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It was late afternoon and the sky was turning amber above the ocean surrounding Diego Garcia.
Mikaela was stood on the beach, arms folded tight as the breeze became chilly. Most of the hatchlings were squatting around the rock pools left by the retreating tide, curiously twittering at what had been left behind, poking at shells or digging holes in the sand. One particularly curious hatchling was following a crab back towards the ocean, trying to copy it’s sideways steps with it’s spindly little legs. Keeping track of all eight wasn’t the easiest job in the world, but at least today she wasn’t alone.
From behind Mikaela, a sharp whistle sounded. Eight little faces looked towards their hulking metal dorito-shaped parent.
Starscream vocalised another warning for them not to wander too far. Mikaela could never hope to understand their language of incomprehensible robotic sounds, but she thought she was beginning to recognise tone and meaning.
Because the hatchling following the crab (who Mikaela guessed the reprimand had been most specially aimed towards) lifted it’s head to chirp what sounded like backtalk, continuing it’s journey undeterred.
Mikaela was glad Starscream couldn’t see the smile trying to pull at her mouth.
“The disrespect...” she heard him mutter.
Starscream rarely bothered to speak English, which meant he was deliberately engaging in conversation with her.
Mikaela lifted her head, smiling at him. “I guess they’re entering their terrible twos, huh?”
Starscream’s optics were narrow and unhappy. “If only this insubordinate pig-headedness was but a passing thing. I have their sire’s coding to thank for that.”
Mikaela pressed her lips together. The sire in question was dozing further down the beach, half hidden by the thinning trees above the sand bank. His great, creaking metal frame only stirred when a hatchling wandered too close, and then it was only to growl and snarl and terrify them out of his vicinity.
Mikaela had a lot of opinions about Megatron’s role as a father, or sire, or whatever it was their species called it, but even with Starscream’s obvious dissatisfaction with him, she wasn’t quite brave enough to voice any of them. That Starscream was now pregnant again -or carrying or whatever- only bothered her further.
Because as far as evil robots went, Starscream didn’t seem that bad as a parent. He was far from safe or sane, but at least there was something more to him than anger and hatred and violence.
And he really did love his hatchlings.
Whereas Megatron didn’t seem to give a shit.
A lot of fathers were like that, she supposed, it didn’t seem to matter what planet they came from.
“When are you going to have the, uh, the next clutch?” she asked, looking up towards Starscream.
He was stood behind her, missile covered limbs folded over his ridiculously broad chest as he scowled at his playing hatchlings. Mikaela could see his expression, but couldn’t necessarily read it. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to respond -he didn’t always, if he was in a mood or had decided that day she wasn’t worthy of his attention- until he shifted his footing with a exasperated sigh.
“When I choose to,” he said impatiently.
Mikaela blinked, “You can choose?”
“A spark needs little gestation. A pod can be laid moments after conception.”
“So why haven’t you? Laid them, I mean.”
Starscream glanced at her. He looked annoyed, but he always looked annoyed, so...
“I have chosen to wait for better conditions.”
What conditions those were, she could only guess, but Starscream’s gaze lifted. Mikaela followed it. He was looking Megatron’s way.
She couldn’t prevent her scowl.
“You can do better, you know,” She muttered before she could help herself.
There was a pause. Mikaela tensed, worried she’d over stepped the mark-
“Thank you,” Starscream sounded flattered, rather than annoyed. “Sadly, I have little other options.”
It was a better reaction than Mikaela herself had whenever one of her own friends voiced the same comment. But maybe that’s because it wasn’t as true for her and Sam as it was for Starscream and his psycho Baby Daddy.
It was tempting to pry, but Starscream was as unstable as the next Decepticon War Criminal and she never knew what would set him off, so she let them lapse into a comfortable silence, watching as one of the hatchlings ran back towards them with a clump of seaweed clutched proudly in their talons.
They ran to Starscream, who bent his double jointed legs into a crouch, crooning indulgently as he took the offered seaweed between pinched digits. He waited until the hatchling had turned and ran back towards the pools before flinging the seaweed away in disgust.
“Vile,” he hissed, “Their fascination with this planet is revolting.”
“It’s getting dark,” Mikaela observed. The sun had dipped below the horizon and the amber in the sky was fading. “We should bring them in.”
