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raisedbymoogles) wrote2020-12-28 12:51 am
raisedbymoogles) wrote2020-12-28 12:51 am
Entry tags:
More post-TRoOP fic.
Sequel of sorts to this ficbit. Fluff to go with the angst.
*
It's dark by the time he comes back in, having failed to find any peace in the practice of observing familiar/alien landscapes but at least having found enough space between himself and the shades of his past selves that he feels like he could function in polite Autobot society again. He's ready, he thinks, for pity or awkwardness or the kind of recrimination that goes I'm not mad just disappointed. He's pretty sure he's ready.
He is utterly unprepared for Hot Spot, spotting him at the gate, to light up at the sight of him and start waving. "Roddy! Hey, there you are!"
"Were you looking for me?" Guiltily, he checks his comm log - amid the usual auto-generated security updates and base news there are two pings from Hot Spot and one from First Aid, none marked urgent enough to get past the temporary comm lock he'd set for himself. "Sorry, I was off the grid for a while."
"Off the grid" is a polite fiction, one Hot Spot lets him get away with. "It's okay, we just wanted your help with something," Hot Spot says cheerily, and slings an arm over his shoulders. It settles there comfortably, which is something Hot Spot couldn't have managed for Rodimus Prime without a box to stand on or something. "If you're not doing anything?" Hot Spot adds, a bit belated but hopeful.
"Nope, my schedule's suddenly completely clear."
He's wincing the instant he says it, but Hot Spot's already got them in motion, seeming not to notice the awkwardness. "Great! In that case, come help me bring some goodies down to the medical wing and we'll meet everyone else there."
"...everyone else?"
'Everyone else' is camped out in First Aid's office, Blades and Groove and Streetwise passing holographic cards around in a quick-paced game while First Aid scratches through the last of his desk work. "Hey guys, look who I found," Hot Spot singsongs.
"Roddy," Groove greets calmly.
"Roddy!" Blades exclaims. "Ooh, bubble treats."
Streetwise sighs and set down his cards, but the glint of his optics reads 'amused' as he gets up to grab the tray of leftover celebration treats from the 'yay, we survived' party that the former Prime had been avoiding. "Good to see you, Roddy," he says. "I hope Hot Spot didn't pull you from anything pressing."
"Nope," he answers simply, because he isn't rolling over the same pothole twice. "So what did you need my help with?"
Streetwise glances over his shoulder, and seems to exchange a silent comm with Hot Spot, who's busily attempting to enforce an equitable distribution of goodies to his buildmates by dissuading Blades from testing his fuel capacity by shoving as many bubble treats down his intake as he can. "...let's leave that for a bit," he confides. "Someone needs a goodie break before he melds with the desk."
'Someone' probably does, judging by First Aid's hunched shoulders and cramped hands, how he hasn't so much as looked up since their visitor had come in. The nameless mech nods and plucked up a silver-creme sandwich - Jazz's invention, and one of First Aid's favorites - and waves it under First Aid's faceplate.
'Aid jerks, visor rebooting twice. "...oh," he blurts as his processor abruptly switches gears. "Oh! Roddy! Hello!" And, utterly ignoring the treat, he hopped up to wrap his visitor in a hug.
The mech blinks, equilibrium abruptly offline, though he's pretty sure he should have expected this - First Aid isn't shy about his affection. "...hey," he says, patting First Aid's shoulder. "Want to take a goodie break?"
There's another communicative pause, and First Aid pulls back from him with his hands still gripping the former Prime's arms as if sensing that equilibrial wobble. "That sounds perfect right about now," the medic nods. "Was that a silver sandwich?"
It was, indeed; the former Prime hands it over, and is rewarded with First Aid's pleased noises and a goodie of his own passed his way - a bubble goodie, no less, Hot Spot finally having impressed on Blades the virtues of sharing. The delicate shell goes crackle when he presses it between his glossa and the roof of his mouth, sharp and bitter before the sweetness of the gelled fuel beads inside mellows it out. Jazz knows his business.
"Do you know how to play Light Up?" Groove asks as he swallows the last of the fuel.
"A little," he admits. Light Up is something of a matching game, played with programmable cards like the ones Groove and Blades and Streetwise have been playing with. "I haven't played it in a while, though, I'm pretty rusty."
