Author's Note:
CHECK IT OUT! This is Nightstalker! Her own fan art! Just remove astriks (*) http*:/*/browse.*deviantart.*com/?qh=§ion=&q=nightstalker#/d5bgnrt Thank you so much, ka-ju, for the amazing art!
And also, thanks to LadySuzaku for some of the dialogue she was playing around with and my inspiration for this conversation between Arcee and OP! :)
(and also, about the double-update, I totally forgot to actually POST the chapter before. Derp.)
"Optimus, I need a word."
He halted at Arcee's flat tone. Honest to goodness, he was a bit surprised at her for speaking to him like that, but it could only mean that something was eating away at her again. He turned to her, spark swelling with compassion for her darkened optics while his mind steeled itself for whatever barbs she might throw at him.
"What is it, Arcee?"
She pressed her lips together as if she didn't want to say anything after all, and then she said in a clipped tone, "It's Nightstalker."
Optimus shifted. "What about her?"
Arcee's jaw set in the back halls of the base. Her optics darted as if to make sure they were alone, and she finally said lowly, "Look, I know you think you're protecting her." Optimus immediately felt himself stiffen. "And after what . . . happened . . . I can understand you not wanting her to go off the deep end again."
Optimus looked down at Arcee with reservations. This was a confrontation. "What are you suggesting, Arcee?" he asked her seriously.
Her optics flickered, but she didn't once look away from his face. "I'm not suggesting anything. I'm saying she NEEDS to know the truth about her brother's killer."
This, coming from the same femme that disobeyed orders just to get her hands on Airachnid. Optimus shook his head and said, "Arcee, she does not need to be burdened with the truth. It will only distract her and push her to unpredictable tendencies . . . much like another good femme I know."
The reprimand didn't make Arcee so much as flinch. She was unrepentant of her bouts against Airachnid. "She has a right to know the truth," Arcee stated again firmly, optics fixed unwavering on his own to show that she truly wanted this. "Optimus, after all this time believing you were responsible for her brother's death and realizing only recently it was a 'Con, do you really think she's going to just let that go?"
Optimus felt his trigger finger twitch. He wanted to believe it, but deep in his spark, he feared Nightstalker was going to be consumed with the past just like Arcee, unable to live to her fullest.
Arcee's gaze darkened. "She can't, not until she knows who it was! I watched Tailgate DIE and it still hurts every day! She needs to know who the slagger was so she can be ready for him if she sees him again! Otherwise, she IS going to flip out, and there isn't going to be a Primus-forsaken thing you can do about it!"
Icy blue optics glared at each other. A tiny whisper started in Optimus's spark, but he pushed it aside quickly, unwilling to hear it. "Arcee, I do not wish her to become like you."
A minute flinch. "She already is," Arcee muttered quietly. "Optimus, this isn't just a means of her losing a partner like I did—it's deeper for her, engraved on her very spark! Fli-Ni was her brother! It's amazing she's still living if she lost her brother! You know how common spark breaks were when Cybertron fell into war—if anything, she deserves the chance to ease that pain."
Optimus shifted on his feet again, studying Arcee closely. In other words, Nightstalker had an incredible force of will to stay alive after her brother died, and she may or may not have had someone to help get her back on her feet. "Revenge is not the answer, Arcee," he rumbled to her.
"Maybe not for you, but for others it's the only thing they have." Arcee gave up looking at him, staring fixatedly past him. "Not all of us can be as selfless as you, Optimus. That's why you were picked as Prime and the rest of us were overlooked."
Optimus nodded. "Your concern for Nightstalker is noted."
Arcee jerked then, looking up with shocked optics before she scowled. "It's not concern. It's simple fact."
He just barely managed to keep an amused quirk of his lips tucked away. "Your opinion is noted."
She scowled again, looking away and crossing her arms. Then, Arcee pinned her glare at Optimus again. "So what's your problem?"
She blindsided him. "What do you mean?"
Arcee squared her shoulders at him. "You. The Optimus I know would never withhold the truth, no matter how painful. So what's your problem?"
Through sheer force of will, Optimus held his ground even when he heard Orion's amused laughing rise at his squirming. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he stated to her. Sometimes, it irked him that his sheer height and size couldn't intimidate her. "I am fine."
Sure, sure you are. Optimus tried not to scowl when Orion started to come back full force. You keep telling yourself that, but you aren't really. Why not just tell Arcee? She isn't going to hate you. In fact, it would probably make her respect you more. She would sympathize, understand, and find the humanity in her leader. It's all she wants, and it's all you want . . . So why are you holding back? What are you afraid of?
Arcee narrowed her optics. "No, you're not. What are you afraid of? Is it Nightstalker? If I was terrified of Airachnid after the torture chamber and Cliffjumper was terrified of Nightstalker, then it stands to reason that you fear her as well."
