by Neko » Thu Nov 12, 2009 9:54 pm
A little ficlet set POST-ROTF.
Of Things That Were and Will Be.
The fear and stress caused by the past several days had left Sam bruised, tired and a little needy. He was feeling clingy at the moment and Mikaela appeared to share his feelings. Long raven stands slipped through his fingers as he teased his girlfriend’s hair. Their lips interlocked in a passionate kiss, the kind so blindingly zealous that the world dissolved into a grey blur. There was only the moment, the now, each other, the kiss. Both battered and exhausted, neither felt compelled to break apart. They had waited too long to fully express their true feelings, to expose the most vulnerable part of themselves to each other. They were quickly making up for wasted time.
Here we are in the middle of the desert, with the stars above us, and you still can't tell me you love me.
I love you.
“I love you,” he murmured as he came up for breath before diving back down into the depths of ocean that was Mikaela. “I love you…”
Left hand freshly bandaged, Sam used the appendage to stroke Mikaela’s arm, hoping the gauze was an acceptable substitute for skin. She pushed into the kiss, breathing deeply through her nose, taking in Sam’s sent. She melted in his arms as he pushed back, bringing his good hand down to stroke her leg. Her hand met his, fingers lacing together in perfect compliment. Sam was in utter bliss; the world was safe as he was, safe in the embrace of the girl who loved him just as stupidly as he did her. Only she was able to keep the demons, always lurking below cognitive thought, away from him. When he was with her, fears disappeared and the voices quieted. He pushed back farther, excitement and commanding lust building. Mikaela didn’t protest and lowered herself down, lips never parting. Sam’s hand traveled down Mikaela’s calf …
“Oh ****!” A boisterous voice startled them and they hurried to right themselves, suddenly aware of how public they were. The colorful forms of Skids and Mudflap dropped down from the above deck, landing before the two humans. Their uneven optics scrutinized the pair with what Sam had dubbed the ‘Humans are weird’ look. He had seen it on all the Autobot’s faces at one time or another and most often it was to either something a Human would say or do that – in their alien mindset – made no sense or was so absurd that it would cause Cybertronians to double take.
“What’chu two’s tryin’ ta do? Eat each otha’s faces?!” Skids demanded. “Y’alls nuttier then squirrel poop!”
“Ah yeah! Ah’s heard a dem kinda humans. Der cannibals!” Mudflap added.
“Dats jus’ wrong man. So wrong!” They both gave an exaggerated shiver, clearly disgusted with the physical affection practices of humans. The present humans were less than impressed. With their perfect little mood shattered and ingloriously trampled on by two tactless wannabe gangstas, Sam and Mikaela put a small space between them, glaring at the twins with murderous expressions.
“What’s your problem?” Sam demanded. “You can’t just go around and…jump out at people like that!”
“Sure we can!” said Mudflap.
“Well it’s rude,” Mikaela snapped back. Bending low and shoving his large and awkwardly proportioned head into their personal space, Skids pinned them with a smug tilted grin. “It’s a free country idn’nit?”
“Actually,” Mikaela interjected, “We’re on a boat. In the middle of the Ocean. International waters.”
The twins paused and exchanged glances as they worked that through their processor. “Dat don’t mean nothin’,” said Skids with an indifferent wave of his arm. “Didn’cha alls know us Cybertronians got ourselves some asylum, shawty?”
Looking at his twin with a look of disbelief and even offense, Mudflap shoved the other’s shoulder roughly, causing Skids to fumble on his feet for balance. “I ain’t goin’ ta’ no asylum. Slag, if any a’us messed up in da head it’s you, bro!”
“Not dat kind a’ asylum stupid!” said Skids. “I means we’ve got some diplomic ammunites.” Honestly, Sam wouldn’t be at all surprised if the two of them only had enough processing power between them to light a 30 watt bulb. Despite the urge to plant his face into his hands, he could not help but grin a little the way the two seemed utterly oblivious.
“Ah right!” Mudflap replied.
“Yeh!” Skids said. “So wes can do whatever we so well pleases. Now how ‘bout dem apples suckah?”
After having to hear and endure the twin’s bickering and smart talk and general presence since the beginning of their ordeal, Sam was more then ready to be rid of them. He was tired and sore and in no mood to accommodate their antics. “Fine! Whatever, just…what do you guys want anyway? Cause if it’s nothing, you can scram.”
