Sam stared warily at the warlord from his position on the floor, feeling a familiar sense of trepidation tighten in his gut. After a long moment, Sam capped the bottle of water and rested it against the wall as he pushed himself to his feet. He glanced at Megatron expectantly, and the Decepticon gestured towards the large doors on the opposite end of the hangar. Without a word, Sam made his way across the room. He walked at a comfortable pace, his hands pressed into the pockets of his pants, as he drew the egress filter tightly over his mind. Although the filter could not protect him from Megatron's mental scrutiny, the pressure was a welcome distraction all the same.
Megatron walked at his side, matching Sam's slower gait without comment. Although Sam stared straight ahead, he was aware of Ravage's presence trailing silently behind them. Laserbeak, by contrast, swooped through the air ahead of them, her golden wings glinting in the bright light of the corridor as she winged through the large doors. As he had yesterday, Sam winced in discomfort as he stepped out of the hangar, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the well-lit passageway.
They continued down the hall in the direction of the bridge. Sam paid close attention to the route, making a mental note of each doorway, computer terminal, hangar, and corridor that they passed. It was not long before Sam realized that the Nemesis was an entirely different battleship than the Ark. Whereas the Ark was beauty and grace, designed for aesthetic pleasure as much as function, the Nemesis was entirely pragmatic in its design. There was nothing superfluous about its layout, nothing unnecessary about its schematics. Even the whorls that were etched into the metal of the corridor were simple geometric shapes, nothing like the complicated and appealing designs of the Ark.
Sam's thoughts were interrupted by a flicker of satisfaction from across the Creator bond-space. He glanced sidelong at Megatron in surprise, realizing abruptly that the warlord had been following his train of thought.
"Optimus is far too concerned by matters of aesthetics and appearance." Megatron rumbled, and there was something condescending about his tone. Sam frowned at him, mildly offended on Optimus' behalf. After a moment, he turned his head to stare back down the corridor. He thought about his response, turning the words over in his mind, before he finally replied.
"Maybe he wants to make sure that his soldiers remember what it is that they're fighting for—that there's more to this life than your war."
Megatron stopped abruptly, turning towards him as he clenched one servo into a tight fist. Sam could feel the swell of anger across their bond, and he braced himself in response.
"My war?" He growled, venom in every syllable, "This is Prime's wretched war."
Megatron's words took Sam completely by surprise, and he could not hide his confusion. The warlord scoffed loudly, derision written all over his faceplates. After a long moment, Megatron turned and continued walking—this time, at a noticeably faster pace. Sam stood frozen for a heartbeat before he turned to glance behind him. Ravage was standing several hundred feet away, as silent as a shadow. Sam felt a twist of consternation, and then Megatron's presence was in his mind, agitated and impatient. He reluctantly turned back towards the warlord, jogging across the distance between them even though the exertion in the thin air made him feel lightheaded.
They walked in silence for the length of the corridor before Megatron asked, apropos of nothing, "What has Optimus told you of how we met?"
Once again, Megatron's words took him completely by surprise. He glanced at the Decepticon leader, hesitating as he chose his words with care.
"Not much." Sam admitted, "I know that the two of you met before the Great War."
Megatron turned to look at him, and there was something assessing about his expression.
"Indeed. I first met Orion Pax shortly after I won my freedom from the gladiatorial pits of Tarn."
Sam's head jerked up, his surprise morphing into shock in an instant. He had no idea that Optimus had met Megatron before he had been re-made into Optimus Prime. Immediately, Sam felt a swell of satisfaction through their bond, and he knew that Megatron had been pleased by his reaction.
"Orion Pax was an idealist and a socialist, a lower-caste data clerk working under the tutelage of the great Alpha Trion." Megatron continued, and the sarcastic bite to his words made it clear exactly what he thought about the Chronicler, "We met when he came to listen to me speak at a rally for egalitarianism."
Sam frowned, feeling confused and suspicious in equal measures. Megatron turned to look at him, a brow ridge quirking in sardonic amusement, "Not what you were expecting, I take it?"
Sam's frown deepened, and he suddenly felt terribly wrong-footed. He could sense Megatron's sincerity through their bond, but he was sure that the Decepticon was being less than forthcoming with him.
