A/N: So, I've finally got a title for this story! Believe it or not, this chapter was supposed to be even longer than it is now. A lot more was supposed to happen, and I apologize that some things have been put off until the next chapter… gah, I'm sorry! I didn't want to keep my readers waiting, and I thought that where it ends now is kind of a good stopping point, etc., etc. So, yeah – still, anyway, I think this is a halfway decent chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I regret to announce that I don't own them. Le sigh.

Insignificance: Chapter Four

Optimus Prime did not seem surprised to see Sam standing before him, arms crossed over his chest, an agitated expression masking his features. The leader of the Autobots turned to Ironhide, rumbled something to him in their native Cybertronian language, then returned his optics to the boy at his feet. "Yes, Sam?"

"I need to talk to you," he repeated. "Alone."

"I thought you might have some questions," Optimus said carefully. "I apologize for not telling you everything right away." Slowly, the two of them wandered away from the rest of the Autobots, rounding a corner of the brick factory building and finally stopping in the cracked asphalt of an empty parking lot.

Sam sat on a chunk of concrete, rested his elbows on his knees, and sighed. "It's been one hell of a past two days," he grumbled, watching the last of the watercolor hues fade from the evening sky. "I'm not sure if today has been worse than yesterday. It's close. And today isn't even over yet, so it's still got plenty of time to take the title of worst day ever."

"What is troubling you, Sam?" Optimus stood several feet away, his blue optics also turned to the last light of the sunset.

"Everything," was the cryptic reply.

"Start from the beginning."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want you to play the part of the psychiatrist. I just… there's a lot of stuff that I've got to get off my chest, Optimus. I think I might explode if I don't talk to someone."

"It's about you and Bumblebee, isn't it?" The Autobot's voice was steady and neutral, but he didn't turn his stare from the horizon.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it is. Bee said he told you about it, months ago."

"He did," Optimus replied. "Bumblebee was chosen to find you and protect you. He was assigned to be your guardian and at the time I thought that that would be the extent of your relationship." He turned to face Sam. "Bumblebee confided in me not long after he found you that you were the one. Of course, at the time I thought his feelings were foolhardy. It didn't make sense to me – a Cybertronian and a human, showing affection for one another. I told him that they were feelings you would never reciprocate."

The boy sighed and stared at the blackening ground, but said nothing.

"Apparently, I was wrong."

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam said, his voice sounding small and weak. "I think I knew it all along – you know, at a subconscious level – that we had something going. It didn't really hit me until yesterday."

"I will not approve or disapprove of it," Optimus said, his optics again wandering back to the darkening desert horizon. "It is your business, and yours alone. I cannot influence you one way or another, and I do not wish to. Just remember, Sam – the life of a Cybertronian is longer – considerably longer – than that of any flesh-and-blood creature. Most of us assembled here tonight are older than the modern human race. Take our lifespan into consideration with this relationship, Sam. By Cybertronian standards, Bumblebee is young… but he will still be alive, hundreds of thousands of years after you have passed. We were never meant to bond with life forms of such ephemeral existence. It has happened before, but as time moves on…" Optimus' voice faded away as he became lost in his own thoughts.

Sam's consciousness, too, was consumed by his brooding, and he remembered the dream he'd experienced overnight, while sleeping inside the Camaro. That's how Bumblebee will live after I'm gone – always with a heavy ache in his spark, always mourning. He shifted uncomfortably on the chunk of concrete; the air was growing cold now that the sun had set, and soon the stars would show themselves.

Optimus spoke in the semi-darkness. "Is this why you and Mikaela… broke up?" The way the Autobot used the phrase was awkward, sounding much like a child pronouncing a new word for the first time.

"Yeah," Sam grunted. "Yesterday, she confronted me about it. She was suspicious… I think she knew. And she was so disappointed – so disgusted – so hurt – she ended it, right there. I need to talk to her."

"You need to talk to a lot of people, it seems, human and Autobot alike."

