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Next time, it would be the last straw. That was what he kept telling himself. That's what he told himself again, as he watched Magnus and Ten trying to hold onto an extremely inebriated Rodimus as they guided him back to his quarter. As he murmured it once again, with his head in his hand, it started to sound too much like a mantra.
Next time, he had said when Rodimus had started to use “Till all are one” every other sentence.
Next time, he had said when Rodimus had been stalking through the ship like a petulant newframe when Thunderclash had been aboard.
Next time, when Rodimus had crashed into Tailgate when he was trying to “train for Meteor Fest.”
Next time, when Rodimus blamed him for the crew’s disappearance before they had discovered the second Lost Light.
Next time, when Rodimus had… Well, next time he’d tell Rodimus exactly what sort of captain he made himself out to be.
He really needed to find out what “next time” really meant. For his innate ability to push Megatron far too close to the edge, Rodimus got away with too much. Maybe he needed to be pushed himself to get his aft in line. Maybe he needed a little push right out the airlock. Megatron would have felt more guilty in his sudden vindictiveness if he wasn’t watching his second in command and poor Ten struggle to keep Rodimus from falling. Somehow, Rodimus managed to make them all give in.
But not next time.
Magnus finally shut the door on Rodimus, effectively locking him inside for the next shift. Ten followed his idol as he stalked towards Megatron with a familiar, disappointed scowl. If Megatron hadn’t seen it so much he might’ve missed the fondness in Magnus’s optics hidden by the shadow of his eye ridges. He gave Magnus a knowing look as the mech passed, and nodded at Ten.
Struck suddenly by an idea, Megatron turned around and caught Magnus by the elbow.
“Magnus,” Megatron began, and stopped. Magnus turned back around, and looked down at Megatron questioningly. Ten peered around Magnus’s side as Megatron continued. “We… I need to speak to you about Rodimus.”
“I’ve already reprimanded him for indecent behavior and overconsumption,” Magnus frowned. “And that was many weeks ago.”
Megatron fought back a grimace and lost. He shouldn’t have been expecting anything less, from either of them. “That’s the sort of thing I need to talk to you about.”
Magnus’s optics whirred audibly. He glanced back at Ten, who was happily waiting. “Privately?”
“Preferably,” Megatron requested, looking at Ten apologetically. At least, it felt like less of a grimace than he was used to.
Ten seemed to understand, nodding and almost chirping his goodbyes to Magnus, who smiled back at him and waved as his friend walked back towards Swerve’s. With a trace of affection still on his face plates, Magnus turned to Megatron.
“My office?” Megatron offered. Magnus nodded and they started the walk to the next deck.
After a few moment of silence, Magnus hummed. “Rodimus has never been one to heed warnings.”
“You’re not someone to let another break the rules,” Megatron countered, “unless it’s Rodimus. Why do you let him do whatever he wants? He’s a captain, for spark’s sake he should at least try to act like one.”
“He does, when it matters,” Magnus retorted.
“And the rest of the time he’s a pain to even speak to! How do you put up with everything he does?” Megatron growled, tightening his fist to keep it by his side.
Magnus stopped in the elevator and leaned against its wall as they waited for it to ascend. “You sound like me, when we first started this quest.”
“Really?” Megatron glared up at the taller mech, and then stalked out of the elevator. “What changed your mind? Maybe you can enlighten me.”
“It’s… hard to explain,” Magnus replied reluctantly. He followed Megatron down the corridor, and Megatron stayed silent. Magnus waited him out as he coded his office door open, and they took chairs across from each other. Magnus watched him as he took two cubes from one of the drawers, and thanked him when he was handed on. His fingers fumbled awkwardly as Megatron watched from where he leaned against his desk. As Magnus took a sip and flinched, Megatron realized what he’d accidentally just served. Still, Magnus was silent, and Megatron felt his lip curl at the thought of Magnus taking so long to answer, surely to think of an excuse.
He was about to demand an explanation when Magnus finally spoke.
“It was because of Luna 1.”
The sudden answer made him pause. “The Tyrest incident?” Megatron had heard enough about it to know that little episode was mostly Magnus’s fault. Or, really, Minimus Ambus’s. Was Magnus just embarrassed he had failed almost as spectacularly as Rodimus? Was that why he was willing to let Rodimus's embarrassments go?
