzle.

Unfortunately, despite his best efforts he wasn’t able to get much further with his dilemma. Stepping out of the simulator he just felt more frustrated than when he’d started the routine in the first place, the satisfying sensation from exercise and combat evaporating near instantly.

Increasingly annoyed, he finally caved and made a beeline for the fabricator, examining the options carefully. It didn’t seem capable of making any kind of energy weapon, but with a little tinkering he could probably get it to produce properly edged blades. Engrossed in his work, Optimus eventually managed to create several small, flat daggers. Flaring his armour out as far as he could, he began the process of delicately magnetising the first dagger to the inside of his arm plating-

“Now I’m no expert, but I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing that.”

A booming voice rang out behind him, making Optimus flinch and drop the blade, whirling round to find a huge Decepticon looming over him. The mech standing behind him was both masked and visored, their paint consisting of dark blues and greens with what appeared to be two huge guns attached to their back. Another Decepticon, painted olive green and with visible tank treads paired with a matching gun barrel on their back, was standing a little ways back and watching keenly. Optimus swallowed nervously, leaning away from the mech in front of him until his backplates knocked against the fabricator. Glancing around, he couldn’t see any other mechs in the room, and despite the knowledge that Cyclonus was waiting just outside he didn’t feel much safer.

“No need to look so afraid, Autobot. But I think you’d better put those blades down sooner rather than later.”

Optimus really wanted to keep the blades on him now, rather than face down the big Decepticon weaponless. But he didn’t have much of a choice. Desperately trying to stop his servos from shaking, he held out the little daggers and watched helplessly as they vanished into the Decepticon’s grip. There went his hopes of escaping anytime soon. Ugh, and when Megatron found out about this… Optimus had a sinking sensation that he wouldn’t be allowed back in the training room for a long time. 

“Wasn’t so hard, huh? So you’re Lord Megatron’s guest…” The bigger mech was examining him carefully, visor lit up with clear interest. 

He was still very close to Optimus, many tons of heavy duty plating right up in his faceplates, and abruptly Optimus decided that he’d had enough. I don’t want to be afraid of this guy. Steeling himself, Optimus straightened out of his defensive position and met the other mech’s visor with his optics, refusing to back down. “That’s right. And you are?”

It was hard to gauge the other mech’s expression, but he seemed amused rather than angry.

“The name’s Onslaught. That’s Brawl-” he gestured over his shoulder at the green tankformer, who waved cheerily from where he was programming one of the battle simulators “-and I hear you’ve crossed paths with our gestalt-mate Swindle before.”

Frag, these guys were part of a gestalt with Swindle? The mech he’d worked to undermine and had physically run over at one point? Oh he was so slagged. His defiance immediately crumbled, if Onslaught wanted revenge on him then there really wasn’t much he could do about it. He cringed back against the fabricator, servos raised defensively. “Uh, sorry-”

“Pfft. Don’t apologise, he’s the one who decided to go off and run his own business rather than sticking with the rest of us. If he got into a scrap with you, then that’s his problem for being a damn fool.” Onslaught leaned back, servos on his hips. He seemed totally unruffled, so Optimus supposed that he was likely telling the truth, slowly letting his own servos fall as he calmed. Still, he couldn’t exactly get away from the mech without stepping directly into Onslaught’s space.

Awkwardly, Optimus tried to edge forward, but Onslaught didn’t move back any further.

“… I don’t suppose I could convince you to just let me get back to exercising?”

Onslaught snorted, arms crossed and posture indicating his wariness. “After what I caught you doing? Hm.” He tapped a ped against the floor once, twice, considering something. “Tell you what… I’ve heard a lot about your skills, and I’ll admit to being a little curious. And Lord Megatron’s a busy mech - no point in bothering him over nothing, right?” 

Optimus nodded hesitantly. He really didn’t want Megatron to find out about this, so it’d be ideal if Onslaught stayed quiet. The real question though was what Onslaught wanted in return - and whether Optimus would be willing to pay the price. Unfortunately, he might have to agree either way…

Onslaught’s visor lit up, and Optimus had a feeling that he’d be grinning if it weren’t for the mask. “Exactly. So, how about this: spar with me, show me what you’ve got, and I won’t report this. Not exactly much point in it, after all… Though I will have to make sure those blades of yours go back in the fabricator first.”

That… wasn’t all that bad, actually. One fight with a Decepticon in return for his attempted weapon theft being ignored was a much better deal than what he’d expected. Onslaught didn’t seem aggressive in the slightest, which was certainly reassuring, and Optimus was fairly sure he’d at least be able to hold his own against the mech. “… Alright, yeah.”

“Great. If you’ll head on over to the mats then we can get started.” Onslaught inclined his helm in that direction, stepping away from the fabricator but not taking his visor off Optimus.

“… What about, uh… weapons?” Even if he wasn’t allowed a properly edged blade, he’d still prefer a weapon to put between himself and his opponent.

“Personally I prefer either long ranged battles with my missiles, or close-quarters unarmed combat. Besides, maybe it’s best we keep our servos off the fabricator for a bit, hm?”

Optimus just barely managed to hide his guilty flinch from that last little dig, anxiety rearing its ugly head once more. Unarmed combat? Allspark, he hoped he came out of this in one piece. “Uh, right. Sure.”

Another visor-grin from Onslaught, before he beckoned Optimus away from the fabricator, calling over his shoulder as he went. “Planning on watching, Brawl?”

“Nah, I got sim-Sharkticons to smash!” The excited tank yelled back from his position by the simulators. “You should join me when you’re done, boss!”

“I’ll consider it. Now, shall we get to it?”

Optimus couldn’t see any way out of this, so he nodded and followed Onslaught over to the sparring mats with no little amount of hesitation. Close-quarters unarmed combat with a Decepticon… it certainly wasn’t Optimus’ idea of a good time. He didn’t have much of a choice, though. Hopefully Onslaught would at least be dissuaded from leaving any lasting damage by Optimus’ honoured guest status.

Facing Onslaught across the mat, Optimus had to forcefully tamp down on his anxiety and fear. At least when he’d sparred with Megatron on this very same mat he’d been fairly certain that the mech wouldn’t hurt him.

“Alright. No hits to the optics or maiming blows, and make sure to say when you want to tap out.”

Wait, were those the only rules they were going with? Optimus opened his intake to request further clarification, but didn’t have any time to actually ask before Onslaught lunged toward him. Spark in his intake, Optimus dodged away from Onslaught’s open palmed strike, backing up to the edge of the mat and watching his opponent warily. At least when he fought Megatron he knew what to expect - Onslaught was something else entirely!

Onslaught didn’t pursue him any further; instead sliding into a loose stance, clearly waiting for Optimus to recover. Venting deeply, Optimus did his best to recentre himself, focussing in on the fight. Onslaught still didn’t seem like he was doing this to hurt Optimus, as evidenced by how he hadn’t pressed the offensive when he had the chance. So he genuinely wanted a proper fight… Optimus curled his servos into fists, dropping into his favourite defensive stance. Onslaught had already proven to be fast, and somehow he suspected the mech was more than the average Decepticon soldier - which likely meant he was stronger, too.

The biggest threat was Onslaught’s sheer size, though. If he pins me, I’m doomed. Optimus’ attacks weren’t going to do much damage… but they weren’t actually trying to damage each other, were they? If Onslaught kept his attacks light, then Optimus ought to do the same. 

Feeling a little more certain, Optimus decided that he may as well just try his best - since Brawl was still engrossed with the simulators, Optimus didn’t have any sort of audience aside from Onslaught. Pit, he might even have some fun.

Optimus readied himself, watching Onslaught closely. This time he didn’t let Onslaught strike first. Leaping across the mat, he aimed a kick at Onslaught’s side, who immediately dodged out of the way and replied with a punch to Optimus’ chest. Thankfully Optimus managed to avoid the attack, going through with the momentum of his kick and turning it into a roll, skidding to a stop a few paces away and quickly hopping back up to his pedes. Onslaught was quicker though, chasing him across the mat and trying to knock him back down with a sweeping kick. Optimus jumped to avoid it, punching at Onslaught’s unguarded helm - and actually hitting him, just barely remembering to soften the strength of his blow in time before his servo connected. 

Jolting back, Onslaught readjusted his stance and laughed, shoulders shaking. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Don’t you dare hold back.”

“… Then you’d better not go easy on me either.” Optimus answered, confidence coming back to him in an irrepressible rush. He’d faced down Megatron on multiple occasions - he could do this.

“Fair enough.” Onslaught’s visor glinted, and that was only warning Optimus got before he was thrust right back into their fight. He was just as quick, just as vicious, yet when Optimus failed to dodge an attack the blow didn’t do much more than shove him back a step or two. Optimus found himself grinning as well, sliding back with the blow before aiming another light punch which Onslaught promptly blocked - giving Optimus the chance to grab hold of his arm and pull himself up to strike at him again. Again, Onslaught answered in kind, and the two of them freely wrestled back and forth across the mat. 

Onslaught was certainly a fearsome opponent, matching Optimus blow for blow and without ever letting up his formidable pace. He never overextended himself, all of his strikes perfectly precise and efficient. Onslaught caught him out with multiple feints as well, cleverly manipulating Optimus in order to try and pin him to the mat; each time, Optimus barely managed to escape his grip and was forced to reevaluate his opponent. Onslaught was clearly much more tactically minded that he’d originally let on, but Optimus didn’t particularly care - it was exhilarating, pitting himself against such a skilled sparring partner.

It was just as rewarding being able to keep up with Onslaught as well - this was no simulated enemy that could be mindlessly destroyed, but an active opponent that Optimus had to focus on with all of his available faculties. And yet, no matter how quick or fierce or strategic Onslaught’s attacks were, Optimus was able to keep up. The thrill of combat only sustained him for so long, though - as much fun as he was having he was beginning to tire, and although Onslaught’s attacks were gentle Optimus was slowly accumulating dents as time went by. 

He didn’t want to tap out, but…

After a particularly intense flurry of blows, Optimus stumbled backwards and reluctantly called out. “Pause! I-” He had to struggle to get the words past his own exhausted panting, but as it turned out he didn’t have to worry about that - Onslaught had frozen the moment he’d started talking. “-I need a break.”

“No problem. That was more than satisfactory.” Onslaught relaxed out of his own stance, staying on the other side of the mat as Optimus shuffled away.

“Glad to hear it.” Optimus leant against a nearby wall and focussed on his vents, sending cool air through to his overheated systems, fans spinning at near maximum after his workout. He didn’t pay much attention to Onslaught as his systems slowly recovered, only glancing back up when the mech’s pedes entered his vision. 

“What is… oh!” Onslaught was holding a cube of coolant out in front of him, clearly in offering. Optimus eagerly took it, gulping down the coolant and almost immediately feeling relieved as it started circulating through his body. “Thanks.”

“Looked like you needed it. Thanks for the match, Prime.” Stepping back, Onslaught hovered just outside Optimus’ space, probably checking to see if he was about to keel over from exhaustion. Strangely, Optimus found himself appreciating the gesture rather than finding it patronising.

“... You too.”

Onslaught gave him another visor-grin before heading over to the sims, hollering at Brawl to crank up the difficulty so he could join in, and soon enough both Decepticons were destroying hoards of Sharkticons side-by-side. After taking a few extra minutes to recover, Optimus found himself drifting over to watch the simulator battle, sliding down the wall across from it until he settled on the floor. He wasn’t really in the mood to do any more solo training, so he figured he might as well take a bit of a break and see how the Decepticons fought together.

The answer was fantastically, as it turned out. Brawl was much more aggressive than Onslaught, throwing himself at the simulated enemies with abandon. Since the gun barrel of his tank form was mounted high on his back he frequently had to bend forward to line up shots, leaving himself open to attacks - but that was where Onslaught came in. The more reserved of the pair, Onslaught mostly ignored his own back mounted missiles in favour of covering Brawl’s more vulnerable chassis, ferociously beating back any marauding Sharkticons that dared to come near. In return Brawl took potshots at the enemies that attempted to sneak up on Onslaught, blasting mech after mech to pieces and shouting jubilantly with every shot.

Sitting and watching as Onslaught and Brawl whirled through the mass of enemies, perfectly in tune and yelling quips back and forth, Optimus realised that he didn’t really want to go back to his empty room yet. Actually, now that he’d recovered from his workout, he kind of wanted to join in. It looked like a lot of fun, and when was the last time he’d fought alongside such a team? Not since Earth at least. Still, he didn’t want to just interrupt them…

“Hey, Prime!”

Optimus yelped quietly, gaze jolting up to see Brawl beckoning him from the simulator during a momentary lull. “Wanna join? We could use a third!”

Maybe one of them had noticed Optimus’ longing stare, or Brawl wanted to see Optimus fight, or Onslaught wanted to stay on Optimus’ good side… but Optimus didn’t care, and neither did he want to speculate on potential ulterior motives. “I’d love to.” Climbing back up to his pedes, he re-entered the sim and slid into a combat stance a few paces from Onslaught, catching the big Decepticon’s approving nod out of the corner of his optic as he adjusted his position to cover his new team mate’s back. A loud ping from the simulator’s control panel heralded the next wave of Sharkticons, and for a little while Optimus didn’t think about his capture at all.

Chapter Text

There was, Optimus thought, nothing like a hot shower after a properly strenuous workout. And his workout had definitely been thorough. After joining Onslaught and Brawl on the simulator, he'd spent close to a cycle systematically destroying holographic enemies, revelling in the rush of fighting with such a skilled team. Onslaught and Brawl had seamlessly moved to cover his back and Optimus had lost himself to the joy of combat, feeling oddly secure in the team.

Eventually he'd had to call it a day, worn out from the cycles of exercise and in need of fuel, though he'd left the training room with no small amount of reluctance - and not before Brawl had enthusiastically offered an open invitation for Optimus to join them on the sims in the future. Onslaught had nodded approvingly at him as he left, and to be perfectly honest Optimus really did want to practise with them again, so hopefully he’d get a chance to at some point. Standing under the scalding solvent spray, Optimus couldn’t help but also hope that Onslaught would keep his word, and not just so he could get out of any repercussions for attempting to steal weapons. He’d had an awful lot of fun with the two Decepticons, far more than expected.

Leaving the washracks Optimus made a beeline to his berth, letting himself sprawl out on top of it. His chassis ached pleasantly in a satisfying sort of way that he hadn’t felt in a while. Sometimes it was hard to remember why he enjoyed fighting, until he was on the field of battle once more. It just scratched an unimaginable itch deep in his processor, one that despite his training as a soldier had always seemed a little… shameful. Autobots weren’t supposed to enjoy fighting. That was a Decepticon sentiment. But Optimus had always enjoyed the purely skilled and physical aspects of battle, the strategic puzzle of every potential fight. And after sparring with Onslaught, he suspected the mech had similar opinions on the matter. So what did that mean for Optimus, then?

Perhaps the answer was not much at all. It was just fighting, after all - and it was something he was good at. Which, according to Megatron, probably did a lot for his reputation in the optics of most Decepticons. Speaking of… he did have some more reading to work on now which would hopefully shed some additional light on that particular situation. Still, his thoughts strayed back to the training room. Despite how much he’d enjoyed his time there, it was a shame he hadn’t managed to get his servos on any of those weapons. He supposed it was still a potential option if he could get back in there… but considering how his last attempt had gone he wasn’t that positive about the idea. 

Finding another option was in his best interest, though the real question was where he could find one. Ideally, he needed to explore the citadel further, and with a little luck he’d get the chance to in the future…

If Onslaught kept his word. If Megatron kept to his word. At least his earlier act of defiance had worked out decently.

He supposed he’d just have to wait until tomorrow.

Heading to the library the very next day, Optimus was having difficulties keeping his composure. Despite his experiences with Onslaught, he couldn’t help but feel anxious as he approached the meeting with Megatron. It would’ve been so easy for Onslaught to report his crime… Swallowing nervously he stepped onto the plush library carpet, seeing Megatron already waiting for him at the table, surrounded by several stacks of datapads. 

It was a struggle to wrestle his expression into something neutral in time, but he was fairly sure that he just about managed it. Please, oh please.

“Good morning, Prime.”

Better to reply than remain silent, even if he wasn’t sure how normal it would sound. “Morning.” He sat, nervously gripping the armrest of his chair. Megatron didn’t look upset, but it was impossible to know for sure.

The warlord looked at him quizzically for a moment, before putting down the datapad and folding his servos on the table in front of him. “I heard you had some fun in the training room yesterday-”

He knows he knows he knows

Allspark, what was he supposed to do? Maybe he could try to persuade Megatron that it wasn’t as bad as he thought? Or would it be best to just own up and take whatever punishment Megatron decided on - likely confinement to his quarters, if not a proper cell again. But no, he was sure that wouldn’t help, and-!

“-and I’m glad to hear it. Onslaught certainly seemed impressed with you when I asked him about it earlier.” Megatron was… smiling at him? He certainly didn’t seem like he was about to punish Optimus for attempting an escape.

Oh, he was expecting a response. “Ah, yeah. I did have a good time. Onslaught was… certainly skilled.” And apparently had held true to his word as well. Which- sure, he’d fervently hoped the mech would, but it was still a little strange to think that Onslaught had turned out to actually be trustworthy.

“And courteous, I should hope? While my warriors may hold whatever opinion of you they please, I still cannot have them being openly aggressive or threatening to you.” Megatron had leaned forward in his chair and was examining Optimus carefully. He almost seemed concerned, presumably because any Decepticons terrorising his captive would damage his precious efforts to convince Optimus’ defection.

Optimus considered that in a detached manner for several moments, before abruptly realising that Megatron would probably bring some kind of retribution down on Onslaught if he suspected the mech had intentionally hurt Optimus.

“Oh, he was fine! Really… really nice. No problems. He offered to spar and I thought it would be fun.” He spoke almost without thinking, instinctively covering for the Decepticon. He supposed he could’ve lied to Megatron, said that Onslaught had tried to hurt or intimidate him, but… Onslaught had gone through with his promise to keep quiet. Reassuring Megatron that Onslaught had behaved well was the least Optimus could do in return.

Megatron nodded and relaxed back into his seat, clearly pleased - or even relieved - with his answer. “Onslaught is usually a level-helmed mech. I only asked because I know that you previously inconvenienced Swindle.”

“Yeah. He, uh, didn’t seem that upset about it.”

“Good. I will confess to being a little concerned when I found out.”

Apparently he was just happy to leave it at that, but Optimus managed to give him enough of a confused look that he elaborated.

“While Onslaught and all of his gestalt are of course Decepticons and ultimately answer to me, on a more regular basis Onslaught is their commander. Generally he reacts sensibly to their conduct, but he is still part of the gestalt and therefore may act… somewhat over defensively, especially to those he considers to have wronged them. I am glad to hear that was not the case.”

“Right.” Knowing that, he couldn’t complain about Onslaught’s conduct in the slightest, since the mech apparently would’ve been quite within his rights to seek some kind of revenge. Though, there was something else that Megatron had mentioned earlier that was worrying him a little. “You heard from Onslaught about our… match? Only good things I hope!”

“Oh, yes. Cyclonus informed me that you participated in a sparring match, and I was intending to ask Onslaught about it this morning - though he beat me to it. He said that you applied yourself magnificently during the fight and worked well in tandem with himself and Brawl when it came to the simulator.” Megatron smiled at him again, a look that somehow communicated… pride? “To tell you the truth, Onslaught is not an easily impressed mech, so I must commend you on your efforts.”

“Can’t say it was my intention, but good to know I guess.”

“Perhaps it should’ve been.” Megatron tilted his helm slightly, smile decidedly crafty. Optimus suddenly felt worried, though he wasn’t sure why. 

“And by that you mean…?”

“Have you managed to get through any of your reading yet?” 

“A little. I’m guessing you’re referring to Decepticon combat traditions?”

Now Megatron looked exceedingly smug, a self-satisfied smirk winding across his faceplates. “Just so. By sparring with Onslaught, you too have taken part in them now. As for what I meant - sparring with other mechs is a common way to demonstrate one's skills and strengths to Decepticon society as a whole. Even though you had no audience this time, Brawl and Onslaught will subtly acknowledge your prowess to others, and thus affect your overall social standing.”

Optimus stared at him, more than a little confused. “Seriously? That seems… overly complicated.” For one, why would those two bother to improve Optimus’ reputation? There didn’t seem to be much point in it.

“Perhaps, but it’s quite an important part of our society. There are official hierarchies to both military and civilian sectors here on Chaar, but the unofficial Decepticon hierarchy is formed almost entirely from public opinion - and yes, this is commonly based on feats of combat or other skills. Generally a mech who is ranked highly in the military will also be held in fairly high regard socially, but this is certainly not always the case. To us, reputation matters far more than you'd realise.”

“Why? I mean, I understand that every society has some sort of social hierarchy, but the way you're describing it makes me think it's much more important to Decepticon. I'm guessing it's another tribal tradition?” Megatron was silent, expression grave. The sudden change in demeanour made Optimus wary; he’d seemed completely fine with the conversation so far, and it had been a fairly innocuous question. After all, Optimus was here to learn about history…

After several long moments, Megatron stirred again. His voice was low and serious, and Optimus found himself leaning forward to make sure he heard it all. “We haven’t gotten into that part of our history yet, but know this: We did not always have this degree of freedom over our fates.” He let out a low rumbling sigh, suddenly looking exactly like the ancient being he was. Sometimes Optimus forgot exactly how old Megatron was, how much he’d seen over his lifetime, millions of years of war and death and suffering.

“When the Decepticons were simply Cybertron’s army, before our name and movement came about, we had no choice over who became an officer or a general. That was managed by our Autobot superiors who oversaw the army.” Megatron certainly didn’t sound happy about it, and Optimus had a terrible feeling about where things were going. About whatever reason Megatron was unwilling to speak of it.

“Mechs who were skilled were promoted sometimes, but more often those warframes that bent the knee and accepted their Autobot overlords were given the highest positions in the army - for the ruling class believed they could be most easily controlled. Thus, the importance of the social hierarchy… as those 'chosen' officers were often less honourable than the lowliest thug, and willing to commit all manner of crimes to please their masters.” Megatron closed his optics briefly, a look of- of pain flashing across his faceplates before disappearing in an instant.

“It was important for Decepticon soldiers to know who they could trust, and who would be happy to hurt them if commanded to. Ultimately, it was a way to protect ourselves when we had little other options.” Throughout their little history lessons so far Megatron had merely been the teacher, fairly distant from the actual subject being discussed. But now, it was clear that this was a topic close to him, something he had actually lived through. That Megatron was thinking of his own… painful memories.

“It really was necessary back then?” Optimus’ voice was smaller than he’d meant it to be, hushed in the wake of Megatron’s words. 

“Believe me, I wish it had not been.” Megatron’s voice was shockingly even, though the way he held himself spoke volumes. His entire chassis was laden with old old grief, weighed down by time as he gazed into the past.

More silence. Optimus had to look away and found himself staring down at his servos, troubled. Sure, Megatron had hinted at the Decepticons being oppressed before, but Optimus - well, he hadn’t really thought about it that much, too focussed on his own objectives and the general stakes of the situation. It wasn’t a comfortable idea, that these mechs had needed to go to such complicated lengths because their superiors had ordered them to be… hurt.

At last Megatron moved again, faceplates clearing and posture straightening back into something Optimus was a little more familiar with. “Do not dwell overly on the matter.” He sounded just as sure of himself as always, as if his momentary lapse hadn’t occurred. “Those times are long past, after all - and we are not quite ready yet to go over them. Perhaps it would be best to touch on something a little closer to the era we are currently looking at?”

“Sure. Let’s do that.” Hopefully he didn’t sound too eager to move on from the current topic. To be absolutely fair though, it seemed it was uncomfortable for the both of them.

Megatron seemed just as happy to change topics. “You asked before about how the tribal era ended, yes? It mostly came about due to another conflict that forced the clans to work together to repel even more alien invaders. Afterwards, the leaders of the clans came together and decided that the fractured nature of our people could not continue, and elected to begin the process of creating much larger settlements, with several clans grouped together in each. Over time these settlements became our very own cities that you know today. I can provide some materials on it, if you’re interested.”

“Yeah, I’d like to hear about it. I’ve been kind of curious ever since I found out about the proper origin of the warframes.”

“Very well.” Megatron smiled at him slightly, though he looked noticeably more worn than usual.

Optimus’ room was dark when he finally got back to it. Their discussion had stretched long, eating up several cycles and involving several datapads as well as a fascinating simulation depicting how Kaon had initially been built up from the preexisting settlements. Megatron had seemed… better by the end of their meeting, though unease lingered in his every movement and word. Despite how much he’d enjoyed their conversation, Optimus had been eager to get back to his room, if only to give Megatron the time he clearly needed. He’d seen a range of Megatron’s emotions so far, rage and pride and curiosity and joy, but that had been nothing like before. He’d been genuinely grieving something long past, which wasn’t something Optimus had ever thought he’d see - before being brought to Chaar, he probably wouldn’t have believed Megatron was even capable of feeling grief.

The memory of Megatron’s strange expression - part wistful and part pained - stuck with him, and Optimus found himself pacing back and forth in front of his berth, unable to simply relax and get back to his work. That look had just been so alien on those faceplates, so utterly wrong.  

And from all of Optimus’ experience with him, Megatron really didn’t seem the kind of mech to be overly emotional. So whatever this was… Something terrible really had happened. All of his textbooks at the academy had claimed that the Decepticons had gotten tired of simply protecting Cybertron and had started the war due to their desires to conquer and subjugate new planets. But he’d already known that those textbooks were full of lies. So maybe the Decepticons really did have a good reason for rebelling and beginning the war - at least to begin with, anyway. Even if he didn’t quite know yet, it was still worth considering. They’d get to that period eventually, after all - and Megatron had earlier implied that section of their studies was fast approaching.

No matter how terrible the truth was, Optimus had to learn it. I won’t shy away from it again, even if it hurts.

Chapter Text

Optimus was bored out of his plating. Well, maybe that wasn't totally correct - he had plenty of datapads to be getting on with after all, and they were each as fascinating as the next (descriptions of sparring matches ages past, sets of intricate and ancient rules regarding how a warframe should live, and so much more that he could barely wait to get into). No, Optimus was desperate to get out of his room and exercise, if even a little. He'd hoped that his sparring match would have satiated him, but instead it seemed to have merely whetted his appetite to move.

Staring at the door and wishing he was anywhere else, Optimus supposed it shouldn't be so surprising - before his capture he'd lived a very active life, so it made sense that the sudden shift to staying in the same room all day save for a short walk to and from his meeting with Megatron would be grating after a while. He'd just sort of been hoping that his sparring match would quiet that urge back down. Not so, it seemed. Which left him with two options: stay in his room and slowly go insane, or ask if he could go for a walk. And sure, that didn't seem like a lot, but Optimus wasn't overly confident that he'd be allowed to just wander around the citadel because he wanted to stretch his legs. Of course there was alway the training room, but… to be perfectly honest, he needed a change of scenery as much as he needed exercise, and the training room was as bland as could be at this point. Which meant he needed to ask Cyclonus, so that Cyclonus could ask Megatron, in the hopes that Megatron would let him out for a bit for no real reason at all. In other words, he got the feeling that his chances were slim.

Still, he ought to at least try. Venting in deeply, Optimus knocked on the inside of his door and waited, spark thrumming with anxiety. Which was ridiculous, since it wasn't like he was going to be locked up any further just for asking. Before he could twist himself up any further, the door slid open to reveal Cyclonus in his usual position, straight backed and alert. Optimus steeled himself, and asked. “I want to go for a walk. Am I allowed to?”

Cyclonus was silent, though the subtle flickering of his optics indicated that he was passing the request along. Optimus waited quietly, servos clenching and unclenching with a mixture of impatience and worry.

Less than a minute later Cyclonus nodded once, and turned his gaze back to Optimus. “Lord Megatron has permitted you to leave your rooms, but you are not to wander on your own. Do you want to go anywhere specifically?”

Optimus sighed internally, relieved. Admittedly not the best outcome, but far from the worst. Now, the real question: where the Pit did he want to go? It wasn’t like he knew much about the interior of the citadel. Although… “Is there any sort of… well, social area nearby?” After his encounter with Onslaught and Brawl, he was curious to see how other Decepticons would act in a relaxed setting.

“There are several. There is a standard mess hall a few floors beneath us, as well as a lounge and nearby shooting range. Alternatively, the Observation deck is two floors above us.”

Mess hall and shooting range sounded like a bit too much right now (and the fact that a shooting range was considered a social area spoke volumes in itself), but observation deck? That seemed a little more interesting. “That last one sounds good, I’d like to walk there. And… I’d prefer to not rush - if that’s alright!” Cyclonus tended to pull him through the halls at speed, whereas Optimus was hoping to actually enjoy the walk.

Cyclonus merely nodded, before stepping to the side. Optimus wordlessly stepped out into the hall, curiously glancing around at the other doors. Of course he’d seen this hall pretty much every single day since he’d been moved into the new rooms, but Cyclonus hadn’t really given him much of a chance to actually look at it before. The doors were all indented into the walls, while the lack of windows suggested that he was probably in the very middle of the tower. Fair enough, keeping a prisoner as far away from escape as possible was common sense… even if it was fragging annoying. Having seen his fill of the corridor, he glanced back over his shoulder at the waiting Decepticon, who gestured for him to follow. Right.

Meandering through the citadel was actually pretty nice, if a little confusing at times. Although Cyclonus kept a watchful optic on him at all times, he didn’t stop Optimus from examining every door and window they came across, and neither did he attempt to hurry him along at any point. Silently, Optimus was grateful. After a time the corridor opened up into a much larger hall with several other entrances opening into it - and Decepticons striding through it. 

