(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
As it turned out, Ratchet did not ask him to return to the Ark.
A little over an hour after Bumblebee had wholeheartedly introduced Sam to the more intimate aspects of their bond, they found themselves walking together through North Quad. The Hive was busy, given the late afternoon hour, but Sam was barely paying attention to the people that he passed. His mind was turned inwards, enjoying the feeling of Bumblebee's mental presence. The more he interacted with that warm glow in his mind, the better he became at sensing the fleeting impressions and emotions from the scout. Bumblebee was endlessly patient, and Sam could feel the occasional flash of tolerant amusement from him.
Without warning, Sam suddenly felt a shift in his mind. The firewalls that had been separating him from the neural network fell away, and his mental space widened abruptly. The unexpected change was disorienting, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut against the accompanying wave of lightheadedness. Bumblebee made a soft sound of concern beside him, but Sam waved him off.
Abruptly, Ratchet's voice cut through his mind.
/Establish a firewall and join me in the medical bay./
The medic's words were gruff but not unkind, and Sam shook his head slowly.
"He might be the most passive aggressive person that I have ever met." Sam grumbled, frowning in concentration as he erected a firewall. Once it was in place, the noise of the neural network reduced dramatically. He could still feel glimpses of activity, but they were muted and distant. The strain of maintaining the block was immediately apparent, and Sam hated the feeling. It was a throbbing ache in his mind, a persistent discomfort that reminded Sam of his brief experience with restless leg syndrome.
"Better not keep him waiting, or that passive aggression will quickly lose its passive edge." Bumblebee warned, and Sam knew that he was speaking from experience.
"No need to tell me. I still owe Dave Carter for running interference when I first arrived on base."
Bumblebee's lips quirked in amusement as he turned, heading towards the North Quad entrance to the bridge. Sam learned very quickly that maintaining the firewall was exponentially more difficult when in motion. It was one thing to sit quietly with his eyes shut and his concentration turned inwards, but it was another thing entirely to try to maintain his hold while navigating through the bridge. He lost his grip a half a dozen times before they made it to the medical bay, by which time he was in a foul temper. That bad mood distracted him from his previous embarrassment right up until the moment that Ratchet turned around to greet him.
The medic's arms were crossed over his chassis in a characteristically Ratchet-like fashion. The exasperation that was evident on his features made Sam blush hotly, and Ratchet snorted in response. He crouched down, regarding Sam closely as he approached.
"Unless your preference is for every Autobot on base to be privy to this conversation, I suggest you get that firewall back up." Ratchet said mildly, by way of greeting.
Sam stared at him in disbelief, but the medic merely tilted his head expectantly. Realizing that he was perfectly serious, Sam turned his attention inwards and erected another firewall. The mental strain was immediate, but Sam focused his full attention towards maintaining the block. He would be damned if Roddy was going to listen to a word of this.
Ratchet's mouthplates twitched minutely.
"Well, suffice to say, you seem to have found the motivation that you were lacking."
Sam glared up at the medic, the strain in his mind rekindling his irritation. Ratchet was entirely unaffected by the heat in his gaze, instead regarding him for a long moment before speaking through their bond.
/I will say this once and only once. Yes, I am fully aware of what transpired earlier. No, I am neither angry nor offended. So long as you respect your limitations, I will respect your privacy as much as I can do so./
By the time that the medic had finished speaking, Sam's blush had returned and deepened to a vivid crimson. It had been awkward enough messing around with Mikaela when his parents had been home, and they had been blissfully ignorant to the proceedings.
"Sam, you are in no way discreet. I assure you, they knew." Ratchet replied dryly, and Sam's eyes snapped back to the medic's face.
"Ratchet!" Sam groaned in mortified disbelief, "I am begging you, please shut up."
The medic inclined his helm in acknowledgement, but Sam was sure that he hadn't imagined the amused glint in his optics.
"Very well then, I have said my piece. We shall speak no more on the subject." Ratchet acquiesced, and Sam felt a moment of relief before the medic asked, "Tell me how that firewall feels."
Sam huffed, unsure whether the change of subject was an improvement.
"It feels like shit."
"Succinct." Ratchet replied wryly, "Care to be more elaborate?"
"It's heavy and uncomfortable, and it's giving me a headache."
Ratchet's optics narrowed in consideration as his expression became thoughtful. Despite his best efforts, it was no time at all before Sam lost his grip and the firewall disappeared again. He groaned in frustration, sinking down to sit on the cold floor of the medical bay.
