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tiamatschild) wrote2015-08-06 10:14 pm
tiamatschild) wrote2015-08-06 10:14 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: "In a Common Rhythm" (K+) Transformers G1
Title: In a Common Rhythm
Author: Tiamat’s Child
Fandom: Transformers G1
Word Count: 4324
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairing: First Aid/Rodimus Prime
Summary: First Aid and Rodimus Prime ask things of each other.
Warnings: None.
Notes: This is loosely related to Succession Crises, but is not a direct sequel.
In a Common Rhythm
There was no place in Metroplex anything less than airy and light. He'd been precisely and lovingly designed, and Grapple's elegant hand and idiosyncratic theories of the ideal forms shared Cybertonian and human space could take was as evident in his being and body as Ratchet's meticulous code craft, Hoist's careful concern for internal support and function, and Wheeljack's love of spontaneity and polyvalence. First Aid knew he took pride in that, that he delighted in his body and being, glad to be suited to his purpose, to his calling, to shelter and nurture and guard and inspire.
They had talked about it, sometimes, quiet conversations as First Aid did all the quietly unglamorous work of a doctor who was his own head nurse and usually his own orderly. Metroplex and First Aid could always find something to talk about, even if both could be silent, too, and just as often were.
Now they were both silent. The protective armor shutters on the infirmary windows were thrown open, the safety glass pushed aside, and only the insect screens stood to mark the distinction between within and without. Permeable, First Aid thought, as the wind caught up and pinned one of last year's leaves to the mesh.
“Hey. First Aid?”
First Aid turned at Rodimus' call, the air from outside soft against his plating when it eddied with his movement. Rodimus Prime was leaning around the door jamb, the bulk of his body hidden by the wall as if he expected a firefight.
“Hello, Rodimus. What can I do for you?”
It hadn't really been that unusual for Hot Rod to be shy, at least not around First Aid, which was the only circumstance First Aid had to compare, but the way Rodimus paused, gathering himself, was something heavier, something deeper and colder. First Aid wanted to go to him, but held himself still. It was usually better to wait.
“You remember that offer you made at the party? The one on Cybertron.” Rodimus stepped away from the door, hands open. “Can I call that in?”
First Aid laughed. “You're not getting out of here without doing some work. How's that?”
“That's good,” Rodimus said. “I can live with that.”
First Aid had indeed made that particular promise: “Come to me, if nothing else helps, and I'll put you to work.”
It was close to what they'd used to do when they'd first met, when Rodimus was Hot Rod and First Aid had never needed to dwell on how lucky he was not to have a hospital to run. It was easy to put Rodimus to work: he was a better field medic than he seemed to understand, and he had an excellent bedside manner. Besides, he was unusually good with humans, especially children, and running with Daniel for so long had shook out every last tendency to panic about the oddities of human biology he had started with. He made a good orderly, and a good nurse.
That wasn't the point here and now, though. Rodimus had come to him when there wasn't anyone else in the medbay. They hadn't seen a pitched battle in months, so that was possible, but it wasn't entirely simple. People came in and out all through First Aid's shift. Some had scheduled check ups or routine maintenance, but drop ins were common, and quite a lot of people didn't want medical attention, they just wanted to say hello and pass the time of day. Rodimus must have enlisted Metroplex's help to catch First Aid alone.
There was something about this question that made Rodimus feel vulnerable.
“Come on in,” First Aid said, pinging the door to the storeroom that doubled as his office open and striding towards it. He wasn't going to look back. He wouldn't watch Rodimus come in. Maybe that would make it easier for him.
Rodimus caught up with him in three quick, ground eating steps that rain on the floor. First Aid felt him fall in at his shoulder, but didn't turn around. He stepped through the door and made for his desk, struck by a question of his own he knew he couldn't ask. Not now. Now he needed to give Rodimus what he'd promised.
“Would you do inventory for me?” First Aid asked.
He pulled open one of the lower drawers in his desk and dropped down into a crouch to rummage in it, which was, possibly, a minor tactical error, because it meant that when he glanced up to gauge Rodimus' reaction, he had to tilt his head back hard and rock back on his center of gravity, and really it all looked a lot like flirting. He didn't have objection to flirting with Rodimus, but that was how you'd flirt with someone a lot bigger than you, and it was painfully obvious to anyone who paid any attention how uncomfortable Rodimus was with his new frame.
Thankfully, Rodimus didn't seem distressed. He was leaning on First Aid's desk, unsubtly attempting to snoop in the open drawer. Some things didn't change. “Sure. If that's what you've got for me.”
“I could find you something else if you really wanted,” First Aid said, “but I usually find it relaxing.”
“And here I thought you were making fun of me,” Rodimus said.
“Oh, I was,” said First Aid. “I was just also telling the truth. Aha!” He brandished the datapad he'd found. “I can do both.”
“You sure can. You got me.” Rodimus was grinning, finally, and First Aid felt himself loosen up in return. Rodimus was much too good a person to carelessly hurt.
“Let me just mark what I need done for you,” First Aid said, standing up again.
