Chapter Text
What passed for morning onboard the Nemesis rose far faster than the earth’s pitiful dawn. Lights snapped on and whatever unlucky bots had the early shift rolled out of their berths along with a chorus of groaning, shifting metal.
Megatron was already online. Of course even he had to recharge sometimes, but it wouldn’t do to become predictable in his online/offline patterns. One never knew when someone (Starscream) would take advantage of any opportunity to take over the Decepticons.
Speaking of his conniving SIC, the seeker had the dubious honor of the orn’s first patrol. Megatron was fully expecting Starscream to burst into the bridge breems late, demanding the whole ship be run according to his own schedule.
So it was with some (well-hidden) confusion Megatron watched Starscream slip into the room on time and, even more shocking, almost quietly. It didn’t look as though he’d foregone any of his usual gratuitous preening either—not that Megatron was looking at the play of light across the red and white metal of Starscream’s wings.
“Starscream!” he demanded, summoning the seeker to his throne.
Starscream strutted up to the front of the bridge, thruster-heels clicking like the trigger of a gun. “You called?”
Megatron, having fully expected to be either ignored or yelled at, found himself in the unenviable position of having been surprised by Starscream twice in a row.
“Why aren’t you on patrol already?”
Starscream cocked his head to one side, red optics bright with what a more foolish mech may have mistaken for innocence. “I was under the impression all seekers were to check in with their commanding officer before patrolling, sir.”
“You are their commanding officer,” Megatron growled.
“And I answer to you, Lord Megatron.” Starscream leaned in, almost trilling over his vowels. “So here I am, checking in. Patrol routes as normal, succinct reports with more details regarding Autobot expansions or possible power sources as required?” Rather than following up with a pointed comment about it being the same every deca-orn and how if he was leader of the Decepticons there would at least be variety, Starscream just waited for Megatron’s reponse. A smirk pulled at his lips, but not enough to put any of his razor-sharp denta on display.
He had to be plotting something. Best to let him assume Megatron was no more suspicious of his actions than normal.
“Correct.” Megatron was unwilling to break eye contact with Starscream. The seeker appeared to share no such worries, flashing Megatron another smug little grin before pirouetting and transforming midstep, flying off without another word.
The audio sensors of those in the bridge wouldn’t stop ringing from the boom of his engines for another joor at least.
Megatron ground his denta together and made a note to schedule a review session for the entire air force on what exactly was allowed within the halls of Nemesis. Flying was definitely not on the list, in alt-mode or otherwise. It would serve the hyperactive jets right to have to sit through a refresher on what they called—where they thought Megatron wouldn’t hear about it—the most Primus-forsakenly boring rulebook in the galaxy.
He commed Soundwave. ::Starscream is up to something. Find out what.::
::Received, Lord Megatron.::
Perhaps he could have found Soundwave in person to ask, but he didn’t really feel like the quiet judgment from his communications officer over his continued focus on Starscream’s actions. Soundwave wouldn’t ask outright ‘wasn’t Starscream always up to something?’, but he would somehow get the feeling of asking it across without needing to make a sound.
It was something in the tilt of his helm.
Or the telepathy.
Regardless, Megatron had better things to do with his time than anticipate the schemes of a single seeker. He had raids to organize, guard schedules to set up, and briefs to attend from the various patrols throughout the orn. And after that, he could easily make himself busy with schemes of his own.
After all, one did not stay leader of a faction like the Decepticons for long without a fair share of schemes involved.
Which is to say that there were plenty of things for Megatron to do. He was not bored with Starscream off on patrol. The very thought was patently ridiculous.
Perhaps he would inspect the security of the landing bay, though. It had nothing to do with Starscream’s return being scheduled at any moment. The leaks in this part of the Nemesis were atrocious when the ship was at full depth.
The sound of jet engines roared, loud even at a distance.
Megatron stood a little taller on instinct. As long as he was already here, it wouldn’t be too much trouble to remind Starscream who was really in charge. Surely the seeker wouldn’t be able to resist Megatron’s presence and would allow himself to be baited into an argument that, of course, Megatron would win.
Starscream landed in alt-mode, transforming with practiced ease.
“Megatron,” he greeted—not screeching in offense or demanding answers, simply a neutral, respectful greeting. “All was as expected on patrol. No Autobot interference or significant energy deposits on this route.”
And then he left.