Skids and Mudflap stared down at Sam for a breath of a moment before looking towards each other as if silently conversing thought to thought. Finally Skids turned back and waved a hand. “Naw, we ain’t here jus’ ta’ mess with ya, man.—(“Dat’s what we got Leo fo’!” interjected Mudflap)—No ways, we gots some special orders from Ratchet to drag your sorry aft over der.”
That caught Sam’s attention. And not necessarily in a good way. Surely by now the Medic was aware that he had been the unwilling host to a goggle of Cybertronian gibberish. He did not blame the medic for wanting to see him, but right now he was far too irritated and sore to indulge the medic. He wanted to finish his make out session with Mikaela and then go find a bunk somewhere in the bowels of the ship on which to pass out on for several glorious hours. He was fine. Sam ‘fine’ Witwicky. That was him.
I'm going to kill you, boy, slowly, painfully. He shoved the memory away with surge of will power.
Sam had seen the on site nurse when they had first boarded the ship, being practically corralled into the tiny little alcove by his frantic mother. He was poked and prodded, ordered to strip, and made to stand in a chilly room for several minutes while the nurse played connect the dots with his collection of bruises. Sam left once he was patched up, feeling violated and punch drunk. Military nurses played rough. He met up with Mikaela in the hallway near the mess hall not too long afterwards and they both walked together through the ship. They talked and held hands. They stood on the flight deck looking at the sun setting before finding a quite place to sit and watch the world take another living breath. And then hands began to roam…
Feeling put off and tired, Sam wanted the two Autobots to leave him and Mikaela alone. “Yeah, well you can tell him I’m fine and his services are not required.”
The flash of a sword and the explosion of a discharging cannon.
You are so WEAK! The ground shuttered as the gentle giant crashed ingloriously to the forest floor. Optimus get up…get up!
Sam…run…
The twins pulled back, looking down at the human before them as if he had suddenly grown a third arm. “Wha?” asked Skids. “Oh no. No way home boy. I ain’t suicidal.”
“Yeah, fo’ sho’ dawg. Hatchet’ll rip our vocalizers through our exhaust ports if we told ‘im dat.”
Was there not some law that prohibited excessive annoyance? “Well, I’m giving you a reply to give to him. I’m fine. No more weird symbols, no more spazzing, I’m good. Fine and dandy and all that good ****. Thanks for the concern, but no. So whatever it is that he thinks he wants to do can wait till morning.” There was a moment when neither twin replied nor seemed to even pay him any mind. The thought that they had suffered a collective aneurism crossed Sam’s mind, but then they abruptly stood alert and exchanged a look, shrugging nonchalantly.
“Ok,” said Skids, glancing at Mudflap who shrugged once more for good measure.
“Works fur me.” With that said, Skids reached out and wordlessly plucked Sam from his seat.
“Hey-!”
“What are you doing?” Mikaela demanded as she stood and tried to pry her boyfriend from the green Mech’s arms. “Let him go!”
“No can do, Doc-bot says if he won’ come to ‘im willingly, that we got da authorization ta’ drag curly cue’s aft to ‘im. ASAP an’ all dat ****.” said the Mech as he tucked a struggling Sam under the crook of his elbow before turning and making his way off with his brother following behind. Mikaela jogged beside them, keeping pace with their longer strides.
“Just hold on a second!” she said. “Sam’s already seen a doctor, he’s fine!”
“Don’t matter.”
“Doc says bring da kid, we bring da kid.”
“Espress delivery!” As they wormed their way through one of the entrance hatches, they locked Mikaela out. Fuming, she ran to find another way in.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Sam silently tolerated being carted through the ships stairwells, passed along between the twins as they made their way towards the cargo hold where the Autobots were taking refuge. The cargo hold door loomed ahead and Sam felt afraid. In the back of his mind, his inner voice was murmuring to him.
Pinned to a concrete slab, giant robot looming above, red eyes, teeth, horribly sharp teeth…A voice, smooth and cold as death itself, whispered to him from the recesses of his memory.
Come here, boy. You remember me, don't you?
This was ridiculous. Ratchet was not a Decepticon and had no intentions of dissecting his brain. Sam shook his head to clear his mind.
