After Atlantis, Part 17

[anon_decepticon]

Title: After Atlantis, Part 17
Author: anon_decepticon
Rating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Wheeljack, Trailbreaker, Ratchet, Sparkplug, Spike, Carly, Hound and Mirage, mentions of virtually everyone else.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers. Part 1 references scenes from the G1 Season 2 episode “Atlantis, Arise!” Part 4 references scenes from the next episode, “Day of the Machines.” Parts 5 and 6 reference scenes and quote some dialogue from ”Enter the Nightbird.” Part 9 references scenes from “Dinobot Island, Parts 1 & 2”. Part 11 references scenes from “The Master Builder” and “Auto Berserk.” Part 12 references scenes from “Microbots,” (as does Part 13, briefly) and gives minor nods to “Heavy Metal War” and “Prime Target.” Part 14 references scenes from the two-part episode “Megatron’s Master Plan,” and gives a teeny nod to “The Ultimate Doom.” Parts 16 and 17 reference scenes and quote dialogue from the two-part G1 cartoon episode “Desertion of the Dinobots.” These portions of the fic are not mine.
Warning(s): PTSD and parental angst, references to rape, references to sex.
Summary: Raped by Starscream, Wheeljack struggles to cope.
Author's Note: If you've gotten this far, you already know the backstory. Original Kink Meme prompt. Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16. Also available on FFN. Yay, new chapter! I know a lot of people have been waiting for this one. Only a tiny hint of smut, but plenty of angst and awkwardness to go around! My beta/sounding board/brainstorm buddy kookaburra1701 informs me that she’ll be largely unavailable for the next two weeks, so I anticipate a slightly longer wait for the next installment, but hopefully nowhere near as long as the last one. Since it will revolve around a double date between two of our favorite couples, I expect it’ll be a lot of fun. Thanks as always for your supportive comments! I’m regrettably behind on my responses to questions on my personal canon meme post, but it’s still open for business.




The battle, if it could even be called that, had been an unmitigated disaster.

Once more back in the repair bay, this time occupying a repair berth instead of attending one, Wheeljack tried to figure out what had gone wrong. They’d made it to the power plant readily enough, catching the Decepticons in the midst of an energon raid.

The first sign of trouble had been Jazz – he’d been unable to transform. The next thing they knew, they were all malfunctioning; weapons backfiring, familiar systems failing to respond.

The unexpected development might have been devastating, had the Decepticons been in a position to take advantage of their vulnerability. Fortunately, whatever glitch was afflicting the Autobots had also affected the ‘Cons, rendering them equally ineffective.

Ultimately both sides had retreated, limping back to their respective bases in disarray, all but crippled by the persistent, pervasive malfunctions that plagued them. Wheeljack had personally lost all motor control in his lower extremities, staggered by pain so intense it brought him to his knees – and it hadn’t been because of Starscream. They’d all been affected, and there’d been no warning –

Or had there been?

Wheeljack abruptly recalled the minor twinges he’d felt earlier that morning, suddenly seeing them in a new and troubling light. Had the others experienced similar problems? A quick check of the maintenance request log confirmed his suspicions – nearly every ‘Bot on the Ark had put in a request for an appointment at some point over the course of the day. Normally such an alarming development would have immediately gained the attention of the resident repair ‘Bots – but they’d been so preoccupied by the Dinobots’ injuries, they’d failed to notice the atypical upsurge.

He commed Optimus, informing him of his discovery, and Prime in turn contacted Perceptor, putting the scientist to work on discovering the source of the problem. The majority of the Autobots were gathered in the repair bay, some barely able to move, others trapped in their alt modes or stuck halfway in-between. To all appearances, the situation was getting steadily worse.

Sparkplug proved his worth as an ally a hundred times over that day; unaffected as he was, the human moved rapidly from one repair ‘Bot to the next, endeavoring to bring them back to a state of relative functionality that would allow them to help the others. He’d done Hoist first, at Ratchet’s insistence, and now both of them were working on Wheeljack.

With all that was going on, Wheeljack had all but forgotten his own personal troubles – until Sparkplug opened up his chestplate, intent on repairing him.

Suddenly the situation seemed all too familiar. He was immobilized, his spark chamber exposed – vulnerable. Cold fear seized him in an icy grip, sensor echoes whispering through his CPU. Only the knowledge that Sparkplug was human, and therefore incapable of uplinking with him even if he’d wanted to, kept the fear from spiraling into full-blown panic. Tension sang through his frame, painfully tightening his servos.

