Chapter Text
When Megatron found the list, he’d been suffering from a bout of insomnia.
Fluxes had plagued him the moment he entered into recharge, forcing him awake, and then bubbling back up whenever he went back to sleep. No two were alike; from the pits of Kaon to watching the Lost Light leave without him while he heard others chant about betrayal. More than once he saw Ravage simply sitting there, staring at him with vacant, unfeeling optics. It was better to just be awake, running on caffeinated midgrade.
Work was never ending. Magnus was a stickler for organization– Megatron appreciated this to no end– but it did mean a high amount of datawork. Much of that datawork went ignored by Rodimus until he was pressured into doing it. Going through his own files, eventually he came across Rodimus’ folder, seeing that it was, surprisingly, recently edited. And unlocked.
It wasn’t as though the work files were private. Megatron opened them. There had been plenty of complaints from their mutual second in command about spelling errors from Rodimus. By all means, editing his shoddy reports would be a favor. What he wasn’t expecting was to find a text file merely labeled THE LIST.
THE LIST, Megatron came to find after opening it, was a list of names. Not even alphabetized , but done seemingly as Rodimus thought them up.
Skids
Trailcutter
Ambulon
Ravage
Ten
Mirage
Pipes
Nightbeat
Atomizer
That wasn’t where the list stopped, but it was where he stopped reading. By Ravage, the theme of the list had settled in. Each one was a member of their dead, listed out as they came to Rodimus. Megatron sighed, pinching his nose bridge as he closed the file. Instead, he opened up a report and began to edit, pushing the macabre list of names to the back of his mind.
Despite his best efforts, Megatron still found himself at Rodimus’ door come the hour the mech usually stirred himself from recharge. Or when he, Magnus, or Drift came to wake him up if he was oversleeping. They had been in weeks of relative peace, with little adventure. Boredom never made a happy Rodimus so Megatron was usually inclined to let him sleep at least a little bit. They all deserved that after four millennia of war.
He rapped on the door, just loud enough to be heard, “Rodimus? It’s Megatron. I wanted to speak with you.”
“Come in,” said a familiar voice that was distinctly not Rodimus.
Megatron frowned as the door slid open. Drift was sitting, full-lotus, on Rodimus’ floor. Blue optics looked up at him– he had changed his biolights when he switched sides. Or was it more accurate to say he changed them back? Either way it unnerved Megatron. But Drift, even as Deadlock, never did something by half-measure. What happened with Turmoil was old news to him now. When he was first told, back during the war when they thought Deadlock dead, Megatron deeply regretted not promoting Deadlock sooner.
He should have raised Deadlock up to be by his side with Starscream, Soundwave, and Shockwave. There were many roles that the other could have filled for him. A ground troop commander. A personal assassin. But, not promoting him was perhaps the best thing to ever happen to Drift. Between the two of them, Drift was living his best life… Megatron was still struggling to figure out what his best life was. But he imagined such a life involved Drift not looking at him with thinly veiled distrust.
“Shouldn’t you be with Ratchet?” he asked, not meaning to sound rude. The question was a mix of worry and mere curiosity. It was Velocity’s shift right now, but if there was an emergency Ratchet would have been roused first. ]
Drift frowned deeply, “Respectfully, Captain, that is none of your business.”
The words stung. Megatron did not flinch, but each syllable felt like a lash to the face. Why won’t you trust me? Haven’t I proven myself to you yet? At least, it confirmed that there was no pressing emergency that the commanders hadn’t been alerted to yet. Next to Drift, on his recharge berth, Rodimus was rubbing sleep from his optics, blue biolights flickering as he attempted to force himself to wake up. A yawn escaped him.
“What’s up, Megs?”
He loathed all three words. From the informality of the first two to that wretched nickname, it was enough to make his protoform seize within him. This was how Rodimus expressed friendship, however. Those three words held more respect for him than Drift’s Respectfully, Captain did. At his hip, he flexed his servo.
“I edited the spelling on your reports. Save us the trouble with Minimus,” he told him.
Rodimus beamed in a way that reminded the old poet in Megatron of a sun, “Really? Thanks. I write ‘em so quick just to get them done, I forget to run the spellchecker half the time. When’d you find time to do that?”
“A sleepless night. Nothing unusual,” he said, waving his hand dismissively as Rodimus began to protest the idea of someone missing a recharge cycle.
Drift spoke over him anyway, “Is that all you came to talk about?” His tone was protective, skeptical. The warrior hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, but Megatron could visualize the protective hand the other was placing over Rodimus’ spark.
He shook his head, “No… I happened across a file, titled THE LIST. All capital letters with a list of names of the dead. What is it for?”
With a sag of his shoulders, Rodimus rolled his neck back. From the corner of his optics, he could see Drift’s less than amused look that Megatron had stumbled upon the file. It hardly surprised him that the white mech knew the very list he spoke of. Rodimus and Drift shared everything, like two younglings who could not help but depend on each other to survive. Despite being conjunxed to Ratchet, it was hard to tell where Drift and his amica endura ended and the other began. More than once, he had watched them order different drinks at Swerve’s only to take sips of the other’s drink without asking. Even now, Drift hardly looked out of place sharing Rodimus’ habsuite.
“You want the truth?” he asked, though it was clear he hardly expected an answer, “...I want to find other versions of the people we’ve lost. Like when we found Rewind. He’s the inspiration, really. I’m not looking to take some happy Skids with a family from his home dimension, but if we found one in need of help or looking for an adventure…”
“You can’t replace our dead,” Megatron told him flatly, “Even Rewind is different from the Rewind you lost.” Not to mention, he had been an identical copy to the Rewind they had lost, not some wayward counterpart who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I know, I know…” Rodimus said, finally standing, popping back struts as he stretched, “But I feel like giving a home to bots in need who happen to be bots we lost…Well, it’s a way of honoring their memory. Besides, it’s not like we won’t take on people who aren’t from our original crew if they want to join. Especially if they need a servo.”
Megatron nodded slowly, “Don’t let this consume you, Rodimus.” Before Rodimus could protest, he turned and added to Drift, “Don’t let this consume him… Please.” They both knew what happened when the former Prime got an idea into his helm much less when guilt tore at the back of his mind.
They could really use a psychiatrist.
“I won’t,” Drift agreed, in perhaps the most agreeable tone he had directed towards Megatron in a long time.
“Hey,” snapped Rodimus, shoving Drift’s knee lightly with a pede.
Megatron sighed. It was not an immoral quest. In fact, he admitted he quite liked the idea. Even he could feel the selfish guilt of missing Ravage’s presence and would happily take on one that desired to come aboard. At first glance, Rodimus would always appear reckless and childish. There was a certain extent that he was, but it never outweighed a spark that cared far too deeply about others. His care for Megatron was evidence of that.
“That’s all then,” he replied, nodding, “I’ve sent our reports to Minimus so I’ll check in with him. And I think Brainstorm wanted to show us a new dimension to map to at some point today.”
Another beaming smile from Rodimus nearly blinded him, “Sweet! Get some recharge, alright? Can’t have my co-captain running on empty.” Megatron rolled his optics, turning on his heel to leave, catching Drift tell Rodimus some snide comment about him. Their peace had been nice while it lasted.