Archive of Our Own ^beta

The loud chatter of bustling bots bodying their blissful booze filled the air of the newly reconstructed government building in Iacon. The only building large enough to accommodate the sheer number of attendees. The ivory towers no longer held the contemptuous gazes of close-minded conservatives who willed the wonder of the world in the palm of their servo. No, now the connected ballrooms held anyone and everyone willing to celebrate the signing of the Betelgeuse Peace Treaty. The end of the Great War.

Joy was ever present in the conversations of ex-military personnel, Autobots, Decepticons, and anyone in between; although they all went by ‘Cybertronian’ now. United, at long last. 

The dried ink of the Autobot seal as it stood next to the mark of the Decepticons from earlier that morning was still fresh in Optimus' mind as he cast a glance at those around him. Optimus felt his body rush with a youthful sense of bliss as his designation no longer held the same weight. It was Optimus Prime, sure, but Prime of the people, a Prime who ultimately aided in the end of the war. Long live the designation of a general or a soldier, muddied by a military rank. He was now some bot with a funky trinket in his chest, at least that’s what Optimus told himself. Although, he couldn’t say the same for his counterpart, who was still working on his new anti-warmonger image.

Optimus wasn’t going to try and question how it happened, it just did. And, frankly, he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t. There was a sneaking suspicion that it was all a dream, but it couldn't have been. For one, dreams don’t give you stress-induced insomnia while you’re insisting to yourself that, no, what you’re working on doesn’t need any more adjustments. It’s fine. Put the stylus down. Nor do they make you cry and pound your head against the wall of your dinky, barely rebuilt office while you put your microphone on mute as Starscream goes on about how Vos needs whatever it does. Nor do they usually have 4 million years worth of war for context. So, it wasn’t a dream, all of Optimus’ hard work had finally achieved something. All the pain, suffering, and patched-over walls were worth it. 

In that moment his optics crinkled at the thought of the peace treaty, like he would at the sight of his creation. In a way, the peace treaty served as a good enough placeholder. Small, precious, and the highlight of Optimus’ life, his crowning achievement. Optimus decided to try and look at Megatron while the strange analogy played out in his mind, a curious sense of kinship forming as a result. Megatron stood calmly at the front of the ballroom close enough to Optimus that the prime could look up and find him with ease. Megatron appeared to be talking to a former neural with a drink in hand, his fifth of the evening. Not that Optimus was keeping track. 

Whereas Optimus was visibly content, from what you could see above his mask at least, Megatron seemed content in his way which made Optimus a little bit more content. Overall, it was a very content night. 

“It seems as though everything is in order,” Ultra Magnus said as he reached Optimus with a smile. 

Optimus’ optics crinkled even more; it was nice to see Ultra Magnus of all mechs even-tempered. “Let’s enjoy the rest of the night, then.” He replied and raised his nearly untouched drink in a toast. 

Ultra Magnus nodded and stood respectfully by Optimus as they indulged in idle conversation.

Across the room, Starscream was sprawled across a chair, recounting stories of old, their contents spanning the vorns at war and even the time before. His audience seemed happy to listen as they laughed and told their anecdotes between the lines of Starscream’s. Skywarp zapped in from who-knows-where holding a crate of high-grade, yelling out a call for another round of drinks which garnered him great cheer. Thundercracker was tucked away in a chair by Starscream, his face glued to a datapad typing away at who knows what and swatting Skywarp away from him when the troublemaker got too close and teased his trinemate.  

Prowl stood watch at the back of the room with an even expression before Jazz appeared next to him and tried to offer a drink, which Prowl took, and proceeded to dump into a plant next to them. Jazz laughed and started to take up a seemingly one-sided conversation. Meanwhile, somewhere off in the unused parts of the academy building, Shockwave and Wheeljack were working on ways to rebuild long-dead Space Bridges with newer technology, no rest for the wicked, it seemed. 

But if they chose to work, so be it. Optimus quietly sent a message of goodwill to Wheeljack but refrained from doing so to Shockwave. Professional boundaries and all. 

“Mr. Prime, may I borrow a moment of your time?” A meek voice from below called out. 

Optimus looked down at the mech beckoning him. It was the same bot Megatron was speaking to a moment ago. 

“My name is Steeltouch, I’m trying to collect interviews from as many as I can to create a collage of viewpoints on the recent peace treaty signing for the Tarnish Sun. Is it alright if I interview you?” 

Optimus smiled behind his mask. Why did he keep that thing on again? No matter, his optics spoke more than enough. “I don’t see why not. But, please, Mr. Prime was my predecessor. You may call me Optimus.” 

Steeltouch brightened at the polite gesture perhaps Optimus offered a stark contrast to Megatron. “Thank you! You might have noticed, but I just finished speaking to Lord Megatron so getting an interview with both faction leaders would be great for my piece!” 

Optimus decided to overlook the fact that ‘Lord Megatron’ was used since the reporter seemed to be in a good mood at their prospect. “Of course. How would you like to begin?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short and sweet,” Steeltouch said. “Hopefully, this isn’t silly, but how do you feel about Cybertron now that we are no longer at war?”

Optimus didn’t take much time to answer. It was an easy question, one that he’d answered plenty of times before. “I’m relieved, above all else.” He starts. “On the front lines, I’ve seen so much loss, pain, violence. And although I cannot go back in time to change it. At the very least, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I will mourn the loss of those who passed, those I’ve caused losses to, and carry that weight forever. As will any survivor of war.” The prime adds. “But I’m relieved.” He repeats. “I’m relieved and hopeful that no one else will have to carry that weight anymore.” 

Steeltouch lit up. “So, you don’t consider the war and its results a burden?”

Ack, there it was, the loaded question that would show up eventually. Steeltouch did not waste any time getting to it. Optimus almost praised the reporter for just getting it over with. “No.” His optics narrowed diplomatically. “Never a burden. The causes of the war were bound to happen whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. It had its purpose, at some point, although it became diluted with time. In the end, the Civil War was fought for Cybertronians as a whole. Our rift only grew from the past injustices we all faced; we are all survivors.” 

Steeltouch nodded. “I see.” They began to write away at something in their datapad. “So, you say that the war had its reasons,” They prompted, still writing away. “Even though you were an Autobot, and the chosen leader of said faction, does that mean you agree with some Decepticon ideals?”

Primus. This reporter was digging. 

“‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’” Optimus answered evenly.

Steeltouch perked up. “Oh?” 

“I can't excuse the wrongs committed by the Decepticons, but I can’t dismiss them either. There was truth to their opposition, and although I do not condone the way they went about airing their grievances I can’t say they were wrong in doing so.” 

“Do you consider yourself a Decepticon apologist despite your place as an Autobot?” Steeltouch asked. 

Optimus had to stop himself from visible bristling. “Of course not. And I’m no longer defined by my role in the war, both sides had their reasons for fighting, and there is no good or bad side.”

“What were the Autobots' reasons if you agree with the Decepticons?”

Typical journalists, formulate answers to benefit themselves.

“Well,” Optimus paused. “In the end, we fought for peace.”

“And what does that mean?”

Optimus suppressed a huff, increasingly exasperated. “The Decepticons were not right about everything. Peace through tyranny was an oxymoron, it—"

“I’d like to think of it more as a paradox.” A deeper voice added, suddenly.

Optimus’ optics cycled a fraction and looked over to find Megatron sipping his drink calmly, watching his ex-enemy lose against a cunning journalist. 

Steeltouch was the first to acknowledge his presence with a nod. “Lord Megatron, I was unaware you were here.”

Megatron lifted his drink in the air. “Surprise,” he said nonchalantly. “With all due respect, Steeltool,”

“Steeltouch.”

“Whatever.” Megatron used his drink to point at Optimus. “I think you’re wasting your time with Optimus; he’ll dance around your prying in hopes of painting everyone in a good light. You’re better off bothering some other Autobot officer like Ironhide if you’re looking for conflict.” 

Steeltouch stiffened but tried to laugh it off. “Is that so?”

Megatron’s gaze narrowed and shooed the reporter away with his drink. “It is. Now scram before I reignite the war out of boredom.” 

Steeltouch looked visibly bothered, but better run along than try to get on Megatron’s bad side. “If you insist.” They excused themselves accordingly from the two bigger bits. “Have a good rest of your night, Optimus. Megatron.” 

And with that, they scampered off to do whatever reporters do. 

Optimus sighed, ignoring Megatron’s proximity. Megatron hummed and took another sip of his drink. 

That had to be good enough, sugarcoating the obvious war crimes that had been committed on both sides. Not to mention the neutral's outlook and how they might misconstrue the war. As much as Optimus wanted to say “Yes, it sucked, it was a fragging war. Of course, it’s a burden.” Magnus had long taught Optimus the ways of keeping it to himself in the light of the media. His people-pleasing moral tendencies (obligations, really) didn’t do much good when thrust into the world of politics, although it didn’t affect Megatron as much. 

That could be since, at this point, Megatron didn’t exactly have morals. 

Still, that didn’t stop him from leaning into Optimus’ audial and whispering. “You know they’re probably going to twist that in their favor.” 

Optimus tried to hide his surprise by leaning away to take a sip of his drink, deactivating then reactivating his mask quickly between the acts. The taste didn’t register with Megatron so close to him. “I know. I’ve come to expect it.”

“Yet you still answer so earnestly.” Megatron articulated.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Optimus says, looking down at his drink. The swirling colors of cheap high-grade are situated between the flow of the better-tasting stuff. “It’s difficult to convey your truth when the whole world is looking at you for theirs, so I try to make it generalized.” He explains. “Applicable to everyone, even if it’s just a little.” 

Megatron makes a contemplative noise and drinks from his cube. “How generous of you. I’m ashamed to say that I failed to put that much thought into my responses. I simply speak for myself.” 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Optimus looks off in search of Steeltouch’s silhouette. “It’s a luxury you have, it’s best if you take it. I’m their Prime, it’s my responsibility to put them first, not you.” 

“And here I thought your title lost its prestige.” Megatron quips.

“It lost its military power, that’s all.” Optimus shrugs. “Not that it was mine to take. And I have no intention of becoming a hermit at a temple in case it ever gets rebuilt.” Optimus points out. “So now I’m doing the bare minimum.” 

Megatron didn’t answer, merely using his drink as a buffer for a lack of response. But he didn’t leave Optimus’ side while he did, which Optimus anticipated him to. 

That was the first conversation they had in a while. Optimus could count on one servo how many non-political, semi-casual conversations they had when first initiating the ceasefire. 

The first was about a month into peace talks; Megatron asked whether Optimus wanted an additive, and it led to a whopping three-sentence conversation on how Optimus was allergic to iodine. Optimus would immediately regret admitting to something so exploitable, but nothing ever came of it. Megatron only nodded and said something along the lines of ‘duly noted,’ and Optimus never found iodine near his rations. Not that he ever did.

The second time was when they were interviewed by a neutral third party, scrutinized, really, and some questions bordered on invasive, but they both took it in stride and answered them to the best of their ability. After the fact, Optimus queried Megatron on how the interview felt. He didn’t enjoy it. That led to a slightly better conversation walking out of the building that was almost entirely Megatron complaining with Optimus being a yes-mech. Optimus recalled to his embarrassment that he laughed out loud at some point which garnered an even stare from Megatron before he tried to move on to another complaint. He decided to avoid making hasty reactions in front of the ex-warlord from then on out. 

And now, the second shortest conversation of all, the one they just had about the press and their slippery slope. Still, out of the three conversations they had, the last was the least awkward. So that had to count for something. It meant their estranged relationship might lead somewhere beyond gilded friends-turned-enemies. Optimus wasn’t picky, he wouldn’t mind settling for frenemies or even acquaintances. Anything was better than an enemy or nemesis. 

The two now ex-faction leaders stood in silence after the conversation trailed off. It wasn’t comfortable silence, not with everyone else around them actively engaging in conversation. Nevertheless, neither was quite willing to mention a departure or depart without saying so. After four million years of fighting, the worst situation they’ve both been in was standing awkwardly in the middle of a ballroom. 

They both began to slip away at their drinks, side by side while taking in the intermingling Cybertronian life. It was nice, at least, to be in each other’s presence without outside factors screaming at them to kill each other; their battle systems were already working on that. 

“So…” Megatron tried. “How have the festivities been treating you?” 

Optimus internally cringed. There was an effort, at least. “I’m not big on parties, I’d rather sneak off to the library,” Optimus mentioned. “But my lack of presence would be noticeable, unfortunately.” 

“I see.” 

The conversation tailed off again. Why does small talk have to be so difficult? 

Optimus looked down at his cube, still half full. It was a tolerable drink, nothing he particularly liked. But he didn’t like to drink in general. Looking over his shoulder ever so slightly, Optimus noted that Megatron had finished his drink. 

“Do you drink a lot?” 

“What?”

“Your drinks,” Optimus pointed. “You finish them quickly.”

Megatron made a puzzled face. “Have you been keeping track?” 

“Uh,” Oops. “No, nothing like that.” Optimus tried to deflect. “You finished that one pretty quickly, I assume you’d have finished the others just as quickly.” 

Megatron tried to hide a smirk, luckily it evaded Optimus as he looked away and back to the general vicinity. “I have. This is my fifth drink.” 

Optimus hummed, still looking away. “Is that so?” 

Megatron's smirk widened a fraction, so Optimus was keeping track. Curious. 

Megatron bent down to close their minimal height difference, holding the cube out in front of Optimus. “Would you like to join me in getting another?” 

“I have yet to finish mine.” 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t tag along. Or would you rather stand here and quietly stare at everyone?” 

“Well,” Optimus passed a general pass over the room, any other potential prospects for idle chat were currently unavailable. Prowl and Jazz were still having their one-sided conversation but interrupting that would be rude regardless. Magnus was scolding Hot Rod for what appeared to be a cube he spilled over himself, and Elita was nowhere to be seen. Most likely outside keeping watch. “I guess there’s no harm in joining you.” 

“Wonderful. I’m honored.” Megatron joked with a bow at the helm and began his departure towards the makeshift bar at the other side of the ballroom. 

Optimus followed close behind and decided to strike up a more booze-related conversation. “What have you been drinking? It doesn’t appear to have made an effect on you.” 

Megatron thought for a moment before looking back at Optimus with a shrug. “No idea, I told the bartender to give me whatever is strong enough to stop me from punching a nosy reporter and they followed through.” 

Optimus blinks at Megatron’s back. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” Megatron answers. 

“It must be strong, then…how aren’t you passed out in the middle of the room?” 

“Hah!” Megatron laughs. “You underestimate my abilities, Prime.”

“I don’t think that’s something to be proud of,” Optimus mumbled. 

The two warframes reached the bar and Megatron leaned on the counter, finally looking at Optimus properly. “No? I’ll have you know that’s something I’m particularly proud of.” 

Optimus avoided rolling his optics. “Right.” 

“Jealous ‘cause you’re a lightweight, Prime?” 

“I’m not a lightweight.” 

“Is that so?” Megatron grinned, bordering between sinister and playful. “Good.” Megatron leaned over the counter and called out to the bartender, wiggling the empty cube. “Can I get two more of whatever the frag this was?” 

The bartender sighed, clearly aware of what Megatron was asking for. “Of course. Just one moment, please.” 

“Two?” 

Megatron grinned, wider. “One’s for you.” 

Optimus narrowed his optics, unimpressed. “I haven’t finished this drink.” 

“You said you’re not a lightweight, take it like a shot.” 

“That would be wasteful.” 

Megatron chuckled. “That’s the point of drinking. Now go on, I want to see you practice what you preach for once.” 

Now, ironically, Optimus would never endorse succumbing to peer pressure. If anything, he actively spoke out against it. He could not count the times that he had spent teaching Bumblebee and Cliffjumper to avoid it and realize their worth, all while not pressuring others as well. 

Even so, Optimus was a bit of a nerd too, and with the big, scar, jock-like Megatron chiding him on like they were academy classmates, it ticked Optimus off a bit more than it should have. 

Optimus succumbed to peer pressure far too easily. “Fine.”

Much to Optimus’ chagrin, he turned away from Megatron when his mask clicked back and downed the drink in a single gulp. Optimus was pretty good at preserving his self-image, all that time spent at war made him intuitive to those around him and how to present accordingly. That being said, his mask also did approximately 90% of the work. So, Optimus, barefaced in all his glory, stood stiff, facing away from Megatron trying to hide the most disgusted look from forming on his face. 

It failed, obviously, and Megatron started to howl in laughter. “Not a lightweight, my aft!” 

Optimus didn’t know what burned more, his face or his throat. The drink wasn’t even that strong, Optimus just really hated the taste of most high grades. Something about the bitter tang didn’t sit right with his glossa. The mask snapped shut once again, and Optimus instinctively brought up a servo to touch his flaming neck cables. “That was awful.”

“Not a drinker, huh?”

Optimus shook his head. “I'm not fond of the taste. I don’t even know why I did that.” 

Megatron clicked his glossa. “So desperate for my attention.” 

