Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Great, I was starting to think you might have gotten cold feet.” Ratchet called out. It had taken a long bout of convincing, but ultimately it was Convoy himself that requested the outing. 

Riptide had gone directly to the archives on the day of their plans, to escort his misanthropic friend down the hallways. It was in equal parts because he wanted help soothe his friends nerves for his first true experience aboard the Lost Light, but partially because he was also afraid that Convoy may have changed his mind given the passage of time and might have required some extra convincing.

Fortunately, none of that had come pass. 

Convoy had been hesitant as expected, but needed no convincing to get to his feet upon Riptide’s unceremonious entrance, shoving the heavy metal slabs of the entrance open roughly with a loud bang. 

He cringed slightly at the display, but followed in tow as Riptide excitedly lead him down the empty hallways. It was happy hour, so many a mech had already gathered at the bar, ready to get their processors fried from the overcharge.

Ratchet had been standing guard at the entrance, holding a glass of high-grade in one servo as he leaned comfortably against the ridge of the entrance’s arc. He stood patiently, waiting for the pair to encroach before landing a snide remark, face flushed pink from the activated engex running through his wiring. 

He never ordered anything less, opting for the strongest drink the bar could offer before the night had even kicked off. He slung an arm around Convoy’s collar, pulling him closer. “Trust me, if you’re tryin’ ta loosen up, you’ve found the place.” He started, pressing his half empty glass of concentrated high grade into Convoy’s palm. 

His demeanour had been anything but normal. His words were beginning to slur, coupled with the harsher than normal retorts and the casual contact he initiated with his amica. It was easy to tell he had gone and gotten himself tipsy while waiting. 

He steered the pair into the bar, cutting through the ever growing crowd with precision, where he dropped Convoy off at a secluded corner booth near the counter. Convoy settled in, placing the glass in his servo gently onto the table before squeezing himself into the bench. 

He glanced over to his companions expectantly, hoping to seem them join him at the table. Unfortunately for him, Ratchet instead pulled away from the contact, leaning over unsteadily to Riptide’s audials to mutter out a sentence that Convoy could not quite make out over the music blasting from the speakers. 

Riptide brightened at the inaudible statement, nodding aggressively in agreement. Ratchet gave a reassurance pat on Convoy’s pauldron before he left and mouthed a wordless ‘good luck’, before stumbling over to another booth on the side where Drift had been hailing him over. 

Convoy then turned to Riptide, seeking an explanation from the aquatic speedster where said mech had been buzzing with excitement. 

“So, here’s the deal. I’m going to leave you here.” Convoy’s intake opened to protest under his battle mask, but was soon cut off by Riptide with a knowing look, bringing a digit up to Convoy’s mask to shush him. “Look, I know it’s gonna be stressful, but you wanted to break out of your shell, and there’s no better way to get to people to open up than through engex.”

He snatched up the previously abandoned glass of high-grade from Ratchet that had been left on the table, shoving it in Convoy’s face to make a point. “Think about it on the bright side. We don’t know how much cleansing the matrices energy from your system is gonna do for you. For all we know, they might not even remember you, so live a little!” He explained, appending in a hushed tone, “Not that they would remember anything anyways with the amount of engex in here. ” 

Convoy apprehensively accepted the glass that was smushed against his mask. He already had confirmation that the cleansing process had worked. Rodimus had made that very clear when he came back to deliver the shiny bauble with a neatly written note of congratulations for the archivist, but he wasn’t sure whether or not now was the time to divulge his emotional reconciliation with his pseudo-mechling. “I understand. I must again thank you for your support. I understand this was supposed to be my apology to you, howev-“

Riptide immediately cut him off, raising a digit to his face in a disappointing manner. “Uh uh uh, none of that. We both dropped our heavy conscience on each other, so now we get to move past that. Besides, if you really want to make it up to me, start by making a new friend here.”

Convoy nodded, retracting his mask momentarily to sip a mouthful of his beverage before letting it slip back on. “But still, I would like to make it up to you, you have been far too tolerant of my behaviour as of late. Perhaps I can foot the bill for our outing tonight?”

After receiving a disgruntled agreement from Riptide who acknowledged that Convoy was not going to back down, he watched Riptide approach the counter, settling himself down amongst another group of mechs. Now he was alone. 

He contemplated getting out of the booth. The idea of butting into a conversation uninvited felt uncomfortable, but it wouldn’t do for him to sit still. He made a promise, and he intended to fulfil it. 

It took a while to muster up the courage, taking a few large gulps of high grade too, before he felt up to the task. Even after four millions years of war, this felt far more daunting than stepping foot onto a battle field. The battlefield was familiar, even predictable to a certain extent, but this, this was new. With his resolution made, he made his way to the counter in hopes of getting a refill of liquid courage to kickstart his perilous journey. 

He wasn’t a stranger to nightclubs, Ratchet made sure of that when they were still enrolled at the academy. Though he never really explored the night scene, he has made some interesting memories in the past dragging away a blacked out ambulance from the shady clubs downtown. 

The medic used to have a penchant for trouble, always visiting the absolute worse parts of town to get his circuits fried. He used to insist that the quality of engex in the backstreets couldn’t be beat, going so far as to sneak out when Orion wasn't looking just to return to his natural habitat.

He lived up to his reputation, thriving within the nightlife. Even now that he had mellowed out, Convoy still saw traces of the party ambulance creeping back in every so often. Case in point, the number of cubes steadily piling up on the table between him and his conjux kept climbing.

It didn’t particularly bother Convoy per say, he was perfectly content with Ratchet having his own life since Ratchet had pulled out his homemade diagnostic chart to prove it wouldn’t have any longer term effects to his health. The thought had occured to him that Ratchet at that point very well may have lied to get him to stop pestering him, but he still chose to believe the best in his friends.

Regardless, the dilemma still stood. Both Riptide and Ratchet seemed so in their own environment, relaxing in their seats scattered throughout the bar as if they fit right in. That was something Convoy could not quite managed.

Throughout his years on the front lines, he of course had his own far share of nights at the bars. But it was less of socialising, and more of trying to drown his sorrows in the bitter beverage. 

He couldn’t go at normal hours either, less he ruined his troops morale. It was extremely awkward the first time he accidentally intruded onto his infantry’s fun night out. The chatter went dead in kliks, replaced with uniform posture and work discussions. That was the first and last time he ever joined his soldiers at the pub.

There were still the occasional friendly faces. part from his amica, a few others were willing to partake in engex in his presence. Jazz, Ironhide, Bumblebee, Prowl… 

Okay, so the list wasn’t looking great, but still, it meant he had experience. Socialising was a skill, as Jazz had mentioned to him. It was something that could be learned and honed. He had never attempted learning it before, but if he wanted to keep to his word, he would have to start making that effort now.

—- 

Swerve was having a weird night. Aside from the usual weird of finding out Cyclonus had become all buddy buddy with Whirl, he had spotted the strangest customer in his bar. After seven years aboard the ship, and being as close to the members of high command as he was, you would expect he would know if there was another member aboard the ship.

While it wasn’t unusual for the Lost Light to pick up a few strays, they hadn’t made another stop in ages since their last quantum jump that saved their adventure. Added to the fact that he held the sole monopoly of engex on the ship, meaning that every other crew member had almost assuredly been to his establishment before, it was strange that there was a mech aboard the ship that he couldn’t recognise. Especially one that had a design as eye-catching as the mech that had moved to the counter.

The mech had a unique design reminiscent of their late autobot commander, now a disgraced war veteran. It was an odd design to choose, considering the magnitude of his funeral. Heck, even Swerve got his badge swapped out for a grey one for a while to commemorate the life of the leader. Seeing someone so blatantly rip off his visage was a shocking sight to say the least.

Serve himself might have been a bit of an obsessive fan when it came to celebrities, specifically when it came to a particular light blue racer, but even he knew where to draw the line. To be fair to the bot though, there wasn’t a single soul aboard the Lost Light that remained sane throughout their journey, so the bartender had quickly accepted it as another quirk of their motley crew. Who was he to judge if high command found their own Autobot version of Tarn?

What did surprise him, however, wasn’t just the bot’s design, but what came after. As the night dragged on, he went about making his rounds, dishing out engex and recording the tabs of every bot in the room as per usual. The familiar sound of glass clattering against the surface of the counter started to fade out as less and less requests came by the counter. 

The night was nearing its end. There weren’t many bots left, so he had been waiting patiently for the other customers to finish up their last cubes before closing up. An occasional mech or two would request a refill, but other than that, the night had already moved way past its climax and towards its conclusion. 

Even still, he continued to chat up the patrons despite the dying energy, initiating uncomfortable onesided discussions over absolutely anything. He chanced upon an ideal situation while returning the glass he had been drying in his servos, picking up on a quip made about the content that had been chosen to display on the television set above the bar.

The screen was tilted at an angle, while originally meant for customer usage, it has since been repurposed into for his own use, playing old runs of his favourite sitcoms on repeat. He had long since finished all there was see of human media, leaving him to stare wistfully at the familiar scenes displayed across the panel. 

“-Just don’t know why he keeps playing that slag. It’s not even that funny! What is a sock? Why is it being knocked off? What am I even supposed to be watching?!”

