Chapter 49
Author's notes: For the people who somehow missed the clear and blunt warning at the beginning, this story contains slash. If you are going to post a critical review simply because you are offended by Teh Gay Involving Teh Giant Robots, GET OVER IT. Have a rule 34, and while you're at it, look at the contents of the site where you're reading this. This story is being posted to the ever-loving Pit of Voles, AKA the biggest repository of adult-oriented slash fiction on the internet. If you're offended by this story, which contains tasteful and non-explicit scenes of robots networking with one another and having a good time doing, plus three people from very different backgrounds who have fallen in love with each other and are scared to death by it, YOU ARE SERIOUSLY READING FICTION ON THE WRONG SITE. Complaining about finding slash on the Pit is somewhat like touching a hot stove and complaining you got burnt.
I make no apologies for the slash. Actually, I make no apologies for this story at all. I am having a great deal of fun writing it, and (as usual) I have something to say with this story.
Additionally, the theme of 'humans falling in love with robots' in which 'robot' is defined as 'non-human sentient being made of inorganic material' dates back to at least the Greeks. The first example, thematically, of this involved a girl carved of ivory and granted life by the Gods, which is no less plausible than giant alien robots being given souls by the Allspark.
Now, may I return you to the story ...
Sam had never managed to eat his cereal that morning, so it was with a growling stomach that he entered the conference room that had been turned into a breakfast bar for the humans. Most of N.E.S.T. was along for the ride, along with a couple dozen assorted dignitaries including Keller and Keller's British and Japanese counterparts and their support staff. Despite the fact that nearly everyone had already eaten, there was, to his relief, donuts, muffins, cereal, and scrambled eggs and sausage and bacon on a steam table. The steam table looked suspiciously like something that might have been cobbled together from parts from one of the ship's labs, but it worked. He assumed that the usual Autobot attention to detail meant that the table did not harbor any dangerous chemical residue from its past life.
Beneath his feet, the Ark's deck had a low vibration to it. There was no other sign that they were traveling a hundred and fifty miles an hour, ten thousand feet in the air. He'd gawked for a shamelessly long time out the med bay windows, and he planned to join everyone else on the observation deck in a minute. He was filling his plate with sugary goodness when the door swished open behind him. Bee's human voice said, "Sam."
He half turned, and saw that Bee was looking at him with somewhat concerned blue eyes.
He can't really care about me that way ... He didn't want to think about it. He turned back to the buffet, and helped himself to a prepackaged plastic bowl of corn flakes and a cardboard carton of milk to go with his danish, orange juice, and bacon. He didn't dare look at Bee. His emotions were tumultuous, and he was afraid if Bee looked him in the eyes that the Autobot would see things that Sam had never wanted to tell anyone, or even admit fully to himself. Then he realized that he hadn't said a word in reaction to Bee's greeting, and had turned his back on his best friend. Bee was still behind him, probably wondering if Sam was pissed at him. Sam wasn't angry, though he was agitated and confused. He finally managed to say the first thing that came to mind. "How's Windy?"
Bee's voice was too controlled. "Currently, Windy is managing to de-escalate Bluestreak better than anyone I've seen since Prowl was taken. That takes talent."
"De-escalate?" he said, a bit worried. He'd heard the Autobots allude to problems with Blue in the past.
"Blue has episodes. Humans would call them panic attacks, I think. They never happen in combat, but can be triggered by a bad fight and will manifest a few days later. Blue's ... fragile. Emotionally. He always has been, and being captured by the 'cons didn't help. Yet he is also our best sharpshooter, one of our most effective warriors, and his presence in battle keeps others alive. We use him," Bee said soberly, "because we need him, but we regret. And he suffers, each and every time, with a pain that is as real as any injury. More than any of us, Blue should never have been a soldier. He was created a civilian and he doesn't have the spark for this life."
Bee sighed heavily, then shook his head. His eyes went distant, for a moment, staring at a point past Sam's shoulder. Then he smiled and said, "Windy says that Blue's laughing now. Windy's laughing too. It's a relief. If someone doesn't get him calmed down, Blue will get more and more upset until he glitches. It's like a seizure. And then he needs several hours of defragging, which means he would miss the party tonight."
"You guys are really eager about today." He could practically taste the anticipation from the mechs. It was thick in the air, with all of them tense with emotions. He wasn't surprised Bluestreak had chosen now to have some sort of an emotional fit. He'd probably overloaded on the excitement.
"Aren't you?" Bee said. He eyed the banquet table for a moment before selecting a blueberry muffin and sniffing it curiously. "It's basically our big coming out to your species. It's a historic occasion for Earth, and for us as well. We want this world to be our home, and it's looking like that really might happen. We're eager to see all our work come together."
