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Difference between revisions of "2018-12-03 Surpass"

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Latest revision as of 05:11, 3 December 2018

Surpass
Date 2018/12/03
Location Lost Light - Science and Medical - Medibay
Participants Minimus Ambus, Prowl
Summary Prowl visits Minimus in the medibay. Talk of future plans and other... things.

Prowl is still nice and crunchy from Trypticon's tail slap, and yeah, he misses his light bars, but right now he's missing his medium green. They touched base briefly in the return to the fleet, but Prowl seeks a proper reunion, optics bright as he works through the crowded medibay. It's gruesome and unpleasant, but patients are smiling through their pain, chattering with their fellow soldiers, relief buzzing the atmosphere.

Minimus isn’t smiling, but then, that’s hardly unusual for him. His actual arm rebuild is on First Aid’s overlong work list, and for the moment he is actually laying back in his berth, reading a datapad with some messages transferred to it in a slightly squinty-eyed way as he holds it up over his head. His patches are ugly but functional, and he looks much better than he did when Prowl saw him in the immediate aftermath of getting cronched.

Prowl beelines and sets his palms on the edge of Minimus' berth. "They haven't replaced your arm yet?" He says with zero actual annoyance, too pleased to keep from grinning. "Want me to switch around the triage?" he offers, "Nothing serious, maybe Aquafend can stand to wait on his fuel pump transplant."

“No.” Minimus looks past his datapad to give Prowl a narrow-eyed look. He rests the datapad down across his chest and thunks his head heavily against the edge of the berth. “I am not going to intervene in Ratchet’s ordering of his department and I suggest you not do that either. Hello, Prowl.”

"Oh, fine. Hello Minimus," Prowl promptly gathers Minimus' hand when it's freed up, and draws it against his grille, threading fingers. "It's over. It's fragging over. You were a sight." Presumably in the recordings Prowl found the time to skim. Or watch thoroughly, over and over. "I'm glad you were in there with them."

Minimus yields his hand to the warmth of Prowl’s grasp, braced against his grille. He cycles a low sigh through his vents, tilting his head as he looks up and over Prowl with a narrowing of his bright eyes. “Do you believe it is truly done?” he asks, tone a little muted.

"There was no one quite like Megatron, if that's what you're getting at. I know you wanted to try him, but... I dreaded the risk of him simply living. I'm happy with this outcome. Don't tell Soundwave." Prowl casts a careful look around the peering eyes of the medibay and grumbles low, pulling off a decent Minimus impression, "I'd really like to kiss you."

“How romantic.” Minimus rumbles these words in the depths of his frame, his thumb gliding over Prowl’s grill. He rolls a look around the people present in the medibay, which to be fair literally no one is looking in their direction. “Nothing like short cuts past due process to put me in the mood,” he says. His eyes blink: light darkening and then waking again in their scarlet glow. “Perhaps if you can engineer an escape from custody for me,” he suggests, humor dry.

Prowl's laugh is packed with bitter frustration. "Later then," he insists. Like he can actually make any demands here. He tries, anyway. There's a clear lean in his stance, pushing against the touch against his grill. It must feel nice, as he parts his lips to continue talking, and just hangs there for a moment. "...If I walk you out they'll just forget about your arm. So, what's the plan? After everything is sorted. Fight Chase for your old position again? Duel to the death, like the 'cons?"

“No.” Minimus levers himself upright, scooting to the edge of the berth. He shifts, rolling his empty shoulder socket in a wiggle of his patched arm fragments. He tugs on Prowl’s grille exactly as he was once advised not to, and then lifts his hand away to cup his face, brushing his thumb along the line of his cheek. He says, “I don’t know what my plan is exactly, but I have no intention of going backwards.”

Prowl decides that he doesn't care about anything or anyone else in the grand universe at all right now. He's just going to focus solely on the tug, feeling it even when Minimus' grip drifts to his cheek instead. Optics halving, he tilts into the palm with his wobbly smile, spark lit ablaze from these tiny little gestures. Minimus never needs to do much. "Whatever you do, I hope you'll have me along with you."

“I hope so too,” Minimus says, his voice very soft. “I never really… planned for an after. That’s part of why I joined the Lost Light in the first place…” He trails off and then looks away. His hand turns, turning backwards so that it is the backs of his fingers that slide down Prowl’s face before his hand drops away. “But Cybertron needs rebuilding. Megatron demonstrated how vulnerable it is. I suppose Starscream did too.”

Prowl's dimmed eyes only brighten when the touch slides away. He doesn't pout, but his jaw juts ever so slightly. "I trust the fleet's Command not to screw anything up. But sure, yeah, we can linger to make sure it all resolves smoothly. First thing's first though, Rodimus has to come out of that coma."

Minimus’s gaze darts in the direction of the berth in question, and then he looks back to Prowl. “He will,” he says, with a kind of bull-headedness in his simplicity.

Prowl nods, quiet for a moment, folding his arms. Then, against his better judgement, he asks, "Did I give you enough time? To... to recover from... that. That situation. Him."

Minimus eyes Prowl with a sharpness to his expression, a hardening of his jaw that is, in its inception, a little unfair. Grinding his teeth a little, he glances across to Rodimus’s berth again, and then returns his attention to Prowl. “I believe I was the one who made the first move this time around, Prowl.”

"Does he still trouble you?" Prowl presses, not very carefully. (edited)

Minimus’s frown is a deep-creased thing. His hand withdrawn entirely now, he fists it into a close knot in his lap. He says, “What are you jealous of?”

"I'm not jealous," Prowl says, predictably. "I'm... I just want to know if you're..." Hmm, the right words. "I'd prefer to surpass all of your expectations, whether they be innate, or what you've just grown... accustomed to." He smiles, as if he did a good job navigating that mess of a response.

Minimus gives Prowl a slightly aggravated look and then lifts his hand to pin the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I suggest you try not to compare yourself to him,” he says. “Our relationship is different, and frankly, you don’t know the first thing about it besides whatever I said when I was grieving it.”

Prowl eyes Minimus, doors leveling out, unreadable. His smile fades, and he takes a small step back, clasping his hands together. "You're right, I don't know. And I suppose I'll never know. He'll pull through," he says, forcing a hard wrap on the conversation. "I'll give these medics one more day to get you an arm."

“Did I offend you?” Minimus asks, his voice gentling again, although he sounds a little tired as he asks; his gaze drops to study the knuckles of his hand. “I apologize. I seem to hurt you more than I intend, Prowl.”

"No. I'm... No. Just kiss me later." Prowl pats Minimus' knee. "I'll let you get back to squinting at text. Don't get too rowdy." His doors flick up. See, he's fine.

Minimus takes his hand before he can withdraw entirely. He grips it tightly, not quite close enough a grip to crunch it, but with a quiet, earnest pressure. “Later,” he says.

Prowl had intended to rush away and brood for a bit, but Minimus catches him before he can flee, and smooths out his ruffled armor with that nice, strong grasp. "Okay."

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