Sam finally began packing. His mother had rolled her eyes at how he started just a week before moving to the city, but doing it any sooner had felt too premature. Sam was still here; he hadn't wanted his surroundings to begin disappearing, not yet.
On his second day of packing, Cal was sitting on the bed, watching Sam pack and listening to Sam's chattering. Sam had no idea how much Cal was really understanding, but Cal's eyes were bright with amusement, so he figured it was probably a decent amount.
"-and my mom must think I've got like, a dragon's hoard in here because she got enough boxes to pack an army in." He reached a hand into the back of his desk drawer to finish clearing it out, and his fingers brushed against something. "And of course, my dad's already got buckets of paint so he can convert this into his combination gym/home-theatre, because he thinks that'll help motivate him to exercise more." He curled his fingers around the item and brought it out; it was the communicator he'd been given, which made him pause.
He hadn't called in three weeks; partly because he'd been busy spending time with Mikaela and Cal, trying not to think about leaving home for somewhere so different this time, a city that felt more foreign than anywhere he'd ever been, a shift that felt permanent. But mostly – mostly it was because every time he thought about Bee, his heart twisted itself into knots. Bee, who suddenly felt a little like a stranger.
Sam stared down at the cell-phone-like device in his hands. "Just a sec, I have to call someone." Cal nodded, and then, tilting his head, pointed to the door with a questioning look. "No, you can stay, it's cool. Thanks." Cal gave a small smile; warmth pooled in his eyes, and Sam had a hard time looking away. He finally turned back to the phone, pressed the buttons until he'd connected to the only Autobot that seemed to care about having the call receptors turned on. With the other Autobots, it was like how some people – Sam's dad in particular – just seemed incapable of hearing their phone, no matter how loud the ringtone was. The phone rang once, and even then, it was barely an entire ring.
"Sam? Is something wrong?" Ratchet's panicked voice came through immediately. As far as phone availability went, Ratchet was the only reliable one in the bunch. Ironic, for beings who could literally answer the phone in their own brains.
"No, no, nothing. I just… I wanted to ask, y'know, how's Bee?" He chanced a glance over at Cal, hoping he sounded nonchalant enough that Cal wouldn't be intrigued enough to ask questions.
"Just fine," Ratchet said. "I'd let you talk to him, but he's off with Ironhide right now, working."
"Oh, okay." Sam's shoulders slumped. "It wasn't really important, anyways."
"I'd be more than happy to pass on a message, Sam."
"Just… tell him hi. And I miss him. That's all." Sam felt his face redden a little at the admission. But – he did. Bee was his best friend, and whenever anything happened, Sam found himself immediately looking to Bee for his reaction.
"Of course, Sam."
After he'd hung up, Sam slipped the device into his pocket, looked over at Cal. "Anyways…" There was no use pretending Cal hadn't heard the conversation, after all. And Sam felt Bee's absence like a missing limb, which may have been magnifying his feelings towards Cal, but – still. Cal was sweet and calming and Sam was going to miss him, too. "Speaking of missing. You're going back home soon, huh?" Cal nodded solemnly, eyes on Sam as he scooted forward to sit on the edge of the bed. "I… I'm really gonna miss you. This has been a lot of fun, hanging out and all."
The sweet smile he got was his favourite, but it did make the words harder to get out. Maybe he was in the midst of a rebound for a loss that hadn't even happened yet, but Sam kept finding himself looking at Cal for too long.
"I kinda… there's something I really want to know… but, wait, are you getting all of this? Because I can talk slower or if I'm using words you don't… well, I mean, I don't use long words all the time, I'm not a walking dictionary…" he was babbling, he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself. Cal was looking right at him, like he could see everything Sam was trying to say, and maybe like he already knew. That made it easier, somehow. "So are you getting this?" Sam asked weakly. Cal reached up to set a finger on Sam's lips, and Sam felt a shiver go down his back. "So you understand."
"Everything," Cal murmured.
"Okay. Okay. Definitely good. Not like I doubted or anything, I just wanted to make sure you understand. I just, since you don't know enough to talk like, at all, I wanted to make sure I wasn't confusing you. But you're great company anyways, seriously, I know we don't talk but I know you listen and I hardly know anything about you but… I'm really going to miss you."
Cal understood. Cal understood what Sam wasn't saying, because he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam's.
They only had one more week left; it would still be filled with silence from Cal, but if they had this, Sam thought, leaning in to kiss Cal again, again – if they had this, Sam thought he could say everything he needed to. Cal knew he was leaving. He probably even knew he was standing in for someone who Sam missed terribly.
