TITLE: Skills
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
FEEDBACK: Loved
BETA: okami_myrrhibis

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Sam had wanted to come up to the Ark ever since it had been completed. The whole matter with Soundwave constructing a space bridge and forcing Cybertron into the solar system had thrown a wrench into that plan.

Now, three months after the events, he was finally here.

His motives hadn’t been to sight-see and get the grand tour. He had had other plans; more serious and important plans. Sure, looking at the remains of the space bridge that had been towed to the Ark and stowed in the loading bays to be closely examined was exciting. And he wanted to look at the components, but not as a priority.

No, he wanted to experience the Ark. The powerful former ship, the computer, the machinery. He wanted to challenge his mind with the space station, see how well he could keep it together. And he wanted to spend time with Blaster.

The Autobot communicator had agreed to work with Sam, whatever the technopath needed, and Sam was grateful for it. Blaster wasn’t Soundwave; he wasn’t telepathic or technopathic. He had close connections to his symbiotes, though, and he had known Soundwave for a very long time. So training his mind to move around the rather complicated processor of Blaster, and with it the symbiotes, might give him a headstart.

Bumblebee had remained on Earth. For one, Optimus had had a mission for him. And two, Sam didn’t want him to hang around and possibly move in to protect the human. Bumblebee could swear every oath he wouldn’t, but if Sam’s mind reached out for an anchor, maybe even crying for help, he would react instinctually. Sam didn’t want to risk it. He had to train alone.

That was why he had asked for Barricade’s help. He could count on the former Decepticon’s distance. Barricade would only serve as an anchor should he need one later on, and interfere in case things got out of control and neither Blaster nor Sam had any control over the situation.
Barricade had agreed, but he hadn’t been thrilled.


“You don’t have to come,” Sam told the black and white Mustang. “Really.”

“I’m coming along,” Barricade rumbled.

“But you don’t like it,” the technopath summed up what he felt emanating from the other mind.

It got him a growl. “Stop spying.”

“Am not. You’re projecting.”

Barricade rolled forward, making him stumble as the bumper connected with his knees. It was a warning, but one Sam knew how to take.

“You know as well as I do that I’m not spying intentionally,” he said levelly. “You and I share something you don’t like. Too bad. Live with it. You formed it just as much as I did.”

There was a spike of annoyance, but Barricade remained silent.

“And you offered, Barricade,” Sam continued.

“Apparently a mistake.”

Sam smiled a little, holding back on patting the smooth metal within his reach. “A mistake I appreciate.”

For a brief moment their minds met, then the technopath pulled up walls and Barricade ignored that it had ever happened.


So now Barricade was on the Ark as well, ignoring the Autobots and simply keeping watch over Sam. Jazz was on Earth; he had his own duties.

Sam concentrated on Blaster again. The mech had come to the Ark for their first few sessions and it had been as weird as it had been confusing at the beginning.

Not just because Blaster hadn’t taken on an alternate mode. He was in his Cybertronian form – a jet-like construction – and transformed into bipedal mode was massive and even a bit scary. Sam was used to mechs in all their modes and forms, but he knew that should Blaster face someone not familiar with these modes, he would create fear.

The symbiotes were all in their raw beast modes. While they resembled quadrupeds or avian creatures, nothing of the like could be found in an era of Earth’s life. There were spikes and strange protrusions, moving scales and weird nobs and additions. Thankfully none of the bipedal forms, like Eject and Rewind, had any likeness to Frenzy.

Blaster’s mind was so unlike any from the Autobots he had ever touched, and Sam was glad that Blaster was very much in control of it. With so many symbiotes connected to him he had to be. They all interfaced on some level with the ‘parent mind’, and it had thrown Sam into a loop at first. Now he could at least tell the difference between them and Blaster.

Blaster in turn had let him roam, only keeping him from going too deep when it was necessary, and when Sam was ready, they had engaged in games of a more serious note. It left the technopath with light headaches, but nothing too serious.

Sliding past what looked like a very complicated array Sam nearly stumbled over a second presence, curiously regarding him from very close-by.