“In that case, wanna play for credits?” Blades pipes up, and ducks immediately - an excellent instinct, as Hot Spot’s reproving swat just misses him. “Hey, can’t blame me for trying.”
“I already brought the goodies!” their guest defends himself, but Blade only cackles and pulls him down into the next seat. First Aid plunks himself down on his other side, Hot Spot eases himself in on First Aid’s other side, and Streetwise collects up the cards to reprogram and reshuffle them while Groove fiddled with the music player. First Aid leans against Hot Spot’s side briefly, a wordless bit of communion that Hot Spot returns with a hum of his engine, and then turns his attention to the former Prime once more.
“I’m glad you came,” First Aid confides. “I feel like we don’t get to see a lot of each other.”
“What’re you talking about, Aid, you practically have my blueprints memorized!”
“I’m not talking about your blueprints, you dork.” First Aid poked his shoulder in entirely deserved reproof. “I want to see you when you’re not injured sometimes too, you know.”
“…sorry, Aid.” But this guilt is bearable, comparatively speaking; and if this mistake can be undone by spending more time with his friend, then he’ll embrace it with all his spark. I wish all my mistakes could be fixed so easily. “Well - I’m here now. I hope that’s a start?”
“It’s a great start,” First Aid assures him as he gathers up the cards Streetwise deals. “I’m so glad you agreed to join us for game night.”
“-hang on, what?”
Hot Spot has his gaze directed towards the ceiling, apparently fascinated by something up there. “’Spoooot,” Streetwise draws out. “What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t lie, technically,” Hot Spot protests. “I said I needed help with something. I just didn’t say that the ‘something’ was cheering up both him and First Aid at the same time. Two targets, one shot and all that.”
“Hot Spot, honestly!” Now it’s Hot Spot’s turn to get a reproving ‘Aid-poke.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have said no if you’d led with that,” adds the topic under discussion.
Hot Spot gives him a kind, patient look, one that says you’re not fooling anyone. “Just play, Roddy.”
He glances around, and - yes, Groove’s laid down his first card, it’s his turn, and everyone’s looking expectantly at him. “Okay, okay,” he surrenders, and shuffles his hand around a bit before choosing one to lay down nearly at random.
Roddy, he thinks. He’s not Hot Rod, nor Rodimus Prime. But maybe, with his friends here, he can just about manage being Roddy.
*
It's dark by the time he comes back in, having failed to find any peace in the practice of observing familiar/alien landscapes but at least having found enough space between himself and the shades of his past selves that he feels like he could function in polite Autobot society again. He's ready, he thinks, for pity or awkwardness or the kind of recrimination that goes I'm not mad just disappointed. He's pretty sure he's ready.
He is utterly unprepared for Hot Spot, spotting him at the gate, to light up at the sight of him and start waving. "Roddy! Hey, there you are!"
"Were you looking for me?" Guiltily, he checks his comm log - amid the usual auto-generated security updates and base news there are two pings from Hot Spot and one from First Aid, none marked urgent enough to get past the temporary comm lock he'd set for himself. "Sorry, I was off the grid for a while."
"Off the grid" is a polite fiction, one Hot Spot lets him get away with. "It's okay, we just wanted your help with something," Hot Spot says cheerily, and slings an arm over his shoulders. It settles there comfortably, which is something Hot Spot couldn't have managed for Rodimus Prime without a box to stand on or something. "If you're not doing anything?" Hot Spot adds, a bit belated but hopeful.
"Nope, my schedule's suddenly completely clear."
He's wincing the instant he says it, but Hot Spot's already got them in motion, seeming not to notice the awkwardness. "Great! In that case, come help me bring some goodies down to the medical wing and we'll meet everyone else there."
"...everyone else?"
'Everyone else' is camped out in First Aid's office, Blades and Groove and Streetwise passing holographic cards around in a quick-paced game while First Aid scratches through the last of his desk work. "Hey guys, look who I found," Hot Spot singsongs.
"Roddy," Groove greets calmly.
"Roddy!" Blades exclaims. "Ooh, bubble treats."
Streetwise sighs and set down his cards, but the glint of his optics reads 'amused' as he gets up to grab the tray of leftover celebration treats from the 'yay, we survived' party that the former Prime had been avoiding. "Good to see you, Roddy," he says. "I hope Hot Spot didn't pull you from anything pressing."