"You could say that." He replied, neutrally, after a moment.
Megatron actually chuckled, although there was little mirth in the sound. They turned the corner and approached the bridge entrance, before Megatron stopped and stared down at him.
"I believe that you will find a great deal about Optimus' early life surprising."
Sam stiffened, his earlier offence at Megatron's cavalier attitude returning in spades.
"I wouldn't believe a word you have to say on the subject." He snapped.
Abruptly, Megatron lowered into a loose crouch in front of him, so that they were almost eye-level with one another. Sam took an instinctive step backwards, but the Decepticon leader made no move to approach any further.
"I will never lie to you, Sam." He intoned seriously, "Whatever you want to know about our history, about the war, about my relationship with Optimus, I will tell you. I can't promise that you will like what you learn, however."
Sam looked away from Megatron's intense gaze, once again aware of the thrum of sincerity from across their bond. He was sure that he was being manipulated, but he couldn't tell what Megatron was trying to accomplish. Surely he knew that Sam did not trust him?
Rather than waiting for Sam to reply, Megatron straightened to his full height and pressed a code into the keypad by the bridge entrance. There was an electronic chirp and an audible clunk as the locking mechanism disengaged, and then the doors slid open. Sam glanced into the room, surprised to see that it was dark inside, before he hesitantly followed Megatron onto the bridge. The doors slid shut behind them, enveloping the room in near total darkness. Sam froze, unable to see his hand in front of his face, before Megatron's servo came to rest against his back. Sam flinched at the unexpected touch, but Megatron merely ushered him forward until Sam stood next to a large control panel. Megatron pulled out a chair and sat down as he powered-up the station. Lights flickered to life one by one across the terminal, and their weak luminescence helped Sam's eyes adjust to the darkness.
Looking around the room, he noticed that Soundwave had not moved from his spot at the communications terminal. Now, however, Laserbeak was perched on the back of Soundwave's chair, her wings folded elegantly against her frame. Glancing down, Sam noticed Ravage was curled around Soundwave's pedes, her head resting on her paws as she regarded him with a half-shuttered optic. Sam could also make out Thundercracker and Skywarp in the corner, muttering quietly to each other as they stared at a complicated-looking read-out, and an unknown mechanoid working at a terminal a short distance away.
Sam frowned, unsure what Megatron expected of him. He glanced at the Decepticon leader, but Megatron paid him no attention, focusing instead on his workstation. He stood there awkwardly for a minute or two, before he finally sat down, folding his legs underneath him as he leaned back against the terminal. He stayed there for a long while, the chill of the metal floor soaking into him as he stared at the comings and goings of the Decepticon bridge. Just as they had the day before, the mechanoids worked in near total silence. There was no friendly banter or lighthearted teasing, as was common amongst the Autobots while they worked. The Decepticons were single-minded and focused, moving about the room in the sort of perfect coordination that was born from centuries of practice.
Eventually, Sam began to lose the feeling in his legs. He glanced once again at Megatron and saw that the Decepticon leader remained focused on whatever he was doing. Deciding that Megatron had not given him an explicit command to remain at his side, Sam pushed to his feet and wandered towards the view screens on the other side of the bridge. He stopped a short distance away from the clear paneling, staring at the landscape beneath them in undisguised amazement. They remained stationed above the vast mountain chain that Sam had seen the day before, but it was like another world entirely at night. Stars glittered in the inky firmament of the upper atmosphere and the craggy mountains were visible in the pale light of a gibbous moon, which cast long shadows down their steep flanks.
It was ethereally beautiful, like something out of an impressionist's painting, and Sam felt a painful twist in his chest as he wished that Bumblebee could see it. He blinked hard, struggling to keep himself under control. Their bond ached constantly now, a low-level burn that was omnipresent in his mind, reminding him of Bumblebee's absence.
Sam was interrupted from his morose thoughts as Ravage butted her head against his thigh. He startled slightly, glancing down in surprise. He had not heard her approach.
"It is very beautiful." She said, as though reading his mind, and Sam instinctively drew his egress filter more tightly around his mental presence.
