[TFP] From This Moment 02

[dracoqueen22]

Part II

For all that Orion Pax enjoyed the respectful quiet of the Archives while he worked, he loathed the silence of his hab-suite. It seemed to echo around him, taunting him with a loneliness he only felt when he was home.

He did not regret moving to Iacon and taking the position with Alpha Trion. Neither did he regret how busy his work kept him. He missed his friends from Nova Cronum, but he and Ratchet talked often enough, and Alpha Trion had become a dear friend as much as a mentor. Orion had also made other acquaintances in and around the Archives.

Save Copperpot. Try as he might, Orion could not seem to charm the clerk at the front desk.

There was Rodimus, of course, but their friendship was one necessitating discretion. They spoke over comms nearly as often as Orion and Ratchet did, and they met on a weekly basis for lunch, but Orion had yet to show his new home to anyone.

He’d bought the vidscreen purely out of an attempt to stave off the silence. Also, as Ratchet had advised, he did need to pay more attention to current events. What better way than to leave the newscast on at a low volume.

His hab was no longer silent. He only had to half pay attention to the headlines. It did not completely abate the loneliness, but it was a good compromise.

Orion might only grant the newscasts half his awareness, but there was no surer way to ensure the vidscreen had his full attention than to catch the mere mention of Rodimus Prime.

He put down his datapad and picked up the remote, raising the volume to hear it more clearly. What would it be this time, he wondered? Complaints about Rodimus’ work ethic -- which had been more industrious in the past year, so Orion felt they were being unfair. Criticisms of Rodimus’ appearance -- as if how he chose to decorate his frame had any effect on how he led Cybertron. Or was it more speculation about his romantic pursuits, the favorite of newscasters who didn’t care to report actual news?

As Orion paid attention, it was clear that today’s headline seemed to be Rodimus’ newest romantic pursuit -- that of the planet’s newest, speediest racing champion, Blurr. He was a handsome mech, no doubt about it, with a cocky smile, beautiful blue armor, full of sleek lines and aerodynamic curves. Slightly shorter than Rodimus, they still looked good together.

Paparazzi had caught them having dinner in one of the premier energon craft restaurants in all of Iacon. Others took image captures which had clearly been enhanced to show Rodimus and Blurr entering a rather expensive hotel. Given that Rodimus had private quarters locally, this was either for Blurr’s sake, or a desperate attempt to remain anonymous given both of their notoriety.

The newscasters speculated on the imagery, joking amongst themselves if perhaps Blurr wasn’t the only mech capable in the entire planet of keeping up with their hot-sparked Prime. Others postulated that it couldn’t be anything more than a fling, same as Rodimus’ other rumored romantic partners.

Such devolved into equating Rodimus’ search for romance, with his occasionally superficial approach to politics.

At that point, Orion stopped listening. Once the reporters started speculating on Rodimus’ capabilities, and resorting to denigrating his accomplishments or efforts, Orion had no further interest.

None of those mechs knew anything about Rodimus’ true nature. They didn’t know how hard he worked, or how heavy the burden sat on his shoulders. While he’d always known he would eventually inherit the Matrix, it came upon him much too soon. He hadn’t finished his training. He’d given up so much of his personal freedom.

How dare these strangers believe they knew Rodimus better? How dare they judge him?

It only made Orion angry. He’d learned to hit ‘mute’ when discussions of Rodimus eventually turned to all of his shortcomings. They rarely gave him any credit, even when his diplomacy was directly responsible for averting the disfavor of the Galactic Council and potentially making Cybertron persona non grata for half the universe.

Why couldn’t Rodimus be allowed the same search for romance as any other mech? What did it matter that he hadn’t found someone to give his spark? The average mech was no different. If both mechs were happy and consenting, why shouldn’t Rodimus be allowed to see whomever he wished?

Even if it was this… this Blurr.

Orion frowned, rewinding the newscast, pausing once again on the image capture of Rodimus and Blurr beside each other. Rodimus smiled in the image, his hand gentle at the base of Blurr’s spinal strut, Blurr leaning into him with an even bigger smile.

If Blurr could make Rodimus happy, then it was no business of anyone else’s. Maybe their paint did clash, or perhaps his screen settings weren’t properly calibrated. Blurr probably couldn’t understand the life of a Prime either. He’d have no context for the burden Rodimus carried.

Did he know Rodimus’ favorite energon blends? His favorite myth? Did he know how often Rodimus had trouble recharging? Or that he was terrified of disappointing Ultra Magnus more than anyone?

A pang gripped Orion around the spark.

Orion knew these things. He knew even more than these quiet, intimate secrets. He thought of them as gifts, little gems of trust Rodimus had shared with him. They were a connection he and Rodimus had that the paparazzi could not photograph, that Rodimus did not have to share with the rest of Cybertron in his position as Prime.

Orion’s frown deepened.

Did Blurr know these things as well? Had he, too, earned Rodimus’ trust? And if not Blurr, there would most certainly be another. Some mech whom Rodimus would give these gifts, an individual who would not be Orion, who would have the same parts Orion possessed, and then even more. Parts Rodimus would not share with anyone but his spark mate.

His hand shook.

Orion turned off the vidscreen and put down the remote. His spark squeezed again, and Orion pressed a palm to his chassis.

Oh.

Since when…?

Orion shuttered his optics, drawing in a shivering vent. He did not know how this had happened. He couldn’t name a single time or moment. It must have grown on him, layer by layer, little connections sparking in his processor and tiny tangles wrapping around his spark.

Orion did not want to share.

He wanted Rodimus for himself, and only for himself.

He did not want to see Blurr by Rodimus’ side, or any other mech for that matter. He did not want anyone else privy to Rodimus’ secrets, to hold him when he was distraught, or cherish every playful smile when he was being mischievous.

Oh my.

Whatever was he to do?

~

“Hurry up!”

Starscream rolled his optics and, if anything, took longer to save his work and power down the console. “Yes, Rodimus, I know what day it is.”

He caught the Prime’s pout from his periphery sensor. “If you knew, then you wouldn’t be dragging your feet,” Rodimus argued, but it was closer to a whine.

He continued to fidget, leaning toward the door, but knowing better than to rush off without at least one of his guards. As both Skywarp and Thundercracker were otherwise occupied, the task today fell to Starscream. For once, he was not opposed.

Rodimus had become remarkably better behaved since he met Orion Pax.

“You will not be late,” Starscream said with an arched orbital ridge. “You’ve already had the treats delivered. I don’t know why you’re in such a rush.”

Rodimus’ engine gave a thready whine of impatience. He crossed his arms and glared from the doorway, “Now you’re just being difficult to make me squirm.”

“Consider it payback for all those years of torment,” Starscream said dryly. He swallowed his chuckle when Rodimus made a face.

He would never tire of teasing his Prime.

“Look,” Rodimus said. “I have a window of opportunity here. If I don’t get there as soon as possible, Orion’s attention will be caught by something dusty and in need of translating, and it’ll take ages to get him to focus again.”

Starscream hummed noncommittally. Someone was rather possessive of Orion’s time, for all that they were ‘only friends’. Rodimus was never this eager or desperate or determined to see any of his berthmates. Which was sometimes a good thing considering that irritating, self-absorbed, twit of a racer.

“And you want him focused on you,” Starscream said.

