Sam turned the corner, hurrying towards the North Quad entrance. The long stretch of corridor in front of him was silent, except for the sound of his shoes ringing off the concrete floor. As he walked, the sense of urgency in his gut sharpened with every step. The large doors at the end of the hall stood in contrast with the ceiling and walls, stark red against pristine white—like blood spreading across fallen snow. The sight caused some of the tension in Sam's body to relax, and he stepped towards them in relief.
As Sam made his way down the long, empty expanse of the bridge, he tried not to dwell on the fact that he was late. He hated being late. His father always said that if you weren't fifteen minutes early, then you might as well kiss your reputation good-bye.
"Sam…"
Sam paused mid-step, his ears straining to pick up the faint noise. He glanced behind him, trying to locate the source of the whisper. The large, concrete corridor curved as it extended behind him, disappearing into the curtain of shadow in the distance. He frowned faintly, wondering whether he should turn around, when the sense of urgency in his gut sharpened again. Without hesitating, he turned on his heel and continued in the direction that he had been walking.
"Sam…"
Sam stopped once again, his frown deepening in consternation. He was sure that he had heard it that time. Although it was too faint to tell whether it was a male or a female voice, Sam had the strongest feeling that he recognized it. He glanced down at Ravage, who stood by his side.
"Did you hear that?"
The large cybercat angled her head towards him, her ruby optic shining vividly in the dim light of the bridge.
"I did not, I am not a Prime."
Sam glanced behind him again, surprised to notice that the shadows gathered at the end of the bridge were closer now. They had swallowed the entrance to North Quad, leaking like a cold draft down the long corridor. Deep in his gut, the feeling of urgency sharpened to stark anxiety.
"We have to hurry." Sam said, forcing his gaze away from the gathering darkness. Beside him, Ravage rumbled in acquiescence, and together they continued down the bridge. They walked more quickly now, driven as he was by intent and anxiety. He knew that he had to move—it was important that he did not dally.
"Samuel…"
Sam jerked around, his heart thundering in his throat. The voice was louder now, more insistent, as though it had originated from just behind him. To Sam's mingled confusion and fear, he could see that the shadows extended further still, a solid wall of pitch-blackness that was encroaching ever nearer. Sam could feel a cold sweat break out on his neck as he stumbled backwards several steps.
"It is alright, Sam. All will be well." Ravage said, reassuringly,
Sam stared down at her in confusion, but before he could reply, the large cybercat settled onto her belly, stretching out across the corridor. As he watched, the shadows stretched towards her, as inexorable as the incoming tide.
"Ravage, what are you doing? Get up." He urged, backing away, "It's important that we hurry."
"You are exactly where you need to be." Ravage replied, serenely, as the shadows crawled over her chassis.
"Please get up." Sam begged, suddenly terrified, "I can't do it alone."
"Do not be afraid, Samuel Prime." Ravage replied as the shadows enveloped her. Sam realized with a shock of fear that her voice had changed in pitch and tenor, until it resembled the disembodied voice that had whispered his name, "You are not alone."
As the ruby glow from Ravage's optic disappeared into the darkness, Sam turned on his heel and ran.
Sam jerked awake with a strangled cry, sitting up in wide-eyed fear. As memories of urgency and purpose faded away, he abruptly realized that it was perfectly dark and quiet. All-consuming panic crashed over him with the force of a tsunami, and he lurched forward instinctively, as though to escape the darkness. A moment later, Sam collided painfully with the floor in a tangle of limbs and blankets. All at once, bright light flooded the room.
"Are you alright?" Ratchet demanded, sharply.
Sam squinted open his watering eyes, taking in the sight of the holoform striding towards him. He glanced around in disorientation for a heartbeat, before he realized that he was on the floor of his living room. Embarrassment surged through him, hot and sharp, and he struggled into a sitting position.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam muttered, rubbing his wrist with a wince. He must have struck it on the coffee table on his way to the floor.
Ratchet crouched down in front of him, extending his hand expectantly, "Give it here."
Sam glanced at him in confusion, before realizing what the medic wanted. Sighing in resignation, he surrendered his wrist without complaint. The holoform turned his hand over, skilled fingers pressing into the flesh of the joint as he manipulated his wrist back and forth. Sam grimaced when Ratchet turned his hand just so, and the holoform glanced up at him sharply.