“I hope the tabloids find you recharging on a bench tomorrow,” Optimus growled, but his burning throat left the threat half-baked in the form of a whimper. 

“With how you’re throwing back these drinks, you’ll be right beside me, Lightweight-imous Prime.” 

Optimus flicked his finials in annoyance. “You’re not as clever as you think you are.” 

Megatron, clearly pleased with himself, didn’t pay any attention to the jab. “Agree to disagree.” 

“Two strut spinners.” The bartender called, setting the two cubes down before picking themselves back up and approaching another patron. 

Megatron picked up the glass that he decided would be his, took a sip, then crooked his head at Optimus to pick up the other. 

Optimus did as he was prompted. He lifted the drink and opened his mask, shielding his face with a hand, suddenly feeling insecure, and took a sip. It was sweet, surprisingly, something much more akin to what Optimus might prefer in a drink. “It’s sweet.” 

“Exactly.” Megatron let out with a refreshed ‘Ah.’ “Hides the high grade pretty well.” 

Optimus realized he couldn’t taste any of the high grade in the drink. “You’re right.” 

Those kinds of drinks were the most dangerous. You kept drinking them with the flavor in mind, and before you knew it you were halfway across town on the roof of a sky-rise hotel with the only exit door locked. Optimus noted to himself to drink slowly. 

Megatron took another swig. “Although, I do wish it were chilled.” 

“Would chilling it make it any better?” 

“I think it would.” Megatron mused. “Do they have any liquid helium around here?” 

“Liquid helium?” Optimus asked. “I don’t think so, I doubt they had the foresight to decide to start chilling drinks like that.”

Megatron looked at Optimus pensively, then went back to his drink. “Fair enough, they should have some at the lab. Care to join me for another quick trip?” 

Optimus paused. Megatron was a little tipsy, but certainly not enough to even border on drunk. “Well, I already came this far.” He gazed at his internal chronometer. “I planned on paying Wheeljack a visit anyway.” 

“Let’s not waste time then.” Megatron winked and began to make his way out of the ballroom. 

Optimus, once again, followed close behind and quietly hoped no one would get the wrong idea. 

As they slipped out of the room, Optimus felt relaxed in the cold air of the desolate hallways, not realizing how tense he was. The echoes of their steps cleared the silence of the halls. Megatron didn’t seem interested in continuing his teasing, most likely enjoying the silence. 

The trip to the lab wasn’t particularly eventful. Megatron and Optimus were the only ones who walked downstairs en route to the even quieter side of the building. None of the lights were on, but the windows remained uncovered so, there wasn’t a lack of light, more so a lack of artificial light. It was so peaceful Optimus almost asked if they could stay there the rest of the night. But in fear of sounding selfish, he said nothing. 

By the time they arrived, Megatron and Optimus had matched pace, and the latter knocked softly on the opened door to announce their entry. “Hello? Wheeljack? Shockwave?” 

The glow of Wheeljack audials flashed across the room when he yelped after bumping his head on something that made it apparent that at least he was present. “Hey, boss bot! Come on in! What brought ya here?” 

Optimus smiled at the sight of Wheeljack rubbing the top of his helm with a similarly covered smile. “We were wondering if you had any liquid helium.” 

“Why would you be searching for that?” a deep voice asked from the darker side of the room. 

Megatron straightened in appearance, shedding his earlier act with Optimus, and looked over to the shrouded figure. “Nothing serious, Shockwave. I merely desired for a drink to be chilled.” 

Shockwave’s single optic appeared to lose its distrust at the sight of his lord. “I see. You will find it at the cryocooler by the shelf on the left.” 

Optimus, who stood closer to said cryocooler by the time they entered, handed his drink to Megatron wordlessly and stepped over to the cooler. Tugging it open. “Liquid helium, liquid helium, helium…Ah, there it is.” Optimus plucked out a small vial that frosted over as soon as it touched the room-temperature air of the lab. “Is this enough?” 

Megatron nodded. “It wouldn’t take much.” 

Wheeljack looked over the two guests. “Is that all?” 

Optimus clasped the vial in his servo and nodded as well. “It is, for Megatron at least. I joined along to check in on you.” Optimus explained. “Are you feeling alright?” 

Wheeljack lit up, literally and figuratively. “Awe, shucks boss bot that’s nice of you. But I’m doing good!” He struck a macho pose. “Science never sleeps!” 

“We need to finish the maintenance systems for the space bridges,” Shockwave mentioned coldly. 

“I’m sure a night off wouldn’t hurt,” Optimus suggested sheepishly. 

“It’s alright,” Wheeljack smiled behind his faceplate, optics crinkling much like Optimus’. “At this rate, we’ll have it done by tonight. So, the bridges will be online by next week!”

“Which is why we don’t need distractions,” Shockwave added. 

Megatron chuckled. “Very subtle, Shockwave, thank you. We’ll be taking our leave now.” 

Optimus said a warm goodbye to Wheeljack and excused himself from Shockwave in a respectful manner as he skipped off behind Megatron. 

When they were a good distance away from the lab, Optimus shivered. 

“He’s like that to everyone, don’t worry,” Megatron reassured. 

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Optimus admitted. “I’m sure he has his reasons.” 

“Probably.” 

Optimus didn’t press after that, given Megatron seemed about as apt to answer as Optimus was willing to inquire.

They continued their walk silently when something piqued Megatron’s interest and he stopped in his tracks. 

Optimus looked over to Megatron. “Is everything alright?”

Megatron nodded, appearing to read over a message before refocusing his attention on Optimus. “Yes. Thundercracker sent me a message saying the light show was starting.”

“Light show?” 

Megatron jerked his head towards the windows. “Frenzy got fireworks and he’s itching to set them off.” 

“How did he get a hold of fireworks?” Optimus asked. 

Megatron tried to think of the reason. “I believe he egged Wheeljack to prepare some for tonight. I can only imagine Wheeljack went on to bother Shockwave in aid with such a request.”

“Oh?” Optimus tilted to the side to gaze beyond Megatron. “Is that why they’re still working?”

“Could be.” Megatron shrugged. “Shockwave was a bit icier than usual.” 

“What a shame, they deserve to see all their hard work.”  

“Don’t fret. I’m sure they’ll be able to see the show from where they are, much like us.” Megatron remarked. 

Optimus gazed towards one of the arched windows on one side of the hallway. “It is dark out; Frenzy must have gotten impatient.”

Megatron agreed. “He’s always impatient, forever seeking a reason to cause a ruckus. At least now he’s blowing stuff up within reason.”

“I can see why Wheeljack was willing to take up the request.” Optimus choked back a laugh, suppressing it to a meager chuckle. “Should we pick up the pace, then?” 

Megatron looked on, expecting a little insistence from the prime. Instead, he set the two drinks down on the windowsill to their left and looked up, outside. “I think we’ll have a good view from here, no reason to join the crowd.”

“Are you sure?” 

“You’re quite incessant, Prime.” 

Optimus flinched. “I don’t mean to, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable with where we are.”

Megatron faced Optimus with a half-narrowed optic. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?” 

“No,” Optimus spoke evenly. “Of course not.”

Megatron’s gaze softened strangely. “Are you uncomfortable, Optimus?” 

“I am not.” The prime said stiffly. 

Megatron didn’t try to argue the notion. “You’re free to leave if you are.” 

“I said I’m not.”

“Then why don’t you open the liquid helium and make these drinks a bit more festive.” 

Optimus glossed over the phrasing in favor of doing so and opened the vial with a click of the cap breaking its seal. “How much should I pour in?” 

Megatron thought it over momentarily. “Just a bit. Anything more than a couple of drops might freeze it over entirely.”

Optimus nodded and carefully plopped about two decently sized drops into each glass. The contents made a hissing sound, it was somewhat deterring to think they would drink it, but the high-grade began to chill into a semi-slurry-like appearance before he subspaced the rest of the liquid helium.  

Megatron grinned. “Perfect, you were a mixologist in your past life Prime.”

“I was an archivist.” Optimus corrected. "You know this."

Megatron snorted. “Alright, I’ll give you that one.”

Optimus looked confused. “It’s the truth.” 

Before Megatron could explain the unintended joke, the loud crackle and bang! of the first fireworks had made their way.

On the other side of the hallway. 

Still, the image of the colorful explosives was good enough to be enjoyed from their relative location. 

“We gambled on the wrong side.” Optimus blinked, unconsciously stepping away from the left windowsill without a drink and towards the right. 

Megatron’s optics followed the moving prime until Optimus reached the other side and set his servos on the window, looking out. Then followed.

“I didn’t know you liked fireworks.” He said plainly as he too abandoned his drink on the original windowsill.

“They’re loud, wasteful, pollutant, and triggering,” Optimus started to answer, optics glued to the barrage of colors reflecting on his silver mask. “But I cannot deny that they’re very pretty.” 

“Spoken like a brother of Magnus,” Megatron droned as he took in the colorful gunpowder. 

“It’s only natural he would. We are brothers, after all,” Optimus did not say. 

Megatron jumped back to see the shoulder-padded-prime-lookalike staring unimpressed. 

“What brings you here, oh holy not-chosen?” Megatron asked. 

“Not looking for you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Ultra Magnus said, annoyed. 

“Hello, Magnus,” Optimus said easily, letting the two glare at each other while he remained focused on what was occurring outside. 

Ultra Magnus broke optical contact with Megatron. “You disappeared without telling me.” 

“Please, he’s a grown mech.” Megatron rolled his optics as he rested his weight on the wall by the window. 

“Yes, which would be fine if others didn’t say he disappeared alongside you.” Magnus bit, then turned to Optimus with a much more open expression. “Is everything alright, Optimus?” 

For the first time since his arrival, Optimus faced Ultra Magnus. “Yes, I’m fine. You mustn’t worry so much.” His optics crinkled. “You can join us in watching the fireworks if you’d like.” 

“No, thank you,” Magnus replied. “As long as you’re alright, I simply felt the need to check on you,” He admitted before his face soured a fraction. “Just as I now feel the need to check on the twins.” He shivered and excused himself with a quick tilt of the helm that turned into a brisk walk back to the ballroom. 

The echoes of Sunstreaker yelping barely reached Optimus and Megatron. 

Megatron clicked his glossa. “Hell of an intuition on that mech,”

Optimus returned his focus to the slowly depreciating light show. “He’s always had a knack for being the authority in things.” 

“Did you ever pick up on such a habit?” Megatron asked, tilting his helm to see the blue and red outline of Optimus against the shadows of the corridor. 

“Hm,” Was all Optimus could initially let out. “No. I don’t believe I did.” He admitted softly. “Prowl says I’m too passive to be as stern as Ultra Magnus, so Magnus had to pick up on my lack of trepidation. Sort of how I had to pick up on his inability to empathize at times.” 

Megatron didn’t offer much of a response after that. He could have. He had a few witty remarks he could snicker out but decided it would be better to bask in the intimacy. Optimus was in enough of a haze to let something personal slip. Still, it relied on the same distance he always spoke with; enough detail to establish the intimacy, yet too little to build off. It was like reading a character card on the back of a toy box. 

The popping of dwindling fireworks still entranced Optimus enough that he stayed by the window, Megatron quietly at his side. They remained quiet for the rest of the show until the big finale. By the time the fireworks had reached their end, in a massive storm of loud shots, the hallway fell quiet. For once, the quiet was comfortable. Nothing spoke or tapped or reached out to bother the old faction leaders. Somewhere in the quiet moment, Megatron had fixed himself to face his companion. Optimus remained transfixed on the view. It wasn’t impressive, but its existence now, after the war, was enough to put a spell over the prime. Megatron didn’t care much for the view outside the window he would get the chance to see it at any other moment in time. For now, he was looking at a spell-bound Optimus. 

Optimus wasn’t remarkable with his mask on. Without it, he looked a bit more like Orion Pax, but Orion Pax was not remarkable either. Nevertheless, the mask was fixed in place as it always was, that alone was enough to make Optimus appealing, modestly. If it were not for his title and popularity, Optimus would be a bot-next-door kind of mech. The way his optics did most of the work when trying to express himself, despite times when he gave his best efforts not to. When he’d force a glare to emphasize his distaste or make a strange face to convey his confusion without words, even when he could easily speak, it must have come from experience. Most notably, the way Optimus’ optics would scrunch up when he smiled both tokened his age but more so how often he did smile. It was cute. Adorable, even. Megatron doubted the thought of deeming Optimus as cute would ever occur, yet here he was, doing just that, and it was starting to happen frequently. All this added to the fact that Optimus’ best traits were certainly those bright optics, far too young in comparison to the rest of his frame, their simplicity added to the offense. 

Always calm, controlled, and deeply contemplative. 

But never alluring, Megatron realized, strange how Optimus teetered between endearing and endangering. Both come from his time as an archivist and a soldier. However, he never tried to appear tempting like many others. Perhaps it was the lack of practice or desire on the prime's part, he always did come off a bit prudish. Megatron wondered if it was even possible to imagine Optimus in such a degrading light, let alone see it occur in real life. He was chosen of Primus, after all. A holy figure, even if Optimus outright hated to admit it. It would be sacrilegious to imagine him defiled. Megatron’s gaze narrowed. How easy would it be to entice that mask away? To hoist him up onto the windowsill, pushing his legs open and—

Megatron tore his optics from Optimus and back onto the view outside the window. He knew better than that. There were limits to how much he could indulge himself. 

Swallowing hard, Megatron figured it best to analyze what he knew already, and then start imagining things in a drunken stupor. Still facing the window, he looked at Optimus again. To any other outsider, it would only be a prime looking out, nothing more. Little to analyze and assume the weight of a war bearing down on him. But Megatron was different. He was a pro at overanalyzing things. At that moment, in the soft blue reflected upon clean glass, unreadable unless to a select few (a small pride of Megatron to know their language), he knew that from the curve of his lenses and the opacity of the color. 

Optimus was spaced out staring at a streetlamp.

Blessed fool, and yet he appeared to be the most serene item in existence. Pure passivity as he looked out in quiet joy, a contemplative peace, a hope that he would never wake up if it were a dream. Fascinating how optics could speak so much when you bothered to look. 

The unwavering light of Optimus’ optics made Megatron wonder if he’d notice him staring yet, Megatron leaned towards the answer no.

Megatron took a snapshot of the pensive prime and stowed it away for safekeeping. At the same moment, when Megatron had finally started to savor the quiet, a particularly loud trine stumbled down the hallway in a spur. 

“I told you not to play that stupid drinking game!” Thundercracker hissed, his plating scuffing against the other that wrapped around him. 

Skywarp slurred something incomprehensible to the untrained audial. Outside of the glyphs, it could be discernible as a giggle. 

Starscream let out an irritated sigh. “He’s too stupid to heed any warning. I say we dump him somewhere in here and pick him back up in the morning.” 

“We don’t want him either!” Megatron called out jokingly, Optimus peered over him to get a better look.

The trine all snapped to the silver silhouette with an additional head poking out his side. 

“Are we interrupting something?” Starscream purred as he shuffled a few things into his subspace. 

“No,” Optimus replied quickly, stepping away from Megatron to the stumbling trio. “Is Skywarp alright?” 

Starscream waved a servo. “Bah! He’s fine, just off his thrusters drunk.” 

Optimus remained unconvinced. “Do any of you need help?” 

Thundercracker, the sole aid of a blabbering Skywarp, looked at the prime pleadingly. “Do you know where a medical office is?” 

“It’ll be down this hallway to your left, the fifth door on the right,” Optimus answered, pointing down the hallway. “Are you sure you don’t need help?” 

Thundercracker mumbled gratitude as he adjusted Skywarp to wrap his arm around his shoulders better, but Starscream shrugged off Optimus. “We’re not rookies, Prime. We’ve dealt with this moron getting drunk longer than you’ve had that trinket.” He snapped his digits at Thundercracker and Skywarp. “Let’s get going, I don’t want to miss any more of the party.” 

Thundercracker said his goodbyes, Starscream didn’t, and Skywarp barely knew what was going on and greeted Optimus and Megatron with a “‘Sup,” before he got dragged by his trinemate down the hall. 

Optimus sighed and made his way back to Megatron. “I hope Skywarp will be okay.”

Megatron scoffed. “You worry as much as your brother, he’ll be fine. Trust me. That seeker could down a tank of pure acetone and wake up without a helm ache.” 

Optimus looked mildly relieved at the example. “If you say so,” 

Just as the trine had slipped away, their place was quickly taken by Jazz and Prowl sprinting down the hall.

“So much traffic tonight,” Megatron mused.

Prowl managed to outpace Jazz and greeted the two leaders with a nod. “Did Starscream and his trine come down this hallway?” 

“You just missed them,” Megatron answered. 

“Did something happen?” Optimus asked. 

Jazz had caught up with Prowl by the time Optimus asked his question. “Naturally,” he heaved. “We think Starscream snatched blueprints for Crystal City and some important documents for trading ports regarding Vos-connected off-world locations while escorting Skywarp to a medbay.”

