Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rodimus had always watched. He watched Nyon fall; he watched meteors cut through the sky in bursts and firecracker-explosions. He watched figures dance in and out of his life, impermanent and unfocused. Few faces stayed long enough for him to remember how they smiled, how they laughed, how they spoke and the way they tasted words they may or may not mean.

Rodimus had always watched.

He expected to watch, again, as Drift lived up to his name and faded in and out of a mutual existence. A seasoned soldier, a tired soul, a vagabond by choice instead of otherwise- impermanent.

And yet... Drift stayed.

He expected Perceptor to fade in and out of focus- like the subject of a photo lost to the folds and creases of too many wallet transfers or blurry polaroids of nights gone by. He was something, someone too cold to last alongside a living brushfire; untouchable like high peaks and unknowable like old rift zones in seismic valleys forgotten by the fireworks of extinction events.

And then... Perceptor joined the crew.

And Rodimus, again watched.

He watched Drift and Perceptor slowly begin to orbit each other; a binary system, two planets nearly lost to a singularity of war and all its hidden black holes. He stood on the precipice, looking over a valley he knew he was never meant to walk through. He figured he could be content, watching them. He knew closeness wasn't meant for living wildfires; he knew he'd simply burn up anyone who tried to touch the flames in that age old and childish urge to hold something you shouldn't.

But still, like the meteors he stood upon in the only means of control and conquering he had- he still let himself pass just close enough to feel what they maybe did. Just for a little while, just long enough to pretend.

And like asteroid belts slowly worn round the waist of galactic bodies, he was drawn closer to a gravity he wasn't sure existed; an opening, for yearly comets and cosmic travelers made of stone and something warm.

Sometimes, he glimpsed the sun they were forming and wondered if one day they'd want a solar system instead of just binary stars...

But as always, he arced away when the longing got to be too much to bear.

Chapter Text

Perceptor was intriguing- always had been. Rodimus liked to watch him under the guise of being “interested in magic”. Perceptor assumed this was Rodimus's way of talking about science, and would roll his optics and shake his helm; and in a voice like dark engex or maybe old music- would warn him.

“Be sure not to touch anything, Rodimus.”

And the Captain would nod, and lean against a counter just close enough to seem amused but far enough away to resist the urge to reach for hands that worked with the grace of long years in practice.

Rodimus's optics would often shift, to watch Perceptor's face. Rodimus wasn't sure, but he was fairly certain Perceptor had no idea he smiled as he worked. Nothing grand, no dentae shown like the wicked grin he wore during battle-no. This was... something softer. Something halfway there, and cracked and tarnished in ways Rodimus knew too well.

Stained with years of disinterest, chipped away by chisels made of bored words and complaints. In moments like this, Perceptor wasn't a world class sniper, or a Wrecker recovering from old nightmares- he was... beautiful. In a way.

In the way the ocean at night is beautiful. In the way that cloudy skies during a storm were beautiful, were worth looking at and just wondering.

Rodimus would catch himself, a hand under his chin propping up his helm as he watched Perceptor work and work and dream in terms like equations and measurements. Rodimus chewed on his words, gnawing them into dust before he could be tempted to ask a question, any question- even if the answer was something that had been explained to him a thousand times if just to feel Perceptor's optics focus on him; to see that bright smile brighten further and to see that light shine through the cracks in a cold visage and hear Perceptor speak.

To hear a soft, shy inquiry of, “Do... Do you understand?”

The juxtaposition was a staggering difference- After seeing Perceptor go against the swarm in a hail of bullets and hellfire in his optics; to see him claw his way above the battlefield and rain down death like the avenging angels he once heard about in Primal Chapels.... To see this. A lanky scientist, humming along with his footsteps as he wandered to and fro like stray stardust and forgotten planetoids in disarray. To see a desk covered in old datapads and hand-scratched notes with writing so sloppy it almost couldn't be Perceptor's.

But there was a slant to his glyphs, Rodimus knew. There was a peculiar slant, from the universities at Iacon and Altihex, that Perceptor hadn't left behind like he had left this softness.

