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The first time it happened, Megatron didn’t even realize it. The only thing that tipped him off was Rodimus’ sudden, uncharacteristic silence.
“What?” growled Megatron. He didn’t like the way Rodimus was looking at him. Amused and playful, with an impossibly wide smile.
“You just called me Starscream.”
“Preposterous,” said Megatron. “I did no such thing.”
Rodimus was laughing now. Laughing at him. “You totally did. Replay your memory file for the last two minutes.”
There was no way Megatron was going to give in to such childish demands, because he already knew the truth. He did not call anyone Starscream. That would be ridiculous. And embarrassing.
And something Rodimus would hold over his head for the rest of their journey.
“Didn’t he, Magnus? Didn’t he call me Starscream?”
Ultra Magnus looked up from the report he was composing. “Affirmative. You two were arguing over whether to avoid the upcoming nebula. I believe your exact words were, ‘You’re an idiot, Starscream.’”
Rodimus bounced on his heels, his optics sparkling. “Aha! Told you so.”
“However, he did have a point,” continued Ultra Magnus. “The nebula is dangerous and could damage our shielding. Flying straight into it would be foolish. Your counterargument of the word yolo did little to convince me otherwise.”
As much as he hated to admit it, Megatron was beginning to appreciate Ultra Magnus. The mech was a bastion of sanity on this ridiculous ship. “What does that word mean?”
“I don’t know,” said Ultra Magnus gravely. “I think he made it up.”
Rodimus stormed up to Megatron and poked him in the chest. “Okay, one: I didn’t make it up. It’s a real word. And two: You did call me Starscream. Magnus confirmed it so it must be true.”
Megatron’s throat cables went rigid. He batted away Rodimus’ hand. “If I called you Starscream, it’s because I’ve come to regard you as my second in command.”
Engine stuttering, Rodimus’ expressive face dropped. “What!?! I don’t think so! We’re co-captains, remember?”
“So you’re recognizing my authority as captain? It’s about time.”
For a brief, satisfying moment, Megatron allowed himself to believe that he’d won the argument. Rodimus stammered and shook, looking like he might blow a gasket as he comprehended the corner he was backed into. But if there was one thing Megatron was learning about Rodimus, it was that he had the ability to rebound from almost any situation. And quickly.
Rodimus pursed his lips, and then opened his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was higher and scratchier. A poor imitation of a certain Seeker. “Forgive me, Mighty Megatron! Of course we all recognize your authority.”
Murmurs of badly contained reactions spread through the bridge crew. Skids and Ravage gasped. Hoist and Blaster burst into giggles. Only Trailcutter had the decency to somewhat contain himself, although his shoulders trembled with the effort.
It took everything Megatron had not to grab Rodimus by the neck and fling him across the bridge. The rage behind his spark was comforting in its familiarity. It suffused him with a sense of self-righteous decisiveness and power. One he hadn't felt since before he watched Bumblebee die.
The thought of Bumblebee had him cringing internally. He wasn't that mech anymore. He’d changed. He wanted to change. Even if, with so much to atone for, sometimes the reality of his existence seemed insurmountable.
Besides, he was on that foul tasting strength-suppressing energon. If he tried anything, Ultra Magnus would likely rip him in half.
He had to remove himself from this situation. That was the most logical choice. Glaring down at Rodimus, Megatron said, "Fine. Fly into the nebula and kill us all. It's nothing to me. I'm scheduled to die anyway."
With that, he turned from Rodimus and walked towards the exit.
"You're leaving?!" squealed Rodimus. He adopted the Starscream voice again. "Lord Megatron has flounced off the bridge. Now I am the leader of the Lost Light!"
Megatron didn't turn around. "That sounds nothing like him."
"Yes it does," called Rodimus after him.
"No it doesn't," said Megatron. He left the bridge and headed to his quarters. To take stock. That was all. To take stock.
The second time it happened, Megatron realized it instantly.
For once, they were managing to have a meeting that was actually productive. No doubt because Ultra Magnus was involved. He had arrived with an armful of datapads, and proceeded to lecture on a mountainous list of topics. Everything from optimal course corrections to the proper procedures for transforming in crowded hallways.