The boy sighed. "I know. I wish I could convince her to at least talk to me again – not that I've spoken to her since yesterday – but why she'd even want to look my way again…" Sam broke off and glanced to the sky; it was a deepening blue, though the line of the horizon remained a yellowish color that steadily blended into the sapphire of the heavens. His eyes searched for stars and faraway planets, and he realized that several months ago, before this huge fiasco, before any of this had ever happened, he never would have imagined life forms such as these – the Autobots and the Decepticons – to be out there, fighting in the galaxy. "I guess it all seems so insignificant, now," Sam murmured at last.

"In retrospect, many things are."

Some silence, then, "Optimus, are we gonna be alright?"

The Autobot considered the question for a moment, his blue optics flickering in the darkness. "Time will tell, Sam. Do not dwell on the new threats that have arisen. There is a time and place for that. Now is not that time, nor is here the place."

Sam made his way back around the dark silhouette of the building, walking silently behind Optimus Prime's plodding steps. They returned to the scene of the original meeting, where Ratchet and Ironhide were engaged in deep conversation, sometimes speaking in Cybertronian, and sometimes in English, gesticulating with hand motions they had undoubtedly learned during their stay on Planet Earth. Sam could swear he heard the nameJazz mentioned several times in their dialogue, though he couldn't be sure and assumed it was just wishful thinking. Some distance away sat Bumblebee, solitary, in his Camaro form, his headlights turned on, casting circles of yellow light on the pebbly ground.

Why's he all alone like that? Sam wondered with a distressed frown. Dammit, Bee… The boy bid goodnight to the other Autobots, then set for the Camaro at a slow trot. It was well past his curfew, but Sam figured that it just didn't matter anymore. What difference would it make? As Optimus had confirmed, many things were trivial, insignificant… And breaking curfew was one of them.

Sam neared the sports car and noticed how its yellow color was dulled in the darkness. It was extraordinary, really, how the appearance of things could change so drastically at night. Bumblebee hummed to life, revving his engine as the boy stroked the hood of the Camaro, his fingers following the black racing stripes. "Hey, Bee," he murmured lamely, not sure of what else to say. "Sorry for taking so long – had to talk to Optimus and stuff."

"I know," the car replied. "There's no need to apologize." And that said, the driver-side door whipped open, and Sam could just hear the words of an angst-ridden power ballad crooning from the radio. He was about to ask Bee why he was playing such a melancholy choice of music, but the Autobot quickly shut it off, replacing it with the much more upbeat, "Hey, well, I'm the friendly stranger in the black sedan, oh, won't you hop inside my car…"

Sam couldn't help but smile a little as he climbed into the driver-side seat and pulled the door shut. He buckled the seatbelt around himself and said, softly, "Nice song, Bee."

The car purred contentedly at Sam's words, then rolled back out onto the deserted road. "I'm your vehicle baby, I'll take you anywhere you wanna go, I'm your vehicle woman, by now you surely know – that I love ya, I need ya, I want to, got to have you, child…"

The song seemed out of place to Sam; it was far too jovial after hearing what Optimus had said, too carefree, too forced. The boy sighed, and looked longingly out the window as they accelerated down the empty byway. "Hey, Bee?"

"Yes?"

"Can you roll down your windows? I wanna feel the wind." It must have seemed like an odd request, but there it was. It was too cold for air conditioning and too warm for anything else, and the feeling of the breeze hitting his face was one of Sam's favorite sensations. It was thrilling, and it tasted like freedom and liberation and getting away from it all. Bumblebee complied, and Sam sighed again, this time content, the cool air striking his face as he leaned back into the seat. "Thank you, Bee."

"You seem preoccupied," the Autobot said, the volume of his voice raised so that Sam could hear it over the howling wind.

His eyes closed, a vague smile crossed Sam's features. "So do you."

"Yes," was the reply. "Perhaps we all are."

Sam nodded and murmured, "I realized today that there are so many things –so many things – that I've never asked you about, stuff that's never occurred to me. I've made so many assumptions, looking at things from only my point of view, never thinking about the long-term impact my actions will make."

"Did your talk with Optimus trigger these feelings?" Bumblebee asked, his voice cutting over the music that was currently humming on the radio: "Let me run with you tonight, I'll take you on a moonlight ride… There's someone I used to see, but she don't give a damn for me…"

Sam thought for a moment, letting the sound of the desert wind and the rock 'n' roll harmonica fill his thoughts. "In a way. He certainly put a new perspective on some things. But I've had so much time to think about stuff, lately. And there was that dream, Bee – I remembered it."

