Chapter Text
“New colours?”
“New… frame?”
Jazz and Optimus share a side glance as they board the Orion.
“You look like a ‘con. A tiny one, but a definitely a ‘con,” Jazz half scoffs, somewhat laughing the idea off as it passes. His visor lingers, a tad too interested.
“Me?” Optimus snorts, “Look at you.”
Jazz leans back in place, arms out stretched at his side to expose the new chassis of his frame. He's black and blue now, gone with the innocent white and blue that had only been interrupted by the red Elite Guard emblem on his chest which is now gone too. If anything he looks more Decepticon-like than Optimus does. There are parts of his frame that are textured now; small hexagonal details patterning the recesses of his thighs and forearms. The material he is made out of is thin and dainty, yet somehow holds just as strong as before.
“Yeah, well,” Jazz hos and hums, “They found something, you know, In my code. I finally let Shockwave take a look. And uh, you know he offered to do the frame overhaul and I–” he drags the syllable out, “Agreed.”
Optimus motions forward. The loading door of the Orion is open but neither have moved to board yet. Jazz doesn't take the hint and stands in place.
There are only a few Decepticons in the Nemesis' docks at this hour. There are a few shuttles, but other than that it's only Soundwave and a few other mechs in high command in attendance. Megatron is nowhere to be found– still in blissful recharge.
“I think maybe, it has something to do with Yoketron,” Jazz babbles, visor set on the ship in front of them like it may reach out and bite, “There’s a mech I knew who defected a while ago, and I'm starting to see why, maybe. But there's someone else on cybertron I need to see first. I need to tell him what they did.”
“Prowl,” Optimus fills in.
“You know him?”
Optimus smiles, “our team picked him up a while back from some sort of self exile. Ratchet probably knows where he is.”
Jazz’s shoulders relax with tension even though he probably didn't know he was holding them so tight, “Thank you. So, what are you going to do now?”
“Huh?”
Jazz finally, at long last, takes his first steps towards Orion. He's ready to board, “When you get back to Cybertron. What are you going to do?”
Optimus doesn't move. He stares at the docking bay doors. “I don't know,” he says,”I don't know.”
Megatron looks forward to the morning after; a lazy rise for his shift in a warm berth and company pressed to his side. It's a blessed picture; a small frame pressed into the crook of his arm, purring engine as he wakes in the glow of a passing star out the port window. There's no war looming over them, just the content lull of a morning spent in berth, bathing in the afterglow of a spectacular night.
He would roll over, pulling the smaller mech with him and into his chest. Of course there would be complaints, but then they would settle, chassis to chassis as their engine purred together.
“Good morning, little one,” Megatron would grumble, only half awake.
Optimus would probably groan and hide his face. But he would eventually relent with his own, “Good morning.”
Then Megatron would tease him for the night before. Pointing out how well he stretched, the beautiful noises he made in the heat of passion and so on and so forth.
And Optimus would hide, embarrassed and nervous. But Megatron is nothing but patient enough to coax him from the shell of Autobot humiliation and into a purring, satiated mess.
But Megatron wakes to a lonely, sobering darkness. No light peeks through the depths of space. No frame accompanies his own.
The berth is cold.
His servo searches for a long gone berthmate, and finds nothing. He shoots up in berth, optics scanning the room to find something, anything to hint at where the Autobot has gone.
Reason would state the mech has simply been on his way for the morning shift. Of course in the process he has snubbed Megatron, general of destruction and living threat to the universe but that's neither here nor there. Maybe Soundwave has already come to pick him up, or maybe it's Starscream with a new chemical compound he wants to try. There are endless options for his absence, but none quite good enough to satiate the growing ire in Megatron's chest.
Rising with the darkness of the morning, Megatron all but slams his door open, optics already scanning the open hall for any clues that might lead him to the Autobots wear abouts. He stalks the halls as he makes his way towards the command deck, where he can demand an explanation and every mech in his path swerves around him or presses themselves to the walls of the ship. The seekers dip their wings at him, and more than a few ground troops slide into the nearest room to avoid the annoyance rolling off Megatron's EM field in tidal waves.
The command deck door only manages to crack open before Megatron has dug his claws into it and thrown it off it's automatic tracks.
Everyone on duty goes silent. All optics are on him.
“The autobot,” Megatron hisses, glaring at the usual suspects. Starscream is frozen, leaned back in his chair like he hasn't a care in the world but his plating is stood on edge. Soundwave stares blankly at the screen in front of him but all of his symbiotes are somewhere else on the ship, leaving his frame looking suspiciously bare. Megatron ignores the warning signs, “The Autobot is missing. If he is in the walls again so help me Primus–”
“Not missing,” Soundwave bows his helm, “Gone.”
“Gone,” Megatron repeats.
Soundwave nods once, curtly. He looks back to the monitor without another word.
