The telltale pool of light flooded the room in mass illumination for a moment before the door shut and left it to rest once again in dim cadmium lighting. Light footsteps followed, entering only a few paces in and then stopping.

The guest did not say anything and merely waited.

Megatron could feel the air stir when his guest shifted their weight to the right. He stopped writing but did not look up from the datapad to greet them. He knew who it was.

"Silence is not becoming of you, scout." He set down the 'pad and looked up.

It was a small dwelling place, quaint really, and almost spartan in its lack of secular possessions. Only a few paces rested between Bumblebee and the berth leaning against the far wall Megatron sat on.

Bumblebee made a humored sound, almost a chuckle. "And isolation isn't becoming of you," He took a few more steps forwards and looked at the stack of datapads that lined the wall in interest before picking up one. Megatron immediately identified it as a collection of poems he'd been working on, "And I've told you before, it's warrior now." He turned it on, "Or cop, depending on your preference."

The little bot hummed as he read, his eyes flaring in interest.

Though he was nowhere near as expressive as he'd been when he was mute, Megatron had soon learnt that when unguarded, Bumblebee's body language was much more telling than his words.

The ex-warlord leaned back and studied the scout. It was quite amusing, actually; and intriguing in its own entirety. Megatron did not fully understand him, which was odd. But with that lack of understanding came a challenge, something he embraced like second nature.

Without looking up from the 'pad, Bumblebee walked over to the berth and sat down at the edge. Megatron gave a grunt in displeasure, to which the bot just looked up at him plaintively and said, "You need more furniture," Before turning back to his reading. His feet kicked lightly in the air and his finger tapped the edge of the 'pad and his EM field was sprawled lazily, neither pulled close nor extended to any measure, relaying intrigue and amusement.

He was entirely too comfortable in Megatron's home.

He did come over often, at least once a week, ever since Megatron had taken refuge here – read his writings and poems and tried to reach out for a reason that the mech did not know. But, he'd realized early on, he was growing accustomed to the impromptu visits; even, he was reluctant to admit, anticipating them.

A sudden arch in Bumblebee's wings brought Megatron out of his musings.

The scout's field pulled in on itself, but he was close enough that Megatron could still sense the self consciousness it leaked.

Megatron watched in amusement, knowing full well that his gaze was known, as Bumblebee read. It was something he wrote recently, a sort of self-indulgence.

His legs now stilled, Bumblebee was stiff and a little awkward when he finished and turned to look at the ex-warlord.

"This one's about me," He said.

"Yes," Megatron tilted his helm, "I wouldn't imagine it to be so surprising, I write about everyone I know." And Bumblebee knew that, he'd read almost all of Megatron's works.

"Well yeah, but," Bumblebee looked back to the pad and shrugged, "I dunno, this is the first one about me."

He looked at Megatron expectantly, and when the mech didn't say anything, he looked at the ground and started kicking his feet again.

He rubbed the back of his neck and peeked back over at Megatron, "I don't know it's just," He gestured to the pad, "Maybe I'm reading between the lines or something, but you make it seem like…" He hesitated, "You're grateful… or something, y'know, that I killed you."

Megatron waited, holding Bumblebee's gaze for a few quiet moments before the scout relented. His wings drooped sightly and his hands dropped to his sides with a groan.

He gave Megatron a glare that held no malice and sighed. "You're insufferable," he muttered.

Megatron felt his mouth quirk ever so slightly and crossed his arms. "There's something else you wish to say." It wasn't a question.

"So maybe I already had an inkling about that. But," It was like a switch, Bumblebee's persona suddenly took on a much more serious air, something Megatron was learning to be as much a part of his personality as his lightheartedness.

"I don't like it," The scout straightened and looked at Megatron with a furrowed brow. "You make me out to be some sort of valiant war hero."

Megatron contemplated Bumblebee. "If I recall, that's how you were promoted to warrior."

"I only ever did what was necessary," He peered straight into Megatron's optics with wide eyes, unwavering and searching for something Megatron could only guess at. "I mean, heh," He gave a humorless chuckle, "You even spent time in my head and you still don't get it… I was terrified." Bumblebee's mouth quirked and he looked down, "I mean yeah, I was determined, still am, and nothing was gonna stop me. I have stubbornness issues. But all those times on the battlefield, and… other places. I - There wasn't a time in the war when I wasn't terrified. There was no glory or fearlessness or anything, those're just concepts power hungry warmongers invented to justify their tastes." He looked back to Megatron, "No offense."

Megatron let out a small scoff. It was quite amusing, really, just how ignorant and how wise this bot could be. It was something that would take him a long time to comprehend.

With a deep breath, he shifted slightly and thought for a moment before speaking. "I've come to learn, scout –"

"Warrior."