“Yes,” Magnus said. “You’ve heard about the killswitch.”
“Of course; I’ve been to Swerve’s enough to overhear how much this crew brags about the one time they ‘saved us all’,” Megatron grumbled, rolling his optics.
Magnus sighed. “They did, in a way. It was Rodimus really, who sacrificed himself in order to stop the killswitch.”
Megatron replayed that last sentence in his processor and then sneered. “It sounds like the self-sacrificing scrap a Prime would pull.”
“Yes,” Magnus grunted unhappily and fiddled with the cube of fool’s energon. “But he was scared. He told me right before… right before we used the Matrix to save the others.”
He paused, and Megatron watched Ultra Magnus shutter his optics as he remembered. Magnus vented loudly and recomposed himself, avoiding Megatron’s gaze. “I remember Optimus doing the same thing,” Magnus then shot a look at Megatron, knowing who his captain had been thinking of. “Optimus never showed his fear. I don’t know if he ever did fear death, sometimes I feared he welcomed it. But Rodimus didn’t want to die; he said it was the easy way out. I think Rodimus was thinking of Optimus, too.”
This time it was Megatron that looked away, down at his cube in silence.
“He told me he wanted to make amends; that’s why he didn’t want to die,” Magnus whispered. “Rodimus knows what he’s done. He wants to make up for it, but he doesn’t want to face it.”
It sounded too familiar. His spark roiled with guilt, but Megatron pushed the thought out of his mind. He wasn’t so similar to Rodimus. The feeling clung to his spark like static.
“What does this have to do with his continuing irresponsibility? If that’s how he feels, why hasn’t he changed?”
“Rodimus can’t help that he’s an imbecile,” Magnus admitted. “He’s also smarter than he lets on. It’s easier to blame the… blame Rodimus the Idiot than Rodimus the Captain, especially for him.”
Megatron stared. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Magnus raised an eye ridge. “It’s just the same as separating the blame from Megatron the Warlord and Megatron the Captain.”
Megatron shuttered his optics. The room was dead silent; he realized his vents had caught. Magnus was was right, damn him. The feeling that had latched onto his spark stubbornly dug in its spurs. As much as Megatron loathed the thought, he could understand. Rodimus was separating himself from his mistakes by creating a scapegoat persona, another Rodimus that could take the blame without feeling the guilty consequences. A cheap way to get through guilt- one Megatron knew very well. He couldn’t blame rodimus for trying to live through it by trying to shield himself behind a mask. Still...
“Why does he think this is the better option? Doesn’t he know what the crew says about him? Doesn’t he know how they feel?”
Magnus frowned again, this time at Megatron. “He does. Rodimus would rather be mocked than despised. That, he can accept.”
“It makes him intolerable to work with,” Megatron glared right back. “Not to mention his aft-headed schemes or his smug attitude.”
“No, but I’ve forgiven him for it,” Magnus announced as he stood.
Megatron looked at him dubiously, and Magnus shrugged as he turned to leave.
“He’s a good mech, once you know him.”
Megatron frowned into his energon as Magnus left. Maybe Magnus was right. Megatron just couldn’t see it, and he doubted he’d ever be able to.
(o)
He was getting tired of proving himself wrong. Or, at least, the universe’s continual efforts to make him wrong.
Rodimus was fake. It was disgustingly obvious, now that Magnus had pointed it out to him. How had he not noticed? Every single time someone nearly shifted the conversation to somewhere likely to offend Rodimus, he'd spurt some random topic that would be so stupendously irrational everyone in the vicinity would drop what they were doing to argue against it. Which would effectively distract them from the original topic, and that Rodimus was already doing what he wanted.
Rodimus’s favorite weapon, his blinding smile, used to disarm and convince. Megatron found himself less fooled than before, now that he could see that the smile never reached his optics. Oh Rodimus was a convincing actor- his optics narrowed and his eye ridges raised and the attitude continued on down through to his pedes. But not once did his optics flare or spark. Megatron was sure of it.
