Instead of responding, Optimus grumbled and continued to burn tracks in the floor as he waited for Bumblebee to establish the two-way connection. Cute.

Eventually, the Prime perked up and Elita knew that Bee had finally answered. Optimus listened on the other end as the scout's fretting filtered through and gradually a smile grew across his face plates.

Mood switching from fretful to amused, he went, "Bumblebee! It is good to hear from you, and do not fret. The Terrans are quite alright." Hm, figures the cavalry unit would assume something was up with the kids since Optimus rarely remembered to return his calls, let alone reach out just to make idle conversation. With false nonchalance, he jumped straight to the point, "I merely meant to inquire about something peculiar that one of Wheeljack's drones picked up on their recent patrol. Are you aware that you and Swindle are roughly in the same area?"

Rolling her eyes, Elita kept silent and watched on as Optimus did little to hide his overbearing concern. The Autobot leader generally kept himself level-headed, as expected of a Prime, but ever since Wheeljack's drone reported that Swindle was edging a little too close to Bumblebee's spark signature it was as though the Prime threw all rationality out the window.

The peculiar dynamic between those two honestly made Elita want to lock the both of them in a room together to lay all their chips on the table and talk things out for once. She was getting tired of fielding Bee's constant calls only to turn around and watch Optimus trust the scout as his highest confidante from the shadows.

Even Megs had gotten fed up with this bizarre hovering and stormed off—although, that might have been a reaction to the grating needling of Starscream's voice on the other end of the line from earlier. The current leader of the Decepticon's in this age of peace was, in his own words, outraged and affronted at the accusations the Prime was lobbing at him. In Starscream's defense, Optimus didn’t exactly endear himself to the seeker with his implied doubt at hearing that Swindle wasn’t active under his orders at that hour of the day.

In Elita-1's opinion, all of these numbnuts were blowing things way out of proportion. Bee was a grown mech and certainly didn't need a—how did the humans phrase it again?—mother chicken intruding on his personal time. Regardless of who he chose to spend it with.

And while she did raise a ridge at his choice in mech (and wondered absently what had happened to Breakdown in all this fuss, since Bee's crush on the Stunticon was a well-known rumor amongst the ranks of her infantry cadre) it was frankly none of her business.

Focusing back on the Prime, she watched as Optimus furrowed his optical ridges at Bee's response. "Ah! I see." Clearly, he didn't if the unsure look he threw Elita's way was anything to go by. "Am I meant to presume that you two have located another Emberstone fragment then?"

And then, without consulting her first, he went, "If you need further assistance with the retrieval, both Elita-1 and I are nearby to provide support."

"Give or take an hour," she snarked, enjoying making Optimus shuffle uncomfortably at dragging her into his nonsense.

Whatever Bee had attempted to say in response was cut off by Optimus' eager, "Nonsense! While I will make sure to convey to Starscream later that we are grateful Swindle loaned his support in our endeavor to restore the Emberstone, I would feel much more comfortable if you had another Autobot there to assist you during this spontaneous excursion–"

A shocked look flooded onto the Prime's face as he was cut off. Eagerly, Elita straightened wishing that she had hopped onto the line herself to eavesdrop. Evidently, their last remaining cavalry unit developed the ball bearings to interrupt Optimus. With a quiet huff, Elita moved closer to Optimus and leaned over his shoulder, servos gripping lightly against his pauldrons. Since their communication lines were all internal she wouldn't exactly hear what Bumblebee was saying by doing this, but teasing the Prime was half the fun of being his commander.

Casting her a brief flustered look, Optimus listened to his scout with confusion as he repeated, "You're just… driving?" And as though to make sure he had gotten the information correct, he clarified, "With Swindle?"

"So it is like that then,” she commented, thrilled to know that her deduction was correct. And, not one to squander an opportunity when it presented itself, she leaned all her weight against Optimus with a hum.

Optimus did his best to ignore her. A beat. Then, "Just you two?"

"Now there's a thought," she murmured against his neck cables. "When's the last time any of us went for 'just a drive'? Seems like Bee has the right go of things if you ask me."