Sam sighed. "Put that way, I guess I see it. I've just been wrapped up in guest list issues."
"Still?" Bee's response, which held a world of sympathy in one word, made Sam both relax and smile a little.
"Ten people canceled. I was on the phone notifying ten others that their names had come up if they wanted to show up tonight, even while Doc was taking my cast off. It's crazy. I've been too busy to think beyond the basics," he vented with a roll of his eyes.
"How's your hand?" Bee's change of subject caught him a bit off guard.
"Hurts, a bit," he said, honestly, as he shoved his sleeve up and held it out for Bee to see. There was still a ton of bruising visible, in an amazing spectrum of colors, but there was no swelling. "Doc says it will for a long time. It's not your fault, though."
"It is, but neither of us need to dwell on that. We can't change what happened. We can only make sure nothing like that ever occurs again." Bee set the muffin down on the table and reached out casually to grasp Sam's wrist. It was something that should have been ordinary. Bee was fiercely curious, and Sam was relatively used to his mech half gently tugging at a piece of clothing, inspecting a skinned knee, or poking at a new watch or other gadget on Sam's person. It was normal for him to do something like this; he was as fascinated by human anatomy and physiology as Mikaela was by Autobot design. Sam knew that Bee was probably interested in the bruising, a guess that was confirmed with he curiously traced a finger over a dark mark on Sam's skin.
Sam didn't quite know why he did it, but he understood the mech body language well enough to know exactly what he was doing. He stepped closer to Bee, so that they were standing only a few inches apart and their hands were trapped between them. He looked Bee in the eyes, and his heart started to race. His ears were buzzing. Mikaela's words, that Bee liked him that way, roared through his head. Almost instantly, he regretted the impulsive action. What am I doing? He thought, wildly.
Bee met Sam's gaze, and it was such a weird thing to see Bee's spark looking at him from very human looking eyes. Bee's reaction was so very typical; first a quizzical tilt of his head and then his eyes widened.
They were so close to the same height that he honestly wasn't sure who was taller. He was so close he could hear the very soft hum of Bee's inorganic parts, and smell the deodorant he'd put on that morning. He waited, heart thumping, breath caught in his throat, for Bee to make the next move. If Bee reacted with something like a soft word, or God forbid a kiss -- and they were that close -- he didn't know what he would do. Fall on his ass, maybe. His knees were shaking already.
Bumblebee took a step back, to Sam's genuine relief. Quietly, he said, "Your father's coming." There was a beat's pause, then proving Bee understood Sam's intent even better than Sam did, Bee added, "And your stress hormones are really spiking. Don't imply things you can't lie about to an Autobot."
"Wait ..." Sam protested, as Bee turned to go. He might be scared to death, but he thought Bumblebee was being a bit unfair to dismiss him out of hand like that. Bee had no clue how hard it was to even think about the concept of him, and Bee, without hyperventilating. His friend was misinterpreting the reason for Sam's panic. Of course, there was Mikaela, though sometimes he wondered if Mikaela would not be an obstacle for long.
Bee glanced back at him. "I will have a partner as of tonight, Sam. Don't do this to yourself."
"I just ... your muffin. Don't forget it." He held the forgotten item out to Bumblebee. "I'm ... I'm sorry."
"So am I." Bee's expression was sad as he took the pastry from Sam's hand. He looked down at it for a moment like he'd never seen it before, then back up at Sam. "I never wanted to hurt you, Sam."
Sam didn't think Bee was talking about the accident, and the still vivid marks on his body. More likely, Bee had overheard the discussion -- argument -- that he and Mikaela had, or someone had relayed it to him. Given how loud they'd been, probably the whole base knew, or at least the mech half. He flushed, suddenly, realizing that meant gossip could (and probably would) eventually get back to his mother, and potentially his father, and oh crap there'd be a shitload of fallout if his father ever found out. His father would flip out. And hell, it's a base full of soldiers. Macho. They'll know, shit, shit, shit ... my father will tease me in front of them if he finds out about Bee liking me that way, I know it ...
He said, forcing words past lips that were suddenly numb with terror, "I'm glad you found Windy. I want to see you happy, Bee. Really. I really care about you. I'm almost jealous of Windy -- almost."
Bumblebee searched Sam's face, clearly looking for something. Sam wanted ... well, he didn't know what he wanted. Then the Autobot took a hesitant step back towards Sam, tilting his head to the side. He seemed to be considering something. His eyes were on Sam's mouth. One of Bee's hands twitched.
