Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Megatron's right arm whipped up in sheer reflex, and the hammer crashed into the side of his fusion cannon. The shock thudded up his arm, so intense it eclipsed pain, and the force of the blow knocked him off-balance. Harrow twisted around, and Megatron fell the rest of the way to the floor as the second hammerblow split the air where his head had been an instant earlier.

He lunged forward, away from the door. His entire right arm was numb to the shoulder, but there was no time to look at damage reports and he wouldn’t take a chance with a fusion cannon that might be too damaged to fire. Instead he caught up the gun Harrow had dropped, rolling on to his back at the same moment. He thumbed the safety off, and the tip of the gun’s barrel glowed red.

Harrow had struggled up to his feet by then. The mech behind him saw the gun and his optics went very bright. Dropping the hammer, he fled, and Harrow turned just in time for Megatron to pull the trigger thrice. The first shot took Harrow in the chest and the second tore out most of his throat. The last one punched through his left optic, though by then there was no need of it. Tripline’s footfalls raced up the steps outside.

Scrambling up, Megatron sent a swift comm to Kickback. “The mech who’s leaving—stop him!” Then he pounded up the steps as well, and reached the top just in time to see a car peel out across the arena ground at such speed that it left a trail of smoke and scorched rubber. There was no way he could ever catch up with such an alt-mode.

But there was no need to. Kickback leaped from atop the wall, rose in an arc and came down again, timing it perfectly. His entire weight hit Tripline with a crunch of metal that Megatron heard from the other side of the arena. Tripline skidded out of control and Kickback jumped off an instant before the car smashed into the side of the arena wall. Tripline managed to transform, and that was the last thing he did. Calmly, Kickback stepped up behind him and plunged a blade into the back of his neck.

By the time Megatron transformed and reached him, Kickback had finished sawing Tripline’s head off. “Good work,” Megatron said, because they couldn’t take the risk that whoever found Tripline’s corpse might still be able to access his processors.

“Thank you, sir!” Kickback tossed the head up like a ball, caught it from behind his back, and slipped it into a subspace pocket. “Back to the shuttle?”

“Immediately,” Megatron said, and they were off.

Flux, who was steering the shuttle, asked if Megatron needed emergency repairs, but he shook his head. He had a few scuffs where he’d hit the floor of the cell, but the only real damage he’d taken was the deep dent in the side of his cannon, and that would have to be fixed by an expert. He’d turned off all the pain receptors in his right arm, but feeling nothing at all was an odd kind of paralysis and not much better than the alternative.

And now that the surge of battle fury had died down, he was mostly tired. He’d secured a much-needed alliance, true, and that wouldn’t be jeopardized by even the deaths of the two mechs at the arena because there was no evidence tying him to those. But he still had no answers, and he didn’t feel particularly good about getting into a figurative berth with Vantage either.

Leaning back in his chair beside the pilot’s seat, he offlined his optics, but when he did so, he kept seeing that cell beneath the arena. How long had Starscream been kept there? That was one question Megatron had never asked him. Maybe because it was better not to know.

And now Starscream was in another cell, just as dark and confined as the first.

Megatron sat up and pressed his fingertips hard into his forehead just beneath his helm. He couldn’t afford to be soft and sentimental, especially not with an outsider, and anyone would agree that Starscream had been beyond exasperating, to the point where locking him up was the least of what Megatron would have been justified in doing. Hell, compared to that interrogation room beneath the arena, being in a small lightless cell was nothing.

Though Megatron wasn’t sure he wanted his own actions to be compared to Vantage’s in any way. And more to the point, everything that had been done to Starscream in Altihex had been for the single purpose of breaking him. That was the last thing Megatron wanted to do.

“Are you okay, sir?” Flux asked anxiously.

“I’m fine,” Megatron said, and pinged Soundwave. “ETA one and a half joors,” he said. “Have my prisoner released and returned to my quarters.”

“As you command,” Soundwave replied, and Megatron closed the channel. It was a little easier to relax now, though he suspected there would be another battle when he returned to his rooms. Unless Starscream had had another panic attack in the cell, where no one would have been present to… no, Megatron wasn’t going to imagine worst-case scenarios here. More likely that Starscream would just be seething at his return to captivity, brief though it had been.

So after the shuttle landed, Megatron first went to the repair centre. That didn't take long, because a cannon designed to contain the power of a fusion blast was thick enough to withstand a hammerstrike without being seriously damaged, and after that was seen to, he returned to Darkmount to give Shockwave a brief rundown of the meeting with Vantage. Though he left out what had happened after that, thinking grimly that Starscream’s habit of being secretive seemed to be contagious. Shockwave asked if he had been in a scuffle of some sort, and Megatron told him it was a moment of carelessness which wouldn’t be repeated, which was quite true.

Finally, there seemed nothing for it but to go to his quarters and get that over with, so he did. Starscream was sitting rigidly upright on the divan, since the brace made it impossible for him to slouch back, and he gave Megatron a coldly contemptuous look. But that was enough to make his optics widen with surprise.

"What happened to you?” he asked.

“Nothing.” See what it's like when someone refuses to answer questions, Megatron thought as he sat down in the chair opposite.

“They attacked you? That's a level of stupidity I didn't expect.” Starscream managed a twitch of one shoulder, evidently the closest he could come to a shrug. “I'm in complete sympathy with their motivations, just not their methods. Shouldn't you be at the repair centre?”

“The only damage was to my cannon,” Megatron said shortly.

“I see. Well, don't worry, if someone breaks in to attack you, I'm here.”

Very funny. “And what exactly can you do?”

“Moral support, cheering section, first aid.”

“For me or for the attacker?”

Starscream’s lips twitched as though he’d almost laughed, but in the next klik he got up and went over to the energon dispenser. “Seriously, Megatron,” he said, tapping in a code. “What happened?”

Megatron stared at him. “How did you know what the code is?”

“I watched you enter it. You might want to change it.” Starscream filled two cubes and brought them over to the table. “So what happened?”

Megatron wondered if the question signified a prisoner grossly overstepping his bounds, or genuine concern from… from… someone sharing his quarters and offering him a drink of his own energon. Still, his fuel levels were low, and he accepted the cube.

“I went to the arena,” he said.

Starscream had lifted his cube for a drink, but he lowered it without so much as tasting the energon. “The arena.” His voice was taut and expressionless. “Why?”

“I wanted some answers, and I wasn't getting any from you.”

Starscream licked his lips. “So did you find any? Answers, I mean.”

Megatron took a long drink from his cube before he spoke again. “Were you held in that underground cell?” he asked. “Shackled to an iron bar?”

“Yes. Who attacked you?”

“Harrow and another mech. I'm guessing he’s called Tripline.”

“Are they dead?”

“Of course,” Megatron said. “I wasn't taking any chances on them recognizing me, or even transmitting a description of me, and ending the alliance.” The look in Starscream’s optics sharpened. “Yes, our cities have officially joined forces to defeat the Autobots.”

Starscream said nothing, only stared into his cube and drank the energon as though he was gulping down poison. In the silence, Megatron glanced down at his frame and realized for the first time that he badly needed to hit the washracks. Dust and grit from the cell dulled his plating, and there was a smear of grease across one of his thighs. He grimaced as he finished his cube.

“I know you hate them,” he said evenly, “and I understand that, but we need this alliance. We can't defeat the Autobots alone. A few other cities and settlements have declared their loyalty to me, but the support they've either promised or sent has not been primarily military.”

Starscream’s mouth tightened. “What do you mean, you understand that?”

What was there not to understand, now that Megatron had first-hand knowledge of the place where Starscream had been imprisoned? “I saw that arena cell, and the interrogation room,” he said. “I didn't see your guns anywhere, but something so valuable probably wouldn't be—”

“My guns?” Starscream said, as though Megatron had said he’d been searching for a can of wax. “I must say, of all the things I need, my guns would be last on the list.” He finished the last of his energon. “Still, I appreciate you keeping them in mind. So, you and Vantage are allies now.”

Megatron nodded. “He'll send three thousand troops to join my army.”

“And he didn't demand anything in return?”

“Of course he did. He wants Iacon.”

“On the basis of a promise made in the event that you defeat the Autobots, he was willing to turn over that many troops to you?” Starscream chuckled shortly, without humor. “Thank Primus you weren't so hard-nosed during our negotiations.”

“Why bother when you have so little worth the effort?” Megatron shot back. “But that's not all Vantage is getting.”

“He didn't...” Starscream’s voice trailed off, his face going blank.

“No, he didn't ask for you. He wanted something more valuable, not that that's saying much. As a token of good faith, I'm giving him a recently discovered oilfield.”

“The one in the northwestern sector of the Rust Sea?”

“How did you—” Megatron cut himself off, realizing an instant too late that saying nothing would have been wiser.

“One of the Constructicons happened to mention it when Hook was working on my repairs and they thought I was offline.” The half-smile curling one corner of Starscream’s mouth was slight but unmistakable. “He also mentioned another oilfield in the Deadsands, so thanks for confirming that my first guess was right.”

Megatron glared at him. “You were a lot easier to deal with when you weren't talking.”

“I know.” But the rejoinder seemed made by rote, because Starscream didn’t seem pleased or victorious at all. He looked distracted instead, as though his thoughts were far away.

All this had probably dredged up unpleasant memories of captivity in Altihex, Megatron thought. Well, as long as they were on the topic, might as well find out.

“How long were you there?” he asked. “In the arena cell?”

“Difficult to tell time underground. My chronometer worked fine, unlike everything else, but I never looked at it. I didn't want to know. But if I had to estimate... thirty cycles, maybe.” Starscream rubbed the palm of one hand over his face. “Let's not talk about this any more. Are you going to use the washrack?”

Megatron nodded, thinking that the sooner he washed all traces of the Altihex arena off himself, the better he’d feel. “I’ll go now,” he said as he got up.

So did Starscream. “Want me to scrub your back?”

For a klik Megatron thought he was hearing things, like some sort of audial hallucination. No, he hadn’t imagined that, because he was never prone to such problems, so Starscream must have said it as a sarcastic joke. Except Starscream didn’t look in the least mocking or even amused, just puzzled.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Why are you doing this?” Megatron said warily.

“Doing what, offering to scrub your back? What do you think I'll try to do, drown you?”

Megatron could hardly reply yes, but there was no way Starscream meant that offer seriously or honestly. It was hardly unusual to have help when it came to cleaning hard-to-reach areas, but the activity was intimate enough that Megatron had only done it with berth partners, mechs whom he liked and trusted.

Starscream didn’t qualify on any of those grounds. Well, perhaps there were one or two likeable things about him, but otherwise there was absolutely no reason for him to make such an offer or for Megatron to accept it. On top of that, the confrontation before Megatron had left for Altihex had been, well, charged. Megatron vividly recalled shoving Starscream up against the wall, and a flush of intense but unwanted heat stirred deep within him at the memory.

“After what happened...” he began.

“Yes?” Starscream replied politely.

“Stop pretending you don't know what I mean!” Megatron said, exasperated. “We had an argument that didn't end well, and I ordered you locked up.”

“Oh, yes,” Starscream murmured. “That. Well, I won't pretend I liked being in that cell, or that I’m not going to find some way to thank you for it in the future.”

