five
Previously, he had been somewhat frustrated by the circumstance; however, now he was becoming increasingly exasperated by the entire ordeal. Groove felt that there was so much unnecessary tiptoeing, and while he had never thought he was owed explanations for things, there was more that was unknown to him than was familiar. So many conditions were rapidly shifting, and while he welcomed change with open arms, he wanted to be cognizant of it first. Irritation would accumulate first, and he can't quite wait any longer to discuss it as he now hides nothing, making his transgressions painfully clear.
"Why does everything have to be a secret?" The interior panel hardly closes before Groove groans in annoyance, spinning around to address the two bots behind him. "Things were never this discreet. We used to tell each other everything."
After exchanging a glance, Rook and First Aid wordlessly share that such a statement is far from the truth. Yet, in such a frangible situation, they chose to postpone the potentially damaging conversation for a less tense time, knowing it would not help anyone to impart it now. Groove wasn't too far off with his complaint, as in the beginning, Hot Spot and Streetwise were far more transparent with information than they were now.
It wasn't entirely fair to place the majority of blame on their shoulders, and First Aid truly believed that Streetwise didn't know as much as the rest thought that he did. They were doing the best with what they were dealt, but it never stopped the blatant curiosity. The rest of the crew had taken it upon themselves to dig details out, hence discovering the password to the computer and sneaking to extend patrol hours when it was not permitted.
It was obvious Hot Spot didn't know the extent of their snooping, or he'd have likely shut that endeavor down the instant he was aware of such. It hadn't made sense to poke around in the earlier years, with a stockpile of resources and a plausible end in sight, spirits high. Though Hot Spot cares deeply for his team and would do anything to protect them, he was also a master at keep-away with particulars when the situation began to spiral downward.
"Well, first, you're kinda nosey, and that certainly doesn't help when some things need to be...delicate," Rook tries, sending a sympathetic look his way.
Before he can argue, First Aid placidly adds to Rook's clarification. "Did you also consider that this is very different from anything any of us have ever had to do? It's all new to us, Groove. Let Streetwise do what he needs to do because it seems to be working."
Groove scoffs but agrees, albeit begrudgingly. "Okay, okay. I get that part."
They can sense the tell-tale 'but' from a mile away, though it isn't in the direction they were anticipating.
"But what was with you earlier?" Looking towards Rook, he questions the mech with unease. "What the hell was that?"
"What was what?" First Aid turns towards him, brow furrowing somewhat. "What did you do?"
Rook knows exactly what he's referring to: the unnecessary hostility toward Blades in y/n's presence, but he hasn't quite had the chance to conjure up a believable enough explanation yet. He had honestly lost his temper, but it was mostly because he hadn't seen Blades in a while, as Blades was known to disappear for extended periods
Even Hot Spot rarely knew where he went; there weren't many options to travel as Blades' alt-mode was anything but disjunct. One could assume it was to take stretches of seclusion to avoid unleashing pent-up frustration on those who unknowingly crossed his path in a brimming fit of rage. It was courteous of him, one could guess, but it didn't ease up on the widening gap between the team, among other downsides. Yet, at least for Rook, all the previously subsided rage rushed him the moment he saw him, though the tension between them wasn't condensing any time soon.
"Nothing," Rook grumbles, punching Groove in the upper arm whilst shooting him a dirty look, hopeful to bypass this discussion. "It's fine. Nothing happened."
The medic looks between the two of them, unamused. "If it's pertinent to the situation, I think you oughta tell."
"It's not, not really." His shoulders deflate, feeling culpable of his behavior all over again, the discomfiture persistent. "y/n met Blades outside, and it was the first time I saw him in days. I kinda lost my cool."
"Kinda?" Groove presses, wildly sardonic. "Nearly bit his helm off, bro."
"It was not as bad as you’re making it out to be." Hoping to divert the attention off of him for a moment, Rook redirected his regard back toward First Aid. "Since we're all confessing things, what about what you said?"
"What did I say?" He answered, confused, as if he couldn’t make sense of the sudden left turn.
