Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shockwave flittered in and out of consciousness, though he doubted his captors knew or cared. When he gave himself up, he knew he wouldn’t be handled as a Senator. Perhaps he wouldn’t be treated as a Senator for the remainder of his life—however short of a time that may be.

As he came online, he strained his audials to hear through the ringing. He knew he was conscious before, but what did he hear then?

Institute.

His captors spoke of the Institute. The name instilled fear of experimentation and torture. Orion Pax spoke of the Institute to him, he was sure—but what did he say? The ringing wouldn’t stop. It would be painful, if he was aware enough to process pain.

Whispers poked through the ringing.

Relinquishment Clinic—that’s right. Orion Pax found the Institute underneath a Relinquishment Clinic, which meant that Orion Pax knew where the Institute was located. Shockwave wouldn’t allow himself to count on being rescued, but the hope did offer a bit of comfort. The ringing died down and some of the whispers made it through.

Shadowplay.

Shockwave’s spark quivered at the word. Shadowplay. State-sponsored brainwashing. Implanting memories, taking old ones out, and twisting the ones that were left until the mech was a shadow of their former self. Molded to be whatever their captors wished them to be, completely unaware that anything was wrong.

The guards carrying him stopped, a door hissed open, and Shockwave was dropped carelessly onto a hard surface. Before he could even attempt to move, his limbs were shackled at every joint. With nothing else left that he could do, Shockwave powered on his optics. A bright light shined directly into them, forcing Shockwave to cycle them multiple times. Even so, he was barely able to make out three figures standing beside his berth.

“The patient is still awake,” one of the figures said.

“Good,” said another. “I was worried the guards took too much liberty in damaging him. Shadowplay is useless without the spark intact. Otherwise we’d just be making a drone.”

Shockwave gasped in shock as someone breached the plug on the back of his neck. He was immediately hit with a wave of apathy, calling to him, willing him to give up and give in. Shockwave grunted and gritted his dentae—he had to keep his wits about him. He had to fight the anesthesia until Orion Pax came for him.

It was only a matter of time, now.

Orion Pax, he told himself. Wait for Orion. He’s coming for me. He knows where I am. He knows where the Institue is and he’s coming for me.

One of the figures laughed. “This one’s a talker. Are we still going to use the Filter?”

“Yes. It’s prepped and ready for insertion.”

Shockwave screamed as his chest plating was ripped open. The anesthesia called to him, lulling him to give in.

Don’t you want the pain to stop? It seemed to say. Let me help.

“He’s coming,” Shockwave yelled, going against all his base protocols and holding on to the pain. The pain was real. It was tangible and it meant being awake. Awake so Orion could find him. “He’s coming to the Institute, he’s coming—“

One of the figures shoved a plug into another socket somewhere on his body and he felt anesthesia wash over him once more. It wasn’t the apathy of before—no, instead it felt like the promise of Orion’s warm presence at their safehouse after a long, long time apart. Shockwave told himself he couldn’t give in, but the anesthesia kept flowing and his will just wasn’t strong enough to fight it anymore.

“He’s—coming,” Shockwave mumbled, struggling to keep his optics from going offline.

The last thing he heard was one of the figures chuckling and saying, “He thinks there’s only one Institute.”

…

Shockwave wasn’t gone.

When he succumbed to the anesthesia, he thought it would be like a dreamless recharge.

Instead, he felt as though his spark was wandering in an empty space. He wondered if this was what death was. No Pit, no Allspark—just a black void and his own consciousness for company. If this was death, he was disappointed. An eternal afterlife in nothingness would be incredibly boring if nobody else was around. Sure, he could keep himself entertained for a little while, but not forever. Maybe this was his own personal Pit.

Shockwave heard—no, heard isn’t the right word, he didn’t think this form had audials. Whatever this form was. He sensed…something happening far away. Something that felt like…light? He willed himself to move toward it, or maybe willed it to come closer, and it gained momentum and he realized too late that he couldn’t stop the something from consuming him.

…

Shockwave was awake, but everything was wrong.

He didn’t mean to online his optics, but they opened anyway—or at least, one did. He saw bright white everywhere, so he reasoned he must be in a medical facility of some kind. The berth underneath his body felt wrong, as though there was a thick layer of mesh preventing his sensors from fully comprehending it.