Sam pictured ... Sam pictured Bee shoving him up against a wall, kissing him hard, like something out of a smutty chick flick. He could see Bee looming over him, hands roaming his body, hips thrusting against him. He pictured himself on his back in a bed, Bee between his legs, pinned down by Bee's weight, Bee grunting into him ... he could imagine it and he didn't like it. It scared him on a deep, profound level, and again he couldn't even say why.
I'm not that! He mentally wailed, in almost incoherent fear.
Sam's breathing must have picked up, or his heart rate increased. Certainly, he'd tensed. Probably, his 'stress hormones' had multiplied.
Bee stopped, freezing in place. Almost inaudibly, he said, "You don't want this."
The mech spun about, and left with quick, long, aggressive strides. Sam, left behind, slumped into a human size chair beside a portable folding table, put his face in his hands, and exhaled. He would not cry. He wouldn't.
"What's with Bee?" His father's voice made him look up in surprise. Bee had warned him that his father was coming, but he had forgotten. "I said 'Hi' and he just gave me a look and kept walking."
Sam considered the question for a long, surprisingly thoughtful moment. His first impulse was to simply tell his father to frag off, in so many words. Autobot curse words would be appropriate. However, he managed to bite back that initial angry reaction. Instead, he rose and picked up the danish from his tray of food. He wasn't very hungry anymore, though he knew he would be starving later if he didn't eat now. "Bee," Sam said, "is probably not very happy with you at the moment."
"What did I do?"
"Insulted Bee and insulted me." Sam headed for the door, head ducked so his father wouldn't see the angry tears that threatened to fill his eyes.
"Son! You wait a minute!"
Sam quickened his pace. Damn the Ark's rooms, any one of which were bigger than the average size house. He hadn't realized how far it was to the door. He hurried. His father broke into a run, however, and grabbed his arm. Sam whipped around with an angry gasp, knowing his eyes were shining far too bright, and that his voice would shake if he spoke.
"Look, you're just too sensitive. You always have been. I was just teasing earlier."
Sam pulled at the hand holding him. His throat was swollen shut with emotion. He couldn't speak.
"Look, you listen to me, boy ..." His father's expression softened. "Look, I'm sorry, really I am. I just worry about people getting the wrong idea about you. Sometimes you kinda give off vibes anyway, and it'd be easy for someone to assume the wrong thing. Particularly when you do damn-fool things like buy robots barrettes."
Sam managed to bite out out, "Have you seen m-my girlfriend? I'm not gay, Dad."
Half the reason I chased her in the beginning, Dad, was that I knew you'd be impressed. He didn't say that. He couldn't say that. He loved Mikaela to the core of his being, and he was suddenly shocked to realize that he'd practically been coming on to Bumblebee earlier. What would Mikaela think? It would break her heart. She would be devastated. He couldn't do that to her. What the fuck had he been thinking? Bee had to be furious at him, on top of that, or at least disappointed in him. Bee had been encouraging his relationship with Mikaela since the day they'd first met. Bee cared about Mikaela as much as he cared about Sam. If Sam started a relationship with Bee, it would hurt Mikaela. Neither of them wanted that.
"Okay." His father released his wrist. "I swear, though, there used to be times I wondered."
"Trust me," Sam ground out, tension easing now that it was clear he wasn't in for a repeat of the morning's drama. "I'd rather cut my own hand off than play catch with Bee. Can I go now?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just -- be careful, okay?" His father sighed. "I'm sorry about harassing you."
Sam blinked at his father for a moment, surprised to get even a half-assed apology, then shook his head and headed again for the door. He felt sick to his stomach. On the way out, there was a garbage can. He tossed the danish into it as he passed. He was afraid if he ate now, he'd throw up.
Wheeljack, Socket and a couple of mechs that Sam didn't really know were busy in the main hold, assembling the last bits of the infrastructure for the party. The main hold had a ceiling forty feet high, and they were raising the floor up twelve feet in a large section of the center. The raised section would have a stage for the band, a dance floor, and, at the far end away from the loud music, tables for conversation. There was a railing around the raised floor, and the idea was that the taller mechs would be able to stand at 'ground level' and be able to more easily converse over the railing with humans. Plus, while the mechs were very good at not stepping on humans, there would be throngs of people and an accident could happen. It was safer to keep the guests out from under foot.
He stood for a minute, watching as the engineers worked rapidly to assemble human-sized furniture. Wheeljack's hand was transformed into an arc welder, and he was tacking together plates of corrugated steel for tables. Socket was, rather skillfully, riveting cushions to steel chairs. Rather than try to emulate a posh human venue, the 'bots had decided to go aggressively futuristic, with a number of styling cues that echoed the 'bots themselves. The details that emphasized their vastly superior technology and the practical applications of it. Had he not known for certain that Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, Bee, and Wheeljack had collaborated on the design he would have sworn they'd hired Hollywood set designers.