Rodimus didn't back off. He stayed where he was, leaning over First Aid and the desk, a single large palm taking up most of the desk that wasn't cluttered with various small, non-sentient machines in need of repair and tools First Aid had pulled for maintenance and not got to yet, apparently attempting to read the data pad upside down and with First Aid in the way.
“I'm going to give it to you in a moment, you know,” First Aid murmered as he flagged the stores kept in this storeroom. They didn't really need the check that badly, but he was not going to send Rodimus away when it had been so hard for him to come.
“It's not what's on the pad, it's the challenge,” Rodimus told him.
“Hmm,” First Aid said, and passed it over. “I don't have any more appointments today. All right if I work on some things in here?”
Rodimus relaxed ever so slightly, just that degree that announced to a close observer that he had been braced, tense, willing to let First Aid go, but not wanting to. “Of course. It's your office.” He smirked. “Storeroom.”
“Yes, yes,” First Aid said, “but you should just be glad I'm not sharing with the over sized diagnostic equipment, because you'd never fit in here if I were.”
“Fair enough!” Rodimus said, and his whole body changed as he settled into his task.
First Aid watched him for a long moment. He'd always thought it was beautiful, how quiet Hot Rod could go, so still and unobtrusive and absorbed in whatever he 'd chosen to give his attention to. Submerged in work or play, very much present, but infinitely far away at the same time.
Now the exercise of that familiar gift eased the unfamiliar exhaustion in Rodimus Prime's face and frame, turned stern sorrow into something almost approaching serenity, and it made First Aid hurt. He felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with the pleasant temperature of the room, shivery and bright. He felt like his belly had turned into an electromagnet, soft iron wrapped with copper distorting the shape of his insides, pulling him in on himself, tugging at his core. He wanted to reach up and touch Rodimus' face. He wanted to find a way to keep him looking like that, keep him there in that place where First Aid couldn't travel with him.
Long experience kept his hands open and relaxed against his desk.
First Aid really and honestly did have a considerable backlog of the kind of maintenance and repair work he usually did here, in his backroom. He hadn't been lying, even though he hadn't exactly been telling the whole truth. He didn't usually do this kind of work when he was on shift or on call. It was too easy for him to go deeply into it and vanish, out of reach inside the task. If he did that he wouldn't pay attention to his comms, or even the audio bell, and someone would have to physically touch him to break him out of it.
But Rodimus was here, and it was clinic hours so he could hear the bell, and First Aid didn't want to do paperwork while Rodimus was there. Rodimus hated paperwork, and he'd always said he liked seeing First Aid doctor. And Rodimus was hurting. First Aid wanted to help.
First Aid couldn't seem to settle into his work. Rodimus was focused and afloat, which was what First Aid had hoped for, though not entirely expected, but First Aid could not find his way in. He'd rarely felt like this. Repair work consumed him. He found it nearly impossible to stop once he'd started, and sometimes he couldn't refrain from starting, even when he knew he shouldn't. He'd let some of these projects sit long enough that they should be exerting a considerable pull over his conciousness now that he was paying attention to them, but he wasn't. He couldn't. He felt like a stone skipping across a pond, unable to rest, to sink.
His mind skidded back to Rodimus.
He kept working. He was slower than usual, in this strange mental shape that he wasn't accustomed to, but he knew his own work, and he knew he was doing it well. He was setting a small corner of the universe to rights.
Clinic hours ran out, and First Aid stood up. “I have to put the Medbay to bed,” he said to Rodimus. “You all right?”
“Hmmm?” Rodimus said, with barely a flicker of his attention. “Yeah.”
It was hard to turn away. But First Aid had a great deal of practice at doing things he didn't want to do, and leaving undone things he desperately did want to do, and he set an internal timer and stepped out of his office firm and purposeful, measured. It was always easier to do anything if you did it like it was the most important thing in the world at that moment.
The timer was a game he played with himself: not quite a race, although he did race himself sometimes, which had garnered him a reputation among his human colleagues as the last person you wanted to ride with on a supply run, but a measuring game, tracking all the variables in the medbay or clinic or hospital he was working, and correlating them to how long it took him to work through his end of shift tasks. It was an experiment, but not a formal one, and he felt no real obligation to keep it systemic. Sometimes he messed around, deliberately setting tasks out of his usual order, just to see what would happen, not with any solid plan to properly test the variations, and sometimes, although very rarely, he let a task or two drop. It was important to keep up with everything if you were working a clinic, especially if you didn't have much in the way of support staff. It didn't do to let supplies run low, and it didn't do to let medical records get out of date, and it didn't do to let a workplace be anything less than neat and tidy.
But you could sometimes put the files you'd pulled for the day away in a basket and mark them urgent instead of taking the time to get them all away now. First Aid had no intention of leaving Rodimus alone while he did filing.
He set the medbay's signboard, with its OPEN and CLOSED and list of walk in hours and his medical emergency commcode for if something couldn't wait (and a quick run down of what couldn't wait, please consult the triage and troubleshooting files if uncertain, if still uncertain, please call) reset his alarms so he couldn't possibly miss a call, and locked the doors. Checked the vents to make sure they were secure, and locked the filing cabinets. Then he triple checked the medicine cabinets with their daily supplies of basic drugs and ready made code modules to make certain nothing was missing and nothing had been added since the last time he checked, locked those, and pulled the shutters on them. Locked the drawers of Ratchet's desk. Pulled the blinds in Ratchet's office door, and locked it.