“I doubt Thundercracker or Skywarp are aware,” Prowl mentioned. “Starscream must’ve used them as an excuse to slip away from the party and raid my office.” 

“Typical.” Megatron rumbled. “They should be down the hallway to the left at the medbay.” 

“The fifth door on the right,” Optimus added.

“Should I go in there and grab him?” Megatron asked, stepping closer to Prowl and Jazz.

“No,” Prowl answered with a raised servo. “I don’t want to cause a scene, if we go in it should be resolved quietly.”

“Is that even possible with Screamer?” Jazz asked with the flash of his visor.

“It isn’t,” Megatron commented irately. 

“Nevertheless, I’m on duty and it's under my jurisdiction,” Prowl said and began to depart from the group. “Thank you for your cooperation. Please excuse us.” 

“See ya!” Jazz waved and caught up with Prowl once more as they sped down the hallway and turned the corner. 

Megatron and Optimus stood silently as the other pair disappeared from their line of sight. The hallway returned to its quiet state. Megatron looked to either side of the hallway to see if another gaggle of bots would make their way through, none seemed to rear their helms. 

“Should we head back now?” Optimus inquired. 

“I don’t see why not.” 

The two looked at each other for a moment, as if expecting the other to begin walking. When neither did, the final pair of footsteps came scampering down the hallway.

“Megatron? Optimus Prime?” A voice asked from beyond.

The pair of larger bots walked forward as if the voice beckoned them enough to begin their departure from the trafficked hallway. Right at the end of their original hallway, did they see the helm of another?

Optimus was the first to react, looking down to find the finicky reporter from before. “Steeltouch.” He realized. 

“Indeed, small world huh?”

“Small building, if anything,” Megatron answered. “What are you doing so far from the party?” 

Steeltouch snickers for a moment. “I could ask you two the same.” 

“We were visiting Shockwave and Wheeljack in the lab for an update on the space bridges.” Optimus half-lied in the hope that their appearance alone in a hallway would not garner any suspicion. 

Steeltouch accepted the reason easily. “Is that so? Well, I was following Jazz and Prowl a klik ago. I overheard something cool for a cover story, but it seems like I lost them.” They explained, looking around to see if they could find the two again. “Must be nice to have long legs.”

Megatron didn’t care to offer a polite laugh like Optimus did, rather, he pointed down the hallway they were on with a thumb. “They went down that way and up the stairs,” he lied very blatantly, though it didn’t register to Steeltouch. “We ran into them a moment ago.” 

No better way to lie than to pad it with a fact. 

Steeltouch brightened, throwing away the possible scandal that they could’ve brewed. “Really? Great! Thank you!” They darted off without a goodbye and Megatron grinned. 

“Sucker.” 

“Megatron, you can’t just lie to them like that.” Optimus scolded. 

“They’re not going to find Jazz or Prowl either way, I’m doing everyone a favor by sending them away on a wild gear-goose chase. Now we’ll be spared any more uncomfortable questions.”

Optimus’ optics blanked as he avoided a response and began to walk further down the hallway they had met Steeltouch in, Megatron followed close behind until Optimus suddenly gasped. 

“The drinks.” He blipped. 

The forgotten drinks dawned upon Megatron as he stopped suddenly. “I forgot about those.” 

“They’re probably warm now,” Optimus considered. “Still, we should go back to get them. It seems a bit inconsiderate to leave them there.” 

Megatron agreed. “At least we’re getting our steps in.” 

The two mechs turned on their heels and made their way back to the drinks in an unceremonious walk, neither spoke, considering it took a handful of seconds to walk back. The hallway was unoccupied when they returned, and the drinks remained seated safely on the windowsill. 

“Tada.” Megatron basked in the drinks. “Our refreshments.” 

Optimus lifted the glass he assumed was his. “They’re still chilled,” he admits. “Somewhat. So, it’s not a total loss.” 

Megatron picked up the other, lifting it to his optic to offer his appraisal. Optimus’ presumption was spot on, it was still somewhat chilled. The leftover slush floated to the top while the rest returned to its room-temperature state. He fixed his grip and spun it so the contents would reach a more homogeneous state. It looked a bit better mixed, but at this point, the drink had lost its original charm. 

Megatron didn’t mind. “Good enough for me.” He took the glass and downed the entire drink in a greedy gulp. 

It was sweet, as expected. It wasn’t as though he didn’t like sweets, but sweet drinks weren’t his forte despite the fact he’d been drinking the same sweet drink all night. He’d rather something hearty, that didn’t shy away from its contents. Perhaps he was simply in the mood for sweet things given the latest celebrations. Nevertheless, Megatron continued to savor the contents of the drink as it danced upon his glossa as he set the glass back down.

Optimus gaped. “That was bold.” 

Megatron furrowed his optical ridges. “Was it?”

“You should be careful with how much high grade you’re ingesting.” 

Megatron brushed off the concern. “You worry too much about too little, you should drink yours before…” Megatron trailed off as a hot sensation shot through him. 

Optimus looked unfazed. “I told you you’d regret drinking it so fast.” 

Megatron tried to give Optimus the benefit of the doubt for a moment, he focused on the prickling sensation that swam hed down his intake to the pit of his abdomen. It was familiar in the worst way possible. Not yet strong enough to do him over, but it might be in a few more kilks. He needed to act fast. 

Megatron shot Optimus with a glare. His optics narrowed to slits as he stepped closer to the prime. “And what do you mean by that?”

One of Optimus’ legs stepped back as he felt the growing tension. “What do you mean? You’ll feel sick drinking so quickly,” Optimus trailed off when Megatron’s gaze ripped through his armor with wrath he had become far too accustomed to from their time on the battlefield. Optimus felt his battle protocols flare up with every inch that Megatron took to close the distance between them. Yet Megatron did not act out, he seemed almost hesitant; looking for an answer within Optimus’ optics. 

A few more angled steps back and Optimus felt his back reach a wall as Megatron leaned much closer than he should have, while he set his servos against the wall to prevent Optimus from escaping. “What are your intentions, Prime?” 

“Has all that high grade gone to your processor?” Optimus asked in disbelief. His voice began to take on a deeper pitch as he started to shut down his protocols that attempted to go online without his approval. “You asked me to come with you.” 

Megatron tried not to let his now-spinning helm allow him to falter. He had to keep up the image. He could not appear weak. He let himself appear furious. The hot prickling had started to slip into a burning sensation. Like being impaled by a dagger of flames. The blade slowly tore through the protoform of his chest and down to the bottom of his tanks. Funnily enough, he was well acquainted with the sensation. It was a cruel friend, but an old one, nevertheless. 

Acid. 

What kind of acid it was beyond him, it had to be exceedingly strong to earn such a volatile reaction out of Megatron. But he knew acid when he felt it. A strange bubble of pride came at the thought of it, it was strong, yes, but he was confident that it was not enough to kill him. 

Nothing would ever be. 

It would take a saber through his spark chamber to truly get rid of him, all the poison in the universe could not subdue him. All the acid in the world could not claim him. 

Still, Megatron was not about to let the bot who tried to reacquaint him with such an old friend go unharmed. “What did you do?” He growled. Any warmth he garnered towards the prime in their fleeting moment froze over much like it did during the war, it returned to being sealed away in the back of his processor, the pit of his spark where it would never be humored again. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Optimus growled back as he brought his cube closer to himself, clutched in one servo as the other pushed Megatron away.

Megatron didn’t let that stop him, he grabbed onto the wrist that pushed him away and tugged Optimus closer. The cube in his grip nearly splashed. “Don’t play dumb, Prime. I know what you did.” 

“Megatron, by the Allspark, what are you talking about? I didn’t do anything!” 

Megatron closed whatever nonexistent distance they had in a fraction of a nanosecond and was centimeters away from Optimus’ protected faceplate. The cube the prime held firmly in his grasp bubbled from the movement, offering a fizzing sound that caught Megatron’s attention in an instant. 

It bubbled. 

Megatron's focus narrowed. 

Energon is a typically basic solution, even the strongest forms of high grade don’t break past a neutral 7 on the pH scale. They were made of metal after all. It was common knowledge that cold energon-based drinks do not bubble or fizz, frozen or not, much less when they are not stirred and only swish for a moment or two. 

“Your drink was altered as well.” He whispered hoarsely. Megatron released his tightened grip on Optimus leaving behind an imprint. His optics lost their temper in a flash. “Don’t drink that.” He ordered. 

Optimus vented heavily at Megatron; his optics were cycled so wide Megatron could see the mechanics at work. “What?” 

“Our drinks were tampered with,” Megatron answered between coughs. “Someone poured acid into them.” He looked at Optimus’ indented wrist and lifted a digit to inspect it from afar. “I apologize, are you alright?” 

“Am I alright?” He asked. 

Megatron nodded, then tried to clear his vocalizer, and failed. “I lashed out under presumption and hurt your wrist.” 

Optimus’ field sputtered and flickered much like the fireworks from before. “Am I alright?” He wasn’t buying it.

Megatron flinched, presuming he did more damage than intended. “Yes, like I said, I’m sorry.”

“Are you insane? Are you alright?” Optimus gasped uncharacteristically. He quickly set down the glass, gently, pushing it away with a digit for good measure. It wasn’t enough as the action was too fast and some of the contents spilled over the cube and onto the windowsill, although it didn’t touch Optimus. It did, however, eat away at the stone of the windowsill with no issue. Optimus looked distraught at the sight as he started to frantically inspect Megatron from the outside. “You drank an entire cube!’ 

Megatron coughed to clear his voicebox from static to explain, but Optimus was already all over him in a tizzy. “We need to get you to a medic, right now. If we go where I sent Skywarp there should be enough supplies to subdue some of the greater damage. Let me call Ratchet, and Knockout…and First Aid to be safe.” Optimus clung to Megatron as he tried to grab his arm to wrap around his shoulders, but Megatron wriggled away from the mech.

“Would you,” Cough. “Relax?” Cough. “I’m fine.” Another cough.

“You just drank a cube of incredibly strong acid; you are not fine.” Optimus fretted. 

Megatron coughed a few more times. “Guh,” he sighed. “I’m not going to die, it’s just a bit of acid.”

“A bit?” Optimus repeated. “A bit?! A few drops ate through the stone like it was talc! How are you not dead right now?” He looked up at Megatron worried, his own slightly damaged wrist finding its grip once again on Megatron in case he collapsed. 

Megatron smirked through the obvious discomfort. “Thank you.” 

“That was not a compliment.” 

Megatron’s stance faltered a little as the acid began to settle into his tanks. “Please,” he scoffed but it hardly came off as confident in his condition. “Starscream has tried to kill me so many times with acid and poison alike that I’m practically immune to any of its forms.” He clarified. “This stuff is pretty strong, though.” He admitted reluctantly. 

Optimus shook his head. “That’s still not good, do you need to sit down? Let me call someone, please.” 

Megatron ignored the request. “To be honest, I was more upset at the fact that you might have dealt the damage.” 

Optimus paused. “Me? You thought I poisoned you?”

“It was my first thought,” Megatron admitted through his hoarse voice. “Your phrasing didn’t help.” 

“Ah,” Optimus started, looking back at how he spoke. “I’m sorry, I was being arrogant.”

Megatron continued. “If your glass was poisoned as well then it means someone else must’ve slipped something in our drinks while we were away.” 

Optimus’ optics locked onto the drink from before, perched on the damaged windowsill in the safety of its glass prison. “We were the only ones that touched the drinks.” 

“We don’t know that for certain.” Megatron offered. “We both drank from the cubes without issue before we left them here in the hall, so it had to have happened while we stayed here.” 

“That’s true,” Optimus admitted. “But the only other possibilities would be those who passed us in this hallway. 

“Easy,” Megatron said. “That means Magnus, Prowl, Jazz, Steeltouch, or the three stooges did it. And I can already narrow it down to our culprit.” 

Optimus blinked. “Really?” 

“Absolutely.” Megatron reset his optics to better accommodate the growing double-vision. His previous temper began to flare out again. “I think we should go to that medbay you were talking about.” 

Optimus sighed in relief. “Oh, good.” 

“Not for the reason you think,” Megatron corrected. “I will insist that I’m fine.” Megatron tried to prevent himself from slurring his words, he would not let it affect him so outwardly. Not while it hadn’t slipped into his lines, at least. “Because that snake Starscream is in there.” He snarled. 

Optimus helped Megatron gather himself. “Surely he wouldn’t be responsible for this?”

“Who else would it be?” Megatron asked, his anger blindsided him once again. “Prowl and Jazz were already after him for other offenses. If he took Crystal City blueprints and Vos trading systems, he’s obviously in the middle of another scheme. No better way to get that power he loves so much than getting rid of us.” 

Optimus couldn’t exactly deny the allegation, it was pretty on par with what Starscream would do. “Alright, fine, but don’t cause a scene. All we are working with right now is hearsay.”

“Trust me, Magnus is not the only one with superior intuition.” Megatron tried to straighten himself, but the weight of his frame felt a bit heavier than usual, and he nearly toppled over.

Optimus reached out to help steady the burly mech. “As long as it gets you to a medbay.” 

Optimus helped drag a grumbling Megatron down the hall and towards the medical office he had resigned Skywarp and his trine to. Upon their entry, Thundercracker was the first to perk up and welcome them into the medbay, albeit confused. “What brings you two in here?”

Optimus looked around, quickly noticing Prowl and Jazz’s lacking presence. 

Megatron growled. “You’ll see.” He managed to wrangle himself away from Optimus and stumbled towards Starscream. “I know what you did, seeker.” 

Skywarp laid flat out on the floor, snoring contently while Starscream was sitting on the dinky berth. “Excuse me?” 

Optimus reached out to calm Megatron. “Uh, Megatron, maybe you should hold on for a second.”

“No!” He roared. “You!” He pointed, his fusion cannon whirring to life. “You tried to kill us!” 

Starscream’s screech was loud enough to shatter glass. “What?!” 

Thundercracker jolted, standing up from his seat and stepping over by Optimus to get a better understanding of the situation. Skywarp remained blissfully unaware as he recharged. 

Optimus immediately went for damage control, setting a servo on Megatron’s blazing fusion cannon to test the limits on how much he could get away with. “I understand that it’s a very strong accusation, but-”

“You’re the only one stupid enough to attempt something so feeble.” Megatron sneered. 

“You think I poisoned you?!” Starscream shrieked. 

“Who else would!” Megatron howled. “Jazz and Prowl were already after you, why not add another to your laundry list of crimes.”

Thundercracker immediately cut in. “You mean the documents? They already confiscated those!” 

“Ah-hah!” Megatron grinned. “So, you were guilty!” 

“Of picking up some dropped datapads, sure! But not trying to kill you two!” Starscream yelled back. 

Optimus managed to push down Megatron’s arm enough so that the presence of a weapon wouldn’t derail the conversation further. Megatron let it slide as he powered it off and decided to take a more hands-on approach. He stormed closer to Starscream who shuffled up against the berth and pinned himself against the wall. “Why would I poison you? It never worked before, why would I try again now?” He tried to reason. 

“I don’t know! You tell me!”

Thundercracker stepped in and separated the two with extended arms. “Wait, wait, wait, hold on a klik. You were poisoned?” 

“Megatron was,” Optimus answered. “I, uh, was lucky enough to not get any in my system.” 

“But both drinks were poisoned?”

“That’s right.” Megatron panted. 

“And your first assumption was to accuse Starscream?” Thundercracker continued. 

“It was the logical conclusion.” Megatron remarked, Optimus only shrugged with an ‘I got swept up in the storm’ look in his optics. 

“He’s right, though.” Thundercracker pointed at Starscream with his helm. “He wouldn’t have poisoned you both knowing that it would only work on one of you. And even if his target was just one of you, there's a better way to go about it.” 

“Exactly!” Starscream answered. “If I wanted you dead, I would have made it seem like an accident. I would simply alter the wiring of a transport unit that carried one or both of you while you made your way to another city still in its building stages, like Kalis, and have it hit a bump in the road and explode into a fiery ball.” He said haughtily. 

Everyone, except Skywarp, looked at Starscream blankly as he stumbled over himself to stand properly. “N-not like I considered it or anything!”

Optimus didn’t offer much in terms of trust but figured that would be a can of drill bits for another day. “Right. Well. Now that we have that cleared up, Megatron please sit down so I can call a medic.” 

Megatron swatted Optimus’ servo and did not take a seat. “Absolutely not, I’m going to find who did this to us and rip them apart.” 

“You can barely think straight.” Optimus countered. “You’re going to go around this entire building accusing everyone of trying to kill you and ignite another war.”

“So be it.” Megatron huffed. 

Optimus rolled his optics. “How did you put up with him?”

“We didn’t.” Starscream and Thundercracker answered easily. 

Megatron only bit back another growl. “Stay out of this.”

“You involved us in this,” Starscream grumbled. 

“Optimus is right, though.” Thundercracker offered. “Megatron, if you can’t think straight, you should call the authorities to deal with this.”

