knowhen | [Closed] The bittersweetness...

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[Closed] The bittersweetness...

Who: Drift and Wing
What: Sparring and...difficult conversations. :'(
When: backdate a few days, after Fort Max's post
Where: The hangar bay

It was the most logical place for sparring: a large open space and nowhere near inhabited areas to disturb people with the noise or endanger the random passersby or onlooker. And well, if Drift got his bearings in line then he'd rather not have an audience for this. There were several subjects he'd been avoiding, all of them connected in a way, mostly unified in his shame. The destruction of Crystal City, the Circle being abducted by Tyrest, Dai Atlas' death at the hands of their betrayer Starsaber. Not to mention the reason he wasn't there for half of that, his exile. And the real kicker: the question of when the gem pulled Wing from his timeline and what the jet has to go back to when this is all over.

It's all been piling up for weeks, seeping into his aura like a subtle taint. He knows he has to face it, so here they are, working through the thing that Drift feels most at home with, and idolizes Wing so readily in: the subtle but fierce dance of combat.

Drift is tense and it shows, his form displaying flaws it hasn't in past battles. And he can't seem to bring to bear as much force against Wing as he should, even in casual sparring. He's distracted, holding back, trying to find the perfect opening to begin a conversation he doesn't really want to have, hoping desperately that Wing doesn't notice the way he wavers...

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Wing hadn't noticed, for a while, probably because he's too distracted by this happening at all. He's nearer in time, in memory, to Crystal City, and so his last memories of sparring with Drift are fresh, are of the scowling, truculent Decepticon who resented Wing's skill.

It was a welcome distraction for him, maybe even too welcome, to have to focus on sparring, reading the shift of weight, the anticipations of his partner's moves.

But it does sink in, eventually. Something that's not really sloppiness, but something, nonetheless, off balance, like a note just out of tune. "Are you not having fun?" Because this wasn't for a wager, anymore. If it wasn't fun, he didn't want to do it.

That is the nice part of this, the opportunity to show Wing that he's come this far, that he did learn more than just how to land in a heap on the sparring room floor. And even though Drift only truly used those skills after leaving, he recalled every lesson to the best of his ability, practiced each as best as his memory would allow.

So if this were any other moment, he'd be hoping to impress, to show how he's improved since last they fought together. But he's too distracted by the weight of what's hanging over him, too distracted even, to enjoy the feel of the brief contact of their EM fields, how their hands move against and with each other, hard and soft, bodies shifting around each other in a dance of defense and attack. Normally he'd give anything to be this close to Wing again, even under sparring conditions, but he doesn't feel worthy of the right today.

"Yes! Of course. I've been wanting to do this for a long time." Drift smiles, an honest and warm thing, though something weighs down the corners. "Just...can't clear my mind."

That's...not untrue at all? Segue maybe? Or too subtle? Why is conversation so hard?

Oh, Drift has improved; Wing can't help but notice that. And it feels like a compliment, how he sees some of his moves mimicked, echoed, like he's somehow become a part of Drift's fabric, his programming.

But he swears--or maybe he's just projecting--Drift isn't as, well, glowing as he was back when Wing showed him the convertor. "We could practice meditation, if you'd like? Or something else?" He ups the wattage on his own smile. "Too much of a good thing, perhaps. We can always do this later, again." Because they have, and it's a warm thought in his belly, plenty of time.

All this time it's been the best, the closest, way to keep Wing alive in Drift's life, to do homage after the fact when he failed so utterly to do so while the jet was alive. So knowing that it shows, that it comes out in his forms, would be a relief. An unerring sign that he'd grown since then.

And the wattage of Wing's smile is indeed reflected back at the jet, that warmth something that would never fail to sooth a weary spark. It can't entirely dispel Drift's worry though, and a hand rises to rub at the cables of his wrist, nervous. "No, no. I...." He ex-vents a preparatory sigh. "This is exactly where I want to be. I just... Can I ask you a question?"

Start small right? But looking into those optics the glow like sunlight is hard, Drift never wants to see them dimmed again. But that's why he's doing this right? Make the painful hurdle so the future can be brighter? Make it so.

Drift never failed in anything. Even when another mech might have given up, he'd kept fighting, day after day. If only he'd seen how each day he fought dug him deeper into Wing's spark.

He has no idea what's going on in Drift's mind, but it's clear something is weighing on him. He gives an earnest nod. "Of course, Drift. You never need to ask permission. Anything I know is yours to ask."

