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Was it a bad idea to not go attend Thunderclash's pre-wake? Perhaps.
Was it an even worse idea to double down on his decision once Megatron decided they were going to be spending the time without the crew together? In the same room? Possibly.
But, so long as he didn't have to hear two crews singing the praises of one Ultra Magnus-sized guy that took a shot to the spark, then by all means, Rodimus would stay put.
In theory, it was a decent idea. Wander around a significantly quieter ship with significantly fewer issues to be yapped at about with more or less zero serious and/or urgent responsibility to handle until they got moving again? Sounds great! Until Megatron decided they were going to stay locked in one room together for the entirety of the pre-wake. However long that might be...
Rodimus had gotten the urge then to tell Megatron to go anyway - and if he argued about it, argue back. You're a fellow Autobot now! He could've said. If anything, it's a sign of respect and goodwill! But he's not quite that dense. There's still a little uncertainty as to how far Meg's little announcement went, and even then, that didn't mention that he was more or less defecting. Rodimus shakes his head in the middle of fidgeting with data pads he's stacked and unstacked and tossed around while ticking down the last hour before he meets with the old buckethead. Sometimes reality smacks him in the face despite how long they've been living in it now.
He wonders idly how Megatron himself would respond to reality. What Megatron from a year ago, ten years ago, hell, what Megatron from four million years ago would do if he knew he was going to be a bona fide Autobot one day. Would he laugh in that stupidly smug, unfairly haughty (and maybe kinda hot...) way that makes his face so easily punchable? Would he roll his eyes and wave it off as the ramblings of insanity? Or would he do what he's done for the last however-long-it's-been-since-the-time-travel-plot-line and "take stock"?
The other way around? Assuming it was true (it would never be), Rodimus thinks he would sooner shoot himself in the face. But that's becoming a Decepticon, that's essentially turning all logic processing off and telling the world, "Hi! I no longer give two bits if anyone other than me is happy! I'll kill anyone who says otherwise!"
So never him, in other words.
Something pings him from his berthside table. A timer...? Oh. Right, he did actually mean to follow through with that garbage Megatron more or less strong-armed him into. But only! Only to shove his planning ability in that big, dumb, gray face. Not because he's a little worried about how long Meg's been spending alone. Not because he wants to bounce ideas off the old-timer. Certainly not because he's... For the love of whatever gods may exist, he really should talk to Rung about this.
It's gotta be processor damage. Maybe a weird trauma response that makes absolutely zero sense, but somehow works as an explanation. Because it's not just Megatron! It's also Ultra Magnus, used to be for Optimus too, and...there's others. He knows there's others. Something about older bots with big frames just does it for him. And Megatron is convenient. That's it!
...Maybe that's worse.
No, that's definitely worse.
Whatever, it's not like he's in any danger of actually saying anything to the guy. Even ignoring the millions of years of war - and that's a lot of ignoring to do, even for Rodimus - and ignoring the fact that he is technically an exiled prisoner, and ignoring the weird little twitch in Meg's right eye whenever Rodimus so much as steps the wrong way, and- okay, there's a lot to list that there's not much time for, but still, ignoring all of that, Megatron just doesn't seem like the relationship type. Like if anyone ever asked him about a date, he'd just tilt his head and blink a few times and ask Date of what? like an adorable dumbass.
Maybe that's better, anyway. Because whatever unlucky individual decides they wanna get hitched to that amount of baggage is in for one hell of a trip. Megatron's probably more into his own writing more than other sentients, so no use trying, right?
Rodimus forces himself up with a quiet groan. He really doesn't want to put too much effort in for Megatron, but he knows that if the old warmonger walks in here, he'll nitpick nearly as bad as Ultra Magnus over every little thing that catches his eye. And then they'll fight, and then Megatron will smugly respond with You'd rather argue than genuinely strategize, and he'll be right, the old bastard.
Just to make a point, Rodimus doesn't really clean. He doesn't need to, in all fairness; he's no Drift but he keeps his room pretty well. A few pads neatened up on a shelf, situate one of Ten's cute little figures in a better place, maybe toss that half-empty bottle of polish under the berth just in case. Little things.
The moment the hour ticks over, three loud bangs echo from the door. Rodimus had held out the tiniest hope that Megatron would try to bail, but he supposes he should know better than to expect anything less.
He walks over - slowly, no need to make Meg think he's excited to see him or anything - and pops the door open with a slap to the keypad. "So. Ready to get your aft out-planned?" Rodimus snarks.
