Follows Gives You Hell.

As you'll notice, this fic is very much driven by dialogue and ideas and not much else. I think this is because, in my own odd way, I'm giving TFA Starscream closure. I'm rather aware that there will likely be dozens of fics about Prowl's death out there, but I have a harder time finding fics where Starscream will be given the same treatment. So please, bear with me - TFA Starscream is the only Starscream I really adore.

Furthermore, I like writing Optimus Magnus as being as indulging in that historical curiosity he had in the first episode. =3;

Shield

The energon tasted almost sweet – it was perhaps the smoothest drink of it that Optimus had ever tasted, and it warmed his systems exponentially. He couldn’t suppress the contented little sigh that escaped him. This was certainly not what he had been expecting when Jetfire had invited him in for a drink, given the humble nature of Jetfire’s living quarters.

Optimus only wished the rest of this little trip could be as fortuitous, but the context of their meeting was far from it. The large, old jet – one of the very few Autobot jets Optimus had met, aside from the other Jetfire he knew, and Jetstorm – was welcoming and kind and perfectly polite, but Optimus still felt dread clutching his spark. How could he really expect this Autobot to react to this sort of a meeting? Optimus was more than aware he was going to delve into things that weren’t necessarily his business.

Upon becoming Magnus, Optimus was given clearance to the oldest media files, things about the war and before it that had been censored and locked away by the government. The fact that so much of it was a secret bothered him beyond words – but he had no one to discuss this with, no one who understood. Sentinel had merely fixed him with a blank look when Optimus attempted (poorly) to articulate the reason for his displeasure. Ratchet, ever bitter, simply refused to discuss it at all.

It was disheartening, but Optimus pressed on. He knew Megatron had been seen as a freedom fighter once upon a time. He knew that the media once spoke of him with a distinctly more sympathetic tone. He also knew that many of the Decepticons had once been prized writers, artists, but all of their work had been deleted or destroyed upon their supposed betrayal. Other Decepticons had once been teachers, caregivers, medics, politicians, socialites – they had once been trusted, respected, and even loved.

These were things that Optimus had never realized – it never occurred to him to wonder about the Decepticons before the wars, really, and he was never encouraged to ask. His interest in history had been solely placed in the concept of the heroes and the villains, the light and the dark, the good and the bad.

This overwhelming gray area was becoming admittedly difficult to cope with.

“Your name used to be Skyfire,” said Optimus quietly.

Jetfire looked at him from across the table, his large hands wrapped around his own container of energon. His weathered features were somber but gentle, his slender, whitish optics partially hidden behind a pair of thin square spectacles. They were in the working district, but there was something in the way Jetfire spoke, the way he moved that made him seem so very unlike any of the other Autobots Optimus had seen here.

There was really no question that this mech was worth far more than the humble living space he now resided – Optimus was certain of that.

“I haven’t used that name since before the war,” said Jetfire thoughtfully. “But yes – if you know that much, then you know why I was forced to change it. And why I live here and not in one of the towers of Altihex, I suppose.”

Optimus nodded idly and sipped the energon. “You were a chemist, right?”

“Yes – among other things,” said Jetfire, sighing softly, the tip of his finger swirling his energon. “But that was another lifetime. I haven’t even seen a periodic table in at least a vorn. After Oil Slick’s assault at Hydrax Plateau, most commoners were barred from being able to buy chemicals altogether. It’s a ban that hasn’t been lifted and may never be.”

Optimus, despite being Magnus, was inclined to agree – the amount of effort it took the Council to agree to even the most basic of requests was exhausting, and picking and choosing the right battles was key.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that Starscream died on Earth,” said Optimus, a tad awkwardly – anyone with a radio frequency and two moments to spare to watch the news feeds knew that much. “But as far as I know, you were the only one who ever cared about Starscream. Ever.”

Jetfire smiled wryly. “Then you probably think very little of me.”

Unbidden, an image of Sentinel Prime flittered through Optimus’ mind, and a curious mixture of irritation and affection followed.

“I think I understand better than you realize,” responded Optimus awkwardly.

Jetfire threaded his fingers together and fixed Optimus with a searching look. Optimus did not flinch under the other’s gaze. The white optics were warm when Jetfire smiled, but seemed far more piercing than Optimus would have liked when he was serious.

“I met Starscream when he was stealing from the academy,” said Jetfire finally. “He was lower class – lived in the slums. He wasn’t searching for anything valuable – he merely needed energon. Once I realized that much, it seemed almost unthinkable to turn him away. I had intended to be a teacher after I graduated – and so I took him under my wing, so to speak.

