(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Thundercracker banked as he approached the Nemesis, adjusting his telemetry in order to align with the flight deck. Skywarp was in position on his right flank, in Vic formation, flying in perfect synchronization. As they approached the warship, Thundercracker switched from his encoded frequency to the general communications channel. The switch resulted in a flurry of incoming pings and status queries from the Armada. Starscream's messages were priority coded and flashed across his visual display with signifiers of the Decepticon Air Commander.
/That didn't take long./ Skywarp said dryly, over the command trine's private channel.
Thundercracker grimaced internally as he throttled down, rapidly decelerating as he crossed the threshold of the open-air hangar. He could see that a welcome party of curious airframes had already assembled—Acid Storm, Blitzwing, Dirge, and Slipstream chief among them. Schooling both his expression and his electromagnetic field with great care, Thundercracker transformed and landed on the flight deck in his bipedal mode.
"Welcome back, Thundercracker." Acid Storm greeted amiably, "Good flight?"
"The flight was fine." He replied tersely as Skywarp landed beside him.
"Prime didn't blast you out of the sky, then?" Blitzwing asked with a cackle.
Without replying to the triple-changer, Thundercracker strode towards the flight deck entrance, unceremoniously pushing through the assembled jets and Seekers. Slipstream flicked her wings expressively as he approached, her arms folded across her chest.
"You haven't sent a status report." She observed, like an accusation.
Thundercracker turned his helm minutely in order to regard her. Slipstream was ruthless and cunning, and he took nothing that she said at face value. He lifted his wings, flaring them subtly in a threat display born of sheer impatience. She raised a brow ridge, surprised but not intimidated in the least.
"I report to my trine leader, not to you." He replied coldly, optics narrowed in her direction. After the disaster that was the failed parlay, Thundercracker was not in the mood for anyone's slag—least of all, Slipstream's.
"Well, do not let me keep you from reporting to our Air Commander." She replied silkily, gesturing with a servo towards the hangar doors, "When you have the time, Lord Megatron would also like to be debriefed."
"Aww, c'mon TC, not even a hint?" Dirge wheedled, "Did they agree to it? I kind of miss the little guy."
Thundercracker could not keep the flare of annoyance out of his fields at Dirge's question. Rather than deigning to answer him, however, he pushed past the smaller jet and strode towards the hangar doors without another word. Skywarp followed behind him, his fields relaxed and unperturbed. The realization sharpened Thundercracker's annoyance to the point of genuine irritation.
Together they walked through the Nemesis in silence. Starscream pinged him for the fourth time since they had arrived, and it took a great deal of restraint to send only a wordless acknowledgement in response. It was dark and quiet as they walked, making their way deeper into the bowels of the warship. As they were still on high alert due to the defection, the corridor was illuminated by only the faint red glow of emergency lighting. They did not pass anyone as they walked towards Starscream's athenaeum, and as such, they arrived in short order. The door opened at Thundercracker's touch, and together he and Skywarp stepped into the reading room.
Starscream glanced towards them as they entered, irritation written all over his faceplates. He was sitting in a high-backed chair, surrounded by an assortment of datapads and dated tomes. As Thundercracker and Skywarp stopped in front of him, Starscream tossed the pad that he hadn't been reading onto the desk in front of him.
"Well?" Starscream demanded, his voice equally peremptory and impatient.
"Prime refused to parlay." Thundercracker said without preamble. Starscream's brow ridges rose, his faceplates twisting into an expression of disdain.
"What do you mean he refused to parlay? It's Prime."
Thundercracker lifted his pauldrons in a shrug, "I can't tell you much more than that. He was terse with his dismissal."
Starscream rolled his optics dramatically, pushing to his pedes as he stepped around the table towards them.
"Well then, what can you tell me?" Starscream drawled, his irritation softening into something like burgeoning curiosity.
"We waited until the boy was on the neural network, and then we took flight. We transmitted the request for parlay on an open channel, and Prime responded within the breem that he would consider our request. When we landed on Diego Garcia at the agreed upon time, only Prime and his Chief Medical Officer were there to receive us. I did not even have the opportunity to state Megatron's offer or conditions before Prime informed us that there would be no parlay."
By the time that Thundercracker had finished speaking, Starscream's expression had become openly contemplative. He stroked his chin with the tips of his clawed digits, before pinning Thundercracker with a long look.
"Did he give a reason?"
