Chapter 1: The First Day
Chapter Text
Megatron made certain he had no appointments or duties that would take him away from his quarters when Starscream was brought there, and waiting for that to happen made him restless. Which was understandable. He was used to having problems and responsibilities competing for his time, so it felt strange to do nothing except sit on the divan and look at his chronometer every few breems. Then again, given the damage he’d taken the night before, the surgeons at the repair center had told him it was best if he didn’t do anything too strenuous for a little while, so he did his best to relax while he waited.
To his relief, a security detail arrived only a joor after Starscream had been discharged from the medical center. “The Seeker, sir,” one of them said, and stepped aside to allow Starscream to enter. Megatron nodded a dismissal and the door slid shut again.
He had expected Starscream to address him—he knew better than to expect thanks, but a polite greeting would not be amiss—or better yet, wait to be acknowledged and then given instructions on what to do or not to do. Naturally, Starscream did the opposite. He looked around the room, a glance that took in Megatron as though he was another piece of furniture, and then he went to the wall opposite the divan, studying the maps briefly before he moved on to the datafile cabinet. He didn’t make any attempt to open it, only looked through the closed glass doors as if guesstimating the number of books. Without any hurry, he strolled to the window that spanned the width of the room and gazed out.
By then Megatron had long since shaken off the surprise and was starting to wonder how to deal with this deliberate insolence. Starscream didn’t touch anything, or even attempt to open any of the three closed doors, but he behaved like someone who had just bought the place and was now inspecting his new property.
On top of that, he’d apparently become so absorbed in the view that he’d forgotten Megatron was even there. He put a knee on the seat that ran the length of the window and leaned closer to the glass, but because his back was turned, Megatron had the leisure to look him over in turn. The restriction aid still gleamed on the nape of his neck, and the wretched condition of his wings was only to be expected, but what Megatron hadn’t expected to see was the dullness of Starscream’s plating, or the dark traces in his joints that looked like grime buildup.
“Didn’t you wash at all in the repair center?” he demanded.
Keeping a knee still propped on the bench, Starscream turned around. “Oh yes,” he said, as if there was nothing at all unexpected or embarrassing about the abrupt question. “Every day. They wheeled the berth into a washrack with me cuffed to it.”
Megatron gave him a cold look. “You should be aware, my tolerance for sarcasm is low.”
“Maybe it’ll be like my tolerance for drugs. Increases with exposure.”
So much for greetings and instructions. Starscream wasn’t by any means the first prisoner Megatron had dealt with, but none of those confrontations had been anything like this, as though they were testing each other, feeling out their boundaries. Still, Megatron knew what would put a dent in Starscream’s cool self-assurance.
“I’m glad you mentioned drugs.” He got up, unlocked a cabinet and took out a glass vessel with gradations on the side. It was full of a pale green liquid. “Hook has informed me that you’re not completely free from whatever they gave you in Altihex, so you’ll have to continue taking this medication. He said they injected it straight into your lines while you were in the repair center, but now that you don’t need such a strong dose, it can be drunk. Twice daily, starting now.”
He found the small cube that Hook had supplied with that, but before he could even fill it, Starscream shook his head. “I’m recovering on schedule without any need for that,” he said.
“This medication isn’t going to hurt you,” Megatron said impatiently, wondering if there was anything Starscream wouldn’t turn into a power struggle. “It’ll help blunt the withdrawal symptoms so you can be weaned off the drug without—”
“Thanks, but you don’t need to say any more.” Starscream slid down a little to sit on the bench, as far from Megatron as he could possibly be without going straight through the window. “I heard all of that in the repair center already.”
“Then why are you so reluctant to take this?”
Starscream’s optic ridges lifted. “Anyone can say anything. You think the first time I was given a highly addictive drug in Altihex, they told me exactly what it was and what it would do? No, they—”
“This isn’t Altihex,” Megatron retorted.
“It’s a city with a different name, that’s all. And seriously, am I expected to believe someone calling himself a Decepticon?”
It wasn’t the first time Megatron had heard that one, so not only did it fail to get beneath his plating, he also realized Starscream had almost managed to change the topic of the conversation. So he made himself smile, just because he knew Starscream wouldn’t be expecting that reaction.
“If I lie to you,” he said softly, “you’ll never know it’s happening. You won’t have the least suspicion of it. Decepticon lies are even more convincing than Decepticon truths. And if you don’t drink this, I’ll pour it down your throat, because I’ve wasted enough time with you already.”
“Threats of violence already?” Starscream murmured, as if to himself. “That was quick.” But he got up and came close enough to accept the cube.
“Be grateful I’m stopping at a mere threat,” Megatron told him. “For now. And someone with assassins after him should be careful not to antagonize the one mech keeping him safe.”
“Just one assassin.” Starscream studied the cube as if trying to determine whether it contained medication or poison. “I’m not that important, and Overturn doesn’t seem the sort who throws good money after bad.”
“Overturn hired that assassin?” It didn’t make sense to Megatron.
Starscream looked up from the cube and nodded. “How did you think I recognized him? I saw Overturn speaking to him once.”
“Why would Overturn trade you to me, if he wanted you dead?”
“He thought I was going to die anyway,” Starscream said with no change at all in his tone. “He gave you that adulterated energon for me so he could plausibly claim he’d done everything he could for your new acquisition, but he knew I wouldn’t drink it if I had a choice.”
Megatron turned that over in his mind. Obviously Overturn had wanted to get the maximum possible use and profit out of his prisoner, which was why he’d been handed over to Megatron, but why would the prisoner’s life matter one way or another to Overturn after that? Something wasn’t fitting together here.
But he also realized that the topic had distracted him from the matter of the medication. Since he had no intention of the Decepticons’ efforts being wasted because the subject of the endeavor wasn’t obeying orders, he told Starscream to drink it all, and waited until the cube was empty. Then he suggested that Starscream get into the washrack before all the dirt caused his joints to seize up, and although Starscream didn’t look happy about that either, he did what he was told without argument.
Megatron locked the medication away and poured a cube from the refueling dispenser in the corner of the room—one of the perks of his position—though he didn’t drink it. He sat back down on the divan, put the cube on the table before him and listened to the sound of solvent splashing in the washrack next to his room.
This wasn’t a good idea. This, he couldn’t help thinking, was the furthest thing possible from a good idea. When Starscream had finally unbent enough to speak, Megatron had thought the worst was over, that now they’d reach an understanding and Starscream would recognize that it was in his best interests to contribute whatever he could to the Decepticon cause. Megatron hadn’t expected Starscream to be just as defiant as he’d been before. The battles were subtler and his demeanor politely nonchalant rather than viciously angry, but the refusal to submit was the same.
Megatron considered his options. Last night, after he’d left the repair center, he’d decided that Starscream would be brought to his quarters, partly because those were the safest in Polyhex and partly because there were few if any other places to put him. As an outsider, Starscream couldn’t be left completely unsupervised in Darkmount, and it was for the best that no other Decepticon be ordered to take responsibility for him, given how he pushed back on everything. The last thing Megatron needed was Starscream provoking someone into sending him back to the repair center. Even if that didn’t happen, the Decepticons had to recover at least some of the resources and funds that had been poured into him, and the best way to do that was to have him close at hand.
There was a muffled sound of air rushing from the dryer, so Megatron thumbed open the file on his datapad which held the list of questions he planned to ask. In a few breems, the door to the washrack slid open and Starscream stepped out. There wasn’t so much of a speck of dust in sight, so at least he was fit for the furniture now, and Megatron gestured him to the chair opposite. He pushed the still-full cube across the table, but Starscream shook his head.
“I don’t need refueling at the moment,” he said.
It was possible the repair center had topped him off before discharging him, so Megatron let that go. “You’ll be staying here for now,” he said, deciding to make it clear where they stood. “Anyone else who wants you dead will have their work cut out for them. And that will give you an opportunity to repay us for our hospitality.”
“I see.” Starscream’s face was expressionless. His voice still sounded strange, high-pitched and rasping at the same time, but Megatron remembered how the medical report had mentioned damage to his vocal processors. Well, it clearly didn’t prevent him from talking, and Megatron was too accustomed to Soundwave to be bothered by unusual voices.
“Let’s begin with Seekers in general,” he said. “How many of you are there in Vos?”
“I’ve never counted.”
Megatron leveled a look at him. “Make an educated guess.”
“I’d rather not risk giving you inaccurate information,” Starscream said, as if he was doing Megatron a kindness.
“Are any of them looking for you?”
“I have no idea.”
“How were you captured by the authorities in Altihex?”
“I can’t remember. That drug must have caused some memory loss.”
That was it. Megatron got to his feet, and Starscream flinched—which was a little better—but he didn’t say anything. So Megatron spoke instead.
“If you persist in being uncooperative,” he said, deliberately harsh, “this won’t go well for you. In Polyhex, my word is law. If I order you locked into a dungeon for the rest of your life, it will happen. If I decide to kill you, no one will lift a finger to stop me. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Starscream said quietly.
Megatron slipped the datapad into a subspace pocket. “I have other matters to attend to, but I’ll return in the evening. Reconsider your attitude while I’m gone.”
