Chapter 6
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The rest of the week passed by far too quickly.
The day after their heart-to-heart, his grandmother started baking. Sam came downstairs that morning to find cookies on nearly every available surface, cooling on little metal racks. There were chocolate chip, oatmeal, ginger sparklers, and shortbreads. He stared, mouth agape, as his grandmother smiled at him fondly.
"They say that taste is the sense most closely associated with memory." She said, sliding another baking sheet into the oven. "You'll remember this for the rest of your days."
Sam spent the mornings helping his grandmother around the house. There was no end to the chores that had piled up over the last four years. He raked the lawn, re-mulched the flowerbeds, cleaned out the shed, and hauled the trash down to the end of the driveway. By the time that afternoon rolled around, he was physically exhausted. He spent lazy hours relaxing in the hammock in the backyard or reading on the porch. His grandmother brought him lemonade, admonishing him to stay hydrated. It was sharp and sweet—Hound loved it.
The evenings were a relaxed affair. Sam and his grandmother had dinner together, and then he cleaned the kitchen. Bumblebee often joined him after his grandmother had gone to sit down. They washed dishes, side by side, as the sun sank towards the horizon. It was domestic in a way that made Sam feel warm and content. Afterwards, they would make their way into the living room. Sam curled up on the couch, and the three of them watched television until his grandmother excused herself for the night. Bumblebee would join him then, sliding next to him on the couch as Sam found something besides Jeopardy to watch. They watched late night television until Sam got drowsy, and then Bumblebee would follow him upstairs to bed.
The day before they were scheduled to leave was Independence Day. It gave Sam a funny turn to hang the American flag from the pole attached to the side of the house. That evening, Sam and Bumblebee made their way down to the shore. It was warm outside, and the fading sunset had turned the sky a golden orange. Sam settled in the sand near the bream, putting the six-pack on the ground beside him. Bumblebee's holoform sat next to him, clasping his arms around his legs. Sam pulled off his shoes and socks, burrowing his toes in the sand as he opened a bottle of beer. The waves lapped serenely at the beach, a steady hiss-hush of water against sand.
It was very peaceful.
Sam took a sip of his drink, drawing his legs up to rest his arms over his knees. The beer was cold and crisp, with a citrus aftertaste. He glanced down at the label on the bottle—he would buy it again.
"They're on their way." Bumblebee suddenly announced.
Sam glanced over at him. The holoform's face was cast in shadow, but his profile was still visible in the fading light. He was watching Sam nurse his drink with a fond expression on his face. Sam turned his attention inwards, bumping against him affectionately.
"That's good." He said dryly, "I wouldn't want Hound to miss it."
Bumblebee's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "Bluestreak is coming too."
Sam's eyebrows rose of their own accord. He hadn't spent much time with the gunner—he knew him only in passing. "Oh?"
"It was Cliff's idea." Bumblebee replied, "They grew close on the Trion."
Sam took another sip of his drink. "Oh, yeah? Did they work together?"
Bumblebee chuckled quietly. "Not many can work with Bluestreak for any length of time. Cliffjumper is more tolerant than most."
"That's an understatement." Sam returned wryly.
Sam had finished another third of his drink by the time he heard voices on the wind. He half-turned, glancing up at the bluff as Hot Rod, Cliffjumper, Hound, Trailbreaker, and Bluestreak came into view. The mechanoids were in their bipedal modes, and together they made their way down over the hill. Bumblebee followed behind them, carefully picking his way down the bluff. As soon as Hot Rod stepped onto the beach, he jogged over to where Sam was sitting. The impact of his footfalls caused the beer bottles to rattle together in the six-pack.
"Evening Sam. Nice little place you've got here." Roddy said, propping his servos on his hip struts as he looked around.
The corner of Sam's mouth curled up in a smile. "Thanks Hot Rod."
"It is very private, very secluded. I suppose I can see the appeal." Bluestreak chirped, coming to a stop beside Roddy, "With that being said, there doesn't seem like there is much to do. Well, maybe for a maintenance drone—they never stop, do they? But certainly not for a gunner. I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I was stationed on a satellite moon once—very remote, very dusty. It's a little bit like that, I think."