He quirked up at the mention of the phrase, optics locking on to the offending mech making the statement before sauntering over to open that big fat mouth of his that couldn’t stay silent. 

“Funny that you should ask!” He exclaimed, rattling the customer by the bar who jumped in his seat, turning over to the bartender. 

The moment their optics met, however, the patron immediately recoiled, surprise quickly turned to disappointment as he faced the smirking bartender, slag eating grin plastered over his expression as his optics twinkled with mischief. He had been waiting for someone to bring it up, to mention his absolute favourite topic. He wasn’t going to let such a prime opportunity slip by.

“Ughh. Not again…” the mech groaned, pulling a servo down his faceplate in an exaggerated motion to hammer home his point. Swerve, however, chose not to take pity on his soul, placing down the glass and cloth before leaning over the counter and resting his elbow joint against the table in suave gesture.

“It’s a genre! A whole genre of comedy called a ‘sitcom’ that revolves around the same rotating cast in different circumstances. The real beauty of it lies in the characters. The setting only serves to prompt them up. If you’re trying to make sense of it, then you’ve got it all wrong! Wh- ahh, wait! WAIT! Where are you going!”

His enthusiastic explanation was quickly cut short by a loud bang as the customer slammed his cube onto the table, chugging down the remainder of his cube in a rush. He hurriedly gathering his belongings and dashed off, blending in seamlessly with the rest of the leaving crowd. 

Rude. Swerve hadn’t even gotten to the core of his explanation yet. It was to be expected, the Lost Light were a tough crowd, especially the mechs who knew Swerve personally.

He let out another sad sigh, finishing his work with the glass and setting it down on the rack. He turned back once more to clear the table of the remnants that the mech had left behind, only to lock optics with the starry-eyed stranger from before. 

The strange Optimus lookalike was sat right next to the rude mech that had up and left, staring straight at Swerve in awe and amazement. His optics glistened with raptured interest, curiosity flared from his leaking EM field.

“Hey there big guy, can I, uh, help you?” Swerve tried awkwardly, squirming a bit under the intense gaze. The bot on the other side of the counter blinked, snapping him out of that dazed state, and glanced in both directions to ensure Swerve had been addressing him.

“Hmm? Ah! You refer to me. I sincerely apologise for listening in on your conversation. I understand it was discourteous of me, however, I couldn’t help but find myself drawn in by your infectious enthusiasm.” Convoy flushed under the mask, energon running hot beneath his plating, abashed from getting caught red handed. 

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the volume at which the pair had been conversing left him little choice. Though he will admit, the level of zeal he felt through each word leaving the bartender voice module and the animated manner in which the minibot had expressed his ardour had struck straight to his core. He displayed passion for the subject the likes of which could only be comparable to Jazz’s love of music, every bit as honest and sincere.

Like a moth to a flame, Comvoy found himself captivated by the minibots heartfelt appreciation for his favourite form of media. Though he may not exactly know what a ‘sitcom’ is, he was eager to find out what the minibot had in store.

Swerve on the other hand, was stunned. His face still held that polite customer service smile, but below the surface his processor was running at a mile a minute. He had so many questions, who was this guy? When did he get here? What kind of altmode did he have? But his processor helpfully supplied the burning question that consumed his mind as the inquiry left his lips.

“You’re… Interested?” The customer before him gave an energetic nod, cheerfully sending a signal of confirmation to the bartender.

“I have yet to indulge in other forms of media. Though the war may have ended, I find myself occupied with other concerns. This ‘sitcom’ you have mentioned is a genre that was popularised during the conflict yes? I am vaguely aware of its emergence as a way for distressed citizens to cope during times of duress.”

Convoy bombarded the bartender with questions, turning underlying curiosity to words, letting them tumble out of his mouth with ease. It was a refreshing experience. When around his usual company, he tended to be more reserved, carefully thinking through each sentence so as not to offend anyone. Now, he was letting his mouth run, every innocuous question falling out without vetting. Be it due the bartenders warm and welcoming personality, or the strength of the high grade flowing through his circuitry, he could feel himself cutting loose.

At the end of his interrogation, he expected to bartender to be weary of him. After such an spontaneous outburst, he knew he had stepped out of line. He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke so openly, his best bet would have been during those same academy years where Ratchet would barge into his room, engex in hand.

Instead, however, the bartender’s polite smile began to contort, the ends of his lips turning up a wry grin. He started laughing. Slow lighthearted chuckling quickly escalating to boisterous laughter as he slammed his forearm back down on the counter in front of Convoy.

“You’re interested in sitcoms? Well then you’ve come to the right place! The name’s Swerve, resident Earthen comedy expert extraordinaire!” He barked out, lifting his free servo to point at himself in a smooth arc. He radiated pure joy at Convoy inquiry, listening intently to every detail that Convoy had divulged.

Convoy, in turn, jumped up to meet his expression enthusiastically, laying both servos down onto the table before shoving himself up onto his pedes, shoving the stood beneath him unceremoniously to the side. “Truly? I am quite fortunate to have such a knowledgeable guide. I must thank you, Swerve, if will allow me to address you as such. My name is Convoy, a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

He extended a servo out for the bartender in an amicable gesture, optics squinting to display a wide grin in place of his covered lower face. Swerve snatched up the open invitation, taking Convoy’s servo into his own and wrapped it between both his hands, shaking it up and down with vigour. 

“Oh we are going to be best friends. I can already see it now!” The bartender exclaimed, broad, slag eating grin still plastered onto his face. 

A loud cough of a mech clearing his intake resounded from across the room, rudely interrupting their exquisite bonding moment. The party ambulance was standing in the doorway of the now empty establishment, a flushed and near comatose Drift slung loosely over his shoulder to support the drunken swordsmech. 

He made another effort to clear his intake, cocking his helmet to the side as he impatiently taped his pedes against the floor to signal to his amica his cue to leave. Swerve noticed his newfound companions enthusiasm dropping, expression turning into one of alarm as he hurriedly broke out of Swerve inviting stance to restore the seat by the counter in an apologetic manner. 

It Swerve into a bit of a panic. This was the first time anyone had shown an interest in his hobbies, let alone such enthusiasm as Convoy had shown. He couldn’t just let him leave like this! So he reached over the counter, straining his plating as got onto the tips of his pedes to stretched himself over and grab hold of one of Convoy’s arms as he turned to leave. 

“W- Wait! Didn’t you want to hear more about-” He trailed off as Convoy whipped his helm around to face him. His smile dropped into a thin frown. It had been a while since he went around chasing crew members to talk to them, a large majority of them had gotten tired of his antics early on and started avoiding him like the plague. Was he too clingy? Would Convoy hate him for pushing his interests too hard?

All of the doubt faded as they locked optics, a hopeful flare of Convoy’s EM field made evident what his expression could not. 

“Of course!” He replied in an uncharacteristically chirpy tone. “I may not have time today, but… Tomorrow! I will return tomorrow if you will have me.”

There was a moment of hesitation in his statement, as if he was unsure himself if he was willing to book an appointment. Swerve didn’t catch the notion, internally rejoicing at the positive affirmation and shooting Convoy a big thumbs up with both hands. “You’re on big guy! Tomorrow sounds great!”

He watched Convoy provide another helpful nod of confirmation before stepping out to with the tipsy ambulance and his partner down the hallway where they disappeared. His attention turned back to the empty bar, where the customer had already filtered out past closing time. 

Ten was standing by the side, a tray full of empty cubes already collected in the time where Swerve had been preoccupied with his audience of one. He happily took a hold of it, lining them up nicely in the sink to begin the finer task of rinsing them out. 

“Ten?” His bouncer helpfully questioned, tilting his mechanical head to one side.

Swerve gave him a positive response, humming in a singsong tone in reply: “Yeah, it’s a date.”

Chapter Text

Convoy hurriedly stumbled after Ratchet, picking up his pace at his amica’s restless demeanour. The ambulance had already begun moving ahead of him wordlessly, swaying on his pedes as he moved forward with his plating flushed and flared, both clear signs of intoxication. Despite his quickly dulling processor, Ratchet navigated the archivist down the hallway with practiced ease, already accustomed to the feeling. 

He reeked with the scent of concentrated high grade, most likely overcharged beyond imagination if the high stack of cubes on their now abandoned table was anything to go by. 

He had originally intended to escort Convoy back to the archives to celebrate his independence and first step to integrating into society, but Convoy had insisted otherwise. The medic was completely out of it, babbling out incoherent strings of words at infrequent intervals.

“No! I can do it!” He shouted in response to Convoy attempt to relieve him of his unconscious conjux, swatting the offending servo away with an indignant reply. They walked all the way back to Drift and Ratchet’s shared habsuite just in time as Ratchet began to loose feeling in his legs, swerving off course just before the door. 

Fortunately, Convoy was able to strong arm the pair back into the room with little effort due to the close proximity to their destination. He made an effort to pack them into the berth neatly, picking their limbs up lightly to arrange them while avoiding rousing them from their recharge. When he turned to take his leave, however, he felt a strong tug on his forearm.