Starscream hummed a noise of agreement and lifted his chin to call the hatchlings. Mikaela watched, endeared as always, as they began their stumbling sprint back up the beach towards them, none of them quite coordinated enough to run in a straight line.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven hatchlings made it to Starscream’s pedes, chirping and squealing, all wanting up.
Mikaela craned her neck to see down the beach, wondering if the eighth had gotten distracted. She frowned when she couldn’t spot them.
It seemed Starscream had noticed too. He called again, this time louder, more insistent. Together they stared out across the darkening beach, but no hatchling appeared. The hatchlings at Starscream’s pedes had fallen silent, their heads swivelling back and forth in confusion.
Mikaela's stomach twisted into a knot. She stuck her fingers into her mouth and whistled, as close as she could get to replicating Starscream's vocalisations and a sound the hatchlings had come to recognise. There was no answering chirp.
She looked towards the waves, remembering the hatchling that had been following the crab to the ocean...
Starscream straightened up, his hatchlings clutching at his ankles anxiously, and released a new noise, shrill and urgent, a sound Mikaela had never heard from him before. Suddenly, further up the beach, Megatron was launching himself to his pedes, armour dusted with sand and knocking aside trees in his haste to get up. His optics shone bright and alert in the growing dark.
He moved swiftly down to the shore line, his long claws reaching into the shallows, sweeping through crashing waves as he stepped in up to his knees, chuffing softly as he searched.
Could hatchlings drown if they didn’t have lungs? Mikaela couldn’t take her hands away from her mouth, her chest tight and breathing harsh. Behind her, Starscream was silent.
Megatron stooped. He seemed to have found something. Mikaela braced herself, heart hammering, as he lifted something from the waves-
The missing hatchling dangled from his claws, squirming and wet and tangled in seaweed. Mikaela stumbled with relief when she heard them hiss at their dad in indignation.
“Oh, thank God.” She whispered.
Megatron walked towards them, diligently untangling his hatchling from the seaweed as it wriggled and cried. He was still making that chuffing noise Mikaela sometimes heard Starscream use to soothe the hatchlings, low and gentle, like someone hushing a crying baby.
It sounded so odd, coming from Megatron.
When he reached then, towering over Mikaela and hatchlings alike, he carefully lowered the rescued hatchling to the sand, where Starscream immediately scooped them up and flicked them lightly in the head in annoyance.
There was a muttered exchange of Cybertronian, which ended when Megatron briefly surveyed the fussing clutch of hatchlings before turning back the way he'd come.
“Are you okay?” Mikaela asked softly, once Megatron was out of earshot.
“Fine,” Starscream snapped abruptly, and bent to let the remaining hatchlings clamber up onto his armour so he could carry them back to their hanger. “You can go.”
Mikaela watched him stomp off, eight pairs of bright little optics watching her over his shoulder.
She sighed to herself. At least Megatron wasn't completely useless.
There was a scratching noise coming from beneath one of the raptors. The pilot knew what it was. Lennox knew what it was. Ironhide knew what it was.
But no one seemed willing to deal with it.
“...Just start her up and it’ll scare off,” Lennox suggested what was probably the worst possible course of action.
“I’m not doing that!” the pilot -Hawkins, her uniform said- exclaimed, popping up from where she’d been crouched to see into the shadows under her jet. “What if it attacks me?!”
“Jus’ a kid,” Ironhide reminded them gruffly, like he wasn’t just as scared of the little thing as them.
“You deal with it then,” Lennox glared.
“Not my kid.”
“Can’t you just... talk to it?” Hawkins looked up at Ironhide pleadingly, “Tell it my raptor’s not its mom and I’m about to lose my window for take off!”
“I don’t speak ‘seeker’,” Ironhide folded his arms stubbornly.
“Fine,” Lennox growled, “We’ll get a broom-“
“Oh, I can’t wait for that to get back to its parents!” Hawkins exclaimed, zipping her flight uniform down and pulling at her collar nervously.
“Starscream’s not even in this hemisphere, we’re fine,” Lennox reminded her, going for his radio.
“Megatron is.” Ironhide peered down at him.
Lennox often forgot that the little monsters belonged to Tall, Dark, and Demented too. But Megatron rarely showed the tiny Decepticons any more interest than he did the humans around base anyways.
