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When Orion spoke up in the Senate meeting all those eons ago, he realized there would most likely be some consequences related to the interruption; they were meant to present a unified front, after all. He braced himself for a long argument the moment they left, knowing his friend well enough to expect at least a very long rant about the risks he took at that moment.
But Megatronus strayed from their message – he couldn’t have kept quiet and made it so that the senators misunderstood what they stood for! There was so much at stake, there was no room for the gladiator’s personal ambitions to interfere with the grand scheme of things; they both were loyal to the Cause, and that must have included the fact that sometimes you needed to pull your own side’s spokesmech back a bit, to let him get back on track.
He noticed the other’s optics flashing briefly, yet he thought nothing of it; he would bear the brunt of this once they exited the room, simple as that.
It’s not like Megatronus would beat him up for it – they had worse arguments before, and the mighty Champion of Kaon never raised his fists at him, even under the most extreme of differences of opinion.
He might have even been correct.
Maybe, if the conversation went on without the offer of Primacy being extended to the archivist, he would have ended going back with the silver mech to their base of operations and screamed their helms off, until they both would collapse from the strain of the emotional stress they both took in a disagreement. Orion would huff, Megatronus would puff, and they would give each other a cold shoulder for a week, focused on work instead, communicating via Soundwave; the rest of the movement would watch them with amusement as they inevitably fell back in together, bringing things back to normal.
One day, who knows, maybe they would have gotten to the vision they talked about in the late hours of the night, the darkness illuminated only by their blue optics; the one of Cyberton free from the caste system keeping them in their boxes, limiting them, stifling their potential. That was their goal, and to that image they were both faithful in their sparks.
That was why he spoke out, after all – because he had his responsibility to the Cause.
Yet, all of these predictions and possibilities fell apart in a matter of seconds, when they turned and proposed the Primacy to him, dismissing the gladiator as unfitting for the role. Had they not done it, things would have turned differently, he was sure of it!
‘No,’ he would think later in the privacy of his own processor, as he mulled things over when the war raged on – ‘that statement would have been a lie; they were not the only ones at fault.’
‘I must have sealed fate when I accepted it.’
Right when he stated his acquiescence, in the corner of his visual feed he noticed a motion. He turned towards it, looking away from the gathered councilors far above.
Megatronus was walking away.
He shouted after him, asking for the bot to return, but the mech ignored him, radiating dissatisfaction; Orion tried to comm him, only to find that the connection would be blocked seconds later. Hearing the muffled laughs from the Senate, he forced himself to stay where he was, looking up to them again. He had to salvage the situation, with or without his friend’s help.
He would find him once the meeting adjourned.
He would make things right.
*****
It wasn’t easy to find a way to talk to Megatronus when the mech didn’t want to speak to you himself – it took him an inordinate amount of time to make his case to Soundwave, who kept on trying to send him away. In the end the blue gladiator relented, citing it as a last favor due to their acquaintanceship; if the Champion did not clear him internally after this visit, there would be no more chances.
Orion scoffed at that, walking into the complex and carrying his steps through the familiar pathway to his friend’s room; he half-expected the door to refuse him entry, making him stand in the corridor where other mechs were watching him closely. To his mild surprise, the entrance opened without any issue, letting him in.
Megatronus was sitting on his berth, servos clasped tightly as he stared at the ceiling, venting evenly. When the smaller bot walked in, his optics shifted, looking him over. The archivist resisted asking if he expected anything else; he appeared just the same as when he was left alone hours before on the Senate floor. They remained still in silence for a while, as soon-to-be-Prime felt himself grow impatient at the lack of communication.
He had done something out of the plan, sure, but they didn't expect to get this far at all - they hoped for the best but prepared for the worst; this wasn't worse than if they got rounded up and imprisoned, and that was the mildest of the Bad Outcomes they considered.
If only he knew how to approach the subject without making it sound accusatory…
“I am surprised they allowed you to leave, Orion,” the silver mech noted finally, voice strained but otherwise calm. The shorter of the two only grimaced, taking a step further; he noticed a pile of his belongings packed in a box on the other's side, neatly arranged.
“With how much effort it took me to get inside, it was easier to get the Senate to grant me leave before the ceremony," he retorted after a beat, optics narrowing at the package, suspicious.
Why did Megatronus collect them?
His reply was met with a dry chuckle; following his line of sight, the gladiator waved his servo over the contents.
“I assumed you would not be coming back, was going to send these along to your new place - I don't think you would be staying here, anyhow," the taller mech offered in explanation, before he added with a weak smile:
"It should all be in there, but feel free to take a look - I doubt you will be coming here again."
