one
Temptation floods a disorientated mind as to where it would be best to rest trembling fingers, other than numbly atop your lap as you survey the fast-moving scenery. Having not quite met Streetwise in its entirety, you fear he’d lose his cooler façade if you even as much as brushed his armrests. Such a reaction would be contradictory to his initial character, but a nagging voice chided that he didn’t give off that vibe, not at all. But as you encroached new territory, the outsider feeling never passed you by, understanding that any small thing you did could give them an untrue impression of yourself. Streetwise was friendly, overly so at some points, but you could not trust so easily, especially just hours after your heart nearly leaped from your chest. The trip hadn’t been very arduous, but curiosity got the best of you once you had entered the skirts of the forest, wondering aloud what this so-called talk was going to be about.
“I’m not sure of the specifics. Just wants to make sure you’ll keep your word and all that on-the-books scrap.” For some unreliable reason, that eased some of your rampaging nerves, sniffling quietly as he began to trail down a man-made path between the dense trees. “I tried to get you out of it, but he was pretty serious about at least having a quick talk. Don’t worry, he isn’t going to threaten you or anything.”
For some subconscious reason, you find you owe him thanks for trying anyway. “That’s okay,” You hum, straightening your shoulders before they deflate again, steadily losing your calm yet attempting once more to snuff it out. “I’ll just suck it up, get it over with, and we’ll all pretend like it never happened.”
Streetwise makes a noise of acknowledgment, but it isn’t a chipper one as if agreeable to your goal. Though you were very adamant about forgetting all of this after the chat with Hot Spot, he can’t find it in himself to agree, silently frustrated by your overall insistence. He wasn’t about to beg for you to stay, but he would voice that he wasn’t happy about your wanted departure. Admirable to your traits, he was growing fond of your company, be as little time you’ve shared as a gentle reminder of his outward irrationality. Often, he’s left to his own devices, finding it difficult to keep his head up when every desperate plan fails, not seeing a light in the never-ending tunnel.
“Right,” He drawls, dragging out each syllable. “Maybe, maybe not.”
Streetwise catches you shake off the confusion from a mildly exasperated expression, opting to push onwards without acknowledging his exchange, rightfully pensive. “So, is it just the three of you then?” You ask to avoid any unknown revelations; uncertain your already fast-beating heart could handle any more than three.
“No,” He doesn’t think it’s best to disclose such information, thinking if he spooked you enough, most of this would just be futile as the base was just ahead. “But the only bots here now are Hot Spot, Groove, and me. The others are elsewhere right now, likely completing their duties for the rotation. Hot Spot asked them to give us the space, he did not want you to be...”
He trails off, unsure what word is best. “Afraid?” You venture, a fair guess, but when you’ve realized what he just said, you balk, eyes wide. “More than three? How many?”
“Doesn’t matter, at least right now,” The reply was a little too curt than he’s used to, but he must steer this conversation back on track and not flare your vacillation any further. “We’re here,”
Streetwise pulls up to an area that runs up against the side of a cliff, rock encasing a large clearing almost on three sides in one large swoop, a massive hunk of metal sheathed with greenery and brush as if to camouflage it. It was blended in well enough, most certainly from above, and you couldn’t think of a time that anyone risked it this far into the desolate wilderness unless it was an outstanding hunting year, a feat that hasn’t occurred in twenty-five years.
“Holy shit,” You breathe, a familiar fear crawling up from the pits of a nauseated stomach to settle in your throat, nerves high. “I don’t think I can do this.” Never thinking in the first place that you could, it all became glaringly real the instant he began to slow down, realizing here is where you would walk into a harsh unknown.
“Of’course you can,” The wheels come to a halt, stopping just shy of the entrance as the passenger door on your right swings open, wordlessly beckoning you out of the cabin. “You made it this far. If anything, I’m sure Groove wants to say hi. He hasn’t really shut the frag up about you since last night,” He would never tell him what he just witnessed, for it would only boost the motorcycle's already dangerously encouraged ego, but you turn back to the center console, eyes just a tad brighter, less petrified.
