A/N: I wrote this mainly as a challenge to myself; I don't consider it my best work. I appreciate any suggestions you may have to improve it. If slash offends you, then leave now. I did my best to keep these guys in character. Please review!

"1 wants you."

8 filled the doorway of the workshop. 2 was currently tinkering alone since 5 had gone up to the watchtower to refine their map of the surrounding area.

"There's nothing preventing him from visiting me here," 2 replied, not lifting his hands from his work. 8 lumbered in and loomed over 2.

"In the throne room."

Of all the stitchpunks, 2 was the only one the enforcer had never laid a hand on, and while the inventor had no reason to suspect 8 would break the pattern today he felt it best not to test the large stitchpunk. Besides, he wasn't going to get much done with him in the way. 2 reluctantly put down his work and stood.

"All right then."

8 followed 2 out of the workshop, using his mass to drive the older stitchpunk towards the elevator without touching him.

1's really let his ambition get the best of him, 2 thought as he walked. The ambition to lead had been obvious from the day they'd met...

"Oh, come on, you stubborn little..." 2 muttered as he yanked on the harmonica sticking out of the junk. He wasn't sure what it did, but it obviously had an intricate internal structure and he wanted a good look at it. He hadn't had much to entertain himself since the Scientist had released him yesterday. Over half of the harmonica was free when the shots started. Several humans ran by, being pursued by the strangest creatures 2 had yet to see. They were larger than the humans, with gray metal bodies perched on long metal legs. If not for the guns attached to the lower half of their bodies the machines would be reminiscent of metal birds.

I wonder how they're put together? he thought, but the thwack of several bullets digging into the earth at 2's feet nipped his speculation in the bud. He ran, dodging human and machine feet, until he ducked around a corner--

He saw the flash of optics, then a metal hand about the size of his own snatched his arm and yanked him into a small cave of junk. He yelped in surprise, but the yelp was cut short as another metal hand clamped over his mouth.

"Silence you fool," a hard, aged voice murmured in his audio receptor, "Or the machines will find us."

Whoever this was had no interest in hurting him, 2 decided quickly, since all the stranger would have had to do to achieve that end was leave 2 out in the open. 2 opted to go still and silent for the moment and see how the stranger reacted. After a few moments of inaction the metal hands released him, and the stranger moved around him to the edge of the cover. He was another stitchpunk, crafted of the same white canvas that made up one of 2's arms. He stood a full inch taller than 2, and looked even taller than that with the bullet casing hat he wore. He had buckles on his chest. 2 had never seen another stitchpunk outside of diagrams and the beginning of 3's internal frame. There was a number emblazoned in black on his back, but 2 did not yet have the experience to link it to identity.

"Who are you?" he asked. The other turned his angular face back to 2 in a scowl, and for the first time 2 noticed the odd, slightly oversized shutters in the other's optics. These shutters narrowed as he replied, "I said silence. Do you want us found?"

"Why should I listen to you?"

"I'm the first of our kind," the other replied, straightening slightly with pride, "Have you ever seen a battle before?"

"No," 2 admitted.

"I have. I'll lead."

2 boarded the elevator with 8, then the burly stitchpunk started turning the crank. In those early days this level of technology had been unavailable to 2. 1 had insisted they keep moving. To him, no place was safe. At first 2 didn't know why he stayed with such a paranoid person, but he soon became attached to him. Even grumpy company was better than being alone in this world. 1's paranoia allowed 2 to contemplate his surroundings and the curiosities within them without having to worry about his own safety. 1 did all the worrying for him. At first 2 wasn't sure if 1 appreciated the company as he did, but that changed in their fifth night together...

Tonight was cold. The two stitchpunks' chosen cover that night was a rusty barrel lying on its side amidst a junk pile. The top of the barrel was open, and the bottom had so many small rust holes that the wind cut right through it at certain angles. It offered concealment from the machines, but not much else. 2 curled into a ball on his side near the centre of the barrel and shuttered his optics, but sleep refused to come.

After the pace 1 set today I should've been out the second I lay down, 2 thought wearily, rubbing his hands over his arms in an attempt to warm them. He needed rest.

2 was about to give up on sleep altogether and demand that he and 1 find better shelter when he felt a warm body press against his back. 1's voice came from just behind his head.