"The dream you experienced last night?"

"Yeah," he said. "I saw myself grow up – and live…"

"And die," Bumblebee finished. "And you witnessed the rest of humanity move on and crumble."

"Y-yes," Sam said, bewildered. "That's exactly what happened! Bee, how did you know?"

The car sighed. "It wasn't exactly a dream, Sam. Not a real one, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Forgive me," the Autobot said, sounding hesitant, guilty, almost. "I projected the images into your mind – using a wavelength that your brain would recognize and turn into a dream sequence. It only works at extremely short distances, when the receiving person is relaxed."

Sam blinked. "Why, Bee? It was so sad! I saw everything from yourperspective! Is that how you feel? Is that your way of telling me you've got second thoughts about the whole thing? Because, really, if you're feeling that shitty about it all, we can call it off –"

"No, Sam," Bumblebee said. "Though I will suffer greatly when your time comes to an end, nothing can compare to what I feel between us now. No amount of sorrow that I may and will experience in the future will rival how good it is to be here, with you."

Shocked and humbled beyond belief, unexpected tears rushed to Sam's eyes. He had so many other questions jabbing at his mind, but at the moment, nothing mattered more to him than what Bumblebee had just said. He wrapped his arms around the Camaro's steering wheel, hugging it against his chest, small sobs quaking his body. "I – oh, God, Bee, I had no idea – you have no clue how much I appreciate it – " His words became unintelligible as more tears ran down his face, but finally, Sam was able to choke out, "God, I love you."

The engine of the Camaro roared in approval, enough to mask Tom Petty's words, "You don't know how it feels, no, you don't know how it feels… to be me…"

It was a full hour before Sam and Bumblebee finally rolled into his family's driveway. On the way home, they had discussed all the questions Sam's sleepy mind could conjure – what Cybertron had looked like (Bumblebee said that his home planet had been vastly different from Earth; mechanical and sharp, not resembling the organic forms of Sam's planet), the lifespan of Cybertronians (hundreds of thousands, millions of Earth-years, provided they weren't killed in battle), and if Bumblebee missed his home and his long-gone friends ("I do, but Earth has become a suitable substitute.").

Sam unbuckled his seatbelt as Bumblebee shut his engine off, and for a moment, there was a warm, comfortable silence. The digital clock on the Camaro's console read 12:34 and Sam was surprised that it wasn't later. The windows in his house were still lit brightly, and the boy could only imagine the shitstorm that waited for him inside. Quite frankly, he was surprised his mother hadn't called the police, but maybe his father had talked some sense into her… Either that, or they were waiting, all sorts of punishments and groundings filling their minds, waiting until he stepped through that front door…

"Bee, I'm sorry – I really shouldn't stay with you tonight. My mom and dad would flay me…"

"I know," the car replied. "I understand. There is much to be worked out between you and your parents – much they cannot comprehend."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'm already on their shit-list for breaking it off with Mikaela and ignoring curfew for the past few nights… Not to mention the fact my mom thinks I spend an unhealthy amount of time with you." The boy sighed, stroked the leather upholstery of the passenger-side seat, and said, "I better go. It's been really good talking to you tonight, Bee."

"Never hesitate to ask me any questions, Sam."

"Believe me, I won't," he replied. "There's plenty more stuff I need to ask about, but now just isn't a good time." Sam opened the door, stepped out of the car, and watched it close with a soft thunkby itself. "I don't want to leave you here by yourself in the driveway, but…" His voice trailed off, then a sudden smile touched his face as a new idea occurred. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow! I've got the perfect idea. You won't be disappointed."

"What is it?" The Autobot definitely sounded intrigued.

Sam smirked, beginning his walk to the front door of his home. "It's a surprise, Bee! You'll be the envy of all the other 'bots at tomorrow's meeting, though. Have a good night!"

"Same to you."

And then Sam made his way up the front porch steps, his hand grasping the door handle, preparing himself for what would most likely be a barrage of questions, accusations, and no doubt yelling.