The cargo hold was a vast space, only partially filled with crates. The remainder of the space seemed to have been cleared for Autobot comfort. In as much as a cargo hold could be comfortable. Upon entering, the first thing to attract Sam’s eye was Ratchet, his neon yellow self standing brightly against the muted colors of the walls. Sam’s gaze did not follow the medic for long as he spotted a familiar golden yellow farther back. Bumblebee’s presence eased Sam marginally. Ironhide and the blue form of Jolt stood next to the scout, all of them seeming to be focused on the same thing. Optimus was conspicuously absent for reasons he was not entirely sure of, and that both scared and reassured Sam.
He sacrificed himself to protect me.
Sam was broken from his thoughts as Skids held him up. “Got him Doc-bot.”
Ratchet glanced briefly towards them and jerked his head to the side, indicating to a stack of crates towards one end of the room. Bumblebee made no motion to indicate he was even aware of Sam’s presence. Sam felt a little abandoned as his guardian disappeared behind some crates and he was concerned. Why had Bumblebee not notice him? Was he ignoring Sam? Why? Was he angry at him?
Oblivious to Sam’s inner confusion, the green twin sat him upon the container and the two Autobots twins left. After a moment or complacent sitting, Sam hopped down off the crate and walked back along the edge of the stacks to peek around the side.
Laying on the floor in a neat little row were the bodies of Arcee and her two doppelgangers. Both blue and purple forms were scratched up and their optics dark. The pink form, the form that was Arcee, was not so intact. Her head had been blasted off her shoulders, only a few wires connecting what was left to the rest of her body. She was small for a transformer and being surrounded by monoliths of metal made the scene all the more heart-retching. It was only then that Sam noticed the way in which the three Autobots gathered around her held themselves. They kneeled, heads down and optics dim. The air vibrated with a murmur. Sam felt it more then heard it and the hair on his arms trembled. A shiver ran through his body as thought drifted back to the rattling sounds of guns fire amongst the low booms of far off bombs that seemed to creep closer and closer. A flash of pink and he turned to see her standing there, hand reaching out towards him.
Come with me Sam and --BOOM! She was gone.
He looked to Bumblebee, feeling a swelling of guilt rise up. Ironhide was very strong of character, Sam had no doubt the mountain of a Mech would be fine. Jolt was still very much an enigma as Arcee had been. It was difficult to say exactly how the blue Autobot would fare, but something in his mind also told him he would be fine. But Bumblebee, poor sweet Bumblebee. He was as capable as any Autobot and Sam would never doubt the little scout for a moment. But he was his friend, his guardian…his Bee. A sense of needing to stand near him was overpowering. Sam stepped forward to join the little circle, feeling compelled to comfort Bumblebee. Before he could take another step, hands slipped beneath his arms to pull him away.
“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had a proper examination,” said Ratchet firmly but quietly. The medic placed him atop a crate and the mechanical pieces that made up his optics whirled and zoomed quietly. Scanning. “Take off your shirt please.”
Sam balked and pulled away. “What? Why?”
Ratchet’s optics narrowed. “Remove your shirt so I may better analyze your abrasions and act accordingly.”
“Why though? I already saw the nurse when we got here and—”
“Samuel,” the medic said, placing his hands on his hips. Uh oh. He used his full name. Funny how alien robots could have such similar mannerisms to humans, particularly Mothers. Even more particularly, his mother. “I will not repeat myself. Remove your shirt or I shall do it for you.”
Obediently, Sam pulled off his shirt, mindful of the scrapes and numerous band-aids and bandages upon his person. Purple and green bruised stretched across his torso in a pattern that disturbingly resembled the imprint of a hand. His arms and shoulders were covered with lesser scrapes and sun burns, leaving red lines crisscrossing across his back and front. The state of his body was a testament to the trials he had battled through during last few days. The sight of him did not please the medic. Ratchet brought his hand up to his face, his fingers breaking apart into several smaller tools. Seeing the instruments looming before him did not reassure Sam. Regardless of his patient’s anxiety, Ratchet immediately set to work by removing all the dressings from his upper body. Sam tried not to flinch as small pincers grabbed at the band-aids like so many little hands and pulled them off.
