FIC: Parental Interaction in the Third Degree (Human Series)
Parental Interaction in the Third Degree
By Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Bumblebee/Sam, Others
Rated PG
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Moments of Forgiveness
Topics of Conversation
Lies of Omission
The Theory of Existence
Beyond My Brave Facade
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
Notes: Everyone ready for another segment? Yes? Good! Let's dip into Bumblebee's POV after Sam's mom kicks him out that morning, shall we? Hit it, baby!
~~*~~
The door to Sam's quarters had barely closed behind him before Bumblebee allowed the receptors in his holo to rejoin the rest, stretching his senses back into his real form with sigh of relief. He'd told Sam the truth when he had said it didn't bother him in the least to spend quantities of time in an extended sensor array but there was something to be said for simply being himself.
He considered shifting into his car form to recharge but discarded the idea quickly, stretching out on the ground to bask in the sun's rays. It felt good; solar energy was nothing like energon but still enjoyable. In a short time he was more relaxed than he had been for days, hovering on the edge of a much-needed recharge. It had been too long since he'd rested properly and even though he was recovered from the viral attack a little extra recharging would not be amiss.
His last recharge had been days ago, just after Sam's first release from the infirmary. He shifted restlessly as his memory banks called up the moment he had arrived at Sam's quarters and found him missing. A Decepticon attack would have been exceeding difficult but his probability calculators refused to allow him to forget that it wasn't impossible. He'd barely had time to do more than panic, raising his internal alarms to alert all the Autobots in the area when he'd received Ratchet's message about Sam's injury.
His injury. There was a question where that was concerned for which he had yet to receive a good answer. Any gentle inquiry into it made Sam's heart rate spike distressingly high and Bumblebee didn't want to press the issue when he was still recovering. His stress levels were already high and Bumblebee was more concerned with stabilizing his careless receptors. The slagging little bastards were not his and were so far unimpressed with any of his attempts at forcing control into them and Sam was only doing slightly better. Joining with them was a sweet pleasure for which he had no comparison but thus far, joining was all they would allow. The progress was slow but it was progress.
It was that injury still nagging at him, the circumstances surrounding it combined with his own guilt that he had not prevented it made it linger in his thought processors. A simple fall would not be invoking this kind of response from Sam, that was certain. He'd made a single attempt to ask Ratchet what had really happened, both in general and when he had forced him and Optimus leave the infirmary. That very night, he'd left Sam asleep and returned to the infirmary but he'd barely opened the door before something had been thrown at it with great force. His sensors indicated that Optimus was still there and it didn't take a probability calculation to discern what they had been doing.
Just the thought made his intakes shudder. Not that he hadn't already known; everyone knew, at least amongst the Autobots. When your ranks dwindled down into single digits, there were few secrets and you not only knew who was intimate with whom, you also knew the wheres and whens of it. The whys...Bee didn't really like to consider the whys. They were both so old and they had probably been...ugh...he'd nearly seen it. He may not have gotten an answer to his question but at least they had saved him from having to purge his visual memory banks.
"Bumblebee?"
A female voice calling him softly, drawing him from his looming recharge and Bee turned towards it, narrowing his optics. "Mrs. Witwicky?"
She didn't correct him this time and it seemed to Bumblebee that she was diminished in some way, the bright confidence that carried her through Sam's morning ablutions strangely absent. She stepped up to him, hands clasped tightly together and met his optics seriously.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you--"
"You aren't," he reassured her quickly. "Is something wrong? Is Sam all right?"
She didn't answer, twisting her hands together uncomfortably. "Can we go for a little ride?"
"Yes, of course," he said hesitantly. A moments transformation and then he swung open a door for her, the passenger side. Experience had taught him that humans were oddly uneasy sitting on the driver's side if they weren't actively controlling the car. She settled in the seat and he waited until she'd buckled her seat belt before driving off, careful not to peel away. Mothers, he had learned, were not as enamored of a swift exit as were teenage boys. They rode in silence for a while, slowly moving through the roads of Autobot City. Mrs. Witwicky didn't seem to have a destination in mind and so Bumblebee simply drove, keeping his speed to acceptable limits as they passed by humans and Autobots alike. More and more of both were coming to Autobot City and if his Intel was correct, they would have much to do very soon. The Decepticon presence was rising on this world and they could little afford to wait until they had amassed an army before striking.
