Yes, That Is an Imaginary Giant Robot Glowering Down At You From Behind Me

The only annoying thing about being friends with Megs is that he's in such complete denial about it. I mean, he's always razzing Prime for having a "Squishy Friend" in Corax. (Prime just kind of shakes his head and ignores him.) It would be nice, just once even, to have an actual conversation with the Big Bad Dude. But so far, our only communication takes place in the form of terse snarking at each other. I tease him about being 'pretty'; he describes me as a repulsive organic thing, and we both pretend not to care about each other as much as we do. We're both a bit embarrassed by the degree of our closeness. If it's hard to explain to your friends why you love a giant evil robot (but not like that), then imagine how hard it is for Megatron to explain to his troops not only his tolerance, but his actual affection for one of the 'disgusting Earth-germs.'

But on the other hand, if he was more open about his feelings (in the recommended manner of human analysts everywhere), it would be far less meaningful when he, on those very rare occasions, actually sidles up behind me and puts a silent, approving hand on my shoulder. He never says anything. But he lets me know he's impressed. And when you impress Megatron, even if it's just by keeping going when the going is tough and you only want to sit down and cry, it is almost impossible not to feel pretty darn spiff about yourself. Encouragement from Megatron means a heck of a lot more than, say, encouragement from Bumblebee. (This is not to say that I dislike the yellow guy's constant cheerfulness. It's a grossly underrated gift! And besides, he doesn't live in my headspace, so...)

I may never hear from Megatron exactly what it means to him to have my love and friendship. But I do know that he cares. I often feel like the taker in the partnership – after all, it's not as if Megatron's reaching out to me for comfort on a daily basis. It's not in his nature to admit to need or weakness. But I was there for him, wholeheartedly and with complete acceptance of everything both laudable and shameful in him, when his world first collapsed and he was left alone and terrified in a world he wasn't equipped to navigate. I loved him first, when he thought himself unlovable. And that counts for a lot, in his mind. Besides, he gets to feel all superior this way, to think that I'm the needy one and he's 'past all that now.'

Actually, in a way he is. And I kind of miss his old vulnerable self. I mean, I'm happy for him – he's adjusting remarkably well, settling into his new leadership role, finding his own course without having to depend on Prime to steady him. But I gotta be honest: when the love of a little human is enough to buoy up the Commander of the Decepticons, it is very stroking to the ego of that human!

I couldn't get away with this if I were male. Megatron is still a bit grossed-out by humanity in general, and would freak out in about ten seconds if a bunch of them started clambering around on him. But I'm a girl. And Megatron responds to girls in a completely different way than he does to guys. Males are competition. Girls are... Well, I'm not sure if he's ever thought it through, but all I know is, if you put a fembot in his presence, and he goes all woobly. If they manage to get under his shell, if they give him the tiniest bit of bot-to-bot compassion, he will love them with his whole soul. He'll even extend it to a human female, if he can sense that respectful reciprocation. He just needs someone to make the first offering of the heart, in order to be able to return the gift.

We have a lot of fun together. I'm quite frank about loving the stuffin' outta him. But I give just as much as I get in the teasing department. I call him Megs, even though I know he hates it, because I can't seem to be able to call him anything else. And at this point, he's pretty much accepted it. He makes the obligatory grimace, the expected complaint. But he knows it means love. And he pretends to be grossed-out by any and all fleshies and their disgusting rituals. But he seems willing enough to let me snuggle up to him whenever I need it. In fact, throughout the day, whenever things get tough, I can stop, take one step back, and he will be there, a silent, unseen, sturdy presence at my back, always there to support me.

That's the thing I love him most for: all the stuff he'd rather die than let anyone see. I love him for his hitherto-unplumbed decency, his secret woobliness. I love him for being such a rock. I feel like it's so unfair: I was there for him for a month or two; I helped him through that one rough patch. But he's been there for me on an almost daily basis, and helped me through several times of genuine real-life crisis. I've come to expect that he'll always be there, one single step behind me, watching in quiet amusement. When he leaves, I mourn. So far, thankfully, he's always come back.

I know that this in nerdy, but I hope he never, never leaves. I'd be ok with being a 90-year-old cat-lady, still talking in my head to an invisible bad-tempered robot.