Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The deafening screech of tires skidding across the metal tiling, filling the hall with the banshee shriek's. 160 to 0 in a second. Death loomed above him, still flat, the red caution light flickering in the darkness. Another bulkhead.

He backed up and spun around racing down another hallway.

They didn’t have time for this.

He didn’t have time for this.

“If you keep this up, you’re going to redline, again.” Starscream flew over him, his translucent frame vanishing in and out of the walls. “Why are you freaking out so much, you care more about your priceless ship the Lost Night, more than your crew, so what?”

Best to ignore him.

He’s down there . 

The roar of his engine filled the halls, snarling like a rabid beast, eager to hunt, desperate to sink his claws into his next victim. Aching, a deep aching under all his purple plating, his harsh exterior the, snide remarks the cruel planning, under all of that was a stupid tiny little flame that flickered. Maybe it was a pilot light, or the embers of a forest fire-no Eltia was the forest fire. This was smaller, quiet, the flame tickled him, warmed him.

He drifted around a corner, leaving a trail of dark tire marks as his tail lights vanished into the darkness. 

“Will you slow down, I’m a seeker and I hardly can keep up-”

Ignore him.

It wasn’t exhausting, he wasn’t exhausted, so he lost sleep, his engine was burning and his processor was laser focused on getting to the bottom of the ship. He’d search the whole ship, tear it apart, panel by panel, rivet by rivet, he would claw his way through each locked bolt and search all of the Lost Night. Fight anyone who dares to cross his path. 

Below was a warzone, the footage they received was brutal, even by Wreaker’s standards. Then the engine’s died, the ship was spiraling through space on life support. He needed to somehow break through the bulkheads that lined the upper levels, traverse the gorilla warfare that was just below his peds, and restart the engines. Gain control of the ship first, then figure out what was going on inside of his ship.

He didn’t have time for this!

“Fine, I’ll let you run around like a sparkling having a tantrum, while I get some real answers.” Starscream slowed down and his alt mode drifted clearly through a wall, vanishing. It would be nice if he fully vanished, but no, the know it all Seeker needed to linger. Almost like a pesky little angel, someone always whispering ‘please don’t melt that bot alive’ on Rodimus’ shoulder. Always telling him what was right and what was wrong, Rodimus knew what was right and what was wrong! 

He was annoying. 

The dark corridor raced past him, the floor lighting hardly luminated the world around him. At least his night vision optics were better suited for this darkness. Another dead end.

The tires screamed yet again, the sound circling in on him.

Rage burned through his frame and he acted first, with what momentum he had left he barreled towards the door, the barrier that stopped him. He shifted out of his alt mode, fist curled in.

TWAMMMM!

The whole hallway swayed.

A new indent was added to the bulkhead, a new dent on his ship, he should be enraged, livid that his pretty ship was damaged. 

This was a waste of time, his crew was below, fighting for no reason and he needed to get the ship running again, needed to stop the violence, sort out the wounded and figure out something. He was the captain, the Prime, he needed to control his ship.

But here he was, lost, alone, in the darkness helpless. The ship he so proudly called home was now a trap, one that he couldn’t escape. That below his crew turned into savages, ripping and tearing at each other, under all of it all was that one mech. 

And Rodimus felt something he hasn’t felt in eons, fear. 

He’s trapped, that scares you, doesn’t it?

It felt good, it always felt good, how nightmare fuel used to taste, it would boil down his intake, and slide through his system and sit in his tanks, warm, burning, fuel. A quick strike, relieving all that tension, his fist buried deep into the metal, it curled around his wrist. He wanted to burn, wanted to set ablaze this whole worthless ship, he wanted war, a good fight, to push someone into the place and that was always beneath him. That he could do.

Stop lying to yourself, you want him safe, protected, far away from the dangers below. You want him. 

Engines were located in the lower levels.

He had to get to the lower levels.

But first, he has to get through this ridiculous safety measure! 

The faint hiss of metal liquifying filled the empty hallway. A faint red light burned through the darkness, illuminating the hole, red, to orange, to yellow and finally white. Boiling white hot metal dripped out of the hole and onto his peds. His fist started to warp the metal, submit, bend it to his will. 

It stung, clumping onto his hooves, sizzling away at his paint job and dipping into his plating. It was supposed to hurt, he was supposed to pull back, curse, anything. The correct reaction.

He felt nothing, there was nothing inside of him. Sure that was supposed to be an ember, one that burned bright, that once danced with the stars and had hope, but it was snuffed, died with his team, with everyone else in Nyon. With Elita. No fire, no ember, no smoke, nothing but instinct.

When Rodimus was hungry he fueled, when he was tired he slept, when he wanted something, he took it.

The white fluid metal splattered on his thighs and legs as he dug his fist into the lock, clawing out whole chunks of metal out and slopping them onto the ground. No reaction. Even as the liquid metal burned his paint, sizzled over his plating, not once did he flinch, or snarl in pain. Once more he shoved his fist into the door, plunging his fist in deep and burning the metal and shoveling it out, manually making his own door, digging through the dense material.

His ember burned with hatred.

Rodimus snarled as he shoved his other fist in, prying open the hole, using his flames to melt it, burn it. Nothing was stopping him. He wasn’t Optimus with an immovable object, Megatron was broken, useless, his T-cog was removed and Rodimus had him as a lap dog. He led the Wreckers, he stood against Optimus, he was the captain of the Lost Night! He was a Prime! 

The door collapsed in, white hot metal flooded the ground.

He ignored the pain, the stinging and stomped forward, spoiler flicking with cool silent rage. The hall stretched out before him, flickering lights, safety lighting along the floor paneling. 

He was faster than that glitch Starscream.

You can find him now.

With a deep ex-vent he reset his optics and stared down the void, lights stretching on and on. Taking that first step into the lower levels settled something in him, still scared, but hopefully, willing. Finally progress, no more running around, lost in the darkness, he could finally check on his crew, the engines, find-

THUMP!

The whole floor was shaking, it was a faint thump, a heavy pedsteps, one that made his tanks clutch with anticipation-not fear, never fear. Lighter than Ultra Magnus, heavier than Ratchet. Which means they were bigger, also stronger than him. 

Stay still.

He waited for his systems to reboot, the pedsteps increased, still one mech but they were circling, pacing, they froze. Then stepped back, then forward again, then a safe distance back, their field was full of panic, fear. They were scared of him.

Good.

“Frag, oh frag, you screwed up big time. He’s going to melt me alive, boil me, it was nice staying on the Lost Night and not having to drift aimlessly in space. Slag, slag, slag.” Each slag was emphasized with a thunk sound.

He tasted energon, his energon, when was the last time he tasted his own energon? His helm was spinning, and errors flooded his hub, low fuel, a good reboot was needed and now a new dent. Guess that was the gift that keeps on giving, fragging dents.

It was still dark, the red floor lighting was the only light source. He reset his optics as the mech’s large frame lumbered around.

“You’re slagged-again-what were you thinking!” he hissed, a light rattling filled the hallways, deep venting, a full frame shiver, hyperventilating. “I mean yes he looked like the spawn of Primus burning right through a door meant to keep Optimus at bay, but-” He mech groaned, his back struts facing Rodimus.

Big mistake, should’ve killed me, or ran away when you had the chance. 

Almost at a glacial pace he lifted his helm up, energon dripping down his lips, then his chassis, finally rising to his peds and standing tall, not a single sound escaped his frame. His ember burned, a deep anger boiled in his tanks. A quick neck snap, or maybe melting their face off would do? Either way the bigger mech was scared of him, which meant he would be clumsy. An easy kill.

Strike now, while his guard is down.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” The mech puttered and sunk down.