::Eject!::

He caught amusement and curiosity. The connection between Blaster and the symbiotes was varying between them all, but it was always strong. Sam had apparently entered the twilight area again, a place where the symbiotes interacted with their parent mind.

::Scared you?:: the mech asked playfully.

::Surprised me::

Curiosity touched him and he let Eject scan his presence. All of the symbiotes were curious about him, some more so than others. Ramhorn tended to keep back, Steeljaw was playful, Rewind and Eject interacted directly with him. They were bolder, but not careless. The others he hadn’t really gotten to know yet. And beyond the interaction hovered the watchful presence of Blaster.

::Ready?:: Blaster asked, making Sam concentrate on his task once more.

He steeled himself. ::Ready:: he answered, hoping his mind-voice wasn’t quivering.

::I won’t harm you, Sam:: Blaster reassured him.

Okay, so he had shown fear.

::This my training exercise, Blaster. It will hurt. I know it. I need to know how far I can already go.::

The mech was silent, then his presence grew closer. ::Fearing Soundwave will make him an impossible opponent, Sam:: the communicator said, voice serious. ::He’s good. He’s telepathic. He is the most controlled and logical mind I know, but he makes mistakes, too.::

Yeah. Like when he had space-bridged Cybertron here. That had been more than major stupid. It had been insane and reckless and bound to fail right from the start.

::Okay:: he then said.

::I’ve known Soundwave for a long, long time. I know his strengths, I know he has weaknesses:: Blaster went on. ::And whatever you think, he won’t be so confident in confronting you or Will Lennox. You are unknowns to him. I think you could really give him a run for his money::

Sam could hear the smile, but his confidence wasn’t that high. He mentally squared his shoulders and turned to look at the powerful presence of the Autobot close by.

::Let’s get this going:: he announced.

Blaster radiated readiness and Sam began.

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Barricade knew the feeling inside him was pride, but he would sooner die than tell anyone. Sam Witwicky had truly developed into a strong technopath and his taking on Blaster had shown just that. Of course the human had had to fight a major headache after the last session, but Barricade had been pleased to notice that Blaster seemed to be off balance, too.

Blue optics had met red ones over the sleeping form of the human, held safely in sharp-tipped claws that could so easily hurt him, and Blaster had nodded his respect and his understanding. Barricade hadn’t said anything, not even through a comm line. Now he turned and retreated from the room, carrying the dozing technopath into the quarters Sam Witwicky had been assigned.

He didn’t meet anyone on the way.

Barricade placed his fragile cargo onto the bed and was surprised when Sam blinked his eyes open.

“Sleep,” he told the technopath gruffly.

“Not tired. Just headachy.”

He knew that. The flailing mind anchoring to him was proof enough. He allowed it, tolerated it. It was why he was here. He wasn’t Bumblebee. The Autobot guardian would probably have interrupted the last session; it had been quite intense. Barricade had simply watched.

And he had been proud.

Sam sat up and leaned back against the wall, rubbing his temples. He reached for a powerbar and tore off the wrapper. While he preferred chocolate, anything high in energy helped ease the strain on his system.

“Blaster is… different. This was scary and weird on one side, but also quite interesting.”

Barricade’s optics turned a deeper red. “Explain,” he ordered.

“Blaster’s mind is… like many minds sharing the same processor. He’s so wide-spread, hooked up into every imaginable frequency, into wifi, into short-wave and long-distance, ultra-high, ultra-low, into human tech, hybrid and pure Cybertronian, and it’s not confusing him. It is him, Barricade. He is here and he’s connected to the Ark, to the satellites, to his symbiotes, to whatever he can. He’s kind of an addict in that regard.” Sam grinned a little. “And when his symbiotes interact, it’s like the same frequency is used by all their minds. It makes no sense, but to them it’s normal. The thoughts are so fast. The words not really words…”

Barricade was silent, only listening. He watched the human he had been assigned to guard and protect, the one he protected voluntarily, noticed every shift in his body, every change in his features. Sam was tired, but not sleepy. He was fatigued and drained, but less than when they had started out so many years ago.

Yes, he was proud.

Brown eyes suddenly looked up and a smile crossed the pale lips.

