Chapter Warning: Flashback to sexual assault.
Hoist adjusted the clamp on the bag of saline to his satisfaction, before making his way around the gurney to retrieve a pitcher of water from the side table. He filled a plastic cup to the brim and extended it towards Sam. Sam looked from Hoist, to the cup, and back again, before he reached out his good hand to accept the offering.
"Thanks." He murmured, taking a sip to appease the holoform. The water was cool and fresh, lacking the flat, metallic tang from the base's indoor plumbing system. Sam huffed softly in surprise and took a deeper drink. Hoist smiled at him approvingly, his expression kind and open, before he fetched a pile of folded linen from the shelf along the back of the berth. The holoform stepped forward, offering the towel to Sam.
"Ratchet disapproves of containment's in his medical bay." Hoist explained, almost apologetically.
At Sam's confused expression, the holoform gestured meaningfully to his legs. All at once, Sam realized that his pants were still rolled up, and he was covered in sand almost to his knees.
"Oh, right." Sam said, setting the cup down on the overbed table. He took the towel from the holoform, rubbing it over his shins and feet. When he finished, he rolled down his pants and brushed off the mattress. Hoist's bipedal mode made quick work of the mess, wiping down the berth with an efficiency born of long experience. When he was finished, the medic carried the soiled linen across the hangar.
Sam took another drink of water, turning his attention inwards. Although Ratchet's presence was fully accessible to him across their bond-space, the medic was strangely closed off. It only took him a moment to realize that Ratchet's attention was focused elsewhere. Before he could ponder the implications of this knowledge, the distant wail of the proximity alarm abruptly cut off.
He sighed in relief, the sudden absence of sound strangely loud in his ears. He turned to make a comment to Bumblebee, but whatever he might have said trailed off in his throat. His bonded was standing rigidly a short distance away, armor plating and door wings flared outwards. The sight caused the corners of Sam's mouth to downturn slightly. It was a familiar display—he had seen it in both Mission City and in Egypt. Bumblebee was threat posturing.
"Bee." Sam called softly. It took a second or two for the yellow scout to respond to his voice—which, for an organism capable of analyzing terabytes of data in moments, was deeply concerning. Bumblebee's optics shuttered slowly, their lenses spiraling down to pinpoints before focusing on him.
"C'mon buddy." Sam said, trying to inject levity into his voice, "Everything's copasetic, you can relax."
"He can't help it, Sam." Hoist explained gently, as he approached the berth, "His threat identification protocols are over-clocked."
"What?" Sam asked, confusedly.
"It is nothing to be concerned about. Bumblebee is neither in any danger nor in pain. He will come out of it after his systems finish re-organizing his priority codes."
Sam's frown returned as he glanced from the medic to his bonded. Bumblebee was watching them closely, his optics unnaturally bright. Sam could hear the hiss of his hydraulics, audible over the faint hum of his fully charged capacitator. The realization that his bonded was at the mercy of his core programming was deeply unsettling. Hoist seemed to sense his uncertainty, his concern, for the medic was suddenly all business. He stepped towards the gurney, cleaning off the overbed table with precise movements.
"Can you eat? It's almost seven." Hoist asked, voice kind but firm.
Sam slowly turned to look at the medic, a sick feeling in his stomach.
"Huh?"
"What do you want for supper?" Hoist prompted, switching tactics.
"Oh. I'm not hungry."
Hoist hummed sympathetically, "Be that as it may, Ratchet has you on a regimented meal plan. You need between 400 and 600 calories before you go to sleep. What would you like to eat?"
Sam glanced at the medic in surprise, temporarily distracted from the anxiety churning in his gut.
"I think that's the first time I've ever been asked. Ratchet just brings whatever he wants me to eat."
"Of that, I am certain." Hoist replied with a chuckle, "The digital menu indicates that this evening's main courses are pho, chicken curry, or vegetarian lasagna."
"Oh, um. Pho, I guess?"
The medic nodded encouragingly, "Alright, I will have someone bring it over. In the meantime, you should get some rest."
Hoist smiled at him before he stepped away, walking across the hangar towards the workbenches. Sam watched him go, before settling himself back against the mattress. He tucked his hands behind his head, mindful of his injuries, and stared up at the ceiling. As with most other surfaces of the medical bay, the ceiling was etched with whorls and overlaid with a lattice of cables. He followed the cables with his eyes, tracking their meandering route over the ceiling and down the walls.