As practically every Decepticon in the room turned to look at him at once, Optimus instinctively ducked his helm, hiding his optics beneath the brim of his helm. Nevertheless, he could feel the stares prickling against his plating, not to mention the mutters springing up all around him. Allspark, why was he so afraid? It wasn’t like any of them would try to attack him - especially with the dual protection of Cyclonus and Megatron’s ire - but he couldn’t bring himself to meet any of their optics. And to think he’d actually wanted to go to a social area, where there would be even more watching Decepticons, ready to scrutinise and judge his every move-!

“Prime.”

Jerking his helm up, Optimus just barely managed to stop himself before he walked straight into the Decepticon standing in front of him. It wasn’t a mech he recognised, but that wasn’t particularly reassuring. They were staring at him intently, expression practically unreadable. Optimus swallowed nervously, but lifted his chin all the same and met their gaze. “Yes?” Hopefully he didn’t sound as uneasy as he felt.

The other mech tilted their helm forward, clenched servo coming up to tap lightly against their chest. “It is an honour. May you triumph in all your battles.”

Optimus stared at the mech, processor whirling. It took an embarrassingly long period of time before he belatedly remembered a datapad about ancient traditions that he’d skimmed a few days ago, and one of the little rituals it had mentioned in particular. Optimus awkwardly copied the salute, inclining his own helm in return. “... And you.” Frag, how was the saying supposed to end? After a moment of desperately combing through his memories of the day before, Optimus managed to rush out the end of the customary response. “Until all are one!” Judging by the pleased look on the Decepticon’s faceplates, he’d gotten it right, too. Score one, Optimus! The Decepticon stepped away without another word, nodding at Optimus once more before melting back into the crowd. Well that hadn’t been too bad, though he wasn’t exactly eager to repeat the interaction. Thankfully, that was when Cyclonus stepped back in, ushering him through the crowded halls and into the elevator at last, which was blissfully empty aside from the two of them.

The journey up was quiet, although Optimus couldn't help but sneak glances at Cyclonus. Even if guarding Optimus was his job, the mech was still being incredibly patient with him. And even if Cyclonus would never help him leave, the kindness he showed meant a lot to Optimus. 

The elevator doors slid open a few moments later and they exited in silence, Cyclonus guiding him through a practically identical hall. Less than a minute later they came across a slightly larger door and Cyclonus came to a halt beside it, turning an expectant gaze on Optimus. Presumably, this was the observation deck. Optimus made for the door, then hesitated. “Thank you, Cyclonus.”

The Decepticon didn’t react, but somehow Optimus got the feeling that he was surprised. “I am merely doing my duty.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.”

Nodding to Cyclonus, Optimus opened the door and headed in, internally hoping that there wouldn't be too many Decepticons inside. Stepping into the room, he was immediately surprised by how bright it was, light shining in from a window that made up the entire back wall. The thick panes stretched from the ceiling to the floor - and then along the floor, a glistening column of blastproof glass. Optimus gingerly approached, stepping onto the pane and looking down to see the edge of the city far beneath his pedes, glimmering in the early afternoon light. It was beautiful, and he had to fight the urge to sink to his knees and take it in properly. It was certainly the best look he’d had at Darkmount since… since his escape attempt. His awe fell away at the reminder as a cocktail of panic and fear flared in his chest, and Optimus couldn’t help but glance around the room to see if there were any Decepticons seeing him… knowing what he’d done…

There were a couple of mechs standing and sitting around the edge of the room but none of them were paying him any attention, even though he was sure they’d seen him walk in. Small mercies then, as he stumbled toward an empty corner bench and sank down into it before his legs gave out, gripping the seat tightly between clenched digits. Deep vents, deep vents, he couldn’t lose it here.

After a couple of minutes spent trying to regain control of himself, Optimus reluctantly released his grip on the seat in favour of gathering his knees up against his chest, letting his helm tip forward until he could rest on them, optics closed as he worked to regather himself. Around him conversation carried on as if nothing was wrong, as if he wasn’t falling to pieces. And yet… it was almost soothing, the way those voices carried on regardless of what he’d done, uncaring for his status as an Autobot. It helped, more than he’d thought it would.

By degrees he calmed down, spark slowing its furious spinning with every carefully measured vent. Eventually he felt well enough to uncurl from his protective position, able to focus a little better on the room around him. Finally taking a proper look at the observation deck, he could make out several small groups of Decepticons clustered around the edges, chatting lightly. 

Though he felt better now, he still wasn’t as enthused to see the city as he had been. Instead he found himself watching the other mechs, sitting in peaceful silence as life carried on around him. Most of the Decepticons seemed to be on their break, sipping energon and enjoying each other’s company - and while it seemed a little rude, Optimus couldn’t help but tune into their conversations.

“-evening shift’s gonna be a nightmare if I have to put up with that aft again-”

“-did you see the last episode? I was on the edge of my seat the whole time-”

“-I’m taking him out tonight, gonna head to a nice little bar to have some time alone-”

Resting comfortably against the wall, Optimus felt more content - at peace in a way that he hadn’t been for a while. The feeling of being part of a community, no matter how tenuous, soothed something in his spark, and he found himself relaxing utterly and eventually beginning to drift…

.

.

.

“Prime!”

“Ah!” Optimus jolted up out of his seat, disoriented. The observation deck was - darker now? - and Megatron was standing in front of him, the corner of his intake curved up into a grin. A quick glance around revealed that the place was also empty, the quiet hum of chatter having disappeared. Optimus stared at Megatron, confused. When…?

“Apologies, I didn't mean to startle you. You were quite deep in recharge.”

Recharge?!

He'd- oh Allspark, he'd fallen into recharge. While in a room full of Decepticons. Optimus could feel an embarrassed flush taking over his faceplates, and he trained his gaze on the floor so he didn't have to look Megatron in the optics. Judging by the reduced light shining through the window and the insistent pinging of his fuel tanks, he'd missed their usual meeting time by more than a few cycles. Frag!

Optimus glanced up at Megatron, keeping his helm tilted down as much as he could. Megatron seemed… amused rather than angry, at least. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Megatron cut him off with a chuckle, smile widening. “Don't be sorry, it seems you needed it. Do you like the observation deck?”

“Uh, yeah.” Optimus shifted awkwardly, unable to quite dispel his embarrassment. “I didn’t get a great look around though.”

“Oh? Well, no time like the present.” Megatron stepped back, gesturing at the huge window.

“... If you’re sure.” Finally moving away from his spot by the wall, Optimus winced as he stretched his legs - he’d recharged with them pulled up to his chest and now they were stiff from the unusual position. Still, now that the observation deck was actually empty he did want to get a proper look at Darkmount… if Megatron truly didn’t mind. Optimus would’ve expected the mech to be at least a little put out by being essentially ignored for cycles, but he really didn’t look or sound upset. If Optimus had recharged too long and missed a meeting with other Autobots - or Allspark forbid, Ultra Magnus - they’d have been an awful lot angrier with him.

Lightly shaking his helm to clear his thoughts, Optimus at last stepped onto the floor-length glass pane. It was early evening now, the spires of Darkmount limned in gold as the suns slowly sank beneath the horizon. 

Behind him, Megatron let out a low, considering hum. “Like what you see?”

“It’s beautiful.” Optimus murmured, and it was the truth. “Though I don’t know what most of it actually is. Don’t suppose you could tell me where things are?” With effort, he tore his gaze from the glittering tableau to focus on Megatron, who was watching him a respectful few steps away.

“Of course. But first…” Megatron joined him in the centre of the floor, pedfalls echoing in the stillness of the room. “You forgot to fuel earlier, didn’t you? Here.” He reached into his subspace, pulling out a sizeable cube of energon and offering it to Optimus.

He took it at once and sipped gratefully, deliciously cool energon finally putting a stop to the complaints of his fuel tank. Refreshed from his nap and now fully fueled again, warmth curled in his spark. “… Thanks.”

“Not at all. Now, as for what the different areas of Darkmount are…” He gestured at the floor beneath their pedes. “Most of the city is composed of residential areas, though my people may set up shops and businesses if they wish. You can see much of that beneath us, though it stretches throughout Darkmount.”

He paced over the wall-sized window, pointing to the much larger buildings that ringed the edge of the city. “Further out are the main industrial areas, factories and such. While my people can build whatever they want, there are some rules about where factories can be constructed to prevent inhabited areas from becoming polluted or overcrowded.”

Made sense. It was a little strange to think of the industrial district being so close to the main part of the city, though - Iacon didn’t have many factories, and the few that did exist were either far on the outskirts or located in the layers underneath the surface.

“And on the other side of the city are the airstrips and docks for interstellar vehicles. Of course, there are other settlements as well as various mining and processing facilities spread across Chaar, but the spaceport is the very limit of Darkmount. Well, for now. Our city is always expanding.”

Space-capable vehicles? That sounded like somewhere Optimus wanted to reach. If he could just get his servos on a shuttle, he could escape the planet… but from the looks of things he’d have to go all the way though the city first. Trying to circle around it would be hopeless, as the arid desert rock offered little to no shelter or places to hide from aerial attackers. But escaping through it sounded even more impossible as he’d have to make his way past the majority of Decepticons on the planet, who’d likely recognise him on sight and hunt him down without even needing to be ordered to…! Oh, Megatron was talking again.

“- of course, that’s just the overview. I can show you some points of interest if you’d like.”

“Sure. I mean I think I can guess a few things, like the spires, but to be honest I’m still not exactly sure what I’m looking at. It’s all so different from what I’m used to, since Iacon’s generally pretty… organised, I guess?”

Megatron snorted. “And aren’t the Autobots inordinately proud of it. But yes, I can see why it would confuse you if you’re used to Iacon’s rigidity. Well, I know where to start.” 

He pointed at something near them, and Optimus craned his helm down. Unfortunately whatever he was pointing to was difficult to discern in the growing dusk, especially since Megatron’s servo was quite large and also far away from where Optimus was standing. “Uhh… where?”

Megatron frowned lightly, moving back over and gesturing again. “There- can you make out a larger metal structure, rather more cylindrical and surrounded by smaller tents?” 

Optimus leaned closer to follow his line of sight, but came up blank again. “No, sorry. It’s a little too dark for me.” Decepticons were supposed to have very good night vision, as indicated by their scarlet optics. Autobots, not so much. He could make out the shapes of the buildings decently, but further details were a bit harder - especially since he still wasn’t sure what Megatron was actually pointing to.

“Hm.” Megatron moved closer again, looking through the floor next to him as he considered something.

And then Mighty Megatron, unstoppable warlord, emperor of the Decepticons and scourge of a thousand planets - sat down on his aft with a loud clang. Optimus stared at him, gobsmacked. Megatron laughed quietly and patted the glass beside him.  “Well? Come on. I won’t bite.”

“... Right.” Optimus didn’t know why he felt so hesitant, but he pushed through the strange sensation anyway and dropped to his knees next to Megatron, leaning back on the heels of his pedes as he looked through the thick glass. Closer to the floor, it was a little easier to make out the buildings far below. 

It was easier still when Megatron leaned over his shoulder and pointed out a large, dark shape surrounded by what seemed to be open plazas. “ That is Darkmount herself, the original vessel that we scuttled for parts.”

“Oh!” Now that he knew what to look for, he could recognise the smooth lines of a starship, surrounded by what appeared to be countless brightly-coloured stalls. The starship itself wasn’t whole - it was more of a skeleton than anything else, huge metal ribs picked clean to create the first shelters for the refugee Decepticons. And yet that same skeleton was still buzzing with life even as the light faded from the city named for it, tiny dots scurrying in and out without pause. “You built up the city around the ship, right?”

Megatron let out a pleased hum. “Just so. But even after we stripped old Darkmount, nomech could bare to melt down the old ship’s struts. In time it became a meeting point, and then eventually a bazaar of sorts. Nowadays she functions as the main marketplace hub for the city, with hundreds of stalls and shops built inside and around her. Not just Decepticon shops, either - we have a robust alien population as well.”

“Right, I remember seeing some on your comm channels.” 

“Of course, they are a major part of the city. We trade frequently with other species and plenty have come to live with us. We have no problems with aliens or organics.”

Even though he didn’t finish the sentence, Optimus could fill in the quiet part - that Autobots weren’t anywhere near as accepting. He wasn’t that upset about the dig, though - it was true, after all. He’d seen his faction’s prejudices close up. Still, it was very tempting to fire right back at Megatron about it, so he turned to face the mech with a comeback at the ready. “Unlike us Autobots, huh-”

And immediately froze when he found himself faceplate to faceplate with Megatron. As it turned out, Megatron had moved a lot closer than he’d realised. The warlord was folded over practically in half to be on the same level as Optimus, with barely any distance between their optics. If Optimus had moved his helm just a little further forward he’d have smacked right into Megatron’s faceplates.

Megatron had looked surprised for a few moments, caught off guard by the sudden movement, but just as quickly the shock melted away and was replaced by an amused smirk. “Well?” 

Optimus stared at him, utterly unable to move. How many Autobots had ever been so close to Megatron without being destroyed? Close enough that his faceplates blocked out the entire world? Optimus had a feeling that he was the only one… the only one who Megatron had allowed to be so close to him. As soon as the thought registered he jerked backward, putting some much-needed space between them. He didn’t like the strange feeling in his spark at that thought, the idea that Megatron somehow… trusted him. Ugh, nevermind that - he needed to focus on the moment. “Sorry! I didn’t realise you were right there!”

“Don’t be, clearly it was my fault for moving too close. I do apologise - I was a little too eager to show you the city.” Megatron scooted back a little as well, watching Optimus carefully.

“Ah, it’s fine - no harm done, right?” Hopefully Megatron hadn’t noticed the embarrassed flush creeping over his faceplates - for the second time that evening! Okay, time to move the conversation along pronto. “Um… so anyway, are there any other landmarks to see?”

“Plenty. We’ve had a lot of time to build up some wonders of our own, like the spires you mentioned earlier or our many museums and art galleries.”

He’d been lying if he said he wasn’t interested. “Y’know, I’d like to actually see them for myself… I seem to remember you mentioning a potential trip into Darkmount a while ago?”

“Mm, yes. Perhaps not right now - regrettably, my work has been piling up lately - but I’d be happy to take you down sometime soon when my schedule clears.”

“That sounds good. I suppose I’ve been cutting into your workday recently… though I guess you were able to make up for it today since I missed our meeting.” Which he very much was hoping to avoid doing again.

“A little, though I’d hardly say our meetings are any kind of burden to me. Besides, are we not having it now?” Megatron tilted his helm, his smile gentle.

“… I guess so.” Optimus found himself smiling slightly in return, more than he’d meant to. Clearing his vocaliser, he turned his focus back to the city. “So, the spires? When were they built?” Even though he wasn’t looking at Megatron anymore, he heard the mech lean in again before starting to explain. And on the edge of the world, the suns finally slipped below the horizon.

Chapter Text

Optimus was walking to the library, and for once he wasn’t staring at either the walls or floor. As strange as his experience the day before had been, the casual acceptance (and respect) of the Decepticons had been more than a little reassuring. Besides, he didn’t want to keep being afraid of these mechs just because of the badge they wore. In the end, he only saw 3 Decepticons on the way to the library, but he held his helm high and met their optics without hesitance. Each of the other mechs nodded in return, with the last - a hulking tank - grinning widely at him. A small victory maybe, but one he was proud of - and by the time he got to the library he felt inexplicably lighter for it. He was still smiling from the experience as the library door slid open, just barely remembering himself enough to quietly thank Cyclonus before heading inside.

Megatron was busy by one of the shelves, poring over a datapad. He looked up briefly as Optimus entered, nodding distractedly at him before turning his optics back to his datapad. Well, Optimus wasn’t going to be offended by that - Allspark knew he’d been there before. Instead he settled down into his usual chair and got to organising the datapads he’d been working on earlier that morning, picking out one he hadn’t read yet and getting started while he waited. A comfortable sort of silence fell upon the library as they worked through their respective texts, only occasionally disturbed when Optimus shifted to note something down. At long last Megatron turned off his datapad, reshelving it with a quiet sigh before tromping over to the table and settling heavily into the other chair. He was still quiet, though - staring at his own folded servos, expression pensive.

Optimus put down his own datapad, watching Megatron carefully. Again, the strange display of emotion was discomforting.  “Are you… alright?”

“Hm?” Megatron finally looked up, refocusing on the room around him - and whatever concerned expression was probably on Optimus’ faceplates. Sue him, he was a little unsettled. “… I’m quite fine. Just thinking.”

“If you’re sure...” His disbelief must have been evident in his tone of voice, as Megatron grimaced slightly at his words, before sighing again.

“I suppose I wasn’t expecting this to be so difficult.” Megatron began slowly, his usual confidence having ebbed from his voice. “These events… I did not even live through them. And yet reading about the gradual, purposeful degradation of my people brings back altogether too many memories of the hardships I did face, millions of years later. Perhaps it shouldn’t be such a surprise, since those selfsame events directly led to the suffering of myself and so many others.”

“Well… if it’s that bad, then you could just give me the resources and not have to-”

“Of course not! If your people have forgotten, then clearly it is necessary for me to teach you.” Optimus was more than a little taken aback by the sudden snap of anger - somehow he'd managed to insult Megatron, though it certainly hadn't been on purpose.

Hastily he moved to apologise, even though he was unsure what he’d said wrong. “Sorry for suggesting it! I didn’t - I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“That’s-” Megatron paused, before rubbing a servo over his faceplates with a groan. “No, don't apologise. I overreacted. It probably goes without saying that this is rather important to me. Still, that’s no excuse.” 

Optimus shifted in his seat, considering his response carefully. “I mean, I totally understand why this would mean a lot to you. I just… I know what it’s like to have certain subjects be painful. You shouldn’t have to look into it if it upsets you so much.” Even if Megatron was the one to make this offer, Optimus was hardly going to force the mech to do something which distressed him - as the topic clearly did.

“Thank you for your concern, then. However… I feel this is something I must face. If the past is so uncomfortable to me then I suspect it is more than worth going through.”

“Fair enough. Then… I guess we could work through it together?” Optimus offered, tone more hopeful than he’d intended.

Megatron stared at him, seemingly surprised, before smiling gently. “Yes. I suppose we can.” He held Optimus’ gaze for a long moment, calmer than before. “In which case, I believe we ought to begin with the next topic - how the warframes lost their rights over time.”

Optimus swallowed, before nodding resolutely. He was ready - and he wasn’t going to try to run from the truth.

“Do bear in mind that these changes I am going to speak of occurred over millions of years, and in the beginning were neither malevolent nor purposeful.” He paused for a moment, clearly considering his next words.

“It all began when the clans joined to form the great cities, I suppose. Though the intentions behind the action were good, we inevitably isolated ourselves from the rest of the planet as we retreated into our own purpose-built cities. In time, that would be taken advantage of by our ‘betters’. Still, things were good for a while - before war broke out again, anyway.” Another sigh.

Isolated… From what he’d read about Cybertron before the expansionist and ‘golden’ eras, the different cities hadn’t really been connected to each other. Trade routes had yet to develop since most of the settlements were self-sufficient, so many Cybertronians had barely travelled outside their cities. He supposed it would be easy to withdraw from the rest of society under such circumstances, even if it sounded shockingly apathetic. “What was the next war, then?”

“More aliens, I’m afraid. And it wasn’t the last time. Again and again Cybertron was threatened, and each time the warframes rose to defeat the invaders. Each time, Cybertronians grew more frustrated with the constant attacks from other races that sought to subjugate and enslave them. At last, a tipping point was reached as anger boiled over, and then… the era of Cybertron's expansion began.” 

Finally, the most sordid part of Cybertron’s history. No matter how incorrect his teaching had been, Optimus knew that the warframes had played an instrumental part in the annihilation of countless alien races across the galaxy. “You say it started due to repeated attacks? The expansionist era was always portrayed as beginning due to a mix of greed and lack of certain resources on Cybertron in my lessons.”

Megatron snorted, rolling his optics. “To be perfectly honest, that isn’t even completely incorrect - however that greed came a little later. First the leaders of each city-state came together, debating what should be done, and eventually settling on a bloody solution. They chose to strike out against the other races, to colonise nearby planets and strengthen Cybertron until our enemies could never hope to reach it.”

“I… suppose I can understand that sentiment, even if I don’t agree with it. Still, what about the warframes? Are you going to try to tell me you were forced or tricked into it somehow?” Optimus might be prepared to accept that his education had been biased to the point of being completely incorrect, but he wasn’t sure he’d believe Megatron if the mech tried to pretend that the warframes had done no wrong.

Thankfully, it seemed Megatron was aware of his scepticism. He met Optimus’ optics steadily, tone solemn. “I will not lie about our complicity in this decision - the warframes agreed, in the hopes that presenting such a powerful front would win them peace for a longer period of time. So Cybertron expanded out among the stars, with the warframes as the vanguard to destroy opposition while the civilian frames built up colonies and factories in their wake. And it was brutal.” Was that regret? It certainly sounded like it.

“Yeah, I know that much. Hundreds of worlds razed of all life then exploited for their every resource. But I have a feeling that’s not what you specifically want to talk about.” Even though Megatron seemed serious about the crimes committed, it clearly wasn’t the reason why he’d pressed on with this uncomfortable topic.

“Perceptive as always.” Megatron’s tone was undeniably approving, though his smile was wan - probably due to the subject matter. “Yes, the crimes we committed were terrible, but they are not the focus of today. What I would like to speak about is how Cybertron changed in the absence of the warframes. It became more developed, civilization advancing and cities growing across the face of the planet with the influx of looted wealth. As time passed, perceptions… shifted. Instead of just being a powerful warrior culture, we gradually became soldiers.” Now his voice turned bitter, burning with the embers of a long-slumbering rage. 

Which… Optimus had only ever thought of the Decepticons as soldiers, as enemies. He’d never known anything else. But while they’d been created as protectors, they’d also been created as people. To lose that sense of identity… 

He gripped the edge of the table between trembling digits. Maybe Megatron was waiting for a response, but Optimus had no idea what to say. Or perhaps it was because he felt he didn’t really have a right to talk about this.

At length, Megatron continued. “Equally, civilian frame culture changed as a global government was formed in the shape of the Senate and the individual city-states ceded much of the power to govern themselves ‘for the greater good’.” His expression twisted into a grimace, disdain etched in every line of his faceplates. “Hah. Perhaps it was ‘good’ to begin with, but the power hungry and corrupt swiftly seized control of the Senate and made it their own.”

“Okay, that I have heard about - the Senate did form with good intentions but the election system was flawed, making it easy to nominate crooked mechs. Autobot education pulled through there, at least.” Not the greatest track record so far, but it was reassuring to know that not everything he’d been taught was massively incorrect.

“Quite. And then that system lasted until the end of the golden age, for some reason.”

“Right. Actually, about that; I know the expansionist era ended eventually. What happened?” The teachings of the Academy had claimed that there had been worries that Cybertron was overextending itself, so the ravaging forces had returned to protect the planet more closely. Considering what he knew now though, it seemed… unlikely.

“There was a reckoning, after millenia of conquest, after the Cybertronian flag had been raised on a thousand worlds. It had not brought the peace we wanted and the warframes were tired of the constant bloodshed and battle. We refused to fight on, returning home instead.” His expression shifted again, something close to grief clouding his optics. “We were away too long. By the time we returned, Cybertron was a very different place… and our own place in the world had been irrevocably changed.”

“The Senate just let all the warframes go home? I can’t imagine they would’ve been happy with that.”

Megatron was quiet for a time, seemingly gathering his strength before he continued. “You are unfortunately correct. Our factories and mills had been silent for centuries, our farms and mines had long since run dry. We could no longer support ourselves, and the Senate used that to control us. To force the warframes to keep fighting, to bring in more bounties from other worlds in return for all that we needed to live on.”

Optimus felt his spark drop in his chest.

“They starved you out.” His words came out as little more than a whisper, strangled by his horror.

Megatron closed his optics briefly, inclining his helm in an affirmative. “They did. It became a vicious cycle - the longer we were away fighting for resources to survive, the less time we had to rebuild our decimated economy and try to restart production again. Even when the warframes were finally allowed to come home for good, we were not able to work back up to sustaining ourselves - the Senate provided the warframes with precisely what we needed to survive and no more, making us utterly dependent on their aid. Of course, we were furious. But it was too late.”

Optimus pressed a servo to his intake, sickened. Sure, he’d already known that the Senate had committed all manner of crimes, but this-! It was so callous, a perfectly cold solution to the Senate’s need for a powerful military force, indifferent to the suffering caused. “That’s awful.”

“It was. Once we were just mechs, but we became soldiers because we needed to. And then afterward we weren’t able - weren’t allowed - to go back.”

They sat in silence for a time after that. Optimus stared at the table, watching his servos shake minutely. An entire people’s autonomy stripped away from them in the name of greed.

What could he even say? ‘Sorry’ wasn’t going to cut it. But maybe… maybe it was worth saying anyway. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t right of them.”

This time, Megatron did not try to tell him not to apologise, even though he’d half expected it. Instead the great warlord dipped his helm slightly, acknowledging the apology as the peace offering - and condolence - that it was. “No, it wasn’t. But we survived.”

“Yeah. I… Thank you for telling me.” 

Megatron shifted in his seat and sighed, then met Optimus’ gaze and smiled softly. “Thank you for listening. I cannot imagine this is easy for you, either.”

“Mm. I always wanted to be a soldier, ever since I learned about it in the newbuild programs. I can’t imagine being forced into it.” What the warframes had faced… it was such a different world than what he’d been created into. 

“No, I suppose you can’t. It is a difficult thing to understand. Though now you mention it, I must wonder as to what your other options actually were… considering how restrictive Autobot society can be.”

“Well, I liked the idea of rescue work, but there weren’t a lot of openings. I could’ve gone into hauling, or there was construction… None of it was all that interesting to me.” When he’d rolled off the assembly line he and all the other newbuilds had sat through various lectures about the jobs available to them, gaining a basic education before picking what field they wanted to go into. There had been several options he could’ve picked for helping people, and Optimus had found the military the most appealing out of them. Now? He wasn’t exactly sure if he’d choose Autoboot camp given the option again, even though he knew how talented he was in battle. It certainly hadn’t been how the newbuild programs had presented it.

Across from him Megatron leaned forward, frowning slightly. “What about jobs that do not include manual labour? Academia, business, art - even simple datawork. Were you given that choice?”

“Uhh… There were apprenticeships available, though they were mostly for those that wanted to become craftsmechs. I think there was also some kind of internship scheme? Can’t say I’ve really thought about it since.” His training had taken precedence in his processor over those first few weeks of functioning, clumsy and confused in his shiny new chassis as he learned about the world around him.

“I see.” Megatron’s tone was heavy - clearly something about that statement had been significant to him, though Optimus was unsure what had upset him this time. “So you chose to enter Autoboot camp, and then continue on to the Academy.”

“That’s right. I did well enough on the entrance exams to qualify for a scholarship program so I didn’t have to work a job or save up shanix to pay for my board, which was good.” He couldn’t help but smile slightly at the memory of getting back his results and seeing that he’d hit the grades he needed to get in - Elita and Sentinel had dragged him out to party afterward and he’d enjoyed himself whole-sparkedly, coasting through the evening on a wave of elation.

“Hm. Well, perhaps you can tell me a little more about the Academy another time. I confess to being… interested in how the Autobots manage the education of their newbuilds.” Again, he seemed more than a little bothered about something, but Optimus still couldn’t figure out why. It didn’t seem to be connected to his grief over the warframes…

“As long as you don’t ask me anything classified, sure.” Optimus did his best to insert a teasing edge into his voice, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

Megatron chuckled, seeming in slightly better spirits than before. “I’ll do my best not to. Now, as for your reading…”

Ambling back through the winding corridors on the way to his room, Optimus was glad that Cyclonus was there to guide him, else he feared he’d have walked into a wall or Decepticon by accident. His processor was just stuffed to bursting with his thoughts after their meeting, and Optimus wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it back to his room on his own.

The pain that the warframes had been through at the servos of the Senate… Optimus shuddered at the thought. How long had they had to endure like that? All the way up until the great war? Suddenly, their desire to rebel didn’t seem so meaningless as he’d been taught. His lessons on the matter had made it clear that the Decepticons had attempted a military coup in order to restart the expansionist era, but already it was clear to him that it couldn’t be the truth. And he had a terrible feeling that things had only gotten worse after the age of expansion ended.

Stumbling into his room with a mutter of thanks to Cyclonus, Optimus couldn’t bring himself to sit down and relax. Instead he paced back and forth in front of the berth, working through his whirling thoughts in an attempt to reinstate some kind of order. Gradually he was able to sort out his emotions and the many contradictions with his education that were bothering him, deciding on what texts he wanted to start working on first.

It was only after spending a good few cycles ruminating over their meeting that Optimus realised something else. When he’d suggested that Megatron could just give him information instead of actually going through and explaining such painful events, the mech had abruptly yelled at him, anger flaring up and then vanishing just as quickly. He could guess at why Megatron had reacted like that, but that wasn’t what had stuck in his processor about that interaction. No, it was the way Optimus had reacted that was strange.

If Megatron had snapped at him like that a few weeks ago, he would’ve been terrified and then furious. But instead he’d just been worried that he’d inadvertently upset the mech by saying something insensitive - and not even because he was scared Megatron might retaliate! Because he wasn’t!

I’m not afraid of him.  

Optimus had been afraid of Megatron for as long as he could remember. From the horror stories told to the newbuilds in the learning programs, to the rumours spread by the cadets in Autoboot camp, to the lessons about his crimes and brutality in the Academy, to his actual experiences of the mech on Earth - all he had ever heard and seen had terrified him. Especially during his time on Earth. 

And yet at some point since he was captured, without even noticing, that lifelong fear had vanished. He should probably be worried about that - clearly Megatron's persuasive charms were working on him. But… it was clear now that Megatron wasn’t the monster he’d spent his life fearing. So…

Optimus had a feeling it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Chapter Text

The crystals in the little garden sparkled under the afternoon suns, sending reflected shards of light scattering across Optimus’ chassis with every step he took. All around him the grove glittered brightly, multicoloured crystals enclosing him on all sides as he wandered along the path. The overall effect was stunning, a rainbow of light setting the garden aglow. Optimus wasn’t even trying to suppress the smile spreading across his faceplates at the sight, exulting in the experience as he turned in a slow circle on the path. 