“I can take care of my issues.” 

“I knew you’d say that.” Thundercracker huffed and placed his servos on his hips. “Which is why I’m offering my services.”

Megatron and Optimus blanked, unimpressed, and befuddled, respectively. “What?” 

“I’ll help you find the culprit.” Thundercracker smiled. 

Megatron broke into a fit of laughter while Optimus continued to look on confusingly. “I was unaware you were a detective.”

“Well,” Thundercracker tried. 

“He’s not.” Starscream cut in, “he just thinks he can solve a case because he reads so many mystery books.” 

“That’s not true!” Thundercracker tried. “I just don’t want this to make it outside our little group, you know? I-I mean, you don’t want this to reach the public, right? If everyone finds out it’ll cause mayhem, and then bots like Prowl or Ultra Magnus would be put under even more pressure...not to mention the tension on either side of ex-faction members! So, uh…I can help?” 

Optimus offered Thundercracker a sympathetic look. “Thank you for the offer, but maybe it’s for the best for someone with real experience to go about this.”

Megatron’s laughter died down and he stuck out a servo to stop Optimus. “No, let him help, I want to see how this train wreck goes down.” 

Thundercracker brightened. “Really?”

Megatron nodded as he adjusted himself, or tried to, as he slouched over again and clutched his helm. “I’m not going to die; I’ll wake up with a migraine at worst. And he’s right, anyways, if word gets out that I got poisoned all hell would break loose.” 

Thundercracker’s wings fluttered in excitement. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah, get lost,” Megatron grumbled. “I expect results by tonight.” 

Thundercracker saluted Megatron. “Yes, sir!”

Optimus sighed as the poorly contained excitement from Thundercracker’s field bounced around the walls of the medbay. 

Optimus leaned over to Megatron with a whisper. “Does he even know who to interview?” 

Megatron snorted and answered at a normal vocal range. “Of course not.” 

“You should tell him.”

“I will not.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Megatron rolled his optics. “He’s just playing detective; I doubt he’ll get very far. At least with him out of the picture, frolicking about, we can get real work done.”

Optimus tilted his helm to the side. “We?” 

Megatron winked. “You know it.”

Optimus shivered. “Do I now…” 

Megatron lifted his weight from Optimus as he turned to face his once treacherous SIC. “Starscream, I will not apologize, granted that my distrust was entirely within reason, but I will safely say that you can look forward to living for another night.”

Starscream glared. 

Optimus followed with a real apology. “It was never our intention to corner you like this, I’m very sorry on both Megatron’s part and my own.” 

Starscream just sneered at Megatron and waved off Optimus. “Charmed.” 

“Oh, I love that show!” Skywarp blurted from the floor. 

“Alright, great, one down,” Megatron paused, narrowing his optics, and counting internally. “Four more to go.” 

“Four?” 

“Four.”

Optimus nodded and looked back at Starscream one last time as he started to walk himself and Megatron. “Sorry, again.” 

“Right.” 

“—and I wish Skywarp a safe recovery.” 

“Up yours, Prime.”

Optimus mumbled another apology and ducked out of the medical bay. 

They made it approximately three steps due north and Thundercracker was on their coattails again. 

“Optimus! Megatron!” He waved them down. 

Thundercracker was holding a datapad and a stylus and somehow came into the possession of a pair of glasses. Where did he get a pipe? 

“Grade A detective you are, Thundercracker.” Megatron rolled his optics. “What do you want?” 

“I forgot to interview you two.”

Optimus shrugged, Megatron’s weight on him made it a weak shiver. “I would be more than happy to oblige.”

“I wouldn’t,” Megatron grunted.

Thundercracker ignored the other victim of the situation, clicked on his datapad, and prepared his stylus. “Thank you for your cooperation, Optimus Prime.” His optics glistened with excitement. 

Optimus’ left optic twitched uncomfortably at the sound of his full designation but started to talk anyhow. “Well,” He started, looking off to the side to collect his thoughts. “We started in the ballroom and got drinks. When Megatron mentioned he’d rather the drinks cold, we went out to the main lab and requested liquid helium from Shockwave and Wheeljack.” Optimus stopped, waiting for Megatron’s approval of how he was telling the story, a nod prompted Optimus to continue. “After that, we mixed our drinks in the hallway—the one just beyond that doorway—since the fireworks were starting. While watching the show we saw Ultra Magnus, Prowl, Jazz, and your trine.” Optimus finished, trying to summarize the events to the best of his ability. 

“We moved to the other side of the hallway,” Megatron notes, suddenly. “The fireworks started, and we abandoned our drinks on one side of the hallway as we went to the other side.”

Thundercracker nodded professionally. “I see, I see, anything else?”

Megatron and Optimus both took on pensive faces as they shuffled through their short-term memory files.

“Oh!” Optimus snapped the digits of one servo that held less of Megatron’s weight. “We also saw a reporter from earlier that night. Their name was Steeltouch, but by the time we saw them we had forgotten about the drinks and stepped into another entryway, right?” He looked up at Megatron for his thoughts.

Megatron nodded. “That’s right.”

“So,” Thundercracker hummed. “Your drinks must have been poisoned in the time you set them down on the other side of the hallway and spoke to the others, no?”

“Aren’t you the detective here, Thundercracker?” Megatron asked teasingly. 

Thundercracker’s wings shot up and he toyed with the stylus in his servo. “Of course! I was, uh, just curious about what your thoughts were. That’s all.”

Optimus decided to offer Thundercracker the mercy of a subject change. “Any more questions, detective?”

Thundercracker seemed to relax at the chance. “No, I don’t believe so. You said you left the drinks in the hallway. Are they still there?”

“Yes, they should be. At least the one drink that was mine.” Optimus says. 

Thundercracker brightens. “Perfect. The crime scene is untouched for now.”

Optimus gives a weary glance in the general direction of the hallway that was the supposed crime scene. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Well then,” Thundercracker subspaces the datapad and stylus. “It appears I have to run a few forensics tests in the meantime, I would suggest you two remain together in case the killer tries to strike again.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Megatron chuckled darkly. 

Thundercracker laughed weakly. “If I have any more questions, or you remember anything, please keep your communication lines open.”

Optimus tipped his helm. “We certainly will, thank you Thundercracker.” 

Thundercracker departed with a smile and disappeared into the dark, quiet halls with a pep in his step. 

Optimus watched Megatron from his distorted view and vented out. “Who would think to poison us?”

“More than half the population.” Megatron scoffed, clearly uninterested in comforting Optimus. “But I will be damned if that fragger gets away with it.”

…

Thundercracker entered the eerie hallway with a frown, steps were muffled by caution and a surprisingly well-made rug. By the looks of it, no one had seemed to walk upon increasingly discomforting walls. Thundercracker paused every couple of steps to look at the details of the confining space, ghosting a servo over the edges of whatever was in reach. 

It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for, the staining of its contents eroded around the cube, which sat comfortably in the center of the chaos. The drink had a foreboding presence, while innocent in appearance. 

Thundercracker suppressed a shiver and began to shuffle through his subspace for something to place the cube into. His luck struck when Thundercracker managed to find a bigger, empty cube that could fit the dangerous substance. The seeker wiggled his claws and carefully inched closer to the windowsill, crouching down to carefully lift the cube and plop it into the entrapment. A piece of Thundercracker almost died when the cube just barely slipped his grip, only to conveniently fall into the empty container. The splash that erupted from the cube dwindled into a sickly sizzle that left Thundercracker more intrigued than scared. 

Thundercracker carefully inspected the debauched sustenance from its cell. “Let’s get you to a professional.”

With a few carefully taken snapshots of the scene, the plucky detective-wannabe began to skip—carefully—down the halls to a certain purple acquaintance. 

The skipping died down to a simple step the closer Thundercracker came to approaching the lab where he was met with Shockwave’s yellow optic. Somehow, the mech always managed to look irritated, that dot he called an optic was always in the perpetual state of a glare unless he was near Megatron. 

“What is your purpose here, Thundercracker?” Shockwave asks as Wheeljack sings to himself tightening some screws into place. 

“I’d like to get this tested,” Thundercracker says, carefully hoisting the laced cube into Shockwave’s personal bubble. 

“A cube,” Shockwave says with a typical blank expression. 

“It may appear as such, but this cube has been tampered with!” Thundercracker sets the bigger container down on a table. “It was Optimus’, it appears that he and Megatron were poisoned.”

Shockwave’s optic flickered at the mention of Megatron. “The cube was tampered with?”

Thundercracker nods. “That’s right.”

“Huh,” Wheeljack leans back to get a general look at the cube. “Weren’t they in here a moment ago?”

Thundercracker nods, again. “That’s what they told me, they were looking for liquid helium to cool the drinks.”

Shockwave straightened. “One of Lord Megatron’s many quirks.” He takes the cube and begins to walk away. “I will see to the testing, I will contact you with the results.”

Thundercracker’s wings flutter in gratitude. “I will leave you to it.”

…

Megatron’s steps continued to falter as the pair made it down another dimmed hallway. To maintain them both, Optimus inches slightly lower to allow Megatron to rest his weight further on his side. 

“I don’t understand how you plan on bringing yourself justice in this state.” Optimus points out.

“I’m—fine.” Megatron twitched, trying to subtly hide the growing discomfort in his frame. “We need to find the others.”

“Others,” Optimus repeats. “You can’t possibly assume that the others we saw were responsible for this. You’re failing to take into account the fact that we weren’t in the hall for an unknown amount of time, it could be anyone!”

“Process of elicitation.” 

“Elimination.”

Megatron chuffed. “That’s what I said.” 

Optimus mumbles something to himself, a growing habit as of late. 

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of constitutions, Prime. Scared that one of your commercial officers will be the big bad bot?”

Optimus’ optics flickered. “Afraid of…what?”

“Cons—confus—confronutions—” Megatron choked back a cough. “Confrontation.” He says hoarsely.

Optimus looks at Megatron tentatively. “My commercial officers?” 

“You know exactly what I mean—meant.” Megatron pointedly looks away. 

“I don’t, actually,” Optimus replies and hooks an arm around Megatron’s waist to better hoist him across the hall. “I think you need to lay down.” 

As Optimus prepares to b-line it to the closest room, Megatron begins to fight against the slightly stronger grip of a mech whose low high-grade tolerance is starting to be made known. 

“I told you,” Megatron tried to claw at a wall for some leverage. “I’m find!” Megatron manages to hook himself onto one of the random structural pillars that make up the quiet hall. 

“Find?” Optimus asks, now wrapping both arms around Megatron's waist to try and pull Megatron from the pillar, like a misbehaving cybercat. “You can’t even answer clearly!”

“Fine!” Megatron bellows, which echoes down the hall.

“Not! Fine!” Optimus grunts while trying to adjust his grip as Megatron resorts to kicking his pedes. “You need help! Real medical help!” Every pull he tried only seemed to make Megatron dig deeper. 

“No!”

“Then at least a room to rest in!” 

Megatron dug one of his claws deeper into the pillar and used the other to try and swat at Optimus. “Unhand me you fragger, I will not lay until I have my hospice!”

“Justice!” Optimus cries out the correction. “You’re just going to kill the mech!”

“Precisely! So you either stand with me or you don’t!” Megatron glared at Optimus for a blazing moment. “Do not make the same mistake twice, Orion.”

“Low blow!” Optimus glowered and tugged even harder. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay!”

“I’m fine!” 

“I can feel your frame overheating from exertion!” 

“Whose fault do you think that is!” 

“What are you two doing?” 

Optimus and Megatron yelp in unison, Optimus lets go of Megatron and falls onto the floor with a disgraced sound akin to a squawk. Megatron lets out a ragged vent and scrambles to cling tighter to the pillar to meet their third party.  

Optimus looks up to find Prowl a handful of steps away from them with a prototypical glare that speaks a thousand words, all of which are synonymous with annoyance. 

Optimus jolted; his mask snapped habitually into place at the supposed threat. Optimus let out a surprised voice. “Prowl!”

“Prime,” Prowl answered without matching the energy. 

Optimus’ optics flashed towards Megatron, who propped himself up against the wall wearing a similar glare as Prowl. 

“You scared me!”

Prowl’s attention flickered between Optimus and Megatron. “And why is that?” 

Optimus stopped and considered what would best remedy the situation that Prowl just witnessed, which would be nothing. Not only considering the night’s events spiraling down into whatever depravity he was now up against, but his processor failed to provide any possible excuses. In the time it took for Optimus to think, it was taken by Megatron to act. 

Megatron, who was well past the point of logic, even when not poisoned, let out a hearty laugh. “Prowl! My good friend!”

“We’re not friends.”

“Appreciated coworker?”

“No.”

“Tentative acquaintance?”

“Nuh-uh.”

Megatron’s expression blanked. “Individual whose existence is acknowledged.” 

Prowl nodded. “There you go.”

Optimus finally speaks—his processor catching up at long last—but it comes off a bit late with whatever Prowl had just exchanged with Megatron. “Hah, ha!” He grinned behind his mask. “Isn’t this a fun little surprise?”

Prowl focused on Optimus. “What is?”

The light in Optimus’ optics dwindles. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”

Prowl, somehow, crossed his arms (under) his protruding chest in a condescending manner. “Alright, I’m going to give you one chance to explain what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on, officer,” Megatron says, lying.

“Yeah, I doubt that.” Prowl glares at the ex-warlord. “Would you.” Prowl points at Optimus. “Explain to me why neither of you returned to the party?”

“Um,” Optimus looks at Megatron, who has now taken to dissociating while staring at a vase, the latest show of his health at a rapid decline, and laughs forcefully. “I’m trying to get Megatron to a quiet place. As you can see, he isn’t exactly working at full capacity.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Prowl admits. “And I couldn't care less about the war criminal—”

Optimus corrects Prowl in his usual manner. “We’re all war criminals, Prowl.”

“Don’t distract from the issue at hand.” Prowl snapped. “I need to know why you need to be with him. He has dozens of mechs waiting on him servo and pede, there is no need for your involvement in his drunken stupors.”

Optimus, with all his might, forced his optics into what would appear to be a soft smile. He had perfected the art of “faking it,” as the humans so delicately put it. Optimus was a terrible liar, yes, but he would proudly say he was a damn good actor. He had to, primacy wasn’t exactly something you peruse about. Either way, Optimus knew what to do, and it worked every time; the lovely little crinkle, the soft upturn in his optics, the slight bend at the waist. He had it down to a science. 

To deal the fatal blow, Optimus allowed his voice to pitch a little higher to a delicate balance of soft and firm. “We’re not enemies anymore, I’m simply a friend helping out another friend.”

“No, you’re not.” Prowl falters but is not subdued so easily. “This is the closest you’ve ever gotten to one another, and I will not let you ruin your image because you’re a bit tipsy Optimus.”

Optimus chokes on air, completely throwing out any attempts to appear demure. “Excuse me?” 

“This behavior,” Prowl tried to reason. “It’s suspicious! You’re not in your right mind, Optimus. You cannot be taken advantage of by this—this monster! You can’t possibly expect me to—”

“Now, wait just one moment.” Optimus cuts in. “Do you think that I’m trying to fr—”

“Alas!” Megatron interrupts, quite loudly, deciding now was the best moment of entry as the vase became a forgettable footnote. “Am I not allowed to converse with my prime in private?” he asked rhetorically, though it served more as the beginning of a monologue. 

Before Prowl could continue his inquiry, Megatron raised his arm in some offhand attempt to further his point, as if he ever had one. “For we are at peace now!” He called out between slurring words, at which Megatron hunched over at the sudden movement he had made. “Woomf—huh,” He smacked his chest as if that would stop the acid from eating away at his insides. Clearing his voicebox with a loud belch, Megatron continued much to Prowl and Optimus’ plight. “Optimus is not my enemy,” He prattled on. “If anything, he is now a dear friend! A beloved confidant! A—” the ex-warlord paused. Optimus was giving him a pleading look that practically screamed ‘shut up’ but Megatron remained ignorant. Free arm still flailing in the air as he pushed his weight up against the wall he leaned on.

“A—ah, ah—uh…huh.” Megatron turns to Optimus, covering his profile with said free arm. “What was I saying?”

The thin aluminum that surrounded Optimus’ optics was beginning to wrinkle as he tried to hide his discomfort. “What makes you think I would know?” 

Megatron tsked and let out a few other stammers and filler words. Eventually, Megatron found the right word and his talking arm fell upon Optimus’ back with a loud thunk. “Aha!” he proclaimed. 

“My better half.” 

The notion was endearing, Optimus’ expression softened as his lip plates parted to convey his gratitude behind his mask. But the weight upon his frame took away from the moment, this was met with the realization that Megatron had not hit his back in an act of solidarity. Rather, it was firmly placed on his aft. 

“Uh, Megatron,” Optimus whispered, trying not to betray the situation to Prowl. “That’s not my back.” 

