Chapter Text
He wakes up a bit cold, which is odd, since he is Rodimus Prime.
The sheets around him are tussled, but he doesn't remember the nightmare he probably had, so all's well. Well, not all, he is still a little bit cold, even under the warm solvent shower he loves to take in the morning. It does help though, and he must spend longer than usual scrubbing at his plating because he’s already twenty minutes late when he gets out. Not that he tends to get to work on time, but he usually likes to have some time to go and annoy Drift or Ratchet on their respective shifts, since they start earlier than him, morning birds that they are.
He definitely doesn't have enough time now. Frag it, and he thought he'd managed to make himself a routine!
He skids down the hallways at a reasonable Rodimus pace, meaning he is bordering the line between running full sprint and having to turn into alt mode. He doesn't really care about being late, save for avoiding a lecture from Magnus, but today he has a sort of tingling, intense urgency pulling him from his lonely hab.
He does find Magnus once he enters the command center, and the former enforcer gives him a long sigh (but no comment) before curtly telling him what he needed to do for the cycle. Mainly checking coordinates for the nearby future with the team in charge of that, filling in some confirmation for the recent lower level restauration, and -miracle!- discussing the monthly report for the medbay sector with the medic in charge of inventory.
Which meant Ratchet.
Rodimus keeps a very composed and captainly figure from the outside, but a mini-Rod is pumping his fist Inside his helm. He mock salutes Magnus before booking it to get to his first task of the day.
Now contrary to popular belief, Rodimus is not a slacker, he just has a more chaotic way to work than most. Which means that after roughly planning the coordinates, he gets anxious about the state of the engine room, so he goes there. The engine room is fine. Then, screw paperwork, he goes to the lower levels himself to check the repairs and new stuff with the mechs themselves, which he finds is much more straightforward, but then he also remembers he has to find guys to fix the fragged up plumbing in the habsuites of the fourth floor, so he spends a big part of the day doing that (there is a severe lack of plumbers on the ship) but then Brainstorm called him and Megatron about an "accident" down in the lab, and after all that, he got really, really late for his medbay rendez-vous. By this time Ratchet had finished his shift.
He'd looked forward to the opportunity to talk with Ratchet, maybe accompany him to his and Drift's hab and share a drink with them. The tingling feeling had worsened throughout the day, making him jumpy and making his plating tremble slightly. He just knew being with them would soothe him a bit, calm him down.
They always did that, even if unconsciously. Wether they were with him at Swerve’s, or they were spending some time just the three of them, their presence felt safe by now.
Even after they came back to the ship, Rodimus had thought that his friendships with the both of them had been killed and buried by his own servos. He'd been a terrible, egotistical mess of an amica to Drift, and a very poor support to Ratchet, and now he had to remain lonely because he didn't deserve them.
Drift had snatched him back pretty quickly though. He'd… taken a while to apologize to him, truly apologize. Some part of him thought he didn't deserve to be forgiven, and no excuses would make that better. But it did make Drift feel better, so Rodimus ended up happy to do it. Even if it took more than a few glasses of strong engex and a lot of coolant shed into the wall of a maintenance level closet, chassis to chassis with one of the only spark that had ever felt like home, to get it out. Drift forgave him, because Drift loves him too much for his own good, but from that point the tense atmosphere in their interactions slowly faded away.
And against all odds, things got better with the former CMO too! Turned out that apologising got easier once you got started, so he went to Ratchet spoiler down and optics teary, prepared to get the verbal beating of his life. Ratchet sat him down and declared, firmly, that there would be no extorting time, affection and attention from Drift anymore. That there would be no more jabs about Drift's past, no more reckless endangering of both of them, and overall no more funny business, else Rodimus would be painfully taken apart and given to Brainstorm for experimentation. Rodimus just nodded eagerly through all of that, Ratchet sighed, and they were somewhat good.
Now, several months after all that, he'd gotten to the point that discussions with Ratchet were no longer filled with reproaches but a lot more pleasant. Rodimus was just glad to have his old war buddy back. He'd missed reading the filth out of mechs with the medic, the mech was the best in that domain by far.
But anyway. Right now he was cold, Driftless, Ratchetless, and two seconds away from cuddling up to the reactors in the engine rooms for warmth. In fact, he might go do exactly that after talking with First Aid, ‘cause cuddling did sound pretty good right now.
Entering the medbay (very bright after so long in the lower levels, hurts his optics, ouchie), he comes face to mask with First Aid, who seems preoccupied with a stock of energon samples, or whatever the pink stuff is. Once Rodimus takes a few steps in, the medic lifts his helm and gives him a wave.
"Hey, Captain. Ratchet is waiting in the back, he wanted to do inventory with you." He says, returning his attention to the little pink vials.
"Okay, thanks Aid !" the red speedster beams.
As he goes to get to Ratchet, he feels a hand catch his shoulder plating. "Huh, just so you know, Ratchet is really salty about having to stay after shift. Stay safe!"