"Did that hurt?"
Sam leveled him with a flat look, "You know it did."
Ratchet snorted softly.
"Nothing is sprained or broken, but you should take an anti-inflammatory. Do you have any ibuprofen?"
"I don't know, Ratch. Maybe. It'd be in the bathroom." He replied, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the couch. As he sat down, Sam yanked the blanket away from himself, tossing it onto the coffee table with a sour look. Ratchet rose to his full height, stepping around the couch and making his way into the bedroom. A moment later, Sam could hear him rooting around in the drawers of the bathroom vanity. He snorted softly, rubbing his wrist as he turned his attention inwards. Bumblebee's presence was soft and muted, a faint glow at the edge of his mind, and he realized at once that the scout was in re-charge. He glanced at the DVR and saw that it was just after two o'clock in the morning.
Ratchet stepped into his field of vision, extending two powdery tablets and a glass of water towards him. Sam accepted the pills, popping them into his mouth and swallowing them with a sip of water. They left a bitter taste on his tongue.
"Thanks." He said, placing the glass of water on the coffee table.
Ratchet regarded him quietly for a long moment, his eyebrows knit together in consideration.
"What happened?" He asked, at last.
Sam looked up at him in confusion, "What do you mean?"
"I believe the question is self-evident." Ratchet replied wryly, "Did you have a nightmare? My sensors did not notify me that anything was amiss."
He frowned faintly at the question, uncertain how to answer. He had a vague recollection of urgency and fear, but nothing that he could remember with any clarity. On the other hand, he certainly remembered the panic that had blindsided him after he had woken up. In his confusion, the darkness has reminded him too clearly of stasis, and he had reacted without thinking.
Realizing that the holoform was waiting for an answer, Sam lifted his shoulders in a shrug, "I was disoriented. I'll leave a light on next time."
Ratchet considered his words for a moment, and then he pinned him with a meaningful look.
"You should go back to sleep."
For reasons that Sam could not fully articulate, the medic's words sent a shock of anxiety up his spine. Almost before Ratchet had finished speaking, Sam was shaking his head.
"No, not now. Maybe later." He replied, "Where's Bumblebee?"
"Bumblebee is recharging in hangar three." Ratchet replied, folding his arms over his chest, "He'll be there for another four hours yet."
"Okay, thanks." Sam said, pushing himself to his feet, "I'm going for a walk."
Ratchet's expression became openly disapproving, "If you aren't going to sleep, then you should at least rest quietly."
"Sorry, Ratch." Sam replied as he ambled towards his bedroom, "Not going to happen."
The medic snorted loudly, and Sam could feel a wash of vexation through their bond. Sam glanced at the holoform over his shoulder.
"If you mention a word of this to my mother, I'll track sand all over your medical bay." He warned mildly.
"Oh, far be it for me to try and look out for your best interests," The holoform bit back, "when you are clearly determined to make your recovery as difficult as possible."
Sam snorted softly as he retrieved a sweater from the closet. He had fallen asleep in jeans and a thin shirt, and he had learned from long experience that the Hive was cool at night. The sweater was light beige, a long-sleeved shawl pullover with a folded collar. Sam pulled it on over his head, making his way back into the living room. Ratchet was standing beside the couch, his weathered face set in a no-nonsense expression. The holoform was wearing his usual fatigues, shirtsleeves rolled up his arms, which were folded over his chest.
"Don't be like that." Sam replied, adjusting the collar of the sweater as he came to stop in front of him, "You know that I have trouble sleeping."
"And you know that I can put you into a deep sleep with little effort."
Sam narrowed his eyes at the holoform, feeling a flash of defensiveness at his words and tone. Before he could snap something uncomplimentary, however, Ratchet tapped him admonishingly across their bond.
"I am not about to violate your personal autonomy and betray your trust for the sake of one night's sleep." He replied, scathingly.
Sam had the good grace to wince in response.
"I know, I'm sorry." He apologized softly, "Listen, Ratch, I'm going to walk over to West Quad. Maybe I can catch some sleep in Bee's cab."
"The far more likely outcome of that scenario is that neither of you gets any rest."
Sam resisted the urge to throw his hands up in frustration. Instead, he crossed his arms and pinned the medic with a flat stare, "Can I go or not?"
After a long moment, Ratchet sighed in frustration and gestured vaguely towards the door.
