Chapter Text
Venting heavily, Optimus glanced around the battlefield. The tentative truce between the Autobots and Decepticons against Unicron made for an odd if familiar sight. The synchronization displayed by the two factions as they fought as one against a common enemy more than showcased how well they knew each other’s moves. It was also a bitter reminder of how things could be, how things should be. Millions of years at war and what had they to show for it? A dark, empty husk that was once their home planet, depleting energon reserves on both sides, and countless, unnecessary losses.
Megatron’s bellow of rage across the battlefield gave Optimus pause and it was hardly the first time. From the moment he onlined and first encountered the Decepticon leader, something pulsed within in him, just behind his spark. It had happened every time they met, and he’d eventually sought out Ratchet for an opinion. Predictably, the medic had been irate to learn that the Autobot leader had been experiencing these pulses long before he’d brought it to the CMO’s attention. He’d appeased Ratchet by volunteering for a scan and a thorough check-up. When nothing had come up, Ratchet speculated that the Matrix, which was located directly behind his spark, was the culprit.
The medic grumbled about how Megatron would incur the ire of Primus if the god even existed. He still insisted on periodic scans and routine check-ups with the Prime and subtly inquired if the other bots ever experienced something similar, though nothing changed and no one reported any such experience.
Optimus had neglected to inform Ratchet that the pulses were always accompanied by strong feelings; a deep yearning and sorrow, and strangely enough, fondness. Optimus had spent vorns pondering the inexplicable pull he felt towards the other mech. He was his most dedicated enemy, and perhaps in kind, Optimus was his. Appallingly enough, he found that he admired Megatron and respected him, though he tried to convince himself that it was simply because of his leadership role, well that or he was glitched. Ratchet had given him a suspicious glare when he’d requested a processor check-up and offered no particular reason as to why.
Megatron often claimed he was weak when Optimus would gain the upper hand in battle and refuse to end him, but something always held him back. He steadfastly refused to offline the Decepticon leader and he couldn’t fathom why. The high council had instructed him on what his function as Prime included when he’d onlined, but he could not accept what they demanded of him; there was an intrinsic wrongness about it and the eagerness in their optics churned his tanks. Their sparks had been extinguished not long after the uprising when they’d barricaded themselves in the senate building; although Optimus disapproved of the excessive violence wrought upon their frames before they offlined, he was puzzled to find himself relieved.
Upon the next meeting between the two faction leaders, Megatron looked at him expectantly, almost hopeful, and inquired what Optimus had thought about his victory. The speech Optimus gave him tasted bland on his glossa and rang with half-truths he himself did not believe. Megatron’s expression gradually fell away and was replaced with a sneer; he drew himself up, posture rigid as energon dripped from his clenched servos. The pulses got stronger and not for the first time, Optimus found himself nearly overcome with guilt after interacting with the Decepticon.
After vorns of battles with the mech, Optimus was able to decipher the look on Megatron’s faceplate, the expression in his optics that he’d displayed after he boasted about slaughtering the high council and awaited Optimus’s opinion, it was vulnerability.
The understanding had, of course, come at the stalemate of yet another battle when both factions had moved to retreat. The towering silver mech had glanced around the battlefield at the decimated ruins of Iacon and shuttered his optics in grief. It was a captivating sight that made his spark twist and the urge to reassure him nearly overrode his protocols. Onlining his optics, the warlord stared at the Prime with such a profound look of regret and pity that Optimus slowly retreated first, joining his team as they departed from the once prestigious city.
It would not be the last time Megatron looked at him in such a way, though it happened less and less as the war progressed. Often, the silver mech appeared tired beneath the bravado and for reasons he could not explain, Optimus felt compelled to soothe him. In the early stages of the war, he’d wondered if the Matrix was calling out to Megatron, if perhaps it had belonged with the Decepticon leader all along. Ratchet, of course, was quick to bash his helm with a wrench from his subspace and proceeded to lecture him for the rest of the cycle.
* * * *
“Are you glitching, Prime, or are you going to make yourself useful?” Megatron grunted, startling Optimus from his musings. The warlord had his weapons braced in front of himself, chassis heaving as he glared between the Unmaker and the leader of the Autobots.
