Chapter Text
When Orion Pax came online, he felt as if there was an emptiness within his chassis. The emptiness felt like a massive hole inside of him, and although he found his servo sometimes scratching at his empty cog hole when he was lost in thoughts, it wasn’t that either. It didn’t matter much when it came to his functions. He still could do whatever job it was they wanted him to do without much trouble. He drilled and drilled into the energon mine, ran for his life when Primus the mine collapsed, tried to not get caught when he sneaked into places he wasn’t invited to, and in those times, the emptiness within him felt smaller. If only for a moment.
He couldn’t really remember what he did before mining—which had earned him a few weird looks from the bots around him—but hey, he made a friend! D-16 was his designation, and Orion was ecstatic to meet him. His spark ached with something akin to familiarity at the sight of the silver bot, which confused him sometimes, but D-16 felt warm, and so Orion brushed it off.
D-16 was nice, he looked after Orion in ways that no one had ever done for him. (His spark hurts so, so bad, but it’s fine, isn’t it? D-16 was here, and he couldn’t possibly ask for more.) Sometimes, D-16 acted as if he was tired of Orion’s antics, but then the silver bot would buy him sweet treats on the rare days off they had. He would like to think of D-16 as his closest friend, and he badly hoped the feeling was mutual. Because Orion loved D-16. More than the bot might know. But they didn’t have that privilege. To have a conjunx endura was a privilege reserved only for the cogged bots, and neither of them was one. So Orion had to shove his affection away in the shelves of the Archives, so deep within it that it was impossible to tell.
Orion Pax had always felt as if something wasn’t right. As if his life wasn’t supposed to be this way.
Then Iacon 5000 came. And D-16 was acting strange that night. He was acting out of character. Orion would have never imagined that his best friend would readily agree with his plan, but the most important point was that Orion should have been happy. Yet he couldn’t help but think something felt strange. Almost like D-16 wasn’t supposed to react this way. And he knew he kept repeating the same point now, but Orion Pax firmly believed that he was destined for something more; he would not stop until he found what that was.
D-16 would scold him at times because of it, saying that they were miners and that was all they would be. It stung, and Orion didn’t know why.
That was until the sub-level fifty. The coordinates. The cave. Alpha Trion. The Matrix of Leadership.
And Optimus Prime could only look at his future enemy and current best friend, and thought, frag, again?
#
It was early into the civil war that Optimus Prime experienced his first death. He was caught off guard by Starscream shooting at him and he didn't realize Megatron was aiming at his back. It only took one shot of Megatron’s cannon. Optimus had just enough time to think, what an awfully familiar situation this is, before he went offline. He felt guilty that he was leaving his friends alone—what a selfish leader he was, to be at peace with his own death even though it meant that the Autobots would lack a leader.
He was ready to join the Well of Allsparks when he woke up. His cog was gone, so was the Matrix, and he was suddenly back to being Orion Pax. Back when Megatron had been D-16. Orion Pax lived with an emptiness within his chassis, and it wasn’t until he got a cog that his memories came rushing back. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, and Optimus heaved and his tanks churned as he came face to face with Megatron who looked almost offended at the Matrix making itself at home in Optimus’ chassis. The rest went on the same way, with Megatron unwilling to listen to him.
Optimus’ second death came in the form of Shockwave’s experiment. He didn’t know what the frag was the one-eyed bot was up to when he banished them to the surface, but he surely didn’t expect to be one of Shockwave’s test subjects. His helm was separated from his frame, and it wasn’t until Shockwave had had enough of messing around in his processor that he was offlined. His last memory of this particular experience was Megatron gently caressing his helm, for some reason.
Orion Pax woke up with trembling servos.
Optimus’ third death was more of a mishap. Meaning, that he accidentally stumbled straight into Bumblebee’s blades. He knew how mortifying that was. He was very much aware that he was traumatizing his close friend, but he was mostly concerned on whether or not he would be revived again by Primus. (He was tired, so why did Primus keep reviving him?) He knew not of Megatron’s reaction this time.
Then came the fourth. The fifth.
It wasn’t until his twentieth death that Jazz approached him with a strange look on his face. The shorter bot had cornered him in the Ark’s archives. “Optimus, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I have memories from the future. I, I think… I think we returned back in time– or at least, I am,” Jazz said. His words sounded unsure, and Optimus only wanted to laugh despite it all. Optimus calmed his third-in-command down, and gestured for him to sit beside him. Jazz was hesitant, still clearly shaken by the fact that he had only recently discovered, and Optimus didn’t want to be a bearer of bad news, but it had to be done, didn't it? (And Optimus was so lonely, having been burdened by the knowledge that Megatron had doomed them all for the twentieth time, despite Optimus trying to change the outcome every time.)
