Helm in the Clouds

Designation: Weaselwing . Faction: Autobot

[shockingdeception]

"Not a burger."

He confirms. A meal that was easy to eat one handed- and easily digestible for a hungry frame.....

Once more at the Intelligence Deparment, Longarm leads the way to his own office and has Weaselwing sit on the spare small sofa seating that's in the room. The bit of furniture comfortable enough to rest upon, but rarely used.

In the end, he orders pasta. Not wanting to go to the mess for food, or order anyone from below to bring anything up to them. Should be easy enough for Weasel to eat, right?

Once that's complete, he grabs up the brace and the pill bottle from where he'd placed them on his desk.

".....this says you should take these with a meal, so we'll save the pills for when lunch arrives. For now, the brace."

He concludes, setting the bottle aside for now and then moving to kneel in front of where the flight frame was seated. So he could easily reach to strap the thing on.

"Hold out your arm for me." He requests while opening the thing up to put it on.

[altocumulusautobot]

Longarm was going to learn quite quickly how much fuel this little helicopter can consume when his tanks are empty enough. He might find his own lunch missing, in that regard. Tiny, he may be, but he's only fuel efficient when he isn't in a 32 hour fight or flight mode.

Stepping out of the lift into a familiar space once again, smothering the little voice whispering about this all being a trap, and Weaselwing is promptly sinking into the little gestured lounge and reclining back as far as the cushions will let him with a shaky exhale.

"Should have grabbed a syringe for later"

Okay, yep. Adrenaline tanking, and now he is really starting to feel that fracture. Surely one tablet before food arrives wouldn't be so terrible, if he takes more with the meal?

"......" So many people would riot if they could see the Prime, moving to the floor to put a wrist brace on a lowly flight frame.

"Much medical training outside the bootcamp 101?" He asks, mindful of the angle of his servo as he extends his arm, trying to hold it out over the opened brace so all Longarm has to do is lift it slightly and affix it into place.

".............. You'd make a good medic. You're nice. And actually care"

[shockingdeception]

"We can handle that when we go back up."

Longarm nods to his assistant before turning to the nearest nervous medic.

"I'll be taking a brace with the painkillers, thank you. And if that's all, we'll be on our way."

Even with everyone going out of their way to be sure not to touch Weaselwing, it was obvious the flight frame was still on edge. And, frankly, Shockwave was just as eager to leave as well. The sooner the pair of them were out of public optic anywhere, the sooner things would begin to die down.

And he also wanted to investigate what the frag was going on with the flight frame further. And that would have to be done in private.

With brace, painkillers, and a diagnosis of thankfully mild injuries, they could leave. And soon enough were back in the elevator, headed right back up to the relative "safety" of Longarm's department.

"I'll put the brace on you when we get back to my office. It's best if someone else does it, instead of you trying to one handed....."

A handy enough excuse to make physical contact again....

"And I'll order delivery for lunch. Can't have you keeling over on me, either."

Having not refueled since before leaving to investigate that now false lead, Shockwave found himself feeling rather hungry. But business first. Then a well deserved meal...

[altocumulusautobot]

Flight visor still cracked and flickering in places atop his head, but given how the helm still turns to keep someone moving in his field of vision, it’s still working despite what is probably one hell of a distorted field. He will disconnect it in the safety of the lift or office, but he’s using every motion detection to his advantage.

“Yessir” it’s a good point. Trying to wrangle Velcro strips and magnetic clasps with his non dominant hand without jostling the wrist is just easier if someone else does it. Someone not one of these medics.

Longarm has given no indications that taking him out of the cells was a trap, mostly from the lack of questions that could incriminate, and the first point being medical care, but he’s … naturally a little skittish. Once burnt, twice shy.

“… Not a burger” He says as he eagerly hops out of the chair if it means getting out of here. The constant combat of cleaning solution combatting the smell of exposed energon is not helping his nerves here. But no burger. He’s got one good hand, and burgers or sandwiches are very much a two hands job … maybe just the burger. He could do sandwich halves. Honestly, he’d inhale anything at this point. An afternoon, whole evening and most of the morning? Ravenous

[shockingdeception]

Thankfully, it seemed word of what had happened had reached Medbay already. Because while medics and staff were going about their business, they also made sure to give Longarm and Weaselwing what space could be afforded.

