four
“Are you now having doubts?” After the door had closed over, it left Streetwise with a tightness in his chassis that he couldn’t quite shake off, especially with Hot Spot’s concerned approach. “What changed between our conversation and now?”
He wouldn’t necessarily call it doubts, but there was an insatiable, troublesome feeling amongst the whirlwind of confusion and misdirected wishful thinking. Something he previously couldn’t place, but the fog immediately dispersed the moment you put that coin in the palm of his servo. It wasn’t so much the penny; your fragile hand encapsulated his attention in a jarring observation.
You were being asked a million things, tugged in six different directions and Streetwise hadn’t thought of the one thing that any good soldier would have. He was inadvertently putting an awfully big target on your back, a glaring obvious to them that you had virtually no idea of. And that made it infinitely worse, too blinded by their personal struggles to even consider roping someone so innocent into a rampaging mess.
“I didn’t think it through well enough,” His weight shifts from foot to foot, swearing under his breath. “There are too many things to go wrong. Things I hadn’t even recognized until now, I was acting on emotion rather than reality.”
“Such as?” Hot Spot is digging, and not that anyone could particularly blame him after such a display of guilt.
Streetwise finds himself being unnaturally vague, hopeful to not have to disclose his near unstoppable fondness over you, embarrassingly more so than Groove at this point. “We don’t know what’s out there, Spots. Accepting help is putting a universal target on their back, and they don’t even know that. That isn’t fair,”
“I see.” The leader rumbles, but somehow finds the right words to say. “No, it’s not, though, in all our time here we have not picked up on any Decepticon activity, nor any other Cybertronian life-forms.”
His shoulders jump faintly at the addendum, pausing to find the double meaning within them. “What? What are you saying? It's a bad idea to tell them?”
“No. I am not saying that, not at all.” He shakes his helm, arms crossing over his chest. “I think we must tell y/n your recent realization and leave it to them to decide if they would like to continue this relationship. I am mentioning the negligible activity if to ease a nerve.”
“Oh.” Streetwise fumbles, feeling internally conflicted. “Do you think I should go tell them now?”
“There has been a lot of excitement for today.” He answers, an ex-vent following suit. “You choose the best time, but it should be very soon. I should have uncovered this sooner, perhaps I was also blinded by a good thing. Let us work with what we have and go from there, all we can hope is that it will work out,”
In a moment of self-woe, Streetwise throws his servos up in defeat. “Why do I always gotta be the bad guy, just to deliver the bad news?”
“You know I will do it if you cannot,” Hot Spot speaks firmly, yet there’s a flicker of wit in his next sentence. “But to be truthful, I think you would do a much better job. With so much practice, and all.”
Streetwise loathes having to function as second in command every once in a while.
“This was supposed to be a necessities list,” Unable to help it, the building frustration fumed over his limit upon entering the disconcertingly quiet room, holding the data-pad up with some tenacity. A short suspicion arises at the silence of the room, given that Groove, Rook, and First Aid were all congregated in the center of it, all occupied by something he cannot be bothered to acknowledge. “You can’t just put random scrap that you want.”
“I didn’t.” Rook takes immediate offense to Streetwise’s accusation, nudging at Groove’s leg underneath the table to get him to pay attention. “The only thing I put on there was some cables to fix the proximity sensors,”
Groove jerks alert when Rook elbows him a second time, now in the gut, finally catching on with an annoyed oof. “Okay, okay, I’ll bite. Who put what on there that isn’t a necessity?”
Brow raising, rightfully unamused, Streetwise begins reading off the list. “First of all, you do not need any more access to television, Groove. It is not only wasteful, but also stupid.”
“How do you know that was me?” Immediately his defenses raise, and before he can think of a clever enough loophole, the resident medic interjects.
“I think your perception of what y/n wants concerning this relationship is severely misconstrued.” Spoken nonchalantly, as if he knows it to be unequivocally true. Realizing he’s being stared at, First Aid looks around the room until his gaze settles back on Groove. “I mean, where’s the lie? You’ve been acting as if they were expecting to get swept up in this mess.”
