re_alignment_logs | [Open] Six o'clock in the morning

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[Open] Six o'clock in the morning

WHO: Wing, Drift as he wakes, open after that!
WHERE: Medibay at Solus's temple
WHEN: Roughly now. Following this and this.
WHAT: Wing, long overdue from an investigative outing in the wastelands, recovers in Medibay after being rescued.
WARNINGS: None yet.

He'd thought it a service, investigating the ghosts of refugees past, hoping it'd help protect Haven's current residents better. What Wing hadn't considered was his own protection. Ghosts can't harm you right? The one he and Drift had encountered hadn't even known they were there.

The animated bodies of those mechs though, corrupted by tainted energon and emitting an aura of oppressive weakness, were an entirely different story. It was the last thing the jet expected, and though he vaguely remembered taking down two of them, in the end, to his horror, he'd been overwhelmed. Only ingenuity and a stubborn determination born from remembering how much he had to live for had prevented his untimely end.

Wing remembers laying there, alone in that corrupted place but determined not to fade out He's not even sure how much time passed before Drift's group found him. He was barely lucid for the trip back and slipped into a blissful stasis while Ambulon did his work.

His wounds, ugly and vile looking, the plating and internals discolored by the tainted weapons and hands that dealt the damage, were slow to heal. Even once stripped of the tainted armor, he remained fevered, his auto repair running hard to fix the remaining damage that seemed to resist it. A fuel transfusion tenaciously applied by Ambulon seemed to do the trick, purging the last of that taint.

Several days later he finally wakes, his wounds repaired and feeling refreshed. Weak, but strangely giddy from the fresh fuel that flows in his lines. It's making him anxious to be out and doing things, catching up on all he's missed in the weeks he's been gone. Ambulon's insisted on at least one day of observation however, or until the weakness finally passes, so he's stuck in medibay for the time being.

At least he's allowed visitors?

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He takes in the wincing, optics flicking over to an oil-spray bottle on a side table.

"Yeah, not normal." Understatement. "But," he frowns, "did you, uh, recognize them?" Because one looked like Overclock, absolutely.

Wing doesn't give up the grip on Drift's hand. It's like a consolation prize, because all he wants to do is wrap himself around Drift, be buried in those arms, but his body is slow to comply. He gets his other hand up though at least, gesturing at Drift. "Help me sit up please?"

At the time, it had seemed strange, the similarity. But now that Drift asks, he nods, slowly. "Yes. I really only got a look at two of them, but you can't miss the blue minobot."

Drift releases one hand from its grip over Wing's, to scoop gently behind the jet's back, all too aware how fragile Wing's body might be. The movement brings them nearer, almost close enough to kiss, and for a moment, he's tempted, mouth lifting in anticipation before he turns his head aside.

"How can he be a ghost and, well...a zombie?" Because you can't be both, can you? And the larger question: "Did we wake them up when we took the datapad?"

It's nice just having him close. Wing has a flash of the same temptation, drawn to the other mech as he always is, but first things first. With a good grip on Drift he hauls himself up, gingerly swinging both legs over the edge of the med berth with effort. Yeah, that's not the healthiest sound his moving parts just made. Maybe sitting up was a little premature but it's worth it. He huffs past another groan, just leaning on Drift.

"I...don't think his frame was his anymore." The distaste is clear in Wing's voice. "I don't know if it was the datapad or not. The ones in the cave...didn't react to me until I was well into the second cavern. I barely managed to get out again." He shivers at the all-to-vivid memory.

"Ghost or zombie regardless though... what I want to know is...where is his spark?" Wing looks up into Drift's optics then, his own darkened by trepidation, the sinking thought that maybe it wasn't just death that he'd narrowly missed.

Drift's mouth compresses to a thin line as Wing groans, tempted to call for Ambulon. What little first aid he knows doesn't help much here. But Wing doesn't give him much time or room for decision, and besides, he's content enough to take Wing's weight, just to feel a humming, alive system against his.

"It looked, for a bit, that they were trying to protect something, prevent us from getting deeper into the caves." Which of course in Drift-speak means he really wants to know what.

He shutters his optics, briefly. "I don't know. It wasn't in his body." He looked, trust him. "It's something we all need to worry about."

Wing can withstand a little stiffness and lingering soreness if it means they aren't interrupted. Bless Ambulon for his care, but the last thing Wing wants is Drift being shooed off by a fussy medic.

He nods, shifting against Drift's plating. "I think you're right. They moved to block my path." It's why there'd only been two of them between him and a retreat. Taking down those two had cost him though; he wonders if they'd stayed that way. "How many were there that you had to fight?"

The white helm shakes, condemning the very notion. A sparkless animated frame? It's an affront to all that is natural in their world. "This is wrong." He can't get over how wrong it is. Wing shivers, as if he could shake off not only the idea but the clinging sensation of the touch of those things. His plating crawls and his flight panels shift uncomfortably.