Sparkplug didn’t seem to notice, but Hoist was studying him intently, concern evident in his optics. Wheeljack could only hope it was his physical injuries that had captured Hoist’s attention.

“I wish I could help you,” he told Sparkplug, hoping to divert Hoist and stave off any inconvenient questions the medic might feel compelled to ask him. Primus willing, Hoist would conclude that Wheeljack’s anxiety was merely a response to their current situation.

“Shut up and save your energy, Wheeljack,” Sparkplug chided teasingly, “or I’ll have to turn off your power supply.”

He might have argued, but Perceptor interrupted before he could speak, announcing that he’d discovered the cause of their difficulties: cybertonium.

In hindsight, it seemed painfully obvious. Cybertonium was a vital component in every Cybertronian’s physiology, an element crucial to their continued function, yet so ubiquitous few ever gave it much thought. But that was on Cybertron. Here on Earth, cybertonium wasn’t nearly so abundant – in fact, it didn’t exist at all.

Perceptor had deduced that they were all suffering from critical cybertonium depletion. After more than four million years on Earth, it was little wonder they’d finally exhausted their reserves. Failure to replenish them would inevitably lead to a slow and painful deactivation as their vital systems crashed one by one – but short of returning to Cybertron, there was no way for them to restore themselves.

It was an agonizing revelation.

Back on their home planet, the cybertonium they needed would be exceedingly simple to acquire – Wheeljack had some stashed in his old lab, even – but as Bumblebee was quick to point out, the only way to get it – apart from a lengthy journey through deep space that none of them would survive even if they’d had access to a space cruiser in the first place – was via the Decepticon space bridge.

They’d “borrowed” the space bridge before, but their condition at the time had been far more favorable. The prospect of fighting their way to it in their current operational status, even against similarly depleted ‘Cons, was daunting to say the least.

But their problems didn’t end there. Trailbreaker – suffering as much as the rest of them, but still striving doggedly to cover for Wheeljack on the monitors – had sent Spike and Carly to the repair bay to inform them of a Decepticon transmission Teletraan-1 had just intercepted.

Megatron had ordered Shockwave to send a shipment of cybertonium over the space bridge.

The news was met with mixed feelings. The cybertonium they needed, previously thought unreachable, was now effectively coming to them. To be more accurate, it was coming to the ‘Cons, who would undoubtedly use it to repair themselves and then sweep in to crush their weakened foes.

They needed to get to the cybertonium first, but how? Most of the Autobots were so depleted they could barely move, and the few that could were in no condition to fight. The situation seemed dire. Wheeljack wracked his processor for a solution – there had to be some way for them to get the cybertonium for themselves –!

“So, uh…how are things with you and Ratchet?” Sparkplug asked suddenly, attempting to sound casual and failing miserably. Under normal circumstances, Wheeljack would have laughed at his friend’s discomfited expression. He’d never seen Sparkplug look so hilariously uncomfortable.

“Okay, I guess,” he replied. He and Ratchet hadn’t truly resolved their differences, not formally, but working on the Dinobots together had cleared the air between them. Things were better.

“That’s good,” Sparkplug said with an awkward little cough. “Glad to hear it.”

Unsure how to respond to that, Wheeljack made no reply. An uncomfortable silence ensued.

“Have you two, uh…been together long?” Sparkplug asked, avoiding his gaze.

He had to laugh; Sparkplug’s expression was priceless. “It’s not like that,” he said.

“It isn’t?” Sparkplug asked, looking comically relieved. “So you two aren’t –?”

He shook his helm. “No,” he said, “not really.”

Sparkplug’s shoulders slumped, “Thank God,” he said emphatically, but was quick to add, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that – it’s just, suddenly you and Ratchet creating the Dinobots together took on a whole new meaning.”

He nodded, “I understand.”

“I just wasn’t prepared to start thinking of you guys as, you know, having relationships like that,” Sparkplug explained, rubbing his forehead abashedly. “I mean, you’re robots. But of course that’s completely crazy,” he said, laughing. “Robots having relationships.”

He hesitated, but only for a moment. It seemed wrong to mislead his friend. “We do, Sparkplug,” he said.

Sparkplug stared at him, his eyes wide, his mouth agape.

“It’s, uh…probably a little different from what you’re used to,” he said, “and Ratchet and I aren’t – we’re not exactly the best example, but…we do.”