In his semi-lucid state, Ratchet had managed to grab a hold of his amica’s arm just as he had taken a step away from the berth. He groggily onlined an optic, peaking over at the silhouette of his friend illuminated by the soft hallway lighting. He couldn’t quite make out the details, his optics struggling to stay online as the lull of recharge beckoned him forth, but he was sure of the mech’s identity regardless. The familiarity of the gentle touch as a foreign servo laid reassuringly over his own told him everything he needed to know.

“So, di- didja find anyone?” He stuttered, an occasional hiccup bubbling up from his intake. His optics were unfocused, but his iron grip remained.

Convoy bent back down to the bedside to reduce the strain on his amica’s arm, pushing his friend gently back down for him to lay horizontal. “Mhm, yes. I did.” He admitted.

“-good. That good. You look… happier…” The medic trailed off after saying his peace. His optics flickered offline, head hitting the metal below him as his grasp slipped from Convoy’s arm to fall back over the side of the berth uncomfortably. Convoy once again rearranged the ambulance’s posture, tucking him back under the sheets neatly. He made it a point to do a double take and ensure the room lock was securely engaged before return to the archives.

Though his experience was mixed, loud music and noisy lighting made it hard for him to truly relax in the unruly establishment, he new had something to look forward to. He may come to regret his promise later on, but for now he held a bounce in his step, looking forward to what tomorrow had in store.

—-

Riptide arrived in the afternoon, clocking into work like usual. Upon waking up, he immediately went to speak to Ratchet about their prior outing after rousing with a splitting helm ache. His near complete lack of memories regarding the night before was a regular happening, but he had a vested interest in the social life of his archivist friend.

Unfortunately for him, both of them had been far too intoxicated to remember all the details. Short spurts of memories occasionally popped into their processors, but never anything more. The only concrete trace of the incident last night being a notification that his egregiously long tab had been paid off by an anonymous donation, leaving the message behind for him to read over his hangover ‘as per our agreement’. 

He sighed at the sight. He wasn’t strapped for cash, rather, he was very much capable of paying off his own bills, yet he hesitated to reject the favour that his friend had bestowed him with. 

He didn’t want to kill Convoy’s enthusiasm, but had a growing fear that Convoy would begin to see their relationship as transactional if this pattern continued. He could only imagine how much worse it could get if Convoy was unable to break out of his shell, and he had absolutely no intentions of encouraging a dependent relationship where Convoy had no one else to turn to. Another exaggerated sigh escaped his lips before he turned back to his work.

He packed in another cluster of data, and began his work cycle unperturbed by the helm-ache pounding his processor. At least now he would be able to talk to Convoy about it. Hopefully he had found someone he could connect with while Riptide and Ratchet went off to get themselves wasted.

He pushed open the large doors, strolling with his optics unfocused. The night before had really taken a toll on him, so he had been trudging down the hallways lined with datapads while half asleep in a butchered attempt to converse energy. Riptide startled himself when he hit something in his path while rounding a corner, looking down at the unconscious body of Convoy sprawled across the floor.

“AAaaaahHhh!” He let out an audial piercing shriek as he dropped his cargo to one side. He scrambled to his knees beside his fallen comrade, leaning over his chassis to confirm his friends vitals. He was pleased to be greeted with the uniformed thrumming of a spark beat below the plating, signifying Convoy’s continual survival.

“Oh thank Primus.” He stated, letting out a long, drawn out intake, the previous concern in his head now quickly fading. He took Convoy’s helm in hand and elevated it, propping up against the shelf before roughly grabbing his friend’s shoulders to shake him around like a tin can.

“Convoy! Wake up! Please tell me this the good kind of black out drunk!!” He hollered into the archivist’s audials, rousing him from his rest. He watched Convoy slowly regain consciousness, optics coming online slowly with a telltale blue glow. When Convoy registered the situation he was in, however, he immediately snapped his helm upwards to face Riptide and leaped to his pedes.

The decision was immediately followed by regret as a sharp pain pierced his helm, recoiling hard at the massive helm ache that plagued his processor. “Ahh, I apologise for the unsightly display you have witnessed. Give me a moment…”

He braced himself on the same shelf with an arm, using the other to cradle his helm to reduce the impact of his overcharge. Riptide gave him the time, retrieving the stray datapads that fell from the box upon impacting the ground. After packing them neatly, he sealed the opening and used it as a stool, crossing his legs while giving Convoy a sly grin.

“So, who’s the lucky mech?” He asked, wriggling a digit suggestively in front of his face. A childish provocation, that scandalised the prudish archivist nonetheless. Convoy rushed to amend the conclusion Riptide had arrived at seeing him sprawled across the archive floor.

“No! You misunderstand.” He exclaimed. 

Riptide only laughed in response, doubling over with a servo laid across his stomach. He wiped away a drop of coolant threatening to spill over from his optics and stood up to walk over to the embarrassed archivist, slinging a casual arm over his shoulder.

“I know, I know. Just a little joke. You don’t exactly strike me as the promiscuous type ya know?” He let out another chuckle at his own statement and gave Convoy the time to cool down. “So, who did you find? All that engex must have gotten you somewhere right?”

His tone was hopeful, seeing his friend black out on his first ever encounter with Lost Light culture was almost a classic, authentic, one-of-kind experience, almost a rite of passage even. Convoy tentatively nodded, a look of contemplation crossed his expression before answering Riptide.

“I did meet an approachable crew member, but I fear I may have bitten off more than I can shred.” His solemn tone gave Riptide pause. It didn’t occur to him at the time, especially since Ratchet had been all for it as well, but he supposed he should have realised in hindsight that Convoy’s social anxiety might have proven to be a bigger obstacle than originally thought. He had already spent an ungodly amount of time secluded in their basement, what if his negative experiences drove him right back into it?

“Bitten off what exactly?” He questioned suspiciously, raising an optic ridge in his curiosity. It was a rare instance of Riptide putting actual thought into his actions. First he had to understand the problem. Then, he would figure out how best to coax Convoy back out again. All it took was some empathy and a little effort, Convoy was a simple creature that way.

“I made a promise while under the influence.” He responded slowly, clearly having second thoughts now that his processor had been rebooted.

“Uh huh, drunk people do that all the time. Don’t let it bother you too much pal. I’m sure your drinking buddy won’t even remember it if they drank as much as you did.” Riptide reassured him, giving him another comforting pat on the back. 

Convoy was an uptight guy, his posh language and his strict adherence to rules of the ship upon himself made him similar to Ultra Magnus in a sense, just if Magnus was nicer and more polite. Hand it to Convoy to feel bad over not wanting to make good on a drunken promise.

“Besides, what could be that important anyways?” He nonchalantly appended to the end of his statement. It was an unhelpful attempt at calming Convoy’s nerves.

“I made a promise to return today. To continue our conversation from last night, in fact.” Riptide stilled at the mention, optics growing wide. “I know it was a hasty decision, but I suppose I found myself caught up in the moment…”

“Yup, you definitely have to make good on that. Telling lies is a big no no.” He whipped around to add in a serious tone. He pulled Convoy over to face his optics so that the archivist could understand his sincerity. The 180 he made on his statement left Convoy frazzled, unable to comprehend his friend’s words from the tonal whiplash of their conversation.

“Pardon? But you just mentioned-”

“Nope! No I didn’t!” He rudely interjected, cutting off Convoy before the archivist was able to catch his breath and realise the absurdity of their discussion. “You don’t wanna break your promise now, do you?” 

Guilt tripping Convoy came to him easily after his first attempt at puppy dog eyes back when he had insisted on bringing a medic to the archives. It was true that over time he got desensitised to it, slowly learning to weaponise Convoy’s pure hearted affection for his friends as easily as he breathed. 

Once again, he had been provided a prime opportunity to drag the hermit back out onto the deck, and he would be a fool to waste it. He heard a long sigh sound from outside of his peripheral vision, signifying the great success of his ploy, and celebrated inwardly as Convoy reached a decision.

“No. You are right. I should not have made such a frivolous statement if I was not willing to commit.” Riptide gave him a proud and understanding nod as Convoy let out another sigh. “I do believe he should remember the agreement in any case. He had taken nary a sip of engex after all.”

Riptide’s reassuring smile faltered as Convoy mentioned the detail, processor turning over the statement as he tried analysing it. 

“Not a sip of engex? What kind of mech comes to a bar without drinking?” He questioned. It was a rhetorical one, a simple statement said out loud for him to ponder. Convoy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand that, and readily replied in tow.

“He was the bartender of course.”

—-

Riptide had a plan. When he came down to the basement, his steps were neatly arranged in a flowchart.

Step 1. Ask Convoy if it went well. If no, refer to step 2. Else, refer to step 3.

Step 2. Arrange a new meeting, probably somewhere quieter that Convoy can enjoy while meeting new people.

Step 3. Convince him to go out again. If he made a friend than push him to follow up with meeting them.

Step 4. If unwilling, talk him into agreeing. Repeat until he agrees then move to step 5.

Step 5. Hooray! You did it!

He stalled at step 4. His new buddy was Swerve. Infamous, obnoxiously loud Swerve. The bartender was widely known for a multitude of reasons, none of which were positive. His old moniker of ‘Shut The Hell Up’ still rang true, talking the audials off of any bot that entered his peripheral vision, but Riptide’s biggest concern was his less than stellar reputation with hazing the newbies. 

