A/N: Some repetition of theme here, I know. But there were a lot of things in here that I couldn't bear to skip. So you get more.

The next one, I swear, is abut Elita. I have not forgotten her!

Sometimes it All Comes Crashing Down

An ancient warrior-mech of Cybertron, who ruled the will of thousands with an iron fist, and wrought according to his own desire, sat shivering on the corner of a lonely recharge berth. He rebuked himself repeatedly, cycling through his extensive catalog of curses. But no matter what he muttered about his programming, his inception, or his make and model year, the fact remained that he was scared to go to sleep.

Without a cause, the big mech hunched in fear, his knees drawn up, his fists locked in between them. His shoulders shuddered, his chest rattled, and his feet beat a staccato rhythm on the floor.

There came a syncopated tapping at his door, a pesky, perky knock that violated all the gravitas of his tragic undoing. He growled, "Go away!" and blessed the locks upon his triple-layered door.

"Is everything all right?" asked Bumblebee. "You've been in there for several breems, but the chargers aren't activated yet."

"You're spying on me now?" the fighting mech accused. "Go tell your leader that his minions are nothing but a bunch of meddling backseat-drivers."

"I'll get right on that," came the bright reply.

Light footsteps pattered down the metal hallway from the opposite direction, pausing just outside his door. "He's just a big old scardy-cat," came Rumble's helpful commentary.

"Slag off!" warned Megatron in the growl both bots knew it was best not to ignore. Their footsteps skittered into silence, and Megatron resumed his trembling in his customary solitude.

But as so often was the case, he was betrayed. This time, it was his locks who sold him out. For they drew back at a touch, admitting a tall red Autobot who stared down at him from within the back-lit halo of the open doorway.

"Bumblebee told me you were having trouble," he explained.

"Oh really? He was supposed to say that Autobots were gossiping troublemakers who didn't know better than to stick their sensors in where they're not wanted," the Decepticon retorted.

"Oh," said the Autobot Commander, "Well, that does make a difference. I'll be sure to broadcast the corrected version to them."

The gray mech huffed. He waited in impatience for the plaguing mech to leave, so he could go back to his interrupted panic.

"Will that be all?" asked Prime with some frustration. "No other insulting messages you want me to convey? No update for me on your reasons for wasting valuable time in here?"

Megatron swore. "Just one for you, Prime. Don't let the door catch your foot on the way out."

Optimus clamped his vocalizer on the words that sprang up in reply. He shut the door, but shut it at his back. Now he was locked inside, and inside the room was darkness.

Sometimes, darkness was easier. In its dim safety, the sight of his old enemy would not flash residual alarms across his inner HUD. "It isn't like the Mighty Megatron to skulk like this," he said, crossing his arms in that particular way Megatron found so annoying. "So come on, out with it. What's going on, my Brother?"

It had been precisely thirteen orns, eight breems, and twenty-seven kliks since the Ceasefire had been declared. The very fact that Megatron knew this signaled that something was very wrong with him. Normally, unless Soundwave or Starscream prodded him about it, time was something Megatron did not believe applied to him. He didn't bother with it, as a rule.

He'd held it all together through those first terrible days. He'd kept his head in lightening and catastrophe. He'd made a glorious showing as he and Prime declared the truce permanent. He'd never weakened once. So why now was he huddled here inside the safety of his quarters, too afraid to face shutdown?

Of course Megatron said none of this. Instead, he only looked at Prime's glowing blue optics, and willed his own coal-red gaze to become a laser cutting through the Autobot Commander's chassis.

Optimus was not fooled by the glare. And he wasn't frightened either, although Megatron had set many another mech quailing with such a look.

Megatron cursed himself again. He should have known that bonding with a milquetoast Autobot might have a deleterious effect on his ability to terrify.

Unable now to daunt the Prime, the big Decepticon was left with only the fear that roiled within himself.

And now Prime had dared to come into his sanctum, to pollute the sterile purity of his angst with that slagging Autobot sincerity.

Optimus thought about repeating his question, but kept silent. Instead, he sighed, and felt his way across the room. Then he actually sat down beside his Brother. "I fritzed like this a couple orns ago," he admitted. "Was too afraid to shut down, give up control. It wasn't pretty." He sighed. "But then, Elita helped me." A little awkwardly, he put an arm around the shoulders of the big Decepticon. "I guess I'll have to do in your case, Brother."

"Get smelted, Optimus." Obstreperously, Megatron disparaged the Prime's upkeep of his armor, his personal habits, his processing acuity, and his alt-mode. Yet despite all that, he could not pull away from Optimus's side. The pressure of the Autobot's boxy frame against his shoulder, the encircling, steady arm across his back, was anchor to him; though he would have complimented Starscream's intellect before he'd have admitted as much to Prime. He choked, and blessed the darkness. He did not want to imagine what he looked like at this moment.

Prime handed him the charge line hesitantly. "I guess we'll both be glitchy for a while yet," he said. Then with a shrug, he added, "If you want, I'll keep you company."

The gray mech chuffed. "Now there's an excellent idea. You know the best thing for my jitters is to have your freakish, naked face be the first thing my optic sensors process on rebooting." He gave a leering thumbs-up. "I'll make my appointment with the Torkulon facilities now, shall I?"

Optimus couldn't help it. He chuckled. "Right, then. Just until you go offline." He gave the Decepticon a furtive grin. "And here I thought I'd have a good excuse to get out of dealing with my docket of duties for a few joors. I'll tell you now, sometimes I just want to just bash some of those mechs' heads together-" He broke off, and shoved the charge-cord back at Megatron. "Just go to sleep," he told the big Decepticon. "I'll sit here until you do."

"Whether I want you here or not?" retorted the old fighter.

Prime laughed. "Yup. You're stuck with me now, I'm afraid."

"Afraid? You may be, but I'm not." And just to prove to Prime he could, he jammed the charger into his powerbanks, and slumped inelegantly against his bondbrother, as insensible as a lump of lead.

Prime braced a hand against his chest before he could fall to the floor, slightly surprised. Then with the arm still wrapped around his old enemy's shoulders, he carefully laid the Decepticon Commander on the battered recharge berth.

He straightened the old mech's limbs as best he could, checking to make sure there were no hoses kinked or cables twisted in the linkages and joints. Then he pressed the button that would set the berth conforming to the gray frame's shape. He watched until the transformation was complete, smiling a little to himself.

Then he turned on his heel and walked briskly out the door, sliding it shut behind him.