Even as one of them went up to Longarm and led the way to where Weaselwing could be sat down to be scanned and treated. Shockwave just glad that the Autobots actually had access to advanced devices for this sort of thing.

If they'd had to go to a Decepticon medic the only option would've been physcial examination, which meant touch. And as funny as it would be to watch the little flight bot blast some Con into the wall, it would also not be a good time. And the same applied to now. Which left the taller mech keeping a close watch as he stood by, the Prime's involvement in the whole affair obviously concerning the Pitt out of everyone.

[altocumulusautobot]

Oh, he sat down when a chair was offered, but from how he's practically perched on its very edge ready to propel himself out if he feels it is some sort of trap, and he is watching everything. Every twitch of kibble, every flare and slick of armour, every flex or flare of digits, and always what they are holding. His first point of call is to distance himself to create distance. If that is breached? He will intentionally make contact of his apparent 'not static'

But, seems Longarm's order of Do Not Touch Him was being honoured from how medics chose to instead wave scanners over him, directing him to hold his arm out or lift his helm up, to get diagnosis on his vitals and the damage. Fractured wrist; Would need a cast or brace. Cracked cockpit glass; Would heal on its own. Busted flight visor; Could replace it himself. But at least all the dents from the blows would pop out on their own.

All in all? The suggestion was low activity, plenty of rest and a proper meal. His tanks were basically running on empty, which checked out.

Oh hey! Even a little bottle of painkillers since he was very adament of 'nope' when offered something else for the pain. "I can put the brace on"

[shockingdeception]

For all the advantages and knowledge the Autobots had, their ignorance and complacency was their weakness. The way that Weaselwing had been allowed to slip through the cracks, was a prime example of that.

"I'll take care of it. We just need you to get scanned and get some support for your arm to heal properly.'

Longarm says, looking (mostly) composed once more as the doors open and he leads the way down the hall to the medbay.

[altocumulusautobot]

"Yessir"

On Velocitron, it hadn't been so bad. Whether that was just everything moving at a speed he couldn't compute, or his means of flying from A to B to avoid the chaos of sidewalks and highways, he hadn't really had any of these 'accidents' like Cybertron. Was there something different about the two planets? Something in the air, the fuel, the chemical compounds? He can't remember these issues back home.

Arm tucked close to his chassis as he slinks along after Longarm, optics landing on any source of motion to ensure the medical staff keep to themselves, and Longarm will find himself as a buffer with any staff passing by a little too close, optics trained on their servos until they are deemed out of range. For all the Primes' curiosity, this might be the one place contact is truly avoided. He looked ready to throw hands down in the holding block, but here? He looks ready to smash his way out a window.

Best to get this scan done and back in the lift as soon as possible...

[shockingdeception]

"......this is not static build up...."

Longarm replies lowly, Shockwave trying to acclimate to the barrage of emotional data his processor was getting even as Weaselwing began to settle down. The experience was almost like if they had their EM fields fully enmeshed, instead of just brushing like they were.

Finally he can't take the contact and lets go slowly, letting out a soft vent as he does. His optics studying the smaller flight frame with a new clarity.

"...not a surprise the medics still planet side have failed you so. Anyone who'd know what they were looking at is either offline or on the front lines out in space...."

He can't help but mutter. As he speaks they finally get to their floor and the lift settles. He rubs a hand over his faceplates, wiping away the tears that still lingered there.

"....I have an idea but....let's have medbay see you first...."

[altocumulusautobot]

"It's ... Not?" He frowns, wondering what else it could be aside static. It was a built charge that upon conductive touch with another cybertronian's alloy, caused them to flinch back with a shock. That was static.