There was a whole fiasco where he tried to convince their newer members like Bluestreak that they were going to be rejected from the roster just for fun. There were all sorts of incidence involving Swerve physically assaulting Ambulon and Rung because he was just a tad too curious about their altmodes. 

When he first heard the new, Riptide’s jaw hit the ground in record speed. Convoy reached out to his friend out of concern, but was cut off as Riptide grabbed him by the upper arms and shook him back and forth again like a ragdoll. He held an expression of sheer disbelief and skepticism at the sudden reveal.

“YOU MEANT SWERVE?!” He hollered without care for the code of conduct in the archive, his processor unable to continue supplying such minor details to his already stalling processor. That kind of trouble maker only spelled trouble in Riptide’s opinion. What could he possibly have been planning? Was this all some sort of convoluted plan of his to get a kick out of Convoy?  And what did Convoy even see in him?

He desperately wanted to stop Convoy, but found himself at an impasse. This was the very first time Convoy had tried taking the initiative to leave the archives, and the first time he had initiated contact to the outside by himself. If Riptide shut him down here, there was a very possible outcome of Convoy backsliding into his solitary lifestyle. Once bitten twice shy after all.

No, he decided. Regardless of how uncomfortable Swerve might make him feel on a personal level, Convoy’s a big mech, and he can handle himself. While he very much still had his valid concerns, he had to let Convoy leave the nest.

“Look, I’m not gonna judge your choice of company, but I’m giving you this just incase.” He reached into his subspace and fished around, pulling out a petite little red button encased in some tinted glass and pushing it into Convoy’s servo. He faced little resistance, albeit with a bit of confusion from the larger mech. 

“This is a panic button. If he tries anything funny, don’t hesitate to push it. First Aid gave it to me because of how accident prone I was, so it connects directly to the med bay. I’m sure Ratchet will be there to look out for you.” He shifted Convoy’s digits over the button in his grasp, making him ball up his fists with the contents enveloped within his servo.

“I do not understand. Is there something amiss with Swerve? He seemed to be quite a swell fellow. And is this button not made for your safety? I would be unwilling to deprive you of it if so…” Convoy’s concern only grew with Riptide’s insistence. The reaction was over the top, a complete exaggeration considering all he would do would be visiting the bar a second time.

“No, it’s just- well let’s call it precaution. First Aid keeps giving these to me because he thinks I’ll lose it so I have a whole bunch. Don’t you worry about it. And as for Swerve… You can make your own judgement about him when you meet again.” His words did nothing to decrease Convoy’s concern, only further adding to the tension of the situation.

Part of the reason Convoy had been so worried about his promise was exactly because Riptide had told him his schedule. Both Riptide and Ratchet would not be around today, he was completely alone in this endeavour. The mysterious panic button was a nice gesture, but clearly meant more than just a additional layer reassurance for Convoy. 

Riptide was acting suspiciously, avoiding Convoy’s optics as if he felt guilty for letting Convoy interact with the friendly bartender. But then he thought back to their previous encounters, and he began realising a trend. There was a pattern. 

The crude gestures made towards the bartender in his own store to minimise contact between him and the patrons, the abrupt manner in which the mech beside him had left upon coming into contact with the minibot. The crew members aboard the ship were actively avoiding him.

Riptide had been clear on not wanting to taint Convoy’s perception of the minibot before their scheduled meeting, so he had nothing to go off of other than the existing interactions he had with him. It was fun, listening to his heartfelt responses over the topic of new age media, the minibot had a passion for it as it would seem. Convoy couldn’t fathom the possibility that the mech that so openly shared his interests with him could be that bad.

So he steeled himself. Once made, a promise is to be kept. In spite of Riptide’s warnings, he was eager to see the minibot for himself. He would only judge a mech by the actions he has witnessed for himself. He was going back to Swerve’s.

Chapter Text

Swerve was excited. He found himself falling back into the repetitive rhythm of his work, tidying up the counter and prepping the engex dispensers for another day on the clock. The encounter from the other day was still freshly imprinted in his mind, the earnest promise from the mech by the counter left him giddy with his head above the clouds.

Someone was interested! In what he had to say!

There was someone out there who was willing to indulge him. Enthusiastic, even, to hear him out. He couldn’t wait to see him again. As strange as it was to see a new face, he supposed not every one of their new members had to drop by. It was expected, yes, but there were always the occasional Ultra Magnus’ who were stuck up about it like that, never taking a sip of engex in his history of functioning.

The formal sentences and upright posture of this Convoy fella had been a dead giveaway that he was one of those characters. No one in their right mind says ‘if you will allow me to address you as such’. But then again, no one in their right minds would cosplay as Optimus Prime either.

There was a strange sense of kinship when Swerve talked to him the night before. All of that stuffy formality in the air had evaporated the moment Convoy engaged his vocaliser. The ecstatic manner in which he pushed his questions towards Swerve felt so much like looking into a mirror. 

His smile widened as he recalled it. He couldn’t wait to see him again, to get to know the mech a little better. Who knows? Maybe he could even make a friend out of him? Well, that was actually the main intention. 

Swerve got lonely easily, that was a widely known fact after the events of Swearth. Even after which, no one had bothered to come back to check up on him. Though he knew they cared for him, it didn’t really feel like he mattered in the grand scheme of things. His own clique of minibots had been far too preoccupied with their personal lives as of late, and most of the crew members still treated him like a ghost at best, and a nuisance at worst. Overall, not a horrible situation, but still a little disheartening to say the very least.

The bartender was bubbling with excitement at the prospect of gaining a new friend, an acquaintance to share his thoughts with. As he continued to recollect his thoughts, however, another possibility floated through his processor. The mech did seem a little tipsy, his plating slightly flushed with energon rushing through his circuitry when he had been running his mouth the other day. 

There was a chance, as slim it was, that the mech might not even remember their conversation. His hands slowed to a stop, cloth trapped tightly in his grip as he placed the glass down on the counter gently. It couldn’t be… right?

His anxiety only grew as the day went on, guests shuffling into his bar one after another. With each figure passing through the doorway, he craned his helm upwards to have a better look at the features them, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red and blue mech. Maybe, it was true? Leave it Swerve to find the only bot in the galaxy that seemed to appreciate his presence and get them intoxicated enough to never come back.

His uneasy grin began to slip as the next wave of customers shuffled in. The part was in full swing by now, Blaster even brought his own sound board to facilitate the makeshift dance floor. The entire room was lively, covered from corner to corner in dazzlingly bright lights and energetic music. 

He was loosing steam, excitement turning to disappointment with every passing crowd. He had almost given up on his hope when the telltale sign of the large blue audial fins perked up from behind the crowd. The large, heavy duty mech beelined towards the counter, nudging aside the rowdy patrons to split them with ease. When he finally pushed through, he met the elated expression on Swerve’s face with a reassuring smile.

“You made it!” He exclaimed gleefully, extending his arms out and upwards in a big welcoming motion.

“A promise made is a promise kept.” Convoy replied easily, pulling the stool out from under the table. He made himself at home, order a glass of distilled energon instead to better enjoy the evening. He would rather retain his memories of the night he was going to spend out. “I believe you mentioned that you had additional material to shed some light on the brilliance of these ‘sitcoms’?”

Swerve jumped up at the mention, rushing over to his quant collection that he extracted from his stash over in his habsuite. He made sure to only pick out the highlights, the crème de la crème. Each disk in the pile he retrieved were from some of his favourite works re-written into a cybertronian-size compatible storage system.

“Boy do I! I know just the thing to get you started. Sit tight big guy, this is gonna blow you out of the waters!”

He immediately got to work, pulling up some of the classics from his list. The mech before him had admitted to never having indulged in entertainment before, so he was determined to lay bare all the genre had to offer.

He shortlisted a few of them, slotting them easily into the player under the counter. The screen above him had been playing some cable telecast that shorted out upon his input, receiving a small number of groans from the customers nearby who had been attentively watching it. He paid them no mind, it was his television after all, what he did and did not play was entirely up to him.

Despite the pumping music, the speakers near the counter were barely loud enough for the sound coming from the television to register in his audials. Swerve had left Convoy there at the counter to enjoy the media from the best seats in the house, occasionally popping by to relive his favourite scenes. 

His day went about as hectic as usual, the new rotation system from high command now in place to reduce overcrowding in the small establishment helped significantly, giving him pockets of time to come by and give his input or two to the captivated prime-doppelgänger.

And by the time the chime rang signalling the end of his shift, he was left alone in he bar with his bouncer and invited guest. This time, there was no one standing in the doorway demanding his presence. Convoy had well and truly kept to his word, making time for the jovial bartender late into the evening.

Swerve made his back to the counter after sweeping through the room, doing a preliminary inspection to clean up any stray shards from broken cubes and smooth out denting in the tables. 

The glasses were left to Ten, the cumbersome digits of the mechanical structure were not dexterous enough to take on a task of any more precision. In record time, the pair had finished tidying up the establishment so that the bartender could return to his seat next Convoy before the final disk had completed its run.

He plopped down wordlessly, staring attentively at the screen in a similar manner to the mech beside him. When the display faded to black and the credits started rolling, his guest turned back to meet his optics.

“That was-”

“Amazing right?” Convoy eagerly nodded despite the crude interruption. His helm bobbled up and down in excitement.

