Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Will peered down the rickety-looking stairs into the sub-basement. He could see as far as the bottom step, before the passageway was swallowed in darkness. He glanced up at Ironhide. The weapon's specialist was staring down at him with a frown tightening his mouthplates.
"What do you think, Hide?"
"I think this should have been simple enough to find." He replied.
Will grimaced faintly. The trapdoor to the subbasement had been covered with cement, making it difficult to detect against the warehouse floor. Still, Arcee had located it less than twenty seconds after they'd breached the perimeter. It seemed impossible that Chamberlain would have missed it in his sweep. He glanced over his shoulder at the cluster of Marines who stood near the large double doors, before his gaze flicked up to the weapon's specialist.
"Think we've got another mole?" He murmured.
Ironhide rumbled deep inside his chassis. The sound made the hairs on Will's arms stand up.
"I've sent Elita and Chromia to reconnoiter the Rangers." He replied lowly, "Until you hear otherwise, operate under the assumption that Silas has been warned you're coming."
Will nodded, adjusting his rifle as he attached the tactical light to the scope. He flicked it on as soon as it was secured, causing a beam of light to cut through the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. The beam of light was joined by another, and then another, as Epps and Williams followed his lead. Will looked at Bobby, who nodded decisively at him, and then at Robin, who was staring into the darkness. He nudged him with his elbow, causing Robin to glance at him with a grim twist of his lips.
"Any idea what's down there?"
"I'll be able to get a better read when we're through the floor." Arcee answered. The femme was standing in her root mode, servos on her slender hips, "They plated the sub-basement with lead."
Will nodded, adjusting his earpiece, before gripping his rifle again. "On your command, Hide."
The weapon's specialist inclined his helm. "Be careful."
Will went first, taking the stairs one at a time. The wood groaned under his weight. He swept the hall with his tactical light, but it was empty. The corridor was perhaps a dozen meters long, ending in a solid metal door. Even from a distance, he could see the lights from the touchpad set in the wall beside it. The ground shook from the sudden impact of Arcee landing behind him. He half-turned, glancing over his shoulder.
"Can you take care of that?" He asked, tipping his head towards the door.
Rather than reply, Arcee stepped around him and made her way down the tunnel. The space was cramped, but the lithe femme had more than enough room. Will heard the creak of stairs behind him as Epps and Williams joined them in the narrow space. Arcee popped the plastic off the touchpad, and two thin cables snaked from her wrist to the electrical panel. A moment later, the door beeped as its electronic lock disengaged. Will raised his rifle as she stepped forward, pulling open the door. The space beyond was dark and empty.
Will pressed forward, step by step. He paused on the threshold, glancing up at Arcee. "Can you detect anything?"
The femme nodded, optics narrowed. "There is one biosignature, approximately one hundred meters ahead. I detect no evidence of incendiary devices."
Will nodded, stepping into the room. Although Arcee had given it the all-clear, he checked his corners anyway. It was a large space, perhaps the size of the command post. It was empty except for four desks arranged in pairs on either side of the room. He made his way forward, alert for any sign of trouble. It was quiet except for their breathing and the faint sound of Arcee's internal mechanics. As Will passed the first desk, he noticed that it was covered with a thick layer of dust. It was clear that the space hadn't been used in a long time.
Arcee ducked into the room after Epps, hunching down as she walked. Her blue optics were narrowed in consideration as she swept the area. There was a door on the opposite wall that led to a dark hallway. Will could see light at the end of the long passage. He walked forward, Bobby and Robin falling into place behind him. Arcee brought up the rear, subspacing her energon crossbow as they walked. Will stopped halfway down the hall, cocking his head. He could hear the distant sound of gunfire and screaming. He half-turned, looking at Arcee. The scout raised her shoulders in a shrug. Whatever it was, it wasn't an active threat.
Will brought his rifle up, resting the stock firmly against his shoulder. The sounds of battle grew louder as they approached the end of the tunnel. He paused on the threshold, before striding into the room. Epps and Robin flanked him, going left and right respectively. The room was some kind of communications post turned research facility. There were computers arranged along the back wall beneath a large bank of video monitors. The monitors were displaying an assortment of footage that, as far as Will could see, had no logical consistency. The nearest monitors seemed to be traffic camera footage. Another displayed what appeared to be an office—men and women dressed in business attire were working in cubicles and at desks. Another monitor displayed cell phone footage of a young woman talking excitedly into the camera. Another still was a security feed from a convenience store.
