robothell | [ THE "DRIFT GOT HECKED UP BY TARN" CATCH-ALL POST ]

"Lot of blunt force trauma. Nothing too deliberate or surgical. He just wanted to do as much damage as possible." Ratchet's fingertips brush the ragged edge of the piece cut from Drift's spark casing, almost absently, before he draws back and helps Rodimus ease the plate down, locking it back into place. "It's going to require a lot of materials to fix, but it's not undoable."

Drift's optics pale despite Ratchet's insistence, fear for what might have happened to Ratchet glimmering just behind the glass. He looks sick, knowing that even with Ratchet's typically blasé attitude it must have hurt, that it must be hard. Drift can only imagine the state Ratchet's leg must be, if he hasn't just reattached it already.

I'm sorry, he presses into Ratchet's hand anyway. None of it is his fault, but he still feels as though he's failed somehow, to protect them, maybe. That he wasn't there. Drift just looks uncharacteristically defeated right now, his body heavy on the slab.

Edited 2015-02-03 19:24 (UTC)

He isn't surprised. He is very, very angry. His optics linger on the hilt of the sword jutting above Rodimus' shoulder, and one hand tightens into a fist – a real fist, not a weak, fool's-energon-fuelled excuse for one. The difference is subtle. If he's lucky Rodimus won't notice.

"Drift," he says. "Is he alive?"

He doesn't. Subtle movements and noticing them requires an attention to detail Rodimus usually lacks.

"If he wasn't I wouldn't be coming to you," he admits. No, if Drift had died he'd have gone straight to Tarn, regardless of what the cost to his own welfare would be. Rodimus doesn't do things by halves - he kind of figures Megatron knows that by now. "He's with Ratchet. Oh, right - who Tarn decided didn't need both his legs."

"Guess he succeeded," he says, but his eyes are drawn to the carved symbol on Drift's chest and his tanks churn uncomfortably. He just wanted to as much damage as possible. Rodimus doesn't want to think about it, doesn't even want to look at it. Anyway, if Ratchet's not going to mention it neither will Rodimus. For now at least.

"What do you need?" Because Rodimus will get it, no questions asked.

Megatron's optics flash in anger. That's hard to miss.

"I see," he says, biting the words out; disgusted, ashamed. Tarn wants his attention. He certainly has it.

He looks down at Rodimus, optics still narrowed. "I hope you aren't planning on going after him."

It gives Rodimus some amount of satisfaction, but not enough and not the kind he wants.

The outrage and anger comes creeping back into his voice, hands clenching into fists. "They're my crew, Megatron!" And he can't protect them and he needs to be able to, he needs to make sure this never happens again and he doesn't know how. "I said we'd talk about retaliation, but I'm done waiting."

"I'm not asking you to wait, Rodimus," he replies. His optics narrow. "They're my crew, too. And Tarn is my responsibility. I'll handle this."

He lets those last three words come out the way they would have when he still led the Decepticons. There's a very real threat behind his voice; more than just a hint of what this tired old sadsack used to be.

"Your crew? All you've done is been appointed and then started giving orders!" Because Optimus put him there, because Optimus didn't think Rodimus could do it. Wouldn't give him the chance to prove himself. It still hurts, and he looks particularly childish.

"You're right. He is your responsibility. People have died because of him. But if you're going to use the whole 'our crew' thing, then I'm going to be there." Doing what, he doesn't know. But he won't let Megatron take this one completely from him. It's then that the gravity of what Megatron says, or how he says it, hits Rodimus. That's...

Unnerving? Yep. Nudging all the bits of Rodimus that had experience with that particular part of Megatron? Absolutely. If Rodimus was gifted with the Cybertronian version of warning bells, they'd be ringing. As it is, Megatron just gets: "You should have handled this before he nearly killed Drift!"

Edited 2015-02-04 06:22 (UTC)

Megatron gives him a long, hard stare.

"... Yes," he says at last. "I should have. And if I hadn't been drugged then perhaps I would. But I'm going to handle it now, and you are going to stay out of my way. I'm not going to let Tarn kill anyone else."

He does, eventually, make it back to the clinic. Clean, so Rodimus supposes that's progress - and while he desperately wants to stick his head in and check up on Drift he can feel the accusatory glare from Ratchet through the door and settles for almost collapsing against the wall. Removing Drift's sword and propping it up on the wall next to him, he's about to maybe get some sleep - sprawled out, Magnus'd have something to say about that...

Oh.

He dials Magnus' comm, not even waiting for the other bot to say anything before he starts in; sounding as tired and exhausted as he feels. "Tarn attacked Drift and Ratchet." Which is enough, Rodimus thinks, to grab his attention. "Just thought you should know."

Minimus had answered the call immediately, but he hadn't even opened his mouth before Rodimus dropped that bombshell. It didn't take him long to change track.

"What?! Are they alive? What happened? When did it happen?" His voice over the comm was concerned and flustered. He hadn't discounted the possibility of Tarn making another move but he hadn't expected it to be so soon.

"Rodimus what is going on?"

The back of his helm thunks gently when he lets it fall against the wall, optics shuttering closed. "They're fine. I mean, Ratchet says Drift'll recover but he's-- I didn't think he was alive when I found him." Which says a lot about what was left of Drift.

Oh right, he asked other questions. "A few days ago? I don't know, Ratchet's busy hopping around on one leg and Drift's still out." So they're working on nothing and he hates it just as much as anything else. He's silent for a long moment, exhaustion threatening to overtake him completely.

But when he speeks again it's with his usual amount of resolve. 'What is going on?' - he doesn't know. But there's one thing he does know: "I'm not letting Tarn get away with this," even as Megatron is already planning on 'dealing with it'.

