Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Sam spent the better part of two hours on his hands and knees, weeding the garden. He pulled the dandelions up by their roots and tossed them into the bucket. It was hot, dirty work. Although the breeze off the ocean was nice, it wasn't long before he was sweating in earnest. He sat back on his heels, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. The sounds of demolition had waned over the last twenty minutes, but he could still hear his grandmother calling out instructions. As he bent back to task, Sam leaned into the winter-white glow at the edge of his mind.
/You guys finished?/ He asked, yanking at a prickly thistle.
/Very nearly./ Bumblebee replied. /Apparently, your grandmother plans to build a greenhouse./
Sam huffed a laugh as he tossed the thistle into the bucket. /I hope you didn't volunteer./
The scout's mental presence turned wry. /I did not./
Sam picked up the bucket and stepped over a tidy row of carrots to crouch in the dirt again. The sun was bearing down on his head and shoulders. He would have to go inside and get a hat soon, or he was going to burn.
/I thought we could check out the beach this afternoon./ Sam said, /It's nice. The guys could come too./
Bumblebee brushed across his mind, the mental equivalent of a cool hand on a warm brow. /I'd like that./
Sam grinned to himself as he pulled the last weed from the dirt and tossed it into the bucket.
/It's beautiful./ He said, pushing to his feet, /There's a rocky beach on one side of the point, and a sandy beach on the other. If Hound's interested, I can show him how to dig clams./
Bumblebee's mental presence was amused. /Clams?/
Sam chuckled as he considered the edges of the garden. The grass was beginning to encroach on the soil, blurring the usually tidy line between soil and lawn. He picked up the shovel, burying it deep into the ground along the edge of the garden. He jerked the handle, shearing off a chunk of sod and leaving a neat edge in its wake. It would take a while, but his grandmother would appreciate the effort.
/Oh yeah./ He agreed, his mental voice strained from exertion, /There's a mudflat in the cove on the other side of the point. I used to dig clams all the time when I was a kid. Nan loves them./
There was a momentary pause, and then Bumblebee wryly replied, /Hound is looking forward to it./
Sam's grin stretched from ear to ear. /Me too./
He was halfway through edging the garden when he caught sight of Ratchet's holoform striding across the lawn towards him. The grizzled old medic had a baseball cap in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Sam sunk the shovel deep into the dirt, leaning on it as the holoform approached.
"Hey Ratch." Sam said, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his forearm, "Is that for me?"
The medic gave him a pointed look, one that said 'Obviously' as clearly as words. He handed Sam the baseball cap, and after he pulled it on, he handed him the glass of water. Sam took a long drink—it was cool and clean. His grandmother drew water from the well and stored it in gallon jugs in the pantry. She hated the taste of the municipal water.
"Thanks." He said after he finished, "It's hot."
"I am aware." Ratchet replied dryly.
Sam rolled his eyes, pulling the shovel from the dirt and edging the next section of garden. The bucket was quickly filling with pieces of sod, and Sam was satisfied with the result. The shovel hit a large stone on his next thrust, so he dug it up and tossed it over the hill. He glanced over at the holoform, who was watching him work with an inscrutable expression on his face.
"Can I help you?" He asked.
Ratchet folded his arms over his chest. "Megatron's sentence has been carried out."
Sam froze, his foot on the blade of the shovel. "What?"
"You heard me." Ratchet replied, not unkindly.
Sam opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure what to say. He had been told of Prime's decision to commute Megatron's sentence from execution to stasis-lock—and of Soundwave's role in forcing Prime's hand. He didn't know how he felt about it. He was relieved, certainly, and a vicious part of him took great satisfaction in knowing the warlord was suffering through the same torment he had inflicted on Sam. Yet, despite that, Sam felt unsettled. Anxious. He couldn't begin to process it all, so he didn't even try.
"I didn't expect it so soon." He said, burying the shovel in the dirt. He was aware of Ratchet's close scrutiny, so he forced himself to look at the holoform. "I guess that means I can go back to Diego Garcia."
Ratchet's lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. "The threat of Decepticon attack is still significant. You would not be safe."
Sam threw the sod into the bucket with more force than necessary. "Yeah, I'm starting to understand that."
