I'm back with another Transformers for all y'all! I have fallen in love with CrossDrift and decided that...there just aren't enough fluffy sick!fics for it. So here we are: a nice little fluffy CrossDrift to satisfy all your needs.
(*⌒ー⌒*)ノBon Apetít!
The taxi car pulled up in front of the Yeager mailbox and Tessa passed the driver a crumpled twenty before hauling out her suitcase and starting down the frosted-over gravel road. She had taken a couple days to go into town to try and find at least a paying job, but after two days of "We'll call you" and "thank you for coming in", she decided to quit while she was ahead and called one of the five taxis in said town; because she wasn't going to make Crosshairs drive all the way out there again...even though he volunteered to the first time. The last time she had talked to her dad, he was saying how the Autobots had been huddling in their new barn (paid for by Joshua Joyce, of course) trying to keep themselves warm because it was too cold out for them to do anything. Well, she couldn't necessarily blame them, thirty degrees wasn't fun for anyone. She pulled the hood of her black parka closer around her face, wishing her thin grey gloves could do more against the chill than they were. The all-to-familiar crunch of iced gravel under her boots a sharp reminder that "you live in B.F.E., Texas" The barn came in to view before the house (also newly rebuilt), and the classic creak of a barn door added a note of horror movie to the frigid air, followed by the hard metallic footsteps.
"Dad, I'm home!" she called out to the empty yard.
Cade burst through the screen door and barreled towards Tessa. There was no surprise at all when she saw him running out barefoot, in a hoodie, and ratty jeans and scooping her up in his arms. She could faintly hear the TV from inside the house playing a football game and the distant whir of the many various inventions and devices that no doubt were scattered throughout the house. Hound, Bumblebee, and Drift filed out of the barn next, Bee playing a clip of "Oh shit! Oh shit, this is cold!" from Titanic.
"Welcome home, sweetheart," Cade said happily, giving her a kiss on the forehead.
"You guys haven't burned anything down yet have you?" she asked with a concern that was hard to distinguish between sarcasm and actuality.
"I haven't shot anything yet...unfortunately," Hound confessed, though something in his voice told Tessa that he desperately wanted to.
Her eyes panned across the yard and she tried pulling herself out of her father's hug, "where's Crosshairs? He didn't run off on us, did he?"
Drift stepped forward a few inches and crossed his arms over his chest, "Crosshairs has been...under the weather, unfortunately. He is inside resting."
"Oh, that sucks...well, tell him I said 'hi' then," she smiled and gave a little wave before disappearing into the house with Cade.
The rest of the Autobots went back into the barn, their makeshift fortitude against the Texas winter. The barn was almost comical-looking, really, with space heaters duct-taped and/or bolted to rafters. Hound and Bee went off into their own sections of the barn, while Drift slid open the large door to his and Crosshairs's shared room in the barn, closing it quietly behind him. Crosshairs was curled up on their berth—practically shrinking into his coattails—his back to the door. His venting sounded congested, and he shivered lightly when the door closed. Drift went over and sat on the edge of the berth, putting a hand up on his sparkmate's forehead, and frowning when he felt how warm the paratrooper's frame was.
Crosshairs opened his optics at the familiar touch and rolled over; coughing briefly into his fist before greeting Drift, "'ey, samurai. Nice of ya to drop by," his usually upbeat voice was cracked and hoarse.
"I'm sorry, Crosshairs, I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized in a low voice, before asking quietly, "how are you feeling? Any better from earlier?"
"Head's poundin' and my vents are still shaky...so no, not really."
"Tessa is home," Drift began to stroke his thumb calmly over the paratrooper's forehead, "she told me to tell you that she says 'hello'".
Crosshairs gave a small "mmm" before he curled in on himself and launched into another coughing fit. Drift moved his hand down and rubbed some small circles in between the Corvette's shoulders while his frame was wracked by the fit. Crosshairs's fans whirred congestedly, in an attempt at trying to calibrate. It soon ended and the green mech curled up to the Bugatti, putting one hand affectionately over Drift's and the other went to rubbing his temple trying to soothe out his migraine. The green mech's vents rattled shakily—like an old laptop trying to start itself up after years of disuse, only to have a little piece of something rattling around inside it—before slowly fading back to a dull rhythm.
"Well, if you see her again," the paratrooper added, "tell her she owes me. Big time."
"You were the one who offered to take her into town," Drift countered, letting his other hand intertwine with Crosshairs'.
"How was Ah supposed to know Ah'd be sitting outside for and hour and a half? Pfff...'forgot my hotel reservation' my ass," he was too tired to sound defensive, and just let the argument come out as a dull complaint.
There was a small knock on the wooden door before it slid open a crack and Cade stepped in.
"Found another one," he held up another space heater—this one probably the largest yet oldest out of the three in their room, "where do you want it?"
Drift aimed a digit at the rafter over the berth, and swore he saw Cade roll his eyes and mouth "ugh, really?" to himself before setting the heater down, pulling on some work gloves, and dragging a ladder out if the corner, along with a tool belt, the heater, and a goliath of an extension cord he slung over his shoulder.
"So...didn't know you guys got sick," Cade tried for some light conversation, "s'this like a flu or something?"
"Not quite. Our systems ice up and it gets hard for our internal fans to regulate heat. Likewise, if we get too hot, we overheat and then it's visa versa," Drift explained—still gently stroking the area between Crosshairs's shoulders.