“Never before have I bore witness to such a refreshing form of content. I cannot quite put it in words. The chaotic nature of the storyline makes it difficult to make out the message the plot is attempting to deliver, however, the vibrant cast makes it difficult to find fault in the narrative. The rapid fire volley of lowbrow humour mixed in with the development of the plot lines is done so seamlessly and expertly that I cannot find fault within its direction!”

Swerve stayed uncharacteristically silent, patiently waiting for the larger mech to get all of his pent up emotions off his chest. He rested an elbow against the counter, supporting his cheek against his open servo as he watched on with glee. 

Convoy had been particularly cynical regarding the nonsensical situations depicted in the film. He gave a full length critique of its flawed logic flow and lack of coherent theming. Something Swerve couldn’t grasp it very well, but the sentiment was brought across. 

Convoy was a classy fellow, a connoisseur of literature as he had proudly proclaimed. He didn’t have a problem with comedy per say, it was more an issue with the era he had grown up in. The entertainment he grew up surrounded by vastly differed from the more lighthearted content that flooded the market today. 

A large part of that could be accredited to the war, the social unrest that had plagued his generation gave rise to countless individuals with their view oppressed and forced to express them in other more creative ways to circumvent the clamp down. 

On the other hand, once war broke out, the incredible amount of tragedy, violence had created a new market to pander to, a whole society beaten down by the endless conflict of two warring factions that needed a means of escape from their unfortunate realities. 

Suffice to say Swerve and Convoy’s opinion of what constituted a ‘comedy’ was vastly different. Though Convoy had some scathing opinions regarding the main subject of the series he had been shown, he still seemed to thoroughly enjoy it regardless. 

He was a little confused at the beginning, but quickly grasped the essence of the genre. The humour of the content laid not within the irony or inherent inescapable tragedy of the narrative, but rather the witty one liners and throwaway gags. It was an interesting experience, having such meaningless banter being shovelled into every line of dialogue, but it was that exact thing that provided its appeal. A story with no substance. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re not getting it my mech.” Swerve piped up as Convoy ended his evaluation with a smug look on his face plate. He pulled his free servo over to wag a digit in front of Convoy disapprovingly and clicked his glossy against the ceiling of his mouth. “It’s not a story with no substance, that ‘meaningless chatter’ is the substance. It builds character! Relatability! The finale doesn’t mean anything, because the meat of it lies in their journey!”

They took turns like this, having their arguments cycle back and forth on repeat as they defended their viewpoints. Their words held no malice, only carrying the enthusiasm each speaker had for their respective hobbies, which was met with a certain level of understanding in turn.

By the time their heated debate died down, a sense of satisfaction had taken root into their systems, both out of breath and parched from the non-stop discussion. 

“Well if you still aren’t convinced, I have couple more CDs in my room. These are just a handful from my collection.” Swerve followed up. His mouth moving faster than his processor as the words tumbled out without a thought.

He just invited someone to his habsuite. His musty, messy excuse of a living space. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, but it had been left in a state of disarray for quite some time. He hadn’t bothered tidying up since the only person who had been there in years was Skids, and that happened way back before the mutiny. 

Before he could retract his statement, however, Convoy had perked up in renewed interest, audial fins standing at attention. “You have more samples?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m a collector. Everything from dvd to blu-ray of all existing earthen sitcoms and beyond! There isn’t another collection out there quite like it!” His concern immediately forgotten in his flaunting. No one had every asked about his little scavenger hunt around the market places he hung around, so this was the very first time he had offered to show another bit his precious hoard.

“Then, if I could be so forward as to take you up on that offer?” Convoy tried hesitantly. He wasn’t used to making such personal requests, especially in casual settings. 

Swerve didn’t need to do a double take, lurching to his pedes without giving Convoy a chance to back out. “Of course! You really came to the right bot for the job!”

—-

One thing led to another, and before they knew it, here they were standing in the empty hallway before Swerve’s habsuite. The minibot eagerly rushed forward, getting up to the tips of his pedes and straining his frame upwards to reach the keypad due to his stature. A typical setback, one that he had gotten used to dealing with, only this time he made haste to avoid making his companion wait. 

“Pardon me.” A voice called out from behind.

As he struggled for the combination, he felt a pair of large servos press down on his sides, lifting him up to the height of the keypad for easy access. He was startled by the feeling, whipping his helm around to confirm that Convoy had, indeed, abandoned his idle position by the corridor and moved forward to help the minibot.

“You appeared troubled.” Convoy replied in a tender tone to Swerve’s perplexed expression. 

Swerve snapped himself out of his dazed state, quickly punching in the code which caused the heavy metal door to part. “O- Oh? That was… pretty nice of you big guy. Thanks.” 

Convoy let him down soon after. Gently positioning his servos near the ground to allow Swerve to stand on his own accord. A considerate action meant not to belittle the petite frame of the bartender, but to provide aid to a struggling friend. 

It warmed Swerve’s spark a little to have such a considerate companion. It was just the little things he did that made Swerve feel like he mattered. At the bar when he had attempted to take the nearby stool to sit next to him, Convoy had already adjusted the seat for him in anticipation of his actions. He provided aid upon seeing Swerve struggle with his stout stature. Even now, he held an arm out in front of the door sensors, gesturing for Swerve to enter first while holding the metal plates open for the minibot to make his move patiently.

As they made their way into the unruly room, Swerve scrambled to dig out any available comforters to accommodate his large friend, settling for a large circular cushion that actually served as padding for the larger disks in his collection. 

At the same time, he retried his mini set up comprised of an old CRT television he acquired on sale from a port side merchant together with an aged connecting disk port. It was a small display, but worked well for its intended usage of playing media for the minibot’s optics alone during his days of isolation.

Convoy took the seat Swerve had prepared gracefully, taking extra precautions not to disturb the delicate placement of the Earthen objects littered across the cluttered room. Swerve immediately identified the problem, stacking up another few items below his small screen so that Convoy could view the screen at optic level without bending too far down.

“How’s that?” He questioned, crossing his arms and admiring his own handiwork after completing the structure. A chaotic structure, but stable nonetheless. He couldn’t actually see the screen all that well himself from his seat next to Convoy, but his guest was given a premium first row seat to histories best comedy flicks known to humankind and that was more than enough for him.

“Perfect. I truly appreciate all the consideration.” Convoy thanked in turn.

As the colourful pixels burst onto the surface of the display, Convoy’s keen optics once again took notice of the minibot craning his helm to get a proper look at the screen. He wordless reached towards Swerve’s frame, prodding at the plating to signal his intentions to the barkeep. 

When he received a confused but affirmative response from the minibot who raised his arms to provide easier access to the larger mech, Convoy hoisted him up, pulling him into his lap where the minibots helm fit snugly under Convoy’s own. The view drastically improved, allowing Swerve to take in the sight from a comfortable angle.

The duo continued watching the stack of films while locked in the pleasant embrace. Convoy’s plating ran hotter than Swerve’s, the heavy duty truck’s engine rumbled softly behind the minibot as Convoy held him steady. The warm feeling of energon pumping steadily through Convoy’s wiring spread over to Swerve’s plating. The heat soothed his tense cabling causing him to relax into the hold.

A few episodes later, and Swerve was starting to find it difficult to keep his optics online. His retorts and excited quips regarding the series had become less and less energetic. By the fifth credit roll, it was Convoy that spoke up on the fact.

“Swerve? Are you quite alright?” He lightly nudged the minibot to gather his attention. 

Swerve startled awake at the motion, quickly wiping away the leaking oral lubricant from his mouth before rushing to reply. “Huh?! Yeah! No worries here! We can keep going!”

Convoy tilted his helm downwards to take a better look at his barely functioning companion before making a decisive decision. “Ah, you appear weary. Perhaps it would be better to turn in for the night?”

“N- No! But we still have so much left to look at!” He exclaimed, a hint of desperation tainting his voice. He planted his servo onto the surface of Convoy’s forearms, unconsciously tightening his grip on the pliable metal beneath.

Convoy didn’t instantly react to the pressure, taking his time to bring a servo up to rub gentle circles into the minibot’s back. “Naturally. Your collection remains far too vast for us to explore in its entirety in the span of one cycle. If you are so amenable to it, might we reschedule?”

Swerve visibly brightened at the suggestion, swinging his head up and down in a forceful manner to show his eagerness. 

“Mhm, that sounds great! Let’s do that then. Not like I have much going on after each shift.” His volume faded at the last sentence, as if Convoy was not supposed to hear it. And out of courtesy, he pretended it was so. He chuckled softly at the enthusiastic display, tentatively setting Swerve down onto the ground.

“Then it shall be so. Would it be impertinent of me to suggest the next cycle for our next rendezvous?” He asked softly, taking extra precautions to not startle the minibot slowly slipping into recharge as they shuffled towards the door.

“Mhm, that sounds… Just dandy…” smaller mech’s words trailed off as he battled against the fog clouding his processor. The revelation of Convoy’s willingness to return had assuaged all of his immediate fears, the sudden influx of relief flooding his emotional control unit flushed away the tension keeping him alert.