“Really?” You swallow, watching the seatbelt retract across your waist to settle against the side of the seat, swinging your legs over to the right to exit. “I guess so…”
Groove truthfully had not stopped talking since his arrival back to base, unable to keep the secret to himself and running his mouth to his roommate, Rook. Then, who in turn was annoyed he wasn’t informed about it, wanted to meet you and discern every detail from beginning to end. “Because it was supposed to be a secret!” Streetwise had huffed, unimpressed with Groove’s inability to shut the hell up. But to be completely honest, in the least with himself, his processor was wide awake with play-by-plays of your conversations and furthermore, the one that was to come with Hot Spot. With the confirmation that he had done the correct thing in some strange roundabout way, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing with ideas of how to get you to collaborate, or at the very least feel less distressed.
When you’ve hopped out of the vehicle and taken a dozen or so steps forward, Streetwise moves his transformation cog slowly, converting from his alt-mode to his bi-pedal mode languidly but promptly. “Besides, we haven’t met yet. Officially, anyhow,”
At the loud thud, you hastily swivel around, looking straight ahead for the police cruiser only to find it was no longer there, anxious that what you had guessed was about to occur was truthful. In place of the car, your neck tilts further and further back until you meet a set of unguarded cerulean eyes mortified that, somehow, he was larger than Groove. While somewhere in your distorted thoughts, it made strangely perfect sense, as the car was much bigger than the motorcycle, you suppose at the given moment, unexpected disbelief got the better of you. Staggering, you take three steps rearward until you can collect your spiraling mind, palm raising to cover your rapidly beating heart.
Streetwise tilts his helm to the side, unsure as to why you still looked so startled and terrified, thinking this was far more rational than a talking car. “What’s the matter? I really have an uglier mug than Groove?”
Thinking he’s serious, you hastily shake your head in disagreement, before swallowing the incoming round of tears to stutter a comeback. “No, no! I just…Hi, Streetwise,” You decide on, going to say it was nice to meet him formally, you suppose, when he visibly deflates, as if patiently awaiting your approval.
“Good.” It was foolish of you to assume that the exchange would end there because the next sentence he utters has all the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright. “I’ll be sure to tell him you think he has an ugly face-plate,”
Gasping, you scramble after him, trying but failing to keep up with his long stride. “I didn’t mean it like that, I meant-”
“I know,” He laughs, pressing a few buttons until the panel slinks over with an automatic hiss, himself grandly gesturing you inside first. “Just kidding,”
Taking his offer but demonstrating your hesitation, you shuffle into the expansive but uncannily well-lit space, eyes still glassy and a straining uncomfortableness running rampant. You have no expectations of the room, going to scan its contents when your gaze falls on a looming presence at the furthest wall, a full head and shoulder taller than Streetwise.
A shuddery exhale escapes you, hand coming to cradle your elbows as the mech at your rear takes in your horrified body language, unsettled by something. He follows your stare, finding your discontentment was from Hot Spot, the bot who’d sooner rip his servo off than cause you any harm, but you didn’t know that. The only idea you had of him was your own imprecise explanation of him, that and the short contact from the other night, at which he was arguably at his most overwrought, still not even toeing the line of being cross. Streetwise can only recall one time that he's ever seen him livid, even in all the epochs he’s known him, and that was when Blades did something careless that got him seriously injured.
Seemingly at your gulp, the figure turns around, eyes an intense crimson that gives off the impression he is nowhere near laidback, as Streetwise had so insouciantly called him. You cannot see his mouth, the same as you cannot see Groove’s eyes, but when you try to retreat, Streetwise had leaned down, prodding your back with a bent digit, escape route quickly seized from your line of sight. “Spots, this is y/n,”
To your dismay, he comes to a knee, still far too intimidating, a voice you would not associate with the bot rumbling from deep within his chest. “Hello,” It’s outrageously affable, not approaching any further as to give you ample room, only for you to close the outstanding distance whenever you felt the courage to do so.
