Notes: The slow burn is officially over this chapter. Due to this sites rules I will be removing explicit scenes and letting you know when it happens.
"The hard way?" Sam asked, uncertainly.
Ratchet swung his struts over the side of the berth and stood up. Optimus moved aside, and the medic stepped towards Sam, looking down at him considerately.
"Harder than a data transfer surely, but I daresay that you will survive the experience."
Sam glanced up at him, feeling the sense of trepidation tighten in his gut. He sincerely doubted that the medic's sardonic tone boded well for him.
"Not helpful, Ratchet."
Ratchet ex-vented a sigh, crouching down in front of him. He could feel the medic's consternation through their bond, though he knew instinctively that it was not directed towards him.
"Sam, like it or not, you are the neural equivalent of a newspark. You are vulnerable to all manner of intrusions and malware. The sooner you learn to protect yourself, the better."
"I know that." He replied, frowning, "What would I have to do?"
"I will remove most of the firewalls separating you from the neural network, and you will practice creating and eventually maintaining your own blocks."
The trepidation in his stomach sharpened to anxiety in an instant.
"Ratchet, it's bad enough having you inside my head. I don't want every Autobot on the island listening to every random thought that crosses my mind. Sunstreaker would throw me into the ocean before breakfast."
Ratchet's mouthplates twitched precariously—the bastard—and he tilted his helm thoughtfully.
"We will begin slowly. I will start by removing a small number of blocks and we will work in short intervals. As you develop your skills, I will decrease the number of blocks separating you from the neural network and increase the time of each session. Regarding Sunstreaker and the others, I expect that most of them will respect your privacy, insofar as they are able to do so."
Sam gritted his teeth, not at all comforted by the caveat.
"Because I'm loud."
Ratchet nodded his head in agreement, "You are, but you are improving."
Sam sighed heavily, the feeling of anxiety sharpening in his gut. He could understand Ratchet's rationale—it had been awful to feel Ripcord's greasy presence invading his mind—but he dreaded being so exposed, even among friends. Ratchet regarded him uncomplainingly as he worked through his insecurities, surprisingly patient and calm.
"What if it doesn't work? You said yourself that my signature was different, what if I can't do it?"
"Then we will burn that bridge when we come to it, as the humans say." Ratchet replied, and then he added reassuringly, "I have complete confidence in your ability, Sam. It will be a steep learning curve, but you are a fast learner."
Sam huffed quietly, surprisingly moved by the medic's unexpected praise.
"How long at a time?" He asked after a moment.
"An hour or two, depending on how well you acclimatize to the experience."
Seeing no other reason to object, Sam lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. Ratchet correctly interpreted the gesture as consent, and a moment later Sam felt his mental awareness widen abruptly. The rush of sensation was almost overwhelming, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of dizziness. Ratchet reached out a servo to steady him, sending a wordless pulse of encouragement across their bond.
The mental space in which he found himself was large, only slightly smaller than the full neural network that he had briefly experienced when Ripcord had destroyed Ratchet's firewalls. He could feel the simultaneous mental presence of numerous spark signatures—brilliant and beckoning. There was Ratchet and Optimus, nearby and familiar. Further away he could sense Prowl and Ultra Magnus, glowing cool blue in his mind. He could feel the weight of their regard, tinged with curiosity and surprise. He had hardly a moment to revel in their calming presence, before his attention was caught by a rosy-gold glow in the distance. He moved forward instinctively, brushing against the unknown presence. It was pearlescent and petal-soft, entirely unique in his limited experience.
/Thanks, Sam. You're not so bad yourself, very… earthy./ Hot Rod's amused voice cut through his mind, and Sam jerked back in surprise. There hadn't been an incoming ping.
He was aware of Ratchet's intense scrutiny through their bond, and the medic answered his unspoken question immediately.
/There was no ping because you're on an unsecured, unencrypted channel. Anyone can send information to you, and receive information from you in return./
Sam felt an embarrassed flush climb up his neck.
"A heads-up would have been appreciated." Sam grumbled. At least Hot Rod hadn't seemed offended—he certainly didn't have a petal-soft personality.
/No worries, Sam. It was a rookie mistake./ Roddy teased.
Sam startled as though he had been tasered, narrowing his eyes as he turned his attention inward.
/Do you mind?/ He asked waspishly.