Megatron scoffs, shoving past without the slightest pretext of decency. Again, he should know better. Still. Rodimus did expect some kind of response. Even something as simple as As ready as yourself, or something. Ah well, at least Megatron's gonna be just as miserable for however long Thunderclash's little dying party is.
Without so much as asking, Megatron drops heavily into the chair behind Rodimus's desk. He considers snapping at his co-captain - so stupid - but that would inevitably get passed to Ultra Magnus and then...bleh. One thing that's been clear in the months since the Slagmaker's joined the Lost Light is that he's a sneaky little tattletale when it suits him. So, instead, Rodimus drags the other chair, the one other people usually sit in, closer to his desk and plops himself down across from Megatron.
"What's first on our planning schedule, then? I'd like to work myself into a coma before we pass the first hour."
"You and me both."
"He speaks!" Rodimus tilts his chair back and kicks his pedes up onto the corner of the desk. "Y'know, you walked in here so quiet and I got a little hopeful. Guess that's my fault, though, Autobots lose all hope whenever you walk in, right?"
Megatron sits a data pad on the desk and grumbles indistinctly for a moment. If he didn't know any better, Rodimus would say his engine sounds like it's about to give out. But alas, it's a bit late for that to be of any use. "You speak loudly enough that every other voice gets lost beneath it." His optics flick up for a moment, narrowing before dropping back to the pad. "Despite how little you have to say..."
"I've got plenty to say. Not my fault you're not used to listening!" Rodimus knows he's pushing buttons. Scary buttons. Big flashing red buttons next to giant DO NOT PUSH signs. And a few dozen extra warning symbols that he can't understand. But since when has he ever listened to signage? That's what Ultra Magnus is around for. He snatches his knife up from where it's dug into the metal of the desk, gesturing towards Megatron with the tip of the blade. "I think if you listened to half of the things I said, I think we'd be much better co-captains."
"Yes." Rodimus grins and opens his mouth to reply. "Because this crew would be dead." His mouth snaps violently shut. "And one or both of us dead alongside them."
Rodimus chuckles weakly. "Just the brightest ray of sunshine, aren't you?" He mutters, carefully placing his knife back down.
Look - he didn't expect this group planning session to go well. What maniac would? But he'd had a hope, a teeny-tiny hope, that they could at least be productive. Not even necessarily pleasant! No, Rodimus figured this little private meeting would be a success if they only yelled at each other for two hours. Total time-wise. But if Megatron is so dead-set on stonewalling, then by all means, Rodimus is perfectly content to reciprocate. Match his energy, as Rung might put it. Or whatever the technical psychiatric term he uses for it is, there's one, there's at least one...
If they're going to be stuck in the same room together, he may as well spend it looking at something. Rodimus pushes away from the desk and walks over to the table beside his berth, plucks the data pad from it, then back to the wrong side of his desk and sits himself down once more, resuming the same position as before. There's a light pen on his desk - on Megatron's side. The side he should really be on. So while he's staring at his own data pad, Rodimus quickly snatches it away, giddy for his small victory.
For some amount of time, they sit pretty quietly. Relatively. Rodimus loses concentration on the backlog of reports from Ultra very quickly, and resorts to tap-tap-tapping the digits of his free hand on the edge of his desk. The noise is small and innocuous, and somehow Megatron doesn't snap at him for it, so it eventually bleeds into simple ambience, much like the muffled sounds of Swerve's bar so many halls away. It unfortunately doesn't make the walls of justified text any easier to read, but it's something.
Eventually his pede starts to bounce too. Not wildly, but enough to notice. Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Megatron's head twitch, though not much more. Good. That tiny motion better drive him crazy.
In a strange way, being silent with someone else in the room is...calming? Nah, not with Megatron. Easy? Hell no, being quiet for any length of time is difficult. What is it, then, it's a feeling he knows, just maybe not the name. The same feeling he had doing quick hand-to-hand or weapon training with Drift. Whatever that was.
Drift... He's probably fine. No, he is fine. Drift is more than capable of taking care of himself. No worries about that. Even if he's undoubtedly trying to dodge the traveling freakshow by the name of the Decepticon Justice Division. He's managed just fine until now, of course he's fine. Maybe he's doing even better on his own! Drift did always seem the type to work better alone than with others. So he could very well be doing great without the big crew of the Lost Light to distract him. Especially with Megatron on board now.
