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

Yeah, not answering that first question because he absolutely does not want to think about it.

Putting Tarn into words is-- he's not sure how to do it, because it's just something every Autobot knows. Former Decepticons and 'bad' Decepticons aren't the only ones that have to worry about the DJD. Sure, they might not be their main target, but Rodimus doubts that would stop them if they happened to just stumble across a group of Autobots say, flying around space with a Phase Sixer on board.

So he just makes an affirmative sound, optics dimming. "Him and the rest of his happy murder squad."

Megatron is silent as Ratchet tells the story, hearing the hurt in Ratchet's voice at the whole debacle, seeing the way he has to stop and stare at his hands. Pharma's hands.

He feels his own spark fill with remorse at having allowed Tarn in the Medibay, even though Ratchet insisted to him it wasn't his fault. He should have been more careful rather than assume the Decepticon would listen to him because of who he was.

It pained him to see Ratchet like this. Forced to take something invaluable from a close friend because Pharma was shattered by the stresses caused by what would become his own creation. It was easier to say to never get attached than to actually practice it.

The guilt is clear in his optics, even if his voice is steady,"Walk me through the repairs, I can help you patch him up."

The doctor was clearly suffering deeply from this, and its the least he can do to amend the damage.

"I'd assumed you two were close. Excuse me if I'm wrong."

Rodimus wouldn't leave his side for days, that seems like something far stronger than a casual friendship.

But, maybe it was. Didn't hurt to ask in the case of medical matters, though.

His expression sours at that. 'The Good of the Cause' just seemed like a sadist's excuse to indulge in twisted displays of ultraviolence.

"I think if he'd wanted to hurt me to teach me a lesson, or whatever the hell his reasoning is, he'd have done it."

"I've been apprentice to Ratchet for over a month. That would technically make me a traitor, wouldn't it? If he hasn't done it by now, he won't do it when I go talk to him."

Edited 2015-02-20 14:35 (UTC)

"He's my best friend," Rodimus says - hand gripping Drift's forearm briefly before he lets it fall away, fingers brushing over the plating unnecessarily. "We just haven't seen each other in months before ending up here."

Which is all he's going to say to any version of Megatron about Drift's exile and ensuing fallout. He doesn't need to know any of that, as far as Rodimus is concerned.

But Rodimus' words don't lessen the weight on Drift's spark, they add to it -- because Drift hasn't been able to figure out much, has he? All he's had is retrospectives and news of a dim future, one he worked to create. Rodimus is putting an awful lot of faith in him, but right now, Drift doesn't know where to put his faith.

But he lets Rodimus take his hand; he doesn't so much as wince when Rodimus grabs it, just curls his fingers around the other bot's and looks up at him. His optics are dim, but his gaze is oddly penetrating, as though he can see right through Rodimus.

"Were you avoiding me?" Drift's voice is quiet, but there's no accusation in it, just a question. "You knew I had my voice back, but you were ready to leave without talking to me just now."

Sorry buddy he definitely noticed that one.

Busted.

Rodimus has the decency to look ashamed of himself even if Drift isn't accusing him of anything - he kind of wishes Drift was. It would make things easier. "You didn't really want to talk to me before," which comes out far more childish than Rodimus thought it would. His head bows down, optics dimming as his mouth curves downwards, and he can't meet Drift's gaze.

What he does do is continue to hold Drift's hand, thumb brushing over the plating on the back of his hand idly. A reassurance that Drift is still here, alive. That's something. It has to be something.

Drift blinks, his gaze furrowing in muted bewilderment for a moment -- then his expression settles, subdued and still somehow heavy. His hand tightens over Rodimus', just slightly.

"Is that what you think? That I didn't want to talk to you? Why?"

Drift doesn't ask why didn't you just say so because, as we have established, Rodimus is terrible about coming forth and saying things. A lot of things. Hhhmmmmmm.

Because Megatron can do what he can't, and he hates it. Because he can't protect his crew, can't protect Drift, from Tarn but Megatron can. It's his responsibility, and there's some satisfaction to be had in the fact that Megatron acknowledged that much. But it still leaves him robbed of a chance to prove that he's learned his lesson, that he's capable of being better and doing better and-- he curls in on himself further, optics flicking up to meet Drift's.

"You didn't even tell me to leave," Rodimus protests. At least he should have been able to do that, but it was Ratchet who kicked him out before he'd even had a chance to say anything. "So I just thought--"

He's a giant baby, is what.