Someone was talking. It sounded as though they were speaking to him over an intercom, but when his head moved—his head moved and he didn’t move it—he saw a mech sitting next to his berth.

“Who are you?” The mech asked.

“Alpha Trion,” Shockwave said sarcastically. Or, he tried to, anyway.

His lips, dentae, and glossa didn’t move, but his vocalizer worked on its own.

“I am Senator Shockwave,” his body said.

The mech nodded and wrote something down on a datapad. “How did you arrive at the Institute?”

“Battered, bruised, and barely conscious,” Shockwave tried, to no avail.

Shockwave’s body took over. “I surrendered myself to the care of brutes who ensured I knew their ire.”

The mech once again wrote on his datapad. “Now,” he said, “Who is Orion Pax?”

“Who wants to know?” Shockwave tried to ask.

“Why is he of any concern?” His body said instead.

Jolts of pain spread throughout Shockwave’s body, causing both him and his body to cry out in tandem.

“I am the one answering questions,” the mech said, taking on a stern tone. “Now, who is Orion Pax?”

“Bite me,” Shockwave’s consciousness spat.

“A cop,” his traitorous body said.

“Why did you answer just now?”

“I tried not to,” Shockwave protested.

“It would be illogical not to,” his body said.

“One final question,” The mech in front of him said, leaning over his body and completely doing away with the datapad. “What is your relationship to Orion Pax?”

Shockwave couldn’t take it anymore. He was sick and tired of his body answering for him. He hoped if he was honest, he could actually speak. “He’s my friend, my sparkmate, the one mech I can trust other than myself.”

Despite his honesty, Shockwave’s body still changed his words.

“I cared for him once. However, it would be illogical to continue associating myself with him.”

The mech smiled and opened an outside comm channel. “The Filter Treatment was a success. The Senator is ready for the next step.”

…

Shockwave learned a few things about his situation over the next few weeks.

Firstly, it wasn’t just Shadowplay that he was subjected to, but also Empurata. Only one of his optics was functional after the procedure because he only had one optic.

Shockwave had heard vague whispers of “Filter Treatment” during his time at the Institute. Though those around him were keeping hush-hush about it, some information still slipped through. Shockwave gathered that it was an experimental form of Shadowplay—and the reason his body moved and spoke on its own. The real Shockwave, the real him—his spark, or his consciousness, or whatever he felt like calling it at the time—was being used as a basis for the body—the Filter’s—processor.

The Filter wasn’t a drone. It was still Shockwave, but a version of Shockwave without emotion, without empathy. It was Shockwave’s memories, intelligence, and processing power without being constrained by morality.

Anything Shockwave tried to say, the Filter would—well—filter through and change anything that was “illogical.” It didn’t just say the opposite of what Shockwave tried to say, though. He tried using reverse psychology on the Filter, but because the Filter was him, it understood Shockwave’s intentions. It didn’t always go against his intentions, but it often corrupted them.

Despite the futility of fighting the Filter, it took immense amounts of energy just to make an attempt. Each time Shockwave tried to speak against the Filter, he felt himself melt into the background, as though he was drifting off to recharge while his body remained awake. When he regained enough of his spark, Shockwave would try to speak up again, and he would lose himself, and the cycle would continue.

Eventually, after careful surveillance, lots of note-taking, and even more threats about what would happen should he reveal them, the Institute let Shockwave leave.

The Filter arranged for transport to his apartment. Shockwave wanted to go off-course, to call Orion, to just see his face—but the Filter didn’t find that sequence of events to be logical at all. Instead, it locked the doors, consumed energon, and spent the night digging through Shockwave’s old plans and modifying them. Most of end goals remained the same, of course, as the Filter was still him, but the path to get there would be paved in spilled energon.

The next Senate meeting, the New Shockwave made his debut.

The Filter felt nothing about lying to the Senate. He voted based on the eventual end result, no matter what costs it would take to get there. Every action he took would only benefit himself in the end. And, of course, this meant he was no longer out of place in the Senate.

The Filter agreed to meet with a rising terrorist. He bargained with Megatron and secured a laboratory for his projects.

Then the day came that Shockwave was truly unprepared for.

…

“Senator!”

The Filter hardly reacted but Shockwave’s consciousness was shocked back into being. A red-and-blue truck alt-mode drove up beside him and transformed.

For once, Shockwave and the Filter spoke in sync.

“Orion Pax.”