"That nothing makes one weaker than remaining fearless, and nothing makes one stronger than overcoming fearfulness."

Neither said anything after that. They both watched each other, studying, waiting. Bumblebee was deep in thought, his hands on his lap and his optics readjusting every few moments.

There were lots of things Megatron did not fully understand about this one, and Bumblebee allowed him to study and to contemplate. But one thing he did know was that to some extent, the curiosity was mutual.

Finally, Bumblebee narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, datapad still in hand, "Y'know, I don't get you."

"Oh?" Megatron raised a brow.

Bumblebee nodded, peering at him with dimmed optics as he thought, "You romanticize violence, even now, but you don't condone it. You seem to find it in equal measures repulsive and beautiful."

Perhaps the scout would never know, but that statement was true to degrees Megatron could not measure. He did not understand it himself, did not quite understand how his mind could be so split between the horrors that war brought and the glory that laced combat. A part of him could comprehend why - it had been that; the penance he'd learnt to accept, rendered by Unicron. But that comprehension was vague and evasive, something he could never quite grasp.

He did not speak of it. "Perhaps because in the end," He rumbled, "I will always be a gladiator."

"Hm," Bumblebee gave him this look. It was vaguely reminiscent of Orion Pax – a sort of condensed intensity curved under glass plates and a peering cerulean that was so knowing but undyingly wanting know more.

But the Autobot did not speak any further of the subject.

He hopped from the berth and put the datapad back where he'd found it and then turned halfway to look at Megatron. A half smile cracked at his mouth, "There's talk of putting you on trial," He said, "I don't know if it's ever gonna happen, but I thought you should know just in case."

"What if I use that information to run?"

Bumblebee chuckled and raised his arms, stretching lazily, "I trust that you won't."

And he was right. Megatron would take any penance deemed fit.

He did not know when it started, but Megatron wanted to touch him. It wasn't sexual in nature, simply… there. And he did not wish to ponder on when or how it would end.

He realized it when they were drinking high-grade together and discussing an old novel, a small epiphany that seemed to have derived from nowhere. It was peculiar urge, one he had not had for thousands of years. Megatron did not want to consider the implications yet – he simply wanted to place a servo on Bumblebee's shoulder or arm, simply wanted to know what he felt like.

It was an odd thing to think about. The last time they made any physical contact was in combat, when he'd been possessed by Unicron and attempting to end the world. That had been so long ago, much too long.

Bumblebee was friendly, open, came around often, and sometimes stood too close; and yet now that Megatron truly thought about it, avoided touching him.

If anything, the Autobot still held remnants of fear.

Megatron watched him take a drink of energon. Bumblebee held the cube with both hands, a habit that was somehow endearing, and his feet dangled from the edge of his seat on Megatron's desk.

Megatron decided to try something.

He reached a servo out and the moment his fingertips grazed over Bumblebee's arm, the scout visibly flinched and drew back as if the touch burnt.

His EM field crackled and tightened around him and the little bot stared at Megatron with an expression he'd only ever seen in battle. "What're you doing?" He said defensively.

Megatron pulled back with grace and thought for a moment. He took a sip of his own energon before replying, "I wanted to test something." He set his drink down, sensing Bumblebee's glare, and folded his arms over his lap and looked the scout in the optics, "You avoid any physical contact."

Bumblebee shuttered his optics and slowly, he relaxed; his field tentatively brushing against Megatron's before it reverted back to its lax state. He looked down at the high-grade in his hand and looked almost… defeated.

"I guess there's no changing the subject, huh." He let out a sigh and peeked up at the larger mech for a moment before dropping his gaze again. "We were all affected in different ways," He said. And that was all he said. With that, he hopped from the desk and set the cube down. Bumblebee turned and gave Megatron a nod with a small smile and left without another word.

When the door slid shut again, Megatron let out a heavy breath. He was no stranger to regret - and while this emotion held the same flavor as regret, there was something else to it, something faintly different.

He was not ready to ponder on just what that was.

For the next few visits, they did not speak of it again.

Megatron couldn't remember that this was a dream, someone else's memory, he only knew fire and ashes and his comrade's energon that painted his frame. It glowed a hideous blue that seemed to outshine even the brightest inferno, coating his front and his servos in a sticky mess, dripping to the ground in an alarmingly large puddle that trailed away.

Deftly, his optics followed the trail along the ground and the rubble until it ended at his comrade's body. Pale blue optics flickered on and off, faceplates crushed under a large silver pede and still staring at him, arm reaching out for him. His comrade, his brother - sliced open at the belly and servo nearly cut clean off – and the energon dripped. It was the loudest noise he ever heard, bearing past the gunfire and the soft, beastly chuckle of the one who stood over the body like a conqueror.