"Yeah. Here," Ratchet says--but the second he's not completely focused, he can feel exhaustion sweep in like a tide, threatening to drown him. "Just--I'll finish the bigger stuff. But--"

He cycles his vents shakily, his voice worn thin as he tries not to waver on the crutches.

"Look. I don't turn people away from my medibay for fun, or because I don't like them." He snorts a laugh, though there's no humor in his face. "I spent a few hours reattaching your legs pretty recently. What a mess that was. Just."

His hands still briefly, one of them shifting to cover the crude Decepticon badge scrawled into Drift's chest.

"If I turn someone away, it's for a reason. Just please stay clear of Tarn, all right?"

Drift's optics narrow a little further in tired concern at that, but then something flickers across his face and it softens, going slack.

"You thought what?" Drift says, one corner of his mouth tugging down. "That I wouldn't want to talk to you at all? That -- what...I wanted to talk to Megatron more than I wanted to talk to you?"

He makes a small, rough sound, almost a bitter scoff, his optics flickering. Yeah, like that conversation was a treat.

"Uh. Yes?"

Rodimus makes a helpless gesture with the hand that's still holding Drift's - obviously letting go isn't an option that's occurred to him. Seriously though, what was he supposed to think? It sounds stupid when it's actually said; he hadn't prepared himself for that. Nor is he prepared for the sound Drift makes, squeezing Drift's hand tighter for a second or two.

Edited 2015-02-21 08:21 (UTC)

"I won't claim any understanding of Tarn's brand of thinking, but just because he hasn't hurt you doesn't mean he won't." Aftermath's attention drifts back to the gaping hole in Megatron's face and his spark clenches.

"What about the looter who attacked you? He certainly didn't seem to have a problem hurting you. What if he's in cahoots with Tarn and this was some warning?"

"No, I don't think so," a hand silently rises to the wound, remembering what happened after his vision had gone white.

"I think he was expecting someone else. After recognizing me, he just looked terrified and confused. If they're working together at all, Tarn probably put him up to finding medical supplies since Ratchet refused to treat him."

The idea that Drift would have wanted to talk to Megatron more than his own best friend... If Drift weren't still reeling from the blow to his sense of self Tarn had dealt he'd be sorrier to have made Rodimus feel that way -- but there isn't room for that, really, just a look of incredulity about him. He still holds onto Rodimus' hand, though, unwilling to let go.

"Rodimus, I didn't want to talk to Megatron. I had to."

Drift's face darkens, his gaze dimming as a bitter frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. He'd said nothing of Tarn's message before he could talk to Megatron, but that doesn't mean he ever expected it to stay a secret. And now that Megatron's gotten his message, there's no reason not to tell Rodimus. His gaze shifts away from Rodimus' face for the first time, air leaving his vents in a harsh rush.

"Tarn gave me a message to pass on to Megatron."

"He DID shoot Megatron in the face. Most Decepticons would be extremely distressed with that, even if they'd been ordered to." It doesn't really explain the confusion though; it wasn't like a Deception wouldn't recognize Megatron.

"That's one unfortunate mech."

Of course he did. Rodimus is sick of this, of Tarn's targeting of his crew because -- well, the deaths on the other Lost Light can't be Megatron's fault in any other way than Tarn existing because of him, and that's good enough for Rodimus. They're not his crew, but they were and he failed them too when he died.

Which, okay, weird to think about.

"And you couldn't tell me you had to?" What little accusation was in his tone before has completely fled, replaced by confusion. He just doesn't get it. Please, Drift, help him out. Because he wants-- he wants to do something to help Drift, he just doesn't know how and he hates that too.

Drift just looks up at Rodimus helplessly, unsure of what to say for once. He realizes he doesn't know how to put it into words, the strangely unquestioned thought that it wasn't something to share with anyone else first. There had been an unspoken implication in Tarn's command to that effect, Drift was sure of it, and besides that he hadn't really had a chance to tell Rodimus in his own words. How does he explain this to Rodimus? Drift falters for a moment, his optics stalled and searching before they soften, flaring gently with light.

"I didn't have any way to. And I didn't...want to bring it up right then, when I first saw you after I woke up." He was still reeling, after all, and right then it was just good to see Rodimus' face. Drift's mouth tugs insistently down, though the bitterness has mostly faded. "Besides, it was...kind of personal."

