Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! Enjoy!
Prowl stiffens, then looks right at Sam, the whitest blue eyes wide before something complex passes over his face. Tentatively pulling from Jazz enough to come towards the young man, while holding tight to Jazz's hand he stops a few feet from Sam, Bumblebee and Earthquake.
After a beat, Prowl finally says, "Hello Samuel."
"Hello," Sam says, resting a hand on Bumblebee's thigh as the bot curls around him. Sam hadn't realized that he was swaying a bit, having been overwhelmed earlier by all of the emotion from the Autobot's EM fields, and just the sheer weight of all of them pressing in around him. Now it feels like he can actually take a few deep breaths, stretching out his lungs to capacity.
Prowl straightens, his doorwings pulling up into a tight 'v' before he brings his free hand up over his chest and bows respectfully, like he had done to Optimus earlier. Sam blinks in surprise at the action, eyes flickering over the SIC's shoulder to a smiling Jazz. The slightly shorter, primarily silver bot winks at him with one half of his visor before mimicking the motion with his free hand and bowing.
"Please," Sam says, embarrassed. "You don't have to do that."
"You gave me back my mate," Prowl says, voice smooth. He straightens up with Jazz a half-second behind him. "Simple respect and recognition are grossly understating what you deserve, Samuel."
Earthquake rumbles in approval. "This platform is pleased that the Autobot's Second-in-command is able to recognize the Creator deserves such respect and then some. Take notes accordingly, Jazz."
Jazz chuckles, amused, while Prowl casts a long, curiously look at Earthquake, looking like he was trying to decide what Earthquake meant by that. In the meantime, Optimus turns to the other Autobots and NEST soldiers who probably couldn't make sense of what was happening - if they could even see anything at all with the line of Autobots in front of them - and after warmly welcoming the former (back) to Earth, he dismisses them. NEST soldiers begin to head back to base while the Autobots all move towards each other in greeting.
From what Sam could sort of see past Bumblebee, there is a collection of large, almost hanger like buildings, a massive one at the end of the airstrip. He can't see beyond it, but they appear to be on the side of the airfield. There is a ton of aircrafts all lined up neatly in rows, spaced out in a way that suggests that they could be deployed at any moment. There is even a ship, unlike all the others, that's angular and alien to Sam's eyes, no doubt the ship that Prowl and his crew flew in on. The Perserverance. As for what the other buildings are, he's not sure.
Sideswipe goes to the golden bot, wrapping him up in a hug that he barely returns, before they press their foreheads together. The other winged Autobot looks lovingly at Prowl, purple eyes bright as he turns away to hug Sideswipe when the silver bot pulls from the golden one. Arcee, Chromia and the green mech all turn to each other talking while Elita moves over to Optimus and Ironhide. Ratchet sends Sam a long look, scowling about something but the red and white bot pulls his attention away. First Aid - Sam thinks - tips his head respectfully to the yellowish green bot before smiling at him. Ratchet's expression softens slightly as he reaches out to pat his shoulder. Jolt moves over to the twins, hands on his hips as they excitedly fill him in on something that quickly devolves into shoving one another to which Jolt leads them away a bit.
"I do not believe we have met," Prowl says, voice even as he stares at Earthquake. He's definitely more attentive now than he was with his emotions shut off. His white-blue eyes study Earthquake carefully, the lines in them spiraling small then wide then small again. "I am Prowl. As you stated earlier, I am the Autobot's Second-in-Command."
"He's one of us, Prowler," Jazz says, stepping up next to the other monochrome bot, their hands still firmly linked.
Bumblebee chirps, a respectful, but happy brush of his field goes over Sam's head.
Prowl pulls his eyes from Earthquake momentarily to look down at Bumblebee, nodding with a smooth expression. "Hello again, Bumblebee." Then back to Earthquake. "And you are?"
"This platform is Earthquake," the large black plated bot says, shifting a bit. "Unlike Jazz's recycled spark, this platform's spark was carefully and lovingly created from scratch by the Creator."
Bumblebee plays a laughing track at Jazz's expense while the visored mech shakes his head, amused with a smirk on his face. "Ya cold, Earthquake. My spark is not recycled, it's my spark!"
"Be nice, Earthquake," Sam says, smiling a bit and mouthing an apology to Jazz, whose smirk never faltered as he shook his head, unbothered. Earthquake seems to be pretty keen on being recognized for how close he is to Sam, and while Sam doesn't so much mind it, he doesn't want to give anyone the wrong impression. Earthquake seems very proud of Sam, and honestly, after what they've been through and how he's willing to push onward despite all of this being brand new to both of them. He is proud of Sam and their connection, and Sam is proud of him.