“So, uh…Grapple and Hoist? Red Alert and Inferno…?”

He nodded. “Hound and Mirage,” he confirmed, “Tracks and Blaster and Jazz.”

Sparkplug’s eyebrows crept up towards his hairline. “Tracks and Blaster and Jazz?” he squeaked.

“Yeah,” he said, “They’re not exclusive, but…yeah, mostly.”

“But you and Ratchet, you’re not –?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Ratchet and I are – we're – it’s complicated,” he said.

This time Sparkplug didn’t laugh at his choice of words. “How so?”

He hesitated, uncertain how much of the situation to reveal. It wasn’t entirely his secret to tell.

“C’mon, Wheeljack,” Sparkplug said encouragingly, “talk to me. I won’t tell anyone. What’s going on?”

“I think Ratchet wants to,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I…”

“You don’t?” Sparkplug asked.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “We’ve been friends a long time.”

“You’re afraid that’ll change,” Sparkplug said with a look of startled revelation. “That if you take things to the next level and get involved, it’ll screw up what you have.”

That didn’t really jibe with Wheeljack’s personal experience – most friendships included casual interfaces as a matter of course – and it didn’t begin to cover the full scope of his current situation, but he did suspect Ratchet wanted more than the typical casual encounter between friends. In that respect, Sparkplug’s assessment was valid. “I guess so, yeah.”

“My God,” Sparkplug said, shaking his head, “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what?” he said, puzzled by his tone.

“We’re more alike than I thought,” Sparkplug explained. “I guess some things really are universal.” He laughed suddenly. “No wonder you guys like soap operas so much!”

He had to laugh at that too; the mental image of Cybertronians behaving like the humans in those Earth programs was pretty amusing. Then again, maybe Sparkplug was right. Many of the ‘Bots who were the biggest fans of human soap operas were also among the Ark’s most enthusiastic gossips...

He was about to share this observation when Carly came running up to them, Spike trailing behind her.

“Wheeljack,” she said briskly, “the Dinobots don’t have any cybertonium in them, do they?”

“That’s true,” he said, chagrined that he’d been so distracted by Sparkplug’s questions he hadn’t arrived at the same conclusion. Of course the Dinobots would unaffected! And of course they would save them – they had to. They wouldn’t just leave the Autobots to their fate. Angry at him or not, Wheeljack was still their creator. “They should still be operating at full strength,” he added, opening a comm link to Grimlock.

No response. Nothing.

He tried each of the Dinobots in turn, but none of them, not even Swoop, answered his hails.

“They could go to the space bridge and intercept the cybertonium!” Carly was saying eagerly.

“Assuming they’re willing to help us,” he said dejectedly. “They’re ignoring my comms.”

Sparkplug glanced at him, frowning thoughtfully. “It’s still a good idea,” he said, jumping down from the makeshift perch he’d used while working on Wheeljack – one of many he and Ratchet had installed alongside each repair berth for the human’s convenience – and making his way over to Teletraan-1. “No, it’s a great idea – if they’ll cooperate.”

The Autobots’ supercomputer swiftly located the errant Dinobots; it turned out they were only a short distance from the Ark. Lacking speedy alt modes, they hadn’t gotten far. The question of how to get the humans to them was answered by Carly, who volunteered her car, tossing the keys to Sparkplug in acknowledgement of his idea.

“Maybe they’ll listen to you,” Wheeljack said weakly. “Maybe they’re only torqued off at me.”

“You didn’t do anything, Wheeljack,” Sparkplug said. “They’re just being stubborn. Like Earth teenagers,” he added with a teasing glance at his son. Spike rolled his eyes mockingly in response.

“Flatter them,” Wheeljack advised, his vocalizer strained and husky from cybertonium depletion, his vocal indicators flashing fitfully. “Grimlock especially. When you talk to them, make sure you either address all of them, or Grimlock directly. If you acknowledge one of the others first, he’ll take offense. He’s their leader; he makes the decisions. He’s the one you’ll need to convince.”

“Got it,” Sparkplug said, “We’d better get going.”

He watched them depart dispiritedly. If the Dinobots refused to help…

Consumed by despair and desperately craving reassurance, he opened a comm link. He did it instinctively, out of sheer habit – by the time he realized what he’d done, he was already transmitting, *Ratch?*

There was a startled pause, just long enough to make Wheeljack cringe inwardly, recalling too late that things were still strained between him and Ratchet, and that initiating a friendly com-chat might not have been the best idea.

