[TF] Anamnesis - 07

[dracoqueen22]

Anamnesis
Chapter Seven

Hot Rod’s internal alarm wakes him long before anything else. He grumpily turns it off and snuggles back into Megs’ embrace, the planes and angles of his frame fitting perfectly against the other mech’s.

Wait.

Memory trickles back, a subtle reminder ping floating Megatron to his active queue. Not Megs, but Megatron. The mech he pulled from the Heap, who he’s been housing and caring for, is Megatron of Tarn, hero to so many across Cybertron.

It’s still unbelievable.

He’d be a fool to think that means his life isn’t going to change. His whole world is going to change.

Hot Rod isn’t necessarily upset by this. It’s not like he planned to work as a clinic assistant and scrap scrounger and occasional mine grunt forever. They were all means to an end, a way to survive in a city where a mech like him doesn’t have many options. He doesn’t have plans or dreams or aspirations.

Survival has been all the plan he can manage.

Megatron is not going to stay in Nyon. Hot Rod is sure of this. His destiny is for something far more important. He is capable of great things, and Nyon is a place for the abandoned and forgotten.

Megatron is going to make a difference. If Hot Rod is really, really lucky, maybe he can help Megatron do that. For once, he can actually do something that benefits people, rather than watching from the sidelines, wishing he could do more.

He can be just like the Knights of Cybertron! Instead of reading about grand adventures and heroes, Hot Rod can actually try and become one.

Yeah. Hot Rod likes the idea of that.

He snuggles closer, turning his head to lay a kiss on Megatron’s chassis before getting comfortable again. Megatron makes a soft noise, his arm shifting to further embrace Hot Rod, all without waking.

What enormous trust he must have, to rest so peacefully in Hot Rod’s arms and Hot Rod’s space, despite having all his memories back and knowing how much danger he’s actually in. Hot Rod smiles where no one can see him, his spark twirling obnoxious dances in his chassis. Trust is an even rarer thing in Nyon than affection, and mechs who don’t trust, don’t recharge peacefully.

Megatron trusts him.

Giddiness threatens to bubble up inside Hot Rod, but he swallows it down, muffles it. He doesn’t want to wake Megatron just yet. He wants to soak in this quiet for a little longer, listening to the steady thrum of Megatron’s engine, the off-rhythm clicks of his vents.

He fully intends to do so, but there’s a subtle discomfort at the furthest edge of his passive sensors. A slow crawl starts over his armor. Hot Rod unshutters his optics and looks around the berthroom, feeling paranoid, until he spies the dark shape in the open doorway, staring back at him with crimson optics.

It’s a felinoid cassette, their plating so dark it blends into the dim of the room, their biolights either muted or nonexistent. They stare back at Hot Rod without blinking.

This must be Ravage.

Hot Rod sighs. “I guess a lack of privacy is something I’m going to have to get used to,” he mutters before he gently pats Megatron to urge him online. “Rise and shine, Megs. You have a visitor.”

Megatron’s vents snuffle, his optic flickering as he slowly emerges from recharge. “What?” His optic spirals in and out until it focuses on Hot Rod, confusion wisping through his field.

Hot Rod tilts his head toward the door. “It’s for you.”

Megatron’s gaze slips past him, focusing on Ravage. Recognition dawns in his optic. Good. That means Hot Rod’s assumption is accurate.

“My boss would like to have a conversation with you,” Ravage says, like it’s no big deal he was watching them recharge. He then stands and walks out of the doorway, back into the main room.

Hot Rod groans, “Well, there goes my plan for a morning face.”

Megatron chuckles, his manipulator stroking the leading edge of Hot Rod’s spoiler in a blatant tease. “I apologize. I’m disappointed I missed out on it as well.”

Hot Rod chuffs and pulls himself upright, straddling Megatron’s waist. “I’m not going to ask if you’re going to that conversation, because it’s pretty obvious you are but…” He gnaws on his bottom lip, glances to the doorway, and says in a quieter voice, “Are you sure you trust him and his boss?”

