"It's too soon."

Pede steps echoed down a dark hallway, breems earlier filled with bots. The silence reigned supreme, though perhaps metaphorically. This was a medbay after all, the rhythms and melody of machinery and patients were eternal. There once was a time when a medsuite would stay unoccupied for joors at a time, but those days seemed long gone. A pessimist might say they'd stay filled until the planet and its inhabitants had nothing more to give. An optimist might look around and remember those who walked out on their own accord. While the tragedy still happened, there were successes to be celebrated.

A realist would dismiss both. Illness, damage, and the like was a part of life, it only boils down to circumstance and the individual. But no matter what happens, the preventative measures taken to keep others living, everyone would eventually die and the universe would move on and somewhere along the line, an existential crisis got thrown in for kicks.

However, this was not the situation at hand and it probably wouldn't be until the factions disbanded and Cybertron was at peace. For now, the focus remained in the present.

"We require the information."

Two figures approached a medsuite. Unlike in the times of old, there was no fancy sci-fi door or shiny walls in sight. The area was sterile, but drab. Redesigned from a well-secluded storage unit, berths decorated the walls with not much in terms of privacy. However, the few medsuites that existed - repurposed from the confidential holding areas once used to house more dangerous substances - were bright, packed with equipment, separated from prying optics by only a thin mesh, and only for those ready to fall into the Well at a moment's notice. It was not a place you wanted to be.

After all, most soldiers that went in didn't walk out.

"He's barely out of surgery! He'll be incoherent and in pain-"

"He will share what he knows. If the last incident was anything to go by, nothing short of stasis will stop him."

A scoff.

"Make that nothing short of offlining."

A pause.

"...I wish I knew what he was trying to say. During extraction, he kept trying to speak and by the Allspark, I've never heard any bot sound like that. I'm glad you never saw him like that. You should never have to see him like that."

"I regret that you had to, old friend."

It's almost amusing when others have conversations about you and believe you can't hear. Good or bad, whatever is heard is the truth. Well, for the most part it is.

Eavesdropping had always been a hobby for Bumblebee, mostly because he enjoyed spooking other bots when after five kliks, they'd realize he was there. He just had an affinity for sneaking around with a mischievous streak that spanned the Acid Wastes. They were ideal qualities for a scout as well as for anyone in Special Ops. However, he didn't like to dwell on that experience. He was happy being a scout.

He'd be happier if Optimus and Ratchet just came into the medsuite already. The scout had been conscious for the better part of a breem and hearing such somber tones from his leader made him bristle. Oh, he was frustrated - enraged even - with the Prime's actions and maybe it was all the inhibitors in place to keep him from really feeling those torn cables and shattered struts, but all he could focus on was his anger.

Bumblebee knew better than to move - after all, he wasn't a fool. All relays and programs connected to his voice box were severed and rather than investigate that issue, he only huffed in exasperation and searched for something that would make a noise. Well, he would have if his limbs wanted to cooperate. By the way, how did he even get so slagged up in the first place?

Whatever, not important. His optics spiraled as his focus shifted from one item to the next. There was the spark monitor, stuff about his vitals (wow, his coolant levels were absolutely dismal), damage report (what sorry fragger did he have to punch for shanking his tank?), a laser scalpel that was too far away, and a lot of wires connected to his frame. Huh, looks like the only thing he could move was himself.

…

There was an almighty crash from from the medsuite, causing both mechs outside of it to jump. Well, Ratchet jumped. Optimus's plating flared out as he slowly looked towards the suite like Megatron himself had fallen and couldn't get up. Then, a machine behind the mesh began to wail and Ratchet ran towards the room, practically ripping the mesh off in his haste.

The sight he was greeted with was a very regretful-looking scout who had definitely fallen and couldn't get up.

"For the love of Primus…" Was Ratchet worried? Oh definitely, he'd done nothing but worry when he'd first caught wind of the situation in Tyger Pax. But with the absolute worst behind them, he could take the brief respite the universe had offered him to raise a servo to his helm and pinch his crest. "Bumblebee, what the frag were you thinking?"