First Aid had done most of the daily work earlier. It had been a slow shift. One last scan of his checklist, and he was done.
Rodimus looked up when First Aid came back into his office. He wasn't steady and still anymore. “Just about finished,” he said. “But your shift's over. I should get out from underfoot.”
“You're not in the way,” First Aid said. “I'd tell you if you were.”
Whatever it was that Rodimus thought of that, it was backed and followed by something that First Aid was willing to bet wasn't very nice. His whole face twisted, and the way he looked away wasn't so much self protective as defeated. First Aid stepped towards him, his hands out and open. He didn't know what he wanted to say, if he wanted to say anything, but he felt sure he needed to say something.
He wanted to touch Rodimus. So he started there. “May I touch you?”
And that made Rodimus turn back to him, his body language opening back up. “Yeah, go ahead.”
First Aid put his hands on Rodimus' forearm, near his wrist, curved so only his fingertips touched Rodimus' metal. He wanted to go up as high as he could get, on the very tip of his toes, and rest his chin on Rodimus' shoulder, but he was fairly sure he couldn't pull that off anymore. He'd really needed a box for it even before the reformat. So he leaned in, instead, letting his forehead very gently touch Rodimus' upper arm. Careful, careful, barely a touch, but contact.
“You okay?” Rodimus asked. First Aid had powered down his optical sensors, so he missed seeing it, but he felt Rodimus shift, trying to turn further towards him without dislodging him. His lowest little finger slipped and skidded, tucking up against the corner of Rodimus' arm where it turned in to his wrist. “Was it a long day?”
“It was almost dead. I haven't had a day so quiet in months. I just.” First Aid had decided that he definitely did not want to say anything, but he absolutely needed to say something, and it was time to ask his question, even though he didn't want to ask it anymore. When Rodimus was coming to him, then it felt like it rose, bubbling upwards. If Rodimus was going away from him, it was so much harder to say. “I only. I don't like talking when I don't know what I'm going to say.”
“You don't have to talk before you're ready,” Rodimus said, and that was a new tone. First Aid had never heard that one before, before the Matrix. “I'll keep.”
“That's not very fair to you, though.”
“What is, lately?”
First Aid was reasonably sure that this was mostly a bitter remark on the matrix,exaggerated to cover the world in general instead of simply being Prime. But that didn't mean he could ignore it, even if that might be the better thing to do. He couldn't. “I want to be fair to you,” he said, and meant it so much it hurt.
From the little sound Rodimus made, maybe it hurt him too.
First Aid plunged onward, surprised, as he often was, that he wasn't shaking. “Do you still want to see me? Because you've had a major life upheaval and we've talked about that a little but - I don't want to just – to just assume – ”
Rodimus' free hand closed over his right wrist. First Aid stopped talking.
“I should ask you,” Rodimus said. “Do you want to date me? I'm... not Hot Rod anymore.”
First Aid caught Rodimus' hand over his wrist and held on while he powered his optical band back up. “I know you'd rather be Hot Rod,” he said, looking up even though it was hard to see how twisted up Rodimus' face was, how unhappy he was, “but I'd be be glad to learn how you've changed, if you want me to.”
Rodimus didn't reply for a long moment, and First Aid restrained himself, letting everything he could say to follow up, most of it self destructive and intrusive, things he didn't really want to think, let alone tell Rodimus, wash through his processor without expression. He let the hand he had on Rodimus' arm open, his fingers sliding until his palm rested on Rodimus' plating. First Aid could hold a much more restrictive position of his hands far far longer than he'd been talking with Rodimus without pain or joints locking, he didn't need to move, but the sensation of movement was settling, soothing, something to focus on that wasn't Rodimus' distress or his own.
“I guess I'd be a real jerk if I argued with you on that one, huh?” Rodimus said finally, his hand tightening on First Aid's wrist a tiny fraction. His mouth quirked up at one edge.
“Arguing with people about their feelings isn't very nice, no,” First Aid said, squeezing lightly back as best he could, tilting his head the way he'd found that conveyed smiling without smiling. “But you can tell me what yours are.”
“I'd have to change a lot more than I have to stop wanting you around,” Rodimus said. “Gonna hug you now, fair warning.”
“Fair warning,” First Aid agreed, and went easily, disentangling himself as Rodimus shifted his grip and swept him up. The pad he'd lent Rodimus wound up pressed against the side of his hip as Rodimus tried to hold onto both him and it. That kind of thing happened a lot when people hugged him. First Aid was bad about separating his work time from his down time, and most of the people who cared about him were the same way. That was familiar, grounding. That helped him not tense up at the strange sensation of being held by someone twice and a bit again as large as himself. He didn't want to do that. He wouldn't hurt Rodimus for the world.
“Okay,” Rodimus said after a moment, “this is weird. I keep thinking I'm smaller than I am.”
“I don't have any personal experience,” First Aid said, more than slightly relieved that Rodimus said something of his own accord, “but reformats used to happen often enough there were a lot of longitudinal studies, and they found that's really common. I don't know if that helps.”