In doing so he caught sight of Megatron, who was watching him from a little distance away with his arms crossed and a slight smirk. He was waiting patiently under a small crystal overhang, plating dappled by the suns shining through the translucent growths. Optimus would’ve felt bad for keeping Megatron waiting if the mech wasn’t clearly unbothered by his dawdling, so he continued his leisurely pace. Ahead of him, crystals twined up around a rock formation before forming a stately arch high above the path, separating the spangled beds on either side. He pressed a servo to the structure, running his digits along the jewelled panes and finding the surface to be incredibly smooth.

The crunch of heavy pedes on the path alerted him to Megatron’s presence, as the mech left his shaded alcove in favour of catching up with Optimus.

“How do you even make a crystal do this? I thought they were supposed to be difficult to cultivate.” Optimus asked over his shoulder, still tracing the delicate curving shapes in the crystal. Although at first glance it was a delicate shade of purple, upon examining it a little more carefully he could see captivating darker hues and swirls of colour deep within the translucent structure.

Stepping around him, Megatron moved to admire the arch as well. “I can’t say I know much about gardening, but I believe the answer is a great deal of patience and care.”

“Makes sense.” Finally pulling himself away from the arch, Optimus turned to face Megatron and ask the question that had been on his processor since they first arrived in the garden. “Much as I like this, I’ve got to admit I'm a little confused as to why we're here. Wouldn’t the library be more appropriate?”

Still examining the crystal arch, Megatron hummed quietly in consideration. “Perhaps, but considering how much you enjoyed the observation deck I thought you might appreciate another change of scenery.”

To be perfectly honest, Optimus wasn’t all that surprised Megatron had noticed how much fun he’d had on the observation deck. Still, he hadn’t really expected the mech to be so thoughtful as to bring him to the garden because of it. “Well, you weren’t wrong. I did want to get a proper look at this place.”

They walked quietly down the path for a little longer, enjoying the experience of the garden. Optimus couldn’t help but slow to a stop in front of an impressive spray of white and blue crystal blooms, crouching down and carefully capturing a few petals between his digits. 

The crystal ‘flowers’ weren’t exactly like organic flowers, since they had no scent and were cultivated for aesthetics rather than being an integral part of the structure. That didn’t make them any less beautiful, though. He tilted the blossom in his servo, watching as light collected within the flower and shone out through its delicate petals. Close up he could see that the flower was extraordinarily detailed, complete with tiny creases and subtle patterns in the petals, like the glass sculptures he'd seen in a shop on Earth once. This whole garden was just so elaborate… “When was this built? I can’t imagine it was considered integral to the initial construction of the citadel.”

“While this garden wasn’t planted during the creation of our citadel, the space was left open specifically for what you see today.” Megatron paused briefly, leaning in next to him to examine the floral display. “Besides, is art not essential to life?” 

“Heh. I guess so.” Optimus ran a digit over the petal, following the teardrop shape. Reluctantly he released the flower and straightened up, tracing the whorls and shoots with his optics as he examined the entire structure. It towered above him, forcing him to step away and tilt his helm all the way back in order to take it in properly. “I think I just didn’t expect that the plans had taken this garden into account from the start.”

“Why does that surprise you? I wouldn’t say it’s overly outlandish to plan for a space like this.” Megatron sounded genuinely confused, gaze fixed squarely on Optimus rather than the garden around them.

Why did it surprise him? Megatron was right, it wasn’t exactly a shocking inclusion. Then again, if somemech had suggested including a garden in a similar building back on Cybertron he’d have been stunned that they thought of it in the first place. “I mean… there’s art on Cybertron, but it’s not exactly… encouraged. A lot of mechs just think it’s sort of pointless.”

“And you?” His ruby optics were piercing, curiosity having sharpened into something much more searching.

“I used to. Why waste your time creating something of nebulous value and worth when you could be busy working to make life better for others?” Optimus turned his helm back to the flowers, watching as the crystals shivered and sparkled in the light. “Now, though… Well, I think I understand the appeal a little better.” He paused for a moment, then snorted quietly to himself. “Though I wouldn’t say I’m the most artistically minded of mechs.”

Megatron chuckled. “By Decepticon standards, one could disagree with that. In fact, I believe I do as well.”

Optimus immediately whipped back round in order to stare at him incredulously. “… How?”

“I’ve seen you fight; you make combat an artform in itself.” With an exaggerated flourish, Megatron fanned his servo out and began dramatically counting on his digits. “Training yourself to move in such an elegant and efficient way, pushing your body to its very limits in the pursuit of perfection, fluidly stringing moves together in an instant with no room for error - I’d say those could constitute art…” A smirk spread across his faceplates, both smug and triumphant. “Or would you say that a dancer is not an artist either?”

“That's not-!” Optimus yelped, utterly caught off guard. Trust a Decepticon to make a point like that! Composing himself, he shook his helm ruefully, although he couldn’t stop a grin creeping across his faceplates at how theatrical Megatron was being. He skipped back a few steps and set his servos on his hips, trying to project mock anger into his voice. “Okay, then I don’t have much of an artistic leaning by Autobot standards, you pedant. Happy?”

“Me, pedantic?” Megatron pressed his servo to his chassis, a look of faux innocence plastered across his faceplates. “I’m merely trying to say that art comes in many forms.”

“Suuuuure.” Optimus drawled, rocking back and forth on his pedes and affixing Megatron with an unconvinced look. Though, he was actually curious about one thing. Dropping the act, he crossed his arms and watched Megatron curiously. “What is your opinion on it, then? Do you think it’s pointless?”

Megatron tilted his helm, giving Optimus a vaguely perplexed look. “Considering the fact that I write from time to time, it would be rather hypocritical to claim that I dislike art.”

“You write?” He knew Megatron had a taste for literature already, but writing? Wait a click, didn’t he- “You were the one that wrote Towards Peace !” Of course, how had he forgotten? While the erstwhile general of the warframes Megazarak had started the Decepticons, the sub-commander Megatron had actually written their manifesto before eventually executing a coup against Megazarak and starting the great war.

Megatron looked - a little disappointed actually, like he hadn’t expected Optimus to go straight to his most famous work. “I was, but that’s not what I’m referring to. I generally prefer to compose poetry, although I must say that I haven’t managed to write much recently due to how busy things have been.” 

“Really?!” Okay, that definitely hadn’t been what Optimus was expecting to hear. Towards Peace had been an openly political work, an act of defiance against the Autobot government - it was the kind of thing he'd expect from a revolutionary like Megatron. Poetry was nothing like what he'd imagined… Though to be fair, he already knew that the monstrous image of Megatron he'd been taught was hardly accurate.

“Oh, yes. I'm not that surprised they wouldn't tell their mechs about that particular fact - I can’t imagine the Autobots would want to represent me as any less fearsome and cruel. Even though there’s nothing wrong with creating art.” Faceplates set in a light scowl, Megatron practically growled the last sentence, clearly frustrated.

Again, Optimus was filled with the urge to lighten the Decepticon’s mood. “Mm. Hey, at least they’re preserving your reputation, right?”

Although his efforts didn’t seem to be entirely successful, Megatron’s faceplates did clear somewhat, calming from his initial annoyance. “I suppose so. Still…”

He sighed quietly, shoulders falling slightly as he started down the path again, gaze fixed resolutely ahead. “I’m well aware of my reputation, and equally aware that not all of it is unwarranted. And yet, knowing that my life - my personality - is reduced to a mere empty puppet to scare newbuilds with, devoid of all qualities that make a sentient being… Perhaps it shouldn't matter, but in truth it does bother me.”

Optimus turned to follow, chewing over Megatron’s words. “I mean… that seems like a pretty reasonable reaction.” The Megatron he’d been taught about certainly hadn’t been represented as a real, living mech. He’d just been the enemy.

“Yes. But even more so… They tried to deny us our personhood before, you know. It stings to know that they’ve done the same to my memory. Even if it isn’t all that surprising.” His words were undeniably bitter, tainted by ancient hurt.

Optimus stared at his pedes as he walked, remembering the weight of Megatron’s grief… and all the questions he still had about what was done to the warframes. The mech kept hinting at even more terrible things, and he needed to know, so… He felt a little insensitive asking now, but hopefully Megatron wasn’t too upset. “Right, about that: I still have some questions from the other day, would you mind…?”

Megatron slowed, glancing over at Optimus. His expression smoothed out again, and he nodded decisively. “Of course not. Ah, but shall we sit down first?”

Optimus blinked, turning away from Megatron to see that they’d wandered into a little clearing at some point during their talk. Close to his pedes a small mineral-rich stream burbled along a rocky course, and across a little field he could make out a table and set of chairs that he vaguely recognised from last time. “Oh! Yeah, sure.”

One quick stroll across the clearing later, and the pair settled into the garden chairs, Optimus scooping up the waiting cube of energon and drinking eagerly. Across from him Megatron sipped from his own cube, utterly relaxed. “So, what can I help you with?”

“Clarifying a few things, mostly. You said that the warframes weren’t able to rebuild their economy even after the expansionist era ended, as the Senate didn’t give them enough materials for it. But I was taught that the warframe cities used to export ore from mining, as well as products from their factories right up until the great war. Is that true?”

“During peacetime, yes. After all, the Senate couldn’t have such powerful mechs sitting around idle when they could be put to work doing the most dangerous and back-breaking of jobs.” The sarcasm in his voice was thick, although it was underlaid with cold anger. “Our mines and factories did reopen, so we could do the hard work for the rest of the planet. If we did not produce enough, the Senate would restrict the amount of energon they provided in return - and despite the fact that production had recommenced, our energon farms were the one thing we were unable to restart as we lacked the resources.”

Allspark, as if what the Senate had already done hadn’t been enough. “So it wasn’t just forced combat but forced labour, as well. That’s… exactly what I’d expect from the Senate, to be perfectly honest.” 

“And you believe the current rulers of Cybertron - the Council and the Magnus - are much improved?” Megatron was watching him carefully, his optics keen.

His automatic reaction was to angrily deny Megatron’s accusation, but Optimus bit down on the words. He didn’t want to just yell at Megatron - they were having a civil conversation, after all. This was something he ought to handle with care, and give a properly thought-out answer for. “I don't think they're perfect, but at least they're better than the unchecked corruption and greed of the Senate. All of their work is actually for the good of the Autobot people - pit, they're not even paid much more than the average officer!”

“Hm. Well, I cannot pretend that my own opinions are nearly as favourable, though I do agree that the Council is at least better than the Senate.” Megatron sighed and shook his helm lightly, before refocusing on Optimus. “But let's not get distracted from what we're actually talking about. Do you have any other questions?”

Huh, it looked like Megatron didn’t want to argue either. Well, might as well move on. “There was another thing I was kind of curious about, though it’s just something that struck me as a little odd. When you were talking about the warframes you keep referring to them as ‘we’, even though you weren’t alive then and didn’t experience any of it. Is there a reason for that?” There was probably nothing strange about it, it had just been a little confusing at the time.

Megatron blinked at him, clearly surprised. “I believe that comes down to another cultural difference, though this time it is to do with how we teach our history to our newbuilds. Rather than the programs and classes of the Autobots, warframe newbuilds would be taken under the wing of an older and more experienced warframe who would then mentor them in combat and warfare, as well as our history.”

A mentor-based education system? That was… really interesting, actually - especially compared to the large, impersonal classes of his youth. Though he could immediately identify some potential problems with the concept. “So you mostly have an oral history then? Wouldn’t it be easy for things to get lost in translation?”

“It is certainly a concern of mine, but considering the fact that we still have accounts of the very first warframes being passed down, I would say it is not much of an issue. In a sense we are one continuous people, from then until now.”

Despite the obvious problems with such a system, Optimus couldn’t deny that it was an appealing sort of concept. Passing information, skills and more along to the new generations, as well as providing them with additional one-on-one support - he was almost jealous. Although, now he thought about it… “Wait a click. Am I the newbuild in this scenario?”

Megatron actually winced, looking vaguely sheepish. “Well…”

“Seriously? I can't believe this!” Optimus might be a fairly young mech compared to Megatron, but he was still a grown adult. The suggestion that he needed to be coddled like a newbuild was just insulting.

“I promise you, I don't mean it as a slight on your skills or intelligence - it is just for the gaps in your knowledge that need filling.” Megatron raised his servos placatingly, clearly hoping to assuage Optimus’ sudden anger. 

“Ugh, you had better not.” Considering how Megatron had acted so far, he doubted this was actually malicious. Even if it was annoying to think about. 

“You’ve demonstrated your intelligence and maturity plenty; I would never dare insinuate you were any less a mech than myself. I’m merely assuming the role of mentor with regards to teaching you Decepticon history.” His tone was serious, likely hoping to convince Optimus of his sincerity.

Okay, maybe it made sense. In fact if it was the system Megatron was used to, his choice to treat their ‘lessons’ like this was completely understandable. And Megatron had been repeatedly respectful towards him and his intelligence - if anything, taking the time to teach him like this was just proof of how highly Megatron viewed him. Not to mention how much he enjoyed their sessions… “Fine, then. In which case, shouldn’t you get back to teaching?”

“Of course.” Megatron looked more than a little relieved that Optimus had accepted his explanation, and eagerly moved the subject along.

Optimus stared at his room. When Megatron’s work had inevitably forced him to take his leave, the mech had encouraged Optimus to continue enjoying the garden for a little while longer, a suggestion that Optimus had leapt at. He’d stayed in the garden for several cycles more, before finally returning to his quarters - only to find them changed in his absence. The empty space in front of his berth was now occupied by a Decepticon-sized table and chair piled high with cushions. However, his optics were immediately drawn to a small vase sitting atop the table, and the spray of blue and white blossoms poking out of it.

Gently, he gripped one of the delicate flowers, watching as the bloom shifted between his digits. It was very pretty. Optimus stared at it for a time, before a single thought managed to register in his processor.

“Did he have a table put in here just so there’d be somewhere for the flowers?!”

Chapter Text

Something was up. Optimus had been sleepily sipping at his morning cube of energon from his new chair when Cyclonus knocked and instructed him to get ready to leave - many cycles earlier than usual. He’d asked about what was going on, but Cyclonus didn’t seem to know either. All the mech has said was ‘Lord Megatron required his attendance immediately’, which was slightly ominous but didn’t explain much of anything. So Optimus didn’t get much time to enjoy his new furniture, gulping down his energon as he was ushered out of the door.

It quickly became apparent that they weren’t heading to any of their usual spots. In fact, they were climbing higher and higher up the citadel with every passing minute, and Optimus was beginning to get a little worried. Sure he didn’t exactly know the place that well, but he was feeling even more lost than usual - especially since Cyclonus was hustling him along even faster than usual. However, when they finally drew to a halt and a sleek door opened before him, Optimus realised that he did know where they were. Before him lay the command centre Megatron had taken him on the first day, though now it hummed with activity as Decepticon officers hurried from desk to desk. 

And in the very centre of the madness Megatron lounged on his throne, the Magnus Hammer resting casually in his lap like it belonged to him. “Ah, there you are. Apologies for the urgent summons, but some things have changed quite suddenly.”

‘Some things’? Ominous, and Megatron wasn’t helping with that. If anything, the mech seemed weirdly preoccupied. Very strange. That didn’t stop him from glaring at the mech on principle, though. The Magnus Hammer, the symbol of his people and his leader, in the servos of their greatest enemy - it angered him on every level of his being, and he longed to wrest it from the Decepticon Emperor’s servos.

“Don’t look so upset - you should be overjoyed. Your Council has finally agreed to a call to negotiate for the return of this lovely weapon and yourself.”

Optimus’ spark leapt into his intake at those words - the Council had opened negotiations? Before, the hope of rescue had been a fleeting one, but now…! Still, a little voice in the back of his processor told him to control his excitement - after all, the negotiations could easily fail. With some effort he tamped down on his eagerness enough to actually walk into the room rather than continuing to awkwardly stand in the doorway.

“So… judging by how intent Cyclonus was on getting me here, I guess the Council contacted you pretty recently?” It was probably also why most of the Decepticons in the room were running around like they were on fire, frantically working away. He could even see Soundwave over to his left, cabled in to about 5 different desks at once as he coordinated things.

“Yes, only about a cycle ago. It was certainly something of a surprise that they wanted to suddenly open negotiations, considering how they hadn’t contacted us at all so far.” Megatron looked more than a little tired, and Optimus got the feeling that he too had been forced to get up earlier than usual for this.

“They haven't? Busy cleaning up the mess you left, probably.”

“Perhaps. Now, I'm sure I don't need to tell you how important it is that this goes well. I'd appreciate it if you let me negotiate without interrupting overly, though I understand that you will want to speak with your people some.”

Optimus rolled his optics sarcastically - he was hardly going to interrupt such important negotiations - though considering his excitement he was willing to let the jab slide. “I can behave myself.”

“Good, good. Remember, the sooner the negotiations succeed, the sooner you will be back on Cybertron.” With that, Megatron turned to speak to Soundwave, discussing the details of the call while Cyclonus guided Optimus to stand beside the throne. 

He wasn't overly surprised when his servos abruptly magnetised to one another - letting a prisoner appear unrestrained while discussing said prisoner's release wasn't exactly the done thing. And from there he…. waited. 

He shifted awkwardly from ped to ped, trying to decide what to do with himself. Eventually he found himself watching Megatron out of the corner of his optic, the Emperor hard at work coordinating his officers. Apparently organising such a call was a bit more complicated than Optimus had assumed, and aside from Cyclonus' silent presence a few steps away none of the other mechs were paying him a lick of attention. Megatron was gesturing to a Decepticon he didn't recognise, rapidly issuing orders. His voice carried such an air of authority, every mech in the room hurrying to obey his commands, and Optimus couldn't help but compare it to the way Megatron usually talked to him. Obviously he was usually calmer than this, but at the same time the mech had never really tried to order him around - perhaps because he knew Optimus wouldn't listen, or perhaps because of his strange honour system. Either way, it meant that Optimus found himself unused to this side of Megatron, despite how long he'd spent fighting the mech.

At last the technicians settled at the back of the room, and officers such as Soundwave took up positions at the desks around the throne. Cyclonus moved to stand directly behind him (likely to give the impression of looming) and reached round to hold his servos- 

Megatron hissed like an angry cat, and Cyclonus drew his servo back sharpish. Optimus stared at him, shocked. That had certainly been an overreaction, why did he… oh. He'd asked Megatron to stop pushing him around, hadn't he? And none of the other Cons had touched him since…

Optimus glanced over his shoulder, catching Cyclonus’ gaze. “It's fine. Just be, uh, gentle.”

Very very carefully, Cyclonus took hold of his servos, making certain to touch the cuff and not his actual plating. It made for a bit of an awkward position, but Megatron seemed to have calmed down, and Optimus found he actually did prefer it like that rather than just having any part of him grabbed. Though, Megatron was still looking at him strangely…

Before Optimus could figure out what to say to the mech, Soundwave interjected as a large screen rolled down in front of them. “Autobot frequency: Located. Patching in. 3, 2, 1…”

The screen crackled, static blaring through the speakers for a moment before settling into a steady picture. Arrayed before them was the Autobot Council: Alpha Trion, Botanica, Perceptor and Cliffjumper, with several other mechs - likely from the Intelligence Division or the Elite Guard - covering the edges of the room. And at the very front-

“Ultra Magnus sir!” 

Optimus couldn't help it - the sight of his leader, not just awake from his coma but clearly healed from his life-threatening injuries - was enough for him to throw Megatron's warning to the wind. If it weren't for the stasis cuffs restraining him he would have saluted; as it was, he settled for standing to attention and bowing his helm deferentially, relief coursing through him.

“At ease, soldier.” Ultra Magnus’ expression was serious and calm as always, though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the thin weld lines criss-crossing his faceplates. “… Megatron.” While his tone remained civil, the slight narrowing of his optics betrayed his underlying distaste.

“Magnus. I see you have recovered well. Is that why we had to wait so long to open negotiations?” On the surface Megatron’s voice was equally calm, but it carried a suggestion of menace, jagged rocks concealed beneath serene water.

“Internal matters on Cybertron demanded my attention - especially considering the uproar you deigned to manufacture. But that is not what we are here to discuss.” Now his tone turned openly disapproving, filled with the stirrings of irritation.

Megatron appeared unruffled, continuing as if Ultra Magnus hadn’t spoken. “Now, Magnus, I find myself in possession of two valuable things of yours. How very… careless of you.” His voice lowered to a caressing murmur, heavy with sarcasm.

Optimus wasn’t really sure whether that was supposed to be a compliment or not - Megatron seemed adept at commending him in one vent and insulting him in the next. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if Megatron had meant it as either.

Ultra Magnus proceeded to ignore the jab, soldiering on regardless. “We will start with the Hammer. What are your demands?”

“Well now. The Magnus Hammer, a divinely created tool wielded by the rightful leader of the Autobots in their name… ah, but it's just a weapon. A powerful weapon, but no more so than my cannon.” He pointedly traced the Hammer’s engravings with one digit, and Optimus couldn’t help but remember how they’d felt under his own servos. He’d spent cycles examining every inch of the weapon on the journey back to Cybertron, poring over the intricate designs in an effort to distract himself from the gaping hole in the team.

“Let’s not speak in riddles. Your point is?” Ultra Magnus was definitely irritated now, probably due to the way Megatron was pawing at the Hammer.

Megatron just smiled lazily, clearly of the opinion that he had the advantage here.

“If I merely had your weapon of choice to trade, I would think little of it. But I believe we both know the real value of the Hammer, and the real power you wield with it. It is a symbol, not a weapon. A very potent symbol.”

Ultra Magnus’ optics narrowed to blue slits, suspicion colouring his voice. “And therefore you believe it to be worth a lot.”

Megatron’s smile turned sly. “Are you going to try to tell me it isn’t?”

Silence. Ultra Magnus was subtly grinding his dentae together.

“That’s what I thought. Now my demands, as you put it. To begin with, you will release any and all captive Decepticons and provide them with safe passage back to Decepticon space. Secondly, you will move your troops out of the Centurus sector and allow my soldiers to regain our outposts there. The same goes for the adjoining sectors, of course. Finally, you’ll withdraw your bid from the Galactic Council to mine the asteroid clusters of the Northern belt.”

Optimus couldn’t help the light hiss that escaped him - that was a lot to ask for one weapon, symbol or not! Apparently, Ultra Magnus agreed, judging by his frown. “You ask for a great deal. We must discuss this.”

“Naturally.” Megatron drawled, not looking particularly bothered by the Magnus’ clear hesitance.

Ultra Magnus nodded tersely, before turning to the members of the Council. A small symbol popped up on the screen, indicating that the Autobot end of the call was now muted as the Magnus and Council began to deliberate. Optimus couldn’t tear his optics away from them, spark aching with a powerful urge to join them, to be part of his fellow Autobots again. Even though the mechs were clearly arguing over Megatron's demands, he would have given anything to be in that room instead of at the Decepticon's mercy… especially since Megatron's demands for him were the next item on the list for them to argue over. And while Optimus knew he should have been hoping for the Autobots to get the best possible deal, instead he found himself fervently wishing they would just agree already so that he could go home… see his family again…

“How are you?” Megatron asked him suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie.

Optimus blinked in surprise at the non-sequitur before whipping round to stare at Megatron incredulously. Why was Megatron engaging in random small talk now of all times? Even if the Council was busy they'd still hear it!

Evidently his confusion must have shown on his faceplates, because Megatron just chuckled and gestured to the screen. “We’re muted as well.”

Sure enough, the muted symbol was displayed over their side of the broadcast. Frag, he really was distracted. “Oh, right.”

“As for why I asked: knowing Magnus and the Council, this may take quite a while. Do say if you need anything.”

“Sure.” More standing around and waiting, then. He continued to stare at the arguing Autobots, unsettled. “… Think they’ll agree?”

Megatron snorted. “Eventually. I dare say they will attempt to whittle down the requirements, though that’s hardly unexpected.” He paused, and let out a weary groan. “While it’d be ideal if they accepted my original offer, it’s hardly realistic. I requested too much on purpose - they were going to drive down the price regardless. This way, at least we’ll get what the Hammer is worth.”

“Smart, I suppose. Though I guess that means I’m going to have to sit through the same process when it comes to me?” Allspark, he wasn’t looking forward to that. Standing there for cycles as he watched his leaders argue about how much they had to exchange for him…

“Afraid so. Perhaps even longer; I do intend to… get my money’s worth so to speak, no matter how long it takes. And considering your exploits I would say you’re worth a great deal indeed.” He smirked, intensely self-satisfied. It didn’t bother Optimus as much as it ought to.

But that was mostly because something else was bothering him more. “… Then you might be waiting a while. I’m not exactly liked by High Command.” It felt like a failure, admitting it to Megatron after everything the mech had said in his favour.

“Why do you think that?” His optics had turned piercing, scrutinising Optimus intently.

Why did he…? It was just sort of a feeling, really, since he’d returned to Cybertron… and before. Like High Command quietly disapproved of him. It was probably due to the Archa 7 incident, he knew, but… after all he’d done, he would’ve hoped that particular sin would be forgiven at last. Not so. Though perhaps it wasn’t his failure specifically that was the problem. For all his efforts… Optimus knew he was not a perfect Autobot. There was a simple reason for that.

Refocusing on Megatron, he gave a helpless little half shrug. “I'm not good at following orders.” And that was the truth. He’d disobeyed orders to go to Archa 7, and then later on Earth he’d definitively proven that he hadn’t learnt his lesson from that disaster.

Megatron blinked, long and slow, expression unreadable. “I see. Personally, I wouldn’t consider that much of a flaw.”

“You’re the leader of the Decepticons, wouldn’t you prefer your soldiers to actually do what you say?” As far as Optimus was concerned, that was a pretty important part of being in the military.

Megatron tilted his helm slightly in acknowledgement. “Generally, yes. But I know well that orders shouldn’t be followed blindly. You’re willing to ignore commands which you consider harmful or nonsensical, in order to protect your team and innocent civilians. I see no issue with that. If anything, it’s a point in your favour.” 

It wasn’t, really, but somehow he didn’t think Megatron was going to budge on the matter. Optimus was silent, turning back to look at the screen. He was aware of Megatron watching him for a few moments longer, but when he didn’t react or speak the mech’s scrutiny subsided and he went back to waiting as well. It seemed the argument on the other end was wrapping up, at least. Cliffjumper was gesticulating wildly as he spoke to Ultra Magnus, the other Council members watching quietly - save for Alpha Trion, who looked oddly upset.

“Have you come to a decision?”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm decisively. “You ask too much for us to reasonably agree with your demands.” Well, that explained why they’d been arguing for so long.

“Very well, I am willing to negotiate the terms. However: you will return all Decepticon prisoners to us. On that, I will not be swayed.” Optics flaring with barely-disguised anger, Megatron made for a fearsome sight.

Ultra Magnus didn’t seem intimidated though, expression unchanging. “Fine. As for the others, we cannot just withdraw our troops within any meaningful amount of time - the position is too entrenched.”

“… And your bid to the Galactic Council? The Hammer is worth more than a few released prisoners.”

“We’ll retract our mining bid and return the prisoners, in return for the Hammer. Is that acceptable?” Ultra Magnus didn’t look like he thought it was, even though he was the one offering.

“It is. Do so, and then we’ll return the Hammer.” Megatron wasn’t even trying to keep the edge of smug satisfaction from his voice.

“The exchange will take place in neutral space. We will require a few day’s time to fulfil your requests.” 

“Good.” Yes, Megatron was undoubtedly pleased with that little deal, despite his concession. The warlord sat forward in his throne, gesturing grandly to Optimus. Frag, it was finally time then. Optimus stood a little straighter, servos clenching as he fought down his unease at having so many judging optics on him. Just a little longer…

“Now, onto the next order of business: Cybertron’s hero, who you so foolishly allowed me to capture. I believe the exchange rate for Primes is fairly high-”

“No.” Ultra Magnus cut in, tone firm.

“... No?” Megatron asked, staring at the Magnus incredulously. Optimus was busy doing the same, why had he... 

When Ultra Magnus spoke, he was as serious as ever, tone unshakeable and brooking no argument. “You are mistaken. Optimus never graduated from the Autobot Academy or was officially named Prime - by Autobot law, he is an unranked soldier.”

Somemech made a horrible, choked noise. After a moment, Optimus realised it had been him. He felt like he’d been punched in the spark, pain flaring uncontrollably within him. Even though it was true, even though he knew he wasn’t a true Autobot Prime, having his failings be brought up like this was near unbearable. Especially in front of the High Command of both factions. He couldn’t find it in himself to speak, staring emptily at Ultra Magnus.

Thankfully, Megatron hadn’t been struck quite as dumb, though his words contained more than a hint of fury. “Driving a hard bargain, then. Fine, for the price of a normal Autobot soldier.” Optimus couldn’t quite tear his optics from the screen, but he could just make out the snarl twisting the features of the warlord’s faceplates regardless. 

Ultra Magnus was unmoved. “His rank is immaterial anyway - we cannot negotiate for his release at this time.”

“Sir?” Optimus whispered, hope evaporating in an instant.

“Why not?” Megatron growled, servos clenching the armrests of his throne.

Ultra Magnus sneered lightly. “Decepticon duplicity. You claim that you will return the Hammer after we comply with your demands, but you could easily withhold it and force us to give you more. Thus, we will not negotiate for Optimus until the first exchange is complete, and the Hammer has been successfully recovered.”

Megatron gaped at him, apparently caught between disbelief and indignation. “I see no point in-”

“That is our final decision. We will not discuss this any further.” Ultra Magnus’ faceplates were set in stone, mirrored by the stern expressions of the other Autobots.