The trills of titrations and the hum of equipment provided the soprano and the baritone and Perceptor was the star of an unseen stage and Rodimus watched with a sigh building behind his chestplate that he'd never release.

But....

Rodimus never forgot that this wasn't his to keep close. Inevitably, the doors would hiss as they slid open and Drift would step through- vocmod hiccuping as he manually shut it down with a press to his throat and his voice rumbling into the room like the thunder to match Perceptor's rain and Rodimus would look away from Perceptor's hands.

In these flash-flood moments, Perceptor's face seemed to change. His smile was a sun, and he'd reach up to remove his reticule.

“Drift.”, he'd say, his voice caressing the name more than it vocalized it. Rodimus felt his spark sink to his pedes every time, wishing he had that. Wishing that was his name in that prim accent-

“Hey Perce.”

If only it was his name surrounded by old north winds and warm southern ones.

And every time he would adjust course; every time he would arc away from this orbit, he'd risk a single look back at the pair of mechs. Just to see the moment servos met. Just to see Drift's hand against Perceptor's cheek and to see the scientist laugh and lean into the touch...

And like a hundred times before, he looked back one last time-

To see them watching him, instead. With half-grins on their face, and a question he was afraid to ask in their optics.

“Rodimus-”

“Ha, sorry, Mags is commin' me and you know how he hates waiting!”

And Rodimus feels like he's running through molten lead as he walks out of the lab; willing his spark to cease it's frantic whirling in his chamber and he darts down the first hallway he finds.

He doesn't go watch Perceptor for a while after that. The risk, he isn't sure what it is exactly, but the risk is too high... Until music slides into the hall where the labs are one day. Something soft, something warm, something cool and calm and all things he feels when he watches Perceptor work.

And with a shaky hand, he reaches for the keypad to type in four numbers that Drift laughs about. Saying things like, “Code hasn't changed since I knew him.” and “I hear he used the same password since Kimia.”

And “You could love someone, for holding little things like that close.”, words that rang too deep into Rodimus's processor along with the odd smile Drift would show him as he said it.

And Perceptor was singing along.

Rodimus was starstruck, walking silently in fear of destroying whatever this vulnerability was. With an almost stumble, he made it to Perceptor's desk to sit upon the now-clear surface. He watched, his jaw almost slack as Perceptor laughed as he fumbled a lyric before shaking his helm and falling back into the tune.

He was cleaning; carefully scrubbing each counter and meticulously going over every piece of equipment in the lab and Rodimus couldn't help but once more staring at Perceptor's hands.

“Care to help?”

Rodimus jerked out of his moment, optics flickering like a stunned blink as Perceptor offered a rag and a tired laugh.

“There's a bit of work yet. I could use an extra set of servos. And Brainstorm is... well, doing whatever Brainstorms do.”

Rodimus nods, swallowing hard as he slides off the desk onto his pedes. His footsteps sound so heavy, uncoordinated, as he approaches Perceptor and takes the rag from the scientist. Perceptor tilts his helm as a direction, and Rodimus follows him to a bucket full of green solvent that smells like a medibay floor after surgery.

“This will be a midpoint, and we work in opposite directions- do let me know if the music bothers you... Or the, uhm, singing.”

He looks sheepish, and Rodimus feels his sparkchamber clench. He wants to beg him to keep singing along, keep being Percy instead of the Perceptor always seen in meetings and in hallway run-ins. But all Rodimus does is smirk and shrug.

“It's no biggie.”

They work surrounded by sound but Rodimus is hard-put to keep focused. He keeps glancing over his shoulder as they work in some kind of reverse gravity; moving farther apart only to move closer and closer with every foot of counterspace scrubbed clean and every minimaelstrom of clutter straightened away.

Rodimus forces his optics on his task, unable to stop them from glazing over as he listens to Perceptor hum and sing and fade in and out of focus too fast to follow until Rodimus turns-

And runs right into Perceptor's chestplate. He squawks, pedes colliding with each other like stray traincars and he's falling backwards and he squeezes his optics shut in preparation for collision.

...Perceptor's servos are scuffed like old callouses. Rodimus knows this, because they are on his plating. He opens his optics to see a shocked Perceptor looking at him in honest amusement and vague worry. Rodimus looks at the wrist caught in one of Perceptor's hands, over to the sniper's other arm. The arm that looks to lead behind Rodimus's back.

