Sunday 30 September 2012

Bumblebee had taken it upon himself to watch out for Sam. To be there, when he needed someone to talk to – and considering how often he had noted humans talking to themselves, or addressing inanimate objects when they thought they were alone, Sam talking to his car would not be seen as unusual – and drive Sam around when he needed to get someplace fast. Sam Witwicky may not have known it, but Bumblebee was there to be a bodyguard and protector as much as he was to be a friend.

In fact, after the battle in Mission City, all the humans who took a stance alongside the Autobots and fought the Decepticons, would be getting some kind of advanced protection. Even the Sector 7 agents, as much as the idea of protecting those who experimented on the Cube and Megatron, made the four surviving Autobots shudder in disgust. Sam was priority number one, as he landed the final blow. For now, Mikaela Banes would not be shadowed as closely as the others, since she spent considerable time with Sam Witwicky, or at the local education-training center for Tranquilities teenagers and subadults. If there were more warriors on earth, then they would be assigned human team members as well.

Ironhide capitulated and volunteered to watch over William Lennox and Robert Epps. Ratchet still dithered, needing to know who could survive an month in his presence, (not even battle-hardened Autobots volunteered to spend all day, every day under the Medic's keen eye and benevolent tyrannical ways) without screaming or going insane. Optimus Prime, shadowed John Keller as the Secretary Of Defense tried appropriated abandoned military bases, and revamping old, outdated secret hideouts that would suit their new allies.

Only Bumblebee's constant presence by Sam's side made it obvious. That had been explained away by the yellow bot's desire to learn more about humans and their culture first hand. It was the truth. There was only so much about human interaction that could be learned from far-off. To get a better understanding of humans as individuals, they needed to interact with humans on a semi-consistent basis.

Thankfully Sam had not objected to Bumblebee asking to remain his 'camero' and had quickly grown accustomed to a car that could drive itself. Secretly, Bumblebee was beginning to suspect the main reason Sam accepted his presence so quickly was because returning without a car would mean he'd be back to riding a bike to school or begging a ride off his parents. That, and the fact Sam slept in until the very last possible moment before leaving for school – and since Bumblebee already knew the way, Sam could eat while Bumblebee drove. "More efficient this way" Sam had mumbled through a mouthful of pop tarts one overcast morning, when asked why he didn't eat breakfast at home.

Bumblebee had no interest in becoming Sam's only friend, and the only one he could confide in. He just wanted to understand how humans thought (the available online psychological information did not clear things up), and letting Sam or Mikaela talk while he listened gave him some valuable insides. So did listening to Miles Lancaster ramble on about whatever topic had caught his fancy for the day. Some of the theories Miles mentioned while in that 'alien conspiracy' stage were at odds with facts and information stripped from secure networks. If those were the best firewalls and protection systems the humans had available, their culture, their nation, their world, would be doomed when the Decepticons took an active interest in subduing and taking control.

Sam never seemed to mind the questions Bee asked when they went on leisurely drives. They couldn't go to the coast every weekend (not that occasional trips to the beach weren't asked for), but crusing downtown, inevitably, Mikaela was present, and Bumblebee hesitated to interrupt their conversations, or risk getting overheard by teenagers like Trent DeMarco. And he was never again going to speak up during the drive-in-movie theater showings. Being berated by an irritated Mikaela almost made Bumblebee long for one of Optimus Prime's lectures, or Ratchet's long list of 'stuff I do for idiotic slag heaps' and the threats given to mechs as he repaired them. Nope, questions about the plot and special features could wait until after the ending credits finished sliding by.

By human standards, the day had been going by at an agonizingly slow pace. By Cybertron standards, time didn't slow to a creeping halt, or speed up and rush an unsuspecting individual, so the eight hours since Sam had walked past those swinging doors, had been eight hours. Bumblebe had noticed Sam seemed a bit withdrawn the last couple of days, but he always perked back to normal whenever someone engaged him in small talk, or a questionable hobby. Why did the boy spend so much time watching movies when he'd already seen the film several times? (Bumblebee knew – he'd snag the signal and watch the movie in the garage while Sam saw it in the house – he wanted to see what Sam saw in the entertainment, but the jokes and comedy slid right past him, until he searched the references and even then, he still didn't get what was so funny). The online gaming, and GameCube, Nintendo, X-Box, PlayStation, and similar systems also baffled the Autobots. Those games weren't real, and most weren't even based on real events, or stuff that could be real.

If Jazz had still been among those online, he would have strongly encouraged each and every one of them to 'go out and experience earth' instead of just being an observer. And for the saboteur, adapting oneself to fit the needs of a host family and local guide were more along the lines of 'simple observation.' Considering the public relations disaster that had surfaced when blurry images of Mission City's robotic invaders had cropped up, perhaps hiding in plain sight was the better option. For now, while humans were still uneasy about the idea of aliens visiting earth.

Bumblebee checked his internal chronometer and compared it to the local time. School would be out soon, and Sam would need a ride home. The only ones Sam gave rides to, were Miles and Mikaela – and Bumblebee wondered again at the small group of friends that Sam had. It was not healthy to limit ones social connections to only two others. At least, not for Cybertrons. Perhaps humans could remain sane without more people to talk to on a regular basis? Hmm, that would be a question to ask Judy or Ron, later. Neither of them seemed to have many acquaintances outside of work, and were fine. Both Witwicky parents had taken the revealing that Sam's car was actually a giant-alien-robot-in-disguise quite well. Either that, or their reaction was typical for humans upon learning that they weren't alone in the cosmos.

