Glit:

*approaches Convoy's washroom - not that he's aware of it as such, having never been - with one set of brake-pads stuffed into his medical-packs, and the other carried in his mouth*

Convoy:

*Is in said washroom, water on to its highest temperature, chestplate open so he can try to clean out his engine, which is making a strange clunking noise every few seconds.  It's a futile attempt, since he has no resources to clean it out, and his hands are far too big, and so for the moment he's leaning heavily against the back wall.  Still, at least he gave Glit the keycode - if the cassette can even reach or override the keypad, that is.*

Glit:

*Glit spends hardly a moment glaring at the keypad - which he can indeed reach, by standing on his hind legs and stretching as tall as he can - being too busy keying in the code Convoy gave him*

Convoy:

*Yeah, Convoy isn't exactly in a coherent enough position to be opening doors for anyone.  He doesn't even register the door when it opens, really.*

Glit:

*If Glit's surprised to see that this room is a washroom, he doesn't show it, setting the brake pads in his mouth out of the spray and heading straight for the truck* Convoy? What happened?

Convoy:

*It takes Convoy's optics a moment to refocus from wherever he had been staring - somewhere to the door's left - to the medic, and then he offers the other a strained smile, his voice sounding hoarse and a little staticky.*  I... ah, had a bad night, I suppose you could say.

Glit:

A little more than that, I'd say. What happened? What's going on in your engine? *Some mechs might feel a little uncomfortable with a cassette appearing on their lap with their chest open like Convoy's is, but hopefully Convoy is not one of those mechs.*

Convoy:

*Convoy's not one to care on a normal day, much less on this sort of day.  Instead of being uncomfortable, he just tries another smile and runs a hand briefly over Glit's back.  Tactile mech is tactile!*  It's gotten a bit...  I, ah... I don't have... the brushes required to... clean it out, and m-my hands are a bit too large in this case to do m-much good.  Is all.  *Blank stare, followed by-* And my brakes are shot.  Utterly ruined.

Glit:

*arches his back to Convoy's hand* That's all right; it's what you've got me for. How did this happen? *Glit is using his 'speaking-to-traumatized-mechs' voice: calm, soothing, not much like his normal dictatorial nature.*

Convoy:

*Convoy wouldn't notice, one way or another, really.*  I... ah, I had to go and... and see him.  Again.  And...  It went rather badly, I think?

Glit:

It seems like it didn't end well, no. What happened to your engine and your brakes? *Despite the petting, Glit is oozing up Convoy's chest, sniffing intently: Convoy normally smells like sugar and carbon dioxide, but not normally this /strongly/*

Convoy:

...I'm not sure.  He...  *His hand tenses against Glit's back briefly, before going slack again, his engine making a tired whumping noise for a few moments.*  ...He got in.  Yes, I s-suppose that would be the, ah, best way to describe it.  M-my brakes jammed, and I couldn't get away as I was.  I had to transform, and he...  Well, he, ah, didn't quite m-move away in time.

Glit:

All I can smell is Pepsi...? But don't worry; we'll get it out. I actually carry some brushes on me; I can't think of a better reason to use them. Shall we do that first, then?

Convoy:

*Here, he can't keep the slight desperation out of his voice-* Yes.  ...Please.  I'll... have to rectify this problem of m-mine, not having any useful brushes...  I simply didn't consider...  *Trails off, uneasily*

Glit:

Of course not; it's not precisely standard washrack equipment. *Glit's tone is soothing, turning around to get his brushes out* We'll get it out, don't worry.

Convoy:

*He chuckles weakly at that*  This is hardly m-meant to be a standard washrack.  *He is, at least, a bit less dazed looking, now that he's got a friend around to take his mind off of... other stuff.*

Glit:

*laughs, quietly* It's the fanciest washrack /I've/ ever seen.

Convoy:

...I do like to keep myself looking nice.

Glit:

And you succeed. *nice and calm, not pausing a moment in retrieving a couple of brushes* Here; you take one, I'll take the other? If you don't mind my help with the harder-to-reach areas, that is.

