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"What about your alt-mode?"
If the question caught Minimus Ambus off guard, he did not show it. Not even a twitch of his plating. He tapped at the screen of the datapad in hand and lifted thoughtful eyes to Megatron.
"What about it?"
The two had secreted away to some quiet corner of the Lost Light. Far enough away from the buzz of life from the others that the only sound was the steady drone of the ship's machinery. If the room's two occupants were listened hard enough, they may find they could hear the thrumming of the other's systems; the whirr of fans, the grinding of battle worn gears with every shift of weight.
The two sat in chairs that some other crew members (hard to say, hard to know, but they may have guessed Cyclonus and Tailgate if pressed to answer) had dragged there some unknown time before; the bare and quiet room overlooked a vast observation window that stretched floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Beyond the curving glass the sky was textured with winking stars and swirled with cosmic clouds; deep blues and greens, great sweeps of purple. And beyond that were twists of galaxies and their inhabitants, almost hiding like frightened petrorabbit from a prowling Cybertronian ship. A sight unnoticed, ignored, by the younger crew who had only known space in the context of war and otherwise overlooked by those too preoccupied with keeping what little order the crew had.
It had been a near miracle, convincing Minimus to take some time for himself.
"I've just wondered," Megatron said, voice thoughtful in the way of someone prodding at a deep philosophical conundrum. "I mean no offense," he added, holding up a hand, before Minimus' plating could so much as hint at a bristling. "Just idle curiosity."
"I would have thought it was obvious," Minimus said, almost idly, though a subtle tension pulled his words taut. "Outside of Ultra Magnus, I don't have one."
He dropped his gaze back to his datapad, resuming his exploration through messages left to him from those abroad he called friends with the slow hesitancy of one testing out an alien word. Megatron regarded him, the whole of Minimus Ambus without his shield of Ultra Magnus, and flicked his wrist to chase away some errant thought as one may a fly. He settled back into his chair, great joints creaking with millennia of age and memory of injury, expression settling on an unreadable thoughtful. The ship continued to swim through the sea of stars; Megatron traced their shapes as thoughts swam through the expanse of his mind.
"I'll admit I noticed," he said before the silence between them stretched on for too long and Minimus may assume (hope, perhaps, a notion that perched in the back of Megatron's brain) the conversation over. "But you're from a House. A point one percenter. Surely the fuctionists would have insisted..."
He trailed off. Dead air hung between them for a scant few seconds more, before the heave of a air rushing through vents and the click-thunk of a datapad being rested on the floor in lieu of any available table. Minimus' spinal struts clicked in the quiet as he straightened in his seat. If not for familiarity between the two old vets, one may assume a line had been crossed, and indeed the thought occurred to Megatron that perhaps he had pushed too far too early. And still he did nothing to retract the needling or smooth any edges. He only waited.
"I did have another suit," Minimus said, tone tipping into formal, as its own protective suit of armor. "Much like Ultra Magnus it had its own kibble and altmode. I have no need for it now, of course."
"So you were a monoformer." He still held that thoughtful note in the deep rumbling of his voice.
Minimus was no stranger to displays of frustration. On the Lost Light it was a feeling that always lingered beneath the surface, pulsing in the circuits as sure as electricty for those in positions of rank (that took it at all seriously). Minimus more than most. But he was not one to bristle. He may sigh and posture and put all his annoyance with the maddening crowds into words, but his plating never shifted in such open displays. If it had not been so still and otherwise silent - and Megatron not as familiar with the body language of Minimus as he was - Megatron may not have noticed the shifting of plates on the smaller 'bots shoulders. Just a slight twitch before settling back into position as though they had never moved at all.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I know its a touchy subject for most--"
"It's complicated." The tension in Minimus' posture loosened, as much as Minimus was capable of being relaxed.
Megatron chuckled to further ease the mood. "Is it ever simple?" He rested on leg across the other, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin.
They settled back into their silence. Minimus did not return to his messages, his narrowed gaze turned out to the swirling sea of stars; distant flickering lights as fleeting as his thoughts to Megatron. The air between them did not hang frigid and ugly, despite the tension of the conversation. The silence that bloomed between them was soft, amiable, strange for two such as them. Because of the war, because of their factions, because of who they were as people.
