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CHARACTERS: Drift and YOU
LOCATION: Simulation Room + Closed Starters
DATE: Mid-Late September, Post Wish Full
CONTENT: Drift finds a familiar simulation program
WARNINGS: possible discussions of terminal illness and substance abuse TBD ~~MA! the robots are fucking again!~~

A FRIENDLY REMINDER

[ Drift had not stuck around for what passed for a debriefing, leaving before Dengar had even gotten a word in edgewise. The situation was Yzak had been an unfortunate advantage to slipping under the radar. For two days, it was decidedly easy for someone nine feet tall and made of metal to fade into the background. Then, he started popping up in sudden bursts. Once or twice, at some odd hour, he would poke his head into the infirmary or go knocking on a seemingly random door only to say nothing and walk away without saying much — a melancholic jumpscare, where instead of "boo" the monster merely shakes his head and leaves.

Later into his self-imposed and unexplained isolation, things had taken a turn almost into normalcy when a group text went out:

Driving lessons at 0900 in the Sim Room Sword and closed-quarters practice at 1300 in the Training Room By appointment with thirty minutes advance notice at the latest

Absolutely nothing. Drift had reconnected with the rest of the crew in so many words and with as much affection as a timed reminder for a phone app. At the very least, notifications and replies look as though they're being read now. ]

A CITY WITH NO PEOPLE

[ The doors of the simulation room open with a whisper of hydraulics sliding open like a soft, unintrusive announcement. Bursting into view with quiet brilliance is an endless horizon with a view from the peaks of an alien world. You enter onto the balcony of a polished white steel building with a view falling down into the perfectly recreated, dizzying heights of a sprawling city. Above is a night sky streaked with a nebula's pale, milky spill and thousands of stars painted around and through its cascade. Flicking lights shine like fireflies on the roads coiling up and around the buildings that grow ever higher towards a massive focal point — a spire that, even at night, illuminates everything surrounding it. All of it was a facade of life, the illusion only broken up by the vacuous silence where the sounds of the rush of traffic or even the stray snatch of conversation or laughter carried up by the wind should have been.

Drift stands at the edge as an almost unobtrusive silhouette against the skyline. He could have easily been mistaken for a statue if one of his finials hadn't slightly flicked in the direction where he heard someone sidle up beside him. Eyes that glowed a cold and pale blue against the dark color of his face stared out over the balcony. Even without pupils, it was clear he hadn't offered so much as a glance in the direction of whoever decided to join him. ]

It's something else, isn't it? [ A neutral response to an otherwise incredible view. Drift hadn't moved an inch, and his tone of voice was quiet, almost like someone who had just woken up from a very long nap and was only speaking on reflex. ] This simulation was made by...[ Imperceptible movement — a slight bow of his head. ] by someone else. The capital city wouldn't have been my first choice, and it's not how I remember it.

See that? [ Drift pointed to the tower, voice perking up slightly but still holding the stupor of a lecturer who had repeated himself once too often to care. ] The Primal Basilica, or at least I think it is. Xrisora reminded me a little of this place, thought I'd see how deep the mirage went. [ Drift nodded as if confirming something to himself ] They did a pretty thorough job.

Quiet, though. [ Finally, he turns his head two degrees to catch you in his peripheral. ] I can leave if you need the room.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ In the echo of the room, Rodimus's words carry and whip back around with a raised pitch that rings in Drift's audials for a moment after. ]

You did, [ He agrees, remaining calm and nodding along with Rodimus as if the other was only stating an objective fact. ] and you are.

I almost promised you that I wouldn't tell him because you rightly thought he would try to stop you. Did you tell him? Anything?

...no.

[ Rodimus admits. ]

I didn't find time.

[ Or he didn't work up the courage. It's hard to be vulnerable. ]

[ That simple answer could have nearly choked Rodimus on the pride he needed to swallow to admit as much, to even hint at how deep the hurt went. ]

Roddy... [ Drift could have said something, he could have said a lot. Instead, he reached over and gripped his amica's hand until their fingers were tightly woven together. ]

[ Rodimus isn't sure he wants that comfort. A part of him just wants to sulk and be angry at how unfair the universe is being to him. He stiffens and then he grips tightly. ]

...I wasn't audacious enough. Weird, huh? Came all the way out to this place and I'm not even going to get what I want in the end.

None of it is your fault, [ Drift put a certain stress on those words, in part because he could pick up on how tense Rodimus became when he took his hand. ] You can still —

[ Going quiet, Drift's face pulls into a look of uncertainty and some discomfort. What should he tell Rodimus? Yeah, buddy, push forward and try to win the spark of a disgraced former warlord you're chasing across the universe back from a friend with the self-esteem of a particularly shy rock. That would be fine with no repercussions. ]

I don't know.

I just...

[ He can't put it into words. Not without baring his spark. His shoulders tense and then drop. He knows he shouldn't get involved and make it worse for Megatron and Minimus. It wouldn't be fair, as much as he wants to scream and turn the table over. He slowly slumps into Drift's side, taking a bit of comfort from his closeness. ]

...I thought I could fix it.