The sudden, soft sound of hydraulics and shifting metal drew Sam's attention back towards his bonded. Bumblebee's posture had relaxed, his plating settling back against his chassis. As Sam made to push up onto his elbows, Bumblebee crouched down beside the berth.
"Hey." Sam said, his heartrate picking up, "You back with me? You okay?"
Bumblebee's expression became sheepish, almost embarrassed.
"I am sorry if I startled you, Sam. The far-reaching control of our protocols can be aggravating at times."
"It's okay." Sam replied, "I was just… surprised, is all."
Bumblebee whistled at him understandingly, and Sam reached out a hand to stroke the warm metal of his faceplates.
"Does it ever put you off? How different I am?" Sam asked quietly, "I don't have base programming or battle protocols. I can't think like you do or respond to threats like you do."
Bumblebee shuttered his optics at him, as though he were considering his question seriously.
"I often reflect on our differences, certainly." Bumblebee replied, thoughtfully, "But they are not a source of disappointment for me. On the contrary, your perspective is… refreshing, after all this time."
Sam laughed lightly, "Is that a euphemism for something?"
"Not at all." Bumblebee denied, "The way that you perceive your environment, the way that you process sensations, the way that you feel… it is invigorating. I enjoy it very much."
The sincerity in Bumblebee's voice made the corners of Sam's lips twitch up.
"Well, that's nice to hear." Sam murmured.
"Our differences are less important than our similarities." Bumblebee continued, "Our peoples both value life and liberty, there are things that bring us joy and those that cause us sorrow. We love and are loved, we live and we die, and our experiences are all the more precious for it."
Sam looked into his bonded's solemn optics, his expression softening in affection.
"That's some pretty deep stuff, Bee."
"Totally, man." Bumblebee deadpanned, and Sam threw back his head and laughed. He was still chuckling when Hoist brought his dinner a few minutes later. The broad-framed medic set the tray on the overbed table, pushing it towards him with a servo.
"Thanks." Sam said, turning to sit cross-legged on the bed.
"It is my pleasure." Hoist replied, before stepping in front of Bumblebee, "Is now a good time?"
His bonded shrugged noncommittally, but he extended his left arm all the same. Hoist chirped at him, a complicated series of short, high-pitched sounds, before he unspooled his interface cable. As Sam retrieved his spoon and began to eat, he watched Hoist plug into Bumblebee's medical port.
"Everything okay?" He asked, warily.
Both Bumblebee and Hoist turned to look at him.
"Of course," Hoist replied immediately, "Routine maintenance, nothing to cause any concern."
"What kind of routine maintenance?" Sam countered.
"Hoist is running a diagnostic on my combat sub-routines." Bumblebee soothed, "There's really nothing wrong. Think of it like an annual check-up."
Mollified by the feeling of sincerity from across their bond, Sam turned back to his supper. The pho was lightly seasoned with tender pieces of beef. He finished the entire thing, even spooning the remnants of rice noodles from the bottom of the bowl. It warmed him from the inside out, leaving him feeling comfortably full. When Hoist returned to check on him a short while later, Sam pushed aside the overbed table and asked to use the washroom. The medic obligingly unhooked him from the IV and Bumblebee walked him across the hangar. After he had finished, Sam washed his hands and splashed his face with water, sluicing away sweat and sea salt. He dried his face with a towel from the shelf set in the wall, and then walked back out into the medical bay.
To his relief, Ratchet was standing in front of his workbench, speaking quietly with Hoist in Cybertronian. Sam walked towards Bumblebee, who was crouched in his bi-pedal mode a short distance away. He stepped close to the scout, angling his head to smile up at him. Bumblebee whistled at him softly, raising his servo in order to trail the tips of his digits down the length of Sam's back.
"You did well on your supper." Ratchet commented, and Sam turned to see that the medic was regarding him with his arms folded over his chassis.
"I like Pho." Sam replied, raising his shoulder in a shrug, "Where'd you go?"
Ratchet regarded him for a long moment, as though he were considering his response.
"Prime called a senior staff meeting regarding the Seekers' request."
Sam frowned faintly. Before his captivity, he had been included among Optimus' senior staff.
"That is not necessarily so." Ratchet corrected, responding to his unspoken thoughts, "You exist outside of the NEST command structure. Your prior invitations were at Prime's discretion."
"And Optimus didn't want me there today." Sam intuited, voice flat.
"Whether he did or did not is irrelevant. You have not been cleared for return to active duty."