The walls were coverd in corrugated steel identical to the furniture, and some genius had put down carpet vivid red with blue accents. Knowing the personalities involved (namely, Wheeljack and Bee) Sam suspected that the bright red and blue were a somewhat tongue in cheek poke at Optimus's love of bright paint while simultaneously being a 'red carpet' and a subtle reference to the American flag. The walls, stage, and furniture were made of shiny stainless steel, polished to gleaming perfection.
Each place setting had a gift bag that contained a variety of goodies -- his mother had suggested that, and the mechs had run with the idea. Each bag had a tiny robotic drone "toy." The little drones were the size of a couple of stacked credit cards when they "transformed" and they ran on solar energy. If left to run loose could reliably identify a garbage can, could climb or jump to the lip of the container, and would make endless trips to the trash with anything they saw as dirt: pet hair, dust bunnies, bits of paper, and other random detritus. They were actually cleaning drones used by the Ark, but apparently the Ark had a few million of them and wouldn't miss four hundred. The bags also contained chunky pendants made from duryllium, the nearly indestructible Cybertronian alloy that was used for struts and armor for most mechs. The pendants were inset with artificial gemstones from the ship's armory, normally used to make laser weapons. Finally, each person would receive a holographic projector that had been preloaded with images of Cybertron and other locations around the galaxy. It also contained two Cybertronian movies, cleared by Optimus for release to humans, and with subtitles by Kup and cultural explanations and notes in an accompanying brochure by Manywinds. Kup was still agitating to make 'walk-through movies' but that wasn't happening for this party. One movie saved in the projector was, apparently, the mech equivalent of a sappy love story and the other was a true (and reportedly very funny) story about a group of younglings stranded on a primitive alien world.
"The love story's our equivalent of Romeo and Juliet," Bee had told Sam a few days before, "except the ending's better. It's happy."
"Never did understand the point of Romeo and Juliet," Sam had grumbled. "I hated that story when I had to read it in senior English. Suicide is not romantic."
On that point, they had agreed perfectly.
They agreed on a lot of things, really. Sam sighed, feeling lost and alone and still nauseous. Despite all the hard work he wasn't looking forward to the party at all. He wanted to go crawl into a bed somewhere, yank covers over his head, and not emerge until everything was over -- including Bee finalizing his partnership with Windy. He wasn't sure if he was looking forward to that, for perhaps things would be back to normal once Bee was safely in a committed relationship, or if he was weirdly jealous.
He realized he'd been standing at the entrance to the hold for several minutes, feeling lost and alone, when footsteps made him turn around. His mother was hurrying up the corridor with -- of all improbable mechs again -- Sunstreaker rolling slowly after her. Sunny had a stack of steel plates in his arms, with a blanket of some kind squished between the metal and his glossy armor. He was protecting his paint, Sam realized with amusement.
"Hey, Sunstreaker," Sam said, after waving at his mother.
"There you are," his mother said. "I was looking for you."
Teletraan spoke up, making both humans startle. "Mrs. Witwicky, if you need to locate anyone on the ship, simply ask me. I track the locations of everyone on board as a matter of security protocol."
"Oh. Thanks, Teletraan." She looked around for a moment, as if seeking something to look at while she addressed the ship's spark. "Err. How much time do we have until we arrive in LA?"
"We have roughly forty-five minutes until landing."
"And the Van Knights' plane?"
"The plane is also on time, and will be arriving in roughly two hours at LAX. There will be ample time for the mechs assigned to transportation to negotiate traffic to the airport."
"Good."
"Sunstreaker, are you going to behave?" She turned her attention to the yellow mech. Her words were playfully teasing.
"Yes, ma'am." Sunstreaker's response was downright polite, and he flashed a relaxed smile at her. "I'll behave."
Sam had never heard quite that tone of respect from Sunstreaker before. Apparently, it was surprising to his teammates too, because when Sam glanced over both Wheeljack and one of Wheeljack's helpers (Gears, he thought the mech's name was), both were staring at Sunny. Sunny met their gaze and barked defensively, "What?"
His mother smacked Sunny's ankle with the back of one hand. "Be nice, buster." Then, without waiting for Sunstreaker's response, she pointed at the stack of similar plates of metal. "Put the steel down there. 'Jack, do you have enough?"
"For now, yeah." Wheeljack was looking at Sunstreaker in real surprise. "Sunstreaker, err, are you feeling okay?"
"What ..." Sunstreaker started to snap something probably hostile. His mother smacked him again.
"Be nice." His mother's words were firm, with a lurking warning beneath them. Sam knew that tone of voice. His eyebrows rose. His mother could make his father behave when she hit that particular note of command. Sunstreaker, apparently, responded to it as well.
