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Swerve's bar was packed, even more so than usual, but that could be forgiven. The crew was celebrating, after all. After weeks of closure, the bar was open again! The long nightmare was finally over!
Just in time for everyone to try and cram in to watch Megatron's execution.
Priority seating had been given to the exiles -- of course it had, they'd been the ones who'd been there, who'd actually turned Megatron over to the Galactic Council (as opposed to the people who'd just dropped word into organic audials where the old tyrant would be found). The rest of the crew wasn't about to begrudge them the honor, not after everything they'd been through.
Of course they'd seen sense, once confronted with the reality rather than the hypothetical. No one would actually lay down their life for Megatron.
The exiles had returned to the Lost Light weary but wiser, and been welcomed back with joy. Even Rodimus, Primus's own fool, had seen the wisdom in Getaway remaining captain. They knew they'd been wrong to reject the plan in the first place, and they were sorry for their pride that had forced Getaway's, and they forgave him. Even sweet little Tailgate had come to him with forgiveness in his spark.
They were safe, they were closer than ever to finding the Knights of Cybertron, and they were watching the Galactic Council pull Megatron apart bit by bit and feed the parts into a smelter.
Skids grinned, and he bomped Getaway's shoulder. "Well done."
"Incoming transmission from Cybertron, Captain," Blaster announced. "It's Prowl."
"Put it through," Getaway ordered, waving at Nautica as she pulled Skids away for a dance.
They understood. They forgave him. Everyone was safe, and happy, and-
Nothing in particular woke Getaway from his recharge, but wake he did just the same. His HUD told him it was hours yet before he needed to be awake, to be on the bridge and be Captain, and most of the crew would be in recharge. Getaway offlined his optics, chasing unconsciousness that would not come.
He finally admitted defeat, rising from his berth.
No one had bothered to clean out his quarters when Rodimus had stolen his limbs and his voice, and he'd moved back in without any fuss after he'd been freed. He had the habsuite all to himself now, the only concession to his elevated rank. By all rights, he should have moved right in to Rodimus's habsuite, but...
That would have been too much work.
He slipped quietly out of his quarters, glancing around to see if anyone else was roaming the halls.
But no. Just him, his thoughts, and eleven black painted doors.
No one said their names. Their rooms were locked, and the doors painted like there was plague within. Only Megatron's habsuite was excused from the silent act of mourning; what little there was within had been thoroughly destroyed, and the crew had taken great pains to express just what they thought of their former co-captain on the walls with delightful obscenity.
There had been leavings of innermost energon outside the doors, when the rest of the crew had finally realized that their exiled friends would not be coming back, but those delicate little vials had been moved into what had been Swerve's bar, to a more secure memorial. Something people wouldn't be constantly tripping over.
That had, of course, been after they'd raided the backstock. Anything that wasn't drunk the first few days had been claimed by Mirage for 'Visages', leaving the bar all but abandoned.
Getaway himself had gone there only twice since taking the ship; once to dedicate the memorial, and once to make use of the time rifts that opened there to peer into the past.
That had been a mistake, Getaway decided. That had been when the dreams had started. Looking back served no purpose, and it implanted stupid fantasies in his processor. He'd tell Perceptor tomorrow that there would be no more jaunts.
He'd considered ordering the black doors repainted, but thought better of it. Try to stop them from mourning and they'd just get rebellious, start asking questions.
No, better to let them have their memorials. Let the habsuites stand empty. Even the captain's.
That one stuck in Getaway's intake, and he found himself wandering in that direction.
It was all Thunderclash's fault. He'd insisted that getting rid of Rodimus's crap and moving in so soon was indecent, and the rest of the crew had applied that logic to all the other habsuites, marking them as untouchable memorials.
Getaway was starting to understand why Rodimus hated Thunderclash. Where he went, others followed like turbofox kits after their carrier. He sucked all the air out of the room, and no one else seemed to notice.
Getaway turned down the corridor to the officers' suites and stopped short.
Someone had opened the captain's habsuite.
Someone was going to get their head torn off.
Getaway approached quietly, unsure of what he would find, his anger rising. If anyone should be in there, it was him.
Thunderclash sat on the berth, helm bowed.
"What brings you here, Thunderclash?" Getaway kept his tone light and gentle, trying to project genuine concern. "Feeling alright?"
"As well as can be expected." Thunderclash raised his helm, a glint in his optics. :And you, Getaway? I understand Perceptor opened one of those time windows for you a few days ago."
Thunderclash never called him 'captain'.
Getaway wanted to hurt Thunderclash for that.
"He hated you, you know. Rodimus. Wonder what he'd say to find you like this."
"Something scathing, no doubt." Getaway had been hoping to get a rise out Thunderclash, but the greatest Autobot alive only sounded tired.
"I'm going to get rid of all this scrap. Today. I'm moving in."
Thunderclash stood slowly, looking down at Getaway, optics narrowed. "You," he said, "will touch nothing. Be content with what you have, Getaway, or you'll lose it all."
"Is that a threat?" Oh, he was going to dump the slagger out an airlock.
"if I was threatening you, you wouldn't have to ask." Despite Getaway's efforts, he found himself herded out of the captain's suite. "In your place, I would tread carefully. There are those who have wondered just how much was really about Megatron."
Everyone used to talk slag about Rodimus even before the vote, but death had softened people's memories of him. And now that Getaway was the one giving orders...
"Funny how people's memories can be, isn't it," Thunderclash mused. He locked the black door behind him.
"Why'd you do it?" Getaway demanded. "The truth."
"Love. Hate. Rodimus. Same as you."