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Bumblebee waits until he's alone on the base before playing the tape, knowing that the others would just not understand.
The image of Charlie fills the screen, slightly off-center, nowhere near as vibrant as she is in real life. Just seeing her again with his own optics is enough to make his Spark give a happy surge, even with the intermediary of a screen between them.
"Hi Bumblebee!" she says, giving a wave. "This is kind of awkward, but I figured a letter might be hard for you to read? And Memo said he knows a guy who knows a guy and could get this to you, so I had to."
It's been about six cycles of the Earth around the Sun since he's last seen her in person, and he memorizes all the changes he can see greedily. Her hair is shorter, her face a little bit altered, but her eyes are the same. Her voice is confident and cheerful as she tells him what she's been up to, peppered with questions for him that he can't answer back.
Apparently Memo works with a division of Sector 7 now, and Charlie has completed a course of higher learning that's lead to her being happily employed.
Bumblebee whirs to himself as he leans closer to the television screen, until the image breaks up into blocky pixels of colors, her voice crackling with the lower-quality tech that's common on Earth. He misses her fiercely, even more so now that he's reminded so vividly of the force of her personality, her eyes alight with excitement, hands gesturing broadly.
The space behind her is completely unfamiliar to him. It's not the garage he knew so well, or the interior of the house that he- Bumblebee winces as he recalls his blunders- all but demolished in his exploration. A stray comment brings context; she's moved away from her family into her own living quarters.
"It's actually a renovated warehouse," she says, "They kept the original bay doors, so even you could fit through no problem!"
He leans back from the screen, antennae twitching as his processor tries to imagine such a scenario. He would visit her if he could, but- he lifts his optics from the image of Charlie on the television to look around at the base, outfitted for a war they all know will reach this planet in a matter of time.
He can't risk endangering her again, he's come to realize. He hadn't quite yet grasped how easily hurt humans are when he asked he to come with him that day, but he's painfully aware of it now.
"So that's about all that's been going on with me," Charlie says, dragging his attention back to see her smiling sadly, fingers toying with the decoration hanging from her neck. "If you can, I'd love to hear back from you, but I don't expect anything, don't worry."
Bumblebee reaches out and traces her image with a careful digit, static crackling across the screen at the touch.
He lets the tape play out completely, and then plays it again, letting Charlie's familiar, dear voice wash over him. Someday, he vows, he's going to see her again. He's going to keep her planet safe for her, and for the children she may very well have some day, and he's going to see with his own optics her new residence, and hear her voice unadulterated by low-quality recording devices, and feel her soft, warm hands on his metal again.
In the meantime he starts composing a response for her, something Optimus won't see any security breaches in letting him transmit. He won't tell her any details, won't give the Decepticons any reason to investigate her- he'll just let her know that he, too, is safe, and that he hasn't stopped thinking about her, either.