Sam opened his mouth to reply, but Bluestreak just kept right on talking. Bumblebee gave him a wry look as he settled directly behind Sam in his bipedal mode.
"Well, it's not exactly like Telus IV." Bluestreak continued, "There aren't any Decepticons to shoot, but it's similar. Cliffjumper, do you think it's similar?" He asked, turning to look at the scout beseechingly.
Cliffjumper folded his arms across his chest, lifting his pauldrons in a shrug. "It's not dissimilar."
"Yes, see? Cliffjumper agrees with me." Bluestreak said triumphantly, although no one had disagreed with him, "He was there with me, so he would know. We were stationed there for over a meta-cycle, and trust me, I was happy when the relief ship finally arrived. Of course, that was right before the ambush, so maybe—"
Bluestreak stopped speaking abruptly as Cliffjumper placed a restraining servo on his arm. The gunner shuttered his optics, as though in surprise, before he chirruped something in Cliff's direction. The scout patted him on the shoulder, before moving to sit on the beach a short distance away. Sam tipped his beer bottle in Cliffjumper's direction, and then he took another drink.
"Is that alcohol?" Hound asked curiously, although Sam was certain he already knew the answer.
"Yes, it is." He replied.
The sentry crouched down beside him, canting his head to the side. "I was informed of your tendency to imbibe. First Aid has a great deal to say on the subject."
Sam's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Oh, he does, does he?"
"Certainly." Hound easily agreed.
Sam felt a flash of annoyance as he recalled First Aid's reaction when he had gotten drunk with Carter. He took another drink of his beer, as though to assuage himself, before he replied.
"It's a social custom, and one that I happen to enjoy." He said, before adding, "Especially since I don't need to worry about hangovers."
The sentry made a considerate noise, deep inside his intakes. "That is fortunate. The aftereffects of intoxicants can be most unpleasant."
There was something knowing about his tone that made Sam glance up in surprise. "What do you mean by that?"
Hot Rod sprawled onto the beach beside Cliffjumper, kicking up a cloud of sand with his pedes. "Oh come on, Sam. Do you really think that humans were the first species to develop recreational substances?"
Sam gave the cavalier a half-hearted glare as he brushed sand off his clothes. "Thanks Roddy."
Bluestreak sighed wistfully. "Oh, I miss Engex."
"Engex is practically paint thinner." Trailbreaker replied dryly, "I preferred Visco myself."
Roddy flashed him a sharp grin. "Only when you weren't tanked on Nightmare Fuel."
Trailbreaker gave the cavalier a decidedly cool look, and Sam blinked, taken aback by their banter. "Ratchet told me that energon could be refined into candies, but I didn't realize that you had intoxicants."
The neural-net brightened with amusement at his words.
"Ratchet wouldn't approve of us corrupting you, I'm sure." Bumblebee replied wryly.
"Oh, Hatchet was plenty fond of high-grade himself, if I recall correctly." Hot Rod smirked.
Sam laughed and finished his drink. It was gritty from sand at the bottom, and he grimaced as he placed the empty bottle back in the carton. "I can't believe I'm just learning about this now."
Bumblebee raised his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "It's not something we often talk about."
There was something quiet and regretful in his voice, and Sam was suddenly mortified by his tactlessness. "I'm sorry, guys."
Bumblebee whistled at him as he shifted forward, bracketing Sam's body with his leg struts. "You've done nothing to give offense."
"Don't worry about it, Sam." Hot Rod agreed, waving his servo dismissively, "It's nice to reminiscence."
Sam cracked open another bottle of beer, tossing the cap into the carton. "Yeah, I could understand that."
"Do you remember Polonium spritzer? Or sulfide crystals?" Bluestreak asked, something longing in his tone, "I used to love sulfide crystals. My Creator gave them to us all the time, back before… well, before. It was one of the first things I bought after I left the crèche. I think I miss them the most. The sulfide crystals, I mean, not the crèche, although the crèche was nice enough, I suppose."
His words were met with a flurry of whistles and chirrups in response. Sam brought the bottle to his lips, taking a slow drink. After he swallowed, Sam half-turned, glancing up at Bumblebee. "What was your favorite?"
