#teztrash

Nobody on the Necroworld was surprised by the fact that Drift seemed to avoid Megatron. It was even expected, really: bots probably would’ve eyed Drift suspiciously had he not avoided Megatron. Two ex-cons stuck together, one of them being the former leader of the entire faction and the other being his favorite lieutenant…

Or at least that’s what bots on the Lost Light might’ve said. But after everything that happened, after the clash with the DJD – it was doubtful that anyone would accuse Drift of Decepticon sympathies.

So naturally Rodimus decided to talk to him and ensure his former (and now reinstated) Third-in-Command was comfortable around his former (and now – in a way – reinstated?) boss. 

Drift, of course, just smiled politely and assured Rodimus that he was absolutely fine and there was nothing bothering him about being in the same location as Megatron. But he probably should’ve known Rodimus better – especially the way Rodimus preferred to solve problems.

Namely, as quickly and obnoxiously as possible.

Which was how Drift and Megatron found themselves locked in a secure room in the middle of Necrobot’s headquarters. Neither had their weapons with them, and the door didn’t give when punched.

“You aren’t leaving this room until you sorted things out,” Rodimus’s voice announced over the intercom. “Your commlinks are jammed, by the way. Have fun! And be nice to each other.”

“Why you little – “ but Rodimus never got to hear what he was in Megatron’s opinion, because the intercom switched off with a cheerful chime.

Leaving the room in an awkward silence.

“Well,” Drift said, attempting a crooked smile. “I guess we should wait until Ultra Magnus gets us out?”

Megatron scoffed, crossed his arms, and remained where he stood.

***

It was the second hour of their imprisonment, and Ultra Magnus still did not appear. He probably wasn’t even aware of Rodimus’s latest genius plan. The door stayed close, although now it sported some impressive dents, and Megatron refused to negotiate with Rodimus (who was probably watching them or listening in, because of course he would). Drift was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, seemingly deep in meditation.

In the beginning of the third hour Megatron started negotiating.

“Rodimus,” he said, rubbing his temples. “You cannot force us into some sort of connection. If Drift wishes to stay away from somebody, he has a right to do so. You wouldn’t do that to him and Whirl, would you?”

The intercom was quiet.

“Damn it.” Megatron gritted his dental plates. “Rodimus, for spark’s sake, don’t you get it? You made him a scapegoat for being an ex-Decepticon! Do you really want your friend to be associated with me?”

Silence.

“Aaaargh!” Finally, Megatron abandoned his regal posture and sat down on the floor. Apparently, this was indeed his fate now: dealing with the Autobots’ immaturity for the rest of his life.

Two more minutes ticked by in silence, but then it was broken by a new voice.

“That… wasn’t why I was avoiding you.”

Drift never changed his pose and didn’t even open his optics. Still, Megatron stared at him; that wasn’t how he was used to hearing this voice. Deadlock was confident, eager; this mech sounded almost meek.

“Then why?” he urged, vaguely realizing that they were playing right into Rodimus’s idea.

“Because you are…” Drift’s shoulders sagged, breaking the illusion of meditation. “You are familiar. Comfortable. Deadlock spent millennia working with you, serving under you. And I’m afraid that if I do it again… he might return.”

“You speak like Deadlock was some other person.”

“Because he was!” Drift’s optics lit up. “I am not Deadlock,” he stated, looking right into Megatron’s face. “I left that part of my life behind. I was reforged.” He touched the Autobot symbol on his chest. “I changed. And I can’t go back.” His lips twitched, optics shimmering. “I can’t, Megatron!”

Megatron didn’t reply to that for a while.

“We all changed, Drift.” This time, his tone was soft. “I changed too. But you can’t run away from a part of yourself and pretend it simply doesn’t exist.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!” Drift’s fingers clenched, scraping his knee armor. “If your orders were followed, I would’ve been dead! Tortured to death by the DJD! You sent me away, basically gave me to Turmoil, and now you lecture me?”

“I sent Lockdown after you,” Megatron answered mildly. “Not the DJD. He was supposed to bring you back.”

“Because you didn’t know I defected. You probably thought we had a squabble with Turmoil, didn’t you? But if you knew, you would’ve sent the DJD.”

“Why did you defect?”

“I realized we weren’t fighting for a better Cybertron anymore.” Drift’s gaze fell on the floor before his knees. “And my friend died.” He wasn’t in the mood of telling more.

“I am sorry.” As strange as it was, Megatron sounded sincere. “Heh… Maybe I should’ve seen it back then already. If even you, my loyal Deadlock, thought we weren’t fighting for equality anymore.”

“Don’t call me that.” This came out like a growl. “Deadlock is dead.”

Megatron blinked, taken out of his thought process.

“Then who are you?”

“I am Drift!”

“You hide behind this name like behind a mask.” Megatron narrowed his optics. “Is this really what you want to do? To create some artificial Autobot persona and spend the rest of your life pretending to be him?”

“Better this than to stay a monster!”

Megatron frowned.

“Drift. Describe Deadlock for me.”

“What..?”

“Describe to me what kind of person you think Deadlock was.”

“He was…” Drfit hesitated. “He was angry. Unhinged. A murderer who enjoyed his murders, who wanted to see the world burn. Uncaring, merciless, consumed by hatred. A perfect Decepticon.” Drfit peered into Megatron’s optics, challenging.

