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There was never a dull day on the Lost Light, but there was certainly a difference between deadly emergencies and the everyday controlled chaos. The ship had been in a period of relative peace, and Rodimus was bored. So he decided to make it Drift’s problem.
The swordsmech in question was using the down time to sharpen his short swords at the workbench in his habsuite, while Rodimus lay in a dramatic sprawl on the floor.
“Drift. Drift!”
“What?” Drift answers, not stopping the careful, even strokes of his diamond-blade whetstone.
“How hard is it to learn how to sword fight anyway? Not like, your whole triple-wielding thing but like, just one?”
“Very hard.”
Rodimus shifts, using Drift’s knee for leverage as he props himself upright, arm flung across Drift’s lap. “Eh, it shouldn’t be too complicated. You wanna teach me the basics?”
Drift laughs softly. “You really want to get knocked around by me that badly, Roddy?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Rodimus says too quickly.
“Fine. But no whining when you don’t get it right on your first try.”
“Cross my spark.” Rodimus says solemnly.
He grins at Drift’s highly skeptical look.
The Lost Light has plenty of training rooms, made sturdy enough to withstand the largest of war-forged mechs tossing each other around for fun. There was a strict “Practice weapons only!” rule, but that didn’t stop the crew from regularly getting lectured by Ratchet for the amount of superficial injuries that still resulted from sparring.
Rodimus had made sure to stock a variety of practice weapons, guns with low-voltage ammo and melee weapons that could be resized to fit anyone’s specifications.
Drift picks up two sword hilts, fiddling with the settings so the blades transform out how he wants them. They’re about the length of his short swords, but with much narrower blades.
“Catch.” He says, tossing one to Rodimus.
Rodimus gives it a couple experimental swings. “Nice.”
“Your grip is all wrong.” Drift says, hand closing over his to adjust it.
Rodimus freezes, letting Drift rearrange his fingers. His gaze falls in Drift’s focused expression, flicking away again when Drift’s optics meet his own. “Thanks.”
Drift looks him over critically. “Your stance, too.”
Drift uses his own pedes to push Rodimus’s into the correct position. He grabs Rodimus’s shoulders next. “Chest turned this way, and straighten your back.”
Every touch leaves a phantom brand burning on Rodimus’s armor. He vents deeply under the pretense of focusing, schooling his expression. “What do I do with my free arm?”
“Just use it to balance for now, or tuck it behind you.” Drift finally stops adjusting him, instead settling into his own stance across from him. “Optics on me.”
As if Rodimus could look anywhere else. “Got it.”
“I strike, you block. Then we switch.” Drift moves slowly, bringing his blade back before swinging it in a wide arc toward Rodimus.
Rodimus twists to meet it, stopping the blow before it reaches his side.
“Good, but move your whole body with it. Now you.”
They return to neutral stances. Rodimus attempts to swing at Drift’s neck. Drift ducks, slipping below the strike and knocking the blade away with his own sword. The tip of his sword taps Rodimus right in the center of his chest plate. “And you’re dead. You left your guard open.”
Rodimus huffs. “Well you didn’t teach me that yet!”
“I’m teaching you now. We’ll go faster, and this time just try to block me.”
They fall into a rhythm, Drift telegraphing every strike so Rodimus has time to block them. Even so, Rodimus finds himself venting harder and harder. Though not all of it is due to exertion.
He’s always known that Drift is gorgeous when he fights. But that’s nothing compared to watching it up close. Drift moves like water, every motion flowing through his frame with purpose and precision. His elegant legs bend and twist with his perfect balance, his waist is unfairly flexible, and every flick of his wrist manipulates his sword into a delicate dance that leaves Rodimus dizzy as he tries to follow it.
Rodimus can feel the strain on his joints from moving in ways he normally doesn’t. He refuses to let it show, meeting Drift with absolute enthusiasm to make up for his lack of skill.
The speed of their duel increases without either speaking up, until Rodimus can’t see anything but the blur of their swords and Drift’s calm and focused expression.
