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Accordance	By : completetheory Category: S through Z > Transformers (Movie Only) > Transformers (Movie Only) Views: 2612 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Drift was inclined to use every ounce of his studied stealth training to sneak away from the farm as dusk fell. He made no noise as he stepped past the house, making his way to the dirt road that led toward the highway, and not even Cade's malfunctioning mutt stirred.
"The hell are you going?"
Drift froze. He kicked up a swirl of dirt, and then turned reluctantly to face Crosshairs, whose arms were folded, whose coat was rigid, not a good sign. He could no longer lie to Crosshairs, not after so many years of camaraderie in omission. I'm just going for a drive wasn't really sufficient.
"To KSI's nearest development facility."
Crosshairs gnawed on the metal of his lip, denting it slightly, and then gave Drift a resigned and unimpressed sniff. "Whatever Galvatron's told you's probably a lie, Drift. Decepticon, remember?"
It stung far more than the sniper had intended, particularly given that Drift had himself just resolved not to lie. He turned away, and heard Crosshairs take a step forward, tensing involuntarily. Swords. Aware of them at all times - could swords trump Crosshairs' guns?
Maybe. It was a matter of psychology, and Crosshairs was the least willing to pull a gun, the least machismo-oriented of any of them. The timing and desire were every bit as important as the weapon.
"How quickly you forget what I am." Drift said without turning, "When it suits you."
He heard another sigh, concern, and then a scuffle that did make him turn, and saw Crosshairs leaning against the porch in a more relaxed posture that did not suggest any kind of quickdraw stance.
"You're an Autobot now." Crosshairs' patience was actually infuriating, and Drift's jaw twitched, his beard mechanism twining tight.
"Simple world you live in." He said, in lieu of a really devastating burn; he was too upset to think of a great movie line. It hurt.
He began to walk, a second away from transforming when Crosshairs jogged up behind and then pulled alongside to keep pace with him. "What?"
He didn't answer, trying to regain his sense of inner calm, and largely failing. Why had Crosshairs been so good about him, before, why was he being this way now? Was it Galvatron alone for whom he could summon no understanding or generosity? Was the serialized propaganda too much for him to overcome when faced with any Decepticon he was not already on familiar terms with? There was no hope! No hope for any of them.
He had placed great faith in Crosshairs' subversive nature, his desire to question and to be cynical, but he forgot - the Autobots had spent too long killing Decepticons as a unit, to accept that Decepticons might have had some reason to do what they were doing beyond malice was difficult. An uphill battle.
Crosshairs put a hand on his shoulder, and he fought not to shrug it off.
"I just don't wanna see you get hurt for that guy." The Stingray's voice was warm and genuine and that made it even worse. "You've been actin kinda off since we found him, and I'm worried he's not good for you."
"I am the same as I always was," Drift returned, real anger coiling at the edges of his tone.
He had considered multiple vectors of approach, but none of them really seemed advisable, and he was having trouble thinking clearly. He didn't want to bring up that they had made love, because it didn't seem fair. Crosshairs was trustworthy when it came to him, even generous, but bringing up his people netted an instinctively bad result that he would need to find some way to deprogram if they were ever going to have a functional and healthy relationship. But he didn't want to threaten Crosshairs or use that as leverage for change.
Real change came from within.
He transformed, selecting the Bugatti almost as invitation for Crosshairs to accompany, and pealed out down the road. If Crosshairs decided to stay behind, that was his business.
{Can't be far or you'd be going in chopper.} Crosshairs tried to make conversation immediately, perhaps aware of how badly he had upset Drift, {What're you after?}
Drift decided not to respond, flashing his hazard lights suggestively as he increased speed. His maximum was well ahead of the Stingray's, and he had well over a second's advantage from standing to 60. The fact that he was letting Crosshairs stay close was a function of goodwill alone, he didn't need to indulge in guilty smalltalk.
They blazed a trail down the highway, cutting around the real cars with a complete lack of regard and demonstrating driving skills well above the most talented human, and Crosshairs kept close on Drift's permissive bumper.
{I'm sorry. If I upset you back there.} He said, uncertainly.
{You did,} Drift saw no reason to be gracious. {I did not realize your trust was so conditional.}
A reluctant, {Yeh... Drift, did I ever--... tell you why my Autobot thing is on the back of my neck?}
Drift snorted. {Yes. You joked that it was to remind the people who you were most afraid would shoot you that you were on their side.}
The silence after that was peculiar. Drift broke it again, {...Is that not true?}
More silence, the silence of shame that was often unearned, in Drift's experience, and the Stingray pulled up alongside as the highway offered more lanes, keeping pace with him as they climbed to 90 together.