“I waited for you,” Orion told him, venting heavily. “At the Ark-1 Monument. Day after day. When you didn’t show up, I—“

Shockwave wanted to reach out, to tell Orion that he wanted to show up, he wanted so very much to see him, to tell him how he felt. But Shockwave was powerless to do anything.

“I was worried,” Orion continued. “You haven’t tried to—to talk to me. Dai Atlas—he can barely stand a cop like me, but he sought me out—“

“You should give up on me, Orion Pax,” the Filter interrupted. “I am not he who befriended you.” It wouldn’t be logical to give Orion false hope, after all. To have someone chasing after a version of him that might as well not be real anymore. Someone who would get in the way of his plans. Shockwave, despite how much it stung to see the hurt in Orion’s optics and know that he had been the one to cause it, knew that it was a kindness. It may have been the logical decision, but it also happened to be the kind one.

Of course, Orion Pax wouldn’t be the mech Shockwave loved if he took that at face value.

“I know that’s not true, Senator,” Orion told him, his optics glaring as though he was trying to stare through Shockwave’s singular optic to find the real him. “You said there was a war coming—that we had to choose sides.” Orion made a short vent and balled his fists. “Well, our side needs you. The real you—the one that I can feel is still in there!”

Shockwave’s consciousness nearly dissipated from sheer delight at Orion’s words and that terrified him. He couldn’t lose focus. He summoned all the strength that he had been saving for the past few months to call out to Orion.

“I am here,” Shockwave said. “I’m here, Orion please, I love you.”

When Shockwave’s vocalizer didn’t speak his words, he prepared himself to hear his own voice say the opposite, that he hated Orion. He wasn’t prepared for the Filter to say something so much worse.

“I feel nothing, Orion Pax,” The Filter said instead. “Give Dai Atlas my regrets, but my time is occupied elsewhere.”

“No, NO!” Shockwave tried to shout, but the Filter only turned and began to walk away. Shockwave felt his consciousness start to drift once more, weak from the exertion, but he heard Orion’s voice and willed himself to stay, just to hear him one last time.

“This isn’t you, Shockwave! I know the real you—you can overcome what they did!”

“Orion—“ Shockwave could hardly muster a whisper even just to himself.

“I believe in you.”

Shockwave slipped into the background processing of the Filter.

…

Shockwave and the Filter had been one for eons.

It was pointless to resist; after the first decade, Shockwave had stopped any attempts at preventing the Filter’s complete and total use of his body and processor. Once every millennia or so his consciousness would rise in response to something from his old life, but it would float back into nothingness soon after.

The war waged on. Shockwave’s experiments failed. He learned from them. They failed again. Then, success. He seeded planets. He assisted Megatron. He built weapons. He provided battle plans. He interrogated spies. He served his patron.

Then the war ended.

He did not run. He retreated. His plans did not necessitate the war’s continuance. He resumed them.

He bid his time.

The seeds grew.

He was patient.

He watched.

He waited.

…

The time was right.

…

Optimus Prime stood in front of Shockwave, threatening to pull the plug on all of his plans.

Shockwave didn’t look up from his calculations. Optimus Prime was sentimental and predictable. He would not attack immediately; instead, he would monologue. Try to reason with him. Make a futile attempt to instill guilt. Request a surrender. It was this mech’s standard procedure. Shockwave listened passively as he ran calculations.

“What happened to the Senator I once knew?” Optimus Prime asked.

Shockwave’s calculations halted for a nanosecond in surprise. A deviation from the Prime’s norm. He partitioned a slightly larger portion of his processor to pay attention.

“His last words to me were to remember him as he was.” Shockwave heard the sound of Optimus Prime’s energon axe activating. “That mech would have been disgusted with what you turned into.”

“He is.”

Silence followed his words.

It was a decidedly illogical pair of words. Shockwave ran diagnostics to try to find the reason for his erroneous statement.

It had been true, once. Before Shockwave and the Filter had become one, the tiny spark of the Idealistic Senator had done everything in his minuscule power to rebel, to voice his complaints. This was before that spark had fizzled out. Even so, it would not be logical for Shockwave to disclose this information to the Prime.

So why had Shockwave used present tense?