Something flickered in his optics, a gleam like light reflecting off red ice, and was gone. “But it was nothing I'm not used to, and it ended a lot more quickly than I expected.” The curl of his mouth verged on malicious. “Let's hope I never have reason to say that to you under any other circumstances.”

Megatron ignored the remark. “What are you trying to do?"

“I’m offering to help you scrub down, that’s all. Is that a major breach of etiquette among Decepticons?”

“As you’ve said before, you’re not a Decepticon, nor do you want to be one.” Megatron studied him through narrowed optics. “So what do you want? What are you trying to gain from this?”

“Nothing!” A touch of exasperation finally showed through Starscream’s even tone, though it was gone almost at once. “If you’re afraid I’ll hit you with the brush or something, that’s fine. I’ll stay right here.” He held up his hands as though to emphasize his innocent and peaceful nature.

Megatron didn't think for one klik that Starscream had made that offer in any sort of good faith, out of sheer courtesy. But was this the first step in a calculated seduction? Somehow he doubted that too, because there was nothing at all flirtatious about Starscream. He looked the same as he always did—cool, reserved and as self-possessed as though nothing could ruffle his demeanor for long.

Maybe there was another reason behind the offer, though. Starscream now knew that Megatron was perfectly willing to have him thrown into a darkened cell if he went too far, but even though the experience hadn't brought him to his knees, he probably wasn't anxious to repeat it, and might well be looking for ways to ingratiate himself to Megatron. Ways that didn't involve telling him the truth, of course, but at least this might be a first step towards improving the current stalemate. 

And it wasn't as though Megatron was in the least afraid of anything Starscream might do either in a washrack or out of one. He was just... cautious, and understandably so. 

“Why aren’t you angry?” he asked abruptly.

“Why should I be?”

“Because you told me you didn’t want to be touched by anyone you don’t trust. And I touched you.”

“But I trust you.”

Once again that unsettling sense of disorientation struck Megatron. Completely lost for words, he stared at Starscream, trying to discern a smirk beneath the calm expression, or a mocking undertone to the simple, straightforward answer. Starscream seemed to hear what he’d said too, because he continued. “Oh, not to the extent that I’ll spill everything like a slot machine on which you just scored a jackpot. You’re not that fortunate.”

He hesitated, and when he went on, his voice was quieter. “But I trust you not to hit me. Or use a blowtorch. And I trust that if I ever tell you to stop, you will.”

Megatron nodded, not knowing what to say to that. A blowtorch? Where… And then he knew why the paint on Starscream’s wings had been so charred and blistered.

“Incidentally, why is that?” Starscream sounded genuinely curious. “Recognizing a prisoner’s right to refuse interfacing isn’t a practice usually associated with despots.”

“Good to hear you consider yourself a prisoner,” Megatron said, stalling for time to think. “That’s a step up from what you usually claim to be.”

While every politician had to become accustomed to speaking on the fly when necessary, he doubted any others had been asked this particular question. Starscream knew that a potential air warrior for the Decepticon Army would never be forced into a berth, but from the way he’d phrased his question, he wanted to know if this standard applied in general. Megatron sat back down, marshaling his thoughts, and began.

“As for why I prefer my partners willing,” he said slowly, “well, anyone who resorts to rape has admitted that they’ve failed in every other respect. Their position and personality and appearance weren’t enough to attract whoever they wanted. So all they have left is coercion, and they usually choose a weaker and more vulnerable target so they’re less likely to be humiliated by the potential failure of even their final resort. Why would I ever want to be so pathetic?”

Starscream sat down too, and although he said nothing, all his attention was on Megatron. “I don’t agree with Autobot sentimentality,” Megatron continued. “I don’t believe in going out of our way to protect the weak, especially if they’re not making much of an effort to defend themselves.” They could live or die as far as he was concerned, because if they died it was no great loss, but if they learned to survive and thrive, they might prove themselves strong enough to be Decepticons. “But I don’t believe in gratuitous violence either. Besides, we have enough challenges already without anyone thinking I command an army of psychopaths. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, and a very Decepticon answer it was too. But it makes sense.” Starscream glanced down at his hands, then looked back at Megatron. “Why don’t you like the idea of having a slave?”

“You’ve used up your question quota for one day. Better luck tomorrow, but for now, let’s wash off.”

Starscream shrugged as if to say it didn’t matter, then rose to his feet and followed Megatron into the washrack. Megatron switched the spray on, then poured cleanser on a brush and handed it to him. Turning around, he braced one hand against the wall as Starscream began to work on his back.

The solvent, sharp and icy, should have helped him cool down, but Starscream’s touch more than wiped out that effect. He seemed to want to make certain not an inch of Megatron’s armor was unattended to, cleaning within seams and along the curves of joints as well, with careful thorough strokes that made the inside of Megatron’s plating prickle with sensation. With anticipation and with a need that he couldn’t suppress, let alone ignore.

Except he still wasn’t sure whether Starscream actually wanted this too. Megatron prided himself on his ability to scope out other mechs, but his prisoner had proved an exception to that ability. It was so often difficult to know what was under that cool, nonchalant surface, and now Megatron wasn’t sure if Starscream was merely flirting or whether he was willing to go the distance. But surely no one would do all this if they didn’t want it to end in a berth. Would they?

“Turn around,” Starscream said softly.

Megatron turned. A fine mist of solvent glistened on Starscream, making the red plating deep and rich in the overhead light, and Megatron couldn’t have moved from the spot if he’d wanted to. Thankfully that wasn’t necessary. Starscream went to work on Megatron’s chestplate, moving the brush in slow circles down to his hip joints.

Abruptly he sank to his knees to clean off the smear of grease on Megatron’s leg, and that brought him within the radius of the spray. Runnels of liquid trickled down white armor and red stripes, and Megatron longed to follow those wet trails with his fingers, with his mouth.

He had never wanted anyone so much. Even the way Starscream so often caught him by surprise and kept him off-balance didn’t matter. Not when he looked like this, his frame shining wet, his expression intent as he scrubbed slowly, and Megatron finally had enough of waiting.

He grasped Starscream’s elbows and pulled him up, then took the brush from him and tossed it aside. Starscream’s plating was hot under his hands, and his engines thrumming. He was aroused too, Megatron could feel it, but instead of leaning closer, he jerked his arms free from Megatron’s grip.

“I meant what I said about scrubbing your back.” His voice was taut and strained, his optics fixed on Megatron with the usual watchfulness. “Which is all I want to do. And that isn’t a Decepticon lie or even a Decepticon truth. It’s a fact.”

Slag. Megatron needed this so much, but the connection between the two of them was fragile enough without him pushing further than Starscream was prepared to go. And Starscream had said earlier that he trusted Megatron to listen if he called a halt. Whether he really wanted to stop or whether this was a test of some sort, the outcome was the same.

“All right.” Megatron tried to speak indifferently, but the words seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chassis, grinding up through his vocalizer, and he swallowed hard to regain some control. “We’ll just wash.” For now. “Do you want me to clean you off?”

Starscream hesitated, then gave a fractional nod. Megatron didn’t know whether it would even more frustrating to touch Starscream without being able to do anything further, but having offered to repay the favor, he had to continue.

He looked for the brush, only to realize it was outside the washrack somehow. Silently cursing the day he’d ever laid optics on this Seeker, he used his palms to spread cleanser in widening circles on Starscream’s chestplate and lower down, on his abdominal plating. Starscream held on to the wall behind him, fingers scrabbling a little at the wet surface for purchase. Megatron stroked cool foamy slickness away to feel the hard heated armor underneath, and the rough vibration of engines running fast beneath that.

“That’s enough,” Starscream said. His voice was throaty, a little lower than its usual register, but his optics were feverishly bright rather than dimmed with desire, so Megatron turned on the solvent spray at its coldest setting. Though even a dip in liquid nitrogen couldn’t have killed his arousal.

He forced himself to stand through the longest wash cycle of his life, then turned on the jets of the dryer and allowed the heated air to play over his frame. Once, about forty cycles ago, the dryer had stopped working, but a Darkmount maintenance team had fixed it immediately. Megatron wished they hadn’t. Then he could have dried Starscream off himself, skimming a cloth over that red-and-white plating, teasing Starscream with barely-there touches that turned into long sleek caresses. In his imagination, he followed the curve of amber glass before drawing the cloth slowly over Starscream’s hip joints and down his thighs.

The dryer shut off automatically, startling Megatron out of his fantasy. The setting must have been a high one, because his plating was uncomfortably hot now, and he stepped out of the washrack at once. Agreeing to Starscream’s offer to scrub him down had been another bad idea, and all he wanted was to put it behind him and hopefully never think of it again.

Starscream followed, not meeting his optics. “Good night,” he said without emotion or inflection, and disappeared into his own berthroom at once, the door closing behind him.

His jaws gritted, Megatron went to his berth and lay down. All his systems thrummed. A little self-service might have helped him recharge, but somehow he didn’t want to do that either. He was too irritated, and as the Decepticon leader, he shouldn’t have to resort to it either. Anyone in Polyhex would have been honored to share his berth.

Anyone except Starscream, obviously.

Megatron shifted his position, tried to get more comfortable, stared up at the ceiling, and wondered how he had got himself into this situation. Finally the built-up charge in his circuits dissipated and he drifted off into recharge, only to start out of it a little while later. He always came online immediately, without grogginess or disorientation, a legacy of his life as a gladiator and a necessary quality for a warrior, but he wasn’t sure what had disturbed him.

He checked his internal chronometer and saw he’d been in recharge for less than two joors. There were no attempts at contact on his comm, and nothing seemed out of place in his room.

Then he heard a sound outside. He went completely still, turning up the gain on his audials. There it was again, a soft snap like something small being prized apart.

Was that Starscream? Megatron got up and moved soundlessly to the door. It had to be Starscream, because no one could have got into Megatron’s quarters without setting off alarms, but what was going on?

There was a quiet rustling sound now, though it stopped quickly. Megatron found himself remembering what Starscream had said to him earlier. I won't pretend I liked being in that cell, or that I’m not going to find some way to thank you for it in the future. Well, if Starscream had deliberately lured him into the washrack to lull him into a false sense of security and carry out some act of sabotage later that night, that would end right now. Without a klik’s more delay, Megatron flung the door open.

Chapter Text

Starscream whirled around, clearly startled. He was at the opposite end of the room, holding a map in both hands. A bare oblong patch of wall showed where the map had been, but Megatron only saw that thanks to the moonlight which streamed in through the open window. All the lights in his quarters were off, so evidently Starscream had been sneaking around in the dark.

“What are you doing?” Megatron stepped out of his room, glancing around swiftly to see if anything else was out of place. He didn’t think Starscream would be foolhardy enough to set any sort of trap for him in his own quarters… but then again, he never knew with Starscream.

"I’m looking at your map,” Starscream said calmly.

“You could have looked at it without taking it off the wall.” Megatron went over to him, and reached out for the map.

Starscream relinquished it. “What do you think I could do with a map, assassinate you?”

“If that could be done, you’d find a way, map or no map.” Megatron leveled a look at him. “I want the truth. What were you doing with this?”

“I was folding it.”

