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

Minimus is quiet for a few moments before responding. "Rodimus, if Ratchet says Drift will recover I would trust him. He knows what he's doing, there's a reason he's the CMO. "

The edge in Rodimus' voice was impossible to ignore, the one that usually meant he was about to something incredibly impulsive and probably ill advised. That did not bode well.

"Where are you, currently?"

"Imfine," he says, very clearly not fine. Dropping his hand away from his face, he belatedly realizes that his hands were still covered in energon. Great, he probably looks fantastic. Except when he looks around for the speaker he doesn't see anyone - that's, hm.

It also belatedly occurs to him to look down. Oh. Well at least it's a fully grown human, which is better than the ones he's talked to earlier. His eyes flick down at his chest - also covered in energon - and then back at her.

"Oh. It's not mine."

Which is definitely going to help his case here.

That gets a noise of agreement from Rodimus, although he doesn't say anything else about the matter. He knows Ratchet will do his best, but until he sees Drift he can't help but think of what ifs. He's lost too many people in the past few years to not be worried.

"At the clinic." Not for much longer is implicit in his tone.

As soon as he gets his voice back, Drift asks for Megatron.

His vocalizer is freshly repaired, still raw and healing in his throat. It's good to have a voice again, even if it still sounds a little out of sync, crackling faintly with static. But it's healing relatively quickly compared to the rest of him -- it's been barely two days since he woke up, still less than a week since Rodimus hauled him back here. Everything aches, the freshly soldered joints, the slow, cauterize repair of his internal systems, the edges of his plating where he's still missing chunks of it simply for lack of materials. There are still faint creases on his face and helm, remnants of the dents Ratchet fixed in malleable plating. But what Drift is most keenly aware of is the Decepticon brand carved deep into the plating on his chest where his Autobrand had used to be, deep enough that Ratchet had to seal the cuts in order to stop the bleeding.

Drift has Ratchet help him sit up on the slab -- can't do it himself, not with the fresh welds across his stomach. Ratchet clears the room without a word. Drift didn't have to ask him to. He waits, propped up heavily against the wall, his face drawn and set.

"I'm not trying to make you feel better, you fool, I'm trying to keep you alive," Megatron snarls. "But if you're so determined to get yourself killed, then fine. I suppose there's not much I can do to stop you."

It isn't long before Megatron arrives at the clinic. He's restless, impatient to deal with Tarn before this keeps happening, and it shows when he steps over the threshold of the room where Drift is recovering, brisk and angry.

His expression, when he sees the injuries, the brand, is like thunder.

"I assure you," he says as he strides over to the slab, "Tarn will be taken care of."

Maybe it's the fact that he's no longer feeling the effects of the fool's energon, or maybe it's just how furious he is about all of this, but there's something of the old Megatron in his bright, furious optics and the taut clench of his fists that's been missing for a while – he still looks tired, though.

Edited 2015-02-05 15:57 (UTC)

"The last thing I want is you concerned for my welfare," he snaps back, pointing rudely at Megatron's chest. Not because Rodimus ever really thinks of his own, but Megatron at least making an attempt to keep him alive out of whatever is something that he can't deal with right now.

He does feel better after yelling at Megatron, however, even if he's kind of run out of steam now that he's gotten what he wanted and all of it out.

"Okay. Good."

Wow, how anti-climatic.

Drift's optics settle on Megatron's face the second he walks into the clinic and they stay fixed on him, his gaze heavy and unwavering. He looks tired, too -- wrung out and worn down, but his body language doesn't shift at all as Megatron approaches, no tensing or relaxing. Drift notes the shift in Megatron's movement, the look in his optics, more acutely than most Autobots would, but aside from a flicker of light across his optics, his expression is unreadable.

He doesn't seem to respond at all to Megatron's fierce proclamation, just gazes right back at him. There's no trace of a smile on his face, the last vestiges of his usual optimistic facade withered away. When he speaks, his voice is low and quiet, raw with static.

"I have a message for you from Tarn."

"Well, that's...comforting," June says, eyeing the giant sword on Rodimus' back. She's not really scared, even if maybe she should be -- by Megatron's description Rodimus is more foolhardy than dangerous, and at any rate he's an Autobot who wasnn't recently a tyrannical warlord, so June'll take her chances. Besides, he looks upset more than anything else -- upset and defeated. June decides she can put the rest of the questions about his decidedly bloodied appearance on hold for just a smidge and steps a little closer, holding out a hand although she doesn't really expect him to try and shake it. It's just a gesture.

"You're Rodimus, right? I'm June."

Her expectation would be right, as Rodimus just sighs and leans his weight fully against the wall, optics shuttering closed. There's not a part of him that wants to have any sort of conversation. "Yeah, that's me." The one and only. Another few intakes of air and he cracks one of his eyes open to look down at her again.

