In the aftermath of Sam's panic attack, he and Bumblebee stayed in the medical bay for hours. It took a long while for his choking grief to subside, and in the wake of his intense emotions, he was left feeling strangely empty. It was a sense of apathy that he had not felt since he had first learned about the Allspark energy affecting his physiology. The stark numbness was an almost welcome sensation, given its familiarity, and Sam could not muster up the energy to be concerned.
As soon as he was reasonably calm, Bumblebee presented his servo towards him. Sam understood at once what he was offering, and he slowly clambered to his feet before stepping onto the large, metal palm. Bumblebee brought him close to his chest, pausing only to stroke his digits down Sam's back, before he transformed around him. Although he was well used to the process by now, Sam still exhaled a shaky breath when he found himself in the familiar driver's seat seconds later. Bumblebee darkened the window tint as soon as he finished transforming, and then the multi-media interface brightened to illuminate the cabin. The menu flipped through options of its own accord before settling on Sirius XM radio. A moment later, the sound of classic rock filled the silence.
Sam leaned back against the seat, which reclined slightly to accommodate him. They stayed there like that, listening to the Top Hits of the 80s and 90s, without speaking a word to one another. Bumblebee's mental presence was close, occasionally brushing over his mind, but he did not crowd against him. By the time that Sam felt marginally closer to normal, his stomach was panging with hunger. A glance at the digital display revealed that it was just after noon.
"Would you like some lunch?" Bumblebee asked, voice pitched low so as not to startle him.
Sam looked at the dashboard for a long moment. Eventually, he replied, "Yeah, I could eat."
Bumblebee whistled at him, a single, rolling note of approval.
"Would you like to go to the mess? Or would you prefer to have your meal brought here?"
Sam considered the question before answering. On one hand, he had neither the desire nor the energy to be around people. On the other hand, he had been cooped up in the medical bay for days with only a few, brief respites. After the events of that morning, Sam was suddenly keen to be anywhere else but there.
"The mess, please."
As soon as he finished speaking, the window tint vanished and Bumblebee's engine turned over. The Camaro accelerated towards the hangar doors, before navigating through West Quad. Although it was relatively quiet in the Autobot section of the Hive, they passed Sunstreaker and Sideswipe near the command center and Jolt nearer Prime's office. As they turned onto the bridge, however, activity around them markedly increased. Civilian administrative staff, soldiers in combat gear, and officers in dress uniforms streamed along the corridor on the side designated for pedestrian traffic. Bumblebee drove at a leisurely pace, stopping only to let a camo green golf cart pass on their left.
A short while later, he pulled up in front of the North Quad entrance and opened the driver's side door. By the time that he climbed out of the cab, Bumblebee's holoform had shimmered to life beside him. Sam leaned back against the doorframe, taking in the sight of the familiar figure. Bee stood less than a foot away, his posture loose and relaxed, with an easy-going look on his face.
"Ready to go?" Bee asked.
"Yeah, thanks." Sam replied quietly.
They made their way together through the North Quad towards the mess hall. They nodded at the occasional stranger who greeted them, but otherwise they were silent. The clamor of animated talking and the clinking of dishware spilled into the corridor as they approached the mess. They walked into the hall and made their way towards the galley, queueing at the back of the line. Bumblebee picked up a cafeteria tray from the stack beside them and handed it to him. They were halfway down the galley, passed the pasta salads and the sandwich bar, when Sam remembered that he was on a diet plan. He frowned faintly, turning his attention towards the Creator bond. He could feel Ratchet's presence, distant and distracted, but accessible to him all the same. He waffled for a long moment, uncertain how to broach such a mundane topic after all that had happened earlier. Eventually, he brushed against Ratchet's presence, sending a wordless pulse of inquiry in his direction.
Almost immediately, he felt the weight of Ratchet's regard from across their bond-space. Although his mental presence was patient, Sam was sure that he wasn't misunderstanding the faint exasperation that the medic was projecting.
/You are being very loud./ Ratchet explained, as soon as the thought had crossed Sam's mind. The medic's dry tone caused the corners of his lips to quirk up, despite himself.