Convoy:

Thank you, and no, I don't mind.  *After all, he's not the kind of mech to mind things like that.  Well, most of the time.  He takes the brush without a thought.  The water's managed to get most of the outer bit of Convoy's engine clean, but the insides are a whole other story, clogged with half-hardened Pepsi syrup that's too... thick to be just regular old syrup at all.*

Glit:

Could you pass me some soap? Any kind should do; it's not that strong an adhesive. *Glit wastes no time in grasping the brush firmly in his paws and setting to work; it looks somewhat odd, and decidedly not as platonic as it /is,/ but this is par the course for this particular medic*

Convoy:

*Instead of responding verbally, Convoy simply shifts a bit, reaching for the half-empty bottle he had dropped on the ground earlier.  Convoy doesn't even know there's really any difference between platonic or otherwise, and so it's no issue for him.  Here, Glit, have soap.  Pay no mind to the tremor that might be in the semi's grip.*

Glit:

Thank you. *Glit proceeds to, for lack of better words, /attack/ that oddly-tacky residue.*

Convoy:

*Oddly-tacky, really gross, highly unsettling - all very good adjectives for what's stuck in Convoy's engine, as far as he's concerned.  He goes to work on one side of his engine, wincing as the shakes in his hand make him jab the brush in a bit painfully, and pausing for moments at a time.  This, unlike normal washing, is not fun or relaxing at all.*

Glit:

Careful... Can you let me do your whole engine? Your hand is shaking a bit. *Glit's voice is calm and matter-of-fact, not accusative or anything but quietly understanding*

Convoy:

...Yes, ah.  That'd probably be for the best.  *Convoy puts the brush aside and very nearly slumps against the wall fully once more, tilting his head upwards to stare at the ceiling.*  Forgive me for making you do this.

Glit:

It's not a problem, Convoy. Not at all. *And Glit works with a will, scrubbing firmly: he can smell the sticky residue even over the soap-smell, and he's going to work until he can't*

Convoy:

I didn't quite... anticipate this particular turn of events.  *He chuckles weakly, tapping his fingers on the tile underneath.*  It... was a bit of a surprise.

Glit:

Oh...? *Glit works himself deeper into Convoy's chest, soapsuds starting to billow up around his forelegs*

Convoy:

...I didn't quite expect him to be able to reach inside my chest, for one.  *Another attempt at a laugh*

Glit:

No, I wouldn't think so... Is he - /made/ of this stuff? *And that is Glit's curiosity showing through. Sorry, Convoy.*

Convoy:

I'm... not sure.  *Convoy doesn't mind.  Glit's helping him get clean, after all.*  He... just leaned against me, and...  *He makes a gesture with his hand, offlining his optics with a sigh.*  ...I didn't realize he could do that.

Glit:

That is... very much not something anyone could expect. *Glit samples the air over and over again, discreetly, but Pepsi is all he can smell under the soap. He doesn't mention this, though.*

Convoy:

...He got inside through the grill.  When I attempted to pull away, my brakes wouldn't release.  It took me... a few minutes before I thought to transform.  *His vocalizer wavers a bit, though it's barely noticeable, really.*

Glit:

I think you did as well as any mech could possibly have done in that situation.

Convoy:

I don't imagine any other would have their brakes seize up and their vocalizer give out, simply because they're told not to order him around.  *There's a fair bit of badly-hidden bitterness in his voice there*

Glit:

You might be surprised. Either by programming or sheer force of personality on your - counterpart's part, I can think of any number of mechs who would pause at that, to say the least. I think for you it's only programming, which can - and shall - be removed.

Convoy:

......If he asks for me again, I don't know what I'll do.

Glit:

Take someone with you.

Convoy:

*He lets out a rather harsh-sounding laugh at that idea*  And have him attack them?  I'd rather not have that on my shoulders.

Glit:

Is that a certainty, then? That he would?

Convoy:

...If he attacked me, after speaking to me as an equal, I doubt he would hold much sympathy for those who are... "less" than him.

Glit:

You're likely right. Would you like someone to keep you from going to him?

Convoy:

...I'm not sure if anyone... could.  *Weakly*

Glit:

If it were possible. *Glit is slowly but surely scrubbing down Convoy's innards, chasing each whiff of Pepsi he smells. There is a lot of it.*

Convoy:

...I want to get answers from him.  But he... never gives them.  I think I've started to severely annoy him, now.  Running away was probably very stupid.

Glit:

But probably not as stupid as staying would have been. *evenly*

Convoy:

...*Refrains from saying anything to that, engine giving another, albeit less clunky, sound*

Glit:

Mm? *It's more of a little noise to prompt a response than anything else, Glit working his way progressively deeper into Convoy's chest.*

Convoy:

...It's nothing.  Just wondering how thick I really must be.

Glit:

Not at all.

Convoy:

Are you so sure?  *His tone is almost bland, hand curling into a loose fist against the ground.*  I keep going back.

Glit:

That's not your choice.

