From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Participants||Rodimus, Minimus Ambus|
|Summary||Rodimus runs into Minimus on his day of unending meetings.|
Rodimus walks out of his meeting with Ignition with a slightly glazed look on his face. It's not the fact that he's on hour ten of his very long I just woke up from a coma but that doesn't mean I was well-rested day, but rather the information download that he still struggles to parse. Ignition's command hub is busy with fleet officers and commanders, so he should really be paying more attention.
Rodimus stubs his foot on the most immobile, immovable object on the fleet.
Minimus starts to look reproachful, because naturally this is his ground state whenever anyone walks into him. But the expression clears when he processes who has stubbed his foot on him. He turns, facing him and reaching up to seize him in both hands — one hand and arm his usual dignified colors, the other still patchwork neutrals that have yet to be painted and polished because there were priorities to triage here — at the shoulders. He grips hard and says, “Rodimus!” in a tone more bright than surly, even under the circumstances.
Rodimus startles at the grip, on the edge of a flinch that doesn't quite materialize as Minimus's hand settle well-clear of the marks on his spoiler and lower back. His expression of vague distraction clears in bright relief as he clasps Minimus back. "There you are! I hear I keep missing you all day: they've just talked to you, or they're going to talk to you. Are you on your way somewhere? I feel like I've missed everything, but I guess I've only actually missed the end of a war."
Minimus’s injuries have largely been patched, and his smile lights his features in a brief, quicksilver flash of warmth: there and gone again, leaving behind only the faint easing of tension around his bright gaze. “I was delivering some material to Ignition on the ratio of released captives to casualties,” he says. “I think it is supposed to be relevant to her diplomatic efforts. How are you feeling? You were still in the medibay out cold when First Aid finished with me.”
"Oof," Rodimus says, squeeze Minimus's shoulder and letting his hand fall. He studies the patchwork of his arm and winces. "Your arm looks like I feel. I'm fragging exhausted, but I've got to play trophy case--" That's no way to speak of the Matrix. "--at some galactics in a couple of hours. You came through okay? I wasn't really worried, but that was a nasty couple of fights you had on your hands."
“It was,” Minimus admits. He flexes his rebuilt arm, fingers twitching and curling before he lets the hand drop. “There was a moment there where I thought I might die in combat after all. But I pulled through.” His frown weighted heavily across his brow, he lifts his chin and adds, “I ‘’was’' worried about you and Soundwave. I thought he was gone, honestly, but I had to keep fighting.”
Rodimus is quiet just long enough for it to be awkward, then he says, "I think he was. I think -- by every measure except the impossible, I think he was. But, hey, you know--" He's casual now, easy, his grin light as he rolls his shoulders back and eases his stance. "Matrix managed to put me back together from a fusion cannon blast. This time, at least it had practice. Did you -- see how it went? There at the end? With Megatron?"
“Yes.” Minimus frowns. For a moment he stands there, in this hallway, a carved out space for an instant of brooding wedged casually in passing. “I could have tried to stop him. I did not.”
"Do you think you should?" Rodimus asks after a moment spent weighing the quiet brood.
“If I wasn’t going to, no one was,” Minimus points out with a weight of dryness in his voice. He reaches up to run his fingertips back over the curve of his helm, shake of his head slight. “But one way or another, at least it is now over.”
Reaching to nudge Minimus's foot with his own, Rodimus says, "Ratchet told me to make sure he died. But still, is there some little bit of you that thinks you should've stopped him? Or maybe it's not worth asking. It's over. It seems impossible, but it's over. He's defined every year of my life, you know? How many more is that true for? And now it's gone. He's gone."
“It’s not really about him. It’s about me, and what it means that I let it go.” Minimus glances down at their feet with a slight, wry quirk to his mouth — Rodimus’s foot dwarfs his by a lot even in his medium configuration, though their colorblocking down the legs isn’t that different in outline. He opens both his hands, showing Rodimus his palms - one discolored, the other neat and polished. “There’s a new generation now that we can work on building something new for. Something he never touched.”
