The dark of the foreign planet closed around him like a fog

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything but the plot.

However, if you’re extremely gullible, not only do I own this, but you’ll die in 24 hours if you don’t air mail me some chocolate. PM me and get my address! Quick before it’s too late!

No. Not really. I lied. You have 72 hours, not 24. I’m just needy. I mean… it’ll take forever to reach me, and the last group was shamefully unresponsive… T.T

Anyway… As you will notice while reading this fic, it says Galvatron instead of Megatron.

While I tend to view G1 Megatron and Galvatron as different mechs, Armada wasn’t like that. To me it was more Megatron got a new color scheme and was like “Hey! I deserve a cooler name! How about Galvatron?” So in Armada, I see Megatron and Galvatron as one and the same. Galvatron’s colors were just a teensy bit prettier.

This takes place directly after Optimus leaves following Unicron’s destruction and Galvatron’s sacrifice/death.

Dedicated to the MegaOP club on deviantart.

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The dark of the foreign planet closed around him like a fog, and the cold distance of the stars was barely a breath of release from the blackness. Each crisp prick of light in the night sky only reminded him of the warmth and solace he had left behind, and the thought caressed him with a poison that made his wounds ache. He couldn’t think of where the wounds came from. He mustn’t remember.

But he did.

“You let me fall.”

He raised his hands to his head even though he knew nothing could keep that voice away from him. Nothing could ever drown out the sweet venom that laced the recurring accusation. His lips formed the next words like a mantra. “It was your choice…”

A sneer was eloquently portrayed in the phantom’s tone. Optimus thought he could hear the soft crunch of dirt beneath the mech’s feet as he stepped forward, but he must have imagined it. Ghosts didn’t have footsteps. “You couldn’t have found another way?” the specter asked smoothly. “You who have saved the lives of so many? You the precious savior?”

His fists clenched in desperation, denial cloaking whatever truths might have existed. “There wasn’t another option.”

“Are you so sure?” The words were too soft and too eerie for that voice. There was at once charm and suppressed aggression in each sculpted syllable. The familiar red optics must have flared as the mech questioned the once-Prime’s intentions.

Optimus felt wraithlike hands light on his shoulders and sensed the presence behind him, but he couldn’t turn or shy away.

“If you are so blameless…”

He thought he could feel phantom lips brush his neck as they formed those words. He shut off his optics, unsure of whether he wanted the apparition to be real or a delusion.

“…Then why have you chosen exile?”

“It wasn’t because of you.” Optimus spoke without conviction, wondering at the hollowness in his own voice. The thoughts fueling his words were on the defensive, something that only solidified the doubts in his mind. He knew the true reason just as well as he knew that he was lying. But the lie seemed to become frailer and less material each time he used it.

The specter laughed, savoring his counterpart’s private irony. “But it was, Optimus. The guilt over my death, the realization that you couldn’t bare the thought of leaving our war unfinished…”

The Autobot leader opened his mouth to protest as the hands slid down his arms and across his chest in an unyielding embrace. But sound wouldn’t come, and he still couldn’t convince himself to move.

“You’re not the hero you thought you were. You’re not the hero they thought you were. And rather than face that cold truth, you fled. But your reality will always haunt you. I will always haunt you.”

“You’re dead.” Optimus whispered. He knew what the reply would be before it came.

“I’m only as dead as you’ll let me be,” the phantom whispered into his rival’s neck. “And you don’t seem to be quite as willing to let me go as last time.” A bittersweet and duplicitous note entered the tone. “…Or as willing to take my hand.”

“I…” Optimus finally managed to turn slightly, optics relit.

No one was there.

Once again Optimus raised his hands to his head. What was wrong with him? How long was he going to be tortured by ghosts? He was falling prey to guilt, and surely the guilt was unjustified. Galvatron would have died either way if Unicron had survived. Galvatron had chosen his fate, asked the Prime to let him fall. How could Optimus blame himself? He had tried to change the Decepticon’s mind; Optimus had refused. And hadn’t Galvatron been the one to cut himself free from the once-Prime’s hold?

Optimus turned back, shaking despite himself, and froze in shock.

The phantom had not gone.

Galvatron stood before him now, armor glowing luridly from the energon that seeped from his wounds… wounds Optimus had given him. The Decepticon’s optics were unnaturally bright and cast a grisly red hue over his lifeless features.

But it was the gaping hole in the corpse tyrant’s chest that wouldn’t allow Optimus to look away.

Galvatron noticed the focus of the Autobot’s gaze, and half smiled with something like contempt. He traced the ragged wound absentmindedly with a finger as he spoke. “I ripped it out… It was Unicron’s price for allowing me to come here. He had to insure that I would remain his.”