Convoy:

Maybe it is, and I'm simply imagining some false coding.

Glit:

*Glit's tail lashes in the air, just one fast back and forth movement. It's the only visible part of himself that's really capable of displaying emotion at the moment, since the rest of him is covered in soapsuds and half inside Convoy's chest.* I /very/ much doubt that. *His voice is just as calm and reasonable as ever, if firm.*

Convoy:

*He doesn't respond, processors going over and trying to decide on something else to think about for the time-being.  There's not much to think on except for the fact that he has a medic in his chest - but that just circles back around.  How frustrating.*

Glit:

*Glit is an exceptionally helpful cat.* I don't think I've ever been in here before: is this place yours?

Convoy:

I... Yes.  I found it when I first arrived here - it wasn't quite fit for use, but I... fixed it.

Glit:

Really? What did you have to do? It looks very nice. *Glit is still scrubbing, and can't see anything at the moment, but that is beside the point.*

Convoy:

...Reconnect the pipes, find showerheads... clear off the rust and fix the shelves.  A few tiles needed to be replaced... *He knows what Glit's doing and he appreciates it, so he won't note the lack of actually being able to see.*  Normal refurbishing.

Glit:

About how long did that take, and might you be stealable for when I take on the Nemesis medbay? *lightly*

Convoy:

A few weeks, I believe... I may be wrong.  And if you need my assistance for anything, I would be glad to help.

Glit:

Thank you, Convoy. I appreciate it. I have to say, I'm putting off the Nemesis medbay as long as I can. I'm /sure/ it's a wreck.

Convoy:

There's little left of... The Nemesis, is that the name? - that isn't a wreck, I think.

Glit:

It's the Nemesis, yes, and I quite agree. Fortunately, cleaning /all/ of it up isn't /my/ problem.

Convoy:

...I'm still not even sure what happened.  Then again, I generally stay away from trouble.  *And look where that got him.*

Glit:

I think it was something to do with rogue unsparked drones, but it happened before I got here. *And then Glit finds something he really, really did not want to find. He actually has to reach in with a paw and pick up: the brush won't pick it up. He subspaces it fast once he realizes what it must be - Convoy doesn't need to see that.*

Convoy:

*The only thing he notices is Glit using his paws as opposed to the brush, and the sudden feel of a piece of his engine speeding up to working order.  He onlines his optics and looks down at the medic for a moment, bemused.*

Glit:

Something got a little jammed. *It's almost a truthful explanation, too!*

Convoy:

*He doesn't want to know, does he?  No, probably not.  His head hits the back of the wall lightly and he sighs.*

Glit:

In any case. *And Glit goes back to work, doing his best to ignore the certainly-not-a-finger-because-fingers-are-not-semisolid-in-consistency in his subspace*

Convoy:

...I feel remarkably stupid, Glit.  *His tone is light, but... off, from normal Convoy manner.*

Glit:

Why? *Well, the tone is not quite normal Convoy, but neither are the words. Glit's own tone still has that same calm.*

Convoy:

Being so... upset over something so infantile compared to anything anyone here may have faced.  But even when I remind myself that there are others who have gone through terrible things for far longer than I can even imagine, it doesn't stop me.

Convoy:

...I must seem like such a child.

Glit:

What? No. It's... no. Others' experiences, or the duration of them, don't make this any less terrible.

Convoy:

There have been others who have dealt with worse.  This wouldn't be so... difficult, for them.

Glit:

That's not really a valid comparison. You can't measure yourself up against others like that. You're dealing with this as well as anybody could, and probably better than /I/ would.

Convoy:

...I suppose.  *He doesn't sound entirely convinced, though, but at least he's not outright saying he's stupid right now.*

Glit:

No, really. I'm finding it difficult to think of any mech that wouldn't be terrified of a situation like the one you've found yourself in. At the risk of being too personal about it - I was, and I'm a /drone./

Convoy:

Hardly a drone.  *Sounding mildly upset at the word itself - it's got lots of bad connotation in his head.  Never mind anything else of what Glit might have insinuated - he's not about to pry into the other's life, if it's that personal.*

Glit:

Oh, no, I'm being literal. It's not offensive. *a little startled at Convoy's upset*

Convoy:

A drone has no control over their own actions.  I doubt you have someone telling you to clean out my engine.

Glit:

No, I'm independent now, but I was still made to have a master. It still counts, for all intents and purposes. *doesn't seem fazed by that fact*

Convoy:

...How did you do it?  *Quietly*

Glit:

It's a matter of - removing programming, more than anything else. Not pleasant, but not impossible, either. That's all, really. Most drones don't even think about the possibility, though. If not for some external circumstances, I wouldn't have.