"You said it would get easier with practice." He complained. Bumblebee transformed into his bipedal mode, and crouched down beside him. Sam could feel the scout's sympathy and support through their bond, and he brushed against him appreciatively.
"You are far too impatient." Ratchet admonished, "It takes hundreds of years for newsparks to on-line, it will take more than a few attempts to learn the skills that you need."
Sam lifted his good hand to rub at his temples, where a headache was already throbbing. His mind felt wrung out and weak—the mental equivalency of muscle overexertion, he surmised. After a long moment, he felt Ratchet's presence in his mind, a tentative touch, and he glanced up at the medic inquiringly.
"Let me show you another way." He said, and Sam realized that he was asking for permission to use their bond to manipulate Sam's abilities again. He jerked back, narrowing his eyes at the medic suspiciously.
"What do you want to do?" He asked, tensing from head to toe.
"Nothing any more invasive than last time." Ratchet reassured him.
Sam frowned, considering the medic's request. The idea of being controlled by another person was deeply disquieting, even if that person was Ratchet whom he trusted completely. Despite his reluctance and fear, however, Sam knew that his current attempts were unsustainable and that something had to change.
"Will you stop, if I ask you to?" He asked quietly.
"Of course, Sam."
Sam sighed softly, before steeling himself.
"Alright, go for it."
He felt Ratchet's presence enter his mind, and although Sam was prepared for it, the sensation was still disconcerting and invasive. However, rather than pushing in as he had before, Ratchet waited for him to adjust to the sensation. When Sam had relaxed a few moments later, he felt a gentle nudge in his mind.
/I am going to try establishing a filtering firewall. Let me know at once if you feel uncomfortable./
Sam blinked in surprise at the unexpected contact, but he nodded in understanding. There was a pause, then Ratchet slowly pulled and pushed, and then a firewall sprang into existence in his mind. Sam tilted his head considerately, eyes narrowed in thought, as he ran mental fingers over the block. This was a different entity entirely—it allowed him to sense the neural network, as though through a lens, while still walling off his mental presence.
"Can you do that again?" Sam asked, and he felt a touch of assent from the medic before he repeated the process. This firewall felt more comfortable in his mind, like a well-worn glove, rather than a cement wedge. Sam reached out, frowning in concentration. The medic had been deliberately slow with his actions this time, and Sam had a better understanding of the process as a result. It only took him two attempts before he was able to establish the new firewall in his mind. Although this block was considerably easier to maintain, it was not long before he was sweating with tension. Ratchet brushed against him restrainingly, and Sam obediently dropped the firewall with a relieved sigh.
He could feel Ratchet's thoughtful scrutiny in his mind, and he glanced up to see a contemplative expression on the medic's faceplates.
"What?" Sam asked.
"I am taken aback at how well you adapted to that." Ratchet admitted, although there was a note of warm approval in his voice, "Filtering firewalls are more complicated than basic blocks."
"It felt more comfortable." Sam said, stretching his legs in front of him.
"So I could tell." Ratchet acknowledged.
The medic allowed Sam to take a brief break in order to drink a bottle of juice that he produced from thin air. At Sam's shocked reaction, Ratchet patiently explained about their ability to access subspace. Sam turned to Bumblebee, unable to believe this was the first time that he was hearing about it, but the scout merely shrugged, as though this was not an astonishing revelation. Sam huffed, giving him a mental shove, before he twisted the cap off the bottle of juice. He drank quickly, thankful that it was pulp-free, and capped the empty bottle moments later. Without needing to be told, Sam re-established the filtering firewall in his mind.
He could feel Ratchet's presence through their bond, critical and assessing, as he brushed against the block.
"It's well made." Ratchet consented, and then he cautioned, "Brace yourself."
Sam grimaced, instinctively fortifying the block, when he felt a sharp shove against the firewall. To his surprise, the firewall shivered, but maintained its integrity.
If the expression on Ratchet's faceplates was anything to go by, the medic was equally surprised.
"Well done, Sam." He murmured, and there was genuine praise in his voice. Ratchet seemed to consider him for a long time before continuing, "I am going to leave you outside of the confines of the Creator bond for the afternoon, so that you can continue to practice establishing and maintaining your blocks. Let me know immediately if you need a break."