Sam rolled his eyes at the medic's matter-of-fact tone, but he did not respond to the intimation. Instead, he asked the question that had been sitting on his mind ever since he heard about the request for parlay.
"Well? Is Optimus going to do it?"
"Yes, he is. He has agreed to meet with them tomorrow afternoon."
Sam's frown returned, deepening as anxiety twisted in his belly.
"Any idea what they want?"
Ratchet's expression became pointed, "Not precisely, no. Extrapolating from the available facts, however, we can reasonably assume that it has to do with you."
"Is it safe?" Sam asked quietly.
"If you are asking whether the base will be protected, the answer is yes." Ratchet replied, "There have been substantial improvements to both security and military countermeasures since Megatron's attack." The medic's countenance became no-nonsense as he continued, "If you are asking whether you yourself will be safe, you will not be going."
Sam's frown sharpened, irritation joining his anxiety.
"I'm not exactly thrilled to see them again, but I should be there if I'm the focus of the discussion."
"Don't argue, Sam." Bumblebee replied before Ratchet could speak. Sam turned to look up at him, taken aback by the scout's tone. He could not remember the last time that Bumblebee had sounded so unyielding. He flushed to his hairline, feeling deeply disconcerted, as his eyes dropped away from the scout's face.
"That's enough." Ratchet said brusquely, lowering into a crouch as he extended a servo towards Sam, "It's time to get you situated for the evening."
Sam climbed into the large metal palm without another word, steadying himself as Ratchet stood up and deposited him beside the gurney. He pulled off his pants, leaving them in a pile on the berth, before climbing onto the mattress. As soon as he was in place, Ratchet's holoform materialized beside him. Sam left himself be maneuvered without protest. First, his IV was reconnected and then he was guided to lay back against the mattress. The holoform twitched the blankets up to his chest, and then turned to inspect the bag of saline. Apparently, Ratchet was satisfied with whatever he saw, for the holoform disappeared a moment later.
"Get some sleep, Sam." The CMO instructed, not unkindly, "I will lower the lights."
Sam did not reply, instead rolling onto his side as he pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. He had slept until noon and it was still early in the evening. Although he knew that sleep would be a long time coming, he had absolutely no desire to speak with anyone. After an extracted silence, Sam could hear the sound of metal against metal as someone—presumably Bumblebee—transformed into their alt mode. A moment later, Bumblebee's holoform appeared on the berth in front of him. The holoform's expression was hesitant, almost uncertain, as though he were afraid of being rebuffed. Sam shifted backward, making room for him on the mattress. With a look of abject relief, the holoform climbed onto the gurney, settling down beside him. He tucked one arm beneath his head, resting the other over Sam's hips. Sam didn't say a word, instead closing his eyes as he struggled not to dwell on why Bumblebee's seriousness left him feeling so vulnerable.
Although Sam was certain that sleep would not come, he drifted off after only a short while. He slept deeply, his dreams untroubled despite the tumultuousness of the afternoon. When he awoke an interminable time later, to the sound of shifting metal and hushed voices, Sam groaned in disapproval. He was warm and comfortable, and he had absolutely no desire to get up. He rolled over, pulling the blankets up to his ears as he tucked his face against the pillow. He heard a quiet chuckle behind him, and Bumblebee's holoform shifted to accommodate his new position.
He lay there like that, drifting in the hazy place between fully awake and fully asleep, when he heard another clang of metal against metal. He cracked open an eye and lifted his head slightly to look in the direction of the noise. Jolt was lying supine on a berth halfway down the hangar. Hoist was standing at his side, his servos wrist-deep in the warrior's side plating. Jolt's electric whips lay coiled at his side, inert.
Sam frowned, pushing himself up onto one elbow.
"Is he alright?"
"He's fine." Bee assured him, amusement in his voice, "Although he will be less fine if Ratchet catches wind of it."
Sam turned to glance over his shoulder. The holoform was lying behind him, his expression open and relaxed. The sight of him made Sam's lips quirk in affection, the anxiety and uncertainty of the previous night soothed away by a good rest.
"Good morning." He murmured, voice rough with sleep, as he rolled onto his back.
"Good morning." Bumblebee replied, "You slept well."
The words were a statement, not a question, and Sam chuckled quietly before glancing back towards Jolt.
"What happened to him?"
"Jolt happened to himself." Hoist replied dryly, before removing his servos from Jolt's side, "Alright, you can close up."
Obligingly, the plating on Jolt's side shifted back into place and his optics on-lined as he sat up.
