A/N: This is a Repost of a previously-deleted chapter.

To say I struggled to write this would be an understatement. And once I finally finished and posted it, I lost all faith in it, and in most of what I have written here. I realized that I needed to completely start over and write a 'real' sequel to Transformation, not just a series of drabblets that have proven so susceptible to wandering. So let this serve as a repeat announcement that everything in this collection is to be read as apocryphal at best, and as complete drivel at worst. I'm going back to try to do better.

That said, I can't quite let this disappear, either. So here you go. Thank you for your patience in in reading this far, and for your faith in me.

Love, Prime

A Chance and Hope

"Starscream!" Megatron shouted. "I need you!"

"That's a first." The Seeker materialized in front of him, just out of arm's reach. "Though it's nice hearing you admit it for a change."

Megatron actually forgot to bristle at the jibe. "Wow," he whistled. "That was fast."

The ghost flashed his famous one-sided grin. "You said you needed me," he teased. "How could I possibly refuse?"

"I need to talk to you, not-" Megatron muttered a few highly-descriptive words.

"All right, all right!" Starscream took a step back. "We'll talk. But I'm surprised. I thought I'd be the last mech on your list."

"Prime's gone. Off-planet. I tried, but I can't reach him even spark-to-spark."

Starscream did not respond to this, but his jaw worked a little.

"Elita's gone too."

Starscream waved an impatient hand. He disliked hearing Megatron talk about his adopted family. "Can't you go pester that newling femme you think so much of?"

The words might as well have been a slap, for Megatron swore and fell back a step. "Not possible," he growled.

"What, did you kill her?" Starscream needled, pressing in. Old habits die hard, and the red jet had always known just what to say to provoke his Commander.

Megatron snarled and swung a wild punch, missing his Second, but adding a fine new dent to his already perforated wall. "Shut up," he whispered, leaning heavily against the pockmarked metal. "Shut up, Starscream, for mercy's sake."

The Seeker raised a single sculpted brow. "Mercy," he said. "That's a new one." Nevertheless, he did shut up as ordered. Megatron might be a violent, aft-headed glitch; but the gray mech was still his aft-headed glitch. This call out to a somewhat-friendly ghost was proof of that. And Starscream wasn't about to jeopardize the little hold he had on his Commander.

So he sat down on the dented footlocker which had become, without either of them noticing it, his appointed seat. He crossed an ankle over his knee, and waved a mocking hand. "Go on. What's got your cording into such a tangle that you call on me?"

Megatron huffed. He fidgeted. He fiddled with his plating. "Slag, blast, and damn!" he finally exploded. "May the Pit take us! Starscream, you're the only one who's qualified to give me hope. Or condemnation. Take your pick."

"Oh, condemnation, definitely," the Seeker replied flippantly. "What did you do?"

The gray mech would not meet his gaze. "I hurt 'Spark."

Starscream said cruelly, "I'm not surprised. You bully everyone you meet."

Megatron swore, and kicked the corner of his berth. He cursed himself, the Seeker's ghost, Optimus Prime, and Cybertron. But then he stopped, and leaned his head against an inset cupboard. "Slag it, Starscream," he said, surrendering. "I'm tired of being a bully. But I don't know if it is a habit I can change."

Starscream did not bother to sugar-coat his question. "Do you really want to change? Or are you just looking for an excuse to get your fingers tangled in her neural net?"

"Slag off!" Megatron shouted. "Of course I want to change! You think I like hurting my friends?"

Starscream snorted. "You seemed to enjoy hurting me."

Megatron turned, and moved stiffly to sit down upon his berth. He gripped its edge, his fingers tightening enough to warp the dull metal. "I'm not the mech I was then," he said through clenched jaws.

"Yeah. Sure you're not." The Seeker hunched, and looked away. For one agonizing moment he imagined Megatron entwined with that new interloping femme, and felt the ancient jealousy twist its jagged blade into his gut. He hissed a breath out through his teeth. "Good luck convincing her of that," he muttered bitterly. "You've never been a poster-mech for self-control."

"That's not true, and you slagging know it!" Megatron retorted. "I held back more than any of you scrapheaps ever understood. But somehow it's all gone straight to the Pit."

"You broke your happy little world. Boo-hoo."

"I didn't break anything!"

Starscream gave him a level look.

"Look, it's not like I meant any of this slag to happen, ok?"

Megatron chuffed, and surged up to his feet. "They took everything from me. Do you understand that? They dropped me here and left me with nothing better to do than babysit a couple thousand half-grammed bots too stupid to think for themselves. They left me, Starscream, while they went gallivanting off into the ether, chasing dreams of trade routes and alliance. That kind of thing is what I'm good at, Primusdammit!