He leaned the ladder against the rafter and tried to work as quietly as he could. Actually, no, that was a lie. He really wanted to push Crosshair's buttons after he and Drift had made out in front of him the other day after a particular raunchy joke—and if he knew anything from past experience—loud noises always worked. Cade balanced the heater on one of the beams and pulled the duct tape from the belt; ripping a couple of long pieces as loudly as possible and making sure to secure them in place by smacking the wooden beam as hard as he could. When he pulled the heavy fasteners from another pocket, he made sure a handful "accidentally" fell out. The iron bolts clattered on the floor with a resonating clang and bounced around for a few moments—only adding to Cade's complacency. Crosshairs let let out a very annoyed, a very tired, and a somewhat pained moan.
"Whoops, sorry," Cade apologized with mock sincerity as he pulled out a drill and some extra bolts.
The drill was not in anyway bearable. It was one of those drills that starts off loud and obnoxious, but then after a little while it isn't noticeable because all you can hear is the tintinnabular white noise. And that's exactly what happened. Neither Drift nor Cade were bothered by it—to them it was just another noise. But Crosshairs would have willingly shot himself if he wasn't to exhausted to grab one of his sidearms. His headache was only made worse—escalating from a dull throb to a sharp, splitting pulse, now with sound effects. He was going to kick Cade off that stupid ladder of it was the last thing he did. Of course, Tessa coming into the barn and yelling didn't help much either.
"Hey, Dad!" she strolled in and noticed the large door to Drift and Crosshair's room was slightly open. An iPhone charger that had clearly seen better days hung from her pocket, "do you have any electric tape—what are you doing? Do you want to burn this barn down?"
"I was just putting in some heating...Tess, it's fine. They're, like, an inch away from the wood," he went back to drilling loudly and tried yelling over the tool, "besides, I rigged all the heaters up to a timer! They rotate every half hour or so!"
She rolled her eyes, but noticed Crosshair's body language—again having to yell over the noise, "can't you be a little quieter?! God, the poor guy probably has a migraine now!"
"Who do you think I'm putting these heaters in for?!"
"Enough! Out, both of you!" Crosshairs snapped before flopping back onto the berth and resumed rubbing his temples—swearing faintly in Cybertronian.
Tessa was already on her way back to the house, and Cade was putting the ladder and tools away. He plugged in the recently-added heater into the power strip before hurrying out. Drift sat back against the wall—Crosshairs followed suit and sat up also, leaning against the Bugatti. Drift put an arm around his berthmate and laid a small kiss on the side of the paratrooper's cheek.
"I suppose your headache isn't any better?" Drift whispered as quietly as he could.
"No. In fact, do me a favor, samurai: if mah processor splits open, save the goggles."
Drift gave a small chuckle, "I doubt that."
They settled down on the berth, hoping to recharge peacefully for the night. Crosshairs curled up against Drift's chassis, face resting against the curve of the Bugatti's neck. Drift curled his arms around the green mech and relaxed into the berth. Before the samurai could reach over and hit the lights, the power cut. After a long string of profanities from both Bumblebee and Hound on the other side of the barn, he turned back to Crosshairs and tried to avoid the Corvette's similar profanities. Drift felt the room grow minutely colder with each passing moment since the heating had cut out. After a few minutes had passed, the winter wind outside seemed to grow louder, but not loud enough to mask the discreet sound of chattering metal from nearby. Drift opened his optics from the brink of recharge—hoping it was just the wind against the roof and not who he thought it might be. The Bugatti looked down at Crosshairs, noting the way he was trying not to make it painfully obvious he was cold.
"You're cold, aren't you?"
"No. M'fine," but the stifled coughing didn't help his argument, "shuddup and go to sleep, wouldja?"
"Crosshairs."
"Yeah, alright? I'm freezing. Happy?" it was meant to be snotty and sharp, but rather it came out as just pissed off and tired.
Crosshairs curled up against Drift, resting his head once more in the warm nook of the samurai's neck before Drift wrapped an arm over him—resting his other arm under his helm. He pressed a small kiss on the top of the Corvette's helm before falling asleep himself to the sound of the wind and Crosshairs' loud venting.
...
The first thing Crosshairs noticed when he onlined was the empty berth. He rolled over onto what was supposed to be Drift, except it was a cold, blank space. Years of instinct told him that this was never a good thing when sleeping with someone and finding their space unoccupied was always an easy startle. His optics flew open and he sat up, panning around for his absent berthmate. He turned and swung his legs over the side, but paused before standing.
"Good morning," Drift said calmly and quietly from across the room from where he was meditating silently on the floor.
"Don't do that. Or at least don't do it so quietly. Jeez...make the floor creak or something," he groaned groggily and rubbed his optics with the heel of his hand.
"I'm sorry. I did not mean to startle you," Drift replied, standing up from his pose and walking slowly over to the edge of the berth—sitting down next to Crosshairs and laying a couple good-morning kisses on his cheek. He smiled briefly before gently placing his hand over the paratrooper's forehead and smiling lightly, "your fever went down a little."
"Mmm...what time is it anyways?"
Drift paused for a moment to look over at the giant Goodyear Tire Co. clock on the wall, "almost eleven."
Crosshairs rested his head on the Bugatti's shoulder, fiddling together his and Drift's fingers in his lap and taking a moment to enjoy the rare silence. Then the paratrooper gave a low chuckle to himself before looking up at his berthmate—a one sided smile spreading across the green mech's faceplates. He had an idea.
"I know that look..." though Drift could help but hide his own small smile.
"Door's locked right?"
"Yes, bu—...oh," now Drift was smiling calmly.
Crosshairs pushed the Bugatti down onto the berth, climbing on top of him slowly, "now you catch on, samurai."