A high pitched charge pulled him away from his brother's gaze. He looked up and into the barrel of a cannon, brightening as it charged and readied to kill. But it was what seared behind the weapon that truly caught his attention; it was the cold, eerie vermillion optics that held nothing beyond the high of combat that left his spark darkened.

He felt a fear stalking behind his consciousness, but more than that, he felt a desperate emptiness as all that he'd loved fell apart.

Intense pain careened throughout his being as he was torn apart by the energy blast. The bodily agony crescendoed in intensity, so that he could not discern it from any of his senses, and pulled a blood curdling scream from him as, slowly, so terribly slowly, his life was drained. And through it all, lacing every sensation, he felt inexplicable gratitude that he would be able to stay beside his brother for an eternity.

And then someone shouted his name.

Servos held him down; small, strong servos that clenched desperately at his chest plating and pushed him down.

"Megatron! Megatron wake up!"

His optics snapped online.

Twin brilliant cyan orbs bore into him, beacons that illuminated immediate surroundings and left the rest of his berthroom in complete and utter darkness – optics, he belatedly realized. Someone – Bumblebee – Bumblebee was hovering over him, holding him down. Megatron could just barely make out his face, but the distress, the fear and worry, were clear as day.

His body tingled with numbness and his mind reeled that he was still alive. And why… why was Bumblebee holding him down?

Realization pierced his spark, and Megatron forced his optics to wander down. Through the dim lighting of their biolights, Megatron could just make out the cuff mark that streaked along the little bot's chest.

There was a time when he would have found, at the least, a level of indifference in injuring this one. That time had passed.

His spark ran cold and feeling began to rush back to him in waves of sharp pain. But he did not care. He looked over Bumblebee's frame that hovered almost completely over him. And a wave of tension ebbed with the realization that beyond a bit of scratched paint, he was unharmed.

Finally, he gazed back up, only to be stopped when he felt something drip on his chassis.

It was a cut, a small thin line along Bumblebee's cheek - yet deep enough to steadily drip energon onto Megatron's chest. It was that same faint hideous blue glow that had him suddenly drowning in a flurry of powerful emotion from the… dream.

He wasn't thinking properly, that's what he would say later. In reality he had been mostly cognitive, though riding the memories - the emotions that were too momentous to count - of another, a faceless mech he'd killed long ago, clouding his better reasoning. They drove him to forget the warnings not to touch him, to simply give in to impulse and emotion that he could not process - Megatron reached out and ran a digit along the cut. He could feel Bumblebee's field waver. Yet more profoundly, he felt the energon pool along his derma. It sent a wave of nausea through him as the memory – or dream, if he chose to call it – flooded his senses again.

Bumblebee neither leaned into nor drew away from the touch. He remained completely still, rigid, and shuttered his optics and let out a shaky breath. But his field fluttered with life, and it coiled around Megatron's in a metaphysical embrace and spoke of calm and gratitude in such sincerity that the ex-warlord could not understand.

"It's okay," Bumblebee recalibrated his voicebox and extended his field more to come off in waves of calm, "It's okay, it was just a dream."

But it wasn't a dream. It was Unicron's punishment, it was a memory, a reality. His reality. But Bumblebee did not know that.

Slowly, on shaky arms and weak foundation, he sat himself up, vaguely registering the scout scooting back just enough for him to do so.

Everything was still there, thundering and fresh, the fear and the sorrow and the regret. At that moment, maybe for only a moment, he couldn't compose himself, couldn't simply clear his throat and carry on. So he just stared blankly ahead and tried to ward off the aftershock.

"You're safe."

Deftly, he brought his optics to focus and looked down at the Autobot. Bumblebee's optics were ablaze with protectiveness, blue light glowed and brought to light the fierce determination and sincerity etched onto his face.

Though in all reality it shouldn't have, the sight brought a level of comfort to Megatron, and he allowed himself to relax minutely.

He let out a heavy and uneven breath before giving in to the aftershock. He leaned down and rested his helm on Bumblebee's shoulder. Maybe, for a moment, he could be weak with this one.

The little bot stiffened under him for a moment, awkwardness bleeding into their entwined EM fields. Slowly, the scout relaxed and a hesitant servo rested on the back of his helm. Small digits splayed across the metal, and then another servo joined and rested on the back on his neck.

The heat of another radiated into him in a way that was desperately foreign, primitively comforting and, were not for the fact that he was already sitting, enough to bring him to his knees.

"When I -" Bumblebee cleared his intake, and Megatron silently marveled at how the jostling movements of life could be so comforting, "You didn't answer so I let myself in. I didn't know you were a late sleeper."

Megatron grunted in reply.

This feeling, it was so subtle, the softest hints of sweetness to grace the chaos, but he was already getting addicted. Every ounce of his being warned against it.

