Chapter 1: Arcee

Scrap my stupid spark. Bumblebee gets hauled in on Optimus' trailer, and my too-hot spark reacts. The punk went against orders and killed the Decepticon Reverb. He recklessly endangered human lives and humiliated Sam. He nearly killed himself in the process. And what's my spark's reaction when Ratchet pulls the banged up and energon-coated mech out of stasis? Shine!

I transformed for the express purpose of being able to angrily cross my arms.

With a sound that was more whimper than moan, Bumblebee slowly transformed. I went to his side, and as soon as his head was in view, I cuffed it. Ratchet sighed but didn't stop me as I ranted at the injured mech over a private comm. /Male chauvinist pig! That's what you've become. I don't need you to kill Decepticons before we have a chance to interrogate them. I don't need you to protect me, mech. I don't care what that 'con was saying, if you had any respect for me, you would have followed orders and hauled his aft back here and cheered while I blew his spark out myself. I'm going to get Optimus to send you off world. The humans are a bad influence on you./

He just grinned weakly at me. /Love you too, Arcee./

That shut me up. It was obviously meant to be sarcastic, but the light in his optics softened ever so slightly, and I wondered if…. No. I needed to put a stop to this now, no matter what my spark wanted. I refused to let him distract me. I was still fragging angry.

"Help me get him to the med bay," Ratchet ordered me, and I ducked under Bumblebee's good arm to stagger along with him.

Optimus was leading the humans and the other Autobots away from the temporary med bay, but Ratchet let me stay. I'd been mortified when the medic let on that he knew about me and Bumblebee, but it was handy now. I should have been out there thanking Ironhide's fangirl for helping us out of a tight spot. I especially should have been out there if I wanted to pretend that 'Bee and I were nothing more than good friends and fellow warriors. The thought was unbearable.

"Get that solvent," Ratchet ordered me, and I picked up the container he was pointing at, handing it to him. Dampening a soft cloth, he began gently wiping the dried energon off Bumblebee's side. I had to keep reminding myself it was the 'con's liquid, not 'Bee's. I stood with my back to the wall, arms crossed, watching Ratchet work and impatiently waiting for another invitation to help. I knew better than to cross him in his own med bay.

"Can you complete the transformation of this doorwing?" Ratchet asked Bumblebee as he gingerly massaged the damaged part, trying to get it to move.

Bumblebee trilled a pained yelp in response.

Ratchet vented air, sighing. Then his optics met mine. /There's a reason you're here instead of Sideswipe, femme. Make him relax./

I smirked at him. /You want to join in or just watch?/

He scowled. /I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Just talk to him. Distract him while I pop this doorwing up. It needs to be in position to heal properly. You're supposed to be one of his closest friends. Help or get out./

Bumblebee twitched his half-raised doorwing out of Ratchet's hand and then winced. The medic silently moved on to another energon-stained part.

/Touchy,/ I answered Ratchet, though I knelt beside Bumblebee.

'Bee's optics automatically focused on mine. /I'm not sorry I killed him./

I frowned at him. /I'm supposed to be helping you relax so you won't be difficult for Ratchet. Help me out or he's throwing me out on my aft. In front of Ironhide's fangirl lawyer, no less, and that would just be embarrassing. We can argue or spar or whatever later./

Bumblebee wheezed a chuckle, no doubt imagining me being tossed by Ratchet. /Deal. So what do you want to talk about?/

Ratchet knew anyway, right? And he'd kept the secret so far. And he'd asked me to help. I stretched out my hand, tracing the strut that formed Bumblebee's cheek. His optics dimmed in pleasure and my spark flared too-hot again. "I don't know," I softly answered. "What comes to mind?"

With a sudden but smooth motion, Ratchet gripped the anchor for the doorwing and popped it up into place. He was done before 'Bee could react; he reacted anyway, arching away and yelping.

/You're evil,/ Bumblebee accused me, experimentally moving the wing. /And you say the humans are a bad influence on me./

Ratchet chuckled and gave the doorwing anchor a shot from his regeneration laser. Then he moved further down Bee's body, scanning the damage.