"I'm fine," Sunstreaker sighed. "Is there a problem with me being polite?"
"Just didn't know you knew how." Wheeljack snickered. Sunstreaker's glare was deadly, but Sunny didn't do anything more than give 'Jack a threatening look.
"C'mon, Sunny," Judy patted his knee. "Flora's making flower arrangements for us. I need your help bringing them up."
Sunstreaker relaxed again, then crouched and offered Judy his hands "Would you like a lift, ma'am?"
His mother sat down crosslegged on Sunny's cupped hands, and the two zoomed off back down the hall.
"Hnh." Wheeljack wandered over to the pile of metal plates. To Sam, he said mildly, "I don't believe I've ever seen Sunstreaker like anyone organic. Or anyone period, except his brother -- and Prowl, before Prowl was captured. What'd your mother do to him?"
"I haven't a clue." Sam shrugged. "Optimus keeps assigning Sunny to help her, though."
"Ah," Wheeljack said, as if that simple statement was a complete explanation. Then he cocked his head sideways, listened to something over the comm links, and added to Sam, "Optimus would like you to ride with Windy to the stadium and throw candy to the crowd."
He blinked, then said, "I assumed I was going to ride with Bumblebee."
Except that things were so weird between them now. He wasn't sure if Bee would actually want to carry Sam. Sam had crossed a line, and Bee had reacted badly, and he just didn't want to think about it.
'Jack shrugged. "'Bee's walking with the other Primes."
Oh. He hadn't really thought of how it would appear if Bee, one of the Autobot's ranking officers and a Prime, was carrying two human kids. The Autobots were putting on quite a parade, with the Primes in the lead and a portion of the rest of the crew walking behind. Every nuance would be interpreted and discussed. Appearances mattered quite a bit. Maybe this was perfectly innocent, and Bee's own feelings weren't behind it.
He wasn't sure what he thought about riding with Windy. I suppose I should get to know him. He's Bee's significant other.
Feeling unsettled, and ill, and just plain profoundly unhappy, Sam sighed.
'Jack regarded Sam for a moment. "You might want to wear a hat or something. Your hair's growing long enough that it'll be rumpled by the wind."
"Wind?" And now the 'bots are on me about my hair! Maybe he was being hypersensitive. He was in a hypersensitive sort of mood. He was somewhat glad that it was Wheeljack who was talking to him. 'Jack was a very nice person, as far as Sam could tell, but not the most perceptive mech. Had he been talking to Rachet, or Bluestreak, or -- God -- Optimus, he suspected they would have noticed his misery and asked questions. He didn't want questions. He didn't want to think. He wanted distractions.
"Manywinds' stall speed is incredibly low. I've seen him nearly hover in place -- he can change the shape of his wings at will. But I imagine he'll go quite a bit faster when he's circling around for another approach over the crowd."
"Err, I'm going to fly with him?" Sam's brain stuttered to a halt. And hat-hair wouldn't do if he was potentially going to be on TV, or (ulp!) making nice with the dignitaries later. He had gel in his luggage. He'd slick his hair back. But flying?
Well, he had wanted something to distract him from Bee, and whatever the hell it was that had happened between him, and Mikaela, and Bee. There was a sense of foreboding there, a grim and painful knowledge that things weren't right and he was scared he might be facing the loss of his two best friends for reasons he couldn't even explain, and yeah, flying with Manywinds was definitely something to distract his brain from worrying about Bee and 'Kaela.
"You're not afraid of heights, are you?" Wheeljack said, sounding a bit challenging with that question.
"Err, no, I guess not, but ... flying?" Huh? Nobody had mentioned the idea of flying to him. He'd assumed he would be walking the parade rout with everyone else.
"It's safe, really, unless somebody decides to shoot his aft off again, and the human authorities are really watching the crowd." Wheeljack's response was dryly and darkly amused. "So are we. There'll be about thirty 'bots in that parade, all without our weapons. You better believe we will all be scanning actively as we walk. The humans might be wary, but they have nothing on thirty disarmed Autobots out in the open surrounded by potentially hostile natives."
Sam snorted. "I see your point. What'll you do if there is a problem?"
"Trust the human sharpshooters to deal with it. If not, we don't actually need weapons to handle most human threats. Our biggest concern is a sniper, and unless he has sabot rounds or nails Windy or Wheelie or the short half of Bee just right, that's not much of a threat. And Bee's going to be wearing military body armor; Ratchet's orders. Ratchet said something about being too busy to fix him if he got slagged. Anyway -- We're a lot more worried about harm to the crowd than we are about our own safety."
"Oookay." Sam shuddered.
