What's Been Done

The burning light of the datapad cast Rodimus in a blue glow as he played whatever idle game it was. Megatron had no idea which one it was this time. He didn’t keep track, for his own sanity.

Rodimus often stayed up late playing them until his mind finally quieted down enough to let him recharge.

That was fine.

Megatron usually just drifted off to recharge, content in the warmth of his partner’s company.

Nothing was official.

Their legal relationship was “roommates,” but here in a universe where the highest ranking Cybertronians were both on this padded recharge slab, that was official enough. It was an argument they had already had with Ultra Magnus and one that Megatron had zero interest in having again.

Tonight, unfortunately, Megatron found himself unable to recharge.

If he squinted his optics just enough to let colors become malleable suggestions, the bright blue light from the screen reminded him of the white-hot glow that haloed a purple blast from a fusion cannon.

Which reminded him of many things, but looking at Rodimus, it reminded him of one thing in particular, one thing that after joining the Lost Light and getting to know Rodimus, had never quite sat well with him.

“This may seem… a strange question,” Megatron started, softly.

Megatron didn’t often start a conversation apropos of nothing. That was something he tended to leave to Rodimus. Spontaneity tended to be his department, whereas Megatron’s job, in concert with the rest of the command staff, was to reign that boundless chaos in as safely as possible.

Rodimus stirred slightly in his cocoon of stolen tarpaulins, elbows moving up and down as he furiously tapped the datapad.

He abruptly stopped tapping.

A quiet smile of victory spread across his face, as he succeeded in… whatever the object of the game was. If it had been earlier in the day, Rodimus would no doubt have whooped and cheered, but he seemed to have not heard Megatron talking to him.

He probably didn’t even know Megatron was still awake and didn’t want to bother him by being too loud. It was oddly considerate.

Or maybe it wasn’t “odd.” Now that he thought about it, he didn’t recall Rodimus waking him up while playing one of these late into the recharge cycle, not unless he was finally settling down and trying to wriggle under an arm to cuddle. That was never a bad thing to be woken up for.

The datapad vibrated with a low buzz and Rodimus quickly went back to rapidly tapping on the screen.

“Rodimus,” he tried again.

Rodimus swore at the datapad, giving up the manic tapping like something had gone wrong.

“Rodimus.” Again, louder.

“Hm?” Finally, Rodimus seemed to realize Megatron was trying to get his attention. He must have been so focused on that game that the outside world had ceased momentarily to exist.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Shoulders slumped under the tarpaulins, he looked appropriately apologetic. “Sorry, babe. Go back to sleep.”

“No, no, I’ve been awake.”

“Oh, damn, my bad—“

Megatron shushed him, gently patting the bundle of tarpaulins containing Rodimus.

“No, it’s not you.” Or rather, it wasn’t Rodimus’s fault. That was separate.

“I’ve just been….” He hesitated. “Thinking.”

Rodimus narrowed his optics, leaning away defensively. If he weren’t careful, he could topple backwards right off the recharge slab and onto the floor.

“Look, I didn’t steal the blankets on purpose—“

“Yes, you did, but it’s not about that.” That was an everyday sort of theft that Megatron had just become accustomed to. That was the price—or one of them anyway—of sharing a berth with Rodimus.

Megatron took a deep ventilation before rolling onto his side and wrapping an arm around the entire bundle of blankets. The warm weight of someone nearby that he could trust was a comfort all on its own, a comfort he had long thought he would never have, not after a lifetime spent in a constant state of mostly justifiable paranoia.

“Have you ever forgiven me for the death of Hot Rod?”

Silence stretched out between them for several moments, Rodimus visibly rolling the notion around in his processor, letting the idea itself sink in. Megatron had never known the true extent of how Rodimus had come to terms—or if he even had—with what had happened to him back then.

“That’s… kind of a big question for the small hours of the night, babe.”

Rodimus wasn’t wrong.

“It is, yes.”

The tarpaulins shifted like Rodimus shrugged underneath them, the gesture somewhat muted by the thick mesh.

“I… don’t know that’s really a question I can even answer. It feels kind of like it’s slightly to the left of how I think about it, you know?”

Megatron looked up from where he had his nose buried in the warmth of Rodimus’s side, one optical ridge raised.

It wasn’t as though he had expected to be forgiven, but he had expected something a little more direct than this.

“I mean, yeah, Hot Rod died. I died. But I got better, didn’t I?”

Rodimus continued, looking down at Megatron and vaguely moving his hands, which were free and unencumbered by the blankets.

“Sure, like I’m not mad at you now about it or anything and there was a war on back then, but… look, it’s… it’s complicated.”

Megatron sighed, squeezing the bundle in his arm apologetically before letting go.

“It was not my place to ask—“

He pushed himself up on his arm to roll back over only for Rodimus to grab him by the shoulder with both hands.

“No, that’s—that’s not what I mean.”

It wasn’t often that Rodimus was still.

His focal rings were rotating slowly clockwise in his optics, a sure sign of health and calm mood. Quick rotational speeds were telltale signals of stress or overcharge. Anticlockwise could mean a broken or absent ratchet wheel.

Megatron normally didn’t get the opportunity to notice those sorts of fine details, to marvel at all the little beautiful nuances of life, since Rodimus tended to be in constant motion.

To think that at one time, lost so deep in his hatred, he had almost destroyed something so precious. By some mercy of fate, it was the one time he had failed.

“Look, it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t tell you, okay?” Rodimus gripped Megatron’s shoulder tightly. He could pull away if he had really wanted to, breaking Rodimus’s hold would be easy, but instead he remained motionless. “I used to have nightmares about it. All the time. I had nightmares for years, ever since I woke up with the Matrix, even up until Optimus assigned you here. I was scared and I was mad.”

Nightmares.

Of course.

Megatron should have expected that.

Having your identity violently destroyed would leave a psychological mark. And like anyone who had grown up in an environment where visible weakness could get you killed, Rodimus had hidden it.

No one had ever mentioned it… or those that had known had the decency to keep it quiet.

He stayed quiet to avoid interrupting Rodimus.

“I used to wake up screaming all the time. I used to have Drift keep me company when he was around.” And Drift, even if he had been furious, would have never told a soul. “That helped, but… then I kicked him off the ship to cover my own aft and then you showed up and reminded me every day and it was hard.”

Megatron hadn’t intended to further Rodimus’s harm by simply existing around him, but intentions didn’t matter.

He also hadn’t intended for the Matrix to activate and reformat anyone. Further proof that intentions counted for nothing.

Yet, despite everything, Rodimus had eventually let Megatron into his life.

“I don’t know if I forgive you. I don’t know if I can or if the concept even applies, but I do know that I don’t have nightmares about it anymore.”

Rodimus released his death grip on Megatron’s shoulder, just letting his hands on lie flat on the plating instead.

It was conflicting to regret an act of violence that had seemed so rational at the time… but without it, would they have ever been here?

Megatron looked up at Rodimus without judgment, passively waiting and wondering.

“I’m not mad anymore and I’m not scared of you.”

Would another path have brought them here, he wondered? To share quarters and warmth? To Rodimus having a floor free of discarded trash because Megatron wouldn’t abide a mess?

Megatron didn’t like to think that having caused pain was necessary to reach the present—that seemed dismissive of the suffering and gratuitous violence—but he couldn’t quite untangle the two either.

Maybe he didn’t have to.

Rodimus shrugged again.

“If that’s not forgiveness, I… guess maybe I don’t know what is, but it’s okay now. It’s okay now.”

“It’s okay now,” Megatron echoed automatically, pulling Rodimus into a tight hug, blankets and all.