“Exact-- hey! Don’t do that,” Rodimus said, his spoiler snapping taut behind him. He’d picked up perhaps too much frame language from his Seeker guardians.

Starscream found it charming. “I am merely making an observation.” He powered down his console at last, taking pity on the speedster all but vibrating in his doorway. “Come on then. I wouldn’t want you to miss even a moment of your date.”

“It’s not a date,” Rodimus gritted out. His field flared with irritation, but he fell in step with Starscream anyway. “We’re friends.”

“And friends mean more to you than berthmates, I’m aware,” Starscream said as they stepped into the lift. “Orion is not disposable to you.”

Rodimus squinted at him. “I can’t tell if you’re teasing me or trying to tell me something in that irritating, mysterious way you like to use sometimes. I hate that, by the way.”

“I know you do. Which is precisely why I do it.” Starscream folded his arms across his cockpit, leveling his Prime with a serious look. “You should know I am proud of you.”

Almost immediately, Rodimus’ face flushed with heat. He spluttered and reared back. “Proud of me-- What! Starscream, why would you say that!?”

“Because it’s true.” The lift dinged, and they exited, Starscream first because Rodimus was too startled to react immediately. “This past year, you have shown an extraordinary growth in your character, and you are finally becoming the Prime we all knew was within you.”

Rodimus caught up to him. “Are you dying? Is that why you’re being nice?”

“I am always nice,” Starscream said with a sidelong huff. He pressed a hand to Rodimus’ shoulder, holding him in place for a moment, as he scanned the streets for threats before leading Rodimus out. “I simply believe in giving credit where it is due.”

They turned left, toward the gleaming, blocky towers of the Primal Archives, only a couple blocks away from the Prime’s office. They had made this journey often enough now that paparazzi no longer lurked to document them. It was a well-known fact Rodimus Prime spent one day a week at the Archives, studying the history of the Primes.

That he was also meeting one of the archivists for lunch was a carefully guarded secret.

Rodimus gave him a long stare. “Well, thanks I guess.” He was adorable when he was suspicious and bewildered, even if it did remind Starscream all over again how painfully young his Prime was.

Rodimus truly had taken the mantle too early, but he was doing remarkably well, all things considered. It must have been because of the stellar guidance of Ultra Magnus and his Seeker guard.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Starscream chuckled.

Rodimus squinted at him again, but then the front doors of the Primal Archives came into sight, and any irritation he might have had toward Starscream melted away in favor of his eagerness to see Orion again. He clutched his box tighter and walked faster -- not that Starscream suspected either action was intentional.

He could be so adorably transparent sometimes.

Starscream couldn’t wait until Rodimus realized the true depths of his feelings for Orion Pax. Until then, Starscream didn’t mind the weekly access to the archives.

He had plenty research of his own.

~

Orion glared hard at a stubborn block of glyph-work, which refused to concede to any of the three translating softwares he’d thrown at it. He had no idea why Epistemus insisted on using such archaic language, but it was so ancient as to be almost indecipherable. It pre-dated the Covenant, for Primus’ sake.

A shadow fell over his optics, and there was a warmth against his back. Orion startled, spark throbbing with surprise, until a familiar voice sang, “Guess who?”

Orion sighed, but no longer was the sound exasperation, but fondness. “Hello, Rodimus. Am I late for lunch?”

“Only a little.” The Prime dropped his hands and leaned around Orion, first offering a playful grin before he peered down at the stubborn chunk of text. “Whatcha working on?”

“An impossible mystery,” Orion said with a resigned huff. He waved his hand, dismissing the holographic projection. “And my most complicated project yet.” He glanced past Rodimus, wondering who had accompanied the Prime today.

Starscream wriggled his fingers from one of the upper balconies, already taking advantage of this access to peruse the archives regarding energon farming.

Rodimus’ field nudged his with sympathy. “Sounds to me like what you need is a break. Good thing I showed up with lunch, huh?” He swept up the box he’d set on a shelf behind Orion and brandished it with pride. “Ta-da.”

It was impossible to hold on to a grump when Rodimus smiled at him like that. “What is it?” Orion asked, easily lured by the promise of whatever delicious treat Rodimus had brought this week. He was determined to introduce Orion, little by little, to all the different delicacies to be found across Cybertron.

Rodimus backed away from the research table with a wink. “You’ll have to come with me to find out,” he teased, drawing Orion away from the platform and down to floor level, where months of shared meals had turned a little nook into a semi-private space for them.

“You do not have to bribe me away from my work,” Orion said.

“Don’t I?” Rodimus pulled out one of the stools at the table they used, gesturing for Orion to take it. “You can be pretty hard to prise away from an interesting mystery.”

“I concede your point.” Orion chuckled and leaned against the table as Rodimus took the chair opposite from him and set the box between them. He did not recognize the label. “Which culinary delight is it today?”

Rodimus clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms excitedly. “Today we’re taste-testing.” He flipped open the flaps and pulled out two items which better resembled test tube racks, including the colorful vials filling each slot. “This, my friend, is a flight.”

Orion cycled his optics. “I know you’re not talking about something which requires wings.”

“No, I’m not.” Rodimus chuckled and pulled one of the racks toward himself while pushing the other nearer to Orion, the vials clattering musically together. “It’s a selection of variously flavored engexes so you can decide which ones you like best.”

“Engex?” Orion gave Rodimus a stern look. “Rodimus, we can’t overcharge in the middle of the day. I still have work to finish, and I’m sure you do, too!”

Rodimus shook a finger at him, still grinning, as he plucked the first vial from the rack, a blue liquid shimmering within. “Right now, this stuff is all medium-grade. We’re here to try them out for taste, not for intoxication.”

“Why?” Orion asked.

“Because it’ll be fun.” Rodimus flicked the cork off his chosen vial with the tip of his thumb. “You should get the blue one, too, so we’re tasting them at the same time.”

Orion obeyed, though he squinted at the liquid. It was very pretty, and a delicate sniff informed him of a sweet, almost tart flavor. “And why are we taste-testing?”

“Blurr wanted some feedback before he invests in this new business,” Rodimus said with a shrug. He offered Orion the vial as though he wanted to clink the two together. “He says the bartender is a genius.”

Orion raised his vial, too, gently tapping it against Rodimus’ before Rodimus grinned and downed the entire mixture in one gulp. He licked his lips in the aftermath, engine giving a delighted rev.

“Okay, now your turn,” he said, putting the empty in the rack and reaching for the next one.

Orion drank his, giving far more effort into actually tasting it. The engex was thick and fizzy on his glossa, but sweet and tart also.

“Not bad, not bad,” Rodimus said with a happy nod. “I could definitely see myself drinking a big cube of that. What about you?”

“It’s not a flavor I prefer, but I can see where it will be popular with many others.” Orion followed Rodimus’ example, swapping the empty vial for the one beside it -- a painfully bright orange mixture. Removing the cap unleashed a very strong, stout odor.

Orion gave Rodimus a suspicious look. “And you’re sure they are not charged?”

“Cross my spark.” Rodimus beamed, his expression so innocent Orion felt obligated to believe him.

Orion tasted the orange liquid, which spilled over his glossa, warm and piquant, but leaving a cooling sensation in its wake. It was more pleasant than the previous one, however.

He said as much.