Ratchet's mouth tucked in at the corners, the way it did when he was restraining himself. Sam ignored him, stabbing the shovel into the soil and cutting the next portion of sod. To his surprise, the medic didn't argue with him any further. Instead, he stood nearby, watching as Sam finished edging the garden. When he had tossed the last chunk of soil into the bucket, Sam pulled off his gloves and tucked them in his back pocket.
"I have to dump the sod." He said, making to step around the holoform. Ratchet interceded, bending down to grab the bucket by its handle.
"Where?" He asked, gruffly.
Sam's brow furrowed in surprise, but he tipped his head towards the bank without complaint. "Over the hill is fine, just not on the lawn."
Ratchet carried the bucket out of the garden and over to the tall, reedy grasses that lined the hill. As he emptied the sod over the bank, Sam gathered up the gardening tools. The holoform strode back towards him, and together they made their way across the lawn. As the rounded the corner of the house, Sam saw that the barn had been fully demolished. In its place was a wide expanse of bare dirt surrounded by the edges of the old foundation.
"Watch out for nails." His grandmother called from the back porch. She was hanging laundry on the line. "We tried to gather them all up, but heaven forbid you step on one."
Sam huffed a dry laugh. A trip to the emergency room for a tetanus shot would really round out his week.
"I will." He called back, "Where do you want this?" He raised the bucket, rattling it meaningfully.
"Oh, you can put it on the deck. Thank-you dear." She said, tossing a bed sheet over the line and pinning it in place, "Take off your shoes and wash off before you go inside. I don't want you tracking dirt all over the house."
Sam walked around to the front lawn, swinging the bucket at his side. He dutifully set it on the deck, and then he made his way over to the garden hose. It hung from an aluminum rack attached to the side of the house. Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, and Ratchet were parked at the front of the driveway, and Hound was parked further away. Sam ran a hand over Bumblebee's bonnet as he passed, and he was met with a swell of exasperation at the dirt he left behind.
He grinned unapologetically at the scout. "Vain."
Bumblebee flashed his headlights, and Sam laughed lightly. He uncoiled the garden hose and turned it on, taking a deep drink from the nozzle. The water was metallic tasting and surprisingly cold, and Sam quickly sprayed off his hands and arms. He would need a shower when he went inside, but he had gotten the most of it.
"I'm going to change and grab something to eat." He said, directing his words to no one in particular, "I'll see you guys in a bit."
He walked across the lawn and climbed the steps. He toed off his shoes, banging them together over the railing, and then made his way inside. He set the shoes on the rack near the door, before heading upstairs. The bedroom was the same as he had left it, so he took a moment to tidy up. He twitched the blankets back over the bed, smoothing them down, and then gathered up his dirty clothes. When he had finished, he pulled clean clothes out of his duffle+ bag, grabbed his toiletries, and then ambled back downstairs.
The bathroom was located off the kitchen, across from the wood room. As with the rest of the house, it had last been redesigned sometime in the 1970s. It had bubblegum pink fixtures, and black and white subway tile. He set his things on the laundry hamper, and then he stripped out of his clothes. It took a while for the water to heat up, so he used the bathroom in the interim. By the time that he climbed into the bathtub, the water was comfortably warm. He squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his palm, working it into a later and scrubbing it through his hair. He was just about to rise the suds away when he felt a gentle nudge in his mind. He glanced over in time to see Bumblebee's holoform materialize beside the tub.
"Hey." Sam said, hands still in his hair.
"Hey yourself." He murmured, "I thought I would join you."
Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. "I am not having sex in my grandmother's bathroom."
"I know that." Bumblebee said wryly, "I wanted to shower."
Suds were beginning to slide down the sides of his face, getting into his ears. He stuck his head under the water, rinsing most of it off, before glancing back at his bonded.
"You want to shower." He repeated, skeptically.
Bumblebee shifted his weight, and all at once, Sam realized that he was feeling tentative.
"I enjoyed bathing with you." He said softly, "If it bothers you, I won't mention it again."