/Sorry./ He replied, glancing at the main course options that he was steadily approaching. Trying for nonchalance, he asked casually, /I'm at the mess. Is there anything I can't eat?/
/You may eat whatever you wish, so long as you meet or exceed 2200 calories per day./ Ratchet replied at once. The words were said matter-of-factly, delivered with his usual air of medical professionalism. Something about his tone, however, caused heavy emotion to wedge itself in Sam's chest. It wasn't until he was standing in front of the lunch entrees a short while later that Sam realized the feeling was appreciation. There hadn't been an iota of sympathy or pity in Ratchet's voice—the medic had treated him exactly as he always had. The realization warmed Sam from the inside out, and he gestured for sweet and spicy chicken with more vim than strictly necessary.
After Sam's meal was paid for—something that Bumblebee had arranged with the clerk, with assurances that Sam would get his identification badge back soon—they made their way to a quiet corner of the mess hall. Sam pulled out a chair and sat down, and Bumblebee followed suit. The holoform watched him with undisguised interest, and Sam couldn't help the faint smile that quirked his lips.
"It's not as bad as Chicken 65." Sam murmured, remembering the first time that Bumblebee had vicariously experienced Sam's penchant for spicy food.
Bumblebee's face warmed with amusement, "Your tolerance for capsaicin is impressive."
Sam huffed a soft laugh, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork and popping it into his mouth. The yellow sauce was nuanced and layered—sweetness flooded his mouth, chased immediately by a modest burst of heat.
"This isn't that hot."
"It is far more agreeable." Bee conceded, leaning back in his chair as he watched Sam eat.
The scout's words did an effective job of distracting Sam from the dark cloud hanging over him. He glanced across the table at him in surprise as he finished swallowing a mouthful of rice.
"Can you taste it?" He asked curiously.
The holoform tilted his head considerately, "Yes, I believe so. Although the sensations are foreign to me, I can infer which is spicy and which is sweet."
"I think I understand what you mean." Sam said, after a moment, "When Megatron showed me about energon, my brain tried to interpret the sensation in terms of food, even though the analogy was off."
At Megatron's name, the holoform's expression tightened minutely, but he replied without hesitation.
"I'll show you myself, the next time that I re-fuel. I would have showed you before, but it never occurred to me that you might be curious."
Sam snorted quietly, stabbing a piece of chicken and swirling it in the sauce, "It never occurred to me to be curious until Megatron showed me."
Bumblebee's mental presence stilled for a fraction of a second, and then it was brushing against Sam's mind. The touch was feather-soft, almost contrite, and Sam glanced up in surprise.
"I'm here, you know." Bee said, so quietly that Sam had to strain to hear him over the noisy din of the mess hall, "If you ever want to talk about it."
Sam looked at the holoform for a long moment, aware of the way that his heart was starting to beat harder in his chest, before he raised his shoulders in a shrug.
"I don't, but thank-you." Sam replied, keeping his tone even with some effort, "If that ever changes, I'll let you know."
Bumblebee nodded at him before changing the subject with all the grace of a water buffalo, "What's your favorite spicy food?"
Sam's eyebrows quirked of their own accord, but he appreciated what Bee was doing.
"Probably this." He replied, allowing the conversation to be re-directed, "Spicy diced chicken is hotter, but that's good too. There was an Afghan restaurant in Tranquility called Afghan Kebab Express—"
"On Central? Yes, I remember it." Bumblebee said.
"Yeah, that's it." Sam agreed, tilting his head curiously, "I don't remember going there with you."
Bumblebee's lips quirked, his expression equal parts chagrined and amused, "Your father took you there four days after you posted the eBay listing."
Sam stared at him in surprise for the space of a heartbeat, and then he actually laughed. It was a weak sound, a shadow of its former self, but his amusement was genuine.
"Yeah, I guess he did. I had gotten an A on a history exam, the first one I needed for Dad to go splits on a car." Sam said, his voice soft with recollection, "They had this chicken over rice dish that was out of this world. It was really hot, but it came with a white sauce that balanced it out. Dad and I went there a lot before it closed."