Sam climbed to his feet, trying to keep the frown off his face. The filtering firewall might have been a significant improvement over the basic block, but it was still an annoying strain in his mind. Ratchet watched him in silence for a long moment, before he said unexpectedly, "Go get some fresh air. You have been stuck down here for too long."
Sam looked up at Ratchet, taken aback by the intensity of his expression. He tentatively reached for the medic across their bond, and was met with a quiet touch in response. Suddenly, Sam understood—Ratchet was feeling contrite.
He smiled faintly at the medic, "Thanks for your help today, Ratch. I appreciate it."
The medic did not reply, his expression inscrutable, and Sam stepped close to Bumblebee as he transformed into his alt mode. Sam was halfway inside the cab when he heard Ratchet's mental voice, gruff but sincere.
/You're welcome./
Twenty minutes later, Bumblebee pulled up to Simpson Point, a sandy outcropping about a mile and a half from base. The point was dotted with scrubby brush, but the thin strip of white sand beach was pristine. The area was surprisingly quiet, given its close proximity to base, owing to the unfavorable swimming conditions. Simpson Point was full of coral reef that wreaked havoc on feet and shins, and people opted to swim in the lagoon on the opposite side of the base.
Sam climbed out of Bumblebee's cab slowly, his eyes closing in pleasure at the feeling of hot sunshine on his skin. When he searched his memory, he realized that he hadn't been outside during the daytime since before Ripcord's attack. Sam open his eyes, glancing around the familiar beach. He and Bumblebee used to come here often, in the painful months after he had learned about the Allspark energy radiating from his cells. It was quiet and close to home, not unlike the reservoir back in Tranquility.
Sam ran a hand over Bumblebee's gleaming exterior, which had warmed pleasantly in the sunlight.
"Do you remember Christmas?" He asked, surprised by his own question.
Bumblebee inched forward, bumping against his legs.
/I do./
Sam was silent for a long moment, staring out over the cerulean expanse of water.
"I couldn't have imagined this, then." He said quietly, "It wouldn't have been possible."
He felt Bumblebee's soft touch in his mind, and Sam's eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the feeling. He would never get tired of this, not ever. Not even if he lived to be as old as Optimus Prime.
He felt Bumblebee's gentle agreement through their bond, and Sam ran his fingers over the scout's hood.
"What does this feel like?" He asked, curiously.
Bumblebee made a soft sound in consideration.
"Nothing like how your skin processes the sensation of touch. I interpret pressure, texture, and temperature. If those exceed a given threshold, the sensation is interpreted as pain by my processors."
Sam frowned minutely, "So you don't enjoy it when I touch you?"
Bumblebee brushed against him, reassuring and amused.
"I didn't say that. I have enjoyed your touch since we first met." Bumblebee said, and then his voice became soft and intense, "More so, since I realized the extent of your regard towards me."
Sam glanced at his guardian in surprise, "When was that?"
Bumblebee whistled at him softly, amusedly, "I noticed your attachment several months after Mission City, but I first noticed your attraction shortly after the Ark had arrived."
Sam was taken aback, "Really? Because I didn't know myself until just before I was attacked."
"I know."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Sam asked, frowning in confusion. Bumblebee's mental presence became serious and unusually reserved.
"Sam, for all of the incredible things that you have accomplished, you are very young. I did not want to broach the subject when so much of your life was in flux—when you were adrift and vulnerable." He paused, and then Sam felt a warm swell of affection, "I have lived for over three million years. You were worth waiting for a little while longer."
Sam snorted, shoving against the Camaro.
"Smooth talker."
Bumblebee paused suddenly, his attention turning outwards. A moment later, Sam became aware of two bright spots on the neural network, which were quickly approaching. He frowned, reinforcing the firewall in his mind, as he brushed against Bumblebee inquisitively.
"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker." Bumblebee explained, and Sam felt a twinge of apprehension. He could see the cloud of dust that the twins were kicking up as they approached, evidentially returning from patrol. Sam held his breath, hoping that they would turn east towards the base, but instead they slowed as they neared the crossroads and drove in their direction. Despite Sam's apprehension, he had to admire the brilliance of their spark signatures. He could understand now what Bumblebee had meant about twin sparks, for that is what they were—identical and striking, glistening like crystal sculptures in his mind. Sam found himself forced to admit that their vanity was not baseless—they were beautiful.
