As time trudged inexorably onward with no signs of an attack, the atmosphere within the hangar gradually shifted. The fear and confusion that had been prevalent in the immediate aftermath of the evacuation began to fade, replaced with a sort of wry impatience. As the last of the civilian support staff trickled into the hangar, people arranged themselves in loose groups. They chatted amiably with one another, some standing while others sat cross-legged on the floor. There were occasional bouts of laughter and good-natured complaining, but otherwise people listened attentively to the instructions provided by Ultra Magnus or Red Alert. Approximately twenty minutes after they had arrived, the strident wail of the proximity alarm abruptly shut off. There was a moment of echoing silence, and then scattered applause broke out around the large room. At Sam's side, his father shifted impatiently from foot to foot.
"Can we go back to bed now?"
Bumblebee whistled a negative, causing his father to glance up at him in confusion. Sam shook his head, translating on Bee's behalf.
"No, not yet. Ultra Magnus will give the all clear when we can leave."
His father pushed the sleeve of his sweater up past his wrist and stared in narrow-eyed displeasure at his watch. The sub-text behind the gesture was clear, and Sam's lips thinned in a grimace. If he had had any doubts as to whether his father was coping well with all that had happened, they had been dispelled over the last hour. He glanced over his father's shoulder, making eye contact with his mother. Sam stared at her meaningfully, his face twisting in a plaintive expression. She returned his gaze, tired but understanding, before she tugged on his father's elbow.
"Ron, I need to stretch my legs."
"So take a walk." He replied, grumpily.
His mother slapped him on the chest with the back of her hand, "I'm not walking around here by myself. Come on, they have coffee."
Sam's father glanced towards the far wall, where several folding tables had been hastily erected and two soldiers were pouring coffee from large carafes. The line of people waiting for a warm beverage extended all the way down the hangar.
"Look at that line! They'll run out of coffee before we even get close."
"Ron." His mother hissed between clenched teeth, "I. Want. Some. Coffee."
Sam's lips twitched precariously, his mother's clipped enunciation emphasizing each capital letter. With a put-upon sigh, his father shook his head and gestured vaguely towards the back of the line.
"Alright, keep your shirt on." He grumbled, "Don't blame me if we wait around for nothing."
Sam watched his parents make their way across the hangar. As soon as they were out of earshot, he glanced up at his bonded. Bumblebee was crouched beside him, his arms resting on his knee struts and an attentive expression on his face. The confusing swell of agitation-hostility-aggression that had lit up their bond in the aftermath of the proximity alarm had mellowed, taking on a calmer, protective edge.
"Any news?" Sam asked.
Bumblebee shook his head, "Prime has restricted the tacnet to high-priority communications only. The last message was from Prowl regarding the energy barrier deactivation."
Sam frowned faintly, but he nodded in understanding all the same. Bumblebee had told them when Skywarp and Thundercracker had arrived, and then when the barrier had been deactivated, but that had been almost half an hour ago. Something about his expression must have been telling, for Dave smiled at him encouragingly from where he stood a short distance away.
"I'm sure it won't be long now." Dave said, pushing his hands into the pockets of his sleep pants. The sight of the usually meticulous-looking agent in casual wear caused a teasing grin to spread across Sam's face.
"Carter, I meant to tell you—nice jams."
The agent glanced down at himself, taking in his lounge pants and long-sleeved Packers shirt, before he tossed a wry smile in Sam's direction.
"I was fast asleep when the alarm went off."
Sam pantomimed an expression of wide-eyed surprise.
"You sleep? I assumed that Optimus plugged you in to re-charge at the end of the day."
The wry expression on Dave's face deepened, and he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses with his forefinger and thumb, "I'll have you know that I sleep five to six hours a night, just like every other workaholic insomniac I know."
Bumblebee chirped in amusement, a rolling staccato sound that was vaguely reminiscent of a chuckle. Sam glanced up at him, a genuine smile lighting up his face.
"You're getting really good at that." He complimented.
Bumblebee's optics brightened, the yellow antennae on either side of his head perking up. The scout nodded once, definitively, before he flexed both arms in a dramatic fashion.
Sam laughed aloud, turning his head to make a joking remark to Dave, when he froze. There, standing beside Perceptor in front of the ground bridge controls, was Wheeljack. He seemed to be listening to what the scientist was saying, nodding his head as the other spoke. The sight of him caused Sam's heart to wedge itself into his trachea as he was bombarded with anguish and uncertainty. The engineer looked much the same as he had that night in the forest—bouncing slightly on his double-jointed legs, worrying his servos together—but something was wrong. His seemingly limitless enthusiasm was missing; instead, the engineer was quiet and subdued. Even Wheeljack's fin panels, which were normally vibrant and colorful, had assumed a dim, muddy brown appearance.