Yeah, it's fine. Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about! Other than Thunderclash's ticking clock, but y'know. Win some, lose some.
Wonder how everyone's doing at the pre-death party? Rodimus wonders idly, scrolling through more waves of text. If only he could get a "delete all" button for these... Maybe Cyclonus is finally gonna join Ultra in the 'Former Hardass' club. Ha! Give that one another decade, minimum.
At least with Ultra Magnus, there's some joy to be had. He could toss a spare rivet at the big guy and get a laugh at how he grits his teeth and clenches his fists and tries to pretend he's not two seconds away from blowing a gasket. He's better, of course, less stuck up and a little less married to the rules. Not too much though. He is still Ultra Magnus, after all.
Megatron, though? Rodimus chances a look up and rolls his eyes. He could probably steer the whole damn ship into an asteroid field and Megs looks like he wouldn't even blink.
Actually- wait, he blatantly rolled his eyes at Megatron, and he didn't even move? ...His data pad's just more interesting. Gotta be. At the very least, it won't be an endless block of words and numbers that ultimately amounts to infraction for meaningless item number one through seven thousand-two hundred-and-twelve. So definitely more interesting that Rodimus's.
He drums his knuckles against the edge of the data pad in his other hand. Much as he hates to admit it, there's something to be said for four million years of experience at the head of a war. There has to be something good he can prick out of Megatron's head. In an ethical fashion, obviously. How to get his attention without being too clear about his intentions, though? Shockingly, the thought has not really crossed his mind much, if at all.
Could go the Starscream route and concoct an absurd underhanded scheme that's so poorly thought through that it's almost guaranteed to fail. But Rodimus isn't too interested in that kind of attention from Meg. The Optimus way, then? Be so diametrically opposed to everything Megatron does until he's literally forced to handle the issue in person? But that's kind of hard to do nowadays. To do that, he'd... Honestly, Rodimus isn't really sure how he'd do that. Short of pulling a Shockwave and trying to literally end the fucking universe, Megatron's a lot more agreeable these days. Given how he treats Ravage, he's not exactly bitter towards his old followers either.
Hm. There's always the Rung Classic - Just Talk. Not the most flashy, but worth a shot. Rung seems to have developed a bit of rapport with Megs, somehow, it could be from his bluntness as a psychiatrist. Rodimus shrugs to himself. Worth a try. The worst that happens is Megatron calls him stupid in many more words.
"So. Co-captain Megatron." Rodimus lowers his data pad, balancing it on his knee while he gestures with his free hand. "I had some ideas. Maybe you could...I don't know, advise? Banter? Ping-pong? ...That might not make much sense, it's a sport on Earth- Not important!" Rodimus cuts himself off with a furious shake of his head. "Just- Listen to what I say and tell me yes or no, or, if you feel like it, nuance answer, if you've got anything to add."
"Mmh."
Rodimus snaps. "I'll take that as a yes! Anyway, imagine - RodPod two, loaded with every light source known to the universe on all the exterior panels, plus additional high-reflectivity chrome everywhere else. Portable flashbang!"
"Hm."
"I don't hear a don't you dare, so I see it as a win! Second idea: Tailgate Launcher. Thoughts?"
"Mm."
"Perfect, nobody ever agrees with me this much! Other than Swerve trying to undercut Ultra, y'know."
"..."
"Well, my number three, this one's a little less interesting, but I was thinking about trying to integrate some kind of regular drills for the crew? Not strictly combat, but maybe some of that, given...given everything. Maybe something like twenty percent combat drills, twenty percent search-and-rescue drills, fifty percent disaster response drills, and ten percent Autobot code drills. For Ultra Magnus."
"..."
"...Haha, uh...I expected a little more push-back on some of those. Not that I'm complaining! Love the atmosphere we have right now, but..."
"..."
Rodimus carefully pulls his pedes back and lowers them to the floor, peering closely at Megatron. He looks like he hasn't moved in...well, if he wasn't in this office, Rodimus would say he looks like he hasn't moved in years. Thankfully it's not been that long, but still. He sets his data pad on the edge of the desk. "You didn't head to Mirage's bar before coming over, did you?" Rodimus nervously chuckles.
Megatron's still just...
Rodimus slowly, cautiously, reaches across the desk. "Megatron? I can call for First Aid, and I won't tell him anything about our little meeting, either, promise." Dead silence.
