It was a foolish, illogical thought, Shockwave knew. But watching Megatron step free from the space bridge, Shockwave couldn't help but be reminded that his leader was beautiful.

Although the dust of the organic planet dulled the usual shine of his silver plating, he positively gleamed compared to anything left on the blasted husk of Cybertron. Compared to anyone else here, he looked pristine as a god.

That was also a highly illogical thought. Refusing to allow it to interfere with his flawless delivery of the required ritual greeting, Shockwave chided himself wordlessly.

Megatron, for his part, must have noticed nothing amiss in Shockwave's greeting. He simply nodded in acknowledgment.

"So," he said, "I hear that things go well here lately."

Shockwave nodded back. That was not the real reason Megatron was here. But then, not too long ago Shockwave had waited for thousands of vorns to hear from Megatron at all. He could afford to stand on formality now.

"Thanks to the energon shipments that you have managed to send, my lord, yes. Most of the population is still experiencing an acute energy crisis, but thanks to those shipments, the other guardians and I now function at near-normal levels."

"Good."

Megatron stepped closer. Shockwave could hear the faint whir of the tyrant's fans. His own fans kicked on in answer, and his spark whirled faster in his chest.

That didn't bother Shockwave as much. That had been going on for as long as he could remember. He was, however, glad that he lacked facial features. It simply would not do to be too obvious.

The corner of Megatron's mouth quirked into a smile. "But I hear you have more interesting news for me than that, Shockwave."

Shockwave's single optic shone. "Yes, my lord. After many vorns of pursuit, I have finally captured one of the Autobots who keeps raiding our energon stores."

Megatron nodded, his grin spreading. "So I've heard. Take me to her."

Shockwave's engines rumbled in excitement he could barely conceal.

###

"Hey, Decepticreeps!"

Shockwave had long ago gotten used to Chromia's insults. Cursing him was all the Autobot could do. Not wanting to take any chances with his prize, Shockwave not only kept her bound her with stasis cuffs, but also kept her under an inhibitor field. The field ensured that her energy levels remained low even if her systems were well-fueled.

She had apparently decided that since her voice was the only weapon left to her, she should never miss a chance to use it.

And today Megatron himself had come to look her over. Seeing him, she only got louder.

"Well, if it isn't the worst of the mechano-rats himself. Hey! Megatron! You come all the way back here just to try to frighten little old me?"

Megatron smirked at her, actually breaking into a laugh.

Shockwave didn't waste too much time guessing at that. Megatron did, after all, have Starscream with him on Earth. Everything Chromia could come up with, Megatron had probably heard twice.

"You're already frightened, Autobot, whether I've tried to do so or not," he answered, turning away.

Chromia huffed, surprised, and was silent a moment before launching into a new barrage of insults.

Megatron ignored them. Shockwave followed suit. This Autobot's noise, offensive though it was, was apparently meaningless to Megatron. And if it was meaningless to Megatron, it was meaningless to Shockwave as well.

Still smirking, the Decepticon leader walked over to the far wall. The standard implements of binding and torture hung there, and Shockwave briefly wondered if Megatron was planning on interrogating the prisoner. Or on demonstrating his power for no other reason than that he could.

But Megatron ignored the stasis cuffs, electrowhips, and shocksticks, saving his attention for something entirely different.

That something was the prisoner's weapon, which Shockwave had hung here for further study. It was clearly not an Autobot weapon, and Shockwave was not finished analyzing exactly how Chromia had managed to successfully convert a weapon designed to integrate directly into a Cybertronian's systems into a handheld blaster.

An Autobot would, Shockwave supposed, find such a weapon impressive. At least if that Autobot were as bellicose as this particular specimen happened to be. Autobots did not have internal weapons systems and were forced to carry theirs around with them.

That was an inefficient system, as far as Shockwave was concerned. Those whose weapons were part of their own frames never had to worry about recharging or misplacing them. Integrated weapons were fed by the same fuel their wielders themselves were. Weapon and wielder were indivisible, inseparable without major alterations to the basic structure of either or both.

But Autobots had not been built for war.

Shockwave stared at Megatron again, his optic resting on the cannon that adorned his leader's arm, a shiver running up his backstruts as he watched Megatron lift Chromia's blaster from its mount on the wall.

"This is well-made," Megatron said slowly, still smiling. Chromia cursed him.

"I wonder where you could have found it," he continued, pointedly ignoring her outburst and running his hands along the metal.

Shockwave shivered again, understanding full well what Megatron was doing. It didn't take a researcher to know where a laser like that must have come from. Not when its handle and power cells had been so crudely welded on.