“...What does he care?” he lifted the radio to request the broom.
Ironhide took a deliberate step away from him. Hawkins glanced between them, before deciding to do the same.
Lennox grumpily lowered the radio. “Fine. Where the Hell's Mikaela when you need her...?”
A jet was coming in to land on a runway nearby. Beneath the raptor, a little metal face poked out, calling to the landing plane.
It wasn't Starscream, but the lost little Cybertronian didn’t seem to realise that.
The three of them were still standing around trying to figure out what to do, when another pilot crossing the tarmac began to veer their way, looking over curiously.
“What’s the hold up?” He asked, squinting at Hawkins’ jet as he approached. “Waiting for an engineer?”
“No,” Hawkins set her hands on her hips, “Got a stowaway, I think.”
She nodded to the hatchling tucked against the raptor’s landing gear. The new guy pulled a face when he spotted it.
“Urgh, can’t you just get the big guy to yank it out from under there?” He nudged Lennox, gesturing up to Ironhide.
“Don’t like to make a habit of ‘yanking’ hatchlings,” Ironhide growled, staring down at the other pilot with obvious distain.
“Maybe we can scare it off-“ the pilot muttered, moving towards the jet before Lennox could tell the guy to take a hike.
“Jackson, don’t-“ Hawkins called to him, but the other pilot was already beside the jet, slamming his hand against the underside, “Hey! Get outta there! Out!”
The metal clang rang out loudly, and coupled with the shouting, the baby Con beneath shrank away with a distressed wail, optics big and bright and spooked.
It’s distress call hadn’t been loud. Lennox had barely heard it where he was stood less than a hundred metres away.
But somehow, from the other side of the entire island, Megatron must have heard it loud and clear.
And Lennox knew that because in the next instant there was a great ruckus of noise. Birds shot out of trees into the air squawking, alarms in some of the buildings began to blare, his radio was spitting static as everyone on the channel tried to use it at the same time. Those five seconds of confused chaos was enough time for Ironhide to grunt a curse, tug the idiot pilot away from the raptor, online his weapons, and assume a defensive stance before a great roaring alien tank blasted through the nearby iron security fence and charged towards them, sending ground staff running.
The tank transformed without stopping, scraping it's shifting limbs against the tarmac as it's treads folded into it's thighs. Megatron began striding towards them with murderous intent.
Lennox scrambled with the radio, ultimately losing his grip on it before he could scream what would likely be his final words into it.
Ironhide squared up, meeting the Decepticon’s intense gaze with his own unwavering glare, but Christ alive, Megatron was nearly twice Ironhide’s size.
He wasn’t ashamed to admit he hid behind Ironhide’s leg and prayed he was too small for alien warlords to notice. It wasn’t like the pilots weren’t doing the same.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god...” Jackson's frantic whisper was pitching up in his panic.
“Back off,” Ironhide warned Megatron, brandishing his cannons. “Restricted area. Don’t make me call Prime.”
Megatron seemed to bristle, the plating of his shoulders lifting like he was fluffing himself up. He spat something in his own language, his tone ugly and harsh, lip curled, teeth bared like a lion ready to defend their cub.
“He’s fine,” Ironhide argued against whatever he’d said. “Just spooked. Prob’ly cuz he’s been left out here all alone.”
Lennox cringed. He’d remind ‘Hide later to avoid picking fights with Megatron when he was quite literally running around underfoot and likely to get stepped on.
“You’d do well to keep your pets away from my young,” Megatron threatened in that low guttural voice of his. Then to Hawkins’ horror, grabbed the wing of the raptor, mangling it horribly, to shove it aside to reveal the cowering little Con beneath.
The difference in their size never ceased to amaze Lennox, and it was never more staggering than when a four-foot-nothing kid was sat blinking up at it’s fifty-foot-something dad knowing it was probably in trouble.
Lennox watched Megatron snarl angrily at it –as if the poor kid wasn’t terrified enough- before picking it up by the back of the neck. It squeaked angrily, legs kicking like a grumpy kitten, until Megatron lifted it to his great shoulders, where it happily clung his armour and burrowed down.
A low vibrating noise came from Megatron as he turned and began to walk away. It took Lennox a second to place it.
He was purring to it, like a big spikey cat!