*Yeah?* Ratchet responded in a guarded tone.

*It’s me,* he said unnecessarily, finding himself suddenly at a loss for words.

*I know it’s you,* Ratchet replied, not in the sharp don’t-be-an-idiot way Wheeljack half expected, but in a tone that sounded almost affectionate, *Is everything all right?* he asked, *Are you in pain?*

*A little,* he said, because he was, *but that’s not – do you think they’ll help us?* he asked.

Ratchet immediately grasped who “they” were. *Of course they will,* he said, sounding far more confident than Wheeljack felt. *They may be stubborn slagheads who couldn’t find their afts in the dark with both hands, but they’re still Autobots.*

*They’re not answering my comms,* he said, wincing at how hurt he sounded.

There was another pause, slightly longer this time. *Mine either,* Ratchet said finally.

*It’s my fault, Ratch,* he said. *I made them go.*

*Optimus gave the order, ‘Jack, not you,* Ratchet sighed.

*They don’t blame Optimus,* he replied despondently, *They blame me. Grimlock –*

*– is scared,* Ratchet broke in, *scared and angry about being scared. He’s not used to feeling like that. None of them are.*

He shook his helm in denial, agonized. *They were angry with me before they got hurt,* he argued. *I practically had to beg them to go, and then they got hurt – on the mission I sent them on!*

*‘Jack – * Ratchet began, his tone caught somewhere between aggrieved and placating.

*It’s my fault,* he insisted, *I let them down!*

*I know it feels that way,* Ratchet replied, *Pit, right now they might even agree with you. But if they do, they’ll get over it. It’s not your fault, ‘Jack. They’re not sparklings, and in case you’ve forgotten, we’re involved in a war here. They’re going to get damaged – eventually we all do. You can’t always be there to protect them. You’re not Primus. You’re just a mech.*

*I should have spent more time with them,* he said brokenly. *I should have found a way to go along –*

*If you had, you’d have gotten blown up right along with them,* Ratchet retorted curtly. *The only difference is you’re used to it. They’re not.*

Wheeljack was stunned. *How can you –?*

*Blaming yourself won’t help them,* Ratchet said, cutting him off. *It happened, and I wish it hadn’t, but neither one of us can change that, ‘Jack. We can be there for them, help them get through it, but unless you plan on inventing a time machine next, we can’t make it unhappen.*

He didn’t respond. He knew Ratchet was right, but it didn’t make it hurt any less, or take the sting out of the guilt gnawing at his spark.

*I know it hurts,* Ratchet added in a gentler tone, *Believe me, I know exactly how much it hurts. But you can’t let it consume you. Do you think Optimus doesn’t care when one of us gets hurt? Or that I don’t?*

*I know you care, Ratch,* he said. But I’m not like you, he thought. I’m not strong like that. I’m just… not. He vented a sigh. *I just don’t want them to hate me.*

*They don’t hate you,* Ratchet assured him, *They'll forgive you, 'Jack. Eventually. Give them some time to sort out what they’re feeling. They’ll come around.*

*What if they don't?* he asked morosely. *Assuming they help us now, assuming we all survive this – what if they never do?*

*They will,* Ratchet insisted. *Don’t you get it, Wheeljack? They blame you because you're safe to blame. They can push you away, because a part of them knows you'll still care about them even if they do. That you'll always be there for them when they need you.*

He nodded slowly, forgetting that Ratchet couldn’t see his silent agreement over the comm link. Ratchet had been there for him like that, was offering his reassurance even now, after all the terrible things Wheeljack had said to him.

*I’m sorry, Ratch,* he commed contritely, *I was awful to you.*

*It’s all right,* Ratchet replied. His tone was light and dismissive, suggestive of a smile, but beneath that Wheeljack could detect the faintest hint of relief. *I know you didn’t mean it.*

Ratchet’s acceptance of his apology eased some of the tension from his servos, made him vent a sigh of relief himself. It hadn’t felt right, being at odds with Ratchet. It was only now with the balance restored that Wheeljack realized just how much their estrangement had been weighing on him.