“So at least I'm not a total freak,” Rodimus said, the bitterness back. First Aid leaned into him a little bit harder. “Good to know. Don't know if it helps, but good to know.”
“I'm glad. I've been working up a file for you, I should have sent you something earlier -”
Rodimus squeezed him. He stopped.
“The hospital comes first,” Rodimus said. “You're doing a fine job.”
First Aid wanted to accept the compliment, but somehow he couldn't quite, so he rerouted a few autonomic functions to conscious control and focused on those, letting Rodimus take his weight.
“Wow,” Rodimus said, contemplatively, “you're still really heavy.”
First Aid laughed. “You know, that's what Blades always says when he hasn't picked me up in a while.”
“Blades is right. I always forget.”
First Aid shunted his autonomic functions back out of conscious control and said, “Since we're still seeing each other, can we count this as a date?”
“Yeah, sure. Doesn't seem like much of a date, though,” Rodimus said. First Aid tilted his head up to look at him. Rodimus was very expressive. The face he made was impressively sulky and disgusted as he continued. “I haven't got a lot of time before I've got to take off to a meeting.”
First Aid knew which meeting that was, because Hot Spot had been involved in the organizing and the timing had been tricky, as it involved people on multiple continents. The meeting itself wasn't classified, so it hadn't been shuffled behind his confidential firewalls that kept knowledge from the group mind, and since they'd joined up into Defensor since the schedule had been finalized, the entire team now knew all about it. First Aid elected not to mention this: he always felt a little like he was showing off when he knew what the others knew.
“I like watching you work,” he said instead, which was true in a way that made him want to shut down his optical band again, because it was overwhelming and embarrassing and felt terribly private, even though it was about Rodimus and with him. “I like being able to give you something peaceful to do. I like that you came to me.”
He didn't look away from Rodimus. That was a challenge. He was shaking, and Rodimus was too, and Rodimus looked a bit stunned, like he'd be staggering if there was anywhere to stagger too, if he wasn't holding First Aid.
“You asked me to,” Rodimus said, quietly. “Or you said I could, that's the same thing with you.”
“It is,” First Aid agreed. “I'd like to ask you to again.”
He used what he thought of as his 'solid' voice, the one he used when he was making a point he couldn't allow anyone to shout down or disregard. It wasn't any louder than his usual, but he felt it was, in some indefinable way, stronger. Rodimus responded to it, or maybe to First Aid's declaration, or maybe to the combination, his optics going white-blue with emotion, and his hands tightening into fists. First Aid could feel them curl against his plating as they moved.
“I -” said Rodimus, “I will. Definitely take you up on that.”
First Aid nodded briskly, and dropped the voice. “That would make me very happy,” he said, and found Rodimus' wrist by feel to gently squeeze it. “Do you have time to go grab a meal with me? I haven't refueled since my break, and I need to.”
It was always even odds whether the way people hopped to when First Aid mentioned 'fuel' or 'energy levels' or 'electrical stress' was going to be touching or vaguely exasperating (he was prone to chronic short outs, he wasn't in hospice), but when it was Rodimus it was usually on the touching side. He had a knack for that.
“Now that sounds more like a normal date,” Rodimus said, unfurling himself from around First Aid so they stood side by side instead of facing and wrapped up in each other. “Where do you want me to leave the inventory? Didn't quite finish.”
“Don't worry about it,” First Aid said. “Every bit helps. Leave it on the desk for me, would you?” He'd had to let go of Rodimus' hand to let Rodimus disentangle them, so he jogged to catch up and take Rodimus' hand back when Rodimus moved to follow directions. Rodimus turned and smiled down at him, sidelong and worn and tired but not as sad as he frequently was. “Not trying to stop you,” First Aid said, “I'd just like to touch you for a while. Can we hold hands?”
“Sounds good to me,” Rodimus said, and changed his stride so First Aid found himself no longer scrambling to keep pace with him. It was so skillfully and considerately done that First Aid would have been hard pressed to take offense even if he were prickly on that point, which he wasn't. First Aid felt a burst of delight and pride in Rodimus' whole being, that he'd learned to do that, that he was so good at it, that he did it for First Aid even though he didn't need to, and swung his hand in Rodimus', playfully, hoping the lighthearted gesture could convey something of what he was feeling.
Rodimus didn't seem to understand, but he did swing his hand along, so it was the two of them moving as Rodimus dumped the pad on First Aid's desk.
“Thanks for inviting me out,” Rodimus said, as he pulled a little bit ahead of First Aid so they could get through the door to the sickbay itself. The doorframe was much too narrow to let them walk abreast. “I gotta admit, that's a lot more what I think of when I think of a date.” He paused. “Though still not much of one.”
“There will be time,” First Aid said. “We're busy now, but there'll be time. We,” (he swung his hand), “have millions of years, barring accident. We,” (he swung his hand again), “have time.”
Rodimus laughed. And then he said, quiet, serious, low, his hand going still and his fingers twining deeper into First Aid's. “I'll hold you to that.”
“Please do,” First Aid said, serious and still himself. “Please do.”
