By the time that Bumblebee ran flat out to the med bay, which was several hundred yards and two levels away, Sam was limp in his hands. He ran through the med bay entrance so fast that he hit his doorwings for the second time that day, this time because he didn't allow time for the door to open fully.
Doc wasn't there yet. Doc was a couple of minutes away in his office, with probably more minutes to gather supplies. Ratchet was there, though, and Bee had never been happier to see a medic of any description.
"What happened?" Ratchet said, tersely, crossing the room in long strides to meet Bee halfway. Bee had been screaming for help over the comlink during his entire run from the observation deck down to med bay, but he had not been particularly coherent.
Behind Ratchet, Bee saw bright lights, and a long form on a tablet. First Aid was busily welding on someone, and with shock, Bee realized Optimus was in the early stages of surgery to repair the battle and missile damage from several days earlier. Slag it! He thought, wildly.
"Bee!" Ratchet's voice made Bumblebee jump. "What happened!"
"I hit him. I hit him." Bee held the still, motionless body of Sam out to Ratchet. He could only repeat by way of utterly truthful explanation, "I hit him."
"With what?" Ratchet demanded, taking Sam in careful hands and carrying him to the scanners.
"My hand," Bee trailed helplessly after the medic. Sam was so still and his face so white. Hating the very words, Bumblebee told Ratchet, "I hit him with my hand."
"Were you fighting?" Ratchet's voice was a low and menacing growl. He did not look at Bumblebee. Bee had heard Ratchet speak using that tone to other mechs occasionally, but he'd never heard it aimed his way before.
"No!" They had trusted him, Bee thought wildly. Sam had been sitting next to him, leaning against his armor, with utter and absolute and complete trust. He couldn't imagine fighting with Sam over anything major, much less striking him in anger.
"Never mind the explanations, we'll save it for later. He's got internal injuries. Get out." Ratchet pointed at the door.
"I'm going to go find Mikaela ..." Bee replied, feeling utterly helpless. He suspected she was running after him. It was a long way for a human to run flat out, but she would try.
Ratchet said sharply, "Go to my med bay. Do not get Mikaela. Do not speak to anyone. Wait for further orders. You are relieved of all duties effective immediately. Go."
"I didn't mean it ..." Bee said, but that couldn't change the fact that Sam was lying so still, so broken, and scarcely breathing on the table.
"GET!"
He ran, passing Mikaela in the hall (who screamed his name after him, and who he ignored). Sam. He had hurt Sam. The guilt threatened to consume him.
His internal cell phone rang. The Japanese businessmen. Bee swiftly created a voice-mail message that announced that that he was unavailable due to an emergency, and let the call roll over to it. Then he sent Elita a note asking her respond to whatever message they left, and his password to access his voice mailbox. He couldn't bring himself to speak to them, and probably shouldn't. Ratchet's orders were crystal clear. He had just been taken off active duty. It was the first time in his very long life that anyone had seen the need to do that.
I was so stupid, Bee thought, as he reached the old med bay hangar. He slumped in a corner in the dark, and said a few prayers to Primus that Sam would be okay. For the moment, there was nothing else he could do.
Do not speak to anyone, Ratchet had said. That meant he couldn't even ping Doc and ask how Sam was doing, as the minutes ticked by and turned into an hour. He wanted to know with desperate terror, but he was not even allowed to ask.
His e-mail box sent him a message indicating that it had one hundred and twenty two new messages, one of which was flagged as 'friend'. He glanced at it, hoping it was from someone kind enough to tell him Sam's status. It was, instead, from Sam himself, and for a nanosecond his hopes soared because if Sam could send e-mail he was surely not that badly hurt. However, the message had been sent earlier that evening during Bee's recharge.
Sam wanted to know Bee's opinion on the bands.
It was technically defying orders to respond to the email, but Bee sent a quick response anyway, since it was Sam who had asked. He prayed to everything he considered holy as he composed the message that Sam would be able to read it very soon. His suggestion was the band whose music had the most rhythmic beat. "My vote would be this one, Sam. Because people will dance to the music. I hope you'll be able to dance on Friday. I pray I did not hurt you too badly. I am so sorry."
As he was sending his response someone entered the hangar. He looked up, hoping it was not a medic. Good news was given by comlink, and bad news face to face. That was a very well understood tradition, and so completely expected that sometimes medics didn't even need to speak when they came to talk to the friends of the injured. However, to his immense relief the arriving mechs were Sunstreaker, with Sideswipe close on his heels.
