Chapter Text
It wasn’t loneliness, because loneliness is illogical.
And being alone had never particularly concerned Shockwave. He was generally most contented in his lab, or pouring over a battle map on his own, his one good hand marking notations here and there. After five million years of living in close quarters with the Decepticon rank and file, who did not seem capable of staying quiet to save their lives – and worse, with officers like Starscream, who seemed to enjoy being a chaotic influence – Megatron’s making Shockwave Guardian of Cybertron had come not only as a profound honour, but as a relief. Shockwave had found himself anticipating the time alone with deep satisfaction: just him, the drones, and the broad, silent sweep of the abandoned planet for him to order and regulate as he saw fit, in the service of his lord.
And then the initial weeks became months, became years. Even taking interstellar distances into account, something had clearly gone wrong. Shockwave sent drones to search, as far out as he dared, but the supply of energon was too meagre to cover great distances. The drones returned empty-servoed.
And the years began to pile up, like dust in the corners.
Still, what troubled him was not loneliness, not exactly. He could not deny that he missed… that is to say, that he found himself diminished by the absence of his lord. (Absence, not death, for Shockwave would not believe Megatron was dead without some concrete evidence. A true scientist did not base his conclusions on assumptions – and a true guardian did not succumb to fear.) Shockwave even found himself dwelling on the memories of the other Decepticon officers with a persistence that troubled him. He would catch himself rehearsing in his head the arguments he would use when Starscream inevitably challenged his latest experiment, only to remember that there was no one left to issue such a challenge. And more than once, Shockwave gave a cordial nod as he passed by a shadowed corner, imagining that he glimpsed Soundwave’s silhouette lurking there. But the shadows were always empty. Logically, it should not be more disconcerting to realise that one wasn’t being watched – and yet.
Without the animating electricity of Megatron’s words, of his fire, and without the other officers to act as flint for the spark of his own ideas, Shockwave often felt himself to be little more than a lump of metal, inert and cold. He was slowly becoming part of the dead planet around him.
Worse even than that was the undeniable hunger, a hunger far more intense and specific than his longing for Megatron, or the physical effects of energon deprivation. Shockwave was desperate for new knowledge. For the first few thousand years, he’d continued his experiments – had even relished the chance to do so, uninterrupted by the petty concerns and squabbles of other Decepticons. But without an influx of energon, he could no longer justify lab work just for the sake of knowledge, with no immediate practical application. After all, he had no idea how long his current store of fuel had to hold out. It might be forever. And even if he restricted himself to more pragmatic inquiries – well, there were limits to the number of ways even the most curious of minds could tinker with drones and refine security protocols. He’d devoured what little there was to satiate his curiosity, and yet he was still starving.
More and more frequently now, Shockwave found himself on the roof of Decepticon HQ, surveying the city below.
Cybertron shall remain as you left it.
The words, intended as a promise, had taken on the weight of a curse. Cybertron was, indeed, exactly as Megatron had left it. Motionless, unchanging, unable to progress. What had once seemed like a wide world had long ago been mapped in minute detail, chopped into sectors, studied, patrolled, and known. There was nothing more for Shockwave to learn. Sometimes, it seemed as if there was nothing new left in the universe.
Though that was hyperbole, and as such, illogical.
Shockwave maintained vigorous discipline, as much to regulate his own thoughts and prevent them from slipping into unproductive despondency as to actually further the security of the planet. Part of that discipline was the daily call to Megatron’s frequency. Shockwave never permitted that call to sound hopeless, or desperate. Every day, he addressed the airways with consummate professionalism – Shockwave to Megatron! Come in, Megatron! – and every day, he received only silence in response.
Until the day when the signal caught, connected, and came back.
*krrzzk* “recog –” *kzz* “-tempting ampli –” *bzzz* “now. Repeat. Signal recognised, message received. Stand by for response. Attempting amplification now.”
Shockwave only just had time to process the familiar voice – Soundwave – before a shadowy outline he knew like he knew the back of his own hand appeared, barely visible through the interference on the screen in front of him.
Megatron.
For an astrosecond, Shockwave wondered whether his processor had finally broken, because when the image resolved, he could see that Megatron looked exactly as he did when he had left Cybertron four million years before. The scars were exactly as catalogued in Shockwave’s data tracks, and the warlord looked young and vigorous. He’d been missing for a period of time almost as long as the war itself had lasted up until that point, and yet all those years had left not a trace on the Decepticon leader. Surely, that was the mark of a hallucination.
Shockwave ran an internal diagnostic, then one on the communications equipment. Both came up clean in a matter of astroseconds.
This was real.
“Megatron,” he vented, his voice heavy, laced with static. “Leader of the Decepticons.”
Megatron was grinning triumphantly, and a rush of charge went through Shockwave. Behind his lord, he could just see Starscream, leaning against a bulkhead and smirking in a way that, for once in his long life, Shockwave could almost find endearing. And off to the side, sitting at a console, was Soundwave, his skilful fingers dancing over the dials to clear the last of the interference away.
What Shockwave later remembered most vividly about that moment, besides the majestic image of his leader, was the small but unmistakable pulse of gratitude he felt towards the communications officer. It was as if, in simply establishing that subspace channel, Soundwave was the one who had brought Megatron back to him.
Illogical.
But there, nonetheless.