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Optimus should have predicted this. Actually he suspected a lot of people had, if the amount of side-eyeing and just-barely-audible muttering was anything to go by. But at the same time, he couldn’t honestly say much could have been done to prevent it. It was like a force of nature, a natural phenomenon or, more accurately…
“It’s all his fault!” Starscream shrieked, jabbing one soot soaked finger at Wheeljack.
“ Me? ” the equally sooty Wheeljack replied, voice rising with indignation. “ You’re the one who–!”
…a natural disaster.
And, alright, maybe allowing Starscream unrestricted access to the lab while Wheeljack was working and while Skyfire wasn’t there to mediate had been a bit of an oversight, but he’d been doing so well . No murder attempts, no weapons of mass destruction, not even that many death threats, all things considered. And while Optimus couldn’t say with certainty that Starscream wasn’t plotting anything at all, his scientific prowess and surprisingly good managerial skills had been vital in bringing Cybertron that bit closer to the peaceful haven they all dreamed of.
So naturally, he and Wheeljack had somehow managed to destroy not only their lab, but also fill the entire Decepticon Command Quarters with stinking, sticky smoke. The whole building had to be fumigated; most likely deep cleaned and repainted as well. The Constructioncons were debating whether it would be more worthwhile to simply demolish and rebuild the whole thing. This, naturally, had led to a lot of displaced, disgruntled Decepticons.
Still, Optimus could see a silver lining. Whereas just a few lunar cycles before, the Decepticons would have returned to the dingy halls of the Nemesis or, worse yet, been forced to pitch a few tents, most had already found accommodation with their new Autobots friends. Hot Rod, of course, had leapt at the chance to invite Soundwave to stay with him. Clobber was already planning a slumber party with Alpha Strike. Skye-Byte was confident that Jetfire would put him up, and Shadow Striker had taken Windblade and Bumblebee’s invitation, albeit somewhat reluctantly. It seemed a given that Shockwave would stay with Wheejack and Starscream would return to the Seekers’ Aerie until Skyfire returned. So that only left…
“Megatron,” said Optimus, trying his best to school his expression, “the decision is yours, but know that my door is always open to you.”
Megatron stopped glowering for a moment and gave him a… complicated look. Their relationship had improved, dramatically so, but there remained a gulf between them that would not be so easily healed.
But Optimus would always, always try.
“I’ll think about it,” Megatron grunted, which was exactly what Optimus had been hoping to hear.
Megatron stewed over the offer for the rest of the day, but he knew on some level that he'd already made up his mind. It wasn't every day he was invited to his former nemesis' home after all. And besides, after the day’s fiasco he wanted to put as much space between himself and Starscream as possible.
Megatron arrived that evening unannounced, but if Optimus was going to change his mind he would have said so already. He didn't even seem surprised to open the door and find Megatron waiting tensely on the doormat, inviting him inside with a winning smile.
"Welcome to my humble hab," said Optimus Prime.
Megatron stepped forward and looked around the room with an assessing scowl. With much of Cybertron still in ruins and most of its surviving citizens still living in temporary housing, Megatron had expected something small. He had not, however, expected something this small.
Optimus inhabited a room that was, somehow, even more miniscule than the apartment he’d rented as a file clerk. The furniture had been arranged in a desperate attempt to give the illusion of a larger space, with the convoy-class couch creating a barrier between the recharge berth in the back left corner and the rest of the room, but it still felt incredibly stifling. It didn’t help that Optimus had crammed his work desk against the only window, and despite how carefully he’d arranged his datapads he had clearly run out of drawer space.
Someone had retrofitted a holoscreen on the right hand wall, opposite the couch, leaving exposed cables and ugly support brackets. The wall directly to the left of the door was occupied by Cybtertron’s smallest kitchenette, which was little more than an energon dispenser and a narrow counter, complete with a few novelty glasses and mugs, including one moulded into the vague shape of a singlehorn's head. What little space remained was taken up by shelves, crammed with datapads and knick-knacks.
A door to the left led to the private washracks, one of the few luxuries the Autobots afforded their leader. Thank Primus.
"Yes," Megatron sneered, "humble indeed."
Optimus laughed. Megatron glowered reproachfully.
"Forgive me," said Optimus, "but I knew you were going to say that. Besides, if I had chosen something grander, don't tell me you wouldn't scoff at the extravagance instead."
“Surely being leader of the Autobots can get you something better than this ,” Megatron muttered half-heartedly, feeling understood in a way he didn't particularly like.
“I don’t mind,” said Optimus, because of course he didn’t.
Megatron turned his attention to the couch instead.
"Don't tell me you expect me to sleep on that,” he said derisively. “Or on the floor." Not that it was any of Optimus' business but Megatron's back wasn't what it used to be.
