Chapter Text
“I’m done saving you,” Megatron declared, and with it he let go of Orion Pax’s servo. Orion didn’t even manage to hold on, too weak from the earlier blast he took. Megatron turned away, for he couldn’t think beyond rage rage disappointment sorrow rage going through his processor. He approached Sentinel’s crumpled form, the false Prime having only managed to crawl a few meters away from where he started. Megatron’s joints ache from the overuse of his new frame, but he tore apart Sentinel as the former High Guards roared with delight. The crowd chanted his new name, unaware of the Well of Allspark thrumming with life, welcoming its new Prime.
Megatron woke up from his recharge with a start, optics whirling to life as his vents cycled noisily, filling his audials with their sounds. The Iacon he saw through his window was still dark, dimly lit streets quiet in contrast to its usual life filling them. Megatron thought of his Iacon, in the past-future now long gone—was it really, his processor asked, when you could bring that future back here with a flip of your servo?—reduced to rubbles beneath his pedes. Iacon had been an Autobot stronghold since the beginning of the war, and Megatron hadn’t been there to see its full destruction. Praxus had been lost to the Decepticons when the Autobots had no other choice but to abandon it. With Crystal City destroyed as well, Iacon had been the true last stronghold of the Autobots that they defended before it eventually fell to the Decepticon army stationed on Cybertron.
Seeing the city like this, peaceful, unaware of its fate in another time, another future, brought unease to Megatron. He was familiar with war and what it brought. He was familiar with the distant sounds of the warship’s guns going off—it didn’t matter whether it was his warship or anyone else’s—he was familiar with the Insecticons scurrying down the warship halls. He was familiar with many things once upon a time, but not peace. Never peace. Even D-16 had never truly known peace, now that he had the privilege to think about it. D-16 only knew routine, and Orion Pax had fitted himself into it as if he had always belonged there. Megatron didn’t know what to make of his—their—situation right now. Could they still go back? (The question lingered, but Megatron didn’t know if he meant go back to being friends with Pax or go back to the past-future eons away.)
He didn’t know how long he stayed awake. The next thing he knew, light started to wash upon all of Iacon, peeking through the clouds. The city started to go back to life as it always did. Megatron felt restless in his berth. His joints didn’t creak with protest this time when he decided to stand up and stretch his limbs. Maybe he should get Optimus something before the customized datapad, after all. To ease Optimus into the final gift Megatron prepared.
Iacon was a city that never sleeps, in D-16’s opinion. The city was similar to the mines in that aspect, in which they both had never truly been silent. There was always life tucked away in the corner somewhere within the mines and the city, awake when most of their residents were asleep. D-16 had been one of those bots before when he accidentally angered a supervisor on his shift, and was left to do late night security shifts for a whole week. Cybertron’s sun had only just awakened, and Megatron felt it deep in his spark that something would happen today. Whatever it was, it left a bad feeling in his chassis.
The journey across Iacon was mostly undisturbed with the streets nearly empty at this hour. Megatron found himself stopping when he saw a market which he didn’t know the first thing about. Orion had dragged him to one, once upon a time, but at the time they were lacking any shanix to buy the trinkets Orion had laid his optics upon, so they were only there for sight-seeing and to stretch their pedes.
(“D, look! It’s so shiny,” Orion said, tugging D-16’s arm with him. The smaller bot looked at a bright red jewel—the color of Orion’s paintjob, had he been shinier—at the size of one of his digits. The jewel was tiny, but it caught D-16’s optics the same way it had Orion Pax. The seller looked less than pleased to see them, two cogless miners with scratched up frames who couldn’t certainly afford to buy any of her wares.
Orion let out a small, disappointed noise as he presumably saw the price tag attached to the shiny rock, and D-16 was mentally calculating how many extra shifts he could cramp into his schedule to afford it. He was still in the middle of it when Orion tugged him away. “Don’t,” Orion murmured, and D-16 paused in his tracks. “What?” The question made Orion pout, before the bot replied, “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. It’s only a shiny rock after all,” Orion shrugged. D-16 frowned, but upon seeing the look on his best friend’s optics, he gave up. “Fine.”)
Megatron wondered if he could find something similar for Optimus. He had forgotten the way to that market, but hopefully he could get something for the Prime. He found himself a seat facing the entrance of the market, and sat as he waited. The sellers had barely set up their stalls, having only just opened alongside the sun. Megatron found himself quite enjoying the light warmth of the light lingering upon his frame. His optics watched as the market came to life.
