Part I

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Honor the past. Live in the present. Protect the future.

The words were engraved above the twin gates of Iacon's highest spire. It might have been unremarkable but for the fact that they were written not in Cybertronian glyphs, but an alien language once belonging to a distant race of sentient organics.

Passing mechs often commented on this, sometimes awed by the exotic, foreign words, sometimes curious what they might mean. They all knew, of course, about the alien world that had turned the tides of the Great War. It was a story taught in the academies and retold to eager sparklings, of how the All Spark itself had walked amongst the living, joined the great Optimus Prime, and endeavored to end the war.

But for one former Autobot, it wasn't just a story.

"Bee, what do you think will happen…you know, when the war is over and stuff?"

Surprised at the apparent non sequitur, Bumblebee looked down at his companion. Standing on long, digitigraded legs, the smaller mech had a distinctly different build from most of his comrades, with plates of white armor overlapping down his limbs and back like scales and a strong tail held in a low arch above the ground for balance. His designation was Solar, for the sun of his homeworld, and this was the name that the other Autobots knew him by. But on occasions like this, when they were alone together and the war wasn't pounding at their door, he was Sam. Just Sam.

"I am not sure what you mean." Bumblebee paused, because the answer seemed important to Sam and Sam had a way of committing everything he said to memory files. "I suppose we return to Cybertron and try to rebuild it."

Sam nodded, as though he had expected this, and was silent.

It wasn't until much later that Bumblebee understood the significance of this conversation. At the time their greatest concern had been anticipating the Decepticons' increasingly desperate moves, warding off their attempts to abduct Sam, and exploiting their crumbling hierarchy of military command. The war was on its last legs, and he had assumed that Sam was merely looking forward to an end to the fighting.

In hindsight, Bumblebee realized that even then, Sam had seen the inevitable.

The medbay doors flung open, and passing mechs jumped to the side as a raging yellow scoutbot stormed out, followed by their commander.

Optimus's countenance was tired as he grabbed the young mech by the shoulder, an action that only seemed to enrage Bumblebee.

"This can't be the answer, Optimus! It can't!" The scout's voice wavered, edging on static as the high decibels grated on an old battle wound. "I will not let him do this!"

Ratchet had stepped out as well, a pitying look on his face as Perceptor shooed the curious onlookers away.

But Bumblebee was oblivious to it all, and fury churned deep in his chest, white-hot and scalding like a bomb had erupted inside him. His processor whirred. It ran one probability calculation after another and every unfavorable outcome fed the wildfire whipping through his spark chamber. It had been a long time since he had felt anger like this tearing at his self control.

Pain lanced through his arm as he swung a fist into the wall, but he welcomed it, craving something—anything—to take his mind off the agony in his spark.

"WHOSE PIT-SLAGGING IDEA WAS THIS?" he shrieked. Sparks arched across his throat, protesting the harsh treatment of a vocal processor that had never fully healed.

For once, Ratchet did not berate him for it.

His other fist joined the first, and the metal of the wall buckled under the force of the impact. In a frantic bid to regain control of the situation, Optimus knelt, whispering soft, soothing sounds as he had long ago when Bumblebee had been younger and much smaller.

He was wailing now, a low mechanical howl expressing what words could not. The other mechs present shuddered to hear it, for it was a sound that they could feel as well, in the low-frequency vibrations traveling down their armor and thrumming through their internal systems.

And then, another mech approached the unfolding drama. Slender hands closed over Bumblebee's, healing the damage in a rare display of sacred blue sparks. Like a whip, Bumblebee snapped around and flung the startled white mech up against the wall.

"WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?" Behind them, Optimus kept an anxious Ratchet and Perceptor at bay. "WHAT THE FRAG ARE YOU THINKING?!"

Sam's head bowed low, and his words trembled like a leaf in the wind. "Bee, please. I never wanted to hurt you."

Something in Bumblebee collapsed then, like a puppet whose strings had been severed all at once. He sank to his knees, crushing Sam to his chest as though holding him tight would be enough to keep him there forever.

But of course, in the end, nothing could stop Sam from being taken. In no time at all—and Bumblebee never thought he would ever pray against this—the war had ended. It would be vorns yet before all the Decepticons would be accounted for, but a general consensus had been reached that the time had finally come to return to Cybertron and heal the scarred planet.

