Chapter Text
Luna 1 lay several days behind them, and Ultra Magnus couldn't find it in his spark to be anything but glad.
Actually, as far as the now ex-enforcer was concerned, if he never heard the name "Luna 1" again, it would be all too soon. Unfortunately, Ultra Magnus knew he wouldn't have that luxury.
He had a stack of empty datapads sitting neatly squared away on the corner of his desk, ready to be filled with records and reports and all sorts of official accounts of what had transpired on the surface of the seething moon. Normally, Ultra Magnus would have rubbed his hands together in glee (well, metaphorically speaking, which Ultra Magnus wasn't really comfortable with) and dived right in.
But nothing about Luna 1 had been normal. Luna 1 had been...personal, and Ultra Magnus didn't have any idea how to deal with personal.
On Luna 1, he had made mistakes. A lot of mistakes. Maybe more mistakes than he'd ever made before.
Tyrest had told him those mistakes had started eighteen months ago, when Ultra Magnus had joined the crew of the Lost Light. When he'd accepted the post as Rodimus' second-in-command and left Chief Justice Tyrest in the dark.
He should have been reporting in. Ultra Magnus knew that. As the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, he should have been uploading daily reports to the Chief Justice via the subspace transmitter in the armor. True, they'd might have lost themselves on the map, but Tyrest had designed the transmitter to reach him no matter where in the galaxy his enforcer might find himself. No one could escape the long arm of the Law.
No, Ultra Magnus had made the decision himself.
He'd tried to justify it. The crimes he was documenting on the Lost Light weren't worth wasting the Chief Justice's time. Tyrest didn't need to know about Swerve's repeated violations of the Military Regalia Act. Instead, Ultra Magnus sent memo after memo to Rodimus. His observations on corridor lighting. Risk analyses of Lost Light signage. A fifteen-part doorframe audit (he took particular pride in that one - lengthy and thorough, some of his best work). All of these documented rule breaches were still of the utmost importance, of course, and he duly marked each of his memos as 'URGENT'.
But he didn't need to bother the Chief Justice with them.
Not that Ultra Magnus hadn't been keeping track of the other offenses on board - most notably Rodimus' increasingly near-transgressions of the Fit Persons Act. And Ultra Magnus had intended to report them all to the Chief Justice in good time - truly, he had. But there was always just one more matter of crew discipline he found he needed to attend to...
Then Overlord had run him through the spark, and he'd run out of excuses.
And Ultra Magnus, Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord and first officer of the Lost Light, had betrayed his ship, his crew, and his captain to Chief Justice Tyrest.
Ultra Magnus had never served under a captain before.
He'd found the adjustment difficult. His ship - the Iron Will, the ship Rodimus had stolen from him back on Earth - was meant to be piloted by one mech and one mech alone - the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord. The Chief Justice had considered a crew to be nothing more than a liability. It only increased the risk that criminals or scofflaws or - or wayward characters might make their way on board. Even worse, his Enforcer might become attached to his crew, might come to care for them or form relationships with them - and place their safety and well-being above the merciless pursuit of Justice under the Law. In Tyrest's mind, this was an utterly unacceptable outcome. So Ultra Magnus had been the Iron Will's captain and crew all in one.
Now, Rodimus was his captain.
Rodimus, who had refused to speak to Bumblebee when they left Cybertron. Rodimus, who had baited his trap for the sparkeater with Rung. Rodimus, who had ordered Swerve to shoot even after Fortress Maximus had been subdued. Rodimus, who had Cyclonus arrested without cause and deliberately antagonized the Galatic Council and behaved with astounding immaturity when Thunderclash's ship had docked and -
Rodimus, who had brought Overlord on board.
Ultra Magnus had been able to offer his advice when he didn't approve of Rodimus' decisions (which had been alarmingly often). He'd put a hand on Rodimus' elbow, guide him to the corner of the room, and ask him if he was sure this was wise, and perhaps Ultra Magnus might suggest this alternative course of action instead...
Ultra Magnus supposed he frowned when he did that. He'd never really considered it before.
