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Bumblebee woke up to the ping of his systems, a notification he had yet to figure outo how to shut off flashing in front of his optics.
REFUEL SPARKLING
STATUS: URGENT
A tired groan broke out of his pipes, the fuel lines in his wrist already starting to disengage with a hiss, threatening to waste what little energon he even had in his systems on a sparkling that wasn’t even here. Bumblebee snapped the lines back underneath his plating again, and did the same when his opposite wrist’s fuel lines began to open, too.
Waving away the notification, Bumblebee allowed himself to fall into the silence of the cave by curling up against the wall. The space in his lap felt empty and hollow, supposed to be warmed by a tiny frame. But she wasn’t here.
She was with G.H.O.S.T.. His precious newframe, who he loved more than Cybertron, more than Earth, more than Prime, was with G.H.O.S.T.. He couldn’t even be upset about it.
It had, after all, been his choice, even if he already was starting to regret it. Logically, he knew it had been the right decision. For both his and his sparkling’s survival, it had been imperative.
If she had stayed with him, he would’ve lost more energon then he had access to trying to keep her fed. And if something happened to him, if something went wrong, then she would’ve gone offline right after he did.
So, yeah. Right decision.
But his spark still craved hers harshly, even more than the typical loneliness he had grown affiliated with.
If he had gotten used to the loneliness. The only thought that had run through his processor during the last couple orbital cycles was curiosity. What would his sparkling look like? What would they act like? Who would they become? Would they love Earth and its organic life as much as Bumblebee and the Autobots, or would they want to run from it like Breakdown?
Would they have Breakdown’s spunk, his insurmountable speed?
Who were they?
How could he call it loneliness when he was never truly alone? Every nano-klik spent in hiding, he had been hiding with her. Her spark had been right next to his.
He had spent… so long, alone, with only the thought of her.
And now, Bumblebee would never actually know the answer to any of those questions. At least, not for a good long while yet. After all, he had surrendered her, not even a deca-cycle old, over to, if he was lucky, the Autobots. If he wasn’t, and he very rarely was, G.H.O.S.T. had found her on the doorstep first.
Tests, poking, prodding–
Bumblebee didn’t know what kinds of things could be happening to her.
He hoped the Autobots had her, but he didn’t know for sure. He wasn’t certain if he ever would know unless Optimus made the decision to randomly mention one random sparkling that randomly showed up one day to him, but that would be… random.
Ha. Ha ha.
Primus, he was ridiculous.
His sparkling wasn’t even his anymore, he gave her up! He surrendered her with nothing more than the flimsy hope that she would have a better life than he could give! No amount of regret or wishing or hoping was going to get her back.
Still, his arms curled around themselves, like he was still holding her small and malleable frame. His baby. His little sparkling.
New thoughts entered his processor, as he sat there, wrestling with the emptiness she had left behind.
What would the Autobots name her?
If they got her, they would find out pretty quickly that she had been sparked rather than emerged, if the fact that she had appeared on Earth was any indication. No serial number would just be further proof.
They would have to give her a name. They would have to call her something, at least as a placeholder until she was old enough to choose her own.
Who would take care of her, nurture her and raise her to be a good Autobot? Would it be Optimus? Or maybe Wheeljack or Arcee…?
If it was Megatron, Bumblebee would probably break every oath he had ever made to Optimus, the ones that dictated he remained in hiding, simply to get her back. The thought of his sparkling being nurtured by–
He stubbornly shoved the thought out of his processor. That wouldn’t happen. Optimus would take her in. He loved sparklings too much to do anything else. He was a sap at his worst and best.
Optimus would protect her.
If he actually was allowed to. If G.H.O.S.T. hadn’t–
Worst case scenarios danced through Bumblebee’s helm. He curled around the emptiness, trying to ignore the blows that regret made against his chassis, his spark.
His sparkling would never forgive him, when she learned what he had done. When she learned she had been discarded… Maybe she would never know it was Bumblebee, but if she was anything like Breakdown, she would hate the concept of her carrier forever.
Frag it all. Bumblebee could only hope – not pray, because could Primus even hear him, down here on Earth? – that she would grow up happy and loved. The other Autobots would be able to give her so much more love than Bumblebee ever could.
Oh, let her be with them.
Let her be safe.
(:)
A deca-cycle later, Optimus’ once-an-orbital-cycle check-in arrived. It came with little warning, even though Bumblebee theoretically knew exactly when it was supposed to be arriving. Still, he startled badly into himself the nano-klik his comms began to ring with the familiar tone, digits flying up to cup his audial and listen intently.
“Optimus?” He pleaded, running through things to say, things to ask, anything that would allow him to push and pry until he found out about his sparkling’s fate. He had to settle for something painfully neutral. “Bumblebee, reporting in.”
::“Bumblebee!”:: Optimus greeted, friendly invitation clear in his tone, as if he was so happy to hear his voice, as if they were stationed at different military bases and not doomed to isolation. ::“It is good to hear your voice. How are you?”::
Bumblebee’s spark felt like it was going to collapse in on itself. “Good, I– I’m good. You?”