{Never used to wear one. I mean most people don't? At least nowhere you can spot it easy. But 'most people' don't talk shit about Optimus either. Before we hooked up with you, Hound and me bumped into a couple Wreckers. Topspin and some other guy. Bout the first time I talked even the mildest smack about the Big Boss, they -...}
Drift waited for a moment, and then, {Crosshairs, it is not necessary to discuss, if you...}
{Nah. Nah. 'S'okay. Just, they held me down and told me I could show loyalty proper or they'd - beat it into me until I "'behaved myself' or died, whichever came first", and I started wearing it from then.} The words tumbled out in a rush, {So I'm fulla shit about Autobots, I don't, I don't live in a simple world Drift I'm sorry. Honest.}
Drift's spark spat flickers of electrical sympathy inside his chest, aching for the desire to reach out and embrace the Stingray in bipedal mode, {Crosshairs... that is shameful behavior for them. Not for you. I am sorry that happened.}
Crosshairs made a soft sound of grateful acknowledgement. It was hard to own something like that, because most people he knew would tell him to toughen up so that didn't happen in the future, so he could fight back, but honestly he wasn't the sort of guy who spent a lot of time fighting. Professional sniper, typically cowardly or glamorized position.
{We okay?} Crosshairs asked, and saw the Bugatti's wing mirror twitch to observe him.
{Yes, Crosshairs... all is forgiven. I ask for your trust, for a little while, in my judgment. I will explain everything when we arrive.} Drift didn't particularly want to explain it over the comms, and Crosshairs - gratifyingly - didn't press.
Approaching KSI's Houston HQ, Drift transformed and evaluated the building with an eye for illegality. The glow of streetlights reflected off his body as he considered whether he should break in direct, or discover whether or not he was welcome with Joyce's permission, but it was doubtful he'd be allowed to take the Transformium for any reason.
"Trust given," Crosshairs hung back behind him, uneasily, "But you wanna infiltrate this place, you'll do it so much better with my help, and I wanna know what this is all about. And you promised. Out with it."
Drift reached up and crushed the streetlight. Then he looked back at his companion, his eyes like a cat's in the dark. The better Crosshairs not see his face when he said this.
"I must retrieve the okhyoi ‘bthnk - the Transformium - for Galvatron. He will use it for our sake, to keep our species alive and thriving. I know this because, when I was one of his people, there were infants."
The answering eyes in the darkness irised big, and then refocused, and Drift heard the horror he could not quite make out on Crosshairs' face. "What?"
Drift put a hand to his own mouth, fisted it, and then risked speaking again, "They are dead, now. But there is hope. Galvatron can generate life with the metal, our bodies' metal. We do not need to face extinction."
The sniper didn't respond right away, still mulling over the horrific shock of dead children, the Decepticons had children? It was difficult, almost impossible to contemplate it being true, none of them knowing - or at least him not knowing. He didn't need to ask if Optimus knew. And he didn't need to ask how the children had died. The last five years sufficed to carry off fully grown warriors. Hatchlings had no chance.
The samurai gave him a generous length of time to answer, and then added, "I have been thinking about Optimus Prime very much since his absence."
Crosshairs couldn't even muster a quip about thinking, or Optimus, or anything. He was oddly subdued, "Go'wan."
"He took the seed and left Earth. He did not address Megatron's presence here in any way - nor did he even consider giving the seed to Joshua to use as he had intended in a barren place. If Megatron is a threat, why ignore him? If Megatron is not a threat, why remove the seed when it could have helped us to perpetuate our race - without harming the humans?"
"Hm." Crosshairs put his mind to it as he padded toward the building, crouching next to it and accessing the electrical box, working on overriding security more neatly than he had before, in Chicago, when he and Optimus and the others charged in guns blazing.
It was troubling to hear Drift question Optimus in the same breath that he seemed to be suggesting the Decepticons had damn good reasons for fighting as hard as they had, and Crosshairs mauled his lower lip with his teeth as he worked. Extinction seemed more and more a certainty, at the hands of the humans, if nothing else. They were canny little fuckers, very much more dangerous than their soft bodies and small stature suggested. Some kind of horror story monster for later generations...
He thought about dead babies again, and glanced over at Drift, who was idling by the broken streetlight, a giant robot on the sidewalk. Even if they hadn't had sex, he still cared deeply about Drift, and thinking of him anywhere near the tragedy of a loss that huge made him queasy. He squared his shoulders and approached the other Cyb.