The twins pulled to a stop and transformed. Sam felt Bumblebee's insistent nudge, and he stepped aside so that his guardian could do the same. The sun was low and mellow, glinting brightly off their shining exteriors as they walked forwards, their pedes sinking into the soft loam of the roadside. Sunstreaker stopped a short distance away, looking down at Sam with his brilliant blue optics.
"I am glad to see that you are doing well." He said, tilting his head considerately, "Your firewalls are improving."
Sam blinked at him stupidly, completely blindsided by the compliment.
"Thank-you." He replied awkwardly, after a moment.
Sunstreaker hesitated, before lowering down to one knee in front of him.
"I regret that I was unable to prevent Ripcord's actions. He was a mentor and a friend, I should have suspected something."
Sam was taken aback by the sincerity in his words, and he frowned minutely.
"Ripcord wasn't your fault, Sunstreaker. He fooled Prowl and Ultra Magnus, you weren't to blame."
Sunstreaker regarded him closely, his expression a closed book.
"That is magnanimous of you. I am not sure that I would be as forgiving in your place."
Sam scoffed lightly, but there was no heat in it.
"Remind me never to piss you off, then."
To Sam's surprise, his words made the yellow warrior laugh softly. Sunstreaker tilted his head, regarding him intently for a long moment, before his mental presence brushed against him. The touch was surprisingly gentle, almost tender. Bumblebee made a low, warning trill from where he stood behind Sam, and Sunstreaker glanced up at him. As though realizing himself, the warrior murmured an apology and withdrew his mental presence. A moment later, he straightened and looked down at Sam with an inscrutable expression on his face.
"It is… refreshing to feel a newspark signature after all of this time."
Sideswipe stepped towards him, warbling pointedly in Cybertronian. Sunstreaker glanced towards his twin, his faceplates pulling up in exasperation. Without another word, Sunstreaker stepped back, transforming into his Maserati alt mode before driving off. Sideswipe followed suit a moment later, the two sport cars kicking up dust as they accelerated towards the base. Sam watched until the roar of their engines faded into the distance, and then he turned to pin his guardian with an inquiring look.
"Care to explain what the hell that was all about?"
It was only then that Sam noticed the stiffness in Bumblebee's frame, and the way that his optics tracked the retreating alt modes.
"Bee?" He asked, uncertainly.
"Sunstreaker has a soft spot for newsparks." He said at last, although his words in no way assuaged the confusion that Sam felt. He brushed against the scout's mental presence, noting his tension through their bond. After a moment, Bumblebee ex-vented softly and crouched down beside him.
"Sunstreaker could have been a Creator mechanoid, in another life. The loss of the Allspark was difficult for him to accept."
Sam narrowed his eyes at Bumblebee, suddenly defensive and angry.
"I am not the Allspark." He snapped.
"I know that, and so does Sunstreaker." Bumblebee reassured him, "Newsparks are considered precious to my species; as a Creator-sparked mechanoid that is doubly true for Sunstreaker."
Bumblebee's voice dropped an octave in irritation as he continued, "Regardless of his base programming, he should not have pressed in on you like that—he's bonded, he knows better than most."
"Knows what better than most?"
Bumblebee's expression intensified as he leaned forward, pressing close to Sam's body.
"Just how possessive spark bonded can be of one another."
Something about Bumblebee's tone, low and throaty, hit Sam right in the stomach. He reached out a hand, running it gently over Bumblebee's chest plating. The scout's optics shuttered slowly, before a whine escaped his vocoder as Sam's fingers ghosted over his spark casing. Sam could feel his interest through their bond—it wasn't arousal, as Sam understood it, but it was definitely heated and urgent. Sam moved close to his mental presence, brushing against it eagerly, and Bumblebee's helm pitched forward.
"Show me." He breathed, his heart starting to beat harder in his chest, "Can you?"
Bumblebee opened his optics, searching Sam's face with a quiet desperation that Sam understood all too well. He pressed his palm over Bumblebee's spark casing like a promise.
"Yours." He murmured, staring at the blue glow emanating from between his fingers, /Yours./
Bumblebee made a long, low sound that was so primal that it was almost pained. His servo came up to rest against Sam's back, and then Sam felt a soft touch in his mind. He leaned into the feeling, brushing back against Bumblebee's mental presence, when the touch turned electric.
