Chapter Text
Starscream isn't sure, looking back, what it was about Megatron that attracted him to begin with.
Maybe it was the fact that they had both been in a low place, trying to claw themselves out to no avail. Maybe it was that they both had unattainable dreams, that Starscream was a scientist no one believed in and Megatron a poet desperate to leave his past where it belonged, hurting in a poetically beautiful way. Maybe it had been his voice, the booming, thundering rumble when he said his name, so affectionately at first, unlike any time Starscream had ever heard. Maybe it was his rugged frame, the enticing excitement of an ex-gladiator's war torn body, the fact he was strong enough to break him if he so chose. Maybe the attraction started because of the atmosphere they'd met in—in the dim light of the new bar the scientists had all opted to go to, intimate and lovely and a little fuzzy from the engex. Maybe it was the interfacing, when they first engaged in it—the fact that it was all passion and pain (the good kind) and infatuation and short-term rewards, like a drug. Maybe Megatron himself is a drug. Maybe it was the way Megatron utilized his words. The way those ruby colored optics softened for him. The way his servos used to cradle his face. Maybe it was many things that attracted him. And he knows it was many things that made him stay.
The gentle greetings. The way he regaled him stories of the pits, when he lived and worked there. The showering in affection, affection he so direly craved—not that he never got it, in the early years of his life. Simply speaking, the affection was unlike any he'd ever experienced before—and he craved, yearned for, needed it the moment he started to feel it. It is all these things that prompted him to stay, after the initial attraction. Megatron was not always so bad. And that fact alone is sparkbreaking.
Starscream isn't sure, looking back, when it changed, when Megatron's touches became fewer, far between. He isn't sure when Megatron's looks were becoming less soft and less gentle, when those servos that used to hold him so softly began to slam into his mesh, pin his wrists, and leave behind such horrible cuts and bruises. Maybe it was the night Megatron had too much to drink, and Starscream had been too loud on the comm with Skyfire. Maybe it was the time Starscream went on a rant about some new science report and he'd been told to shut up. Maybe it was even the night they met—maybe there was never really a change . Just a build up of things out of Starscream's hands. Like a composite volcano overdue to erupt.
Tonight isn't any different.
"I have told you a thousand times! "
"Please, Megatron—" Starscream can't fight his body's responses as he cowers, frame rattling as the ex-gladiator towers above him, servos clenched into fists. " Please, I-I just needed to go out—"
The air is knocked out of him as a blow makes contact with his faceplates, and he's sent into the wall behind him. He cannot speak, then, as he tries to regain his breath. The large servo, the servo that used to be so gentle, grabs him tightly by the neckcables, lifting him up. Starscream claws at it, kicking, trying to stave off the panic in every attempt for self-preservation.
“What were you trying to do?” The taller mech challenges, and Starscream cannot stave the lubricant tears in his optics as Megatron lifts him higher, until his pedes no longer touch the floor. “You dare try to betray me? Again? ”
“I-I have n-never betrayed you—” Starscream attempts to argue, only for Megatron to throw his fist into the wall beside Starscream’s helm, earning a frightened gasp. “N-not—not recently , anyway—I— I-I wasn’t trying to do anything—! ”
“You know how I feel.” Megatron growls, low, into Starscream’s audial, and it’s so profoundly filled with hurt that Starscream can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, he was in the wrong. He thinks back to the things he'd bought, with a small fund he'd stowed away in the time they'd been living together. “You know how I feel when you do that. How dare you hurt me like this?”
“I just—” Starscream can barely formulate the words, staring into those optics, dangerous and twinged with the same blood-thirsty glow, that he has seen many times before. He whimpers. “I just wanted to go out. ”
Megatron does not speak. He throws Starscream to the floor.
This scene is nothing new, Starscream has to remind himself. It happens like any other time. He should be used to it. He scrambles to stave off the pain that threatens to pool in his EM field, and he tries so very hard to read Megatron's field, come to find, it's empty. Whatever he feels, Starscream cannot pinpoint, and frankly, this can be either good or bad. And then he slams the metaphorical door shut, and Starscream forces himself up onto his pedes, shaking, doubled over as the nausea hits again, staring at Megatron, at his lover as he stands above him. No longer glaring. Just staring, with a blank, disinterested expression.