Whether it was her words that connected the pieces together for Optimus, or the continued words of their scout on the other end, the Prime shuttered his optics in a quick blink. "Oh." Elita laughed at how he softened both his words and features. Not that Bee could exactly see the latter. "Of course, Bumblebee. Please, carry on. I didn't mean to interrupt you two."

Elita rubbed circles against Optimus' seams, whispering, "Oh, you definitely interrupted something."

With a chuckle at her words and no doubt at the rebuttal their scout was giving on the other end of their connection, Optimus placated the scout with a, "Yes, yes, if you say so. Have a pleasant drive, Bumblebee."

Lowering his servo, signifying the end of their call, Optimus announced, "It seems as though you are entitled to some gloating. I did indeed overreact."

"I’d rub it in your face, but that’d be dragging it out too much," she released him and stretched. "Although, I am curious as to why Bumblebee has landed on Swindle of all mechs. I thought he'd confess to Breakdown once our alliance was established."

"Now, Elita, we mustn't gossip about Bumblebee's love-life," Optimus chided, the absolute hypocrite. Pleased, he continued, "I will admit, however, that I am glad for him. Of all of us who remain, it is he who deserves to find a happy ending the most. And if Swindle is the mech for the job, then I will extend my approval for the match-up."

"Bit of a frequency change from earlier, you gotta admit," she smirked at the Prime, "Considering you were convinced that Swindle was going to jump Bee and strip him for all he's worth."

"I thought nothing of the sort!" The fact that Optimus thought he could fool her after all these cycles was adorable and aggravating in equal measure. Lest he forget that he dragged Elita and Megatron both out of recharge with his fretting. "While Swindle isn't... the most upstanding Cybertronian, I'm sure that he is nothing but genuine in his intentions with Bumblebee. After all, it takes a certain kind of mech to wake up early to accompany their partner on a 'drive'."

"If you say so," personally, Elita thought it was much too soon to assume that the Autobot-Decepticon duo were going to drive off into the sunset with a human happily-ever after. A fling however seemed more accurate to describe this recent development, and she could hardly blame the scout for it.

Oblivious to the doubt lacing her words, Optimus asked, "How soon do you think a congratulatory message would be? I don't want Bumblebee to think I'm being 'nosey'—as Dot often claims—but I do want him to know that I support him on his recent love endeavors as soon as possible. Perhaps during the next gathering? Or, do you think I should let him know subtly through text?"

Jokingly, Elita answered with, "Send the two of them a basket of everything that a newly 'junxed couple would need. Maybe even make them a pamphlet about the ins-and-outs of having a conjunx."

Exhausted, and frankly—frankly!—at his wits' end, Bumblebee gently sat the squirming newbuild down on the grassy floor. When the little claw machine tried to get back up again, he placed his servo on his helm and pushed him back into a seated position. Jackpot tried to rise a second time, before getting the memo that his main caretaker did not in fact want him to do that and plopped back down with a huff. The youngest Terran crossed his arms with a huff and wobbly pout, but Bee ignored the incoming crocodile tears as he rubbed his head softly before settling down on his knees himself directly across from the kid.

"Alright," he sighed, lights dull and a somewhat greasy sheen decorating his face plates. The source of which became immediately apparent as he dragged his digits down the seam lines of his cheeks, rubbing his optic shutters for the nth time that day. "Let's try this lesson out one more time."

Shuffling around in his storage space and producing two toys from under his hood, Bumblebee held them out toward Jackpot. One was an Elita action figure that Robbie found in a bargain bin at the general store in town and the other was a sorta misshapen, lumpy Optimus Prime plush that Twitch won at the state fair a few weeks back. Neither of which the kids would miss desperately if the tot in front of him got his hands on it forever. Maybe. Bee would cross that bridge when the current lesson he was trying to reinforce inevitably failed. Like all the times it did prior.

At the sight of them, Jackpot's expression brightened as his buggy, purple eyes brightened with want and a literal glowing interest. His servo and little claw reached out, making grabby hands toward them as a universal sign that the newbuild wanted nothing more than for Bee to pass them over to him—the clear, rightful owner. "Gimme! Gimme!"