"Thanks, Doc." The shock trooper said cheerfully, "Appreciate it."
Hoist's expression was one of good-natured exasperation, "Next time, leave the scaffolding to the engineers."
Jolt shrugged, pushing off the berth, "It was faster for me to do it."
"Evidentially not."
Jolt picked up his electric whips and coiled them back into place at his side. When he finished, he glanced down the hangar in Sam's direction.
"Good morning, Sam. Glad you're back."
"Thanks Jolt." Sam replied.
The blue and white shock trooper raised two fingers to his forehead in a friendly salute, before he turned and made his way out of the medical bay. Hoist cleaned off the berth, retrieving his assortment of tools and putting them back on the workbench along the opposite wall. Sam turned back towards the holoform, smiling at him faintly.
"We never slept together before all of this. How can you spare the energon?"
"We haven't been on energon rations in over three months—not since Beachcomber arrived and took over surveying." Bee replied.
Sam reached out his good hand to trace the edge of the holoform's jaw.
"Well, I'm glad. This is nice."
Bumblebee's eyes brightened, his expression warm and sunny.
"It is. I enjoy it a great deal."
Sam laughed lightly, "Yeah, well, I think I got the better end of the bargain. I know that I snore."
"And drool." Bumblebee replied pleasantly. Sam made an indignant noise, and a moment later, the holoform caught a pillow full in the face.
"Humans do have a staggering variety of secretions, but we do not hold it against you." First Aid agreed cheerfully as he approached the berth. Sam glanced up at him, surprised to see the medic had a cafeteria tray pinched gingerly between two digits. The medic's tone was so genuine and friendly that it was impossible to take offense at his words. Sam pushed himself into a sitting position as First Aid settled the tray on the overbed table. A quick glance revealed that eggs, home fries, and fruit was on the menu for breakfast. All at once, Sam was surprised to realize that he was ravenous. He hadn't felt the sensation of hunger in a long time. He felt an answering swell of relief-joy across the spark bond, and he tossed a smile in Bumblebee's direction before turning back to First Aid.
"Hey, thanks buddy." Sam said, picking up his fork.
The medic chirped at Sam's words, his wing flaps fluttering expressively.
"Oh, am I, Sam?" First Aid asked earnestly, "Am I your… buddy?"
Sam blinked in surprise, completely taken aback by the medic's hopeful tone. He glanced towards Bumblebee's holoform, looking for assistance or an explanation. Instead, the holoform just grinned back at him, motioning with his hand in a 'go on then' gesture.
The bastard.
Sam turned back to First Aid, stumbling over his words as he replied.
"Well, I mean… sure you are. If you want to be."
First Aid chirped again, a series of short, rolling notes, before he reached out a single digit to press against Sam's chest.
"Yes, Sam. I would like that." He replied, serious and sincere in equal measures.
Sam patted the digit awkwardly, "Well okay, that's settled then."
First Aid's optics brightened noticeably, "Thank-you, Sam. Enjoy your breakfast… buddy."
Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head in amusement as he speared a piece of cantaloupe with his fork. First Aid walked across the medical bay, chirping expressively to himself, before stopping in front of the supplies closet at the far end of the room.
/Care to tell me what that was all about?/ Sam asked, working his way through the fruit tray.
/First Aid has always been very literal./ Bumblebee replied, amusement coloring his words, /Of all of us, he has had the hardest time adjusting to the nuances of human speech./
/That explains a lot./
Sam turned his attention back towards his breakfast. The fruit was fresh and the home fries were that perfect blend of crispy-soft that he enjoyed. The eggs were over easy, rather than scrambled, but he ate them all the same. By the time that First Aid returned with a new bag of saline, Sam had finished every morsel of food on the tray. The medic switched out the IV bags before turning to regard him.
"Do you feel up to bathing and getting dressed? There is a change of clothing for you in the wash racks."
Sam nodded his assent, and Bumblebee helped him off the gurney and across the hangar. It wasn't until the scout crouched in front of the bathroom door that Sam realized he was wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. After Bee settled him on his feet, Sam reached up to pat the smooth metal of his faceplates in appreciation, before he stepped through the open door. He flipped the switch on the wall by the sink and florescent light flooded the small room. Sam brushed his teeth first, scrubbing his teeth and gums, before he used the bathroom. When he finished, he kicked away his boxers and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. The fabric was halfway off when warm hands settled on his hips, causing him to startle and give an undignified squawk of surprise.