For Primus’ sake, why was Optimus acting like everything was fine?
::“I am doing fine. Thank you.”:: Optimus told him, not giving away anything. ::“G.H.O.S.T. continues to prod. You will be in hiding a little longer.”::
Bumblebee figured, but that wasn’t exactly what he was concerned about.
“Has anything…” Bumblebee’s spark twisted on itself, tumbling, warning himself over and over again that he couldn’t actually ask questions, that anything he said or did would just reveal his secret, but he couldn’t help himself. The need to know what happened to her enveloped everything. “...has anything weird happened? Since I left?”
There was a long pause.
Oh, he was really caught, now. He had messed up insurmountably, his secret was revealed, Optimus was going to be so angry at him for not protecting their newest Cybertronian, for leaving another exposed to G.H.O.S.T., and–
And then Optimus said, slowly, voice steeped in confusion, ::“Yes, in fact. It is… highly confidential, Bumblebee, you must understand.”::
“I understand,” Bumblebee said, quickly, relief prematurely setting in when a scolding didn’t immediately come his way. “I’m just– I’m just curious. Any bit of…” information? news? “...gossip you can give.”
::“Ah, yes, forgive me, I often forget how lonely it must be on your own.”:: Optimus apologized. ::“There is a… sparkling, here.”::
Oh, thank Primus above.
“Really?” Bumblebee squeaked, hardly able to contain his overwhelming relief.
::“Yes. A young Cybertronian. Clearly sparked, but with no distinct markings. We suspect that a pair of Decepticons must have conceived her, but knew they did not have the means to rear her.”:: Optimus confessed, unknowing how right he was. ::“We found her outside of the Autobot exit from G.H.O.S.T.’s headquarters. A security risk, if a Decepticon knows where it is, but… I must admit that I am relieved that it made it easy for us to find her before one of G.H.O.S.T.’s agents did.”::
“Yeah,” Bumblebee whispered, curling into himself, optics clicking offline as he allowed himself to dwell in freedom and relief and overwhelming satisfaction that it had worked out. She was safe. His little one was safe. “I’m… I’m so happy you found her. You…”
The most pressing question hit his processor, and he perked up. “Does she have a name?”
::“No.”:: Optimus said.
Bumblebee crumpled, disappointment an everpresent friend.
::“But, I am calling her “Blueberry” as a nickname.”:: Optimus said, and Bumblebee…
Bumblebee could hardly believe he could get more disappointed. It wasn’t that Blueberry was a poor name, far from it, but it just wasn’t what he would have picked for her. He hadn’t even realized he had given it any thought, subconscious or not, until the odd pulsing thought of “that’s not her name” took over.
Well? He demanded coldly. If that’s not her name, then what is? I bet you don’t know–
Rubble.
The thought came, even, calm, horrible to listen to. His servos raised to tremble around his audials, as if he could hide away from himself. Just as quick, he forced them to lower again.
Rubble was– Just because she was blue didn’t mean she was a copy of Rubble, his little brother, his apprentice, who had died during the war. But to honor his memory…
It wasn’t like any other bots were using that name anymore. His little Rubble, his sparkling, his greatest joy–
He began to open his intake to tell Optimus as much, before he remembered that he couldn’t. The protesting fell into obscurity. Optimus couldn’t know his secret, but how he longed to place his stake in the game.
::“Bumblebee?”:: Optimus asked, confused, but thankfully not in a suspicious way. ::“Are you still there?”::
Focus. Reset his voice box, shove away emotions, forget that she’s his. “Yeah– Yeah. Sorry. I was just– That’s a good name, Optimus.” And it was, even if it wasn’t… Even if it wasn’t hers. “She’s going to grow up so loved.”
::“She is.”:: Optimus agreed, proud to no end. It hurt to hear, both because before that tone only ever was used for Bumblebee, and because Rubble, Blueberry, his sparkling, would never hear Bumblebee talk to her like that. ::“And she will grow up without a war haunting her steps. I am relieved for her, that her parents made the right decision. She does not deserve to grow up in hiding.”::
No. No, she really didn’t.
Bumblebee felt selfish for regretting surrendering her, for wishing she was still with him. She was safer with Optimus, as Blueberry, instead of Rubble under his own care.
He had to be okay with that.
“Yeah.” Bumblebee said quietly. “She doesn’t. I… It’s good she’s got you. Thank you for– looking after her.” Almost immediately, he cringed because of how that sounded.
::“Of course?”:: Optimus responded, confused, but thankfully did not question it. ::“I must be going now. My duties, Blueberry included, require my immediate attention. Is there… anything else you wish to discuss?”::
“No.” Bumblebee shook his helm, even though there were a million questions all about her flipping through his processor.
But, unfortunately, asking for anything else would be more suspicious then he was already being.
So he let it pass.
::“Excellent. Optimus Prime, signing off.”:: With a click, the Prime disengaged from the conversation, leaving Bumblebee with crippling isolation.
Maybe he never used to be completely lonely before. But now he knew what he was missing. The empty spot in his arms ached all the more, his one access to his sparkling severed.
And now all he could do was lament and mourn her.