Sam knew that bathing was a communal experience for the Autobots. It took a great deal of trust to remove one's armor and let someone scrub the grit out of their joints. As such, washing was a display of trust and affection among mechanoids. Bumblebee had invited him to the wash racks in the past, but Sam had always declined. At first, he had been embarrassed. He had been young, when he first arrived at Diego Garcia, and the prospect of seeing the Autobots in such an intimate setting had made him uncomfortable. Later, after Megatron and the Nemesis, he couldn't stand the smell of solvent, and so he avoided the wash racks like the plague. Bumblebee had never pressured him, but Sam knew that he hoped. It seemed selfish to deny him now.
Sam nodded slowly, before stepping back to make room. Bumblebee's expression morphed from surprise to appreciation in quick succession, and he climbed into the bathtub.
"I'll stay clothed." He murmured, running his hands across Sam's shoulders.
Sam shivered despite the heat. "Do whatever you want."
Bumblebee hummed at him, bending down to pick up the washcloth. He motioned meaningfully with the wet fabric. "Can I?"
Sam nodded, letting his eyes drift closed as Bumblebee drew the soapy cloth over his chest. The scout touched him as he worked—grasping a shoulder, trailing fingers across his ribs, squeezing a hip. The touches were gentle and intimate, but not the least bit sexual. Sam let himself be maneuvered without complaint, raising his arms and turning to allow the holoform better access. Bumblebee's mental presence was quiet as he worked, almost meditative. When Bumblebee ghosted across the scarred flesh beneath his left clavicle, Sam grimaced deeply. The holoform stilled, his eyes flitting up to his face.
"Did that hurt?" He asked softly.
Sam shook his head faintly. "No. It doesn't hurt anymore."
He didn't explain that he hated the scar, but he was sure that Bumblebee knew it anyway. The pale, twisted flesh was a constant reminder of Ripcord's betrayal and of his changed nature. He tried not to dwell on it, but sometimes it was impossible to avoid—an ugly souvenir of an ugly experience.
Sam jerked in surprise as the holoform leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss against the marred flesh.
"It's not ugly." He said, and Sam was taken aback by his tone—it was fierce and sincere and reverential, all at once. "It's a part of you, and you're beautiful."
Sam snorted inelegantly, but he didn't step back or push the holoform away. Bumblebee leaned into his personal space, crowding him into the corner beneath the shower-head. He bracketed Sam's body with his own, cupping the sides of his face in his hands.
"I wish I could tear Ripcord apart for the pain that he caused you." He murmured softly, "And yet, were it not for his actions, we never would have found one another. I look at that scar and see the moment that we bonded."
Sam swallowed against the lump in his throat. He supposed that was true—if Ripcord hadn't killed him, then he never would have on-lined, and they never would have bonded. The thought was abhorrent in the extreme, and Sam raised his hands to grip Bumblebee's wrists. The touch was to steady himself as much as it was to reassure his bonded.
They stood beneath the drumming water for a long while, leaning into each other in body and mind. When Sam felt a little steadier, Bumblebee pulled back. "Do you want to get out?"
Sam shook his head. "No. I'm fine right where I am."
Bumblebee's lips curved up in a smile. "Do you want to finish? Or shall I?"
He punctuated his question by raising the washcloth, and Sam returned his smile.
"You can go ahead." He murmured, bending down to turn up the hot water.
Bumblebee made an approving sound, and began drawing the cloth across Sam's skin. As he washed away the last traces of sweat and grime and dirt, Sam was struck with a fierce swell of affection. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the holoform's shoulder.
"I'm going to return the favor when we get back to Diego Garcia." He promised, his voice muffled by the water.
Bumblebee bumped against his mind, fond and appreciative. "You don't have to do that."
"I want to." Sam said, raising his head to meet the holoform's eyes, "I really do."
Bumblebee smiled softly. "Well, then. I look forward to it."
They finished the shower in comfortable silence. There was nothing more that needed to be said.
Sam was washed, dressed, and well fed by the time that he stepped onto the back deck. He held the door for Bumblebee, and then let it bang shut behind them as they made their way down the steps. Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, and Hound were standing in their bipedal modes near the foundation of the old barn. Their armor gleamed in the bright afternoon sun. Sam stopped a short distance away, grinning up at them.