It's just that simple. Why complicate things?

If only he'd seen it for what it was, that affection, rather than hating what it stood for, so many things he didn't deserve.

It's different here, at least. Drift might sometimes question if he deserved this second chance, but his eyes and mind are open enough to try and change things. Before it's too late, yet again.

His engine idle is rough, and not just because they've been sparring. He hates how he can't quite look at Wing for this, though in the end, he makes himself do it. "...what's the last thing you remember, before coming here?"

Like all lessons, Drift, if you don't learn it the first time, the universe will provide many other chances.

And even Wing would admit, this was a HELL of a new chance from the universe.

He tilts his head for a moment, considering. "We were in the antechamber, ready to face Braid and his slavers."

This at least is a better lesson, kinder than most of the ones the universe has tried to teach him.

But there's an exception and that's why he's here, to try and make sure they only have to go through this once, that both of them can go forward knowing what's ahead of them, no matter how far in the future it is.

Drift twitches at the answer, like a flinch, but it's a premonition of pain, knowing what's ahead. He needs courage though, and maybe it's unfair to steal it from Wing, to reach out and grasp both hands in his, focusing on their living warmth, but he does it anyway. His optics, too, focus on those hands, "There's some things I should tell you. I haven't wanted to, I was just too happy to see you... But. I've been reminded recently that technically our stay here is temporary. So you should know..."

He warms at the hands reaching for his, turning his wrists, palms to Drift's hands, making the touch intimate.

He looks down at their hands, joined as he'd always wanted them to be, then up at Drift's face, which looks...worried? Distressed? "Yes?"

The slide of their palms is nice, warmth and comfort that he so desperately wants to cling to right now. It bolsters Drift, and a small part of him realizes that this may be be harder for him to say than it will be for Wing to accept. The jet, the knight, had been ready enough to sacrifice himself in the first place.

"Wing." He ex-vents, the slivers of his optics fixed on their clasped hands, telling his tanks to calm that churning thing they seem to insist on doing. "The battle. You...._{...you didn't make it}."

Wing tilts his head, looking at Drift for a long moment, trying to figure this out, why Drift's so upset.

"Drift. I know. That was the plan all along, remember? The decoy ship, the volunteers. We would die, so that you could be free, the city safe." He knew what he'd agreed to, knew the price he'd pay. And seeing Drift now, he knows it was more than worth it.

His mouthplates press together, around the words it should have been me, because then maybe the city never would have been raised and Starsaber never would have been able to act on his rash ideals and Crystal City would still be safe...

But this isn't about that, the 'what ifs' of his regrets in the past. Drift's optics flick up to Wing's face, restive in how they flutter about, unable to comfortably settle. "Dai Atlas led everyone to battle, raising the city when you fell. And he decreed that it would stay that way. But..." Now comes the hard part, and it's just the beginning.

It shouldn't have been Drift. No, never. If anyone had earned Crystal City, it was Drift: Wing had had centuries of its color and magic.

"I'm glad he saw the light, at last. We need to work together, as a city. United we are powerful." Not united...not so much.

He nods, soberly. "Rodimus told me. Dai Atlas is dead, but the others are rescued."

He wanted to be proud to have earned it, to live there and feel like he belonged, not because he was accepted but because he'd paid his dues. But the cost was too high and the last one he wanted to pay.

A chuff of rueful laughter at the mention of unification. Wing was so very right, and the city had paid for it. "Yes. But there were others that disagreed."

His helm jerks up at the mention of Rodimus. "He told you already!?" Drift should have know that would happen, should have expected it, since he'd learned it from Rodimus in the first place. His expression falls then, feeling like he's failed, that Wing deserved, at least, to hear it from Drift. "....I'm sorry." For...all of it.

Drift had earned it, several times over. If only he'd have laid down that burden of pain.

But clinging to that was also a regret, and Drift shouldn't carry those. "Others will always disagree. That's what a city that represents the people is like." It's not all sameness: that would be boring!

"He did. He seemed angry that the others wouldn't join his quest." With Dai Atlas dead, he couldn't imagine who would take charge. Axe, perhaps, and Axe would want to regroup, to go home.

"And there's nothing to apologize for. Their deaths were given, I am sure, freely."