Wing pulls Drift into a fierce, demanding hug, clamping his knees around the grounder's waist as his arms circle the broad chestplate, grasping with all the strength he has, more of it returning by the minute. "_{I knew. I knew you'd come...}"

"We...uh, a lot. Perceptor figured a way to set them on fire." He frowns. He'd been glad for it at the time, but now? "I think...if that was Overclock's body, the others must have been, well...the others."

Killed twice. Drift couldn't imagine much worse.

"If this is Unicron, the First Forged should have said something by now."

Right? He's trying to have faith in the First Forged, because, well, what other choice did they have?

He returns the hug, almost too tight for a moment before easing off. The last thing he wants is a lecture from Ambulon about damaging Wing with his 'exuberance'. He could imagine the slightly fussy way Ambulon would say it, too.

"I just..felt something was wrong." And he doesn't want to mention the tight grip of Wing's hand when they'd found him. It seemed too intimate.

Wing sighs out a vent. He'd seen them go down under his blades, but in that place nothing seemed right so the fact that they rose again shouldn't be a surprise. He nods, slowly, as if he'd rather not. "It must have been the whole group." And to think he woke them all, made his rescuers face them. "I'm glad you all prevailed. No one was grievously hurt I hope?"

His wings, agitated, stretch tentatively, stiff like his other limbs and stifled from being on his back so long. "You would think so," he frowns, "Unless they don't know about that place yet." Which is a troubling thought on its on.

Wing would mash them both together if he could, so the fact that Drift does it a welcome treat. He looses a chirr of delight and affection into Drift's throat, his hands seeking the little winglets on the grounder's back. It stirs something in him, kindling a light that starts burning away the pall leftover from the cave.

He was going to say something else. Wing's not even really sure what it was, now that something else slips out. "I love you."

"No, we were fine." Which means 'not killed' in Drift-speak. Better than Wing got off, at any rate.

Drift reaches behind him for a small oil sprayer, offering it to the flightpanels. This would be less erotic than the other time he'd oiled Wing's flighpanels, but perhaps even more necessary. It means he has to pull out of the hug but...well...maybe later they could renew it, when Wing felt better.

"They have to know. Alpha Trion remembered Overclock, and Megatronus remembered another. And that they'd left."

His mouth works as he echoes the words, optics glowing. "I love you. I...can't lose you."

"I'm glad." Wing lets out a relieved sigh; he's not sure how he'd handle it if someone had suffered for his folly.

There's a grateful smile that breaks over his face at the offer. He wouldn't mind a little pampering but it doesn't seem right to ask for it after all the trouble he's caused. "Please?" He doesn't want to break the hug either, so instead he dives in for Drift's mouth, going for that kiss that he resisted earlier.

He doesn't want to break the kiss either, but perhaps they can pick back up later, when he's more...limber.

"What about whatever is in the cave? I would...hope that they'd warn us about that, like they do the Badlands."

His spark sings at Drift's reply, but Wing shakes his helm at the mere notion of being separated. "No. I don't want that either. What-whatever happens, wherever we go, I want us to be together." He should be letting go so Drift can get to his wings with the oil, but he can't pull away just yet. His hands trail down the grounder's arms to tangle with his fingers, pressing the crest of his helm against Drift's. "Even if everything about our future is uncertain, I want that to be constant. Always."

The only 'folly' was not telling Drift where exactly he was going.

Drift can multitask, though for a klik the kiss takes his breath away. But he recovers himself, and manages to get oil, well, mostly on his hands more than the flightpanels, but he can improvise, beginning to slowly slide his hands over the tucked panels, spreading the oil and keeping the embrace.

"They didn't warn us. So either they didn't know or...." OR they simply chose to leave their wards in ignorance. Drift doesn't much like either option.

He's not sure where Wing's sudden ardor comes from, but he's not going to ask too many questions, letting his oiled fingers join with Wing's. "...yes. You matter to me more than any of this."

He really should have been more specific. And not changed his flight plan at the last minute. But well... he'd been out there and then...

Then he'd learned his lesson the hard way. Doing such things alone on Theophany was different. He knew the terrain and the inhabitants. This place was a different story.

Wing often preaches compromise, so when Drift finds a way to keep the embrace and still tend to his flight panels it's pure perfection. He leans idly against the swordmech's chestplate, his helm tucked in the space between shoulder pauldron and neck. His engines hum gently, content, and thankfully sounding in better condition than his joints. He spreads the wing span slowly, opening the joints, letting Drift work the oil in.

"I don't like to think they wouldn't know of such things..." His voice is soft, spoken against Drift's collar plate. "But I like them withholding it even less."