"Hey guys. Ready to go?" He asked.
The shower with Bumblebee and the news about Megatron had put him in a jovial mood.
Hound chirruped at him expressively, a sound that Sam had come to interpret as an affirmation. The sentry was practically vibrating with restrained excitement, a stark contrast to Cliffjumper's usual stoicism. The scout had the same calm demeanor of a Tibetan monk.
"Great." Sam replied, "I don't know how close you'll get. You guys must weigh a metric fuck-ton between the three of you, but we'll see how far we can go."
His grandmother's backyard extended from the house to the waist-high grasses that surrounded the property. As soon as he set off across the lawn, Bumblebee and Hound activated their holoforms. They had almost made it to the narrow path that led down over the hill when he stopped mid-stride.
"Wait." He said, half-turning to look back at the house. He licked his lips, put two fingers in his mouth, and whistled sharply.
Bumblebee's eyebrows drifted closer to his hairline. "I've never seen you do that before."
Sam grinned at him. "No? It comes in handy whenever I need to hail a cab."
Before Bumblebee could reply, Sheena came careening around the side of the house. She ran towards them, a brown and black blur, barking excitedly. She came to heel in front of Sam, ears perked up and panting. He crouched down, scratching her furry chest, before glancing up at Hound.
"Have you met Sheena yet?" He asked.
The holoform looked openly intrigued. "I have not."
Sam grinned broadly. "Nan's had her since she was a puppy. She's a big ol' sweetheart."
Hound's holoform crouched down beside him. He extended a hand towards her, as Sam showed him, and looked delighted when she nosed at his fingers.
"She is marvelous." Hound said, running a hand over her head, "Human ingenuity never ceases to amaze me."
Sam chuckled as he straightened up. "I thought you might like her."
Sheena trotted circles around them as they made their way across the lawn. Hound watched her with unwavering focus, his plating tucked tightly to his frame in order to appear less threatening. He used to do the same thing around Sam, before they had gotten to know one another. Whenever Sheena approached, the sentry would extend an arm towards her. The German Shepard darted away each time, watching him with perked ears and a flagged tail. Hound didn't seem to mind her wariness.
Sam and the two holoforms walked single-file down the narrow path, making their way down the hill. His grandmother's house was on a point, surrounded on two sides by water. The beach near the harbor was rocky, with a bream made of small- to medium-sized pieces granite and shale. The rocks extended into the water in a narrow wedge for about fifty feet.
Sam pointed at the rocky protrusion as they walked. "At low tide, that creates a kind of land bridge. You can go all the way out. You have to be careful not to get stuck when the tide comes in, though."
The ground had transitioned from solid earth to sloping sand. He glanced over his shoulder at the three mechanoids, who were making their way down the hill. Their every step seemed to be carefully considered and placed.
"It's loose here, but it'll firm up on the beach." He said, stepping over the minor scarp where the hillside had given way. This side of the point was lovely—a long, narrow crescent of golden sand. The bream was made up of baseball to basketball-sized rocks, all weathered into smooth ovals. Behind the bream was more waist-high grass, which transitioned to scrubby woodland further back.
"I used to love it here when I was a kid." Sam said, jogging the last few meters down to the beach.
"Did you swim?" Hound asked, finally turning his attention away from Sheena.
"Yeah, of course." Sam replied, "The harbor is a better swimming spot, but it's not bad here either."
Hound seemed intrigued. "What makes for a good… swimming spot?"
There was something about his inflection that suggested he had just Googled the term. Sam felt a rush of affection for the exuberant mechanoid.
"The waves are better in the harbor." He said, before adding dryly, "Though you have to watch the rocks. I've skinned my shins to ribbons more than once." He bent down, grabbing a rubbery piece of kelp, and held it up for Hound's inspection. "And this side is full of seaweed. I hate seaweed."
Hound took the piece of kelp, staring at it with an intensity that would have suited Beachcomber. He turned it over, trailing his fingers over its slimy surface.
"Why so?" He asked, curiously.
Sam shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets. "It creeps me out. It feels like there's something brushing past you—something that could bite. There are sharks, scorpionfish, jellyfish, eels… you have to be careful."
