Fraternizing ch25

Nightstalker looked up from her scrubbing as the computer flickered, beeping at them.

"Looks like the 'Cons hit another vein," Arcee said. Nightstalker sighed to herself, trying vainly to resign herself to her work, but it was so, SO old now. She wasn't even halfway through the pile yet either!

"Autobots, roll out—"

"Hey, hey," Bulkhead interrupted Optimus. "Shouldn't we wait for our secret weapon?"

It was no secret he was talking about Ratchet.

A conflicted look crossed Optimus's face. "This mission is unlikely to require medical expertise."

"But you never know if it may require additional firepower."

Nightstalker's head jerked up again at the sight of Ratchet and his newly acquired swagger as he waltzed into the room. He waved a nonchalant hand. "Bumblebee can handle ground bridge duty."

A confused Bumblebee just watched as Ratchet strode towards the ground bridge tunnel. *Um . . . I guess I can do ground bridge . . . let him take point . . .*

Optimus didn't seem too pleased, but Ratchet was all for it, saying, "Time to put some hurt on those Decepticons!"

The ground bridge opened again, and Nightstalker pointedly ignored its happily twinkling lights that beckoned her to fly. She had four more weeks—she could wait.

Instead, as the bots left and left only herself and Bumblebee in the base, Nightstalker continued scrubbing off the synthetic energon formula. Bumblebee sat down across from her.

*Well, Ratchet seems . . . spirited*

Nightstalker felt her lips twist up. "I swear, that synthetic energon must be a drug. I've never seen him so . . . carefree?"

*Excited?*

Nightstalker nodded. "That too. And walks around like he's been listening to too much George Thorogood."

Bumblebee laughed freely then, and Nightstalker was unsurprised to hear the song she alluded to blare on in his speakers, the iconic guitar riff starting up.

Bumblebee laughed, snapping his fingers. *This is the one, isn't it?*

Grinning, Nightstalker looked up at the cute Autobot. "Oh yeah. That's the one."

Bumblebee tinkled another laugh, bobbing his head. *B-b-b-b-bad! Bad to the bone!*

They laughed more together in the quaint silo in solitude, and then, the song suddenly cut off as Bumblebee looked at her in surprise. *Wait a minute—how did YOU know what that song was?*

Nightstalker gave a dry laugh. "Well, Bumblebee, considering the immeasurable amount of free time I had on the NEMESIS, I acquired a taste in the humans' music, sometimes much to Megatron's dismay . . ." She felt herself frown, orange optics darkening in remembrance. She scrubbed more viciously at the mere reminder. "After all, it's not like Autobots came in everyday for me to torture . . ."

Bumblebee gave a quiet whir. Scooting over on the floor, he rested a hand on Nightstalker's shoulder. Growling slightly, Nightstalker only redoubled her efforts on the offending sheet of metal, watching the paint chip off and wash away—

Primus, if only her past could do the same!

*Nights . . . what's wrong?*

She felt her hands, gripping the rag, slam down into the metal sheet. Flecks of soapy bubbles jumped up and latched to her like frothy mosquitoes. Trembling, she began to flutter her wings in mounting anxiety.

"What's wrong?" she hissed at him. She couldn't help her embittered tone to him—Primus knew he didn't deserve it, but it felt good to get it off her weighted-down spark. Primus knew she had tried to suppress it the past weeks, the past months with the Autobots, but it slowly came up, like a swelling tide that refused to be ignored. "Bumblebee, I can see in my mind what I've done over my lifetime—the spilled energon, twisted limbs, and terrified faces. I can hear what I've done—the shrieks, the curses, the pleas." Nightstalker felt sudden tears prick her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away, frowning with a sarcastic laugh. "How is it that I suddenly gain a conscience around bloody Autobots? If I'd've known that the guilt would hurt this much I wouldn't have ever turned!"

*You don't mean that* Bumblebee said quickly, scooting closer to wrap an arm around her shoulders. His intimate gesture restricted Nightstalker's determined scrubbing, and she halted, quivering. *It's going to be okay, I promise*

Against her better though, Nightstalker gave a barking scoff. "Like you can promise that. Bumblebee, I was a fragging torturer! When someone begged for me to stop, I laughed and spat in their faces! When a prisoner was so disgusted at what I did he vomited, I took delight in it and mutilated them further!" She threw an arm out to the closed ground bridge. "Just ask Cliffjumper, I'm sure he'll have some sordid tales to tell you all!"