The larger mech sunk down to his optic level, a large, gentle servo outstretched to tenderly stroke his helm. “Sweet dreams.” The deep voice whispered into his audials. The silhouette of his companion faded into the light of the desolate hallway together with the soft thud of pedes hitting the ground. Swerve watched on until the very last moment before returning back into the room with an audible click to signify the secure electronic lock on the door slotting into place. 

He crawled back under the sheets lining the cold metal of his berth, mind still dwelling on the vivid imagery freshly imprinted onto his processor. The retreating figure of that red and blue blur ebbed as the final visage of his strength faded, yet Swerve let himself fall into recharge without worry. A single comforting thought lingered as he felt the warmth of the plush cotton sheets envelope his frame. He would be seeing Convoy again soon. Convoy promised. And when he promised, he followed through.

Chapter Text

Riptide’s original warning did little to deter Convoy from contacting the impish bartender, and their now blooming amicable correspondence had rendered his panic button unnecessary. Their meetings become more and more regular ever since their agreement, falling into a rhythm. Every 10 solar cycles or so they would gather in the minibot’s quaint habsuite for a screening, bickering back and forth with energy levels as high as the day they first met. Words came easy between the pair, never having to force each unfiltered reaction and expression that slipped past the usual masks they wore around strangers.

At some point their relationship had evolved, from strangers to acquaintances and most recently, friends. It’s hadn’t been an easy escalation for either party. Swerve had his own fair share of scepticism from the amount of ‘friends’ who had slowly but surely receded from his side, he was understandably hesitant to accept a new companion by his side. 

But with their repeated meetings, the development happened slowly but surely with each interaction forging a deeper bond between them subconsciously. Without either party realising, the phrase ‘friend’ had become a regular occurrence, slipping out within their interactions every now and again without a hint of insincerity.

They had begun warming up to each other’s presence, actively taking up each other’s time while Swerve remained on shift. They didn’t have much time to interact outside of which, and that made the time they did have together so much more precious. 

It happened one night, an evening that started as innocuous as any other. They had crammed themselves into the minibots habsuite, taking their time in selecting their reels for the evening. All it took was an off handed comment from the bartender, a complain ment to air his frustration at the makeshift set up.

“Ugh, the dead pixel in the corner is still there. I tried getting it fixed, but it never stays that way for long. If only I had a better setup…” He bemoaned his fate, moving forward to smack around the aged television. This wasn’t the first time his ancient display had broken down from overuse, but he usually managed to get it sorted by himself. This time, however, was the first time it had happened before Convoy himself.

He turned back to glance at his silent companion, lost deep in thought at the minibot’s complaint, optic ridges furrowed in contemplation. Despite the archivist more reticent nature, he was always happy to banter with the minibot so his uncommunicative reaction was a far from natural. Swerve stepped closer to the larger mech, tapping lightly on his chassis out of equal parts curiosity and concern. 

“Hey? You alright there?” He asked.

Convoy snapped out of his daze, nodding in tow as he made a suggestion. “Hmm? Yes. Of course. I was merely thinking on what you said. I… happen to know of a place we could relocate to if you are interested.”

“You do?” Swerve perked up at the comment, climbing back up to his regular position on Convoy’s crossed legs. “It’s not the bar is it? That’s not nearly conducive enough for a movie night.”

“No, assuredly not.” He chuckled in response, a low rumble emitting from his powerful engines as he did so. “I was referring to the archives. There is a terminal with projection functionality in the main hall for meeting, not that anyone has booked such a venture as of late.”

“Oh! I know you worked there, but are we- I don’t know. Allowed to? It’s really late, past the opening hours actually. And I definitely didn’t peg you as the rule breaker type.” He retorted.

Convoy only shook his head in response. “Not exactly. Though it may be a publicly available facility, it very much lies in my domain. If I choose to keep it open then there is no one, save for high command, who should see fit to claim otherwise.”

“Huh?” A startled phrase tumbled out of Swerve’s vocaliser as the cogs in his helm began turning. “Wait so that means… Huh?”

When it finally clicked, his optics grew wide under his visor, mouth hanging loosely as he loudly exclaimed his conclusion. “You OWN the archives?!”

“Verily so.” Came a slightly nonchalant reply. As if he hadn’t just admitted to claiming a stake in the largest data storage facility since Cybertron fell. The lost light was a big ship, the size of which rivaled cities and even entire continents depending on the planet, which meant it held many facilities that were far larger than any normal voyaging vessel. The archives was one of them, boasting not just the largest physical capacity to hold data, but information store in general. 

Many bots tended to treat it as a dumping ground, but its diverse crew had actually managed to unconsciously create a comprehensive database from Cyclonus’ and Rewind’s recounts of pre-war Cybertron filling up the history and non-fiction sections, to Brainstorm’s discarded notes on their old quantum engine models in the sciences section. As unassuming as it may have been below deck, any archivist worth their salt would have been foaming at the mouth to receive the opportunity to manage such a collection. And Convoy just so happened to be that lucky mech.

And with that they set off. Convoy brought the minibot into his servos, letting him rest on his forearm as he trudged down the hallway to avoid the pacing issues with regards to the difference in leg-span. Swerve fit comfortably in the space carved out for him by the larger mech, slotting himself into the corner created by the intersection of Convoy’s arm and chassis. 

He carried a handful of cartridges, each selected from an assortment of different series for comparison sake. Though he had been aware of the recent revamp of the archives, he was still sceptical of the archaic structure. The episodes he had in hand were duplicates copied onto terminal port compatible storage units, the only units he was willing to sacrifice in the case where the system devoured his collection without spitting it back out. Call him paranoid, but there was no other way he could maintain the sanctity of his hoard otherwise.

The minibot was pleasantly surprised when he arrived to the sight of the well kept facility. He had wondered about the overhaul that happened in the basement since Convoy had mentioned his occupation as an archivist. Though word had spread that the basement got a few renovations, the last any crew members every hear of it was from Rodimus’ short lived conviction of exploring it died down when he apparently realised it was just a communication error if the official statement from high command was to be trusted.

Although he knew it was tidied up after the sparkeater saga prompted a deep clean of the ship, it still stunned him that such a regal structure laid just a few layer under their living quarters. The countless rows of datapads that lined each shelf coupled with the well maintained sleek white coating of the structures gave it a formal feel, a sense of majesty. It far beyond anything he could have imagined.

When they got to the centre of the room where a large terminal stood, Convoy placed Swerve down onto his pedes and made haste, clearing away the neatly arranged chairs and desks surrounding the projector to make space for their usage. He confidently adjusted the height of the terminal to its lowest setting, then briefly slipped into the back of the labyrinth of an archive to retrieve a few plush cushions for the pair to settle into.

Though Swerve’s expectations were rock bottom when he heard the phrase ‘archive’, he was glad he agreed to Convoy’s suggestion. The terminal, while a little dated, was still far more powerful than his dingy equipment, springing to life with crisp graphics displayed proudly in the air. The screen was also fairly wide, larger than Rewind’s own projector that he kept in his room. It was slightly smaller than a full sized space bridge display, giving the minibot a grand view of the contents even from his position in the floor. It was perfect.

As the video began to play, the two settled into a comfortable silence. They sat next to each other on the floor, using the pillows to cushion themselves. Despite the great view and spacious environment, it still felt wrong to Swerve. The large vacant space made him feel much smaller, so insignificant in comparison to the sheer size of the empty space. It didn’t help that there was no one else around, the dim lighting in the room gave it an oppressive atmosphere that only served to further unnerve the minibot. 

It wasn’t an unusual feeling though, the same could be said about that oversized bedroom of his. Clearly meant for two, yet the minibot was the only one to call it home. How long has it been since he last felt that way about the place? He wondered idly.

That cold empty room of his was his prison. The vacant bed before him always stood as a reminder of how alone he truly was. Yet somehow, somewhere down the line, that gaping hole in his spark had been filled. That big empty space had been crammed with the two of them, side by side as Convoy’s large frame crowded the room. At some point, that room had become too small. 

So he reached out, scooting closer to the warmth radiating off of the archivists frame and pulling himself up to hold onto his side. And when Convoy used his open servo to gently pat the small of his back in response, he relaxed into the touch. He was no longer alone.

—-

“That was… AMAZING! How do you live knowing you have such incredible graphics at your fingertips and NOT use it?!” Swerve exclaimed at the end of their viewing. His attention had been sucked into the screen, hanging off of every little movement made across the pixels. The high quality of the images had him drooling over the console, keeping his rapt attention throughout the night.

“I’ll never understand you mech.” He chided, huffing in a sarcastic tone. 

“But thanks.” He muttered, his volume dropping low. “For doing this for me I mean. I don’t know what kind of rules you had to bend to keep this place open, but I just wanted to you to know that I really do appreciated it.”

He began twiddling his thumbs, looking down at his swirling digits instead of Convoy’s optics out of awkwardness. No one had really gone to such lengths for him before, and now that somebody had, it was a little difficult to know how he was meant to react.

“Nonsense. If anyone should be giving thanks, it should be me, my friend.” Convoy firmly replied. He shook his head at Swerve’s statement, denying it with his whole spark. “Admittedly, I have been struggling with interactions, but it was that fervent passion of yours that drew me out of reclusion. I would not be here with you right now if you hadn’t shown such initiative.”