"I'm not supposed to talk to anyone," Bee said, hunching further. "You heard about Sam, right?"
"Sorry, Bee." Sideswipe held up a datapad and cable. "Ratchet sent us."
Oh.
"It was an accident," Bee said quietly to both of them, but he stood up from his position on the floor and headed for one of the berths.
Their mission was easy to guess, though it frightened him to the core of his spark. Ratchet had sent the Evil Twins because he was afraid Bumblebee would fight them. While Bee was a reasonably effective fighter, the twins were way out of his league. If they wanted him offline, they could accomplish it. The fact that he had a little extra power and speed these days due to the Matrix would simply delay the inevitable. Anger filled Bee, for a moment, and while he did not consider fighting them, he did snap off an angry comment, encrypted, at Ratchet, "Sending the twins was utterly unnecessary."
He closed comlink off completely before Ratchet could respond. That action was incredibly rude, but he wasn't in a pleasant mood, and he frankly didn't care what Ratchet thought.
Sideswipe could not have heard that comment, but he'd certainly detected the transmission. "Bumblebee," he said, "sir. Ratchet needs to verify that you are not compromised either with a glitch or a virus. Because it is so improbable that you would hurt the human, there is a high suspicion that you have some sort of processor impairment."
"There is nothing wrong with me," Bee said, and the worst part was, he knew that was the truth. "I understand why I reacted the way I did. There was no external influence or internal damage causing my actions."
"Tell it to Ratchet, after he has a peek at what's really lurking in your mind," Sunstreaker said, sounding a bit belligerent, "Get your arm up, or we'll do this the hard way. Don't think we won't do it."
Primus. Ratchet is going to jack in and check for core damage.
His first impulse was to fight. The thought of anyone messing around in his mind was frankly terrifying. He'd never had another mech past his firewalls in his adult life. The last time he'd lowered them he had only been weeks old, an innocent and naive youngling who had utterly trusted his mentor. This would be very, very different. Ratchet would see him as he really was, and that terrified him on a level beyond anything he had ever known. What if he decides I'm not competent for my position? I am so afraid sometimes. He is the CMO. He could find me wanting, unqualified and inadequate, and reject me utterly.
However, he also realized the utter logic of Ratchet's orders. They had to know the root cause of his actions, beyond any shadow of a doubt. Ratchet will not like what he sees, he feared. I am not as loyal as they believe, I hate this war and I am angered it. I may not ever wake from this. I am not who they think I am.
However, it was orders. He had no doubt that Optimus would agree with Ratchet, if they woke him. Orders were orders, and these orders were ones he could logically agree with. He knew they would find nothing malignant: no virus, no physical damage to his processors. However, they had to be sure. Other mechs might have tried to flee, or fight, or at least argue, but he quite simply had too much loyalty and respect for his commanding officers to make this more difficult for them. And in this case, Ratchet indisputably outranked him.
Bumblebee shuttered his optics, lifted his arm, and popped the dataport open. He tried not to flinch as Sunstreaker coldly plugged the datapad in. The pad was a simple, crude, device that was just intended to interface with his autonomic reflexes and subconscious processor routines. He felt it making connections and, at Sunny's direction, the beginnings of a rapid shut-down process of his cores. However, for just a moment, despite his real desire to obey orders, he fought it by throwing up temporary firewalls in the path of the datapad's commands. Bumblebee then sent one more rapid comlink transmission to Ratchet. :If you're going to hack me, I'll make it easy.:
He shot an encryption key across the comlink at Ratchet, one that would give Ratchet easy access through his memory core's firewalls. It would be far simpler for Ratchet to access him that way than the blunt force method of using medic's codes to bludgeon his way into Bumblebee's very mind. Ratchet could break down Bee's firewalls regardless of Bee's wishes, but at least this made it feel like he had some control. Plus, Ratchet was just so blasted busy. This would save him time, and effort.
The last thing he heard was a startled oath from Ratchet, who had clearly been expecting anything but that sort of cooperation. Likely, Ratchet had been planning on a colossal fight from Bee, since he had sent the Evil Twins to do his bidding. Ratchet snapped, :Pit, Bee!:
I just hope you let me wake u-- The datapad found a way around his firewalls and cut power to his processor. Oblivion claimed him in an instant.
Sam woke to a funny taste in his mouth, and the awareness that somebody was holding both of his hands. He jerked, pulling one hand free. The other was gripped by someone with a lot more strength, because his reaction barely budged their fingers.
"Sam?" Mikaela's voice was close. He opened his eyes, and realized she was leaning over him.
