[TF] Common Ground
Feb. 20th, 2020 06:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: This was originally written for a MegOP fanzine that ended up being cancelled, so now I share it with you folks. Enjoy!
Title: Common Ground
Universe: Transformers
Characters: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Rated: T
Description: There are days that matter, and days that don’t. Then there are days when nothing else matters, and a stolen moment in time might make all the difference.
“You called?”
“You answered.”
Optimus Prime couldn’t decide if the statement was incredulous or approving. It was so hard to tell with Megatron nowadays because he hid everything behind bravado and presentation. The genuine Megatronus he’d fallen in love with was buried so deep, Optimus – and Orion by proxy – despaired to find him again.
“I did,” Optimus said. He stepped further into the open glade, loose leaves crunching beneath his feet, massive trees towering over them. Redwoods, he’d heard they were called. The oldest and largest trees on Earth. “If this is a trap--”
Megatron held up a hand. “It’s not.” He looked to his left and right and even above him as if to demonstrate. “Feel free to scan. I’ll wait.”
Optimus narrowed his optics.
Megatron’s behavior was strange. Reserved, Optimus would place it. He was fully armored, polished, still carrying all of his usual weaponry, but his plating was not clamped, and while Optimus couldn’t sense Megatron’s field, his demeanor suggested passivity.
Megatron was not a passive beast.
Optimus flashed a quick-scan through their surroundings, two kilometers in all directions. It pinged back nothing Cybertronian in origin, save Megatron and himself.
‘Well?’ Ratchet asked, over comms.
Optimus, still watching Megatron, lifted a hand to answer. ‘All is well for now, Ratchet,’ he replied, both aloud and over the comms for Megatron’s benefit. ‘If I don’t ping in five minute intervals, send the cavalry.’
‘I don’t like this,’ Ratchet muttered. ‘It reeks of Soundwave. Something this subtle could only be his doing.’
‘He might be genuine,’ Optimus said (hoped), subvocal this time, his spark threatening to do a strange whirling-dance, deep in the most buried Orion-parts of him.
‘Only if he wants something, which he always does,’ Ratchet grumbled. He’d been the one most against this meeting, even more so than Prowl and Red Alert.
Ratchet had been there to pick up the pieces Megatronus left behind.
‘Watch yourself, Optimus. He wants you to be Orion.’
A flash of grief settled hard and fast on Optimus’ shoulders, rooting him to the ground. ‘Yes, I know.’ His tone came through more grave than he intended, but it was unvarnished truth. ‘I will ping you shortly. Optimus, out.’
He closed the comm before Ratchet could further protest. There were many things his oldest and dearest friend could not understand, and the tangled webs between Megatronus and Orion Pax along with Megatron and Optimus Prime, were one of them.
Ratchet did not understand how Optimus couldn’t let the past lie. He couldn’t fathom the weight of it, sitting like an anchor at the back of Optimus’ every waking moment.
“All right.” Optimus dared to move closer, until he could hear the click and whirr of Megatron’s frame, catch the whiff of his polish on a passing breeze. “I’m here. I’m alone. What do you want?”
“So defensive.” Megatron chuckled, raspy and light, his lip curving ever so slightly to reveal the tips of his pointed denta. “We used to be more to each other, Optimus.”
Optimus’ shoulders squared. His blasters clicked, desperate to transform into view, and he pushed the defensive protocols down. “I’m not Orion Pax.”
A flicker of something danced in crimson optics. “Oh, I’m well aware.” Megatron tipped his head, gaze striking over Optimus from top to bottom. “If you were, you wouldn’t have asked me why I called you here. Especially today of all days.”
Today.
There was something about the date.
It took a moment, even for Optimus’ Matrix-enhanced processing, to translate Earth-time into a Cybertronian date. The year, he knew, was irrelevant. The stardate, however, was important.
That traitorous corner of his spark pulsed warmth again, whispering an aching promise.
“The day we met,” he murmured.
Megatron tilted his head. “You do remember. I had to remind you, but Orion’s still in there somewhere.” He touched his chestplate, taloned fingers tracing over the Decepticon badge. “Megatronus is in here, too. Sometimes, he’s louder than he should be.”
Optimus’ hands formed fists at his side, though he wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to strike Megatron, or because a part of him wanted to reel his one-time lover in. “That doesn’t answer my question. What do you want?”