"I heard you say something about being honest to Streetwise." He shrugs, fighting to display an impassiveness concerning the overheard conversation. "Right before we entered the command center."
"Huh? I didn't hear that." Groove's gaze bounces back between the door and the mechs at his front.
"Because you couldn't shut your vocalizer off yammering on to y/n," Rook teases but still looks to First Aid for a response.
"Rude," Groove mumbles.
"It isn't so much a secret. It's something Streetwise told me in confidence," First Aid argues, knowing they should probably move away from the door, as their exchange rapidly encroached on becoming a fight. But before he can vocalize his disquiet, another voice appears about halfway down the hallway.
"Why are you all gathered out here?"
A while back, after a reprimand, Rook had mentioned that there was nothing more distressing than being the recipient of Hot Spot's disappointment. He never was angry, just deeply disheartened, especially when they were the ones who had let him down. Particularly when at this moment, he felt like the metaphorical glue keeping them from falling apart, scrounging to keep spirits high. They knew they had done something wrong, and as a result, seeing Hot Spot troubled by their actions always made them second-guess themselves.
The trio freezes in place before slowly turning around to find a disappointed survey from Hot Spot. There's no chance to even argue, for the leader heaves a deep sigh and ventures to ask: "What happened this time?"
Streetwise is fairly certain he's never felt such immense guilt, the agitation creeping up from his chassis to perch, unmoving within his throat. Just a day prior, he'd certainly perceived the self-reproach, but now, faced with the arduous task of telling you, it all washed over him again tenfold. He'd been over-analyzing what was best to say, going over false and fragmented scenarios where all routes lead to you saying no. While having come to terms with that previously, for some reason, it pains him a little more beneath the surface a second time around.
Observing the way your lips twitch into a confused frown, eyes heavy with exhaustion, nothing felt quite right other than a well-deserved punch to his stomach. It's damn overwhelming, a he scrambles to find a feasible sentence or a stupid joke, to break the strain. Yet, when his jaw dips downward, nothing comes out.
"Did I do something wrong?" There's a warble within your tone, and fleetingly, his optics glance downward to find you're wringing your fingers together in an anxious manner. He's now inadvertently worrying you by his inability to articulate himself, which isn't fair. Immediately, he rushes to mitigate that uneasiness, all the while struggling through the trenches of this exchange himself.
"No, not at all. Of course not." Cerulean optics bounce back to yours, fighting but ultimately unable to uproot the right string of words. "When I said I wasn't being honest, let me clarify: I was never trying to deceive you. It was a poor and unforgivable oversight, but before this continues any further, you just...you should know."
He relaxes, though only slightly, when your hands fall to your sides, almost limply.
"Okay. What was the oversight?" You try, not entirely certain why your subconscious was hellbent on making him feel better.
"It's not...so easy to explain." He's internally berating himself, servo flexing in and out of a balled fist to keep his focus from wandering. "The best way I can put it without being here for eight cycles is, yes, while we are technically stranded here, there is no guarantee that someone isn't stranded here with us. This relationship would include you taking on extra baggage that you didn't sign up for initially. Er- that you didn't know about initially."
"What do you mean?" Blinking owlishly, you try to process his words as they come, but it proves difficult to navigate solo. "Extra baggage? You lost me."
"I don't know what Groove or First Aid have told you, but we're here to protect your planet from unnecessary spoils of war." Streetwise poorly explains, knowing you'll have a plethora of follow-up questions, and tries to lessen the blow. "But when we arrived, we had no instructions and no way to get in contact with our home planet. We've had radio silence for years, and while there has been no activity since our arrival, it doesn't mean there isn't any."
Pursing your lips, you nod twice before speaking. "So there's a risk. Is that what you're saying?"
"Kinda. Associating with us sorta puts you in danger if there was any danger to be met." He can tell by the way your heart rate spikes and the color drains from your cheeks to some degree that it's a far from comforting notion. "But there's been no activity for years, absolutely zero since we arrived. We've been piling our resources into that computer to ensure that it stays that way."
