Work Text:
The silence of the oil reserves isn’t comforting, exactly, but Rodimus doesn’t mind yet. Eventually sitting alone with his thoughts will be unbearable too, and then he’s got no idea what he’s going to do. But for now, this…helps. Or it doesn’t hurt, at least.
He stares at his reflection in the murky liquid below him, swinging his legs idly. It’s not very captainly of him, and this isn’t one of the handful of places onboard that he can hide out without being found, but he’ll worry about that when he hears footsteps. Or when Drift inevitably hears about the argument and pings him fifty times because he hates when he goes missing almost as much as he hates when his two partners don’t get along. A Rodimus classic: doing things that piss everyone off.
Things should be better now. In this new universe, no one can take this ship, this home away from him besides himself. But he’s always been his own biggest threat, even through millennia of war and betrayal and Primus knows what else. He’s already nearly ruined everything once. Eventually, Drift is going to realize that he’s not worth the extra strain he puts on his and Ratchet’s relationship, and he’ll tell him to get lost. That, or he’ll finally realize he’s an idiot for forgiving him in the first place.
Slipping into the oil reservoir suddenly doesn’t seem so unappealing.
The elevator sounds behind him and he shoves the thought aside, glancing over his shoulder. It’s just a little too dim down here for him to make out who it is, but he knows by the lack of audial fins and swords that it isn’t Drift. He can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Hey, kid.”
Rodimus bites down on the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw energon. Why the hell did Ratchet come after him? Did Drift force him to? “Uh. Hi.” There’s a stretch of silence between them, filled only with Ratchet’s footsteps and the gentle whirring of the ship’s inner workings. Rodimus turns his gaze back to the murky liquid underneath him before he gets too close. “Didn’t think you’d start missing me that fast, but what can I say? I’m irresistible.” It’s heavy on the sarcasm, even for him.
Ratchet doesn’t respond, which is probably for the best. He kneels, grunting in pain, and Rodimus offers him a hand without a second thought. The nanoklik of hesitation before he accepts it tears Rodimus apart more than he’d like to admit.
Ratchet settles down and Rodimus takes his hand back, awkwardly sliding it back to curl around the ledge. There’s a solid foot of space between them. It’s probably supposed to be some sort of peace offering, an attempt at making him feel less nervous, but it does the exact opposite. He’s slept with Ratchet, for Primus’s sake. They should be able to sit next to each other without this…this tension. Like he’s some sort of bomb about to go off. It’s how he feels, sure, but he wishes everyone else would stop treating him like it too.
Out of the corner of his optics, he sees Ratchet open his mouth like he’s about to say something, and words come spilling out of him before he can stop them. “You didn’t have to come after me just cause Drift told you to apologize. You know that, right? He’s not my keeper, I can
—I can handle myself. And besides—”
“Drift didn’t tell me to come apologize. He’s still sparring with Cyclonus.”
“Then why’d you come after me?” he asks, glancing up at Ratchet. There’s something hiding in his expression that he doesn’t recognize.
“Because I wanted to apologize, you idiot.” Ratchet sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I meant what I said, just…not how I said it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When was the last time you refueled?”
Rodimus laughs nervously. “Last cycle…I think?” He checks his levels, and he can’t help wincing when he sees a bright orange 38% blinking back at him. “It’s fine. I’ll just go take care of it now—”
“I’m not done. When was the last time you had a full recharge?”
That one he can’t even answer. He’d give some half-assed excuse if Ratchet hadn’t already chewed him out once tonight already—he’s captain, it’s hard to find time to recharge, he’s just too wound up to get that much rest. But his mouth runs faster than his brain does, so instead, he says, “I don’t get why it matters to you.”
“It matters to me, Rodimus, because I care about you. Is that so hard to believe?”
His spark aches. He wants to believe it, but what reason would there be for Ratchet to care? He already has everything he could possibly want in Drift. At best, he’s an annoying side effect, and at worst, he’s the reason they both almost lost Drift in the first place. Ratchet doesn’t want that. He can’t possibly want that. No one wants that.
“Rodimus. Look at me.” When he doesn’t move, Ratchet reaches for him, gently tilting his chin until he has no choice but to meet Ratchet’s gaze. “Drift and I can help you, if you’ll just let us. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I don’t need help. I have everything under control.”
“ Rodimus. ”
He shakes his head, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s fine. I won’t bother either of you anymore. If it’s getting to the point that you feel the need to keep an eye on me, I’ll make myself scarce. Promise.”
“For Primus’s sake, Roddy, that’s not what I meant—”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I’ve watched mechs I love drive themselves into the ground. I’m not doing it again.”
Rodimus opens his mouth to argue again, then promptly shuts it as he actually processes what Ratchet just said. “...You’re rusted in the head.”
“Like hell I am,” he replies, rising to his feet. “I’m serious, Roddy. About…both of those things. If I have to drag you out of here kicking and screaming to recharge, I’ll do it, but you won’t be leaving my berth again until you get it through your thick head that I’m not putting up with this.”
