Work Text:
The Naukzins seldom conducted diplomacy with inorganic, mechanical partners. In fact, barring their short history with the Treqnuts and their brief war, or better put, spat with the Hidirs, and their contact with beings like Cybertronians would be next to none.
It was no wonder, then, that these diplomats were so grossly unprepared to house beings as large and as not biotic as Rodimus and Ultra Magnus.
“Well, we’ve got many rooms,” their small assistant squeaked. He bore a shape not so unlike an Earthling rodent, with a long, naked tail trailing along behind him, a pointed snout, and two large pedes that he used bipedally to navigate them through the narrow corridors of the Naukzin Consular Hall. “Many, many rooms.”
“Yeah, you said that,” Rodimus said. “But I’m starting to think you’re just hoping that it’s true.”
Behind him, a voice box sputtered into alertness, curt and professional. “What my Prime means is,” Ultra Magnus said, catching up to them with loud clangs of his pedes, “we wouldn’t mind any of the rooms you offered us. Our kind aren’t picky.”
Right. This planet was important. Their relationship with the Naukzins was important, right, because if it wasn’t, then they likely wouldn’t have assigned themselves to the mission, the first and second-in-command of Cybertron. But the Naukzins were strategically located on the edge of the galaxy between Cybertron and Earth. Their planet housed all kinds of natural resources, including plentiful deposits of an energon-like material that their species had no need for. The Decepticons, on the other servo, could certainly find a use for it, which made their establishment of a diplomatic relationship with this planet all the more important. Right. Rodimus could remember.
“Yeah,” he said again, scratching his cheek with a digit. “That’s what I meant.”
“We have many rooms,” their assistant said, before stopping just outside one large, imposing door. It was made of metal, unlike the other, finer rooms in the hall, although, how could either Cybertronian possibly complain about metal? He pitied the poor robot who turned their nose at a metal-made room, only to look down and see that his entire frame was covered in it, too.
“Like this room,” the rodent-like creature said, placing two servos on the door and sniffing the chipped paint at its edges. “You’ll like this room, I’m sure, it is one of many.”
The Naukzin was much, much too small to open this door, but it was surprisingly perfect for a mech Rodimus’ size. He twisted the knob with ease, pushing the door open for both members of his party to peek. Without any hold-up, their assistant meandered on inside, muttering aloud all the while, “yes, yes, very quaint, very homely, good for guests.” But upon poking their helms inside, the two could instantly tell that this room was anything but.
It was truly just a metal box. The walls shared the same chipped-paint appearance as the door, and stood high and imposing, even to the Naukzins’ tall guests. It was dark, though that mattered less than its other glaring imperfections, as Cybertronians could rely on their other senses just as well as they could their sight. No, the true worst part of the room was what sat in its center.
One, singular, small, singular slab of metal. A berth. And, to be fair, another, smaller slab of metal right beside it where an even smaller burnt-out lamp stood. Rodimus almost laughed.
“Quaint,” he said, nodding. “That was the first word that came to mind for me, yeah.”
“Yes,” the rodent agreed. “Yes, this is the room. Yes, well, I’m glad to have helped you find one of our many, many rooms. The Naukzins are very accommodating, very lovely hosts.”
“We are grateful,” Ultra Magnus said.
That seemed to be the end of it. Their whiskered friend smiled, sharp teeth glinting in what little light shone in from the hallway, and gave his guests a curtsy before turning on his heel and exiting the room. Before he left, he insisted that one of his large guests attend to the door, and Ultra Magnus quickly scrambled to oblige, closing it on the Naukzin’s way out. After that, it was nearly silent, save for the echoing ring of metal on metal that reverberated throughout the room.
“You must control your temper, Prime,” his deputy said. Rodimus scoffed.
“Prime? Who’s that? I hardly feel like a Prime right now.” His optics, glowing in the darkness, flickered toward the ‘berth.’ Flat, slightly dented, but supposedly usable, if not for the issue that was him and his second-in-command both being outrageously huge for their kind. Ultra Magnus more so than he.