/Nope./
He became aware of Bumblebee's mental presence through their bond, attentive and apprehensive. If Sam focused, he could make out his guardian's spark signature in the distance, winter white and familiar. He tilted his head in surprise as he recognized the two signatures that were with him—one was opaque and steel gray, and the other was gray-white, grizzled and pot-marked. They glowed at him like stars, brilliant against the darkness of the neural network despite their distance. He tentatively reached out, brushing against the nearest of the two, and he was surprised by the gentle pulse of welcome that answered him.
/Hello, Sam./ Ironhide murmured in greeting. His mental voice was smoother than his spoken voice, missing the hardened electronic edge of his vocalizer. Sam smiled faintly in response, unsurprised that the weapon's specialist would remind him of metal and gun smoke. He felt Ironhide's twinge of approval, and then his focus shifted away, back to whatever he had been working on.
Sam felt Ratchet pull at him through their bond, and he twisted, leaning into the medic's mental presence with a wordless query.
"Although I am pleased by the ease with which you seem to navigate the neural network, you are supposed to be working on firewalling." He admonished dryly, "You know their form and character, try to establish one now."
Sam stared at the medic in disbelief, "Are you glitched? I've driven a car, but that doesn't mean I could build one."
He could feel Roddy's amusement bubbling up in his mind, and he shoved at the scout's mental presence in response. Ratchet pulled at him again through their bond, and Sam turned his attention back towards the medic. He drew Sam's presence closer, and he could feel himself brush against a firewall that separated the Creator bond from the neural network. He frowned in response—he hadn't even noticed that it had been there.
/Here, feel this./ Ratchet instructed, and Sam complied. The firewall was heavy in his mind, dark and opaque like a solid shadow. He could feel Ratchet's expectation, and he rolled his eyes.
"Still not helpful." He said, his frustration quickly mounting.
He felt Optimus' gentle touch, calming and supportive in his mind. He glanced at the Autobot leader, who regarded him with thoughtful optics.
"Perhaps a demonstration would prove to be more effective."
Sam lifted a shoulder in a shrug, because damned if he knew.
Optimus' expression softened in amusement, and then Sam felt a familiar pinging sensation. He turned his attention inwards, focused, and then Optimus' presence was in his mind. Sam frowned, taken aback once again by the alienness of the sensation, so unlike the bonds he shared with Ratchet and Bumblebee. He could feel Optimus' patient regard, and Sam felt a twinge of appreciation for his seemingly endless consideration.
"I'm alright." He said after a long moment.
Optimus nodded briefly, and then Sam could feel him shift and pull. There was a strange sensation of tension, and then Optimus' presence was tucked away behind a heavy block. Sam brushed against it inquisitively—it was different than the blocks that Ratchet used to separate him from the neural network.
"I use medical-grade blocks, whereas Optimus' are security-grade." Ratchet answered his unspoken question.
Sam glanced at him curiously, "What's the difference?"
"Functionally, very little. Medical-grade blocks are used to keep incapacitated patients locked in stasis until they are stable, but otherwise they fulfill the same purpose."
Sam turned his attention back towards the block that separated him from Optimus' mental presence, brushing against it experimentally.
"Can you feel that?"
Optimus inclined his helm slightly, "Yes, I can. The block only limits outgoing data, it does not impede my ability to access your comm channel."
Sam tilted his head, openly intrigued, "I can't feel you, but I can feel the block. Isn't that a security risk? You're not exactly hidden."
"That is true," Ratchet replied, approval evident in his voice, "If stealth was your objective, then you would need to employ additional security measures. Scouts and infiltrators have a host of programming and sub-routines intended to mask their connection to the neural network."
"Bumblebee too?"
Ratchet nodded, "Bumblebee has some of the finest egress filtering and boundary protection programming that I have ever seen."
Sam felt a warm swell of pride at the medic's words, and he brushed against Bumblebee's mental presence in response. He knew that Bumblebee was a talented scout—Optimus had called him the finest scout sparked since before the Golden Age—but it was another thing entirely to hear it from Ratchet, who was stingy with his praise.
He felt the medic nudge him expectantly from across their bond, and his attention returned to the matter at hand. He frowned, feeling along the block between him and Optimus, entirely uncertain how to reproduce it. Ratchet might as well have asked him to grow wings and learn how to fly.
Ratchet snorted loudly, unimpressed.
"That is not at all a fitting analogy. You have already demonstrated an aptitude for interfacing with the neural network."
Sam huffed quietly. He was feeling frustrated and discouraged, and he hadn't even attempted anything yet. Ratchet narrowed his optics at him, and then the medic's presence suddenly filled his mind. Sam jerked back in surprise, unused to the invasiveness of the contact, but Ratchet persisted. Sam could feel his focus, felt him shift forward and push, and suddenly a mental block snapped into place. As soon as Ratchet's mental presence receded, the block shivered and disappeared.