"You get body armor too." Wheeljack said, suddenly. "Sorry, Ratchet just said he forgot to mention it to you. He said something about not wanting to see your insides with his optics again any time soon."
"Oh. Err. Okay." He probably should have laughed, because Wheeljack had managed to mimic Ratchet's irascible tones absolutely perfectly.
"You okay?" Wheeljack said, suddenly. "You smell stressed."
"Err, yeah, just worrying about today," he lied through his teeth. He'd forgotten about that pretty much all the Autobots could smell human moods.
"Okay," Wheeljack said. "If it helps, I'm worried too." The engineer shrugged expressively, "there's a lot riding on today, Sam. We're all on edge. It'll all work out, though. You'll see."
"Hi Sam!" Windy bounced up and down on his toes as Sam approached the exit. The mechs were assembling in the main hold, and Sam could hear the roar of a crowd even through the airlock doors that were big enough to drive two tractor trailers abreast through. There was room for everyone in the hold, though Windy was dwarfed by the others. Windy waved, and Sam couldn't help but smile. The mech had several giant bags of candy at his feet.
The noise of thirty mechs in one place was almost deafening, even though most were not speaking aloud. Armor rattled, heavy feet trod on metal decking, and pumps and capacitors and motors whined. Ratchet had transformed a couple of fingers into a power socket driver, and was unbolting a truly astounding assortment of weapons from the crew. Sam watched in surprise as Ratchet removed what appeared to be a plasma cannon from under Wheeljack's shin plate. He hadn't even known Jack had a plasma cannon.
Bee was with Ratchet, waiting his turn to be disarmed. Bee gave Sam a wary look that held no real enthusiasm. Sam wished he could pull Bee aside, tell him to forget about Sam's brief and ill-inspired come-on earlier, assure him nothing would change, and make him smile. He much preferred it when Bee was happy. The suspicious and hurt gaze that Bee was favoring him with now just plain felt wrong and made Sam feel terribly guilty.
Windy glanced from Sam to Bee and back. "Are you two okay?"
Sam forced a smile to his lips, though it took strength he didn't know he had. "Yeah, fine."
Bee said lightly, "Windy will take good care of you, Sam. I trust him."
"Sure," Windy said, giving Bee an odd look. "I've never lost a passenger yet. This'll be fun."
Bee nodded. "I trust you."
"Don't worry, Bumblebee," Windy said with amusement, "I'll bring him back in one piece."
"Everyone ready?" Optimus said, aloud.
The assembled mechs and humans cheered in response.
"Open the door, Teletraan." Optimus turned to face the exit.
The hatch began to lower. Windy hastily transformed, and Bee and Sam piled the bags of candy into his small, open cockpit. Sam squeezed himself in between the bags, feeling a little ridiculous and very vulnerable -- Windy's cockpit was low to the ground, with a small windshield, elbow-high sides, and very little mass. His head was somewhere around Sam's feet and Sam had a strong suspicion that the metal seat doubled as armor for the little mech's spark chamber. He felt Windy rock back and forth on his wheels as Sam moved, and when he started his engine up his whole body began to vibrate hard. Sam was sitting four inches off the ground in a room full of twenty to thirty foot tall robots.
He's a go-kart with wings, Sam thought, unable to completely suppress his nervousness. He hastily buckled the four point harness. Those wings were notably fragile, too. They were folded back now, accordion style, to keep them out of the way of the bigger mechs, which was ample demonstration of just how flexible they were. Sam had brushed against them a few times when Windy had been in protoform. His wings were soft and pliable, and felt alive. They were warm to the touch, and he couldn't figure out how Windy managed to support his weight with them. Maybe they stiffened in flight.
Crowd noise rushed into the hold. He could hear people yelling a chant, though he couldn't make out the words. Between the legs of the mechs, Sam could see daylight, and a few glimpses of a city street lined with people.
Here we go ...
The mechs were parading down the ramp, waving to the crowd. Flashbulbs popped. The crowd noise went up a notch. Windy waited until they were all down the ramp and then suddenly lurched forward. His wheels were off the ground before he was to the ramp.
"Wheeeeeee!" Sam couldn't help but shout. It was like riding on a roller coaster. Adrenaline replaced his bad funk for the moment, and he grabbed for a frantic hold on Wheelie's cockpit sides. Wheelie shot into the air over the heads of the 'bots, and then did a barrel roll only fifty feet in the air. Sam screamed, terror momentarily replacing excitement.
Either Wheelie couldn't tell the difference in reactions, or he had a deeply buried sadistic streak. He looped upwards and did a half roll at the same time, so that he was upright and flying back over the heads of the mechs. "Wave, Sam!" Wheelie's voice said, over the roar of the wind.