However, Will barely registered them. In the center of the wall was a large monitor that was replaying footage from the Mission City attack. He watched as Megatron crash-landed in a busy intersection. He could hear the sound of screaming, of cars braking, horns honking, and in the distance, the loud rapport of gunfire. His mouth firmed into a grim line. Megatron swatted a person aside, as though they were an insect. The businessman's scream was cut short as he collided with a cement wall. The body fell to the ground, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Megatron pushed to his feet, transforming as he leapt into the air. The burn from his thrusters incinerated another pedestrian who was cowering nearby.
In front of the wall of monitors, stood Silas. The MECH leader was watching the footage in silence, his hands clasped behind his back.
"It's over, Bishop." Will ground out, raising his rifle, "Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head."
The older man gave no indication that he had heard him. He stared considerately at the monitors in front of him, before glancing over his shoulder in their direction. "Have you seen this before, Major Lennox?"
"I gave you an order." Will spat, stepping around a large table situated in the center of the room.
"There are over two hundred videos that were recovered from the attack." Silas replied, turning back towards the monitors. "I've watched every one of them."
Will's attention was drawn towards one of the monitors by a flash of light. It was the monitor that had been displaying footage from the office space. As he watched, Megatron and Optimus crashed through the windows. Propelled forward by Megatron's thrusters, they tore through the entire floor. He could see people scattering out of the way, but there were a dozen or more than were crushed beneath their weight. The camera feed cutout a moment later, before starting again on loop.
"Get on your knees!" Will bellowed.
Rather than comply, Bishop turned around. He leaned back against the computer desk behind him, folding his arms over his chest. "All of the videos recovered from ground zero were classified as top secret."
On the monitor above and to his right, a vending machine suddenly transformed into a drone. As Will watched, it charged its arm-mounted canon, and proceeded firing into the crowd. A blonde woman was killed first, the shot blowing a hole clean through her chest cavity, and then it fired on a cab. The vehicle exploded in a shower of sparks and twisted metal.
"I'm not going to tell you again." Will growled through gritted teeth, "Get on your goddamn knees."
In his peripheral vision, Arcee suddenly stiffened from helm to pede. She rushed forward, tearing at a control panel with both servos. Bishop watched her impassively, canting his head to the side. "It won't do any good. What's done is done."
Will turned to look at her, "Arcee, what's going on?"
"He's streaming them." She said tightly, "It's all live."
Will's heart sank. He turned back towards Bishop, keeping the older man in his sights. "Epps, Williams, restrain him."
The two men stepped forward, Epps shouldering his rifle as Williams set his weapon on the table and pulled a ziptie from his belt.
"Please, please give me a reason to kick the shit out of you." Epps said, grabbing the older man and turning him around.
Bishop didn't resist as Williams restrained his hands behind his back. When the older man was secured, Will strode over to Arcee where she stood with her servos inside the guts of a large server, "Can you shut it off?"
"I can." She replied tightly, "But it won't matter."
"Now everyone knows what happened." Bishop said, his voice pitched to carry, "Now everyone knows just how dangerous they are."
"The Fallen almost blew up the sun, dipshit." Epps bit back, "I think it's pretty clear how dangerous the Decepticons can be."
"Decepticons, Autobots, they both killed people in Mission City." Silas said, tipping his head towards the monitors, "Now people will know the truth, and both Optimus Prime and President Davis will be held accountable for their actions."
Will stared at the monitors with sinking dismay. The videos were graphically violent, and although they ranged in quality, it was impossible to mistake the Autobots on screen. Their distinctive colors made them easy to identify. He swallowed against the bile in his throat at the footage of Ironhide and Ratchet fighting Starscream. Although the battle was fast-paced, it was clear they were in the middle of a busy intersection. Starscream knocked Ironhide's arm aside as the weapon's specialist released a canon blast. The shot went wide, exploding into a nearby building.
Suddenly, the monitors went black. Arcee withdrew her servos from the circuit board, before glancing in Will's direction.
"The feed was live for ten minutes, perhaps longer."
Will's face twisted in a grimace. The MECH leader must have initiated the livestream when they breached the sub-basement.
"There's nothing we can do about it now." Will said, shouldering his rifle, "Let's get him topside. The brass can sort it out later."
Epps stepped up to the MECH leader, pinning him with a hard look. "I'm going to pat you down. Is there anything on your person that I should know about before I do?"