“If you wanted to dance, Rodimus, you could have asked.”

“Very funny. You just scared me!”, groused the Captain, looking away from Perceptor's barely hidden snickering.

“Clearly.”, was the answer given, voice full of laughter that hadn't yet risen to the surface.

Perceptor gently eased Rodimus upright, releasing the Captain's wrist. Rodimus looked down, at the floor and maybe through it; he was trying to drink in the feeling of Perceptor's touch- naturally cool against too warm plating. His entire sensornet narrowed down to that single hand, and Rodimus swore it would leave a handprint in his plating and he almost hoped it would- the first near collision with the binary's surface.

Perceptor's hand dropped.

“..Rodimus, are you alright?”, asked the scientist. His now free hand moved, the tips of servos brushing against' Rodimus's jawline in an attempt to let their optics meet and-

“Hey Perce- oh, am I interrupting?”

Perceptor looked over to Drift and Rodimus bolted. He nearly left fire in his tracks, a vacuum of a sudden course change and the comet that was the Captain hurtled away at the speed of light to try and pretend he didn't want to float in Perceptor's vicinity for just a little longer.

Just a few more millenia.

He stopped going into the lab after that.

Chapter Text

Drift spoke like music sounded. He laughed like heavy church bells, and he whispered like southern winds. He growled and he snapped like thunder and lightning strikes but he said Rodimus's name like a prayer.

And that, Rodimus thinks, is what led to this.

The pair of them are close. Of course, there are rumors about how close- and Rodimus doesn't have it in him to kill those rumors by saying who Drift holds close at night. He doesn't want to think about the ugly jealous feelings that would bring up in his spark, so he claims when his thoughts wander to just what he feels when he hears Drift speak about Perceptor.

He'll never admit it isn't jealousy. He'll never admit that what rises in his chamber isn't green or ghastly or hungry or cruel- no. He'll never admit that it's something encased in dirty gray like broken pigeon's wings in cities too big to feel at home. He'll never admit that it's not something with fangs and teeth; but something with doe-eyes and a soft whisper.

“What about me?”, it says into a self-imposed reclusive exile, “Am I good enough, maybe?”

Rodimus will smother it with whatever he can, be it pillows or wet concrete or molten lead or the down of torn duvets until he can't hear it; not in the soft moments he has.

Not when he can tilt to the side like a broken top losing it's spin to rest against Drift's shoulder pauldron. Not when the ex-Decepticon can look down and snort his laughter before he nudges and positions Rodimus to lay across whatever they sit upon during those midnights neither can recharge.

But now, after seeing Perceptor in quiet splendor surrounded by cleaning materials and scattered notes- Rodimus's longing has grown, and his ability to resist temptation is waning.

So on one of those long nights when recharge runs from him like scattering sheep, he lets that featherbeaten voice speak for him.

“Hey, uh, Drift?”

“Hm?”, grunts the swordsmech, flicking through a datapad balanced on the thigh that Rodimus's helm isn't pillowed on.

“Can I... ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Rodimus exvents slowly, “Can you, uh... Well...”

“Stroke your spoiler?”, asks Drift with that quietly knowing tone.

Rodimus nods, turning to bury his face against Drift's thigh. And servos still tipped with old claws move to Rodimus's spoiler; thumbing the edges and stroking over the center where the strain can be the worst during stress. And Drift hums.

The sound is low and rolling and not-quite-distant; like an apple on a branch just above your head, like the end of a war when you still have hope left.

And for a moment, a beautiful moment, Rodimus feels cared for. He feels the light traveling from Drift and Perceptor's orbit shining on his face again; like in the lab when Perceptor sang along to his music and like when he would watch the moment they'd reunite after long workdays and he could almost cry from it.

It was warm and filling, it was sweet and near intoxicating and he was starving for it and didn't realize how high his spoiler had strained for the touch until Drift murmured to him.

“Easy, eeeasy Rodimus. It's alright. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I, er, I'm- I'm sorry, I-”

“It's alright, I'm here. Long as you want me to be.”