Convoy:

...What did he do, when he found out?

Glit:

Nothing at all; he was rather dead at the time. It wasn't the same sort of situation as yours at all.

Convoy:

...Then you, at least, did not have to deal with the aftermath of him finding out.

Glit:

I wouldn't have done it if he hadn't been dead. As I said, it's not quite the same sort of situation.

Convoy:

Mm.  *He's quiet for a while longer, mind trying to distract itself from memory recaps with other thoughts, all jumbled and swirling in his head.*

Glit:

But rest assured that I /will/ find your programming and get it out with extreme prejudice. *Glit would pat Convoy, but since he's still half-way inside the semi, that might be misconstrued.* I'm just about done in here, I think - do you have any mobile showerheads?

Convoy:

*Convoy can't exactly misconstrue things, really, since he takes things as honestly as possible.*  Unfortunately not.  They're all rather stationary, though they can be tilted a bit in all directions.

Glit:

Hm. *Glit begins to extricate himself from Convoy's chest, careful with how slippery his paws and Convoy's own plating are* A bucket, or something else like that? *The cassette looks up at Convoy, just as covered in soap as Convoy's engine, and that is /liberally./*

Convoy:

...Ah, yes.  I believe I tucked one away - lowest shelf, beside the rags.  *Needless to say, the bottom shelf has a sliding plate door on it.  Just to keep out the moisture.*

Glit:

I think I may borrow it after you're done rinsing your engine out. *Glit eyes his soapy paws with no little amusement before attempting the slightly-more-treacherous-than-normal leap from perch to ground* Let me get it for you, since you're still injured.

Convoy:

...Thank you.  *A little hoarse, though it's not exactly clear why*  If you ever want a wash, don't hesitate to ask.  I find I'm at least slightly decent at them.

Glit:

I think I'll take you up on that. What in the Pit was I thinking when I chose /white/ paint? *That has the tones of an eternal complaint, but a good-humored one, as Glit locates and retrieves the bucket. He winds up carrying it back to Convoy in his mouth, tail held high as though he were carrying back some sort of prey*

Convoy:

*Glit has a bucket!  Wonderful, really.  Convoy takes it from him with a half-strained smile, shifting a bit to bring his grip up towards the showerhead more - well, one of them.  Listen to the sound of that bucket being filled!*  It suits you, really.

Glit:

Thanks. There was a phase in my sparklinghood where I was every slagging color of the visible spectrum, but really... white and blue just about cover it.

Convoy:

I may be a bit biased, of course.  *Being that his three colors are blue, white, and red, Convoy might just have a little more feeling for those three.  Once the bucket is filled, Convoy shifts a bit into a slightly less vertical position, slowly dumping the water out and into the soapy, not-so-Pepsi-flavored engine.  Eugh, eugh, eugh.*

Glit:

*Glit observes this from a safe distance. Well, semi-safe, since he's on Convoy's knees.* Understandably. But orange really was a really bad idea, in retrospect.

Convoy:

Orange is never, never a good idea.  *Dryly, wincing a little because his engine feels sort of raw.  Still, all that soap and water drain out of him as he pours, and he repeats the process a few more times to get all the soap out.*

Glit:

Some mechs have to learn that by experience, unfortunately. *amused, even though the water rushes against his feet. Well, they're soapy, so that's fine.*

Convoy:

Still.  There are possibly a few who may be able to use such bright colors... I'm not particularly fond of them.  *Finally relaxes after about four buckets, leaning back against the wall once more and dropping the container to the side, offlining his optics for a moment.*  ...Again, thank you.

Glit:

It's not a problem at all. *Glit edges up a little further on Convoy's leg, more directly into the stream of water from above. Cat is still soapy.*

Convoy:

*Convoy finally onlines his optics at the other's movements, looking around a bit before finding a sponge he had dropped much earlier.  He grabs it, wringing it out a bit to get rid of the soap, before taking it to Glit's back.  Hey, he did say he'd wash you, kitty cat, no need to try and do it yourself!*

Glit:

*Glit purrs, loudly, and lets Convoy work with all evidence of enjoyment.* Thanks.