Earthquake went out to fight in their defense, and Sam is proud of him for doing so unflinchingly. But he could lighten up on Jazz a little bit, in Sam's opinion, but obviously he is still expanding his understanding of Cybertronian and human culture.
"This platform is being nice, Creator," Earthquake murmurs, tilting his head while looking down at Sam.
Sam waves his hand so that Earthquake will kneel down close to him, bringing his face within arm's reach so that Sam can run his fingers over the smooth metal between bright violet eyes. Oh, they are similar to the other winged Autobot. Maybe there is something there that Sam can ask about. Bumblebee shifts a bit to give Sam some space but stays close enough for his other hand to still rest of the yellow bot. "Saying someone's heart - or in this case spark - is recycled isn't very nice."
"But it is - "
"Joking and teasing is one thing, Earthquake," Sam says, pressing his palm against the smooth metal. "But be sure that you're mindful about what you say and how you say it. Just be sure that if Jazz asks you not to say something like that again that you respect his wishes and maybe stop bringing up the manner of Jazz's undeath. At least give his mate and friends time to readjust to having him back, okay?"
Earthquake frowns, a crinkle forming between his purple eyes. "This platform was not attempting to be harmful, Creator. Jazz and this creation have found ground that is common." He's not arguing, he just seems to be confused.
"Prowl just got his mate back," Sam says, keeping his tone light. "Try to consider how he would feel about your words too. They don't just affect you and him, okay? You might not care now, but remember, first impressions are so important, and while Jazz might not mind, if you want to have a cordial relationship with Prowl from now into the future, you still have to be respectful to his feelings too."
Earthquake considers, frowning. After a few moments, he looks over at Prowl, tipping his head a bit. "If this platform has hurt the feelings of the Autobot SIC, it hadn't been this creation's intention. For that, this platform apologizes for any disrespect."
"You're all good, mech," Jazz says, squeezing Prowl's hand. Prowl's face is completely impassive, but he looks back and forth between the three of them, nodding.
"Any slight has been forgiven," Prowl says, nodding once in return. He turns to look down at Sam, eyes brightening a bit. "Thank you for giving me my mate back, Sam. Should you ever need anything, do not hesitate to ask."
Sam pats the plates between Earthquake's eyes before turning back to Prowl as Earthquake moves back to his feet. "You're welcome, but you don't have to repay me. Jazz saved mine and Wheelie's lives right after waking up, I think he's repaid any debt that might have accrued." He offers a little smile, despite needing to lean into Bumblebee to keep on his feet. Despite the warm air on his face and hands, Sam is cold and fatigued.
Prowl frowns a bit, as if he doesn't agree but Ratchet steps forward. "It's time to go, Sam."
Sam leans more into Bumblebee, hand running along the warming metal. "To the medbay?" Bumblebee lets out a low rumble, nuzzling the back of Sam's head with his own, gently enough to only move him slightly instead of throwing him off of his feet.
Ratchet nods. "Yes, now come along. You look like you're about to collapse on your feet." Sam just gives him a thumbs up, not at all interested in arguing. Ratchet hums, pleased, before looking at Prowl and Jazz. "And you two, go and resolidify your bond, your pain sensors are pinging in the red for me, Prowl. Solidify your bond and come see me when you're done."
Prowl's stoic expression - not indicating any of the pain that Ratchet mentioned - flickers slighting in either indecision or protest. At Ratchet's hard look, Prowl frowns, looking over at Optimus. "Permission for a half shift leave, Prime?" Jazz snorts, head lulling in a mimicry of an eye roll.
"Prowler, Imma need a little more than a half shift to warm you up."
"Three days," Ratchet snaps, turning burning blue eyes to Optimus, who makes his way over. Ironhide, faithfully, is right at his side, arms crossed over his chest.
"One day," Prowl responds, evenly. Both Ratchet and Prowl completely ignoring Jazz, as if he wasn't standing right there. Jazz opens his mouth to comment but Powl's hand, without even looking at the slightly shorter bot, flies up to cover it. Not at all breaking intense eye contact with a scowling Ratchet and a serene Optimus.
"I'm not going to give you a half shift, you think I'm going to give you a day? Three days," Ratchet growls. He looks at Optimus. "Approve three days, or I'll order a week." Prowl stiffens, door wings hiking up ever so slightly before falling back into their neutral tight 'v'.