Rodimus swallowed down the 'Forever?' that his spark wanted to ask.

Drift huffed then, and nudged Rodimus to sit up. The Captain choked down the sounds he wanted to make from loss of contact as he got up from his relaxed position, and watched as Drift re-situated himself on the couch. One leg slung over the back of it, the other leg stretched towards the floor- and he reached out and waved for Rodimus to lay back down.

“This won't kill my backstruts- c'mon.”

Rodimus swallowed hard, and carefully lay back down to sprawl over Drift's chestplate.

“There we go. Much more comfy, yeah?”

“Yeah.”, said Rodimus absently, hoping time would stop, “Yeah, way more comfy, dude.”

Drift's hand went back to petting the golden spoiler and Rodimus went limp and dazed. He never wanted to move, barely paying attention to Drift's speech farther then nosing absently closer to Drift's vocal cables to feel the thrum of the ex-Con's voice.

Recharge crept up on him slowly, and he never saw it coming. It blindsided him, surrounding him in the faint scents of the chemicals used on Perceptor's rifle and the oil used to shine and sharpen old swords. The glow of the gem in the Greatsword hung on the wall beneath the white firearm filled his vision with something warm and soft and loving; and he wondered if this is what the Well would have been like had the fires of Nyon taken him all those years before.

He didn't notice Perceptor enter the hab, not until he felt Drift speaking again. Drowsily, he raised his helm when he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Come now, the berth is far more comfortable.”

Rodimus nodded, his helm heavy and his spoiler sagging like dead weight as hands and laughter led him up and away to somewhere dim and warm and close. He nestled down, weight at his back and his helm over the doubletime thrum of Drift's ever active spark.

He draped an arm over Drift's midsection, a thumb absently tracing a red stripe and he tumbled headlong into something so close to peace he could almost taste it.

He awoke in the early hours, his internal alarm having never gone off and he squinted until he remembered it was his day off. He grumbled, settling back into the war cocoon he'd made in his berth again-

His optics shot open.

This... was not his berth.

Slowly, he raised his helm to see Perceptor's arm around his chest, to see where Drift had burrowed down against a gold-and-orange frame. Panic infused him, and he felt himself moving as though through ice cold water. Carefully, he extricated himself from the tangle of limbs and soft ventilations though he was loathe to do so; and when he stood at the foot of the berth, he shivered from the perceived cold.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Drift huff in recharge and wriggle closer to Perceptor, who hummed and wrapped his arms around the white speedster and his systems once more idled softly.

Rodimus slunk out, trying to lock the memory of arms around him and closeness covering him like a childhood blanket; like sunlight on an empty beach in summer.

Chapter Text

He limited his time in their hab, after that.

He couldn't take the chance, he couldn't risk... INTRUDING on what they had.

Rodimus had always watched. Watched, and wanted from a distance. Things like that, that kind of peace and solace, weren't his to have. Not anymore, maybe not ever again. His sparkchamber hurt along old scars and older wounds still yet to heal.

But as he pulled away, they pushed forward. Their gravitational pull on him increased and increased again with every passing glance-

And so the comet's tail grew shorter, and so it became more of a satellite than a wanderer. Welcome yet wary, wanting yet scared.

Perceptor brushing by him after a meeting; a meaningless touch to most- but Rodimus knew. Perceptor was not one for idle nudges, he was not one for wasting a single word- be it spoken or otherwise.

Rodimus feared looking into those optics and seeing scorn or amusement, or worse. Seeing some kind of welcome, some kind of acceptance.

Drift hooked an arm around Rodimus's waist and squeezed him in a haphazrd hug- pulled him close to a pulse and a voice and a warmth Rodimus wanted to hold in his hands like something holy and broken and perfect and imperfect all in one.

He avoided speaking, afraid of the answers Drift would give him with a voice that wouldn't lie- couldn't, refused to lie to Rodimus.

He wrapped himself in his self-imposed exile, wearing it like a funeral shroud or armor and tried to arc away from this binary system and found himself faltering. Oh, the temptation to stay, just one more time, just for a little bit longer. Just one last time, so he could remember what it was like to be wanted.