Bumblebee had always imagined it would be a happy occasion, and for most mechs, it was.

There had been so much talk in the orns following Prime's announcement, and no one remembered a time when laughter had sounded so sincere. Even Prowl had turned a blind eye to the rowdy celebrations, choosing instead to spend time with Jazz, and Bumblebee once overheard them talking in wistful, quiet tones of their plans for the future now that the war was over.

And they deserved it, truly. After so long clinging to mere survival, wasn't it only right for the Cybertronians to live?

But Bumblebee couldn't help but feel resentful. This future that everyone yearned for centered around a Cybertron restored to its former glory, and for this to happen, the All Spark was needed to return to its ancient duties.

Sam was needed.

Oh, how fiercely Bumblebee had raged against this, how desperately! It seemed cruel beyond measure that all his comrades had a future to look towards, a reward for the vorns of misery they'd suffered through the war, while his future would be ending as soon as they reached Cybertron.

Perceptor had explained, with great patience, that the All Spark would never be able to utilize its full potential in its current embodiment. Cybertronian sparks simply weren't meant to handle that kind of power, as Megatron's first death had shown.

Sam would be the final casualty of the war.

The sky was burning, awash in streaks of dusky orange and glorious red where the sun dipped below the horizon. It had been almost four hundred vorns since they'd seen the sun set from this particular planet. Earth was long dead now, and the race that had birthed the All Spark extinct with it. But there was a certain comfort to be had nonetheless, in reliving one of the earliest experiences they had shared together.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Sam smiled wistfully, a gentle sort of contentment written over his face.

Bumblebee didn't answer at first. His spark was aching now, as it often did these days, and he could not bring himself to look at Sam, so afraid was he that the moment he turned, the smaller mech might vanish like the illusion Bumblebee sometimes feared he was.

"It will be over soon."

The smile faded, and the scout immediately regretted the coldness of his tone.

"I am sorry." Nowadays, Bumblebee apologized for everything, no matter how trivial. Sam did not know if it was a subconscious expression of his feelings over their situation, or a fear that if he didn't apologize right away, Sam would be gone before he could. Both, perhaps.

He sighed and turned, settling himself between Bumblebee's legs to face the bigger bot.

"Sam, you'll miss the sunset."

Sam ignored this, and brought a hand up to touch the face he knew better than his own. "The Ark is leaving tomorrow, Bumblebee. For Cybertron." He knew that Bumblebee hated it when Sam brought this up, preferring to pretend that their time together would never end. Sam's throat went tight in mimicry of an old human habit he'd never shed, but he pressed on. "The others have been real good about this. They've given us as much time as they could, let us visit Earth again. But we have to go. All of Cybertron is counting on—"

"Cybertron can burn," the yellow bot hissed, and from the fervent light in his optics, Sam knew this was something he had secretly been thinking for some time. Bumblebee hesitated, frightened by his own outburst, but now that the dam had been breached, there was no stopping the flood. "You don't have to do this, Sam. We can leave, just the two of us, right now even. We'll run before they realize what's happening, find some quiet sector or planet to hide on and lay low for a while. I can protect you, and if anyone comes after us to try to take you, I'll—"

His voice grew frantic, and sorrow welled up inside Sam that his beloved Bumblebee would be so desperate to keep him any way he could, forsaking safety, his homeworld, even his comrades. Why why why had he caved in to the longing in his spark all those vorns ago and taken him as his bondmate, if it was only to hurt him like this now?

"Oh, Bee…"

Cybertronians were not a very touchy-feely race, having never developed a need for tactile sensation as humans had. But Sam craved touch as much as any human, and Bumblebee indulged him gladly now. The smaller mech had him in a fierce embrace, head tucked under the scout's chin and arms wrapped around him as far as he could reach.

"They've fought so hard and so long, and all they had to keep them going was a hope that maybe, just maybe, they'd have a home to return to when it was all over. They deserve happiness, and I want to give it to them so badly."

It's not fair, Bumblebee wanted to scream. I fought too, didn't I? Don't I deserve to be happy also? But he kept silent, knowing that giving voice to such thoughts would only make Sam more miserable than he already was.