A worried whine caught in Bumblebee's vocals, and he scooped her up tightly in his arms. *Don't say that* he said quietly, kneading the joint between her wings. *Nightstalker, he forgave you. You're an Autobot now—it's all in the past. You can forget about all of that*

"No I can't," she hissed back, sitting stiffly in his lap. "The past always matters, Bee! It defines me for who I am—a sick, sadistic murderer!"

Bumblebee shook her then, big blue optics swallowing her line of sight. *No. Don't you say that. It's your actions that define who you are. Just because you can't change the past doesn't mean that you have to keep wallowing in it. You can change the future, Nights. Don't ever forget it*

A weak laugh spilled from her lips. Nightstalker hung her head, shaking it slowly. Her wings drooped. "Then why can't the past stay in the past?"

He blinked. *Huh?*

Nightstalker felt a fierce scowl warp her face. "The past does a slagging good job of haunting me in my dreams. Those nameless, faceless, lifeless mechs that stalk my every waking moment . . ." Before she realized she had done it, she had shivered and ducked into Bumblebee's chest. "Bee . . . sometimes I wish Megatron had let me die at Kaon."

Bumblebee was quiet for a moment, searching for the words he needed, but unfortunately came up with nothing. He sighed, rocking her. *Optimus would know just what to say in a situation like this . . .* he murmured. *Well, I'm glad that ol' 'Con didn't let you die. Cause I want you here, Nights*

Her spark flipped in her chest, and unable to resist his child-like charm, she hugged him tightly, burying her face in his neck. "Thanks Bee," she whispered. "I hate to say it, but . . . sometimes you're all that keeps me going."

Bumblebee gave a little laugh. *Glad to be of help!* He chuckled again, rocking until Nightstalker squeaked because they were falling way off balance. Bumblebee landed on top of her, and Nightstalker laughed, pushing at the mech that had her pinned.

"Bee, get off!"

A laugh tinkled from his systems. *Only if you tell me your top three genres, top three artists or bands, and top three songs!* he cajoled back playfully.

Nightstalker giggled, squirming beneath his weight, all alone in the silo. "All right!" she hollered. "I like pretty much anything with a guitar, so rock, metal, and grunge!"

Bumblebee made a sound of surprise as he looked down on her. *Really? So I bet you like whatever Miko plays all the time*

Nightstalker shrugged, grunting when Bumblebee sat his butt down on her chest. "Y-Yeah. Okay, my favorite bands would be . . . ACDC, Linkin Park, and, um, Metallica."

Bumblebee laughed again. *What, no Beatles?*

Nightstalker felt the heat of a blush dye her cheeks. "Bee!" she howled, squirming more. "They're good too, I just shouted the first three that came to mind!"

Bumblebee was rolling so hard now that it almost echoed in the empty silo. *Okay, favorite three songs! Go!*

"Um, uh . . . November Rain, Dream On, and, um, Stairway to Heaven."

Bumblebee died of laughter, rolling off of her and nearly knocking the bucket of soapy water over. *Nights! Those are by Guns N' Roses, Aerosmith, and Led Zeppelin! Not even your "favorite" bands!* He laughed more, and Nightstalker kicked him lightly, snickering at him.

"I just blurted some stuff out to get you off of me!" She crossed her arms and poked out her tongue before resuming her cleaning duties. "It worked, didn't it?"

Bumblebee gave a playful growl, starting to give another snarky remark, but both bots jumped when Optimus's hard voice filled the silo.

"Bumblebee, bridge us back."

Bumblebee absolutely leapt to the consol hearing the edge in his leader's voice. Nightstalker tucked her head and began scrubbing again, wondering what could have possibly set him off.

Nightstalker looked up when Ratchet walked through the ground bridge. His sullen face didn't read of anything until he looked at her.

Her spark jumped at his green optics. Primus, she could tell from halfway across the base that they were green! How had she not seen this before? Was it a side effect of the synthetic energon? Is that why Optimus had been so worried?

"Ratchet?" she asked softly.

Instead of anything she had expected, the medical officer's face warped with a snarl, and he ran back out of the silo.

There was a lull, and then Bumblebee squeaked, *Ratchet?*

The other three bots came back in quickly, all transforming in unnerving unison. Arcee was at the consol before the rest of them, a grim look on her face.

"Can't get a fix on Ratchet's coordinates," she reported stiffly.

"That bogus energon must be scrambling his signal!" Bulkhead snarled while Nightstalker's mind was still stuck on the fact that they couldn't find Ratchet—wait, it was the energon!

"Keep trying," Optimus ordered, brows pinched in worry. "We've got to find Ratchet before he finds Megatron."

