Nightbeat had taken to using the fire department’s office as his own with such frequency that most people who went looking for him caught on as to where to find him. A surprising percentage of his and Siren’s time together was spent in silence as Nightbeat cut off whatever conversation they were having each time he happened to make a connection that led to mystery-solving. The first time, Siren wasn't sure what to make of it, but he soon found himself not just impressed by Nightbeat’s deductions but glad to contribute, even if it was typically on accident.
Nightbeat hadn’t brought the usual casework today and had instead popped in to pass sometime before his class. He attempted to sit in the desk’s dead center, but Siren immediately ushered him out of the way of the console controls, so he settled for the edge.
He may have been empty-handed but there was still plenty he brought to the conversation: it was starting to seem like there was no end to his relentless questioning, but Siren was the last person to discourage that behavior.
“How come you took this job, anyway? Did you get tricked into it? Do you have outstanding debt? Do you think we’re gonna move towards a money-centric society now that the war’s over?”
“It’s not about the money! It’s not like shanix is worth anything to anyone, anyway. I just thought I’d try something new!”
“The idea of sitting idle for hours on end sounded like a nice change of pace…?”
“No, no! They kept telling me: it’s gonna have long hours, you’re gonna have to deal with that. I thought I could handle it. I’m tough, you know? And I’ve got plenty of experience killing time between disasters… in break rooms with decent company, that is. I thought going solo wouldn’t be much different but I also kind of sort of maybe lack foresight a lot of the time…”
Nightbeat shrugged. “At least it builds character.”
They were interrupted by Inferno knocking and entering, holding a crate. “Hey. These cleaning droids are busted. I already reported it and I’m taking them to Hoist now. Just warning you that cleanup might take longer than usual next time.”
“Cool! Thanks!” Siren gave a thumbs up, knowing that Inferno preferred conversations to be kept brief.
Nightbeat was also aware of that preference but didn’t care. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Water damaged central processors. No mystery there.”
“Oh. I was hoping you didn’t know.”
“Yeah, I figured. You’re predictable, Nightbeat.” Inferno motioned to leave but stopped himself mid-thought. “And by the way, you two, I’m on night shift so don’t do anything gross in what’s effectively my sleeping quarters, okay?”
Nightbeat nodded and turned back to Siren now that Inferno had left. “Well, there goes my plan for this afternoon. But that killjoy is onto something…Why don’t you sleep in here? It would free up your nights.”
“I guess I could, but I’d just really rather not! It’s an important job, I try to give it 100%!”
“How laudable…and probably for the best, unfortunately for me. Oh, well. Do what you will.”
Siren leaned back in his chair, wondering why he had decided to segment his time in such an inefficient way in the first place. After a moment of racking his brain, he remembered—neither Nightbeat nor Hosehead had been there when the ship first left Cybertron, and he had been fairly certain no one else would vie for his attention, so there had been nothing to prioritize besides his work.
Nightbeat, too, went silent for a moment, his eyes drifting towards the wall between them and the hallway. “I can’t believe Inferno walks around like that. That backpack is so dorky.”
“Hey, I’ve gotta wear one too!”
“Yeah, but you pull it off. But Hosehead—” Nightbeat paused again. “Oh, he doesn’t have to lug one around, does he?”
“Nope! He’s got—”
“Hoses on his head. Yeah.” Nightbeat mimed them with his fingers as if he didn’t have similarly shaped audio receptors himself. “Speaking of, Why doesn’t he ever keep you company? I thought you were supposed to be friends.”
“We are! We hang out pretty much every day!”
“After-hours, sure. That’s not what I’m asking. Imagine if you spent less time in that bar and more time getting into trouble with me.”
Siren did like the idea. He didn’t want stop dwelling at Swerve’s entirely, but he had come to realize that Nightbeat had been right about it being repetitive. In fact, ever since they had lost Trailcutter, it could be downright depressing. “Well, daytime’s pretty busy and he’s always off helping someone with some project, so… can you blame him?”
“I’m considering blaming him. Bored isn’t a good look on you.”
“He wasn’t even here for the first leg of the journey, y’know! It’s great having him around now! And it’s not like he never visits me here!”