Convoy:

Not a problem, Glit.  *Convoy goes about getting all the soapy suds off of the medic, working slightly into joints and flushing soap out from everywhere he can get his hands on.  It's very likely Glit just got a full wash without meaning to, when he got all up in Convoy's grill (so to speak).*

Glit:

*Intentionally or not, Glit just /goes/ with it, purring up an absolute storm and going semi-limp under the treatment.*

Convoy:

*That's really the best way to do it.  Glit isn't exactly a car, but Convoy's getting better at altering his general system to fit all sorts of characters, so it works out nicely.  He shifts a bit to make it a little less awkward for Glit to relax, so that he doesn't slip and fall off of either of Convoy's legs, and works the sponge into some of the larger seams that look particularly infested with soap.*

Glit:

*Glit essentially offlines his optics and /blisses out./ It's even better than booze, and Glit ranks intoxicants very high on his list of ways to relax.*

Convoy:

*Convoy takes great pride in being able to clean others and help them relax!  He continues going over Glit's chassis with smooth, even strokes, starting to feel a bit more... normal.  This is something that can't get ruined, after all.*

Glit:

*Glit's side vibrates with purring under Convoy's hand, basking and limp with bliss. Kitty has sprawled over most of Convoy's lap at this point. It could serve no higher purpose, clearly.*

Convoy:

I assume I'm not doing anything to your dissatisfaction?  *He's chuckling a bit as he says this, getting in behind Glit's ears a bit with easy care.*

Glit:

Huuuh? *That is the sound of a blissed-out cat. It's vaguely similar to trying to talk to someone getting a really good massage: mostly only capable of incoherent noises of bliss.*

Convoy:

*Convoy will take that as a compliment!*

Glit:

*It was meant as one, insomuch as Glit is capable of imparting meaning to words right now. The cassette is more tightly wound than he seems, and he takes chances to relax to their utmost.*

Convoy:

*All the big mech is planning on doing at the moment, beyond what he has, is give Glit all the pets and scritchies that the medic wants.  Of course, he'll still use the sponge - it makes it less like just idle petting and more like productive, cleaning time!*

Glit:

*At this point, Glit probably isn't noticing the difference - and even if he did, he is /never/ stupid enough to turn down scritchies.*

Convoy:

*Glit is pretty thoroughly clean by now, but Convoy doesn't think twice about continuing his ministrations, humming very quietly to himself all the while.*

Glit:

*Glit essentially blisses out under this treatment for a good little while, before in true cat fashion deciding that for now, he is done with petting. His head goes up first, and then the rest of him as he climbs to his feet, still purring.* You. Are a /talented/ mech, Pepsi Convoy. *He rubs his head against Convoy's hand, firmly.* But don't think your wonderful, wonderful bribery will get you out of having your brakes replaced.

Convoy:

*Convoy chuckles and relinquishes his hold on the medic, dropping the sponge to the side once more.*  Thank you, Glit.  And I don't intend to leave here without some ability to stop myself in my alternative mode, so no.  Let me turn off the water, at least, though.

Glit:

Probably for the best. *Glit even relinquishes the nice, warm, clean Convoy-lap to permit this. He is, yes, still purring. You have jump-started a kitty.*

Convoy:

*Good for Convoy!  The semi shifts into a crouch, getting up enough to turn off the water.  He hadn't thought he'd be able to do that for ages.*

Glit:

*Glit, meanwhile, goes to retrieve Convoy's replacement brakes, left carefully out of range of the water*

Convoy:

*He settles down once the water flow has stopped, relaxing against the wall, engine rumbling rather contentedly.  It's nice to feel the thing not... full of things.*

Glit:

*Glit approaches, brake pads stuffed again into his medkits and a super absorbent piece of cloth in his mouth, to make sure moisture doesn't get where it shouldn't* Can I ask you to transform? Your brakes are /inside/ your legs, and it's just easier to not bother getting to them that way unless I have to.

Convoy:

Of course.  *Convoy pushes himself up to his feet, before dropping right back down into his alt mode, a brief tremor passing through his frame.*

Glit:

*Glit stretches head to tail, long and languorous, and then settles down beside Convoy's right front tire.* I'll need to take your tires off - just one at a time. It won't hurt; I'm just letting you know.

Convoy:

...Ah, yes.  No problem.  *The idea of not being able to move in this mode doesn't exactly sit well with Convoy, but he doesn't pay it any attention.  After all, it's Glit.  It's not like Glit is made of Pepsi syrup.*

Glit:

*Glit is definitely not made of Pepsi syrup, by the careful way he detaches Convoy's tire and sets it aside.* Congratulations, you are about to be the recipient of not only brand new brake pads, but also brand new rotors. You've done a number on them.