Nightstalker's spark rate kicked into overdrive as she broke her back over the metal sheet. Ratchet went to confront Megatron? Primus, he was going to get himself killed! Nightstalker was never much of a bot for praying to Primus but she did so now. Megatron would kill him!

In fact, Nightstalker hadn't been far off the mark. Ratchet came in severely wounded, right chest plate crushed in and stained green with the leakage of synthetic energon. Optimus had carried in his old friend and set to work on his wound while the other bots toted in—

Energon.

They had successfully pilfered the Decepticon mine! Cliffjumper was all crows and hoots and hollers for the success, telling everything that he was refueling good tonight. Unlike the others whose excitement was dampened by what had happened to Ratchet, Cliffjumper steadfastly believed that Ratchet was going to be fine.

And, as it were, Ratchet did pull through, and for that, Nightstalker was grateful.

Bad part was, Ratchet had enough spunk in him to forbid the other bots from helping and Nightstalker was set to moving the huge stash of energon into the base all on her own.

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Well, considering all the energon, Cliffjumper was set on celebrating since they were out of the hole of starving to death. It didn't actually go to full out "party mode" but it certainly was exciting because he was head banging with Bulkhead to Miko's music.

Nightstalker, yet still on the twentieth day of her punishment, scrubbed the energon formula.

The wall Ratchet threw Bulkhead into while hyped up on Synthetic energon had been more trouble than it was worth. It took her the course of several days to fix since she was tiny, and had worn her body thin. Now, while her body was exhausted, she once again went to wearing her mind and patience thin.

Still, while Miko struck up another ballad, Nightstalker tried to focus on the music as she redundantly scrubbed, but to no avail. Her mind kept slipping—after all, there was an opening to the outdoors right through the tunnel . . . She kept gauging the distance, cutting her eyes towards it. Surely she could get past the bots. Cliffjumper and Bulkhead were too busy to notice, and Bumblebee was playing video games with Raf. Ratchet was on his computers, so that left only Arcee and Optimus to worry about . . .

Nightstalker shook her head. No! She had to stay in the base. She was almost halfway there—she wasn't going to get cold feet now. She could take this. She ground her jaw ferociously, stubbornly refusing to give in. Fluttering her wings nervously, Nightstalker focused on the bubbles that frothed on the metal surface, paint slowly chipping away.

Surprisingly, Miko's guitar stopped. Cliffjumper groaned—and loudly.

"C'mon! You done already?"

Miko walked forward until she was at the top of the stairs. She crossed her arms and peered at Nightstalker. "Okay, so fess up," she told the seeker. "Tell us about Fli-Ni."

Nightstalker froze in the middle of her scrubbing, wings perking up straight. It felt like everything stilled in the room as every eye and optic turned on her. Licking her lips, she finally looked up to Miko's critical gaze.

"Wh . . . What?"

"You heard me," Miko persisted without any grace. "Why'd you attack Optimus like a dirty 'Con again? Why did you think HE killed your brother?" She snorted. "Weirdo."

Nightstalker let out a hard breath and averted her face from the probing gazes. "Yeah," she finally said a bit breathily. "I am a weirdo." Swallowing and taking a deep breath to get a hold of herself, Nightstalker shook her head. Leaning back to sit on her ankles, Nightstalker looked up at the impatiently waiting Miko.

Knowing the human wouldn't appreciate a full blown out story, Nightstalker kept the facts laid flat. "Fli-Ni was my brother," she said. "When he died, I was thinking irrationally and stupidly—and since I was aligned with Decepticons, I didn't for a second think that thinking Optimus killed my brother was far-fetched." She sighed, looking away.

"It was more than stupid though," she murmured. "It was downright moronic. My brother was killed by a Decepticon seeker. When Kaon was overrun, I was separated from Fli-Ni. When I finally found him, he was pinned beneath a beam, and his wings were mangled." A painful hitch suddenly caught in Nightstalker's systems at the memory, and she shook her head. Her wings began to fan. "He was pleading for help. Optimus turned, and he was going to help, but . . ."

Taking a steadying breath, Nightstalker forced away the emotions bubbling up and said, "A Decepticon seeker landed and planted a bomb to taunt Optimus. Optimus ran to protect himself—I can't fault him. He only would have died with my brother. Still . . . Fli-Ni was blown to bits, and that—that was why I thought Optimus killed him. I forgot about the seeker—I only saw Optimus running away from my brother to protect himself, and that was why I condemned him."

