Chapter Text
It was difficult to get Drift to admit what he was thinking. If you asked him what he thought about this, he would give his tentative opinion on that in the hope that you would give him yours first. If there was no opportunity to skim your thoughts, then you would just get the most objectionably positive drivel that he seemed able to summon to his lips.
Rodimus liked that, of course. It was great. But honeyed words left a bitter aftertaste, and when he was alone, it was hard to rid himself of them.
Later, when he had nothing else to occupy him and he sat at his desk and turned the exchange over in his helm, he would feel that he preferred to at least know that everything Drift said to him was a lie. Or, at the very least, that it wasn’t the truth.
Drift was full of things like that, though. Little untruths that weren’t entirely lies. Like a black hole that lingered at the heart of a dead star, its true nature only discernible by the way that it warped everything around it. It captivated him, in the way that a black hole might. Mysterious and vibrant in its emptiness. As though its mere existence told a story that was greater than anything it would show you on its own.
There was something in that pale gaze when it locked onto him, even if it was looking to him for something. Rodimus felt that there was something both terribly fierce and deeply playful in those optics, but it was never allowed to pounce or even to bat at him.
It was not unlike the way that he handled a sword. With decision and purpose. Drift, whoever he was now or had been once, had desires, shrouded in his tapestry of borrowed thoughts, and how Rodimus desired to know what joors and joors of amiable company and careful answers to prying questions could not reveal.
What good was it to hear a compliment that was minced out of a critique? Or to experience gratitude that was fashioned from obligation? He still liked these things, and accepted them eagerly. But they wore quickly and seemed paltry. Especially when he would have preferred that Drift share his tongue earnestly. It was really becoming a problem.
Drift was of course unaware of all of this. So even despite Rodimus’s warring satisfaction and fascination, they could still enjoy each other’s company. This was good because it enabled Rodimus to execute his masterful and well-thought-out plan to worm his way into Drift’s life and fashion from him the only thing that Drift would not give him willingly. The trust and regard that he so desired.
It wasn’t a real plan of course – certainly not a plan that would have been recognized by Ultra Magnus by any stretch of the imagination. No, it was more of a chain of ideas that Rodimus had cobbled into a semblance of an order. It was like those thin, aluminum letters that hung on a string. The ones that you could use to spell out rude words at parties. It went a little something like this:
Drift was very busy. Usually he was busy doing things that Rodimus wanted and needed him to do, which was good, but it meant that very often, even time together was spent technically apart. Beyond this, to Rodimus’s mild vexation, he seemed to need most of the rest of his time in order to ‘meditate’ or ‘practice forms,’ which were the only times that he insisted steadfastly that Rodimus not be around. Because he was ‘distracting.’
Rodimus would give him that.
That left very little of Drift’s time for things like going to Swerve’s regularly and talking casually. These things, he seemed to all but outright avoid. Luckily, if there was anything that he would somehow scrounge the time for, it was spectralism. More specifically, he would make time to teach it.
It was under these circumstances that they found themselves at Swerve’s with a stack of datapads between them.
The warm buzz of conversation filled the air around them to match the warm buzz of half a glass of engex in Rodimus’s helm. The recent events of Delphi had caused barely a ripple in the ship’s social pond and the atmosphere at the bar was once again that of ease and excitement.
Drift certainly seemed no worse for the wear, and Rodimus was relieved to see it. From both Ratchet’s report – which had pointedly painted Drift in a less than heroic light – and First Aid’s colorful retelling, it had been yet another unnecessarily close call.
It was good to see him in working condition so soon following their return, and it had the added benefit of enabling them to continue their ‘lessons’ in spectralism. Lessons which Rodimus was, at that very moment, paying attention to and always paid attention to, and didn’t spend looking at the parts of Drift that were easiest to look at.
Rodimus was not in fact, at that very moment, watching Drift’s long, sharp sensory finials which were very easy to look at when he was hunched over his datapad. He was not thinking about touching them and how his black hole of a companion might feel about that.
Drift was still busy drawing out glyphs on the datapad, with the careful attention of a mech who had been tasked with putting up the stars in the sky. When he was satisfied, he leaned back. “What do you know about these?”
Well, frag. Rodimus pushed his drink aside as Drift slid the page towards him. He spun it around so that it was right side up for Rodimus, but it didn’t make the symbols any more recognizable. Odd bubbles came together with straight lines. Jagged peaks dropped into neat curves. One of them looked sort of like two turbofoxes interfacing, but that probably wasn’t what it was. “Drift come on,” he leaned back, “it’s the end of the decacycle and I’m a little overcharged. Don’t quiz me like this. Why don’t you tell me about them, and I’ll listen, isn’t that the whole point of this?”
“This is easy. I taught you this right before Delphi.” Drift prodded his crest with the kind of carefully controlled force that he did everything with. Rodimus would have liked it better had Drift used the heel of his hand or flicked the thin, golden points on his helm.
An arduous groan worked its way up from his vocalizer, but he obliged and leaned forwards on his elbows. He loomed above the symbols as though they might tell him what they meant if he looked long and hard enough. This did not happen.
