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When Bumblebee finally reached his personal quarters, he just about fell into recharge while standing.
Thankfully, after centuries — eons — of endless war and countless battles, he managed to catch himself before he did. Admittedly, he did feel his vigilance slipping as of late; the time spent with his teenage charges presumably have nothing to do with it. Presumably.
Bumblebee sat down on the edge of his recharging berth, allowing himself the mercy of sitting in the dark cold silence of his room. His quarters weren’t anything fancy, nothing ostentatious for a lieutenant of his stature and history; it was practically bare, with little furniture and even less ornaments and other such trinkets.
It had been a long day; he took his team out to see the destroyed Outpost Omega One base to revisit old memories and expand on the true value of their mission. In the rubble of the base, Sideswipe had found a busted up disk which Bumblebee immediately recognized as his former diary.
Yeah, he had one. Laugh all you want. But he wanted — needed — an outlet, a private place to keep private things; things he couldn’t tell Ratchet (like his angry rants about his broken voice box - which he deleted after feeling the guilt) or Optimus (he could still recall his entries about how upset he was that the war was still going on a millennia later).
He flipped the diary over, checking it for any further damages. It seemed, even despite the explosion and destruction of Omega Outpost One, it had survived and was — regrettably — intact. Even after all this time, Sideswipe had managed to pull a fast one on him and played one of his mean-teen pranks, refusing to hand the diary over. Bumblebee should have disciplined him for teasing a superior officer, but he couldn’t bring himself to. The diary brought back memories; memories he wanted to keep hidden away, forgotten and lost to time.
They all laughed at his exercise videos, ha ha. But the prank came to an abrupt end when a second entry appeared, and his team couldn’t help but blankly stare at the unknown Cybertronian in the picture. That’s when Bumblebee had the upper hand and took back his diary, trying to play off the shame and embarrassment.
It was a silent trip back to base.
Returning to the present, Bumblebee blinked away any tears in his optics, shoving down any emotion that left him open and vulnerable.
One miss-click was all it took to undo all of that.
There was a sudden sputter of laughter, and even in the lowest volume, the audio of the video sounded so loud. The laughter was sweet, genuine. Untroubled. He stared at Nitro's holographic face, where the camera stayed trained on him. His green optics sparkled even with the poor video quality. His smile was open, free, maybe even real. Primus, he was always good at hiding all his problems. He did it with such ease.
Bumblebee’s not sure he could tell even now with laughter that sounded like that.
A couple more seconds in, and he heard the excited beeps of his own makeshift, litany voice. Nitro snorted at whatever he said just then, and laughed again.
In another recording, they were in the main room, several meters away, with Bee secretly recording the other bot. Bumblebee cringed a bit. He remembered the times he snuck pictures of him, in some childish, crush kind of way.
“Nitro, come here!” Called Sierra, the Cybertronian’s assigned charge. The camera zoomed up on Nitro’s face, which lit up upon being beckoned away from a mission debrief. He walked up to the ledge of the humans hang out spot, where Sierra was waiting for him. They spoke for a moment, exchanging a few encouraging words. Bumblebee was positive the bot viewed the smaller organic as a daughter in some way, or held some sort of protective, parental affection for her. The recording kept locked in on Nitro's soft expression and features, before his green optics landed on Bumblebee, and the diary abruptly closed.
There were a couple written entries as well; one about the time Nitro actually beat him in a street race. Jack was in his driver's seat and Sierra in Nitros, and the two Cybertronians were indulging their human friends after minimal pestering. There were a couple more entries, mostly about things Nitro said to him or about him; that he was a great, accomplished scout; or a brilliant strategist; a good friend.
It was at this point that Bumblebee came to the unwilling, conscious realization that he was actively looking for any mention of Nitro in his data logs. He couldn’t make himself stop.
In another recording, they are alone, secluded, hidden away in Bumblebee’s old quarters in Outpost Omega One. Nitro’s head leans against Bumblebee’s chassis, legs entangled, the familiar hum of engines filling the stillness of the small — by Cybertronian standards — space. They lay in a moderate recharge, dedicated towards rest and recovery rather than the war waging outside the base’s perimeters. Nitro's optics are closed, his digits slowly circle a small area on his neck cables. From his lips came a soft, quiet tune that Bumblebee didn’t recognize, but he knew it was one the former held some deep fondness for.
He does recall this, he believes. He’s not quite sure why he specifically recorded the instant, but deep down he knows. He’s beginning to remember why he recorded any of this stuff.
Because he was a sap; because he fell in love with somebody who didn’t know how to love back in a real stable way, in somebody who didn’t know how to. It’s why, even to this day, Bumblebee stood alone in that regard.
Nitro — or, Vulcan? — was… everything. A good portion of what he considered a life worth living.
He had been an ally of the Autobots, and yet equally devoted to their undoing. He could be soft, warm, and true; but he could also be harsh, cold and complicated. The latter traits proved more prominent at the later stages of the war, when everything came out, when everything fell apart.
Bumblebee desperately wanted to believe Nitro was what he said he was: innocent, pure, and ready to return to normalcy after the cusp of the war. That was his first and most fatal mistake, for Nitro was none of those things. In raw, honest truth, Nitro was no better than the rest of soldiers on the battlefield — he had killed enough people for the both of them — and he wasn’t sorry for it, either. He took some gratification from taking a spark, from having the upper hand over another living being, from giving into his impulses. And he most certainly did not want to live that romanticized life with him. Bumblebee didn’t know why he ever believed him when he said life without war was something he could live with. He can’t quite blame him; there was a time not even he could think he could wake up every day without a field to scout or intel to find.
