He convinced himself that it was an infatuation. That's the way it was with his previous lovers; Starscream and Orion Pax mostly. Other than them, Megatron didn't really look to interfacing.

For the past week, it's been that damn video footage! Soundwave had absolutely no luck identifying the unknown Autobot.

Black paint was so rare on Cybertron mostly because of the price. No one had the proper paint nanites – the things that help maintain the paintjob of a Transformer – when they're created. People would go to medics to have them recalibrated to allow such a dark color and that took a bit of work. Therefore, more credits would be paid.

But many would consider black to be ugly and a disgrace in some cases. Besides purple, which decorated nearly every inch of the Decepticon warship, black would considered be a color of evil and of Unicron, the Chaos-Bringer.

Black didn't seem to have a problem when it takes up a significant portion of Megatron's photographs that line up on high shelves in his berth room. There are a dozen, if not more, pictures that contain Megatronus' past. Most of the backgrounds have the setting of the Pits of Kaon, a gladiator's pride. All photos but one contained Megatronus either posed or relaxed and looking toward another direction. Same with the bots that are him in the pictures. A few of them show his victories in the arena but other than that either Orion Pax or Soundwave would occupy a spot next to the silver mech. There was even one with Ratchet standing next to Orion with a playful scowl. Megatronus and Orion had been teasing the poor medic that day.

But in every photograph, there was a black femme taking place. She bears red optics and seemingly thick armor. One might guess she would be a gladiator, as well. For the most part, it was obvious that she existed to Megatronus because both him and her would be touching each other, like brushing shoulders, or they looking at each other as if they were speaking.

For one that has a sharp optic, they would notice that Megatronus possessed a look in his optics that was different than anyone else's; they held a rare look no one has ever seen from the warlord before. While everyone else had light-sparked expressions and looked like they were having fun, Megatronus looks at this black gladiator – when she isn't looking – with a combination of kindness, appreciation, care, and compassion that all mix together to form that cherished feeling everyone enjoys: love.

Clinking energon orbs as a tribute to fallen warriors is Megatron's favorite. The back of the picture said it dates to back just to before the dawn of the war; before Optimus had become Prime and before the silver mech had dropped the last syllable from his name.

A pointed claw gently traced the frame of the photo, as if any force would shatter its delicacy. This one is special; if the hand-carved Cybertronian inscriptions on the navy blue outline of the picture is any indication.

There were only four bots in the picture, only showing from the torsos up. Three mechs and one femme. Their high-grade glasses touched, all bots wearing smiles on their faceplates. Megatronus was easily recognizable, as was Soundwave (even though he wasn't wearing a full face visor as he does currently). The femme stood with a professionally straight posture that was meant to be relaxed. She stood in between Megatronus, who was on the end of the four, and Soundwave. The fourth mech stood on the other end. He was a dusky orange and had visible scars that had evolved from scratches. The age was obvious and seemed to be 'over the hill'.

The three mechs seemed not to exist as the overlord continued to stare down the femme. Optics unreadable, Megatron had to fight the urge let his derma curve upwards. This bot had that effect on him.

Never give in. It was near impossible to, especially with the femme's smile being contagious. Actually, it was the first thing he became infatuated with when he first met her.

The broad backside blocked her view. And she almost tripped many times, which is ridiculous for one who has such exceptional balance.

The gladiator paid no mind when he continued to stride to his favorite place in the underground of the pits; the sparring room.

Only a couple hallways away, a young voice echoed from behind him, "Um, where are we going, sir?"

"Don't call me sir," was the curt response.

Not really used to such rude tones, the femme pursed her lips shut and straightened herself, minding the uneven ground that she could faceplant on at any time.

Finally arriving at their destination after a long awkward silence, Megatronus escorted his guest into the room, which was filled with nearly hundreds of weapons and tools that could be used in a fight.

The femme looked in awe around the room, optics widening, at all the impressive objects, wondering about their own each specific use. There seemed to be enough materials to demonstrate the endless techniques that can be used for a fighter's advantage.

The femme's fascination was interrupted when the silver mech made a shelf of maces and nun chucks fall to the ground, making an obnoxious noise. The mech cursed under his breath and bent down to clean up his mess. He paused for a second and turned to his acquaintance in the doorway.

They held each other's gaze for what seemed like forever, Megatronus getting lost momentarily in what seems to be scared optics. When he regained his composure, he grunted, "Well, are you going to help me?" he said with a jerk of his head, beckoning over the femme. She skidded over at the command and knelt down immediately to gather up the weapons with effort.

She doesn't have as much armor as she should, in fact there seems to be less than there needs to be. With less strength, the femme was having trouble with her arm's load and even dropped a small knife that was buried in the pile.