"You want to know where that came from, Bucket Head?" Chromia snarled, unimpressed. "That mean you're as dumb as you look, or are you just asking which of your thugs I tore it off of?"

Megatron chuckled, aimed it at the wall near the cell, and fired. A bright beam lit the room, melting a wide hole in the metal there.

The beam was orange, the traditional Autobot color. But Shockwave's databanks had vast catalogues of information about Autobot weapons and the precise chemistry of the energy they used and output, and it was obvious to him that the color of the beam was not exactly the proper Autobot shade.

The weapon was also too powerful.

Much too powerful, Shockwave reflected, watching smoke rise from the crater it had melted in the wall. Standard-issue Decepticon lasers couldn't do that.

Chromia growled, apparently out of maledictions. Megatron ran his hands along the surface of the weapon as he hung it in its place again, his touch almost a caress. Shockwave felt his own gun-arm flicker with energy and his spark pulse hard in his chest. His cooling fans roared.

He himself could transform into a gun, just as Megatron could. But while Megatron was capable of size-shifting, compressing his mass until he could fit into another Decepticon's hands, Shockwave could not. He could only float in the air and fire upon his enemies.

Neither for the first nor for the last time, he found himself wishing his systems had been built to allow him to shift his mass. If they had been, Megatron could have held him as he'd held the prisoner's stolen weapon, could have charged him in accordance with his will, could have fired him -

His weapons systems crackled with energy, the seams on his arm glowing brightly.

Megatron laughed. Shockwave froze, his processors reeling. Had he given away too much? After all, Megatron had always preferred Starscream anyway -

Chromia laughed too, interrupting his thoughts. "Well, well, well. Deceptigoon courtship rituals? Never thought I'd see those up close."

Megatron growled, his chassis rumbling. "Shockwave."

Shockwave stood straighter, the finials on the top of his head twitching. "My lord."

"Silence that Autobot. Her remarks are becoming irritating."

Venting a sigh of intense relief, Shockwave walked over to the wall of implements and selected a small laser scalpel. Then, walking back over to Chromia's cell, he gave the command to deactivate the energon bars and walked inside.

Chromia lunged. Or tried to. Her inhibited systems could barely control her movement and she slipped, landing in a distinctly undignified heap at Shockwave's feet. It didn't stop her from hissing at him, or keep her optics from shining such a bright, angry blue that Shockwave was forced to narrow his own optic lest he be blinded by their light.

He pressed his gun to her head, less to threaten and more to clear his own way to her vocalizer. She thrashed, but he didn't mind. If her actions impaired his accuracy with the scalpel and brought her unnecessary damage or pain, the Autobot would only have herself to blame for it.

But once he touched the blade to the cabling in the prisoner's neck, seeking the delicate part that controlled her vocalizer, she stilled anyway, her frame humming with angry energy.

Shockwave could hear Megatron's smile. "Oh, and disconnect her optical and audio inputs as well."

It required all of Shockwave's efforts not to tremble in response. But he managed it, and began the first cut. Efficient. Clean. Proper.

The Autobot snarled through the pain, her voice fuzzed with staticky bursts. "Oh, you mean I don't get to w -"

With a sudden screech of feedback, her voice died.

###

Her audio and visual inputs had been trickier to get to with one hand. Fortunately, she was weak from pain and the energy-drain meant that her ill-fated attack had left her all but spent anyway. He'd had to lay the scalpel down - carefully, far out of Chromia's reach - several times. Then he'd carefully tilted her head and taken the knife back up again, severing the lines of circuitry feeding into each of her optics and each of her audio receptors.

Megatron's presence behind him had been - he had to admit it - distracting. He'd feel his Leader's optics on him. And on the prisoner, staring as her faceplates twisted in eerily soundless pain.

He had slipped. Barely, but more than once. Chromia's energon still glowed pink against his hand and wrist, and smeared his gun where he'd used his other arm to steady her.

It was, frankly, unacceptable. But Megatron had come all this way to see him, and he would not bother his lord with confessions of his own shortcomings. Finials twitching, he walked out of the cell and gave the command to reactivate the bars. Then he returned the energon scalpel to its place on the wall, trying not to feel too perturbed by the fact that he hadn't cleaned it first.

He had only enough time to hear the footfalls behind him, heavy and reverberating and impossibly strong, before he felt his lord's hand on his back and froze, his systems stalling.

"Very good," Megatron rasped, his other hand sliding to cup the guardian's head.