Optimus leveled luminous optics at Arcee. "That does not pertain to my reasons for keeping her brother's killer's identity from her."
"But it certainly explains why you've avoided her like the Plague."
Optimus refused to flinch, especially when Orion taunted with, Of course, that's not the ONLY reason you've avoided her . . . A laugh, and Optimus forcefully focused on Arcee's accusing optics that were digging for information.
"Arcee," he said a bit more harshly than before, "this issue is none of your concern. You—"
"I'm inclined to disagree," she interrupted stolidly, still refusing to give him an inch. "If whatever it is affects my leader, it is of most concern."
Optimus's optics narrowed. "You are in no position to question my judgment," he grumbled with heavy warning.
Her fingers twitched, the only sign of her worry about pushing this far. "Optimus, you're always there to set us straight when our judgment is impaired, but who is there to correct you?"
The cutting remark of his decision burned, but what really slapped him across the face was the last part. Who, indeed? Orion? Ha, Orion was himself! And it wasn't as if Orion was helping in any shape, form, or fashion. But his Prime side wasn't helping the matter either. Could he possibly trust Arcee with his darkest secrets? Secrets that not even Ratchet knew about?
There's nothing wrong with it, he heard Orion croon as he stared aloofly down at Arcee waiting for his next words. Admit it. You've always had a soft spot for Arcee. You let her get away with insubordination one too many times to be an effective leader. You should have set her straight years ago—
Optimus felt an irritated growl rumble from his chassis as he inwardly argued with himself. No! This was ridiculous! He wasn't going to allow himself to twist Arcee's image into one of lust the way he had done Nightstalker!
Have you ever stopped to consider it isn't lust? Orion tutted his tongue, and Optimus felt his servos clench. You've always been fond of Arcee . . . dare I say affectionate?
A soft voice cut through his plight. "Optimus . . . ?"
His optics popped open. Arcee's worried whisper of his name brought him back to the matter at hand, and he finally depressed a sigh from his systems.
"Do not trouble yourself," he finally told her. For once, he noticed the brief flicker of hurt across her features. "You have enough on your shoulders to be burdened with mine."
"You carry the burden of leadership," Arcee said tentatively, shifting minutely. "That's a pretty steep calling."
"And one I must take seriously—including withholding the information Nightstalker seeks until such a given time where it will not affect her so dramatically."
Arcee let out a frustrated vent, but she didn't press the matter anymore. "Yes, sir." She turned smartly on her heel and started to stride off, but she halted suddenly. After a moment, she added softly, "Look, Optimus . . . I can't speak for any of the others, but I can speak for myself. And, if you ever need to talk things out with someone, I'm here for you. We all are. You do realize that, right?"
For some reason, her words saddened him. Optimus turned, spark sinking heavily in his chassis as he walked off. To substitute for all the words he couldn't say, he could offer only two in their place:
"Thank you."
"And it was written in the covenant of Primus that when the 47 spheres align, a perpetual conflict will culminate upon a world forged from chaos. And the weak shall perish in the shadow of a rising darkness."
"No sky is raining fire?"
Ratchet shrugged at Arcee's sarcastic remark. "Goes without saying. It is a doom prophecy after all."
"I say it's a load of hooey," Bulkhead proclaimed with disinterest.
Nightstalker listened in on their conversation halfheartedly on the third week of her punishment. Halfway through, she was halfway through . . . she could do this—maybe, by Primus she needed out . . . She shivered to herself. Frag the doom prophecy, she needed to fly, and now!
"I'd always assumed the ancients were referring to our home planet," Ratchet said in confusion, "but seeing that Cybertron has been dark for eons . . ."
"And considering what has befallen this planet since Megatron's arrival here . . ."
"Whoa whoa whoa," Bulkhead slowed him down, unable to think of what they were suggesting. Nightstalker scrubbed harder at the infuriating metal sheet she worked on, cursing the white paint flecks colorfully in every language on the Earth including her own to distract her mind from the walls closing in. "We've known about these superstitions for ages and never gave them a second thought!"
"Why all the ominous rumblings now?" Arcee echoed.
Nightstalker hissed shortly to herself, rubbing the sheet harder and harder. God-forsaken slag-filled dump of waste from Unicron's afterburner, these fragging little white specks from the pit wouldn't fucking come off! God-damn these squishy humans and their bitching expressive language with every shitty explicative ready to shove up your ass! And Primus break her fragging wings so she couldn't escape this hell-hole that mocked her existence as a whiny glitch who needed to fly!
"Because the planetary alignment," Optimus stated shortly, "to which the prophecy occurs is nearly upon us."
"And it would seem its end point," Ratchet finished, "is Earth."