He supposed he was terribly out of his elements here. War and endless battles he was familiar with, but not this. The word peace sat strangely in his glossa, and he found himself waiting for the illusion to drop. Surely, one of these days, he would be woken up in his berth in the Nemesis by Starscream’s impatient yell, or by Soundwave prodding him awake. To borrow the humans’ words, he felt as if he was the puzzle piece which didn’t quite belong. Fit, yes, but not belong. Was this Primus’ punishment for him, to be shown what he could not possess in his last life and the next? (He wasn’t quite sure where Optimus Prime sat within the equation.)
He was enjoying the silence a bit too much when he suddenly heard a call. “Hey, D-16!” The call of his old name brought himself to jolt a little as he turned to face the source of it. “Whoops, sorry, what was it again? Megatron, right?” Jazz waved a servo as he stood a little away from where Megatron sat, just out of his arm’s reach. Megatron frowned. Something in the bot’s tone felt as if Jazz had been calling him Megatron for eons already, with how familiar it sounded like on Jazz’s glossa. He had little conversation with Jazz even before the war, because he mostly kept to himself, save for Orion. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Jazz talked without Orion as their link.
“Yeah.” Megatron nodded and it seemingly was the answer Jazz had been looking for, as his smile widened by a fraction. The silence had only been a moment, but for Megatron it was enough time to take in Jazz’s newly cogged form. He could make out a few familiar features of the former Autobot, but he couldn’t tell if there was anything different then and now.
All he really remembered of Jazz was how the bot went down—when Vortex and Brawl had taken down the Autobot base on Earth. He remembered Optimus’ cry, full of sorrow and rage, and he could remember the shift on the air afterwards. Optimus had fought him as if it didn’t matter if they were both sent back to Primus’ embrace. So really, all he remembered of Jazz was how fiercely Optimus had brought down his firepower on him in the aftermath of the bot’s untimely termination.
“Sooo, how is it? Running the government?” Jazz finally closed the distance between them still with a grin on his face plate. Megatron’s less than pleasant expression seemed to not register in his optics, as it didn’t deter him from taking a seat beside the silver bot.
“Annoying,” Megatron grumbled but moved to make space for Jazz on the bench. Megatron thought he better have the benches on public places bigger too. How did the previous government not even think about the inconvenience bigger bots face when sitting on one of these horrible benches? And he was cogged only a few days ago.
“Haha! I bet,” Jazz replied. The bot wasn’t looking at Megatron, his helm turned towards the sky and the clouds that perpetually inhabit it. Megatron had a bad feeling. “Optimus had his share of troubles too, y’know, when he first took over.” But nothing could have prepared Megatron for the comment that came out of Jazz's mouth. He turned to Jazz, shoulders tense, wishing that he had just misheard everything.
“What?” But Jazz continued on as if he didn’t hear Megatron’s question, the visor obstructing Megatron’s view on the other’s optics. Jazz’s grin was still in place, as if he were just making a joke.
“Aah, but he didn’t have to struggle with bureaucracy as hard as you guys do now, I guess,” he shrugged, continuing to ignore Megatron’s shocked optics glued to his helm, “‘cause then you tore Cybertron apart until there was nothing to govern over, so, I guess we had to thank you for that.” He stood up, seemingly having finished his piece before he turned to face Megatron. Megatron was left perplexed by the sudden comment, and Jazz being unreadable as he was didn’t help. The bot was still smaller than Megatron, even with a cog in place, but Megatron felt as if Jazz was the biggest bot he had ever encountered at the next words Jazz said.
“I’m going to terminate you myself if Optimus tried to pull another self-sacrificing, suicidal stunts because of you, you hear me?” And what was Megatron supposed to do besides nodding? Jazz huffed in satisfaction, and before he knew it, the bot was long gone. Megatron stared into nothing for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what just happened.
The market was finally up and running, but Megatron felt queasy. He tried to tell himself that it was nothing, that it should be fine since Optimus was also back and so Jazz’s efforts would go nowhere if he tried telling on him to Optimus. But was the notion of Jazz tattling their future to Optimus the sole reason he felt uneasy? He knew the answer even if he didn’t like it. Because this time, he wanted it to work. So Megatron got back to his pedes, entering the market in search of a jewel fit for his Prime.