Rodimus blocks a particularly tricky strike and lets out a triumphant, “Ha!”
A moment later, his ankle is hooked by Drift’s pede and he unbalances, back slamming into the floor. Rodimus vents hard, stunned.
Then he jolts as the dull tip of the practice sword presses to the front of his throat. He gazes up its length at Drift, whose stony expression is void of mercy.
Unbidden, Rodimus whimpers.
Instantly Drift is taking his sword away and crouching next to him. “Roddy, are you hurt?”
Rodimus reaches up, taking Drift’s chin to guide him away from scanning him up and down for injuries. “Can I kiss you?”
“What?” Drift says, startled.
“That was really hot. Can I kiss you?”
Drift is suddenly so close that Rodimus can feel his heavy ex-vent on his face. “Yes.”
Rodimus surges up, hands wrapping around the sides of Drift’s helm to pull him in. Their lips connect and Drift melts against him, leaning in and planting his hands on either side of Rodimus’s helm.
That impossibly poised frame loses its tension as Rodimus knocks the careful control from Drift’s processor with a clever flick of his glossa, eagerly pushing further when Drift opens for him.
Rodimus’s processor is already scheming even as his temperature soars dangerously high. He’s the captain, he can easily remotely lock the doors to the training room so no one interrupts them.
But before he can enact his plan, Drift pulls away. For some reason he look guilty, scrambling away from Rodimus like he’s afraid.
“Drift?” Rodimus sits up as Drift stands and keeps putting distance between them.
“I’m sorry I—“ He reaches the door, looking back at Rodimus with a mix of shock and sadness. “I’m sorry!”
Then he’s gone. Rodimus sighs, flopping back to the floor. He covers his face with his hands. Could that have gone any worse?
It was as Rodimus was walking away from the training room that he noticed the twinge in his knee. While all of his joints had a slight ache from the spar, one knee was particularly sore. He ignored it as he made his way to the bridge, determined to take his mind off his failure.
He knew it was his fault. Drift was conjunxed, and he had never brought up his feelings for him before. Rodimus hadn’t even been certain about what he felt until he had been pinned by that practice sword.
But then why did Drift say yes? It was all too confusing.
Rodimus makes it halfway to the bridge before his knee buckles underneath him and he stumbles. He catches himself on the wall, hissing as the slight ache turns into shooting pain. He quickly shuts off his sensory receptors from the knee down, leaving it numb.
He’ll have to get it repaired. Which means facing someone else he definitely doesn’t want to see.
Maybe it’ll just be First Aid in the medibay. The false hope carries him as he does his best not to limp on his way there. He pauses to lean casually against the wall when other crew members pass, hiding the injury.
His hopes are dashed when he finally arrives and comes face to face with Ratchet. For a moment he considers turning around and limping away.
But Ratchet spots the way he’s keeping his weight off one leg and Rodimus knows he won’t escape that easily. “Hello captain, how unusual to see you here. Finally decide to show up for your regular check-up?”
“Ratchet, my old friend! You know I would never avoid you, I’ve just been…busy. Doing captain stuff.” He says lamely.
Ratchet snorts. “Busy sitting on your aft, more like. Get over here.”
Rodimus goes to walk and is stopped by Ratchet catching his elbow. The medic supports him on his injured side so he can step up to the med-berth without aggravating his knee further. He even gives Rodimus a boost up, all without saying a word.
The care makes Rodimus’s spark jump slightly. He’s not even wary when the medic brandishes a datapad at him. “Your records are very out of date. So before I repair you and you run off on me, you have to answer a few questions.”
“Yes, Doc.” Rodimus says.
“Incorrigible.” Ratchet comments, raising the datapad. “Any problems with refueling?”
“Nope.” Just that sometimes he forgot to do it until his tank was cramping and he was close to collapsing.
“What about recharging?”
“All good.” Except some of his off shifts when the nightmares woke him up and he paced up and down the halls of the ship, obsessively opening maintenance panels to make sure everything was working.
“Transformation?”