Finished with the story, Nightstalker gave a stiff and awkward nod before returning to her scrubbing. After a second of silence, Miko scoffed with disdain.

"I can't believe you believed in something so stupid."

Her rough denial was expected, but it still hurt. Nightstalker winced minutely, wings pressing together as she tried to ignore it, but she was surprised when someone took up for her.

"Miko, don't say that. She . . . She's sorry, so there's no need to be like that."

Nightstalker looked up in surprise at the bulky Autobot, but Miko's jaw popped open in hurt shock.

"I can't believe you'd side with her! You saw what she did to Optimus!"

Bulkhead frowned, uncertain about being the only one, but was willing to say, "Y-Yeah, I did, but . . . I also know she's really sorry. And she hasn't made any complaints about her punishments even when not flying has really got to be getting to her, so um . . . she—she's got my respect."

Nightstalker blinked wide at Bulkhead. That was it? That . . . was all it took to get him to sympathize with her? But—

Miko scowled. "You can't be serious! Well, YOU might be soft, but I'm not! She's not getting any forgiveness from me!"

Bulkhead frowned at Miko's obstinate tone. "Miko, you shouldn't say things like that."

"Oh yeah?" she sneered.

"Yeah," Bulkhead asserted, making his point even clearer by walking across the room to stand near Nightstalker. The bewildered femme stared at the bot she had never interacted with much. "She was just a kid, and she was hurting over her brother dying. I'm not holding that against her. Besides, she's made it clear that she really is sorry and is willing to try to make it up to us." He glowered back at Miko a moment saying, "Besides, if anyone deserves our anger, it's that 'Con," and he looked back at her, nodding, "and not Nightstalker."

Lubricant stung her eyes until she blinked it away. "Thanks," she said softly, a grateful smile making its way to her face. Bulkhead left Miko floored by his small speech. Bulkhead smiled back at her, and then, a sudden thought crossed Nightstalker's mind—

The Decepticon seeker.

Her optics widened in dumb shock. Bulkhead mirrored her face, confused, but Nightstalker gasped, leaping to her feet. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she gaped at herself, wondering exactly how slow she was going to continue being about this.

"Nights?"

Her nickname spilled from Bulkhead, the first time she remembered him using it, and her head snapped up. A pained and wondering expression came over her face, rendering the former Wrecker speechless for a moment, and Nightstalker whirled around to look at Optimus.

One look was all she needed—

He knew.

"Who was it?" she rasped, almost incapable of speaking she was so choked up with passion. The great Prime's brow furrowed, and Nightstalker leapt forward, desperation lacing through her eyes.

"Optimus, please!" she begged, spark beating into her chest until she was sure it would rupture. "You know who it was! You know who killed Fli-Ni—please, tell me, please! I have to know!" When the Prime failed to respond, optics darkening in worry, Nightstalker felt incredulous hurt cross her.

He wasn't going to tell her.

"Optimus, you know who killed him!" she repeated tightly, anger and pain nearly suffocating her words in her throat. "Who was it? Please, tell me!"

Finally, Optimus stated levelly, "Nightstalker, I do not believe telling you would resolve anything. It would only ignite your lust for revenge further—"

"I already want his energon!" Nightstalker cried out in shame, trembling as she pulled into herself. Crossing her arms and looking up with tortured optics, she rasped, "P-Please, Optimus. Who was it? Who was it REALLY?"

When he still refused to tell her, silently watching, Nightstalker felt her anger flare up and burst. "I thought we were going to be truthful with each other from now on!" she snapped, glaring at Optimus balefully as she backed away, hands clenching. The Prime didn't move, but the steadfast ground he kept almost seemed forced. "Thought this was the beginning of HONESTY between us!" she snarled sarcastically.

Optimus still held his silence. It infuriated her—it enraged her. She backed away again, wings perked stiffly as she hissed between her teeth. "Who was it?" she asked again, hating him more and more for keeping the answer from her. The high-pitched voice mocked her constantly with its screeching, "Save him now, Autobot scum!"

"Who was it?" she repeated, fists clenching. Optimus still withheld his silence. "Who killed my brother? Who killed him, Optimus, who killed my brother? No answer was forthcoming—and she wouldn't get an answer. Furious tears pricked her eyes that he withheld such important information from her. "Who killed my brother? Optimus, tell me, who killed my brother? Who killed him?" Her hateful pleading or demanding, it wouldn't stop, but Optimus didn't answer.

And he never did.

"Who killed my brother? Who killed him! Who killed him! Who killed him! WHO KILLED MY BROTHER!"