“Wha—? Oh.” Megatron’s gaze fell on the location of his servo, and there it was, right on Optimus’ aft. “Firm.’” He winked—he just blinked normally, not that Megatron could tell the difference in his current state—and flexed his digits for good measure. 

Optimus quietly excused the behavior to the obscene amount of acid somehow not killing Megatron and gripped the other mech's servo, fixing it at the silver mech’s side as he returned to the previous topic at hand. “I’m very sorry, Prowl, but as you can see, Megatron is not in a presentable state. I’m trying to escort him to a room.” 

Megatron snorted. “Heh, escort.” 

Optimus smacked Megatron’s backside lightly, or as lightly as a half-drunk prime could. “Shut up.” 

Megatron continued to cackle at his jokes. Optimus meanwhile pointed at Megatron. “See?” 

Prowl looked utterly appalled. “Absolutely not. I don’t want either of you alone in a room.”

“Prowl I’m not going to—”

“No!” Prowl flung his arms up in frustration. “I’m not hearing it! I’ll escort you two, and I will remain with you until you both sober up.” 

Megatron staggered closer to Prowl, and Optimus chased after him to help with his failing stability. “Oh, come now,” He purred, though the sputtering made it sound more like a bird flew through his engine. “Let’s just keep this between us, Pearl, m’kay?” He winked (blinked) again. 

“Prowl.”

Megatron looked perplexed. “Since when?” 

Prowl sneered. “Since now.”

“That’s new.”

Prowl eyed his ex-commander. “Optimus, order me to shoot him and I will. Please. They won’t find the body I assure you.” 

Optimus looked exhausted from the mask up. “Refrain from making me an accessory, if at all possible.”

Prowl narrowed his optics. “You wouldn’t stop me?” 

Optimus opened his intake and closed it a couple of times, with the mask in place his hesitation appeared more as genuine consideration. Hooking an arm around Megatron’s back, Optimus tittered. “Probably not.” 

Prowl dared to perk up. “In that case—”

“Actually, no.” Optimus interrupts, removing any plausible deniability. “Let’s just stick with no murder for tonight.”  

Prowl clicked his glossa. “Fine. Come with me.”

Prowl doesn’t offer to help Optimus, which Optimus is somewhat grateful for given Megatron has picked to blabber about more double entendres. The acid was beginning to find its way to his processor, it seemed. Optimus has to force Megatron’s mouth shut for the sake of his sanity, which he can feel slipping away with every step he takes. Prowl takes the lead and marches them down the hall, though it’s shortlived considering as soon as they make it halfway down the hall, Prowl stops in his tracks and ducks into his chest. 

“What? Hold on—he what?!”

Optimus, lugging a blitzed-out Megatron awaits Prowl's command. 

Prowl hisses and shoos Optimus away. “I have to go, Hot Rod just decided that now would be a good time to go surfing. Indoors .” 

Optimus dips his helm in thought. “I thought we confiscated that.”

Megatron snorts. “Good for him.”

Prowl, too caught up in his blaring communication link, stomps towards a plain-looking door about six steps away from where they stood and flings it open. “Stay here, understand?”

Optimus nods. “Of course.”

Prowl, cupping his audial receptors, points accusingly at Optimus. “Do. Not. Fraternize. With. Megatron.” 

Optimus waddled to the door. “Define ‘fraternize,’” Optimus adjusts his grip on Megatron as if he were carrying him on his hip like a sparkling. “Because I think it’s a little too late for that.”

“Don’t play dumb, Optimus Prime,” Prowl growled. “Don’t frag the warlord.” 

Optimus' tone went flat. “I’m not going to frag the ex-warlord.”

Megatron beamed, finding an opportunity. “Fear not, Pasta—”

“Prowl.”

“Prowl.” Megatron grunts. “Because I will be doing the honors.” 

Optimus lets go of Megatron, who falls with a choking sound before he can follow through on his statement. “Oops. My servo slipped.” He didn’t bother to hide his lack of amusement. 

Megatron makes a sound from the floor. 

Optimus’ mask finally disengages as he looks down at the pile of silver plating with the most patronizing smile imaginable. “Are you alright?” 

Megatron coughs. “No.” 

Prowl and Optimus glare. “Good.” 

Prowl watched Megatron struggle to get up. “Maybe you should leave him there.” 

Optimus considers the option. “I think I might.” 

Prowl waves off the strange encounter. “Forget it, I need to go. Excuse me, I’ll try to find you again later.” 

Optimus’ finials perked up. “Have fun!”

“I won’t.”

“At least try to.” 

“I won’t.”

And with that, Prowl disappeared into the dark. 

Megatron’s arms fly up as he tries to hoist himself up. “Good riddance—!” When he manages to sit up by using his arms as leverage to fling himself up in true sparkling- fashion, Megatron looks up and whispers at Optimus. “What’s his name again?”

Optimus sighs. “Prowl.”

“Prowl.” He repeats, testing the designation, and gasps. “I forgot to ask about the acid!”

“A little late for that.” Optimus doesn’t comfort him.

Bending down to drag Megatron into the room, Optimus started to feel the results of downing a strong drink like it was nothing. Exerting his frame was pumping more of the dizzying substance into his fuel lines and worsening his overall stability. 

Now Megatron, being a flight frame and utterly gigantic, is going to be a heavy bot. This isn’t much of an issue for Optimus, say for the fact that Megatron was practically pushing all his weight onto the floor as if he was dead. “Come—on!” Optimus grunted, pulling under Megatron’s arms, against the sides of his chest as he dragged the silver mech along as if he were dead. “Let’s get you situated on the couch—”

Megatron’s helm fell back to try and get a look at Optimus' struggle. “Do I have to pay extra for that?”

Optimus let go without any hesitation. “Alright, floor it is.” 

Megatron wriggled and made himself comfortable on the floor. “This is fine too.”

Optimus began to observe the room after ridding himself of the extra weight. It seemed more like a break room than anything else. There were a few sofas strewn about and a dinky low-rise table in the center of the room, aside from that, there was a small projector and screen. The windows of the room seemed smaller and lacked curtains, instead opting for the use of shutters that were half-closed. The room was, expectedly, dark, so Optimus began to look for the light switch by the door. He flicked it on without much fuss. 

When the light blew through the room, Megatron’s optics lidded halfway instinctively. “I’m hungry.” He admits it as a secret.

“Maybe the poison burned a hole through your tanks.” Optimus wonders out loud and closes the door. 

“Nonstop,” Megatron disagrees and rolls over to see Optimus at least partially.

“Nonsense.”

“Yeah. Okay. Is there anything to eat here?” 

Optimus looked around. “I think so,” He caught a glimpse of a minibar—why was there a minibar? —and made his way towards it in the hopes of finding something for Megatron. Bending down to rummage through the simple device, Optimus finds a pack of rust sticks, cheap high-grade, and a few normal cubes. “Maybe this can help sober you up.” He notes to himself and holds up a simple cube. “Might dilute the acid.”

Megatron reaches out like a bitlet and grasps at nothing. “Gimme.”

“I hope you remember all this when you wake up tomorrow.” Optimus wishes, walking back to the sitting mech on the floor and handing him a normal cube. 

Megatron takes the cube, or rather snatches it, from Optimus. “Perchance.”

“Perhaps.” Optimus corrects, again. “You can’t just say ‘perchance.’” 

Megatron ignored him and began to drink away at the cube; the light drink offered a delightful sensation to his tanks that felt raw from the acid. Like the first splash of solvent on his filthy armor that had been caked in dust. Megatron throws out any thoughts on drinking slowly and begins to down the cube as if it were his last.

Optimus jolts and reaches to pull Megatron away from the cube. “Slow down!” He reprimands. “You’re going to drown yourself.”

Megatron makes a smacking sound with his lipplates when the cube is revoked from him, wishing it was still there. “I will not. I’m a grown mech.”

Optimus shakes the nearly empty cube, setting it down on the floor to focus on getting Megatron to sit properly. “You certainly don’t play the part well.” 

Megatron grumbled. “Fetch me another cube, Prime. I hunger.” He rumbles deeply.

“At least say please.”

Megatron flings his arms up in preparation for a tantrum. “Now!” 

Optimus scrambles from the floor and Megatron falls into it with a thud and makes his way to steal another cube. “We really should call a medic; you can’t just fight your way through this with sheer willpower.”

Megatron makes a threatening rumble with his engine. “Watch me.”

Optimus sighed and picked up another cube from the minibar as per Megatron’s request. “I do hope you’ll be okay. I’m worried about you, that's all.”

Megatron’s engines once harsh rumble began to dwindle in power. 

Optimus took the time to shake the cube to activate its contents a little more as he stepped closer. “I know I’ve never shown it but I do want to try and stabilize our rocky relationship. I used to care about you, I want to care about you like I do my Autobots. Tonight has been a good first few steps—aside from the whole attempted murder thing—and I want us to set a good example for the others.”

Optimus kneeled next to Megatron, cracking open the new cube. “And I know you want the same.” 

Megatron’s frame no longer made a frightening sound. 

Setting the new cube down, Optimus reaches to help Megatron into a seated position on his lap. “You can be stubborn and hardheaded, but you’re a good leader. I respect the decisions you make, even if I disagree with them fundamentally. You have good intentions deep down, I know. I’ve seen them, heard them.” Optimus pauses, hesitating to touch Megatron. He already had the whole night but when he started to put a word to the reason why he was doing so, it suddenly felt more personal. Like walking out of a holovid screening well after midnight, the moment felt detached from reality. 

Taking the moment to bite the bullet, Optimus carefully lifted Megatron. “But I like that about you. I like you.” He whispered and suddenly Optimus felt, truly, really, drunk. A rush of juvenile embarrassment flushed over him to try and rid his frame of the high grade’s purpose. The stark contrast between who he saw himself in that moment and who he was. Optimus’ grip tightened, he was too old to feel such things, let alone admit them. But he felt giddy at the admission, the worst secret he ever held was finally up in the air and free from his conscience. Optimus smiled and looked at Megatron’s face to find his reaction—he would be satisfied with any. 

There was none as Megatron fell limp against Optimus’ frame.

…

Thundercracker stepped into another hallway, he was starting to lose track of where he was in the surprisingly large governing building. He would have to give props to the Constructicons for their latest efforts and future endeavors. A smaller, more Decepticon-minded version of himself preened at the thought of the Decepticons holding most of the labor force, which quickly died out when the implications of such were realized. 

Nevertheless, the sleuthing continued, although lacking any sense of direction Thundercracker prowled through halls like a predator. Most of the halls were, expectantly, empty, not even the occasional flicker or light of echoing laughter. Thundercracker tried to consider it suspicious, but when he turned the halls, he was met with a growing light in the distance. 

And a handful of choice words. 

“This is the second time I’ve had to pull you aside, one more and you strike out.” 

A loud groan overtook the hall. “Ugh—come on—you don’t expect me to just sit around doin’ nothing?”

“These are united festivities, keep your brash idea of ‘fun’ for another time.” 

Red paint flashed against the light of the moon and a two-toned speedster caught a glimpse of Thundercracker. 

“Hey!” Hot Rod nodded, finding his scapegoat. “Shouldn’t you be with your trine?” 

Ultra Magnus whipped around to meet Thundercracker. “What are you doing here?”

Thundercracker, taking a tip from Starscream’s book, bristled to the best of his ability. “Why do you care?” 

Ultra Magnus looked unimpressed at the attempt. “You were not inside with your trine.”

“Do I need to be?” Thundercracker replied coolly.

“I would think so.” Ultra Magnus answered. “This is the south entry of the banquet hall, not the main entrance. You would have had to cross through the entire building to get here if you weren't already inside the banquet hall.”

Thundercracker fell silent. 

“Furthermore,” Ultra Magnus continued. “You approached us from the west, so you most certainly were not within the festivities' contained area.” His face fell dark. “So where were you?” 

Hot Rod made a face as if he and Thundercracker were students, and Thundercracker was just called to the office. “Ooh—”

Ultra Magnus silenced him with a look. 

Thundercracker, for all his previous confidence, began to stumble. “Well—it’s just that—you know—”

Magnus’ narrowing optics silenced the sputtering seeker—Thundercracker made note that Optimus was the preferred half of their brotherhood. 

Hot Rod stepped between them with a forced laugh. “Come on Magnus, wars over! You’re gonna kill the mech with a look like that.” 

“I will not be taking any suggestions from you.” Ultra Magnus answered and ushered Hot Rod away like the misbehaving bitlet he might as well be. “I’m not upset with you, Thundercracker. But I would appreciate some honesty.”

Between the two, Ultra Magnus was—without a doubt—the superior investigator. Thundercracker knew it; Magnus wouldn’t, given that he wasn’t entirely privy to what was happening. And that blasted Decepticon pride would not allow Thundercracker to give in to one icy glare, he knew better. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Thundercracker said simply, but, alas, Ultra Magnus was on the proposed suspect list so the not-so-subtle attempt to interview had to commence. “However,” 

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics in a show of suspicion. “However?”

Thundercracker coughed. “You haven’t seen Optimus and Megatron, have you?” 

Ultra Magnus lost any possible inquiry forming in his processor as his optics widened in passive realization. Without another utterance, Ultra Magnus abandoned his scolding of Hot Rod and stepped past Thundercracker on a new mission. 

Thundercracker caught on quickly. “Hey!” He called after the stampeding mech. “Wait!”

The blue seeker managed to tail behind Ultra Magnus in a light jog against the bigger bot’s speed walk. “Whatever you’re thinking—it’s not true.”

“I was unaware you adapted Soundwave’s telepathy.” Ultra Magnus sounded on edge. 

“They’re fine!” Thundercracker offered in some random attempt at dissuasion. 

Ultra Magnus spared a side glance. “Then you know the answer to your question?”

Thundercracker’s processor blanked, he lost his footing for a moment and tripped, an answer in and of itself. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Magnus grunted and picked up the pace, somehow managing to get further away from Thundercracker faster than before.

“Wait! I can explain!” Thundercracker cried out to muted audials.

Thundercracker felt a growing sinking feeling in his spark chamber, but Ultra Magnus was too far gone unless he decided that transforming and flying was somehow safe enough to do indoors. So, Thundercracker lay against the floor, embarrassed and pensive. Hot Rod was either gone or watching on with a dumbfounded expression, Thundercracker refused to turn and find out. He remained in such a place until Ultra Magnus’ disappeared frame was replaced with Prowl mid-sprint.

Thundercracker—who somehow accepted his fate in the passing kliks—perked up. “Prowl!” 

Prowl slowed and looked at Thundercracker like a bug yet to be put out of its misery. “Thundercracker? What are you doing?” 

“I fell.” He answers, resolutely. 

“Get up. You’re making a fool of yourself.” Prowl sneered. 

Thundercracker hummed in agreement but did not make much of an effort or hurry to act upon it. In the meantime, Prowl focused on the bot that had brought him to that very specific hall to begin with. 

“Hot Rod!” He called out to no answer. Prowl grits his dente at the lacking response. “Irresolute brat, bringing his board in here and trying to use it.” He grumbled. “You!” Prowl glared at Thundercracker. “Have you seen Hot Rod?”

Thundercracker figured it was never too late to find new comrades, so he did the right thing, he lied. “Of course not, I was searching for Ultra Magnus.” 

“Magnus?” Prowl lost some of his fire. “What do you need from him?”

“I—er.” Perhaps deception is not his forte, not that it would stop Thundercracker either way. “I was wondering about the whereabouts of Optimus Prime and Megatron.” 

Prowl looked soured, a bad sign. “Why?” His tone was curt.

“Uh—” Thundercracker’s optics flickered in hesitation. “I haven’t seen them in a while, I was going to ask for their advice on my latest screenplay?”

Prowl knew that Thundercracker knew he was lying. “You sound uncertain.” 

“Well, you see, I took quite a fall. I may even be concussed. Dare I say, damaged.”

“Deranged, more like,” Prowl responded. “Get up, that’s no longer a suggestion. And come with me, you’re acting suspiciously.” 

Thundercracker got up quickly but complained thoroughly while doing so. “I didn’t even do anything! I’m supposed to say that to you!”

“What?”

Thundercracker covered his intake. “Nothing.” 

“Why would a nosy little nobody like you say that to me?” Prowl, despite being shorter, made up for it with his presence. “What did you do?”

“Pft—pah! Nothing!” 

“Liar.” Prowl bit. “You’re coming with me.” 

Before Thundercracker could say another word, Prowl hooked a servo under his wing and yanked him in the opposite direction. 

…

Magnus panicked; his helm whipped around to search for the soft-sparked idealist he called a brother. He wandered endlessly in search of blue audial fins, a red chassis, or even the gleam of his silver armor. And that other mech too, he supposes. 

Ultra Magnus stopped at a crossroads; in a sudden bout of clarity, he activated a set of major routing routines that connected him to his spark-twin. It pushed him further left, then right, around a corner, and passed a few more until a muffled sound was heard from the west. 

Ultra Magnus stepped closer to the sound, it was quiet, sniffling, and audibly distressed. All the exact qualities of the mech he sought out. 

