And Scrawl These Words Upon Your Wall

"Does he think I'll let him get away with this?" Megatron stormed into Prime's office, and slammed a fist against the door control (it imploded with a whimpering fizzle of sparks). He threw his back against the sliding panel the instant it fell shut behind him, and swore. "When I find Swindle, I'll tear his neural cortex out through his optics, and you can't tell me he doesn't deserve it, Optimus!"

"What's going on?" The Prime was on his feet. "What do I need to know? Right now, in small words, Megatron."

"Skywarp just teleported into my office. Seems somebody cleared out the entire store of 'Happy Juice.'" Again, he smashed his fist against the wall (it cracked the paint, and left a dent). "He got away with all of it, Optimus. We've lost control-" He snapped his fingers, "Just like that."

Prime lunged toward the exit, pushing Megatron to one side. "What are we waiting for?" he asked. "Let's go. You can brief me on the wa-"

The door would not budge.

Prime looked at the broken control panel. His jaw worked. Carefully, he squared his shoulders. "We're locked in. Nice."

Megatron leveled his fusion cannon at the door, its chargers humming up to full. But Optimus pushed it down and shook his head. "We've got whole armies at our disposal. Two bots more or less won't make a lot of difference, even if those bots are me and you. So tell me everything. Was anybody hurt?"

Megatron did not answer for an instant. He was still glaring at the door. "Hurt?" he scoffed, "Of course not. You think Swindle has the guts to pull off a frontal attack?" He sighed and hitched up his suspension, and his gaze dropped to the well-scuffed floor. "No, that little grease-stain got in underneath. Dug out one of the old tunnels. He was gone before any bot was the wiser."

"Who have you sent to track him?"

"I don't have my good trackers, Optimus!" the gray mech shouted. "Soundwave committed suicide, and selfishly extended the favor to most of his personal army! I don't have Laserbeak. I don't have Ravage. I don't even have Buzzsaw. All I've got is one lousy slagging camera, and he's off taking pictures of a pretty femme who caught his optical array! I've got Shockwave working on it, but he's only-"

Prime stopped him with a hand, and spoke quickly into his comm-link. "Blaster? We need Steeljaw down at the Detox-bunker ASAP. Tracking Swindle... Yes, again. But this time it's Priority-One. Got that?" There was an instant's pause. "Good. Prime out."

"It doesn't fragging matter if we find him," the Decepticon grumbled, morosely.

Prime held up a finger, requesting silence; then he turned to stare into the glowing 3D datagrid before him. "Magnus," he barked into his comm-link, "You've got experience hunting Swindle, and know most of his worst tricks. He's taken all the Juice from the detox bunker. Yes, all of it. Retrieval of the substance is priority, followed by his capture and containment." He nodded his head curtly. "Yes, you have permission. Whatever it takes. Prime out."

"You know that he won't have it on him if we catch him," Megatron persisted. "That Smelter-spawn has got a million secret channels. By this time tomorrow, I doubt that even he could track it all down. In a few breems, the first empties will begin lining up in spare-part shops and back alleys to trade their vital fluids for a taste of the old kicker..."

Optimus wasn't listening. "Red Alert? We need optics on Swindle. Last seen at the Detox. He's taken all the stimulant reserves; and we need to stop him before they reach the black market. I don't need to tell you how urgent this is." Again, the quick nod. "Yes, I know you will. That's all for now. Prime out."

He let his arm fall to his side, and looked at the big gray Decepticon. It was unusual for Megatron to fall apart like this. But Prime knew that the memory of a certain highly unpleasant demonstration by Thundercracker was probably rattling his bond-brother's customary detachment.

"Who else can you send after him?" Prime kept the question crisp. "Would the rest of the Combaticons help you or hinder you in this?"

"I don't slagging know," huffed Megatron. "I wouldn't put it past Onslaught to have his finger in this pie." He slammed a fist against the steel-plate door behind him. "It's been two vorns, and we're still flying blind. Sometimes I even wish we hadn't lost the Matrix, despite the fact that most of the bots in there were psychopathic losers who had no more Wisdom than the average lamp-post..." He broke off, and choked back something gurgling and inarticulate. "Where the frag is Soundwave when I need him?" he demanded. "How am I supposed to operate with such a half-'grammed team of nitwits?"

Prime shrugged. "You'll make good soldiers of the ones you've got, just like you always have." He looked at Megatron. "Do you have any mechs who might have a special interest in seeing to it that the Juice stays locked up in the vault? Mechs you can trust to know better than to try to hoard some for themselves?"

Red optics flared. The gray Decepticon snapped open his comm-link. "Ramjet," he growled, "Remember Dirge?"

There was a burst of angry static.

"Good. Then go find Swindle, and make sure he doesn't hand off any little packages, because he's about to give us all the chance to sing a funeral tune. He's emptied out the Detox bunker. "

He listened, grim-faced, to the third-string flier's curse, and nodded. "Blast him to scrap, for all I care. But don't let that sick slag get onto the black market!" He listened a moment, and his hard-bitten features softened a micron. "Yes, I know you will. Megatron out."

He glared daggers at Prime. Then slowly, he slumped down to the floor, leaving long scratches on the door. "We're fragged," he declared glumly. "I'm sending in a nitwit to do a soldier's job."

Prime scrubbed at the back of his neck. "I don't know," he mused. "I was a nitwit once..."

"Only once?" retorted Megatron.

Prime smirked. "You know what I mean. Bots tend to rise to expectations." His features softened as he looked down at his Brother. "You ought to know about that, too..."

"Frag off," was Megatron's erudite response.

The gray mech hunched against the intransigent door, and wrapped his arms tightly around his knees. "I'm trying to help them!" he barked. "I'm slagging-well doing my best! But I'm not slagging GOD! I can't fix everything!"

Welcome to my world, thought Optimus. He would never have said such a petty thing out loud, but his vocalizer must have clicked or something, because Megatron broke off and shouted, "What, Optimus? Did you have something enlightening to say?"

"I wish I did," the Autobot replied. "Believe me."

Megatron sagged. "I wish you did, too," he said.

A/N: Title is taken from Notbroken, a song by the Goo Goo Dolls that fits so nicely into Prime and Megatron's relationship. Thank you, Johnny Rzeznik.

This was originally intended to be something entirely different... but it morphed completely. All that remains now is the title; which somehow, despite the change, still seemed to fit.

PrimeHugs to all my readers!