two
The evening had come simpler, taking each hour with stride alongside heavy contemplation on Hot Spot’s convincing and insanely viable words. It seemed absurd, such undoubtedly resilient and indestructible beings pleading with an untimely congregation for necessary assistance. While it was not quite as daunting as the previous night, it still left you with questions and an ever-deepening basket of hesitation.
Terminology previously unknown to you lived rent-free in your mind, emergency stasis. While never receiving a proper definition of the words, you widely understood that it was not beneficial or paramount for any of them, the last thing on their minds. Hot Spot had dismissed Streetwise from the room, meaning that none of the team likely understood the gravity and scale of the problem at hand, the leader bore the burden alone. Just by looking at him, you can tell that his body language is withdrawn even as he forces himself to likely break every protocol in the book.
Wandering into the kitchen, you moved around the space aimlessly in search of answers amongst the worn wooden cabinets. Streetwise had departed the moment you had closed the door over, but it didn’t stop him from patrolling the skirts of your neighborhood for an hour or so, unbeknownst to you. It felt impractical to dwell on such a topic for so long, but every avenue or route you tried left you with a detrimental amount of guilt pitted in your stomach. You suppose you could just ask what was being inquired of you, as a vast selection of queries remained unreturned.
It was becoming a migraine trying to unravel how far into this you were getting, left with more what-ifs than why-not.
Who were you to deny someone assistance, even if the aspect of helping alien car robots appeared vastly incomprehensible? It’s that idea that brings you back full circle, unconvinced in how you could help, but perhaps it wasn’t all a grander scheme. If they had ill intentions, surely, they would have acted out on them by now, likely bypassing showing you where they were hiding out.
Slowly and very elusively, they were demonstrating blind trust in you, a feat that would undeniably burn them if you were to break that faith. All it took was a wrong move, you suppose, and it was you who took the chance to cut through the park that night. If there were to be partial blame, you’d emphatically claim it, as you would not relent in finding out who was hiding behind that tree.
“Fuck,” A swear leaves you, palms splaying across the icy countertop as you crumple the majority of your upper body there. There was no one here to argue against your persistent contemplations, not a soul to offer sympathy or advice, and that dampened elusive hopes fervently.
Gathering yourself, you shuffle back toward the foyer in search of the couch, perhaps, or the stairs to collapse into bed, both enticing. Yet, in the window located across the frontmost wall, you catch a spray of headlights, defenses hackled at every silent second that ticked by. With a sigh, you venture to calm a now fast-beating heart because it is just what you suspected: a passing car and not an unexpected visitor.
But then they linger. And thrown into a frenzy of high alert, every suspicion brought back to dizzying reality as you yank the front door open once again, displeased to find a red and white ambulance parked just shy of your mailbox.
The van jerks, wheels spinning forward to lock immediately as if displaying true surprise at your dramatic display of exasperation. Straightaway, fathoming your guest, your vexation ceases. It takes a handful of seconds, but with a contradictory sigh, you tackle the steps and pad down the driveway, ending up at the passenger door of the ambulance.
“Hi,” You offer, standing awkwardly on the curb as the van refuses to roll its windows down, but something tells you he’s observing you circumspectly, head to toe. “I don’t think we’ve met,”
After an uncomfortable moment, as if debating his choices, he relents, and the passenger window descends.
The voice that replies is pleasant and kind, the same as the three you’ve already encountered, not to any surprise. “Hello,” He advances, still regarding you with defenses high, but you were inadvertently doing the same. “We haven’t, not quite.”
Overwrought by the tail end of his sentence, you opt to disregard it and push the conversation back on track. “Forgive me, Streetwise didn’t share names,” Trying your damnedest to be friendly. “I’m y/n,”
Stunned once more by your forwardness, he shakes the sensation and carries on as best he can muster. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m First Aid,”
You want to sputter a laugh at the irony, a grin even worming its way to your lips, but you fear that would be an awful first impression in trying to explain such. Instead, you rock from heel to toe, hands clasped behind your back with a tired smile adorning.
It felt weird to move any closer, so in its place you display your feelings vocally. “Nice to meet you too,”
He senses it’s his turn to explain himself, even if he has a million questions of his own. “If anybody knows that I’m here and got caught, I’ll never hear the end of it,” First Aid rumbles, almost angry at himself for being a poor spy. “I just…curiosity got the better of me, I suppose."