“That’s a good assessment-”

“Captain!” he spun, fell on his aft in the most pathetic way, shielding his bright frame. Thunderclash shivered and ducked down kicking away the pipe, fully submitting. “Please-I’m sorry-I’m so sorry- I had no idea- I-I-I-!”

NOT HIM!

That hurt more than the pipe, then getting punched in the face, or getting shot in the ember, it was the same feeling he had when Elita gave him one last miserable look. Guilt. His arms fell, the flames were snuffed and smoke billowed out of his plates. 

Suddenly he didn’t care too much about getting the Lost Night’s engine’s started again, maybe he never did. Thunderclash was here, he was alive, sure scared, but alive, and that’s all he required. Sure his fancy polished Lost Night could rust, or crash on Cybertron for all he cared. Thunderclash was there and-frag he was scared.

Thunderclash shivered and still kept his face hidden, inching away from Rodimus.

He swallowed the energon in his intake, facing another wacky reality that was his, sure a ghost Starscream, sure a Megatron as his SIC, he could even handle Minimus’ manipulative claws, but this? 

Why did it have to be the walking hex, the bad luck bot, the literal worst Autobot ever, the one that no one wanted, the one that was thrown out as literally trash. 

“I’m not going to kill you.”

Optics that felt like tow chains on his ember perked up, glossy with optical fluid, wide with fear. Tears welling around his perfect face, that face that Rodimus ached to have all to himself, to protect him, store him away. Kiss him until the bot forgot his troubles, hold him tight, might even hold his servo. His ember throbbed in his chassis mimicked jack rabbit. 

Oh frag his stupid life.

Chapter Text

Stop staring, stop! He’s just so harmless, totally useless, there is not a single trait that this mech has that make him worth any effort to keep on this ship and yet-

“Get up, we don’t have time for this.” Rodimus pushed out cool, collective, the exact opposite of his insides. No his ember was burning brighter than a star, his knees felt weak, his tanks wanted to tango and like a little cherry on the very top of this gross feeling, he wanted nothing more than to retreat his steps. Grab the big bumbling useless mech and hide him away, shove him into his own hab with whatever Thunderclash liked (he would pillage bars, whole planets, any trading posts, exhaust all options he had at his claws). Wrap him up in Rodimus secret soft blanket, put on a cheesy Earth movie and guard the door.

Which is impossible right now. Worst of all, he needed to see Thunderclash safe, protected, far away from the living nightmare that was the Lost Night. Just a peek, a little smile, that soft chuckle Thunderclash made when he made himself laugh, the way his helm fins wiggled, the faint color in his face when someone stared at him. Not glared, not glanced, no, gave Thunderclash the smallest crumb of attention. 

The tow chains tightened and Rodimus fought every joint, every hinge, and bolt of his frame to stay still, keep the mask on, hide, hide away every soft mushy feeling this mech gave him. 

It must be the helm dent, or the pile of errors he ignored. 

Maybe he was sick?

“What?”

“We need to get to the lower levels, you made it this far.”

His limbs unraveled and he sat up, still unable to meet Rodimus’ optics. “You’re not going to kill me? I hit you with a pipe. A thick lead pipe, I even dented your helm-oh frag that’s not coming out easily-oh and you’re bleeding. I’m sorry captain, I really am, you’re so scary and I thought you were a demon and-please don’t kill me-oh frag you are going to kill me, aren’t you?”

NEVER! I’ve been racing around trying to find you- 

“No,” He forced out, it was cruel reality, anyone who tried to kill him, died. And Thunderclash attempted just that, admit poorly attempted. He was glad that the cameras were out and short range radio was the only working communication, at least this way no one knew how much he favored Thunderclash. No one saw past his thick mask, the several walls he built up, and the one tiny little peep hole he kept. Minimus couldn’t use Thunderclash against him, and Megatron was already useless as is (unless he was in the medbay). “Self defense. Besides I need your help navigating the lower levels, how did you get up here so fast? The ship is in complete chaos, and every hatch is sealed tight. I’ve been circling every route down for hours, the worst of all the lifts are down.” 

Keep him with you, you can protect him.

“You want my help? My help? Are you sure?”

Positive.

“You’ve alive, shockingly not torn in half or even a scratch (you’re a hard mech to miss), we have to get the engines working and life support back online. Then we can figure out what’s going on with the ship, and start getting answers.” He offered his servo.

He hesitated, optics darting up at his captain, then to his clawed servo, Thunderclash swallowed and took it. “Okay- but don’t tell anyone, please? Please don’t be angry.”

His ember bloomed with a new fire as the warm servo held him so carefully, no anger, no frustration, maybe trust? Did Thunderclash trust him? That trust was going to be a necessity. “Whatever, as long as we get those engines roaring like an oil tiger.”

He tugged Thunderclash up, the lead pipe glinted in the darkness, he should be seething. There wasn’t a trace of aggression in his systems, only evidence was the dent and the slight helmache. The processor melting blends of royal purple, lime green and neon orange. Shaky shoulders, his slumped posture and the Russian violet face went from terror then shifted to passionless, tasteless, no emotion, a face without a spark, nothing at all. 

You’re safe, no one is going to hurt you, I won’t hurt you, I’ll never hurt you.

“You want my help?” 

Yes more than anything! 

Rodimus wanted to curl his claws around the larger servo, hold him tight, right there, safe. “You were stationed at the lower parts of the ship and navigated all the way up to here, the first bulkhead, you passed by 3 others on your way up. How?” 

“Erm, when you’re hated as much as I am, you find your way around. During my disembarkment in space, I learned how to navigate the stars and picked up map making in my processor. There’s only one thing to do in space, stare.” He tapped his orange helm fin, there should be a cocky smile, but nothing, his intake stayed perfectly flat.

“But how did you find your way through 3 of the bulkheads?”

“Well… the Lost Night is an interesting ship with an impressive history, most of it isn’t even on record and this ship has been remodeled and refitted for other species. So we found some secrets.” Thunderclash retracted his servo from Rodimus’ grasp, turning away.

His claws lingered there, in place, like a puzzle piece waiting for the other half to click in, for the warmth, the kindness. He was left drifting alone in space as the sun shifted away from him, and he craved the warmth, the softness. Rodimus curled his claws in clutching the feeling, the weight.

Come back.

“Secrets?” Rodimus trailed behind, admittedly watching the mech and not their dark world around them. How his elegant but bold back struts would pull then push, how his aft swayed a little, and the rare chance to see him tower to his full height. He oogled, Primus he was oogling every inch of Thunderclash and not a shred of guilt laced his ember.

Here was this single mech, this one mech who didn’t lash out, who spoke softly, who didn’t fight, and somehow was still alive. It was brave living day to day in such a cruel reality and not becoming cruel yourself. He shone brightest in the dark, a star, a brilliant sun. Thunderclash was an oddity.

Oddities die.

“Rodimus!” Whatever good mood he finally savored, soured at Starscream’s ghostly frame appeared again, this time walking side by side. “The lower levels, it’s like the slag pits, there’s constant fighting, everyone is trying to kill each other-but there’s a lot of lost and locked up mechs, some are even in status cuffs, I have no idea who put them on.”

“How bad are the lower levels? We lost radio contact and video feed this morning, Megatron has been working with the bridge crew to secure anything.” He glared at Starscream, still not sure if the seeker was a ghost or only in his helm. The ghost’s optics lingered on him, narrowing then a small smirk settled on his intake.