“You wanted to go out,” Megatron demands, and Starscream bites back the urge to whimper—he is no coward, after all—though his wings lower pitifully, anyway. Megatron scoffs at the sight of him, of this pathetic display. Starscream never could compare to what he used to have. “To do what, exactly?” And to that, he receives no answer. “To do what? ”
“T-to, to—” Starscream swallows whatever had been threatening to regurgitate from his intake. He fights the urge to protectively cradle himself, just in case. “I—I just—” he cannot sob anymore. Megatron has proven that tears do nothing helpful to the situation. “I’m sorry .”
Megatron stares at him, still. He shoves him lightly, as if daring him to try something—it does not go forgotten, the many times that Starscream had whipped out a knife, or picked up the lamp, prepared for violence. When Starscream does not pick up a weapon, not even the larger pieces of shattered glass on the floor, from something or other knocked over in the fight, Megatron's optics narrow. He delivers a swift, sharp, abrupt kick. Starscream grunts at the impact, and he is sent back onto the floor.
“Answer me. ” Megatron demands, but Starscream cannot. He bites back a sob as he attempts to get up again, only to receive another kick. “Answer me, now! ”
“I hate you,” Starscream shrieks, and Megatron simply continues the assault. "I hate you!"
And he does not stop saying this, like a chant, until Megatron has beaten him so severely that he is rendered silent. And Megatron does not stop, until he knows Starscream can no longer fight. Like every other time this happens, Starscream slips into the grips of unconsciousness.
And then like every other time this has happened, Starscream wakes the next day to humble, soft "I'm sorries" and gentle touches and treats.
The first time it happens this way, whenever that was, Starscream thinks it means Megatron will change. He thinks that Megatron means it when he says it won't happen again. He believes the saccharine professing of love. He doesn't know how many times they've done this—only that it's getting old.
He has no reason to think that today is different. Like every other time, he awakens in their luxurious berth. He can taste the blood in his intake. He can smell it practically all over himself. And he knows one of it is his lover's. And Megatron is there with him on that berth. His mesh crawls at the prospect of what he could've done when he was not conscious—but surely, surely he would not go as far as Starscream thinks. Hopefully.
"Starscream." His voice is the same low rumble from their early days, so deeply moving he can practically feel the rumble in his chassis, rocking his spark in its chamber. The seeker feels his tanks clench. "My love." The words roll off his glossa so easily— dripping poison —as his digits slither to Starscream's, lacing them between his knuckles. "Light of my life." He murmurs like he always used to—velvety and wistful— filthy satisfaction tucked in every syllable.
Starscream can only gurgle a small response. Megatron raises his servo to his dermas. The seeker fights away his tears. Tears only fed Megatron's hungry servos—Primus forbid he gives them an appetite again, lest they feed so much that there is nothing living left of him—but then, can it be said that there is anything left of him now? Is there Starscream anymore, or is he just 'Megatron's Lover' unseen, unheard, the little ragdoll?
"I'm sorry." Megatron murmurs, seamless, as though he did not stomp him to sleep, and had Starscream known better, he would have believed him again. "I love you."
Starscream does not trust his own voice. His lower derma threatens to tremble. The feeling of the familiar comm notification tells him to hold it together. Play along. Survive.
"I love you too." he manages. He flinches when the servo comes a bit too fast to his cheek.
It's your own fault. Megatron's old words come up again in his helm.
He can't help but believe he's right.
————
Starscream wakes again. He isn't sure when he even fell asleep, but that is neither here nor there. Megatron had left, at some point, most likely whilst the seeker was in recharge, and Starscream's mind is too hazy to remember when—why—where he goes—maybe even who he goes to, and a sick part of him wants to hope that there is another where, and another who takes the denting and the kicking and the stomping. Better someone else— anyone else.
It's not like Starscream knows, though. It's not like Starscream can just ask, though he has in the past, and he has faced the consequences of said accusations. And that's the bottom line; questions are not to be asked, not like this, not to Megatron.
"You should know what you're getting into," Starscream recalls that Megatron had reminded him, in the early days, when the seeker had invited him on a second date—something that he knew Megatron was not expecting. "Dating an older mech isn't without its risks." And Starscream wishes, by now, that he had listened. And Starscream wishes, by now, that he had listened to Skyfire when he suggested that he come to the lab instead of going home on the first night that Megatron’s rage reared its ugly head. Perhaps then, he would still be an official scientist, and he would still be learning and performing experiments and going on expeditions and finding new things, amazing things, fascinating things. And maybe he would get to see Skyfire more often again, and he'd be safe and everyone would be happy.
