Chapter Text
Working in the mines, there were a lot of feelings one had to become acquainted with to survive. Toiling day in, day out, was no easy job; not when there were quotas to meet, superiors to impress, and a team—a planet—who relied on one’s efforts to unearth their precious life-blood energon. Under the constant threat of a shaft collapse or explosion mid-job, the occasional physical reprimand, and of course, the pangs of rocks hitting back against one’s chassis and hauling heavy, sharp tools, pain was a simple, straightforward feeling to get used to. While primarily physical, mastering how to brunt force through the ache was essential. Without pain, after all, there wouldn’t be relief. Dealing with the on-and-off anxiety that kept most bots tightly wound long into off-shift, relief became a balm to look forward to after a hard day. Pain and relief worked in tandem in the mines, almost like a fellow compatriot. There still required a tough hide to bear it.
Currently, something new has begun to stir within D-16. Before, he could disregard it as remnant effects of said nerves after work, but it has since evolved to persist even afterward and into a sort of uncomfortable warmth. D-16 refused to bring it up with anyone. A broken bot was a benched bot, and D-16 was certain he wasn’t broken, at the very least. Even his best friend, Orion Pax, wasn’t privy to the situation. Knowing Orion’s antics, if he became concerned enough, D-16 might as well find himself marching to a medic before he could properly explain his opposition to the mech. Always like Pax to run headlong into something without thinking. D-16 mused to himself. Even still, he couldn’t be mad at Orion if he were to do so. The mech’s spark spoke volumes more than any logic his or D-16’s processor could rationalize, and always had the best intentions.
Well…Almost.
Working his jaw, D-16 let his optics stray to the battered ground of the shuttle train he, and other miners, had boarded on the way to their next shift. His predicament remained unchanged. Akin to a cinched cable, or a nagging notification that refused to stay dismissed, D-16 tried to focus his attention away from the tightened pressure in his chest and heat that bore beside his hearing components. It didn’t hinder his work, but it was an increasing annoyance; something more to be tolerated, like the rest of his cumbersome feelings. Relief would come soon enough, as it always has.
Unfortunately, an uptick of chatter and a familiar laugh served to be more captivating than the floor D-16 was deadset to distract himself with. A glance had to be spared. D-16 reasoned with himself that it would be the last, although evidence from the trip thus far suggested otherwise. Hexagonal optics narrowed and spun in on two mechs further down the line: Orion Pax and a bot D-16 picked up named ‘Spaz.’ The pair were deeply engrossed in a conversation D-16 was polite enough to stay out of. Still, he couldn’t help but observe, or prevent his attentions be pulled toward the two when Orion’s distinct voice cut through other bots onboard. For the milage the mining transports reached, as Orion threw his head back and batted his servos against Spaz’s chassis, time seemed to slow. Soft baby blues rivaled the piercing glow of the other bot’s cool visor, and his red plating, with all its dings, dents, and smudges, caught the light of Sol filtering through the shuttle’s glass like the brilliant hue of an energon cube. Spaz said something D-16 couldn’t catch, but it incited Orion into another giggle fit. A smirk tugged at Spaz’s dermas, and the black and white mech leaned against a crate. D-16 ignored the pressing ache his frame relentlessly reminded himself of as Orion turned his head, preventing D-16 from seeing his expression.
A breath passed, and just as easily Iacon continued its blurring illusion as the train trekked on.
D-16 continued his observation, internally withdrawn and gaze distanced, only wishing he could see through the two mechs instead of them remaining as the centerpiece of his consciousness. Invasive as one’s prying optics could be assaulting, Orion suddenly turned his helm back and faced D-16 directly. D-16 stilled, but an innocent smile was exchanged, Orion remaining oblivious to D-16’s conflict. Following with words D-16 still couldn’t hear, Orion began to pace over, Spaz in tow with a playful lift in his step.
D-16 straightened up at once, if only to be presentable, and didn’t bother trying to hide that he’d been staring. Orion would pick him apart if he tried, aggravating mech he was. As of now, it didn’t seem like Orion cared, and saddled up right next to him with a friendly bump to his shoulder.