“Folding it?” Megatron looked down at the map, which was made from specially treated plastic so that it could be folded for easy transport without showing permanent marks. Those smoothed out automatically after a few kliks. He had to activate the zoom function on his optics now, but when he did so, a faint crease across the map was barely visible before it disappeared.

Starscream sat down on an arm of the chair, drew one leg up and rested his chin on his knee. “I couldn’t recharge,” he said. “That happens a lot, and I finished all my library books, so I looked at the map. And then I thought that if it was folded just right, one city would meet another.” His voice was quieter now, as though he was speaking to himself. “If I fold it, I can make the distance disappear.”

Megatron wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he busied himself with putting the map back on the wall in the same place it had been before. Each corner made a little click as it reattached itself. He stepped back to make certain the map was straight, hoping that while his attention was diverted, Starscream would slink back to his own room and end the increasingly uncomfortable silence. Naturally, Starscream stayed exactly where he was and continued in a more normal tone.

“My turn now,” he said. “What are you doing out of your berth?”

“I heard you,” Megatron said briefly, since there were no more adjustments that could possibly be made to the map.

“Sharp audials. I was trying to be as quiet as possible.” Starscream lowered his foot to the floor and stood up. “Sorry for disturbing you. I’ll go back to my room now.”

“Wait,” Megatron said without thinking, and Starscream stopped. “If you can’t recharge, you can stay here.” He remembered what it had been like to lie restlessly in his own berth for what had felt like joors, tossing about and staring up at the ceiling.

Starscream tilted his helm a little to one side. “And do what?”

Anything, Megatron thought. The moonlight made the white parts of Starscream’s plating look even paler, ethereal, and every shadow on his frame seemed darker in comparison. The red of his fuselage smoldered softly like embers about to die. But strongly as his looks drew Megatron’s optics, something deeper held him there. Something that showed in the steady, challenging gaze and the proud lift of Starscream’s head.

And do what? Starscream had asked. Megatron glanced at the space of the floor between the two of them, then let his gaze travel back up Starscream’s frame to meet his optics.

“Make another distance disappear,” he murmured.

In the pause that followed, he thought he had miscalculated, that this would end in another refusal. Then Starscream moved, crossing the floor to him in slow measured paces. He stopped when he was as close as they had been in the washrack, so near that Megatron caught a faint scent of cleanser that still lingered on his plating.

“I kissed you before,” he whispered. “Now it’s your turn.”

Megatron took a step forward, until his chestplate just touched the cool glass of Starscream’s instrumentation canopy, which wasn’t in the least quenched by the moonlight. It absorbed that instead and looked an even deeper amber, all but glowing in the dimmed room. And it was still outshone by the banked heat in his optics, though they darkened when Megatron brought a hand up to curve around Starscream’s cheek. He offlined his own optics as their mouths came together.

The kiss they’d shared on the observation deck had been light and undemanding, but this was nothing like it. Starscream’s arms slid up over Megatron’s shoulders in a desperate grasp, and when Megatron kissed him hungrily, Starscream responded with a desire that met his own, his head tilting to fit their mouths even more closely together. A whimper escaped him when they finally broke apart, but the sound turned to a moan as Megatron found the joint where his jaw and throat met. His plating was already heating up, and his ventilation system ran fast beneath it. Megatron slid his free hand around Starscream’s waist and lowered his head to nip and lick at Starscream’s throat. He felt the sleek graceful frame sway against him, arms tightening around his shoulders, and he bent his knees to sink to the floor, lowering them both down until Starscream lay under him.

Starscream’s optics came back online. For a moment he looked as though he’d come out of recharge only to find himself in a smelting pit. Then he started up, pushing Megatron away with a sudden unexpected shove. Vents pulling in sharp gasps of air, he struggled up to his feet.

He didn’t seem to know what to do next, and stood there as though paralyzed. Megatron got up as well, moving slowly, as he would have done if he’d been dealing with some panicked wild animal. He watched Starscream throughout, and though Starscream’s expression wasn’t easy to decipher, it was clear he was shaken. He held on to the edge of the chair’s arm with tightened fingers, his throat working as he swallowed.

“I’m sorry.” The words emerged in a ragged whisper. “I… I just need a moment. That’s all.”

You need a lot more than that, Megatron thought. He had no idea what specifically had caused this, and he knew Starscream would never tell him, so what now?

Well, he could say this had been a mistake. He could end it. And they would go to their respective rooms, doing their best to put this behind them, and it would never happen again.

Or he could do something else. He went to the divan instead and sat down. Starscream tracked every movement he made, and Megatron met his optics again.

“If you want this,” he said, “you can continue. I won’t touch you.”

The faintest flicker went through Starscream’s intent gaze, a blink that Megatron might not have noticed if all his attention hadn’t been on his… prisoner. The prisoner who had captivated him instead.

“You won’t?” Starscream sounded skeptical.

“No.” Megatron slid both hands behind his back. “But you can touch me.”

Once again he had the sense of being poised on an edge, not knowing whether he’d gone too far, too fast. Once again, time seemed to pause.

Then Starscream came over to the divan, a little like when he’d knelt to receive his energon from Megatron’s hand. Except this time, he stood before Megatron, looking down at him before he put a hand on Megatron’s shoulder. It was not a passionate touch but a steadying one, supporting his weight for the moments he needed to put first one knee and then the other on the divan, on either side of Megatron. Straddling him, Starscream lowered himself until he was seated on Megatron’s thighs. He let go of Megatron’s shoulder, his expression unreadable, but he seemed to be poised, waiting to see what would happen next.

Which was up to him entirely. To have Starscream so close and yet not be able to touch him was agonizing, but Megatron made himself endure it, especially since he’d set the rules of this engagement. Not that that would stop him from abruptly altering the bargain if that was ever called for, because there was a reason his faction had its name, but if he did so, he could forget about Starscream ever trusting him again. And he wanted that too.

For what felt like an eternity, Starscream neither spoke nor moved. Megatron focused on keeping his ventilation system ruthlessly suppressed into slow deep breaths, and to distract himself from Starscream’s nearness, he started doing a complex quadratic equation in his head. He never solved it, though. Starscream lifted a hand and trailed his fingertips lightly down the side of Megatron’s face.

It took all of Megatron’s self-control not to react as Starscream continued, the touch so gentle that it was nearly unbearable. Starscream traced the shape of his jaw, ran the pad of a thumb along his lower lip and then slid his palm slowly down Megatron’s throat and over his chestplate.

There was something fiercely arousing about sitting there without moving, forcing himself not to move as the exploration continued, unhurried and thorough. Starscream mapped out every inch of his frame with a single-minded intensity. “Did you like that?” he would ask occasionally, or “Was that good?” And when Megatron would nod in response, not trusting himself to speak, Starscream would devote even more attention to whatever receptor cluster or neurocircuitry cable he had just discovered, rubbing, circling, caressing. He seemed to be fascinated by what he was doing, but Megatron was rapidly reaching the end of his control.

“Lean as far back as you can,” Starscream said, and Megatron did so. This was torture. Worse, it was a torture he’d actually inflicted on himself. He wanted to offline his optics, but then he wouldn’t be able to see what Starscream was doing. He tried to return to the quadratic equation, but he could barely multiply three and five when Starscream was working him over with a merciless patience, as though they could do this all night.

And then Starscream shifted and lowered his head so his mouth could follow the same trail his fingers had blazed. The heat coiling inside rose to an unbearable peak and crested all at once in a convulsion so violent that Megatron arched off the divan, biting back a shout. Which escaped him anyway as the rest of his overload swept through him in waves of pleasure. Starscream caught at his shoulders again for balance, holding on tightly as energy snapped through Megatron’s systems, making him shudder uncontrollably before his entire frame went drained and lax.

Starscream still straddled him but didn’t move as Megatron slowly came back down. As his optics refocused, the first thing he expected to see was a pleased and probably smug grin on Starscream’s face. Except that wasn’t the case. Starscream looked as though he’d walked into a roomful of complete strangers and wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself now.

“Are you all right?” Megatron managed to ask. His voice sounded hoarse and strange to his audials.

The practical question seemed to help, because Starscream nodded decisively, as though he felt on more certain ground. His gaze swept Megatron’s frame in an evaluating look, as swift as it was intensely erotic—just to be looked at like that, it sent dark ripples of sensation through his circuits all over again—and he licked his lips as though tasting traces of Megatron that somehow lingered on his plating.

Then he smiled, a sardonic lift of only one corner of his mouth. “Are you going to touch me now?”

“If it’s what you want,” Megatron said, suspecting a trap at once.

The half-smile vanished. “I don’t.”

Slag. Suddenly the heat nearly overwhelming him wasn’t lust at all. Had this all been some power play on Starscream’s part? To show that he could bring the leader of the Decepticons to breathless overload but remain unmoved and unaroused through it all?

“Not yet, anyway,” Starscream said, more quietly. “I want you to make me touch myself.” When Megatron looked at him in confusion, he continued. “Tell me what to do.”

Tell you…? “I don’t know where you like to be touched.”

Starscream lifted an optic ridge. “Then you’ll just have to make me do it everywhere, won’t you?”

Air caught in Megatron’s vents. He didn’t know how he could be aroused again so fast, and his hands clenched into fists behind his back as he struggled for control. Starscream waited, watching him. His plating was hot where his legs pressed against Megatron’s, but he was as calm and self-controlled as ever.

Let’s see how long that lasts, Megatron thought. Starscream would expect him to choose the obvious erogenous zones, so he took a different tack. “Touch your hands.”

Starscream frowned. “My hands?”

“Yes. Rub your palms. Slowly.”

Even if Starscream’s hands weren’t as sensitive as those of a mech’s whose function required them to be, the steady stimulation, undemanding at first, would relax him. Megatron watched as Starscream stroked circles on first one palm and then the other. He didn’t seem roused yet, but that would happen soon enough.

“Now the insides of your wrists,” Megatron told him.

This time Starscream looked down at what he was doing as he traced the cables in his wrists with his thumbs, pressing firmly into the blue plating. Megatron watched him, savoring the anticipation. He couldn’t force Starscream to trust him, but this he could do, and if it was all he would ever have of Starscream, he would have it over and over again.

He gave his next order. “The inside of your elbow. Then stroke your arm up to your shoulder.”

Starscream obeyed. There was no sound in the room except for the slide of metal against smooth metal, and the softer sounds of joints moving in oiled sockets and hydraulics slowly pressurizing as Starscream’s hand moved up his arm, drifting at first, lightly as if there was no purpose behind it other than casual exploration. But the movements soon turned to long deliberate caresses, each ending a little closer to his shoulder and the structure that topped it. And Megatron wasn’t the only one watching now. Starscream did so too, as if he was fascinated by what his own body was doing—or as if he’d never done it before. His fingertips brushed the edge of the armor plate that curved over his shoulder.

“Those…” Megatron began. He should know what they were called, but his mind had chosen just that moment to go blank.

“Vents?” Starscream’s reply was quiet and breathless.

Megatron nodded. “Are they sensitive?”

“Only one way to find out.”

There was a dull ache in Megatron’s palms where his fingers had started sinking into them, and he forced his hands to unclench. He needed so badly to touch Starscream instead, but he knew that would shatter the spell, and that was the last thing he wanted. Not when Starscream looked like this, optics smoky dark, lips parted as though he’d started to speak but had been surprised into silence, his fingers poised over his own plating.