Understanding. He had felt and heard and experienced that pride.

Barricade glowered, but it didn’t have the wished-for effect.

::Thank you:: the technopath projected, showing Barricade just how much he was still able to coordinate his abilities. ::Your work::

Yes. His work. His pride.

Barricade let a smile show. A frightening smile, one filled with dark humor. Still the human didn’t recoil.

Because there was too much left of the intense connection they had had that one time. Sam was to this day the only other person to ever to know the shock-trooper’s spark like this. The imprint of the human’s mind was still inside Barricade’s, too.

He almost laughed at that.

“Rest,” he now rumbled.

Knowing Sam he would want to spend the time he was on the Ark going over the space-bridge parts, too, which would lead him into temptation as well. Barricade had to confess he was interested in what Perceptor and the Constructicons had found out about the ancient technology, too.

Sam tilted his head a little, apparently catching the fleeting thought, and Barricade fought the impulse to slam a wall down on the connection, severe the anchor. He didn’t.

The pride extended to the fact that he was an anchor to this special human, too.

Without a word he turned and left the room, catching a fleeting brush of thankfulness, then the technopathic mind went into rest mode. He watched it as he put physical distance between them.

The pride was still there. He smiled to himself. Jazz called it his ‘good side’, the Autobot in him. Barricade just called it reason. He had survived among the Autobots because he had helped Sam; that was the only reason.

Nothing else.

A small voice that sounded a lot like Jazz begged to differ, teasing him about it mercilessly. He ignored it.

Barricade stopped at the end of the corridor, looking back at the closed door to Witwicky’s private quarters. Coming to a decision he transformed and settled into his guarding duties.
He felt the technopath’s mind curl closer once more and he tolerated it. For a moment he was tempted to grumble something, then simply let things be. Sam was… snuggling. It was probably the best word for it, and it should happen with his partner, not a back-up guardian, but since Bumblebee wasn’t here, Barricade decided to stand in. He wondered how embarrassed the human would be in the morning.


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When Perceptor came by two hours later he was startled to see the Saleen. Blue optics widened a little and the scientist stopped, unsure.

“He’s sleeping,” Barricade snarled.

“I did not plan on disturbing Dr. Witwicky,” Perceptor replied, voice reflecting annoyance.

Barricade snorted.

The scientist hesitated one more second, then quickly headed to the lab at the other end of the intersecting corridor, his actual destination.

Having the former Decepticon aboard had been no problem so far and he had ignored him, but the fact that Barricade guarded Sam so fiercely had come as a surprise. Perceptor had been told about the latest training session with Blaster by the communicator himself. Blaster had been truly surprised at how strong Sam really was and he had talked about it with Perceptor, who had yet to understand the workings of an organic mind, let alone mutations of the normal human brain.

Sam was unique.

Letting the lab doors close after him, Perceptor pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on his work again.



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Sam had been less embarrassed than he would have ten years ago when he woke to the very close presence of Barricade in his mind. He simply disengaged himself from his anchor and got up. Barricade said nothing, but he was also very much awake. Sam took a brief shower, shaved, dressed, and met the shock-trooper outside his quarters. Red optics scanned over him, then Barricade followed him like some dark bodyguard.

“I’m not having an exercise session with Blaster,” the technopath commented. “I just want to go over the space bridge stuff with Perceptor. Nothing bad.”

“I won’t bite,” Barricade replied, grinning.

“Perceptor won’t believe it.”

“Good.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. ::Bad boy image?::

::Autobot::

He chuckled.

The door to the main hangar opened as he arrived and they stepped inside. The hangar was huge and filled to the ceiling with what looked like space junk. Those were actually remains of the space bridge Soundwave had constructed, the space bridge that had brought Cybertron to the solar system of Earth. There were tiny fragments, larger shards, and metal pieces the size of a very large house. The really big parts had been secured outside the Ark, to be examined at a later point.

Perceptor was already in the hangar; or still, depending on interpretation. Hook was off to one side, bent over what looked like a scorched piece of crystal that had been fused to metal. He was ignoring the two newcomers. Perceptor looked up, then went back to work once more.