"Cameras off, alarms off, lights off. We can bust in through the front and be out in six if we're good. Drift, were they yours?"
The question took the samurai by surprise, until he realized what the other was asking. "Yes and no. They were not part of my genetic structure, they did not issue from me, but Decepticons are all family."
He didn't dare give Crosshairs a chance to respond to that last part, punching through the building's front door and neatly stepping under the decorative archway. Both Cybertronians made their way to the laboratory floor, shining reconfigured headlights in the gloom. He was not glad of this situation, or what he saw as the necessity of stealing, but he doubted Joyce would willingly part with what little Transformium he had left.
"We gonna kill a guard if we come across one?" Crosshairs asked, throwing open the double doors to the laboratory, empty and quiet, "Not opposed, just like to know the score."
"Hopefully we will not have to decide that. But I think it will not be necessary..." Drift was not aware of Joyce arming his people with anti-Cyb weaponry, not even after the break-in at Chicago's installation, "Joyce has not prepared any security for our kind. We will not need to kill in self-defense."
He shone the light from his wrist around the shadowy room, and both yelped when it fell upon a half destroyed disembodied head.
It was Megatron's. Crosshairs peeked around Drift's arm with indignation as adrenaline banked off, "He said he was gonna get rid of that thing. That dirty smooth-headed liar."
Drift's faint regret was evident as he approached the head, almost grotesquely pedastaled like the remains of a war trophy, and reached to touch the ruined architecture of the face, the sad hanging wires of the eye.
"Heika..."
Crosshairs opened his mouth, but didn't ask his burning question - was it honestly dead? Was Galvatron being remotely controlled from here, was this thing - well it wasn't alive, or Galvatron would make its retrieval a priority - the head itself had probably given up the ghost not long after transferring all of its information and mind into Galvatron. How many times could that guy cheat death?
"It is strange to see you like this," Drift said, almost to himself, his fingers tracing the hideous ax wound's edges, where the superheated weapon had cleaved soft metals into vital systems, first slicing, then tearing, then melting ruination into the central processing unit. It was a miracle there was anything left functioning, let alone aware and thinking. He drew back his fingers with an awed breath, as if the metal itself were still as hot as the moment when Megatron's head had been torn asunder, as Crosshairs took to rifling through drawers and collecting up samples.
"Might be disrespectful or ghoulish, but I'm thinking we should melt down the head? Could mean a few more precious pounds of the stuff." Crosshairs elected, stowing the rest in his various coat pockets with a low admonishment that the coat should not actually eat, just hold.
"I do," Drift said, looking around for the furnace, "I think that Galvatron will find value in it. He is not sentimental."
Just as well, Crosshairs thought, letting Drift handle that job while he stripped the lab. Six minutes was more like sixteen with the complication of the head and the furnace, extracting whatever usable Transformium they could, but they were mercifully uninterrupted. Drift was glad he was spared that moral quandary, he would not have liked to have killed a human, even if it was apparently acceptable to Optimus now - even if it would be vastly more acceptable, in his own view, to kill Cemetery Wind humans especially. They had hunted down Autobots one by one, and likely were still of a mind to.
"I can't help but look at this whole decapitated head situation and wonder how safe it is to still be here on this rock," Crosshairs remarked as they walked away from the pillaged building, fully expecting an incensed call from Joyce the next morning, "None of these humans - 'cept Tessa - treat us like people. We're either enemies or obstacles, or-...stuff to be sold and marketed, and all that crap. It's unnerving, is what it is."
Drift considered those thoughts, pulling onto the highway and accelerating a daring 40 miles over the speed limit, confident in his internal navigation systems even in the dark. He wanted to be home within two hours - making the round trip four and some change, and hopefully not return to a smoldering wreck courtesy of Hound or Galvatron. The compromise was that Galvatron, appeased with the Transformium, would come through for them, and Drift would know their race would not die forgotten and alone on some distant alien world.
Crosshairs matched him for speed, and they made short work of the trip home. The farmhouse was intact, and things were going Drift's way - or he thought, until the barn door exploded outward and Cade with it.
"Oh, is he dead?" Crosshairs couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice no matter how he tried - long term exposure to Cade had ensured no love was lost between Cyb and dad.
Cade groaned from underneath the door, answering the question in the negatory, and Galvatron strode out from the barn with both hands raised in preemptive appeal, a disarming smile on his face that did not disarm Crosshairs--who dutifully actually pointed a gun at the Prototype and barely even shook.