Thundercracker resisted the flare of indignation at the question—as though he would keep a reason for Prime's refusal from his trine leader. Without a word, he compiled his memory files into a data packet and transmitted them to Starscream, albeit with less tact than usual.
"Oh, relax. Don't get your thrusters in a knot." Starscream snorted, obviously aware of his irritation. His trine leader was silent for the space of an astrosecond as he reviewed the files, and then his expression twisted in outrage.
"What does Prime mean that 'he knows what even his senior officers do not'?" He demanded, his voice several octaves higher than normal.
Thundercracker's faceplates turned down in a frown. Although he had not been able to make sense of Prime's message, it was obvious that his words had been purposefully chosen.
"I don't know what he meant," Thundercracker admitted, "but I know that Prime was as angry as I've ever seen him."
Starscream ex-vented a loud, derisive snort, "Yes, I am sure that he strongly disapproved of Megatron's treatment of his beloved little pet."
His words were accompanied by exaggerated air quotes that caused Skywarp to chuckle loudly. Thundercracker's frown sharpened, and he let his frustration and uncertainty bleed into his fields.
"I think that there is more going on here than we realize, Starscream."
Starscream huffed in response, obviously miffed that Thundercracker was not amenable to his game. Eventually, he crossed his arms over his torso, tilting his helm as he considered his trinemate's warning.
"Well, that useless collection of scrap metal and weapons that we call a leader had better not be keeping anything from me."
"Yeah, right, Screamer. Megatron could fill his subspace with all the things that he hasn't told you." Skywarp cut in sarcastically.
"Don't call me that." Starscream snapped automatically, before he clarified, "Megatron can keep his pathetic plotting to himself, but he agreed to be forthright with me about the boy."
Thundercracker rubbed his servo over his faceplates, feeling a processor ache setting in. He had advised Starscream that the warlord was not to be trusted when Megatron had first demanded that he transfer his Creator protocols. Starscream had been confident—overconfident, Thundercracker had thought to himself—that Megatron could be controlled. After all, Starscream had reasoned, Megatron relied on Starscream's experience as a Creator to fully integrate the software into his core programming.
Now, it seemed, there was evidence to the contrary.
"What are you going to do?" Thundercracker asked at last.
Starscream tilted his helm, his expression openly thoughtful.
"I am going to do what I do best. Observe, analyze, and plan."
"You'll scheme, you mean." Skywarp put in dryly, and the indignant noise that their Air Commander made in response caused Thundercracker's lip plates to curve upwards in a smile. As the two started to bicker, Thundercracker forced himself to step away, separating himself from his trinemates' fields.
"Megatron is expecting my report. I have no desire to keep him waiting any longer than strictly necessary." He said, cycling air through his vents.
"Well, I'm glad it's not me." Skywarp said, turning to regard him with a sympathetic shrug, "He's going to be apoplectic."
"And I wouldn't miss it for all the energon on this miserable mudball." Starscream agreed, "Let's go."
Thundercracker grimaced at his trine leader's enthusiasm, but he followed him out of the athenaeum without complaint. Skywarp trailed behind them at a distance, obviously reluctant to have any part of the debriefing, but equally unwilling to leave Thundercracker to his fate. The realization warmed his spark casing, and he reached out, brushing against his wingmate's signature. The resulting swell of affection from Skywarp's fields served to soothe the frustration that was broiling in Thundercracker's processors.
The athenaeum was only one deck down from the bridge, and they crossed the distance in less than a half a breem. Foot traffic was heavier nearer this part of the ship, and they ran into Barricade and Detour near the munitions storage. The two grounders turned as they passed, obviously interested in what had transpired during the parlay. Thundercracker was silent and reserved, but Starscream sauntered with the air of a mecha who knew something that they did not. The grounders wisely kept their questions to themselves.
All too soon, the large doors to the bridge slid open and they walked onto the command deck. Immediately, Thundercracker spotted Megatron standing in front of the large, clear viewing screen at the other end of the room. It was the same spot that Sam often occupied, whenever Megatron had brought him to the bridge. Somehow, Thundercracker doubted that it was a coincidence.
Megatron turned as they approached, his red optics sharp and assessing.
"Status report."
Thundercracker steeled himself, but Starscream cut in before he could speak.
"Prime won't parlay with you." He blithely supplied.
Megatron angled his helm to regard the trine commander, his optics narrowing at Starscream's flippant tone.
"Thundercracker, status report." Megatron demanded, darkly.