Megatronus was at a loss for words, and action since he barely picked more than a few items, while he stared at the femme's pathetic fumbling.

He snorted a laugh before dropping his gathering and placed a rough servo on the anxious femme's shoulder. She immediately halted her movements and seemed to be…shaking?

"Why are you so nervous?"

The femme stopped shaking and sighed deeply, "Because I'm not really fond of the Pits," she stood up while still holding a few items.

The gladiator put a servo on his knee and pushed himself up and scowled, "Then why are you here?" His looming presence over her was almost scary. Almost.

She rolled her optics. "My friend pretty much forced me to come here with her," she paused when the mech crossed his arms over his spark chamber and narrowed his optics in something like annoyance. She sighed and continued, "She's been talking about this hot new gladiator for weeks and always wanted to see a fight. And she dragged me with because she didn't want to come here alone. Happy?"

Megatronus leaned in closer and smiled lecherously, "So this hot new gladiator…"

"That would be you," the femme sneered.

The gladiator straightened up and huffed and pivoted to walk more towards the back of the room. He approached a rack full of steel rods, each taller than him in length. He picked two off and turned to toss one to the femme who easily caught it with a raise of her arm.

"So now you have coordination," he teased.

He walked slowly around like a predator, in a curve to the femme's right. She knew this motion and automatically walked the other direction, like it was follow the leader.

Megatronus has always been the leader. Anyone could tell just by looking at him; the shoulder spikes, the couple fangs that were sawed off into his derma, his sense of poise and confidence has always been intimidating. It was needed, especially with what he did for a living.

The femme, on the other hand, was as mysterious as her paint job. The gladiator knew nothing about her, except that she doesn't keep on one mood for more than a few moments. First shy, then quiet, then, nervous, then confident. It's confusing really.

But Megatronus doesn't have a choice, per se. He was more or less ordered to train this femme to be the next 'hot new gladiator'. Femmes weren't common in the Pits but it would definitely help business!

"Why the long look on your face, old timer?" the femme gave a lopsided grin. Megatronus must have been sulking about his new assignment and it happened to show.

He realized that she was studying him. Calculating, maybe? He did offer to spar with her.

"Oh, no reason; just never had to train a sparkling before," his voice was mocking.

The femme stopped her pacing. "Sparkling?" She is offended. But she continues her slow walking. "At least I'm not a walking scrap yard," she looked away from him and instead straight ahead of her and held her head high. There's that confidence again.

"I should also mention that weak femmes don't tend to survive very long, especially in Kaon." So boastful.

"Yes, well, I really didn't expect to get a job offer that has a load of pompous idiots."

"Then why did you accept?" Real curiosity. Fake care.

The femme shrugged, "The credits are good. I'm getting paid just being here," she held her arms out by her shoulders in a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it kind of gesture.

"That they are," the other agreed, "but I didn't ask for this. If anything, I think it's a waste of both of our time," he paused where he was at and his stance seemed to take on a more darker tone.

The femme stopped too and they were face-to-face. "What, afraid of losing to a girl?"

"More like a spoiled sparkling," Megatronus snorted.

"You're probably only good for being a decent trash compactor." She watched her servos twirl the rod in her hold.

"You do not possess the potential to be a gladiator."

"You don't think I can fight," she felt that insult ring in her audios for a while.

He scoffed. "Look at you! You don't even have the proper essentials to protect yourself against acid rain, much less a jagged sword," he gestured to the femme's frame and then his bo staff.

She couldn't disagree. You could see more parts of her protoform than usual and that wasn't exactly a good thing.

"Oh, don't be such a rustbucket!"

Megatronus seemed to be really insulted at that and gripped his staff with enough force to cut off energon circulation if it were alive.

He growled and charged his opponent. The surprised femme ducked and rolled out of the way of the swinging weapon in the gladiator's hands. The femme picked herself up and the mech turned around to face her and charged once more. He swung more than once, each barely missing his target.

She wasn't even trying to defend herself; she was just avoiding getting whacked in the face.

Soon, the femme seemed to get the point of her tool and used it to block several of her opponent's strikes, and she even whipped out a few good ones, too.

This continued the same way for the remainder of the spar, each bot getting hit harshly in the torso, as that was the only place they could aim. The femme is a beginner, after all.

After a few hours, they had started to slow down. Neither of them had gotten the upper hand. The femme had avoided many of the mech's blows but could not resist all of them. They both presented dents that could be easily be popped out later.

They had both paused momentarily to intake air. They were not condensing too much; they both had their fair share of hard work and strenuous activity.

The femme was tired though. "Okay, I'm done," she dropped her weapon on the ground and turned to leave for the doorway.