Sam's voice trailed off as he finished speaking, suddenly blindsided by a tidal wave of guilt. In all the time that he had been on the Nemesis, and in all the time since he had been rescued, his parents had barely crossed his mind.
"Oh my God," He murmured to himself, aghast, "I am such a shit person."
"No you're not." Bumblebee said sharply, reaching out a hand to clasp Sam's wrist, "You've been through a traumatic experience. There is no shame in compartmentalization."
"Bee…" Sam said, barely able to get the words out around the lump in his throat, "Are they okay? Do they know?"
Bumblebee's expression was solemn, and he gave Sam's wrist a gentle squeeze.
"Your parents are alright, they're living in Arizona now." He replied, his voice calming, "Yes, they know about what happened. Optimus told them after the attack."
Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth, his appetite ruined, "Do they know I'm back?"
Bumblebee nodded minutely, "Yes, they do."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut. His parents must be having a coronary right now—to know that he was alive and safe, and not be able to see him. After a long moment, Sam forced himself to look across the table at the holoform.
"Why won't Optimus let them come?"
Confusion flickered across Bumblebee's face, followed quickly by understanding.
"Prime has not forbidden them from coming, but neither has he extended them an invitation." Bumblebee explained patiently, "You have the right to decide when you want to see them."
"Oh." Sam replied. He stared at the table in front of him for a long moment before asking, "Do they want to come?"
"Your mother has called Dave Carter four times a day, every day, since you've returned." Bumblebee said, amusement in his voice, "But the more important question is: do you want them to come?"
Sam frowned faintly, stymied by the question. The idea of being fussed at by his mother was deeply unpleasant for a number of reasons, the fact that he did not want her to see him like this chief among them. However, the thought of his parents' grief at not being able to see him was far more intolerable, by at least an order of magnitude.
"Yeah, I think so." He replied slowly, "I don't want them to be upset."
Bumblebee nodded, "Alright then. We'll take care of it."
Sam nodded faintly, a gesture of acknowledgment and appreciation both, before he set down his fork. Bumblebee's eyes fell to his plate as concern furrowed his brow. Sam had barely eaten a thing.
"I'll get you a take-away container." Bumblebee said at once, pushing to his feet. Before Sam could respond, the holoform was striding across the mess hall, weaving around tables and patrons with the fluidity of a dancer. Sam watched him go, abruptly feeling exhausted as the enormity of all that had happened finally caught up with him. Bumblebee returned a short while later, carrying the promised take-away container and plastic cutlery. Sam mustered up the energy to scrape the remains of his dinner into the cardboard box.
"Would you like to go?" Bumblebee asked, his gaze sharp and astute.
Sam sighed softly, pushing the chair away from the table as he stood, "Yeah."
Bumblebee nodded, picking up the boxed leftovers and gesturing for Sam to go ahead. Together they walked out of the mess hall, back into the corridor. It was quieter than it had been when they arrived, and they made their way through North Quad without being accosted by well-meaning strangers. As they passed the Officer's Section on the way to the quad entrance, Sam slowed to a stop. Bumblebee pulled up short beside him, glancing at Sam in surprise.
"I want to move back into my apartment." Sam said abruptly.
"Well, if you want—" Bumblebee began, but Sam had already started walking towards the residential section. Bumblebee had to jog several paces in order to catch up with him. They walked the length of one long hallway before he looked sidelong at Sam, "What brought this on?"
Sam shrugged, "Ratchet removed my IV. There's no reason for me to stay in the medical bay."
"That's true." Bumblebee said slowly, before he asked with delicate care, "Are you sure you're up to it?"
"I guess we'll find out."
Bumblebee did not reply, but Sam could feel his conflicted feelings—cautious optimism warring against concern. After several moments of vicariously experiencing the scout's anxiety, Sam scoffed softly.
"I'm not going to break another mirror, Bumblebee."
The holoform looked at him sharply, a disapproving frown pulling at his features.
"I didn't suggest that you would." He rebutted firmly, "You spent two years in near-constant isolation. Are you ready to be alone again?"