*I did kind of mean it,* he confessed. *I was pretty mad at you.*

*You had a right to be,* Ratchet said. *I shouldn’t have jumped you like that. That was…the wrong thing to do.*

*But you wanted to, right?* he asked quietly. *It’s what you wanted to do.*

*Doesn’t make it right,* Ratchet grumbled. *It was supposed to be about you, not me.*

*I didn’t mind,* he said. *The first part, I mean, before you – *

*Yeah,* Ratchet agreed, *if I had stopped there, it probably would have been okay.*

*Why didn’t you?* he asked, realizing even as he said it that that very question had been plaguing him for days. *First you turn me down flat, then you try to uplink with me –*

Ratchet vented a gusty sigh, one loud enough to carry over the comm. *I thought you wanted me to,* he said wearily. *I thought that’s what you were trying to tell me, what you’d been trying to say all along. But it wasn’t. It was what I wanted you to say.*

*Oh,* was all he could think of to reply.

*I screwed up,* Ratchet said, his tone thick with regret. *I was so caught up in what I wanted, I forgot about you. So I don’t blame you for freaking out, or getting angry at me. I blew it.*

*It wasn’t that bad,* he said, which earned him a derisive noise in response. *Okay, it kinda was – my processor practically locked up – but…* he cycled his intakes and continued, *I don’t think it would have, if you’d just…why didn’t you tell me, Ratch? If that was how you felt –*

*I don’t know,* Ratchet replied resignedly. *At first, it was just a passing attraction. I didn’t act on it because we were working together, and that always complicates things – but then I got to know you, realized –*

*But you never said anything,* he protested. *You never asked me if I wanted to ‘face with you; you never acted like you were even interested!*

*I guess I was afraid you’d say no,* Ratchet replied wryly, *so I figured I’d let you come to me, that if you wanted to, you’d tell me.*

Wheeljack was silent, absorbing his longtime friend’s unexpected confession. He’d had no idea. In all the time he'd known him, Ratchet had never seemed to lack an abundance of willing and eager partners, had never hesitated to pursue a mech he desired with unabashed enthusiasm. Wheeljack had therefore assumed the reason Ratchet never approached him was because he simply didn’t want to.

*...that was what I thought, too,* he said quietly, almost to himself.

*‘Jack,* Ratchet said, soft and startled, *are you saying –?*

“We did it!” Carly announced jubilantly, running into the room. The human woman’s face was flushed, her eyes bright with triumph. “The Dinobots are on their way to the space bridge to get the cybertonium!”

Wheeljack looked up at the unexpected interruption, just in time to see Spike and Sparkplug entering the room at a more moderate pace. His audials caught Sparkplug’s wry comment, “I hope you’ve got the energy to keep up with her, son,” as they approached the berth.

The humans had been gone for approximately a joor. Their return and the news of their success was met with much celebration by the ailing Autobots. The cybertonium they needed was on its way; all they had to do now was await the Dinobots’ return.

But after a few breems, they were forced to acknowledge that something had gone wrong. The Dinobots should have been back by now. In the time it had taken the humans to return to the Ark, Grimlock and the others should have reached the space bridge and had their mission well underway.

Wheeljack began to worry. What was keeping the Dinobots? Why hadn’t they commed? Were they in trouble? Had they been hurt again? Or worse –

Sparkplug seemed concerned as well. He activated Teletraan-1, hailing Grimlock.

The reason for the delay was promptly revealed. The Dinobots hadn’t just gone to the space bridge – somehow they’d managed to activate it, and had been transported back to Cybertron! Worse yet, when Grimlock finally deigned to answer their comms, the Dinobot leader announced they had no intention of returning.

Wheeljack’s spark sank. His creations had abandoned them. Abandoned him.

“How do you like that?” Spike said, “They’re going to stay on Cybertron!”

“Then we’ve got no choice,” Carly replied, “We’ve got to go to Cybertron and get more cybertonium.”

Wheeljack was startled; he’d known Carly was brave, but he’d never expected her to volunteer for such a dangerous mission – surely the idea of going to an alien planet, risking life and limb, would be a daunting notion for the young woman – yet there wasn’t the slightest hint of hesitation in her demeanor. Once again, he found himself impressed by her seemingly boundless courage.

Spike and Sparkplug seemed equally surprised; Spike was quick to point out that Optimus Prime would never allow it. Carly just as quickly retorted that Prime was hardly in any condition to stop them.

They were right on both counts.

Sparkplug appeared similarly troubled by the idea, pointing out several flaws in Carly’s plan. How would they get past the Decepticons to utilize the space bridge? Even as weakened as they were, it was unlikely the ‘Cons would have left it unguarded. Assuming they managed that, how could they be sure they’d be able to get any cybertonium once they reached Cybertron? They didn’t have time to go searching the entire planet for it.