“Touch it,” Megatron said, struggling to speak normally and losing the fight. But Starscream didn’t seem to notice that. He traced the shape of his shoulder-vent instead, his head turned to one side to watch what he was doing. Megatron drank in the sight of him and wondered which of them was truly the prisoner here. Starscream was at his mercy, by the terms of this game—game? an incredulous voice whispered in the back of his mind—unable to do anything except what Megatron ordered him to do. Yet Megatron was forced to stay passive, unable to touch what he most wanted to stroke and hold and possess.

This was no game. This wasn’t even interfacing, at least not any interfacing he was used to. He was, he realized, as much on unfamiliar ground as Starscream was. But they were on it together.

“Put your fingers inside it,” he whispered.

Starscream did so, and Megatron committed every rhythmic flick of those fingers to memory, because the next time it would be him doing that, it would be his hands bringing Starscream to arousal and release and then stroking him back into readiness again. "Touch your throat,” he said, and Starscream dragged his fingertips down his neck, tilting his head back. There was something incredibly enticing about that, about the cables standing out in his throat and the way his head fell back as if in submission… or overload. “Yes, like that. And your air intakes, put your fingers into those too. Deeper.”

Starscream couldn’t see him now, not with optics gone completely dark, and suddenly the desire that consumed Megatron was unbearable. The rule was that he couldn’t touch Starscream, not so much as a single caress to that smooth red plating or amber glass.

But he could touch himself. He brought his left hand out from behind his back, and ran his palm over his chestplate to his side vents. In his imagination, the fingers forced into them were supple and blue and they stimulated the sensors just inside with an agonizing precision. He found the sensors at the base of his cannon’s mount and rubbed slow circles over them, savoring the rush of sensation almost as much as he did the sight of Starscream drawing closer and closer to the edge. “Yes,” he said again, thickly. “Lower.”

Starscream whimpered, but he didn’t resist. Trembling, he slid his palms down the sides of his frame to the slight gaps in the armor at his hips. When his fingers entered those, the sound that escaped him was a quiet moan, and Megatron clenched his jaws at his involuntary response to that. His own fingers moved faster and harder now, with none of the deliberate gentleness Starscream had inflicted on him earlier, but in his mind, this was Starscream too, bringing him on to overload with a ruthless hunger. And Starscream was rocking against him now, knees tightening and relaxing rhythmically against the outsides of Megatron’s thighs as he continued to rub at the receptors just inside his armor. His breath came in gasps.

“Yes,” he whispered, like an echo of Megatron, and that was the last coherent word he spoke before his entire frame jerked, his back arching and his head flung back. He overloaded with a choked cry, and the sound was so raw and uncontrolled that it pulled Megatron over the edge. Pleasure hit him with the force of a physical blow, so intense it all but wrenched him apart, and through the waves of release swallowing him up, he felt Starscream sway off-balance. But in the next klik, Starscream caught his shoulder, fingers digging in hard to steady himself, and Megatron groaned low in his throat.

One by one, his systems stabilized, not that he was in any hurry to move just yet. The divan beneath him felt as though it had dissolved and he was sinking slowly down into liquid heat, his limbs too heavy to lift for now. Somehow he onlined his optics and his vision came into focus. Starscream hadn’t let go of his shoulder, but rather than a tight grasp, his fingers now rested lightly on the silver metal. He looked drowsy and relaxed, and Megatron took a chance.

He placed his hands on either side of Starscream’s waist and moved him carefully off, turning him at the same time to lower him to the divan. Starscream didn’t protest. Instead he sighed and lay still, his body warm and pliant, as Megatron settled beside him. The room was quiet except for the whirring of internal fans, and Megatron might have drifted offline if Starscream hadn’t pushed himself up a few kliks later, the ungainly brace clanging against the divan. Megatron sat up as well, frowning.

“Where are you going?” he asked. If Starscream wasn’t comfortable enough, they could retire to his room and recharge there, because his berth was large enough, and once he was back online, Starscream would be conveniently close at hand. Except it was clear that Starscream had no intention of doing any of that. He gave Megatron a sideways look.

“I’m going back to my room, where else?” He slid off the divan. “I’m tired enough to recharge. And if you’re trying to delicately suggest that you’re ready for another round, well, I admire your stamina but I regretfully decline your invitation.”

Megatron let himself fall back to the divan with a heavy clank. “Yes, go. Go to your room, go to the Pit, go anywhere before I smack you one.”

“Good night,” Starscream said, an amused lilt softening the raspy voice, and was gone.

The next morning, Megatron received a comm from Vantage to say that the troops from Altihex had set out, which was efficient and yet a little too quick, as if Vantage was seizing the opportunity to act before anyone else could, Autobots and Decepticons alike. Megatron knew being paranoid wouldn’t accomplish anything, but when he received word early the next day that the troops would arrive that afternoon, he felt wary all over again. That could only mean a forced drive, which was hardly necessary before they even had a battle to fight. At three thousand, the Altihex militia clearly outnumbered the Decepticons, whose only real advantage was that they were behind the walls of Polyhex while the militia was not. For the moment.

On the other hand, their sheer numbers meant they couldn’t reasonably expect to be billeted in the city, so the Constructicons hastily turned out to inspect an area of ground just outside the city gates that would be suitable for a temporary camp. By afternoon, the militia was in sight on the horizon, and Megatron went up to the observatory to take a good look through a telescope. He knew better than to ask Starscream to accompany him for that, and Starscream had been very quiet since they’d interfaced, in a mood that Megatron couldn’t quite decipher. He wasn’t sulking and he wasn’t withdrawn into blankness, but he didn’t seem interested in anything going on around him either.

Then again, maybe he didn’t want to be, given how closely Megatron was going to be allied with the city he clearly hated. Megatron gave that particular problem up as a lost cause, and went to the command center to find Shockwave. Together the two of them left the city to welcome their new allies, a meeting which went as Megatron had hoped. The only odd thing was that the Altihex militia had brought anti-aircraft cannons and surface-to-air armaments with them, although the Autobots had even less air support than the Decepticons did.

Reminding himself that Vantage would be a fool to attack his new allies so early in the game—because then he would eventually have to deal with the Autobots on his own—Megatron returned to his quarters. One thing was for certain, anyway; the Decepticons had to move out within the next few days, because troops that numerous couldn’t be left there for long, even if they were supplied with fuel from Polyhex.

Starscream was sitting on the divan with a book beside him, though he wasn’t reading, and Megatron had already decided that he wasn’t going to expend his energy breaking this latest silence. So he sat down at his workstation, only to be interrupted by the door’s chime. “Sir,” one of the security guards said, “the commander of the Altihex troops would like a word.”

Megatron nodded, snatching a swift glance at Starscream out of the corners of his optics, just in case Starscream took it into his head to leap up and charge the commander, even though he wouldn’t get very far with that brace on his broken wing. Starscream didn’t move as the commander stepped into the room.

“Lord Megatron,” he said with a tilt of his helm. “I’m Hairtrigger, captain of the Altihex militia. And Chief Minister Vantage would like you to have this gift.” He held out a large vase of white marble shot through with branching green threads of some mineral.

Megatron accepted it with the usual compliments he gave any such gift. “Please convey my thanks to the chief minister,” he said. “Would you care for some energon?”

“No, thank you, my lord.” Hairtrigger’s gaze slid to Starscream and his optics brightened. “Is that the Seeker who was formerly our guest, Lord Megatron? I would never have recognized him.”

“I wonder why,” Megatron said dryly, sending a comm to the security guard for an escort out.

Hairtrigger smiled. “You’re welcome to return to Altihex at any time,” he said to Starscream. “There are one or two mechs who miss you quite a bit—”

“Hairtrigger.” Megatron indicated the outer door, set the vase down, and allowed the captain to precede him out. The moment the door slid closed, he grabbed Hairtrigger’s shoulder, spun him around and slammed him against the wall.

“If you ever speak to my prisoner again,” he said, staring down into wide stunned optics, “I will tear out your vocalizer. Do you understand?”

Hairtrigger nodded rapidly. “Y-yes, my lord,” he said, and as the elevator doors hissed open to let the guard out, Megatron released him with a curt nod. Vantage had had his chance when Starscream had been in Altihex, and he’d used that chance for all it was worth. But that was over now, it had ended the instant Starscream had been given to Megatron instead, and Megatron never let anyone interfere with what belonged to him.

He went back into his quarters, where Starscream hadn’t moved—other than his hands curling into fists at his sides, and his expression set in a rigid mask. “He won’t bother you again,” Megatron told him.

“It’s not him I’m worried about.” Starscream’s voice was toneless.

“Vantage won’t get anywhere near you either.” Megatron sent another comm to the university’s laboratories, requesting a courier be sent to his quarters at once to pick up a vase for detailed analysis. He always graciously accepted gifts from rival politicians, and always sent those gifts to be examined closely before being locked in a vault that was nowhere in Darkmount.

Starscream said nothing, only stared down at his knees. The silence began to feel oppressively heavy, and Megatron wondered what to do about that. But the braced wing meant even a self-defence lesson wasn’t possible any longer.

Yet Megatron couldn’t bring himself to authorize those repairs. Not because of the cost—he’d already sunk so much into what Rumble and Frenzy referred to as Project Seeker when they thought he couldn’t hear them, so what was a little more?—but because Starscream couldn’t be trusted. He would escape as soon as he was capable of doing so, and if he was insane enough to return to Altihex for revenge, he might well end up destroying what Megatron had worked to achieve. So he would never risk that happening. Not with the Autobots’ defeat so close it was almost in his grasp.

His recharge unusually fitful, Megatron came back online early. He felt unsettled, as though he’d forgotten to do something important, but since nothing came to mind, he tried to dismiss the uneasiness. Maybe if Starscream had chosen to pay off part of his debt by keeping Megatron company in the berth, he’d have recharged more soundly, but last night Starscream hadn’t seemed capable of talking to him, let alone doing anything else.

Was that due to a naturally mercurial temperament or could it be like his insomnia, a lingering side-effect of the drug dependency and the treatment for it? Megatron wasn’t sure, and it annoyed him that he was thinking about Starscream to this extent. So he got up and stalked out, only to find the world’s most infuriating Seeker sitting on the window-seat at an awkward angle, half off it, to accommodate the brace. Megatron went to the energon dispenser, but before he could even punch in the new code, there was an urgent comm from Shockwave saying he was en route to Megatron’s quarters.

Glowering at nothing in particular, because it felt too early in the morning to deal with a serious problem, Megatron retrieved the energon and sat down. “Shockwave will be here soon,” he said. “Some sort of emergency.”

“It’s probably about that.”

Megatron turned sharply and met Starscream’s optics. Without elaborating, Starscream gave a slight tilt of his head towards the window, and Megatron joined him, preparing for anything from a derailment on the Carousel to riots in the streets.

The city looked the same as it always did. Megatron glanced around, wondering what Starscream had meant, and then he saw it. He’d been looking at buildings that were, if not at optic level, at least close to that, but the image had been painted darkly across the bare wall of a small building close to the ground. It was a sketch of a gallows with a noose dangling from the beam.

And from the noose hung the figure of a Seeker.