Nightbeat shook his head slowly.
“What?”
“You’re more of a doormat than I realized.”
That caught Siren off guard. He had no idea how to reply. “‘Doormat’? Seriously?”
Nightbeat waved his hands defensively. “…Okay, that wasn’t the best choice of words. What I meant is that you put other people first. You must be overcorrecting for your more overbearing days.”
Siren still looked disgruntled.
“Look, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. And I…well, I can’t say I’m anything like you, but I know what it’s like to have to try harder than everyone around you to earn your place. The things you have to do. I just don’t think you should have to be that way with someone who you consider an actual friend.”
“Yeah…” Siren leaned forward to rest his head on his hand. “He already came onboard just for me, just cause I couldn’t frikkin’ take it anymore. I really don’t want to push it.”
“I see. Is whatever he’s off doing all that important, really? Does he realize how it’s affecting you? Are you afraid he might not be the bot you’ve taken him for?”
“No! He’s real, believe me! I just—I don’t know…I know I’m a handful…I’m glad he puts up with me at all.”
“Would he say that?”
Siren sensed his leg bouncing in frustration and brought it to an abrupt stop. “Haven’t you hung out with him once or twice? Why not ask him all this stuff yourself?”
“He has this bizarre notion that some topics are off-limits. It makes everything so much more difficult than need be. And the looks he gives me—like I’m contagious or something! If my being reanimated bothers him, I’d prefer he say something instead of clamming up.” Nightbeat narrowed his visor at Hosehead’s perfectly reasonable level of timidness about an assumedly sensitive topic.
“Well, I’ll ask! I still don’t get it, either. The whole Dead Universe thing.
“I don’t think anyone does.”
“But like—you were dead? But still—?” Siren gestured vaguely.
“Somehow, yeah. Brainstorm pointed out that it might not be much different than the way colonists adapt to their new worlds if need be, like the Camiens with their low-frequency sparks and low-consumption bodies to accommodate their less abundant resources. It’s not a perfect analogy, since the Dead Universe brought it about instantly and forcefully, and colonies don’t kill their residents that try to leave, but it’s useful, even if it’s… not true… at all.”
“But that was then, right? Aren’t you just alive now? Cause everyone else who was stuck there with you is fine, right? But then they didn’t get shot in the head. Or is this one of those miracles where it happens to miss anything important?”
“Hah, I wish. Dying hurt. But it turns out that a brain module can reroute itself to accommodate what should be a fatal blow if it somehow retains the ability to be animate—persistent little things… so, despite the odds, yes, I’m medically alive again. Would I classify that a ‘miracle’? I’m inclined to say no. I think it could be replicated…if there were still a Dead Universe to test it in.”
“And your spark’s just, like, fine?”
“It’s hanging by a thread on Brainstorm’s questionably constructed cure, just like the rest of the DU gang. A sturdy thread, but still… not that I think it’ll fail, but…”
“So it’s pretty safe, huh? That’s great! How’s it work?”
Nightbeat was silent for an uncomfortable while. “I’ve made him sit and explain it to me so many times, and… Brainstorm has a way of bending the rules, so to speak. Of logic. And physics. And what should be possible. I don’t like that my life support can’t be satisfactorily explained, even if it somehow works.”
“Hey, I get that. Like, what if something goes wrong? You can’t exactly troubleshoot it then…”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
Siren hated to see Nightbeat like that. “But hey! Nothing’s gone wrong so far, right? That’s really good, statistically!”
“Sure.” Nightbeat said, thoroughly unconvinced.
Sensing an impending downward spiral, Siren felt compelled to distract Nightbeat from the hard truth (whatever it was) and instead ask him something that only he could decide. “Does it feel different?”
“What, existing? No. I feel just like I almost always have. Which is…impressive. I mean, how did he do that? How do you just mix something up on the spot that cheats death like that?”
“I can’t believe that’s what you’re hung up on.”
Nightbeat crossed his arms. “What do you mean…?”
“Anyone else would be freaked out that they, you know, got abducted, or brainwashed, or sucked into another universe, or killed, or that they got revived, period. But you’re just like, the details don’t add up!”