For a long moment Megatron worked his intake, shocked into silence. At last he spoke from between gritted dentae, distaste evident in his tone. “… Fine. My communications officer will transfer the exact details of the agreement and the location for the trade.”

“We will contact you after the Hammer has been returned.” Ultra Magnus nodded once, and the call cut out. Optimus stared at the blank screen. Stripped of his rank, and now… How long was he going to have to wait like this? How long until he could go home?

“Optimus?” A deep, familiar voice, close to his audials and strangely concerned. With great effort, he turned to look at Megatron. The warlord was leaning over the armrest of his throne, studying him carefully, seemingly worried. There was something terrible in his optics too, a hard sort of anger, though Optimus could somehow tell that it wasn’t aimed at him. Still, after everything Optimus could hardly bear to be under that intense gaze for long. Redirecting his optics, he stared at his servos, trying to compose himself long enough to speak.

“… I’d like to go back to my room now.” His voice came out smaller than he’d intended, strangled by emotion.

A pause; the sound of heavy armour shifting; a quiet sigh. “Of course. But, Optimus-” Another pause, longer this time. Optimus gathered the strength to glance up for a moment, immediately locking optics with Megatron again. “Despite Ultra Magnus’ insinuations, we are going to return the Hammer to the Autobots peacefully, and then resume negotiations for your release. This, I swear to you.” He sounded oddly gentle, each word utterly sincere. Optimus… Optimus believed him. And it was a relief.

“Okay.” His voice had been reduced to a thready whisper, but Megatron must have heard because he nodded gravely before gesturing for Cyclonus to guide him back to his quarters. Optimus gratefully stumbled out of the room, and did not look back.

Chapter Text

The last few days had been challenging. Scrap that, they’d been an absolute disaster. And all of it had led up to this singularly awful moment. Megatron stared at the door to Optimus’ quarters, wishing he could be anywhere else.

After all, wouldn’t it be better if he walked away now? Wouldn’t it be kinder not to tell him?

And yet…

He remembered a servo outstretched, a voice both serious and genuine, a deal made in the depths of the citadel. I want you to tell me the truth. All of it, not just the convenient parts.

Damn it. Damn Autobot Command. Damn it all.

He had to do this. Steeling himself, Megatron knocked on the door, and prayed that this wouldn’t be the thing to destroy Optimus.

Megatron had been… apprehensive leading up to the meeting, there was no denying that. Unsure of how things were going to turn out. Disappointed that this had come so quickly, despite how he logically knew that negotiations should have begun far sooner. Still, assuring the negotiations succeeded was his duty, and not one he was prepared to shirk… even if it meant he wouldn’t be able to complete Optimus Prime’s education. He’d hoped… he’d hoped the mech would at least remember some of his teachings. Would remember that Decepticons were more than brutish monsters.

And then it had finally been time. The negotiations had been about as strenuous as he’d predicted, and Ultra Magnus had been exactly as intractable as he’d feared. At least the mech had ceded to most of his demands with minimal protestations. So really, it had mostly just been annoying, right up until they’d reached the point of negotiating for the Prime’s release. He’d broached the topic at last, and then things had immediately gone off track - the words had barely been out of his intake before Ultra Magnus opted to utterly derail the conversation. Stripping his subordinate of his rank, in front of his greatest enemy no less…

That had been bad enough in itself, so incredibly insulting toward both Megatron and the ex-Prime. But the noise Optimus had made… He’d looked absolutely ruined, like Ultra Magnus had just ripped his spark out.

Seeing that, Megatron had immediately discarded his plan to haggle as hard as possible over Optimus’ release, in favour of ending the interaction as fast as he could. Of course, that had ended up being depressingly easy as Magnus proceeded to refuse to trade for Optimus at all before abruptly ending the call. ‘Decepticon duplicity’ - as if the mech was trying to be as insulting as possible. And somehow, he’d found himself making another promise to his prisoner, in an attempt to soothe the shaken mech. He’d been compelled to by Optimus’ clear grief, even if Megatron logically knew that he was already fulfilling his role as host as best as he could. It seemed to have worked, at least. 

Optimus had been calmer the next day, though not in his usual spirits. Megatron had scrapped the teaching formula of their usual meetings in favour of a more relaxing atmosphere - a selection of fuel on the library table with the chairs pulled in close, a few datapads filled with some of his favourite pieces of fiction at the ready, just in case Optimus wanted something light to read. Judging by the mech’s pleasant surprise when he sat down, it had been the right move.

“Good morning. Did you recharge well?”

“As well as can be expected, I guess.” Optimus fiddled with his servos, staring at the table. He seemed to be working himself up to something. “… Any news on the exchange?”

Ah, of course. “The hammer has been dispatched to the agreed point with a cadre of my soldiers. They will ensure the exchange takes place and goes as smoothly as possible.” Ultra Magnus might have been suggesting the Decepticons would cheat, but Megatron was equally sceptical of the Autobots’ intentions.

“Right. Whenever that is.” He didn’t exactly sound mistrustful as much as he did unbelieving. Apparently, scepticism was catching. But leaving him in the dark simply wouldn’t do.

“As soon as the prisoners are returned to us.”

“Mm.” Optimus didn’t try to meet his gaze.

It was strange, seeing him this way. He was unusually withdrawn, his inner fire dampened unnaturally, and it just felt wrong to Megatron. Where was the feisty, intelligent mech he'd gotten to know these past weeks? Well, perhaps he could do something about that. “Prime, would you like to–”

“Don’t! Don’t… call me that. You heard him.” The sudden outburst caught him by surprise, though Megatron did not miss the way the smaller mech was trembling. He looked distraught, faceplate twisted like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or upset. 

Clearly he needed to tread carefully here. “I did hear Magnus. However, I am also of the opinion that if you were afforded the title before, then you are no less deserving of it now.” And no matter what Magnus thought, Megatron certainly felt he was deserving of the rank, especially considering Optimus’ feats and exploits. He had to remember to stifle his own anger whenever he thought of how callously Magnus had acted in that call - his fury wasn’t going to help the current situation. Still, no matter what he believed, he didn’t want to upset Optimus any further. “If that is what you truly wish, though…”

“It is.” Optimus replied, defiant despite his clear anguish. Still so strong, despite his pain… Megatron couldn’t help but admire his willpower, even though he wished the mech wasn’t suffering.

“Very well then. Optimus. Would you like to do some reading?” Would you like to take your processor off things, he didn’t ask. Optimus was clearly shaken, and Megatron had a suspicion that pushing too hard on the subject would simply make things worse. Optimus could be very stubborn sometimes, even if it was to his own detriment. 

“… Sure. What are we covering next?” Still unsettled, but not mistrustful.

“I think it best we leave education aside for today. Instead, I thought you might like to try some fiction from my collection.” Something light, easy and entertaining. He’d made certain to pick works with minimal connections to politics or history - starting an argument now really wouldn’t do.

“Alright.” Again, Optimus was so much more subdued than he was used to. It just felt… wrong. Wordlessly, he passed a few datapads over, electing to let the conversation die down. As much as he wanted to keep Optimus talking, it was probably best not to disturb him further. Silence fell, though Megatron could not find any comfort in it.

No, he could only ponder on his own strange reactions to recent events. As unfortunate as the situation was, Megatron was aware that he shouldn’t be so affected by things, nor by Optimus’ distress. This was simply how things went in war sometimes, especially when the Autobots were concerned. If anything, he should have been prepared for this outcome and ready to act accordingly. 

Nevertheless, he found himself filled with a formless sense of fury at the injustice - the insult - the pain…

Perhaps this was warranted, given the disgrace to his honoured captive, after all this time and effort spent on his defection. Though, he was prepared to admit that he had gotten perhaps a little too invested in Optimus since his capture. Especially after seeing the visceral anguish on the mech’s faceplates.

It certainly hadn’t ever been his intent - all he’d originally wanted was to turn the mech to the Decepticon side! To employ his brilliant processor and refined combat skills somewhere they’d actually be appreciated, while breathing life into his faction at the same time. But despite his best efforts, he continued to underestimate Optimus - or more accurately, Optimus kept breaking through every one of his expectations.

And Megatron found himself ever more intrigued, until interest slipped into something like care without him even noticing.

Now he was paying the price for that slip. Angrier than he ought to be, yet compelled to try to… soothe Optimus’ grief? To little avail, at that. It was jarring, to realise that he genuinely hoped things would get better for Optimus.

Unfortunately, there was little change in the next few days. The exchange was drawing nearer but had not yet taken place; Optimus remained closed off and clearly rattled. Each day their meetings took place as usual, and each day Megatron promised himself that he would take this last chance to teach Optimus a little more. And every day, he found himself trying to cheer up the mech instead, selecting the very best pieces of fiction from his library and never speaking more than a few sentences before settling down to read. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t sure what to say - all he could offer were words of reassurance that everything was in place for the trade, and they were little help.

So the days passed in awkward silence, filled with words unsaid. Until time ran out, that was.

His soldiers had finally reported that the exchange was complete, the Decepticon prisoners safe aboard their ship. Relieved, Megatron had ordered Soundwave to contact the Autobots again, and started waiting.

Radio silence.

Presumably, the Autobots wanted to actually get the Hammer back to Cybertron, so he had supposed it was reasonable for them to wait for that before negotiations restarted. They’d just have to be ready, then. So yes, he’d been hesitantly hopeful, right up until the following day, when he saw the broadcast.

He’d stared at it for a long time.

No matter how much he'd seen he couldn’t quite take the truth in. All around him his officers had been muttering and cursing, anger rising as the broadcast played on and on. Yet to him, the world had narrowed down to the single point of the screen, and his own horror. This was… somehow, he’d never expected anything like this to happen. In the end, he’d managed to force himself out of the increasingly raucous command centre, making his way to the library on autopilot. Once there, finally free to think in the peace of the library, he’d known what he needed to do… even if he really didn’t want to. Reluctantly, he’d downloaded the broadcast onto a datapad, and headed out to where he needed to go.

And now he stood, waiting for Optimus' door to open, quietly dreading the looming conversation. To the side, Cyclonus stood on guard, silent. With a quiet shnk the door slid open, revealing Optimus standing between the table and berth, watching him. His arms were firmly crossed, but Megatron could still make out the worry etched into his faceplates.

Right. “I apologise for the early visit, but I need to speak with you.”

Optimus shifted lightly on his pedes, nervous, before gesturing to the table. “Take a seat, then. I assume there's been some kind of news?” He settled into the chair opposite Megatron.

“Yes, there has.” Stiffly, Megatron sat in his indicated chair, apprehension making his joints lock up. Foolish, he shouldn't be affected like this. 

As he sat, he couldn't help but glance at the crystal flowers in their little vase, the same bunch Optimus had admired so in the garden. Watching Optimus explore the blooms so tenderly, a gentle smile on his faceplates as he examined them… well, Megatron had decided on the spot to have some put in his room, especially considering how empty his quarters were. It had been an impulsive decision, but not one he regretted.

With some difficulty, he tore his optics away from the flowers and refocused on Optimus, who was randomly tapping his digits against the table while he studied Megatron.

“Well?”

Just stick to the facts. “The exchange was completed successfully, and the Hammer has been returned to the Autobots.”

Optimus instantly jolted upright in his chair, but his worry did not dissipate. “And? You're clearly not happy about it, what happened?”

“We received an Autobot broadcast, and… perhaps it is best if you see for yourself.”

Optimus frowned, but took the proffered datapad and switched it on anyway. Megatron wanted to look away, to make his excuses and leave Optimus to it so he didn't have to see his reaction when… when…

But that would be cowardly, the easy way out. So he sat quietly and watched, despite his processor screaming at him to leave.

Light flared from the datapad's screen, and even though he couldn’t see it Megatron could remember the scene perfectly: Ultra Magnus, Hammer clenched tightly in his servo, standing to attention before the camera. The very image of Autobot power, despite his solemn expression.

“Autobots, it is with great sadness that I come before you today… I truly wish I did not have to make this announcement, but a terrible fate has befallen one of our own.” Optimus let out a little hitched gasp, before visibly steadying himself.

“As you all know, the treachery of the Decepticons resulted in the outrageous theft of the city of Kaon and the capture of Cybertron’s brightest hero. Ever since, the Elite Guard and the Council have been working tirelessly to restore the damages done to Cybertron.” Right about now Magnus would be closing his optics in faux remorse, like he was actually sorry about what he was about to do. Like he was sorry for ruining Optimus’ life.

“However… I am ashamed to say that despite the best efforts of the Intelligence Division, we have not been able to rescue Optimus Prime from the Decepticon’s clutches.” Another little punched-out gasp from across the table, presumably from the way Magnus casually mentioned the title he’d just as easily ripped away.

“Intelligence operatives have infiltrated the Decepticon capital and fortress in an attempt to liberate Optimus Prime. And while they were able to recover the Magnus Hammer, for Optimus Prime they were regrettably too late.”  Optimus’ digits were trembling as he gripped the datapad, expression twisted between disbelief and horror.

Ultra Magnus’ tone filled with even more false sorrow (and a not insignificant amount of very real disgust), faceplates undoubtedly set in a mockery of grief as he continued to damn his own soldier. “Megatron was eager to take his revenge on the brave Autobot who captured him, even though said Autobot was a helpless captive. And after weeks of unimaginable torture, Optimus Prime tragically succumbed to his injuries and rejoined the Allspark before Autobot operatives could reach him.”

A sudden crash heralded the datapad connecting with the table, having fallen from shaking servos. Optimus was staring down at it, utterly horrified, intake moving helplessly though no words came out. Rage flared within Megatron once again - as if Magnus’ bigotry wasn’t bad enough, the effect of the mech’s lies was staring him right in the faceplate as Optimus stared brokenly at the datapad, clasping one servo over his intake. Still, he had to stay in control of himself. And the broadcast wasn’t even over yet.

“This is a time of mourning for all Autobots. The Decepticons, in their endless cruelty, have snuffed out one of the brightest Autobot sparks in generations.” Here, Magnus would be pausing, shaking his helm solemnly. “But we must never give up hope. I do not believe Optimus Prime would want us to.”

A quiet noise, barely heard, leaked out from around Optimus’ digits. A strangled sob.

“I stand before you today as your Magnus, and I ask that all of you continue to give your all for the Autobot Commonwealth. I ask that Autobots everywhere strive to do their very best in every aspect of their work, in order to strengthen Cybertron such that one day we will be able to bring the Decepticons to justice for this abhorrent crime. Is it not our duty - no, our right - to protect innocent lives from the savagery of the Decepticons?” Megatron knew that Magnus was gesturing to the viewer now, imploring them to join him in his crusade. But he could not tear his optics away from Optimus.

“No matter our jobs, no matter our posts in society, we are all part of the Great Autobot Machine, and together we will work to rid the universe of the Decepticon threat, now and forever.” And the recording stopped.

Megatron could hardly suppress his relief that it was finally over. But the damage had already been done. Optimus had doubled over, trembling servos pressed to the table top on either side of the datapad, helm bowed. The brim of his helm obscured his optics, and Megatron was shamefully grateful for that. He didn’t want to see… No, this was his duty.

“Optimus?” He asked cautiously, dreading the answer.

Trembling servos curled into fists. “Get. Out.” His voice was rough with barely controlled emotion.

Megatron froze. He wanted to…to offer reassurance, try to mend this grievous injury, but he knew just as instinctively that it would not help here. Instead, he simply inclined his helm and stood. “Of course.” Quietly, he began to leave, though he found himself hesitating at the door, strangely desperate to stay. Half-turning, he was met with the sight of Optimus again.

His prisoner, his odd companion, sat with his helm in his servos as his chassis shook uncontrollably. No noise leaked out now, perhaps because he did not want to break down utterly in front of his captor.

Megatron stared at him helplessly. He had to say something, surely. “If you need anything-”

Optimus shot out of his seat, arm snapping round and sending the datapad hurtling toward Megatron. He barely managed to dodge out of the way, the unfortunate datapad shattering against the wall metres from his helm.

Now he could see Optimus’ expression, could see the way his faceplates were caught between grief and fury, the way his optics were sparking, a clear sign of extreme emotion. “GET OUT!” His ragged scream chased Megatron out of the room, though it petered out into great heaving sobs moments before the door shut behind him.

Standing in the corridor, Megatron let his helm fall forward into his servo. That couldn’t have gone much worse, surely. With a sigh, he rubbed his faceplates lightly, struggling to regather himself. Still, he couldn’t just stand around in the hall until his problems resolved themselves. Straightening, he turned to look at Cyclonus, patient as ever. “Keep an optic on him. If he needs anything, see to it.” Cyclonus nodded solemnly, settling beside the door. No more delaying, then. He needed to talk to his generals, sort out their position, try to salvage this situation in any way possible…

Processor made up, Megatron left for the command centre, trying to forget Optimus’ all-consuming pain. As the leader of the Decepticons, he had a duty to fulfil… no matter how he felt.

Chapter Text

Megatron did not talk to Optimus for the next few days, and Optimus did not try to leave his room. And though Megatron’s schedule was more than busy, filled with endless meetings and arguments, that fact ever remained on his processor. Not that it was much help, since he had very little clue as to what was going on in Optimus’ room.

After Optimus’ escape attempt, both Strika and Soundwave had lobbied furiously to have cameras installed in his new room, citing the danger he clearly posed. Megatron had fought them to the bitter end on the matter, and had eventually been triumphant, with no sensors in the room aside from those the energon dispenser contained. Now, he traitorously wished he hadn’t been so firm on the matter. All he knew was that Optimus had been taking fuel from the dispenser at the appointed intervals, and that was it. He supposed it was at least good to know that Optimus was fuelling properly, but it was little reassurance.

As the days stretched on though, it was becoming increasingly apparent that Optimus was not planning on breaking his self-imposed seclusion any time soon. Which left Megatron with an unexpected dilemma. He didn’t want to bother Optimus before he was ready, but it was beginning to seem like he wasn’t going to leave his room on his own. Even though he had a suspicion that trying to talk to Optimus was going to result in another argument, he couldn’t just let the mech waste away in his room for the foreseeable future. 

Still, he was hesitant, and he had a lot of work to do, so really… That excuse only lasted him a couple of extra days though, before Strika finally cornered him in his office.

“Do you need something?”

Strika had sauntered into his office like she owned it, collapsing noisily into a spare seat and fixing him with a piercing glare. “Oh, I need something alright. I need you to get over yourself and talk to Optimus.”

Megatron stiffened, instantly suspicious and defensive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, I don’t know why you’re concerned - you hate Optimus.” Well, maybe hate was a strong word, but Strika had certainly made it clear on various occasions that she wasn’t fond of the mech. Hence his suspicion.

Strika snorted, rolling her helm back to stare at the ceiling. “My feelings about Optimus are not relevant right now. Yours are, because they are distracting you and damaging your work. So go and talk to him already!”

How dare she! “I’m not-”

Strika immediately cut him off, jolting up in her chair. “Yes you are! Believe me, I can tell.” Leaning forward, she slammed both of her servos down on his desk, staring him directly in the optics. “Allspark, what are you so worried about? I’ve never known you to be so indecisive before.”

Megatron opened his intake to fire back at her, and then shut it again. Why was he so afraid? Even in hopeless situations, he’d always striven to keep fighting, to never let himself give up. But this time… “This whole situation is just so… improbable. I don’t know what to do. Would it be best to speak to him? Or would that only make things worse?” 

And yet, that wasn’t all of it. Something about Strika’s patient, unyielding stare drew the truth out of him. “I suppose I just don’t feel that this is something I can fix.” Things had spun so far out of his control in a single, terrible instant. Did he even have the right to force his way back into Optimus’ life?

Strika ex-vented heavily, relaxing back into her chair. “So you’re going to sit on your aft and stew in your own misery forever.”

He grunted, shuffling the datapads on his desk in lieu of looking at Strika. “Do you have any bright ideas?”

“I think you need to talk to him, for both of your sakes. Regardless of the outcome, you will do no good like this. And you know that.” Strika’s tone was accusatory, but he could tell she wasn’t trying to offend him. Instead, she met his gaze steadily, challenging him. “Come on. I know this whole… thing means a lot to you, especially after all the work you’ve put in. Allspark knows you’ve been through plenty already for him. Don’t be afraid of failure now.”

She wasn’t wrong, he supposed. Still, that wasn’t all of the problem. “I don’t want to upset him any further by intruding on his grief.”

“Then show him the respect he deserves, and leave if he asks you to. But at least try.”

Megatron sighed, putting down the datapads. She wasn’t going to budge on this. “Alright. But you’re finishing my datawork for today.”

Strika laughed, getting up and shooing him out of his seat. “Sure. Now get out of here.”

Megatron knocked heavily on Optimus’ door, trying to shove down his doubts. “Optimus? May I come in?” He was nervous, and that wasn’t alleviated as long moments ticked by, silent. After almost a minute of waiting he knocked again, to no avail. Well, he couldn’t wait out here all day, so he might as well just give a warning and… “I’m coming in now.”

A quick ping to the door had it unlocked and opening, and then there was no more room for hesitating. Megatron squared his shoulders and stepped into the room, optics immediately adjusting to the low light level within. Things were not exactly as they had been when he stumbled out a few days ago - glass from the shattered datapad crunched beneath his pedes, and the chairs were upturned in opposite corners of the room. Though, the delicate crystal flowers atop the table appeared unharmed.

More importantly, the berth’s sheets had been wrestled up and around its occupant into a makeshift nest, from which a pair of judgemental optics watched him balefully. 

“We need to talk.”

Optimus was silent for so long that Megatron almost tried to say something else, but at last he sat up in his cocoon of sheets. “I seem to remember telling you to leave.” His voice was hard, not quite anger but something close to it, grief hidden just beneath.

He needed to be careful, here. “You did. But I cannot simply leave you in here to waste away.”

Optimus snorted, words dripping with disdain. “Yes you can, so get out. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Just-” He paused, trying to work out what he could actually say. “All I ask is that you listen to me say my piece, and if you still want me to leave after, I will.”

More silence, broken only by the rustling of the sheets as Optimus shifted minutely. “Fine. Hurry it up then.” He didn’t sound particularly patient.

“As your captor, it is my duty to ensure your continued wellbeing - and I do not just refer to you being healthy and fed.” Optimus made a disgusted noise at that, but Megatron continued on regardless. “I understand your current situation and why you wish to remain in here. But it is not good for any mech to remain secluded with their thoughts in such a way, denying themselves companionship and distraction.” He tried to emphasise his next words, tried to impress upon Optimus the importance of the sentiment. “You need to leave your room, if only to alleviate your own burden.”

Aside from one servo tightening near imperceptibly around the sheets, Optimus did not react. And why would he? His captor had just marched into his room and demanded that he get over his anguish already, he had every right to ignore Megatron’s words… But no, he couldn’t give up just yet. “Though if you still don't want to come out… Is there anything I can do for you? To make things more bearable.”

That got him a reaction, at least, though it wasn’t a particularly positive one. Optimus let out a single bark of angry laughter, before leaning forward, optics flinty. “Sure. Let me go. ”

Megatron couldn’t entirely suppress his instinctive wince. Of course Optimus would ask for his freedom - the one thing he couldn’t grant his prisoner even if he wanted to. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Optimus growled at him, servos clenching into fists around the sheets. “Why not?! Just put me on a shuttle into neutral space, it can’t be that much effort! It’s not like there’s any point in keeping me here anymore.” His voice dropped from a near shout to a bitter hiss, resentment dripping from every word.

“It’s nothing to do with effort. If I released you… simply put, my people would be furious.” Furious was probably an understatement, actually. But he needed to explain this in a way Optimus would understand. “As you know, we hold to our traditions very closely, and simply releasing an honoured guest like yourself is very much not the done thing. It would be seen as a sign of weakness in myself, that I could not commit to my chosen course of action by keeping you captive.” Not just a sign of weakness but a failing as a Decepticon, an insult against their very traditions and culture. “My very leadership of the Decepticons would be called into question, and it would lead to significant unrest.”

Another disbelieving snort from the berth. “So you’re afraid of losing your power, is that it?” His tone was caustic, underlying rage cracking through.

Megatron had to push down his own indignation at that jab - yelling back at Optimus wasn’t going to help anything. He was trying to convince the mech, not alienate him further. “I am not that conceited. If my people called for me to be replaced, then I would willingly step down. However, we cannot risk such chaos at a time like this - mainly due to how this situation has become rather… volatile of late.” Especially considering how things had heated up politically with the rediscovery of the Allspark.

“Of course. It's just easier for you to keep me here. How convenient for you.” He spat the last few words, derision and disbelief clear.

“It is the truth.” That was all Megatron could really say. There wasn’t anything more to it, no hidden intent or convoluted plan. Not anymore. But it was not enough.

Optimus made a frustrated noise, and finally moved. Shedding his blanket nest in one swift motion, he darted across the berth until he was standing just before Megatron, faceplate to faceplate. With the added height from the berth their optics were at the same level, and Optimus exploited that fact instantly as he stared Megatron down, accusatory. “Is it? Actually?”

“Yes.” Megatron met his gaze, stared deep into cerulean optics full of mistrust and doubt. “I understand why you’re suspicious of me, and for good reason. But I promised I would tell you the truth, and I keep my promises.” 

Silence. Optimus stared at him intently. At last he shut his optics briefly, and when he reopened them much of the anger had dissipated from his gaze. “Anything I want, huh?” Still an overt challenge, but a whole lot less outraged than before. He seemed to be actually thinking about it, at least.

“Within reason, yes.”

Optimus gave him an appraising look. “Well then. More furniture, for one. More things to do. And more time outside of my room. Or is that too much for you?”

Understandable requests, given the circumstances, though Megatron would still have to carefully check over each and every item. He didn’t want to be guessing in the dark about what Optimus wanted either - he could give him options to choose from, or perhaps… Now there was an idea. “I believe I promised to take you on a tour of the city. If you'd still like that, I believe we can fulfil all of those requests at once.” There were plenty of shops that Optimus could pick some furnishings from, and he would likely enjoy experiencing the city on its own as well. It would also have the benefit of proving the Autobot Broadcast as a lie to his people (not that they believed it anyway) but Optimus probably wouldn’t appreciate that part so he abstained from mentioning it.

A grunt from Optimus, which nevertheless somehow managed to be sarcastic. “Very efficient. But yeah, I would like that.”

“How about tomorrow then? We can make a day of it.” Freeing up his schedule for a whole day was going to be a nightmare logistically, but he was sure his officers would manage. If nothing else, Strika would have to take on some of his work for the day - she’d already offered, after all, and he intended to take full advantage of that.

“Sure.” Optimus wasn’t smiling, but he did seem at least a little happier than before. “Now, get out already.” He jerked his helm toward the door, and Megatron belatedly remembered his vow to leave after he was finished speaking.

“Of course, I fear I have overstayed my time here. I’ll leave you in peace as you requested.” He stepped back immediately, doing his best to get out of Optimus’ space.

Optimus snorted again. “I mean, I mostly want you to leave because I want to have a shower now, but that also I suppose.” He hopped off the berth, striding toward the washracks without so much as a glance backward.  

Megatron blinked. “Oh. Right. Until tomorrow, then.” The washracks door shut behind Optimus, and Megatron took that as his cue to make his own exit - he had a great deal of things to get ready for tomorrow.

The next morning found Megatron standing outside Optimus’ quarters once more, knocking at his door. At least he was less nervous this time, circuits thrumming with anticipation rather than worry.

“Come in.” The call echoed out from within the room, so Megatron opened the door and entered, stopping a few steps inside. The room was certainly tidier than before, though Megatron could still make out the remnants of the shattered datapad in one corner. Standing before him was Optimus, and while his plating didn’t exactly shine it was far brighter it had been. 

“Ready to go?”

Optimus gave him a sardonic look. “I don’t exactly have a lot I need to prepare.”

“Then if you would follow after me…” He stepped back out of the room, and they were off.

Early as it was, the corridors of the citadel were quieter than usual, the day shift just beginning their work. Megatron was grateful for this, eager to make it down to Darkmount with minimal distractions. Though, he found himself repeatedly glancing back at Optimus - ostensibly to check if the mech was still following him, but mostly to gauge his emotional state. Or more accurately, attempt to do so - Optimus was steadfastly staring at the floor in front of him, shoulders hunched, and it was impossible to know exactly which part of the situation was upsetting him now. Not that Megatron didn't spend the rest of the trip fruitlessly trying to guess. Was it still what Magnus had done to him? Or was it the prospect of other Decepticons seeing him in such a state? 

… That was one worry Megatron also had, admittedly. At this point he doubted that there was a single Decepticon in the galaxy who hadn't seen that damned broadcast, and by the Allspark were most of them furious about it. While he was sure most of them would act courteously around Optimus, it was entirely possible one of them might say something to upset him again, and then what? He'd just have to figure something out, he supposed. Not a reassuring thought.

At last, they reached their destination: the freight elevator. Ordinarily Megatron would just fly down to Darkmount, but distressing Optimus further was very much not his goal here. Thankfully, the citadel was also equipped with a huge elevator to move supplies from the city to where they were needed, and at this time of day it would hopefully be… he tapped the control panel, and the mighty doors slid open. Empty. Perfect.

He gestured for Optimus to enter, stepping in after him and selecting Darkmount's loading dock as their destination. The elevator itself was massive - 50 Decepticons could stand in it without so much as brushing against one another - something that Megatron had only ever seen as useful, though now as he walked over to join Optimus it suddenly felt far too large for just the two of them. A loud kerthunk rang out as the elevator began to descend, Optimus swaying at the unexpected movement before regaining his balance. They descended fairly quickly, though Megatron knew it would take several minutes to actually reach the base of the citadel. It was dark in the elevator, strips of light evenly spaced down the walls the only illumination.

Silence yawned between them like it had so many times these last few days. Megatron, despite all his skills as a politician, poet, leader, could not find the words to fix this rift. His silver tongue had failed him at the worst moment possible, and continued to fail him even now. But even so, he did not want to spend this trip, this day, in stony silence. Hurt as Optimus was, he still needed to interact with others, if only for his own sanity. Megatron simply needed to try harder than he already was. Perhaps the best way to start was with a proper apology.