Wing's gained and lost so much in the past...year, nearly, this is one thing he cannot stand to be without. Drift is his rock, his foundation here. The tether that keeps him from blowing too far off course. The home port that allows him to extend out, explore and take on so many new challenges because he always has this support to come back to. Drift is his safe haven. Not this place, with its temples and buildings and people. Drift is the one thing he can't be without.

The horrifically real--and recently very prevalent--fact that Wing could turn around one day and simply find Drift gone, it leaves him cold and fearful. It's hard for him not to cling to tightly, but he tries. "Will you stay with me, tonight? ...and the next night? And the next?" And just, never, ever leave?

It's a little clumsy, the way Drift spreads his oiled hands on Wing's flightpanels, groping blind, but it's done with zeal and tenderness and he hopes that makes up for any technical flaws in execution.

"We have to find out, one way or another. If they knew, if they didn't. It matters." He knows Wing adores Vector, and he hates his own suspicion and distance from his own FirstForged, but he can't help it. Their survival--Wing's survival--is at stake. He'd make an enemy of the universe if it threatened Wing.

The hands slow on the flightpanels, even as his EM field registers the thrill of touching them, and he pulls Wing against him, nuzzling against the audial flares. "Yes. As long as you want."

Wing couldn't be happier really. There's almost a fatigue of spirit as well as body that is his ailment, and Drift's administrations are just what he needs in that regard. If there are any spots missed he can always make up for it later.

Still, Wing shivers a little under those hands, the sensation more than just pleasant. It helps burn away the last of the chill from the cave, and certainly gives him reason to want to recover faster.

A gentle nod, resigned. "I just want answers. I wish they'd trust us with more." Is this the place where Wing's trust in the First Forged ends and his faith must begin? And should he feel remiss that that faith is often questioned? No, he's learned to always question, to seek even the harder truths, because here, he's beginning to feel that he can take nothing for granted.

Wing does cling then, when Drift pulls him in tighter, not fearfully but with a fierce and stubborn type of hold, as if silently daring Unicron himself to break it. He chirrs softly, spark welling within his chassis. "Would you stay with me? I mean, share the room? I. Know there's Vandal and that well, Perceptor's here now too, but..." Wing smiles, hoping that he's not asking too much, "I like it when you're the first thing I see in the morning. I wish it were every morning."

Drift would gladly make up for anything later if it meant he got to touch Wing more. He was fairly shameless like that.

"I'm sure they think they have good reasons. Until we know what those are, we won't ever learn the truth."

And Drift knows that weaseling good information and being diplomatic and tactful are...totally not in his skillset.

He gives up the oil rubbing, as Wing hugs him, feeling the jet's need, and his own want to be strong for him, like a throb in his throat. "I-I can stay here tonight. If you want." Or, you know, forever.

It's a deal then. Or a date, more likely. Because there's never a time when Wing doesn't want to be touched, and now more than ever.

"They're probably protecting us from...other things. Things maybe it's not safe for us to know." His helm shifts with a small shake of the head. "That's no comfort."

Those efforts are likely more in Wing's purview, and he's starting to think he needs to be more demanding about answers. As long as he can brave what they are, since he gets the feeling this place will continue to be one of the greatest challenges he's ever faced.

He smiles then. There's so much about Drift that is endearing but this is one of his favorites. "I would love that too," he gives a playful nudge with his nasal guard, trying to lighten the mood a little. "But I meant my room at Vector's. Would you. Move in? Live with me? Or it could be the other way around, if you want. If you like yours better." He ducks his eyes a little then, feeling oddly shy all of a sudden.

"How can knowledge be more dangerous than ignorance? Either they trust us, or at least trust some of us, or not."

A smile, almost a reflex, at the friendly bump of the nasal against his. And then the words sink in. "O-oh. OH. Oh, right. That. I...I knew that."

No he didn't. And he's a terrible liar. Double tap of fail.

"Y-yes. I'd like that." A lot. A whole lot. His hands tremble against Wing's frame at the thought of being able to keep the jet in his arms every night.

"Knowledge is power isn't it?" He sighs, because he does take Drift's meaning. "It's still better than ignorance though. I'm starting to think they don't trust us not to misuse that knowledge."

Wing spares a moment to enjoy that smile and the fact that it's reflex now, compared to before when Drift's smiles were near non-existent. He loves it so much in fact that he tries to steal it right off Drift's face with a quick kiss.

If he wasn't already hugging Drift that cute little stammer would sure provoke it. That's certainly not failing in Wing's book, not in the least. He beams at Drift's acceptance, not that he doubted it...too much. He curls his hands into his love's trembling ones, voice soft and sincere. "I meant it when I said I never wanted to be separated from you."

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[Open] Six o'clock in the morning

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necrotaggggggggg

:D /gathers it up and breathes life into it

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