Sam stepped away from Bumblebee, as though to cross the space between himself and the engineer, when he felt a restraining touch in his mind. He turned, following the mental trail, to come eye-to-optic with Ratchet. The medic was standing in place beside Ultra Magnus, but his attention was focused solely on Sam.
/It would be unkind to approach him in public./
Sam frowned faintly, taken aback by the medic's words. Before he could voice his confusion, however, Ratchet's presence thrummed with discretion-privacy-caution. Sam stared at him a long moment before understanding dawned on him. Of course it would be unkind to approach Wheeljack in public—it would put him on the spot in front of his superiors and his colleagues. He nodded faintly, mouthing 'thank-you' in Ratchet's direction, before he reluctantly turned back to Dave and Bumblebee. Immediately, his gaze was drawn to the yellow scout, who was watching him with inscrutable optics. For reasons that Sam could not fully articulate, the piercing quality of Bumblebee's stare put his hackles up.
/What?/ He demanded, his voice sharper than he had intended.
/Nothing./ Bumblebee replied.
Sam narrowed his eyes, searching for any indication of disapproval on Bumblebee's face or through their bond. Finding none, Sam's irritation softened into something closer to exasperation.
/He's my friend./ He said, his mental voice taking on an entreating edge, /I'm not going to ignore him because you're in a snit./
Bumblebee's optics became distant in the way that suggested he was researching the phrase. A second later, they narrowed fractionally as denial-irritation flashed between them.
/I am not in a snit,/ Bumblebee replied, disapprovingly, /and I would not presume to dictate your social circle./
Sam winced, equal parts surprised and chagrined by the scout's tone. He could not remember the last time that Bumblebee had sounded so affronted. Sam tentatively raised a hand, uncertain whether Bumblebee would rebuff him, and pressed it against the scout's spark casing.
"Sorry." Sam murmured.
Bumblebee ex-vented softly, and warm air washed over Sam's face. A moment later, Bumblebee raised a servo and pressed the tips of his digits over Sam's hand. It was a reconciliatory gesture, equal parts forgiving and apologetic, and Sam smiled faintly in appreciation. Before either of them could speak, Dave cleared his throat behind them. Sam turned, surprised at the urgent quality of the agent's interruption, when Dave looked meaningfully behind them. Sam turned back around and saw his parents making their way across the hangar. Even at a distance, he could see the penetrating stare that his father was directing their way.
Sam dropped his hand and stepped away from the protective cage of Bumblebee's limbs. He smiled at his parents as they approached, unable to prevent himself from crossing his arms over his chest.
"Back so soon?" He asked, forced levity in his voice.
"They ran out of coffee." His father replied, his eyes not leaving Bumblebee's face.
"That's too bad." Sam replied, "I could definitely use some caffeine right about now."
Before his father could reply, Bumblebee whistled long and low. In virtually perfect unison, Sam, his parents, and Dave all turned to look up at the scout.
"The Seekers have left our airspace. Optimus has asked his senior officers and staff to convene in the command center."
Almost before the words had left Bumblebee's vocoder, Ultra Magnus' deep tenor boomed across the hangar.
"The activation has ended. Please return to your domiciles in an orderly fashion."
A collective sigh went up from the assembled people, and en masse, they began to make their way towards the hangar entrance. As people streamed past them on both sides, Sam took note of their expressions. Most people were affecting relief and good-natured humor, but there was also the occasional twist of frustration or irritation among the crowd. The latter expression was mirrored on his father's face, which had become pinched and closed off.
"Alright, let's go." He said, placing a large hand on his mother's elbow, "Not that I'll be able to fall back to sleep."
Before Sam could reply, Bumblebee whistled at them again. It was a meaningful sound, high-pitched and chirpy, and it effectively caught his parents' attention.
"Prime has requested Sam's presence at the debriefing."
Sam glanced over his shoulder at the scout in surprise. That was an abrupt about-face from Optimus' position two days ago when he had met with his senior officers regarding Thundercracker's request for parlay. Before he could give voice to his confusion, however, his father's expression caused him to swallow his words. Ron had narrowed his eyes, which were almost black with anger, as a flush bloomed across his cheeks.