Barricade remained at the door, watching his charge as Sam immersed himself in the engineering side of his stay on the Ark. He caught a whiff of what the technopath was excited about once or twice, which told him Sam was still not completely disconnected from him, but he didn’t mention it. Like last night he let things be as they were, watching silently, not interfering.

In a way it was flattering, as well as interesting to watch the hybrid mind at work, get an idea how Sam’s brain went about identifying and categorizing the technology. Barricade was a watcher, an observer, and he guarded; Sam’s protection on so many levels.


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When it happened for the first time, Sam didn’t even realize it. He was hip deep in reviewing space bridge matters and working with Perceptor or the Constructicons had become normal. Hook, Mixmaster and Scavenger had joined them on the Ark, going over what Perceptor had already filed for reviews, discussing program scraps and mechanical issues with the Autobot scientist and their human technopath. Sam loved working with the space bridge remains, listening to theories, pitching in his own, and staying up till he was ready to drop dead while going over a particularly interesting or complicated piece.

For the past two weeks he had either spent time with Blaster to train or with the research team to learn more about the ancient technology. Barricade was always there, keeping watch, but he never so much as reminded Sam to get enough sleep. He wasn’t Sam’s baby-sitter, the shock-trooper had once remarked. If the human wanted to run himself into the ground, so be it.

Sam was glad for the respect he got, for being treated like a grown-up. Just like he liked the way of Constructicon thinking and was astounded by their skills. He sometimes felt like an idiot among geniuses. His grasp of engineering and mechanics was unique due to his technopathy. No other human had this understanding of Cybertronian technology, especially at this rate. But the five mechs were a class of their own.

The Constructicons had been surprised at Sam’s ease when it came to their projects at Yuma and Sam had soon been requested as the resident engineer. Of course he had accepted. It was a challenge and he loved challenges. On top of that he knew the five mechs better than most. Arctic could work fine without him and the maintenance of the two Ghosts was easy. He wasn’t required for that.

While looking at the power cells Soundwave had used to get the space-bridge enough energon to function, Sam absent-mindedly listened in on the bickering going on between Mixmaster and Hook over the chemical solution the bigger Constructicon had come up with to use as the hull’s anti-corrosive. It was a bland gray, but it effectively protected the aging Ark against whatever space threw at it, meteors and asteroids excepted.

Grinning a little to himself, Sam had to give it to Mixmaster. He had some very sound arguments. Hook was mostly pissed-off because Mixmaster kept taunting him with what else he could mix into the gray to make it more of an eye-catcher. Hook was snapping back that the Ark was supposed to be protected, not colorful and bright and painted like a target.

Scavenger walked in on them, looking a little annoyed. He snapped an order and both parties involved shuffled back to their respective work.

“Do they always fight over petty stuff like that?” Sam asked when matters had calmed down.
Of course the Contructicons argued amongst themselves, over designs and mechanical stuff and Mixmaster’s penchant to come up with strange concoctions that could either stink up the place or turn the walls from gray and other mundane colors into something very… vivid.

Scavenger’s optics flared a little. “You got that, hm?”

“Hard to miss.”

And they were using some very personal insults. It was a small miracle that they hadn’t started shooting each other.

“Hook is easily peeved,” the Constructicon told him. “Before he became one of the team he only worked solo. He needed help on many projects and I finally convinced him to join us, but he never liked team work much. Of course he loves the fighting, too.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I can hear that.”

And incorporating someone as independent and stubborn as Hook into a combiner must have been a nightmare for everyone. He knew how much the five survivors had suffered from the forced cooperation under the name Devastator, but he had never caught on to the finer nuances.

“I guess it’s a matter of getting used to it.”

Scavenger shrugged. “Ignore them. Or ignore Hook.”

It was sound advice, but ignoring over twenty feet of mechanoid was hard. Especially since Sam was working on some of Hook’s projects with him.


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The second time it happened and Sam caught an inkling of what had occurred was when Hook was talking to Scavenger about trying out what they had learned of space bridge technology on a small scale. He heard his name and automatically listened in, then frowned.