"Of course not," said Optimus, in that infuriatingly placating way of his. "But we won't need to sleep for a while yet. Would you like some energon?"
Megatron took a cautious step into the apartment. "I fueled before I got here," he said automatically, several million stellar cycles of war cautioning him against accepting fuel from an enemy.
Optimus turned from where he had already begun rifling through the kitchen cupboards with such a crestfallen look on his face that Megatron had to look away.
"I could manage half a cube," he said casually, making his way to the couch and promptly bashing his shin on the half hidden low table. A delicate vase of crystal clippings wobbled dangerously. Primus, as if the room needed more clutter!
Optimus clattered around while Megatron sat stiffly on the very edge of the couch, glaring at his reflection in the black holoscreen and trying to relax his shoulders. What was making him so tense anyway? They'd been alone together during plenty of parlays during the war…
Ah, but he was expecting you to be on your guard. He knew he had no chance of taking you down. Now, in this cosy little habsuite, he could wait for you to relax, stage a carefully timed distraction, and…
Optimus set a mug of energon down on the low table and Megatron's plating clamped so hard and fast he sounded like a box of cutlery being dropped down the stairs.
Optimus either didn't notice or tactfully chose not to mention it. He chose a spot on the sofa a respectful distance away and lightly sipped his drink.
"Do you still enjoy magnesium?" Optimus asked suddenly. "I should not have assumed…"
"Magnesium is fine," Megatron said gruffly. Truth be told he preferred iron those days, but he wasn’t about to make a scene. That bad habit belonged to Starscream.
Trying not to appear too hesitant, Megatron picked up his glass and took a sip, letting it sit for a while before swallowing, sensors primed for any trace of poison.
They found none. Just the rich taste of energon sharped by the magnesium's tang. It tasted fine. Of course it tasted fine. As if Optimus Prime would ever poison anyone.
"It's good," Megatron admitted, taking another sip.
"I'm glad!" said Optimus. "I wasn't sure if I remembered. It… It has been a long time."
“It has, hasn’t it,” Megatron mused, watching the metal flakes swirl around in his energon
Optimus sipped his drink with an appreciative hum. “Reminds me of the times after some of your matches.”
Megatron nodded vaguely. He remembered, quite keenly, how after a particularly rough few rounds he often wouldn’t feel like pushing his way through the gladiator's mess or having to posture and strut his way into one of the nearby bars. Instead he and Optimus would retreat to Megatron’s sparse lodgings and gradually unwind, sipping warmed energon as they plotted revolution.
So much for that , Megatron thought bitterly.
"Is there anything decent on Autobot TV?" he blurted, decidedly uninterested in unpacking any of their shared history.
Optimus gave him a look of polite confusion. "I am… fairly certain that our respective factions receive the same broadcasts." But with agonising politeness he reached for the remote.
Autobot TV was, indeed, exactly the same as Decepticon TV. Cybertron's entertainment industry was one of the slowest to recover, and it left the planet's denizens with very little sound to fill the awkward silence. Soundwave had imported (or rather pirated) a handful of human shows, but Megatron wasn't especially familiar with any of Earth's cultures and didn't care to learn, so the nuances were all lost on him.
Thankfully Optimus settled on an old Cube highlight reel and went back to sipping his energon. Megatron finished his and fiddled idly with the glass. It had ‘I spark Caminus’ etched into the crystal. A gift from the Autobot City Speaker, no doubt.
"That was a good game," Optimus remarked quietly.
"Hm?" Megatron glanced at the screen. He had never watched a lot of Cube. He'd been too busy participating in a far less friendly sport. "Oh, yes. Nyon vs…" Megatron squinted at the opposing team's colours. "Kalis."
“It’s a shame neither of them ever made it to the finals,” said Optimus. “They both had some very unique tactics.”
“I didn’t know you liked cube,” said Megatron, tone a little more accusing than he’d intended.
“Ah, well…” Optimus seemed slightly embarrassed. “Many Autobots were fans… I suppose I picked it up over the millenia.”
“Ah,” said Megatron, not sure what to say to that. He certainly used to pay attention to his Decepticons’ interests… or at least Soundwave’s… or at least Soundwave’s music…
The vidscreen played, and the light beyond the window faded slowly into twilight.
"Well," Optimus said eventually, "it is getting late. Perhaps we should retire for the night?"
Megatron nodded and stood, a few kinked cables pinging as he stretched.
"Why do you talk like that?" he asked abruptly. "It's so formal."
Optimus paused in fiddling with the remote and glanced up. "Oh. Well." He looked a little sheepish. "I suppose I've been giving speeches for so long it's become hard to turn it off."
The vidscreen went black and Optimus got to his feet. Megatron felt a sliver of satisfaction at the unmistakable sound of joints clicking.