Megatron’s claws rest on his hips, one digit sweeping gently over his back, skipping along armor plates. His armor flutters with delight. “My trust is careful, but yes. They have had ample opportunity to do both of us harm, and they have not.”

“Just because they haven’t hurt you yet doesn’t mean that whatever intentions they have for you aren’t going to be dangerous,” Hot Rod points out.

“I am aware.” Megatron’s optic dims in thought. “I am willing to take this risk, however. They have information I need, and I suspect the resources I need as well.”

Hot Rod tips his head. “Resources, huh?” He rests a palm on Megatron’s chassis, where his spark thrums strongly beneath. “That’s still a conversation we need to have, you and me.”

“If Ravage was not waiting, I would have that conversation now.” Megatron leverages himself upright, shifting Hot Rod in his lap, but holding him closer as a result. “Tell Hook you will be late. Whatever this talk with Ravage’s master entails, I want you to be with me.”

Hot Rod cycles his optics in surprise. “Wait. Really?”

Megatron nods, his field warm with affection. “Yes. You asked me not to leave you behind, remember?”

Heat steals into Hot Rod’s cheeks. “Yeah, but…”

“Let’s find out what they want. We can talk after.” Megatron presses the ridge of his helm to Hot Rod’s. “We should also probably try and make ourselves presentable.”

Hot Rod chuckles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t most people show up to important conversations with streaks in their paint and transfluid on their thighs?”

Megatron’s muffled laugh does much to ease the growing tension.

It takes only a minute or two to tidy up the worst of the evidence before they leave the berthroom. As much as hot Rod wants to tease, he’s too aware of Ravage in the other room, and no thanks. Ravage has to be a spy of some sort, and eavesdropping is what spies do.

Gross.

Hot Rod lets Megatron leave first, so he can send a message to Hook about his late arrival. He’s in the midst of carefully wording the message when Megatron’s field lets out a burst of surprise. Hot Rod charges out after him, ready to fight if Ravage has brought danger to their doorstep.

Ravage did not come alone.

Another mech stands in the main room, the table an ample barricade between them. Hot Rod’s never seen this mech before. He’s large, easily Megatron’s height, with blocky shoulders and a square chassis. Masked and visored, his face gives nothing away, but there’s a symbol burned into his shoulder. The angle makes it too hard to make out, but hints of crimson give suggestion to a Senate connection.

“Ravage’s master, I presume?” Megatron angles his body, putting himself between Hot Rod and the mech.

“Designation Soundwave,” the mech says in a robotic monotone. “Ravage ally, not servant.”

“The relationship between a cassette and their carrier can be complicated, I’m told,” Megatron says, and he dips his head, a gesture Hot Rod assumes is meant to be respectful. “Do I have you to thank for the many gifts?”

Wow. Hot Rod’s never met a carrier mech before.

“Affirmative.” Soundwave’s flat tone unsettles Hot Rod, but Megatron doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Megatron’s words inspiring. Important. Necessary.”

Hot Rod moves up beside Megatron. He doesn’t want to be protected anymore. He wants to do his fair share of the fighting. “Are you the one who saved him?”

“Yes,” Ravage answers. He sits at Soundwave’s side, watching them without blinking. “We falsified records and arranged to have him sent here rather than the smelter. We’d have pulled him from the Heap, if you had not found him first.”

Hot Rod lifts his chin. “Not gonna apologize for that. I just did what I always do.”

“Lucky that you did!” The cheerful voice startles both Hot Rod and Megatron as a smaller shape detaches from the ceiling, fluttering down to land on the table between them.

It’s an avian cassette this time, in shades of grey and gold, with optics the same shade as Ravage’s. Hot Rod hadn’t known she was there. It’s like all three of them are ghosts or something, because they don’t give off a wisp of energy fields, or even ping on Hot Rod’s passive sensors.