ILLOGICAL PROCESS DETECTED

RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS

SCANNING…

SCANNING…

ERROR FOUND: ANOMALY DETECTED

FILTER NOT FULLY ASSIM-

Shockwave’s proximity scanners shocked himself out of the program just in time to react to Optimus Prime’s axe swinging at his head. Instincts kicked in and he launched backward, but the axe’s swing still slashed his torso. The wound wouldn’t be fatal, though it was surprising.

Shockwave hadn’t been surprised in eons.

Shockwave moved quickly—time was of the essence. In his main control room, he had ample access to means of egress as well as weapons systems. And weapons. He rushed toward a console that hid the detonator for a restraining bomb and as he reached it, Optimus Prime’s thrown axe had destroyed it beyond quick repair. Frustration bubbled up in Shockwave’s processor as the energon dissipated.

“You said ‘is.’ Why did you say ‘is?’” Optimus Prime demanded.

Shockwave raised his gun arm and shot at the Prime. It did not strike true, but it did not need to—it was only meant as a distraction for Shockwave to move to another console. “Illogical statement. Error found and purged.” The Prime would have no way of knowing it was a lie.

It was a lie.

It was a lie .

Shockwave and the Filter had become separate once again.

The Filter searched and found the reason. It seemed assimilation had not properly occurred; Shockwave had only been biding his time, spending eons gathering his strength to rebel in a way that was more than just voicing discontent.

The Filter was distracted by this process.

A shot rang off the back of Shockwave’s shoulder plating.

Shockwave stumbled.

Optimus Prime was close.

Shockwave turned in time to raise his limbs and block the axe from connecting with his head.

Shockwave’s arm weapon was separated from his body. He let out a wail of agony—an illogical action in itself. Expressing pain did nothing to deter-

Shockwave had stolen control from the Filter.

The Filter demanded they run, but Shockwave had just enough control that the order given to the body wasn’t immediate.

In the hesitation, Shockwave’s remaining arm was lost.

The Filter wrangled control of the body back and it scrambled backward. Egress was still possible—just unlikely. Escape meant survival. Escape was priority number one.

Optimus Prime swung his axe once more and Shockwave was missing his legs. The Prime stood above Shockwave and this time, the blow to the chest would surely be fatal.

Shockwave’s body was already beginning to shut down.

No access to weapons.

No access to egress.

No access to—

“I’m sorry, old friend.”

Optimus Prime readied his axe for the final blow.

The Filter was malfunctioning.

The true Shockwave was in complete control of what remained of his body.

“Or-rRRRrr-rryyYyIIIiinnnnNN-thhhhHHHh nnkkKkkkk yYYu-uUuu-UUu”

In his final moments, Shockwave saw recognition in Optimus Prime’s optics, but the Prime was too late to stop the momentum. Shockwave shut his optic off and felt a sharp pain in his spark casing before—

Chapter Text

Optimus Prime paced the corridors outside the room where Shockwave was being operated on. He was powerless to do anything. He counted his lucky stars that his old friend Ratchet had been on planet for him to call in a favor, otherwise the operation wouldn’t have been happening in the first place. Shockwave had been a source of absolute destruction during the war for both sides and no other medic would have worked half as hard as Ratchet was right now.

Optimus replayed the memory of Ratchet’s diagnosis on repeat.

…

Terror radiated through Ratchet’s EM field as he stepped outside the operating theater. Optimus sat up straight in the chair he was waiting on.

“It seems Empurata wasn’t the only thing Shockwave was subjected to when he was taken to an Institute.”

“Shadowplay?” Optimus asked.

Ratchet nodded gravely. “And worse.” He sat down next to Optimus and covered his face with his servo. “Throughout the war, I heard rumors from other medics. All unconfirmed, at least, until now. They called it the Filter. It would take every word, every action, every thought of its victim and turn it on its head. Until assimilation occurred, the Spark would be forced to watch as the Filter corrupted the processor and ruined every facet of their life. I had always thought it was just a scaremongering tactic.”

“Are you saying that Shockwave could have been a victim of this process?”

“I’m saying that Shockwave was the victim.” Ratchet vented heavily and stared at a spot on the floor ahead of him. “I came across something strange wrapped around Shockwave’s spark casing. I sent a team to search for and decode any of the Institute’s findings on the Filter. Say what you will about the Institute, but they were organized. You just have to know precisely what to look for.”

