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#mtmte #rodimus #transformers #tffanfiction #ultramagnus
Published: 2014-11-23 21:15:48 +0000 UTC; Views: 579; Favourites: 2; Downloads: 0
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The private captain’s quarters were completely trashed. It was disgusting from the walls to the berth. Spilt cubes of energon littered the floor and bullet cartridges rolled across the cold metal like tumbleweeds amidst the silent breeze. The lights off and only the faint glow from the open door illuminated the sad scene. Ultra Magnus sighed and let the door slide shut behind him with the normal mechanical his and an unsettling melody of several bar locks sealing the room.
Stirring softly Rodimus turned his helm to the opposite of the massive Ultra Magnus’ direction, resting his face on the edge of the berth. His body, leaned away onto the floor, was limp and half-exhausted. It was the signs of true emotional damage mixed with bodily pain. The matrix being sucked from his spark to give life back to the dying… it takes a toll even thinking about doing it, but it clearly had close to broken Rodimus.
“You should be in the medical bay,” Ultra Magnus said, voice curt and short.
Lip plates parting Rodimus tried to tell the enforcer of the hypocrite’s accord but his vocalizer only sighed static and a tremble in pain. The officer only sighed through his vents and regretted the patronizing dig. “You haven’t healed. Rodimus—.”
“Ngh—Sh-shut up!” Rodimus coughed, spinal struts shaking with tremors as he tried shoving himself off the berth’s edge. “Sh-sh-shut up.”
“Rodimus,” Magnus began, kneeling to assist his captain out of concern and duty.
“Don’t touch me,” he wheezed, slumping onto the floor with a clamber.
Not sure what to do or say, uncertain for the first time in his role as Ultra Magnus, the officer stayed in standby in case there was real trouble. Fortunately Rodimus’ only injury was truly his pride and strut soreness. He wouldn’t enjoy alt mode for several cycles. But something about the bruised expression of the usually spunky captain twisted Magnus’ spark. It was a mix of betrayal, pain, and self-depreciation. “Why are you here?” Came a raspy drawl from Rodimus’ lips.
“It would seem that Ratchet had some misgivings about you refusal for examination. I… The crew is worried.”
Rodimus coughed a chuckle, shaking his helm. “Is that you way of apologizing?”
“What do I have to apologize for?”
“You undermined… my authority,” he grunted, straightening his posture better, resting on his haunches before the massive mech.
“I do not believe you are fit to remain as captain. I am within my rights to point this out, Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus said firmly, optics dimming and narrowing.
“You know… If Drift was here… He’d say something lik—.”
“Well Drift isn’t here,” Magnus snapped, voice callous. Rodimus’ optics widened softly in the dark, the officer turning his head to the side and regretting the words. “You have failed this crew more than once. If the accord held up in its credibility I would have cited you and relieved you from your duties the second the quantum engines backfired upon take-off. But I let you have your way… And that led to the use of essential members of the crew as bait for dangerous spark eaters, the mental depreciation of security detail, and I won’t even mention the issue with Overlord as a political stowaway.”
“Do you ever just… shut up?” Rodimus laughed dryly, scratching as his chin.
“Rodimus, I’m serious.”
“And I’m not?”
Ultra Magnus frowned, rubbing the joint between his optics, but Rodimus had a fast retort. “Magnus… I know.”
“What?”
“I know…”
Silence swelled between the two mechs, the air tight and dark. Behind Rodimus through the circular window by his berth a crystal blue nebula filled the viewing space. The gentle light backlit the captain’s earnest regretful face; dipping his helm, Rodimus stared at his servos. Still on the tips of his digs were burn marks where the stray energy from the matrix had escaped through. It was a dirty, dull look and he hated it. Though, perhaps the flames on his scratched, dulled chest plates didn’t mean much anymore. Not after this catastrophe of a quest.
“But you won’t relinquish the role of captain?”
