Archive of Our Own

“Roddy, are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Drift asked, his audial fins canted down with concern. “I know how hard this is for you and I don't want you to be alone.”

Rodimus bit back a comment. Primus below, he loved his amica dearly but he wasn’t some sparkling that needed coddling. 

“Drift,” he began. “It’s fine. Nyon was a long time ago. I’m just continuing an old tradition that I haven’t been able to do in vorns. I’m not going to fall apart or anything.” Rodimus flashed him a grin. There, that oughta convince him.

Drift didn’t look convinced.

“I’m just worried because you never actually grieved Nyon,” he said. “I don’t want this tradition dredging up old feelings when you're by yourself. As it is, your aura isn’t as…” Drift gestured at him vaguely. “Vibrant.”

Rodimus scoffed. “Really, Drift? Vibrant?” Rodimus turned away, busying himself with checking the thrusters.

(They were fine.)

So what if he didn’t grieve Nyon? Sure, it might’ve been his home, but that was so long ago that Rodimus had lived more of his life out of it than he did in it. Besides, that had been the plan if it looked like Zeta was going to win. They all agreed to it—if they were going to go out, then they would go out on their own terms rather than be used for Zeta’s machine.

Rodimus just didn’t expect he would be the one to detonate the bombs.

The force of the blast sent him staggering, the fire bathed the world in red, smoke and ash coating the skies and smothering the ground, buildings reduced to nothing more than twisted shapes and husks, his friends shattering and melting before his optics, oh Primus his friends what did he do I’m so sorry what did he do this was the only way what did he do Zeta will never have Nyon what did he do we won but at what cost what did he do his home was gone what did he do what did he do WHAT DID HE DO—

Rodimus bit his glossa. He dragged himself out of old memories he’d rather stayed buried and forced himself into the present with his amica.

“Seriously, Drift, I’ll be fine,” Rodimus said, not turning around, refusing to meet his amica’s optics because he was afraid of what he would find. “Besides, this is something I have to do.”

He heard Drift sigh. Rodimus braced himself for another argument for Drift to join him, but instead, a pair of slender arms curled around his chest and a lithe body pressed against his back. Rodimus melted the hug and Drift let his helm fall against his, their engines purring.

“Fine,” Drift relented and Rodimus silently cheered his victory. “But just promise me that you’ll comm me if anything happens, okay?”

Rodimus huffed. Always such a worrywart. No wonder he and Ratchet got along so well. “Yeah, yeah. So long as you give me all the details about you and Ratchet later.” Rodimus smirked. “I hear it’s date night.”

Drift snorted and bonked his helm against Rodimus’. “No it’s not. I rescheduled it to tomorrow because I thought I was going with you tonight.”

“Nope!” Rodimus said gleefully, popping the p. “As it turns out, there’s a weird thing that needs to be investigated at Swerve’s and it requires our former CMO and our head of defense.”

Rodimus could practically hear Drift’s optic roll at his use of the white speedsters new position. Honestly though, he should’ve expected this. When Rodimus proposed making Drift the head of defense at the officers meeting and put it to a vote, the decision had been unanimous. Drift had taken some time to come around to the idea but eventually, the combined forces of his amica and conjunx convinced him. Besides, who better to be in charge of keeping their home safe than Drift, one of Cybertron’s most formidable warriors?

But naturally, once Drift accepted the position, Rodimus had taken every opportunity to call Drift by his new title, much to his amica’s chagrin.

Then what Rodimus said clicked in, and Drift untangled himself from their hug and stepped in front of Rodimus. “You did not.”

“I did.” Rodimus winked.

Drift barked a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And your wingmech. Now go.” Rodimus gently shoved Drift in the direction of the door, “You’re going to be late to your date!”

Drift hesitated, his smile faltering. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright by yourself?”

Rodimus rolled his optics. “My answer is still yes, just like the last four million times you asked me that question,” he said impatiently. “Shoo! Don’t leave your hot date waiting. And say hi to Ratchet for me!”

Drift laughed again, still amazed, and started leaving the hanger. “I will. Love you, Roddy!”

“Love you too!”

Rodimus watched Drift leave until he was left alone in the hanger.

Finally.

Rodimus turned back to the Rod Pod, servo on hip. “Let’s get this show on the road,” he hummed.

“Captain!”

Rodimus bit back several choice words that would send Minimus into a tizzy. Instead, Rodimus let his helm fall onto the hull with a loud thunk!

What is it now?  

Rodimus turned to see Thunderclash walking toward him, wearing his usual annoyingly cheerful look. Seriously, what was so good in his life that made him that happy? It was weird. It weirded Rodimus out further when he noticed that Thunderclash only seemed to do that around him. What’s up with that?

“Sup, Thunders,” Rodimus greeted when the mech got closer. “You need something?”