The market had only been up for a few minutes, yet it was already gaining quite a crowd. Megatron had to squeeze through the civilians in order to browse the wares. So far, he had only come across things of daily usage, or candied energon and the likes. The candied energon gave him a pause, and he wondered if Optimus liked sweet things as Orion once did—nevermind that it was considered a luxury back when they were miners, D-16 had every reason to give his best friend a sweet treat every once in a while. As he stood in contemplation, the seller finally noticed him.
“Welcome! We have candied energon, jellied energon, anything that doesn’t come in cubes of liquid energon! Price starts at five,” they said. Megatron’s optics browse through the treats with interest. He remembered Orion being fond of the jellied treats, although the ones D-16 had gotten him were ever only the cheapest ones—the ones that stick to your dentae—but Orion had savored them nonetheless. And now, with Megatron having his servo on the government's shanix? He chuckled to himself before pointing to the pricier ones. “I’ll have a quarter of that small jar, please. And another quarter for this one.”
He transferred the exact amount to the seller, who looked pleased while wrapping them up safely. Megatron could still remember the look on the seller’s face when he was D-16. That time, he was the one who had to watch where he was going, with him being smaller than the cogged bots and way dirtier than any of them could possibly imagine. Now, as Megatron of the present, the other bots had to make their way around him, with his form bigger than the average cogged bot. This time, the seller didn’t look down in disgust, or look up in fear. He was treated as any other bot, and Megatron didn’t realize how even that was somewhat of a privilege to him.
He put the treats into his subspace, before continuing his walk through the market. In the end, he walked back to his quarters with only the jellied treats, having not found anything that would lift Optimus’ opinion on him. His berth was still the exact same as he left it, with nothing indicating that anyone was living here. Megatron swept his optics through the bare room, before deciding that decorating was the least of his worries right now. He went out to look for Optimus in his quarters, but found Elita-1 walking down the hall instead.
“Elita, have you seen Optimus?” The other bot looked at him strangely—as she always did ever since their meeting with Alpha Trion—but shook her helm at his question. “Didn’t find him, I looked,” she answered. Megatron turned back as he thought through the possible places he could find Optimus. The archives, maybe? Ah. The Hall of Records. Megatron promptly changed his course to the Hall of Records, just a few distance away from the living quarters.
The Hall of Records was empty save for its clerks, busying themselves with the information on the Grid tirelessly. At least that was until one of them spotted Megatron. “Ah, Lord Megatron!” The name made him wince internally, but he nodded and put on a polite smile nonetheless. “What brings you here?” The other clerks were starting to take notice of him as well, whispering among themselves about his appearance here.
“I was looking for Optimus?” he replied, “Has he been here?”
The clerk’s optics brightened instantly at the mention of the new Prime. “Yes, yes! He’s been here since… hm, forgive me, I’m not quite sure, but you can find him in the Head Archivist’s room! It’s just there down the hall. Just keep going forward, I’m sure you can spot it.”
“Thank you,” Megatron said, and off he went to look for the Prime. The murmured awes and the likes eventually died down with him taking off, and so silence returned to the Halls of Records. There were so many datapads here, stored away with labels on them that Megatron couldn’t even begin to imagine. (Orion Pax would have loved them.)
He eventually found the room the clerk was talking about. The door was closed, but the sign on it indicated that the Head Archivist themself was absent. Just Optimus, then? Megatron suddenly found himself getting nervous. Countless times he had crossed blades with the Prime, but one peaceful talk was the one that made him stop? Before he knew it, he had raised his servo to knock. The reply was almost immediate, and it nearly made Megatron jump.
“Come in.” The old door, much to his surprise, didn’t creak when he pushed it open. He had to duck to avoid banging his helm on the wall.
And there Optimus was. The Prime’s back was facing him as Optimus busied himself with a datapad, optics glued to it without noticing Megatron’s entry. The Head Archivist was indeed absent, and the Prime was here instead. Megatron thought Optimus fit right in. He could picture Optimus easily getting along with the data clerks he came across earlier, and Optimus’ eagerness for knowledge might make him the brightest of them all. Megatron stayed silent for a few seconds. Optimus’ shoulders had a slump to them which Megatron was painfully familiar with, but it was the first time he had seen it in the present instead of in the past-future.
