robothell | ( closed ) i wear it like a message so i don't forget it

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( closed ) i wear it like a message so i don't forget it

Who: Rodimus & Drift
Where: The building where they’re staying in the city. It's… somewhere.
When: After Drift is officially discharged from the clinic.
What: Rodimus tries to deal with symbolism, Drift is surprisingly touched.
Warnings: Gay. A whole lot of gay.

Somehow coming back to where they lived for a few days before things when completely and utterly wrong doesn’t feel as much like coming home as Rodimus thinks it should. Home is still the Lost Light, not this place he’s barely spent any time in. But they can’t stay in the clinic forever - Ratchet would toss them both out eventually - and it’s somewhere to stay that they can at least claim is their own.

It smells stale and vacant which, okay, Rodimus hasn't been in it since he left looking for Drift, but that’s something that’ll go away with time.

"I'm gonna stand by what I said when we first moved in - it needs a lot of paint," he says, turning around to look at the other bot who followed him in. "Er, and probably a window that shuts. Not that it rains here or anything."

Okay, it’s still not much. And their grand plan to make more than just 'livable' fell apart the moment Drift and Tarn first locked optics. But as he looks at Drift - standing in an abandoned room with the lines of the Decepticon symbol gleaming in the light - his spark sinks, the light in his eyes dimming, smile fading.

Not exactly how they left it.

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Drift's been considerably less morose since he first woke up after his fight with Tarn -- and he has Rodimus to thank for a lot of it. Tactless and impulsive as he might have a tendency to be, his sincerity always manages to shine right through, and it touched Drift, not for the first time, but never so personally, either. But what happened to him isn't the sort of thing you recover from all at once, and Drift is still keenly aware of the fresh brand on his chest, a constant reminder of what he's tried to leave behind, and what Tarn did to him. He presses a hand to his chest absently as he glances around, taking in the semi-familiar details. He hasn't really had as much time to settle in as Rodimus has, seeing as he got his dumb ass put into a coma like three days after they moved in, but even so it's nice to have something you can even sort of call home. Drift misses that.

"That we know of," Drift points out mildly, but his optics are still brighter than they have been in days as they settle on each corner of the room in turn. "A fresh coat of paint would do it good. We could do something about the energy flow in this place, too -- do you think we could dig up any furniture or anything? You'd be amazed at what a good energy cleanse can do for a space."

He's really trying to get back to his old -- well, new-old-and-also-kind-of-fake -- self, okay.

It's good enough for Rodimus, who grins at Drift again in an attempt to say yep, everything is 100% okay and fine we're fine we're absolutely and completely fine.

"It didn't rain much on our Cybertron either," he responds, hands on his hips as he further surveys their domain. Furniture would be nice now that he thought about it. Rather than sleeping on the floor and sitting on bits of rubble that neither of them have moved. "If we can't find any we can get one of the brainiacs here to throw something together."

Rodimus, you do not need to commander the talents of the few people who are actually doing something productive to make you a couch. Especially not Brainstorm, because then it's pretty much guaranteed to blow up. Also: Rodimus does not have any sense of interior design, however, so that's going to be all on Drift.

But his optics narrow at Drift's casual motion to where his autobrand should be - it's worse than seeing it scuffed and blank, the Decepticon symbol stark silver against white. That needs to change. Somehow.

Don't worry, Rodimus, Drift has this covered. He's very tasteful.

"I don't think we need Nautica or Valeria for a table, Rodimus." Drift vents out a soft laugh that doesn't quite reach his mouth, thumbing along the edge of the carved brand on his chest before his hand falls away. "Besides, that could be a fun project. Restoring old pieces...making something new out of it."

At least Rodimus has taken a step back from a hot pink room with flames around the door, which is an improvement over the Rodimus Drift knows. Knew, whatever.

"Why not? It'd be the best table here." It would be too, which does not deter him from this brilliant thought. Rodimus turns away from Drift, gesturing to the center of the room - "Table, maybe a couch? At least a chair. Don't have to worry about a desk--" Because there's no paperwork, which is amazing. He casts a glance over his shoulder in time to see Drift brush the symbol on his chest, yeah, okay, time to do something about that.

His own hand reaches up to brush the edge of the Autobot symbol and suddenly he knows what to do. Turning back to Drift, he reaches out for his friend with his other hand, fingers wrapping around his wrist to tug him closer.

Rodimus has never been one for outrageous flattery -- it's really not his style -- and even exaggerated as they are, even as disinclined as Drift is to accept them, Rodimus' compliments his way have always felt sincere. Drift even half-smiles a little, following Rodimus' sweeping gestures around the room. He can imagine it, what this place would look like if it had just a few more homey touches.

Drift's optics go softly inquisitive as Rodimus tugs at him, and he moves in closer without question, his head tilting to the side just slightly. "Rodimus?"