Taking advantage of the change of course, since the femme was distracted, Megatronus took his extended staff and swept the femme off her pedes to cause her to momentarily fall on her aft. Wanting to take the harsh pressure off her poor rear end, she leaned onto her hip plate and laid on her side to disperse the numbing sensation. She suddenly felt a heavy metal pin her to the ground.

Megatronus' shadow fell across her visage and she stopped trying to struggle out from the weight. The first thing she saw when she looked up was dark blue optics, unreadable.

He remove his foot from her narrow frame, and she panted. They held each other's gaze for several moments.

Megatronus, still recovering from his workout, let his optics roam over the black painted bot, taking in the details. It was the first time he noticed that the femme has wings. Not seeker wings, but wide enough to make a bold 'V' behind her. They didn't go much past her head but they are still considered long. The femme had sharp accents with obvious gold pinstripes. She was obviously a ground-based Transformer. Blue optics matched his own and drew you to a conversation. She wasn't skinny, but she was narrow enough to draw the optic. The tires seem to either be new or they aren't used much, since the treads were barely worn.

Were grounders always this attractive?

The gladiator caught himself. What am I doing? She's practically a child!

He cleared his throat and held out his right servo. The femme looked confused.

"Today was impressive. I did not expect you to last as long as you did."

She narrowed her optics in return but otherwise ignored the comment. The femme picked her up of the dusty floor and brushed off the dirt she accumulated, while ignoring the helping hand. She locked gazes with her company once more. "Thanks, I guess."

There was silence; then: "You don't have to train me, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It doesn't," Megatronus answered, somewhat confused.

"Fine. See you later." The femme made a sharp turn and walked out the door.

Just when Megatronus was going to speak again, she had already disappeared.

It was only a week later that the same femme was sitting at a energon bar counter, when the ever-famous gladiator had walked in. No one had seemed to care when he easily strides through the tables and citizens, not minding the whispers and star struck looks.

"You missed our last session," Megatronus deadpanned when he occupied a stool next to his student.

The femme smiled behind her drink. "Damn, you found me," she chuckled wryly as she set down the glass.

He looked at her. "So I take it you're out of the training?"

"Never said that," she said with a tight voice. She folded her hands in front of her with her elbows on the table.

"Then why didn't you show?"

"Busy," was the curt response. "Personal."

"Ah, all right," he said with true understanding. The bartender placed a glass with a fluorescent purple liquid in front of the silver mech. Without hesitation, Megatronus tossed a few silver coins to pay for the drink. He took a swig before he chuckled.

The femme looked at him with curiosity but before she could say anything, her companion chuckled again.

"Rusty told me what your name was when we met," he turned to look at the femme, "but for the life of me I can't remember what it is," he made an actual laugh this time.

She only raised an optic ridge at his weird smile. Then she grinned. "Maybe you should buy me a drink first," she said gesturing to the array of the choices on the shelves.

"Maybe I will," he smirked. He nodded to the bartender which brought another round to the two.

After he finished his second fill, he held out a servo by the femme's arms. She only looked at the appendage then looked at his faceplate. "Perhaps we should reacquaint ourselves," he took her hand without permission. Then without warning, he kissed it, making her blush. "I'm Megatronus, gladiator of Kaon." Chivalrous much?

The femme's only response was a stammer and suddenly looks very uncomfortable. She looks around the large expanse of the room, finding that some people were staring at this scene.

She looked at their conjoined hands, which looked like they were in mid-process of actually shaking, and swallowed. Fluttering her optics, she looked back up at the gladiator.

"I-I'm Nightdrift. Nice to meet you," she smiled shyly which Megatronus suddenly found kind of cute.

"Nightdrift," he repeated, more to himself. Tasting the name on his glossa, he whispered it once more to commit the name – and femme – to memory.

He didn't ever remember letting go of her servo. It felt nice

Megatron's daydream faded painfully slow.

He sighed and set down his drink on the armrest of his berthroom couch. Titling his head back, he closed his optics.

"I miss you, Nightdrift."

Soundwave removed his feelers from the door. It wasn't often her used them to listen in on conversations behind locked doors and walls.

He heard everything his longtime friend had said and he almost felt the flashback seep into his memory banks. He ruthlessly shoved them away, not wanting to deal with the same sparkbreak.

Being a natural thing, Soundwave recorded everything and saved the recent voice clip onto a temporary hard drive.

He almost considered using the recording but decided against it. Instead, an average-like voice with a deep overtone clicked from the spy master's vocalizer.

"I miss you Nightdrift."

Soundwave tried not to let his helm hang in despair as he walked away from Megatron's door, and down the dark hallway.

He completely missed the crash of Megatron's energon glass colliding with the ground.