FIC: Moving Day (Human Series)
Title: Moving Day
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Sam/Bumblebee, Prowl/Mikaela
~~*~~
This wasn't right, Sam knew. Muffled voices all around him, riding just on the edge of being able to understand but even as he strained for it, the words skittered away and left him with nothing but bleary confusion.
Voices, he knew those voices. Bumblebee and Optimus, the low rumble of words that he couldn't place and Ratchet. He heard Ratchet's voice, rough and demanding, but that wasn't right, Ratchet wasn't there, hadn't been there, Ratchet was a voice in the infirmary, and they had been in his quarters.
Hadn't they?
Yes, his new quarters, they had been moving him into his new quarters and someone had been screaming, someone had been been-
They had been moving his stuff and someone had been screaming.
~~*~~
The only time Sam had moved in his life, not counting his abrupt transplant to Autobot city, he'd been too young to remember. Whether his parents had hired a moving company or just begged help from friends, he wasn't sure, but he'd seen enough buddy movies to figure out that if a person was roping friends into the task, he was required to offer them pizza and beer as compensation.
Thing was, he and Mikaela were underage, so beer was out, he doubted that pizza was anywhere on the menu in the Canteen, and two of the 'people' who were helping him move didn't need food, or at least not pizza. As for the ones who would eat pizza, well...
"I am not moving your junk for you while you stress test the furniture," Mikaela yelled up the stairs, startling Sam enough that he fumbled the box he was carrying and sent a shower of its contents down onto his feet.
Behind him, still loaded down with his own box, Bumblebee snickered. Sam glared at him. "You aren't helping."
Geez, one time they'd kissed, once, and Mikaela was convinced that anytime they were out of eyesight, they were trying to start some kind of sex world record in their first day here. Not that it wasn't tempting...
The voice that floated up to them next made Sam want to climb right into the closet and shut the door. "Now, dear, Sam might need a recharge." Louder, his mom called up to him. "Sam? Do you and Bumblebee need us to leave for a few minutes?"
Okay, not that tempting and now Bee was leaning against the wall, his shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. Sam just rolled his eyes and shouted back, "No, Mom, I'm fine."
"Are you sure, sweetie? We could go back and get a few boxes-"
"Judy, I'm sure he'll tell us if he needs some private time," his Dad interrupted. Because this was exactly the time he wanted his father to stand up for him, Jesus, please us.
"I don’t want him waiting too long because he thinks he'll embarrass us!"
"He's a grown man and Bumblebee is with him, if he needs..."
Sam finally gave in and covered his ears with his hands. Yes, because that was just what he wanted, his parents squabbling about his sex life. If only there was a way he could communicate telepathically with his mom, just to drop a little mental note that no, it wasn't their embarrassment that he was worried about. Not so much.
Warm, slim fingers covered his hands, gently prying them away from his ears and Sam opened his eyes to see Bee grinning at him. "They're done," he whispered, teasingly. "If you want, I can go assure them that your receptors are currently well charged."
"Watch it, or you'll be done," Sam muttered. Bumblebee only gave him a sweet smile and a pat on the ass, kissing the tip of his nose before ducking away, carrying his box over to the closet.
Somehow, threatening not to put out was a lot less effective when it was currently a nutritional requirement, and Ratchet had made it pretty clear, with loud, horrifyingly descriptive words that it was. Ratchet was measuring his daily sex intake with the same precise scrutiny as his calorie intake and Sam was only glad that all he had to pass over the information was lie there and get scanned. Having to fill out that chart every day would probably tip him over the edge of running off screaming into the night. The one time Ratchet had showed him the different calculations he did every day to measure the status of his receptors, Sam had pleaded human brain weakness and had gone back to organizing the infirmary supplies before he had a stroke.
Something he was currently regretting because now he was freaking exhausted from his work detail and he still had to move all of his junk. It was amazing how much crap he actually had or at least it looked like a lot more when it was put in boxes and piled into his new living room. Clothes, books, video games, Cd's. A veritable collection of Typical American Teenager with the added bonus of him not knowing where anything actually was because he hadn't packed it, plus a bunch of junk his mom had brought.
Not that he was going to bitch about that, not when his first shower in his new place had ended with him discovering that no one had provided towels.