"No." And like that those wide eyes started to sheen slightly with optic fluid. Jackpot's face scrunched up as his shoulders shook, a wail of unfairness undoubtedly building up in his vocoder. Panicking, he quickly said, "You didn't say the magic word, Jackie. You remember the magic word right?" He muttered snidely under his breath, "And I know Alex taught you it, so don't feign ignorance…"

Blinking, the little one cut the act and rephrased his previous sentence to stress the new addition, "Please gimme?"

"There we go, isn't that a much nicer way to ask for something? Good job!" Even though it was still, by all means, quite rude. It was, at best, a mediocre job. But Bumblebee chose to pick his battles by surrendering entirely on that matter. His current mission was a hassle enough as it stood. "Now, you see how I have two toys for us to play with?" Us, the keyword in that question. Us, the mission critical priority. "Which one do you want?"

Jackpot reached out toward both of them desperately. "I want Elita and Optimus!"

"No, Jackie, you can only have one of them."

The newbuild frowned. Clearly upset, he went, "But I want them both."

Hiding an annoyed and frustrated shutter-twitch, Bee pressed his optics firmly shut. With a tight smile of someone entirely aware that they were captain on a crashing ship, he continued, "I get that, but you can only have one."

"Why?"

By the grace of Solus, let us not start with that script loop, he thought hysterically. In order to not get trapped into an endless back and forth of the 'why?' game, Bumblebee huffed and faked a morose, "But what about me? If you take both of them, how can I play with you?" Emphasizing his next point, he limply looked at the Elita toy, "Don't you want me to play too?"

"Um," flustered, the Terran looked between both toys. He repeated, "Um. Maybe you can play with another toy?"

"Oh?" It took everything in his power to not perk up. The second Bee showed intrigue or unbridled enthusiasm, the kid would resist. "But from where? All that I have are these two toys… unless you can think of another toy I can play with?"

Bumblebee eyed Jackpot's clear abdomen which stored all of his toys in—for all intents and purposes—his mobile toy box. He wondered if they were about to have an actual breakthrough in the kid's inability to share with the other kids. Not even Dot, who had introduced the importance of sharing to him, could prevent her words from being used as ammunition against the principle of Sharing-Is-Caring. Because Jackpot immediately weaponized it against the other Terrans, bawling that because they wouldn't share their toys or stuff with him, they didn't like him and hated him and didn't love or care about him anymore. See: nightmare child.

But if he offered to share from his personal toy collection right now, then Bumblebee's systems would flood with relief that progress was finally achieved. All of his higher directives writhed in distress at the consistent mission failures raising Jackpot incurred. So if he actually willingly shared with Bee today, without coercion and prompted entirely by his own tiny processor, then he would give the tot both of the toys as a reward, all too happy to end the lesson prematurely with a resounding gloating success.

Jackpot looked up. He looked right. He looked left. When an answer didn't make itself apparent, he looked back down. His claw closed and opened, as he stayed silent. Glancing up at his caretaker, he kicked his pedes back and forth as he mumbled, "I dunno?"

Anddd, Bumblebee got ahead of himself. Of course. Primus knows why he assumed parenting a newbuild could ever actually be that easy. Abandoning his fantasy, he returned back to his original lesson plan and went, "So then it's ok that I have one and you have one too, right?"

Jackpot chewed on his lower lip for a moment before nodding. Excellent. Bumblebee asked again which toy he would like, to which he pointed at the Optimus Prime oblong monstrosity with a, "Poppy." Ugh. Bee hated that Swindle indulged in the human-esque nicknames for his commanding officers, only because the Con thought they were demeaning whilst he thought they were utterly ridiculous. The joke was on Swindle, however, when Optimus cried actual tears of joy at how cute it was. Now they both had to suffer hearing Jackpot call the Autobot High Command: 'Poppy, Lili, and Gigi'.

Grateful that the newbuild hadn't thrown himself into a tantrum, Bee handed it over to him with a pleased smile. The second it was within grabbing distance, Jackpot snatched it out of his hands. That too was something they would have to work on in his manners lessons, but for now, "See? Now that we each have one toy we can both play–"

Without hesitation, Jackpot brought the toy to his mouth and shoved it inside with a soft nomming motion.

