Three minutes, twenty-two seconds…
There came a high pitched pulse of energy off to the left, followed by the crack of metal.
Nice. Five points.
Four thin vertical lines, cut in half by a horizontal slash, were marked on a sheet of paper. The count so far was fifteen and, based on the time, things were looking good.
Sam Witwicky shifted on the flat stone slab he was perched on and stuffed the remainder of his burger in his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he watched as Bumblebee ran across the open expanse of the field, slide to a stop, touch the ground and run back the way he came.
Ten sets of lines. Two minutes left…
"Gotta hustle, Bee!" he called in a muffled yell of encouragement. He received a determined buzz as the mech ran past his location.
It had been one month since the battle of Mission City and two weeks since the duo were given permission to return to the Witwicky home in Southgate. With unaccounted Decepticons still roaming the streets, there was hesitation among both humans and Autobots at letting anyone leave the safety of the military base everyone had regrouped at following the battle. Only after Bee had been appointed guardianship over Sam and, by association, Sam's parents and Mikaela, did they receive the go-ahead.
Sam watched as Bee rounded a large boulder at the far end of the field and head toward a small grove of trees where several targets hung among the branches. As each mark was struck by cannon fire, the pencil slid over the page, adding more strokes to the score.
The obstacle course Bee was currently running was one they'd come up with together at the Scout's request for an intense training regimen. The severe damage Starscream's missile had inflicted on his legs had fried a couple of fine motor processes and even though Ratchet finished the main bulk of repairs and given Bee a relatively clean bill of health, Bee insisted he wouldn't know what calibrations were needed unless he put his body through its paces. Sam, now the ever present human at Bee's side, had been more than willing to help, seeing how the bot saved his life more than once.
Each afternoon, after Sam finished school, the pair travelled north of the city to a section of the Angeles National Forest that was a popular hangout for the local teenagers. The hidden and poorly maintained access road kept the general public away and only troopers with a serious grudge against underaged drinking went out of their way to add it to their patrol route.
Sam made sure Bumblebee kept to an area off the very end of the road, away from the pond and soft grassy knolls that attracted the majority of the teens for their parties and bonfires. The overgrowth of long wild grasses and low hanging branches also made it difficult to navigate through and helped as general deterrents.
The initial course had started off fairly simple, merely a track around the perimeter of a forest-surrounded field, but as the days passed, increasingly complex challenges were added until it became a full forced obstacle course that would make any Tough Mudder participant proud.
Bee vaulted over a fallen tree and ducked into a roll to avoid a low hanging rope that was strung across the pathway. Sam grimaced as one of Bee's door wings clipped the rope, threatening to rip it from the thin saplings to which it was tied, but luckily the mech felt the initial pull and quickly adjusted. With a twang, the rope snapped back into place and Bee charged on.
"Yeah, Bee!" Sam clapped, happy he didn't have to deduct any points.
Only one more challenge remained and the bot was heading to it full throttle.
A sharp upturn in the terrain overlooked a deep ravine where a small stream trickled through the underbrush. On the far side, a red line of spray paint drawn across the ground marked the goal.
Three paces before the ravine, Bee dove forward and activated his alt-mode; changing into the familiar black and yellow Camaro mid-air. Engine roaring with power and tires gripping the gravelly sand of the embankment, Bee hit the jump with a massive force of acceleration and cleared it easily, landing smoothly on the other side. A haze of dust was kicked up as he swerved to the side, aiming head-on for the finish line.
The watch ticked on. It was going to be close.
On passing a leaf barren bush, there came the shifting of armor plates again as Bee changed back into his bipedal form for the end stretch. The velocity at which he traveled required a quick somersault in order to get back to his feet. On taking the first few strides out of the roll, however, Bee's right leg appeared to drag behind and Sam watched in shock as the mech lost his footing and crashed into the ground; dirt and grass clumps flying in all directions.
Sam leapt from his perch and hurried toward his friend who was struggling to maneuver into a seated position.
"You okay?" he blurted out upon reaching Bee's side.
The bot grunted in reply as he ran his digits over his leg plates and found one that appeared to bulge out from the others. Sam noticed that the limb was fixed in a bent position.
"Locked hydraulic," Bee grumbled, bracing both hands against his knee joint and pushing downward. Sam grimaced, hearing the whine of strained gears followed by a loud crack as the leg was forced into full extension. Bee huffed his vents, pain etched on his face and he gingerly flexed his leg, testing the range of motion. The movement was jerky and there came the rough sound of grinding parts and clinking of loose internal fragments.
Sam gave Bee a weary look and gestured to the limb. "Are you sure you should have done that? Sounds like you made it worse."
