Chapter Warnings: Minor flashback to trauma. Panic attack.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Sam woke slowly, reluctantly, to the feeling of warm hands stroking up and down his back. He groaned in protest, rolling over and pulling the covers up to his shoulders. Behind him, Bumblebee chuckled softly and shifted closer to him. He slid one hand down Sam's side to settle against his bare hip.
"Time to get up."
Sam made a discontented sound and burrowed his face into the pillow. Bumblebee squeezed his hipbone meaningfully, giving him a little shake.
"Judy has been calling you."
Sam squinted his eyes open, turning to glance over his shoulder at the holoform. Bumblebee was lying propped up on one elbow, half under the blankets, with an amused expression on his face.
"What time is it?"
"It's just after eight."
"At night?"
Bumblebee laughed lightly, "No, in the morning."
Sam groaned softly, dropping his head onto the pillow as he rolled onto his back. It seemed impossible that he had slept for over twelve hours. He felt weary and tired, as though he had just fallen to sleep. He raised a hand and rubbed the grit out of his eyes, before turning to look at the holoform.
"I'll make you a deal: let me sleep for another couple of days and then I'll go hang with my folks."
In the dim light cast by the bedside lamp, Sam could see Bumblebee's lips quirk up. The holoform leaned down until his mouth was scant inches away from Sam's own, before he murmured, "Here's my counteroffer—get up and get dressed, and I won't tell Judy that you're ignoring her calls."
Sam couldn't help the grin that split his face as he replied, matter-of-factly, "Snitches get stitches, Bee."
"I'll take that under advisement." The holoform replied dryly, before he reached down and twitched the blankets off Sam's body, "Go on."
Sam groaned as the cocoon of warmth disappeared and cool, bedroom air washed over him. Unable to see an alternative, Sam sat up and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He yanked the throw blanket off the foot of the bed and draped it around his shoulders. Then he pushed himself to his feet and padded towards the closet, pulling open the doors and rummaging inside. As he pulled out his long-sleeved Henley, he stared at the material considerately before turning to look at his bonded.
"Is it supposed to be hot today?" He asked, before amending, "Any hotter than usual, I mean."
Bee pushed himself up into a sitting position as he replied, "It's raining, actually. The island is under a severe weather advisory."
Sam tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in thought, "I remember you saying something about a storm. Was it a tropical cyclone?"
"The remnants of a tropical depression."
"Well that's too bad." Sam replied, kicking the closet doors closed, "I told my folks I'd take them to Marianne Point. What's the forecast?"
"Scattered rain showers this morning, total precipitation amounts of one to two inches expected, changing to severe thunderstorms this afternoon. Potential hazards include high winds, intense downpours, and lightning. Rough surf is also expected."
Sam ambled across the bedroom to stand in front of the holoform.
"That sounds awesome. Want to go watch?"
Bumblebee's face softened with affection. He reached out both hands, pushing the blanket aside, to settle his palms over Sam's hips.
"We can go for a drive before the worst of the storm arrives, certainly. After the island has been placed under a severe weather warning, however, we will be ordered back to base."
Sam's lips quirked up in a smile, "Prowl and Red Alert aren't joking around, huh?"
Bumblebee chuckled, his thumbs rubbing firm circles into the skin of Sam's abdomen, "Do they ever?"
"Prowl's a nice guy, but he has the sense of humor of a toaster oven." Sam agreed good-naturedly, "It must have been a blast on the Trion with him and Ultra Magnus. I'm amazed that Roddy didn't throw himself out of an airlock."
"It was a near thing, I'm sure." Bee replied dryly, before giving Sam's hips another meaningful squeeze, "Go shower. Your mother has started texting you."
When Sam didn't move, Bumblebee tilted his head expectantly. In the low light of the bedroom, his blue eyes looked storm-gray. Sam swallowed and stepped closer to him, a flush spreading across his cheeks. Bumblebee's expression sharpened knowingly and he sat up straighter, pulling Sam to stand in the space between his legs.
"Bee…" Sam began, and he was embarrassed to hear the shyness in his voice, "I wanted you to know that I enjoyed it. Last night, I mean. It was… nice."