"What ..." the last thing he could remember was working on the laptop with his back to Bee's chest. "... what happened?"
He reached to run a hand over his face, and felt an uncomfortable pinch. When he looked at his hand he realized he had an IV in it, and red fluid flowed through the clear tubing. "Blood?"
"You lost quite a bit," a smooth, cultured voice said. It took Sam a moment to recognize Doc's voice, however. It turned out that Doc was gripping his hand, and when Sam looked over, he realized he had an IV in his other arm too, and Doc was in the process of injecting something into it.
"What?" He tried to pull away, but Doc's grip was impossible to break. "What are you doing?"
"You would have been dead before you got to a hospital," Doc said, quietly, as he pushed the syringe into the IV's little rubber stopper. "Bumblebee hit you so hard that he ruptured some of your internal organs. You would have bled out."
"Bee," Sam said, confused. "Where's Bee? Bee wouldn't hit me."
Whatever Doc was putting into his veins seemed to be a sedative. He slipped back unconscious before he heard an answer to his question.
Bumblebee was not hyper in the same sense that Bluestreak was, but Ratchet was used to him being animated. Bee had rhythm and energy, a sense of humor that included physical comedy, and a playful outlook on life. He was not often still except when something was very wrong.
"Set him down there," Ratchet said, to Grimlock, who had the scout in his arms. Grimlock grunted and laid Bee down on a berth in the Ark's med bay. Bee was as still as death, and it was disconcerting to Ratchet, who had seen too many dead mechs in his life. Bee was not supposed to be motionless. Bumblebee wasn't supposed to nearly kill Sam, either.
"Out," he shooed Grimlock out the door. "This may take awhile."
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker followed Grimlock into the hall. The door slid shut. That left him alone with two offline mechs, Bee and Prowl, and Elita.
"Are you sure you do not want me to do this?" Elita asked, as she walked over to Bumblebee. "Ratchet, if he is infected and it is hiding, it could spread to you."
"I trust your work." She had already searched for viruses, before they had brought him to the ship. That left a few other options, all of which were going to need a bit of deep probing to verify. "And do not discount your own worth, Elita."
"You're a Prime." Her words were flat, and a bit challenging.
Ratchet agreed, "That I am."
Elita seemed as if she wanted to dispute this subject further, but when he picked up a datajack cable she simply grabbed a chair, and sat down where she could supervise. "I'll spot you. And Ratchet, be careful."
"Mmm." He shoved the dead weight of Bee's arm out of the way and pried his dataport open with his fingers. Ratchet then paused for a moment to check the condition of the port. He had never actually had reason to access Bee's cores in the entire time he'd known the scout, which was a long time. To his knowledge, Bee had never had what mechs would describe as psychiatric issues; he had always seemed very resilient. He also had no partner, and never had, despite quite a few offers over the years. People liked Bumblebee, and some had wanted more than just friendship with him. Jazz even asked, unless I miss my guess entirely. Bee was perfectly happy to be friends with nearly everyone he met, but like many soldiers who fought on the front lines, he had always turned down offers for anything more. He had also never been captured by Decepticons, and the only time anyone had tried to hack him had been the humans, a year ago.
The only times that Ratchet had accessed Bee's datajack had been with a simple datapad, plugged quickly in to take him offline before surgery or to run diagnostics after he had taken battle damage. Datapads only accessed autonomic functions.
The humans may have done some damage that is only manifesting now, Ratchet thought, considering the matter before going further. The dataport was untouched from the last time he had seen it, as he had expected, with minimal signs of wear. There was a type of illegal device that could access a mech's pleasure centers through the port, and had an effect similar to the human drugs called amphetamines, but he would have been astounded to find that Bee had ever used one. He was smarter than that, and would have been too wary of the very real possibility of processor damage from such a thing. As Ratchet had expected, there were only a scant handful of nearly microscopic scratches on the port's surface. Repeated use of anything illicit, or a partner that Ratchet didn't know about, and he would have seen more signs of wear.
He had not expected to find anything amiss, but he had been surprised by mechs before. He'd been a medic for a long, long time; long enough to have no illusions about the stupid things his patients might do. He also would never have expected Bee to harm Sam, and that highly out of character behavior made him automatically suspicious and readily willing to recheck his assumptions about Bumblebee.
The datajack with an extra long lead slid into place easily, clicking home. Ratchet walked over to the next berth, hitched himself up on it, and laid down flat before hooking the cable up to his own port.