They remained like that for an hour or so; drifted along in a small little world of a dark room and a vulnerable comfort. It was timeless as, slowly, Megatron allowed the memory to pass and ebb to the background, where all the other memories he'd dreamed were kept. And slowly, they simply were.

The moment ended when Bumblebee's helm rested against Megatron's, nuzzling lightly before stilling, his engines slowing to a low hum. The ex-decepticon's optics onlined, and only then did he realize that they'd ever been offlined, as he registered the change. A klick or so later, the servos that had been holding him slid down and fell to the scout's sides. He stilled completely, and waited a few moments.

Tentatively, Megatron wrapped an arm around Bumblebee just enough to steady him and slowly, carefully, pulled back just enough to see his face. And just as he thought, Bumblebee's optic's were offline and a peaceful expression shrouded his faceplates as he recharged.

With another breath, Megatron carefully and oh, so gently, so as not to wake him, laid him down on the berth. After a moment, he pulled a blanket over the Autobot – pausing momentarily when Bumblebee curled into the fabric and nuzzled into the pillow before letting out a small sigh and stilling once again.

It was… endearing.

When he deemed it sufficient, Megatron stood from the berth. Though he couldn't stop himself from looking back down at the sleeping form.

The berth was much too large for a mech of Bumblebee's size, and he seemed even smaller curled up in it. And he looked so content, cherubic really, with a small smile gracing his mouth and his wings twitching every now and then.

Finally, Megatron tore his optics away and left the berthroom.

When Bumblebee awoke a few hours later, he left in a rush with a few stuttered words.

Megatron did not understand this one.

The area around Megatron's home was a beautiful and eldritch place, still uninhabited and wild with inorganic life that had grown in the stead of civilization. Metallic vines hung from spiraling canopies and the continuous hum of wildlife washed away absolute silence.

Bumblebee was particularly energetic. He walked a few paces ahead of Megatron, gaze wandering here and there as he took in the entirety of the scenery. But his steps were calm and his gait was easy; pedes were light and his walking near inaudible, an unconscious stealth integrated into his very actions – remnants of the war.

"You are quite… enthusiastic." Megatron pushed a vine out of the way.

Bumblebee cast a backwards glance, sidestepping a trudge of rubble easily, with a small smile. "Yeah," He said and turned back, "I grew up in the city, the only time I've been to a place like this was in a war zone." He let out a chuckle and ran a servo along a row of vines, "It's nice when you aren't being shot at."

It was an odd thing to think about, that Megatron knew more of peace than the mech in front of him; but Bumblebee had been born during the eclipse of the Great War. This one's whole life had nearly entirely been of combat.

But it brought another question to mind. The warrior never talked of his life before the war. Perhaps he didn't remember, though more likely, he simply did not think much of it.

Bumblebee was distinctly Praxian, from the curves of his forearm to the makeshift wings that jutted from his back; it all spoke of the lithe and intellectual build of the culture center. This one was not built for combat or labor, merely thrust into it, and it spoke of a separate life that no matter how short, was indistinguishable in who he was.

And though he would not push, Megatron wanted to know.

"Shall I guess which city, or will you tell me?"

Bumblebee's field flared slightly, like a twitch or a flick of the wrist, letting Megatron know that he was fully aware of the intended prying. But there was no malice, merely a sort of wry amusement.

"Praxus," He said distractedly, his optics trailed up the large steeple of a fallen building, "How about there."

Megatron followed his gaze. The structure jutted out at an angle, forming a slanted precipe. It was partially rusted and cracked, inorganic plants growing in and out of it and dangling to the ground. With a curt nod, he made his way to it.

They climbed up the steeple and rested at the edge, feet dangling over it and looking out at the jungle that grew from these ruins, high above the rest of the fray. Sitting side by side, nearly touching, the two mechs remained silent for a moment, appreciating the beauty.

Bumblebee reached into his subspace and withdrew a small box of energon candies. He promptly popped one in his mouth, wings lifting a little and legs wiggling in small kicks.

Megatron looked down at the box, and then at the Autobot with a raised brow.

"Well we can't always indulge on high-grade." He spoke completely matter-of-factly. It was really quite amusing.

His mouth quirked minutely, and he simply allowed himself a small shake of the head.

Bumblebee made a noise similar to a scoff. He ate another candy and the held one out to Megatron.

Without saying a word, the ex-warlord reached out a plucked the sphere from the offering servo. Their fingers grazed against one another.

A/N: I know this isn't very polished, but this is my self-indulgence and by god I will write the crap out of this story! I have no major plans for this, no huge plot, this is simply my fluff and my fluff it will be.

... That being said... updating will be lazy and incredibly irregular.