Sam left the box he had brought up with Bumblebee, a weirdly organizing collection of toiletries and shower gear, and tromped down the stairs again, deliberately. See, not having sex here, just carrying boxes. Working hard, like everyone else.
Mikaela only rolled her eyes, and maybe he couldn't communicate telepathically with his mom but he got a distinct sense of, oh, please, from Mikaela. She was sorting through a box of books, taking the time to exam each title critically before setting it on the shelf and Sam could only give her a shrug when she raised an eyebrow at him.
"Well, son, I can certainly tell which boxes the army boys packed for you." His dad was poking through a box that looked like clothes. "I think they sorted your underwear by color."
"They did," Prowl said in his calm way, another box opened in front of him. "As well as his shirts, his pants and...I'm not certain what this is."
"Let me just take that upstairs," Sam said hurriedly, before Prowl could hold up whatever mystery object he'd discovered. Sam couldn't be certain, but he had a feeling that if an Autobot couldn't identify without an internet search, he probably didn't want his mom to see it.
"Of course," Prowl said and the brief look he gave Sam over the top of his sunglasses was like an eyeball smirk, all-too knowing. He didn’t say a word, his lips didn't even twitch but Sam still blushed like an idiot and scowled, clumsily grabbing up the box.
Sam gave a mental sigh, lugging the box upstairs. He'd been a little worried...okay, a little hurt that Mikaela had jumped right in with this virtual stranger but the more he got to know Prowl, the more he couldn't blame her for hitting that and not just because he was all kinds of hot in both his modes.
Bumblebee was awesome, no questioning that, but Prowl was just cool.
~~*~~
Another voice, barbed with viciousness and Sam recognized that voice too, cringed from the sharp anger in that cool, indigo tone. Sunstreaker, that brittle temper of his blade-sharp and close to him but Ratchet's voice was closer, closer, familiar hands on him, helping him...helping him?
Ratchet was linked in his thoughts as a helper, a healer, but the pain that lanced through Sam was a brilliant supernova of agony and someone was still screaming, someone was screaming and Sam thought it might be him.
~~*~~
Big as his new place was, it wasn't quite large enough for a group of humans and a couple of 'bots to hang out in the living room, not without the imminent threat of accidental squishing. Over in the garage area, Prowl and Bumblebee were in their mech form, sitting side by side and occasionally lending a hand with the heaver stuff. Why strain yourself rearranging the furniture when an Autobot could do it with one hand?
Still, it was...weird. The two of them were obviously chatting with each other over their communication links, gesturing silently but for the quiet hum of their systems, the bright blue of their optics watching the humans with interest. Not that that was the weird part, not when Sam was watching them just as much. It was Prowl that was weirding him out a little, something in the way he moved. It tickled at Sam thoughts and he absently considered it while he unpacked, trying to figure out why he seemed, well, weird, in comparison to Bumblebee.
When it finally clicked, Sam actually slapped himself in the forehead, earning him a stare from everyone but his mom, who looked at him with real concern but it was just so obvious! When Prowl flickered from his holo to his mechform, whatever form he'd previously been focused in went statue-still, like some kind of bizarre alien version of 'red light, green light'. Super weird, that. He'd seen Bee use both forms easily enough plenty of times, including today.
His mom was still eyeing him worriedly and Sam figured he had about ten seconds before she asked him if he need some sex again. So he went for the distraction.
"Prowl," Sam asked, a little hesitantly, "Why is it that you can't use both your forms at the same time? I know Bee can."
That seemed to have earned him a reprieve as all the humans present blinked a little and turned their focus to Prowl, who gave Sam another Look over his sunglasses. Whatever Prowl was going to say was cut off as Bee flopped down next to Sam and slung an arm over his shoulder. "I'm much cooler than Prowl," he answered promptly.
"Yes, I believe that is the scientific description," Prowl said, dryly. "Your 'coolness' far surpasses my own." Sam could practically hear the quotes.
Bee grinned. "We have different jobs so our systems have different requirements. It's a handy modification but not many 'bots actually need to be in two places at once. I have the proper mods to allow for dual perceptions. So does Ratchet. Prowl's focus is..." Bee hesitated. "...different."
"You mean classified," Mikaela put in, frowning a little as she added another book to the stack she was reorganizing. However the soldier boys had done it had met with her disapproval and she was busy doing up the bookshelf her own way.