“You can’t blame a mech for being excited about something. Especially when it appears like a light at the end of the tunnel.” Rook mumbles, somewhat agreeing with Groove. “It takes some warming up to, for sure. But, at least to me, I don’t see the relationship as firmly an exchange of goods. Or out of intimidation, or whatever you think it is,”
He considers his words before choosing his next counter very judiciously. “What exchange of goods? We have nothing to offer in return.”
“There’s things we can,” Groove argues. “Why are you being so negative all of the sudden? You’re the one who went out of your way the other night to meet them,”
“I like y/n. All I’m saying is you guys are up in arms about this list when we should be a little forthcoming about certain things.” Highly intelligent, First Aid was being obscure about something he had picked up on that the others either hadn't, or chose to ignore.
“Like?” Rook catechizes.
Noticing Streetwise has been inexplicably quiet, First Aid glances over his shoulder only to address the second in command. “I don’t know.”
Unmistakably, there were some mixed opinions and perspectives on the whole topic, but it’s glaringly fair of First Aid to bring up that point. It was more a slight toward Streetwise, looking for him to speak up, but this wasn’t the occasion to make such lapses known. Out of any of them, Streetwise found himself appreciative of the medic's nudges to get him going. While Hot Spot had the words of encouragement, First Aid has the realistic overview and the ability to give him that final push to set the idea in motion, something Hot Spot would never pressure him to do.
And it isn't so much pressure, but he needed them both. He needed both sides, even if he doesn't voice his appreciativeness to them as often as he should.
First Aid wanted this, anybody could tell, but he wanted it to be carried out the right way and for Streetwise to be honest, knowing he’s been behaving anxiously since the day you’d agreed to help them. You earned at least to know whatever he was being cautious about, even if the medic didn’t know the full extent of the police cruisers' disquiet.
He supposes the root of his prod was to acknowledge you weren't gaining anything from this. Sure, Groove was sometimes overeager and overhyped the situation at times, but he was also one of the few of them to remain positive in this whole ordeal.
“Necessities.” Streetwise promptly changes the subject, moving to toss the data-pad to the center of the table that the three of them were gathered around. “Fix the list. I’ll be back to pick it up in a cycle, and it better be a short list of tools and parts. And those items only.”
It’s become fairly alarming that you know the way to their home base a little too effortlessly, navigating the terrain without much problem. Driving through the wilted greenery per the season reminds you that the wariness always lingers, a smidge of doubt if you were truly doing the right thing. Yet, each interaction eases some of those stressors, finding that you’ve come to enjoy their company, in some roundabout way. They were good amity, a sensible change to a monotonous and secluded daily life that harbored ill will.
It was still an internal tug of war. One you were still figuring out, and you’re almost certain that they felt they were in the same boat. Perhaps this was out of necessity and the cordialness was just out of stipulation. It was all a gamble, the same mantra persisting each moment you took to dwell on it, and that intensified when you came to a stop between the same two trees, shifting the gear into park.
Just through your windshield you catch an unfamiliar figure, sitting nearby to the entrance, but with their back to you. It didn’t feel quite right interjecting yourself into situations where you weren’t desired nor sought, but you didn’t want to appear rude as you’d literally walk right by them to enter.
Quietly, you exit the car and close the door, eyes trained on the bot as you patter across the grass, hopeful they will turn around at any point to save the awkwardness. Of course, they don’t, either they do not hear you or aren’t bothered to address you, and you can’t decide which is worse in the proximate circumstance.
Fearful of startling him, you take a brave step forward and push the words out of your throat. “Hello,” Stuffing cold hands into your pocket, you shuffle just a bit closer, seeing that he’s moved slightly, acknowledging your greeting. “It seems we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet,”
Perhaps catching him at a bad time, he isn’t as verbose initially as the rest of them had been.
“No,” He eventually says, turning halfheartedly to cast a glimpse your way. Not looking particularly happy about your impromptu congregation, the remaining ground between the two of you didn’t look particularly welcoming. “We haven’t, though I feel like we have. Just because Groove is incapable of keeping his trap shut.”