Bishop's lips twitched with apparent good humor. "If I had intended to resist, I wouldn't have let you waltz through my front door."
Bobby began patting the older man down with quick, efficient movements. When he finished, he straightened up, grabbing Bishop by the arm and steering him forward. Will took point, followed by Epps and Bishop. Williams and Arcee brought up the rear. They made their way down the dark hallway, through the empty room, and into the tunnel. Will could see diffuse sunlight slanting through the trapdoor as they approached.
"Friendlies." He hollered up the stairs.
He made his way up the rickety steps into the warehouse. Ironhide and Kup stood on either side of the trapdoor, optics tracking their progression. When Silas finished climbing the stairs, Ironhide's plating clamped down, and Will could hear the high-pitched whine of his fans trying to disperse the heat of his anger. He gave the weapon's specialist a sympathetic look, before making his way across the warehouse. He stepped through the open doors into the bright sunshine. Prime, Jazz, and Morshower had assembled to greet them.
Will squinted up at the Autobot leader, asking without preamble, "How bad is it?"
Optimus did not pretend to misunderstand him. "The videos were streamed to the Darknet. It is unclear how many times they were viewed or downloaded before Arcee cut the connection."
The femme folded her arms over her chassis, anger tightening her faceplates. "I'm sorry, sir. He used a hardline. I didn't detect the transmission until it was too late."
As she spoke, Epps and Bishop stepped out of the warehouse. The MECH leader stared up at Optimus, his back straight and his shoulders set. Although his expression was unreadable, his disdain was clear to see.
"Optimus Prime." He said, lips thinning with ill-concealed contempt, "We meet at last."
The Autobot leader narrowed his optics, staring down at the former Colonel in tightly leashed anger. "Major Lennox, remand the prisoner into the custody of the United States."
Will was taken aback by the coldness of Prime's voice. He recovered quickly, turning and nodding at Epps, who took Bishop by the arm and pulled him towards the waiting SUV. The older man chuckled to himself, before calling over his shoulder, "I might be tried in the General Courts-Martial, but you're going to be tried by the court of public opinion. We'll see who comes out ahead, Prime."
"Shut up, asshole." Epps muttered, putting his hand on the top of Bishop's head as he guided him into the back of the van. An MP climbed into the backseat on either side of the MECH leader. It was only after the doors slammed shut and the SUV trundled across the tarmac, followed by a convoy of four military vehicles, that Lennox turned to look at Optimus.
"He's not wrong." He said, crossing his arms, "Those videos are going to cause problems, both for the United States and for us."
Optimus rumbled, deep in his chassis, as he watched the convoy drive away. "I will ensure that the videos are contained."
Morshower scrubbed a hand over his mouth, "It's not that easy, Prime. Once they're out there, they're out there forever."
The Autobot leader looked down at the General, disapproval tightening his face. "I will not allow the deaths of those civilians to be used for entertainment or shock value. Bishop will not benefit from their deaths."
Morshower frowned, "What're you going to do?"
Optimus raised his head, staring solemnly across the airfield. "Whatever I must."
The hangar was dark and quiet when Sam finally woke up. He groaned softly, shifting against the mattress. He hurt all over. His backside and thighs were the worst, but his bandaged arm throbbed and his throat was sore. He swallowed, immediately wincing in pain. He couldn't remember the last time that he felt this awful.
As though summoned by his thoughts, Ratchet stepped towards him. The chartreuse medic wasted no time on pleasantries, initiating a sensor sweep as he disentangled Sam's arm from the blankets. A syringe-like tube separated from one of his digits, sliding into the bevel taped to the back of Sam's hand. He watched through half-lidded eyes as a honey-colored liquid filled the coil of tubing before disappearing into the catheter. He could feel the medication working its way up his arm, leaving pleasant warmth in his wake.
"You have a fever." Ratchet informed him matter-of-factly, "I don't know whether the bacteria were introduced by the contaminated water or the unsanitary conditions."
"That explains a lot." Sam croaked.
"Don't speak." Ratchet admonished, "Can you manage something to drink?"
He nodded, pushing half-hearted agreement through their bond. Ratchet regarded him for a moment, before stepping away from the berth. Sam closed his eyes, listening as the medic moved around the alcove that comprised the makeshift medical bay. It wasn't long before Ratchet returned, brushing against Sam's mind. He slanted open his eyes to see Ratchet's holoform standing at his side, holding a coffee mug in his hands. The grizzled medic set the steaming cup on the overbed table, before bending to raise the hospital bed until it was at a 30-degree angle. When he finished, he helped Sam sit back against the mattress.