Rodimus gulps, gathers himself and peeks behind a wall to the back of the medbay, where First Aid pointed. Ratchet is sat next to a desk, a small pile of datapads messily strewn upon the surface. He spots Rodimus as soon as he appears, glare ready and fixed on the captain, who gives a cocksure smile and puts a hand on his hip. Ratchet groans.
"Sit your aft down before I whoop it! I Don't have time for your slag."
Rodimus drops the smile and goes to sit meekly on the seat in front of Ratchet, who just humphs, but makes no further comments about his time. The inventory goes pretty fast, as both of them are eager to get to their hab and call this a day. The proximity to the medic though, makes Rodimus feel a lot more comfortable than earlier this morning, and as they wrap up the last item update, he feels slightly disappointed that it has to end.
"So that's it. You better give a damn good report to Magnus tomorrow, because I did not stay almost an hour after my shift to explain the same shit to you the next day."
"Yeah, yeah, no worries Ratch. The report's gonna be squeaky clean." Rodimus smiles.
"It better."
Ratchet stands up, and Rodimus goes to do the same, but the medic halts him with an open palm. He suddenly looks a little mischievious, and the captain begins to wonder if he would have prefered to do this with First Aid instead.
"When was your last checkup ?" the ambulance asks, coy.
"Uh-"
"Don't bother, two vorns ago."
Rodimus tries to think back to the last time he'd voluntarily went to medbay, but his mind comes out blank. Ratchet must be correct then, but the truth is that seeing a medic made him anxious after everything he'd put his frame through. He also knew, rationally, that he has unhealthy habits. He drank too much engex, he slept too little and he ate too little. Medics never liked seeing that in their medbay.
Ratchet pulls a few adaptators from one of the compartments of the desk, and pulls his chair over to sit right in front of Rodimus. He can feel the mech's field, this close. Neutral, tired, but warm. Rodimus stays put. He couldn't escape even if he wanted to anyway, he was way too familiar with Ratchet’s wrench throwing skills.
"Already stayed late, might as well do something interesting while I'm at it", he explains. "Wrist port."
Rodimus hands over his arm so that Ratchet can plug in, docile and honestly too tired out by the cold to act bratty like usual. The medic pulls out his own cable from a higher part on his own arm, and begins to roam about in Rodimus' coding, searching for anything out of the norm. Ratchet always likes to begin with the code part of a general checkup, before he goes on to check on vitals, charge, fuel levels and whatnot. Rodimus can feel him fleeting through different parts of his deep wiring, tossing regular coding aside and treading lightly, like fingers barely ghosting along plating, towards the regular anomalies. His sole presence makes Rodimus feel sleepy, the reassuring touch in him almost tangible. He drops his helm, optics closing and venting slowing down. Ratchet lets him with a fond ping to his principal system, continuing his thorough analysis.
Rodimus is halfway on his way to recharge when he feels Ratchet stall against a specific part of his social coding, compartimenting the lines themselves and taking more time to read the specifics. He severs the connection before unplugging, using another warm servo to straighten Rodimus on his chair.
"Feel cold ?" Ratchet asks, seemingly a bit irritated. Rodimus takes a while before realizing he's talking about the cold he's felt since the morning, ebbed away as it is.
"How'd you-" he slurs.
"Because your social protocols are clawing at the wall for physical contact." Ratchet crosses his arms. "Don't think you're the first stubborn speedster I'm dealing with. I'm guessing you've been anxious ? Hypereactive ? Recharging poorly ? Damnit, Rodimus, when that happens, you come to me. Or Drift at least, if you don't trust-"
"Hey, hey, hey !" Rodimus startles and puts a servo on Ratchet's knee. "I trust you, Ratch', I just didn't know that was what was going on !"
"I doubt that. That's the most common social coding syndrome amongst speedsters, and you're not exactly known for you stellar self maintenance skills." Ratchet snarks.
Rodimus lets out a frustrated vent. "Well, I haven't really had a shortage of contact until now, Ratchet."
Not in Nyon when he'd slept around for warmth, not amongst the autobots when Arcee and Springer slept beside him for warmth, and not before Overlord when he had Drift all to himself. Ratchet seems to go through the same thought process, and sighs again, taking Rodimus' hand from his knee, but keeping his hold on him, rubbing circles in the pit of his palm. Rodimus suddenly feels really tired.
Ratchet seems to examine the speedster in front of him with a lot more concern than what was originally present in his expression. "Okay." he says, and hauls Rodimus up to a standing position, making him lean against his pauldron. The contact is divine. "You're coming back to our hab. I've alreadly commed Drift."
"You don't have to."
"I know damn well, that's why I'm doing it. Come on."
The way back to the habsuite is nothing noteworthy, save for the solid touch of Ratchet's frame against him. He knows that Ratchet is strong and, although they're the same height, way more blocky than Rodimus. He's so nice to lean against, Rodimus barely registers the corridors as they pass through them, or the mechs that duck their helms when Ratchet fixes them with his signature glare. He loves Ratchet’s glare though, so powerful. Ratchet’s optics in general are pretty, but that’s a given, because the mech himself is handsome. Sexiest medic on cyberton, yessir, Rodimus hums to himself.