“Not great captain,” They stopped at a wall, and he pressed his digits flat against the paneling, then resting his helm against it, tapping quietly, his servo moved lower and lower, finding a small groove, then with a slight push the panel was lifted up, and off it’s beam. Exposing several wiring, forgotten controls, and the cooling system. “From what I can tell, the fighting erupted in the loading bays, then escalated throughout the ship, everyone is fighting, well almost everyone. There’s a few spare mechs who have taken to hiding or avoiding the brawls, but often get swooped up by one of the fighting mechs and hauled off. But I have noticed that some mechs are knocked out, trapped or even in status cuffs.”

It was practiced, rehearsed all too well, the larger mech leaned down and backed into the inner workings. His darker colors melted into the inky void, only a few parts of his frame stood out. 

“That’s…sad.” Starscream interrupted as Thunderclash shuffled deeper into the hidden passageway. “He discovered a whole hidden layer to the ship, only to use it to hide. How does that make you feel, Captain Rodimus?”

I feel like I want you to shut up.

Don’t vanish from me, please don’t fade away.

Rodimus stepped into the innerworkings, ducking his helm down, then his chassis hit something, it was big, and wide, and it was humming. He felt his spoiler wiggle, dance even, he was chassis to chassis with Thunderclash. In a tight tunnel, a dark tunnel, a private hideaway where no one could see them, where no one could see their flaws, his weaknesses, his one huge walking weakness. 

“Excuse me Captain.” Thunderclash’s large servo pressed against his spoiler, their frames scraped against each other and all Rodimus wanted to melt against this mech, to say here, alone with him. Maybe no commentary from the dead mech. The panel clicked back into place and the world was plunged into darkness. But he could care less, he was here, he was safe, and the whole of Lost Night could go to the pit and back.

Thunderclash’s lights clicked on.

“Oh this is a very interesting plot twist. This is why I love to haunt you!”

Then the servo pulled away, and Thunderclash retraced away from him! “Sorry it’s a tight fit and there’s some parts we’ll have to crawl, but the lower levels are easier to reach, once we get to the lifts, it’s straight forward…”

Hold me, please-when have I ever asked for anything?! 

“As long as we get to the engines.” 

He turned away, the sun, the burning kindness, the unwavering respect, all of it was gone. His optics, his pretty face, the way his nose crinkled when he talked to himself. Like that Rodimus was thrown into the vast coldness of space, the never ending void. Thunderclash burned and all Rodimus craved was to share in his warmth like the moon. His large frame slipped between two panels.

“NO!” Starscream’s shocked face stared right at Rodimus, then spun to Thunderclash, who climbed up into a crawl space, his aft wiggling in such a cute way before the rest of his frame sank into the darkness. “HIM?! YOU LIKE HIM?”

He shut his optics tight, and flicked his low lights on, anger, annoyance and worst of all, this mushy warm feeling that radiated from Thunderclash all pooled inside of his ember chamber. “Shut up.” He whispered.

“Captain Rodimus? Are you still there? I can’t turn around in this-”

“Shut up and lead the way!” He lashed out, stinging Thunderclash’s kindness with his own venom. And he regretted it, never has he ever regretted his actions, his harsh words and cruel punishments. 

Starscream cringed and his face squished into an embarrassing frown. “Owwie.”  

“Oh, alright, I’ll wait here.” His voice is small, quiet, and meek.

No! Don’t hide, please don’t hide, come back, don’t hide, I’m sorry please!

With that the warmth was gone.

Rodimus shimmied up into the crawl space, following the one mech everyone hated, the one that was left to die, meant to die, that was thrown into space and left to starve and drift in a coma until the end of time. The same mech who pulled on his ember with tow chains, who always listened, how never acted out, who didn’t have claws or fought. Rodimus felt cold, alone, small.

“That’s not how you talk to your crush, Rodimus, you have to be honest, open, caring, show him your soft side-do you have a soft side?”

Ignore him.

Chapter Text

Together they navigated the internals of the Lost Night, easily avoiding conflicts, stray mechs, and anything unpleasant that lingered between the wall paneling and them. A mixture of sidestepping, tiptoeing, and sinking down a few levels made everything convenient. So this was how Thunderclash was navigating the whole Lost Night. There was hardly any footage of Thunderclash in the halls, no footage of where the entrances and exits of this hidden passageway. It was brilliant, stunning even, he fully avoided every single conflict he could, by vanishing.

And yet, every single moment they spent here, felt like agony.

“Regretting snapping at him?” Starscream’s helm poked through the wiring as Rodimus crawled on his belly.

Yes.

Not a single word was spoken as they continued, Thunderclash didn’t break it, instead he pressed on, helping Rodimus continue towards the engines. It felt like he was eating nails. Before him was the worst Autobot ever, the one mech who made him feel lo- something , anything but this heavy mask, only an arm’s length away.

Rodimus ruined it.

He clicked his intake as Thunderclash’s peds vanished once again.

“Say something, do something, stop fumbling!” Starscream threw his servos up.

“Like what?” He whispered, hoping Thunderclash was out of audio range, sure scary captain persona was bad, but talking to yourself? Oh surely Thunderclash would withdraw from the Lost Night internally, maybe for their whole mission of finding Unicron, evaporate into the innerworkings, never to be seen again.

His intake felt tight, his ember throbbed in his chassis, that idea shouldn’t hurt this much.

“Like: I’m sorry I yelled at you, I didn’t mean it and I hope that once this is all solved I can rebuild that fragile bridge of trust we had…maybe kiss him?” Starscream’s disembodied helm lazily blinked up at him, a small pout on his face. How did Skyfire fall for this dork?

He glared at the seeker’s helm, wishing that it was possible to throttle a ghost. It wasn’t a bad idea, maybe apologizing, which he hasn’t done since he was sparkling. Kissing wasn’t going to fix anything, what kind of fairy tale as Starscream ‘living’ in? You can’t solve everything with kissing? 

Besides, if he was ever going to get to kiss Thunderclash, it wouldn’t be something forced, no rush, something small, intimate and quiet. Far away from the crew, security cameras, his troubles. A kiss that would make his tanks spin and his ember burst. There was no need for some grand gesture or some smooth talking, one tiny simple kiss. It was theirs, no one else’s, the two of them, Thunderclash’s handsome purple face, strong arms.

“Your faceplates are burning up.”

Impossible to beat up a ghost.

He dragged his chassis along the floor, the scrape echoed out.

“Shhh.” Thunderclash hissed out, his frame still, he tugged his field close and cupping his mouth.

Booming pedsteps shook the floor, an engine roared out, angry and fierce. 

“Okay, soooo babe, can you set me down now? I’m sure you won that fight, and I’m not in the medical field like you are, buttt, with all due respect, your optic is hanging out.” Swerve smoothed over, not a surprise, he did have a mouth on him, but he could wiggle his way into anyone’s claws with ease. Funny that he was a great bartender but never drank the stuff.

The larger mech grumbled then with a slam their aft crashed onto the floor and with a deep whiskey voice. “Fine Marshmallow, but once you’re done, you’re going back to that bar or my hab where it’s safe. Everyone is crazy out there and I’m not letting anyone get their claws on you.”

Rodimus gawked. 

Starscream’s face mirrored Rodimus. 

“VELOCITY?!” 

Marshmallow, aka Swerve hummed. “I will say, I knew you’d be a good fighter, your surgery speed is impressive and you know exactly where to hit. But babe, what is going on? Not to say I don't appreciate being swept off my peds.”

Velocity clicked her tongue and tapped her claws on the floor. “It’s a rage virus, that’s my suspicion, but I’ve never seen one behave in this manner. Every single mech is fighting down below, they’re trying to kill each other, that’s a rage virus for sure, it’s almost a prison riot. But this one is different.”

“Hold still, and pinch your pretty ruby closed.” 

There was a gross pop sound and Rodimus shivered, and yet he softly wiggled closer to Thunderclash, reaching out and resting his servo on the big mech’s ped. Holding his vents, his tanks turned, and he clenched his fangs. Thunderclash was too close to them, one punch in the hall and-

No more Thunderclash. 