He proclamation remained resolute, puffing his chest out in a show of confidence. He backed down the moment Swerve began regaining his spirit, peeking up at the positive affirmation. 

“And although I do chose to keep the archives close during the evening, I only do so that I may rest unperturbed. And rest assured I most certainly do not believe our meetings to be a nuisance.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s actually pretty nice of-” His voice trailed off as his processor kicked into action, picking up parts of the conversation slowly but surely despite its tired state.

“Wait, hold the phone. You LIVE there?!” Swerve cried out, scandalised by each subsequent reveal. He began realising that Convoy’s complete lack of paper trail and aversion to sharing details of his personal life beyond his hobbies may have been a red flag in and of itself. “Is that legal? Wait, more importantly, then what’s going on with your hab? And your roommate?”

Convoy cocked his helm to the side in confusion as he considered Swerve’s words. “I do not understand. I have no any accommodations outside of my existing arrangements.”

“Huh?” Sprung a second round of reflection as the minibot parroted back the puzzled sound he had made prior. “HUH?! You mean to say that you weren’t given a room? Like, at all? That’s terrible! Even Whirl has a room! Have you complained to high command about it yet? Magnus can probably sort you out quick if Rodimus was sleeping on the request again.”

Convoy quickly denied the fierce allegations. Although he did appreciate the concern from his companion, he felt slightly abashed at the misunderstanding. He had sworn to Riptide that he would make his way out of his confinement eventually, but that proved far more difficult to achieve considering his less than ideal living conditions. He was trying to improve, but that took time, time that Swerve was implying he was thinking of expediting.

“I assure you he has done nothing of the sort. I simply haven’t found it in me to submit an application. It would be wrong of me to intrude on the abode of another mech, especially since my current accommodations are nowhere near uninhabitable.” He confirmed.

Despite Convoy’s confident statement, Swerve’s jaw remained where it was, hanging low without a hint of relief. “That… kinda makes it worse? They’re really making you live out of that dump?! Just ‘cuz you think that’s all fine and dandy doesn’t mean that it is??”

Convoy’s vehement denial seemed to do nothing to dissuade his critical friend, only sinking himself further and further down into a spiral of revealing more damming information with each attempt at ‘explaining’ the situation. When it became apparent that Convoy felt cornered, Swerve backed off from the interrogation, shifting backwards to give Convoy more of his personal space back.

A thought crossed his mind. A deep craving of his that needed to be satisfied bubbled its way to the surface as he considered the situation carefully. 

“Hey,” He started again, shuffling closer to Convoy. “If you don’t have a place to stay, then you could always drop by my habsuite?”

His visor shone with a hopeful glow, a sliver of optimism left over from his long abandoned desires. How long had he yearned for the company of others? He had stopped sending requests after a while after the first few years on board the ship was spent on futile attempts to recruit a roommate. He already knew what to expect, no one wanted to spend their time with a nuisance like him, but even still he remained optimistic.

“I-It can be a casual thing y’know?! Like a sleep over! I just so happen to be missing a roomie right now. Whaddya say?” He added, flailing his arms wildly as he tried to entice the soft spoken archivist to agree to his suggestion.

Convoy was taken aback by the inquiry, listening in respectful silence to the minibots zealous defences. To think there was a bot out there generous enough not only to share the more intimate details of their hobbies, but to even offer him a place. It felt disorienting, after spending years surrounded by shrew individuals, all at each others throat and holding their cards too close to their chests, the earnest request warmed his spark. Somebody wanted to spend time with him. Convoy, Orion. Not the Prime.

“I would honoured to. If you will have me that is.” He replied with a soft smile, the traces of which could be seen from the edges of his optics. Swerve leapt up at the statement, excitedly taking Convoy’s servo into his as he pulled him to his pedes in his newfound vigour. He hummed happily down the hallway as he escorted the archivist to his humble abode. Though he had long given up his hope of obtaining a new roommate, Red Alert’s old berth was the one place left untouched by his unruly collection.

He quickly parted the piles of disks and data slugs upon entering the room, making way for Convoy’s much larger build and patting down the dusty berth. The larger mech accepted the amicable gesture, sitting across from the minibot and leaning back into the wall. He could see the nervous expression on Swerve’s face, a mix of worry and excitement blended together. 

Swerve had never gotten this far with anyone before, even Skids barely spent any time with him in the bar, let alone visited him in his room. This was something new, a mech willing to make time for him, a mech who was happy to spend time with him. A friend.

Swerve is a talkative bot, no doubt. But talkative is not to be mistaken with open. He talks about many things, his past experience, Rodimus’ exciting adventure plans, Brainstorm’s next nutty experiment. He’s uncomfortable with silence, cramming every waking moment with words to fill the space. Silence gives him time to think, and all it ever leads to is those negative thoughts consuming his processor. 

Swerve is lonely. He has been for the past seven years. He yearns so desperately for affection, and yet it is the one thing, the one request that he is unable to put into words. He’s embarrassed by it, his inability to stop himself from being so petty. He feels jealousy at the sight of others living out their happy lives because he’s ultimately always left in the dust without a second thought. He cries out for attention in the only ways he can, the lighthearted pranks and practical jokes all serving to draw the ire of his fellow crew mates. It didn’t matter if they hated him, because at least he knew they would acknowledge him. 

Even after coming to terms with his emotions after being dragged out of Swearth, all that remained was a hollow husk of a spark. Consciously, he would tell himself that they cared, they wouldn’t have come to save him otherwise. But every time he looked back at the empty bar when it closed, he is always forced to confront the same conclusion. They aren’t here for him. They’re here for the drinks. Gradually, those thoughts would begin to spiral, and every time he would clamp them down by drowning the silence out with words. He didn’t want to be left alone, not even in his own thoughts to stew.

But now, things were different. He had something to look forward to at the end of each day. A mech that came by without fail. Convoy was there, even on days without plans made, he made it a point to show up regularly, if not to indulge in drinks, then to help out. He would stay back after hours, clearing tables with the bouncer to lighten the load on the minibot without prompting. He would escort Swerve back to his habsuite, making the most of what little free time the duo had, and checking in to make sure he got home safe. 

He cared. Despite Swerve’s atrocious reputation and self-centred attitude, Convoy remained. And that meant more to him than anything in the galaxy. It was a chance he wasn’t going to let slip away, so he called back to the larger mech before they turned in for the night, his tired processor working overtime to string together the right sentence.

“Hey Convoy, I know this is a little strange, but I have a request.” His serious expression gave Convoy pause, a hint of concern flaring in his field.

“Of course my friend, what appears to be the matter?” He replied slowly.

“Do you…” Swerve started up again, bitting down on his lip plates as his nerves began to take a hold of him. “Wanna become amicas? Amica Endurae I mean.”

The weight of the request laid heavy upon Convoy’s audials, prompting a further inquisition from the larger mech. “I do not mean to belittle such an sincere request, but I would, however, like to inquire if there is a reason for the request?”

Swerve nodded, bowing his helm slightly. He had been ashamed of his behaviour, being unable to be honest with even himself about the state of his affairs. But Convoy’s initial statement when they had met stayed with him, the archivists admission of solitude, his desire to grow past his insecurities. Swerve wanted to be able to face those fears of his face on, just as Convoy had managed to. 

“Because I’m lonely.” He whispered. There were no tears, no tragic tale for him to elaborate on, just the plain, simple truth.

“I… believe I understand.” Convoy continued, moving closer to Swerve as he spoke. There were no words that needed to be said, the dusty berth and hoards of supplies pushed into a corner of the room told him enough. “I thank you for your honesty, but I believe you may be too hasty to make an important decision. I understand your feelings well, and I do not wish to take advantage of your vulnerability.”

His statement was resolute. Swerve was afraid his spark might have shattered if Convoy outright told him no, but being rejected in such a long winded speech to avoid hurting his feelings somehow felt worse than that. Not that he had been expecting otherwise. At the very least, he could live without regret knowing he tried.

“Three stellar cycles.” Convoy proclaimed, shaking Swerve out of his self-deprecating spiral. “If your feelings remain the same after three stellar cycles then I would be more than happy to accept.”

An indescribable feeling of elation blossomed in Swerve’s spark chamber, energon rushing straight to his face plate as he lit up at the affirmation. “You- You promise?”

His hands had unconsciously reached out again, gripping on to Convoy’s plating. The archivist laid him down gently, tucking him into the soft blanket on his berth before replying. “I do. A promise made must be a promise kept, after all.”

He sat by Swerve’s beside for a while, the minibots unrelenting grip holding him close as if he was afraid the moment wouldn’t last. “So amicas-to-be?”

“Amicas-to-be.” Convoy confirmed. He gave another reassuring squeeze to the minibots arm, whispering in a hushed tone as the exhausted minibot slipped into recharge. “Good night, my dear friend.”

He gently lifted the servo off of his own plating, resting it by Swerve’s side. Swerve allowed himself to sink into the soft fabric lining the berth, a wry smile breaking out from under the covers as he tucked himself snug against the blanket with a thought bouncing back and forth within his mind making him dizzy with joy. That the berth beside him would no longer be empty when he woke up.