The scout's optics brightened to pale blue, a complicated mixture of amusement and nostalgia swelling across their bond. "I enjoyed sulfide crystals a great deal, but rust sticks were my favorite."
Sam grinned at him, delighted. "Rust sticks?"
"A slang term for crystallized energon cut with iron sulfide." Bumblebee replied. "They were good."
Sam tipped his head and asked, curiously, "Can you show me?"
Bumblebee chirruped at him, his wing flaps drawing up and spreading out. A moment later, Sam felt a shift inside his head as a vague memory-but-not-memory was pressed to the forefront of his mind. It was the oddest thing—he could almost taste the flavor, but it wasn't a flavor at all. It was more of a sensation, brittle and sharp and satisfying. Sam's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline as the strange feeling faded away.
"That was beyond weird." He said, working his tongue around his mouth. "Thanks."
Bumblebee whistled at him amusedly, and Hot Rod leaned into his personal space. "We showed you ours, now you show us yours."
Sam huffed at him, but he lowered his firewalls and raised the bottle to his lips. He was aware of their keen stares as he took a drink, and the malty, citrus flavor lingered after he had swallowed.
"That's… bitter?" Hound guessed.
"Yeah, I suppose it is." Sam agreed, pulling his firewalls back into place.
"I liked the lemonade better." He replied matter-of-factly.
Sam chuckled at him good-naturedly. "Beer is an acquired taste."
They sat together as the sunlight faded, the sky turning from burnt umber to navy blue. They talked about nothing in particular—Cybertron and duty rosters and plans for the following week. By the time that it was full dark, Sam had finished his third beer and, as a result, he was feeling cheerful and relaxed. He leaned back against Bumblebee's chassis, laughing at Hot Rod's exaggerated re-telling of a story he had heard a dozen times, when the first fireworks exploded above the harbor. They all turned, staring up at the sky as bursts of light and color spread across firmament. It wasn't an elaborate display—Ferndale wasn't exactly a metropolis—but it lasted a while. The display culminated in a rapid-fire burst of light and sound, a grand finale, and then the night faded to black.
Things were quiet for a long while, and then Hot Rod murmured, "Do you remember Iacon?"
It was a redundant question—their memories were flawless.
Sam could feel Bumblebee's melancholy, a sensation so sharp that it took his breath away.
"Bee told me all about Iacon." He said, artificial cheer in his voice, "Well, all about Cliffjumper's frag-up at Iacon, anyway."
The four mechanoids turned to look at him in comically perfect unison, before Cliffjumper directed a pointed look at Bumblebee.
"Is that so?" He drawled. Bumblebee held up his servos in a gesture of wry apology, but Cliffjumper just shook his head. "Let me set the record straight. It wasn't my frag-up—it was your bonded's frag-up. I was just the fall guy."
Bumblebee whistled indignantly, and then they started arguing with one another in Cybertronian. Sam laughed as he cracked open another beer, his mission accomplished.
They stayed on the beach long after Sam had finished the six-pack. It was only after he started nodding off, nestled in the protective cage of Bumblebee's limbs, that they stood up and began to disperse. Bumblebee helped him to his feet, and then Sam stumbled after them. The sound of katydids and crickets followed them all the way back to the house. Ratchet and Mirage were parked in the driveway, and the others joined them one by one. Bumblebee was the last in bipedal mode—he waited to activate his holoform before initiating his transformation sequence. As soon as his tires touched the ground, Sam smoothed a hand over his hood before making his way inside.
The house was dark and quiet, his grandmother long since gone to bed. Sam took off his shoes and tiptoed upstairs. The floorboards creaked under his weight, but his grandmother's bedroom light didn't turn on. Sam shut his door behind them, making quick work of stripping out of his clothes. Bumblebee crossed the room, sitting on the bed as Sam picked up his lounge pants off the floor and put them on.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" He asked in a whisper as he crawled into bed.
Bumblebee made a considerate sound as he pulled the blankets around them. "I did."
Sam made a contented noise, snuggling closer to the holoform. "Me too."
Bumblebee wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Sam threw a leg over his thighs. The motion caused his groin to press against the holoform's hip. He pressed against him again, more purposefully this time, and nuzzled into the holoform's neck.
"Sam, what are you doing?" Bee asked mildly.