"I could have left it the way it was if you didn't mind us walking home." Bee chuckled briefly before a hiss of discomfort escaped him as he stood and put weight on the injury. He limped in a circle around Sam. "Slag… I thought I was done with this."
"Dude, you took on a missile. I'm surprised you recovered as fast as you did," Sam pointed out. "I watched the soldiers help Ratchet gather up your legs. They were blown to pieces. That angry Dorito did a hell of a number on you."
Bee cocked his head at the unfamiliar word and paused in his movements, likely seeking its meaning via the internet. After a moment he huffed a laugh in understanding. "He does look like that, doesn't he?"
Sam grinned but the humor was short lived as Bee gave another grunt.
"How bad does it hurt?" Sam asked, shifting from one foot to the next. He was partly to blame for this set-back. The jump and transformations had been his idea after all.
"More irritating than painful. Like rubbing shards of glass between your hands."
The flabbergasted teen gaped up at him. "What? That sounds incredibly painful!"
"Well I guess so. At least if you're a human."
The pair made their way back to the rock where Sam's bag was.
"Can't you turn off sensors or something?" Sam asked, thinking back to Mission City as he watched Bee hobble beside him. "You looked fairly comfortable hooked up to that tow truck during the battle. Do whatever you did then."
"You mean a clamp?" Bee asked, then gave a shake of his head. "I don't like to use that function unless I'm in combat as usually the pain is twice as bad after its removed. It's also not the greatest feeling either." Bee shuddered at the thought of the icy numbness.
Sam stopped packing his belongings to look questioningly up at the bot. "So… you were actually in a lot of pain after Mission City. Why didn't you say anything?"
Warbling softly, Bee shrugged. "Can't show weakness in front of our new allies."
It was an odd response to hear from someone usually so upbeat and Sam wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Not knowing what to say, he continued to busy himself quietly while Bee stared off into the distance.
"It's probably for the best that we finished early today." Bee said, gesturing to a gathering of grey clouds in the sky beyond. "It's going to rain soon."
At this, Sam couldn't help but chuckle. "I know you take the whole guardianship thing seriously, Bee, but I promise you I can survive a bit of softly falling water."
Optics turned to regard Sam, amusement in their blue depths. "I'm just making sure you're in perfect health for Ratchet's visit tomorrow, that's all."
"Wait, Ratchet's coming? When was this planned?" Sam asked as Bee transformed with another unhealthy sound of broken metal on metal. The driver's side door opened and Sam got in, tossing his backpack on the passenger's side and settling in comfortably against the form-fitting seat. The Camaro took off, kicking up a cloud of dust as it sped down the poorly defined road toward the open stretch of highway that would lead them back to Southgate.
"I updated him about my broken hydraulic," Bee replied, his voice coming through the radio. "Epps was scheduled for an inspection anyway so Ratchet is tagging along."
"My mom will be glad to hear that. She has a list this long"—Sam's hands spread wide in the air—"full of renovations she wants done to the house."
Bee whirred. "She's supposed to let Corporal Mathews know of anything she needs," he said, referring to the stiff-postured, stern-faced soldier who had been stationed in the house adjacent to Sam's.
"She did," Sam said, remembering the lengthy discussion between the two women that he had been privy to during one unfortunate breakfast. "But apparently Corporal Mathews is working on the first list. Mom now has a second one."
"We really did that much damage to your property?"
"Pff, no" Sam waved off the concerned question. "These are all changes she wants done to support the Autobot that's now living with us."
The engine whined faintly and Sam sensed Bee took what he had said in a negative light. He quickly continued, hoping to reassure the big guy.
"For instance, she thinks the garage is too small and drafty. Several rafters have mold, hence the musty smell. The lighting is crap. And it also needs an automatic door that you can control, which will make it easier to come and go."
"I… Your mother actually said that?" Bee asked softly.
"I also saw the list."
"That's very kind of her," Bee said after a moment's pause. "But, she doesn't need to worry about my comfort. It's unnecessary."
Sam scoffed. "Of course she does. Alien or not, you're a guest in our home and my mother takes her role in being a good hostess very seriously. And you know, I agree with the changes she wants. Honestly, Bee, you were given a shit job watching over us. I can only assume it's mind-numbingly boring at best. Least we could do is make your surroundings less… terrible."
An amused warble echoed in the cabin. "Your garage is a far cry from terrible living quarters, considering I spent time stationed at an Autobot stronghold located in a sewer system. Wading through alien excrement was a daily occurance. Now that was a 'shit job'."
"That's disgusting." Sam's face scrunched up in a grimace at the imagery. "Damn, man, sorry you had to go through that." A gentle pat was given to the steering wheel.
