Author's Notes: Once more, I am endlessly grateful for all your reviews and support. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and again, apologies for any spelling or grammar boo-boos. (◕ ◡ ◕)

Aporia

By Lindsay Smith

Chapter Five: New Wounds and Old Scars.

"The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." ~ Mark Twain

"We'll be in shape for cast off in one Orn," bellowed Captain Nitro as he addressed his crew who stood before him in a straight line. They were not a military ship, but the way in which Nitro ran it, it might as well have been.

"Enjoy your off time and be ready to work when you get back."

Nitro turned back around and headed towards the docks to oversee the repair and restocking of his ship. The crew wasted little time in dispersing to enjoy their small resting period. The head engineer Crank walked along beside his assistant as he rolled his shoulder, wincing at the non-fluidity of the movement. "What I need," he said. "Is some premium high grade and some place to sit. And to get my blasted shoulder bearing fixed."

His assistant looked over at him, optics twinkling in amusement. "Why not just have Nitro look at it? He had medical programming doesn't he?"

The Mech laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Nitro has as much finesse as a one legged droid with rusted stabilizers," He said. "He's a good captain and a great shot, but slag if I ever let him near me or my joints with any sort of medical tool."

The two of them walked along, their optics soaking up the view as they left the docks and entered the city. Although it had been only about seven orns since they had last seen their home, the sight of it alone was enough to relax their Sparks. Working aboard Nitro's Ship was not easy work and it was a constant grind. There was always something that needed to be fixed and it was nice to be able to get away if only for a small amount of time and bask in the fact that for the time being, the repairs would be someone's else's problem.

"Now that you mention it," the assistant said musingly. "I never have seen him repair any of the equipment."

Crank laughed again and slapped the younger 'Bot on the back. "Exactly! All he does is yell and shoot. That's the kind of guy he is and it's up to lowly maintenance Mechs like ourselves to make the Captain look good."

The assistant sighed deeply as they turned a corner. Up ahead, a local watering hole stood with loitering Mechs around it's entrance. The pair headed straight for it. "What happened to the days when commanding officers were Mechs to be respected?"

"That's in the big leagues, kid, integrity doesn't drip this low to our level. Besides," Crank replied wistfully as they entered. They commandeered a pair of seats at the bar and motioned to the tender. The service droid rolled down their way and sat two full cubes of Energon in front of them.

Crank grabbed his up and took a long swing. When he emerged, he pinned the younger Mech with look. "You're not there anymore, kid. You left that world a long time ago."

Bumblebee was silent for a moment as he gazed into his own cube, processor swirling with his thoughts. "Yeah…I know."

It was then at that moment, irony smiled puckishly down upon him and his communications link pinged with a new message.

It was from Ratchet.

"I don't want it!"

Ratchet had to reach out and grab the young Mech by the scuff bar behind his neck to keep him from running off…again. Surely getting the child to refuel was not normally this infuriating. Servo had mentioned using a direct line, but Ratchet was having none of that. If Sam was not going to refuel properly and willingly, Ratchet would make him. He had to think of something else though. Asking politely had not worked.

The medic swung the wiggling Sparkling under one arm and marched him back to the table top from where he had escaped initially. He sat the Sparkling down in the middle firmly. Not hard enough to harm him, but enough to catch his attention.

"Now see here scraplet," said Ratchet in a stiff tone. "You have to learn to refuel like everyone else. I'm not going to coddle you through this like the Caretakers have done."

Ratchet placed the canister of Energon in front of Sam, his optics hard and very serious. "Drink it." he said.

Sam seemed bewildered by Ratchet's tone. "But…I don't…"

"I do not care if you do not like it. You need it. I'm not going to argue."

The child studied the canister for several moments, looking almost afraid of it. Tentatively he reached out and Ratchet allowed himself to feel the faintest drop of hope…until Sam swipped the canister off the table. Ratchet started and scrambled to grab the falling canister.

"No!" Sam yelled and made another break for it while Ratchet was distracted. Ratchet caught the canister just before it crashed to the floor and he stood up and glared at the fleeing Sparkling. He was in no mood for games.

"Samuel James Witwicky!" He yelled more out of reflex then anything.

Something odd happened then. The child, in the middle of his fleeing…stopped cold. And he stood there. Ratchet caught onto the odd motion and slowly approached Sam. When he neared, the child had yet to turn around. "Sam?"