Even with Starscream’s distinctive paint job, Megatron had a hard time believing it was really him who had returned. Perhaps he and Skywarp had switched places to confuse and distract Megatron, and then while his guard was down, the real Starscream would stab him in the back?
He sent a query about such a scheme to Soundwave. A distinctly judgemental silence was the only response.
Nevertheless. Duties to perform. Treachery to root out. Autobots to destroy. He was a busy mech, and the infuriating attentions of his SIC were entirely unnecessary to fill his passing joors.
Megatron, Lord of the Decepticons, Exarch of the Ore-blooded Revolutionaries and First Spark of the Seething Moon, was bored.
He hadn’t been this bored since Starscream’s last ill thought out scheme had horribly malfunctioned and put Starscream himself in the medbay for a quartex.
Putting aside the betrayal of Soundwave’s earlier lack of response, Megatron ventured to the Nemesis’s communications control room. The door slid open for him before he had to input the access code, revealing Soundwave gazing across several security monitors. Ravage lay curled at the base of the computer, falling in and out of recharge against its warmth.
“Soundwave. Report.”
“Uncertain if Megatron wishes daily report or Starscream report.”
Megatron ex-vented more harshly than perhaps necessary. “The Starscream report,” he admitted through the whirr of his vents. “What is the little traitor up to?”
“Starscream is located in his lab.”
“I knew it!” Megatron hissed. “Doubtless constructing his next device to topple me.” He slammed his fist into the wall next to him. “Well, he won’t have the chance to complete—”
“Current activity: preening with Skywarp and Thundercracker.”
“—this pitted device—what do you mean?”
This was the third time this orn Starscream had shocked Megatron, and it was not any more pleasant than the first two times. Less so now that it was beginning to seem like he wasn’t even trying to outwit his commander.
“Seekers naturally engage in preening as a method of bonding with their trines and calming during times of stress,” Soundwave droned.
“I have never once heard nor seen Starscream engage in preening during the four million cycles we’ve been on this planet,” Megatron insisted. “This is probably part of another one of his plans.”
There was that judgmental silence again. For something that didn’t have a sound, Megatron was getting tired of hearing it.
Then Soundwave’s optics flickered—a thoughtful movement, nearly unnoticeable had Megatron not known his subordinate as well as he did. “Considering Starscream’s possible lack of preening explains much about his actions and,” Soundwave hummed, “general lack of reliable performance of duties.” He continued when Megatron did not offer any further insights. “Suggestion: continue to allow Starscream regular bonding time with Skywarp and Thundercracker. Projected efficiency rates for the next deca-orn: significantly higher than average with Starscream’s new attitude.”
Not a small part of Megatron wanted to throw Soundwave’s advice to the wind and demand Starscream desist in any activities not directly approved by Megatron at least a quartex in advance. Still. He had not (almost) won the war so many times because he’d ignored Soundwave’s advice. “I suppose that could be an acceptable course of action,” he capitulated. “Let me at least see for myself this alleged positive effect.”
Soundwave obediently stepped to one side, allowing Megatron to view the banks of security monitors. As described, Starscream was in his lab.
The seeker sat on one of the tables—well, partially on the table. He was mostly on Skywarp. Starscream looked like he had, for lack of a better word, melted. The seeker lay slumped across Skywarp’s shoulders and chassis, optics dim with relaxation. Thundercracker sat on his other side, running polish-slick fingers over Starscream’s wings. He paid special attention to the ailerons, lifting the flaps carefully to ensure the polish soaked into the underside and the hinges.
Skywarp held one of Starscream’s servos in his, massaging the delicate phalangeal hydraulics.
Both seekers were looking at their trinemate like he wasn’t a traitorous nuisance and hadn’t been arguing with them on a continual basis for millions of cycles. They looked at him like—like he was valuable on an intrinsic level. Like he was someone worth looking at just for the sake of looking, rather than sizing up his military usefulness or attempting to guess at his latest scheme.
Megatron had every right to know what his subordinates were up to at all times in the base, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling he was intruding on something private.
“I’m—” he rebooted his vocalizer over a quick burst of static. “I am satisfied with your appraisal of the situation, Soundwave. Notify me should it become obvious Starscream is planning something more terrible than usual.”
“Understood.”
Megatron was not rushing to his own quarters to self-serve to the idea of Starscream being so pliant, so unthinkably happy under Megatron’s servos. And if he was, it was simply the novelty of the shrieking, prideful seeker reduced to a simpering parody of himself that had caught Megatron’s optics.