Which begged the question: which response would be more prevalent? Those that learned the truth about life on other planets and seemed to accept it without qualms, or those who feared the idea that their world had been visited, and screamed 'Protect Yourself' while donning aluminum or tin-foil hats?

Bumblebee did not believe himself well-versed in the understanding of humans to make that judgment call. This was another instance in which Jazz's absence was severely missed, for the silver mech would have grasped the gist of their culture and figured out a normal or typical response without actually needing to see them first hand (or hearsay) and the dozens or hundreds.

Bumblebee's musings were put on hold as the bell rang and hundreds (almost two thousand) of teenagers streamed out of the local high school building. This is when Sam and he were the most vulnerable – any attack now would cause mass confusion and panic, limiting the assistance Bumblebee could give in defense of the almost-adult members of society. Not that there was a high risk of a sneak attack here or now – Scorpnok could not travel across water, and the remaining Decepticons had either fled this watery planet, or had been deactivated in the confusion of Megatron's ultimate demise. Those that hadn't been taken apart beforehand, that is.

Sam slammed the door shut.

Bee winced. It hadn't hurt, and he wasn't startled, but Sam had been extra careful to not scratch his paint (not that Cybertron paint was as weak as human paints and enamels), or drop crumbs on the seats or floors – and the boy had been a lot more gentle with everything for a while now, so for Sam to be slamming something, it meant whatever had Sam withdrawing was big.

Glad for the untold millionth time that Ratchet had been able to fix his vocalizer, Bee spoke up. "What's wrong Sam?"

"Nothing", growled the boy. He shoved the key in the ignition and turned it, holding the ignition longer than required.

Bee winched, now that had stung, but only briefly. "Something's troubling you, Sam." He allowed the human to drive them out of the parking lot – letting the human navigate the parking lot at the end of school was the smart thing to do, for escaping the chaos of dozens of teenagers all heading for one small exit left his processors dizzy, and yet, Sam seemed to have no problem getting them out without any dents, dings, or chips. Most of the teenage drivers made it out of the ever-changing maze, all without accidents. The awe Bee felt the first time Sam drove and smoothly slid them into traffic had been real (this was before Sam had realized his old clunker had not been a real car), and it still floored him when Sam was able to recreate the experience every single school day. Medics like Ratchet could switch smoothly from a gridlock, avoiding accidents mindset, to chaos and to flight no problem. Others needed a precious nanosecond or more to make the adjustment. Humans – those Bee could keep an optic on – didn't seem to need any pause as they merged in and out of traffic.

"I'm fine Bee," Sam yelled.

Bumblebee fell silent. Whatever was bothering Sam was serious – and asking him proved to be futile. Sam's parents would be almost as clueless (or they had already figured it out, and chose not to mention it to Bumblebee). Mikaela might be a viable person to question but she had taken time off from school to go see her dad after he had been released fro prison – dad and daughter were doing parent-offspring stuff, like visiting Disneyland or something. Miles Lancaster, Sam's best friend, didn't yet know of Bumblebee's living status, and asking him would not work.

Bee's observation of the school (both when searching for the glasses and when watching out for Sam's well-being), led Bee to believe a 'bully' was the issue. However, that did not compute, because Trent D had been behaving himself of late.

"Is Trent DelMarco being a pest again?"

"It's Not Trent! Now Drop it, Bee!" Sam hit the steering wheel hard. The shock hurt more than the faint impact Bee's systems reported.

Bee would not 'drop' the issue, but he would be more circumstantial in his questions. Then he remembered something Sam had expressed interest in. "If you'd like to go to New York City, we can head out on Friday after school."

Sam leaned back and took his hands off the wheel. He no longer pretended to drive (assuming correctly that Bee would catch the uncontrolled drive and take over).

Having received no vocal confirmation or denial Bee persisted. The worst, he figured, Sam could do would be to continue to refuse to acknowledge him. "Assuming you still want to visit New York City."

"I don't want to talk about it." Sam muttered. Bee did not know if Sam intended for that response to be heard, since Cybertron audios could decipher mumbling, whispers, and other low-volume responses most humans could not catch.

"Sam, please tell me what's wrong."

"NOTHING is Wrong, Bee! Now FORGET IT!" Sam grabbed his bag and kicked at the door, then jumped out of the moving car, before Bee managed to pull into the Witwicky driveway.

Ron met his boy on the reinstalled gravel pathway. He clapped Sam on the back and picked up the bag his boy dropped. Bee moved into the garage, not knowing what else to do. Ron poked his head in the garage door shortly after. "Sam's fine, Bee. He just needs to be left alone for a bit."

"Mr. Witwicky" Bumblebee began to say, before remembering the father's request to be addressed by "Ron",

"Hmm?"

"Do you know why Sam's behaving oddly?"

"Yeah, I do." Ron pulled his head out of the garage, presumably to see Sam with his own eyes. "it's nothing personal, but Sam's always been moody during September. Especially today. Because on this day, several years back, my brother Irvine and his son Spike died in an accident. Sam was close to Spike, they were almost as inseparable as conjoined twins. Loosing them both was hard on Sam, and hard on me."

Bee unfolded from his car form and resumed his more familiar, mechanical humanoid base shape. He was stunned and shocked. Sam had given no indication he'd lost any family. Or lost a best friend. "Thank you for telling me. Is his reaction normal for humans?"

Ron shrugged. "What's normal? Humans haven't got a clue."

THE TRANSFORMERS are not mine. Just saying.