"Your sympathy is appreciated." Bee chuckled; the motor accompanying the sound with its own deep throaty rev, which decreased in pitch as the duo wound down an exit ramp onto a tranquil tree-lined street.
Sam gazed out the driver's side window. People milled about the front entrances of the local stores, eager to finish up their evening shopping. His eyes lingered momentarily on several long-legged girls in high-cut shorts before they were out of view and became distant specks behind them. Their pleasantly decorated features and form fitting curves, while appealing, became bland as memories surfaced, which teased his mind of a beauty with raven-haired locks and clear blue eyes. Mikaela's physical attractiveness was enough to make most men stop in their tracks to behold, but it was the glimpses of a brave heart and fiery disposition that now quickened his pulse.
"I wonder how Mikaela is doing," he voiced aloud his thoughts, earning a hum from Bee.
"We could swing by her place if you want," the mech offered, well aware of the pair's desire to be with one another given their fledgling relationship. Sam shook his head and briefly coughed into his fist as heat flushed up his neck.
Sometimes the Autobot was a little too observant.
"Ah no, it's okay," he declined, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "She said she's busy today anyway. Had to work at the shop. I'll give her a call when we're back home."
"Alright," Bee agreed, the topic dropped.
Sam resumed his passenger duties of watching the fleeting scenery, ensuring he placed his hands on the wheel at traffic lights to at least make it appear he was in control of the vehicle to any onlooker.
At one particularly long red, a large group of individuals a bit older than Sam's age crossed the intersection. They were rowdy; hooting and hollering at passing cars attempting to urge the drivers to honk and wave in response. The happy cries that followed successful prompts were accompanied by high-fives and light roughhousing. All wore the same vividly colored pattern on their clothing or painted across bare torsos, indicating a group preference of a single sports team.
Passing in front of Bee's bumper, one hyped up man turned to face Sam and slapped his palms against the hood. Sam flinched and gave the guy a look of disbelief.
"Dude, hands off the car!" Sam yelled, managing to crack the window down so he could be heard. The fan ignored him however and pumped both hands in the air.
"Yeah! Patriots!" he bellowed, which was followed by similar cheers from his fellows. Without a backward glance at Sam, the guy rejoined the group in their trek down the street.
Sam sputtered. "Who does that? Who just hits someone else's car like that?" He leaned forward to check the black and yellow paint-job on the front, knowing there wouldn't be any damage but still scanning the area anyway.
"Strange…" Bee muttered as he watched the partially nude humans continue their antics.
"Well that's what you get when you mix alcohol and jocks with football." Sam sighed, his tolerance for testosterone driven muscle-heads limited even on the best of days.
"Football?"
"Yeah, it's a sport where a bunch of people try to get a ball across a field to score points. Not really my thing but, as you can see, some people get really into it."
"That's certainly an… interesting way of showing your commitment to an activity," Bee replied, obviously trying to be polite.
Sam gave the dashboard a skeptical look. "You've been here three years—"
"Two."
"Okay, two years and you're still surprised by how humans act?"
The light blinked green and Bee took off with a rumble. The radio crackled briefly. "You're implying that I've experienced every human behavior there is."
"Well no." Sam cocked his head. "But can't you just download everything about us from like, the internet?"
"Reading about something and seeing it occur with your own optics is very different," Bee countered.
"Hence the 'two years' part."
There came a deep chuckle. "Still implying, Samuel."
The teen snorted at the teasing use of his full name but the upward tilt of the corners of his mouth showed no offense was taken.
"Well, the internet also comes with videos so I'd start watching if I were you. If you think what we just saw was weird, just wait until it comes time for the final game—the Super Bowl—in February."
A hum from the engine reverberated through the interior and Sam felt the fine sensations against the fleshy pads of his fingers as they lay against the wheel's leather casing.
"It's still… not the same," Bee said, having difficulty finding the right way to describe it so that Sam would understand. "For instance, if I gave you all the knowledge about my race and planet via holos—"
"Are holos what Optimus showed us in the alley?" Sam interrupted.
There came a confirmatory whirr from the mech. "Yes. Similar to human videos but the content is captured using algorithms to account for environmental dimension and the space between objects. It allows for a more detailed representation of the viewer's perspective compared to a sequence of still images played at high speed."
"Very," Sam replied, remembering how he and Mikaela had stepped back from where the black asphalt of the street appeared to crumble away into deep pits of molten liquid. "You know a lot about this type of stuff, huh?"
"What? How holos work?" Bee hummed in amusement. "Actually I don't. I'm just repeating what I heard from someone else."
Sam couldn't help but laugh at the bot's honesty. "Damn, Bee. You could have lied and I wouldn't have known any different. Too bad too because you were sounding quite smart there."