He hadn’t seen Starscream so happy, so relaxed in cycles. The glee of destruction and mayhem was one thing, the smug pride in his own schemes another. Megatron had seen entirely more than was necessary of both of those.
The way he’d smiled as Thundercracker and Skywarp had touched him…
It reminded Megatron of the first few times he’d spoken to the seeker. The way Starscream used to look at Megatron like he trusted him to lead them into war and out the other side again. Megatron had chosen him as second in command for a reason, after all.
Megatron squeezed his servos into fists tight enough to make the metal groan. Vehicons passing him in the corridor shied off to one side, recognizing the signs of their lord’s rage.
Of course they had always argued, but it hadn’t used to be so bitter. At some point in the eons of war, their energetic debates had stopped being exercises in seeing one another’s point of view and started being nothing more than knock-down drag-out fights.
Megatron recognized the processor loop beginning in his circuits, guilt circling into anger and bypassing logic in cascading lines of code. The repetition heated his core components, and he had already begun venting hard without realizing it.
He slammed into his quarters, locking the door behind him. It wouldn’t keep out anyone particularly determined to invade his privacy, but it would at least give him enough time to aim his fusion cannon at their head.
The idea of getting himself off to thoughts of Starscream so uncharacteristically docile had lost its shine somewhat. Megatron couldn’t shake a memory of Starscream and himself in one of their first battles together—fighting in concert, trusting Starscream to wield Megatron in his gun form, whether the seeker was in alt or root mode. Starscream had been fierce, deadly, and magnetizing, and Megatron had been drawn to him like a nanite to an energon well.
This in contrast with their last battle, wherein Megatron had come dangerously close to shooting Starscream just to shut him up for five kliks.
Spiralling guilt such as this was useless. Anger, passion—those were feelings that could get a bot somewhere. This was nothing but code tangling itself to a standstill, and Megatron could not allow it to come to that. He had far more important plans to which he wanted to devote his processing power than these old wounds, long scarred over.
And yet that memory kept playing, like an old holovid glitched into a loop. His spark burned hot; the armor on his chest ached with it.
Megatron shunted the entire knot of emotional subroutines into background threads and dismissed the memories back into storage. Perhaps the whole mess would work itself apart given some time running on its own.
It wasn’t as if it was enough to keep him from recharge in his rare off joors.
Megatron jolted into wakefulness and sat up straight in his berth, fusion cannon powering online before his optics even flickered on.
His wiring and cables were taut all the way down to his protoform, slowing his movements and making his armor shriek in protest every time he moved.
Mining units like he had once been were not designed to dream. But when Megatron turned his optics off manually in an attempt to fall back into recharge, memories he had dropped into long-term storage cycles ago flickered into full-color playback.
He was on Cybertron, back when they had still thought the war was something they could win, rather than something they had to make sure the Autobots lost. Starscream and his trine flew in tight formation across the violet sky as Megatron watched.
There hadn’t been a battle in a deca-orn, and the most recent one had been a victory. Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Starscream were flying for the sheer joy of it. Watching them spin over and under each other, a dance never choreographed by any Iaconite grounder, had been one of those things Megatron used to keep close to spark. That freedom, that boundless indulgence in something so simple—every bot deserved that, regardless of intended function.
The scene shifted to one much later in the war, somewhere deep in contested space. The Nemesis had still been flight-worthy then, the jewel of the Decepticon fleet. Megatron was leading a shipwide meeting from the bridge, just as the three seekers were returning from a scouting patrol.
They were bantering with each other over their trine bond, silent but obvious in the way they grinned and shoved at each other. Starscream scoffed at something Megatron couldn’t hear and pulled in front of his trinemates, hiking his wings up to block their teasing.
Skywarp had reached up and ran his servo along the top edge of Starscream’s wing, enticing him back towards Skywarp and Thundercracker. “Come on, Star,” he wheedled aloud, thumbing over the winglet at the tip of Starscream’s wing. “You know we’re just playing.”
Starscream flicked his wing, knocking Skywarp’s servo off of him. But the little smirk working its way onto his face said that he didn’t mind too much.
They’d touched each other so casually back then. It was as though affection came to the seekers as easily as their own code.