By the time that Sam had finished speaking, his flush had deepened to a rosy red. It was always more difficult to discuss sexual matters when he wasn't either horny as hell or in post-orgasm bliss. Bumblebee did not seem to mind his ineloquence, however, for his expression softened in understanding. He shifted forward, stroking his palms up and down Sam's sides. The feeling of his hands on Sam's body was soothing, grounding, and he leaned into the touch.
"I am glad. It was enjoyable for me as well."
Sam quirked a smile at him, "That's good. I wouldn't want to leave you high and dry."
Bumblebee's expression became distant in the manner that suggested he was researching the colloquialism. After a moment, his features brightened with amusement.
"Not at all, Sam." Bumblebee reassured him, "I dare say I enjoyed the experience every bit as much as you did."
Sam's smile deepened, spreading across his face as he pressed against the holoform, "Well, then. My parents can wait another twenty minutes for breakfast, if you're interested?"
His tone was equal parts suggestive and hopeful, but before Bumblebee could reply, Ratchet's voice cut through his mind like a scythe.
/Perhaps you are unaware of the fact that when you do not respond to your mother, she begins to pester me. I am neither your answering machine nor your personal assistant./
Sam jerked away from Bumblebee in surprise, his blush deepening to a brilliant vermillion. Bumblebee looked taken aback for a fraction of a second, and then his face twisted with understanding.
/Ratchet!/ Sam snapped, embarrassed and aghast, /Do you mind?/
Sam felt, rather than heard, the medic's snort.
/Is that a serious inquiry?/ He asked, his voice as dry and cool as the Gobi desert. /Because yes, I mind having my experiments interrupted for the last hour—albeit not as much as I mind gaining first-hand knowledge that your species is, evidentially, insatiable./
Sam slowly closed his eyes, letting his head fall back in mortification. After a long moment, he managed, lowly, "Mercy kill me right now."
Bumblebee made a sympathetic sound before nudging Sam through their bond.
"Go shower. I'll let your mother know that you'll be along shortly."
Sam stepped away from the holoform, walking around the bed and into the bathroom without another word. He withdrew as far away from Ratchet as the Creator bond would allow, doing his best to keep his embarrassment to himself. After he used the bathroom, he pulled the shower curtain aside and turned the nozzle to his desired temperature. As the water heated up, he opened the linen closet and grabbed a towel and a facecloth. Dropping the towel onto the floor, Sam stepped into the shower. The water was just this side of uncomfortably hot—just the way that he liked it—and he soaped up as quickly as possible. After he rinsed off, he shampooed his hair and then stood in the hot stream for a long while, letting the water cascade over his back. After an interminable time, he felt the Creator bond shiver impatiently in his mind. With a wry twist of his lips, Sam shut off the water and pulled the shower curtain aside.
Grabbing the towel off the floor, he crossed the room towards the counter. Sam dried off quickly and perfunctorily, and as a result, he was still dripping water when he pulled on his clothing. He draped the wet towel around his neck, pulling open the bathroom door as he grabbed his toothbrush. All at once, he could hear his mother's voice coming from the living room. Resisting the urge to wince, Sam padded into the doorway of his bedroom—and then he stopped dead in his tracks.
His mother and father were sitting on his couch. Bumblebee's holoform was standing a short distance away, his arms folded comfortably over his chest. Beside him stood Ratchet, who was engaged in a discussion with his parents. His mother was smiling at the holoform, every evidence of enjoyment on her face. His father, to Sam's surprise, seemed interested in what the holoform was saying.
"Uh… good morning." He said, slowly, gesturing to the assembled group with his toothbrush, "So, what's this all about?"
"Good morning, Sam." Ratchet replied dryly, "Nice of you to finally join us. I wasn't sure whether you were ever going to get out of bed."
Sam felt himself flush in embarrassment at the backhanded remark. Before he could reply, however, his mother laughed lightly.
"Oh, I know! Isn't he awful?" She said, oblivious to Ratchet's sarcasm or Sam's mortification, "He used to sleep in until noon on the weekends—Ron actually had to pull him out of bed on more than one occasion."
Ron made a wry sound in response—not a laugh, but not a scoff either—as he turned to look at his son. As soon as he saw the look on Sam's face, however, his expression stilled, becoming pointed. After a long moment, his father sighed and shook his head in resignation.
"Go brush your teeth, Sam. I need a coffee."
Taken aback by the note of dry exasperation in his father's tone, Sam nodded slowly, "Yeah, sure Pops. I'll just be a minute."