"It's not classified, but I doubt it would be as 'cool' as Bumblebee's. I'm a tactician." Prowl answered calmly. "I assist in battle planning."
"Not bad as a moving truck, either," Mikaela teased him and Prowl gave her a faint smirk.
"I'm sure. And I do have the ability to engage in minor dual perception but as it isn't strictly necessary for my duties, there was no need to waste expenses to add it to my programming."
"I guess not," Sam said, considering. "When would you ever need to use dual perception as a tactician?"
"I engage in it on rare occasions," Prowl said blandly. "I wouldn't mind a visual demonstration but I don't believe either of our humans would like to volunteer."
Mountain Dew was remarkably uncomfortable when it simultaneously went up the nose and into the lungs, Sam learned, having just taken a sip when Prowl threw that tidbit out for them. Sam fumbled with the napkins as he coughed, tears of pain and laughter running down his face.
With Ratchet, it was hard to tell when he was joking but with Prowl, Sam couldn't quite figure out when he was serious. Oh, he seemed serious enough, but his eyes literally sparkled with amusement whenever Sam glimpsed them from behind the sunglasses he was still wearing. Inside.
It was like living through the movie Airplane. Sam kept expecting Prowl to tell him not to call him Shirley.
"Oh, I'd volunteer for you, dear," his mom called out brightly from the kitchen, and suddenly drowning in Mountain Dew didn't seem quite so bad. "What would you need me to do?"
"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Witwicky, but I am currently only engaging in visual demonstrations with Mikaela," Prowl told her in a deeply apologetic voice, but the wink he sent in Sam's direction nearly set him off choking again.
"Oh, that's a shame," Judy said, obviously disappointed, "Maybe some other time?"
His dad, who was almost to Sam's shade of red without the benefit of a coughing fit, finally burst out, "He's talking about sex, for God's sake, Judy, let it go before your son chokes to death!"
"I don't see why it's such a big deal," Judy said, indignantly. Really, she had adapted to the whole holographic alien sex stuff entirely too well for Sam's comfort. "I was just-" she trailed off as his dad heaved himself to his feet and stormed into the kitchen and, Oh, god, gross, kissed her hard. So much for no visual demonstrations.
"Dad, dad, dad, we can see you. Seriously, I have to eat in that kitchen...maybe we've done enough for today," Sam strangled out desperately, his parents summarily ignoring him. "We should get something to eat, food, food is good, we should have pizza except I doubt they have pizza at the canteen and Mikaela and I can't have beer but food-"
"Breathe, child. I'm sure we can persuade someone to go into town and provide pizza." Prowl said, very dryly. Gee, wouldn't it be nice to be a giant robot with no progenitors, as Bee put it. "Jolt is quite interested in the surrounding area, I'm sure he'd leap at a chance to explore a bit."
"You could go yourself," Mikaela pointed out, stepping away from the bookshelf to admire her work, and Sam had to admit, sorting them by color and size was at least more visually interesting that plain old alphabetizing. Good thing Bee would be able to find anything for him if he actually wanted to read any of them.
"I will not leave you alone and you can't leave base," Prowl said and that tone made Sam raise a set of mental eyebrows. There were worlds of meaning to the edge in his voice and something about it made Mikaela's cheeks go pink, temper flaring in her dark eyes but before she could snap out a reply, Bee pulled something out of the box he was digging through.
"You still have this?" he asked, amused, and Sam saw he was holding up his old jacket. The jacket. The one he'd been wearing that day, had it only been a year ago?
It seemed like much longer, the memory of it hazier than it had any right to be. Parts of it stood out in sharp relief, though, despite his wish that they would fade. Bumblebee's agonized screams, his silent plea for Sam to take the Allspark. His own desperate run through the city with Ironhide and Ratchet at his heels, the booming retort of their weapons as they tried to protect him. He hadn't known them then and but his fear and his belief in Bumblebee had made for an odd sort of trust.
It hadn't been enough and in the end there had only been him, the Allspark, and Optimus. And Megatron. That was a memory that had never faded, the screams of a dying tyrant surrounding him as he thrust the Allspark into his chest and saved them all and he didn't care what Optimus said, desperate action didn't equal hero.
The memory was a bloody, smoke-encrusted nightmare but still, he'd kept the jacket. For reasons he couldn't quite express, he'd had to.