"...And exploitation and extermination," added Starscream in an undertone.

Megatron whirled. "Shut the frag up, and listen for two kliks, is that too hard?"

Starscream shrugged, but did not say what he was thinking. It was hard. Very. But he doubted the gray mech would care.

"I've never been like Optimus – forever grubbing down into the bowels of our planet, hunting secrets. I expect others to do that kind digging for me, slag it," Megatron grumbled. "Instead, I'm left here on this rotten lump of pig-iron, with nothing interesting to do..." He scrubbed at the back of his head, restless and itching. "...And there is 'Spark. Always watching. Always listening. Always learning. The one femme here who would not gladly send me to the Smelter. But she..." He looked askance at the red jet. "She wanted me to go crawling in dark little tunnels, just so we could map out all this crazy, fragged-up world. She got quite persistent. Demanding. But no one can ask me to go back to that! No one. I..." He broke off, his vents flaring. "I threw her across the room."

"You really like her, don't you?" Starscream asked. The words tasted of bile in his throat.

Megatron turned to give some acidic reply. But then he stopped, and looked down at his Second with unwonted gentleness. "I do," he said. "Is it that obvious?"

"To every bot with more than half a kilobyte of RAM it is," said Starscream bitterly.

"You needn't worry," Megatron declared, matching the Seeker's tone. "I'm not capable of gentleness. I don't dare make a move now."

"Nonsense!" said Starscream with a brightness like sharp shards of broken glass. "You've been forgiven for millennia of genocide, a hundred-thousand war-crimes, institutional torture, and for being an unfeeling piece of Smelter-loving slag. I expect that RainbowSparkle will come running back into your arms at any minute now. I should just go, and leave you to it!" He stood up, and threw a razor-sharp salute.

"But will I just hurt her again?" Now Megatron was practically shouting. He knew he was pushing Starscream too far. But still, he grabbed him by the shoulders, servos screaming as he fought the urge to shake an answer from the red Seeker. "You have to tell me, Starscream. You're the only one who can. Can I be anything besides a mindless, worthless bully?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" the flier screamed. He stared at Megatron, his vents flared and his cooling fans shrieking with effort. "I don't know anything any more, don't you see that? You think I can process information while you're rambling to me about your latest crush? I hate that slagging femme. I hate her, Megatron!"

Slowly, the gray mech's shoulders slumped.

"Starscream."

The unexpected kindness in the old mech's grating voice froze the miserable Seeker's spark-pulse for an instant.

"Starscream."

The red jet turned his head away as Megatron drew him in close. "Do you have any idea what I would give...?" he asked bitterly.

Megatron nodded. "Probably more now than ever, mechling," he admitted.

They stood together for some moments, the larger mech almost supporting the quivering jet. Starscream stood stiff, his fingers clenching and unclenching into fists of impotent outrage and longing.

"You came, and you listened," the gray mech whispered. "Thank you, Starscream. I know it must not have been easy."

"You're such a fragging aft."

"I know. Trust me, I know."

The Seeker's vocals hitched. "I wish I could stop watching," he said, voice pinched.

"I don't blame you." Megatron sighed. "But I would miss you. You've been at my right hand – and aiming daggers at my back – almost from the beginning. There's no one who can take your place, Starscream."

The Seeker snorted. "That's a lie."

"It's true," said Megatron. "Take it from the master Decepticon," he added dryly.

There was a pause. Then a tight whisper. "I don't want to see you with her."

"I know, mechling." Megatron let out a heavy sigh. "But there's little chance of that. 'Spark would be a fool to trust me within five paces of her after what I did. She's certainly not going to let me get close enough to... to..." he broke off awkwardly, and shrugged a shoulder. "Well. You know."

Starscream did know. His knowledge wasn't, like Megatron's, gleaned from the memories of a bond-brother. Instead it was the product of eons of perverted study of the effects of certain stimulants upon his fellow soldiers. He could have – and gladly would have – made his Commander squeal with pleasure. "I could..." he faltered. "If you've given up on her, could I-?"

Megatron let out a long hiss of cydraulic pressure. "It is tempting," he admitted. "And Primus knows I owe you one."

Starscream drew back. "You owe me," he said roughly, "But your debt is payable in torn limbs and sundered spark. Not in anything... nice."

Megatron chuffed in sardonic agreement. "Practice then? In case I ever, Primus-willing, get the chance to-"

Starscream swore, and twisted violently out of Megatron's arms. "Frag you," he said, and meant it. He wanted. Oh how desperately he wanted. For uncounted evorns he had wanted. But he still had some tattered pride left. "I'm not anyone's 'practice,'" he hissed through jaws so tightly clamped that he could barely form the words.