As he turned to step back into his bedroom, he glanced in Bumblebee's direction. The holoform was watching him closely, and when they made eye contact, he raised his shoulders in a shrug that clearly conveyed his surprise. Mulling over his father's unexpected reaction, Sam made his way towards the bathroom and brushed his teeth. After he rinsed out his mouth and tossed his towel in the hamper, he made his way back into the living room. Although Ratchet and Bumblebee had not moved from where they stood, his parents had gotten off the couch to wait beside the door. As soon as she spotted him, his mother made an impatient sound.
"Sammy, come on. It's almost nine. They won't have anything left by the time we get there."
"It's a mess hall, Judy. They'll have plenty to eat." His father replied, the same edge of dry humor in his voice. His mother scoffed softly, swatting at his father with the back of her hand. The sight of them, bickering goodheartedly with each other, made Sam's throat close up in emotion. He stood there for a long moment, just taking in the sight of them. Then, swallowing down the enormity of what he was feeling, Sam made his way towards the door and retrieved his shoes. He leaned against the narrow desk, pulling on the sneakers before grabbing his identification badge.
To Sam's surprise, both Bumblebee and Ratchet accompanied them to the mess hall. His mother chatted happily with the medic as they walked—or rather, she talked at length and Ratchet listened without complaint. To his credit, whenever she asked a question, he answered her without any trace of sarcasm in his voice. His father walked at her side, listening to the conversation without adding anything himself. Bumblebee and Sam walked together, trailing a short distance behind them. When his mother asked another question, this time about the medical corps, Sam nudged Bumblebee through their bond.
/Do you want to take bets on whether this is physically uncomfortable for him?/
Bumblebee glanced sidelong at him, his expression one of mild amusement.
/The conversation with your mother?/
/No—well, I mean, yes, but I meant how he's not being sarcastic./
Ratchet glanced over his shoulder in Sam's direction, his expression pointed and unimpressed. Sam grinned at him unrepentantly, pushing his hands into his pockets. As Ratchet turned back towards his mother, Sam felt the spark-bond brighten with amusement.
He glanced sidelong at Bumblebee, unable to resist asking in a deadpan voice, /Should we get him a sympathy card?/
Ratchet's irritation flashed through their bond, and a moment later, Sam was rewarded with a sharp mental rap across his mind. Although the admonishment stung more so than any of Ratchet's previous mental discipline, Sam couldn't help the laugh that choked out of him. He raised a hand to his head, rubbing at his temple with his fingers, and pulsed a wordless—albeit not entirely sincere—apology at the medic. Without turning to look at him, Ratchet snorted in response.
As predicted, the mess hall had an abundance of food remaining despite the late morning hour. Sam and his parents queued in the short line at the galley, moving their tray along the stainless steel counter as they selected their breakfast. The smells wafting from the large silver trays set behind the sneeze guard had a stimulating effect on Sam's appetite. By the time that they paid for their meals and found a seat across the hall, his stomach was pinching with hunger. Sam ate voraciously, working through his breakfast wrap and home fries before his parents had put a dent into their meals. By the time that he started on the apple blueberry muffin, he felt a restraining touch in his mind. Sam glanced up, meeting Ratchet's gaze. The holoform was watching him closely from his spot beside his mother. He could tell that the medic was not irritated with him for his earlier remark by the note of exasperation and amusement across their bond.
/Although I am heartened by your appetite, you should at least attempt to chew your food. I have no desire to test the efficacy of the Heimlich maneuver this morning./
Sam's eyebrows rose of their own accord and he asked, without thinking, "Did you just make a joke?"
Both his mother and his father turned to look at him, taken aback by Sam's apparent non-sequitur. Sam felt a flush creep across his face as he realized that he had answered Ratchet's non-verbal comment out loud. His mother frowned at him, confused.
"What, Sammy?"
He was saved from stammering through an explanation by Ratchet himself. The medic turned his head to regard his parents and said, matter-of-factly, "I was advising your son to chew his food."
Understanding dawned on his mother's face and she asked, curiously, "Through the ...Creator bond?"
"Yes." Ratchet replied without elaboration.
His mother hummed considerately before she turned to look at Sam. At the sight of his nearly empty plate, her expression became disapproving, "You do eat too quickly, Sammy. It's bad for your digestion."
"My digestion is fine, Ma." He replied, equal parts embarrassed and relieved.