Chapter Text

“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” – The Godfather, Part II

“I’ve offered a reward for any information that will lead to whoever did that,” Megatron said later, after the graffiti had been washed off. “There aren’t any security cameras focusing on that particular building.” Not surprising, since most of it was taken up by a used-goods store.

Starscream twitched one shoulder in a slight shrug. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

He seemed so unbothered that Megatron wondered for a moment if he had painted that grotesque image somehow. But even if Starscream figured out a way to leave without the door being opened for him, what would be the point? It wasn’t as though Megatron had taken one look at the graffiti, leaped to the conclusion that someone from Altihex had done it, and waved goodbye to the alliance.

Strange, though, that a taunt from Hairtrigger had left Starscream frozen and clearly struggling for control, but he brushed off a visual threat with nonchalance. On the other hand, Hairtrigger commanded three thousand troops, whereas a scrawled image on a wall couldn’t hurt anyone, so maybe Starscream did have his priorities straight. Whatever the reason, though, Megatron couldn’t spend any more time thinking about that, especially since he had a battle to plan.

He spent the rest of the cycle in the command center with his lieutenants and Hairtrigger, going over potential strategies. With their increased numbers—forty-five hundred mechs now—they easily outnumbered the Autobots, but Iacon was a fortified city too, which would only increase its defenses the moment the Autobots learned a large army was headed for them. One thing Hairtrigger and all three Decepticons could agree on was that their campaign should not result in a prolonged siege, because the Autobots had too many sympathizers in settlements that shared their views and even in officially neutral cities. Those might try guerilla attacks or even an open assault to try to break the siege.

“And who knows what the Matrix might do?” Hairtrigger added, reminding them all of the wild card in the game.

Megatron moved them past that obstacle by pointing out that what the Matrix conferred was power focused on a single mech, rather than any sort of crowd control. “Because of this, the Autobots don’t see Prime as just their leader and champion,” he said. “He’s the avatar of their god. So if we separate him from the defenses of Iacon, the hard part’s over.”

“How would we do that?” Hairtrigger frowned.

Megatron pointed at a location on the map spread out on the table before them. “Attack a smaller city nearby which has declared its loyalty to Prime. He’ll have to send troops to its defense, and if I know him, he’ll roll out at their head.”

Shockwave nodded slowly. “Defeating such a city isn’t necessary. All we need to do is strike at Prime’s allies, and soon they’ll all know the consequences of supporting the Autobots.”

It was late by then, so the discussion ended with a decision that the next cycle, they would choose their target. Any satisfaction Megatron felt had drained away by the time he returned to his quarters, though. What was he going to do with Starscream during the campaign? He’d have to be left alone in Polyhex for however long it might last, and Megatron seriously doubted he’d return to find Starscream curled up placidly on the divan reading a book as he was now. More likely he’d come back to find no one there at all.

He drew energon for both of them and sat down. Starscream accepted his cube and had enough sense not to ask about the meeting. A good thing his wings hadn’t been repaired, Megatron thought, because otherwise there was too much of a possibility that Starscream would fly back to Altihex. At least this way, he wouldn’t take such a suicidal risk.

Megatron took a sip of his energon and decided to get this over with. “We’ll be leaving in two cycles,” he said.

Starscream nodded as though he’d expected to hear that. “Thank you for letting me know.”

No questions. No inquiries as to where he was going or when he’d return, or even what would happen to Starscream in the meantime. Not even good luck or take care. Just that calm, infuriating courtesy that gave Megatron nothing.

“I wish you’d tell me what you really think,” he said in frustration.

That got him a small, wry smile. “Oh, if I did, the real battle would be right here.”

Megatron thought that would have been a relief. At least with a battle, he stood a good chance of winning. He finished his energon and said, “Do you want me to call this off? To stop working with the forces from Altihex?”

“You know I do.” Starscream spoke very quietly, and every trace of amusement had left his face.

“Then tell me why they imprisoned you.”

Starscream’s head lowered so he was staring at his knee-joints again. He didn’t clench his hands, but locked them together.

“Your first duty is to the Decepticon cause,” he said finally.

“Yes. That means everything else has to come second or third. It doesn’t mean I completely ignore everything else, and what happened to you isn’t easy for me to ignore.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Starscream’s voice was taut.

Megatron crushed an urge to slam a fist down on an arm of his chair. “I can’t do anything for you if you won’t talk to me!”

“Who said you have to do anything for me?” But Starscream lifted his head as soon as he’d said that. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled-for.” A sigh escaped him as though he’d resumed carrying a massive weight after setting it down for a too-brief rest. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful that you got me out of Altihex and that you authorized all the repairs I’ve had so far.”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” Megatron snapped.

“I know. You want answers.”

“Not just those.”

“Well, you already have my body. What more is there?”

Megatron decided it was best to steer clear of that particular pitfall. Besides, as Starscream said, the Decepticon cause came first.

“I want Seekers in my army,” he said. Didn’t Starscream understand that a squadron of Seekers could take the place of those troops from Altihex whom he hated so much?

Starscream scrubbed the palm of one hand over his face. “Okay,” he said, “you need to understand this about Seekers. We’re independent. Not so much emotionally, but mentally. We don’t fall into lockstep lines because we’re told to do so, even by you.”

“So you’d need to be convinced that this is the best course of action for you.”

“Yes. Why should we join an army of grounders? An army which isn’t even strong enough on its own to defeat daydreaming idealists and melting-spark sentimentalists like the Autobots?”

Megatron felt on solid ground at once. “Because the time is coming when everyone will have to choose sides, or be caught in the crossfire.”

“Megatron.” Starscream leaned forward, wincing a little as the movement shifted the heavy brace. “I know what the Decepticon cause’s talking points are, and I recognize propaganda when I hear it. Don’t bother speculating about what will happen in the future. Tell me why we should join you.”

This, a voice said in the back of Megatron’s mind, was the real Starscream, what was under the façade of smooth, indifferent courtesy. This was someone smart and sharp and direct, who didn’t hesitate to challenge him. He considered his answer—Starscream was patient too, and didn’t fidget as he waited—and after a long moment, Megatron got up and came around the table. There was enough room on the divan for him to sit on the other end of it, and he made himself as comfortable as possible before he began.

“I came online for the first time in the city of Tarn,” he said, “and the first thing I learned was that I’d been built to mine energon. The second was that I wasn’t expected to live longer than three vorns at most, because the mines were running so dry that shafts were being sunk far deeper than was safe, and miners worked endless shifts to scrape the last drops of fuel out of those.”

He tried never to remember what that was like—not just the dangerous labor or the filth of the working conditions, but the sheer hopelessness that dragged the miners down, a bleak resignation to the lot they’d been dealt by life. “I knew I had to get out of there if I wanted to survive, let alone do anything else,” he said. “So when a troupe of gladiators traveled through the city on their way back to Kaon, I slipped out of the mines and told them I wanted to join them.”

He felt his mouth twist in a bitter smile. “They took turns thrashing me into the ground. But because I kept trying to get up, their owner said I might be useful, as a punching bag if nothing else, and he told me to sign a contract. I didn’t know what it said, because literacy wasn’t a required skill for miners. We arrived in Kaon, and that was how I discovered slave fighters had an even shorter life expectancy than miners did.”

Starscream drew his breath in. “The contract…”

“According to that, my freedom paid the costs of transport, training, shelter, fuel, repairs, and other miscellaneous expenses.” He’d never expected this, because as bad as conditions had been in Tarn, slavery was not permitted there. “And I was fortunate. A law had just been passed in Kaon limiting the length of servitude such contracts could impose to a five-vorn maximum. If I’d joined the gladiators a little earlier, they would have owned me for life. Legally.”

Oddly, at the time he’d realized this, he’d felt no relief. A mech who worshipped Primus might have fallen to his knees in thankfulness, believing this to be a sign of the god’s protection, but Megatron had been too far from blind faith by then.

No, what had swept through him instead had been a sickening sense of his own vulnerability. He’d been saved from a lifetime of slavery by sheer chance. It had nothing to do with his strength or determination or intelligence, and everything to do with the negotiations of politicians so impossibly high above him in the city’s hierarchy that they weren’t even aware of his existence, any more than mechs in a hurry would notice the tiniest ant-droid in their path.

But they will be, he’d promised himself. His life would never again be owned or controlled by someone else. “I learned to fight,” he said. “And to win. And because I’d also learned the world is full of enemies, from the Quintessons to our fellow Cybertronians, I knew the best defence against anyone who tried to harm me or mine was to be strong enough that it would never happen again.”

Starscream didn’t react, but Megatron was accustomed to audiences which needed to be convinced. “The Autobots will say that makes me power-hungry and therefore dangerous. Which is true, but I’d rather be hungry for power than content with weakness, especially a weakness that allows my opponents to do whatever they want with me. So after I regained my freedom, I set out to recruit an army, and once that was large enough, we established a city. From there…”

“…the sky’s the limit?” Starscream asked.

“But our scope is limitless,” Megatron countered. “Once all of Cybertron is united under my rule, there won’t be any more skirmishes and disputes between city-states, no more internecine battles. The same laws will be passed and enforced everywhere, and once there’s a planetwide peace, we’ll turn to offworld exploration to secure more resources and to give ourselves plenty of warning if the Quintessons return.”

He leaned back against the couch. “So there’s your answer. Why join the Decepticons? Shockwave has a saying : strength in ability, strength in knowledge, strength in numbers, but I’d add a fourth : strength in vision. My vision is that we defeat our enemies by any means required, that we rise to rule Cybertron, and that under my leadership, peace and prosperity return to our world.”

He glanced sideways at Starscream. “And if you say, ‘Thank you for letting me know’, I’ll rap my knuckles against your head till I hear an echo.”

Starscream chuckled. “Not to worry, I won’t.” There was a pause. “You do have a compelling vision,” he said finally.

“One that will appeal to Seekers?”

“I don’t know.”

The answer sounded honest, and Megatron managed to control his disappointment with the ease of long practice in stifling unwanted reactions. Another of Shockwave’s sayings was that slogans weren’t solutions and visions weren’t victories, which was true. Maybe dealing a crushing defeat to the Autobots would make the difference that words could not. Megatron relaxed into the divan and allowed himself a pleasant fantasy of decimating the Autobot resistance, leaving Iacon to Vantage as they’d agreed, and returning home to find Starscream waiting to give him a hero’s reward.

“Why are you smiling?” Starscream asked curiously.

Megatron got his features back under control at speed, and sat up. “About your refueling and maintenance in my absence,” he began.

“I’m not a pet,” Starscream retorted.

Good, the matter of why he’d been smiling was forgotten. “You can get as much energon as you need, and Soundwave will look in on you every morning. I’ll give you his comm code as well, in case there’s any emergency.” Starscream huffed in clear annoyance but Megatron went on. “You’re allowed to go to the library, but nowhere else. Do you understand?”

He got a reluctant nod, but of course Starscream pushed back almost at once. “You know what it’s like to have your freedom curtailed or even taken away completely,” he said. “So why do you keep inflicting that on me?”

“Do you need a good look in a mirror?” Megatron didn’t bother to keep any of the harshness out of his voice. “You can’t fly or even defend yourself. And if I give you the run of Polyhex while I’m gone, there’s every chance I’d come back to find that whoever was responsible for that graffiti might have made it reality. There’s nothing to stop Hairtrigger from leaving a few of his troops behind once we march out, and there’s nothing to stop them slipping into the city when the gates are open. You’re safe in Darkmount, but not anywhere else.”