“Smooth as always.” Some days he missed racing on an actual track so badly that his engine ached with the strain of being trapped in his chassis.
Ratchet skims the questionnaire. “Is the joint problem new?”
Rodimus thinks back. Even though his spar with Drift had aggravated his joints in new ways, he had gotten used to a constant subtle ache. “No?”
“Well let’s see what happened to your knee and maybe it can help me diagnose the issue.”
Ratchet carefully disconnects and removes the armor covering Rodimus’s knee, the panel uncovering a portion of his shin as well. Rodimus forces down the dread at having delicate components laid bare. Ratchet places his hands on it and grimaces as he carefully tilts and presses into the joint. “The actuator crumpled and now it’s pinching an energon line.”
He looks up from his work, glaring at Rodimus. “Which wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t ignored the issue and let it get worse.”
Rodimus shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “I didn’t realize there was a problem.”
“Of course there is, you haven’t been lubricating your joints!” Ratchet scolds.
“I do it often enough!”
“No, you don’t. You live a more active lifestyle than most mechs, and you run hotter. You need to he doing it every cycle.” Ratchet detaches Rodimus’s knee joint with more force than necessary, removing the crumpled actuator.
“Yes, Ratchet.” Rodimus replies meekly.
Ratchet replaces the part, smooths the energon line back into place, and reattaches the limb. “Since you’ve neglected it for so long, I’m going to have to check the range of motion on all of your joints to make sure nothing else is about to give out.”
Rodimus’s spark gives another little funny jump at the ease with which Ratchet puts him back together. “If you say so, Doc.”
Ratchet starts with his hands, holding them palm-up as Rodimus flexes each finger joint. He lets him go to watch as he bends and rotates his wrists. Rodimus bends each elbow next, slowly as Ratchet watches for any issues.
“Shoulders up and out.” Ratchet directs.
Rodimus does as he’s told, suppressing a shudder as Ratchet leans in close to see his joints in the gaps of his armor.
“Legs next.”
Like most bots, Rodimus has minimal ankle flexibility. He holds up each leg to show Ratchet their range, but before he can set down the one that had not been damaged, Ratchet catches it. “Hips too.”
Rodimus freezes up, allowing Ratchet to slowly rotate his leg up and out. He took pride in how flexible his hip joints were, able to be spread and flattened to either side of him.
Even though Ratchet was very professional, setting down one leg to test the other, Rodimus’s fuel tank still did a lurch at being calmly and carefully handled.
Which reminded him of what got him into this predicament in the first place. “Hey, Ratchet?”
“Hm?”
“Have you spoken to Drift lately?”
Ratchet carefully sets down Rodimus's leg. "As a matter of fact, I talked to him right before you came in."
Rodimus winces. "Oh. How is he?"
"Seems like you should ask him that yourself. This is between you and him, after all."
Rodimus tilts his helm. "Really? 'Cause it should concern you as well."
"Rodimus, I'll tell you what I told him: I've known you've had feelings for him for a while, but you two need to work it out together."
A deflection. It's not like Ratchet to avoid the chance to get two stubborn mechs to talk to each other with his supervision. Rodimus smiles slyly as he catches on. "So you're not feeling left out at all?"
Ratchet rolls his optics. "I know what you and he have is special—"
Wrong answer. Rodimus hooks the back of his ankle behind Ratchet's thigh and pulls him in, up against the med-berth. "You're sure you don't wanna make it even?"
"Rodimus Prime!" Ratchet blurts out, startled.
"Maybe Drift won't feel so guilty if he's not the only one." Rodimus throws his arms over Ratchet's shoulders, tugging him even closer. "So I'll ask again: wanna make it even?"
"You shameless little—!"
"Yes or no, Ratch'?"
This close, Rodimus can see the frustrated little tick of Ratchet's mouth. "Ye—"
He cuts him off, closing the scant distance with all the speed and force inherent to his nature. Ratchet, for all of his surprise, gives as good as he gets. Rodimus's engine revs as he glossa is expertly played with. He redoubles his efforts to knock Ratchet off balance, hitching his leg higher and tightening his grip around his shoulders. Ratchet's hands fall to the tops of Rodimus's thighs, thumbs teasing at the seams for his hip joints right where he wanted them all along.