“Our Autobot,” Megatron clarifies. For the moment the wind has been taken out of his sails, his ire forgotten for confusion to take its place.his voice falters, “Our Autobot is gone?”
“They're all gone,” Starscream fills in from across the room, “Turns out none of them were too keen on staying around for Megazarak’ fury.”
“I am going to kill him,” Megatron Announces.
No one has the spark to ask him, who exactly?
Most of them already know the answer.
Optimus sits back, watching the bustle of Autobots around the command deck. Hed like to say it's nice to be around mechs his own size after so long, but it unsettles his spark. No seekers block the lights above him with their wings, and there are no fangs or claws in sight. And for some reason the small mechs and bright colors are all the more unsettling the longer he's here.
Arcee runs a tight ship. The Autobot prisoners are viciously loyal to her, and Optimus wonders if he would be the same, had he been given to Turmoil all those months ago. He has seen the damage Turmoil has caused; the digits eaten away by acid and the plating stripped of paint by pressure washers. Arcee has brought them structure, a return to military command and a mech to be followed home. It's inspiring to watch.
She will be welcomed back to Cybertron; a war hero.
It's not surprising then, when Optimus sequesters himself in the medical bay. It's been a long while since he didn't have a large to-do list filled with Decepticon requests or ship maintenance. He could look for work here, amongst his own kind on their own ship. But instead he hides at the back of Ratchet's medical bay, away from the other medics and away from any questions. He's filling his time organizing resistors by colour code; least to most powerful.
That doesn't stop Rodimus and Deadlock interrupting his brooding.
“I don't think I can travel all the way out there–” Rodimus winces. He's sat on the medical slab despite not actually having any issues at present.
“Just because that asteroid field is out In Decepticon territory doesn't mean you can't go. Trust me Roddy the surfing is worth it,” Deadlock beams a smile that looks unnatural on his face. He's leaned up against the far wall, directly beside the bay door.
“Have you seen me lately,” Rodimus motions to himself, “Tiny. I'm not flying myself out to Yongler all by my-little-self–”
“Obviously I'd be taking you, smart ass,” Deadlock rolls his optics, “You can stop it with the tiny and lonely charade I said I was sorry about leaving you–”
Rodimus tips his helm back and lays the back of his servo across his forehead, “Oh but I'm just a poor Autobot too weak and Stupid to help my AMICA!”
“I'm sorry-” Deadlock groaned.
There's a loud bang in the back of the Medical bay and all three sets of optics follow it to Ratchet. The wrench he had just slammed in the wash station didn't show any damage for it's abuse, but Ratchet's servo was still holding it too tightly. He looked over his shoulder at the two of them.
“Would. You. Shut. Up,” Ratchet slings the wrench onto his shoulder, “When I asked you two to come with me I didn't expect the constant bickering–”
“You're bickering too,” Deadlock points out, sharing a smile that's all fangs, “You love it old man.”
“I’m younger than you!”
“That frame isn't,” Deadlock hisses, “First thing we all do is get a good frame overhaul. My treat. It's horrible how long you guys wear those for–”
It's almost nice, Optimus realizes. The three of them almost sound like Starscream and his Trine. Then that thought only reminded him of Elite One and Sentinel and the way the three of them used to bicker. His digits stop moving over the little bins of resistors. The three of them continue to jab at one another, voices raised but jovial. It's nice, Optimus reminds himself. This is nice.
Then why does he feel like he's just lost everything all over again?
Optimus open his intake, preparing to jab back with something about Deadlock announcing his love to a Deception General, but nothing comes out. He turns back to the resistors, and focuses on the colour coding once again.
The conversation carries on behind him but all Optimus can picture is Elita One’s face the moment she fell. Then it's Sentinel's the moment he pulled the knife from his subspace. Then it's Megatron, fast asleep while Optimus plans his escape.
“Kid? You good?”
Optimus takes a sharp vent when Ratchet's servo touches his back. He blinks, and the slight pressure is enough to let a fear tears of fluid escape him. Immediately he straightens, vents again, then smiles.
Perhaps his smile doesn't quite leave his optics. Perhaps Ratchet just knows him too well. Either way, the medic frowns.
“What's wrong? You don't have to get a frame overhaul if you don't want,” Ratchet immediately turns to the other two, "Right Deadlock? Tell him it's fine.”
“It's fine, sure,” blissfully unaware, Deadlock smirks, and he raises his servo as if telling Optimus a secret. He doesn't whisper. “But you know you could maybe try going up a size class? I don't wanna assume anything but you know. It would make the interface easier.”
It would have, Optimus realizes and something about that makes him want to cry more. Another bead of cleanser beads down his face. His lip wobbles.
Ratchet snarls, “Not. Helpful.”
“Woah! Slag, sorry,” Deadlock pops off his spot on the wall and raises his servos.
