re_alignment_logs | [Closed] I touch the place where I'd find your face

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[Closed] I touch the place where I'd find your face

WHO: Drift and Wing
WHERE: One of the caves lining the walls of the gorge where Vector's temple is located.
WHEN: A short time after this.
WHAT: Drift is sulking over various things following his death and Wing has an apology to make because he's a big dumb.
WARNINGS: None yet.

He wasn't skilled at tracing signals, no, but he was definitely observant, a trait he's certainly thankful for right now.

He'd been needing to speak to Drift, but over the past few days capturing a moment alone with his lover and partner had proven difficult. And now, Wing understands why. He recognized the crystals lining the walls of the dark rock that formed the backdrop for Drift's earlier transmission. He didn't know which cave specifically it was, but he was fully willing to search them all if necessary.

This is not something he'll let wait.

In those first fragile moments just after Drift's return to life they'd both been to wary to really discuss what had happened. Toppling things that seemed unshakable was a talent this place seemed to have, and in those delicate moments it was better to just rejoice in being given Yet Another Chance.

But outside of the warm bubble of their dreamy reunion things were darker and more unsettling....

For Wing's part--a mech who feels everything very deeply--the tide of distress that avalanched in the form of Vandal's disappearance, Tarn's emergence, the Glyphless tragedy, Drift's death and fighting Prism, gradually wore him thin. Thin enough that it made him cringe and lash out more than was necessary when sore spots were struck.

But it's probably nothing compared to what Drift is going through.

And so Wing is here, feeling like he's failed the person who means the most to him in a moment of need, searching among the caves for that spark in the hopes to heal it.

He has a sense this is the right one. Whether it's intuition, perception or sensing Drift through the Great Sword he has no idea. And in truth it doesn't matter. The jet takes a few steps forward into the cave's mouth, his unique silhouette like a signature scribed upon the light. He wants to enter. But more than that, he wants to know he's welcome.

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It isn't the gutters, but for some reason, Drift felt the same sort of uncomfortable comfort in the cave: the feeling of mass all around him, the almost invisibility of the shadowed darkness. Only the glimmers caught in the crystals gave it any light.

Life was simpler back then, really. Just...survive. None of this confusing crosscurrents of duty, obligation and desire.

He looks up at the silhouette blocking the evening's light and vents a soft sigh. Wing. He's been, he realizes, avoiding the jet, almost glad they'd gone after separate targets in rescuing Vandal.

"Wing."

Wing sees the slits of blue appear in the darkness, lifting slightly to regard him. He puts his hands out, empty, yet still offering everything he has, everything he is.

"May I?"

Drift's sitting, as he used to all those years ago, back against a wall, knees raised. Safe. Or childlike.

He shrugs. "It's not my cave," he says, quietly.

"It's your space though," his tone grows quiet. "If you don't want me here, I will go."

The longer he stands still the more little dots of light collect around him. Jetfire whirlybugs. It's an odd contrast to the chilly atmosphere.

"You're always welcome, wherever I am, Wing." It's practiced and gallant, but he means it. Even if he's uncomfortable, he doesn't want Wing to feel unwanted: he knows all too well how that feels.

He gives a small smile in thanks and moves forward, leaving behind a cloud of the funny insects as he steps deeper into the cave. The Great Sword gets propped against the wall allowing him to sit comfortably near Drift.

"I thought your idea to fix up Vandal's trailer was a great one. She deserves to feel safe." It wasn't really what he was there to talk about, but it was a place to start.

"Everyone deserves to feel safe. But I don't know if that's even possible anymore." He scoots over, making room next to him, but not too far away. He doesn't know what to do or say, but Wing came here and...hasn't yelled yet. He wants to keep that going as long as possible.

Yelling, he'd done too much of it in recent weeks. And it was why he'd cut the comm line instead of speaking his feelings. At the time it seemed like the lesser evil, but really, it was the timing that was incredibly poor.

"I am sorry, about cutting the comm like that." He leans forward, resting a cheek against an upraised knee, crest tucked against the red blade of the stabilizer. "I probably took those words more strongly than you'd intended them."

Though in a way that was part of the issue. But well, baby steps.