"Nope," he answers simply, because he isn't rolling over the same pothole twice. "So what did you need my help with?"
Streetwise glances over his shoulder, and seems to exchange a silent comm with Hot Spot, who's busily attempting to enforce an equitable distribution of goodies to his buildmates by dissuading Blades from testing his fuel capacity by shoving as many bubble treats down his intake as he can. "...let's leave that for a bit," he confides. "Someone needs a goodie break before he melds with the desk."
'Someone' probably does, judging by First Aid's hunched shoulders and cramped hands, how he hasn't so much as looked up since their visitor had come in. The nameless mech nods and plucked up a silver-creme sandwich - Jazz's invention, and one of First Aid's favorites - and waves it under First Aid's faceplate.
'Aid jerks, visor rebooting twice. "...oh," he blurts as his processor abruptly switches gears. "Oh! Roddy! Hello!" And, utterly ignoring the treat, he hopped up to wrap his visitor in a hug.
The mech blinks, equilibrium abruptly offline, though he's pretty sure he should have expected this - First Aid isn't shy about his affection. "...hey," he says, patting First Aid's shoulder. "Want to take a goodie break?"
There's another communicative pause, and First Aid pulls back from him with his hands still gripping the former Prime's arms as if sensing that equilibrial wobble. "That sounds perfect right about now," the medic nods. "Was that a silver sandwich?"
It was, indeed; the former Prime hands it over, and is rewarded with First Aid's pleased noises and a goodie of his own passed his way - a bubble goodie, no less, Hot Spot finally having impressed on Blades the virtues of sharing. The delicate shell goes crackle when he presses it between his glossa and the roof of his mouth, sharp and bitter before the sweetness of the gelled fuel beads inside mellows it out. Jazz knows his business.
"Do you know how to play Light Up?" Groove asks as he swallows the last of the fuel.
"A little," he admits. Light Up is something of a matching game, played with programmable cards like the ones Groove and Blades and Streetwise have been playing with. "I haven't played it in a while, though, I'm pretty rusty."
“In that case, wanna play for credits?” Blades pipes up, and ducks immediately - an excellent instinct, as Hot Spot’s reproving swat just misses him. “Hey, can’t blame me for trying.”
“I already brought the goodies!” their guest defends himself, but Blade only cackles and pulls him down into the next seat. First Aid plunks himself down on his other side, Hot Spot eases himself in on First Aid’s other side, and Streetwise collects up the cards to reprogram and reshuffle them while Groove fiddled with the music player. First Aid leans against Hot Spot’s side briefly, a wordless bit of communion that Hot Spot returns with a hum of his engine, and then turns his attention to the former Prime once more.
“I’m glad you came,” First Aid confides. “I feel like we don’t get to see a lot of each other.”
“What’re you talking about, Aid, you practically have my blueprints memorized!”
“I’m not talking about your blueprints, you dork.” First Aid poked his shoulder in entirely deserved reproof. “I want to see you when you’re not injured sometimes too, you know.”
“…sorry, Aid.” But this guilt is bearable, comparatively speaking; and if this mistake can be undone by spending more time with his friend, then he’ll embrace it with all his spark. I wish all my mistakes could be fixed so easily. “Well - I’m here now. I hope that’s a start?”
“It’s a great start,” First Aid assures him as he gathers up the cards Streetwise deals. “I’m so glad you agreed to join us for game night.”
“-hang on, what?”
Hot Spot has his gaze directed towards the ceiling, apparently fascinated by something up there. “’Spoooot,” Streetwise draws out. “What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t lie, technically,” Hot Spot protests. “I said I needed help with something. I just didn’t say that the ‘something’ was cheering up both him and First Aid at the same time. Two targets, one shot and all that.”
“Hot Spot, honestly!” Now it’s Hot Spot’s turn to get a reproving ‘Aid-poke.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have said no if you’d led with that,” adds the topic under discussion.
Hot Spot gives him a kind, patient look, one that says you’re not fooling anyone. “Just play, Roddy.”
He glances around, and - yes, Groove’s laid down his first card, it’s his turn, and everyone’s looking expectantly at him. “Okay, okay,” he surrenders, and shuffles his hand around a bit before choosing one to lay down nearly at random.
Roddy, he thinks. He’s not Hot Rod, nor Rodimus Prime. But maybe, with his friends here, he can just about manage being Roddy.