Still, Cal brought his hand to Sam's cheek and kissed him again.
xxx
Sam spotted a stack of books under his desk, reached to pull them towards him. As much as he'd wanted to spend the afternoon of his third-to-last day kissing Cal, his mother's shout from downstairs had reminded him he'd finished only a handful of boxes out of who knew how many. Cal was still sprawled across the bed, one hand dangling off the edge so his fingertips could trail up and down Sam's arm. The touch was doing nothing to keep Sam on task but Sam wasn't about to complain. It was sweet, how extremely relaxed Cal had become in the past few days, basking in Sam's attention.
"Textbooks," Sam grumbled as he examined the stack, which was definitely going in the 'to leave' pile. "I hate how these pile up. These are just for electives! Astrology – way harder than you'd think – and linguistics – the teacher kept complaining about teaching babies sign language for some reason? And French-"
Sam paused, unsure why the book was calling out to him. "French," he mumbled, distracted as he stared at it for some kind of clue. He flicked through the pages until they all flopped towards the front, leaving him looking at the dictionary of words in the back.
cajoler [v.] – to coax
calamité [n.f.] – misfortune
calandre [n.f.]- radiator grill
calculer [v.]- to compute
calendrier [n.m.]- calendar
There was something tugging at his mind. The words themselves meant nothing to him, but they were trying to tell him something. Not the words. Just – the list. The list of them.
"Italian!" Sam blurted, jumping to his feet. He shoved the books aside jolting Cal's hand away from him in his haste. "Be right back!" He raced stumblingly out of the room, nearly smacking his shoulder on the doorframe. A whimpering noise was the only response he got from Cal, but he ignored that and sprinted down the stairs. Hopefully, his mother wouldn't be in her crying mood, and would be able to help. "Mom? Mom?" She was only a little weepy, standing in the kitchen and staring at a pot.
"When you were a baby, you liked to play with the pots and pans," she told him mournfully.
"That's great mom, that's really great, but listen, where's that Italian textbook you tried to teach me Italian with?"
"Tried?" She planted her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. "Samuel James Witwicky, I would have taught you to be fluent in Italian if you hadn't been so uninterested! I-"
"Yes, Mom, yes, you're right, you were a great teacher and I should have paid attention- where is it?"
"The book?" She sniffled and looked down at the saucepan. "You were just so darn cute... you'd sit on the floor for hours and hit the pots with a spoon-"
"Yes, Mom, the book! Where is it?"
"Living room bookshelves, probably..." she sniffled again. "God, the racket you made. But it was just so darn cute..."
"Great. Thank you!" He bolted out of the kitchen before she could start crying again. Sam started tearing through the bookcase, trying to be methodical, going through the shelves as fast as he could. The textbook was on the third to last shelf, gathering dust. He pulled it from its slot and flipped through it rapidly. The glossary was on the last few pages, and told him just what he'd thought it might.
It might mean nothing, he thought, staring down at the page. It didn't prove anything.
Sam dashed back upstairs, book in hand, slamming back into his room. Cal jerked in surprise, tumbling from the bed.
"I'm sorry, are you okay?" Sam crawled awkwardly across the bed, book still in hand. Cal sat up, resting his chin on the bedspread, gaze on the book. "Yeah, the book! This is gonna sound crazy, I'm probably wrong, but, look!" He flipped the pages to the 'C' section, jabbed his finger down at a word. "Your name suddenly sounded familiar to me, and I was right! It means-" The rest of his theory caught up with him, just as he saw Cal's eyes widen. "It means –" Sam stammered.
calabrone [n.m.]: bumblebee.
"You… it…. It means Bumblebee."
It couldn't be a coincidence. It was deliberate, it had to be, and to be deliberate, it had to be deception. Lies, from the amber-eyed boy in his room. Sam raised his gaze to find him; Cal had scooted back against one of the boxes, eyes big, looking for all the world like he was about to be under gunpowder. Was he trying to find out about the Autobots? Why bother with the games? It didn't add up. Sam tried to puzzle it out, but kept hitting dead ends, all while staring at Cal. A guy who found out about the Autobots and… what, tried to get information out of Sam by being his friend? And for what, to give it to who, the Decepticons? Why be so obvious, then? Why call himself Bee's name if Sam wasn't supposed to ever find out? Why would he want Sam to realize something was going on?
Sam was wrong. An entirely new storm of lies was growing on the horizon behind him, he hadn't seen it coming and was suddenly roaring towards him. He wasn't finding out that his companion was some kind of spy. That would have been bad, would have hurt, would have made Sam feel used and pathetic, but he could have dealt with that. That would have been so much easier.
"You're –" Sam whispered. He could still feel those hands on him, those lips, the sweetest touch he'd ever felt, but this… this made it hurt, this made everything taste bitter. This undid it all, everything falling away around them, lies dissolving into the silence. The tortured look on the sweetest face Sam had ever seen sealed it, the tear-filled amber eyes made it a bond they couldn't break if they tried, but it couldn't be, because Sam didn't want to be united in knowing the truth, because Sam didn't want to know at all, because he was just so real.
"Bee?"