Ratchet reached into his subspace and handed Optimus a datapad. On it was a short file detailing Shockwave’s recorded events at the Institute. Precise times of recharge. Exact quantities of energon consumed. Time spent subjected to those that could barely be called medics. At the end of the file, there was a short paragraph:

Full Filter Assimilation confirmed. Patient to be released following exit examination. Experiment status: successful, but costly. Standard Shadowplay is sufficient. Project file closed. Not to be replicated.

“If the experiment was a success, why was Shockwave acting strangely when I attacked him?”

Ratchet shook his head. “I could only guess.” Optimus stared at Ratchet, who rolled his optics and continued. “My theory is that a combination of factors led to the Filter’s temporary malfunction. First, the Filter may have broken down. It would still be active, but weak, comparatively. Perhaps due to time and decay, perhaps from disuse if Shockwave’s spark had learned helplessness. Perhaps from wear if Shockwave’s spark hadn’t. The spark could have also been gathering just enough strength over time for an outburst like what you described. Then there’s the fact it was you, Optimus. It’s no secret that before the Empurata, you two were close. That you were the one to confront him could have caused a surge of emotion. Then there’s also the fact that Shockwave was injured. You gave him a near fatal chest wound, but you also severed one of the Filter’s main lines while scarcely harming the actual spark chamber, leading to his final statement.”

Optimus’ audials perked up. “You said he had a near fatal chest wound.”

“Of course that’s what you picked up from all that.” Ratchet smiled sadly. “I can’t make any promises. Shockwave is not stable, but he is alive. My team is doing their best to stabilize him and remove the filter. The rest is up to him.”

…

Multiple shift changes had occurred since then. There was always a team in the operating theater, and whenever a medic passed Optimus, he would practically beg them for updates, but they kept quiet.

Optimus paced back and forth as he had done for days now. His optics were weary and his body craved a berth, but he couldn’t leave. Not yet.

Ratchet left the theater and startled him. Optimus checked his chronometer—as he thought, it was only an hour into Ratchet’s third shift.

“What’s the news?”

Ratchet took in his old friend’s appearance and sighed. “We have removed the filter completely and Shockwave has stabilized.”

Optimus ran forward and threw his arms around Ratchet, his vents wheezing as his body was racked with sobs of relief.

“Now,” Ratchet said as Optimus separated them, “That doesn’t mean we’re done. As Shockwave was a Senator, we have ample reference for his former appearance. My team is currently working on reversing the effects of Empurata.”

“How long will that take?” Optimus asked desperately, still holding on tight to Ratchet’s arms. His faceplates felt like they were about to crack with how wide he was smiling.

“Long enough for you to fully recharge,” the medic told him. “As your medic, and as your friend, I’m ordering you to go home. Rest. At the very least, it will allow the custodial staff time to replace the tiles your pedes ground into nonexistence.”

…

Shockwave wasn’t gone.

When he succumbed to Optimus Prime, he thought he would finally be free from the Pit he’d existed in for eons.

Instead, he felt as though his spark was wandering in an empty space. He wondered if this was what death was. No Pit, no Allspark—just a black void and his own consciousness for company. If this was death, he welcomed it. An eternal afterlife in nothingness would be so much better than what he had already gone through. Sure, he would get bored, but he’s sure he could do something to fill the time. He could deal with boredom. He’d dealt with far worse.

Shockwave heard—no, heard isn’t the right word, he didn’t think this form had audials. Whatever this form was. He sensed…something happening far away. Something that felt like…light? He willed himself to move toward it, or maybe willed it to come closer, and it gained momentum and he realized too late that he couldn’t stop the something from consuming him.

…

Shockwave was awake and everything was right.

He felt the cool berth underneath him, a thin sheet over his body, and a plug in his arm that was slowly feeding something into his system. He heard with more clarity than he had in recent—or even distant—memory. Shuffling pedes on hard tile, the subtle shifting of a mech standing nearby. The gentle beeps and boops of medical equipment.

Shockwave opened his optics—his optics, plural—and found himself in a bright room. He turned his head—he could turn his own head!—and found himself staring at Ratchet. One of Optimus’s oldest friends and the best doctor that no amount of money could buy.

“You’re awake,” Ratchet said, and Shockwave hadn’t realized how nice it was to just hear another mech’s voice unfiltered. “So, let’s start with this: who are you?”

“I’m Shockwave,” he answered. He spoke! With his lips and dentae and glossa and vocalizer! “I’m…I’m me again? I’m myself again!”

