Summary: Post-ROTF: Following the revelation that Sam is a human Prime, he has been captured and taken to the Nemesis. As his captivity drags on, he struggles to maintain his sense of self in the face of Megatron's relentless psychological assault. This story is a sequel to Signature, which should be read first if you want to catch up on the details behind Megatron's handling of his human captive.

Pairings: This is a Bumblebee/Sam Witwicky story. Given that this site does not allow explicit fics, this version has been heavily edited to remain PG-13. If you wish to read the full version, please head over to AO3 (username: arabis, story name: Signature - Tribulations).

Other Pairings: Bumblebee & Sam Witwicky, Ratchet & Sam Witwicky, Optimus Prime & Sam Witwicky

Warnings: Swearing, canon-typical violence, trauma, PTSD, isolation, (brief) suicidal thoughts

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Chapter 13

Although Sam was impatient to depart for the Arc immediately, Optimus insisted that they wait until First Aid returned. The Autobot leader extended a servo towards him, and after a moment's hesitation, Sam stepped onto the proffered palm. Digits as thick as his body curled loosely around him as Optimus stood, bringing Sam close to his chest before crossing the large hanger. He stopped in front of the berth—which, Sam realized with a grimace, he had come to think of as 'his'—before depositing him on his feet.

Sam murmured his thanks, stepping across the metal platform to retrieve his shoes. He climbed up onto the hospital gurney, crossing one leg over his knee to pull on a sneaker. It was a surprisingly difficult feat with only one hand, but he managed it. As he grabbed his other shoe, he glanced up to see Optimus watching him intently. The Autobot leader's expression was introspective and quiet. All at once, he was desperate to break the silence and ease the tension that had built up between them.

"So, on a scale of one to torqued off, how mad was Ratchet?"

Optimus' optics softened faintly, although whether it was in appreciation or amusement, Sam couldn't guess.

"Ratchet was… resistant, but he eventually saw sense." Optimus replied, diplomatically.

"Uh-huh." Sam said dryly, "If I were you, I'd be on the other side of the island when he wakes up."

Optimus' optics brightened in response, but before he could speak, First Aid strode through the hanger doors. Both Sam and Optimus turned to regard the red and white medic, who whistled cheerfully to himself as he approached.

"Hello again, Sam. I trust your shower was enjoyable?" The medic asked, before extending a servo towards him, "I have brought your mid-day meal."

Sam glanced over to see a cafeteria tray balanced on the medic's servo. He leaned forward, grasping the tray with his good hand and steadying it with the other, as he brought it to rest on the overbed table.

"Thanks First Aid, I appreciate it."

"It was my pleasure. Now if you will excuse me, I will gather the necessary supplies for your dressing change. Bon appétit."

The medic nodded respectfully to Optimus before he stepped away, striding towards the supply cabinets located against the back wall. He continued to whistle as he walked, swaying his hip struts to the cheerful tune. Sam shook his head in amusement, before turning his attention to the cafeteria tray in front of him. A quick inspection revealed that First Aid had brought him chicken over rice in some type of reddish-orange sauce. He took a tentative bite, and was delighted when mingled sweetness and heat exploded over his tongue.

Sam's eyes fluttered closed. He loved Szechuan chicken.

Without another word, he pulled the overbed table closer towards him and tucked into his lunch. It was the perfect blend of sweet and spicy, with tender chicken and firm vegetables. Sam speared a piece of sautéed pepper with his fork, glancing up at Optimus with a wry twist in his mouth.

"In terms of the pros and cons of living in the middle of the Indian Ocean, the Asian food is definitely a tick in the pro column."

The Autobot leader stared at him for a long moment, as though taken aback by Sam's friendly banter. Eventually, he dipped his helm in acknowledgement.

"I am glad that it meets with your approval."

"Oh, it does." Sam agreed, popping the pepper in his mouth. He chewed, savoring the crunch and its accompanying bloom of heat, "I don't know how you guys can eat the same stuff day in, day out. I'd go crazy."

"Energon can be refined into many different forms. All but the crudest types are enjoyable."

Sam stiffened at his words, the smile fading from his face. He dropped his eyes to his plate and began pushing around a piece of chicken with his fork. The silence stretched on, becoming uncomfortable again, but Sam found that he couldn't speak around the lump in his throat.

"Sam?" Optimus asked, an edge of concern in his tone.

Sam reached for his water, taking a long drink. When he finally forced himself to speak, his voice was artificially calm, "It's nothing, Optimus. Megatron showed me what refined energon tasted like. It's fine."

It took less than a heartbeat before understanding dawned in Optimus' optics, "Through the Creator bond."

Sam lifted his shoulders in a haphazard shrug, "I doubt I'd be alive if he'd done it any other way."

Optimus' expression was difficult to read—serious and solemn, but not overtly angry.

"Megatron has always had a fondness for single-grade." He acknowledged, after a long moment.

Sam stared incredulously at the Autobot leader. His words, as well as the faint rumination in his tone, took Sam completely by surprise. Optimus returned his gaze, unflinchingly.

"If you have a question, Sam, please ask it."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, uncertain whether he wanted the answers to those particular questions. After a pregnant pause, he speared another piece of chicken, affecting his best impression of nonchalance.

"Megatron said that he met you when you were still Orion Pax." He said lightly, "Is that true?"

Optimus shuttered his optics slowly, before inclining his helm in an affirmative.

"Yes, it is true. We met at a rally in Iacon."

"For egalitarianism?"

Optimus ex-vented softly.

"Yes. Megatron was a vocal opponent of the caste-system. His ideals were… appealing to me."

Sam tilted his head, staring unblinkingly up at him.

"How so?"

Optimus stepped closer, crouching so that they were of an almost equal height, "I was a lower-caste data clerk, as you know. My functioning was pre-determined by a hierarchical social system that aggressively controlled who I could be and what I could do."

The Prime's optics shuttered briefly, as though in pain.

"Megatron spoke passionately about freedom as the right of all sentient beings—it was a sentiment with which I strongly connected. It is one with which I still do, although Megatron does not."

Sam's breath stuttered out of him in surprise. It was inconceivable that Megatron had ignited in Optimus his relentless passion for liberty and self-determination. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "What happened?"

Optimus shook his helm minutely, a gesture of immeasurable regret.

"In the early vorns of his resistance, before the civil war, Megatron was a passionate and charismatic leader. Innumerable mechanoids were drawn to his ideals of freedom and equality. After he overthrew the Senate, however, something changed within him. He executed the Senators who would not swear fealty to him, before installing himself as Supreme Commander of Cybertron's armies. Yet he was not satisfied with his newfound power—he wanted more."

Optimus hesitated, as though choosing his next words carefully, "As you know, the Supreme Commander and the Prime are two sides of Cybertron's ruling elite. One oversees Cybertron's armies, the other its political and religious factions. Megatron was not satisfied as only Supreme Commander—he argued that so long as there was a Prime to lead it, the Senate might be re-established, undoing all of the hard work of their rebellion."

Sam frowned faintly as he set down his fork, the remainder of his meal forgotten. Optimus had explained about the role of a Prime as the figurehead of the Senate, but that was all they were—a figurehead. They had no real authority to establish or abolish a Senate, or to control the election of the Senators therein.

"But that's not true." Sam protested, "How'd he manage to spin that?"

Optimus ex-vented softly.

"What is thought to be true is true in its consequences." He intoned seriously, "Most of the lower- and middle-caste had only a rudimentary understanding of how the Senate was appointed, a fact that Megatron exploited to his advantage."

Sam exhaled loudly, shaking his head, "I'd say I can't believe it, but, well, here we are."

"Here we are." Optimus agreed, a grim edge to his voice.

Before Sam could reply, he felt a shift in his mind as Bumblebee's presence brightened across their bond. A smile spread across his face and he reached towards the winter-white glow. As he brushed against it, he was greeted with a swell of fondness-welcome-inquiry that made him huff a quiet laugh.

/Hello to you too./

Optimus straightened from where he stood crouched beside the berth, his expression softening in patient understanding. He stepped a short distance away, giving Sam the illusion of privacy. At the same time, First Aid closed the cabinet doors with more vim than strictly necessary, pivoting on a pede and starting back in their direction.

/Did you sleep well?/ Bumblebee asked, and Sam had the distinct impression of motion and anticipation.

/Like a baby./ He replied, much to Bee's amusement, /Optimus is here./

His bonded's presence brightened with concern, and Sam glanced up at Optimus.

/It went better than I thought, I guess./

"Alright, Sam. I am going to change your bandages and re-dress your sutures. Give me your hand, please."

The red and white mechanoid stood directly beside his berth, holding his servo out expectantly. Confusion furrowed Sam's brow as he stared at the large appendage.

"Can you even do this without a holoform?"

"Certainly." First Aid replied, "Ratchet utilizes a holoform for your comfort, not out of necessity."

Sam huffed quietly, remembering the events that had led up to Ratchet's development of a holoform. He had been shaken after Egypt, wrung-out and sensitive. At the time, Ratchet's holoform had seemed like an imposition—a violation, even—but now it was as much a part of him as his bipedal form or his alt mode.

First Aid made a polite, expectant sound, prompting Sam to extend his arm towards him. As he watched, two large digits transformed into an array of spindly looking instruments, which seemingly moved of their own accord. A pair of pincers grasped the edges of the bandages as a minature vibroblade cut straight down the middle, parting the fabric like the Red Sea. It revealed a minefield of nicks and cuts, the deeper of which were sutured with tidy-looking black thread. Sam's pointer finger and middle finger were held together with a thin metal splint, preventing him from pulling the sutures between his two knuckles.

All and all, it looked painful.

First Aid glanced up at him, his instruments stilling in mid-air, "I have been informed that you have a history of vomiting at the sight of physical injury. Please let me know immediately if you experience any nausea or lightheadedness."

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation, "It was one time."

First Aid chirped at him sympathetically, before bending to his task. The red and white medic dabbed clear ointment over the nicks and cuts—Sam had to school his features to keep from grimacing from the sting—before winding a roll of gauze around his hand, starting at his fingers and ending at his wrist.

"You will only need to keep the bandages on for another twelve hours or so. We can remove them tomorrow morning."

Sam noticed a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to see Bumblebee's alt mode roll to a stop at the foot of the berth. He smiled down at the yellow Camaro and, a moment later, Bumblebee's mental presence bumped against him fondly. Sam's attention was pulled back to First Aid by a sharp tugging sensation. He glanced down in surprise to see the medic had covered the gauze with a brown compression wrap, which he had proceeded to secure with fasteners.

"There you go, all set."

Sam brought his hand to rest in his lap, turning to look at Optimus expectantly.

"Can we go now?"

The Autobot leader considered his request, before inclining his helm in an affirmative.

"I have advised Ultra Magnus to expect us." He rumbled.

"Alright, great. Let's go." Sam said impatiently, climbing down off the gurney. At the same moment, he felt an inquiring touch from Bumblebee, and Sam set his jaw stubbornly in response.

/I'm going to see Knock Out./

There was a swell of sensation from his bonded, a complicated mixture of feeling, thought, and imagery that together conveyed a single, coherent message: are you sure this is a good idea?

Sam stepped onto Optimus' proffered servo, steading himself with his good hand. The Autobot leader crouched down, carefully settling him on the floor a short distance away from Bee's alt mode. Bumblebee helpfully popped his driver's side door as he approached.

"Yes, I'm sure." Sam said with certainty, running his hand over Bumblebee's gleaming exterior.

/Ratchet isn't going to like it./

Sam huffed quietly. That had been one of Bumblebee's better understatements.

/He'll get over it./

Bumblebee whistled at him doubtfully, but his engine turned over all the same. Sam smiled in appreciation before ducking into the familiar cab. As soon as he settled against the driver's seat, the door pulled shut behind him. Sam could hear the distant sound of transformation, and then he watched as Optimus' alt mode accelerated towards the hanger doors. A moment later, Bumblebee shifted into drive and followed after him.

Sam leaned back against the supple leather, relaxing into the seat. Everything about the enclosed space was comforting—from the read-outs on the dash, to the faint scent of leather and oil, to the Autobot emblem set into the steering wheel. He never felt more at ease than when he was inside of Bumblebee's cabin. The thought made him quirk his lips, and he reached out to tweak the curve of the steering wheel between his thumb and forefinger. Bee's engine growled in response, the speedometer needle jumping into the red.

Sam laughed aloud, delighted.

It seemed like no time at all before Bumblebee slowed to a stop in front of the Arc. Optimus transformed into his bi-pedal mode as Bee's door opened. Sam grasped the doorframe with his good hand and pulled himself out of the cab. He stepped away, giving Bumblebee space to transform, as he glanced around the airfield.

It was a beautiful day. The sky was a clear, perfect blue and the sun shone from its zenith. It was hot, given the early afternoon hour, but not oppressively so. The humidity was worse than the heat, but the faint smell of salt water on the air helped to temper the discomfort. The airfield was busy, with soldiers and machinery moving around the large open space. The Arc was just as he remembered it—gleaming golden and elegant, surrounded by crates and equipment. The clang of metal on metal and boisterous talking filled the air, audible over the distant roar of jet engines from the far side of the airfield.

Sam squinted up at Optimus, who was watching him with an intensity of expression that he couldn't place.

"Can we go in?"

Optimus inclined his helm, before starting towards the large ramp that was lowered from the underbelly of the warship. Sam followed after him, walking as quickly as his shorter legs would allow. Bumblebee walked at his side, matching his pace without comment.

Sam breathed a quiet sigh of relief as they stepped into the cool interior of the ship. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he saw at once that the Arc had changed substantially since he had last seen her. Whereas before the ship had been dark and quiet, as though in a deep sleep, now she shone with light and activity. All of the terminals in the cargo bay were lit up, blinking with complicated Cybertronian read-outs. Halogenic lights illuminated the large space, set into the ceiling of the hanger. The whorls and eddies that were etched into the metal walls glowed a faint blue-silver, fully revealing their complicated, delicate patterns. The design covered the walls, wrapping around the hanger and stretching down the distant corridor.

It was ethereal and alien—and unquestionably beautiful.

Sam felt an immense swell of satisfaction at the thought. Megatron would absolutely hate it.

Bumblebee whistled at him questioningly, and Sam glanced up at his bonded in response.

"Megatron isn't a big fan of interior design." He said, by way of explanation. He could tell from the confused tilt of Bumblebee's head that his answer had not cleared up the scout's confusion, but Sam did not feel like clarifying any further. He followed after Optimus as the Autobot leader made his way into the depths of the ship. They passed dozens of technicians, electricians, and engineers as they walked, clearly identifiable by the insignia on their shoulders. They worked in groups of two and three at various junctions of the corridor, some wrist-deep in wiring while others bent over the bright blue flame of butane torches.

Sam glanced up at Optimus, curiously.

"You're really putting a lot of work into her."

Optimus glanced over his shoulder in Sam's direction, something complicated in his expression.

"We have worked on the Arc around the clock for the last two years. I wanted her air-worthy and battle ready as soon as feasibly possible."

There was something in his tone—an edge of dark foreboding—that told Sam with complete certainty that Optimus had intended to use the Arc to stage a rescue. He felt a flush spread across his face and neck, and he ducked his head.

"Thanks Optimus."

Optimus did not reply, his optics fathomless and intense, but he inclined his head faintly in response. It was a gesture of acknowledgement, of understanding—and it was a promise. They continued down the corridor without another word, the ringing of their footsteps echoing loudly down the passageway. They took the next corner, before crossing the large, cavernous room beyond, before turning down the hallway that contained the brig. Sam felt his heart start to beat quicker in his chest. He was keen to see Knock Out, to try to talk some sense into the medic, but he was nervous as well. Mercifully, he did not have long to dwell on his anxiety, as they stepped into the brig moments later.

Sam's eyes immediately darted to the other side of the room. There were five large containment cells spaced along the back wall. The first four were dark and empty, but the fifth cell—the one nearest the large desk situated to their right—was illuminated with weak light. Sam's heart clenched in anger at the sight of Knock Out resting on his knees, his arms bound behind his back. The medic was slumped in front of the transparent energy barrier at the forefront of the cell. Although Knock Out's optics were unnaturally dim, they tracked Sam unerringly as he crossed the space towards him.

Sam glanced up at Ultra Magnus, who stood off to the side, as he approached.

"Deactivate the energy barrier."

A frown pulled at the City Commander's faceplates, before he looked towards Optimus for direction. Whatever he saw in the Autobot leader's expression caused Ultra Magnus' face to become inscrutable. After a moment, he stepped forward and thumbed a code into the panel set on the wall. The energy barrier sputtered with static before it disappeared completely.

Sam stepped into the cell, coming to a stop an arm's length from Knock Out's knee struts.

"Hey Knock Out." He murmured.

"Hello Sam." The medic replied. His voice was a low rasp, seemingly dragged from his vocalizer with great effort, "You're looking well."

Before Sam could reply, the medic's optics flicked down to his hand. His lip panels thinned in disapproval as he took in the sight of the bandage.

"What happened?"

Sam rubbed his forearm, resisting the urge to push his hand into his pockets.

"I'm fine, I cut myself."

The medic glanced up at him, his expression mild, "By accident?"

Sam huffed loudly, exasperation and irritation bleeding into his voice, "Obviously by accident."

"Obviously."

Sam rolled his eyes, before getting to the quick of the matter, "What are you doing here, Knock Out?"

The medic scoffed softly, rolling a shoulder in Ultra Magnus' direction.

"I am enjoying the finest in Autobot hospitality."

Ultra Magnus' optics narrowed dangerously, a rumble reverberating through his chassis.

"You have no right to complain about the treatment of prisoners, medic." Ultra Magnus said, growling the designation like an insult.

"Don't deflect, you know what I mean." Sam said, as though Ultra Magnus hadn't spoken, "Why haven't you joined the Autobots?"

Knock Out huffed a dry laugh.

"I just deserted one megalomaniacal dictator. I am not overly keen to get in line behind another."

Ultra Magnus hissed a harsh in-vent, obviously deeply affronted by the medic's words. Before he could reply, however, Optimus directed a pointed, quelling look in his direction.

"You don't mean that. I know you don't." Sam said, frowning.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do."

Sam rolled his eyes, refusing to be baited by the sarcastic bite in Knock Out's voice. He reached out a hand to clasp the medic's elbow strut, giving him a little push.

"Yes, I do. You may have been in my head for the last two years—but I was also in yours. You aren't a Decepticon, no matter how much you might pretend otherwise."

Knock Out looked down at Sam's hand, where it rested against the metal plating of his arm. After a moment, he raised his head and met Sam's gaze.

"You are very naïve, even for a Prime."

Sam lifted his shoulders in a shrug, "Maybe, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

Knock Out shuttered his optics slowly, but he did not reply. After a long moment, Sam gave his arm a little squeeze, before he took a step backwards.

"Stay here, if it suits you." Sam said softly, "I'll be waiting for you, whenever you're ready."

As soon as Sam stepped back over the groove lined into the floor, Ultra Magnus reactivated the energy barrier. The City Commander's frame was stiff, his expression closed off and impenetrable. Sam stood there for a long moment, looking at Knock Out through the transparent energy field, before he turned to look up at Optimus.

"I'm going to get my hair cut." He said, apropos of nothing.

The Autobot leader nodded in acknowledgement. Without another word, Sam turned on his heel and started walking towards the brig entrance. He was aware of Bumblebee following closely behind him, and he brushed against the scout's mental presence appreciatively. Together they walked out of the brig and through the depths of the ship in silence. When they finally stepped into the bright light of the early afternoon sun, Sam had to bring his hand up to shield his eyes.

Bumblebee walked down the ramp in front of him, transforming into his alt mode without preamble. Sam strolled down after him, climbing into Bee's waiting cabin with a murmur of appreciation. His bonded's mental presence was withdrawn—not closed off exactly, but certainly reserved. If Sam concentrated, he could sense fleeting glimpses of frustration and anger. Sam sighed heavily, pinning the dashboard with a look.

"What is it?"

Bumblebee whistled at him softly, inquiringly, and Sam's look became pointed.

"Don't try to pull that infiltrator bullshit with me." Sam said, although there was no heat in his words, "You're mad."

There was a protracted pause, and then Bumblebee's sigh gusted through the cabin.

"I'm not mad, Sam, I'm confused." He said at last, "Knock Out tortured you for two years—how can you be so forgiving?"

Sam leaned back against the driver's seat, sighing again.

"You weren't there, you wouldn't understand." Sam replied simply, and he was immediately blindsided by the swell of anger-helplessness-hatred from across their bond. He winced in response, tentatively reaching out a hand to press against the dashboard.

"I'm sorry, Bee." He murmured apologetically, "I didn't mean it like that."

"How did you mean it, exactly?" Bumblebee asked, his voice deceptively mild.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He could understand Bumblebee's anger, especially if he had seen Knock Out's memory files for the last two years. Logically, he knew that he should hate the medic—that he should hate all of them—but he didn't. Knock Out had been kind, in his own way, gentling Sam with an air of indelible patience throughout the entire ordeal. He could have been cruel—it would have served Megatron's purpose better than his kindness—but he hadn't been. He had been soothing and calm and encouraging, even as Sam fell apart in front of him.

Sam swallowed hard. He was unable to articulate the fact that, even though Knock Out had contributed to his suffering, it would have been so much worse without him. His morose thoughts were interrupted by the gentle press of Bumblebee's mental presence against his mind.

/I understand, Sam./ Bee murmured, /You don't need to explain any further./

They drove in silence the rest of the way to the barber. Sam was so wrapped up in his thoughts and conflicting emotions that the entire experience passed by in a surreal blur. When he and Bumblebee entered the barbershop ten minutes later, the din and clamor of the small building slowly quietened as a dozen sets of eyes settled on them. The specialist behind the desk stood up as they approached, snapping off a sharp salute.

"Ambassador, good afternoon." He greeted formally, before directing the same salute towards Bumblebee, "How can I help you today?"

Sam gestured vaguely towards the floor of the barbershop, "I'd like to make an appointment to get my haircut. It's been awhile."

A tall, elderly man in military greens stepped towards the front desk.

"I can take you now, Sir. If you're available."

Sam stared at him for the space of a heartbeat, before he lifted his shoulder in a shrug, "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."

The soldier led him through the room, stopping behind an empty chair halfway down the row. Sam stepped around the chair, sitting down without being prompted. A moment later, the man swept the black cape around Sam's shoulders, fastening it behind his neck with well-practiced hands.

"What would you like, Sir?"

Sam frowned faintly, staring at the stranger in the mirror.

"I hadn't thought that far ahead, honestly." He replied, before adding as an afterthought, "Please, call me Sam."

The older man's eyebrows rose to his hairline as his lips quirked in amused surprise.

"Alright, Ambassador Sam, would you like me to use my best judgement?"

"Go for it." He replied dryly, "Short but not too short."