Silent, defeated, and ready to give up entirely, Bumblebee watched as the youngest Terran consumed the toy and sealed it within his glass interior. It dropped down into the tank, bouncing against the overfilled prize tray and settling amongst all of the other hoarded toys.

Jackpot smacked his lips, glossa peaking out as he went, "Bleh." He then promptly turned his attention to the sole remaining toy in Bumblebee's hands. Greedy eyes locked on and it was merely moments before he started whining. He pointed at the toy and went, "That's not fair! You're the only one who has a toy now!"

How easy he could argue with the literal kid. Because—you know what? Yeah. Bumblebee was the only one with a toy at the moment because a certain someone decided to seal his toy in his toy box to avoid sharing or playing nicely. Which, for the record, was a move that he most certainly learned from his other scrapaft, bastard caretaker.

"That's not fair! It's just nottt," Jackpot strung out the last note, holding onto it until it devolved into light sobs.

Throwing in the rag, Bumblebee handed over the Elita toy with a monotonous, "Here. Have mine."

Smiling brightly, Jackpot grabbed the action figure with his claw and didn't even whimper when his grip randomly loosened and dropped it. He merely picked it up off of the ground and got about playing with the limbs, testing to see how flexible they were whilst babbling excitedly. Bumblebee watched with a lethargy he hadn't felt since the year prior and shifted off of his knees to sit properly on his aft.

Reaching forward, he scooped up his kid and dropped him into his lap. Jackpot allowed this as he was now fiercely immersed in testing the limits of his newest toy. Tot secured against his thigh guard, Bumblebee leaned back on the palm of his servo. Once comfortable, he threw his head back and groaned in anguish. Mission failure. Again. Perhaps Bee should take a note out of Jackpot's book and try crying to get the things that he wanted in life, because it seemed to do wonders for the tot.

So distracted was he in his self-thrown pity part, a sudden chuckle shocked him into opening his optics. Glancing to the side, he watched Dot approach with an amused tilt of her head. Her eyes sparkled with delight at his disheveled appearance, and he presumed she must have seen the tail end of his teaching attempt when she went, "Having a tough time today, huh, baby?"

"Oh look, Jackie, it's Lola Dottie," Bee murmured, picking up Jackpot's claw to wave it at her even as the Terran ignored the woman. "Hi, Lola Dottie. Are you here merely to laugh at me or to finally take this scraplet away so that I can drown out my misery in the nearest body of water, rusting away in a sweet, sweet mercy from Solus?"

"Not quite," Dot wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Once she was close enough, she placed a gentle hand on his arm brace. "Tired?"

"More than you can ever believe," with a wry smile, Bee adjusted his hold on Jackpot legs shifting so that his pede settled in the crook of his poleyn joint. He grimaced, "Sorry if I'm a bit dirty, I haven't had a chance to hit the 'racks in a while."

She pat his arm. "I don't mind, Bumblebee. Been there, done that— I remember the first time I finally felt comfortable to take a shower after returning home from the hospital when Robbie was born. I hardly wanted to let him out of my sight! Alex had to convince me that everything would be alright if I wasn't watching him for every second of every minute." With a chuckle, she added, "But once I set up that bath, I was in there for hours. Boy, did it feel like heaven."

"That sounds nice." Bumblebee would kill for an opportunity to get a deep scrubbing. Although, he felt as though their situations were remarkably different—and not just because he couldn't take baths the way that a human could. Dot went through the strenuous process of creating a newborn and followed through on the laborious task of raising them. Bumblebee and Swindle sorta stumbled upon Jackpot, commandeering the role of caretakers once the little Terran imprinted on them. Were it any other mech that day to find him, the responsibility of child-rearing never would have been theirs.

Directing his gaze downward, he watched Jackpot hug the toy and snuggle closer. His helm knocked against Bee's chassis and his optics shuttered half-way—lidded with the tell-tale signs of an incoming stasis nap. For a moment, he fell into a comfortable silence with Dot as they both watched Jackpot.

Eventually, she spoke up to comment, "Speaking of partners, where's Swindle?"

"Hah, it's kind of ironic that you brought up baths because he's getting more water for Jackie's." Overhearing the detested word, the Terran made a displeased sound and squirmed so Bee hushed him. "Get over it, you need to fuel like the rest of us."