“I think Megatron recovered better in your care than he would have in brother’s,” she continues, head cocked as she looks at them. “Or maybe it’s fate?”

Hot Rod stares.

“And you are?” Megatron asks, hiding his surprise more effectively than Hot Rod.

“Laserbeak,” she chirps as Ravage sighs, rolling his optics. “I’m Soundwave’s favorite, but he won’t tell you that.”

Hot Rod grins. Laserbeak has more charisma than both Soundwave and Ravage combined. “And why wouldn’t you be the favorite? Clearly you’re the one with the charm.”

Laserbeak straightens, visibly preening. “I am, aren’t I?” she chortles, wings raising, tessellated plates of armor ruffling. “Though Megatron’s pretty charming, too. He’s the one who inspired millions of mechs.” She peers up at Megatron. “I’m hoping that means you’re worth everything we’ve risked for you.”

“I can’t say whether or not I am worth it. You’ve yet to tell me what you want,” Megatron says.

“It’s simple,” Ravage says, and it surprises Hot Rod a little that the cassettes seem to be doing most of the talking for Soundwave. “We want to take down the Senate and the ruling class and change Cybertron for the better. We think allying with you is one of the best ways to accomplish that.”

“You have the attention and the audials of the masses,” Laserbeak adds with a little shuffling dance step that makes her obscenely adorable. “You have the words and the ideas. All you need is a platform and a means to organize.”

“We will assist,” Soundwave says. “We, also, wish to be free.” One hand rises, briefly touching the brand on his shoulder before it drops again. “We believe.”

Wow.

That’s a lot of faith to put in one mech. If the weight of that burden bothers Megatron, however, he shows no sign of it. Maybe, as Megs, he might have.

“I suspected as much,” Megatron sighs, a few audible clicks echoing through his chassis. “Fortunately, our interests do align. However, I have yet to establish a plan. I only just regained my memories.”

“Nyon unsuitable,” Soundwave says. “Unsafe also.”

Hot Rod snorts and crosses his arms. “Everywhere is unsafe, but I’ll give you that it’s not a good idea to stay here. You aren’t going to reach anyone from the aft end of Cybertron.”

“And where would you suggest?” Megatron asks.

“Iacon,” Soundwave says.

“The seat of the Senate’s power,” Ravage growls, and the armor along his backtstrut ruffles in the first true show of emotion Hot Rod’s seen. “It is also where you were taken for the Empurata procedure. If you wish to know where to start dismantling those in power, you can find no better city.”

Iacon. Wow.

The capital city-state of Cybertron. The glittering jewel of Cybertron’s crown. A place Hot Rod had only ever seen in vidcaptures and movies.

“Understood. Then to Iacon I will go.” Megatron looks at Hot Rod, the question hovering in the hesitation of his field.

Scrap that.

Hot Rod made his decision before Ravage even showed up this morning.

“I’m going with you.” Hot Rod lifts his chin, stands his ground, and hopes no one can see the quivering of his knees. “And if you even think about telling me to stay here for my own good, I will poke your optic out. It’s my choice, remember?”

A muffled snicker rises from Ravage’s direction, but Hot Rod ignores him. He’s spent his whole life scraping through the wreckage of Nyon. He’s ready to leave, he’s ready to make a difference.

He’s not afraid.

Megatron’s field reaches out to his, warm with affection. “It would have been rude of me to decide what’s best for you. I also can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have by my side.”

Hot Rod beams.

He grabs Megatron’s nearest claw, giving it a squeeze before looking at Soundwave and his cassettes. “So?” he asks. “When do we leave?”

~

Hot Rod draws in a heavy ventilation and braces himself. He stares at the back door of the clinic, willing himself to enter. He has no idea how everyone is going to react when he tells them he’s leaving, and it doesn’t help that he’s hours late for his shift. He never did send that message.

Hook’s going to throttle him.

