There came the repeated snipping of scissors as they cut their way through a heavy plastic bag with ease. The contents within, once revealed, released their pungent aroma to the surrounding air, thick and musty but not overly unpleasant.
Ron Witwicky dropped the scissors back in the rectangular metal box that sat near his boot and they clanged and clacked against the myriad of other tools before finding a resting place. Ron reached into the bag with a gloved hand and scooped up a loose handful to bring it out into the sunlight.
He thumbed the brown matter, which crumbled and shifted from the pressure of his digit.
"Now, I like to add compost to my top-dressing. Maybe about a quarter's worth," he said, continuing to break apart the larger pieces in his palm. "Some people just go with the topsoil but to have a really good lawn you need something nutrient rich. Gives it that nice vivid green color. A mix of chicken manure and locally sourced leaves is my go-to for this."
Ron squinted up from under the floppy hat that adorned his head as he looked to his studious mechanical listener who sat nearby.
Bumblebee, cross-legged and arms folded across knee joints, was in his usual spot in front of the garage. He nodded in response to the information and regarded his charge's parental unit with curious blue eyes, noting the subtle passion he could hear edging Ron's words as he spoke of soil and grass.
Strange creatures indeed, Bee mused.
He gave an encouraging whirr and there came an upward twitch of Ron's mouth; apparently the human was enjoying his role as tutor.
Ron tossed the handful into a small children's pool that stood between them and dumped in the rest of the bag, soft dust billowing above the rim as the moist compost hit the drier soil already within the plastic boundaries.
Grabbing a silver spade, Ron lifted and worked everything into an heterogeneous slurry of varying black and brown shades; quite the contrast to the cheerful pink and yellow checkered pattern of the pool.
The mixture was to be used on the numerous bare swaths of dirt that cut across the backyard lawn like scars; each one resulting from the heavy treads of government-hired construction vehicles.
Judy's renovations had been urgent and hushed given the context of their purpose and had taken just shy of a month to complete. Although things had been rushed, one couldn't argue that the final results weren't impressive.
Bee glanced over his shoulder at the garage, which was now double its original size and, while the roof was still too short to allow Bee to stand, he could stretch out fully on the floor if he wished. The base and walls were also reinforced by thick concrete, allowing him to move or lean against the frame without worry of causing damage. Overall, it was so spacious that Sam brought in a small sofa to lounge on when he visited and even Ron contributed to the space by setting up an old television for the pair.
As if in response to his thoughts, the teen appeared from around the side of the house, lugging another bag of compost over one shoulder.
"You know, Dad, I don't think a lesson on what constitutes an ideal lawn top-dressing is Bee's idea of a good time," Sam said as he came up to the pair. He grunted and dropped the load he was carrying next to his father. Perspiration dotted his brow and arms and Sam wiped the back of one hand across his face, smearing the evidence of prolonged manual labor under a hot, bright sun.
Ron shook his head, continuing to turn the mixture. "This is beneficial stuff considering his kind are living on this world now."
"For what?" Sam laughed, skepticism evident on his face. "To prepare them for a job in landscaping?"
In response to the snarky tone, Ron just paused and leaned on the spade; regarding Sam who, never one to let the start of a good rant go, continued to press on.
"I'm sure the first thing the Autobots will be worried about will be their lawn. Maybe we should be teaching them about how to build a birdhouse and about what feed to put in said birdhouse."
Bee chirped, feeling it was a good time to interject and divert the conversation away from the heated debate he knew was brewing between the two males. "Actually, this is rather interesting," he said, interrupting the pair.
"Seriously?" Sam cocked his head, gaze flicking back and forth between the bot and the pool. "Remind me I need to do a better job at introducing you to exciting human pastimes…"
"Hey! This stuff is exciting to the average homeowner," Ron said defensively. "You'll figure it out when you have your own lawn."
"Oh god, if I ever get as obsessed over grass as you are, Pop, I'll ask that you just put me out of my misery right here and now."