He left his quarters and, once the outer door had closed behind him, secured it with his personal access code so it wouldn’t automatically open from the inside. Everything inside that was off-limits to a prisoner was locked, from the door to his own berthroom to the energon dispenser and the cabinet of datapads, so Starscream would have nothing to do for the next few joors except wait for the interrogation to resume. And when it did, Megatron thought as he headed for the elevator that went from the top of the tower to the underground command center of Darkmount, he was going to have some answers.
Megatron hadn’t intended to be gone the entire day, but there seemed to be dozens of issues waiting for his attention. Shockwave had brought to his attention a proposal for an alternative frame design referred to as a triplechanger mode, there were reports from informants in Iacon which Soundwave had deemed accurate and useful enough to be passed up in the hierarchy, and there was news of a miners’ strike in Kalis—something to keep an optic on, because the Decepticons always recruited among those who felt ignored or disenfranchised by the current authorities. Finally, he received a transmission from the leader of a team of mercenaries, requesting a meeting. Megatron was ambiguous about mercenaries, because they could always switch sides if they were paid enough, and while the Autobots were too holier-than-thou to stoop to such a level, there were plenty of others who weren’t.
He agreed to a date and time for the meeting nonetheless, to see what the mercenaries had to offer, and took the elevator back up to his quarters, wondering if Starscream had come to his senses. Anything seemed possible with him. The outer door opened to his code, and Megatron stayed where he was as he glanced in, just in case Starscream was fool enough to try attacking him.
The place was as tidy as when he’d left, the full cube of energon still on the table. Starscream was in a corner of the window seat, his knees drawn up to his chestplate and his forehead resting against the glass of the window. He didn’t move, not even to look around to see who had come in, and Megatron wondered if he had drifted into recharge despite the cramped position. Then the lights snapped on automatically as Megatron stepped in, and a stray flicker went through Starscream’s optics as well, enough to show he was online.
Megatron slid open the door to his berthroom and plugged his datapad into the workstation, then went back outside. It was time for another dose of the medication, and when he measured it out, the fleeting thought occurred that this was beneath him. He was the leader of the Decepticons and had far better things to do than nurse a prisoner back to health, even if the prisoner was someone useful. Maybe he should insist on Starscream doing this himself. Doing more, even. Megatron pictured the luxuries enjoyed by the rulers of other cities, such as servants to wait on them and see to their every need.
No, he thought in irritation. He needed something far more vital to the Decepticons’ future. A lot of mechs could be his personal aides, but no one else in Polyhex could fly.
Though when he took the medication as well as the untouched cube over to the window, one glance told him that flight was just as impossible for Starscream now. Last night, in the repair center, he hadn’t looked closely at Starscream’s wings except to notice the charred and heat-blistered paint. Now, though, there was more than enough light for him to see the stress fractures radiating out from beneath each crudely-applied patch, a web of fine lines snaking through the metal. When Starscream had flown high above the arena in Altihex, that had been the last flight he would ever take unless his wings were replaced. The tower was the highest he would ever be off the ground. Little wonder he seemed sunk in misery.
That was an odd thought, and Megatron shook it off at once. He had more important things on his mind than a prisoner’s moods, so all he did was hand over the medication with an order to drink it. Starscream took it wearily, as though he didn’t have the energy to argue, which was entirely possible, since he hadn’t refueled all day. When Megatron gave him the cube of energon, he drank it slowly, a long pause following each sip, but Megatron remembered Hook’s warning about appetite loss and said nothing.
Oddly, he didn’t feel impatient any longer. There was something calm, almost soothing, about standing there at the window and looking down at his city, where the sunset reflected in the wide panes of slanting windows made them catch fire.
“The barracks are on that hill, towards the north-east,” he said. “They're the ones with the roofs that are all angles and our banner at their highest point.” Next to them, a spotlight tower threw a shadow so long that it nearly touched Darkmount’s walls. “And directly north of us are the training grounds.”
Starscream took another careful swallow of his energon. For a klik Megatron wondered whether it was advisable to point out parts of his city to an outsider who’d done nothing at all to earn his trust, but it wasn’t as though he was letting Starscream in on anything confidential. The locations weren’t military secrets, and could be seen on one of the maps on the wall.
Besides, he was proud of the Decepticons’ city, the first place he’d lived in that he knew was his, so he continued the one-sided conversation. “The richer district is to the west.” Lights were blossoming over it, signs atop entertainment halls glowing into life. “The industrial zone is east. All the rails and bridges are linked to form what’s called the Carousel—”
“Can we just get this over with?” Starscream asked dully.
“Get what over with?” Megatron asked, wondering if he meant the interrogation. Was he ready to talk?
Starscream tilted his helm in a slight jerk towards the berthroom. Megatron had left the door open, and the berth was visible from the window-seat. “Isn’t that why you made me wash?”
Megatron’s relaxed mood was gone at once. It was far from the first time he’d been offered an interface by someone who stood to gain from that, but did Starscream seriously think such an unenthusiastic attempt would work?
“When I want to take someone to my berth,” he said, and he didn’t bother to suppress any of the contempt he felt, “I can do a great deal better than an ungrateful outsider who’s far more in need of an overhaul than an overload.” He went to the third door, the one that didn’t lead to either his berthroom or the washrack, and pulled it open with more force than was necessary. The small room beyond it had originally been intended as a study, but last night Megatron had ordered a berth moved into it. He left the door open so Starscream could see that.
“You’ll recharge there,” he said curtly, and went to his own room, though he paused in the doorway to say, “And tomorrow I’ll question you again. Have a pleasant night.”
Chapter 2: War of Words
Chapter Text
When Megatron left his room the next morning, Starscream was exactly where he'd been the previous night, curled up in a corner of the window-seat and staring through the glass. Had he recharged at all? Not that that was any of Megatron’s concern.
What he needed to do, he decided, was to find a better way of interrogating Starscream. Intimidation and threats were unlikely to work, physical punishment would just mean more repairs to be paid for—and would probably make Starscream even more defiant—and the only thing Megatron could hold over Starscream's head as an incentive was the repair of his wings and his freedom, neither of which Megatron particularly wanted to hand over at the moment.
What about his comm, though? he thought. That might work. If that was repaired, the Decepticons might tap into whatever channels he used and monitor those communications. Of course, if he had any sense, everything would be encrypted, but Soundwave could still try to decipher it.
The door chimed and a security detail came in, which they did every two orns to do a sweep of his quarters for hidden cameras and other recording devices. They gave Megatron respectful greetings and directed curious looks at Starscream, though he didn’t seem to notice their presence. Megatron drew rations from the energon dispenser as the security detail finished and left, the door sliding shut behind them.
“If you're going to be away all day again," Starscream said suddenly, "would you mind giving me something to read?”
Megatron wondered, not for the first time, how Starscream managed to speak as though he was a guest rather than a prisoner. “You can read?” he said. Starscream didn't rise to the bait, so Megatron shrugged. “Very well,” he said, and thumbed the bookcase to open it. He took a datapad to Starscream. “Here, try this one.”
His acquiescence must have been enough of a warning sign, because Starscream accepted the datapad a little warily, and Megatron went to the divan. There was a faint beep as the contents of the datapad loaded, but Megatron didn't bother looking up as he drank his energon, because he knew exactly what Starscream was reading.
About how many Seekers are in Vos?
Are more currently being built?
What are their flight capabilities and offensive weaponry?
Are they searching for you?
Do you have any means of contact with them?
Do you hold any particular rank or position in Vos?
How did you come into the custody of the authorities in Altihex?
Why did Overturn want you dead?
“This is riveting,” Starscream said dryly. “When's the sequel coming out?”
Megatron smiled without humor. “If you enjoy reading, there's the Labyrinth Library, eight floors down from my quarters,” he said. “I'm not sure how many volumes there are in it... three million, at a guess.”
Starscream's optics brightened at once, but then he frowned. “Three million? The library would have to occupy all of this tower to hold so many books, and even that might not be enough space.”
“That’s why it’s called the Labyrinth Library.” When Megatron had first discovered that a part of the library was completely off-limits for everyone except the staff, he’d asked the head librarian, Stacks, for an explanation, because the way Megatron had seen it, nothing in Darkmount should be inaccessible to the Decepticons’ supreme commander. Stacks’s reply had included the terms “liminal zone”, “different planes of existence” and “then-library as well as now-library”, none of which made sense to Megatron, but when he’d reiterated that he wanted to see that part of the library for himself, he was given a waiver to sign, absolving the librarians of blame if anything happened to him. The waiver remained unsigned, and like every other sane mech, Megatron placed a request if he needed anything in the restricted area.
“I don’t get it,” Starscream said, still frowning.
“Neither do I. But the point is, this is a Decepticon stronghold, therefore the facilities are reserved for Decepticons—and for civilians who have earned that privilege.”
Starscream wrapped an arm around his drawn-up knees and rested his chin on them. “All right,” he said after a moment, “interfacing doesn't work for you, and divulging secrets to strangers doesn't work for me, so let's find something we can both—”
“Are you seriously equating your wishes with mine?” Megatron asked in disbelief.
“Mm-hm,” Starscream said.