Everyone was looking at him again, Sam realized, and he wondered what expression was on his face now. He took a deep breath and smiled, reaching for his old jacket. Or, well, what was left of it. "Of course I have it, Sam said, loftily, "It's my lucky jacket."
"Sam, you do realize that this jacket is being held together only by the zipper and your resolve," Bee said, amusement sparkling in his green eyes, even as his mech half coughed out a rasping laugh. Damn, but he was good at that double perception stuff. Probably showing off in front of Prowl. "I think you've manage to squeeze all of the luck out of it."
"Not quite," Sam said, giving his parents a nervous glance. They were still in the kitchen, putting away the miniscule amount of groceries that the supply sergeant had given him. Bee's eyes widened as Sam leaned in close, lips brushing his ear as Sam whispered, "I was wearing it the first time we met. Really met."
"Sentimental," Bumblebee replied, almost a moan and he caught Sam by the shoulders and held him there, their cheeks pressed together.
"Human," Sam corrected, pulling back to look at Bee. His eyes were just starting to darken, his lips parting as he leaned in, when Sam snatched the jacket away from him and stepped back, laughing gleefully.
"I see that being a tease is also a human trait," Prowl said, and this time his amusement was a lot clearer. Sam glanced at him to see that Mikaela was leaning against the arm of the chair he was in, one hand on the back of Prowl's neck. Something about her grin, just this shy of wicked, made Sam wish that his parents hadn't offered to help him move and really, visual demonstrations weren't that bad a thing.
A quick look at Bee only confirmed that he was amused too...and aroused. No missing that and it made Sam a little daring, giving his own smirk back to Prowl. "I don't tease. I make promises that I always keep...hey, that's weird," Sam broke off, looking down at the jacket in his hands. It felt...warm.
Squeezing at the pockets revealed something hard and without thinking, Sam slipped his fingers inside and felt smooth, warm metal fall easily into his hand. He pulled it free, held it up so he could look at it and his breath caught as he recognized it, alien glyphs carved into living metal, or not so alien, not to him, not anymore.
"Bee, I think this is a piece of the All-"
Someone was screaming, in his head there were voices, so many voices and someone was screaming. Someone was screaming and Sam knew, he knew.
Someone was screaming and it wasn't him.
tbc
Next Chapter
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Sam/Bumblebee, Prowl/Mikaela
~~*~~
This wasn't right, Sam knew. Muffled voices all around him, riding just on the edge of being able to understand but even as he strained for it, the words skittered away and left him with nothing but bleary confusion.
Voices, he knew those voices. Bumblebee and Optimus, the low rumble of words that he couldn't place and Ratchet. He heard Ratchet's voice, rough and demanding, but that wasn't right, Ratchet wasn't there, hadn't been there, Ratchet was a voice in the infirmary, and they had been in his quarters.
Hadn't they?
Yes, his new quarters, they had been moving him into his new quarters and someone had been screaming, someone had been been-
They had been moving his stuff and someone had been screaming.
~~*~~
The only time Sam had moved in his life, not counting his abrupt transplant to Autobot city, he'd been too young to remember. Whether his parents had hired a moving company or just begged help from friends, he wasn't sure, but he'd seen enough buddy movies to figure out that if a person was roping friends into the task, he was required to offer them pizza and beer as compensation.
Thing was, he and Mikaela were underage, so beer was out, he doubted that pizza was anywhere on the menu in the Canteen, and two of the 'people' who were helping him move didn't need food, or at least not pizza. As for the ones who would eat pizza, well...
"I am not moving your junk for you while you stress test the furniture," Mikaela yelled up the stairs, startling Sam enough that he fumbled the box he was carrying and sent a shower of its contents down onto his feet.
Behind him, still loaded down with his own box, Bumblebee snickered. Sam glared at him. "You aren't helping."
Geez, one time they'd kissed, once, and Mikaela was convinced that anytime they were out of eyesight, they were trying to start some kind of sex world record in their first day here. Not that it wasn't tempting...
The voice that floated up to them next made Sam want to climb right into the closet and shut the door. "Now, dear, Sam might need a recharge." Louder, his mom called up to him. "Sam? Do you and Bumblebee need us to leave for a few minutes?"
Okay, not that tempting and now Bee was leaning against the wall, his shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. Sam just rolled his eyes and shouted back, "No, Mom, I'm fine."