“We don’t need luxuries,” his deputy insisted, joining Rodimus at his side.
“Maybe not luxuries, but somewhere to sleep tonight would be nice. I’m more worried for you than I am for myself.”
Upon closer inspection, however, they could conclude that it wasn’t just a metal rectangle. This planet’s dominant species truly could attest to having a great number of rooms available in their Hall, because despite having never spoken with Cybertronians or anyone of their size or type before, there was a small assortment of charging ports strewn at the berth side, each a varying size. They could recharge tonight, as long as they addressed the most glaring issue first.
“I can recharge on the floor,” Ultra Magnus said.
“Ehhh, wrong. Not happening,” his Prime replied.
“Remember what I said about your attitude?” The deputy scoffed, crossing his arms. “We may both be new to this— diplomacy— but that does not exempt us from being cordial.”
“I’m not saying we need to go complain, although, you’re clearly capable of doing it.” The larger mech's finials audibly clicked, alerting him to their downward movement despite his impaired vision. “I’m just saying, I won’t let my second-in-command sleep on the ground.”
“Second-in-command,” Ultra Magnus pointed out. “I come after you.”
“Not in this case. First-in-command’s orders.”
“No.” The disgruntled deputy shook his helm, large blue optics narrowing in displeasure. “I refuse. It’s unbefitting of a sovereign.”
“I’m not a sovereign,” Rodimus corrected. “And I can’t believe you! What a cruel, cruel mech! What, do you want me to beg, Ultra Magnus?” And he allowed his bottom lip to tremble, looking up expectantly at his partner. Ultra Magnus immediately faltered, gasping as Rodimus clasped his servos together and tilted his helm ever so slightly. Sometimes, the Prime forgot that he was, well, a Prime, and not the young, softer-looking mech that he used to be. “Please, please, please do what I say and get in the damn berth. Let me be selfless, for once.”
“You’re always selfless. You’re too selfless. You should practice more self-preservation. Your participation in tomorrow’s meetings is more important than mine.”
“You’re a much better speaker than me,” Rodimus countered.
“Only to temporarily guide you!”
“Oh, is it just something you can turn off and on, Magnus?”
The second-in-command threw his servos in the air. See? Cruel. “We can’t afford to argue about this forever!”
“Then just get in the berth. It’s okay, I won’t judge you for losing this argument,” he smiled, the cheeky demeanor of his past self continuing to poke through his words. “It was an order!”
“No.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I was built for war,” Ultra Magnus replied.
“It’s about the principle. You make me look like a mean leader.”
“That is not what I said.”
“You’re implying it.”
“I’m saying that a good leader needs rest.”
“And I’m saying that a good deputy needs it more.”
The deputy finally sighed. Two heavy pedes dragged across the metal floor like a protoform throwing a tantrum over not getting its way. Fine by me, Rodimus thought, a vindictive smile pulling at his lips, his smugness hidden in the darkness. Ultra Magnus will thank me tomorrow when he’s well-rested and ready to close this deal. But something blunt and heavy snapped him out of his thoughts. A large servo that clamped around his forearm and tugged him roughly forward. The Prime hardly had time to gasp before the air was knocked out of his vents by the impact.
“Oh— sorry,” Ultra Magnus said quickly. How had such a large frame pulled off such an agile maneuver?! He’d manipulated the two of them in such a manner that Rodimus was now pinned to the berth, wing twitching against its surface to no avail.
“Oh, you’re bold,” Rodimus said, and again, he heard the clicking of two uncertain antennae. He squirmed harder beneath Ultra Magnus’ grip. “It feels so unlike you that it makes me hesitant to discipline you for it.”
“You…” His attacker was clearly struggling to maintain his composure, and the Prime wondered just what exactly had possessed him to do something as audacious as this. “There will be no discipline.”
“Is that right?”
“This isn’t a fight, I only wish for you to rest.”
“It feels like a fight,” Rodimus quipped, squirming again. “If you really want me to believe that you care so much, you’d get off.”