“Well, given the current circumstances, an ambulance does stick out just a little bit. But to be completely fair, I probably wouldn’t have noticed, but…” Weakly, you point to his blaring headlights, so bright that you could assume he had his high beams on, or perhaps they were really that strong. “Those kinda gave you away,”
Instantaneously, he ceases them, uttering a curse in a tongue you couldn’t place. “You got me there.”
There’s a pregnant pause that finds the both of you, the street lamps flickering unceremoniously until they blink out of existence altogether. You swallow thickly, hands jamming into your coat pockets as you peer around, hopeful no one is catching this unexplainable exchange.
“Is there something else I can help you with?” A chill runs the length of your spine; the nighttime breeze proves miserably strong.
“Well, obviously, but I think you’ve had enough for today.” He says, treading careful waters. “I am willing to bet Hot Spot probably did a good job explaining the situation.”
You nod, shoulders raising, then dropping into a shrug. “Yeah. I told him he’d have his answer tomorrow.”
“Hence the reason I’m here,” First Aid hums, losing some of his guard as the chat progressed without hostility. “Can’t let Groove and Streetwise have all the fun,”
You comprehend he’s referring to if you dismiss Hot Spot’s pleas, you’d likely never speak to any of them ever again, left to always look twice over your shoulder at passing police cruisers and ambulances. And while you found yourself enjoying their company in a silly sense, you suppose you would miss such banter and a stable familial structure. It left you in the pits, dissatisfied with yourself for being so unsure, but perchance, he could alleviate some of your worries.
“Can I ask you a question, First Aid?” You try, taking a brave step forward, the tops of your sneakers hanging off the curb's edge. His interior lights flicker on, and the rearview mirror tilts your way courteously.
“Of course you can.” It’s not bothered, as you’d expect it to be, for changing the subject so abruptly.
A shaky exhale, but you scavenge the courage to pursue the inquiry. “What is emergency stasis?”
First Aid remains silent for a handful of seconds as if thinking over his words awfully judiciously. “It's not good. It is a state where we are technically disengaged but not…offline. It is to preserve energon when there are not enough resources to keep us fueled,”
Your lips purse, unamused. “So…kind of like being comatose?”
“If I am evaluating your term correctly, then yes. That’s a more gracious way of putting it.” He agrees, media console alighting with each of his words.
“Shit,” You hiss, concerned you weren’t going to like the response when you received it. "That complicates things,"
“Where did you hear that?” And you fear you’ve given up the situation Hot Spot had asked to keep between the two of you, divulging information that was not yours to share. “It’s a Cybertronian term I would assume is not common knowledge,”
When you falter to conjure up a reasonable excuse, you sigh. “I heard it sometime today or yesterday. I think I remember hearing it when Groove was speaking to Streetwise,” You make a phone with your fingers, holding it up to your ear. “Over their communication links or something,”
“Hm,” A mumble, vastly perplexed. “You asked the right bot. I would explain it best, being the medical professional,”
“I would have never guessed.” You laugh gingerly, fingers clenching uncomfortably in your coat pocket. “Thanks for the info. It helped clear up some things.”
“No problem. But I think it’s time for me to get back before anybody realizes I’m gone,”
Agreeing, you take a step backward, narrowly missing clipping your elbow on the mailbox. “Right. Good night, First Aid,”
“Night,” The window tugs upward as you pivot, moving sluggishly across the grass and eventually heading straight for the porch. “Groove still hasn’t shut up about you, by the way!” He calls, causing you to freeze while walking up the concrete stairs, but when you turn around, he’s already moving down the street, headlights clicked on.
“Emergency stasis? Who said anything about that?” Upon returning to base, First Aid had cornered Streetwise in his berthroom in search of answers, pounding on the door until the panel ultimately slid over.
“It doesn’t matter where I got the information from. Is it going to happen?” First Aid argues, now pacing the floor as Streetwise remains seated at his desk, chin in his hand. “And if so, how soon?”
He ex-vents, becoming exhausted with this exchange, and it’s only just begun. “The context is needed, Aid, ‘cause unless Spots told you, it's not credible,”
To both their surprise, the door glides over once more, Groove standing in the doorway pointing an accusatory digit toward the medic. “Where did you just come back from?"