Sam blinked dumbly, completely astounded. He had felt everything, from start to finish. He understood.
"What did you just do?" Sam demanded after he recovered from his shock.
"I used the Creator bond to establish a firewall on your behalf. Now you understand how it is done."
Sam was blindsided by the rage that slammed into him as he realized what Ratchet was saying. The medic had physically taken control of him, using Sam's own mind to create the firewall.
"Don't ever do that again." Sam hissed, his voice strangled by the intensity of his anger.
Ratchet's expression noticeably cooled, "Are you finished with the histrionics? You did not know how to do it, and now you do."
"Informed fucking consent, Ratchet." Sam snapped, "You promised me."
"That was not a medical procedure." Ratchet replied curtly, "You're a newspark Sam, I will occasionally have to take liberties with you."
Sam felt himself go cold with anger and fear. He was distantly aware that Ratchet had pulled him back within the confines of the Creator bond, but he couldn't have cared less in that moment. The knowledge that Ratchet was able to control him physically, however minutely, shook Sam to his core.
"Read my lips, Ratchet. Never. Again."
"Sam." Optimus rebuked gently, "I understand how disconcerting this is for you. Ratchet was only trying to help."
Sam did not look at the Autobot leader, his eyes narrowed directly at Ratchet.
"I want your word that you won't do that without my explicit consent."
The medic stiffened in affront but before he could reply, Sam's expression turned pleading.
/Ratchet, please./
Ratchet was silent for a long moment, staring at him intently. Sam was aware of the medic's scrutiny across their bond, and he made no attempt to hide his fear or desperation. Eventually, he felt a soft touch—reassuring and apologetic.
"Very well, Sam. Unless I have no other choice, I will adhere to your concept of informed consent in this regard as well."
Sam nodded slowly, unable to meet his optics, "Thank-you."
There was a brief pause, and then Sam found himself free of the Creator bond once again. The transition to the broader neural network was not as disorienting this time, and he recovered more quickly.
"Well, go on then." Ratchet instructed, as though they had never argued.
"Are you serious?" Sam asked, exasperatedly.
"Completely. I didn't go through all of that for nothing."
Sam snorted at the dryness of his tone, but he turned his thoughts inwards as instructed. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, trying to re-create Ratchet's actions. It was surprisingly difficult to do, even though he objectively understood the process. He made several unsuccessful attempts, stifling the urge to swear, when his fourth attempt caused a block to snap into existence. He jerked back in surprise, and the block immediately disappeared.
"Well done, Sam." Optimus said, quiet praise in his voice.
Sam frowned, gathering himself to try again. The firewall snapped into place with less effort this time, but it disappeared as soon as he let go.
"How do I make it stay?" He asked in confusion.
"You have to maintain your focus."
Sam glanced at Ratchet incredulously, "You have got to be kidding me. Constantly?"
"It will get easier with practice." Ratchet said.
He snorted in response, re-establishing the firewall in his mind. It snapped into place, blocking a portion of the neural network from his mental presence. He regarded the block for a long moment, before he realized something.
"If the block is only supposed to limit outgoing data, then why can't I feel the neural network when it's in place?"
"The firewall that I have showed you how to use is a base function, intended for newsparks. It prevents the transfer of both incoming and outgoing data."
Sam frowned in consternation as he regarded the block in his mind. He could already feel the mental and physical tension of keeping it in place. It was like trying to hold a heavy object for an extended period of time, and he felt himself trembling with the strain. After another few moments, he abruptly released his hold and exhaled a shaky sigh.
"Well, this is awful." He said conversationally.
Ratchet ex-vented a loud snort, "Come now, you can do better than that."
Sam pinned the medic with a withering glare.
"It's hard."
"It is." Ratchet agreed blithely, "Now once again, just as you did before."
"You and Dr. Lewis are made for each other." He replied peevishly, before obediently re-establishing the firewall. This time, the strain was immediate and he grimaced deeply. He narrowed his eyes, focusing every ounce of his willpower on maintaining the stupid thing. By the time that he lost his grip, he was pale and sweating.
"Better." Ratchet complimented, "We will try again later."
Sam felt a swell of relief as the Creator bond flared around his mental presence again, separating him from the neural network. He scrubbed a shaky hand across his face, glancing up at his companions.
"Is it like that for everyone?" He asked, and Ratchet lifted a pauldron in a shrug.
"Newsparks take to firewalling differently."