He turns his gaze Drift's way and reaches out, fingers moving over the back of Drift's hand. "You lost someone very important to you, and I...I was not there for you."

"It's all right." He shrugs. "My reasons were stupid anyway." Or fruitless. It amounted to the same thing. It figured that the one time he put his foot down for something it hadn't turned out the way he'd wanted.

"It...was more than that." He gives another shrug, turning his gaze to the shape of the night outside.

"Sometimes it helps just to see things through." Regardless of what or why, Wing can understand that part.

"I should've had more faith in you. I know you can handle yourself out there." His mouth turns into a slightly sheepish shape, "Maybe I'm a little protective after...losing you once."

Those hovering fingers touch down, Wing's palm matching the contour of the back of Drift's hand. He can't imagine that being both clingy and protective will go over tremendously well, but he hopes at least that Drift will understand, given their positions have been reversed before.

"More than that?" It's inquisitive, his expression, but with more than a tinge of concern. He wants to understand, and help if he can.

"I suppose. At least I won't wonder if doing it would have helped."

He shrugs. "It's not...I can handle myself in the Badlands, better than most. I just wanted you to, I don't know...trust me."

"Wing. He killed me. Rodimus. My only friend."

"What...were you trying to do?" He feels sheepish asking now, and it shows in the softness of his voice and the way the pinions droop. "If you'll share with me...?"

"I know you can and I do trust you. There's just so much that's happened recently it's made me skittish. I'm sorry to take that out on you."

"Sometimes it seems like you value your life less than we do. I fear you give it up too easily." He tucks his head against knees, lowering his eyes a bit. "It's precious to me." The words are both a proclamation and a confession; his own struggle between love and duty reflected plainly on his face.

Wing doesn't take offense to being excluded from the friend comment--he knows what Drift means--though in a much weaker moment he might have, which is the very thing he's trying to correct.

"He wasn't that mech anymore Drift. He never would have turned on you if not for Unicron's influence."

Drift frowns, dropping his gaze. "Stupid thing. Decepticon thing, probably." He rubs one wrist with his hand. "Taking some of the metal. You know. Spark chamber."

He stares out the cavern's mouth for a long moment. "Wing, that's because it is. You gave your life for a whole city, and me. Yours is worth that much. Mine has never been."

"Rodimus was the only one who listened to me, Wing. Just...listened. And didn't try to argue or change me. I was good enough, just me." That had been a unique experience in his life.

Wing tilts his helm; given the look of curiosity he doesn't think it's going to be stupid. "I don't know actually," he says quietly, "would you tell me?"

"Drift, I..." a sad look passes over his face, "I don't want to compare us. That's our past, it's done. Our future potential is more important."

"And more than that, I meant that I seem to value your life more than you do yourself. And I'm not the only one." Really that's the point he's trying to make.

"I'm really glad Rodimus could be that for you Drift." It could go without saying probably, but, "_{I wish he still was.}"

If anything Wing wonders if Rodimus would have been better for Drift now. Wing was the swordmech's past, perhaps he was meant to stay there? He wavers sometimes, like this, knowing the Lambda, his own resuscitation, is a product of Unicron's influence. It's just enough to make him occasionally doubt why he's here.

He shrugs. "It's just that. Our spark chambers' metal is used to form our insignia. It's not how the Autobots do it." That had been a surprise, to brace yourself to endure a pain that never happened.

Of course Wing doesn't want to compare them. It probably calls to mind too clearly how much better he is than Drift.

"I just...I don't know why the First Forged couldn't do anything." Another shrug. "But I was probably wrong about everything. Again. His whole time here, he barely spoke to me. Like I didn't matter."

He pushes the follow on thought--'maybe I don't matter' aside. "What brings you down here, anyway?"

Wing can't really hide the optic twitch. He shouldn't be too shocked... Deceptions being what they are, but still, it makes him a touch squeamish.

"That's...yeah. So, what were you planning to do...?"

Whatever it is, he can't imagine it's easy or comfortable...

"They have power but...not over everything here." Wing had hoped something would prove the Firstforged wrong about the glyphless; ever since the lost pages it'd become obvious that they are indeed fallible. "I think Rodimus got caught up in finding a way around his fate. He didn't speak to me much either, or anyone. Well, aside from...whoever he dallied with."