“It’s alright, Jazz, I know. This is the twentieth loop, if I’m not mistaken, and all this time I have been assuming that the loop was triggered by my death. But seeing that you remembered, I wanted to ask if my assumption was right or not.”
What followed was a mix of Jazz yelling straight to his face, what in the scrapheap are you doing to die twenty times, Optimus, and a confirmation that the time loop was, indeed, triggered by Optimus’ death although not in a direct way. Jazz told him that everything went south after Optimus’ untimely termination, and Jazz’s last memory was of him screaming into Megatron’s face before all went black and Jazz found himself in the Ark. Well, that was reassuring. That meant that none of his cherished friends had a long time to grieve for him.
But on the other servo, Optimus didn’t know how to stop it. There were times where he felt he was so close to achieving peace in Cybertron, only for the Decepticon to keep murdering him. He didn’t like to think about how many of those assassination attempts were ordered by Megatron or his other commanders.
In the twentieth time, for the first time in millions of years, Optimus wasn’t alone.
And then came the twenty-first. Twenty-second. Twenty-third.
…fifty-sixth.
#
Optimus waved away the clerk who had kindly showed him the way to the meeting room, and Optimus had to control himself not to scoff in front of her. It felt weird, being new to everything while simultaneously being so familiar with everything. He could feel a processor ache forming. He stood outside of the room for a few seconds to compose himself. He could still feel the brush of Megatron’s lips on his servo. What was that about? He had a rising suspicion on why that is, but he didn’t dare to hope.
His vents cycled noisily in the empty hallway, and Optimus had to loosen his shoulders before entering the room. He was immediately met with Jazz’s piercing gaze from across the room. Even with the visor covering Jazz’s optics, Optimus could already feel judgement radiating from Jazz that he had to avert his gaze. The door behind him closed automatically, and Optimus had to consciously tell his battle protocol to not engage the battle mask.
It was Jazz who first broke the silence. “How many times does this make it?”
Optimus gestured to the chair next to him, purposefully letting the question hang for a few seconds, before answering Jazz. “Not counting the last time I immediately offlined myself, probably fifty-seventh?”
Optimus shrugged at the groan that Jazz let out. He then threw himself on the chair, dramatically throwing a servo over his optics as he told the other, “He’s trying so hard this time, Jazz—”
“You’ve been saying that for the last twenty-six attempts, Optimus, I don’t see why this time would be different—”
“He bought me jellied energon,” Optimus replied immediately, and Optimus held back a groan at his own response. It sounded really stupid when he put it that way, and it definitely wasn’t helping Megatron’s case in Jazz’s optics. Jazz, thankfully, didn’t retort with anything that would most likely make Optimus scramble for a defense in Megatron’s favor, thus embarrassing himself further. “We were just… enjoying them and talking before you called me.” Was what he settled for, which was probably less embarrassing than his previous sentence. He tried not to show the joy outright on his face, but Jazz saw right through him.
“Oh by the Allspark. You are still in love with him,” Jazz groaned, and Optimus was rather concerned that his best friend was turning into Ratchet by each time loop.
“Why wouldn’t I? He— he’s a very charming bot when he wants to be, you know?”
“Yeah, I can see from how your optics are practically glimmering right now, Optimus.” Optimus didn’t know why Jazz was adamant that this fifty-seventh loop would end just like the other attempts. Megatron was buying him treats! Megatron had kissed his servo! Megatron called him his Prime! Alright, Optimus could see why Jazz told him in the previous loop—right before he offlined himself immediately after getting the Matrix, he wasn’t fond of telling that story—that he was a lost cause, but a bot could only take so much time loop before he started to take every situation less seriously, okay?
He was just so desensitized by everything. It was hard not to, when he spent most of his life at war. He could only recount a few times where the Autobots and the Decepticons had made peace without him or Megatron dying, and usually by that point Optimus had always been tempted by the promise of eternal rest that he tried to terminate his own life. Which ironically, always sent him back to the starting point. He didn’t know whether Primus loved him or not when the Creator seemed adamant in ruining his life. (The Matrix hissed in disagreement.)
He remembered that Megatron had tried to ‘make amends’ by inviting him for a night out on the twenty-second loop. Unfortunately, that night ended with Optimus dying from energon poisoning which might or might not have anything to do with Megatron and the Decepticon as a whole. Embarrassing.
“And he didn’t do anything else? Really,” Jazz added after seeing that Optimus wasn’t willing to talk about it further. Optimus could hear the disbelief in Jazz’s tone, but he let it slide. It was hard to believe anything about Megatron after the fourth or fifth time, so it was honestly astounding that he didn’t activate his battle protocols out of reflex whenever Megatron made a movement. He definitely wasn’t expecting Megatron’s memory of the past-future to come back. The worst part was that he didn’t even know which loop Megatron remembered.