"Well, have fun wrestling that one -- and I know you will -- but ultimately it just means you're the same person today that you were yesterday--" It was longer than a day. Rodimus's sense of time hasn't quite caught up to him. "--and you don't want to see the monsters of the past ruin our future. How're the Newsparks doing?"
Tilting his head in a kind of slow acknowledgment, Minimus says, “I think most of them are still … processing. It’s difficult to suddenly to discover your entire universe was a lie.”
Gently, Rodimus says, "Spoken like an expert there. You might have something to offer them, you know."
Minimus hesitates and then says, “I might have a lot to offer. I don’t know. It’s a whole new world to think about.” Helm’s edge lifting over his bright gaze, he asks, “What about you? Do you feel ready for it?”
"Ha. Prowl said something about parking the ship on a resort and basking and honestly I kind of hated him a little for a second." Rodimus looks away, to the busy chaos of peace, and looks at a loss. "What do we do?"
“A ‘’resort’’.” Minimus sounds absolutely baffled. What even is that word. It’s not in HIS dictionary. “But I don’t know, Rodimus. Let’s … take it one day at a time. There’s certainly plenty to do right this second.”
"Not gonna take Prowl to a resort? A few drinks? Umbrellas? He's earned it. He did a good job with that," Rodimus says, watching Minimus with a smile.
“We’d probably argue the whole way there and back,” Minimus says with a little snort. “Better to isolate him in private where he can’t storm off when I say something insensitive.”
Spreading his hands in a wide gesture, Rodimus says, "Minimus, I know you can do it. I know you're capable of it. Dig deep, and just don't say something insensitive."
Minimus opens his mouth to argue with this proposition and then just gives Rodimus a brief glare. “Are you taking Soundwave to a resort?”
Grinning in answer to Minimus's glare, Rodimus says, "You don't want to hear any answer I'd make to that. Trust me."
“Ugh.” Minimus yields this point with rather bad grace, his hand flapping dismissively in the air. “You’re right, I don’t.”
Rodimus stretches with an obnoxiousness that veers a little anticipatory, and his gaze slides off to the side, like he'll find Soundwave suddenly in the crowd. He doesn't, as it happens, and his stretch catches on a twinge as he pulls the metal plates of his back. "Drift's leaving. Going back to the Circle."
“Oh.” Minimus might have been about to say something else but stutters to a halt. He stands there for a moment, and then answers with a slow nod. “Maybe that’s best for him. It’s a place he’s healed before.”
"I hope so," Rodimus says, earnest well-wishes bleeding through on the edge of something raw. "Circle was pretty hard hit by the Evil and Ugly Squad. They need him."
Minimus turns his head, glancing in the direction of Ignition’s office, and he scuffs a foot against the floor as his gaze drops. “It will do them both good, then. He is a … powerful force for positivity. And growth.”
Following Minimus's gaze, Rodimus winces. "Them, too. And yeah, you're right. I just gotta make sure I don't lose my crystals. Pressure's on, now. I'd lose them before and he's just sneak me new ones."
Minimus looks back to Rodimus, gaze narrowing slightly. “You usually manage,” he says, “to keep hold of important things. Somehow.”
Glancing at Minimus, Rodimus starts to say something, then looks uncertain, and a little hunted under the force of that narrowed gaze. "I -- uh. Practice?"
“Seems likely,” Minimus says gravely. “Or luck.” He pats Rodimus on the upper arm, and then settles his weight back on his heels. “I’m really glad to see you up and about again.”
"Mostly luck." As Minimus shifts his weight, Rodimus follows suit, angling to the side and turning to clear the way for Minimus. "I think you're on for the same meeting with the squishies, so I'll catch you in a few, yeah?"
“Yes.” Minimus gives him a slightly widened-eye look, and says, “Please refrain from saying ‘squishy’ while we are in it.”
"Smushy," Rodimus suggests.
Minimus looks at him with a great weight of suffering in his eyes.
"Ssssssssss-organics," Rodimus finally says, with a deep and profound sigh. "Or maybe just names. I'll stick to names. Are you happy?"
“Delighted.” Minimus does not sound delighted, but at least he is satisfied enough to give Rodimus one more firm nod, and then turn to march on his way.