"Backtracking just a bit, you mentioned a war? " It's rushed out, words jumbled and spliced together as if you just realized what he had said. Streetwise has already predicted your response, and it is just solidified by the way your shoulders jump to your ears before dropping back into place.
"That's for another day," Streetwise waves a hand dismissively, not wishing to bury you in dreadful information. "Trust me, I will answer any questions you have, but I won't expose you to that unless I absolutely have to."
This was presented to you as a means to be an out. A carefully curated escape route that he was almost taciturnly begging you to take in an unexpected yet strange series of events. You originally thought he wanted your help, but perchance, he'd taken the time to think it over and no longer saw it as a good idea. Or a beneficial one.
Instead, you swallow your tenseness and hit him with an unfathomable curveball of a reply. "Did I make you think that I no longer wanted to help?"
He's taken aback momentarily, floored by your counter. Though it takes a second too long to shrug off the nonplus, he still answers candidly. "Never. I'm looking at it from your perspective, y/n. No offense, but even I wouldn't help me. If I were you, I'd tell me to go frag myself and to have a nice day." To his utmost delight, you laugh, a small giggle that brings some rosy color back to your face. "I couldn't, in good faith, accept your help if you didn't get the whole picture upfront."
"I get it. And I thank you for being honest." He's patiently waiting for the withal; he can sense it, it's lingering on the tip of your tongue. "But I'm here. I wouldn't have come today if I hadn't wanted to help you guys. It is what it is."
"It's not, though," Streetwise argues, a frown forming. "It shouldn't be like that. You had every right to get all the information from the start. And you shouldn't feel an ounce of guilt for wanting to back out, because I wouldn't blame you."
"Streetwise?" You implore, a shy smile appearing out of nowhere. "After you explained that, did you expect me to say no?"
While his first instinct was to commend you for your ability to read him so openly like that, the praise died in his throat as he sputters out a sweep of incomprehensible noises instead. He'd never faltered over his words like this, stumped by an unanticipated response.
"Yes." Unable to say anything else, that was all he said.
"Let Streetwise complete his discussion." Hot Spot had corralled them away from the door, moving further into the base so their conference wouldn't be heard. "Then you all can fight and argue about whatever you want."
"I mean, it wasn't so much an argument," Groove mumbles, incapable of hiding his guilt. "But I found out I'm nosey, apparently."
Not banking on such a sincere return, the leader's brow raises in curiosity. "You are drawn to mischief, Groove, though I would not say you are intrusive."
"I think the problem is we are very accustomed to telling each other everything," Rook explains, mindful of their position. "So when there's a lot of hush-hush stuff going on, it's making us a little divided."
"Is this in reference to-?" He nods back down the hallway, where the command center was.
"Yes." First Aid nods before briefly pausing to reconsider his answer. "I think so."
The exterior door isn't closed long before its mechanical whir can be heard across the room, and both Streetwise and yourself turn toward the noise. "For Primus' sake-"
It only takes about five seconds for the one you were least acquainted with among the six to walk in. Blades hardly pays either of you any mind, up until Streetwise makes a noise of annoyance in hopes of understanding just why he felt the need to rejoin the group at this very moment when he was prone to disappearing for hours.
"Oh." That's all he says at first, his gait slowly coming to a stop. "You're still here?"
While you aren't certain how to respond to that, Streetwise's temper flares slightly before regaining his composure, offering a sigh instead. "I don't know if you realize, but it's been about five minutes. So yes, the answer to your stupid question is yes."
Blades reacts as offended as one could assume, recoiling somewhat before suddenly shrugging his shoulders, unconcerned.
You can sense that there is some strain between the two of them, though not as prevalent and obvious as the tension between Rook and Blades. Their dynamics ranged, and while the common denominator was Blades, the blame couldn't be placed entirely on his shoulders. To your best guess, without a mediator present (most likely to be Hot Spot), their genial demeanors dropped, and a more miserable one arose.