Rodimus chuckled. “Just make sure you’re keeping track of which ones you like and which ones you don’t. I promised Blurr I’d give him honest feedback.”

Blurr again.

Orion fiddled with the cork on the third vial. “It must be serious.”

“Huh?”

“With Blurr,” Orion clarified as he pretended full interest in the thick, pungent brew clinging stickily to the sides of the vial. “You two were on the newscast yesterday.”

Rodimus cycled his optics before they widened with abrupt understanding. “Oh. That.” He waved one hand dismissively. “You should know the paparazzi by now, Orion. They make a bigger deal of everything than it actually is.” He tossed back the purple goo in a quick gulp, immediately making a disgusted face.

“So you and Blurr are not seeing each other?” Orion asked as he quietly put the purple vial back into the rack and reached for the green liquid instead. It was a pretty jade with a vibrant glow that was much more appealing.

“Nah. Blurr’s fun and all, but our meetings were about business. Plus, I wanted to see if I could convince him to race me.” Rodimus’ engine gave a playful rev, his spoiler wings twitching at the tips. “Off the record.” He waggled his orbital ridges.

“I see.”

Rodimus reached over the table and grabbed the green one from Orion, swapping it out for the purple, as if he wasn’t allowed to skip one of them. “Why? Were you jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Orion sniffed and tugged off the cork. The purple mixture let out a puff of vapor, and Orion’s spark quailed in his chassis. “I thought maybe a celebration was in order.”

“Celebration?” Rodimus tilted his head and tapped on the bottom of the vial. “Come on. Drink up.”

Orion sighed and shuttered his optics, tipping the vial back. It oozed onto his glossa, ice-cold at first, crackling over the sensors layered on the sensitive derma. He couldn’t determine flavor because it was too frigid, and a shiver ran up Orion’s spinal strut.

“Yeah, I didn’t like that one either,” Rodimus said, taking the empty from his hand and pressing a different one in its place. Probably back to the green.

Orion’s tank clenched. He wasn’t sure he wanted to taste anymore of the engexes, or participate in Blurr’s business ventures. He closed his fingers around the vial anyway.

“Celebration because I thought you were finally deciding to settle,” Orion said after a moment, once his intake felt ready to function again.

Rodimus rolled his optics. “Now you sound like Magnus.” He picked up his own green vial and twirled it around his fingers, causing the glass to nimbly dance across his knuckles. “If I do settle, it won’t be with someone like Blurr. He’s too obnoxious.”

Orion hoped the relief didn’t show on his face. “Is there someone else then?”

“You haven’t tried the last one,” Rodimus said, pointing to the vial Orion still had not opened. He held up his own, giving it a wiggle. “Come on. We can make it a toast.”

“Oh, can we?” Orion smiled despite himself. Rodimus could always make him smile. “And what are we toasting?”

Rodimus slipped off the stool and circled the small table, leaning in next to Orion, close enough he could feel the ambient heat of Rodimus’ frame. “Our friendship, duh.” he said with a grin and a sparkle in his optics. “What else is there?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Orion said, his vents stalling.

Rodimus had stood near him countless times before. They casually invaded one another’s space. It was nothing unusual, and yet, a part of Orion trembled deep inside. The mere touch of Rodimus’ field was enough to make his spark flutter.

“Exactly.” Rodimus lifted the vial and gave it a wiggle, raising it toward Orion. “To us.”

Orion’s spark thrummed with heat, threatening to warm his cheeks. “To us.”

The vials clinked and they drank, the sweet flavor of the engex coursing warm over Orion’s glossa, the scent rising up to tantalize his nasal receptors. It was, by far, the most appealing of the engexes.

Or maybe his opinion was colored by the way Rodimus smiled at him.

It made his spark sing, and his insides warm, and his fingers tremble. It was proof, in all the little details, that he was head over heels for Rodimus Prime.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

~

Rodimus did not see the blow coming.

He would have, if he’d been paying the least bit of attention, but he wasn’t, so Skywarp’s fist struck him soundly across the jaw and sent him sprawling, with stars dancing in his vision.

“Owww,” Rodimus groaned as his head spun. He lay there on the practice mat, trying to get his thoughts in order.

Skywarp leaned over him, face a mix of concern and apology. “You should’ve been able to dodge that.”

“Yeah. I know.” Rodimus touched his throbbing jaw, fingers tracing the edge of what was sure to be a dent. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Skywarp frowned. “We’re in the middle of a spar.” He arched one orbital ridge as he crouched, resting his elbows on his knees and making no move to help Rodimus up. “I know you weren’t thinking about work.”

No, he was being a lovesick idiot thinking about Orion who was arguably his best friend, and the one mech in the universe Rodimus knew he couldn’t and shouldn’t have. He’d been down that road with Orion before, and Orion made it very clear back then he wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship with Rodimus.

He’d smiled today, like he did so many days, and Rodimus was struck all over again with how much Orion meant to him.

“You’re right. I wasn’t.” Rodimus let his head thunk back to the mat, laying back with limbs asprawl. “I’m in over my head, Warp.”

Skywarp tilted his head. “What else is new?” He poked Rodimus in the abdomen, talon wriggling against his cables. “Lemme guess. This is about Orion?”

Rodimus squirmed away from him. “That obvious?”

“Painfully.”

Rodimus groaned and shuttered his optics. “To everyone?”

“Anyone with optics. Except mebbe Orion himself.” Skywarp chuckled and retreated back to his own space, his field thick with amusement. “Nerd doesn’t notice anything if it’s not found in a relic or dusty archive.”

Well, Skywarp wasn’t wrong.

Rodimus covered his face with his hands. “Why can’t I just be happy that we’re friends? Why isn’t that enough for me?”

“Because for all your sharin’, you’re a romantic.”

Rodimus bolted upright, directing a glare at his guardian as his spoiler twitched indignantly. “That’s not--”

“Exactly what you did?” Skywarp’s lip curled with sarcasm. “Sure. Tell me another one, bitlet.” He pushed to his feet and offered Rodimus a hand. “Come on. Up you get.”

Rodimus scowled, but took Skywarp’s hand, letting the Seeker pull him to his feet. They were of a height now, thanks to the Matrix. Rodimus was hardly a bitlet anymore, but none of his Seeker guardians would lose the habit of the affectionate nickname.

He touched his jaw again, working the hinge, but the ache had already started to abate, and the dent wasn’t too bad.

Skywarp batted his hand away, leaning in to inspect it for himself. “Oh, your nanites will work this out in an hour or so. Thank Primus. Star’s not gonna kill me.”

“I wouldn’t let him anyway. It’s my own fault.” Rodimus rolled his shoulders, his spark sitting heavy and wanting inside his chassis. “What do I do about Orion? I’m losing my processor here. He smiled at me today, and I thought my spark was going to jump out of my chassis.”

“Oooo, you’ve got it bad.” Skywarp planted his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling, as if the skylight would offer answers to Rodimus’ conundrum. “You really think you’re serious about him?”

Rodimus folded his arms, and contemplated the need in his spark, the squirm in his belly, the way Orion was the only one who made him feel like Rodimus, and not some avatar of Prime. Orion made him remember Hot Rod, made him feel like he wasn’t only Rodimus Prime, but a mech beneath it all.

