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*You’re gonna miss it if you don’t get in here.*
Smokescreen made a lackadaisical comment as he juggled a hedonistic amount of cubes in the doorway, tip-toeing through Bumblebee’s floor-nest. “Not like it isn’t the same one we’ve been watching the last six weeks.”
Bumblebee peeped in defense, *Hey you know I only have a few vids. We have to make them last.*
Setting the cubes in cluttered rows on the night stand, Smokescreen began to sit, “So watching them in thirty minute chunks at a time is…?”
*Better. Shh.* Bumblebee’s attention returned to the pint-sized screen. Ratchet had hogged many of the monitors to splice them into the console when they first arrived. Nothing had changed since, though he had trained himself to stop straining his optics as he watched. Took a year, but worth it. To his right, their teams newest recruit was still squinting, his first cube of the evening tucked close to his chest.
A robot on screen was blathering dramatically, camera zooming in all the while. Clearing his vocalizer, the white mech forcefully whispered, “So wait, what happened again?”
Optics never once leaving the video, the yellow bot repeated the same thing he had every night this week, *Rotorbuster is looking for the stolen alt-mode schematics. He thinks Mortimus knows where they are.*
“Ah, right.” Smokescreen nestled in close to Bee in time to see the camera fade to another scene, this one a Vosnian skyrise interior. Or at least, with those doors on the fifteenth floor that’s all he could think of. “And… Mortimus is which one?”
*He was in the last shot.*
“Is he that one?”
*Oh my Primus, no. That’s Felagreen, the other detective. Geez, Smokey don’t you pay attention?*
Smokescreen took a not-so-quiet sip as Bee scooted the screen closer. “Of course I do! I just… ya know… forget. There’s a lot of characters in this one.”
*There’s only four in the main cast. Maybe you should go get your memory bank checked out by Ratch,* the scout said jovially.
“Oh ha ha,” Smokescreen hunkered closer to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest. “If I wanted him in there there’d be a welcome mat on my forehelm.”
There was a snikt as the scout lowered his mask to drink. Smokescreen looked over out of curiosity but made a job out of holding his glossa about anything. Bumblebee was surprisingly invested in the movie they were watching, so much so that Smokescreen felt he was a part of something more meaningful that simple television.
He just didn’t know what it was.
The film droned on a bit more, eventually taking them to the plot-centric fight he’d been waiting for. Cybertronian genres varied in length, and while he’d never watched a detective drama- something Bee seemed like he almost exclusively did- he always like the action the best.
Politely whispering this time, Smokescreen asked, “So the guys on the right… those were the ones talking to the femme earlier?”
*Silkwrench, yeah.* Bumblebee’s mouth didn’t move a lick. Smokescreen tried not to show his visible expectation for it to do so.
Fingering the edge of the blanket, Smokescreen tugged it, Bumblebee’s attention easily falling to him, *You cold?*
“Kinda. It’s fine though, really.”
His smiled was rooted in forlorn thought. The other beeped, *Kinda has to be, you’re on the only one I have.*
Smokescreen sank at the truth underneath the comment; he knew he wasn’t the only one who remembered what it was like to have more than one amenity to his name. He saw the partially lit frame of his friend shimmy to the side and wave him closer.
The white mech was so close to his friend he no longer felt the cold edge of the room. He fisted and rolled over a pathetic amount of cloth to his right side, frame comfortable though he gave the air of being tense.
He heard an apologetic tone, *Sorry.*
Smokescreen bumped his helm to the side of Bumblebee’s. “Nah don’t worry about it. I like it in here. Sure beats the heck out of being alone in my quarters counting the dust particles.”
Bumblebee made a series of staticky bleeps. Smokescreen felt a sting in his cheekplates at making him laugh so hard; maybe he understood.
Or worse, thought he was kidding.
The movie began to slide into its long coming denouement. Smokescreen felt a twinge of something guilt-like as he noticed the hollow look in Bumblebee’s eyes. “Sorry if I asked too many questions about the movie. I did like it. Promise.”
Bumblebee saw clear through the apology. He took it to spark, but it was misguided. *No, Smokey. Just thinking of home.*
It’d been a few weeks since Smokescreen had really considered Cybertron, considered his old life. Being in stasis had its benefits, but since he’d been out the intrigue of Earth and the swell of pride he felt serving Optimus Prime was too great to steer him off-course. The tone Bee used to tell him made it sound like he thought about it all the time. And that made him sad.
“I uh… I never got a chance to take much from my locker at the Hall. Heck, I never even had a chance to go home before it happened… but that’s the way things are I guess.”
A thin, black finger subtly traced at one of the racecar’s chest seams. *I know what you mean. I didn’t have anything on me when I followed Optimus onto the Ark. When we groundbridged off during a portside attack, we each just had a blaster to our names.* Bumblebee stopped his digit from drawing anything telling on his friend. *Just glad Ratchet always has his stuff on hand. I got gravel in a lot of places when I landed.*
The supplemented joke had Smokescreen back to himself within moments. He truly admired the little mech. Their age difference was so minor, but Smokescreen had always felt so much less accomplished in comparison. And to think Bee never even stepped foot in the Academy.
The lingering credits on the fuzzy blue viz-screen tumbled idly in his peripherals. He hadn’t meant to start staring to intently.
Thankfully Bumblebee recognized the comfort. *I know you haven’t had it the best either, but you’ve gotten along pretty good with the bots here. We’re a nice family.*
“I noticed,” Smokescreen lied. Arcee seemed a private femme, and Bulkhead spent more time with the humans than any of them. That just left Ratchet- a mech of few words and time to chit chat- and Optimus, somebot he’d know he’d never be lucky enough to hang out with. What would they even talk about?
And then there was Bumblebee: a mechling about his own age and twice the maturity. Bumblebee’s saving grace from that was his sense of humor, but his self-discipline made Smokescreen feel stuck in the stone age. Bumblebee seemed like the only one around who showed you he cared in a way Smokescreen could comprehend. And even reciprocate.
“Guess I… better be getting back to my room.”
The Urbana frowned unabashedly, *Early patrol tomorrow?*
Smokescreen leaned back; he hadn’t noticed how close he was to Bee. “No. Just thought maybe you’d want me to head out so you can do whatever you wanna do.” Smokescreen had next to nothing tomorrow and sulking through the base due to boredom all night had zero appeal. Especially since Optimus had started going to recharge sooner.
The white mech stopped himself mid-standing when he felt resistance on the other end of his handful of fabric.
*You can stay if you want. You’re good company, Smokey.*
Glad he wouldn’t risk another night of Ratchet nailing him with a projectile in the dark, Smokescreen flopped back down, snuggling close to Bee. The scout was quite the little heater and he found he liked that. It really made him feel present, even if he was on another world and may never see another bot of their species besides the present ‘Cons again.
Smokescreen tucked his helm beneath the rim-lit cables of Bumblebee’s neck. As the scout took up the remote he folded in his wings, free arm ducking under Smokescreen’s to hold his torso.
The white mech curled to half his size, nuzzling close. Optics sunny, Smokescreen asked, “What’s on next?”