Megatron lurched back as if he'd been burned by hot iron. "I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did," Starscream said remorselessly. "But I'm not some sort of stand-in pleasure drone. I'm not just gears and levers, slag it! I have a soul!"

"I know," said Megatron quietly. He pointed one hesitant finger at the Seeker's glassed-in chest. "I've seen it."

Starscream just glared at him.

The gray Commander stared at his seething, dead Second, and vented a long, slow sigh. "I know who you are, Starscream." He met the red jet's hard glare. "I'm not going to try to sell you another lie."

"Then tell the truth," Starscream whispered. His voice was harsh, a labored tearing from his throat.

"Fine." Megatron spoke crisply. "Do I want it? Oh slag yeah. Would I enjoy a custom interface with you?" He gave a snort. "From what I know of you, I bet I'd not only enjoy it, but I'd wear a dopey grin and walk unsteadily for the next three orns afterwards. And hey, I've been itching to try out a few things I've gleaned from Prime. So yeah, I slagging want to. But..."

"...But it would not be me that you were thinking of," the Seeker finished harshly.

Megatron stopped, and set his jaw. Then, "No," he said. "It wouldn't."

"A lie."

The gray mech shrugged. "A lie."

Starscream stood frozen, tight-wound like an overburdened spring. "I'd like to withdraw the offer, then, oh Glorious Leader," he said at last, stiffly.

Megatron shook his head. He felt he had somehow betrayed his Second, let him down in some fundamental way.

He flapped a hand, and paced in restless misery. "I want to save something for 'Spark. You understand that, don't you?" he pleaded. "I know I blew it. But I can't shake this one stubborn shred of slag-damned hope. Unmaker knows I'm fragged and double-fragged. I'm nothing but a burned-out, tarnished piston. But I have this thing... this one thing that has never been mangled, or misused, or even bent. And that's the one thing I can give her that's as untouched by sewage-waste as she is..." Megatron hobbled to a stop, still looking at his Second. "I... I want 'Spark," he said. "I choose her."

"You love her," Starscream said dully.

"I... suppose I do."

"It's not fair."

"No. It isn't." Megatron stopped, and looked at the red Seeker with a newly-sharpened gaze. "But fair or not, you came to me tonight. You came and you listened."

"Because I'm a sick, masochistic glitch."

Megatron smiled. "Because you're Starscream."

"Yup. It's what I do..."

The gray mech laughed. "What would I do without you?" he asked warmly.

"Frag yourself."

"Quite possibly," said Megatron, in earnest. He looked hard at the ghost-Seeker, and pursed his lips in thought. There were no words for what he was referring to, so he found himself using old-fashioned, silly ones. "No dalliance. No hanky-panky. No shrieks of bliss in showering sparks of overloaded circuitry... mostly because that would be really creepy," he added to himself. "But Starscream..." he walked over to the red jet, and once again put a hand upon his shoulder. "Will you stay?" He shifted, suddenly embarrassed. "Will you stay through this charge-cycle, and... and share my berth?"

"...Why?" Starscream did not try to dilute the sharp acid in the word.

"Because it's just..." Megatron floundered. "I don't know! It's just... nice..." He wondered if Starscream had been spying on him the few times he had sneaked into Prime's quarters and hunkered in behind the old Autobot, looking for some undefinable comfort in the red mech's silent, still presence. He wondered if the Seeker knew how much it calmed the scalding fires in his spark, simply to listen to the even rhythms of his bondmate's systems slowly idling. He wondered if the red jet guessed how much it meant to Megatron to have someone he could hold.

"All right!" The ghost-mech's voice cut through his thoughts. "Sheesh, Great Leader. You know, I can almost see steam rising out of your processor. Some free advice: You're over-thinking." He clumped over to the gray mech's narrow berth, and raised an eyebrow. "No hanky-panky. Fine. But just exactly how do we do this?"

Megatron stared at him blankly. Then he realized what the Seeker meant, and laughed.

Transformers were not built with lying down in mind. They recharged for a few hours every week or so, on flat metallic berths. It was a spartan system. Shutdown was a necessary loss of time, and nothing more; except to bots like Prime and Elita, who had perfected the art of shared recharge... and Megatron, who was learning. But by the merest chance all three bots in the family had fairly squared-off, blocky forms. Starscream, on the other hand, had big triangular wings sticking out beyond his shoulders. There was no way he could turn on his side and tuck in against Megatron's chest, like the gray mech had blithely imagined. He laughed again, harder this time.

