These are the days that bind you together, forever

And these little things define you forever, forever

- "Bad Blood" by Bastille

THERE

"Er... Literally nothing happened. We flew past some planets and talked." Whirl was genuinely confused why everyone was so damned happy. It was the last flight, the last hurrah, the last.. the last... he wanted to put his foot down and demand more time. But Ultra Magnus Law-Keeper-Pants was already adamant about getting back.

It was Megatron, of all bots, to answer him. "Yes. And I wouldn't have changed a thing. Right, Flare?" As he turned halfway to his other side, he noticed she was missing. A quick scan of the bridge did nothing to quell his mounting alarm. No where did he catch the silver flash of her folded wings or the smirk he'd grown so accustomed to. As the banter continued on around him, Megatron rose slowly, and headed towards the habitation suites.

Concern mingled with annoyance in equal parts. Flare never wandered off just for the sake of wandering off. Either her attention had been caught by something, or she had simply hit a sensory saturation level. Whatever the case was, Megatron felt it was his fault. He'd asked her to come with him, on a ship that was the identical to the one they'd spent the greater part of two centuries together on, but with a crew of strangers. All because he wanted her to be a part of this world with him, as much as she was in the other one.

Hab Suite Number 113. His room in both universes, a parallel constant that he'd felt appropriate. The door had been left open, though he'd not ventured this way during Rodimus' Lap of Honor. Though the room was ostensibly his, though the door was left open and inviting, he still stopped at the threshold, knocking lightly on the wall to catch Flare's attention.

She was sitting on the circuit slab, hands tucked between her legs in a familiar position for her. How many times had they passed a night deep in conversation seated side by side? How many times had he been roused from rest by Flare seeking company to dull her nightmares? When she looked up, her smile was far more an invitation to him than the open door ever could be. As he sat beside her, he relished the familiar comfort of her presence, content in the friendship that enfolded them.

"You wandered off on me," he scolded lightly, tapping her far wing strut to get her lean closer.

With a slight shift of her shoulders, the struts folded more compact, allowing her to lean her head against him. Flare's feet began to kick idly, a certain sign that something was on her mind. "It's... it's almost too much, y'know? We won. The Council's dead. And.. and I thought I'd feel..."

"Different? Vindicated? At peace?" As she nodded, Megatron felt his joking smile soften at the edges. He had long worried over this for centuries; so many of their conversations had been trying to help her reconcile those feelings. In the end, he'd failed her. She was drifting and unmoored. And it would only get worse.

"I just... I feel lost. I don't know what to do from here..." She sighed, and tried to stop herself from kicking her feet, by crossing them at the ankles, only to swing them together as one unit. "Or how to do it without you, Em."

For a moment, he couldn't bear to look at her. It was just going to get worse. His trial awaited him at the end of the Lap of Honor. The inevitability that he would be found guilty was not a reality that Flare wanted to face. He'd never kept his past secret, never lied about four million years of war staining his hands. But Flare, like so many others of the AVL, chose to weigh his deeds among them, and their personal experiences over the stories of a war that had never happened in their universe.

He knew if he gave in now, and really told her how he cherished her companionship, that he'd only be making things that much worse. "If I ask you not to come to the trial-"

"You can ask me whatever you want, but the choice is ultimately mine." She interrupted his question by throwing his own words back at him. When he glanced down at her, she wore the smirk that he'd come to know. But it faded when their eyes met. "Em?"

Something in her face made him pause. Something in her tone made him want to take back the minutes that he'd spent sitting with her just now. Go back to the doorway, start it all over. He caught himself before reacting badly, mastering his features into the impassive mask that he needed to cope with this. Silently, he begged her not to continue down that track. That it would lead them both to ruination.

Suddenly, Flare looked away. Her agitated legs became still, as an uncharacteristic scowl crossed her face momentarily.

"I miss Pax." Those were not the three words Flare needed to say, but they were the three words that escaped her nonetheless. "I miss his unrelenting optimism... that silly, unwavering faith in the inherent goodness of others. I even miss his dumb faceplate."

"Flare..." Empathy cracked his voice. He missed Orion Pax, the Pax of the Functionist Universe, as well. He'd told her of Optimus, of course, but the Autobot leader was a far cry from the cop-turned-revolutionary they'd both held dear.

"I keep telling him I'm trying... trying to stay positive, trying to hope for the best.. but it's so damned hard, Em... Every time I think I've got it..."

Megatron broke his promise to himself just then. Turning to her fully, he wrapped both arms around her and just held on. Primus did not give them adequate outlets to grieve through, even almost two centuries later, they both still felt the loss of Orion Pax as if it had only happened yesterday. Maybe, if he held on tight enough, for long enough, Flare wouldn't feel like she were breaking apart.

For a while, they simply sat in silence, holding onto one another, neither saying what they were thinking, but remaining silent, believing the other didn't need to hear it. Eventually, the silence was interrupted by a bright cheerful tone from the communications hub in the suite, a sound that at first, they both ignored. As it continued incessantly, Megatron was forced to reluctantly release Flare and cross the room to answer it.

"Stop moping, co-captain and get back to the bridge! We have a pressing vote to take!" Rodimus sounded diabolically cheerful for someone who was about to give up his ship and his dreams to satisfy the future of New Cybertron.

"What pressing vote?" Megatron asked at first. "No, wait, don't tell me just yet. I'd rather hear it from you in person. Let me gather Flare and we will be there presently."

"You'll like this, Megs! Promise!"

At least Rodimus hadn't gotten juvenile, Megatron mused as he turned back to Flare. As she usually did when Rodimus called him Megs, she was wearing a half-smile of amusement. He found himself echoing it, as he approached her once more.

"Apparently, there is a pressing vote we must attend. We should go, and... you should give Rodimus a chance. You may rather like his particular brand of annoying optimism." Megatron offered her a hand, fully expecting her to refuse the help as she had so often in the past. But this time, the Camien surprised him, sliding her fingers into his, before she hopped down from the slab's edge. As he guided her out of the hab suite, back towards the bridge, he both thrilled, and lamented, that she didn't let go.