/How long was I asleep?/ Sam asked, reaching for the mug. A quick glance down revealed it was some kind of tea.
Ratchet watched him closely, as his holoform fixed the tubing of the IV that had gotten kinked while Sam slept.
/Six hours./ He replied, /If the tea sits well, I'd like you to have some broth./
Sam blew across the steaming liquid before taking a sip. It tasted like peppermint and honey. He glanced up at the mechanoid, smiling wanly. /Thanks, Ratch./
The medic rumbled at him in acknowledgment, but otherwise did not reply. Sam took another sip, letting the warm liquid coat his mouth before swallowing. He curled his hands around the mug, bringing it close to his chest. The ceramic was warm against his palms. As he sipped at the tea, he turned his mind inwards. To his surprise, there were a half-a-dozen spark signatures in the immediate vicinity. He could feel Ratchet readily enough, but there was also Hoist, Ultra Magnus, Trailbreaker, Hound, and Wheeljack. Sam frowned faintly at the sudden realization that Bumblebee was not among them.
"He's recharging." Ratchet said, and judging by his unimpressed tone, the scout hadn't gone willingly, "He'll be there for another three hours yet."
Sam turned his attention towards the spark bond. True to Ratchet's word, the scout's presence was dim and quiet. It served to ease some of the tension that had gathered in his shoulders at Bumblebee's absence.
He continued sipping at his tea until it was gone, and then Ratchet took the mug away. The tea and the painkillers left him feeling warm and sleepy. He closed his eyes, drifting pleasantly.
"Don't fall asleep." Ratchet said, returning with the aforementioned broth, "You can rest after you've eaten something."
It took a great deal of effort to open his eyes again. There was a take-away container on the overbed table with a spoon resting on its lid. He groaned in protest.
Ratchet frowned down at him. "Are you nauseated?"
"I'm tired." Sam rasped.
"Don't speak." Ratchet retorted, "If you aren't nauseated, then finish your meal. You can sleep afterwards."
Sam made an irritated sound, but he reached for the spoon all the same. Eating would be easier than arguing. He pulled the lid off the container to find the same soup that Bumblebee had brought him after his seizure. The smell of chicken and spices helped rally Sam's appetite, and he began eating without further complaint. When he finished, he left the spoon inside the container and laid back against the mattress. The pain of his injuries had faded to a distant annoyance, leaving a peculiar numbness in its wake. It was the easiest thing in the world to let his eyes drift closed, as the world passed by around him. He half-roused sometime later when Hoist added another blanket to his bed, and then again, when Ratchet changed out the bag of fluids hanging on his IV stand. He was barely cognizant each time, staring blearily at the mechanoids before sinking back into the quiet embrace of medicated slumber.
When he came around again, the overhead lights were on their lowest setting. He had rolled onto his side sometime while he slept, exposing his back to the cool hangar air. He fumbled for the blankets, only to have his hand intercepted and the blankets drawn up to his armpits. He raised his head, a feat of Herculean proportions, and glanced over his shoulder. Bumblebee's holoform lay on the mattress behind him. His bonded smiled softly when they made eye contact, murmuring for him to go back to sleep. Sam nodded faintly, settling back down on the pillow and closing his eyes. He was asleep again less than a minute later.
Sam's fever broke sometime over the night. By the following morning, his head was feeling clearer. The hangar was unusually quiet, empty except for Ratchet, Hoist, and Bumblebee. The others were nowhere to be seen.
After he awoke, the CMO changed the bandages on his arm. Sam watched, grimacing at the ten virtually identical incisions that extended from his shoulder to his elbow. The skin was less red, but it was no less tight and uncomfortable. Ratchet made quick work of it—cleaning the incisions and re-wrapping his arm. When he finished, the medic cleaned away the dirty bandages and his supplies. Sam lay back on the mattress, staring sightlessly up at the curved ceiling. Bumblebee's holoform lay beside him, close but not crowding him.
The hours passed by in silence. Now that he was well rested and clearheaded, Sam's memories of the last two days crowded to the forefront of his mind. Strangely, it wasn't the torture or the experimentation or the murder that kept replaying itself on the back of his eyelids. It was other things. The musty smell of the maintenance tunnel. The servers' red aprons at the reception. The oppressive warmth of his cell. The look in Novo's eyes when he had held Sam at gunpoint.