"It'll give you gas." She continued, shaking her head as she speared a piece of fruit with her fork.
"Ma. Stop."
"Or diarrhea."
"Ma, I'm begging you, please stop talking." Sam groaned, at the same time that his father said, "Judy, stop."
His mother glanced between the two of them, raising her shoulders in a shrug, "You don't have room to talk, Ron. You could clear out a truck stop."
His father made an exasperated sound and leaned towards her, "You're embarrassing him."
She snorted loudly in response, "No, I'm not. Am I embarrassing you, Sammy?" Before Sam could reply in the affirmative, his mother continued, "See? Besides, Ratchet and Bumblebee don't mind. Do you?"
Ratchet made a permissive gesture with his hand, "By all means."
Sam made an irritated sound in the back of his throat and stood up, "And that's my cue. Bumblebee, want to head out now? Before I have a nervous breakdown?"
"Where are you going?" His mother asked, pouring more creamer into her coffee.
"Out to watch the storm." Sam replied, pushing his chair into the table.
"That sounds dangerous." She said disapprovingly, "Don't get too close to the water."
"I'll be fine, Ma."
"Make good decisions."
"I will." Sam replied, gathering up his napkins and utensils. As he headed towards the trash receptacles, he waved good-bye over his shoulder. Bumblebee fell into step beside him, posture loose and relaxed. After Sam binned the remainder of his breakfast and stowed his tray, they made their way into the corridor.
They walked the length of one long hallway before Sam said, as much to himself as to Bumblebee, "He seems in a better mood this morning."
"He does." The holoform replied, diplomatically.
"I'm glad." Sam admitted.
Bumblebee's metal presence brushed over his mind, understanding and affectionate. Sam bumped back against him, appreciatively. They walked in silence the entire way through North Quad, sharing feeling and impression across their bond-space without words. By the time that they stepped onto the bridge, Bumblebee was already waiting in his alt mode. To Sam's surprise, Hot Rod and Knock Out were waiting with him.
"Hey guys. What are you doing here?"
"We are on our way to the Ark." Knock Out replied, his tone pissy and put out, "Ratchet insists that I re-arrange the clinic."
Sam winced at him sympathetically as he stepped towards the Camaro. He ran his good hand along the length of Bumblebee's shiny yellow hood.
"Sorry, KO. That sucks."
The red Aston Martin revved its engines loudly, a sound that somehow managed to covey the depths of his displeasure. The noise echoed up and down the cavernous corridor, causing people to turn their heads in surprise. As Bumblebee opened the driver's side door, Sam felt Ratchet's presence brighten across their bond.
/Brace yourself./
It was the only warning that Sam received before the firewalls in his mind fell away, exposing him to the full neural network. The rush of sensation and vastness was dizzying in its intensity, and Bumblebee chirped at him concernedly.
"I'm fine. I just need a minute." Sam managed through gritted teeth, "Thanks for the heads-up, Ratchet."
Sam felt the mental equivalent of a shrug. After a long moment, he exhaled a slow breath and stretched his mental presence, gaining his bearings. Hot Rod's and Knock Out's signatures were nearby and familiar, one pearlescent and petal-soft, the other a gleaming copper-red. Sam could make out other signatures as well—cool blue, gun smoke gray, quicksilver, and there, further away, sunshine yellow. A smile curled the corners of Sam's mouth at the sight of Jack's signature, bright and warm. He brushed against the familiar glow with mental fingers, and was immediately met with a flood of surprise-welcome-enthusiasm.
Sam laughed delightedly, before he turned his attention back towards the neural-network. He marveled at the fact that he ever thought it was dark and empty—it thrummed with light that he could not see, sensation that he could not feel. It was incredible.
/Be that as it may, you're supposed to be firewalling./ Ratchet's dry voice cut through his mind.
/Ratch, this is wild./
/So you've said./
Sam snorted as he climbed into Bumblebee's cab. As soon as he settled onto the driver's seat, the door closed behind him and Bee's engine turned over. It was only after they were half-way to the receiving room, and Ratchet's mental presence had taken on an impatient edge, that Sam grudgingly gathered up a filtering firewall. It fell into place easily enough—certainly more comfortable than the basic block—but it was still heavy and cumbersome. Sam began to feel the strain of keeping it in place by the time they rolled out of the ground-level bunker.
