Work Text:
It’s an odd thing, being needed.
After the war, Bumblebee figured he would be let go from the staff like so many others, given a decently large pension and sent on his merry way. He was okay with that; he had made amazing friends and had managed to be on multiple important projects in his time there. He’d probably go to another couriering job, and figure out how to put his life together in a world that wasn’t at war. Another disadvantage to being sparked during it, he supposed. No extra qualifications, no school to fall back on.
It was as he was beginning to pack up his things that Optimus Prime himself rushed into his room, oddly embarrassed. Ratchet stood outside, slightly amused by the sight of a Prime flushed blue with energon.
“Bumblebee,” he had said, standing tall, “I formally request that you continue to work with the Autobots as a messenger, diplomat, and translator.”
Bee shuttered his optics once, twice. “Wait, really?” he stuttered, stunned that they’d want to keep him around, in a high-ranking position no less.
Optimus laughed softly. “Of course, Bumblebee. We haven’t officially worked out your new role, so that title is tentative.” The Prime’s gaze goes soft. “You mean a lot to all of us, Bee, and I know morale would go down if you left,” then he shook his head, backpedalling, “it is quite alright if you would like to leave, however, we can set you up with a new job and pay you a war-time salary—”
“Bossbot,” Bumblebee said, cutting him off. “ Of course I want to stay,” he grinned, flinging himself at the larger mech. Optimus, knowing the routine well, catches him, hugging him close.
“I’m glad,” Optimus shined with happiness. Ratchet came in the room and picked Bee up, his grumpy facade temporarily lowered.
And that’s how he got his new job, travelling across the universe to broker peace treaties and forge new alliances. Bee hadn’t anticipated how much his extensive knowledge of languages would come in handy, easily able to communicate with anything they came across. And on the off chance he didn’t know a language, he’d learn it.
It was genuinely nice , something tangible to redirect his energy to. He was still jumpy around Decepticons, of course, but it had eased with time. Starscream was endearingly dramatic and fond of his trine, Soundwave was surprisingly easy for Bee to get along with, and Megatron…
Well, he’d be more wary of Megatron if he and Optimus weren’t eye-banging each other constantly. It was cute, really, how flustered they got talking about all the things they liked about the other.
Megatron made Optimus happy, so he and the other Autobots who stayed got used to the former warlord’s presence and made friends with him. The mech was impressed with Bee’s language skills and his knowledge of both Cybertronian and human poetry. In fact, Bee had taken to quoting Megatron’s work around the Decepticons, just to see their reactions.
There was, however, a relationship that nobody seemed happy with; his own.
Breakdown had approached him sometime after the war, sheepishly admitting he had been eying Bee for some time. Of course, that came after they had already fragged.
Bee was new to the idea, given the fact that the war generally was not conducive to long-term relationships. Especially for him, given the fact, that none of the Autobots seemed comfortable with taking his “romantic virginity”, whatever that meant. Smokescreen told him that Optimus had said Bee was off limits, something he still needed to talk to the mech about.
Huge overstepping of boundaries aside, Bumblebee accepted, eager to put the past behind him and actually start being seen as an adult.
It was a little funny how everyone seemed to unanimously hate the idea of him dating Breakdown, citing multiple reasons they wouldn’t work. Starscream would routinely complain about how unsightly the Stunticon was, that he was a bad influence on Bee (how Starscream could say that with a straight face, he had no idea).
Rumble and Frenzy weren’t too keen on the idea either, though he supposes that was partially because they had just made a friend their age and were rather upset that Bee’s already limited time had to be allotted to another bot.
Ratchet said nothing good would come of the relationship, muttering about how Stunticons played fast and loose, and weren’t reliable.
In the end, the older mech was right. Breakdown had his eye on someone else (who just happened to be his old flame, a mech who almost conjured him) and Bee was just plain unhappy with everything. It was an amicable breakup in his opinion. Everyone said ‘I told you so’ playfully, practically celebrating the separation. Starscream threw a party, actually.
That was, until the calls.
Even when they were together Breakdown never called like this, at all hours of the night, slurred speech and bad ideas. But it was happening increasingly frequently these days, enough that his recharges would be routinely interrupted by drunk ‘booty calls’, as Tracks put it.
But Bee plans to be free from all that tonight; the Autobots had planned a small reunion and he was going to mute everything and just enjoy himself. Jazz brought out their supply of high grade and he was going to get wasted .