Yes, his circuits were probably fried in his processor after looping the same lives over and over again—to put it in Jazz’s words—because why was he still looking at Megatron with affection? It was a big mystery to Jazz, and a not-so-mystery to Optimus. The bot was handsome, strong-willed, and the way he kept talking about Optimus told the Prime that he wasn’t the only one who looked back upon their shared past and lamented about what they could have been. Maybe he deserved this fate, doomed by Primus to repeat the betrayals and killings under Megatron’s servos so that Optimus could finally acknowledge that Megatron was a lost cause.
Maybe Jazz saw something in Optimus’ expression, because the next thing Optimus knew, the bot was standing right next to him, frowning—which was a weird look on Jazz’s face plate, Optimus thought, for his friend was better looking happy.
“Hey,” Jazz said, and Optimus momentarily was taken aback by the tone of his voice.
“Hey yourself.”
“Listen, I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you, and if there was some bot out there who remembered also, I’m sure they wouldn't blame you.” Optimus froze in his seat. He hesitantly opened his lips, “I’m so tired, Jazz.”
“I know.”
“He– he remembered, only one life, but I have gone through this fifty times. Those are millions of years, gone, because of me. Maybe I have doomed us all. Maybe Primus was telling me to wake up and realize that he would never see me the way I see him. Maybe it was a sign that I should let go, but I—” His words came out shaky, as his optics became wet, “but I can’t.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“I don’t know how long I can keep this up anymore. I tried pushing him away at first but then he asked me what I liked and I started to look forward to it– am I, am I a fool for wanting us happy together? Even after all these millions of years proving otherwise?” Optimus was fully sobbing now, his form hunched on the chair. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, what if it was all a bluff? What if Megatron was only trying to get under his protoform and discard him?
“No, Optimus, you’re not a fool,” Jazz whispered, placing a servo on Optimus’ shoulder. “I think that it’s good to see that you still have hope. If I were you, no offense, I wouldn’t trust him anymore. But you did. You always did. I don’t think you’re a dumbaft for having hope.”
Silence fell between them, and Optimus finally pushed himself off of his chair. His mask was covering half of his face, optics clear of any stray lubricants. Hopefully, he looked convincing enough for other bots to not notice anything. Jazz still looked at him worriedly behind his visor. Optimus attempted to smile behind his mask, hoping for his oldest friend to not say anything. Jazz, thankfully, understood his silence. Jazz’s grip on Optimus' shoulder tightened for a second, squeezing the armor in a way that's familiar to both of them.
Neither of them noticed the shadow hovering behind the door, before it was gone as if it was never there.
#
A few days have passed, and Megatron proved that Optimus' hope in him to be correct. The Prime was pleasantly surprised for Megatron to give a fully customized datapad for him to use—so he would stop losing his own because he was using the same standard datapad everyone used, said Megatron—and suffice to say, Optimus was absolutely delighted. He was more cautious to show his joy, this time around, after having his hope crushed a little bit too many times by the silver bot. But Optimus didn't blame Megatron for forgetting, for the cursed time loop, for destroying him inside out, for anything.
“My Prime," Megatron whispered one day, when the Archives was empty and Optimus was getting ready to leave. The twin moons orbiting Cybertron were high in the sky, and Optimus had been distracted. He wasn't aware of Megatron's aim, and was taken off guard when Megatron pressed his lips against the corner of Optimus' own, just slightly misplaced on purpose. Optimus froze, then, for Megatron had never done that before. Never in the entirety of fifty-seven loops had Megatron done that before—by his own willingness, Optimus meant. Optimus himself was no stranger to stealing a kiss towards Megatron, and laughed bitterly when the Decepticon leader looked as if Optimus had stabbed him in the spark.
(But that's the irony of it all, wasn't it? For him to be destroyed by his own crush while all Optimus did was to kiss Megatron.)
Optimus looked towards his suitor—Megatron declared himself as such—with wide optics. “What… what are you doing, Megatron?” He was afraid of his words coming out a little bit too shaky, and he lowered the volume of his voice. The Archives was deserted, but Optimus knew from experience that Soundwave was watching somewhere. (Megatron captured the former High Guards’ attention, and now there was a maybe-not-quite-Decepticon-army being employed under Megatron's designation.)
“What do you think I’m doing, Optimus?" Megatron replied with another question. His optics were looking into his own, and Optimus found himself to run out of words to say. He couldn’t actually say what he thought Megatron was doing, because what if he was wrong? He understood that Megatron had told himself that he was pursuing Optimus with Conjunx Ritus as the end goal, but it never dawned on Optimus that Megatron was being genuine. Megatron seemed to pick up on his hesitance, because the silver bot continued, “I am trying to pursue you, Optimus.”
