re_alignment | video;

Entry tags:

✘ tf: bayverse | sideswipe

video;

[Well, contrary to all his talk and all his... well. Arguing with people. When Sideswipe's video feed turns on, he's curled in a ball of silver misery. He's buried himself under a tarp and... ]

[... appears to be shaking.]

It's cold. It's not supposed to be cold on this planet. Is it?

[Wow he sounds crankier than usual. Something's got to be wrong.]

I haven't had a decent fight in weeks and everything is just... it hurts.

[Yeah that's a whine. He curls under the tarp a little more, looking pathetic as possible. Which may not actually be an act.]

[Looks like someone smashed themselves into that nifty robot flu.]

I want a medic.

[One more whine before he turns off the feed.]

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I can't look. Moving hurts.

[Yep. Still whining.]

You'll have to do it for me.

Mio dio...

Now?

[He was about to do important mission things!]

Yes, now.

I'm practically dying.

[Good. The longer you delay, the better.]

I severely doubt that.

I'm coming, I'm coming.

You sound like a wounded minicon.

You don't know that. I could be.

Maybe I'm wounded too.

You can't be serious.

[SIDESWIPE YOU'RE MORE OF A DIVA THAN HE IS.]

I am deathly serious.

[He's already walking through the door, muttering Italian under his 'breath'.]

I was planning on Stealth Ops today, you know.

[By then, he's wriggled most of himself under the tarp. The shaking isn't an act. He's cold.]

[But he pokes his face out from under it, looking genuinely miserable -- though when Mirage mentions that, his expression becomes even more so.]

Sorry, I couldn't be dying more conveniently.

[... Good. Nothing happened yet.]

[So he notices. He can see Sideswipe's plating shivering from the entrance, and as such, goes to grab the flag neatly folded in the corner. With a few swats to the air to open it up, he places it around the mech.]

Try not to do it again.

[There's a slight tone of humor to it, despite how he was really hoping to get something done today.

A hand reaches out to his face, touching it.]

!! Argento, you are absolutely frigid!

[No, he fully intends to do it again. And again. As often as he can. He feels horrendous but... there's an added benefit of his whining being a distraction...]

[He tilts his face into the touch, then nods, looking the slightest bit smug when Mirage reacts.]

Told you so.

[That thought was in the back of his mind as he continued to cradle that face in his hand, leaning forward to get a better look at him.]

How is the flag helping?

Not... much.

[Which is true. Might as well be truthful -- if he's going to overreact, he might as well base it in truth.]

Hurts too. Things just... ache.

[There's no words. All Sideswipe'll feel is metal pressed against him, with a warm engine running.

Looks like someone's joining you under that tarp, Sideswipe. Whether you're sick or not.]

[He's startled, at first. After their little... argument... he hadn't thought Mirage would be so supportive. But here he is. Offering engine heat.]

[Engine heat which he curls close to, clings to. And buries his head against.]

[... maybe if he acts desperate enough, the distraction will be complete.]

[That certainly was a doozy, wasn't it. He's surprised Sideswipe wasn't moping about that. Maybe the sickness was to thank for it, in a way...

He doesn't mind the close contact, if it helps the silver bot, pulling him against his red armor.]

Mio amore~ What has gotten into you?

[He probably was moping about it. When he got sick, anyway. Now, he's just seeing if he can use this to his advantage.]

[It does help. He does stop shivering a little.]

It needs to get out of me, that's all I know.

Then you need to rest.

[It's amazing how quickly he came back. How fast he responded. As if he were waiting for Sideswipe to do something to get his attention.

Maybe this was that something.]

...

[He'll run that engine a little warmer, to build up heat under the two blankets]

[He almost says something smart-ass, but he suddenly shudders hard, intakes shuddering and ... coughing... for lack of a better word.]

[Well. It's one way to get Mirage back. And keep him close.]

It's still cold.

[Which is what he figures he needs to say, to keep Mirage here, and not wandering off on his stealth-opps to get needled or whatever.]

... Why did you come back?

[Mirage takes the tarp, wrapping it full circle around them so heat couldn't escape.

Although, Sideswipe's question is a difficult one to answer, so he has to think on it a moment.]

...

Because, argento. No matter how much you irritate me, or disagree with me, or get into trouble... no matter how many buttons you push...

You're what I have left.

[And it was true in more ways than one.]

[It takes the silence for his shaking to slow down, and settle into intermittent shivering. During which, he just watches Mirage, waiting.]

[A little afraid of what he's going to say.]

[The answer is far better than he expected, and he turns his head, pressing it into Mirage's shoulder. He's... relieved. Oddly so.]

[This is just supposed to be a fling, right? Not mean anything...]

... I looked for you. For whatever that's worth.

Your cloaking is cheating, just so you know.

[Just the contact is enough. To feel Sideswipe reciprocating to what he's giving.

It's more welcoming than anything that could be said.]

Argento...

[There's a soft chuckle, running a finger along one of those drooped doorwings.]

That is worth more than you know.

[He keeps his face planted where it is. He doesn't want to meet Mirage's optics -- out of shame, annoyance. All kinds of mixed emotions that shouldn't be there.]

[But there's a ragged, weary thrum of his engine, all the same.]

Well.

There. You have it now. Just don't go spreading it around.

[He doesn't ask anything from the bot, grateful enough that things are on the mend.

Or, more accurately described, held off on dealing with.]

You know I keep my secrets.

[He makes a quiet noise of acceptance. All right. He can buy that.]

[Another shiver drives him closer to Mirage's side.]

Good. So. I can say...

Thanks.

For coming back.

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