I stroked 'Bee's cheek again, but he didn't melt this time. I frowned at him. /You think a human taught me how to do this?/

/No, but if I've become a chauvinist pig, you've become a woman. You'd never have tried feminine wiles back on Cybertron, and definitely not in front of Ratchet./

/Oh, Ratchet knows,/ I said distractedly, realizing to my chagrin that Bumblebee was right. Huh. Was I humanizing?

/He what?!/

I focused on Bumblebee again. /He guessed a few years back while he was giving you a tune-up. Your spark reacted when I walked in./

Ratchet made a rumbling, unhappy sound. "Ironhide is comming me. Apparently we're needed to put on a show for Raquel. I told him one of us needs to stay with Bumblebee, so you're on display after me, Arcee."

"Lovely," I snorted as Ratchet tossed me first the sealed can of solvent and then the cleaning rag. "Hear that 'Bee? We're a travelling circus now."

Glaring from me to Bumblebee, Ratchet simultaneously commed us both. /You break him, you fix him, femme. And I won't lie to Optimus if he asks, so don't give him a reason to./ With that, Ratchet irritably left the med-bay.

Bumblebee was agape. /Did he just give us permission to…/

/I think it was more of a warning,/ I answered, purposefully wiping clean the piece of his armor that doubled as the rear passenger-side panel. /He should ask Reverb how well you listen to those./

/So how long are you going to hold that against me?/ Bumblebee casually asked.

/I'm still calculating that./

/Well, let me know when you figure it out./

I glanced up to see that he'd offlined his optics. "Oh no, you don't!" It still disturbed me to see his optics empty like that. When did I get so clingy? Oh, that's right, I snarked to myself, at Tyger Pax.

His optics came to life again. /Calculation complete?/

Setting the solvent and rag aside, I picked up a wrench, eyeing him critically.

/You wouldn't hit me while I'm down,/ he said, not looking entirely convinced.

"You're right," I assured him. "I wouldn't. Can you engage your battle mask?"

He tried once and winced. A massive dent on the right side of the mask prevented it from sliding forward.

"Thought so." That was something I could quickly repair, and most importantly, it was strategically placed. Picking up another couple of tools, I walked over to Bumblebee. /You killed for me specifically, and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that./

His optics widened when my armor shifted a little, revealing a sliver of light from my spark. Shock, chagrin, and finally longing flitted across his expression. I did my best to ignore the way my spark flared even brighter and hotter.

I smirked. /Care to help me sort out my feelings?/

/I'm not sure how I could help…/

His optics never left my spark. Any other mech, and I would have been annoyed, but then, I wouldn't do this with any other mech. Not anymore. /Open up just a little, and keep the chamber seal closed./

Meeting my optics again, he did as I asked. As I knelt beside him on the temporary medical berth, I could feel the apprehension coming from his spark. /Give me a little credit, 'Bee. I know better than to overload a mech who's still being repaired in the med bay. For one thing, Ratchet's sensors would pick it up in an astrosecond./

He wheezed a soft chuckle, radiating relief.

/But that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with your spark./ I reached over his frame to tinker with the anchor-bolts for his battle mask, the motion aligning my spark with his. He was nervous again, unsure what I was planning. /Trust me, 'Bee. Let go. Align with me and feel./

/Oh./ He finally understood what I was doing and focused inward until he perceived the faint connection between us.

I smiled a little, enjoying his delight. A connection like this felt like a really weak kin-bond, but it only lasted as long as the sparks were aligned just right and near to each other. I focused on all the good things I felt when I was around him – confident, happy, comfortable. /Pleasant?/

Air cycled through his vents as he happily sighed. /Very./

/Good. Remember that later. Now…tell me what the slag was going through your spark when you ran Reverb down./

My hostility and irritation caught him off-guard and, when I glanced at his face, he shuttered his optics, blinking. I continued with the battle-mask anchors, trying to wiggle them loose.