"I like to believe my intelligence lies in more socially relevant matters," Bee countered with a trill. "Think of Ratchet. Cranial circuits up the aft—"
"And insanely awkward in a conversation. I remember all too well." Sam hung his head as he groaned; the 'mating' comment from the medic still all too fresh. "I don't think I'll ever live that down…. Anyway, I got us off topic there. You were saying something about showing me holos?"
"It's alright and yes. If I showed you everything you needed to know about my race and world via holos and then dropped you off on Cybertron, would you be fully prepared for every situation that arose?"
This was rather difficult for Sam to picture as the only time he had been out of California was the forced trip to Nevada via Sector Seven. The idea of traveling to a different world for someone whose feet had never left American soil just didn't seem feasible.
"Um, I think I'd just flail and shriek and collapse into a sniveling mess if you did that," Sam answered with a lift of his shoulders. "I wouldn't be prepared for anything. I'd probably forget how to do basic necessities like breathing. That is assuming there is even breathable air on Cybertron…"
"There is. But what makes you think you'd react that way?"
Sam huffed. "C'mon, Bee. You've seen me under stress. I freak out."
"You do have a habit of rambling when nervous..."
"See? And that's just over little stuff when compared to going to a whole other planet."
"Yes, but—"
"So I guess my answer is no. No, I wouldn't be prepared if you showed me a bunch of holos. I'd never be prepared because I get too high-strung under pressure."
"I wouldn't necessarily say that—"
"Now maybe if it were Lennox or Epps who went to Cybertron then it would be different; they would be prepared. Or at least they would be for the big things I guess. I mean, soldiers prepare for war and yet when they actually go through it there are still things they aren't ready for."
"Sam."
"Same goes for people who do research before going on vacation. My parents read everything there was about Cuba before going there and yet they still got sick from eating too much fruit—"
"Sam!"
"Hm?" The teen stopped and blinked, pulled from his rant by the sharp rise in volume of Bee's voice.
Bee sighed. "You really need to start giving yourself more credit. Yes, you get a bit tense when in a stressful situation—"
"That's putting it nicely," Sam mumbled.
"But, when it comes down to the moments that really matter, you show commendable strength."
Not usually on the end of a compliment in regard to a measure of his character, Sam shifted in his seat. "I do?"
"Optimus told us that you openly defied Megatron while in his presence," Bee said, reminding Sam of his rooftop showdown with the Decepticon leader. "There's not many bots who would be able to do the same. You should be proud of yourself."
"I was just doing what was right..." Sam tried to sound dismissive but he could feel the warmth spread in his chest and he knew Bee was aware he was taking to heart what was said. Coughing, a bit embarrassed, Sam continued. "Sorry, I think I got us off topic again. I guess you're right, Bee. You can't fully know what to expect until you actually experience it. And you know what that means, right?"
"What?"
"It means you still have a long way to go with human interactions," Sam told him with an amused grin.
Bee chuckled. "I look forward to it then."
"Just let me know if you have trouble understanding something," Sam told him. "I'll do my best to try and help."
Another hum came through the speakers; Sam hearing the approval in the sound.
0-0-0-0-0
Tiny feathered bodies fluttered and jumped amid the large flowering bush at the edge of the yard. Bumblebee sat nearby, watching the birds as they chattered amongst themselves; the high-pitched musical notes accompanying flashes of color as they moved in their aerial dance. Several venturous ones came close to his position near the open mouth of the garage and he kept still in order not to frighten the amusing creatures.
The surrounding air was heavy with the floral scent of Judy's garden and the tops of the trees rustled softly above. Bee cycled his vents, enjoying the perfumes of the blooms mixed with the sweetness of the fall breeze; the soothing tranquility of the yard helping to divert his thoughts from the irritation in his right leg.
Grumbling to himself, Bee looked at the injured limb. Hydraulics tended to leak when damaged; sending a mildly corrosive fluid, which normally lubricated the piston mechanism, into surrounding parts. This resulted in a burning itch within the leg and his digits twitched with the need to scratch for relief. With a huff and irritated click, he shook his head and refocused his attention on the birds.
One colored in blue and orange was busying itself in the recently repaired fountain that decorated the center of the yard. Bee hummed in amusement at its antics as glistening droplets of water flew everywhere each time it ruffled its feathers.
Suddenly, the little creature paused in its activities and then darted away into the hidden recesses of the trees. Bee froze as well at the sound of footsteps on gravel that were coming toward his location. A quick check of the sensors he'd placed around the property, however, indicated the signature was a familiar one and he aborted the sequence of code that would shift him into his alt form.