Chapter Text

Weeks had passed without news. Despite Riptide’s incessant attempts at dissuading the archivist, Convoy had continued to revisit the bar unsupervised. Sometimes Riptide would feel himself on edge when Convoy would rouse later in the day than usual, the usually punctual and diligent archivist would occasionally come in looking sluggish and exhausted. Although it didn’t happen all the time, it was often enough for Riptide to begin noticing a pattern. A pattern like that obviously led to him drawing some not so savoury conclusions about the ‘friend’ Convoy had made in general knowing Swerve’s reputation.

He hesitated to call Convoy out for it at his insistence that it was not the bartender’s fault. Convoy clearly wanted this, and as much as Riptide cared, this was not his place to intervene if it wasn’t causing Convoy any direct harm or distress. It did get very tempting though, when Convoy had begun sending cryptic messages like ‘office hours have been adjusted to the following. Apologies for the inconvenience.’ or ‘archive will be out of bounds during the following duration due to scheduling conflict:’

His new relationship seemed to be doing wonders to get him out of the room, but started raising eyebrows as it began eating into not just his private time but working hours and rest. The mental image of Swerve plus an emotionally stunted hermit didn’t quite make for a pretty picture either. In any case, Riptide was concerned.

As per usual, his day started off with a fresh set of tasks from the bridge. though his duty roster has died down significantly after the first few cycles, he still remained the only bot willing to venture into the cellar. This time, there was a slight oddity he encountered on the repetitive travel to work, an anomaly he couldn’t help but find himself distracted by. As he entered the room, a tiny figure in the distance could be seen hurtling towards the archive at high speeds with the sound of metal colliding with the ground reverberating through the room accompanying it.

“Woah?! What in the world?” Riptide jumped at the foreign presence, almost instinctively whipping out his firearm again like his previous encounter with the archivist. It wasn’t his fault that there were a plethora of ghost stories surrounding the place! Especially since a stray spark eater has historically caused catastrophic damages to the ship and crew members.

He had gotten the suspicious ping from Convoy the day before, requesting his absence during a very specific slot of time in the evening. At first he had been worried that Convoy had landed himself in hot water, but the amount of follow up messages had reassuring him otherwise had somewhat convinced him to leave it be. Although he many never recover fully from the emotional distress the simple sentence ‘Do not look for me.’ Caused him when the message had first arrived.

When he spotted the splash of red and white entering the large gunmetal grey doors ahead of him, he was confused. He hesitated to call them an intruder since the archives was technically a public domain, but it had remained deserted for so long he had almost forgotten that it didn’t serve merely as Convoy’s personal library and habitat.

He stealthily shadowed the mysterious figure through the archives, depositing his crates near the entrance to give himself more leeway to move around and get better view of the subject. As aspected, it had been a familiar face. The white and red minibot from the bar, entrepreneur and bartender holding the monopoly on the market, infamous for both his business exploits and nasty streak of pranks that had only gotten worse since Anode joined their midst. 

After Riptide’s repeated warnings and even gifting Convoy his distress signal, the presence of the bartender intruding on the archivist’s sanctuary had all sorts of alarms blaring in his helm. This was probably something to worry about. He watched Swerve move further into the archive, ignoring the shelves full of archaic information in favour of beelining to the break room.

He held a servo out, within it laid a small box wrapped nicely with an orange ribbon strapped onto it. A small note peaked out from the side, held in place by the tight bond of the ribbon against the box. Riptide though through the many scenarios of what could go wrong, namely, the wayward bartender opting to play a prank on the ‘new guy’ as a hazing ritual.

Though his faith in Convoy remained unwavering, the amount of time and effort he had placed into coaxing the archivist out was no joke, and he wanted to prevent a backslide as much as possible. Even if Convoy was stronger than that, emotionally he was unwilling to make his dear friend go through such a harrowing experience so early on into their voyage. So he waited, if only to see what kind of dastardly action he would take against the meek librarian.

Swerve had cut through the silence first, a few light thuds resounding through the still air as he knocked on the door politely. He waited for Convoy to open the door and acknowledge him, before handing the miniature gift box over to him who accepted it sheepishly. Riptide moved closer, craning his helm to get a better angle to eavesdrop on the pair.

“-ou weren’t expecting anything in return, but I wanted to do something for you y’know, to thank you for the other day. I figured you could probably use this, seeing the terminal has a few rusted wiring and all.” The box contained a set of brand new cables, each with an adapter fitted into it to allow for frame interface and dataslug compatibility. It had been a significant upgrade from the shoddy scraps that Convoy had scrapped together while refurbishing, bandwidth at least twice what his current set had allowed for. 

He vehemently rejected at first, citing his original intent of making sure Swerve was able to be comfortable having an amicable relationship that didn’t devolve into a transactional one, but Serve had insisted. A scene so reminiscent of his own actions it almost made Riptide chuckle at the sight. Leave it to Convoy not even considered the hypocrisy of pushing the same narrative on to someone else but not accepting it in turn. A true bleeding spark.

“Even if you don’t want it for yourself, just think of it as an upgrade for movie night. Not like I’m not getting anything out of it either, the frame rate of your terminal isn’t all up to scratch by Lost Light standards even if the graphics are stellar.” He stated matter of factly. 

Riptide was watching on in raptured interest, after weeks of trying to haul Convoy back to the bar to socialise, he had all but given up on his social prospects, but now what he was hearing news that sounded like music to his audials. The other day? Movie night? He had finally taken the first step towards making a friend all by himself. His little hermit, finally all grown up. He could almost shed a tear.

He peaked back out from behind the shelf when their exchange had begun to drag on, somehow switching topics from their meeting to ‘Saturday night television’ and ‘canceled reruns’ what ever that meant. He awkwardly cleared his throat, getting the attention of the duo who had been conversing jovially, absorbed in their own world. It made him feel a little guilty, butting in like that, but he had a feeling they weren’t going to stop anytime soon.

“So, are you going to introduce me?” Riptide asked, out of curtesy of course, no one aboard the Lost Light needed introduction, but Convoy was very much unfamiliar with a majority of the crew, so he artificially created the opportunity for Convoy to feel empowered in his own mission to break out of his shell. Sometimes, his own genius shocked him.

As expected, Swerve stared at him in confusion, about to open his mouth to question him. Convoy, on the other hand, looked up ecstatic at his companion. “Ah, Riptide, you have arrived. I assume you require no introduction, but this here is Swerve. My friend.”

The rare sing-song tone of his voice melted his heart, Convoy had been so hesitant before, yet he spoke with confidence, a sense of glee inflected in his tone. Though he couldn’t see past his battle mask, Riptide just knew that there was a big grin plastered underneath the surface of the sturdy metal. Convoy then turned to Swerve and continued. “And Swerve, this here is Riptide, the good friend I had mentioned from before.”

Convoy escorted them to his room, drawing some chairs for them to get comfortable. He retrieved a few cubes from his now depleting store of energon next to his berth, and passed them to the duo, before excusing himself apologetically. Another stash of data from the mainframe had been deposited, prompting him to rush out to sort it before it got caught up with the rest of the discarded pile.

The moment he left, the pair locked optics. Riptide beat Swerve to the punch, going for the obvious. He already knew how they met, and while he was desperately curious about why Swerve specifically, he felt more inclined to question Convoy directly, instead, he went for the second most important question. “You better not have asked for an autograph.”

It came out more of a statement. A preemptive warning. Swerve just looked on, incredulous at the conversation opener. “I… what? Why would I??” Unable to contain his confusion, he stuttered out.

“Look man, I know you’re kind of a celebrity nut, everyone knows about the Blurr incident, no need to be embarrassed about it. I don’t really care about any of that personally, just don’t bring it up to Convoy, mech. It’s a sensitive topic.” He shook his helm solemnly. An entirely hypocritical statement coming from the mech who had technically coerced that confession out of him, but a heartfelt sentiment nonetheless.

“Okay, first of all that was rude. Secondly, what exactly am I missing here, because getting an autograph had never once crossed my processor. Fill me in.” He leaned forward, pressing his audials towards Riptide with an optic ridge pushed at an impossibly sharp angle. His curiosity shone through his visor, laying itself bare on his faceplate as he shifted closer to the aquatic speedster.

He was most definitely scandalised by the idea of being called a ‘celebrity nut’. He wasn’t like that to just anyone! He wasn’t particularly into Cybertronion pop culture and celebrities, Blurr just held a special place in spark. Call him an obsessive fan, but the speedster held a significance to Swerve like no other. Dumbing his passion towards the racer down to a mere ‘celebrity hype’ was insulting.

Usually would get upset. Angry, even. However, his desire to dig further into the mysterious statement Riptide had mentioned trumped all else. What could he say? He was a nosy bot. 

Leaving the two troublemakers in the same room together unsupervised was proving to be the worst possible decision of Convoy’s short lived career. Convoy had learnt this the hard way when he finally sorted the new batch of data, coming back to the break room to entertain his guests, only to be greeted by the sharp sound of Swerve shrieking in his audials next to a winded Riptide who was clutching his abdomen, hollering in short bursts of laughter as Swerve stared at Convoy in the doorway in shock and sheer disbelief.

“MY AMICA IS OPTIMUS PRIME???” 

“You- you really didn’t kn- WAIT YOUR WHAT?!?!”

Oh dear, this was the beginnings of a friendship most terrible.