Megatron paused, his gaze turning distant. There was a rasping ventilation – invent, exvent – as if he was gathering courage or steeling himself.
“What if--”
He cut off, growled, though it didn’t seem to be directed at Optimus. More it was aimed at himself.
“We’re going to die,” Megatron said at length. “One of us is going to die. We are going to kill each other at some point. It’s inevitable.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Optimus said.
Megatron barked a laugh, and it was a broken, haunted sound. His gaze slid back toward Optimus, fire dancing in his optics. “Yes, it does. There’s no fixing this. It’s too broken.”
“Then why ask me here?” Optimus demanded, his engine roaring, fans sputtering. That which was Orion beat against a transteel pane, begging to be heard.
Megatron cycled a loud ventilation. He took a step closer, nearly within arms length. He lifted a hand, palm upward, holding it toward Optimus.
“One last time?” he asked. “Before we die?”
Optimus staggered internally, though his feet held solid ground. Somewhere, a bird whistled, while the wind sang through the pine needles. Far in the distance, cars rumbled by on a highway, but here, they were isolated.
He remembered to ping Ratchet.
“You don’t know what you’re asking me,” Optimus said, his tone low, a wash of longing surging through his circuits, sending a hairline crack through the wall deafening Orion Pax.
Megatron looked at his fingers, contemplating. “Don’t I?” His lip curled toward a smirk again, a shade of the triumphant gladiator who strutted onto every battlefield and challenged anyone to try to defeat him. “You think you hold the monopoly on regret and aching sparks?”
Optimus folded his arms, clenching his hands behind them. “What brought this on?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me!”
Megatron sighed. He lowered his hand and ran his fingers over the cannon across his other arm instead. “Because this is a day that mattered to me,” he said, and it sounded like it hurt him to admit the truth, as if the words had been torn from deep in his tanks. “And maybe it mattered to you, too.”
“Optimus Prime doesn’t care,” Optimus said, which was an oversimplification and vastly untrue, because even as he spoke it, the splintering in the wall spread a little further. “He only wants one thing from you, Megatron.”
For a moment, he swore Megatron flinched, but then the genuine emotion in Megatron’s face hardened to stone. “Yes, I’m aware of what the Senate’s fool wants of me.” He straightened, arms falling to his sides, armor fluttering around his protoform as if undecided to clamp or remain loose and unburdened. “And what he stole.”
Optimus worked his intake. “Optimus Prime doesn’t care what the date is,” he repeated, and took a risk, gave in to the pleading optics of a mech who used to believe in so many things. “But Orion Pax does, and maybe, for a day, he can be the one with the reins.”
Megatron’s optics narrowed. “If this is some trick...”
“I trusted this wasn’t a trap, the least you can grant me is the courtesy to trust this.” Optimus moved a step closer, into the nearest edge of Megatron’s field, where it could no longer be hidden. He buried a shiver as the pseudo-intimate contact sent a rush of heat over his sensory net. “Right now, we’re at a truce. I am not Optimus, and you are not Megatron. We are not the respective leaders of two factions at war.”
Megatron’s ventilations hitched. His optics seemed to focus on Optimus’ badge. “Then what are we?”
“Two Cybertronians who stumbled on each other and managed to find common ground,” Optimus answered, letting the hope bubble up inside of him, though he wouldn’t let it take root. He couldn’t afford it anymore. “At least, for a little while.”
Time. Reminder.
He pinged Ratchet again and added an addendum this time, so Ratchet wouldn’t be looking for the next ping, and would leave Optimus in peace. He would give his trust this time, in the hopes Megatron would return it, and maybe, just maybe, their ending wouldn’t be mutual destruction.
“Common ground?” Megatron repeated, and he chuckled, dark and seductive, far from mocking and definitely interested. He stepped into Optimus’ space, his field sliding hot and heavy along Optimus’ own. “What does that get me?”
“An hour.” He would have offered more, if he thought it wouldn’t make Ratchet blow a gasket. Or that he’d be strong enough to walk away.
Megatron rumbled again, and the familiar sound sent a twang through the most buried part of Optimus. “It’s enough.” He reached toward Optimus, hesitated, then finished the motion by cupping Optimus’ face, taloned thumb sweeping over a cheek.
Optimus did not shudder, but it was a near thing. So much of their recent interactions had been anger and violence, had been energon and torn lines and ravaged plating, and fury and destruction.
He’d forgotten Megatron could be gentle.