"Oh. Personal," is what he says to that. He gets the idea of things you keep to yourself in theory, he does. But it tends to fall apart in practice where he's concerned and he can't come up with an effective response. Also: personal? Give him a moment - it needs to sink in before he catches up with that particular statement and devotes more of his attention to it. In the meanwhile: "What's wrong with telling him himself?"

And then it dawns on him.

"Wait, personal?"

Drift isn't bothered by how slow Rodimus is to comprehend all of this -- everyone takes their time and Rodimus especially his, and Drift would never begrudge him that. But having to slowly relive the prickling humiliation from the whole event even just through memory is uncomfortable at best, and Drift just nods slightly, his gaze bitter and still directed away from Rodimus'.

"I was the message, Rodimus." Drift's long since let go of his ego, as much as he can, but this is still hard, and he can't scrub the last bitter traces from his voice. "Most of it, anyway. Tarn could have threatened Megatron any way he wanted, but he chose to do it by leaving behind the beaten body of a former Decepticon hand-picked by Megatron himself."

Rodimus' expression slips from confused into something harder almost instantly - grip on Drift's hand tightening. Not out of anger or disgust or anything towards his friend, but rage at Tarn for doing that to him. For using Drift to make a point to Megatron, because he just so happened to be ha--

What.

"Hand-picked by Megatron?" He should have approached the topic with more delicacy, probably. That would be the friend thing to do, but Rodimus approaches all things with something lacking complete subtlety. "Most of it? What else did he want you do to?"

As if doing what he did to Drift wasn't enough. Yeah, he's pretty sure he'd much rather see Tarn dead than just merely beaten into submission at this point.

Edited 2015-02-23 23:50 (UTC)

Drift's kneejerk reaction to Rodimus' surprise at that news is somewhat subdued by the heavy weight of the topic -- it hadn't really occurred to him in the moment he'd uttered it that Rodimus might not know that about him, about the circumstances under which Deadlock was recruited -- but it's not even really the point of this conversation. Drift's chassis heaves with a heavy vent of hair, and he raises one hand to his face, covering his optics.

"He wanted me to describe to Megatron in detail what he did to me. To tell Megatron that he'd go through as many of us as he needed to in order to make Megatron face him himself." Drift's voice is quiet, but an unfamiliar venom seeps into it. "He wanted me to tell Megatron how proud I am to wear his brand."

The venom takes Rodimus by surprise, confused gaze now hard and intent as the entire situation slams into him. He can't imagine having to say that, can't imagine what Drift went through to say that because he's known, he's always known how hard Drift has worked to be an Autobot. It's why he didn't want him to leave, because Drift had done too much to just throw it all away to protect him.

A favor he can't return. But that's not the point, he realizes. Drift is the point.

"Well you're not, are you?" He says, helpfully. "Not the proud, I know you're not." He says, also helpfully. "But it doesn't count. It's not made from your spark casing."

Amazing.

Rodimus' vote of confidence means a lot to Drift -- it always has. He knows Rodimus trusts him implicitly, that Rodimus knows him better than anyone else in some regards, but Rodimus believed in him before that. Before he even really knew who Drift was. And that means more to Drift than any badge.

But it's not the point. Drift's hand slides heavily away from his optics, appreciative of the sentiment but still far from comforted by it.

"It doesn't matter, Rodimus. It's a symbol. It's about what it means -- what it means for someone to put it there. It's always been about that." Drift bites at the inside of his cheek, his hand curling over his chestplate again. "And it's not like my spark casing grew back when I became an Autobot, either."

His free hand reaches out to cover both Drift's hand and the brand - expression serious for once as he looks at his friend.

"It's a symbol, yeah. But it isn't you, Drift. Not anymore." That's the best he can do, even though he knows saying so doesn't make everything you've ever done magically disappear. He's silent for a moment, before-- "Move over."

He shoves - probably not as gently as he should - at Drift, trying to get him to clear a spot next to him that will fit (most) of Rodimus. Because do you know what they're gonna do now, Drift? They're going to cuddle and you don't actually have a say in it.

Sorry.

"Knowing you, you'd say something about how it's," and he puts on his best Drift Impression voice, "Not the spark casing that matters, but the spark." What are best friends for if not lovingly mocking each other's character traits? Even if he doesn't realize it might do more harm than help at this point.

Edited 2015-02-25 05:30 (UTC)

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

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