The first few times he had done this had been with anonymous mechs brought to the teaching hospital where he had learned his trade. Every medic received at least the basics of training on this process, and Ratchet was no exception. He had disliked it from the beginning, and that distaste for seeing other's most private thoughts had only intensified when the needs of the war had caused a loss of anonymity in his patients. Rather than strangers he would never see again, sometimes he had to do this for mechs he worked with on a daily basis.
Mechs presented a face to the world that was often far different than what was in their spark. He had received some unpleasantly rude surprises over the years, including learning that a mech he thought was his friend hated him, but was being nice because it was simply to his advantage. He really could have done without knowing a junior medical officer he trusted and liked only engaged in recreational activities with him because the other medic wanted a promotion. He had never suspected a thing until the day the other medic had been badly damaged in battle and needed external help rebooting.
He had medically interfaced with dozens of other mechs on the Autobot team. His reaction to what he had seen had ranged from frank fear to outright pity.
Sunstreaker had terrified Ratchet, though it was more fear for Sunny than of him. In some ways, Sunny was more stable than Ratchet had expected, but the mech's perception of the world and the motives and behavior of others was not exactly accurate. The only reason Sunstreaker was able to function at all, Ratchet suspected, was that the clear rules and regulations of a military organization gave him a framework to work within that he could understand. And Sideswipe was acting as a reality check for him, or if Sideswipe was not around, then Sunstreaker's commanding officers filled the same role. Ratchet had made very, very, very sure that whoever had Sunstreaker on their staff understood the need to give him crystal clear, unambiguous orders and then make sure he followed them.
It was possible that Sunstreaker could be 'fixed' with by a medic who specialized in psychiatric issues, via repeated medical interface sessions to teach Sunny how better to understand others. Ratchet didn't have the skills to do that, however. I am not a shrink, Ratchet had told Optimus savagely the last time they'd discussed Sunny. Besides, Sunstreaker hated interfacing with anyone who wasn't his brother. Convincing him to have a weekly firewall-free chat with an Autobot shrink wasn't likely to happen.
Bluestreak, by contrast, had left Ratchet grieving. Bluestreak had been so shattered and broken. Sunstreaker had been angry beyond all measure, but Blue was just damaged. Ratchet figured Bluestreak would either self destruct, or find solace with love from another. He so desperately wanted approval from others, in a way that wasn't entirely healthy, because his self worth was tied up in how he thought others perceived him.
Bumblebee, Ratchet reflected, had fought in the war since the beginning. He had signed on early, inspired by a sense of moral outrage, and had quickly worked his way up through the ranks because those both above and below him liked and trusted him. It had been Prowl who had identified that Bee had real potential as officer material, but Optimus himself who had brought young officer into his inner circle. Bee had fit into their command structure like a missing puzzle piece.
Bee he had fought. He had done terrible things. Terrible things had been done to him.
Ratchet hesitated before initiating the script that would access Bee's cores. What am I going to find here? Clearly, something is very wrong ...
Well, he was a medic, and this was one of his duties. He needed to do this, much as he did not want to.
Bee's processor core was still offline. Ratchet hacked into his memories, first. Autobots recorded memories of events in a format of 'sensory input+thought+emotion' all neatly organized by date, with an overlaying database structure that could be searched by keywords. If Ratchet wanted to pull up every single memory he ever had of 'humans' or 'Optimus Prime' or 'optic design schematics' he could do so with a thought. The actual keywords and searches were far more complicated than that (and he could search solely based on sensory input) but that was the explanation he gave to humans who asked.
Nothing in Bee's memory core seemed amiss. He ran a few benign searches, verifying that Bee's database wasn't corrupted. If, say, a search for 'Sam Witwicky' had turned up 'Megatron attacking' it might have explained why Bee had struck him in a panic on waking.
Ratchet had reviewed the video, provided by Teletraan, multiple times. Both humans had been leaning against Bee's torso, with Mikaela apparently asleep and Sam working away on something on his laptop. Bee had abruptly woken from recharge and had batted Sam away so fast and violently that Sam could not have registered what had hit him. If Bee had struck Sam at even a slightly different angle, the boy would have died instantly.
At least it wasn't an argument that got out of hand, which was my first fear when he said he hit Sam. If he'd hit Sam in anger with that much force, Optimus would order him deactivated. I just don't understand what he was reacting to, however.
Before pulling up the memories of that instant, Ratchet viewed later files. Bee had given him an encryption key so he could get though his firewalls without a fight. That action alone told Ratchet that Bee was probably sane; Bumblebee had made this task much easier for Ratchet.