“Why are you so concerned about my safety?”

“You were given to me as payment for a debt. I don’t like losing anything.”

“Of course.” All the shrug Starscream couldn’t make with his shoulders any longer was in the flat reply.

Megatron had a feeling he’d said the wrong thing, that he’d somehow let slip an opportunity. An opportunity to do what? He wasn’t sure. But his answer reminded him of when he’d first seen Starscream, and had been told that this was the compensation owed to him. Starscream was still not in perfect working order, but it was little wonder that Hairtrigger hadn’t recognized him.

“Vantage was a fool,” Megatron said without thinking. Starscream gave him a puzzled look, and Megatron went on. “He could have had this. He could have had a Seeker on his side.”

“He could never have had me,” Starscream said at once. “No matter what he did.”

“No,” Megatron agreed. So Vantage had decided that if he couldn’t have this prize, he’d degrade and disfigure it, partly as a punishment and partly so no one else would ever want it. And yet he’d lost there too, not because Overturn had made the mistake of offering Starscream up as a payment, not even because Megatron had accepted and had authorized repairs. Vantage had lost because nothing he’d done had broken Starscream’s strength or pride or independence. And that made Megatron want him even more.

“He couldn’t have you,” he said. “But I will.”

Starscream lifted an optic ridge. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“It’s reality,” Megatron replied. Maybe if he said that with enough calm conviction, it would work.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Starscream asked.

From anyone else, that would be an enticement. Anyone else would find themselves tossed over either Megatron’s shoulder or the nearest flat surface. But although Starscream didn’t speak with any obvious fear or even hesitation, he didn’t sound exactly overcome with passion either. His arms were folded across the deep golden glass of his instrumentation canopy, and he sat still, unmoving, on his side of the divan.

And that was it, Megatron realized. That was what was missing. “For you to want it,” he said, deciding the straightforward and open approach was the best way to deal with Starscream’s barriers. “To let me touch you.”

There was a pause before Starscream answered. “Didn’t you like the way we did it before?”

He sounded as though he was asking if Megatron had liked the energon he’d consumed in the morning, and for what felt like the thousandth time, Megatron wished he knew what Starscream was thinking. He felt sure that Starscream was neither afraid nor repelled by the idea of interfacing with him, because if that had been the case, Starscream wouldn’t be in the same room as him. But at the same time, something clearly held him back.

And although Megatron was aware that Starscream’s experiences in Altihex were the cause of that, he didn’t intend to accommodate those any more than was necessary. He’d allowed Starscream to stay more or less within his comfort zone when they had ‘faced before. But that didn’t mean he would continue to do so, because as far as he was concerned, Starscream overcoming the effects of his past was vastly preferable to Starscream succumbing to those.

So he shrugged. “It was satisfactory,” he said, and Starscream’s optics narrowed. Good, at least he wasn’t indifferent, so Megatron let his voice soften and slide into a deeper register. “But we can do better. Do you want me to show you how much?”

A flicker went through Starscream’s set expression, and he looked away. His arms were still folded, but now his fingers gripped his elbows tightly. Megatron didn’t know what to make of that, but his instincts told him to wait it out, so he did.

“What if I think I can do this, but I can’t?” Starscream said finally. His voice was as quiet as if he was talking to himself. “If you climb to the top of a tower and step off, expecting to fly… well, if you’re wrong, it’s a long fall and a hard landing.”

So that was what this was about.

Megatron sat back, because knowing the reason for Starscream’s reaction didn’t make him any more aware of what to say. Especially since Starscream had expressed himself in such a dramatic way, though Megatron guessed that that wasn’t due to a histrionic nature. Instead, if Starscream chose to speak in terms of flying, it was an indication of how much this meant to him. But that made it all the more important for Megatron to give the right response, and yet he wasn’t sure what would work. He couldn’t say that this was just interfacing, rather than a leap of faith that could result in death, because it would seem as though he was dismissing how Starscream felt. And he certainly couldn’t say anything like if you fall, I’ll catch you. That would be cloying even for an Autobot.

Without intending to, he found himself imagining how Optimus Prime would react if he was in this situation. Of course Optimus was comfortable with open displays of sentimentality, so he would be happy to soothe and there-there anyone who seemed remotely in need of support. A fleeting vision of Starscream enfolded in Prime’s arms crossed Megatron’s mind, and with an effort he stopped his cannon from charging up automatically.

Gritting his jaws, he pushed the image aside. Even if he wanted to do so, he couldn’t react like Prime, so that left him no choice but to be himself. And if he didn’t meet Starscream’s standards, well, Starscream could go to the Pit. Without giving himself any more time for doubt or second-guessing, he answered.

“If you climbed to the top of a tower, at least you’d enjoy the view,” he said bluntly, and Starscream looked back at him as though surprised at the silence being suddenly broken. “And I don’t know what it’s like to be in your position, but personally? If I were the kind of mech who’d never make the climb, never take that step and never even attempt to fly, I would deserve to fall.”

Starscream tilted his head a little to one side as if trying to observe him from a different angle, but when he spoke, it was in a murmur. “I can’t decide whether that’s inspiring or inhumane.”

“It’s inviting,” Megatron said softly. “It’s how Decepticons flirt, didn’t you know?”

A smile drifted across Starscream’s lips and was gone. Without saying anything, he leaned nearer, and that was enough. Megatron closed the distance between them, no more words spoken and none needed when he pulled Starscream into his arms.

It felt so good. That lovely, clever mouth yielding to his, the soft urgent sounds muffled by the contact. Starscream’s lips parted in both demand and submission, and Megatron deepened the kiss, desire spiraling into a need so intense it devoured him. He kissed his way down over Starscream’s jawline and throat. Starscream moaned, and didn’t resist when Megatron pushed him against the divan, though he held on tightly and drew Megatron down with him. His hands moved hungrily over Megatron’s frame as though trying to touch him everywhere at once.

There was far less space on the divan than on Megatron’s berth, but it didn’t matter. There was a desperation in their interfacing that made every kiss more intimate, and every caress a more intense shock of sensation. He wanted to prolong this for as long as he could because he didn’t know if it would ever happen again, but the effort crumbled under Starscream’s hands gently stroking the sensors in his side vents, under Starscream’s mouth biting his shoulder. He overloaded hard, shuddering uncontrollably, every breath wrenched from him in a gasp until the pleasure finally faded into a deep satiation and he sank down against Starscream’s tense and heated frame.

That brought him back to himself much more quickly than would have happened otherwise. He didn’t usually succumb like that, and much preferred to make his partners overload first, savoring his control over them before he allowed them to return the favor. But of course everything was different with Starscream, even this, though Megatron felt too content to dwell on it for now.

And he had something more important occupying his attention, anyway. He cupped Starscream’s cheek in one hand, holding him steady for another deep slow kiss, and drew away only to nibble teasingly at Starscream’s lips. Optics that had already deepened to a clotted crimson turned dark. Starscream arched under him as Megatron explored the insides of his shoulder-vents and the air inlets below, putting to good use the lessons he’d learned from watching Starscream touch himself. Then he slid a hand lower and slipped his fingers through the slight gaps in the armor at Starscream’s hip joints to rub firmly against the receptor nodes inside.

Starscream groaned, and his head fell back, baring his neck like an offering. Unable to resist that, Megatron pressed his face against the pliant metal, alternating tender nuzzles with an unexpected bite that made Starscream jerk with release, and licking at the shallow dent to draw the overload out for as long as he could. The cries that escaped Starscream vibrated up through his plating and into Megatron’s, louder than the top-speed whir of fans and sweeter than any surrender had ever been.

Still breathing fast, Megatron slid off him as best he could without rolling off the divan. Starscream’s optics were offline and he didn’t move, other than his rigid grasp on Megatron’s shoulders turning to a slow soft caress that was somehow just as arousing as when he’d slid his fingers deep to find sensitive spots beneath Megatron’s armor. If he kept it up, Megatron would have to take this to the berth, but for now he was content to simply lie there and watch Starscream do whatever he pleased. He liked the contrast of the blue fingers against his own silver armor, and the smooth contours of the red fuselage with the rough purr of powerful engines beneath.

But just beyond was the clamp of the brace that held a useless wing rigid, and every time Megatron saw that, he disliked it a little more. “Starscream?”

“Mm?” Starscream murmured.

“Are your wings an erogenous zone?”

Starscream’s optics onlined. “They were.”

There was no more dreamy satisfaction in his voice, and when he pulled away, Megatron got up and let him stand. Without looking at him, Starscream disappeared into the washrack, and a moment later there was a muffled sound of solvent running. Though it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the curses Megatron muttered under his breath. He knew Starscream wouldn’t want him in the washrack this time.

The workstation lit up with an incoming message, so Megatron had no choice but to sit down before the terminal. “Yes, Soundwave?”

“Megatron. Urgent incoming transmission from Twister.”

Twister was the mech who Megatron had placed in charge of security at the oilfield at the Rust Sea, a dull but necessary assignment best suited for a mech who’d already been damaged badly in battle and could use some R&R while still being useful. “Go ahead,” he said, wondering if the Altihex surveyors and scientists had reached the oilfield already and had started causing trouble somehow.

The screen flickered, to be replaced by an image of Twister’s face. “Sir.” His voice was strained and exhausted. “The oilfield has been destroyed.”

“What?” Megatron leaned forward, unbelieving.

“We couldn’t stop them, sir, there were about a dozen of them. We got clear, but—”

“Who did this?” Megatron demanded.

“The Autobots.”

Chapter Text

“It was not the Autobots, sir.”

Shockwave was waiting for Megatron in the command center and he indicated a screen showing the feed from one of the oilfield's security cameras. Twister had had the presence of mind to grab that before he’d transformed to his helicopter alt-mode and escaped, but it was difficult to make out the mechs on the film, though one was a light assault vehicle and another an armored car with harpoon-like weapons mounted on its roof. The red insignias were clear enough, though.

Soundwave zoomed in on those until they filled the entire screen, and Megatron saw what Shockwave was getting at. The Autobot sigil looked unremarkable from a distance, but up very close the edges were blurred—no, smeared, as though they had been applied at speed. Soundwave looked at the Decepticon insignia on Megatron’s chestplate, then transmitted the image capture to the screen and repeated the process. The purple edges stayed razor-sharp.

“In any event, targeting valuable resources is a level to which the Autobots have not yet descended,” Shockwave said, rubbing the barrel of his gun hand with the other palm. “Even if they somehow discovered that we had found this oil field.”

It was highly unlikely that some passer-by had stumbled across an oilfield on the edge of an area as deserted as the Rust Sea, so whoever was responsible had to have known about the oilfield. That meant either a Decepticon, or one of the two or three Decepticon-allied civilians who’d worked on the site, or someone in Altihex. Well, that narrows it down, Megatron thought grimly.

Or Starscream. He’d almost forgotten about that, but Starscream had known too.

“Megatron,” Soundwave said. “Incoming transmission from Altihex—”

“Vantage. Of course.” Megatron rubbed his temples hard, then straightened up. “Put him through.”