It was all Megatron could do not to get up and shake him until his ruined wings rattled. “I'm the leader of the Decepticons, and you are an outsider in our custody.”
Starscream tilted his head a little to one side. “Actually, I believe the correct term is 'slave'.”
“Don't be melodramatic. You're not a slave.”
“No?” Starscream made a show of feeling the back of his neck. “I could have sworn that restriction aid was still plugged into me. Oh yes, there it is.”
Even if Megatron had wanted to order that removed, he had a feeling that some day he would very much need to drop Starscream instantly. “That’s still in place because you haven’t earned my trust.”
“You haven’t earned my trust either. Where’s your restriction aid?”
That was too much. “I haven’t earned your trust?” He swept a hand out to indicate everything in the room, because there were dungeons under Darkmount with a great deal less in the way of amenities. “After all this?”
Starscream glanced around. “It’s a nicer prison than the one I used to occupy,” he said, twitching one shoulder in a slight shrug. “If you want me to thank you for that, I will. Thank you for the nice prison.”
“I could always send you back to Altihex,” Megatron growled.
“I don’t think you will.”
“Why not, because they’d have more sense than to take you back?”
“You just don’t strike me as being so generous,” Starscream said. “Or so stupid.”
Was that an insult or a compliment? Or both? Deciding to ignore it, whatever it was, Megatron finished his energon, because he was clearly going to need sustenance to get through this.
Though Starscream was right, he admitted to himself. If he sent Starscream back to Altihex at all, it would be to show Overturn and the rest of the government of Altihex what fools they had been to try to trick the leader of the Decepticons. They’d given Megatron a drug-addicted torture victim who they expected would die, but this was far from the first time the Decepticons had taken society’s outcasts and forged them into warriors.
Of course, not every potential weapon survived that forge, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. “Speaking of Altihex," he said as he poured the daily dose of medication for Starscream, "why does Overturn want you dead?"
Starscream shrugged again. “He didn’t like the idea of your owning a Seeker.”
“If you’re going to lie to me, at least have the courtesy to make it convincing,” Megatron said, with a look that made Starscream’s arm tighten around his drawn-up legs. “That assassin tried to kill you after I announced that Soundwave was going to read whatever passes for your mind. There’s something you know that Overturn doesn’t want me to know.”
Starscream was silent for a long moment. He licked his lips in one of the few nervous gestures that Megatron had seen him make, then asked, “Whoever this Soundwave is, are you going to have him read my mind?”
“If you don’t cooperate,” Megatron said, sensing an advantage.
Starscream drew in a deep breath. “All right, I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “I’ll tell—”
“You are in no position to bargain,” Megatron cut in. “And if I tell Soundwave to scrape every last scrap of information out of your head, he will do exactly that.”
“And then you’ll have to kill me,” Starscream shot back. “Either that or I’ll kill myself, and it won’t necessarily happen after this little mind-rape session.”
Megatron said nothing, mostly because he was trying to evaluate whether that was a bluff or not. After all, Starscream hadn’t killed himself in Altihex, despite enduring far worse treatment. But then again, maybe he hadn’t been able to, what with being chained and shackled.
Staying silent seemed to be a more successful tactic than arguing, though, because it made Starscream carefully uncurl himself and lower his feet to the floor. “Would you at least hear me out?” he asked. “I’m not asking you to agree, just to let me speak.”
Megatron saw that Starscream's hands were trembling—very slightly, but it was noticeable now that he wasn't huddled into a tight knot in a corner of the window seat. That was probably one of the effects of drug withdrawal, so he tilted his helm towards the medication.
"Drink this and I'll hear you out," he said. Starscream grimaced, but he got up and did as he was told for once, though it clearly took an effort for him to hold the cube steady. Finally he finished and drew the back of one hand across his mouth.
"Here's what I propose," he said. "If you want information about Seekers, I can answer your questions provided I don't endanger my home by doing so."
"Good," Megatron said. Finally, they were getting somewhere—
"One question a day."
"What?"
Starscream drew back, though since he was in the chair opposite the divan, he couldn't retreat very far. "If I tell you everything you want to know, right now, what's to prevent you from throwing me out afterwards?"
"If you keep refusing to obey me, that'll happen too," Megatron said, glaring at him.
"I'm not refusing to obey you," Starscream said with his usual stubbornness. "I just want to give you some incentive to keep me here until I'm repaired enough to leave on my own."
He had a point, Megatron grudgingly admitted to himself. Right now, all that Starscream had to bargain with was information, so of course he was holding on to that for all he was worth. But that didn't mean Megatron had to accept the bargain as-was.
"Two questions a day," he said. "Morning and evening."
"Agreed," Starscream said so quickly that Megatron realized he'd expected a much more disadvantageous counteroffer. He could have kicked himself for not demanding more. Well, let Starscream think he'd won for now, because Megatron planned to rewrite the bargain later. And even before that, he'd take this presumptuous prisoner down a few notches, which would be very satisfying.
"What's your first question?" Starscream asked.
"How many Seekers are in Vos?"
"The last time I was there, a hundred and sixty-eight."
Megatron was watching him closely for any indication that the answer would be a lie or an evasion, but Starscream spoke with a simple directness that was more convincing than if he'd sworn he was telling the truth. A hundred and sixty-eight? If Megatron could convince a quarter of them to join the Decepticons, he'd have an unstoppable army.
"Are more of them being built?" he asked.
"Is that your second question for today?" Starscream asked.
Was he an air warrior or a lawyer? “Fine,” Megatron gritted out. “Second question.”
“No,” Starscream said. “As far as I know, no more Seekers are being built.”
That was too much. “Any more answers that could be summed up in a single word,” Megatron said softly, “and you’ll be back in that cage within the joor.”
Starscream’s entire frame stiffened. His hands had been resting on the arms of the chair, and his fingers tightened as if he was about to be dragged away. Which would have been satisfying if not for the way his optics fixed on Megatron in a look that was difficult to read, but which wasn’t as full of fear as it should have been.
“Sadist,” he whispered.
“Thank you, but save the flattery for later. For now, answer me.”
Starscream swallowed, and spoke in a more normal tone, though there was enough snap to the reply to show he wasn’t cowed yet. “What exactly is the question?”
“Why aren’t any new Seekers being built?”
“Most of Vos voted against it.” Slowly his death-grip on the chair’s arms loosened, fingers relaxing joint by joint. “They believe there are enough Seekers to defend the city, and no more are necessary.”
How short-sighted, Megatron thought. And how frustrating. Here he was, willing to do so much to get even one Seeker in his army’s ranks, when the city of Vos had so many they’d even halted the production of more.
“And what do you think about that?” he asked.
Starscream’s expression closed off, though when he answered, his voice was as even as usual. “I have a personal stake in the matter, naturally, so my opinion wasn’t asked for.”
“It is now.”
Sharp red optics lowered. “I could see their point. Seekers are warbuild.” War is inevitable, Megatron thought, but he didn’t interrupt. “We’re designed for reconnaissance and combat, but that level of specialization means we don’t easily fit into other roles.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Megatron said.
Starscream looked back up at him. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice was sincere enough that for a klik Megatron actually thought he’d reached him, made a genuine connection. For a klik only. “I can’t tell you how much it means to receive such concern from someone who just threatened to throw me back into that cage.”
Megatron smiled, a smile he knew didn’t go any further than the corners of his mouth. “I’ve invested a lot of our resources in you,” he said as he got up, “so the concern is justified.” He picked up one of the cubes of energon, then went around the table to Starscream. “And obedience deserves a reward.”
Starscream was out of his chair at once. “I’ll drink that later—”
“When you took your medication, your hands were shaking, and I’d rather not see good energon spilled.” Megatron took the chair instead, then gestured at the floor beside him with his free hand. “Kneel.”
Starscream hesitated, optics darting around as though searching for some way out, but he didn’t have the energy to fight and Megatron knew it. Just as he knew that when there was no other choice, Starscream complied—but even when he sank to his knees beside the chair, his optics didn’t have that blank glazed look which meant his mind was far away. That was enough of a victory for now. Megatron held the cube to Starscream’s mouth, then tipped the cube up a little as the dark grey lips parted. Starscream swallowed, and Megatron waited a few kliks to make certain the energon would stay down before he tilted the cube again.
Starscream seemed to have realized that the quickest way to get this over with was to allow Megatron to feed him the energon, but he managed to slip in a sarcastic remark anyway. “Shouldn’t the leader of the Decepticons have better things to do with his time?” he asked before Megatron could pour another measure of energon into his mouth.
It was obvious Starscream hated this, which made Megatron feel better. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling at a disadvantage now. And strangely, he found himself enjoying it. He had power and authority over everyone in the city, and yet here was a level of control he’d never before experienced.
“Even the leader of the Decepticons gets an hour or two off-duty,” he murmured.
“And chooses to spend it doing this. Lucky me.” A stray drop of energon trickled down Starscream’s jaw, and without thinking Megatron reached out to wipe it away, but Starscream drew back so sharply that he all but overbalanced. He caught himself with a hand on the table, his other hand swiping at his face.