"Stay still," he said tersely, then the pale stitchpunk's arms enfolded him. 1 briskly rubbed a metal hand over 2's arms and chest, warming him thoroughly.

"Were you as cold as I was?" 2 asked, the warmth already making him drowsy.

"Just sleep you old fool."

The words were harsh, but 1's tone almost rendered the insult into an endearment. 2 found himself chuckling.

"You're older than me," he pointed out.

"But far less foolish," 1 replied, his arms going still, but he didn't withdraw, "One of these days your fixation on machinery will kill you."

As he spoke he squeezed 2 so close the burlap stitchpunk could feel the rhythm of his gears. The warmth was pleasant. 2 found himself relaxing in 1's arms as he replied, "Only if your forced marches don't do the job first."

A quiet 'hmph' was at first the only reply. 2 was almost asleep when 1 responded, "I will find somewhere safe for us. A sanctuary. Then we won't have to traverse this mess anymore."

That was the last thing 2 remembered before dozing off to the gentle pulsing of 1's gears against his back.

The elevator creaked again. 2 made a mental note to examine the structure with 5 at their earliest opportunity; it was slightly louder than it should be. He smiled as he pictured his apprentice scaling the structure. For someone with such a timid disposition, 5 was curiously bold when it came to heights. He had been the first to climb up to the watchtower, and he spent most of his non-workshop hours there. It almost seemed like there were two 5s when heights were involved.

It had seemed like there were two 1s too, after that night. The next morning 1 rose first and acted as though he'd done nothing out the ordinary. He shrugged off any attempt at physical contact that day. He wouldn't acknowledge that they'd even spoken the night before. 2 had finally come to the conclusion that either he had dreamed the whole thing or the cold had driven 1 to an act of desperation. And yet that night, in a place that was far warmer than that barrel, 1 had curled around him again, and held him until he fell asleep. He did the same the following night. And the night after that. And every night before falling asleep 1 would tell him that it was just a matter of time, that he would find a safe place for them to live. 2 began to look forward to the end of each day, when the severe, haughty 1 would recede with the light and give way to the clingy, reflective, almost gentle 1 the proud leader protected.

Nothing further may have come of their sleeping arrangements if 2 had not awoken in the middle of one rainy night...

He was cold. 2 awoke in nearly complete darkness to the sound of rain hammering against their coffee tin shelter without the by-now familiar pressure of 1 against his back. Where was he?

2 sat up quickly, looking for his companion. He saw 1's profile silhouetted against the night near the open edge of the tin. The pale stitchpunk was sitting with his back to the wall, legs pulled up close to his chest, looking out at the ruins.

"1? Are you alright?"

"Go back to sleep," 1 replied, but the stern voice shook slightly. He stayed hunched, drawing his legs even closer to himself. This was the second 1, the person 1 never allowed to see the light of day. The vulnerable one. 2 got up and sat next to 1, putting an arm around his shoulders. Unlike any contact 2 initiated during the day 1 did not shrug him off.

"What's wrong?" 2 asked gently. 1 was silent for a long time. 2 waited patiently, watching the fat drops of rain spatter against the ground. He knew there was no forcing 1 to do or say anything unless he wished to. Finally the other spoke.

"He brought us into a world that will soon be nothing. He cast us out into a war with nothing. We have nothing."

"Well..." 2 replied slowly, "We have our lives."

"Which we could lose out here at any time."

"All the more reason to enjoy the time we have," 2 told him. 1 gave a 'hmph', but otherwise did not stir. 2 thought hard for something he could say to break 1's mood. It hurt more than 2 would've expected to see 1 like this. Finally he said softly, "You have me."

1 looked at 2 sharply, but rather than respond with something cutting about 2's dubious value as he would have during the day he just studied the burlap stitchpunk. 2 smiled a little uncertainly.

"You mean that," 1 stated at last, almost to himself. The uncertainty left 2's smile as he responded, "Yes. I do."

1 seemed to ponder this for a moment. Then in a flurry of motion 1 tackled 2 to the ground, landing with one knee between 2's legs and both hands on his shoulders.