The scene changed as the Nemesis rusted away around Megatron, and the dripping echoes of a hundred leaks fought to be heard over the groan of metal pinned under thousands of tons of water. This memory was far too recent.
Megatron had thought he would drop in on the training exercises of his air force.
Of course, he’d stepped into a hangar bay at the moment Thundercracker threw his servos to his face and cried out in anger. He had let a little too much of his frustration leak into the sound, and the sonic reverberations echoed into the spark chambers of every mech around him.
Starscream and Skywarp, hovering in their alt modes, singed in a way that regular training exercises should not have caused, both transformed and dropped to the floor.
They hesitated when they approached him, though, and sneered at each other when they made optic contact.
Thundercracker saw their expressions and threw his arms into the air. “Would you just stop fighting for two kliks?!” The anger in his systems took itself out on his own voice, making his words barely audible over the thunderclap of a sonic boom.
Luckily, it was less powerful than when the seeker actively engaged his ability.
Unluckily, it didn’t need to be that powerful for the over-stressed walls of that particular hangar bay to give up the spark and buckle inwards.
At the rush of seawater swallowing his armor and pressing in on his protoform, Megatron came online to the rush of his fans and vents trying to expel water that wasn’t real.
He grimaced. Perhaps this was something he should put a few joors more thought into. He couldn’t afford to lose recharge. Not with the infrequent schedule he allowed himself to have it, anyway.
And as long as he wasn’t going to recharge, he may as well get started.
Allowing Starscream to continue this new peace within his trine was a good idea; Soundwave had been right about that. However, that didn’t mean Megatron had to let his second draw away entirely. More observation of Starscream’s new attitude was required. Of course Soundwave’s reports would be useful in this regard, but now felt like an appropriate time to get some servos-on knowledge. The next energon raid should offer just such an opportunity.
It wasn’t a difficult plan.
A few of Megatron’s less recognizable ground troops would lead the refinery’s guards on a wild shriekbat chase to rid them of their main defense, while two or three trines of seekers would swoop in, fill the cubes they’d loaded their subspaces with to the brim with the crude oil, jet fuel, kerosene, whatever the humans had dug up from this miserable planet that could be compressed into energon. The entire plot should take less than an orn.
The last time that they’d tried a hit-and-run of this nature, the seeker trines involved had gotten held up somehow within the human’s base.
Apparently someone, naming no commanding officers, had been viciously attacked by his own troops. (Soundwave had gotten ahold of the Conehead blamed for the attack and viewed their memory of the sequence of events. Thrust had sprayed Starscream with some of the waste byproduct of the refined oil.)
Then the Autobots had arrived.
That was why this time, Megatron and several heavier warframes were waiting within short comms range. If need be, they were well prepared to level the entire facility and ensure there was nothing there for the Autobots to defend at all. Or they could pick off humans attempting to flee and contact said Autobots. Megatron really wasn’t picky about the method.
The plan seemed to be proceeding exactly as it had been written, which set off several warning systems in his processor.
Humans were laughably easy to distract. Something about twenty-ton robots that could turn into tanks tended to catch their attention and hold it. So a few soldiers led the artillery of the base on a merry run-around, and right on schedule three trines of Seekers swooped into the base itself.
The way Starscream shot a hole into the wall moments before he and the rest of his unit would have crashed into it was… optic-catching, to say the least. It was dangerous and flashy and unnecessary, but the skill it must have taken to do the calculations necessary for such a maneuver mid-flight was impressive.
Not that Megatron would ever say so aloud.
Breems passed before the comms link crackled to life, emitting nothing but a brief burst of static.
The Combaticons shifted behind him, branches snapping under heavy pedes. “Do you think s’been sort of a long time—” Brawl began, before getting shushed by his gestalt.
A familiar sharp scent filled the air, like that of a cyber-citron, and static teased at the corners of Megatron’s optics. He turned as quietly as possible until he saw it off to the left of their unit: a shimmer like a half-seen reflection.
With a soldier who could teleport and who seemed to have no common sense regarding which mechs should never, ever be pranked, Megatron had learned to recognize the telltale signs of teleportation billions of cycles ago.
Skywarp snapped into existence, startling several of the Combaticons less familiar with his abilities into half-transformations. “Someone open your subspace,” he got out, before unloading at least a quartex’s worth of unrefined energy cubes onto the ground. “Be back in a klik.”
