Megatron breaks things, Reason #643 is crossed off the list, Rewind has a good time, and Prowl can think about Starscream's motivations later.
Title: Candy From Strangers, Pt. 29
Warning: Mindfragging, torture, misunderstandings, judgment, an orgy, manipulation, and actual fragging.
Rating: R
Continuity: IDW, G1
Characters: Starscream, Megatron, Soundwave, Combaticons, Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Rewind, Constructicons, Prowl, Chromedome, Starscream
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Acting Motivation (Prompt): Things I felt like I had to write, and a couple of Tumblr prompts.
LD Bibliotecaria_D
[* * * * *]
"Broken"
[* * * * *]
"You do good work." The compliment was grudging. He gave it out of a sense of duty. He didn't enjoy feeding Starscream's enormous ego, but the compliment was owed, and offering it might head off some of the problems of the recent past.
He could recognize, after the fact, that some of his own behavior had driven Starscream's madness. Only Megatron brought out the peculiar wild brilliance in Starscream, out beyond the borders of sanity. Their edges rasped against each other, but their clashes served to sharpen them both. They had always that way. It was only when Megatron stopped meeting Starscream halfway that the sharp edges bit in. His Air Commander had a hardness then, a cutting purity that served to remind the Decepticon commander why this particular flyer was irreplaceable. It was once the sharp edge turned on him that Megatron saw how his lax response had turned Starscream back on him.
No surprise to the troops, the Air Commander resumed his rank without further punishment after the Combaticon incident. That was how he and Megatron worked, commander and second-in-command, and why Soundwave's subtle powergrabs failed to seize a single iota of Megatron's favor from the Seeker.
Megatron knew about Soundwave's frustration with Starscream, but it was tempered by loyalty to Megatron himself. Like Shockwave, loyalty tempered the communication mech's thirst for power and favor. Let Comm. Officer and General jockey for third-in-command. Starscream's place at Megatron's side was secure. The Seeker's insecurities and irrational reactions to Megatron's words and actions sometimes made that place explode, but it would remain his spot even while on fire and empty. No other mech belonged in the blast zone. Starscream would return to it, sooner or later.
Even after attempting to murder his leader, Starscream earned his place. He brought a worthy gift when he came back, which of course he did. As fast as Starscream escaped, cowardice paled before his pride. He would never abandon his rightful place.
Megatron accepted the peace offering for what it was: one more ceasefire in their tumultuous working relationship. The Combaticons were an accurate representation of their mutual, respectful contempt.
They also represented the pettiness. Starscream had deliberately restored the gang of traitors that had almost taken Kaon from Shockwave. Their rebellion had nearly cost the Decepticons an entire city. Megatron had been infuriated by the need to divert resources from fighting the Autobots in order to put down an internal rebellion. He'd authorized the harshest punishment possible for the traitors, more merciless than straight execution. Seeing Onslaught's rebels resurrected and revolting against him again had enraged Megatron beyond all reason, as Starscream had known it would.
Banishment had been an unwise choice, but Megatron had been too incoherent with injuries and shaking anger to want more than to get the subversive lot of them out of his sight. That should have been the end of it, but of course something involving Starscream couldn't be that simple. The Combaticons had popped up yet again, this time on Cybertron in an attempt to wrest control of the entire planet from him. Megatron had been furious enough to have even Soundwave tip-toeing around his temper.
Starscream's loyalty program implantation had soothed what would have otherwise been an undignified but extremely satisfying tantrum. Megatron didn't have the patience for drawn-out torture, but slowly melting the Combaticons alive in the smelter pools wouldn't have been enough. He'd had a vague thought of letting the Insecticons loose on their legs before Starscream presented his hasty plan. The Air Commander's fast talking alone had saved the traitors from fates worse than execution.
Now Megatron watched Onslaught on his knees scouring rust marks off the floor in the lower levels, and he gave Starscream grudging credit where credit was due. Not only had the Decepticons gained a valuable new combiner team, but the former traitors were now slavishly loyal to Megatron's every word.
The smirk and oh-so-sweet, "Why thank you, mighty Megatron!" in return was worth tolerating. Of course Starscream was smug. He'd done it yet again.
The glitch.