It was so weird he couldn’t be intimidated anymore, and he stuck his head around Ironhide’s leg to point at the ruined jet before Megatron could just leave, “Hey, that’s a hundred-million dollar jet you just trashed! Whose gonna pay for that?!”
Megatron didn’t have the decency to even glance back at him.
Lennox turned back to the pilots. They were still clung to the back of Ironhide’s ankle. Hawkins was as white as a sheet. Jackson was hyperventilating.
“Shoulda let me get that broom,” he muttered.
“If Megatron had caught you poking his hatchling with a broom he would have killed you,” Ironhide warned seriously. “Don’t mess with hatchlings ‘less yer prepared to deal with their sire.”
“...Megatron knows what’ll happen if he breaks his agreement with Optimus,” Lennox said, mostly to reassure himself.
Ironhide crouched down, so he was as level with Lennox as he could be. “You got a hatchling.”
“I love Annabelle,” Lennox frowned, “I wouldn’t let anything happen to her, ever, but it's not the same as whatever the Hell's wrong with-"
“You ever wonder why Megatron surrendered to Prime?” Ironhide raised a metal eyebrow.
Lennox paused to think.
Oh.
Oh.
He was probably going to have to send out a memo.
The island was big, the base spread out, and Galloway was too important a man to be expected to walk back and forth between appointments. It didn’t help that that sanctimonious, holier than thou, Autobot Prime liked to disappear off into the greater island making it near impossible to track him down for important meetings and memos.
Galloway was beginning to suspect he did it on purpose.
Luckily, he'd used some of the budget to procure a golf cart to drive himself around in. It didn’t have a top speed to compete with Prime’s, but at least it was easier than chasing him down on foot.
He was driving at speed, running late, belting the cart down a dirt track that ran through the centre of the island. Lennox's men had reluctantly given up Prime’s location as somewhere near the restricted area, where even he didn’t have the clearance to wander.
He was muttering to himself about what a waste of his time this was, when something leapt out of the foliage ahead, right in front of his cart.
He slammed on the breaks with a shriek, but golf carts weren’t designed for dirt tracks and the wheels skidded. The thing in the middle of the road froze, like an ugly metal deer in headlights that was about to leave the biggest dent in Galloway’s front bumper, when a huge metal limb slammed down in front of him.
Galloway crashed into it instead. The sudden stop in momentum slammed him against the steering wheel as the front of his golf cart crumpled against Cybertronian steel like tissue paper.
“What the Hell!” He shouted as the leg shifted aside. He chambered out of his golf cart, ready to give whichever grunt of Prime’s had just trashed his vehicle the reckoning of their life, “That’s government property you’ve just-!”
He looked up, and up, and up. The sun was behind the giant robot’s head, casting it’s face in shadow save for it’s two glowing red optics. Spiked armour was tarnished, rusted, and void of colour, and though Galloway had never seen this robot in person before, he knew who it was.
Megatron snorted like a bull about to charge, long claws, dangling above, began to curl into fists. Galloway’s throat tightened to the point he could barely breathe. “I- I- I-“
The little metal thing behind Megatron’s foot chirped like a baby bird, popping it’s head up to glance at the destruction it had just caused.
Megatron shifted, as if annoyed that Galloway was looking at it. Galloway’s gaze shot back up to Megatron, his entire body shaking like a leaf.
“I’m a-a government o-official!” He shouted, “p-people know I- People will come looking for me-!”
An even angrier snort came from Megatron then, “They will find nothing of your corpse, fleshling.”
Galloway stepped back, “I-I’m – you can’t-“
“Your treaty compels me to show restraint,” Megatron rumbled, spiked form looming, “But endanger my hatchlings again and your pathetic little insect life is forfeit.”
Galloway stumbled back, unable to respond in anything but frantic nods.
Megatron seemed irritated with his slow retreat. He took a threatening step forward. Galloway squawked and scrambled into a run, tripping over rocks and twigs in his haste, leaving what remained of his golf cart to Megatron’s mercy.
‘DO NOT APPROACH’ a new poster had been put up in one of the off-duty rooms, ‘UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES’.
Epps frowned at it.