The screen flickered and resolved itself into Vantage’s face, set hard and clearly furious. “Just what do you think you are playing at?” he demanded.

“The destruction of that oilfield had nothing to do with us, Vantage,” Megatron said evenly.

“Really?” Vantage lifted his optic ridges. “Because you benefited the most from it. You have my troops, while Altihex has nothing. And given that the Autobots were directly responsible, I’m no longer convinced that when you spoke about attacking them, you did so in good faith. Perhaps your hostility towards them is merely an act—”

“That’s enough.” Megatron didn’t normally interrupt other politicians when he wanted to stay on their good sides, but he’d had enough of the conspiracy theorizing. “Whoever did this, it wasn’t the Autobots either, but some mechs masquerading as them. My communications officer, Soundwave, is transmitting security footage taken at the site. The sigils those mechs are wearing might look like the Autobot emblem, but they weren’t professionally applied.”

There was a long pause while Vantage glanced aside, presumably at another screen which displayed the transmission from Soundwave, and to Megatron’s relief, he sounded less angry when he said, “If this wasn’t caused by the Autobots, who’s responsible?”

“Someone with a vested interest in pitting the two of us against each other,” Megatron said. Naturally, the first mech who came to mind was Starscream. “I suggest we not give them the satisfaction.”

Vantage’s lips twisted in something between a smile and a sneer. “We still expect compensation for our contribution to your war effort. Compensation at least as valuable as that oilfield.”

“Naturally. I’ll arrange it as fast as possible.”

“Or the Altihex militia doesn’t move a mechanometer. Contact me as soon as you’ve finalized arrangements.”

The transmission ended, and as his two lieutenants turned to him, waiting for instructions, Megatron looked down at his hands where they’d gripped the arms of his chair hard enough to leave finger-shaped dents. He released the servos slowly.

“The Altihex militia is currently our closest threat,” he said, thinking aloud. “I doubt Vantage is going to be reckless enough to order them into battle against us, but let’s be certain of it. Tomorrow, they’ll enjoy the hospitality of Polyhex—plenty of free high-grade, entertainment, luxury treatments, and so on.” Vantage had to think in terms of the big picture, but Megatron knew what foot soldiers found more important. “See to it, Shockwave. I’ll settle matters with Vantage.”

“Yes, sir.” Shockwave got up.

“And send a team out to that oilfield. I want the remains surveyed and any available forensic data gathered.” Megatron rose to his feet as well. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my quarters.”

He couldn’t shake the conviction that Starscream was involved in this somehow.

The problem, Megatron realized at once, was that he had no evidence at all behind that suspicion, which was why he hadn’t mentioned it earlier. Shockwave had a very low tolerance for gut feelings, even those of his supreme commander, and Megatron didn’t relish the idea of looking either foolish or paranoid in front of his subordinates. If even a single Seeker had been caught on film… but the security footage showed nothing of the sort, and Twister hadn’t reported any flyers present either. The mechs who’d attacked the oilfield, he’d said, had approached on the flat-topped ferry which brought supplies from the shore.

And Starscream couldn’t even have told anyone about the oilfield, since his comm had been removed in Altihex. If it had been replaced, Megatron knew Hook would have made certain that was authorized—and more importantly, paid for, which had never happened.

So there was really nothing at all connecting Starscream to this, other than the fact that he loathed Vantage and would obviously have done anything to shatter the alliance. Megatron entered his quarters in a mood as foul as it was frustrated, and it was not soothed by the sight of Starscream stretched as comfortably as possible on the divan, reading a book, clean and shining after a trip to the washrack. He didn’t look up from the book until Megatron spoke.

“The oilfield I traded to Vantage as part of our payment for his support has been destroyed.” Megatron didn’t waste any time. “Did you have anything to do with it?”

“Me?” Starscream stared at him. “You think I flew over there on my nonfunctional wings and shot up the place with the guns I don’t have while simultaneously fragging you on the couch? Even I’m not that good.” He switched off the datapad and levered himself to a sitting position. “What on Cybertron put that into your head?”

“You want Altihex to pay for what happened to you, and destroying our alliance—”

“What happened to me?” Starscream’s voice was even more unpleasantly scratchy than usual, but the contempt and fury came through clearly. “It didn’t just happen, like rainfall.”

Megatron ignored that. “Whoever was responsible for the act of cowardly sabotage, it didn’t work. Vantage will accept some other form of payment for his troops, and the Altihex militia will march out with us, as we planned.”

Starscream raised his hands and did a slow clap. It was the last insolence Megatron could tolerate for that night.

“Get out of my sight,” he snapped.

“With pleasure,” Starscream said venomously, and went to the room he recharged in, making sure to slam the door shut behind him.

The faint sound of music drifted in from the open window. Megatron stood listening, relieved that his plan was playing out more or less as he’d hoped. The first fuel train for Altihex had left that morning, since Vantage had grudgingly agreed to accept that as payment in lieu of the oilfield, and the Constructicons had hastily set up a huge stage along with an equally imposing vidscreen just outside the city. It was still late afternoon, but come nightfall, spotlights three hundred feet off the ground would illuminate the area and the entertainment would kick into high gear.

Megatron had made a brief speech to the Altihex militia that morning, telling them of the sneak attack meant to damage the alliance between their two cities, and how the alliance still held firm. Hairtrigger and his aides did not look impressed, but the rank-and-file cheered loudly, and from the sounds of it, the celebration was beginning. Megatron hadn’t stayed for that, because no one needed the leader of an army socializing with the lower ranks, but being in his quarters meant he was reminded that Starscream was still in his room, a closed door standing like a wall between the two of them.

Megatron was no more sure of Starscream’s guilt or innocence in the matter than he had been last night. He relied on his instincts, and those instincts told him Starscream wasn’t to be trusted. But at the same time, he wasn’t running the sort of regime where anyone could be suspected of criminal behavior without a shred of evidence, and be treated accordingly. Ruthlessness was fine with him, but stupidity and short-sightedness were not.

And while Starscream had been disrespectful, Megatron supposed reluctantly that he himself might have reacted the same way if he’d been accused of involvement in a plot he hadn’t even known about. He wondered how to go about patching matters up between them. Maybe he could—

The door to Starscream’s room opened and he came out, though he stayed just outside the doorway as though wary about proceeding any further. He looked tired, the glow of his optics dimmed. “About last night,” he began. “I apologize for what I said.”

It was the last thing Megatron had expected to hear, and for a moment he just stared at Starscream, who folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “Don’t give me that look,” he said.

“What look?” Megatron asked.

“The look that says you’re waiting for me to do something outrageous now that I’ve caught you off-guard.”

“Will you?”

The curl of Starscream’s mouth was only slightly sardonic. “I’m not going to answer that on the grounds that it might incriminate me.” He glanced at the dispenser. “Could I get some energon? My fuel level’s in the red.”

“Try not to hide in your room for joors and that won’t happen,” Megatron said as he punched in his code.

“You told me to get out of your sight. What was I supposed to do?” Starscream accepted the cube and drank it off in a matter of moments. Since he seemed all right for now, there was nothing more Megatron needed to do there, so he started to close the window before he left for the command center.

“Wait,” Starscream said. “Could you leave it open?”

“Why?” Megatron asked. Open windows were security risks, and he didn’t need any other unpleasant surprises.

“So I can listen to that. We like music.”

By we, he obviously meant Seekers. “Do you play an instrument?” Megatron asked curiously.

“No, but sometimes we sang together.”

The answer came like a simple statement of fact, without a trace of self-pity, but obviously any such diversion was over for Starscream. Megatron was used to the strangely-pitched rasping voice that sounded as though it was half choked with static, especially since he’d never heard anything different from Starscream. But even if he rejoined the other Seekers, any songs he managed to produce would be far from melodious.

Still, listening to distant music wasn’t much to ask for, so Megatron shrugged, but before he could leave his quarters, the door chimed, and a security guard came in with a mech who took a quick peek at Megatron before fixing his optics on the floor. “I’m one of the perimeter sentries, sir. I’m off-duty now,” he added hastily, as though worried Megatron would leap to the conclusion that he’d deserted his post. “One of the Altihex militia gave me a data chip and asked me to pass it on you, sir.”

“It’s been scanned, sir,” the security guard added. “No viruses or any other malware detected.”

Megatron took the chip. “Did he say what this is about?”

“A private message for you, sir,” the sentry said, optics still firmly downcast.

As curious as he was wary, Megatron dismissed them both, then slid the chip into a slot on his workstation terminal, angling the screen so that only he could see it. A message immediately flashed up.

My name is Brawl and I must speak to you urgently. Alone. I’m not allowed to leave the Altihex camp alone because they think I’m an informer, but this matter is too serious. Come to the camp in six joors time. Please. We need to talk.

There was nothing else. Megatron read the words over again swiftly, in case there were patterns spelling out a coded phrase or anything of the sort, but when he found nothing, he wiped the chip and sat back in his chair, frowning. What could this be about?

Abruptly he remembered that he wasn’t alone, but even if his perplexity had showed, Starscream’s attention was elsewhere. With his feet propped up, he sat in the window-seat, leaning a little towards the window as though he didn’t want to miss any of the music.

“Starscream,” Megatron said, and Starscream turned with a slightly surprised look. “When you were in Altihex, did you know of or hear of a mech called Brawl?”

“No.”

It had been a long shot, since Starscream was hardly likely to have crossed paths with an ordinary member of the militia rank-and-file. Megatron turned the terminal off and got up from his workstation.

“What’s this about?” Starscream asked.

Megatron supposed there was no harm in answering that. “Whoever he is, he wants to speak to me in six hours’ time about an urgent matter which he didn’t elaborate on.”

Starscream snorted. “And how does he plan to explain a rendezvous in Darkmount to his superiors?”

“He won’t. He asks to meet me in the militia camp.”

“But you’re not going.” Starscream paused, clearly waiting for agreement. “Are you?”

“Why, what do you think they’ll do to me?”

“Anything they want, once you’re outnumbered three thousand to one.”

“I won’t be going alone. I’ll have a bodyguard.” Megatron could tell from the way Starscream’s mouth tightened that he’d barely prevented himself from asking what difference one more mech would make against an army, so he continued. “And they won’t be stupid enough to try anything—not so soon, anyway. I have no doubt Vantage envisions a future where the Decepticons have gone the way of the Autobots, but if he orders an attack on me now, he loses an ally. He’s not going to discard our agreement until he’s squeezed every last drop of use from it.”

Starscream lowered his feet to the floor. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “That’s exactly what he plans to do.”

Megatron had never doubted his own read on the alliance, cynical though it was, but at the same time, he hadn’t thought it would be independently confirmed either. He turned the chair around so it faced the window, and sat down.

“What do you know about Vantage?” he asked, doing his best to keep the urgency out of his voice.

“I can tell you this much. He had a plan to make himself the ultimate power on Cybertron.”

“Had?” Megatron asked, seizing on the most hopeful part of that revelation.

Starscream’s optics narrowed to red slits. “He ran into a certain problem, which I hope for all our sakes he’ll never overcome. Because if he ever got what he wanted, no one on this planet would be safe from him.”

“This problem,” Megatron said, wondering what in the world Vantage’s plan was, “did it have anything to do with my acquiring you as a prisoner?”