"What's it look like I'm doing?" He asked, mouthing at the spot below the holoform's ear.
Bumblebee's mental presence brightened with fond exasperation. "You're drunk and you're tired. Go to sleep."
Sam made a sound in protest. "No, I'm not. C'mon."
The holoform pulled back, giving him a wry look. "Sam, your firewalls are in tatters and your grandmother's down the hall. I'm doing you a favor."
Sam rolled onto his back with a huff, and Bumblebee chuckled at him. The holoform leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss against his mouth. "If you go to sleep right now, we can have sex in the morning."
Sam threw an arm over his face, grumbling, "We're leaving in the morning."
Bumblebee pulled the blankets around them both, before settling down beside him. He leaned over, pressing a chaste kiss against Sam's wind blown curls.
"Good-night, Sam." He murmured softly.
There was no reply—Sam was already asleep.
Sam woke to mid-morning sun streaming through the windows. He groaned to himself, rolling over and burrowing beneath the blankets. He laid there for a long while, drifting in the liminal space between fully awake and fully asleep, when he felt the mattress dip beside him.
"It's time to get up." Bumblebee said, giving him a little shake.
"I'm tired." Sam complained, pulling the pillow over his head.
Bumblebee's amusement was bright across their bond space. "Yeah, probably. You were up until after midnight."
Sam groaned again. "Whose bright idea was that?"
"That was all you." Bumblebee replied, dragging the pillow away, "Come on, get up. We have a long drive ahead of us."
Sam raised his head, giving the holoform a baleful look. "What kind of bait-n-switch is this? I was promised morning sex."
Bumblebee bent down to grab a bundle of clothes, which he promptly threw in Sam's direction. "Whose fault is that? You slept two hours past our scheduled departure time. Red Alert is beside himself."
Sam sat up, glancing at the bedside clock. It was just after nine o'clock in the morning. He scrubbed a hand over his face, before tossing back the blankets. His duffle bag was already packed and waiting beside the door.
"Yeah, alright. I'm going. Do I have time to shower?" He asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
"If you hurry." Bumblebee agreed.
Sam stood up with a groan, taking the clothes with him as he made his way downstairs. Bumblebee followed behind him, carrying the duffle bag. His grandmother wasn't in the kitchen, but there was a Tupperware container and a filing box on the counter. Sam glanced at them as he passed, but he didn't stop to investigate. He made quick work of his morning routine—using the toilet, showering, and brushing his teeth in record time. When he made his way back into the kitchen, his grandmother was sitting at the table.
"Good morning, sweetheart." She greeted, "How was your sleep?"
"Too short." He replied wryly, bending down to kiss her on the cheek.
"Well, you should have thought of that before staying out all night drinking with your friends." She returned.
"It wasn't all night." Sam replied defensively, "I was back by midnight."
His grandmother chuckled at him. "Ah, the joys of youth."
She turned to pick up the Tupperware container sitting on the counter, which she promptly handed to him. The plastic was warm to the touch.
"I made you breakfast to go." She said, before nodding her head towards the filing box, "And I've packed up your cookies."
Sam's face softened with appreciation. "Aw, Nan. You didn't have to do that."
Bumblebee's holoform was suddenly there, and he pulled the box off the counter with both hands. His grandmother smiled at him affectionately.
"Of course I did." She replied, "Ratchet told me they can preserve anything I bake, so I have a busy few months ahead of me."
Sam was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and tucking his chin into her shoulder.
"I love you." He mumbled, squeezing her tightly.
His grandmother patted him on the back. "I love you too, Chicken."
Sam stood there for an interminable time, trying to memorize the smell of lavender and soap, the feel of her in his arms, before she gave him a little squeeze and pulled away slightly.
"You need to go, sweetheart." She murmured, "Everyone is waiting on you."
Sam's eyes fell to the floor, and it took a great deal of effort to step away from her.
"I don't know when I'll be back." He replied softly. "It could be awhile."
"Well then, I'll just have to come to you, won't I?" She asked good-naturedly, causing Sam's head to come up.
"Really?" He asked, hope and surprise and relief blooming in his chest, "Will you?"
