Chapter Text
The problem, Megatron finds, having once been involved with Optronix, is that Optimus Prime never understood the concept of discretion.
It would be simpler if they fought like strangers. Each strike clean, efficient and impersonal. But no. Optimus Prime fights like a lover scorned. Every strike against Megatron’s frame is a confession. Every blow, every grapple, seemingly a reclamation.
"We're done…" Prime’s declaration cuts off mid-speech as he hurls himself forward. "When…"
Megatron meets him halfway, metal shrieking as their frames grind together. The impact drives him back, energon slick beneath his pedes, making steady footing impossible. He barely twists to avoid a punch to the helm before Optimus slams him down, pinning him to the ground: a position that once might have symbolized tenderness.
"We're done," Optimus repeats, louder this time, as though that makes his statement binding. "When I say we’re done."
It might have passed for battlefield rhetoric, if Rodimus hadn’t shouted from the perimeter, "Old Ops, stop playing around with your Conjunx and finish the fight already!"
"We were never bonded!" Megatron snaps, dignity in short supply while trapped beneath several tons of Optimus.
That earns him an immediate snarl.
"We haven’t been together for four million years," Megatron continues, because if Optimus insists on airing their history in public, then Megatron sees no reason not to contribute. He strikes upward, his fist connecting neatly with the familiar fracture along Optimus’s windshield. An old injury Prime still refuses to repair. The first blow Megatron ever landed with the intent to hurt rather than please. "By any reasonable definition, that qualifies as a breakup."
"One I never consented to."
Optimus surges closer, seizing Megatron by his exposed throat cabling, forcing him further into the ground. Their helms rest mere inches apart, gazes locked, crimson optics bleeding outwards like a warning light.
"You’ll never take anyone else to berth." Prime threatens. "You're mine. I won’t allow it."
Megatron laughs - low, rasping, entirely unsurprised at Optimus' warning.
"Is that a challenge, Prime?" He tilts his helm to the side and grins. "A promise? Or are we negotiating terms?"
"What were you thinking?" Starscream hisses, wings twitching nervously as he slips in behind Megatron.
"That Optimus is predictable," Megatron replies, snapping his digits. "And, for our intents and purposes, predictability is useful."
"You call this predictable?" The seeker gestures vaguely at Megatron's scorched frame and bruised neck cabling. "You nearly got yourself killed! I’ll have to spend hours patching you up."
"He - Prime - would never kill me. Anyone showing a vested interest in me, however…" His dermas curl into a faint grin, and Starscream's optics flicker nervously in response, betraying how little confidence the plan inspires.
"Megatron, as your Second-in-Command, as your friend, I have to caution you. You have unresolved feelings for…Prime. I'm not sure it's wise to, uh, what is it you’re intending exactly?"
"Offering those amenable an interface. If any of the Autobots agree, it paints a target on their back. Not enough for Optimus to kill them outright, perhaps, but enough to make future cooperation inconvenient. And if it comes to worst, and he pardons them all, I still regain some agency over my interface life."
"The humans have a saying," Soundwave says, "Don't stick your spike in…"
Megatron snorts, cutting him off mid-sentence.
That's never been my preferred position, he thinks wryly.
Soundwave tilts his helm, following the thread of Megatron's thoughts, the low hum of his engines quieting in concentration. Then he groans. "Not sure that letting crazy stick their spikes in you counts as an improvement."
"My processor is set on this course. For too long, I have withheld from any interfacing. From most attachments. Because Optimus knew exactly where to strike and I allowed it." A pause. Sharp. Deliberate. "I won’t any longer."
Starscream pinches the bridge of his nasal ridge. "Fine! Your plan is insane! Unfathomable! I can't believe I'm going to help you do this."
"You don’t have to…"
"Megatron of Polyhex," The seeker interjects, bristling at the implication. "If you're going to war - no matter how unconventional - then I'm going to follow. You're my Amica Endura. We are Decepticons. We stand, or fall, together."
A shadow moves at the doorway. Shockwave steps in, settling beside Soundwave, bright golden optic fixed on the team.
"You have our assistance, Megatron, as always," Shockwave intones, calm, collected.
His support soothes the ragged edges of Megatron’s psyche. "Thank you."
Soundwave, not quite so diffident, grins and winks. "Commence Operation: Rack-em-up."
Thus begins the strangest war-council Megatron has ever been privy to.
The entire High Command - Starscream, Soundwave, Shockwave and himself - gather around the table, gingerly sipping on energon cubes as they discuss how best to use Megatron as bait.
"And we are certain," Shockwave says, not for the first time, golden optic steady as it tracks the datapoints scrolling across his visor, "that a ceasefire cannot be secured by offering your time and company instead?"
He inclines his helm slightly. Not deference, not concern, but calculation.
"We have established that Optimus Prime remains fixated on you. From a resource-efficiency standpoint, direct engagement - flirtation, sexual overtures - presents a lower casualty projection."
"We don't know the exact leverage required." Megatron shakes his helm once. "He was willing to fracture our relationship to initiate the war. Unless we are certain that loss carries sufficient regret…"
"It does." The others answer at once.
"...I still need to remind him what precisely he abandoned. Convince him that relinquishing his Primacy is worth reclaiming what we shared."
Megatron gestures to a pile of datapads scattered across the table. Dossiers detailing every Autobot, their movements, affiliations, their personal histories laid bare. He slides the first datapad forward.
Ultra Magnus.
"He's a credible threat." Megatron explains, "One we benefit from removing from the field. His rivalry with Optimus persists. If I were to succeed in… gaining his interest, it may sever their remaining ties."
"If Ultra Magnus doesn't terminate you first," Shockwave notes mildly. "Statistically relevant concern."
"That mech's personality is glitched." Soundwave echoes.
"Luckily I already have some ideas on that." Starscream cuts in brightly, raising his energon cube and sloshing half its contents over his arm in excitement. "We emphasize the history between Prime and Megatron. Add some gentle suggestion that Prime would take it personally if Magnus were favoured by his former lover."
"That," Megatron says, approvingly, "is devious."
Starscream preens under the praise. "Thank you."
"Then I need only track him down." Blue optics flick back over to the dossiers. Megatron's vents hitch as he steels himself for the plunge. Around him, his friends fall silent before Starscream, hesitantly, speaks up.
"You can pull out at any time. You don't have to do this. If we have to fight this war with weapons, you know we will do it without fear."
Megatron glances at them, at their earnest and steady gazes, and allows himself a faint grin. "I do know that. Your bravery was never in question. But I'm ready for this. I haven't taken a spike in, oh, a few million years. I intend to savor every moment."