The solider nodded in understanding, before stepping around the chair to grab his scissors and a comb. Sam watched his reflection as the older man worked. Slowly but surely the person in the mirror became something more familiar to him as the pile of brown curls grew on the floor. The barber stepped away, checking over his handiwork with sharp eyes. The cut was not dissimilar to the style that Sam had preferred before he had been taken—short on the sides, longer on top. Satisfied with the result, the barber glanced down at him.

"Would you like a shave?"

Sam blinked up at him in surprise, "Uh… sure?"

The older man's lips quirked in amusement again, "You ever shave with a straight razor before?"

"I can honestly say that I have not."

His words caused the older man to chuckle lightly, "You're in for a treat."

As it turned out, the soldier was telling the truth. Despite Sam's trepidation, the entire ordeal was deeply relaxing. The hot towels pressed against his face, the cool balm massaged in with clever fingers, the repetitive slide of sharpened metal against skin—by the time that the barber wiped away the last of the shaving cream from around Sam's ears, he felt boneless. The barber unfastened the cape, pulling it away as he stepped aside to let Sam stand. Sam glanced towards the mirror, and his breath caught in his throat. He recognized the person staring back at him—he was thinner and paler than he remembered, but it was him. Sam raised a hand to rub over his jaw, relishing the feeling of bare skin for the first time in two years.

"Thank-you." Sam murmured sincerely, his voice huskier than he intended. The barber had stopped to watch him, and at Sam's words, his face softened in understanding.

"No problem, Ambassador Sam. I'm glad I could help."

After a long moment, Sam made his way back down the row of barber chairs towards the front desk. Bumblebee stood as he approached, his eyes fixated on Sam's face.

"Thank-you." Sam said to the specialist at the front desk. The man nodded in acknowledgement, as Sam came to a stop in front of the holoform, "Are you ready to go?"

Bumblebee nodded, before turning to push open the door. He stepped through the entryway, holding the door open for Sam who followed a moment later. As they made their way towards the strip of pavement along the back of the building that acted as the parking lot, Sam glanced towards the holoform. Bumblebee's mental presence was a churning tide of emotions that Sam was unable to decipher.

"What, are you a beard man?" He joked lightly, trying to cover his sudden unease. As they rounded the corner of the building, out of view of the main roadway, Bumblebee turned and pulled him close. Sam made surprised sound as strong arms wrapped around him, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head.

"I've missed you." Bumblebee said, his voice low and rough.

Sam's eyes squeezed shut, as the maelstrom of emotions across their bond narrowed to a single, familiar sensation: joy. He hugged Bumblebee back, tucking his nose into the side of his neck and murmuring softly against his skin.

"I missed you too."

Chapter 14

They stood there together, in the cool shade cast by the building, for a long moment. Eventually, Sam leaned back as far as Bumblebee's arms would permit him, looking up at the holoform.

"So, you're not a beard man, then?" He teased softly.

The holoform's lips twitched in amusement, as he moved to card his fingers through Sam's short curls. The palms of his hands were warm where they rested against the sides of Sam's face. His grip firmed long enough for Bumblebee to bend down and press their lips together. It was a soft kiss, chaste and affectionate.

"Your physical appearance doesn't matter to me. You're you and you're—" Bumblebee cut himself off abruptly, consternation knitting the skin between his eyebrows. Sam's expression softened at the contriteness written all over the holoform's face.

"I'm yours." He agreed, finishing Bumblebee's sentence, "Say it."

The consternation in Bumblebee's expression deepened, a faint frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. Sam huffed in response, reaching out to pinch the skin of the holoform's side between his thumb and forefinger. Bumblebee jumped, yelping in surprise.

"Say it." Sam repeated pleasantly, his lips twitching at the surprised disbelief that he could feel across their bond.

Bumblebee dropped a hand to rub where Sam had pinched him. When he finally replied, his voice was decidedly exasperated, "You're mine."

Sam laughed at his dry tone.

"I am." He agreed, grinning unrepentantly, "And you're mine."

Bumblebee huffed softly, as though in annoyance, but Sam could feel his amusement. Before he could reply, however, the sound of an engine caused them to glance over as a large military jeep trundled down Nimitz Road. Suddenly self-conscious, Sam stepped away from the holoform. Bumblebee let him go without protest.

"Do you want to go back to the Hive?" Bee asked. Sam paused, considering the question seriously, before he shook his head.

"I think I want to go for a walk." He replied, surprising himself. Although it was cool in the shade provided by the squat, brick building, it was a beautiful afternoon—sunny and hot, with the smell of the ocean lingering in the air. Bumblebee's expression warmed, becoming openly pleased.

"Would you like some company?"

"Always." Sam agreed, his lips quirking up in a smile.

The holoform returned his smile, falling into step beside him as Sam started walking. They made their way through the base, nodding at the people they passed on the dusty shoulder that served as the sidewalk. The vehicle traffic was heavy, given the hour, with a stream of Humvees, Jeeps, and other light armored trucks passing them as they walked.

The sunshine was intense, without any cloud cover, and they had barely made it to Britannia Way before Sam was rolling up his shirtsleeves. By the time that they had made it to the edge of the Downtown area, his forehead and neck were beaded with perspiration. Thankfully, the water was much closer to the road at this part of the base, separated from them by only a narrow strip of well-manicured lawn and a thin beach. The cool breeze coming off the ocean was refreshing whenever it brushed across Sam's skin.

As they left the main part of the base behind, the island's vegetation became more pronounced. It began with reedy grasses and low-lying ferns that eventually morphed into thick, green shrubs dotted with white flowers. The shrubs acted as a natural barrier, growing in haphazard bunches all along the littoral zone. As they walked further away from the base, the shrubbery became interspersed with short, thin trees that were not more than eight or ten feet high. The shade cast by their large fronds was weak but welcome, all the same.

As they approached Simpson Point, the better part of half an hour later, Sam happened to notice Bumblebee's alt mode trailing silently behind them. The Camaro flashed its high beams once, and Sam gave the holoform a friendly shove.

"Stalker."

Bumblebee scoffed lightly, as though he were offended.

"Please. If I were stalking you, you'd never know it."

Sam laughed, turning to make his way over the low dunes that separated the gravel road from the beach. The dunes were small and thin, barely more than half a meter in height. His shoes sunk into the white sand, warming his feet through the synthetic leather. The yellow Camaro came to a stop at the roadside behind them, metal pinging audibly in the hot, afternoon sun.

"Yeah, right. What about that first night in the junkyard?"

Sam could feel a wash of incredulity through their bond, and he glanced towards the holoform. Bumblebee's expression was openly sardonic.

"You don't seriously think you had the drop on me, do you?"

Sam stopped, halfway up the dune, as he turned fully to look at him.

"Oh, bullshit. You didn't know I was there."

"Sam, I'm an—"

"Infiltrator." Sam said at the same time, "Yeah, I know, I know."

Bumblebee rolled his eyes, "I intended for you to watch my transmission. I had hoped it would ease our first contact."

Sam shrugged good-naturedly, cresting the dune and making his way down the other side. Sand, loosened by his footfalls, cascaded in small slides down the slope of the hill.

"Yeah, it really didn't."

Bumblebee huffed a laugh, following after him, By the time that they made their way over the dune, Sam's shoes were filled with sand. He frowned in consideration for a fraction of a second, before he sat on his ass on the beach. As he pulled off one shoe, he squinted up at the holoform.

"I'm just saying, I'd notice you anywhere."

The holoform grinned, lowering into a loose crouch beside him. He balanced on the balls of his feet, arms resting on his knees, with his hands clasped loosely together.

"How long do you think I was following you before the used car lot?"

The question took Sam by surprise, and he glanced back at the holoform. Bumblebee was smiling at him, a smug, confident expression. Sam turned his shoe over, emptying out the sand.

"I don't know… a couple days?"

"Three weeks. Back and forth to school, to the grocery store, to the mall—you were never outside of my sensor range."

Sam's eyebrows rose to his hairline, a moment before his face scrunched in tolerant annoyance.

"You're full of shit."

"Nope." Bumblebee said, popping the 'p' with enthusiasm, "I was in Tranquility twelve hours after you first posted the eBay ad."

Sam stared up at the holoform, searching for any sign of deception in his expression or through their bond. Finding none, he huffed quietly as he pulled off his other shoe.

"Are you jerking me around?" Sam asked, curious and amused in equal measures.

Bumblebee laughed, shaking his head.

"I'm very good at what I do."

Sam smirked, certain that there was a double-entendre in there somewhere. He upended his shoe, giving it a good shake, before he frowned down at himself. Shoes or bare feet?

In the end, it was the gentle wash of water over sand that made his decision for him. Sam rolled his pants up past his knees and stuffed his socks into his shoes, leaving them by the dune. He pushed himself to his feet, reaching down to offer his hand to Bumblebee. The holoform humored him, grasping Sam's hand and pulling himself into a standing position. Together they padded across the beach towards the foreshore. The dry sand bordered on uncomfortably hot, but the sand that was wet from wave run-up was cool.

They walked together side-by-side, Sam nearer the water and Bumblebee nearer the beach. Every time the waves broke over the sand, water rushing around his feet, Sam grinned like a child. Unlike the beaches near Tranquility, Simpson Point was pristine—soft, white sand as far as the eye could see, unmarred by rocks or debris. Although coral reef posed a risk to feet and shins in the deeper water, walking along the foreshore was entirely pleasant.

Sam glanced sidelong at the holoform, suddenly possessed by a feeling of contentment. He reached out his left arm, tracing his fingertips over Bumblebee's hand. The holoform looked down at the point their hands touched, his expression becoming openly fond. Before either of them could say anything, however, the Creator bond shivered in his mind. A moment later, Ratchet's mental presence brightened forebodingly across their connection.

"Avenge my death." Sam said dryly, bracing himself. Bumblebee's lips quirked in sympathetic amusement.

/Where are you?/

Sam heaved a loud, put-upon sigh.

/I'm at Simpson Point./ He replied, before adding helpfully, /Dr. Anderson said that I should exercise./

Almost before the thought had crossed his mind, Ratchet's presence swelled with disapproval.

/Did your therapist also suggest meeting with Knock Out?/

Sam hesitated, affecting his best mental impression of wide-eyed innocence.

/They say it's better to ask for forgiveness than for permission./ He tried.

/Not from me./ Ratchet replied sharply. Although their bond was not as open as it had been the night before, Sam could still feel the medic's abject displeasure.

/It's alright, Ratch./ Sam tried to placate him, /Optimus went with me./

/The fact that you wheedled Prime into taking you to the Arc in no way improves your position./

Sam scoffed, mildly affronted.

/I didn't wheedle him, I reasoned with him—because Optimus is reasonable./ He replied, sharper than he had intended.

/Optimus is neither your physician nor your Creator./

All at once, Sam realized that Ratchet's objection to his meeting with Knock Out wasn't medical in nature. His expression softened, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

/Do you want me to come back?/ He asked hesitantly.

Ratchet's mental presence shifted, as though taken aback by Sam's sudden meekness.

/The damage is done./ Ratchet grudgingly replied, after a moment, /You might as well get some fresh air and sunshine. Do you feel up to returning to the neural-net?/

It took Sam a second to realize that Ratchet was asking whether he wanted to be free of the confines of the Creator bond. He shrugged, before realizing that the medic couldn't see the gesture.

/I defer to your medical opinion./

Ratchet snorted loudly.

/All evidence to the contrary, but very well. Let me know at once if you feel overwhelmed./

Sam felt the medic's presence shift in his mind, and then a moment later, he was back within the neural-net. The sudden influx of sensation was intense—numerous signatures glowed at him from the darkness of the network, brilliant and enticing. After years of solitude and silence, the experience was indeed overwhelming, but in a most exquisite way.

"Sam, are you alright?" Bumblebee asked, concern furrowing his brow as he brought up a hand to steady him.

Sam laughed softly, stretching his mental presence as far as he could manage. His range was significantly greater than it had been before his captivity. Insofar as he could tell, it encompassed most of the base now. He narrowed his eyes, concentrating. There, at the edges of his awareness, Sam could make out Hot Rod's rosy-gold signature. It was faint, but unmistakable.

"Where's Roddy?" He asked, glancing at the holoform in building excitement.

Understanding dawned on Bumblebee's face a moment before his expression smoothed into a pleased smile, "He's at the munitions depot."

Sam grinned broadly, reaching out to brush against the familiar signature. There was a start of surprise, and then Roddy pushed into his mental space, crowding his mind with great enthusiasm. Sam laughed delightedly, giving his presence a friendly shove, before turning his attention outwards. The neural-network was brighter, more alight with sensation and impression than he had previously realized.

"This is wild." Sam breathed, looking back at the holoform, "It's so… different."

"It will continue to change as you gain experience. The more your neural connections develop, the better you will become at interpreting the input you receive."

"I don't know how you guys get anything done. It's like having instant messenger in my head."

Bumblebee laughed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

"There's good reason why I was never bored sitting around in your garage all day." He teased.

Sam chuckled lightly before turning to continue down the beach. Bumblebee kept pace at his side, walking closely enough that their arms brushed together. The quiet solitude of the seashore was entirely at odds with the bustle of activity from the neural-net. Sam was surprised to find that the juxtaposition was strangely soothing: it was privacy and companionship, serenity and sensation.

Sam walked closer to the surf, so that the waves washed up past his ankles when they broke upon the shore. Even though the sun was relentless, the combination of the water and the ocean breeze left him feeling entirely comfortable. As he stared out at the water, Sam made the decision to go swimming the next time that Ratchet let him outside.

As they rounded the bend in the beach, Sam saw an unfamiliar mechanoid sitting cross-legged in the sand. The blue and white Autobot was surrounded by an assortment of debris—rocks, palm fronds, coconuts, and branches. He was holding a large coconut crab in his servos, staring at it with intense focus.

"Beachcomber." Bumblebee supplied helpfully.

Sam turned to grin up at him, "Yeah, I was able to put two and two together, thanks."

"You're welcome." Bumblebee replied dryly.

Beachcomber didn't acknowledge their presence until they were almost upon him. When at last they caught his attention, the geologist lowered the coconut crab to watch them approach.

"Good afternoon to you both." He greeted politely. His voice was deep and serene.

"Hello Comber." Bumblebee greeted back, before gesturing towards Sam, "This is Sam."

Beachcomber turned his brilliant blue optics in Sam's direction, "Your reputation proceeds you. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance."

Sam felt himself flush to his hairline. He glanced towards the holoform, who lifted his shoulders in a sympathetic shrug.

"Your planet is fascinating. I have learned much during my time here." Beachcomber said, motioning with the coconut crab that he held gently with both servos, "I would enjoy the opportunity to speak with you about it."

Sam glanced at the mottled red and brown crustacean, who did not seem particularly enthused to be the object of scrutiny of the metal titan. When he looked back at the geologist, he was surprised to see keen interest written all over his faceplates. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

"I'm happy to chat, but I don't know anything you couldn't find with a Google search."

Beachcomber tilted his helm, as though in consideration, "I find that doubtful to believe. I am certain that your training in the geosciences would provide a unique perspective."

"My training in the geosciences?" Sam repeated, uncertainly.

"I was informed that you declared a major in geography. It is my understanding that geographers seek to understand the complexities of your planet."

Sam huffed in understanding.

"Oh, that. Yeah, I took some introductory courses on physical geography, but I'm studying to become a political geographer." Sam said, before adding wryly, "Or rather, I would be, if I could stop getting attacked every semester. It's really harshing my GPA."

As Bumblebee made a strangled sound of exasperation, Beachcomber transferred the coconut crab into one servo so he could wave the other one dismissively.

"Your personal experiences combined with your familial desire to understand the natural environment will surely provide me all the prospective I require."

Sam turned back towards the geologist, tilting his head in confusion, "My familial what-now?"

Beachcomber set the coconut crab onto the sand, before picking up a large rock from the semi-circle of debris around him. The stone was large, about the size of a laundry basket, chalk-white and covered in lumps and protrusions.

"Your grandfather led the National Arctic Circle Expedition, did he not? Your interest in geography seems highly appropriate."

Sam huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He had never thought about that before, but it was true that his grandfather was a navigator and explorer. Sam opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say a word, both Beachcomber and Bumblebee's holoform stiffened from head to toe.

"Sam!" Bumblebee snapped, grabbing his shoulders tightly, "We have to—"

A sonic boom cracked through the air, drowning out the rest of Bumblebee's sentence. Sam ducked back reflexively, his heart lodging itself in his throat. As Sam turned towards the direction of the noise, Bumblebee's grip tightened to the point of pain. Two sleek-looking jets streaked through the air, banking to curve around the island. Sam's surprise and fear morphed into mortal terror in an instant, and he turned panicked eyes towards the holoform. Before Sam could open his mouth to speak, he felt a presence brush gently across his mind. The touch was inquisitive, non-hostile, and entirely familiar.

/Hello Sam./ Thundercracker greeted.

Sam's breath stuttered out of him, his lungs freezing at the Seeker's voice. All at once, Ratchet's presence filled his mind, yanking him back inside the Creator bond so quickly that it made his head swim. He swayed precariously, lightheaded and dizzy, and Bumblebee's holoform pressed steadily against him. His expression was one of abject fury, his eyes following the jets as they cut across the sky.

In the distance, Sam could hear the steadily growing roar of a familiar engine. He glanced towards the bream as Bumblebee launched over the dunes, yellow plating gleaming in the early afternoon sun as he landed hard on the beachfront. The holoform pulled him towards the alt mode, his fingers digging into Sam's upper arms. He was so stunned that he staggered after him without protest. A moment later, Sam found himself inside the cabin, the door slamming shut behind him as Bumblebee accelerated back towards the road.

A riot of noise spilled from the Camaro's radio.

/I've got him./

/Kup, Hot Rod, and Ultra Magnus are two breams out./ Prowl's calm voice replied.

Sam twisted against the seat, turning to stare out the back window towards the beach. He could make out Beachcomber's hulking bipedal mode, shrinking in the distance, but he couldn't see the jets.

/Air defenses are primed and at the ready./

Sam's breathing was ragged, his fingers digging into the supple leather of Bumblebee's seat. Distantly, he was aware of his bonded's laser focus, his tightly leashed rage.

"What… what are they doing?" He managed, his voice harsh.

Prowl answered immediately.

/They are skirting the edges of our air defense, neither pushing in nor falling back./

Sam turned in his seat, staring at the radio uncomprehendingly.

"They aren't attacking?"

/Not yet./ Ironhide growled, and the dark edge to his voice made Sam shiver.

Bumblebee's engine revved loudly, the speedometer needle burying in the red. As they turned onto the paved road in the direction of Downtown, a Lamborghini, a semi-truck, and a dilapidated pick-up truck roared passed them. Bee slowed only marginally as they drove down Britannia Way towards the Hive. The Downtown area was a riot of activity. Soldiers and civilian personnel ran along the side of the road, some heading in the direction of the airfield while others hurried towards the Hive. Light armored vehicles filled with NEST soldiers passed them as they drove.

/There is an incoming ping, Decepticon identifiers, classified urgent./ Prowl reported, voice calm.

/What are those fraggers playing at?/

Bumblebee pulled into the bunker, rolling to a stop on the lift. The heavy blast doors shut behind them with a resounding clang of metal on metal. A moment later, there was a dizzying lurch and the lift began its descent into the Hive.

/Are they glitched?/ Sunstreaker snapped, disbelief and rage mingled in his tone.

"What?" Sam demanded, looking at the radio, "What did they say?"

"They want to parlay." Bumblebee replied, his voice tight.

Sam stared at the dash, anxiety mingling with disbelief.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I am not." Bumblebee refuted grimly.

The sound of a strident alarm became audible as they passed through the floor, growing louder as they descended into the receiving room. All at once, Sam was back in Ops as the same alarm cut across the din of the command post. White-hot panic slammed through him as the flashback consumed him. He could smell the stale coffee in the air, feel the sweat prickling on his skin. He was totally unaware of his surroundings, the shrill klaxon of the alarm burrowing into the recesses of his brain—

Ratchet was there in an instant, his rock-steady presence filling his mind as he forcibly pulled Sam out of the memory. He came back to himself, shaking with adrenaline and desperately trying to pull breath into his burning lungs.

"Oh, shit." He gasped, his hands braced against the driver's side door and the center console, "Fuck!"

Bumblebee pulled into the medical bay, transforming as soon as he came to a complete stop. Before Sam realized what was happening, he was clutched tightly against Bumblebee's spark casing as he rose into his bipedal mode. Ratchet stood directly in front of them, while First Aid and an unknown Autobot stood a short distance away.

"Throttle down, Bumblebee." Ratchet ordered sharply, "You're holding him too tightly."

It was true, Sam realized. He could barely breathe from the force of Bumblebee's grip. At the medic's words, the hold around him gentled, and Bumblebee whistled at him apologetically.

"It's fine." Sam said, after he caught his breath. He glanced towards Ratchet, brushing against his mental presence, "Thanks for the assist earlier."

Mercifully, the klaxon wail of the proximity alarm was fainter in the medical bay. Sam glanced up at his guardian, who was looking at him with an intensity of expression that he understood all too well. He pressed his palm against Bumblebee's spark casing.

"I'm alright." He soothed, aware of the tension in Bumblebee's chassis, "I'm alright, Bee."

First Aid chirped concernedly, glancing at Ratchet.

"But he has radiation burns."

Sam's head jerked towards the medic before he looked down at himself in confusion, "What?"

"A sunburn." Ratchet clarified dryly, "You'll live, I'm sure."

Sam glanced down at himself again, and he realized that Ratchet was right. His arms were pink where he had rolled up his shirtsleeves.

"I think we have bigger issues." Sam said, before adding, "What the hell do they want?"

"They want to talk to Prime."

"What for?"

"I can hazard a guess." Ratchet replied, pinning him with a level look.

Sam frowned, anxiety blooming in the pit of his stomach.

"Will Optimus agree to it?"

"I have no idea." Ratchet said honestly, but his voice was sharper than normal, "It seems unlikely that Prime would refuse their request to speak on peaceful terms."

At the CMO's words, Bumblebee's mental presence darkened forebodingly. The naked animosity in his bonded's demeanor sent a shiver down Sam's spine. It was sometimes easy to forget that his best friend and guardian was also a soldier with a lifetime's worth of combat experience. First Aid glanced sidelong at Ratchet, his expression meaningful. The CMO looked back, nodding faintly.

All at once, Sam realized that the four of them were having a silent conversation.

"What is it?" He demanded sharply, "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing of consequence, Sam." Ratchet replied, before he gestured towards the familiar berth, "Bumblebee?"

Sam narrowed his eyes in response.

"Ratchet." He started, warningly, "I swear to God—"

Before Sam could finish his threat, however, the unknown mechanoid stepped towards him. He was bulky and broad shouldered, similar in frame type to Ratchet, but his plating was forest-green and gray.

"We haven't been formally introduced. My name is Hoist, it's nice to finally meet you."

Sam's voice trailed off in surprise. The medic's accent was distinctly British, his tone warm and friendly.

