The engineering bay of the Nemesis was a low-lit maze of scaffolding, exposed circuitry, and humming consoles. The air was sharp with ozone, carrying the faint tang of energon coolant.

Soundwave stood at one of the central worktables, long digits carefully reassembling a dismantled signal relay core. Beside him, Megatron adjusted a power stabilizer with precise, almost delicate movements — a sharp contrast to the brutal force he displayed in combat.

They had been working in near silence for the better part of two hours, speaking only in clipped technical exchanges. It wasn’t the awkward, tense silence of two soldiers forced into proximity; it was the easy, steady rhythm of two minds focused on the same goal.

Until Starscream arrived.

The Seeker leaned casually against the doorway, his talons clicking faintly on the frame. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” he drawled, optics sweeping over the pair. “The mighty warlord and his most… scientifically inclined lieutenant.”

Megatron didn’t even look up. “State your business, Starscream.”

“Oh, no business at all,” Starscream said with mock innocence, striding into the bay. “I was just thinking… Megatron has always shown a certain fondness for those with a sharp mind. Tactical brilliance, technical skill, you know — the brainy types. Can’t imagine what it is that draws him in…”

Soundwave’s visor flickered faintly, his digits pausing on the relay’s casing.

Starscream smirked, catching the subtle reaction. “Of course, there’s the other side of the spectrum — bots who can command attention in the gladiator ring. Big, bold, intimidating. I suppose not everyone can pull that off.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed fractionally.

Later, when Starscream finally fluttered off, Soundwave’s posture remained slightly stiffer than before. His movements, normally fluid and economical, seemed almost… rehearsed. When they took a break from the relay’s repair, he straightened to his full height, squared his shoulders, and deliberately adjusted his stance — one that echoed the broad, assertive frame of a gladiator’s pose.

Megatron noticed instantly.

When Soundwave bent over the table again, he shifted with a slow, deliberate confidence, as though consciously presenting himself in a more imposing light. Even the way he handed Megatron a tool was different — a subtle flourish that felt unlike his usual efficient precision.

“You are moving… strangely,” Megatron observed after a moment, his tone more curious than critical.

“Correction: Adjustment of physical presentation.”

Megatron set down his tool, optics locked on him. “Why?”

Soundwave hesitated. “…Reason: Perceived preference. Evidence: Historical interest in combatants and physically dominant frames.”

Megatron’s mouth tightened slightly. “You are referring to Starscream’s nonsense.”

Soundwave didn’t confirm, but the slight tilt of his helm was enough.

Megatron crossed the short distance between them, claws resting lightly on the edge of the table beside Soundwave. His voice was lower, certain.

“If I wanted a gladiator,” he said, “I would have chosen one. I have known countless warriors whose only language is brute force, whose only talent is destruction. I have no shortage of strength at my command.”

He stepped closer, his shadow falling across Soundwave’s frame. “But you are more than strength. You are foresight, precision, and loyalty in its purest form. You do not need to posture for me — or for anyone. I value you as you are.”

Soundwave was still for several long moments. Then, slowly, he let his stance relax, his frame shifting back into its usual quiet economy of movement.

“Acknowledged,” he murmured.

Megatron allowed himself the faintest smile before turning back to the relay. “Now… hand me the plasma cutter. The real one, not the showpiece you keep pretending is a weapon.”

Soundwave’s visor brightened faintly, the closest he ever came to a laugh.

They fell back into their rhythm, the earlier awkwardness dissolving into the steady, unspoken coordination that had always made them dangerous together. Outside the engineering bay, the rumors still churned, the war still loomed — but in this small pocket of the Nemesis, there was nothing but the project, the hum of the machinery, and the knowledge that, for now, they were exactly where they wanted to be.