"Sam isn't going to any debriefing." His father replied tightly, "He's going to bed."
Sam felt his stomach bottom out at the foreboding tone in his father's voice. Dave looked from Bumblebee, to Sam's father, and back again before he politely excused himself and stepped away. His mother leaned close to his father, as though to speak to him in confidence. Before she could say anything, however, Bumblebee attempted to provide clarification for his words.
"Prime has indicated that Sam—"
Bumblebee's words caused his father's flush to deepen to a vivid crimson. He took a step towards the yellow scout, cutting him off abruptly.
"Optimus Prime can go hang himself for all that I care." His father snapped, "In case it has escaped your notice, my son is convalescing."
Although Bumblebee's outward appearance did not change, Sam could feel the hot swell of offense that his father's words had caused.
"Dad." Sam said, aghast, at the same time that his mother snapped, "Ron!"
"What, Judy?" His father demanded, turning angry eyes towards his wife, "I've kept my peace, but enough is enough. He is skin and bones, for Christ's sake."
To Sam's intense mortification, he realized that his father's angry voice had begun to garner attention from the crowd of people around them. Although most passersby were politely averting their eyes, the naked curiosity on their faces was impossible to misinterpret. Sam winced his eyes shut as burning heat stole up his neck and across his face.
"Ronald Kevin Witwicky." His mother hissed in abject fury, "Lower your voice! You're embarrassing him in front of his people."
His father jerked his head around, staring at his mother in disbelief.
"Judy, listen to yourself. We're his people!" His father snapped.
The outrage in his father's voice caused Sam's throat to close up with helpless anguish. It was a curiously familiar feeling, and all at once, Sam could pinpoint it exactly. When he had been a young child, his parents had rented a cabin outside of San Diego. It had been located along a private stretch of sandy beach a short distance away from the ocean. Sam had only brief glimpses of memories from their stay—sandcastles and campfires and s'mores—but those were not the memories that stood out to him. No, the memory that he most closely associated with the cabin on the beach was the feeling of treading water as panic overwhelmed him. As his mother often retold the story over the following years, he had wandered away from his parents one morning and fell off the dock into the inky ocean. He had almost drowned before a neighbor had dove in and saved him. That feeling of being helpless and adrift, of struggling to get air into spasming lungs as darkness gathered at the edges of his vision, was exactly the same feeling that enveloped him now.
Distantly, as though he were under water, Sam became aware that his mother was speaking.
"We're his family, but we are not his people." His mother snapped, her voice low and controlled despite her anger, "Now stop making a scene this instant!"
All at once, Bumblebee's familiar presence filled his mind as their bond blossomed to life between them. It was warmth and affection and protectiveness, and Sam was unable to prevent the choked sound of relief that escaped him. All at once, he felt grounded, just as he had when strong arms had pulled him from the depths as a child. He leaned into Bumblebee's winter-white glow, basking in the soothing calm of their bond-space. After a few moments of Bee's wordless support, he felt steady enough to speak.
"Dad, stop." Sam said, tiredly, as he opened his eyes, "I'm going to meet with Optimus. You should go back to your apartment and get some sleep."
His father turned to look at him, his eyes flinty with anger, "You think so, do you?"
"Yes." Sam replied, matter-of-factly, "He wouldn't have asked for me if it wasn't important."
His father's flush deepened to a splotchy maroon, but before he could reply, Ratchet interceded on Sam's behalf.
"I share your concern, Mr. Witwicky." The medic cut in as he approached, "I will ensure that Sam does not overtax himself."
His father angled his head so that he could glare up at the medic. Ratchet returned his stare, hands on his hip struts and a no-nonsense expression on his face.
"I don't think you do share my concern." His father replied tightly, "For reasons I can't figure out, I seem to be the only person on this god-forsaken island who remembers that he was a prisoner of war less than a week ago!"
Sam could feel Bumblebee's affront and Ratchet's cool disapproval, but neither of them let their emotions show on their faces. He sighed internally, realizing all at once that this argument wasn't about to be resolved anytime soon. The realization made him feel tired and, abruptly, he needed the conversation to be over. He straightened his spine and pinned his father with a serious look.
"I remember, Dad." He said, "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm a ward of Cybertron. I have responsibilities now, whether you like it or not."
His father turned to look at him, his expression a maelstrom of emotion. Where Sam had expected anger and denial, however, he saw instead the faintest glimmer of fear. It was an expression that had no place on his father's face.