"Uh… hello to you too." He said, awkwardly, as Bumblebee placed him on the berth. The tips of his bonded's digits lingered on his back for a long moment before he withdrew.

"I asked Ratchet if I might assist with your care this afternoon." Hoist continued, "I would welcome the opportunity to get to know you, as I've been tasked as your secondary care provider."

Sam stared at him for a long moment, feeling terribly wrong-footed at the unexpected turn of conversation, "My what?"

"Your secondary care provider, in the unlikely instance that Ratchet is unable to respond during a medical emergency."

Sam glanced in Ratchet's direction in time to see the CMO transform into his alt mode. He frowned faintly, the feeling of anxiety sharpening in his stomach as Ratchet accelerated towards the hanger doors. He turned his attention inwards, reaching for the medic's mental presence. Ratchet brushed against him in response, patient and reassuring.

/I will be back shortly./

"Sam, if you would please?" Hoist asked, motioning towards the hospital gurney. A moment later, an unfamiliar holoform flickered into existence beside him. He was of a similar height to Sam, middle-aged with short brown hair that was peppered with gray. As with Ratchet's holoform, Hoist's was dressed in military fatigues with the insignia of the medical corps pinned to his shoulder. Unlike Ratchet's holoform, however, he also wore a white coat and had a stethoscope slung around his neck.

Sam looked at him uncertainly, before glancing up at Bumblebee. The scout whistled at him reassuringly, nodding towards the gurney. Unable to see an alternative, Sam climbed up onto the mattress, sitting with his legs hanging over the side of the bed. Hoist hummed approvingly, moving to reconnect the tubing to the cannula taped to the back of Sam's hand.

As Hoist turned to inspect the bag of saline hanging from the rack beside his bed, Sam realized just how efficiently he had been maneuvered.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ratchet slowed to a stop inside of the command center before transforming into his bi-pedal mode. As soon as the last component slid into place, he strode towards the large conference table that dominated the center of the room. Ironhide stood at one end of the table, his arms crossed over his chassis and open irritation on his face. Kup and Ultra Magnus stood side by side at the other end of the table, their expressions similarly closed-off and inscrutable. Ratchet stopped beside the Weapon's Specialist, brushing against his electromagnetic field in greeting. The ping that he received a moment later was a wordless pulse of frustration and anger.

Prime and Prowl stepped up to the conference table as soon as Ratchet took his place at Ironhide's side. Before Prime could speak, however, Ultra Magnus ex-vented loudly.

"I don't like it."

Prime turned his helm to regard his City Commander, his optics narrowed in consideration.

"Nor do I, my friend." Optimus rumbled, "But I cannot in good conscience decline an offer for peaceful parlay."

"You saw the memory files, Prime. Megatron will never agree to a peace so long as we have Sam." Ironhide ground out, "This is a misdirection at best and an ambush at worst."

Optimus' mouthplates turned down, his expression contemplative.

"I am not convinced that the Seekers are here at Megatron's command. If he were to offer parlay, he would do so himself."

Prowl shuttered his optics, turning to regard their leader.

"Not necessarily. Neither Megatron nor Starscream came to deliver the message. It is unlikely to be a coincidence that the two Seekers with whom Sam formed an attachment are the ones to make contact."

Ultra Magnus rumbled lowly in his chassis, a sound of deep disquiet.

"Thundercracker, Skywarp, Ravage, Knock Out. He has formed many bonds with those who would claim to be his enemies."

Ratchet stiffened at the insinuation underlying the City Commander's words.

"What are you implying, Ultra Magnus?" He asked coldly.

Ultra Magnus leveled him with a pointed look, unflinching in the face of Ratchet's rising temper.

"I am implying nothing. I am speculating as to whether the boy was compromised."

Ratchet bristled in offense, "I would remind you that I have been in Sam's head every minute since he came through the ground bridge."

"Knock Out tortured him for two years, and that boy stepped into his cell without a flicker of fear or uncertainty in his field."

"That 'boy' is a ward of Cybertron and a Prime. Watch your tone." Ironhide growled.

Ultra Magnus' optics narrowed minutely.

"Your judgment is clouded because of your emotional attachment to him."

Ironhide scoffed loudly, "I have been accused of many things, Ultra Magnus, but being overly emotional is not one of them."

"Please, be at peace." Optimus rumbled, before directing a solemn and dignified look at Ultra Magnus, "I am certain that Sam has not been compromised. The Creator bond and spark bond notwithstanding, he is faithful to a fault. Disloyalty is not in his programming."

"That may be so, but it piques my concern that his rescue was so easy—and now, Thundercracker and Skywarp have come to request parlay? Can you be certain that his rescue was not orchestrated for this very purpose?"

"You've seen their memory files, you know that it was not." Ratchet growled.

"Memory files can be altered or deleted."

"Not two years' worth and not for all three mechanoids."

Rather than reply to him, Ultra Magnus turned towards Prime.

"Prime, I am City Commander. It is my duty to protect the 5500 humans who are stationed on this base, including Sam himself. I believe that accepting the Decepticon's request will only pose a risk to the humans and to ourselves."

Optimus inclined his helm a fraction of an inch, "Your objection is so noted."

Ultra Magnus ex-vented again, his agitation and displeasure obvious in his electromagnetic fields.

"As you say, Prime."

Their leader looked slowly around the table, "If there is a chance, no matter how insignificant, that our agreement to parlay leads to peace, I must try. We can minimize the risks to the island with careful planning."

"Megatron is not coming within a thousand kilometers of him." Ratchet said, voice tight.

Optimus rumbled lowly, his optics narrowing in carefully controlled emotion.

"No. He is not."

"If you insist on following through with this processor-glitch of an idea, then there will have to be concessions." Kup cut in, speaking for the first time since Ratchet had entered the command center.

"I agree. I have instructed Thundercracker that we will transmit our response within the cycle. That gives us ample time to strategize."

Prowl stepped up to the large table and a three-dimensional projection of the island flickered to life. As the second-in-command began to speak about troop positioning and tactical advantages of terrain, Ratchet reached towards Sam's signature, which glowed softly at him from across their bond. There was a start of surprise and exasperation as he made contact, but before Sam could say a word, Ratchet tucked him close to his spark. As he turned his attention back towards the briefing, the steady thrum of Sam's presence served to soothe the stark concern pinging through his processors.

Chapter 15

Hoist adjusted the clamp on the bag of saline to his satisfaction, before making his way around the gurney to retrieve a pitcher of water from the side table. He filled a plastic cup to the brim and extended it towards Sam. Sam looked from Hoist, to the cup, and back again, before he reached out his good hand to accept the offering.

"Thanks." He murmured, taking a sip to appease the holoform. The water was cool and fresh, lacking the flat, metallic tang from the base's indoor plumbing system. Sam huffed softly in surprise and took a deeper drink. Hoist smiled at him approvingly, his expression kind and open, before he fetched a pile of folded linen from the shelf along the back of the berth. The holoform stepped forward, offering the towel to Sam.

"Ratchet disapproves of containments in his medical bay." Hoist explained, almost apologetically.

At Sam's confused expression, the holoform gestured meaningfully to his legs. All at once, Sam realized that his pants were still rolled up, and he was covered in sand almost to his knees.

"Oh, right." Sam said, setting the cup down on the overbed table. He took the towel from the holoform, rubbing it over his shins and feet. When he finished, he rolled down his pants and brushed off the mattress. Hoist's bipedal mode made quick work of the mess, wiping down the berth with an efficiency born of long experience. When he was finished, the medic carried the soiled linen across the hanger.

Sam took another drink of water, turning his attention inwards. Although Ratchet's presence was fully accessible to him across their bond-space, the medic was strangely closed off. It only took him a moment to realize that Ratchet's attention was focused elsewhere. Before he could ponder the implications of this knowledge, the distant wail of the proximity alarm abruptly cut off.

He sighed in relief, the sudden absence of sound strangely loud in his ears. He turned to make a comment to Bumblebee, but whatever he might have said trailed off in his throat. His guardian was standing rigidly a short distance away, armor plating and door wings flared outwards. The sight caused the corners of Sam's mouth to downturn slightly. It was a familiar display—he had seen it in both Mission City and in Egypt. Bumblebee was threat posturing.

"Bee." Sam called softly. It took a second or two for the yellow scout to respond to his voice—which, for an organism capable of analyzing terabytes of data in moments, was deeply concerning. Bumblebee's optics shuttered slowly, their lenses spiraling down to pinpoints before focusing on him.

"C'mon buddy." Sam said, trying to inject levity into his voice, "Everything's copasetic, you can relax."

"He can't help it, Sam." Hoist explained gently, as he approached the berth, "His threat identification protocols are over-clocked."

"What?" Sam asked, confusedly.

"It is nothing to be concerned about. Bumblebee is neither in any danger nor in pain. He will come out of it after his systems finish re-organizing his priority codes."

Sam's frown returned as he glanced from the medic to his bonded. Bumblebee was watching them closely, his optics unnaturally bright. Sam could hear the hiss of his hydraulics, audible over the faint hum of his fully charged capacitator. The realization that his bonded was at the mercy of his core programming was deeply unsettling. Hoist seemed to sense his uncertainty, his concern, for the medic was suddenly all business. He stepped towards the gurney, cleaning off the overbed table with precise movements.

"Can you eat? It's almost seven." Hoist asked, voice kind but firm.

Sam slowly turned to look at the medic, a sick feeling in his stomach.

"Huh?"

"What do you want for supper?" Hoist prompted, switching tactics.

"Oh. I'm not hungry."

Hoist hummed sympathetically, "Be that as it may, Ratchet has you on a regimented meal plan. You need between 400 and 600 calories before you go to sleep. What would you like to eat?"

Sam glanced at the medic in surprise, temporarily distracted from the anxiety churning in his gut.

"I think that's the first time I've ever been asked. Ratchet just brings whatever he wants me to eat."

"Of that, I am certain." Hoist replied with a chuckle, "The digital menu indicates that this evening's main courses are pho, chicken curry, or vegetarian lasagna."

"Oh, um. Pho, I guess?"

The medic nodded encouragingly, "Alright, I will have someone bring it over. In the meantime, you should get some rest."

Hoist smiled at him before he stepped away, walking across the hanger towards the workbenches. Sam watched him go, before settling himself back against the mattress. He tucked his hands behind his head, mindful of his injuries, and stared up at the ceiling. As with most other surfaces of the medical bay, the ceiling was etched with whorls and overlaid with a lattice of cables. He followed the cables with his eyes, tracking their meandering route over the ceiling and down the walls.

The sudden, soft sound of hydraulics and shifting metal drew Sam's attention back towards his guardian. Bumblebee's posture had relaxed, his plating settling back against his chassis. As Sam made to push up onto his elbows, Bumblebee crouched down beside the berth.

"Hey." Sam said, his heartrate picking up, "You back with me? You okay?"

Bumblebee's expression became sheepish, almost embarrassed.

"I am sorry if I startled you, Sam. The far-reaching control of our protocols can be aggravating at times."

"It's okay." Sam replied, "I was just… surprised, is all."

Bumblebee whistled at him understandingly, and Sam reached out a hand to stroke the warm metal of his faceplates.

"Does it ever put you off? How different I am?" Sam asked quietly, "I don't have base programming or battle protocols. I can't think like you do or respond to threats like you do."

Bumblebee shuttered his optics at him, as though he were considering his question seriously.

"I often reflect on our differences, certainly." Bumblebee replied, thoughtfully, "But they are not a source of disappointment for me. On the contrary, your perspective is… refreshing, after all this time."

Sam laughed lightly, "Is that a euphemism for something?"

"Not at all." Bumblebee denied, "The way that you perceive your environment, the way that you process sensations, the way that you feel… it is invigorating. I enjoy it very much."

The sincerity in Bumblebee's voice made the corners of Sam's lips twitch up.

"Well, that's nice to hear." Sam murmured.

"Our differences are less important than our similarities." Bumblebee continued, "Our peoples both value life and liberty, there are things that bring us joy and those that cause us sorrow. We love and are loved, we live and we die, and our experiences are all the more precious for it."

Sam looked into his guardian's solemn optics, his expression softening in affection.

"That's some pretty deep stuff, Bee."

"Totally, man." Bumblebee deadpanned, and Sam threw back his head and laughed. He was still chuckling when Hoist brought his dinner a few minutes later. The broad-framed medic set the tray on the overbed table, pushing it towards him with a servo.

"Thanks." Sam said, turning to sit cross-legged on the bed.

"It is my pleasure." Hoist replied, before stepping in front of Bumblebee, "Is now a good time?"

His guardian shrugged noncommittally, but he extended his left arm all the same. Hoist chirped at him, a complicated series of short, high-pitched sounds, before he unspooled his interface cable. As Sam retrieved his spoon and began to eat, he watched Hoist plug into Bumblebee's medical port.

"Everything okay?" He asked, warily.

Both Bumblebee and Hoist turned to look at him.

"Of course," Hoist replied immediately, "Routine maintenance, nothing to cause any concern."

"What kind of routine maintenance?" Sam countered.

"Hoist is running a diagnostic on my combat sub-routines." Bumblebee soothed, "There's really nothing wrong. Think of it like an annual check-up."

Mollified by the feeling of sincerity from across their bond, Sam turned back to his supper. The pho was lightly seasoned with tender pieces of beef. He finished the entire thing, even spooning the remnants of rice noodles from the bottom of the bowl. It warmed him from the inside out, leaving him feeling comfortably full. When Hoist returned to check on him a short while later, Sam pushed aside the overbed table and asked to use the washroom. The medic obligingly unhooked him from the IV and Bumblebee walked him across the hanger. After he had finished, Sam washed his hands and splashed his face with water, sluicing away sweat and sea salt. He dried his face with a towel from the shelf set in the wall, and then walked back out into the medical bay.

To his relief, Ratchet was standing in front of his workbench, speaking quietly with Hoist in Cybertronian. Sam walked towards Bumblebee, who was crouched in his bi-pedal mode a short distance away. He stepped close to the scout, angling his head to smile up at him. Bumblebee whistled at him softly, raising his servo in order to trail the tips of his digits down the length of Sam's back.

"You did well on your supper." Ratchet commented, and Sam turned to see that the medic was regarding him with his arms folded over his chassis.

"I like Pho." Sam replied, raising his shoulder in a shrug, "Where'd you go?"

Ratchet regarded him for a long moment, as though he were considering his response.

"Prime called a senior staff meeting regarding the Seekers' request."

Sam frowned faintly. Before his captivity, he had been included among Optimus' senior staff.

"That is not necessarily so." Ratchet corrected, responding to his unspoken thoughts, "You exist outside of the NEST command structure. Your prior invitations were at Prime's discretion."

"And Optimus didn't want me there today." Sam intuited, voice flat.

"Whether he did or did not is irrelevant. You have not been cleared for return to active duty."

Sam rolled his eyes at the medic's matter-of-fact tone, but he did not respond to the intimation. Instead, he asked the question that had been sitting on his mind ever since he heard about the request for parlay.

"Well? Is Optimus going to do it?"

"Yes, he is. He has agreed to meet with them tomorrow afternoon."

Sam's frown returned, deepening as anxiety twisted in his belly.

"Any idea what they want?"

Ratchet's expression became pointed, "Not precisely, no. Extrapolating from the available facts, however, we can reasonably assume that it has to do with you."

"Is it safe?" Sam asked quietly.

"If you are asking whether the base will be protected, the answer is yes." Ratchet replied, "There have been substantial improvements to both security and military countermeasures since Megatron's attack." The medic's countenance became no-nonsense as he continued, "If you are asking whether you yourself will be safe, you will not be going."

Sam's frown sharpened, irritation joining his anxiety.

"I'm not exactly thrilled to see them again, but I should be there if I'm the focus of the discussion."

"Don't argue, Sam." Bumblebee replied before Ratchet could speak. Sam turned to look up at him, taken aback by the scout's tone. He could not remember the last time that Bumblebee had sounded so unyielding. He flushed to his hairline, feeling deeply disconcerted, as his eyes dropped away from the scout's face.

"That's enough." Ratchet said brusquely, lowering into a crouch as he extended a servo towards Sam, "It's time to get you situated for the evening."

Sam climbed into the large metal palm without another word, steadying himself as Ratchet stood up and deposited him beside the gurney. He pulled off his pants, leaving them in a pile on the berth, before climbing onto the mattress. As soon as he was in place, Ratchet's holoform materialized beside him. Sam left himself be maneuvered without protest. First, his IV was reconnected and then he was guided to lay back against the mattress. The holoform twitched the blankets up to his chest, and then turned to inspect the bag of saline. Apparently, Ratchet was satisfied with whatever he saw, for the holoform disappeared a moment later.

"Get some sleep, Sam." The CMO instructed, not unkindly, "I will lower the lights."

Sam did not reply, instead rolling onto his side as he pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. He had slept until noon and it was still early in the evening. Although he knew that sleep would be a long time coming, he had absolutely no desire to speak with anyone. After an extracted silence, Sam could hear the sound of metal against metal as someone—presumably Bumblebee—transformed into their alt mode. A moment later, Bumblebee's holoform appeared on the berth in front of him. The holoform's expression was hesitant, almost uncertain, as though he were afraid of being rebuffed. Sam shifted backward, making room for him on the mattress. With a look of abject relief, the holoform climbed onto the gurney, settling down beside him. He tucked one arm beneath his head, resting the other over Sam's hips. Sam didn't say a word, instead closing his eyes as he struggled not to dwell on why Bumblebee's seriousness left him feeling so vulnerable.

Although Sam was certain that sleep would not come, he drifted off after only a short while. He slept deeply, his dreams untroubled despite the tumultuousness of the afternoon. When he awoke an interminable time later, to the sound of shifting metal and hushed voices, Sam groaned in disapproval. He was warm and comfortable, and he had absolutely no desire to get up. He rolled over, pulling the blankets up to his ears as he tucked his face against the pillow. He heard a quiet chuckle behind him, and Bumblebee's holoform shifted to accommodate his new position.

He lay there like that, drifting in the hazy place between fully awake and fully asleep, when he heard another clang of metal against metal. He cracked open an eye and lifted his head slightly to look in the direction of the noise. Jolt was lying supine on a berth halfway down the hanger. Hoist was standing at his side, his servos wrist-deep in the warrior's side plating. Jolt's electric whips lay coiled at his side, inert.

Sam frowned, pushing himself up onto one elbow.

"Is he alright?"

"He's fine." Bee assured him, amusement in his voice, "Although he will be less fine if Ratchet catches wind of it."

Sam turned to glance over his shoulder. The holoform was lying behind him, his expression open and relaxed. The sight of him made Sam's lips quirk in affection, the anxiety and uncertainty of the previous night soothed away by a good rest.

"Good morning." He murmured, voice rough with sleep, as he rolled onto his back.

"Good morning." Bumblebee replied, "You slept well."

The words were a statement, not a question, and Sam chuckled quietly before glancing back towards Jolt.

"What happened to him?"

"Jolt happened to himself." Hoist replied dryly, before removing his servos from Jolt's side, "Alright, you can close up."

Obligingly, the plating on Jolt's side shifted back into place and his optics on-lined as he sat up.

"Thanks, Doc." The shock trooper said cheerfully, "Appreciate it."

Hoist's expression was one of good-natured exasperation, "Next time, leave the scaffolding to the engineers."

Jolt shrugged, pushing off the berth, "It was faster for me to do it."

"Evidentially not."

Jolt picked up his electric whips and coiled them back into place at his side. When he finished, he glanced down the hanger in Sam's direction.

"Good morning, Sam. Glad to you're back."

"Thanks Jolt." Sam replied.

The blue and white shock trooper raised two fingers to his forehead in a friendly salute, before he turned and made his way out of the medical bay. Hoist cleaned off the berth, retrieving his assortment of tools and putting them back on the workbench along the opposite wall. Sam turned back towards the holoform, smiling at him faintly.

"We never slept together before all of this. How can you spare the energon?"

"We haven't been on energon rations in over three months—not since Beachcomber arrived and took over surveying." Bee replied.

Sam reached out his good hand to trace the edge of the holoform's jaw.

"Well, I'm glad. This is nice."

Bumblebee's eyes brightened, his expression warm and sunny.

"It is. I enjoy it a great deal."

Sam laughed lightly, "Yeah, well, I think I got the better end of the bargain. I know that I snore."

"And drool." Bumblebee replied pleasantly. Sam made an indignant noise, and a moment later, the holoform caught a pillow full in the face.

"Humans do have a staggering variety of secretions, but we do not hold it against you." First Aid agreed cheerfully as he approached the berth. Sam glanced up at him, surprised to see the medic had a cafeteria tray pinched gingerly between two digits. The medic's tone was so genuine and friendly that it was impossible to take offense at his words. Sam pushed himself into a sitting position as First Aid settled the tray on the overbed table. A quick glance revealed that eggs, home fries, and fruit was on the menu for breakfast. All at once, Sam was surprised to realize that he was ravenous. He hadn't felt the sensation of hunger in a long time. He felt an answering swell of relief-joy across the spark bond, and he tossed a smile in Bumblebee's direction before turning back to First Aid.

"Hey, thanks buddy." Sam said, picking up his fork.

The medic chirped at Sam's words, his wing flaps fluttering expressively.

"Oh, am I, Sam?" First Aid asked earnestly, "Am I your… buddy?"

Sam blinked in surprise, completely taken aback by the medic's hopeful tone. He glanced towards Bumblebee's holoform, looking for assistance or an explanation. Instead, the holoform just grinned back at him, motioning with his hand in a 'go on then' gesture.

The bastard.

Sam turned back to First Aid, stumbling over his words as he replied.

"Well, I mean… sure you are. If you want to be."

First Aid chirped again, a series of short, rolling notes, before he reached out a single digit to press against Sam's chest.

"Yes, Sam. I would like that." He replied, serious and sincere in equal measures.

Sam patted the digit awkwardly, "Well okay, that's settled then."

First Aid's optics brightened noticeably, "Thank-you, Sam. Enjoy your breakfast… buddy."

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head in amusement as he speared a piece of cantaloupe with his fork. First Aid walked across the medical bay, chirping expressively to himself, before stopping in front of the supplies closet at the far end of the room.

/Care to tell me what that was all about?/ Sam asked, working his way through the fruit tray.

/First Aid has always been very literal./ Bumblebee replied, amusement coloring his words, /Of all of us, he has had the hardest time adjusting to the nuances of human speech./

/That explains a lot./

Sam turned his attention back towards his breakfast. The fruit was fresh and the home fries were that perfect blend of crispy-soft that he enjoyed. The eggs were over easy, rather than scrambled, but he ate them all the same. By the time that First Aid returned with a new bag of saline, Sam had finished every morsel of food on the tray. The medic switched out the IV bags before turning to regard him.

"Do you feel up to bathing and getting dressed? There is a change of clothing for you in the wash racks."