Sam narrowed his eyes, inexplicably irritated by Bumblebee's concern.
"Am I ready to be alone again? I don't know." He replied scathingly, "But I am ready to sleep in my own bed, and use my own shower, and decide what to eat and when to eat it. And I'm definitely ready to get back into my own space, with a front door that locks, so that if I want to be alone, I can be alone."
Without waiting for Bumblebee to reply, Sam continued down the corridor in the direction of his apartment. The holoform followed after him in silence, his mental presence just as inscrutable as his physical manifestation. When they arrived at Sam's apartment a short while later, he was forced to wait by the door as Bumblebee caught up to him. It was a minor indignity, but it chaffed at Sam all the same. As soon as the holoform pulled open the door for him, he stepped into his apartment with a huff.
"When can I have my badge replaced?" He asked stiffly, breaking the silence between them.
"Dave had it printed this morning. I'll ask him bring it over." Bee replied, his earlier disapproval no longer evident in his tone or expression.
"Thank-you."
"Do you… would you like some privacy?" Bumblebee asked, after a pregnant pause.
Sam glanced at him in surprise. The holoform was standing beside the doorway, obviously hesitant and uncertain. The sight made of him caused Sam's irritation soften into regret. He knew that the morning had been difficult for Bumblebee as well.
"I'm sorry for being an asshole, Bee." He said, moving to stand in front of the holoform, "It's been a long day and I'm tired."
"You don't have anything to apologize for, Sam." Bumblebee replied sincerely, "I'm your bonded, not your keeper. You don't need my permission or approval to move back into your apartment."
Sam's frown returned, turning down the corners of his mouth, "So I don't have either, then?"
"I didn't mean that." Bumblebee replied contritely, "Of course you do, on both counts."
Sam sighed, running his good hand over his face. It was becoming readily apparent that neither of them were at their best.
"Look, I'm going to lay on my couch and watch garbage television until I fall asleep or the Seekers attack, whichever happens first. You're welcome to join me, if you want."
Bumblebee looked at him in surprise, before nodding slowly, "Yes, I would like that."
"Great." Sam said, toeing off his shoes as he walked across the room. Bumblebee placed the take-out container on the side table before joining him. Sam sat heavily on the couch, reaching up with one hand to pull the throw blanket into his lap as he grabbed the remote from the coffee table. Bumblebee looked at him for a long moment before sitting down beside him. Sam flipped through the channels in silence, before he offered up an olive branch in the form of a banal question.
"Did I miss any good shows or movies that I should catch up on?"
Bumblebee glanced at him, fond amusement creasing his face at Sam's attempt at redirection, "Netflix made a Witcher series that's popular. I think you'd like it."
"Really? I beat the Wild Hunt about a dozen times."
"I am well aware." Bumblebee replied dryly.
"Who plays Geralt?"
"Henry Cavill."
"That seems like a strange choice." Sam said, already navigating into the Netflix menu. Bumblebee laughed softly, raising a shoulder in a shrug.
"I can't say one way or the other, but the reviews are favorable."
"I'm looking forward to it." Sam replied honestly, shifting to pull the blanket around him. Bumblebee glanced down, his expression inscrutable, as he raised his arm to pull Sam snugly against his side. Sam sighed softly, letting his head settle against the holoform's chest, as Bumblebee's hand trailed down to trace an invisible pattern into Sam's bicep through the blanket. As The Witcher began playing, Bumblebee repeated the pattern again and again, his touch feather-light and gentle. It was a soothing sensation, and Sam found himself watching the opening scene through half-lidded eyes.
He was asleep before Geralt made it to Blaviken.
A loud chime cut through the haze of Sam's dreams, causing him to jerk awake in confusion. It took a long moment for him to realize that he was lying on the couch in his apartment. He sat up slowly, pushing the blanket aside as he blinked blearily at his surroundings. The television was off, and the living room was still and quiet. He twisted, trying to find Bumblebee's holoform, when he realized that he was alone. The chime sounded a second time, causing him to startle in surprise. As the realization that someone was ringing his doorbell filtered into Sam's sleep-addled brain, Bumblebee's presence brushed against him reassuringly.
