In Loco Mortis
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. I should think that rather obvious with my college-induced poverty and all.
Warnings: Onesided Bee/Sam
Chapter Seven: Sepia Tones
Had Sam been able to, he would have blinked and rubbed his eyes. Certain that he'd just hallucinated. He cocked his head to the side and watched, but nothing happened for several long seconds. And just as he was about to look away, the minibot saw it again.
A twitch. A simple little tremble. So faint that he would have missed it had he not been staring and quite possibly even then. And then again. A third twitch quickly followed by the fourth. The fifth was more of jerk, and some idle part of Sam wondered why no one else had noticed yet. For super advanced robots, they could certainly be oblivious.
Except no one was really paying attention. Ratchet and Wheeljack were tinkering with the machine used earlier with Perceptor hovering behind them. Beachcomber was off to the side, now fiddling with some sort of hand-held device, while Skyfire looked over his shoulder. First Aid and Swoop were less than a step away, lingering like they weren't quite sure to do. And none of them even glanced at Jazz.
"Hey, guys," Sam attempted to catch their attention as he took several steps closer. He watched Jazz's other foot give a jolt, even as the plates on his leg shivered. "Er… guys? You might want to look at this." He was in reach of the table now in case he had to do… well, something.
"Not now, Sam," Ratchet brushed him off. "Do you think the pulse-phase distributor was miscalibrated, Jack?"
Now, both of Jazz's legs quivered. The plates moved in a slow but random fashion, not at all rhythmic or connected. Sam watched with a dazed sort of awe, certain that any minute someone else would turn around and just look. Any time now. Any time at all.
The youngling tried again, "Ratchet-"
"In a minute."
Now, Jazz's fingers jerked. And the pulse moved steadily up both arms.
"Ratchet!" Sam all but shouted.
The medic's head turned his direction. "What?"
Sam simply pointed. Ratchet looked in just enough time to see the pulse move all the way up the lieutenant's neck to his face; he nearly dropped his favorite spanner in surprise. Then, Jazz's dark optics suddenly flickered. Onlined with a virtual explosion of light. A bright blaze of blue where only a dull grey had been before. He momentarily gazed at the ceiling before suddenly rocketing up to a sitting position.
They certainly noticed that. But Sam was too shocked to note their reactions besides the startled gasps. All he saw was Ratchet forcing Jazz to lie back down, Wheeljack rushing over to help him. And there was a burst of static from the lieutenant's vocalizer then, likely due to disuse.
"Ra… tch… et."
Sam could barely make the word out. The sound was harsh. Little more than white noise with syllables thrown in.
"Ra… tchet."
It was better the second time. Smoother. Easier on the audios. Much more like the voice Sam remember from what scant memories he had of Jazz.
"Ratchet. Wheeljack." It was nearly breathless, an interesting thing for a giant robot. "I… I'm back." Skeptical. Hopeful. "I'm really back." One of his hands lifted to trace along his chassis.
Ratchet stared at him for a second before resuming his examination. "Yes, Jazz. You are."
Jazz just gazed into space, face twisting into a grin that would've put Sideswipe to shame. He held up a hand in front of him, flexing his fingers before patting down his arms and chest. Undoubtedly, he would've sat up to examine his legs but knew better than to move with Ratchet around. A smart thing since the medic was now scanning him and muttering under his breath.
The lieutenant instead chose to glance around the room, and Sam could follow the path of his optics as they went to Wheeljack and then Beachcomber, who was now standing nearby. They flickered to Perceptor, who hovered just out of Ratchet's reach, and next to First Aid and Swoop. Then, his optics landed on Sam and suddenly went white.
"You!" Jazz practically leapt off the table, moving so swiftly that even Ratchet couldn't catch him.
"Me!" Sam tried to backpedal as the older bot grabbed him and lifted him off the ground. He was suddenly pulled to Jazz's chest and squeezed. Feeling much like one of Annabelle's stuffed animals. He now had a strange kinship with Mr. Mopsy.
"I love ya, man." Jazz pulled back to look at him with optics impossibly bright and shiny. "Yer the best. The absolute best. Better than Prowler even." Had he been human, his lip would've quivered.
"Me?" Sam squeaked, stopping dead in his hold. "I mean, what? Why?"
"'Cause ya are. And Blue is, too," Jazz added with another squeeze. He peered around. "Where's Blue?" He moved his head back and forth, drooping slightly when he couldn't find the other mech.
"The hallway," Skyfire said in a weak voice. "Why… are you so…"
"Normal," Ratchet suggested as he forcefully pushed Jazz back on the berth. "Well, normal for you." He looked at his patient with narrowed optics. "I wonder about that myself."