Rodimus is a welcome distraction from Breakdown, the mech recounting stories from his team’s adventures across the cosmos. “We could use someone with your skill with us,” he grins, elbowing Bee, “plus I miss you. Could make it worth your while if you know what I mean—”
“Poaching our teammate? For shame!” Smokescreen appears next to Bee, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “You couldn’t make it anyone’s while, Rod.”
The two descend into playful bickering, making comments on how well they frag, which, gross, Bee didn’t need to know Smokescreen’s spike mods or how Rodimus’ valve looked.
He nurses his energon, peeling off from the argument in search of someone semi-sober. Cliff ambles past him, looking buzzed out of his mind. He’s pretty sure Jazz and Blaster are arguing about music genres on stage, cutting the music on and off.
Bumblebee spots Optimus standing out on one of the venue’s balconies and he makes his way over, shutting the glass door behind him quietly. Optimus glances away from the cityscape. “Bumblebee,” he says, voice full of warmth. “I trust you’ve been enjoying yourself?”
“The high grade helps,” Bee walks over, joining the Prime in leaning on the railing. “It’s been fun seeing everyone. Rodimus keeps trying to convince me to join his crew, though.”
The other mech chuckles. “You are quite a valuable teammate to have, I cannot blame him.”
Bee peers over, spotting the datapad Optimus holds. “Whatcha readin’?”
“Human literature. You know Edgar Allen Poe?”
“Of course I know Edgar Allen Poe!” Bee squawks, somewhat offended that he would even think of asking him that. “‘ There came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. It was the beating of the old man’s heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.’ ”
Optimus grins, clearly stifling a laugh. “I forgot your affinity for literature, my apologies.”
“You taught me that!”
“So I did,” the Prime laughs, optics shining with glee. “I find that tale rather morbid.”
Bumblebee shakes his head adamantly. “It’s supposed to be macabre, it’s about an insane narrator murdering someone! The genius comes from the prose, how Poe is able to encapsulate the mindset of someone with no apparent empathy being driven insane by guilt! When you look at it at face value, of course it’s shocking, but—” He pauses, communicator ringing. “I should take this,” he says, staring at the caller ID.
“Who is it?” Optimus asks, leaning over slightly.
“Breakdown,” Bee looks away, knowing the other bot’s face turns sour at the mention of the name.
“You shouldn’t pick up.”
“It’s on my extra-personal frequency, it might be something important!” Bee bites his pollex, processor running through all the possible scenarios. “You know I can’t just ignore it.”
The Prime sighs deeply, knocking back the rest of his energon with a grace only he could manage. “Please don’t hesitate to call any of us if you require assistance dealing with him.”
“I won’t,” says Bee, waving as he enters the building again. He looks for a private spot, finding an empty room off to the side. Perfect.
He shuts the door, scowling when he doesn’t find a lock. It’s fine, all he needs to do is answer, figure out what’s wrong, and politely hang up. That’s all.
Breakdown’s voice is overwhelming over the comm link, drunken laughter and the sounds of… driving? “Hey, sweet thing, what’re you doin’?”
Bee cringes. “Not your babe anymore. Are you driving ?”
“Mmmmhm, Motormaster found another bar we’re gonna hit up. Wish you were here, Bee, it’s so much fun.”
“Breakdown!” he hisses, worry building in his fuel tank, “that’s incredibly stupid, what if you crash—”
He hears shuffling, the sounds of transforming, and Wildrider’s voice. “That’s Bee? Goddamn, tell him to hit me up, been missing him around here.”
His relationship to the other Stunticons was… complicated, to say the least. Motormaster seemed to hate him, though the others were pleasant enough. Hit on him all the time, though. They were more dismayed than Breakdown at their breakup.
Breakdown snorts. “No chance, fragger. We’re behind, gotta catch up to them.”
“You cannot drive like this, you’re clearly drunk!” Bumblebee forgets he’s speaking over a comm link, throwing his arms in the air. “What if you crash? You hate getting tickets and being pulled over, this is so stupid !”
The door clicks open and Smokescreen walks through, a frown on his face. “Bee, you’re yelling, what’s going on?”
“Breakdown is drinking and driving,” he says, glaring at the floor, “and decided to call me, for whatever reason!”
“I wouldn’t have called if I knew you would freak out,” the Stunticon sneers, the sound of tires growing louder.
“Just— frag off!” Bee ends the call, his good mood ruined.
