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Silence.
Intoxicating, comforting, and so vital, it wrapped itself around Cyclonus, drawing him into its tranquility. It was here in the silence that he was able to let himself think and feel. To grasp onto some semblance of peace in this chaotic universe.
Unfortunately, it wasn't a place to abolish the ghosts of his pasts. No, not even time itself over millions and millions of stellar cycles could take the potency out of the screams in his processor, the neverending nightmares. But, he'd learned to examine them within the silence instead of suppress them. Make peace instead of fight.
And now he wandered the corridors of the Lost Light while most of the crew recharged soundly. The ship, drifting through a remote system far away from anything Cyclonus knew, was dimly lit by the red glow of a dying star, the soft light seeping through the windows.
The few mechs who passed Cyclonus's way every once in a while either avoided his gaze, accelerated their stride, or glowered. Perhaps it was merely his imagination, but he could've sworn he heard the word 'Decepticon scrap' leave one of their intakes as they rounded a corner.
He didn't care. His purpose here wasn't to be the most popular traveler aboard, to spend time in the bar at the end of the cycle with a table of companions. He didn't need them.
The silence was his friend.
The solitude was his comfort.
The terrifying echoes of his past kept him company.
He turned down a dark, seldom traversed hallway and made his way to one of his favorite nooks, musing over a rather tumultuous encounter he'd had with Whirl earlier in the day, wishing he could rid his processor of those memories just for a klik during his relaxing stroll. The madness and melodrama that engulfed the Lost Light every waking joor was a sight to behold. And exhausting.
When he came upon his favorite lookout spot, he discovered a large, hulking frame standing as still as a statue in front of the window.
Former warlord and feared leader of the Decepticons. Bane of the galaxy. Captain of the Lost Light. He was the last mech Cyclonus expected to find here.
Cyclonus frowned and turned to leave, but Megatron faced him, his optics bright in the dim surroundings, the eerie glow from beyond the window glinting off of his silver chassis.
"Oh…Cyclonus," he said, his voice sounding a bit unsteady. "What brings you here?"
This is one of the few places I can get away from this pit-spawned crew, he wanted to say, but instead he settled on, "Just taking a walk."
Megatron turned to the window, gazing out at the crimson star in the distance. "It's a nice view from here," he said quietly, reflectively.
It was then that Cyclonus noticed the shine of washer fluid on his cheeks, but he quickly averted his gaze and focused on the sights beyond the window instead.
They stood there in the silence, a thin barrier separating them from the cold emptiness of space. Cyclonus suddenly felt a sharp pang of loneliness. If only he was here. But, no. Just like everything else in Cyclonus's life, he was gone forever, too.
Cyclonus didn't even realize he'd shuttered his optics until he heard Megatron speak to him again and quickly onlined them, momentarily dazed.
"Being around the crew is harder than I thought possible," Megatron said solemnly. "Listening to their stories, hearing how much they suffered, and knowing that my mere presence reminds them of unspeakable trauma..."
Cyclonus's processor spun, not sure how to react, so he remained quiet and studied Megatron out of curiosity. The mech was normally extremely private, never letting anybot close.
"I…I can't stand to live with myself." Now Megatron's voice was shaky as he pressed a servo to the window. "I hate the monster that I've become. Most days, I wish they'd just executed me and got it over with."
Despite how awkward he felt and how much he wished he could teleport back to his quarters, Cyclonus found words tumbling from his intake for some reason. "Living in your past will only cause pain," he said. "You've started a new chapter now." It sounded incredibly hollow, but perhaps he was saying it more to himself than the other mech.
Megatron wiped his face plate, his distress becoming clearer. After a few kliks of desperately attempting to compose himself, Megatron broke down into heaving sobs, leaning against the window as Cyclonus watched in shock. Perhaps he was dreaming. That had to be it. There was no way this fearsome mech who had survived battle after battle, who commanded entire armies, could be so broken.
At least not in the company of another.
This sort of breakdown was best saved for an empty hab suite, preferably in the dark, where nobot could see. Where nobot would ever know how deep your wounds went, how they never healed even after all of this time.
"I'm--I'm sorry, this is pathetic," Megatron said, forcing out a bitter laugh. "Don't tell Rodimus."
Cyclonus felt an unexpected twinge of pity for the Slag Maker. He debated whether he should slip back the way he came and leave Megatron be or…stand here? He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing. He almost wanted to comfort Megatron somehow, tell him that he knew what pained his spark. That he truly understood more than he could possibly imagine.
That's when Megatron lowered himself onto the ground and pulled his stablizing servos against his chest, trembling slightly, washer fluid falling from his optics again.
Cyclonus briefly laid a servo on Megatron's shoulder plate before joining him. He made sure to keep an acceptable distance between them as they rested under the soft glow of the doomed star that had once burned so bright. Megatron eventually relaxed, his expression contemplative.
And now there was silence.
Cyclonus leaned his helm back and let the stillness embrace him.