At its loudest, Ultra Magnus threw caution to the wind—he activated his blasters and opened the door with enough speed to prompt a surprise attack. 

“Optimus!” Ultra Magnus called out, looking around quickly only to find Optimus curled on the floor over something. 

Or someone. 

The room was in utter disarray, cubes strewn about the floor like garbage, and the scent of fresh energon lingered like a battlefield. And in the center of it was an inconsolable prime. 

Ultra Magnus powered down his blasters and stepped closer to Optimus.

His arms were covered in energon, though not seemingly his, coolant and energon alike pooled in certain uneven areas of the floor and on the lifeless frame of Megatron carefully strung in Optimus’ arms like the shattered remnants of a vase. 

Ultra Magnus took a moment to survey other areas of the room: there was a minibar left in worse condition than the rest of the room as multicolored variations of energon trailed away and to the collapsed pair of frames in the center of the room. 

“Optimus?”

“Magnus!” Optimus looked up with dull optics. “Oh, Magnus. What have I done?” His mask has retracted to quivering lipplates, Optimus hoisted Megatron up as if Ultra Magnus could not see the obvious.

Magnus knelt to inspect the frame. “What happened?”

“He’s dead.” Optimus’ voice pitched higher, holding back another barrage of coolant from falling.

Ultra Magnus jolted, basking in the shock his audials rang with a spark-splitting sound. Horror consumed him like a wave but for all the wrong reasons. Optimus was at the center of it, and that would not make for good publicity. Not that publicity was the point, it was the fact it would be Optimus’. Magnus, for his attempts to uphold a peaceful end to the war, was nearly prosperous at the prospect of Megatron’s death. The slagmaker himself could drag the wretched being down the depths of the pits again and Ultra Magnus would whoop and holler from the facade of a stoic face. However, for the sake of Optimus’ distress, he composed himself cautiously. 

“He’s what?” Was the closest thing his processor could come up with as a decent reaction to such sudden news. Magnus had already said his goodbyes and good riddance to the unloved mech in his helm and began to propagate any possible solution to aid in the cover-up of whatever had happened. He would not allow this to reflect poorly on Optimus or his Autobots. 

Optimus ventilations hitched. “He’s dead!” Optimus bawled, giving up on composure. “Dead! Gone! Taken to the Allspark!” He sobbed and held onto Megatron’s limp frame like a widowed conjunx, especially ironic considering this was technically the end goal save for the past vorn. “So close towards the march of peace and he is stolen by the cold, cruel, embraces of death.” 

Optimus was playing his role well, although there was no need to lie to Magnus of all mechs about the cause of the late warlord's demise. However, it was impressive—a small victory, those always counted for something. 

The ragged vents from Optimus wafted Ultra Magnus with the tantalizing scent of high grade. A profound sense of realization and humor wound tightly in Magnus’ field. 

Magnus, for all his Autobot-typical sympathy, felt daft at the face of Megatron’s supposed death now that he realized Optimus was off-the-rails drunk. That piece of him still felt the need to celebrate, but he knew there was a time and place for everything. He could celebrate later after he consoled his drunk brother. 

Perfect. Plausible deniability was found. No one could ask anything from Optimus if the Prime himself was blackout drunk on the night of Megatron’s death. Now, all that was left was to remove either brother from their place in the debacle, throw in a few false leads, and the press would have a successful assassination attempt for the ages. Starscream would make a great lead suspect and the easiest. Magnus almost smiled at the simplicity of his duties as Optimus’ right servo. 

Optimus, meanwhile, stroked Megatron’s cheek affectionately, smudging the energon that stained it—Ultra Magnus cringed. “Fear not, old friend. You will be remembered.” 

Ultra Magnus could not be bothered to ask what was implied but such an act, or perhaps it was just the high-grade talking? He hoped it was the latter; if there was one thing Optimus paired poorly with, it was grief. 

“Give him to me.” Ultra Magnus grits out, reaching for the already-gray frame of his brother’s latest comrade. 

Optimus' face—bless his spark—appeared on the brink of another breakdown. Magnus had to refrain from acting annoyed at Optimus’ drunken dramatics. “You won’t hurt him, will you?”

“He’s dead.” Ultra Magnus deadpanned. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Magnus!” Optimus reprimanded and clutched Megatron against his chest a little tighter. “Have some respect for the dead.”

Ultra Magnus sighed. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry. It’s just been a long night.” He beckoned again. “Give him to me.” 

Optimus hesitated, but eventually relented and carefully passed Megatron’s upper body to Magnus. “What will we do?”

“This won’t be easy to brush off,” Magnus noted and took Megatron with surgical precision. “The Decepticons won’t be happy about their leader dying in the arms of his nemesis.” 

“We must find who did this.” Optimus clenched his fists. 

Magnus appreciated Optimus' dedication to feigning ignorance, it would serve him well in future press conferences when the news came out. “Of course. It’s only natural that we—”

A disproportionately loud sound arose from Megatron’s frame. 

Optimus and Magnus alike gawked at the sudden sound. 

Optimus nearly fell into hysterics again; he caught his helm in his servos to prevent himself from doing so. “His frame is already deteriorating!”

Ultra Magnus, now of all times, felt an inkling of pity for the sad sack of spare parts. “So, it seems.”

A pause. 

Another loud sound from the dead mech. 

Optimus lifted his helm more puzzled than grief stricken. Ultra Magnus simply looked stricken with discomfort. 

A third pause. 

Megatron’s helm lulled back against Ultra Magnus’ arm and his chest heaved with a new sound. It was akin to a drowning trash compactor stuffed with toasters and energon refiners from days gone by as liquid seeped into the crevices to form a gargled, mangled sound. 

Optimus and Ultra Magnus stared at each other instead of the frame. 

Again, the profane sound struck their audials. 

They recycled their optics in unison. 

A snore. 

Magnus dropped Megatron onto the floor like a dirty rag and stood. “By Primus, Optimus!” He yelled, pointing at Megatron. “He’s sleeping!”

Optimus scrambled to get up from the floor, lacking the same grace Ultra Magnus had. “How was I supposed to know!” 

“What do you mean?!” Ultra Magnus flared his plating. “Didn’t you do this?!”

Optimus looked taken aback. “Do what?”

“Kill him!”

“What?!” Optimus' face contorted into sheer horror. “Of course not! I would never do such a thing when we signed a peace treaty not even a cycle ago!” 

Ultra Magnus calmed slightly. “You have considered it?” Again—these small victories. 

“That’s beside the point.” Optimus was quick to dismiss the comment. “I thought he was dead!” He fell to his knees and another snore erupted from Megatron. “Primus. I thought he was dead.”

Ultra Magnus shot a glance at the door. “You weren’t acting?”

Now it was Optimus’ turn to deadpan. “Why would I lie about that?”

Ultra Magnus clutched his helm with a single servo. “Nothing, forget it. Just tell me what happened.”

Optimus' lipplates tightened into a line, while his optics looked strained. “Well…” 

…

Prowl's blank expression was quickly overtaken by Jazz’s howling laughter. Thundercracker was deeply regretting the involvement of the visored mech when he suddenly appeared while Prowl apprehended him. 

Jazz clung onto Prowl like he was a lifeline. “Wait—” A choked laugh. “Hold—wait—” Another wheeze. “Are you sayin’ that—”

Prowl jerked his arm away from Jazz. “That you’ve been running around this building all night like a petrorabbit in heat, playing detective? All while Megatron and Optimus have had a target on their helms?!”

Thundercracker shifted weight between pedes. “…yes?” 

Even though Prowl was too dumbstruck to get mad, the audacity of the seeker was not beyond him. He scoffed and turned around, only to scoff again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Jazz had nested comfortably onto the floor, barely containing his amusement. “Mech! You’re one stupid fragger!” 

Thundercracker’s wings pinned up and back—defensively. “It was going just fine! Until, well,”

“Well, what?” Prowl grumbled. “You had to play the part? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that Prowl—I’ve got ya beat!” Jazz snorted. 

“You’re no better.” Prowl reprimanded and pushed Jazz away with a pede while pointing at Thundercracker. “But you have a lot more talking to do.” 

Thundercracker had the gall to take another tip from Starscream’s book and looked offended. “I was trying my best, you know!” 

Prowl’s door wings twitched in irritation. “Oh please, if that was the case you would have come to me, Jazz, or Ultra Magnus first. But all you did was make this mess worse! For all we know Megatron is dead—not that he would be missed—but we can’t exactly have that happening tonight!”

Jazz collected himself in due time, sitting up and participating with more intention. “He’s right. Leaving the cube with Shockwave was prolly the one thing ya did right, mech.” 

Thundercracker took what he could. “Thank you.”

Jazz picked himself up with a lighthearted sigh. “Ain’t no point in standing here like a bunch of empty cubes, let’s go find us a prime and a maybe-dead warlord.”

“I don’t think he’s dead,” Thundercracker offers. “Seems a bit anticlimactic if that’s what took him out.”

“Yes, because if Megatron deserves anything, it’s a dramatic death,” Prowl notes bitterly. “Come on, I know where I left them.”

“Assuming they’re still there.” Thundercracker mumbles. 

“We’ll find out soon enough.” Jazz suggests. “Lead the way, officer.” 

Prowl makes sure to shoot one more glare at the two before turning his back to guide their strange gaggle to the hallway containing two somewhat precious figureheads. Jazz tried to make a joke here and there, but it was quickly undermined by Thundercracker’s media analysis and then completely shut down by Prowl blatantly misunderstanding the quip. Therefore, they opted to walk in an uncomfortable silence as the possibilities weighed upon them. 

Along the way, they had the misfortune of picking up one more bot. 

“Jazz! Prowl!” A voice says far too loudly. 

The named mechs turned their heads around, and down to a smiling Steeltouch. 

“Oh hey, lil’ buddy. What’s poppin’?” Jazz greeted. 

“What are you doing so far from the party?” Prowl prompted. 

“Aha, I could ask you the same.” Steeltouch smiled. “Looks like you picked up another mech since we last saw one another.” 

Everyone looked at Thundercracker, who smiled awkwardly at the sudden attention. 

Prowl snapped his attention back to Steeltouch. “It doesn’t concern you, return to the party.”

“You can’t just say that to a reporter, Prowl.” Jazz snorted. “They’re gonna follow us like a scraplet now.”

“You wound me.” Steeltouch sighs dramatically with a servo over their spark chamber. “It’s in my coding to sniff out a story, and I’ve got one right here!” They point at the three bots respectively. “Won’t mind if I tag along?” 

“We do,” Prowl said.

“No offense, but this is pretty deep stuff.” Jazz shrugged. “Type ah’ stuff that gets blacked out on paper.” 

“All the more reason for me to come!” 

Now Jazz started to look a touch annoyed. “No can do.”

“Please go about the festivities and let us do our jobs.” Prowl offered much more crudely. 

Steeltouch wagged their digit condescendingly. “No way, something’s up and I wanna know.” 

“Ain’t it enough to know it’s top secret?” Jazz asked. 

“Nope,” Steeltouch smirked. “You’ve set the goodie in my face, now I'm chasing it.” 

“Reporters.” Prowl groans. “You’re all the same.”

Steeltouch looked smug. “Oh? Is that a touch of functionalism I hear from the Autobot tactician!” They took their datapad and began to scribble in it.

Prowl’s mood did full tilt into fully-fledged anger. “Listen here you arrogant little—”

Jazz stopped Prowl. “Hey-o! Relax! They’re tryna ruffle your plating, take it easy.” 

Steeltouch kept scribbling away, sure of themselves. 

Thundercracker lifted his arm. “Uh, hey, guys?”

Jazz tilted his helm in Thundercracker’s direction. “What’s up?”

“Shockwave just sent me the results.”

Prowl and Jazz faced the seeker, intrigued. “What does it say?” 

“Not much,” Thundercracker admits. “But—”

Jazz and Prowl lean in. “But?” 

Thundercracker tapped the side of his temple with a wicked smile. “I know who did it.” 

Jazz and Prowl’s optics widen, and they look at each other. 

Steeltouch paused to face the group again. “Who did what?”

Thundercracker’s demeanor became ostentatious. “You’ll see. You can come with us.”

Steeltouch looked surprised. “I can?”

As did Prowl and Jazz. “They can?” 

Thundercracker skipped, twirled on his heel, and began to walk backward with a pompous smile. “Oh yeah, they can.” 

…

Magnus and Optimus finished cleaning up the mess with a half-conscious Megatron on the couch continuing his snooze fest. 

“This is absurd.” Ultra Magnus bites between scrubs against the floor. “Who would do such a thing? More so, why didn’t you tell me sooner!”

Optimus stopped stacking cubes as he flung a rag over his shoulder, only to point at Megatron with an open servo. “I would have if he wasn’t so damn stubborn!”

As if summoned by Primus’ holy will, Megatron jolted awake with a snort and a sneeze. “Buh, huh?”

Optimus blinked and inspected his hand for its sudden ability to awaken the dead. “Good morning.”

“Was I out that long?”

“Not really,” Optimus shrugged. “Maybe a joor? A little more?”

“Huh.” Megatron didn’t seem phased, he simply stood up from the sofa and stretched. “I think that’s what I needed.” A crack from his neck and Megatron took it as a sign to roll his shoulders and stroll over to Magnus’ incessant scrubbing. “When did you get here?”

“Half a joor ago,” He replied without looking at Megatron, audibly annoyed. “About the same time that Optimus had drunk himself into the delusion that you were dead.” 

“I didn’t drink myself into a delusion.” Optimus corrected stiffly. “I drank because I was already under the delusion.” 

“You act as if that’s any better.” Ultra Magnus spoke just as stiffly. 

Optimus set a servo on his hips and made a face at Magnus. “There’s a difference!”

“You’re still delusional in either scenario!” 

The sound of Optimus’ plating clamping shut made Megatron stand tall to patronize the mech. “You thought I died.” It wasn’t a question given that he—the presumed dead mech—was asking. 

Optimus took his rag and began to scrub at something unheeding of a clean. “I was drunk…er. Drunker. I was inebriated, and you passed out. The room was spinning, and you’re so heavily armored I couldn’t hear or feel your spark.” He began to scrub harder. “Not to mention you’ve been frying my processor looking after you. I panicked. I did what any half-drunk mech would do,”

Megatron chuckled. “And that was to drink more? ” 

Optimus scoffed. “What else was I supposed to do? Think clearly?”

Megatron shrugged. “Well, even sober you don’t, so,”

Optimus’ rag landed unceremoniously on Megatron’s face with a damp slap!  

“Good to see you’re feeling better,” Optimus said without any warmth. 

Megatron’s muffled voice spoke from behind the rag. “Aw, did our beloved prime grieve my loss?” 

“Excessively.” Ultra Magnus answered under a ventilation cycle. 

Megatron peeled the rag from his face to reveal a smirk. “I told you I would be fine.”

“Forgive me for not believing you.” Optimus bit. 

“You underestimate me, Prime.” Megatron cooed. “I’m made of sterner stuff.”

Ultra Magnus whipped Megatron’s back leg with his rag. “Would you stop talking before I justify my brother’s earlier grieving?” 

“Careful, Magnus, I might see you through on that challenge.”

Another rag slapped Megatron’s newly sober face. 

Ultra Magnus began to walk towards Optimus with a sigh. “Why did I ever help you draft that treaty?”

“The greater good is worth more than a bad apple,” Optimus answered, though not fully convinced of his answer. 

Megatron followed behind Magnus with outstretched arms, blissfully proud of himself for whatever reason he found in their latest conversation. “Look on the bright side; I’m alive, healthy, and perfectly in my mind. I thought you Autobots were supposed to be the positive ones.” 

Optimus watched Megatron carefully. “Do you remember anything upon entering the room?” 

“That’s sudden.” Megatron leans down to pick up a random, forgotten utensil from the floor. “Why?”

“You seem perfectly fine now.” Optimus comments. “So, I’m trying to piece together the scope of the acid's strength growing and waning on your frame. Your memory banks seem like the best first choice.” Optimus replies. 

Megatron let out a pensive sound in genuine contemplation. It was a good question, now that he considered it. “Now that I think about it…” Megatron paused and began to scroll through the mess of his memory banks, only to be met with a collection of inaccessible files that would inevitably be purged in a later defrag. “I don’t remember what happened after we finished talking to Thundercracker. My memory files must’ve been corrupted when my systems diverted more energy to keep me alive.”

“Oh!” Optimus brightens almost instantly. “That’s good!” And returns to stacking cubes in a pyramid. 

Before Megatron could question Optimus on this, Thundercracker slammed the door open. 

“I have found the culprit!”

Optimus jumped and his cube pyramid collapsed into ruin. 

“I completely forgot about him,” Megatron whispered. 

“Me too,” Optimus admitted. 

Thundercracker looks thrilled at his latest discovery as Prowl, Jazz, and Steeltouch follow his lead into the room. 

“Did you have to bring the whole party with you?” Megatron commented.