He shrugged lightly, glancing back to the view screen, "It is."
"I prefer warmer climates myself. The blue spires of Crystal City were striking to behold before they were destroyed."
Sam hummed softly, responding without thinking.
"I was born and raised in California before I moved to Diego Garcia. Warmth is all I've ever known." He paused, feeling strangely wistful, "I think this is the closest that I've ever been to snow."
Ravage sat on her haunches, leaning her long body against him.
"I was sparked in Nova Cronum at the end of the first Golden Age. It was a beautiful city, but it was often cold."
Sam glanced down at her again, taken aback by her reflective tone. He reached out a hand, stroking the back of her broad head. The fine, silver panels of her plating were warm and smooth against the pads of his fingers. He stayed like that for a long while, before he spoke.
"It's easy to forget, sometimes, how much I hate you."
Ravage chuckled quietly, a low rumble deep within her chassis.
"You don't hate me, little Prime. You hate what you think I represent."
Sam quirked an eyebrow, his fingers continuing to brush over her head, "And what's that?"
"Evidence of the Decepticon's humanity. Kindness in an unkind situation. Uncertainty." She angled her head to look at him, "Take your pick."
Sam frowned faintly, his fingers stilling against her head. She wasn't wrong, exactly. Sam had expected to be tortured to within an inch of his life when he woke up in Megatron's cockpit. He had not expected Ravage, or Knock Out, or Thundercracker, and their strange brand of Decepticon kindness. Even Megatron's cruelty had a pragmatic edge to it, a predictable sort of cause-and-effect that Sam could almost understand.
He slowly pulled his hand away, folding his arms over his chest.
"You don't know me as well as you think you do." He replied after a long moment.
Ravage did not reply, instead turning to stare out the view screen at the mountain chain far below them. They stood in silence, side-by-side, as the sky lightened from inky black, to indigo, to the cool, clear blue of early morning. By the time that the crepuscular rays of sunlight peaked over the mountains in the distance, Sam was thoroughly cold and hungry.
Without looking away from the view screen, he asked quietly, "What time is it?"
"It is three o'clock in the afternoon."
Sam nodded faintly, running his hands over his arms in an effort to warm himself. He looked over his shoulder at Megatron, who had not moved from his position at the large starboard terminal. Whatever it was that the Decepticon leader was doing seemed to be occupying his full attention. Sam huffed quietly. The mind-numbing boredom and soul crushing terror that had plagued him since he had boarded the Nemesis was turning out to be a brutal combination.
He had just turned back to the view screen when he heard the doors hiss open. He glanced towards the sound, curious to know who had entered, before stiffening from head to toe as adrenaline surged through him in an instant. Barricade strode onto the bridge, as large and menacing as he had been the last time that Sam had seen him. The shock trooper paid him no mind as he walked directly towards Megatron, stopping in front of the Decepticon leader. Megatron finished typing before half-turning in his seat to regard Barricade. The two Decepticons spoke in rapid-fire Cybertronian, and when Barricade inclined his helm gravely, Megatron waved him away with a thoughtful rumble.
As Barricade turned towards the bridge entrance, his optics settled on Sam for a fraction of a second. A slow, knowing smirk curled the corner of his mouthplates and Sam narrowed his eyes in response. His minute posturing caused Barricade to chuckle, a dark and foreboding sound, as the shock trooper made his way back towards the entrance to the bridge. The condescension and derision evident in the mechanoid's posture caused Sam to bristle in response.
Disregarding the potential consequences of his actions, Sam lifted his chin a fraction of an inch, before saying with quiet conviction, "Bumblebee says hello."
Barricade stopped dead in his tracks as his helm snapped towards him. Although Sam had not raised his voice, it was obvious that the shock trooper had heard him. The mechanoid took a step forward, spitting something in angry-sounding Cybertronian.
"I'm sorry." Sam replied contritely, "I don't speak asshole."
