Drift is doing his best to be unobtrusive, but he's been here the whole time, day and night, leaving only long enough to step out in the hall to refuel. It was foolish superstition, perhaps, that he could keep Wing's spark in his body by sheer force of will. But he can't bear to leave: he's lost Vandal, in all of this. He can't lose Wing, too.

He wishes he had more than basic medical knowledge, wished he could do more than fuss over the machines and devices linking Wing to life.

So when he hears the first scuff behind him, he turns, optics lit with hope.