The first thing Sam saw when he opened the door was his mother's face, inches away from his own, a look of relief washing over her features. Behind her, Sam caught a glimpse of his father – though all views were blocked from sight when his mother brought him into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh,Sam!" she shrieked, finally letting him go and steering him into the living room.

Sam goggled at her. "What's the occasion?"

"Sam, we were soworried – "

"Mom, I've broken curfew before – "

She shook her head. "No, not since we'd known you'd ended it with Mikaela. Oh, I was so afraid you'd gone off and done something stupid, like commit suicide or something – "

"What?!" Sam said, incredulous.

"Of course," she said, her face suddenly taking on a stony expression, "yourfather here thought you'd gone back to Mikaela's house andmade up with her, and spent the night there…"

"What?!" Sam couldn't believe his ears. Behind his mother, his father's sheepish smile slipped into a disappointed scowl. "Mom, it's beennothing like that – "

"Oh, Sam, we couldn't help but worry…"

His father stepped forward. "So then, son, what were you doing?"

It was hard, but Sam somehow resisted the urge to spit none of your business, besides maybe saving your asses. Without hesitation, he murmured, "I was out for a drive and lost track of time."

"Out for a drive? Lost track of time?" his father sputtered.

"That's exactly what I said," Sam grumbled. "And I'm sorry."

"Sam, there's so many other things for you to be doing!" his mother scolded. "Spend time with, oh, I don't know, your family? Or your friends?"

"Your mother's right, Sam – you're obsessed with that car. I think we need to limit the time you spend with it."

Sam shook his head and said calmly, "You can't do that. You don't understand. And, really, I don't expect you to."

His mother looked aghast at these words. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"There are things out there, bigger than what you can imagine. Stuff you and I can't control." Sam couldn't believe what he was saying – and, obviously, neither could his parents. They were both staring at him as if he had suddenly grown another set of eyes; they stood there, arms crossed, dubious expressions on their faces, eyebrows cocked. They think I'm insane, Sam thought. This is just great. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from continuing, his voice growing more forceful and strong: "This is important, more important than you'll ever understand. It's not just some stupid boybreaking curfew to joyride in his car. You can ground me, if you'd like. The most it'll be is symbolic."

Shocked silence was the only thing to answer Sam. He knew how ridiculous he must sound, and if the expressions on his parents' faces were any indication, he sounded extremely ridiculous.

"You don't understand how insignificant stuff is. And how – how fragile." Sam pushed past his parents and headed for the stairs. "I've had a crappy day. I'm going to sleep."

"Sam," his father said, frowning in a disappointed way, "don't be surprised to wake up in the morning and find that car gone."

"I'd like to see you try and tow it away," Sam grunted, and disappeared up the stairs, closing the door to his bedroom behind him. It probably wasn't the best idea, he knew, to leave his parents angry and befuddled, but he just couldn't help it. There was no way he'd attempt to explain everything to them; like everyone else, his parents had believed the government lie that the damage to the city a few months earlier had been the result of terrorist attacks, not the battling of giant alien robots. They would never believe him if he told the truth, and even if they saw Bumblebee transform in front of them, Sam was pretty sure his parents' reaction to the whole thing would be very poor.

He wasn't sure why – maybe it was just an overload of information and emotion he'd experienced in the past few hours – but Sam was tired despite the fact he'd slept for much of the day. He pressed his face to the cool glass of his window, and there, in the backyard, he could just make out the dark silhouette of the Camaro, stationed below his bedroom,guarding. Sam sighed, feeling a warmth inside for Bumblebee's gesture. He knew that the Camaro would be back in the driveway by dawn, as to not be seen in such a peculiar spot. For a passing moment, Sam considered warning Bumblebee about the threat to have him towed in the morning, but he decided otherwise, knowing the Autobot would be perfectly capable of handling the situation. And besides, Sam thought with a bit of a smirk, it'll be amusing as hell to see them try and take Bee away.

Somehow, Sam was able to will himself from his sleep, his eyes finding the alarm clock next to his bed that told him 8:23 was way too early to be waking up at on a summer's day. Nevertheless, there were things to do, and an undoubtable comedy to witness in the driveway. He pulled himself out of his tangled sheets, tiptoed to the bathroom across the hall, and took the quickest shower of his life, hoping to Primus that the tow truck hadn't arrived yet. His hair sopping wet and a towel thrown around his waist, Sam raced back to his bedroom, threw on the nearest clothes he could find (they were, of course, in a pile on the floor), and shuffled down the stairs.