Barely.
"Tessa said no fighting," Crosshairs subtly stepped on the barn door with the slightest of pressure to pin Cade under it and ensure he didn't actually get up, either to encourage Galvatron to actually kill him or whatever other plan he had in mind.
"So she did," Galvatron had this obnoxious way of not caring if he was shot or not, and didn't seem bothered by Crosshairs' gun, "Optimus's human was finally made aware of my presence here, and decided to try to kill me first. You'll see he's armed."
Crosshairs reluctantly kicked the barn door aside. Cade had a bloodied nose and some gashes, but nothing quite so serious as what Galvatron could have inflicted on an armed opponent if he had wont. Cade was not only carrying the stolen bayonet, but he was lifting the thing to point at Galvatron again.
"Unbelievable." Crosshairs reached down, snatching the inventor up by the back of his collar, "You want Tessa to be an orphan, by all means make the big scary robot angrier."
"You're pointing a gun at him too!" Cade protested, not squirming vigorously enough that his shirt threatened to rip and drop him a few uncomfortable feet.
Crosshairs adopted a talking-to-children voice, "That's because I'm big. Your la-de-da masculine type don't like that, do you. You wanna be the big man, not the little helpless--what's a little helpless thing?"
Galvatron actually played into it, offering innocently, "Insects."
"--Put me down." Cade twisted just so, trying to get a bead on Crosshairs, who was less enthused about being shot than Galvatron was, and decided to stow his own gun for the opportunity to confiscate Cade's.
"Crosshairs, if you would." Drift said, mildly rebuking, and the sniper scoffed and set Cade down - after plucking the bayonet from him. "...Galvatron, my apologies for our lateness."
The three watched as Galvatron turned his back to re-enter the barn; the two Cybs exchanged a glance, and then looked down at Cade.
"I think your time away from your research lab has done you good," Crosshairs elected, "You've said two sentences and neither of them were self-congratulating. If you stay out here for another twelve hours you might start to resemble a person I'd avoid deliberately stepping on."
Cade's breathless response, whatever it was, surely a devastating blow from such a wit, was ignored as both Cybertronians retreated into the lab and barricaded it. Galvatron looked satisfied that they were cooperating, even so far as to kick Cade out of his own barn. It helped that neither of them seemed to like Cade much, and Galvatron privately guessed the human got along best with Optimus. Like sought like, in this case, and each was charmed by the reflection of themself in the other.
Drift didn't wait for Crosshairs' consultation, just opened his own personal storage and offered out the Transformium containers, which Galvatron took.
It was far too late for Crosshairs to ask if this was a good idea, as the gleaming silver Prototype approached with hand expectantly outstretched. The sniper's coat rippled in alarm, and he spent a good ten seconds embarrassed and wringing it out mentally to coax the canisters free.
"You've done well," Galvatron observed, "I didn't dare hope for this much."
"We melted your old noggin!" Crosshairs indicated his own head, then, just in case that was a problem, amended, "It was Drift's idea, tho."
Drift whacked Crosshairs' arm with a faint smile, and it was astonishing really, how Drift wasn't afraid of Galvatron. He was comfortable around the Prototype, whose engine murmured further approval as he set the canisters down and opened each.
"One of you will need to convey," Galvatron remarked, looking between them - using the old timey term for gestating children, "I don't much care who, but the longer you can stay alive, the better, so whoever is a more competent fighter is likely a better choice."
"Me," Drift indicated, simultaneous with Crosshairs'; "Drift."
Galvatron turned his back again, consuming the remainder of the Transformium, which (considering that some of it was pulled from his previous form's bodiless head) was creepy, in Crosshairs' estimation. He was thinking of dead babies again, though, within a few moments, and it was getting him down.
He leaned aside to Drift, wanting to ask if what had happened had involved Galvatron directly, but it seemed like a bad time, when Galvatron turned to them and presented a small, strange looking curled up sphere. It uncurled after a few seconds and looked, anatomically, like the skeletal structure of a Cybertronian newborn, with a long spine trailing to a tadpole's tail ending, an empty skull-shield for vital components (mirrored in the chest, not only for spark but for an adjunct braincase, should the upper one be damaged beyond repair - not all Cybertronians had such a function, Galvatron himself as Megatron had possessed only one processor array, cerebrally located. It seemed he would do his offspring one better.
"Genetically," Drift took the small offering and held it with care, "It will share my body, and yours, Galvatron?"