As soon as they cleared the wide double-doors, Sam was taken aback by the intensity of the storm. The rain came down in sheets, drumming loudly against Bumblebee's exterior. The three alt modes activated their headlights, a necessary precaution given the swollen, iron-gray clouds that caused mid-morning to seem more like early evening. The sky was occasionally brightened by flashes of lightning that forked across the horizon, followed shortly by long, rolling claps of thunder.
They drove through the downtown area, which was almost entirely empty except for the occasional Humvee or covered truck that passed them. As they turned onto the airfield, Bumblebee accelerated to fifty-five miles per hour. Whenever he drove through the massive puddles that had pooled on the road surface, his tires sent up great curtains of water. Sam sat in silence the entire time that they drove, staring out the windshield at the sky. Whenever a flash of lightning brightened up the cab, he held his breath and counted.
When they arrived at the Ark, Bumblebee slowed to a stop outside of the semi-circle of crates and equipment that surrounded the loading ramp. Hot Rod and Knock Out came to a stop beside him and then they transformed. The sight of the two Autobots standing in the torrential downpour, unaffected by the wind or the rain, was perhaps the most alien that they had ever seemed. Hot Rod turned, lifting two digits to his forehead in a friendly salute. Sam narrowed his eyes in concentration, and then pinged a wordless valediction to the cavalier. Roddy stilled and then smiled down at him, lifting both servos in two thumbs-up.
Knock Out folded his arms over his chest and rolled his optics expressively, but he waved good-bye to Sam all the same.
As soon as the two mechanoids disappeared into the ship, Bumblebee reversed in a three-point turn and headed back towards the base. Rather than drive in the direction of Downtown, however, Bumblebee took the access road that led to Simpson Point. Less than five minutes later, he pulled up to the rocky dune that overlooked the beach. Sam leaned forward, his eyebrows raising in surprise. The ocean was an undulating, foaming mass of dark water that broke onto the foreshore with a vengeance.
"Wow." Sam said quietly, staring out at the expanse of white-capped waves, "Any chance the Downtown'll flood?"
"It is unlikely." Bumblebee replied thoughtfully, "Most of the island is protected from storm surge by its barrier reefs, although it is possible that some minor flooding could occur due to rain run-off."
Before Sam could reply, a brilliant flash of lightning forked across the sky. At once, he murmured, "One… two… three… four—"
A loud rumble of thunder rolled over the beach with enough force that Sam could feel it. He grinned.
"What are you doing?" Bumblebee asked, curiously.
"I'm counting the number of seconds between the lightning flash and the thunder. It's something I did as a kid."
There was a marked pause, and then Bumblebee asked, "Why?"
Sam laughed, reaching out his hand to grasp the steering wheel. He stroked the smooth leather with the pad of his thumb, "To see where the storm is. For every five seconds, the storm's one mile away."
"Clever." Bumblebee replied.
"Well, I didn't make it up. It's just something that kids do for fun." He said with a laugh, settling back into the driver's seat to watch the storm. The rain came down in lashes, falling so heavily at times that it almost looked like snow. The thought caused the memory of Skywarp to rise to the forefront of his mind, and Sam swallowed hard at the emotion that gripped him. He was aware of Bumblebee's sudden focus, and he shook his head faintly.
"It's nothing. It's dumb."
Bumblebee did not reply, but he could feel the scout's patient expectation. Sam sighed softly, looking towards the roof of the cabin.
"When I was… on the Nemesis, it stormed one day. The snow was so thick that I couldn't even see the mountains. It was the closest that I'd ever been to it. Snow, I mean." Sam said, his voice soft with reflection, "Later that day, after it stopped storming, Skywarp brought me some to see. He thought I'd like it."
Sam's voice trailed off, and a wedge of some indefinable emotion swelled up in his chest. It was nostalgia and appreciation and misery and disgust, all wrapped up together. He knew that he was blinking quickly, his breath coming faster, but he continued speaking despite himself, "It was nice. He didn't have to do it, but he did. It was wetter than I expected—I thought it'd be fluffy, you know? It looks so soft and dry on television."
Sam was quiet for a moment longer and then he said, "That was the day that Megatron tortured me until I passed out."
Bumblebee made a low noise, raw and mournful-sounding, as he rocked lightly on his wheels. Sam lifted one shoulder in a haphazard shrug.