Wheeljack was able to answer the last question, volunteering that he had a small supply of cybertonium stored in his old lab. If Spike and Carly had been Cybertronian, he would have downloaded the route directly to their navigation arrays, but since they were human, he had to rely on verbal instructions.

This brought up a new question – what if they got lost? The Autobots hadn’t been to Cybertron in a very long time. Changes might have been made, landmarks altered that would render his directions useless. Feeling somewhat reluctant for their sakes, but aware that this was their only remaining option, Wheeljack provided the directions with as much detail as he could muster, praying it would be enough.

Sparkplug opted to remain behind, to continue his repairs on the Autobots in the hope that if the Decepticons attacked before Spike and Carly returned, at least one or two of them might be functional enough to defend the rest. The two young humans headed back outside to where Carly’s car was waiting.

Sparkplug sighed as he picked up his wrench, his forehead creased with worry. Almost too late, Wheeljack recalled his latest invention and called the human over.

“It’s a two-way communicator,” he explained as he produced it from subspace, briefly demonstrating how it worked. “I made it so you’d be able to contact us even without Teletraan-1. But if you give it to Spike, you’ll be able to stay in touch with him, even on Cybertron.”

“Will we be able to guide them with this?” Sparkplug asked, immediately grasping the mini-comm’s value.

“Should be,” he replied with a nod, “Teletraan-1 can help. I built it for you, but I’d feel a lot better if they had it right now.”

“So would I,” Sparkplug said. “Thanks, Wheeljack! I’d better go catch them before they leave.”

Wheeljack relaxed back onto the berth as the Sparkplug hurried out, feeling relieved. At least he’d done one thing right today, helped in some way to improve their circumstances rather than making them worse. It felt good to know his human friend would still be able to communicate with his son, both for Sparkplug’s peace of mind, and for the increased odds of success it granted Carly and Spike.

The Dinobots still weren’t answering his comms.

**

Somehow, Spike and Carly had made it.

As impossible as it seemed, they’d managed to get past both Devastator and Shockwave, and had taken shelter within the power core of the last remaining master computer on Cybertron, currently under Decepticon control.

By the time they checked in, most of the Autobots were offline. Trailbreaker had finally surrendered Wheeljack’s post in Command, barely making it to the repair bay before he collapsed. The twins were down, as were Cliffjumper and Brawn. Optimus had fallen before Spike and Carly had even left the Ark, leaving Prowl and Jazz in command. Both struggled to stay online as long as they were able, but eventually they too succumbed, slumping to the floor where they stood. Or at least Prowl did – Jazz had been seated, caught in mid-transformation with his legs still trapped in their alt mode when his systems finally gave out.

Bumblebee, concerned for the welfare of his best friend, had held out the longest, but in the end he too had crumpled, landing on top of the already-insensate Prowl in an ungainly sprawl, a fact that would surely embarrass him when he came back online.

If he ever came back online. Spike and Carly were now their only hope.

Somewhat bolstered by Sparkplug’s efforts to repair him, Wheeljack managed to stay online longer than most, but could do little but lie on the berth and offer the occasional weak reply to Sparkplug’s queries. Knowing he wouldn’t last long, Wheeljack had uploaded his navigational schematics to Teletraan-1, leaving Sparkplug to rely heavily on the Autobots’ supercomputer to guide him as he directed Spike and Carly to Wheeljack’s old lab.

**

“-ljack,” someone was saying, “Where’s the cybertonium?”

His processor seemed fuzzy and sluggish. What was happening? Where was he? Why did he hurt so much?

“Wheeljack!” the voice said again urgently, “in your lab, on Cybertron – where did you keep the cybertonium?”

Someone was shaking him. It hurt. He made a weak sound of protest. The shaking stopped.

The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t seem to place it. It was asking him something, something important. He needed to respond, to answer the question – what was the question? He tried to activate his vocalizer to ask, but all that emerged was a vague clicking noise.

That wasn’t right. He should –

**

He onlined his optics to the bright overhead lights of the repair bay, and immediately dialed down their sensitivity to the near-blinding glare. A shadow moved over him, blocking the lights, forcing him to adjust them again. As he did the figure standing over him resolved itself into the familiar red-and white form of Ratchet, gazing down at him with a fond smile on his lip components.

“Welcome back to the land of the functioning,” Ratchet said dryly.