Bumblebee chuckled softly, pressing against Sam's naked body as he pulled his shirt the rest of the way off and dropped it on the floor.
"What are you doing?" Sam hissed, arousal and mortification combing to spread a blush across his face, "Hoist is right there."
Bee ducked his head to tug lightly at Sam's earlobe with his teeth, "Do you object?"
Sam groaned, low in his throat, as Bumblebee mouthed at the sensitive spot on his neck. It took a great deal of willpower for him to push the holoform away.
"Yes, I object." Sam whispered, struggling not to dwell on the way that his dick was twitching with interest, "I am not having sex with Fred fucking Rogers MD out there!"
Bumblebee grinned, his eyes bright with amusement.
"Are you sure?"
Sam groaned, his head falling back as he struggled to dredge together the last of his willpower, "If you don't get out of here right this second, there's going to be a picture of you in the dictionary under justifiable homicide."
Bumblebee laughed aloud, before pressing a chaste kiss against Sam's cheek.
"Raincheck?"
Sam snorted, rolling his eyes.
"Yes, obviously, I'm not made of stone." He replied impatiently, "Now get out."
Bumblebee smirked at him, an indecent expression if ever there was one, before the holoform shimmered and disappeared. Sam took a moment to get his raging hormones under control and then he turned the shower to cold and stepped in. The shock of icy water down his back was an effective anaphrodisiac, and he washed as quickly as he was able. By the time that Sam was dressed, he felt far less likely to commit murder.
As Sam stepped into the hangar, he saw that Ratchet had replaced Hoist at the workbench. He turned as Sam made his way towards Bumblebee, who was resting in his alt mode beside the berth.
"Good morning, Sam. You slept well."
"Morning Ratch." Sam greeted good-naturedly, "Yeah, I did."
The medic crouched down as he approached, a blue beam emanating from a node set in his helm to sweep Sam from head to foot.
"Your appetite has much improved over the last twelve hours as well. How do you feel?"
Sam shrugged, using a pinkie finger to get water out of his ear, "Good. Really good, actually."
Ratchet regarded him for a long moment, his expression one of clinical seriousness.
"You are recovering remarkably well. Your heart rate, blood pressure, and body temperature are all within normal parameters. The electrochemistry of your blood has also been stable for twenty-four hours."
"Aww, Ratch, you big flatterer."
The medic ex-vented a loud snort, and Sam could feel a swell of fond exasperation across their bond-space.
"Do you want that IV removed or not?" Ratchet drawled.
Sam blinked up at him in surprise, "What? Yes, definitely. Isn't it early?"
Ratchet extended a servo towards him, and Sam clambered on immediately. The medic brought his other servo around to cup against Sam's back, steadying him as he rose and walked across the medical bay.
"For most patients suffering persistent electrolytic imbalance, the treatment schedule is four to seven days. You, however, are not most patients. The healing factor provided by the Allspark energy has contributed greatly to your recovery."
He set Sam down on the berth and a moment later, his holoform flickered into existence. All at once, Sam recalled First Aid's words from the day before, and he glanced up at the medic uncertainly.
"Ratch… you know that I'm not afraid of you anymore, right?"
The medic shuttered his optics slowly, an unfathomable expression on his face.
"I am aware that my bipedal mode no longer triggers your stress response, yes." He replied, after a moment.
Sam frowned faintly, "Then why do you still use your holoform? You don't have to."
Rather than reply, Ratchet gestured with a servo towards the gurney. Sam huffed a sigh, but he obediently climbed up onto the mattress before turning to sit facing the medic. Ratchet's holoform stepped forward then, grasping Sam's shoulder with his hand. The touch was firm and gentle. Grounding.
After a long moment, Ratchet cycled air through his vents.
"I am aware that you no longer fear me, Sam. I utilize my holoform because it makes you comfortable."
Sam frowned deeply, but before he could reply, Ratchet continued his thought.
"I do not mean that my bipedal form makes you uncomfortable. Rather, my holoform is able to interact with you in ways that trigger the mammalian relaxation response."
"…what?"
"In the last four minutes, your breathing has deepened, your heartbeat has decreased, and your limbic system has increased production of serotonin and dopamine." Ratchet explained patiently, "It's the human body's response to a familiar touch."
Sam blinked at the holoform in disbelief, "Are you saying that you use your holoform because you can manipulate my brain chemistry?"
"I would not put it in those words." Ratchet replied dryly, "Humans are genetically hardwired for this type of interaction, and that is not something that I can provide in my bipedal mode."