“I do,” Rodimus admitted quietly. He nibbled on his bottom lip before he looked at Skywarp. “I think I’m in love with him.”

Skywarp’s optics widened, and he blurred a little in place, like he tended to do when he was excited and struggling to hold it in, said excitement threatening to activate his warp drive. “I’m proud of you,” he said finally.

“That’s the same damn thing Starscream told me this morning.” Rodimus dropped his arms and whirled away from Skywarp, huffing. “What the frag is going on?”

Skywarp grabbed his shoulder, and that meant Rodimus didn’t get anywhere. Skywarp was stronger than him. “It’s just a coincidence. Sheesh.” His fingers dug in, keeping Rodimus in place. “Doesn’t make it any less true. And if you think you’re really in love with Orion, well, that’s great.”

“Great?” Rodimus echoed. He glared at Skywarp over his shoulder. “Funny your tone doesn’t really sound enthusiastic.”

Skywarp stepped in front of him, placing both hands on Rodimus’ shoulders. “Look, bitlet. It’s a hard life being a Prime, but it’s not any easier to be the romantic partner of one. You have to consider that.”

“It’s kind of pointless, isn’t it? Orion doesn’t want me,” Rodimus muttered.

“You don’t know that for sure.” Skywarp shook a finger in Rodimus’ face. “You were strangers a year ago, and let’s face it, you didn’t have the best reputation. Can’t blame Orion for turning you down flat. Things might be different now.”

Rodimus worked his jaw and stared at the ground. “Or they haven’t changed at all.”

“Well, you won’t know until you ask.” Skywarp shrugged and dropped his hands, circling around Rodimus to give him a nudge toward the exit. “Really think hard about it before you do. Think about what you’re asking Orion to put up with.”

“And think about what I might lose if he turns me down again. Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Rodimus let himself be nudged. He wouldn’t be able to focus on more training today anyway.

“If it helps, I’m pretty sure he’s head over thrusters for you, too,” Skywarp said once they were out of the training room. His voice echoed against the unmarked walls of the washrack.

Rodimus picked his favorite sprayer and hit the controls. “It helps a little.” He offered his guardian a small smile. “But you’re right. I have to give this serious thought. I don’t want to lose him.”

Skywarp took the sprayer next to him and grinned. “Trust me, Roddy. If you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you’d know that he’s already yours.”

~

Orion paced circles around the confines of his tiny hab-suite.

He had the vidscreen off, unwilling to chance seeing something that would unsettle him all over again. His spark was in enough turmoil without the news flashing Rodimus’ face at him. Particularly if their handsome Prime stood beside another mech.

The jealousy was perhaps the most astounding part of it all.

Orion had never considered himself a jealous mech. He also knew better than to carry any sort of claim over Rodimus. After all, he was a Prime, and the Prime belonged to the people of Cybertron and Primus Himself. A Prime could not belong to the individual.

Apparently, sharing Rodimus Prime with Cybertron was quite different from sharing Rodimus the Mech, and Orion was not so fond of the latter.

He did not know what to do. He had not expected this problem to arise. He had his friendship with Rodimus and that should be enough.

He needed advice.

Orion gnawed on the inside of his cheek, completed two more circuits, before he dialed his comm out of sheer exasperation. He couldn’t think of anyone better to ask, but when three pings went by without Ratchet answering, Orion feared he’d chosen an inopportune time to call his often-busy friend.

It was a fear that was confirmed when Ratchet finally answered, his voice coming through heavy with static, like Orion had roused him from recharge. “Orion? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Ratchet. Did I wake you?” Orion asked.

There was a low grunt before Ratchet answered, “Just from a stasis nap, but don’t you dare hang up now. I’m already online, and you don’t call me like this. What’s wrong?” With every word, he sounded more and more alert.

Orion ex-vented quietly. “Nothing’s wrong, per se,” he said, pinching his nasal ridge. “I needed some advice and didn’t know who else to call.”

“About what?” A creak in the background was likely Ratchet rising from whatever back room cot he’d snagged for his nap.

Guilt clenched Orion’s spark, but it was too late to back out now. “Rodimus.”

“What did that fool of a Prime do now? Because I’ll come up there and give him a piece of my processor if I have to, don’t think I won’t,” Ratchet growled. “I’m a medic. I know how to hurt him in ways mechs will have to assume was an accident.”

Orion’s disquiet was tempered by Ratchet’s concern. “Rodimus didn’t do anything. It’s my fault.” He paused to gather his courage. “I like him, Ratchet, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Of course you like him. You’re friends,” Ratchet said.

Clearly, he wasn’t fully online yet.

“I meant as more than friends, you rustbucket.” Orion chuckled, more of the tension ebbing out of him. “I looked at him today and realized I wanted to both kiss him and keep him for myself.”

“Ah.” Ratchet hummed thoughtfully. “Well, you can do one, but not the other. He’s Prime. You’ll have to share him.”

Orion stopped his circuit and flopped down on his berth. “I understand as much. I know what it would mean to be involved with a Prime.” He rubbed his palms over his face. “What am I going to do? I turned him down ages ago! Why did my feelings have to change?”

“You turned down a mech who insincerely sought your time for shallow reasons,” Ratchet pointed out. “Now that you’ve gotten to know him, of course you’re going to see him differently. Besides, you know good and well you’ve always thought he was attractive.”

“That’s beside the point!” Orion’s face heated. It didn’t matter if Ratchet was right. Being attracted to Rodimus, and wanting to date Rodimus were two separate things.

Except now they had decided to join forces and create a riot in his spark.

Ratchet laughed, and now he sounded much more alert. “It’s exactly the point. So if you like him, I don’t see what the problem is. Just tell him.”

Orion was starting to understand why Ratchet had decided to be a surgeon rather than specializing in psychotherapy. “It’s not that simple. What if he only sees me as a friend now? I could ruin what we have.”

“Hmm.” Ratchet paused like he was giving the question serious consideration. “You know, you could try and gauge his feelings ahead of time.”

Orion squinted at the ceiling. “How would I do that?”

“Pretend you have a date or something and see if he gets jealous,” Ratchet said as if he wasn’t casually suggesting Orion lie to his best friend.

Orion’s mouth dropped open, and he had to reset his audials to ensure he heard Ratchet correctly. “I can’t do that!” he spluttered. “I don’t want to trick him! Besides, if he does have romantic feelings for me, such a lie would hurt him.”

Ratchet sighed into the comm. “Then the way I see it, you have two options. Either ask him directly, or be content with your relationship the way it is.”

Disappointment wrapped around his spark. Logically, Orion knew Ratchet was right. The mature, responsible action would be to directly ask Rodimus and confess his own feelings. Or keep them to himself and be comforted with the knowledge he would always have Rodimus in his life.

Unless Rodimus should find romance elsewhere and leave Orion behind. They were, after all, only friends.

“You’re right,” Orion said. He ex-vented quietly, spark shrinking into a tiny knot of tangled emotion in his chassis. “Perhaps I missed my chance.”

“You only miss your chance if you say nothing at all,” Ratchet said, and faintly, Orion heard another voice rise in the background. “Look, I have to go. I’ll comm you later and we can talk more, all right?”

“Of course. Thank you, Ratchet.”

“Anytime.” Ratchet paused to growl something at the other individual in the room before he came back to add, “Hang in there. It’ll sort itself out. You’ll see.”

