(no subject)

[phase6kindofbot]

Who: Megatron and Sixshot
What: Sixshot teaching Megatron da moves
When: Some time after Tarn's execution fiasco.
Where: D-con base
Warnings: Sensei sad doge.



Sixshot didn't feel exhaustion like most people did. He ran on a self regenerating fuel source and he was never low on energon or food. He was made of exotic alloys that were made to withstand the tidal forces of an event horizon and his joints hardly ever showed any sign of fatigue before the self repair got to it.

Exhaustion was a purely psychological experience. Emotional.

It's been a while since Tarn's exile and Sixshot's been trying to regather his composure, but it felt like the mental equivalent of slogging through an ocean of tar. He wants nothing more than to stay curled up by First Aid's bed side and maybe rust away for an eternity.

Unfortunately, there were things to do. And he suspects the clinic staff were starting to get awful annoyed with him anyways. And if there was trouble, he trusts Ratchet to call for help first thing.

Eventually, reluctantly, the Sixer drags himself back to the Decepticon base. He stays in the shower for a good hour, scrubbing the muck out of his joints, brushing the dust out of seams with a fine brush and going over minutae details of his appearance until his plating was spotless. There was no polish to apply (that would've been too formal anyways), so he just goes over his joints with lubricant and wipes off the excess.

Alright.

The Sixer pauses as he exits the shower, cycling in a deep breath and taking a moment to gather himself up.

Then it's off to find Megatron.

Comments

literally 5 million years later

[aminerproblem]

As part of the clinic staff Megatron could assure him that his presence was not a nuisance. Tarn had nothing to lose now - and he'd already busted into the Medibay once to finish the job as he originally suspected. Having a Decepticon he could trust to watch over them, even for a little while, was a thing he was quietly appreciative of.

Sixshot would find him returning to the base as he left, looking a little mentally weary himself. Against his conscience, he was starting to consult a few about possibly having some sort of weapon upgrade. It felt every bit as wrong as he thought it would, but he had to consider the situation pragmatically. Tarn was far from the most dangerous rebel element in the Decepticons. Tarn at least had an unflinching, if misguided loyalty. The others? Not so much. He needed to be ready.

He looks up as Sixshot comes into view, very much noticing the extra care he's put into his frame. He thoughtlessly rubs his fingers over his own forearm, where something might be installed there eventually. It was uncomfortable to think about.

"Special occasion?" he asks good-naturedly,"You look good."