Sam would have felt offended, violated even, if he weren't able to feel Ratchet's quiet earnestness through their bond. All at once he realized that the medic lamented being unable to interact with Sam this way without his holoform. The realization softened his irritation, and Sam snorted in response.
"That's a bit creepy, Ratchet."
"That's human biology, Samuel." He returned without hesitation. The medic pulled the overbed table towards him, upon which medical supplies were already organized. With quick, efficient motions, Ratchet removed his IV—that hurt—and pressed a cotton ball against the exit site.
"Press firmly." He instructed, and Sam complied. Ratchet retrieved a butterfly bandage and, after checking to see that the bleeding had stopped, applied it to the back of Sam's hand. The CMO made to gather up the medical supplies when he stilled, his head tilting in the manner that indicated that he was listening to his internal communications array. After a moment, Ratchet ex-vented a disapproving snort.
"Against my recommendations, Prime is on his way to see you."
"Wait, what?" Sam asked in surprise, "Why?"
"Why else?" Ratchet asked peevishly, "To discuss the parlay."
"But I thought you said that I wasn't going to the parlay."
"And unless Prime wants a mutiny on his hands, you're not." Ratchet replied stiffly, gathering up the medical supplies and carrying them across the hangar. Sam glanced towards Bumblebee's alt mode.
"What crawled up his tailpipe and died?"
The Camaro rolled backwards before rapidly transforming. As soon as the last metal plates slid into place, he crouched beside the berth.
"Sam, you know that he worries."
"Yeah, yeah. I know." He replied, frowning faintly, "Do you know what this is about?"
"No, I don't, but we're about to find out." Bee answered, turning to regard the hangar doors. Moments later, Optimus Prime stepped into the medical bay, his entire countenance solemn and serious. He inclined his head towards Ratchet, who raised a servo and waved him off without turning to look at him. Optimus' gaze lingered on Ratchet's back for a long moment, and then he made his way across the hangar towards Sam.
"Good morning, Sam." He greeted, his voice a warm baritone, "Did you sleep well?"
Sam pushed himself off the gurney, moving to stand at the edge of the berth. Optimus came to stop in front of him, crouching down so that they were at an eye-level with one another.
"What's going on, Optimus?" Sam asked, in lieu of an answer, "No one will tell me anything."
"You've been told all that you need to know." Ratchet called across the hangar sharply.
Optimus glanced towards his Chief Medical Officer, disapproval evident in his expression, before looking back at Sam.
"I have accepted Thundercracker's request for parlay. We will meet at three o'clock this afternoon on the southern airfield."
Sam frowned, "Has he told you what they want?"
Optimus regarded him for a long moment, as though he were carefully considering his answer.
"They wish to discuss you—more specifically, your role as Allspark and Prime."
He narrowed his eyes at the Autobot leader, "I'm not the Allspark."
"Yes, Sam. I know." Optimus reassured him.
Sam folded his arms over his chest, well aware of how defensive it made him appear, "I want to go."
There was a loud clang of metal against metal as Ratchet slammed the equipment that he had been working on against the workbench. The medic turned to face them, his expression openly angry.
"Sam, I've already told you—"
Optimus turned to regard the medic, his expression censorious and disapproving. Ratchet narrowed his optics at the Autobot leader, staring at him pointedly—clearly, they were having a heated discussion over comms. After a moment, some of the tension left Ratchet's frame, and Sam knew that the discussion had not concluded in his favor.
"Sam." Optimus rumbled, turning his attention back towards him, "I understand your desire to be present at the parlay, but the risk is too great."
"Fine, then I want to be outside of the Creator bond."
"No." Ratchet replied flatly, approaching the berth, "It is likely that either Thundercracker or Skywarp have Creator programming."
Sam frowned up at the medic, "If they had it, they would have already used it."
To his surprise, it was Optimus who replied.
"That is highly unlikely. None of the command trine would make a move against Megatron." He refuted, shaking his helm minutely, "And we know that Starscream has Creator programming—it would follow that his trinemates have access to the same."
Sam's frown deepened, "There's no way that Starscream is a Creator. He's about as nurturing as a brick to the face."
Ratchet ex-vented a snort, coming to stand beside his Prime.
"Starscream was a Vosian prince, he has on-lined many mechanoids." Ratchet said, waving his servo impatiently, "It is most likely how Megatron got ahold of Creator programming in the first place."
Sam glanced at the medic in surprise, "What?"