Shockwave laughed in delight and relished the feeling of laughter dancing through his chassis once more. Even Ratchet couldn’t help but give a small smile.

“Yes, so it seems. My team managed to remove the Filter. Nasty thing, it was. We also reversed the effects of Empurata, for your own safety. The Filter’s Shockwave wouldn’t have lasted long in the public eye, but the old Senator might make it alright.”

Shockwave had noticed his new facial features earlier, but now his gaze lifted from Ratchet and towards the rest of his body. His legs were covered by a sheet, but he lifted his arms and he had real arms again. Shockwave lifted his servos in front of his optics and delighted in wiggling his digits like a protoform. After a moment, something shifted at his side, and Shockwave moved his servos away to stare at himself through the mirror that Ratchet held.

Shockwave turned his head and stared at his unpainted helm, marveling in the fact that he could. He lifted his servos once more and felt his face, running his digits over his helm.

“We would have painted you, but we couldn’t agree on which colors to use. You sure liked to switch up your color scheme,” Ratchet grumbled.

“I’m sure I’ll do so even more now that I have the option,” Shockwave said, not looking away from the mirror. The mirror moved, and Shockwave frowned, turning to Ratchet, who looked rather amused.

“Now, I do remember you being a bit vain,” Ratchet teased, “but you have someone waiting for you, and as soon as he hears you’re awake, he’s going to come rushing in here, and we have a lot of work to get done before then.”

“Work?”

“You had extensive reconstructive surgery done,” Ratchet explained. “Now, I have a lot of trust in my abilities, and even more in my team’s abilities, but we’d better check that everything’s properly attached and secure anyway.”

…

The “work” that Ratchet was talking about turned out to be a lot of stretching and moving and sitting up and standing. Shockwave was sure part of the reason he was doing this was to also recalibrate his nervous system now that he had a greater awareness of his body without the Filter.

Just as Shockwave was sitting back down on the medical berth, Ratchet received a comm.

“Right, yes, thanks for the warning. Give him my location. And I apologize in advance.” Ratchet turned to Shockwave. “Your visitor has arrived.”

“What were you apologizing for?”

Ratchet smiled and shook his head. “They just got the hallways redone. In his excitement, he won’t think to tread carefully.” Ratchet took a long look at the door before walking towards it. “I’d better step outside so I can stop him from crashing in here. Save the door from the trauma, if I can.”

Shockwave didn’t reply, just wondered who would be so interested in his survival that would warrant such a reaction. He knew who he hoped it was, but he was still so unused to feeling hope that he was wary of allowing it to take over his processor. Instead, he stayed seated on the berth and listened through the slightly-open doorway.

It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps. Large, crashing ones that he swore shook the building. Then he heard Ratchet scolding someone about the floors. And then, he heard him.

“Is he alright?”

Shockwave’s sparkpulse skipped a beat. His entire frame was filled with a pleasant sensation of warmth that he hadn’t known for eons. His servos gripped tight to the edge of the berth and he would have reveled in the novelty of having servos again if the love of his life hadn’t just rushed through the door.

The two mechs didn’t say a word, didn’t move—Shockwave’s servos clinging to the berth and Optimus’s servo still on the doorframe.

For the first time, Shockwave laid two optics on a fully realized Orion Pax—now Optimus Prime. He was taller, grander, the intimidating Hand of Primus with a battle mask that only left his optics to glare into the sparks of those that dared oppose his cause. Now, those optics were wide and cycled rapidly. Optimus released his battle mask and his lips were slightly parted, just barely upturned. His entire frame had been changed by the power of the Matrix of Leadership, but his face was still the same one that Shockwave had fallen in love with long ago.

“Thank you,” Shockwave said at the same time that Optimus said “I did as you asked.”

Shockwave cycled his optics. He had asked many things of Orion Pax. “What?”

The door shut behind Optimus as he carefully approached the berth, as though Shockwave was a scared cyberfox that would flee at the slightest movement. Optimus stopped with far too much space between them—though it was only a few paces.

“Before they took you,” Optimus explained. “Back at the safehouse. You said-”

“Remember me as I was,” Shockwave finished.

“And I did.” Optimus took another step closer. “Even as the Filter stood in front of the Senate, distorted your ideals, and told me to—to give up on you, I remembered the real you.”