“Right.” You rock from your heels to the tips of your toes, the cold nipping gingerly at your exposed face. “Looking for company?” As if to leave the ball in his court, momentarily hoping he would just say no, and you could slip away without appearing rude. It wasn’t that you didn’t have a second to talk, but he performed as if he had loads of better things to do than chitchat with you.
After a second of thought, he weakly gestures to the empty space beside him, as if to motion you to sit. “S’fine.”
You can’t directly decipher if his remark about inadvertently meeting is a compliment or not, due to his delivery. It was not enough to uncover the genuineness, but with a few brave steps you join him, lowering yourself to the ground amongst the dried-out leaves. “But I hope he’s mentioned all good things,” It makes foolish sense to crack a joke, though it still escapes as you watch him lean backward on his palms, staring out into the horizon.
“According to him, there isn’t a mean cog in your body,” You must stifle the gasp that rises as he eventually tilts his head your way, staring at you intently. “But he’s known you for less than four Earth rotations, so I can’t really vet that information.”
Something within that recollection reveals that Groove may be a little too trusting, at least notoriously so among his crew, though, something swelled in your chest that he always spoke so highly of you. The praise was not so easily deserved, only for knowing you such a short amount of time, and you suppose Blades somewhat demoralizing quip contains heavy spreads of truth.
Out of all of them, this guy appeared the most apprehensive and withdrawn, not even offering his name, while signaling that he doesn’t trust you any more than he can throw you. It took a moment, but you recalled the conversation with Rook the other day, mentioning a Blades, and how you were lucky to have yet to meet him. This would make the most sense, given you knew there were six of them and there was the aloof Blades that you had not quite met, nonetheless.
You had hoped your olive branch to assist them could better screen you, even if just a bit, but this all takes time. You didn’t necessarily trust them upon first meeting, not as nearly as frank or explicable to their situation as you were now.
“That’s okay,” You chirp, making peace rather than sparking a feud. “I’m y/n, by the way. In case he didn’t include that,”
“Blades,” He offers, but the hesitation overpowers the astonishment. “Who roped you into what this time?”
“I told Streetwise I would come over to pick up the list of things you guys need,” A soft smile erupts on your lips, trying your damndest to appear friendly. “I’m off from work today, so I thought it would be a good day to do it.”
In turn, you find shock when he tilts his helm back and barks a laugh, more sardonic than finding humor in your words. “Good luck with that. They’ve been arguing about that damn thing since you told Streets you’d do it.”
“Arguing?” You begin to chew on your bottom lip, smile drooping. “Why?”
“We’ve been out here for about three years, in your time. We’re all sick of each other, and our resources are painfully low. What some consider necessities, others consider junk.” Blades huffs, moving his gaze back out toward the mountains. “You’re better than me. If I were you, I’d have high-tailed it out of here,”
“I tried,” Your fingers fiddle within your lap, suddenly overwrought once more in the reliving of the other night. “I must’ve been dead on my feet and delirious after work to even have contemplated Streetwise’s suggestion of taking me home. I tried to run away, but no offense, who wouldn’t?”
To an outsider, you wouldn’t notice how Blades softens, just slightly. His posture loses its tightness, which directly correlates with the fact that he’s slowly dropping his guard, but not divulging full conviction to you, yet your honesty was a good enough start for him.
“A moron.” Blades deadpans, and just as a laugh escapes you, someone calls your name from behind.
You both turn to find Groove and Rook, just shy of the base's entrance. “Hello!” You wave, to which Blades rolls his eyes and turns back around at the two new faces. “It’s my first time meeting Blades,”
“How unfortunate.” Rook huffs, to which Blades whips around to deliver a well-deserved dirty snarl, to which is returned with an exhausted look. “Did I lie?”
Straightaway, you survey the prevalent strain between Blades and Rook, but you can’t dwell on it long as Groove smoothly intervenes. “Let it go, dude. It’s not the time or the place.”
Blades grumbles but returns to staring out at the skyline, leaving you to bid him goodbye with a short wave. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Blades.”