“You don't have to be that nice to him Drift,” Rodimus smirks, “They haven't actually done the ritus yet. You don't have to try and impress his Amica yet–”
“We aren't,” Ratchet's face goes blue and he sputters, “I haven't had time to talk to him– you can't assume–! I mean yes I was going to ask but–”
“That's our cue,” Deadlock barks. When he reaches Rodimus he flips the Autobot under his arm. Rodimus flails, but Drift is taller and stronger so he doesn't go much of anywhere.
Rodimus is dragged out kicking and screaming, and Deadlock only pets his helm soothingly.
“They didn't have to go,” Optimus manages, but his vocalizer is horse and weak.
“Hush,” Ratchet physically turns him as he grabs his shoulders. He takes a moment inspecting his frame, optics raking over as he frowns.
“I know the paint job will be controversial,” Optimus shifts in place, from pede to pede. Ratchet has looked him over several times now; any piece of his frame that could be repair had been by now, every tune up completed yet still Ratchet fussed. He was loathed to say he had missed Ratchet's attention, but the scrutiny was familiar and comforting in a ship full of mechs he didn't know.
Ratchet squeezes his shoulders but his next words cut like a scalpel, “you could have stayed. If it would have made you happy, you could have stayed with them.”
Shaking his helm, Optimus’ smile doesn't quite make it into his lips, “It is not that simple.”
“and why not?”
“I don't belong there. It is unnatural, I am weak in their presence. I make them weak,” Optimus admits, “Megatron’s commander is coming, there can be no evidence of his… treasonous affections.”
Ratchet's frown deepens, the little wrinckles around his mouth pull tighter, “Is that what he calls you? A ‘treasonous Affection’?”
Then, Optimus spits laugh. It's not a happy laugh; the snaps of his voice box are tight and forced, “He called me ‘the worst Autobot he's ever met’ sometimes. He called me by my proper Glyphs a lot. But you can't– we are our factions. You can't just throw that away. It's treason. Both ways.”
Ratchet purses his lips and looks down; thinking. His pede taps for a click before suddenly looking up.
“Oh Primus,” Ratchet’s optics go wide, “It's Megazarak.”
“Lord of the Decepticons? What's he–” realization hits Optimus the moment the words leave his lips.
“If Megatron is General of Destruction, he should report directly to Megazarak,” Ratchet mumbles. His explanation needs to go no further. The implications are clear.
“Why does everyone I care about die or try to kill me?” Optimus announces and buries his face in his hands.
“He’s not dead yet–”
“I know what you're suggesting And what am I going to do against Megazarak?! Terror of Cybertron! The LORD OF DECEPTICONS?!” Optimus yells, then, suddenly pulls back, “Oh.”
“Oh, what?”
“Well,” Optimus hums, and bites his lip, “Theres… there's one thing I could do maybe.”
Ratchet stares him down, takes a deep vent, then speaks, “We don't have to listen to protocol. We don't have to leave him behind. We can go back.”
He pictures Elita, then Sentinel.
“You’ll come with me?” Optimus asks.
“And Deadlock. And Rodimus,” Ratchet confirms, “But there's something we need to do first.”
“Do you think I… hurt him?”
If Soundwave had proper optics left, he would have rolled them.
“He was not injured,” Soundwave monotones.
“Then why–” Megatron whines. His servo brushes over the new fusion cannon, now mounted to Megatron's arm.
“Because he is an Autobot,” Soundwave says, as if it explained everything, “And we are Decepticons.”
But when the words leave his voice box, Megatron isn't so sure Soundwave even believes them.
They set up in the medical bay. There are few private communal spaces on a prison ship, so they make do with what they have. They move all of the machinery out of the way; though they only have a few witnesses, it feels proper to clean the area.
They ask Deadlock and Rodimus to be their witnesses, and somehow Arcee gets roped in as a welcomed guest. It's not a fancy ceremony, but then again, Optimus can't remember any time anything between them had been fancy or proper. It feels, oddly enough, that this medical bay on a lone ship far from Cybertron, has become something of a home.
Any medical bay where Ratchet is in charge, is home.
They shut the bay door, shutting out the world save for the five of them. Arcee fusses over Ratchet's plating for a moment, setting it just so before stepping back and folding her hands.
“Okay,” She announces, “You’re ready.”
There's a soft ‘tink’ as Optimus touches his own chest plate. The command is there, but he hesitates, “Are you sure? … With me?”
Ratchet nods emphatically, “I crossed a universe for you. I exploded a shipyard and abandoned my faction. I've never been so sure of anything in my life, kid.”
It's silly to ask, but Optimus relaxes with reassurance.
“Thank you, for coming back for me,” Optimus whispers in the small space between them.
“Thank you, for giving me a reason to care again,” Ratchet hums back, sharing a soft smile.
Then their chest plates part and soft blue light bathes the medical bay.