Still, the fact that there were people who knew about his condition out there, alive, made him a little hopeful at the possibility of a cure or treatement. Yes, they were on the front lines, but surely the Decepticon's would yield at being barred at every turn by their wonderful Magnus and relentless barrage against occupied planets. They had fuel, infrastructure, economy, medicine, civilisation. They decepticons were just wallowing in the mud in the boonies.

A little nod at going to the medbay first, and Weaselwing is using his good arm to pull himself up off the floor, joining Longarm in a quick rub of his faceplates to clean himself up and tucking his rotors in tight against his back. "... As long as they don't inject me with anything, I'll be fine. I'm ... I'm not good around med bays" He's had some ... not so great experiences at boot camp.

[shockingdeception]

His hand curls around that shoulder, making contact, and-

Small. Feeling so small and helpless! Horrified relief! Panicked realization of a danger narrowly avoided-!

He gasps and lets go - for a klik. And then he's grabbing onto Weaselwing once more, hold firm on the shorter mech's shoulders. Now using both hands to get full contact.

THIS! THIS WAS IT!

The effect was the same! Sudden emotions that were not his own!

Was this why the heli avoided touch at all costs-?!

Liquid begins to leak from Longarm's own optics, making him look as if he were crying with his assistant. But it was just run over from the emotions steamrolling through the larger mech's processor. He grit his denta, determined to investigate what was going on here. And get Weasel to calm down before they got to the medbay.

"I saw the security footage. They antagonized you and threw pointed accusations around.....you hit a breaking point due to their treatment of you."

He reasons, thumb rubbing slightly in a mechanical effort to soothe.

"You're alright. I have your back."

[altocumulusautobot]

Startling at the press of servos to his shoulder, both of them, and Weaselwing is looking down at the two palms splayed over his pauldron.

For the first time in what had been decacyles here on Cybertron, there was a form of contact long enough for him to actually feel frame heat on his sensors of another being. An em field resting against his. And .. Longarm hadn't pulled away. Usually people recoil at a mere brush. They shout or they yelp like they've been struck, they flinch away like they have been shocked. He's had a medic scream at one point when he'd crash landed and had tried to see if he'd broken anything. Official Diagnosis: Standard Unexplained Flight Frame Static, nothing to worry about. Official Treatment Plan: Avoid physical contact until further notice.

And yet, here was Longarm, two palms pressed to his shoulder, telling him everything would be alright, despite the little rivulet of tears trickling down their own cheeks.

I have your back

Well, consider him calmed down. If not, dumbfounded.

".The medics said the built up 'static' from my flights could hurt someone" He murmurs, not quite sure whether to slink out from under the touch or just ... Enjoy it while it lasts. "So I've been trying to avoid touch where I can. I crashed once on the agility course, and she started screaming when she bent my rotor back into place. After that, I just started treating everything myself where I could. Any time I walked into the medbay, they were always too busy or too inexperienced with my frame type..."

[shockingdeception]

Longarm is satisfied to see Weaselwing relax down and come along as directed when prompted, the heli still trusting of him at least. He avoids touching the smaller mech, for now, not wanting to risk jostling Weasel's injuries with his blunt Autobot hands. Or risk the touch adverse bot reacting to contact in a way that would be misconstrued.

So the pair walk back out of the cell block and into the are beyond, Longarm holding out a limb to give his assistant space from the crowd but making no body contact himself either. His demeanor the same as when he arrived, at least until he spots Brakecheck within the crowd once more.

"Be advised that I will be filing a long and detailed report about all of this to Ultra Magnus."

His tone is even, as if stating a simple fact. But the cutting look in the Prime's usually soft optics would make it clear that the statement was not just a promise, it was a threat. Helms were going to roll, specifically that of Gearshift and Crankshaft. And Brakecheck himself, if Longarm could swing it.

Get the trio of antagonistic - and far too perceptive - bots demoted down to janitorial detail. Or boot camp staff. Processor numbing backbreaking labor that'll keep them too busy to make accusations. Shockwave was already mentally writing up report drafts as they made it to the lift and got in. It's only when the doors close and they're finally alone do his shoulders slump a bit with a vent. He rubs a hand over his face, ruminating, when he hears the absolutely smallest 'thank you' being said to him.