At his name, Sam turned his head and looked up. His optics were distant and he looked confused.

"What's wrong?" Ratchet asked, bending down. He was not sure whether any of this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"…Dad use to call me that…when I was in trouble," Sam replied slowly. Something hit him then and the small Sparkling crumbled under his own weight. Ratchet caught him by the arm and hauled him back up to his feet. The Sparkling reacted by pressing himself close to Ratchet's leg. When he spoke again, his voice was small and pained. "I don't like getting in trouble…"

Ratchet had no answer for that. Instead, he reached around and scooped him up. The Mech stood and walked slowly back to the table. Just as he was about to set Sam down, the little form curled in on itself and pressed tightly into his armor. "…Ratchet?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"…I want Bumblebee…"

Instead of setting the child down, Ratchet found a seat and sat down, allowing Sam to burrow himself into his armor. "I know, Sparkling," he said quietly. "I know."

"Do you believe in reincarnation, Ironhide?"

The question came so far out of the context to their conversation, Ironhide found himself in the rare position of being caught off guard. Always one to keep his head, Ironhide replied in his usually manner. "What're spouting now Jolt?"

The two Mechs walked along the corridor aboard the Cybertronian Armada's flag ship, its gleaming metal halls disguised the deadly potential all around. It was a formidable vessel that had withstood the barrage of the Decepticon Rebels and won on repeated occasions. Ironhide was a proud member of the commanding crew, second in command below Optimus Prime. He walked the halls of the ship as if he were ruler of it. Jolt, however, held no such grand position and was, as he had always been, a foot soldier. He could have climbed the bureaucratic ladder Vorns ago, but he was a Mech of simple pleasures and was not one to desire grand things. He liked his lot in life and wished to keep it as such. However, that did not stop him from rubbing elbows with the best of them. Ironhide and Jolt had been good friends ever since Earth.

"You remember what reincarnation is, don't you?" Jolt asked.

"Reincarnation is a Human concept," Ironhide replied. "Half the slag they come up with makes no sense. Even with all that time we spent on Earth, I still don't fully understand their species."

"It's the belief that when we die, we will be reborn into something new," Jolt replied wistfully. "Whether you were bad or good in this life dictated what you would become in the next."

"I thought their thinking was: good people go up and the bad people go down," Ironhide replied. "That's what I remember of it anyway."

"You're thinking of Christianity," said Jolt. "Reincarnation is a concept found in Eastern religions."

"Religion is the creation of weaker minded species to explain the world in a context their primitive minds can understand. I put no metal in any of it."

"When did you become such a pessimist?"

Ironhide growled in frustration. He was growing bored with the current topic. "Is there a point to all of this or were you just feeling nostalgic?"

"Yes," Jolt replied. "I have a point."

"Then make it. You're annoying me."

Jolt did not bother hiding his amusement. "When I was on Cybertron on that assignment," he explained. "I ran into a Foundry Mech on the Tran who had a Sparkling with him."

Ironhide glanced at his companions askance. "And this matters why?"

Jolt met his friend's gaze. "He had green optics."

"Who? The Mech or the scraplet?"

"The Sparkling."

"And?" Ironhide shrugged.

The blue Mech was undeterred or irritated by Ironhide's brashness; rather it was one reason why he had taken such a liking to the old bot. He was his exact opposite. It made for interesting conversation, although most of the time it looked as though they were arguing. "I talked to them a little and the child asked me something very peculiar."

"What you and I consider peculiar," added Ironhide. "…are two very different things."

With a piercing look, Jolt said, "He asked me if I knew Bumblebee."

That stopped Ironhide. "That is particular…" he conceded. Jolt nodded, glad to hear the Mech was as intrigued as he was. "But nothing special," Ironhide added. "We've seen Sparklings with the boy's memories before. What makes this one any different?"

Alright, maybe he should have expected Ironhide to be more skeptical. It was a stretch, but Jolt felt confident that what he saw that day was not mere memories, but the real thing. "He told me his name was Sam."

Ironhide was still not convinced. "So the kid has a lot of leftover memories..."

"I believe it was him."

Ironhide paused in his stride and turned to face Jolt, skepticism radiating off his face plate. "So you think that Sparkling was Sam?"

Jolt nodded. "I do."

"Well, you're wrong," Ironhide replied gruffly and continued to march onwards, a little stiffer then before. They approached the command room and Ironhide continued on, but Jolt stopped. He was not authorized to enter the bridge. "Sam died a long time ago, as did all those Humans we knew back then. The sooner you and the others get that through your processors the sooner we can move on with our lives."