Another round of tears brims to the surface, unable to do anything but offer a short wave in greeting. With a beat of silence, you fear this is all a setup, though you falter considerably when he restarts once more. “Streetwise, may I have a word with y/n in privacy?”
Streetwise pauses, digit still hovering above your spine as if to be a comforting notion, feeling his spark sink simultaneously. You seemed so scared, even if you didn’t understand you had no true reason to be, lest of Hot Spot, and it didn’t feel right to abandon you in a moment like this when he worked so hard to gain a sliver of your trust the entire ride here. Yet, Spots looks at him pleadingly, a soundless appeal to let him handle this, to get back on course without more unnecessary delays.
At his question, your shoulders jump to your ears, about to beg him to stay, but to your heavy dismay, he sighs behind you, standing up to his full height once more. “Yeah,” He can’t glance your way, because he knows the moment he sees your pleading eyes, he won’t be able to maintain his composure and abide by the leader’s request.
With a floundering stare, you watch as he moves down a hallway to your left, taps a button on a panel just right of the door, and disappears as the metal slides right back over. As if the snap of a finger, the only two that remain in the room are you and the daunting company just about thirty-five yards away, bowed, entirely still.
“I only asked him to leave because I fear I will be entirely transparent with you, y/n.” Hot Spot appears tired, an exhaustion present in his voice and frame that you had not perceived when meeting Groove or Streetwise. The boss appears to carry the weight and severity of the situation on his broad shoulders, a vast contrast to the optimistic attitudes the other two mechs had in your previous communications. You’ve yet to say anything, unconfident in how to approach him, but he carries onwards for the both of you. “I doubt that either of them has explained much to you, but that may be partially my fault.”
Injudiciously, you shake your head, sniffling some before finding your voice, albeit unstable. “No, I can’t say anything has been cleared up,” A hoarseness overtakes your words, causing you to clear your throat before continuing. “But why do you wanna talk to me? I swear, I won’t tell anybody, I hardly believe this is real and not a dream.”
You stiffen as he chuckles, sincere but soft all the same, a somewhat bolstering impulse. “Ah, well, though I must implore you to keep our secret safe, the intention of this meeting was not for that purpose,”
He speaks so gently, so carefully as if trying to console you all while having a simple chat, a multitasking clandestine. When you do not immediately reply, he tugs free one of his hands that was previously atop his knee, undoubtedly an awkward position for a mech so big, but remains inert. You shamelessly stare at it, surveying his every move, but only come to find he is extending a motion to you, vying to close the overkill distance set between your bodies.
It takes unfathomable courage to peel your shoes off the tile, eventually relenting and answering his call, notwithstanding unhurriedly. When you finally stand before him, swallowed by his shadow, you think he’s presenting a handshake as Groove did, but instead, ever so gently, he raises a finger to your face to push aside tears you had no indication were flowing freely, unbeknownst among the whirlwind. His touch is his featherlight as if used to being benign and dealing with rosy skin, but it all fades far too fast as his servo comes back to the perch he’d pulled it from.
“You have every right to be afraid.” That is almost validating, but you won’t proposition him the satisfaction of knowing that just yet. “But if I may be honest with you, y/n, we are in a very precarious situation. I don’t wish to implore such a heavy burden upon you, but if you would consider it, we may require your assistance every now and then.”
Blinking wildly, your hand comes to graze the cheek he’d just warmed, comprehensively perplexed. “Assistance? I don’t really follow.”
Taking your riposte as not an immediate no, Hot Spot continues without a second thought, treading meticulous waters. “Our resources are cripplingly depleted. We have been on Earth for roughly three years with virtually no contact from our home, our mission is vaguely understood to us. If we do not find supplies soon, I am afraid we will have to enter emergency stasis.”
You don’t know exactly what ‘emergency stasis’ means, but the context clues are bold enough to grasp a quick conception. “But how can I help? This was all an accident, and I still can’t believe this is happening-” Stopping short, you pause to realign your tone as you wildly approach being loud and vexed.