Sam pushed to his feet, stumbling across the living room towards the entryway. When he pulled the heavy door open, he froze in surprise. Optimus' holoform stood in the corridor, holding a cafeteria tray and wearing an expression of solemn resolve. Sam's heart stuttered in his chest before quickening into double-time at the sight of the Autobot leader.
"Good evening, Sam."
Sam had to swallow around the lump in his throat before he could reply.
"Evening, Optimus."
"I had hoped that we could speak privately. May I come in?"
Sam could feel the flush spread across his cheeks, heating his face. As the silence between them lengthened from seconds to moments, Optimus inclined his head.
"Of course, it is your prerogative to refuse."
The quiet regret on the holoform's face spurned Sam to step aside to allow Optimus to enter.
"No, it's… it's alright. It's fine. Please, come in." He murmured, gesturing towards the living room. Optimus regarded him for a long moment before making his way into Sam's apartment. Sam let the door shut behind him, taking a moment to steel himself as he flicked on the overhead lights. When he turned around again, he saw that Optimus had placed the cafeteria tray on the coffee table. The holoform was standing quietly at the foot of the couch, facing him with a pensive look on its face.
"I've brought your identification badge and your cell phone." Optimus said, breaking the silence that stretched between them.
"Thank-you." Sam replied softly, shuffling forward until he could glance down at the cafeteria tray. As promised, his phone and badge were tucked beside the plate of lo mein.
Optimus regarded him for a long moment, his eyes roving over Sam's face. There was something paradoxical about his countenance, which was equal parts uncertain and resolved. Sam pushed his hands into his pockets, and forced himself to return Optimus' gaze.
"Sam—"
"No offense, Optimus, but I don't want to talk about this with you." Sam interrupted tiredly, "And this time, you aren't going to goad me into it."
Optimus' expression softened, "You do not need to talk, but I hope that you will listen."
Sam sighed softly, gesturing in a weary 'go ahead' sort of way as he sat on the couch. After a moment, Optimus sat down on the coffee table in front of him, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. The holoform looked as it always did, solemn and dignified and serious, but somehow it looked more human than ever before. He was silent for a long while, and Sam knew that he was putting his thoughts in order.
"Ratchet and I met with Thundercracker and Skywarp this afternoon. I have informed them that there will be no parlay."
Sam stared at the holoform in stunned disbelief. Whatever he had expected Optimus to say, that certainly had not been it.
"I—what? Why not?"
"You know why not, Sam."
Sam felt his flush deepen to a brilliant crimson, "You can't be serious."
"I assure you, I am."
"Optimus, come on." Sam pleaded, hating the waver in his voice, "You can't turn down a parlay because some bad shit happened. What if this is your chance to end the war? What if this is your chance for peace?"
"Sam." Optimus interrupted him gently, "There can never be peace—true, everlasting peace—without integrity or justice."
The last word was a low rumble, as though it pained Optimus to say it. Sam stared incredulously at the holoform, vaguely aware that his heart was pounding against his ribcage.
"Optimus, I can't be the reason for more war."
The holoform sighed heavily, his hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were white.
"Sam, you are not the cause for our continued conflict. What Megatron did—" Optimus cut himself off, his face darkening with emotion, "I do not believe you understand the enormity of what was done to you."
Sam narrowed his eyes at the holoform, "I know exactly what was done to me, thanks."
"Forgive me, Sam." Optimus replied, his voice conciliatory, "I was not speaking in absolute terms, rather I was speaking from the perspective of Cybertronian laws and customs."
It took a great deal of fortitude, but Sam forced himself to meet Optimus' gaze, "I can't imagine… that… is viewed any more or less favorably on Cybertron than it is on Earth."
Optimus hesitated, his expression openly conflicted.
"Sam, you were a prisoner of war and a civilian. Although Megatron has tortured non-combatants in the past, he is generally less inclined to do so. I had hoped—foolishly, I now realize—that your newspark status would stay his hand if he wished to make an example of you."
