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“-but Hot Rod shouldn’t need my guidance.”
Even as he said it, Ultra Magnus winced at the informality. It was not his job to question orders. He trusted the re-appointed Prime, but there were large gaps in between Optimus’ death and revival. Optimus Prime never witnessed how Hot Rod performed as Prime, he only knew of the younger, reckless and inexperienced soldier Hot Rod ceased to be.
Worse, the mission plan that stood in front of him marked Ultra Magnus as the mission leader. Hot Rod as his counterpart. The role swap felt uncomfortable to say the least.
Optimus Prime looked up at him with genuine surprise.
“Hot Rod is still young, and although his speed is better suited for the mission I believe he requires at least one higher up for guidance.”
Ultra Magnus ex-vented.
“Ultra Magnus, is there an issue?”
“... No, I suppose you’re right.”
Now, in front of him stood Hot Rod. Servos tapping silently, bored. Questionably listening to Ultra Magnus’ report. A familiar banter. He was shorter, yes, but he still frowned like Rodimus.
The most striking difference in Hot Rod’s appearance were the speckles of rust-coloured specks donning his face. Freckles, he thought. The human term was used once or twice on Daniel when he was younger. He had freckles. Such marks weren’t uncommon on Cybertronians. Harmless rust that discoloured one's plating. Most would disappear once a Cybertronian’s paint came in. But he’d never seen it on a mech’s face before. Rodimus Prime definitely hadn’t had them. Maybe healed momentarily by the Matrix. Speckles of falling stars… So very fitting for a former prime.
He frowned, who was he to think such poetic things about a bot he hardly spoke to anymore?
“You don’t need to debrief, I did read it.” Hot Rod uttered curtly, but he smiled.
Ultra Magnus coughed, “Of course.”
Both mechs transformed. Tires revving through the soil, as Hot Rod matched his side.
For some reason Hot Rod’s face was stuck in his processor. They hadn’t spoken in a while, and Ultra Magnus couldn’t remember when it had happened. It wasn’t as if they never saw each other, for they did, but it had been so much easier before. Every morning granted the two time together.
Was that a testament to how feeble their relationship was?
They entered into an old storage room, dust pluming around them as they transformed back. Hot Rod took the lead and Magnus felt no urge to correct it. Nothing hummed with power, no lights flickered in their wake. It was clear this mission wouldn’t lead to much. They stopped near the back, Hot Rod ducked to check the wiring of one power breaker. The sound of servos tapping against metal echoed across the room. The silence was awkward and thick.
“You don’t look happier,” Ultra Magnus notes, talking before he can really consider if saying such was appropriate.
“What?”
Evidently it was not.
“You… always told me you wished the Matrix had gone to someone else. That you disliked your title as Prime. You’re Hot Rod again. Is it what you wanted?”
Hot Rod opened his mouth, then turned the other direction. The only indication of his mood was the spoiler wings that sunk far below his shoulders.
“It wasn’t that I hated the job,” Hot Rod paused, shaking his head, “well, no. I did hate that job, but I wanted to believe it was all true. All the expectations, all the things you would tell me, that one day I would grow into that potential. Then Optimus Prime comes back. He fixes all my mistakes, and I know better. I… I failed Ultra Magnus.”
“You didn’t fail-”
“Don’t give me that. Everyone looks up to him with instant relief, all I ever had was the Matrix, now even It chose someone else.”
I didn’t choose someone else. Ultra Magnus thought, knowing it wasn’t true. He had, and both mechs knew it.
“I don’t think I’m happier, Ultra Magnus.”
Finials whirred as they fidget up and down.
“I don’t know if I am either.”
Hot Rod looked up at him. A dull blue colour met him. Those same exhausted optic Rodimus had. Beautiful, but as if the light was burning low. He considered for a second if Hot Rod always had optics like that. Or if time had burned them out.
Those optics furrowed, his tone softer, “you don’t know? Isn’t this… the usual for you? You worked with Optimus before me.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“Not really… They keep me at the back, out of trouble.”
Hot Rod waits for a moment but Magnus can't think of anything else to say. Something in those optics strangles him. The younger soldier sighs, he crouches and rips something out of the dusty module, pocketing it. “We’re done. This place is completely abandoned, none of the communication systems work.”
“I will update Optimus.”
“Magnus?”
“Yes, Rodimus?”
Hot Rod visibly startled, he shook his head. “Forget what I said. I didn't mean it.”
Hot Rod pushes past him, out of the warehouse and into the daylight. Dust spits as he transforms. Ultra Magnus recognizes he must have pushed a boundary. As his Second Ultra Magnus was granted the right of curiosity. For it was his job to please his Prime, his job to aid Rodimus in all that he did. But Rodimus Prime didn't exist anymore.
As they drive Hot Rod speeds ahead, no longer lumbered by his bulkier Prime transformation, Magnus lags behind.
This was how things were meant to be. Optimus Prime had decreed their positions after all. Had Magnus been smarter, stronger, faster he never would have met a Rodimus Prime. Hot Rod suddenly swerves, short-cutting his way towards Autobot City. Engine snarling as wheels climb over grass and pebbles. Magnus considers chastising him on it, like he would of merely a few cycles ago. For some reason he feels Hot Rod wants him to do so.
The wants of Rodimus Prime wasn't his job anymore. His engines heave, and instead he carries on.