“This is merely a…request, by no means an obligation,” Genuine, and effortlessly exhibiting that he’s not frustrated in your outburst. “Trust that I would not ask something of you if it was not my last resort. When Streetwise had disclosed to me of Groove’s misfortune, he did not see it as such. He saw you as a potential friend and ally, one that did not blow our cover the moment you spotted us.”
“What are you doing?” Streetwise freezes in place, leaning up against the door as Groove rounds the corner, apparently caught in the act of trying to listen in on the very lengthy conversation. It was entirely futile, unable to hear a single thing, audials strained greatly as Hot Spot must be whispering and your voice level was not loud enough to be picked up by his sensors. “Who’s in there?”
“Shut up,” He seethes, motioning him to be quiet, keeping his own voice at a hushed balance. “Hot Spot is talking with y/n, and-”
“y/n’s here?” Groove has no idea what stealth means, his shout causing Streetwise to lunge forward to cover the motorcycle's mouth with a servo before dragging him back over to the door, now in a headlock against his chassis.
The whole notion was causing your head to spin, feeling torn as you were in no position to deny them help, but feeling a demanding awareness of hesitance in immediately agreeing to do so. “I just need a moment to think about it…it’s not a no, it’s just a…maybe.” You decide, posture losing some of its left-over rigidity, thinking it best to go over your options, in the security of your own home and not here.
“Certainly.” He hums, overall pleased, an idea that sends a balminess to your chest, ambiguous as to why. “I thank you greatly, and I truthfully appreciate you even considering it. I will have Streetwise take you home.”
Alongside a deep breath, you nod, looking up at him with a small smile. “Sounds good.”
Just when everything began to settle, both Hot Spot and you advert your gazes to the door Streetwise had departed down, a lurid noise followed by a shout echoing, bouncing off the metal walls. You cannot see the blue mech’s mouth, but you could gather when he was smiling and when he was frowning, just by the lines beneath his eyes, and at this very instance, he was no longer pleased.
“What was-” You go to ask, but then the door slams over, meaning someone has pressed the button from the other side as Groove and Streetwise tumble out and clumsily hit the ground with a callous thud. Gasping, you can only stare as the cruiser keeps the motorcycle tangled in a stranglehold, Groove splaying a hand over Streetwise’s chin to try and keep him at bay, struggling to break free.
“y/n, hi!” As if they weren’t wrestling each other, Groove perks up considerably when his optics fall to you just across the room. Streetwise immediately relents, realizing that they were had, trying to scramble to stand, but it appears he couldn’t quite shove the bot from him as in an awkward position.
Dumfounded, you wave hello, but Hot Spot vestiges, unenthusiastic. “I do not recall either of you being told to stand there,”
Eventually, Groove lands on the floor with an oof, having been successfully tossed off Streetwise’s lap with little placidness. “Yeah, about that. I-”
He’s interrupted, but he can’t say he’s galled about it, almost overjoyed to find you terribly suppressing laughter, and not like the sarcastic one he heard last night. It’s light, giggles grappling to break free as a palm comes to your lips, not even correctly covering them as top teeth sink into your bottom lip.
“Sorry, sorry!” You try, but it’s futile, as a round of amusement erupts, the three of them staring at you mostly in incredulity, unconfident as to what you find funny, but they all relax when you provide some sort of explanation. “I just wasn’t expecting that, I- are you okay?”
When you look between the two of them, Groove is the first to recover, hopping to his feet and dusting imaginary specks off his plating, suddenly unable to look your way. “Yeah, totally fine.”
“All good,” Streetwise confirms, hauling himself back onto his feet. “So. Ready to go?”
You nod, a more permanent smile sticking on your face. “Yeah. I think so.” Turning briefly to address the still crouched Hot Spot, you wave tenderly, meaning the next sentence earnestly. “It was nice to meet you. I will get back to you, I promise.”