“Mech of the groon,” Spaz spoke and greeted D-16 with a nod. “D-16, yeah? Heard good things.”
“That so?” D-16 shot a not-so-indirect look to Orion, who feigned to miss it entirely by the sheepish look on his plates.
Spaz hummed, moving right along. D-16 didn’t know if the mech consciously chose to disregard the silent spat between himself and Orion, or if he truly didn’t notice. “Top of the leaderboards! First in our sector. It's a big honor, meeting mark-mech N0.1.”
Which was when Orion finally decided to pitch in. “Speaking of, Jazz is joining our sector. Ain’t that great, D?” “I don’t even know this mech.”
“You’ll get to know him!” Orion encouraged, bumping his arm against D-16’s again. This was beginning to feel like another wild pitch for an exceptionally bad Orion Pax plan to go off the rails.
It didn’t hurt to correct his internal designation for the newcomer, first. Jazz. Jazz. Where did D-16 get Spaz from? The mental note was changed immediately, and spying the single pristine, golden divot on his miner badge, confirmed that Jazz was indeed transferred to their unit. Albeit at the lowest tier, but if he’d been transferred in the first place D-16 was willing to bet it was due to ranking up and out of his previous class.
“That’s super, yeah,” D-16 tried, slowly shifting his gaze across Orion to Jazz. “Think you can keep up?” Holding out the side of his fist and forearm to Jazz, D-16 flashed a small, competitive grin.
Jazz visibly relaxed once D-16 loosened his demeanor and matched his smirk with one of his own. “Heh, can’t compete with an attitude like that, but a spot on the leaderboard?” Bumping his forearm to D-16’s, Jazz tilted his head, visor glinting. ”That spot at number one is lookin’ cozy.”
“Gotta get through the two of us to get there then, Jazz,” Orion snarked, and crossing his arms, leaned against D-16 with a confident smirk.
“That right?” Taking the two mechs in.
D-16’s optics brightened with Orion pressed against him, and matching the mech’s bravado, chuckled. “Right,” D-16 confirmed and bumped fists with Orion as the mech crossed a servo to his.
Jazz made to make a retort, but with an abrupt shift in the cabin and outside light vanishing for the warm glow of artificial embers at the entrance to the coming mines, his vents hitched as his footing slipped. Orion gasped and quickly approaching the ground, Orion shot out a servo to interrupt Jazz’s fall.
Tightening his derma, D-16 ignored the fiery return of uncomfortable heat in his frame.
D-16 grunted an invent as he hoisted a set of heavy equipment against his chassis, and back into its proper storage crate. Stars erupted across his vision, and D-16 forced himself to take a klick of reprieve over its brim by tucking his head. The day was no more difficult than any other, but it was still gear-grinding nonetheless. His circuits felt like their ends had twisted and fried. Through closed optics, his processor actively tried to defrag the suffocating backlog of data equivalent to the stygian caverns of the mines that enclosed around them all. Releasing a breath of hot, pressurized air, D-16 bit the inside of his cheek.
He couldn’t dawdle forever.
Before getting back to task, he tested his bearings by tightening and opening his servos, feeling energy flow down his arms, tensing cables, to inevitably pull and release his digits back. It was sluggish, and at points, numb. A disgruntled slant took over D-16’s face. He took the moments opportunity to examine new grit that’d need to be picked from his seams and removed a pebble jammed by his knuckles. While insignificant compared to the lot he, and others, would discover on their frames under better light, flicking away the speck, it was still an inconvenience.
“You good, mech?” Jazz shifted behind D-16, and craned his neck forward. His tools were slung into the communal crate as well, and D-16 passed a halfhearted smile. He was glad the other didn’t initiate some kind of touch right now; thinking of how Orion, while good-meaning, wouldn’t hesitate to bump or nudge him out of his hunched state.
