Chapter Text
“You can’t be serious.”
Ratchet’s voice sounded breathless, shocked. He looked one servo away from throttling someone—most likely Jazz, who walked beside them with a grimace barely hidden by his visor.
Optimus didn’t respond immediately. He kept staring at his datapad like it could solve his problems. It didn’t.
“Tell me you're joking. I'm being serious, Optimus,” Ratchet continued, stepping closer with wide blue optics, “Tell me you didn't actually convince Megatron of all mechs to do this.“
Optimus ex-vented, lowering his servo. “The decision has been made official.“
“Oh, for Primus’ sake…” Ratchet pinched his forehelm. “You’re letting him move in with you? Him?“
“Well, it's not the worst choice,” Jazz attempted to lower the tension. A mistake as Ratchet snapped his helm in his direction with the most fiery glare he'd ever seen.
Jazz quickly came up with a defense to save his aft. “Wait, hear me out! Optimus and Megatron are the only two mechs that can keep each other in check. Wouldn't it be easier to monitor him like this? Besides, it's temporary, just 6 stellar cycles!“
“And who will stop Megatron from attempting to assassinate Optimus while he's in recharge in the process!?” Ratchet retorted, pacing.
He stopped, only to stare at the Prime like he was the dumbest mech he'd ever encountered. “There are a dozen diplomatic alternatives. You could’ve thrown him into a neutral zone, buried him under surveillance in Vos—anything but this.”
Optimus crossed his servos. To be honest, he regretted ever making this suggestion in the first place, but he also knew there was a sort of necessity to it.
“Ratchet, this situation isn't ideal, but my choice remains. I didn't make it without thinking.“
“Of course it isn't ideal! Just give me a good reason why I shouldn't scan your processor for viruses!” Ratchet’s voice was both loud and tired.
With a voice that sounded equally exhausted, Optimus softly muttered; "We cannot ask others to coexist if we do not attempt it ourselves."
The medic was at a loss for words for a moment. Optimus Prime, the last of the Prime's. Once a data clerk akin to a librarian.
A normal bot that once lived a normal life.
The prospect that Orion had become a Prime was unbelievable in its own right—at least, at the time. The fact that he suggested his closest friend and longest enemy to live together...was a catastrophic lapse in judgement.
For Ratchet's part, he felt he was taking this news like a sensible bot.
And yet, with a voice with far less bite in it, he spoke. “You idiot...this is only going to hurt you.”
The medic looked distressed, a rare expression of worry on his faceplates. It almost made Optimus rethink his decision—as if he hadn't already done so many times over the last deca-cycle.
Jazz gently placed a servo on Ratchet's shoulder in a reassuring manner. “I'm sure he knows that, Ratch. We just have to trust him like we always have.“ He smiled playfully, but there was an undeniable sadness to it.
Optimus nodded gratefully for Jazz's help before returning his attention back to his datapad. “I will see you both at the peace day celebration.“ He turned on his pedes and walked away. “It was nice to speak to you two.“
He would've liked to stay longer, but he needed to check on Megatron's progress.
---
Thud
Megatron dropped the third crate of belongings just past the threshold of the hab-suite and left it there. His optics swept over the living space with disdain.
A blue mech with a red visor stood at the center, scanning the room methodically. Soundwave. Optimus felt his optics twitch in barely concealed irritation.
“You didn’t ask,” he stated factually, staring at the silver mech from behind.
Megatron scoffed without looking at him. “One is never too careful. I wouldn't know if you rigged the place to finish me.”
“If I wanted you dead, you would've already joined with the Allspark,” Optimus deadpanned, rubbing his faceplates. Megatron rolled his optics. “Whatever the case, why must I gain permission to invite a mech if we'll be “living” together?“
Optimus cursed the way his spark beat a little faster at the words.
“Because this is still my home,” he managed to respond. “A horribly bland home,” Megatron sneered.
He walked forward, pedes echoing in the mostly empty hab-suite. One clawed servo reached for the datapainting on the wall—a peaceful landscape of pre-war Cybertron—and grunted in disapproval.
“Your decor is an affront to the optics.”
“Must you insult my decorating skills?“ Optimus vented, trying to drive away the pang of discomfort at how observant Megatron was being.
To be honest, Optimus spent more time in his office than his "house", as the humans call it. Having his own home felt…disconcerting. Unfamiliar.
He was so used to the ways of war, he just wasn't interested enough in lavishing his room as Jazz does. Or collecting interesting trinkets like Bumblebee.
Neither spoke for several kliks, the uncomfortable silence prolonging a little too long.
Soundwave finished his sweep and gave a silent nod.
Optimus stood by the entryway, resisting the deep, gnawing certainty that this entire idea was definitely going to spiral into a mess.
Megatron gave Soundwave the go ahead to leave. The mech didn't bother to say any parting words as Optimus stepped aside to let him through.
From there, everything became awkward.
“So, Prime…you made the decision. What exactly were you planning?“ Megatron questioned, staring up at a camera attached to the ceiling. Courtesy of Optimus who found it in his best interest to have their actions monitored by trusted cohorts. And as a sort of proof.
Optimus didn't have a response to that, and the former warlord grumbled something too quiet to hear before settling on the couch resting in the middle of the room, pedes raised to rest on top of a low table.
The Prime's optics twitched again at the blatant disregard of his property. “If you're done moving your belongings, I must establish some ground rules.“
Megatron huffed out a mocking laugh. “Hah, then I also have something to say.“
After a beat, the Autobot leader narrowed his gaze and relented. “Alright.“
If they were to live alongside each other, everything had to be mutual. “First, although we may share the same living space, I would still like you to respect the surroundings. The same could be said for myself “
When Megatron didn't say anything, Prime continued. “Second, I would prefer you ask first before inviting another bot.“ This time, the former warlord did say something.
“What are you, my sire? Must I ask your permission for everything?“ Optimus ignored him.
“It's either yes or yes. I will not compromise on this.“ With an irritated groan, Megatron growled a short: “Fine.“
With a heated puff of air, Optimus continued.
“Lastly, the chores are to be shared. We'll alternate, if we must.“
The last rule sounded absurdly domestic. It almost made him glitch.
Megatron quirked an optic ridge, amused.
“Whatever you say, roommate. If you're done, I have one thing to add.“
“What is it?“
“Your side, my side. Stay off mine.“
Optimus clenched his fists, staring at Megatron like he were a rabid mechanimal.
“Agreed.“
And thus began the descent.