It was possible that everyone was so docile because they were half in recharge, but Megatron found himself admiring the thoroughness. At least Ultra Magnus was committed to not running the ship like a drunken gambling den. When he finished, Megatron showed his appreciation by saying, "Excellent work, Soundwave."
That roused the group from their near catatonic state. Ravage and Rung snapped their heads up to throw him looks of legitimate concern. Brainstorm fluttered his wings and said, "Wait, who?"
Rodimus stopped doodling on his desk. "Did you-"
"No," said Megatron. But he couldn’t deny it. "Yes."
Ravage weaved in between his legs, his comforting electromagnetic field brushing like a probing question. "Megatron, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," grumbled Megatron.
Rung laid a reassuring hand on his forearm. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. You were with your old crew for millions of years. The mind is programmed to fall into particular patterns. It will take time for new connections to form in your neurocircuits."
That unkinked his wires a bit. Neural patterns. New connections. Megatron nodded. "Yes. That makes sense."
“It kinda does,” said Rodimus with a snicker. “Your processor’s the oldest thing in a hundred light-year radius. No wonder it’s taking forever to adjust.”
“Silence, Starscream,” barked Megatron. “You’re not that much younger than me.”
The multitude of dropped jaws alerted him to his mistake. Megatron tried to remain stoic, but the urge to throw himself under the table and stay there was strong.
Rodimus stopped snickering. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need to go see Ratchet?”
Megatron grunted through his vents. That was everything he didn’t want. A visit to the medic regarding his confusion. Maybe he was turning into a useless old fool like Starscream had always claimed. “No. That’s not necessary. Could we continue?”
“Yeah. Can we do my thing now?” Brainstorm stood and shoved Magnus’ datapads off the table. In their place he laid out a flexible holoprojector. With the touch of a button, it displayed a schematic of a complicated device. “So I think we can all agree that the ship’s engines don’t move fast enough. Let me install this little beauty, and we’ll be cruising through the galaxy faster than you can say redshift-space distortion.”
Ultra Magnus picked up his datapads and arranged them in neat stacks. He glared at Brainstorm. “Is this safe? Have you tested it with Perceptor?”
The mention of Perceptor had Brainstorm scoffing. “Tested? Yes. With Perceptor? No. Safe? Well…sure.”
Megatron knew he wouldn’t understand the answer, but he had to ask anyway. “How does it work?”
“I’ll dumb it down for you,” said Brainstorm. “Way down. Basically, it takes a tiny amount of dark energy and shrinks it. When it expands again, it accelerates the ship forward at an incredible rate. It’s like our own mini Big Bang. But one we can control!”
“Absolutely not,” said Ultra Magnus.
“Sounds awesome,” said Rodimus. “Do it.”
It was amazing how much leeway Rodimus granted Brainstorm’s madcap projects. “I agree with Ultra Magnus,” said Megatron. “We have no idea what this could do to the ship. It’s too dangerous, Shockwave.”
Every face in the room turned incredulously towards him.
Megatron put his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. “Dammit all,” he muttered.
“Shockwave, huh?” said Brainstorm. “I can dig it.”
Rodimus snapped his fingers at Rung. “Hey, you. Umm, you there. What’s that thing where you mess up and say what you’re really feeling?”
“You’re referring to a Froidian Slip,” said Rung patiently. “The revealing of subconscious feelings through a verbal misstep.”
“Maybe that’s what he keeps doing,” said Rodimus.
Megatron raised his head again, somewhat surprised by the hurt tone in Rodimus’ voice. He threw his co-captain an inquiring look, but Rodimus wouldn’t meet his optics.
Ravage shoved his head under Megatron’s hand. “I think he needs to recharge for a while. Come on, Megatron.”
“Yes. Excuse me.” Megatron followed Ravage out the door, not wishing to hear suggestions and mockery from the others.
Ravage padded along next to him. “I can’t blame you. Rodimus is a little Starscreamy.”
Megatron responded with a disgusted, “Nyeh.”
“But Ultra Magnus is no Soundwave,” said Ravage.
The mention of Soundwave made Megatron’s spark chamber constrict in a painful manner, a feeling he had been experiencing more and more lately. What caused that? Guilt? Sadness? Whatever it was, he hated it.
“No,” he said. “No he isn’t.”