Since he’d drunk almost all of the energon, Megatron let it pass. He left for the command centre, where he repeated what he’d learned to Shockwave, though he didn’t mention a word of what he’d agreed to in order to get that information, because if Shockwave heard that, he’d think Megatron had lost his mind. But he needed to let Shockwave in on this, and to devise a plan. There had to be Seekers in Vos who were dissatisfied with being sidelined, who didn’t want to be treated like weapons hung on walls for display purposes. Megatron was determined to reach them. Just as he was determined to bend one particular Seeker to his will.
Chapter 3: Seeker in Amber
Chapter Text
The next few cycles passed without any displays of defiance on Starscream’s part, and Megatron’s reaction to that went quickly from relief to unease. Starscream kept his part of the bargain. Megatron asked what his particular function had been, and Starscream answered that he had been an explorer, though he’d been fitted with weapons as well, because all Seekers were.
That led into the evening’s question, which was what the Seekers’ flight capabilities were like. Starscream answered that most Seekers had a top speed of between eighteen and nineteen hundred miles per hour, but the best of them could hit Mach 2.0 and go beyond it. “That used to be me,” he said, and although he said that like a simple statement of fact, without so much as a hint of longing, it dampened the mood. Megatron didn’t press for more, and left Starscream in the place he seemed to like most, the corner of the window-seat, where he sat staring out. Not at whatever he could see of Polyhex, because the tower was so high that the city was best viewed from a standing position. Starscream watched the sky instead, and once again it was that look which said he saw nothing else in the world, certainly nothing else that mattered to him.
He wasn’t getting any better, Megatron realized. Certainly there was none of the horrific reaction he’d once had to drug withdrawal, but physically he seemed to have reached a plateau, and it wasn’t a particularly high plateau. He now washed every cycle, always at the same time in the morning, so punctually Megatron could have set his chronometer to the sound of solvent splashing, so his limbs shouldn’t have been locking up with dirt and grease.
But when he moved at all, it was with a carefully concealed stiffness. Not that he could hide the way his joints creaked when he knelt at Megatron’s side to receive his energon ration. That was something Megatron had no intention of stopping, partly because if he fed Starscream himself, he would at least be certain that Starscream was adequately fueled, and partly because he knew Starscream found it humiliating, so it was one of the few ways Megatron could put him in his place.
Now, though, even this ritual was a great deal less satisfying. Megatron couldn’t have said what bothered him more, the fact that Starscream moved as though he was rusting from the inside out, or the fact that Starscream made no more sarcastic comments when he opened his mouth to allow Megatron to feed him. It was as though he’d deteriorated to the point where even verbal resistance was gone. He seemed to have accepted that this was just another punishment he had to endure indifferently, so endure it he did.
Megatron debated whether or not to arrange a medical checkup. He could do so easily, of course, but what kind of gossip would that give rise to? Moving a prisoner into his personal quarters was one thing, but most mechs would assume Megatron was using him in the berth, which Megatron could live with. Having a medic check Starscream over so soon after he’d arrived in Darkmount, though… would the talk be that Megatron was getting so soft he’d called for medical attention for his prisoner when there was nothing seriously wrong?
Except by the third cycle, Megatron noticed something was wrong. Starscream was in the washrack and Megatron happened to glance at the empty window-seat, which was when he saw the scatter of some sort of pale flecks on it. And on the floor immediately surrounding it too. Was that dirt? He went over and took a closer look.
Paint chips. In light blue and white, so this was Starscream’s paint. Megatron frowned down at the flakes of paint, not sure what to do about this, but the splashing in the washrack stopped, and he went back to his workstation before Starscream could emerge.
He watched Starscream a little more closely that evening, though, trying not to make it obvious, and soon he saw what he suspected was happening. Starscream had his back turned as he looked out of the window, but he picked at what little remained of the paint on his hands and forearms, peeling it off little by little. He didn’t even seem aware that he was doing so, but it made Megatron’s own plating itch just to watch that, and he sent a request to Hook for an urgent medical checkup. To his annoyance, Hook was in surgery so his assistant Recurrence turned up instead—and then insisted on Megatron leaving his quarters while the checkup was in progress.
He joined Megatron out in the corridor what felt like several cycles later. “I’ll want to discuss my findings with Hook, sir,” he said, then seemed to notice the glare Megatron was giving him and hurried on. “But, uh, I didn’t find anything drastically wrong.”
“Then you should consider a different line of work. I can hear his gears grinding every time he moves.”
Recurrence’s optics flashed a blink. “That’s just due to a lack of exercise. Sir,” he added belatedly.
It was that simple? “And what about scraping his paint off?” Megatron asked. It hadn’t been noticeable because what was left of Starscream’s paintjob made him look as though someone had taken an industrial sander to him, but now that Megatron had noticed the deliberately-stripped areas, he couldn’t seem to stop seeing them.
“Could be part of withdrawal, though…” Recurrence hesitated. “Well, it might also be psychological. A coping mechanism to deal with involuntary confinement.”
Megatron had been hoping to hear that the problem could be fixed via repairs and maintenance. Of course that wasn't the case, so he sent Recurrence away and went back in. Starscream was where Megatron had left him, in the window-seat as he watched a cloud drift slowly across the sky. He was drifting away too, Megatron realized, and something needed to be done about that.
“Do you want to go outside?” he asked abruptly. It was the only solution that came to mind at once.
Starscream glanced around, not as though he’d been startled out of his stupor, but as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “As if it matters what I want,” he muttered.
Megatron went closer. “I asked you a question.”
“No.” Starscream’s voice was quiet, but it sounded as though he was speaking through clenched jaws. “No, I don’t want to go outside, like some pet being taken for a walk. I want—” He cut himself off at once.
“—to go home?” Megatron asked, also softly.
Starscream gave a single tired shake of his head. “No.” The spurt of anger seemed to have died down, leaving emptiness behind. “Not that either.”
“You don’t want to go back to Vos?” That was odd.
“Not—” He stopped, and Megatron saw his throat work as he swallowed. “Not when I look like this. I can do without the humiliation.”
What had he been about to say? But the most important thing was to find some solution to this, so Megatron tried to come up with one. “There’s a private observation deck on the roof. If I took you there, no one would see you.”
“Thanks, but I’m sure you have more important things to do with your time. Subjugating rebellions, destroying Autobots, conquering the planet, and so on.”
Megatron gave it up as a useless line of talk. Perhaps Starscream was right. Megatron did have other priorities, many more of them, and whatever else Starscream did or refused to do, there were still plenty of questions he needed to answer. So Megatron poured their energon and sat on the sofa. He no longer needed to issue an order to join him; Starscream slid off the window-seat with an almost imperceptible sigh and lowered himself to the floor next to Megatron, his body going through the motions to accept energon while his optics were distant.
“Would any Seekers be willing to join my army?” Megatron asked when nothing remained in the cube except dregs.
Starscream’s helm snapped up and his optics fixed on Megatron as though seeing him for the first time. “Why, so they can fight and die for someone they don’t even know?”
Megatron thought of how a Decepticon victory would mean the planet being not only unified and at peace, but stronger because internal squabbles would be kept to a minimum. I could give them the world, he thought, but then he remembered Starscream’s cynical words. Anyone could say anything.
“Then what about you?” he asked.
“What about me?” Starscream put a hand on the table and levered himself up to his feet with an effort.
“If you were repaired so you could fly—”
“Do you make all your slaves do your fighting for you?”
Megatron rose as well, just so he wouldn’t need to look up at Starscream any longer. “I’ve told you before, you’re not a slave.”
“I’m not allowed to leave your quarters alone.” Starscream’s optics burned. “I’m coerced into telling you what you want to know and threatened with imprisonment if I don’t obey. What do you call that if not slavery?”
“Do you want to be treated like a slave?” Megatron shot back. “Shackled, beaten if you say anything that displeases me? And believe me, you’ve said a lot!” He lowered his voice to a deep snarl. “Do you want to be forced into my berth whenever I feel like making use of you?”
Starscream flinched, but he didn’t move otherwise, even though he was so close that Megatron could have caught hold of him and shoved him back down to his knees easily. His ruined wings quivered, but he held his ground before Megatron’s anger as few mechs could do, especially when they were the cause of it.
“So this isn’t as bad as it could be,” he said, stubborn to the bitter end and far beyond. “Still doesn’t make it good.”
“You’ve done nothing to deserve good treatment,” Megatron retorted. “Try to keep that in mind.” Deliberately turning his back on Starscream, because it was beneath the leader of the Decepticons to get into an argument with a mere prisoner, he sat down and picked up his own cube. Though now he didn’t feel like drinking it. He held it under his olfactory sensors and registered the quality of the fumes, but got no closer to swallowing any of it.
As though he’d only been released a klik or two ago, Starscream finally went back to the window-seat. “Why does it bother you to think of me as a slave?” he asked, sounding mildly curious.
“I’ve had enough, Starscream,” Megatron said, and it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d used his prisoner’s name. “Shut up for once.” Surprisingly, Starscream did as he was told, and Megatron forced himself to finish every last drop of his energon before he returned to his work.
Chapter 4: Best Served Iced
Chapter Text
Revenge is a dish best served cold. -- Klingon proverb
Megatron thought he had found a solution to the paint issue the next cycle. If Starscream kept scratching at his own hands because he was bored, well, there were harmless diversions that wouldn’t involve him leaving Megatron’s quarters, because he couldn’t be trusted to that extent.