"Har har," Ron replied, dripping sarcasm making the teen huff irritably. "Just you wait buddy-boy. The Witwicky line is known to have a fondness for shaping the great outdoors. Pair that with the green thumbs on your mother's side, you have a lot to look forward to in this area. That and thinning hair of course." One gloved finger pointed to the receding hairline that edged Ron's scalp.
Bee couldn't help but chuckle as the teasing parental remarks made his friend groan in submission.
"Maybe it'll skip a generation…" Sam muttered, running a hand through his own hair; currently a thick, healthy mop that sat slightly matted from sweat.
Judy, who had been tending a garden bed near the back porch, came over to the group. Her arms were laden with a tray of fledgling potted plants. She tsked, noticing her son's distraction. "Oh, Sammy, stop playing with your hair. You look fine."
"I wasn't—"
"Honestly, ever since you started dating Mikaela you've been fretting about your looks." The tray was placed on the ground beside a large planter that sat prepared and waiting just off the garage entrance. Judy clapped her hands together, freeing the dirt that clung to her skin, and turned to face everyone; face split in a happy smile from being in her element. "So, what are you boys talking about?"
"This boy"—Ron jerked his head in Sam's direction—"is actually fretting over male pattern baldness. Your mom is right though," he cast a critical look at his son, "you have been primping more than usual if your daily shower time is any indication."
Sam ignored the observation, choosing instead to respond to his mother. "We were talking about Dad teaching Bee his coveted top-dressing formula. Apparently Bee finds it 'interesting'."
"Oh really?" Judy grinned up at Bee. "Why's that?"
The question was honest and Bee shifted in his spot . "Most of Cybertron's native plant species have been eradicated over the course of the war," he said, giving a brief shrug. "I guess I've always been interested in planets rich with plantlife because of it."
Judy's hand went up to her mouth as her eyes widened. "You don't have any plants on your world?"
"None like this." Bee waved toward the expansive beds that lined the yard. Colorful blooms spilled delicately over thick foliage of varying shapes and shades; the visuals esthetically pleasing to his optics. "The few remaining are highly invasive and predatory."
"That sounds terrible."
Ron grunted and nodded in his agreement while Sam remained the silent observer, mouth set in a thin slash of a line.
Bee whirred. "It is, or rather, was I guess. After so many years, I've gotten used to how things are on my plan—er—" he cut off as Judy abruptly walked away, back toward the house. He gave a questioning look to Sam and Ron but they too shared his curious expression.
After a moment, Judy came back with a simple clay pot cupped between her hands. Tender spindles of yellow peaked above the rim and as she got closer Bee was able to make out the tiny plant nestled in a bed of black soil. Judy extended her arms, offering the Earthian lifeform to him.
"This is for you," Judy said as he gently grasped the pot between two fingers. "Lemon coral sedum, one of my favorites to grow. It's just such a happy little plant with its bright color and leaves that look sharp but are oh-so-soft. I find it brightens my gardens and day whenever I see it."
Coming over to Bee's side, Sam's brow furrowed as he inspected the plant. "I thought tulips were your favorite," he said as he grabbed a second spade that hung just within the cool shaded garage interior. He rejoined his father and started shoveling the top-dressing onto nearby dirt patches at Ron's direction.
"Those are her favorite cut flowers," Ron corrected, earning himself an approving wink from his wife. The smug look he tossed Sam was met with a snort.
"Now, I know it's not a plant from your world," Judy continued, "but maybe you'll find some comfort in it. And there's truly something amazing about watching things grow from practically nothing."
Bee nodded, bringing the plant close to his chassis; the message in the statement subtle but powerful. "Thank you for this," he said.
"No problem, hun. I'll teach you how to take care of it later, okay?" Judy cast him a radiant smile before heading over to the fountain to gather up the basket and shears that lay at its base.