Galvatron was watching Crosshairs, waving a hand, "And this one, if you'd like to donate."
Crosshairs looked up, "What, be a parent? This is so sudden!" Kidding on the square, it really was sudden, but Galvatron didn't seem bothered by his stall.
"It will improve the odds of survival." Drift said, serenely, "But without your contribution, two parents are still sufficient. Four is the ideal number, but I do not think Bumblebee and Hound will understand what we are doing here, so immediately."
Crosshairs held up one arm and spread the lamina, exposing inner workings, throbbing busily, pulsing with life. "Who's growing the sac? I hate growing the sac. Gives me the worst case of exhaust after... I'm kidding, I've never done this. Ever."
The Bugatti heard Crosshairs' concern, opening a comm channel to him. {Crosshairs, if you do not wish to donate, Galvatron and I will be the sole progenitors. You will not be forced.} Aloud, to Galvatron, "Wait, please, heika."
The Prototype paused, looking up after a second to Drift, "Is there a problem?"
There was certainly a problem, and that problem was that for his entire life, Crosshairs had been induced at gunpoint to obey those more powerful than him, exactly as he had enacted the same 'discipline' on Cade. This had a naturally coercive result where any greater power than his own was perceived as indomitable, and the word 'no' was no longer in Crosshairs' vocabulary. Drift did not want this incident to end as the Wreckers' incident had.
"A moment," He said to Galvatron, taking Crosshairs aside, still holding the strangely antiseptic skeleton, flayed, clean, waiting for installation. Crosshairs was practically sweating green coolant, and Drift could see the transformation lamina of his arm trembling. "I will carry the child, Crosshairs. You choose if the child carries your genetic code as well as ours."
The relief that came over Crosshairs' form was immediate, but it stiffened up with concern again as he leaned over to whisper.
"You sure you're okay with ...having this? What if-... what if you lose this one, yanno?"
No matter how clumsy Crosshairs was with his compassion, it was genuine, and Drift was in a better frame of mind to appreciate it. Obviously he had taken what Drift had said about the infants to spark, had really thought about how important it had been. Decepticons rearing young was not the image Optimus had wanted to implant, but it was a true image, as true as any battle-ready Decepticon.
"I will protect this child with my life. And any others we have. It does me great honor." Drift met his eyes, steadily, so serious and unwavering for someone so young.
Crosshairs rubbed the back of his neck collaring, instinctively feeling along the grooves, with none of the same certainty. "You said something about. Improving odds of survival, with more donors? If I can help, I wanna help."
Galvatron looked up from sorting through the empty containers to ensure he had overlooked nothing. "The chromosome structure of our live offspring is quadrantal. If all four segments of the blueprint are filled with information, the hatchling will combine as much as possible about disease and internal/external adaptability. If any are left empty, they do not count toward the aggregate."
"Could get a coat like mine?" Crosshairs was amused by the thought, already a little attached, but reeled it back, "So that's why the Galvatron body's a clone of you. Just your info. What about the Prototypes we fought--uh, not to bring up a bad subject..."
He felt eternally braced for a bad response from Galvatron, was pretty sure that it was coming, the only question was when and how badly. Galvatron continued to defy his expectations, though.
"I gave them my genetic sequence, and my memories of my people - direct access to the okhyoi ‘bthnk on an atomic level means that I am transformation incarnate. I called them brothers - they were my brothers."
It made sense, but it also meant that, in all probability, the Prototypes had not merely been infected puppets, as Joshua had assumed. Crosshairs was getting really sick of realizing he knew so little about what was going on. How could he apologize to Galvatron for something like that? Sorry I helped kill your new family? It just didn't seem wise to try to take full, or even partial responsibility for it, in case Galvatron did get angry.
Instead, he offered out his arm to Drift. A tube unspooled from it, splattered silvery liquid on the floor before Drift caught and pinched it closed, looking to Galvatron, who manifested a small sac from the Transformium cubes of his hands. Crosshairs was watching closely, but it was hard to track the shifts, the pieces as they flowed together, and he couldn't tell - if Galvatron had lost any matter when he did that. The sniper reasoned he had to have lost some, it was a physics thing, and if he wanted more Transformium, it had to cost him to produce.
Then he was losing some of his own cesium, into the little birth-sac, eyes narrowing at Galvatron as he gave of himself. Only a minute of donation and he was already feeling light in the CPU, neural systems crackling faintly as they immediately responded to the perceived haemorrhage. He could see now why the Cybertronians of either side did not produce children during wartime - it was costly to one's own health.