“Well it’s not like I’m unbothered by all that. But what can be done? The Ark-1 was found. Gorlam Prime, the Micromasters, Nova, the Dead Universe, they’re all gone. It’s in the past. And unlike some people I know better than to try and mess with that.”
Siren smiled. “What an outlook. You’re really resilient, you know that?”
Nightbeat smiled, too, though it seemed more like a reflection of Siren’s than one of his own. He uncrossed his arms, at least. “I suppose it’s possible that the Dead Universe isn’t entirely gone. If Brainstorm had a portal out, it stands to reason that the rest of us did, or do, too. Imagine! A network of portals could be so useful. Considering how painful it was for Brainstorm, though, I don’t think we’ll have any willing test subjects…but damn do I want to know.”
“…Why did all that happen, anyway? You haven’t made the big picture very clear!”
“Oh,” Nightbeat realized that he had, in fact, barely explained anything about what was happening beyond himself (of course, part of that was because Siren had only asked about him specifically). “Sorry. Nova Prime was trying to bridge the Dead Universe and this one to marry them and assume control of their combined form.”
“How do you even do something like that?”
“He intended to turn Kup’s spark into a gateway between this world and that one. If I’d been more myself, I would’ve told him picking one of the few Cybertronians so old they were teetering on the edge of spark failure was a stupid idea, and that every time he tried he made Kup’s condition even worse, but he was the boss.”
Siren could barely follow the rest of Nightbeat’s statement after the mention of Kup and his poor health. It was as if he were really back on the barren surface of planet Tsiehshi, trudging past piles of his fallen subordinates to give commander Springer the bad news that they’d again failed to retrieve the terrified, delusional, and super-charged Kup from where he had boarded himself up. Siren saw the fading, dull, dark pink energon in every direction he looked, what should have been the triumphant sound of everyone activating their orbital jump back to the Ark-17 was instead the barely-audible whine of only himself. At least he was getting away from the stench of death.
He chewed Springer out the moment he had the audacity to make himself seen, but no matter how much he explained how backward it all was, no matter how much he raised his voice, Springer seemed convinced that the end justified the means. Siren almost wanted to drag him along and make him see the carnage for himself, but he knew no one deserved to see what he’d seen, even if it was the one thing that might possibly sway him into a tactical retreat until their specialist showed up.
Siren wished he had realized what lengths Springer was willing to go to before he was forced to live them. By the time it had sunk in, there weren’t enough of them left to fight back. Lives were bound to be lost both in war and in his line of work, but what Siren had been made to do was no accident.
Just as Springer had deployed troop after troop hoping that they might save Kup from himself, Siren hoped that he might one day make sense of what had happened by revisiting the incident (voluntarily or not). With each reliving, he realized how little of the situation he understood—and given that Prowl was involved, whatever reasoning was behind it would probably make Siren feel worse about his part in the ordeal than he already did.
And, as equal a relief it had been when Trailcutter had finally shown up and put their strife to rest, it was a relief to realize that Nightbeat was right there, asking him what was wrong.
An explanation for what was haunting him was desperate to come out, but Prowl had ordered that the witnesses be sworn to secrecy and someone of Siren’s standing couldn’t hope to go behind Prowl’s back and come out unscathed.
Siren collected himself enough to speak. He smiled, more a reflex than anything. “Sorry! I’ll be fine! Just a flashback! Cause you mentioned Kup, and—and—” Siren stopped himself. He trusted Nightbeat to not let anyone know if he had broken a vow of silence, but not himself.
Nightbeat took one of Siren’s hands and firmly clasped both of his own around it. “You don’t want to talk about it?”
“No, I want to, but I can’t!”
“Okay. It’s not like this is an interrogation.” Nightbeat assured. “Though any clues would be helpful. Why can’t you?”
“Prowl!”
A look of utter disdain crossed Nightbeat’s face and he doubled down on offering comfort. Siren pressed their bouquet of hands to his forehead until he felt better, which was quite some time. Nightbeat seemed to know exactly how much pressure to apply to Siren’s hand and where.