Somewhere in the belly of the ship, eons away from them, was an echoing crash. No alarms flashed red nor warbled emergency, to be dealt with swiftly and immediately so the two filed it away. Ignored it, for once, until they could ignore it no longer and had to turn the ship into some ramshackle state of order.
An eternity could have past between them before Minimus spoke again. His eyes were still caught on the universe passing them by, a familiar thoughtfulness in the slight curl of his shoulders and clasping of his hands. "I'm sure you're familiar with my brother?"
Megatron hummed in reply. Deep in his circuits, hidden away behind fuel tank, a discomfort he could not pin nagged at him like microscopic scraplets. "Of course."
It was hard not to know him. While Minimus shied from the spotlight, it almost seemed that Dominus reveled in the attention bestowed upon him. Everything from his manner to appearance; a kind of grandiose that even after the war ended churned vile in the back of Megatron's throat.
"Like me, he was a load bearer."
Megatron nodded but said no more. He watched Minimus, who paid him no further mind, sinking into some place in his mind Megatron could not grasp. But Megatron had been aware of this, as well.
He pushed the gnawing why of it away.
"He was proud of what he was, the immutable Dominus Abmus," Minimus went on. A hint of wistful to his voice, a hint of some kind of pain that lingered in the spark. "For a definition of proud. The functionists didn't care for the beasts. Where did they fit in the taxonomy?" He shifted, the plating along his shoulders twitching. Megatron's own fans ran quick against a building heat. Minimus knew he knew. "There was pressure to hide it. Either get rid of it or use a suit of armor. Being of a house - let alone being a point one percenter - afforded a privilege most didn't get to enjoy. Form dictates function dictates fate, but there's some leeway if you have the right spark.
"We knew there would be consequences if he kept it up that he was a turbofox. But he wasn't going to take up their offer to change his altmode altogether to better fit with the vision of the world the functionists had. So he donned a suit of armor and went about his life." He huffed, muttered, "Now that had its own alt mode, just as the Magnus armor does."
And then Minimus sighed. Not a rush of air through his vents, but a replica of the sound that otherwise required organic lungs. A frown tugged at Megatron's mouth at the reminder of Minimus being close to humans. He schooled his features, though Minimus did not look his way.
"It drove quite a lot of his activism," said Minimus. "A secret abomination among the upper echelons of our society. I think he liked being an outsider of sorts, right under everyone's nose." He let out a strange chuckle that was not quite fond. It skipped in his voice box, like a fan tapping against an intrusion that was not solid enough for it to catch.
"On the other hand, there's me." He paused, tossing a furtive glance at Megatron. His hands curled and uncurled in his lap, joints clicking and twitching with nervous movement. His throat buzzed with static for a moment, a rare expression that led Megatron to uncross his legs, sit up a little straighter.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
Joints creaked and plating popped into alignment as Minimus rocked into standing. He clasped his hands behind his back, striding toward the window; Megatron watched him and the distortion of his reflection, leaning forward to stand. Hesitating, fingers clenching the ends of the armrest almost tight enough to dent.
"It's all right." Minimus shook his head. "It's not something I've ever talked about, really." He tapped at his chest, with an echoing tink, right over where his spark casing would be. "If this gets out to the rest of the ship, I'll never live it down." The eyes of his reflection caught Megatron's, and Megatron nodded an unspoken promise.
What need did he have to offer more fuel to the ragtag bunch that called the Lost Light their home? He may as well light the fuse himself.
A pregnant pause in which empires rose and fell. Long enough that perhaps he would not speak what Megatron had already begun to suspect, the thing twisting in his fuel tank that he did not dare to speak for angering Minimus. He leaned forward with intention.
"My original alt mode was a turbofox. I couldn't--" Another pause, a rattling of air thought vents. "The pressure was immense. It was difficult to bear, even for one such as myself." Megatron was unsure if Minimus was making a rare joke; he searched Minimus for a sign of it, and when he found nothing he stilled the polite chuckle building in his chest. Minimus set to pacing, the dull thud of his footfalls filling out the empty space of the near cavernous room around them.
"One of my options was changing my alt mode. I should have been honored to be given that opportunity, but it almost felt like giving in." He paused, turned smartly on his heel so that he could meet Megatron's eye. Or perhaps not, the shudders of his optics angling so his attention was lower on Megatron's face. "Is that strange? I spent so much of my life hiding, but I wanted to keep this one bit of control."