“I didn’t say it could not work, I only said it would be too dangerous to try out something we don’t really understand yet. Even Soundwave didn’t understand the technology completely, and he’s one of the most logical of mechs, and look what happened,” he spoke up.

Silence.

Sam looked at the two Constructicons. “What?”

“What made you say that?”

“You were talking about the space bridge. Well, Hook was saying he wants to test what we’ve got so far,” Sam answered, slightly confused. “And we had that argument before, including Perceptor. It’s too soon to even run it on a tiny lab scale. It could blow up around us.”

“You understood us?”

“You weren’t exactly whispering.”

“Are you logged on to us?” Scavenger wanted to know.

Sam shook his head. “No. I never spy.” He felt himself bristle a little at the unspoken implication.

First of all, it was mind-numbing and later also painful to always listen to what was going on around him technopathically. He never logged onto anyone if he could help it. It was a breach of privacy and trust. It was also draining to his abilities, had him fall into what others had called a ‘zone out’. It would end with a migraine if he was lucky.

“We trust you, Sam,” Scavenger calmed him. “We only wanted to make sure.”

“Make sure of what?”

“That this isn’t technopathy at work.”

“What are you talking about?!” he demanded.

“We didn’t talk in English, Sam,” Hook told him, sounding a bit mystified.

“Huh?”

“We were talking in Cybertronian,” Scavenger added. “Actually, it’s not even the language of the Autobots. You could compare it to a different dialect that few actually speak today. I know of only us five, maybe Ratchet or Prime.”

Sam stared. No way! No frigging way! He could read and write the language, but he had yet to even pronounce one word correctly and understanding it was even worse. The squeals and whirrs and warbling sounded like an old modem or a bad radio station. He would catch an idea of what was being said by logging onto the mind of one mech, but he never did. It was invasive and he would only link if he was allowed to. Exceptions were Bumblebee and Barricade when he needed them as anchors; in Bee’s case in a special way, too.

“I… no way!”

“You did.”

“That’s impossible!”

Scavenger grinned all of a sudden. “You’re doing it right now.”

Sam blinked. He wasn’t aware of a difference between their words from English to anything else. Either they were pulling his leg or his head had switched on an instant translator he hadn’t had before. While Scavenger had a sense of humor, as did the others to a degree -- though Hook showed his very, very rarely and usually just bitched about others not working seriously – they wouldn’t pull this on him. Really, no…

“But I answer in English?” he tried.

“Very much so. I doubt your vocal cords can master our language.”

“You’re for real? This isn’t a joke?”

Scavenger shook his head. “No joke, Sam.”

Sam had to sit down. “But… I never… how can this happen?!”

The tall Construction knelt down, scanning carefully. “Nothing about you is amiss. At least nothing my scans reveal. Your file says you learned about our language, to read it, to use our computer systems.”

“But I never understood you guys!”

“Mysterious.”

“It’s freaky!”

Hook regarded him like a very interesting specimen. “Your abilities seem to be expanding. You learned our language in written form to be able to read our files. Now your brain has adapted itself to our spoken words.”

“Just like that? Out of the blue?!”

“Today probably wasn’t the first time,” Scavenger explained. “You simply never noticed it. You listened to the words, understood, and never noticed that they were actually not in your own language.”

Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Just what I needed!”

“You have simply a new gift. It’s nothing harmful, Sam,” Scavenger tried to calm him.

“Your technopathy might even have helped in the development,” Hook added. “As has your close contact to several of our kind.”

Sam shot him a baleful look. He knew where that was aimed and while it wasn’t meant as a harmful remark, he still didn’t like implications like that. Not that anything was really implied that wasn’t true; and maybe his brain had logged on to the language in spoken form through Bumblebee. Or Barricade. Or the countless other occasions he had contacted a Cybertronian mind.

Learning experience – a whole new one.

“You weren’t hurt, it isn’t contagious, and it isn’t making you sick,” Scavenger listed. “It’s actually quite helpful for you. One day your might be able to talk to us in our language.”

Sam shot him a look of disbelief. “Human vocal cords can’t make those kinds of sounds.” Cybertronians spoke with vowel-intensive electronic noises and rumbles. Sam couldn’t imagine managing that.