A glitch who delivered. Megatron leaned back in his throne and watched the monitor as Onslaught stopped working in order to glare at Frenzy as the Cassetticon sloshed a bucket of salt water down the hall. A fish flopped onto the Combaticon's helm. Megatron smiled.
He didn't smile later.
"Frenzy: extensive damage to tape reels, right arm, and face," Soundwave said in a monotone. Rage cold as ice ran under the lack of expression, however.
Behind him, wrists cuffed under his rotors at the small of his back and shoulder held in Bonecrusher's ironclad grasp, the unstable helicopter Combaticon twitched and giggled. Megatron would have thought him terminally insane if not for the extensive file on Vortex's many and varied interrogative skills. A horrible person might lurk under the crazed mask, but the worst of Vortex's behaviors were a sham to unsettle and deceive others. If Megatron hadn't had his suspicions and Soundwave's growing file of similar incident reports, he might have fallen for the act.
However, Vortex had made a mistake in striking at Soundwave, indirectly or not. This hadn't been a random act of violence, or even boredom. This had been a calculated act done make a statement, but the 'copter had erred in whom he targeted. Megatron would stand aside for his Comm. Officer's justice.
Vortex had been out of the war a long, long time. He might have been a top interrogation specialist at the time of his boxing, but Soundwave had progressed well beyond his level. Besides which, Soundwave had Megatron's permission to speak as his voice. Between Soundwave's skill and the loyalty program, the Combaticon didn't stand a chance.
Vortex hadn't been prepared for them to be less interested in discipline than ferreting out what he was up to. His visor narrowed to a wary slit as the first honest answer was forced out of his vocalizer by the loyalty program, and from there it became a tormenting exercise in pinning an experienced interrogator down until there was no more room to squirm. Soundwave was very good as asking the right questions. Vortex evaded through rewording and 'misunderstandings' for a time, but such tricks only stalled the inevitable.
Megatron leaned back in his throne to watch Soundwave carve the Combaticon's defenses down into nothing. It wasn't a physical punishment, but it was wonderfully satisfying to watch, all the same. Resistance was futile, and the lesson Megatron wanted taken away from turning interrogation on Vortex was that it was also a public spectacle of defeat, humiliation, exhaustion, and submission. One would think the Combaticons had already learned the bitter taste of that lesson, but apparently not. Megatron had authorized Soundwave to force another helping down their throats since they were such slow learners. Vortex was gagging on it, but Soundwave wasn't going to give him a choice but to swallow.
Onslaught stood at attention at the back of the room the entire time, silent and helpless. Megatron had ordered him there, ordered him to witness.
"Onslaught," Vortex admitted at long last, heavy venting bursts coming out with the words. He sagged in Bonecrusher's grip and glared at Soundwave. "It was Onslaught. Onslaught passed a message to me through Astrotrain, because we're not allowed to talk outside of battle, and it insinuated that he wanted me to beat the midget to scrap metal." He didn't seem to notice that his rotor blades and arms were shaking slightly. He looked as if he'd been pushed to his limits and then beaten past those, but hatred simmered hot and bright in his visor. "I don't know why, 'cause I didn't ask why. I don't care why."
"You know why," Megatron said, speaking up for the first time. Vortex's visor shot to him. It bleached paler as a touch of apprehension woke in the mech's mind. Megatron had noticed that the loyalty program kicked the Combaticons in the CPU in his presence, especially if he spoke to them directly. He enjoyed their stiffness around him as its increased activity made them hyperaware that they had to obey his every command. "Dare you lie to me, Vortex?" he said, dangerously soft, and the 'copter went still as stone.
"No, Lord Megatron."
Megatron met Onslaught's painstakingly neutral gaze from across the room. "Really."
"Yes, Lord Megatron."
"Then why did Onslaught order you to attack Frenzy - and the others?" he asked pointedly. Yes, Soundwave, he had read those reports.
"He…he didn't order me to do anything." But Vortex faltered. The loyalty program, keyed by Megatron's order, jumped into the forefront of his CPU, and he seemed to shrink into himself. It began to actively combing through thoughts and motivation, searching for an answer to the command.
The 'copter looked sick, visor staring blindly ahead of himself as control over his mind and body stripped away. Megatron could just imagine the way his trapped thoughts scrambled to present less incriminating, less disloyal things for the program's approval, but Starscream had done excellent work. It didn't matter what Vortex wanted to say; the program had taken that option away.