Until he saw Rodimus in the corridor, talking to Tailgate. Tailgate was giggling too hard for Megatron to make out the words as he was passing by, but Rodimus’s laughter stopped him. He peered back around the corner and nearly gaped. If Rodimus’s fake smile was blinding, then his true smile was… underwhelming. It was perfect; it was true.
Megatron nearly fled the hallway. He hadn't expected the warmth in his spark, or the blush of energon on his faceplates. But he could have guessed where it came from.
The more he spent time around Rodimus the more he was reluctant to admit that there was something there.
Rodimus was living a lie, and it was an annoying, egotistical, but self-loathing lie that Megatron had seen before, that he'd done before. He hated to see himself in every damned smirk, hated to see what he was trying to forget.
Hated that little punk sitting across from him, writing graffiti yet again instead of listening to Megatron’s stock report. The worst part was, Megatron had a suspicion this one part of Rodimus wasn't an act.
“Rodimus,” he snapped. Finally, Rodimus looked up and put his knife down. “What are you doing?"
Rodimus’s optics narrowed as he glanced back to his desk, then back to Megatron. “I’m listening.”
“No, you are not.”
“I am, Megs. Drawing helps me concentrate.”
“Defiling your desk does not count as ‘drawing’.”
“Oh my god you sound like Magnus. Please stop.”
“Rodimus,” Megatron growled lowly as Rodimus looked back at him petulantly. “Just because you accidentally drew a ‘map to Cyberutopia’, as you are so fond of calling it, that doesn’t give you an excuse to ignore your captain!”
“Hey! Co-captain!”
Megatron vented hard and placed the datapad he was holding down very slowly, very deliberately, trying not to forget himself. Megatron set it in front of Rodimus. “Then tell me, co-captain, why you haven’t been paying attention to the list of needed supplies?”
Rodimus poked the datapad with a finger and slid it back to Megatron. “I have been listening, Megatron."
“No,” Megatron pushed the pad back, “You have not been listening. If you were, you might have protested our needs for,” Megatron scrolled down to the bottom of the list, “three fusion cannons, five crates of Ammonites, ten shipments of flammable solvent for the washracks and the approval for Brainstorm’s supplies request.”
Rodimus only sat there, staring at him. Megatron could guess he was resetting his audials, perhaps going back to replay some of his recorded audio. Every second was more incriminating.
“So I’m assuming you approve these requests…?” Megatron pulled the datapad back and made as if he were about to sign off.
“No!” Rodimus jumped and reached for the datapad, which Megatron held out of his reach. “We are not getting anything for Brainstorm!”
“Which you would know if you had paid attention! He hadn’t even had the opportunity to request supplies! Primus, Rodimus, can’t you do this one thing?” Megatron growled, clenching the datapad too tightly.
For a second a bright spark of anger lit up in Rodimus’s optics before he shuttered them, and backed down. His frame shook for a moment before Rodimus looked back at him with his usual smirk. “Can’t you let it go? If Brainstorm isn’t making any weird requests we’ve got nothing to worry about."
Megatron let the datapad fall onto the desk. He replayed the scene over in his processor- he didn’t imagine the expression on Rodimus’s face, the flare in his optics. Megatron almost grinned. Finally, a reaction! Something genuine. Even if it was anger, he'd rather see that than the plastic Rodimus wore. Now if only he could make it happen again.
He just had to make Rodimus angry.
Megatron scowled in an effort to keep from smiling with joyful anticipation. Ohh, he had been looking for an excuse to chew out his “co-captain”; it’d be an horrible waste to pass up such a perfect opportunity.
“If it’s just too much trouble to sign off on whatever I hand you so easily, then maybe I should just keep you out of this horribly tedious process.”
“No way Megatron.”
“Then… perhaps you just trust me so much that you don’t feel you need to check my work.” Megatron felt himself smirk, every inch the villain he used to be. He could already see the effects; Rodimus’s spoiler was twitching. “I had no idea you trusted me so deeply. Thank you, Rodimus.”
Rodimus bristled visibly. He grabbed the datapad and typed furiously, no doubt deleting the last, ridiculous items Megatron had added. When he finished, Rodimus signed his glyphs and slammed the abused pad down on his desk.
“Alright, done,” Rodimus grumbled.