The two Constructicons exchanged looks and Sam buried his head in his hands again.

“Great….”

::You do like to wallow in self-pity:: a rough, cold voice startled him.

He looked up and right into a pair of deep red optics. Barricade looked emotionlessly at him.

::Your evolution so far was a lot less painful than it could have been, human. Now you can understand us. It is to your advantage. You wanted to learn our language; now you can understand it, too::

::I didn’t want… this! At least not like this. Not…:: Sam sighed. ::Not like this:: he repeated. ::Just like I never wanted to be a technopath!::

::You are. Exist with it.::

::Easy for your to say:: Sam grumbled.

When he glanced at the others he saw Scavenger smile a little. The Constructicon was probably aware of their silent communication. Not of the words, only of the fact that it was happening.

::Fuck you:: he sent at Barricade and got a nasty grin in return.

Sam finally got up.

“Okay, new ability. Cool. Can work with that,” he stated, though it sounded kind of flat.

::Of course you can:: Barricade commented, not making room when the human approached. ::It’s what your species does. Adjust. Fight. Survive. Evolve.::

Sam glared at him. Barricade met the dark eyes calmly, then grinned. He stepped aside. Sam sighed and shook his head.

“Days like these I’d prefer Bumblebee.”

Barricade gave a rumbling laugh. “Of course.”

Sam walked past him. Barricade followed without looking at the two other mechs.


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Hook exchanged a look with Scavenger, who was smiling.

“Wouldn’t have dared to believe I’d live to the day I see a human tame a shock-trooper,” Hook remarked.

Scavenger chuckled. “Don’t let him hear it or those days will be numbered.”

Hook snorted. “I can take on one of his kind.”

“Sure.”

The architect glared at him, then turned back to his pet project.

“And the answer to whether or not you can start miniature space bridges is still no,” Scavenger added.

Hook’s answer was both in Cybertronian and rather rude. Scavenger just grinned more and decided to contact their leader. Scrapper would be interested to hear of the latest developments.


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Sam had stayed aboard the Ark for two months, up to his eyebrows in space bridge work. It was like an addiction and he learned so much by just watching Perceptor work. He also trained with Blaster, who always had some harder sessions for him to chew on, and while he sometimes walked away half-blind with a headache – and was more or less carried the rest of the way to his quarters by Barricade – he knew he was making progress. Barricade agreed and while he was like some vicious guard-dog and wouldn’t allow Blaster closer than necessary after a training session, he had never actively interfered.

“You are a very unique human,” Blaster told him in Cybertronian as they sat in what he called the observation room.

The Constructicons had created a huge, circular room with a crystalline dome that allowed a watcher to view space around the station. The material used for the dome could be darkened to pitch-black if necessary and also turned transparent to the point where one had the illusion of looking into space unprotected. Sam liked it here and he had come to the room to balance his mind after straining sessions or very hard work very often.

“But you don’t like being called that,” the communicator added after a second.

When Blaster had learned that Sam understood Cybertronian he had tried all kinds of dialects and Cybertronian sub-languages, as well as whatever else he had picked up as being spoken on his home planet in the millennia he had existed now.

Sam had no trouble with any of those languages, which was freaking the technopath out a little.

A month after the discovery Sam was still not sure how it all worked because he couldn’t tell specifically when Cybertronian was being spoken. His brain simply picked it up and interpreted it as a language that was understood.

Now he shrugged. “Not really.”

Blaster smiled, switching dialects. “Then I never said it.”

Sam smiled. He caught sight of Steeljaw and Rewind at the other side of the room, the two symbiotes watching the Moon from their vantage point. Sam was always fascinated anew by looking at Earth’s satellite so up-close and personal, and while he had been tempted to go down there – Blaster had invited to take him – he hadn’t. The other symbiotes were either with Perceptor and Hook, or they were in their respective interface pockets inside Blaster.

“Thanks again for helping me,” the technopath said seriously. “I know doing this isn’t a walk in the park and you had no idea what you were getting into.”