Author: Tiamat’s Child
Fandom: Transformers G1
Word Count: 4324
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairing: First Aid/Rodimus Prime
Summary: First Aid and Rodimus Prime ask things of each other.
Warnings: None.
Notes: This is loosely related to Succession Crises, but is not a direct sequel.
In a Common Rhythm
There was no place in Metroplex anything less than airy and light. He'd been precisely and lovingly designed, and Grapple's elegant hand and idiosyncratic theories of the ideal forms shared Cybertonian and human space could take was as evident in his being and body as Ratchet's meticulous code craft, Hoist's careful concern for internal support and function, and Wheeljack's love of spontaneity and polyvalence. First Aid knew he took pride in that, that he delighted in his body and being, glad to be suited to his purpose, to his calling, to shelter and nurture and guard and inspire.
They had talked about it, sometimes, quiet conversations as First Aid did all the quietly unglamorous work of a doctor who was his own head nurse and usually his own orderly. Metroplex and First Aid could always find something to talk about, even if both could be silent, too, and just as often were.
Now they were both silent. The protective armor shutters on the infirmary windows were thrown open, the safety glass pushed aside, and only the insect screens stood to mark the distinction between within and without. Permeable, First Aid thought, as the wind caught up and pinned one of last year's leaves to the mesh.
“Hey. First Aid?”
First Aid turned at Rodimus' call, the air from outside soft against his plating when it eddied with his movement. Rodimus Prime was leaning around the door jamb, the bulk of his body hidden by the wall as if he expected a firefight.
“Hello, Rodimus. What can I do for you?”
It hadn't really been that unusual for Hot Rod to be shy, at least not around First Aid, which was the only circumstance First Aid had to compare, but the way Rodimus paused, gathering himself, was something heavier, something deeper and colder. First Aid wanted to go to him, but held himself still. It was usually better to wait.
“You remember that offer you made at the party? The one on Cybertron.” Rodimus stepped away from the door, hands open. “Can I call that in?”
First Aid laughed. “You're not getting out of here without doing some work. How's that?”
“That's good,” Rodimus said. “I can live with that.”
First Aid had indeed made that particular promise: “Come to me, if nothing else helps, and I'll put you to work.”
It was close to what they'd used to do when they'd first met, when Rodimus was Hot Rod and First Aid had never needed to dwell on how lucky he was not to have a hospital to run. It was easy to put Rodimus to work: he was a better field medic than he seemed to understand, and he had an excellent bedside manner. Besides, he was unusually good with humans, especially children, and running with Daniel for so long had shook out every last tendency to panic about the oddities of human biology he had started with. He made a good orderly, and a good nurse.
That wasn't the point here and now, though. Rodimus had come to him when there wasn't anyone else in the medbay. They hadn't seen a pitched battle in months, so that was possible, but it wasn't entirely simple. People came in and out all through First Aid's shift. Some had scheduled check ups or routine maintenance, but drop ins were common, and quite a lot of people didn't want medical attention, they just wanted to say hello and pass the time of day. Rodimus must have enlisted Metroplex's help to catch First Aid alone.
There was something about this question that made Rodimus feel vulnerable.
“Come on in,” First Aid said, pinging the door to the storeroom that doubled as his office open and striding towards it. He wasn't going to look back. He wouldn't watch Rodimus come in. Maybe that would make it easier for him.
Rodimus caught up with him in three quick, ground eating steps that rain on the floor. First Aid felt him fall in at his shoulder, but didn't turn around. He stepped through the door and made for his desk, struck by a question of his own he knew he couldn't ask. Not now. Now he needed to give Rodimus what he'd promised.
“Would you do inventory for me?” First Aid asked.
He pulled open one of the lower drawers in his desk and dropped down into a crouch to rummage in it, which was, possibly, a minor tactical error, because it meant that when he glanced up to gauge Rodimus' reaction, he had to tilt his head back hard and rock back on his center of gravity, and really it all looked a lot like flirting. He didn't have objection to flirting with Rodimus, but that was how you'd flirt with someone a lot bigger than you, and it was painfully obvious to anyone who paid any attention how uncomfortable Rodimus was with his new frame.
Thankfully, Rodimus didn't seem distressed. He was leaning on First Aid's desk, unsubtly attempting to snoop in the open drawer. Some things didn't change. “Sure. If that's what you've got for me.”
“I could find you something else if you really wanted,” First Aid said, “but I usually find it relaxing.”
“And here I thought you were making fun of me,” Rodimus said.
“Oh, I was,” said First Aid. “I was just also telling the truth. Aha!” He brandished the datapad he'd found. “I can do both.”
“You sure can. You got me.” Rodimus was grinning, finally, and First Aid felt himself loosen up in return. Rodimus was much too good a person to carelessly hurt.
“Let me just mark what I need done for you,” First Aid said, standing up again.
Rodimus didn't back off. He stayed where he was, leaning over First Aid and the desk, a single large palm taking up most of the desk that wasn't cluttered with various small, non-sentient machines in need of repair and tools First Aid had pulled for maintenance and not got to yet, apparently attempting to read the data pad upside down and with First Aid in the way.