Hot Rod opens the door and slips inside, listening intently. It’s quiet for once -- no noises of aggravated patients, no thumping and clattering from Scavenger’s collection, no bubbling and grumbling from Mixmaster’s laboratory. Quiet days are rare around the clinic but not unheard of which only means everyone is going to hear it when Hook starts yelling.

Great.

Hot Rod ventures inward, searching for Hook first and foremost. He finds his friend and employer in the front, in the midst of inventorying their medical supplies, and Hot Rod feels a stab of guilt. That was meant to be his task today.

“You’re late,” Hook says without looking at him. No doubt he’s activated his peripheral sensors – a wise move for any mech in Nyon with his back to a public door.

“Sorry.” Hot Rod rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, need to talk to you.”

Hook pauses in the midst of counting spare compressors. He turns, takes one look at Hot Rod, and says, “Let me guess, you’re leaving.”

Hot Rod winces. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to anyone with optics.” Hook sighs and turns back to the supplies, making a notation on his datapad. “I knew that Megs was trouble from the moment you hauled him to my care ward. I assume he remembers who he is?”

Hot Rod chews on the inside of his cheek. “Scavenger was right. He’s Megatron of Tarn. Which means he can’t stay and--”

“--and romantic that you are, you want to go with him.” The wheels in Hook’s visible arm twitch. “I warned you about getting attached, but like everyone else, you didn’t listen. It’s been, what, a month since you met him? And you’re giving up everything for him now?”

“Just what the frag is everything?” Hot Rod asks, irritation warring with guilt. He waves his hands in a huge gesture. “What future do I have here in Nyon? At least if I go with Megatron, I have a chance to make a difference. I can change things, maybe even for everyone here in Nyon. Maybe even for you and the others.”

Hook goes still, stylus pausing mid-sweep. “And what is it that you think you need to change for us?”

“I don’t know.” Hot Rod chuffs, frustrated. “You’ve never told me why you’re here or what you’re running from, but maybe whatever it is, I can help fix it.” His spark hammers in his chassis. “It’s the least I can do. You’ve all looked out for me. Let me try and look after you for once.”

Silence grows between them, thick with tension, until Hook vents long and low. “It would be like you to think you can save the world, wouldn’t it?” he mutters. “A life with Megatron of Tarn is a dangerous one. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Hot Rod folds his arms. “Living in Nyon isn’t any safer. I’ve avoided a lot because of you and your brothers. I’m not stupid.” He performs a systems check to calm himself. He hadn’t come here to fight. “I’m also not afraid. I want to do this. I’m going to do this. I didn’t come here so you’d stop me, I just came here to let you know.”

“And now I know.” Hook’s tone is bitter and hurt. “It’s not my place to stop you either.” He flicks the hand with the stylus in Hot Rod’s direction, all without turning. “Go then. I run this clinic just fine without you.”

Ouch.

Hot Rod winces. He’s a half-vent from spinning and stomping away, until he takes another look at Hook. The medic’s armor is clamped, his field impossible to read. Hook is waspish by nature, but he’s never been purposefully cruel to Hot Rod. Sharp with his glossa, and painfully direct, but never intentionally cruel.

Hot Rod takes a deep vent. He’s going to have to be the bigger mech here. “Thank you for looking after me,” he says. “I’ll miss you. All of you honestly.”

“It’ll certainly be quieter with you gone,” Hook grumbles, and immediately thereafter, a large bang echoes from down the hall, followed by an even louder clatter. Hook sighs and looks to the ceiling. “Though honestly not by much. Idiots.”

Hot Rod chuckles. “At least it won’t be boring.” He unfolds his arms, fidgeting a little in place. “Can I ask a favor though?”

“Depends on the favor.”

Hot Rod rocks back and forth on his heel struts. “Will you still help any Empurata you find in the Heap? I’ll leave the codes to my apartment and everything. You can let them stay there.”

