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.-

Then she lifts her head to looks at the tiny being sheltered in the curve of her body, one long finger tracing gently along his helm as she remembers how many times she'd had to rescue him from walking over the edge of the bar the night before. "Hey, 'Clash are you awake yet?"

Comments

[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.livejournal.com]

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]

-Not... much...profit... to you... now....- There's a faint sense of letting go.

[backupbots.livejournal.com]

Indignation ensues. He came out here to retrieve her - he's not going home empty-handed. Not if you die, you lugnut! Stay here!

Other thoughts she might pick up on are rising, including the sense that she doesn't know the half of his plans - and also that she wouldn't know profit if it exploded in her face. Which is rather too rude for his usual style. It's probably the nausea talking.

[random_xtras]

-For what?- Her own ire rises weakly, rekindling her fighting spirit as she thinks disjointedly of spending the rest of her life in some clunker of a shell. Also coming back at him is the rejoinder that he probably hasn't found out the half of her yet. That last thought is followed by a fleeting memory of wiping data from mainframes and processors at her last posting.

Even with her temper flaring that strong sense of affection is unabated.

[backupbots.livejournal.com]

For me! he almost thinks - the thought is silenced before it forms words, but the other spark might pick up on it all the same.

Stay and see, he says instead, background thoughts complaining that she's underestimating what he can arrange. You said I could look out for you: now take my advice and stick with me.

[random_xtras]

She catches it, and he gets the sense that she's confident he'd find someone else without trouble.

Then she settles down again and seems to look at him for a long moment.

[backupbots.livejournal.com]

There's a surge of frustration. What kind of Decepticon wants to die?

Thunderclash can't outright order her, though - or at least he doesn't think he can. He steadies himself, waiting to see what she does. To see how far he'll have to go to convince her to stay.

[random_xtras]

She wonders how far he'd go. -...Proud one.-

The thought is matter of fact, but then the coherency vanishes abruptly in an overwhelming surge of nausea.

[backupbots.livejournal.com]

Fool one, he thinks bitterly, shuddering with the nausea. Proud one wouldn't play a hero.

[random_xtras]

-Was... hungover.... Nggnnnn.- She clings to him mentally, trying to find steadiness as her awareness flickers and surges. -Gonna... owe you my spark....-

[backupbots.livejournal.com]

Thunderclash... really doesn't have a problem with that. He's not sure if he can hold onto her in turn, but he tries. Makeshift's doing something, he hopes.