Sam, who was now sprawled on Jazz's chest, squirmed in his grasp. "Could you let me go?"
No one seemed to have heard him.
"S'not like I was gone or anythin'," Jazz replied instead; he turned his head to face Skyfire. "I knew what was goin' on around me. Could hear but not see ya." His tone was flat and very obviously unhappy.
Ratchet stopped short. "You could?"
"That is quite impossible," Perceptor inserted, leaning forward to peek in.
"Apparently not," Wheeljack countered as he handed something unnameable to Beachcomber. "All of his systems were active; his spark was just dispersed. So I suppose it could happen."
Perceptor crossed his arms over his chest but remained silent as he considered the implications. In the meantime, Ratchet and Wheeljack continued their examination. Seemingly unperturbed by the fact that Sam was all but laying on their patient. Or that Jazz's hand reflexively tightened around his arm as the senior medic poked next to his spark casing. They might not have noticed that, but First Aid certainly did. The red and white mech had stepped closer while Sam was distracted, now standing near enough to hand Ratchet the tools he silently requested.
And Sam just laid there, face practically in Jazz's chassis it was so close; all he could see of the older bot was his silverish paint. He attempted to turn his head but was stuck fast, Jazz's elbow somewhere near the back of his neck. What a pretty picture they must have made, Jazz and his minibot security blanket. It was quite embarrassing actually. Really embarrassing, if he was perfectly honest. At least the twins weren't there. Better yet, at least Blaster wasn't there.
At that thought, the youngling squirmed again, but Jazz's grip was like a vice. Even when he wasn't paying attention, too busy looking at Ratchet.
"Get him off of me," Sam hissed at Aid, feeling oddly nostalgic. Didn't this bring back memories?
"Don't you mean get you off of him?" the older bot returned with a grin. He thankfully reached forward to pry Sam loose.
But Jazz just didn't want to let go. He dug his fingers in, wrapping his hands around as tightly as he could without risking damage, and Sam was pulled in so closely that the lieutenant's chassis molded into the curve of his neck. The youngling wasn't certain if this was intentional or instinctual after a fashion, some random bit of code urging Jazz to hold on. Not that it really mattered all the much to him at the moment. Sam was just glad he wasn't human anymore; he surely would've suffocated by this point. Not that this was much better.
"Ack! Help!" He ineffectually put his hands on Jazz's fingers and pushed with as much force as he could muster. Which wasn't much. And Sam felt something in his arm pop in a distinctly unpleasant manner.
First Aid laughed and watched him continue to struggle. Some friend he turned out to be.
Ratchet, in turn, growled. "Stop struggling. You're interfering with my scans."
"Make him let go, and I won't be there to interfere," the minibot shot back.
No one seemed to have heard him. Or perhaps they were just ignoring him again. Used to this sort of behavior. Though thankfully Bee was far less clingy now that Sam had stabilized in his current form. But those first few weeks… they'd been bad. Very bad. Lots of time spent with his face pressed into various parts of Bee's front with arms locked around his sides. Clutched to his friend like a sick infant to his mother. He had a feeling that the twins would be ribbing him about that for decades. Centuries even. They lived to torment others, but then, everyone needed a hobby.
Sam feebly struggled some more. Idly wishing that he were stronger than this. It was really no different than being human really. Only now, he made a bigger target. Primus, even Bee – one of the smallest besides Sam himself – could very easily manhandle him. He'd hate to see what would happen if he finally got on the Autobots' bad side. Or ran into another Decepticon. He had the sneaking suspicion that they would find him a tad bit more interesting now.
His mind apparently wandered at this point, or he was simply distracted from being nearly crushed to death. Either way, the next thing the youngling knew, Ratchet was stepping away.
"Hm… You seem to be in perfect health," the senior medic admitted, rubbing a forefinger over his own elbow in thought. "Everything checks out." He turned his back for a second to consult with his colleagues.
"Finally!" Jazz all but shouted, noticeably relieved. He even loosened his grip, though not nearly enough for Sam to wiggle free. "I'm outta here." He made moves to rise.
"Not so fast." Ratchet was quick to insert, "I only said that you seemed to be fine. Not that you were. So just stay there for now. We're not even close to being finished."
"Aw! Come on, man," the silvery mech whined; his hand tightened around Sam again. "I've been on my back for almost four years. Least let me sit up or somethin'."
"Stay," Ratchet commanded, as though his patient were little more than a naughty puppy.