First Aid chokes, now rooted to his spot on the floor as Streetwise’s optics drift from the hallway back to him. “You went somewhere?”
"Shut up, Streets, this is more important." With the door now wide open, any passerby would be able to hear all the misgivings that were simultaneously occurring, much to Streetwise's dismay. "Wait, and before you answer that, related follow-up question: was it y/n’s house?”
“Well, thanks, Groove-” He grabs the bot’s arm and yanks him fully into the room, closing the door over again while lowering his voice, heavily annoyed. “But yes, I did go to y/n’s house, and before you start, it was for a good reason-”
They both wince as Streetwise stands abruptly, chair skating across the floor only to tumble over on its side with a heavy thud, forgoing any sense of discretion. “You what?!”
He could sense all Hot Spot’s, as well as his hard work crumbling in his hands, all the meticulously crafted effort they exerted to ensure you felt safe amongst them and not chaotically overwhelmed. Streetwise had even begun to convince himself that this would not be all in vain, so assured that you would say yes and could cease being so frightened around all of them.
Streetwise enjoyed such conversations and your compassion even if the majority of the time, a daunting apprehension was still sitting heavy within your chest. He would never assume that First Aid did anything to harm you, rather he would speculate on your behalf, that an unfamiliar face showing up after all but begging was a demonstration of intimidation.
He had unwittingly set this endeavor four paces backward, and Streetwise could not stifle his chagrin, ire displayed heavily in his posture and tone.
“What did they say?” Groove breaks the stalemate, shaking free from First Aid’s grip with a grunt. “Or did you just park outside like a creep,”
Before he can muster a comeback, Streetwise interjects, tone firm but simple. “Would that be where you got the idea of emergency stasis from?”
The motorcycle looks between the two of them, trying to figure out how the topic had changed so drastically, skepticism uncontrollably discernible. “Emergency stasis? Where'd that come from?”
“They may have mentioned it.” First Aid intones but picks up speed rather cursorily. “I was trying to be discrete. They spotted me before I had the chance to drive off,”
Streetwise feels as if his hands are tied, uncertain if it was best at this point to bring this troublesome developing story to Hot Spot. He was none the wiser about any ideas of emergency stasis; nothing like that was divulged to him, but it was very plausible that their leader was stretching the truth about the amount of energon left. It was likely his plan to prohibit worry, but reality would present itself sooner or later, and he felt discouraged that Hot Spot did not feel confident enough to share such a burden.
“Listen, nobody is going into emergency stasis. I think maybe he mentioned it to y/n to explain the severity of our situation, but it’s not on the table, not right now,” He attempts to soothe and mediate the rising tension within the room. “The only thing I care about is what you said, First Aid.”
“They weren’t upset if that’s what you’re implying,” He huffs, hands now resting atop his hips. “We had a pleasant conversation, actually. They’re very nice.”
Groove bobs his helm happily, apparently in wholehearted agreement. “They are,”
Streetwise sends him a glower as if to say, ‘You aren’t helping’. “How did you even get the address? I blocked my location both times I’ve been there, and there's no way you just stumbled upon it,"
First Aid and Groove exchange regards, and then both turn to the white mech simultaneously. “You saved it to the ‘important locations’ folder on the computer,” The ambulance challenges.
“Still doesn’t answer my question,’ He scoffs, unimpressed. “That folder is locked.”
“Yeah. And Hot Spot’s password is ‘hotspot123.’” Groove counters, like he had shamelessly snuck around the main computer as well. “Not really that difficult to figure out,”
“I hate it here,” A fair complaint, though it was not entirely genuine. “The both of you. Shut up about the emergency stasis scrap and stay away from y/n’s house until they are ready to give their decision.”
They both nod, for the first time in a long time, all in understanding.
The morning comes faster than you'd care to admit, all the troubles shoved aside to command sleep swiftly returned, crawling up from the depths from whence you momentarily stuffed them. Lying in bed, sprawled out, and staring up at the ceiling, you could not bring yourself to weigh the pros and cons any further, taking up too much space in your thoughts. Even if the lunacy had subsided, First Aid's explanation of emergency stasis only put you in a trickier spot, guilt gnawing at you like a dog to a bone. It compels you, and when you turn your head, the light that slips through the uneven curtains temporarily blinds you enough that your eyes squeeze shut once more.
