rekindleme | it's a test to find that silver lining [OPEN]

Who: Fulcrum & Krok [closed]; there is an [OPEN] prompt available too!
Where: Fulcrum & Krok at Krok's room. Otherwise, marketplace or boardwalk a-go-go.
When: The weekend.
Summary: Fulcrum is concerned about his worrywort of a commanding officer and checks up on him [closed] while on the flipside he's also shopping for some specific equipment [OPEN].
Warnings: Big dumb robots with feelings

[CLOSED TO KROK]

Ever since the medical exams from Ratchet, Fulcrum has definitely made note of one thing: the lack of his commanding officer being around and mother henning the hell out of his crew.

It's not for lack of caring. Primus, if there's one thing Fulcrum knows, it is most definitely that Krok cares! If anything, it has to do with him caring. Caring so damned much and worrying and now it's somehow confined him to his room. Fortunately, Fulcrum has no problem taking it upon himself to worry right back at him.

So, he stands in front of his captain's door and gives it a knock.

"It's me. Can I come in?"

-=-=-

[OPEN]

"Okay, so."

Fulcrum squints down at his paper list. Paper is such a weird concept that just kind of seems to be a big waste of resources, but it's a common thing to use here apparently. Bizarre to him, really. A lot of the habits these organics have is both endearing and frustrating. No, he doesn't think too highly of most of them, but he doesn't entirely dislike them either.

But this paper thing's silly.

"Yeah, I gotta make a data pad," the K-Con mutters to himself.

For now, he's shopping around for some fairly specific material on his list. Mostly, he's looking for equipment, or objects he can make into equipment. Things he can repurpose in some way.

At the very least, he's certainly not unapproachable!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Three little words. Barely anything in the grand scheme. Three tiny words that are exactly what Krok needs to hear right now.

I forgive you.

He slides off the sofa to his knees on the floor, still hanging onto Fulcrum, but it's relief dragging him down, and though his sigh is thin and uneven, it's exhaustion, not anguish. He barely even hears Fulcrum cracking a joke at his own expense; he's too busy saying thank you.

As Krok slides down onto the floor, Fulcrum goes with him. He sits down and gently tugs his captain to lean against him. Not that the technician is particularly strong, but he'll his best to bear Krok's weight for awhile, figuratively and literally.

He smiles patiently and rubs his cheek lightly against the top of Krok's helm.

"It's okay."

Krok sits that way, trying to find his centre again, for a few minutes. Part of him doesn't want to budge, needing the support Fulcrum offers so freely, but he's only too aware that he's probably heavy on the lanky 'Con and can't lean into him too much longer.

Slowly, reluctantly, he loosens his hold and sits back. His hands linger on Fulcrum's arms, though.

He starts to speak, to apologise for putting all this on his friend, but the words won't come. So he just looks at the floor, shame creeping across his face.

Cautiously, he uses his fingertips to touch under Krok's chin, to try to nudge his face up so that Fulcrum can look at him in the optics. He offers a small smile of reassurance.

"Krok, it's okay. No one can be strong forever, and you're allowed to rely on your crew. On your friends. Someone's gotta look out for you when you forget to look after yourself, anyway." Fulcrum gently bumps his forehead with Krok's. "Okay?"

Krok doesn't fight Fulcrum's hand and he can't quite hide his miserable expression. They depend on him; he's not strictly qualified, but they depend on him to be in charge, to have a plan, to take care of them. And he's trying.

And Fulcrum's trying so hard to help him up. In spite of himself, Krok leans into Fulcrum, taking that impossibly gentle headbutt for the friendly gesture he knows it is.

"…Okay," he says after a few seconds, and nods slightly. "Okay."

A satisfied smile remains at the confirmation. This time, he believes Krok's acknowledgement. He places his hand lightly to Krok's shoulder.

"Okay," he replies in confirmation. "I know I can trust and rely on all of you, but you can do the same with me, Krok. I'm not going anywhere, and you can always count on me."

"Some captain I am, huh?" Krok murmurs, but it's with a faint sort of smile and none of the self-recrimination it would have had only a few minutes ago. He pushes Fulcrum to his feet first, then hauls himself off the floor and back onto the sofa with a grunt. He feels… drained, but at the same time, better.

"Yeah, you are some captain," he teases Krok, grinning.

As soon as Krok sits back down onto the sofa, Fulcrum isn't shy about sitting next to him. Krok isn't about to get rid of him anytime soon.

"Honestly, I haven't had a commanding officer I've liked as much as you. Then again, most of the others kind of don't give a damn about their crew half as much as you. You just, um. You need to remember your own limits, that's all. Because you do have them."

Krok has limits, yes. Painfully stretched and run thin, because he's an historian, a strategist, not a captain, and Fulcrum's getting a good look at all the ragged edges today. Still, he warms under the unexpected praise and looks away awkwardly, because he's not above feeling flattered when given acknowledgement.

"I know," he says. He doesn't add that he's not sure he can afford to have those limits any more – or at least not right now, not until things are settled and he knows problems like Chromedome are handled.

At Krok's humble reaction, Fulcrum chuckles quietly and gives him a friendly bump in the shoulder with his own. It's not like any of them are used to praise in the slightest, but Fulcrum's willing to give it when he sees it, especially when it's honest and not in a way where he's trying to save his own plating.

"Just remember that we're here for you. I know you can't really express your limits around Misfire and Spinister easily." Not to pull a Flywheels, but bless their sparks; Misfire and Spinister have their own strengths and limits, and their strengths aren't always going to be offering a shoulder to someone. Fulcrum gets that.

"So. Talk to me, if you have to. I don't mind. You guys mean a lot to me and I know I'm, uh. Not that strong, so. I'd like to do what I can."

It's hard for Krok to accept Fulcrum's offer. He's supposed to take care of Fulcrum, not the other way around. But it's equally hard to refuse, because he's tired and lonely. Normally, Crankcase would let him babble, and just grunt, but it was enough just for Krok to have the ear of someone willing, someone who understood. It isn't as though Fulcrum offering is all that different, he tells himself. But, he counters, Fulcrum is one of his foundlings.

But Fulcrum offers, freely. Krok isn't simply putting this on him unsolicited. And he needs a shoulder to lean on.

"…All right," he says finally, hesitantly.

It's a small victory. Fulcrum smiles warmly and seems satisfied with the answer. His hand gives Krok's a quick squeeze before letting go, and the K-Con sits back in the sofa a little.

There isn't much that he can do here, but he can do this.

"Good. Thank you." Fulcrum gives a little sigh. That makes him feel quite a bit better, actually.

"You're… welcome?" Krok mumbles, not quite sure why Fulcrum's thanking him. The lanky 'Con is the one doing Krok all the favours here.

Still. Warmth that has everything to do with comfort and gratitude, and nothing with internal temperature, creeps through him slowly, and Krok can't quite help the slow smile dimming his optics.

it's a test to find that silver lining [OPEN]

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