Sam rolled onto his good side, tucking a hand beneath his pillow. The memory of Novo's betrayal spurred other memories that played across his mind like a picture show. Novo sitting on his couch, eating his food. The two of them laughing together over Knock Out burgers. Novo's shit-eating grin when Bumblebee had won the race in the desert. The warm swell of appreciation that Sam had felt when Novo rescued him from the ballroom—
He swallowed against the sour taste of bile in the back of his throat. With effort, he pushed the memory aside. It didn't matter. It was all bullshit.
"Sam?" Bumblebee murmured, voice soft with concern.
"I'm fine." He replied.
The holoform's hand settled on his hip, squeezing gently. "Talk to me."
"I'm fine." He repeated flatly.
His bonded hesitated, and Sam could feel his uncertainty through their bond. "No, you're not."
Sam's throat closed up with emotion, but he didn't respond. Bumblebee tried to coax him into a conversation, but eventually, Sam just stopped replying. He stared ahead, twisting his fingers in the bed sheet as he tried to think of nothing. The effort was for naught; the memories came anyway. Novo crashing on his couch after they both had too much to drink. The two of them talking shit about Carter's love of the Packers. His reaction when Novo had joined him at the embassy—surprise and relief, not to be alone in an unfamiliar place.
That thought made tears prick the corners of his eyes, and he thumbed the moisture away before it could fall. He wasn't going to cry over Luis fucking Novo.
Bumblebee's holoform shuffled forward, pressing his forehead between Sam's shoulder blades. He was distantly aware of his bonded's concern, his anger, his guilt.
Sam opened his eyes, fisting a hand in the bedclothes.
"It's not your fault." He rasped.
And it wasn't. The fault was his.
"That's not true." Bumblebee replied, earnest and pained. "It wasn't your fault either."
Polite fiction, Sam knew. He had opened up to Novo. He had pursued the friendship. He had assumed that someone could see him as anything other than a ward of the Autobots. And he had walked straight into a trap, blind and trusting, like a fucking idiot.
Bumblebee's mental presence shifted forward, enveloping his mind like an embrace.
"Trust isn't a weakness." He murmured.
Sam didn't know how to reply to that, so he said nothing. Bumblebee lay as close as he could without pressing against him, trying to offer comfort with his presence. They laid together in mutual silence until Ratchet brought him another carton of soup. He placed the container on the overbed table, but Sam made no move to begin eating. His stomach felt like it had been pumped full of cement.
Wisely, Ratchet did not press the issue.
"Eat when you feel up to it." He said instead, brisk but not unkind.
Sam nodded faintly, his shoulders drawing up to his ears. The medic stared down at him for a moment longer, before making his way back to the workbench. Sam took comfort in the sound of Ratchet working on whatever piece of equipment had piqued his ire this week. The clang of metal on metal was a known quantity. Ratchet's brusqueness was even more so. He listened in silence, thankful for the reprieve from his thoughts.
On the overbed table, the soup went cold.
Sam slept off and on throughout the day. Ratchet roused him to change his bandages or to apply ointment to the welts that peppered his back and thighs, but otherwise he was left alone. Hoist brought his evening meal, a spread that was clearly intended to tempt Sam's appetite, but it was only Bumblebee's coaxing that got him to eat anything. The process was repeated the following morning. By mid-day, Ratchet declared him well enough to remove the IV. Sam was thankful to be rid of the bothersome equipment.
The monotony was interrupted by the familiar rumble of a Peterbilt engine reverberating down the munitions tunnel. Sam pushed up onto his elbows in time to see Optimus drive into the hangar. The semi-truck rolled to a stop a short distance away, transforming in one fluid motion. Sam struggled into a sitting position with Bumblebee's help, smiling faintly at the Autobot leader.
"Hey Optimus."
"Hello Sam." Optimus replied, stepping towards the berth, "How are you feeling?"
He shrugged, "Good, I guess. You know, all things considered."
Optimus inclined his helm, "I am relieved to hear it."
The earnestness in his voice made Sam feel self-conscious. His gaze dropped to his lap, only to notice the vivid welts across his forearms and the bruising around his wrists. He grimaced, folding his arms over his chest as he looked up at the Autobot leader.
"I know that you're busy, so I assume this isn't a social call." He said, discomfiture making him curt when he didn't intend to be.
Optimus' features shifted, growing concerned. "I will always have time for you, Sam."