Corporal Mathews rounded the side of the house and she gave a nod upon noticing him. As usual, the strands of her straight silvery-blonde hair were knotted up into a tight bun, which complemented the stark plainness of the navy pantsuit she wore. Her features remained free from makeup and the only trinkets that decorated her person was a single metal chain that lay around her neck, which Bee knew held her military identification tags. A slight bulge at her hip indicated she was armed, and thus on duty.
According to Captain Lennox, Corporal Teresa Mathews was a military woman through and through.
"Scout Bumblebee, good morning," she greeted on reaching his side.
"Morning and you really don't need to keep calling me by my designation. Just Bumblebee is fine," he said, having gone through this with her before. The reminders, however, likely wouldn't change anything. "How are things?"
Mathews assumed a disciplined stance, clasping her hands behind her back. Head tilting slightly, she replied after a moment of thought. "Adequate."
"That's good I suppose…" Bee said, a little perplexed at her constant stiff formality. She was always to-the-point and he was fairly sure he had yet to see her crack a smile. "All set up in the new house?" he asked, gesturing to the two story building next door.
The U.S. army, in its effort of maintaining surveillance over the Witwicky household due to their knowledge of above-top-secret government intel, had purchased the adjoining properties. The elderly widow who previously occupied the house where Mathews was assigned couldn't handle the stress of living in California anymore; the last straw being the most recent "earthquake" and destruction of her greenhouse. The house on the other side was nothing more than a vacationing home for a northern couple and, according to Judy, was unused over the past few years anyway. Getting rid of the large superfluous expense likely played a part in convincing its owners to sell at such short notice. It currently remained without a tenant.
"There are still some modifications that need to be made." Mathews sniffed and her brows lowered in a slight frown. "And it's taken some time to finish shipping the last of Mrs. Wilson's possessions. She was quite the tupperware hoarder. Anyway, how's the leg? Are you still able to function in a fight?" She cast a critical look to his lower half.
Always to the point…
"I'm not as graceful as usual but I'll still hold my own."
"Glad to hear that but still, the sooner Medical Officer Ratchet repairs you, the better."
"Well, I can't disagree with you there," Bee replied as the frustrating itch returned, threatening to make him glitch. Fortunately his sensors activated again, the signature now Autobot in origin, and he looked toward the driveway that wrapped around the house. "And with that, I think they've arrived."
A neon green emergency Hummer appeared, pulling close to the garage before stopping. The driver's door opened, letting the lone passenger exit the vehicle and Bee warbled a greeting to the familiar face.
"Hey there, Bee," Sergeant Epps called as he hit the ground. Jerking a thumb at the Hummer, which had began to shift and change, Epps grinned. "I heard you needed a visit from the Doc-bot."
Ratchet, now in his bipedal form, remained in a semi-crouched position; his full height not allowing him to be completely covered by the privacy trees that lined the property. He grunted at the liberal generalization of his rank.
"I wouldn't have had to make this trip if everyone remained at the base with us," Ratchet grumbled, looking pointedly at Bumblebee and then Sam, who had just exited the porch door in response to the arrival of the newcomers. Ratchet knelt down at Bee's injured side. "There was a full range of accommodations for human living; no need to return to such an open and vulnerable location."
"A fair and reasonable point," Mathews spoke up, her stance even straighter than before; owing to the presence of an, albeit extraterrestrial, officer.
Epps' face was tight, as if trying to stifle a laugh, and Bee guessed this wasn't the first time Ratchet had brought up his particular view on the situation.
"Look, I know you aren't happy with the arrangement but please don't say anything to Sam or his parents," Bee asked Ratchet through the comm. "Yes, it's not the safest move but they're civilians and we've put them through a lot over a short amount of time. They needed to get back to a familiar setting. Their routine." Bee looked to Sam, who had joined the group and was getting a friendly clap on the shoulder from Epps.
A plate on Ratchet's side slid forward and he removed a storage unit from the hidden compartment. "I am perfectly aware of the strain that combat and first contact can inflict on a naive individual," Ratchet replied as he opened the device to access a thin sheet of anti-static material. A few loose stones on the pavement near Bee's leg were swept away and the cloth spread out to create a makeshift sterile field.
Bee waited for the counter argument to his concern but Ratchet continued prepping for the repairs and no further response came through the comm. Knowing his request would be adhered to, Bee relaxed with a content whirr.
"Hey Ratchet. Mathews." Sam said, nodding at each as he came over to check out the action.
"Samuel," they both responded at once, making Bee chuckle at the look that appeared on the boy's face.
"Sam. It's just Sam. Easy to remember, only three letters," Sam pleaded but, unfortunately, all he got were two blank stares. Sighing, he pulled out a folding chair from the garage and parked himself by Bee's feet.