"Looking for you." He offers a smile. "Because I miss you. Because I love you. And because I want to make sure you're okay."

"It doesn't matter." If Wing can't figure it out from there he's not going to spell it out. There were just some things that should stay in the gutters, some things that should stay in the past.

"Wing. With all respect. It's not the same that he didn't talk to you much." Drift's world revolved around Wing, but it was silly to expect Rodimus's to. But there was that old arrogance from Crystal City, Wing being absolutely sure he had all the answers and that Drift was hopeless and ignorant without him. "We were friends. Before. I'd thought."

"I'm fine."

"It mattered then, and I didn't help you then. Can I help you now?" He really can't figure it out, because the only pieces he has are what's been spoken right here. "Did it...scar?"

"No, I know." He says it quietly, not wanting that to become the point but not being able to take it back. "I'm sorry, that he didn't make more time for you."

"_{....I see.}" Though in a way he doesn't. It's the old code, but this time he's not sure what else to do, having already offered everything he has.

"I told you; it was stupid." The only thing worse than having a stupid, ridiculous thought was having someone ask you to explain it in depth. "Down in the gutters we used to integrate the armor of our friends who died. If we could." Scavenging was illegal, but this had been a different kind, they'd thought.

He frowns. "Of course it did. That was the point, I think. It was the kind of symbolism Megatron taught all of us." He rubs a hand over his chassis, as though he could feel the ridged, healed metal.

Drift edges back against cave wall. "Sorry doesn't change anything. Whatever he found here, I was no part of it."

"...okay." He blinks slightly, the gold of his optics flickering in the gloom.

"To keep them close. Right?" Wing offers quietly, "I think that's nice, actually."

He shivers a little. "A brutal kind of symbolism." It's a whisper, like he dare not say it any louder. "So...you wanted to replace what you lost?"

Wing wishes he could reach out again, wrap Drift up in his arms and offer to make up for what he's lost. But they've been through so much recently and his first touch met with no response so he doesn't want to press. "He still wanted you there, when he was fighting his hardest."

It's something...at least?

"Keep them close. Keep them alive, in a way. Like they weren't dead as long as part of them lived with us." It sounds stupid, saying it aloud, like the things of the gutters couldn't stand even this dimness.

He sits, for a long moment, staring out into the darkness, his hands knotting together, before he moves, swiftly, before he could second guess, himself, leaning over, trying to rest his head on Wing's lap, wanting to curl around him in the darkness, his hope, his light.

His expression warms at the thought. "It's why we keep their memories with us, so they can live on, why not a piece of them?" He feels like he carries a piece of all the former bearers of his Great Sword, this doesn't seem much different.

It takes him by surprise, expecting the distance to remain, or to close by slow inches, not in this sudden rush. He uncurls instinctively, making room, then forming a shape around Drift, one that accepts and protects. One arm snakes under the red spaulder's rise while gentle fingers cup the crown of Drift's helm.

It's not a moment that needs words so Wing says nothing, letting the warmth of his frame and the rise of the comforting hum of his nacelles speak instead.

"Because it was considered a crime." His voice is flat. Everything they did in the gutters was disapproved of by the authorities.

Drift just sighs, his hands loosening from where they'd clung around Wing's thighs, letting his optics dim, absorbing the gentle comfort.

"Spirit of the law, not the letter," he shrugs a shoulder. Wing was never a 'follow to the letter' type mech anyway. "If it helped make things better, then I'm glad you did it."

He settles himself in the ball they've curled themselves into, resting his cheek against the cusp of Drift's red pauldron armor, dark finger tracing gentle strokes up the rise of a white finial.

"So did you find anything you could use?"

"Old habits die hard, including old worries."

He can't see the stars spangling the night sky from here, just the distant glimmer limning Wing's thighs. It's beautiful and the spicy tang of Wing's oiled systems is like a comforting blanket of scent. He can't help but nestle against it, not trying to start anything, just...be closer.

"...yes. From him and Megatron."

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Why are awkward robots so cute?

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let me know if this is okay?

Indeed!! \o/

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