Speaking of…
“Skyfire.” he greets groggily through the commlink as soon as it chimes again. “Now isn’t a good time.”
‘Starscream—I’m sorry, I know it’s early.’ Skyfire’s voice is always welcome, no matter what, warm and gentle and kind, and the seeker can feel his spark swell. That excited twinge in Skyfire’s voice almost brought a smile to his dermas. ‘How are you? Did you sleep okay?’
Starscream’s spark falters some, at the sincere question. Skyfire waits patiently for a response, a response Starscream is struggling to formulate.
“We’re good.” Is the only thing Starscream can think to say, and distinctly, distantly, Starscream can swear he feels Skyfire’s EM field. The excitement is not gone—it has expanded, swelled, become impossible to contain, in fact—and yet there was, all at once, a twinge of other feelings. Feelings barely concealed by the excitement, wary, peeking into his own field. He slams the metaphorical door. “Really, we’re fine.”
‘You sound unwell.’ Skyfire answers, and Starscream can’t help but despise the caring nature of his old friend. Starscream sits upright in the luxurious berth, servos trembling as he attempts to swing his legs over the side, an attempt punctuated by acute pain in his midsection. ‘I haven’t seen you in a while. May I visit you—?’
“No.” Starscream snaps, and immediately, he feels Skyfire reel, excitement beginning to wither. He backpedals. “N-no, I…I’m good. I’m just—sick. Yes, that’s—I don’t want to infect you.”
‘Oh.’ Skyfire’s voice becomes so small. And Starscream forces his legs over the side of the berth, wincing, tanks reeling, entire body sore, struggling to remember the evets of the day prior. And then he remembered the reason why the beating even occurred. His spark drops. 'Star—’
“I’m fine.” Starscream insists, and he can feel Skyfire relent. This is how it must be. Even if he misses his friend. “Did you need something, Skyfire?”
‘ Oh—I wanted to tell you some good news. ’ Skyfire sounds uncertain. But Starscream’s spark reels once more.
It’s your own fault. You ruined the mood.
“Good news? Do tell,” Starscream speaks as he rises to his pedes, crosses the room, optics shifting, checking for any signs that Megatron had been home—that his leaving was just a ruse, like he sometimes did, just to watch Starscream for incredulous, boundary-breaking behavior. He finds that there is no sign of him. Upon entering the washroom and as soon as the door is closed behind him, he's scrambling to pull his secret compartment of items from the little hard-to-spot cubby in the drawers beneath the sink. He locates a small pink box. “I’m sorry. This—illness has made me a bit touchy.”
And perhaps this isn’t a lie. Megatron’s name alone is enough to make him nauseous. He prays it's only the stress making him sick.
‘Do you remember that project we talked about, a long time ago?’ Skyfire’s voice is slow, low, and the concern has begun to wane. Starscream’s optic ridges raise as he peers into the mirror, prepared to preen, mask away the pain from the night prior, momentarily forgetting about the little box. Too many distractions. His helm feels as though it'll explode, at any moment, with all the directions he is being torn in. Megatron has done so much to him, he realizes in that moment, as soon as he notes the inuries that extended beyond the usual bruise here or there. He dreads to imagine Skyfire's reaction. ‘You were intrigued about a galaxy we discovered, but we didn’t have the funding or resources to investigate.’
Was he? Starscream had to ask. How long ago had this been? He wracks his memory, furrowing his optic ridges as he drags a digit over the dent spanning the ridge of his faceplates below his optics, and subsequent blooming bruise forming just under the mesh. How appalling. He thanks his lucky stars that the damage was not worse. Well, almost worse, that is. He looks down at the pink box warily, and he sighs, opening it and reading the instructions.
“I think I remember that. The frequencies we could track from it were astounding—” He bites back a wince, his split derma threatening to split wider the more he talks. It's your own mistake, Starscream, Megatron’s words snap at him in his helm. “We managed to track a life signal to that galaxy, didn’t we?” He pulls from the box the small, sharp tool necessary for such a test as this. He side-eyes the little stick sitting there, the blood receptacle ready and waiting. He takes a breath as he pricks his digit, squeezes, and smears the sample into the receptacle. He reads the instructions again, double checking, triple checking, that he's done it correctly. Now it's just a matter of waiting.