"Of course I will." She promised, before tucking him under the chin, "But I'm not flying across the Pacific. We'll have to meet in Nevada."
The warmth that Sam had been feeling flashed into ice-cold anxiety. "I'm not going back to the embassy."
His grandmother took him by the shoulders, squeezing gently. "You're their Ambassador, Sam. The embassy is part and parcel with your role."
Sam's anxiety sharpened, and she must have felt it in the sudden tension in his shoulders, for her expression became firm. "You remember what I told you, Sam Witwicky. You are going to do great things—this isn't going to stop you."
Sam's throat constricted with emotion, but before he could reply, Ratchet's holoform knocked on the doorframe. They both turned to look at him, and he inclined his head as though in apology.
"I am sorry to interrupt, but we have to go." He said gruffly, "Our Security Director is insisting."
Sam rolled his eyes at the understatement. Red Alert was probably apoplectic by now.
"Sorry to cut and run, Nan." He apologized, giving her another hug, "I'll call when I get there."
"Of course." She said, stepping aside, "I'll walk you out."
They made their way into the porch together. Sam stopped long enough to pull on his shoes, and then he shouldered his way outside. He held the screen door for the others to step through, and then he let it bang shut behind him. Bumblebee took the steps two at a time, carrying the filing box full of cookies over to his trunk. Sam followed him more slowly, walking in step with his grandmother. He patted Cliffjumper's gleaming hood as he passed, before stopping in front of Bumblebee.
"Drive safely." His grandmother said.
"We will." Sam promised, hesitating as he opened the door. "Nan…" He trailed off, unsure how to tell her everything that he wanted to say.
"It's alright, Samuel." She reassured him, "I understand. I love you too."
Sam smiled faintly, before leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek. "I'll see you soon."
"See you soon, sweetheart." She said, stepping back as Sam slid into the driver's seat.
He waved, shutting the door behind him. At the same time, Bumblebee's engine rolled over and his dashboard came to life. Mirage took point, followed by Bumblebee and Ratchet, while the others fell into place behind them. Sam glanced in the rearview as his grandmother climbed onto the porch. Sheena sat next to her, head tipped to the side and tongue lolling out of her mouth. As they made to turn onto the road, she raised her hand in farewell. Sam pressed the horn twice, two short, sharp honks, and then they were accelerating across the isthmus. He watched in silence as the little house fell away behind them, and then it was gone, disappearing around a bend in the road.
He sighed heavily, reaching out to grasp the steering wheel with both hands.
"Are you alright?" Bumblebee asked quietly.
Sam stroked a thumb over the smooth leather. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks for asking."
Bumblebee brushed against his mind, warm and familiar and affectionate. "Always."
They slowed near the Bed and Breakfast, allowing Boynton and Simmons to pull onto the road behind them. Sam waved at them as he passed, before turning his attention to the container on the passenger seat.
"Do you mind if I eat?" He asked, "I'm starving."
"Of course." Bumblebee replied, before his voice turned dry, "It's greasy. Watch the leather."
Sam chuckled, reaching over to grab the Tupperware container. He pulled the lid off with a twist of his wrist and groaned in appreciation as the smell of fried bacon filled the cabin. His grandmother had made a breakfast burrito, and it was stuffed full to bursting. He held the container under his chin as he ate, using it to catch the excess food. When he finished, he pressed the lid back to the container, and then sat back with a contented sigh.
The drive was beautiful and uneventful, two things for which Sam was thankful. The silence was occasionally interrupted with good-natured chatter from the comms channel. He came to learn that Mirage was reserved with a dry sense of humor, while Bluestreak readily agreed with anything that Cliffjumper said. It was only after they turned onto the highway, and Hot Rod was arguing with Cliffjumper about engine specifications, that Sam realized just how much space they had given him on their drive to California. The thought touched him deeply, and he reached out to press his fingertips against the dashboard.
"Thanks guys." He murmured.
/No problem, Sammy./ Hot Rod quipped immediately.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't call me that."
/Sorry, Samuel, my bad./
"That's not better." He replied dryly.
/No? How about Hoss? Top Gun? Half Pint?/ Roddy asked, throwing out suggestions.
"I will murder you in your sleep if you start calling me half-pint." Sam warned.