"Please." Jazz put on his most pathetic expression, but anyone who had ever seen Sides at work wasn't likely to fall for it. Besides, Bluestreak's was better.
Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest in utter disbelief.
However, First Aid was quick to use the opportunity to his advantage. "Let go of Sam, and you can," he intercepted before his mentor could say anything further.
The senior medic turned to him with a raised not-eyebrow. Aid just tilted his head, optics locked on Jazz, who seemed to be considering his options. The lieutenant contemplated for a very long moment before slowly uncurling his hands from around his hostage. Sam was off the berth like a rocket, all but taking a dive to the ground. Beachcomber thoughtfully caught him and even helped the youngling steady his feet.
And Jazz slowly sat up on the table, arms outstretched like Frankenstein's monster. Sam was willing to bet all the energon he hated, which was pretty much all of it, that he'd done that on purpose. Ratchet seemed to think much the same thing. He "accidentally" banged his patient in the arm as he leaned over.
The silver bot didn't seem to care in the slightest. He just grinned. Smiled like the world was his oyster and he was the only one with a net. And he was still doing that when his attention flickered to Sam, grin turning more than a little demented.
Sam simply considered the possibility that the twins had a brother and he was looking at him.
-O.o.O-
"You seem very pleased that Jazz's back," Bee said nonchalantly over a week later.
The two of them were in his room, just laying on the floor and listening to music from Bee's satellite radio. Sam glanced up at his friend's unexpected comment, still humming the final bars to the last song played. Now that the clinging had been brought to manageable levels, he was rather happy. Jazz was just as entertaining as he remembered, and everyone on base was thrilled to have him back. Prowl had even been seen smiling, and he had actually hugged Jazz. In full view of everyone! Blue was practically floating on cloud nine, and that didn't even begin to cover the rest of them.
"Of course, I am. Aren't you?" the youngling returned. "He seems like a great bot. If a bit clingy. Not that I blame him. What with being stuck on a table for years and completely unable to move."
Bee acknowledged that with a wave. "I don't wanna be lonely no more."
"Pretty much," Sam replied. He laid his head back down, certain that the conversation was over.
The music didn't restart, however.
"You've been spending a lot of time with him lately," the yellow minibot continued in an oddly serious voice.
Sam just gazed at the ceiling. "Yeah. So? He seems to like me for whatever reason. He and Blue are cool to hang out with. We play online sometimes. Jazz already has a paladin beyond level 80. I don't know how he did it. I think he cheated." He shook his head. "Do you know how long it took me to get my mage that far?" The youngling gestured for emphasis. "Blue is even worse. He's got this weird elf-chick who kicks the slag out of all of us."
"Us?" his companion asked softly. There was something in his voice. Something peculiar and vaguely frightening.
Sam shrugged, glad that his joints no longer creaked at the motion. "Well, the twins play with us sometimes. So do First Aid and his brothers. Occasionally, Smokescreen will." He made a face at the name. "Oh… and Mirage, too. He's like this dark lord guy. Go figure."
"When did you set this all up?" Bee hesitated for a very long second, but Sam didn't catch his reluctance. "Does the communications officer play as well?" There was a deceptive lightness to his tone.
"Who? Blaster?" Sam rubbed his face with one hand. "No, not really. He doesn't like it all that much. He'd rather watch clips on YouTube." He lifted one shoulder. "We're not really in that far, all things considered. You could probably catch up pretty quickly if you want to join us. Jazz could level your character up if you asked nicely enough."
When Bee didn't respond, Sam rose up on his elbows. He glanced at the older mech, whose face was blank and empty.
"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
Bee was just acting so strangely. Like Tracks when he didn't get his way. Or Ironhide when they beat him at Halo.
"I just… I haven't seen you in some time, Sam." His optics were so very blue it hurt to look at them. "I miss you, miss you. Where are you…"
The youngling felt something inside him squirm. "We've just been busy. You've had a lot of patrols during the day these last few weeks, and Prowl has me running around the base at all hours. It's not like I've been purposely avoiding you."
Which wasn't exactly true. A partial lie at the utmost. Sam had just been distracted. He'd also been spending a lot of time with Blaster since the bot didn't really know anyone else. And well, Jazz and Blue, too. Those two always seemed so excited to see him, and Jazz in particular wanted to hang out. To question him about Earth and all that he'd missed.