"Prowler," Jazz says, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth once he pulls the hand down and laces their fingers together to trap it, "I'll keep you occupied. Get ya those data pads with long lines of code ya love decipherin'. Do a bit of spark bondin' to get rid of ya pain - "
"Frag your processor blank," Ironhide offers. Jazz's grin turns positively salacious while Prowl scowls at Ironhide, scandalized, his fields rippling out in displeasure. Ironhide seems completely unaffected by the look. "Put that damned tacnet to rest for a while, Prowl. Damn thing runs you ragged when you let it. Take the three days so you can plan your next vacation in the next millennia or two."
Jazz laughs, and while Sam's face is warm at the implications of all of this, Bumblebee is rumbling good naturedly at his back, hand curled around him to keep him upright. He might not completely understand the terminology used here, but he can definitely use context clues to get the gist of what was being said. Guess it goes to show, when you spend so much time together, nothing really stays secret - or sacred - forever. Despite all the joking and the blatant displeasure worn across both Ratchet and Prowl's faces, there is something comforting. Something akin to a bone-deep relief. It wasn't just one person that was saved, but two. The reunion between a dead man - bot - and his not-quite living mate, and all of their friends - their family - too. And no matter the expressions they share, there is a love here. Maybe it was born from time, from connection by cause or trial or pain, or maybe there was something more here. More than platonic, but not with the intensity of romantic.
Either way, it sooths something in Sam he didn't know he felt building in his chest.
Prowl, still displeased, looks at Optimus. "I will accept three days." And yet his expression is so sour that Sam only felt safe to let out a little chuckle at Jazz's laugh.
Optimus nods, magnanimously. "I'm happy to hear it. Three days approved, Prowl and Jazz." Blue eyes flicker between the two monochrome bots. Then he addresses the group in totality. "Until you are back on schedule, Ironhide, Ratchet and I will see to your duties to the best of our abilities." Prowl frowns more but Optimus's smile is kind. "We will have plenty of time to adjust to any alterations you wish to make upon your return, Prowl. For now, focus on each other. We will happily see you back on the schedule in three days."
Stiffly, Prowl nods, offering a respectful bow once more before pulling Jazz towards one of the buildings. Jazz flips around to offer a two fingered salute when Prowl stops to press his forehead into the slightly shorter winged bot that moved away from Sideswipe and the golden mech to intercept them. The blue bot murmurs something, reaching up to pet his face before they pull apart. The blue bot, barely taller than Jazz quickly hugs him before pulling back and giving them a little wave of the hands before returning to Sideswipe and the golden mech, positively beaming in joy.
Sam didn't get to see much of the base from the back of Ratchet's ambulance form. What he does know is that once they got inside of a building, then went into a massive elevator and went down. And down. And down. Before driving for almost fifteen minutes at a leisurely pace, until finally making it to Ratchet's medbay. This medbay puts the other to shame. It's massive, fully stocked and definitely designed with the idea of the transformers in mind - which ended up making sense seeing as Ratchet's medbay was actually just for them. Humans had their own medbay and while Ratchet oversaw all medical staff and could step in on any medical emergency on both sides, he saw primarily to the Cybertronians, but had a deep wealth of knowledge in regard to human physiology.
But of course, when Sam asked if he should go to the human's medbay, Ratchet scoffed, as if disgusted, and asked, "So I can waste my time walking over there when I could just treat you here? Absolutely not."
"But shouldn't I go to the human medbay, as you know, a human?"
Ratchet looked at him like he was insane. "No, you're under my care." And that was that.
After another full day of resting, Sam was eating on his new gurney, perched on top of his new berth, with Bumblebee sitting on it next to him, when Prowl and Jazz walk into the medbay. Bumblebee glances over at them and catcalls. Prowl sends him a stern look while Jazz grins. Sam ducks his head, blushing which only seems to amuse Jazz more.
First Aid, who Sam correctly guessed was the white and red bot, was fluttering around the medbay, datapad in hand as he made notes, checking on their supplies and integrating what they had brought from their own ship to add to the medbay's storages, turns to look at the two commanding officers as they walk in. "Oh, good afternoon! What can I do for you today?"
"Here to check in wit' Ratchet, Aid," Jazz says easily, walking over to the berth next to Sam's hopping up on it before grinning at Prowl, patting the spot next to him suggestively.
Prowl gives him a level look before walking over to Jazz. He pauses to tip his head briefly in greeting to Sam and Bumblebee before standing next to Jazz, shaking his head when the slightly shorter bot nodded to the space next to him.
First Aid nods, heading off into one of the back rooms leading to the offices on the far side of the room - primarily one for Ratchet and one for the lead medic on shift if it isn't Ratchet - with a chipper, "Certainly! Give me just a moment to go get him."