Rodimus pulls away a fraction and grins. "Was that as good as Drift made it seem?"
Ratchet levels him with a serious look. "Rodimus, if you kissed Drift like that I can see why he ran."
"That bad?"
"No, he definitely ran because he was finding it hard to resist fragging you through the floor."
Rodimus shudders. "Oh."
But right as he's about to loop his other leg around Ratchet's waist and dive back in, their blissful tangle is interrupted by a blaring alarm.
"HULL BREACH! HULL BREACH! EVACUATE SUB-SECTOR 32 D THROUGH 32 F!" Ultra Magnus yells through the PA system.
Rodimus springs off the med-berth so fast that his gyroscope takes a second to catch up. "Sorry Ratch' gotta go!" He shouts in a rush.
In the next moment he's transforming and speeding down the hall, cursing fate for ruining his second chance of the day.
Earlier that day-cycle, before Rodimus had come in, Ratchet had been taking inventory of the supplies in the medibay. It's dull but necessary work.
Still, he was relieved when Drift came bursting through the door. That is, until he saw the expression of absolute horror on his face.
"My love, what happened?" Ratchet asked, rushing over to him.
Drift grabbed his shoulders, and looked him in the optic with grave intensity. "I kissed Rodimus."
"Oh, that's all?" Ratchet said, venting deeply with relief. "Don't scare me like that, I thought someone had died."
Drift shook him lightly by the shoulders. "You don't understand. I kissed Roddy! My best friend! How could I be so stupid, so selfish, so—"
"Wait, did you not realize that Rodimus has feelings for you?" Ratchet asked, wrapping his arms around Drift in turn to steady him.
Drift blinked, uncomprehending. "What?"
"Y'know, like how he's so tactile with you. Clingy, even." Ratchet isn't jealous, he didn't like PDA. But he was frustrated that Drift was oblivious to it from Rodimus.
"He's like that with everyone." Drift replied.
"No, just with you. I mean, remember last cycle when he was practically plastered to your back?" Arms around Drift's waist with his chin hooked over his shoulder, if Ratchet remembered correctly. Which he did.
"He was hiding from Magnus's threats of giving him paperwork to do."
"Or how he's always asking for your opinion first in meetings." Instead of consulting Ratchet, who had good opinions too.
"He appreciates my tactical skills!"
"And how he's literally your amica?"
"That could mean anything."
"Exactly!" Ratchet huffed. "Look, darling, he clearly likes you as something more than a friend. But that means you should be working this out with him, not me."
Drift lifted his hands to cradle Ratchet's face. "Are you sure you're okay with that?"
Ratchet smiled. "Why wouldn't I be? He may be a pain in my aft sometimes but he clearly makes you happy. And he's not the type to get between us, you know that."
"I just don't want to make a mistake."
"You won't. I trust your judgment, my love." Ratchet turned to press a kiss to Drift's palm. Drift shivered delicately, and that's when Ratchet noticed just how charged up the mech in his arms was. "Oh, was the kiss that good?"
"Shut up." Drift murmured.
"Since you want to avoid talking to him so badly, why don't I distract you for a bit?" Ratchet says softly, leaning in close.
Drift pulled away, "No, I have to go say something to him. I just ran off like a jerk! And now he probably hates me!"
"My love, calm down. He doesn't hate you. Tell you what, you go find Rodimus and comm me when you do. I'll meet you both at our hab and we can sort this all out together. Okay?"
Drift stared at him, pensive. "Okay. I just gotta…find him."
With that, he slowly extricated himself from Ratchet's arms. Ratchet tried not to mourn the loss too badly as Drift wandered unsteadily out the door, lost in thought.
Which meant that Ratchet had to go back to doing inventory. Frag it all.
