(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Sam grimaced as Dr. Lewis lifted his arm, pulling on his injured shoulder. He sat on the hospital gurney in the medical bay, dressed for the first time since the attack, as Dr. Lewis engaged in what could only be described as medically sanctioned torture. When she pulled his left arm across his chest, he hissed in pain.
"That hurts." He protested sharply.
She glanced at him appraisingly.
"I know, Sam. Not much longer now, you're doing great."
Lewis held him by his shoulder and elbow, pulling his arm until the muscles in his back burned, and then she held that position for the count of ten seconds. By the time she moved his arm back to his side, Sam was pale and sweating with strain. When Dr. Lewis had arrived in the medical bay that morning, announcing that Sam was to begin physical therapy immediately, he hadn't thought anything of it. After less than twenty minutes under her tender ministrations, however, Sam had come to appreciate just how brutal physiotherapy could be. He felt Bumblebee's presence in his mind, sympathetic and supportive, and Sam brushed against him appreciatively.
Lewis murmured apologetically, and then she lifted his arm until his elbow pointed almost to the ceiling. Sam had to grit his teeth to keep from swearing at her. After ten seconds, she settled his arm in his lap and then extended one hand towards him.
"Grip it with your left, hard as you can." She instructed, and he obliged. It was surprising difficult to do, as his hand shaky and weak. After five iterations, she nodded approvingly.
"Alright, we're done for today. Good first session, Sam."
"Doctor, you and I have very different definitions of good." He replied crossly. He immediately felt Ratchet's disapproving tap across their bond, and he glared at the medic who stood watching them a short distance away.
"I know it's uncomfortable, but we must be proactive and persistent with your physical therapy. Given your accelerated healing, there is a real risk that your shoulder could set improperly."
She helped him into the arm sling that Ratchet had given him that morning, fastening it over his good shoulder. He huffed, leaning back against the mattress gratefully.
"I want you to practice the exercises that I showed you three times a day, morning, noon, and night. Other than that, don't use your left arm at all."
He nodded at her in understanding, and she turned expectantly to Ratchet. The medic stepped forward, extending his servo towards her, and she stepped on immediately. It had been less than four hours since his arm had been immobilized, and it was already proving to be a frustrating inconvenience. Ratchet had removed the IV and the catheter that morning, to Sam's mortification, and allowed him to shower and get dressed. It had been a hell of an undertaking with only one arm, but he had managed it.
Ratchet had also deigned to loosen the firewalls separating him from the neural network. It was enormously freeing, even though he was well aware that he was still considerably restrained. He shifted against the mattress, trying to get comfortable, and then he turned his attention inwards. He had spent every spare minute that morning exploring the vast space, getting a sense for its dimensions and character. He occasionally bumped into one of Ratchet's mental blocks, and after poking and prodding at it, moved away. They were solid and immovable, like granite.
Not unlike Ratchet, Sam thought amusedly. Whether the medic heard him, he could not say.
Eventually, Sam found himself drawn to Bumblebee's spark signature, like a moth to a flame. It glowed winter-white and warm, and he moved forward to brush against it tentatively. At once, he felt a pulse of greeting and affection from the scout. Bumblebee had been highly restrained with him since their bond had initiated the day before. He had taken Ratchet's words to heart, Sam knew, and although Bee always welcomed his presence, he rarely initiated any interactions over the neural network. Sam found himself unable to exercise the same level of restraint, frequently reaching for Bee or brushing against him. It felt good to touch that spot of brilliance in his mind, comforting and pleasant, and Sam had quickly learned to crave it. He laid there for a long while, enjoying the sensations that passed between them, before he felt a gentle pulse of regret. Sam sighed, disappointed but unsurprised when Bumblebee disentangled himself and moved a short distance away. He touched the winter-white glow once in understanding, and then he opened his eyes.
The medical bay looked exactly as it had before he'd accessed the neural network, but for all of its three-dimensional properties, the space felt strangely flat. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and pulled the over-bed tray towards him. Lewis had brought his lunch with her, another bland meal of soup and crackers, and he started on it dutifully. As he ate, he swore to himself that as soon as he was allowed to step foot inside the mess hall, he was going to eat every single thing that he had craved over the last week. If he never ate soup or toast again, it would still be too soon.
He became aware of Ratchet's focus, and Sam glanced across the room at him.
/What?/ He asked, surprised by the answering brush of approval that crossed their bond.
/You are doing well, I would not have expected it./
/Thanks, I think./ He thought amusedly, and then out loud he asked, "So when can I get out of here?"
For the first time since the attack, Ratchet didn't scoff at the question. He crossed the room towards him, staring at him considerately for a long moment.
"I am tentatively amenable to discharging you today, if you are willing to agree to my conditions."