"I'm alright Dad." Sam murmured, stepped forward to give his bicep a reassuring squeeze, "As soon as the debriefing is over, I'll get something to eat and go to bed. We can talk later."
His father stared at him for a long moment, his eyes roving over Sam's face, before he abruptly deflated. His shoulders slumped and he shook his head faintly.
"Yeah. Yeah, all right Sammy. We'll talk later." His father replied quietly, and Sam flinched minutely at the nickname. Only his mother ever called him Sammy—his father never used the familiar endearment.
Sam glanced over at his mother. He could see the grief and exhaustion that she was trying so determinedly to hide. Their eyes met for a brief second and Sam nodded faintly. His mother's mouth twisted with grim resignation, but she returned his nod a moment later.
"Let's go, Ron." She murmured, taking his large hand in her own. His father muttered a terse affirmative, and shortly thereafter, they climbed into Red Alert's waiting cab. As soon as the doors closed shut behind them, the Lamborghini Countach accelerated out of the mostly empty hangar in the direction of North Quad. Sam watched them until Red Alert disappeared around the corner, and then he wilted in exhaustion. Through the haze of his thoughts, he was aware of Bumblebee's concern and Ratchet's disapproval. After a long moment, he glanced up at the chartreuse medic with a wry twist of his mouth.
"I can't believe you agreed to let me attend the debriefing."
"I didn't." Came the clipped reply, "Prime pulled rank."
Sam frowned faintly, feeling a burgeoning sense of trepidation in his gut, "That doesn't sound good."
"It is unusual." Ratchet conceded, "He will explain when he arrives."
The frown that had been pulling at the corners of Sam's mouth abruptly deepened, "He's coming here? Why?"
"He has cause to speak with you before the debriefing."
"Do you know what about?"
"Yes, I do." Ratchet replied coolly, "But Prime will explain."
Despite his pestering, Sam could get nothing else out of the medic. Eventually, he turned back towards Bumblebee, stepping close to his chassis and pressing his forehead against his chest plates. The metal was warm beneath his skin, and Sam could feel the faint tremors from Bumblebee's internal workings—fuel pump drawing energon through arterial lines, stabilizing pistons hissing in a steady rhythm. It was a familiar, soothing sound and Sam sighed softly in response. Bumblebee whistled at him quietly, bringing one large servo to rest against Sam's back.
/Thank-you./ Sam said at last, his mental voice barely more than a pulse of appreciation.
Bumblebee brushed against him, warm and gentle, /You're welcome, Sam./
/I knew he wouldn't take it well./ Sam replied, after a long moment, /I hope my mother can talk him down./
/I am certain that all will be well./
Sam huffed a quiet laugh, a faint smile curling the corners of his lips.
/I'm sorry for what he said. Thanks for taking it in stride./
/There is no apology necessary, from either you or your father./ Bumblebee replied, /His reaction was understandable, given the circumstances./
Sam pulled back slightly, tilting his head so that he could stare up at the yellow scout.
"You have the patience of a saint."
Bumblebee's optics brightened in good humor, and he brushed the tips of his digits against the back of Sam's neck.
"I'm millions of years old. I've had time to practice."
Sam laughed faintly, pressing his cheek against Bumblebee's spark casing. They stood there like that for an interminable time, until the familiar rumble of a Peterbilt engine pierced the quiet that had descended over the hangar. Sam sighed, turning his head to regard the large truck as it slowed to a stop a short distance away. With the sound of shifting metal and the pneumatic hiss of hydraulics, Optimus transformed into his bipedal mode. Once his transformation sequence was complete, the large mechanoid lowered to one knee in front of him. Reluctantly, Sam stepped away from the warmth of Bumblebee's chassis and walked towards the Autobot leader.
"Hey Optimus." Sam said, and then remembering his conversation with Smokescreen, he grimaced faintly, "Or Prime, whatever you want to be called."
Optimus' expression was inscrutable, but he inclined his helm slightly.
"Your familiarity is not offensive, Sam."
"Oh. Okay then, that's good." Sam replied, taken aback by the stark sincerity in Optimus' voice. He pushed his hands into his pockets, stepping towards the large mechanoid, "Alright then, out with it. What happened?"
Optimus' optics shuttered slowly, and he ex-vented a soft sigh.
"Starscream has learned the truth of what happened to you while onboard the Nemesis. As a result of his tactlessness, Prowl, Ironhide, and Kup have become privy to the facts as well."
Sam stared up at the Autobot leader in stunned disbelief. Whatever he had expected Optimus to say, that had certainly not been it. It took him a long moment to marshal his thoughts before he could speak.