He reviewed Bee's encounter with the twins, sent to take him offline. Ratchet had truly been expecting Bumblebee to fight. However, Bee's memories were overlaid with, first, real fear for Sam and guilt over what he had done, and secondly, a startlingly strong concern that Ratchet might not like what he saw in Bee's mind.
Oh-hoh, we have some issues with self worth, do we? Ratchet wasn't surprised by that. Bee was actually worried that Ratchet would find him incompetent and unstable and leave him offline permanently, after this.
I reactivated Sunstreaker, buddy, Ratchet thought, with a little irritation. Short of Megatron-level psychosis, you're going to wake up to face the fallout of your actions.
He delved deeper, going to the hours before the incident. He wanted to have the whole picture.
Bee, thinking only about how very tired he was, and how much he wanted to see his friends, cracked a doorwing against the frame for the observation deck's blast doors hard enough to cause some minor circuit damage. Ratchet jumped at that, nearly breaking the link. The memory of pain was uncomfortable, and unexpected. Elita, observing, started to rise. He heard her shift position and he waved a hand at her without lighting his optics. "I'm fine, Elita," he said, aloud.
"Be careful," she murmured."
He returned to the memories. Mikaela's reaction to Bee's accident, and Bee's response, was actually amusing, though he was certainly not in a mood to laugh. Mikaela lit into Bee for lack of time in recharge. Bee, in sheepish response, had allowed himself to be bullied into lying down and taking three and three quarters hours of recharge time. Ratchet thought it was so very much like Bee to allow himself to be bossed around by his friends. Additionally, those memories were clearly tinged with frank exhaustion. Bumblebee had not even wanted to argue with Mikaela. His last conscious thought, to Ratchet's bemusement, was that Mikaela reminded him of Ratchet.
Bumblebee went into recharge, and Ratchet scanned rapidly forward through the files. For the next 3.75 hours of recorded time there was only a distant, steady input from sensors. He could detect Mikaela's very light weight against Bee's hip, and Sam shifting back and forth against ...
Oh. Comprehension dawned.
Sam was leaning up against the cover to Bumblebee's dataport, which Ratchet normally would not have expected to be a problem. Bee's trust of the two humans was complete, and it would not have been any different than Sam deciding to curl up against Bee's doorwings or his arm. He had seen both Sam and Mikaela take a casual seat on one of Bee's legs when Bumblebee was sitting down on the ground, and Bee put both of them up on his shoulders routinely, which put them dangerously close to sensitive sensory arrays. He was not shy about having them in his personal space, and the dataport wasn't exactly a critical part given how little Bumblebee used it.
What are the humans going to do, stick a finger in it and say, 'Talk to me, Bee?'
However, perhaps something had gone wrong as Bee came online. With a theory now in mind, Ratchet ran a quick query into Bee's past memories. Bee had said that the government scientists had tried to hack him, but had not been successful at getting past his firewalls. Ratchet had taken that at face value, because he seriously doubted humans had the processing power to crack an Autobot's firewall by the brute force method. Still, even an attempted forceful hacking was an incredible violation of one's self. Ratchet had killed the first mech who had tried to do that to him, and had thoroughly violated his medical oaths in the process.
He found the memories of that incident under Hoover Dam easily enough, and noted grimly that those files had been repeatedly archived and frequently accessed during sleep periods. Bee's subconscious subroutines kept pulling the memories up and flagging them as 'important' during recharge. That was the mech equivalent of a repeating nightmare. Ratchet also found considerable evidence that Bee was frustrated by the fact that he couldn't get his mind to leave the files alone, and he truly wanted to put that experience behind him.
Ratchet watched as Bee came online from his recharge to an extra-urgent flag of that memory, triggered by Sam's position against the dataport. Basically, his subroutines screamed at him, "Somebody might be trying to hack you like they did under the dam!"
Bee's memories showed him running a frantic scan, and detecting a human touching his dataport. He reacted in blind terror, swiping at the threat without identifying which human it was, first. He had not been fully conscious and Bee was a war machine, designed for lightning reflexes and killing strength. Grimly, Ratchet observed as Bee, every battle routine on full alert, mask down, weapons charging, had launched upright. He had very nearly hit Sam with a pulse cannon blast and only the fact that his processors had come fully online before the cannon's capacitors were charged saved the human.
Horror flooded Bee's memories. As Ratchet observed, Bee replayed his own actions, realized what he had done, scooped Sam up, and ran for the med bay. The depths of Bee's emotions were nearly overwhelming.
