"You're going to let me meet them that soon?" Megatron is delighted, and grins at the drawing. "One of your sparklings is extremely sparkly," he observes. "Did she give you the ribbon? It's almost Decepticon purple. And the one in blue, that's Sigrid, isn't it?"
Megatron has actually never seen anything of this nature before and keeps looking at the paper like it's a rare artefact from a world he's never imagined, mostly because, well...it is. He never got to be a child.
Cybertronians are small for only a very short period of time, and most of them are raised in creches and post-natal facilities. In the days of Megatron's youth, there were powerful 'houses' where wealthy people who could afford to forge bodies especially for the newsparks of their choice were able to choose the heirs they wanted for their households, but even then, only a small minority of sparklings were taken into homes of that sort. Most were cared for in groups and given some degree of education appropriate for their function before being assigned a place in society.
Megatron didn't even get that. His spark was rare, but it was also not the spark that had been intended to go into that particular frame; he was treated like any other cold-construct at initialisation.
It surprised him that he was even interested in helping to raise children this small; he had promised Loki that he would protect everyone he loved, and he had offered to mentor Sigrid, but he had never had the slightest desire to work in a post-natal facility or handle sparklings before.
But they were people--tiny people, but people, and they wanted to be his friends. All they knew was that he was their father's dear friend, and they were welcoming him into their lives. He was beaming, and he was sure he looked ridiculous.
He was also very resolutely not going to think about the very strong likelihood that he had taken many lives as innocent and open as these. Except it was too late for that. But he refused to dwell on it. Someday they might learn this about him, and he'd tell them the truth, he supposed, and hope they forgave him.
"I have never seen anything like this before, Loki. And I will protect them," he says, "as if they were mine. And if this is how they see themselves then I am sure they're just as adorable as their father is."
He looks up at Loki, and dabs at his eyes with the towel Loki gave him days ago; he left it in his subspace. "I don't deserve this, but the universe doesn't give us what we deserve." He smiles. "So, I'll do my best to become someone who does."
no subject
Megatron has actually never seen anything of this nature before and keeps looking at the paper like it's a rare artefact from a world he's never imagined, mostly because, well...it is. He never got to be a child.
Cybertronians are small for only a very short period of time, and most of them are raised in creches and post-natal facilities. In the days of Megatron's youth, there were powerful 'houses' where wealthy people who could afford to forge bodies especially for the newsparks of their choice were able to choose the heirs they wanted for their households, but even then, only a small minority of sparklings were taken into homes of that sort. Most were cared for in groups and given some degree of education appropriate for their function before being assigned a place in society.
Megatron didn't even get that. His spark was rare, but it was also not the spark that had been intended to go into that particular frame; he was treated like any other cold-construct at initialisation.
It surprised him that he was even interested in helping to raise children this small; he had promised Loki that he would protect everyone he loved, and he had offered to mentor Sigrid, but he had never had the slightest desire to work in a post-natal facility or handle sparklings before.
But they were people--tiny people, but people, and they wanted to be his friends. All they knew was that he was their father's dear friend, and they were welcoming him into their lives. He was beaming, and he was sure he looked ridiculous.
He was also very resolutely not going to think about the very strong likelihood that he had taken many lives as innocent and open as these. Except it was too late for that. But he refused to dwell on it. Someday they might learn this about him, and he'd tell them the truth, he supposed, and hope they forgave him.
"I have never seen anything like this before, Loki. And I will protect them," he says, "as if they were mine. And if this is how they see themselves then I am sure they're just as adorable as their father is."
He looks up at Loki, and dabs at his eyes with the towel Loki gave him days ago; he left it in his subspace. "I don't deserve this, but the universe doesn't give us what we deserve." He smiles. "So, I'll do my best to become someone who does."