"Look, I don't know you and I don't really have time for this."

What a great conversational partner he's turning out to be, even as he makes no move to leave. Exhaustion pulls at him more and he shrugs it off - struggling push himself away from the wall. He's got this. He totally completely has got this.

He does not have this at all, and the next few steps are heavy and weary. Ugh. What a disaster.

Even as wrung out as he feels after waking up from a coma, Drift's glad to see Rodimus. Rodimus has always been spirited, bursting with energy even when he's feeling down, and Drift needs some of that right now. The encounter with Tarn has left him feeling oddly empty. Everything still seems strangely far away.

Drift's optics are dim, but the swell of relief, the sheer emotion in it, brings a little light back to them. He raises a hand in a wave, the fresh solders at his wrist pinching as he does, but it doesn't stop the ghost of a smile from tugging at Drift's lips as he opens his mouth to greet Rodimus -- and only static comes out. It slips out before Drift can catch himself, remember his vocalizer's still in disrepair, and he snaps his mouth closed with a frustrated vent of air. He reaches for Rodimus anyway, just glad his friend is near.

The moment Drift moves, Rodimus does something incredibly ill advised and probably against all of Ratchet's rules and wraps his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. It's not as brief as it should be, his face pressed against the side of Drift's helm as his fingers curl protectively where they hold onto him. Drift's alive, and the steady whir of his system is as much proof of Drift's survival as his voice would be.

I'm sorry, Drift, I'm sorry - I knew he was out there, I should have found you sooner-- He trips over the words, staticky and high as they are, trips over the lump in his throat and eventually just settles on: "Hey."

Edited 2015-02-05 23:59 (UTC)

Drift tenses slightly in Rodimus' grip, if only because his entire body still aches and it hurts -- but if he's going to hurt at all, he'd rather it be for something like this. Drift relaxes against Rodimus and lets his optics shutter closed, burying his face in the other mech's shoulder. He can't speak, but he doesn't really need to -- this is enough for now, Rodimus' fingers closed around his plating, the faint whir of his spark reverberating against Drift's chest. Drift vents out softly and curls one arm slowly, weakly around Rodimus.

Ratchet's hands slow, just for a second, feeling almost nauseated under the awful weight of that simple trust, pressing hard down on the tops of his fuel tanks. His optics shutter briefly and he draws in a ragged vent of air, his expression refusing to shift before he moves at speed again, his lips pressed thin together.

"Yeah," he says shortly, and he doesn't say anything else for a long time.

"I'm sorry," he says, this time able to get it out. "I should have gone looking for you sooner. I should have done something." Because Drift doesn't deserve this, didn't deserve, will never deserve it. "Just-- for everything." For not telling him, for exiling him, for losing the Lost Light - everything Drift doesn't know because he can't remember or it hasn't happened.

His next few intakes are shaky, grip tightening as he remembers stumbling across Drift. Of thinking he might have been too late, of knowing who did this and yet unable to make Tarn pay. He still can't, and it makes his tanks churn uncomfortably.

Rodimus almost lost Drift for a second time. He'll be damned if there's going to be a third.

Drift recalls Ratchet talking about this before, the incident on Delphi -- but it had been mixed in with so much else in the way of things he'd missed that he hadn't had a chance to really dwell on it. Ratchet said Drift caught the virus too, that it nearly killed him -- all of them -- and now Drift has a special appreciation for why his future self would ask Ratchet for something like that. But what strikes him more than anything else is Ratchet's tone, the way he's looking at Drift -- it's jarring, because Ratchet never talks to him like this. It must have been bad at Delphi, much worse than Drift realized.

He wasn't going to kill me. It's awkward, doing this with only one hand, but Drift gets the message across all right. Not this time.

Ratchet looks down at Drift's face, chilled.

"Yeah. He didn't mean to, anyway--it might have, if Rodimus had taken any longer to find you and haul you back here. Your fuel reserves were nearly completely bottomed out, with all the leaks you had. But it was obvious as soon as I started putting you back together that he wanted to keep you alive. He's made a long and thrilling career out of killing people and he's quite good at it--if he wanted you dead, you would be."

He looks down at Drift, then sighs and pulls away for a moment, limping to the edge of the room to a stool so he can kick it over to Drift's bedside and ease himself down onto it, propping his crutches up against the edge of the berth. He reaches out with both hands once he's settled, lacing his fingers comfortably through Drift's and careful to keep Drift's wrists at a comfortable angle, leaning in.

"Better?"

Okay, so maybe Megatron hadn't been exaggerating that much in his depiction of Rodimus as a shitty teenager. But he looks like he's had a hell of a time lately, and June's way more concerned about how close to toppling over he is. She runs to catch up, looking up at him with a seriously worried look on her face. It's definitely a Mom Look.