You needed to find a way to contact Streetwise.
"That was some commotion from your room last night,"
Streetwise clenches his fist a little tighter around the datapad in his grasp, stunned by Hot Spot's astute observation. He had hoped to keep it retained to the three of them, hoping to find a better opportunity to dispense his findings to the leader, but as they both stood at the computer his wishes were immediately ceased.
"The chair fell over," It wasn't a lie, it had, but a lot more accompanied it.
Hot Spot hums, still not properly addressing him. "I see."
Swallowing his pride, he winces, daring to ask. "You didn't happen to hear the topic of the discussion, did you?"
"No," And he's telling the truth, he painfully always does. "I did discern that Groove and First Aid were in your quarters for a while, though that is not out of the ordinary."
"Groove being anywhere near me is out of the ordinary," Streetwise huffs but means it as a light jest. "But, uh, yeah. A small mishap last night, I'll admit that."
Spot's brow raises, but he doesn't look up from his typing. "I assume you took care of it?"
"Mhm." Distracted, he toys with the idea of just spitting it out, being candid when he recognizes he should. There was no good reason to hide such a thing from Hot Spot, not acceptable enough that it would smother the disappointed tone he would spill when he ultimately found out anyway.
It's on the tip of his glossa when the exterior alarm trips, enveloping the entire base in a bath of blinking red lights, startling them both momentarily. The alarm had only ever been activated once in their entire time on Earth, and that was because an animal had been confused, wandering too close to the sheath of metal.
Rook barrels out into the common space, weapon drawn and panic settling onto his face plate. He was likely recharging, and Streetwise offered a sympathetic smile to the poor mech, but the urgency overtook it.
"Pull up the exterior camera," Hot Spot rumbles earnestly, dismissing his work for the time being as Streetwise fumbles to press the button, slamming it with a fist upon locating it.
When neither Hot Spot nor Streetwise moves, Rook lowers his gun, padding up behind them to turn off the blaring alarm. "What's the matter?" He asks, tilting his helm to the side to try and understand the image they were looking at, confused.
"No one's there," The police cruiser mumbles.
Yet, the mech to his left thinks a little quicker, conjuring up a more feasible solution to their perplexing issue. He angles the camera differently, moving it so it pointed downward, and there you were, shifting your weight from foot to foot with a nervous look adorned on your face. Your car was a little further back in the trees, previously hidden by the camera's awful and thoughtless perspective.
Immediately, Streetwise peels himself away from the dashboard and heads straight for the door, an urgency in his step that Hot Spot hasn't seen in a while. Perchance, this was good news, something they had all been searching for in a never-ending tide of worries and hurdles to cross.
You gasp as the panel opens, taking two steps rearward as the bot you were looking for answers, but all either of you can do is just stare at each other. He hadn't thought of a single thing to say, just concerned that you were out there in the intrusive cold and had somehow remembered the route to the base, so hopeful that it temporarily rendered him speechless.
"Good morning," You say, fingers reaching up to adjust the hood of your coat, a spreading warmth crawling up your neck to gravitate on your already rosy cheeks. "Sorry to come by unannounced, but I couldn't think of another way to get in touch with you,"
His lips fumble to move, but somehow, he shakes off the nonplus and urges you inside with the extension of his servo. "Right. I guess we didn't think about that,"
"Yeah," Palms slide into your coat pockets, thumb running over the coin tucked neatly inside the seam, walking forward at his gesture. "Is Hot Spot here? I, uh, I'm ready to give him his answer."
Once inside, Streetwise tries his best to keep pace with your stride but has to linger just behind you to do so. "He's here. Just around the corner, where you met with him last rotation,"
"Can you stay this time?" You mumble, unable to look anywhere but straight down the hall. "It's for the both of you,"
"Of course I can." He feels as if he's been punched in the stomach, acknowledging your timidness promptly, a familiar nervousness potent. He couldn't be disappointed in your choice; he had to come to terms with the idea that you would not choose in their favor. "Whatever you would like, y/n."
"Thank you." With a small smile, you take the corner a little more courageously than you had just the other day.