"You do not need my permission to visit your bonded, Sam." Ratchet replied, "That is your right and privilege."
Taken aback by the medic's unexpected assent, Sam could only murmur, "Thanks Ratch."
The medic snorted dryly, "Don't thank me yet. The violation of your personal autonomy for the sake of your health will become an increasingly attractive option the longer that you push your limits. Consider this my one and only warning."
Before Sam could reply, the holoform shimmered and disappeared. He stared at the empty space where the medic had stood for a long moment, and then he bent down to pull on his shoes. A moment later, he stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind him. After double-checked that the door was locked, Sam started walking. The Hive was expectedly quiet, given the late hour, and Sam made his way through North Quad and onto the bridge before he encountered another person. He nodded at the uniformed soldiers as they passed one another, returning their polite greeting almost as an afterthought. He walked purposefully but unhurriedly. The quiet and solitude of the bridge was almost comfortingly familiar, a thing he had experienced many times during those first restless months after his arrival at the base.
It was the better part of a half an hour before Sam stepped through the heavy blast doors into West Quad. This section of the Hive was designed primarily for Transformer occupation, and everything within the quad was appropriately sized. Rooms that were intended for co-habitation by humans and Transformers were located nearest to the bridge, including the command center, the maintenance hangars, and the training range, while rooms designed for Transformer occupation were located further away. These included the berthing hangars, Prime's office, energon storage, and the lounge. The exception to this rule was Ratchet's medical bay, which was located a short distance from the West Quad doors.
Although Sam was generally familiar with the layout of this part of the Hive, he had not spent a great deal of time in the deeper recesses of the quadrant. It felt invasive somehow, as though he were an interloper or a voyeur. Admittedly, he had spent more than his fair share of time in Ratchet's medical bay, and he had attended senior staff briefings at the command center, but otherwise he tended to avoid the quad.
As a result, Sam felt more than a little out of place as he made his way towards the berthing hangars. He walked more quickly than he had on the bridge, his hands pushed into his pockets and tension in his shoulders. His discomfort was momentarily alleviated when he passed by the large doors of the medical bay. He glanced inside, feeling a fond pang at sight of the familiar surroundings. The hangar was bright and airy and neat as a pin. He craned his head and noticed Ratchet's bipedal mode standing at a workbench on the other side of the large room. The medic's back was to him as he bent diligently over his work.
Sam's lips quirked in a faint smile, and he nudged Ratchet across their bond. Sam felt a swell of acknowledgment that was terse-bordering-on-pissy, and he snorted a quiet laugh.
"Hello to you too." He murmured, well aware that Ratchet could hear him.
When Ratchet did not turn around to look at him, Sam shrugged and continued walking. He had become accustomed to the medic's temper. He was confident that Ratchet would get over it, eventually.
As Sam made his way deeper into West Quad, he became aware of a growing din of animated talking and clanging metal. He cocked his head, listening as the sounds grew louder as he approached. As he turned the corner onto another long corridor, he noticed that the massive double doors to the training range were wide open. Now that he was closer, he could make out individual voices. There was Ironhide's booming tenor followed immediately by a sarcastic drawl that Sam recognized as Sunstreaker. Amidst their conversation were other voices, quieter and higher in pitch, only just audible above the thuds and clangs coming from the room.
Although the training range was not in the direction of the berthing hangar, Sam felt his curiosity get the better of him. Without weighing the pros and cons of his decision, Sam turned down the corridor and made his way towards the large room. As he approached, he swallowed down a sudden, unwelcome surge of anxiety, and then he stepped into the open entryway. The training range was by far the largest room of the Hive, many times larger than the receiving room. It contained a complicated series of ramps, mezzanines, ditches, and alcoves to simulate varied topography. The entire room was solid gray concrete, with colorful markers along the walls and floors. Sam could not even begin to speculate as to their meaning, but they varied from green closest to the entrance to yellow, orange, and red furthest away. The most attention-catching aspect of the room was easily the scorch marks and bullet indentations that covered the walls, floor, and ceiling of the hangar.