Hook shakes his head and twists to give Hot Rod a wry look. “You’re a ridiculously soft spark, Hot Rod.”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s me saying I’ll do the best I can, but I make no promises,” Hook says.

Hot Rod grins and throws his arms around Hook, pulling him into an embrace that the medic grudgingly accepts. “Thanks, Hook. I promise I’ll keep in touch, too.”

“You’d better.” Hook squirms out of the hug, though escaping wisps of his field betray both his relief and affection. “You’d better say goodbye to the others as well. I don’t want to put up with the inevitable blubbering if you don’t.”

“They’re next on my list.” Hot Rod shifts his weight awkwardly. He’s never been good at goodbyes, not that he’s had many chances to say them. Most mechs in his life vanish without a word.

“Go on then,” Hook says with a flicking hand. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Right.” Hot Rod spins on a heel and heads toward the back, in search of Scavenger who he is quite sure is responsible for the noise from earlier. Behind him, the distant rattle of parts indicates Hook has gone back to his counting.

Hot Rod finds Scavenger in the hall just outside his door, grumbling as he struggles to pick up a scattering of odd items and shovel them into a tipped over crate.

“What did we collect today?” Hot Rod asks as he crouches to help, his smaller, nimbler hands having a far easier time of gathering the tinier objects.

“Kibble,” Scavenger says in a bright tone, his tail twitching excitedly. “Specifically headlamps and armor spurs and decorative, useless bits.”

Hot Rod raises an orbital ridge. “Why?”

“Why not?” Scavenger asks.

“You’ve got me there.” Hot Rod quirks a grin at his friend, bracing his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle. “So you were right. He’s Megatron of Tarn after all.”

Scavenger drops his handful of kibble with a loud clatter, his field spiking with excitement. “I knew it!” His scoop tail thumps the floor as he grabs Hot Rod by the shoulders. “Tell me everything.”

Hot Rod laughs, struggling to keep his balance. “I don’t have time for all that. You know most of what there is to know anyway.” He clasps his hand over Scavenger’s. “I’m leaving with him, Scav. We’re heading to Iacon tonight.”

“That’s, err, kind of quick, isn’t it?” Scavenger cocks his head, scoop tail losing its vigor.

Hot Rod shrugs. “No time like the present. Besides, it’s dangerous for him to be here.” He digs around in his subspace, looking for one of many datachips he’d stashed. “I brought this for you, by the way. I thought you’d be interested in contacting him sometime.”

Scavenger gasps so forcefully his vents stall. He coughs them back into a proper rhythm, and holds out his palm for the datachip. “Me? Talk to Megatron?”

“If you want,” Hot Rod says, the light in Scavenger’s visor so bright it can only be called starry. “You can reach me with that, too. It’s encrypted by our new friends.”

“I can talk to Megatron,” Scavenger echoes.

“And me,” Hot Rod stresses with a grin, but he knows when it comes to Scavenger’s admiration of the poet from Tarn, Hot Rod is only second best. “He said-- oof!”

Oof because Scavenger sweeps him up in a hug that nearly crushes his spoiler. Scavenger, however, is perfectly aware of his strength and manages not to do so. He’s vibrating from happiness, and Hot Rod grins. Job well done.

“You’re welcome,” he says, words smashed against Scavenger’s chassis.

“Take care of yourself, Roddy,” Scavenger says, still holding Hot Rod against his frame. “If you need us, just call. We’ll come. You know we will.”

Hot Rod squeezes him back, maybe not with the same force, but it’s the best he can do. “I will. Thanks, Scav. You’re the best.”

“I am, and I’m going to tell Hook you said that.” Scavenger chortles and releases Hot Rod, setting him on his feet. “You better tell everyone else you’re leaving, too. Or Bonecrusher will pout.”

Hot Rod smiles. “I am. I promise.” He drops back into a crouch. “But first I’m going to help you clean up this mess.”

“And that’s why I love you!” Scavenger says.

Hot Rod laughs and gets to work.