His passenger only looked out the window, absently stroking the door beneath his window and Bee gave an uncomfortable trill, trying to remind her without voicing it that he could feel that.
She started with a little cry, yanking her hands into her lap so quickly that Bee regretted doing so, but he couldn't think of a way to apologize for it. So many times before she had ridden in him without realizing what he was and he had teased Sam with little snippets of song, relishing Sam's hissed protests and his mother's confused amusement. This time there was nothing but the drone of his engine and Mrs. Witwicky's too-quick breathing.
They were at the edge of the city when she finally spoke, quickly, "Could you stop here? Right here, just let me out, all right?"
"Of course," he murmured in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He braked perhaps a little too fast, already swinging his door open, just in case she was feeling ill. Not that he didn't sympathize but he didn't relish the idea of cleaning her bodily fluids out of his interior. Sam's he had a long since accepted as endearing.
But she didn't seem ill. She only walked a short distance away, standing in the sunlight. It wasn't quite noon but the sun was already high overhead and ranging into the higher capacity range for humans.
After a moment's hesitation, Bumblebee transformed, settling his larger form on the ground as he watched her walk without purpose. Pacing, he realized, and he didn't have time to consider it further when she seemed to come to a decision, moving to stand in front of him. She shaded her eyes with a hand, looking up at him.
"Is he really all right?" she asked, quietly. "I know him, I know how he is," she gave a shaky laugh. "Even when he was little he always tried to do everything himself, he--" she broke off with a deep breath and met Bee's optics evenly. "Please, just tell me the truth, is he all right?"
Bumblebee shifted uncomfortably, the hard packed dirt beneath him scraping loudly against his legs. "Mrs. Witwicky, I'm sure you've spoken to Ratchet."
"Oh, yes, I have," she nodded firmly. "Probably more than Ratchet would like. He's a dear and he's just delighted to fill in the blanks with all the gory details but that's not what I mean. I can see how he is physically, what I'm asking you," and she laid a hand on Bumblebee's leg, craning her neck to look up at him. "Is he all right?"
It was telling, perhaps, that she didn't ask him to form a hologram for her to speak to. Humans were quite capable of adapting quickly themselves. "He seems fine to me, he seems...restless," Bee admitted, wryly, "I think the imposition of his illness is weighing on him and I'm sure he resents that I am up and about while he is still confined, but yes, I believe he is all right."
She exhaled slowly and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. His sensors indicated that her heartbeat was too fast, her breathing hitched. Upset, distressed, concerned, probable stress and anxiety. No indication of illness or disease. He monitored her a little longer and then shut down his tracking sensors, trying instead for the emotional resonance that she so obviously needed.
"Mrs. Witwicky, I understand your concern--"
"No, I really don't think you do," she broke in, the cool brittleness in her voice taking him aback. She didn't look at him, instead looking over the flat expanse of desert surrounding them where the heat was already shimmering over the ground in the human visual spectrum. "We had Sam a little late in life, you know. Oh, not that late, but most of my friends were already past their diaper days and starting college funds by the time I got my little unexpected bundle of joy."
Droplets of sweat were already sliding down her face, the rising heat ruthless on true organic flesh. It had been Sunstreaker who had pointed out, snidely, that their designated home was a stretch of land inhospitable to humans and despite the fact that the heat and unforgiving nature of the desert posed little problem to Autobots, the fact remained that he had been right. This was not the most pleasant of homes for humans but still, they were here. Sam had followed him and his parents had followed Sam, and so had Mikaela. But for how long?
Mrs. Witwicky wiped at her forehead impatiently with the back of her hand. "But don't you ever think I regretted it," she told him fiercely. "He was a surprise but I never considered not having him. And right now he's supposed to be getting ready for college and I am supposed to be in the middle of my empty nest syndrome but instead he's here, we're here, and he's nearly died more times than I care to count and he's been infected with some kind of robotic mite that forces him to have something like sex or whatever it is you do together and as open-minded as I try to be, I can't help wanting to just scream that he's my baby and it wasn't supposed to happen this way," She shrugged irritably, again uselessly wiping her cheeks but it was no longer sweat dampening them. "So, I think it's safe to say you don't understand my concern."