“I talked to Optimus and some of the others, got the files on you,” Blaster replied in once again a different dialect. “I knew. I also understood why you wanted to try this.” He grinned. “And I’d never harm you, Sam. I’m not suicidal enough.”

“Barricade’s not like that,” Sam immediately protested.

“Maybe. Bumblebee on the other hand…”

Sam groaned.

The comm expert laughed, optics aglow. “Bonds can make a mech go crazy,” he teased, switching to English.

The human almost blushed, shooting the much taller mech a dirty look. Blaster grinned relentlessly.

“You’re well-protected, Sam. And you’re very powerful on your own. You might not know how to handle a symbiote net mind, but you will. We’ll help you should you want to refresh your abilities.”

Steeljaw had slunk over and nodded his agreement. “Young but potential,” he only remarked.

To anyone else’s ear it sounded like clicks and warbles and maybe a grating chirp, but Sam didn’t hear it that way. It was a language.

“Thanks, guys,” Sam answered, warmed by their offer. “I’ll probably take you up on that.”

“And Perceptor really enjoyed your insights, even if he never said so,” Blaster added, blue optics sparkling. “He never believed Hook and the others that you’re such a genius when it comes to tech, but you proved yourself to him… Dr. Witwicky.”

Sam rolled his eyes. For some obscure reason Perceptor called him by his title, despite countless times of telling him not to. Blaster found it endlessly hilarious.

“Space bridge tech is kinda… intense. And interesting. And weird. Sometimes I get a familiar feeling when looking at the stuff, but whenever I try to follow a hunch, it’s gone.”

Blaster watched him, expression serious once more. “You have untapped potential. Your mind is evolving.”

Sam stared at him. “What?”

“You always discover new abilities, Sam. You are evolving. Like the ability to understand so many dialects of our home.”

“How many are there?” Sam asked carefully.

“Taking into account every single one ever heard or recorded, three hundred twenty six.”

Sam gaped. “And I understand them all?!”

“Well, you understand the ninety-five I already tried,” Blaster replied with a grin. “And the codex language my symbiotes use, which varies.”

Sam blinked, shook his head, then almost laughed. “Evolution, hm?”

Blaster smiled. “Yeah. I don’t know humans, but I know your file. Like Will Lennox you are still growing into what you really are. It seems you are a cipher. You decode what you see with your mind.”

Sam shivered, reminded of so many unexplainable changes and events.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Blaster added.

“Yeah, maybe. But if you’re me, there comes a day you want it to stop.”

The communicator grinned. “Understandable.”

Sam leaned back and looked through the crystalline roof again. It was calming to watch the nothingness that was space. It helped focus his thoughts, as well as disperse the lingering darkness thinking about his so-called evolution sometimes evoked.

At the edge of those thoughts he felt the connection to Barricade, his constant watcher and guardian for the past two months. The shock-trooper wasn’t commenting, nor was he coming closer. It was like he was waiting for Sam’s move.

Sam stayed where he was, nodding once, then returned to watching space.

Cipher, hm?

It was as if he heard a voice of agreement, then nothing again but his own thoughts.

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Another week later he returned to Earth aboard the Ghost-3. Barricade was, of course, with him, though he sat in his alternate mode in the cargo bay. The Ghost landed at the Arctic base.

Barricade radiated surprise that Bumblebee wasn’t hopping anxiously from one foot to another right outside the ship when he rolled down the ramp. Sam chuckled a little.

“He’s still at Nevada.”

“Growing up, I see,” Barricade rumbled.

Sam shot him a knowing look, reminding him of the still standing connection, that he felt Barricade’s longing for Jazz’s presence, and the shock-trooper growled softly at him before walking off.

Mike Bowman, their pilot from the Ark to Earth, sauntered over. “I’m still impressed by the fact you survive these encounters every single time,” he remarked with a grin.

Sam shrugged. “He invested too much in me,” he joked.

“Yeah, probably. You got a layover of an hour, Sam. Want to grab a bite to eat?”

“Sure. In-flight service is lacking in that regard,” the technopath laughed.

Both men left for the cafeteria for a quick sandwich while Barricade parked himself in a corner, watching, scanning, guarding.