In lieu of a reply, Thundercracker pinged the data packet containing his memory files to the Decepticon leader. There was a brief pause as Megatron accessed the files, and then his faceplates contorted with fury. Thundercracker's fuel pump skipped a beat at the black rage in the warframe's expression, but then Megatron went very still. The Decepticon leader tilted his head, his optics becoming distant in the way that suggested he was reviewing the memory files with greater care.
Then, Megatron began to laugh. It was a loud, rolling rumble that echoed ominously around the bridge. The Decepticon leader was still laughing when he turned his back to them, moving closer to the large viewing screen with his servos clasped behind him. Thundercracker glanced at Starscream uncertainly, only to see that his trine leader had a similarly unsettled look on his faceplates.
"I will enjoy seeing your dark side, Orion." Megatron murmured, as though to himself, "I will enjoy it very much."
After Optimus left, Sam sat on his couch in the quiet of his apartment for a long time. He reflected on all that the Autobot leader had said, and considered what it meant for him as a ward of Cybertron and a Prime. As though he could sense Sam's need for privacy, Bumblebee had brushed against his mind once, affectionate and understanding, and then he had given Sam his space. So, he sat there in silence, the throw blanket discarded on the couch beside him, as he poured over his thoughts.
Eventually, his bodily needs made themselves known and Sam grudgingly pushed to his feet. Stepping around the couch, he made his way into the bedroom and then the bathroom. He braced himself before snapping on the light, but his caution proved to be unnecessary. Someone had already cleaned up, removing the shattered glass and wiping away the blood. Sam glanced over the sink, only to see a large, empty space where the mirror had been. Whether they had not been able to replace it yet or had opted not to do so, Sam couldn't say. He stared at the wall for a long moment, before sighing inwardly and stepping into the room.
After Sam had finished using the toilet and washing his hands, he glanced at the shower considerately. Although he had showered that morning—God, had it only been that morning?—he felt sweaty and gross. He opened the closet and saw that someone had washed his bath linens. Abruptly coming to a decision, Sam pulled out a face cloth and turned on the faucet. He shimmied out of his clothes and, waiting only long enough for the water to become tolerable, he stepped into the shower. He washed slowly, taking comfort in the familiar water pressure and how he knew exactly where to turn the gauge to achieve the temperature that he liked. When he finished, he stood under the stream of water with his eyes closed, letting it wash over his head and shoulders. He wasn't sure for how long he stayed there, but by the time he climbed out of the shower, his fingers were pruney and the air was thick with steam.
Sam dried off quickly, pausing only to turn on the bathroom fan, before he made his way into the bedroom. When he opened his closet, he saw that his clothes had been replaced with smaller sizes. A glance down confirmed that his old clothing had been boxed up and stored in the back of the closet. He made a mental note to find out who to thank—it was probably Carter, he thought—before he pulled out a pair of boxers and sleeping pants.
Sam moved over to the bed, letting the towel drop to the floor as he pulled on his clothes. After he was dressed, he tossed the towel into the laundry basket and made his way back into the living room. As he sat down again, he pulled the throw blanket over his shoulders, lying his head against the arm of the couch. He only meant to rest his eyes, but he was exhausted from the day's events and relaxed from the shower. He didn't even realize that he had drifted off when a warm hand came to rest against the side of his face.
"Sam." Bumblebee murmured softly, "Wake up."
Sam squinted his eyes open, blinking up at the holoform who had crouched down in front of him.
"Bee? Whaddya want?"
Bumblebee's expression warmed, his hand sliding up Sam's face to card through his hair.
"Ratchet's threatening to send you back to the medical bay if you don't get something to eat."
Sam groaned, pulling the blanket up to his nose, "I'm tired. I'll eat when I get up."
"If you go to sleep now, the mess will be closed when you get up." Bumblebee replied patiently, "Come on, you can go back to sleep afterwards."
Bumblebee tugged the blanket down, nudging at him gently but insistently to sit up. Sam grumbled under his breath, but otherwise acquiesced without protest. Bee brought him the tray that Optimus had left on the coffee table, nudging at him insistently as Sam frowned down at the cold lo mein.
"The Internet says that lo mein is perfectly edible as leftovers." Bumblebee supplied helpfully.
Sam snorted softly, but he started in on his meal all the same. True to Bumblebee's word, lo mein wasn't terrible when eaten cold. When he had finished the better part of his dinner, Sam glanced up at the holoform.