"I see." He replied, eventually, "Is that why he came here?"
Optimus inclined his helm in solemn agreement, "It is. Starscream has taken great offense at the use of his protocols for such an end."
Sam's mouth twisted in a grimace, "You're telling me that Starscream feels guilty?"
There was a low rumble deep within Optimus' chassis, as his optics narrowed considerately, "I am not certain that is the correct term for what he feels. He is affronted, certainly, and deeply outraged by the disrespect that Megatron has afforded him. Whether he feels guilty for his part in the abuse is a matter of speculation."
Sam frowned at the Autobot leader, "Alright, so he's pissed off. He came all this way to complain?"
Optimus shook his helm minutely, "No. He came all of this way to offer a truce."
Sam's eyes widened in shocked disbelief, "A truce?"
"So that we might pose a united front against our mutual enemy."
He stared up at the Autobot leader incredulously, "I don't understand the words that are coming out of your mouth. Starscream is defecting?"
"Not defecting, no. He will seek to depose Megatron with our assistance."
"He is an opportunistic little intrigant." Ratchet spat, his tone acidic.
Optimus turned to regard his Chief Medical Officer, something like grim agreement in his optics.
"Perhaps so, but for the moment, our purposes align." Optimus replied.
"How long is that going to last?" Sam asked, frowning, "He'll betray you the moment that he assumes control."
"Starscream's inevitable betrayal will be neither a surprise nor a matter for concern. For all of his intelligence and skill, he has only a fraction of Megatron's experience and ability—nor does he have Megatron's penchant for inspiring loyalty in his followers." Optimus refuted seriously, "As a result, I suspect that a great number of Decepticons will refuse to follow Starscream's command."
"I don't understand." Sam said, confused by the confidence in Optimus' voice, "Won't that mean that we have two factions fighting us instead of one?"
"Two significantly weaker factions who will also be at war with one another." Optimus replied, "A schism within the Decepticon ranks would give us a considerable advantage in this war."
"If you say so." Sam said, unable to keep doubt out of his voice, "So, what now?"
"Now we prepare for a parlay, so that each side can outline the terms and conditions of their cooperation."
"What are our terms?" Sam asked, unable to control his curiosity.
Optimus stared at him for a long moment, his expression solemn and serious.
"I will accept Megatron's unconditional surrender or his death. In exchange, my forces will assist the command trine in their endeavor to depose Megatron from power. My cooperation is contingent upon Starscream's vow to cease hostilities against the humans immediately. If he is successful in his coup, then I will also agree to a pact of non-aggression, so long as my conditions regarding peaceful cohabitation with humans and Autobots are honored."
Sam listened attentively, his eyes narrowed in consideration. When Optimus finished speaking, Sam scrubbed his hands over his face.
"That sounds good in theory, Optimus, but Starscream will never honor it."
"I suspect that he will honor the agreement until he achieves his objectives. If a schism occurs within the Decepticon ranks, however, he may well honor it for a great deal longer. He cannot afford to fight a war on two fronts before he has established his authority as Lord High Protector."
Sam chewed on his bottom lip as he digested all that Optimus had said. After a moment, he looked up at the Autobot leader.
"Will it work?" He asked, quietly.
"I believe it is the best chance that we have for ending this accursed conflict. Never before in our sordid history have Starscream and Soundwave aligned purposes. Together, they pose a very real threat to Megatron's power."
Sam jerked back in surprise, unable to keep the look of stunned disbelief off his face, "Soundwave?"
Optimus inclined his helm, "If Starscream is to be believed, he is the orchestrator of this coup."
"I find that very hard to believe." Sam replied tightly. He would never forget the feeling of Soundwave's mental fingers digging in his mind, rifling through his memories and laying them bare for the warlord.
"I have my qualms as well, Sam." Optimus agreed, "We will know soon enough."
Sam felt a familiar sense of anxiety at the Autobot leader's tone. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to find a way to put his misgivings into words. After a long moment, Sam asked, tentatively, "Could this be a trap?"
"It is possible," Optimus conceded gravely, "but I will not repeat my previous mistakes. We will carefully plan for every contingency before we take action."
Sam nodded faintly, reassured by the stark note of promise in the Autobot leader's words.
"What does this mean for me?" He asked uncertainly.
Optimus' optics became fathomless as they brightened to a startling, azure blue, "By the grace of Primus, this will mean peace. True, everlasting peace, so that you may live the rest of your life out from beneath Megatron's shadow."
