Chapter Text
“Sir, with all due respect, you shouldn’t be here right now.”
“And, do tell me, Kaon, why that is?” Tarn’s voice, always smooth and slick as oil, is replaced with a painful rasp instead. It sucks all the intimidation out of his possible threats and even his broad strides are replaced with a pathetic kind of stumbling. Kaon ex-vents and diverts attention from his consoles to their compromised captain. “This is my ship,” Tarn says. “The noble duties of the--”
Tarn stills. Kaon arches an orbital ridge. “Sir?”
“A moment, Kaon.”
Kaon crosses his arms. Even without actual optics, his glare is inherently judgmental and it is only thanks to Tarn’s own stubbornness that keeps Kaon from coming to his captain’s aid. It wouldn’t be met with gratitude, for starters, and Nickel had yet to divulge the details of the virus Tarn carries; they don’t know whether it’s contagious or not.
“Nickel’s report urges you to rest for at least--” Kaon unfurls his arms to retrieve a datapad lingering by his consoles. He’d anticipated Tarn’s appearance and prepared accordingly. “--Four to five solar-cycles. Effective as per yesterday,” he finishes.
Tarn looks at him. Kaon suspects his optics are closed underneath the mask. “There are matters of great importance that are to be dealt with sooner rather than later.”
“Have you relayed this to Nickel?” Kaon asks. Tarn’s plating tenses. Clearly, he has not. Kaon watches as his commander clenches his servos to fists. “Tarn--”
“It can’t wait, Kaon,” Tarn presses with urgency to his tone. Kaon lifts a servo to the side of his helm and when Tarn doesn’t react to the obvious gesture, sends a message to someone Kaon knows is more than equipped to deal with a compromised tankformer.
(And who probably has nothing better to do, given the response is immediate.)
“Then it has to,” Kaon says, concern for Tarn’s condition outweighing the consequences that could come with standing up to his commander. He changes tactics, applying a more factual approach. “Your condition is not suited to the battlefield. It would jeopardize the mission.”
Tarn flinches back. Kaon may not have Nickel’s level of sass and courage, but he possesses the intimate knowledge of what makes Tarn tick. Armed with that knowledge, Kaon knows that his commander has no rebuttal other than the excuses he’s already given him.
“Enough,” Tarn growls. Kaon did not expect him to bend to his demands that quickly but he senses a clear conflict in the way flares of Tarn’s EM field touch to his own, rather than being wound tightly around the mech himself. “I do not have time for this. We do not--?!”
Then Tarn is in the air. Kaon’s aid comes in the shape of Helex, lifting Tarn with his primary arms. Tarn’s cannons buzz to life but aim at nothing, unable to reach when Helex secures his waist with his secondary arms and shifts his primary servos to seize Tarn’s wrists.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Tarn demands with a fire that Kaon thinks impressive for a mech currently in such a sorry state.
“Sorry, sir, Kaon said he needed a hand to handle things,” Helex mutters, muffled from where his helm is hidden behind Tarn’s tank tracks. “Slag, you’re running awfully hot. Can’t be good for the old systems.”
Kaon feels Tarn’s optics burn holes through his frame. He works quickly to placate their commander, lest he’d like for his spark to be snuffed out with a single command. “It’s with your health in mind,” he says. Then again, perhaps Tarn needed a little more convincing that Kaon’s way is the best out of two options. “Unless you would prefer me to contact Nickel instead for an update on your condition?” He asks, coy attitude faked for dramatic effect.
Tarn does not respond initially. He slumps in Helex’s grip, which loosens when Tarn gives in to his overworked systems and offlines his battle protocols as well. “...Fine,” he concedes, much to Kaon’s relief.
“Take me to my quarters,” Tarn tells Helex. He notably does not argue the fact that he is being carried.