“I can only hope,” Orion murmured.

They said their goodbyes.

Orion stared up at the ceiling, the silence of the hab-suite buzzing around him, and the weight of his choice like a grip around his spark.

~

Smile for the cameras. Wave to the crowds. Shake too many hands. Argue, argue, argue. Be tactful. Be polite. Be ruthless. Be complaisant.

Shut up.

Rodimus smiled until his mouth ached, endured hours of pointless discussion until every word became nonsensical, and sat in his position of honor, feeling every inch the figurehead. He was exhausted by the time the meeting ended, and still he had to stand there, shaking hands, accepting empty praise, and emptier devotion, until finally Ultra Magnus stepped in and Thundercracker whisked him away, out of the shadows of Ultra Magnus’ bulk.

“This is the part I hate,” Rodimus groaned as he flopped face-first onto the small berth and resolved not to rise until the world went away and left him in peace.

“I was under the impression it was the datawork you hated most,” Thundercracker said as he moved around the room, gathering fuel and fluids for his poor, exhausted Prime.

Thundercracker was the best, and Rodimus loved him.

“That, too,” Rodimus said, though he didn’t know if Thundercracker could hear him, muffled as he was by the thick pad of the berth.

It had been a long week. It would be longer still. This was only the first session, and Rodimus had a mere two-day break before the second session started, where he would sit in his chair and pretend to be important while other mechs argued over and around him. He was never more aware of how ornamental his position as Prime than when he sat in these yearly council sessions.

“Well, you have two days to recuperate and brace yourself for the rest,” Thundercracker said as cubes of various fluids clattered onto the table at Rodimus’ right. “Here. Fuel up.”

Rodimus grumbled and pushed himself upright, rolling his neck to ease the kink in his cables. “Can I comm Orion?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m not your boss.” Thundercracker snorted and picked up the energon, shoving it his direction. “Drink.”

“Good point.” Rodimus took the energon and hopped off the berth, beelining for the work console, and flopping down into the chair. “I can do whatever I want.”

Thundercracker shook his head and muttered, “Starscream’s going to kill me.”

“I won’t let him!” Rodimus sang and dialed up Orion, hoping to catch his best friend for lunch while he had the free time. Otherwise it would be another week before he could see Orion, and the last week had been torture in its own right.

Trust his sense of poor timing to have an epiphany about his feelings right before a council session which would keep them apart.

Three pings and Rodimus was shunted off to Orion’s messaging center with a Do Not Disturb redirect.

He frowned. That was weird. Orion always answered. Maybe he was distracted and hit the wrong button?

Rodimus tried again, one foot tapping the ground impatiently as he waited. Thundercracker nudged him to drink his energon without a word, and Rodimus gave him a look as the comm pinged once, twice, three times--

Orion’s face filled the screen with a careful smile. “You can be quite tenacious, you know,” he said, but his voice was affectionate, and his optics were bright.

“I was worried.” Rodimus sat up in the chair, putting aside the energon.

“And what do you possibly think could have happened?” Orion asked with a chuckle. “I’m in the basement of the Primal Archives, Rodimus.”

Rodimus squinted at the screen, spying stacks of labeled crates behind Orion. “Yeah, but you always answer on the first comm.”

“Always?” Orion echoed, arching an orbital ridge at him. “Then I apologize. I’m in the middle of a rather large project, and my full focus is crucial.”

Orion was so adorable when he was in Archivist mode. Rodimus clung to that in order to ignore his disappointment.

“I guess that means we can’t meet for lunch?” Rodimus asked.

“I’m afraid not.” Orion, at least, sounded equally sad about it. “I can’t even tell you what I’m working on until I’ve officially confirmed it. Alpha Trion’s sworn me to secrecy.”

“Hey, Orion, where do you keep the dating tables?” A second voice came through the vid-comm before another mech wandered into view on the edge of the screen -- smaller than Orion, armored in black and white with a flashy visor. “I think if we compare it to artifacts from the…”

The mech trailed off when he realized Orion was on the comm. He looked up with a smile, and then did a legitimate double-take.

“Oh, I walked into something, didn’t I?”

Orion gave the mech a warm smile. “It’s all right, Jazz. This isn’t an official conversation.”

“It isn’t?” Jazz’s tone was light, playful even, as he leaned in against Orion’s side, invading Orion’s space with ease, to peer up at the screen. He wriggled his fingers in a wave. “Hello, Rodimus Prime, sir. Don’t worry. As soon as we’re done with Orion here, you can have him back.”

Orion rolled his optics, but he didn’t protest Jazz being near him. If anything, he seemed quite comfortable. “Ignore him,” he said, despite Jazz’s playful ‘hey!’. “He’s right, however. With any luck, I should have this item verified soon, and I’ll be free to meet again.”

“As long as I stop distraction’ ya, right?” Jazz’s visor fluttered in a wink.

Ice sloughed through Rodimus’ lines, in direct counterpoint to the heat building around his spark. He worked his intake over a lump, managing to force out the words, “I see you’re very busy. We’ll talk later?”

“Of course.” Orion smiled at him, and it was almost enough to flush out the poison seeping inside Rodimus. “Good luck with the council.”

“Good luck with your--”

The comm ended.

“--thing,” Rodimus ended, rather lamely at that. He stared at the trailing dots of an ended communication, the sight of Orion and Jazz, so very cozy, burned into his optics.

He’d never seen Orion that way with anyone. To be fair, he’d never seen Orion interact with others. He’d only heard Orion mention a few acquaintances he’d left behind -- former coworkers and the like. He knew of Ratchet, Orion’s closest friend.

He’d never heard of Jazz. If they were this close, why hadn’t Orion mentioned him before? They were supposed to be best friends.

Rodimus pressed his knuckles against his mouth, staring harder at the trailing dots, willing them to give him answers to the question now gnawing at his processor and his spark.

Were Orion and Jazz romantic partners?

~

“Jazz, honestly, why did you do that?” Orion asked, exasperated.

There was no point in contacting Rodimus just to let him know it was Jazz who’d ended the comm too quickly. Rodimus would hardly chastise either of them for such rudeness, but that wasn’t the point.

Jazz danced back a step, holding up his hands. He offered an innocent grin which had unfairly won him freedom from one too many mistakes. “It was an accident.” He flicked his fingers over his chassis. “Cross my spark.”

Orion sighed. “You don’t have accidents.” He shut off the console and turned back toward the crate Jazz had brought for him.

If it truly was one component of the long-missing Blades of Time, then not only was it an extraordinary find, it could change the entire course of Cybertron’s future. This was an enormous responsibility, and Orion had not missed the importance of it, nor how much Alpha Trion must trust him to put the identification and verification in his hands.

“Are ya sayin’ I’m perfect?” Jazz asked as he sidled along Orion’s right side, tucking himself close. His field and armor were both warm, and Orion allowed himself to briefly indulge in that heat. “I didn’t know you thought that highly of me.”

Orion reached around him for a prybar, jamming the flat end beneath the crate’s lid. “Do you want me to identify this object or not?”

“Ooo. Touchy.” Jazz grinned as he circled around the table and grabbed a second prybar, slipping it into the other side. “Someone’s missing their Prime.”

Orion sighed. “Count of three, please.”