Ratchet almost broke the connection at that point. He had established what had happened to his satisfaction. There would be cause for discipline, because Bumblebee had been careless. Due to his frequent proximity with humans he needed to have subroutines in place to stop such a response. Bee likely had never considered that he might not recognize Sam and strike him in a moment of panic. Bee's auditory sensors alone were keen enough that he could identify Sam at a hundred yards simply by the pattern of his footfalls, and at fifty feet by the distinct sound of his heartbeat. However, Bumblebee had reacted without conscious thought, before his pattern recognition software had a chance to initialize and then report a familiar person to Bee's processor. The battle modules had quite simply come online first and reacted as they were designed to do.
Well, Ratchet thought, we can fix it so this never happens again.
He hesitated, however. He could simply write the necessary code, set medically restricted permissions on it so Bumblebee could not reorder his own boot sequence, and be done. As medical interface sessions went, this one was almost painless.
However, Bumblebee had been frankly terrified of the session. Additionally, he'd blown up at that meeting several days ago, and voiced some harsh opinions. That made Ratchet suspicious. Bee's psych profile was stable, almost unusually so, but that was based on observed behavior and Bee's answers to questions during a psych evaluation tens of millennia ago. He decided he was obligated to look a little deeper to ensure that no surprises lurked in the darker recesses of Bee's mind. They could not afford to have a Prime who was unstable; history had multiple examples of how disastrous that could be.
He could, of course, do a deeper scan of Bumblebee's memories. That, however, was very invasive. He hoped to satisfy his concerns with less trauma and loss of privacy. It was also time consuming. And, ultimately, boring. The last time he'd had to do a full scan of a memory core it had taken several days to do, and he did not have time for that, even if he had the desire.
He concluded it would be easier just to wake Bee up while they were interfaced, and have a nice little chat with him. Bee could hardly hide his thoughts or feelings with Ratchet inside his firewalls, and that would give Ratchet an excellent idea of just what Bumblebee's mental state really was. He initialized a few routines and powered up Bee's processor core, while simultaneously cutting Bumblebee's access to his motor functions. The latter was a practical necessity; it was rather common for mechs to come up fighting during a procedure like this.
It took about a fraction of a second for Bee's systems to boot up enough modules for Bee to reach conscious awareness. :What?: His first thought was very confused as he discovered he couldn't move.
:Easy.: Ratchet made his presence known, causing Bee to react with real instinctual fear. Someone was in his head who wasn't supposed to be there, and he was paralyzed. :It's me, Bumblebee. Calm down.:
:Ratchet.: Bee recognized, and his terror dialed back several notches. He still wasn't happy, but he wasn't in a howling panic, either. :How's Sam?:
That, Ratchet thought, was a good response. Bumblebee was scared, but he was still thinking, and his primary concern was Sam's health. There was almost instinctive trust of Ratchet in that answer, too; despite his fear, he knew Ratchet, had worked with him for ages, and liked him. (Ratchet was glad to verify that; he really had been fond of the mech who had only been using him.) Ratchet replied, :Alive. He'll heal. He's very lucky. You could have killed him.:
:That,: Bumblebee growled, :Was what I was trying to do. You've seen what happened? -- Ah, yes, you have.: Bee had located time stamps on audit trails in his memories that showed Ratchet had accessed them. Ratchet could have concealed his tracks, but that would have been unethical.
After a moment, Bee added, sounding rather surprised, :You didn't look at much.:
:I saw enough. I did not need to pry farther. I have some code I want you to implement to prevent this sort of issue in the future.: Ratchet transmitted the scripts to Bee, who examined them thoughtfully.
Bumblebee was definitely relaxing. Ratchet was surprised by that; he'd known mechs to fight him every inch of the way. The sense he was getting from Bee was of an incredibly deep well of personal strength. This was somewhat unexpected. It was the sort of sense of presence he would expect from Optimus, not the little yellow scout. On the other hand, a Matrix had accepted Bee. So perhaps he should not be surprised.
:This will reduce my personal defense capabilities a fraction of a percentage point,: Bee decided, :But will make it much safer for my humans to be around me when I am coming out of recharge. That is assuming that they are willing to continue any sort of a friendship with me. How could they trust me after this?.:
:You will need to let them make that decision,: Ratchet replied, as Bee installed the new routines. His battle modules now booted after the rest of his processor. Which, Ratchet thought, was the way it should be. However, the vast majority of soldiers put 'fighting routines' as one of the earliest things to initialize when leaving recharge. He could understand that, given the lives they led, but did not condone it.