Sam huffed a quiet laugh.
"Ratchet, I would do literally anything to get out of here." He paused, "No offense."
"None taken." Ratchet replied dryly, "Very well, you will remain in your apartment until I give you leave to resume normal activities. You may visit the mess hall, but otherwise you are to rest quietly."
"Sure, no problem. I can't stay awake for longer than a few hours at a time anyway."
Ratchet nodded, "Second, you will continue to limit your interactions across the neural network until I tell you otherwise."
"Okay, sure. Is that everything?" He asked, feeling a swell of eagerness.
"If I can think of anything else, I will let you know." The medic said dryly, "Very well, you may go. Return tomorrow morning for your dressing change."
Sam smiled at Ratchet in genuine excitement, turning his attention inwards. Before he could reach out to Bumblebee, however, the yellow scout pushed a feeling of acknowledgement in his direction. Sam had the distinct impression of motion, and he realized abruptly that Bee was already on his way.
He pushed the blankets aside and climbed off the hospital gurney. It was slightly awkward, with his left arm restrained in the sling as it was, but once he was on his own two feet he stepped towards the edge of the berth. Ratchet extended his servo towards him obligingly, and Sam climbed aboard. Rather than lowering him to the floor, however, Ratchet held him close to his chassis for a long moment. Although he could feel nothing through their bond, Sam intuited what was on the medic's mind.
"I'll miss you too, Ratch." He said good-naturedly.
Ratchet snorted loudly, walking him towards the medbay doors. He neither replied nor lowered him to the floor, instead holding onto him until the rumble of Bumblebee's engines filled the hangar. Sam glanced down at his guardian's alt mode, a smile stretching his face before Ratchet crouched down in front of the Camaro.
"Go on with you then." He said, "I will see you tomorrow."
Sam stepped forward, running his good hand over Bumblebee's gleaming yellow exterior as though for the first time. Ratchet walked back towards his workbench without another word, but Sam could feel his quiet regard through their bond.
"Hey buddy." He murmured affectionately, "I missed you."
Bumblebee's driver side door opened for him, and Sam huffed in amusement.
"Impatient." He teased.
Bumblebee's engines revved loudly in response, and Sam laughed as he climbed into the cab. As soon as he settled into the driver's seat, the door closed behind him and Bee accelerated from the medical bay. Sam sat quietly, watching as they passed through West Quad. He was already feeling the strain of the morning, fatigue and discomfort building in his body. Sam thanked Primus for small mercies that the medication that Ratchet had given him was keeping the worst of the pain at bay.
It was not long before Bumblebee turned left onto the bridge, driving towards North Quad. It was busier here, with people coming and going about their business. Sam frowned, a sudden thought occurring to him.
"What's the date?" He asked.
"Monday, February 17th." Bumblebee replied immediately. The news gave Sam a funny turn in his stomach.
"I can't believe I lost a whole month."
Bumblebee chirped at him soothingly, his mental presence shifting closer.
"How are Cliff and Roddy?" He asked, trying to distract himself. There was a short pause, before Bumblebee's radio flared to life.
/Never better, Sam-my-man. We're about half-way to Cust Point./
Sam grinned at Bee's dash, sending a soft pulse of appreciation to the scout.
"Hard at work or hardly working?" He teased.
/I'm not the one who's been lazing around in the medical bay./ Roddy replied, faux affront coloring his words. Sam laughed good-naturedly.
/It's good to hear your voice, Sam. You have been missed./ Cliffjumper said.
"I missed you guys too. You have no idea how bored I've been."
/Been there, done that./ Hot Rod said knowingly, /The trick is to annoy him into discharging you early, without pissing him off so much that it lands you back in stasis./
That made Sam laugh loudly—he could see the truth in the scout's words. He was suddenly certain that they were on a private comms line, because not even Roddy would be so brazen as to speak that way if Ratchet could hear him.
"I suppose I'm talking to the master." He replied, grinning.
/Master shit-disturber extraordinaire, at your service./
That made Sam laugh again, and he became aware of Bumblebee's warm regard through their bond. The yellow scout slowed to a stop outside of the North Quad entrance, and Sam glanced at the dash.
"It was good to hear from you guys. I'm off."
/Peace out, home slice./
Bumblebee opened the driver's side door, and Sam slowly climbed out of the cab. It was a ginger undertaking with his bad shoulder, but he managed it without hurting himself. As soon as he stepped away, Bumblebee closed the door and his holoform materialized beside him. Sam smiled, patting Bumblebee's hood affectionately.
"Thanks for the offer, but you don't have to walk with me."
The holoform tilted his head, regarding him with open amusement.