Barricade's optics widened in outrage, and then he flexed both of his arms as a small, black object disconnected from his chest cavity. The object fell, transforming in mid-air, and then the familiar shape of Frenzy hit the floor of the bridge. The little symbiont chittered wildly as he darted towards Sam, all flashing metal and sharp limbs. Sam had only a moment to brace himself before the microcon launched itself at him. Frenzy landed hard against his chest, its spindly legs scrabbling at the fabric of his shirt as Sam stumbled backwards. The microcon hissed a barrage of indecipherable abuse in his face, before slashing one appendage across his cheek. Sam grunted in pain as heat bloomed below his right eye, grabbing the little symbiont and tearing it away from him. He threw the microcon against the nearest terminal, and it bounced across the complicated-looking control panel before righting itself. The symbiont chittered angrily as it darted back towards him.
"Barricade, enough." Megatron rumbled without looking away from his station. The shock trooper made no move to recall his symbiont, his optics narrowed maliciously as Frenzy leapt towards Sam once again. There was a blur of movement out of the corner of Sam's eye, and Ravage knocked the minicon out of the air with a single swipe of her paw. The cyber cat growled softly, her head lowered in an obvious threat display. As Frenzy slid across the floor of the bridge, Barricade roared in outrage and strode towards her.
Soundwave was out of his seat in an instant. Although the communications specialist neither spoke a word nor displayed any visible signs of aggression, Barricade stopped in his tracks. He spat something in Cybertronian at the third in command, but Soundwave did not reply. His singular red optic was fixed unwaveringly on the shock trooper, waiting for him to take action one way or the other. After a long, tense moment, Barricade rumbled something towards Frenzy, who darted back across the bridge without a sound. The spider-like symbiont skittered up Barricade's leg before folding itself back into the Decepticon's chest cavity. Barricade turned and strode from the bridge without another word.
Sam heaved a breath that he hadn't realized that he had been holding, leaning back against the view screen as he fought to get his thundering heart under control. As the tide of adrenaline ebbed away, the heat in his cheek sharpened into throbbing pain. He raised the hem of his shirt to scrub across his face, and it came away slick with blood.
Megatron turned in his seat, regarding Sam with unimpressed optics before pushing to his feet. Sam felt a twist of apprehension in his gut as the Decepticon leader approached him.
"That was unwise."
Sam huffed softly, pressing the sleeve of his shirt against his face, but he did not reply. What could he say? Megatron was right, of course. Squaring off against Barricade had been tantamount to suicide, but that didn't change the fact that watching his optics widen in shock had been one of the most gratifying experiences of Sam's life. Megatron made a soft sound in irritation before reaching out a servo to pull Sam's hand away. His optics narrowed in consideration as they roamed over Sam's face.
"Let this serve as a reminder to you." Megatron rumbled lowly, "Decepticons do not sort their grievances with words, as Autobots do. The next time, you might not be so fortunate."
When Megatron let go of his hand, Sam pressed the hem of his sleeve back against his face. The cut was small, as far as he could tell, maybe an inch or two across his cheekbone. It was bleeding freely, however, and Sam was sure that it needed stitches. He was just as sure that he wasn't going to get them.
Megatron turned away without another word, striding back to the workstation that had occupied his attention all night. Sam sighed softly, sitting down on the floor and leaning against the clear paneling of the view screen. He sat there for a long while, the hem of his shirt pressed against his cheekbone, as the various hurts in his body marshalled against him. He was cold and hungry, his face hurt, and he had to use the bathroom. To the best of his knowledge, he had been on the bridge for eight or nine hours.
He glanced to the side and saw that Ravage had resumed her position beneath Soundwave's chair. The surveillance officer was back at his station, his cables plugged into the terminal in front of him. Ravage stared at him intently, her ruby optic glinting in the shadows of the desk. Eventually, Sam looked away, staring steadfastly at the floor in front of him as his mind wandered. It would be about four o'clock in the afternoon on Diego Garcia. If Bumblebee was on shift, then he had Cliffjumper would be getting ready to head out on patrol. They would scout past the airfield first, then to Marianne Point, then they'd head to south-central—
Sam jerked his head back, his heart suddenly in his throat as he realized what he was doing. He turned to look at Megatron, but the Decepticon leader gave no indication that he was following Sam's train of thought. He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his own stupidity, as he turned his mind away from thoughts about the scouts' patrols.