She was correct; as he'd told Sam, having no progeny of his own, he really didn't understand. But he understood regret. He understood fear, and the deep, wrenching pain when it involved someone you loved and how it felt to watch companions dying all around him in a war that had begun before he had even been designed. Yes, he did understand that.
"I'm sorry," Bumblebee said, knowing it was a useless platitude but having to offer some comfort, no matter how ineffectual. Sometimes there was simply nothing useful to be said.
And just as abruptly she was again the strong, purposeful person he'd come to know the past few days, drying her face on her sleeve. "I'm not blaming you, sweetie, I just want you to understand where I'm coming from. When I married Ron I knew his side of the family was a little odd but I have to say, if I'd suspected this, I may have reconsidered the 'I do'." She smiled again but it was gentler this time, warmer. "For at least a minute, anyway."
"For what it's worth, I swear to you, as long as I have spark, I will never let anything happen to him." It was a pledge he'd made to himself not all that long ago, embedded it deep in his memory banks and making it to the mother of the being he cared about most was as easy as converting fuel. Easier.
Mrs. Witwicky gave another tremulous sigh but there was something easier, relieved in it. She closed her eyes as she nodded. "I know. Thank you for being honest with me. That boy is so stubborn he wouldn't even tell us we had an alien in our garage. I know I can't trust him to tell me about any emotional crisis that might be looming on the horizon." She smiled again and there was pride in it of a kind that Bumblebee had no reference for. "I'd say he gets it from his father but I think we all know better than that."
"Perhaps," Bee replied, allowing a small amount of amusement into his voice mod before he added, with as much sincerity as he could. "I will always be as honest with you as I am permitted, Mrs. Witwicky."
She patted his leg again. "It's Judy, dear. Just call me Judy."
"Judy," he agreed and he stepped back enough to transform, turning on the air conditioning full blast as he took her back into the city and away from the harshness of the desert around them.
-fin
Read Next Chapter
By Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Bumblebee/Sam, Others
Rated PG
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Moments of Forgiveness
Topics of Conversation
Lies of Omission
The Theory of Existence
Beyond My Brave Facade
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
Notes: Everyone ready for another segment? Yes? Good! Let's dip into Bumblebee's POV after Sam's mom kicks him out that morning, shall we? Hit it, baby!
~~*~~
The door to Sam's quarters had barely closed behind him before Bumblebee allowed the receptors in his holo to rejoin the rest, stretching his senses back into his real form with sigh of relief. He'd told Sam the truth when he had said it didn't bother him in the least to spend quantities of time in an extended sensor array but there was something to be said for simply being himself.
He considered shifting into his car form to recharge but discarded the idea quickly, stretching out on the ground to bask in the sun's rays. It felt good; solar energy was nothing like energon but still enjoyable. In a short time he was more relaxed than he had been for days, hovering on the edge of a much-needed recharge. It had been too long since he'd rested properly and even though he was recovered from the viral attack a little extra recharging would not be amiss.
His last recharge had been days ago, just after Sam's first release from the infirmary. He shifted restlessly as his memory banks called up the moment he had arrived at Sam's quarters and found him missing. A Decepticon attack would have been exceeding difficult but his probability calculators refused to allow him to forget that it wasn't impossible. He'd barely had time to do more than panic, raising his internal alarms to alert all the Autobots in the area when he'd received Ratchet's message about Sam's injury.
His injury. There was a question where that was concerned for which he had yet to receive a good answer. Any gentle inquiry into it made Sam's heart rate spike distressingly high and Bumblebee didn't want to press the issue when he was still recovering. His stress levels were already high and Bumblebee was more concerned with stabilizing his careless receptors. The slagging little bastards were not his and were so far unimpressed with any of his attempts at forcing control into them and Sam was only doing slightly better. Joining with them was a sweet pleasure for which he had no comparison but thus far, joining was all they would allow. The progress was slow but it was progress.