“Optimus.” He decided to cut through the silence before Optimus had the chance to mistake him for someone else who was looking for the Head Archivist. Optimus, evidently, had expected Megatron, for the Prime only calmly lifted his helm to face his former enemy.
“What is it that you require of me this early, Megatron?” Optimus’ shoulders didn’t tense at the realization, instead faced him calmly. Megatron didn’t like it one bit. It felt as if they were strangers, and Megatron realized that he would have preferred being regarded as Optimus’ enemy rather than no one. At least he would be Optimus’ someone. At least it would mean that he mattered enough to Optimus.
“I don't know whether you still enjoy them or not, but…” Megatron approached the desk before Optimus, his servo reaching into his subspace. “I got you some jellied energon.” He put them on the table, before adding, “I do hope you still like them.” He stepped back from the desk, carefully watching Optimus’ reaction to the gift. The Prime’s optics widened for a fraction, before Megatron watched a small smile blooming in Optimus’ face. It made his spark race.
“Oh. I…” Optimus managed to collect himself, but Megatron had already seen the joy radiating from him in that few seconds. “Thank you, Megatron.”
“It’s nothing,” he replied. Awkward silence hung around them as neither knew what to say, and wasn’t that something? A few days ago, they were merely miners who were a little touchy feely with each other, and then all of a sudden, they were thrust into all this bureaucracy scrap. Megatron wished he could say that they were more than equipped to handle it, but that would be lying now, wouldn’t it? Jazz’s words stung like mad, and Megatron frowned—at himself—before turning, ready to walk away. Optimus needed space, and Megatron swore to himself that he would be ready for however their relationship would end.
Yet as soon as he excused himself, he found his servo to be tugged by none other than the Prime himself. Megatron paused. His spark pulsed within him, but he knew better than to wish for anything else. However, Optimus Prime, ever the selfless, fearless, and full of love bot, proved him wrong. Megatron had lost count how many times had Optimus done just that.
“Stay for a bit, would you?” Megatron could almost hear the hesitance in Optimus’ words, and the former warlord didn’t have the strength to turn himself to face his best friend. “D?” Oh, Optimus was cheating and they both knew it, as Optimus’ call held a touch of amusement in its tone.
“You make me go crazy, you know that?” Megatron retorted, but stayed anyway. Despite it all, a small smile crept into his face plate. Optimus smiled as a reply, and for a second Megatron felt they were back to being D-16 and Orion Pax again. Yet Megatron found that he wasn’t willing to trade the past for their future, whatever it may hold. Optimus gestured towards the other chair across from the desk, inviting Megatron to sit.
“I know, D, I know,” Optimus said as he, too, took a seat behind the desk. The treats sat on the table between them, and Megatron couldn’t avert his optics from Optimus’ beautiful face—full of hope and joy, and oh wasn’t that wonderful? When was the last time he had seen Optimus this relaxed? In contrast, his shoulders tensed. He thought about what Optimus had to say, but the Prime instead just opened the packaging of the jellied energon, before saying that they should enjoy it together.
“Humor me, please?” Optimus had no need to say any more words. Megatron would gladly take on any request as long as the Prime needed it. But apparently it wasn’t enough, because Optimus placed a hand on his shoulder. “Stop whatever it is you’re thinking, D. Let’s just enjoy these treats together.”
Megatron ended up spending the entire afternoon in the Head Archivist’s room, sitting across from Optimus, as they traded stories and ate the treats Megatron had brought. The earlier awkwardness was completely gone, and both he and Optimus soon quickly fell into their usual routine when they were just D-16 and Orion Pax, bantering back and forth without a care in the world.
Their little date—Optimus’ word, not his, although he was completely pleased to call and refer to it as such—had come to an end when one of the clerks informed Optimus that he was needed elsewhere.
“It was nice seeing you, Megatron. I’m sorry for the sudden interruption,” Optimus said, the jellied energons were long gone. The bot had stood up, facing Megatron as he apologized, but Megatron’s processor could only register how pretty the Prime was—as he did for the last forty-five minutes. The silver bot then reached for Optimus’ servo, before leaving a gentle kiss on the back of it.
“Please don’t apologize, my Prime. It was my pleasure.” Megatron truly had the pleasure to see Optimus’ face turning slightly blue at the gesture, before he hurriedly walked out of the Archivist’s room, all flustered.