Summary: Megatron is beginning to crack now, and he's starting to remember his voice again.
Disclaimer: Do I even need this? sigh... I don't own transformers, though I wish i did, because than maybe the new series might actually get some more much-needed angst.
enjoy.
Chapter 5
Crack
Everything does seem to fly by when there is nothing to do… especially for such a long time… The only things I have left to do are the occasional stretching and yawning. And the worrying… The worrying is worst… I'm wondering if I'll wake up one day before a deactivator, or being locked away for good. Yet this is almost a prison in itself…
Slag Prime for this all… He couldn't be merciful, could he? To others, it seems like a good offer, to let me be alive… A note for him, I'd much prefer to be gone than here because here… I can expect everything to the last numbing detail.
The door slid open, my reactions are even methodical. Stand up, walk to the door, wait, and be led off…
Once again in your office… You seem weary again; I find that not too hard to believe. I'm guessing you had a rough night, because you just can't seem to keep your optics keen.
You gesture for a seat, and I sit in the nearest one, the usual one, where you preferably stare at the picture behind my head than at me.
85… 86… I was at 84 when I was last in here… I think.
"So how are you today?" Yep, you have tried to cover up your exhaustion with a lighter voice; it's not really working, though.
"Do you want to say anything? Anything at all?"
88… 89…
"Well, I actually got a few questions I've wanted to ask you…" You say calmly, placing your computer onto your lap, attentive, alert… It's sort of admirable how you can change your mood so quickly.
"Do you remember… how you felt when the war was over?"
91… 92… 93… 94…
You clear your throat, "What about how you felt towards Optimus Prime, I mean, working with him?"
I actually look down when you ask that. I can think of only to words, but should I even bother saying it? You even seem to pause, expecting an answer, though prepared for me to look back up again and count the bolts in the ceiling.
Those two words…
"Slag him."
You're mouth nearly fell out of place at that. Either from the insulting your brave, courageous, idiotic leader or the fact I actually said something. Or both, but I'm not the psychiatrist at the moment. I look up at the ceiling again. 97… 98… 99…
"Well... Uh… I think that should be enough for today…" you're stuttering, and close you laptop, and you press the button under your chair. The door opens, and just as it closes again, with me outside of it, I can't help but smile, and I really don't know why…
woot. Short, but I found ita tad comical. R&R, you know the drill. Peace, I'm out.