And they would not give in.

Invitations went unread. Messages went unanswered and Rodimus prayed to gods he stopped believing in eons before that maybe, like always, they'd fade away from him- blink out of his existence and let him burn out as he sailed through their night sky- a warm memory, a fond What's-His-Name story told on nights too cold for just heating blankets and meaningless mutters and soft I Love Yous whispered when it was too dark to touch.

And they did not relent.

They appeared in the corners of his vision, like ghosts of novas past and Rodimus wondered if he could live with his optics shuttered until Perceptor had had enough.

“Rodimus.”

The Captain jolted, looking up from where he sat at his desk for once.

“I've already checked with Magnus, and your schedule is clear for the evening.”, continued the scientist, even steps taken with fluid grace, “Drift and I...”

Rodimus swallowed hard.

Perceptor's stoic mask seemed to slip, and he let the ghost of a smile show, “...We miss your company.”

Rodimus could feel himself choke on his own disbelief, even as Perceptor stood in front of his desk and reached for the Captain's hand. The sniper's own war-weathered one lay over golden servos, a thumb stroking over shining plating.

“We miss you. Please.”

Rodimus wanted to deny Perceptor, deny HIMSELF... but that down-feather voice, that grey-white-ash feeling in his spark rose up on stronger stuff than his exile was built upon and seized his voice.

“Wh... What time, Percy?”

“As soon as your shift is over. Please?”

Rodimus nodded slowly, feeling his spark jump into his intake as Perceptor's face relaxed into that sunshine smile he thought was only for Drift. Not for someone like himself.

“I'm glad. We'll see you then, alright?”

And Rodimus watched Perceptor leave, and was finally able to open his vents and wheeze out stale air and words left unsaid in clouds of dangling participles and broken phrases. Hope was in his spark again and he felt it burning like antiseptic on wounds he'd left to fester and fear rattled through him- pure terror at the idea that this was all going to crash down around him once again. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to run and hide from everything and anything this could mean.

The clock ticked faster, it seemed.

Time was against him in the best way as the day blurred by his optics in flashes of color and his own whispers of “What if?” and “Why?” and then it was time to face what he had started.

Doors and exits raced past him though he walked the pace of a gallow's sentence- as though death in some form lay in wait in the doublehab Perceptor and Drift occupied. He raised his hand to knock, feeling his knees encased in ice as his comms lit up-

::Same key as the labs, Roddy.::

Rodimus let the fond tone of the words wash over him like a tidal wave and locked it in his memory, certain he would never hear it again.

The trills of the keypad sounded like the knell of funeral bells and the hiss of the door opening sounded like the serpents in the inferno- all caustic acids and fluid steel everchanging. He stepped in, hating yet loving the glow of the dim lights and the hum of the holoscreen and the laughter that rang out after a comical scream from whatever was being watched.

He burned with how much like HOME it felt to him.

His steps were heavy, ready to turn and run at a moments notice even though the door hissed shut behind him.

Perceptor's helm was visible just barely over the back of the couch Rodimus had laid on with Drift. Finials appeared, wagging gently like a cat's twitching ears before Drift suddenly popped up.

“You're just in time!”, he laughed, “C'mon, we've been waiting ages to snag a copy of this.”

“...This?”, wheezed Rodimus.

“Yes, theoretically, it's a horror movie.”, snorted Perceptor, “However, it looks more like Prowl without coffee on a busy morning.”

Rodimus couldn't help it- he choked, he shuddered, and then guffawed.

He hunched slightly, letting his laughter pass through him and drag some of his tension with it. He continued to the couch, slinking round to the front to see Drift wriggle away from Perceptor and look up to the Captain hopefully.

Rodimus blinked, swallowed hard, and looked at Perceptor.

That... same hopeful look on his face.

Rodimus's spark writhed in it's casing as though it wanted burst out of his chest and settle between the two mechs he'd been careening around like a lost shooting star. A feeling of floating, weightlessness, and he seemed to slide through starstuff to the seat offered. He settled between them, nudged to lean against Perceptor's broad chestplate as Drift draped less-than-glamorously over him and firmly sandwiched him between two humming engines and more warmth than he had ever felt.