"Are you sure, sweetie? We could go back and get a few boxes-"
"Judy, I'm sure he'll tell us if he needs some private time," his Dad interrupted. Because this was exactly the time he wanted his father to stand up for him, Jesus, please us.
"I don’t want him waiting too long because he thinks he'll embarrass us!"
"He's a grown man and Bumblebee is with him, if he needs..."
Sam finally gave in and covered his ears with his hands. Yes, because that was just what he wanted, his parents squabbling about his sex life. If only there was a way he could communicate telepathically with his mom, just to drop a little mental note that no, it wasn't their embarrassment that he was worried about. Not so much.
Warm, slim fingers covered his hands, gently prying them away from his ears and Sam opened his eyes to see Bee grinning at him. "They're done," he whispered, teasingly. "If you want, I can go assure them that your receptors are currently well charged."
"Watch it, or you'll be done," Sam muttered. Bumblebee only gave him a sweet smile and a pat on the ass, kissing the tip of his nose before ducking away, carrying his box over to the closet.
Somehow, threatening not to put out was a lot less effective when it was currently a nutritional requirement, and Ratchet had made it pretty clear, with loud, horrifyingly descriptive words that it was. Ratchet was measuring his daily sex intake with the same precise scrutiny as his calorie intake and Sam was only glad that all he had to pass over the information was lie there and get scanned. Having to fill out that chart every day would probably tip him over the edge of running off screaming into the night. The one time Ratchet had showed him the different calculations he did every day to measure the status of his receptors, Sam had pleaded human brain weakness and had gone back to organizing the infirmary supplies before he had a stroke.
Something he was currently regretting because now he was freaking exhausted from his work detail and he still had to move all of his junk. It was amazing how much crap he actually had or at least it looked like a lot more when it was put in boxes and piled into his new living room. Clothes, books, video games, Cd's. A veritable collection of Typical American Teenager with the added bonus of him not knowing where anything actually was because he hadn't packed it, plus a bunch of junk his mom had brought.
Not that he was going to bitch about that, not when his first shower in his new place had ended with him discovering that no one had provided towels.
Sam left the box he had brought up with Bumblebee, a weirdly organizing collection of toiletries and shower gear, and tromped down the stairs again, deliberately. See, not having sex here, just carrying boxes. Working hard, like everyone else.
Mikaela only rolled her eyes, and maybe he couldn't communicate telepathically with his mom but he got a distinct sense of, oh, please, from Mikaela. She was sorting through a box of books, taking the time to exam each title critically before setting it on the shelf and Sam could only give her a shrug when she raised an eyebrow at him.
"Well, son, I can certainly tell which boxes the army boys packed for you." His dad was poking through a box that looked like clothes. "I think they sorted your underwear by color."
"They did," Prowl said in his calm way, another box opened in front of him. "As well as his shirts, his pants and...I'm not certain what this is."
"Let me just take that upstairs," Sam said hurriedly, before Prowl could hold up whatever mystery object he'd discovered. Sam couldn't be certain, but he had a feeling that if an Autobot couldn't identify without an internet search, he probably didn't want his mom to see it.
"Of course," Prowl said and the brief look he gave Sam over the top of his sunglasses was like an eyeball smirk, all-too knowing. He didn’t say a word, his lips didn't even twitch but Sam still blushed like an idiot and scowled, clumsily grabbing up the box.
Sam gave a mental sigh, lugging the box upstairs. He'd been a little worried...okay, a little hurt that Mikaela had jumped right in with this virtual stranger but the more he got to know Prowl, the more he couldn't blame her for hitting that and not just because he was all kinds of hot in both his modes.
Bumblebee was awesome, no questioning that, but Prowl was just cool.
~~*~~
Another voice, barbed with viciousness and Sam recognized that voice too, cringed from the sharp anger in that cool, indigo tone. Sunstreaker, that brittle temper of his blade-sharp and close to him but Ratchet's voice was closer, closer, familiar hands on him, helping him...helping him?
Ratchet was linked in his thoughts as a helper, a healer, but the pain that lanced through Sam was a brilliant supernova of agony and someone was still screaming, someone was screaming and Sam thought it might be him.
~~*~~
Big as his new place was, it wasn't quite large enough for a group of humans and a couple of 'bots to hang out in the living room, not without the imminent threat of accidental squishing. Over in the garage area, Prowl and Bumblebee were in their mech form, sitting side by side and occasionally lending a hand with the heaver stuff. Why strain yourself rearranging the furniture when an Autobot could do it with one hand?