EXPLICIT SCENE REMOVED
It was a long while before Sam could open his eyes, before he felt cognizant enough to confront the enormity of what had just happened. He straightened slowly, zipping his pants back up, before looking at his guardian. Bumblebee was staring back at him in naked reverence, and Sam laid his hand over Bumblebee's spark casing once again. The swell of emotion in his chest was painful in its intensity, but Sam couldn't say the words aloud. He couldn't even think them, because everyone that Sam loved went away. He swallowed hard, desperately willing his guardian—his bonded—to understand what it was that he could not articulate.
Bumblebee whistled softly, and Sam felt his mental presence wrap tightly around him.
/Yours./ Bumblebee's voice murmured in his mind. It was a promise and a vow, both.
Bumblebee seemed to understand the fragility of Sam's state of mind, for he stayed there with him until the sunlight was slanting across the ocean water. They stood in silence, Sam resting his forehead against Bumblebee's spark casing, and Bumblebee bracketing Sam's smaller body with his own. Their bond, however, was alight with feeling and impressions, which passed between them too quickly for Sam to examine. Sam calmed, slowly but surely, to the point that he was capable of withdrawing from their bond-space.
"That was intense." Sam admitted, glancing up at Bumblebee, "I feel like I should write Sunstreaker a thank-you card."
Bumblebee whistled at him in affronted amusement, but Sam could feel his guardian's quiet relief through their bond.
"No, seriously." Sam continued, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of his lips, "Jealousy sex is a new turn-on, you can write that down."
Bumblebee ex-vented a loud snort, stepping back to transform into his alt mode before popping open the driver's side door. Sam stepped forward, climbing into the cab without hesitation.
"Dave Carter has been calling you." Bumblebee said dryly, "You should call him back before he activates the tacnet."
Sam laughed lightly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone as Bumblebee accelerated towards the base. Sure enough, Sam could see four missed calls and a text message from the agent. Sam shifted against the seat, stretching his legs, before thumbing Dave's number.
The phone range twice, before Dave's voice cut through the receiver.
"Where are you?"
"Driving," He said vaguely, "What's up?"
Sam could hear loud talking and laughing in the background of the call, and Dave shouted for someone to be quiet.
"I mean, why aren't you here? It's twenty minutes until kick-off."
All at once, Sam remembered. The Super Bowl had been the day before, but due to the time zones, it had aired in the early hours of the morning. The Dining Facility was re-playing the game that evening, and it was Packers versus Steelers. Dave had told him about it a couple of days after Sam had woken up from his injury, but he hadn't thought anything else of it. As it turned out, strange alien bonds and mind-blowing sex were affective amnesiacs.
He was surprised by the thrill of anticipation that shot through him, and he briefly hoped that Ratchet's firewalls were still in place because he was about to make some bad life choices.
"I'm on my way. Save me a seat." He said, glancing at Bumblebee who revved his engine loudly. Sam disconnected the call, grinning wildly. He could feel Bumblebee's good humor through their bond as the scout shot down the road in the direction of Downtown. It was less than ten minutes later that Sam was sliding into a seat at a table with Dave, Will Lennox, Robin Williams, and Killian Anderson, in a packed lounge.
Dave pushed a beer towards him, and Sam accepted it with a nod of thanks.
"Feel like losing any more money, Sam? I have a hundred dollars on the Packers."
"Against the Steelers?" Sam asked incredulously, taking a long drink from his glass, "I'll definitely take that action."
Dave leaned forward, grinning, "I'm going to use your money to buy a signed Antonio Brown jersey, and then I'm going to display it in Ops."
Sam chuckled loudly, glancing towards the others at the table.
"How much has he had to drink?"
"He's sober, if you can believe it." Williams replied dryly, and Lennox tossed a handful of peanuts at him.
"You don't get to say shit. You're an Eagles fan."
Williams rolled his eyes, "I'm from Philly."
Killian leaned back in his chair, catching the eye of a server who cut across the busy room towards them. She glanced down at the table, taking in the half-empty glasses, and asked, "Would you like another round?"
"I'm good for another drink. Sam, hurry up and finish that."
"Can we have an order of wings?" Will asked, finishing his drink and setting the glass back on the table.
"Sure. 12, 24, or 48?"
"I'll get 48." Will said, waving off Dave who was already pulling out his card.
"Okay, mild, medium, hot, or flaming?"
Will glanced around the table, and Sam shrugged, "It's your money, get whatever you want."