"He wanted me to thank him for punishing me. For putting me in my place." Sam huffed a bitter laugh as he stared out at the rolling ocean, "I did eventually—and I would have done a lot more to get out of that hangar."
"Sam… that's not your fault."
Sam tensed his jaw until he thought the bone might snap from the pressure. After a long moment, he replied, with an air of affected indifference, "I know that."
"Do you?" Bumblebee challenged, the quiet of his voice at odds with the steel of his tone.
Sam narrowed his eyes at the dashboard, "Yeah Bee, I know. Of all the things that I'm ashamed of, that one's pretty far down the list."
Bumblebee's mental presence crowded into his mind, wrapping around him.
/Everybody breaks, Sam. Eventually./ He murmured, and the anguish in his voice caused Sam to flinch, /If you didn't bend—if you didn't concede the little things—then you would have shattered./
Sam swallowed hard, once, twice, but the lump in his throat wouldn't go away. He stared down at the dashboard for a long time, trying to voice his thoughts, but he couldn't speak. He didn't know how to put the depths of his despair into words. How could be possibly explain the sheer, animalistic desperation that he had experienced, locked alone in the hangar for weeks on end? How could he justify the relief that he had felt when Megatron had retrieved him? Or the sweet comfort that he had taken in Megatron's presence during the days that followed, thankful to no longer be alone?
How could he possibly defend himself?
Sam didn't realize that he was crying until he felt the wetness on his cheeks. His breath was coming in fast, shallow pants, and although he recognized the impending panic attack, he was powerless to prevent it. In an instant, Bumblebee's holoform materialized in the passenger seat. Firm hands gripped Sam's shoulders, guiding him down until his head was between his knees.
"Take a deep breath, Sam."
Sam reached up, wrapping his hands around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white with the strain. He struggled to breathe in, but his lungs refused to expand. Spots were beginning to crowd around the edges of his vision. Bumblebee's palm rubbed up and down the length of Sam's spine, slow and soothing.
"Try again. From the bottom of your belly."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and obliged him. He could feel his ribs expanding with the effort, and then the breath stuttered out of him a moment later.
"That's good Sam. Name five things that you can see."
Sam took a weak, shaky breath and managed, lowly, "My jeans. My shoes. The floor liner. The gas pedal. The edge of the seat."
"That's good." Bumblebee praised quietly, "What are four things that you can touch?"
Sam breathed in again, slow and unsteady, before he replied.
"Steering wheel. Dashboard. Gear stick. Window."
Bumblebee's mental presence smoothed over him, chasing away some of the choking fog that clouded his mind. His touch was firm and gentle, just the same as the hand smoothing across Sam's back.
"You're doing so well for me, Sam. Name three things that you can hear."
Sam took another breath, which came easier this time, and answered him.
"The rain. My heartbeat. Your engine."
"Good. Two things you can smell?"
"Leather. Salt water."
"And one thing you can taste."
Somehow, Sam did not think that 'cloying mortification' was the answer that Bumblebee was looking for, so instead he answered, "Coffee."
"Thank-you, Sam." Bumblebee murmured, as the holoform leaned forward to press his forehead into Sam's shoulder. They stayed there like that for a long time—long enough for drumming rain to lighten up and Sam's heartrate to return to something closer to baseline normal. When at last he felt somewhat recovered, Sam straightened up and leaned back against the seat. Bumblebee let him go, continuing to smooth his hands across Sam's shoulders and down his arms.
"Thanks." Sam managed at last, his voice rough. Although he no longer felt at imminent risk of a panic attack, he was drained and empty. Numb. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat—together, his emotional turmoil and the strain of maintaining his firewalls were giving him a killer headache. "Can we go back? I'm tired."
Bumblebee's mental presence brushed against him, a touch that was both a wordless acknowledgment and a gesture of support. He shifted into gear and then reversed onto the access road. Sam reached out to Ratchet, but before he could voice his request, Sam found himself tucked back within the Creator bond. He sighed in relief and let go of his firewalls, letting them break apart like sand.
As they drove back towards Downtown, the ocean churned and frothed behind them.
Notes: If you are so interested, this song very much encapsulates the ending of this chapter. Along with "See you Again" it is quintessential Sam/Bumblebee. While the fanvid I posted is Johnlock, it is pleasantly apropos to the story (if you squint, of course).