Sam grimaced again. "I know. I'm sorry."
The Autobot leader looked at him for a long moment, as though choosing his words. "I regret that I was unable to come sooner. I wanted to be confident in the information I provided you."
Sam's insides twisted with anxiety. "Silas?"
Although Optimus' features did not change, his mental presence cooled by an order of magnitude. "Yes."
He nodded slowly, bracing himself. "Alright. Tell me. I can take it."
Optimus' close regard was a tangible thing. "Former Colonel Leland Bishop was apprehended yesterday morning. The MECH compound was cleared without incident."
"That's good." Sam said slowly, "I mean, that's good, right?"
The Autobot leader inclined his head in agreement. "Yes, Sam. It's good."
Sam frowned, a strange sense of foreboding building in his gut. "Then why did you wait so long to tell me?"
Optimus ex-vented a sigh that was both weary and disappointed.
"I had hoped to receive some assurances from the United States about their intentions, both with Bishop and with the others we apprehended at the compound."
Comprehension came fast, and with it, Sam felt a rush of helpless anger. "But they wouldn't give you any."
"No, they would not." Optimus rumbled.
Sam sat up straighter, agitated by the coldness in the Autobot leader's voice. "What the hell does that mean?"
He was distantly aware of Ratchet's scrutiny and Bumblebee's concern, but he ignored them both. He fixed Optimus with an expectant look, "Well?"
"Bishop was clever." Optimus replied eventually, "Although he was MECH's public figurehead, he was by no means its most senior member."
Sam looked from Optimus to Bumblebee, frowning in confusion. "I don't understand."
Optimus expression softened perceptibly. He leaned forward until they were almost at eye-level with one another. "I believe they will offer him leniency in exchange for information about MECH."
Sam blinked, uncomprehendingly. "Leniency? What do you mean, leniency?"
The Autobot leader rumbled within his chassis, a sound of deep disquiet. "Bishop knows the names of those in the Congress and the Senate that supported his ideals. President Davis has a vested interest in removing any co-conspirators from positions of power." He explained, before adding flatly, "It is an election year."
Sam sat back, stunned. "So he's going to get away with it? Just like that?"
Optimus shook his head minutely. "Mearing and Thatcher are compiling a list of charges that have minimum required sentencing. He will not go unpunished."
All at once, the fight went completely out of him. "He's going to get a slap on the wrist." He said, dully, "And in exchange, he's going to get a soapbox to preach on."
"I believe that was Bishop's intention in surrendering, yes." Optimus agreed, "But Thatcher has promised that he will do all he can to ensure a closed court-martial."
Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat. He didn't know how to process all that Optimus had told him, so he didn't even try. He twisted a finger in the blankets until it turned purple, and then he slowly unwound it. As the skin returned to normal color, something inside of him hardened to stone.
"I'm not staying here." He said suddenly.
Optimus' brow ridges drew together in concern. "You are not well enough to return to your apartment."
Sam raised his eyes, fixing the Autobot leader with a hard look. "No, I mean I'm not staying here. At the embassy."
Optimus' concern grew deeper still and more pronounced. Sam could feel its echoes across the neural-network. "It is unsafe for you to return to the island."
"I'm not staying here." He repeated, matter-of-factly. The thought of spending another minute at the embassy made his skin crawl. "I don't care where I go."
The Autobot leader's expression was troubled, but Ratchet intervened before he could reply. The CMO stepped up to the berth, folding his arms over his chest and pinning Sam with a disapproving look. "That is enough. If you're well enough to argue, then you're well enough to eat. I will have Hoist bring your meal."
Sam wasn't arguing. He was done arguing. He had made up his mind.
Optimus stared down at him, pensive and quiet, as though he were engaged in deep thought. Sam raised his chin, staring back at him unflinchingly. Whatever the Autobot leader saw on his face caused him to sigh, as though in resignation.
"Please do not act rashly." He rumbled at last, "I will do what I can."
Sam felt something ugly inside him unclench at the promise in those words. He nodded faintly, and Optimus inclined his helm in return. The Autobot leader stepped back, transforming into his alt mode. Sam watched as he accelerated across the hangar, disappearing into the munitions tunnel. The loud rumble of his engines faded away, leaving silence in its wake.
Notes: Author's Note: Well guys, we're at the end of this story. The last chapter is a short epilogue that takes the form of four distinct conversations. If you've enjoyed yourself so far, please stick around! There's more to come.