Thunderclash shook his helm, still smiling. “Not at the moment. I just finished helping Riptide unload some things for Lotty.”

Rodimus cycled his optics. He didn’t even know that there was anyone else here.

He peered around the mech, and yup, it was just him and Thunderclash. “I don’t see Riptide.”

“He took the last box to medbay,” Thunderclash explained. “I’m not doing anything else, so I thought I’d come say hi, and maybe chat with you.”

Rodimus raised a ridge. “So you finished your task, saw me, and decided that I would make better company than your adoring fan club?”

Thunderclash snorted. “Having an “adoring fan club” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. They mean well but they can be exhausting.”

“What, they ran out of compliments?” Rodimus deadpanned.

Thunderclash shrugged. “Having to recount probably the most traumatic moment of my life and other similarly awful memories repeatedly isn’t exactly the greatest thing.”

Rodimus winced. Yeah, that’s fair. “I see your point.”

Thunderclash chuckled, a sound that shouldn’t make his spark spin faster but it did (stop it, bad spark!)

“So,” Thunderclash said. “What’s your heading, Captain?”

Rodimus hesitated. He didn’t share anything about Nyon or its traditions. It felt… well, not wrong but something akin to that. He never felt comfortable enough to talk about it. Besides, it’s not like bots would understand. Nyon had always been a little unorthodox compared to other cities—mecha just never seemed to grasp it. Pit, even Drift had a hard time getting anything out of Rodimus. It was only after they became amica’s and Drift could experience Rodimus’ life in Nyon through his memories did he understand.

The other reason was everytime he brought up Nyon, bots would get nervous and treat the topic like it was taboo, which was stupid since Rodimus was the one who brought it up in the first place. Ugh. But what he really hated was when they would look at him with pity, like he was some poor fragile creature that would break at the mere mention of Nyon. Frag that.

So yeah, Rodimus wasn’t really in the mood for any of that slag.

…though maybe Thunderclash would leave faster if he said it was a Nyon holiday.

“I’m going planet-side for a Nyon holiday. I doubt you’d know it,” Rodimus finally said. There, that should do it.

It didn’t do it.

Thunderclash leaned forward ever so slightly, interested sparkling in his optics. “If I may, what holiday?”

Again, Rodimus hesitated.

C’mon, it was Thunderclash. It wasn’t like he would know what it was.

“Lux,” he answered.

It was actually Lux Canticum—but everyone called it Lux—and it was Rodimus’ favorite holiday, as well as Nyon’s oldest tradition. It was an event that happened once a vorn, where the sky would light up with every color you could imagine. Humans called the event the Northern Lights or aurora borealis, but Rodimus and his fellow Nyonians called it Sparkstorm.

It was a time where everyone in Nyon came together to remember those who moved on to the Well, and to bond as a community. It was special but sadly, hardly anyone outside of Nyon knew of it. But now that Nyon was gone, Rodimus was one of the last mechs in the universe who even knew about it.

But to Rodimus’ absolute shock and horror, Thunderclash’s faceplate lit up at the mention of the holiday, which was the exact opposite of what was supposed to happen.

“You’re going to go celebrate Lux Canticum?” He asked excitedly with the biggest smile. “If I’m not being too forward, may I join?”

“Woah woah woah.” Rodimus held up his servos in a hold on motion. He had barely gotten over the fact that Thunderclash knew what Lux Canticum was, and now he says he wants to come along? “How do you even know what Lux is?”

Thunderclash chuckled shyly. “I passed through Nyon a few times. One of the locals told me about it but I never got to attend it myself.”

Rodimus cycled his optics.

Huh.

“I wouldn’t want to impose though,” Thunderclash continued. “It is your holiday.”

“You can come,” Rodimus’ intake said before his processor could stop him.

Thunderclash brightened. “Really? You’ll let me join you?”

Rodimus wanted to say nevermind.

“Sure, why not?” he said instead.

Thunderclash beamed. “Thank you, Captain.”

“No problem. I was just leaving so you should get on board.”

“Yessir.”

Before Rodimus could change his mind, Thunderclash was already onboard and disappeared into the hull.

Rodimus wasn’t so quick to follow, choosing instead to stomp the rest of the way. “Primus’ left lugnut,” Rodimus cursed as he boarded the Rod Pod.

(Somewhere on the Lost Light, a bespeckled orange bot thought he heard his name).

Flying out of the hangar and guiding the ship under the planet’s atmosphere was easy enough, nothing he hadn’t done a million times before. With everything going smoothly, Rodimus took a moment to admire the rolling green hills, lush forest’s, and the sparkling blue water.

Maybe this’ll be uneventful, Rodimus mused.

That was his first mistake.