“I can’t,” was a weak reply, but a sure one. Rodimus kept his helm low so that Magnus couldn’t see the broken expression on his face plates. “It’s all I have.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then what do I have, Magnus?” Rodimus snapped, helm snapping up and eyes wide with desperation. “Drift’s gone, Rewind’s gone, Red Alert is basically gone! The war is over and the action is gone. No more chances to be brave and legendary. All I’ve got is this Primus-damned office and title! Primus, Magnus, I almost lost you!”
Electricity buzzing behind those sad words Magnus could truly see just how heavily it all was affecting Rodimus. Usually so spunky, interested, and ready for anything the scar the matrix left on his spark was a deep one. The captain began muttering angrily and biting at the burns on his digits. With a concerned frown Magnus pulled Rodimus’ servo away from his lips and clasped it gently in his massive palm. This caught the captain’s attention.
“But you didn’t…”
“I almost—“
“But you didn’t.”
Helm turning away angrily Rodimus rubbed the washer fluid out of his optics. Again the mutters and the foreign swears. Maybe it took some of the shame away, Magnus didn’t know, but he knew Rodimus was trying. “I used to think you didn’t have regard of any sort.”
“What?”
“You may have used Rung as bait, but it was still you who risked your life in the end. Rewind may have died, but it was Chromedome who had risked the crew’s safety by acting riskily. And even if the quantum engines exploded, it was not an act of intentional sabotage on your part. Besides, I don’t think you’d try to crash the ship when you finally got a role as a true leader.” This gentle nod made Rodimus smile through the tears. “So… I wasn’t entirely correct in my assumptions about you.”
“Magnus?”
“Yes?”
“Could you ever just say that you wrong about me?” Rodimus asked, optics half-lidded with patronization. “I wasn’t entirely correct in my assumptions about you,” the captain mimicked in the deepest voice he could make. “Primus, you have to lighten up.”
“I’m… not sure if I am capable.”
Rodimus rolled his optics and scoffed. He gestured with a dip of his helm to his hand gently held in Magnus’.
“Is that not you being more forward and social?”
Once pointed out the officer dropped the captain’s hand with a sigh of his vents and casting away of his usually cold optics. This made Rodimus give that coy, knowing smile as he shakily stood and sat on his berth. “I won’t make you stay. I know how much kindness goes against your very coding.”
“That’s quite untrue. On Hedonia Swerve even described me as—“
“Magnus?”
“Yes?”
“Sarcasm.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Rodimus chuckled and slowly began leaning back on the berth, face screwed up in pain as his spinal struts audibly trembled. Reaching out Ultra Magnus braced the captain as he struggled to lay flat through the pain. A hiss through Rodimus’ vents and the captain is resting against the flat metal of the berth. A silent nod of thanks and Ultra Magnus stands to his monstrous height once more.
Just as the officer heads for the door, Rodimus rolls on his side and calls out a cautious, “Magnus?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Say you were wrong…”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Say you were wrong about me, again…”
Idling in the doorway, light from the hallway gently illuminating the captain as he curled on his side, Magnus could feel the twist in his usually firm spark once more. He cast a glance over his shoulder and then to the floor, hand pressed against the door frame. He hated humoring Rodimus in this way, but there wasn’t much else you could say to someone as emotionally exhausted as him. He wanted to hear very little and what he did, it was specific.
And so, deep intake to build up the words, Ultra Magnus admitted once more in his wrongs.
“I was wrong about you, Rodimus.”
“Dismissed.”
“Will you be down later?”
“Doubtful.”
Magnus frowned, hand gripping the metal of the door frame a little too tight.
“Will you at least have Ratchet look at your injuries?”
“Probably not.”
“Rodimus.”
At that snap the captain jolted, curling a little tighter into his frame with a sigh of his vents. As petulant as the young soldier was, he knew when to concede.
“Yeah, fine.”
“Good.”
“Good night, Magnus.”
“Evening, Sir.”