‘Yes! The project involved exploring the galaxy, and learning about the inhabitants. You seemed particularly interested in exploring the flora and fauna of the planets. I recently revisited the notes we compiled for the pitch to the Department of Science—’ Starscream can practically hear the smile in Skyfire’s voice, and he wants, so badly, to smile too. He refrains, for the sole reason that his split derma begs him not to. ‘I’ve been reformatting them. ’
“That’s the news?” Starscream challenges playfully, forcing himself to look away from the stick, even wandering from the counter to pace the linoleum tiles, and Skyfire chuckles. “Or is this just a check-in?” He can hear a creak outside the door. Five kliks, he thinks to himself. Just five kliks, that is all I ask. He freezes, the moment after the creak, waiting, listening. Just the house settling, he tells himself. So then why can he feel the ghost of a hand on the back of his neck?
‘I’ve been granted an assembly to pitch it again.’ Skyfire’s voice is soft as he says this, as if he can still hardly believe it as well. Starscream listens carefully for prying audials.
“You’re serious?” he shakily responds, and to his relief, Skyfire seems not to realize, immediately, that it is not the news (not the news alone, anyway) that makes his voice tremble. “Y-you actually—”
‘Yes! The meeting is in a few days. I wanted to see if you’d like to come along to the assembly—maybe we could even work out your attendance on the expedition.’ The excited tone is so obvious by now that Starscream wants to be excited as well. But the house is creaking. And his mesh crawls. His tanks reel, and he can taste the threat of regurgitation in his intake. He glances at the small test from afar.
“I—I will have to see how I feel, Sky.” he answers, softly, still bringing a shaky hand to his face, in every attempt to reground himself. It isn't working. “It’d be a damn shame if you were prepared to go, and suddenly couldn’t.”
Their connection wibbles. Starscream’s spark drops, and the house creaks again. Maybe it’s just that time of year, when the temperature begins to change, slightly, and the structure has to account for that. Maybe that’s it.
‘Starscream,’ Skyfire begins, and Starscream, despite knowing better, can feel his spark sour. ‘I want to see you again. I miss you.’
Starscream’s servo trembles as he returns to the sink, checking his internal timer—three kliks—and staring into the mirror, trying everything in his power to not look. Avoid, avoid, avoid. He grips the sink’s edge in a death grip, uncertain if he could even recognize the reflection staring back at him, optics dim and listless. He swears he looks so much older than he did when he'd first started seeing Megatron. The thought is almost enough to make him cry. He does not allow himself to do so, however. He glares. He glares at his reflection, recalling how once, the days were spent in the lab, with his good friend, and he did not worry about servos that had been too fast, and too harsh.
I miss me too. He thinks to himself, for brief moment, holding the thought and then pushing it away. I miss the me from before everything.
“You don’t miss me.” he snaps, more at himself, at his reflection than at Skyfire, and he can feel, even from so far away, that those words stung. He squeezes his optics shut. I’m doing this for him, He tells himself. It’s for his own good. “You miss when I used to humor you.”
‘Star—’ Skyfire’s voice drops to a whisper. ‘Please. I’m worried about you.’
“You’re not worried.” Starscream’s voice raises in intensity, wanting so badly to scream, to yell, to be as angry as Megatron is and throw that right back, and above all, in this moment, feeling entirely prepared to end the comm. “Drop it.”
‘Please don’t do this.’ Skyfire’s voice, all at once, sounds so frantic. ‘It’s been a long time since you’ve been to the lab. You don’t pick up my comms much, anymore. What did I do wrong? ’ And Starscream, with all of his spark, hates that it has come to this. He covers his intake, rapidly blinking in every effort to stave the tears. And then he hears the pedesteps. ‘ ...Is everything okay?’
“Of course!” Starscream snaps. “Everything is fine. You don’t need to check up on me like this! I’m not a sparkling!”
‘Star.’ Skyfire’s voice trembles just slightly. ‘...I just want you to be happy and safe.’
And then it’s silent. Starscream takes a sharp intake. He can practically feel his friendship withering and dying.
“I’m happy. Why can’t you be happy for me?” He growls. Skyfire does not speak for several seconds.
‘...I won’t force you to come to the assembly, Starscream.’ Skyfire states plainly. ‘I know how much the project meant to you, so I thought you would want to be there if it gets approved. But I don’t want you to come if you don’t feel up to it.’
The internal timer goes off. He looks down at the test, and heaves a sigh as soon as he spots the result, stowing it and the box it came in in his subspace. Megatron doesn't need to know about this.
“Sky,” Starscream trembles as he tries to push away the feelings threatening to resurface. He side-eyes the bathroom door. “...What day is the assembly?”