Their helms rubbed against each other, and Optimus silently slid his servo over, entangling his digits with Megatron’s. He wanted to say something, anything. Yet Megatron only squeezed his servo, with equal strength and gentleness that Optimus could feel. “I heard you and Jazz the other day,” Megatron confessed, and Optimus pulled his servo back out of surprise, but his attempt was foiled when Megatron tugged their entangled servos closer to the silver bot.
“No…”
“What do you mean no, Optimus?”
“I– I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for, My Prime?”
“For not being able to let go. Even though you did.”
“And I regretted every single one of it.”
“I should’ve done better. I shouldn’t… I feel like I forced you into this.”
“Nonsense.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong. It was my fault through and through.” “But still–”
“No. I’m sorry. My dearest Prime, the one who holds my spark, I’m sorry. It’s alright if you feel you’re somehow unworthy of me. It’s alright if you weren’t able to let go. It’s alright even if you cry about it, so please, Optimus, just let me stay right here next to you.”
“You’re not going to regret it?”
“If I were, you need to keep me by your side nonetheless.”
“I can’t possibly do that…” “My Prime.”
“I’m sorry…”
“It’ll be alright. I’ll try to catch up to you as soon as possible, and all you need to do is be there for me.” “I’m— I would surely bore you.”
“Says the one who tried to save me more than a dozen times.”
“That was… different.”
“Different how? Listen, My Prime, you can get mad at me, be disappointed at me, you can cry about how you are somehow not worth my time, it’s alright. As long as you’d have me.”
“...okay.”
#
Megatron felt as if his spark was cracked into two when he accidentally eavesdropped on Jazz and Optimus' conversation a few days prior. If he had thought his position was bad, Optimus had it the worst. He didn't even blame Megatron even after going back and forth dealing with the Decepticons, and dear Primus, even Megatron would've lost it if he were to deal with the Decepticons all over again for fifty-something times. He couldn't bring himself to meet Optimus' optics for a few days after, shame and guilt settling on the bottom of his tanks.
Thankfully, Optimus seemed to not notice it—or if he was, he didn’t bother to mention it. He accepted Megatron’s gifts with a shy smile on his face, and Megatron might not be a believer, but he believed in Optimus, and he swore on his own spark that he would do anything to make Optimus happy going forward.
Confessing the little eavesdropping moment from a few days ago was harder than he thought. The Prime was surrounded by bots all day long—including Megatron—and other than to let him recharge, Megatron couldn't find a good time to say it. That was until he stumbled upon Optimus in the Archives. Its halls had been empty since a few minutes ago, with the clerks hurrying to go home, and Megatron was only stopping by to borrow a disc he needed for a reference. That's when he noticed a quite large spot of blue and red on the corner of his optics.
Optimus had his back facing Megatron, looking like he was just about to leave when Megatron called to him. And oh how obedient did the Prime respond, turning around to greet him when Megatron pushes their lips together. Optimus was frozen still from the contact, and Megatron nearly scolded himself—what was he thinking, kissing Prime out of a sudden like that?—when Optimus broke the silence, his face plate going blue as he asked with hesitance in his tone.
“What… what are you doing, Megatron?”
Optimus had no words to reply, looking genuinely shocked—and was that fear Megatron saw in his optics?—as their optics met. Optimus, thankfully, didn’t pull back from Megatron’s arm. (Because Optimus is here. And he is real, warm in Megatron’s embrace.) The confusion written across Optimus’ face plate broke something in Megatron, and he slowly caressed the underside of Optimus’ jaw. “What do you think I’m doing, Optimus?” And once again, Optimus had no answer for him, looking at Megatron as if he didn’t know what to expect. Oh, Optimus, Megatron’s processor whispered, you have no idea how much you mean to me. He had made the wrong choice multiple times, yet Optimus could somehow greet him with open arms, believing that Megatron could still change for the better. Optimus’ lips parted but no voice escaped them. Megatron said then, out loud, for he would not have any more misunderstanding, “I am trying to pursue you, Optimus.”
And before Megatron could hold back and think it over, he confessed.
No, the Prime had murmured, before apologizing. Their servos were entangled in the following conversation, of which Megatron had tried very hard to not punch himself in the face. When he finally received Optimus’ spoken agreement, Megatron felt as if he would jump out of joy. His processor went over what would need to be done during their Conjunx Ritus, when their joined servos were tugged by Optimus. The Prime looked at him with bashful optics. Oh, Megatron felt that he would not live long if Optimus was to use that look on him.
“May I… kiss you again?” For once in forever, Optimus reached out and was not met with rejection. Megatron smiled, placing a servo on Optimus’ nape, pushing their helms against each other as their lips met.
“As much as you want, My Prime.”