Drift had run back to the training room and found it deserted. He could comm Roddy, but his nervousness got the best of him. At least searching the halls of the ship on foot gave him time to collect his thoughts.
He was pacing aimlessly when the alarms went off and Magnus made his announcement. Instantly Drift was transforming and racing toward the emergency, both because he wanted to help and because he knew exactly who else would be showing up.
He sees the red and yellow of Roddy's paint first, the bulk of Ultra Magnus right next to him. Drift skids to a stop and transforms to walk up to them. "What's going on? Can I help?"
"Some poor bot set off an explosion and got sucked into space." Rodimus explains. "I'm gonna go get them."
Drift watches as he pulls a harness from his subspace and wraps it around his body, attaching it to a spool of rope. He hands the end of the rope to Ultra Magnus, who secures it to a bulkhead.
"I'll tug the rope twice when it's time to pull me back." Roddy continues.
"If you can't reach them, do not hesitate to return." Ultra Magnus says.
"Of course."
"Have you already called for medics?" Drift asks.
"Ratchet and First Aid are on their way." Roddy confirms. "Wish me luck!"
He punches in a code on the emergency barrier that had sealed off the breached hallway. A hatch opens, instantly sucking all of the air into the vacuum of space. Roddy jumps through the gap and it slams shut behind him, the rubber seal warping around the rope.
Drift and Ultra Magnus wait in tense silence. Within minutes, the two medics arrive. Ratchet gives Drift a comforting pat on the shoulder, then settles in to wait next to him.
Time slows to a crawl. Drift vents steadily, letting his racing thoughts wash over and through him, acknowledged and dismissed in turn.
Everyone in the room stiffens as the rope goes twangs twice. Ultra Magnus and Drift fall upon it, yanking it in as hard as they can. Ratchet and First Aid wait to grab their two patients.
The hatch slams open and Roddy tumbles in headfirst, a smaller mech wrapped up in his arms. He bounces to his feet as the hatch seals again.
Both of them are covered in a layer of frost, quickly melting. The smaller bot also has scorch marks along his entire front, plating slightly melted. The medics take him immediately, gently laying him out on the floor to work on him.
The mech who stands before them after braving the cold void of space is no longer who Drift calls Roddy. This is Rodimus Prime, through and through. He watches over the scene with lofty grace, turning to give instructions to Ultra Magnus, who salutes and leaves.
Rodimus Prime's engine kicks up a notch, melting the frost on his plating. Drift swallows dryly as he watches steam rise from Rodimus's plating and puff out of his vents, the condensation on his armor making his paint job shimmer.
Rodimus Prime turns to Drift and inclines his helm solemnly. Drift locks his knees so they don't buckle.
"Are you alright?" Drift asks in a small voice.
Just like that, Rodimus Prime melts away to reveal the mech Drift knows so well. "Yeah, it's no trouble. The poor guy was clinging to the outside of the ship, practically fused to it. I spent most of that time prying him off."
Ratchet and First Aid exchange a short conversation, then lift the injured mech together to cart him off to the medibay. Ratchet looks back over his shoulder, giving Drift a significant look.
Drift moves closer to Roddy, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're okay. Do you want to come back to me and Ratchet's hab with me? The three of us need to have a conversation, and he'll be finished with his patient in no time."
Roddy grins devilishly. "A conversation, huh?"
Drift rolls his optics, taking his hand away. "Yes, you beast. We need to use our words before we can do anything fun."
"Aw, that's too bad. I had some sword tricks of my own to show you, if y'know what I mean."
Drift elbows him. "That was terrible."
Then after a moment, he grabs Roddy's chin and pulls him in for a kiss. Roddy whines when he pulls away after the brief contact.
"Hush you, I'm just getting started on our conversation." With that, he laughs at Roddy's pitiful expression and starts walking away down the hall.
A moment later Roddy catches up with him, linking their arms together. "Well come on then! We can't leave Ratchet waiting!"
Drift smiles to himself. How could he have ever thought this would go any other way? This is Rodimus he's talking about.