"I am to be the threat to ensure the other Decepticons treat us as superiors instead of inferiors. The rest of my team cannot respond to attacks or insults personally, but punishment doesn't matter to me," Vortex said, mechanical and frustrated in one. "It is becoming known that lashing out against us will result in retaliation from me."
"Mmhmm." Vortex gulped air, blinking rapidly as the loyalty program disengaged its search and report function, but Megatron wasn't through. "Now tell me why you obeyed Onslaught's order over mine." He smiled, baring his teeth at the Combaticon leader.
Who knelt, graceful in defeat. He bowed his head before Megatron as his minion woodenly admitted to supporting Onslaught's attempt to bypass the loyalty program by not-quite-disobeying the orders to submit to and not antagonize the other Decepticons. Onslaught's voice didn't waver as he confirmed this as true when Megatron forced him to admit it. Ordering the two Combaticons to confess to any other borderline disloyal actions resulted in a spill of minor incidents that Soundwave took careful note of.
After the pair finished vomiting up their crimes, purged of disloyalties by the programming making them shake and shiver, they concentrated on the floor. Onslaught was dignified and Vortex a masochist, but neither of them had a single illusion left about who had the power, here.
Their commander, leader, and master let them dwell on that for a terrible length of time before passing judgment.
"You are found to be disloyal, Onslaught," Megatron permitted Soundwave to say, still speaking as his voice, and punishment began as a twitch of Onslaught's fingers. Soundwave didn't move, but Megatron knew the deep red of his visor conveyed satisfaction with Megatron's handling of the situation. It avenged Frenzy's pain as well as dug out potential treason at the source.
While Soundwave watched Onslaught burn from the inside, the screams gradually fighting through the chokehold the loyalty programming put on the Combaticon's throat, Megatron returned his attention to the helicopter still standing before him. "As for you." He beckoned, and Bonecrusher physically picked the mech up to move him closer to the throne.
Vortex stared at the floor, arms bound behind him, and flinched the smallest amount as Onslaught screeched static, panted a hoarse, "A-all hail Megatron," and shrieked again. The cycle would continue until Megatron deemed him repentant, and the Combaticons had no reason to expect their leader to forgive them anytime soon.
"You enjoy being punished?" Megatron asked, almost idle.
"Yes, Lord Megatron."
"How long does it take for the pleasure to become pain?"
Vortex hesitated, fighting the compulsion, but he had to answer. Megatron's lips curled in a cruel smirk at the resistance. "Three to - to six hours, Lord Megatron."
"What would be a more effective punishment for you?"
A tinge of horror passed through the red visor as the loyalty programming dug into his thoughts. "I don't - I don't know, Lord Megatron." That was honesty, stark and raw, but Vortex risked a pleading look up for half a second before returning his gaze to the floor. He didn't know how else Megatron might punish him, but he wasn't fool enough to think the Decepticon leader would stop at a mere beating. Megatron's wrath was to be feared, even by someone of dubious sanity and masochistic tendencies.
Megatron leaned back in his throne and contemplated the problem. His first thought was to assign the mech to be Frenzy's servant, but Onslaught and Vortex had already proven adept at worming around the wording of his orders. Frenzy would likely end up dead of an 'accident' or manipulated into doing Vortex's bidding. That didn't even take into account the rest of the blasted team. These two had admitted to their crimes, but plenty of Onslaught's forced confession had involved Blast Off, Blaster, and Swindle.
Clearly, if Megatron wanted to end the threat of these traitors, he had to break them up. Although breaking up a combiner team was more of a mental enterprise than a physical one. The physical isolation had done little to stop them, after all.
If there were minds and loyalties to be fragged with, there was only one mech to call.
Starscream had a solution ready to hand over by the time he swept into the room. He sidestepped Onslaught smartly as he entered and strode over to give Megatron an absentminded salute that meant he had more important things than mockery on his mind. "I would think this would be the obvious solution, but I realize not everyone is a genius," he commented as he handed over the plan.
"Get out of here, you fool. I don't have time for your egotistical ranting." Megatron took a swipe at his Second's head. It wasn't meant to connect. In the unspoken dialogue between them, it was practically an acknowledgement of a job well done.
"Hello, pot? Kettle calling," Starscream laughed on his way out. He kicked Onslaught in the head as he went.