He donated a third of the sacful before Drift tucked his tube away and began to contribute his own, and Galvatron took the rapidly filling mixture to add his own, liquidising Transformium in front of them both with external calm.
"This is unprecedented," Drift added, for Crosshairs' benefit, "In recorded history there has been - no Autobot-Decepticon child. The factional split was eons ago, and since then, our two groups have grown closer to ethnicities... as well as personal choices."
Crosshairs rubbed his wrist, "No pressure." He said to the small inert skeleton still limp in Drift's arms. Autocon? Deceptibot?
"The child will not put an end to the war," Galvatron said mildly, "Only Optimus Prime's death will do that." He took the small skeleton from Drift, pressed it into the sac and closed the top - a metal clasp that fit snugly into Drift's opened chest cavity right above his armored spark reactor chamber. Drift kept his torso open for them for a few moments, and Crosshairs watched the small form settle into the liquid at the base of the clear rubbery bag, motionless.
"Listen. Stop talkin about killing Optimus for five seconds," Crosshairs waved him off, "Is it supposed to do that? Sink like that?"
Galvatron's fingers played with the clasp inside Drift's chest, as the samurai looked up at him stoic, then hooked lightly and gave a small burst of electricity that jumped live away from the array. The Prototype's eyes kept watching the hatchling, and none of them moved or vented for a solid ten seconds...
"Twitched," Crosshairs ventured, half a hushed question. "I thought? The tail..."
"We'll see," Drift said, "I am not receiving reports from any of my internal systems about the child's presence."
The Prototype withdrew his hand, made a fist. He had seen many hatchlings sicken and die, and was aware firsthand of their fragility. He scowled, and then turned away, "It may take a full hour to register. The hatchling is alive, but not yet viable, it has to sort through the genetic information present in your cesium and begin to calcify body parts. Until then, you must protect it."
Drift nodded wordlessly, but Crosshairs objected, "Wait, he has to protect it? What about me?"
Galvatron sneered, "I trust my Decepticon with a child's safety. I suffer your presence against my better judgment."
Crosshairs opened, and then closed his mouth, glancing at Drift, who gave him an amused shrug and closed his torso up tight around the child. There was no evidence of the gestation when his chest was closed, though he did rearrange the configuration of his body to better armor the exterior of his upper chest - at cost of protection for his own spark reactor.
Such was the aim of all good conveyors.
---
Crosshairs followed Drift outside, glancing back over his shoulder as his coat thunked stiffly into his legs, product of an extremely anxious barn atmosphere. It was gonna take at least twenty minutes to calm his coat down, but he was more concerned about Drift than his frenetic symbiote.
"So where's this leave us now? Expectant parents. You know Cade's got a rule specifically about the kinda sex activities that make babies, he's already right pissed about you know who in there. What are you planning to do about that?"
"I am planning to retrieve more Transformium for Galvatron, until he gives me a reason to distrust his intentions." Drift said serenely, "You panic too easily, Crosshairs. You act as though I did not know Megatron."
Crosshairs' arms folded tight, "You act like I don't care about what happens to you."
Drift's face looked for a rare moment unguarded, vulnerable. "Please don't say that. That you care is the only thing of which I am certain. After that night, when you did not reject me for who I was - you have given me all the hope that Megatron ever gave me. A more valuable gift I could not ask for."
He walked off, further from the house and the barn, the night sky open above them both, yawning an empty space where the planet of Cybertron used to be. Crosshairs stood without anything to say, searching the ground with its--dirt and rocks and junk.
"...You gonna name the kid? If..?"
The Bugatti nodded without looking at him, "When I am more sure. --I am receiving uncertain signals now. I will report to Galvatron if they steady."
"Why wait?" Crosshairs took a seat on the front porch - the entire front porch.
Drift took a steadying vent, touching his chest grille. "Because he has watched enough hatchlings die already."
A warm wind blew across them both as Crosshairs turned his attention to calming down his coat, trying to maintain his sense of annoyance at Galvatron's effortless winning of Drift's trust and sympathy - and finding it harder and harder. "Yeh. ..Sorry."
Crosshairs glanced over at the side of the house for something else to look at, and his eyes stopped on the rainwater barrel. Little tremors bounced on the surface of the water in ripples, as if something very big were coming very close.
"Uh, Drift... you know how you said you'd protect that hatchling with your life?"
Drift was attuned to Crosshairs' voice by now, and his hands found his swordhandles in moments.
"Maybe sooner than you think."
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Accordance