While he's gone, Sam swallows the food in his mouth before leaning around Bumblebee a bit to ask, "How are you guys? I mean, are you still in pain or anything, Prowl? I don't fully know how this works."
Prowl turns to look at Sam. "I am in no pain, any longer. Reestablishing my bond to Jazz has alleviated any of the pain that I was feeling. Thank you for the concern."
Sam nods, relieved. "Cool, okay. So, can I ask something I forgot about until now?"
Prowl's wintery eyes level with him. "Yes."
"That bot with the purple eyes? The one like you and Bee?"
Jazz grins. "He's Praxian, like Prowler and Bee. Baby Blue."
"Bluestreak," Prowl says smoothly, not looking over his shoulder at the slightly shorter bot. "What would you like to know?"
"I noticed that most Autobots have blue eyes, but he has purple, like Earthquake. But that bot with Sideswipe had orange eyes. Does that mean anything?"
"So, the mech with the orange optics is Sunstreaker," Jazz says, legs kicking back and forth. "He's Sideswipe's twin brother." Oh, wow. So that was why there was something about him that looked so familiar. He must be the enigmatic 'Sunny' that Sideswipe was always talking about. "His optics are orange because he and Sides probably have a lower caste parent. Jus' like Sideswipe's optics are blue cause they have a mid-caste or higher parent."
"There's a difference?" Sam asks, dumbly.
Jazz nods. "Yep. You can change ya optic color but there is always something a little different about it. Most bots jus' don't bother to change it." Jazz reaches up to grab at his visor. It makes a click, and the blue band goes out before he pulls it away from his face to reveal bright red eyes making Sam's eyes widen in shock. "Prowler's blue optics have a brighter shade to 'em cause he's from the nobility in Praxus. I'm from the gutters of Polyhex."
Prowl glares over his shoulder at Jazz, but the other mech just grins at him, putting the visor back in place. Despite what has to be a very dramatic difference in their stations, they were bonded together. It was like a story book. Like a fairytale.
Sam takes a moment to try to digest what he's learned. "Woah, so Prowl's like... a nobleman by your people's standards?"
"Once upon a time," Prowl says stiffly, a frown marring his face. Sam almost cracks a smile at the irony of that. "But my family title was lost when my home was destroyed by the Decepticons. Now I am an Autobot, just like all of the others."
"I'm sorry," Sam flinches. "I didn't... I mean... I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Prowl says, shaking his head, arms still crossed over his chest. "Praxus was lost millions of years ago. I got the piece of it that matters with me. Bluestreak." Millions of years? Insanity. It's hard to grasp that the mechs around him could be so old. Sam can barely comprehend such a thing.
Sam perks up a bit, thankful for the out. "So, you guys knew each other?"
Prowl nods. "Yes. Bluestreak is my younger half-brother. Our sire had him while he was away when I was preparing for my final upgrades into adulthood. His carrier died in emergence, so he brought Blue back to Praxus with him. I basically raised him since he was only a few chord - or our equivalent of weeks - old."
Jazz's smile is warm as Sam takes this information in. Those looks, the tenderness between them, it all makes sense now. "You raised your little brother, then."
Prowl nods again, the mechanisms in those wintery blue eyes spiral wide as if he's staring off in the middle distance. His expression is calm but there is something... almost gentle about how he holds himself. "Yes. My carrier wanted nothing to do with my sire's betrayal, but he was my little brother, and I loved him. Thankfully I was still living with my creators at the time and decided to stay while Bluestreak was still young enough to need me to care for him. Once he started his formal education, I was able to move out."
"You two seem to be very close," Sam admits. He doesn't have any siblings, and often wondered what it would have been like to have any - not that he would have wanted his dad to step out on his mom to get one, but the idea still stands.
Prowl's eyes refocus. "Yes. He was still quite young - barely into his second to last upgrade - when Praxus fell. Of our family, he and I were the only survivors. When I found him, he had been buried under what used to be our family's estate."
Sam looks away, hearing Bumblebee softly hum, sadly. "I'm sorry, Prowl. I... I can't imagine." And he couldn't. The home that he could see in his memories. The place where his parents raised him, where he went to school, to the supermarket for groceries, the parks to play, arcades with friends, and even the beach where he would spend most of his days every summer - to see it all cast in fire and nothing more than rubble. Buildings torn down or burning, people dying in the streets - neighbors, strangers, friends, family - places of passing interest or necessity or love, all destroyed. And a life, built not by him but for him, gone.