"As you know, Megatron was on-lined as a gladiator-build. Creator programming was not part of his build-class." Optimus explained patiently. Something about the Autobot leader's words triggered a memory, and he glanced up at him.
"Is it true that he was sparked without written language protocols?"
Optimus inclined his helm gravely, "Yes, it is true."
Sam's frown returned and he worried the inside of his lip with his teeth. After a moment, he asked, "So what's the end game here? They want to parlay, but I'm not going to agree to anything they want."
Almost before he finished speaking, he was aware of the vulnerable tone in his voice—he sounded uncertain and afraid, even to his own ears. Optimus' optics softened minutely and, after a moment, he felt a familiar pinging sensation. Sam allowed the connection to blossom to life between them, and then Optimus was there in his mind. His presence was as ethereal as he remembered—brilliant white and beautiful—and Sam felt himself relaxing at the quiet thrum of reassurance that he could feel through their connection.
/You have my word that I will not agree to any demand that involves you without your express contribution and consent./
Sam sighed softly, his head pitching forward. He knew that Optimus wouldn't have used him as a bargaining chip, but it was comforting to hear his reassurance all the same. After a moment, he felt Optimus mental presence brush gently against Sam's mind. It was a tender gesture, one filled with affection, and he smiled faintly in response. Seemingly encouraged by his reaction, Optimus shifted and familiar warmth flooded across his mind—
Sam stumbled backwards, his eyes snapping open, "Stop it!"
He felt Optimus' surprise and confusion, but it was too late. Even as the sensation faded away, Sam was lost to the flashback—Megatron's presence filling his mind, intense pleasure and choking fear mingling together, and then a culmination of physical expression.
Then, Megatron's satisfied rumble–
"There is no shame in accepting what your Master offers."
Sam felt Optimus jerk away in shock, the connection between them snapping closed. Sam gasped for breath, his heart jackrabbiting painfully in his throat. Then, Ratchet's mental presence was there, brushing away the last remnants of the flashback, but it didn't matter. The flashback wasn't the cause of his distress.
They know.
Sam gasped desperately, hunched over as he tried to pull air into his burning lungs. Shame and fear and self-loathing crashed over one another, blotting out all rational thought. The only thing that he was capable of understanding was that, no matter how he struggled, he couldn't breathe.
He was distantly aware of their urgent voices, barely audible over the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears, and then Bumblebee was there. His bonded's presence filled his mind, eminently calming and familiar.
/Breathe, Sam./
I can't, I can't breathe—!
/Yes, you can. Here, feel me./
Suddenly, warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him back against a broad chest. Sam struggled in fear, kicking out at the person behind him, but then Bumblebee's voice was in his mind again.
/Feel me, Sam./
And Sam did. Through the haze of his panic, Sam could feel the person behind him draw in a deep breath—his chest expanding as he did so—and then he released it slowly. The stimuli filtered into Sam's brain in fits and starts, and he struggled to pull air into his spasming lungs.
/Good, just like that. Try again, slowly—/
As the person behind him inhaled, Sam sucked air in through his nose, and as the person exhaled, his breath stuttered out through his mouth. He felt a warm pulse of approval over the lightheadedness that tingled through him. They stayed there like that, mirroring each other, until Sam's breathing had evened out. No longer at immediate risk of hyperventilating, Sam sank to his knees onto the berth. Bumblebee's holoform—and it was Bumblebee's holoform, he realized belatedly—followed him down, pressed closely against him.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassment and shame burning through him. Bumblebee's mental presence wrapped around him, warm and gentle and familiar. Although he did not speak in words, Sam could understand the soothing pulse that accompanied his touch. The complete, unconditional acceptance that Sam felt made his eyes burn with fresh tears. He knelt there for a long while, crying quietly as Bumblebee embraced him. Eventually, Bumblebee began to murmur at him softly, English and Cybertronian intermixed together. His voice was like a metronome, steady and grounding.
Sam listened in silence, his eyes closed and his hands clutching the arm that wrapped around his chest. It was a long time before he could open his eyes again and face the reality of the medical bay. When he finally managed to do so, he was met with the sight of Bumblebee's bipedal mode. The familiar face was less than a meter away, Bee's brilliant blue optics roving over him. Sam glanced around, surprised to see that they were completely alone. The hangar was empty and the lights were dimmed.
"They are respecting your privacy." Bumblebee explained softly, as his holoform tucked his chin over Sam's left shoulder.
Sam's breath shuddered out of him. He couldn't imagine what they must think—
"They think you're brave, and resilient, and stronger than you realize."
