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

Spark sinking even further at the lack of positive reaction, Rodimus can't focus on Drift's face - optics trained on some vague point over his shoulder. He winces when Drift mentions his state of mind, childishness winning out over better responses as he mutters "Yeah. Can't imagine why," before sinking into the seat he'd claimed as his next to the head of the berth.

Because he can't leave. Not this time.

But he's reluctant to extrapolate, fingers tapping against the berth next to Drift's arm. Rodimus wouldn't even know where to begin. Nor does he know what's making him the most upset at this point in time - Drift's not even saying a word to him before asking for Megatron, the fact that it's just one more thing proving that Megatron is more highly valued, that he can do what Rodimus can't (he would have figured out a way to get back at Tarn, he would have!). His helm makes a small thump as he lets it fall back, connecting with the back of the chair. "It's bad enough he's on my ship. Why does he have to be here, too?"

Edited 2015-02-18 03:58 (UTC)

"We're all here for a reason," Drift says hoarsely, but it sounds a little hollow this time, bitter.

And he is, because he's trying so hard to put his faith in this, whatever it is that's happening, but he can't think of a reason for Tarn to be here, either, except to make them suffer. Drift doesn't know how to reconcile that. Blind faith has never been easy for him, and that's what makes it all so significant -- but this... He runs his fingers over the brand etched into his chest and his face darkens, his frame heavy with some invisible weight. It makes everything he's done to leave that part of himself behind feel futile. We're all here for a reason -- the words repeat themselves in his head, he repeats them, just as much to assure himself as it is for Rodimus. He need there to be a reason.

That particular movement is hard for Rodimus to miss, and his hand reaches out to grab Drift's wrist - probably not as gentle as he should have, all things considered - but he pulls Drift's hand away because that's not... it's not who Drift is. (His own palm smooth, with no trace of the voting tally but he knows the feeling of running fingers over scarred metal and the weight of something you'd rather forget etched into you but it's different with Drift because he didn't choose this.) Drift isn't that bot anymore. And he hates Tarn a little more. For making him feel helpless and worthless, for robbing Drift of the warmth he normally associates with his friend. He's not going to let that psychopath win. And sure, he's not certain what that entails, exactly, but that's never stopped him before and that's not going to stop him this time.

"You'll figure it out," is what he says in his attempt to at least banish the emptiness in his friend's voice. This isn't right, he thinks, because Drift's faith in whatever it is has always meant something to the other bot. He's always assumed it's just Drift being Drift but if his faith is what made him leave the Lost Light then it can figure out why they're all there.

Edited 2015-02-20 02:15 (UTC)

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.

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)

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."

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)

Drift's not really in a position to argue when Rodimus decides to push him over on the slab so he can climb on -- he winces slightly and lets out a grunt as he shifts to accommodate Rodimus. But the serious look on his face gets to Drift, it's not a look he sees often, not like this -- and certainly not about him. Drift's optics flick down to Rodimus' hands, both of them covering Drift's. The sight, the warmth of Rodimus' hands against his, tugs at his spark.

Not nearly as much as the words that follow, though -- Drift's let go of his ego enough not to be ruffled at Rodimus' imitation, especially when it's such a close reminder of himself. An arrested look catches Drift's face for a long moment, caught off guard by it -- his face softens and he lets out a soft vent of air, pulling the hand on his chest away from Rodimus' to cover his face again. This time, though, it's half in embarrassment -- that and something like relief, something that almost tugs his mouth back into a smile. The heaviness that's settled over Drift seems to melt away now, little by little.

"You're right," he murmurs, not quite laughing but sighing something that sounds like it. He swallows it down, looking back at Rodimus. "I would say something like that."

Rolling onto his side, Rodimus finds himself reluctantly letting go of Drift's hand - he's grown used to its weight in his grip but he needs that hand free. So that he can wrap it around Drift's middle and pull the other bot back closer to him as he curls into his side. This, Rodimus realizes, is so much better than sitting in a chair, even if his other arm is kind of trapped under his weight. He'll deal with it later, for now he's just focused the feeling of Drift pressed against him, warmth spreading through him at the small change in Drift's demeanor.

He'll take it.

"Yeah, you would," but his tone is fond, and there's a light in his eyes that hasn't been there since this conversation began - the beginning of a smile creeping over his face. "Magnus would say that it means I've been spending too much time with you." Magnus would always say that, though, no matter what. He understands why now, more than he used to, but it's not going to stop him from spending even more time with the other bot.

Drift feels fine, but Ratchet would probably object to him being moved around like this -- but Ratchet's not here now. It's just him and Rodimus (and Nautica, but Drift's pretty sure he heard her counting points of articulation in her wrist earlier, so) and that's something he didn't even realize he was craving. It was hard, not being to communicate with Rodimus before he got his voice back, but just having Rodimus close like this -- it brings some light back into his spark, too.

But the mention of Magnus tugs at his spark, brings to mind another weight Drift's been bearing in his mind. He curls in close to Rodimus, sighing out air softly from his vents even as his optics reflect the fond light of Rodimus'. He curls a hand over Rodimus' side, tucking his helm in against the other mech's.

"Rodimus -- there's something else I need to ask you about."

If it's bringing some light back to Drift, it's doing wonders for Rodimus - previous concerns momentarily banished to some unimportant part of his mind as he just focuses on this. Sure, he can't forget everything that's happened, but he can absolutely not think about it for a little while at least.

Or so he thinks.

"Yeah?" He doesn't move, eyes dimming in contentment for the moment. How bad can it be, really? "What's up?"

Drift's optics dim again, half-shuttered, but his hand smooths absently over Rodimus' side, as if soothing. He's not even upset this time -- okay, he's a little upset -- but really he just wants to know. He's not offended, and he doesn't think Rodimus has been keeping things from him with any malicious intent, but Drift would really rather not hear all these earth-shattering events from other people.

"Why didn't you tell me about Crystal City?"

If he hums a little at Drift's touch he dismisses it as unimportant, because it is. He shifts to free his other arm - hand reaching out for Drift's to hold it again. At the question however, he stiffens despite the comforting hand on his plating. Crystal City. How could he forget about Crystal City? So when he looks at Drift there's sadness in his eyes, lips turned down and regret clear.

"I didn't mean to," he says emphatically, hoping that Drift will believe him. "I just-- I forgot. I wasn't there when Cyclonus and Whirl found what was left of the Circle. They were really the only ones who saw Dai Atlas die, the rest of us were busy." Rodimus pauses, tightening his grip on Drift. "I'm sorry."

And he is - for Drift's loss and for not telling him earlier. It's something he's saying more and more to Drift, but he feels as if Drift is the one who needs his apologies the most right now.

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

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