Epps gestured to Mathews. "We should get to your report. Let's leave these three to their visit and, uh"—he squinted at the oddly shaped and sharp looking tools Ratchet had further removed from the container and placed on the cloth—"whatever Ratchet is about to do to Bee."
"Of course," Mathews agreed. She nodded at the bots and Sam before following Epps into the house.
Ratchet watched them leave then looked down at Sam. "I don't understand why you take offence when called by your given name," he said, cocking a brow plate.
"It's an old-fashioned name; my grandfather's name. It just makes me feel old when people use it." Sam shrugged. "That or I think I'm in trouble, thanks to my parents."
"Don't think anything of it, Sam. Ratchet just doesn't use diminutive names period," Bee said with an amused smile. "I've been Bumblebee up to now and I'll be Bumblebee until I die."
"You'll be scrap metal if I find out these marks here are from you scratching," Ratchet retorted, jabbing a digit at a scuffed plate on Bee's leg.
Letting out a defensive buzz, Bee shook his head. "Never."
The lawnchair scraped lightly on the gravel as Sam leaned back in it, head tilted slightly as he looked at Bee. "Yeah, you were. Last night during the movie. You kept digging at that area." Sam tapped his fingers against his own leg where Bee's injury would be if on a human form. "But maybe you weren't aware you were doing it," he added at the confused look on Bee's face.
There came a sudden clang and Bee flinched as Ratchet struck the top of his helm with one of his tools.
"Do not scratch!" Ratchet all but bellowed, the tool coming closer to Bee's face with each word.
Bee merely rolled his optics, having been on the receiving end of the medic's rants a number of times already. Sam, however, looked like he couldn't decide to remain frozen in shock or break out in laughter at the outburst. The twitching of the corners of his mouth suggested the latter.
"Okay, okay," Bee waved off Ratchet. "I didn't mean to."
"You never 'mean to'," Ratchet grumbled, attaching the tool to his hand and extracting a modular access transmitter from within a chest plate. "Open access to all servo circuit programs," he ordered, clamping the transmitter to Bee's side.
A moment later, Bee's right leg went slack as all control over the limb was lost. Ratchet hummed as he scanned through data logs.
So I take it scratching is a really bad thing for Cybertronians?" Sam piped up, looking back and forth between the bots.
"It can exacerbate the problem by spreading the contaminant or infectious organism and often leads to more destructive habits in search of symptom relief, such as self-dismantling. This one," Ratchet nodded at Bee, "has an issue with the concept of hands-off."
"Wait… Cybertronians can get infections? But you're made of metal. How does that work?"
"Living metal. There's a difference," Ratchet replied as a nozzle extended from his wrist and high pressured gas shot forth, enveloping the injured area in a billow of white steam. Droplets of fluid formed and rolled off onto the ground and Sam could see the growing pool was stained red.
Turning off the gas, Ratchet gave Bee's leg a critical look to ensure it was adequately cleansed. Apparently satisfied, the nozzle disappeared and Ratchet's hand shifted and changed; incorporating the tool he had attached into a dominant position on the end. Working the tip into the crevices of the injury, he began removing loose and detached pieces.
"For example, cosmic rust is a virus that affects the structural component of our cells," Ratchet continued. "It, as the name suggests, causes us to rust. Bumblebee was infected with it when he was younger."
Bee clicked and rubbed his face, feeling his lines heat up from embarrassment.
"It's hard picturing Bee as a little kid," Sam said, brow creased in thought. "All I get is a smaller version of how he looks now."
"That's actually fairly accurate except remove the majority of armor plating bulk," Ratchet said, tapping one of Bee's torso plates with his digit.
"You know, we can talk about something else," Bee spoke up.
"Nonsense. The boy is curious and an opportunity to learn should never be wasted," Ratchet dismissed the suggestion.
"Is it bad to get cosmic rust? Because the name doesn't exactly sound terrifying."
"The name is merely because it crosses species; it has nothing to do with the virulence of the illness," Ratchet said. He paused briefly as he strained to remove a larger piece of broken metal. "It's fatal if left untreated. Severe itching occurs in the initial stages and paralysis develops as joints become affected. This is followed soon after by stasis lock from circuit shut-down and eventual spark failure. Of course, this is if the bot makes it through the first stage as often complications arise from the patient attempting to get relief from the itching."
Sam squinted up at the green mech. "Based on your reaction earlier, I take it this is what happened to Bee?"
Trilling, Bee tried to look as innocent as possible. "Ratchet just likes to embellish what happened."
"For the love of Primus…" Ratchet shook his head and then leaned close to Sam. "We had to bind him to the bunk for attempting to pull apart his spark chamber." A glare was cast Bee's way, who merely shrugged in response.
