Surprises and Changing

Dawn is breaking, and the work cycle is about to start.
Which may be why it may be untimely for a Drift with freshly reopened wounds to be wandering around Nyon, phasing in and out of consciousness every fifteen breems or so. Those who notice him are either unconcerned, disgusted, in a hurry to get to work or all of the above. Eventually, he exhausts himself, collapses, and crawls under a bench to avoid getting run over by local traffic or buffeted by rude passerbys.
The thing about a mech like Drift looking like that is that he might go unhelped, but he doesn't go unnoticed. With the speed of a comm here, a comm there, Hot Rod gets the update, and it's with an, "I gotta go," that earns him no favors from those he abandons that he leaves to find Drift.
With Drift phasing in and out of consciousness, it might not be quite clear how long it is before Hot Rod shows up, but the flow of morning traffic is still in motion, so it can't have been that long. Transforming right into a pair of swift steps in the direction of Drift's bench, he ends up settling kneeling at the end, reaching out. "Hey -- hey, Drift! I can't tell how bad it is under there, but you don't look good." He aims his tone light, but the worry is obvious beneath.
"Rod! Thank Primus," Drift says, shaking whatever fatigue he's battling off of him momentarily. He tries to sit up but only manages to knock his helm on the bench he's beneath. He winces, and crawls out, standing up shakily. "I've been looking for you. There's something I need to show you," he says, folding his arms so that the ugly, oozing chafe burns on his arms are less noticeable. A closer look at Drift will show that someone had indeed patched him up previously, but it would appear that he ripped the patches off....
"I hope it's a doctor." Hot Rod regards Drift somewhat skeptically as he stands, then gives him a light push on the shoulder to sit /on/ the bench rather than crawl under it. "What did you do? We need to go find Ratchet, or is he just going to finish the job and offline you if he gets a look at you?"
"I'm fine," he brushes Hot Rod off. When Hot Rod forces him sit on the bench, he springs right back up, shaking his helm. "No..." he says, "not now." He grabs Hot Rod's hand and starts dragging him along. Again. "We can talk when we get there," he says.
"What is it with your idea of /fine/." Hot Rod requires little prompting to follow. He falls in line next to Drift, the better to catch him if he /passes out again/. "I barely know one end of a first aid kit from another and I can tell you're not fine." Despite his complaints, he doesn't knock Drift over the head and drag him off to drop him at the feet of a medic, so he places /some/ trust in Drift's sense of self-preservation. (What a mistake.)
"Rod. Stop. I don't need to see a medic right now," Drift says dismissively. "This is important." He drags Hot Rod onto the next public transport heading for the south end of Nyon. "It's.. a surprise," he says, his expression unreadable.
"You're important too!" Hot Rod says with broad exasperation. "Ugh, fine. But one of these days we're going to go a whole month without you bleeding out to one degree or another in Nyon. It's going to be great. We're going to do so many things that don't involve you going 'I'm fine' while I'm going 'and that bit that just fell off back there, was that important?'" He learns from Ratchet, see. Yet as they head toward the south end, he leans forward with an eagerness that betrays how easily he can be distracted. "What kind of surprise?"
Drift smiles and slings an arm around Hot Rod. "Aw, thanks, that's nice to know." He grins. "Yeah. One of these days. One day, when you're Rodimus. Or you're buying me a drink." He winks, then laughs. "Please. It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you," he says to Hot Rod.
"I'll totally buy drinks next time," Hot Rod says with the swiftness of someone as likely to forget by the time it's his turn to buy. It's not malicious, or anything, just ... Hot Rod being Hot Rod. He puts an arm around Drift in turn to give his shoulder a gentle shake. "And then you'll have to stay in one piece. Gotta have you in top shape so that we can take out the Institute, undermine Senate authority, and generally make Sentinel's life a living hell." Hot Rod will never make friends with Sentinel if he says things like that. What a shame. "Anyway, it would still be a surprise /when/ you told me."
Drift laughs. "Yeah, I know, drinks on you until you become Rodimus. Then, when and if you manage it, I'll buy you all the drinks you bought me. In a single night. And you sure as hell better drink them all." He laughs. "You're going to be so slagging over energized." He looks highly amused at the notion, before glancing over at Hot Rod cheekily. He's kidding. Kind of.
"Yeah, yeah, we can talk about that when we get there," he says, waving a hand dismissively at him. "No... you have a funny definition of surprise." The public transport is slowing to a stop, and Drift gets up.