“Thanks,” Siren uttered, finally separating their personal space.
“Naturally.”
Siren relaxed, but it didn’t last long. “Oh my god! Your class!”
“What about it?”
“I made you miss it!”
“So?”
Siren supposed it wasn’t mandatory, but still: Megatron’s class was a unique opportunity that would soon end prematurely if things went as planned, but witnessing himself freak out would probably be far from a rare occurrence. He checked the time. “It’s not over yet! You should go!”
“And just leave you here?”
“Like I can’t handle myself?”
“That’s not the point.” Nightbeat reached for Siren’s other hand, but physically feeling Siren’s state must have changed his mind. “Do you want me to call Hosehead?”
Siren nodded and Nightbeat did just that. After hanging up, he hopped off of the desk. Hosehead showed up near-instantaneously, having had the same hard-wired, life-or-death punctuality as his friend.
“Uh, hi,” Hosehead said as he looked around the room for anything out of place. “When you said ‘emergency’, this isn’t what I pictured…”
“Well, it is one. He just needs your big, sturdy shoulder to cry on.”
Hosehead understood and took the seat across from him. Nightbeat lingered halfway between the desk and door until Siren shooed him out.
Unlike Nightbeat, Hosehead knew exactly what Siren was thinking of when he explained it because he had been there, and he would have been next in line to attempt rescue had Kup not been retrieved when he had.
Having casual company besides Nightbeat in his office felt strange—though not unwelcome. Unlike Nightbeat’s persistence in tackling problems, Hosehead approached the situation with brief reassurance followed by copious distraction. The time flew by and Inferno had shown up again, this time to trade shifts. Practically on autopilot, Siren and Hosehead headed to the bar. It was lively as usual that evening, but to their surprise, Nightbeat was sitting at the counter with his face buried in a datapad, willfully ignoring everyone around him.
“Hey!” Siren walked up and gave him a playful shake. “I thought you hated it here!”
“I do,” Nightbeat said, looking up. An easy-to-miss smile crossed his face when he registered that Siren was in a better mood than earlier. “I was only waiting for you two to show up.”
“Well, we’re here! What’s up? What’re you reading?”
“I shouldn’t tell you here. It’s highly sensitive.”
“Oh, c’mon!”
“It’s about you.”
“You’re trying to convince me not to look? Show me!”
“Siren…” Hosehead muttered, but Siren dismissed his concern and further gestured for Nightbeat to share.
Nightbeat finally flashed the document.
Siren’s face paled when he saw it was the heavily redacted report on Kup’s rescue.
“Class was good, but it was group discussion-heavy, so I got some independent study in. If I recall correctly, you were a rescue party leader by this point, right?”
“Yeah, I was…”
“Hosehead, I need to borrow him, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh… no, go ahead.” Hosehead took a seat and gestured for Swerve’s attention so he could order.
Nightbeat started to leave, but Siren wasn’t quite ready. “Hold on! Swerve, can you get me a pint?”
Swerve knew Siren’s usual well and served it up briskly. Siren drank it all in a matter of seconds and handed the glass back in the time it took Swerve to add it to his tab. He and Nightbeat left the bar and marched on in silence until they reached a point where they were alone in the halls.
“So, this report. Am I hot or cold?”
“Scorching.”
“The thing about coverups is that what’s missing is the most telling. This report doesn’t say much on its own, but countless personnel went missing around the same time. If the truth is close to what I think it is…I can't express how sorry I am.”
“…Thanks,” Siren said. It was all he could say on the matter. “And—Sorry about earlier! I know it’s weird to watch someone cry!”
“Don’t be. It takes a lot more than that to bother me.”
“Seriously, thanks.” Siren smiled. The way Nightbeat operated was so strange—so easily bothered by little inconveniences and trivialities that most others weren’t even aware existed, but the closer an issue laid to the spark, the more unphasable he seemed.
It became apparent that they had been heading to Nightbeat’s habsuite, which Siren only noticed once Nightbeat had slipped inside and sat on the floor against the back of his desk. Siren joined him. The door slid shut, leaving them in the dark.