It looked like one of those Lost Cat posters a family would put up around a neighbourhood, with a picture of the missing pet in the middle. Only instead of a cat, this one displayed an image of evil alien spawn clambering over and screwing around with Galloway’s wrecked golf cart.
He'd been wondering what had happened to it.
“They finally lethal?” He called over his shoulder to Lennox.
Lennox didn’t look up from his phone. “No, their dad is.”
Epp’s nodded to himself. “Fair.”
N.E.S.T. soldiers and tiny Decepticons did not mix well. Property damage, theft, vandalism and operational delays followed the hatchlings wherever they went. And apparently when Megatron reared his head, psychological trauma was added to the list. Mikaela had heard a rumour that Lennox had signed an entire unit off on sick leave because a hatchling had gotten itself locked in a jeep, and Megatron had reacted ...well, poorly.
The posters helped some, but run-ins between the humans on base and unattended hatchlings was still a problem. A worsening problem, Mikaela began to realise.
The government clearly found Starscream a more effective asset than they did Megatron, and the jet was more and more often being sent off on solo missions. Mikaela didn’t know if it was because his alt-mode was less conspicuous than Megatron’s, or because Megatron was a complete psychopath that didn't listen to orders and killed indiscriminately.
The more time Starscream spent away, the more time Megatron spent as primary caregiver to the hatchlings, and unlike with Starscream, Optimus had flat out forbidden Mikaela to ever be in Megatron's presence without a suitably armed escort, babysitting duties or not. Whilst Megatron flat out refused to let armed men anywhere near his kids.
And none of this would be a problem at all if Megatron could be trusted to competently watch his own offspring without them wandering off into the wider base to cause chaos in the first place.
“Maybe you can help out?”
Optimus, towering above like a gleaming mountain, stared at Mikaela with something like concern.
“... I can?” He said after a beat.
“With the hatchlings.”
Optimus’s concern graduated into full blown terror. He swayed back, away from her, “I do not think Megatron would appreciate my intrusion on-“
“But aren’t you like, their uncle?”
Optimus’ frame creaked as he stiffened.
“I remember you calling Megatron your brother,” Mikaela pointed at him. “You don’t look all that alike. ‘Cept maybe the height-“
“You must have misheard,” Optimus grumbled, looking aside.
Lies.
“Oh, really?" She pressed, "Cuz I’m sure Ratchet can verify if-“
“Ratchet is busy with his duties, as am I,” Optimus interrupted, turning away.
Mikaela watched him walk away, shaking her head.
“You know how else you’re alike?” she shouted after him. “You both turn into crazy axe murderers when you’re trying to protect something!”
Optimus’ shoulders noticeably tensed at that.
"No one’s going to get killed,” Mikaela glared.
“Someone’s going to get killed,” Epps frowned at her naivety.
“Only if they’re stupid about it,” she argued.
“Hey!” Lennox pointed the corner of clipboard at her, “None of this has been our fault.”
“Really? Because they’re just babies. They don’t know any better-“
“It’s not the ‘babies’ that are the problem. It’s-“ Lennox gestured beyond the confines of his office, towards the other side of the island where, presumably, Megatron was, “-its ‘Daddy’!”
“He’s just trying to protect them.“
“Don’t start defending him,” Epps muttered.
“I’m not defending him, I’m just saying, I get why.”
Lennox looked at her like she’d grown another head, “Why?”
“He spent, like, hundreds of years being experimented on. By people. By people that look like the ones all over this island. Of course he’s not going to want them around his kids!”
Lennox waved her off dismissively, “Then he should keep a closer eye on them. I wouldn’t let Anabelle wander off into the street on her own-“
“It’s different.”
“How?”
“How should I know? It just is. Why don’t you ask ‘Hide?”
Lennox sat back with a frustrated sigh, realising he wasn’t going to win this argument, “When is Starscream back? It's been a month."
"it's been three days," Mikaela corrected him snidly.
“When?" He repeated himself.
"Tomorrow.” She glared.
“Thank Christ.”
“But he’s scheduled for another mission on Tuesday.”
Lennox brought his hands to his face, “Fucks sake...”
“I guess this is life now,” Epps said mournfully.
“How long does it take for these things to stop being... babies?” Lennox asked Mikaela, dreading the answer.
Mikaela smirked at him, “Starscream said about fifty human lifespans.”
Lennox let his head bang against his desk.