Optimus shook his head, body still trembling involuntarily. “Your… your spark…” he stammered haltingly in horrified comprehension.

Galvatron shrugged his shoulders almost carelessly. “Well… I never had much of one anyway, now did I?” He laughed, and the sound seeped into the air with a piecing and macabre chill.

Prime sank to his knees, unable to accept the implications of what he was seeing. His own betrayal was standing in front of him, seeping florescent energon onto the gray dirt. What had he done? What had he failed to do? “You’re not real,” he murmured numbly.

Galvatron took a few steps closer, diminishing the distance between himself and his antithesis. “I’m as real as you’ll let me be.”

The Autobot wrapped his arms around himself and raised his head to look up at the corpse tyrant. “You’re dead.”

Galvatron’s mouth curved into a brutal smile. “I’m as dead as you’ll let me be.”

“Stop saying that!” Optimus commanded in fierce desperation, suppressing the urge to rise and rip into the phantom… anything to make him stop talking. Anything. Anything to keep the truth at bay a little longer. He knew where the conversation was leading, but he was losing the desire to resist it. Optimus couldn’t accept the sudden stirring in his spark. He couldn’t accept that he wanted… that what he wanted was… No. He shivered.

The Decepticon knelt in front of his adversary, catching the once-golden optics with his own. “Stop denying that I’m here, and I won’t need to.” He brushed the back of his hand across the Autobot’s cheek. “I don’t understand, Optimus…” A sneer played with the cruel lips. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?” He leaned forward casually. “Doesn’t it make it easier? Isn’t it so much easier to see me in front of you… alive?”

Optimus couldn’t speak. He couldn’t. He was frozen, completely captivated by the claret optics and the sweetly intoxicating smile. The light of the once-Prime’s optics faded slightly. Cautious and in a daze, Optimus brought his hand to the side of Galvatron’s energon spattered face, mirroring the Decepticon’s movement. He tried once more to speak and failed.

The briefest glimpse of surprise flitted across Galvatron’s face before it lost emotion altogether.

Optimus tried again. “N… Nothing… could make this… easier.” He shook his head despairingly, tortured by empty words. “I can’t even say…” His optics relit completely, searching for an answer, any answer, in the face in front of him.

“There are many things you could never say.” The words were cold and piercing. Accusing. Pained. “No… you could have… but you’ve always been too righteous... Pious fool.” Galvatron stood abruptly, knocking the once-Prime away from him with harsh indifference. He spun away, his expression frigid.

“Forgive me,” Optimus whispered softly.

Galvatron paused. He half-turned towards the kneeling mech, tilting his head. “Forgive you?” the corpse tyrant sneered. “No. I don’t think I will.” He laughed, a sound that courted the edge of sanity.

Optimus staggered to his feet, a sudden need giving him strength. The aura of weakness and guilt began to fade. He understood now. He knew why he was haunted.

It wasn’t guilt that plagued him.

It was regret.

He took slow, soothing steps forward, until he could look up into the Decepticon’s face. “Please,” he whispered. His voice was soft, but the strength and assurance behind it was unmistakable.

Galvatron stared down at him, optics impassive.

Optimus pressed his hand to the cold, energon slicked armor of Galvatron’s chest, as if trying to will the gaping hole close. “Please,” he repeated, studying the Decepticon’s frigid dead optics. The once-Prime took a soft step forward and leaned into his rival’s wounded form. “Please.”

Galvatron’s arms rose slowly, so slowly, and his anger abated despite his attempts to maintain it. He held Optimus with an uncharacteristic gentleness, completing the proffered embrace. “Only if you forgive yourself,” he murmured, lips brushing the top of his antithesis’ head. His hand snaked up the once-Prime’s side and caressed his mask. Galvatron’s optics were dangerous, that much was certain… But they were also daring. Challenging. He considered Optimus carefully before curving his fingers around the mask’s edge and detaching it.

Optimus shut his optics off, shaking. Galvatron was dead… He was dead… He was decaying… He was a ghost… He couldn’t really be there… He was dead… He was dead…

He was so close…

The once-Prime’s lips parted slightly as Galvatron’s grip on his waist and around his shoulders tightened. Once more, he looked up into the face of the mech he had allowed to die. “Why are you here?” he murmured, fists clenching, fingers raking against the desecrated armor.

Galvatron leaned down to lightly press a kiss against Optimus’ neck. “To save you like you couldn’t save me.” The murmur had more force behind it than anything the corpse tyrant could have injected into a shout. He stared almost commandingly into the once-golden optics. “Go back to them, Optimus. They need their Prime.”

