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After a considerable time on Lost Light spent on asking himself the reason for not throwing himself out of the airlock, Megatron was getting slowly used to the chaotic ways of what constituted the vessel's usual functioning. He wouldn't be surprised to hear they jumped into another universe, or had caused another sort of disaster, the magnitude of cosmic apocalypse - nor would he even react to more than a tired sigh to the news that the quantum engines had turned into cheese during the brief time he could get himself to recharge.
He had millions of years of experience of highly stressful situations, and now, having survived so far in the ship with Rodimus as a co-captain, he would have considered himself fairly capable of handling being under pressure.
Yet, in the presence of Optimus, sipping on his engex with a pleased, if a little exhausted, smile, he felt something twisting in his internals that he couldn't blame on the mess that his frame was in, nor the poison they were feeding him.
His emotions related to the mech were not straightforward; he wasn't worried, nor scared of the Prime, but with the changes of sides he didn't know what their actual dynamic was like at the moment - and that uncertainty was gnawing on his circuits like an electrovole, making his thoughts scatter whenever the other would even twitch.
"I'm glad you seem to be doing well, old friend," the red and blue bot said suddenly, breaking the silence that fell between them in that furthest booth in Swerve's; the bar was empty, its minder excused himself out after a few minutes of their intense quiet staring, leaving them to talk in relative privacy. The former warlord hummed in agreement, unsure if he would say the same about the other; in his own opinion, the other looked like he needed a very long vacation - somewhere where he could just lay down and relax, with nobody to bother him
He smirked to himself at the thought - no, they both knew Optimus was unable to actually rest for longer than a moment; if he didn't end up throwing himself off a cliff or find another grandiose mission to get his fuel pumping, he would go stir-crazy.
Huh.
Maybe this was why it was easier for Megatron to not go totally insane (even if he complained about that periodically in the privacy of his own mind) - the ship was such a combination of improbable scenarios on such a small area, he didn't have the time to worry about anything beyond those walls directly. His scope of influence has been reduced to the vessel and its crew, and he could see it change him.
Against his better judgment, maybe, but change him they did.
"I am doing as well as I can do, Optimus - I trust you are not overdoing yourself," he offered in return, trying to follow at least some of the social protocol; they might have been fighting longer than anyone should, but that made the friendship between them possible in the end. They knew each other extremely well, and once the weapons were down, they fell into companionship naturally - as if they were only waiting for a sign.
Prime scoffed, smiling wearily. "I am alright, thanks for asking," he answered, omitting the topic altogether; there was no need to talk about the way Cybertron was running under new management.
Especially not when his visit to the Lost Light had been a lucky coincidence for him - running into them in a neutral spaceport on his visit to one of the colonies to learn the most recent accident flung them in the wrong direction; they were waiting in the queue to refuel to get back on their quest, the spacecraft so distinct he could pick it out easily while docking. He had a few hours to spare before he would have to get onto his own ship, back to the responsibilities he could not deny.
Right now, he could share a drink with Megatron and talk about whatever he wanted.
"Shanix for your thoughts?" he prompted gently, seeing the other tap gently on his own ration; the silver mech was watching him, but his gaze seemed to lose focus from time to time, before they would snap back and slide away quickly, as if caught with a proverbial hand in a cookie jar, if he recalled the saying correctly.
At the question the ex-Con grimaced, picking up his energon, only to put it down a moment later. “My thoughts aren’t probably worth that much to anyone anymore, Optimus,” he muttered, fixing his attention on the disgusting fluid that was part of his daily punishment.
The red and blue mech only harrumphed in response. "I beg to differ, but I might be a bit biased, having been on the opposing end of your processor for four million years - I've grown quite attached to its nuances," he admitted, swirling the engex lazily. "If whatever you say won't end up in a brawl, I'm happy to listen," he promised earnestly, curious as to what could have caused the other to be in such a disarray. Not many would recognize it, but he knew his former enemy well enough to see the tell-tale signs of lack of complete control - that was not something Megatron allowed others to see without cause.
The silver bot took a steadying in-vent. "Here goes nothing, then…" he mumbled, taking a swing to drink all of the energon in one go, grimacing at the taste. Placing the container down, he laced his digits together before he grunted out:
"Do you think there is a possibility I could somehow even the odds after all of the pain I have caused?"
Stunned, the Prime sat still for a minute, processing the words. "Even the odds?" he mouthed out silently, as if speaking it himself would bring more clarity to the question.
It didn't seem to help at all.
Resting his arms on the table between them, he put both of his palms down on the cool surface. "Megatron, you can't undo the harm - none of us can," he began slowly, the vocalizer unsteady as he struggled to voice the truth he embraced a long time ago to someone else but himself; the silver mech was always making him doubt his opinions, but not this one.