:I'm going to lock them in place for now, Bee,: Ratchet said, even as he password protected the code. :If you need to change anything let me know, and we'll talk. I can make changes with a datapad. It won't require another interface session.:
Bee's emotions registered as unhappy misery at the idea of giving up control over his own boot sector, but he didn't argue. After an incident like this, it was protocol that the changes to Bee's operating system be medically locked for a period of time. However, by letting him install the code himself, Ratchet figured he had given an illusion of control back to Bumblebee. That was important, as he didn't want Bee any more traumatized than he likely was.
:Bee,: Ratchet said, knowing he needed more answers, :You were scared I would not bring you back online. Why?:
:I hate this war,: Bee said, bitterly, :If you had but looked a little farther, you would see. I'm surprised you didn't view the memories of the meeting last week. I hate it. It is unnecessary and evil. I am not the loyal soldier everyone thinks I--"
:Oh, Primus. This is what had your struts in a knot?: Ratchet wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh at Bee, or grieve with him. The bitter anger and exhausted, furious, helpless rage that came through with his words, glimpses of Bee's innermost emotions, all carried the same note of generalized anger and resentment of the whole situation. Far from wanting to offline him for it, Ratchet was tempted to lower his own firewalls and share a few of his own private feelings. That, however, would be highly unprofessional. Also, he was finding he liked Bee even more now than before, and he did not want to initiate anything on a personal level with the scout. It would beyond improper.
Ratchet's own emotional response finally settled on irritation after he cycled through amusement and grief. It was his default state anyway. He let his annoyance transmit with his words as he said, :Bee, if you enjoyed this war I would tell you that you were fighting for the wrong side. Idiot. Do you think any of us like this fight? We are Autobots because we do not share the Decepticon ideals of power via death and destruction :
:I do not want to be a soldier. I swore allegiance to this cause, but I want to quit. I so desperately just want to walk away, Ratchet. I'm tired. I'm so tired. I want another life. I want to be someone else. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of killing. I'm tired of people I love dying. Our race is dying, Ratchet. We have clung to our ideals for so long and so fiercely that we are dying as a people. We fight for the other peoples of the universe, to prevent the Decepticons from destroying other worlds in a ceaseless search for resources, but what of us? What about our people? Death is death, Ratchet, regardless of the species and ...:
Ratchet put a stop to Bee's somewhat rambling and frantic thoughts, :Easy, Bee. Calm down. You sound remarkably sane to me.:
:But ...:
:But what? Welcome to the club, Bee. I've hated this war since before it began.: Ratchet sat up on his berth, though he did not disengage the cable. He also released his hold on Bumblebee's motor functions, and when Bee realized he could move he rolled onto his side and fixed Ratchet with a keen blue gaze. Ratchet continued, gently, :Bee, I've always thought I fought for the lesser of two evils. My logic is that it is better that no one win this war than the Decepticons succeed and wreak havoc across the universe. You know what they did to Nebulos! Also, Optimus remains our best chance of seeing an end to the war ... someday. I despair, often, however. You are not alone in these dark thoughts.:
Bee sat up as well, and glanced down at the cable connecting them. Unbidden, his thoughts went to the humans. :I could never have this sort of connection with them,: Bee thought, sorrowfully, as he reached up to disconnect the plug from his dataport.
Ratchet reached out and caught Bumblebee's hand. Across the connection, he asked, :May I ask you something, not as your medic, but as your friend?:
Bumblebee hesitated, likely because Ratchet's request was hugely personal. But then he nodded.
:What is your interest in Mikaela and Sam?:
Bee pulled his fingers free, shock widening his optics. Then anger came in a rushing flood. There was anger at Ratchet, for asking in such a manner, and self-directed rage because Bumblebee wanted to stop feeling the way he did, and couldn't. Anger at Primus filled Bee's thoughts, too, for the unfairness of fate. And this was followed by a rush of desperate loneliness, and sorrow, and frustration.
But above it all, shining bright and clear and pure, untainted by the fury and stronger than anything else, was love.
Ratchet sighed. "Bee," he said, aloud, as he disconnected the cable from his own port. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong of me."
But damned if it didn't answer a few questions I've had.
Bee wouldn't meet his eyes. "It doesn't matter, Ratchet."
"Doesn't matter?" Ratchet would have given his medic's chevron to have a mech with a spark like Bee's feel that way about him. He couldn't keep the growl out of his voice. "I will assume you haven't told them."
