(no subject)
Some nights hurt, because 'Bit would stagger out of recharge, all unfocused glimmering optics and unsteady movements because his gyros hadn't aligned properly. And he'd totter over to the lanky matte silver shape of his brother, though no one remembered it now - some just assumed they were 'facing - 'Bit would lean on the silver spur of a shoulder and rumble unhappily, sleepily, softly mumble, "'s he comin' home, Dee?"
Distractor never really had an answer for that, and Databit never really remembered asking, so he'd settle for an eloquent shrug, gaze elsewhere and spark clenching with memories.