And with that, Ironhide disappeared into the room beyond.

Jolt sighed. "Oh Ironhide," he said to himself and the empty hall way. "You act so tough and emotionless, but we all know you miss them as much as the rest of us do."

The latest round of tests revealed nothing substantial. Spark scans came back normal aside from a small anomaly, but Ratchet did not see a need to look into it. Sparks were remarkably unique and it was common for anomalys to show up every once in a while. His processor function was at normal level for his age and all systems were operating at optimum capacity. All signs indicated plainly that Sam was a perfectly healthy young Spark. But Ratchet was still worried.

While conducting the scans earlier that cycle, a thought had struck him. Regardless of whether or not the young Spark turned out to truly be Sam, he believed he was. In his young mind, there was no questioning it. And yet, what if ultimately he turned out to be another corrupted spark in need of a memory purge? What would that do to him? His exposure was massive, so much so that a purge could risk wiping his entire processor. If they did not purge the memories, the child would eventually reach the age where he understood death and the reason why so many people he had phantom memories of were gone. It could possibly begin to adversely affect him and stress out his systems. His mental health could be in jeopardy.

Ratchet dreaded the outcome of the final test. Bumblebee's verdict would quite literally be the deciding factor on Sam's life.

He re-entered the lab, mind still swirling with concern, when he felt the now familiar sensation of tiny Sparkling hands on his armor. Sam, like nearly every other time, had sprung from out of no where to latch himself onto Ratchet's leg. The novelty was wearing off and Ratchet felt his patience waning. He looked down at the ball of charcoal metal. "What happened this time?"

"You said you would be back soon!" Sam protested, little fingers digging into sensitive wires behind his knee plate. Ratchet winced and tried to endure the uncomfortable sensation. Sam did not noticed and saw no need to release his hold.

"I'm back now," Ratchet replied, "So what's wrong?"

"Too long!" Sam cried. "You were gone too long!"

First Aid, who Ratchet had left in charge of Sam while he conducted some tests, emerged from the back room looking stressed and in need of some Energon. "He has some separation issues I think."

"Indeed." Ratchet agreed and walked into the room with Sam still clutched to his shin, giggling. "Wheeljack informed me that he had similar problems while watching him."

"I contacted Servo earlier to see if this was normal for him," First Aid said, walking over to stand beside his mentor and to see the results of the tests for himself. "He was surprised. Worried too I'd say. He said D-17 never displayed any sort of offense to being alone. From what he told me, it's always been the direct opposite."

"Sam!" Was the offended protest from the floor. "My name's Sam! Not D-17!"

"Yes," First Aid said patiently, but did not look at him. "We know."

Ratchet was quite for a moment. "Curious," he muttered, "Very curious. Why such a change?"

"Because you're Ratchet!" Sam replied as if it were obvious. "It's better when you're around!"

The medic sighed, wishing the Sparkling had the proper grasp of language and logic to properly explain what that meant. "Of course," he sighed, "It's all so clear."

Sam apparently was also too young to recognize sarcasm as he looked very proud of himself and, thankfully, removed himself from Ratchet's leg. But then, to Ratchet's chagrin, began to try and climb up his side. Feeling the last wisps of his patience fluttering away like the proverbial wings of a bird, Ratchet reached down and pulled the Sparkling up, tucking him under his arm. "Stay still a moment," he told Sam. "I need to think."

Sam did not seem to care either way and contently hung in the crook of the medic's elbow, chirping and whirling happily to himself.

What was he doing here again? He had sworn to himself he would never do this again. His spark could not take the empty feeling that all but consumed him when he answered Ratchet's hails.

Another Sparkling. Another disappointment. Another period of self loathing and regret and grief. Another struggle to move one… Why was he here? Why was he doing this to himself?

Because he missed Sam. No matter how much time had passed, those few years he had spent as the guardian to that young organic, innocent and wholeheartedly loyal…he missed their Sunday drives, talking about their cultures and past. He missed how Sam would look at him with those wide brown eyes and he would know that Sam trusted him, that he was his friend. He missed it all. That brief time that despite the fighting…it was the most peaceful time Bumblebee could recall.

If there was the slightest chance that Sam was…

No. No. He wasn't going to do it. He had made his peace and had left all of that doubt inside a little preverbal box, locked away somewhere deep in his processor. He was going run himself to rust prematurely if he continued on this way.