"Of course I'm going to walk you." Bee said, and that was that. Sam let himself be led through the North Quad doors, falling into step beside his guardian as they walked. After a short while, Sam found himself glancing sidelong at the holoform in interest. He was older than Sam, perhaps early thirties, with close-cut hair and blue eyes. He was taller than Sam as well, fit and athletic—
Bumblebee glanced at him curiously, and Sam felt himself blush to the roots of his hair as he realized that the scout had been following his train of thought. Suddenly desperate to justify himself, he blurted the first thing that came to mind.
"Why do you look like that?" He stammered, and then he winced his eyes shut. You dimwit.
"What do you mean?" Bee asked, amusement in his voice. With effort, Sam forced himself to look at the scout.
"I mean, why do you look like that specifically."
Bee tilted his head, as though perplexed by the question.
"This is me." He said, as though that explained things. Sam's confusion must have been evident, for then he elaborated, "Our mimicry circuits translate our physical appearance to the best of their abilities. For all intents and purposes, this is what I look like."
That piqued Sam's curiosity, and he turned to look at the scout directly.
"So you didn't choose your holoform's appearance?"
Bumblebee laughed quietly, and Sam could feel his warm affection from across their bond.
"No, we don't. The far-reaching control of our mimicry circuits can be aggravating at times, but they are efficient."
"Could you change your holoform if you wanted to?"
Bee glanced at him in surprise and asked teasingly, "Don't like what you see?"
The double-entendre in his words caught Sam completely off guard. He coughed, stammering a negative, and Bumblebee chuckled at him.
"We could change its appearance with some effort, but it would be disingenuous. I see no reason to do so."
Sam nodded, almost dizzy with relief when the Officer's Section came into view. If another drop of blood made its way into his face, he was sure that he would pass out cold. When they arrived at Sam's apartment, Bumblebee opened the door for him and then stepped aside so that he could enter. The scout followed behind him, going about the room turning on lights and gathering items. Sam toed off his shoes and made his way towards the couch, sitting down carefully. Bumblebee returned moments later with the throw blanket from his bed and a glass of water.
Sam smiled at him, his earlier embarrassment forgotten.
"I thought I left the mother hen back in the medical bay."
Bumblebee snorted, balling the blanket and throwing it towards him. Hobbled by the sling, the blanket caught Sam full in the face. He laughed, tossing the blanket on the couch beside him.
"Message received, limit your comparisons to our Chief Medical Officer."
At the mention of Ratchet, Sam's awareness turned inward. He was surprised to feel the block between them had been replaced, and he frowned in confusion. Bumblebee smiled reassuringly, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of him.
"It's not a punishment." He said, correctly interpreting Sam's disquiet, "He's respecting your privacy."
"How does that work?"
Bumblebee lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug, "Given my lack of Creator programming, I am not sure exactly. Speaking from personal experience, however, the blocks mute a lot of the traffic from the sparkling to the Creator mech, and vice versa."
"Can he still feel me?" He asked, curiously. Bee nodded, an exasperated smile pulling at his lips.
"Believe me, yes he can. He'll let you know it too, if you get up to trouble."
Sam huffed a laugh, "Is that also speaking from personal experience?"
"Absolutely. Optimus respected my privacy more so than my other Creators, but he was always the first to admonish my bad behavior."
Bumblebee's dry tone made Sam laugh for real, shaking his head in amusement.
"I'd believe it. Optimus has practically weaponized guilt."
It was Bumblebee's turn to laugh, and Sam realized distantly that he liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The scout reached forward, pulling the blanket off the couch and draping it over Sam's lap. Sam was completely taken aback by the scout's casual assumption of control—and by his reaction to it.
Satisfied, Bumblebee stood up and smiled at him.
"Get some rest, Sam. I'll come back when you want to go to the mess."
Sam opened his mouth to protest, when he abruptly realized the extent of his exhaustion.
"That sounds like a good idea actually, thanks."
Bee smiled at him knowingly, and then his holoform fizzled and disappeared. Sam pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, settling down against the cushions. He breathed out a quiet sigh, glancing around his apartment. He was surprised by the contentment that he felt to be there, at the sense of home the space evoked. He could never have imagined it six months ago—would never have thought it was even possible.
He smiled to himself, tucking his nose into the soft fleece of the blanket, and slowly drifted off. He dreamed in strange images and flashes of feeling, which flited through his mind inconsistently. He felt longing and frustration and covetousness—
Sam jerked awake to the feeling of a hand shaking his shoulder insistently. He blinked his eyes open, squinting up to see Bumblebee's holoform crouched beside him. He groaned disapprovingly, running his good hand over his face.
"Someone better be dead."
The corner of Bumblebee's lips quirked in a smile.