Hound looked poleaxed by this information. He turned to regard the ocean, his optics roving from one side of the beach to the other. After a minute, he whistled expressively.
"I do not detect anything." He said, but he still sounded concerned.
Sam patted him on the shoulder. "It's alright. I don't think we've ever had a shark here."
Bumblebee gave him an exasperated look. "I can't believe this is your idea of recreation."
Sam shrugged good-naturedly as he continued down the beach. "It's fun."
The holoforms followed behind him, and the bipedal modes trailed after them. Sheena ran back and forth between the two groups, stopping periodically to nose at the ground. They made their way down the beach and around the point. The cove was wide and deep, with a mudflat that extended from one rocky outcrop to another.
"Don't go onto the flats." He warned, stepping up onto the bream, "You'll get stuck. The mud is deep."
"Your propensity for risk-taking is impressive." Hound murmured, following behind him.
Sam laughed lightly. "It's not that bad."
"Agree to disagree." Cliffjumper muttered, stepping into the tall grasses.
They made their way into the cove, spending a risk-averse half hour digging for clams. Predictably, the process fascinated Hound. He crouched inches away, leaning completely into Sam's space as he demonstrated how to identify air holes and dig into the fine-grained sand to find the clams. The sentry clambered into the cove, sinking up past his pedes in the soft silt, and tried for himself. When he plucked a single clam out of a bathtub-sized servo full of sand, Sam gave him two thumbs-up.
When they finished digging for clams, leaving the cove looking like it had been pot-marked with mortar rounds, Sam showed Hound how to play fetch. He picked up a piece of driftwood about the size of his forearm, and tossed it into the water. Sheena was off like a shot, landing with a splash and paddling to where the stick bobbed in the water. When she brought it back for him, he handed the stick to Hound. The sentry's optics brightened to off-white, and then he hurled the stick almost halfway across the harbor. Sheena ran several feet into the water before stopping, tilting her head in confusion.
"You can't throw it that far." Sam laughed, "She's almost ten years old."
Hound whistled apologetically, causing Sheena to perk up. He made it up to her by tossing another stick into the water until she stopped bringing it back to him. The message was clear: I'm all done.
By the time they made their way back to the house, it was almost dinnertime. Ratchet took one look at Hound—who had mud caked in every joint and crevice of his leg struts—and transformed, unleashing a blistering diatribe right there on his grandmother's front lawn. Hound weathered Ratchet's temper with good-natured acceptance, and when it was over, Sam helped the three mechanoids hose off. It wasn't until he was wrist-deep in Hound's knee joint, trying to pry a stone out of the sensitive components, that he realized what he was doing. He froze, glancing up at the sentry uncertainly.
"Is this…" He fumbled for his words, "Is this alright?"
Hound seemed confused for a scant second, before understanding dawned across his face.
"Yes, Sam. It's alright." He replied, reassuringly.
Sam glanced under his elbow at Bumblebee, who was standing patiently while Cliffjumper hosed him down. The garden hose looked comically small in Cliff's huge servo. Bumblebee glanced in his direction, seemingly aware of his scrutiny, and chirped at him encouragingly. It made Sam relax all over, and he turned back to the task at hand. When he finished removing the larger pieces of detritus, he accepted the hose from Cliffjumper and washed Hound off. Ratchet had resumed his spot at the head of the driveway, once again in his alt mode. Sam's hand tightened on the nozzle, a grin slowly spreading across his face.
"I would strongly advise against it." Ratchet rumbled.
The medic's tone was impassive, but Sam knew a warning when he heard one. He sighed heavily, but he was smiling as he finished washing away the muck from Hound's leg struts. He gave the sentry an affectionate pat, and then went over to help Bumblebee with Cliffjumper. It was short work between the two of them, and by the time that his grandmother called him to supper, all three mechanoids were back in the alt modes. Sam coiled the hose on the rack, and made his way into the house for supper.
The smell of pizza hit him full in the face as soon as he stepped into the kitchen. He groaned appreciatively at the sight of Nanny's pan made pepperoni pizza in a skillet on the stove. The table had already been set, and his grandmother was in the process of plating up two slices. She looked over her shoulder in his direction, quirking an eyebrow at him.
