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“What’s got your tailpipe in a twist?” Ratchet asked, on one morning that would normally have been a very fine one, had Ultra Magnus not been on the verge of actually panicking. Which was ridiculous. He was Ultra Magnus, the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, Second in Command of the Lost Light, and now he was worrying about something a sparkling could solve. He did not, and would never, panic.
“I’m fine. I only…I’m stuck.” Ratchet raised an optical ridge, but walked over from where he’d been checking on Ultra Magnus’ vitals. After all, this was meant to be a calm, collected, regularly-scheduled appointment. His favorite type of appointment.
“Well, spill it. What’re you stuck on?”
“So, as I’m sure you are well aware, I am courting Rodimus.” Ratchet nodded. Just about everyone on the ship had picked up on that. Ultra Magnus was many things, but subtle was definitely not one of them.
Even Whirl had, which had resulted in a chain of events that ended with the Wrecker in the brig and the Enforcer preferring not to think about it.
“So I have successfully completed the first two Acts—Intimacy and Disclosure—and I am stuck on what to give him for Proference. A suggestion would be greatl—”
“Sorry, can’t help you with that.”
He blinked, confusion echoing through his field before he could stop it. “What?”
Ratchet rolled his optics, as if what he was suggesting was not a perfectly reasonable request.
“Listen.”
“I am.”
“The gift’s gotta come from the spark. No bot but you can decide, or it won’t be genuine.”
That did make sense, as much as Ultra Magnus loathed to admit it.
“I can give you a tip, if you need it that bad.”
“It’d be appreciated.”
“Don’t get him something material. He won’t care that much, and’ll probably lose track of it anyway.”
Ultra Magnus would argue that his captain had a better memory than most would assume, just usually couldn’t focus on long enough to properly use whatever he’d picked up. But instead he stiffly nodded, thanking the medic and heading off, his processor still racing with ideas. Most were quickly discarded.
The Act of Intimacy, voluntarily and discreetly holding Rodimus’ servo, had gone well. Rodimus had blushed, a clear indicator of affection. Even if he had quickly looked away, he had only let go when he’d needed his servo. A good sign.
The second Act, Disclosure. He’d, rather casually if he did say so himself, admitted that he was worried about his abilities to connect with the rest of the crew and lead them properly. It was something small—a microcosm of larger issues—but Rodimus had been quick to comfort him, however awkwardly. Nonetheless, there was clear care in his captain’s optics, a care Ultra Magnus had taken far too long to realize was genuine.
He needed to figure something out, at least before Whirl started up again. Ratchet was right, this was something he should do all on his own.
A thought struck him.
…
A knock sounded from Ultra Magnus’ hab door 0.41 hours after he’d commed Rodimus. Far too long, but still much shorter than usual for him. The Enforcer sent the ping to open the door, and Rodimus waltzed in, casual as always.
“So, what is it, bossman? Were the reports really that important? I’ll get to them, I promise.”
Despite popular belief, Rodimus had actually gotten better at reading and completing reports, something Ultra Magnus respected and appreciated in equal amounts.
He stood up from his seat at his desk—which was complete with some genuinely beautiful engravings Rodimus had likely done to annoy him—and strode across his spotless hab.
His captain blinked up at him, but didn’t get a chance to say a word before Ultra Magnus was sweeping him up in a hug, careful not to pull him off the ground.
“…What are you doing?” Rodimus asked, confusion evident from his voice alone, which was the first sign something was amiss.
Huh.
He kept his voice calm, even as he pulled off of his captain, letting him go completely. “That was my Act of Proference. I agreed when Ratchet said you wouldn’t care much for anything material, but I thought you’d take great care in being the first mech in several million years to receive a hug from me.”
Rodimus stared at him. Something was amiss.
“Act of Proference?”
Ultra Magnus panicked.
“Yes,the third Act of the Conjunx Ritus.”
“THIRD!?”
“Yes…is that a surprise?”
“FRAG YEAH IT’S A SURPRISE! You’ve been courting me this whole slagging time and I didn’t even know it!”
Huh?
“…You didn’t?”
“Of course I didn’t! You’d never court me! You don’t even like me that much! Or at all!”
At this point, Ultra Magnus was overcome with confusion more than anything else. But he pressed forward. If Rodimus ran out of the hab or did something otherwise rash, they likely wouldn’t have this conversation again.
“Rodimus, why in Primus’ name would I not like you?”
His captain sputtered, and now Ultra Magnus really was wondering if he was as reasonable as he thought.
“You—you’re—you’re you! You love order and rules and reports and being perfect and I’m chaotic and reckless and I don’t even do read of the reports! I just say I do! Mags, we’re opposites!” Rodimus finished his ramble, tossing his servos out as if he was saying the most obvious thing in the universe.
And Ultra Magnus thought it over. He really did, even though he was quick to speak up anyway. He knew he was correct, after all. “I knew a human, on Earth. She enjoyed saying that ‘opposites attract.’”
It sounded stiff and awkward, like everything he said did, and probably nothing like Rodimus needed to hear. But nonetheless, when he met his captain’s optics, they were shining with unshed tears. Even his field was out, full of affection, and, forgive him for hoping, love.
“Yeah, yeah, of course you’d say that.” Rodimus said, pulling him into his second hug in four million years.