Sam was surprised to see that a number of transformers and NEST personnel had assembled in the room. By the looks of it, they had just finished a training drill. There was Ironhide and Sunstreaker, talking to one another nearby, and Kup, Hot Rod, and Smokescreen were further away. To Sam's surprise, he also noticed members of Alpha Team walking back and forth across the area immediately in front of the hangar doors. There was Killian Anderson, Robin Williams, and Bobby Epps a short distance away, each hauling heavy duffle bags and M4s. Sam also saw Will standing next to Ironhide, his back towards him. The sight of the Major made Sam's stomach twist with uncertainty, and he abruptly regretted his decision to indulge his curiosity.
Before he could slip away, however, Roddy glanced in his direction. The cavalier's expression brightened, and he raised a servo to wave good-naturedly at him.
"Hi Sam!" He boomed, and every head in the hangar turned to look in his direction.
Sam resisted the urge to wince, forcing himself to return the wave. He barely had a moment to lament the heat suffusing his face, when Sunstreaker strode towards him. The brilliant yellow warrior crouched in front of him, his blue optics shining brightly.
"Sam. You have been missed." Sunstreaker murmured lowly. The emotion in his voice caused something to unclench inside of Sam's chest, and he stepped forward to press his hand against the warrior's chassis. The metal was warm beneath his palm.
"You too, Sunny." Sam replied, softly, "How've you been? How's Sideswipe?"
Sunstreaker's optics were fathomless in their intensity. After a moment, he extended a servo towards him. His actions were exaggeratedly slow, as though he were giving Sam the opportunity to protest or pull away. When he did neither, Sunny drew the tip of one digit down Sam's arm. The touch was gentle, well within the bounds of polite convention, but Sam could easily interpret the subtext behind the gesture.
Ironhide stepped up behind the yellow warrior, giving him a shove as he rumbled at him in Cybertronian. Sunstreaker glanced over his shoulder in obvious irritation, hissing something that sounded decidedly unflattering, but he promptly dropped his servo and stood up all the same.
"Hey Ironhide." Sam greeted, a hesitant smile warming his face, "I didn't have a chance to say hello the other day at the hangar."
"Hello Sam." The weapon's specialist replied, folding his arms over his chassis, "What are you doing over here?"
Sam shrugged, feeling the back of his neck heat up, "Couldn't sleep. I thought I'd go see Bee."
"Bumblebee has been in 'charge since midnight." Ironhide replied.
"I know," He replied, "but I wanted to see him anyway."
Ironhide nodded, accepting his explanation, as paltry as it was. Sam glanced around the large silver warrior, taking in the sight of Will standing next to Killian. The redheaded Marine grinned at him brightly, but Will's back was still turned towards him. All at once, Sam realized that the Major had no interest in speaking with him. The knowledge caused his mouth to turn down in a deep frown.
"How're your folks?" Ironhide rumbled, shifting his weight from one pede to the other.
Sam's eyes never left Will as he replied, distractedly, "They're good. It was nice of Optimus to bridge them over on such short notice."
All at once, there was a sharp intake of air from a short distance away. Sam's attention was pulled towards Smokescreen, who stood with an openly disapproving expression on his face. The red, blue and silver mechanoid turned to whistle something insistently at Ironhide. Before the weapon's specialist could reply, however, Sunstreaker bristled and snapped something rude-sounding in his direction. The tactician folded his arms over his chassis, his expression stern and serious, as he replied with a long, undulating series of whistles and chirps.
Sam looked from Smokescreen, to Sunstreaker, and back again.
"What?" He asked, uncertainly.
"It's nothing, Sam." Ironhide replied immediately.
At the same time, Smokescreen said, with obvious disapproval in his tone, "His title is Prime."
"What?" Sam asked for a second time, looking up at the tactician in confusion.
Ironhide turned to look at Smokescreen, something like censure in his narrowed optics. Smokescreen did not return his gaze, instead pinning Sam with a stern stare.
"It is disrespectful and inappropriate to refer to him by his designation. You should refer to him as Prime or Optimus Prime, as the situation permits."
The tactician's tone was reprimanding and, to Sam's ears, condescending. He felt himself blush crimson all the way to the tips of his ears, equal parts humiliated, mortified, and angry. He was distantly aware of Ratchet's sudden attention through their bond, but he was too focused on the three mechanoids in front of him to care. Something about the way that Smokescreen was looking at him made Sam feel small and inferior.
"He's never said—" Sam stammered, but both Sunstreaker and Smokescreen interrupted him.
"You don't answer to Smokescreen, Sam—"
"Of course he would not presume to correct you, he is a Prime."