"1, what--" he started to ask, but 1 silenced him with an almost painfully rough kiss. 2 found himself responding without thinking, bringing his hands up to gently stroke 1's sides. He didn't understand what was happening, but for once that was okay. The fingers of one hand found the the strap running around 1's chest and followed it to the buckle, tracing around the catch. 1 shivered, and one of his hands ran down over 2's leather vest and tugged at the bindings there. In his haste one metal finger caught in an eyelet, drawing a startled gasp from 2. He broke the kiss with a jerk of his head, grabbing the hand at his chest.

"Wait a moment, 1, just wait..."

1 made no effort to move. He stared down at 2, then asked, "Can I have you or not?"

The tone was both imperious and fearful. 2 realized he wasn't dealing with the daytime 1, the arrogant 1, or the nighttime 1, the pensive 1 of a few minutes before. Just 1. And he discovered he didn't want to disappoint him. 2 released 1's hand.

"You can have me."

1 studied 2's optics for a second, then nodded once, as if confirming something. Then he started undoing the bindings on 2's chest.

The memory almost drew a moan from 2, even now. He could still feel the metal fingers as they traced each gear, each strut that made up his substructure. The wonder, as 1 allowed himself to be opened and explored while exploring him in turn. There wasn't much else they could do besides touch each other but 2 used his technical knowledge to full advantage, finding his way to the smallest, most delicate parts that 1's metal ribs protected. The rain had stopped, and the first bits of dawn glimmered in the sky by the time they closed themselves up. It was the last rain either of them had seen.

1 had continued on much as before after that, which didn't bother 2 at the time. He'd grown accustomed to 1's behavior by now. The only difference was that now 1 would touch him when they settled down to sleep, sometimes just stroking him briefly before shuttering his optics, sometimes opening his body with the same zeal as he had that first time. Until they'd found 8.

2 glanced at the large stitchpunk, trying his best not to resent his presence. It wasn't 8's fault that 1 refused to show even the slightest bit of affection with another stitchpunk around. 1 had silenced 2 harshly when the burlap stitchpunk had tried to ask why 1 wouldn't even sit near him in the other's presence. The following day 6 and 7 had joined the group, and though 2 was glad they had, their presence was another impediment to his relationship with 1. The nighttime 1 seemed to disappear entirely, and the daytime 1 became even more haughty as he gained more followers.

2 had tolerated the change, though it hurt having to sleep alone. Perhaps 1 was just too shy around the others, he told himself. It would all get better after they found a home and had time to themselves again, he told himself. So he waited and hoped. But the final nail in the coffin came the day the remaining three stitchpunks joined them. The day of the gas.

2's hand tightened around the lip of the elevator in remembered anger. Not only had 1 abandoned 5 where he fell, resulting in a serious disfiguring injury, he had advocated later to leave the boy in the ruins when the injured stitchpunk couldn't keep quiet. He had not deigned to assist in any way with the repairs once the group had arrived in the Sanctuary, although he did come to speak with 2 later...

"That will do perfectly, thank you," 2 said to the twins, accepting a large scrap of slightly yellowed linen from them, "Could you help me cover him?"

3 and 4 nodded. The cold metal tin 2 had been obliged to use as an operating table after he and 7 had carried 5 into the Sanctuary wasn't the best surface for an injured stitchpunk to rest on, but he hoped a blanket would help soften it a bit. 2 crossed to the table with the linen and regarded the unconscious 5. He'd likely be out for hours, after the trauma he'd endured. 2 tried not to shudder as he compared the younger stitchpunk as he was now, peacefully resting despite his disfigurement, to the screaming, thrashing bundle of pain he'd been during the surgery to remove his destroyed optic. It had been a relief for everyone involved when he lost consciousness.

I'm sorry I had to hurt you so badly, boy, he thought, shaking out the linen.

"We're going to tuck it under him first to insulate him from the tin," 2 explained. Together the three stitchpunks rolled the limp 5 onto his side so 2 could spread the linen out beneath him. Once they had him on his back again 2 wrapped the loose edge of the linen over him, covering the supine form up to his neck. 3 tugged the blanket over 5's feet while 4 patted 5's shoulder sadly. Then 3 stood next to his sister and looped an arm around her.

"He'll be alright, don't worry. He just needs to rest." 2 told them, standing behind the twins and placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

The loud clearing of a throat at the door started 2. He looked over, seeing 1, and noting a narrow-eyed look on his face he had never seen before. Whatever was wrong, the twins didn't need to be a part of it.