Shockwave's spark lurched in a mixture of desire and dismay. Not having a face, he could not tilt his head to press a reverent kiss to his lord's fingers.

It was not the first time he had wanted to do this. He expected that it would not be the last.

Hoping that Megatron would not mistake his gesture for greed, he pressed the side of his head into his Leader's hand.

"Turn around and kneel, here," Megatron said, pulling his hand away. Processor spinning, Shockwave struggled to properly parse the words. Then he turned, falling - too heavily! too loudly! - to his knees in front of his lord.

"You have done well, Shockwave," Megatron said, his optics gleaming, their scarlet light filling Shockwave's vision. "These Autobot thieves eluded us for vorns, and now -" He tilted his head toward Chromia's cell, his smile widening.

Shockwave could feel his chest plates straining to open, his overheated spark searing its housing in his chest.

Then Megatron reached out to touch Shockwave's chest, and it was all he could do to keep them closed. They thudded loudly as he forced them shut.

"Thank you, my lord," Shockwave responded, pleased that he'd remembered, long ago, to program himself to respond automatically with the proper answer. Feeling Megatron's hand trace the seam between his chest plates, he was not at all certain he could have come up with any answer that he hadn't programmed into himself.

"It is not every day that one of my army distinguishes himself so well," Megatron continued.

Shockwave stared, resetting his optic. That line of light in the seam of Megatron's chest - surely he must have imagined it. His lord would never open this way, not for him -

- but when his optical sensors reset, he could still see it, a hairline crack between Megatron's chest plates and red light in the tiny breach, the bright, fierce crimson of his leader's spark. He vented a quaking sigh, forcing himself to focus.

"Clearly, you deserve a reward," Megatron was saying now, and Shockwave froze, not daring to imagine what sort of thing his Leader had in mind.

"Open," Megatron said, giving Shockwave's chest plates one last caress before moving his hand away.

Shockwave's chest plates flew apart with a ringing clang. He was not aware of willing them to do so. He was not aware of anything - or, at least, he did not trust himself to be. Logic dictated that this could not be happening.

And yet, somehow, it was, his Lord's chest plates sliding apart to reveal his spark itself, wheeling with energy. Shockwave's analysis - hasty, error-prone, foolish in the first place anyway - indicated it must be nearly as overfull as Shockwave's own spark was.

He was torn between moaning in awe and reminding himself that this was clearly impossible when the first bolt of energy hit him.

He rocked backwards, as his vision flared red and lightning, relentless and searing, tore through his systems. His spark pulsed hard, struggling to receive the energy that Megatron was, even now, pumping into it.

My lord - please -! he thought, knowing Megatron could sense his emotions and perhaps even his thoughts through the connection.

There was a moment of stillness. Then, a flood, heat and light roaring through him as Megatron hurled another bolt of energy into his frame.

His circuits sizzled as if they would melt inside his very frame as the energy tore through him, relentless.

He cried out, a sharp metallic scream. He was no Starscream, impetuous and greedy, built to take the best his enemies or his commander could throw at him.

Like all Decepticons, he was built for war. But his primary function was that of guardian, and before that it had been scientist. He was an analyzer, a processor of data, and as pleasant as this was, it was not for him, he was not made for it, he could not endure -

Megatron roared, grabbing at Shockwave's head and wrenching it so hard that Shockwave felt cabling at his neck tauten and snap, flooding his neck with warm, fresh energon.

Look.

The word reverberated through his entire processor, stirring in every corner of his mind. Obediently, he widened his optic and stared, wondering what on Cybertron or Earth or anywhere could be as important as the sight of Megatron's own spark.

Then he saw it: Chromia's inert frame, huddled over itself, so low on energy it might as well have been in stasis or deactivated entirely, a glowing smear of pink staining its neck. Its dead optics, a deep black-blue without their usual light. Its audio receptors, leaking matching lines of energon, monstrous and precise.

You did this, Megatron thought - and Shockwave thought, the words echoing over and over, two voices in concert, chasing themselves through his mind.

And on their heels, a fierce and terrible pride that sent all his systems roaring to life.

He was worthy of this.

He cried out again, another tinny wail, Megatron's hand still twisting his head and lancing agony through his circuits.

Every part of him flared red then, the last of Megatron's energy tearing its way into his spark and bringing every part of his sensory array to life, burning away his doubt, his fear, his desperate attempts to make sense of all that was happening.

There was only this flame, purifying him, bending him to his lord's will and making him worthy of his lord's pride.

He surrendered to it, his optic irising impossibly wide, the scarlet light filling his vision as both sparks' combined heat consumed him.