Rodimus meets that stare, crossing his arms defiantly.

"He attacked the crew. That makes it my business whether you want it to or not." But there's some amount of satisfaction to be had in that Megatron at least agrees with him on something. Something's bothering him about the situation as a whole, piled on top of the whole 'I'm talking like the warlord I was' thing and something is incredibly off. Think, Rodimus, think.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "If you fight him you're going to get yourself killed."

"Replacement playing, mostly. Paint, eventually. Some of this isn't going to salvageable." Ratchet runs slow, careful fingers down Drift's side, over a horribly rent section of delicate, interlocking plates, as though he could smooth them back into place by will and touch alone.

"I'll need to rig a direct fuel hookup, too--he's not going to be able to swallow properly through that mess, but I have what I need for that."

"Hey," Ratchet says, his voice low and softer than Drift has heard it in... a long time, likely. "No. There was nothing you could have done. Not much anybody could have done, really, after I deliberately pissed Tarn off. Anyway."

Ratchet watches Drift, his expression shifting unreadably.

"I know you don't remember Delphi, but this brings me back," he says, almost quietly. "The base was on Messatine, right in the middle of DJD territory. When we were first attacked, we thought it was them, and you asked me to kill you if they came around, to keep you from getting captured." An expression that's too lopsided and pained to be a grin stretches part of his mouth. "I told you to go to hell."

"So I'll find a way to do it without getting killed."

There's a flicker of desperation across his face - there and gone in a second. Because he can't. He can't let this go, he refuses to be worthless in the face of someone bent on killing his people because of Megatron.

"I'm not--" He's not having this conversation with Megatron. Except where he kind of is. "I'm not letting him have the chance to do this again, okay?"

It's important.

"Neither," snaps Megatron, "am I. Do you understand what's going on here, Rodimus? I guarantee you he's doing this to get at me – he's lashing out at people he knows I'm allied with now, and that includes you."

That's easy to say, and a lot harder to come by. "So we give him some of mine, and then what?" Rodimus would probably offer to try and peel some off of Tarn if it'd help. Rubbing the back of his helm with an energon covered hand, he doesn't pay attention to the fact he's getting it all over.

His optics land on Drift's face, or what's left of it, and he feels as desperate as he did when he was carrying his body with no idea if he could even be saved. Letting out a shuddering vent, Rodimus almost curls in on himself. It'll be fine, he thinks, it has to be fine. Ratchet's the best.

Edited (WORDS MAN, WORDS) 2015-02-04 23:25 (UTC)

Megatron had told June how to find Rodimus, and as promised, he's really not hard to spot, his paint job standing out starkly against the dull, quiet tones of the ruined city. It's a weird thing to think about, working with Megatron on anything, but...as far as she can tell, he's just trying to hold down the fort here for now, whatever his long term aims might be. June wants that too, and she knows there's no sense in trying to work against Megatron toward the same goal. At least he hadn't dismissed her intent to help entirely -- and she's still contemplating the strange candor with which he'd complimented her, said he'd rather she stayed alive here. It's weird.

But Megatron had indicated that Rodimus is something of a problem child, and June feels like this is the sort of thing she's well equipped to handle. That said, she's taking what Megatron said with a grain of salt. She'd rather see what Rodimus is like for herself.

And right now Rodimus is leaned up heavily against a wall, covered in what June is pretty sure is energon. He doesn't look so hot, either, and all plans to approach him with a reasonable and carefully thought out self introduction go flying out the window as she hurries to circle around to his front, just so he doesn't accidentally step on her.

"Oh my god -- are you okay?"

Edited 2015-02-04 21:25 (UTC)

"I'm not stripping your plating, Rodimus," Ratchet says, a little irritably, but there's a strange ache in his voice, buried deep. "Don't be dramatic. It's not that dire and I'll--I'll figure something out."

He bends to his work again and moves in silence for a while, his mouth set and his optics focused even as the rest of him slumps slowly and steadily into his crutches, aching everywhere and unwilling to stop.

Edited 2015-02-04 23:34 (UTC)

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Because it doesn't, and he really is yelling now. "This is your fault, yeah, it is. Congratulations for realizing that you're to blame for a lot of things. Something that everyone else here has known for a long time."

It's funny because all Tailgate wanted was a curly straw.

"But you're not the only one in charge of them, and you're not the only one responsible for them. So I'm going to be there whether you like it or not."

"If you need to, though," Rodimus says, before falling silent again and watching Ratchet work - doing his best to follow the nonverbal instructions Ratchet gives him. And when that doesn't happen, he picks up Drift's hand - giving it a squeeze before letting it fall to the side.

It's a while later before he says, so quiet that maybe Ratchet will miss it: "I know you will." Figure something out. Save Drift. He mentioned it, earlier, but now he feels like he needs to say it again.

There's no time wasted from the moment that Ratchet tells him Drift's awake and Rodimus jumping to his feet while belatedly remembering to grab the sword, pushing past the medic to at least see. "Drift!" It's out before he can help it, his spark lodged somewhere in his throat as he tries to at least make it to his friend's bedside in a strange twist of events from the day before.

"You're-- you're alive! And awake!"

Very reassuring, Rodimus, even as he practically collapses on the closest thing to a chair he can find. His relief is palpable; while his smile is strained the light from his eyes is brighter than it has been in days. Everything he wants to say comes falling out of his mind - but it doesn't matter. Drift's alive, and awake. He'll take the win he can have.

[ THE "DRIFT GOT HECKED UP BY TARN" CATCH-ALL POST ]

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FOR MINIMAGNUS are you sick of these yet madi

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Re: FOR JUNE

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FOR DRIFT