"What time is it?"
"Just after seven."
Sam nodded in response, twirling his fork to gather up the remains of the egg noodles, "Did I miss anything interesting?"
"Define interesting." Bumblebee replied, amusement in his voice, "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe reported that sand has drifted over the southern access road, so that'll be cleaned up tomorrow. The Indian Meteorological Department has advised the base that the remnants of tropical depression 11 will arrive by Wednesday, which will bring several days of thunderstorms and high winds. Other than that? Not much."
Sam chuckled quietly. The ability of his life to seesaw from extremes of heart-stopping trauma to mind-numbing monotony never ceased to amaze him.
"Have you heard anything more about Knock Out?" He asked, after a moment.
Bumblebee tilted his head considerately, "Ultra Magnus has reported that he is being less belligerent. He didn't refuse his rations today."
Sam glanced up at the holoform with a frown knitting his brow, "That's good, I guess."
"Better than the alternative, certainly." Bumblebee agreed, "Drift seems optimistic."
When Sam finished the rest of his meal, he brought the tray over to the garbage by the door. He scraped the remains of the lo mein into the trash, along with the plastic cutlery and used napkins, before setting the tray on the side table. He eyed the boxed leftovers from lunch and, after a moment's consideration, added them to the trash. There was no way that he was going to eat them before breakfast, and he didn't have a fridge.
Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he glanced in Bumblebee's direction.
"Hey, how much money do I have in my account?"
Bumblebee tilted his head, chirping at him considerately before he replied, "Approximately $200,000 USD."
Sam stiffened from head to toe, slowly turning to stare at the holoform in stunned disbelief.
"Wh—what?" He spluttered, barely able to get the word out.
Bumblebee blinked at him, as though taken aback by his shock, "The average annual salary of a United Nations Ambassador is $180,000 USD. Prime adjusted for your education and experience, and then deducted your living expenses."
Sam stared at him in disbelief, willing the holoform to break into a teasing smile or follow up with a joke. When neither of those things happened, Sam felt his knees go wobbly.
"Holy shit." Sam whispered weakly, "I think I need to sit down."
Bumblebee's expression sharpened with concern, but Sam waved him off as the holoform crossed the room towards him. As soon as Sam's knees felt less like jelly, he pinned him with an incredulous stare.
"Jesus Christ, Bumblebee. I wanted to know whether I could afford a bar fridge—not a fucking house." Sam managed, aghast, "No, it has to go. Right now. Tonight."
The concern on Bumblebee's face deepened, "Sam, you are our Ambassador—"
"I met with two people two years ago!" Sam snapped, distantly aware of the shrill edge to his voice, "I won't accept it."
Bumblebee's eyes flicked over his face, evidentially taking in the way that Sam was breathing harshly and his cheeks were flushed, before he brought his hands up to squeeze Sam's shoulders.
"Alright, Sam." Bumblebee placated, soothingly, "I'll take care of it."
Sam narrowed his eyes at the holoform, searching for some sign of duplicity in his expression. In response, Bumblebee brushed against his mind, and Sam felt some of the tension release from his shoulders at the note of promise that suffused the touch. As the rigidity in Sam's posture slowly relaxed, Bumblebee's thumbs continued to rub soothing circles into the skin of his neck.
"Thanks." Sam murmured, relaxing into the caress.
Bumblebee hummed understandingly, stepping forward until they stood almost chest-to-chest with one another. The feeling of closeness, of being corralled against him, was surprisingly comforting. Sam let himself pitch forward until his forehead pressed into the junction of Bumblebee's neck and shoulder. He stayed there like that, breathing softly, as his bonded gentled him. Sam didn't even have the energy to feel self-conscious—it simply felt too nice.
After a long moment, Bumblebee pressed a chaste kiss against Sam's temple.
"Your parents are getting ready to bridge in."
Bumblebee's words punctured the warm fog of dopamine in which he had been floating, and Sam came back to himself with a start.
"What? Now?" He demanded, suddenly wide awake.
"It's just before seven in the morning in Arizona. Your mother returned Carter's phone call an hour ago. She was… insistent that we bridge them over immediately."
Sam stared at him in disbelief for the space of a heartbeat before he groaned.
"Carter is going to murder me in my sleep." He grumbled as he turned around and sprinted into his bedroom. Bumblebee followed behind him, chuckling quietly, as Sam yanked open his closet. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a long sleeved Henley, quickly getting dressed before toeing on his sneakers. He turned to look at Bumblebee expectantly as he raked his fingers through his hair.