“Optimus… I am sorry that this happened. I swear to you that it was not my intention; I truly hoped to return you to your people. Nevertheless, this is still partly my fault… and I apologise for that.” Though Magnus had been the one to condemn Optimus, Megatron had foolishly given him that opportunity in the first place… and Megatron was the one still holding Optimus captive.

For a moment, his prisoner did not react. Then Optimus stared up at him, bars of light striping his faceplate white as they descended, flickering across features that still contained so much raw pain and grief. “I don’t want to be pitied, Megatron. If nothing else, give me that much.” His voice was surprisingly firm, fuelled by a mixture of defiance and shattered remnants of pride. 

Those blue optics bored into his, and Megatron could not help but answer the unspoken challenge. “I do not pity you, Optimus. I am sorry for what my actions have caused and angry for you that those who should have protected you failed, but I do not pity you.”

Optimus stared at him for a long moment, seemingly searching his faceplates for the truth. Whatever he found there was unknown, but after several silent clicks he looked away, back toward the front of the elevator.

Megatron was left watching the back of Optimus’ helm, processor whirling. Had that been enough? Would anything be enough? He was losing his processor trying to mend this sudden rift. And that wasn’t even the worst part.

Because, the thing was… Megatron ought to be happy. Overjoyed even - this was a perfect situation. He had wanted Optimus as a Decepticon since he captured him in Kaon, and now it would be easy enough to twist Optimus’ grief and pain into rage against the Autobot faction that had abandoned him. It would take but a few words to plant the seed - he could do it now, even. He’d convinced mechs to defect for far less in the past.

But every time he thought to do so… something stopped him. Yes, Megatron had hoped to convince Optimus to join the Decepticons, but now that the perfect opportunity presented itself he found he could not. Something about taking advantage of Optimus’ clear pain caused him visceral discomfort like it never had before. 

And that wasn't even mentioning the rage still burning inside him. He was unbelievably angry, furious that Autobot Command had thrown away such a promising and talented young mech for what amounted to little more than propaganda.

That anger though merely contributed to his dilemma - because he knew that if Optimus were a Decepticon, he wouldn't ever be treated like this. A Decepticon of his skills and talents would be cherished by his fellow mechs, no doubt rising quickly through the ranks, a shining example to all. He would be afforded the respect he truly deserved, and shielded by his superiors from a fate like this.

Megatron’s very spark was screaming at him to induct Optimus into the Decepticons, to PROTECT.

All the more reason for Megatron to take this moment to turn him, then. But Megatron still couldn't bear to, even though he knew he should - for the sake of his people, if nothing else. It would be another betrayal, even with what little trust was between them. And Megatron did not want to be the next mech to betray Optimus.

So he said nothing at all, instead just watching the light play across Optimus’ chassis as the elevator descended, thoughts wandering aimlessly. Surely this was some kind of cosmic irony. Karma for his crimes… or for his selfish desires. When the Autobots had finally contacted them about a deal, part of him had foolishly hoped that negotiations would fail. That Optimus would stay on Chaar for a little longer.

The humans had an adage, one that Megatron was beginning to truly understand now. Be careful what you wish for. Not that this exact situation was entirely his fault, but… He could not deny that he was ultimately the one that had caused this.

Before his thoughts could become too dismal, the entire elevator suddenly lit up - they had finally reached the point where the lift shaft emerged from the front of the citadel, and the walls gave way to a series of large windows.

At last, movement from Optimus. He walked to the front of the elevator, placing one servo on the glass as he stared out at the city, watching it approach. Megatron found himself wishing he could see Optimus’ faceplates - wanting to know if he had that same expression of wonder and awe he'd seen in both the garden and the observation deck. That same gentle smile… though Megatron could not help but fear he had already seen to its destruction.

Outside, Darkmount’s spires were rushing past them, flying mechs just barely visible as they flitted through the sky. They were close to the base of the citadel now, and their destination. Which meant…

Though trepidation coiled in his spark, he stepped forward nonetheless. “Optimus. I need to refasten your cuffs.”

Optimus didn’t so much as twitch. “Get on with it, then.” Not exactly what he’d been hoping for. Sighing internally, Megatron continued forward until he stood scant steps behind Optimus. He hesitated for a moment, then placed his servo lightly on Optimus’ shoulder. Underneath it, he felt plating subtly tense, but otherwise there was no reaction.

“Is this alright?” He asked, ready to remove his servo at a moment’s notice.

The plating underneath his servo shifted minutely, then settled into a slightly more relaxed state. “It’s fine.”

Delicately, Megatron placed his other servo on Optimus’ other shoulder, waiting a few clicks for any kind of argument. When there was none, he gently ran both servos down Optimus’ arms, tracing over the smooth lines of his plating until he reached his cuffs. With equal care, he guided both of Optimus’ servos off the window and together, cradling them within his own. Like this, with Optimus’ backplates pressed against his front, he could feel the way Optimus’ chassis shifted with every hitched vent and minute readjustment. He could feel the strength of it too, the might and lithe agility concealed within the deceptively small frame.

With a quiet sigh, he pinged the cuffs to magnetise one another once more. It felt so cruel, chaining him like this, but Optimus couldn’t be seen to be free by his citizens, no matter the situation. It was a case of public safety… Even if Megatron did not believe that it should be.

Either way, he should probably let go now. But… 

Leaning in, he moved until his intake was level with Optimus’ audials. “I know you’re not fond of me right now. That is completely understandable. Just… know that I… I will do all I can to improve things for you.” He kept his words quiet, hoping that Optimus would understand his sincerity.

Aside from the way his finials twitched minutely, Optimus was completely still in his arms. “Because it's your duty? You’ve made that clear plenty of times already.”

Megatron winced slightly at the jab, though he supposed it was a reasonable conclusion for Optimus to come to. Once, it might have even been true. “As the leader of the Decepticons - as your captor - yes. But personally… as my own mech… I am responsible for everything that has happened to you. For this terrible situation. And I find myself wanting to help you - to ease your pain insofar as I can.”

Optimus was quiet for a time, before replying in low tones. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it almost sounds like you care about me.” A cutting taunt, if it weren’t for the way the bite had disappeared from his voice. Instead he sounded a little amazed, and a great deal more - nervous? Uneasy? It was hard to tell.

Perhaps admitting this was a bad idea, but Megatron had already gone too far to turn back now. “I do.”

He immediately felt Optimus’ chassis jolt as he let out a soft gasp, trembling slightly for a moment before he recovered his composure. Still, he didn’t speak, so Megatron continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting to. But you’ve… grown on me. You’re so much more than just a captive… or a soldier. I hope you can see that too.”

Optimus still didn’t reply. The noises of the elevator seemed to get ever louder to Megatron, filling his helm as he anxiously waited for Optimus’ response.

At last, Optimus moved - letting his helm fall back against Megatron’s chestplate with a quiet clank, blue optics staring up at him. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

The corner of his intake curled into a wry smile, the pain from before no longer dominating his faceplates. “I guess I could live with that.” For a moment Megatron just stared down at him, utterly stunned. Perhaps… perhaps this really could be fixed.

And then a loud thunk, along with the lift coming to a halt, signalled that they’d reached their destination. Megatron swiftly let go of Optimus, though it was with a little more reluctance than was strictly professional. As the elevator doors finally ground open, he moved to stand beside Optimus, one servo lifting to settle against the small of his back. Optimus walked forward with him, and together they stepped out into the sights and sounds of Darkmount.

Chapter Text

Ratchet fiddled with the broken scanner in his servos, ostensibly in order to fix it, though in reality his processor was far away. All the way on the other side of the galaxy… on Chaar. He gripped the scanner tightly, broken wires scratching against his digits. Optimus…

These last weeks, where he’d worked late every night in an attempt to make some kind of change, or at the very least stave off recharge and whatever horrors it might bring… he’d kept expecting Optimus to walk in with a cube and a gentle smile in order to cajole him to get some rest, or else just keep him company for a little while.  It had been a constant back on Earth, so reliable that it practically became routine.

And now he was faced with the knowledge that it would never happen again. Optimus was gone.  

Yet another loved one the Decepticons had ripped away from him, but this time there would be no miraculous rescue or healing. His helm drooped forward as he clutched the scanner, trying to hold strong against the wave of grief. Still, his spark flared within his chassis, pain radiating through him, not to mention the awful emptiness - the gaping hole in the team. Just trying to go about his daily routine felt near-impossible, not least because with the terrible news had come the end of their awareness-raising efforts on Cybertron. All that was left was to get back to their actual work, as their superiors kept reminding the team. Like any of them felt like working right now, what with the ever-present pain of Optimus’ loss.

And yet, he wished that grief was all that he felt.

For there was another part of his processor, one that insidiously whispered to him that things simply didn’t add up, that all of this had been far too convenient. He wanted to discard it as mere paranoia - after all, how could he be thinking such a thing when his friend, his leader, was dead? It was an insult to all Optimus had stood for and done. But still he could not quell his suspicions… though he kept them to himself. No point in bothering the younglings needlessly.

They were upset enough as it was.

Ever since the government broadcast the three youngest members of the team had been utterly inconsolable. Bulkhead had barely spoken a word, spending most of his time in his room. Bumblebee was acting even more erratically than usual, swinging between anger and despair randomly, trying to distract himself with video games and tv. And Sari… Sari’s optics had barely stopped leaking since the announcement. She often sat in the rec room, sobbing into her servos or hugging her knees to her chest in distressed silence while Arcee or Ratchet himself tried to comfort her. The loss of Prowl had been bad enough, but Optimus’ death seemed to have pushed their youngest teammates into a far deeper state of grief from which they showed no signs of recovering. 

Ratchet… Ratchet was a medic. He diagnosed, he fixed, he healed. It hurt, seeing the pain of the younger mechs and knowing that he could not simply mend their sparks. Pit, he wished he could mend his own. 

Optimus… If he’d been told that a bright-opticked kid who wanted to emulate the non-existent heroes of Autobot propaganda would infiltrate his spark so wholly, he’d have assumed the messenger was some idiot trying to taunt him. After what had happened to Arcee and Omega, he’d made certain to close himself off from similar harm. But somehow, Optimus had taken down all his defences with gentle smiles, offers to listen and warm sincerity. Somehow, his leader had become a true friend and confidant to him. Which just made him feel the loss all the more keenly. 

Giving up on distracting himself, he dropped the scanner and pressed a servo to his chassis, feeling his spark whirling within. Pit, how was he supposed to get anything done like this? The answer came in the form of a quiet hiss from behind him as the door of his quarters opened.

“Ratchet? Are you busy?” He relaxed slightly, letting his servo fall away. Arcee.

He let out a quiet sigh, turning to face her. “I wish I was. How was your day?”

Arcee pressed her intake together, before stepping carefully around the random pieces of scrap on the floor until she was properly facing Ratchet “It was perfectly normal… It’s you I’m more concerned about. How are you holding up?”

Ratchet grunted, picking the scanner back up for want of something to do with his servos. “Could be better.”

Settling onto the edge of the table, Arcee gently laid a servo on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know him that well, but he was a good mech.” Of course, Arcee had barely met Optimus before… before the Decepticons took him.

“Better than you can imagine.” He was aware of his helm tipping forward as his memories threatened to swamp him, Arcee’s presence the only thing preventing him from losing himself. As he was trying to regather himself, the hiss of the door opening again pulled him out of his thoughts - he very much did not want the younger mechs to see him like this. 

Whirling round, he was met with the sight of Jazz leaning against the doorframe, servo raised like he was about to knock. “Hey, Ratch… sorry, am I interrupting anything?”

“Not really.” Allspark knew he had nothing else to do. 

Jazz nodded, stepping into the room and letting the door shut behind him. “I’d like to have a quick chat if that’s fine. About… Well, everything.”

“… Sure.” Ratchet replied, suddenly wary. Jazz was a nice enough mech, but he wasn’t the sort to just drop in for a chitchat. Especially considering the current situation.

The cyberninja wasn’t exactly putting his fears to rest either, as he made his way toward the pair in a way that just screamed he was trying to appear casual. “Soooo, what’s on the cards now?”

“Get back to my work. Maybe try to stop the kids from throwing themselves into some stupid revenge mission.” Although they were currently dealing with the immediate grief of Optimus’ death, Ratchet had no doubts that the younger mechs would want to get revenge for it as soon as they had recovered. And that wasn’t a thing Ratchet could allow, no matter how much he agreed with the sentiment. He refused to mourn a third teammate.

Jazz made a considering noise in the back of his intake. “I guess that’s fair enough.”

Clenching the scanner between his servos so hard it creaked, Ratchet narrowed his optics. “You don’t sound like you do.”

Arcee cleared her intake. “Myself and Jazz have been talking…”

Snapping upright, Ratchet glanced from Arcee to Jazz.“Wait, is this an ambush?” Suddenly, the appearance of both mechs in such a short time frame was a lot more suspicious. Before he could get properly angry about it though, Arcee spoke up.

“Ratchet… It may have been a long time ago, but I used to be an Intelligence agent. Jazz has plenty of friends in Intelligence and Spec Ops as well, on top of his own experience. And we both agree that something is going on.” Her own optics were narrow, tone filled with distrust.

Jazz nodded, eager to add his own two bits. “The trial, the escape, the broadcast… If you ask me, something stinks. It’s all been way too-”

“-Convenient. Right?” Ratchet finished, staring at the scanner. His doubts churned in his processor, begging to escape. “… You’re not the only ones that think that. But what, exactly, are we supposed to do about that? Are you going to tell me we ought to pick a fight with High Command?”

Jazz waved a servo back and forth placatingly. “Wellll, maybe not directly. But personally I think taking a bit of a closer look into whatever’s been going on might be a good idea. It’s not like we know anything about what’s happened. I mean, OP might even not be-”

Ratchet cut him off right there and then.“You’d better not be about to say what I think you are.” It was an enticing thought, and that was exactly why he didn’t dare consider it. “Ultra Magnus… the Council… they don’t leave loose ends. Even if the Decepticons didn’t kill Optimus…” He felt his helm droop forward again as he admitted the terrible truth, the knowledge locked up within his spark. “By now he’d be gone either way.”

There was no hope for Optimus. Not anymore. And it was an awful thought, but one he had to accept. Still, that didn’t mean Jazz’s point had no merits. “But that aside... I do want to know the truth. What do you suggest?”

“For now? Trying to find out some more details about this supposed Intelligence operation.” Though Jazz’s mood remained sombre, he was grinning slightly at Ratchet’s acceptance.

“Myself, Jazz and Blurr have the contacts for it - but we’d like your help for it as well. We’re not the only ones who know of the things Command has done… or would be willing to do.” The look Arcee gave him was serious, but also infinitely trusting in a way that made him feel relieved.

Ratchet vented slowly, carefully controlling the painful flaring of his spark. Maybe this way, they really would be able to seek some justice for Optimus. At the very least, they would know the truth. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

Darkmount was… busy. They had barely left the elevator before they were plunged into the swirling crowds of the city, mechs moving past on every side as well as shooting by above their helms. There were Decepticons everywhere, which admittedly wasn’t a shock, but the sheer size of the crowds was still more than a little overwhelming. Optimus was suddenly glad for Megatron’s close proximity, a surprisingly welcome presence. His servo covered almost half of Optimus’ back, solid and warm and strangely reassuring. Optimus could feel every light flex of his digits against his back, shifting back and forth with every step forward. It couldn’t be comfortable for Megatron to adjust his stride to stay level with Optimus, but not once did Megatron complain or try to subtly speed Optimus up. Instead of being controlled and directed by Megatron's servo on his shoulder, it almost felt like he was supporting him instead. And that was comforting, especially considering the chaos surrounding them. 

The elevator had opened out into some kind of loading dock, filled with mechs busily stacking supplies for the trip back up. Those Decepticons had greeted Megatron enthusiastically as they headed for the city proper, something that Optimus had privately hoped would be a one-off occurrence. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Within moments of reaching the main street into Darkmount they had been swamped by a crowd of Decepticons hailing Megaton, which mostly served to put Optimus’ stress levels through the stratosphere. But Megatron seemed aware of that, too. While he acknowledged and returned the greetings, he did not move an inch from Optimus’ size, and perhaps because of that no Decepticons came too close to the pair. Another reason for Optimus to feel relieved. And that was strange enough as it was.

Though Megatron’s servo was the only thing currently touching him, the warmth of his chassis still lingered across Optimus’ frame. He shivered slightly at the memory of those powerful arms encircling him, holding him fast while Megatron murmured to him. Megatron was so strong, he probably could have crushed Optimus to death in an instant… but instead he’d held Optimus so carefully, so securely. After months of barely touching another mech, the experience had certainly left him feeling conflicted.

He… didn’t really want to think about their elevator trip right now. Just another thing to add to the pile.

With some effort he focussed on the city around them again, only to realise that the crowd of Decepticons had finally backed off - though the street around them was still plenty full of mechs. Megatron had drawn to stop in the middle of said street, presumably because Optimus had also stopped walking while lost in his thoughts. Other mechs streamed past on either side, parting neatly in front of them.

Oh, and Megatron was looking at him again. “I apologise, that was probably more than a little overwhelming.” He was leaning down slightly, optics lit with that strange sense of concern again.

Optimus couldn’t help but look away, staring down at the street. Allspark, he was so not used to the way Megatron was acting all of a sudden. And frankly, he just wasn’t really up to addressing it right now. So he might as well just move things along. “Do you always get that treatment?”

Megatron hesitated briefly, shifting from ped to ped. “My people are usually happy to see me… and they are eager to see you.” Megatron’s tone had dipped low, and Optimus felt one digit lightly sweep along his back strut, as if to comfort him. As if he truly understood what Optimus was going through. Ultra Magnus’ sad expression as he claimed Optimus was dead-

Optimus had to clench his servos, trying to stop his chassis from trembling. Keep it together. You have to keep it together. He couldn’t lose it in the middle of the street, surrounded by Decepticons. Venting slowly, he concentrated on drawing air into his chassis, feeling his stressed systems cool down. After several difficult moments, he finally unclenched his servos, feeling a little more settled. And throughout it all, Megatron’s servo had not moved from his back, a firm and grounding sensation.

Sighing quietly, Optimus straightened up, finally looking back at Megatron. Though, he still didn’t really want to talk about the other Decepticons. “How often do you even come down here?”

Thankfully, Megatron seemed equally happy to leave the prior subject lie. “Not as much as I’d like, but still fairly frequently. Though admittedly sometimes my visits are also part of my work.” His smile was wry, though it was tainted with weariness. 

“Like today?” Megatron must have had to clear his schedule for this, after all. And surely he was usually a pretty busy mech, considering the fact he was a fragging Emperor.

Megatron chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t describe spending time with you as work. That implies an onerous quality, and while our meetings have been many things they’ve certainly never been a burden to me. I hope you at least find them bearable.”

Optimus couldn’t help the way his intake curved as he thought of their meetings. “They’re alright.” 

“Just alright?” 

Allspark, Optimus would’ve never thought that he’d miss those little meetings. He’d been so angry with Megatron to begin with, too furious to even consider those meetings as anything more than an excuse for Megatron to taunt him. With time, though…  “They used to annoy me a lot more, if that helps. Now… Well, now’s a bit different.” Sombre again, Optimus let his helm dip, rubbing his faceplates with his servos. If only he could focus on those happier memories right now.

But that was currently a little difficult, especially considering how everything around him seemed to remind him of… of… the incident. And as much as he’d wanted to leave his room, being out on the street wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped it would. Though that was mostly due to the Decepticons around them. Sure, they’d backed off and were just walking past now… but Optimus wasn't stupid, and neither was he blind enough to miss the looks many of the Decepticons were giving him. They know.  

It wasn’t a pleasant thought. He suddenly wanted to hide away from those looks, part pitying and part curious. Of course they would have seen the broadcast, Autobot channels could be accessed by anymech with a receiver. Of course they would know what had been done to him. Of course they would see him and-

Once again, Megatron came to the rescue, deftly pulling Optimus out of his thoughts. “Have you refuelled today?”

“Not yet, no.” He hadn’t had a chance to even have his morning cube since Megatron had arrived so early. Thankfully, the regular fueling of the past few weeks had ensured his tanks were still fairly full, though he would definitely appreciate another chance to top off. 

Megatron hummed, apparently considering something. “Then I think this would be a good opportunity for you to sample some of Darkmount’s cuisine. I believe that there is a nice cafe a short walk from here, if you’re interested.”

A cafe? Optimus hadn’t fueled on more than regular energon or barely processed crude oil in the longest time. Proper cafes and restaurants did exist on Cybertron, but were often quite expensive - and besides, even after arriving back on Cybertron he simply hadn’t had the time to go out and fuel on something more interesting. Normal cubes of energon with occasional additives was the most he’d managed. So he was certainly interested, especially since he supposed Decepticons might have some different tastes. “Sure, that sounds good.”

With that, Megatron started forward, guiding Optimus down several streets with the kind of ease that long familiarity brought, winding through the crowds at some speed. Other Decepticons continued to greet them at every turn, though Optimus decided to just keep his helm down and follow Megatron's lead rather than falling into the trap of focussing on them. Soon enough they arrived at a fairly large building painted in lovely pastels, the automatic doors opening as they approached. Inside, the cafe was clearly busy, waiters bustling back and forth while music played cheerily. Optimus couldn’t help the sudden stab of anxiety at the sight of all those mechs, even though the street was probably more crowded than the cafe. 

But Megatron seemed to have anticipated that as well. Rather than striding on ahead into the building, he was once again waiting patiently for Optimus to be ready. Such a little thing, but it gave Optimus the time he needed to prepare himself, and Megatron hadn’t so much as asked. He’d just known. Yet another little consideration Megatron had made for his own comfort… but this wasn’t the time to think about that. He had to keep moving forward, no matter how he felt.

Optimus vented in deeply and headed inside, Megatron just a step behind.

Chapter Text

Staring at the menu in front of him, Optimus carefully worked through the items on offer. Compared to what he was used to, it was quite a large menu, so he wanted to make sure he checked every single option to make sure he came out with something he actually liked. It took several minutes of reading, accompanied by occasional hums as he perused the lists, but at last he looked across at Megatron and voiced the one thing on his processor. “I don’t know what any of this is.”

Megatron laughed. 

They were sitting across from each other in a surprisingly cosy booth, tucked away in the corner of the cafe. The hush of the shop was comforting after the unbelievable din of the streets, and Optimus was certainly grateful for it. Still, he could stand to be a little less confused. The menu certainly seemed interesting - the problem was that he’d never heard of practically every item on it. It was a little embarrassing, to tell the truth - being unable to identify simple menu items branded you as a mech who couldn’t afford to go out to restaurants and cafes in their spare time - but although Optimus had eaten out in the past, he genuinely had never come across these items before. At least Megatron didn’t seem to think it was shameful, despite his obvious amusement.

“To be perfectly honest, that isn’t much of a surprise. Our cuisine has evolved fairly differently from that of Cybertron’s, not least because of the races we choose to trade with and the planets we chose to mine out.” Megatron had been examining his own menu, though now he had folded it away to focus his full attention on Optimus. Despite how… normal the cafe seemed, Megatron had clearly visited before judging by how he’d immediately guided Optimus to the corner booth, scooping up two menus along the way. Once seated he’d also released Optimus’ cuffs again, promising that he could keep them unlocked as long as he didn’t try to get up from the booth, before handing him one of the menus. Which had led to Optimus’ current confusion.

In hindsight, maybe it should’ve been obvious that Decepticon fuel would be different. “I guess that makes sense… but still, I can barely recognise these! I don’t suppose you can give me any tips?”

“Of course.” Placing his menu on the table and sliding it over to face Optimus, Megatron leant across and pointed at the first heading. “So, there’s obviously starters, main courses and so on, but I dare say you already know of those. More important are the kinds of dishes available. Most of the starters consist of dips such as mercury or light oil, as well as options like graphite or carbon lattice chips to have with them.”

He slid his digit down to the next heading, circling around several items beneath it. “There are more options for main dishes: plastic and ester salads, molten soups, filament tangles… A fair amount of more alien or organic options as well, though they are much more of an acquired taste.” Considering how the Decepticons had no issues trading with other races, those dishes were probably like nothing Optimus had ever tasted before. Perhaps it would be best to ignore those for now.

Moving on to the last section of the menu, Megatron tapped another heading. “There’s more traditional styles of energon and oil, mixed with additives or chunks of metal and carbon. And then snacks like quartz crunchies, or metal shards dipped in energon crystals and rubber. Does any of that pique your interest?”

A lot of that certainly sounded interesting, but a few things had stuck out more than others. “Molten soups? Like… heated?” 

Megatron tilted his helm, confused. “Some of them, yes. Why do you ask?”

Optimus blinked, a little caught off guard. “Oh- well, it’s just not very common on Cybertron. A lot of mechs think it’s kind of wasteful, since it doesn’t add anything nutritional to the meal.” While he knew organic races frequently heated their food, there simply wasn’t much point for Cybertronians to do the same. Fuel was fuel either way. Besides, if fuel was too hot it could potentially damage a mech’s internal systems - not to mention how energon became unstable at higher temperatures.

Megatron tapped one digit against the table, clearly considering his words. “I suppose not, but I know that many mechs enjoy the sensation of heated fuel in their intake and tanks. Personally, I find it to be a pleasant sort of burn - not my favourite, but something I do appreciate on occasion.”

“Really? Well, what else do you like? I haven’t seen you drink anything more than energon or oil.” Megatron certainly had the shanix to fuel on extravagant dishes whenever he desired, but he’d only ever drunk and offered regular energon during their little meetings.

“I do generally stick to those, mostly since they’re efficient and perfectly serviceable, though I will confess that I’m picky with my grades of oil.” Megatron lowered his voice with a mischievous smile, as if he was telling Optimus some kind of secret. “However, I also enjoy indulging in more interesting fuels when I have the chance - besides, is it not important for me to support Darkmount’s businesses?”

“I guess so. I can’t say I’ve managed to develop much of a taste for more complicated fuels - probably because I never could stand jellied energon.” Dense and wobbly, weirdly greasy despite its solid form, it felt disgusting in his intake, like it was gumming up his pipes. Unfortunately, jellied energon cubes were common meals on Cybertron due to their high energy and nutritional content, so much of restaurant fare consisted of them. 

Megatron chuckled, nodding. “Fair enough, I can’t say I’m fond of them for any more than a quick energy boost. There are plenty of better options out there though.”

Optimus groaned, rubbing his faceplates with his servo. “Not on Cybertron. It’s crystals, jellies and supplement shards as far as the optic can see. Nourishing, right?”

“Nourishing and entirely boring. Considering how you’ve been so sadly deprived of good fuel, I think it would be best to get a spread of dishes so that you can try a few different ones.” Megatron shot him a sly smile as he reclaimed his menu, beginning to work through it to presumably pick out some options.

“I mean, if you don’t mind. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.” Optimus looked down at the menu again, staring at the tantalisingly mysterious options. “… I’d like to try the cadmium and bismuth soup.” It sounded very strange, but he supposed this was a good opportunity to try something new.

“A good choice indeed.” Without further ado, Megatron called over a waiter and began to relay their order, gesturing for Optimus to let him speak. Optimus was pretty happy to take the hint, sitting back in his seat as he watched the Decepticons talk. The waiter didn’t seem intimidated or surprised by Megatron’s presence, and barely gave Optimus more than a quick glance as they spoke. Another thing to be grateful of.

Optimus found his gaze wandering to the inhabitants of the cafe - mostly Decepticons, though there were also a few alien species he didn’t recognise clustered around. That aside, it all just seemed… normal. So normal it was almost physically uncomfortable. All these people were just going about their lives, and then there was Optimus. Sure, he wasn’t actively restrained right now - sitting in a cosy cafe, waiting for his companion to finish ordering lunch - but that didn’t make him a free mech. The cuffs around his wrists and ankles felt unimaginably heavy, pinning him to the seat.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the worry that other mechs would see him, see his… his what? His weakness? His fear? Optimus had to fight the urge to curl up defensively, to hide from the outside world anymore than he already was. At least no one was looking at him anymore. He could still remember how the Decepticon’s stares had felt, crawling across his plating. In the end he settled for slumping into the booth, helm down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible even after the waiter had left.

Across the table from him he could hear the booth seats creaking, and then Optimus was aware of a singular Decepticon gaze resting on his chassis. Though, it admittedly didn’t bother him as much as the others had. Idly, he wondered if that said anything about his current mental state. Megatron didn't speak either, seemingly picking up on Optimus’ suddenly dour mood, simply watching him in silence. Instead, all Optimus could hear from him was the irregular tapping of his digits on the table - potentially due to his impatience, though it was hard for Optimus to say without actually looking up and checking. Which he didn't really feel like doing right now.

At least the service at the cafe was quick - they were barely waiting more than 15 minutes before dishes started arriving at the table. The first consisted of a small bowl filled with gallium, with some strips of copper coated in energon crystals to dip, and Optimus found himself staring at it hungrily despite himself. Megatron had no such reservations, immediately picking up one of the copper sticks and dunking it in the liquid gallium before popping it in his intake with an audible crunch. Optimus watched greedily, self control dwindling by the click. Maybe he could just try one and see how he felt…

Tentatively, he sat up a little and reached across the table for one of the copper rods, awkwardly shuffling in his seat when he realised he couldn’t quite reach the dip from his half-curled position. He dithered awkwardly for a moment before Megatron took pity on him and carefully pushed the dish of gallium closer, allowing him to carefully scoop up a little of the silvery liquid metal and quickly transfer it to his intake. It was, in fact, crunchy. He could feel the energon crystals poking against his tongue as he munched on the treat, the gallium helping ease it down his intake as he swallowed. His internal sensors informed him of the treat’s nutritional content: bursts of energy from the energon crystals, important frame-repairing minerals from the dip and copper strip. Flavour followed belatedly; the gallium was pleasingly tart, wrapped around the surprisingly sweet copper and energon crystal combo. Optimus found himself licking around his intake unconsciously, trying to chase the last crumbs.