Optimus looked away, the immense feeling of lost purpose overwhelming him once more. “The war’s over. Unicron is destroyed. I have nothing to give them, and they need nothing from me.”

Galvatron’s hand clutched the side of Optimus’ face, forcing him to turn back. The red optics were furious. “They’ll always need you. Don’t be a fool.”

Optimus laughed, and there was enough sorrow in the sound that if any mech but Galvatron had heard, he would have been consumed. “But I am a fool. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me?” His shaking increased, and he looked away again. He wasn’t weak… but he felt like a traitor. He had never doubted himself as much as he had when he’d faced Galvatron that last time. Optimus hadn’t known that piece of himself existed, and the guilt that piece had left in its wake… Primus, it was choking him. “How long was our war? How long did I fight for the sake of peace? And then… when it was possible… I couldn’t control myself. I betrayed them. I chose to continue a fight that should have died with Unicron. What did I let you do to me? I allowed you to—”

Galvatron growled, sudden rage devouring every other sense. He gripped Optimus’ chin, his red optics smoldering and boring into his enemy’s. He only held the optic contact for the briefest of moments before diverting billions of years worth of aggression, hatred, betrayal, empathy, passion, longing, and need into a single ravenous kiss.

Optimus froze in shock, fighting to keep himself from returning the action. But then he realized his hands were suddenly and involuntarily fixated with the tyrant’s body. Back, shoulders, chest, waist, he lost his frail grip on restraint. The only thing he was still sure of was that Galvatron wasn’t any more in control of himself than he was. He gave in, relinquishing his grip on the concept of faction and war. His lips parted further as he welcomed the foreign taste and the overwhelming sense of paradox.

The once-Prime’s unexpected fervor sent a thrill through the corpse tyrant’s frame. Galvatron clutched the back Optimus’ helmet, violently forcing them together, destroying any remaining trace of reluctance. He felt the hunger to cause Optimus pain in an equal amount as pleasure, and it took all of his will to keep himself from slamming his rival to the ground and tearing into him.

But no matter how much emotion or tinge of the past that was poured into the embrace, it wasn’t enough. It was a temptation that had gone unheeded for so long, and it was impossible to sate. Optimus began to once again bury the agonizing sense that he was committing treason and then surrendered it to the passion instead. This was the truth. This was why he couldn’t run. This is why he wouldn’t run.

The once-Prime broke away long enough to whisper, “Tell me how to save you, Galvatron.”

The corpse tyrant rested his head against his antithesis’. “You can’t,” he slurred.

Optimus’ clutched the Decepticon’s shoulders, feeling agony ravage his systems. “But you’re here now, and that shouldn’t be possible. There must be a way to bring you back.”

“There isn’t.” Galvatron started to reestablish the kiss, paused maddeningly close, and pulled away from the embrace instead. His hands still rested on his rival’s waist, unable to break contact completely. “But there’s still a chance for you.” His voice momentarily lost its harshness. “Go back to them. Please, Optimus. It’s where you should be. The war is over, but they still need someone to lead them. They need someone to show them how to live in peace.”

“I don’t deserve that position. I betrayed their trust and followed my desires, instead of remaining loyal to the path best for them. I can not be trusted.” Optimus traced a line down Galvatron’s face, a smile bourn of torment curving his lips. “This is proof.”

“This is proof of the level of forgiveness you can bestow. So many of my soldiers need that same forgiveness.” Galvatron seemed to consider what he’d said. He smiled roguishly. “Although I’d appreciate it if you didn’t display it in the same way.”

Optimus laughed weakly, and the brief happiness startled him. “That’s something you don’t need to concern yourself with. I swear it.”

Galvatron’s optics paled and his voice was debonair as he made one of the only promises he ever intended to keep. “Return to them, and I’ll find a way to return to you.” He caught the once-Prime’s hand and pressed his lips to the fingertips. “I swear it.”

“You’re giving me your word?” Optimus asked wryly.

“I’m giving you my love,” he pulled his enemy forward. “I’m giving you my trust,” Galvatron leaned forward to whisper gently into Optimus’ neck. “I’m giving you my undead devotion, Optimus Prime.”

The phantom smiled and shimmered as though he were standing behind a screen of smoke. Galvatron leaned in one last time and vanished, the ghost of a kiss lingering on the forlorn Prime’s forehead and lips.

Optimus stood, tall and silent. He turned his face to night skies, and smiled unreservedly at the stars.

He wondered how long it’d take him to get home.