Megatron settled back. “Good. Now, was that so hard?”
Aha! There again, a flash of anger. Rodimus’s fists clenched the desk so hard that it creaked under the pressure. “Yes,” he ground out. “Believe it or not, listening to you talk about nothing is not high on my list of things I want to waste time with when I’m onshift.”
“Believe it or not,” Megatron mocked, “you have to, if you want this ship to operate in any semblance of cohesion. Primus knows it won’t if you’re left to captain it alone.”
Rodimus’s optics flared brilliantly and the spoiler on his back jerked high over his shoulders. “Like it would under your command? You shouldn’t even be here.”
“And yet I am, and doing a much better job than you, co-captain,” Megatron sneered, watching as Rodimus became alive with absolute rage.
“Don’t mock me,” Rodimus seethed. He stood up, fists now denting the edge of his desk. “And get out of my office.”
“Our meeting doesn’t end for another joor. Sit down Rodimus,” Megatron ordered. Rodimus didn’t move.
“Get out,” he snarled through his dentae. “You have no right to come into my office and expect me to listen to you ramble about something that only needed my signature, and then you think you can insult me!?”
Rodimus was practically vibrating in his place, trying to burn through Megatron’s armor with his glower. He might have succeeded; the waves of heat that rolled off him enveloped the room quickly. Megatron raised an eye ridge, unperturbed by the waves of a furious EM field that cascaded over him. “Rodimus.”
“What.”
“This is the first time I have ever enjoyed talking to you.”
“...What?” Rodimus deflated. Even as his anger faded his confusion was honest, and Megatron felt a glimmer of triumph. He had surprised Rodimus- good.
Megatron drew himself up, leveling his gaze at Rodimus. “I’m tired of talking to some plastic facade that you keep strutting around in. For the first time, there’s actually someone here talking to me.”
Rodimus’s eye ridges drew down as he frowned.
“I’d rather talk to you if you’re livid,” Megatron grinned. “Primus, at least it’s proof there’s actually some fire in you. I was worried ‘Hot Rod’ was a misnomer.”
He paused and tilted his helm at Rodimus.
“Almost makes me wonder why you hide it…”
“Stop,” Rodimus said abruptly. “I get the feeling you’re trying to convert me- I’m not listening to that.”
Megatron laughed under his breath. “I’m only trying to convert you from this habit you’ve grown- this mask.”
“Okay,” Rodimus eyes narrowed cynically. “I’m not really sure what you’re talking about. And you’re weirding me out a little bit.”
Megatron sighed. Rodimus had reverted back, but Megatron could tell he was almost there. Rodimus’s hands twitched by his sides anxiously. “You’re fake Rodimus. It’s like talking to a wall.”
“Ouch,” Rodimus laughed. “Wow, sorry you don’t know how to talk to people that aren’t trying to kill you or one-up you."
“The more you try to cover it up the more you incriminate yourself. The more obvious it is.”
Rodimus stiffened. “I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do,” Megatron narrowed his optics. “It’s only going to hurt you.”
The Prime stabbed his knife into the desk and his spoilers quivered. His frame grew rigid as he stared down. For another moment or two he held himself still, optics focused on nothing before glaring at Megatron, his stare hard and his optics glinting. “Stop. Like you even know… like you even care.”
Megatron blinked. What was he supposed to say to that? Yes…? As he looked at Rodimus, he wanted to help him get rid of the persona, but because he wanted to see the real Rodimus. Somehow he hadn't realized he wasn’t doing it just to make his life as (co-)captain of the Lost Light easier. Seeing rodimus, well, that non-Rodimus never truly smile, or laugh, or exploded with fury was frustrating. Now looking at him, as haggard as he was all of a sudden, he was more beautiful than he was wearing those fake smiles.
Megatron vented hard and leaned forward, and Rodimus moved back slightly. “It’s not so easy to say that you’re wearing a mask when you are. But it doesn’t help you, and it certainly doesn’t help those around you… And yes, I do know.”
Immediately, he could tell Rodimus wasn’t convinced. He looked at him sideways, dismissively.