Prowl shakes his head, dismissively as Ratchet and First Aid walk out from the back heading towards them. "Praxus has been gone for a long time, Sam. I managed to save the one thing that meant the most to me. While I mourn the loss of my carrier and sire, Bluestreak was my priority. I miss my home, but it's just a place. My home now follows me. And I had almost lost it forever. But you saved it. You saved him."
First Aid's hands grapple at his chest, as if suddenly anxious while Ratchet frowns in mute understanding at what they are talking about.
"I'm sorry," Sam says again, even though he knows his words are empty.
Prowl holds out his arm to Ratchet, but keeps wintery blue eyes on Sam. "Don't be sorry, Sam. It's done now. But as for your question about Bluestreak's optics, he is an outlier."
Sam perks up at that, once again thankful for the out. He hadn't heard this term before. "What's that? An outlier?"
"They're special," First Aid cuts in, hands kneading at his chest, still anxious. "Outliers have extraordinary abilities that simply go beyond our normal programing capabilities. They are exceedingly rare. Even in the Autobots there is only a handful of them. One of which is Bluestreak."
"What sort of special abilities does he have?" Sam asks, intrigued. And relieved to have moved past the heavy baggage he hadn't realized he'd kicked over with his interest.
Jazz brings up a hand and folds it into a gun, mock shooting it with a flick of the wrist. "Pow," he murmurs. "Kid can hit anythin' at incredible distances. And I mean anythin', with anythin'. He's the best sniper in all of the Autobot forces. But even put a pistol in his servo and he can hit jus' about any target from insane distances. Ain't that much of a surprise, though. Another outlier in the Autobots is Prowl. Usually it's inherited, but neither of Prowl's creators were outliers, but it can just crop up randomly when the righ' circumstances are met."
Sam's brows are to his hairline as Prowl adds, "That's not to say that it's impossible for Bluestreak's carrier to have been an outlier either. Unfortunately, my sire was not forthcoming so we will never know."
Ratchet plugs into Prowl's medical ports and begins running through diagnostics, focused intently on the tab that popped up on his arm.
"Prowl is an outlier even though his eyes aren't purple?" Sam asks.
"There are rare occasions where outliers appear without purple optics but it's usually a telltale sign of an outlier is somebot who has purple optics, like Bluestreak," First Aid explains. "Typically, purple optics means that Bluestreak inherited the code for an outlier from both creators - which would mean that while Prowl's sire was not an outlier, he had the coding for it - which is probably what made Prowl an outlier too. But the purple optics means that Bluestreak will most than likely have a greater chance at having an outlier offspring - especially with a partner who is either an outlier, to which it is basically guaranteed, or with the coding - but if his partner is neither, he still has a higher chance by himself as most of his code has it imbued into him. Prowl is an outlier, but Jazz is not, nor have we seen any coding suggesting he's a silent carrier. They could produce an outlier like Prowl, but their chances are significantly lower."
Sam smiles a little at the excitement flaring in First Aid's eyes. He's practically vibrating. Sam's not sure if it's about the prospect of Cybertronian babies running around or if he's just that fascinated by the idea of Cybertronian genetics - or just medicine in general - but it's good to see he's not as anxious anymore. Sam suspects that Praxus might be a sore subject for a lot of people and while Prowl seems completely indifferent, Sam doesn't know the bot well enough to tell if his indifference is truth or just masking. Either way, best not to poke the metaphorical bear.
"What's your superpower?" Sam asks Prowl, eyes wide.
Jazz grins, looking at Prowl in warm adoration so plain on his face that it makes Sam's heart clench in his chest as Prowl says, "I can create an incredibly powerful overlay." A pause, considering, then, "Any bot of significant processing power and skill can project a field that is unlike our EM fields. This specific type of field is called an Overlay. What they do is bond bots together for a limited time, forcing a level of deeper connection. With this field, specifically, I can craft a battlenet."
Sam blinks rapidly, leaning his elbows onto his knees to get a better look at Prowl. "Battlenet?"
Prowl nods. "Amongst the Autobots there is only three of us that are capable of creating a wide enough and connective enough net to be effective on a battlefield. One is Optimus Prime, one is Ultra Magnus, and one is myself."
"Of the three of them, Prowl's is the most powerful," Ratchet adds, glancing over at Sam. "What the overlay does, basically, is it interweaves the processors of all the bots connected to the net. Optimus and Ultra Magnus can only affect other Autobots, make them feel more connected to each other, invigorated, share information with one another and overall improve cohesion amongst the forces."
Sam's eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open in awe. He's not fully sure he understands what that all really means, but it sounds incredible. "Wow."