This one was earned through so much sacrifice - he would carry it with himself forever.
"You can't look at it in a matter of numbers," he insisted, pressing the tips of his digits hard on the table, nearly causing dents in the furniture. "Even if you spent the next four million years on rescue missions across the universe, the deed is done," he admitted firmly, optics down low in remorse, as the visions of the lives he ended, by himself or via proxy flashed across his spark. Shaking his helm to dispel the images, he finished with air of finality:
"You need to live with it and accept it."
Megatron fumed silently, unwilling to accept the answer. "But surely, everyone has the capacity to be forgiven," the bot countered, the edge of desperation hidden for now; there had to be something, anything, there always was a way-
Something in Optimus broke at those words, making him snap.
"Oh, surely, especially if you think of it like some do on Earth," he noted with a grin, letting his emotions take hold as he recalled something from the years on the faraway planet; a thing that he at the time found odd, but it fit into the conversation quite nicely.
The silver mech was visibly puzzled by the change of tone, as well as a mention of the loathed ball of dirt that they briefly fought on.
Where was Prime going with this?
The bot in question was only ramping up on his lecture. "In fact, I think the Christians would be your best bet here, they are very focused on the idea of moral failings and sin," Optimus frowned, pouting momentarily, before he shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever that precisely is, I don't know, but one of their major commandments is about killing, so that covers a lot," he dryly pointed out, raising his servo to halt any comments from the other before he was done.
Megatron didn’t seem to appreciate his advice, but he would listen to it, if he liked it or not.
"They have this odd system of being granted forgiveness, all in-built in their faith, you could try that," he mentioned matter-of-factly, before he took a sip, snorting soon after. "You are a bit unlucky, though - if you were there a few centuries earlier, I'm sure you could even buy it for a price," the mech rubbed his chin, tapping the derma lightly in consideration; waving the concern away, he added:
"But no matter, they love converts, and if I got it right, after a ceremony you would be forgiven everything if you join them, at least in the eyes of their God."
Optimus relaxed a little bit, spreading his arms wide, bracing them on the back of the seat. "Pretty sweet deal, if you ask me - you may need to pay for it, though, they do seem to cash in on a lot of the official stuff…" he trailed off, amused; he always wondered what was precisely going on in that religion, its spread marked in blood.
He mused darkly - a holy crusade, indeed…
"What are you talking about, Prime?" the former Decepticon leader growled quietly, thrown out of the loop at the impromptu theology lesson; the other mech only laughed into his palm, observing the former warlord’s confusion in growing fascination.
"I am talking about what you seem to want, Megatron," Optimus reminded the silver bot with a tsk sound leaving his derma, tutting in disapproval.
He knew his conversation partner could do better than that - he wrote all those poems and stuff, he had to read between the lines better than the former Autobot commander could himself.
He just didn’t want to do this with himself, apparently.
Well, if he asked for a straight answer, he would get it.
"You want to avoid the consequences of your actions by bargaining with the universe," he announced with absolute confidence.
Predictably, the ex-Con did not react too well to his observation. "I am not running away-" he blurted out, ire rising, before a wave of a servo and a stern shush! from the Prime interrupted his rant, dismissing it straight out of the way.
"Of course you don't see it this way," he mumbled, rubbing his temples in fatigue, before he steepled his digits, pointing them towards Megatron as he prepared himself to elaborate on his point.
"Listen to yourself - you are asking for a way out. For a method, a task, anything that you could act on," he listed out, palms joined together as he fixed the other with one of his famous piercing stares. "While we're learning to live with our choices, you're trying to put a numerical value on something that is by default invaluable," he insisted, servos landing on the table as he tried to resist reaching out across the booth to shake his companion into opening up his mind a little.
The silver bot crossed his arms in return. "So you are saying I should have just allowed you to pass your judgment on me back on Luna 2," he sneered, looking away into the empty bar, before some of the anger left his frame, shoulders sagging a little. "Why did you allow me to leave with this ship then, if you didn't believe I was worth another chance," he queried quietly, red optics returning to the blue ones in search of something.
Optimus didn’t like disappointing anyone, but he had no other choice. "I didn't do it because I think you should be forgiven, if that's what you thought was the reason," he admitted apologetically, bowing his helm a little in a show of regret. "But I also couldn’t help but try to give you at least something…" he started to confess, before a humph from Megatron cut him off.