He turns to look at Weasel and Longarm can't help his optic ridges from raising slightly when he sees the smaller mech is leaking from his optics...

Crying. That was the word for this. He was crying from....relief? Perhaps....?

The Prime stares, expression openly lost for a klik as Shockwave flounders and releases active control of his face plates. Then his expression shifts to concern and he moves forward, the spy going for broke and reaching to take Weasel's shoulder. In an attempt to ground the understandably distraught flight frame.

"Hey, it's going to be alright...."

[altocumulusautobot]

Spark hammering in his chassis, kicking and clawing what feels like its way up his throat, and it is dawning on him just how narrowly he had avoided ending up in the stockade for an execution or screaming on a table for science, all because, despite it all, Longarm didn't believe him a Decepticon.

I'ts going to be alright.

Well, that gets a whole new bubble of tears and sobs pulled from the little aerial, not even noticing the hand curl over his shoulder supportively in his fight in trying to push all these tears away.

He felt so small ... Why did he always feel so small.

"I-I didn't mean to hurt them! I know they were just angry at me, but then they started bringing you up when I didn't take the bait and then ... Then Brakecheck was separating us. I don't even remember anything"

[shockingdeception]

It was almost astounding how close accusations could be to the real truth when said from a place of petty jealousy. Longarm had actually gotten a bit concerned at some of the comments - until the last one.

These idiots were mad that Weaselwing had gotten 'promoted' over them. And were connecting dots just to have something to say.

Honestly. Autobots were just as bad as Decepticons. Truly so.

When arriving onto the lower levels, Longarm Prime is nothing but the image of patience that would be expected of him. Even as he's swarmed on all sides. Calmly making his way through the crowd even as those who had spoken conspiracies about him were now looking to him for 'justice'.

Idiots. Hypocrites. Reminded him of Starscream, honestly....

"There are no Decepticons here. Maybe your insistence to otherwise, is why he's remained hostile?"

Is the only pointed comment he says to the attendant, Longarm not even pausing long enough to see who it was. Not important.

--------------------------

Honestly? He expected for Weasel to look worse than he did. Considering the injuries on his opponents in the 'incident'. Though, the cracked lens and the injured arm are still of concern. Both would negatively affect the flight frame's flying if not properly tended to.

"Let's get you out of here and to medbay. Hnnn?"

He says, tone firm but inflected to hold warmth as well.

[altocumulusautobot]

Startled blinks, at the Prime defending the little flight frame as opposed to congratulations on his housing, and the guard can really do no more than stand there as the Prime breezes past him further into the cell block. Was it true? That there were not Decepticons here? Even if they were known to been seekers and aerials, like the one amidst their ranks?

Weaselwing wasn't sure what to expect from Longarm stepping through the threshold into the cell. Would Longarm turn on him as well? Expressing disappointment for his assistant being a double agent? For harming two perfectly stellar Autobots? Would he be angry? Would he be loud? What he was not expecting, while stoic, was that usual kind tone to join him in leaving and making their first stop the med bay.

Compassion.

Paranoid fists lowered, instead cradling his sore arm against his cockpit, and Weaselwing was giving a quick little nod to get out of there and join Longarm at his side, through the parade of stares and protests, until the elevator doors could seal the pair away from the last 18 hours of terror. He wasn't aware the breath he'd been holding until it is wrenched from his chassis at the same time adrenaline finally gives out, slumping against the wall with a shaky little inhale.

"Thank you"

Scrap, was he bleeding again? It's ... clear? Frag, was he crying? He's quickly using his good servo to rub over his optics and cheeks. Pull yourself together!

[shockingdeception]

No priority messages. And no pending comms from Weaselwing.

He didn't think much of it though. It had ONLY been a cycle, after all. So he just makes his way back without calling ahead. Not thinking much of it....

Until he got back. And his department had all the signs of not having some little flight frame moving around in it for a while...