A few seconds and a cooperative effort later, Orion peeled the lid off the crate and lifted out the packing mesh, carefully revealing the artifact nestled within. It wasn’t touched by rust or grit, as if it had been newly forged yesterday, and from a glance, Orion could already tell it held a construction unlike anything he’d seen in modern times.

“So,” Jazz said, dragging out the syllables of the word. “Rodimus?”

Orion glanced up at him, confused. “What about him?”

Jazz braced his hands on the table, leaning forward, a gleam of mischief in his visor. “You two looked mighty cozy, I’d say. What’s that about?”

“We’re friends,” Orion said, heat threatening to stain his cheeks, his spark leaping at even the mention of Rodimus.

Focus.

He needed to focus on work.

Orion cycled a ventilation and reached into the crate, lifting out the long, thin piece of metal. He expected it to be much heavier, but it felt light in his fingers, almost insubstantial. The metal hummed, warm to the touch where it should have been frigid. Glyphs were inscribed along the length of it, but he’d need a translation guide to read them.

They, too, were like nothing modern he recognized.

“Just friends?” Jazz asked.

“Early estimates suggest this artifact predates Micronus,” Orion said as he gently set the artifact onto a tray lined with fine metalmesh. It would have to go into the optical spectrometer next to confirm its construction. He didn’t want to risk using the emission spectrometer yet.

Not with something this potentially important.

“Then it definitely could be from Solus’ time,” Jazz said, awe in his voice. “Are ya sure yer just friends? Because I’ve never looked at a friend the way you looked at him.”

Orion leaned closer to inspect the item, stalling his vents so as not to contaminate the metal with his discharge. “He is a Prime, Jazz, and my dearest friend in Iacon. That is all he can be.”

“By your choice or his?” Jazz asked.

Orion avoided the question by addressing the artifact instead. “I can’t read these.” He gestured to the long line of etched glyphs, stretching from the wide base to the thinner, pointed tip. His finger lingered over the last. “Save this one. I’m quite sure it’s Solus’ creation stamp.”

Jazz circled the table in a hurry, pressing against his side and leaning over to peer at the metal. “Genuine or faked?”

“If it’s a fake, it’s a good one.” Orion traced the glyph with his finger, the gentle hum of the metal resonating through his derma. “The spectrometer will tell us more.”

Jazz copied him, the pad of his finger lightly brushing the surface of the artifact. “I don’t know how you can always tell. It just looks like a piece of metal to me.”

“It’s easy if you know what to look for. Solus’ creations are warm. And they have a very subtle vibration to them,” Orion murmured. There was a luster unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Solus was known to experiment with her amalgams. What rare and unusual metal had she built the Blades from?

“Warm? This thing is ice-cold, mech.”

Orion drew back to set up the spectrometer, orbital ridge furrowed. “No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jazz held up his hand and wriggled his fingers. “Trust me. No finer sensors than these. This metal’s as cold as space.”

“Space isn’t cold,” Orion corrected absently. He took Jazz’s hand, and indeed, the tip of his friend’s finger was cold to the touch, as though he’d dipped his hand against something frozen.

Fascinating.

Orion kept Jazz’s hand in his and reached out with his other hand, brushing his fingers over the metal. It was warm to the touch, as warm as a living mech, and the subtle vibration seemed to hum, a rising and falling pattern that suggested music.

“You can’t feel that?” he asked.

Jazz shook his head. “Nope.” He looked up at Orion with a grin, tangling their fingers together. “Guess Solus just knows how to recognize a special mech.”

“More likely there is some trace contamination interfering with how our sensors are interpreting the particulates,” Orion said. He extracted his hand from Jazz’s and stepped back to the spectrometer controls. “I’ll find out more after I run a few authentication tests.”

Jazz backed off and hopped up on a nearby stool, where he could both peer over Orion’s shoulder to see the results as they transmitted, and keep an optic on the presumed Blade. “That’ll take some time.”

“Yes. Probably a few hours.” Orion absently keyed in the proper variables. “I can order us some energon if you want.”

“Sure you wouldn’t rather be sharing some with Rodimus Prime?” Jazz asked.

His grin was devious where Orion could see it in the reflection of the polished metal of the machine. He looked like the metallocat which caught the cybercanary, because Jazz loved secrets, and surely there was nothing spicier than a potential romance brewing with Rodimus Prime.

Orion didn’t answer. He finished setting up the spectrometer to run several cycles before he stepped back from the monitor and took the stool at Jazz’s side.

He watched for several minutes as the machine hummed and lights danced across the artifact, sending rainbows dancing in all directions.

“I think I missed my chance, Jazz,” Orion said as their fields touched, and he soaked up the comfort of a friend he saw so rarely these days, as busy as they both were. “He asked. I turned him down. And now, I can’t bear to risk our friendship.”

Jazz stretched his arms over his head, cables creaking, frame twisting and stretching in athletic forms Orion could never hope to duplicate. “I don’t think ya lost anythin’.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw the way he looked at you same as you lookin’ at him.” Jazz tilted his head, giving Orion a long look, as though his visor were peering right through to Orion’s spark. “And all I can say is, I don’t think you lost your chance. I think it’s still there, if you’re brave enough to ask for it.”

Something a lot like hope threatened to bubble up in Orion’s spark. “Are you sure?”

“There’s nothin’ one-hundred percent in the world. It’s up to you if it’s worth the risk.” Jazz playfully punched him on the shoulder, his field warm and supportive. “Worst comes to worst, ya still got me and Ratch.”

Orion managed a smile. “This is also true.” His spark ached at the thought of losing Rodimus’ friendship, but he also wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to go on wanting Rodimus, and keeping it to himself.

Perhaps it would be better if he took the chance just like he had when he accepted Alpha Trion’s job offer, and as he had when he’d befriended Jazz or when he’d offered an overly inebriated med student a berth for the night.

“Besides,” Jazz grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “If there’s any sense in the universe, he’s in love with you already. I guarantee it.”

Orion chuckled despite himself. “You said it so it must be true,” he demurred and squeezed Jazz’s hand in return. “But there’s nothing I can do until we get this artifact authenticated.”

Jazz let him go, holding up both hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t let me stop ya.” He drew his fingers over his mouth. “My lips are sealed. No more distractions. Just point me in whatever direction ya need so I can get you back in your Prime’s arms.”

Jazz was utterly ridiculous.

Orion loved him all the same.

He slid off the stool to check the status of the spectrometer while he pointed to a rolling tray on the other side of the platform. “Bring those tools over here, please. Then we can get started.”

Jazz snapped off a playful salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

~

Rodimus was not sulking.

Rodimus Prime did not sulk. He was a Prime. He comported himself in a manner befitting his station. He had poise, and mastery of his emotions. He understood the necessity of responsibilities. He did not brood.

“Rodimus, stop sulking and come on,” said Ultra Magnus.

Rodimus, bent diligently over his paperwork for next week because he’d already finished his datawork for this week and figured he might as well get started on the rest because he didn’t have anything better to do, didn’t look up. “I am not sulking, I am working,” he informed his closest advisor.

Ultra Magnus circled around the desk, leaned over him, and plucked the datapad out from under him.

“Hey!” Rodimus made a useless grab for it, but Ultra Magnus was taller than him, and might as well have been built out of transteel. “What gives? You’re usually hassling me to do this.”