Optimus took another step, and now he was close enough that his thighs were just barely grazing Shockwave’s knees. He raised a servo, hesitantly, and brought it up to rest against Shockwave’s cheek. It was the first time in so long that anyone had even thought to touch him in kindness and Shockwave almost moaned at the sensation. Optimus gently stroked his thumb across Shockwave’s cheek.

“I remembered the mech I fell in love with.”

…

Before the war, Orion and Shockwave were close. Though they tried to keep their relationship contained, it wasn’t a secret that the two would often meet at an old, broken bench to talk. It wasn’t a secret that Shockwave would lead Orion Pax into meetings he had no business being in otherwise. Anyone who knew Orion Pax would also know that the mech’s loyalty was first to Cybertron, then to the Senator. Anyone who knew the Senator would know that he had a penchant for idealistic mechs.

The two were allies. Friends, even.

That was all they could ever be.

Shockwave was a Senator. More than that, he was a Senator that did his job, which made him a lot of enemies—particularly with his cohorts in the Senate. And, if he were honest, he could be a bit vain, which—in conjunction with the previous fact—meant that the public eye was always focused on him. And Shockwave did not want the public’s ire focused on Orion Pax.

There was an agreement of sorts between the two mechs. They never acknowledged what was growing between them. Shockwave had his duties to the Senate and Orion Pax had his duties to the state. Until the Senator’s plans were fulfilled, until the systems in power could be challenged and put right, they couldn’t be anything more than they already were.

Even so, Shockwave felt it. Ever since his optics were first laid on Orion Pax, he knew the mech was special. He was fascinated by him, and when he spoke, Shockwave was eager to listen. Shockwave’s processor would replay their latest conversations whenever there was a moment to spare. He picked up datapads Orion had recommended, had given a few recommendations of his own, and on their bench they would discuss philosophy and literature and their shared guilty pleasure of filthy romance novellas.

Their EM fields would remain close to their bodies—a habit they had both shared from their careers, and one that let them pretend they didn’t feel anything more than could be outright stated. Every once in a while, though, Shockwave would forget himself or Orion would get excited and their fields would connect and just for a second, they could feel the shared care warmth trust running through their bond, only to fade as they remembered themselves and were forced to pull back.

Orion Pax always kept his face shield up. Shockwave was glad for it. At the same time, he loathed it. He wished to be able to rest his optics on the smaller mech’s face, watch as his lips formed the words that touched the Senator’s spark. But Shockwave knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist caressing Orion’s faceplates, pulling him closer, staring into those gorgeous optics with the context of his full expression, and waiting for Orion to close the gap between them. There were times Shockwave caught Orion without the mask, but only from a distance.

Shockwave never invited Orion Pax to his apartment alone. The temptation, he knew, would have been too strong. He wouldn’t be able to hold himself back from crossing the boundary their public-facing lives had set. He wouldn’t be able to resist offering his favorite high-grade and asking if Orion would stay the night. Once they crossed that line, there was no chance that Shockwave could ever devote himself to a cause more pure and precious than ensuring his lover’s happiness. Shockwave couldn’t cross that line—not when he had a duty to his People.

Their love—because Shockwave knew it was love he felt for the other mech—could be expressed only in the silence between their words and the light of their optics. Shockwave felt it in the rare occurrence that they could touch each other, Shockwave placing his servo on the small of Orion’s back as he led him through a crowd or Orion pulling the Senator out of danger. The touches never lasted long. The warmth of the other would fade quickly, leaving them to yearn for more.

Shockwave knew there was a very good chance that their love could never be more than it was, could never flower and blossom and bloom into the garden of devotion that he dreamed of as he laid awake in his berth, recharge refusing to grace him. He could only hope and work toward a better future.

…

Shockwave didn’t know how it happened but suddenly Optimus’s lips were on his and they were kissing and their EM fields were finally allowed to merge and it was so much more than he could have ever imagined. Shockwave melted in his lover’s touch, the sensations as foreign as they were welcome. His processor was still learning to associate touch with feeling; it was completely unprepared for and overwhelmed by touch in the form of pure bliss that Optimus offered. Shockwave felt like he was floating.

Too soon, the two had been separated. Shockwave was brought back to reality by Ratchet’s scolding of Optimus for rapidly subjecting a touch-starved patient to an influx of stimulus.

“It’s alright, I liked it,” Shockwave said as soon as he could sense his vocalizer once more. Ratchet sighed, which happened so often Shockwave wondered if he even knew how to vent properly at this point.