Skyfire’s field, even from this distance, brightens right up.
———
Starscream does not expect the project to get approved. It was not approved the three times he and Skyfire tried, in the early days, to get the okay—but now? Here? Starscream can’t believe it took this long.
And he can’t even go too.
He doesn’t tell Megatron that Skyfire commed him. In fact, when Megatron asks who he had been in contact with, he tells him that he was trying to make a doctor’s appointment—he has been feeling rather ill, after all—and that he needs to see one—and somehow, Megatron relents, and tells him he may leave the house for that purpose. Not even Starscream can believe his luck. He's so in disbelief that the test he was prepared to destroy ends up forgotten on the counter.
So for Skyfire to deliver his pitch, for Skyfire to be told that it’s promising research—necessary research—that there were more than enough resources, and more than enough funding, and that he would receive a grant for the preparation—feels simultaneously like a punch to the face and a sweet, gentle kiss from Primus himself. And for the first time in forever, once the assembly is over, and the shock has worn off, he is face to face with his old friend.
He almost forgot how tall he was. It makes him uneasy at first, to be faced with the giant of a mech again, a mech who Starscream was certain didn't know his own strength, a mech Starscream new withheld any power he was aware of. And Starscream knows this is irrational. That Skyfire would never hurt him—or would he?—no matter how much strength he possessed. These thoughts prompt him only to grow more anxious. But when Skyfire approaches, it’s all warmth in his spark, anyway.
“You came.” he beams at him, and Starscream smiles wide, despite the partially healed split lip. The look in Skyfire’s eyes vanish as soon as he sees Star’s face, and his field no longer feels warm and alight. “Oh, Star. What happened?” he gasps, a large servo delicate as it reaches out but never touches, optics locked on the barely healed split lip, the new dents and unfamiliar bruises about his mesh.
“It’s fine, I assure you.” Starscream answers quickly, his own optics wide. “Sky, you got approved. ”
It should have been we, Skyfire thinks to himself as he looks over Starscream’s face. He retracts his servo.
“I didn’t think they would approve our project.” he rasps, awe still on his face, even amidst the fog of concern. He hesitates. “I’m so glad you came.”
Starscream wishes he could say the same. He can already hear the things Megatron would say.
“I am, too,” he says, anyway, despite knowing already that he cannot go along. He recalls the day he left the lab, thinking he would come back the next day—but it’s been months, maybe years, maybe forever, and he finds himself realizing more every day that that day had likely been the last, and he would never step foot in there again. His spark sours, despite how much he tries to remain bright, cheery, happy. “Do you have the expedition planned in full detail yet? A departure date?”
“I-I’m planning on leaving in Boltaneon. On the third. But—my backup date is the tenth of Rokuneon.” Starscream can just imagine the shy, goofy smile of his dear friend on the Cybertronian news channels once he returns, with droves and droves of finds—finds he had wanted to be there to find as well. He knows Skyfire never cared about the fame that will come with the big finds. But Primus, would he deserve the fame that comes. “I’ve got the map drawn already.”
“Boltaneon? Are you insane? That’s so short notice!” Starscream exclaims, optics still wide, searching his friend for any hint of a lie. But there is none. “Sky, you can’t be serious. You won’t be ready in time, the paperwork alone— ” Starscream can feel a frown tug his dermas.
“I’ve had the date picked out for a while. I would rather stick with it. If I have to spend a few days skipping recharge, then so be it. We've dreamed of this for so long. I can't just let the date pass us by.” Skyfire smiles softly at his dear friend. “This is for you as much as it is for me. Everything will be fine.”
The notification comm in Starscream’s helm tells him he’s wrong.
The message tells him to come home immediately. He pulls from Skyfire, but the shuttle follows.
“Wait, Star—” Skyfire's smile falls, and he rests a gentle hand on Starscream’s shoulder. “You’re leaving already? I was hoping we could talk.”
Starscream doesn’t look at him. He recalls Megatron’s words.
If you speak with that shuttle again, you’ll both be sorry.
“Skyfire.” Starscream ex-vents, annd Skyfire can see the slightest tremble in his frame. “What do you want to talk about?” And he knows he doesn’t need to ask. He can feel Skyfire’s concerned stare.
“I want to see if you can come too on the expedition. But…I also just want to catch up with you.” Skyfire promises, and Starscream all at once regrets this entire endeavor. He turns to look at his friend. “Please. Since I only have a few weeks.”