So when Megatron left Darkmount to inspect a new type of landmine that had been developed in the Military Science Institute, he stopped in the bazaar and found an intricate handheld puzzle that was in the shape of a rough cuboid, its surface cut into multiple slats that jutted out at different angles, but which could slide against each other, interlock, or turn on hinges. “All of those have to be in the correct orientation to fit together and form a perfect cube,” the vendor told him. “It will intrigue you for cycles!”
Megatron bought it and left it on the window-sill the next time Starscream was in the washrack. Starscream said nothing when he saw it, but he picked it up and solved the puzzle in half a joor. So much for that idea. And Megatron didn’t have the time to come up with others, at least not now. He was about to leave his quarters as usual when the door chimed.
It was Shockwave, though the meetings Megatron had scheduled for the rest of the morning didn’t include him. “Sir,” he said, and his head turned fractionally to one side—noting Starscream in his usual location, Megatron knew.
He also knew that Shockwave wasn’t sure whether to continue in the Seeker’s presence, because if the news was completely innocuous, Shockwave would have treated Starscream like another piece of furniture. “A problem?” Megatron asked.
“The opposite,” Shockwave said briefly. “The shipment from Altihex arrived ahead of time, with everything accounted for. Good quality.”
Shockwave was not in the habit of doling out praise easily, and Megatron relaxed. “Excellent,” he said. “I’ll let Overturn know I agree to his proposal, and we’ll arrange—”
“What proposal is that?” Starscream asked suddenly.
Both Megatron and Shockwave looked at him. Starscream had turned so his back was to the window for once, and he returned their stares with cool steady optics that gave away nothing.
“This does not concern you, Seeker,” Shockwave told him.
“What proposal is that?” Starscream asked again, as if Shockwave had said he hadn’t heard correctly.
Megatron hesitated, wondering whether to answer that. He wouldn’t be telling Starscream anything controversial—and even if he did, what could Starscream do about it? But more importantly, this was the first time in four cycles that Starscream had taken an interest in anything.
Of course, the interest was completely due to his unpleasant experiences in Altihex, and Megatron had hoped that eventually those would be left in the past where they belonged. Did Starscream think the proposal concerned him, though? There were no circumstances under which Megatron would ever return him to Altihex… but Starscream had no way of knowing that.
“Shockwave is right,” he said. Shockwave, after all, was one of his lieutenants, his loyalty beyond question, and Megatron wouldn’t undercut his authority in front of anyone, least of all an outsider. “This doesn’t concern you. Overturn merely suggested that he take over the work of transporting supplies to Polyhex, for a very reasonable price.” Perhaps he was trying to make up for the fiasco of their last trade, and Megatron’s evident displeasure.
“Is he sending your supplies by shuttle?” Starscream asked.
“No, by train.”
“By train,” Starscream said thoughtfully. “There’s a lot of uncontrolled territory between here and Altihex, and gangs of bandits in the wasteland who prey on anything they can find.”
“Yes, but the supplies arrived without issues or delay.” Megatron turned to Shockwave. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“No, sir, and I inspected the supplies myself when they were being unloaded.”
“About how many guards did Overturn send with them?” Starscream asked.
Unease began to steal through Megatron’s circuits, partly because he could see what Starscream was insinuating—why had Overturn taken responsibility for a risky transport, at a low fee?—and partly because Starscream spoke so calmly, as if he was talking about a complete stranger. As opposed to speaking about someone who had authorized his imprisonment, torture and murder.
“I saw three guards,” Shockwave replied.
The corner of Starscream’s mouth curved up slightly. “Oh, now I get it.”
Megatron was starting to get it too. “We’ve been bringing supplies over by shuttle all this time because it was too dangerous for ground transport,” he said. “So how did Overturn manage to get a train through so easily with only a handful of guards? He must have an arrangement with the bandits.” Of course, that was no business of Megatron’s, because if Overturn wanted to bribe whoever stood between him and Polyhex, that was his concern. But Overturn struck Megatron as the sort who wouldn’t part with a half-credit chip unless he had no other choice, so why had he suggested such a disadvantageous arrangement in the first place?
Because this is like when he offered you a Seeker. It’s not actually a disadvantageous trade to him at all.
“Yes,” Starscream said, “and I’m going to guess what this arrangement is. Was the offloading in process when you arrived?”
“Yes.” Now Shockwave sounded wary too.
“And who was doing it?”
“Workers from Altihex who arrived here on the train.”
Starscream nodded. “They must have had enough time to get the most important contents off the train by then.”
Megatron saw it all then. With only a few guards to protect that train, Overturn had made a deal with the bandits, and naturally he had made one which offered him a profit. Such as transporting whatever the bandits wanted to sell into Polyhex.
“Black market goods?” he said.
A twitch of Starscream’s shoulder might have been a shrug. “Could be. Contraband, weapons… drugs. He’s not choosy in that regard.”
“And what makes you so certain of this claim?” Megatron asked. With no proof of anything, he couldn’t just accept Starscream’s word on the matter. Starscream was hardly an uninterested party, much as he might try to appear that way.
“I overheard him say something along these lines in Altihex.” Starscream rested one elbow on the window-sill and propped his chin up on his hand, where only a few flecks of blue paint clung to the dull silver chrome beneath. “Surprising how much mechs will talk when they take you for an inanimate object.”
Megatron turned to Shockwave and indicated the door with a sharp jerk of his head. When they were out of his quarters, he said, “Even if he was right, there’ll be no evidence of that by now, will there?” Overturn’s contacts in the city, the buyers of whatever poison he’d secretly shipped into Polyhex, would have acted fast to secure their cargo before it could be discovered.
Shockwave considered. “I can have all nearby warehouses searched, sir,” he said, “and the train itself inspected. We can make some plausible excuse for doing so—say, that an escaped criminal was suspected of trying to get on board. At the very least, we’ll see what the storage dimensions on the train are, compared to how much space our supplies take up. At most, we might find traces of evidence, if chemicals of any sort were being transported.”
“Do that,” Megatron said, and Shockwave left immediately. Megatron longed to go with him, but his presence would tip off the Altihex squad that they were under suspicion, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He had other plans when it came to Overturn.
He went back into his quarters, where Starscream had gone back to staring out of the window as though the recent discussion had never happened. Starscream didn’t even bring the matter up again, though Shockwave reported to Megatron later, over a secure comm. He’d taken two of the Constructicons on board the train, claiming they needed to repair something that had been damaged during unloading, and they had independently found enough traces of chemicals to confirm suspicions.
“What now, sir?” Shockwave asked.
Megatron drummed his fingers against a table. “Our next shipment is due…”
“…three cycles from now, sir.”
More than enough time to prepare, and Megatron told him what they were going to do. That cycle’s questions were about whether Starscream had any means of contact with the rest of the Seekers—to which Starscream gave Megatron a peculiar look and pointed out that his comm had been removed and never replaced—and whether any of them would be searching for him. There had to be a reason they were called Seekers, Megatron reasoned. Starscream hesitated over that one.
“I hope not,” he said finally, but he seemed to realize he’d revealed too much even with that brief answer, and the usual sardonic tone was evident when he continued. “Don’t worry. They have no idea where I am now, so none of them will turn up here.”
Megatron had to agree that it was for the best if no Seekers arrived in Polyhex unexpectedly and saw Starscream in his current condition. What he intended instead was to learn enough about Seekers to convince them to join him, and so far the only thing in his favor was that they fitted poorly into the social structure of Vos. Not only were they primarily warbuild, but if they were anything like Starscream, they were independent, proud and difficult to control. No wonder the Vosian authorities had decided their current numbers were quite sufficient.
He had also wondered if Starscream held any particular rank or position in Vos, but the next cycle Starscream set him straight on that. Vos had no standing army and instead kept internal order through a militia from whom the Seekers—built to protect the city from external threats—took their orders. “Even a sub-faction should have some internal ranking system,” Megatron said, and Starscream replied that the Vosian authorities had declared that Seekers, despite their different capabilities, were all equals, therefore there was no need for such hierarchy among them.
To Megatron, that sounded like the city of Vos wanting to keep this newly developed frame type low on the ladder, but also wanting to put the best possible spin on it. Which could give him an advantage, but what he wasn’t certain about was how to use that. Among the Decepticons, he now knew the most about Seekers, and yet he could hardly take such a long leave of absence from his responsibilities to set off on a diplomatic mission. And somehow he got the impression that Seekers, for all their second-class treatment in Vos—or perhaps because of it—didn’t think highly of non-flyers.
Still, that problem was one to be dealt with at a later time. “I have duties that will keep me busy,” he said to Starscream, “so I won’t return to my quarters for a while. Commander Shockwave will come here every cycle to make certain you’re properly fueled and to see if there’s anything else you need.”
“Or you could give me access to your computer terminal so I can contact him if there’s a problem,” Starscream suggested.
“Nice try. When you got into a network at the repair center, the entire place went into emergency lockdown because the staff were terrified I was going to be assassinated.”
