I have begun revising so I could stand to add more chapters. This one has undergone some revision, as previous readers might notice if they have very sharp memories and/or eyes.
And why do I alway suck at typing while I'm on the fanfiction Doc Manager?
Oh, and yes, the recharging chambers in this story are all in one room, contrary to popular opinion. I do not mean to seem bigoted but I do write as the cartoon shows me. I don't know about what the comics say, because I haven't managed to read them. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get my paws on one.
All right, that's it for me," Jazz said, tossing down his cards in a fold, "Gotta go write that report."
"You, Jazz?" Ratchet replied sarcastically as his optics made a bitter sweep of the game table, particularly at his own miniscule pile of chips, "Leave in the middle of such a nail-biting game?"
Three hours or so ago, Ironhide had walked stridently into the recreation room with a case of huge, makeshift poker paraphernalia in hand, challenging all occupants of the room, Sideswipe, Blaster, Jazz, and Sunstreaker at the time, to a Terran game he recently learned. All joined quickly when they were told high grade energon, home-processed by ol' Ironhide himself, was in the pot. Unfortunately for Ironhide, he apparently did not realize that Jazz, being the ultimate culture junkie, would indubitably know all about poker. But, despite his predictable winning streak, the group swelled to include Mirage, Cliffjumper, Ratchet, Trailbreaker, Inferno and one of the newest arrivals to Earth, Hot Rod.
"Oh no, Jazz!" Cliffjumper grumbled, his hand clenched around Jazz's forearm in preparation to yank him back down, not taking his own optics off his cards, "You're not going anywhere until I win every chip back!"
Jazz smirked, "Can't Cliff, I already seen your cards."
Cliffjumper scowled in frustration as he let him go, so similar to the old red Autobot across from him.
"Anyways," Jazz continued, " I wanna go check up on Bumblebee. He left here kinda mad at us…" As he said this he indicated to Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Blaster and himself with a single sweep with his hand.
"That was mad?" Sunstreaker scoffed.
"For Bumblebee," Ironhide interjected, "Yeah."
"How'd you know, old timer?" Blaster spoke, looking up, "You weren't even here then."
"Met him in the Habitat corridor," Ironhide explained, tossing a vexed look at Jazz. "Ya'll ought to stop teasin' him like that.
"Hey man," Jazz said, raising a hand in his defense, "We didn't mean to hurt him. That's why I'm gonna go apologize."
"He said he was going to recharge after he left," Sunstreaker said, with a hint of whining in his voice as he stared at his cards. "He's probably not even awake…"
Sideswipe elbowed his twin before standing, throwing down his own cards, "I'll come with you, Jazz. I lost this hand anyways."
As the pair made it to the door, Jazz turned around with a mischievous grin, "Looks like I'll be getting a whole lot of high quality energon tomorrow. I might even share with some of ya."
He quickly stepped behind the door as a torrent of his own chips came whizzing towards him, complimented by a barrage of frustrated swears, but Jazz's quick dodge caused each of the more aggressively thrown ones to bounce instead off Sideswipe's back.
As the last of the chips thudded behind the closed doors, Sideswipe gave him a glare as he flicked a chip off his shoulder, "Give me some warning next time before you think of being a smartass."
Jazz merely chuckled and proceeded down to the recharge room.
Bumblebee was not in any of the recharging chambers however, nor was their any record of him even using his or any other in the past seventy-two hours.
"Looks like 'Bee found something else to do," Sideswipe said uninterestedly as he looked down one row of chambers. He spotted someone that made him grin evilly in the recharging bed from him.
"Suppose Prowl would notice if…"
"I wouldn't do that, Sideswipe," Jazz warned, "Prowl's recharge cycle's almost up."
"A little invisible bonding agent in the transforming joint at his waist won't take too long…"
"He's at the last few minutes of his five hours," Jazz reasoned, "He's still ain't too happy about you actually helping Wheeljack make that new invention that just happened to crawl into his bed."
"Hey, at least I made sure it didn't blow up when he sat on it," Sideswipe shrugged, looking longingly at the large tube bonding agent that he had pulled out from somewhere. He sighed as he tossed it into the air and caught it, "Well, lets go check out 'Bee's room. He might be there."
Bumblebee didn't answer the first door chime. Or the second or the third.
"Doesn't look like he's here."
"Maybe. But just 'cause he ain't answering don't mean he ain't here. We might of razzed too much," Jazz said, thumbing the entrance key.
Access denied, Teletran 1 informed them.
Jazz and Sideswipe shared a bewildered look.
"Bumblebee never locks his door," Sideswipe said, "He trusts everyone. That's why Sunstreaker and me don't pull as many pranks on him..."
Jazz already felt bad about razzing Bumblebee enough to making him leave the Rec. room, but hurting him enough to get him to do something this drastic (for him) made him feel like he just processed some bad energon. Wanting nothing more but to set it right, he keyed in the command override.
The doors slid open compliantly, and the most they expected was for Bumblebee to be at his desk pouting darkly, but that was hardly what met their eyes.
Bumblebee was slumped in the furthest corner of the room, his legs splayed apart at the knees, his arms limp and the knuckles battered, a shivering drip of energon clinging to the point of one. His head lolled to one side, his mouth slightly open. And his optics had gone completely dark, but the worst of it.
All of his color had drained to grey.
Bumblebee was dead.