"Unmaker's beard!" he gasped. "You know, I bet you'd have found a hundred berth-mates if those slagging giant wings weren't always getting in the way! How are we going to do this?"

Megatron peered at Starscream, then down at himself, then at the bunk, taking visual measurements. Then he humphed, and went to lie down upon the plain, unpainted surface. "Come on," he said, and held his arms out.

In the end, they settled on an arrangement in which Starscream lay almost face-down along Megatron's left side, with his head upon the gray mech's shoulder, and his arm and leg propped up on the the Decepticon Commander's body so as not to crack his glassed-in cockpit. Megatron held him in with the arm that the red Seeker was mostly lying on; and sometimes, when he forgot to think about it, he ran that thumb up and down against the Seeker's lower back.

Starscream was surprised by how still the old warrior was: how, well, peaceful. He'd spent millions of years by Megatron's side – though never, alas, this close – and there had always, always been an undercurrent of threat. Especially to him. So Starscream lay and listened in some apprehension to the quiet echoing of ducts and servos slowing down all through the big gray frame. But despite all the lessons of history, the sound was soporific. Gradually, he let his habitual guard slip lower and lower, until his optic array shut down and all he took in were the soft sounds of Megatron lying at rest.

Megatron, for his part, was more alert. He was thinking. He'd spent millions of years loving and hating Starscream – millions of years pounding dents into his body and his soul, out of fear and resentment. Yet here he was, holding the red jet as a shield against the tides of madness. He reached across, and wrapped a hand around the other mech's black helm. Who'd have thought it? He was grateful – deeply grateful – to have Starscream here in his arms. He hoped the Seeker was as fulfilled by this togetherness as he was.

Starscream sank into his own body, relishing every moment of quiet communion, every gentle touch. But the best part of all this was, he did not feel like he was stealing. He'd long been adept at reading Megatron's most secret desires; and he could tell that the old mech was glad to have him here, glad to have someone he could hold, who knew his foibles and looked past them – someone before whom he did not have the need to hide.

Yes, the red jet would have given up his wings to have Megatron take him for a lover. But the fact was, he was dead. So wings or not, he supposed that the point was moot. So the red jet just hooked his fingers firmly in at the edge of Megatron's chestplate – to keep them still, as much as for security – and listened in contentment as his Leader's systems slowed. He smiled a little when the big Decepticon laid a hand briefly against his cheek. And he held to his soul like a bright treasure the few words of ancient Cybertronian that the old bot whispered to him just before he shut down completely.

The persistent beeping of the charge-end signal pulled Megatron up out of shut-down, and he rose from his berth with a sharp sense of loss. Yet he was better than he had been when he'd entered this small room a few joors earlier. He felt a little more balanced, more equipped to face the ever-deadly-boring tasks the day would bring.

He sent a glance out through the window, up into the dawn sky where Starscream loved to loop-the-loop and barrel-roll. The Seeker was an ill fit. He had wings and angles (and a personality) that made him difficult to hold on to. But Megatron was grateful that his arms had not been empty, even so. The hollow ache that plagued him was assuaged somewhat.

He pursed his lips. It seemed that he would never be quite sane until he had a constant lifemate to fit into the empty space that had been left when he'd renounced his dreams of universal conquest. He needed a lover with whom he could seek out and find new and better dreams.

He thought of 'Spark, and shook his head. He hadn't hit Starscream all night; and that had to count for something. But there was still no guarantee that she would ever trust him – or that he would ever trust himself – again. He wondered, for the thousandth time, if he was just fooling himself to think that he could change.

He scrubbed a hand across his face, trying to wipe away the doubts that dragged at him. He stopped, perplexed, and looked more closely at the palm of his right hand.

Burned into the palm – and still smoking, Megatron realized in shock – was a single hieroglyph of the old pictographic language. It was not one Megatron had found much use for in the bad old days. He blinked to refresh the image, but the mark remained.

"Hope," he mouthed silently. His vocalizer clicked and jammed.

With a finger, he traced the welded lines of the elegant glyph. He'd asked Starscream to give him hope. And the ghost Seeker had welded it into his hand – the same hand he had used to throw 'Spark across the room. He bowed his head, and closed his hand into a fist around the still-warm mark. He would never know the lengths to which Starscream had gone in order to give him this tangible sign – to leave it for him out here in the living world.

"Thank you, Starscream," he whispered, "For- for everything."

Then with a renewed spring in his step, Megatron strode out of his room to meet the day. Um, 'Spark? he commed. Meet me in my office, please. I'm starting the mapping project, which means that we've got a lot of work ahead of us.

- The title of this chapter comes from A Christmas Carol, when Marley visits Scrooge to offer him just that. I thought it was appropriate.