"Do I look okay?"
Bumblebee's face softened in warm affection.
"You look good, Sam."
The corners of Sam's mouth quirked in wry amusement at the thrum of sincerity that he could feel from the scout, "Thanks, Bee. Can we go now? I want to be there when they arrive."
Bumblebee nodded agreeably, gesturing towards the front door. Sam strode into the living room, pausing only to grab his cell phone and badge, before making his way out of the apartment. As he stepped into the corridor, Sam pulled the lanyard over his head—and was blindsided by the way the simple, familiar motion made him feel at home again. He pulled the door shut behind them, taking a moment to get his emotions under control, before falling into step beside Bumblebee. He could tell by the understanding look on the holoform's face that he hadn't missed Sam's moment of happy reminiscence.
They walked briskly as they made their way through North Quad. Although Sam returned the nods and friendly greetings of the people that they passed, his attention was focused on getting to the bridge entrance as quickly as possible. When they finally stepped through the large red doors, Sam was relieved but not surprised to see Bumblebee waiting in his alt mode. He flashed an appreciative smile as he stepped towards the Camaro, whose driver's side door opened as he approached.
"Hello gorgeous." Sam murmured, a grin warming his face as he smoothed his hand over the yellow bonnet, "Fancy seeing you here."
Bumblebee's engine revved loudly in response, a sound that reverberated up and down the bridge, drawing curious glances from passersby. Sam's grin broadened in undisguised amusement and he climbed into the cabin without another word. As the door shut behind him, the lights on the dash and the multi-media interfaced brightened to life. A moment later, Bumblebee shifted into gear and accelerated towards East Quad.
As they drove, Sam thought about the reunion that was quickly approaching, and something suddenly occurred to him.
"Did Optimus tell them anything? About me?" Sam asked, directing his question towards the dash out of habit, "When he told them about what happened?"
"Optimus told them about the Allspark energy that is radiating from your cells, although he did not inform them about the consequences it has had on your physiology. Neither has he told them about your on-lining or about our bond."
Sam tilted his head, suddenly feeling uncertain.
"What am I allowed to tell them?"
At once, Bumblebee's presence brushed comfortingly across his mind, their bond-space swelling with his quiet reassurance.
"They are your secrets, Sam. You may tell them as much or as little as you like."
Sam chewed the inside of his lip, his feeling of uncertainty deepening at the scout's words.
"But it's not just my secret, Bee. It involves the both of us."
Bumblebee's mental presence brightened with a complicated mixture of emotions. There was affection and reassurance, which Sam could make out readily enough, but he had to focus to understand the confusing thrum of curiosity-anticipation-resolve that he felt.
"I appreciate your consideration, Sam, but they are your parents. You should tell them whatever you want them to know."
Sam sighed gustily, raking his hands through his hair again.
"You say that now, but I have no idea how they'll react."
"Having come to know Ron and Judy over the last four years, I think that they will be shocked at first—angry and afraid, perhaps—but they love you. They will come to accept whatever you tell them in time."
The scout's words were delivered in a confident manner, as though he was certain that everything would work out all right in the end. It made Sam's chest ache with appreciation and affection.
"I don't know what I did to deserve you." Sam murmured, reaching out to stroke his thumb across the Autobot emblem set in the steering wheel, "Thanks Bee."
Bumblebee chirped at him good-naturedly, slowing to a stop as the large blue doors of East Quad opened in front of them. As soon as the way was clear, Bumblebee accelerated forward again, making his way deeper into the research annex.
"Why is the ground bridge in East Quad? Why not West Quad?"
Bumblebee trilled at him softly, an undulating sound that was vaguely reminiscent of a shrug.
"Wheeljack and Perceptor manage the ground bridge controls whenever there is an activation. Otherwise, I can see no particular reason for one location over the other."
Wheeljack's name caused something indefinable to wedge itself in Sam's chest, and he sat back against the driver's seat with a shaky exhale.
"Wheeljack… is he okay? Did he make it through the battle alright?"
There was a protracted pause, one that stretched for a fraction of a second too long to be casual, before Bumblebee replied.
"Wheeljack is fine. He retreated to Cust Point as you commanded, where he stayed until Prime gave the all-clear."
The too-casual levity in his tone caused Sam to glance at the dashboard in surprise.