Sam shivered at the note of solemnity in Optimus' tone. He rubbed one hand up and down his arm, chasing away the goosebumps that prickled his skin.
"What do they think?" Sam asked eventually, unable to meet Optimus' optics, "'Hide and the others, I mean."
Optimus was silent for a moment, an eternity by Cybertronian standards, before he reached a large servo towards him. Sam stared back at him in surprise, but he did not balk or pull away. Optimus pressed his palm against Sam's back, a tender and reassuring gesture.
"They were shocked and outraged on your behalf." Optimus replied simply, "Yet you need not fear for your privacy. I have forbidden them to speak of the matter."
Sam nodded faintly, torn between appreciation and discomfort. His expression must have been telling, for Optimus' optics softened with an unreadable emotion.
"The shame is not yours, Sam." He said gently, "It is Megatron's. No one would think otherwise."
Sam swallowed against the emotion that closed his throat, "Optimus, please don't take this the wrong way, but I would rather talk about literally anything else."
Optimus' optics flitted over Sam's face so quickly that he thought he might have imagined it, before the Autobot leader nodded gravely, "As you wish. The debriefing will cover all that I have told you, and then we will begin preparations for the parlay. Do you wish to attend?"
Sam was rocked by a tidal wave of angry disapproval from Ratchet, and he glanced over his shoulder at the medic. Ratchet was standing a short distance away, his arms crossed tightly over his chassis and a tumultuous expression on his faceplates. Tentatively, Sam brushed against his mental presence—it was an imploring touch, hesitant and uncertain.
/Ratchet, please. I don't want to be alone right now. It's been a weird night./
The medic ex-vented a sharp snort, but his optics softened, becoming considerate where once they had been scathing. After a moment, Sam felt the medic's mental fingers brush across his mind.
/I will consent for you to attend—begrudgingly—if you agree to leave when I say so./
/Yeah, okay./ Sam agreed automatically. It was an easy concession to make.
"Very well." Ratchet grumbled.
As though his words were a release, Optimus straightened to his full height and then transformed. Bumblebee and Ratchet followed suit a moment later, and as soon as the last panel slid into place, Bee's driver's side door popped open. Sam smiled appreciatively at the scout, patting his hood as he climbed into the cab. Once he settled into the familiar leather seat, the door closed behind him. Bumblebee followed Optimus out of the hangar, accelerating through East Quad towards the bridge. It was surprisingly empty as they drove, with only a few soldiers making their way through the cavernous tunnel. The reason for the quiet became apparent as they turned into West Quad. The Transformer section of the Hive was a bustle of activity, with soldiers, civilian support staff, logicians, and technicians making their way towards the command center.
As Bumblebee pulled into the large room a short while later, Sam quickly realized that more than just Optimus' senior officers and staff had assembled for the debriefing. Prowl, Ironhide, Kup, and Ultra Magnus stood at their customary positions around the large conference table. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stood next to Hot Rod and Cliffjumper under the scaffolding, while Jolt, Red Alert, and Inferno stood together nearer the entrance. Perceptor and Wheeljack stood by the large command console at the head of the conference table, while Arcee, Chromia, and Elita-1 stood leaning against the wall on the far side of the room.
Bumblebee slowed to a stop by the scaffold steps and opened his door. Sam brushed his fingertips across the Autobot emblem on the steering wheel before he climbed out of the cab. As soon as he was clear, Bumblebee rolled back several feet and then he transformed back into his bipedal mode. As Sam climbed up the stairs, Bee stepped forward to stand between Hot Rod and Cliffjumper. Cliff glanced up at him as he walked, whistling a good-natured greeting. Sam smiled at him and waved.
By the time that he reached the top of the stairs, Sam was surprised to find himself winded. He leaned against the railing until he caught his breath, suddenly painfully aware of Ratchet's intense scrutiny across their bond. He tossed the medic a sunny smile before he walked down the scaffold to his usual spot near Ops. To his combined relief and dread, he saw that Dave was already there, dressed once again in smart-looking business attire. At the agent's side was Will, who was standing with his arms folded over his chest and a serious expression on his face.
Steeling himself, Sam crossed the space between them. He nodded at Dave as he approached, and then took his position beside Will. They stood in uncomfortable silence for the better part of five minutes, before Sam glanced sidelong in his direction.
"You were being an asshole, but I was worse." He said, by way of apology, "Sorry."
A muscle jumped in Will's jaw, but after a tense moment, the soldier nodded.