Still, it was...weird. The two of them were obviously chatting with each other over their communication links, gesturing silently but for the quiet hum of their systems, the bright blue of their optics watching the humans with interest. Not that that was the weird part, not when Sam was watching them just as much. It was Prowl that was weirding him out a little, something in the way he moved. It tickled at Sam thoughts and he absently considered it while he unpacked, trying to figure out why he seemed, well, weird, in comparison to Bumblebee.
When it finally clicked, Sam actually slapped himself in the forehead, earning him a stare from everyone but his mom, who looked at him with real concern but it was just so obvious! When Prowl flickered from his holo to his mechform, whatever form he'd previously been focused in went statue-still, like some kind of bizarre alien version of 'red light, green light'. Super weird, that. He'd seen Bee use both forms easily enough plenty of times, including today.
His mom was still eyeing him worriedly and Sam figured he had about ten seconds before she asked him if he need some sex again. So he went for the distraction.
"Prowl," Sam asked, a little hesitantly, "Why is it that you can't use both your forms at the same time? I know Bee can."
That seemed to have earned him a reprieve as all the humans present blinked a little and turned their focus to Prowl, who gave Sam another Look over his sunglasses. Whatever Prowl was going to say was cut off as Bee flopped down next to Sam and slung an arm over his shoulder. "I'm much cooler than Prowl," he answered promptly.
"Yes, I believe that is the scientific description," Prowl said, dryly. "Your 'coolness' far surpasses my own." Sam could practically hear the quotes.
Bee grinned. "We have different jobs so our systems have different requirements. It's a handy modification but not many 'bots actually need to be in two places at once. I have the proper mods to allow for dual perceptions. So does Ratchet. Prowl's focus is..." Bee hesitated. "...different."
"You mean classified," Mikaela put in, frowning a little as she added another book to the stack she was reorganizing. However the soldier boys had done it had met with her disapproval and she was busy doing up the bookshelf her own way.
"It's not classified, but I doubt it would be as 'cool' as Bumblebee's. I'm a tactician." Prowl answered calmly. "I assist in battle planning."
"Not bad as a moving truck, either," Mikaela teased him and Prowl gave her a faint smirk.
"I'm sure. And I do have the ability to engage in minor dual perception but as it isn't strictly necessary for my duties, there was no need to waste expenses to add it to my programming."
"I guess not," Sam said, considering. "When would you ever need to use dual perception as a tactician?"
"I engage in it on rare occasions," Prowl said blandly. "I wouldn't mind a visual demonstration but I don't believe either of our humans would like to volunteer."
Mountain Dew was remarkably uncomfortable when it simultaneously went up the nose and into the lungs, Sam learned, having just taken a sip when Prowl threw that tidbit out for them. Sam fumbled with the napkins as he coughed, tears of pain and laughter running down his face.
With Ratchet, it was hard to tell when he was joking but with Prowl, Sam couldn't quite figure out when he was serious. Oh, he seemed serious enough, but his eyes literally sparkled with amusement whenever Sam glimpsed them from behind the sunglasses he was still wearing. Inside.
It was like living through the movie Airplane. Sam kept expecting Prowl to tell him not to call him Shirley.
"Oh, I'd volunteer for you, dear," his mom called out brightly from the kitchen, and suddenly drowning in Mountain Dew didn't seem quite so bad. "What would you need me to do?"
"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Witwicky, but I am currently only engaging in visual demonstrations with Mikaela," Prowl told her in a deeply apologetic voice, but the wink he sent in Sam's direction nearly set him off choking again.
"Oh, that's a shame," Judy said, obviously disappointed, "Maybe some other time?"
His dad, who was almost to Sam's shade of red without the benefit of a coughing fit, finally burst out, "He's talking about sex, for God's sake, Judy, let it go before your son chokes to death!"
"I don't see why it's such a big deal," Judy said, indignantly. Really, she had adapted to the whole holographic alien sex stuff entirely too well for Sam's comfort. "I was just-" she trailed off as his dad heaved himself to his feet and stormed into the kitchen and, Oh, god, gross, kissed her hard. So much for no visual demonstrations.