As she resumed her work, Bee turned his attention to his new possession and lifted a spindle with one fingertip. The yellow buds sat light against the dull metal-grey of the digit and he whirred, trying to remember the last time he had been gifted something that wasn't either a weapon or upgrade. Unsurprisingly, nothing came to mind easily.
Cybertron lies in waste. We're marooned on an alien world. Only a handful of us left. Yet here I am disappointed over a lack of materialistic possessions. The spindle dropped. How pathetic am I?
Words drifted up from below.
"You know, if you talk to it, it'll grow faster."
Bee glanced to Sam, who was regarding him with an amused expression.
Antennae lifting slightly over his helm, blue optics darting between the boy and the plant, Bee's voice betrayed his surprise. "Really?"
There came a soft chuckle and Sam threw another spadeful of top-dressing on a particularly large earthen scar. "Nah, man. I'm just messing with you." The blade slid over the mound, patting it smooth and Sam straightened to swipe at his brow again. "I just wanted to pull you out of whatever funk you were starting to get into."
"Funk?"
"Yeah. Down. Depressed. Looking like someone just kicked your puppy?"
Bee clicked. "That was making sense up until the dog part."
Sam scoffed. "Hurting a puppy is like the saddest thing in the world! How does that not make sense?"
When all he got was a skeptical look, he continued, waving a hand in the air. "Fine, fine. What do you Cybertronians say?"
"Stuck in the pits."
"Stuck in the pits," Sam echoed. "What are the pits?"
Bee thought briefly, scanning through a few internet sources. "I believe the closest analogy would be the human concept of Hell."
"Oh, well then you looked like you were stuck in a much, much, milder version of the pits," Sam said, tipping his chin toward the plant Bee held. "And I don't think it was the effect mom was hoping for when she gave you that. Where did you go just now anyway?"
Huffing his vents, Bee shook his head. "Just lost in old memories. Nothing to worry about."
"Alright," Sam said slowly, rolling the spade's wooden handle in his grasp. "All the same, I say after we're done here we head on out for a little fun. We could drive to the coast for a change of scenery if you want."
The thought of salt-tinged winds and rolling sand dunes did sound rather pleasant to Bee.
It was Ron, however, who agreed first. "Hey, that's a good idea," he said as he straightened up from a hunched position over his shovel. "We're out of eggs. You can pick some cartons up on the way home and swing by that Hawkin's joint on fifth. We'll have their burgers for dinner."
"Make sure to get onion rings!" Judy chimed in, her eyes lighting up at the mention of the oily battered vegetable.
"Since when did my free time turn into errand opportunities?" Sam sank back on one leg, head cocked in challenge.
"From the moment you exited your mother's womb until the moment you stop residing under our roof," Ron shot back with a grin, not rising to the bait.
The boy sputtered, unrelenting. "Well, we may not be back until later. Eating a fatty meal right before bed isn't too healthy you know."
Ron stretched, a soft crack from his back yielding a satisfied grunt. "I like my dinner at seven, thank you very much."
"I dunno, Pops. Extenuating circumstances and stuff."
"He'll be home at seven." Ron looked at Bee.
"Seven it is," Bee agreed, earning a snort from the teen.
"Dude, you're supposed to back me up."
Bee shrugged apologetically. "Sorry but, you know, I do live in your parent's garage."
"I can't wait until I get my own place," Sam mumbled, leaning heavily against the spade.
Judy, returning to her son's side, slipped several bills into his hand and planted a sudden kiss against the damp skin above one brow. "Hopefully not for a while, my little baby boy," she cooed.
Ducking away from the motherly administrations, Sam whined high in his throat. "M-om, stop embarrassing me in front of the Autobot."
Bee laughed and Judy waved off Sam's worries.
"Part of my job as your loving mother," she stated and she was able to ruffle his hair before he got out of reach.
Sam threaded his fingers through the disturbed strands. "Spent all morning on this…"
Judy moved to Ron, who beckoned with a lazy grin, and entwined her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss against his lips; the pair ignoring the emphasized retching sounds coming from their son.