"I heard your folks gave you a hard time in the hangar." Will replied, voice inflectionless, "That sucks."
Sam glanced at him again, unable to keep the surprise off his face.
"Yeah, it does."
Will turned his head minutely to look at him, his expression impenetrable, before he replied.
"They'll get over it. Hang in there."
Sam nodded slowly, not daring to speak lest he say something to ruin the tentative comradery between them. He was saved from the headache of trying to decide how to react by Optimus' commanding voice cutting across the din of the command center. All at once, the room quieted down as every person—human or Autobot—turned to regard their leader. As Optimus spoke, Wheeljack's servos flew over the large touchpad in front of him, illuminating a transparent, three-dimensional map of the planet. Sam's heart ached at the sight of him, and he wondered whether he should approach the engineer after the meeting or wait and let the engineer approach him. Almost as though he had read Sam's mind, Wheeljack glanced in his direction. As soon as he laid optics on him, Wheeljack seemed to deflate, his shoulders curling forward as his fin panels swirled with sickly yellow-green.
Well aware of the guilt that the other was surely feeling, Sam arranged his expression into one of happy surprise. He smiled brightly down at him, waving with tips of his fingers as he mouthed, 'Hey Jack'.
Wheeljack stared at him in naked surprise, the fins on his helm brightening to a jade-colored hue.
Sam's smile widened into a grin, and he popped two playful thumbs-up. Jack blinked his optics at him slowly, before tilting his head in puzzlement. It was a familiar mannerism, one that Sam had seen him affect while trying to figure out particularly vexing equations.
'I'm glad to see you.' Sam mouthed silently.
Wheeljack's straightened, the dorsal fins on the back of his helm perking up as his panels brightened to sunshine yellow. Sam laughed softly, relief and happiness warming him all over. The engineer bobbed on the balls of his pedes once, twice, before gesturing at the workstation in front of him apologetically. Sam understood at once, and he made a shooing motion with his hand. Wheeljack chirped expressively, a sound that carried across the hangar, before he turned back to his work. Sam watched him for a long while, only half-listening to Optimus as he repeated information that Sam already knew.
After the debriefing, the human contingent broke into groups to begin preparations for the parlay. Almost an hour later, Sam found himself at a table with Dave, Will, and an assortment of technicians that Sam didn't recognize. He stared uncomprehendingly at various topographical maps of Gobi desert, watching as a cartographer drew hatched lines in strategic spots. He was aware of his growing exhaustion, could feel it in the dryness of his eyes and the burning of his shoulder muscles. Yet he was grateful beyond words for the chance to be useful, to feel as though he were contributing, however minutely, to their cause.
A short while later, their work was interrupted by the arrival of a corporal bearing an armful of white take-out containers. Sam stared in surprise as the man distributed the boxes around the table with plastic cutlery and bottles of water. The man was familiar looking, with close-cropped dark hair and an open, friendly expression.
"Do I know you?" Sam blurted, surprising himself.
The man turned to look at him, a smile warming his face, "You sure do, Sir. Corporal Jackson."
Sam tilted his head as he wracked his memory, and then realization dawned on him. Private Jackson had served in the mess hall in the months before Sam's abduction. He had stood out for his easy-going demeanor and his steadfast refusal to refer to Sam in anything other than honorifics.
"Jackson." Sam said, a smile spreading across his face, "Good to see you."
"You too, Ambassador. Glad you're back." He replied, before nodding towards the take-away containers, "Enjoy. Chef Jefferson pulled out all the stops this morning when he got the order."
Sam obliged the Corporal, opening the takeout container. All at once, the smell of bacon and eggs filled the air, and Sam's mouth flooded with salvia. He had last eaten at the Officer's club the night before, which must have been over twelve hours ago. Suddenly aware of his carving hunger, Sam glanced up at Jackson with a grin.
"Someone give this man a promotion."
Jackson laughed good-naturedly, raising two fingers to his forehead in an informal salute, before he headed back down the gantry. Without another word, Sam tucked into his meal like a starved man. Although it was lukewarm, it tasted amazing. The bacon was crisp, a perfect blend of smoky-sweet, and the eggs were scrambled the way that he liked them. When he finished his eggs, he glanced over at Dave's container to see that the agent had left most of his bacon untouched.
"You going to eat that?" Sam asked, pointing with his fork.
Carter glanced down in surprise, before a wry smile twisted his mouth.
"You go ahead. I'm watching my cholesterol."