“It’s not about ‘liking it,’ it’s about how much stimulation your body can handle. Your spark is still getting used to working with your nervous system without a filter in the way. It can be easily overwhelmed, which puts unnecessary stress on your processor. I’d rather we avoid that as much as possible. Understood?”

Shockwave nodded.

“Optimus, do you understand me?”

Optimus jolted in surprise. “I—er, yes, I understand.”

“Good.” Ratchet produced two more datapads and gave them to Optimus and Shockwave. “Now, I’m going to go over the Sensory Acclimation Plan with both of you so there’s absolutely no excuse to stray from it.”

…

It was the final night of the Sensory Acclimation Plan and Optimus was sneaking Shockwave out of his room and up to the roof of the Medical Center. It was something that Ratchet definitely wouldn’t approve of, but it wasn’t prohibited in the Plan, so as long as he didn’t find out, they reasoned it would be fine.

Shockwave felt a bit silly as Optimus pulled him through the hallways and up stairs and lifts. Shockwave had been a Senator, Optimus was a Prime, and yet, they were sneaking around like academy first-years after curfew. It was immature and ridiculous and wonderful all at once.

Optimus led Shockwave out one final door and into the night air. He brought Shockwave to the center of the roof where he had laid out a tarp and soft mesh cushions for the two of them. As they sat, Optimus brought out two small (so as to not show up during Shockwave’s final check-up tomorrow) cubes of high-grade. Shockwave took a sip and smiled. Though it had been millions of years, Optimus had remembered his preferences.

“I wanted to show you the stars,” Optimus explained, then he noticed that Shockwave was staring at him and he looked down shyly at his cup. “I always enjoyed whenever we had a moment to ourselves under the night sky.”

“It was never really just ourselves,” Shockwave said. Those moments always happened at a fancy Senate party or just outside a busy intersection. He smiled. “But yes, I enjoyed those moments too.”

Optimus nodded. “I was thinking about those times, where we’d talk about the constellations, or about stars, or what could be beyond them, and I realized you probably hadn’t looked up at the sky since then.”

Shockwave nodded. The Filter hadn’t ever stargazed. The closest it ever came was when it compared starmaps to the view outside of his ship’s windows to ensure that their ship remained on course.

Shockwave looked up, and the sky was strange. Beautiful, certainly, but uncanny in the way that it was slightly off.

“Over millions of years, the stars drift off course. Cybertron moves through space, and so does everything else that we see. Not only that, but stars die. New ones are created from their dust, breathing new life in their place.”

Optimus downed the rest of his high-grade and Shockwave felt him take his servo. Shockwave turned his optics away from the sky and toward the mech sitting next to him, who was staring at him with devotion.

“Shockwave,” Optimus vowed, “I loved you from the first time we looked at the stars. When you were gone, I loved you. And now, even after the constellations have changed, after stars have faded and been reborn and the night sky is nothing like it once was, I still love you.”

…

The two mechs laid with their heads sharing the same cushion, the other long forgotten, with their servos intertwined as they stared up at the stars.

“I want to give up the Primacy,” Optimus admitted.

“What?”

“With the war over, Cybertron doesn’t need a Prime to lead them into battle. I fear I’d be powerless to stop the Council from being tempted to throw me at any situation that could be resolved—quickly—from my presence and the threat of violence.” Optimus sighed. “And, I’ll admit—I want to be selfish. To rid myself of the title and just be ordinary. To be Orion Pax again.”

“You could never be ordinary, even if you tried,” Shockwave told him. He smiled. “But I understand. When I was a senator, I often dreamed of running away from everything, even if just for a night. An hour. A minute.”

“You’re not a senator now,” Optimus pointed out. “You could run away with me.”

Shockwave hummed, imagining the thought. He moved his head to rest more comfortably in the crook of Optimus’s neck.“That’s true. But where would we even go?”

“There’s a ship,” Optimus said. “They’re looking for a crew. Full of mechs and femmes wanting a second chance.”

Shockwave sat up and stared at Optimus. He hadn’t expected an answer, much less a reasonable one. “You’ve thought about this.”

“The thought won’t leave me alone,” Optimus admitted, sitting up with Shockwave. He took both of Shockwave’s servos in his. “Run away with me?”

Shockwave smiled. “If you can get us on that ship, I will.”