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This was humiliating.
Or at least that was how Bee saw it.
To him, being locked up in the medical sector, under constant surveillance by none other than Ratchet was the highest form of degradation a bot could suffer through.
He was Bumblebee , the Golden Dagger himself. He didn’t need ‘recovery time.’ No matter what the grumpy old medic said.
“You need time to heal,” Ratchet had said, in that tone of his that was the perfect balance between firm and caring, “both physically and mentally.”
It had been an entire orbital cycle since Tyger Pax, yet the medic barely allowed Bee out of his sight. The worst of all was that Optimus had agreed with Ratchet’s sentiment, nodding along as the doc had berated Bumblebee on not pushing his frame too far.
Not one to directly go against the Prime’s wishes, and physically unable to argue since the loss of his voice box, Bee had submitted to what he deemed unnecessary precautions.
He was fine . Well, as fine as one could be after such an encounter as he had had at Tyger Pax, but fine nonetheless.
But, deep down, Bee knew he wasn’t really ‘fine.’
He had dealt with damage before, his frame having repeatedly taken beating after beating on the battlefield, but this was a different kind of hurt.
His voice had been an integral part of who he was. It was what made Bumblebee Bumblebee . Without such a key component, something just always felt wrong, like a scraplet had burrowed inside his frame and was tearing at his very spark.
But the mech would never admit to such feelings. They were at war for Primus’ sake. Optimus and Ratchet didn’t have time to deal with the irrational mindset of a deficient scout. Such an admission would only worsen his circumstances.
As it stood, Bee’s current situation was embarrassing enough, borderline mortifying. The bot couldn’t even retrieve his own energon, insteading having to ask the medical staff for an administration.
Due to the mutilation of his intake pipes, Bumblebee couldn’t refuel using his intake port, insteading having to consume energon via a direct tube to a major fuel line.
How shameful, Bee had thought, that he couldn’t even refill his own systems properly anymore.
The coddling had persisted further. Despite the scout practically begging, Ratchet had refused to allow him back into active duty, let alone training sessions.
This only strengthened Bumblebee’s antsy behavior. The lack of a physical outlet made his situation all the worse, and the scraplet seemed to knaw further into his spark chamber day by day.
He hated being seen as anything akin to weak. He had fought long and hard for the respect he now found among the Autobots. But, within a few solar cycles, it was seemingly being ripped away from him.
Bee hated it.
He hated how shaky he felt. A whole orbital cycle after the incident, and Bee’s processor still constantly assessed his surroundings as if they were all about to jump out at him, to claw at and mutilate his frame, and to rip out a vocoder that had already been lost.
He hated how everyone treated him like a fragile sparkling, made of glass and threatening to shatter at any second.
He didn’t get many visitors, most bots being too busy with the everyday happenings of the war. But those that did visit spoke softly, and inched towards him as if one wrong step would set off a supernova.
Among those visitors was, most commonly, Optimus Prime. Although ‘common’ was not the right word to describe the Prime’s visitation schedule.
It was understandable, Bee supposed. He did have a whole resistance to lead.
However, during the few times Optimus did visit, Bumblebee often felt as if he was being treated as nothing more than a sparkling. The Prime would recount recent happenings in the Autobot base, and would repeatedly reiterate the importance of Bee’s recovery.
‘I’m already recovered,’ he would want to say. But, of course, he never could.
He hated it all. But, most of all, he hated how he couldn’t say how much he hated everything.
Without his vocoder, Bumblebee felt he would never be complete, never be full, again.
To be a scout without a voice was truly humiliating.