"What, a mild poisoning and a case of perpetual nightmare this ship keeps me in?" the mech grunted out, scowling; he knew the other could hear the lack of the necessary negative undercurrent in his words, betraying his own lack of belief in the statement, but he was feeling trapped by Prime, and his old habit - lashing out defensively - had come out of him unbidden.
The red and blue bot only twisted his helm in denial. "No," he added audibly, recognizing the reaction to what it was - an instinctual response - and deciding to get back on track. "I wanted to give you time to grow so you can understand why you - all of us - cannot be forgiven," Optimus noted grimply, gaze pensive, before he allowed his face to turn into a more friendly one, a weak smile stretched across his derma.
"I do not wish you dead, Megatron," he assured the silver mech; when Megatron rolled his optics, he allowed his face to turn into a grimace. "Your death will not fix anything - it's just giving you a way out from living with your conscience," he acknowledged with no mercy, shocking his companion. He took a sip of his drink, watching the other process his words. "Trust me, I know about that pretty well," he spoke with conviction, making the other let out a chuckle against his morose mood.
Optimus rested his helm in his servos, elbows on the table. "If I were a crueler mech, I'd have kept you alone until Rodimus returned with the Knights, rotting away as you brood in your own processor," he pondered briefly, having considered that option before he had landed on his final decision to make Megatron join Lost Light as a co-captain.
He could have done it. He would have been in his full rights to do it, and nobody would have spoken out against his decision.
But he was accountable first to his own conscience.
"Luckily for you, I am not," he conceded, letting his back hit the seat; glancing around the room, he shivered, before he allowed some of his more hidden emotions to come to the surface.
It might be a long time before they got to speak again - and then, there would be little time to exchange pleasantries, with the entire planet dead-set on getting the ex-warlord judged and executed.
"Looking at you struggling with yourself only brings me sadness," Optimus spoke gently, channeling some of the silent prayer of his spark to aid him in braving the admission until the end. "Thus I did you a one last favor within my power - I sent you to actually interact with others," he continued, looking at the silver bot with hope in his optics, before he concluded with a soothing smile:
"Not as an army to lead - but as a crew to live with and protect."
Megatron felt scraped raw; he needed the mech to stop speaking, or he might end up in more mess than he was. "So I was right - this ship is my punishment," he tried to offer as bait, to get the Prime angry - he knew how to handle an angry Prime, he had millenia to learn how to talk to angry Prime, and would be able to direct the conversation better with him.
Instead it seemed he was stuck with a ridiculously stubborn one.
"If you see it this way, I'd say you still have a way to go," Optimus huffed into his drink, feeling ages older than he was. "But no, they are not a punishment," he assured, waving around, gesturing to the ship around them. "They are wonderful, complex characters - and for once, you can interact with such a variety of personalities without the distraction of war keeping you away from being touched by others."
"I'd rather not be touched at all, Prime," Megatron tried as a last resort, needing to put an end to this discussion now.
He didn’t need to hear it!
A little voice in his spark told him that he didn’t want to hear it - which made the entire difference.
The Autobot only ex-vented in disapproval. "You are being wilfully obtuse," he complained, before he decided to take mercy on the former enemy.
Putting his servos down again on the table, he searched the other’s optics to establish contact. "The fact remains that you have changed, but you are not yet anywhere close to being done changing," he surmised, tilting his helm in consideration. "If you are lucky, you will see one day that there is more to all of this than a battle for survival, the rush for a way out," Optimus said hopefully, ignoring the negative signals from his friend - he knew they were made out of habit, and that was something that the mech was still working on. "There is more to life than just being alive, Megatron," he stated, voice soft, before he concluded:
"All I want is for you to feel that at least once before you run out of time."
The silence fell between them, but from a distance they heard first noises of incoming patrons, heralding the soon end of their private talk.
Optimus sighed, rubbing his nasal bridge, disillusioned. "Bringing up those Christians again, I think you should know one more thing," he uttered almost lamentably, as he turned towards the other to impart one more piece of wisdom before everyone came here, destroying their little bubble of intimacy.
Raising one digit, he fixed the other with a flat look. "The entire process of being forgiven starts at one, crucial element - if you don’t have it, even if you do all the other steps, it will not be the real thing," he emphasized with a wry twist on his derma, before he explained:
"It requires you to feel genuine guilt over what you have done."
The voices of the rest of the crew were very close, and Swerve’s silhouette was just crossing the threshold, opening the door and letting more noise in, as Megatron sat frozen. His companion took a look at him, at the incoming mechs, and already felt a sense of loss at having to cut their conversation short. "Now, tell me, my friend," Optimus whispered, drinking the last sip of his engex, leaning forward to get closer to the silver audials as he asked quietly:
"Do you feel guilty?"