Chapter Text
All at once, the armor felt like it was too much. There was a rise in the armor’s chest… and then that feeling quickly crashed, until it was a rise in Minimus’ chest. He was way deep down inside, hooked up to all matters of wires and EM field disruptors— but he suddenly felt a disconnect from that. The armor was threatening its own demise, rattling and shaking at the seams where it should have snuggly fit together. Minimus tried to think of whether this would be better than the armor seizing up and locking… but it seemed that his mind couldn’t quite focus on any one thought. The sorrow spread through his fuel lines like it was a tangible poison, weighing him down.
He steadied himself. He couldn’t fall apart yet, if ever. He had a— he had a job to do. A client to defend. A court to address. A friend… a… friend to… he was a friend that he… He would be seeing him off to his certain demise. Minimus wanted to speak to him one last time before seeing the millions upon billions of faces that wished for his death. Ultra Magnus stood in front of the door, contemplating. It was respectable, to think a moment before entering. How else could Magnus address him ? Minimus Ambus stood in front of the door, shaking and coming to grips with the sheer mass of reality. It was pathetic, to be swayed by such a mech and this whole situation. How did his spark come to flutter and shatter like it did, over Megatron of all the mecha in this lonely universe?
But he was Ultra Magnus. He did not show any signs of strain on his face. He was back to the very first few cycles of dining the armor, where there was nothing more important than holding up the image of all enforcing seriousness. It felt wrong though. Plating still clattered together and seams still shivered. That mantra did nothing except stiffen his expression.
The door opened in front of him and Minimus searched the room. Ultra Magnus locked optics with Megatron and then the guards. He had to dismiss them. Yes. He could not breach the confidentiality as a lawyer. They could not be in the room as he discussed the trial. He felt like the act was selfish though, as the words left his mouth. When the door shut behind him, he felt his frame shudder. It felt like something forced him stumbling forward, like a shockwave from a bomb. It was just a door. And standing there in front of a lone Megatron was a blue and heavily armored mech. It was just Minimus Ambus.
Minimus Ambus stumbled forward, but the armor took slow steps. Ultra Magnus placed his servos on the table and his shoulders slumped, finally. He dragged his helm upwards to look at Megatron again. His spark swelled and burst in equal measures. Megatron’s face looked tired. The past millions of years were clear on his faceplates, and on all of his plating. Deep lines below his optics, a wrinkle at the edge of his frown. The shadow from his helmet was cast especially low, with the bright lights from the ceiling.
The servos of the armor wouldn’t move. In fact, Minimus Ambus could not get a grip on the link between himself and any of the armor. The shaking and rattling had come to a stop, and he was still. He was as still as the eye of a storm, a still place surrounded by turmoil and raging wind.
“Megatron,” came the armor’s strangled voice. “I cannot move.”
Minimus Ambus, through the optics of the armor, searched Megatron’s face. Pleading. Megatron lifted himself from his seat, the — no doubt heavy — stasis cuffs hanging from his wrists. Minimus felt humiliated as he pointed out what pressure points the armor had, how to open him up. Once Minimus was out of the armor, Megatron took a seat further down at the table and beckoned Minimus to come next to him, and away from the suit. The minibot felt raw, like he had just spent the evening crying instead of organizing legal forms. Maybe this was his frame’s own form of mourning. If he wouldn’t allow himself the allowance to sob, then his spark and processor would cut him off from himself. Minimus took a seat next to Megatron and couldn’t meet his optics. Despite having come here with the pretext of going over the trial, despite actually having real material to go over, despite—
“As terrible of a time it is to say this, it wouldn’t have felt right if I didn’t see you one last time Minimus,” Megatron rumbled, solemn and slow. Minimus felt a tug on his spark and frame alike and forced his eyes to meet Megatron’s… his frame did not seize or shake this time. Optics locked on each other, red on red, Megatron let a small and sad smile rise on his face.
“You should let the world look you in the eye,” the large mech continued, “And you look right back at it, with your own eyes.”
Somehow, through the veil of vagueness, Minimus knew what he meant— oh—
“I don’t think I could,” he croaked. “Without doing anything short of destroying it.”
The armor. He doubted he could, that he would be enough without it, that he— Megatron looked taken aback by the minibot’s words. Minimus all of the sudden regretted his comment. He shrunk back in his chair, struggling to keep his eyes on Megatron’s. His optics wouldn’t falter, and neither did Megatron’s, despite the confusion, sorrow, and some other feeling clouding them.
“If that is what it would take—” Megatron suddenly paused before moving his servo, letting it come to rest at the side of Minimus’ shoulder. “Would you even want my opinion on the matter—?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Minimus answered immediately, his spark jumping.
Megatron breathed.
“If that is what it would take, then I think you should do it. You deserve to spend your life as yourself. You are far more miraculous than he was, Minimus,” he murmured, optics flashing a bright and impassioned pink.
And that was all it took. Almost unconsciously, Minimus took advantage of the new leverage — Megatron had to lean downwards to touch the space just right of his shoulder — and he wrapped his arms around Megatron’s neck, in an embrace. Minimus brought him closer and pressed his lips to his own for a kiss.
Minimus was far too caught up in the impulse to process the humiliation of giving into it, but thankfully, Megatron did not push him away. He nudged him closer for a moment. That servo that previously stood at a respectful distance now gently touched Minimus’ back. It was a tender kiss, slow but steady, like waves on a calm beach day. Their EM fields stood in contrast to that, a tangled mess of pain. It stabbed and prickled at the edges, but it was shared. Oh, it was shared between them just as much as their kiss…!
They had a trial to go over. They had a verdict to prepare for. They had last words to exchange. This was only going to make it all more of a stab to the spark.