"What's this now?" Will asked coolly, coming to stand beside Ironhide. Sam turned to look at him, almost worshipfully grateful for the interruption. The Major looked from Sam's tomato-red face, to Smokescreen, his eyes narrowing in irritation.
"You were told to let it go, Smokescreen."
Sam felt his mortification deepen as he realized that Smokescreen's complaint had obviously been a topic of conversation among the mechanoids. Desperately, he cast his mind back, trying to remember whether Bumblebee and Ratchet referred to Optimus by his title or his name. The harder he thought, the worse his embarrassment became. It was true that Bumblebee occasionally referred to the Autobot leader by his name, but Sam could not remember him doing so unless the two of them were alone. Ratchet did so occasionally as well, but Sam knew that he was Optimus' oldest friend.
Sam's train of thought was interrupted as Smokescreen whistled sharply, an indignant reply to Will's rebuke. Will rolled his eyes, "You know I don't speak Cybertronian. If you got something to say, you say it to my face."
Smokescreen stiffened, looking as though he was about to do just that, when Ironhide rumbled a low growl. The sound made the hairs on the back of Sam's arms stand up. Smokescreen glanced in Ironhide's direction, visibly taken aback, before he erupted in a series of short, high-pitched whistle-chirps that clearly conveyed his outrage. Sam took an instinctive step backwards, his heart suddenly hammering in his throat. He had no desire to be the cause of—or to get in the middle of—an altercation between the two warframes. Ironhide watched the smaller mechanoid impassively, his expression no longer polite.
When Smokescreen paused in his tirade, as though to in-vent, Ironhide rumbled with cold finality, "Enough."
Smokescreen stiffened, but he did not reply. Evidentially, the tactician had understood that the single word had been a command. Smokescreen crossed one arm over his chassis, bowing exaggeratedly at the waist, before he turned on his pede and walked stiffly away. It was only after the tactician had passed Kup and Hot Rod, who were watching the altercation from a short distance away, that Sam released a breath that he didn't know he had been holding.
"Does anyone care to explain what the hell that was all about?" Sam asked, his face still flushed.
"Smokescreen is devout." Ironhide rumbled, as though that explained everything.
"Sorry, big guy, that doesn't help."
Ironhide glanced in his direction, his expression warming minutely.
"He follows the old religion. They were very puritanical about the holiness of Primes."
Sam huffed a nervous laugh, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.
"How devout are we talking here? Goes-to-church-on-Sundays devout, or murders-me-as-a-grand-gesture devout?"
Ironhide's countenance grew dark and foreboding, but Kup replied before the weapon's specialist could speak.
"Smokescreen does not pose a threat to you, Sam." The Elite Guard reassured him, "He has a good spark, he just rigidly conforms to the old ways."
Sam exhaled slowly, not assuaged in the least by the old mechanoid's words. Suddenly uncomfortable, for reasons other than the possibility he had been disrespecting their religion for four years, he glanced over his shoulder towards the door.
"Well, thanks for clearing that up. I'll leave you guys to… whatever it is that you were doing in here." He replied. In that moment, Sam wanted nothing more than to climb into the quiet of Bumblebee's cab. If he trusted anyone to provide context to what had just happened, it was his bonded. As Sam turned to go, he saw Ironhide rumble something quietly to Will. The Major glanced up at him, his expression a complicated mixture of emotion—anger, denial, frustration—before he set his jaw and looked in Sam's direction.
"I'll walk with you." He said, gruffly, stepping around 'Hide in order to walk towards the hangar doors. Sam stared at him in surprise for the space of a heartbeat, before he murmured an affirmative and followed him.
Together they made their way out of the training range and down the long corridor towards the junction that led to the hangars. They walked in silence—Sam withdrawn and uncomfortable, Will tense and reticent. It wasn't until the hangar came into view a short while later that Sam glanced sidelong at him.
"I'm glad you're okay."
Will's expression became closed off and inscrutable as he grunted a wordless reply. Painfully aware of the unresolved tension between them, Sam switched tactics and tried again.
"The 49'ers are playing the Chiefs on Sunday."
There was the slightest hitch in Will's step, before he replied, "I'm a Vikings fan."
Sam turned to look at him, taken aback by the cool dismissal in his voice. All at once, he felt a flare of sharp irritation. He knew that Will was dealing with whatever emotional fallout the attack had caused, but he was dealing with the same.