“Both, I suspect,” Optimus replied, oddly calm about what he was about to do. He caught the confused look the silver mech threw at him and fond urgency moved his servos; he opened his spark chamber and reached inside. The battlefield stilled, every bot regarded him with varying looks of bafflement. He retrieved the Matrix; the shining, golden object thrummed in his servos as he absent-mindedly traced the glyphs along the thin cords of twisted metal.
“Optimus?” the unease in Ratchet’s voice gained his attention. His team was clearly worried. The others stared at him in awe and confusion and it registered that this was the first time many of them had seen the Matrix.
“It’s alright, old friend, I think,” he added, cautiously.
“You think!?” the grumpy CMO demanded and for a nanoklik, Optimus wasn’t convinced that a battle with Unicron, the Unmaker himself, would be enough to stop Ratchet from subspacing a wrench and denting his helm for the frustratingly vague reply.
Megatron was glaring at the Matrix, his red optics narrowed in displeasure. Soundwave had appeared at Megatron’s shoulder in a show of silent support and Shockwave merely stared at the Matrix, his single optic studying the object almost distrustfully. Again, it pulsed, but for the first time, there was a jolt, almost like a charge of gold lightning, it was warm and inviting though as it danced along his digits.
“Well, Prime,” the warlord spat, “Whatever you’re going to do, I suggest you do it.”
Optimus nodded and focused on the Matrix; he turned the thin metal cords until the glyphs lined up and suddenly it was engulfed in a blinding gold light, enveloping his servos. The feelings became words and memories not his own from several cycles prior to his onlining flooded his processor.
“Oh,” he ex vented, looking up at Megatron with such profound understanding. “He loves you, so much,” he nodded once more to himself, suddenly and finally understanding the mech’s motivation after so long.
The warlord shuttered his optics in shock and involuntarily reared back.
“What?” he rasped, suddenly unsteady on his peds, prompting Soundwave to support him.
Optimus gazed thoughtfully at the Matrix and pulled it apart.
The battlefield was bathed in the same blinding, gold light, like a solar flare, before it faded. Unicron had escaped in the ensuing confusion, but there were several more mechs present; Shockwave’s frame fell around him in pieces, revealing a smaller, much more colorful mech with two optics. Starscream stared in disbelief as the new mech glared down at his former frame and delivered a vicious kick to the darkened helm before he glanced around.
“—You’re all glitched!” another smaller mech who greatly resembled Optimus announced, sounding furiously appalled. He was shorter, with a lithe frame, and nowhere near equipped for battle. “And if you think for even an astrosecond that Cybertron will stand for this—” he paused when he seemed to register his new audience and looked around in confusion.
“Hey, why’d ya stop?”
“Yeah, the boss will love this.”
The two mini-cons standing by the mech’s peds chimed in, though if one looked closer it was clear to see they were providing him with cover in addition to the commentary, positioned as they were.
“Well this might be a stretch, but it’s probably because we’re not even on Cybertron anymore,” a blue seeker dryly pointed out.
“Any clue where we are then, T.C.?” A purple seeker asked good-naturedly, though his posture remained stiff. He was scoping out the area when his optics landed on a stunned Starscream and he launched himself at the red seeker with an excited yell.
“Screamer! You’re here! T.C.! Everything’s good, Starscream’s here.”
“Never thought I’d hear that sentence,” Knock Out muttered, bewildered by the blatant affection the purple flight frame was lavishing on the Decepticon second in command.
Starscream mechanically gathered the excitable seeker into his arms and held him. Normally the medic’s comment would’ve earned him a returned insult at the very least, but he couldn’t tear his optics away from his trine mate.
“Skywarp? Thundercracker?” The red seeker managed to stutter out, frantically glancing between the two flight frames.
“Yeah, Star? Your frame’s shaking, what’s wrong?”
“I—you’re here?” he shrilly demanded, quickly losing his composure. “You’re really here?”
“Yes, Star, we’re here,” Thundercracker murmured, slowly approaching his distressed trine mate as Skywarp gently rubbed the trembling mech’s wings. “What’s happened? And where are we?”
“What is going on?” Arcee demanded, stalking forward, gun leveled at the newcomers.