"Sounds like a terrible idea." So of course Hot Rod greets it with a grin. He rises with Drift, and has to keep himself from running ahead mostly because he has no idea where they are going. He keeps trying to edge forward and then forces himself to fall back in line with Drift. "Come on, then, I want to know." He isn't quite whining -- but it's really closer to it than is dignified.
"Hey calm your aft," Drift says, stepping in front of Hot Rod. "We're almost there."
He steps off the transport and out onto... an unpaved road? It looks like they just got off into the middle of nowhere. They're on the far south end of Nyon, on the outskirts of the city. Drift transforms zooms down the unpaved road, laughing. "<Hurry up, slow aft!>" he comms Rod.
The first thing that Hot Rod comms in answer is /impolite/, but he throws all the rest of his energy into a quick, smooth transformation sequence that sends him speeding to catch up to Drift. His tires bite into the unpaved road and his engine growls as he races to erase that slight edge that Drift won by running ahead. He has the speed to back the flames he wears so proudly on his hood. "<First calm my aft, then hurry up, slow aft -- pick one!>"
Drift just laughs, enjoying the friendly competition. His engines rev and he inches ahead of Rod. "<Haha, I'll take both>" Drift says.
Then he suddenly swerves off the road towards a tall rocky formation to their left, consequently disappearing behind it.
A touch slower to react, Hot Rod spits a few more curses in Drift's direction. His language is terrible. He should be ashamed of himself. (Not possible, alas.) He comes around, having fallen a little bit farther behind, with engine hot as he races behind the formation to try and catch up. AGAIN.
What lies behind the rocky formation may lift Hot Rod's spirits and repair his wounded pride. Perched atop an outcropping is a ship. A very, very large ship that definitely looks space-worthy. And, it's red. Okay, it's not Rod Red. It's more like, burgundy, but still, red.
Drift looks over at Hot Rod for approval. "Do you like it? Now, I know what you're thinking. No, we can't take into space. The guy I bought it from used to be a space researcher for the government, but since that isn't allowed anymore, a tracking chip that activates once the border is crossed is somewhere inside of it. And yes, the government has the other end of the tracker so if we stray off the beaten path they will track us down. And beat the scrap out of us."
"/Nice/." Even the fact that is more burgundy than, you know, hot rod red can't dampen the enthusiasm in Hot Rod's voice. Only the revelation about the tracker can, causing him to make an exaggeratedly disgusted noise. "Yeah, of /course/ there's a tracker. Government just has to know everything about everyone, don't they. Bet that researcher is mad. How fast can it go? You know, if they can't catch you, can't beat you," he says with obvious tactical genius.
"Uh, I guess," Drift says, shrugging. He shakes his helm. "Rod, no. We would not outrun or outgun them, that would be like, ten to one," he says, "so just don't even entertain the idea. I don't know really. It was built for research so it isn't the fastest ship on the block, that's for sure," he says.
The gangplank lowers, and Drift starts walking up it with some effort, motioning for him to follow. Hey, he's still sort of bleeding give him a break.
Hot Rod definitely looks like he's /entertaining the idea/. "Uh huh," he tells Drift, all totally listening, totally agreeing, while everything else about him just screams what a lie that is. He follows after Drift with youthful eagerness, only just barely not racing ahead of him. It takes /him/ no effort to walk. Because he isn't bleeding. DRIFT SHOULD TRY IT SOMETIME.
"Rod, I'm serious," Drift says, entering the ship, his footsteps echoing as he walks into the open space they've walked into. The hall they're now facing is long, with a vaulted ceiling, rooms to both their left and right. At end of the hall is an elevator with clear paneling.
"....I don't want you to get yourself killed. You and Ratchet are the only people in the world that I have left now," he says, his expression glazing over.
"I'm still here, aren't I?" Hot Rod bumps Drift's shoulder with his own as they walk down the hall. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got way too much to do to get killed. /We've/ got way too much to do. So take better care of yourself, mech! Shiftlock told me that you and Blast Off got in a fight. Is that what that is?" he asks with a gesture at, you know, the /bleeding/.
"Yeah, for now," Drift says, sounding worried. "Look, for all I know that researcher might have lied and this ship might not be space worthy so don't jump the gun just yet." He sighs, and his expression suddenly turns bitter. "That slagger. Yes.. you should avoid her. At all costs. She's been helping Blast Off for Primus knows how long, all the while knowing he was out to put my helm on a spike. I went to her place and it was a total setup. She backstabbed me. I should have known." He brushes past Rod, looking hurt.
"Look, I don't know what happened there, but from what she said, she was mostly trying to keep you guys from killing each other." Hot Rod moves quickly to catch up with Drift. "I won't argue about it, but you do have a way of landing yourself in fights." For example: /how they met/. Fighting!