“This isn’t the plan!” Megatron got out, but Skywarp, the half-chipped fool, was already waving goodbye and warping back into the compound. Insubordinate glitches, him and his trine! There was no doubt Starscream, treacherous as he was, had a servo in this.
Megatron opened a line of communication back to the Nemesis. ::Soundwave. Has there been any message sent or received from within the humans’ oil refinery?::
::Negative. Laserbeak reports last known position of the Autobots still an acceptable distance from Decepticon troops.::
::Received.:: Megatron shut off the line and glared at the assembled Combaticons. “Well? Get these cubes put away!”
Skywarp reappeared next to Megatron, flashing a smile and dropping another load of cubes onto the forest floor. “Almost done! Starscream’s got a plan, don’t worry.”
That was possibly the most worrying thing Megatron had heard all orn. “Skywarp, don’t—”
It was too late. Skywarp had already vanished. Megatron ground his denta together.
“Uh, Megatron? Most of us already have some stuff in our subspaces, and there are… more cubes here than we can fit,” Swindle said.
“I’ve got them,” Megatron snapped, and began sending the cubes into his own pocket of subspace. He took a moment to vent, cycling cool air across heated processors. This was fine. Everything was going to be fine, and Starscream’s plan wouldn’t come crashing down around his pretty wings like all of his other plans always did.
An explosion rattled the earth, and Megatron was taking off with an energy cube still clenched in one servo. The Combaticons followed, as fast as they could in their root forms.
One of the Seekers had blown out the roof of the refinery’s main building, and all three trines that had been sent in were flying out, seemingly none the worse for wear. They banked and swooped over towards Megatron and the Combaticons, coming to hover in front of them.
“How nice to see you, Commander,” Starscream cooed. He transformed midair and smirked at Megatron. “I know you had a plan, but I just want you to know that my seekers and I are all carrying the maximum amount of energon we can, in addition to the supplies Skywarp handed off to your faction. That must be at least twice the energy gain you’d hoped for.”
It was more like three times, actually, but like Pit Megatron was going to admit that. “The energy you’ve gained for our cause today is valuable, but you should have informed myself or Soundwave before changing the plan like this. Don’t test my patience again.”
Starscream’s engine kicked into a higher gear with a shriek, though his expression didn’t change. “Good to know I’m appreciated,” he spat out, before flipping back into jet form and taking off for the Nemesis. The seeker trines fell into formation after him, with none of the post-battle bickering Megatron was used to shouting over.
“So are we… going?” ventured one of the Combaticons. Megatron didn’t bother answering before he followed the seekers’ contrails toward their home base.
So perhaps Soundwave had been correct that Starscream would be more efficient. He was still a mutinous brat.
Megatron was horrified to realize that was reassuring.
By the time Megatron and the rest of his troops returned to the Nemesis, the seekers had dropped off their energized cargo and dispersed into the ship’s corridors and barracks.
Perhaps he should check in on his errant seekers.
(Perhaps he should stop attempting to fool his own programming and admit he wanted to talk to Starscream.)
He shook off the urge. No need to let that egotist’s circuits get any more charged with self-importance than they already were. Besides, Megatron was simply feeling reasonable concern for a valued member of his troops. Nothing more.
The way to Megatron’s personal offices would take him by the surveillance office. Or they would with a slight detour, at least. If he was already in the area, he may as well see what Starscream was so distracted by at the moment. Megatron pulled up an overlay of the orn’s schedule as he walked, checking who was on monitor duty. Misfire. Perfect.
A few kliks later Megatron had the jet stumbling backwards out of the control room, stammering apologies for everything from that time he’d accidentally shot Frenzy instead of Swerve to being on-duty at all.
Megatron, having cleared the area of any witnesses, let his optics scan the screens in search of familiar silver and red wings.
Light flashed on metal—but it was only the Rainmakers, going towards the Seeker barracks. Megatron was about to continue scanning the other monitor banks when the tetrajets snapped to attention, saluting someone just offscreen. He glanced at the closest other camera, on which Skywarp, Thundercracker, and indeed Starscream were stood.
Starscream was, predictably, strutting in front of his trine with all the verve and drama of a proton peacock. His wings followed his big gestures, fanning out behind him and angling up and down to illustrate whatever his points were.
Megatron tuned in to the frequency of that particular camera until he could make out the audio for it, just in time to hear Starscream proclaim, “And that’s why you and your criminal excuses for paint jobs have to spend all your time on Cybertron, away from the real action!”