It was that injury still nagging at him, the circumstances surrounding it combined with his own guilt that he had not prevented it made it linger in his thought processors. A simple fall would not be invoking this kind of response from Sam, that was certain. He'd made a single attempt to ask Ratchet what had really happened, both in general and when he had forced him and Optimus leave the infirmary. That very night, he'd left Sam asleep and returned to the infirmary but he'd barely opened the door before something had been thrown at it with great force. His sensors indicated that Optimus was still there and it didn't take a probability calculation to discern what they had been doing.
Just the thought made his intakes shudder. Not that he hadn't already known; everyone knew, at least amongst the Autobots. When your ranks dwindled down into single digits, there were few secrets and you not only knew who was intimate with whom, you also knew the wheres and whens of it. The whys...Bee didn't really like to consider the whys. They were both so old and they had probably been...ugh...he'd nearly seen it. He may not have gotten an answer to his question but at least they had saved him from having to purge his visual memory banks.
"Bumblebee?"
A female voice calling him softly, drawing him from his looming recharge and Bee turned towards it, narrowing his optics. "Mrs. Witwicky?"
She didn't correct him this time and it seemed to Bumblebee that she was diminished in some way, the bright confidence that carried her through Sam's morning ablutions strangely absent. She stepped up to him, hands clasped tightly together and met his optics seriously.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you--"
"You aren't," he reassured her quickly. "Is something wrong? Is Sam all right?"
She didn't answer, twisting her hands together uncomfortably. "Can we go for a little ride?"
"Yes, of course," he said hesitantly. A moments transformation and then he swung open a door for her, the passenger side. Experience had taught him that humans were oddly uneasy sitting on the driver's side if they weren't actively controlling the car. She settled in the seat and he waited until she'd buckled her seat belt before driving off, careful not to peel away. Mothers, he had learned, were not as enamored of a swift exit as were teenage boys. They rode in silence for a while, slowly moving through the roads of Autobot City. Mrs. Witwicky didn't seem to have a destination in mind and so Bumblebee simply drove, keeping his speed to acceptable limits as they passed by humans and Autobots alike. More and more of both were coming to Autobot City and if his Intel was correct, they would have much to do very soon. The Decepticon presence was rising on this world and they could little afford to wait until they had amassed an army before striking.
His passenger only looked out the window, absently stroking the door beneath his window and Bee gave an uncomfortable trill, trying to remind her without voicing it that he could feel that.
She started with a little cry, yanking her hands into her lap so quickly that Bee regretted doing so, but he couldn't think of a way to apologize for it. So many times before she had ridden in him without realizing what he was and he had teased Sam with little snippets of song, relishing Sam's hissed protests and his mother's confused amusement. This time there was nothing but the drone of his engine and Mrs. Witwicky's too-quick breathing.
They were at the edge of the city when she finally spoke, quickly, "Could you stop here? Right here, just let me out, all right?"
"Of course," he murmured in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He braked perhaps a little too fast, already swinging his door open, just in case she was feeling ill. Not that he didn't sympathize but he didn't relish the idea of cleaning her bodily fluids out of his interior. Sam's he had a long since accepted as endearing.
But she didn't seem ill. She only walked a short distance away, standing in the sunlight. It wasn't quite noon but the sun was already high overhead and ranging into the higher capacity range for humans.
After a moment's hesitation, Bumblebee transformed, settling his larger form on the ground as he watched her walk without purpose. Pacing, he realized, and he didn't have time to consider it further when she seemed to come to a decision, moving to stand in front of him. She shaded her eyes with a hand, looking up at him.
"Is he really all right?" she asked, quietly. "I know him, I know how he is," she gave a shaky laugh. "Even when he was little he always tried to do everything himself, he--" she broke off with a deep breath and met Bee's optics evenly. "Please, just tell me the truth, is he all right?"
Bumblebee shifted uncomfortably, the hard packed dirt beneath him scraping loudly against his legs. "Mrs. Witwicky, I'm sure you've spoken to Ratchet."
"Oh, yes, I have," she nodded firmly. "Probably more than Ratchet would like. He's a dear and he's just delighted to fill in the blanks with all the gory details but that's not what I mean. I can see how he is physically, what I'm asking you," and she laid a hand on Bumblebee's leg, craning her neck to look up at him. "Is he all right?"