Sam nodded his assent, and Bumblebee helped him off the gurney and across the hanger. It wasn't until the scout crouched in front of the bathroom door that Sam realized he was wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. After Bee settled him on his feet, Sam reached up to pat the smooth metal of his faceplates in appreciation, before he stepped through the open door. He flipped the switch on the wall by the sink and florescent light flooded the small room. Sam brushed his teeth first, scrubbing his teeth and gums, before he used the bathroom. When he finished, he kicked away his boxers and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. The fabric was halfway off when warm hands settled on his hips, causing him to startle and give an undignified squawk of surprise.

Bumblebee chuckled softly, pressing against Sam's naked body as he pulled his shirt the rest of the way off and dropped it on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Sam hissed, arousal and mortification combing to spread a blush across his face, "Hoist is right there."

Bee ducked his head to tug lightly at Sam's earlobe with his teeth, "Do you object?"

Sam groaned, low in his throat, as Bumblebee mouthed at the sensitive spot on his neck. It took a great deal of willpower for him to push the holoform away.

"Yes, I object." Sam whispered, struggling not to dwell on the way that his dick was twitching with interest, "I am not having sex with Fred fucking Rogers MD out there!"

Bumblebee grinned, his eyes bright with amusement.

"Are you sure?"

Sam groaned, his head falling back as he struggled to dreg together the last of his willpower, "If you don't get out of here right this second, there's going to be a picture of you in the dictionary under justifiable homicide."

Bumblebee laughed aloud, before pressing a chaste kiss against Sam's cheek.

"Raincheck?"

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, obviously, I'm not made of stone." He replied impatiently, "Now get out."

Bumblebee smirked at him, an indecent expression if ever there was one, before the holoform shimmered and disappeared. Sam took a moment to get his raging hormones under control and then he turned the shower to cold and stepped in. The shock of icy water down his back was an effective anaphrodisiac, and he washed as quickly as he was able. By the time that Sam was dressed, he felt far less likely to commit murder.

As Sam stepped into the hanger, he saw that Ratchet had replaced Hoist at the workbench. He turned as Sam made his way towards Bumblebee, who was resting in his alt mode beside the berth.

"Good morning, Sam. You slept well."

"Morning Ratch." Sam greeted good-naturedly, "Yeah, I did."

The medic crouched down as he approached, a blue beam emanating from a node set in his helm to sweep Sam from head to foot.

"Your appetite has much improved over the last twelve hours as well. How do you feel?"

Sam shrugged, using a pinkie finger to get water out of his ear, "Good. Really good, actually."

Ratchet regarded him for a long moment, his expression one of clinical seriousness.

"You are recovering remarkably well. Your heart rate, blood pressure, and body temperature are all within normal parameters. The electrochemistry of your blood has also been stable for twenty-four hours."

"Aww, Ratch, you big flatterer."

The medic ex-vented a loud snort, and Sam could feel a swell of fond exasperation across their bond-space.

"Do you want that IV removed or not?" Ratchet drawled.

Sam blinked up at him in surprise, "What? Yes, definitely. Isn't it early?"

Ratchet extended a servo towards him, and Sam clambered on immediately. The medic brought his other servo around to cup against Sam's back, steadying him as he rose and walked across the medical bay.

"For most patients suffering persistent electrolytic imbalance, the treatment schedule is four to seven days. You, however, are not most patients. The healing factor provided by the Allspark energy has contributed greatly to your recovery."

He set Sam down on the berth and a moment later, his holoform flickered into existence. All at once, Sam recalled First Aid's words from the day before, and he glanced up at the medic uncertainly.

"Ratch… you know that I'm not afraid of you anymore, right?"

The medic shuttered his optics slowly, an unfathomable expression on his face.

"I am aware that my bipedal mode no longer triggers your stress response, yes." He replied, after a moment.

Sam frowned faintly, "Then why do you still use your holoform? You don't have to."

Rather than reply, Ratchet gestured with a servo towards the gurney. Sam huffed a sigh, but he obediently climbed up onto the mattress before turning to sit facing the medic. Ratchet's holoform stepped forward then, grasping Sam's shoulder with his hand. The touch was firm and gentle. Grounding.

After a long moment, Ratchet cycled air through his vents.

"I am aware that you no longer fear me, Sam. I utilize my holoform because it makes you comfortable."

Sam frowned deeply, but before he could reply, Ratchet continued his thought.

"I do not mean that my bipedal form makes you uncomfortable. Rather, my holoform is able to interact with you in ways that trigger the mammalian relaxation response."

"…what?"

"In the last four minutes, your breathing has deepened, your heartbeat has decreased, and your limbic system has increased production of serotonin and dopamine." Ratchet explained patiently, "It's the human body's response to a familiar touch."

Sam blinked at the holoform in disbelief, "Are you saying that you use your holoform because you can manipulate my brain chemistry?"

"I would not put it in those words." Ratchet replied dryly, "Humans are genetically hardwired for this type of interaction, and that is not something that I can provide in my bipedal mode."

Sam would have felt offended, violated even, if he weren't able to feel Ratchet's quiet earnestness through their bond. All at once he realized that the medic lamented being unable to interact with Sam this way without his holoform. The realization softened his irritation, and Sam snorted in response.

"That's a bit creepy, Ratchet."

"That's human biology, Samuel." He returned without hesitation. The medic pulled the overbed table towards him, upon which medical supplies were already organized. With quick, efficient motions, Ratchet removed his IV—that hurt—and pressed a cotton ball against the exit site.

"Press firmly." He instructed, and Sam complied. Ratchet retrieved a butterfly bandage and, after checking to see that the bleeding had stopped, applied it to the back of Sam's hand. The CMO made to gather up the medical supplies when he stilled, his head tilting in the manner that indicated that he was listening to his internal communications array. After a moment, Ratchet ex-vented a disapproving snort.

"Against my recommendations, Prime is on his way to see you."

"Wait, what?" Sam asked in surprise, "Why?"

"Why else?" Ratchet asked peevishly, "To discuss the parlay."

"But I thought you said that I wasn't going to the parlay."

"And unless Prime wants a mutiny on his hands, you're not." Ratchet replied stiffly, gathering up the medical supplies and carrying them across the hanger. Sam glanced towards Bumblebee's alt mode.

"What crawled up his tailpipe and died?"

The Camaro rolled backwards before rapidly transforming. As soon as the last metal plates slid into place, he crouched beside the berth.

"Sam, you know that he worries."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." He replied, frowning faintly, "Do you know what this is about?"

"No, I don't, but we're about to find out." Bee answered, turning to regard the hanger doors. Moments later, Optimus Prime stepped into the medical bay, his entire countenance solemn and serious. He inclined his head towards Ratchet, who raised a servo and waved him off without turning to look at him. Optimus' gaze lingered on Ratchet's back for a long moment, and then he made his way across the hanger towards Sam.

"Good morning, Sam." He greeted, his voice a warm baritone, "Did you sleep well?"

Sam pushed himself off the gurney, moving to stand at the edge of the berth. Optimus came to stop in front of him, crouching down so that they were at an eye-level with one another.

"What's going on, Optimus?" Sam asked, in lieu of an answer, "No one will tell me anything."

"You've been told all that you need to know." Ratchet called across the hanger sharply.

Optimus glanced towards his Chief Medical Officer, disapproval evident in his expression, before looking back at Sam.

"I have accepted Thundercracker's request for parlay. We will meet at three o'clock this afternoon on the southern airfield."

Sam frowned, "Has he told you what they want?"

Optimus regarded him for a long moment, as though he were carefully considering his answer.

"They wish to discuss you—more specifically, your role as Allspark and Prime."

He narrowed his eyes at the Autobot leader, "I'm not the Allspark."

"Yes, Sam. I know." Optimus reassured him.

Sam folded his arms over his chest, well aware of how defensive it made him appear, "I want to go."

There was a loud clang of metal against metal as Ratchet slammed the equipment that he had been working on against the workbench. The medic turned to face them, his expression openly angry.

"Sam, I've already told you—"

Optimus turned to regard the medic, his expression censorious and disapproving. Ratchet narrowed his optics at the Autobot leader, staring at him pointedly—clearly, they were having a heated discussion over comms. After a moment, some of the tension left Ratchet's frame, and Sam knew that the discussion had not concluded in his favor.

"Sam." Optimus rumbled, turning his attention back towards him, "I understand your desire to be present at the parlay, but the risk is too great."

"Fine, then I want to be outside of the Creator bond."

"No." Ratchet replied flatly, approaching the berth, "It is likely that either Thundercracker or Skywarp have Creator programming."

Sam frowned up at the medic, "If they had it, they would have already used it."

To his surprise, it was Optimus who replied.

"That is highly unlikely. None of the command trine would make a move against Megatron." He refuted, shaking his helm minutely, "And we know that Starscream has Creator programming—it would follow that his trinemates have access to the same."

Sam's frown deepened, "There's no way that Starscream is a Creator. He's about as nurturing as a brick to the face."

Ratchet ex-vented a snort, coming to stand beside his Prime.

"Starscream was a Vosian prince, he has on-lined many mechanoids." Ratchet said, waving his servo impatiently, "It is most likely how Megatron got ahold of Creator programming in the first place."

Sam glanced at the medic in surprise, "What?"

"As you know, Megatron was on-lined as a gladiator-build. Creator programming was not part of his build-class." Optimus explained patiently. Something about the Autobot leader's words triggered a memory, and he glanced up at him.

"Is it true that he was sparked without written language protocols?"

Optimus inclined his helm gravely, "Yes, it is true."

Sam's frown returned and he worried the inside of his lip with his teeth. After a moment, he asked, "So what's the end game here? They want to parlay, but I'm not going to agree to anything they want."

Almost before he finished speaking, he was aware of the vulnerable tone in his voice—he sounded uncertain and afraid, even to his own ears. Optimus' optics softened minutely and, after a moment, he felt a familiar pinging sensation. Sam allowed the connection to blossom to life between them, and then Optimus was there in his mind. His presence was as ethereal as he remembered—brilliant white and beautiful—and Sam felt himself relaxing at the quiet thrum of reassurance that he could feel through their connection.

/You have my word that I will not agree to any demand that involves you without your express contribution and consent./

Sam sighed softly, his head pitching forward. He knew that Optimus wouldn't have used him as a bargaining chip, but it was comforting to hear his reassurance all the same. After a moment, he felt Optimus mental presence brush gently against Sam's mind. It was a tender gesture, one filled with affection, and he smiled faintly in response. Seemingly encouraged by his reaction, Optimus shifted and familiar warmth flooded across his mind—

Sam stumbled backwards, his eyes snapping open, "Stop it!"

He felt Optimus' surprise and confusion, but it was too late. Even as the sensation faded away, Sam was lost to the flashback—Megatron's presence filling his mind, intense pleasure and choking fear mingling together, and then a culmination of physical expression.

Then, Megatron's satisfied rumble–

"There is no shame in accepting what your Master offers."

Sam felt Optimus jerk away in shock, the connection between them snapping closed. Sam gasped for breath, his heart jackrabbiting painfully in his throat. Then, Ratchet's mental presence was there, brushing away the last remnants of the flashback, but it didn't matter. The flashback wasn't the cause of his distress.

They know.

Sam gasped desperately, hunched over as he tried to pull air into his burning lungs. Shame and fear and self-loathing crashed over one another, blotting out all rational thought. The only thing that he was capable of understanding was that, no matter how he struggled, he couldn't breathe.

He was distantly aware of their urgent voices, barely audible over the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears, and then Bumblebee was there. His bonded's presence filled his mind, eminently calming and familiar.

/Breathe, Sam./

I can't, I can't breathe—!

/Yes, you can. Here, feel me./

Suddenly, warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him back against a broad chest. Sam struggled in fear, kicking out at the person behind him, but then Bumblebee's voice was in his mind again.

/Feel me, Sam./

And Sam did. Through the haze of his panic, Sam could feel the person behind him draw in a deep breath—his chest expanding as he did so—and then he released it slowly. The stimuli filtered into Sam's brain in fits and starts, and he struggled to pull air into his spasming lungs.

/Good, just like that. Try again, slowly—/

As the person behind him inhaled, Sam sucked air in through his nose, and as the person exhaled, his breath stuttered out through his mouth. He felt a warm pulse of approval over the lightheadedness that tingled through him. They stayed there like that, mirroring each other, until Sam's breathing had evened out. No longer at immediate risk of hyperventilating, Sam sank to his knees onto the berth. Bumblebee's holoform—and it was Bumblebee's holoform, he realized belatedly—followed him down, pressed closely against him.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassment and shame burning through him. Bumblebee's mental presence wrapped around him, warm and gentle and familiar. Although he did not speak in words, Sam could understand the soothing pulse that accompanied his touch. The complete, unconditional acceptance that Sam felt made his eyes burn with fresh tears. He knelt there for a long while, crying quietly as Bumblebee embraced him. Eventually, Bumblebee began to murmur at him softly, English and Cybertronian intermixed together. His voice was like a metronome, steady and grounding.

Sam listened in silence, his eyes closed and his hands clutching the arm that wrapped around his chest. It was a long time before he could open his eyes again and face the reality of the medical bay. When he finally managed to do so, he was met with the sight of Bumblebee's bipedal mode. The familiar face was less than a meter away, Bee's brilliant blue optics roving over him. Sam glanced around, surprised to see that they were completely alone. The hanger was empty and the lights were dimmed.

"They are giving you your space." Bumblebee explained softly, as his holoform tucked his chin over Sam's left shoulder.

Sam's breath shuddered out of him. He couldn't imagine what they must think—

"They think you're brave, and resilient, and stronger than you realize."

Sam glanced back up at his bonded's face, eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Then they're going to be very disappointed."

Bumblebee whistled at him, a mournful series of clicks and high-pitched tones. The scout reached out a large servo, cupping it against Sam's side.

"They aren't wrong, Sam. You're the strongest person I know—Autobot or otherwise." He murmured seriously, like a promise, "You're going to get through this."

Sam's eyes flicked to his bonded's face, and the earnestness that he saw there caused a spear of pain to lodge itself in his chest. He could feel that the tears had finally spilled over, but he was powerless to stop them.

"So it's true," Sam whispered brokenly, "infiltrators really are excellent liars."

Bumblebee made a low, pained sound, but he did not reply with words. Instead, his mental presence wrapped around Sam's like a blanket, and the scout let his sincerity and earnestness speak on his behalf. Sam could not reply around the emotion lodged in his throat. Instead, he leaned against his bonded, in both body and mind, and accepted the comfort that he offered.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Thundercracker and Skywarp transformed in mid-air, landing in their bipedal modes at the southernmost edge of the tarmac. To Thundercracker's surprise, only Optimus Prime and the Autobot medic stood waiting to greet them. He glanced around the wide, empty expanse of airfield, taken aback by the lack of reinforcements. The Seekers had fully expected Prime to assemble at least his senior staff to receive them—and a full show of military might would not have been unprecedented.

His attention was drawn back to the matter at hand as Optimus Prime strode towards them. The Autobot leader's battle mask was engaged, but otherwise he showed no sign of aggression. Thundercracker stepped forward, crossing his arm over his chassis and bending at the waist.

"Thank-you for receiving us, Prime."

Optimus stared at him for a long moment, his expression surprisingly cold. When he failed to return the greeting, Thundercracker felt Skywarp shift on his pedes behind him.

/What a warm reception./ His trinemate sent dryly.

Although Thundercracker could do without Skywarp's commentary, he too was taken aback by the Prime's unwelcoming demeanor. It was Prime who had agreed to parlay, after all. After the silence had stretched to the point of awkwardness, Thundercracker cleared his intakes and spoke.

"Lord Megatron desires—"

"What Megatron desires is no longer of any consequence to me." Optimus interrupted him, his tone midnight black, "You can inform your Master that there will be no parlay."

Thundercracker was unable to keep the surprise off his faceplates, but he quickly schooled his features. Something had obviously changed since the Prime had consented to their meeting. Behind him, Skywarp's fields flared with uncertainty and anxiety.

"I am sorry to hear that, Prime." Thundercracker replied, drawing on all of his long-forgotten courtier training, "I had hoped that this parlay would lead—"

"You may tell Megatron that the time for clemency has passed." Optimus rumbled, interrupting him for a second time, "If he chooses to surrender and be judged for his crimes, then I will be merciful. If he persists in this folly of a war, then there shall be no quarter given—for either him or those who follow his command."

Thundercracker could not prevent the jerk of surprise at the Prime's words. In all of their millions of years of conflict, never before had he issued such a proclamation. Skywarp's anxiety sharpened into fear, and he could sense his trinemate's desire to transform. Realizing the precariousness of their situation, Thundercracker bowed stiffly at the waist and turned to leave.

"Thundercracker, hold." Prime called, and the Seeker glanced back in surprise. The Autobot leader crossed the space between them, to stand directly in front of him. His optics roved over Thundercracker's face, as though trying to assess some measure of him, before he spoke.

"I would be grateful if you would pass along a personal message to your leader."

Thundercracker nodded minutely, keeping his expression and his electromagnetic fields neutral with great effort.

"You may tell him that I am in full possession of the facts, that I know what even his senior officers do not. If there is anything left of Megatronus within him, if he has any shred of affection left for me, then he will heed my words. If not, then I swear by my spark, I will have justice for his crimes—in this life or the next."

By the time that Prime had finished speaking, his voice was a low growl. Thundercracker stepped back reflexively, deeply shocked by the ichor in the other's tone. Without waiting for the Seeker to respond, Optimus turned on his pede and strode away. As he walked passed his Chief Medical Officer, the Autobot turned and followed behind him. Neither of them gave the two Seekers a backwards glance.

Thundercracker turned to look at Skywarp, who was plainly anxious to catch air. With a silent command, they transformed into their alt modes and streaked through the late afternoon sky, leaving Diego Garcia behind them.

Chapter 16:

In the aftermath of Sam's panic attack, he and Bumblebee stayed in the medical bay for hours. It took a long while for his choking grief to subside, and in the wake of his intense emotions, he was left feeling strangely empty. It was a sense of apathy that he had not felt since he had first learned about the Allspark energy affecting his physiology. The stark numbness was an almost welcome sensation, given its familiarity, and Sam could not muster up the energy to be concerned.

As soon as he was reasonably calm, Bumblebee presented his servo towards him. Sam understood at once what he was offering, and he slowly clambered to his feet before stepping onto the large, metal palm. Bumblebee brought him close to his chest, pausing only to stroke his digits down Sam's back, before he transformed around him. Although he was well used to the process by now, Sam still exhaled a shaky breath when he found himself in the familiar driver's seat seconds later. Bumblebee darkened the window tint as soon as he finished transforming, and then the multi-media interface brightened to illuminate the cabin. The menu flipped through options of its own accord before settling on Sirius XM radio. A moment later, the sound of classic rock filled the silence.

Sam leaned back against the seat, which reclined slightly to accommodate him. They stayed there like that, listening to the Top Hits of the 80s and 90s, without speaking a word to one another. Bumblebee's mental presence was close, occasionally brushing over his mind, but he did not crowd against him. By the time that Sam felt marginally closer to normal, his stomach was panging with hunger. A glance at the digital display revealed that it was just after noon.

"Would you like some lunch?" Bumblebee asked, voice pitched low so as not to startle him.

Sam looked at the dashboard for a long moment. Eventually, he replied, "Yeah, I could eat."

Bumblebee whistled at him, a single, rolling note of approval.

"Would you like to go to the mess? Or would you prefer to have your meal brought here?"

Sam considered the question before answering. On one hand, he had neither the desire nor the energy to be around people. On the other hand, he had been cooped up in the medical bay for days with only a few, brief respites. After the events of that morning, Sam was suddenly keen to be anywhere else but there.

"The mess, please."

As soon as he finished speaking, the window tint vanished and Bumblebee's engine turned over. The Camaro accelerated towards the hanger doors, before navigating through West Quad. Although it was relatively quiet in the Autobot section of the Hive, they passed Sunstreaker and Sideswipe near the command center and Jolt nearer Prime's office. As they turned onto the bridge, however, activity around them markedly increased. Civilian administrative staff, soldiers in combat gear, and officers in dress uniforms streamed along the corridor on the side designated for pedestrian traffic. Bumblebee drove at a leisurely pace, stopping only to let a camo green golf cart pass on their left.

A short while later, he pulled up in front of the North Quad entrance and opened the driver's side door. By the time that he climbed out of the cab, Bumblebee's holoform had shimmered to life beside him. Sam leaned back against the doorframe, taking in the sight of the familiar figure. Bee stood less than a foot away, his posture loose and relaxed, with an easy-going look on his face.

"Ready to go?" Bee asked.

"Yeah, thanks." Sam replied quietly.

They made their way together through the North Quad towards the mess hall. They nodded at the occasional stranger who greeted them, but otherwise they were silent. The clamor of animated talking and the clinking of dishware spilled into the corridor as they approached the mess. They walked into the hall and made their way towards the galley, queueing at the back of the line. Bumblebee picked up a cafeteria tray from the stack beside them and handed it to him. They were halfway down the galley, passed the pasta salads and the sandwich bar, when Sam remembered that he was on a diet plan. He frowned faintly, turning his attention towards the Creator bond. He could feel Ratchet's presence, distant and distracted, but accessible to him all the same. He waffled for a long moment, uncertain how to broach such a mundane topic after all that had happened earlier. Eventually, he brushed against Ratchet's presence, sending a wordless pulse of inquiry in his direction.

Almost immediately, he felt the weight of Ratchet's regard from across their bond-space. Although his mental presence was patient, Sam was sure that he wasn't misunderstanding the faint exasperation that the medic was projecting.

/You are being very loud./ Ratchet explained, as soon as the thought had crossed Sam's mind. The medic's dry tone caused the corners of his lips to quirk up, despite himself.

/Sorry./ He replied, glancing at the main course options that he was steadily approaching. Trying for nonchalance, he asked casually, /I'm at the mess. Is there anything I can't eat?/

/You may eat whatever you wish, so long as you meet or exceed 2200 calories per day./ Ratchet replied at once. The words were said matter-of-factly, delivered with his usual air of medical professionalism. Something about his tone, however, caused heavy emotion to wedge itself in Sam's chest. It wasn't until he was standing in front of the lunch entrees a short while later that Sam realized the feeling was appreciation. There hadn't been an iota of sympathy or pity in Ratchet's voice—the medic had treated him exactly as he always had. The realization warmed Sam from the inside out, and he gestured for sweet and spicy chicken with more vim than strictly necessary.

After Sam's meal was paid for—something that Bumblebee had arranged with the clerk, with assurances that Sam would get his identification badge back soon—they made their way to a quiet corner of the mess hall. Sam pulled out a chair and sat down, and Bumblebee followed suit. The holoform watched him with undisguised interest, and Sam couldn't help the faint smile that quirked his lips.

"It's not as bad as Chicken 65." Sam murmured, remembering the first time that Bumblebee had vicariously experienced Sam's penchant for spicy food.