Nightstalker's wings had ceased fanning a long time ago and now were pricked stiffly up. Bulkhead gave a suddenly worried laugh and tried to pass it off with failed bravado.
"Heh . . . Crazy coincidence, r-right?"
Arcee, however, was serious. "How long are we talking?"
Nightstalker gritted her teeth, scrubbing the metal sheet even though the pesky white bits had finally come off. Oh Primus she needed out, she needed to fly, she needed the skies—!
"A few days," Ratchet said. "At most."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the Autobots until Optimus spoke gravely. "However unsettling this revelation may be, I am more concerned about those who might believe that the prophecy speaks to them alone—"
Slamming the rag down with finality, Nightstalker growled and stood, stalking away. Each Autobot in the room recoiled in shock, but Ratchet narrowed his optics.
"Nightstalker, get—"
She whirled on him so suddenly he couldn't finish his order. "FRAG OFF!"
Her voice echoed in the quiet silo, and she quickly fled the room, fists clenched tight and wings fluttering madly. She ended up breaking into a run down the hall and cowered in her room. The door crashed shut and she flung herself on her tattered berth, quaking.
Primus . . . She needed OUT! She bit a mouthful of the berth, whimpering. Primus, the walls were closing in! She was only halfway through this hell and she was already breaking? She couldn't!
"Son of a mother-fucking glitch!" Nightstalker raged, kicking the berth and clawing the wall.
Oh sure, it had been difficult the first time she had been without flight, locked up and quarantined by the Autobots. But this time . . . Primus, this time it was worse! And what made it so pit-slagging worse was that she had to RESIST the temptation to just go fly. She moaned to herself. THAT was going over well.
She recited the alphabet in her mind to try and calm herself. She counted up numbers when she finished with that and when that even failed to help, she focused on the day. She went through her mind that Bumblebee was bringing in Raf from school, Miko was in detention, Jack was at work, and Cliffjumper was taking a joy ride instead of listening to Optimus's pontificating about a doom prophecy. Nightstalker was supposed to be finishing up those last five sheets of synthetic energon formula and then perform a defrag process on Ratchet's computers.
A knock scared her out of her protoform. "Nights?"
Cliffjumper! What was he doing here? Oh—joy ride. Must be done. "Go away!" she called back, the sound muffled by a mouthful of her berth.
Instead, she heard the door to her berth room open up and Cliffjumper walked through a bit nervously, hanging near the open door. "Um . . . Uh . . . Bumblebee's on the way. He got worried about you and asked me to check on you."
"I'm fine!" she snapped into the berth. "Go away!" Primus kill him right now and shut that door before she did it herself! She twitched with the urge to run past him and enjoy herself for once by flying—
"Well uh . . . Okay, that was a stupid lie. I actually . . . came to see you myself. Are you okay?"
"I said I'm fragging fine!" she growled, kicking the berth for good measure as she vainly controlled the lust for flight that would condemn her to two extra weeks of punishment.
She heard a frustrated click from Cliffjumper. "Well, I just wanted to see if I could help—"
"Then you can help by getting the frag out and leaving me alone!"
The instant the words were out of her mouth she regretted them, but the damage had already been done. She heard his metal hinge up as if attacked, and he snapped back, "Fine then! Stay back here and rot for all I care!" The door slammed shut behind him.
Nightstalker groaned into the berth. And there he went. He had tried to be nice, the first gesture she had seen from Cliffjumper since she had attacked Optimus, and she practically threw it back in his face. He wanted to help her. He was being nice. Quite possibly, he had finally forgiven her for what she had done and had come to talk about it in private, but what had she done? Yelled at him and told him to get the frag out.
"I am such an idiot."
She kicked the berth and the wall again for good measure, and successfully brought her mind away from flying. Instead, she wallowed in self-pity and anger at herself for being dumb enough to do something like that. What a way to get on his good side!
Another knock sounded. *Nights?*
A relieved sigh poured out of her. "In here, Bee." The door opened again, and she heard Bumblebee's steps take him inside, and she heard the click of the door. "Bumblebee, I'm an idiot."
A faint laugh. *I know. But you're my idiot*
"Shut up."
With yet ANOTHER pep talk from Bumblebee, Nightstalker was finally able to leave her berth room and intermingle with the other bots again. Well, at least get back to scrubbing the last few metal sheets of energon formula—turned out, the last one she had attacked so vigorously had been squeaky clean, so she moved on to the last four. Then eventually three, then two, then one—and finally finished! She nearly did a dance for joy when Ratchet cleared those Primus-forsaken metal sheets from her daily duties, and Jack called her over to show her a stupidly funny Mars Cat. Without any words, his gesture had shown that he forgave her even though his guardian was dead-set against it. The day turned to night and while the guardians left, Optimus, Ratchet, and Cliffjumper left for recharge—Cliffjumper glaring at her the whole way—and left her to defrag the computers.