“There’s hardly anyone without blood on their hands, you know.”
“…That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Me either. I just mean I know how you feel.” Nightbeat exhaled and stared forward. “You’re still not gonna talk about it?”
“Nope! Sorry. Want to, can’t.”
“Just checking.”
They sat in comfortable silence. Siren wondered if there was anything both wanted to and could talk about, but nothing came to mind. He’d go along with whatever Nightbeat brought up in that case.
Eventually, he spoke. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you said earlier. I can’t let you compliment me for something I haven’t done. I haven’t handled what happened to me well.”
It had only been a few hours, but it felt like forever. Did Nightbeat always do this much dwelling? “No?”
“No. I’ve been doing everything in my power to avoid thinking about how I died, and what that implies because I don’t like what it means one bit.”
“Oh…I thought…”
“What?”
“I don’t know! I thought you said you were glad you got a second chance or something!”
Nightbeat sunk deeper into his slouch against the desk. “It’s complicated. But that’s not exactly what’s bothering me. You remember what I told you about Necroworld?”
“Yeah! It was really interesting! But—”
“You could tell.” Nightbeat looked equally disappointed and proud.
“Well, that’s the thing about coverups…”
At least Nightbeat laughed for a second, even if his frown came right back. “Censere and I didn’t have a civil conversation like I was hoping that omitting the details would make it seem. I wanted him to be a bonafide psychopomp. I wanted him to be the guardian at the gates and to tell me it was all true. I wanted the afterspark. I need it.
“Until recently I was a very dedicated Neoprimalist. I built my entire life around the idea that there’s more to existence. But now that I’ve seen what I’ve seen, which is nothing, I just can’t be so sure. Censere did his best to console me about it. I didn’t tell you at first because—well, I threw a fit. It was unbecoming. In all my years I’ve never lost it, but I was at a breaking point. And now I’m lucky enough to still be here but I don’t know if I’ll ever feel comfortable again. It’s torture. I try not to think about it, but I am famously horrible at self-discipline in that regard.”
“You don’t believe in Primus anymore?”
“It’s damn near impossible to when I saw what I saw.”
Siren folded his arms and leaned forwards, putting all his upper weight on his knees. “Wow.”
“Hm?”
“It’s just weird to hear you say that! Ever since I met you…I pretty much feel the opposite. I wish I could change your mind about that.”
Nightbeat weaved one of his hands around Siren’s.
Siren thought two or three times before he spoke again. “Thinking about it over and over again on your own won’t get you very far, you know.”
“Hmm?
“Like, everyone had their limits—even you.”
“I don’t follow.”
“It must be hard when you can figure so much out on your own, but you’ve only got one side of the story—and a pretty biased one. I get that not seeing any sort of afterlife must be crazy vivid in your mind, but it’s a bit anecdotal, don’t you think? I mean, it’s only happened to you, you were in another universe—”
“I was in this one when I was shot.”
“Nightbeat, I’ve spent eons as a paramedic! Believe me when I say no Cybertronian dies instantly. Not unless someone's specifically trying to snuff a spark, which wasn't what happened. So—different universe, different rules, different afterlife. Right?”
“…I suppose.”
“Not to mention that that sounds like the exact kind of situation that might completely scramble your memory! And, uh, I’m not trying to say you’re wrong, just that you seem to not have considered the whole entire picture, which, I can’t blame you, honestly! Just…next time you find yourself thinking about it, try to remember you might end up liking the answer, okay?”
“I’ll try,” Nightbeat said, picking at the seams in his free hand with the fingers that belonged to it. “You know, Siren. I trust you. I’ve never told anyone else that.”
“Not even Nautica?”
“No, especially not her. She hasn’t had many chances to open up or be opened up to in her life. She’s learning, but this is sort of intense for an early attempt. But you, I could tell you know your way around a difficult conversation.”
“I try, I try…”
Nightbeat’s mind seemed to be drifting from his confession, and Siren let him derail himself—there was less hurt behind his visor that way. “Hosehead’s not the only real friend you’ve ever had, is he? You talk about everyone in your stores so fondly, I can’t tell.”