He still doesn't remove himself from the room, standing unmoving whilst his gaze bounces between you and Streetwise, as if trying to figure something out. Part of you wished he would just ask whatever is sitting on the edge of his tongue, in hopes to move this along without it erupting into a full-blown confrontation. Streetwise was a tease, but he wasn't an instigator, at least as far as you knew, which wasn't a lot regarding his behavior. Maybe everything before now was all an act, as he was conducting himself truly now, but it didn't seem feasible. He just seemed tired and annoyed, and right when you thought you'd hit the nail on the head, the conversation was interrupted.
At Blades' callousness, the white mech now crouched behind you grumbles clumsily. "Maybe I didn't phrase it straightforwardly enough. Can you leave?"
While Hot Spot had been so focused on keeping the fight that was brewing far away from that room, he hadn't taken into account that a fight was going to break out in that room. At the sound of shouting, he hardly pauses a second before he's back down the hallway, vastly unnerved at how so much arguing could occur when it was just you and Streetwise in there. It was muffled, but it wasn't hard to decipher that it was anger-fueled yelling and not of an undeserved victory at this rate.
Although brawls and altercations had been so frequent he was almost positive he had a permanent headache, this instance was different. Hot Spot was stubborn enough to keep the peace, so long as was the six of them, yet he had become far too lax when you entered the picture. It was a good thing; he needed the break, though this wasn't so set in stone as he hoped it would be. Hot Spot needed to get through today first before he assumed anything more, knowing there was just as great a chance you would say no as you would say yes.
Rook, First Aid, and Groove exchange an uneasy glance before following, finally trading silence for building worry.
The next few moments pass by in a blur, watching the door slam over, startling you so bad you gasp loudly. It's all but drowned out by the arguing as Hot Spot tugs Blades backward and Rook, Streetwise, scraps of name-calling and hurtful things shouted as leftovers. There was no physical altercation, though they had gotten in each other's faces with some minimal shoving.
Blades was sick of Streetwise telling him what to do, and Streetwise was sick of Blades not listening. Unfortunately, it all reached a boiling point whilst you were still in the room.
"First Aid," Hot Spot rumbles, displeasure through the roof. "Take y/n home, please."
There's little left to argue and no point in doing so. Hot Spot was in charge, and for some reason, when he talked, you listened. Immediately, the situation shifts, and you hardly have time to process it before you're back down the hallway, not a single helpful word in your vocabulary at the moment. The entire time, Streetwise stares at your back, entire frame dead weight in Rook's hold. He wants to apologize, wants you to come back, but nothing comes to fruition, irritation and ire brimming in his chassis once more.
"He's not normally like that." He'd been driving about ten minutes, thinking of something beneficial to say, but all he could do was watch your face in the rearview mirror.
At his voice, you turn slightly, chin still in your hand as you lean up against the passenger side door. "Huh?"
"Streetwise. Blades just pushed him to his breaking point. And then well past it." First Aid explains, searching for the right words. "I don't want your perception of him to be warped because of that. He's a good bot with a lot more to consider and stress about than the rest of us. Blades is a good bot, too. He just needs to figure out when to knock it off and let scrap go."
"You're very kind. To worry about things like that." You offer him a small smile, but the medic can still see a glassiness in your eyes you were stubborn about holding back. "If anything, I think I can very vaguely grasp at how bad your situation is, at least as an outsider. You don't all have to pretend to get along for my sake. I wouldn't view it any differently."
"If you can believe it, we used to get along well." He breathlessly laughs after saying it, as if it was an impossible thing to believe. "I think everything was fine up until a year ago. Rook and Blades stopped talking, and to this day, none of us know why. I have a guess, but it isn't a good one." He's not entirely sure why he's disclosing so much information to you but finds that you are easy to talk to and that getting these things off his chest is helping.
"I can believe that." You answer softly. "And you still are good friends. Just gotta work this problem out, and it'll all be fine."
"I may have to hold you to that," First Aid teases before pulling up to your street. "Give us some time, yeah? I'm sure Hot Spot is going to want to talk to you. But let us regroup and cool off."
You nod, pulling back off the door so it can swing open, seatbelt retracting. "Okay. And tell everyone it's alright, please. Fighting is normal, especially in your guys' case."
"I'll relay your message, I promise." He replies gently. "Good night."
"Good night."