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Chapter Text

The Festival of Seven Stars was, so far as Thunderclash was concerned, absolutely exactly what he needed for his plan.  What the whole crew needed, really.  Seven days of games, gift giving, and celebration of life continuing on.  A reminder that it wasn't all going wrong all the time.  The crew really could use this.

That the festival itself was Nyonese in origin was purely coincidental.  Really.

And really, there was no need to bother the captain about it -- it was the job of the Morale Officer to handle all these trivial little details so that Rodimus could focus on more important parts of running the ship.  And since Thunderclash had generously volunteered to take the position, that meant that it was entirely his job.  The whole point was to take some of the weight off of Rodimus' shoulders.

On the whole, Thunderclash trusted that it would make for a pleasant surprise.  A much needed taste of home.

Seven days of games, fuel, and good times.

"I've never heard of this festival before," Hound muttered as he checked the plumbing on the fishing game he'd spend the last two hours assembling.  "Why aren't we doing one of the big ones, like a Prime day?  Or one of the Guiding Hand celebrations?"

Thunderclash didn't look up from the schematics laid out in front of him.  "It's important to celebrate all of Cybertron's diverse cultures, especially after everything we lost in the war."

Up above, Bluestreak made as though he was going to drop the bunting on Thunderclash's helm as he rolled his optics.  "I vote for stuff from one of the actual cities next time.  Not crypts.  There are a few Praxian celebrations, for example-"

"Maybe next time," Thunderclash said with brittle good cheer.  It was, honestly, a little bit annoying the way people kept questioning him about this.  Who didn't love an excuse to let loose?  Sometimes he wondered what was wrong with the rest of the crew.  "We can discuss it later.  For now, focus on the job in front of you."  He didn't turn away until he heard the affirmative he wanted, keeping that bright smile locked firmly on his face.

Bluestreak waited until Thunderclash was out of sight and well out of hearing before he caught Hound's gaze and shook his helm.  "Told you.  He's got it bad."

Hound let out a bark of laughter, slotting a power supply into place.  The booth in front of him lit up in a shower of sparks and a squawk of music.  "It's gonna blow up in his face."

"At least we'll have a front row seat for the fireworks."

It's bright.  It's loud.  It's flashy.

The storage bay Thunderclash had commandeered for the festival space was filled with carnival games, lights, and the smells of over-sweet fuels and hot metal, and Thunderclash had even managed to secure the first batch of sweet jellied energon, molded into the shape of seven pointed stars, specifically to present to Rodimus when he arrived.  He'd put a lot of research into making sure they were entirely accurate to what would have been available in Nyon during the height of it's power.

Thunderclash expected... something.  Some sort of reaction.  Even a sneer and a dismissive joke.  Thunderclash was rather used to sneers and dismissive jokes from Rodimus at that point.

What he got was a strangely somber captain who lingered at the doorway, watching the crew enjoying the carnival.  Rodimus barely even glanced at the tray Thunderclash offered him -- and Rodimus never turned down fuel.

One step back, and another, and-

One would have thought Rodimus was being chased by a swarm of scraplets, the way he peeled out, leaving behind only tire tracks and the smell of hot metal.

Chapter Text

Thunderclash had the sense to wait to seek out Rodimus until things at the festival had started to wind down for the evening -- at least, what passed for evening on a ship.  Sometimes it amazed him that Cybertronians had adapted so easily to the humans' 24 hour solar cycle.  Even now, years after any of them had last seen Earth, they still found themselves dimming the ship lights and most of the crew retiring to their habs for the 'night'.

As the morale officer, it was Thunderclash's duty to stay and make sure people were having a good time, no matter how badly he'd wanted to chase after Rodimus.

What did I do wrong?

He'd done his research.  He'd made sure everything was functional and bright and fun, just the way the historical files he'd been able to dig up had described-

Everything should have been so good!  Rodimus would have-

Well, whatever Thunderclash thought Rodimus would have done, he hadn't.  And Rodimus' expression before he had fled was burned into the front of Thuderclash's processor -- had been from the moment it had happened until Thunderclash was finally free to seek him out.

After the brilliant chaos of the festival, the night-dimmed corridors of the ship seemed almost unreal.  Every step he took echoed back at him like an unspoken accusation.

Finding Rodimus, thankfully, wasn't that hard.  Even on a ship as large as the Lost Light, there were only so many places for a body to go.  He found Rodimus in his office, slowly diffing a knife into the highly polished surface of the new desk.  The old one now hung on the wall of Swerve's, the map to Cyberutopia on full display as a reminder of-

Of our willingness to chase our own destruction?  Thunderclash thought cynically.  Or maybe it was of their ability to survive those self destructive impulses in spite of themselves.

"Captain?"

Rodimus didn't look up.  "Don't you have a party to host?"

Thunderclash didn't bother to correct him.  "I think they can manage without me.  I wanted to-"  Thunderclash grimaced.  "You seemed upset.  I want to make sure I hadn't committed some kind of cultural faux pas."

Rodimus finally looked up, unblinking blue optics boring into Thunderclash.  But he was still the one who looked away first.  "Wouldn't know," he said quietly.  "Never celebrated the Seven Stars.  By the time I came online, all we had was old timers who'd yammer about the 'good old days'."  Rodimus' lip curled briefly.  "'Remember.'  They'd always tell us to remember."

Thunderclash risked shutting the door behind him.  "What did they want you to remember?"

"That we'd suffered.  We'd suffered and made it through to the other side."  Rodimus dragged the knife away from the divot he'd made, creating a thin trail to a comet, perhaps.  The desk was still largely unmarred -- only time would tell what it might become.

Thunderclash reached for a chair and drew it close.  For the moment, he opted for silence, to let Rodimus decide how much more he wanted to say.

"I never thought I'd see one.  It's not even that big a deal, in our history.  And now you..."  Rodimus looked at Thunderclash with tired confusion.  "You did all that.  Why?"

"I wanted to impress you."  And there it was, out in the open.  "I wanted to give you something precious.  Something from Nyon.  Something that would make you... happy."

And he had cocked it up right and proper.  Rodimus was still staring at him, the tip of the knife slowly making whorls in front of him.

"Do you still have those snacks?  The ones shaped like stars?"

"Yeah, I do."