Convoy:

*Dryly*  Wonderful.  I was hoping the damage had been minimal... ah well.

Glit:

Oh, this is pretty minimal, all things considered. It's not /much/ damage to the rotors, but I'd rather just replace them than file them down. *Glit begins doing arcane things to the interior of Convoy's wheel-well*

Convoy:

*The semi shifts a bit to make it easier for Glit to move around, sighing a bit.*  I seem to be unable to stop saying thank you, Glit.

Glit:

It's what I'm here for. *But Glit pats a readily-available bit of Convoy anyway before going back to work.*

Convoy:

Thankfully.  I don't think I'd be very likely to trust the other medics with things like this.  *Convoy's engine rumbles at the pat, but he can't do much else, in his position.*

Glit:

Some of them, I'm sorry to say, wouldn't deserve that trust. *Glit sighs, and then flicks his tail, throwing off the thought as he keeps working, taking various things out and replacing them with other things.* But that's probably the same everywhere, not just with medics.

Convoy:

It's unfortunate.  Life would be much simpler for people like me if others were more trustworthy than they are.  Ah, well.

Glit:

It'd be simpler for everyone, I think. Ah, well. *Glit continues industriously working, until the wheel is back in place* There. That's one down, one more to go...

Convoy:

*Convoy sighs and shifts a bit, preparing for the next phase, before a thought comes to him.*  Do you ever get tired of being a medic?

Glit:

*Glit blinks. A different mech, and he'd've tossed off something flippant or flirtatious, a complaint about workloads, but for Pepsi Convoy... Pepsi Convoy gets truth.* Sort of. Not... being a medic, but that medics have to be.

Glit:

Sometimes.

Convoy:

*Convoy shifts a bit, finding nothing particularly strange about that at all.*  Well - though I'm sure you're no doubt sick of this, and hear it often enough that it most likely means little to you by now, you have my deepest appreciation for taking up the job at all, much less helping me.

Glit:

*The cassette laughs quietly, and goes around to Convoy's remaining wheel.* You'd be amazed at how much I /don't/ hear that. Primus knows /I/ am. *But there's no resentment in his voice.*

Convoy:

That's... unfortunate.  Not highly surprising, now that I think of how people tend to be around here, but... still.  Depressing nonetheless.

Glit:

It's not so bad. A lot of them just don't /say/ so, and the rest... *Glit shrugs, setting Convoy's next wheel aside.* I don't do it for the appreciation anyway.

Convoy:

*Part of Convoy already feels like he knows the answer to his next question, but he's got to ask it, anyway.  Better to verify, than speculate.*  Why do you do it?

Glit:

...do you want the truest answer or the long answer?

Convoy:

Whichever one you'd rather give.  *Mildly*

Glit:

Skipping all the personal history, then, which is mostly extraneous: Primus help me, I love the slaggers. Each and every one. *Glit is remarkably calm about admitting that.*

Convoy:

*He doesn't answer right away, engine rumbling lowly.*  You've more patience than I, in that case.

Glit:

I've got less common sense than you, maybe. *Glit is still amused, smearing grease over the brake pad before installing it.*

Glit:

[[change 'maybe' to 'more like'.]]

Convoy:

*Convoy chuckles.*  I doubt that very much, Glit.

Glit:

I don't. *Glit chuckles with Convoy, easing calipers back into position before reinstalling the wheel.*

Convoy:

You have far more faith in my senses than I do, my friend.

Glit:

I'll accept that as a strike against your common sense. *The cassette gets back to his feet and stretches again* I'm done; how does everything feel?

Convoy:

Mm...  It feels much better.  I think maybe better than they were before this disaster.  *Convoy rocks a bit on his wheels, before transforming, rolling his neck a bit as he rises to his feet.  For some reason, coming out of his alt mode makes him feel as though he's unfolding out of a very uncomfortable position.*

Glit:

They probably got a little worn. *Glit sits neatly, tail curled around his feet, and watches.*

Convoy:

Perhaps.  It isn't as though I remember the last time I had any of this checked out.  *Convoy shrugs his shoulders to loosen up the gears a bit, before kneeling down and running his hand over Glit's back again.*  I really am in your debt, Glit.

Glit:

*Glit purrs again at the contact, back arching into Convoy's hand* You're really not. I'm honored you trust me for this kind of thing.

Convoy:

There's nobody else I would feel comfortable around, really.  *He smiles.*  If there is anything you need done, don't hesitate to call on me.

Glit:

*Glit half-closes his eyes and winds briefly around Convoy's ankles.* I won't.