“Ratch,” he said, his vocalizer sounding creaky and unused, “What happened? The Dinobots –”

“They’re fine,” Ratchet replied, “and back on Earth where they belong, I’m happy to say. Spike and Carly made it back with them and the cybertonium, which is why you’re talking to me now. They saved us.”

“You were right,” he rasped, embarrassed by his own lack of faith in his creations, but never more relieved to be wrong. “They didn’t abandon us.”

“Technically they did,” Ratchet said. “And then they went and got themselves into trouble on Cybertron. Fortunately for them, Spike and Carly were there to bail them out. It made quite an impression on them, being the ones getting rescued for a change.”

“Is everyone else okay?” he asked.

“The Dinobots are,” Ratchet said, “and Spike and Carly and Sparkplug, of course. But the others still need their cybertonium stores replenished. Sparkplug fixed me first, and I fixed you while he started working on Hoist – he should be done with him soon. The others are all still offline. We’ve got quite a repair job ahead of us.”

“Right,” he nodded, sitting up. Ratchet offered him a hand, and he took it without hesitation, allowing the medic to pull him to his feet. “Let’s get started.”

**

The repairs were extensive and exhausting – Wheeljack was grateful for the extra energon cube he’d stashed in his subspace, as was Ratchet, whom he’d split it with – but after several joors, the majority of the Autobots were back online and out of danger. They’d begun with Optimus Prime and the other officers, followed by any mechs that had a background in construction, science, or maintenance.

Replacing each mech’s depleted cybertonium reserve was only the first and most crucial step in the process. Many had suffered system failures as a result of cybertonium starvation, failures which had in turn caused damage to other systems that required additional repair. Several of the ‘Bots who’d been among the first to be fixed fell into this group, including Jazz, Perceptor, and Ironhide.

Too weary to continue, Sparkplug left to check on his son. Grapple and Huffer, who hadn’t suffered additional damage and had experience in performing field repairs, were promptly enlisted to aid them. (Skyfire also qualified, but had been excused due to his size.) The two of them went from mech to mech among those still offline, providing them with preliminary infusions of cybertonium to bring them around while they waited their turn with one of the three repair ‘Bots. The officers who didn’t require additional repairs, but also lacked sufficient knowledge perform them – Optimus Prime, Prowl, and Red Alert – were released by Ratchet and left to resume their abandoned posts aboard the Ark.

The number of Autobots that were offline and in danger of deactivation swiftly decreased, but the number of ‘Bots in need of additional repairs steadily grew. It became evident as the day wore on that many of the ‘Bots who possessed unique mods or who had had problems relating to transformation had been impacted the most, while those with more standard mods and maintenance issues were quickly restored to the point where their regenerative systems could take over.

Ratchet released those in the latter group after a cursory examination and a stern warning to return to the repair bay if they experienced any further malfunctions. Those in the former group, who were effectively functional but needed more extensive repairs before they could be declared fully operational, were given the choice to remain in repair bay and wait their turn, or leave and come back later. Ironhide left immediately, to no one’s surprise, as did Blaster. Jazz probably would have left too if his legs had been operational; his superiors and both his lovers had already been released. Perceptor likewise had little choice – he was still stuck in microscope mode. Mirage opted to remain, prompting Hound to do likewise, which in turn decided Trailbreaker.

Most of the Autobots who’d been released vanished promptly upon being given the all clear, but Bluestreak took it upon himself to go on an impromptu energon run, returning a few kliks later with cubes from the commissary for the hardworking repair ‘Bots and those still awaiting their attention.

Wheeljack nodded his thanks to Bluestreak as he accepted the energon cube the gunner offered him, pausing in his efforts to repair Mirage’s electro-disruptor long enough to consume it.

“Will you be joining us tomorrow, Wheeljack?” Mirage asked. “Thank you, Bluestreak,” he said politely as he too was handed a full cube.

Wheeljack waited until Bluestreak had moved off before replying to Mirage’s question. “Dunno,” he said, “I put in a request for a day’s leave, but with everything that’s been going on, it hasn’t been approved yet.”

“Hound wants to go to a fish hatchery,” Mirage replied in a conspiratorial tone. “I’m sure he and Trailbreaker will enjoy that, but I think you and I would prefer a slightly more stimulating activity. I plan to suggest that we make use those water skis you installed a while back.”

That did sound more appealing to Wheeljack than spending a day looking at fish. “I’m with you,” he said, “I’ve been wanting to try those out again myself.”

