There’s an amused smirk from her at Slagheap’s antics, but she’s not too worried about him making a mess. She recalls the last time she gave him a cube, and how he’d cleaned it up when he was done. Table manners was something they could teach him later, assuming they got him past the biting and clawing anyways.
Attention shifting from the Predacon to her mate, she snuggled up to him, one servo wrapping around him for cuddles, while her other one precariously held her cube steady and somewhat off to the side. There’s a happy rumble from her engine, and a content undercurrent to her field.
She rests her own helm against his shoulder plating, nuzzling the armor there, and she feels more at peace then she has in a long time. “Yours,” she agrees wholeheartedly. “Mine.” For the moment, she shoves everything else off to the side, they have things to discuss, but right now she just wants to bask in having him back, and in her arms. There would be enough time for everything else, when he was ready.
The pair of them relaxing together was a rare luxury, and he tilts his helm to press a kiss against a helm crest, engine rumbling in a warm purr, field lazy and washing around her as if it needed to re-map her frame and field once more. There’s a nugget of self control and a medical-grade weld keeping him from trying to bare his spark to her, and he grunts something incoherently about medics sticking things where they don’t belong before settling once more.
His free servo finds its way to hers, though, and blunt digits curl around hers.
"How long you been home?" Honest curiosity, not an ounce of accusation in his voice. He’d thought he was offlined, too.