Ultra Magnus stared down at him. “While I appreciate your new dedication to your work, you and I both know it is but a mask to hide your true disquiet.”

Rodimus squinted at him. “There’s an insult in there somewhere.”

Ultra Magnus sighed, grabbed the back of Rodimus’ chair and pulled him away from the desk. “Come. You’ve been summoned to the Archives.”

“What?”

Ultra Magnus slid his hand around Rodimus’ upper arm and bodily lifted him from the chair. “Your presence is required in the Archives to finalize the verification of an artifact of Solus Prime’s make.”

Rodimus swayed on his feet, thoughts spinning. “Wait. Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring your comms.” Ultra Magnus shoved the chair back beneath the desk, replaced Rodimus’ datapad on the desk, and headed toward the door, effortlessly keeping Rodimus in tow. “Which I have no doubt is because of something involving Orion Pax. Therefore, this visit will be two-fold.”

Rodimus tried to dig in his heels. “We’re going now?”

“Yes.”

“But--”

“It is the duty of the current Matrix-bearer to put the final seal of verification on all Prime-related artifacts,” Ultra Magnus said before Rodimus could get out more than a syllable of protest. “If you do not do this part of your duty, Orion Pax will not be able to verify the artifact, and will be greatly disappointed in himself.”

Rodimus finally matched his pace to Ultra Magnus’, which allowed him to walk alongside his advisor rather than be towed. They were already drawing an ungainly audience. “Why would my irresponsibility be his fault?”

“The assumption would be that he was erroneous in his determination,” Ultra Magnus said.

Slag.

Rodimus couldn’t have that.

He’d just have to deal with the awkwardness.

Ultra Magnus pulled him into the lift, pressed the button for the correct floor, and withdrew a small pad from his subspace. This he handed to Rodimus. “Here are the details.”

Rodimus skimmed the missive as the lift hummed downward, not pausing once to pick up other passengers. It was a simple request. Orion Pax had determined the newly uncovered artifact -- recovered by Jazz apparently -- to be a genuine Blade of Time. Rodimus supposed it was exciting news. He knew they were missing the Blades of Time, and this discovery would make two out of five.

He did not doubt Orion for a moment. If Orion said it was genuine, Rodimus believed him. It was still his responsibility to touch the artifact and see if it resonated with him at all for absolute confirmation, or Orion’s determination would remain suspect.

At least it explained how Orion and Jazz knew each other. Rodimus supposed they had a lot in common, if Jazz found the artifacts for Orion to verify. They probably had volumes worth of nerdy historical lore to talk about. Long nights in their shared berth and what not.

Jealousy coiled thick and dark within him.

There was also, at the very bottom, a polite request for Rodimus Prime and his escort to join the Archive staff for a celebratory lunch afterward.

Rodimus fought to swallow it down. He closed the datapad and tucked it away. “This shouldn’t take long then. All I have to do is pick it up and as soon as it does it’s little happy dance, Orion will have his first verified Prime relic.”

“And you’ll be staying for lunch, I wager,” Ultra Magnus said, giving him a keen look.

The lift deposited them not on the ground floor, but a few above it, granting them access to one of many skyways interconnecting the government buildings. Ultra Magnus preferred them to the more public streets. The Seekers tended to despise the enclosed tunnels even if they were, technically, more secure.

Rodimus tucked his hands behind his back. “No. I’ve got too much work to do, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hang out in the Archives today either.” He kept his gaze forward, trying to match Ultra Magnus’ regal frame language. “I’ll verify the relic, and then we can be on our way.”

“Hm.”

It wasn’t even a word. It was barely a syllable, yet Rodimus felt the full-weight of an Ultra Magnus chastisement bearing down on him.

He sighed and gave his advisor an exasperated look. “What have I done to disappoint this time? Aren’t I doing everything I’m supposed to?” He threw his hands into the air. “I thought you’d be happy I was paying more attention to my Prime duties and not wasting my time on frivolities anymore.”

Frivolities was one of Ultra Magnus’ favorite words to describe Rodimus’ many, many pastimes. Though there were fewer and fewer as of late. He was starting to outgrow some of the more irresponsible interests.

It was all Orion’s fault, honestly. Rodimus started working harder to be a Prime worthy of Orion’s efforts, so that Orion would be able to chronicle the life of a Prime he could be proud of. It wasn’t even a conscious decision on his part. Just one day, Rodimus woke up and decided that he wanted Orion to be proud of him.

He wanted to do whatever it took to earn so much as an echo of the awe in Orion’s voice when he spoke of some of the past Primes.

“I am very proud of you regardless,” Ultra Magnus said as they stepped into the adjunct records building and followed the outer walkway to the other skyway, which would take them to the Archives. “But a good Prime needs more than his advisors. He needs friends, and you could not find one better than Orion Pax.”

“Friend,” Rodimus echoed, and never had he hated such an innocent word. “I don’t think Orion has much room for a friend like me in his life.”

“Hm,” Ultra Magnus said again.

Rodimus squinted at him. “You’re judging me.”

“I am reflecting how quick you are to come to a conclusion with so little evidence,” Ultra Magnus said. “A good Prime would have an honest conversation before making assumptions.”

Rodimus twisted his jaw. He cycled a ventilation. He walked beside Ultra Magnus in quiet contemplation, knowing full well Ultra Magnus was capable of holding his glossa however long it took.

“You think I should talk to him, huh?” Rodimus asked.

“That would be the mature thing to do, yes.” Ultra Magnus paused before they stepped out of the skyway and into the Archives. “Trust in him, Rodimus. You may be surprised.”

Rodimus’ spark thrummed with warmth. Affection from Ultra Magnus was a rare thing, and to be treasured. “You really like Orion, don’t you?”

“I am fond of him for your sake,” Ultra Magnus said with a gentle pat. “More I am fond of the affection you have for him. And vice versa.”

He moved on, swiping his access card to give them access to the lift. “Come. Orion is waiting.”

Rodimus hurried to join. “Thanks, Magnus,” he said, gently bumping the mech who hadn’t left his side from the moment they learned Hot Rod had been preemptively chosen by the Matrix.

Ultra Magnus’ field fluttered over his in a show of affection.

It was enough to embolden Rodimus. He squared his shoulders, held his head high, and strode out of the lift when it arrived in the Archives. He was Prime of Cybertron. He was even doing a halfway decent job of it.

He could face Orion and his lover, and he could smile, and he would survive.

Orion and Jazz waited for them at the central platform, the relic holding a position of honor on the dais behind them. Orion smiled; Jazz bounced on his heelstruts.

“Bout time ya got here,” Jazz said with the sort of irreverence that Rodimus appreciated but made Ultra Magnus’ gears unalign. “Orion’s bout to vibrate out of his struts.”

“Jazz,” Orion sighed, sounding exasperated.

Jazz grinned and abruptly stepped forward, vaulting over the side of the railing, and landing next to Rodimus and Ultra Magnus with a far too showy flip. He latched onto Ultra Magnus’ arm, beaming up at him without an ounce of shame.

“Why don’t you and I go explore over here, Mags?” he said, attempting to tug Ultra Magnus away from the platform. “Let these two do their little verification dance in peace, yeah?”