“Ow!” he protested as one was removed from a particularly bruised area. While Ratchet removed all prior dressing, Sam could not help but wish Bumblebee would come over but then felt ashamed. Bumblebee was not his babysitter. He did not need to hold Sam’s hand through every little thing. His guardian had a job, but even the most diligent guard needed respite. Sam had not known Arcee at all really, but he got the strong impression she was a dear friend. Dear as Jazz had been to them and he recalled vividly how they mourned the late lieutenant after Mission City. Optimus Prime especially, who became prone to long walks alone around the look out over Tranquility. Bumblebee had assured them that Prime would be fine and Sam took the explanation readily, content to lay with Mikaela in the twilight and be reassured by the presence of the Autobots so close to him. He had never really given a thought to the Cybertronians thoughts or feelings, and a part of him was disgusted to think that at a time he did not think they had them. He had been so wrong…
Sam’s thoughts drifted to the day he told Bumblebee that he was not going to college with him and knowing what he knew now…how utterly stupid he had been. He had been so eager to return to a mundane existence that he tried to push his best friend away to retrieve it. Busy with his own thoughts, Sam scarcely noticed his left hand being carefully lifted up and the bandages slowly and delicately cut away to reveal the raw flesh hidden underneath. Exposed to the air, it stung and Sam looked down at it, put off by the sight. Most of the skin on his hand had been charred away and the dead tissue had fallen off over the course of the day. When he saw the nurse, she had promptly cleaned the burned appendage, slathered salve over it and bandaged the unsightly thing in white gauze.
Ratchet’s inner working whirled. “Where did you get this?”
“Jetfire. When he did this weird…teleporting thingy. It’s how we ended up in Egypt.” There was a moment when Ratchet said nothing, gently tilting the boy’s hand this way and that as his optics scanned and rescanned. When at last he spoke, he did not sound happy.
“One would think a Mech of such age would have some sense to know the dangers of transwarping with Organics. Beings whose physical make up is predominantly water are not meant to go spelunking across space bridges.”
“He was kind of senile, but he was a good guy. I mean, he did sacrifice himself…”
“I do not belittle his moral character, Sam. Only his sanity.” It seemed wrong to say anything bad about the Mech who had done so much for them and Sam felt compelled to divert blame from the old warrior. “Well he did tell us not to move…” he offered.
Ratchet’s intense blue optics looked into Sam’s brown eyes. “Oh?” he said flatly. “So you admit the damage came about through your own carelessness then?”
Open mouth, insert foot, Sam. “No! No that’s not what I meant. I only meant that it wasn’t his fault. It was just…”
Before Ratchet had a chance to reply to Sam’s gibberish, a voice spoke from behind the Mech. “I think, Ratchet, that we should be grateful for the simple fact that the boy is alive and in one piece.”
Sam’s stomach clenched at the sound of the voice. Without taking his optics off of Sam, Ratchet replied to his commander’s assertion. “You may be willing to overlook such negligence, Optimus, but I will not. He should have had better judgment.”
“Perhaps,” Optimus conceded as he stepped into view. “However, I should think his actions, as disagreeable as they may be to you, certainly proved worth while.” Sam felt his face heat up, feeling uncomfortable. Optimus Prime’s optics glanced towards Sam, brightening just a bit, before looking to the medic. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ratchet?”
Ratchet looked over his shoulder, scanning the Autobot behind him and huffed before turning his attention back to Sam, carefully positioning the boy’s good arm up so he could better see the red scraped skin there. “Blind luck only gets you so far, Optimus.”
“You’re not a ‘glass half full’ kinda guy are you?” Sam asked. Sending the boy a gimlet glare, the medic responded by shifting his hand once more and spraying something on one of the open wounds on his arm. Pain radiated from the open sores as the liquid touched the raw skin. Sam tried to pull him arm back, but Ratchet’s pincers held his wrist firmly.
“That’s enough from the legume exhibit.” Ratchet said in a no nonsense tone.
Hissing past his teeth, Sam replied, “…I think you mean peanut gallery…”
Another spray of antiseptic. “AH! Okay okay! I’ll be quite! Just ease up on the Neosporin! Geezus!”
Ratchet snorted, a harsh noise. “Neosporin would not be a preferable antiseptic in the case of your abrasions and would do little more then make a mess. I am using a liquid applicant containing alcohol.”