“How is this one any different?” Swerve asked.

Velocity vented and once again her powerful pedsteps shook the floor. “Because Marshmallow, I haven’t killed you yet, or at least disfigured you.”

“Erm- what?”

There was some room, just enough, more than enough, Rodimus crawled on, pressing himself between the wall and Thunderclash. Resting his helm on Thunderclash’s green thigh, turning his attention towards the conversation outside.

“It’s best if someone finds patient zero, once we find them we can work on a vaccine for everyone, but it’s almost impossible to find patient zero, they are exactly like everyone else. The only difference would be that they have been acting like this much longer, behaving aggressive, volatile (which everyone on this fragging ship already is) but there is someone they have never hurt. They’re protecting this mech…Rage virus means that anyone and everyone down there has a single goal, attack…but!” 

“Eeep!”

There was a soft thump, it was easy to picture Velocity’s deadly form lifting Swerve up with ease. 

“I won’t let anyone hurt my little squishy Marshmallow.”

His engine purred and he glared at the wall, listening, waiting.

“Soooo my place or yours?” Swerves smooth voice dropped an octave 

“Hmmm I’ll stash you in mine, as much as I want to do this-” a light gasp was cut off with a lip smack, gross. “Better keep you all cozy and snuggled up, and I do have some sweet treats. Lets go marshmallow”

The pedsteps faded off and Rodimus reset his optics. That's new information. Sure Swerve had a little black book but Velocity having feelings for him? Hidden feelings, most of the time she was too scary to even approach.

“The frag was that?” Thunderclash stared down at him.

“I guess she likes him?”

“I could've told you that ages ago, she stares at him like he's a living marshmallow. I mean this?” He shifted his frame against Rodimus, unable to move anymore. “What are you doing?”

His face burned, why did he do that? What was the point of pressing against Thunderclash? 

Starscream grinned. “Ohhh you wanna hide him away like he's an acorn, huh? Gonna call him your little nut?”

I hate you so much, I hope you’re a ghost so I can have Unicron give you a new frame and beat you into the ground only to ask Unicron to do it all over again.

“I-uhhh, let's keep moving.”

“I'd love to, but unfortunately captain, I'm stuck. I'm pinned unless you can back up or crawl over me.”

Crawl, as in on top of him? Press their frames that close together? Now? PRIMUS THEY HAVEN'T EVEN KISSED!

“Gonna kiss your nut, squirrel bot?”

Rodimus inhaled and held it as he climbed all the way up Thunderclash’s beefy shoulder and gently placed his peds on his upper back, not a good idea to kick your crush in the face. Then he army crawled a bit more as the tunnel opened out to a stalled fan.

“Okay we can sit up now.” The larger mech using a pipe to sit up, his plates cracking. “at least its not too dusty.” He shrugged, forgetting everything that just happened, what Rodimus just did.

He pulled his legs in, sitting crisscrossed. “Now what's the plan?”

“Plan? I mean it's the lift shafts which are stuck. We have to descend through them, there’s a ladder. It's the fastest way down. But if the power kicks on we'll flatten. Best to not linger in there.”

“Seems easy, I'll go first.” He scooted towards the fan, kicking it in and opening the entrance a bit more. Rodimus poked his helm out, a long stretch of tunnel below him with a cable that connected to the ceiling, his tanks turned, spotting the motor and the lift car above him. One fatal mistake and he could lose his helm, or worse, hurt Thunderclash. “We have to be quick, if the engines kick back on, we’re going to be a couple of pancakes.” He tried to add some humor, something to lighten the mood, then he squished his aft out of the vent shaft and swung his frame onto the ladder.

Thunderclash’s purple face popped out and followed suit. “It’s going to take awhile to get to the lowest level, unless we take the direct route.”

”Direct route?”

”Fall on our afts, and probably die.”

”Ah,” He smirked as they climbed down the ladder, at least he wasn’t the only one trying to add some humor to this tense situation. It shouldn’t be too long now, just a small jog down to the lower levels, avoid some feral mechs who want to kill them, and bump start the engines. Which was a plot hole for their brilliant plan, how do you kick start engines?

It was when they reached the second level bulkheads, this was the medical bay level, the center of the ship. Everything rattled, and the lights flickered, on then off, and the ship groaned. It was an error, a ship wide error, alarms blared and the lifts wailed.

He stared up at the lift, knowing if the locking mechanism broke, Thunderclash’s frame was too big, his helm would get smashed in, or worse. Rodimus scrambled back up. “Get behind me,”

”What?”

Rodimus scrambled up the mech’s beefy back and onto his shoulders, glaring at the gears as his flames flickered. Then he aimed his flame throwers just right at the left gears, melting them into a white pudy. The lift stopped shaking, but the ship itself was still shuttering like an earth cat with a hairball. 

His tanks felt weightless, and he clung to the ladder.

”Woop!” 

He spun around, finding. Thunderclash falling. He didn’t jump off the ladder, no it was a leap, watching the mech’s big frame start to vanish into the darkness. Rodimus reacted without thought. 

“Captain?!” 

He moved fast, grabbing Thunderclash’s arm and tugging the mech in, pulling him close, the lift shaft’s floor charging towards them, this was the express route, a one way trip. His ember burned with panic, fear, the realization that they were going to die. 

He’d at least like to die like he lived, selfish. 

“Captai-mmfp!” Thunderclash’s screams were cut short as Rodimus kissed him. It wasn’t peaceful, it wasn’t kind, and quiet, it was rushed, full of panic but they were alone. Totally alone. Rodimus could die in peace, not happy, but satisfied.

Then Thunderclash’s arms wrapped around his waist, tying them. Together, closer, snug even he didn’t break the kiss, deepened it even. 

They stopped falling.

The alert blared all around the ship, their gravity generator killed over. They were weightless, everything was fine, they weren’t going to die, Thunderclash wasn’t going to die.

“OHHHHHH YOU FRAGGER, JUST WENT FOR THE KISS! KISSING YOUR NUT!” Starscream winked and flew into the lift wall, giving Rodimus some privacy. 

Fuck you Starscream.

Chapter Text

Why was Thunderclash staring at him? The better question might be why was his face so hot right now? Rodimus swallowed what felt like a whole brick. That happened, gravity shut off and everything went sideways and, well they got answers. 

“You’re patient zero.” Thunderclash’s big strong arms coiled around him as they drifted down the lift shaft and closer to the darkness. 

“That doesn’t make sense, it’s a rage virus, and I haven’t even scratched you.”

His lips flattered into a thoughtful stare. “It’s not just a rage, is it? Captain, we need to be honest, right now, just between the two of us. There’s no one else here, the cameras are down, and there’s no titles, nothing.” His warm servo cupped Rodimus’ face and oh that did things to his ember, the bigger mech leaned in, and once again he felt it. The soft press, the subtitle taste of Thunderclash, his spoiler was almost vibrating with excitement.

He would deny it if anyone asked if his ped lifted up.

It was too short, the kiss wasn’t enough, it wasn’t even close, maybe another 5 minutes, an hour? Something more than just a small peck.

”How do you feel?” Thunderclash’s pretty face retreated.

I can do that, again, please, just a bit longer.

His claws scraped along the mech’s frame, the dents, the scuffs, every imperfection that was Thunderclash. “I ummm, I can do that again.” It was mousy, small, pathetic and-frag it all it was him! That was Rodimus, this is Rodimus, dense heavy masks hiding all the glittery insides deep within himself.

Thunk!

They stopped drifting and Thunderclash held them against the ladder, Rodimus still secured with one arm around his waist. “We have to get you to the medical bay.”