[ On reflex, Drift adjusts to let Rodimus sink beside him and fall against him like a missing piece clicking back into place. Resting his head against his amica's, he could almost dim his optics and pretend this was nice.

Only Drift couldn't pretend this didn't hurt, their bond may have weakened over the years, but right now, it was pulled taut to a sharp point of anguish that tore at him. The helplessness he felt in this impossible situation of wanting to have the right answer that simply did not exist. What could he do? Sabotage their friend so his amica could be happy with someone who didn't deserve him? Drift could be cruel, even when he denied that parts of himself were still Deadlock, but he couldn't do that to Minimus. The brief joy that would win Rodimus would inevitably be smothered by guilt and resentment at Drift and himself. ]

You need to talk to him. He's not worth being in this much pain, and he wouldn't want you to be like this, either. You know that.

...and tell him what? I regret you had to go to prison because I wanted you to myself?

[ He sounds bitter. And it's probably the most self reflective he's ever been. ]

Frag up what he and Minimus have? I missed my shot. Fine. That's the story of my life the last couple centuries.

[ OK, now he's just wallowing in self-pity. ]

The truth.

[ Drift had tried to keep the urgency out of his voice but failed when he felt his tongue pressing tongue on the last word like a stone. Then he disengaged and carefully removed himself from Rodimus and the tower's edge. Walking a few paces away until he could stop and, for a few turns of his spark, just hear the simulated wind howling up the tall ivory walls of a dead city. ]

We're all carrying so much guilt and regret that I want to see at least one of us come out of this for the better.

[ Rodimus can't vocalize what he thinks about that. He's going to be alone again, stuck in a backwater, trying to figure out what he has left in his stupid life, running stupid errands, with nothing to show for a million cycles of fighting and dying and... everything falling into humdrum banal nothing. His optics flicker. ]

...you make it sound easy.

[ It hurts. He follows after Drift. ]

Feels like I'm always going to be second-best. [ First time he's ever said that. But Drift is probably the only person he could say that to. ]

Easy?

[ Drift had his back turned a moment ago, but in that instant, he had whipped his head around and looked at Rodimus with a shattered look on his face. His utterance wasn't angry but breathy with the shock someone has after being slapped across the face. It was as abrupt and momentary as a slammed door, but Drift lapsed in his concern for Rodimus to be staggered by the idea that anything about what he felt was easy. ]

[ There's something in Drift's tone that catches Rodimus' attention. ]

Just - saying it like that. I mean-

[ He rubs at his face. ]

How do you just say stuff like that to someone?

[ There was no satisfaction in seeing Rodimus being caught even more off-kilter, only a growing worry that drummed up inside Drift to a deafening level. ]

Because if you don't, all you'll be left with is yourself and asking what could have been. And I can't do that again, Rodimus. Don't ask me to watch you just flicker out.

[ Rodimus doesn't quite shrink. His shoulders drop and his arials droop. ]

This is different, here. I'm not - I'm not just an errand boy, you know? There's... real meaning here. Saving he universe again.

[ He tries to smile. ]

It'll be - yeah. Yeah.

That's not what Thunderclash or anyone else thinks of you, but [ Drift shakes his head, not wanting to stir the pot by bringing up the Greatest Autobot Of All Time™ and whatever torch he might still be carrying.

And then, something churns inside him — an old hurt, a hurt he had kept smothered and quiet for both their sakes. Before Drift can even register it and stop himself, he slips with a resigned: ] Well, you've actually showed up when we needed you. That's something.

...when would I not show up? I always show up.

[ That hurts, for reasons he can't articulate. Drift's his friend. His best friend. Maybe his only real friend that he has left. So to hear that stings. ]

Rodimus —

[ Drift turns back and moves to another end of the tower, and he's toeing the line of the edge, just enough that he can peer down and find something else to fix his sight on. ]

Why did you show up to the funeral drunk? [ Wrapping his arms tight around his midsection, holding each opposing elbow joint in a facsimile of a human hugging themselves against the cold. Something shuddered through him, but it wasn't a chill. ] I know why you were late, I do, I really do but—

When we got the diagnosis and time started running out, I called you. For days, weeks — months, I tried everything to reach you and was just met with dead air. I needed you then, I needed you well before those last few days.

And then you were just gone again.

[ Rodimus goes a bit stiff, his fingers curled. He can feel his internals squeeze and he feels like it might be a good idea to crawl into a hole somewhere right about now. More than anything he wants a drink. ]

I wasn't - I wasn't drunk.

[ He objects, although even to him it's not a very good objection. He might not have been blitzed, but he'd definitely taken a drink or two to 'take the edge off'. ]

Sometimes - sometimes traveling took me out of the way. I just - I couldn't get away from everything. [ Excuse, excuse, excuse. He'd been afraid of facing up to losing someone else. And maybe jealous of whatever it was Ratchet and Drift had, afraid that if he'd been there to see the end of it he might not have been able to hold himself together. Afraid that he wouldn't live up to his own self-image in a way that was harder to dismiss than just being late. ]

It wasn't like that.