Pursing her lips, Dot threw a look of concern up at him. "He still doesn't have any desire to eat?"

"It comes and goes in waves," Bee answered honestly. "I think he just doesn't like the sensation of tactile fueling."

And yet, there were few—if any—alternatives for the Terran to consume the water like the others. Any liquid or solid that passed through his intake failed to process into his system, merely pooling at the bottom of his prize tray. In the case of the cave water that the Terrans all required for life specifically, it often leaked out through the prize chute. To make matters complicated, unlike Bumblebee or Swindle—who were both ground vehicles—Jackpot's alt mode did not net an option to pump the water directly into his lines.

The only solution they had currently was tactile fueling, but the tot hated it to such an extreme that bath time was dreaded by all three of them. Swindle, at least, volunteered to take the brunt of the assault on their auditory sensors by washing Jackpot since his audials were far less intricate than the scout's horns. They also didn't enjoy distressing the newbuild with the activity either, an emotional strain on their tri-way bond with each genuine cry Jackpot gave off.

"I wish I could reassure you that this might just be a momentary phase," Dot earnestly told Bee. "But… I'm not sure either of us can really define how long he'll be like this." She mulled over her next words carefully before asking, "I've actually been wondering for a while now—why is it that Jackpot's maturity is more akin to a human toddler than that of a pre-teen like his cousins? I didn't even think that Cybertronian's had child developmental stages like humans do."

"We don't." Bumblebee agreed. "Technically, both toddler and teenager are loan words since there are no equivalents in our language. We don't," he rolled his servo around helplessly as he failed to come up with a meaningful explanation. Lamely, he finished his point with, "Cybertronians don't really do… that. The whole milestone thing like humans do. We don't have to be taught how to roll, to crawl, to walk. We don't even need to learn how to talk—all of that is either pre-programmed into our computers or can be downloaded in just a matter of kliks. We're fully functional by the time we online."

Sitting down, and brushing away a few of the fallen golden leaves, Dot went, "Alright, so what's the next best equivalent?"

"I guess… Protoforms and newbuilds. Protoforms define a lack of alt. You stop being a protoform when you gain one—think about how the Terrans looked originally. And in the case of the latter, a Transformer stops being a newbuild when they're not really new anymore. It defines more of a state of maturity than it does a physical indicator. And it's different for all of us." Frustrated that it was him who had to explain this all, as opposed to a real maintenance practitioner like Hoist, Bee gestured toward himself. "Take me for an example. I was a protoform for approximately a hundred of your Earth days. Now to Optimus' generation, that's an offensively short time span for me to have finalized how I would like to define myself out of the hot spot. To Megatron, it's a massive improvement from the crunch times that the war—the first one pre-truce, for context—necessitated."

Contemplatively, Dot posed, "And what about the kids? Twitch and Thrash got theirs in the matter of a day or two, while Hashtag, Nightshade, and Jawbreaker took not all that much longer."

"In my opinion, that's about the average deliberation period during war times. And even with all of their training, they're still clearly newbuilds… but each day they get closer to the point where it would be an outright insult to continue calling them that. Partially, this might all come from their Earthen properties, but don't take my word as fact. Everything about the Terrans is unconventional to how we understand our own species," Bee warned. "I don't think as Cybertronians we can weigh in on their development with any certainty."

"That's what I expected to hear," she nodded. "Now, what's the difference between a newbuild and a newspark? I've heard you guys refer to the kids as both without any real consistency."

"Virtually? Nothing. It's just a personal preference on what you were taught to value more—the build or the spark that inhabits it." Jackpot started to doze off, loosening his grip on the toy. Bumblebee caught it and placed it back in his grip. "I was only a newbuild for the time it took to finish my vocational training. A millennium or so. Maybe a little less? Or more. I didn't really keep track… Regardless, once I could perform my duties without needing to shadow or ask another Guild Courier for assistance I was officially mature in the eyes of Cybertronian law."

Nursing her temples, Dot shook her head. "Sometimes it's hard to wrap my head around how things used to work on your planet, including tackling the lifespan conversions. Considering that you're millions of years old, only a thousand years of childhood seems so… Tragic. I'm almost grateful that the war restarted and eventually relocated to Earth since it led you to us. I never like hearing you talk about how you were treated by this guild group."

