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He didn't tolerate traitors. That's why he set up the DJD in the first place. The Decepticon Justice Division. Honestly, the name sounded far too civil for what they really were, just a bunch of twisted mechs that wanted an excuse to thoroughly destroy anyone they wanted for entertainment. Although, he supposed that as long as they got the job done, it didn't matter what they did, nor did it matter how.
But (Y/N). He couldn't send them after you, that was a fate he did not want to condemn to the one person who had captured his spark. No matter what you did, no matter what you said, he couldn't send the DJD after you. After all, it wasn't your fault that Optimus Prime had coaxed you into joining the Autobots; you had been out of action for nearly 4 million years.
Yet, he stood here, faceplate to faceplate with you, unable to move as he watched you sneer at him, anger and hurt and betrayal written all over your expression. Your weapons drawn but obviously modified since you were not the type to carry integrated weaponry. In his eyes, the blasters clashed with your paint too much; it didn't suit you.
You were not suited for battle. You were not old enough to have been made during the Quintesson war, nor large enough to even pass for an old miner like he was. If that were the case, then why did you decide to take up weaponry? Why did you decide to point your weapons at him? The mech who confessed his love to you before the start of the war, before his subordinates claimed you dead the day before he was to take the fight to the senate.
But if you had been lost in an assassination attempt, then why had you been standing before him now? 4 million years after he had grieved your loss. He would kill the subordinates who lied to him if they were still alive. Luckily for both parties, they were not.
Still you stood in front of him, only sneering. For sure it had been at least a few moments of him standing there and doing nothing, you could have taken several shots upon his chassis. He dropped his fusion cannon, he sheathed his blade, and his hand outstretched to you.
He knew not what to say to you, for he didn't know what Optimus had said to you, but he knew the two of you had been close before the war; before the tragedies. Knowing you well, he guessed you were having a very difficult internal battle. You did not wish to harm the mech you loved, nor did you wish for harm to come to your friends. You had such a kind spark.
He would admit that it was because of your disappearance that he had lost himself. He lost sight of what he was fighting for after years and years of battle. He had wished to count on you to keep him on track, sadly that did not occur. His hand stayed outstretched to you.
You did not put your weapons down. "Why?" You asked. "Why did you do all of this!?"
He paused for a moment. "These questions should not to be asked on the battlefield, bright-spark."
"No! Don't call me that!" You snapped, "I don't even know the full extent to which you harmed others, or Cybertron, or what you did to get where you are now! So, no! This cannot wait until later!"