It was telling, perhaps, that she didn't ask him to form a hologram for her to speak to. Humans were quite capable of adapting quickly themselves. "He seems fine to me, he seems...restless," Bee admitted, wryly, "I think the imposition of his illness is weighing on him and I'm sure he resents that I am up and about while he is still confined, but yes, I believe he is all right."
She exhaled slowly and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. His sensors indicated that her heartbeat was too fast, her breathing hitched. Upset, distressed, concerned, probable stress and anxiety. No indication of illness or disease. He monitored her a little longer and then shut down his tracking sensors, trying instead for the emotional resonance that she so obviously needed.
"Mrs. Witwicky, I understand your concern--"
"No, I really don't think you do," she broke in, the cool brittleness in her voice taking him aback. She didn't look at him, instead looking over the flat expanse of desert surrounding them where the heat was already shimmering over the ground in the human visual spectrum. "We had Sam a little late in life, you know. Oh, not that late, but most of my friends were already past their diaper days and starting college funds by the time I got my little unexpected bundle of joy."
Droplets of sweat were already sliding down her face, the rising heat ruthless on true organic flesh. It had been Sunstreaker who had pointed out, snidely, that their designated home was a stretch of land inhospitable to humans and despite the fact that the heat and unforgiving nature of the desert posed little problem to Autobots, the fact remained that he had been right. This was not the most pleasant of homes for humans but still, they were here. Sam had followed him and his parents had followed Sam, and so had Mikaela. But for how long?
Mrs. Witwicky wiped at her forehead impatiently with the back of her hand. "But don't you ever think I regretted it," she told him fiercely. "He was a surprise but I never considered not having him. And right now he's supposed to be getting ready for college and I am supposed to be in the middle of my empty nest syndrome but instead he's here, we're here, and he's nearly died more times than I care to count and he's been infected with some kind of robotic mite that forces him to have something like sex or whatever it is you do together and as open-minded as I try to be, I can't help wanting to just scream that he's my baby and it wasn't supposed to happen this way," She shrugged irritably, again uselessly wiping her cheeks but it was no longer sweat dampening them. "So, I think it's safe to say you don't understand my concern."
She was correct; as he'd told Sam, having no progeny of his own, he really didn't understand. But he understood regret. He understood fear, and the deep, wrenching pain when it involved someone you loved and how it felt to watch companions dying all around him in a war that had begun before he had even been designed. Yes, he did understand that.
"I'm sorry," Bumblebee said, knowing it was a useless platitude but having to offer some comfort, no matter how ineffectual. Sometimes there was simply nothing useful to be said.
And just as abruptly she was again the strong, purposeful person he'd come to know the past few days, drying her face on her sleeve. "I'm not blaming you, sweetie, I just want you to understand where I'm coming from. When I married Ron I knew his side of the family was a little odd but I have to say, if I'd suspected this, I may have reconsidered the 'I do'." She smiled again but it was gentler this time, warmer. "For at least a minute, anyway."
"For what it's worth, I swear to you, as long as I have spark, I will never let anything happen to him." It was a pledge he'd made to himself not all that long ago, embedded it deep in his memory banks and making it to the mother of the being he cared about most was as easy as converting fuel. Easier.
Mrs. Witwicky gave another tremulous sigh but there was something easier, relieved in it. She closed her eyes as she nodded. "I know. Thank you for being honest with me. That boy is so stubborn he wouldn't even tell us we had an alien in our garage. I know I can't trust him to tell me about any emotional crisis that might be looming on the horizon." She smiled again and there was pride in it of a kind that Bumblebee had no reference for. "I'd say he gets it from his father but I think we all know better than that."
"Perhaps," Bee replied, allowing a small amount of amusement into his voice mod before he added, with as much sincerity as he could. "I will always be as honest with you as I am permitted, Mrs. Witwicky."
She patted his leg again. "It's Judy, dear. Just call me Judy."
"Judy," he agreed and he stepped back enough to transform, turning on the air conditioning full blast as he took her back into the city and away from the harshness of the desert around them.
-fin
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