Bee laughed, short and static-laced. "Yeah? Well, I'm glad. I'd say it was worth it in the end. I probably wouldn't be here if the experience hadn't fortified me and for that I'd gladly trade away all my remaining ration marks."

Dot joined him, "If you say so, Bee. For the record, I don't normally approve of speaking callously on the dead, but your recruiter is lucky that they're not around anymore to cross my paths because I have some choice words for them. Nobody subjects one of my kids to workplace discrimination, not even the surprise giant space mechanism ones."

Gaining a soft smile at her words, he leaned down to gently knock his helm against the top of her head. Cupping his cheeks, Dot gave him a small caress and held his face for a moment. With the movement having awoken him from his slight stasis nap, a drowsy Jackpot joined in by extending his claw to latch onto the top of Dot's head—never satisfied with missing out on anything, that one.

A humming engine in the distance rose Bee from the embrace and he swiftly focused on grappling with a suddenly antsy Jackpot. Recognizing the sound of his returning caretaker, the little scraplet attempted to make an escape. "Nope!"

Dot jolted aside as Bee grappled with the wriggling, screeching toddler. Honestly! The kid acted as though they were holding him at gunpoint for information! He was lucky that Bee wasn't actually threatening him with a punishment for misbehaving—he'd put him in time out one of these days, one klik for each cycle since he onlined. That's how humans did it right? If anything, Jackpot should count his lucky circuits that Bee didn't throw him in a room with Prowl to let the mech handle ALL of his manner lessons going forward.

Prowl would bring out his hand-made abacus. Bumblebee wouldn't because he didn't have one. Prowl would make Jackpot do worksheets and grade them with the same amount of severity that he calculated inventory. Bumblebee let him play with toys. And yet who was constantly the bad guy in the optics of this kid? Bumblebee. Talk about the disparate treatment of a parent at its finest.

Launching himself up, and carefully avoiding Dot, Bumblebee dragged Jackpot kicking and screaming to where Swindle was unloading a barrel of cave water.

The Con looked up as he dusted his servos and gave off a toothy smile at the two, "There goes my favorite mechs!" He didn't pause at the behavior of their kid, well used to the torture of bath time by now. "Just in time too."

"Hope you're ready for him," Bee greeted. "He's been a pain in the actuator all day."

Lips pressing tight, Swindle examined Bee's face—undoubtedly noticing the sheen of grease and dirt highlighting his exhaustion. Without a word, he brought out a rag and dipped it in the barrel. Carefully, Swindle wiped at his face plates silently. Bee grimaced, but stayed put letting his partner clean him up. He was still getting used to the rare acts of intimacy the munitioner showed him, especially since getting another mech to wash his face for him bothered Bumblebee somewhat, but he savored the moment for what it represented nonetheless.

For good reason too, since it didn't last long. Pulling back, Swindle carefully examined his work before cheekily dousing the rag entirely underwater and exclaiming, "Missed a spot!", as Bee's only warning to the sharp whipping of the wet rag across his face.

The playful tease caused Jackpot to switch from his temper tantrum into a hysterical laughing fit at his caretaker. To him, it surely was an act of retribution—a punishment befitting the crime of Bee's evil, awful, bath misdeeds.

That was, until Swindle wrung out the rag over his head—drenching the tot in his fuel source and reigniting his wailing. Birds flew from their perch on the orange-tinted trees as the Terran reached decibels seemingly improbable for a mech his size to have.

Bee cringed, whilst Swindle cackled. Yes, he was positive now that his sanity had booked a one-way flight off of this planet with no intentions of returning. Functionally, leaving him alone to deal with this little terror and the menace of a co-caretaker.

"Swindle, don't make me come over there!"

Yelping, the Con dropped the rag and loudly called out to Dot, "No need for that! You can stay waaay, way over there whilst I handle Jackie." He snatched the thrashing Terran into his servos, "Isn't that right, kiddo?" Jackpot kicked him square in the chest, making Swindle double over.

"Ok! Ok, so I know you haven't liked any of the other gifts–"

"Stupid gifts from an equally stupid Bumblebot!"