Thunderclash frowned as he leaned forward to peer at the dash. “Is that supposed to be on?” he asked, worry coloring Thunderclash’s voice as he pointed at a red bulb blinking ominously. 

The second was not doing ship maintenance.

Rodimus swore. That was definitely not supposed to be doing that.

Right on cue, alarms started blaring.

Rodimus lunged to the diagnostic screen, his optics frantically fliting across the words that were flashing angrily at him. “Scrap,” he swore. “Scrap scrap scrap scrap!”

“What? Captain, what’s going on? Are we under attack?” Thunderclash started to get up from his seat, but Rodimus placed two servos on his chestplates and shoved. Thunderclash fell back into his seat with a clang that was swallowed by the klaxons.

“Strap in! It’s going to be a rough landing!” Rodimus hollered as he threw himself into his own seat and buckled the harness. He wrestled with the controls trying to level the ship out as it rapidly careened toward the ground.

“Captain, what can I do to help?!” Thunderclash said, worry leaking into his voice.

“Unless you can get me new thrusters that aren’t fragged to the Pit, then nothing,” Rodimus retorted through gritted denta.

“Our thrusters are malfunctioning?!”

“I just said that!”

“Oh Primus.”

Rodimus didn’t talk to him after, more focused on more important things, like keeping them alive.

More warnings popped up, yelling things at Rodimus like losing power to thrusters, and shield malfunctioning, and descending rapidly, and engine on fire, and—wait the engine was on fire?!

Rodimus shifted some of attention away from trying to smooth out their descent to look at the alert. Yup, there it was. Engine was on fire.

“Frag me,” Rodimus swore.

Primus, if Rodimus went out in a fiery explosion, not only would he die twice from the sheer irony, but Whirl would laugh so hard he would join the Well to laugh at Rodimus some more.

As if Rodimus already didn’t have enough to deal with, Drift chose this moment to nudge at the bond with concern, most likely feeling Rodimus’ alarm. Rodimus didn’t have time to reassure his amica that he was fine—it would’ve been a lie anyway—and he slammed a wall between their bond, cutting himself off from Drift.

Rodimus felt bad but he needed to focus.

“C’mon, you got this,” he muttered. He was still fighting with the controls but slowly and surely, he was winning. The ship slowly shifted from erratic, spiraling to a more controllable even fall. It didn’t take long for the ship to skim the treetops and Rodimus clutched the controls tighter.

“Hold on!” Rodimus hollered right when the ship crashed into the ground.

Rodimus gritted his denta as the ship violently bounced against the earth, ricocheting off of what felt like everything on the damn planet. Underneath his panic and desperate prayers to Primus, the whole situation reminded him of a skipping stone, and Rodimus almost broke into hysterics.

It felt like it took forever for the ship to finally stop but it did with a metallic groan before it settled into the earth.

Rodimus let out a groan of his own, trying to get his spark to stop spinning so violently. This wasn’t his first crash landing—or his last—but frag it hurts like the Pit .

“You good Thunders?” Rodimus asked.

Rodimus didn’t get the chance to hear his answer before Drift crashed against the bond, trying to break down the wall he put up. Rodimus could feel his amica’s panic through the block, and Rodimus’ spoiler lowered guiltily. Blocking their bond abruptly like that definitely freaked Drift out and knowing him, Drift was ready to go grab a ship to come and check on him, if he hadn’t already.

Rodimus dropped the wall and almost stumbled from the sheer intensity of Drift slammed into him, a mess of worry desperation fear spilling across the bond.

If Rodimus was guilty before, he felt downright awful. Rodimus was quick to push a soothing wave of comfort reassurance peace to him.

Drift’s relief was palpable and he curled around Rodimus’ spark, checking for any sign of pain.

Again, Rodimus sent a pulse of reassurance to him, and finally Drift calmed down

Drift poked him curiously and Rodimus sent back a jumble of emotions to say it was complicated.

His amica accepted that but didn’t leave.

Rodimus rolled his optics before pulling the feeling of being relaxed from engenx and the happiness he got from spending time with his favorite people from his memories, and sent them to Drift, trying to get him to go back to his date.

Drift hesitated. He nudged Rodimus gently, making sure he was fine.

Rodimus felt a flicker of annoyance and made sure Drift felt it too.

Drift buzzed with amusement before retreating, letting the bond fall silent.

Rodimus sighed and dragged a servo across his faceplate. He hoped he didn’t ruin Drift and Ratchet’s date.

A blue servo filled his vision. Rodimus looked up and saw Thunderclash in front of him, his servo extended in a silent offering. “I noticed you were making faces and were uncharacteristically quiet. Are you alright?”

“Yeah I'm fine.” Rodimus peeled his servos from the controls and took Thunderclash’s servo, allowing the bigger mech to hoist him up. “Drift was worried and was trying to reach me across our bond. We’re good now.”