Which, ruminating on it, wouldn’t be quite so bad, D-16 thought. As long as it was Orion.
“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure whether he sounded convincing even to his own audials. “ You?”
D-16 had to admit that Jazz was an exceptional miner judging from his work today. With him on board, it would really help their particular sector come together for better scores, and maybe finally push Elita-1 over the edge into a managerial position like she meticulously pined (and reminded them of) for. With enough time, Jazz could really have D-16 gunning for his top rank, but frankly, D-16 wouldn’t care if he lost it. D-16 worked hard to reach his current position and strived to reach even greater heights than what his post offered, but even if he were to fall a tier or two he would gladly accept it were he to be bested by an equally driven, bolt-busting miner; more than equal: better. To lose a rank was a reflection of oneself, not those around. D-16 encouraged the competition. Having Jazz on board, top bot or not, it was another hand helping the whole; another cog in the great machine of Cybertron, even if metaphorically, given their literal absence of transformation cogs.
Jazz puffed a vent and mirrored D-16’s posture over the crate, crossing his wrists. Answering, “It's a lot to get used to, but nothing that won’t roll off the back. This’ll need to be buffed out, though.” Dragging a digit across the front of his chassis, he pointed out a clean line carved into his once crisp, white paint. It was likely caused by a stray stone shooting from a drill, and judging from its appearance, D-16 was sure it stung. There would be many more like it in the future.
Meeting D-16’s optics, Jazz gestured into the crate with a shrug. “Go ahead. I can handle the rest of this.” Leaning down, he heaved an angled slab of machinery D-16 had originally dragged over to stow away.
D-16 remained unconvinced and helped him for part of the way. “You sure?” Jazz hummed. “I can learn where to put all this stuff afterward, too.” Chuckling once, then motioned his head to the side where a streak of red and blue ran along the back wall. “‘Sides. He’s probably looking for you.”
Catching his direction, D-16 chuffed. “Pax? No.” He dismissed it simply and firmly shook his head. He helped Jazz load up another tool, painstakingly forcing his gaze back onto the task at hand. “He’s not after me.”
“Ya, sure?”
It felt like a question intended to cut D-16 to his core—so nonchalantly as well as if it were its own stone thrown at his frame. D-16 refused to look up, either at Jazz or his aforementioned best friend, but nodded with a tight-lipped grimace. “Look for yourself, if I know that bot he’s probably—”
“Orion!” Elita-1’s voice echoed across the cavern.
D-16 clicked his tongue.
“No, whatever you have to say save it until after takedown,” the femme continued. D-16 could picture her raising a servo to try and halt Orion in the midst of whatever antics he was deadset on initiating. Nothing would bar him, at least not for long.
“But Elita,” Orion half-whined, “you know it doesn’t take long to do that.”
“About as long as it’ll take to find a replacement for you in our sector,” Elita-1 bit back.
D-16 couldn’t be helped then and whipped his helm to watch the confrontation.
Pivoting from Orion, singlehandedly, Elita-1 hoisted up an abandoned appliance into the nearest cart with a resounding clatter. D-16 worried it may have broken, but Elita-1 carried on like a storm, pedes small, but marching like thunder. More than once tools were yanked from tired miner’s servos and thrown into their respective storage containers. Her optics drove piercing ice into Orion as she did so, resolved to somehow batter the demonstration of proper cleanup into his thick helm with each crash and clang of equipment. Once, her optics met D-16’s and Jazz’s from across the cavern, knowing that the former was more than friendly with Orion, but that the latter was only just getting acquitted; both very capable and hard-working bots. It may have been that reason alone or a multitude of many stacking atop each other, but their visage seemed to be an additional breaking point for a growl to erupt from her vocalizer, and in the next moment, dig an accusatory finger into Orion’s chest.
“The position you have right now is some other coggless bots’ dream,” Elita-1 rasped. “I’m positive somebot like D-16 or Jazz would love to take your place on my team and actually make their quotas, because as far I’m concerned, Pax, you’re just making it.”