"Prowl, though," Jazz says, pride evident in his voice, "can affect both sides. Invigorate our allies while disheartening our enemies. He can dramatically improve our cohesion while pushin' the 'Cons into disarray. In the net, information passes through the bot castin' it, they interpret the information and send it out across the net to where it needs to be, offerin' quick commands to our forces over a whole battlefield. Ultra Magnus and Prime can't cast a powerful enough net together to saturate enough of an area to match Prowl, even on a bad day. None as thorough or as in-depth. He's the best we got. The best either side got."
"Of the Decepticons, only Megatron and Tarn hold enough power to cast a battlenet," Prowl says, unfazed by the compliment. "Tarn's problem is his zealotry. If he was able to focus, his skill in tactics would make him far more dangerous than he is, but Megatron is a problem. His battlenet is fueled by his charisma, to which he has plenty to spare. If he doesn't have Optimus Prime to hold his attention, he can cast a net powerful enough to negate the negative effects my net has on the Decpeticon's closest to him. He already passively protects himself from any negative effects."
"Wait," Sam asks, mind whirling, "so he just... doesn't feel the bad from your net? Like disheartened or disarray? He's just... fine?"
Prowl nods. "One of the reasons that Megatron is so dangerous. His will is simply too strong to be influenced. And if he's able to focus, he can make it so that the Decepticons closest to him can't be effected either."
"Part of the reason OP will always meet him in battle," Jazz says, leaning back on his hands, still kicking his feet. "One of many."
Sam shivers. He doesn't mean to, but it almost rips from him, and he hears it again. That same voice. Low, growling. Just the very sound of it is enough to shake Sam to his bones.
I can smell you, boy. Give me the cube.
Bumblebee looks down at him, eyes overly bright as Sam forces a weak smile. "I remember him, Bee. I remember him chasing me for the Allspark."
Big blue eyes soften in understanding. He nods as his radio plays, "You're safe with me, kid."
Sam sags a bit in relief. He pushes away his half-eaten plate to press into Bumblebee's side, relishing in the warmth coming from him. "Thanks, Bee." Turning to look around the room at the gathered bots, he says, "Thank you for telling me about... well, all of that. Praxus and Bluestreak and... all of that."
First Aid smiles brightly, lowering his hands finally. "You already knew most of it, Sam. You just don't remember yet. But, well, you're welcome!" Prowl nods in agreement while Jazz offers a thumbs up and a grin.
Ratchet gives Prowl approval to head back to his - now his and Jazz's room - after stepping privately into another room to look at Prowl's spark to ensure that the bond was fully formed once more and there weren't any lasting ailments that he needed to see to. At the curious look on Sam's face when the two bots walked away, First Aid helpfully informed him about the privacy of one's spark. It's shared with one's sparkmate and their medic and that's about it. If it had been just Jazz and Ratchet in the room, Prowl wouldn't have any issue showing it off, but with First Aid, Sam and Bumblebee also there, he preferred to go somewhere private. Understanding this, Sam was content to let that be. And once Prowl was back, with a warning from Ratchet that he and Jazz had two more days before he could be back to work, he sent them on their way.
Ratchet checked on Sam, ordering him to finish up eating before getting some more rest and heading back into his office. Meanwhile First Aid went back to his counts, humming a soft song under his voice that eventually lulled Sam to sleep.
By the next morning, Sam was finally cleared by Ratchet to go to his own room. Bumblebee was more than happy to take him, and Sam was pleasantly surprised to see Mikaela there too. They hugged before moving to get into Bumblebee's alt mode after listening to Ratchet remind Sam - again - that he has to take it easy. No strenuous exercise and if he's feeling unwell to call or come see Ratchet immediately.
Once they get into Bumblebee's cab, he takes off down the massive halls, obeying the dotted lines in the middle of massive hallways, like they were on a public road. There are spaces marked off as sidewalks and crosswalks. Like they were in an underground city despite it's rather utilitarian-like appearance in concrete walls and floors and ceilings.
For a moment, Sam is back in his dream, walking down bland hallways so similar to this. Not quite, with the stalagmites hanging from the ceiling but...
"You're already looking better."
Sam blinks. He turns to look at the young woman next to him. "What?"
"You're already looking better," she repeats. "Your skin isn't as pale and the dark shadows under your eyes aren't as bad."
Sam looks at the rearview mirror. His skin is paler - after years growing up under the California sun and having spent basically weeks indoors, he's definitely lost some color - and there are dark circles under his eyes, but they don't look too bad. He definitely looks worn and tired, but he supposes he must have looked worse if this was considered better.