“Perfect Decepticon?” Megatron shook his head. “Oh, Drift. If Deadlock was a perfect Decepticon, I wouldn’t have sent him to Turmoil. You are right, Deadlock was wrathful and unhinged, too eager to prove himself. But let me also describe Deadlock for you, from the point of view of his commander.”

Megatron straightened his back, his voice gained power, and suddenly Drift couldn’t look away from him, like he couldn’t look away many years ago, when he stood in the crowd listening to Megatron’s speeches.

“Deadlock was brave, and passionate, and selfless. Yes, selfless, for he gave every little piece of himself for the cause he believed in. Deadlock was smart, able to find a way out of any situation in a blink of an eye. He was resourceful, and bright, and he was always ready to go the extra mile. He never let others do tasks he wasn’t ready to do himself. His passion was also his undoing, but he was one of my best officers.” Megatron nodded at Drift, who was staring at him wide-eyed. “This is why I assigned you to Turmoil, Drift. I wanted you to learn to control yourself, to obey, to work in a team instead of rushing forward – so that one day you could lead a team. I was wrong; that was too brutal of a learning experience, perhaps, and I am – was – a brutal person. I understand it now, and I am sorry, although I know my apology won’t change the past. But you survived and found a new way. You still fight for what you believe in.” Megatron allowed a small smile to appear on his lips. “You cannot just erase a good part of your person, Drift. Deadlock was, is, and will always be a part of you – with all good and bad qualities he has. Just like Drift has always been a part of Deadlock.”

“That sounds rather hypocritic, coming from you.” Drift averted his optics. He looked quite shaken by Megatron’s speech, but tried to keep his composure. “Didn’t you try to leave a part of yourself behind?”

“I am not an infallible icon, Drift.” Megatron sighed, resting his back against the wall, and suddenly Drfit was staring at him again, unable to believe he was seeing Megatron like this. Sad, defeated. “I might lecture you now and try to give you wise advice,” he chuckled, although the laugh came out bitter, “but I am not a perfect Decepticon either. Or a perfect Autobot. Or perfect anything.” He closed his optics. “I only… Let’s say I want you to be as happy as you can. And forcing yourself into some mold by cutting everything that doesn’t fit it is unhealthy. You can ask Rung if you don’t want to talk to me. Just think about it, all right?”

“I am not him,” Drift whispered, optics downcast and hands shaking. “I am not him!”

“If you say so,” Megatron agreed with a sigh.

***

Some more time passed by in silence. Megatron could appear recharging to an untrained optic, but the soft whirr of his cooling systems was louder than was normal for a recharging mech.

Suddenly Drift stood up and moved over to Megatron.

“I wish you said all of this to me before.” Drift put his hands on his hips, glaring down at his former lord. “Why have you never told me that? Everything you said about Deadlock? I needed to hear you say this so much, I worked my best, and you never did!”

“I have never been an infallible icon.” Megatron remained sitting, looking up at Drift. “But I thought that, for the sake of the cause, I had to be one.”

“Distant and untouchable?”

“As a friend of mine used to say,” Megatron’s lips curved in a bitter smile, “don’t get attached.”

“To me it sounds like another mask.” Drift tilted his head. “Creating a warlord persona and hiding behind it.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Megatron lowered his gaze. “Then I deceived all those who followed me and made them believe I knew where to lead them.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Megatron waved his hand. “Too late to fix that.”

He stuttered when a white hand lay on his palm.

“Maybe it isn’t too late.” Drift sat down next to him, and he was smiling – a real, warm smile. “Thank you. For telling Deadlock what he needed so much. It was late, but… I think it made him happier.”

And then Drift was grinning – in a sly way that was most definitely Deadlock.

“As for what that friend of yours said – I’m sorry, but that’s a load of scrap. Get attached. Do get attached! In fact, how about we practice getting attached right now?” He leaned in, bringing their faces closer, and Megatron grinned back…

When the door opened with a loud beep, and a loud cough sounded from the intercom.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough! You sorted it out, I can see that! Get out of there!” Oh, the horror in Rodimus’s voice was delightful. Megatron suppressed the desire to snicker.

“Well-played,” he whispered to Drift instead, and rose to his feet. Drift stepped back, concealing a smirk.

“Let’s go then,” Megatron said out loud, and they left the room side by side.

***

Rodimus’s trick didn’t go unnoticed: he got one Pit of a roasting from Ratchet, who told him everything he thought about locking Drift up with his former leader. Interestingly enough, Megatron didn’t give Rodimus the same roasting, satisfied with the subtle look of appalment that Rodimus had been giving him.

He was still surprised to find Drift waiting for him in the dark of the room Megatron took as his own.

“So,” Drift said, his dental plates glinting with the reflected light from the hallway, “about that ‘getting attached’ thing.”

“I thought it was a game of pretense to disturb Rodimus.” Megatron hesitated before closing the door behind him.

Drift shrugged.

“It was. And it wasn’t. I can leave now and we forget about this… Or I can stay – if you want me to, of course.” He fidgeted, now looking more like that young mech Megatron remembered from the rallies. “It doesn’t have to be interface, or anything, really. Sometimes it’s… sometimes I missed you,” he said quietly.

Megatron opened his mouth, but words refused to come out. Like something was still holding them back, a tight grip around his vocalizer. A confession he never dared to make, never allowed himself to make.

Don’t get attached. You’re a leader first and foremost. You will use these mechs and send them to their deaths. You will not let them get close, and then you will leave them to pick up the pieces of their lives on their own.

Not anymore.