"I can't--," no, somehow that doesn't seem the right way to start this, and Rodimus shakes his head to clear the thought. He fumbles for a second - almost wishing that Drift could have drafted him up a speech for this even though that would defeat the point. "Here," is what he says instead, sliding his fingers behind his badge and - with a small tug - pulling it free from his chest. He's not sure how to go about this, didn't even think of it until three seconds ago, but it feels right in the way some things just do.

His optics don't leave Drift's face once he presses it into the other's hand, sincerity clear in his expression. "You're an Autobot, Drift. Everyone should know that." Drift already lost a badge once, he'll be damned if he'll let him wander around without one again. It's different, yeah, but in some ways Rodimus isn't sure it is. Drift took the blame because he thought people would accept a former Decepticon to do something like bring Overlord onboard, knew that Prowl had him in that meeting for that purpose. And Tarn came after him because of it - because of who he was.

But that's not who he is, Rodimus has never doubted that. Not once. Drift is an Autobot. End of story.

Edited 2015-02-27 23:21 (UTC)

Drift's optics widen with bright light as Rodimus folds his hand around the badge, looking thunderstruck. The enormity of the gesture far from escapes him -- there's a beat, a silent pulse of his spark before it overwhelms him, his vocalizer tightening.

"Rodimus, I -- " Drift doesn't even begin to know how to accept something like this. When Tarn ripped off Drift's Autobrand and dug his claws into Drift's plating -- it felt too much like Tarn had just scratched away the surface to reveal what was underneath. Drift's spent so much time cloaking himself in new personas that sometimes it's hard to tell what's left underneath. To replace his badge with a new one would just be bricking over the hole in the wall, but accepting Rodimus' badge -- that would be an act of healing. Drift swallows, the light from his optics refracting. His hand tightens around Rodimus' badge, reaching with his other hand to hold onto Rodimus' before he can withdraw.

"This is yours."

There's something lodged in his throat when Drift covers his hand, and his optics drop from his face to their hands and then back up to Drift. But his expression softens, becomes inordinately fond for a brief moment. He didn't know what response to expect, but this is-- good. He thinks. He hopes it's good. Because Drift shouldn't be like he was, Rodimus might not be the most observant but he knows that.

"Well yeah," he says, and there's a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It used to be. But it's yours now." If Drift wants it. The thought that he might not didn't occur to Rodimus in the minute he's had since the idea came to him. Not that he matters - he hopes he'll take it, anyway. Something tightens in his chest, as he gently shoves his hand - and Drift's - towards his friend's chest.

Drift has no words for the feeling that wells up in his spark, his optics glittering with refracted light as his fingers curl a little tighter around the badge. His hand doesn't leave Rodimus', looking deeply grateful, overcome with the weight of what it means to him, for him. His spark heaves, and his he grips tighter at Rodimus' hand, bringing their hands to his chest. His optics shutter closed, but it's only a moment before he's fixed his gaze on Rodimus' face.

"I'll wear it well." Drift's voice crackles with static, knowing that he's been entrusted with something precious. "I promise."

The light in his eyes dims briefly, his free hand coming up cup the side of Drift's helm briefly before it falls to his shoulder. Rodimus is almost struck dumb by the gratitude in Drift's face - he doesn't know how to deal with that, but feels a comfortable weight settle deep in his chest with the knowledge that this is the right thing to do. For Drift. His grip on Drift's hand tightens, smile widening as a warmth spreads out from their hands.

"I know you will." Drift doesn't have to promise him that, it's something Rodimus knows. "Do you want me to--" You know, help put it on. It won't be perfect - yet he doesn't think perfect is what they're going for here.

For all his aggressive positivity and upbeat energy, Drift doesn't really smile all that often -- certainly not as often as Rodimus does, nor with as much confidence. But he smiles now, his spark made buoyant by Rodimus' unhesitating trust and the overwhelming warmth of the gesture. He doesn't think he's ever been as close to Rodimus as he is now.

"Oh -- yeah -- " Drift's optics flicker for a moment before they settle into a bright glow, and he presses the badge back into Rodimus' hand, squaring his shoulders. "Thank you."

Those are the things that come easy to him, always have and always will. He flashes another grin - bright and wide - at Drift before focusing his attention on his chest and the badge that's back in his hands. His grip on Drift's shoulder tightens as he brushes over the carved symbol with his knuckles - but then he pulls it back, pressing the badge in. It doesn't cover all of the brand - the more pointed bits of it sticking up around the edges.

But it's good, and Rodimus begins to weld the badge into place with his finger - a look of intense concentration on his face while he does so. And then, when it's done, he lets his hands fall away, finally looking back up at Drift.

"There," and while his expression remains serious, he can't keep it that way for long, a smile threatening to overtake him as soon as he makes eye contact.

Drift feels overwhelmed with emotion -- gratitude, honor, relief, even a touch of pride, as unselfish as he can make it -- the faint sting of the welding is in the back of his mind, his optics fixed on Rodimus and the intent look on his face. The world seems to slow down for a few beautiful moments, and Drift takes the time to savor it, letting it sink into his spark. Rodimus is always the most radiant when he smiles, and Drift is sometimes almost envious of how easily it comes to him -- but mostly, he's just happy to bask in it. His smile widens, his optics lighting up with it. He touches the badge freshly welded to his chest, feeling it under his fingers, and then he brushes them over the space where it used to be, a slightly different shade than the paint around it.

