Armada-'verse. Cyberton. Wishes in the night.

[random_xtras]

Nightwish blinks as she comes back online, and then quirks a slight grin as she realizes that she's laying on the floor in her quarters, in her favorite place partially underneath her berth. -I made it home. Bonus

Comments

[random_xtras]

"You see that place where the floor buckled and lumped up? Well that biggest lump isn't the floor." The kid looks sick.

[backupbots]

Thunderclash turns and stares. It's been a while since he's seen anything that gruesome, and a thrill of shock runs down his back. "Nasty..."

After a few seconds he looks back at the Autobot, sensors sharp for any kind of weakness. His mind may be on other things, but his salvage instincts are strong. "Are you OK, kid?"

[random_xtras]

"Yeah. I'm fine." She turns her head and groans slightly. "Here's the Minicon Emergency Team."

[backupbots]

"You sound like you could use something in your tanks." He turns to see Makeshift streak straight for Nightwish's remains. Thunderclash flies in the same direction, passing Prowl as the investigator begins examining the area.

He comes to a stop over the slagged Decepticon, feeling a twinge of disgust at the sight. He's seen worse corpses, but there's something uniquely pathetic about the shapeless mass that's become of this one. You'd hardly know it was a body.

[random_xtras]

Only... the living systems never materialize. It's not till he cracks her spark core that a soft shimmer lights the air around them.

[backupbots]

Thunderclash gives a triumphant whistle. Makeshift dumps the saw safely aside and reaches for an emergency stasis container. If he can get the spark into somewhere safe, they might have a shot of getting it to a proper stasis unit.

[random_xtras]

There's a sudden flash of light, and something hits the little jet-former in the chest... and sinks in.

Pain jolts his systems, fear and confusion and longing... and the slightly scrambled notes of a song that he heard only that morning.

[backupbots]

He gives a pained cry, jerking back and only staying in the air out of instinct. Falling is bad, falling gets you trampled or captured or worse...

Makeshift is beside him in a flash, running hasty scans to try and work out what's happened. The Decepticon's spark is gone, and logically...

[random_xtras]

The cleanup bot nods, but he's frowning with concern. "Thunderclash? Are you alright?"

Nightwish is struggling, weakening once more as her awareness wavers.

-Dying....- The thought is faint but resigned. -Right?-

[backupbots]

No. No, I don't think so. That hadn't even occurred to him - it seems to him that she's pretty emphatically not dying. Sure doesn't feel like it.

Thunderclash mangages to focus at the sound of his name. He chuckles weakly and claps a hand on Makeshift's shoulder. "Even if I wasn't, I'd be in good hands, wouldn't I?"

"Don't worry," Makeshift says calmly. "You can go and give your report."

[random_xtras]

-Want... me... to go?- Makeshift's tinkering brings an easement of her pain and illness, and she sinks, shaking.

"I guess so." The bigger mech tries to quirk a grin in reply to the chuckle, then flicks his optics to Makeshift and frowns a little, but takes the words as dismissal and nods to the Minicons before returning to his crew.

[backupbots]

You're not going anywhere until Makeshift says so. He looks up at the medic.

Makeshift nods reassuringly. "Just relax," he says. "We'll be able to separate you once she stabilises. Just ride it out until then. You'll be fine."

[random_xtras]

Nightwish can feel him all around her, forbidding her to go, but despite everything she can feel herself slipping. Frustration wells up alongside the pain and illness as she thinks bitterly that she doesn't seem to have a choice.

[backupbots]

The sense of refusal from Thunderclash increases: if she can't choose he will. But even if he wasn't addle-headed from the feedback, he has no idea what he could do - aside from upping her motivation...

Meanwhile Makeshift has commandeered a truck-former; Firebot and Prowl help him lift Thunderclash, Nightwish and all, on. The medic's still trying to help, but he knows he'll need better equipment. Not that he's going to waste time heading for his own repair bay when he knows one closer.

[random_xtras]

-M'I... worth it?- The thought's nearly too faint to hear.

[backupbots]

Slag it all.

He pulls back a moment, and then starts feeding memories to her. He lets her see weeks of being ignored, dodging careless swipes and collapsing rubble; he shows her a hundred memories of mistreatment, punishment, contempt; the feeling of years of despisal - and later, moments of desperate respect, patronising liking or film-thin flattery from the Decepticons (and even the Minicons) around him, moments where he hovered on the edge of the firing line, knowing their good treatment depended on not knowing... anything.

Then he thinks of encountering her, and realising how she felt about him. He picks out one sensation from that memory, peels it clean of all the other emotions before he passes it to her, and lets Nightwish experience the pure novelty of being genuinely loved.

Never before, he thinks, flipping through the pleasant memories that followed. That's all thanks to you.

[random_xtras]

"I suppose I have to pay for my own cleanup." The complaining is absent as he watches the wounded Minicon with concern. He doesn't really understand the little people, but hurt is hurt. It isn't fun.

[backupbots]

"You get a bill, you can send it to us," Firebot shrugs, hefting one end of Thunderclash. Miniature and delicate he might be from a Bulk perspective: at Minicon level the jet-bot is seriously heavy.

Prowl has the lighter end: namely, Thunderclash's legs, with Makeshift hovering above (though for once not literally) as they haul him inside.

[random_xtras]

Nightwish is silent and still, unaware of anything around her. Even her pain is muted now.

[backupbots]

Nonethless, her presence is still there. Thunderclash is aware of that, and he holds onto it with a dim sense of satisfaction.

The Emergency Team, meanwhile, haul Thunderclash to the door, and Makeshift presses the buzzer. Twice. There's no answer.

"I thought you called ahead," he snaps at Firebot.

"Yeah. I did. Guess she's really not in." The red Minicon shifts his load, seemingly oblivious to the horrified stares he's getting. Makeshift looks like he's going to splutter, though Prowl relaxes after a nanoclick."Take this a minute."

Makeshift does as ordered, still glaring at his leader as Firebot moves over to the door.