He makes a noise of acknowledgement but doesn’t yield the same sentiment, and you fear that perhaps he just still doesn’t accept your presence in their inner circle. But you wouldn’t assume anything, especially because you were the stranger treading on unfamiliar territory.
Once you’ve dispersed, now following the two of them back towards the entrance, Groove picks up the conversation as if nothing just occurred. “So, how is your day so far?”
“It's been okay,” It only feels right to cast one last look over your shoulder at Blades, mind fleetingly reeling until you round the corner, and he disappears. “I had off from work, so no complaints. How’s yours?”
Rook beats him to it, answering the question as if he feels he owes it to you, for being so cold in front of you towards Blades. "We've been good. Some stress, but I think it's alright now,"
"Do you really think so?" Groove challenges, laughing a bit. "I don't know about that, Roo."
When Rook and Groove left to greet you outside, Streetwise took the opportunity to indulge his plethora of questions. "How did you know I was hesitant to accept the help after y/n agreed?" He turns to First Aid, who was watching the security cameras at the main dashboard.
"Hm?" He turns, knowing that time was not in their favor for this discussion. "Well, aside from the fact that most of your thoughts are loud enough to hear?"
Streetwise shoots him a look, as if to wordlessly say: really?
"I'm kidding. I kinda pieced it together, I knew something was wrong when you weren't as ecstatic about it," First Aid responds, vying to find the right words. "I didn't know what the reason was, but you weren't happy and that was enough to guess that you had second thoughts."
“Rook was right,” He admits, his shoulders shrugging upward in a bemused way. “I got too excited about the light at the end of the tunnel. I was being selfish. Accepting their help puts them in unnecessary danger, and I unfairly didn’t tell them anything regarding that from the start.”
Always the voice of reason, First Aid replies without delay. "You understood you made a mistake, and that's the first step in the right direction. The second, make it right."
"I...yeah." Slips from his lips, understanding that the lingering feeling of impending doom was just outside, meaning he'd have to swallow his fears and tell you the truth. The whole truth.
"I want this to work out just as badly as you do." Comforting him, he hears the door open, knowing he'd have to wrap this up. "Be honest. That's all you can do."
When the three of you enter the command center, Streetwise's attention immediately pans to you, as does First Aid's.
"Hi," You greet them both, but return to First Aid. "First Aid?"
"Good guess," He hums, relaxing his posture to appear less daunting. "Nice to properly meet you."
"Likewise," You match his warming demeanor, meaning it when you said it. "I haven't seen you since the other night."
"Yes, well." Though wearing a visor, and a mask, he was very expressive while nodding towards Streetwise. "May or may not have gotten in a smidge of trouble for that conversation."
“Speaking of,” Streetwise segues, shooing the three of them towards the inner door. “I need to discuss some things with y/n and all of you need to go somewhere else that isn’t here,”
“We’re just going to listen anyways, why make it more difficult?” Groove sulks, nearly tripping as Rook shoves him forward towards the panel. "Is this about the scrap I put on the list?"
“What? No." Now confused, it only spreads when you laugh, meaning that he's already run his mouth to you outside.
"What did you make him remove from the list? If I can swing it, I will do it." Your compassion seeps through your words so effortlessly that Streetwise briefly wonders how you've become so placid around them all so quickly.
"That's not- no. Don't give into him," He finally says, nodding towards the door again. You don’t see it, but First Aid tosses two thumbs up towards Streetwise, clearly content he was heading his advice about being candid.
The trio eventually departs, leaving just you and Streetwise once more, a familiar occurrence. "Is everything okay?" You ask, feeling as if you've taken three steps backward after taking an intrepid one forward.
"Sorta." Running a servo down the length of his face-plate, he takes the high road and comes to a knee before you, restlessness discernible. "I haven't been totally honest with you, and I want to make everything transparent before you decide you want to help us. It's only fair, not everything is as secret as we think it needs to be."
He watches your expression change ever-so-slightly, a dip of your body language that demonstrates modest betrayal. "Yeah?" Voice suddenly small, you feel uncertain as to what more to say.
"So let's talk about logistics," Streetwise starts, remembering how difficult this was all over again. "And then, we can decide- you can decide, if you really want to see that list."