‘No’ is a frequently used vocabulary word for Starscream. Yet he can never say it to his dearest friend. He exhales, checking the comm-link texts. To his surprise, there are two new ones waiting for him. One from Megatron, and another from—
Oh. He has to pause for a moment to read over the notification title. And then he realizes he's spent too much time formulating a response.
“Okay.” Starscream relents, knowing he can't abate his best friend's concern forever. The shuttle delicately rests his hand on his shoulder as they walk together, out of the Department of Science building and into the walkways leading to the research building that sat adjacent. He internally reads Megatron’s message on the way.
“Starscream, I’m not going to ask again.” the message reads, and the seeker knows he can't test him. Not if he wants to remain online.
“How have you been?” Skyfire, sweet Skyfire, asks so nicely that Starscream can’t help but wish he had fallen in love with the shuttle instead, on that night, under the dim lights of the bar that he has only ever been back to a handful of times. He wishes it was his best friend he could have wanted to kiss, and hold, and lead, instead of the gladiator, the brute, the menace, the traitor. “You said you were sick. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes. Thank you for asking.” Starscream responds, stiff, unusual, and Skyfire can't help but feel his spark ache for him.
“And Prowl?” Skyfire inquires. “You haven’t mentioned him in a while.”
“He hasn’t spoken to me in a while. I hardly think it’s my place to tell everyone my cousin's business.” Starscream warily thinks of the notification sound, of the glimpse he got into the message. His tanks reel again. He was so sure something had happened to his cousin—yet fate would have it that he's fine. At least enough to text. When he looked up at his dear friend, Skyfire seems suddenly so pensive.
"How has Megatron been?" He asks passively, carefully eyeing Starscream's reaction. Starscream doesn't answer. He focuses ahead again as they walk. Skyfire sighs. “Star—”
“He’s fine.” Starscream’s voice drops. “Why?” All at once, his voice gains an edge. Skyfire knows this entire ordeal isn’t wise, that he can’t expect Starscream to answer and spill his innards out—and Primus preserve him, he doesn’t expect as such at all —but he cannot stop now.
“Do you remember that time you told me he’d gotten angry with you?” Skyfire asks quietly, as soon as they are alone, in the research facility courtyard, where many of the (few) flight frames found themselves gathering for their allotted breaks throughout the day. “And I suggested you come back to the lab?”
Starscream cranes his neck to look up at him, optic ridges raised. He tries, so very hard, not to glare at his friend. And it’s in that moment that he can see Skyfire’s optics, how they gleam, extra glossy under the sunlight. The seeker always wondered how and why Skyfire never found someone. Even with sad optics, beads of lubricant tears threatening to roll down his cheekplates, he is beautiful—when the light illuminates him, when he is at his best and his worst, when he is focused, Skyfire is an acute, obscure, wonderful type of beauty. And he wishes his friend could have found someone to tell him so. Someone to devote this level of care for.
Someone who deserved to be loved and love him in return.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the vile words drip from Starscream’s lips, poison, so bitter on his glossa that it makes him want to gag. But he does know. He knows, and he won't let it leak through his dermas, roll off his tongue like vile upheavals of whatever he'd eaten that day, if at all—sometimes the stress forced him to forego food. Skyfire’s field is filled with feeling—horrible, painful feeling that Starscream just wants to snuff. “I don’t understand—”
“You told me he had been drinking.” Skyfire quietly says. “And that he was angry with you, and told you a lot of unkind things.” And Starscream can’t help but hate how good Skyfire’s memory is. “And I suggested that you come back to the lab instead of going home with him.”
Starscream trembles.
“Starscream—” Skyfire frowns at him. “Please, come with me on the expedition. Your skills could be used—the entire department misses you—I miss you, I…” a single lubricant tear slips down his cheekplates, and lands on Starscream's faceplates as soon as he turns to face him. “I miss us. ”
Biting his lower derma, Starscream looks away, blinking rapidly. Megatron is trying to comm him. He declines it, knowing the punishment will be worse later, and for the moment, not caring.
“I don’t want to.” I can’t. “Skyfire, I just—” his voice cracks. “It’s just not a good time.” He won’t let me go. And he watches as his friend takes a deep breath. “Don’t cry, Sky.”