Too high on inhibitors to realize wow, that should've hurt, Bumblebee looked up at the medic and offered his best shrug with whatever components decided to work. That's about when Optimus stumbled in, watching wide-eyed as Bumblebee so casually offered him a nod of acknowledgement.

I wanted to get your attention.

If a text comm. could whine, this one definitely did. That was all it took to make a wrench collide with that annoyingly yellow helm. Ratchet was fuming and no matter how pathetic Bumblebee tried to look, he would never be able to stop the onslaught. "WHY DIDN'T YOU COMM. US, YOU PIT-SPAWNED PIECE OF SCRAP?!"

...I didn't think of it.

"OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T THINK OF IT, YOU FRAGGING IDIOT! Do you even know what kind of damage you could have caused yourself? Do you?! Now, I have to run another deep scan on you - don't give me that look, you should've thought of this before you pushed yourself off the berth - and we're going to make sure you didn't slag anything else up and if Primus is kind, hopefully, you only tore some minor relays. Little glitch. Optimus?"

The Prime in question had just been standing in the doorway, unwilling to get in the middle of his medic's tirade lest he be subject to it as well. But now that the worst of it had died down, Optimus dared to enter the suite completely. "How may I be of assistance?"

By now, Ratchet had moved on to prepping the equipment he needed and making sure Bumblebee hadn't damaged any of the machines he'd been hooked up to. With a wave of his servo, he replied, "Get him on the berth and make sure he doesn't do that again."

With a nod, Optimus began his task. However, it was about then that Bumblebee realized oh yeah, he was pissed as all hell. As Optimus knelt to lift the scout, Bee swatted at his servo. It was weak and it missed, but the intention was clear: don't fragging touch me.

Alarmed, Optimus reluctantly drew back. "Bumblebee?"

You don't trust me.

The message was scathing, so unlike Bumblebee's usual temperament. When the scout spoke aloud, he had a tendency to talk too much, sharing details and happily explaining his escapades. But over written communication, he never used too many words and never too little. Every statement he made had hesitancy. The point was always clear and at times, brutally honest. Writing was Bumblebee's medium and fortunately or not, it was showing now. Optimus felt a pang of sorrow rush through his spark and the desire to solve this problem immediately. "Nothing is farther than the truth, Bumblebee. I trust you with my spark."

But not enough to know the true location of the Allspark?

In war, calls need to be made. Bumblebee's extraction was one that almost wasn't made - not that anyone would let the scout know. Another had been the decision to limit information about the Allspark's whereabouts. It wasn't a detail the Prime believed Bumblebee would ever have to know or one that he thought would come back to bite him. Withholding the information proved to be the wrong call. After the incident with the Decepticon spy with strange colloquialisms, Bumblebee had cemented his loyalty and trustworthiness. Optimus trusted the scout with his life, even if he'd never told him aloud. Reaching again for the downed bot, he gently lifted Bee and placed him back on the berth.

"I have my reasons, as did the other officers at the time. However, I apologize for this lapse of judgment. You - and those of your team - had the right to know. We believed withholding the information would protect you long enough to expel the Allspark from the planet. We were wrong." The metaphorical silence was back, laced with regret and the last twinges of anger Bumblebee could muster. He wanted to stay mad, wanted to lash out at a target because screw it, he wasn't a hatchling or even a botling. The only ones who seemed to treat him otherwise were the Decepticons, and even they saw him as an annoyance that needed to be silenced.

Well, they got their wish.

He tried to glare at his leader, tried to channel what hurt and betrayal he felt into that one expression, and faltered. He wasn't the hateful type nor did he want to be. His optics shifted, both accusing and confused as he began to calm down. He didn't want to hate. Twiddling his digits, he cast his gaze to the berth.

I'm sorry for doubting you.

It was hard, getting used to texting. Bumblebee wanted to talk but since he woke up the first time, he'd been told not to. Not that he protested much, trying to scream after his throat had been crushed was not something he wanted to repeat. Still, the text was a little too impersonal for him and he was already counting down the days until he could speak again.

"Ok Bumblebee, hold still," Ratchet commanded. The medic reconnected the cables Bumblebee pulled in his plight, statistics blinking back into view on the screens. "Hmph, your coolant levels are abysmal. We'll take care of that in a minute, I'm running the scan. More likely than not, you opened a weld somewhere."