Thunderclash canted his helm curiously. “He didn’t try to comm you?”

“He probably didn’t think to.” Rodimus shrugged, watching as Thunderclash walked over to the door and shouldered it open. “We mostly communicate across our amica bond now, so using our commlink is more of an afterthought now. Drift prefers to feel me instead of talking to me anyway, if that makes sense.”

Thunderclash nodded. “That makes perfect sense.” He stepped aside to let Rodimus exit first.

“Thanks.” Rodimus patted the mech’s arm and hopped down. He winced as he saw the damages to the Rod Pod while he wandered over to the front of the ship. It looked like a cyberhound’s chew toy.

Rodimus unlatched the panel and ducked as a plume of smoke came billowing out. Rodimus coughed and waved away the smoke. Rodimus made a face at the smell and peered at the engine. He groaned when he saw the either broken or melted parts of the engine. They stared back at him, the wreckage mocking him.

“Yeah, we’re not going anywhere any time soon,” Rodimus sighed. Maybe he should’ve listened to Megatron and Minimus about keeping up maintenance. But in his defence, he is the captain! He has a lot of very important… captain-y things to do. No time for stuff like engine maintenance and other lame tasks.

Was this karma's way of bitting him in the aft?

Thunderclash peeked over Rodimus’ shoulder to look at the engine and winced. “We’ll have to call for a rescue.”

Rodimus made a face. Calling for a rescue meant telling Megatron what happened and Rodimus really didn’t want to deal with his “I’m better than you” attitude, like Megatron hadn’t been the biggest warlord this universe had ever seen. Rodimus was way too cool for Megatron to scold like a sparkling. He was chosen by Primus for frags sake! Also, they were co-captains and they were basically the same age! (Ratchet would argue that only being 9,639 vorns younger than Megatron was not the equivalent of being the same age. Shut up, Ratchet).

“Do we have to?” Rodimus said in what was most certainly not a whine. “I actually think we’re fine right here.”

Thunderclash gave the engine a long look. “Unless you have the parts and tools to fix the engine somewhere in the Rod Pod, then yes, calling for help is the best course of action.”

Rodimus scowled. Of fragging course.

Rodimus glared at the multicolored truck. “Ugh, I’m so gonna get an audiofull from him.” He groaned but commed Megatron.

Please don’t pick up please don’t pick up please don’t pick up please don—dammit. Rodimus’ desperate pleas turned into another groan as the comm went through.

::What is it?:: Megatron did not sound happy. Though to be fair, did he ever?

::Heyyyyyy, Megs. How y’all doing without me?:: Rodimus tried to go for a normal, casual approach. Maybe that’ll get him in a better mood.

::What did you do, Rodimus?:: Megatron’s displeasure all but oozed into the comm.

Never mind then.

::Nothing, really! But on a completely unrelated topic, remember how you and Mims are always telling me to keep up with the maintenance for the Rod Pod?::

::Rodimus…:: Megatron growled. 

Rodimus would've been impressed at the concoction of disappointment, frustration, and annoyance in Megatron’s voice if it hadn’t been, y’know, directed at him.

::Remember Rung's advice?:: Rodimus offered.

::Believe me, I'm trying:: Megatron said, his tone clipped.

Rodimus almost winced. Almost.

::Sooooo:: he started. ::Can you come pick me and Thunderclash up? He decided to tag along, by the way::

A stained vent. ::Very well. Send me your coordinates::

This time Rodimus did wince. ::So about that…::

Megatron vented slowly. ::Your coordinate reader is broken, isn't it?::

::Yup:: Rodimus affirmed, popping the p.

::...::

Rodimus shifted, uneasy. Yelling and Megatron he could handle. He just annoyed Megs until he got mad at him and forgot what he was originally mad about, which is when Rodimus would make a swift escape (i.e. run like the pit). That he knew how to handle. Silence and Megatron, on the other servo, usually meant that the tank was trying to not give in to his warlord urges. So yeah, Megaton being quiet tends to set his nerves on fire.

::Uh, Megs?:: Rodimus tried. ::You still there?::

To Rodimus’ surprise, he got an answer, but not from Megatron.

::What did you say to Megatron, Rodimus?:: Minimus demanded. Oof. His tone left much to be desired. ::He's on his berth with the same look on his faceplates as when Whirl taught Whirl Jr. how to fire a blaster and set her loose in Swerve's::

::Nothing bad! Just that… I might've not done the maintenance on the Rod Pot like you guys wanted me to do and that me and Thunderclash might've crashed landed because the Rod Pod decided to fail mid flight. We're stranded, by the way::

Minimus sighed, and Rodimus could vividly see the minibot pinching the bridge of his olfactory sensor.