Bumblebee slid off the berth, and asked, quietly, "Am I free to go, or still relieved of duty?"
"You're free. Tell me if you have any problems with that code. I'll talk to Optimus about what happened, but I personally don't think punishment is appropriate. It was an accident, Bee. You'll be far more careful of your behavioral coding in the future."
"Yes," Bee sighed.
"And why would you say it doesn't matter?" Ratchet just could not drop it, even though Bumblebee clearly didn't want to discuss the matter.
Bee held both hands out, palms up, in a gesture of helpless despair that was very Cybetronian. I am without weapons was the literal meaning of that motion, but figuratively it meant, I have no options. He explained, "What I truly feel does not matter because I cannot have them as anything but friends. Sam has no interest in me beyond that. I am his best friend, and nothing more. I do not believe he could be persuaded to see me as anything beyond a 'best friend' though his feelings are quite strong in their own right. Mikaela might be ... intrigued ... if I am reading her right, but I am deliberately deflecting that interest back to Sam. It would devastate Sam to lose her, and for me to be the source of that loss would cause him great pain. So, my own interest in both of them must remain as nothing more than that of a friend."
Ratchet ran a hand over his faceplate. "Bee, you get in the worst messes sometimes."
"I've been thinking of ..." Bumblebee sighed. "... Love is not finite. I should seek another. I cannot have them, and I know this."
Ratchet eyed Bee suspiciously, wishing he was still connected to Bee's processors. There was so much pain there, and he wasn't sure that Bumblebee's response was honest.
Bee said, in a very soft tone of voice, "And after yesterday, I do not even know if they will wish to continue our friendship ... it's bad enough when strangers are afraid of me. Now my two best friends have real cause for fear."
Ratchet made a fist and thumped Bee on the top of his head.
"Owe! What was that for?"
"Your punishment for being stupid. And I can't help you beyond giving you a smack when you need it; your problems with Mikaela and Sam are your own to solve. However, I have a suggestion for you, regarding the generalized problem of getting humans in general to accept you. We were going to have Doc talk to you, but you're here, and I'm in a mood to be nice." Ratchet smiled at Bee, because Bumblebee was looking wounded.
"You just hit me," Bee pointed out.
Ratchet lifted an optic ridge at him. Bee smiled faintly, and corrected, "You hit me ... nicely."
"This is an idea that that Doc, Wheeljack, and I have been working on. This actually started out as a contest between us, to see who could create schematics for the realistically human protoform, with the intent that it be used as a less threatening liaison ..."
"What?" Bee literally took a step back. Both his expression and tone of voice indicated he thought Ratchet had gone totally crazy. "I have absolutely no desire to shrink. I'm short enough for a warrior as it is."
Ratchet smirked at him. "Bee? One word for you: Arcee."
Bumblebee stared. It actually seemed to take him a minute to figure out what Ratchet was talking about, but when he did, his optics widened.
Ratchet shot the data files at him. :Here. Have some schematics. Think about it. The protoform won't be indistinguishably human, and that's deliberate. Humans have a real fear of aliens hiding among them. But it will seem human, in appealing ways. Your choice.:
Bee said, aloud, "You guys got in a contest. To make it seem human. When did you have time?"
Ratchet gave him a literal answer, "We were just playing with the idea until the ship arrived and it became actually possible to do. Since then, I have spent one hour every day on it for the last three days, during my daily recreational break. My contribution is in the upgrades and mods to your current protoform necessary to support a second protoform with a split spark. Doc found that the project intersected conveniently with his research into cellular growth, and was an interesting experimental application of some theories he is working on. Wheeljack, of course, designed the structural modifications to the smallest protoform shell in the ship's stores."
"Wheeljack." Bee rolled his optics. They'd all had experiences, some better than others, with the engineer's inventions. "It's not going to blow up, is it?"
Ratchet smirked at him. "We are concerned about an occasional methane problem, but otherwise, no. I've vetted his work, and so did Doc. He is not pushing any design tolerances beyond reasonable levels."
Bee shuttered his optics briefly, then said, "I will review this more thoroughly and think about it ... and thank you."
"Mmm. Go see Sam. He's next door in the recovery room. Doc just pinged me and told me he's awake." Ratchet gave Bee a shove towards the exam room's exit. "Mikaela's there too. And his parents."
Bee gave Ratchet a wide-eyed, frankly terrified look. Ratchet gave him another shove. "Go on. You've got to face the music sooner or later, buddy. Or in your case, possibly sing it ..."