"A loving mother and a sexy wife." Ron gave her a squeeze. A happy squeal bubbled up in her throat as she turned to walk away only to receive a light tap on the backside.
Bee tilted his head, the human affections curious and strange, while Sam had his pressed against his palms.
"Oh god…" the teen muttered. "If this continues, we're heading out ahead of schedule."
"You aren't stepping a foot outside this yard until that top-dressing is spread," Ron corrected. "And don't you roll your eyes at me."
Caught, Sam threw his hands in the air in defeat. "Okay, okay. Just… keep the PDA's to a minimum."
"Oh you are so uptight," Judy tsked with a shake of her head only to turn when a loud ringing of the phone came from the handset, which sat neatly on the garden table nearby. She went to answer while Sam continued to grumble low to himself between the soft whumps of shovelfuls hitting the ground.
"I'm not uptight…"
Bee went to counter him; goad him a little. Not enough to irritate but enough to keep the boy engaged as time always seemed to go by faster when involved in a spirited conversation.
The words, however, never materialized.
Bee wasn't exactly sure what made him hesitate or why his attention was suddenly drawn away from the boy to focus on Judy.
She remained where she had been prior, phone receiver pressed against her ear as she listened to the caller on the other side. The smile she bore was the same happy expression she'd worn all day yet now it was different somehow, changing in the fraction of a second it had taken for Bee to divert his gaze from Sam. A smile that was now tight and still over the white of bared teeth.
As he watched, time seemed to slow and descend into something unsettling as Judy's brows drew together and the skin between them creased. Blue eyes grew brighter from pupils that constricted into pinpoint drops; black pits compared to a face that grew ghostly pale.
To Bee's horror, the smile disappeared, replaced by an open mouth and a wail that surged its way out from between her lips.
"Judy!"
"Mom!"
Ron and Sam ran to her upon hearing her cries, reaching her as she fell to her knees and crumpled on the ground. Her hand covered her mouth as she screamed and tears spilled from eyes that were squeezed shut.
Bee was on his feet in an instance, right digits flexing and ready to change into his plasma cannon. He scanned the yard, seeking a source of danger, but finding none.
The phone lay on the ground, having slipped from Judy's grasp as she collapsed, and Bee's optics trained on it. Whatever the issue, it was happening outside their vicinity.
Sam hovered over his mother, his voice cracking with repeated demands to know what was wrong, while Ron dropped beside her and gathered her in the circle of his arms.
Judy clung to her husband, her fingers gripping white-knuckled into the cloth of his shirt and face pressed against the nook of his shoulder. Her cries became muffled but her shoulders continued to shake, giving away their intensity.
"Judy, honey. Judy, baby. Tell me what's going on," Ron pleaded against the veil of her hair but his words failed to elicit a response between the heaving, hiccuping sobs.
He grabbed for the phone and cradled it against his free shoulder. "Hello, hello? This is Ron Witwicky. Who is this? What—"
Bee remained still as Ron paused in his questioning, the voice on the other end filling Ron's ear with the knowledge he sought. A voice too quiet for Bee to hear even with audio sensitivity at its maximum.
Whatever the news was, whatever the voice was repeating to the new listener, it was bad.
Ron's lips pressed together in a tight line, posture growing rigid, and Sam looked on helplessly; the pained expression his father wore unsettling on a man usually quick to dismiss personal discomfort.
The boy caught Bee's gaze, seeking assistance, but all Bee could do was regard him with sympathy; at a loss in his own understanding of the situation.
Abruptly, the phone conversation ended, Ron thanking the caller in a rough voice. The phone was shoved into a pocket and Ron pressed a firm kiss on top of Judy's head.
"I'm so, so sorry sweetie," he said, the words choked and raw.
Her cries dissolved into whimpers against his torso and Ron tightened his hold.
"Sam," Ron nodded toward the house, "help me get your mother inside."