He wasn't going to…and yet…

He did not know how long he stood in that hallway, indecision wreaking havoc on his systems. Several times now he had reached out a hesitant hand to the control panel beside the door and several times he had pulled away and all but stomped away from the door, the building, the city...only to rush back to the door and start the processor anew.

He had an undeniable urge to get away and yet his feet were lead, melted to the floor and would not allow him to move.

Sam. His Sam. If only…

How much he missed the boy. From the day he had met him, he had know the human's life span would be painfully short in ratio to his own. But how it ended being so short for even humans…he would never forgive the one who decided that was fair. The pain never left him and he was certain it never would.

The possibility, however slight, that it might be Sam…

He was scared and hopeful, desperately so, and for all the world and all the horrible things that happened…he prayed that it was Sam.

Bumblebee pressed the key pad and the door to Ratchet's lab opened.

Sam stiffened under Ratchet's arm. The Medic noticed the motion but did not think anything of it until the little spark began to wiggle violently. The child was much stronger then Ratchet would have thought.

"I want down!" Sam said urgently, trying to pull himself from Ratchet's arm.

"What? No, stay still, I'm…"

"DOWN!" Sam all but screamed and was successful in freeing himself. He tumbled to the floor and rolled, but was on his feet in moments and running for the door.

"Hey!" Both Ratchet and First Aid gave chase. The door abruptly opened, causing the two Mechs to pause. Both froze and looked up to see a yellow and steel grey Mech standing there. Sam however did not stop and immediately rushed to him and grabbed onto the new Mech's legs, vocalizer whirling and chirping in joy to the point where the Sparkling could not form actual words.

Ratchet straightened and regarded the startled Mech who was looking down at Sam with an expression of borderline horror. Ratchet took a careful step forward, the delicacy of the situation demanded it. "Bumblebee…"

Sam was ecstatic, nuzzling Bumblebee's knee plate and practically purring. Ratchet felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the sight. He stepped up to greet his old friend, but froze when he saw the former scout's expression. Something was not right. "Bumblebee?" He asked. Bumblebee was staring down at Sam, not moving, just staring. He looked alarmed.

"Bumblebee, if you could, I'd like you to…" before Ratchet could finish, the yellow Mech crouched down and picked Sam up and stood him on his feet in front of him…and then backed up a step. And then another. And another.

The room grew colder with every step and each one seemed to echo hauntingly. Ratchet felt his spark drop and a wave of sadness swept across him. Not again…

"It's not him," Bumblebee's voice said simply, tone nearly flat. "It's not Sam." But the slight inflection said everything and Ratchet send a private message to the scout, his words encased in sympathy and mutual grief and disappointment.

:I'm so sorry Bumblebee. We were so sure this time…I know how much this hurts you.:

:It's alright Ratchet. You tried…but I'm tired of playing this game.:

All of the subtlety was lost on Sam who stood in the middle of the threshold, looking very bewildered. "Bumblebee?" His voice was small and concerned. He took a small step forward, small hands held abreast as if he was not sure what to do with them. The Yellow Mech looked at the Sparkling with such incredible sadness it was nearly palpable. Sam didn't understand. He took another step forward, arms out reached now.

"Bumblebee?" His voice had a frayed sound to it, panic just below the surface. The yellow Mech backed away from him.

"No," he told the Sparkling. "I'm sorry."

And then Bumblebee turned away.

"BUMBLEBEE!" Sam bolted after the Mech, catching up to him easily and latched onto the back of his leg before he could get very far. Every insecurity, every fear, every emotion inside of him burst open like a wave and consumed Sam. He was hysterical, desperate, and he begged his guardian not to leave. "BUMBLEBEE! Please! Please don't leave me again! PLEASE!"

He felt familiar hands reach out and lift him up and for the briefest moments he thought Bumblebee had decided to stay. Sam was handed back to Ratchet and he began to wail. Ratchet held him firmly as he tried to wiggle free, calling out Bumblebee's name as he disappeared down the hall and was gone. "You promised!" He shouted, feeling his systems heat up. "YOU PROMISED!"

Sam's mind exploded with thoughts and emotions that swept him away and he no longer became aware of his movement or what he said. White overtook his vision and the world disappeared.

Author's Notes (2) - I suppose you all hate me right now, huh? (°∀°)