literature

Graffiti

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Literature Text

A/N:
This is a little scene that came out of writing Act 5 of my Transformation story arc. Sadly, it just wouldn't fit into that particular chapter. But I love it; it makes me smile. So here it is. Hope you like it.

Graffiti

It sometimes seemed to Optimus that he was a pendulum in constant motion. Back and forth, back and forth he traveled: from a briefing with the first-tier lieutenants in Polyhex, out to a meeting of scientists in Vos, back to the Command Headquarters in Talus. But now, as he strode the corridors of the barracks, he paused. For some kliks he stood before a closed doorway, deep in thought. Then he keyed in the passcode, and walked in as the door rolled up in front of him.

Megatron was lying on his recharge berth, taking his weekly two joors. Optimus glanced over the various dials on the machine. All indicators showed the gray mech's systems replenishing normally. All seemed to be in order.

He looked down at the face of his enemy, so still now in repose. The nightmares that had troubled the gray mech for the first few orbital cycles of their partnership had faded away, and now Megatron seemed to welcome his required respite as he never had previously. His hands were crossed lightly upon his chest, and although his optics were dark, the ghost of a smirk still tugged one corner of the mouth which for so many vorns had been set in a habitual frown. Optimus smiled in response, and shook his head. If only the big lug were this pleasant while in operation, he thought.

Now that things had settled somewhat, and the two of them no longer clung to one another as the only points of solidarity in a swirling sea of change, Prime had to admit to himself that he'd been a bit disappointed in Megatron. He was wise enough to realize that no mech could live up to that first homecoming, when Megatron had broken down the door, and stood outlined in the flashing lightening. Optimus had seen a lot of things, but he'd been more than a little awed that night, faced with Megatron uncloaked, wreathed in all his power.

Prime was also aware of his habit of attaching too much importance to symbols. He knew he should not expect Megatron to act like a prince, simply because he'd been created with a crown like one. But even so, the red Autobot sometimes couldn't help wishing that his bond-brother would act the way he had in those first impossible flights of fancy.

When Megatron had given up the helmet that hid his crest; once he had faced up to and accepted what Prime referred to in his own mind as the gray mech's 'True Nature,' Prime had assumed that the Decepticon would change. He had hoped to begin a partnership with a strong, charismatic leader who would inspire others by his example, and would use his considerable powers for the good of all.

He'd gotten just that; but it hadn't been what he'd imagined.

In the empty darkness of Megatron's quarters, Optimus began to chuckle. The laugh grew to a deep rumbling roar, as he shook his head again at the depth of his own naivete. Megatron would always be Megatron: proud, devious, rude, and headstrong. And although there were plenty of times when Prime wanted to weld the Decepticon's face into a wall, he knew that he'd never really want to change the old mech. It was too much fun having him around to spar with. As Elita had archly reminded him, he'd always said he wished he had more companions who were unabashed by his office, who treated him as an equal.

Well, this was what getting your wish felt like, he supposed. When you got the thing you'd always wanted, it often didn't turn out to be anything like what you'd dreamed it would be.

Prime crossed his arms, and frowned down at his bond-brother one more time. He told himself sternly that he really should get back to the business of the day. He'd be late for a conference of team-captains if he didn't hurry.

But before he left the small, spare room, Optimus bent down, and carefully pried up one of the crest-fins folded along the side of Megatron's resting head. On the underside, right down by the hinge where they would almost certainly never be seen, Prime scratched some extremely impolite and highly uncomplimentary glyphs. He gave his handiwork one last check, then straightened up, rubbing his hands in devilish satisfaction. He knew that the big mech's regenerative systems would probably smooth over the scratched symbols in time. But as he looked over the criss-crossed scars that covered the gray frame in spite of all healing protocols, Prime secretly hoped they might remain.

He pressed his palm over the flat, gray chestplate, feeling the slow pulse of the red spark within it: a spark he now knew as well as he knew his own. "Rest well, Brother," he murmured with warm affection. "Rest well, ya glitching scrap-heap." He keyed open the door, grinned, and strode down the hallway, whistling.
Basically what it says in the Author's Note at the beginning. Just a happy little drabble that was too fuzzy to relegate to the scrapheap. :)
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Hi-yo's avatar
when I read the part when meggsie is graffitied, I could swear an evil laugh track was going through OP's head...