The others had also made their presences known. It wasn't unusual for him to sit with Mirage and Wheeljack in the rec room during the evenings. Or to be in the medbay with Ratchet and Aid at various times throughout the day. For him to share a cube of energon with the twins or Hound and Trailbreaker. For Skyfire and Beachcomber to invite him into their shared lab and attempt to teach him various things about Cybertronian science. Then, there were his almost daily sparring sessions with Red Alert and his merry band of volunteers. Very eager volunteers.
Honestly, there were only so many hours during the day. And Bee was often gone during the time Sam wasn't in recharge.
"The others like to see me too every now and then," Sam went on with a self-depreciating smile.
Bee inclined his head as if this made perfect sense. "Of course, you're our only youngling."
His smile fell away. "What do you mean by that?" Sam felt his spark jolt.
"You're our responsibility," the mech explained. "They'll want to check in on you every now and then." He said that as though it were merely a statement of fact.
The youngling sat up so quickly he all but snapped into place. "I'm not just an obligation," he countered. "I do have friends."
"I'm your friend," Bee placated him. But the undercurrent in his voice suggested otherwise. Suggested that he was the only one Sam needed or had.
And that simply wasn't true. Not in the slightest. Not at all.
"I'm allowed to have friends other than you," Sam said somewhat defensively. "People can like me and want me around, you know. They don't just have to tolerate my presence." He stood up in a rush.
"I didn't say that," Bee returned, also sitting up.
"But you implied it," Sam shot back, voice much louder than before. "Primus, I'm not a dog. I'm not your pet. You can't tell me what to do or who I can see."
Bumblebee's optics narrowed. "I'm simply looking out for your best interest. We don't know him."
It didn't take Prowl to see who he meant.
The younger bot crossed his arms over his chest protectively. "Well, I know Blaster. Maybe not for long. But long enough. And you shouldn't say stuff about him. He's an Autobot, just like the rest of you."
"I'm aware of that-"
Sam was quick to cut him off. "Then, why are you questioning my judgment? If I like him, then that should be enough for you."
"You're so young, Sam," the older mech began. "You don't know the way things work like I do."
"So what?" Sam demanded furiously. "You're protecting me from myself?"
"Yes, quite honestly. I'll do whatever is needed to protect you." Bee lifted his head, making himself nearly taller than his friend even though he was still seated. "I'll protect you from anything and anyone."
With those words, Sam instantly deflated and took a step back. His spark ached in his chest, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.
"From anyone?" he questioned with a soft voice. "Even from you?"
Bumblebee stiffened. "Sam, what did you-"
"Forget it." The youngling waved him off. "I'll see you later."
He was out the door before Bee could do much of anything. His little form did have some perks, after all. Speed happened to be one of them.
The minibot stomped down the hallway towards his room, passing Mirage along the way. The racecar looked as though he wanted to speak, but Sam brushed by him before he could even get out a word. Groove and Sideswipe met with similar fates, though the latter seemed ready to give chase until his brother pulled him away. The youngling didn't particularly care for the slightly hurt expression in his optics. But at least, it was covered up quickly enough.
Sam was just too busy being angry. Furious even. He was not a burden. Not an obligation. They really did want him here. Optimus had told him as much. Had promised. Promised that he was wanted and valued. Needed. That he was important to them for just being himself.
He had promised. Had looked Sam in the optics and really meant it. His prime wouldn't lie to him. Not about this.
Prowl didn't put his hands on Sam's shoulders when he was pleased because it was required of him. Hide didn't tell him he'd done a good job after a successful spar because they made him. Jack didn't teach him how to cause explosions because he was forced to do so; quite frankly, they should want to avoid that one. And Ratchet didn't smile at him, invite him back day after day because Optimus had ordered it.
And if Sam didn't believe anything else, he could believe in that. No one ordered Ratchet to do something he didn't want. Not and plan to live long. It was best not to wake the sleeping dragon. To tempt Primus' sometimes questionable mercy.
His room was empty when he arrived, although he could tell that First Aid had been by recently. Sam hadn't seen much of the medic since Jazz's resurrection; Aid had been too busy running interference between his brothers and the Aerialbots after an incident that involved pink paint, permanent marker, and butterfly stickers. A part of him really wished his roommate was with him, however. Aid had a way of seeing the truth of things. And Sam trusted him to tell it straight up. Besides, First Aid always made him feel better about himself. Like his mom when she would patch him up after all those times Trent had punched him on the way home from grade school.
If there was ever a time he needed Aid's calm reassurance this would rank pretty high up there. Right under turning into an alien robot but just above being run down by Barricade.
Sam sighed. Just a simple gust of air through his intakes. But the closest he could get to the real thing. He climbed up his not-bed and sat there with his head in his hands. Wondering just who he'd offended in a past incarnation to make his life turn out this way. Either that or Primus really had it out for him. Or maybe just the universe in general. The curse of the Witwicky.