Smokescreen places a servo on his shoulder, face sympathetic. “Just block him, Bee. This isn’t good for you.”
Part of him wants to argue, thinking of all the times he advocated for Breakdown and whatever stupid thing he was trying that week. “You’re right,” he mumbles, the rational side of him winning out. “It’s just… hard.”
“He’s a piece of scrap and you already dumped him,” Rodimus jumps in, somehow sneaking in without the two noticing. “Focus on us instead, we’re fun!”
Bee smiles softly, going into his contacts, and clicking the block button. It’s like a weight was lifted off him, his body feeling a little lighter already. “I’m not hammered enough,” he grins, pointing to the party. “Drink ‘til we can’t feel our pedes?”
The two simultaneously agree, shoving out the door. Bumblebee laughs and follows, the happiest he’s been in ages. It’s over , he thinks. A long chapter of his life is closing and he’s making a new one with people who love and support him.
He smiles and joins the rest at the energon bowl.
After that, Bumblebee returned to his normal self, no longer burdened by surprise calls in the middle of the night. Things go smoothly and he finds himself sat beside Optimus and Starscream in a meeting between Cybertron and a foreign planet. Being the only one who spoke the language fluently, he got to sit near the head of the table, something which he lords over Starscream’s head in Vosian.
The conference runs for three days, the final day reserved for signing the various documents. Bumblebee is happy to explain what everything means, pointing out the fine print that Prowl probably tried to sneak in.
It’s nice, but somewhat odd. He’s getting strange looks from the planet’s delegates, which is somewhat normal; he is a minibot former scout surrounded by warframes who also speaks most languages fluidly, but they’re… different than that. Looking between him and Optimus, eying him when he translates to the Decepticons.
By the end, Bee is just happy to be free, prepared to take a long nap before they leave. He pauses when Thundercracker flags him down, expression troubled. He holds a datapad, clutching it nervously. “Have you seen the news lately? Not the actual news, tabloids and stuff— just look,” he unceremoniously thrusts the tablet into Bee’s hands.
Scrolling through, his spark freezes as the headline loads. Former Scout Now An Autobot Delegate, Slept His Way Through the Ranks? He doesn’t consider himself a big enough figure to gossip about, but the magazine was capitalising on the bigger names. Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, Optimus , and a healthy amount of both Autobot and Decepticon commanders are listed as potential victims, a slew of out-of-context pictures and quotes plastered on.
He stares, somewhat dumbstruck, by just how much is there . One of him and Optimus was taken from the party they had a while ago. A spark of annoyance threatens to light the kindling of a fury he’s tried hard to smother.
With Commentary From Breakdown, a Former Sweetheart!
It takes him a few moments to fully process that. It hums in the back of his processor as he hands the tablet back to Thundercracker. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he says, surprised at how even his tone is, “I’ll start filing defamation and libel charges.”
Stupid scout , he thinks, kicking at the ground. Thundercracker goes to say something else but Bumblebee cuts him off. “Tell Starscream I’m sorry about this.”
He turns and leaves, trying to ignore the smouldering feeling in his spark.
Stupid, stupid, stupid .
The Decepticons did not play around when it came to libel charges; they sued the tabloid company into the ground, completely bankrupting them. They shut their door shortly off the incident, but that’s only a small comfort.
He’s used to stares, used to his position being questioned, hell, even used to accusations of sleeping with his superiors. He can handle it, has handled it before. Really, the worst part was that other people were dragged into it.
Optimus looked somewhat uncomfortable and he couldn’t blame him too much, the idea of people thinking they were fragging was a bit off-putting. He does his best to avoid those mentioned, apologising when he can and sneaking away. Does his duties, translates and barters even though he’s looked at oddly. Everything is going well, the Autobots travelling alone as they get some much-needed off time.
The sudden visit from Soundwave was completely unexpected, throwing everyone off. “Decepticons: require your assistance.”
“Me?” Bumblebee says, incredibly confused.
“Bumblebee: has necessary skills.”
He shakes his helm, frowning. “Soundwave, you’re a better translator than me. Really, I don’t know why I’m brought around if you’re here,” he laughs nervously, fiddling with his servos, “what could I help with?”
Soundwave is an odd case of body language. Once you learned his various tells, it was somewhat easy to read him. Bee could decimate him in a game of poker, a learned skill others envied. Perhaps his past as a scout helped.
“Soundwave: logical, off putting. Bumblebee: kind, easy to talk to. Conclusion: work together to negotiate.”