"So you think I'm lying." He stops walking abruptly. "Of course she told you that, do you think she'd just admit that she had it out for me too? Don't be so naive. At one point she even helped Blast Off. You can't believe everyone, Rod. You can believe me, or her. They're both a couple of lousy slaggers just wanting to see me dead, that's all." He shakes his helm. "You don't understand."
"Not that simple, Drift. And I wouldn't let either of them see you dead, if it came to that," Hot Rod adds. "Not that I think it will. Okay? I'm with you. Promise." He stops, facing Drift with a serious expression that lasts only a moment before he grins. "So? Show me this thing! What can it do? Other than go into space, /for now/."
"...." Drift hugs Hot Rod. And doesn't let go of him for a solid five kliks or so. Then he laughs, and grabs Hot Rod's hand, running down the corridor and dragging him along much like a toddler who is anxious to show his best friend the sand castle he just built. "You have to see your room! And the adjoining office. And, oh, what should we name it? It has weapons, a sanitation facility and living quarters! I'm telling you, this could be the mobile bunker for the resistance movement you're starting..." He pulls Rod into the elevator and pushes the button for the top floor.
Hot Rod laughs, once, but it's a warm sound rather than a mocking one. He returns the embrace, then follows after with mirrored enthusiasm. He is SO into sand castles. "Office. Now /that/ sounds a little ridiculous, doesn't it? What do you do in an office? Sit in a desk and look at really important datapads? I bet there are forms, too." And other terrible, terrible things. Like responsibility. Work.
The elevator starts moving upward, and Drift laughs at Hot Rod. "I don't know. I honestly have no idea. I've never worked in an office so I'm the wrong person to ask. But it's all yours, so I just say do whatever the hell you want with it." He beams at Hot Rod.
Eventually, the elevator dings, and the doors open into another hallway. And at the end of the hallway is a grandiose bedroom with a massive porthole that allows whoever is in the room to have a look at the environment outside the ship. Adjoining the bedroom is a spacious office, that even has Hot Rod's name emblazoned on a gold badge right next to the door leading into the office.
Drift peers at Hot Rod, his optics searching for approval. "What do you think?"
"Paint flames on the walls." That's about all Hot Rod comes up with to do with an office before the elevator dings. Rather than approval in his expression, he looks flat out intimidated by the scope of the space in a way he wasn't just seeing the ship. A ship itself is too big to grasp; this is just small enough to be too much. Hot Rod steps out with his arms spread to span the hallway like someone who is much more used to tiny, narrow passages where a mech with broad shoulders might need to turn sideways to slide through. "Wow," he says, and he laughs, but a little like it hurts. "Forget about an office, I don't even know what to do with all this."
Drift looks amused. "Okay, if you want to."
Drift doesn't say anything for a moment. "It's all yours," he says quietly, looking at Hot Rod uncertainly. "Let's go up," he says. Then he reaches up and pulls open a trapdoor on the ceiling, which opens out to the top of the ship. A ladder falls down and Drift climbs onto it, motioning for Hot Rod to follow.
Hot Rod still looks a little unsteady as he follows after Drift. He's unusually quiet, with a frown that suggests a great deal of processing.
As soon as the two of them reach the top of the ship, it lurches, and starts moving upward, heading for the skies. Drift is standing a little ways off, a distant look in his optics. "Sorry," he says after a moment, "I put it on a timed autopilot."
He sighs. "I used to just want to run away. But after I met you and saw the vision you had for Cybertron, I started reassess everything. I had hope things could change. And that I might change for the better too." He pauses. "And who knows. Maybe we're halfway there."
Skies are easier to handle than big rooms, apparently, because Hot Rod's expression clears and he settles. "It can," he agrees. "Things can change. Things have to change." He is quiet, and serious, and it might not even be that strange any more, because he shows hints of this determination more and more, particularly around Drift. "You and I change every day, and we're going to /make/ things change."
They're above the clouds now, staring at the stars that are slowly winking out as the sun rises. "Do you think we're half way there?" Drift asks, lying down and looking up at the vast sky above them. He pauses, and looks over at Hot Rod. "More importantly, do you think I'll ever become better?"
Settling into a seat next to Drift, Hot Rod vents heavily. "I think we're just taking our first step, most of the time." He glances over, expression surprised. "Yeah, of course I do! Like I said: every day. Your spark is in the right place, Drift. I know it."
Drift laughs, and stands up, his optics bright and happy for once in a very long time. He shoves Hot Rod's helm down playfully. "I love you, bro," he says before heading back towards trapdoor.