Megatron read through the plan, nodding to himself. Good. Starscream had taken every injury, every threat, every shove and glower reported by Onslaught, Vortex, and the Decepticons as a whole, and he'd written it into a timetable. This was good work, and yes, Megatron would admit it to be brilliant, if twisted.
"Your orders," Megatron said around his smile, and Bonecrusher's hands clamped down as he stopped the 'copter from cowering back from him, "are to target Swindle." He held out the timetable, nodding to Bonecrusher. The Constructicon uncuffed his prisoner, and Vortex reluctantly reached out to accept the timetable. "You may not say why, hint at your reasons, or otherwise communicate that you're doing so for any specific cause. Make it look like you're amusing yourself at his expense. Make it look like your own idea. Let no one know this is at my command. Any suspicion on the part of anyone else that this was done on orders will be considered disloyalty, and shall be punished accordingly for a time of 48 hours, if not more."
Vortex stared at him, visor unseeing as the loyalty program wrote the orders into his priority directives. Across the room, Onslaught was beyond overhearing them. Over-stimulated pain sensors warred with the dredging of the loyalty program re-educating his mind from the base code up. He choked on screams and affirmation of loyalty. Bodily agony traded off to mental subjugation and back again, over and over.
"Tell me how you can get around my command," Megatron ordered, and Vortex started to answer. "Overwrite those methods until you can no longer disobey in any way."
A pathetic little whimper got out of the 'copter.
Megatron relaxed in his throne. He'd give a few more commands to guide the loyalty program into trapping Vortex into a corner, and Soundwave would follow up to make sure it actually worked, but Starscream's plan had merit. Swindle had always been the loose card. He'd snap eventually, and the fall-out would shatter Onslaught's team for good.
"All hail-ail-ail M-Megatron," Onslaught croaked. His scream tore the air afterward, ugly and long. It was a wonderful sound.
It would take the rest of the night shift for the Combaticon commander to crawl through the base, hitching and crying out while the Decepticons looked on in amusement. By tomorrow morning, Megatron could count on hearing the sweet sound of exhausted surrender outside his door. Pride couldn't stand up to the loyalty programming, and in seven hours, Onslaught wouldn't be able to, either. The mech would grovel on the floor to beg his forgiveness, swearing undying loyalty and promising the Combaticons would prove their worth.
As satisfying as it would be to condemn Vortex to the same torment, it would be far better to let Onslaught wonder why the 'copter was set free. One more crack, one more doubt. And then?
Then the Combaticons would break. They might not be voluntarily loyal to him, but they would never be loyal to each other once he was through.
[* * * * *]
"Rodimus the virgin (is not a desperate loser)"
[* * * * *]
"I'd totally clang that," the captain said confidently as Skids' aft disappeared into the ventilation shaft over the bar.
Ultra Magnus added another tick mark under Reason #643 in his ongoing list entitled Why Rodimus Is An Unsuitable Captain. It was one of many reasons with multiple tick marks, but only combining the captain's various offenses against ship furniture would rack up the sheer number of marks equal to that single reason alone. Reason #643 was in a category all its own in terms of lack of decency, however. The number of mechs Rodimus expressed a wish to interface with on a daily basis would shock a more respectable captain. The number of times Red Alert caught Rodimus emerging ruffled and grinning from random room suites shared by multiple mechs would have earned a court-martial if this were an actual respectable ship.
As it was, this was the Lost Light. Ultra Magnus kept his list, but he couldn't delude himself into thinking fraternization regulations existed for anyone but himself. Hence Reason #643's massive amount of tick marks but zero amount of consequences.
"I'm just having a little fun!" Rodimus said the few times the Duly Appointed Enforcer brought it up. "Nobody's crossing any lines! I spread the love of Rodimus through my fanclub evenly, y'know?" He flashed that infuriating grin. Ultra Magnus squinted against the bright glint. "Drift's cool with checking my boundaries anytime I spend a few hours with somebody. It's all good."
Did the captain really delegate checking the consent of his partners to Drift? Firstly, that was a hideous slight against the chain of command, which clearly dictated that if this was an official - if nonstandard - part of the captain's duties, then he should be delegating to Ultra Magnus as executive officer, not Drift as third-in-command. Secondly, that was not something that should ever be delegated to a (pardoned) criminal, and especially not a (former) Decepticon. Thirdly, consent was not something to be checked by a third party after a few hours.