There was no regret in his voice, none that Megatron could detect. Instead there was a deep interest, no different than when they discussed politics or philosophy. Megatron shrugged his great shoulders, a motion that pushed his treads along their tracks with a soft whirring of gears manually turning.
"Before the war we had little else," was his reply. "Presented small mercies so we roll over and take our lot. Prove your worth and move into a better station; prove you deserve to be something they decided you aren't."
He took in the whole of Minimus once again, small and stately and above all else a member of a house for all the functionists council and their taxonomy cared. He stifled a small, wolfish smile at the thought of them knowing of the insult of the Ultra Magnus armor and the role of an enforcer of the Tyrest Accord that went with it. It was almost a shame they were no longer around to see. Almost.
Minimus' mustache twitched as he considered Megatron's words, then gave a single, sharp nod. He turned to his pacing, striding parallel to the bay window. "It has been on my mind, I'll admit." An edge had crept into his voice. Not angry, but clipped. A frosty detachment that made his words crisp enough to twitch ever so slightly at their edges. "Running into my brother again affected me more than I let on, I'm afraid."
There was a weight to those words. They settled upon Megatron's chest to bear down, crumpling the spark casing that had been built and rebuilt and repaired time and again, to crush the very spark itself. Time almost slowed, the pulsing of circuity itself stalling in the fraction of a second that followed. Minimus turned to face him again, expression hard. A sort of resigned anger, he thought, directed at something Megatron couldn't see.
The Decepticons had been monstrous during the war. he knew. He would not deny the energon and organic blood that coated his hands and gummed the joints. And he had known of Dominus, once he had been discovered; he was, after all, a spy in the DJD. Beyond that he had left them to their own devices. He hadn't cared then what they would do with a traitor, they were efficient enough at what they did without him hovering over them like some tutting minder, and after an initial report he hadn't paid much attention at all.
Truth be told he was not sure he particularly cared, in the aftermath. When he prodded at the memories and whatever feelings he may have on the matter, scrapping at the very dregs, all he could find was a disquiet. It had been a hideous cruel thing, but no more cruel than what others under his command had done. In that way the act conjured up no unique feeling of disgust. He was sure that if he allowed each atrocity its own level of horror he would drown in the deluge.
No, the true disgust - agony, he supposed, a borrowed sorrow. Such an alien feeling roiling within him - was what it meant for Minimus. Even if the two had not been particularly close, that had a unique kind of horror. The one you had made peace with having died eons ago had in fact survived, twisted into a shape worse than any could have ever dreamed of. Such was the way of their war, by the end.
He shifted in his seat. Hands twitched, fidgeted as he searched for the right words to say. If there even were any.
"I'm sorry." Was all he could come up with. It didn't feel like enough. Like it would ever be enough.
He thought of Dominus Ambus' body, so still in a death that had been a mercy. The memory twisted, trading blue for green and something in Megatron clenched. He kept his voice steady, adding, "I shouldn't have pried, especially with that... business being so recent."
Minimus gave no indication that he had heard. His optic shutters narrowed, then widened to their normal size. Minimus' shoulders slumped with a hiss of pistons, just a little. Just enough for Megatron to notice. The smaller bot waved a dismissive hand.
"It's all right." Tension had bled out of his voice, leaving only a spark deep weariness. "We were at war, after all. And the damned fool knew what he was getting into." With a final glance at the swirling expanse Minimus returned to this chair.
"Still," Megatron said. "It's a matter of tact."
"It was war." Minimus' voice took on the kind of quality of someone trying to instill that fact into their own mind. It was the truth, of course, but the truth didn't make their hands any more clean of energon. "Millions of years of it."
Minimus let loose another sigh. A hand rose to stroke at his mustache, a thoughtful look settling into his expression as eyes turned back to the swirling eternity outside. "But it has been on my mind. A turbofox... of course, it could never get out." He scoffed, indignation entering his voice, "Imagine if Rodimus ever heard."
The air between them was strange, not quite tense. Megatron chuckled. "It's a brave new world, Minimus." He could already see Rodimus' expression. Surprise, to confusion, to a wicked grin that meant only the most annoying of behavior would follow.
"But I would keep that secret from Rodimus."