"You slept all day, the mess hall will be closing soon." He said, by way of explanation. Sam glanced at him in surprise—it felt like he had just fallen asleep.
"So let it close, I'm tired."
Bumblebee reached out and gave his good shoulder another shove. "Come on, let's go."
Sam groaned again, pushing himself into a sitting position. His living room was dark except for a small side lamp, although he was sure that the lights had been on when he'd fallen asleep. He scrubbed his hand over his face again, huffing a sigh.
"Yeah, alright. Fine. Give me a minute." He grumbled, tossing the blanket aside and standing up. He took the time to use the bathroom and wash his face, before re-joining Bumblebee in the living room. He leaned against the door, pulling on his shoes, before glancing around the room trying to locate his identification badge. He hadn't seen it since the attack.
Bumblebee stepped close, pulling the badge off the table behind him. Sam noted distantly that it had a new lanyard, and it gave him a funny turn to realize that the other had probably been covered in his blood. Bee reached up, sliding the lanyard over his head and settling it against his chest, before he stepped away.
"Alright, let's go." Sam murmured after a moment, and Bumblebee pulled the door open for him.
Bumblebee was quiet as they walked, which was just as well because Sam was still half-asleep. When they entered the mess hall a short while later, Sam found that it was still busy despite the late hour. Bumblebee stood beside him as he queued at the galley, watching curiously as Sam piled items onto his tray. To Sam's delight, he saw that Chicken 65 was that evening's main dish, and he served himself a large plate. One good thing about being stationed at a military facility in the middle of the Indian Ocean was that their south-Asian cuisine was spot on. He grabbed some naan bread and water before walking to the cash registers.
Shortly thereafter, Sam found himself a seat in a quiet corner of the mess hall. Bumblebee pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, watching him with obvious interest. That interest slowly morphed into concern, however, as Sam started in on the Chicken 65. By the time Sam reached for his second handful of napkins to wipe his face, the scout's expression was faintly horrified.
"Why are you eating that?"
"What this?" Sam asked, chewing on a piece of naan bread to soothe the burning in his mouth.
"No, that." He said, gesturing towards the chicken.
Sam glanced down in surprise, "Because it's delicious?"
"But it's paining you." He said, confusion written all over his face.
"Oh yeah, it's hot as hell, but it still tastes good." Sam laughed, and then elaborated, "Some people like spicy food, the heat contributes to the taste. Besides, I've subsisted on nothing but soup and toast for a week—I think I'd eat acid at this point."
Bumblebee shook his head in exasperation, but refrained from commenting for the remainder of his meal. When he finished, Sam walked to the receptacle, stacking his dishes and stowing his tray. He glanced over his shoulder at the scout, who was staring at him considerately.
"Ready to go?" He asked. Bumblebee nodded, and followed him out of the mess hall.
They walked in companionable silence, but they didn't need words to understand each other perfectly. Bumblebee's presence was comfortingly close in his mind, and Sam was aware of his quiet introspection. He reached forward, brushing against the winter-white glow, and the holoform turned to look at him inquiringly.
"Please tell me that this is as strange for you as it is for me."
Bumblebee chuckled quietly.
"I've lived for millions of years without a spark bond. I assure you Sam, this is as new to me as it is to you."
Sam huffed a quiet laugh, conceding the point. It gave him a great deal of comfort to know that they were in this together—that he was not the only one figuring things out as he went along. They fell back into a companionable silence that persisted until they turned down the hallway towards his apartment. It was then that Sam saw Optimus' holoform waiting in the corridor, standing next to Dr. Karen Anderson. Sam's heart lodged itself in his throat, and he was distantly aware of Bumblebee's surprise across their bond.
"Who died?" He asked as he approached, dread making him nauseous. He could think of no other reason for Optimus and his therapist to be waiting outside of his apartment this late at night.
"No one has died, Sam." Karen said reassuringly, "May we come in?"
"What's going on?" He demanded, anxiety making his words razor sharp.
"Let's talk inside." She said instead, gesturing towards the door. Sam shifted uncertainly, before he nodded and pressed his badge against the card reader. Karen pulled the door open for him, and he stepped inside his apartment. He paused briefly to flick on the overhead lights, pinning Bumblebee with an accusing look. Sam immediately felt a placating touch from the scout, tinged with confusion and concern, and he realized that Bee was just as taken aback as he was.
Karen walked across the room and sat down on the couch, gesturing for him to join her. Sam paced forward warily, but made no move to sit down.
"What's this about, Karen?" He asked, deeply disconcerted by her presence in his living space. As his therapist, Karen made him feel both vulnerable and supported, emotional and calm. He did not like feeling so exposed in front of Optimus or Bumblebee.