“Starscream was illiterate, and always quite resistant to authority, but there were things he did love to learn. Once we found common ground, his company was almost passable. He was far more intelligent than most might give him credit for. He merely didn’t have the common sense to supplement it.”

Optimus took another drink of energon, and was displeased to find little more than a sip left. He fiddled with the container awkwardly.

There was a fondness in Jetfire’s tone, a kind of wistful sort of warmth that indicated that the news feeds had been correct concerning the particular nature of their relationship. Optimus hadn’t been certain whether to believe those articles or not. Now he was almost positive. “Were you, ah… you know.”

Jetfire looked down at his hands – not in embarrassment, though. The expression that crossed his face was far more melancholy than anything else, and Optimus truly wondered if Jetfire regretted starting his illicit relationship or if he regretted letting it go.

“Lovers? Yes, briefly,” admitted Jetfire wearily. “There was an incredible age difference – that would have been more than enough reason not to. The fact that he had Decepticon ties… well, when we were found out, it’s understandable why I was expelled. Given my status among my peers, the media took particular pleasure in smearing my name – it was quite the scandal.

“So I moved here, and became a factory worker – very few mechs here concerned themselves with such things, and I was able to regain some anonymity. Starscream, on the other hand, only had more reason to hate what the Decepticons perceived as a flawed society. He was quick to choose rebellion over a life with me.”

Optimus nodded faintly. “Are you familiar with Decepticon burial rituals?” he asked.

The jet nodded. “I am,” he said quietly. At Optimus’ surprised expression, he explained further. “This, of course, would seemingly indicate that I had either kept in contact with Starscream or had witnessed the process myself. I know that Decepticons are generally very private over their own traditions, and I know that Autobots generally aren’t known for being empathetic towards them.

“However, neither of those assumptions would be correct. When Starscream pulled away from me, it was permanent – he never spoke to me again. As for witnessing the process myself, I was never a Decepticon, and never a soldier in the war itself. I was, however, infrequently employed by Ultra Magnus to speak to detainees. Any Cybertronian capable of flight was brought into custody at one point or another. Those who were believed not to be linked to Megatron had their flight capabilities removed before being released.

“Because I was personally capable of flight, it was believed that I exuded trust towards the potential Decepticons. Ultra Magnus had hopes that they might be willing to be honest with me instead of forcing him to extract information more violently. I learned a great deal about the Decepticons from these meetings. In return for my work, Ultra Magnus agreed not to take away my wings.”

Jetfire frowned, almost bitterly. “It was coercion, and difficult work, but I always sympathetic towards the Decepticons – I helped them where I could. Without supporting their methods, mind you – but I could understand why they felt they had to go to such an extreme to be heard.”

Jetfire stood up, taking Optimus’ container and disposing of it. “Forgive me if I can’t spare more, Magnus – I live on frugal rations, at best.”

“It’s alright,” said Optimus, climbing to his feet. “I should be leaving soon, anyway. But I did come here for a reason – more than just to speak to you.”

Jetfire turned to face him, clearly curious, but he did not speak. Optimus slowly shrugged a large, unique shield off from his own shoulders – it was silver, and crafted in the shape of wings, and nearly the right size to accommodate someone as large as Jetfire. Telling from the expression on Jetfire’s face, he was more than aware of just what was being offered to him.

“I wanted you to have this,” said Optimus, handing over the shield. “It’s not a weapon, but I guess I just didn’t think that would be appropriate for someone like yourself.

“As far as I know, you were the only one who ever cared about him. That has to count for something.”

Jetfire slowly drew the shield close, his optics dim. “Why would you care, I wonder?”

Optimus shifted a bit uncomfortably. He knew the answer well enough, but actually articulating it was far more difficult than he could have imagined. He supposed, however, if anyone were to understand, it would be this jet. “I know what it’s like to care about someone like that,” he said vaguely.

The answer was – thankfully – accepted without another question. Optimus stood tall, saluted to the jet, and turned to leave. Jetfire did not return the gesture, but smiled kindly and inclined his head respectfully.

Optimus paused at the door. “There is a place for you in the Elite Guard, should you choose to take it,” he remarked. “But I don’t expect you’ll care about that right now. I will offer again, another time.”

“Thank you.”

Optimus exited the small apartment and walked out onto the street where Sentinel was waiting for him, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. The other Autobot’s optics narrowed almost accusingly when they met Optimus’.

“Took you long enough,” said Sentinel.

Optimus began to walk, his wingtip hitting Sentinel’s shoulder. The Prime irritably swatted it away, and wasted absolutely no time in telling Optimus exactly how he felt about his wings, the Decepticon ritual, the trip here as a whole. Optimus listened with thin patience, and ultimately decided that yes – he understood Jetfire more than anyone else ever could.