And then he got to his email....

What the frag. He's gone ONE CYCLE and -?!

Longarm didn't know whether to laugh or groan. Though, he is impressed as he reads the results of the aftermath. And watches the security footage. Seemed Weaselwing had decided to get some revenge.....? Basically on the warpath, as it were.... not that the likes of the mechs involved didn't deserve it.

Getting up from his desk to go rescue his assistant from Autobot holding, he puts of an expression of that's all seriousness. Mild eyes and thoughtful frown as he heads down and makes his way through the halls. Autobots making way for the stocky prime.

"I got message that you're holding my assistant?"

[altocumulusautobot]

You know the only reason that someone of his rank would personally go on a grunt mission, is if they had something they wanted to hide.

Only a Decepticon would want a flight frame as their assistant.

We know he takes the agent shuttles. I bet he's using them to meet up with Megatron. I bet Longarm Prime is the spy.

'Keep his name out of your mouth'

He already outed one guy in boot camp to save his aft, he's just saving you for later.

A scrawny little aerial like yourself probably only got where you are on your knees.

'Oh yeah? Big words for the mech about to be on theirs'

Dreaded expressions turn to relief at Longarm stepping out of the lift to the lower levels, even a few smirks in their midst expecting the Prime to be relieved that the 'deceptive flight frame' had shown it's true colours, and Longarm will rapidly find himself breached of personal space by various medics, supervisors and guards. Brakecheck wants him shipped off and tested for whatever diseases Decepticon's carry having been bit. Gearshift was still in recovery, casted shoulder to hip until his axle could slowly straighten back out but would need abdominal plating removed to aid the healing and to remain prone. And Crankshaft, confined to the med bay until both his arm struts healed and a proper investigation could be conducted, was hollering up and down about lawyers and stockades.

"Oh, uh, Longarm, sir? I wouldn't go in there. The con is hostile"

Perking up at the sound of a lock in the door, and Weaselwing is sliding off the little slab of a berth he's been provided, arms tucked loosely by his chassis ready to throw if that medic and guard combo come anywhere near him with a needle, and those rotors are starting to idly spin behind him ready to blast the pair on their aft when-

"S-Sir!?"

-Longarm Prime is the one stepping into view.

And what a sight to greet him; Flickering optic from the cracked lens and dented cheek where he's clearly caught a fist, split lip to match, energon be his own or Brakecheck's still dried on his chassis, and from one of the arms held a little closer to his frame than the other, a possible fracture. Still, not bad injuries to walk away with in a fight against an SUV and an all terrain.

[shockingdeception]

Better Weaselwing go to Longarm's superior than anyone else. So Magnus would have to do.

"Don't worry. I'll be fine." He directs a mild smile as reassurance before leaving. Sure it would take no time to solve this.....

Turns out, it took a whole cycle. And it was indeed a false alarm. Not even a break light, only a malfunctioning advertisement probe that was long lost from where it should be.

He smashed it to bits out of annoyance.

With the ad's annoying jingle still playing in his processor, Longarm would make his way back. Finally checking his messages and comms as he went to send message to assistant that he was returning.

[altocumulusautobot]

"I know. Just ... If someone replaced you, they wouldn't be so kind to me, so I don't want anything to happen out in the field." Weaselwing admitted quietly, digits idly picking the edges of his armour as a reason not to look over at Longarm. No, we aren't going to think negatively! Longarm graduated boot camp, with enough praise to land himself right into running Intelligence straight out the gate. The mech could handle himself on what he is praying is dud report. He will be back by lunch!

Well, if Longarm Prime was expecting smiles and welcomes' upon his return, he would be sorely disappointed. Perhaps Weaselwing was just on break, given that his desk was vacant, the lights to the floor were off, and there didn't seem to be an update on their topography since yesterday afternoon despite it being part way into the next morning shift.

Longarm's desk seemed to have gained paperwork, some meant for other departments usually vetted and redirected by his assistant, while the tray for signing off work seemed ... disturbingly empty.