With a heavy sigh, Ratchet switched to another instrument from the assortment laid out on the cloth; this one resembling a circular grinder. It too was attached to his hand, which changed shape once again to accommodate the fit. Blue beams of light shot out from the side of Ratchet's helm, scanning over Bee's leg and the broken parts on the ground before shutting off.
"It appears all the pieces are present. You shouldn't need a graft." Ratchet muttered, picking up a metal fragment and running its edge along the blade as it came to life; the rapidly rotating disc caused the part to glow a molten color at the contact. The following high-pitched whine made Sam cringe.
"Oh god! That sounds like something I'd hear at a dentist." A whole body chill shot up Sam's body and he rubbed at his ears and jaw.
Ratchet ignored the teen's discomfort as he shaped each broken piece and welded them back onto Bumblebee's leg; slowly recreating a functioning hydraulic.
The transmitter was removed once he finished and, looking over his work with a measure of pride, Ratchet motioned for Bee to stand.
"You should have full functionality now, no need for restrictions. We'll run some tests, however, before I go. Just to be sure." Ratchet said as Bee walked a few steps along the driveway. "Turns out this"—Ratchet displayed a sliver of dusky grey metal—"was the cause of the malfunction."
Sam squinted up at the hand hovering above him, unable to recognize what balanced precariously on Ratchet's finger. "A piece of… That's a… I really don't know. What is it?" Sam asked.
"Shrapnel from one of Starscream's missiles." Ratchet said, flicking it into the container where it rattled around before settling at the bottom.
Taking a glance at it, Bee grunted in disgust. "The idea of having a piece of that spawn of Unicron anywhere near me makes me sick." He sat down with a heavy thud and leaned against the garage frame. "Never mind stuck in my parts."
"Next time before you go giving yourself some impromptu repairs, get all of the required scans. You could have saved yourself some grief." Ratchet scolded the Scout, who grumbled in return.
Sam grinned. "I believe the correct response is 'yes, dad'."
Turning to face Sam, Ratchet started up the blade again. "You know, Samuel, I can always take a look at those teeth of yours. I bet there's a few that need some work."
Sam's eyes grew wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth, jumping out of the lawn-chair. "Oh, oh man, that's not funny. You are so not funny." He retreated toward the back porch, pointing a finger at Ratchet. "I'll stop bugging you but damn. You can be down-right scary, Ratch."
"That was cruel." Bee chuckled, watching Sam disappear into the house.
"I can keep soldering your parts if you wish," Ratchet said, turning the light threat toward the Scout.
It didn't have the same effect as it had on Sam and Bee continued to regard the bigger bot with amusement.
Ratchet huffed and gathered up his supplies then sat next to Bee and looked around at their surroundings. "A nice spot they have here," he muttered, optics following the birds that had cautiously reappeared on the fringes of the garden.
Bee nodded his agreement. "It's peaceful. Quiet."
"I thought you hated quiet. You made it apparent enough on the Ark." Ratchet gave a sidelonged look at him.
"That was different. This time we're not waiting for something to happen. The Cube was found, Megatron's been destroyed, the Decepticons are broken. We've done everything that we set out to do when we left Cybertron. We're free to just live, now that the war is over… Right?" Bee asked, noticing Ratchet's lack of response.
The medic had a sad look on his face and Bee's door-wings drooped slightly.
"A battle was won, an important one, but a battle nonetheless." Ratchet admitted, his optics dimming. "Megatron may have been their leader but the Decepticon ideals did not die with him. His spot will not remain vacant for long, not when there remains generals out there who are more power-hungry and ruthless than he was. Starscream, Shockwave, Astrotrain… All unaccounted for and thus, all a very real threat."
Bumblebee suddenly felt very tired.
Everything they had worked for, everyone they had lost, had all been in the pursuit of the final climactic showdown with Megatron. The cold reality that nothing would change as a result of that victory twisted sickenly at his spark.
A heavy weight settled on his shoulder and Bee looked to see Ratchet's hand was placed there.
"Is there even anything that would end this war? Anything that would unite the Autobots and Decepticons together, the way they once were?" Bee asked softly.
Ratchet shook his head. "I'm not sure. Optimus was always the best out of us all for answering philosophical questions."
Bee snorted, giving him a curious look. "Did… you just make a joke?" he asked; the solemn tone of his voice giving away to amusement.
A subtle lifting of Ratchet's mouth plates was his answer and Bee could help but begin to laugh. The seriousness of their situation, the futility of trying to attain something that may not even be obtainable, and yet here was one of the most stoic bots Bee knew making an attempt at humor; all in the hopes of cheering him up.