Orion swayed, aborting the comforting gesture he was going for; the way his friend was speaking, the refusal to meet his optics, the digits tightly curled up on his resting legs - it was all pointing towards a worrying implication.
"Are you… throwing me out?" the archivist asked hoarsely, pedes heavy; the gladiator only laughed for a moment, the usual sound of mirth absent from the familiar vocalization.
"If you see the fact that we both know you will not return here after you become a Prime as me sending you away, then think of it as you will," Megatronus stated, unamused, his sight locked at the side of the room. The other mech looked at him with confusion, the helm tilted to the side as he raced to analyze what could have been the reason for such a curt dismissal.
"My friend, are you this mad that you won't be the next Prime?" Orion decided to ask plainly; the warning rev of the engines could be heard, but the bigger bot only sighed in irritation.
"It does vex me a bit," he admitted, digits rubbing absent-mindedly at the silver of his plating. "However, that is only a piece of this entire fiasco, and I believe it is in our best interest to part ways," the mech intoned calmly, taking the package and extending it towards the archivist, avoiding looking at his face. Orion didn't take it, opting to instead cross his arms in defiance.
"Why would you think so, Megatronus?" he queried, feeling some of the earlier anger return. The Champion of Kaon snarled, before letting his face fall into a more neutral arrangement.
"Our visions of the future of the Cause seem to be different, judging from your actions," the mech surmised, shoving the box into the smaller bot bodily; the archivist caught it on reflex, before he threw it to the floor loudly, uncaring about the contents, as he cried out:
"I did it for us! For the Cause!"
The silver gladiator watched the mess his companion made impassively; with a long ex-vent, he bent down to gather the scattered belongings back inside. After the last one was picked up, he straightened up, movements heavy as the scarred face hid behind his strong servos.
"I wish I could believe your words, Orion, I really do," he whispered, sounding brittle; the smaller bot instinctively moved forward to soothe, when the other raised his own servo to stall him, used to the gesture after their cooperation so far. Megatronus intertwined his own digits in front of his face in contemplation, staring at nothing in particular, optics dim, as he muttered:
"But you have made your choice back there, and I need to make the difficult decision to protect the movement right now."
The shorter mech sputtered for a moment, plating hot from the combination of emotions coursing through his small frame.
"Stars above, Megatronus, this is not about you!" Orion insisted sharply, throwing his arms up in desperation. He was startled when the gladiator stood up quickly, towering over the archivist; the silver mech at last looked his friend in the optics, as he growled:
"It might surprise you, Orion, that it might also not be about you either."
*****
Clashing against Megatron became a routine – they would try their best to gain ground, stopping at nothing to force the other into submission. There would be a myriad of near-deactivations, unpleasant surprises, and times where destruction would put one (or both) of them out of commission for a while. The Decepticons and Autobots would fight around them, mechs off-lining left and right as the two leaders focused on each other, going for victory.
Neither of them would take the opportunity to off-line the other, though.
Each time Optimus wouldn't take the chance to kill his opponent, he would hold steadfast in his judgment as a leader; citing the power vacuum, moral high ground, or personal beliefs as prohibitions from taking such an extreme pathway. His team would be disappointed every time, bitter at his lack of ruthlessness.
It wouldn't be much different from what the Prime felt towards himself; the feeling of betrayal of his faction every time he stepped away from taking the life of his former friend was festering, rotting him on the inside as the struggle continued.
Alone, he would sometimes sit in the darkness of his room as he asked himself for the umpteenth time what was stopping him from fully acknowledging that there was no way they could win this war with Megatron alive. Until they remained leaders of their factions, there would be tension and personal baggage that would prohibit any peace from holding fast. The Decepticons couldn't be allowed to win - but without a miracle, he would not be able to bring Autobots to victory if he kept on sparing his nemesis.
Was he delusional against all evidence to the contrary, hoping for the impossible to happen and for the grudges to be forgotten?
Was this a byproduct of some feelings he couldn't name, those that stirred with him ages ago and never went away?
Had it been some sort of a dilemma, where he couldn't reconcile the fact that the Cause turned ugly despite it being right with the conviction that it all should have ended differently because the justice had to prevail - or had they been wrong from the get go, where the Schism had to happen because they were the evil that the good had to rise against?
Dimming his optics, he would sometimes ask the Matrix those same questions, to understand the actual reasons of this conflict, doubting his own processor; if this wasn't about the Primacy - as everyone seemed to think it was, the way the history books would say it happened, what he still thought it was about - nor was it about either him or Megatronus, as his former friend has implied all those millennia ago…
Why were they fighting each other, exactly?
The artifact would offer no answers, silent as ever.