"I feel better," Sam admits. "Well, I feel gross, I need a shower," Mikaela smiles with him, "but I do feel better. Stronger."
"Good," Mikaela says, twirling one of the rings on her fingers. "So... what do you think is going to happen from here?"
Sam gives her a curious look as Bumblebee stops at a crosswalk, letting a few people cross the space, going from one side to the other. While they wait, Sam considers her question. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." she waves her hand around. "All of this. What are you going to do about school? You've missed so much already."
Sam faulters, shaking his head. He hadn't really thought about it. "I don't know. I don't know if I remember enough to even go back right now." Mikaela frowns at that. "And right now, with everything going on, I just think that it's better for me to stay with the Autobots."
Mikaela nods slowly. "Okay. And what about your parents?"
"They'll never leave California," he says, and he knows it's true the moment he says it. He hadn't fully realized the implications of his words until they were said. He would only be thinking about how his parents wouldn't ever leave California, if he was thinking about leaving it as well - in a more permanent measure. Not forever, but... maybe longer than just the school year. He looks at Mikaela and sees it in her eyes as well, what he wasn't saying. "I need to talk to them," he admits. "I don't know what to do about tomorrow, but for now, I know I need to stick around. Until we know more about what's going on with me, I need to stay close to Ratchet. And Earthquake needs my help in adjusting and well... Jazz..."
Mikaela nods, watching his expression carefully as she twists in her seat a bit to look at him. "Yeah, Jazz. I remember Mission City. How he... how he died. How is he back?"
"The Allspark," Sam admits, fingers running along Bumblebee's wheel, feeling the warmth soaking into his extremities and as soon as he thinks that the seat beneath him starts to warm up. Bumblebee isn't stopping him or giving him the impression that he is saying anything that he shouldn't, but he doesn't want to push his luck.
"What? Like from the sliver I brought to the base?" Mikaela asks. She still doesn't know. Not everything. Sam needs to talk to Optimus before giving away too much. He's not sure what he should say. What he's allowed to say. He wants to trust Mikaela and for all intents and purposes, the Autobots seem to, but he doesn't want to mess anything up. He thinks that they should tell her, but he doesn't know if it's his place to be the one to do it without at least talking to Optimus first. He hadn't seen the red and blue Autobot since they arrived in Diego Garcia. From Sam's understanding from what Bumblebee has told him, Optimus went right to work establishing Cybertronian independence and nationalization with Earth's governments. He's making plans and expanding resources to the island. But aside from that very broad understanding, that's all he knows.
"The sliver has a role to play," Sam says illusively, feeling bad about the omission. "But it was the power of the Allspark that brought him back." He shakes his head, not wanting to interpret the slow look she sends his way before asking, "What about you? What about your dad?"
"I mean, he's on parole," she says carefully, casting Sam another look, her fingers twirling the ring there. "The shop, home, and the grocery store are about the limit to the places where he's allowed to go. I don't think he'll get a passport to leave the country any time soon."
"I don't know about you but I'm pretty sure I don't have a passport out of the country," Sam admits. Mikaela lets out a laugh, shaking her head.
"Me neither," she agrees.
"I don't really know how all of this is going to work," Sam admits. "I'm assuming that Optimus would handle it all for me - and you too, I would guess. If you wanted to stay."
Bumblebee pulls into a wide-open circular room, separated into six sections. The entrance to each section has massive blast doors that were wide open behind security checkpoints and colorful lines along the walls, no doubt to assist in directions but Sam was too far away to tell what was said on them. They exited the blast door marked for a 3 and moved over to the one marked 4 on both sides of the open door. They get up to the checkpoint designed for Autobots and Bumblebee rolls down the windows so that the NEST soldiers can peak inside at Sam and Mikaela.
"IDs?" the guard on Sam's side says, three are armed with guns, one with a tablet and another with some kind of folded up device. He unravels some kind of strange scanner like device and runs it under Bumblebee. After only about fifteen seconds it chirps positively in affirmation.
"We don't have base IDs yet," Mikaela says. This obviously wasn't her first time going through this. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her regular ID, passing it out the window to the guard next to her. "I'm Mikaela Banes and he's Samuel Witwicky."
The guard she spoke to pulls up the tablet, looking at Sam closely, then at Mikaela. Sam's palms suddenly start to sweat, anxiously. He didn't have his ID on him. Honestly, it was probably in one of the boxes that Bumblebee packed up for him that have since been moved to his room. No one told him he needed his ID.
"Confirmation: Bumblebee," the guard with the scanner says. Bumblebee's alarm chirps.