The process took all night.
By the time morning had come and Ratchet took over, double-checking her work with distrust; Nightstalker yawned, tired—a blip from Fowler had her jump, and then cringe when he started spouting orders in his commander voice, loud and harsh.
Exhausted and short-tempered, Nightstalker barely heard their conversation about the Decepticons attacking again, but the bots congregated as they got ready for their next mission, Optimus choosing to take Bulkhead, Arcee, and Cliffjumper with him. What she DID hear loud and clear, was the ground bridge blasting open.
She whirled. Her spark rate kicked into overdrive as she stared at the twinkling blue lights—oh Primus.
Freedom.
Nightstalker took off running before she realized she had, and before she could get to the tunnel, she heard someone shout, "Nights, no!" and then someone tackled her to the ground, effectively stopping her from getting outside.
Nightstalker snarled. Arching beneath Cliffjumper who had her pinned, she snapped, "Cliffjumper, get off! Get off of me!"
"Not a chance!"
Swindling up a hand, Nightstalker attacked him, hitting her claws across his audio receptors as hard as she could. Cliffjumper yelped in pain, protesting, "Nights, stop it!" and grabbed her, pinning her back to the floor when she tried to run for the lights of freedom.
Her voice rose, yelling in delirious frustration when Cliffjumper sat his fat aft on her legs and held her wrists pinned to her shoulders, her shoulders pinned to the ground. "Get off of me, you mother fragger! I'm going to fly, and there's not a Primus-forsaken thing you can do about it!"
Cliffjumper jerked his head at the wide-eyed Autobots. *Just go! And shut off that slagging ground bridge!*
"Over my dead body!" Nightstalker screamed, bucking beneath Cliffjumper. She heard Optimus telling them to roll out, and she hollered, "Get the frag off, you dip stick!"
*Nights—*
"Eat scrap and deactivate!" Snarling again, she heard the bridge shut, and she let out a desperate wail, the walls closing in with extreme claustrophobia. "Cliff, please! I need out! I need OUT!"
Cliffjumper's optics dilated, thick with conflict. *Nights, you can't* he whispered, tightening his hands on her. She wiggled and trashed, straining herself in the effort to get to the only other exit—the tunnel. If she could just get through the tunnel, she could make it outside—!
"Frag off!" Nightstalker screamed at him with maniacal desperation. "Go reformat yourself with a lug wrench! Rot in the pit!" One of her wings was pinching painfully beneath her body, and Nightstalker arched, snarling in blind fury. Her orange optics danced with that slightly insane quality that scared Cliffjumper to his core.
"You all make me want to die! Every time I look in your all's optics—I see how much you hate me, I see how much you distrust me, and you'd rather me just rust myself into deactivation! I swear Ratchet takes pleasure in my captivity while I'm slowly going crazy! I—I'll never be good enough for you all! I'm not Autobot material! I should have died trying to save you! I should have been terminated for betraying the Decepticons! I should have been executed for what I did to you! And I fragging should have been tortured to a slow death for what I did to Optimus! I'll never be good enough for ANY of you, so why don't you just kill me now? Put me out of my misery you slag-sucking glitch! Just kill me now!"
Cliffjumper winced with every hateful word she threw at him—lots of it was directed towards herself, a kind of consuming self-loathing for being a torturer that rose to the forefront of her mind until she cursed herself to Hell and the Pit and back. She blamed Cliffjumper from keeping her from the one thing that was going to make her feel better—flying. She screamed at him, called him the foulest things with unnerving fluency, and she threatened him so sinisterly that it caused his metal to tremble. She wept so heartbrokenly that he nearly did let her go; she plead with such desperation that it caused an upheaval of unrest to tear through Cliffjumper and even the slightest twinge of clemency from Ratchet.
But he didn't once let her up.
Finally, she began to calm. Her anger and tears and frustrations spent, she lied limp beneath Cliffjumper. He eyed her warily, still a bit put off at her show of an unbalanced mind.
"You okay?"
She blinked at him. "I wouldn't let go yet."
So he kept sitting on her and holding her pinned to the floor.
Eventually, she took a deep breath and looked away from him. "Sorry for the mental breakdown."
Cliffjumper shrugged, lip tilting just a mite before fading. "Sure. Can I let you up?"
She paused. A pained expression came across her face. "Can you get me some stasis cuffs?"
He nodded. "Be right back. Can I trust you not to leave?"
She nodded. "I won't leave."
And, true to her word, when Cliffjumper left to fetch the cuffs for her wings, she didn't leave—
Especially not when Arcee, Bumblebee, and Raf returned, the precious young human dying in the femme's arms.