The movie played.

Rodimus felt the ache in his struts ease as he relaxed. His helm thudded lightly as he let it rest against Perceptor's shoulder; he felt the scientist stroking his spoiler like Drift had done before and he drowsed immediately- his own hand moved to pet one of Drift's finials and he let off a shocked yelp when Drift began to purr.

“Are you a glitchtom or a mech, dude?”, he said in mock-confusion; Drift's answer was only a huff and a nudge against Rodimus's hand.

“Pfft, point taken.”, laughed Rodimus, continuing his ministrations as he paid half attention to the movie that played.

Obnoxious commentary soon followed, resulting in intermittent bursts and peals of laughter from all three. Positions changed, back and forth and shuffled around; but they always ended up the same way, tangled together and touching at one point at least.

When the credits flickered, Rodimus felt his nerves ramp back up. He wanted to speak, to say something but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth that ash-dusted hope of his would come bubbling out and blind them all, so brilliant had it grown where it was nestled in his chest.

“Rodimus...”, began Perceptor.

“Stay.”, breathed Drift, his arms curling around Rodimus's waist, “Don't go this time?”

Rodimus gagged on his words, coated in barbed wire and rose thorns and tangled like tumbleweeds of forgotten daydreams and digging their spines into his intake hard enough to hurt.

“Please, stay.”, continued Perceptor, “Forgive us, if we have been too forward but... Please. For as long as you'd like-”

“As long as you want to.”, finished Drift.

Rodimus was silent and his spark was burning like hellfire forges and the anvil on which lightning bolts were born to holy hands. With a voice like an empty prayer, an out of tune hymn, he finally asked what he needed to ask all this time.

“Am... Can I.... Am I allowed to do that?”

Drift's hold relaxed, his finials tilted back in some kind of shock as Perceptor's arms move around Rodimus's waist to pull him close and closer.

“Of... Of course you are, Rodimus.”, said Drift as Rodimus's optics shuttered and he leaned back into Perceptor's hold as though he could vanish behind a chestplate far stronger than he felt, “Of course you're allowed, Rodimus.”

“It's hard, to love and be loved, when things fall apart so much.”, said Perceptor quietly.

“But no matter what, you're allowed to keep trying.”, said Drift firmly, one finial standing straight.

“I-I'm... I...”

“It's alright.”, murmured Perceptor by Rodimus's audial, “It's alright, we're here.”

“Why me?”, wheezed the Captain, feeling his chest constrict like a serpent had found its way in, “Why, why me, why me?”, he gasped, voice wavering, “I, I've made so many mistakes I...”

“So have we.”, said Drift.

“What if I'm just another one?”

Perceptor squeezed Rodimus gently, “People are not mistakes, Rodimus. You are not a mistake. Clumsy in the lab, perhaps.... But not a mistake.”

“....Starscream might be an exceptio-”

“No need to be catty right now Drift- your birdly bitterness can wait just a moment longer.”, was Perceptor's painfully dry answer.

Rodimus blinked as Drift looked up to Perceptor, stuck out his glossa and-

Pbbbbbbbt.

And Rodimus burst out laughing. He howled and cackled, a tinge of hysteria to the sound as the laughter rose and fell with the grace of a mud-tainted tidal wave, decimating foundations at every point of impact and he cackled and wheezed until he went limp in Perceptor's hold. Once he had calmed, Drift crawled up to drape over Rodimus's front and nuzzle under the Captain's chin as Perceptor rested his helm on top of Rodimus's own carefully.

“I wanna stay.”, said Rodimus after a few beats of silence, “I wanna stay and see Percy smile and hear Drift laugh.”

“Then stay.”, said Perceptor, “As long as you want.”

Rodimus shuttered his optics, servos latching onto Drift as his spoiler pressed against Perceptor's reinforced plating.

“Then I'll stay. With both of you.”

Drift purred.

Rodimus smiled with his optics closed, raising a hand to scratch at the base of a finial gently.

“I'll stay, and I'll call it home.”

“Then let me be the first to say... Welcome home, Rodimus.”

“Yeah.”, hummed Drift, “Welcome home.”