"What's that all about?"
Sam felt a flash of irritation—frustration?—across their bond before Bumblebee replied, "I don't want to talk about it."
Sam's eyebrows rose of their own accord. He couldn't remember the scout ever brushing him off before. He was tempted to argue, to demand an answer to his question, but he didn't. Instead, he nodded faintly at the dashboard and fell silent, staring out the windshield as Bumblebee made his way through the quad.
Eventually, Bumblebee turned into a large, airy hangar located a short distance from Wheeljack's lab. He recognized the elegant half-arch of the ground bridge positioned in the center of the room. The ground bridge controls were located a short distance away, behind a transparent pane of blast-proof paneling. Perceptor stood at the complicated-looking workstation, his servos flying over the keyboard in front of him. As Bumblebee rolled to a stop in front of the ground bridge, Perceptor glanced in their direction, giving them a friendly wave. On the opposite side of the arch were Optimus, Ironhide, and Smokescreen, standing in their bi-pedal modes. Sam could see Dave Carter standing between them and the ground bridge, visible through the stream of soldiers and support staff moving around the archway.
Sam pushed open Bumblebee's door and climbed out of the cabin. As soon as he was clear, Bumblebee rolled back several paces and transformed into his bi-pedal mode. Sam glanced up at him with an anxious smile before walking towards the group assembled in front of the ground bridge.
"Sam, hello!" Dave greeted, looking composed and well-groomed despite the late hour, "Welcome to the show."
Sam smiled, genuinely pleased to see him.
"Hey Dave. I'm sorry if my mother has been driving you crazy."
Dave grinned in good-natured humor, "It's nothing that I can't handle."
"Give it a few days—you'll be begging for mercy." Sam replied, wryly.
Carter's eyes widened in surprise, and then he threw back his head and laughed. The sound seemed to draw Optimus' attention, for he stepped towards them a moment later.
"Sam." Optimus rumbled, lowering to one knee in front of him, "I am glad to see you again so soon."
"Hey Optimus. Glad to see you too." Sam murmured, reaching out a hand to pat his large blue greave affectionately.
Behind Optimus, Smokescreen stiffened from helm to pede, his optics widening minutely. The red, blue, and silver mechanoid turned to look at Ironhide, as though in expectation. The weapon's specialist glanced back at him, his expression uninterested and only just polite, before lifting his pauldrons in a shrug. Sam frowned faintly at the strange interaction, but before he could ask for an explanation, Perceptor called out across the hangar.
"Lennox has sent a ready-check, requesting a return bridge. With your permission, Prime."
Optimus glanced towards the scientist, before straightening to his full height.
"Permission granted." He rumbled.
Sam glanced up at Optimus, shifting from foot to foot as sudden nervousness twisted in his gut.
"Is there anything you don't want them to know?" He asked, softly.
Optimus glanced down at him, as though in surprise.
"Use your best judgement, Sam. I trust your discretion." Optimus replied.
Sam nodded faintly, turning to look at the ground bridge. Perceptor's servos flew over the keyboard in front of him, as he chirped quietly to himself. Minutes later, the familiar blue-green whirlpool of light and color exploded into life in the archway. Sam shivered at the sight of it, strange and beautiful and alien. He barely had a moment to brace himself, his heart thundering uncomfortably in his chest, before Lennox was stepping through the ground bridge. Before Sam could wave hello, Lennox turned to face the archway, walking backwards several paces. In the next moment, his mother and father stepped through the ground bridge together. Sam barely had time to reflect on the fact that they looked exactly the same as he remembered, before they turned towards him in perfect unison.
"Oh, sweetheart. Look at you." His mother whispered, striding towards him with her arms outstretched. Sam stepped forward automatically, letting her pull him into a hug without complaint. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, could feel the faint tremble in her body as she held him.
"Hey Ma." He murmured into her hair, "I missed you."
She did not reply, except to squeeze him tighter. His father stopped beside them, lifting a beefy hand to clasp the back of Sam's head. Sam turned to look at him, smiling faintly. His father's face was pale and flushed, his eyes dark with emotion, but he did not cry. None of them cried. His parents held him in reverent, thankful silence, and Sam allowed himself to feel safe in their embrace.
"Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, welcome back to Diego Garcia." Optimus intoned respectfully, after an interminable time. As though his words were a release, his mother pulled back an arm's length, raising her hands cup the sides of Sam's face.