::I'm going to wring his neck:: Megatron growled, which, rude. Rodimus was right here.

::Remember your vow, Megatron:: Minimus reminded.

::What vow?:: he said, only half serious.

::Megaton!:: Minimus scolded

Rodimus let their squabble fade into the background, more preoccupied with something that Minimus had said. He said that Megatron was on his berth, but how did Minimus know that little tidbit?

Unless…

Realization dawned on Rodimus. Oh, this was too good. ::Minimus:: Rodimus cut the said bot off, his grin growing wider. ::Are you in Megatron's room right now?::

Minimus’ fans hiccuped. ::I hardly see how that's relevant:: He said, trying to sound anything but flustered. Rodimus was unsurprised that the green minibot was failing spectacularly.

Rodimus gasped, having another epiphany. ::Are you guys canoodling right now?::

Minimus sputtered, unable to form a response.

Megatron came to his rescue. ::Expect a retrieval team within the next cycle::

He didn’t deny it. ::Did you guys make out?:: Rodimus pried. C’mon, he needed the deets!

::Goodbye, Rodimus:: Megaton said firmly before cutting the connection.

Rodimus snickered as the line went dead.

Thunderclash stared at him with a bemused look. “What was that all about?”

“That was a confirmation that my co-captain and second in command are, in fact, dating. Coincidentally, it’s also the sound of me winning a hundred shanix from Drift.” Rodimus boasted.

Thunderclash chuckled. “I guess that means Ratchet owes me the five hundred shanix.”

Rodimus gapped at the colorful convoy. The Great Thunderclash actually bet? “I didn’t know you betted on those two as well.” Rodimus jabbed an accusatory digit at him.

“To be fair, I think most of the ship was betting on when they’re getting together. For them being professional, they sure are obvious,” Thunderclash replied wryly.

Rodimus thought back to every shared smile, every sentence they finished, every identical disapproving frown, every moment spent sharing poetry, and every fleeting glance that held such fondness that Megatron and Minimus shared. You would think with them being as old as they were, they’d be better about keeping their relationship private. Nope, they both suck at it.

“I’m pretty sure Minimus used up all his secretive skills keeping up the Ultra Magnus act and Megs is too tired to truly care at this point,” Rodimus snickered. He was pleasantly surprised when Thunderclash snickered with him.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he agreed. “How long did you bet before they became official.?”

“Two decacycles. You?”

“About three stellar cycles. I figured it would take longer since they’re… oh what was the term Ratchet used? Emotionally constipated.”

Rodimus barked a laugh. “Oh mech, I’m gonna have to save that one for later.”

Thunderclash smiled. “Happy to be of service, Captain.”

A comfortable air settled over them as their banter lulled. When Rodimus realized that, yes, he was indeed joking and laughing with Thunderclash like they were old friends, which couldn’t be right because up until a few stellar cycles ago, Rodimus hated him. Sure, Thunderclash apologized for the whole mutiny thing, and yeah, maybe he did fight Getaway and helped take back the Lost Light in his name, and fine, he might’ve enjoyed the few conversations at Swerve’s they shared. But none of that meant anything. Thunderclash was The Greatest Autobot Ever and Rodimus was, well… him. The joke, the failure, the screwup Prime.

With that thought in mind, Rodimus withdrew from the familiarity they built, and the absence of it shocked him like he was plunged into ice. He cleared his vocalizer. “Right, well—” He looked up at the sky. “The lights are going to start soon, so we should probably find somewhere where we can actually see the sky.”

“Will that work?” Thunderclash pointed at a hill a short distance away, the peak looming over the treetops.

Rodimus squinted. Yeah, it looked good. It had a good view of the sky and it wasn’t that far from the ship either, a few breems away, which was convenient because the sun was starting to dip in the horizon and the lights started almost immediately after the sun set. Just like in Nyon.

(That similarity left a bittersweet pang in his tanks).

He nodded. “That works. We should probably get a move on though.”

Thunderclash nodded and gave Rodimus a smile. “Lead the way, Captain.”

Rodimus gave him a cheeky salute before leading the way.

Rodimus was right—they got there just in time.

The last sliver of sun had just vanished, leaving behind a cloudless night sky littered with stars.

Rodimus flopped down on the soft grass, his limbs splayed out to maximize hogging space. What did humans call this pose? Starfish? He was almost a hundred percent positive but he’ll have to check with Swerve.

He watched as Thunderclash followed suit.. Or, more accurately, felt him. Being a much bigger class size than Rodimus, he rattled the ground, and by proxy, Rodimus.

“How long do we have to wait?” Thunderclash asked, ruby optics scanning the sky.

“Not long. The lights are active during the day but we have to wait for the sun to leave and for our optics to adjust. You should be able to see them right about…” Rodimus grinned, a familiar sight greeting him like an old friend. “Now.”