”But the engines, we’re so close.” He turned towards the darkness, wanting nothing more than to fall a bit more, hide away, stay here.

”Captain, they need to study your code, find the virus and get a vaccine, something, mechs are dying. We need to find out what’s wrong with you.”

That stung, and he crumbled, no longer able to hide it behind a brick wall,  no masks, nothing. This feeling, this gross inside of him that resembled every glittery feeling he felt since he was hit with a lead pipe, this wasn’t a sickness. Was it? Was he ill? “I don’t want to.” He muttered, hiding his face in Thunderclash’s impressive chassis.

Wonder what it would feel like to lay on him, recharge for hours-no, you’re not getting that, you’re never getting that. Accept it.

”The ship, Captain, please, we need to save everyone. Trust me.”

I’ve always trusted you.

“Fine, but I won’t like it.” At least for a while he was being held, almost lovingly.

Using one servo Thunderclash climbed up the ladder towards the bulkhead, the medical bay was square in the center of the ship, but also several other smaller first aid stations were strategically placed. But the main one, with Ratchet, First aid, and Velocity (who was occupied with her gooey Marshmallow) would be waiting, and hopefully not trying to claw each other's throats out.

Rung by rung the time was getting shorter, and he felt small, a pebble even, draped off of Thunderclash’s frame, ducking his face into the mech’s neck. Maybe this was all a huge mistake, that some point in this wild mission he caught a sickness. That explained his feelings, how his processor was locked in on Thunderclash, how at every single screw up, not once did Rodimus discipline Thunderclash. 

I am sick.

”Captain?”

They stopped moving, and the lift doors stared down at him, almost mockingly, a few more steps and they would be in the medical bay. He vented and uncurled his sloth-like posture from Thunderclash, his magnets thumped against the floor. Claws scrapped between the doors and he pried them open with a grunt.

”Let’s get this over with.” He muttered, spoiler down.

The dark corridors stared back at him, the red safety lighting and a few flickering support lights. The medical bay should be only a bit longer, a little bit longer with Thunderclash.

”Let’s get moving, if the medical staff has been infected, I don’t want to be on Ratchet’s operating table.” Thunderclash whispered, his frame shivered. 

He spared a glance up at the mech, hating the feeling in his spark, he was sick, this was all some fever, or a bit of unprocessed energon, a blot of an oil, a crumb of rust. Rodimus wanted to speak, wanted to say something, anything, some reality, where his feelings weren't a sickness, that he did care for Thunderclash. That these fluffy mushy sparkly thoughts weren’t thoughts anymore.

That maybe Rodimus wasn’t some brute who bullied his crew into submission.

They took two steps in.

BOOM!

A cloud of glitter struck him and he growled spinning around.

”Thunders babe, beat feet!” Another mech’s voice cut through the darkness, his engines roaring as he raced past them, transforming grabbing Thunderclash’s arm and pulling him back into the lift shaft. “That’s Rodimus!” Getaway screeched and tugged Thunderclash backwards.

Rodimus wheezed and sputtered, his vision was watery, blurry as shiny tiny specks of glitter burned his optics. “YOU!” He snarled and stomped forward, flinging himself past Thunderclash, pushing off and grabbing Getaway’s leg, sinking his claws into the coward.

”Oh fuck-“

WAMP!

He slammed Getaway’s whole frame against the wall, his circuits burning, blazing, fire spitting out of him, claws drawn in and his flamethrowers pointed at Getaway’s cowardly face. “I’ll kill you!”

”Captain!” Thunderclash was faster, grabbing his servo, and shoving his pretty purple face between Getaway and him. “Let. Him. Go.”

”But, he-“

”Rodimus, he’s my friend, he might be my only friend, if you care for me, then you’ll spare him. Please.”

He wanted to kick, wanted to fight, and wrestled Getaway into a nice little molten cube. “Friend?” Thunderclash has a friend? Getaway? Digits wiggled under his own and he was pried off of Getaway’s platting, herded away from the two mechs.

Away from Thunderclash.

Chapter Text

For the first time, the very first time, since Thunderclash was picked up from space, the long months of trying to find him a position on the ship, to keep him far away from danger, and having to sit there and discipline him time over time (which was a lecture followed by awkward silence). Rodimus saw it. A real smile, an honest smile, the kind that you would only use for those you care about. And it wasn’t because of him, no it was because of Getaway!

”Holy frag, Thunder-babe, you’re alive!” Getaway was pulled in and landed with a slight thump as his ped magnets activated. “How?”

”I do what I do best, hide.” Thunderclash shrugged, color in his face, warmth, his optics darted away in a blush-Thunderclash can blush? 

”YEA BABY!” Getaway didn’t just hug, no the coward barreled into Thunderclash, hugging with his whole frame, arms, legs, somehow using his neck to hug. That might be a talent. “I thought you died, when I saw Tailgate deck Whirl, sending the helicopter flying across the loading bay right at you!”

Tailgate hit Whirl? Those two weren’t on good terms, then again their little tug of war on Cyclonus must’ve turned into a real war.

Thunderclash hugged him back, pulling the racer closer than Rodimus ever was. Holding him tight. “That might’ve been the perfect time to leave, I saw the signs and I booked it, I tried to look for you, but-“

”Air ducts.”

”THE AIR DUCTS!” He threw his servos up. “That’s so smart, how far did you get?”

”Pfft, I got pretty far, I was able to snag some of the smaller less violent mechs and stash them away, right now a good portion of the crew is hidden, I’ve kept only a few in some secret areas. But I can tell they’re getting tense, so I’ve been running around and seeing if I can find some stragglers and patch up a few wounded. I will admit, I’ve run out of status cuffs. So if we see the Scavengers- we better run for our lives.”

”Wait, that was you? I’ve hardly seen anyone, but everyone I’ve noticed is in cuffs, locked up or knocked out?”

”The one in only, baby!” 

They laughed, not the polite chuckle to keep the peace, not a deep laugh, the ugly laughter you made with friends, Thunderclash had a witch cackle.

He never laughed like that around Rodimus, no one did. His tanks turned and Rodimus wanted to dart back into the hidden highway Thunderclash showed him.

Thunderclash can laugh?

”Sooo,” Getaway’s helm poked up. “What’s with the captain?”

”He’s patient zero and we need to get him to the medical bay to find a vaccine. We've been traveling down to the engine room to restart the engines, but if we can cure the crew-it’ll work out.”

Getaway tilted his helm to the side. “Rodimus, as in captain Rodimus, the same mech who was the last wrecker standing? THAT Rodimus? He’s patient zero?”

He grumbled and stomped backwards, his fists curling inwards, he’s right there, a few steps away, why are they ignoring him? He’s the Captain, he’s supposed to be in charge and it was better when it was just them.

Not a good idea to melt Thunderclash’s only friend-even if this is all a sickness. Maybe after? 

“If it’s a rage virus, it doesn’t behave like anything I’ve ever seen before-but… he hasn’t killed you?”

Thunderclash’s smile faded. “N-no, he hasn’t, but I’m sure he’s patient zero.”

He could never kill Thunderclash, at least, not when he’s sick.

”We do have a problem, the medical bay is an absolute nightmare, Ratchet and First Aid are trying to kill each other, and let's say they’re getting creative.” Finally Getaway unslung himself from Thunderclash. “But we can also get creative,” he winked.

”I know that look, you got a plan?”

”It’s dumb, but you just gave us the key.” He gestured to Rodimus. “A burning hot pissed off Prime can scare Unicron awake, then we can wrangle some out of control medics.”

They turned towards Rodimus, Thunderclash’s smile vanished, Getaway’s whole frame shook with excitement.

”Oh yea.”

Oh no.