By the time that Megatron stood up from the workstation, the sun was half-way to its zenith. Sam was physically and emotionally exhausted, his body aching with cold and hunger and pain. The Decepticon leader approached, his red optics narrowed in something like consideration as he stared down at him.
"It is time to go, little one."
Sam gritted his teeth but he did not reply as he pushed himself to his feet. Megatron turned and strode from the bridge without a backwards glance, and Sam was forced to jog to keep up with him. The large mechanoid seemed introspective as they made their way through the depths of the Nemesis, his mental presence quiet and distracted.
They rounded a corner and Sam pulled up short as he realized that they were headed in the direction of Megatron's quarters. Fear and dread slammed through him in an instant, and the wild swing of adrenaline made Sam's heart pound painfully against his ribs. He tensed instinctively, as though to bolt, when Megatron glanced over his shoulder in his direction.
"If you make me chase you through this ship, I promise that you will regret it."
The warlord's voice was harsh with irritation and Sam could not mistake the sincerity in his tone. Sam swallowed hard before looking up at him.
"Is this because of Barricade?" He asked.
Megatron turned slightly to regard him, the faintest trace of amusement on his faceplates, "You think that you are being punished."
It was not a question but a statement, and Sam did not reply. He knew that Megatron would elaborate or he would not, regardless of what Sam said. After a long moment, the Decepticon turned around and continued walking in the direction of his quarters.
"If I punished my soldiers every time that they fought with one another, I would have lost this war mega-cycles ago." He said, and there was definite amusement in his tone now, "Come."
Sam hesitated for a long moment before he reluctantly started after the Decepticon leader. As soon as he put one foot in front of the other, he felt a warm brush of approval from across their bond, and Sam narrowed his eyes in response.
"Don't do that."
Megatron stopped in front of the familiar, nondescript door and keyed it open with a touch. He glanced down at Sam, shaking his helm minutely, "I have already told you that you do not give the orders on this ship."
The warlord walked into his private quarters without another word. Sam set his jaw and squared his shoulders, steeling himself as well as he was able before following him.
The door hissed shut behind them, sealing itself with an electronic-sounding clunk.
Megatron moved about the space, obviously at ease. The room was the same as Sam remembered from his last visit, tidy and sparse, without anything remotely resembling a personal effect anywhere to be seen. Megatron stopped next to the large desk in the center of the room, picking up a datapad that he stared at considerately for a long while. Sam stood quietly by the door, anxiety and uncertainty churning in his stomach.
After a moment, Megatron glanced at him as though in exasperation.
"Well? You know where it is."
Sam felt the color drain from his face as he pressed his back against the door. Megatron's expression of exasperation tightened into one of irritation, and he scoffed softly.
"I have neither the time nor the inclination to coddle you." He said, "Can you not smell yourself?"
Something about the warlord's impatient, condescending tone inflamed something within him, and Sam's fear flashed into hot anger in an instant.
"I smell like someone who's being held against their will on an alien warship." He snapped.
"You do." Megatron agreed coolly, "And it is entirely disagreeable."
Sam stared at him in astonishment for the space of a heartbeat before he hissed, "Disagreeable?"
Megatron's optics narrowed dangerously, "Either do it yourself or I will do it for you."
There was something about the warlord's tone that stilled him—a threat and a promise, both. Sam swallowed hard, his heart in his throat, before he pushed away from the door and strode towards the wash racks without another word. Megatron followed behind him, turning on the solvent before regarding him for a long moment.
"You will need to wash your garments if you want them clean—I do not have any others for you."
Without waiting for Sam's reply, he subspaced the familiar-looking metalmesh material and placed it on the floor away from the stream of solvent. Then, to Sam's surprise, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Sam stood still, expecting him to return, but instead he could make out the sounds of Megatron moving around the other room. After a long moment, Sam was able to identify the feeling that had lodged itself in his chest.
Appreciation.
He frowned deeply, quickly divesting himself of his clothing before stepping into the stream of solvent. It was hotter today and Sam choked back a groan as the heat soaked into his aching body. After a long moment, he began to work himself over with the small square of material, washing the sweat and blood off himself. He hissed in pain when the solvent got into the cut on his face, but he scrubbed his fingers through his hair all the same.