"Good talk." Sam snapped, "Glad we had the chance to catch up."
Will glanced at him, lips turning down on his sun-tanned face. Abruptly, he stopped walking and turned to look at Sam directly.
"Listen, Sam. I'm sorry to disappoint, but there's no heart-warming reunion to be had here." Will said, his voice firm but not unkind, "I can't just forget what happened—or my role in it."
Sam's face clouded at the Major's tone, hot anger and the sting of rejection combining to darken his expression.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Will. I didn't realize how hard all of this has been for you." Sam replied, injecting every bit of sarcasm into his voice that he could manage, "Please, take your time."
Will's eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed in anger.
"You don't have the market cornered on grief, Sam." He growled, stepping closer, "A lot of people struggled while you were gone."
All at once, Sam was blindsided by a wave of resentment. He had thought that, once he returned, everything would be just the same as it had been before the attack. Was normalcy really too much to ask? After everything that he had gone through?
Something on his face must have been telling, for Will's expression became openly conflicted.
"I'm sorry, Sam."
The Major's apology hardened something inside of him. Sam narrowed his eyes and stepped away.
"I'm good from here, thanks." He replied, coldly. As he strode towards the hangar, Sam called over his shoulder, "If you need someone to help sort through all of your bullshit, I can recommend a good therapist."
Sam did not wait for Will's reply before he stalked into the Autobot hangar. The room was large and dark, empty except for a half a dozen berths arranged in even intervals along the far wall. Only one of the berths was occupied—a yellow and blue mechanoid whose name Sam could not remember—while the rest of the hangar's occupants were arranged around the room in their alt modes. Bumblebee and Cliffjumper were beside each other on the far side of the room, while Arcee, Chromia and Elita-1 were clustered together nearer the door.
Sam made his way quietly across the large room, trying to ignore the discomfort he felt at intruding into their private space. The sight of the yellow Camaro caused a lump to lodge in his throat, as the grief and mortification and anger that he had struggled with all evening coalesced in an instant. Sam brushed the tips of his fingers over the yellow bonnet, blinking rapidly and trying to get himself under control.
"Bee." He murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper of air, "Can I sit with you?'
Almost before the words had left his mouth, the driver's side door opened. Sam felt a swell of relief and gratitude, and without another word, he slipped into the waiting cab. The door clicked shut behind him, and Sam leaned back against the seat. He could feel the calmness of Bumblebee's regard through their bond. After a long, tense silence, Sam reached out to grasp the steering wheel with both hands. The feeling of the smooth leather beneath his palms was grounding.
"How much of that did you hear?" Sam asked, voice rough.
"I did not register your presence until you entered the hangar." Bumblebee said, something like an apology in his voice, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm sure you'll get the play-by-play from someone eventually." Sam replied bitterly.
There was a protracted silence and then Bumblebee's mental presence brightened across their bond. The winter-white glow pressed close, enveloping his mind in warmth. Sam's eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, as his breath sighed out of him.
"You are upset." Bumblebee murmured, "What happened?"
Sam opened his eyes, staring at the dashboard for a long time. He wanted to cry, but his eyes were hot and dry. He wanted to hit something, but he felt leaden with exhaustion. More than anything, he wanted to turn back time and listen to Ratchet's advice to go back to bed. All the while that Sam turned his thoughts over in his mind, Bumblebee waited patiently and without complaint.
"What happened?" Sam replied, eventually, "Let's see. Well, I found out that I have been blaspheming your religion for four years. That was properly mortifying. Oh, and Will's being a huge asshole."
Bumblebee's presence shifted in his mind, and Sam could feel a complicated swell of emotion before the sensation abruptly vanished. Sam glanced at the dashboard in surprise, but before he could voice his confusion, Bee was speaking.
"Don't pay any attention to Smokescreen. He is uncompromising about his beliefs, and he had no right to condescend to you as he did."
Sam's eyebrows rose of their own accord at the scout's clipped tone. He pinned the dashboard with a wry look.
"That was fast. Who told you?"
"Hot Rod."
"Ah." Sam replied, letting his head fall back against the seat, "I see."
"Sam, Optimus' title is a sign of respect for his position as our Supreme Commander and our holy leader." Bumblebee explained, "You are neither a soldier under his command nor a supplicant in our religion."