Either way, it hadn't mattered. Rodimus had never listened, and Magnus' list of misgivings had grown and grown.
But he'd found that, in spite of all his frustrations and his concerns, he liked his captain.
No. Wait.
He liked having a captain. There. That was what he’d meant.
Besides, Rodimus had come clean to him in the end, hadn't he? On Luna 1, hardwired into Tyrest's killswitch, Rodimus had called Magnus over and confessed what he'd done. And then he'd promised to make amends and - and -
And wasn't that the purpose of Law and Justice, after all?
Afterwards, Rodimus had held his hand.
Magnus stared down at the massive white servo resting in his lap. It hadn't been that hand, of course - Minimus had been outside the armor, stripped down to his irreducible self, when Rodimus had laced his warm yellow fingers through Minimus' tiny green ones. Magnus imagined he could still feel the tingle of his captain's touch.
It was so much easier to think about that than anything else that had happened on that moon.
Magnus flexed his fingers, curling them gently. No one had ever held his hand before.
It was such a small gesture. Or rather, Magnus thought it was a small gesture. Truth be told, he had no idea what the hand-holding meant. He wished someone would create a sort of numerical scale on which to rank various manners of physical contact and correlate them to specific meanings in the context of a personal relationship.
Rodimus might have been a good mech to begin his inquiries with, but Magnus felt his faceplates heat at the very thought.
Because Magnus had touched Rodimus a lot.
It hadn't - it hadn't been anything like that. These were casual touches only, easily exchanged, the kind Minimus had always craved and despised himself for craving, and the kind that Rodimus gave away so thoughtlessly and freely. Insistent jabs in his side whenever Rodimus wanted his attention. A flame-colored hand resting on his forearm as Rodimus conversed with him, Matrix-blue optics looking earnestly up at his second-in-command. Fingertips brushing against his as he took a datapad from Magnus' hand.
And Magnus had responded in kind without ever a thought. A touch on Rodimus' elbow to guide him away from others for a private rebuke. Grabbing at his upper arm (and leaving dents, sometimes, when Minimus Ambus forgot who he was) to hold his captain back when Magnus just need him to listen. A palm on that sleek, sleek spoiler when Magnus drew him to one side to speak privately, Rodimus leaning happily into his hand. By the time Magnus had realized this - this trap he'd fallen into, it was far, far too late to give it up.
But now Magnus found himself wanting to touch Rodimus in other ways, too, ways he didn't understand. The ex-enforcer wanted to trace gentle fingers along edges the delicate sweeps of metal that framed the speedster's face. He wanted to slide his hands around that biolight-ringed waist, those flared, angular hips, and pull him close. He wanted to hug Rodimus like he'd hugged Thunderclash - but differently as well. Longer? Tighter? Closer, maybe? Magnus didn't know. He didn't even know why he wanted any of this at all.
He shouldn't be wanting any of this. That much he did know. What he should be wanting was to - was to -
Make amends.
And he should be suffocating under the crushing weight of the guilt for what he'd done, but he wasn't. He should been feeling like a failure, like a loser, like the worthless nobody he knew himself to be, the one that nobody would miss - but he wasn't.
Instead, he kept thinking about Rodimus. It was so much easier that way.
Ultra Magnus stared down at the uncluttered, spotless, graffiti-free surface of his desk and, instead of thinking of Tyrest and his control room, thought of Rodimus and his compulsive doodling.
He stared at the stack of datapads waiting to be filled and, instead of thinking of Tyrest and his Repository, filled with every rule and regulation, every law and bit of legislation, thought of Rodimus and the single datapad Magnus had finally convinced him to carry around so he could at least get Magnus' memos. Rodimus had carved flames around the edges.
Yes, they'd made mistakes - both of them had. But Rodimus was going to make amends. If he could, then maybe Magnus could, too. Maybe they could do it together.
He had to believe that.
Ultra Magnus' comm blipped at him. Incoming call from Rodimus. Ultra Magnus' spark leapt in his chest.
"Magnus? It's me. Would you mind coming up to my office?"
"I'll be right there, Rodimus."
Magnus pulled in a deep vent, rose, and headed for the door.