/Ten-four, Short Stack./
"Someone brake-check him for me." He said, exasperatedly.
A moment later, there was a cacophony of affronted honking from somewhere near the back of the convoy.
/Happy to help./ Cliffjumper cut in dryly.
Sam grinned from ear to ear. "You're such a bro, Cliff."
They made their way down Highway 36 towards the state line. The breakfast burrito had been salty, and it wasn't long before Sam asked to pull over at the next rest stop so he could get something to drink. Mirage navigated the next exit, turning left at the lights and pulling into a large service station. The convoy parked in a row next to the restaurant, and Sam jogged into the convenience store. An old country song was playing on the overhead speakers as he made his way to the coolers at the back of the store. He pulled out two bottles of soda, shutting the cooler with his hip, and then he walked back to the counter. Sam put the bottles next to the cash register, before adding a package of beef jerky and a chocolate bar to the mix. It was a road trip, after all.
The cashier was staring out the window at the flashy sports cars, his mouth agape in disbelief. Sam followed his line of sight as he pulled the wallet out of his back pocket.
"Are those— Are they… Autobots?" The cashier asked, stammering out the words.
Sam was surprised when the question made him feel amused, rather than anxious.
"Yeah, they are." He replied, tapping his credit card against the counter to get the cashier's attention, "I'm sorry, but we're in a bit of a hurry."
The cashier turned to look at him, recognition lighting up his face. "It's you. I mean, you're him. Right? The kid who made first contact?"
Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't make first contact. Not really. They were here for a while before I met them."
The cashier's eyes went as round as saucers. "Oh my God."
Sam glanced meaningfully at the items on the counter. The cashier blinked, coming back to himself all at once, and then he started stuffing things into a plastic bag. "No one's going to believe me. Oh my God, this is the best day of my life. Here."
He thrust the bag at Sam, who stared at him in confusion. "I didn't pay for—"
"Your money's no good here, man." The cashier rambled, "Can I take a picture of them?"
"You… want to take a picture?" Sam asked, slowly.
"Can I? Do you think they'd mind?" The cashier asked hopefully.
"I mean… probably not?" Sam replied, glancing out the window.
The cashier dashed out from behind the counter as soon as the words had left his mouth. Sam watched as he pushed open the doors and jogged across the parking lot. He picked the plastic bag off the counter and followed behind him. The cashier had stopped a half a dozen meters away, and he was taking pictures with his cell phone camera. Sam walked passed him, and Bumblebee popped open his driver's side door as he approached.
"Holy shit." The cashier breathed, watching as Sam put the plastic bag on the passenger seat, "This is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me."
Sam straightened up, leaning against the doorframe. "I know the feeling."
"What are their names?" The cashier asked, catching him by surprise.
"You want to know their names?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.
The cashier nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, absolutely."
Something warm and pleasant blossomed in Sam's chest, and he shut the door as he patted the Camaro on the hood. "This is Bumblebee. The Bugatti is Cliffjumper, the Lamborghini is Hot Rod. That's Ratchet, Bluestreak, Trailbreaker, Hound, and the Ferrari is Mirage."
"And the SUV?" The cashier asked.
Sam glanced over at the vehicle with the government-issued plates. "Well, that's a Toyota. It's my security detail."
If the cashier was embarrassed by his mistake, he certainly didn't show it.
"This is amazing, man." He said, glancing back at the convenience store, "I wish I could stay and talk."
"It was nice to meet you." Sam said, and he meant it, "What's your name?"
"Jonathon. Jonathon Parker." He replied, "It was nice to meet you too. All of you."
Sam nodded in farewell, pulling open the driver's side door. At the same time, the cashier took a hesitant step towards him. "Can I take your picture?"
Sam froze in the process of climbing into the cab. "Who, me?"
"Well, yeah. Of course. I mean… you're famous." The cashier replied.
Sam gave him a skeptical look. "Well, I guess. I mean, if you want to."
The cashier's face split with a wide smile. "Awesome, okay, just a sec, lemme back up." He glanced behind him as he jogged backwards a few paces, and then he raised his phone. "Okay. One, two, three." There was a camera flash, and then the cashier lowered the phone again. "Thanks so much. No one would have believed me!"