He flexes his digits as they inch closer to Megatron's. Is he even alive? No, that's stupid, of course he is, the bastard got ripped in half and was perfectly fine. And the barest gust of vents brush against Rodimus's fingers. So he's functional. Suppose function and life aren't necessarily the same, though. Just before his hand makes contact with Megatron's, Rodimus thinks better of it, reaching for the edge of the older mech's data pad instead. He tugs it gently, expecting resistance, expecting a snapped admonishment. Only it doesn't happen. The data pad falls and Megatron doesn't move.
That's not- This isn't right. Rodimus glances around, looking for something, anything to prove that it's not another case of ridiculous time-and-space-altering disasters. Megatron's data pad, there's an internal chronometer on it - little old fashioned, but convenient for now. It reads the same as his own internal one. So most likely it's just something wrong with Megatron. But what?
If he could just say what it is, then they can go down to the medibay and get it taken care of. So, against his better judgement, his worse judgement, and every last instinct from what's left of his sanity, Rodimus rises from the chair and walks around the side of the desk. "Hey, your expression gets any more gray and there's gonna be some rain in the forecast! ...That makes less sense off Earth," He tries, hip leaning against the edge of his desk. "Meg? C'mon, talk to me, Megs."
Still nothing. Nothing but the unwavering red glare of his eyes illuminating the desk in front of him. Rodimus bounces lightly on his pedes. He really doesn't like the options he has left. One has to be made, though. And Megatron's clearly not here to make it.
Rodimus shakes his head. Nice to be alive while I could be... He reaches for Megatron again. "Hey, Meg-"
The moment his palm makes contact with Megatron's arm, a black servo wraps tightly around his wrist and blaring red eyes turn straight towards him. Megatron bolts to his feet, gripping Rodimus and forcing him down to his knees. This is it, this is how I die, and I can't even tell Ratchet 'I told you so', Rodimus thinks as he's dragged towards a frenzied Megatron.
For his part, Rodimus raises his free hand in an attempt at placation and shrugs. "At least you're alive."
Megatron blinks, all rage draining away in an instant. "What?"
"You're alive! And crushing me. But alive is the important thing."
Red optics squint in clear confusion, then his head dips to where he's still holding Rodimus's wrist. Another blink and his servo is gone, remarkably without leaving any dents or shattered armor behind. It did still hurt, though, and Rodimus attempts to massage the pain away as he gets back to his pedes. Probably should head down to the medibay himself, but later. Once he's sure Meg's fine.
"Care to explain, or is this just-" Rodimus gestures between the two of them. "-A co-captain ritual I've never heard of?"
Megatron pinches his nasal ridge, clearly fighting off a grin. That's good, he's capable of smiling, at least, in a non-threatening, non-murdery, non-intimidating context. "No," He says, voice sounding hoarse and ragged. More than usual. "I've been...thinking."
Rodimus pauses in his efforts to ease the pain in his arm to fix a skeptical look on the other mech. "Is this your taking stock? Because if it is, I have some concerns."
Megatron sighs heavily. "If it is? Then what?"
"Then I lock you and Rung in his office for a few weeks," Rodimus counters, jabbing his index finger into Megatron's abdominal armor. "I don't exactly feel comfortable if you're gonna be taking stock so hard that a bomb could go off and you won't react."
With a tired, heaving vent, Megatron carefully slips back into the seat behind the desk. "It's not nearly that bad."
"Are you kidding me?" Rodimus steps closer and slaps his hand on the desk when Megatron tries to reach for his data pad. He glares at the ex-Decepticon with all the force he can muster - quite a bit, if he says so himself. Enough that Megatron at least looks at him rather than the data pad for a moment. "I pulled that out of your hands and you didn't so much as twitch," He says, waving at the forgotten pad, "I had to make physical contact to get your attention. I barely have to look in your direction to get that on most days."
He knows it, too. Megatron's black servos clench and unclench repeatedly, clearly aching for something to do but unable to have it. Rodimus crosses his arms and leans back against the edge of his desk. He doesn't say anything, merely stares, awaiting an explanation that he's not expecting to come. Sure, he's worried, but it's also not his problem. Once it is his problem, or the crew's problem, then he'll have words about it. Until then, well...
Megatron leans back in the chair. "Tell me, Rodimus - what is the value of a life?"
Philosophy? Little on the nose, there, Meg. Where are you going with this, though? "You want a number or what?"