“I'm going to give it to you in a moment, you know,” First Aid murmered as he flagged the stores kept in this storeroom. They didn't really need the check that badly, but he was not going to send Rodimus away when it had been so hard for him to come.
“It's not what's on the pad, it's the challenge,” Rodimus told him.
“Hmm,” First Aid said, and passed it over. “I don't have any more appointments today. All right if I work on some things in here?”
Rodimus relaxed ever so slightly, just that degree that announced to a close observer that he had been braced, tense, willing to let First Aid go, but not wanting to. “Of course. It's your office.” He smirked. “Storeroom.”
“Yes, yes,” First Aid said, “but you should just be glad I'm not sharing with the over sized diagnostic equipment, because you'd never fit in here if I were.”
“Fair enough!” Rodimus said, and his whole body changed as he settled into his task.
First Aid watched him for a long moment. He'd always thought it was beautiful, how quiet Hot Rod could go, so still and unobtrusive and absorbed in whatever he 'd chosen to give his attention to. Submerged in work or play, very much present, but infinitely far away at the same time.
Now the exercise of that familiar gift eased the unfamiliar exhaustion in Rodimus Prime's face and frame, turned stern sorrow into something almost approaching serenity, and it made First Aid hurt. He felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with the pleasant temperature of the room, shivery and bright. He felt like his belly had turned into an electromagnet, soft iron wrapped with copper distorting the shape of his insides, pulling him in on himself, tugging at his core. He wanted to reach up and touch Rodimus' face. He wanted to find a way to keep him looking like that, keep him there in that place where First Aid couldn't travel with him.
Long experience kept his hands open and relaxed against his desk.
First Aid really and honestly did have a considerable backlog of the kind of maintenance and repair work he usually did here, in his backroom. He hadn't been lying, even though he hadn't exactly been telling the whole truth. He didn't usually do this kind of work when he was on shift or on call. It was too easy for him to go deeply into it and vanish, out of reach inside the task. If he did that he wouldn't pay attention to his comms, or even the audio bell, and someone would have to physically touch him to break him out of it.
But Rodimus was here, and it was clinic hours so he could hear the bell, and First Aid didn't want to do paperwork while Rodimus was there. Rodimus hated paperwork, and he'd always said he liked seeing First Aid doctor. And Rodimus was hurting. First Aid wanted to help.
First Aid couldn't seem to settle into his work. Rodimus was focused and afloat, which was what First Aid had hoped for, though not entirely expected, but First Aid could not find his way in. He'd rarely felt like this. Repair work consumed him. He found it nearly impossible to stop once he'd started, and sometimes he couldn't refrain from starting, even when he knew he shouldn't. He'd let some of these projects sit long enough that they should be exerting a considerable pull over his conciousness now that he was paying attention to them, but he wasn't. He couldn't. He felt like a stone skipping across a pond, unable to rest, to sink.
His mind skidded back to Rodimus.
He kept working. He was slower than usual, in this strange mental shape that he wasn't accustomed to, but he knew his own work, and he knew he was doing it well. He was setting a small corner of the universe to rights.
Clinic hours ran out, and First Aid stood up. “I have to put the Medbay to bed,” he said to Rodimus. “You all right?”
“Hmmm?” Rodimus said, with barely a flicker of his attention. “Yeah.”
It was hard to turn away. But First Aid had a great deal of practice at doing things he didn't want to do, and leaving undone things he desperately did want to do, and he set an internal timer and stepped out of his office firm and purposeful, measured. It was always easier to do anything if you did it like it was the most important thing in the world at that moment.
The timer was a game he played with himself: not quite a race, although he did race himself sometimes, which had garnered him a reputation among his human colleagues as the last person you wanted to ride with on a supply run, but a measuring game, tracking all the variables in the medbay or clinic or hospital he was working, and correlating them to how long it took him to work through his end of shift tasks. It was an experiment, but not a formal one, and he felt no real obligation to keep it systemic. Sometimes he messed around, deliberately setting tasks out of his usual order, just to see what would happen, not with any solid plan to properly test the variations, and sometimes, although very rarely, he let a task or two drop. It was important to keep up with everything if you were working a clinic, especially if you didn't have much in the way of support staff. It didn't do to let supplies run low, and it didn't do to let medical records get out of date, and it didn't do to let a workplace be anything less than neat and tidy.
But you could sometimes put the files you'd pulled for the day away in a basket and mark them urgent instead of taking the time to get them all away now. First Aid had no intention of leaving Rodimus alone while he did filing.
He set the medbay's signboard, with its OPEN and CLOSED and list of walk in hours and his medical emergency commcode for if something couldn't wait (and a quick run down of what couldn't wait, please consult the triage and troubleshooting files if uncertain, if still uncertain, please call) reset his alarms so he couldn't possibly miss a call, and locked the doors. Checked the vents to make sure they were secure, and locked the filing cabinets. Then he triple checked the medicine cabinets with their daily supplies of basic drugs and ready made code modules to make certain nothing was missing and nothing had been added since the last time he checked, locked those, and pulled the shutters on them. Locked the drawers of Ratchet's desk. Pulled the blinds in Ratchet's office door, and locked it.