Edited 2014-10-13 03:35 (UTC)

He's stubborn about letting go of things, though Drift is slowly--with some encouragement from Wing and harsh reality checks from Megatron--moving in that direction. It's a slow process though, like opening a hand that's been cramped around an object so long it doesn't know what other shape to be.

"I just didn't expect opposition from within on this...level." He'd always imagined the Circle to be above such things. Drift resets his vocalizer, searching for the words. "Did he, uh, tell you how it happened? About Crystal City? Tyrest? Star Saber?" On one side he's almost glad that he's spared Wing's reaction, the grief that must go with that knowledge. On the other side he's angry at himself for not being there, not offering consolation when it that grief was sharpest.

"No I just..." His optics slide away again, "Wish I could have been there. Maybe I could have made a difference." Maybe it would have been him against Star Saber instead of Cyclonus. Maybe he would have been faster, fought at Dai Atlas' side.

"Mechs disagreed, but we always realized that our common good was greater than our opinions." He gave an almost wistful smile. He'd stirred up more than his share of verbal tussles in Crystal City. "I think it helped we had someone like Dai Atlas to remind us." And with enough force of character to override them, when he felt it to be best.

"I know Dai Atlas fell defending our people." That's almost all he wants to know, though just saying it felt like a wound to his own chassis. Rodimus had been trying to upset him and, well, he'd succeeded.

"Drift, if you weren't there, it was because your destiny," yes, that word again, "lies elsewhere. Though Dai Atlas, I think, would be honored to know you regret not being able to help."

"If only more people had felt that way before..." He wonders what it had been like, if something like the Circle had been created earlier. The hint of wistful smile touches Drift spark, a thing we wants to nurture life back into. It gives him hope, at least, to continue. Wing has a right to know this, and if Pharma could be pulled over, so could other unsavories. He hates the idea of delivering this pain, dimming Wing's light in the process, but it's better that then worse things later right? He hopes so.

"He fought valiantly, as I hear it." Drift might not of had any love for Dai Atlas, but the Circle's leader had treated him more than fairly after Wing's death. He sighs, voice growing softer, but roughening as emotion bleeds into it. "As I understand it, Tyrest went...insane. He allied with Star Saber. That's how the city was betrayed..."

His helm bows again, pushing away the memories, the renewed pain, of finding the city destroyed. But his hands, still in Wing's, tighten almost stubbornly. His pain is a paltry thing compared to Wing's, and he will be strong for that reason. "Elsewhere." Drift shakes his helm. He doesn't exactly disbelieve, but he doesn't understand either. He almost feels cheated, missing Luna-1 and rescuing the Circle, yet he chose the path that lead him off the Lost Light so he has no place to complain. "Yeah. I was certainly elsewhere."

"It took the war to make us realize it, I'm afraid. Too little, too late, perhaps." It certainly had seemed that way to Rodimus. And he could regret, but it wouldn't change anything.

"I know he would. He was stern, but passionate in all things." Especially the protection of his people. It just...became xenophobia all too easily. Which was an injury Wing would hope to make up to Drift.

He can't tell why Drift looks upset. Refusing his destiny again? He smiles, gently. "I know you would have been there, in the thickest of the fight, if you could."

"A lot of things could have been done differently back then." He'd been glad for teh Circle when the war had ended, when it gave them their first beacon on their quest. That had been snuffed out when they arrived at the ruins of Crystal City, but it doesn't really change his mind on the matter. "No point in ruminating over the past though, right?"

That's what Wing keeps telling him anyway.

"Very." Drift noticed the stern part. And well, he himself knows how passion can manifest as anger. If he had his hands free, he might rub his cheek at the memory. "Star Saber though... They fought on Luna-1. And Dai Atlas fell."

He frowns, not of sadness but the stirring of his own anger. That Star Saber could betray the Circle for his own sanctimonious beliefs. It's that mech's fault, that they found ruins instead of hope, that the Circle suffered so much. "I would have. Star Saber should be thankful I wasn't."

Watch out, Drift. You keep talking like that and Wing's going to definitely get the idea (that he already has, honestly) that Drift is wise and clever. "I would like to think we all realize each of us could have, maybe should have, done more. It should commit us even more strongly to peace, now that we have the chance."

"Star Saber...." He shakes his head. He was all for lively dissent, but Star Saber had often pushed too far, even for Wing. "I am afraid to ask, honestly, what he did." But tell him anyway, without him asking for it?

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[Closed] The bittersweetness...

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At least you get tags tonight???

?

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