Ratchet hummed, pleased at being able to sway the mood, and gave Bee a few pats before removing his hand. "I know in the great scheme of things, it may seem like a dauntless task," he began, optics following the birds and then settling on the face of the young mech that was dear to them all, "But we do influence change for the better and this is what brings us close to what we once were. What we strayed away from."
The information was mulled over for a moment; Bee staring at his hands which were held in his lap. "And where is it that we go from here?" he asked. "What 'influence' do we now have?"
"As all urgency has been removed and our options for resuming spaceflight are close to zero, we have been presented with a unique situation; one that we haven't had for longer than I can remember. A chance to forge an alliance with a new species."
Bee blinked up at Ratchet in surprise. "That wasn't quite the feeling I got from the humans before leaving the base with Sam. What about Sector Seven?"
"Disbanded on order by this country's leader. In its place, there are talks of an Autobot-human treaty. It'll be largely overseen by the military but at least it's a start. Several of the soldiers who fought in Mission City are already requesting to be a part of it; Captain Lennox and Sergeant Epps among them. They've even been working on an acronym; N.E.S.T."
"N.E.S.T?"
"Non-biological Extraterrestrial Species Treaty."
"Catchy."
Ratchet shrugged. "The premise largely grew from the need to deal with the remaining Decepticons that are in hiding on this world. I'm interested, however, in seeing it if evolves beyond just basic assistance with an advanced threat."
The porch screen creaked open as Sam reappeared. He was followed by his mother who waved a hand in their direction; her smile bright and cheerful. Both mechs lifted their own hand in response and watched as Sam assisted Judy in unravelling the thick garden hose from its wheel at the side of the deck.
"Your involvement with this family has also been the topic of much discussion at the base," Ratchet informed Bee, who cocked his head.
"Oh?"
The medic nodded. "Apparently American civilians are kept largely in the dark on the inner workings of their leadership and yet they hold great sway over the structure to this country. In response, civilians are highly protected, especially against external forces that may be seen as a threat." Ratchet gestured at Sam. "The dedication that boy and the young Mikaela Banes showed toward you after your capture by Sector Seven and again in Mission City, has given us a favorable light. To be blunt, the military sector we're familiar with sees us as less threatening because of that."
"So, does this mean I'll be staying here then?"
"Yes. At least, for the time being." Ratchet confirmed. "I take it you don't have any problem with this?"
Bee shook his head. "None at all."
"What about them? Have there been any concerns with your presence here from Sam or his creators?"
Thinking back to what Sam told him about Judy's considerations toward his comfort, Bee hummed, still touched by the knowledge. "I don't think there'll be an issue. I'll let you know if one comes up however."
Ratchet nodded. "Good."
The pair resumed enjoying the peaceful surroundings; the birds continuing in their frolicking and the Witwicky's beginning to tend to the bright blooms.
Sam wiped a soil covered hand across his shirt, leaving a gritty brown streak and Bee clicked as a thought came to him.
"Did you really have to bring up my health history to Sam?" he asked the medic with a quirk of a brow plate; the embarrassing story still fresh on his mind. "I mean, you might find it interesting but I doubt Sam, or really anyone else, would."
Ratchet, not missing a beat, responded. "Of course they do."
Wait… they?
"Huh?" Bee blinked, unable to sound out something more eloquent.
"I use that example of cosmic rust in all of my seminars on pathological organisms."
With heated lines and face in his palms, all Bee could do was give a heavy groan.
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A/N: Hello all. First off, as always, I want to say thank you for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate the interest and kind words.
I also wanted to give everyone a heads-up in advance. Please keep in mind that this story does have a "M" rating and, in all honesty, if there was a rating higher than this, I probably would use it just to ensure my bases are covered. This story will be dealing with content that is adult in nature (language, situations, topics, etc). I've noticed that some authors post warning messages in their chapters prior to such content or even in the chapter title, however, I will not be doing as such. The main reason for this is that I do not want to be giving anything away before it happens. Imagine reading a Stephen King book and getting warned a chapter in advance that there will be a scary part coming up. It just seems to ruin the flow and surprise all in one.
I will try to depict all such content in as tasteful a manner as possible. I'm not trying to write things for a shock-and-awe effect or to stretch the limit of how gratuitous and explicit my writing skills can get. Everything should hopefully contribute to the story in some way; be it plot, character development, or atmosphere setting.
With that said, if there is something you absolutely cannot read for whatever reason, and you notice the story is heading in that way, feel free to skip ahead either by sections or chapters. I break up my time changes with 0-0-0-0-0 so probably if you hit that marker, anything beyond it should be past what you didn't want to read.
Anyway, thank you for tolerating my long winded author's note!