Bumblebee's face warmed with amusement, "Your tolerance for capsaicin is impressive."

Sam huffed a soft laugh, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork and popping it into his mouth. The yellow sauce was nuanced and layered—sweetness flooded his mouth, chased immediately by a modest burst of heat.

"This isn't that hot."

"It is far more agreeable." Bee conceded, leaning back in his chair as he watched Sam eat.

The scout's words did an effective job of distracting Sam from the dark cloud hanging over him. He glanced across the table at him in surprise as he finished swallowing a mouthful of rice.

"Can you taste it?" He asked curiously.

The holoform tilted his head considerately, "Yes, I believe so. Although the sensations are foreign to me, I can infer which is spicy and which is sweet."

"I think I understand what you mean." Sam said, after a moment, "When Megatron showed me about energon, my brain tried to interpret the sensation in terms of food, even though the analogy was off."

At Megatron's name, the holoform's expression tightened minutely, but he replied without hesitation.

"I'll show you myself, the next time that I re-fuel. I would have showed you before, but it never occurred to me that you might be curious."

Sam snorted quietly, stabbing a piece of chicken and swirling it in the sauce, "It never occurred to me to be curious until Megatron showed me."

Bumblebee's mental presence stilled for a fraction of a second, and then it was brushing against Sam's mind. The touch was feather-soft, almost contrite, and Sam glanced up in surprise.

"I'm here, you know." Bee said, so quietly that Sam had to strain to hear him over the noisy din of the mess hall, "If you ever want to talk about it."

Sam looked at the holoform for a long moment, aware of the way that his heart was starting to beat harder in his chest, before he raised his shoulders in a shrug.

"I don't, but thank-you." Sam replied, keeping his tone even with some effort, "If that ever changes, I'll let you know."

Bumblebee nodded at him before changing the subject with all the grace of a water buffalo, "What's your favorite spicy food?"

Sam's eyebrows quirked of their own accord, but he appreciated what Bee was doing.

"Probably this." He replied, allowing the conversation to be re-directed, "Spicy diced chicken is hotter, but that's good too. There was an Afghan restaurant in Tranquility called Afghan Kebab Express—"

"On Central? Yes, I remember it." Bumblebee said.

"Yeah, that's it." Sam agreed, tilting his head curiously, "I don't remember going there with you."

Bumblebee's lips quirked, his expression equal parts chagrined and amused, "Your father took you there four days after you posted the eBay listing."

Sam stared at him in surprise for the space of a heartbeat, and then he actually laughed. It was a weak sound, a shadow of its former self, but his amusement was genuine.

"Yeah, I guess he did. I had gotten an A on a history exam, the first one I needed for Dad to go splits on a car." Sam said, his voice soft with recollection, "They had this chicken over rice dish that was out of this world. It was really hot, but it come with a white sauce that balanced it out. Dad and I went there a lot before it closed."

Sam's voice trailed off as he finished speaking, suddenly blindsided by a tidal wave of guilt. In all the time that he had been on the Nemesis, and in all the time since he had been rescued, his parents had barely crossed his mind.

"Oh my God," He murmured to himself, aghast, "I am such a shit person."

"No you're not." Bumblebee said sharply, reaching out a hand to clasp Sam's wrist, "You've been through a traumatic experience. There is no shame in compartmentalization."

"Bee…" Sam said, barely able to get the words out around the lump in his throat, "Are they okay? Do they know?"

Bumblebee's expression was solemn, and he gave Sam's wrist a gentle squeeze.

"Your parents are alright, they're living in Arizona now." He replied, his voice calming, "Yes, they know about what happened. Optimus told them after the attack."

Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth, his appetite ruined, "Do they know I'm back?"

Bumblebee nodded minutely, "Yes, they do."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. His parents must be having a coronary right now—to know that he was alive and safe, and not be able to see him. After a long moment, Sam forced himself to look across the table at the holoform.

"Why won't Optimus let them come?"

Confusion flickered across Bumblebee's face, followed quickly by understanding.

"Prime has not forbidden them from coming, but neither has he extended them an invitation." Bumblebee explained patiently, "You have the right to decide when you want to see them."

"Oh." Sam replied. He stared at the table in front of him for a long moment before asking, "Do they want to come?"

"Your mother has called Dave Carter four times a day, every day, since you've returned." Bumblebee said, amusement in his voice, "But the more important question is: do you want them to come?"

Sam frowned faintly, stymied by the question. The idea of being fussed at by his mother was deeply unpleasant for a number of reasons, the fact that he did not want her to see him like this chief among them. However, the thought of his parents' grief at not being able to see him was far more intolerable, by at least an order of magnitude.

"Yeah, I think so." He replied slowly, "I don't want them to be upset."

Bumblebee nodded, "Alright then. We'll take care of it."

Sam nodded faintly, a gesture of acknowledgement and appreciation both, before he set down his fork. Bumblebee's eyes fell to his plate as concern furrowed his brow. Sam had barely eaten a thing.

"I'll get you a take-away container." Bumblebee said at once, pushing to his feet. Before Sam could respond, the holoform was striding across the mess hall, weaving around tables and patrons with the fluidity of a dancer. Sam watched him go, abruptly feeling exhausted as the enormity of all that had happened finally caught up with him. Bumblebee returned a short while later, carrying the promised take-away container and plastic cutlery. Sam mustered up the energy to scrape the remains of his dinner into the cardboard box.

"Would you like to go?" Bumblebee asked, his gaze sharp and astute.

Sam sighed softly, pushing the chair away from the table as he stood, "Yeah."

Bumblebee nodded, picking up the boxed leftovers and gesturing for Sam to go ahead. Together they walked out of the mess hall, back into the corridor. It was quieter than it had been when they arrived, and they made their way through North Quad without being accosted by well-meaning strangers. As they passed the Officer's Section on the way to the quad entrance, Sam slowed to a stop. Bumblebee pulled up short beside him, glancing at Sam in surprise.

"I want to move back into my apartment." Sam said abruptly.

"Well, if you want—" Bumblebee began, but Sam had already started walking towards the residential section. Bumblebee had to jog several paces in order to catch up with him. They walked the length of one long hallway before he looked sidelong at Sam, "What brought this on?"

Sam shrugged, "Ratchet removed my IV. There's no reason for me to stay in the medical bay."

"That's true." Bumblebee said slowly, before he asked with delicate care, "Are you sure you're up to it?"

"I guess we'll find out."

Bumblebee did not reply, but Sam could feel his conflicted feelings—cautious optimism warring against concern. After several moments of vicariously experiencing the scout's anxiety, Sam scoffed softly.

"I'm not going to break another mirror, Bumblebee."

The holoform looked at him sharply, a disapproving frown pulling at his features.

"I didn't suggest that you would." He rebutted firmly, "You spent two years in near-constant isolation. Are you ready to be alone again?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, inexplicably irritated by Bumblebee's concern.

"Am I ready to be alone again? I don't know." He replied scathingly, "But I am ready to sleep in my own bed, and use my own shower, and decide what to eat and when to eat it. And I'm definitely ready to get back into my own space, with a front door that locks, so that if I want to be alone, I can be alone."

Without waiting for Bumblebee to reply, Sam continued down the corridor in the direction of his apartment. The holoform followed after him in silence, his mental presence just as inscrutable as his physical manifestation. When they arrived at Sam's apartment a short while later, he was forced to wait by the door as Bumblebee caught up to him. It was a minor indignity, but it chaffed at Sam all the same. As soon as the holoform pulled open the door for him, he stepped into his apartment with a huff.

"When can I have my badge replaced?" He asked stiffly, breaking the silence between them.

"Dave had it printed this morning. I'll ask him bring it over." Bee replied, his earlier disapproval no longer evident in his tone or expression.

"Thank-you."

"Do you… would you like some privacy?" Bumblebee asked, after a pregnant pause.

Sam glanced at him in surprise. The holoform was standing beside the doorway, obviously hesitant and uncertain. The sight made of him caused Sam's irritation soften into regret. He knew that the morning had been difficult for Bumblebee as well.

"I'm sorry for being an asshole, Bee." He said, moving to stand in front of the holoform, "It's been a long day and I'm tired."

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Sam." Bumblebee replied sincerely, "I'm your bonded, not your keeper. You don't need my permission or approval to move back into your apartment."

Sam's frown returned, turning down the corners of his mouth, "So I don't have either, then?"

"I didn't mean that." Bumblebee replied contritely, "Of course you do, on both counts."

Sam sighed, running his good hand over his face. It was becoming readily apparent that neither of them were at their best.

"Look, I'm going to lay on my couch and watch garbage television until I fall asleep or the Seekers attack, whichever happens first. You're welcome to join me, if you want."

Bumblebee looked at him in surprise, before nodding slowly, "Yes, I would like that."

"Great." Sam said, toeing off his shoes as he walked across the room. Bumblebee placed the take-out container on the side table before joining him. Sam sat heavily on the couch, reaching up with one hand to pull the throw blanket into his lap as he grabbed the remote from the coffee table. Bumblebee looked at him for a long moment before sitting down beside him. Sam flipped through the channels in silence, before he offered up an olive branch in the form of a banal question.

"Did I miss any good shows or movies that I should catch up on?"

Bumblebee glanced at him, fond amusement creasing his face at Sam's attempt at redirection, "Netflix made a Witcher series that's popular. I think you'd like it."

"Really? I beat the Wild Hunt about a dozen times."

"I am well aware." Bumblebee replied dryly.

"Who plays Geralt?"

"Henry Cavill."

"That seems like a strange choice." Sam said, already navigating into the Netflix menu. Bumblebee laughed softly, raising a shoulder in a shrug.

"I can't say one way or the other, but the reviews are favorable."

"I'm looking forward to it." Sam replied honestly, shifting to pull the blanket around him. Bumblebee glanced down, his expression inscrutable, as he raised his arm to pull Sam snugly against his side. Sam sighed softly, letting his head settle against the holoform's chest, as Bumblebee's hand trailed down to trace an invisible pattern into Sam's bicep through the blanket. As The Witcher began playing, Bumblebee repeated the pattern again and again, his touch feather-light and gentle. It was a soothing sensation, and Sam found himself watching the opening scene through half-lidded eyes.

He was asleep before Geralt made it to Blaviken.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A loud chime cut through the haze of Sam's dreams, causing him to jerk awake in confusion. It took a long moment for him to realize that he was lying on the couch in his apartment. He sat up slowly, pushing the blanket aside as he blinked blearily at his surroundings. The television was off, and the living room was still and quiet. He twisted, trying to find Bumblebee's holoform, when he realized that he was alone. The chime sounded a second time, causing him to startle in surprise. As the realization that someone was ringing his doorbell filtered into Sam's sleep-addled brain, Bumblebee's presence brushed against him reassuringly.

Sam pushed to his feet, stumbling across the living room towards the entryway. When he pulled the heavy door open, he froze in surprise. Optimus' holoform stood in the corridor, holding a cafeteria tray and wearing an expression of solemn resolve. Sam's heart stuttered in his chest before quickening into double-time at the sight of the Autobot leader.

"Good evening, Sam."

Sam had to swallow around the lump in his throat before he could reply.

"Evening, Optimus."

"I had hoped that we could speak privately. May I come in?"

Sam could feel the flush spread across his cheeks, heating his face. As the silence between them lengthened from seconds to moments, Optimus inclined his head.

"Of course, it is your prerogative to refuse."

The quiet regret on the holoform's face spurned Sam to step aside to allow Optimus to enter.

"No, it's… it's alright. It's fine. Please, come in." He murmured, gesturing towards the living room. Optimus regarded him for a long moment before making his way into Sam's apartment. Sam let the door shut behind him, taking a moment to steel himself as he flicked on the overhead lights. When he turned around again, he saw that Optimus had placed the cafeteria tray on the coffee table. The holoform was standing quietly at the foot of the couch, facing him with a pensive look on its face.

"I've brought your identification badge and your cell phone." Optimus said, breaking the silence that stretched between them.

"Thank-you." Sam replied softly, shuffling forward until he could glance down at the cafeteria tray. As promised, his phone and badge were tucked beside the plate of lo mein.

Optimus regarded him for a long moment, his eyes roving over Sam's face. There was something paradoxical about his countenance, which was equal parts uncertain and resolved. Sam pushed his hands into his pockets, and forced himself to return Optimus' gaze.

"Sam—"

"No offense, Optimus, but I don't want to talk about this with you." Sam interrupted tiredly, "And this time, you aren't going to goad me into it."

Optimus' expression softened, "You do not need to talk, but I hope that you will listen."

Sam sighed softly, gesturing in a weary 'go ahead' sort of way as he sat on the couch. After a moment, Optimus sat down on the coffee table in front of him, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. The holoform looked as it always did, solemn and dignified and serious, but somehow it looked more human than ever before. He was silent for a long while, and Sam knew that he was putting his thoughts in order.

"Ratchet and I met with Thundercracker and Skywarp this afternoon. I have informed them that there will be no parlay."

Sam stared at the holoform in stunned disbelief. Whatever he had expected Optimus to say, that certainly had not been it.

"I—what? Why not?"

"You know why not, Sam."

Sam felt his flush deepen to a brilliant crimson, "You can't be serious."

"I assure you, I am."

"Optimus, come on." Sam pleaded, hating the waver in his voice, "You can't turn down a parlay because some bad shit happened. What if this is your chance to end the war? What if this is your chance for peace?"

"Sam." Optimus interrupted him gently, "There can never be peace—true, everlasting peace—without accountability or justice, without integrity."

The last word was a low rumble, as though it pained Optimus to say it. Sam stared incredulously at the holoform, vaguely aware that his heart was pounding against his ribcage.

"Optimus, I can't be the reason for more war."

The holoform sighed heavily, his hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Sam, you are not the cause for our continued conflict. What Megatron did—" Optimus cut himself off, his face darkening with emotion, "I do not believe you understand the enormity of what was done to you."

Sam narrowed his eyes at the holoform, "I know exactly what was done to me, thanks."

"Forgive me, Sam." Optimus replied, his voice conciliatory, "I was not speaking in absolute terms, rather I was speaking from the perspective of Cybertronian laws and customs."

It took a great deal of fortitude, but Sam forced himself to meet Optimus' gaze, "I can't imagine… that… is viewed any more or less favorably on Cybertron than it is on Earth."

Optimus hesitated, his expression openly conflicted.

"Sam, you were a prisoner of war and a civilian. Although Megatron has tortured non-combatants in the past, he is generally less inclined to do so. I had hoped—foolishly, I now realize—that your newspark status would stay his hand if he wished to make an example of you."

Sam frowned in confusion, "But I'm not a newspark, I'm—I was nineteen years old."

"Although you are an adult, by your society's standards, you are a newborn by our own. Your neural connections have not matured and your Creator bond is still active. It is… unfathomable for Megatron to have done what he did to you."

Optimus' words only served to deepen Sam's confusion. As his perplexed expression, Optimus gathered himself with visible effort and tried again.

"I do not mean that what he did was abhorrent—although, of course, it was—rather, you register as a newspark in every conceivable way that matters. It should have been unthinkable for him to abuse you, as he did. As you know, newsparks are precious in our society. They were so, even before the start of the Great War. The nurturing and development of a sparkling is hard-coded into a Creator mecha's core programming, but all Cybertronians are driven to protect our young."

"But I'm human."

Optimus sighed, a soft, weary sound, "I know, Sam, but our programming does not differentiate between you and any other newspark."

Sam sat back against the couch, frowning at the Autobot leader, "Why are you telling me this?"

Optimus' countenance shifted, his weariness and uncertainty hardening to something like grim determination.

"I share this information with you for two reasons. First, so you understand why I refused to parlay with the Seekers. So long as Megatron is their leader, there can be no peace between Autobots and the Decepticons. I will accept nothing less than his unconditional surrender to the rule of Cybertronian law.

Second, I want you to understand that none of this was your fault. For millions of years, I have deluded myself into believing that Megatron was misguided and radicalized by his fight against classism. I wanted to believe that he was still acting in—what he believed to be—Cybertron's best interests. I can no longer afford the luxury of my naivety."

Sam felt chilled by the somber note of finality in the Autobot leader's voice.

"Nothing has changed, Sam." Optimus said gently, seeming to sense Sam's growing upset, "We will continue as we always have: protecting humans against Decepticon incursions, advocating for peace and prosperity between our peoples, and granting clemency to those willing to renounce Megatron's leadership. The only difference is Megatron himself. I see now that there is no redeeming him, for he does not wish to be redeemed."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly exhausted despite his earlier rest.

"Don't forget who you are Optimus." He murmured, after a long moment of silence, "You are compassionate and wise and patient and merciful and forgiving. Don't lose that, no matter what—it's why we deserve to win this war."

Sam felt their knees knock together as the holoform shifted forward, and then Optimus' warm hands settled on his shoulders. He opened his eyes in surprise, glancing up at the holoform who had leaned close to him.

"You honor me, Samuel Witwicky." Optimus murmured, his voice unusually emotive, "The purity of your intention, despite all that you have endured, is truly humbling."

Sam swallowed hard, unable to reply around the lump in his throat. He raised a hand, resting it against Optimus' own where it clasped his shoulder. They sat there like that, in mutual affection and understanding, for a long while. Eventually, Optimus sighed in regret, withdrawing his hands after giving Sam's shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"Ratchet has been pinging me for the last ten minutes. He wishes me to remind you that you must eat."

Sam turned his attention inwards, suddenly aware of the impatient edge of Ratchet's mental presence.

"I'll try." Sam replied dryly, for both Optimus' and Ratchet's benefit.

"Thank-you." Optimus replied, before the regretful look on his face deepened, "Sam, I wish I could stay longer, but I must debrief my senior staff."

"About your meeting with Thundercracker and Skywarp?" He asked, anxiety curdling in his gut. When Optimus nodded, Sam bit the inside of his lip as he managed to ask, "What are you going to tell them?"

Optimus looked confused for a brief moment, and then comprehension dawned on his face.

"Your secrets are not mine to tell, Sam." Optimus rumbled, like a promise, "Neither Bumblebee, Ratchet, nor myself will betray your confidence."

Sam nodded faintly, unable to reply around the appreciation and grief that suddenly choked him. Optimus hesitated, looking at him with indefinable emotion, before he reached out to clasp a hand against the back of Sam's head. It was a tender gesture, paternal and affectionate, and Sam glanced up at him. Optimus held his gaze for a long moment, communicating more with his silence than he had all evening.

Then, a moment later, he was gone.

Chapter 17:

Thundercracker banked as he approached the Nemesis, adjusting his telemetry in order to align with the flight deck. Skywarp was in position on his right flank, in Vic formation, flying in perfect synchronization. As they approached the warship, Thundercracker switched from his encoded frequency to the general communications channel. The switch resulted in a flurry of incoming pings and status queries from the Armada. Starscream's messages were priority coded and flashed across his visual display with signifiers of the Decepticon Air Commander.

/That didn't take long./ Skywarp said dryly, over the command trine's private channel.

Thundercracker grimaced internally as he throttled down, rapidly decelerating as he crossed the threshold of the open-air hanger. He could see that a welcome party of curious airframes had already assembled—Acid Storm, Blitzwing, Dirge, and Slipstream chief among them. Schooling both his expression and his electromagnetic field with great care, Thundercracker transformed and landed on the flight deck in his bipedal mode.

"Welcome back, Thundercracker." Acid Rain greeted amiably, "Good flight?"

"The flight was fine." He replied tersely as Skywarp landed beside him.

"Prime didn't blast you out of the sky, then?" Blitzwing asked with a cackle.

Without replying to the triple-changer, Thundercracker strode towards the flight deck entrance, unceremoniously pushing through the assembled jets and Seekers. Slipstream flicked her wings expressively as he approached, her arms folded across her chest.

"You haven't sent a status report." She observed, like an accusation.

Thundercracker turned his helm minutely in order to regard her. Slipstream was ruthless and cunning, and he took nothing that she said at face value. He lifted his wings, flaring them subtly in a threat display born of sheer impatience. She raised a brow ridge, surprised but not intimidated in the least.

"I report to my trine leader, not to you." He replied coldly, optics narrowed in her direction. After the disaster that was the failed parlay, Thundercracker was not in the mood for anyone's slag—least of all, Slipstream's.

"Well, do not let me keep you from reporting to our Air Commander." She replied silkily, gesturing with a servo towards the hanger doors, "When you have the time, Lord Megatron would also like to be debriefed."

"Aww, c'mon TC, not even a hint?" Dirge wheedled, "Did they agree to it? I kind of miss the little guy."

Thundercracker could not keep the flare of annoyance out of his fields at Dirge's question. Rather than deigning to answer him, however, he pushed past the smaller jet and strode towards the hanger doors without another word. Skywarp followed behind him, his fields relaxed and unperturbed. The realization sharpened Thundercracker's annoyance to the point of genuine irritation.

Together they walked through the Nemesis in silence. Starscream pinged him for the fourth time since they had arrived, and it took a great deal of restraint to send only a wordless acknowledgement in response. It was dark and quiet as they walked, making their way deeper into the bowels of the warship. As they were still on high alert due to the defection, the corridor was illuminated by only the faint red glow of emergency lighting. They did not pass anyone as they walked towards Starscream's athenaeum, and as such, they arrived in short order. The door opened at Thundercracker's touch, and together he and Skywarp stepped into the reading room.

Starscream glanced towards them as they entered, irritation written all over his faceplates. He was sitting in a high-backed chair, surrounded by an assortment of datapads and dated tomes. As Thundercracker and Skywarp stopped in front of him, Starscream tossed the pad that he hadn't been reading onto the desk in front of him.

"Well?" Starscream demanded, his voice equally peremptory and impatient.

"Prime refused to parlay." Thundercracker said without preamble. Starscream's brow ridges rose, his faceplates twisting into an expression of disdain.

"What do you mean he refused to parlay? It's Prime."

Thundercracker lifted his pauldrons in a shrug, "I can't tell you much more than that. He was terse with his dismissal."

Starscream rolled his optics dramatically, pushing to his pedes as he stepped around the table towards them.

"Well then, what can you tell me?" Starscream drawled, his irritation softening into something like burgeoning curiosity.

"We waited until the boy was on the neural network, and then we took flight. We transmitted the request for parlay on an open channel, and Prime responded within the breem that he would consider our request. When we landed on Diego Garcia at the agreed upon time, only Prime and his Chief Medical Officer were there to receive us. I did not even have the opportunity to state Megatron's offer or conditions before Prime informed us that there would be no parlay."

By the time that Thundercracker had finished speaking, Starscream's expression had become openly contemplative. He stroked his chin with the tips of his clawed digits, before pinning Thundercracker with a long look.

"Did he give a reason?"

Thundercracker resisted the flare of indignation at the question—as though he would keep a reason for Prime's refusal from his trine leader. Without a word, he compiled his memory files into a data packet and transmitted them to Starscream, albeit with less tact than usual.