[ Watching Rodimus go so tense even his plating had retracted tighter around his frame was like watching an animal curl up to spare its soft underbelly. Anger should have risen in Drift and burned hot enough to lash out at the procession of excuses Rodimus was stumbling through. He wasn't going to split hairs if Rodimus was drunk or not (he was) because that wasn't why this wound between them had reopened. ]

It wasn't the distance stopping you. [ All Drift could must was a numb resignation that made his eyes go a little dimmer. Rodimus could have come home anytime, and they both knew it. Ratchet and Thunderclash had been close friends since before the war, and the latter would have turned around whatever mercy mission or latest indulgence to Rodimus's nostalgia they were on in an instant. ]

I said I needed you. Why wasn't that enough?

[ Well. He's stuck. He can run away, just flat-out lie, or actually tell the truth for once in his life. Even if it makes him look terrible. He doesn't know which he'd prefer, honestly. How does he tell his amica just how miserable the whole thing made him without sounding like a selfish prick?

He probably doesn't. ]

...I-

[ He shrinks back a little. ]

...I didn't know what to do. [ He admits that, some more of that wall of bravado crumbling. ]

You and Ratchet were so happy. You had... everything... and I didn't know - I couldn't deal with that and seeing it fall apart. [ He pauses. Seems to debate whether he was going to say something. ]

...I was jealous. And staying away felt better than showing up and having that bubbling underneath everything while he died.

[ The cracks were being split wider until something wide yawned in Drift's chest and threatened to swallow him back into that grief he barely crawled out of since coming here. Rodimus bearing his spark was agonizing to them both, even if moments before Drift had begged him to tell the truth. It hurt to know why Rodimus had been a ghost in his life for all those years, but it was more than the deadening numbness he had been aimlessly wandering in since their return. ]

You told me once that you didn't trust yourselves with words because of how easily they can be manipulated. [ Drift said at last, still off to the side but his posture no longer resembling a tightly clenched fist. ] That there were a dozen better ways to speak to someone when you wanted me to know how badly you wished things could have been the way they used to be.

[ For a being with a flexible metal larynx and no respiratory system, Drift managed a gulping breath that went down his throat hard and came out in a brittle exhale that left him almost trembling. ]

What you did was selfish, and hearing it out loud hurts. But... [ Drift leans like he wanted to step forward, but his upper torso wasn't yet in concert with his lower. ] I believe you, and I want to fix things too. Even if I think what you feel for him [ Drift and Megatron had barely gone back to being civil, and most under the pretense of caring for Rodimus, but he still didn't like this ] is a mistake and you're better than letting yourself burn out over him, I—

I can't lose my amica too.

[ This is why he hates words. They hurt. You can't take them back. Trying to do something - anything - is easier to explain away. Easier to disregard. Once he's said those words, there's no taking them back. He feels like he can't look at Drift right now. Everything he's tried not to think about or shove down and sit on is starting to come bubbling back to the surface and he hates it. ]

I'm-

[ What? Sorry? It's not something you apologize for. Not with words. Not in a way that matters. ]

...I didn't want to hurt you. [ More than I have, he doesn't say. But that's all there is to it. Even saying this out loud is a minor miracle for him. But it's just them - so maybe he can do it. Maybe he can actually communicate for once. ]

I'm not - I'm not going anywhere. I just need to sort through this. I just need to... let it burn out. That's all. Focus on the mission. [ Because he can't be second-best. ]

[ The agitation between their dueling EM fields rippled between them until that feeling of unease mired in misery finally started to abate. Not because things were better than they started, only that the catharsis was its own sort of relief. ]

I know. [ Saying as much wasn't forgiveness, but Drift doubted he even could find it within himself to hold onto any lingering animosity. Any time Drift struggled when it came to Rodimus, and his mind wandered back to Kimia. The memory of his blade spearing his chest retreaded with a sharp pain was soothed by Rodimus, the only one who cared enough to save his life.

Silently Drift slid behind Rodimus and looped his arms around the other's chest, hooking his chin between shoulder armor and the softer cables of Rodimus's neck. ]

Don't burn out with it.

[ There's a tremble and a release of tension when Drift wraps his arms around him and Rodimus sinks back against him. It's almost relief. Or it is. He tilts his head back in turn, optics flickering. ]

...I won't. I burn bright, but never out.

[ There's more confidence there than he really feels. But it's something. And maybe it feels good to finally say something out loud about the weight that's been dragging him down for so long. ]

Please don't make me think out that stupid poem at a time like this. [ Drift spoke in a way that started with a groan and ended with the start of a laugh that erupted out despite himself.

Everything was muted this high above the brightest lights of the quiet city below them. Drift could barely perceive the vibrant red of Rodimus's frame as he started to go slack in his arms, but he could feel the heat of an overclocked, anxious spark thrumming behind his amica's chest plate. It created a feedback loop of negative emotions between them that Drift ached to pacify.

The shift started with imperceptible changes — Drift turned his head a certain way, letting his mouth linger near neck cables, then the side of Rodimus's own, still grimacing jawline. His grip slackened only to tighten lower where Rodimus's waist tapered. Each time Drift moved, he stilled. He was reading the room to see if Rodimus was receptive or not. They have been intimate a thousand times over, but this was different somehow. ]

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