the world outside is dark. [NARRATIVE/OPEN?]

[thehardway]

WHO: Ultra Magnus. Open if anyone wants to visit him for some reason.
WHERE: His office at the enforcer's HQ.
WHEN Sometime after the Glyphless are all dealt with.
WHAT: There's a lot on Ultra Magnus's mind, but the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord never rests. There's always a task to see to.
WARNINGS: Various mentions of character death in various ways.



There's still a tired ache in his joints.

Everything with Ultra Magus concerning things like attention to emotions, how to phrase certain things, how to consider a perspective and maintain a sense of being professional no matter how he might actually want a certain matter -- it boils down to the aspect that he needs to behave a certain way because that is what is needed of him. Ultra Magnus must remain a reliable constant.

That doesn't change what he is internally. Not as he silently handed off Drift's body to Wing. Not as he carefully cradled Tailgate's corpse in one arm despite how energon dribbled down to his wrist because of the shot in the head. Finding Swerve, tending to him, trying to not think of how Tailgate sobbed and apologized. Optimus asking him to keep watch over Smokescreen. Collecting Hot Rod's body from Solus Prime.

Or when he finally stood in Alpha Trion's quadrant, looking at Blurr's hard work, and began to arrange graves.

Alone, he allows himself a long time to just. Hold Rodimus in his arms for one last time. He'd tried to repair some of the external damage, because he couldn't bear to see what he had to do. It doesn't change the fact that the colors are faded now. He knows what he had with Rodimus wasn't meant to be very deep, but it didn't change how fond he was of the young, impulsive, potential-filled captain. For Rodimus, it was purely a good physical interaction. For Ultra Magnus, it got more complicated, despite his own attempts to stifle those thoughts and feelings.

In his silence, he calmly places Rodimus away with the others.

He should, logically, see to his own repairs eventually. He knows that. He doesn't tend to put that sort of thing off until the last minute, but this is different and complicated and he can excuse it. Repairs? No, he'll point the medics in other directions. There are others injured besides him, after all.

No, he wants to feel this for a little longer.

It's silent now that they're dead. Magnus slowly limps his way into the headquarters so carefully crafted by McCrane and his friends, finding himself in his office. A familiar, clean comfort zone where nothing changes.

So he sits, pulls up a datapad, and considers.

Right. He should maybe write a report. That would be suitable. Professional.

The enforcer gets to work, as always.

There is one constant that should never change. Ultra Magnus will be that constant.

Comments

[thehardway]

There's almost a furious, irrational part of him that wants to ask, to be angry as he demands what's the point now. But the Firstforged have always said that this has happened before. It stands to reason that they will have to face this horror once more.

Ultra Magnus internally pleads that he will not have to kill Rodimus again.

"Very good," he responds softly, taking the pair from Perceptor.

There's a pause at the remark, then he tilts his head away. "I was set on fire a few times and I had to kill three of my crew. Captain included. I'm a bit... weary."

[sciencetank]

He doesn't move. Honestly, he could leave. Head right on back to his lab, hole up, and work on any number of projects he really should finish.

"I'll see if improvements can't be made. Though with the lack of test subjects, it may prove difficult. My personal specifications will only go so far in the name of science, after all."

He's just talking. It's what he does, aside from his work. Easier than silence, right?

"Understandable." And really, it is. Though he can't honestly imagine the feeling. He's never gotten close to anyone, and no one intimately familiar to him arrived. He steps forward. "But you're of little use to anyone, yourself included, in such a state."

He's no medic. But someone has to see to this.

"Considering we seem to be... entering the end phase of our crisis situation, will you allow an examination, commander?"

[thehardway]

The cuffs are gently placed onto the desk and he just. Looks at them for a moment before looking back to the scientist.

"Thank you, for all of your work. This situation would have been more difficult without you."

At the remark to his condition, well. He can't argue that. He is of no use to anyone like this. It just seemed... necessary to revel in the matter awhile longer.

"Yes. And I will see to a medic soon."

[sciencetank]

"Bah." He waves a hand in the air, shaking his head. "If I were doing this for the thanks, I'd have demanded such already."

No, this had been for... Primus, he can't even say it had been for science. There are things owed. Autobot loyalties and whatnot. He could no more turn his back on Autobots in need, regardless of their universal origin, than he could present an unsound theory.

He waits, weight shifting slightly, until he hears Magnus' answer. Good. Some tension he didn't realize he was holding in eases from his frame.

"If it puts your processor at ease, I can do some preliminary patchwork. Make things simpler for your medics."

Let me help.

It's the least he can do, and the only thing he can think of. He's not qualified to ease any sort of emotional suffering. Nor should he really try. He holds a hand out, in offering.

"I'll take a look."

[thehardway]

"I hardly do what I do for any brand of appreciation as well. But I hardly see how it is so bad to be thanked."

It's a sense of duty. Ultra Magnus is not really used to gratitude, and has no reason to be; he was forged to protect and enforce the law. He isn't sure if it's the same for Perceptor.

The way Perceptor does relax a bit is noted by him, silently. Body language is something Magnus is no stranger to.

"That would be acceptable." He tilts his head faintly. "Do you require me to sit or stand?"

[sciencetank]

He huffs again, more acknowledgment than dismissal. "Then perhaps I should say, it would feel more appropriate to accept gratitude if it also felt as if my work had made a difference." He inclines his head, briefly examining the floor. "I realize it isn't terribly sensible of me, but... there you have it."

He lives for his work. In that way, it almost feels as if he'd failed. As illogical as it is.

But nothing about this is logical, is it?

"Sitting, if you will," he says, his tone brightening. It goes from contemplative to brisk abruptly, as if glad of the change in subject. "Reaching the sore points is easier, if you aren't attempting to loom crankily in your corner."

[thehardway]

There's much that could be argued from that statement. In his perspective, if not for Perceptor, it probably would have gone far worse. But he's too tired to initiate such a discussion, and it wouldn't be sensible.

So he lets it go.

At the instruction, he makes sure to sit, though it's hardly comfortable. He folds his hands together, peering up at the scientist.

"I don't... loom."

[sciencetank]

Ending the discussion is probably a wise move. That's the problem with illogical thoughts. No amount of discussion on any Cybertron can alter them. As helpful as that would be.

"Perhaps not over myself," Perceptor says, that same brisk tone never wavering. "But others, certainly. You're a rather imposing individual, if you so choose."

He steps forward further, hands fluttering in a sort of repetitive, uncertain motion. But, once he's near enough, they find purpose -- inspecting the most obvious areas of damage with quick, light fingers. The worst of it should be seen to now, as much of it as he's allowed to deal with.

"Do inform me if I come too near anything... sensitive..." he says, absently. "I'm a bit out of practice."

[thehardway]

"I suppose."

No, he knows it's true. It's a help quality in many respects. At the moment, not... not so much.

Reluctantly, he remains still as Perceptor gets to work.

"It'll be fine. If it becomes too much, I will say something." Pain isn't usually unbearable, and he's already considerably in some of it. A bit more should be manageable.

[sciencetank]

He says nothing, on that subject. What more is there to say, really?

Now the focus of his attention is on repairs. On getting Magnus' frame back into some semblance of decent shape. He'd need a medic, sooner, rather than later, but if the big Autobot was bound and determined to sit here and -- however rightfully -- sulk, Perceptor had do so something for him.

"Very well."

And so he begins, popping open a compartment somewhere on that big frame to remove his kit. If nothing else, he gets to study an alternate universe frame more closely than he'd have had opportunity before. He's careful. But thorough. The minor damages, he leaves. The more serious ones, he applies basic patches.

It will have to do.