Current location:	home
Current mood:	serene
Entry tags:	fanfiction 2008 (spring), megatron, megatron/optimus, optimus prime, poster: kyra_neko_rei, rated pg

In which I come up with something profound.
I've had something vague yet ever-present in my mind regarding Optimus and Megatron after the latter's death in the movie, and last night i_stalk_piccolo's lovely music-meme offering yesterday, the Optimus/Megatron one, inspired it to coalesce into striking detail what I wanted to do with it. This takes place the night after the dead Decepticons' bodies are consigned to the Laurentian Abyss and more or less immediately following the last scene in the movie.

Title: "Pathways of Peace"
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: PG? There's kisses, that's it.
Warnings: I cannot do angst without it turning first bittersweet and then pure sunshine and roses. Kisses between brothers, vague thoughts of suicide, fluff unbecoming of Megatron, omnicient risen-above-hatred dead people, hints of Major Character Resurrection Syndrome.
Characters/Pairings: Optimus/Megatron, mentions of other movie characters and Primus.
Disclaimer: If I owned it, it'd be nonstop fluff, sex and slapstick humor, and movieverse Starscream would actually look like Starscream instead of a metal bird with a gorilla's body.
Summary: The Autobot Matrix of Leadership is a part of the Matrix Beyond. Sometimes this connection to the afterlife does amazing things, especially for a Prime who is mourning the final loss of his beloved brother.



The night after Mission City, Optimus dreams.

The Matrix sits in his chest behind his spark; as the Allspark was a piece of Primus, the Matrix of Leadership is a piece of the Matrix beyond, the home of all sparks that no longer exist in this world.

Now the home of the Allspark.

Now the home of Jazz.

Now the home of Megatron.

If leadership has its burdens, and it has more than its fair share, the position of Prime has its rewards, as well, and one of the greatest is the nature of the Matrix. The wisdom of the Primes and Primus are here, yes; the stores of strength and wisdom that can be drawn upon as needed, the subtle programming that interacts with the bearer in order to develop that same strength and wisdom in one's own right---no Prime relies on the Matrix any longer than he absolutely must; it challenges them, teaches them, makes them worthy of bearing it, and if Optimus couldn't have handled this war and this position without the Matrix at first, the Matrix has made him able to handle it without it now---but besides all that, it is the Matrix---it is the Matrix, and every Transformer that ever died resides to some extent in both. Resides to some extent in him.

The Matrix is far too full---and yet not full enough. Too many have died---and not enough have lived. Not enough will live; the Allspark is gone, sacrificed to prevent an innocent world from suffering through what the Decepticons would do with it, and there will be no more of his kind born, now or ever.

Behind Optimus, the sun has set; stars dot the sky in new patterns, and the three other Autobots still sit with their pair of human companions; Optimus Prime's message is traveling across the great void of space, and he hopes more than anything that there is someone left to hear. Optimus himself has withdrawn from the others; further into the alien desert, he lies down, fitful in his first recharge free of worry about the Allspark.

"Brother . . ." It's Jazz that he should be mourning, his steadfast friend and ally, not the greatest of their enemies. But it's Megatron, his brother and his beloved, that he cries out with pain at losing---Megatron, whom he misses with a pain that sears his spark to its core.

Megatron, who is more lost to him---Jazz is only dead; Megatron was lost to him when they were still alive.

Megatron, whom he somehow thought would always be there---an enemy, yes, but forever a constant until his own death came.

If he's honest with himself, he's always expected to die at Megatron's hands. Hopefully dying with Megatron---removing with the last of his life the threat his brother presents to his Autobots, fulfilling his duty to them and freeing himself to follow his brother as he could not while he lived. He's always expected to enter the Matrix at Megatron's side, or else be waiting there to greet him.

Autobots protect---each other, the innocent and the not-so-innocent, and for all that Lord High Protector was Megatron's office, it was protection that Optimus had in mind---to be there, to protect his brother from whatever penance or judgment might be levied upon him for all that he's done. Furious the assembly of the dead might be at what Megatron has done---but those who would judge the Lord Protector would venerate the Prime---and if Optimus chose to tie his own fate to Megatron's, they might withhold their sentence, out of respect or duty to him.

And it would perhaps atone to Megatron for the fact that Optimus had stood against him in life.

Shifting against the fast-cooling sand, Optimus drifted further towards recharge, uneasiness with this turn of events rising feverishly in his processor. It was an atonement he longed to make; he could not regret the results of the day's battle, nor the decision of eons past to accept his brother's enmity in the keeping of his conscience---but he had hurt Megatron, all those ages ago. The price needed to be paid, and it was worth it, but he was sorry to the depths of his being that he could not pay it all himself. He should be at Megatron's side, but he wasn't; he still had obligations here. Autobots to lead, friends to live for, maybe more Decepticons to fight. He could not follow his brother, could not help him, could not repay him until he was done here.

But oh, it hurt.

"Primus," he spoke aloud, barely a whisper, quickly lost in the wind. "I beg of you, comfort him while I cannot."