“There’s more coming, don’t fret, my lord,” Thundercracker answered in turn. 

Gesturing at the others to sit, Thundercracker took it upon himself to begin his final act as a detective. 

“Now,” He began by pacing the room, looking deeply into the optics of his audience. “As we all now know, there was an attempt on the very lives of our precious leaders.” 

Everyone watched Thundercracker turn on his heels and pace in the opposite direction. “Deep within the quiet halls of this government building, there was a wicked hand at work,” He raises his arm up and out, feigning a grasp at the others. “Waiting, watching, and preying upon the good spirits and false sense of security Megatron and Optimus Prime had in the comforts of each other's presence.”

“That’s a weird way to phrase it…” Optimus comments but Megatron hushes him with a gesture. 

Thundercracker continues. “However, with only a handful of bots at our disposal to derive a culprit, I took it upon myself to submit the suspect cube into forensics.” 

“Wow, centuries at war and that’s the most useful you’ve ever been,” Megatron says, and Optimus hushes him in turn. 

“Yes, but he’s also been chasing false leads.” Prowl sighs. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you suspect anyone that entered the hall while Optimus and Megatron were in it. And even if that were the case, there is too much time spent away from the hall entirely to deduce such a small list.” He folds his arms over his chest, framing his insignia. “We’re all allies of the treaty, it would do us more harm than good to get rid of both Optimus and Megatron.”

“He’s right.” Ultra Magnus agrees. “Most of those who pass are or were commanding officers, it’s not logical for us to make such an attempt. Let alone one with such a low success rate. We all know Megatron is as good as immune to any poisonings.” 

“My reputation succeeds me.” Megatron glows at the unintended compliment. 

“Weren’t you the one suspecting all of those that passed us in the hallway first, though?” Optimus inquires, and Megatron coughs loudly to drown him out. 

“Either way!” Thundercracker takes the reins of the discussion again. “I now have the results of the forensics report, and thus, the acid that was used.”

“Let’s hear 'em’!” Jazz reclined on the sofa once occupied by Megatron. 

Thundercracker connected to the projector in the room, displaying his HUD with the report for the room to see. “Here.” He points at the report’s midsection. “The acid used was Helonium.”

A quiet passes over the room, none of them were equipped with the proper scientific coding to derive Thundercracker’s conclusion prematurely. 

Still, the would-be detective stretched out an arm to the door. “I, however, lack the proper ability to explain the results so I have taken it upon myself to bring in my forensics expert.”

Shockwave walked in on cue, most certainly told to wait outside by Thundercracker. “This is a waste of time, Thundercracker. It’s illogical to call me to attend when I explicitly explained the results in the report.”

Wheeljack followed quickly behind the hulking purple bot. “I would agree, but you used a whole lotta fancy words the casuals wouldn’t know Shock-bot.” 

The glowing yellow light Shockwave called an optic flickered. “Don’t ever call me that.”

Wheeljack shrunk. “Yep. Roger that.” 

Shockwave stepped up to the projection and began to take apart bits and pieces to build upon. “Helium, when bonded to a hydrogen atom with a single electron removed, is an incredibly powerful acid. Otherwise known as helonium. It’s highly reactive but of great importance to Cybertron.” Shockwave uploaded one of his own HUD projections to show the room.

Wheeljack stepped in and played with the projections in his own right. “It’s believed to be the first compound formed in the universe. Recently, we’ve been studying its importance in the atmospheres of white dwarf stars and since found out that it causes the star to cool down slower.”

Shockwave nods at the gross simplification. “Which is precisely what we needed when rebuilding new Space Bridge technology; a slower cooldown allows for a longer activation period and thus a greater distance can be bridged.” 

“And we’re lucky we were able to stabilize it long enough to condense it into a liquid form for storage!” Wheeljack added. “It’s real reactive stuff, but now that we have the containment down it's just a matter of finding a safe means of production and implementation for a wide scale.” 

“A liquid form?” Prowl asks. “Isn’t that dangerous?” 

“It is.” Shockwave answers. “But we managed to compound it to keep it stable enough to—”

“—not blow up in your face.” Wheeljack finishes. “It's more reactive with organic stuff, we’re a smidge luckier that we’re made of metal.” 

“Right, but how did the culprit get a hold of such a powerful acid?” Ultra Magnus insists. 

“Simple.” Thundercracker smiles. “They had to be a high-ranking officer with access to the lab.”

Everyone in the room tensed up, carefully swapping glances. 

“I’m sure you know where this is going,” Thundercracker grins. “After all, the culprit is in this very room.” 

“What?!” Megatron balked. “Which one of you was it?!” 

“I’d let the detective talk.” Jazz suggested. 

“Do they currently pose a threat?” Steeltouch joins in, taking a quick moment to stray from their writing. 

Thundercracker shrugs his wings. “We’re about to find out.”

“Enough with the dramatics, seeker.” Megatron rumbled his engine. “Who did this?”

“Of course.” Thundercracker offered a mock bow, lifting his helm before the rest of his frame, Thundercracker offered a smirk. “The one who tried to kill Optimus Prime and Megatron,” Standing to his full height, he kicked a leg up onto the short table. “Is none other than,” He lifted his arm, servo in a pointed position, and brought it down to the culprit.

“Optimus Prime!”

Everyone in the room yelled in perfect unison. 

“What?!” 

Megatron turns faster than he had any right to. “You?! You did this?!” 

“I did?!” Optimus gasped, equally shocked. 

“That’s ridiculous!” Ultra Magnus started, quickly making his way to step between Megatron and Optimus. “His drink was poisoned too! Why would he do it?” 

“The peace treaty wasn’t enough, was it?” Thundercracker queried. “You needed that power for yourself, Cybertron needed to be yours.”

Optimus sputtered trying to defend himself. “O-of course not! I wouldn’t do such a thing! Much less now!”

“I don’t buy it!” Thundercracker snapped. “This whole war you’ve been fighting for your proposed ideals of peace and unity, but in the end, it must be a Prime to rule them all! Right? That’s why you did it! Getting rid of Megatron would be the easiest way for you to accumulate more power! Starscream would be easy to puppet if you kept your promises, and your image is just clean enough to get away with Megatron’s death under the radar.” Thundercracker scoffs. “I mean, who would dare question such a loving, and merciful prime. But I do, I dare to be bold enough!”

“Enough!” Prowl spat and too went on Optimus’ defense. “You’re just pulling this from your own biases. How do we not know that this isn’t some Decepticon ploy to frame Optimus, hm? Throw him under the bus so you all could gain a stronghold? We all know Megatron wouldn’t die from poisoning, Starscream learned that for us, so there’s no reason for Optimus or any knowledgeable Autobot to make such a useless attempt.”

“Aha! But that’s exactly it!” Thundercracker beamed. “Optimus knew what he was doing. Helonium is so powerful that a single drop had Megatron grasping at rails! That should be enough to aid in the conclusion that Optimus would poison him with it. He had access to it when he and Megatron entered the lab in search of liquid helium to cool their drinks, so he made his move while accessing the cryocooler! Of course, he poured the acid into both drinks to deter suspicion just in time to get distracted by the fireworks. His divine luck is only furthered by everyone passing the hallway, but even then, he intended to pretend to forget the drinks in time so they could slip away in time for plausible deniability!”

“That makes even less sense! Megatron was the one that expressed the desire to cool their drinks and Megatron was the one who opted to drink his cube after leaving it when the original intention was simply to clean up their mess.” Ultra Magnus grit out. “You just changed the basis of your accusation!” 

Optimus and Megatron watched like a pair of bitlets.

“Wha-well! I’m still working on it!” Thundercracker retorted. 

“Then don’t say anything!” Ultra Magnus and Prowl bellowed. 

“Just wait a moment!” Optimus practically screamed. “Magnus is right. The drinks were warm, but Megatron requested them to be cold, so we went to the lab to request helium. When I arrived at the lab—”

“Helium.” Shockwave interrupted. “To be specific. You mean, liquid helium. Correct?” 

Optimus blinked. “Yes?”

“Helium,” Shockwave repeated for the second time. “Can take many forms.” 

The single-optical unit stepped closer, listing a servo up as he continued. “When Helium, a harmless gas, is dropped to a set temperature it becomes a liquid. This harmless liquid makes it a good additive to cool and dilute a cocktail. Especially a refined compound such as energon that remains in a liquid-adjacent state after liquid helium is added. You meant liquid helium.”

Jazz eased his shock and looked at Shockwave, confused. “Ain’t that the same thing?” 

“No,” Thundercracker answered in Shockwave’s stead. “He just said helium.” 

Shockwave, putting on his detective cap, stepped closer to a fretting prime. “Helium is part of the Helonium compound. The fact we had it in the lab was to test its reactivity for Space Bridge advancement against other components. Optimus Prime, are you sure you didn’t mean liquid helium?”

“Well,” Optimus began but ended up trailing off as his gaze looked off. “Yes…I must have.” He tried to reason, looking back at the crowd of optics. “When I entered the lab, it was right there in the cryocooler.”

“Along with other Helium compounds,” Wheeljack spoke out, Shockwave’s unannounced revelation reaching him as well. “Optimus…did you accidentally grab the Helonium instead of the liquid helium and pour it into the drinks?” 

Optimus paused, surely it was liquid helium. When the drinks bubbled, he thought it was a rapid cooling effect. It had been so long since he’d had a cooled drink, a nonexistent luxury of the war. Retracing his steps when entering the lab; he remembered walking in, speaking to the busy scientists, and then grabbing the container that best matched his intended target. 

In a bid to save his image, Optimus quickly pulled out the coolant from his subspace, lifting it to show the others. “It says helium. I never grabbed anything with the name ‘Helonium.’” 

“Helium…hydride?” Wheeljack tested stepping closer to inspect the name tag of the bottle. “Liquid Helium is labeled exactly how it’s referred to. It would be lower in the cryocooler in alphabetical order. But Helium, and Helonium, would be right next to each other.” Wheeljack’s fins darkened.

Optimus looked at Wheeljack blankly. “Pardon?”

Wheeljack pointed at the label. “Helium hydride is another name for Helonium.” 

Optimus turned the container back to himself and read over the label. The label was somewhat bent, but the issue was remedied with some weight pressing it flat via an index digit. Optimus’ optics narrowed at the label. 

“Oh.” 

Optimus' battle mask snapped shut. So that’s why he kept it. 

“Oops.” 

The room fell into an uproar. 

“I was right!” Thundercracker squeals in delight.

“Why are you surprised?” Ultra Magnus is a step away from a sob.

Optimus was bombarded with questions, scolding, and vague legal advice from everyone who managed to get involved with the whole fiasco. 

“How could you be so careless!” Thundercracker chastised. 

“It was never my intention, I swear!” Optimus pleaded. “I must’ve been tipsy or something…I would never make such a mistake!” 

Prowl stepped in between Thundercracker and Optimus and managed to berate both of them. “You!” Prowl pointed at Thundercracker. “Are not a real detective, let alone a real enforcer, so I would appreciate it if you stopped getting so involved! Especially after you just humiliated the entire art of law enforcement after your ridiculous spinning of this case!” Thundercracker ducked a bit at the tone, ultimately realizing Prowl was correct. But Thundercracker was not the only mech scolded as Prowl turned and pointed at Optimus. “And you! How could you be so careless!” 

Thundercracker bristled. “That’s what I just asked!” 

Prowl didn’t bother turning around again, he just yelled. “Shut it!” 

“So, this whole thing was an accident?” Jazz barked out. 

Ultra Magnus rubbed his temples. “Apparently.” 

Despite it all, Megatron, the real victim of this open-and-shut case, who no one bothered to focus on, had collapsed on the floor in a fit of laughter. “I was right the first time! I can't believe this!” 

Only Shockwave, upon hearing his technically ex-lordships howling while on the floor, bothered to interact with him. “My lord, are you alright?” 

Megatron struggled to form another sentence between his laughter, the scant remnants of the acidic compound flowing through his veins didn’t register anymore. If anything, that was the drunkest he’d been in eons, and it was off a corrosive acid that his once-greatest enemy had given him by accident. Just about killing both in the process of one big ‘oopsie.’ The irony was not lost on him. “Yes!” Megatron managed to choke out. “To think! Four million years of fighting, losing, winning. All that time spent trying to kill each other and the closest he gets—” Megatron wheezed. “The closest he gets to getting the job done,” Megatron sighed, resting his helm on the floor. “And it’s by his sheer stupidity.” 

Shockwave’s optic flickered but said nothing, Megatron’s reaction was enough to quell any worry he might’ve had. 

Optimus managed to squeeze out from Prowl’s theoretical chokehold when Jazz thought it was a good idea to offer some advice. “Hey! Look on the bright side! If you drink the other glass, then Megatron can get charged instead!” 

Ultra Magnus cried out from the opposite side of the room. “No!” And began to direct his frustration at a cackling Jazz. 

Wheeljack overheard the comment and decided to play along. “Not a bad idea, Jazz! Let me run back to the lab!”

“I already disposed of it,” Shockwave says. 

Jazz and Wheeljack make a discontent sound. 

By the time Optimus had followed Megatron onto the floor, he was on the verge of another mental collapse. “Oh Megatron,” he started, sitting on his legs while Megatron remained plastered horizontally on the floor. “I understand if you’re upset, the effects of the acid might cloud your judgment, so whatever you decide when you return to a normal state will be suitable. If you wish to press charges I understand, if anything, I would implore you to. Yet I dare to ask that you please forgive me, I beg of you.” He reached down, softly placing a servo on the chest of the barely bigger bot, the soft thrum of cooling fans hard at work was the only indication of life. 

Megatron snorted. “Prime what in the pits are you talking about.” 

Optimus’ expression worsened into a deeper form of melancholy, even noticeable behind his mask. “I almost killed you.”

“That’s right, you were also trying to do so up until the ceasefire. I don’t see why this is any different.” Megatron hummed, optics closed, his venting even and his frame calm. “I’m speaking to you now, am I not?” 

“Well, yes, but—”

“But nothing,” Megatron remarked, popping open an optic to look at a very depressed-looking prime. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, much less by accident.” 

“That doesn’t mean I’m not in the wrong,” Optimus spoke evenly. “At the very least it should be reported and taken to court, no matter how small.”

“Pah!” Megatron spat and sat up just to glare at Optimus. “Who’s the victim here, me or you?” 

Optimus jolted at the sudden movement. “It’s you, of course.” 

“Great! Then as the victim of this fiasco, I say what happened doesn’t escape this room.” Megatron commanded. 

“There’s no way I could let this go,” Optimus said dolefully. “I hurt you.” 

“By the Allspark, Optimus, we were at each other’s throats up until a handful of stellar cycles ago.”

“But we’re at peace now, an attempt on your life is inexcusable.” 

Megatron’s face blanked. “Optimus.” 

“Yes?” 

“Did you walk into that lab with the intention of killing me with that helium hydride nonsense?”

“Of course not.” 

“Did you mix that drink with the intention of killing me?”

“No!” 

“Then I don’t care about whatever stupid masochistic justice you want to inflict on yourself on my apparent behalf.” Megatron laid back down. “I’m not pressing charges; I’m not going to suddenly hate you more than I already do. It. Was. An. Accident.” He resigned. 

“But—”

“Optimus I swear to Primus, if you don’t take this as grace, I’m going to make you drink that cube I made you set down.” Megatron bit. “And I’m agnostic.” 

Optimus sighed. “The drink was confiscated; I do not believe you’ll have access to it.” 

Megatron grunted, laying back down and resting his helm on his arms. “Fine, in that case, if I rip that mask off and kiss you, that way you’ll get any remaining poison and die.”

“It’s an acid,” Optimus corrected. 

Megatron would have rolled his optics if they weren’t shut. “Whatever, as long as it shuts you up.” 

“I’d rather not test that theory.” The kneeling mech admitted. 

Megatron brushed off the blatant rejection. “Of course not.”

“Not now, at least.” He mumbles. “I think I would probably die before I got the chance to enjoy it.” 

Megatron's optics shot open and looked at Optimus with an open jaw. “What—”

Optimus straightened and looked away. “I think it’s about time we call a medic, excuse me,” Optimus said as he started to get up. 

Megatron struggled over his weight. “Hold on—Prime, wait, what did you mean by that?” 

Optimus bent down to push Megatron back into a seated position. “Please don’t get up so quickly, you might aggravate your condition. Sit at one of the chairs or lay back down while I call a medic.” 

Megatron grabbed Optimus’s arms and used him to get into an upright position, nearly tripping over himself with a hiss. “I already told you, Starscream has tried to poison me enough times with dosages that could kill Cybertron’s entire population. I’m fine .” 

Optimus let go and paced towards the middle of the room, refusing to face Megatron. “That doesn’t mean it can’t have any future side effects.” 

“Prime.” 

“You’re likely feeling fine now, but there’s a very real chance most of your pain receptors have all but fried off.” Optimus touched Ultra Magnus’ shoulder when he reached him. “Which medic should I call?” 