"Oh, relax. Don't get your thrusters in a knot." Starscream snorted, obviously aware of his irritation. His trine leader was silent for the space of an astrosecond as he reviewed the files, and then his expression twisted in outrage.

"What does Prime mean that 'he knows what even his senior officers do not'?" He demanded, his voice several octaves higher than normal.

Thundercracker's faceplates turned down in a frown. Although he had not been able to make sense of Prime's message, it was obvious that his words had been purposefully chosen.

"I don't know what he meant," Thundercracker admitted, "but I know that Prime was as angry as I've ever seen him."

Starscream ex-vented a loud, derisive snort, "Yes, I am sure that he strongly disapproved of Megatron's treatment of his beloved little pet."

His words were accompanied by exaggerated air quotes that caused Skywarp to chuckle loudly. Thundercracker's frown sharpened, and he let his frustration and uncertainty bleed into his fields.

"I think that there is more going on here than we realize, Starscream."

Starscream huffed in response, obviously miffed that Thundercracker was not amenable to his game. Eventually, he crossed his arms over his torso, tilting his helm as he considered his trinemate's warning.

"Well, that useless collection of scrap metal and weapons that we call a leader had better not be keeping anything from me."

"Yeah, right, Screamer. Megatron could fill his subspace with all the things that he hasn't told you." Skywarp cut in sarcastically.

"Don't call me that." Starscream snapped automatically, before he clarified, "Megatron can keep his pathetic plotting to himself, but he agreed to be forthright with me about the boy."

Thundercracker rubbed his servo over his faceplates, feeling a processor ache setting in. He had advised Starscream that the warlord was not to be trusted when Megatron had first demanded that he transfer his Creator protocols. Starscream had been confident—overconfident, Thundercracker had thought to himself—that Megatron could be controlled. After all, Starscream had reasoned, Megatron relied on Starscream's experience as a Creator to fully integrate the software into his core programming.

Now, it seemed, there was evidence to the contrary.

"What are you going to do?" Thundercracker asked at last.

Starscream tilted his helm, his expression openly thoughtful.

"I am going to do what I do best. Observe, analyze, and plan."

"You'll scheme, you mean." Skywarp put in dryly, and the indignant noise that their Air Commander made in response caused Thundercracker's lip plates to curve upwards in a smile. As the two started to bicker, Thundercracker forced himself to step away, separating himself from his trinemates' fields.

"Megatron is expecting my report. I have no desire to keep him waiting any longer than strictly necessary." He said, cycling air through his vents.

"Well, I'm glad it's not me." Skywarp said, turning to regard him with a sympathetic shrug, "He's going to be apoplectic."

"I wouldn't miss it for all the energon on this miserable mudball." Starscream agreed, "Let's go."

Thundercracker grimaced at his trine leader's enthusiasm, but he followed him out of the athenaeum without complaint. Skywarp trailed behind them at a distance, obviously reluctant to have any part of the debriefing, but equally unwilling to leave Thundercracker to his fate. The realization warmed his spark casing, and he reached out, brushing against his wingmate's signature. The resulting swell of affection from Skywarp's fields served to soothe the frustration that was broiling in Thundercracker's processors.

The athenaeum was only one deck down from the bridge, and they crossed the distance in less than a half a breem. Foot traffic was heavier nearer this part of the ship, and they ran into Barricade and Detour near the munitions storage. The two grounders turned as they passed, obviously interested in what had transpired during the parlay. Thundercracker was silent and reserved, but Starscream sauntered with the air of a mecha who knew something that they did not. The grounders wisely kept their questions to themselves.

All too soon, the large doors to the bridge slid open and they walked onto the command deck. Immediately, Thundercracker spotted Megatron standing in front of the large, clear viewing screen at the other end of the room. It was the same spot that Sam often occupied, whenever Megatron had brought him to the bridge. Somehow, Thundercracker doubted that it was a coincidence.

Megatron turned as they approached, his red optics sharp and assessing.

"Status report."

Thundercracker steeled himself, but Starscream cut in before he could speak.

"Prime won't parlay with you." He blithely supplied.

Megatron angled his helm to regard the trine commander, his optics narrowing at Starscream's flippant tone.

"Thundercracker, status report." Megatron demanded, darkly.

In lieu of a reply, Thundercracker pinged the data packet containing his memory files to the Decepticon leader. There was a brief pause as Megatron accessed the files, and then his faceplates contorted with fury. Thundercracker's fuel pump skipped a beat at the black rage in the warframe's expression, but then Megatron went very still. The Decepticon leader tilted his head, his optics becoming distant in the way that suggested he was reviewing the memory files with greater care.

Then, Megatron began to laugh. It was a loud, rolling rumble that echoed ominously around the bridge. The Decepticon leader was still laughing when he turned his back to them, moving closer to the large viewing screen with his servos clasped behind him. Thundercracker glanced at Starscream uncertainly, only to see that his trine leader had a similarly unsettled look on his faceplates.

"I will enjoy seeing your dark side, Orion." Megatron murmured, as though to himself, "I will enjoy it very much."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After Optimus left, Sam sat on his couch in the quiet of his apartment for a long time. He reflected on all that the Autobot leader had said, and considered what it meant for him as a ward of Cybertron and a Prime. As though he could sense Sam's need for privacy, Bumblebee had brushed against his mind once, affectionate and understanding, and then he had given Sam his space. So, he sat there in silence, the throw blanket discarded on the couch beside him, as he poured over his thoughts.

Eventually, his bodily needs made themselves known and Sam grudgingly pushed to his feet. Stepping around the couch, he made his way into the bedroom and then the bathroom. He braced himself before snapping on the light, but his caution proved to be unnecessary. Someone had already cleaned up, removing the shattered glass and wiping away the blood. Sam glanced over the sink, only to see a large, empty space where the mirror had been. Whether they had not been able to replace it yet or had opted not to do so, Sam couldn't say. He stared at the wall for a long moment, before sighing inwardly and stepping into the room.

After Sam had finished using the toilet and washing his hands, he glanced at the shower considerately. Although he had showered that morning—God, had it only been that morning?—he felt sweaty and gross. He opened the closet and saw that someone had washed his bath linens. Abruptly coming to a decision, Sam pulled out a face cloth and turned on the faucet. He shimmied out of his clothes and, waiting only long enough for the water to become tolerable, he stepped into the shower. He washed slowly, taking comfort in the familiar water pressure and how he knew exactly where to turn the gauge to achieve the temperature that he liked. When he finished, he stood under the stream of water with his eyes closed, letting it wash over his head and shoulders. He wasn't sure for how long he stayed there, but by the time he climbed out of the shower, his fingers were pruney and the air was thick with steam.

Sam dried off quickly, pausing only to turn on the bathroom fan, before he made his way into the bedroom. When he opened his closet, he saw that his clothes had been replaced with smaller sizes. A glance down confirmed that his old clothing had been boxed up and stored in the back of the closet. He made a mental note to find out who to thank—it was probably Carter, he thought—before he pulled out a pair of boxers and sleeping pants.

Sam moved over to the bed, letting the towel drop to the floor as he pulled on his clothes. After he was dressed, he tossed the towel into the laundry basket and made his way back into the living room. As he sat down again, he pulled the throw blanket over his shoulders, lying his head against the arm of the couch. He only meant to rest his eyes, but he was exhausted from the day's events and relaxed from the shower. He didn't even realize that he had drifted off when a warm hand came to rest against the side of his face.

"Sam." Bumblebee murmured softly, "Wake up."

Sam squinted his eyes open, blinking up at the holoform who had crouched down in front of him.

"Bee? Whaddya want?"

Bumblebee's expression warmed, his hand sliding up Sam's face to card through his hair.

"Ratchet's threatening to send you back to the medical bay if you don't get something to eat."

Sam groaned, pulling the blanket up to his nose, "I'm tired. I'll eat when I get up."

"If you go to sleep now, the mess will be closed when you get up." Bumblebee replied patiently, "Come on, you can go back to sleep afterwards."

Bumblebee tugged the blanket down, nudging at him gently but insistently to sit up. Sam grumbled under his breath, but otherwise acquiesced without protest. Bee brought him the tray that Optimus had left on the coffee table, nudging at him insistently as Sam frowned down at the cold lo mein.

"The Internet says that lo mein is perfectly edible as leftovers." Bumblebee supplied helpfully.

Sam snorted softly, but he started in on his meal all the same. True to Bumblebee's word, lo mein wasn't terrible when eaten cold. When he had finished the better part of his dinner, Sam glanced up at the holoform.

"What time is it?"

"Just after seven."

Sam nodded in response, twirling his fork to gather up the remains of the egg noodles, "Did I miss anything interesting?"

"Define interesting." Bumblebee replied, amusement in his voice, "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe reported that sand has drifted over the southern access road, so that'll be cleaned up tomorrow. The Indian Meteorological Department has advised the base that the remnants of tropical disturbance 11 will arrive by Wednesday, which will bring several days of thunderstorms and high winds. Other than that? Not much."

Sam chuckled quietly. The ability of his life to seesaw from extremes of heart-stopping trauma to mind-numbing monotony never ceased to amaze him.

"Have you heard anything more about Knock Out?" He asked, after a moment.

Bumblebee tilted his head considerately, "Ultra Magnus has reported that he is being less belligerent. He didn't refuse his rations today."

Sam glanced up at the holoform with a frown knitting his brow, "That's good, I guess."

"Better than the alternative, certainly." Bumblebee agreed, "Drift seems optimistic."

When Sam finished the rest of his meal, he brought the tray over to the garbage by the door. He scraped the remains of the lo mein into the trash, along with the plastic cutlery and used napkins, before setting the tray on the side table. He eyed the boxed leftovers from lunch and, after a moment's consideration, added them to the trash. There was no way that he was going to eat them before breakfast, and he didn't have a fridge.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he glanced in Bumblebee's direction.

"Hey, how much money do I have in my account?"

Bumblebee tilted his head, chirping at him considerately before he replied, "Approximately $200,000 USD."

Sam stiffened from head to toe, slowly turning to stare at the holoform in stunned disbelief.

"Wh—what?" He spluttered, barely able to get the word out.

Bumblebee blinked at him, as though taken aback by his shock, "The average annual salary of a United Nations Ambassador is $180,000 USD. Optimus adjusted for your education and experience, and then deducted your living expenses."

Sam stared at him in disbelief, willing the holoform to break into a teasing smile or follow up with a joke. When neither of those things happened, Sam felt his knees go wobbly.

"Holy shit." Sam whispered weakly, "I think I need to sit down."

Bumblebee's expression sharpened with concern, but Sam waved him off as the holoform crossed the room towards him. As soon as Sam's knees felt less like jelly, he pinned him with an incredulous stare.

"Jesus Christ, Bumblebee. I wanted to know whether I could afford a bar fridge—not a fucking house." Sam managed, aghast, "No, it has to go. Right now. Tonight."

The concern on Bumblebee's face deepened, "Sam, you are our Ambassador—"

"I met with two people two years ago!" Sam snapped, distantly aware of the shrill edge to his voice, "I won't accept it."

Bumblebee's eyes flicked over his face, evidentially taking in the way that Sam was breathing harshly and his cheeks were flushed, before he brought his hands up to squeeze Sam's shoulders.

"Alright, Sam." Bumblebee placated, soothingly, "I'll take care of it."

Sam narrowed his eyes at the holoform, searching for some sign of duplicity in his expression. In response, Bumblebee brushed against his mind, and Sam felt some of the tension release from his shoulders at the note of promise that suffused the touch. As the rigidity in Sam's posture slowly relaxed, Bumblebee's thumbs continued to rub soothing circles into the skin of his neck.

"Thanks." Sam murmured, relaxing into the caress.

Bumblebee hummed understandingly, stepping forward until they stood almost chest-to-chest with one another. The feeling of closeness, of being corralled against him, was surprisingly comforting. Sam let himself pitch forward until his forehead pressed into the junction of Bumblebee's neck and shoulder. He stayed there like that, breathing softly, as his bonded gentled him. Sam didn't even have the energy to feel self-conscious—it simply felt too nice.

After a long moment, Bumblebee pressed a chaste kiss against Sam's temple.

"Your parents are getting ready to bridge in."

Bumblebee's words punctured the warm fog of dopamine in which he had been floating, and Sam came back to himself with a start.

"What? Now?" He demanded, suddenly wide awake.

"It's just before seven in the morning in Arizona. Your mother returned Carter's phone call an hour ago. She was… insistent that we bridge them over immediately."

Sam stared at him in disbelief for the space of a heartbeat before he groaned.

"Carter is going to murder me in my sleep." He grumbled as he turned around and sprinted into his bedroom. Bumblebee followed behind him, chuckling quietly, as Sam yanked open his closet. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a long sleeved Henley, quickly getting dressed before toeing on his sneakers. He turned to look at Bumblebee expectantly as he raked his fingers through his hair.

"Do I look okay?"

Bumblebee's face softened in warm affection.

"You look good, Sam."

The corners of Sam's mouth quirked in wry amusement at the thrum of sincerity that he could feel from the scout, "Thanks, Bee. Can we go now? I want to be there when they arrive."

Bumblebee nodded agreeably, gesturing towards the front door. Sam strode into the living room, pausing only to grab his cell phone and badge, before making his way out of the apartment. As he stepped into the corridor, Sam pulled the lanyard over his head—and was blindsided by the way the simple, familiar motion made him feel at home again. He pulled the door shut behind them, taking a moment to get his emotions under control, before falling into step beside Bumblebee. He could tell by the understanding look on the holoform's face that he hadn't missed Sam's moment of happy reminiscence.

They walked briskly as they made their way through North Quad. Although Sam returned the nods and friendly greetings of the people that they passed, his attention was focused on getting to the bridge entrance as quickly as possible. When they finally stepped through the large red doors, Sam was relieved but not surprised to see Bumblebee waiting in his alt mode. He flashed an appreciative smile as he stepped towards the Camaro, whose driver's side door opened as he approached.

"Hello gorgeous." Sam murmured, a grin warming his face as he smoothed his hand over the yellow bonnet, "Fancy seeing you here."

Bumblebee's engine revved loudly in response, a sound that reverberated up and down the bridge, drawing curious glances from passersby. Sam's grin broadened in undisguised amusement and he climbed into the cabin without another word. As the door shut behind him, the lights on the dash and the multi-media interfaced brightened to life. A moment later, Bumblebee shifted into gear and accelerated towards East Quad.

As they drove, Sam thought about the reunion that was quickly approaching, and something suddenly occurred to him.

"Did Optimus tell them anything? About me?" Sam asked, directing his question towards the dash out of habit, "When he told them about what happened?"

"Optimus told them about the Allspark energy that is radiating from your cells, although he did not inform them about the consequences it has had on your physiology. Neither has he told them about your on-lining or about our bond."

Sam tilted his head, suddenly feeling uncertain.

"What am I allowed to tell them?"

At once, Bumblebee's presence brushed comfortingly across his mind, their bond-space swelling with his quiet reassurance.

"They are your secrets, Sam. You may tell them as much or as little as you like."

Sam chewed the inside of his lip, his feeling of uncertainty deepening at the scout's words.

"But it's not just my secret, Bee. It involves the both of us."

Bumblebee's mental presence brightened with a complicated mixture of emotions. There was affection and reassurance, which Sam could make out readily enough, but he had to focus to understand the confusing thrum of curiosity-anticipation-resolve that he felt.

"I appreciate your consideration, Sam, but they are your parents. You should tell them whatever you want them to know."

Sam sighed gustily, raking his hands through his hair again.

"You say that now, but I have no idea how they'll react."

"Having come to know Ron and Judy over the last four years, I think that they will be shocked at first—angry and afraid, perhaps—but they love you. They will come to accept whatever you tell them in time."

The scout's words were delivered in a confident manner, as though he was certain that everything would work out all right in the end. It made Sam's chest ache with appreciation and affection.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you." Sam murmured, reaching out to stroke his thumb across the Autobot emblem set in the steering wheel, "Thanks Bee."

Bumblebee chirped at him good-naturedly, slowing to a stop as the large blue doors of East Quad opened in front of them. As soon as the way was clear, Bumblebee accelerated forward again, making his way deeper into the research annex.

"Why is the ground bridge in East Quad? Why not West Quad?"

Bumblebee trilled at him softly, an undulating sound that was vaguely reminiscent of a shrug.

"Wheeljack and Perceptor manage the ground bridge controls whenever there is an activation. Otherwise, I can see no particular reason for one location over the other."

Wheeljack's name caused something indefinable to wedge itself in Sam's chest, and he sat back against the driver's seat with a shaky exhale.

"Wheeljack… is he okay? Did he make it through the battle alright?"

There was a protracted pause, one that stretched for a fraction of a second too long to be casual, before Bumblebee replied.

"Wheeljack is fine. He retreated to Cust Point as you commanded, where he stayed until Optimus gave the all-clear."

The too-casual levity in his tone caused Sam to glance at the dashboard in surprise.

"What's that all about?"

Sam felt a flash of irritation—frustration?—across their bond before Bumblebee replied, "I don't want to talk about it."

Sam's eyebrows rose of their own accord. He couldn't remember the scout ever brushing him off before. He was tempted to argue, to demand an answer to his question, but he didn't. Instead, he nodded faintly at the dashboard and fell silent, staring out the windshield as Bumblebee made his way through the quad.

Eventually, Bumblebee turned into a large, airy hanger located a short distance from Wheeljack's lab. He recognized the elegant half-arch of the ground bridge positioned in the center of the room. The ground bridge controls were located a short distance away, behind a transparent pane of blast-proof paneling. Perceptor stood at the complicated-looking workstation, his servos flying over the keyboard in front of him. As Bumblebee rolled to a stop in front of the ground bridge, Perceptor glanced in their direction, giving them a friendly wave. On the opposite side of the arch were Optimus, Ironhide, and Smokescreen, standing in their bi-pedal modes. Sam could see Dave Carter standing between them and the ground bridge, visible through the stream of soldiers and support staff moving around the archway.

Sam pushed open Bumblebee's door and climbed out of the cabin. As soon as he was clear, Bumblebee rolled back several paces and transformed into his bi-pedal mode. Sam glanced up at him with an anxious smile before walking towards the group assembled in front of the ground bridge.

"Sam, hello!" Dave greeted, looking composed and well-groomed despite the late hour, "Welcome to the show."

Sam smiled, genuinely pleased to see him.

"Hey Dave. I'm sorry if my mother has been driving you crazy."

Dave grinned in good-natured humor, "It's nothing that I can't handle."

"Give it a few days—you'll be begging for mercy." Sam replied, wryly.

Carter's eyes widened in surprise, and then he threw back his head and laughed. The sound seemed to draw Optimus' attention, for he stepped towards them a moment later.

"Sam." Optimus rumbled, lowering to one knee in front of him, "I am glad to see you again so soon."

"Hey Optimus. Glad to see you too." Sam murmured, reaching out a hand to pat his large blue greave affectionately.

Behind Optimus, Smokescreen stiffened from helm to pede, his optics widening minutely. The red, blue, and silver mechanoid turned to look at Ironhide, as though in expectation. The weapon's specialist glanced back at him, his expression uninterested and only just polite, before lifting his pauldrons in a shrug. Sam frowned faintly at the strange interaction, but before he could ask for an explanation, Perceptor called out across the hanger.

"Lennox has sent a ready-check, requesting a return bridge. With your permission, Prime."

Optimus glanced towards the scientist, before straightening to his full height.

"Permission granted." He rumbled.

Sam glanced up at Optimus, shifting from foot to foot as sudden nervousness twisted in his gut.

"Is there anything you don't want them to know?" He asked, softly.

Optimus glanced down at him, as though in surprise.

"Use your best judgement, Sam. I trust your discretion." Optimus replied.

Sam nodded faintly, turning to look at the ground bridge. Perceptor's servos flew over the keyboard in front of him, as he chirped quietly to himself. Minutes later, the familiar blue-green whirlpool of light and color exploded into life in the archway. Sam shivered at the sight of it, strange and beautiful and alien. He barely had a moment to brace himself, his heart thundering uncomfortably in his chest, before Lennox was stepping through the ground bridge. Before Sam could wave hello, Lennox turned to face the archway, walking backwards several paces. In the next moment, his mother and father stepped through the ground bridge together. Sam barely had time to reflect on the fact that they looked exactly the same as he remembered, before they turned towards him in perfect unison.

"Oh, sweetheart. Look at you." His mother whispered, striding towards him with her arms outstretched. Sam stepped forward automatically, letting her pull him into a hug without complaint. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, could feel the faint tremble in her body as she held him.

"Hey Ma." He murmured into her hair, "I missed you."

She did not reply, except to squeeze him tighter. His father stopped beside them, lifting a beefy hand to clasp the back of Sam's head. Sam turned to look at him, smiling faintly. His father's face was pale and flushed, his eyes dark with emotion, but he did not cry. None of them cried. His parents held him in reverent, thankful silence, and Sam allowed himself to feel safe in their embrace.

"Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, welcome back to Diego Garcia." Optimus intoned respectfully, after an interminable time. As though his words were a release, his mother pulled back an arm's length, raising her hands cup the sides of Sam's face.

"Thank-you, Optimus." She replied, without looking up at him, "We appreciate your flexibility."

Optimus inclined his head minutely, "You already know my personal assistant, Dave Carter. He will be responsible for settling you in and answering any questions that you may have during your stay."

"Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, I am glad to see you under these better circumstances." Dave greeted, stepping up to them, "May I show you to your accommodations?"

Sam glanced at the agent in surprise.

"Where are they staying?" He asked. His unspoken question, 'how long as they staying', was implied by his tone.

"There has been an apartment set aside for their use in the Officer's Section of North Quad." Dave answered promptly, "They will have access to the base for the duration of their week-long visit."

Before Sam could reply, a soldier stepped forward and deposited two large duffle bags on the floor beside his father. Behind the soldier, Will was watching them with an intensity of expression that Sam couldn't identify. He caught the major's gaze and smiled at him in greeting. Will nodded back, stiff and formal, before turning to stride in Perceptor's direction. Sam frowned faintly, glancing over his shoulder at Bumblebee. The yellow scout whistled at him softly, and Sam understood at once that it was not a topic of conversation for the present moment.

The rest of the evening passed by in a dizzying blur. Sam introduced his parents to Bumblebee's holoform (which was met with an exclamation of delighted surprise from his mother and a grunt of acknowledgement from his father), and then they made their way back to North Quad. As they walked together towards the Officer's Section, Sam carrying one duffle bag and his father the other, Carter chatted amiably about the policies and procedures that his parents would be expected to follow—most notably, that they were required to be escorted any time they wished to leave North Quad. Carter also provided his parents with temporary visitor's badges and two identical looking cell phones.

"They're for use on the base, since your mobiles were confiscated prior to bridging over." Carter explained, "You will find both my number and Sam's number among the other pre-programmed contacts. Please keep your phones and your badges on your person at all times."