The third time it happened, a laser blast struck Megatron in the side of the head.
He dove for cover behind the bar, watching bottles of expensive engex explode and shower down upon him.
They were in a seedy drinking establishment on Mar’kyet II. Rodimus had decided that they needed some shore leave, but few planets in this sector allowed Cybertronians. So they’d touched down on the one place in the quadrant that would have them. A backwater, lawless outpost where enormously powerful organic aliens would just as soon shoot you in the face as look at you.
Megatron was aware that he was the reason why so few planets welcomed Cybertronians. Still, this fight was not his fault. He had simply wanted to drink alone in a corner. But Rodimus had joined him, and then had mouthed off to the wrong tentacle beast. Complete pandemonium had ensued and now here they were, taking shelter behind a dingy bar while being doused with all manner of organic and inorganic liquors.
Rodimus didn’t seem concerned at all. He fiddled with his gun and tapped his feet while chaos reigned around him. When he caught Megatron staring he said, “I’m waiting for it to die down. They’ll tire themselves out and then we can break for the door. That’s usually how these things go.”
“I take it you’ve been involved in organic bar fights before?” asked Megatron.
“Oh yeah. This is the tenth one.”
Megatron groaned. “Ten organic bar fights in your life. Why am I not surprised?”
“In my life? Hell no. This is the tenth one since I’ve become captain of the Lost Light. These things happen.” There was a break in the shooting. Rodimus raised his gun and crouched, his engine kicking into high gear. “Hang on, I’m gonna do a move.”
“Don’t-“
Megatron didn’t finish his sentence before Rodimus sprung onto the bar. He was halfway through transforming when the laser fire started anew. A shot hit him in the shoulder and sent him spinning off kilter. He landed in a heap next to Megatron, smoke billowing from beneath his plating.
“Starscream, you fool,” chided Megatron. “Are you alright?”
Optics rebooting and blazing blue, Rodimus grinned at him. “Again? Really?”
Megatron ground his teeth and sighed. “Sorry. I’m…trying to stop.” It felt strange to say the word sorry, like his vocalizer was filled with sand. But he was sorry. At this point he’d crossed the line from angrily embarrassed to disappointingly frustrated.
Rodimus righted himself and sat next to Megatron. “Hey, can I ask you something? Why am I the bad one and Magnus is the good one?”
That wasn’t the question that Megatron expected. “What?”
“It’s the Froidian Slip thing, right? That’s how you see me. I’m Starscream, who you hate. And Magnus is Soundwave, who you adored. I know he’s a stickler for the rules and all, but is Magnus that much better than me? Why am I the bad one?”
The uncomfortable, constricting feeling in his spark chamber was back. It took Megatron a few minutes of open-mouthed silence before he could spit out an answer. “Rodimus, Starscream isn’t the bad one. I…” A part of him desperately wanted to stop his next words, and a part of him didn’t. “I adored him too.”
“Oh,” said Rodimus softly. “But he’s Starscream. He tried to have you put to death at your trial, and then you changed your whole plea after he spoke. I thought you hated him.”
Megatron shrugged. “That was hardly the first time Starscream tried to have me killed, and hardly the first time I resisted. As he stated at the trial, our relationship is complicated. I may enjoy his suffering, but I don’t hate him.”
Rodimus shook his head. “You two are messed up. So then, I’m not the bad one?”
For the first time since their whole outlandish adventure began, Megatron saw Rodimus. Truly saw him. Not the vain and shallow mech who spent more time on his finish than his command, but someone deeper and more perplexing. Someone whose field pulsed with insecurity and a need for approval. “Starscream isn’t the bad one,” said Megatron firmly. “And neither are you.”
There was a hissing of servos, and Rodimus’ chassis sagged in apparent relief. Just as quickly he recovered, and he was a beaming, flashy sports car once again. “Okay. Whadya say I zip around them and draw their fire while you try to escape?”
“No. You could be left behind at their mercy. We move together as a unit, and make straight for the exit,” said Megatron.
Rodimus responded in his awful Starscream impression. “As you command, Megatron!”
“Watch your tongue.” Megatron tried to growl it like an order, but the words came out with a smile.
They jumped up together and ran for the door.
The End