“Yeah, good times.” With a half-smile, Starscream hoisted his legs into the window-seat and wrapped an arm around them. “Don’t hurry back.”
Megatron ignored that and left his quarters. Within the joor, he was in the shuttle as it left Polyhex. He kept in contact with Shockwave over the next few cycles, wondering whether there would be any unforeseen problems, but Shockwave’s only reports were that Starscream had followed orders to take his medication and refuel while claiming that this was so much more pleasant than what Megatron put him through on a regular basis. Of course he would say that, Megatron thought, but it was a relief to see that even Starscream wasn’t reckless enough to antagonize Shockwave.
And even better, the mission Megatron had set out on was a complete success. When he returned to Polyhex, a few joors later than he’d expected, he told Soundwave and Shockwave about everything that had happened, which was routine procedure. What wasn’t so routine was Megatron feeling slightly impatient throughout. There was nothing else pressing that needed his attention for the time being, and he certainly didn’t need to return to his quarters just yet, because Shockwave had been checking up on Starscream during his absence.
But he couldn’t help being curious about what Starscream’s reaction would be to his news. Because he had no intention of succumbing to ridiculous impulses, much less to giving anyone else the impression that a prisoner’s well-being was in any way a priority for him, he stayed in the command center as he went through Soundwave’s reports, caught up on the latest news in the city, and refueled. Then, since it was late and one or two of the Decepticons on duty were giving him discreet but puzzled looks, he went back to his quarters.
Starscream glanced at him when he entered, which was all the acknowledgement Megatron had expected to receive. “Have you refueled?” he asked.
“Yes, Shockwave made very certain of that. Though thankfully he doesn’t feel some need to pour energon down my throat himself.”
“I know, he misses out on so much.” Instead of sitting down at his workstation or on the divan, Megatron went to the window-seat and took the opposite end, looking out over the lights of the city. The silence stretched out, and since Starscream was unlikely to break it, Megatron supposed he had to begin.
“Wondering where I’ve been all this time?” he asked.
“No.”
Much as the indifference annoyed him, Megatron knew better than to show it, and in any event, he knew Starscream wouldn’t be able to keep it up once he heard the news. “I took our shuttle out to Altihex,” he said, and suddenly he was more interesting than the sky as far as Starscream was concerned. “We didn’t land there or even enter their airspace, just held our position and waited until the supply train to Polyhex left the city. Then we followed it, and when it detoured to meet Overturn’s contacts, we allowed them to load their contraband.” Megatron glanced sideways and caught the alert glint that lit Starscream’s optics until they looked like embers that had been breathed on. “Yes, it was a drug shipment,” he said. “Then we attacked them.”
“They’re dead, I hope,” Starscream said softly.
“Not all. My orders were to capture one or two alive and let the same number escape. After that, I took command of the train and had its operator return it to Altihex, where I turned the entire matter over to the chief minister.”
“Vantage.” Starscream’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “I’ll bet he didn’t react well to either Overturn engaging in clandestine trade that didn’t enrich anyone other than himself, or Overturn getting caught.”
The last Megatron had seen of Overturn, he had stopped trying to claim this was all a setup on the Decepticons’ part—because Megatron had handed over his prisoners to Vantage for interrogation—and had started pleading for mercy instead. “Vantage told him that he was far better off being imprisoned for life in Altihex than remaining free, because whoever he was doing business with now believes that Overturn was working with the Decepticons to steal that last shipment. And drug lords don’t bother with dispensing justice through the routine channels.”
“That’s why you let a few of them escape,” Starscream murmured. “Nice.”
Megatron grinned. “I appreciate your help in the matter,” he said. “And I always pay my debts.”
Starscream lifted an optic ridge. “So I see.”
Keeping him cooperative meant rewards for good behavior as well as punishment for disobedience, so that was what Megatron would do. “I didn’t approve everything Hook suggested in the way of repairs when you were first brought to Polyhex,” he said. “But now I’m authorizing one of those. Be prepared to leave in the morning.”
Starscream was completely still for a long moment before he nodded slowly. “I’ll be ready,” he said, and Megatron got up. “Oh… and thank you.”
It was the first time since they’d met that he had sincerely thanked Megatron for anything, and Megatron thought that was a good sign. “You’re welcome,” he said, and went to his berthroom. It was good to be home again, especially since he was finally getting somewhere with Starscream, and he looked forward to the end results of tomorrow’s changes. At the very least, Starscream would be less disquieting to look at, and maybe then he’d be more willing to leave Megatron’s quarters for the exercise he needed.
Early the next cycle, a Decepticon called Skewer arrived to provide an escort for Starscream. Since Megatron didn’t expect to see him again for joors, he went about his work, only returning to his quarters after he got a comm from Aesthetic, the mech with whom he’d arranged a session for Starscream. “All done, sir,” Aesthetic said. “I hope you’ll be satisfied, and thank you for your patronage, as well as for the novel experience. I look forward to doing business with you again.”
Hiding his anticipation, Megatron poured two cubes of energon and settled down on the divan, though he didn’t have long to wait before Skewer pinged for entry and the door slid back. Starscream stepped into the room and Megatron took in the sight of him.
He was so far from the wreck he’d been in Altihex that Megatron barely recognized him at first. The scarred scraped remnants of his old paint had been stripped, and although the new paint followed the same color scheme, it was freshly and meticulously applied. Most of his frame was white, which wasn’t a common color among Decepticons and which would have drawn optics immediately, except they might not be able to look for long because of the way that intense white caught the light and flashed it back. The contrast between that and the rich red of his fuselage was startling, but the detailing on his limbs—a blue that looked as cool to the touch as the sky—balanced the other two colors out perfectly.
There wasn’t so much as a scratch in sight now, with his wings being the exception. Even then, only a close look would have detected the damage, because filler had taken care of the superficial gouges, and paint had been carefully applied to conceal everything. The red stripes that ran the length of his wings made them seem even wider, and all his plating had been polished to a glossy sheen that looked almost wet.
Megatron had been prepared for an improved appearance, but he had never expected this. His gaze moved slowly over Starscream’s frame and up to his optics.
And anything he might have wanted to say froze in his vocalizer. Starscream looked at him as though he had never hated anyone more in his life.
Chapter 5: Evening Star
Notes:
Hey readers! Remember that scene from the last chapter... you know, where Megatron admires Starscream's cleaned-up looks but then realizes that for some reason, his traumatized prisoner isn't enjoying this? Yeah, that scene. ScourgedDeer drew it in comic form, and the comic is gorgeous, so be sure to check it out! I love it and I can't stop admiring all the details. Thank you again to ScourgedDeer!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you.
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true.
You walk a lonely road
Oh, how far you are from home. -- Enya, "May It Be"
The tense silence in Megatron's quarters felt as smothering as the air gathering overhead before a storm. He had to say something, do something, but since he wasn't sure how to react to the livid look in Starscream's optics, he decided to ignore that for now.
Calm things down first, he thought. "You look—"
"Shut up." Starscream's voice was low as though held under tight control. "And leave me alone."
No one spoke to the leader of the Decepticons like that, and Megatron found himself standing without being consciously aware that he'd done so. "Watch your mouth."
"Or what?" Starscream's lips drew back in a snarl. "You’ll torture me? Think I care?"
"What the frag is wrong with you?" Megatron demanded.
Instead of answering, Starscream gave him a look of intense contempt and started for the window-seat. Megatron immediately moved to block his way, and Starscream drew back, his optics glowing red as smelting pits. Air heaved in and out of his vents, and there was an odd metallic rattle as his wings twitched in small abortive movements. He didn't speak, only glanced rapidly from side to side as if searching for a way out. And then, to Megatron's disbelief, he spun on his heel as if to head for the door.
Megatron started forward at once. "I asked you a question!" he snapped, and reached out to grab Starscream's arm. With a sharp hiss of indrawn breath, Starscream jerked away and fumbled for the door's controls, but of course they didn't work for him.
"Don’t—" He pressed himself back against the door, holding on tightly to the handle, though Megatron could hardly hear what he said over the hyperventilations that were growing increasingly sharper and faster. "Don’t touch me! I—"
The words ended in a staticky choking sound and his optics went wide. Suddenly the rapid rasp of air through his vents stopped. The tips of his wings clinked against the door and then his knees folded. He slid down, still clinging to the door's handle with a death grip.
Megatron caught him before he could hit the floor. What was this? He yanked hard, dislodging Starscream's grasp on the door. Starscream pushed against him, but there was no strength in the struggles. His frame sagged in Megatron's grip, and his optics were unfocused with what looked disturbingly like terror.
Megatron sent a comm to the Darkmount security team. "Medical assistance, my quarters, now!" Then he dragged Starscream over to the window-seat. Starscream tried to kick him, but his coordination was shot to pieces and he missed. Megatron knocked Starscream's feet out from under him and hauled him the rest of the way, cursing under his breath as he did so, since Starscream was heavier than he looked, and even though he didn't seem capable of supporting his own weight, he still twisted and jerked in Megatron's iron grip. Finally Megatron had enough of that and gave him a hard shake.
"Stop fighting me!" he said. Starscream's head lolled back and his frame went slack, though he still let out a strangled gasp every now and then. Megatron reached the window-seat and dropped him on it with an ungainly clank, then thumbed the window controls to swing the glass outwards.