What Rodimus had said was all kinds of wrong, and Ultra Magnus wrote a furious series of memos to him on the subject. He suspected they were never read.
Making it more confusing yet was the surprising ease in which Rodimus carved a swathe through the crew. He'd always been a popular, personable mech, but Ultra Magnus had never suspected him of using interfacing as a bribe for continued loyalty. Someone with Rodimus' casual reputation was more likely to bore his fanclub after a time with the same repeated trick, yet the captain bounced from berth to berth and seemed to have an open invitation to return. Drift trotted after him, checking up, knocking on doors, and generally soothing wounded egos in the wake of a self-centered mech with no care for how it damaged people's pride to have their lover abandon them in a split second.
Or at least that's what Ultra Magnus assumed. He didn't actually want to know. He decided to stay as far away from the disaster zone of his captain's love life as possible and just kept making black marks under Reason #643.
That changed after Overlord. More accurately, it changed after Tyrest. Ultra Magnus had wanted Rodimus dealt with, his unsuitability as a captain used to smack him down. He'd wanted Rodimus humbled.
Executing the young captain was as unacceptable as any reason on the list, however. More so, in fact. Ultra Magnus' attempt to change Rodimus took a far different turn that he'd ever imagined, and the consequences went far beyond interfacing habits.
Afterward, it amazed him that Rodimus wanted him back as Second. Despite making the list, despite acting on the list, despite still believing and confessing to that belief in all the reasons Why Rodimus Is An Unsuitable Captain, the captain of the Lost Light wanted him as executive officer. And, despite adding tick marks every hour, Ultra Magnus still wanted to be his Second.
Tyrest had started the list Why Minimus Ambus Is An Unsuitable Ultra Magnus. Minimus Ambus had been ashamed of that, but after passing on the mantle of the Duly Appointed Enforcer, the list kept getting longer without any repercussions. He was strangely okay with that. He might be unsuitable, but he was still Ultra was finding out that the lists didn't really mean as much as he thought they did. Their importance was subjective.
Some of the items depended entirely on perspective, for instance. "Why do you need me to call you in two hours?" he asked carefully.
His captain smiled weakly. "Sorry. I know you hate it, but it's - well, it's Skids. He gets grabby when he's overcharged, and he's excited over getting out of repairs, and I think he invited Getaway, and Getaway doesn't know how stuff on the ship works yet." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked as though he really wanted to doodle on whatever was nearest.
Ultra Magnus had noticed that Rodimus was making an effort not to destroy furniture in his presence anymore, although he could tell the carving continued. It was a nice gesture immediately canceled out by the rest of the captain's behavior. "You want me to call to make certain that you have done nothing they don't agree to?" Ultra Magnus still had trouble with Rodimus' backward logic when it came to interfacing.
"What?" Rodimus looked up and blinked rapidly. "Me? Why would I do anything? No, I mean, just in case, Drift always kind of called to make sure I was still okay. People do weird stuff when they're fendered sometimes. It's not like I can't take care of myself, but you know how people are." He gestured awkwardly. "Some Autobots only act like 'Bots 'cause they know somebody's watching them." His grin turned cocky again. "And who better to watch then the guy who already polices us day in and day out?"
Ultra Magnus had the feeling he was missing something. He'd though that was what he'd said, but something about how Rodimus reacted didn't sit right with him. And whatever else the captain was, he was an Autobot through and through.
He agreed, cautiously, to Rodimus' bizarre request. In exactly two hours, he called the captain's personal comm. frequency, bracing for an image of debauchery and at least one broken shipboard regulation. The things Rodimus asked him to do were offensive in so many ways, and witnessing fraternization make him flinch preemptively.
"Rodimus?" He couldn't make himself use rank, not in this situation. It was too improper.
His arm projector popped up a sleepy, contented face, relaxed in a way he'd rarely seen Rodimus. "Mm? Heeeeey."
Ah, he must have caught them post-interfacing. That was marginally less horrifying. "Are you well?"
"S'all good." Rodimus shifted, and someone murmured under the microphone, close enough that recharging systems could be heard purring at the subsonic level. "Woke me up. We pretty much got in and crashed. Getaway's cool." The murmur came again. "Not even a grope. I'm fine." The smile seemed to take effort, curling against sleep that pulled Rodimus back down. "Thanks. Gonna…"
Ultra Magnus ended the call after a minute of steady ventilation confirmed that Rodimus really had fallen into recharge in the middle of the call. Well, then. That had been unexpectedly easy.