While he would find nothing in the way of messages and comms, sitting at his desk would find him one hell of an email. Seems late yesterday afternoon, Weaselwing got in an altercation with some fellow staff and was being held in holding until Longarm's return should the little helicopter accidently outed itself as the apparent 'decepticon spy'. Words and fists had been exchanged, a lunch table somehow thrown, and Brakecheck sporting a few bites trying to break the spat up. Crankshaft was sporting a broken arm, cracked visor and a denta, and bent doorwing. Weaselwing's condition unknown as there was only one medic on duty at the moment, and in war, we are not wasting resources. Gearshift's entire front bumper, windshield, and rear axle were totaled from taking a dining table to the gut.

Even the cafeteria footage, should Longarm wish to view it. But, if Longarm could please come down to the lower levels of security at his earliest convenience for what to do. His assistant is apparently 'hostile' to attempts of conversation or offering fuel. The latter, blasted mach 1 via a wind tunnel at anyone opening his cell.

[shockingdeception]

Things settle down into something resembling a normal, the "incident" - as Shockwave was labeling it in his processor - being considered an anomaly. A concerning one, but a small one all the same. That got smaller with each passing cycle.

Especially since, now, he had someone actually around to speak with. To throw paperwork and the writing forums chat logs at. It wasn't just the undercover Con left with his own thoughts.

"If you don't hear from me in, lets say two cycles, then you report to Ultra Magnus. And only Ultra Magnus. But I'll be back."

It was the fact that Longarm wasn't sure if it was a false alarm or not that kept him from considering sending in Weaselwing at all....

[altocumulusautobot]

"Got it, two cycles" He nods, glad that of all the people he might have to go to for an issue, it is Ultra Magnus. Sure, the mech hadn't exactly pulled him aside for greetings or 'hellos', but they also had seemed very chill when it came to sharing an elevator, running paperwork between floors in Brakecheck's absence, or just waiting in line in the cafeteria. He wasn't outwardly welcoming, but at least he wasn't hostile.

"Will do, Sir. Just ....... Be safe, if it isn't a false report" He doesn't want a new boss.

[shockingdeception]

After a satisfying, if perplexing, lunch the rest of the day in uneventful. Longarm sticking to his work at his desk as part of his processor continues to puzzle about that weird happy emotion he'd gotten. This ruminating continued even as the cycle finished out and he finally called it for the evening.

And then into the next cycle. When he went out and along with other business, he got lunch himself at the same place as before. Even the same order. And....nothing. Just a regular sandwich place. Just a regular sandwich and drink order. No random or out of place emotional reactions....

Maybe this long term undercover assignment was just getting to his processor....?

Emotions were so.....aggravating.....

[altocumulusautobot]

Well, aside getting paragraphs of unintelligible ramblings, seems that for now he isn't going to bait anything useful out of this 'fanfics' biggest fan. Ah well, back to his actual job.

But, aside the occasional updates added to their shared topography, and the occasional brief or debrief in Longarm's office, seems there would be no further bursts of strange oddities, although it is hard to tell if Weaselwing is more attentive to avoiding contact after the brush.

"And how long is this recon supposed to take? That if you aren't back by X, when should I loop someone else in and who?" Might as well set up his point of call if Longarm checking in on the latest intel is a bust, he offered to go, but while the Prime had a good point of not wanting to train up a candidate for such a short period, surely we can't send the head of intelligence to follow up on some reports. That big red light could have been a brakelight. Not every red light is a decepticon optic!

[shockingdeception]

After taking the time to feel up the bag his lunch came in, and even the sandwich itself, Longarm only starts to eat when he sees no repeat to what had happened. He eats slowly, mulling things over.

......had it simply been that he was that hungry....?

No. As good as this meal was, it would not trigger such a feeling of happiness out of him unbidden like that.

This required further investigation. Shockwave hated such a weird unknown...especially because it had affected him personally.