"I have asked Karen to join me, as we must discuss something of a sensitive matter." Optimus replied instead, and Sam turned to regard the Autobot leader. His holoform looked grim, the lines on its face unusually pronounced, and Sam felt dread churn in his gut. Instinctively, he turned towards the Creator bond, and sent an angry pulse of demanding towards Ratchet. He felt the medic's reassuring touch immediately, and with it came the distinct sensations of distraction and focus and anger.
"Would someone please tell me what's going on? Preferably before I have a heart attack?" He snapped.
"Sam, sit down please." Karen said firmly before either Optimus or Bumblebee could speak. He huffed quietly, and then grudgingly moved to sit on the opposite end of the couch.
"I know we haven't had a chance to speak yet about the attack, Sam." Karen began, a note of apology in her voice, "So please tell me at once if you become too uncomfortable."
He frowned at her, annoyed and confused in equal measures.
"I'm feeling uncomfortable, Karen." He replied irritably, "Just tell me what this is all about."
"Ripcord has asked to speak with you." Optimus said, "In exchange for information about Megatron."
Sam was blindsided by the Autobot leader's words, but before he could reply, he felt a swell of rage from Bumblebee. His guardian's holoform was rigid, its eyes narrowed at Optimus in anger. He could tell by its intent expression that he was engaging with Prime on a private comm channel.
"Why does he want to speak with me?" Sam managed.
"He has been asking for you since you on-lined." Optimus explained, and Sam was taken aback by the controlled anger in the Autobot leader's words, "I refused his requests. His next tactic was to offer a trade, a meeting with you for information about the Decepticons. Again I refused, ordering Ratchet to obtain the information using a medical hardline."
"It didn't work." Sam hazarded a guess, recalling the swell of emotion he had sensed through the Creator bond.
"It did not. Ripcord is a talented analyst and programmer, who was able to use his technical knowledge to circumvent the medical hardline. Ratchet has only been able to glean surface-level information, all of which points to significant intel of a time-sensitive nature."
He could feel the fire of Bumblebee's anger burning through their bond, twisted up with frustration and impotence. Sam inferred from this that the scout's argument with Optimus had not gone in his favor. He tentatively brushed against Bumblebee's spark signature, trying to assuage the scout.
"So you came to ask whether I would meet with him." Sam surmised.
"If you do this Sam, it must be for you. Not for Optimus." Karen said, pinning him with a serious look, "It can be therapeutic to confront your attacker, but it can also result in retraumatization."
Sam frowned, considering her words. He hadn't given Ripcord much thought since he had woken up in the medical bay. The attack seemed like a lifetime ago, as though it had happened to someone else entirely.
"I'll do it."
"Sam—" Karen started, but he interrupted her.
"No, it's alright. I'll do it." He said, surprised by his sincerity, "I'm not afraid, and I know that Optimus wouldn't have asked unless he had good reason."
That Ratchet knew about their meeting and yet his holoform wasn't there to protest also spoke volumes.
"Sam, I am gratified by your trust, but I must ask you to carefully consider your answer. Do not agree out of some misplaced sense of obligation to me." Optimus rumbled.
Sam frowned, turning towards the neural network and reaching for Optimus' signature. It was some distance away, but he could easily identify the glowing beacon of Prime's presence. He brushed against it, firm and reassuring.
"I'm sure." He said to the holoform. After a moment, he felt Optimus' answering touch, which was layered with signifiers of appreciation and regret. Sam had a moment to marvel at the complexity of emotion that could be shared through the neural network, before Optimus' holoform nodded.
"Very well, Sam. There is no time to delay, please join us at the Ark."
Sam stood and Karen followed suit, turning to look at him seriously.
"I can come with you." She offered, and Sam smiled at her in appreciation.
"Thanks Karen, but I'm okay." He said, turning to look at Bumblebee's holoform, "Let's go."
The holoform led the way, and Sam strode after him. He was surprised to realize that the fire of Bumblebee's anger had all but extinguished, replaced instead by a strange feeling of approval. He glanced sidelong at his guardian, confused and curious in equal measures. The holoform turned to look at him, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"I forget sometimes, how resilient you are." He said, and Sam could feel the fondness of the words, "And how brave."
Sam flushed in embarrassment, unsure of what to say and so he said nothing. When they arrived at the North Quad door, the holoform opened it for him, settling his hand on the small of Sam's back as they stepped through. Bumblebee was waiting in his alt mode, the driver's side door already opened. The holoform disappeared as Sam climbed into the cab, and Bumblebee accelerated forward as soon as the door shut behind him.
/Bumblebee and Sam, en route./
/Acknowledged./ Prowl replied.