"You're not sitting at my table looking like that." She said, "Go upstairs and change."
Sam glanced down at himself, only to realize that his clothes were damp and streaked with mud. He tossed an apologetic smile in his grandmother's direction, before hurrying to comply with her instructions. He changed into a pair of distressed jeans and a band shirt, and made his way back downstairs. By the time that he slid into his spot at the table, his grandmother was already eating.
"It smells amazing, Nan." He said, picking up his knife and fork. His grandmother's deep-dish pizza was too thick and saucy to eat by hand.
"Thank-you, Chicken." She said, after she had swallowed her bite of food, "I thought tomorrow I would make meat cakes."
Sam grinned at her. "That would be awesome."
Meat cakes had been his favorite meal as a child. It was simple comfort food—ground beef, onions, and mashed potatoes, mixed into patties and fried in bacon grease. They were incredible, and although his mother tried her best to make them, they just weren't the same as Nan's.
She hummed at him approvingly, and they finished their meals in companionable silence. When his grandmother pressed him for seconds, Sam was all too happy to oblige her. Afterwards, they cleaned the kitchen together and then made their way into the living room. His grandmother took her customary spot on the couch, and Sam sat on the floor beside her. They watched television as the sun went down, his grandmother occasionally patting his shoulder or running her fingers through his hair. By the time that nine o'clock rolled around, his grandmother excused herself and went to bed. Sam was still wide awake, so he shut the living room door and flopped onto the couch. He wasn't the least bit surprised when Bumblebee's holoform materialized by his side a moment later.
"Hey." He said, sitting up long enough to snag the tasseled throw blanket and pull it over his legs, "I was wondering where you were."
Bumblebee's mouth turned up in a fond smile. "You seemed to be enjoying the time alone. I didn't want to disturb you."
Sam tucked an arm behind his head, smiling up at him. "Thanks Bee."
The holoform pushed his hands into his pockets, making a slow circuit around the room. He stopped in front of a framed picture on the mantelpiece. He reached out a hand, tracing the grainy photograph with his fingertips, before looking at Sam.
"Is this you?" He asked softly.
Sam knew that he was looking at the photograph his mother had taken in the NICU. He had been in an incubator, wearing a little wool cap and covered in wires. The picture had been taken mid-yawn, but Sam thought he looked like he was squalling his head off.
"Yeah, that's me." He said. "I was like, two hours old in that picture."
Bumblebee picked the picture off the mantle, cradling it in his hands. "You were so small."
Sam chuckled lightly. "19 inches long, five and a half pounds. Ma had it embroidered on a baby blanket."
Bumblebee stared at the picture for a long moment, before placing it back on the mantle. He turned to look at the next picture, and Sam preemptively explained, "Christmas concert at Nan's church. I was five."
The holoform's lips quirked in a smile. "What are you dressed as?"
"Good King Wenceslas." Sam replied, pushing himself to his feet, "They already had three wise men and two shepherds, so they improvised."
Bumblebee chuckled quietly, and Sam wandered over to stand by his side. He explained each picture in turn, first on the mantel and then on the walls. There were wedding photographs, graduation portraits, vacation pictures, and more. It was a visual slideshow of his grandmother's life and, by extension, Sam's part in it. When he finished, Sam made his way back to the couch. Bumblebee lingered behind, staring at the picture on the mantelpiece. His expression was quiet and reflective, and Sam let him have his moment of introspection.
He picked up the remote, and drew the throw blanket up to his shoulders. Bumblebee joined him eventually, sliding beneath the afghan to curl against his side. Sam shifted, making room for him, and then he turned off the side lamp. The room was dark, lit only by the warm glow of the television. Sam was suddenly struck by thedomesticity of it all, and he chuckled quietly to himself. Bumblebee gave him a curious look, but Sam shook his head faintly. He couldn't have explained the warm, comfortable feeling in his chest even if he had tried.
They lay there together, quiet and companionable, until Sam fell asleep two sitcoms later.
Notes: Warning: Next chapter will have some angst and dark thoughts. I know that some of my long-time readers struggle with depression, so please read with caution.