It was less easy when Rodimus catcalled, "Frag me, on Aisle Four!" down the hall at someone, and Megatron frowned.
"Is he always like that?" the new captain (co-captain) asked Ultra Magnus. "That constitutes sexual harassment from a superior officer, if I recall correctly. I didn't know Autobot regulations were different in that regard."
The list loomed. Reason #643 had tick marks Ultra Magnus wouldn't have even known about if he hadn't become his (original) captain's spotter. Rodimus had avoided scandalizing him openly during the check-up calls; so far, he hadn't seen anything through the projector that didn't happen regularly at the bar. It was still improper.
"Yes, Rodimus often pursues the crew openly," he said slowly, but didn't elaborate. It didn't feel any more proper to speak about one captain's proclivities to the other.
Megatron gave him a look that combined confusion, surprise, and thoughtfulness that told him the ex-Decepticon leader understood far more than such a short answer should have given away. Perhaps it did because it had come from him, of anyone.
He should have known Megatron would do something. Both his captains were mechs of direct action, but Megatron seemed dedicated to involving himself in the crew. Protecting the crew fell into that realm.
"I'd do you both, at once, upside down and sideways," Rodimus crowed at Cyclonus and Tailgate for no more reason, it seemed, than to see Cyclonus stiffen and make Tailgate giggle.
"I don't think you capable," Megatron said, cool voice cutting through the bar chatter.
Rodimus glared, immediately offended. "I don't think I care what you think."
"Maybe you should."
Ultra Magnus started to rise, uneasy with the tension and uncertain how to dissipate it. Rodimus was so clearly in the wrong, and he would be forced to say so if Megatron's challenge went any further. That would do nothing for the authority of either captain. Ultra Magnus considered neither of them suitable for the rank, but the rank itself should be respected.
But Rodimus' optic caught on his frown, and the fiery captain grinned. "I'd show you, Megs, but alas!" He clutched his hands over his spark. "I'm saving myself for Ultra Magnus!"
The bar stared in amused disbelief as Rodimus zipped over to swoon dramatically against the much taller Autobot. Ultra Magnus looked down at his armful of Rodimus and wondered what had just happened. Megatron seemed more amused than confused, but there was a faint aura of puzzlement throughout the whole bar for the rest of the night. Rodimus clung to Ultra Magnus, swearing eternal devotion to make people laugh, but he also didn't hit on anyone else. It was…strange. Ultra Magnus would have protested being made a figure of fun, but the twist of rank and respect held him fast.
By the time he left the bar, he put it down to a rare occurrence of common sense. It did happen to Rodimus occasionally, usually crossed with the mech's more typical, inappropriate humor. It was why he didn't protest the captain skipping out at his side, blowing kisses in mournful farewell to his many crestfallen swains. They mocked him as he left, and Rodimus paused on the threshold to make a rude gesture back at them. Laughter followed him out.
Ultra Magnus wasn't sure what to do when his captain followed him all the way back to his hab suite. "What do you want?" he asked at last, turning to confront him at the door.
Rodimus shrugged and leaned against the wall, lopsided grin in place. "Nothing I haven't offered before."
"That is against shipboard regulations."
"I know." For a moment, the younger mech looked frustrated and almost tired. "Says you, anyway. I don't get it. It's not against the rules. I checked. I read all those memos you sent me, uh, eventually," he shifted his feet, "but you interpret fraternization so broadly. Nobody else does that! Nobody! You consider everything fraternization! It's like officers have to stay in a little box and can't touch anybody outside it, in your world."
Ultra Magnus stared. That made no sense whatsoever. "Fraternization is the - " He paused. "How would you define it?"
Put on the spot, Rodimus wasn't nearly so confident. "I uh. Sexual contact? Like, fragging and stuff."
He didn't have to be confident to render Ultra Magnus speechless. "Then what are you offering?"
Rodimus stared up at him. "Same…thing I offer everybody?" He recovered enough poise to wink. "Although you're special. I wouldn't say that to just anybody."