D-16 adverted his gaze overhearing such scalding words. Why, out of all, D-16’s labors seemed to make him stand out so starkly was because of the extra effort he put in due to Orion’s slack. It wasn’t as if Orion skipped his shifts or purposely worked less or slower, but for the betterment of them all, D-16 deigning himself as a makeshift safeguard for poor days added up. Elita-1’s words were empty, and judging from Orion’s grinning face, last D-16 checked, he knew it too—no-cogged bots had limited options and power despite what their purpose was designated, Elita-1 included—but the thought of Orion being transferred away still sent a wave akin to fear through D-16.
It wasn’t a likely outcome even if Elita-1 went to a superior to voice her concerns, but it wasn’t impossible either. Orion and D-16 would still see each other in the barracks, but in the thick of being strut deep in gravel, rock, and mud, knowing the other was just a servo-stretch away, beside or behind the other hauling energon and their own tailpipes out of trouble, that was the true safety gate for D-16. The mines could be harmless to excavate, and neither that nor rank assurance could be measured in comparison to Orion Pax’s presence.
“’You watch my back, I promise to watch yours.’”
Always.
“Yo, D?”
D-16 grappled with the loss as the distant memory file of his and Orion’s first meeting, and subsequent pact, drifted away. Returning to a bleaker reality, he tried not to let Orion’s given nickname irk him coming from Jazz’s mouth. The black, white, and blue mech had been waving a slow hand in front of his face with a look of concern etched into his features. It took more effort than D-16 would have liked not to snap his servo around the mech’s swaying wrist.
“You sure you’re alright?”
Mouth partially agape, staring, D-16 snapped it close with a frown. His optics spun in consideration, shifting to the crate, then back to Jazz. “Yeah…Yeah.” He would be. Pausing, “...You sure you can handle the rest of this?” Gesturing to the bits of mining equipment that still needed to be stowed away.
Jazz nodded. “‘Course. You go on ahead.” His wave quickly shifted to one that shooed D-16, and D-16 couldn’t help a small grin from returning.
“Yeah yeah,” he parted graciously, “thanks.” He received an assured head bob and an all-too-relaxed grin back before D-16 properly retreated to reunite with Orion.
Elita-1 was pinching the bridge of her nose and looked thoroughly annoyed by the time D-16 padded up beside the two. The only sense of acknowledgment D-16 received from his superior was a fleeting glance before the femme twisted, showing her back, and quickly pacing away.
“Hey, I’ll see you next time!” Orion’s following wave went unnoticed. Elita-1 gave a halfhearted one back over her shoulder, the impression of brushing Orion off striking D-16, but didn’t reply to his blatantly true statement.
D-16 frowned crookedly at the exchange. Orion always tried so hard to catch her attention, taking any chance he got to either compliment her finish or flatter himself to shine brighter in her gaze. Half the time Orion failed to impress, and the other half of his attempts were ignored. A soft ache formed at the base of D-16’s throat thinking of it, and he highly suspected deeper feelings were harbored on Orion’s behalf for the femme. D-16 could admit to himself that the suspicion hurt, but only because he knew Orion would be hurt by the inevitable rejection. The poor bot had thick enough plating to brunt the harshest of debris, but protected within it laid a spark of gold, precious and exuberantly feeling. It would be a small devastation that D-16 didn’t want to see realized. Already each time Orion was subtly rejected, threads of his confidence were tried. Those very strings would always be woven into a new plan of execution, but how much more could he take before they snapped? Everyone had their limits, even Orion despite his seemingly bottomless pit of idiotic optimism; D-16 didn’t want to see that extinguished. Not even dampened.
Not if he could help it, eyeing Elita-1 stride across the cavern in a harrowing frame.
“Ready to roll?” Orion quipped with a gentle nudge against D-16’s arm.
Once again having to be resuscitated from the catastrophizing, logistical branches of his processor, Orion’s prodding incited D-16 to redirect his focus. Met with beaming blue optics, D-16 took in their slight spin and dilation. Orion’s smile rose under D-16’s gaze, allowing those very optics to shutter. Even as his face brightened with his glee, D-16 yearned to bask in his pools again. The indignant heat within his chassis softened and faded away.