Thunderclash sucked in a sharp vent and Rodimus couldn’t blame him—the lights danced and shimmered in the sky, carefree as they lit up the atmosphere in a symphony of colors. It was a breathtaking sight.

Rodimus smiled. “No matter how many times I see it, I always forget how beautiful they are, and it feels like I’m watching it for the first time.” He sat up and rested his helm on his knees, something bittersweet crawled up his intake as he watched the aurora. “Y’know, in Nyon, we have a story that each light was the spark of a loved one that had passed to the Well, and since Nyon’s citizens were such lively spirits, Primus let them out once a vorn because he couldn’t bear to see his such free-spirited children contained and miserable. The sparks were so happy, they lit up the sky to share their joy with the living and to let the bots they left behind that they were still with them, watching over them.” Rodimus snorted. “Obviously it’s not true, but I think it was comforting for the settlers to know that there was proof that their loved ones were watching over them. Something real that they could see, instead of wishing and hoping, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Thunderclash said softly. Rodimus turned to meet his optics and Thunderclash gave him a sad smile. “They didn’t want to feel alone.”

Rodimus nodded. “It became a holiday to share stories of the dead, to keep their memory alive and to remember the good times, to celebrate their life, but also to share their hopes for the future. It brough Nyon together, to remind us that we still have each other and to allow us to come together as a community.” 

“That sounds beautiful.”

“It was.”

Conversation died after that, with Rodimus having nothing to say and Thunderclash not sure what to say.

“I heard that singing was popular during Lux,” Thunderclash said hesitantly. “Do you have any favorites?”

Rodimus smiled. He had one in mind. “Yep. You trying to turn me into a jukebox?”

Thunderclash’s optic widened. “Oh no, that’s not what I was—I mean, you can if you want, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just—”

Rodimus snickered. Oh it was too easy. “Relax, ‘Clash.” He nodded at the sky. “Lighten up a bit.”

Thunderclash snorted. “That was awful. You should go to prism for that.”

Rodimus shrugged. “I’m not worried. It’ll be a light sentence.”

“You already used that one,” Thunderclash pointed out with a laugh.

“Guess I’m not that bright then,” Rodimus winked.

Thunderclash laughed harder. “I surrender! I’m no match for you. Spare me, O Punny One.”

“I accept your surrender,” Rodimus said with false haughtiness before dropping the act. “But yeah, I’ll sing. It’d be wrong if I didn’t.”

As Rodimus pulled the lyrics from the deep recesses of his processor, his mood sombered when he remembered the last time he sang this song.

Good thing I’m singing this on the night dedicated to remembering the dead, Rodimus thought before he started to sing. 

Let's sing a song full of hope, full of pain

Why don't you sing along my friend, for it's our last refrain

Forever young, ever strong, ever brave

Memories like this never end, no, they don't fade away

So when I'm gone, oh when I'm gone

I'll be right there, close to the sun

Keep holdin' on, keep holdin' on

And I'll be right there, close to the sun

Close to the sun

As Rodimus sang, nostalgia, happiness, grief, love, and so many other emotions he couldn’t put a name to curled around the melody. He sang for his lost friends. He sang for his home that had long since become a city of ash. He sang and was taken to a time when Rodimus used to sing this song with his friends, their voices melting in one that held power and strength, but now it was only him.

The last Nyonian.

Rodimus was halfway through the song a deep, baritone voice joined him, complimenting Rodimus’ softer tune. Rodimus faltered, turning with wide optics to watch as Thunderclash joined in.

Thunderclash met his optics and his expression softened. He extended his field and it brushed against Rodimus’ gently, the convoy putting I’m here I understand your pain it doesn’t have to be just you anymore I’m so sorry I’ll be here if you need me into emotions that words didn’t do justice.

Rodimus’ intake tightened, words failing him as he struggled with the fact that Thunderclash knew this song, the one that held so many memories and meaning to him.

Rodimus extended his own field to lightly graze Thunderclash’s, hesitant, but still conveyed this means everything to me how do you know this thank you.

Thunderclash smiled and Rodimus smiled back. No words needed to be said—they understood.

Their fields woven together, they were in sync and knew what to do. This time, when Rodimus sang, he wasn’t alone.

Here's to the one to let shine through the rain

The ones who stood for something more

We won't forget your names

The tide is high, say goodbye, we're settin' sail

And all those midnight secrets told, we'll take 'em to the graves

So when I'm gone, oh when I'm gone

I'll be right there, close to the sun

Keep holdin' on, keep holdin' on

And I'll be right there, close to the sun

Close to the sun

Rodimus hadn’t expected it, but he was glad that Thunderclash joined. This song was not meant to be sung alone—it was supposed to be sung by Nyon’s citizens, by her community, by family.