His mother was pouring coffee in the kitchen. "Good morning, Mom," Sam said, sounding so cheerful his mother stared.

"Goodness, Sam – what are you doing up so early?"

Sam shrugged and glanced out the window, his eyes landing on the driveway where Bumblebee was still parked. "Oh, I dunno. It's a beautiful day. Might as well enjoy it to the fullest, huh?"

She shook her head and resumed her serving of the coffee. "That nice attitude isn't going to work, honey. Your father has already called a tow truck – he's decided that it'll do you good to keep that car in storage for a little while."

"When's it supposed to arrive?" Sam asked, sounding much too calm for his own good.

His mother craned her neck, looking over his shoulder. "Well – that's the truck pulling into the driveway right now." She gave Sam a steely look and added, "Since you're so attached to that car, why don't you go out there and see it off?"

Sam smirked. "I think I will." And with that, he walked to the front door, yanked it open, and sat on the porch step, watching with interest as the tow truck driver attempted to open the Camaro's driver-side door. The man looked extremely perplexed as he pulled again and again on the handle, and it dawned on Sam that Bee had unlocked his doors, but refused to grant the truck driver access. Sam stifled a laugh, climbed back to his feet, and strolled down the path to meet up with his father. "Good morning, Dad," he said, still sounding far too jovial given the current situation.

"Sam," his father responded gruffly, apparently in awe that his son was both awake and not throwing a fit. "Your – your car, here, it doesn't want to open up."

"I see that," Sam replied, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the non-progress of the truck driver. "Doors unlocked?"

"Yeah," his father replied, his voice with an edge to it. "Gordon here needs to put your car in neutral, see, so he can tow it to storage."

"Ah," Sam replied. "Well – let me see what I can do." He left his father's side and walked up to Bumblebee, carefully running a hand over the yellow-and-black hood. "I can get it," he said to the tow truck driver, and he trailed his fingers over the driver-side door, finally reaching the handle.

"I've been tryin' for the last five minutes," the man replied, sounding exasperated. "The thing ain't gonna move."

"Huh, that's interesting, because – " And at Sam's touch, the door swung open.

Both Sam's father and Gordon the tow truck driver stared.

"And – well, I suppose you want me to put it in neutral, then?" Sam asked, taking a seat behind the steering wheel. As quietly as he could, he whispered, "Start up, Bee – you know what to do." Beneath him, the Camaro hummed to life, purring in the affirmative. Sam grasped the gearshift, pulled it to neutral, and stepped out of the car. "He's all yours, then," the boy said to the tow truck driver.

"You call your car a he?" the man asked, obviously surprised.

Sam didn't think it was all that weird and was frankly confused as to why anyone would call their automobile a he or a she in the first place, unless it was, in fact, a giant alien robot in disguise. "That car look girly to you?" he asked defensively.

"No, but…" Gordon shrugged. "To each his own." He shuffled back to the tow truck, pulled down a hook that was connected to the industrial-strength cords, and attached the rig to someplace beneath Bumblebee's front bumper – the front axel, Sam figured. He noticed the car twitched and hoped the movement wasn't a reaction to pain. Satisfied, the man climbed into the cabin of his vehicle, slammed the door shut, and pressed a button that was, most likely, supposed to wind the chains and therefore drag the front end of the Camaro onto the bed of the tow truck.

Only the yellow Chevrolet didn't budge. The cords tightened, straining against the pressure between the tow truck and the Camaro; metal groaned and creaked in complaint; the cords became so taught they quivered menacingly, until –

There was a deafening snap. When Sam opened his eyes, the cords – what was left of them – hung limply from the back of the tow truck, and Bumblebee sat in the same place, undisturbed, content. It took a lot of willpower, but somehow Sam fought the urge to burst out in laughter. Gordon was stepping out of the tow truck's cabin, spewing a storm of swear words; Sam's father stood there, rooted to the spot, his stare darting back and forth between the unmoved Camaro and the shredded tow cords.