When nothing happened for almost an uncomfortably long time, and Drift continued to watch him with the kind of patience that badly belied the beginnings of simmering vexation, he pointed to the symbol on the far right. It was boxy and filled with small circles, “that looks familiar.” When nothing else came to him, he moved his digit to the glyph in the center, the one that looked like two turbofoxes. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t recognize that, but that one– I recognize that one…” He gestured to the symbol on the far left.
If he had hoped that this would encourage Drift to provide him with a hint, it did not. In fact, Drift seemed less than thrilled by his vague reassurance.
With his attempt at winning assistance rejected, Rodimus returned his attention to the third symbol and squinted at it. It was composed of three separated points, each enclosed within its own circle, scattered, as though they had been dropped there carelessly, or perhaps as though they had existed there already. It reminded him of the star charts that Ultra Magnus kept trying to show him. “Is that one something to do with stars?”
Immediately, Drift’s expression lit up. “You do remember!”
Rodimus did not, but the genuine delight in Drift’s tone was pleasing enough by far to bury the truth. “Of course.”
“I was starting to think that you weren’t listening at all.” His tone was jovially conspiratorial, as though he and Rodimus were in on some kind of a joke together. Rodimus brushed away the guilt that attempted to light on his spark. Instead, he grinned back.
“Ye of little faith.” He looked for Drift’s fangs in his smile. He was good at hiding them, but when he was really pleased, sometimes Rodimus could see them. When Drift looked down at the lucky symbol, Rodimus allowed his gaze to trace the sharp peaks of his frame again.
“You’re actually wrong.” Rodimus groaned, but Drift continued, “but you get points for remembering something.” when he looked up, his expression told Rodimus that he knew very well that this was likely the most he ought to expect from his ‘student.’
It wasn’t the greatest feeling, but at least he had eked past the pop quiz without having to resort to anything undignified. “This is the glyph for freedom, or hope.” he tapped the scattered dots on the datapad, and the words fell so kindly from his tongue that Rodimus had the sense that they were being trimmed carefully of company that might have held a little more pique. “The original form is derived from a pictogram of the stars, but this one has been heavily simplified.”
“So, I’m basically right,” he entreated with an arch smile.
“No. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.” Mild disapproval ruled his tone, but Rodimus could tell that he had succeeded in palliating his annoyance because the playful something in his optics was back.
“Mhm, and what about these other two?” He asked because he was still there under the pretense of scholarly interest, even as the high grade warmed his tanks and the space around his spark.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember this one.” It was the fragging turbofoxes, but Rodimus was really drawing a blank. He was about to say what he thought it was when Drift started again. “It comes from the pictogram for fire, Roddy. You love fire. I really thought you’d remember it.”
Rodimus grinned, “oh, it’s fire?”
“No,” Drift gave him a pained look, “this is the word for change. An irreversible transformation– like burning something.” He added, evidently deciding that referencing the act of burning things might serve as a helpful teaching aid.
Rodimus frowned, taken slightly aback. “I don’t think burning something is irreversible.”
Drift gave him a puzzled look. “Are you getting incense back from ash then? I’d like to see that.”
“I guess– so some things you can’t get back. But,” he searched for an example but his processor was so bad at supplying him with something when he needed it, “I mean, metal doesn’t change like that.”
“It melts, or scorches. Or warps.”
“Yeah, okay,” Rodimus waved a dismissive hand, “but you can always get that back– I assume, I mean that’s how they make parts, right? Fire makes things.”
Drift’s expression grew thoughtful at this. “I suppose that’s also a kind of transformation.”
“Look, we don’t have to get philosophical, I’m just not a fan of the sentiment. I don’t know. It’s like calling something irredeemable, lots of things scorch, but they don’t burn. I would know, I’m an expert at fire,” he added, before ushering them on. “What about the next one?”
Whether or not he had more to add, Drift followed without much hesitation. “This,” he tapped the final symbol, “is protection and stability. It’s derived from the word for steel or maybe for plating, it’s not clear. They’re similar.”
“Right. I like that one better. That makes sense.”
“Are you going to remember that?”
Rodimus reached for his glass, and grinned. “I’ll try.” He watched Drift fight the smile that attempted to bloom in kind, and he knew he’d won again.
Drift seemed to have to look away in order to recover his control. “Roddy. Do you want to learn this or not? If you wanted to come to Swerve’s together you could have just said that. It’d be a lot less work on my part.”
Rodimus leaned in, and Drift did not lean back. The warmth of light high grade pulsed under his armor. Part of him wanted to come clean, but there was no way that he could explain himself without at least a minor blow to Drift’s pride at this point. It would cut Drift a little to hear it. Besides, Drift made time to teach religion, he didn’t always have time to drink. “No, I’m just an idiot.”
Drift rested his chin in the heel of his hand and his expression softened with something that might have been a little disappointed. “Right. Now I know you’re lying.”