Rodimus felt like an idiot for forgetting the most important part of this song, of this tradition. This song was never supposed to be sung by one mech; was meant for a community—for loved ones. It was something even non-Nyonian’s were welcome to partake in.

Though speaking of non-Nyonians…

Rodimus rounded on Thunderclash, pinning him with an accusatory stare.

“How the frag did you know that?” Rodimus demanded. “I thought you said you only knew a few things about Nyonian culture.”

Thunderclash chuckled sheepishly. “I may have underplayed how much I knew of Nyon.”

Rodimus threw his servo’s in the air. “You think?”

Thunderclash smiled. “When I was at college with Ratchet, one of the things I studied was the cultures of other cities. All of them are fascinating, but I thought that Nyon’s was truly special. I decided to specialize in it and I ended up falling in love with Nyon.” The happiness faded from his smile, leaving something bittersweet in its wake. “When Nyon…” Thunderclash faltered. “Well, you know what happened. But when I heard the news, I was devastated. Countess lives, a whole city, a whole way of life, was gone. Just like that. I didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t.”

Rodimus could. He was the one who burned it all to the ground.

A blanket of heaviness settled over Rodimus, dragging him down into an ugly place, the weight of what he did smothering him. But then Thunderclash smiled at Rodimus and suddenly, that weight was a little more bearable.

“Imagine my joy when I learned that someone from Nyon not only survived, but became a Prime.” Thunderclash's voice took on something that Rodimus would call awe, which wasn’t right because who could ever be in awe of him? “When you invited me to join your crew, I thought I'd gone to the Well. I'd always been a big admirer of yours, so I jumped at the chance to serve under your leadership and it felt surreal. I didn’t feel worthy for such a privilege, for such an honor.” He chuckled. “Most days, I still don’t. You’re just so inspiring and you shine so bright—”

“Stop.” Rodimus wrapped his arms around himself, shaking his helm, disbelieving thoughts swarming through his processor. There was no way Thunderclash, the Greatest Autobot of all time, was talking about him like he was special— like he was worthy of the title of Prime. He was confused or maybe misled, but either way, he was dead wrong. Rodimus couldn’t be the mech Thunderclash was describing. “You’re wrong. I’m not this amazing hero you’re making me out to be. I killed Nyon, and I killed so many more mechs in the war. I’m a terrible leader. Every decision I made was the wrong one and it just got mechs killed. I’m not fit to be a Prime, and I don’t think I can be what Cybertron needs. Cybertron needs Optimus, not me. So, just stop. I don’t deserve your praise.”

Self-loathing reared its ugly helm and sunk its fangs in his plating and claws in his spark. Rodimus did nothing to stop it and instead, let it drag him down into the place in his spark that held every bad decision, every wrong word said, every disappointed look thrown his way, every mistake he’s made, and every self deprecating and hateful thought he’s ever directed at himself. He deserved it. After everything he’s done, and how he still is messing everything up, he absolutely deserves it.

Cobalt servos cupped his faceplate, and tilted Rodimus’ helm up, forcing blue optics to meet red. Thunderclash gave him such a sad look, like Rodimus’ pain was hurting him, and gently wiped away the red speedsters' tears.

When did he start crying?

“Rodimus, you have so much weight on your shoulders and I’m so sorry if I added more. But we don’t need another Optimus. He was a Prime we needed to guide us through the war. Now though, we need a Prime to guide us into peace—to remind us how to live after so long of surviving,” Thunderclash smiled softly. “I can think of no better mech to do that, Rodimus Prime. The Matrix chose you for a reason. It wouldn’t have done so if it didn’t think you were the right mech Cybertron needed.”

“But I broke the Matrix,” Rodimus whispered.

“To save half of our species,” Thunderclash said firmly. “We already lost a huge number of Cybertronians during the war and we couldn't afford to lose half of our remaining people. It was a horrible situation with horrible solutions and you did what you thought was right. That’s all anyone can ask for.”

Rodimus stared at him, to many emotions swirling around and nowhere to go, Thunderclash smiled gently, still cradling his face, and that did it. Rodimus broke down crying, the pressure of Nyon, the war, his time as prime, the Lost Light, and every mistake escaping from the carefully constructed containment hitting him all at once.

His plating shook from the force of his sobs, and he sucked in huge, gasping vents of air in between heaves.

Immediately, Thunderclash pulled him closer, into his chestplate and held Rodimus in a tight hug while he cried. His hold never loosened, not when a lifetime of trauma and pain came out in a rush of tears and guttural, raw wails that wracked his frame. He simply held Rodimus as Thunderclash bathed him in a field of comfort. He didn’t show any signs of disgust at Rodimus display, didn’t try giving him words of advice, didn’t try and push him away—just sat there and became the pillar of support Rodimus needed.