Bumblebee shuddered as he felt the program run its course. A scan like this was invasive and he felt fortunate Soundwave hadn't tried to hack him. Of course, other things happened that he'd be severely scarred from when all the inhibitors finally wore off (or he stopped living in denial, whichever came first), but he could relax with the knowledge a deep scan would only ever cause him mild discomfort.

All three mechs in the room knew there was time to kill. Bumblebee had to stay online for the remainder of the scan which could take the better part of a joor. Whatever needed immediate attention would have popped up the moment Bee had been connected. For once, a stroke of luck for the scout and Ratchet would never admit it out loud, but he was relieved Bumblebee hadn't done more than make a few more dents in himself. Speaking of which, the scout was still aesthetically in rough shape. Saving his spark came first, but Ratchet eyed every tear and gap in the dirtied armor. They'd clean him up when the time came, after everything major had been repaired and Bumblebee didn't need anything for what pain he was in now.

However, both older mechs were here for a reason and it became obvious the longer Bee had to hold still. As predicted, Bumblebee made the first move. After all, it was only business. This was how the job worked: you got back, you debriefed, and then you went to the rec room for a cube or stumbled back to your quarters and recharged for as many cycles as you were allowed. Those outside of the scout class never understood why the scouts were always allowed to take more than their fair share of rations after a mission and they possibly never would, but it was a necessity. Bumblebee absentmindedly tugged at the energon drip leading into a main line. Oh yes, he'd run the protocol for the extent of his imprisonment and by the looks of it, he'd be on the direct feed for a while. That was never fun. But he could think about that later, for now, he still had a job to do as long as he was able and now that a commanding officer was in the vicinity, he could finish his objective.

Sir, I do have time-sensitive information to report. Would it be a good time for a debrief?

Ratchet and Optimus locked optics, the medic relenting and offering a jerky nod. It wasn't a formal debriefing with the rest of the officers, but Bumblebee needed this to be more personal. There was a story to tell - one even Ratchet hadn't heard the full details of - and it was one Bumblebee didn't seem keen to share with the rest of the Autobots. Emotionally, he'd been the closest with the two mechs only meters away from him and those two mechs would probably be the only to ever know the story in full.

Neither were going to fail the scout again. Taking up residence in the few chairs within the suite, both mechs prepared to sit vigil and listen. "If you are up to the task, then we are here. This is not a formal session, although we will treat it as one due to the nature of the information at hand and the surrounding circumstances," Optimus explained. "You are free to start or stop at any time as long as you relay what is needed. Do you have any questions before we begin?"

Bumblebee appeared to think for a moment, slowly nodding after a few seconds. He recognized the invitation for what it was. There were whispers among the scouts of what they'd dubbed "therapy debriefs." Out of the other classes of the army, scouts had the highest capture rate and the highest offlining rate. Scouts weren't meant to fight like the warriors. While that didn't imply they couldn't hold their own, they were the ones sent into the worst of enemy territory. A good scout came home with much needed intel about the enemy. A good scout didn't get caught. And if they did?

A good scout didn't break.

Though he'd kept his integrity and created a new reputation, Bumblebee knew he was broken. He felt the beginnings of it beneath the inhibitors and he knew he needed to get rid of it. He needed to continued being a scout, redeem himself, prove that he wasn't some unfortunate child who was in over his head. He could be respected and relied on and he refused to let any experience infringe on that.

However, that was easier said than done when he kept flinching at any sudden movements or harshly recoiled when touched. But he could fix that, fix himself when the time came, and as much as he didn't want to share his ordeal, he had to. From what the others had said, these kinds of debriefings helped push it all away. Tell the story once and never tell it again. The other scouts could do it, so he could to.

How much can you keep confidential?

"Anything that is not pertinent to the cause or endangers another."

Bumblebee nodded. Most of the story wasn't necessary, he knew that. But the more he thought about it, the more he needed to get it out. He'd asked about the rest of the team before - of Datum and Acceleron - and learned only one survived. Like him. Even then, he doubted he'd see them again.

So he cycled in a vent and got as comfortable as he could. It was going to be a long night.