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Sam lay on his bed, feeling pleasantly sated and very, very good. His body was tingling and his mind was firing little bursts of energy through his nervous system. Something touched him and he sighed.

::Two months:: he murmured. ::You went millennia without getting some and after two months we’re at it like bunnies::

Bumblebee’s amusement washed over him. ::It always takes two, Sam. I wasn’t the one to log onto my processor and drag myself here::

He gazed up into the bright blue optics that spoke of what had happened. Technopathic bonding was insanely pleasurable for both partners involved and Bumblebee hadn’t really protested.

Sam let those thoughts trickle through. It got him a chuckle.

“You are very convincing,” the mech simply answered.

“Sure. Blame me.” He yawned and stretched.

Bumblebee regarded him with a soft expression. They had talked about what had happened aboard the Ark, what Sam had discovered. His partner had understood the technopath’s fear of the evolution he was going through. So far Sam’s changes had been more or less simple compared to what had happened to Lennox. Sure, the technopathy had been a blow, not aging had been shocking, but it was nothing compared to showing live runes on your skin or changing into a protoform, able to fire energy blasts, and have the matrix code depicted on your back. Understanding all forms of Cybertronian language was nothing at all. And it would help a lot in the future.

A little warning would have been nice, though. But as things were going all the time, there would never be any kind of warning for whatever would happen to him.

Sam smiled as he felt Bumblebee’s touch, this time solely through the link, and he relaxed into it. He had some time off, then it was back to work. Until then, he and Bumblebee had a lot of time to themselves.

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Jazz and Barricade had left the base right after Barricade’s quick debriefing by Optimus Prime. Barricade had dutifully delivered his report, informing the Autobot leader about occurrences aboard the Ark. Mainly he had told him that the human technopath was now able to understand their language. Optimus had taken it rather well, though he had been visibly surprised. Well, Barricade would leave the Autobots to deal with that on their own.

Jazz chuckled as he caught a whiff of that emotion through their bond. Both mechs were wide-open, their sparks resting comfortably next to each other. Little rivulets of energon meshed together, creating gentle waves.

Both mechs were parked in their alternate modes, side by side, Barricade pressed alongside the silver Solstice. Their small haven was an abandoned trailer park where the grass was already high enough to hide a car. Scanners peeled for unwanted interruptions they were enjoying the solitude.

Barricade hadn’t lost a lot of words about the two months aboard the defense station. Jazz didn’t pry, simply accepted what his bonded would tell him. It was the way their relationship worked, and the bond helped immensely. Sometimes emotions transmitted and that was all that was needed.

Jazz came closer through the bond and Barricade settled into a more comfortable position.

::Sam’s leaving for the Ark next month again:: Jazz remarked.

Barricade rumbled. ::His guardian is going with him this time::

::I won’t argue against you stayin’:: Jazz drawled.

It got him a little huff. ::They need to train. The Autobot is rather bad at this::

Jazz grinned. He didn’t comment; he didn’t need to. Letting their sparks rest together he enjoyed his partner’s closeness. Even now, years after Barricade’s alliance with the Autobots, they sought this closeness and made up for the millennia of separation.

::Soft-sparked fool:: Barricade murmured, but there was a deep fondness in his rough voice.

Jazz hummed, his spark-touch growing more intense. ::Yours::

And Barricade’s alone. Whatever bond she formed otherwise, especially with Sam, the spark-bond was only for them. Nothing could get close to it. He wouldn’t let it go ever again.

::Up for some time away?:: Jazz asked after a while.

::Hunting who?::

His bonded laughed softly. ::One-track mind. But yeah, kind of a hunt. Rodimus Prime reported a signal in the LA area. He and Stark are currently there, trying to pinpoint it, but it’s elusive.::

::Decepticon?::

::Autobots can be elusive, too:: came the teasing reply.

Barricade snorted. But he was interested and he was actually looking forward to a hunt.

Jazz caught his thoughts and sent amusement coupled with something very private. Barricade regarded the other spark, then briefly swirled around it before separating.



They were on the road no five minutes later, heading for LA.



fin.

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