He clasps his hands together and leans forward, resting his chin on them, eyes resolutely ahead. "What is the value of two lives?" Rodimus turns further towards Megatron, curious as to his angle. "Three lives? Ten? A thousand?" Megatron turns his head slightly, just enough for Rodimus to enter his field of view. "What is the value of a million lives, Rodimus? Can you fathom an answer?"
"What are you getting at?"
"How long does it take before you can no longer conceptualize the harm you cause?" Megatron leans back, staring resolutely at his clasped hands.
Something about his face makes Rodimus uncomfortable. Like he shouldn't be seeing Megatron like this. He's not exactly sure who would be better, other than Rung maybe. Ultra Magnus might be better at handling it, too. But Megatron is here with him instead. For some reason. A reason he isn't sure he'll be able to parse out even if he's given a millennium to find out. "So what, you're suddenly feeling guilty? You couldn't have done that a few million years earlier?" Humor's about all he has left.
But Megatron doesn't laugh. He turns his head to face Rodimus, and he looks exhausted. On a bot that many Autobots joked about potentially outliving the universe itself, it's more than a little unsettling. "What would you do to save that life whose value you couldn't name, Rodimus?"
Rodimus shrugs. "Everything."
"And the million? You'd do everything to save those as well?"
"Of course I would. I get that self-sacrifice is a little hard for you, but," Rodimus adds with a light chuckle, trailing off as he studies Megatron's expression. Million, he said...a million lives? What I'd do to save them...he's not...is he? "You aren't still thinking about Brainstorm's time travel stunt, are you?"
Megatron looks away. "I wouldn't have gone so far back as Brainstorm," He admits quietly, "I would find a more strategic place to cut my life short."
"Okay, full stop. I'm ordering you to stop thinking about it."
"As if it were so easy. Besides, don't lie to me. You considered it when your little scientist made his plan clear."
...Okay, he did. He did. For maybe half a second. A full second at most! But who wouldn't, knowing the war that one person would cause? Sure he changed eventually, but it's hard to argue with wiping their war off the surface of the universe. That doesn't change the fact that it wasn't any more right than letting Megatron live. "Okay, but-" Rodimus tries to argue.
Megatron sighs heavily and shakes his head. "Spare me. None of you were happy that your ex-Wrecker saved my life. And frankly, I'm not thrilled about it, either."
"Will you shut it!" Rodimus surges forward, grabbing Megatron's shoulder and swinging him around, firmly planting both hands on either side of the old bot's neck, his shocked, wide red eyes forced to look only at Rodimus. "We are past the war, alright? You did bad things, we did bad things, everyone's guilty, alright?! So. Shut. Up." Rodimus pushes off with an annoyed huff. Megatron stares after him with eyes blown wide even as Rodimus walks back around to the other side of the desk. "And, in case you wanna try to weaponize your own philosophy against me, jackass," Rodimus snaps as he drops back into his chair, "You're worth no more or less than the lives lost during the war, just like they aren't worth any more or less than you."
As Rodimus snatches his knife up with a showy flourish, Megatron is still left silent. He'd been agonizing over Brainstorm's ridiculous plan ever since Rodimus and his chosen handful had gone through with their rescue mission, wishing he could've known the covert bot's plan so he could've actually helped, actually given him a decent time and place to kill him without destroying Cybertron's chances of eliminating functionalism, but now he can't. His own words thrown back at him so casually, so viscerally...
Megatron glances down at the shapes Rodimus is digging into the metal of his desk. He can't help but smile - the pompous young former Prime did prove him wrong. He made it longer than five minutes. Not that forty is that much more impressive, in the grand scheme of things, but the younger bot clearly needs the small victory.
He can have it. No harm, after all.
"I'm guessing that means you didn't hear any of my plan pitches," Rodimus grouses.
"Ha. Unfortunately not."
"You're not getting a second attempt at 'em." A moment of silence. "But...I've got a lot more I think we can work on 'til the rest of the crew gets back from the V.V., so...? Think you've got enough charge for it?"
"I'm sure I can muster enough to course-correct your absurdities."
"Pfft. Course-correct, he says," Rodimus drawls, with accompanying air-quotes, "They're perfect as-is."
Megatron huffs the smallest of laughs. He can't let Rodimus think he's too endeared by his forceful care. "Prove it to me, then."
With any luck, they'll be able to make it through a few of these absurd schemes before something else goes wrong.