Tagalong
Nightshade Character Study
"Mind if I tag along?" I startle the two of them; the tiny human steps instinctively behind the Autobot's foot. For a moment, the scout's optics are guarded, shadowed as he cants his head to look up at me. I carefully lower myself from my perch, barely dislodging rocks or stones from the small escarpment.
I know the Autobot's will never get accustomed to my lurking tendencies. It seems to be the most insurmountable truth of all that separates me forever from their little club. I wait, forever patient, as the disquieting effects of my sudden appearance fades from them. We are still within visual distance of the Ark, so I am not outside of my parameters of freedom. I assess and process the myriad of potential meanings contained in a single glance between the two.
Inseparable. That is the term I would attach to the relationship between the scout and the human. As they begin to relax, barely a nanocycle after my first vocalization, I allow my optics to avert from the two of them, letting the cloak of humility settling with galling ease around my mannerisms.
"I did not intend to startle you." The effect of the sideways apology is immediate. The fleshling breaks into a smile, emerging from behind the protective yellow plating to actually approach me. Silently, I laud his bravery.
"It's really okay, Nightshade! It's not like you meant to sneak up on us. Right, Bumblebee?" I know Spike means to be flattering; yet being reminded of my primary function still unsettles me on strange levels. "I think it'd be great if you came with us."
Bumblebee does not seem as sure as his human companion. But the scout is optimistic, free-spirited, and kind-Sparked. The two of them have already accepted my brother in unquestioning faith; yet I fail to comprehend why my acceptance is struggled with so.
"I don't see why not," Bumblebee finally shrugs, looking more down at the human than in my direction. "It's not like anything's going to happen on the way to Carly's." The Autobot then laughs. It's warm, friendly sound, and I find myself smiling in response.
Spike cheers and claps his hands, even as Bumblebee transforms, refolding and reshaping his armor into the small Terran vehicle. Almost instantly, Spike climbs inside, completely trusting. For me, watching the two of them interact is like watching the Spark-twins. I believe the expression humans use would run something like "being green with envy?" Such bonds of trust are things I will never enjoy. Not even with my own 'brothers,' for in the long run, they are simply means to the fulfillment of my prime directive.
Even as I silently damn my Creator to and from the Inferno, I give the single pulse signal to trigger my own transformation.
The alternation is so quick. So easy. Mass displacement technology and clever use of subspace folding result in my favorite of all my prior local camouflages. There is no need for stealth this evening, so I retract the silencing baffles from my exhaust manifolds. The resulting noise is thunderous and rumbling all at once, pulsing in tempo with my idling engine. My gyros keep me stabilized and upright on two wheels while I wait for Bumblebee to rev up.
As an afterthought, I ping Prowl's private com channel. His sharp greeting makes me struggle with myself, fighting every urge to take off the humble mantle and really give him a what for. "As required, I am informing you of my intended movements off base. I am accompanying Bumblebee and Spike on an excursion." I pause, a hesitation that the ultra-logical tactician will undoubtedly notice, before I add. "Sir."
"Duly noted." Prowl's answer, and his closing of the com comes nearly instantaneously. A small measure of my processor wonders just what could be distracting him, while the rest diverts to the proper sequence of clutch-gear-accelerator that will bring me comfortably within Bumblebee's dust trail.
This is only the third time, since I had been reactivated, that I have utilized my vehicular mode. Each of the other occasions had resulted in the near-stasis lock of either myself, or an Autobot. It is no wonder that I am not trusted.
As I follow Bumblebee's sunshine aft through the darkening desert, my own com pings softly, carrying with it the scout's ident codes.
"What's up?" chimes his digitized voice. "You're awfully quiet back there."
In response, I rev up, spinning my rear wheel as I accelerate. When I pull even with him, I goose my throttle once more, lifting my front end into a wheelie, before I set it back down. "Just thinking." I finally answer. From the sounds of things, he's relaying our com channel over his internal speakers.
"What about?" That was Spike's voice, transmitted over the com. If I could smile at his curiosity, I would. Not many had bothered to be concerned with my internal thoughts, but that was something I allowed. Halogen was much better in the spotlight of attention than I had ever been.