First Aid had done most of the daily work earlier. It had been a slow shift. One last scan of his checklist, and he was done.
Rodimus looked up when First Aid came back into his office. He wasn't steady and still anymore. “Just about finished,” he said. “But your shift's over. I should get out from underfoot.”
“You're not in the way,” First Aid said. “I'd tell you if you were.”
Whatever it was that Rodimus thought of that, it was backed and followed by something that First Aid was willing to bet wasn't very nice. His whole face twisted, and the way he looked away wasn't so much self protective as defeated. First Aid stepped towards him, his hands out and open. He didn't know what he wanted to say, if he wanted to say anything, but he felt sure he needed to say something.
He wanted to touch Rodimus. So he started there. “May I touch you?”
And that made Rodimus turn back to him, his body language opening back up. “Yeah, go ahead.”
First Aid put his hands on Rodimus' forearm, near his wrist, curved so only his fingertips touched Rodimus' metal. He wanted to go up as high as he could get, on the very tip of his toes, and rest his chin on Rodimus' shoulder, but he was fairly sure he couldn't pull that off anymore. He'd really needed a box for it even before the reformat. So he leaned in, instead, letting his forehead very gently touch Rodimus' upper arm. Careful, careful, barely a touch, but contact.
“You okay?” Rodimus asked. First Aid had powered down his optical sensors, so he missed seeing it, but he felt Rodimus shift, trying to turn further towards him without dislodging him. His lowest little finger slipped and skidded, tucking up against the corner of Rodimus' arm where it turned in to his wrist. “Was it a long day?”
“It was almost dead. I haven't had a day so quiet in months. I just.” First Aid had decided that he definitely did not want to say anything, but he absolutely needed to say something, and it was time to ask his question, even though he didn't want to ask it anymore. When Rodimus was coming to him, then it felt like it rose, bubbling upwards. If Rodimus was going away from him, it was so much harder to say. “I only. I don't like talking when I don't know what I'm going to say.”
“You don't have to talk before you're ready,” Rodimus said, and that was a new tone. First Aid had never heard that one before, before the Matrix. “I'll keep.”
“That's not very fair to you, though.”
“What is, lately?”
First Aid was reasonably sure that this was mostly a bitter remark on the matrix,exaggerated to cover the world in general instead of simply being Prime. But that didn't mean he could ignore it, even if that might be the better thing to do. He couldn't. “I want to be fair to you,” he said, and meant it so much it hurt.
From the little sound Rodimus made, maybe it hurt him too.
First Aid plunged onward, surprised, as he often was, that he wasn't shaking. “Do you still want to see me? Because you've had a major life upheaval and we've talked about that a little but - I don't want to just – to just assume – ”
Rodimus' free hand closed over his right wrist. First Aid stopped talking.
“I should ask you,” Rodimus said. “Do you want to date me? I'm... not Hot Rod anymore.”
First Aid caught Rodimus' hand over his wrist and held on while he powered his optical band back up. “I know you'd rather be Hot Rod,” he said, looking up even though it was hard to see how twisted up Rodimus' face was, how unhappy he was, “but I'd be be glad to learn how you've changed, if you want me to.”
Rodimus didn't reply for a long moment, and First Aid restrained himself, letting everything he could say to follow up, most of it self destructive and intrusive, things he didn't really want to think, let alone tell Rodimus, wash through his processor without expression. He let the hand he had on Rodimus' arm open, his fingers sliding until his palm rested on Rodimus' plating. First Aid could hold a much more restrictive position of his hands far far longer than he'd been talking with Rodimus without pain or joints locking, he didn't need to move, but the sensation of movement was settling, soothing, something to focus on that wasn't Rodimus' distress or his own.
“I guess I'd be a real jerk if I argued with you on that one, huh?” Rodimus said finally, his hand tightening on First Aid's wrist a tiny fraction. His mouth quirked up at one edge.
“Arguing with people about their feelings isn't very nice, no,” First Aid said, squeezing lightly back as best he could, tilting his head the way he'd found that conveyed smiling without smiling. “But you can tell me what yours are.”
“I'd have to change a lot more than I have to stop wanting you around,” Rodimus said. “Gonna hug you now, fair warning.”
“Fair warning,” First Aid agreed, and went easily, disentangling himself as Rodimus shifted his grip and swept him up. The pad he'd lent Rodimus wound up pressed against the side of his hip as Rodimus tried to hold onto both him and it. That kind of thing happened a lot when people hugged him. First Aid was bad about separating his work time from his down time, and most of the people who cared about him were the same way. That was familiar, grounding. That helped him not tense up at the strange sensation of being held by someone twice and a bit again as large as himself. He didn't want to do that. He wouldn't hurt Rodimus for the world.
“Okay,” Rodimus said after a moment, “this is weird. I keep thinking I'm smaller than I am.”
“I don't have any personal experience,” First Aid said, more than slightly relieved that Rodimus said something of his own accord, “but reformats used to happen often enough there were a lot of longitudinal studies, and they found that's really common. I don't know if that helps.”
“So at least I'm not a total freak,” Rodimus said, the bitterness back. First Aid leaned into him a little bit harder. “Good to know. Don't know if it helps, but good to know.”