Drift's fingers settle on Rodimus' chest for just a moment, and he feels his spark constrict in his chest as something tremendous wells up in it, faster than he can register it. His optics widen in a look of faint astonishment, looking over Rodimus' face as if he's just seeing it for the first time. There's a feeling in his stomach like the bottom's just dropped out of his tanks, a heavy feeling, and his optics glimmer, his voice quiet.

"I don't know how to tell you how much this means to me."

His spark hums louder at the feeling of Drift's fingers over the smooth metal where his badge used to be - at the look on Drift's face, the relief that swallows him whole at seeing the other smile. His hand comes up to curl around Drift's hand, far more gentle than even Rodimus is aware he's capable of, but he doesn't move Drift's hand away, just keeps it there against his chest as his optics brighten. He'll wear the blankness just as proudly as he would his badge, knowing that it's somewhere safe.

"You don't have to say anything," the sincerity in his voice is overpowering in that simple way Rodimus just has - casual but no less true for it.

He can't put a name to what he's feeling, the warmth spreading out from his spark to the tips of his fingers, but that's okay. Rodimus doesn't need to think about it at the moment, not when Drift is looking at him like that. He just needs this - the two of them. Losing Drift was bad enough, the thought of losing him again, the thought of Drift not being himself even if he's physically present - that eats at him more.

"Rodimus," Drift says, his voice oddly tight -- but whatever it is he was going to say, he's not even sure. He just turns his hand to clasp around Rodimus', that soft smile staying on his face as he leans in a little. For a moment he just hovers there, basking in this rare, warm moment he's sharing with Rodimus. "I'm lucky to have a friend like you."

Lucky doesn't even begin to cover it, really, but Drift's just a shade too tired to wax poetic about it. He tugs away lightly from Rodimus, moving to sit on one of the chairs they'd scavenged at some point. "But I think I need to sit down. I'm a little shaky still."

"Yeah," he echoes, although far from being an affirmation of his greatness like it once might have been, it's his attempt to throw the sentiment back at Drift. Six months of life changing experiences can do that to a bot, what can he say? But his smile tugs at the side of his face as he lets Drift pull him along behind, although he does hover unnecessarily as Drift makes his way to the chair. What, he's being cautious. That's all.

"Ratchet will kill me if you come back to him hurt. Again." He can just imagine it, too, and that's a very unpleasant image to deal with - he doesn't deserve that fate! Well, mostly.

Edited 2015-03-12 22:32 (UTC)

Drift actually winces as he lowers himself into the chair -- more at the thought of Ratchet's inevitably scathing reaction than any pain, although his armor creaks audibly as he sits. He brushes his fingers over the freshly welded badge on his chest, cupping it absently.

"Don't worry. I'm not planning on it." Drift's optics glimmer with the light of a faint smile as he leans back against the chair, far more heavily than usual. There's a lightness to the way he always moves, an agility born out of restraint and self-discipline, but it's half worn away right now, too tired to hold himself up as much. He half reaches for Rodimus, gesturing for him to sit or come closer. "Besides, if he were here, he'd probably be yelling at me for still being upright at all."

He doesn't need any encouragement to sit himself on the arm of Drift's chair, one hand going to Drift's shoulder automatically, fingers curling into the plaiting as if he's reassuring himself that Drift is really there.

"How does he expect you to do anything at all?" Expecting Drift to lie down even after he's been discharged seems like a tall order. Rodimus knows he'd want to be doing everything and anything than doing what he'd been doing for ages, stuck in one position. His other hand curls around Drift's outstretched hand, fingers threading through his absentmindedly. "But if you need anything, Drift--"

Sure, his skill in taking care of other people is minimal at best, but he'll try for Drift's sake.

"You're here."

Drift lets Rodimus thread their fingers together, tightening his grip on the other mech's hand, and the swell in his spark lances through him again suddenly, making his optics flicker and start. But he smiles after a moment anyway, just a tug at the corners of his mouth, his optics humming with light. The flare of his spark settles into a steady ebb and flow, still something that compels him to move to it like a buoy adrift, but he has an anchor. Rodimus' plating is warm against his, not just his hand but the badge on Drift's chest, too. Whatever energy of Rodimus' had come away with the badge, it's still there. Drift can feel it.

"I know."

"Yeah."

It's said on a particularly heavy exvent, but he can't help the smile that flashes over his face. This - Drift, here - is what he wants right now. Sure, there are a lot of other things, but Rodimus finds they don't seem so insurmountable. Getting home? Yeah, they'll do that. He's sure of it. For a fleeting moment he thinks he can see what Drift gets at with his whole spiritual thing - the way that Drift's hand feels in his and the comfortable weight of the air around them, of them.

"I'm here."

For once, for whatever else. He's not letting Drift go this time. Never again.

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( closed ) i wear it like a message so i don't forget it

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