[altocumulusautobot]

Meanwhile, someone is on metaphorical cloud nine consuming their lunch. The mineral bread is perfectly crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, the flavours are so much better than anything you can get downstairs in the mess hall, its hot, it's filling, and washed down with a ice cold and sweet drink? Yep. Someone is happily twitchy rotors from his desk as he munches away, glancing at his console if he gets a notification but from the previews its nothing that can't wait a few more minutes.

Rubbish scrunched and popped into the carry bag, taken to the little ensuite kitchen for a thorough wash of servos as he doesn't want to be that colleague, and he's trotting back to his desk to get back to work!

Alright, time to jump back into the comment section of a certain forum and see if we can fact check someone into spilling military intel to win an argument...

Apparently saying that villain of this 'novel is based on a guys who's only slightly shorter than Sentinel Prime gets some guy called LORDxLUG91 to drop some very enlightening information trying to prove otherwise.

[shockingdeception]

Why did he feel so......Happy? Happy Happy Happy! This bright moment of extremely out of place emotion. Shockwave felt his armor ruffle at the plates and he had to shake himself briefly to settle him.

Was he just THAT hungry....? Sure, this order was very tasty to him but.....?

No. No this emotion was not natural to HIM. He'd muted his emotions long before even taking his undercover assignment, first of all. And second....he had no reason to....

Had he been drugged.....?

Optics slide to the drink and food on his table, the newest items in his environment. They'd arrived just when that out of place emotion had. But he quickly dismisses the thought. He hadn't even had a sip of the drink, let alone touched the cup. And the food was obviously fine....

So......maybe his morning energon ration...? He knew of slow acting poisons, but not that came with this type of side effect...and no drugs really did this alone....

No. That wasn't it......

Frag.

[altocumulusautobot]

Gently rubbing his digit tips against his thumb, and Weaselwing is quietly mulling over that interaction as he slinks back to his desk to start at his lunch. That didn't usually happen. Sometimes, a little shock of static upon contact if he shook hands or bumped shoulders. But never usually sensations. That was quite new, and pretty scary.

A glance down the hall at Longarm's doorway, and he's swallowing the little knot in his throat at the thought the Prime felt something. No, he didn't flinch, he didn't yelp, he didn't shout. Nothing about the mech's reaction of taking his takeout bag indicated the charge went both ways. No. No. This was normal. You've been in root mode for several years because everyone around you is scared of flight frames, you rarely transform. It is just the subconscious noting the lack of freedom.

Yeah. Going to quietly inhale the burger and fries at his desk, and get right back into fielding intel and emails and calls.

[shockingdeception]

Due to the position of his office, and the fact that said office was full of windows at the back and some of the sides, Longarm does manage to get a glimpse of Weaselwing taking flight from the balcony.

.........silly show off. Like any flight frame.

A bit cute.

Longarm just shakes his head a little at the antics and gets back to work. Determined to get to a specific stopping point before taking his lunch break, lest he break the good work flow he had going....

................................

A goal he just manages to reach seemingly barely a few kliks before he's hearing Weaselwing return. Still in the middle of saving everything as he lifts his head in acknowledgement.

"Welcome back." He says mildly.

"Heh, so considerate. Yeah, let's save that possibility for at least your second day here..."

Longarm begins to say, light humor in his tone. He's reaching for the bag even as Weasel is setting down. So in the end, their finger end up brushing just the slightest bit as the Prime grabs hold of the bag. The rest of his words leaving him unsaid as something fragging weird happens....

"-!?"

[altocumulusautobot]

"Sir yessir" Weaselwing smirks at waiting to run the department until tomorrow, more than content not to intrude on whatever Longarm is doing by just setting drinks down on coasters to save the desk and paperwork from condensation, and undoing the knot of the takeaway packing so at least if his boss is to graze he won't be fighting twisted plastic.

A little jerk of his servo at digits brushing him, a quick step out of touching range from the desk when it is clear the drinks are unpacked and Longarm's lunch is acquired long past his welcome, and he's giving a little helm dip of farewell.