“I’m not.” Skyfire answers, hating the sight of the bruises and the cuts on his poor friend’s faceplates, his spark soured and horrid feeling simply spilling into his EM field, struggling not to blurt out what he’d been thinking, his worries—my friend is hurting—his fears—What if I can’t help him?—his sad—I don’t want him to hurt you anymore—all culminating in his processor. “Starscream—” I won’t be here to keep you safe if you don't come along. “I still have time before my departure. I want you to think about it. Please.” Please let me help you.
Starscream has never been good at asking for help, Skyfire realizes, and maybe this is the issue. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s many things—things Skyfire can’t fix—things Skyfire wants to fix. Or maybe he doesn’t want the help. Maybe he doesn't need it. Maybe there is nothing about his old life he misses—the days organizing and reorganizing the lab, looking at samples of strange findings, going on adventures. Maybe he really doesn't miss it. And maybe it's selfish of Skyfire to want him to miss it—but he does. Primus he does. And Skyfire wants so badly to make it better— but he can’t —and to tell Starscream he deserves the world— But would he believe it? —and to prime him for a life where he’s happy, and comfortable, and fulfilled. A life where they can explore, and research, and follow each other to the ends of the universe. It’s what best friends would do.
Starscream watches him again, lubricant tears in his own optics.
“I’ll think about it.” he relents, despite the visceral feeling of run away and hide and let everything come to an end clawing and eating its way through his withering spark. “I’ll—I’ll think about it, Sky. I miss you, too.” his lower derma trembles. Gently, gently, Skyfire’s large servos pull him closer, and the long arms that wrap around him are not rough—the servos do not tug, or pull at his wings or grip him so tightly he’s sure he’ll faint dead away, and the pressure at which he is held does not take away his breath. These arms are warm. They are soft, and secure, and sometimes, Starscream wishes he could melt forever into his embrace.
“Please, please tell me if you ever need anything,” he murmurs to the seeker. “I’ll always be here for you. I promise.”
In the back of Starscream’s mind, he is sure that that’s not true, that Skyfire will abandon him the way Megatron has done so—subtly, slowly, over time, taking what precious little trust he had in a world that had stomped on him, and crushing it. But in Skyfire, he has nothing but trust. He smiles the slightest smile, blinking away tears as his dear friend holds him. It’s all warmth, and happiness with Skyfire. And he wishes it can last.
And then another message from the rough-around-the-edges poet.
‘I need to talk to you, come home immediately.’
Even though he doesn’t want to, he breaks out of the embrace. Skyfire doesn’t mind. He just smiles sadly at his little friend.
“I have to go.” Starscream clears his throat, trying so very hard to put on his neutral face despite the furrowing of his optic ridges and the quiver of his lower derma, optics glossy and still leaking no matter how much he tries to pull himself back together. “I…I-I just, I just have to go. I’ll think about the expedition. Thank you, Sky.” he takes a shuddering breath. Skyfire knows this got too emotional too fast—and he is not satisfied with how he went about this—but it’s nice, regardless, to see Starscream again. Even marked up. Even crying. Even with his trembling, rattling frame. It just reaffirms his decision. And hopefully Starscream does not get upset, when he finds out.
“It’s okay. I—I have to meet with someone regarding the expedition, anyway. Please, take good care of yourself, Starscream.” Skyfire brushes his thumb across his own optic, wiping the lubricant delicately. “Are you going to be okay to go? Do you need me to go with you?”
Starscream flashes back to Megatron’s words. He takes a sharp breath.
“I’m okay.” I’m not. “I’ll be fine on my own.” He takes a deep breath, the way Skyfire once before coached him through, to abate an oncoming sensory-overload-related crash. “Skyfire?”
“Yes?” the shuttle inquires, having just then calmed down, and for a moment, Starscream looks the way he did the day they met—beaming and excited and alive . “Do you need something, Star?”
“I want to see you the day before you leave.” he states, unable to ignore the gnawing concern in the pit of his fuel tank that something will go wrong. “Regardless of if I come or not. I wanna see you.”
Skyfire smiles warmly at him again.
“Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll see you then.” and Starscream smiles at him broadly, despite the horrible, degrading, disgusting feelings pooling in his field. They share one last quick, secure hug. And then they part ways.
When Starscream makes it home, Megatron is waiting in the main living area. To his surprise, the house remains untouched. Nothing broken. There is the occasional hole in the wall—but Megatron has promised to have them fixed. When he enters, he is greeted by his lover standing solemnly by the fireplace.
“Starscream,” his low baritone greets him in a tone that Starscream struggles to identify. The seeker does not tremble. He does not dare. “Where have you been?”