With an airy breath of amusement, D-16 shook his head. “If that's what you call walking these days. Come on, the next shuttle will be here any klick.”
As expected, a shuttle arrived at the miners' station within a few klicks, and both bots had to dash aboard to ensure they’d catch it. It wouldn’t have been long for the next one given it was shift turnover, but as D-16 finally took a moment to settle after the day’s arduous strain, he decidedly did not want to be around the mines any longer than necessary.
He sighed softly, and leaning back against the train’s glass, allowed the warmth from Sol’s comforting rays to spread throughout his frame. As it began its descent above Cybertron and peeked through the gaps of the surface upon Iacon, the rumbling reverberations of the train setting off for the greater evening felt otherworldly. It occasionally did after a tolling day. D-16 basked in it, letting it meld with the remnant flares of heat that his chassis continued to spark. Orion, too, took a klick to press against the glass beside D-16, and the warmth began to circulate between them. D-16 shuttered his optics and repressed a smile.
As the mining shuttle chugged onward, with little else to occupy one’s mind, it granted an opening for D-16 to consider what to do with the remaining light of the solar cycle. Or, perhaps, what not to do. Unwinding in the comfort of the mining barracks sounded appealing to D-16, and if there was any residual energy that kept him pent up it could always be released on the rugged, resilient punching bags hanging between stalls. Fresh from a busy day, gradually winding his systems down to cap everything off with a nice energon cube to either bot-watch or read sounded nice. As the thought crossed D-16’s processor, it became a more enchanting possibility to look forward to. He’d recently acquired a handbill on the Primes, and he couldn’t wait to read through Megatronus’s passage!
Yes.
As the train came to its final stop close to mining dormitories and announced its cautionary farewells, a wide smile stretched across D-16’s face.
“Dee!” Orion’s voice rang out brightly the moment they stepped off, and practically bounced to D-16’s side, optics bright with mischief. “Wanna go out?”
D-16 blinked. It felt like his processor short-circuited rerouting his plans into completely derailing. Exasperatedly, he watched Orion bound and almost skip next to him, frame exercising the steps seamlessly and with more residual energy than a punching bag would take care of; another perk of D-16 picking up his slack at work, Orion had much more horsepower than him after it.
Catching his hesitation, Orion didn’t miss a beat before slinging a loose arm around D-16’s shoulders. The smaller bot’s weight pressed in with an easy warmth, nearly careening them to overbalance into a passing cogged mech. The sudden contact earned D-16 a fierce glare as he muttered a quick apology. Straightening, Orion, of course, remained completely unfazed.
“It’ll be fun! It’s a new rotation, so we got more credit chits.” Orion’s voice was light and coaxing. Nudging the sullen silver mech with a wink, D-16 recognized Orion’s motives for exactly what they were: trouble.
D-16 remained unimpressed. “You don’t want to save them for something cool?” D-16 didn’t even try stopping his mind from barrelling into the wall that was more Megatronus decals he had his optics set on. Even with the pay reload, he didn’t have enough to purchase them—yet. Ah, but once he did, they would sure look neat on his recharge unit. “Or hang in tonight?” He tried, tilting his head with a wry smile. “I know you were out late again, Pax. Are you not exhausted?”
“Nope!” Orion answered easily. “C’mon Dee, we’ve been buried underground all solar cycle. Let’s do something fun for a change. Like new chit exchanges,” voice turning sing-song. His field was practically buzzing with anticipation as if the mere idea of staying in was an insult to his restless spark.
D-16 rolled his optics, fighting the urge to smirk. “Pax, if you’re so keen to ‘exchange’ them, you could put them on the line playing Strat Ball against me. Or are you scared you’ll get beat again?” The challenge hung in the air, playful, but underlined by an intense rivalry D-16 knew Orion couldn’t ignore.