The comms channel—or the tacnet, Sam couldn't tell which—was unusually quiet. There was no friendly chatter or back-and-forth banter as they drove. Bumblebee quickly made his way through the bridge and into the receiving room, coming to a stop on the large lift. When they accelerated out of the ground-level hangar and into the open night a short while later, something caught Sam's attention. He frowned, turning inwards and focusing on the neural network—and then he started in surprise. There, at the very edges of his awareness, were a number of spark signatures. He recognized Ratchet and Optimus immediately, their signatures familiar and warm in his mind. A second later, he also recognized Prowl, whose signature was close enough that he must have been standing with them. A short distance away, however, were a number of signatures that were completely foreign to him. He moved from one to the next, marveling at their beauty and complexity.
The first glowed steel gray, soft and acrid as gun smoke.
The next was transparent blue, cool and reserved in a way that vaguely reminded him of Prowl.
The third glowed gray-white, grizzled and wispy. When Sam brushed against it, he was struck with an aching sense of agelessness and experience.
The fourth—
Sam felt himself caught in Ratchet's mental embrace, and back within the confines of the Creator bond before he knew what had happened.
/What did I explicitly tell you?/
Sam huffed in irritation, pushing against the medic's mental presence. When he didn't answer, Ratchet rapped him smartly across their bond.
/Stop that./ Sam protested sharply, as Bumblebee turned onto the taxiway and drove to the far corner of the airfield.
/Answer my question./
/You told me to limit my interactions across the neural network./ Sam replied grudgingly.
/I had thought this was a simple instruction. Was I mistaken?/
No need to be a dick about it, He thought mulishly, realizing his mistake too little too late.
/All evidence to the contrary./ Ratchet replied waspishly, and Sam winced apologetically.
Bumblebee slowed to a stop a short distance away from the Ark, which was surrounded by floodlights, large crates, and machinery. Sam opened the driver's side door, and climbed out of the cab. Bumblebee rolled back several feet and transformed, as Optimus and Ratchet descended from the Ark's ramp.
Sam walked towards them, stopping a short distance from the medic.
"Sorry Ratch." He said sincerely, "Although I did warn you not to get offended at every stray thing that crosses my mind. I've thought much worse, believe me."
Ratchet snorted air through his intakes, not deigning to reply. Instead, he turned and regarded Optimus, who was watching Sam with an air of serious contemplation.
"We will bring you to see Ripcord now. He is being held in a containment cell, and is currently restrained with stasis cuffs. He does not pose a threat to you, Sam." Optimus rumbled, and Sam had the distinct impression that the Autobot leader was saying this not only for Sam's benefit, but also for his own. He smiled at him reassuringly.
"I understand."
"You may speak to him or not, the decision is yours." Optimus continued, "But you do not have to stay for any longer than you desire. A meeting was Ripcord's only stipulation for his cooperation."
Sam frowned at that, but nodded his understanding. Optimus stepped aside, gesturing for Sam to follow. The Autobot leader led them up the ramp and through the ship, and Sam did not bother to disguise his naked curiosity. The ship was enormous by human standards, and utterly alien in design. The command terminals, workstations, and pilot chairs were Autobot-sized, and covered in metal cables thicker than Sam's arm. Lights were set in the walls, glowing orange and illuminating the metal passageways through which they traveled. Rather than smooth metal, the walls and ceiling of the corridor were covered in whorls and etchings that were inches deep. He paused, reaching out a hand to trail his fingers over the cool metal. He felt a soft touch of inquiry from Bumblebee, and he turned to look at his guardian who was peering down at him curiously.
"I met a new species of autonomous robotic organisms, destroyed its most precious religious artefact, met their demi-gods who brought me back from the dead, and developed a spark signature, yet somehow this is the most alien thing that I've ever experienced."
Bumblebee's optics brightened in amusement, and he whistled at him understandingly. Optimus had turned to regard him, his optics preternaturally bright in the dim light of the corridor.
"This way, Sam. It is not much farther." Optimus rumbled, and Sam nodded in response. He stepped away from the wall, trailing after Optimus as they made their way deeper into the ship. The room beyond was a cavernous space, with metal tubing and thick cables that rose from the center of the floor and extended into an opening in the ceiling. Lights were set into the walls, glowing orange and blue, weakly illuminating the intricate metal structures that rose around him. He followed Optimus across the space and down another corridor, which ended in what could only be the brig.
It was a relatively small room, compared to the others that he had seen on the ship. There was a large desk immediately to the left as he entered, behind which stood Ultra Magnus. The City Commander inclined his helm deeply as Optimus stepped into the room. Ironhide and Kup stood together at the back of the space, which was lined with five large containment cells. The first four cells were dark and empty, but the fifth was illuminated with weak, yellow light. Sam followed Optimus into the room, approaching the back wall. He could make out a transparent blue energy barrier, which shimmered at the forefront of the small cell, behind which Ripcord sat waiting. His bright optics found Sam's face immediately, and Sam was taken aback by the intensity of his expression.