What's wrong with me?

The door was flung open with ease, rocketing through the medical bay and smashing into the wall with a puff of dust. Lights flickered around him and the medical bay stood still, in one corner was First Aid who was holding a blade that could only belong to Deadlock, then there was Ratchet who held up his homemade fusion cannon. The walls were covered in tools, blaster marks, dents, it was a miniature war here. Then to top it all off was none other than Drift, cowering under a medical slab. They glared at him for a split moment, only to shutter and submit.

Rodimus cleared his intake. “There’s a ship-wide riot and my medical staff is playing sparkling tantrums?” He snarled, smoke billowing out of his flame throwers, his intake, even out of his nose. This he knew, this glare he wore so well, the anger that burned his ember, the rage that he’s felt for his whole life. Always being second best, always being the backup, always having to watch over his back.

Thunderlcash’s invent was loud, it echoed in his processor.

I am sick, I’ve always been sick. I shouldn’t care what others think of me when I discipline my crew, or feel guilty when he stares at me. I shouldn’t care that he flinches when I raise my voice. I got two kisses, and if anything this has been getting worse. End this farce now! 

”We’ll if it isn’t the scummiest Prime I’ve ever worked for, still want me to pick off those loose droplets, or should my skills be put to a more… important task?” First Aid smirked, he knew the truth, the full truth, he saw the end results of what happened to the wreckers, what he did to them. He hung that over Rodimus, it wasn’t guilt, Rodimus swore it wasn’t.

He crossed the medical bay with a powerful stride, rehearsed, still his pads would hurt, he stomped and glared at the smaller mech. Claws wrapping around his throat and with a puff of smoke, flames licked his throat. “Do you want a sequel or an autograph?” Then he slammed First Aid into the wall, pinning him there. “Download my code, and make an antidote, or I’ll melt this whole medical bay.”

Drift was fast, he scrambled out of his hiding space, grabbing the handheld medical terminal and wiring. “Please, have a seat.” He whispered, hiding his face from Rodimus.

Rodimus did what he was told, tossing First Aid aside and plopping himself onto the medical berth, he spared a glance at Getaway and Thunderclash, who hid behind the smaller racer. His ember sank and he resigned himself, mouthing ‘fix the engines’.

He was sick, this was all a stupid tiny sickness and everything would go back to normal. Rodimus watched as Ratchet and First aid scowled at each other but worked perfectly together. 

He would go back to the unfeeling cool captain of the Lost Night and Thunderclash would be nothing more than a rat scurrying around. They would never cross paths again, their optics would never meet, no more tight enclosed spaces. At least it was nice.

Everything was going to be back to normal, yippie.

Chapter Text

The air was dense, unsettling so, there was a faint linger of spilt energon that hung the air, the life lights were still burning, everything was still, quiet. That wasn’t the norm for the Lost Night. Sure a full blown riot wasn’t exactly the same, but there was life, there was light, and here and now it was dead, quiet.

At least he wasn’t alone, sure at any moment they could be attacked and mauled within an inch of their life, but right now his processor was focused on something else, someone else. 

He looked so vulnerable in that berth as his systems were forced to shut down, I didn’t want to leave him, but the engines, he asked and- he’s sick, it’s all a sickness.

“Sooo Thunder-baby, you wanna shag him?” Apparently he wasn’t the only one distracted.

”What-no-I mean-“ He sputtered as they made their way through the deepest, darkest level of the ship, towards the engine room. Once Rodimus was in the medical bay and the doctors weren’t fighting like sparklings, they still had one huge task to do. Get the Lost Night working.

That wasn’t in his job description, in fact did he have a job here? So why was he doing this? Why did he care? The captain wasn’t breathing down his neck anymore, and his best friend, Getaway, was safe. So why did he care so much?

Because, he’s never hurt you. 

Together they climbed down the last bulkhead and through the oldest parts of the ship, slipping by a few stray mechs, but avoided contact as much as possible, at least Getaway swiped some more cuffs from the medical bay.

“Well, you did linger after they put him into a status lock, heard that he was running on fumes, hasn’t recharged in days, that would make anyone crabby. Butttt he didn’t get too angry with you, did he?” Getaway pressed as they sidestepped Rung, the ship's vile therapist. 

“erm- promise you won’t make a big deal of it?”

”Promise, Thunder-baby, what are besties for?” Getaway winked.

He swallowed as they crept down the hall towards the engine room, finding no one in sight. “We kissed.”

”You!” Getaway’s blast mask fell and he cupped his mouth.

”Twice,”

”Twice?” He sputtered, his face was paler than it normally was. “On purpose?”

Thunderclash tapped the door, it was locked, not a problem, not at all. Getaway leaned down and started to fiddle with the lock. “He kissed me, and I kissed him back, proving a point-“ Thunderclash was cut off.

”Pfft, I could've told you he wanted you the moment the Lost Night hit you in deep space.”

”What?” Thunderclash sputtered, his face burning, then his ember, his large burning ember jerked up, like a needy puppy.

”Yep, you dented the port side, and the last time someone even scratched his ship, oh he went off on them (s’mores their aft), but somewhere there’s a dent that perfectly fits your fine aft out there.”

”There’s no way, you’re lying. He’s sick, clearly sick, who would want me?”

The door groaned and Getaway pulled the heavy duty handle up, without power the door was heavy, both of them pressed their weight into it. Slowly it opened revealing the engine bay.

”First, shut up, you’re Thunderclash, sure the screw up, the failed super soldier, and the walking harbinger of bad luck, but you’re kind, you read people, and unlike anyone else here, you have a good direction.”

”Bu-“

”I’m not done,” Getaway grabbed his arm, dragging him along towards the engines, humming his tapped digits. “It looks like they do need a. Jump start, the battery needs a charge, think you can do it?”

”Erm, jump start a whole ship?” He leaned down over the batteries. “I’ve never tried to.”

”Well today is the day of firsts, kissed your captain and didn't die, why not? Maybe the kiss got you some good luck?” He leaned in, smirking, his battle mask forgotten on the floor, always losing a mask here and there. “Also, out of everyone here, you didn’t fight him, didn’t confront him, you decided to help, sure he’s scarier than Primus’ T-cog finally working, but he…”

”He- what? Getaway, this is the sickness, whatever happens next, will just happen, I don’t need proof that he likes me, that this whole weird day. Having the captain not melt my face off is just a flook.”

The batteries popped open with ease and he dug up his power cables, they were heavy duty, but well worn, well used. Funny that one day he was a nobody and Optimus picked him for this sick experiment and handed him over to Wheeljack. It failed, they all failed, but he was still alive, still functioning out of all the other test subjects. Thunderclash was meant to die, instead he found that he was going to live a long painful life with an ember that burned like the stars.

His chassis shifted open and his ember was blazing hot. The light covered the whole energon bay, banishing the darkness with ease. 

“Thunderclash.” Getaway shielded his optics with his servo, a small grin on his face, he liked to smile, his crooked denta always stood out. Getaway took one end of the clamps and set them on the batteries, then turned away. 

He clamped them onto his chassis then his ember, feeling his ember sputter then burn brighter as some of the extra charge was being syphoned to the ship, a faint humm filled the room.  “Getaway?”

Getaway smacked his denta and vented, it was long, deep, intense. “Thunderclash, just hear me out, it’s not a sickness, none of this is, at least not for him. Not once has he ever punished you, maybe a glare, or ignoring you, but never has he attacked you. I’ve been watching our captain for a long time, and I’ve noticed something.”

”What?”

”He cares, which I know that sounds weird, but he honestly cares about the crew, sure he doesn’t show it. He lets Megatron screw up paper work, he’s banned Drift from the bar, Minimus has a literal job here (one right under Rodimus as a secretary) Rewind and Chormedome are separated. Sure it looks like he’s trying to wrangle a crew under his command, but we both know that’s not just it.”