When he had finished, Sam stepped out of the stream of solvent and toweled himself off as quickly as he could manage. He glanced down at his clothes, frowning. The pants were fine, but his shirt was crusted with blood and sweat. After a moment, he grabbed the material and held it under the stream of solvent until it was thoroughly soaked. He scrubbed at it as best he could, before wringing the shirt out and pulling it on over his head. It was uncomfortably damp and cooled quickly in the chill of the room, but needs willed out.
Sam was in the process of rubbing the metalmesh over his hair when the stream of solvent cut-off abruptly. He huffed quietly, able to take a hint, and made his way out of the wash racks. To his surprise, Megatron was sitting at the desk in the center of the room, his back to him as he worked. Sam shifted uncertainly, wringing the metalmesh in his hands, but Megatron did not turn around. Eventually Sam sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall as he waited for Megatron to tell him what to do. The room was noticeably warmer than the wash racks, although it was still uncomfortably cool. It was not long before Sam wrapped the damp metalmesh around his shoulders in an effort to get warm.
"Are you hungry?"
Sam glanced at the warlord in surprise, before frowning deeply. Megatron knew that he was hungry—he would be able to feel it across their bond or determine it with a cursory sensor sweep. Was he trying to engage him in conversation? Or was this some twisted power play?
Megatron turned in his seat to regard him, something like tolerant amusement in his optics.
"As I recall, you objected rather strenuously when you believed that I viewed you as a pet."
Sam narrowed his eyes at him, going rigid in an instant.
"I'm not a pet." He spat.
Megatron hummed in agreement.
"Indeed. As such, I expect you to tell me when you require something." He commanded curtly, "Believe it or not, I have more pressing matters to attend to than ensuring that you are adequately fueled every hour of the day."
Sam felt himself flush in embarrassment, "Why are you doing this?"
Megatron tilted his helm, something like curiosity flickering across his face.
"Doing what?"
Sam gestured vaguely between them, discomforted and irritated in equal measures, "This. Polite conversation interspersed with brutal torture. What's your end game?"
To Sam's surprise, Megatron chuckled softly, openly amused now.
"Would you prefer that I drop the polite conversation?"
Sam wrapped the metal mesh more tightly around himself, shrugging. "It would be less confusing."
Megatron stood up, walking slowly towards him, and Sam was perfectly still as the warlord approached. He stopped, several feet away, before lowering into a loose crouch with his arms on his knee struts. He regarded Sam for a long moment, something like thoughtful consideration in his expression.
"You are confused only because you refuse to come to terms with your situation."
Sam's heart was beating hard against his ribs, but he forced himself to meet Megatron's optics squarely.
"My situation?"
"That you are here. That you are mine." Megatron leaned forward minutely, and Sam pressed back against the wall, "I am not in the habit of mistreating my property without good cause."
Anger surged through him in an instant, hot and sharp, "I'm not your property, Megatron. Not now, not ever."
Megatron reached a servo towards him but Sam leaned away, his face tightening in a scowl.
"Don't touch me."
Megatron ignored him, the clawed tip of one digit stroking down the side of Sam's face. The touch was gentle at first, leaving not so much as a red mark on his skin, but eventually the clawed tip dug uncomfortably into the flesh of Sam's jaw—not enough to draw blood, but enough to make Sam go very still.
"It is clear that you are laboring under several misconceptions." Megatron rumbled, and although his voice was calm and even, his words made Sam's heart pound in his chest, "Allow me to correct them immediately. You, Samuel James Witwicky, are mine. That truth was self-evident from the moment that you tried to extinguish my spark."
Sam flinched and tried to pull away, but Megatron pressed the tip of his clawed digit into the flesh of Sam's jaw until it stole a soft sound of pain from him.
"As such, you will afford me the courtesy and respect that is owed to my station. Any display of defiance or disobedience, such as yesterday's outburst on the bridge, will be dealt with accordingly." Megatron moved to stroke the tip of his finger down the side of Sam's face again, his voice a quiet rumble when he spoke, "Do you understand?"
Sam could not reply around the lump that was lodged in his throat, but he nodded faintly. Megatron rumbled approvingly and then he asked, "Is there something that you need?"