There was a loud hammering on the door, and it slid open to let in a medical technician. Relieved, Megatron stepped aside to let her examine Starscream, though he opened a comm to Hook as he did so. "This is Megatron," he said briefly. “There’s an emergency. Report to my quarters."
"Can this wait?" Hook sounded annoyed. "I'm with a patient."
"So am I, and this is an order! Be here before the joor is out." Megatron closed the channel and watched as the technician slid open a medical access panel and plugged in a cable. Starscream’s head had turned in Megatron’s direction and his optics were online, but there was no recognition or awareness in them. His vocalizer made an inarticulate sound as though he was trying to speak, and his hands scrabbled at the window-seat.
“Hold him down, please,” the technician said as she snapped open her repair kit. Megatron sat down beside Starscream’s head and grasped his wrists, pulling his arms out of the way. The technician filled a syringe and slid the tip into a port.
“What’s happened to him?” Megatron demanded. At first he had taken this for drug withdrawal, but the blue plating beneath his hands was cool rather than burning hot as it had been before. Starscream’s vents hitched sharply as though he was trying to take in air but not succeeding.
“I don’t know, but this should calm him.” The level of liquid in the syringe went down slowly and when the technician was done, she turned to Megatron. “Do you know what might have caused this, sir?”
Megatron shook his head. The only thing he could think of was that Starscream might have had some adverse reaction to the chemicals in the stripper and paint and polish, but surely an establishment as high-class as Aesthetic’s would take steps to prevent such a thing. Besides, if that was the reason, why had it been so delayed? Starscream had seemed fine until he’d started arguing.
The door chimed again and Megatron snapped an order to enter without even looking in that direction. It was Hook, who was panting and clearly torqued off, but he was always professional when it came to a medical emergency, and Megatron retreated to allow him to look Starscream over. The crisis seemed to be over for now, though, Megatron hoped. There was a soft rush of air through Starscream’s vents, steady and even, and his optics had gone dark as though he was offline.
Finished with his examination, Hook spoke to the technician, too quietly for Megatron to hear what he said, and then beckoned Megatron over to the other side of the room with a peremptory jerk of his head. As though he was giving orders to a subordinate, Megatron thought, but there were more important things to deal with for now. With one last watchful look at Starscream, he joined Hook.
“What happened to him?” he asked again. “This isn’t drug withdrawal, is it?”
Hook shook his head. “The medication he takes is almost finished, right?” Megatron nodded, and Hook went on. “And I wouldn’t have prescribed any more, because he should be past the worst of the withdrawal symptoms by now. This looks more like a panic attack to me.”
“A panic attack?” Megatron felt even more out of his depth. “Caused by what?”
“No idea. I wasn’t here when it happened.” Hook looked at him with raised optic ridges, and Megatron realized he was waiting for some sort of explanation, except there was none to give. And never having had one of these supposed panic attacks himself, he didn’t know the first thing about them.
“I don’t understand,” he said bluntly. “I didn’t do anything to scare him.” Except get angry, but Starscream had seen him angry before and had never reacted like this. Until now, Megatron had thought Starscream had two ways of responding to situations he didn’t like—cool indifference or raging fury. Megatron could deal with either of those, but not with a physical breakdown that had unnerved even him.
“Well, something must have triggered it,” Hook murmured, as if to himself.
“Whatever did that, is he repaired?” Megatron asked.
“There was nothing physical to repair. His ventilation system had stalled and combustion was impeded, but we gave him a tranquilizer and he’s stable now.” Hook glanced over his shoulder at the Seeker and then back at Megatron. “I need to see to the patient I abandoned to get here. Make sure your prisoner gets plenty of rest and let me know if there are any further problems.”
“I will,” Megatron said. “Dismissed, both of you.”
The technician had already been gathering up her tools, and Hook waited for her to precede him out, though he paused at the open door with a grin that had more than a touch of malice in it. “Oh, and his repaint is spectacular, sir,” he said. “Looks like he had a good wax job and an ammonia wash on the glass to make it shine as well—”
“Get out,” Megatron said shortly, and the door slid shut again. Once again his room was in silence, but this time it didn’t feel tense or suffocating. Maybe because the air was fresh and cool from the opened window. Megatron remembered doing that, because he’d thought at the time that Starscream’s core temperature would be skyrocketing as it had done in the shuttle, and short of throwing him in the washrack, that was the only thing Megatron could think of doing. He was half inclined to close the window again, but the breeze felt good on his own plating and he sat down on the other side of the window-seat to wait for Starscream to recover.
Now that the danger seemed past, Megatron wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. Was this a problem common to all Seekers? If so, they might be more of a liability in battle than an asset… but surely the government of Vos wouldn’t have built so many of them if they all had such an inherent malfunction. So this was likely to be a Starscream issue instead. But in that case, how to make sure it wouldn’t occur again?
Megatron usually disliked it when he had to wait for anyone, mostly because there were so many demands on his attention and time, but now he felt no impatience gnawing at him. He didn't even check his chronometer, only leaned back into the other corner of the window-seat, gazed out at the sky—for once without a sheet of shatterproof glass in the way—and allowed the tension to drain slowly out of him.
A glimpse of movement in the corner of his optic made him turn. Starscream stirred, optics flickering, though it was a good few breems before he started trying to push himself up off the seat. If he had been another Decepticon, Megatron would have offered him a hand, but he had a feeling that if he did that, Starscream would slap his hand away, and then it would take all of Megatron's self-control not to return the favor.
Starscream scrabbled at the edge of the window-sill before finally clutching hard enough that he could pull himself into a sitting position. His vents heaved from the effort, but when he succeeded, he stared out at the sky as though that made it all worthwhile.
Then slowly, as though the last of his strength had finally run out, he rested his forearms on the window-sill and lowered his head to them.
This had gone on long enough, Megatron thought. "Tell me what happened to you."
"Just leave me alone." The words were muffled, what with Starscream's face being buried in his arms. "Please."
Megatron had been prepared to deal with defiance, but he didn't know how to deal with this, perhaps because it was the first time Starscream had stooped to saying please. Would he break down again if Megatron pressed the matter? He didn't know and didn't particularly want to risk finding out.
"All right," he said reluctantly, and got up. "But if there’s something you need that I can provide, I’ll—"
Starscream's head came up. "I need my w—" His vocalizer crackled, and it was a moment before he could continue, his voice raw with strain. "I need my wings. I need to fly. I need to be away from here, as far away as possible." Slowly, blue fingers curled into fists. "I need my freedom."
He looked down at his frame as though it belonged to someone else, and he couldn’t understand how it had become part of him instead. "And what did I get? A paint job."
Megatron understood how this had all happened now. He hadn't told Starscream that what he was authorizing was the repaint, and Starscream had assumed that... well, little wonder he'd been livid. But at the same time, what in the world did he expect? Megatron had told him from the start that the Decepticon Army was not a charity organization, and although Starscream was a little more cooperative now than when he'd been given to Megatron, it still didn't justify letting him go. Which, Megatron knew, was exactly what would happen if Starscream's wings were repaired.
“Once your wings are flight-capable, you’ll leave, won’t you,” he said, and it was not a question. Starscream didn’t answer, and in the silence, Megatron shrugged. “Well, there you have it.”
Slowly, Starscream lifted his head to look out as he always did, except this time the hunger in his gaze was almost palpable. It was as though he tried to take in the sight because after he did, a steel shutter would be lowered over the window and he would never see the sky again.
“So you’re going to keep me here indefinitely?” His voice was toneless. “For the rest of my life?”
For the first time, Megatron wondered if Starscream would try to throw himself out of the window. Megatron was close enough to stop any such attempt, but he didn’t need to deal with a suicidal mech on top of everything else. He certainly wouldn’t be there all the time to keep Starscream alive.
“Until we get our money’s worth out of you,” he said.
Starscream drew in a deep breath. “Fine. What’s the quickest way I can pay off this debt I didn’t ask to be saddled with?”
Good, he’d taken the practical route rather than sinking into despair, and Megatron had an equally practical answer for him. “Join my army,” he said. “Become a Decepticon. Once you do that, whatever further repairs you need will be taken care of, and—”
“No.”
It was hardly the first time Megatron had extended an offer which had been turned down, but no one had ever answered him the way Starscream did—a flat one-word refusal with no explanation given. “Why not?” he asked, tamping down on his irritation. He’d get further with Starscream if he wasn’t visibly angry.
“Because if I do, I’ll have to take orders. My time won’t be my own, and I won’t be able to—” Starscream cut himself off, his vocalizer making a sound like a sheet of tinfoil being crumpled.
“Be able to do what?”
“To—to leave whenever it’s necessary. To go home.”
“You’re lying,” Megatron said evenly. “I can tell.” What had he been about to say? And the lie was that he needed to return to Vos, so what was more important to him than that?