Rodimus stared, with wide optics, as Ultra Magnus merely nodded and said, “That would be acceptable. Perhaps you might entertain me with your process for locating the artifacts, the Blade in particular.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Jazz purred, and off they went, an almost comically ill-matched duo as Jazz was at least half Ultra Magnus’ size, but taking the lead nonetheless.

Rodimus tried, and failed, not to gape.

“What the frag was that about?” he asked as he joined Orion on the platform.

“Jazz often has his own agenda,” Orion said, voice thick with both amusement and exasperation. Perhaps this was something often seen with Jazz. “I very rarely know what he is thinking.”

Rodimus nodded slowly. “Yes, he seems very unpredictable.” He tried to gather poise, and draped it over his shoulders like a mantle. “I guess I should look at the artifact?”

“Oh, of course.” Orion’s face visibly heated before he gestured to the dais behind him. “It’s right here. I’ve run it through every non-invasive examination at my disposal, and I can declare with great certainty that it is one of the Blades of Time. I only need your confirmation.”

“If it were up to me, I’d sign off without checking for myself. I trust you,” Rodimus said as he approached the relic. It lay neatly on a bed of soft metalmesh, and sparkled in the overhead lights. “But rules are rules.”

“I appreciate your faith in me.” Orion joined Rodimus at the dais, both of them now staring at the relic of Solus’ reign. “I hope you stay for lunch as well.”

Rodimus rested his hands along the edge, fingertips brushing the rim of the Blades’ tray. “Don’t you and Jazz want to celebrate together?”

“Jazz and I have celebrated enough.” Orion’s tone was oddly dry as air whistled sharply from his vents. “I don’t know how he has so much energy.”

The stab of jealousy was like ice pouring over his spark. Rodimus did his best to swallow it down, focusing instead on the relic. It was a better distraction.

He dragged his fingers along the surface of the metal, derma catching on the engraved glyphs. The metal hummed, turning from chill to warm as he lifted it carefully from the metalmesh. A little shock ran up Rodimus’ fingers, his arm, straight to his chassis, and the Matrix nestled around his spark. There was a pulse of recognition.

Not that Rodimus needed it.

“There is definitely cause for celebration,” Rodimus said as he gently replaced the blade in its cradle. “This is officially certified.”

Orion beamed at him, his field spiking with delight, and suddenly, Rodimus found himself caught up in an embrace. Orion’s arms locked around him, fierce and jubilant. Rodimus’ spark throbbed with affection, and he returned the hug, Orion’s glee immediately infectious.

“This is wonderful,” Orion gushed, his field like little warm tingles all over Rodimus’. “Jazz is going to be full of himself now, I just know it.”

Reality crashed down all over again. Rodimus stiffened in the embrace, and tried to hide the unexpected reaction by easing out of Orion’s arms.

“You’re the one who should be proud,” Rodimus said with a quiet chuckle. “The work is equally yours.”

Orion hummed, his optics bright and brimming with joy. “We will share the credit, of course. I could not have verified it without him locating it first.”

“Also true.” Rodimus rested one hand on the dais, and drew in a careful ventilation. “You two are very… close.”

Orion nodded as he turned and started closing up the box that would be transporting the verified Blade to its intended destination -- likely one of the vaults deep beneath the Archives. A replica would be put on display.

“We’ve worked together for a long time,” he said. “Jazz has been a retrieval expert since before I started in Nova Cronum, and a dear friend, though I don’t see him much. He’s often away on missions.”

Friend. Rodimus repeated the word internally. Friend, not lover. He hoped his relief didn’t show on his face or in his field. Jazz was only a friend. But given their ease with one another, not too dissimilar from Rodimus’ relationship with Orion, did Orion only see them as friends as well?

No.

Ultra Magnus was right. Rodimus needed to stop jumping to conclusions. He needed to be mature and brave and do this properly. He needed to voice the questions rattling around his processor, and he needed to ask Orion one more time.

Rodimus stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and opened his mouth.

“I’m glad you came today. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about” Orion said, and Rodimus snapped his mouth shut.

Orion turned away from the dais, his hands nervously fidgeting. “I wanted to wait until lunch, but if I wait any longer, I’m going to lose what little courage I have.”

Rodimus froze. He couldn’t read Orion’s field, or his expression. Was Orion going to ask him not to visit anymore? Was that what this was about?

Orion drew in a heavy ventilation. “I know when we first met, you asked me a question and I turned you down,” he said, giving Rodimus a soft smile. “But since then, I’ve gotten to know you, and I’ve changed my mind.”

Panic set in.

“Wait,” Rodimus said, holding up his hands. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

Orion cycled his optics, his field flickering with confusion. “You didn’t do anything.”

“But should I have?” Rodimus asked, the panic growing by the moment, as if there was a very real possibility he was about to lose Orion. “You’re my closest friend, Orion. I don’t want to lose that no matter what, so whatever it is, tell me, and I’ll do it.”

Orion’s mouth opened, only to close again. He gave Rodimus a look, like he was searching for something to say, and then his gaze softened. “You’re very important to me, too,” he murmured, his hand resting on Rodimus’ forearm. “I want to keep you in my life as well.”

“For Primus’ sake, ask him out already!”

Jazz’s shout made both Rodimus and Orion jump as it echoed around the Archives, bouncing off the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the rows of shelving. Rodimus’ spoiler twitched, and he would have glared in Jazz’s direction, if realization hadn’t slammed into him with all the force of one of Thundercracker’s sonic booms.

“Wait,” Rodimus said, again. His spark pounded so fast in his chassis, he was light-headed. “Are you trying to ask me on a date?”

Orion’s face blazed in front of him, turning a very delicate violet beneath the derma of his cheeks. “Yes,” he admitted, fingers tangling together once more. “And doing a poor job of it apparently.”

Sound rushed through Rodimus’ audials, joy licking through his lines like a static burst. He thought he might rattle right out of his armor, and before he knew it, he was clutching at Orion pulling him into an embrace, cupping his face and slotting their mouths together in a desperate kiss. Orion squeaked against his mouth, but gripped his arms, keeping them together, kissing him back. Rodimus wondered if perhaps touching the Blades of Time had put him straight into the Allspark.

Rodimus pressed his forehead to Orion’s, his spark swelling in his chassis, until reason came in, flooding his face with heat.

“Slag,” he muttered, and pulled back, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I meant to do that a lot differently. Like asking first, for starters.”

Orion chuckled and brushed his thumb over the ridge of Rodimus’ cheek. “You belatedly have my permission,” he said. “You’re invited to do it again.”

Primus, could he be any more perfect?

Rodimus pulled him into another kiss, gentler this time, one hand cupping Orion’s face like the treasure he was. He savored the kiss, mapping the contours of Orion’s lips, letting their fields mesh in the outer layers, tasting the outer, vibrant layers of Orion’s affection for him, and knowing his own field blossomed with the same.

The sound of clapping made him remember, all too late, that they had an audience. Rodimus flushed while Orion ex-vented a quiet laugh.

“We are fools,” he said.

“Speak for yourself,” Rodimus teased. He tweaked one of Orion’s tires, setting it into a lazy spin. “Can I stay for that celebratory lunch?”

Orion took one of his hands, tangling their fingers together, before he brought it to his mouth, feathering a kiss over Rodimus’ knuckles. “I insist you do.”

Rodimus grinned.

Victory.

***