For The Race.
Chapter Nine.
Two Years Later.
"Hey, Bee!" called Sam. "I think I pulled something in that last race, do you think you could come and give me one of your back massages? I know Cliffjumper does the best ones, because he taught you, but you know as much as I do that he'll ask me out again, and I could really do with a rub-down without having to fend him off, or let him down gently again. He knows everyone has to wait till I'm ready, but it doesn't stop him asking when he sees me, and I really don't feel up to facing his eager hopeful reaction today." she explained.
"Do you want me to say something to him? Is he coming on to heavy, or trying to pressure you?" asked Bumblebee.
"No, it's not that, I just don't feel like facing him today. I'm just tired, and want a back massage that doesn't invariably end with "Are you ready to go on another date yet, because I know a place where we could watch a gorgeous sunset?" He means well, he doesn't want to pressure me, but I would just like one day where I don't feel like I'm kicking a puppy."
"Kicking a puppy? What do you mean?" asked Bumblebee. "I don't see any young canines around, particularly not around Cliffjumper. We all try to avoid canines since you warned us that the males tend to use anything upright, and preferably metal, to lubricate up as a scent marker."
Sam chuckled at that.
"I mean that he's so eager, and friendly, and tries to be nice, but he's trying too hard. I'm not ready for him yet, but every time I have to say so, I feel bad. I know he's gonna look at me as if to say 'What am I doing wrong?' when it's not necessarily just him, it's me as well, me not being ready for him yet. It's stupid, I know, but it always makes me feel like I've done something wrong-or as if I've kicked a puppy for just being friendly."
"I see." said Bumblebee, and Sam hoped Bumblebee was being truthful, because she didn't know if she could think of a better way to explain it. "I don't mind giving you a back massage, Sam." Bumblebee said.
Bumblebee was officially still Sam's guardian, although all the Autobots took it upon themselves to help look out for Sam. Sam chuckled again, this time at the memory of the last time Starscream had come looking for a chance to steal her a year previously. Strangely enough, it had been Sunstreaker and Sideswipe who had foiled his plans with jet-judo again. They had brought him down fairly near the Autobot base.
It had been Starscream's very bad luck that Judy had been visiting the Autobot base that day, to pick up the duranium-alloy 'whacking-stick' Ironhide had promised to make for her. He had made the promise in jest, although he had dutifully made it for her, as promised when she held him to his word. He would never forget the sight of Sunny and Sides holding Starscream down, and letting his mother loose on him to 'test' it…..
Strangely enough, he'd not tried again since.
Sam had actually adapted better to her changed circumstances, and although she heard the voice of the Essence in her head only rarely now, she was sure that it had played a big part in her mental adjustment.
Sam had gone on "first dates"-which were taken as a given that there would be nothing overly intimate, usually involving just talking to each other, and if they both wanted to, some cuddling and caressing-with all of the mechs in the base now, including Optimus, Ironhide and Bumblebee.
There had been only eleven mechs at the base at first, but due to further landings, that number had increased to eighteen. There was a tactician called Prowl, a scientist called Wheeljack, a security expert called Red Alert, another warrior-type called Inferno (which Sam found funny, for as a fire engine, his alt-mode would put out fires, not start or worsen them), another medic called First Aid ("Thank Primus! With this workload I need some help!" Ratchet had said-and immediately foisted two battered Twins on First Aid to patch up), a talkative mech called Bluestreak, and a flying-type called Powerglide, whom Sam found a bit too full of himself for her liking.
Sam had found his first date with Prowl a bit disconcerting, not just because he was at a loss for what to say to the taciturn tactician, but also because Prowl's alt mode-a Police car-was just too much a reminder of his encounter with Barricade when he had still been human. Sam hoped to get to the point where seeing Prowl didn't make him double check to make sure it was Prowl, because he didn't want to hurt his feelings (which Sam was sure did exist somewhere, despite what some of the other mechs said.) Until then, it seemed that Prowl's friendship with Jazz was keeping Prowl from noticing Sam's nervousness around him.
They reached Sam's room, and Sam lay face-down on her rest pallet, and sighed as Bumblebee spread his big smooth hands over Sam's neck and back and began rubbing, making sure none of her plating was sticking or catching, lifting it carefully to free any possible trapped wiring that might be causing Sam stiffness or pain. Bumblebee slid as hand under her plating, feeling for kinked wires and carefully, gently straightening them.
Sam was still Sam only because he and everyone else was so used to her being Sam that even when she chose a more Cybertronian name for herself-Lightracer-they all still forgot, and called her Sam, and in the end she stopped correcting them, for truth be told, she was more used to - and was happier - being called Sam.
Sam and Bumblebee were still very close friends, in some ways closer than some lovers, and as such, Bumblebee had never made a move on Sam, although Sam knew for a fact that Bumblebee had joined every other mech on the Base in accessing and reading the section Ratchet's medical computer on Cybertronian femme-based reproduction - the hows and whys. She grinned at the thought, because she herself had availed herself of the chance to read up on the subject.
At first, the information had not been so freely or readily available to anyone but Ratchet - after all, on Cybertron, not only had femme-based reproduction been unnecessary but actively discouraged - but after three requests from (rather embarrassed, admittedly) mechs for the information, Ratchet had placed it on the computer and put a marker on it that made it obvious to find by anyone who was looking. He had also left that file unlocked, and linked it to every other terminal on the base, so the mechs wishing to know more could do so without having to face the embarrassment of going to the med bay and having to ask Ratchet if they could use his terminal. Ratchet knew that those sort of pressures could really cramp a mech's style.
Sam stretched languidly under Bumblebee's ministrations, sighing with the relief that her scout friend's touch brought. She turned over, and, as he had done many times before, Bumblebee gave Sam's front the same professional treatment as he had her back, lifting the plating, straightening the wires, and making sure the joins were free, sliding his hands up to give her shoulders a rub, making sure the joints moved freely. She shuttered her optics, shuddering slightly in pleasure at the touch of Bumblebee's gentle digits on her hide.
As Bumblebee leaned over Sam to properly check Sam's shoulder and neck joins, Sam felt an indescribable, unusual surge of affection towards Bumblebee, unusual in that it was a surge of affection that was more than just the platonic feelings of a friend to another friend.
Unable to stop herself acting on the unfamiliar emotions, and not really caring at that point, Sam semi-straightened, elevating her head and body far enough off the rest pallet to plant a loving kiss on Bumblebee's speaker-grille.
Author's Note: Do I type up a small interlude detailing Judy's encounter with Starscream as described earlier, or no? You choose!