Sam frowned in confusion, "But I'm not a newspark, I'm—I was nineteen years old."
"Although you are an adult, by your society's standards, you are a newborn by our own. Your neural connections have not matured and your Creator bond is still active. It is… unfathomable for Megatron to have done what he did to you."
Optimus' words only served to deepen Sam's confusion. At his perplexed expression, Optimus gathered himself with visible effort and tried again.
"I do not mean that what he did was abhorrent—although, of course, it was—rather, you register as a newspark in every conceivable way that matters. It should have been unthinkable for him to abuse you, as he did. As you know, newsparks are precious in our society. They were so, even before the start of the Great War. The nurturing and development of a sparkling is hard-coded into a Creator mecha's core programming, but all Cybertronians are driven to protect our young."
"But I'm human."
Optimus sighed, a soft, weary sound, "I know, Sam, but our programming does not differentiate between you and any other newspark."
Sam sat back against the couch, frowning at the Autobot leader, "Why are you telling me this?"
Optimus' countenance shifted, his weariness and uncertainty hardening to something like grim determination.
"I share this information with you for two reasons. First, so you understand why I refused to parlay with the Seekers. So long as Megatron is their leader, there can be no peace between Autobots and the Decepticons. I will accept nothing less than his unconditional surrender to the rule of Cybertronian law.
Second, I want you to understand that none of this was your fault. For millions of years, I have deluded myself into believing that Megatron was misguided and radicalized by his fight against classism. I wanted to believe that he was still acting in—what he believed to be—Cybertron's best interests. I can no longer afford the luxury of my naivety."
Sam felt chilled by the somber note of finality in the Autobot leader's voice.
"Nothing has changed, Sam." Optimus said gently, seeming to sense Sam's growing upset, "We will continue as we always have: protecting humans against Decepticon incursions, advocating for peace and prosperity between our peoples, and granting clemency to those willing to renounce Megatron's leadership. The only difference is Megatron himself. I see now that there is no redeeming him, for he does not wish to be redeemed."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly exhausted despite his earlier rest.
"Don't forget who you are Optimus." He murmured, after a long moment of silence, "You are compassionate and wise and patient and merciful and forgiving. Don't lose that, no matter what—it's why we deserve to win this war."
Sam felt their knees knock together as the holoform shifted forward, and then Optimus' warm hands settled on his shoulders. He opened his eyes in surprise, glancing up at the holoform who had leaned close to him.
"You honor me, Samuel Witwicky." Optimus murmured, his voice unusually emotive, "The purity of your intention, despite all that you have endured, is truly humbling."
Sam swallowed hard, unable to reply around the lump in his throat. He raised a hand, resting it against Optimus' own where it clasped his shoulder. They sat there like that, in mutual affection and understanding, for a long while. Eventually, Optimus sighed in regret, withdrawing his hands after giving Sam's shoulders a gentle squeeze.
"Ratchet has been pinging me for the last ten minutes. He wishes me to remind you that you must eat."
Sam turned his attention inwards, suddenly aware of the impatient edge of Ratchet's mental presence.
"I'll try." Sam replied dryly, for both Optimus' and Ratchet's benefit.
"Thank-you." Optimus replied, before the regretful look on his face deepened, "Sam, I wish I could stay longer, but I must debrief my senior staff."
"About your meeting with Thundercracker and Skywarp?" He asked, anxiety curdling in his gut. When Optimus nodded, Sam bit the inside of his lip as he managed to ask, "What are you going to tell them?"
Optimus looked confused for a brief moment, and then comprehension dawned on his face.
"Your secrets are not mine to tell, Sam." Optimus rumbled, like a promise, "Neither Bumblebee, Ratchet, nor myself will betray your confidence."
Sam nodded faintly, unable to reply around the appreciation and grief that suddenly choked him. Optimus hesitated, looking at him with indefinable emotion, before he reached out to clasp a hand against the back of Sam's head. It was a tender gesture, paternal and affectionate, and Sam glanced up at him. Optimus held his gaze for a long moment, communicating more with his silence than he had all evening.
Then, a moment later, he was gone.