When he at last looked up again, he was immediately met with Megatron’s watchful optics - he had reclined back in his own seat, a second gallium drizzled stick held at the ready, smiling and apparently waiting for Optimus to finish. “Do you like it?”

Optimus blinked, surprised at his own reaction - he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed even a simple snack like that. “Yeah, actually.”

Megatron’s grin widened as he watched Optimus reach for another treat. “That’s good to hear. Just don’t eat too much - there’s more coming, after all.” 

Okay. So maybe Optimus was kind of intimidated by a bowl of soup. In his defence, he’d never really had anything like it before.

Sure, he’d seen humans eating soup, and clearly enjoying the sensation of the hot liquid. But there was a world of difference between a lightly heated human meal, and an specially insulated bowl of melted alloys that could potentially damage his internal systems. Potentially. Megatron had assured him that it was perfectly safe - the soup was nowhere near hot enough to melt through his pipes, after all. And his sensors were plenty tough themselves. Still, he was worried… even though he really did want to try it.

Glancing up, he could see the selection of half-empty plates scattered across the table - the remnants of the rest of their order. Megatron was picking at a weird, rubbery ester salad which Optimus had tried and then immediately rejected due to the unpleasant texture. He seemed pretty busy, delicately deconstructing the salad and selecting choice morsels to devour. Optimus looked back down at the soup. Silvery cadmium bubbled within the bowl, swirls of darkly iridescent bismuth rippling through the mixture. Occasionally rainbow bubbles formed on the surface, popping with little flares of heat and wafts of vaporised metal. 

Very carefully, Optimus picked up the reinforced, highly insulated scoop. He hesitantly dipped it into the steaming mixture, watching as the liquid metal flowed back and forth. It’d be fine if he just tried a little bit, then he could stop if it didn’t seem safe. Nervously, he lifted the scoop to his intake, opening wide and beginning to tip the molten liquid in…

It was definitely hot, that much was for certain. He could feel the molten metal sliding across his tongue and down to his fuel tank, leaving a fiery trail all the way down his intake as he swallowed. His tanks reported unusually high temperatures, but no warnings popped up. Optimus stared at the bowl. That hadn’t been so bad, really. The heated mixture had almost been nice, despite the burning sensation - and that wasn’t even mentioning the pleasant taste, slightly salty with an acidic kick. All in all, strange but not totally unappetising. He paused for a moment, still looking at the bowl, and then lifted the scoop for another try.

By the time they had finished demolishing the various dishes, Optimus’ tanks were almost at capacity, filled with vital metals, minerals, and energon. He was unreasonably relaxed, sprawled out across the soft booth seat. Megatron was likewise slouched in his own seat, lounging back like he was laying on a luxurious berth rather than a somewhat cramped booth. The waiter had been by a few minutes ago, gathering up the empty plates and accepting Megatron’s compliments before leaving them in comfortable silence.

Still, Optimus wasn’t totally at ease. Fuelling had been a convenient distraction, but now… well, what was he supposed to do now? Megatron didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, idly wiping his digits of metallic residue. Optimus shifted awkwardly in his seat, glancing back and forth between Megatron and the rest of the cafe. “Don’t we need to… pay at some point?”

Megatron looked up at him, laying down the scrap of fabric he’d been using to clean off his servos. “Don’t worry - I’ve been here plenty of times in the past, they know to charge it to my account by now.”

“Oh. Right.” Optimus fiddled with his own servos, uncertain. It was a nice cafe. He didn’t particularly want to leave… especially because it would mean going back out onto the street. Still, he exactly wasn’t sure how to bring that up, especially with how utterly unbothered Megatron seemed about the whole situation. He was acting like it was completely normal for a Decepticon warlord to take their captive out for brunch, and it was even more maddening that every other mech they’d met so far was as well. Maybe all Decepticons had the same glitch as Megatron, the one that was making him behave so strangely.

He felt his shoulders bunch up at the thought, the reminder of Megatron’s… promise? Of all the things he’d expected from this day, he hadn’t ever imagined there’d be something like that. His cynical side wanted to claim that all of this was just another of Megatron’s manipulations, another attempt to coax Optimus to defect to his side. But that part of Optimus was quieter than it had been before, hushed compared to his initial spark-deep sense of mistrust.

After all, even if it was the case that this was part of Megatron’s plans, he definitely didn’t need to go to all this effort or spend so much of his own time trying to comfort Optimus. Because despite Optimus’ suspicions, that was quite clearly Megatron’s aim here. Taking him out into the city to try to cheer him up, hustling him off the streets when it was making him anxious, ordering a spread of dishes so he could try new things… promising to help him… they weren’t the actions of a cold, calculating jailer. And yet, they weren’t the actions of a friend either; Megatron was still keeping him here, after all. Suddenly, their already bizarre situation had become even stranger still. What was even going on anymore? They’d stopped simply being enemies some time ago, that he was sure of. But now Megatron was apologising, claiming he was sorry for this… and despite the fact that Optimus knew  this was Megatron’s fault, he found himself actually believing the mech. Though that didn’t mean he’d forgotten… or forgiven. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to do so any time soon. 

Perhaps all it meant was that he should try to relax a little. Have a little faith in Megatron, odd as it sounded. Megatron claimed to care about him and his well being. Optimus couldn’t exactly do anything about that, even if he wanted to. Which, to be perfectly honest… Well, he didn’t. Because weird as it was, Megatron’s attempts to cheer him up were actually working, at least a little. It was definitely easier to ignore his predicament when Megatron was there, talking to him, distracting him. Waiting for him to be ready, understanding when he needed quiet or comfort… It was nice. 

Shame he didn’t act this way before, but then again Optimus supposed Megatron probably hadn’t felt bad about all this at that point. Since he apparently did now. Weird.

Across from him, Megatron let out a huge sigh and stretched luxuriously, plating creaking as the cables underneath flexed and shifted, before glancing across at Optimus. “Ready to go? Since you were so interested in old Darkmount before, I thought we could visit the marketplace built up around her.” Ruby optics studied him carefully, no judgement or annoyance visible within them, only patience and… concern. He really means this.

Optimus drew in a vent, held it, then nodded and stood. “Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Thankfully the market wasn’t that far away from the cafe, so Optimus didn’t have to put up with too many crowds this time. With Megatron by his side they swiftly forged through throngs of mechs, Decepticons automatically moving aside to make way for them. It was only a few minutes of navigating packed streets before the buildings abruptly pulled back, the road widening into a grand plaza dotted with stalls and dominated by the monstrous skeleton of old Darkmount. 

Optimus couldn’t help but gasp when he saw it.

He remembered the sight of the Nemesis blotting out the stars as it chased the Orion, or the downed Decepticon ship on Archa 7, but the Darkmount’s ancient decayed majesty was nothing like either of those ships. The stellar grade plating had long since been peeled away and recycled, exposing the ship’s slowly-rusting struts which determinedly reached up toward the sky like it might one day fly again. It towered over the plaza and the many mechs scurrying around and within it, casting huge jagged shadows across the area.

And yet, despite its looming presence, Darkmount was not a sombre sight. Clustered around the base of the rusting structure were countless stalls, shaded by brightly coloured fabric strung between the mighty struts. Murals decorated the metal itself, spiralling up and down the mighty girders, many of which were draped in flags and banners. Those beams were likewise occupied by various mechs, seekers and other flightframes perched on the aged metal high above the rest of the market, engaging in their own trades or flitting effortlessly around the structure. Music pulsed from deep within the bazaar, reverberating off the surrounding buildings and filling the plaza with sound.

It was a whole lot bigger and busier than what he was used to. Iacon had shops dotted along neatly ordered streets, not messy collections of stalls bunched roughly around an old wrecked ship of all things. And yet, it was undeniably far more full of life and personality. The whole ensemble - ship, stalls, mechs and all - seemed to be the city’s pulsing spark, activity flowing out from it and lighting up the streets for miles around. Optimus walked towards it, spellbound. As they made their way across the plaza, Optimus found his helm tipping back further and further in order to take in the full enormity of the ship. 

Megatron chuckled softly from beside him. “I fear it’s a little too large for you to properly see from the ground. Perhaps a flight around the city is in order so that you can get a better look.” 

“Sounds interesting, but maybe not today.” The part of him that was always searching for an escape wanted that flight very much, but he couldn’t bring himself to act on it. Even thinking of attempting escape right now just made him so… tired.

Megatron nodded, not asking for further explanation. “No, not today.” His servo remained on Optimus’ back, their positions the same as before they’d entered the cafe. After Optimus had agreed to leave, Megatron had leant across the table and taken Optimus’ servos in his own once more, remagnetising the cuffs with that same odd gentleness. His huge servos had been just as warm as before, enveloping Optimus’ own in an instant, though he’d let go a lot faster this time in favour of ushering him out of the cafe. Now, he stood by Optimus’ side once more, guiding him through the crowds toward the market.

Megatron still hadn’t mentioned what had happened in the elevator. He’d expected that it would be brought up sooner rather than later, but Megatron seemed happy to let it lie for the moment… something that Optimus was glad about. He still wasn’t quite sure what to say, so it left them both awkwardly manoeuvring around the proverbial elephant in the room. And of course, the worst part was that he was probably putting it off for Optimus’ sake.

This… thing between them, this fragile understanding and overtures of care… They needed to figure it out at some point. Not yet, though. Optimus fully intended to make the most of this trip before trying to sort out that mess. Besides, he didn’t really feel so desperate to address things as he was before. He might as well take things slow, and actually enjoy the market. Speaking of…

At last, they had reached the first ring of stalls, spilling out from under Darkmount’s patchwork frame. Tables were set up on either side, merchants hawking their wares to the crowds of mechs… and aliens. Optimus had to hop out of the way of a small, bouncing creature that knuckled past on heavily muscled arms - it paid him no mind despite the fact that it barely came up to the top of his ped, apparently not caring about the giant Cybertronians all around it. Other aliens, both organic and metallic, were busy running their own stalls or perusing the merchandise on sale. Optimus’ helm was practically on a swivel, soaking in the sights - it was strangely refreshing to be surrounded by so many other species, especially considering the apparent lack of friction between them. The other refreshing thing was that none of those aliens so much as gave him a second glance - though the gathered Decepticons certainly did, even whispering to each other from a distance. Optimus settled for just ignoring their spectators and beginning to explore the goods on offer, wandering from stall to stall.

The market seemed to contain every possible type of item in the universe, counters overflowing with mysterious things that Optimus had never seen before but wanted to pick up and investigate, though he tamped down on the urge as he passed by devices and datapads and strange electric creatures in jars. Instead, he ambled along the irregular paths between the stands, examining the different options, alternatively shaded from the harsh Chaar sunshine by the fabric awnings twined around the ship’s struts high above. The stalls themselves were mostly arranged in rough circles around and within the ship, with fairly spacious thoroughfares between them allowing potential shoppers to browse the available wares.

Optimus found himself slowing to a stop before one of the stalls, which was selling the most beautiful sculptures, multicoloured and seemingly constructed from opaque glass. They ranged in size from fitting neatly within his servo to being almost as large as his upper chassis, while the designs were strangely abstract - some spherical, others disk or cylinder shaped with confusing spines fanning out in random places. And yet, they seemed weirdly… organic.

“Interested? Best houses in Darkmount.” Optimus jolted back at the sudden sound, looking around wildly for the owner of that trilling voice, but not finding any obvious shopkeeper. Thankfully he was saved from his confusion by Megatron, who wordlessly tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the largest of the sculptures, which Optimus belatedly realised had several thin fronds poking out of the top and waving gently.

“Ah… yeah, they’re very pretty.” Beautiful, in fact. Optimus leant down a little, taking a closer look. They were so fascinating to examine, but he didn’t really want to pick one up - partially because he was worried about damaging them, but also because he didn’t want to touch something he probably wasn’t going to buy. It wasn’t like he had any shanix, after all. Megatron would be footing the bill for this, and Optimus still wasn’t quite ready to test the limits of his goodwill. After a few moments he reluctantly pulled back, an apology to the shopkeeper at the ready.

“So,” Megatron murmured in his audial, “Which one would you like?” Apparently, Megatron had also leant over to take a better look, and was still examining the sculptures over his shoulder. He didn’t seem surprised by Optimus’ interest, and was clearly offering…

“I…” Optimus paused, looking at the sculptures (houses?) again. “... That one?” He pointed to a smaller sculpture that was almost teardrop shaped and a pleasing mix of mint green and deep purple. It wasn’t like it was something he needed, but it was awfully pretty, and he liked it.

Megatron hummed in his audial. “Very nice.” Without hesitating, he straightened up and redirected his focus to the shopkeeper. “This house, please.”

The shopkeeper chittered quietly. “Good choice! Very strong! Now, 45 shanix please.” The fronds poking out of the ‘sculpture’ waved back and forth rapidly.

“Of course.” Megatron carefully stepped around Optimus, placing his servo on the available pad as he presumably transferred the funds. The pad beeped happily, and Megatron calmly picked up the sculpture, offering it to Optimus. He took it, carefully balancing the surprisingly thick glass sculpture between his cuffed servos. 

Up close, he could see how light split and refracted around the structure, the surface covered in intricate designs that drew the optic. 45 shanix… not the most expensive, but not exactly cheap for what amounted to an ornament. Finally managing to tear his optics away from it, he glanced up and met Megatron's patient gaze. “You're really fine spending your money on something like this?”

Megatron tilted his helm, watching Optimus carefully. “Why shouldn't I be?”

Optimus shrugged nervously, unsure of how to answer. He'd thought it was pretty obvious. “Well, it's not exactly useful. I mean, I don't really need it.” A thousand snide comments about frivolity and pointlessness echoed in his helm. After all, why would a mech need something purely decorative?

Megatron didn’t so much as twitch. “But you like it?”

“Yeah.” At least the answer to that was easy. No matter what other mechs might say, he did enjoy having and doing things that might be considered useless. It wasn't like his love for fiction was particularly productive, after all.

“Then I'd say that's plenty of reason to buy it.” Megatron smiled down at him.

“Maybe, but…” Allspark, he just couldn't find the words to explain how he felt. He wasn't even sure how he felt, or where this sense of unease came from. Maybe it was because Megatron had just bought it for him? He sighed quietly, looking back down at the little sculpture. “Never mind.”

After all, 45 shanix was probably a drop in the bucket for Megatron. Why was he so hesitant? When Megatron had first suggested the trip, he'd fully intended on fleecing the mech for as much as he could get away with, a petty little piece of revenge. But Megatron's words in the elevator had changed things, had knocked his whole world off-kilter.

“Shall we continue on?”

“Sure.” Optimus turned to start walking, and abruptly realised he had nowhere to put the sculpture and no way to carry it. “Um.” He shot another glance at Megatron.  “Would you mind…?”

“Ah, I think I see the problem. Allow me.” Reaching over, Megatron delicately plucked the sculpture from his servos before tucking it in his own (functioning) subspace. Once it was secure, he nodded to Optimus and moved to stand by his side again, servo landing solidly in his back. Optimus shifted awkwardly from ped to ped, struck by how Megatron seemed intent on always taking up the same position… and always laying his servo on Optimus’ back. Was he missing something here? Was it some other confusing Decepticon tradition? He certainly didn’t dislike it (even if he should), it was just confusing.

Starting toward the next stall, he glanced sidelong at Megatron. “You don't have to always stand there, you know.” 

Megatron withdrew his servo sharpish, immediately stepping away from Optimus. “Apologies, I didn't mean to overstep. I won't do so again.” He had pulled himself in, standing as far away as he could while still being considered next to Optimus.

Optimus stared at him. “That… isn't what I meant.”

Megatron’s posture was undeniably tense, and while his expression was difficult to decipher, Optimus could sense more than a hint of worry. Did he think he’d upset Optimus again?

“I… I don't mind, I just thought maybe you might. Can’t be comfortable walking at my pace, after all.” He found himself hurrying to clarify, even though part of him screamed that he should absolutely mind the Decepticon Emperor touching him like that. He shouldn’t want the mech anywhere near him! But he also had to acknowledge the truth: Megatron’s presence, Megatron’s touch, was helping to ground him in this precarious situation. His superiors might consider it traitorous, but Optimus wasn’t keen to destabilise himself any further. Surely, keeping his helm cool was worth a little fraternisation. Besides… his superiors didn’t exactly have much of a say in his conduct anymore, did they?

Megatron was still. “My comfort is not the priority here. I will ask, are you sure? I do not wish to cause you needless distress.”

This was probably a bad idea. A good Autobot would be fighting Megatron every step, and would certainly never willingly allow the warlord to touch him. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Megatron inclined his helm solemnly before slowly reaching back out, deliberately telegraphing his movements as his servo settled on Optimus' back. He lingered in that position, not yet walking forward. Maybe he was waiting for Optimus to set the pace.

Desperate to move the conversation along, Optimus picked a topic that has been on his processor for the last few minutes as he started forward once more. “So at that stall… What exactly are those sculptures? The, uh, shopkeeper called them houses?”

“Oh, they are - from their point of view. More accurately, those ‘sculptures’ are moulted Diamacron shells - a curious race that creates those silica based shells to protect their soft interiors. They make for beautiful pieces of art though, and I gather that is what most buy them for.” Megatron didn’t seem disgusted by the creatures in the slightest - if anything, he seemed vaguely amused by their eccentricities.

Optimus looked at his servos, considering. “So they’re organic, then.” These… Diamacrons seemed utterly harmless, but neither they nor their beautifully intricate shells would ever have been allowed on Cybertron.

“That’s right. We do not discriminate against organic races here.” Megatron was clearly thinking the same thing - sometimes Optimus forgot that he had lived on Cybertron for millions of years before the Decepticon rebellion. Revolution. Whatever it had actually been, since Optimus was prepared to admit that he didn’t have all of the information about it.

He was just opening his intake to ask about what other organic species lived on Chaar when they turned a corner, and he was abruptly met with another strange sight. A large, sloppily painted sign declared that the area beneath was ‘The Shipwreck Spa’, while below it an assortment of Decepticon-sized chairs were scattered across the ground. Several of said chairs were occupied by actual Decepticons, all of them leaning back with every sign of contentment as multicoloured… things crawled about on their plating. And, he realised with a semi-disgusted jolt, under their plating. The creatures(?) didn’t seem to have any noticeable legs or other obvious methods of mobility; instead, they seemed to be growing in whatever direction they desired, while the older parts melted away into a weird slimy substance. Optimus did not consider himself to be a squeamish mech, but something about the creatures(?) made his tanks churn nauseatingly.

“What- what the frag?!” Optimus couldn’t help but recoil slightly, though he was stopped from moving too far by the servo on his back.

“I take it that you aren’t familiar with Myxogalian spas.” Megatron replied, his voice oddly flat - though Optimus couldn’t bring himself to focus on it.

“No! I mean… I can’t say that I am.” Optimus had to stop himself from yelping in response, optics fixed on the ‘spa’ with repulsed curiosity.

“Well, they’re not for everymech. Myxogalians eat organic detritus off their customers’ plating and leave behind a wax-like substance, so it’s a perfectly beneficial relationship. Though letting another so close to one’s protoform can be difficult to get used to.” Interestingly enough, Megatron sounded a little more strained than usual. Perhaps even… uncomfortable? 

Optimus stared at the strange, slimy creatures, who were apparently eating the dirt off of the Decepticons. Even the explanation sounded revolting. “Do you like it, then?” 

For a long moment, Megatron was silent. In fact, he was quiet for so long that Optimus managed to tear his optics away from the disgusting sight in order to see what was wrong. Megatron’s faceplates were deeply creased with… something, some expression Optimus could not identify. “I used to.” His tone was flat and heavy, stone blocks falling into place.

Optimus just blinked, caught off guard by Megatron’s abrupt mood shift. He’d spent most of their trip seemingly proud of Darkmount’s diversity, so he couldn’t see why that had changed now - or what had triggered it. “Used to?” He asked quietly, and then immediately regretted it.

That strange expression suddenly vanished, replaced by one that Optimus was much more familiar with - all consuming, uncontrollable rage. Megatron’s optics flared brightly, dentae bared as his engine growled, all signs that he was preparing for battle. Optimus had no time to react though, as mere clicks later Megatron answered his unwitting question. He gritted out the syllables like they were a personal affront to him, implacable fury dripping from the word. 

“Sumdac.”

Frozen in place, Optimus could do nothing but watch as Megatron’s fury slowly subsided, tension gradually leaking out from his frame as the inferno of his rage burnt out just as quickly as it had appeared. He clenched his free servo, venting in deeply and lifting his helm high. “Let us continue on.” The warmth had vanished from his voice, and for the first time since they had arrived in Darkmount he was actively pushing Optimus with such strength that he was forced to stumble forward, away from the ‘spa’. Optimus didn’t try to resist, equally glad to move away from the area… and away from that topic. He certainly hadn’t expected Megatron to blow up like that, though he supposed it shouldn’t have been that surprising.

Waking up as a disembodied helm, dissected and studied, utterly helpless… Optimus had never considered how that had been for Megatron, too concerned with his team’s wellbeing at the time. Now, though… Well, he didn’t exactly want to think about it now either. He definitely wasn’t planning on bringing it up again in the future.

They passed by several other stalls, Megatron striding ahead and essentially pushing Optimus along with him for several minutes before he finally slowed back down again. He still didn’t speak, though, staring ahead detachedly. Optimus didn’t try to break the silence, even as it weighed on him. Instead, his optics eventually wandered over to the nearby stalls - and stopped on a particularly inviting one. The counter was piled high with all manner of blankets and cushions, brightly coloured and incredibly soft looking. Optimus was filled with the urge to run his digits over the fluffy fabrics, or perhaps even bury his faceplates in the cosy pile.

Behind the various textile products were what could only be described as a swarm, a mass of insectoid beings fluttering around some sort of wooden structure. Each creature carried various threads in their many-jointed legs, and were busy swooping back and forth with the rest of their brethren, weaving a blanket before his very optics. As he watched a brilliant pattern appeared, the blanket taking shape in mere moments before being pulled off the wooden structure - some sort of loom - and carried to the counter by several of the creatures, while the rest got to work on the next item. It was mesmerising to watch, and Optimus ended up staring at it for so long that he completely missed it when Megatron finally recovered and began paying attention again. 

Megatron’s low voice in his audial notified him of his companion’s renewed focus. “Perhaps we should bring this trip to a close, now.” Optimus was a little disappointed, but he was tired as well. Besides, he’d seen plenty of Darkmount at this point. “But first; would you like some of those blankets? They’re undoubtedly of the highest quality - Weaverbugs tolerate no less.”

“Yes, please.” Optimus murmured, watching them work away. “They look really good.”

Alone in his room at last, Optimus rubbed his faceplates against his new blankets - they were unbelievably soft as it turned out, though surprisingly strong at the same time. The little sculpture was sitting next to the vase of crystal flowers, and beside both of those was a new stack of datapads to work through and a small box full of leftovers from the cafe. He was just licking the remnants of one of those treats off his digits, in fact. However, despite the available distractions, his processor was whirling with thoughts of the trip. And in particular…

Megatron, holding him in the elevator, at his side in the city, across from him at the cafe, asking what he liked in the market; all of it was contrasted with that single moment of incandescent rage. But even despite that, Optimus had not been fearful - taken aback and a little concerned, but not afraid. He had not expected Megatron to take that rage out on him, and in the end Megatron hadn’t. He’d been so understanding the whole trip, and even in the depths of his own fury he had simply seen to remove them both from the area and move on. Even then, he had been considering Optimus’ needs.

This new situation… they needed to talk about it, and soon. Especially since despite his best efforts, his spark still ached at every reminder of what had happened… at what had been done to him. But for now, Optimus was going to take the opportunity to rest, and fortify himself for what lay ahead.

Chapter Text

Optimus tapped one digit against the table, watching the door with a wary optic. A few cycles ago, Cyclonus had knocked and informed him that Lord Megatron would be joining him for lunch, and that had been that. Now he was waiting impatiently for the mech in question to show up, working on a mental list of things to cover as he did so. This was to be a long overdue conversation. Apparently.

Looking back on the last few weeks, it was clear that this change had been on the horizon for a while, even if he hadn't seen it at the time. With the power of hindsight, the gradual shift between them was much more obvious, though he couldn't put his digit on exactly when it began. Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. The little deal he’d made with Megatron after his attempted escape had definitely been the catalyst, but he still wasn’t exactly sure how that had led to the current state of affairs. All he’d promised was to listen, and all Megatron had promised was to tell the truth. And somehow, that tentative olive branch had turned into this mess. 

Optimus wasn’t looking forward to trying to sort it out, but he knew that he couldn’t put it off any further. Unlike all the other things he was still putting off thinking about. Hopefully this conversation would actually help more than it would hurt, though he wasn’t overly optimistic. Frag, how did one even begin to ask their captor about their feelings? He couldn’t help but glance from the doorway to the other chair again, anxious and irritable from the long wait. Allspark, what was keeping Megatron so long? Sure, Cyclonus hadn’t mentioned when Megatron was going to arrive, but the starting time for their usual meetings had already been and gone. Maybe he was nervous, as well. Not that it was any excuse. 

Allspark, he still couldn’t quite believe that Megatron… cared about him, to whatever extent. It didn’t make any fragging sense. Just… just… why?! Megatron had all the power here, and that had been the case since Optimus was captured. There was no reason for him to feel this way - for all his claims of ‘duty’, he’d never had any real sort of obligation toward Optimus. It was making his helm hurt, fruitlessly trying to work it all out. So yes, Optimus very much needed to talk to Megatron. Hence his impatience.

At long last, a knock came at the door. Optimus stiffened, sitting straight up his chair. He clenched his servos for a moment, before consciously forcing himself to relax. “Come in.”

The door hissed open, revealing Megatron silhouetted against the light of the hallway. Optimus watched as his gaze skipped across the room, before landing on its sole occupant. “Apologies for my tardiness, my work kept me later than expected.” With that he entered, and Optimus blinked as he saw the tray balanced carefully between his black servos - it was laden with several small bowls and some empty energon cubes, as well as a decanter full of shining energon. Optimus found himself leaning back in his chair as Megatron approached and placed the tray onto the table, gently pushing the vase out of the way to make space. The bowls seemed to be full of various metal supplements and flavourings, as well as a small stock of energon crystals.

“Well, you’re lucky I didn’t fuel yet.” Optimus murmured in reply, watching as Megatron relaxed into the other chair and began to set the items out on the table.

“Lucky indeed.” He was quick but methodical, arranging the various bowls and cubes in front of Optimus in a few scant clicks. And then he was done, and Optimus wasn’t sure how to delay things any longer. Not that he’d wanted to in the first place, it was just that… despite the amount of time he’d spent ruminating on the topic, he still wasn’t sure how to actually broach the subject.

“How are you today? I hope our trip did not fatigue you overly.” Before he could even begin trying to work himself up to it, Megatron went ahead and broke the silence. He was watching Optimus intently, servos folded neatly on the table in front of him.

Blindsided by the unexpected question, all his preparation went forgotten as he scrambled to answer. “I’m… fine? Not too tired.”

“Good to hear. Well, feel free to begin - I did keep you waiting for your fuel, after all.” Megatron reached forward himself, picking up the decanter and pouring out two cubes of energon, pushing one of them towards Optimus. He stared at it, trying to will himself into picking it up, or adding some supplements, or saying anything. Megatron was equally quiet, tipping metallic powder into his own cube and stirring it through, before lifting it up to slowly sip. He seemed utterly content to let the moment linger, compared to Optimus’ own state of anxiety. 

The silence stretched.

“Why?!” Optimus blurted out, unable to stay quiet any longer.

Megatron froze, watching Optimus over the top of his cube. “Why what?”

“Why me? Just… I don’t understand.” His voice came out more plaintive than he’d intended, confusion and disbelief intermingling. Allspark, this wasn’t how he’d meant to start things off.

Slowly and deliberately, Megatron placed his cube back down on the table. His gaze did not falter from Optimus’ faceplates for a single click. “That's… a complicated question.”  

He was silent for a moment longer, tapping his digits against the side of the cube, apparently deep in thought. “You already know why I chose to capture you. Your strength, previous  victories, tactical and leadership skills… They are why I sought to bring you here. Yes, it was with the hope that you would defect.” That may have been an open secret for the entire time Optimus was here, but it was still strange to hear Megatron admit it so bluntly. Still, it certainly didn’t explain Megatron’s current behaviour, so Optimus was thankful that he didn’t appear to be leaving his answer at that.

“However, things have certainly… changed since then. And as I've gotten to know you, it's become apparent that you are even more than I originally thought.” His optics were still fixed on Optimus’ as he spoke, tone low and measured. “Your military skills may be noteworthy, but your character - your sense of honour and loyalty, your powerful determination, wit, compassion… Those are what intrigued me even further.”

Optimus just stared at him, detachedly feeling his servos clench into fists. Not only did that explain exactly nothing, it was oddly infuriating to just sit there and listen to Megatron list of his ‘qualities’ like he was still trying to justify his choices, or cheer him up, or something. “Listen, you don't need to flatter me in order to excuse capturing me. I think we’re past that at this point - and besides, if that's your reason for claiming to care about me, there's plenty of other more interesting, courageous, or- or whatever mechs out there.” If Megatron was just going to offer limp explanations like that then Optimus didn’t see why he ought to be polite about it. He’d spent too much time worrying about this conversation to put up with this.

Megatron looked taken aback, but didn’t seem particularly apologetic. “I’m not trying to flatter you, but merely stating the truth.”

Optimus ground his dentae together, rapidly approaching true anger despite his best efforts. It was like Megatron was incapable of explaining things simply, too busy caught up in being as confusing and condescending as possible. “So you think I just ‘can't see the truth?’ Right, because that’s the problem here, and not that you aren’t answering me.” His voice had risen to a near shout, fuelled by a volatile cocktail of helplessness, frustration, weeks worth of old worries and newfound despair.