"Thank-you, Optimus." She replied, without looking up at him, "We appreciate your flexibility."
Optimus inclined his head minutely, "You already know my personal assistant, Dave Carter. He will be responsible for settling you in and answering any questions that you may have during your stay."
"Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, I am glad to see you under these better circumstances." Dave greeted, stepping up to them, "May I show you to your accommodations?"
Sam glanced at the agent in surprise.
"Where are they staying?" He asked. His unspoken question, 'how long are they staying', was implied by his tone.
"There has been an apartment set aside for their use in the Officer's Section of North Quad." Dave answered promptly, "They will have access to the base for the duration of their week-long visit."
Before Sam could reply, a soldier stepped forward and deposited two large duffle bags on the floor beside his father. Behind the soldier, Will was watching them with an intensity of expression that Sam couldn't identify. He caught the major's gaze and smiled at him in greeting. Will nodded back, stiff and formal, before turning to stride in Perceptor's direction. Sam frowned faintly, glancing over his shoulder at Bumblebee. The yellow scout whistled at him softly, and Sam understood at once that it was not a topic of conversation for the present moment.
The rest of the evening passed by in a dizzying blur. Sam introduced his parents to Bumblebee's holoform (which was met with an exclamation of delighted surprise from his mother and a grunt of acknowledgment from his father), and then they made their way back to North Quad. As they walked together towards the Officer's Section, Sam carrying one duffle bag and his father the other, Carter chatted amiably about the policies and procedures that his parents would be expected to follow—most notably, that they were required to be escorted any time they wished to leave North Quad. Carter also provided his parents with temporary visitor's badges and two identical looking cell phones.
"They're for use on the base, since your mobiles were confiscated prior to bridging over." Carter explained, "You will find both my number and Sam's number among the other pre-programmed contacts. Please keep your phones and your badges on your person at all times."
His parents' accommodations were a mirror image to his own apartment, right down to the mass produced floral artwork on the walls. The biggest surprise was their proximity; they were five doors down from Sam's residence on the opposite side of the corridor. As his mother moved around the room, unpacking their duffle bags and commenting on the accommodations ("Ron, they have a Keurig. Isn't that thoughtful?"), his father sat in silence, his hand gripping the arm of the couch until his knuckles were white.
After his mother was satisfied that everything was shipshape and Bristol fashion, Carter asked whether they would like to head to the mess hall. As Sam learned, much to his chagrin, his mother had insisted that they be allowed to bridge over immediately, even before they had eaten breakfast. Carter's question evoked the first full sentence from his father since he had arrived, a gruff agreement that something to eat would be in order.
They walked to the mess hall together with Carter leading the way. His parents trailed closely behind the agent—likely so that his mother wouldn't have to raise her voice to continue badgering him with questions—and Sam and Bumblebee followed behind. They arrived at the mess ten minutes before closing, and his parents followed Carter as he led them over to the galley. The large room was almost entirely empty, except for the cashier and the cleaning crew. His parents took their meals to go—an assortment of pastries, a fruit tray, and coffee—and then they were making their way back through North Quad towards the residences.
When they arrived at his parent's apartment, Carter took his leave with a reminder to contact him if they needed anything. Apparently revived a bit by the coffee, his father thanked the agent sincerely before pushing open the door to the residence. Sam and Bumblebee trailed after his parents, letting the door shut behind them. When Bumblebee smiled politely and suggested that he leave in order to give them some time alone together, his mother clucked her tongue at him.
"Nonsense, Bumblebee. With you here, it's just like it was in California, before—well… you know."
Sam managed to hide his wince at her words. Although it was possible that his mother didn't want to turn Bumblebee out, Sam suspected that she was anxious about the confrontation that would inevitably occur when they were finally alone together.
Frankly, Sam didn't blame her.
So it was that Sam found himself on the couch, sitting next to his mother as she held his hand loosely in her lap, as they watched late night television. His father sat in the armchair next to the reading nook, just as he had at their suburban home in Tranquility. It was comfortable and domestic and, if Sam didn't think about it too closely, just as it always had been between them.
It was just after three o'clock in the morning, with his eyes burning from exhaustion, that Sam felt the Creator bond shift impatiently. A moment later, Ratchet's voice cut through his mind.
/You're minutes away from passing out. Go to bed./
Sam struggled to keep his expression neutral, but he could not suppress the flare of annoyance that he felt at the medic's bossy, assuming tone.