“Hey,” a nasally, slurred voice cut in, and before either of them could respond, both D-16 and Orion were swept within a larger bot’s arms. D-16 particularly felt very squished since Orion was still half-wrapped around him, and now this larger, deep orange bot was too. He could barely process the shift before the sheer weight of the larger bot’s presence became all-consuming. He had a green visor and a crooked smile, smelling strangely like ozone and smoke. It left D-16’s sensors twitchy. “If you two were headed out on the block, I got some places worth checking out. Some buddies o’ mine run ‘em. Opened fresh.”
“Uhh,” Orion’s face twisted in discomfort. He tried to wiggle for freedom, and D-16 gave him a sympathetic look at being unable to help. “Thanks,” Orion said, forcing a smile, “but uh, we were just headed out to grab some energon, right? His voice carried an edge of uncertainty, not nearly as persuasive as earlier when trying to convince D-16, but it didn’t seem like that really mattered now. It certainly didn’t to Big Orange, as D-16 dubbed him.
The larger mech tightened his grip slightly, his grin widening. “Aw don’t be like that, little bots. I promise it’s top-grade fun. Got good engex, energon, anything you could ever want.”
“I doubt that,” D-16 muttered.
“Sir, if you’d please just—” Orion’s voice broke off as he renewed his efforts for freedom, managing to push up on D-16 for leverage. D-16 kicked his struts in frustration and just managed to scuff the ground. Thankfully after a few tense klicks of combined attempts for escape, Big Orange finally took the hint. Orion and D-16 were set back onto their pedes with a casual, unbothered motion.
D-16 flared his plating defensively, subtly trying to shake off the lingering squeeze, and directed a glare to the floor as if that would spare him from more attention. He didn’t even realize he;d been pet on his helm until after it happened, and when he looked up, he caught Orion’s stricken stare. For a moment the the silence that followed felt different, and D-16 couldn’t vent. He couldn’t place why.
Somewhat bitingly, Orion continued. “Thank you, but maybe you can just direct us. We’re really quite—”
“Ah, I get it! Want him all for yourself, eh?” The larger bot nudged D-16, nearly causing him to stumble. D-16 shot him a narrowed look but paused when the mech extended a holo-slip.
Orion looked as if he’d gotten hit with a stick. “That’s not what I—”
“Hey, Pax, maybe we should go,” D-16 interjected, his voice a little firmer than before. His eyes dimmed slightly as he scanned over the holo-slip that’d been transferred to him. He couldn’t miss the jolt of tension in Orion’s posture from the corner of his vision, and instinctively flicked his gaze to Orion’s face, then back to the slip. “Let's just see what’s up,” the decision made at the same moment. Orion didn’t have to wonder long before D-16 returned to his side, expression flat, and shifted to share the holo-slip.
“‘Buy two, get one free,’” Orion read off. He didn’t bother hiding his displeasure. “Mngh…I dunno.” His apprehension was palpable as he looked back to Big Orange, sizing him up before his gaze shifted to other mining bots exiting a separate train. Then, his eyes finally settled back on D-16.
For a fleeting moment, it was like the world narrowed down to just the two of them again. Orion’s expression was quick to shift, however, deviating from a concerned frown to one of his soft, easygoing smiles. It served as a quiet reminder that despite Orion’s typical, lackadaisical demeanor, the deep-set exhaustion that most miners eventually experienced was still there. As one of the hardest working, D-16 was no exception to this. He wore the toll of hard work like a second frame, even if he tried to mask it. Orion, for his lofty ideas and reckless stunts, was best at hiding it, for better or for worse. Between groons gone too long in Cybertron’s depths, maintenance checks becoming less and less of a priority, and presently the added nuisance of Big Orange pestering them after work, now, holding each other’s gaze and smiling back, D-16 found a strange comfort in the silent connection.
“What?” Big Orange piped up, his voice pitching in mock surprise as he knelt down to their level. It felt more patronizing than not, like he was humoring them. “Didn’t I say it was on me?”