At times, Bee was just so… Well, he didn't really have a word to describe what Bee was. Possessive. Definitely that one. Concerned. That one, too. Desperate. Lonely. Frightened. Confused. Or perhaps only Sam was the last one. Maybe only he questioned why Bee would do this. Why he would make Sam this way. Why he would claim to love Sam and then do something so horrible, so utterly violating.
A part of him dearly wanted to know, while the rest of him was terrified to ask. And a not insignificant portion of Sam wished that he had told someone. That he could tell someone. A burning need just to say the words aloud, to admit it to someone besides himself. For them to know why he felt the way he did.
But there was no way in the pit that he ever would. It wouldn't remain a secret if he did. Not something of this magnitude, and he had no idea what they'd do to Bee if they knew the truth. If they would punish him. How they would punish him. Or worse, if they didn't. If they did nothing at all. Just let him go on after he'd hurt Sam so very badly. If they'd condone what he'd done. If they would agree with it.
Sam didn't think he'd be able to live with them if they did that. Already, he could barely live with Bee. With himself.
There was an abrupt sound on the other side of his room as the door opened. It jolted Sam from his thoughts, and he craned his neck in just enough time to see Blaster poke his head in without invitation. Not that most of those on base bothered with that or anything.
"Hey, Sam, do you…" He hesitated, taking in Sam's failed attempt to not look so very tired. "Are you alright, man?" Blaster took a step inside, and the door closed behind him.
The minibot could only guess what he looked like, but from Blaster's expression, it had to be pretty bad.
"I'm fine," he was quick to assure. "I was just about to recharge. You know how tired I get sometimes."Sam somehow managed a smile. It honestly wasn't that difficult when Blaster was around.
The older mech didn't quite seem to believe him but chose to play along. "Sure. Younglings're always like that." He moved closer, regarding Sam with optics that were far too keen for his own good. "You sure you're alright. Ya look… eh…" He made a back and forth motion with his hand.
"I just…" Sam paused, one hand rubbing his opposite arm. "I had a fight with Bee," he finally admitted. "It was just so stupid."
Blaster came over and sat on Aid's berth, which was positioned along the near wall. "That happens sometimes. My lil guys don't always get along with each other. Or with me."
"I know, but I think this is the first time I've ever actually raised my voice to him about anything." And now that Sam really thought about it, that statement was completely true.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he needed to assert himself more. Not let Bee bully him into doing things. Not let any of them do that.
Blaster gestured loosely. "That happens, too. Even the best of brothers fight. Look at the twins."
Sam snickered. "Yeah," he replied as he thought about their latest bout just that morning. "Especially them." He felt his mouth lift in the corners.
"There's that smile," the red bot inserted in an amused tone. "Don't be down, my lil friend. The master Blaster knows just what you need." He stood and made a beckoning motion. "They're doing a sparring tournament in a few breems."
Sam just looked at him. "You're serious."
"Come on." Blaster shuttered one optic in an approximation of a wink. "It'll be fun. I hear that Blades and Slingshot are the first ones up."
Sam couldn't help but snort. There was a match made in the pit. An Aerialbot and a Protectobot. Especially those two. Slingshot still hadn't managed to completely scrape those stickers off his fuselage.
"Oh, alright," the minibot acquiesced after a minute. He wouldn't miss this fight for the world.
"That's the ticket." Blaster watched him climb down from his berth but thankfully didn't offer to help. "I'm glad that you agreed."
"Well, since you asked me so nicely and all, how could I possibly refuse?"
The question was clearly rhetorical, but Blaster answered anyway.
"Haven't been refused yet," he replied playfully as they left, one hand finding its way to Sam's shoulder. "Besides, it'll at the very least be entertaining."
Sam nodded and let Blaster continue to talk without further interruption. His thoughts were distant, mind elsewhere. Considering and regretting. Not what he'd said to Bee but what he hadn't. So many things between them and neither ever gave voice to any of it.
Still, Sam quickly shook that thought away and focused on Blaster. No need to ruin his day any more than he already had. Even if he did idly wonder if Bee would be there. But mostly, he just didn't care.
Lyrics from: Lonely No More by Rob Thomas and I Miss You by Blink 182.
AN: I hate exams. More specifically, weeks of exams. That's all I have to say. Though the trailers for the next movie look AWESOME!
Also, let's just pretend Jazz has actual fingers and not those claw thingies.
Ever Hopeful,
Azar