"Why don't you go explore," 2 said to them, "I'll watch over 5 until he wakes up."

They looked from 2 to 1, then with one last glance at 5 they inched past 1 out of the room.

"So you couldn't save the eye, I see," 1 said, stepping into the room. 2 made a show of fussing with 5's blanket at he responded, "Not even the Scientist could have repaired it. He would've needed a replacement, which we don't have."

That strange look on 1's face became more defined as he watched 2 with 5, harder even. 2 subconsciously moved to place himself between 1 and his patient. Whatever was wrong with 1 it didn't bode well for 5, and the latter was in no position to defend himself. For a moment they stared at each other, then 1 spoke.

"I had to leave him. You risked us all, going back for him."

"He would have died if I hadn't," 2 replied, feeling an unaccustomed anger welling up within him, and not just for 1's willingness to abandon one of their own kind. 1 had ignored him for days, and now when he finally chose to speak he was here to chastise him?

"Sometimes one must be sacrificed for the good of many," 1 responded tersely.

"Then why did you stop when I went back for him? You could have covered a lot of ground in the time it took 7 and I to carry him back to the group."

1 approached 2, standing so close that he virtually backed him into the tin. When he spoke next his tone was softer.

"I stopped for you."

1 put his arms around 2's waist, drawing him into a kiss. The anger slipped away as 2 responded in kind, pressing a hand to the back of 1's neck. Finally, he had his 1 back, the 1 that held him, the 1 from that rainy night.

1 pulled back from the kiss just enough to look 2 in the optics. His gaze was soft, as 2 had only seen it previously when they had their bodies open, touching each other. 2 forgave him now for the neglect, and even almost forgave him for abandoning 5. The strain of leadership in such an unsafe place had made 1 do things he wouldn't have otherwise, 2 decided. Now that they were safe everything would get better. Then 1 asked, "Would you have really left me for him?"

While 2 and 7 had been carrying him to the Sanctuary, 5 had started screaming from the pain of his injury after he came to. 1 had told them to leave the injured stitchpunk if he couldn't be silent, but 2 had nipped that notion in the bud by saying that if 5 had to leave he would leave with him. 2 had the sense that it wasn't the right thing to say but he responded honestly, "I couldn't just leave him out there. I would have had to."

1 pulled back from 2 as if he'd been stung. He looked over 2's shoulder at the unconscious 5, that strange look coming back to his face. This time 2 realized what it was. Jealousy. Before 2 could say anything else 1 stormed from the room.

The lift bumped to a stop. That was the last time 1 had shown him any regard. He rebuffed 2's attempts to rekindle their relationship, and at times he was downright cruel to 5. After a time 2 gave up, throwing his efforts instead into inventions, teaching 5, and cultivating friendships with the other stitchpunks. Even 8 had seemed to develop a healthy respect for the inventor, although it never had become friendship. The enforcer was simply too loyal to 1 to develop close bonds with anyone else. Especially after some of them started leaving.

2 frowned. Even his best efforts had been unable to hold the people he considered his family together. He hoped 3,4 and 7 were doing well wherever they were now. He knew 5 had seen at least one of them since, but his apprentice had refused to discuss it, apparently honouring a promise. That had been some time ago.

2 walked into the throne room, catching sight of 1 with a pang of sadness. Despite everything that had happened since that last kiss 2 still loved him.

There he was, the stitchpunk 1 had been avoiding since their last kiss. The stitchpunk 1 still loved, in spite of his betrayal. How could he have chosen a stranger over him? How could he have chosen anyone over him? 1 forced back his emotions as he watched the aged inventor approach. What he felt for 2 was a weakness, he had finally decided, one he should have rid himself of long ago. He kept his voice carefully neutral as he spoke.

"You will scout past the eastern border of the safe zone."

The beast had been spotted in that area just the day before; the assignment was a death sentence. He expected 2 to question him, almost prayed that he would, but he did not. 2 just nodded, looking at him with those sad, wistful optics, and left. It took all of 1's self-control not to run after him.

It's done, he thought, forcing his very soul back behind his pride, There'll be no more of this weakness.

He sat down on his throne. Something within him felt like it was dying.

"Leave me," he said to 8, who obediently withdrew. 1 sat there silently for a long time, staring at his hands. He couldn't banish the memory of sliding them under 2's cloth for the first time.