#rodimims

He wasn’t sure of the exact cause. An internal system scan showed him free of any physical damage and he was clean of any infectious malware corroding his software. The only blip he could see across his vitals was a small system bug, a coding error his internal processor was struggling to correct. 

It happened from time to time, though it was often rare to feel it affect him so deeply. His system was prone to bugs when he swapped between hardwiring into the Magnus armor and disconnecting into his current frame. He wasn’t sure why his frame sometimes hiccuped in its recalibration sequencing but, alas, it was not completely unexpected. Irritating nevertheless. 

Distantly, Minimus wondered if the other prior users of the armor suffered the same or was it purely due to the inadequacies of his smaller frame?

He groaned as another tremor wrecked through his chassis, letting his optics offline as he tried to regain a semblance of composure. While this bug was a bit more severe than he was used to, he was not going to shirk off his responsibilities. The very thought of taking a sick day set his processor ablaze. All his duties, both per his station and self-imposed, would be unaccounted for without a proper replacement. He’d have to reassign them all, to make sure the proper mech was assigned the right segments of his job. 

It would…be simpler to just move his shift back. A small nap would provide him adequate rest while his system defragged the coding error. The estimated time for a total defrag was just two breems if he settled into a deep recharge. It would give him ample time to take up a later shift and complete his tasks. 

Yes, Minimus thought to himself as he settled further into the berth, just a small nap. 

He made the change quickly, optics already offlining as Thunderclash valiantly agreed to swap desk duty with him. Minimus could rest easy knowing the ship was in good hands until his nap finished. His recharge parameters started kicking in and he drifted into an aimless, deep slumber. 

—

A loud knock echoed across the dark abyss. Minimus jolted at the noise, his audials ringing at the abrupt sound as his spark rattled in his chassis. It took an agonizingly long moment for him to realize where he was, his blind optics scanning the room. 

His optics spied his orderly desk alongside the severe outline of the Magnus armor and a calm washed over him, though the drumming ache in his joints was still there. Slowly, he curled into his bed, using his arms to cradle his pounding helm. He just needed to fall back into recharge, chase the quiet slumber. According to his internal clock, his defrag was not even halfway done and for once, the prospect of rest sounded preferable to marking tasks complete on his HUD. 

The knock rapped against his door again, more persistent this time in a quick, rapid staccato. Minimus groaned quietly to himself as he tried to make himself smaller in the berth. 

A wild thought struck him as he struggled to settle, one he would only blame on the delirium of his sluggish, sickly frame. 

What if he ignored the call?

The idea was not only against his very character, but a deeper, more delusional part of him almost reveled in the depravity of such an act of selfish negligence.

But it was not without good reason.

His frame was too achy and weak to possibly entertain the thought of having anyone see him in such a state. Minimus wasn’t even wholly sure if he could get himself out of the berth at all. If he didn’t answer, whomever it was would just leave and catch him some other time. They could send him a memo, call his comm if it were truly urgent. Besides, the doors were locked, with only a select few with override authorization-

A sudden click had Minimus’s optics snapping over as he watched the door slowly slide open, a red and yellow figure standing at the threshold. 

“Yo! Mags?” 

Bright light flooded the room and Minimus turned his helm into the berth to avoid the blinding brightness. The light bringing about his helmache twofold.  

“Oh. Scrap. My bad, Mims.” 

At the soft shhhtck of the doors closing, Minimus peered up to see Rodimus walking towards him. Deceptively, Minimus thought he could see…worry? on his Captain’s faceplates. The thought caused his chest plates to tighten uncomfortably. 

“Captain?” Minimus croaked, his mind running through every possible problem that could have arisen in his absence and to cause Rodimus to look at him with that horrible pinched expression. 

Another mutiny? Pirates? Word from Cybertron? An explosion in the labs? Anything pertaining to Whirl?

He tried to sit up, to give his Captain his full and proper attention- never mind how inconsiderate and unprofessional it was to receive his Captain while still laying in his berth. However, as he lifted himself up, a wave of nausea curled in his intake and he immediately thought perhaps it would be better if he remained prone. It was still gratingly unprofessional but not as much as purging at his superior’s pedes. 

He felt…exposed on his too big berth. When the quarters had originally been assigned to him, adjustments had been made to fit Ultra Magnus’s large, boxy frame. It was perfect for when he was wearing the armor, but without it…the berth felt ridiculously large. Far too large for a standard size bot, much more so for a minibot like Minimus. He didn’t want to even think about what it would look like if he were in his truer, smaller form.

“Pits,” Rodimus crept closer, his expression morphing into something decidedly worried. “You look like slag, Mims.”

“Thank you for your thoughtful assessment,” Minimus groaned. A shiver traveled down his spine and Minimus could feel his denta clatter together. 

 Rodimus graciously ignored the snarky comeback. “Are you sick? Uh, should I get Ratchet?”

“No,” Minimus nearly bolted up right once more. The sudden movement made his processor spin and he quickly fell back onto the berth, bringing his servo up to cover his optics. The room was spinning. “I’m fine. It's just a small system bug.”

“Sure.” Rodimus sounded anything but convinced. “It’s not like you to skip your shift.”

Minimus frowned behind his servo. “Skip? My shift isn’t until third rotation.” 