---------------------------

He slept. He dreamed. He lay somewhere that wasn't a place, surrounded by impressions of things that didn't exist---light, heat, air. No gravity and no recharge berth nor desert sand, and being in that state of mind unique to dreams, he did not find it odd.

The light that didn't exist was the color of the Matrix in his chest.

He sat up, and yet didn't.

"So you do love me." Megatron, sitting beside him, real-yet-unreal as the rest of things. Conversational; posture eased; red eyes gleaming with speculation, some vague interest.

"Of course I do."

Megatron nodded. "I couldn't---be sure, somehow. Always doubts. Optimism was always your thing."

"It should be." The joke was as old as their naming day, and Megatron smiled, reaching out a companionable arm to clasp his brother's shoulder. Claw-tips gentle against metal armor.

"I like the flames," the silver mech said offhandedly. "They suit you somehow."

Optimus smiled, mostly focused on the physical sensation of being touched. "So many eons since you've touched me without trying to rip me apart," he mused.

"Not true! I settled for pushing you at least twice in that battle!"

Optimus laughed. "Details." He watched his brother smile, and then hazarded a question. "Do you love me?"

"Do I now, or did I when I was alive?" the Lord Protector asked back.

Optimus was silent, searching optics on his brother's face.

"Yes. To both." Megatron's voice was soft. "I hated you, but I loved you, and I hated myself for it and put myself through hell trying to pretend I didn't . . . I wish I had accepted it. I wish I had prioritized it higher."

"So do I, Brother," Optimus voiced his deepest regret. "I wish I'd kept trying to reach you."

"Don't," said Megatron gently. "I was too stubborn and too mistrustful for it to have ever worked. Too dispairing." This last a whisper.

"I should be there with you." There or here, whichever it was; he means dead, their fates tied together.

"STOP, Optimus." Megatron's grip on his shoulder was suddenly strong as steel. "You want to be here because you want to protect me, comfort me, help me, because I'm your brother and you love me . . . what the frag do you think I'm here to do for you!?" Claws softened; optics brightened, glowing fervent and crimson in the Matrix-light. "You did what you had to for what you believed in; I did the same, I know what duty is! There's more mercy to be had here than you expect, and I love that you're willing to be here for me but I won't suffer without you defending me.

"No one suffers in the light of Primus, Brother. We see mistakes that we never dreamed of when we were alive, yes, but this is a place of healing, of forgiveness, even for those who deserve it least."

"Even for those who need it most," Optimus corrected.

Megatron moved closer, all wonderful fluid grace, and pulled Optimus into an embrace that was somehow gentle and fierce all at once. "I could feel you. Lying there alone wishing for nothing more than to comfort me, and foregoing it for the sake of your other duties . . . I never appreciated this properly before, but you're astonishingly selfless. Giving. Beyond belief.

"And so I came to comfort you instead. I hope it's an acceptable substitute? I'm not so good at selflessness, and I wanted to be there for you for once."

"Of course, Brother." He's happily drowning in Megatron's embrace, happier than he'd ever thought he'd be again since they walked away from each other on Cybertron, the night before the start of the war. Happier than he's dreamed possible since he knelt at the edge of an alien ocean, clasping his brother's body in his arms, saying goodbye. A pain that his spark has lived with for almost forever is gone, and it sings with the purest joy he could ever imagine.

A kiss, like the one they shared before they parted that night---first chaste, lips brushing lips, then passionate, pleasure chasing away a lifetime of pain---though this time they're banishing it, not keeping it momentarily at bay. They pull apart, still hovering close, and Megatron grins, a sharp smile filled with delight and secrets.

"Have faith, Brother. It's not as over as you think. You said to your team that spark contact with the Allspark might be fatal." His smile widened as Optimus comprehended the implications, and then added, "And as for the spirited little one I killed . . . not every piece of the Allspark is here. You might find a use for that one you took from my chest."

Optimus nods, committing the information to memory, confident that he'll think of it in the morning. "So you're saying the Allspark didn't kill you?"

"We're not all of us here because we're dead, Brother. Some of us are just . . . waiting. You expected me to always be there, and I intend to. You're not rid of me yet."

Optimus frowns ever-so-slightly. "I don't suppose you'll remember this?"

"Not consciously," said Megatron. "But, yes. You were regretting that you didn't try harder to win me back, and given a second chance you'll not make that mistake. And while I won't remember much of the Matrix, my experiences here will be a part of me. It's reminded me how to hope, and between that and the change in circumstances, it is well within your abilities.

"You need to wake up now. Back to your Autobots and your humans, and I'll rejoin you presently."

Optimus nodded. He could feel the sun against his optics and three bodies---make that five---curled up against him, warm and comforting. He looked to his living brother, still vivid as the Matrix faded, and gives words to what he wanted to say back on the beach---or any time they'd ever met in battle.

"Megatron. My brother. My love. Thank you."

"Beloved."

A final kiss, lingering on his lips as his optics came online in the dawn-kissed desert, and he gathered Ratchet and Bumblebee closer to him, rested hands lightly on the two humans sleeping on his chestplate, snuggled closer against Ironhide, and smiled, the sacred joy of the Matrix still singing within his spark, optics filled with the brightness of the rising sun.