"You sound as if you're about to beg the senate for better welfare schemes," Megatron grumbled. "At least throw in a 'frag' sometimes."
That received a startled laugh. "Would that not make it fragging worse?" Optimus shot back.
Megatron's mouth twisted in disgust. Optimus laughed again, but not in a mean spirited way. Megatron found himself surprisingly unoffended. The sound was… not unpleasant.
"We should sleep," said Megatron, before he could get too far with that train of thought.
"Of course."
Megatron edged his way around the low table and went to the tiny washracks to rinse the magnesium out of his denta. He could hear Optimus clattering around in the kitchen, washing their glasses, and suddenly Megatron felt keenly aware of just how small the apartment was and just how close they were going to be for the foreseeable future. Maybe he should have made peace with sleeping in the Nemesis. Maybe he should still do that and leave. Soon. Now.
But no. Megatron would not bow to something as banal as social awkwardness. He would not be defeated!
The berth was, as expected, just as humble as the rest of the apartment, if not moreso. But it was clean, sturdy, and large – even for a convoy class. Megatron sat on the edge as Optimus closed the blinds, cutting off the last of the sunset and leaving them in the glow of their biolights.
“What a day,” Optimus mumbled to himself, stretching his arms above his head. “Goodnight, Megatron. Let me know if you need anything.” His silhouette turned towards the couch.
"Wait," said Megatron. He wasn't quite sure why.
Optimus paused. "What is it?"
Megatron scrambled for an excuse. "You're not sleeping on the couch with smokestacks like those are you?”
“I’m sure it won’t do too much harm,” said Optimus, faintly amused. “Unless you’re suggesting we share the berth?”
Megatron hesitated. What game was Optimus playing? Surely he expected Megatron to scoff and refuse, so…
“Well,” Megatron said stiffly. “I mean. I would allow it.”
Silence lingered in the wake of his words. Megatron wished he could see Optimus’ face, if just to get a better idea of what he was thinking.
“Thank you,” Optimus said, with that damn Primly passiveness that made Megatron itch to take a swing at him just to get a reaction. But he reigned himself in, every cable clenched, eyes trained on blue biolights as Optimus shuffled closer and closer. He reached the opposite edge of the berth and lay down with a sigh.
“Goodnight Megatron,” Optimus said softly.
“…Goodnight,” said Megatron. He lay down and shuffled awkwardly. He hadn’t expected this. He wasn’t sure what to do. He shifted again, trying to get comfortable, and felt the very edge of his smallest digit brush against part of Optimus Prime.
Megatron snatched his hand away as if he'd been burned. He ended up lying on his back, so close to the edge that his arm hung off the side and pulled at his shoulder unpleasantly. Still decidedly unsettled, Megatron closed his tired optics and tried to power down.
He couldn’t sleep.
There was no sound beyond the tiny room. No wind, no engines, no voices. Nothing but the very faintest hum of energy in the walls, and even that was muffled by layers of steel.
The room itself was quiet, so quiet Megatron could hear every single whir and hum and click from the frame lying next to his. Every draw of breath, every shuffle and twitch, every movement however small felt like a gunshot to Megatron’s restless processor.
He opened his eyes. Barely five minutes had passed.
Optimus fidgeted beside him and rolled over with the sound of a thunderclap. Megatron glanced towards him and saw the faint blue glow of open optics against the far wall.
The Constructicons couldn’t possibly work fast enough. How was Megatron supposed to endure multiple nights of this? He’d been foolish, thinking it could work, that he would ever let his guard down around Optimus again. It had been too long and they had grown too distant.
“Megatron,” Optimus said suddenly, making him flinch, “would you mind if I played a sleep aid?”
“A what?”
“An audio file,” Optimus elaborated. “I find it helps me sleep.”
“Alright,” Megatron said cautiously. It couldn't be worse than the silence at least.
Optimus fumbled with something on his side of the berth. The harsh glare of a datapad briefly lit the darkness before Optimus turned the brightness down. A pause, and then he was settling back onto the berth as whatever he’d chosen began to play.
Megatron closed his eyes and listened.
It sounded like… the steady rumble of spaceship engines. Enormous, but distant. Whatever Megatron had expected, it hadn’t been this. He listened more closely, and beneath the soothing thrum he could make out different, less constant sounds.
Muffled voices, as though from several rooms away.
Faint footsteps, passing through a distant corridor.
The occasional muted clatter and thud.
The distant drone of electronics.
It was almost exactly like being back on a spaceship. He even imagined he could feel the berth vibrating ever so slightly, as though moved by the engine’s hum.
It felt familiar.
It felt safe.
it felt like the Nemesis.
And although sleep was slow to settle nonetheless, the next few nights no longer looked so bleak.