Routine Interruption

Sunstreaker

Three Terran weeks ago...

The ion baths are best after dark. We're not limited to the circadian rhythms of the little squishy organics that populate this world, but we've made necessary concessions to ally with them. Part of that is modifying our own recharge cycles to mimic the day-night schedule that the humans use. That ends up making the ion baths awfully full of mechs when I normally want to use them. The slag that the Terrans run in their machinery leaves a sticky, translucent film on our bodies that just wreaks havoc on chrome and paint. I have got to get it off at the end of every day, or I feel like I'm going to rust where I stand.

So it's a ritual. I wait until everyone except the on-duties have bunked in. Then I have the ion baths all to myself. I can take my time; I won't be mocked. I won't have to slam anyone's face into a wall to get my point across. I am fairly whistling about this fact.

When the lights come up in the ion bays (motion sensitive, gotta love it), a shadow flinches.

A shadow flinches?

Subspace drops a blaster into my hand, on instinct, before my processors feed me the reality: in the back corner of the ion baths, Nightshade huddles. She... looks terrible. That dainty armor of hers is dented, imprints of fists hammered right into her chestplate and helm. Her optic shield is down, but I can tell she's looking at her hands. Jetfire had brought them all back hours ago. So...

"Why aren't you with Blue?" The question happens before I can stop myself. I'm irritated at the interruption. I'm irritated that she's intruding on my quiet time. Body language is telling. Sideswipe always tells me that I need to pay more attention to it, but now, like always, I ignore the way she flinches again.

"I can't." Two words. But that is what I pick up on. She can't be with Blue, not won't. But can't. I lean forward a little to get a good look at her.

I wasn't there at the scene. I didn't get to watch her annihilate Brawl like he was nothing more than a ragdoll (that's how Jetfire described it). But when I refold the blaster, and really take a minute to look at her, I can see the full extent of the damage. It's more than the dents... more than the signs of physical abuse. She looks exhausted, tired to the Spark.

"You should be with Blue..." I tell her that again, this time, not giving her room to argue. She should be in the medbay with him, maybe even as a patient, at least as moral support. She finally picks her head up at that, turning to face me. I drop my polishing cloth before I even realize that I've reacted badly.

There is a crack. A damned crack running the length of her face; I can't see the full length of it because of her optic shield. But it's leaking. She's leaking. And now that I've begun to notice it, it's all over her: dried patches almost invisible against the matte surface of her paint, fresh stuff, still shiny with just a hint of energon glow.

"Frag it all, Nights! You really should be in the medbay!" I drop to my knees, grabbing my polishing rag from the floor, and at least making an attempt to clean her up. I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm no medibot; I have no repair training. But even I know it's not a good sign when I can manually push her optic shield back up into it's housing. Her optics are dim. She hardly even resists as I start to wipe her face off, trying to see the extent of the cosmetic damage.

"I can't..." she repeats, softer this time. "Can't distract Ratchet... Blue needs... I need... he can't.."

"Woah, woah, easy there..." I take her by the shoulders to stop her shaking, but have to move my hands a few times before she stops trying to shy away from the pressure. Her attention shifts inward for a moment, and the optic shield that I just manually raised makes a short grinding sound before jamming. My sigh rattles my exhausts. "Alright, look, here's the plan: we get you cleaned up, at least somewhat presentable.. and get you into Ratchet. By then, he's gotta have finished up with Blue."

She opens her mouth to protest again, and I immediately cover it with my hand to stop her complaints. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Nights. Jetfire made it sound like you got outta this mostly unscathed. I'm amazed that Hound didn't drag you in himself." I drop my hand, so that I can dab the polishing rag at the edges of the crack. It runs from the inside corner of her optic down to her jaw.

"Looks worse than it is..." she mumbles. I'm being as gentle as I can be, and still she's trembling. It's exhaustion, sheer exhaustion, that's causing that, I think. I just grunt in answer. Because I've moved down from her faceplace to her neck, where the dents form almost a perfect imprint of a hand, a few sizes bigger than my own.

"You're not meant to take this kind of damage." The silence was uncomfortable, so I'm deciding to fill it. Scolding her. "You're not a direct assault bot, Nights. I mean, really, you're an assassin, right? A weapon for hire? So why? Why'd you do it? Why'd you go after him like that?"

"He'd've done the same for me." Her answer is simple, tone pained as I lift one of her arms to check the leak below.

No, he wouldn't. Those are the first words to come to mind. Bluestreak is many things, but... as far as I'm concerned, he's a coward. Her brother? Now, yeah, her brother would have gone to the ends of the universe to save her. Just like I would for Sides. Only ever for him. I'm concentrating more on keeping my thoughts to myself than what I'm doing with the rag, and I feel it catch on something rough.

Part of the armor on her side has been completely removed. The cut makes me believe she probably did it herself with one of her energon blades. What remains of the piece is warped in a way that suggests the removed part was a hindrance. But that's not what I'm snagged on. Instead, on her underlying structure, which would normally be hidden by those overlapping plates, is a... scar?

"Nights?" the question comes as I touch a fingertip to the raised, rough weld.

Her laugh is pained, and she weakly pushes my hand away. "Halo's a crappy medibot."

I don't believe her. I tell her as much. Followed by: "Don't you think you owe me the truth? Here I am, sacrificing my me-time so I don't have to clean up your leaking fluids from my ion bath later..." She takes it as a joke, laughing.

But she answers me.

"It's a souvenir. A reminder." She starts to draw herself together, pulling her legs up, obviously intent on standing. But it's a slow process. Her circuit processors must be overloaded, fried by all the damage she's taken. "The first time Ultra Magnus hired us... he told us about the Praxian massacre. About how it all pointed to one traitor, to one bot responsible for all that death. This -" She momentarily covers the scar with her hand. "-was Shakedown's parting gift. I hesitated.. he was begging me.."

"It's a reminder.."

She nods. "That trust is dangerous." She starts to push herself to her vertical, but only gets partway before something gives out with a cascade of sparks. She collapses back into her corner with a swear, and I rise from my crouch and offer her a hand.

"Trust is dangerous." I repeat thoughtfully. "Yet here we are."

Nightshade doesn't even hesitate to put her hand into mine. "Here we are, indeed."

I pull her up to her vertical, supporting her while she finds her balance. "Let's get you over to the medbay, okay? Sides'll never forgiven me if I let his second favorite driving partner die on me."