He had swapped with Thunderclash, responsibly making sure he wouldn’t leave a gap in coverage. He had reassigned himself, leaving appropriate room for recovery. His defrag was only estimated for 2 breems and it wasn’t even halfway over. 

Rodimus snorted. “Yeah, that was over a breem ago. Megs took your shift for you and told me not to bother you.”

“Oh.” Minimus swallowed around the word. 

A quick glimpse at his defrag estimation window still showed half left to work through, but time lapsed showed near double that what had been estimated. It looked as if the defrag had stalled, struggling with a nasty tangle of mixed up coding. In the midst of his slumber, Minimus had been unaware, his recharge attempting to conserve power.

Embarrassment curled around his throat and Minimus felt his stomach flip. Failure, even when medically induced, was still a shameful, humiliating feeling.

 “Why are you here?”

“You think Megatron can just tell me what to do?” Rodimus huffed. A warm servo pressed against Minimus’s exposed forehead. “Primus, you’re icy. Are you sure you don’t want me to get Ratchet?” Worry tinged his Captain’s words. 

Originally, Minimus had taken Rodimus’s concern as something surely going catastrophic on the ship. He hadn’t considered the possibility it was over his well-being. 

It shouldn’t make his spark spin at the thought but…it was rare to find Rodimus concerned about anything, much less him. It wasn’t that Rodimus was an unkind mech, but…Minimus was unused to the treatment all the same. 

“I’ll be okay,” Minimus murmured shyly, his words slow under the delightfully warm, heavy weight of Rodimus’s hand on his helm. “I just need to rest. Once my system has done a thorough debugging, I should be back in right order. I can make up for my missed shift and issue a formal apology to Megatron.”

During the debugging, most of his internal systems were stalled until the problem was sorted, which included thermal regulation. While his frame was well above critical chill point, Minimus was cold. Normally, he would have resorted to using the Magnus armor for heating, subrouting its ventilations inward for additional warmth. However, Minimus was worried that hardwiring in would leave the armor vulnerable to catching the system bug and while it was a small, measly thing, he didn’t want to risk any damage to the armor. 

Rodimus snorted an unamused laugh. “Only you would worry about making up work when you can barely keep your optics online. It’s fine. Megatron’s got nothing going on anyway. If anything, he should be thanking you.”

Minimus felt unnaturally soothed by those words. “Of course, Captain.”

“Need help warming up?” Rodimus asked.

Minimus hummed an affirmative. He opened his mouth to give instruction on where Rodimus could find a thermal tarp. He didn’t keep any in his quarters but if Rodimus went to supply closet 3B24, there should be extras and-

The edge of the berth creaked and Minimus felt movement.

He let his optics online slowly, just in time to see Rodimus shimmy onto the berth and flop down beside him.

“What are you doing?” Minimus asked. He tried for indignation but it fell short and sounded more pitiful than anything else. 

“Well,” Rodimus huffed as he scooted closer, “I run a little hot and since you're cold…”

Minimus raised a concerned optic ridge but before he could swat Rodimus away, warmth swept against his frame as Rodimus pulled him closer.

“Oh,” Minimus murmured, halfway between a grasp and, embarrassingly enough, a moan. 

“Told ya.” He could hear the cocksure grin in the Captain’s voice but found no need to dismiss it. Not when Rodimus was so heavenly, blazingly correct. Despite himself, Minimus pressed closer until he could feel his pedes knock against Rodimus’s knees. “Feels good right?”

Admission was…too much. Minimus may be borderline snuggling with his Captain, but he would not further feed Rodimus’s ego, especially when any affirmation felt like a confession. Even allowing Rodimus this crossing of boundary felt like a blatant confession, admission, something too vulnerable. Thankfully, Minimus’s ailment seemed to allow for perfect plausible deniability. Which was great because Minimus…didn’t want to give up this warmth any time soon.

“Aren’t you on shift?” Minimus asked blearily. He knew he could check the schedule and confirm this but…for once, Minimus would find himself okay if Rodimus decided to lie. He would be purposefully oblivious.

“Nah,” Rodimus stretched out. “I transferred that to Drift to come investigate your situation.”

Minimus hummed, a shiver wrecking through his body making him curl close to Rodimus’s too-warm plating. “How diligent.” He meant it bitingly, but it almost came out complimentary. 

Above him, Rodimus snorted, servo coming to rest against the center of Minimus’s strut. The warmth made Minimus melt, any remaining tension in his frame seeping away as he laid slack against his captain. 

“Besides,” Rodimus shifted a little, settling further into the large berth, “it would be un-diligent of me to leave you unattended.”

Minimus bit his tongue as his processor nagged him that Ratchet or First Aid would be better medical professionals to call upon attendance to his ailment. Instead, he pressed his face into Rodimus’s broad chest plate, knocking his forehead against his Autobot badge. He even ignored the incorrect negative affixation.

 “Responsibility is a good look for you, Captain.”

“Jeez Mims,” Rodimus leered, though his tone was too soft to hold any real edge, “skipping shift and flirting with your superior; you must really be out of it.”

Weakly, Minimus lifted his servo to lightly tap Rodimus on the lips, grumbling a soft shhh. In the retreating motion, he scrambled for the edge of the tarp hanging around their waists.