Magnus flashes a look at Megatron. “Comm for Ratchet first, I trust him to be a bit more understanding.”

Optimus nods, reaching a digit up to his audial to do just that. 

Megatron stormed after Optimus. “Wait for a klik, mech. I would like to return to our previous conversation, what did you—”

“Ratchet!” Optimus turned away from Megatron, carefully maneuvering out of his way. “Yes, I’m fine—no, this isn’t about me. It’s about Megatron—what? No! I’m contacting you because I trust—No, do not hang up.”

Megatron leaned over Optimus' side. “Prime.” 

Optimus twisted to avoid Megatron’s face. “Ratchet I’m sure that many would wish upon his demise—yes I know you included—but I’d rather not get into that,” 

“Prime.” Another failed attempt and Optimus was practically sprinting across the room in avoidance. 

“Oh, yes…I understand. Really? Alright, thank you.”

Optimus stopped abruptly and Megatron narrowly avoided slamming into the bot. Turning quickly to face Megatron, Optimus grasped his wrist. “Ratchet says he’s already in his office, he will see you there.” 

“I’m not going to that insane medics office—”

“But you must!” Optimus implored. “I cannot have you waking up dead tomorrow—for real this time.” 

Tugging Megatron, Optimus called out to Magnus to explain their intentions and began to hurry out the door. 

Only catching a glimpse of Steeltouch, Optimus stopped once again and bent down to acknowledge the bot. “So, about this whole situation…”

“It’s going to be on the front page of every major news site on Cybertron,” Steeltouch cuts in as they fervently scribble into their datapad. “Sorry, big boss, but the only way you’re getting this outta me is if you kill me.”

Optimus figured as much and opted to let Jazz take care of it, sending a quick message pleading with the mech to do so. Jazz reacted by sending a random emoticon and getting up from his seat with a flash in his visor. Mischievous. 

“Alright.” He murmurs and continues to drag Megatron out of the room. 

The scarily fast-paced trip to Ratchet’s office was filled with half-sentences from Megatron and no answers from Optimus. Now and again a new attempt to reason with the prime would earn a sharp turn or light tug that stopped the glyphs existing from Megatron’s vocalizer. Optimus only spoke by the time they reached Ratchet’s office, however, only to greet the medic.

“Thank you for taking the time to see him so late.” Optimus smiled with his optics. 

“I guess I don't have anything better to do.” Ratchet dismissed Optimus and took the role of yanking Megatron onto a too-small slab. “Prime did a number on you, huh?”

“I will repeat what I’ve been saying to him and all the others. I’m fine.” Megatron tried to pull his arm away from Ratchet but a gruff click from his vocalizer and Megatron accepted his defeat. 

Ratchet pulled out a newer-looking scanner, likely one capable of penetrating deeper than his installed scanners, and let the thin line of light pass over Megatron. The medic hummed as the results began to materialize on a screen near him. “Unfortunately, it seems you’re right.” Ratchet turned off the scanner and scrolled through the scan results on his screen. 

Optimus looked worried. “Unfortunately?”

Ratchet rolled his shoulder back to face Optimus at an angle. “Depends on who you ask.” He faces Megatron again. “Looks like all you need is some rest and recovery. Your nanites seem to be doing a fine job on their own.” 

Megatron looked proud of himself. “See? I told you, fine.” 

Optimus is unconvinced. “It was a very powerful acid.”

“Based on what you sent me, I agree. But it looks like fate was on Megatron’s side.” Ratchet replied grumpily. “From what I can see, all the extra energon in his tanks made enough of a difference—although minor—on his frame’s level of corrosion from the acid.”

“Guess you both saved me and doomed me today.” Megatron quips. “How typical of you, Optimus.” 

Optimus refuses to relive the memory of frantically pouring mid-grade cubes down Megatron’s intake while gorging himself on high grade in what he considered ‘stress management.’

“I’m never going to drink again,” Optimus vows. 

“Good.” Ratchet chuffs. “You’re way too emotional when you drink. Even I get sick of it.” 

Megatron hops up and out of the slab and stretches. “What an eventful night, don’t you think?”

Optimus doesn’t respond but Ratchet just shoos them out with a servo as he focuses on typing up a medical summary of Megatron’s late-night emergency visit. “For you, maybe. Now get out of here, I’m not in the mood to coddle either of you.”

Megatron shrugs Ratchet off, strolling past Optimus and out the door. “Doctor knows best.” 

Optimus watched Megatron leave and take it upon himself to follow. “Thank you, Ratchet. Have a good night.”

Ratchet softens at Megatron’s departure, it’s noticeable even when he’s faced away from Optimus. “You too, Optimus.”

Optimus offers a quick wave and chases after Megatron, whose wide steps led him farther than Optimus anticipated. After reaching his back, Optimus prompted conversation. 

“I—”

“Don’t apologize again, if I’m ever going to agree with your lapdog of a medic on anything; it’s the fact you’re far too emotional for your good.”

Optimus shuts his intake. 

Megatron’s arms slung up and around his neck to rest his helm upon like he was fresh out of a training session in the pits. “You still didn’t answer me, you know.”

Optimus decided to look out the window as he matched Megatron’s pace. “If I’m allowed to be selfish, I’d rather you pretend you didn’t hear anything.” 

“You’re not.” Megatron jokes. “I would like to use my victim card this once if it means I’m going to get you to talk.” 

Optimus kept his voice steady. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you should own up to what you said.” 

Optimus coos. “I’m afraid I’m an emotional drunk, I simply cannot be trusted.”

Megatron jeered. “Oh, real mature. You can’t hide behind that excuse forever, lightweight.” 

Optimus faced Megatron as they continued their walk. “If I let you call me that, will you move on from my mumbling?”

“No.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“I’ll have you know I have manners. Pardon me for wishing to answer you honestly.”

Optimus stopped and snapped his mask away. “Can we please do this another time?”

Megatron took a few more steps forward before turning back with the same lax expression. “No, you’ll just avoid it like you always do.” 

“I will not.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

Optimus stiffened. “I am not.”

Megatron started to close the distance between their frames, inching down to capture Optimus’ gaze. “Then admit it, tell me how much you like me.”

Optimus felt confident enough to roll his optics. “I already did.” 

Megatron stopped. “What?”

Optimus closed his optics. “I already did.” 

“When?”

Optimus pursed his lipplates. “Just before you passed out.”

“That doesn’t count!” Megatron dismissed. 

“Well, it counted to me, so!” Optimus flailed his arms around. “Maybe you should be the bigger bot and step up!” 

“I offered to kiss you!”

“Under the premise of killing me!”

“You know what I meant!”

“As a matter of fact! I did not!” Optimus sounded incredulous. “I’ve been doing all the heavy lifting tonight; I would appreciate some sympathy if you’re so sure that you’re fine!” 

Megatron leans back, shaking his helm. “Oh, of course, the mighty prime wants to be spoiled. Shall I go prepare a honeymoon suite, and a bottle of high-grade without Helonium in it? Or will you be more successful in your intentions this time when we cool our drinks?” 

Optimus ground his dente together to make a grating sound. “Oh, forget it.” He barked out a forced laugh, beginning to speak to himself out loud. “Good thing I was drunk, and you passed out when I said what I did, otherwise I’d be getting more than your anger right now!” 

Megatron’s face fell. “What.”

Optimus flung his arms up in defense of his poor wording. “Not like that!” 

“Then what the frag does that even imply?!” Megatron’s voice began to rise higher. 

“I don’t know! I’m kinda under a lot of stress right now!” 

“And I’m not?!” 

Optimus let out a frustrated sound. “Just. Forget it. I was drunk. You were on death's door. I reacted emotionally and irrationally, and I led you on by teasing you. Can we please move on?” 

Megatron grumbled. “And?”

Optimus let out an exasperated stream of air. “Now what?”

Megatron gestured at Optimus’ frame with an open palm. “You reacted emotionally and irrationally, isn’t that what matters? You reacted so strongly at the thought of my death, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Optimus reset his vocalizer. “Oh, forever the poet, aren’t you?”

“You know I’m right.” Megatron overlooks the remark. 

Optimus searches for something in Megatron’s optics. “Yes, I will admit it. But I will not admit anymore knowing you wouldn’t do the same.”

“You’re always so sure of what others feel.” Megatron insulted. 

“Right, because you too would spill coolant over my assumed dead frame.” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

Optimus looked hurt, but victorious. “Precisely—”

“I would spill energon instead.”

Optimus chewed the inside of his cheek. “Do not toy with me like this, Megatron.” 

“Optimus, I’m serious.” Megatron stepped closer. 

“Don’t.” Optimus heaved. “I have spent eons at war with you knowing full well that my dedication to you has morphed into something I cannot describe so plainly as love—and I’ve accepted it. I’m asking you now, do not make me label it as something so fickle.” 

Megatron studies Optimus. “The hero of love, freedom, and liberty, denies himself his ideals. That’s a new low for you, Optimus. What makes you think I haven’t done the same?”

Optimus can’t stand the look in Megatron’s optics, he appears genuinely pained. Optimus looks away. “Then you’re much better at hiding it than me.” 

“I’m better than you at most things, don’t color me surprised when my devotion to us is superior as well.” Megatron remarks.

Optimus doesn’t justify Megatron's repertoire of ego-inflating comments by speaking on it. Megatron doesn’t expect him to, so, he takes to more dramatic means. He sits down on the floor. 

Optimus is forced by his curiosity to watch on. “What are you doing?”

“Making you take responsibility.” He sits in a classic cross-legged way with his arms over his chest, fusion cannon narrowly hovering over his thighs. 

“By…sitting down on the floor.”

“You are correct.” Megatron taunted. “And I know you won’t leave because you feel responsible for my well-being.” 

“Don’t look down on me.” Optimus fussed, still standing. 

“If anything, it’s the other way around,” Megatron smirked. 

“What do you think you’ll gain from this?” Optimus sighs.

“I’m going to bring you down to my level,” Megatron answers. “Come down here and we can meet optic-to-optic.”

Optimus looked over both ends of the hall, coming back to Megatron who stared at him like an owl. Grumbling, Optimus bends down to sit on his legs. “This proves nothing.” 

“On the contrary, my gaudily painted equal. This is the first step to acknowledging your truth.”

“You sound like a spectralist.” 

“Deadlock—well, Drift—likes to be a bother.” 

Optimus scanned over Megatron’s frame, anticipating an attack. Whether it be verbal or physical. “I still don’t see what this proves.”

“Me neither,” Megatron admits.

Optimus’ immediate annoyance makes him make the effort to get back up. “I should’ve known better—”

Megatron pulls him back down and brings their faces close. “Because it’s not me who has to prove it.” 

Optimus narrowed his visual feed to the shape and curves of Megatron’s face. “What are you getting at?”

“I’ll give you the small luxury of my patience for the night.” Megatron offers and releases Optimus. “Do what you’d like with it.”

Optimus is, naturally, both skeptical and unimpressed by Megatron’s lackluster offer. However, he decides against pushing further since it’s getting them nowhere. Optimus returns to sitting on his legs, initiating a staring contest with Megatron. The latter of the two pierces through Optimus with an unwavering gaze. It makes Optimus uncomfortable, but he’s not willing to let Megatron push him into looking away. An inadvertent victory. 

So, they stare. Quietly, and without an inkling of shame. Optimus can’t be bothered to know what Megatron is thinking and takes it upon himself to firm his resolution so Megatron can’t read him either. He’s not sure of his success considering Megatron is akin to a statue with how he’s devoted himself to whatever point he was trying to prove—as if he did know. 

And yet, that part of Optimus that would forever be Orion, studied Megatron like a painting. He wouldn’t look beyond his optics, his pride would not allow it, and yet he already knew what he would find if he looked away. The firm silhouette of his broad shoulders and smooth chassis, still wearing the Decepticon insignia on his chest like a medal, sharp corners that divide his armor into sections. The lack of paint made it difficult to distinguish him on the battlefield when his presence or stature didn’t do so at first. 

Optimus, despite himself, leaned in. Megatron didn’t move, his field didn’t betray a thing, and Optimus couldn’t be bothered to discover why. Megatron’s optics were almost serene as they watched him with ferocity—the one thing that never fled from his frame, his temper. Waxing and waning like Earth’s moon, always there and lingering like a ghost. 

Closer, Optimus thought he could find more of Megatron the closer he got to his optics. A small twinge of a darker thought considered the processor behind those optics, a piece of him wanted to gouge his eyes out just to get a better look at the mind behind his greatest source of frustration, of infatuation. 

Closer more, their forehelms tapped and Optimus was broken from the spell. His optics recycled, and Optimus could swear he saw a flash of amusement from Megatron as they two experienced Optimus’ betrayal of himself. 

Optics locked, and Optimus could hear some variant of Orion Pax’s more stubborn nature telling him to simply give in. Optimus knew it was too late, in too deep, but he didn’t care, maybe he could blame his lapse in judgment on something random by the morning. 

Fluttering his optics closed, Optimus twisted his helm and kissed Megatron. 

Megatron would hardly consider something so chaste a kiss, but he still hummed in victory. 

Optimus broke the feather-light contact, but it was Megatron who spoke. 

“Now that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“You’re a witch,” Optimus whispers. 

Megatron pulled Optimus closer, forcing the two to fall onto the floor. “I’ve been told I’m quite…charming.”

“I regret this already,” Optimus said sardonically. 

“Give in.” Megatron hugged Optimus. “Just give in to me already.” 

Optimus wiggles out of Megatron’s grip to find his face again. Megatron lets him look with a bemused expression, pleased. 

Optimus doesn’t match the expression; he uses what little space he has in Megatron’s embrace to graze his digits on the thin metal that formed his lipplates. “I kissed you.”

“Well done.” Megatron sounds giddier than when Optimus had to relent on a reconstruction bill. “I knew you could do it. Aren’t you proud of yourself?” 

Optimus rather not answer, instead pausing his admission to lick the outline of his lips. “But…”

Megatron makes a curious face. “But?”

Optimus’ glossa peaks between his lips, wetting them while speaking. “Ith kinda burnths.” 

A shot of panic runs through Megatron’s lines and he begins to grab Optimus and pick them both up from the floor. “I-It burns?” 

Optimus nods and blows a raspberry. “Ahgh…hot.” He fans at his mouth. 

Now standing, Megatron is already wrapping an arm at Optimus’ legs and hoisting him up mid-jog in a bridal carry back to Ratchet’s office. “Ratchet!” He looks down at Optimus who is fanning himself a little harder. 

“Ow, ow, ow.” 

Megatron faces the hallway, a full-on sprint to the medic’s office. “ Ratchet! ” 

It could be argued that Megatron’s little mind games worked out the better, considering that when the news headlines the morning after, Optimus’ intake and fuel-intake lines were declared unusable by Ratchet after drinking a medical cube that only made things worse by causing the acid to enter Optimus’ systems. Ratchet was adamant about banning Optimus from any laboratory. Most would agree with him, even Optimus. 

And thus, when Ultra Magnus put together a hasty press conference, Optimus could not answer anything beyond a yes or no via a nod or shake of the helm and Prowl would be damned before letting him speak hand. Yet he managed to appear very smug throughout the bombardment by the press, even with a mask. Jazz, clever mech that he was, used Optimus’ inability to speak as proof of Optimus’ innocence on the matter. Steeltouch was beyond themselves trying to portray the truth of the attempt, despite the latest news. Megatron played along with the new variation of the story, it saved him the time and effort of remedying another blow to his image. He had already won himself a series of hysterical laughter and pointing when the truth behind Optimus’ puffy face came out when they showed up to the press conference without a wink of recharge. 

“Is it true that the cube, after you dropped it, ate through the windowsill?” One reporter asked Optimus.

Optimus gave a thumbs up. 

The reporters gasped. 

Another piped up. “And is it true that Lord Megatron drank the whole cube? Even when you barely let yours touch your intake?”

Two thumbs up and an enthusiastic nod. 

Another wave of gasps and comments. 

“Is there any idea what the reason for this attempt might be?”

Megatron answers. “An attempt on both Optimus Prime and I’s lives is significant as we know the bad actor is likely disheartened with either of our actions and our failures as leaders.”

It was fortunate that Optimus couldn’t talk, which made lying a whole lot easier. 

Steeltouch manages to wriggle their way to the front. “Then, for Megatron. What will you do about the criminal still at large?”

Megatron and Optimus looked at one another, a laugh threatening to overtake them both. Megatron cleared his vocalizer into a fist, hiding a chuckle in it. “Considering this attempt was an absolute failure, I doubt this so-called assassin is a real threat. The DJD, and any respective law enforcement agency, will do what they can to bring justice to the assailant. However,” Looking at Optimus to his right in the podium, he lets his servos lightly reach for the others. Optimus takes hold and offers a reassuring squeeze. 

“Perhaps it’s best just to treat this as what it is.”

Every reporter leaned in to capture Megatron’s next words. 

Megatron smiled. “A learning experience.”