Sam glanced back up at his bonded's face, eyes burning with unshed tears.
"Then they're going to be very disappointed."
Bumblebee whistled at him, a mournful series of clicks and high-pitched tones. The scout reached out a large servo, cupping it against Sam's side.
"They aren't wrong, Sam. You're the strongest person I know—Autobot or otherwise." He murmured seriously, like a promise, "You're going to get through this."
Sam's eyes flicked to his bonded's face, and the earnestness that he saw there caused a spear of pain to lodge itself in his chest. He could feel that the tears had finally spilled over, but he was powerless to stop them.
"So it's true," Sam whispered brokenly, "infiltrators really are excellent liars."
Bumblebee made a low, pained sound, but he did not reply with words. Instead, his mental presence wrapped around Sam's like a blanket, and the scout let his sincerity and earnestness speak on his behalf. Sam could not reply around the emotion lodged in his throat. Instead, he leaned against his bonded, in both body and mind, and accepted the comfort that he offered.
Thundercracker and Skywarp transformed in mid-air, landing in their bipedal modes at the southernmost edge of the tarmac. To Thundercracker's surprise, only Optimus Prime and the Autobot medic stood waiting to greet them. He glanced around the wide, empty expanse of airfield, taken aback by the lack of reinforcements. The Seekers had fully expected Prime to assemble at least his senior staff to receive them—and a full show of military might would not have been unprecedented.
His attention was drawn back to the matter at hand as Optimus Prime strode towards them. The Autobot leader's battle mask was engaged, but otherwise he showed no sign of aggression. Thundercracker stepped forward, crossing his arm over his chassis and bending at the waist.
"Thank-you for receiving us, Prime."
Optimus stared at him for a long moment, his expression surprisingly cold. When he failed to return the greeting, Thundercracker felt Skywarp shift on his pedes behind him.
/What a warm reception./ His trinemate sent dryly.
Although Thundercracker could do without Skywarp's commentary, he too was taken aback by the Prime's unwelcoming demeanor. It was Prime who had agreed to parlay, after all. After the silence had stretched to the point of awkwardness, Thundercracker cleared his intakes and spoke.
"Lord Megatron desires—"
"What Megatron desires is no longer of any consequence to me." Optimus interrupted him, his tone midnight black, "You can inform your Master that there will be no parlay."
Thundercracker was unable to keep the surprise off his faceplates, but he quickly schooled his features. Something had obviously changed since the Prime had consented to their meeting. Behind him, Skywarp's fields flared with uncertainty and anxiety.
"I am sorry to hear that, Prime." Thundercracker replied, drawing on all of his long-forgotten courtier training, "I had hoped that this parlay would lead—"
"You may tell Megatron that the time for clemency has passed." Optimus rumbled, interrupting him for a second time, "If he chooses to surrender and be judged for his crimes, then I will be merciful. If he persists in this folly of a war, then there shall be no quarter given—for either him or those who follow his command."
Thundercracker could not prevent the jerk of surprise at the Prime's words. In all of their millions of years of conflict, never before had he issued such a proclamation. Skywarp's anxiety sharpened into fear, and he could sense his trinemate's desire to transform. Realizing the precariousness of their situation, Thundercracker bowed stiffly at the waist and turned to leave.
"Thundercracker, hold." Prime called, and the Seeker glanced back in surprise. The Autobot leader crossed the space between them, to stand directly in front of him. His optics roved over Thundercracker's face, as though trying to assess some measure of him, before he spoke.
"I would be grateful if you would pass along a personal message to your leader."
Thundercracker nodded minutely, keeping his expression and his electromagnetic fields neutral with great effort.
"You may tell him that I am in full possession of the facts, that I know what even his senior officers do not. If there is anything left of Megatronus within him, if he has any shred of affection left for me, then he will heed my words. If not, then I swear by my spark, I will have justice for his crimes—in this life or the next."
By the time that Prime had finished speaking, his voice was a low growl. Thundercracker stepped back reflexively, deeply shocked by the ichor in the other's tone. Without waiting for the Seeker to respond, Optimus turned on his pede and strode away. As he walked passed his Chief Medical Officer, the Autobot turned and followed behind him. Neither of them gave the two Seekers a backwards glance.
Thundercracker turned to look at Skywarp, who was plainly anxious to catch air. With a silent command, they transformed into their alt modes and streaked through the late afternoon sky, leaving Diego Garcia behind them.