He did, well aware of the eyes on them, and likely cameras tracking him. They knew he was a friend of the Autobots, after all his picture had been broadcast across the globe by the Fallen, and a few details of his history with the mechs had been released: that his grandfather had found Megatron in ice, and that he'd had an artifact that the mechs needed to stop Megatron, and that he'd somehow personally killed Megatron in the end. The second time around was more vague, only that the Fallen had wanted him because of knowledge he had, and that he'd saved Optimus's life in the final fight. He'd been on TV at other times too, most notably when the Mountain Dew Decepticon had shot Optimus.
He waved. He tried to feel proud that he was a hero, though he was beginning to simply feel numb inside.
Then he was distracted from both angst and pride by Windy when the mech shot straight skyward. Windy spun like a corkscrew and Sam screeched and grabbed for the bags of candy. "You are crazy!"
"This is fun!"
"It's the e-ticket ride from hell!" He countered, as Windy flipped over backwards, flicked his wings closed, and stooped into a falcon-like dive towards the ground. Sam's stomach informed him that it had been left behind at an altitude of a thousand feet. His ears popped. He screamed, "Shiiiiiiiiit!"
Bare feet off the pavement, Windy flared his wings and pulled up hard, then zoomed above the pavement with inches to spare. He went under power lines and then shot over the heads of a news crew at an altitude of about forty feet, spinning as he did. Flashes popped and video cameras whipped up and tracked them. Sam was getting dizzy and disoriented.
"If I barf," Sam threatened, "I'm not even going to apologize."
"... Really?" Windy said in disbelief. "I'm barely getting started."
"Is this even legal?" Sam demanded, as Windy slowed down to a more sedate pace, and turned back towards the crowd.
People cheered, and he couldn't tell if they were shouting at him or at the other mechs. Had Optimus done something?
"Why would it be illegal?" Windy asked, sounding puzzled. "It'd be like telling a bird they can't fly. I am a flier. I was created with wings."
Oh boy. Glad I don't have to sort this one out. And if they try to tag me with the ... tickets? Whatever they give to misbehaving aircraft pilots, I'll point out this cockpit doesn't even have controls. I'm just a passenger.
Well, Windy had diplomatic immunity.
He ducked down, tore open one of the bags of candy, and fished out several handfuls. They were gliding at an impossibly slow pace towards the crowd. A glance up at Manywinds's wings showed that he'd forgone his usual black for vivid purple and green, and the wings were cupped down and flared wide. "Why'd you change your colors?"
"The black wasn't showing up very well on TV."
"Oh. You're watching yourself on TV right now?"
"We probably all are. It's a good way to address any problems that come up right away." Windy sounded amused. He floated at a human walking pace over the crowd, and Sam turned his attention to tossing candy out to the kids. He smiled and waved, and found he was relaxing a bit. Off to their right, he could see Wheelie running up and down along the street crowd, clapping hands with people leaning over the barriers. The rest of the mechs were walking slowly and waving, letting everyone have a good look.
A small child suddenly darted out and stood in front of Optimus. She had something in her hands. Optimus stopped, looked down at her, and then dropped down to one knee, rested one hand on the pavement, and accepted her gift, even as her mother was running frantically out to catch her.
"What'd she give him?" He was envious of the mechs' comm links with each other.
"A flower." Windy arced up, turned around on one wingtip, and they scattered candy to the crowd on the other side as well. "Some reporters got a really good picture of it. It's adorable. I do like Optimus."
"Everybody likes Optimus." Sam grinned. He tossed an extra handful of Gobstoppers to some people wearing Autobot costumes handmade from cardboard.
"So," Windy said, as they turned back and headed towards another knot of people, "do you think those are pro, or anti-Autobot signs?"
This group had placards bearing the slogan, "Earth is not a freeway interchange!"
"I ... honestly? I have no idea." Sam was baffled. "But yell '42' as we go over them."
"... 42?"
"Meaning of life. Google it."
Windy suddenly started laughing, "I don't know either, but ... FORTY-TWO!"
They chorused the number together as loud as they could as they floated over the heads of the people, who looked like college kids. Cheers rose after them; apparently, they were friendlies. He waved. Windy's giggles were musical, and made Sam smile in response.
The next group were protesters, bearing signs that said, "Go home, Autobots!" and "Earth for Humans!"
"The good guys always have the better signs," Sam said, and tossed candy at the Nobots because he knew that was what Optimus would want. He was vastly and deeply amused when they dropped their signs to scramble for it.
When Windy turned around to sweep the crowd in the other direction he saw that Optimus was crouched down in front of the protesters, speaking to them. He could hear shrill chanting, and Optimus's measured tones. News crews were running in that direction. Most of the protesters had retreated, but one woman was standing only feet from Optimus, all alone, yelling at him. It was a striking scene.