Acid Storm laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Megatron could just make out the glimmer of his eponymous acid welling up along the energon veins in his servos. “Sure, commander, whatever you say.”
“How dare you disrespect me!” Starscream began, vocalizer beginning to pitch into his characteristic scream.
It was only then that Megatron heard a low rumble coming through the feed, almost a purr. Thundercracker reached forward, laying a careful hand on Starscream’s back. He didn’t even say anything, but Megatron could see Starscream’s wings relax down from where they’d stiffened in anger.
The seeker let a long sigh escape from his vents, audible even over the security cam’s simple mic. “You and your trine are to report for training drills at the first joor tomorrow.” He held up a servo, cutting off any complaints. “I don’t want to hear it! If you’ve got the time to make the trip from Cybertron to here, you’ve got the time to run drills. That’s an order.”
Both trines stared at each other for a long moment, crimson optics burning with intensity. Something unspoken was happening here, something that Megatron didn’t have the background to understand.
Ion Storm was the first to break, lights flickering around him as he looked away from Thundercracker. “Let’s just go, guys.”
Acid Storm and Nova Storm’s engines thrummed for another klik before they, too, backed down. “We’ll be there,” Acid Storm grumbled, before begrudgingly following his trine into the air barracks.
“Maybe we should all recharge in Starscream’s tonight?” Thundercracker suggested. “I’ve got the feeling the rest of the air force isn’t going to be particularly appreciative of our presence at the moment.”
“Well, we should have had our own berth ages ago!” Starscream snapped, but still walked after Thundercracker and Skywarp as they began heading in the direction of his quarters. “It’s not right to split up a trine like that.”
“I didn’t notice you complaining when Soundwave assigned you your own quarters when we all onlined for the first time after crashing,” Thundercracker pointed out.
“Or when Megatron kept giving you private labs even when you blew them all up making stuff to kill him,” Skywarp chimed in.
Starscream’s wings twitched. “I was… distracted. I’m… I could have done things differently.”
Seeming to recognize that that was the closest to an apology they were going to get, Skywarp and Thundercracker dropped back to flank their trinemate. “It’s okay, Screamer,” Skywarp said, stroking the side of Starscream’s wing. “Earth has been rough on everybody, you know?”
“Don’t call me that,” Starscream protested. The way he leaned into Skywarp’s touch took the edge off his words.
Starscream let the other two seekers into his quarters—which unlike his labs, did not have security cameras installed. They disappeared from Megatron’s view, leaving him to remember about the post-mission briefing he was supposed to be running at this moment.
It wasn’t like anyone except Soundwave ever showed up on time anyway.
They could afford to wait another few kliks while he looked into a few logistics about the space onboard the Nemesis.
After his meeting, Megatron found himself in the Nemesis’ information storage facilities. He inspected a datapad that contained several maps and diagrams of the ship, of both its former glory as the jewel of the Decepticon space fleet and current state of… light disrepair.
There were few berths designed for multiple mechs on a warship like this one.
Most of the options for recharging were small, sparse berths or larger, more public recharge areas such as the air barracks. Of course, Megatron could always have the Constructicons refit one of the rooms that used to store weapons into something that would work.
Hypothetically.
It wasn’t like this was a problem he was actually considering doing something about.
Starscream had his own berth, and there was plenty of room for his trine with the rest of the air force. They didn’t need a recharge slab large enough for three mechs.
Besides, Starscream was probably awful to share a berth with. He’d no doubt talk in his sleep, grand speeches about how he would rule the Decepticons someday blending into menial complaints. And the wings on one seeker would take up far too much space, let alone three.
That wasn’t even mentioning the trust it would take, to recharge so close to someone who could so easily kill you (and had expressed considerable interest in doing so at many points).
Any rest would be highly implausible under those conditions. Megatron couldn’t imagine how Skywarp and Thundercracker got through it.
Against his will, the image of Thundercracker gently massaging polish along the sensitive edges of Starscream’s wings sprang to Megatron’s mind. And the way Starscream had draped himself over Skywarp… Their affection had seemed so genuine. Any one of them could have irreparably damaged the others from their positions, but it had looked like the idea had never entered any of their processors.
Megatron stared at the datapad in his hands.
Somehow, during his musing, he had sketched out the beginnings of a plan to refit one of the former torpedo storage bays into a berth fit for three seekers.
This was not a good sign.