"The hotter the better." Will said with a quirk of his lips, and the server nodded before wading back through the sea of patrons towards the kitchen entrance.
Their conversation was interrupted a short while later by the start of the game, and Sam leaned back in his chair as he finished his drink. Dave nudged him with a good-natured grin.
"That white, gold, and green looks awful good out there. When was the last time the 49ers won the Super Bowl?"
Sam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling when he replied, "1995."
"What year were you born again?" The agent asked, although Sam was certain that he already knew the answer.
"2000."
"Ouch." Dave said with false sympathy in his voice, "The Packers last won in 2011, by the way."
"Dave, you are the worst shit-talker I have ever met. The 49ers have won the Super Bowl five times, the Packers have only won twice." Sam leaned forward, a shit-eating grin crossing his face, "When I win that bet, I'm also going to buy a Packers jersey, and then I'm going to let Ironhide use it for target practice."
The server returned before Dave could reply, setting down their drinks and a colossal plate of wings. Sam took a deep drink of his beer and then he grabbed a wing off the plate. The spice from the sauce made his eyes burn in a foreboding sort of way, and Sam took a bite.
"Holy shit, it's like battery acid." Killian cursed, "Lord, fuck."
Sam grinned, because it was definitely south Asian spicy, not white collar America spicy. He took another drink of his beer, before grabbing a second wing.
"Jesus Sam, slow down on those. Your asshole is going to feel like the Eye of Sauron tomorrow."
Sam choked on a laugh, hastily taking another drink of his beer. He never failed to be impressed by the Marine's ability to swear in new and creative ways. Sam heard Dave groan loudly, and he glanced at the screen to see that the Steelers had taken possession of the ball.
"Get used to that feeling." Williams advised him, before tossing his wing bones back on the plate.
"I sign-off on your paycheck." Dave threatened mildly, never taking his eyes off the television. When the Packers reclaimed possession a few minutes later, Dave shoved at Williams enthusiastically.
By the time that the half-time show was over, they had worked their way through most of the wings and two more pitchers of beer. The Steelers led the Packers 22-16, and Dave was starting to get tetchy—much to their combined amusement. They were finishing up the third quarter, when Sam blearily realized that he was back within the confines of the Creator bond. The realization sobered Sam up immediately—there was no longer any doubt as to whether Ratchet knew what he was doing.
Will handed Sam another beer, and he shrugged minutely.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
When Sam woke up in the middle of the night with a roiling stomach, he just managed to make it to the bathroom before he was sick. The wings really did burn like battery acid on their way back up, and Sam moaned as he slumped down in front of the toilet. He sat there for an interminable time, retching miserably and reasonably sure that he was about to die, when he heard a dry voice above him.
"You little idiot."
He glanced up to see Ratchet's holoform staring down at him with an unimpressed expression on its face. Sam groaned, pressing his head into the crook of his arm.
"I'm not in the mood for a lecture, Ratchet."
The medic snorted loudly, handing him a glass and a hand towel. Sam rubbed the towel over his sweaty face, before tentatively sipping at the water.
"I am not here to give you a lecture."
"Then why are you here?" Sam asked caustically, as his stomach gave another threatening lurch.
Ratchet crouched down beside him, so that they were at an eye level with one another.
"Because even though you made some 'bad life choices' tonight, you were no more foolish than the other miscreants that you were with."
"So go bother them."
Ratchet tilted his head, his expression softening in exasperation.
"They aren't my ward."
When Sam was finished emptying the contents of his stomach, Ratchet guided him back into his bedroom to sit on the edge of his bed. The holoform helped Sam out of his clothes, which he realized that he had not changed before he passed out. When Sam fell back against the pillows with a miserable groan, Ratchet disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a fresh glass of water. He handed the glass to Sam, and produced two powdery tablets.
"An antiemetic." He explained, but Sam swallowed them down without complaint.
Sam lay there for a long time, wishing desperately for sleep or for death, when Ratchet's voice cut through the silence of his bedroom.
"Despite the consequences, I am glad that you enjoyed yourself tonight."
Sam squinted at the holoform blearily, "Why do you say that?"
Ratchet smiled at him, his expression openly fond.
"Because Primus knows that you deserve it." He said, snapping off the bathroom light, "And because you won't remember any of this in the morning."
Notes: Well friends, we are coming to the end. There are only two chapters left in this story. Thank-you for sticking with me, I never would have made it this far without your encouragement, feedback, and support.