“I see you, Rodimus,” Megatron continued. “Your posturing, your constant smiling, your attitude. Like everyone else, I see it, but I see it for what it is. You have no idea how frustrating it is to talk to a mech that isn’t even there. Not to mention the fact that you’re annoying as all pit when you’re hiding behind the mask. You’re better than that.”
Rodimus glanced down, picking up his knife idly and turning it in his hands. His spoilers fell down and he shuttered his optics. Something broke, inaudibly, and Rodimus bit out his next words. “I just…” he sighed,” I’m just tired. It’s easier to pretend I’m not… me. Fake it ‘til you make it, you know?”
Megatron didn’t know. Rodimus’s uneasy smile fell, and a pulse of sadness reverberated through Megatron’s spark. He spoke without realizing: “I used it to shield myself from the guilt of what I was doing.”
Rodimus’s optics widened, and Megatron winced. Slag, that was too much. That was too honest too soon too much- like he’d been caught in the washracks without his helm, or in the battlefield without a weapon. He steeled himself against his embarrassment; if he was asking Rodimus to be open, he needed to be open as well. Even if it made his plating crawl as the Prime… assessed him. He sat in stony silence, struggling to keep form running, as Rodimus just looked at him.
“Yeah,” Rodimus whispered eventually. “The mask. Feels better than… the guilt.”
Megatron let out a vent, forcing himself to face Rodimus. “It may feel better, it’s a temporary fix at best. It never helps. In the end you have to face yourself… You have to push through."
But Rodimus was only shaking his helm. “No, no I can’t do that. It’s not that easy.”
“I never said it would be easy,” Megatron grumbled. “Never easy.”
Rodimus didn’t look encouraged. He was sullen, still, twisting his knife in his hands and pouting.
Megatron grinned wide as an idea struck him. “If I could do it, so can you.”
“I can’t,” Rodimus snapped. “I can’t just forgive myself. After what I’ve done? I need to-”
“Rodimus,” Megatron rumbled. Rodimus cut off his vocalizer with a hiss of static and blushed faintly.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Megatron waved away the apology with the back of his hand. “No Rodimus.” He considered the look on Rodimus’s face before speaking suddenly. “You’re not a bad mech.”
“Haha!” Rodimus blurted harshly. “Yeah right. Come on Megs, you-”
“Am I a bad mech?”
Rodimus blinked as his helm tilted. He opened his mouth, then closed it, the grimaced. “Is that a trick question?” Have you looked in the mirror today? Had a sudden case of Skid’s syndrome?”
“No,” Megatron rolled his optics. “No. The point I was trying to make us that, as horrible as I am, as I know myself to be, I am willing to lose my mask I created. Reassess myself. Change. It’s not forgiving yourself so much as it's accepting your past and moving on. If I can do that, don’t you think you can?”
“Okay but maybe you shouldn’t have-”
“Rodimus.”
“I’m just saying! Maye some mechs aren’t meant to be themselves.”
“Like you and I.”
“Yeah.”
Megatron vented in. “Then there’s no hope for us. Ever. We are doomed to forever be alone and regretful. Trapped in cages we made for ourselves with a lock we’ll always have the key to but never reach for.”
Rodimus made a disgusted face he usually reserved for times when Ultra Magnus was correcting his reports. “When you say it like that, then it sounds worse. No, no don’t keep doing that,” Rodimus shuttered his optics and leaned back in his chair. “You got me, you win, I’ll stop it with the ‘mask’.”
“Good,” Megatron smiled as Rodimus made a show of his reluctance, covering his faceplates with his hand. “I think I’ll finally start to enjoy our meetings.”
Rodimus stilled, and Megatron did in return; he hadn’t realized how… suggestive that sounded. Or was it not? Had he meant it to be?
Rodimus resetting his vocalizer almost startled him. Slowly, Rodimus sat up in he his desk chair. Though he didn’t look directly at Megatron, he could see the other mech’s blush. Megatron was about to correct himself when Rodimus spoke.
“Yeah,” Rodimus’s vocalizer almost reset again. “Cool.”
“Cool,” Megatron repeated almost automatically. Rodimus huffed a short laugh and his optics twinkled. Megatron coughed to hide a blush he felt creeping up along his faceplates.
“Back to work.”