"You say it to everyone," Ultra Magnus said on automatic, but his mind whirred behind the words. Things were suddenly breaking apart and realigning in different patterns inside his head. "Rodimus, what exactly do you want to do with me? Details, please. Give me an agenda for the next two hours if I accepted your offer."
Two days later, Megatron again attempted a confrontation after Rodimus yelled, "Dat briefcase!" at Brainstorm. Rodimus proclaimed his undying devotion for Ultra Magnus once again. Ultra Magnus stoically acted as a fainting couch. The crew looked between the two captains, trying to figure out what was going on. Megatron seemed more intrigued than confused by everyone's reactions.
"You're more tolerant than I was led to believe," the ex-Decepticon said to Ultra Magnus afterward.
He could have said that he had a list, one each for himself and Rodimus. He could have pointed to Rung and therapy. He could have said he spent a night discovering that he hadn't understood anything about what he'd been judging for over two years.
He could have, but he didn't.
Ultra Magnus escorted Rodimus from the bar and gravely retired for the night, and not a mark blackened their names.
[* * * * *]
Decepticonsensual said something about seeing Prowl with the Constructicons as an alternative pairing to him and Chromedome, and I realized something. This Rewind might not know about the Constructicons and Prowl yet. He certainly hasn't met them.
[* * * * *]
Another day, another ridiculous crisis. This one necessitated Optimus Prime hunting down the Lost Light for consultation, finding them planetside after a search of the quandrant. A bar didn't seem like an appropriate setting for such a meeting, but really, considering the circumstances? A bar was perfectly fine. Mechs had been dragged into the meeting as needed, and the booth had gradually become jam-packed by too many people in too small a space.
A more possessive person would have been right there at the table. A more jealous one wouldn't have insisted on sitting between Prowl and Chromedome. A more insecure one would have refused to let Chromedome go over there at all.
Rewind still needed enough space that he'd been frankly apathetic toward the whole meeting. It got him away from Chromedome's hovering presence for twenty minutes, and it wasn't like he couldn't see the way Prowl's optics occasionally strayed toward the shift of Chromedome's hips on the bench. They jerked away instantly but inevitably meandered back. Chromedome's arm twitched as Optimus Prime talked, restrained from elbowing his former partner in the side at some relevant point. All the hallmarks of a long, intimate partnership were there in plain sight, plastered over by more stiff formality than usual.
Rewind put his elbow on the bar and slumped, hand propping his head up just barely. Something had gone down between those two, again. He sighed. Chromedome never did like telling him when Prowl did something underhanded and got caught. Rewind could take the mech out of a parted partnership, but he couldn't take the partnership out of true partners. The more mechs had died in the war, the more important the history - any history - between the survivors became. Rewind understood that. He just didn't like seeing Prowl remember Chromedome's hot spots and Chromedome pretend he saw nothing.
Honestly, it wasn't as though Rewind wasn't used to seeing them dance around their gaping holes of hurt emotion. They'd never get back together, but sometimes he thought they were a push and a shove away from giving it a try.
"Heeeeeey." Speaking of shoves, Rewind was jostled in his seat by five very large mechs suddenly making themselves at home around him. Five drinks and an extra plonked down on the bar in front of him. "So you're the - uhhh, you're Chromedome's," the name was pronounced in tones of great disdain, "conjunx endura. The replacement."
Oh, now that stung. If Rewind hadn't been surrounded by Constructicons, he might have said something about it. "What's it to you, Decepticon?" he snapped back without any of his normal tact. Forget recording. This was personal.
A significant glance was passed around the group. "You know who we are?"
Rewind looked downward in a plea for patience from Primus. "How can you even - yes, I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are."
"No, I mean," five construction builds leaned in, "do you know who we're with?"
Rewind hesitated. There were things Chromedome hadn't told him about what happened back on Cybertron, and he knew he was missing some recent history. "The Decepticons..?"
"Naw, mech. We're with him." Large hands waved over toward the table of bigshots discussing important things and trying not to fall into old habits of flirting and fighting. Since Megatron and Optimus Prime were also at the table, that applied to most everyone there. "The boss. Prowl."
"Prowl." What the frag had he missed?
"Yep. We're gestalt, now."
He'd missed a lot, apparently. "I, um. Alright, then." He rallied. The drink they'd brought over for him helped in that. "Why are you over here telling me about it if - "
"We've got a proposition for you."