"But! But, I swear that this time I definitely got you something that you'll like—maybe even love! And that way we'll be one step closer to reconciling right? Please?"

"Hmmm, show Waspinator the gift and maybe Waspinator will forgive like Wasp did."

Through her peripherals, she watched as Bulkhead worked his jaw in a sawing motion, clearly holding back from commenting on the pathetic display occurring behind him. He crossed his arms and slumped in his seat as his glare deepened.

Instead of scolding him about his behavior for what felt like the hundredth time, Sari closed her eyes and counted to ten.

So much—too much, really—had happened and changed in such a short span of time, that Sari was still reeling from it all. She didn't regret taking time away from the Autobots in favor of finally sitting down and just airing out everything she's kept bottled up with her dad. Explaining how lonely she felt growing up with a dad that was far too busy inventing, inventing, inventing all the while she was kept out of the public eye in fear of her—really his—secret getting revealed by accidental schoolyard roughhousing.

Sari told him plainly the awful feeling that curdled in her chest whenever she tried to connect with her peers in the past, only for them to sense that something was inexplicably off about her and how much worse it felt learning that they were right.

She even confided in him about how scared and terrified of herself she had been when she couldn't control her newfound powers, how fully convinced she was that she had killed her best friend in the whole wide world all because she wanted to prove herself to someone—anyone that she was worth keeping around! Going so far as to change her whole body to accomplish it and still messing things up.

("I just want somebody to tell me who or what I am!" she had sobbed into her father's shoulder, hiccupping as her diaphragm convulsed from the agony contained in her chest.

When they had pulled away, tears and snot running down her face and coating his lab coat, he had chuckled wetly and told her, "If there is any solace in this, my Sari, then it is the fact that it seems like children both organic and techno struggle with that very thing. In time, it will all come together, I promise."

At that moment, even though she had forced her mind and body through a rushed upgrade she felt every bit the child she still was. And as she went right back in for another hug as her father held her tightly. He ran a hand through her hair, murmuring reassurances that while he might not know the answer to all her questions quite yet, he would do everything within his capabilities to figure it out with her.)

Sari still teetered back and forth on the fence of forgiveness with her own dad, even after he assisted her in gaining control over her powers… but never in a million years did she think she would return to the Autobot's base to find Bumblebee in the same circumstance as the Sumdacs.

Only, unlike her, he was the one groveling for forgiveness against a bot he had completely wronged.

Wringing the whole story out of Bulkhead and Bee on why there was a giant techno-organic wasp lurking around the base had felt like pulling teeth and she felt devastated to find out about this dark cloud hanging over her friends' history. She still didn't have all the details about everything that happened, like what Wasp had been doing on Earth with Sari none the wiser to his presence or why nobody thought to inform her about the swap or even how Blackarachnia managed to make another techno-organic in the first place… yet she didn't need to know everything in order to pick a side.

She was so disappointed after hearing all of the excuses from Bumblebee who, while having risked his own frame to prevent Waspinator from destabilizing and exploding, still suffered from a complete lack of sincerity in his apologies. Not to mention the hurtful insistence from Bulkhead—who she very well knew held onto grudges so tightly that he practically strangled them in his claws—that Wasp's actions were the result of his own behavior from way back when and that he had little pity for his current plight.

("You just wouldn't get it," Bulkhead grumbled, watching as Bumblebee tripped over himself to follow after the skulking Waspinator through the manufacturing plant halls. "It's one thing to be a jerk about vocation or function, it's an entirely different story to pick on someone with the same protoform mold as you. Especially when it comes to using sensitive topics like being a hybrid as your insult of choice."

"Being a what?" she asked, confusion momentarily knocking her off-balance from her overwhelming upset at the behavior her friends were displaying. "Do you… Are you talking about how Bee's alt mode is technically a hybrid vehicle?"

"There's no 'technically' about it," chimed in Ratchet from where he was comparing scans between Sari and Waspinator, trying to find commonalities between the two. He leaned back and went, "All things considered, hybrids aren't exactly a new concept on Cybertron. But…"

"But there is a stigma behind them," Optimus explained further, looking down at Sari with a pinch of shame. "The forge mold was extensively developed and perfected over the course of the war in response to dwindling resources. The Autobots needed fuel-efficient soldiers and they needed them quickly, to which the breakthrough as a whole was deemed a rousing success. But once we consolidated control over all Energon production once more and recouped our losses, hybrids felt like a layover from desperate times best forgotten. As a result…" he trailed off.