Those big blue optics looked incredibly distrustful of the statement, and rightfully so. When Ultra Magnus’ servos slowly unwrapped themselves from around Rodimus’ wrists, and the Prime was able to slowly bring himself back up from the berth, his counterattack was frighteningly immediate. In just a second, he flipped their positions, and now, it was Ultra Magnus being pushed into the berth.
He knew his deputy was strong enough to resist, and with the stunt he’d just pulled, Rodimus figured he would. Maybe they’d wrestle and fight, like he used to with Springer and Arcee when he was younger. The thought was invigorating. But, no. Ultra Magnus would do him no such service. Instead, the stronger mech had lost his courage, and he allowed himself to be pinned with little attempt to fight back. Boo, Rodimus thought, tilting his helm.
“Fight back?” He asked, trying his best to put on his best-looking pout a second time.
“No.”
“Who was going to tell me my second-in-command was so misbehaved?” He asked, before glancing between Ultra Magnus’ wrists. With pursed lips, Rodimus pushed up, hoping to force the pinned mech to gain some ground over the berth. “Well, does this mean I won?”
“No.”
“Are you ma-aaad?” He smiled.
Again: “No.”
The Prime sighed, but refused to relax his grip despite how little it actually worked to restrain the larger mech. “Well then, what will we do?” He said. His deputy had turned into a wall as hardened as the ones that surrounded him. They were both metal, of course, though now they’d gained an additional similarity in that they were both unwilling to respond to any commands. Although, one was by circumstance, and the other was by stubborn choice.
His optics trailed upward across the surface of the berth. It was pitifully small. Maybe Hot Rod would’ve found it spacious, but neither Rodimus nor Ultra Magnus would. Really, what was the merit in fighting over it? The recharge either of them got on top of the berth would be just as uncomfortable as anywhere else in the room, yet, neither of them would budge. Both wanted the other to have it. Rodimus’ gaze flickered back to meet the optics of his second-in-command, and beneath such an intense expression, Ultra Magnus finally began to squirm.
“I have a solution,” he declared.
“Is it you taking the berth?” Ultra Magnus replied.
“Yes.”
“I don’t… believe you.”
“Why? I’m doing what you wanted, aren’t I?”
More movement. Finally, Rodimus released him, and the large flame slid to the ground with a clang. Then, the Prime clambered atop the berth just as he said he would, servos and knees awkwardly finding their positions on its cold, metal surface. When he turned to face his partner, the mech looked relieved. That was exactly what he wanted Ultra Magnus to be.
In another reversal of their roles, Rodimus reached out forward and snatched Ultra Magnus by his wrist, yanking him hard enough to stumble into the berth alongside him.
“Rodimus!” He objected.
“We can both use it.”
“That’s hardly efficient! It can’t fit us both!”
“No,” Rodimus agreed, “but if not, we’ll only go back and forth, back and forth, arguing until they come to fetch us in the morning, and that would definitely be inefficient. So, ta-da! We can be berth buddies.”
“Don’t call it that.”
“Get on.”
“No.”
“Magnus, I’m going to walk outside,” Rodimus said, lowering his voice and slinking in close. “And I am going to yell: What horrible hospitality! We can hardly fit in the quarters assigned to us! The Hall has no rooms— and I know that it will embarrass you for the rest of your life, since you care so much about these things. Get on the berth, Ultra Magnus.”
And, finally, the stubborn mech relented.
In the morning, the Naukzins greeted them warmly, optics twitching in a manner that, as they had eloquently explained, was indicative of their pleasure. “Our guests,” their assistant from the night prior spoke from his position near the middle of the room. Behind him stood the esteemed Naukzin king and queen. “We are honored to be hosting you today.”
“Please,” the queen spoke up, tail wrapped nearly around her pedes and her finials flicking expectantly. “How was your night?”
Rodimus blinked, the light of his optics flickering and his processor emitting a disapproving whirrr. Our night? He thought, opening his mouth to begin to garble off his long list of complaints.
“We are grateful,” Ultra Magnus said.
“Long,” Rodimus immediately added, much to the horror of his similarly exhausted deputy. “It was a really long night.”