“Yes.” Optimus leaned into the touch. “For now, it’s enough.”
*
Title: Common Ground
Universe: Transformers
Characters: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Rated: T
Description: There are days that matter, and days that don’t. Then there are days when nothing else matters, and a stolen moment in time might make all the difference.
“You called?”
“You answered.”
Optimus Prime couldn’t decide if the statement was incredulous or approving. It was so hard to tell with Megatron nowadays because he hid everything behind bravado and presentation. The genuine Megatronus he’d fallen in love with was buried so deep, Optimus – and Orion by proxy – despaired to find him again.
“I did,” Optimus said. He stepped further into the open glade, loose leaves crunching beneath his feet, massive trees towering over them. Redwoods, he’d heard they were called. The oldest and largest trees on Earth. “If this is a trap--”
Megatron held up a hand. “It’s not.” He looked to his left and right and even above him as if to demonstrate. “Feel free to scan. I’ll wait.”
Optimus narrowed his optics.
Megatron’s behavior was strange. Reserved, Optimus would place it. He was fully armored, polished, still carrying all of his usual weaponry, but his plating was not clamped, and while Optimus couldn’t sense Megatron’s field, his demeanor suggested passivity.
Megatron was not a passive beast.
Optimus flashed a quick-scan through their surroundings, two kilometers in all directions. It pinged back nothing Cybertronian in origin, save Megatron and himself.
‘Well?’ Ratchet asked, over comms.
Optimus, still watching Megatron, lifted a hand to answer. ‘All is well for now, Ratchet,’ he replied, both aloud and over the comms for Megatron’s benefit. ‘If I don’t ping in five minute intervals, send the cavalry.’
‘I don’t like this,’ Ratchet muttered. ‘It reeks of Soundwave. Something this subtle could only be his doing.’
‘He might be genuine,’ Optimus said (hoped), subvocal this time, his spark threatening to do a strange whirling-dance, deep in the most buried Orion-parts of him.
‘Only if he wants something, which he always does,’ Ratchet grumbled. He’d been the one most against this meeting, even more so than Prowl and Red Alert.
Ratchet had been there to pick up the pieces Megatronus left behind.
‘Watch yourself, Optimus. He wants you to be Orion.’
A flash of grief settled hard and fast on Optimus’ shoulders, rooting him to the ground. ‘Yes, I know.’ His tone came through more grave than he intended, but it was unvarnished truth. ‘I will ping you shortly. Optimus, out.’
He closed the comm before Ratchet could further protest. There were many things his oldest and dearest friend could not understand, and the tangled webs between Megatronus and Orion Pax along with Megatron and Optimus Prime, were one of them.
Ratchet did not understand how Optimus couldn’t let the past lie. He couldn’t fathom the weight of it, sitting like an anchor at the back of Optimus’ every waking moment.
“All right.” Optimus dared to move closer, until he could hear the click and whirr of Megatron’s frame, catch the whiff of his polish on a passing breeze. “I’m here. I’m alone. What do you want?”
“So defensive.” Megatron chuckled, raspy and light, his lip curving ever so slightly to reveal the tips of his pointed denta. “We used to be more to each other, Optimus.”
Optimus’ shoulders squared. His blasters clicked, desperate to transform into view, and he pushed the defensive protocols down. “I’m not Orion Pax.”
A flicker of something danced in crimson optics. “Oh, I’m well aware.” Megatron tipped his head, gaze striking over Optimus from top to bottom. “If you were, you wouldn’t have asked me why I called you here. Especially today of all days.”
Today.
There was something about the date.
It took a moment, even for Optimus’ Matrix-enhanced processing, to translate Earth-time into a Cybertronian date. The year, he knew, was irrelevant. The stardate, however, was important.
That traitorous corner of his spark pulsed warmth again, whispering an aching promise.
“The day we met,” he murmured.
Megatron tilted his head. “You do remember. I had to remind you, but Orion’s still in there somewhere.” He touched his chestplate, taloned fingers tracing over the Decepticon badge. “Megatronus is in here, too. Sometimes, he’s louder than he should be.”
Optimus’ hands formed fists at his side, though he wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to strike Megatron, or because a part of him wanted to reel his one-time lover in. “That doesn’t answer my question. What do you want?”
Megatron paused, his gaze turning distant. There was a rasping ventilation – invent, exvent – as if he was gathering courage or steeling himself.
