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Rodimus slowly lowered himself into the hot oil until he was submerged up to the optics. Steam filled his vision and growled in his audios. He smiled against the oil and moved his attention to the large mech sharing the bath with him.
Ultra Magnus.
It seemed even in the most relaxing place on the ship—Sigma, most relaxing place anywhere!—the large mech could not de-stress. He sat rigid against the back of the tub. His optics were dimmed however. Rodimus had no idea how the lapping of hot oil against Magnus’ grille was not soothing.
Maybe his body still ached. They had taken quite a beating on that Primus forsaken planet. Rodimus had gotten off easy but Magnus and some of the others had not been so lucky.
~You know, when I was a kid I wanted an aquatic alt mode.~
Magnus quirked an optic ridge. He glanced down and attempted to find his Captain through the steam. It took him a moment to realize Rodimus was mostly submerged.
~You are still a child, Rodimus.~ Primus, why did his comm voice sound so tired? ~And why would you want an aquatic alt mode? That is highly impractical.~
Rodimus scoffed, agitating the oil around his mouth.
~I’m only a child to you ‘cause you went to the academy with Orion Pax.~
“Did you just… Call me old?” Magnus said in a hushed tone. Rodimus could have sworn the once Enforcer even pouted.
The Prime sat up. He surged forward until he felt his hands connect with Magnus’ patellas. The larger mech sat on the small bench installed into the medical oil tub. Rodimus had sunk himself into the deeper end.
Magnus tilted his helm down as Rodimus gripped his thighs, bracing a flame colored knee against the bench between Magnus’ legs. The Second grunted a light disapproval.
“No, I didn’t call you old. Just illustrating that I’m not young.”
“That is certainly not how it sounded.” Magnus watched Rodimus’ optics dim. “Why an aquatic alt mode?”
“Nobody else had one.” Blue optics flared into life, locking into Magnus’. “I wanted to stand out.”
“Standing out has never been a problem for you.” Magnus turned and grabbed a rag from the side of the tub. “I’m not even sure we still had aquatic transports for you to scan by the time you were of age.”
“Probably not…” Rodimus’ voice was soft as he watched Magnus. The larger mech drew the cloth gingerly over his scratched chest plates. He attempted to turn to get his side—where a huge graft of olium alloy indicated his cable-spilling injury—but winced and powered down his optics.
“I was just worried another grounder would blend into everything… Be overlooked. And I’m not made to be a flier.”
Rodimus took the rag from Magnus. He climbed up onto the bench and pushed at one of Magnus’ smoke stacks. The once Enforcer slid forward to sit on the end of the berth to give Rodimus room behind him.
Rodimus pressed his back to the wall and set to work diligently. He drew the rag between large pauldrens, fingers curving around each seam and dent to eagerly collect any dirt. He stroked the rag up the smoke stacks and heard Magnus sigh heavily. Rodimus held back a chuckle and continued.
Magnus could not keep his optics online. His processor went fuzzy and a haze settled over him. He had felt so stiff, so worn and tired just moments before but now… He gave in to lithe fingers and felt long taut cables loosen. He slouched and could not find the resolve to feel ashamed.
Rodimus carefully lifted Magnus’ right arm, watching to insure the wonded ball joint didn’t crack again. He knelt next to Magnus and propped the arm on his pauldrens, enjoying the weight of it. He brushed the rag cautiously over the med-seal seam, watching for pain on the dim faceplates above him.
Magnus tilted his helm and forcibly powered up his optics. He felt a wash of concern from the young Prime. The look on Rodimus’ face echoed the worry. Magnus moved the arm from around Rodimus’ shoulders. He cupped the smooth face.
Rodimus leaned towards Magnus. He gripped the larger bot’s wrist and felt his chestplate loosen.
“I said no straining, slaggit!” Ratchet bellowed as he threw open the door to the private wash room.
Rodimus spun and stood, pointing angrily at the medic.
“You don’t give /me/ orders! I’m the Captain!”
“Oh ho, but you’re in my med clinic.” Ratchet hissed low. “Your command means scrap unless I say so. Now keep your panels closed and hurry up. I already regret giving you permission to join Magnus in a /medical/ wash!”
Ratchet turned and slammed his fist onto the door panel. The door responded in like and swooshed closed.
Rodimus balled up the rag in his fists. He tossed it as hard as he could at the door.
The door opened barely a klik later. Rodimus jerked back as the door revealed Ratchet to be standing, staring at Rodimus silently. The medic took a slow, calculated step into the room. Rodimus scrambled off the bench and dove into the deep end.
“Oh no you don’t.” Ratchet snarled, approaching the tub. He gave Magnus a look.
“I’m going to terminate him. This is your only warning.”
Rodimus surfaced slowly. He dimmed his optics.
“Now, Ratchet, let’s—” Rodimus’ words turned to gurgled noises as Ratchet grabbed his helm and shoved him back under the oil.
As Ratchet ignored the Prime clawing at his arm he almost felt bad he was causing Rodimus to miss the smile on Magnus’ face.
Almost.