"Hello Sam."
"Prime has fulfilled his end of the bargain, traitor. Now tell us what you know." Ironhide growled, and Sam was surprised by the naked animosity in his tone. Rather than answer the weapon's specialist, however, Ripcord struggled to his feet and approached the energy barrier before sagging down to his knees. When Ripcord's optics met Sam's face for a second time, they were noticeably dimmed.
"You are looking much better than the last time I saw you."
Sam saw Ratchet stiffen in his periphery, and could feel the flood of black rage from the medic.
"No thanks to you." He replied coldly.
"Would it surprise you to know that I am relieved?" The analyst asked, his voice low and rasping.
"Seeing as how you're the one who killed me, I'd say it would mildly surprise me."
"It was nothing personal, Sam." Ripcord said, and then he amended himself, "Nothing personal against you, rather. Your death was meant to teach Prime a lesson."
"Next time, send a firmly worded letter."
Ripcord hissed a quiet laugh, "There will never be a next time. You have nothing to fear from me any longer."
Sam made a show of glancing around the brig before looking back to Ripcord, "I'm well aware of that."
The analyst shook his helm minutely.
"I killed you to punish Prime for destroying the Allspark, yet here it is—safe and transformed, regenerating within the body of a human child." He paused, and his voice became soft and sincere, "I am but your humble servant."
Sam frowned, deeply unsettled by the analyst's covetous tone, when he realized abruptly that Ripcord wasn't speaking to him.
"I'm not the Allspark." Sam snapped, discomfort sharpening his words. Before Ripcord could reply, Optimus stepped in front of Sam and stared down at the analyst with narrowed optics.
"Fulfill your end of the bargain, Ripcord." Prime commanded, and Sam felt himself shiver at the steel in his tone. He stepped back, pressing close to Bumblebee who crouched down beside him. Ripcord regarded him with open curiosity, before glancing back to Optimus.
"Let me feel his spark signature." Ripcord said instead, apropos of nothing.
"Never." Ratchet growled.
"That was not a part of the bargain. Tell me what you know, or you will spend the remainder of your existence in stasis lock, as your systems slowly offline."
Sam was taken aback, both by Autobot leader's threat and by the promise in his tone. Ripcord seemed to consider his words, before he eventually lifted a pauldron in a weak shrug.
"Lord Megatron wants the boy."
"Why?"
"Why else would he want your human pet? For leverage, of course." Ripcord tilted his helm, purring smoothly, "Although, I imagine that he also suspects the boy is a Prime."
Sam jerked back as though he had been struck, his head snapping up to look at Optimus in disbelief. His reaction seemed to amuse Ripcord, who sighed in faux regret.
"He didn't tell you? My apologies for letting that slip."
Optimus turned to look down at him, remorse rolling off his spark signature in waves. He felt a familiar pinging sensation, but Sam shoved it away ruthlessly. He could feel Ratchet and Bumblebee through their bonds, regretful and anxious respectively, but there was no trace of surprise from either of them. He turned to look at them both in growing anger.
"You two knew about this? Are you shitting me?"
"They all know, Sam." Ripcord supplied helpfully, and Sam pinned him with a withering glare.
"Stop trying to alienate me, you asshole. It's not going to work."
Sam felt a gentle touch from Optimus' mental presence, an apology and a promise both, before the Autobot leader turned back to Ripcord.
"If Megatron wants Sam alive, then why did you try to kill him?" Ironhide demanded.
"In point of fact, I did kill him." Ripcord replied pleasantly, "But those were not my orders. As I said, I had a score to settle with Prime."
"The attack by the command trine?" Optimus prompted, voice sharp as a blade.
"I provided Lord Megatron with the specifications of their patrols, including route and time, and notified him when it appeared that Hot Rod would be occupied with a training drill. Two grounders could not have put up a fight against two airframes." He said, lifting a pauldron in a shrug.
Sam felt white hot rage flood through him in an instant when he realized the implications of his words—Ripcord had fully intended for Bumblebee and Cliffjumper to be killed in the assault. If Sam could have torn him apart with his bare hands, he would have. Bumblebee rested his servo against Sam's back, placating and restraining, as his mental presence wrapped around him tightly. Ripcord stared at them for a long moment, obviously bewildered, before his optics widened in realization.
"This is all information that we have already suspected." Optimus rumbled, "Tell me what you have buried beneath those firewalls."
Ripcord leaned back on his haunches, smiling pleasantly.
"Lord Megatron has the Nemesis, and she's operational."