Back then, it seemed implausible. But it was a dream he clung too to keep his hopes up. He even… he even thought about asking Nitro to be his sparkmate when all this was over.
“Hey, Bee…?”
“Sideswipe!” Bumblebee jolted up. He scrambled to compose himself and hastily closed the screen. He faced the bot who was picking his head into his personal quarters. “What are you… is something wrong? Did Fixit find another rogue? Am I needed?”
Sideswipe made a face before taking a step inside, servo on the back of his neck. “No, I’m actually… here to apologize.”
Bumblebee blinked, surprised. It was unlike Sideswipe to apologize for his actions without being told too. “You’re… what?”
Sideswipe tried not to back down, and held strong in his attempt at an apology. “About today, with the diary. Look, I didn’t mean to — what I’m saying is — I…” Sideswipe sighed. “I shouldn’t have taken the diary; and I shouldn’t have made fun of you; or looked at the entries, I’m — I’m sorry.”
Bumblebee smiled warily and raised a servo. “Sideswipe, there’s nothing to apologize for. It’s no big deal.”
Sideswipe wanted to believe that. He knows he’s not the easiest bot to work with; and he knows, if given the chance, Bumblebee would possibly send him back to Cybertron and send for a better, more suitable bot to replace him. But what Sideswipe didn’t know about following rules or taking orders, he knew about people. Emotions. And by the look on his superior officer's face when that face showed up in his diary entries, Sideswipe knew exactly what was going on; or, he thinks he does. It was… sparkbreak. Confusion and fondness replaced by betrayal, sadness and disesteem.
Sideswipe waited a beat before gently shifting the conversation. “Do… you remember Sunstreaker?”
Bumblebee looked at him for a long time, processor working double time. He knew about the twin brother; Sunstreaker came up in Sideswipes academy files a few choice times. From what Bumblebee read, the two were — albeit disruptive and not the model students like Strongarm — relatively alright and had good grades in most classes. He also read that Sunstreaker had dropped out; which was, according to the academy, a great surprise due to Sunstreaker being one of the top students. Apparently, he had quite the ego and earned himself quite the toxic reputation at the school. It got to a point where Sunstreaker, in a fit of not being the best of the best, dropped out and completely disappeared, leaving nothing but his twin brother in his wake.
“We used to be pretty close, believe it or not.” Sideswipe explained with a small, weak smile. “Split sparks, and all that. He was actually considered the problem twin, if you can believe it. Next to him, I had a pretty clean record after, y’know… everything that happened. Um… he’s not the best of bots, but he’s my brother and I love him, even if he’s a total idiot sometimes. I’m just trying to say… I think I know what it’s like.”
Bumblebee saw where the kid was coming from. He had, funnily enough, met Sunstreaker once. After they came to Earth, with the mission of hunting down rogue Decepticons and other wayward criminals, they had run into the yellow bot. He remembers that day. Sunstreaker burst back into Sideswipes life, nearly succeeding in turning his young scout away from him with his winner mentality and overall risky, inappropriate behavior. Sideswipe had wanted to prove to his twin brother that he was worth staying for this time around. Long story short, Sunstreaker turned out to be running with a group of bounty hunters and other criminals who fed him constant validation and attention. It didn’t have a pretty outcome.
If he remembers correctly, Sideswipe refused to talk about the whole situation, and wouldn't say more than a word about it. Until… now.
Bumblebee inhaled awkwardly. “Thank you, Sideswipe…”
“Y-Yeah, so I’m like totally here if you ever need, or want, to talk about anything — you really don’t have to, I’m just extending that olive branch, in case…”
The silence between them returned, settling in for good this time. Bumblebee knew Sideswipe meant well, and just wanted to return the favor in terms of talking out not-so healthy past relationships. But the thing he and Nitro had wasn’t the type of thing one could explain out loud. And he really couldn’t burden Sideswipe with his business. Bumblebee had to be the responsible one here. It was old news, anyway. Nitro wasn’t coming back, certainly not to him.
“I’m good, Sideswipe. I… don’t really want to talk about it.” He glanced back up at the younger boy. “But, thank you for reaching out.”
Before silence could reclaim them and Sideswipe could take his leave, alarms blared, breaking the lonesome quiet. The two are immediately on their feet, running out of Bumblebee’s quarters to the main control center; where the rest of the team and Fixit await, who all stared up at an elevated screen with flashing red messages.
“Fixit, what is it?” Bumblebee asked, concerned but ready to be back on the field if required.
“It’s a distress signal!” Fixit explained, digits hastily typing away at his computers. “Coming from an unidentified ship entering Earth's atmosphere.”
Bumblebee’s eyes narrowed, posture and exposition secure, falling into his lieutenant role perfectly. “Can you find out who’s on the ship? If they know how to contact us, there’s a high chance they could be Autobots.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, lieutenant.” Fixit replied, working fast, trying to decipher the given coordinates that had been sent from the newcomers. “The ship is not giving us an appellation. I am not sure it is aligned with any known faction. Wait! They’re requesting a one-way open call line.”
Bumblebee nodded firmly. “Permission granted.”
With a click, the call opened, a voice crackled on the other line; “This is the Wraith, requesting an emergency landing location and immediate assistance. I repeat, this is the Wraith, requesting an emergency landing location and immediate assistance. This is the Phantom Phalanx, elite military squadron, returning from mission with injured warriors and a damaged ship. Requesting an emergency landing location and immediate assistance. This is her commander, Vulcan—“
For Bumblebee, the message might have just stopped right there.
Their voice recognition system filed his voice and brought up its owner. An image appeared on the screen, a face Bumblebee thought he knew so well.
“…Nitro?”