"Stuff and things?" I offer up that explanation lightly, giving them a hint at what lays hidden beneath my matte surface. External sensors paint the humans expression against the canvas of my processors. I do not allow my low chuckle to transmit over the open channel. "Nothing consequential." I append, swiftly.
"C'mon and share," Spike practically begs me.
"Yeah, Nights, you don't ever talk to anyone!" Bumblebee teams up with him. The suspicious part of me tries to convince the rest of my processor that the scout has been put up to this line of questioning.
"There is never much for me to say." I try to defend myself, but I can feel the veracity of my transmissions fading. As soon as I realize that, Bumblebee is the one to call me on it.
"That's not what Halo tells us. Says you're one of the talkative ones." Once more, his laughter is warm. Perhaps that is how the scout was designed, to make connections to even those who believe themselves to be solitary and apart.
This time, I allow my soft chuckle to transmit. "You should know by now my brother is prone to exaggeration."
"Why do you call him that? I thought the whole Spark splitting thing was really rare." Spike chimes in before the Autobot can respond. Once more, I allow myself to fall back, once we begin to enter city limits. Bumblebee slows to obey human laws, and I am forced to comply as well. Letting my gyros shift from side to side, I etch a lazy sine wave behind the Volkswagen, conscious of the points and stares I'm beginning to attract.
"It is. Halogen and I are not Spark-twins. But the same hands created our forms, and programmed our systems. So in that essence, we are siblings." The honesty feels comfortable. It is one of the many reasons that my siblings and I had always preferred working with the Autobots. One always knew there was truth in their communications. "Your Prime has a brother." I choose to inform Spike gently.
"Really!?"
"Yup." Bumblebee backs me up on it. "Ultra Magnus."
"They are… very much alike. Perhaps, Spike, it will amuse you to know that Prime is the younger of the duo." When Bumblebee rolls to a stop at a red light, I edge up behind him, and give him a playful nudge with my front tire. Two white lights blink on as the Bug threatens to reverse right into me. The playful attitude he retains loosens my vocalizer further. "Of the many times we operated for the Autobots on Cybertron, Magnus was always the first to ask us to stay permanently."
"Why didn't you?" Bee shifts gears and takes an easy right hand turn. We are beginning to pass from the industrial areas of Portland, into the more settled areas. Everything is spread apart, very green, very moist. It is a stark change for me from the ruined residential areas of Cybertron. I find myself stalling for time, while I search for the answer to Bumblebee's question.
All I had ever known on Cybertron was destruction, and death. Even the Autobots had always paid us to do the dirtiest work for them. Memories reveal what I had feared, that it had always been DropZone who had been most adamant about remaining freelance, about continually switching sides in the war of attrition, so that we would be sure to be in on the winner's good graces. It had been that quiet behemoth of a brother who relished the battle more than the outcome. The realization is cold and hard.
"Nights?" Bumblebee uses the abbreviated form of my designation as easily as Halogen does. "You alright?"
"We… were afraid of being on the losing side of the war." I confess it gently, letting my shameful tone carry over through the transmission. "I still see no reason behind the war, Bumblebee. We were activated and sent into a war not of our making, but of our Creator's. It always felt necessary that we find our own answers."
"Sounds like even you Autobots go through the teenage rebellion phase." Spike was laughing, sharp and quick over the channel. But he could never know the warm glow that my very Spark gave off at being lumped in with the Autobot generality. Perhaps, at least these two would accept me.
The flash of Bumblebee's blinker breaks me out of my warm reverie. He brakes and eases gently into a small paved section in front of a human home. Spike jumps out of Bumblebee's doors as a young female human darts out of the open garage. As they embrace, Bumblebee and I revert to our root modes. I kneel so as not to damage the greenery arching overhead; Bumblebee carries no such worry.
His hand rests suddenly on my shoulder, and I turn my optics toward him. I consciously dim their scarlet glow so that I don't have to see the way it reflects off his face. "I hope in some way, you've found some of those answers, Nights."
His fingers squeeze, the action registered by the pressure sensors in my armor. I slowly smile, and nod. "The answers… they slowly find me."