His parents' accommodations were a mirror image to his own apartment, right down to the mass produced floral artwork on the walls. The biggest surprise was their proximity; they were five doors down from Sam's residence on the opposite side of the corridor. As his mother moved around the room, unpacking their duffle bags and commenting on the accommodations ("Ron, they have a Keurig. Isn't that thoughtful?"), his father sat in silence, his hand gripping the arm of the couch until his knuckles were white.

After his mother was satisfied that everything was shipshape and Bristol fashion, Carter asked whether they would like to head to the mess hall. As Sam learned, much to his chagrin, his mother had insisted that they be allowed to bridge over immediately, even before they had eaten breakfast. Carter's question evoked the first full sentence from his father since he had arrived, a gruff agreement that something to eat would be in order.

They walked to the mess hall together with Carter leading the way. His parents trailed closely behind the agent—likely so that his mother wouldn't have to raise her voice to continue badgering him with questions—and Sam and Bumblebee followed behind. They arrived at the mess ten minutes before closing, and his parents followed Carter as he led them over to the galley. The large room was almost entirely empty, except for the cashier and the cleaning crew. His parents took their meals to go—an assortment of pastries, a fruit tray, and coffee—and then they were making their way back through North Quad towards the residences.

When they arrived at his parent's apartment, Carter took his leave with a reminder to contact him if they needed anything. Apparently revived a bit by the coffee, his father thanked the agent sincerely before pushing open the door to the residence. Sam and Bumblebee trailed after his parents, letting the door shut behind them. When Bumblebee smiled politely and suggested that he leave in order to give them some time alone together, his mother clucked her tongue at him.

"Nonsense, Bumblebee. With you here, it's just like it was in California, before—well… you know."

Sam managed to hide his wince at her words. Although it was possible that his mother didn't want to turn Bumblebee out, Sam suspected that she was anxious about the confrontation that would inevitably occur when they were finally alone together.

Frankly, Sam didn't blame her.

So it was that Sam found himself on the couch, sitting next to his mother as she held his hand loosely in her lap, as they watched late night television. His father sat in the armchair next to the reading nook, just as he had at their suburban home in Tranquility. It was comfortable and domestic and, if Sam didn't think about it too closely, just as it always had been between them.

It was just after three o'clock in the morning, with his eyes burning from exhaustion, that Sam felt the Creator bond shift impatiently. A moment later, Ratchet's voice cut through his mind.

/You're minutes away from passing out. Go to bed./

Sam struggled to keep his expression neutral, but he could not suppress the flare of annoyance that he felt at the medic's bossy, assuming tone.

/I haven't seen my parents in two years./ Sam replied, his mental voice only just polite, /I'll go to bed when they do./

/Your parents are operating on Mountain Standard Time, you are not./ The medic replied immediately, /Go to sleep./

Sam glanced at Bumblebee, his face twisting with genuine irritation. Apparently aware of his inner argument, the holoform smiled at him sympathetically. Suddenly mindful of the tender way his mother was absentmindedly stroking her thumb over his palm, Sam settled back against the couch and gave her hand a squeeze. As soon as he did so, Ratchet's presence brightened forebodingly.

/Don't make me tell your mother./ Ratchet threatened.

Sam stiffened, flushing all the way to his hairline. His mother glanced over, concern knitting the space between her eyebrows.

/You wouldn't dare./ Sam snapped, with more confidence than he felt.

/Oh?/

/I swear to God, Ratchet—/

Sam's only warning was a brightening of intention through their bond-space, and a moment later Ratchet's holoform materialized between the coffee table and the television. His parents reacted predictably—his mother jumped in her seat, giving a startled cry of surprise, and his father spilled the remains of his second coffee all over the carpet.

"Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, it is a pleasure to finally meet you." Ratchet greeted, matter-of-factly, "My name is Ratchet, and I am your son's physician."

"Ratchet!" Sam snapped, pushing to his feet, but the medic pinned him with a glower that could have flash-frozen ionized plasma.

"Sit down before you fall down." Ratchet ordered brusquely, before turning his attention towards Sam's parents, "I am sorry to interrupt. I have come to take your son back to his apartment."

"What, why?" His mother asked, her expression equal parts confused and concerned, "Is something wrong?"

"It is just after three o'clock in the morning, and Sam requires his rest." Ratchet replied. The note of finality in his tone ignited Sam's temper, and he glared hot human murder at the holoform.

"Ratchet, don't you fucking—"

"Samuel James Witwicky!" His mother scolded sharply, rounding on him in abject displeasure, "You watch your mouth!"

Sam found that a most remarkable thing happened then—he was instantaneously teleported back in time to when he was sixteen years old and living under his parents' roof. He blushed all the way to the roots of his hair, as he stammered an apology to his mother.

"Judy, don't gripe at him. He's twenty-one years old." His father cut in dryly, bending over to pick up his coffee cup.

"I don't care if he lives to be a hundred and twenty-one, as long as I have breath in my body, I am still his mother!"

His father glanced at him in sympathy, shrugging in a universal gesture of 'sorry, I tried' before making his way into the bathroom to find a towel. His mother pushed herself to her feet, glancing towards Ratchet.

"Thank-you Doctor, I'll take care of it."

Ratchet inclined his head in acknowledgement before his holoform disappeared a moment later. Sam didn't even have the opportunity to swear at the medic over their bond before his mother snapped her fingers impatiently.

"Let's go. Right now." She commanded, serious and stern. Sam surprised himself by meekly following behind her without a word of complaint. Within five minutes, he was sitting on the edge of his bed as his mother rooted through his closet, pulling out a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt. She tossed the clothing down on the mattress beside him before crossing the room to stand in front of him. She bent down, kissing him gently on the crown of his head, as she reached up to pat his cheek affectionately.

"Go to bed, Sammy. I will see you in the morning."

Sam grasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Okay, Ma." He murmured, "See you tomorrow."

She switched off the overhead light, turning to smile at him from his bedroom doorway, before she walked away. A moment later, Sam heard the front door open and shut, and then he was alone. He heaved a sigh, shaking his head at the abrupt turn of events, as he pulled back the blankets and laid down. Sam barely had the chance to reach towards the winter-white glow in his mind before Bumblebee's holoform appeared at his bedside. His bonded smiled at him in open affection, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss across his lips.

"Are you sure it's Carter who's going to be begging for mercy after a few days?" He teased.

Sam huffed a soft laugh, lifting the blankets to allow the holoform to lay down beside him. Bumblebee complied, settling down so that they were lying chest to chest, before he draped his arm over Sam's hip. As Sam's eyes fluttered closed, Bumblebee traced a familiar pattern into the skin of Sam's back, over and over again.

Bumblebee's touch, firm and gentle, was the last thing that Sam felt before he drifted to sleep only moments later.

Chapter 18:

The first time that Sam woke up, he rolled over with a grunt and buried his face into the pillows. He had the vague memory of urgency and purpose, hazy relicts from his fading dreams, but he drifted back to sleep before he could reflect on it. The next time that Sam awoke, he felt warm and heavy in the way that only a deep, uninterrupted sleep could achieve. He shifted against the mattress, stretching his legs until they trembled, before tucking a knee up to his chest. The motion made him come to an abrupt and surprising realization—he had an erection, for the first time upon waking in almost two years. He slanted his eyes open, equal parts interested and relieved, when he caught sight of Bumblebee's holoform. Bee was lying on his side, between Sam and the bedside table, with the blankets draped loosely around his hips. As Sam cracked a sleepy smile at him, he noticed for the first time that the holoform was still clothed.

"Good morning." Bumblebee murmured, returning his smile, "Well, technically, good afternoon."

"What time is it?" Sam asked curiously, his voice rough from disuse.

"Almost one."

Sam rolled onto his back, yawning so hard that his jaw cracked, before he scrubbed his good hand over his face. He turned to look at the holoform, reaching out to tug at the neckline of his shirt.

"It's considered bad manners to wear your street clothes to bed." He teased.

The holoform tilted his head, something like confusion flickering across his face.

"These aren't clothes, Sam."

Sam laughed aloud, rolling onto his side again so that they lay facing each other.

"I know, but I've been told that I'm prone to good-natured teasing." Sam replied meaningfully, as he propped himself up onto his elbow. It only took a second for comprehension to spread across the holoform's face.

"First Aid?" He guessed.

"First Aid." Sam agreed, grinning, "What other stories have you been spreading about me?"

Bumblebee's expression did something complicated as his good humor visibly faded away. The sight of it made Sam's stomach clench with anxiety and he shifted forward until his lips were inches from Bumblebee's mouth.

"What did I tell you about brooding in bed?"

The corners of Bumblebee's mouth quirked up, but he did not move to close the distance between them.

"That it is both attractive and desirable?"

"Swing and a miss." Sam laughed, reaching out a hand to nudge against the holoform's shoulder. Bumblebee obliged him, rolling onto his back without complaint. As soon as he was settled against the mattress, Sam threw a leg over the holoform's body before pushing up to straddle him across his thighs. The look of curious expectation on Bumblebee's face flashed into wide-eyed surprise, and Sam was enormously gratified to have caught his bonded off-guard. He reached out, brushing his fingertips over the hallow of the holoform's throat, before he trailed them down his chest.

"You told me once that you enjoy it when I touch you." Sam murmured, "How much, exactly?"

Bumblebee's expression sharpened, becoming voracious.

"It is difficult to explain." He replied slowly, raising his hands to settle against Sam's hips. His eyes flicked to Sam's boxers, the intensity of his expression becoming deeper still and more pronounced.

[Explicit sexual content has been removed. For the full version of this chapter, please refer to AO3, username: arabis]

"About that. Your mother has been calling you for the last twenty minutes." Bumblebee replied, "I sent her a text message from you to say that you were just getting up."

Bumblebee's words were like a bucket of cold water, and he groaned as he pushed up into a sitting position.

"I better go shower. She'll be knocking down the door before too long."

"Go on, then." Bee agreed, smiling at him, "I'll text her to let her know you won't be long."

Sam smiled back at him, before shuffling to the edge of the mattress and climbing to his feet. As he made his way into the bathroom, he glanced over his shoulder towards the bed. Bumblebee's holoform laid in the mess of sheets and blankets, clothed once again, with a thoroughly content look on his face. The sight made Sam's heart flutter with a complicated twist of emotions, and without second-guessing himself, he pushed the swell of it across their bond. The answering thrum of affection-satisfaction-mine stayed with Sam the entire time that he was in the shower.

By the time that Sam was brushing his teeth a short while later, he felt a warning nudge from across their bond. He understood at once that his mother had arrived. He huffed a heavy sigh, spitting the toothpaste into the sink and rinsing out his mouth. He wrapped his towel around his waist, holding it with one hand, before making his way back into the bedroom. As he crossed the entryway towards his closet, his mother called out to him.

"Good morning, Sammy. Did you sleep well?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see that his mother was sitting on the couch, her arm resting against the outside back as she turned to regard him. He felt his cheeks heat, and he ducked his head as he made his way to the closet.

"Ma, do you mind? I'm not even dressed." He complained in embarrassment, rooting through his closet one-handed.

"I brought you some breakfast. I thought we could go for a walk after you've had something to eat." She called back, as though he hadn't spoken, "Ratchet suggested we visit… is it Eclipse Point? Near the souvenir shop."

Sam stuck his head around the corner, staring at her in mounting exasperation.

"When were you talking to Ratchet?" He asked.

"Oh, we spent part of the morning together." She replied, oblivious to the way that Sam winced his eyes shut, "He showed us around the Hive—honestly, what a strange name for a military base—and then he introduced us to his employees."

Sam stepped back around the corner, pulling on his clothes as quickly as he was able.

"His employees?" He asked loudly, yanking his shirt over his head.

"Hoist and First Aid." Bumblebee replied, an edge of amusement in his voice. Sam sighed, leaning against the doorframe as he pulled on his socks.

"They aren't his employees Ma, they're his subordinates." He corrected dryly, making his way into the living room. She stood up as he approached, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a hug, before pushing him towards the couch. As Sam sat down, his eyebrows rose to his hairline of their own accord. His mother had brought a cafeteria tray heaping with an assortment of food and drink—fruit, pastries, pancakes and bacon, yogurt, juice, and a carton of milk.

"Ma, I can't eat all this." He spluttered.

"Ratchet said that you didn't get enough to eat yesterday." She said, patting his shoulder before she made her way into his bedroom. He twisted to watch her go, feeling equal parts flabbergasted and resigned.

"What are you doing?"

"I noticed your dirty clothes are piling up." She said, as though that explained everything. He blinked at her in confusion, before he realized her intention. He pushed himself to his feet, quickly stepping around the couch and walking into the bedroom. His mother had already dug out a pile of dirty clothes and bath linens from the floor of the closet.

"Ma!" Sam protested, aghast, "You don't have to wash my laundry!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Agent Carter showed us the laundromat this morning."

Sam felt his cheeks heat in a combination of exasperation and embarrassment. He took a moment to compose his voice, before he tried again, "Ma, you're here to visit, not to do housework."

"I can do both." She said, glancing at him with a glimmer of disapproval, "Go eat your breakfast."

Before Sam could protest, his mother gathered the dirty laundry in her arms and then dropped it onto the bed. In the next moment, she was pulling the sheets off the mattress with quick, efficient tugs. Once the sheets were free, she gathered up the bundle—bedding, clothing, and all—and carried it towards the front door.

"That breakfast better be finished by the time I get back." She called over her shoulder, and then she walked out of the apartment. As the door shut behind her, Sam turned to look helplessly at Bumblebee. The holoform was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and an easy-going smile on his face. When Sam's stare turned pointed, Bee raised his shoulders in a cheerful shrug.

"You heard the lady." He said, inclining his head towards his breakfast tray, "Time to eat."

Sam rolled his eyes, but walked over and sat down on the couch all the same.

"I don't know whether to be worried or relieved that Mom and Dad spent the morning with Ratchet." Sam grumbled, taking a drink, "On one hand, I figured they wouldn't leave North Quad their entire visit, on the other hand, no good can come of my mother and Ratchet getting to know one another."

Bumblebee laughed softly, pushing off the wall to cross the space between them.

"They are both very determined." Bumblebee replied, diplomatically.

Sam quirked a smile around a mouthful of banana, "That's one word for it. You could also use stubborn, single-minded, and overbearing."

Although the Creator-bond remained still and quiet, Sam was sure that he hadn't imagined the scoff of disapproval in the back of his mind. The sensation made him laugh quietly as he reached for the yogurt.

Serves you right. He sent, as loudly as he could. The admonishing rap that followed a moment later was entirely worth it, Sam decided with a grin.

Chapter 19:

Thundercracker adjusted his telemetry, banking 20 degrees west and pushing power to his thrusters. His stabilizers protested the abrupt change in speed and trajectory, but his secondary processors quickly compensated. Fifty thousand feet below him, the verdant lowlands of the Argentinian Pampas were rapidly transitioning into the rugged Sierras Pampeanas—lush green vegetation falling away, replaced with scrub brush and cacti along the eastern skirts of the small mountain chain. The late afternoon was cool and clear, with winds out of the north and negligible wind shear. Although Thundercracker had limited experience flying on planets with such calamitous atmospheres, the conditions that afternoon were perfect for patrol.

Unfortunately, Thundercracker was in no mood to enjoy it.

He flicked his wing flaps in frustration, ignoring the thrum of disapproval from Starscream. Ever since they had spoken with Megatron on the bridge of the Nemesis, Thundercracker had been unable to think of anything else. The entire interaction confounded his processors. The Seeker had expected Megatron to be enraged, perhaps even violent. He had not expected the warlord's dark amusement or the uncharacteristic way that he had spoken about the Autobot leader. After mega-cycles of contemplation, Thundercracker was forced to admit that Megatron's tone had been almost fond.

He banked again, forced to adjust his telemetry for the third time as a result of his distraction. Immediately, his visual display informed him of an incoming ping from the Decepticon Air Commander. Inwardly, he sighed.

/You don't need to ping me, Starscream. I know./

/Take my position. You are clearly in no mind to fly point./ His trine mate replied, words overlaid with signifiers of anger and derision.

Thundercracker grimaced, but he dutifully banked and twisted in an aerial maneuver that had him assume the right flank position across from Skywarp. Starscream settled into place as trine leader, his stabilizers less than a dozen meters from Thundercracker's nose cone. Skywarp pinged him a wordless pulse of sympathy, but he did not respond. No longer in point position, Thundercracker relegated his telemetry protocols to his secondary processor, and focused instead on the issue at hand.

No matter how often Thundercracker replayed his memory files of the failed parlay, he could not make sense of the Decepticon leader's reaction. Prime had been cold and standoffish in a way that Thundercracker had never seen before. To the best of his recollection, he could not remember a time when such a challenge to the authority of the Lord High Commander had not been met with swift and brutal violence.

/We are almost a klik off of our flight plan./ Starscream snapped, the glow of his afterburners brightening from red-orange to incandescent yellow as he sharply accelerated.

Thundercracker adjusted his velocity to match his trine leader's without comment. He had understood perfectly well that the observation had been an insult. As the western edge of the Sierras Pampeanas fell away beneath them, the Chilean Andes became visible in the distance. The fact that they were quickly approaching the Nemesis caused Thundercracker's fuel tanks to roil with uncertainty.

When Prime had originally agreed to parlay, his reply had been overlaid with signifiers of stoic calm and acceptance. When they had landed at Diego Garcia, however, the Prime had kept his fields tight against his frame, betraying nothing of his mood. Why had Prime welcomed them so readily, only to dismiss them with such prejudice less than a solar cycle later? It was clear that something had changed between the time that the Seekers had initially contacted the Autobots and when they had landed at the airfield. Thundercracker had a strong suspicion that it had to do with Prime's personal message to Megatron—and worse, he was certain that it had to do with Sam.

Yet despite himself, he could not reason it out. If Knock Out, Deadlock, and Ambulon had defected, as Soundwave reported, then the Autobots would certainly have access to their memory files. The Prime would have known everything there was to know by the time that they had initially contacted the Autobots.

Thundercracker's spark clenched in its casing, his uncertainty deepening to the point of anxiety. The only way that Prime could have garnered additional information about Sam's captivity would have been from Sam himself. Yet he was certain that Megatron had not abused the boy—Knock Out would have seen the physical evidence of it. When Thundercracker had visited him in the medical bay, Sam had been pale and distraught, but otherwise he seemed none the worse for wear. That left the possibility that Megatron had told him something, threatened him perhaps, but what could Megatron have possibly said to cause the Autobot leader to refuse parlay?

As they approached the Nemesis, Thundercracker caught sight of Megatron's sleek black alt mode as he lifted off the flight deck. The warframe had resumed his preferred form of a Cybertronian jet, having temporarily adopted an F-22 alt mode in order to transport the boy from Diego Garcia. The Decepticon leader streaked passed them on his way north, assuming his leg of the patrol. Thundercracker's train of thought was temporarily interrupted as they went through arrival protocols, and a moment later, they landed in the open-air hanger.

As soon as Starscream transformed, he rounded on Thundercracker with narrowed optics.

"What was that?" He demanded, hands on his hip struts, "I've seen sparklings with better precision flying."

Thundercracker resisted the urge to roll his optics at the exaggeration, but Starscream wasn't finished.

"I won't have such sloppiness in my trine, Thundercracker." Starscream snapped, "It's unbecoming of your station."

Thundercracker became aware of the curious glances directed their way by the few Seekers and Jets that were working on the flight deck. He resisted the urge to bristle at the fact that Starscream dared to dress him down in public, well aware that his humiliation was the goal. Stiffly, he crossed an arm over his chassis and bowed deeply at the waist.

"Forgive me, Air Commander. It will not happen again."

"See that it does not." Starscream replied coldly with a cant of his wings. Skywarp shifted from pede to pede beside him, obviously uncomfortable. Without waiting to be dismissed, Thundercracker pivoted sharply and strode towards the large doors at the opposite end of the flight deck. As he crossed the hanger, he received a notification of an incoming ping on an encrypted channel from Skywarp. He shunted it aside without acknowledgement.

Thundercracker's mind was a whirlwind of conjecture as he made his way deeper into the ship. Starscream had been single-minded and short tempered ever since the debriefing. The Air Commander was also certain that Megatron was keeping things from him, but unlike Thundercracker, Starscream was not convinced that it had anything to do with the boy. Although Thundercracker had tried, in his roundabout way, to urge his trine mate to investigate further, Starscream seemed content to observe as the fallout of the failed parlay played itself out.

He flicked his wings in frustration, resisting the urge to grind his dentae together. He knew that he should let it go—that the affairs of Primes and Lord High Protectors were none of his concern. Yet, when he thought of Sam, thin and suffering on the medical berth, he could not get the image out of his processor. The memory file played itself on loop, almost like a glitch, and he wondered again what could possibly have happened to so change the Prime's attitude towards parlay. Thundercracker cycled air through his vents with more force than strictly necessary. Despite his frustration and uncertainty, he knew that Megatron was not about to be forthcoming, and there was no one else who could assuage the Seeker's burning desire for answers.

Thundercracker turned down the corridor towards his personal quarters, when a thought suddenly occurred to him. If Megatron would not discuss the significance of Prime's message, then perhaps Soundwave could provide some clarification. He stopped in his tracks, a frown pulling at his mouthplates at the ridiculous idea. The third-in-command was the least personable mechanoid on the ship. With the exception of his symbionts, Soundwave spoke only to issue commands or request clarification. The communications specialist was also the most loyal to Megatron's cause. There was no way that Soundwave would discuss his Master with Thundercracker, of all mechanoids.

Putting the thought out of his mind, Thundercracker continued towards his quarters. The ship was dark and quiet, illuminated only by the soft, red glow of the emergency lights. As he reached his door, the thought of Soundwave niggled back into his processor. It was true that the third-in-command was loyal to Megatron, but what harm could come in asking for his council? Thundercracker's intentions were honest, after all, and he had nothing to hide.

Almost unbidden, Thundercracker found himself striding passed his apartment and down the long, empty corridor towards the menagerie. As he walked, he reflected on the absurdity of what he was about to do. Anything that Thundercracker asked Soundwave would be reported to Megatron as soon as he returned from his patrol. He would need to be cautious, and above all else, mindful of his fields.

A short while later, Thundercracker found himself standing in front of the large double doors of Soundwave's personal quarters. He hesitated for a long moment, before he thumbed the console set into the wall. Almost as soon as he pressed the page button, the door slid open revealing the third-in-command's menagerie. Thundercracker carefully schooled his features, before he stepped into the darkened room. As a Carrier-class mechanoid, Soundwave's quarters were larger than most, with a mezzanine for his cassettes. Soundwave stood at the far wall, in front of his large workstation. A flash of motion caught Thundercracker's attention and he glanced up. Laserbeak winged from her perch to the railing of the mezzanine, her golden feathers glittering in the low light. Ratbat and Buzzsaw watched him from the shadows of their hutch, silent and observant.