“I'm glad. I've been working up a file for you, I should have sent you something earlier -”
Rodimus squeezed him. He stopped.
“The hospital comes first,” Rodimus said. “You're doing a fine job.”
First Aid wanted to accept the compliment, but somehow he couldn't quite, so he rerouted a few autonomic functions to conscious control and focused on those, letting Rodimus take his weight.
“Wow,” Rodimus said, contemplatively, “you're still really heavy.”
First Aid laughed. “You know, that's what Blades always says when he hasn't picked me up in a while.”
“Blades is right. I always forget.”
First Aid shunted his autonomic functions back out of conscious control and said, “Since we're still seeing each other, can we count this as a date?”
“Yeah, sure. Doesn't seem like much of a date, though,” Rodimus said. First Aid tilted his head up to look at him. Rodimus was very expressive. The face he made was impressively sulky and disgusted as he continued. “I haven't got a lot of time before I've got to take off to a meeting.”
First Aid knew which meeting that was, because Hot Spot had been involved in the organizing and the timing had been tricky, as it involved people on multiple continents. The meeting itself wasn't classified, so it hadn't been shuffled behind his confidential firewalls that kept knowledge from the group mind, and since they'd joined up into Defensor since the schedule had been finalized, the entire team now knew all about it. First Aid elected not to mention this: he always felt a little like he was showing off when he knew what the others knew.
“I like watching you work,” he said instead, which was true in a way that made him want to shut down his optical band again, because it was overwhelming and embarrassing and felt terribly private, even though it was about Rodimus and with him. “I like being able to give you something peaceful to do. I like that you came to me.”
He didn't look away from Rodimus. That was a challenge. He was shaking, and Rodimus was too, and Rodimus looked a bit stunned, like he'd be staggering if there was anywhere to stagger too, if he wasn't holding First Aid.
“You asked me to,” Rodimus said, quietly. “Or you said I could, that's the same thing with you.”
“It is,” First Aid agreed. “I'd like to ask you to again.”
He used what he thought of as his 'solid' voice, the one he used when he was making a point he couldn't allow anyone to shout down or disregard. It wasn't any louder than his usual, but he felt it was, in some indefinable way, stronger. Rodimus responded to it, or maybe to First Aid's declaration, or maybe to the combination, his optics going white-blue with emotion, and his hands tightening into fists. First Aid could feel them curl against his plating as they moved.
“I -” said Rodimus, “I will. Definitely take you up on that.”
First Aid nodded briskly, and dropped the voice. “That would make me very happy,” he said, and found Rodimus' wrist by feel to gently squeeze it. “Do you have time to go grab a meal with me? I haven't refueled since my break, and I need to.”
It was always even odds whether the way people hopped to when First Aid mentioned 'fuel' or 'energy levels' or 'electrical stress' was going to be touching or vaguely exasperating (he was prone to chronic short outs, he wasn't in hospice), but when it was Rodimus it was usually on the touching side. He had a knack for that.
“Now that sounds more like a normal date,” Rodimus said, unfurling himself from around First Aid so they stood side by side instead of facing and wrapped up in each other. “Where do you want me to leave the inventory? Didn't quite finish.”
“Don't worry about it,” First Aid said. “Every bit helps. Leave it on the desk for me, would you?” He'd had to let go of Rodimus' hand to let Rodimus disentangle them, so he jogged to catch up and take Rodimus' hand back when Rodimus moved to follow directions. Rodimus turned and smiled down at him, sidelong and worn and tired but not as sad as he frequently was. “Not trying to stop you,” First Aid said, “I'd just like to touch you for a while. Can we hold hands?”
“Sounds good to me,” Rodimus said, and changed his stride so First Aid found himself no longer scrambling to keep pace with him. It was so skillfully and considerately done that First Aid would have been hard pressed to take offense even if he were prickly on that point, which he wasn't. First Aid felt a burst of delight and pride in Rodimus' whole being, that he'd learned to do that, that he was so good at it, that he did it for First Aid even though he didn't need to, and swung his hand in Rodimus', playfully, hoping the lighthearted gesture could convey something of what he was feeling.
Rodimus didn't seem to understand, but he did swing his hand along, so it was the two of them moving as Rodimus dumped the pad on First Aid's desk.
“Thanks for inviting me out,” Rodimus said, as he pulled a little bit ahead of First Aid so they could get through the door to the sickbay itself. The doorframe was much too narrow to let them walk abreast. “I gotta admit, that's a lot more what I think of when I think of a date.” He paused. “Though still not much of one.”
“There will be time,” First Aid said. “We're busy now, but there'll be time. We,” (he swung his hand), “have millions of years, barring accident. We,” (he swung his hand again), “have time.”
Rodimus laughed. And then he said, quiet, serious, low, his hand going still and his fingers twining deeper into First Aid's. “I'll hold you to that.”
“Please do,” First Aid said, serious and still himself. “Please do.”
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Golly, I love writing Scar.
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Rereading it today. STILL insufficient words. Just gonna marinate in a puddle of warm fuzzies.
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I've been sitting on the idea the most ridiculously long time so that makes me really really happy.
*throws a few warm fuzzies in after you*
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