“What if--”
He cut off, growled, though it didn’t seem to be directed at Optimus. More it was aimed at himself.
“We’re going to die,” Megatron said at length. “One of us is going to die. We are going to kill each other at some point. It’s inevitable.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Optimus said.
Megatron barked a laugh, and it was a broken, haunted sound. His gaze slid back toward Optimus, fire dancing in his optics. “Yes, it does. There’s no fixing this. It’s too broken.”
“Then why ask me here?” Optimus demanded, his engine roaring, fans sputtering. That which was Orion beat against a transteel pane, begging to be heard.
Megatron cycled a loud ventilation. He took a step closer, nearly within arms length. He lifted a hand, palm upward, holding it toward Optimus.
“One last time?” he asked. “Before we die?”
Optimus staggered internally, though his feet held solid ground. Somewhere, a bird whistled, while the wind sang through the pine needles. Far in the distance, cars rumbled by on a highway, but here, they were isolated.
He remembered to ping Ratchet.
“You don’t know what you’re asking me,” Optimus said, his tone low, a wash of longing surging through his circuits, sending a hairline crack through the wall deafening Orion Pax.
Megatron looked at his fingers, contemplating. “Don’t I?” His lip curled toward a smirk again, a shade of the triumphant gladiator who strutted onto every battlefield and challenged anyone to try to defeat him. “You think you hold the monopoly on regret and aching sparks?”
Optimus folded his arms, clenching his hands behind them. “What brought this on?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me!”
Megatron sighed. He lowered his hand and ran his fingers over the cannon across his other arm instead. “Because this is a day that mattered to me,” he said, and it sounded like it hurt him to admit the truth, as if the words had been torn from deep in his tanks. “And maybe it mattered to you, too.”
“Optimus Prime doesn’t care,” Optimus said, which was an oversimplification and vastly untrue, because even as he spoke it, the splintering in the wall spread a little further. “He only wants one thing from you, Megatron.”
For a moment, he swore Megatron flinched, but then the genuine emotion in Megatron’s face hardened to stone. “Yes, I’m aware of what the Senate’s fool wants of me.” He straightened, arms falling to his sides, armor fluttering around his protoform as if undecided to clamp or remain loose and unburdened. “And what he stole.”
Optimus worked his intake. “Optimus Prime doesn’t care what the date is,” he repeated, and took a risk, gave in to the pleading optics of a mech who used to believe in so many things. “But Orion Pax does, and maybe, for a day, he can be the one with the reins.”
Megatron’s optics narrowed. “If this is some trick...”
“I trusted this wasn’t a trap, the least you can grant me is the courtesy to trust this.” Optimus moved a step closer, into the nearest edge of Megatron’s field, where it could no longer be hidden. He buried a shiver as the pseudo-intimate contact sent a rush of heat over his sensory net. “Right now, we’re at a truce. I am not Optimus, and you are not Megatron. We are not the respective leaders of two factions at war.”
Megatron’s ventilations hitched. His optics seemed to focus on Optimus’ badge. “Then what are we?”
“Two Cybertronians who stumbled on each other and managed to find common ground,” Optimus answered, letting the hope bubble up inside of him, though he wouldn’t let it take root. He couldn’t afford it anymore. “At least, for a little while.”
Time. Reminder.
He pinged Ratchet again and added an addendum this time, so Ratchet wouldn’t be looking for the next ping, and would leave Optimus in peace. He would give his trust this time, in the hopes Megatron would return it, and maybe, just maybe, their ending wouldn’t be mutual destruction.
“Common ground?” Megatron repeated, and he chuckled, dark and seductive, far from mocking and definitely interested. He stepped into Optimus’ space, his field sliding hot and heavy along Optimus’ own. “What does that get me?”
“An hour.” He would have offered more, if he thought it wouldn’t make Ratchet blow a gasket. Or that he’d be strong enough to walk away.
Megatron rumbled again, and the familiar sound sent a twang through the most buried part of Optimus. “It’s enough.” He reached toward Optimus, hesitated, then finished the motion by cupping Optimus’ face, taloned thumb sweeping over a cheek.
Optimus did not shudder, but it was a near thing. So much of their recent interactions had been anger and violence, had been energon and torn lines and ravaged plating, and fury and destruction.
He’d forgotten Megatron could be gentle.
“Yes.” Optimus leaned into the touch. “For now, it’s enough.”