The compliment makes him blush and he hopes he looks away fast enough to mask it. “Ah, thank you, but—”
The other mech makes a sound, shifting. “Soundwave: has confession. Rumble and Frenzy: asked for you. Soundwave: agreed with them.”
He feels himself being pushed forward slightly. Turning, he finds Jazz. “It’ll be good for you,” the bot says, shoving him again. “You’ve been staring at our mugs this whole time, might as well see some new ones.”
Bee, realising this would be a losing battle, gave in and agreed.
And so he finds himself in a smaller version of the Nemesis, lovingly called the Rival by most. He’s been on the ship a few times, enough that he has his own quarters to stay in while he’s there. Of course, given the Decepticons and their track record for barging into rooms, he usually stays in the common areas or leaves it unlocked.
Rumble and Frenzy were glued to his side, insisting he sleep in their room, which they happened to share with Soundwave. The mech was mortified until Bee laughed and said he would share his room with the twins, settling on a compromise there.
Currently, they’re fighting over a datapad, something about Megatron’s never-released writings. There’s something comforting about being around them, taking off the mask of maturity he wears and indulging in fun.
The age gap was another reason he and Breakdown didn’t work, according to Ratchet. Too old compared to Bumblebee, too experienced. And the fact he seemed to flaunt that fact over Bee, withholding information and letting Bee helplessly guess. The others would help him, informing him of anything he needed to know.
It’s frustrating, how he’s lived so many lifetimes in his relatively short one. War hardened but not mature when talking about living normally. Rumble and Frenzy somehow avoided this fate, revelling in immaturity and pranks. But it’s selfish for Bumblebee to want that; there are people who need him to be grown up, however much he despises it sometimes.
Starscream waltzes in, narrowing his optics at the twins. “Bumblebee,” he says smoothly, hands on his hips. “You’re my plus one to the party today.”
“What?”
“The party.”
“Wow, thanks, ‘Screamer, I understand everything now,” he leans back, snark rolling easily off his glossa. “What party?”
The Seeker sighs dramatically, tilting his face to the sky haughtily. “Vosian party. As the leader, I’m expected to bring someone. You’re my choice.”
“Wait, a Vosian party ?” Those were in the tabloids for ages after, the salacious events and gossip that happened, the outfits the nobility wore.
“Yep,” says Starscream, with that insufferable grin on his face. “Time for the biggest party of your life, Scout.”
Ignoring the protesting cassettes, he’s dragged out of the common room and into the Seeker’s room. He barely has the chance to process that fact before a purple cape is pressing against his shoulders, Starscream murmuring about magnetisation. “Where did you get this—?”
“Custom made,” Bee stares in wonder, taking the fabric into his servo. The hem is golden, threaded carefully and with care. The purple is deep, the colour of the Decepticon insignia but shimmering in the light. “You like it?”
“I think this costs more than me,” he breathes, Starscream laughing.
“If you’re going to be my plus one, you have to look the part.” Bumblebee looks up, noticing Starscream clipping his own matching cape on. “You’re okay with makeup?”
“Yeah.”
Starscream tuts, fiddling with himself in the mirror before grabbing something. “I have something, demagnetize your insignia.”
Bee freezes. “What?”
“You’ll see.”
Hesitantly, he complies, taking off the Autobot symbol. He feels strange without it. But then Starscream sticks something else on and he looks down. A purple Autobot insignia.
Starscream looks somewhat doubtful, maintaining eye contact with Bee. “Is that okay?” He says, uncharacteristically soft.
“I never got to choose a side,” Bumblebee says suddenly, surprising himself, “in the war. I was sparked as an Autobot and served as an Autobot, it was predetermined for me.” He traces the edges of the symbol. “I don’t know if it would’ve changed anything, but…”
Then he trails off, shrugs. “I like it. Symbolic or something. Thank you.”
The Seeker looks relieved, a prideful smile creeping back up. “I knew you’d like it. We’re going to give them something to gossip about.”
The party is a refined sort of madness.
As a grounder, he feels rather out of place, sticking by one of his companion’s sides most of the time. He catches sight of his reflection in a glass, staring at this unknown person. Black liner emphasises his rounder optics, flecked with gold. Decepticon culture celebrated scars, his own outlined with bright gold glitter. The scar around his intake had a lacy ribbon wrapped around it, something Starscream called a ‘choker’.