One of the guards, holding his gun carefully blinks, eyes wide as he stares down at the yellow Camero, as if suddenly realizing he wasn't just a regular car. He must be new.
"And yours?" The guard by Mikaela asks, looking in at Sam after handing her back her ID.
"I..." Sam swallows, looking at him. "I don't have it..."
The guard frowns but before he can speak, Bumblebee powers up the radio. "He's cool, he's cool."
"Sir, regulation says - "
"I know what it says," Bumblebee's radio slides back and forth, splicing bits of phrases together. "I was there when it was written. Special permissions from the big guy."
"Big guy..." the new guard says, blinking slowly.
The guard still looks like he wants to argue, when the one with the tablet shakes his head. "He's here. Prime has him marked. Samuel James Witwicky." He's an older gentleman, and he levels a stare at the other man until he backs up. After also retreating a few steps, he nods to the gate, granting access. "Sorry for the hold up, sir. Have a good day."
Bumblebee chirps, rolling up the windows and gliding forward slowly as the arm of a small gate lifts up and the spikes on the other side, designed to puncture tires, sink down into the ground. All guards at the checkpoint salute as Bumblebee moves through it and heads off down the path.
"Are you going to try to... stay here?" Mikaela asks after almost a full two minutes of silence. "I mean. I know something's up, and you need to figure out what it is, but... you are coming back. Right?"
Sam shrugs, sinking into the warmth of Bumblebee's seats, comforted in his alt mode equivalent of a hug. "I don't know," he says, honestly. "I'll definitely visit. My parents are there. My friends are there. But it's all so confusing right now that I don't know what to do right now but just focus on getting better and seeing where we go from here." Mikaela looks down at her hands, still twirling her ring on her pointer finger, but doesn't say anything for a long time, considering. She sucks in a slow, deep breath. "You're upset," Sam notes, rubbing at his forehead.
"No, Sam," Mikaela says, looking back at him with beautiful blue eyes. "I'm worried about you."
"Don't be worried about me," Sam says, offering her a little smile.
She rolls her eyes with a little shake of the head. "Shut up, Sam. I'll always worry about you."
Sam thinks about these last few weeks. About the Autobots being super protective. How Ratchet barely let Sam leave the medbay. How Bumblebee has barely left his side since he woke up. Special permissions from Optimus. How it was just assumed he would come with because he was one of them. Twelve years. Twelve years they were together - memories that he only has at most the last two of that is filling in more and more - and while he doesn't know with solid memories. He feels it. He feels it in the way they all interact with one another. How they react with him. How they all just seem to fit.
Despite being human, Sam feels like one of them.
Sam runs his thumb against Bumblebee's Autobot symbol in the middle of the horn. Bumblebee's engine purrs beneath them and he feels the yellow bot's field press into him gently enough not to suffocate him. It feels like adoration. Like connection.
"A lot of people seem to," Sam murmurs, almost sinking more into the plush soft cushion of Bumblebee's seat. "I guess I'm just lucky like that."
Bumblebee drops them off at his door. Sam knows it's his because for some reason Bumblebee's anxiety seems to grow the closer they get. Deeper and deeper down the path, Sam's skin prickles with tension that isn't his own. Once they come to a stop outside of a door and Bumblebee shifts into park, only Mikaela's door unlocks. She doesn't notice, but Sam does. Mikaela climbs out, smiling at the radio with a sincere, "Thanks, Bee."
Some of his anxiety abates as he chirps back. She closes the door and walks around the front, heading to the pad outside of Sam's door. She pulls out a piece of paper from her back pocket and unfolds it.
Sam waits until her focus is on the paper before looking over at the radio and quietly asking, "Are you okay, Bee?" Bumblebee chirps. If Sam couldn't feel the weight of his field, he might be completely convinced of the sound, but he can feel it and he's not fooled. "Bee, you can tell me if something is wrong."
Bumblebee idles for a long moment before he softly asks, in his own voice, "Can I come see you tonight?"
Sam blinks in surprise before nodding. "Okay. Tonight."
The field lifts, fluttering a bit before Sam can't feel it anymore and the door unlocks for Sam to exit. He waits a beat longer to see if his best friend will add anything else. When he doesn't, Sam pulls himself from the seat and closes the door. He runs his hand across the top of Bumblebee's alt form, debating on just asking if his friend wanted to talk now, but Bumblebee sends out a pulse in his field that almost feels like a nudge, so Sam pats the top and moves away, letting Bumblebee drive off. Mikaela has the door open, paper held out for him to take. He does as she gestures inside.
"Home sweet home," she says, offering a little smile. "At least, for now."