Frag him and his curiosity. "Oh?"
It was certainly worth hearing them out over. Two more free drinks in, and he was in the mood to think about it, too. It helped that Prowl had noticed his fan club relocating to surround the little mech, and he was looking unbearably smug about whatever bullying he thought was going on in their corner.
Until Rewind slammed back another drink and accepted Bonecrusher's delicately proffered hand, sliding off the barstool and sweeping out of the room like a queen escorted by her courtiers. Grinning, chortling courtiers. Prowl's optics popped wide, and he grabbed the side of Chromedome's hip in a bid for attention that had nothing to do with old, ingrained habits. Chromedome, to his credit, shot him a glare before catching on that this wasn't Prowl getting on Rewind's nerves. He got one good look at five wide green backs and a tiny form in their midst before the bar door closed behind them.
By the time Prowl and Chromedome had struggled out of the booth and scrambled after them, the group had disappeared into the port traffic, well on their way to finding a room for the night. The Constructicons broadcast amusement, mischief, and lust down the gestalt links. Rewind transmitted a soundless video to Chromedome, a video mostly made up of looking down his own body as five looming Constructicons sorted out who went where while touching what. Neither former detective remembered whose fans clicked on first, or at what point they gave up trying to muffle the incriminating whirrrrrr.
It took them half the night to track their errant other halves down, and they were in quite a mood when they finally knocked on the right door. The video and broadcasted sensations never stopped; under that assault, even the hardest metal would melt. The only reason they were keeping their hands off each other was the Fear of Rewind, and that ended when Long Haul ambushed them at the door by grabbing them by the scruffs of the necks. He hoisted them up in front of the debauched pile on the bed as if for judgment.
Prowl twisted and nearly got loose, of course. "Put me down!"
Chromedome just hung there and stared at the tangle of limbs and sated smirks. "Rewind..."
"Now kiss!" someone in the pile yelled. Rewind made a crude gesture that wasn't much better than the yelled command. Chromedome fizzled oddly, unable to believe it, but Long Haul pushed the two smaller mechs together hopefully.
Prowl, frustrated beyond reason, seized his ex-partner's helm and yanked him into reach.
"That's unexpectedly hot," Rewind murmured, staring and recording for all he was worth.
"I know, right?" Scavenger sighed happily. "Now the real party can get started. But remember: this was all our idea. They'll never go along with it if they think we're only doing it because of them."
"I'm not doing it because of them," Rewind grumbled. "I'm doing it because of me and Domey."
Hook leaned over from the other side, still watching the show. "And we're doing it because of us and Prowl. But a good engineer makes use of the supplies on hand." His hand squeezed Rewind's leg.
He couldn't really argue with that logic.
[* * * * *]
Decepticonsensual said something again.
[* * * * *]
The wall groaned beneath the impact as Starscream slammed Prowl back into it.
Prowl curled forward over the helm immediately ducking to draw a warm, wet line down the center of grill. His voice stayed level, but his fans screamed on high. "There does not have to be a reason."
"But you'd be happier if there was one," said Starscream, or he would have if his mouth hadn't been occupied. It's not like it mattered. The grill his lips molested was parting, which meant Prowl had talked himself into believing he knew what the Decepticon was up to.
"You're doing nothing but sewing chaos. You don't have a particular reason in mind." A grounder engine whined high and shrill above the roar of a flight engine. Prowl made a muted sound in the back of his throat. Starscream was taking his time today, and it wasn't chaos being left in his wake right here and now. No, that was a very focused, needing purpose rising up through Prowl's core.
"My reason is that it's hot, and I enjoy it."
"So - you say!" Prowl grunted as he was picked up and slammed back in to the wall again, temporarily stunning him.
That gave the Decepticon enough of an opening to release him. Starscream sank to his knees in order to concentrate on his favorite shiny thing of the moment. "Mmhmm."
Prowl might have continued speaking, but Starscream humming agreement against the armor of his spark chamber diverted his attention to more urgent matters. Speaking was not included in such things. It might even detract from reaching his current goal, something hovering just out of reach while Starscream very deliberately breathed a long, noisy, forceful rush of air over sensitive components. Oh dear Cybertron and all its little Primes, shut up and get on with it!
Starscream smirked against his spark chamber. Prowl would go back to figuring out why later.
[* * * * *]