“No, just… the one I could hold onto.”
“Who were they? What happened to them? Did they go missing in action? Did they desert the war effort?” Nightbeat asked, the light in his eyes suggesting he would do everything to help track them down if Siren wished it. When Siren just shook his head, he could guess what had happened. “Did they die?”
Siren rubbed his free hand against his tired face. “Those are some long stories. I’ll tell you some other time!”
Nightbeat was willing to put those newly uncovered mysteries on the back burner for the time being. Siren let go of his hand to pull him closer and kiss him. Siren basked in the warmth emanating between them until it suddenly grew to heat Nightbeat’s plating to such a degree that he couldn’t stand to be pressed against him.
In the same instant that Siren recoiled, Nightbeat grunted and threw himself backward. He kicked against the floor to try to get himself further away but was impeded by his desk. He looked like he was seconds from voiding his fuel tank, unsure of whether to shield his mouth or claw at his visibly searing chest plate.
A strong, blinding light burned out from where Nightbeat was grasping at. At that point, Siren had no idea what was happening. He shielded his eyes with his arm and squinted as he attempted to make out what was happening.
A hand emerged, followed by a head. “Nightbeat!” Siren could make out Rodimus’ silhouette when combined with his familiar voice. Brainstorm must have been on the other end. “Portal buddy! They’re still there. isn’t that cool?”
“What do you want?” Nightbeat panted.
“We’ve been telling you to get to Brainstorm’s lab for hours! The mystery team’s been totally stumped over this problem. We know we’re missing something and we need you to tell us what. Get down here!”
Rodimus caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision. “Oh, hey, Siren! Don’t mind me.” He clicked his tongue and finger-gunned as he retreated, the opening sealing after him. Nightbeat was still wide-eyed once the portal had disappeared. Siren rushed to his side.
“It’s okay! You’re shocked, just focus on calming down!”
“Yes, I know…” Nightbeat said airily, steadily sitting back upright. “At least we know the portals are still there, now…”
Siren was dumbfounded. “But—they—“
“They got bored is what.” Nightbeat labored to say, focusing more on cycling his vents to cool down. “Started experimenting without me. I’m going to go give him a planet-sized piece of my mind—and I better get down there before they try and pull that little stunt on Cyclonus.”
Nightbeat moved to stand. Siren rose faster and helped him up. “Wait, you’re actually going even after he did that?!” “Well, sure.”
Siren crossed his arms in perplexment.
“Ooh, you have an opinion.” Nightbeat smiled. “You’re so cute when you pout. First, you’ve gotta understand the pain I’ll be in knowing I passed up a solving mystery just to make some kind of point. It’s on par with…what I’m in now…urgh. I’ve gotta go ask Brainstorm when it stops.”
“Maybe dampen your pain receptors?”
“That’s valuable information, though.”
“Nightbeat!”
“Okay, okay…” Nightbeat, begrudgingly, assumed better posture as the pain subsided.
“That’s better.” Siren rubbed his chin plate. “Well, I guess, if you wanna go, then go…”
“You can’t stand Rodimus.”
Siren gave a noncommittal shrug.
“He’s the type where you have to look beyond the surface, which I only did because High Command paired us up a few times. But it doesn’t help that he’s the ‘you had to be there’ of people.” Nightbeat exhaled. “Plus, he's been completely power-tripping—or something—lately. If he keeps on like this, I may have to resort to extremes…”
“Well, I’ve got your back, at least!” Siren uncrossed his arms and nudged him—although if the rumors were true, most of their shipmates were also in favor of resorting to extremes when it came to their captains.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Are you going home?”
“Mhmm!”
“It’s a bit of a ways, isn’t it? You can just stay here if that makes things easier.”
“…But you’re leaving!”
“I already said I trust you. Besides, I might come back. Here, let me show you how to open this in case you need to step out…”
He guided Siren to locks he had installed and quietly explained the mnemonic device he used to remember the excessively long combination as he demonstrated. It took a few tries before Siren had fully committed it to memory (and who knew if it would stick), but the patience Nightbeat displayed when he was already late to his meeting was not lost on Siren. ✧