It was a long time before Rodimus’ sobs waned into soft hiccups.

“Are you okay?” Thunderclash asked, rubbing his digit against his spoiler in a soothing manner. It felt good.

Rodimus shook his helm. “No,” he whispered.

“Do you want to stay like this?”

Rodimus nodded. That sounded nice.

“Okay.”

Rodimus was fully content to stay right here and wallow in his misery, but something was nagging at him.

“Thunders?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this?” Rodimus asked. Thunderclash stopped rubbing his spoiler.

Thunderclash hesitated. “I don’t think this is the right time.”

Some of Rodimus’ fire returned to him and he pulled away from Thunderclash, fixing him with a firm look. “I’m not some fragile sparkling. Tell me or I swear I’m leaving you here.”

Thunderclash met his gaze, a myriad of emotions swirling in those ruby optics. He was silent for what felt like ages, before he spoke. “I… I like you. For some time now.” The uncertainty shifted into guilt. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a while but I didn’t think you’d feel the same. Or would want me to court you at all.”

Rodimus stared at him in shock. Out of all the things Thunderclash could’ve said, that was the absolute last thing he expected.

“You what?” Rodimus finally managed.

“I like you,” Thunderclash repeated, his voice stronger.

Shock morphed into disbelief because there was no way Thunderclash liked him. There was no way.

“What could you possibly like about me?” Rodimus asked weakly and oh no Thunderclash was giving him such a sad look.

Thunderclash took Rodimus’ servos in his own and gave Rodimus a look that was somehow serious and gentle. “I could give you a million reasons right now, like how you are the kindest mech I’ve ever met or your bravery knows no bounds, but ultimately, you’re a beautiful person with a beautiful spark, and you make me feel like a better mech.”

Rodimus swore he could feel the ground slipping out from beneath him. He made Thunderclash feel like a better mech…?

“So this whole trip…?”

“A chance to spend time with you,” Thunderclash admitted, then smiled sheepishly. “I really did want to celebrate Lux.”

Rodimus felt a weak grin slowly spread. “So this was you trying to take me on a date?”

“Kind of. Er,” Thunderclash look flustered all of a sudden, and oh Primus, he was so cute. “It doesn’t have to be if you don’t want it to be one. And you don’t have to court me if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to pressure you.”

Rodimus paused. Did he want it to be a date? Rodimus thought back to all the good times he spent with Thunderclash; swapping ridiculous stories at Swerve’s, teaming up during Shoot Shoot Bang Bang, betting to see if Perceptor or Brainstorm asked the other on a date first (they asked at the same time. Neither Rodimus or Thunderclash won, and they were fine with that), chatting about their favorite movies from Earth, or even just sitting in comfortable silence on their shared shifts.

With a jolt, he realized that during all those interactions, Rodimus never once felt like he had to not be himself, like he didn’t have to be someone else. Rodimus didn’t know when it happened, but he became comfortable around the colorful mech.

That put a whole new spin on things.

Rodimus chewed his derma thoughtfully. Maybe he could give… whatever this was, a try. Thunderclash was a good mech who knew about Nyon, was easy to be around, shared a lot of Rodimus’ interests, and so much more. Pit, he just held Rodimus while he had an emotional breakdown without a single complaint. There was something definitely worth exploring.

“I think,” Rodimus began slowly. “I’d like to give this a go.”

Thunderclash shifted guiltily. “Rodimus, I don’t want to pressu—” He stopped when Rodimus held up a digit.

“I don’t like you the way you like me, but,” Rodimus said when Thunderclash’s faceplate fell. “I think with enough time and dates, I can get there.”

Thunderclash just lit up, and Primus, if that didn’t make something in Rodimus flutter.

“Are you sure?” he asked, sounding downright euphoric.

“Positive.” Rodimus grinned. “And not this wasn’t nice and all, but we should probably go on an actual date—one where we both know it’s a date and without any crying."

Thunderclash laughed loudly. He stood up and extended his servo, and seeing Thunderclash bathed in the lights dancing above, making his glittery polish sparkle and looking every bit like he stepped out of a heroic legend, Rodimus thinks that Thunderclash is the most beautiful mech he’s ever seen.

“Captain,” Thunderclash smiled that goofy smile of his. “Permission to ask you out on a proper date?”

Rodimus grinned. “Permission granted.” He took Thunderclash’s servo and he effortlessly pulled Rodimus from the ground.

Rodimus couldn’t wait to see where this adventure would take him. But for now…

Rodimus held out his other servo to Thunderclash. “Would you like me to teach you some Nyonian dances?”

Thunderclash smiled and Rodimus’ spark spun faster. “I would love that.”

He took Rodimus’ servo.