Sam laughed appreciatively, using his fork to scoop the prized protein into his container. He piled the bacon onto his buttered toast and began to eat. By the time that he started in on the waffles, Dave had started to look faintly green.
"Oh my God, Sam, did Ratchet replace your stomach with a garbage disposal?"
Sam glanced at the agent in confusion, before looking around the table. He was surprised to see that he was the only one still eating, and also the only one who had finished more than half of his meal. Sam shrugged, popping a piece of strawberry into his mouth.
"I'm recuperating." He replied, cheekily.
Dave rolled his eyes, "Yeah well, it won't do you any good if you throw up in twenty minutes."
"I have a cast-iron stomach." Sam said, "I lived for two years on cold MREs and bottled water. If congealed spaghetti and meatballs didn't make me puke, this'll be fine."
Across the table, one of the technicians winced in response, "Jesus, that's cruel and unusual punishment. There has to be a Geneva Convention article about that."
Sam stared at him in surprise for a heartbeat, and then he threw back his head and laughed.
"If there's not, there should be." Sam replied once he could get the words out, "I'll draft the proposed amendment myself."
Beside him, Will shook his head in exasperation, but a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth.
The rest of the meal passed by uneventfully. When Sam had finished, he tossed the empty take-away container into the trash that had been brought up to the mezzanine for that express purpose. Then, he sat back down at the table and listened as the cartographers argued about the best location to place the scouts. By the time that they had come to a reluctant compromise, Sam was beginning to feel leaden with exhaustion. The food settled pleasantly in his stomach, making him feel content and sleepy. He watched the cartographers work with half-lidded eyes, drifting comfortably.
/You're done. Let's go./ Ratchet's voice cut into his mind, startling him into full wakefulness. He glanced over to see that Ratchet had approached in his bipedal mode, and was staring down at him expectantly. Sam quirked a smile up at the medic, before pushing himself to his feet.
"That's it for me, I'm afraid. Thanks everyone." Sam said, raising his hand in a gesture of farewell. He pushed in his chair before making his way down the gantry towards the stairs, which he slowly descended. The room was quieter now, with humans and Autobots alike speaking quietly in small groups. As he stepped onto the floor, Ratchet's alt mode pulled up in front of him.
"Get in." The medic instructed as his driver's side door opened.
Sam obliged without protest. As he settled into the large bucket seat, the door closed behind him. Ratchet accelerated out of the command center without another word. Sam glanced down at the digital display on the dashboard, surprised to see that it was almost seven o'clock in the morning.
"I didn't realize it was so late… or early, rather." He murmured, relaxing into the seat.
"Yes, time does fly when preparing for a military deployment." Ratchet replied dryly.
He laughed quietly in response, "Yeah, I guess it does."
To Sam's surprise, Ratchet did not take him to North Quad. Instead, the medic pulled into the medical bay and rolled to a stop in front of the familiar berth. Sam glanced at the dashboard, as though to ask for an explanation, when he felt a pulse of warning across their bond. He barely had the time to brace himself before Ratchet's cabin exploded in a complicated twist of metal paneling. A moment later, Sam found himself set down in front of the gurney.
"Up you get." Ratchet said briskly.
"Seriously?" Sam asked in exasperation.
"Seriously." Ratchet replied, "I have every intention of keeping an eye on you until your penchant for self-destruction has abated."
Sam rolled his eyes, but he understood the unyielding iron in the medic's tone. Obligingly, Sam toed off his shoes and unfastened his fly, shimmying out of his jeans without complaint. A moment later, he climbed up into the gurney and pulled the blankets over his legs. Ratchet watched him in silence, his vivid blue optics shining brightly in the dim light of the hangar.
As Sam settled back against the mattress, he glanced up at the medic with a faint smile.
"Thanks for that. Earlier, I mean."
"Go to sleep." The medic groused in reply, but there was no heat in his words.
"I'm serious."
"I understand, Sam. You can wax and wane your appreciation to me after you've gotten some rest."
"Well, I wanted you to know. You're good to me, Ratchet."
"Obviously." The medic replied, the faintest edge of dry humor in his tone, "Now go to sleep."
"Yeah, but I know that you and Optimus—"
"Primus save me from willful younglings." Ratchet muttered to himself.
"I'm just saying—"
The medic ex-vented a sigh, pinning Sam with a dry look.
"I warned you." Ratchet said, almost pleasantly. In the next instant, Sam felt a firm touch in his mind. Before he could protest, there was an abrupt pushing sensation, and then Sam tumbled down into a deep sleep.