"A-alright," Sam replied, reaching out with gentle hands to lift his mother to her feet.
Face now exposed, Judy looked hollow as if all strength had abandoned her. Pallor dominated her skin except for a rim of red around sunken eyes; a stark difference from a normally smooth sun-touched complexion. There was no recognition in her gaze as it ran fleetingly over the yard. Her mind was elsewhere, wrapped up in terrible things.
"Bee?"
The Autobot looked to his charge and understood the unspoken request in Sam's tone.
He nodded and as Sam and Ron guided Judy inside, Bee retreated to his own private sanctuary; ensuring the wide garage door slid down into place behind him, keeping him from the world's view.
The garage interior was cool and welcoming and the thick padded floor comfortable against his parts as he adjusted himself into a sitting position near the back wall. Feeling something in his left hand, he relaxed his grip and realized the tiny potted plant still lay nestled within his palm. Thankfully his sensors had kept him from crushing the fragile thing, although some of the dirt had spilled over the rim and trickled down between his plates.
Bee shifted and carefully placed the plant on a windowsill that spilled warm sunlight into the interior.
Tension tightened his joints as thoughts drifted back to Judy's kindness and to the suffering she was now enduring. A growl escaped low in his throat at his inability to help resolve the source of her distress.
Primus, how could I help? I don't even know what happened, Bee thought with a huff of his vents. Perhaps though if i did, then I wouldn't be as useless as I am right now…
The idea to tap into the Witwicky's telecommunication service was dismissed as fast as it formed, however, as a surge of guilt prickled its way across his spark. Invading the family's privacy wouldn't win him any favors and potentially ruin the tentative trust he held with Sam's parents should they find out.
No, he couldn't do that.
Frustrated and at a standstill, Bee sank against the wall, all that was left was to wait for Sam to return with an update.
That was if Sam placed enough value in their friendship to include him in private family affairs...
With a sigh, Bee watched the door.
0-0-0-0-0
Long shadows from the sinking sun were beginning to slither their way into the garage by the time there came a light knock at the side entrance.
The door creaked open and Sam appeared, keeping his face downcast as he crossed over to a workbench on the far side. Leaning against its study wooden brace, Sam ran a hand through his hair, a slight tremor to the movements.
Bee's door-wings drooped on noticing the boy's bloodshot eyes, which revealed that Sam too had been crying.
"Hey," Sam began, looking as if he was about to say more but then letting it fall away. He cleared his throat, scratching the side of his neck lightly.
Sensing gentle probing was needed, Bee whirred. "How's your mother?" he asked in a soft tone, hoping it would spur more than a closed-ended response.
Sam's head shook side to side. "Not good. Dad's with her but she's still a mess. A total mess. But it makes sense though, you know? When you consider she… I mean she lost…" Again he trailed off, his brows pinched together as he stared at his feet.
Bee remained quiet, patiently waiting for the boy to collect his thoughts.
"My mom's sister, my aunt, was at a convenience store. It was robbed and the guy had a gun and he… he panicked." Sam sniffed and looked up at Bee. "She died. He shot and killed her, fucking killed her. My mom lost her sister all over few handfuls of cash."
"Sam, I'm so sorry…"
"It's fucked up, Bee," Sam blurted out. "How people treat each other. And you know what the worst of it is?" A strangled laugh erupted from his mouth. "You, the Autobots… you all just risked your lives to save us, our world, from the Decepticons. You stopped them and saved us and yet we continue to hurt each other over the littlest fucking thing!"
Sam began to pace back and forth and Bee followed his movements, his spark aching with sympathy.
"That's what makes this so fucked up," he repeated. "It just doesn't make sense why people had to die protecting us. Why Jazz had to die protecting us…"
Bee held a hand in front of the boy, halting Sam's pacing and earning his focus.
"Sam… Jazz was a soldier. The men under Lennox's command were soldiers. Soldiers know of the risks going into battle. Of what sacrifices they may have to make in the line of duty."