Rather than protesting that he was telling the truth, or even relapsing into sullen silence, Starscream turned to look straight at him. “If I swore loyalty to you, that would be far more of a lie,” he said, “and I wouldn’t look forward to your finding out about it.” He hesitated, then shifted a little closer to Megatron, and his voice was softer now, low as a whisper. “There must be something else I can do. Something else I can give you, only you, whenever you want it—”
“Just so you know,” Megatron told him in a voice filled with ice, “watching someone gasp for air and collapse doesn’t put me in the mood.” Starscream drew back as though he’d been struck, and Megatron glared at him until he retreated to his usual corner. “You can’t manipulate me with interfacing, so don’t bother to try.”
Not that he wouldn’t enjoy getting Starscream in the berth, not at all. But when it happened, it would be on Megatron’s terms, rather than because Starscream was using it as a means of appeasement, as though the berth was just one more stepping-stone between him and his freedom.
Starscream stared down at his knees. “I thought that was the real reason you’d had me repainted,” he said.
He’d spoken so quietly that Megatron barely caught the words, but when he heard that, he frowned. “Was that why you had a panic attack? Because you thought the paint job was the precursor to me interfacing with you?”
“That wasn’t the only reason.” Starscream still wouldn’t look at him. “When I asked them to stop, they said you’d given orders about paint, polish, everything.” He released a shaky breath. “And I don’t want to be touched by anyone I don’t trust.”
Then why did you just offer to interface with me? Megatron wondered, though the answer came to him at once. Starscream’s freedom mattered more to him than anything else, even his body and what was done to it.
“Did they coerce you into it in Altihex?” he asked.
Starscream drew his hands down his arms, as though he was trying to brush away something that covered his plating. “They tried," was all he said.
Megatron wasn't sure how to reply to that. The short unrevealing answer was worse in its own way than details would have been, because he had to stop his own imagination before it could fill in the gaps. And it occurred to him that while Starscream complained about having to be hand-fed energon, he’d never spoken a word about what had been done to him in Altihex until now, because he'd been asked a direct question about what he'd gone through.
Except... why had it happened in the first place? That Starscream had been uncooperative with the authorities in Altihex, Megatron could well believe, but why had they felt the need to retaliate to this extent, rather than just killing him? Sheer sadism was always a possibility, but somehow he didn't like that explanation. It was too simplistic and easy.
For now, though, he had to do something. Not because he felt sorry for Starscream, or any such stupidly soft reaction, but because he was the leader of the Decepticons, the one to whom everyone looked in moments of crisis for an answer. Even with the open window, his quarters felt cramped, as though they weren't large enough to contain what he now knew, so he got up.
“Come with me," he said.
Starscream's expression of bleak resignation didn't change. “Whatever it is, can we just do it here?”
Megatron shook his head. “Come with me. We won’t be going far.”
Muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath, Starscream pulled himself wearily to his feet and followed Megatron out to the elevator, which carried them up smoothly. Before it reached the top of the tower, a glimmer of curiosity had appeared in Starscream's optics as he watched the floor numbers change on the display, but he said nothing as the doors opened and Megatron led the way into the observatory.
Practised though Starscream was at staying silent, though, even he couldn't hide his fascination as he took in the huge telescope that slanted up to the domed glass ceiling, where the outer panels of the roof were retracted to let in light. It was the only piece of equipment Megatron could recognize, because although he'd been told that the observatory contained spectrographs and slide mirrors as well, he didn't have the education or the training to know what those were, let alone how to use them.
But one thing he did know was how to reach the deck, which projected out from the upper wall of the observatory. He pressed a button in the wall, and a ladder rose out of a slot in the floor, magnetic locks activating to hold it against the wall.
The ladder was less than two hundred feet tall, and Megatron reached the top in moments. Behind him, he heard Starscream start to climb as well. He pushed open a pale blue glass pane, climbed out and was on the deck.
Starscream scrambled out after him and looked around as though he couldn't believe where he was. The deck was utilitarian, a bare rectangle paved with ceramic tiles to withstand acid rain, with a low parapet wall and nothing else. But Starscream's optics lit up as though he had been given the key to the city.
Naturally he didn't ask permission from Megatron before he went straight to the edge of the deck and stepped up on the parapet wall. It was little more than a narrow ledge, and all Megatron could think was that if Starscream had any sort of sudden physical affliction at that moment, he'd topple to the street over two thousand feet below. Before Megatron could order him to step down, though, Starscream climbed back down to the deck.
“I missed this,” he said quietly.
“Being outside?”
“No. Well, yes, but I meant being far enough off the ground that I can pretend it’s gone." He lay down on the tiled floor, stretching full-length with a creak of joints and hiss of hydraulics, then clasped his hands under his helm and shifted his shoulders as though settling comfortably into place, his optics dimming. "Don’t let me go offline," he murmured, "because it’d be really easy to recharge here.”
“On a roof?” Megatron sat down, because it looked like they would be there for a while. Though somehow he didn't mind, even though he had never before wasted time just sitting on an empty deck.
“Seekers were designed for open spaces," Starscream said. His optics were completely dark now, and his entire frame slack. "Being hemmed in usually makes us claustrophobic.”
Megatron frowned. “I’ve never heard of Decepticon flyers having that problem.”
One of Starscream's optics came back online at once. “What Decepticon flyers?”
“Some of us have helicopters as alt-modes.”
Starscream snorted. “Those aren’t flyers, those are glorified hovercrafts. Helicopters skim the ground. Seekers own the sky.”
Megatron felt his lips twitch and managed to suppress a grin. Half a joor ago, he would never have believed that he’d be able to smile about anything else unexpected to come his way, but now he was close to chuckling. Starscream actually sounded affronted at being included in the same category as heliformers, and it was all Megatron could do not to show any amusement at the touchy dignity. Though for Starscream’s sake, Megatron hoped he never repeated that to any Decepticons who transformed into choppers. Some of them wouldn’t hesitate to send Starscream back to the repair center or even to the Pit itself if he insulted them like that.
Starscream seemed to have taken Megatron’s silence for agreement, because his optics went dark again—and since he couldn’t see anything, Megatron studied him. It was so rare to see Starscream relaxed that he found himself absorbed by the sight, though his gaze kept straying to the wings spread across the floor of the deck, and to the edges of poorly-applied patches that showed under the fresh coat of paint.
And despite that damage, Starscream still managed to look attractive, remarkably so. Megatron imagined what he would be like with wings as sleek as the rest of him, wide as flags in the wind. They would be polished to a mirror sheen, the white shot through with red like trails of fire, but he envisioned flashes of purple on them as well, the sharp-edged Decepticon insignia completing the picture.
Starscream’s optics lit again, and Megatron looked away at once. “How often can I come here?” he asked.
“Whenever you want, as long as I’m with you.”
“What, you think I’m going to jump?”
Megatron gave him a sidelong look. “Will you?”
Starscream sat up slowly. “No,” he said. “I have some unfinished business to deal with.”
“Which is?”
“Nothing I can share with you.”
“You agreed to answer my questions,” Megatron pointed out, and he didn’t bother to hide a by-now-familiar irritation. Why was everything a struggle with Starscream? What made his “unfinished business” such a secret? It was highly unlikely to affect the Decepticons, to even cross paths with them, so why couldn’t he just talk for once?
Starscream met his optics evenly. “I agreed to answer questions about Seekers.”
“So aren’t you one?”
“A weaponless mech who can’t fly? I don’t know whose definition of a Seeker that is, but it’s not mine.”
Megatron drew in a deep breath and forced his temper back down, partly because the last thing he needed was another seething argument, especially if this one also ended in a panic attack, and partly because he could tell that Starscream was ready for a fight. Not the best way to get past his defenses. Perhaps some cycle Megatron would have no choice but to fall back on brute force in that regard, but after that cycle, they’d be done, and he wasn’t anywhere near finished with this frustrating, fascinating Seeker just yet.
“I’m going to find out, Starscream,” he said softly. “Whatever you’re hiding, it will not stay a secret.” If Starscream thought Megatron had chosen his faction’s name because they were easily duped, or content with being deceived, he’d soon find out how wrong he was. “Sooner or later, I’ll have the truth.”
And I’ll have you as well, he thought. He would have Starscream in his berth, willing and responsive and hungry for him, whispering his name and pleading for more. Before I let you go, I’ll have your secrets and your body, he thought, and that was a promise. Perhaps some of what he felt showed in his expression. Starscream pulled his knees in closer to his fuselage, and a wary look stole into his optics.
But as always, he wasn’t cowed, and his head lifted in a challenge. “Take your best shot,” he said.
Megatron smiled, glanced down, and drew a fingertip along the length of his fusion cannon, noticing in his peripheral vision how Starscream’s optics followed the gesture. “It’s a good thing you don’t mean that literally,” he said, “because I will. Starting tomorrow.”
“What about today?” Starscream asked, undaunted.
“For today?” Megatron paused for effect. “We enjoy the evening.”
He leaned back on his hands and looked out over the city, all the way to the horizon. After a watchful klik, Starscream did the same. A light wind swept over them, cool as water, and together in a silence that was oddly peaceful, they looked out at the sunset spread across the sky, and at the first stars that began to shine overhead.
END OF PART TWO
Notes:
And that's a wrap for the second part of the story. Thanks for reading! Feedback and comments are always welcome, and don't forget to come back next week for part 3, "Irresistible Force".
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