/I haven't seen my parents in two years./ Sam replied, his mental voice only just polite, /I'll go to bed when they do./
/Your parents are operating on Mountain Standard Time, you are not./ The medic replied immediately, /Go to sleep./
Sam glanced at Bumblebee, his face twisting with genuine irritation. Apparently aware of his inner argument, the holoform smiled at him sympathetically. Suddenly mindful of the tender way his mother was absentmindedly stroking her thumb over his palm, Sam settled back against the couch and gave her hand a squeeze. As soon as he did so, Ratchet's presence brightened forebodingly.
/Don't make me tell your mother./ Ratchet threatened.
Sam stiffened, flushing all the way to his hairline. His mother glanced over, concern knitting the space between her eyebrows.
/You wouldn't dare./ Sam snapped, with more confidence than he felt.
/Oh?/
/I swear to God, Ratchet—/
Sam's only warning was a brightening of intention through their bond-space, and a moment later Ratchet's holoform materialized between the coffee table and the television. His parents reacted predictably—his mother jumped in her seat, giving a startled cry of surprise, and his father spilled the remains of his second coffee all over the carpet.
"Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, it is a pleasure to finally meet you." Ratchet greeted, matter-of-factly, "My name is Ratchet, and I am your son's physician."
"Ratchet!" Sam snapped, pushing to his feet, but the medic pinned him with a glower that could have flash-frozen ionized plasma.
"Sit down before you fall down." Ratchet ordered brusquely, before turning his attention towards Sam's parents, "I am sorry to interrupt. I have come to take your son back to his apartment."
"What, why?" His mother asked, her expression equal parts confused and concerned, "Is something wrong?"
"It is just after three o'clock in the morning, and Sam requires his rest." Ratchet replied. The note of finality in his tone ignited Sam's temper, and he glared hot human murder at the holoform.
"Ratchet, don't you fucking—"
"Samuel James Witwicky!" His mother snapped, rounding on him in maternal fury, "You watch your mouth!"
Sam found that a most remarkable thing happened then—he was instantaneously teleported back in time to when he was sixteen years old and living under his parents' roof. He blushed all the way to the roots of his hair, as he stammered an apology to his mother.
"Judy, don't gripe at him. He's twenty-one years old." His father cut in dryly, bending over to pick up his coffee cup.
"I don't care if he lives to be a hundred and twenty-one, as long as I have breath in my body, I am still his mother!"
His father glanced at him in sympathy, shrugging in a universal gesture of 'sorry, I tried' before making his way into the bathroom to find a towel. His mother pushed herself to her feet, glancing towards Ratchet.
"Thank-you Doctor, I'll take care of it."
Ratchet inclined his head in acknowledgement before his holoform disappeared a moment later. Sam didn't even have the opportunity to swear at the medic over their bond before his mother snapped her fingers impatiently.
"Let's go. Right now." She commanded, serious and stern. Sam surprised himself by meekly following behind her without a word of complaint. Within five minutes, he was sitting on the edge of his bed as his mother rooted through his closet, pulling out a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt. She tossed the clothing down on the mattress beside him before crossing the room to stand in front of him. She bent down, kissing him gently on the crown of his head, as she reached up to pat his cheek affectionately.
"Go to bed, Sammy. I will see you in the morning."
Sam grasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Okay, Ma." He murmured, "See you tomorrow."
She switched off the overhead light, turning to smile at him from his bedroom doorway, before she walked away. A moment later, Sam heard the front door open and shut, and then he was alone. He heaved a sigh, shaking his head at the abrupt turn of events, as he pulled back the blankets and laid down. Sam barely had the chance to reach towards the winter-white glow in his mind before Bumblebee's holoform appeared at his bedside. His bonded smiled at him in open affection, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss across his lips.
"Are you sure it's Carter who's going to be begging for mercy after a few days?" He teased.
Sam huffed a soft laugh, lifting the blankets to allow the holoform to lay down beside him. Bumblebee complied, settling down so that they were lying chest to chest, before he draped his arm over Sam's hip. As Sam's eyes fluttered closed, Bumblebee traced a familiar pattern into the skin of Sam's back, over and over again.
Bumblebee's touch, firm and gentle, was the last thing that Sam felt before he drifted to sleep only moments later.
Notes: Author's Note: The phrase 'hot human murder' was lovingly lifted from blissfire's hilarious ficlet Youth. It made me laugh out loud, I definitely recommend it.