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In all honesty, the Battle of Crystal City had not gone how Elita-1 had expected it to.
She had gotten separated from her unit during the chaos, and ended up fighting tooth and nail against the Decepticons on the other side of the city.
She faced off against the Constructicons, and even fought off Shockwave and the Seekers. But Elita had met her match when Megatron emerged from the smoke, furious crimson optics focused on her.
The warlord was a force to be reckoned with. His fusion cannon was a sight to behold, though it was a lousy weapon when it came to close-quarters combat—just the thing Elita excelled at.
She’d been able to dodge his attack easily enough; her small frame lending itself to nimble maneuvers. With each miss Megatron only became more and more frustrated—and sloppy.
Miss after miss, the Decepticon’s shots became wilder and wilder, each one more charged than the last. Until, by some twisted fate, Megatron had launched a shot straight into the final weight-bearing support beam of the Crystal City lab.
In a matter of nanokliks, the tower had collapsed, burying both Elita-1 and Megatron in a pile of debris and rubble.
Now, Elita sat with her back strut against a wall of rubble, watching as Megatron futilely beat against the wall opposite to her.
Dust flew across the gunmetal gray figure as his frustrated grunts echoed through the cavern.
Originally, Megatron’s first instinct was to turn his fury to Elita, firing up his fusion cannon as soon as the dust had cleared. Only after the femme had convinced him that the blast would kill them both did the warlord turn his anger to the walls.
Elita-1 was getting tired just watching him.
“Okay, enough,” she demanded, bringing her servo up to pinch her nose bridge, “that clearly isn’t working.”
Megatron launched one final punch into the wall—sending small pebbles tumbling to the ground—before turning his back to it and sliding down to the floor. A heavy vent escaped his frame, kicking up even more dust into the air.
After an uncomfortable silence settled over them, Elita spoke up once again.
“Why the rush to get back anyway?” She asked. Of course, she knew the answer. And, in all honesty, she was itching to get back to the fight herself.
“My troops need me,” Megatron growled, “that fool Starscream is bound to try and seize control in my absence.”
“And, uh…how’s the whole ‘leadership’ thing working out for you?” Elita-1 prodded.
Megatron sent her a glare through the cloud of dust. Everytime Elita saw those optics, she was struck with just how different he was from D-16.
Eventually, Megatron sighed. “Can’t be doing much worse than Orion Pax, I’m sure.”
“Optimus Prime,” Elita corrected, “and he isn’t doing half bad. For the incompetent go-bot, that is.”
Megatron scoffed at the Autobot leader’s name, but the femme didn’t miss the flash of fondness that invaded his optics at the familiar nickname.
“He never could do anything on his own,” Megatron quietly mused, “always had to have a ‘partner in crime.’” His gruff voice almost seemed to carry an air of sadness to it—regret.
Elita nodded, thinking back to all the times she had to practically save Optimus from embarrassing himself during meetings. Or when everything just became too much for the bot.
Another steely silence fell over the two, before—surprisingly—Megatron spoke up.
“How is…B-127?” He asked. Genuine curiosity coated his voice, and Elita smiled at the sliver of the excitable, caring mining bot she once knew shining through.
“He’s found his place among the Autobots,” Elita answered. “He’s made some good friends, and…he’s happy.”
In the cycles since the war started, Elita had watched as B grew. He never quite lost that talkative and social nature, but he had definitely grown. He was wiser, and a damn-good fighter. And—although she would never admit it to the bot’s face—she was proud of how far he’d come.
Megatron seemed satisfied with her answer, shifting to settle into his patch of dirt.
Elita watched as the warlord seemed to take inventory of himself, tinkering with his weaponry and never meeting her gaze. He’d seemingly grown since his banishment. His bulky frame had evolved even more, and a purple Decepticon badge now covered the space where Sentinel had marked him all those cycles ago—the same badge that all the Decepticons now wore. Dents and scratches littered his frame, the same kind all bots had grown familiar with during the war.
“He misses you, ya’know,” Elita-1 found herself blurting out, “Optimus, I mean.”
Megatron glanced up, before diverting his optics with a scoff.
“B does too,” she continued.
She meant it, too. Elita had seen how D-16’s departure weighed on Optimus. Even with all his new friends and troops by his side, it was clear something was missing in the Autobot leader’s spark. A sadness seemed to follow him, no matter where he went.
And she saw it in B-127 too. D had been one of B’s first friends, and to see that friend just walk away after such a betrayal clearly left its mark on the small bot.
And, though she would never admit it, Elita found herself missing D every once and while. Especially when she needed a trustworthy bot to rely on. She couldn’t help but think he would make an excellent addition to her unit.
“It didn’t have to end like that—like this,” Elita vaguely gestured to their cavern of rubble. “It still doesn’t.”
“I won’t fall for the tricks of any more false Primes ,” Megatron spat. His optics still looked to the ground, yet they burned with the intensity of Primus’ spark itself.
Elita couldn’t help but roll her optics at the mech’s theatrics. Still, she took the hint.
Standing up, the femme took a few steps over to Megatron’s slouching form.
“C’mon, you big lug nut,” she said, extending her servo out to him, “let’s get out of here.”
…
It had taken the two quite a few unpleasant moments to dig their way out of the rubble.
In all honesty, Elita had no idea how much time had passed. But, once they emerged into the air of battle, it became clear the fighting still raged on in the distance.
For a moment, the two had simply basked in the fresh air, letting the small breeze wash over them.
But, soon enough, reality worked its way back into their processors.
Megatron turned to Elita, looking her up and down with his scarlet optics, before turning back to the cityscape before them.
“Till we meet again, Autobot,” he said, before switching into his alt-mode and rolling back towards the raging battle, leaving nothing but dust in his wake.
Elita-1 watched him leave; her cool blue optics following his form until he eventually disappeared behind a building.
She sighed, taking in one last gulp of fresh air, before transforming into her own alt-mode, and driving off to her own troops.
Till we meet again, D-16 , she thought.