"I know," Sam choked. "But was everything that happened even worth it? Was Jazz's sacrifice worth it, when humans treat each other like this? Would you still have done what you did if you knew this before?"
"I did know, Sam," Bee said as gently as possible. "Remember, I've been on this world for a few years now. I've seen the bad side of humanity first hand but I've also seen the good."
Bee shifted in his spot, thinking of the best way possible to explain to the boy that what he was feeling, the torment that was eating away at him, was guilt. "You can't take what happened to your aunt as a condemnation of your species. Her death was a tragedy, as civilian death always is, and I've found that tragedies don't always come with meaning." He shook his head. "And trying to seek out one where one doesn't exist just brings more confusion and pain."
"Then what should I do?" Sam whispered dry and hoarse.
"Mourn your aunt," Bee said with deep sincerity. "Find comfort and strength in those around you and offer support in return to your loved ones who are also feeling her loss."
Sam stood quietly for several moments before nodding slow and even. "I… understand. And I will," he agreed.
Glad his advice had been given some thought and hopeful it would be of assistance, Bee hummed soft and the sound drew Sam's gaze upward, his eyes seeking Bee's face and a sudden understanding spilling from his lips.
"You're mourning Jazz."
Bee gave pause this time, his brow plates drawing together as memories surfaced.
"Yes, I am," he replied with great measure.
"What about your supports? You're away from the others. How are you managing it?"
Sam's concern was touching and Bee smiled at his charge. "Fairly well or at least as well as can be expected given the circumstances. I tend to find great solace in friendships, new and old."
"So... we're leaning on each other then." Sam managed a lighter tone and although his eyes remained sad, the tug to the corners of his mouth was reassuring. "I just hope I can hold you up, seeing how you're quite a bit taller than me."
Bee gave a short trill. "You'd be surprised how little size comes into play in matters of importance. But… in all honesty, Sam, I'm here for you and your family should you need me."
"I know, buddy. And thanks for that. It means a lot."
Sam glanced back, toward the direction of the house and his brows lifted as if suddenly remembering something.
"By the way, there's something I need to ask of you."
"Ask away," Bee said.
"The funeral for my aunt, it's in the next few days in Meaford, Oregon, which is about a ten hour drive from here. We're leaving tomorrow."
"I can drive you there if you need."
Sam shook his head. "No, but thanks for offering. We did talk about it though but my mom felt it would be too much intrusion to ask you to do that."
"Alright, then what would you like me to do?"
"My parents were wondering if you would be able to watch the house while we're gone. I know babysitting our place isn't part of the guardian gig, but my mom especially would really appreciate it. Give her peace of mind and such as she tends to worry whenever she's away from home for too long."
Bee gave it a moment's consideration before nodding. "You can count on me."
"Thanks, man." Sam stepped forward and gave one of Bee's arm plates a pat. "I'm going to head inside. I'll let my parents know."
They bid each other goodnight and Sam disappeared through the door. Bee listened as soft footsteps padded and faded away.
Seeing how the rest of his night was free, Bee turned on the television and lay back, adjusting until he found a comforting position on the floor. An episode of Futurama, part way through, appeared on the screen and although Bee personally loved the series, his interest, however, was minimal at best tonight.
He signed, turning his gaze instead to the rafters above and allowed the program to drone on in the background.
His conversation with Sam replayed in his head and his spark went out to the Witwicky family.
Bee wondered if there was something more he could be doing for them but in all honesty he wasn't quite sure the finer points on human grief. The loss of a close individual tended to play out the same across species, but each culture had their own traditions and nuances.
Rather than research the answers himself, he sent a quick request to Ratchet, knowing the medic would be more than happy to supply him with detailed information on human behavior.
The results would be overly clinical—they always were—but at least he wouldn't have to worry about thoroughness.