Sam narrowed his eyes at the medic, perfectly understanding the subtext. Before he could call him out on it, however, he felt Bumblebee's gentle touch across their bond. He turned in surprise, watching as the scout stepped into the clinic. He inclined his helm towards Optimus and Ratchet, and then strode forward to crouch down beside him.
/You did well./ Bumblebee praised, soft and sincere.
Sam snorted loudly, /You're a terrible liar./
His guardian whistled at him in affronted amusement.
/I'm an infiltrator, we are excellent liars./
Sam laughed quietly, reaching out to shove at the scout's chest plating. Bumblebee obliged him by pretending to rock backwards, as though Sam could move him a single inch.
"Sam, your blood sugar is dipping." Ratchet interrupted them sharply, "Go get something to eat."
He glanced up at the medic in surprise, taken aback by his clinical expression. Before he could assure Ratchet that he felt fine, the older mechanoid turned to pin Bumblebee with a serious look.
"Take your bonded to the mess hall, and make sure that he eats something."
Sam rolled his eyes, "I have ears."
"Then use them, and do as I say."
By the time that Bumblebee had driven him to the North Quad entrance, Sam was feeling shaky and weak. He climbed out of the scout's cab, and the door snapped shut as Bee's holoform materialized beside him. He murmured at the holoform appreciatively as it pulled open the quad door for him, and together they walked towards the mess hall. By the time that Sam sat down a short while later, he felt truly miserable. Bumblebee pushed a bottle of orange juice towards him, and Sam accepted it gratefully, drinking deeply without comment. They sat there for a long while, Sam with his head pitched forward and Bumblebee with an inscrutable expression on his face.
It was the better part of twenty minutes before Sam's hands stopped trembling and he felt well enough to eat. He started picking his way through his lunch, glancing across the table at his guardian.
"That was weird." He said, and Bumblebee inclined his head in agreement.
"Ratchet suspects that the hypoglycemia was caused by the strain of maintaining your firewalls."
"Let me guess, it'll get better with practice?" He asked, mimicking the medic's familiar mantra. The faint smile that pulled at Bumblebee's lips confirmed Sam's suspicions, and he laughed lightly. When Sam finished his meal, Bumblebee gathered up his tray and they walked it towards the receptacle near the entrance to the mess hall. The scout scraped the remainder of his lunch into the garbage, and then piled the dishes neatly at the designated location. Sam watched him, equal parts amused and appreciative, and then they headed out of the mess hall.
"You didn't have to do that." Sam murmured.
"I am building some good will." The scout said, tossing him an apologetic smile that made Sam immediately suspicious.
"Come again?"
"It's noon, time for your PT."
Sam groaned out loud, remembering Dr. Lewis' instructions. He glanced beseechingly at the holoform.
"I won't tell if you won't."
Bumblebee met his gaze directly, his blue eyes sympathetic, "Sorry, Sam."
Sam huffed a sigh, but continued towards his quarters without further protest. When they arrived, Bumblebee opened the door and Sam stepped passed the scout into his living space. Bumblebee followed him into the apartment, moving to sit down on the coffee table. Sam toed off his shoes, placing his cell phone and badge on the table by the door. He glanced towards his guardian, who gestured towards the couch in front of him. Sam grimaced in resignation and ambled forward to sit down. He fumbled with the straps on his sling, before Bumblebee reached up to help him out of the restraining equipment.
"Thanks." Sam muttered, tossing the sling onto the coffee table.
With a sardonic quirk of his lips, Bumblebee handed him the rubber ball that Dr. Lewis had left him that morning. Sam rolled his eyes in tolerant irritation, and then tucked the ball into his armpit and started the set of exercise that the physician had shown him. He frowned deeply as the bones and muscles in his shoulder pulled painfully.
Bumblebee watched him with the intentness of a hawk watching a mouse. After Sam started the second set of exercises, Bee reached out and placed a restraining hand against his arm.
"You're pulling too deeply." He admonished.
Sam snorted, rolling his eyes.
"When did you become an expert in physical therapy?"
"My personal experiences notwithstanding, I downloaded everything that I could find about physiotherapy from the Internet after your injury."
Sam quirked a smile at the scout, touched.
"Overkill, but thanks."
Bumblebee glanced at him in exasperation, a look that said 'not hardly' as clearly as words. He moved his hand to press gently against the bandages on Sam's shoulder, the other hand coming up to grasp his upper bicep. The way that he twisted Sam's torso pulled at the staples in his shoulder, but he barely noticed. Sam's pulse quickened at the feeling of Bumblebee's hands on his body, firm and gentle, and he felt a blush spreading across his cheeks as arousal pooled low in his belly.