Recovering, he went on the defensive. /He was threatening to hunt you down, Arcee. You specifically./

/Shut it. I already heard what he said, and like I said, I don't care. What I need to know is what you were feeling./ In a gentler tone, I added, /Just try to remember./

He sighed again, definitely not happy this time. Through our connection, I felt it as he relived his frustration, a flash of terror mingled with guilt, followed by alarm, ferocity, and…loyalty. None of the possessiveness I'd feared. Of course not, I realized, almost embarrassed now that his spark was revealed to me. Even with a bond-mate, Bumblebee would never be possessive. That kind of slag was for Decepticons.

/I would have run him to ground even if he was targeting someone else,/ Bumblebee said, and this time I believed him.

/But you wouldn't have killed him for somebody else./

/Maybe not,/ he conceded.

And there, as clear as if he'd spoken the words, I felt his commitment with my own spark. Not grown to maturity – definitely not. Just seeds, the potential of what could be, under the right circumstances. Commitment, nonetheless.

The anchors finally released and the battle mask came away from his helm. I turned away, severing our tentative connection and straightening my armor. A pang echoed through my spark but I pointedly shoved it aside. I told myself I was grateful for a couple of minutes to process what I'd perceived. At a work-bench, I turned a high-intensity laser on the battle mask, heating up and irradiating the metal enough to work it. It took a lot of effort to stay focused when that spark of his was right there, but fortunately this wasn't fiddly work.

"You're lucky Samuel survived the crash," I observed as I started to ding out the dent.

/It was a calculated risk./

That finally made me focus. He'd risked Samuel's life to protect me. I shook my helm in disbelief. This was why I was in turmoil. Bumblebee shouldn't be taking risks like that for me. He shouldn't be taking any risks for me. "You're an idiot."

/Guilty as charged,/ he said, amused. /Now can I do some community service and get off the hook?/

"How 'bout you run down and kill a Decepticon."

/You got it. Can his name be Reverb?/

I paused, examining my handiwork before heating and hammering the mask some more. "No, I was thinking more along the lines of Megatron."

/Can I have a femme for back-up?/ he teased.

"One. If you're really nice to Ironhide, he might let you try to talk Chromia into it when she gets here."

I glanced over my shoulder at him, and humor danced in the light of his optics. /I was thinking more along the lines of Flareup./

I threw a small wrench at him and he wheezed a chuckle again. "She's off-planet. Guess you have to do it solo."

He grinned. /Slag./

The dent was flattened enough that the mask should be useable, and his repair systems would be able to take over. Picking up the necessary tools, I returned to Bumblebee's side, cracking open my armor and leaning over him again as I replaced the battle mask. Despite the anger that I'd thrown at him the first time, he opened up for me, a little wider this time. Glutton for punishment.

Instead of comming him, I focused on my feelings when I saw his damaged alt-form transform today. Anxiety, hope, irritation, affection – let him make of it what he would. Surprise seemed to be the prominent emotion rolling off him.

/Somebody's coming,/ Bumblebee said, closing his armor.

I closed up, too but didn't back away. /Yep. Ratchet and someone else. I set my sensors for a proximity alarm when he left./

/Don't you think you'd better move? This is what Sam would call a compromising position./

/Nope. I'm going to have some fun with his processor./

The door slid open, and the mechs' footfalls stopped. "ARCEE!" Ratchet bellowed. "What in the Pit do you think you're doing?"

"Repairing him," I quipped as I casually sat up. Prime was the 'bot beside Ratchet, and I almost lost my nerve. Too late now, though. I tossed the tool in my hand to the medic. "That's why you left me here, isn't it? So I could continue repairs?"

Ratchet's optic hardware shuttered almost spasmodically, and I wondered if he'd lock up like Prowl. Hopping down from the medical berth, I strode toward the door. "I got his battle mask working again. I'll be back after I do my song and dance for Ironhide's fangirl, and if it's not right, you can make me fix the mask properly then."

"I'll hold you to that," Ratchet growled.

Smirking, I walked past Prime into the hangar, grateful yet again for some distance. This was a lot to take in. Bumblebee might be committing to me, and I was frighteningly sure I was already headed down that road.

Primus help us both.