I rlly do think Rodimus and Perceptor spent a lot of time together in the lost light⌠they have a very comfortable way of speaking to each other and Perceptor is comfortable enough speaking in lingo and Rodimus is smart enough to not only understand but also call him out on it. Idk. I like to think when Hot Rod was with the wreckers for that short period of time he enjoyed going to Perceptorâs lab and I like to think even if Rodimus gets bored he still likes to fall asleep to Perceptorâs yapping and Perceptor doesnât like. Get upset about it at all. My agenda
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Rodimus knew he held a whirlwind by the tail with some of the mechs on his ship. He knew he tempted fate, walking beside the mech once known as Deadlock.
He told himself he could handle it.
The raid was silent, the raid was calculated. The sirens never sounded until it was far too late, and Rodimus fought tooth and nail when three mechs pounced on him as he slept sprawled over his berth.
He snarled and bit, he kicked and snapped as he was dragged to his own bridge center and forced to his knees. He saw the scuffed insignia and stared his rebellion up to the mech who leered down at him.
He heard the words âentertainerâ. He heard the words âgunfodderâ and he heard âmoneymakerâ.
He strained against the hold on his wrists as he felt the microstruts creak and bend and sank catlike fangs into the hand that tried to touch his face-
And then he heard the soft whine in the air, and heard the crack of a helm bursting.Â
Those gathered froze and turned, and he looked to the side to watch a dead frame fall like old scrap in a heap. Another helm, and another and a yowl of âTHE GLASS IN THE DOORâ.He was shoved as he was released, pushing himself up enough to turn and squint at the tiny window in the bridge door- the window with a multitude of tiny bulletholes.
And then the door creaked open to reveal the dim hallway; to show the glinting blue glow at the edge of the shadows and let the cold chuckle leak in.
âI donât like it when mechs touch what isnât theirs. Terribly bad form lads.â
Rodimus sat on the floor now, watching in shock as the glow was fired at- the bullets leaving trails of sparks as they ricocheted off an indestructible chestplate. A pistol in each hand, Perceptor walked-no, stalked into the room and aimed in a fluid motion.
Gunfire like a hailstorm as mechs fell like uneven dominos, and Perceptor advanced with a single minded intensity. Rodimus, still drowsy and mildly shocked, was hauled to his feet and an arm went around his throat. he coughed horsely once as the grip tightened- but then Perceptor fired and said grip loosened.
Energon smeared on the scientistâs plating like a starmap, he smiled. Rodimus looked over a shoulder, seeing the old Con with an empty place where an optic should be- before Perceptor caught the captainâs chin and redirected the Primeâs gaze.
The kiss was quick, and cold, and sharp as frozen razorblades; it made Rodimus shiver and force his lines to calm with their surge of heat and fire. He felt the stickiness of death transfer as their lipplates met and broke apart, and felt his knees weaken at the wicked smile on Perceptorâs face.
Rodimus just loves listening to Perceptorâs voice. Itâs smooth and just deep enough that it sends a gentle shiver up Roddyâs backstruts and he doesnât understand a lot of what Perceptor says, he just honestly listens because Perceptorâs voice is calming and velvety and Roddy is gay as hell.
This is entirely @pastelgrungewreckerâs fault. They know exactly what they did when they threw the words âRodiceptorâ and âKingdom Hearts AUâ at me.
DestatiÂ
The darkness may destroy my body, but it can't touch my heart.Â
My heart will stay with my friends.Â
It'll never die!
âRoddy, donât!â Drift pleaded, optics wide and frozen on his best friend. Theyâd known each other only a short time, since Drift and Perceptor had picked up the headstrong young mech only weeks ago, but in that short amount of time, Hot Rod had become the closest friend Drift had, next to Perceptor. Seeing Hot Rod now, with the Keyblade of Heart in his hands, that black-bladed key formed from seven sparks of pure light, was terrifying. âWeâll find another way!â
Hot Rod shook his head, optics dim and sorrowful. âThere is no other way, Drift. I have to do this.â
Drift took a shaky step forward. âBut youâll lose your spark! And we donât know if thereâs a way back from that!â
âI know.â
Driftâs gaze finally breaks from Hot Rod to the still form of Perceptor laying on the floor, optics dark and unseeing. His spark was in Hot Rod, as theyâd just learned, escaped to protect itself by finding the safest place to hide away while his body recovered from the attack on them. There was only one way to release Perceptorâs spark and Hot Rod literally held the key in his hands. Driftâs spark pulsed painfully in his chest â what if this didnât work? What if Perceptor didnât wake up and Hot Rod was sacrificing himself for nothing? What if Drift was about to lose them both?
âPlease, Hot Rod â â
âIâm sorry, Drift,â Hot Rod interrupted. He turned the Keyblade in his hands, pointing the tip against his chest, above his spark. âTell Percy Iâm sorry for me.â
Drift couldnât even get a response out before Hot Rod pulled the Keyblade hard against his chest. The blade slid through his armor like it wasnât even there, causing no physical damage to the plating, but clearly impaling through the younger mech. A blinding light erupted from Hot Rodâs chest and Drift had to cover his optics to protect them from the intensity, even as his own spark clenched so tightly in his chest that he couldnât stand it. Even as the light began to fade, he didnât want to look â he didnât want to see Hot Rod as still and lifeless as Perceptor.