"That doesn't matter, Bumblebee. Someone should have told me that I've been—" Sam went rigid, horror and shame burning through him in an instant, "Oh my god, I called your Pope a son of a bitch."
Bumblebee's mental presence brightened with surprise and then warmed in good humor.
"Did he deserve it?"
"Bee!" Sam managed, aghast, "That's not funny."
"Sam, Optimus knows that your familiarity is a reflection of your trust and affection, not an indication of disrespect." Bumblebee said, gently, "And we both know that he would not hesitate to correct any behavior that he views unfavorably."
Bumblebee's wry tone caused Sam's lips to turn up in grudging amusement. The memory of Optimus' disapproval in the command center still caused him to cringe in embarrassment.
"He does have god-tier guilt power." Sam replied, after a moment.
Bumblebee whistled at him amusedly, "He does."
Sam felt some of the tension in his body slowly relax as he mulled over Bumblebee's words. He settled back against his seat, folding his arms over his chest.
"Well, I still think Smokescreen is an asshole."
"I did warn you." Bumblebee replied in good-natured agreement, and then his mental presence became hesitant, uncertain, "Sam, about Will…"
Sam sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.
"I think maybe I was the asshole in that situation." Sam admitted, "He was being a jerk, but I was worse."
Bumblebee brushed against his mind, affectionate and reassuring, "Then tell him that, the next time that you see him."
"I'm not sure that he has any interest in talking to me again."
"Will had a difficult time after the attack." Bee said, "He blamed himself for what happened to you. It did not help that others shared the sentiment."
Sam opened his eyes, lifting his head from the backrest to stare at the dashboard.
"What?" He asked sharply, "Who?"
Sam felt the faint twinge of guilt and remorse through their bond, and he knew the answer to his question without being told.
"Bumblebee." Sam reproached, frowning, "You know that's not true."
"I know it now." Bumblebee admitted, clearly uncomfortable, "But in the aftermath of the attack, I needed someone to blame. Will and Jack were easy targets."
"Who else blamed them?" Sam demanded, and he felt the mental equivalent of a shrug.
"Ratchet, of course, but Sunstreaker, Hot Rod, and Cliff were not much better. Prime put an end to it immediately, but the damage had already been done."
"Did you ever apologize?"
There was a long, protracted silence before his bonded replied.
"Yes, I have apologized to Will."
"And Jack?"
Bumblebee sighed, "No, I have not spoken to Jack in a long time."
"Bumblebee." Sam said, shocked at the honesty in his bonded's tone, "I can't believe that. I ordered Jack to leave—Megatron would have killed him."
"I've seen the memory files. I know what happened."
"Then you know it wasn't his fault." Sam said, sitting up in the seat.
"Will ordered you to flee to save your life. Wheeljack fled in order to save his." Bumblebee replied, and his voice was cold, "He abandoned our ward, a sparkling, and my bonded to keep himself from being off-lined."
"Stop that." Sam said, disapprovingly, "He left because I ordered him to leave. He would have stayed if I hadn't played the Prime card."
"Sam, don't ask me to forgive him because I can't." Bumblebee said, simply, "I won't."
"There is nothing to forgive, Bumblebee." Sam said, his surprised disbelief slowly morphing into genuine anger, "I made him leave, I wanted him to leave. I already have thirty-one deaths on my conscience—I couldn't handle it if I had Jack's blood on my hands too."
Before Bumblebee could reply, an ear-splitting alarm cut through the silence of the berthing hangar. Sam's heart slammed into his tonsils as he recognized the strident klaxon of the proximity alarm. All at once, the lights on Bumblebee's dash lit up and his door flew open. Sam scrambled out of his cabin as quickly as he was able, raising his hands to press against his ears as Bumblebee rapidly transformed. Cliffjumper's headlights flared brightly, and a moment later, he accelerated out of the hangar. Arcee, Chromia, and Elita-1 quickly followed suit.
"What's happening?" Sam demanded, his entire body trembling with adrenaline.
Bumblebee looked down at him as his battlemask engaged—the scout's eyes were impossibly bright in the dim light of the hangar, shining with naked hostility.
"It's Starscream. He's breached the perimeter of our energon detection grid, and he's coming in hot."
Sam was unable to suppress the shudder that ran through him at the note of grim finality in his bonded's voice.