“It has something to do with me. And that’s all I can say.” Starscream turned and looked out of the window again, the conversation clearly at an end.

Megatron struggled to control a frustration so intense that it gnawed at him as though it had teeth. What the frag could Vantage’s plan be? Something that would make him stronger than Megatron, more powerful than Prime? And what did that have to do with Starscream?

He could be lying, he thought. After all, there was nothing Starscream wanted more than to destroy the Altihex alliance, and wouldn’t this be an easy way to do it? He didn’t even need to come up with specifics for this supposed Grand Scheme of World Domination; he just made some vague statements unburdened by evidence of any kind. Not that Megatron trusted Vantage one iota more as a result, but he reminded himself that he couldn’t take anything Starscream said as the truth either.

So without another word, he got up and left for the command center, where he sent a message summoning one of the Insecticons, who arrived in Darkmount half a joor later. “Deathshead reporting, sir,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ll accompany me to the Altihex militia’s camp,” Megatron said, and led the way out. Deathshead followed a pace behind, helm turning a little from one side to another as she listened to everything around them. Her optics were twice the size they should have been, but they were completely lightless.

The sun was setting by the time they reached the militia camp—on foot, because Megatron couldn’t take a chance on Deathshead using her wings. The entertainment was well under way by then, the cheers and shouts almost as loud as the music thudding through the air, but the camp’s sentries were at their posts around the low perimeter wall, watchful and alert as the two Decepticons approached. Megatron expected no less professionalism. The sentry he chose saluted with one hand, the other holding a rifle upright.

“Lord Megatron,” he said. “What can we do for you?”

“There’s a mech in your militia called Brawl. I’d like to speak to him.”

The sentry looked doubtful. “Brawl?” He paused as though waiting for clarification, but didn’t get any. “Just a klik, sir. I’ll have to comm someone.”

Megatron had hoped that Brawl would be brought to him and they could speak outside the camp, but the mech who arrived introduced himself as Caltrop. “I’m Brawl’s commanding officer,” he said. “May I ask what this is about?”

“I’d prefer to speak in private,” Megatron said, so Caltrop led him and Deathshead past the perimeter line and to a shelter made from thin but opaque sheets of flexible plastic that rustled as they slid away for Megatron to enter. Deathshead followed, and Megatron didn’t miss the curious look that Caltrop gave the Insecticon. Deathshead might look unnerving, with her long insectile limbs and large optics that reflected light while holding none of their own, but she barely reached Megatron’s shoulder and her frame was slender to the point of spindliness, so she made an unconvincing bodyguard.

“So.” Caltrop stepped in, and the shelter resealed itself, internal lights snapping on automatically. “What’s this about, Lord Megatron? Because if Brawl has attempted to contact you in the hopes that he can jump ship to an army which isn’t aware of his insubordination… well, I would hope any such attempt gets the reception it deserves.”

Megatron hadn’t thought anyone would be stupid enough to try tricking the leader of the Decepticons in such a way, but if this Brawl was trying to gain some sympathy because he was in trouble with his superiors, he’d soon find that he’d gone from the smelting pit to the actual Pit. Still, the possibility of getting some answers couldn’t be overlooked, so Megatron only said, “I need to speak with Brawl in private.”

“I’m afraid that as his squad captain, I need to be present if he’s speaking to the commander of another army. I can’t have him lying to you or even insulting you.”

Which made perfect sense. A Decepticon subcommander would have insisted on the same thing if some outsider had wanted a private word with one of his subordinates. But that was the whole reason Megatron had brought Deathshead with him.

“Do it,” he said over a private channel, and Deathshead hissed softly. Caltrop glanced at her, startled, just as the smooth curved wing-covers on her back began to slide apart.

And the shelter entrance peeled back at the same time. “Stop!” Megatron snapped, and Deathshead froze. A sentry stepped inside, saluting to Caltrop.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” he said with a respectful nod that included Megatron. “But someone came to the perimeter asking for you, Lord Megatron.” He stepped aside, and another sentry entered, dragging Starscream by an arm.

What in the Pit? Megatron managed to bite back the words before he could blurt them out, because the last thing he wanted was to look like a fool in front of outsiders. Or in front of anyone, for that matter. Starscream tried to pull away, optics blazing, and the sentry shook him so hard that his wings rattled like the scrap they were.

“Let him go,” Megatron said harshly, and after a moment’s hesitation, the sentry did so. “He couldn’t harm anyone if he tried.”

Starscream looked even more infuriated at that, but had enough sense to stay silent. Caltrop dismissed both sentries, then turned back to Megatron.

“What exactly is going on here?” he asked, and there was no more courtesy in his tone. He sounded on the verge of calling the sentries back to have them all thrown out.

“Now,” Megatron said. Deathshead’s wing-covers snapped back with a metallic click, and Megatron grabbed Starscream’s wrist, pulling him off-balance and spinning him around before he could recover, so his back was to Deathshead. Megatron turned as well. Behind him there was a sibilant rush of something moving swiftly through the air, like great flags unfolding in a snap of astroseconds. Caltrop gasped, and went silent.

“What—” Starscream began.

“Shut up,” Megatron said, every strut locked taut. He pulled a small mirror from subspace with his free hand and held it up, angling it so he could see over his shoulder, behind him.

Deathshead’s wings were fully spread now, revealed in all their nightmarish glory. Caltrop stood unmoving, mesmerized by the intricate patterns that slid liquidly across those wings, and she glided closer to him, feet soundless on the floor. She reached up to her face and popped the blank red lenses of her optics free, letting them drop into her palm.

In the sockets there was circuitry, but even a mech with no medical training whatsoever would never have mistaken that for anything to do with an optical system. The wires that twisted and coiled over each other began to extend forward, out of Deathshead’s helm, filaments snaking through the air towards Caltrop.

“Don’t kill him,” Megatron said tensely. “Tell him he decided it would be best to allow Brawl to speak with me. Outside the camp.”

Deathshead nodded—she never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary—and the filaments touched Caltrop’s face, slid through tiny gaps where one armor plate met another, and connected with the neurocircuitry beneath. After that, it was only a matter of kliks before Deathshead broke the connection. She reeled the filaments back into place and pressed her optics back in to cover them, wings sinking down against her spinal strut and folding in on themselves as they did so. With a click, her wingcase covers came together again, like two cupped hands closing, and Megatron put the mirror away as he turned.

Caltrop shook his head a little as though he’d briefly lost his train of thought while speaking. “I’m sorry, what was I saying?” he asked.

“Something about Brawl,” Megatron prompted.

“Oh yes, I’ll send for him.” Caltrop left the shelter and as Megatron had expected, the two sentries were waiting only a few yards away, clearly waiting for orders or for any sign that they’d be needed to back their officer up. Thankfully Deathshead could exercise her ability in near-silence, with no obvious effects once she was done.

Megatron had occasionally thought of utilizing her more often, but Deathshead’s appearance and demeanor worked against her in that regard. She stood out far too much to be an effective assassin, and given her blindness, she disliked going into strange places. On top of that, if she wasn’t reminded of priorities, she indulged her own impulses, and if she had done that, Caltrop wouldn’t have been able to walk away under his own steam, much less give orders to anyone.

But now he told the sentries to find Brawl, then escort him and the Decepticons outside the camp, and while they scurried to obey, Megatron turned to Starscream. “How did you get here?” he demanded.

Starscream pulled his arm free of Megatron’s grip. “The window was open, so I followed you.”

Of course, he still had thrusters and anti-grav. “And just what are you planning to do?”

“I’m not going to kill anyone or cause a diplomatic incident, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Starscream angled his head defiantly high. “I just—don’t trust any of them. That’s all.”

He was lying, Megatron could tell, but there was no time to settle that now. The question was what to do with him. Megatron thought of telling Deathshead to take him back to Polyhex, but firstly, it was lunacy to ask a blind mech to provide such an escort. And secondly, Starscream would die at some point during that journey if he tried anything clever.

“Fine,” he said, not bothering to hide his fury. “You’ll come with us, but you’ll do as you’re told and nothing else. Because that restriction aid is still in place and I have the activation module. Understand?”

“Yes,” Starscream said through jaws clamped together, and followed him out of the shelter, Deathshead bringing up the rear. One of the sentries had approached with a hulking mech whose drab brown and deep green armor looked even darker in the dimming light. He was another tankformer, Megatron realized, but his treads were along the outer surfaces of his arms, and his face was mostly hidden behind a mask and a green visor.

“Brawl,” he said, and there was a slight pause. “Reporting as ordered. Sir.”

Megatron nodded, and the sentry took them to the perimeter wall. Once they were beyond it, Megatron led them a short distance away, enough that no one could hear them, and then he turned to Brawl. “All right, let’s hear it.”

Brawl shifted his weight from one massive foot to another. “Uh…” He tilted his head back and stared straight up before looking back at Megatron. “I buried it,” he blurted out. “Outside the camp, so they wouldn’t find it if they searched me.”

If Starscream hadn’t also looked confused at that bizarre explanation, Megatron would have wondered if he’d missed something. “Buried what?” he asked. Anything seemed possible, from treasure to a corpse.

“The evidence.” Brawl started off, then turned his head to say over his shoulder, “I knew you wouldn’t just take my word for it, ‘cause who would? So there’s evidence. This way.”

He set as fast a pace as a heavily built tankformer could manage, but Megatron stayed several mechanometers behind, suspicion growing as Brawl put more and more distance between himself and the militia camp, heading eastwards. It was growing darker now. Megatron turned and glanced behind him. The camp was still in sight, but it was far enough that he couldn’t make out any details. A huge spotlight on a high post lit up like a full moon.

“Wait,” he ordered, and Brawl stopped. “How much further?”

“It’s there, sir.” Brawl pointed. “I couldn’t risk burying it out here where anyone could have seen.”

The militia camp sprawled directly before the gates of Polyhex, on ground trampled into flatness by millenia of trade and military excursions. Towards the eastern horizon, though, mountains rose high, and they began in the foothills towards which Brawl now pointed. They were barely visible as the last light of evening began to fade, but after a moment Megatron realized that what he’d taken for the shade beneath an outcropping was actually the mouth of a cave.

It was possible Brawl could have hidden something there. It was equally possible that this was a trap, and while Megatron still didn’t think Vantage would want him dead so soon, some other enemy might be behind this.

“Stay back,” he said to Starscream. “Deathshead, with me.”

Brawl had almost reached the cave by then, but he paused and looked up at the clouds massing overhead, masses of shadow in the gloom. Megatron kept perhaps ten mechanometers between them, charging up his fusion cannon as he did so. He scanned the area around them, but nothing moved among the foothills. Deathshead hissed in nervous tension, insectile limbs quivering.

“I’ll bring it out, sir,” Brawl called out, and dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled inside the cave and Megatron thought, now. Now the trap, whatever it was, would be sprung. An ambush from mechs staying low where the foothills provided some cover? Or an attack from the sky, from assault choppers? Was that why Brawl had looked up before removing himself from the field? And yet, even with every sense alert, Megatron couldn’t hear the distinctive thrumming of rotors. His cannon was ready to fire, and he shifted instinctively into a defensive stance, right arm lifting to aim at the cave.

The entire hill exploded.