“Likewise. And I do implore you take as much time as you need,” He speaks so professionally, that you fleetingly wonder if he ever swears, but you’re charmed, nonetheless. “I look forward to hearing from you, either way.”
For some otherworldly reason, you know he means it. Proffering a thumbs up, you cross the floor over towards the exit, hands tucked within your sweatshirt pocket as Streetwise and Groove exchange a glance. Still not quite understanding your sudden shift in mood, the police cruiser shuffles after you, shrugging to himself as you wave goodbye to the white and gold mech on your way out.
“I wasn’t listening, just so you know.” Groove says trying to wiggle his way out of an incoming lecture, sensing it was a very high possibility. “I couldn’t hear a word you said. Was mostly getting my aft kicked that whole time.” Massaging at his side as if it would add to his unlikely story, a sheepish expression adorning his face.
Hot Spot only hauls himself off the ground, standing fully upright once you are entirely gone from immediate sight, his joints protesting harshly with audible creaks. It must’ve been no good on his junctions to hunch on himself like that but tried to make himself less unapproachable, for only your sake.
“I’m sure,” The leader muses, a sunnier air to his manner, yet addresses the motorcycle circumspectly, apathetic to his declination. “Although, I am shocked you did not fight Streetwise to take y/n home,”
“A definite brawl that would not be worth it, for starters,” He answers, a ghost of a smile on his face-plate. Firmly watching the exit after the door slides back over, alerting them both they had departed from the base, now outside. “And besides, I owe him one.”
“See? He wasn’t so bad, right?” Now out of earshot, the two of you now stand on the grass outside, yourself presenting a little less anxious, at least no longer quivering. Streetwise was right, he ostensibly always is, finding ways to relax your nerves even if you were doing the absolute most to keep them suppressed and not brought to the surface. “Makes Groove and I look like slagheads,”
“He was very nice,” You affirm, finding casual conversation no longer an insane feat. At a random bend of wind, you turn to the left towards the horizon, attempting to evade the strong squall. But by the time you turn around, the black and white sedan was in the spot Streetwise previously was, purportedly having not heard him. “But I don’t think he makes either of you look bad, you’re both cordial, in your own ways.”
“I wasn’t looking for a compliment, but I will absolutely take that one,” He laughs, passenger door propped open. “So, you’ll think about it?”
While he hadn’t heard what Hot Spot specifically said, he understood generally what he was going to ask, just by the conversation they had the previous rotation. It was a crapshoot, they all somberly knew that, especially with how largely jumpy you’d seemed, apprehension high. Something had changed, even if only marginally, and though kept to himself, he was proud you were to the lowest degree of uneasiness around him. But he could blame that on the sole reason that he’s had the most communication with you, yakked your ear off and you hadn’t shied away from it, at least not today.
“I will.” You slide inside the interior once more, taking immediate notice of how every action appears to be equable, the seatbelt clicking over and the door swinging shut. It’s like he took a crash course on the subject after he drove you home yesterday, with actions more calmer and less forceful. “I promised him I would.”
“That’s all I could ever ask for. I appreciate you even thinking it over,” An engine turns over, and he begins back down the path from whence you came, somehow in a cheerier mood. “Now it’s time to hold up my end of the deal. To take you to the store, as promised.”
“Thank you.” Hushed, but not out of anything other than a sudden gradual tiredness that has overtaken your mind. You want to fill the silence but can’t find anything more to continue, your head tilting gingerly against the heavily tinted glass.
“No need for thanks, it’s the least I can do.” The interior dashboard alights with his words, and this time, you catch the rearview mirror as it slides in your direction. “I wouldn’t want to bother you any longer,”
“That’s okay,” Completely stunned by your answer, he isn’t given time to recover before you continue. “You’re not a bother. I appreciate all the precautions you put into this,”
He can’t find a singular word in his internal dictionary that would convey his truest reaction, other than a stammered cough and a mumbled reply. “H-hey, no problem. Anytime.” Wholeheartedly meaning it, every single word.