“I told you,” The seeker answers, bold, unperturbed, despite the rabid fear in his spark. “I went to visit the doctor.” He notes the stiffness of his lover’s frame. Megatron does not turn to look at him. He simply stares.
“Did you?” he inquires, reaching into his subspace for the item he found—the item that had spurred this need for him to come home. “And what did the doctor say?”
“I just have a minor infection,” Starscream speaks confidently, to the point, ignoring looming nausea in his tanks. He prays Megatron has not found what he thinks he’s found. “He uploaded a treatment to my systems. Said I should be fine by tomorrow.”
There is a deep rumble of understanding that comes from Megatron’s intake. And finally he turns. Starscream’s spark drops.
“You took a test.” Megatron points out plainly, holding the little stick up for his lover to see. “You thought you were carrying?”
“N-no, Sweetspark,” Starscream answers, eying the small home carrying test. “I-I—I wanted to rule that out, b-before I tried to take medication—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Megatron frowns, looking down at the small blood test. “Why didn’t you tell me this is the reason you went out?”
“I-I didn’t think it was important—I-I wasn’t feeling well, and—a-and, and I was out retrieving medication anyway, and—” Starscream cowers as Megatron takes a lumbering step toward him. “M-Megatron, the test is negative.”
“I can read, Starscream.” Megatron’s frown only deepens. “You left it out for me to find. Didn’t you?”
“N-no!” Starscream takes a breath. “N-no, I—I just forgot to throw it out! I swear!”
Megatron falls silent. Those servos come toward him, and he flinches hard, biting back a whimper—but the blow never comes. It hasn’t come for a week, and Starscream is sure it’s like all those other times—the soft touches, and then the sudden blow. But this time, Megatron does not hit. His servo gently caresses his lover’s faceplates.
“Is this your way of telling me you want to have sparklings?” Megatron challenges, and Starscream shutters his optics, biting back the urge to grimace at the prospect—at the idea of carrying—at the idea that it is Megatron's sparkling he would be carrying if he had agreed. “Is that why you didn’t throw it away?” His voice drops to a lower level, only for Starscream’s audials to hear. Starscream isn't sure if this is part of a seduction plan, if this is something else, if perhaps Megatron just wants to intimidate him into admitting the truth—his truth—that the idea alone of a sparkling is appalling and worse so if it is his lover's. But Starscream does not relent.
“N-no,” Starscream winces as the soft servos touch the partially healed bruises. “I-I swear, I just forgot.”
Megatron nods sagely, staring at him, daring him to say something, do something, think something in retaliation, just with his optics. But Starscream never does. His processor remains blank.
“Good.” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss against his helm. “I assume you went to see the doctor to make sure. Is that right?” he inquires, and Starscream’s plating bristles.
“Y-yes.” he answers, disbelieving his luck, right now. “The doctor said I j-just need to rest and let the medication do the work.”
“And the injuries?” Megatron asks, servo drifting to Starscream’s neck. “Did he ask about them?”
“Y-yes.” he answers, taking aother shaky breath. “I, I told him I had to crash land during a flight.”
Megatron’s servo lingers a moment more, only to disappear from the seeker’s throat.
“I’m pleased.” Megatron murmurs, shoving the blood test back into Starscream’s servos. “Go rest, My Love. And get rid of the test.”
Starscream trembles, staring at him for a moment. Megatron stares back. But in a few seconds, Starscream is off, gripping the negative test, barely able to breathe as he goes into their shared berthroom, barely able to sate his rapidly pulsing spark.
This can’t go on, he realizes. It can’t. It shouldn’t. He doesn’t want it to.
But it isn’t my choice, he thinks. Maybe Skyfire can help. Maybe I can escape. Maybe, maybe, maybe—
He receives a comm from Skyfire, on a private channel.
‘Don’t forget what I told you.’ Is all it says. Starscream doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even respond. He lays on the luxurious, soft surface of their bed, helm placed strategically on the cloud-like pillows, curled tightly into a ball, as if he’s napping in Skyfire’s cockpit again. He does not look at Prowl's message. He simply sends out his generic response—'Everything is fine.'
Maybe I can go, he thinks. Maybe Skyfire can help.
He listens carefully for activity beyond the berthroom door. But there is none, beyond the soft sound of classical music, music he knew Megatron only listened to when preparing for his long writing sessions. He sighs softly.
I hope I never have to come back when I go.