"That's interesting." It was all Sam could say; he knew that if he opened his mouth again, laughter would most certainly spill out and now was definitely not the ideal time.

Three minutes later, the tow truck was peeling out of the driveway with a very agitated Gordon behind the wheel, while a bewildered Ron Witwicky was still gaping at the yellow Camaro that was parked happily before him. "Sam – your car…"

"I guess he really didn't want to leave, huh?" Sam trotted over to the Camaro, crouched down, and grinned giddily at its headlights.

His father shook his head, still very confused, and muttered, "I need to go andthink."

"You do that," Sam replied vaguely, his thoughts already gravitating toward a certain pile of hoses, sponges, soap, and buckets that was stashed somewhere in the garage. "Bumblebee," the boy said as soon as his father was out of earshot, "open up the trunk, we're gonna go for a little drive and then we're gonna have fun."

The Autobot complied, then said, amused, "That whole episode was very delightful, Sam."

The boy smirked. "I thought you might think so. I was gonna warn you about it all beforehand, but decided that you might appreciate the surprise."

The Camaro bobbed on its shocks, in an apparent nod of agreement. "I would say that this morning, you succeeded in angering a completely innocent tow truck driver. You can check that off from your list of things to do in life."

Sam snorted with laughter. "Thanks, Bee." The boy disappeared into the garage, and returned a minute later, his hands laden with many things. Bumblebee was able to discern a hose and several plastic, red buckets before Sam unceremoniously dumped the objects into the small trunk of the car. He left and returned again, this time holding a couple bottles and a stack of rags and sponges. These, too, were deposited into the trunk, which Sam finally slammed shut.

"May I inquire…?"

"Guess, Bee," Sam said, barely able to contain his glee.

"You're going to give me a wash, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," was the reply. Sam climbed into the Camaro, shut the door, and added, as an afterthought, "You'll love it. I think."

I hate to admit it, but it's actually nice to be waking up so early in the morning. Sam sighed happily, the warm breeze gusting against his face, glad to have last night's events pushed temporarily from his mind. He leaned back further into the car seat, one hand resting idly on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift, his thoughts wandering. There were certain parts of his car's inner workings – its anatomy – that made Sam blush now that he knew Bumblebee had been in love with him since they had met. The gearshift was one of these mechanisms, and even though, days before, Sam had finally admitted to himself that he loved the Autobot and the Camaro it became, he was still hesitant to touch that particular part of the car, not feeling it was a proper thing to do, knowing that Bumblebee experienced pleasure every time.

Mentally, Sam laughed at himself. He was in a situation that was worthy of some horrible television show – like Dr. Phil or Oprah or, even better, Jerry Springer. In fact, he was pretty sure his particular case transcended all the rest of the drivel that aired daily on those programs. Being infatuated with a giant alien robot who turned into a car had to be worse than smitten cousins or brothers and sisters sharing more than a sibling love. Maybe one day, Sam thought with a bitter smile, when the rest of Earth knew about the presence of the Autobots and Decepticons – maybe hewould be the one walking on to the set of the Jerry Springer Show, Bumblebee's hulking form following, to discuss their taboo relationship.

The image attached to this thought was so ridiculous Sam found himself snickering aloud.

"Something's funny," Bumblebee observed. "Are you going to share?"

Sam shook his head, a smile still plastered to his face. "No – no, I'd better not. That's something about human minds, Bee, that I'm sure you've discovered through the internet – we think and do a lot of useless and pointless stuff, and we find the dumbest things to be amusing." He tapped on his cranium, and added, "there's a lot of empty space in here, Bee."

"That was one of the first things I discovered about your race," the Autobot hummed, "when I accessed YouTube."

Sam snorted in laughter.

To be continued…

Songs used:

Bo Bice, Vehicle

Tom Petty, You Don't Know How It Feels

A/N: There ya are, Chapter Four! I promise – on my life – that we will see Mikaela in the next chapter. And, of course, a car wash. And more Autobots. Promise! And thanks to all my wonderful readers and reviewers – seriously, you guys and gals are awesome and are full of win. I'm so glad you are all enjoying this story.

mo