Across from him Megatron stiffened in his seat, clearly surprised at his sudden bout of anger. “No, I just…” He paused and shook his helm, apparently struggling to put words to his thoughts. “I swear that I’m not trying to demean you - I have the utmost respect for you! If you could see yourself as I do, maybe you would understand.” Of course, because that was useful.

Allspark, he still wasn’t answering! “And how do you see me? Because you’ve just described a talented pet. So why do you care about me?” Respect did not magically cause other mechs to care about you. That had been a painful realisation to come to, but Optimus had already accepted that fact at this point.

A brief flare of indignation flashed across Megatron’s faceplates at the ‘pet’ comment, but just as quickly it vanished as he composed himself, expression solemn and… searching. “Well.” He seemed almost hesitant, like he was afraid to answer for some reason. “I have found myself greatly appreciating our conversations. I admit that I was expecting our little meetings to be just another duty of mine, but as time passed I realised I was genuinely looking forward to them.”

Optimus vented in quietly, trying to keep calm. There. That was part of it. Admittedly, it was a conclusion he could have reached himself, but it still wasn’t something he’d known before. He was guilty of the same crime, after all. Despite everything, he’d come to enjoy their meetings before… before the broadcast.

But Megatron wasn’t finished yet. “I found you… intellectually fascinating, yes, but that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to keep talking with you. You are just deeply enjoyable to be around and talk to.” He was quiet for a moment, intake moving soundlessly, as if he was trying to work out what else to say in order for Optimus to understand him. “Dare I say, despite the circumstances, you are someone I would quite like to call... my friend. Though I accept that you likely do not have the same opinion of me.” Megatron was watching him carefully, almost nervously, like he was expecting another kind of violent outburst. Optimus, however, couldn’t bring himself to speak, staring dumbly at Megatron.

After a few strained moments, Megatron continued cautiously on. “And with time, well, I found myself caring about you and your struggles. What’s happened to you isn’t fair, my part included. And I truly am sorry for all of this.” Although Megatron had originally been hesitant, by the end he sounded utterly certain of himself and his assertions, voice strong and sure even as it was weighted down by sorrow and regret.

All Optimus could do was stare. It added up, he supposed. And once again, he couldn’t help but believe Megatron. 

Still, how was he supposed to respond to a galaxy conquering warlord’s sincere affirmation of care? “That’s…” Unconsciously, he ran his tongue across his dentae, trying to work out how he even felt about it, let alone how he wanted to respond. 

Even though he’d accepted Megatron’s words in the elevator, he still hadn’t really… come to terms with them at the time. He could brush them off then, set them aside as lies or at least insincere. But everything that had happened since had made that harder to believe - first he’d been forced to acknowledge that Megatron did care for him, and now that Megatron wasn’t doing it out of a sense of pity or regret. “Okay. Okay.”

And still, after everything, his processor tried to reject reality, even as his spark readily accepted it. “I mean, I get what you’re saying but…” The whole situation was absolutely absurd, after all. A random repair crew finding the Allspark had somehow led to Optimus being cared for by Megatron. “It still seems so strange. Despite everything I’m still just some Autobot soldier, right? I’m really not anything special.” It didn’t make sense that a mech like Megatron could come to care for him, especially in such a short amount of time

In all fairness Optimus did enjoy talking to Megatron, but Megatron was a wildly charismatic mech with a wealth of knowledge and an impressive wit. Optimus knew that other mechs liked and cared for him (his family, oh how he wished they were here), but he couldn't be so enjoyable to be around. His processor rebelled against the very idea, no matter how he tried.

However, it seemed his doubt wasn’t going over so well with Megatron. The mech was staring at him like he was utterly insane, before shaking his helm and slamming a servo down on the table top, perhaps a little harder than was appropriate. “But you are!” He sounded offended, yes, but equally he seemed to be confused. When he spoke again, gaze fixed on Optimus’ optics, his voice had taken an almost urgent tone, like he was truly desperate for Optimus to understand. “Allspark, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Optimus… You are simply extraordinary.”

Speechless, Optimus could do nothing but stare into those scarlet optics, caught in Megatron’s sights like he had been so many times before. Except this time, rather than feeling trapped or fearful, he felt… seen, if not quite understood. Gradually, the confusion and doubt ebbed from his processor, leaving only the spark deep sense of acceptance behind. Megatron’s words were as sincere as the look in his optics, and Optimus was drowning in both.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so affected by simple praise, but Allspark it had been so long since one of his superiors - no, anyone at all - had complimented him like that and meant it. Because Megatron did mean it, and it wasn’t just an easy compliment tossed to him to sate his cravings for the next decade or so. Then again, maybe it was having a mech who looked at everything that had been done to him and said no, this isn’t fair, you never deserved this. Optimus knew that already, had done so for a while, but it had always seemed that nomech outside his family thought the same. His superiors certainly never had.

And it meant a lot to him. It meant an awful lot. He blinked furiously, scrubbing a servo across his faceplates as he struggled to compose himself. After several difficult moments of battling hitched vents, he managed to bring his emotions back under control and actually look at Megatron again. “Alright. Friends, then.” He whispered, watching as a smile spread across Megatron’s faceplates until it reached his surprised optics and filled them with warm contentment.

Megatron was grinning widely, clearly pleased, but he still inclined his helm toward Optimus respectfully. “I will be honoured to refer to you as such.” He lifted his cube and tilted it towards Optimus in a mock toast, before drinking deeply, setting it aside afterward with a noise of satisfaction.

Optimus looked down at his own cube and sighed softly, before asking perhaps the most important question he had left. “So. What now?”

Megatron was quiet for a time, before letting out a huge rumbling sigh of his own. “I cannot let you go.” His words were laden with sorrow, but were just as heavy with finality. He would not, could not, be swayed on this. 

“Yeah. To be perfectly honest, I kind of figured that even before you explained the reasoning.” Admittedly he hadn’t guessed exactly how the tradition worked, but he’d already known enough about Decepticon society and rules to guess that he wouldn’t be allowed to just leave even after the deal fell through. Though, that didn’t mean he’d been happy to receive confirmation for his hunch.

Megatron nodded, not looking particularly surprised either. “Of course. Still, even though you must remain here, I do intend to make sure you are comfortable and at least… reasonably happy. I know that’s hardly something I can guarantee, but I am more than willing to try.” Before, such a statement would have enraged Optimus, but now it was almost reassuring.

He tilted his helm in acknowledgement, fiddling with the cube in his servos and finally lifting it to sip from, using the moment to gather his thoughts. “I’d say I’m decently comfortable at the moment. Though I’d definitely appreciate more time outside, whether in the city or not.” The stress of being around so many other mechs had been a little much at the time, but he still wanted to explore more of the city and surrounding areas, if only to see what there was.

“I can certainly arrange for that… but if you’d excuse my presumption, I’m sure you’d like much more than a little extra time outside.” Megatron had fixed him with a knowing look, gentle smile turning into more of a smirk.

Optimus couldn’t suppress an amused snort, shaking his helm as a silly grin crept across his faceplates. “You’re excused. Let me think for a click…” In all honesty, Optimus hadn’t really thought about what sort of demands he could make of Megatron, too busy worrying about the other things they needed to discuss. What did he actually want, outside of the material and the obvious? Improving his quality of life was not just as simple as being bought things or going outside sometimes. Perhaps the answer lay in examining what he normally liked to do - though admittedly his life had not been ‘normal’ for quite some time now. On Earth, when he wasn’t fighting Decepticons or patrolling Detroit’s streets, he’d spent most of his time reading, but the same was true right now. He already had training covered, as well… still, maybe exercising more was the key here.

Optimus nodded decisively to himself. “I want to be more active. Sitting around all day has been driving me up the proverbial wall, but I also don’t want to spend all my time training. I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?”

“Hm. I could arrange for you to have access to other methods of exercise, but I’m not sure if that’s quite what you’re looking for.” Megatron tapped a digit against the table, optics dimming as he thought.

“Exactly, I don’t think it’s just exercise that I want.” He needed something more, he just wasn’t sure what.

Silence fell as they both sat in thought, Optimus fruitlessly trying to work out where exactly this strange hunger of his came from. It was a deep urge, in his spark and in his struts, but he could not think of what it was connected to. Perhaps it was a desire for freedom, but somehow he doubted that too. The quiet lasted for several minutes, before it was broken when Megatron suddenly let out a groan and slapped a servo across his faceplates. “I fear we’re both being foolish.”

“How so?”

Megatron let the servo slip from his faceplate, shifting in his seat and fixing Optimus with a rueful smile. “Optimus. Would you, in fact, like to spend some time driving?”

Optimus couldn’t have hidden the excited revving of his engine even if he’d tried. “Please.” He hadn’t transformed in months at this point, and now that Megatron mentioned it he could easily detect the desire to get his wheels down and just go, feel the burn as he pushed his engine as far as he could, and, and-

Laughter filled the room, petering off into softer chuckles as Megatron regained his composure. “I thought as much. Provided you are adequately supervised, I believe it ought to be perfectly reasonable for you to spend some time driving - as well as exercising more freely in general. I know we have the facilities for it.” 

All of a sudden, Optimus could think of nothing else. “That would be… Yeah, that’d be really good.”

“Then I will sort that out. As a matter of fact, I believe I could do so for tomorrow, since I feel that you’re rather eager.” Megatron’s tone was utterly indulgent, but Optimus wasn’t complaining. He had a suspicion that waiting for tomorrow was going to be exceedingly difficult. Though, before he got too excited, he should probably mention what he’d been thinking about.

“There is one other thing, actually.” There wasn’t much point in it now, he was very aware of that, but still… “If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue learning about Decepticon history. It’s certainly fascinating, and I’d love to learn more about your culture.”

Again, Megatron did not seem overly surprised, though he was definitely pleased. “Yes. I would be happy to continue teaching you what I can.” 

Optimus smiled at him. “Sounds like a plan, then.”

Chapter Text

Once again Optimus was waiting impatiently, though this time it was with much less annoyance and a whole lot more excitement. He paced back and forth in front of the berth, filled with nervous energy that had been bottled up for far too long and was now begging to escape. The promise of finally being able to work out that energy was all that was keeping it contained as he waited, spark spinning rapidly in his chassis. Allspark, but Megatron couldn’t arrive soon enough!

Now that they’d identified the problem, it was extremely obvious. After all, even back on Earth he’d spent countless cycles patrolling the streets of Detroit, driving for miles every day. While some of his teammates had found it tiresome, Optimus had always enjoyed exploring the city, slipping into a meditative state as he drove and took in the sights. And then Optimus had returned to Cybertron, been captured by Megatron and brought to Chaar, where he had spent almost 100% of his time in stasis cuffs that prevented transformation. So yeah, Optimus was looking forward to spending some time on the road, even if it probably wouldn’t be an actual road. Considering how Megatron had insisted on binding his servos while visiting Darkmount, he somehow doubted he’d get to drive around outside of anything more than a high-security vault.

Finally a quiet knock had him spinning around to face the door, and he practically sprinted toward it, almost smacking into a rather surprised Megatron in his haste. Thankfully, he managed to slow down in time, skidded to a halt just before the startled mech.

Megatron blinked. “I take it you’re looking forward to this?”

Optimus scrubbed a servo across his faceplates, momentarily hiding his embarrassed grin. “Just a little, yeah.” Well, at least he’d managed to avoid slamming into him. “Can we go right now?” He was probably coming off as overeager, but to be fair he absolutely was.

Megatron just chuckled, shoulders shaking from his mirth. “Yes, I’m taking you over there right now.” He stepped backwards out of the doorway, gesturing for Optimus to follow, which he did so gladly. 

The journey through the citadel wasn’t particularly quick, although Optimus did realise after a few minutes that Megatron had adjusted his stride once more to account for his impatience. After some time they reached a set of elevators, which took them down the citadel… and then underneath it. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment of the transition, but Optimus suddenly had the creeping feeling that he was underground, descending rapidly through the dense layers of rock. The elevator ride had been far too long for them to still be above Darkmount, after all. 

When the doors finally opened and they stepped outside, Optimus found himself in a cavernous hallway that seemed hewn from the bare rock, metal supports dotted throughout the area. It was more a cave than anything else, and Optimus’ helm swivelled as he examined the strangely natural area. “How far down are we?” 

Another quiet chuckle from beside him. “Not as far as you’d imagine. And before you ask, there is a reason we’re all the way down here. I believe you’ll understand in a moment, if you’d come this way…” Megatron gestured for him to follow, crossing the cavern with measured steps as he headed for a huge metal door embedded in the rock. It slowly ground open, revealing yet another massive room, though the floor within was panelled with square metal plates. 

Optimus gasped quietly as he entered, astonished by the size of the room.

“Impressed?”

Apparently they were much further underground than he’d originally thought. “I’m amazed this whole room fits beneath the citadel! What do you even need something like this for?” He craned his helm back to take the whole room in, but the ceiling was so high he could barely make it out.

“Technically, this is another training room. However, this one is designed with the intention of simulating squad battles or full scale assaults, hence the impressive size.” Megatron’s deep voice echoed off the surrounding walls, reverberating back and forth as the sound slowly drained away.

“Well, I guess that makes sense.” Optimus murmured, walking forward a little and spinning in place as he examined the room. “I can see why you picked it, too. Plenty of space to drive around in here.”

Megatron hummed in agreement. “Most warframes are built for flight, so we don’t have any proper race tracks like you’d find on Cybertron. That’s not the only reason I decided on this place, though.”

“Oh?” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Megatron beckoning him over to the entrance. Curious, he walked back towards the door, noticing a chair and small control panel beside it as he approached.

Megatron was typing on the console, digits flying across a holographic display. “Running a full simulator at this size would be impossible, but an empty room isn’t conducive to practising warfare. So, when building this room a simpler method was decided upon.” He glanced up from his work, throwing Optimus a smirk that was equal parts smugness and pride. “Now…” He pressed a final key, and the ground before them began to rumble. 

Before Optimus’ optics, the metal panels started moving, some of them pushing up out of the ground in a wave, forming first a series of towers, then a sharply inclined slope which slowly compressed into a softer angle. “Wow. Okay, I am impressed.” Examining the new layout, Optimus realised that parts of the floor were still level, forming crude roads, while others were steeper, presenting more of a challenge.

“That’s good to hear. But before you get to it, I believe there is one more thing we need to do. Take a seat.” Megatron gently ushered him over to the chair. Optimus blinked at him, trying to remember why… oh. Right. He sat, offering Megatron his cuffs. Black servos gripped his own, digits smoothing over the cuffs. They lingered there for several moments as Megatron stared down at him, expression solemn and serious. He did not speak, but Optimus could  understand what he meant. Optimus nodded softly, and Megatron’s servos relaxed slightly. 

With a loud click the once featureless cuffs suddenly split open, freeing Optimus’ arms. He rubbed his wrists gratefully, watching as Megatron carefully tucked the shackles into his subspace and gestured for him to lift up his pedes. It was a little awkward but he managed it, scooching back on the chair so Megatron could reach down and take hold, the cuffs popping off moments later. He shivered, swinging his pedes eagerly as he waited for Megatron to back up. Free. Well, reasonably so at least. After months of being restrained and blocked from transforming he was just dying to get moving properly.

“Now, you’ve got a few cycles before it’s time to refuel, so I suggest you make the most of it.” Megatron patted his shoulder gently, moving so Optimus could get up.

“Will do.” Optimus jumped to his pedes, jogging forward a few steps before slowing and glancing over his shoulder at the now-seated Megatron. “And what about whoever’s supposed to be supervising me?”

Rich laughter echoed off the walls of the chamber, filling the air with the sound of mirth. “I dare say I’m fit for the job. Go on.”

Optimus didn’t need any more encouragement. He ran forward and dived into his transformation, landing in vehicle mode hard enough to bounce on his suspension and gunning his engine without pause. His wheels spun on the metal panels for a moment, as they didn’t afford him much grip, but soon enough he got the hang of things and shot off across the floor, heading for one of the sloped sections. It felt good, pushing his engine to the max, the slight burn at the sudden exertion racing through his lines. Optimus might not be a particularly fast mech, built for strength more than speed, but he was still able to move surprisingly quickly when pressed… or when he felt like it. And right now, he wanted to move.  

He didn’t dip below 80mph for the next 10 minutes, working his way back and forth across the room as he explored the simulated terrain. When he did slow down it was only to settle into the steady pace set by many cycles of patrolling, a tireless roll he could keep up for as long as he desired. Maybe it should have been boring, just driving around the same room, but after so long spent cooped up Optimus was more than happy with what he could get. In fact, he could have continued on for far longer, but as he completed yet another lap he drew to a stop and transformed. Driving was nice, but ever since Megatron had shown him the capabilities of the room there had been another idea on his processor.

Megatron tilted his helm at Optimus as he approached, obviously confused. “Done already?”

He didn’t bother to hide his grin, tapping a ped excitedly. “Not in the slightest. I just wanted to ask if you could change up the floor again.” Allspark, he was really looking forward to this.

Megatron nodded, leaning forward and activating the console. “Ah, of course. What would you like?”

“Something like those towers earlier, but closer together. Oh, and can you make them have different heights?” Hopefully Megatron would be able to whip up something that hit the particular spot he was hoping to scratch.

Dutifully, Megatron began tapping on the control panel, the floor before them shivering and beginning to rise. “Very well. In the mood for some more challenging driving, I take it.”

Optimus hopped from ped to ped, excitement rising by the click. “Not exactly.” 

Megatron glanced up from his work, clearly intrigued. “Oh?”

“You’ll see.” 

Ahead of them the floor was finally settling into the towers Optimus had specified, and his smile only widened as he watched. Perfect.

As he started forward, he was aware of Megatron’s curious gaze on his back, intensifying when Optimus decided he was close enough to the towers and lifted his wrist. With a satisfying click, he unlocked both of his grapples and fired the first at the nearest tower. The wire arced gracefully toward the tower, grapnel colliding with the huge metal block and sinking slightly into the surface. A quick tug confirmed that the hook was secure, and Optimus began to run forward, reeling in the wire as he picked up speed until he finally jumped and engaged the motor fully, flying forward through the air. He swung forward at speed, waiting until he reached the apex of his arc before releasing the grapnel entirely and beginning to fall. He waited as long as he dared before twisting and firing off his other grapnel, pulling himself sideways into another swing.

Optimus may have been built to drive, but he’d always been strangely at home in the air, even after his… tumble off Sumdac tower. If anything, he’d made a point of continuing practising with his grapples, if only to prove to himself that he still could. Soaring through the sky so high above the ground, kept aloft by his own skill and strength… It was intensely satisfying in a way he couldn’t quite describe. Not quite like driving, but not exactly like sparring either.

Ah, but there was one thing it was similar to. The next time he was approaching the bottom of a swing, instead of shooting off the next grapple he twisted in midair so his pedes were level with the floor, before partially activating his transformation sequence. The wheels on either side of his pedes snapped down into place, and he landed on them in the next instant, smoothly transitioning his momentum from the swing into forward movement as he skated across the floor.

Ratchet had given him an audial full the first few times he’d tried this, complaining that his axles weren’t built to take his full weight in robot mode. However, the added mobility in combat had simply been too useful, and in the end Ratchet had capitulated and settled for strengthening his axles so he could use them like this. And Optimus had to admit, usefulness in fights aside, skating on his wheels was simply very fun. 

It brought back memories of stolen cycles in empty parking lots, practising techniques and polishing his moves to perfection. He’d fallen on his aft (and faceplates) plenty of times back then as he slowly figured out how to balance, how to shift his weight just so in order to gain the maximum amount of speed. Sari had described the technique as ‘having built-in, motorised heelys’, whatever that meant. Now, Optimus drew on all of his hard work, zipping across the floor and swerving around the towers far more agilely than he could ever hope to manage in his vehicle mode. After expertly dodging a few towers, he opted to re engage his grapples, swooping back up into the air for a few moments as he dipped and twirled, dancing in the air, delighting in his own skill.

As he was turning, making the swift calculations as to whether he should swing to the next tower or drop to the floor and skate around it, a sudden roaring sound surprised him. It was rapidly coming closer, so Optimus elected to fire both grapples at the next tower, reeling himself all the way in until he could brace his pedes against it and take a proper look, hanging in place. Glancing in the direction of the sound, Optimus blinked as he saw an approaching object, and again when he realised what it was. Barrelling through the air toward him was Megatron in his vehicle form, huge helicopter blades whipping up a storm. He came to a halt near Optimus, hovering in place.

“I have to admit, this isn’t quite what I expected. But perhaps that’s my fault for not being imaginative enough.” Despite the din caused by his rotors, Megatron’s voice still carried clearly enough for Optimus to hear him.

“I mean, you’ve seen me fight before!” Optimus yelled over the noise, awkwardly shifting so he could face Megatron a little better without falling from his perch. “Also, could you- could you transform? It’s a bit loud.”

An instant later Megatron began to transform, the commotion of his entrance ceasing as his blades stilled and folded back into his body. He floated closer to Optimus, balancing neatly on his anti-grav thrusters. “Of course, my apologies.”

Optimus shook his helm, like Megatron needed to apologise for something like that. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Uh… do I need to stop now? I didn’t think it’d been that long but I guess I lost track of time…” Allspark knew that’d happened plenty of times before in the past.

“Ah, no. You’ve plenty of time left. Actually, I wanted to ask you something.” Megatron replied, expression still apologetic, although there was also a note of… excitement?

Optimus scooched his pedes further up the wall, trying very hard not to slip. “I’m listening.”

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in exercising with me.” Optimus blinked at him again. He certainly wouldn’t be opposed to that, but it didn’t exactly explain what Megatron was intending.

“How so?”

Megatron smiled. “I was thinking about a little game of… well, I suppose you’d call it tag. But with more verticality than usual.” He gestured to Optimus and the towers around them. “You’re very skilled with those grappling hooks, after all. Does that sound enjoyable?”

Optimus thought for a moment, glancing down at Megatron’s anti-gravs. That did sound pretty good - Megatron would definitely be able to give him a challenge. Being chased through the training room sounded pretty exhilarating as well, and Megatron would doubtless pull some kind of clever trick or move that he’d have to work round. “Yeah, it does. Though I have to ask if you’re going to transform for it or not.” He wasn’t sure exactly how good Megatron’s anti-grav’s were, but he suspected they could allow him to be quicker and more agile than his own method of transportation.

Megatron dipped his helm in agreement, floating a little closer. “I was planning on it, yes. My vehicle form is faster, but far less manoeuvrable. I think that would make it a fair competition.” He definitely seemed excited at the prospect.

“You know what? Yeah, let’s do it.” Optimus shifted his balance on the tower, letting his grapples out a little and twisting so he could kick off it easily. “Do I get a headstart?” He was a little surprised by his own eagerness, but he supposed it shouldn’t be so much of a surprise. Megatron always had pushed him to his limits and beyond, always had challenged every part of him. Instinctively, he knew that this would be the same, and part of him welcomed that.

Megatron chuckled, shifting his own posture as well. “20 clicks and no more.” Even from this distance, Optimus could see that same desire for challenge reflected in his optics.

It wasn’t enough to distract him, though. “That’s not very much!” 

Megatron laughed even louder, transforming and hovering in front of him. “It’s 18 clicks now.”

Optimus took the hint and kicked off from the tower, releasing his grapples and falling rapidly past Megatron, gaining speed with the click. Moments later he fired his grapples again, momentum translating into a huge upward swing as he shot off across the room. He weaved between the towers as quickly as he could, aiming to gain distance between himself and Megatron. More distance meant more room to manoeuvre, and more space to escape.

Soon enough he could hear the loud whup whup of Megatron’s approach, and he tensed in anticipation for the chase. A quick twist in midair gave him a perfect view of the advancing helicopter - he could see his twin blades whirling as he barrelled forward through the air, but more importantly he could see exactly where Megatron was. Optimus finished the little twirl, firing off his next grapple and continuing his current path, waiting for Megatron to get closer. Fast, but not agile. Optimus could work with that.

When Megatron was even closer to him, almost within range to transform and make a grab, Optimus flipped himself around in the air and shot a grapple straight down, pulling himself down for just a click as Megatron roared past over his helm, before twisting to pull himself to the side again before he splattered all over the floor. As he regained his previous height, he abruptly realised that he’d lost sight of Megatron, though the noise around him suggested that the mech was still nearby. Was he hiding behind one of the towers? Optimus’ little stunt had screwed with his sense of direction somewhat, and he couldn’t quite remember which direction Megatron had been going. The sound of Megatron’s rotors was extremely loud, and he also had a suspicion that Megatron was moving, stalking him through the room. Optimus elected to keep going, sticking close to the towers and concentrating on his surroundings carefully.

In the end, that was what saved him - as he turned a corner Optimus registered a slight raise in the amount of noise, which meant when he turned his helm and saw Megatron barrelling toward him he had just enough time to dodge out of the way. It didn’t leave him in a great position though, forcing him to quickly pick another direction. Swinging round to the side, he also discovered that Megatron wasn’t that bad at turning, as the helicopter banked sharply and followed him just as swiftly. And Megatron was definitely a lot faster than him. He was growing closer with every passing click, no matter how fast Optimus moved.

Merely outrunning Megatron wasn’t working, but somehow he didn’t think hiding would go much better. He needed to up his game. Picking another direction at random, he darted off, purposefully sticking close to the towers. Each time he fired a new grapple, he swung further round the tower, building up momentum. At the same time, he forced Megatron to either take a longer and more circuitous path or follow him closely and risk damage. It seemed Megatron had gone for the latter, as he chased Optimus fearlessly, making ever tighter turns. In fact, he was actually speeding up, taking every moment he could to nip at Optimus’ heels and try to get in range for a grab. 

Swearing internally, Optimus threw himself into another spiralling turn, twisting through a complicated pattern as he tried to lose Megatron. To his relief, it actually worked - Megatron finally choosing to back off and find a different path. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that well for Optimus either - he came out of the manoeuvre completely turned around, and he reflexively attempted to grapple a nearby tower. The grapnel hit the tower, and fixed into it just long enough to pull him even further off balance, before abruptly popping free under his weight. Optimus yelped as he found himself suddenly falling, trying to aim a second grapple-

His ped was engulfed by a huge servo, immediately arresting his fall. That same servo pulled him upwards as a second fixed around his waist, lifting him and flipping him over until Optimus found himself face-to-faceplates with a grinning Megatron. “Tag.” Now that he was no longer in vehicle mode, Optimus could hear his fans spinning as they struggled to cool his high-power frame after the chase. “I have to say, that was very enjoyable. You’re trickier than you let on, hm?” Optimus stared at him, realising that he was currently being held in Megatron’s arms, high above the training room hall. His chassis was crushed against Megatron’s, those big servos holding him securely.

“Ah… right, you caught me. Guess you win.” He should probably be more disappointed than he was, but it had all happened so quickly, and the preceding chase had been extremely fun.

“Maybe, but you certainly didn’t make it easy.” Megatron shifted his grip slightly. “Would you like to go again? I suspect you could catch me if you put your processor to it.”

Optimus grinned at the thought. “Yeah!”

Chapter Text

The library was familiar in a comfortable sort of way, especially after the last few days. Optimus would admit that he’d missed the serene nature of the place, the peace it brought him. And of course its vast contents. Now, he smoothed a digit over the datapad in his servos, exulting in the reassuring weight. It had only been a week or so since he’d last done any reading, but it felt like much longer. The restlessness that had plagued him for the last few days had finally abated, and he was finally able to focus on anything other than his predicament. Ever since Cyclonus had arrived, that fateful morning… His life had been turned upside down again, the normalcy he’d clawed back for himself during his captivity ripped away in an instant. Aside from all of his other problems, he’d been… mourning that loss, he supposed. So it was especially nice to be back in the library, ready to do something soothing. Though part of him still grieved that there was little point in it anymore.

Thoughts of escape, and then of helping his people, had fuelled him for most of his time in Decepticon captivity. They had given him something to strive toward, and something to hope for. Now, he had neither. Helping his people had been contingent on eventually escaping, after all. He supposed that it could have also applied to being rescued, but Optimus knew that was just as unlikely. Who would try to rescue a corpse? He gripped the datapad a little too tight at the thought, trying to suppress the ensuing wave of grief. No matter how he tried to ignore the truth, the possibility of ever seeing his family again was practically nil at this point. It was so hard having to go on, knowing that every mech who loved him thought he was already gone. He was stuck here… maybe forever. What was he supposed to even do any more-

“Optimus? Are you alright?” The interruption jolted him out of his spiral, Optimus glancing up to meet the concerned optics of Megatron. His friend, he remembered belatedly. Megatron was leaning forward in his seat, servo half-outstretched like he was trying to help but unsure of what exactly to do.

Optimus mentally slapped himself, quickly shaking his helm and turning on the datapad. “I’m- I’m fine. Just thinking.” He kept forgetting that Megatron would get concerned over him if he seemed too upset. It was taking some getting used to, if he was perfectly honest.

Megatron didn’t look particularly convinced, but he let the subject lie, apparently content to return to silence. Aside from the selection of fuels scattered across the table between them, there was no sign of whatever lesson they were partaking in today. And Optimus was very sure that there would be a lesson - he’d asked Megatron to keep teaching him, after all. Maybe he was just waiting for Optimus to be a little more comfortable before broaching whatever topic they were covering. Which… well, he supposed he could hardly complain about that. Still, he didn’t really want to sit around with his own thoughts for too long.

“So… what have you got for me today?” He tried for a casual tone accompanied by a smile, though he wasn’t sure how well he accomplished it. Hopefully if they started a proper conversation, he’d be able to ignore those troubling thoughts.

Megatron nodded slightly, tapping the table between them. He looked slightly eager and slightly anxious. It was a strange expression to see on the mech. “Well, there is more history to cover… but since this is the first proper meeting we’ve had in a while, I thought we could ease back into things with some lighter topics.”