“We were petitioning the high council—” the bot who appeared similar to Optimus began when the two mini-cons jumped into the conversation.
“Yeah, in the Senate building.”
“You know, on Cybertron, not this dusty rock of a wasteland.”
“So you mind telling us where we are?”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the femme muttered, dragging her optics away from the cluster of new Cybertronians. “Optimus, what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” he confessed, curious himself, though oddly calm. His spark was alone in his chassis for the first time since he’d onlined and it was a strange sensation.
“Orion,” Megatron whispered, staring at the mech who had appeared near Optimus. His claws dug into Soundwave’s shoulder plating, a silent command for the telepath to verify if it truly was the idealistic archivist from Iacon, his conjux endura. His spark thrummed and called out for the mech across the battlefield, but he’d suffered too many hopeful delusions over the vorns not to be wary.
“Orion Pax: Present,” Soundwave’s deep voice confirmed, though it was clear the communication officer’s attention was focused on the two cassettes accompanying the mech.
“Hey! The boss is here!” the blue mini-con cheered.
“Hey yeah, he’ll know what’s going on,” his twin agreed.
“Soundwave, Megatronus,” Orion ex vented softly, posture slumping in relief. “Have we escaped?”
“Great, more cons,” Bulkhead sighed as Arcee narrowed her optics at her leader.
“Optimus, what did the Matrix tell you? Why did it summon more Decepticons here?” she pressed, before raising her gun and pointing it at the approaching warlord. “Stand down, Megatron.”
“This does not concern you, Autobot,” he hissed.
“Like slag it doesn’t.”
“Arcee,” Optimus warned, but she wasn’t deterred by his disapproving tone.
“I want answers; we deserve an explanation for whatever this is.”
“And perhaps we all will receive one,” Megatron growled through gritted denta.
“—But you will lower your weapon,” Orion demanded, frame tense as he regarded Arcee with narrowed optics.
She glanced at him with a confused glower on her face plate.
“Not a chance, Decepticon.”
“It would appear,” the colorful mech who emerged from Shockwave’s armor interjected, stepping forward, “we’re no longer in the presence of the high council,” he raised his servos placatingly when Arcee trained her gun on him. “However, I suspect we’re in the presence of its supporters.”
“I think enforcers would be a more apt term, all things considering,” the red mini-con muttered.
“Senator Shockwave, you’re alright!” Orion exclaimed.
“Indeed, I am, Orion,” the mech assured him, offering a gentle smile.
“Senator?” Starscream muttered, looking to be on the verge of glitching.
“You’re on Earth,” Optimus supplied, before glancing at Megatron, “and the council has been extinguished.”
“What?”
“It’s true” Megatron confirmed, gazing at Orion with a soft look in his optics. “I saw to it, personally.”
The smaller mech closed the distance between them and cupped his face plate.
“Megatronus, thank you.”
“Of course, sweetspark.”
“He slaughtered the high council, started a war, and you’re thanking him?” Arcee scoffed, incredulous.
“The high council were tyrants,” Megatron growled.
“That’s a joke coming from you.”
“I only ever sought equality, your precious council was content to let the caste system continue to keep us divided. A rebellion was inevitable."
“Megatronus has prevented the council from committing heinous acts,” Orion protested.
“By committing them himself? I don’t know who you all are or how you’re here or why, but we’ve been at war for millions of years and Cybertron is . . .”
“Millions of—that’s not possible,” Thundercracker muttered.
“We were only just before the council,” Orion affirmed. “Megatronus?”
“It has been a long time since I’ve seen you, Orion Pax, far too long.”
“I—I do not understand.”
“Perhaps we might extend our ceasefire and explain,” Optimus proposed.
“Yes, that would be for the best,” Shockwave cordially replied, even as he subtly positioned himself between Optimus and Orion. “However, I think it would be prudent for us to first reacquaint ourselves with each other, as much has changed.”
“You really expect us to let you—”
“That is understandable,” Optimus accepted, effectively cutting off Arcee’s protests, before addressing the Decepticon leader. “If you would be amendable, I suggest we all regroup after an orn and proceed from there.”
“Agreed. I trust you will choose a neutral location?”
“Yes.”
“Very well then. Soundwave, bridge us back to the Nemesis.”