Soundwave stands in a corner, decorated in his own apparel. He forgoes any fancy clothes, instead emphasising battle wounds with pink paint, faintly resembling freshly drawn energon.
“Bumblebee: okay?”
Bee laughs. “It’s weird to be here. I’ve never been to a party like this, even for Autobots.”
Soundwave nods, looking out over the party. Megatron stands tall above most of the Seekers, a forced smile is evident. He had his own black cape accented with purple, matching Soundwave’s pink makeup. “He’s having fun,” Bee says, getting a small snicker from the spy master.
Starscream, in all his sparkly glory, is off with the elites of the nobility. In Bee’s opinion, the addition of the crown was rather unnecessary, though still pretty. He loved using glitter, apparently, given the fact he used half of the container while doing their makeup. The designs are intricate, some Vosian thing. Skywarp and Thundercracker had similar ones since they were the elite trine.
“This whole thing is too damn fancy,” Bee mutters.
The Communications Officer nods sagely. “Indeed.”
Bumblebee relaxes next to Soundwave, glad to be out of the fray. He scans the crowd, searching for any familiar faces. Astrotrain was there, oddly, also in a corner. Bee considers going over and chatting him up when he spots him .
Breakdown should not be at a fancy Vosian party.
Then again, Bumblebee should not be at a fancy Vosian party.
He shuffles to stand behind Soundwave, peeking around the taller mech to try and see where Breakdown is. All the Stunticons are there, hanging around a group of rough-looking Seekers. Invited by them, perhaps? Just his luck.
Then Breakdown looks around, meeting Bumblebee’s optics. Scrap . The mech says something to the others and they turn. He walks over confidently and Bee resists the urge to run.
“Bumblebee: needs help?” Soundwave asks, voice quiet and low.
“I can deal with it,” he says, voice wavering in a way that completely undercuts his message. “... though maybe have Starscream and Megatron on speed dial. The code word is, uh, shit.”
They had a system for things like this, a code word one would say and then an action would be taken; usually they used it in situations where distractions were necessary and subtle hints needed to be used. Bumblebee edges out from where he stood behind Soundwave, trying to look more confident.
“Hey,” Breakdown says, stopping in front of Bee. He looks him up and down, letting his gaze linger. “You look good.”
Bee nods, tries not to fidget. “Sort of have to, at a fancy party and all. Why are you here?” He points at him. “You aren’t dolled up or anything.”
Breakdown snorts. “And you are. Tryna impress someone? Don’t tell me the article was right—”
“That stupid article,” Bee says, crossing his arms. “Why would you do that?”
And all he does is shrug . “Got your attention, didn’t it?”
That is the moment Bumblebee snaps. “I have never said anything bad about you to anyone ! I have so much that I could leak to the press, could ruin your reputation, but I don’t!” He balls his servos up. “You know why? Because it’s embarrassing .”
“You’re overreacting—”
“ No ! I’m tired of you saying I’m overreacting! You’re unreliable— how many times did you show up to dates you proposed?” He goes quiet for a moment. “Yeah, never .
“You took advantage of the fact that I didn’t know how relationships work and all you ever did was make me
sad
! I trusted you when you said that my friends were wrong about you—
Primus
, you
suck
.”
Breakdown stares at him, somewhat dumbstruck by the outburst. Bumblebee looks around, relieved when he doesn’t see anyone looking at them. “Bee…”
“Don’t ‘ Bee ’ me, fragger! Just, just fucking leave me, you piece of shit,” he takes a step back, taking in a deep in-vent.
The Stunticon reaches out but is stopped by Megatron, who stares him down until he leaves. Starscream glares at his quickly retreating figure. “Savage,” the Seeker says, making a rude gesture after him.
“Starscream,” Bumblebee says, grabbing his wrist. “Dance with me.”
Now it was the Seeker’s turn to be confused. “What?”
“I’m all dolled up,” he says, grinning. “It would be a shame to waste. Let’s put on a show for them, yeah?”
Starscream smiles, wide and manic as though he just overthrew Megatron for the third time that month. “Perfect idea, Bee,” he drawls, taking the offered hand and guiding him towards the centre. “Give them something to talk about.”
The tabloids are plastered with photos of Bumblebee and the Decepticons dancing, but he can’t bring himself to care. The Autobots will probably see them, but all he thinks about right now is laughing with Rumble and Frenzy about how shocked Breakdown must be.
This is nice, he decides. Maybe he needs to travel with the Decepticons more often.