Sam couldn't prevent his huff of laughter. "No problem. Have a good day, Jonathon."
The cashier waved good-bye as Sam climbed into the driver's seat. Bumblebee closed the door behind him, and then they were accelerating towards the road. He glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see the cashier showing his phone to an older man in a gas station uniform.
"That's going to be on social media before we hit the highway." Bumblebee said dryly. "The Instagram post from Redding went viral."
Sam fished one of the sodas out of the plastic bag, opening the bottle with a twist of his wrist. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, it did." Bumblebee replied, "The hashtag AutobotBugatti trended on Twitter. Hot Rod has been complaining about it ever since."
Sam tipped his head to the side, staring at the dashboard in consideration. "What'd they say?"
"The poster or the commenters?" Bumblebee asked, slowing down as he turned onto the on-ramp.
"Either or." Sam replied, taking a drink of soda.
"The comments were generally positive." Bumblebee said, accelerating to fifty-five miles an hour as they merged with traffic. "There was curiosity, some suspicion, some condemnation, and a great deal of interest."
Sam considered his response for a long while, staring sightlessly out the windshield.
"Do we have an official social media presence?" He asked eventually.
Bumblebee's mental presence brightened with mild surprise.
"Not an official presence, no, but most of us have social media accounts."
Sam propped an elbow against the doorframe, resting his head on his hand. "We should. I think it would help humanize us."
"Are you volunteering?" Bumblebee asked dryly.
"I don't know. Maybe." Sam replied, "I used to like social media."
Bumblebee hesitated for a long moment.
"Some of the content is… vitriolic." He hedged carefully, "There's a lot of anger and fear out there."
Sam hummed at him. "Yeah, I know, but maybe that's the point."
Bumblebee chirruped thoughtfully in response. Sam settled back against the driver's seat, reaching out a hand to press against the Autobot emblem on the steering wheel.
"I want them to know you, as I know you." He murmured, more to himself than to Bumblebee. "I couldn't think of a better way to stick it to Leland Bishop."
Bumblebee's mental presence shifted forward, pressing against his mind. It was fierce and protective and loving, and Sam bumped back against him affectionately.
The pictures from the service station were on social media before they left the city limits. Sam surprised himself by asking Bumblebee to read the comments as they were posted. As he predicted, there was a great deal of interest and enthusiasm alongside the animosity and threats of violence. Sam made himself listen to it all, and by the time they pulled into the embassy, he had made up his mind.
"I'll stay." He said, directing his words to no one in particular. "If Optimus thinks I should stay, then I'll stay."
Bumblebee slowed to a stop, but he didn't open the door.
"Are you sure?" He asked uncertainly, "You don't have to prove anything, Sam."
Sam smiled wanly at the dashboard. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Bumblebee's mental presence was skeptical and concerned, but he opened the driver's side door without protest. Sam climbed out of the cab as Ratchet pulled to a stop beside them. He walked around to Bumblebee's trunk, thumping it with the flat of his hand. Bumblebee obliged him by popping it open, and Sam pulled his duffle bag and the box of cookies out, setting them on the ground.
"What's brought this on?" Ratchet asked.
Sam shrugged as he slung the duffle bag over his shoulder. "I don't know. I guess I just needed some time away."
Ratchet snorted inelegantly. "Relieved though I am to hear it, you won't be staying at the embassy indefinitely. I'm to understand that Lennox has plans for you that involve the island."
Sam glanced over at him curiously. "What does that mean?"
"I suppose that's for you to find out." Ratchet replied enigmatically.
"Well, am I finding out tonight?" Sam asked dryly. The drive had been almost ten hours long, all told, and he was exhausted. "If not, then I'll go upstairs."
Ratchet ex-vented another snort. "Go on with you then."
Sam picked up the box of cookies and glanced at the Camaro. "Will I see you inside?"
"Of course." Bumblebee replied, like a promise.
Sam murmured his farewells, before climbing the narrow steps towards the embassy entrance. The two NEST soldiers stationed on either side of the entryway nodded to him in greeting. Sam nodded back and stepped into the antechamber, leaving the ground bridge hangar behind him.
Notes: Author's Note: And that brings us to the end of Refuge!