It’s going to take him the better part of the afternoon to track down each one of the brothers, but that’s fine. Megatron knows better than to leave without him.

~

“Are you sure you want to bring him?” Ravage asks not but five minutes after Hot Rod hurried out the door, off to make his goodbyes. Laserbeak, unbeknownst to Hot Rod, was sent to follow him just in case. “This is a dangerous pursuit.”

Megatron gestures to himself. “He’s as aware of the risks as I am. It’s his choice to make.” He’s seated now at the table, a pouch of supplemented energon connected to his intake line. “Besides, I suspect Hot Rod would follow on his own if I didn’t, so let’s save ourselves the trouble, shall we?”

Ravage’s field twitches with amusement. “He’s headstrong, so I do not disagree.” His head cocks to the side. “You keep saying it’s his choice. What about you? Do you want him to come?”

“Yes.” Megatron cycles a ventilation, his gaze darting between Soundwave and Ravage both, but neither have a reaction to offer him. They’re too difficult to read. “He’s a good mech. An honest mech. Putting aside my selfish reasons for wanting him next to me, he’s also the kind of mech Cybertron needs right now.”

“Agreed,” Soundwave rumbles. “Hot Rod unique. Useful. His presence welcome and encouraged.”

“Agree to disagree,” says Ravage, deftly ignoring the sharp look his carrier gives him. “And are you at all hesitant to face the Senate now that you’ve seen what they’re capable of?”

Megatron lifts a hand, claw click-click-clicking together. “I see two choices in front of me: to run and hide for the rest of my life, or stand up and fight so this does not happen to another mech. I have never been one to run.”

“Battle ambitious; outcome unknown,” Soundwave says.

“There are no certainties for anything.” Megatron stares at his claws, where his hands had once been. “That they tried to silence me means they are afraid of me and what I represent or they would have left me alone. It means they are vulnerable, and I will not to hesitate to take advantage of that vulnerability.”

Ravage’s optics gleam. “On that we can agree. You are more ruthless than your words suggest.”

“I am beginning to suspect an entirely peaceful approach is not going to be effective,” Megatron says, dryly. He shifts his attention to Soundwave. “If your reach is as wide as I think it is, perhaps you can tell me what happened to Impactor. That information was not available in any of the datapads you left for me.”

Soundwave’s visor glitters crimson. “Impactor transferred to Croteus-12.”

A sharp chill takes hold of Megatron’s spark. It’s hard to imagine a worse fate than Empurata, but a station at Croteus-12 comes very close.

“They sent him there to die,” Megatron mutters.

All miners know about Croteus-12. There’s no posting more dangerous. While the planet has been well-seeded with energon, that seeding makes it very unstable. The frequent tectonic shifts and volcanic activity tends to ignite the energon pockets, causing unpredictable explosions and mineshaft collapses.

No one has ever retired from Croteus-12. Death always takes them first.

“Last reports have him still functioning,” Ravage says. “We can make every attempt to retrieve him and bring him back to Cybertron though we can’t guarantee success.”

“An attempt is enough,” Megatron says. He can do more once he’s in Iacon, he’s sure of it. “How are we getting to Iacon?”

“Transport shuttle,” Soundwave answers as he finally eases out of the severe stance he’d taken and slides into the other chair.

“It’s usually here to pick up the mined materials and ferry them elsewhere, but enough creds to grease the hands of its operators means they’ll look the other way from a few stowaways,” Ravage says. “Not to mention a crate or two of decent energon.”

Megatron nods. “Let us hope that is more than the Senate is willing to pay if it gets curious then.” Excitement dares stir in his spark.

It feels like the beginning of something momentous, and while Megatron’s hope had been dim prior to his arrest, it has only brightened as of late.

“While we’re waiting for Hot Rod to return, we should discuss strategy,” Megatron continues as he folds his claws over the table, covering the datapad that is his saving grace. “Where do we go from here?”

