Disclaimer: Like I'd waste my time writing fanfiction if I owned Beast Wars.

Irreplaceable

I suppose I owe Megatron some form of my gratitude for this infernal spark pulsing inside of my chest. Because of that abomination's spark, though I suffered extensive damage, I survived the destruction of the Nemesis. Should I see the tyrant again, I will be sure to thank him for so foolishly giving me immortality and ensuring his own destruction by my hand some time in the future – be it distant or near, it will come.

However, my revenge on Megatron is far from being the first and most important thing running through my processor now. I have come too far to let my loathing for Megatron get in the way and lose sight of what I've come to this place for.

This place is Cybertron, and it took me longer than I expected to reach return to this planet. As it were, rebuilding an Autobot shuttle that was missing more than half of its insides was quite a task, but I made due with borrowed pieces from what was left of the Nemesis and of the Ark. The result was satisfactory, the shuttle worked and, within an amount of time I cannot precisely recall, I found my way back home.

Of course, I never really wanted to come back here – but I needed to. There is a piece of my past on this planet that I was never quite able to come to terms with. And he's sitting a good distance away from me, protected by the walls of the two-bit bar, but he is far from invisible behind the dusty window. I am surprised he has not changed the way he looks, that he is comfortable as he is as a Transmetal rat. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he is not running from who he has ultimately become.

I glance down at my hand, painted bronze and tipped with silver. I wonder if he will recognize me. I have changed the way I look, I could not stand living in the body Megatron created for me – the body of a monstrous drone Predacon. I was remodeled and rebuilt to be a semblance of my old self, the me he knew when the Beast Wars began. I do not transform into a bipedal saurian, fleshed out or metallic in any way anymore. I chose a vehicle form I am familiar with, the one I had before I was reformatted into a dinosaur. I did go out of my way, however, to insure recognition of some sort. I made certain I was repainted with blues and bronzes.

My hand fists and I let it fall to my side as I bring my gaze back to the window, back to him. I watch him stare into the mug he ordered quite a few clicks ago – it must be cold now, considering it was steaming when the waitress set it down in front of him. What could he be thinking of, I wonder. What in the name of the Pit could be so distracting that he let his delirium-inducing beverage cool?

It is time I make myself known, I think. It is time I step out of the shadows and face the proverbial ghost of my past that has haunted my every thought since I regained my memories. I am shamed to say I was unable to get him out of my head, the filthy vermin lingered in my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to forget him. But now, I speculate that if I face him, I will be cured of the plague he's carried into my very spark.

Or perhaps it will worsen. Which is far more likely, because if I have learned anything during the time it took me to remember myself, it is that some things just cannot be replaced. Things like feelings, no matter how hard one tries to deny them or keep them hidden.

Now is not the time to second guess myself or my plan of action. I must tackle this situation as nothing more than another battle and rush in, ready to accept the consequences of my actions.

And that is what I do. I inhale and walk to the small building, wait for the automatic doors to open, then head straight for the table he's seated at. Without a word, I pull out the chair beside him and sit. I am pleased to hear him grunt at the intrusion.

"Can I help ya?" He mumbles without looking at me.

"It is possible," I respond and look down at him.

"If yer lookin' for a good time, big guy, I don' do that no more."

I shudder and do not bother to hide it. "I am hardly interested in the likes of you, vermin."

"What'd ya call... me..." He looks at me and narrowed optics widen instantaneously. I can see the red of his optics dim and brighten as he processes the reality of the situation, and finally they settle on the brightest shade of crimson I have ever seen. "Chopperface?"

A nod is all I need to do to confirm. It is enough to bring a cynical smile to his silver mandibles.

"I thoughtcha was scrapped back on that dirtball when the Nemesis blew up."

"Unfortunately for yourself, I emerged from the ruble damaged but functional."

He twists in the chair until he can rest his bicep and on the back of it, and his hand is fisted to rest his cheek against. "I can believe that. What, with ol' Crabby's spark an' all..." He clears his throat. "But how'd ya get yer sorry aft back here?"

"You'd be surprised what one can find on rundown antiques."

And he laughs and slaps my back that enthusiastic way most mechs do to one another when something is either highly amusing or they think a congratulations is in order. I personally do not understand this, but I do not say anything – this time.

Then the laughter dies and he stares at me. Normally, such an intense look from him would irritate me. This time, it puzzles me.

"What?"

"Why'd you come back? I figured ya woulda stayed behind an' tried t'rule the monkeys." He chuckles and gives me a lopsided grin.

"Waspinator was one step ahead," I say in jest, then continue on with, "besides, you would not understand." It's said quickly, quicker than I would have liked. Now I know he knows I'm hiding something – or at least trying to.

He waves me off and scoffs. "Try me, Lizard Lips. I've done, and been through, more slag than you could imagine since we got off that prehistoric ball o' dust." And he tells me everything before I'm even able to process an inquiry. He tells me about his trip to the Speed Planet, and of his run-in with that so-called old friend of his. And he stops himself there, though I can tell there's more to the story that he's telling. Naturally, I have a few questions for him.

"That is... nice," the word is forced, "and all, but just why did you return to Velocitron? Surely you didn't plan on racing there."

"Back in th' day, I did," he laughs hollowly. "Nah, not t'race this time. That guy I ran inta, I s'pose I went t'see him. Inadvertently, o' course."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "I guess I wanted t'see if th' ol' earth sayin' was true. Y'know, th' one 'bout not bein' able to go home again?"

I cock a brow. He continues.

"I went t'see how I felt 'bout him." He smiles something cynical and see-through at me. "Thank Primus I felt nothin'."

The way the spark learns such fondness, I will never understand, even as my own spark is caught in the midsts of the exact same turmoil. "I see."

"Alright, yer turn. What're ya doin' here? 'Specially with me, in a place like this."

"Like you," I start slowly, "I came to revisit the ghosts of my past. One in specific continues to haunt me and refuses to be exorcised."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. Quite the pest, if I do say so myself." He stares at me, one brow raising higher than the other in an inquisitive way. "You see, someone returned my memories to me before the incident on the Nemesis."

"Yeah? Go on," he says with the start of a grin.

"I owe that someone a great deal of thanks."

"Aw, it was nothin'!" He's grinning now and I find the expression appealing for the first time. "Y'almost scrapped me, but I guess it was worth it. Seriously though, ya didn't come back here jus' t'say thank you, didja?"

"No, I didn't."

"Then quit leavin' me in suspense."

So I say it in the simplest way possible to ensure it's over with quickly. "I came here to see you again."

His optics brighten further and I can tell everything is starting make sense to him.

"Aw," he croons, "can't get me outta yer head, huh?"

And I snarl at him, something I've sorely missed being able to do – as trivial as it may be. "Do not push me, rodent."

We steer away from the conversation both of us fear on some level and talk of smaller, less important things instead. I find we share more awkward silences than anything, and on some level I feel that things are the way they were during the Wars – the way they're supposed to be. We may be on another planet, I may have another body, but he and I still share the same destructive chemistry that I fear nothing will ever be able to change.

When he stands, I follow and smirk to myself as he saunters on ahead. I rather enjoy the way destiny is playing out this time.

-End