"Hey, take it easy now," she says, her brow knitting together. "You look like you've had a rough time of it and there's no use in pushing yourself. I know you don't know me, but I know Megatron and Optimus. Optimus is a friend of mine." To say that she's friend of Megatron's is probably ak stretch, not to mention weird, but June feels pretty safe saying that about Optimus, at least. "What happened? Are you sure you're all right?"

Sorry, Rodimus, she's going to aggressively mother you whether you like it or not.

Drift is too tired and achy to move, mostly, but surprise flickers bright in his optics when Ratchet puts both his palms to Drift's, twining their fingers together. Ratchet's never really talked to him like this, not that Drift can recall right now -- Rodion, maybe, but that's different. That was another life entirely, and Ratchet didn't know him then. Not like he knows Drift now. It makes it mean something else, something more.

He nods, just a slight incline of his head, his hands settling loosely against Ratchet's, and his optics brighten slightly in a faint, tired smile, though it fades after a moment. I know. I thought he was going to, at first. But he clarified that about halfway through the fight. His mouth presses into a thin line, air hissing softly from his vents. That's about all he's willing to say on that subject, though. The rest of it he's saving for Megatron.

I'm sorry I don't remember. Everything that happened with you and me, I mean. I wish I did.

Ratchet's optics flicker a little, surprised.

"Not your fault, kid," he says, his face softening a little. "Though... me too." He squeezes Drift's hands, brief and gentle--it doesn't mean anything, except... for all the things it does mean.

"We're friends, now. ...I called you my friend, before you left. I meant it."

Edited 2015-02-06 03:56 (UTC)

Drift feels a small surge of crackling warmth pass from Ratchet's hands to his when Ratchet tightens his fingers around his, but it doesn't compare to the way the bottom drops out of his tanks when Ratchet calls him a friend.

It's really the sort of thing Drift never expected to happen with Ratchet, let alone hear him say it. Drift's optics widen slightly for just a moment and he tightens his grip on Ratchet's hands as much as he can, even with his wrists still healing, his spark flaring unbidden in his chest.

That's enough for me.

"Well, good. Don't hurt yourself."

He pulls his hands gently free of Drift's and takes one of Drift's hands in both of his, starting to rub slowly against his plating. His expression is distant, almost absent, as he very carefully stretches each of Drift's fingers before he digs gentle thumbs into the hinge of Drift's palm. "Just tap me if you want to talk, but this'll be good for you. I can't return the favor with a new set of these, so you'll have to make do."

Drift's frame creaks slightly but he doesn't make any move to push Rodimus away, not even tap him on the shoulder to get him to loosen up his grip. Drift doesn't want him to.

He wants to tell Rodimus it's okay, that he doesn't blame him in the slightest, but he doesn't have a voice and all he can do is try to communicate that in gesture, in the way he tugs Rodimus closer, but his strength is diminished, his arms weak.

The awkward silence is eventually broken by a full tank of energon being hoisted up next to Drift's operating table. A fuel hose is coiled neatly by its side, and next to it is the full array of instruments from the storage room.

Megatron had been at a distance as the orange Autobot brought in another patient - badly injured. At having seen Ratchet's hands flit over the mangled frame, the list of supplies needed for major surgery darted through his memory and he made his way to the back room.

At the surgical table, he begins to screw on a hypodermic attachment to the end of the hose to get a line going in to this Autobot. But there's a sudden, long pause as he gets a closer look and sees an attempt at a Decepticon badge scrawled over the bot's chassis. He finds his hands frozen for a moment, drawing in a slow breath at the gory results of Tarn's idea of punishment, some of his breath escaping through the still untreated exposed jaw structure of his face.

But it was just a moment, and he quickly finds himself able to finish sealing the connection and beginning the flow of energon through the transparent tubing.

"Is his arm line still okay?

Rodimus doesn't spare a glance for the other medic at first, just assuming Ratchet's managed to pull in Flatline or someone else who'd ended up on this Cybertron. Not that he expects Ratchet to lighten his load - that's just not who Ratchet is. There's a betting pool on the Lost Light that Ratchet will die before he actually gives up the title of Chief Medical Officer to First Aid.

But there's no disguising that voice. Rodimus knows that voice. Sure, it's a lot less tired than the last time he heard it, but it's still Megatron. And when he looks up there's nothing but a half melted face looking back at him and that's the last goddamn thing Rodimus wants to see. Panic flashes over his face before it hardens into something unforgiving.

"What are you doing here? What are you doing?" He's tired and covered in energon that isn't his, but that's not going to stop him from not letting this happen. Whatever this is. "Get away from him."

The fact that he could be trying to help completely escapes him, because Megatron doesn't know how to heal anyone. He's just good at destroying and murdering and things that already happened to Drift.

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

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