--
The scholarly meeting between Drift and Rodimus seemed to be coming to a close, because Rodimus downed the rest of his glass, stood and stretched. He was asking Drift something, but he seemed to be rejected because he adopted an exaggerated pout. His spoiler drooped and he put his hands on his hips in the way that he did when he wanted to highlight his frame, but it did nothing. Drift just chuckled.
To Ratchet’s, at once pleasant and unpleasant, surprise, rather than return to his datapad, Drift glanced around and caught his eye. He nodded, which Drift of course seemed to take as an invitation, standing and carrying his glass over to the booth that Ratchet occupied before slinking into the seat across from him.
“Kindergarten’s out?”
Drift looked puzzled, before his expression morphed into mild disapproval. “Ratchet.”
“What? I can’t believe you indulge him like that.” He did not voice his reasoning aloud, but it seemed ridiculous to assume that Drift was unaware. It was so obvious that Ratchet found it almost painful to watch.
To Ratchet’s satisfaction – satisfaction that he tried not to feel too much, because it wasn’t right to slander Rodimus to Drift when they were obviously so close to something – Drift made no attempt to admonish him for this statement. After a moment, though, a small smile overcame his dismay, “I suppose some might consider it flattering.”
“Would they?”
“Wouldn’t you?” Drift cocked an eyebrow, but he watched with a heedful gaze that spoke of indecision, as though he were not quite sure what Drift should think, and was prepared to cast away whatever he did think if Ratchet disagreed too much.
He looked down into his drink and the word eased out of his vocalizer because a part of him wouldn’t let him say anything worse. “Maybe.” This seemed to agree with Drift’s sentiments because he brightened a little and seemed pleased.
Another part of him, one that was incredibly stubborn, wasn’t quite ready to let Rodimus off the hook for lying flatly to Drift’s face. “But not that much. I mean he could just ask. I don’t know why you let him get away with lying to you all the time,” not to mention the myriad other unconscionable things he’d observed as part of their ‘friendship.’ “I wouldn’t do that to someone I cared about.”
Drift frowned. “Rodimus is like that.”
Ratchet frowned too. “Like what, a liar? Oh, well that excuses it.”
Drift’s expression darkened slightly, but only with the distaste of an admission that didn’t fit with his preferred character. “Nobody tells the truth one hundred percent of the time, Ratchet.” Ratchet snorted. It was rich, coming from Drift, but the other mech seemed conveniently not to notice his amusement. “I think you’re being a little cynical.” He looked up and Ratchet did not look away.
“Uhuh.” He chose his next words carefully. He did have something at stake in this, and if he wasn’t careful, it was going to make a mess. What was most important was that in the end, everyone was happy and well, and though he cared for Rodimus, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was, with his relatively selfish antics, particularly good for anyone. “I don’t know. I think it’s good that you two are close, but I also think there’s such a thing as being too forgiving.”
“Ratchet,” Drift pulled out one of his swords to inspect, as he did when he was feeling particularly religious. “Forgiveness is–”
“Ah– save the sermon for Rodimus. I’m overcharged and I didn’t sign up for this class.” Drift snickered. “I’m just saying, Rodimus… is an exceptional mech in some ways, and not just exceptionally annoying,” he added, “but he can be a little selfish and a little impulsive. More than.” Drift opened his mouth to counter this, but Ratchet just waved his hand, “we both know this.” He sighed, “he’s just a little unstable, and you’re just a little too nice to him about it. It just makes for a bad combo in my opinion,” he emphasized the last few words. “That’s all I have to say.” It was not, but he wasn’t overcharged enough to say the rest. “You should at least confront him about it.”
“Rodimus isn’t going to hurt anyone.” There was certainty in his tone that Ratchet didn’t like, not when they’d both just seen Rodimus lying outright to him. It frustrated him.
“Not on purpose,” he conceded pointedly. Drift frowned, but the heedful expression was back. He seemed pensive. “He clearly likes you, but he also yanks you around asking for things, and he’s quick to call you a ‘Con.”
Drift looked up sharply, “he’s joking.”
“I know.” That was his cue to let it go, and he would. “I just– I care, probably more than I should, and I don’t like to see you – or anyone – bending over backwards for someone who uses them.”
Drift’s frown deepened. “It’s not like that.”
“Huh.” They lapsed into silence, though it wasn’t necessarily an uncomfortable silence. There was no tension between them, just a complicated situation that no one involved was equipped to navigate.
Drift looked thoughtful for a few more moments, fingers tracing the smooth steel of the blade in his hand. Eventually he spoke and there was something almost bitter in the words. “You and Rodimus don’t get along much.”
Ratchet shrugged. “We’re not showing up to any parties together, but he is my friend. I do think he’s a good mech,” he conceded. “He just gets a little confused. Most of the time.” That was an exceedingly gentle way of putting it. “And it has been known to get on my nerves, sometimes. Most of the time.”
“You could try being a little bit nicer to him.”
Ratchet sighed. It wasn’t fair, but then again, it wasn’t his choice. “I’ll leave that to you.”