"Dad, dad, dad, we can see you. Seriously, I have to eat in that kitchen...maybe we've done enough for today," Sam strangled out desperately, his parents summarily ignoring him. "We should get something to eat, food, food is good, we should have pizza except I doubt they have pizza at the canteen and Mikaela and I can't have beer but food-"
"Breathe, child. I'm sure we can persuade someone to go into town and provide pizza." Prowl said, very dryly. Gee, wouldn't it be nice to be a giant robot with no progenitors, as Bee put it. "Jolt is quite interested in the surrounding area, I'm sure he'd leap at a chance to explore a bit."
"You could go yourself," Mikaela pointed out, stepping away from the bookshelf to admire her work, and Sam had to admit, sorting them by color and size was at least more visually interesting that plain old alphabetizing. Good thing Bee would be able to find anything for him if he actually wanted to read any of them.
"I will not leave you alone and you can't leave base," Prowl said and that tone made Sam raise a set of mental eyebrows. There were worlds of meaning to the edge in his voice and something about it made Mikaela's cheeks go pink, temper flaring in her dark eyes but before she could snap out a reply, Bee pulled something out of the box he was digging through.
"You still have this?" he asked, amused, and Sam saw he was holding up his old jacket. The jacket. The one he'd been wearing that day, had it only been a year ago?
It seemed like much longer, the memory of it hazier than it had any right to be. Parts of it stood out in sharp relief, though, despite his wish that they would fade. Bumblebee's agonized screams, his silent plea for Sam to take the Allspark. His own desperate run through the city with Ironhide and Ratchet at his heels, the booming retort of their weapons as they tried to protect him. He hadn't known them then and but his fear and his belief in Bumblebee had made for an odd sort of trust.
It hadn't been enough and in the end there had only been him, the Allspark, and Optimus. And Megatron. That was a memory that had never faded, the screams of a dying tyrant surrounding him as he thrust the Allspark into his chest and saved them all and he didn't care what Optimus said, desperate action didn't equal hero.
The memory was a bloody, smoke-encrusted nightmare but still, he'd kept the jacket. For reasons he couldn't quite express, he'd had to.
Everyone was looking at him again, Sam realized, and he wondered what expression was on his face now. He took a deep breath and smiled, reaching for his old jacket. Or, well, what was left of it. "Of course I have it, Sam said, loftily, "It's my lucky jacket."
"Sam, you do realize that this jacket is being held together only by the zipper and your resolve," Bee said, amusement sparkling in his green eyes, even as his mech half coughed out a rasping laugh. Damn, but he was good at that double perception stuff. Probably showing off in front of Prowl. "I think you've manage to squeeze all of the luck out of it."
"Not quite," Sam said, giving his parents a nervous glance. They were still in the kitchen, putting away the miniscule amount of groceries that the supply sergeant had given him. Bee's eyes widened as Sam leaned in close, lips brushing his ear as Sam whispered, "I was wearing it the first time we met. Really met."
"Sentimental," Bumblebee replied, almost a moan and he caught Sam by the shoulders and held him there, their cheeks pressed together.
"Human," Sam corrected, pulling back to look at Bee. His eyes were just starting to darken, his lips parting as he leaned in, when Sam snatched the jacket away from him and stepped back, laughing gleefully.
"I see that being a tease is also a human trait," Prowl said, and this time his amusement was a lot clearer. Sam glanced at him to see that Mikaela was leaning against the arm of the chair he was in, one hand on the back of Prowl's neck. Something about her grin, just this shy of wicked, made Sam wish that his parents hadn't offered to help him move and really, visual demonstrations weren't that bad a thing.
A quick look at Bee only confirmed that he was amused too...and aroused. No missing that and it made Sam a little daring, giving his own smirk back to Prowl. "I don't tease. I make promises that I always keep...hey, that's weird," Sam broke off, looking down at the jacket in his hands. It felt...warm.
Squeezing at the pockets revealed something hard and without thinking, Sam slipped his fingers inside and felt smooth, warm metal fall easily into his hand. He pulled it free, held it up so he could look at it and his breath caught as he recognized it, alien glyphs carved into living metal, or not so alien, not to him, not anymore.
"Bee, I think this is a piece of the All-"
Someone was screaming, in his head there were voices, so many voices and someone was screaming. Someone was screaming and Sam knew, he knew.
Someone was screaming and it wasn't him.
tbc
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