"As a result a bunch of pompous, elitist slaggers considered the mold a sign of weakness and Council-forbid if the 'great Autobot machine' shows an inkling of weakness," Ratchet spat.

Optimus winced. "Yeah, that."

"That's…" Sari stared at them all, mouth agape. "That's ridiculous. And it's totally unfair!"

"Never said it wasn't kid," Ratchet shook his head, showing every bit his age as his shoulders curled inward. He repeated, "Never said it wasn't…"

"It's best not to think too deeply about it," Prowl advised, head tilted down.

She stomped her foot, frustrated beyond all belief. "But if I do that, then how is anything ever going to get fixed or better!"

Unsure, the Autobots all looked at one another at a loss. Clearly, they didn't know either.)

In regards to Bumblebee, Sari could afford him a little leniency since he was putting in an active effort to make things up to Waspinator, albeit in a lackluster manner. But Bulkhead's resistance to admitting he too was in the wrong had put a strain on their friendship. Perhaps Sari was a little biased from her own recent betrayal with her father, or maybe it was the fact that she felt a slight kinship with her fellow techno-organic, but it all just seemed so… so… so childish to hold onto residual hatred from something that happened thousands of years ago! Why couldn't Bulkhead see that?

Growing up, frankly, sucked big time. Sari would give anything to go back to a year ago when she was little again because things weren't nearly as stressful or confusing and her friendships didn't hurt her heart like they did now.

Pushing herself up, she scooted until she could peer over the back of the couch to watch as Waspinator clicked impatiently at Bumblebee.

Ever dramatic, her friend grinned. "Alright! So, I know you weren't the biggest fan of video games—and I swear I'm not mad, at all, in the slightest, that you destroyed my portable console," translation: Bee definitely wanted to get angry about it but knew he couldn't, "And considering you didn't seem all that impressed with any of the music CDs I burned for you—no harsh feelings about that either!—I really wracked my helm trying to figure out something you would like when it finally hit me."

"Bumblebot will get hit now if he doesn't hurry this up."

Without further ado, Bee rummaged around under his hood before pulling out a large stuffed teddy bear, which of course looked comically small in his hands. He wiggled it around as he went, "Tadaaa. Well? What do you think? Do you like it? Do you forgive me now?"

Waspinator was quiet, almost contemplative as he stared down at the plushie. Then, in a move that even had Sari jolting back in her seat, he swiped it out of Bumblebee's hands. In contrast, he held it softly. Waspinator squished it experimentally, watching as the stuffed animal compressed and then returned to form when his grip relented.

If robots could sweat, then a puddle would have formed under Bumblebee's feet as he waited for his verdict amid the oppressive silence.

Finally, "This… is acceptable," Waspinator hugged the stuffed animal closer. Before Bumblebee could even think to celebrate, Waspinator roughly shoved him flat on his aft, "But you're still not forgiven! Waspinator requires," his mandibles flexed eagerly, "More of these squishy fuzzy totems before even contemplating to maybe accept Bumblebot's apology. Now, leave me alone!"

He turned sharply, fleeing the common room as quickly as possible while he nuzzled into the teddy bear.

Sari and Bumblebee both watched him leave for a moment, before Bumblebee excitedly exclaimed once he was out of earshot, "Did you hear that? I didn't think that would work! Man, I've got to thank Fanzone for the idea." He perked up, "In fact, I'll go do that now and while I’m at it I'll get my servos on more of those things!"

Clearly not expecting or waiting for a response from either Sari or Bulkhead, Bee swiftly transformed and sped out of the plant. Not too soon after, Bulkhead pointedly turned off the TV with the remote and heaved himself off the couch without a goodbye in her direction, muttering that he needed a creative outlet to let off some steam.

Left alone, and stewing, Sari spoke out to nobody in particular, "Just for the record buying back forgiveness isn't great either."

But it was better than nothing she supposed, knocking her head against the concrete headrest.