”What if this is all a sickness then?” He sat down, feeling slightly light headed, the charge drained from his frame and funneled into the batteries. “They’re gonna need a new battery for sure.”

Getaway snorted and sat back with him. “Thunder-baby, if this was an illness, Rodimus has been sick since the very start. So what are you going to do?”

He puttered and played with his servos, tanks turning. “I don’t know, what can I do?”

”That's for you to figure out, worst case scenario, Mr.loverbot is sick and needs some time to rest and recharge. Best case scenario, you get yourself the scariest looking boyfriend I have ever seen and you get to make out with him?” Getaway leaned in, making kissy sounds.

”You’re horrible!” Thunderclash shoved his friend. 

“Come on, kiss him again, three strikes? Huh? Huh?”

He laughed and rolled his optics. “Fine, fine… I think he’s going to need someone to take care of him after this.”

”Oh, sweet n’ spicy nurse romance? Thunder-baby, you dog!”

Their snorting laughter filled the engine bay, Getaway shoved him, then Thunderclash pulled his friend into a noogie. It was wholesome, sweet, something that Thunderclash was sure he’d never get, a friend, a true honest friend. Someone to support him, to joke with. 

He’s right, Rodimus has never once harmed you, or even made a snide remark. Maybe? It might be time to try a new relationship with someone?

Thunderclash took a deep vent as his frame grew heavier then before, funny that a super ember program failed, he wasn’t strong, could hardly use his cannons. But his ember was bright, strong, a living battery. “I think it’s ready.”

”Alrighty, take a breather big guy,” Getaway handed him a cube, then unclamped the cables, rolling them up and setting them aside. Thunderclahs’s chassis folded back in on itself. Getaway hummed a catchy song, that stupid one that always got stuck in Thunderclash’s helm, Soul Bossa Nova, skipping around the engine bay as he flicked everything back to life. 

He sipped his cube, stretching his frame out, hearing pops as energon started to flow and his frame reset to a normalcy. Carefully he got to his peds and followed around Getaway, helping where he could.

The engine room started to buzz. With an effort they reignited the Lost Night’s pilot ember, then the gears started to twist and move, a deep thrum echoed throughout the ship. Together they yanked a lever back into gear and the ship roared back to life, engines roaring, lights flickering, everything resetting.

”Erm,” Thunderclash looked around the engine bay, then down to Getaway. “You won’t tell anyone?”

Getaway laughed, it was loud, his janky denta flashing in the light. “Anyone? Thunderclash you’re my only friend here, all I want is to see you happy (and maybe not get burned by your boyfriend) Who the frag am I going to tell? Besides,” He winked. “No one saw us here fixing the engine bay, just like no one saw me locking up feral mechs. I didn’t see you and Rodimus.” He held out a pinkie.

Thunderclash took it and they shook on the pinkie promise. “Fine, but when this is all over, and I prove that this is just Rodimus having a sickness, you owe me… A hike.

”Next shoreleave, BUTTT if I’m right, you owe me.”

”Fine, you get to repaint me, again.”

”YES! I’M GONNA ADD FLOWERS LIKE YOU’RE THE MYSTERY MACHINE~! LET’S GO GANG!”

Chapter Text

It was over, all of it was over. 

All he had to show for it was the worst spoiler ache he’s ever felt.

The ship was humming with life, the medical bay was being supervised by Megatron himself, sure he had no t-cog but he still had control, and power. And oddly enough the medical staff respected him. That might’ve been due to Megatron taking half of Ratchet’s job, elbows deep into RedAlert. 

Minimus in his classic Barbie pink and fuzzy coat sat next to him, listing off the damages and reports, half caring. He was Rodimus’ secretary, a job to mostly keep Minimus busy and far away from sinking his claws into the wrong mech (Rodimus wasn’t making that mistake again). “So, congratulations, someone restarted the engines while you were out cold.” Minimus spat out in a snide remark.

Good.

He laid there, feeling numb, totally numb, someone else did his job, that was nice. Which laying on your spoiler isn’t a good idea, certainly not when it felt like someone rammed him with his own ship. At least he wasn’t running on fumes anymore, and the vaccine was being passed around. And now his chassis felt empty.  He sat up. “Megatron, am I clear?”

”Yes, but the virus is interesting, I’ll dissect it when I have some free time.” he nodded, pulling his well trained servos out of RedAlert’s chassis, the welder in one. “You need to rest for sure, light racing for at least 6 months.” He spoke softly, kindly to the mech on his table. “And no energex.”

Rodimus plucked the wires from his frame, then slid off the table and wobbled slightly. His helm spinning and he leaned back. “What is that?”

”Overexhaustion.” Megatron didn’t even look up, pulling in Whirl, promptly cleaning his servos. “You need rest, you spent a whole week trying to wrangle the situation into something manageable. All while hardly fueling, stressing more than a turbo rabbit, and burning through a bulkhead. The next few weeks you are captaining the ship from your berth.”

Rodimus groaned and rolled his optics. “Really? I can handle this-“

”Doesn’t mean you have to, I’ve already assigned a berth nurse for you, sure he’s got no training, but they only need to make sure you don’t strain yourself.” Megatron grumbled, welding a straight line through Whirl’s twisted leg. 

“Fine, waste someone else's time, they’re going to be kicked out.” He waved and stumbled out of the medical bay ignoring Megatron’s grumbling remarks. Carefully he navigated the packed halls full of the damaged crew towards his hab, he grimaced at their damage, their mangled frames. Guilt pooling in his tanks, he did this, he was the first mech infected with the rage virus. This was his fault.

“How are you feeling there?” Starscream’s ghostly frame floated up through the floor and walked side by side with him.

”Like slag.” He muttered, he gave up, gave up on ignoring the ghostly seeker, on controlling the situation, on restarting the ship, and he gave up that his feelings were real. Turns out they weren’t.

”Hmmm, life can do that to you. You know when Skyfire and I had our falling out, it felt like that, like someone punched me through my spark and ripped it out, found out that’s exactly what it feels like.” His face frowned and he clicked his denta. “But… I found out afterwards how much he cared for me. That’s what sucks about death, you learn a lot after you die, you see those you cared for, even love changes. And you wish that you were there for them, that you were alive and could’ve seen that change.”

”Why are you telling me this?” He whispered, turning away from the long long long line of mechs waiting for the medics.

”…don’t wait to find out, that’s what I regret, waiting.” Starscream shrugged walking through a wall as Rodimus’ hab door hovered over him.

The hab was dark, but in order, he knew the layout, he pushed through the bare living area, past the kitchen and slumped onto the berth. Rodimus wiggled himself to the very top, where he kept his hidden blaster, and more importantly his soft blanket, wrapping himself up and letting everything marinate within him. Spoiler up, which he never slept like this, never sleep with your back turned- but he would make an exception. 

“I was sick…I didn’t care about him.” He puttered and buried his face into his pillows. 

A faint whoosh filled his hab, instantly his systems were alert, he locked it, didn’t he? But-(more important)- who the frag thought it was a good idea to break into his hab?

Elita always thought it was cute- testing those boundaries.

The stab to his ember stung and Rodimus bit his lip, hating himself. As if this whole week couldn’t get any worse. He learned his lesson, understood exactly what to do next time he woke up with a cool barrel to his helm. Rodimus rolled onto his back, ignoring the uncomfortable press on his spoiler, then he pulled out the hidden blaster. He watched and waited as the intruder snuck into his hab, lazily making their way around his living quarters.