Any witty reply he might have thought of tossing at the medic was muffled by Sam’s whimpering as more spray was applied to several other areas. In the face of a canister of burning-stinging-ouchiness, Sam opted for remaining silent and simply enduring the prodding and poking and general lack of comfort while he was in the medic’s clutches. Optimus leaned towards Ratchet. “When you are finished assuring yourself the boy will not keel over at random, I would like a word with him.”
Ratchet glared towards Optimus as he turned to leave, but nodded. “Very well.”
-------------------------------------------------
Once more, Sam found himself atop the flight deck, sporting new bandages and feeling as if he had been violated by a member of the medical profession. Ratchet had been quite liberal with the antiseptic and his arms and chest and back stung like the dickens. After releasing Sam from his tender loving care, Ratchet told him under no uncertain terms that once he was done speaking with Optimus, he was to return to his assigned room and rest for a minimum of 8 hours. That was one homework assignment Sam had no qualms about completing. He was drained of energy in mind, body and spirit. Even the tips of his ears seemed to be exhausted. So it was with heavy foot steps and lots of sighing that Sam went to find Optimus Prime.
He found the Autobot leader where he expected him to be; on the flight deck overlooking the dark ocean as it lapped against the sizes of the ship, filling the air with a salty mist. As Sam stepped out onto the deck, he was abruptly attacked with flustered nerves that ate away at his insides and made him feel slightly nauseous. Nervousness morphed into guilt and Sam walked stiffly towards the Autobot.
Sam, I need your help.
You couldn’t give me one day, huh?
You are weak! –slash-
Crash!
OPTIMUS!
Of all the mistakes and stupid things Sam was guilty of in his life thus far, Optimus’ death weighed the most upon his conscious. The irrepressible guilt of it all had driven him to the edges of the Earth and life itself, all to bring back the Autobot leader. Saving the world had just been an unintentional but appreciative bonus. What could he ever say to make it right again? For Optimus to forgive him for being a silly little human with no sense of priority? Sam knew he had been very selfish. And not just to Optimus, but to Bumblebee as well. Another Autobot he needed to spill his guts to and beg forgiveness. He should probably start a list of all the people he had metaphorically bitch slapped during the past week.
It was with a bit of a start that Sam belatedly realized he had made it to where Optimus silently stood, facing out towards the open ocean. He had to catch himself before running head first into the leader’s ankle. Sam looked up and up and up…
The night made it near impossible to see all of Prime and the only thing of his face he could make out was the eerie glow of his optics. Sam swallowed, resisting the urge to fidget and pick at his bandages.
“Uh, h-hey Prime,” his voice squeaked and he felt incredibly stupid. “So…uh…night weather huh?”
Optimus Prime’s head swiveled down towards the young human, intense blue optics scrutinizing him and Sam felt incredibly vulnerable under their gaze. “I wished to thank you Sam, for what you have done for me and for my team these last few days. You have been very brave.”
Despite the praise, Sam felt altogether small and ugly.
Maggot!
“Yeah, uh. Well…I feel obligated to uh…” No that sounded insincere. He started over. “…well…I need to apologize…to you,” Sam said. Optimus said nothing, allowing Sam to spill freely and unabated. “About what I said in the cemetery – god that feels forever a go now huh?– I just…well if I’d helped out back then like you asked, maybe a lot of…stuff, this stuff, could’ve maybe not happened. Not the way it did anyway.” A pause. “Am I not making any sense?”
“I understand your meaning, Sam.” Optimus Prime’s voice had a strange calming effect on Sam, the deep timbre sounding familiar, authoritative and protective all at once. Despite all of his worries and misgivings, in that moment Sam felt as safe as he had for days. It was like trekking through the bitter cold snow and coming to a warm house. Security and the sense of familiarity wafting over him like a warm blanket.
“Oh, good ‘cause I – ”
“However, your apology is unnecessary.”
Sam was silent for a moment. “Huh?”
Optimus slowly lowered himself, never breaking eye contact with the young man. Closer up, it was much easier to see Prime’s face. He sounded utterly sincere as he spoke. “Your actions these past few days more then speaks for your character, Sam. Whether you accept it or not, you are not obligated to me, rather I am duty bound to repay you for all that you have done. For the Autobots and for me.”
Sam shrugged away, the ugly and unworthy feeling bubbling up again. “I don’t think so…”
“I do.”