~

Hot Rod returns while they are in the midst of debating the merits of releasing a video to the public about Megatron’s return and his current state. It may be more prudent to take a measured approach -- namely publishing his new manifests to reassure the public that he lives.

Megatron is angry enough to favor the direct announcement while Soundwave cautions patience. It is Soundwave’s suggestion that Megatron establishes a foothold in Iacon before directly challenging the Senate.

Ravage had no opinion on the matter. He opted for what might be the wisest approach – a nap in Soundwave’s dock.

“I hope I didn’t miss anything important,” Hot Rod says as he saunters inside. He’s smiling, but in the short time they’ve known each other, Megatron has becoming familiar with Hot Rod’s emotions, as easy as they are to read.

Hot Rod’s smiles hide the pain of grief.

“Nothing we can’t catch you up on quickly enough.” Megatron says. His spark throbs as Hot Rod snuggles up to his side without hesitation, rising up to press a kiss to the side of Megatron’s optical hood. “Did you say everything you need to say?”

“I did.” Hot Rod’s field is heavy with melancholy, but the grin he offers is genuine. “I’m all packed up and ready to go. I’m leaving a note for Slinger, you know, in case he does come back some day.”

Soundwave rumbles disapproval. “Unwise.”

Hot Rod frowns, optics narrowing, his field spiking with affront. “All I did was tell him I met someone, and we left to look for work. I also suggested he talk to Hook if he needs a job.” He huffs, vents puffing heat against Megatron’s side. “Hook can fill in the details. I’m not stupid.”

“Apologies.” The slight dip of Soundwave’s head seems contrite. He stands, rising from the chair. “Arrangements to be confirmed. Laserbeak to guide.”

“Understood,” Megatron says. “Thank you, Soundwave. We’ll be along shortly.”

Soundwave nods again and takes his leave while Hot Rod looks around pointedly, his frown lingering. “Where even is Laserbeak? And Ravage? They keep appearing and disappearing like ghosts, and it’s kind of creepy.”

Megatron chuckles. “I suspect we’ll adapt with time.”

“We’d better,” Hot Rod grumbles. “I prefer to know when I’m being watched.” He pauses, and his face flushes with heat. “Wait. Were they watching when we, you know…?”

“Do you actually want the answer to that?” Megatron asks.

Hot Rod scrunches his face with serious thought before he says, “Nope.”

Amusement dances through Megatron’s field. “Ravage was docked. Laserbeak, I assume, is hiding nearby, likely ensuring that no one is paying too much attention to this apartment complex.” Megatron slides his arm around Hot Rod’s waist, pulling the mech into his lap. “You are absolutely sure you want to do this?”

Hot Rod’s arms drape over his shoulders, his forehelm pressing to the ridge of Megatron’s optical hood. “I have not, for a single moment, doubted my decision.”

Relief eases the tight clamp around Megatron’s spark. He worries that he’s dragging this decent mech into the bowels of something that could mean his end. He wants Hot Rod beside him, he wants to pursue this relationship, but there is a part of him which fears it’s a selfish desire, and Hot Rod is too kind to walk away.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Megatron says. “We’re still all but strangers, and taking on the Senate and the established structure is no small task.”

Hot Rod’s field presses to his with an ease so few have ever offered to Megatron in the past. “I’ve lived in Nyon my whole life, Megatron. I can handle the danger. As for us, that’s a chance I’m willing to take. If it doesn’t work out…” He shrugs. “I still want to do this. For every Empurata I’ve saved from the Heap, and all the mechs I couldn’t.”

“All right,” Megatron murmurs , and gently strokes the back of his claw around the curve of Hot Rod’s face, missing his hands more in that moment. “As long as you want to be beside me, I want you there as well.”

“Good.” Hot Rod tilts his head into the touch and grins. “So let’s go save the planet, yeah?”

Megatron chuckles. “Yes, let’s.”

The Senate will never see them coming.

****