“That’s…” Part of Optimus was annoyed at the insinuation that he needed time to reacclimate, but he supposed Megatron was right, Besides, he was clearly trying - Optimus could at least put in the same amount of effort. “That’s very thoughtful of you. What do you suggest, then?”

“You expressed interest in our culture before, and I know you enjoy literature, so I thought I could show you some examples of warframe works throughout the ages.” With barely a pause, Megatron reached into his subspace and whipped out a surprisingly tall stack of datapads, placing it on the table between them with a vaguely expectant smile. Had he gotten those ready before Optimus arrived? He’d been sitting when Optimus got there and hadn’t moved since… No, he really ought to focus.

Optimus looked at the stack inquisitively, noting how most of the datapads seemed to be significantly aged, though a few were of more recent construction. In fact, one of them was even still shiny, the surface not yet worn away by use. “So I take it this is a collection?”

“That’s right. It may have been a little… presumptuous of me, but I selected some works that I hope provide at least a decent coverage of our vast range of literature.” Again, he seemed slightly nervous, like he expected Optimus to complain about that. 

“I mean, I doubt I’d know where to start on my own. Can you tell me anything more about them?” Warframes had been around for a very long time, after all - surely there were plenty of works to choose from. He was curious as to why Megatron had chosen these specific texts… and not just because it would tell him something about Megatron’s tastes in literature. Sue him, he was interested - they’d talked about literature enough in the past, but he still had no idea what kinds of text Megatron preferred. Surely, the books Megatron kept recommending him had to tell him something…

Megatron looked… almost embarrassed. “Ah. Obviously one small collection can’t adequately describe the entirety of our cultural history, but I picked out some works that I consider important. Some of our most famous authors, mainly. And… since you’ve mentioned what you like before, I hope these will also be enjoyable.” He slid the stack of datapads over, relinquishing them with no small amount of hesitance. Allspark, what was going on with Megatron today? He was usually so… annoyingly confident. All the time.

Scooping up the datapads, Optimus glanced through the titles. They certainly looked inviting… “Huh.” He looked up, seeing Megatron’s apprehensive expression. Maybe this was a good chance to ask his burning question. “You know, I still don’t actually know what you like to read for fun.”

And because he was looking at Megatron, he got to see the instant that apprehensive look turned to something almost… guilty? “Well… I believe I mentioned that I write poetry, and I confess to being fond of reading it as well. Aside from that, I enjoy historical epics, biographies… and admittedly, a fair few love stories.” Three of those made sense, and one hit Optimus out of left field. He stared at Megatron, perplexed, until the mech gave him a look of bemusement. “What?”

Optimus blinked at him, before realising that Megatron might be offended. “It’s just not exactly what I pegged you as liking!” Frag, he really wasn’t trying to upset Megatron, but reacting the way he did- it was just surprising, really. Despite all the time they’d spent together, he still had trouble distinguishing Megatron the terrible warlord with Megatron his friend, sometimes.

Megatron snorted, shaking his helm. He didn’t seem annoyed, at least - something Optimus was grateful for. “Truly, I contain multitudes. There’s a comforting simplicity about love stories that I enjoy.” A slight smile spread across his faceplates, filled with nostalgia. Optimus couldn’t help but nod in agreement - he knew that feeling all too well.

“I mean, fair enough. It just… wasn’t what I expected.” Clearly, he should’ve.

Still, Megatron just seemed amused, though his earlier apprehension seemed to have returned.“It usually isn’t. Now, would you like to get started?”

“Yeah, okay.” Optimus selected the top datapad, flicked it on, and was almost immediately absorbed in the story.

Poring over Intelligence reports wasn’t exactly Jazz’s idea of a good time, but it had to be done. Even worse, he had to do it in his work hours, juggling his duties around reading through the archived reports. Unfortunately, Jazz couldn’t access said documents outside of his shift without arousing suspicion, so he was forced to do it on the job. The only balm to his annoyance was the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one struggling through countless records, as both Blurr and Arcee were busy doing the exact same thing at that very moment. Still, even between all three of them it was going to take an age to get through everything. Despite his earlier confidence about finding out the truth, it was proving to be exceedingly difficult. 

Though he supposed that wasn’t totally accurate - finding out whether the supposed Intelligence operation had taken place had been disturbingly easy. It hadn’t.

High Command - and by extension, Intelligence - were meticulous in their record keeping. Every operation, no matter how clandestine, would be recorded somewhere. Even if the file was classified and heavily redacted, they still should have been able to find it given the right information. But nothing existed. Which meant there hadn’t been any attempt to extract Optimus and retake the Hammer.

The rest of the team… hadn’t taken the revelation well. The knowledge that High Command had apparently just abandoned Optimus to the Decepticons, or at the very least lied about the truth to the public - it certainly wasn’t good. Much as he liked the rest of the team, Jazz had been a little worried about telling the younglings, mostly since he knew it’d upset them even more. Still, he’d agreed that they deserved to know. If anything, despite the terrible news, it had almost… helped? Obviously, their grief hadn’t disappeared, but knowing that there might be somemech outside of the Decepticons that they could truly blame, and maybe even enact justice against… well, having an enemy was good for a mech, sometimes. It kept you going.

As soon as the news had sunk in, all three of the younglings had begged to help with finding the truth. Of course, there wasn’t so much they could do about it right now, but Ratchet had accepted the younger mechs’ help and promised to keep them up to date with whatever they found. He’d then sworn them to secrecy, before asking that Bumblebee and Bulkhead go back into the Elite Guard to sniff around. Meanwhile, Sari was going to be helping decode any files they did find, her innate link to technology a boon to their efforts.

Now, they were all busy trying to work out what had taken place. The Magnus Hammer had been recovered somehow, so there had to be a file on that somewhere. The question was if they could find it. Well, more precisely it was if they could find it before anyone from Command caught wind of what exactly they were doing. Ratchet suspected that they were being monitored, and Jazz had to agree with him - there was no way Command was just going to let them go back to their jobs without keeping an optic on them. Not after everything. 

So Jazz was stuck combing through reports, hoping to find out how the Hammer had gotten back to Cybertron. There was no way the Decepticons had just sent it back to the Autobots with a nice little note explaining what they’d done with Optimus. Somewhere, there was proof. Jazz sighed, taking a sip of energon and clicking through to the next file, briefly glancing at his other screen which was currently showing the hacked security feeds from outside his temporary office. It didn’t matter how long it took. They had to find that proof.

Optimus popped an energon crystal in his intake and crunched it up thoughtfully. He was still working through some of the datapads Megatron had given him - currently he was just finishing off a collection of warframe folktales - and he’d certainly been enjoying himself so far. Megatron’s selection was diverse, spanning millions of years as it did, but most of the texts seemed to be geared towards Optimus’ own interests. Myths and legends, a few biographies, historical works… all genres that he’d professed to enjoying in the past to Megatron.

Finishing the final story, he flicked off the datapad and set it aside with the other works he’d completed. That one had been good, even though he suspected those stories were aimed at newbuilds. Reading about how the ancient warframes had conceptualised the world around them was fascinating. Now, what was next… He picked up the datapad on the top of the stack, the one with the weirdly shiny casing. Presumably, this was a very recent work, so he was curious to see what the current state of Decepticon writing looked like. Turning the pad on, he was greeted by plain text - no author, no title, no date - just lines of glowing text arranged in neat stanzas. He stared at it for a moment, confused. It was clearly poetry, but the lack of other information was a bit strange. Well, he supposed it was probably new. Turning his attention to the text, Optimus read…

“Rejoice, my friends, for the skies become dead! And never have we felt more alive!”

Shipfire fought off, we call to the sun, with a death-knell march;

Heavy is the battle-passioned spark.

The final blade-dance finds our spirit, and now betwixt this our song.

Yet all we ever hear is silence.

Winch dragging plate as the last dead are buried-

But lo, there is joy on the field! 

The fools must think it home.

Toss the newscrap, alone, everymech implored to join!

All I can deliver is silence.

The journey home is long, for we cross the stars this day,

The giddy pass the time drunk on war.

A necessary battle, for certain, and yet... 

The pounding in my chest...

I remain disgusted for the dead,

But now they know nothing but silence.

Emerge from the ship, under home planet skies,

desperate to find lacking comfort.

Yet here I stand, untouched oil in hand,

Optics fixed to floor,

and everything is silent.

Gentle is the voice that cracks through the abyss.

Heat of battle, transform into our warmth.

Embrace with deeply shuddered breaths

And soft whispers that said one thing:

“Carry the soft spark of the warrior.

Who fights not to die, but fights in the name of life.

We need not be brittle like clay. 

For you, dear friend, are nothing but mettle-made.

...

Promise me to stay.”

Optimus sat in silence for a time afterward, thinking. It certainly wasn’t like any of the works he’d read so far. Short though it was, the poem was evocative, putting into words the sorts of anxieties Optimus had often felt before. The soft spark of the warrior… Before, he’d never have expected that a Decepticon would feel such a way about battle. Now, he could see it easily: the drudgery of killing, the horrors of the dead - surely it would weigh on battle-forged mechs as much as it did on civilian frames, if not even worse. And yet, the poem was incredibly hopeful, acknowledging the dread but emphasising the strength of the bonds between warriors, and more importantly friends. Especially considering the affectionate nature of the final part, the clear love the writer showed for their fellow mechs… Despite the initially sombre tone, Optimus had found the poem to be surprisingly uplifting. He liked it.

Finally placing the datapad down, Optimus drummed his digits against its casing. Something about that poem… It stuck with him, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. Was it the phrasing? The style? Both?

He stayed like that for a while, ruminating on the contents of the poem. It just seemed so familiar…

Waiiiit a click. Something was going on here. Optimus turned on the datapad again, scrutinising the text, suspicion growing.

Fact: The style of the poem seemed really familiar to him.

Fact: The poetry ‘pad had neither an author nor a name, yet the casing was shiny so it was clearly new.

Fact: Megatron had gotten the datapads ready before their meeting, since he’d brought them out of his subspace.

Fact: Megatron had been really weird earlier, a mixture of nervous and guilty.

So altogether, it kind of suggested…

Optimus jolted, staring at the poem.

Did Megatron write this?!

Chapter Text

As the door to the library opened up before him, Optimus clutched the stack of datapads to his chassis. He felt oddly nervous, even though he definitely hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. Maybe this was how Megatron had felt the day before. Though he supposed he still didn’t know for sure if that poem really was Megatron’s. That was why he needed to ask. Steeling himself, he walked towards the table, trying his best to act natural… where Megatron was doing the same thing. Sitting, they locked optics for a moment, apprehension jumping between them. Optimus shook his helm, placing the datapads before him. Allspark, this was so stupid. What were they, newbuilds?

Well, he was done tiptoeing around the subject. Resetting his vocalisor, he faced Megatron head on. “So, I read through all the works you gave me.”

Immediately, he saw Megatron’s faceplates twitch before smoothing out again, and he couldn’t help the little flare of satisfaction at the sight. “Ah, yes. How did you find them?” He sounded remarkably natural, though Optimus supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised. He was a Decepticon, after all. 

Still, Optimus wasn’t fooled. “They were very enjoyable. I liked the collection of mythology.” He continued on, casual as could be… and pointedly not mentioning the one thing he suspected Megatron was waiting for. Maybe it was a little mean, but after everything he figured he might as well toy with Megatron just a tiny bit. After all, it was rare for him to see his captor- no, friend - unbalanced so. Especially since it was clearly working. 

Megatron shifted in his seat, eager and agitated. “That’s good to hear.” His tone remained even, but nevertheless Optimus could tell he was on edge. Time to prod a little more directly and see what it got him.

“But it isn’t what you want my opinion on, is it?” Remaining casual was proving a challenge, but Megatron’s reactions were absolutely worth the effort.

This time he jolted lightly in his seat before settling again. “I- ah…” He looked awkward, like he hadn’t expected to be called out on his patently obvious eagerness. Optimus did his utmost to prevent a smug grin from spreading across his faceplates. Gotcha! 

This was proving to be much more satisfying than he’d expected, even if it was about a relatively small thing. There was just something about watching the ever-composed Megatron falter, embarrassed and even flustered. Optimus couldn’t say he was still desperate for revenge, but this was admittedly hitting the spot. He smiled slightly. Time to go in for the kill. “You picked out some interesting texts, but one of them struck me as… unique.” Calmly, he placed the shiny datapad on the table between them. Megatron visibly flinched as it clacked against the metal. “I found this one a little strange, since it didn’t have an author or date. Allspark, it didn’t even have a title.” Optimus nonchalantly traced the edge of the datapad with one digit, like he was sort of bored but trying not to show it. Megatron was watching him intently, following the motion of his digit and twitching every time he tapped against the casing. This was almost too fun. “But when I started reading it… I thought it sounded quite familiar. You know how some authors have a recognisable style?” He flashed a grin at Megatron, tilting his helm questioningly when the mech remained quiet. “You know?”

Megatron jerked in his seat, nodding. “Oh- Of course, yes.” He looked distinctly nervous now, and he was clearly becoming even more anxious by the second. It was kind of funny, but in a sweet sort of way. Optimus would’ve never expected the Decepticon Emperor to care so much about his opinion on some poetry.

“Well, something about the style: the way it was phrased, the word choice… it felt like something I’d read before… or maybe something I’d heard.”   He could feel his grin turning sly, changing into something closer to a smirk, but it was about time to give up the act anyway. He fixed Megatron with a stare, locking optics and refusing to let up even as he watched him squirm slightly. “Megatron. Did you write this poem?”

Megatron froze. He was gripping the armrests of his chair tightly, the material scrunched in his servos as he stared at Optimus. His intake moved, but no words came out, like he was trying to figure out what to say. Apparently, he hadn’t expected Optimus to call him out directly.

“Well. Did you?” Optimus asked again, not easing his stare for a single click.

“I- I-” Megatron stuttered, before shutting his optics and shaking his helm violently. When he spoke again, he seemed a lot more composed, though still almost desperate. “Yes, that is one of my works. I’m sorry for trying to deceive you about it, I just-” 

Optimus couldn’t stifle the giggle that burst out of him then, though he did feel a little bad about laughing in Megatron’s faceplates. He wasn’t trying to disrespect the mech, but his clear nerves were just so funny. Still, as soon as his laughter petered out he scrambled to explain before Megatron could get upset. “I’m not angry with you! I just- It wasn’t what I expected, and then I wasn’t sure if it was really yours or not.”

He had to suppress another chuckle as Megatron visibly relaxed, tense cables loosening under his plating. “Ah. Either way, I do apologise.”

“Don’t worry about it. So… you wanted my opinion?” He was almost entirely sure that Megatron did, but it was still worth checking. Some mechs didn’t appreciate critique of their works, he knew that much.

Megatron smiled at him, his eagerness returning in full force. “If you wouldn’t mind. I, ah, slipped it into the selection… mostly because I was curious as to how you’d react.” That had been about what Optimus expected, though it was good to hear Megatron admit it.

He smiled wider. “Well, even though it took me by surprise a little, I did enjoy it.”

“You did?” Megatron perked up in his seat, inquisitive and impatient.

“Mhm. It was certainly interesting, and I liked how hopeful the message was. I guess that kind of viewpoint hadn’t really occurred to me before, but now I can certainly see it.” It hadn’t been a mindset he would’ve attributed to Megatron before either, but now that he knew for sure he supposed it did sort of fit. Though, he still had questions. “If you don’t mind me asking, when did you write it?”

“Well, I’m glad you liked it.” Megatron definitely looked pleased at Optimus’ words, settling into his seat and clasping his servos together. “As for your other question… I did write it fairly recently. I must admit that our prior conversations brought back some memories of my own past, and I felt inspired to put them into words.” He sighed quietly, rubbing his chin. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to write as much as I’d like for… a while now, I suppose. My duties have a regrettable habit of taking up much of my time.” His expression was distant, preoccupied with his thoughts.

Right. Optimus often forgot how busy Megatron must be, running his empire. “And I know I’ve been taking up a lot of your time as well.” 

Megatron blinked, returning to the present with a soft smile. “Spending time with you is a pleasure, Optimus. In fact, at this point I’m scheduling in these meetings as a break from my work.” His smile had turned conspiratorial, like he was somehow cheating despite the mundane nature of his actions. 

“Really? I mean… I’m glad I can provide something of a distraction, then.” Sure, he knew that Megatron enjoyed spending time with him, but whenever he mentioned it Optimus was still surprised… if pleasantly so. It warmed something in his spark every time, without fail.

A sardonic snort from Megatron, who was giving him a disbelieving look. “You’re more than a mere distraction. But, I digress. It was certainly nice to spend some time writing again after a little while… Another thing I have to thank you for, I suppose.”

“Not exactly the intended outcome of those history lessons, but I’d definitely say it’s a welcome one. I really enjoyed your poem.” Even though Optimus had hoped to use his knowledge to help his people, he wasn’t going to complain about the current result.

Megatron nodded decisively. “Then if inspiration strikes me again, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Sounds good.” Still, that wasn’t everything. “Though, now I have to ask… Do you have any other works I could take a look at? Aside from that poem, I’ve only read a few bits of Towards Peace before, and they were pretty heavily censored.” Megatron’s charisma and powerful beliefs had shone through even those highly disjointed pieces, and now that he’d read the short poem as well Optimus was strangely eager to try some of his other works.

Megatron let out a frustrated snort, one servo coming round to slap his faceplates. “Oh, of course they were.” After a moment he let his servo fall with a disgusted groan, shaking his helm vehemently. “Frankly, I’d say it's my duty to provide you with the full version, if only to make up for whatever mess of my work they made you read.”

Optimus snickered quietly at Megatron’s outraged melodrama. Still, he supposed he could understand why Megatron would be upset at the thought of his creation being butchered. “I mean, it wasn’t that bad… But I’d certainly like to see the proper version.” Clearly, it had been censored for a reason - so he should probably read it.

The disgust vanished from Megatron’s faceplates, sudden determination lighting his optics. He grinned. “I can do you one better than the ‘proper version’. One moment…” Standing, he quickly made his way over to the shelves on the far side of the room. Optimus had been expecting him to pluck a datapad from those same shelves, but instead Megatron kept walking until he reached a… section of the wall? Wait, no. He realised it was actually some sort of cabinet an instant before Megatron opened it, carefully reaching within and retrieving a datapad. As he headed back to the table, Optimus tried to subtly get a look at what he was holding, but all he could make out was occasional flashes of unpainted metal. It seemed… bulky, for a datapad.

“Here.” Collapsing back into his chair, Megatron placed the datapad on the table and slid it across to him. It was indeed a strangely large datapad. It was old, too - Optimus could make out countless scratches and dents across the casing and screen, as well as some seemingly meaningless patches of paint that had almost been worn away. In fact, it looked like it had been sloppily repaired on multiple occasions, awkward welds marring the rough metal. Megatron tapped the screen gently, catching Optimus’ attention and smiling at him wryly. “Admittedly it’s been through the wars, but as a rule I do like to keep the original versions of all of my works.”

Optimus stared at him, practically feeling his processor shortcircuit. “This is the ORIGINAL?!”

He looked back down at the datapad before him, taking in the damage with new optics. The original version of Towards Peace … The manifesto that had started the war… Allspark!

Megatron chuckled at his reaction. “That’s right.” His tone became wistful as he continued. “These datapads were the only ones we had access to, providing us with our orders of course. They were read-only, but one of my good friends hacked this one so that I could write down my thoughts. Those thoughts became my manifesto… though it took me quite a while.” He laughed quietly, shaking his helm. “I dare say it’s the definitive way to read my first work.” 

“I-” Optimus stuttered, glancing between the datapad and mech before him. Megatron was just offering him this? “I mean I’m honoured and I really would love to, but…” Part of him was incredibly eager to start reading, but the rest of him was somewhat hesitant. Megatron was giving him an inquisitive look, apprehensive again. “I feel like I don’t have the proper context yet. I want to be able to fully understand what you meant.” They hadn’t reached anywhere near the modern age with their history lessons, and Optimus had a feeling that he would miss out on some of the nuance in Towards Peace.  

Megatron relaxed again, nodding slightly. “That’s perfectly fair.” He was quiet for a moment, seemingly lost in thought again. Optimus was admittedly a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to read through Towards Peace - the original version!! - but he knew it would be best to wait, first. And then Megatron sat up and spoke. “Take it with you.”

Optimus stared at him, confused. “But- I’m not reading it yet! I couldn’t-”

“I want you to have it.” Megatron cut him off. He paused, optics locked with Optimus, calm and earnest. “You can read it when you’re ready, but until then…” Reaching forward, he took hold of Optimus’ unresisting servos in his own, folding them over the scarred datapad. “Hold onto it for me, hm?”

“I…” 

Megatron’s servos completely covered his own, though they weren’t forcing him to stay there, instead merely holding him. Equally, his gaze pierced Optimus, sincere and hopeful. He had leant in, the datapad between them practically forgotten despite its importance. Such a gesture… this copy would doubtless be worth millions to the right mech, but that wasn’t what mattered to Optimus. Somehow, the most important part was the fact it was Megatron’s history, Megatron’s work.

For a moment, he could almost imagine a younger Megatron toiling over his magnum opus, writing all that he could in the stolen minutes between training and battles and briefings. Typing into an unwieldy datapad, hacked and jury-rigged into something that could be used for creation rather than further destruction. The sheer history contained in this datapad, the pain, the artistic and political struggles…

And Megatron was just giving it to him for the foreseeable future.

“Okay, yeah.” Even to his own audials, Optimus sounded faint. “I can… I can do that.” He curled his digits around the edges of the datapad, feeling the bumps and ridges in the roughened metal. “I guess that means we should get back to history lessons soon.”

Megatron hummed, still gazing at him as he relaxed back into his seat and sipped at his energon. “If you’d like to, but don’t feel like you need to hurry right back into the thick of research. The subject matter is rather… serious, after all.”

Was he imagining Megatron’s hesitance there? Maybe Megatron wasn’t sure if he was ready, considering how sombre the upcoming lessons were likely going to be. “Right. Well, count me eased into things.” Despite Megatron’s assurances about the datapad, it still felt wrong to keep it for longer than was necessary. It would only be fair for Optimus to get to work as soon as he could. 

“Fair enough, I trust in your judgement. If you say you’re ready, I’m happy to get back to work.” Which was- maybe it was something Optimus had already sort of assumed, but it was still surprising to hear. Considering Megatron’s slight reticence, he hadn’t expected the mech to just agree with him so quickly - but his reasoning made sense as well. Megatron trusted him.

“I mean, thanks.” Still, Optimus didn’t feel like his readiness should be what Megatron was worrying about. He really wanted to say something… “Uh- I don’t mean to be rude, but… are you sure you’re alright with this? I know that with some of our other talks… they brought up bad memories. That’s not-” Optimus had to pause for a moment, trying to get his thoughts together and rephrase them to what he actually wanted to say. This was important, frag it! He sighed quietly, composing himself. “I don’t want you to have to put up with that for my sake. My education really isn’t worth that, y’know?” Once upon a time, Optimus would have been perfectly happy to cause Megatron pain, mental or otherwise, but now… It just felt wrong. He desperately wanted Megatron to understand that it wasn’t his intent.

Megatron had remained quiet throughout his little speech, patiently waiting for him to finish, expression unreadable. When Optimus was finally done he stirred at last, leaning forward across the table. “There’s no need to apologise for asking - if anything, it’s a credit to your own compassion.” He paused, optics shut as he slowly vented out, before continuing. “Memories can hurt, but these are ones I have long come to terms with. Thank you for your concern, Optimus. I will be alright.” His smile was gentle, tinged with ancient nostalgia. “If you give me a few days to get my sources together, I’d be happy to continue your ‘education’”

“Alright, then.” Optimus brushed his digits across the screen of the datapad, the cool glass dark beneath his servos. “Soon.”

Chapter Text

Optimus stared at the datapad. He knew he should be getting ready to recharge, maybe taking a shower or reading something light to prepare himself. However, the datapad in his servos had him utterly captivated - and while this sort of thing did happen to him fairly frequently, usually the ‘pad in question was actually on. But this time, he found himself captivated by the actual datapad rather than its contents. No matter how long he spent running his digits over the aged casing, he couldn’t tear himself away. This… sudden fascination was strange even to him. To be fair though, at least it did make some kind of sense, considering the past of this datapad.

Optimus sighed, rubbing one servo across his faceplates. Maybe this was all due to a yearning to understand. This datapad contained so much of Megatron’s history and political beliefs, it had to tell him something about how Megatron thought. It could even give him some insight into Megatron’s reasoning with regards to himself… and Cybertron. Allspark, there was certainly a lot he wanted to know. Though he now (mostly) understood why Megatron had chose to capture him, and more or less knew what exactly Megatron wanted with the Allspark and Cybertron, there were still too many things he simply didn’t know about his plans - or, for that matter, Megatron himself. They’d spent many cycles talking at this point, but he still knew nothing of Megatron’s past outside of what he’d learnt at the academy - the terrifying tales of a lowly warbuild turned political activist, who’d murdered his way through the gladiatorial pits of Kaon to join Megazarak’s cause and rebellion, before betraying his leader and taking his place. At this point, Optimus wasn’t entirely sure what parts of that were fact or fiction. At least some of it was true, but Optimus knew better than to take it all at face value. Surely, the datapad before him could provide at least a little information about Megatron.

And yet, despite how desperately he wanted answers, he couldn’t even bring himself to turn on the datapad yet. He hadn’t been able to for the last few days, ever since Megatron had given it to him. Never had Optimus been so annoyed by his own standards, cursing his desire to understand the context of the situation before he started reading. Intellectually, he knew that he was making the right decision, and would ultimately have a better time reading Towards Peace with the relevant context - especially considering the important political nature of the work - but equally he just wanted answers right away, impatience grappling with his principles. 

There was another part of him as well, that was still sort of in awe about the fact he had the datapad at all, that Megatron had oh-so-casually given it to him. Though maybe ‘casually’ was the wrong word, here - he’d clearly been aware of the magnitude of his gift. Seemingly, that simply hadn’t mattered to him. His decision had been completely purposeful… and Optimus couldn't help but be amazed. That Megatron trusted him enough, that Megatron valued him so much… sure, he'd already known that Megatron had a great deal of respect for him, but this gift suggested that maybe Optimus had underestimated exactly how highly Megatron saw him. Or perhaps he'd underestimated how much he meant to Megatron. The personal significance this datapad held alone…

Carefully, Optimus picked it up. He held the huge datapad in his servos, and couldn't help but imagine a larger pair of black servos holding it the same way so long ago. His reflection stared back at him from the scratched-up screen, demanding the same answers that he sought. If he concentrated, he could almost fool himself into believing that he could make out Megatron's faceplates as well, overlaying his own features. What would Megatron have looked like when he was younger? Less weary and jaded? More idealistic? Optimus tried to imagine a wide-opticked younger Megatron, seeing the world around him for the first time. Surely he was naive, once. Maybe he'd even been in a situation like Optimus’ before, lost and conflicted and so far from home…

Eventually he had to force himself to put the datapad down, shaking his helm and pointedly stepping away. All he was doing was finding more questions that he couldn't answer right now, and it certainly wasn't helping. Still, those thoughts captivated him anyway, staying with him even as he finally began his nightly routine. His shower was hot but shorter than usual, as he scrubbed feverishly at his plating and wished he could calm his whirling thoughts. When he settled onto the berth at last, he found his gaze returning to the table no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on anything else, seeking out the ancient casing among the stacks of newer datapads. With a frustrated grunt, he scrabbled at his berthside table, scooping up the first thing he could find to distract himself.

He refocused on the thing he’d just picked up- oh. It was the little glass ornament. Optimus lay back on the berth, turning it over and over in his servos. This was another of the gifts Megatron had given him, wasn’t it? To be fair, practically everything in the room was… He stared at the ornament, watching as the colours changed as light shone through it. It was very pretty. And all the other gifts in his room were nice.

But they paled in comparison to that old, beat-up datapad. None of them carried the same meaning. They’d all been nice little gestures, but this… this was no gesture. 

Optimus let his servos fall, holding the ornament against his chassis, right above his spark. Much as he wished he could just find everything out already, he knew the answers he wanted were worth waiting a little while longer for.

For the last few weeks, Blackarachnia had been half-expecting Megatron to break down the door to her lab and finish interrogating her. Despite her best efforts (and Slipstream's reassurances) she'd spent that time jumping at every little noise and obsessively checking the corners and shadows of every room, as if Megatron was going to pop out the instant she turned her back. The Decepticon Emperor wasn't one to leave things undone, after all, and he especially wasn't the kind of mech cowed by her attempts to stand up to him. Frag, Megatron's stubbornness and determination were practically as legendary as his iron control and composure.

So no, she hadn't really been that relaxed, recently. Except for now. At long last she was content that she was safe, not feeling watched every time she left her (or usually Slipstream's) habsuite on the way to her lab. But that was only because she knew that Megatron had more important things to attend to, now. Ever since that broadcast… No! Don’t think about that right now!

Cursing quietly, Blackarachnia tried to refocus on her work, grabbing a flask of nanites with maybe a little more force than was strictly necessary. It was just so damn annoying, especially since once again everymech on the planet seemed obsessed with- Frag! She growled to herself, setting down the flask beside her other tools and stepping away from the table as she tried to centre herself. Blackarachnia knew she didn’t work as well when she was properly angry, and right now she was just getting exponentially more frustrated. Still, it was so annoying-!

Sometimes you’ve just got to take a moment for yourself, ‘Nia.

Blackarachnia vented slowly, shoving her worries from her processor for a moment as she concentrated on herself and worked to calm down. It didn’t take as long as it used to. That was probably a good thing, she supposed. Though, it didn’t mean she completely succeeded - her lingering frustration had mostly vanished, but the thoughts that had caused them remained. To be completely fair, it was much harder to escape them.

Lately, things always seemed to return to… Optimus.