Rodimus doesn’t know whether to be insulted or…something else. It’s veering hard into something else, though, a mix of relief and guilt and love—because he does love Ratchet, he has for ages now—that he doesn’t know what to do with. He does have the good sense to move away from the ledge, though. It’s getting harder and harder not to wrap his arms around Ratchet and knowing his luck, they’ll both end up in the reservoir if he does.
He takes a deep breath, trying to put together some semblance of a mask over his emotions and failing. It’s hard to pretend in front of someone who’s known him for so long. “I…for the record, I don’t do it on purpose.”
“Yeah, figured that—”
“I love you too.”
Ratchet glances at him, startled, and he winces. He really didn’t think that would come as a surprise to…anyone, let alone Ratchet himself. The medic’s lack of a response gets his mouth running again. “I just didn’t want to fuck it up, y’know? And—and I don’t just mean me and Drift, I mean you and Drift too, because you deserve him a hell of a lot more than I do. And I didn’t think—I thought you were just putting up with me for his sake, and if I said something it’d just—”
“You’re ridiculous,” Ratchet says, and kisses him.
It’s the first time Ratchet’s kissed him that he actually takes in, not distracted by wandering hands or a desperate need to overload. Not worried about taking things too far, asking for too much, ruining something he never had any place in yet ended up in the middle of anyways. He forgets that kissing back is a thing you’re supposed to do until Ratchet suddenly pulls away, worried, and he chases after the missing warmth. His knees suddenly feel weak, but whatever embarrassment he feels about that is second to getting his hands on Ratchet’s shoulders so he doesn’t fall over. It all seems to move so fast and so slow at the same time.
His fans click on and this time when Ratchet pulls away he lets him, just enough to let him cool off. He’s panting, still hanging onto Ratchet for dear life, when their optics meet and he really can’t help but steal another kiss. Short, though, because Ratchet pulls away again, and glances to the reservoir at their side, muttering, “You’re not dragging me in there.”
“I’d clean you off if I did.”
“Oh, how romantic,” Ratchet replies, but there’s a softness to his expression that suggests he doesn’t mind the idea all that much. It makes Rodimus smile despite the whirlwind in his processor. He’s terribly easy to love.
Even moreso when he presses their foreheads together, and quietly, almost inaudibly, says, “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to ruin it either.”
“...How long’ve you been sitting on that?”
“A while, Rodimus. A while.”
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t articulate what for, partially because he can’t find the words and partially because it’s for all of it, himself and all the things that come with loving him. It’s a heavy price to pay, especially with everything Ratchet’s already been through. He half wishes he could just tell him to change his mind, but knowing how stubborn Ratchet is, he’d get a wrench in the head for it. That, and the selfish part of his spark doesn’t want to let him go.
“Don’t be. I should know by now I never get anywhere by keeping my mouth shut.”
Rodimus grins. “Definitely not with me.”
“No, with you it’s more about keeping your mouth shut.”
“Ratch, I’m s—”
“If you apologize again you’re coming back with me in two pieces.”
“Doesn’t sound half bad if you’re the one putting me back together.”
Ratchet lets out a huff, winding an arm around his waist and corralling him back towards the elevator. “I never said anything about putting you back together.”
“But you always do.”
Drift checks his pings for the third time on the way back to his and Ratchet’s shared habsuite, confused and a little worried about the radio silence from both of his partners. He spent longer sparring than he’d meant to, and usually one of them will wonder at his absence, but he hasn’t heard from either of them in hours. It could be nothing, but this is the Lost Light. It’s never nothing.
He taps in the code for his habsuite, idly gnawing on his lip as the door clicks and slides open. “Ratchet? I’m—” he starts, peering inside as he shuts the door behind him.
He shuts up shortly after that, because he spots Rodimus’s form curled up on the couch, and after squinting for a moment, he realizes Ratchet is beneath him. Rodimus has his head on Ratchet’s shoulder, his face pressed into his neck cabling, and both of them are sound asleep.
The sight makes his spark sing.
It’s moments like these where he’s terribly grateful for all his Decepticon stealth, heading to his room with near silent footsteps and setting his blades aside. He was kind of looking forward to snuggling with Ratchet once he got back, but he wouldn’t wake them for the world. He does, however, take his datapad and creep back over to the couch to snap a picture of them. It’s always easier to push past his demons when he has a physical reminder of why he’s doing it.
Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Ratchet crack open an optic. He doesn’t bother to hide the fond smile on his face. He’s not sure he could even if he tried.
“What are you looking at?” Ratchet’s voice is gruff but quiet, and he steals a glance at Rodimus as he speaks, though the younger mech doesn’t stir at all.
“My whole world, Ratty.”
Ratchet doesn’t say a word, but the way his aura flares brighter is enough. He stands carefully, wrapping his arms around Rodimus so he doesn’t slip, and carries him to their berth while Drift follows behind. Rodimus doesn’t wake when Ratchet sets him down, but when the two of them curl around him, Drift swears he sees the faintest tug of a smile at his lips.