“But I got you killed!” Sam blurted. Of all the things Sam expected the Autobot leader to do, smiling was not one of them. It was not just a simple smile either. It was one of fond affection. “Do not be so eager to forget that you also revived me, much in the face of great self sacrifice. Do not belittle yourself.”
Digging his hands into his pockets, Sam hunched his shoulders and turned away, trying to hide the fact he was blushing. “Yeah, maybe. But I’m OK now. Y’know. Relatively speaking at least…”
“As am I,” Optimus replied pointedly. “So perhaps we may simply ‘put it all behind us’ then?”
“I guess,” Sam replied, turning back with a relieved smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. Just then, a thought came crashing down on him and all the good feeling Optimus had been able to dig up was promptly buried in six feet of dirt and rocks and Sam submerged back into the depths of melancholy. “But…what about…”
“About what, Sam?”
“What about Arcee. She’s not OK. She died keeping me from getting squished and stuff…”
A shadow passed over the Autobot leader’s visage like a shadow and he suddenly appeared world wary and tired and very sad. “Arcee was a fine soldier who fulfilled her function till the end with dignity and honor. She was a good friend and comrade and will be sorely missed.” Optimus stared Sam down, the wariness abruptly changing to a more poignant and earnest expression. “However Sam, you must not hold yourself responsible for her passing; it would do you ill to do so.”
“But I just – ”
“No Sam,” Prime replied firmly. “I implore you to trust me: You did nothing wrong. It is the way of the universe that all living things one day must die, no matter how much we wish it weren’t so. Even had I not been revived, I would not want you to hold yourself responsible anymore then I would want my soldiers to do so. You’re far too young to burden yourself with such things.” He then bent lower, their faces near parallel. With the tip of one finger, Optimus gingerly tapped Sam’s shoulder. “You have a life yet still to live, youngling.”
Sam was silent for a long moment, soaking in all that had been said. He was not sure how to feel. He did feel relief in some sense, but now there were other emotions floating around in the congealing soup of his mind and making it difficult to discern one feeling from another. It would take some time for him to sort through it all.
“In any case,” Optimus Prime said, breaking Sam from his stupor as he rose back to his full height. “I believe there is one other who wishes to speak with you before you retire for the night.”
Sam glanced back to see Bumblebee standing near the observation tower, watching them silently from the shadows. Before Sam could speak, Optimus bent low once more to scoop the boy up. In a few short strides, he and Bumblebee met in the middle of the deck, the scout having met them half way. Optimus silently offered Bumblebee his human charge and Sam was exchanged between them. Optimus bid them good night and left for cargo bay. Cupped in his guardian’s hands, Sam felt warm and safe and wondered how, not too long ago, he had thought that he didn’t want Bumblebee around. Neither of the two spoke and Bumblebee walked forward slowly until he then stood in the very spot Optimus had occupied naught a moment before and slowly lowered himself down, the two of them simply sitting and allowing the ocean air to waft around them.
“Hey Bee?” Sam asked, breaking the silence. “Seeing as we’re dishing out the apologies and sappy **** tonight, I wanted to thank you. Y’know…for sticking with me even with all the stupid stuff I pulled…and all the stuff I said about the guardian thing being over…” He looked over his shoulder to send a pleading look to the scout. “You’re coming back with us right? I mean…back home?” A pause. “Or are going to join NEST with the others…?”
Bumblebee’s voice, laced with a lofty British accent that sounded perfectly content and unconcerned by the question, replied softly, “My employment with NEST was discussed briefly after leaving Egypt.”
Sam felt crestfallen, immediately believing Bumblebee’s answer was the beginning of a well prepared and well rehearsed ‘I’m sorry but I’m leaving’ speech. Sam tried not to let the feeling of hurt into his voice. “Oh,” he said. “That’s…good.”
“I refused.”
Sam stared. “Huh?”
“I will not be joining NEST with the others.”
Sam felt the hopeful bubble in his chest swell. “You’re not?”
“No,” Bumblebee replied, a smile in his voice and the same look of fond affection that Optimus displayed radiating from his shining blue optics. Bumblebee’s hands adjusted their grip on Sam and he lifted the boy up so their eyes met evenly. “Whether you find the arrangement agreeable or not, I am still your guardian. And more over, I am still your friend.”
Sam laughed, relief and joy and gratitude playing on his heart strings. “So you’re not sick of having to baby-sit me?”