"Thundercracker: welcomed." Soundwave rumbled in his unusual monotone. Thundercracker's optics flicked back to the third-in-command as he stepped more fully into the room. It was only then that he saw the lithe form of Ravage, curled around the pedes of her Master. Her single red optic tracked his movement, and all at once, Thundercracker wondered what processor-glitch had resulted in his decision to come here.

Soundwave pushed away from his workstation, crossing the room towards him with silent strides. Thundercracker hesitated, debating whether he should extricate himself, when Soundwave stopped in front of him.

"Thundercracker: query." He rumbled. It took the Seeker a minute to realize that the statement was actually a question. His lip plates turned down in a faint frown, but something possessed him to speak anyway.

"As you know, I have returned from the failed parlay. Prime gave me a message to share with Lord Megatron."

"Affirmative: message successfully relayed."

"Yes, it was. Our Master's reaction surprised me—I had not expected his good humor." Thundercracker replied slowly.

"Affirmative: Lord Megatron is intrigued by the Prime's uncharacteristic response."

Thundercracker resisted the urge to frown deeply. Had the third-in-command noticed the fondness in Megatron's tone as well?

"I do not understand the Prime's message. He said that he had knowledge that Lord Megatron's senior officers do not." Thundercracker hesitated, "What knowledge?"

"Information: restricted." Soundwave replied.

Thundercracker stiffened in surprise, his optics narrowing minutely.

"You know, then?"

"Affirmative."

"Does it have to do with Sam?" Thundercracker demanded.

"Affirmative."

Thundercracker ex-vented sharply, his processors whirling with speculation and conjecture. He took a moment to school his fields, and then he pinned the third-in-command with a level look.

"Is Sam the reason why Prime has refused to parlay?"

"Affirmative."

Thundercracker's fuel pump skipped a beat at the confirmation. If Prime had refused to parlay because of Sam, then he had to have learned something about Sam between the time that Thundercracker originally contacted the Autobots and when they arrived for the parlay. He glanced up at the third-in-command, who was watching him passively, as though waiting for Thundercracker to marshal his thoughts.

"What happened to Sam?" He asked, bluntly.

"Information: restricted." Soundwave repeated. Thundercracker ground his dentae in frustration as Soundwave's game became clear: he wouldn't share information, but he would not deny it either.

"Did Prime refuse to parlay because of what happened to Sam?"

"Affirmative."

"I don't understand. Megatron's punishment was severe, but the boy was otherwise unmolested—"

"Negative."

Thundercracker frowned at the interruption, "What do you mean, negative? I saw him, he didn't have a mark on his body. Not even his healing factor would work that quickly."

"Affirmative."

Thundercracker narrowed his optics at the third-in-command, his irritation and uncertainty bleeding into his fields. It was becoming readily apparent that Thundercracker was well out of his depth—the communications specialist was clearly maneuvering him to his own purposes. Deciding that the best approach was to be direct, Thundercracker stepped towards the large Carrier-class mechanoid, his optics narrowed with intent.

"Sam was isolated, kept in stasis, and made to share quarters with Megatron. Is there more?"

"Affirmative."

"Did Megatron beat him? Physically torture him?"

"Negative."

"Did he threaten Sam? Threaten his bonded or his progenitors?"

"Negative."

Thundercracker wracked his processors, trying to think of what else Megatron could have done to justify Optimus Prime, of all mechanoids, to refuse a peaceful parlay. As far as he could tell, the Decepticon leader had never struck the boy in anger—

"Affirmative."

Thundercracker's head snapped up, his fields flaring with fear and alarm as the communications specialist replied to his unspoken thoughts. He hastily double-checked his firewells and filters, before he stepped back warily. There were rumors about Soundwave, of course. The third-in-command had the uncanny ability to infer what others were thinking, to anticipate actions and reactions in a way that was unparalleled. Mechanoids whispered behind his back that he was a freak, a psychic or a telepath, and Thundercracker suddenly found himself forced to revise his opinions of those rumors.

Soundwave continued to watch him, implacable as ever, as Thundercracker worked through the implications of this knowledge.

"That's how you know what happened. Megatron didn't tell you anything about it, did he?"

"Affirmative."

Fear prickled along the circuits of his processors as the enormity of that revelation began to dawn on him. What could have happened that Megatron did not even confide it in is most trusted advisor?

"If Megatron did not abuse the boy—"

"Negative."

Thundercracker stepped back into the third-in-command's space, optics narrowed in tightly leashed frustration, his earlier fear forgotten.

"You just said that Megatron never struck him."

"Affirmative."

"Are you referring to the Creator bond?"

"Affirmative."

Thundercracker's frown returned. Everyone on the ship knew that Megatron had used the Creator bond to control the boy, including the use of their connection for punitive action. The knowledge had not sat well with the Creator-class mecha on board, including Starscream himself, much to the Air Commander's irritation. Yet Megatron had reasoned that Sam was a human, not a sparkling, and most had grudgingly acquiesced to his reasoning.

"Knock Out knew about the use of the Creator bond to control him. Prime would have already had that information."

"Affirmative."

"So there was more?" Thundercracker asked, thoroughly at a loss. When Soundwave inclined his helm, almost gravely, the Seeker wracked his processors. What else could Megatron have possibly done through the bond to—

The thought came unbidden into Thundercracker's processors, and he recoiled in revulsion at the very notion. Before he could speak, however, Soundwave shuttered his optics slowly.

"Affirmative."

Thundercracker stiffened from helm to pede, stunned into silence. The very notion of using a Creator bond to inflict suffering on a newspark was abhorrent, but to initiate a charge? It was unspeakable, unthinkable.

"No, not even Megatron would do such a thing." Thundercracker denied, unwilling to believe it.

"Opinion: irrelevant. Facts: undisputable."

Thundercracker stared at the third-in-command in disbelief, but eventually his processors caught up with him and everything fell neatly into place. Sam's abrupt and startling deterioration, his suicidal ideation—and the coldness of Prime's black anger as he dismissed them out of hand at Diego Garcia.

"Primus…" Thundercracker whispered, as the implications of the knowledge began to spin through his mind, "What are we going to do?"

Soundwave watched him for a long moment before he turned, walking back across the room to his workstation. He reached a large servo to rest against Ravage's broad head, as he turned to pin Thundercracker with an implacable stare.

"Trajectory: unknown, but conclusion: inevitable. Change is coming."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam worked through his breakfast with the grim determination of a solider preparing for war. By the time that his mother had returned from the laundromat with his father in tow, he had eaten enough to earn himself an approving hum. His mother arranged the uneaten fruit and pastries on a paper plate, which she left on the coffee table, before cleaning away the rest of his tray. His father stepped around the couch, glancing down at the plate of food as he approached. He considered the selection for a second, and then he snagged a Danish as he sat on the couch beside him.

"Ron, those are for Sam." His mother scolded, from where she stood scraping his plate into the garbage.

"These are family pastries." His father corrected, taking a bite as he clapped Sam on the shoulder, "First come, first served."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he could not deny the swell of affection and relief that he felt at the heavy weight of his father's hand against him.

"Ron, honestly, you just had lunch." His mother complained, walking across the room to stand in front of them with her arms folded over her chest, "Remember your cholesterol."

Sam glanced at his father in surprise, something like anxiety twisting in his gut.

"You have high cholesterol?"

His father grunted, taking another bite of the Danish, "High cholesterol, high blood pressure, high triglycerides. It's a wonder of modern medicine that I'm not dead yet."

"Ron!" His mother hissed, her face flushing with disapproval, "That's not funny."

Although Sam agreed with his mother, his father raised his shoulders in a shrug, "I've been exercising and watching my weight. I can have a Danish, Judy."

If the look on his mother's face was anything to go by, she very much disagreed with his father's opinion on the matter. Before she could launch into an angry lecture, however, Sam broke into a wide smile as he changed the subject.

"So, you guys wanted to see Eclipse Point? It's pretty, great view of the bay. We could go shopping afterwards, if you wanted. There's a souvenir shop and a commissary near the beach."

His mother and father looked at him, as though in surprise. Sam continued before they could reply.

"Afterwards we could have supper at the Officer's Club. It's really nice, I've eaten there a few times."

His mother's face warmed with a smile, "I remember you told us about the Officer's Club the last time we visited. You took the Ambassadors to eat there."

Sam laughed lightly, relieved that his attempt at misdirection had been successful, "Yeah, that's right. It's fancier than the dining hall, but I think you'll like it."

Twenty minutes later, Sam, his mother, and his father had piled into Bumblebee's cab. They made their way through the downtown area towards Eclipse Point. As soon as they arrived, Bumblebee dutifully opened his doors for them, as his holoform flickered to life by his front bumper. The beach was beautiful, even by Diego Garcia's standards. It was a thin strip of white sand, unmarred by rocks or vegetation, which curved around the point. It overlooked Eclipse Bay, a blue-green expanse of water that glistened in the afternoon sunlight. Across the water, the rise of Barton Point was visible, a distant swath of sand and vegetation. To the northwest, the ocean spread out towards the horizon, as far as the eye could see.

The only negative aspect of the beach was that its beauty, ideal swimming conditions, and proximity to the base meant that it was crowded with off-duty personnel looking to cool off in the mid-afternoon heat. As a result, they stayed at the Point only long enough to walk from Short Pier all the way around to the Officer's Club. The sky was a perfect, clear blue and the sun shone brightly down on them. By the time that they climbed back over the dunes towards Nelson Road, sweat was trickling down between Sam's shoulder blades. His mother and his father did not look much better—they were both flushed red, with perspiration beaded across their foreheads.

"Oh my goodness, it is so hot here." His mother complained, fanning herself with a hand, "Arizona is only 70 degrees in the afternoon, and it's a dry heat."

Sam quirked a smile at her, "We're in the tropics, Ma."

"I've been in saunas with less humidity." His father grunted disapprovingly.

Sam laughed lightly in response. His father had grown up in Chicago before moving to California—he had never done well with humidity.

"It's pretty bad in the late afternoon." Sam agreed, "But it's really nice in the evening, after it cools off. The sunsets are unbelievable."

As they came to the intersection of Nelson and Nimitz Road, Sam pointed down the street.

"That's the barber shop, the souvenir shop is next door. Did you want to go?"

"Anything to get out of this god-forsaken heat." His mother replied.

They made their way down the street, Sam and Bumblebee walking side-by-side, and his parents following behind them. Bumblebee's alt mode pulled ahead of their small group, accelerating down the road to pull into the small lot beside the shop. When they finally stepped through the door into the cool exterior of the building, Sam could not suppress his sigh of relief. It was a moderately sized shop, with squat shelves of clothing, memorabilia, and miscellaneous items. To Sam's surprise, he saw that most of the items were themed by nationality—American, United Kingdom, Canadian, Indian, and more. Despite the fact that NEST was an Autobot base, there was nothing with either NEST's logo or the Autobot's insignia to be found in the shop. The thought made Sam's lips quirk in amusement—he couldn't imagine Optimus mulling over t-shirt designs or signing off on commemorative Autobot-themed license plates.

His mother made her way over to the cooler located near the cash register, retrieving three bottles of water. She handed one each to Sam and his father, before opening her own and taking a deep drink. Sam resisted the urge to chide her, instead pulling his identification badge from around his neck and handing it to the surprised-looking private standing on the other side of the counter.

"Sir, uh, Mr. Ambassador. Good afternoon." He stammered, snapping off a salute as an afterthought, "Will this be all?"

Sam was aware of the way that his mother and father had gone still beside him, and he kept the wince off his face with great effort.

"Yeah, thanks Private… Walsh." Sam replied, glancing at the man's nametape as he spoke.

As Sam turned around to look at his mother and father, he caught the look on Bumblebee's face. The holoform was standing behind his parents, his arms folded over his chest, with quiet amusement written all over his expression. He narrowed his eyes minutely at the holoform, daring him to say something, when Bumblebee winked at him. Sam felt his face warm with embarrassment, and he took a drink of water to hide his expression.

The rest of the afternoon passed by amiably enough. They wandered from the souvenir shop to the library, and then to the commissary. Sam took the opportunity to order himself a mini fridge and a microwave and, at his mother's insistence, an electric kettle. Afterwards, they made their way to the Officer's Club. His mother was expressive with her praise, complimenting everything from the décor, to the silverware, to the wine menu, as though Sam had had a hand in any of it. His father was reserved, responding to his mother's questions and occasionally directing a comment towards his son, but otherwise he kept to himself. Bumblebee excused himself for the duration of their meal, allowing Sam time alone with his parents for the first time in almost three years.

The food was excellent, as usual. His father ordered the sea bass and a whiskey, while his mother had the shrimp penne and a glass of house wine. Sam declined anything at first, until his mother pinned him with a disapproving frown, and then he hastily selected the chicken risotto. As an afterthought, he asked for a glass of whatever they had on tap. The waiter nodded, tucking his pad into the pocket of his apron, before making his way back through the crowded dining room. When Sam glanced up at his parents, he was surprised to see them staring at him with emotional expressions on their faces.

"The drinking age is eighteen." He explained in confusion, but his mother reached across the table to grasp his hand in hers.

"Look at you, Sammy. All grown up."

Sam stared at her in surprise, a flush spreading across his cheeks, but his father interrupted before he could reply.

"This'll be your first Superbowl that you can drink. You'll need it—the 49'ers are against the Chiefs."

Sam didn't have the heart to correct his father—that he had already had the quintessential American experience without him—and instead he smiled.

"The 49'ers made it to the Superbowl? I can't believe Dave didn't say anything to me."

"Yeah, next Sunday." His father agreed, something warming in his countenance, "The 49'ers don't have a prayer."

Sam huffed a laugh, reaching out to pick up his glass of ice water. The conversation quickly descended into a spirited argument about who had the better chance of winning. Sam and his mother were 49'ers fans, of course, but having grown up in Illinois, his father was a Bears loyalist. By the time they finished eating, Sam felt warm with something other than the two beers that he had had with his meal.

As they stepped back into the mellow heat of the early evening, his father raised his hand to his mouth to hide a yawn. Immediately, Sam felt a wash of guilt as he remembered that they were almost twelve hours behind him. To his relief, neither of his parents argued when he insisted that they get some rest. Bumblebee's alt mode arrived a short while later, and together they returned to the Hive. As his parents made to walk into North Quad, his mother paused, stepping back to settle a kiss on his forehead. Sam smiled at her, kissing her back on the cheek, before he shooed her away.

As the doors shut behind them, Sam found himself leaning against Bumblebee's alt mode tiredly. It was only then that his guardian informed him that Knock Out had finally relented—the medic had sworn his allegiance to Prime and accepted the Autobot insignia. Sam turned to look down at him incredulously.

"What?" He spluttered, pulling open the driver's side door, "Why didn't you say something before now?"

"I didn't want to interrupt your time with your parents. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

Sam settled into the driver's seat, pulling the door shut behind him.

"I want to see him. Can we go?"

By way of answer, Bumblebee's engine rolled over and the lights brightened on his dash. Together, they accelerated through the bridge, making their way to the receiving room. As they drove, Bumblebee caught him up on how it had happened. Knock Out had been unusually agreeable since Sam's visit, no longer insulting Ultra Magnus or Hot Rod, and accepting his rations without complaint. That morning, apropos of nothing, Knock Out had declared that he was wasn't sitting in the brig for one moment longer, and if Prime wanted his allegiance, then he could have it. After some heated discussion among Optimus' senior officers, the Autobot leader had allowed Knock Out to kneel and recite the oath. As soon as he had finished, the medic straightened to his full height and tore the Decepticon insignia off his chassis with his bare hands.

Sam raised his eyebrows at the news, "That had to hurt."

"I would imagine so." Bumblebee agreed, dryly, "He's at the Arc now. Ratchet has assigned him to the clinic."

"Really? I am surprised that Ratchet accepted him into the medical corps. Knock Out must be relieved."

"I wouldn't necessarily say that." Bumblebee replied, enigmatically. Sam frowned at the dashboard in confusion, but the scout did not clarify any further. It was not until they approached the Arc's clinic a short while later that Sam understood his bonded's reticence. Knock Out's shrill voice echoed down the corridor towards them, accompanied by the occasional ringing of metal against metal as items were seemingly thrown around the hanger.

Hot Rod stood outside of the clinic. He was leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the corridor, his arms folded over his chassis and a supremely unimpressed look on his faceplates. He glanced in their direction as they approached.

"Evening Bee, Sam." Hot Rod greeted flatly.

"Hey Roddy." Sam said, coming to a stop beside him. From this angle, Sam could not see into the clinic, but the light from the room spilled into the hallway through the open entryway, "What are you doing here?"

"Prime has put Knock Out on probation. I'm his escort until Kup decides otherwise." Roddy replied. Sam could infer from the cavalier's clipped tone that he was not pleased with the assignment. Before he could reply, he heard another loud clang from inside the clinic.

"This is a waste of my time and talents—I used to have my own medical bay, for Pit's sake." Knock Out snapped, his words punctuated by the ringing of metal against metal. If Sam had to guess, he'd say that Knock Out had stamped his pede to emphasize his point.

"Ratchet thinks that you could use the time to get used to his filing system." First Aid's disembodied voice replied, soothingly, "He likes things in a very particular way."

"I went to the Protihex Medical Mechanics University, just the same as Ratchet." Knock Out replied, scathingly, "I can figure out a fragging filing system."

Hot Rod ex-vented loudly, his head falling back to clang against the corridor wall. Sam glanced up at the cavalier, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"He's not so bad, once you get to know him." Sam said, earnestly.

"I'll have to take your word for it." Hot Rod replied, dryly, "He is very…"

The cavalier punctuated his words with a mimed gesturing of drinking tea, complete with a pinky in the air. Sam frowned up at him, confused.

"He's very… what? British?"

"Royalty?" Bumblebee guessed, wryly.

Sam turned to grin at him appreciatively, "Nice one. Yeah, Roddy, are you calling him the Queen of England?"

Hot Rod made an impatient sound, "High maintenance. He's very high maintenance."

"That's how you pantomime high maintenance?" Sam asked, incredulously, "Remind me never to partner with you in charades."

Bumblebee whistled at him amusedly, much to Hot Rod's obvious irritation.

"Joke around all you want, I'm the one who has to babysit him."

Something about the cavalier's petulant tone made Sam fold his arms over his chest and pin Hot Rod with a considerate stare.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I'd imagine that he enjoys your company."

Hot Rod glanced at him, suspiciously.

"Why do you say that?"

Sam shrugged, "Well, I know for a fact that he thinks you're good looking."

Hot Rod visibly stiffened, his expression morphing into one of stunned disbelief.

"He what?"

Before Sam could reply, Knock Out appeared in the entryway with an irate expression on his face, "You! If you are just going to stand there being useless, then you can—"

The medic's tirade abruptly cut off as his optics settled on Sam. The anger in his countenance smoothed away, replaced with something like mild surprise.

"Hello KO." Sam greeted, ignoring Roddy's stunned expression at the epithet, "Having fun, I take it?"

Knock Out snorted as he folded his arms over his chassis and leaned against the doorframe.

"Your Creator has a twisted sense of revenge." He complained, "I should be in the medical bay, not relegated to this third-rate clinic."

"The Arc is the crown jewel of Cybertron's fleet." Sam replied patiently, "I'm sure it's not as bad as all that."

Knock Out lifted a shoulder pauldron in a shrug, "You certainly could have fooled me."

Before Sam could reply, First Aid appeared in the doorway beside Knock Out. The red and white medic's face brightened as soon as he saw Sam standing in the corridor.

"Good afternoon, buddy!" First Aid chirped enthusiastically.

Sam laughed lightly at the way Hot Rod and Knock Out turned to look at the medic in comically perfect unison, "Hey 'Aid, how goes it?"

First Aid hesitated for a long moment, before he replied, cautiously, "It has been an informative afternoon."

"I'll bet." Bumblebee replied dryly.

At his words, Knock Out turned to look at the scout for the first time since they had arrived. The medic's expression was scrutinizing and closed off.

"So this is your bonded." Knock Out replied at last, "It's nice to meet you properly, Bumblebee."

Bumblebee stared at the medic in naked surprise, obviously taken aback by his civility. Before he could reply, however, Knock Out gestured meaningfully between him and Sam.

"I never would have imagined that Prime's golden boy would go and get himself shacked up with a human—no offense, Sam."

Bumblebee stiffened from head to toe, an indignant noise squealing from his vocalizer. Hot Rod moved away from the wall in an instant, looking between the scout and the medic, as though he was not sure which one he might have to restrain. Before either of them could speak, however, Sam snorted a loud laugh.

"Knock Out, you are such an asshole." He replied good-naturedly, "Don't take your hissy fit out on me."

The medic looked down at him for a long moment, before something like fond amusement warmed the edges of his expression.

"Evidentially, I have work to do that is of the greatest importance imaginable." Knock Out drawled at last, "As nice as it was to see you again, I am afraid I must get back to it."

As Sam smiled at him understandingly, Knock Out made to step back into the clinic. He paused on the threshold, turning to look at Bumblebee over his shoulder. He stared at the scout meaningfully for the space of a heartbeat, and then he was gone. A moment later, First Aid waved good-bye to Sam and then he followed after him.

Hot Rod looked from Sam, to Knock Out, and back again, before he crouched down in front of him.

"So seriously, though… what exactly did he say about me?"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Less than a half an hour later, Sam and Bumblebee made their way through North Quad towards the Officer's section. To Sam's surprise, his bonded was in an amiable mood, apparently having gotten over the offense that Knock Out had caused. As they walked together, Sam glanced over at the holoform. Bumblebee's hands were in his pockets and a good-natured expression was on his face—the sight of it caused a swell of affection that took Sam's breath away. He brushed against Bumblebee's signature, leaning into the winter-white glow as their bond blossomed between them. The holoform glanced at Sam in surprise, but before he could say anything, Sam wrapped around his bonded's familiar presence.

As they stepped towards Sam's apartment, he glanced up and down the hall. The long corridor was quiet and empty at the late hour, and Sam took the opportunity to grasp Bumblebee's hand. He laced their fingers together as he pressed his badge against the card reader set into the wall. The holoform's expression softened with affection—and with a hint of something else—as he leaned down to kiss him. Sam made an appreciative sound, his hands coming up to card through Bumblebee's short hair, as he pushed open the door and stepped into his apartment.

As the door swung shut behind them, Sam deepened the kiss and Bumblebee hummed at him approvingly. Before either of them could speak, however, Sam heard a hesitant cough from behind them. His head snapped around to take in the sight of his mother standing there with a half-folded towel in her hands and a shocked expression on her face. The beginnings of Sam's arousal flashed into mortified embarrassment so quickly that it made him feel lightheaded.

"Oh my god." Sam managed, blushing fire engine red to the roots of his hair, "Ma?"

"Hello Sammy." She replied, hesitantly, "Ratchet let me in. I wanted to finish your laundry before I went to bed."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, resignation and dread churning in his stomach as he made his decision. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked plaintively at his mother.

"I think you better sit down, Ma. We need to talk."