The scout looked at him sharply, and Sam's blush deepened until it practically radiated heat.
"Bumblebee—" He stammered in mortification, but his guardian interrupted him before he could continue.
"Did you think that I didn't know?"
Bumblebee's voice was soft, and his grip on Sam's bicep tightened minutely. Sam stared at the scout in stunned disbelief, unable to reply.
"Did you think that I would object?" He continued mildly, "To you?"
There was something in his guardian's countenance, sincere and intimate, that sent a kick of heat straight through him. Bumblebee's expression sharpened knowingly, and he leaned forward until his lips brushed against the shell of Sam's ear.
"As if I could ever. I would have you in any way that I can."
His guardian's words were a promise and a suggestion both, and Sam whimpered softly.
Explicit Scene Removed
When he came back to himself an interminable time later, he glanced down to see Bumblebee bowed over Sam's lap, his eyes closed and completely still.
"Bee?" He asked weakly, and the scout slowly opened his eyes to meet his own, "I think you broke me."
Sam's words startled a bark of laughter from the holoform, whose expression warmed with fond amusement.
"The feeling is mutual."
Sam struggled back up into a sitting position, from where he had slid down on the couch. He watched as Bumblebee's gaze trailed down to the tacky mess that was cooling on his stomach, and Sam grimaced.
"Yeah, it's a messy ordeal. Sorry."
Explicit Scene Removed
Sam reached down, grabbing his boxers and wiping himself off. He wondered idly whether seconds would count as 'strenuous physical exercise' in Ratchet's mind, when his thoughts screeched to a halt.
"Ohmygod." He said so quickly that the words slurred together, mortification slamming into him with all the force of a thermonuclear explosion. Ratchet.
Bumblebee laughed out loud, openly amused.
"Relax, he firewalled you as soon as he realized what was happening."
Sam's focus turned inwards in abject horror, and he realized that Bumblebee was right—the bond was still and silent as a tomb. The knowledge did little to abate the embarrassment that burned through him.
"I'm never going to be able to look him in the optics again."
Bumblebee's amusement deepened.
"We are a bonded pair Sam, Ratchet understands what that entails." Bumblebee assured him, before adding, "And your privacy is his responsibility, not yours."
Sam huffed, glancing down at the scout who was still crouched in front of him.
"Well that's good, because otherwise he'd need lava soap and an SOS pad to scrub his processors."
Bumblebee chuckled, pushing to his feet and sitting down on the coffee table. He reached forward to pull the throw blanket off the arm of the couch, and draped it over Sam's shoulders. His fingers lingered, tracing the soft skin of Sam's throat. Sam tilted his head obligingly, shivering as nails caught his skin. Something softened on Bumblebee's face, his expression becoming tender.
"You feel things so purely… it's addictive." He murmured, as though to himself.
"Bee, there was nothing pure about what we just did."
Bumblebee's eyes widened in surprise, and then he threw back his head and laughed.
"Perhaps not." He conceded with a grin.
"How did you learn to do that?" Sam asked, and the expression on the holoform's face became mildly exasperated.
"I have access to terabytes of information about human sexuality. The rest I inferred from what I know about you, as well as my own preferences."
Sam glanced at the scout, taken aback.
"Your preferences?"
Bumblebee's lips twitched, as though he were trying to suppress a smile.
"Cybertron is over a billion years old, and intelligent Transformer life has been around for almost as long. Did you not think that, in all that time, someone would have developed pleasurable interfacing software?"
Sam felt himself blush in embarrassment, because in fact it hadn't occurred to him. He had assumed that because Transformers did not sexually reproduce, that they did not have sex at all.
"We don't have sex, at least not in human terms." Bumblebee corrected him, "We interface, an exchange of current that induces a processor overload."
Sam tilted his head curiously, "So did you… overload?"
Bumblebee smiled at him fondly, as though amused by his naivety, "I did."
Sam was overcome with a wave of emotion, and he reached out his good hand to pull Bumblebee down into a tight kiss. The scout obliged him, before pulling back to place a chaste kiss on his forehead.
"Get dressed, Ratchet will want you back at the Ark before long."
Sam groaned, remembering his embarrassment. Bumblebee grinned in response, reaching down to grab his pants, which he tossed into his lap. Sam stood, holding the blanket closed with one hand and holding his jeans with the other, before obediently walking towards the bedroom.
He could feel Bumblebee's eyes on his back the entire way.