After checking to ensure the security sensors were running at optimal capacity, Bee rolled to his side, his helm cushioned in the crook of one arm and optics closing, as he allowed himself to retreat into stasis.
He didn't run the visual component of the program but rather chose to remain a disembodied presence in the dark; his consciousness lingering between the obscure line of awareness and oblivion.
And it was in that state where memories crept in from the fringes.
Memories of a silver warrior with an infectious laugh and kind presence.
Memories of another lost to the void.
0-0-0-0-0
The bulky green mini-van pulled out from the driveway, its driver pressing the horn once in farewell.
Bumblebee raised a hand, waving, and the van disappeared around the bend in the house.
"You really should be going with them. Too many Decepticons remain out there who know of this family's involvement with the AllSpark."
"I'm well aware of that, Corporal," Bee replied, the words coming out a bit harsher than he'd meant. He sighed and looked to his companion who stood stiffly beside him. "I'm sorry, Mathews. I know you're just doing your job, making sure I do mine…"
Brushing a wayward strand of hair from her brow, Mathews regarded him with the same calculated look as always and Bee briefly wondered which exactly of them was the more mechanical one.
"Your apology is unnecessary. I was merely stating an observation and a fact," Mathews said. Her arms crossed in front of her breasts, one finger tapping against the skin just below the cut-off of her short sleeved shirt. "Our asses will be the ones on the line, however, should anything go wrong."
I'm aware of that as well, probably even more-so than the first point, Bee thought, holding back a grimace.
"But seeing as Lennox put you in charge of the operation," she continued, "I'll trust you made the correct decision and it won't come to that."
"It was," he reassured with a confidence that sounded fine when spoken aloud but still tugged with worry in the back of his head. "They needed me to remain here and I'll honor their request. Besides, Sam knows I'll be monitoring the phones in the house; all he needs to do is call in the event of an emergency and I'll bring the wrath of Primus down on the unfortunate soul who threatened my charge."
Mathews cocked a brow. "You know, this is the first time you've actually sounded like you're in the military. Usually you're all jokes and pop culture references and good-natured conversation. An… easy-going personality."
Bee faced her way. "You make that sound as if it's a bad thing."
"Well no. Just not military."
It was his turn to cross his arms, head tilting in curiosity. "Who then would fit your definition of 'military'?"
"Ironhide."
This brought out a laugh from him.
"I should have guessed that one…" He shook his head. "And honestly, I can be just as 'military' as Ironhide. Don't let this handsome face and amazing disposition fool you," he said, gesturing to himself.
"As I said," Mathews retorted, "all jokes."
"Ouch!" Bee exclaimed, placing a hand over his spark. "You're certainly not pulling any punches today, are you?"
She shrugged. "I see an easy target, I take my shot, Scout."
Bee let loose a low groan. "I think I'm going to stop talking now, I'm not sure how much more I can take this early in the morning."
"Always a time for firsts," Mathews replied.
As she turned to leave Bee caught sight of the upturned corners of her mouth.
"Time for firsts is right," he called out. "You're smiling!"
Mathews continued walking away but her head turned slightly. "No I'm not! Undercover as a civilian is just making me soft!" she shouted back over one shoulder.
Bee watched her go, chuckling to himself before turning to the house and reviewing his plan for the next few days.
Keeping himself busy would be the best way to pass the time and keep him from dwelling on the negative what-ifs that would plague his mind if left unchecked.
Determined, Bee headed toward the house, formulating a list of things that needed to be done in the Witwicky's absence.
"Okay, Mojo, you're up first."
0-0-0-0-0
A/N: A massive sorry to everyone for taking so long with this chapter. It's been a crazy past few months and I'm just now getting some free time (must be the nice weather).
I wanted to mention that I may make two posts next time; the chapter and a sort of Easter Eggs/Interesting Tidbits page. I've made a few references in the story so far (with more planned for the future) that I wanted to point out since I find them amusing and, hopefully, some of you will too.
Anyway, as always thanks for reading!