The time they take to get to the front of the couple's habsuite is at the same time too long and barely noticeable.
"Drift, open the hab for us please, I've got a handful."
Rodimus is so, so tired, but the faceplate that greets them when the hab door opens is one he still greets with energy, swaying from Ratchet's arms to Drift's with an appreciative squeak. Drift lets out a surprised laugh as the weight of his amica drops on him, but he holds onto him, strong as ever. He takes the time to kiss Ratchet on the cheek before half carrying Rodimus towards the berth in the corner of the hab, the one Rodimus has admired countless times and that is more than capable of handling three frames, with room to spare. Drift lays Rodimus down in the middle of it, covering him with one of the stray blankets lying around, before pulling away. Rodimus, hazy, tries to reach out for him, but another frame settles at his back, carefully lowering the speedster's arm to a resting position.
"He's just going to get us some energon. Code glitch or not, you won't be skipping it." Ratchet explains.
Rodimus doesn't even have the time to nod off, Drift comes back with a plate carrying three full cubes with shiny additives almost immediately. He settles on the other side of him, and hands the plate to Ratchet while he drags Rodimus up so that he's in a position to drink, back against the wall and thighs laying under the blanket still. He drinks it pretty quickly, bracketed between his two favorite people and truly warm for the first time since this morning. Drift had intently tangled their legs together, and Ratchet’s thick legs are resting on the other side of him. He's a little bit fuller than he's used to after finishing, but it doesn't bring him discomfort like he expected. He notices the energon is heated as well, and the detail makes his spark soar in chest and his field light up with affection. Drift chuckles, always more sensitive than most to the fields of others, before coaxing Rodimus into a horizontal position once more, careful not to jostle his drooping spoiler.
The position is incredibly nice. His back is pressed against Ratchet's middle, and his head is cushioned nicely on Drift's impressive thigh. He lets out a soft little sigh of comfort, nuzzling further against the both of them. Ratchet visibly holds back a little laugh.
"Are my hugs that great Roddy ?" Drift teases, finials relaxed in fondness. "They must be if you become sick when you don't get your daily dose."
"Fragger didn’t know the symptoms of cuddle sickness, apparently." Ratchet supplies.
Rodimus perks up at that. "Is that the real name ? Cuddle sickness ?"
"Unofficial." Drift explains, rubbing at Rodimus shoulder plating, in a nice spot he can’t reach himself. "Though I’m suprised you didn’t know about it. It was pretty common in Rodion."
Rodimus shrugs."Speedsters weren’t exacltly lacking contact in Nyon."
Drift gives and understanding nod while Ratchet hums in thought. "It’s not an exactly well known disease either. Functionism and slag stunted research a lot when we first started getting interested."
Rodimus grumbles out a vague noise of aknowledgement while Ratchet, who'd long since finished his cube, slides back down under the cover and closer to Rodimus, the speedster's back now to his chassis. He wraps his arms around his waist, holding him with just the right amount of firmness. Rodimus just about melts, cheek squashed against Drift's thigh and optics closed in bliss.
Drift takes out a datapad from the nighstand and manually dims the light, before turning to his conjunx. "You're not gonna read before bed, Ratty ?" he asks.
Ratchet shakes his head. "Long shift. Whirl managed to dislocate about every strut in his body today, and then I had to wait for this sick idiot" he lightly slaps Rodimus' thigh under the cover, who mumbles a muffled protest in Drift's plating. "to decide to honor his schedule. And when that was done I had to drag his aft all the way down here."
"Aww, Roddy. So indelicate making Ratchet carry you." Drift scolds, injecting enough humour into his tone that Rodimus wants to get up and pull his finials.
"Didn't carry me. I w'lked." Rodimus replies, petulant.
Ratchet barks out a laugh.
"I did! Y're just old!"
Drift tuts, and Ratchet keeps laughing. Rodimus clearly wants to project annoyance in his field but it falters with undiluted fatigue.
"Well now your punishment is to stay here and warm his old mech struts mmkay ?"
"How terrible." Ratchet comments. "Make sure to warm Drift as well, you know the sneaky bastard is barely younger than me."
Rodimus makes a tiny approval noise before aggressively burrowing himself into the blanket, optics furrowed as he apparently decides he wants to sleep here and now. The former CMO smiles at the display, before looking up expectantly at his conjunx, who leans down to give him a slow, chaste kiss on the lips.
Once the separate, Ratchet slots his face into the back of the red speedsters neck cables, readjusting his hold on Rodimus' waist before relaxing and closing his optics himself. Drift waits a moment to see if they're settled before turning on the datapad and beginning where he left off last time. It's a classic coming of age story, nothing too grand but still an interesting read. While he goes through the page, his servo comes to stroke, absentmindedly, at the space between Rodimus' crown and cheekguard.
A low, happy purr rises up from the depths of his amica's engine. It is a comfortable sound.