Sam squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation as a blush spread across his face. He had to swallow twice before he could manage to murmur, "I'm hungry."
Megatron leaned back on his heels, subspacing a bottle of water and a pre-packaged meal, which he handed to Sam without comment. Sam accepted the items silently, unable to meet the Decepticon's gaze. As Sam tore the top off the pre-packaged meal, Megatron made his way back to the desk and sat down. Sam ate slowly, his aching hunger at odds with his roiling stomach. He was half-way through the packaged meal when Sam realized that he had no idea what he was eating. A quick glance revealed that it was chicken risotto, and he grimaced deeply. It might as well have been wet cement.
When he finished, he wiped his fingers on his damp shirt and took a slow drink of water. The food had taken the edge off his nausea and left him feeling comfortably full. All that remained of his earlier hurts was a leaden tiredness that numbed his mind and pulled at his consciousness. He stayed there for a long time, struggling to stay awake as Megatron worked silently at his desk. More than once, a hypnagogic jerk startled him into full wakefulness from the hazy half-sleep into which he had fallen.
When Sam jerked awake for the third time, he startled to find Megatron crouched down in front of him. The warlord extended a servo towards him without comment, but Sam stared back uncomprehendingly. When Megatron beckoned with his fingertips, Sam realized what he was asking.
"Not a chance." He rasped, his voice rough from sleep.
Sam felt an answering swell of irritation from across their bond, but rather than reply, Megatron reached forward and grabbed him around the waist. Sam stiffened from head to toe, fear lodging itself in his throat in an instant. The warlord curled Sam close to his chest as he straightened and crossed the room, before depositing him on the large berth against the wall.
"Sleep."
"What, here?" Sam demanded, anxiety making his words sharp.
Megatron ex-vented loudly, obviously at the end of his patience, "Would you have preferred the floor?"
"Yes!"
"Well, I would not." Megatron replied simply, and then Sam scrambled backwards as the large mechanoid settled himself down on the berth. Sam's back collided with the wall as he stared at him incredulously.
"What are you doing?"
"Recharging, now be quiet." Megatron replied without deigning to look at him.
"Are you glitched? I'm not sleeping here with you."
"Do as I say."
Sam went cold with anger, but before he could say anything, he felt Megatron's mental presence shift forward. The Decepticon's intention was clear and, although Sam resisted, the darkness of unconsciousness swallowed him a moment later.
Once again, Sam dreamed in memories and emotion.
The water around Marianne Point glittered in the early morning light, calm and serene. There was a blur of movement and then gravel crunched loudly as they accelerated down the road towards the southern quadrant.
Trees flashed passed on either side of the road, and Sam could just make out the cerulean water through the underbrush. The dream was so real that he could almost smell the salt water in the air, could almost feel the warm sun against his body.
The dream went on and Sam slowly became aware of Bumblebee's comforting presence. The scout was just as he remembered him, gleaming yellow in the early morning light. Eventually, he became aware of Cliffjumper and Sunstreaker, who followed behind them at a distance.
As they drove together, time and scenery blurred together confusingly. First, they were at East Point, then Cust Point, and then East Point again. The throaty sound of engines filled the air, drowning out the distant hiss of waves on sand.
The memory left a terrible ache of homesickness and grief in his gut—it was the same feeling that was omnipresent through their spark bond. It was an ache born of loss.
Mindlessly, Sam brushed against Bumblebee's mental presence—
Sam jerked awake to find himself back within Megatron's personal quarters. The room was dark, illuminated only by the weak glow of Megatron's spark that was just visible through the seams of his armor. Sam was lying on his side, less than an arms-width away from the Decepticon leader's chassis. Although the air of the room was cool, Sam was comfortably warm owing to the heat that radiated from Megatron's body.
Swallowing the despair that rose in his throat, Sam rolled over to face the wall.
Fourteen thousand kilometers away, Bumblebee slammed on his breaks and fishtailed to a stop over the packed gravel road. Sunstreaker and Cliffjumper swerved to avoid him, but the yellow scout barely registered their presence.
He had felt it. For a fraction of a second, he had felt it.
Sam.