Maybe killing someone might make me feel a little bit better? Anything is better than wallowing in my own self pity. They ware in range, he could blow this mech’s processor into space dust. But he waited, Rodimus needed to see their ember putter as their frame collapsed into a pile of useless junk.

The door woodshed open, a large figure stood in the frame, towering. Then the mech froze. “Can you please stop trying to kill me?”

Thunderclash?!

The blaster’s safety was clicked back into place and he pushed it into his sub space. “What are you doing here?” 

This is so much worse then self pity, leave me to rust-no this- this CHEWED UP BUBBLE GUM!

He reset his optics. “I’m your nurse? I hope that’s okay, I’ve been worried about you, and well how hard can it be? First time doing anything medical, at least Megatron gave me a list-erm, if you want I can leave.” He pointed behind him, a faint frown on his pretty face.

Thunderclash was worried about me? Worried enough to willingly volunteer to be here? This was a virus, everything I felt was a sickness, and he’s-

Then that all too familiar glittery warm feeling bubbled up in his chassis and Rodimus vented slumping fully on his berth. “I’m sure I can handle myself, but Megatron is a medical expert. What kind of list did he give you?”

It was a soft chuckle, a sensible one, Thunderclash help up the data pad. “It’s pretty lengthy, 5 pages. Mostly making sure you fuel, destress, and there’s an in-depth toro tail on how to rub your spoiler?”

My spoiler?! It’s the worst spot, it’s sensitive, Megatron what are you plotting?

”Why my spoiler in particular?”

”The footnote: says it’s where Nyonites carry most of their stress and often gets neglected. I wouldn’t mind, honest.”

Megatron, are you setting me up?

Rodimus waved him in. “You can sit on the berth.” He turned away, wishing he was a slug, being a slug sounded better then dealing with the uncomfortable tension. They kissed twice, Rodimus willingly shielded Thunderclash, he was willing to kill Getaway to keep Thunderclash- for frags sake he burnt through a bulkhead to get to Thunderclash. 

Even now, he would still do it all again, sure to get a cheap kiss, or maybe be held like that again, or just to be around him a little bit longer. It wouldn’t help to let his processor wander, he got two kisses, he could be happy with that, satisfied.

“Sooo, the first thing Megatron told me to do was rub your spoiler, erm, do you mind, have any grease? Wax?” 

Rodimus flopped over onto his front, grabbing the nightstand drawer and pulling out a glittery shiny grease and tossing it back. “Just, not too hard, really don’t want to wait in that long line if my spoiler falls off.”

”Please, I’m pretty sure you’re not that sensitive or fragile, you melted through a bulkhead and made the whole hallway quake.” He rubbed his servos in the grease and evenly coated them. “Erm, let me know if anything hurts.”

”Yea, yea.” This was foolish, there was no feelings, nothing, sure his ember seemed to wiggle with anticipation- but this wasn’t the same, there wasn’t the rush of lust, or passion. Small, quiet, a little bit of trust.

Cooling grease dripped on his spoiler, it itched at first, then he felt the gentle press of Thunderclash’s digits right at the base of his spoiler. 

CRACK!

”OH MY-I SWEAR I’VE HARDLY-“

The dam was broken and what felt like billions of gallons of water rushed out of him. Rodimus groaned and flopped his helm back into the pillow. “Do that again.” 

“Oh, okay, if you insist.” Those big servos once again rested on his spoiler base and he pressed down.

Crack!

Rodimus bit his lip and gasped, his frame shivering, that felt good. “K-keep going.” 

Slowly he rolled his digits around Rodimus’ spoiler, the hinge and slipping the cooling grease between his panels. The spoiler was pulled forward, then back, releasing tension and soothing joints that had been locked up for years. Each movement felt wonderful and his frame unwound, limbs rested and his engine slowed to a steady healthy purr. All the day to day stress, always keeping up a mask, hiding behind anger, using his status to bully others into place, trying to always measure up to some impossible standard.

Gone.

One moment he was laying face down on his berth, letting the worst Autobot ever work on his spoiler, the next the weight on the berth was gone.

Rodimus snorted, waking up from a deep recharge, perking his helm up and turning towards Thunderclash. The larger mech froze, servos still covered in grease, both of them high in the air. “What happened?” Rodimus checked his internal clock and his tanks dropped.

I’ve been asleep for 3 hours?! 

“Erm, you fell asleep.” He smiled sheepishly.

That was the best recharge you’ve had in years-

“You’ve been here this whole time?” 

He nodded. “After 30 minutes you were out like a light, and I wanted too make sure your spoiler was tended to, but after an hour I stopped, and” He cleared his throat his pretty purple face somehow blushed (which should be impossible). “You-uh, got a bit of.” He lowered his servos, cupping Rodimus’ chin, his thumb brushing off a line of drool. “There.”

OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!

Thunderclash chuckled, his nose wrinkled pearly white fangs flashed. “Didn’t think you would drool.”

Stop staying here, stop doing this to me, stop making me-he’s still holding your chin, still holding you- why? Why? Of all the mechs in every universe, of every single reality, why did it have to be you?

Rodimus swallowed, his ember climbing up his throat. He wanted this, it wasn’t the sickness, maybe he caused this all to happen? Some stupid chemical chain reaction of him burying his emotions, hiding, masking. He was everyone on the ship, always checking reports, inspecting, always keeping the peace. It spread, no wonder it spread, it just- he is patient zero, he’s always been.

His claws fiddled with his pillow under him, he didn’t want to slice it open, no he held it carefully, turning the fabric over and over. “T-Thunderclash.”

”Yes, Rodimus?”

“You’re not scared of me?” He felt like a mouse, small, fragile, yet still gently held. 

“No, not anymore. Are you scared?”

”Terrfied.” His frame felt weak and he leaned in, resting against Thunderclash’s wide chassis. Warm arms wrapped around him, held him close, he was safe here, he wanted to be safe. Rodimus wrapped his arms around Thunderclash’s waist, the steady rhythm of his ember, it lulled Rodimus. “I’m scared something will happen to you, and I can’t protect you. That I’m not strong enough, that this is all a huge mistake. That I can’t trust you, or anyone, I’m not able to trust anyone here, that this is it.” 

Thunderclash hummed, resting one of his still greasy servos on Rodimus’ lower back, rubbing a steady circle under his spoiler. “I’m afraid too. But, I want to try.”

”Are you going to stay?”

”I’d like to.”

They stayed there, like that, Thunderclash half off his berth, Rodimus using him as a pillow. They were alone, no one else was there, no cameras, no gossipers, nothing. He bit his lip, turning his helm up, letting his chin scrape against Thunderclash’s chassis, staring up those endless bright blue pools. Rodimus could spend hours like this, warm servos on his lower back, his own digits finding devices and tracing them. 

Rodimus wanted this, needed this. 

Ask him!

He was the first to break the silence. “Can I get one more?”

A soft laugh escaped Thunderclash, his servo trailed up, and held Rodimus’ helm, velvet soft optics cradled Rodimus’ ember. His tanks did barrel rolls, the blankets pulled him tight. The faint tickle on his nose, hot breath between them. Their intakes met, finally after all this time! Rodimus tightened around Thunderclash’s waist. He felt Thunderclash’s ember burn through his chassis, the never ending warmth. They finally parted, for what felt like minutes, gasping, engine purring. 

“Can I stay?” Thunderclash blurted out, still holding him.

He nodded, shifting aside and holding the blankets up, welcoming Thunderclash. Early the larger mech slipped under, plucking Rodimus up, then setting the racer onto his chassis. Rodimus settled in, finding Thunderclash’s chassis comforting, feeling that strength, the strong rumble, soothing. 

Maybe, maybe this will work out.

Rodimus wanted this.

There’s no such thing as love sickness.