Bumblebee’s head titled to the side. “I would hardly call it that, but no. I am not ‘sick of baby-sitting’ you. I never was, though you seemed to think so. I was under the impression that you were more tired of having to be watched.”
Sam had to admit to that it had been a factor. He was loath to admit it though. “Maybe…a little. At the time,” Sam said, but hurried on to say, “But I don’t think that now!”
Bumblebee smiled, in as much as his facial features allow and hummed, pleased. “I am happy to hear that you don’t find my presence irritating.”
“And you’re not peeved about me blowing you off for school?” Bumblebee pulled Sam back close to his chest, a soft humming emanating from behind the armor, strangely calming. “No,” he assured his charge gently. “I am not.”
Sam relaxed against the yellow metal and listened to the soft humming. It was so familiar to the humming he had heard while he and the others had been gathered around Arcee. He made a note to ask him what it meant. But not today. He felt too encompassed in the moment to break it with inane observations and silly questions. “I understand human adolescents are somewhat renowned for eagerly leaping head first into adulthood without fully understanding all that which implies.”
Sam pulled back. “I didn’t leap head first,” he rejected.
“You were eager though,” the scout asserted.
“Yeah, I guess,” he said, “but I was just so ready to feel normal again. And in my head that meant going to college. No offense buddy, but ever since I met you guys my whole life’s felt like…one giant sci-fi movie. It kind of makes you feel disconnected to everything around you. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted that.”
“So you thought that by distancing yourself from everything that you felt was abnormal about your life, you would be able to reconnect with what you felt you had lost?”
Sam winced and hunched his shoulders, feeling guilty that his answer had been yes. “Yeah. But you make me sound so shallow when you say it like that…”
“I would not call it shallow. Merely naïve.”
“Naïve?” Sam wasn’t sure if he liked either naïve or shallow over the other.
“Do not take offense. English is a somewhat limiting language; the word is the closet equivalent. I mean to say that it was something one would likely expect from someone your age.”
“So…stupid.”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Lowering Sam to the ground, Bumblebee looked him in the eye, one arm resting on his knee. “I do not think you are stupid Sam.”
“Just naïve, huh?” The Autobot’s optics glowed a little bright as he said, “I think you are very brave and kind.”
Sam felt as if he were blushing. “As does Optimus.” Alright, definitely blushing now.
“Uh…thanks…” Sam was not entirely sure how to respond to such a statement.
Optics smiling with amusement, Bumblebee poked Sam gently with a finger. “You don’t think so?”
“No,” Sam replied honestly. “Not really. I don’t think brave people are supposed to scream as much as I do.”
“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re fearless,” Bumblebee told him. “Sometimes being afraid is the smartest thing you can do.”
“You’re gonna have to explain that one…”
“Would you consider yourself brave if you decided to face down Megatron all by yourself?”
Sam snorted. “No, I’d think I was stupid as **** and have Ratchet check my brain for a tumor.” Bumblebee’s eyes glowed meaningfully. “Ok, I see what you mean…I think.”
Bumblebee nodded and then stood back up to his feet, towering over Sam. “You may not think of yourself as anything special Sam, but we do.”
Sam didn’t ask what ‘we’ meant and assumed he knew as to whom Bee was referring. He grinned. “Laying on the sap a little thick tonight aren’t we?”
Bumblebee shrugged noncommittally. “I wanted to allow you to make your own choices, but I was always nearby even if you couldn’t see me. If that makes you feel any better.”
Sam laughed. “I don’t have a guardian, I have a stalker.” Suddenly, the sound of The Police rang through the air, singing “Every bond you break every step you take, I’ll be watching you.” Sam laughed even harder.
“All joking aside Sam,” said Bumblebee. “With Megatron functioning once more, I cannot allow you to return to college without me. Regardless of the rules, I intend to stay.”
Sam sobered at Megatron’s name. “Do you think they’ll be back?”
“Most definitely,” Bumblebee replied without hesitation. “But we will be prepared for them.”
“So…” Sam sighed, trying not to feel afraid and allow it to be simple fact that it was. “I should probably get used to not being normal, huh?”
“Or you could simply alter your perception of what it means to be normal.”
Looking up at his guardian and thinking back to all that he had experienced both good and bad, Sam shrugged with a smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose I’ll have to.”