“Do you think he was still scared… of us?”
Starscream rolls his optics.
“Can you focus? You are literally the only mech on this ship that even has a chance of killing Megazarak. You. Need. To. Focus,” Starscream hisses. The bustle of the docking bay almost drowns out their conversation.
“It just doesn't make sense,” Megatron huffs. He watches as Starscream polish out a scratch over Skyfire’s port side.
“You're the one that said he could leave with the rest of the Autobots!” he hisses over the sound of the buffing rotor.
“But he didn't say goodbye, didn’t–”
“He's an Autobot,” Starscream snaps finally, “So just Shut up about it. That's just how they are; self sacrificing idiots.”
“Is that everything?” Arcee asks.
The Orion is only packed with the essentials and enough fuel to return to the Nemesis. It's all they can afford to take from The Iron Barge and its long journey back to Cybertron. Optimus doesn't entirely know what they're going to do when they get back home but he knows Arcee is capable enough to handle whatever Ultra Magnus has in store.
With any luck, she'll be regarded as a hero; the savior of many missing in action sparks long thought dead.
A long time ago that thought would have sent a pang of jealousy through his spark; to be brought before Ultra Magnus and praised instead of reprimanded. But now the thought only makes his mood sour; she has a long road ahead of her, and Optimus is not envious at all.
But her crew is loyal, her spark in the right place.
“Yeah,” Optimus nods. Deadlock is loading the last crate while Rodimus bounds along behind him.
He looks back to Arcee, “Please look after Jazz for me.”
“pshhh,” Arcee scoffs and flicks her wrist, “Mech can take care of himself. Especially with the upgrades. I'm not worried.”
Optimus grabs her shoulders, shakes her once, “I know he's fine, but he's Soundwave’s favourite and he might be Shockwave’s too. I need you to understand what kind of destruction they will cause if he gets hurt.”
Arcee raises her servos, “Okay, okay jeez.”
“I’m serious–”
“Optimus!” Rodimus calls from the Orion’s door, “Let's go! Before lover boy is dead by the time we get there!”
Arcee gently grabs his cheek, bringing his attention back to her.
“Take care of yourself, Ratchet too,” She says.
“I promise,” He nods.
She lets go, patting his shoulder.
He makes it only a few steps into the door of the ship before she calls back to him.
“I'll make sure to let everyone on Cybertron knows you're coming back!” she yells as the engine starts, “There will be a place for you! I promise!”
The door shuts.
And Optimus starts planning.
“Do you think he thought I couldn't protect him? I could have,” Megatron insists.
Shockwave drops the tools in his servos and dips his helm. Half of his arm is detached as he slowly and methodically is attaching the new one.
“I am sure the Autobot was confident in your combat capabilities,” Shockwave says but he doesn't return to his work.
Megatron is perched against the desk in the back of the room; arms crossed and brow furrowed.
“I don't understand why he didn't tell me,” Megatron hisses, “and everyone keeps blaming it on autobot tendencies.”
Shockwave couldn't stand, not half disassembled as he was. But he turned his best towards the general, optic a flat red.
“This is Optimus we are discussing, no? The mech who took helm damage in an attempt to save me? The idiot who took on a ship of Decepticons because his medic was in danger?”
Megatron scowls harder.
“He did it for us, idiot,” Shockwave finally spells out, “He did it for you. Because we are in less danger, if he is gone.”
Megatron doesn't know what to say to that. So he finally shuts up.
They aren't ready, but it's a close thing.
“And Strika?” Megatron asks, stalking his way towards the docking bay.
Soundwave it at his side, symbiotes scattered to the wind but blasters on his hips. He makes a small binary affirmative, then adds, “Almost to New Kaon. Megazarak has surely noticed her crew leaving their post.”
When they make it down to the open bays, the seekers are already there, chittering amongst themselves. Starscream and his Trine emerge from the middle of them. His wings are spread high and broad but his optics are maroon. His upper lip twitches.
“This plan won't work,” Starscream announces. The other mechs go quiet with the statement, “Not without some sort of miracle.”
Megatron knows there isn't a God put there. In his youth he had prayed to Cybertronian and Quintesson God alike, and neither had answered him then. They wouldn't answer him now.
“I don't need a miracle or luck or any amount of fortune to kill Megazarak,” He spits back, ire raising in the back of his throat, “Shut up and don't demoralize the crew. I will have his helm by the end of the cycle.”
Their optics hold for a few clicks. Starscream is the first to look away.
“Don't disappoint us,” He finally hisses, wings dipping down, “Don’t let him kill us too.”
“I won't,” Megatron promises.
Soundwave hums a note behind them, “The Harbinger has arrived, General. Permission to allow Megazarak and crew on board?”
Megatron faces his crew, stares them all in the faceplates and nods.
“Permission granted,” he hisses.