Only a tiny sliver of the sun was still visible over the horizon now. Sam could not see it, with his face buried in Bumblebee's chassis. Too quickly, too suddenly, even that small light was gone completely. The warm, gentle colors were fading with it, chased away by darker purples and blues heralding the coming of nightfall.

And as Bumblebee watched, searing the sight into his mind so that he might remember this moment unto the end of his days, he could not help thinking that this was the sunset on his life.

Their last days together aboard the Ark as the ship sped towards Cybertron had been recorded in pain-staking detail in Bumblebee's memory circuits. The harder he tried to make time slow, the faster it slipped through his fingers, like water through a sieve. He put off his recharge cycles again and again, unwilling to lose even a single moment of what precious time he had left with Sam.

Every day past was another day lost, another day closer to the ending of his world. The other mechs on board, having realized or at least suspecting the price of their future, had alternated between ill-concealed pity and concern for his well-being. Those amongst them who had bondmates of their own clung all the harder to each other, as though Bumblebee and Sam's plight had reminded them of the uncertainty in all things. He had ignored them all, pushed down the bitterness that coiled around his spark like poison and the irrational desire to rage at them for stealing Sam away from him.

More times than he cared to count, Bumblebee had extended the offer he had made as the sun died on their last day on Earth (this was a lie—he'd offered exactly thirty-seven times; this detail, like everything else in those last days, was forever etched in his memory).

He would hide them, and they could start a life together in some obscure corner of the galaxy. Bumblebee would protect Sam from any threat that presented itself, and no one would ever find them. These were uncertain promises prompted by blind desperation, but anything at all was better than what was in store for them on Cybertron. He had despaired when Sam declined every time. Please, Bumblebee, he would sigh wearily, optics dim with anguish. You know I can't abandon them like that.

Bumblebee did know, if only because of the reluctant whispers of his logic circuits. Sam was the All Spark, first and foremost, and even if the All Spark had forgotten upon the moment of his birth, the plan had always been to help his creations end the war and eventually restore Cybertron. Bumblebee had not been part of that equation.

A part of him had resented that Sam would choose Cybertron over him (why did it have to be his bonded to suffer this fate—why why why—it simply wasn't fair—) but the rest of him couldn't bear to be angry with Sam, not when their time together was already so limited (and ticking away, with every hour, every minute, every second).

Bumblebee shared the first glimpse of Cybertron from the Ark's bridge with Sam, and the sight of his once-home filled him with ice. The planet appeared the same as when they had left it: cold and dark, its craggy surface spiderwebbed with deep fissures leading down into the ever-shifting molten core. Once, his entire existence had been devoted to seeing this world healed and whole, but at that moment, he had never felt so bitter in his life.

On the last night of Sam's life, Cybertron's night sky burned darker than it ever had before, or ever would again. The two had sat together surrounded by the ruins of a world waiting to be reborn, whispering of simpler times and promises of devotion unto the end of days.

And Sam, who feared nothing of what tomorrow had planned for him, trembled for Bumblebee, and asked the impossible of him.

"Would you promise me something, Bee?"

Dawn's first rays cast a warm blush on Sam's pristine white armor, catching at the edges of the overlapping plates and splintering into a thousand shards of glorious white light. The harsh, broken peaks of Cybertron's spires towered in the distance, hailing the coming of day and the promise of a new era.

Though Bumblebee knew and dreaded the request that was coming, he did not have the spark to deny his bondmate anything. Not now. "Yes, Sam?"

"Don't…don't follow me where I'm going." There was no need to elaborate, not when they both knew how Sam meant this ambiguous request.

Some people might think it a great sacrifice to die for the one you loved. But Sam knew that what he was asking of Bumblebee—to live for him, without him, when doing so would be the greatest agony imaginable—was a sacrifice of the deepest nature.

Bumblebee's low keen of grief was a spike in Sam's spark.

"Bringing back Cybertron…it's my duty, you know? As the…as the All Spark." Sam hated to refer to himself as such, but denial had run its course long ago. "And Cybertron is my last gift to everyone. That includes you. No, Bee—come on, look at me, please?"