"Im ... I'll leave you to your lunch, Longarm Prime, sir" Yep, just going to quickly trot out of the office out of sight and let out the full body shudder he'd been holding in behind a little smile. Why did that touch make him feel like his armour was two sizes too small for his frame? That he was being squished into something he shouldn't?

[shockingdeception]

He's engrossed in his work, cataloguing intel to report to Megatron as he does it, when he hears a soft rapping noise. Optics looking up to see his new assistant there and Longarm directs a questioning smile at him.

"Hm...?"

Oh. Lunch. Right. Was it really that time in the cycle already....?

"I know the place you're talking about. It's good. If you could get me their number 7? I'd appreciate it."

He answers back, hardly about to pass up an offer for in office delivery.

[altocumulusautobot]

Can't really have Longarm Prime keeling over at his desk from empty tanks! Even just a few hours for the medbay to clear him, Weaselwing wasn't quite ready to step into that role yet. Even if he would be sending some pink slips to former associates given the power that comes with that temporary role...

"Can do!" Weaselwing nods, a little part bow and he's trotting back out to the main office space ... and the balcony. He's not going to take the lift all the way to the ground floor, tap his access card in and out the front doors and security, when he can just put his pen cup in the balcony door track to ensure the door doesn't close and lock behind him, and basically jump. At least for any security footage, he's back in view a second later, banking for the business district. He gets very little opportunities to actually take a flight with his work schedule, and it feels nice to actually transform. Keeping his rotors pulled flat against his back instead of their natural resting X is uncomfortable after a few hours.

Rotors slowing as he aligns on the balcony, trying to get as close to the floor as he can without hitting the railing or tiles while not spilling the wobbling drinks in their tray, and he's giving a little grin of pride at his landing not so much as spilling a drop. Frag yeah! Still got it! Imagine being a flight frame that is rusty on landings. Whew, not this one.

Pede pushing into the gap of his pen cup to nudge the door open, scooting the rest of the way in with his shoulder, and Weaselwing is popping his drink and meal down on his desk with a little 'I'm Back' called given he wouldn't be able to knock with full hands, before heading on over to Longarm Prime's office.

Aaaand, he's pretty sure the paperwork pile has increased since he left. Great.

"One number seven. They had two for one drinks, so you aren't going to shut down at your desk from dehydration. I'm not ready to be acting Head of Intelligence today" He beams as he trots up to the desk, quietly unloading the drinks from their carry tray, and the take away bag off his forearm to set down on the desk.

He had such a cool boss. What other boss is fine with him leaving work to get fuel when there is a perfectly fine cafeteria downstairs? He really hit the jackpot here!

[shockingdeception]

A shared topography program.

Truly the Autobots were idiots for not having more flight frames high up in their ranks. While keeping maps and plans was hardly news even to them, it simply was not the same thing. One of the few edges the Decepticons kept was the use of flight frame knowledge.

And Longarm would ensure it stayed out of their hands, what with Weaselwing's work being kept between themselves. He's quick to add his own inputs on what he knew. Consolidating the knowledge for both their use.

:.Good Work.:

He sends over private comm. Both to congratulate and to give the little bot his private line in one go.

[altocumulusautobot]

Little rotors giving a puff of surprise at the alert his 'map' was being edited, and suddenly a whole lot more intel being added in the newest file, and Weaselwing is quickly pulling it up on his HUD to cross reference the information with what datapads he has read to start reversing the timeline of information to speed run his current role.

Good Work.

Oh, that was Longarm Prime's private line, not his work frequency. Well, that gets a cheek hurting grin at the fact he liked the Intel Topography.

Pushing up from his desk, and he is quietly trotting over to Longarm's office, peering around the door frame and when it is clear the mech isn't on a call or in a meeting, he's doing a little rap of knuckles on the door in a knock.

"I'm, uh, going to grab some lunch across town? Flying! So I won't be long!! ............ It's a Vossian mineral sandwich bar if you want anything? I can send you their menu on the flight?" One perk of a flier? Any traffic on the footpath or roads are null and void in your endevours. You get to just putter on overhead and arrive unbothered and ahead of time out front of the location.