“Nnno,” Orion drew the word out, allowing his interrupted gaze to drift back to D-16 as if silently pleading for an out, searching for something—anything— that would grant them a mutual escape.
He wasn’t sure how to make this easier for either of them.
D-16 offered a pitying one in return, and softly between the two of them, “You wanted to go out, right?” He murmured, tone full with defeated acceptance, but firm. “I don’t think we’ll be able to shake him off, and at least costs will be…covered.”
“It's at the end of the shopping district,” the cogged bot continued, visor twinkling as he went on. It genuinely made D-16 wonder if the bot was truly, somehow malicious or just had a smooth processor. “If you’re too beat from mining away, selfless coglits ya are—” Shaking his head fondly. D-16 blinked and jerked his helm in confusion. “What?”
“I can hitch you a ride!” Big Orange boomed, his voice almost too loud even for a public area, before once again lifting the pair. Instead of the mockery of a bear hug like before, he provided precarious seating beneath their pedes with his arms instead. D-16 was the first to be perched onto the mech’s shoulder, and instinctively the unfamiliar height had him gripping the back of Big Orange’s helm for support.
Orion’s optics flicked from Big Orange’s helm to D-16’s servo, his dermas straightening into a line. The silent question, Are we really doing this? Went unasked. Already suspecting the inevitable, there was little real opposition to offer. Big Orange began stomping off with the two miners stacked like precious cargo, the ground shaking with each heavy step.
Even through a visor, D-16 could feel Big Orange’s optics linger between them. It made his plating crawl, and he attempted to relinquish his hold from the back of the bot’s helm but found the unsteady travel left him far too unbalanced to feel safe doing so. In all, he wouldn’t go and say he was uncomfortable, per se, but it did feel good to be off his pedes for once; couldn’t even get that back at the barracks. Orion, on the other hand, must have maintained his tense demeanor and didn’t share D-16’s begrudging acceptance. D-16 could feel stiffness radiating off of Orion in waves, and it must have been obvious enough for Big Orange to take notice too, because he raised his voice, “If your buddy doesn’t want to, I can drop him off.”
A cruel turn of fate, given that D-16 was the one who originally wanted to stay in tonight, and now Orion was given the opportunity. D-16 hoped Orion would take it—if anything to get away from this cogged mech and salvage the rest of his night elsewhere. Casting a sidelong glance, his face shifted into one of anxious anticipation, but before it could deepen into something more distraught, Orion suddenly blurted out, “I do!”
D-16 gaped, his vents hitching in disbelief. Even Big Orange took pause.
Orion swallowed hard, and D-16 suspected the gravity of his words was only now sinking in. Pressing on with a false front of bravado, Orion reset his vocalizer, “I..I do. Yeah.” He forced a tight grin at D-16, who hesitated before passing a similar unsteady one in return. Nothing could get them out of this now.
“Good!” Big Orange cheered with enthusiasm neither of them shared.
Orion and D-16 exchanged a glance. Behind Big Orange’s helm, D-16 felt something prod at his servo, and whipping his helm around half expecting yet another intrusion, saw Orion’s digits teasing at his own.
Unlike his own reservations about holding on to something, Orion seemed completely content. D-16’s processor flooded with images of the numerous routes Orion often took when breaking into the archives, most leaving a bot balancing, dangling, or pacing along a skirt edge at dizzying heights. He always had a knack for navigating danger with infuriating ease while D-16 remained on solid ground wondering if Orion would finally misstep. One misplaced limb was all it would take before being reduced to crumpled red and blue scrap metal from the fall.
Without a second though, D-16 latched on to Orion’s servo. Orion responded immediately, squeezing him in support, and D-16 felt his chassis expand. His spark was light and unburdened, riding a feeling that soared higher than the tallest skyscrapers in Iacon City. If Orion’s cheeks warmed too, D-16 didn’t notice.
Big Orange rumbled gently, voice vibrating beneath them, “Trust me. It’ll be worth it.”