A slender little hand cupped the scout's cheek and gently coaxed him to face Sam. Nothing terrified Sam so much as imagining his Bumblebee once he was gone, miserable and all alone to cope with the consequences of a broken sparkbond. "Please don't live in the past, Bee. It'll just hurt you, make you waste away until you're nothing but a ghost."

"After today, you will exist only in the past," Bumblebee murmured miserably.

Sam couldn't prevent the strangled sob that escaped from his throat. Was Bumblebee trying to kill him with grief? "You can remember me, but please don't live on memories alone. You can honor the past, but you have to live in the present."

Bumblebee despaired. This tragic, broken little creature was trying to save him from himself in the only way he knew how—with love and words and the questionable strength of a promise he hoped might bind Bumblebee to honor his final wishes. When had the universe suddenly decided to conspire against them? Their love had been a simple, carefree thing once, when the world was young and beguiled them into believing that some things would last forever.

He had been so foolish, before, to think that a Cybertronian body would be enough to keep Sam with him forever. Oh, it had bought them four hundred vorns of borrowed time, but in the end four hundred vorns just wasn't enough—nothing short of eternity would ever be enough.

"The future is something worth protecting." There was conviction in Sam's voice, a touch of steel in his optics. "I'll show you, Bee. You never got to see it before the war, but I'll prove to you that this planet can be beautiful."

"I…" The self-damning words stuck like glue in Bumblebee's throat. "I'll try, Sam."

Sam smiled then, and Bumblebee thought for a fleeting moment that this one genuine expression of happiness—so beautiful and so mortal, just like his Sam—was worth it all.

They weren't alone anymore. The sun was up, and true to their agreement, Optimus had come to retrieve them. The Autobot leader stood in respectful silence to the side, waiting to be acknowledged, and Sam nodded in understanding.

"Come on, Bee," he urged gently. "It's time to go."

Optimus had brought them back to the Ark's medbay, where the process of easing Sam into a state of permanent deactivation would begin. Only a handful of mechs were present: Optimus as their commander, Ratchet and Perceptor for the task at hand, and a few others who had grown especially close to Sam and Bumblebee over the vorns.

To the civilian mechs who eagerly awaited the rebirth of Cybertron, this had been a moment of celebration, for the All Spark was soon to be returned to a form in which it would be able to perform the duties expected of it. To the Autobots, it was not as simple, for this was the promise of a future at the cost of a friend and brother-in-arm.

And to Bumblebee, it was—

The feel of Sam's spark dimming through their bond, fading and burning, so like the drowning sun of their last day on Earth.

—pain.

There had been something exquisitely beautiful in Sam, and while Bumblebee had always known this, it seemed he never quite understood until the empty shell of his bonded lay motionless in his arms.

It was in the soft curve of his jaw, or perhaps the graceful sweep of his tail. And when he looked a little harder, he could see it in other places too: the smooth lines of his throat, the way his fingers curled in a perfect spiral, even the symmetry of his armor. All these things Bumblebee had looked at a million times before and yet somehow had never really seen.

Was it because his spark had gone numb with shock, that he could look upon Sam's body as though seeing it for the first time?

Honor the past.

After that day, there were no new memories of Sam, but Bumblebee would replay the old ones often in the vorns to come, just to relive a little piece of a time when all had been right in his world.

Live in the present.

Peace was a hard concept for him to understand, let alone live. There were still some nights when he would wake at sudden sounds, cannon blazing and battle mask drawn, arms and spark reaching for Sam in his berth before remembering that the war was over and he was alone. As time passed, the aching in his spark dulled but never lessened, so Bumblebee got better at enduring it, and slowly, patiently, he learned to breathe.

Protect the future.

And in the end, Sam was right. A hundred vorns or so had passed before Bumblebee came to this conclusion on his own, and it was a bittersweet admission. It had taken time, but as with a forest ravaged by fire, old wounds scarred over to make way for the new and Cybertron eventually healed. The planet thrived, its cities flush with life and surpassing even what they had been before the Great War. Some had begun calling it the second Golden Age.

It really was something beautiful, and Bumblebee knew that wherever he was…Sam would be smiling.

This is part 1 of 2!