He tried spending time with the family, but he felt too exposed.
He tried watching the TV, but that only reminded him of what he was trying to escape.
He tried surfing the web. It worked for a while, the old familiar haunts of the internet soothing him. Pictures of kittens and stories of things his fellow browsers had seen lasted a while. As he sat there crouched over the glaring flat screen, head aching and stomach sick with the fear of the day, he almost began to feel better, to calm down.
Then, at the bottom, almost a hundred topics down, was a question about the objectification of women on reality TV. Like a slap in the face, it knocked him back into his office in Griffin Rock, shuddering in the shadow of a giant poster of a kitten. What if Prescott's cameras had seen that?
What if he'd used other technology aside from just cameras: Wiretaps, keyloggers, rootkits? What if they had shown Prescott all the things the Burns had written, the pictures they had taken, the messages they sent to one another when no one was looking? What if he had asked who had painted Charlie's computer wallpaper, who had recommended him that delightful horror novel he was working through each day after work?
After logging out of everything, he fled his office, unable to look at the technology that could have spelled doom any longer. He wandered the house on his tiptoes, trying not to wake the children, and it was only when he heard a soft growl of his name that he realized his mistake.
"Heatwave?"
"Chief, what are you doing down here?"
"Can't sleep again." Charlie slumped onto a chair.
The bot sat down across from him, towering. "What's wrong? I've never seen you like this."
Charlie leaned down, elbows on knees. "I think I know what it feels like now, to be under scrutiny all the time."
"What are you talking about? You're always under scrutiny."
"Not like this. Yes, people are always watching me… But I trained for that. I'm used to it. I'm not used to wondering if one wrong word, one wrong glance, will put people I care about in danger by letting people know they're alive."
Heatwave sighed. "Don't worry about it. Saving lives comes first, just like Optimus said."
Charlie looked down. "Is it this nerve-wracking, to have to watch every movement, every word?"
"Why do you think I have starter trouble every time there's a parade?"
It was Charlie's turn to sigh. "We take our freedom for granted here."
"Yeah? So did everyone on Cybertron. I think that's just part of being alive. If we worry about losing what we have all the time, we'll be too tired to protect it."
He looked up at the red giant before him, shoulders finally relaxing. "I think that's the wisest thing I've ever heard you say, Heatwave."
"Hey, Chase isn't the only one who listens to you."