Sam was rocked by a tidal wave of emotion from the surrounding Autobots—shock, disbelief, sinking dismay, trepidation. He stumbled back, unbalanced by the onslaught. He felt Ratchet's intense focus, and the stream of sensation was cut off abruptly as the medic shored up his firewalls. Sam brushed against him, shaky and appreciative.
"What complement does she carry?" Optimus asked, over the ringing in Sam's ears.
"A full armament." Ripcord replied blithely, "And manned by Shockwave, Acid Storm, Deadlock, and Blitzwing—that I know of."
"Anything else?" Ironhide ground out between clenched dentae, and Sam could tell by his tone that the analyst's words had been a significant blow.
"He has ground bridge technology, and he's close to operationalizing it."
Optimus' optics shuttered slowly, before he pinned Ripcord with a critical look.
"How do we know that you speak the truth?"
Ripcord extended his arm towards him, and Sam watched as a small panel clicked open revealing the complicated wiring beneath.
"I will consent to Ratchet's medical hardline, if you wish to verify my claims. I have gotten all that I wanted."
Optimus turned his helm minutely towards his Chief Medical Officer, who stepped forward and deactivated the cell barrier. He withdrew a small cable, no thicker than Sam's thumb, from beneath a panel on his arm and connected it to Ripcord's port.
It all happened very quickly.
Ratchet cried out in shock, his optics shuttering tightly as he fell to his knees. The sound of angry shouting and rapidly charging canons filled the room, as Bumblebee pulled Sam close to his chassis. A moment later, the firewalls separating Sam from the neural network shivered and fell away. He screamed as an onslaught of sensory data flooded through him as he fully connected to the neural network—a slurry of feeling and sensation and vastness.
At once, Ripcord's presence clawed its way into his mind, oily and determined. Sam could feel invisible fingers tracing over every inch of his mental presence, desperately searching for something—
Like an avenging archangel, Bumblebee's presence filled his mind in an instant. It pushed Ripcord's signature away from him, as effortlessly as swatting a fly, and then he attacked. Sam couldn't understand the dizzying flashes of motion or impact that filtered through his brain, but suddenly he heard Ripcord cry out, and then his presence was gone.
Sam squinted his eyes open to find himself on his hands and knees, Bumblebee crouched over him protectively. He was breathing hard, shaking like a junkie coming off a high, when he took in the scene in front of him. Optimus was kneeling in front of Ratchet, who was shaking his helm at him. Ripcord's body lay sprawled against the floor, a smoking hole ripped through his chassis, as Ironhide's canons powered down. The analyst's optics were open and dark, and Sam realized through a haze that he was dead. He squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the spark signatures that pulsed around him. It was too much—
He heard a harsh rasp of air being cycled through an intake, and then Ratchet's presence flared along their bond. Sam could feel the medic's agony and anger before the firewalls snapped back into place, mercifully separating him from the neural network. With a dizzying shift, Sam found himself tucked back within the confines of the Creator bond, Ratchet's presence hidden away behind an impenetrable block.
"Are you alright?" The medic rasped at him, still on the floor.
"Yeah, I'm okay." He replied, "You're hurt."
Ratchet ex-vented slowly, but he did not contradict him.
"I will be fine, Sam. My self-repair routines are already purging the virus."
"Were you able to get anything from him, before he attacked?" Ironhide asked, kicking Ripcord's smoking chassis.
"Everything he told us was true, in so far as he knew." Ratchet confirmed grimly looking up at Optimus, "We are going to have a fragging fight on our hands."
Optimus nodded solemnly, before helping Ratchet to his pedes. The medic leaned heavily against him.
"Can you make it to the medical bay?" He asked quietly.
Ratchet shook his helm, "Take me to the Ark's clinic. I'll recharge there."
Sam reached out through their bond, brushing against the block that separated them. He pushed concern and affection at the medic, as hard as he could. Ratchet paused, looking down at him with a half-smile pulling at his faceplates.
"You are very loud, Sam." He muttered with a bit of his usual vim, "But thank-you."
Sam quirked a weak smile at the medic, who stared at him for a long while before allowing Optimus to help him from the brig. He watched the two of them go, with indefinable emotion pulling at him until Bumblebee whistled at him softly. Sam glanced up at his guardian, whose optics were possessive and fierce in equal measures, and sighed tiredly.
"I'd rather be anywhere but here. Let's go, Bee."
Notes: I messaged Steelfeathers before I began writing this story, and asked her what Megatron wanted with Sam. Her exact answer was, "Why else would Megatron take one of the Autobots' human pets - leverage, of course! And because Sam is a human Prime...whoops, did I let that slip?", which I recreated as Ripcord's dialogue.