And yet, he lowered his hand anyways, unable to bring himself to look away, to go without seeing his best friend for just a few moments more. Hot Rod stood for a moment, the Keyblade of Heart still impaled almost gruesomely in his chest. Two bright blue sparks floated in the air in front of the younger mech, casting their glow over Hot Rodâs red armor. Hot Rodâs optics were on Perceptor, a pained, wistful expression on his face - one that Drift recognized; it was the look one gave the person they loved when they knew theyâd never see them again.
The Keyblade fell from Hot Rodâs chest, clattering to the floor, and startling Drift. Hot Rod fell a moment later, as the Keyblade released the sparks that had created it. In the corner of his vision, Drift could see one of the sparks that had been released from Hot Rod move, floating towards Perceptor, but he couldnât bring his gaze away from Hot Rod. He tried to move towards him, but his feet felt as though theyâd been welded to the floor. His entire frame was heavy, his spark seeming to have stilled in his chest when Hot Rod fell to his knees and Drift wanted to reach the other mech, wanted to run to his side, hold him up, beg him to stay with them. Heâd watched Perceptor lose his spark, now heâd watched Hot Rod do the same. He couldnât lose his friend â he couldnât lose Hot Rod, please!
Hot Rod looked up at Drift and, for a moment, it seemed like he was going to be fine. A proud smile crossed his lips and he laughed, even as optic fluid fell over his faceplates. Hot Rodâs laugh, even pained as it was, had Driftâs spark pulsing again. Drift took a step forward â
- just as Hot Rodâs body began to dissipate into fragments of light.
âHot Rod!!â
Driftâs spark pulsed wildly, fear and loss overtaking him, and his intakes seized up. No, no!! He had to do something, he had to reach him! He screamed his best friendâs name again and again, trying to get his body to move, frozen as it was from the shock of seeing Hot Rod beginning to disappear. Hot Rodâs name echoed in the small chamber theyâd stood in.
It wasnât until he saw Perceptor running for Hot Rod that he even realized the other mech was awake.
It wasnât until he saw Perceptorâs mouth moving that he realized, also, that it wasnât his own voice echoing off the chamber walls â it was Perceptorâs.
âHot Rod!â Perceptor tried to grab Hot Rod, but the last after image of the young mechâs body disappeared, the tendrils of light heâd faded into floating upwards and disappearing. Drift was finally able to move and he stumbled towards Perceptor to wrap his arms around the awake and distressed sniper as he continued to call for Hot Rod to come back. âDrift, what did he do? What happened?â
Driftâs mouth opened and he tried to speak, but his vocalizer refused to work. He closed his mouth and shook his head, and as Perceptor broke down in his arms, it took everything he had not to follow suit. Hot Rod had saved Perceptor, but the price was far too much. It hurt so much and Drift was barely holding it together, Perceptor was already falling apart, and there was still danger all around them. There was no time to mourn the loss â just as there had been no time to mourn Wing, no time to mourn Gasket.
Why was there never time to mourn the ones you loved?
Drift pulled Perceptor to his feet. âWe need to go. Weâll bring him back. There has to be a way.â
Perceptor nodded and tucked his head against Driftâs shoulder for a moment. âIf anyone can find a way to bring him back, itâs the two of us. We wonât let him be lost in the darkness too long.â
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Perceptor is distant after Drift is sent away, even more so when Rodimus admits that it was his fault Overlord was on the Lost Light in the first place. Rodimus is sure heâs earned Perceptorâs hatred for his part in separating him from Drift, knowing how much the two of them had cared about each other.Â
He goes to Perceptorâs quarters one night, intending to apologize (again and again and again, if he has to; as many times as he has to) and when Perceptor opens the door, the apologies die on Rodimusâ lips as the scientist throws his arms around him, drunk and lonely and not as held together as everyone sees him when heâs out of his room.
That night is spent talking, slow and steady, with apologies offered from both of them. Perceptor tiredly leans on Rodimus, snuggling close to the heat the captain gives off, taking comfort from the other mech. Rodimus wraps his arms around Perceptor and the next thing he knows, heâs waking up sprawled on Perceptorâs berth with the scientist curled next to him.Â
Itâs a slow start afresh, but itâs a step towards a deeper connection that builds as Rodimus begins to spend more time with Perceptor, quietly falling for the other mech.
Rodimus always runs warm because of his fire and Perceptorâs run cold ever since the mission that nearly killed him. After Drift was sent away from the Lost Light, Rodimus has tried to be there for Perceptor in his friendâs stead, and curling up with Perceptor not only keeps the scientist warm, it comforts him from the nightmares of Garrus 9 that Overlordâs rampage reawoke, the nightmares Perceptor canât bring himself to speak of, the ones that Rodimus wakes to when Perceptor huddles closer, shaking more from quiet fear than from the chill.