Windy said, "One of the women screamed she wanted to save Earth for her children. Optimus told her his children died in the war and he understood her concerns -- I didn't know he had younglings, but I guess he must have -- and that he doesn't want anyone else to feel the pain of losing their loved ones if he can help it. He's telling her that we're going to give technology to Earth that will improve the lives of her kids, and he's sorry she's scared of him. He says he understands why people might be scared, and he's sorry about that, too. He says she's very brave not to run from him, and he's inviting her to come speak to him further at the Ark on Sunday."
"Who is she?" Sam wondered.
"Optimus says he thinks she's one of the upper leaders of the Nobots." Windy sounded impressed. "He keeps telling her she's brave and courageous to want to defend her world, and that he's impressed by anyone who's as willing as she is to stand her ground against him. He's asking her again to come talk to him ... now he's asking her if she's afraid to do it. Uh, yeah, she agreed. She's going to come."
"Damn, he's good." Sam shook his head.
"He's a Prime." Windy floated over the crowd, then pulled up and made a long, lazy, looping circuit back. "It comes with the package."
The mechs were assembling in a private area behind the stadium, and Windy swooped in for a neat landing. He came to a halt only a few feet from Optimus's ankles, and as soon as Sam climbed out, he transformed. "Woohoo, that was fun!" Windy bounced on his toes for a moment, clearly excited by the flight. Sam's knees, by contrast, felt like jello, and his stomach was rolling so much he was glad he had skipped breakfast. It had been fun, though a bit too much fun. Like riding a rollercoaster for half an hour straight.
Sam heard a chirp that could only belong to Bee, and turned around as a smile automatically came to his lips. However, the sound of amusement was aimed at Windy. Bee padded over to both of them. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself."
"Lots." Windy grinned, and rose up on his toes again. "Way too much fun to be legal. Did you see how the crowd was cheering?"
"There were a fair number of protesters along the parade route," Bee said, but he was smiling. He started to crouch down.
Sam saw a yellow hand coming in his direction, and reflexively ducked. His heart pounded in his chest, and he gasped in surprise. Bee slowly put his hand down on the ground anyway, gave Sam a guilty look, then said quietly, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Sam ground out, feeling stupid. "I'm fine."
"You're not," Bee said, softly, and Sam thought it wasn't just about his momentary flinch. Shining blue optics searched his face. Bee started to reach a large metal hand out towards Sam, then glanced at Windy, and made a fist, and looked away. Sam wondered what Bee had intended to do.
"You two okay?" Windy said, sounding only puzzled.
"We're fine," Bee said, straightening up.
"Good." Windy giggled. "I like Sam. Sam, you're going to have to come flying with me again."
Sam nodded, tried for a pleasant smile, and mostly succeeded. He felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He thought, desperately, of Mikaela, and reminded himself he did love her, and he didn't want ... he couldn't want ... not Bee. "I can't wait," he lied, as Windy turned his attention back to Bee. It wasn't the flying part that his heart objected to. It was the way Windy was looking at Bee, which was with soft optics and a truly happy smile.
Manywinds sprang into the air, caught a projecting bit of Bee's armor with two hands, and with a gymnast's agility, swung himself up onto Bee's bumper. His wings trailed down over Bee's shoulder and his back, and his feet hung over Bee's headlight. Bee's eyes widened in surprise, then he smiled, and ducked his head with a bit of obvious embarrassment. Windy grinned proudly, even as a few other mechs noticed his rather possessive move. Bluestream's laughter was openly delighted, and Blue gave Bee a thumb's up.
Bee reached a hand up, not to dislodge Windy, but to put his fingers over Windy's knees. In reaction, Sunstreaker made a sound much like a wolf-whistle. Bee's optics widened, and then he ducked his head again and chirped something in Cybertronian. Windy laughed aloud, snuggled up against Bee's head, and waved at Sunstreaker.
"Careful, Windy," Sideswipe called to them, "if he dies of mortal embarrassment before tonight, you won't get to 'face with him."
Bee covered his face with his other hand, shook his head, then headed off for the stadium. Sam noted he didn't put Manywinds down, however, until they actually reached the entrance. Windy ran his hands over Bee's fingers in a possessive, intimate way, and then he walked almost dangerously close to Bee's ankles for a couple of strides before running ahead. He was quick, agile feet carrying him at a faster-than-human pace.
Bee glanced back. Not at Sam at first, but at Mikaela, who was thirty feet away from Sam, doing something with Ratchet. Then he transferred his attention to Sam. His mech half's expressions were often difficult to read but this time Sam had no idea what Bee was thinking now. Not one clue.