Mirage smiled. “I’m sure the fish will be very interesting,” he said diplomatically, “but it’s always good to have a backup plan.”

Wheeljack chuckled and agreed.

After they’d finished refueling, he continued his repair work on Mirage. The spy lingered after he was done, having decided to wait for Hound. Ratchet was working on Jazz; Hoist still busy with Perceptor – repair work on transformation cogs was often time-consuming. Wheeljack moved on to Trailbreaker, who grinned broadly at his approach.

“Do Hound first,” Trailbreaker said as he drew nearer. “Mirage is waiting for him.”

He hesitated. “Are you sure? It could be a while before one of us gets to you.”

“I don’t mind,” Trailbreaker said. “Hound’s practically climbing the walls,” he added with a chuckle. “Besides, I’m kind of enjoying watching you work.”

“All right,” he said, his circuits heating at little at the indirect compliment. He made his way over to Hound, feeling Trailbreaker’s optics on him and trying to ignore the slow flush of warmth coiling up his backstrut in response. Suddenly he found himself quite eager to call it a day.

“Coming with us tomorrow, Wheeljack?” Hound asked cheerfully as he neared. Mirage was standing beside Hound’s berth, a hand resting on his shoulder-strut; as Hound spoke the spy met Wheeljack’s optics with a small, sneaky grin.

“If my leave request gets approved,” he replied, getting started on Hound’s damaged hologram projector.

“Great!” Hound said. “Looking forward to it. I’ve got a great idea for how to spend it – you like fish?”

“Let him work, Hound,” Mirage interrupted gently. “You can tell him all about it after you’re fixed.”

“Aw, c’mon ‘Raj, I was just telling him –”

“I know,” Mirage interrupted soothingly, “but the more you talk, the harder it will be for Wheeljack to work, and the longer it will take for you to be repaired.”

Hound appeared ready to protest, until Mirage added, “…and the longer I’ll have to wait to have you all to myself,” with a look so heated it was practically smoldering.

Hound’s objections were instantly forgotten. “So, uh, how long do you think my repairs’ll take, Wheeljack?” he asked.

“A few breems at most,” he replied with a chuckle. Mirage clearly had Hound’s characteristic exuberance well in hand. “You’ll be out of here soon.”

He resumed the repairs on Hound’s hologram projector. Neither Hound nor Mirage said anything further, although from the subtle shifts in their posture and expressions Wheeljack suspected they were conversing privately over their comms – he didn’t pause to speculate about what – leaving him to finish his work in silence.

Meanwhile, Ratchet had completed the repairs on Jazz and moved on to Trailbreaker. Behind him Wheeljack overheard Trailbreaker’s greeting, “Good to see you again, doc! Wish it wasn’t quite so soon,” and Ratchet’s gruff reply, “Force field, or communications array?”

“Both,” Trailbreaker said with a touch of chagrin. “Sorry, Ratchet.”

“That’s all right,” Ratchet replied, his tone softening. “Not your fault.”

**

The remainder of the repairs were completed in roughly half a joor.

Hoist finally finished with Perceptor, earning him the scientist’s quiet gratitude. Wheeljack completed his work on Hound – after which he and Mirage departed so quickly they practically left skid marks – and turned to see how Ratchet was faring.

“That should do it,” Ratchet said, closing the panel he’d opened up in Trailbreaker’s chestplate to work on his force field mod. “Be sure to refuel tonight before you recharge, and watch those energy levels!” he advised sternly.

“Will do, doc,” Trailbreaker replied, sitting up. He grinned as he spied Wheeljack approaching. “I’m all patched up,” he announced happily.

He nodded, “Hound is too; he just left with Mirage.”

“Bet I know where they’re headed,” Trailbreaker said wryly. “Guess I’ll go back to my quarters – after I stop and grab a cube,” he amended with a sheepish nod to Ratchet. “See you later?”

“Sure,” he said, all too aware of Ratchet’s disapproving gaze resting heavily upon him.

“Great!” Trailbreaker said, pushing off the berth. “Thanks, Ratchet,” he told the medic, “You’re the best.”

“Go on, get outta here,” Ratchet grumbled.

With a final wave, Trailbreaker departed. Hoist and Perceptor had already left. Ratchet waited approximately half a klik for Trailbreaker to get out of audial range before asking in an undertone, “What do you plan to do about him?”

Wheeljack, who’d turned away to begin putting away his tools, cocked his helm at the question. “What do you mean?” he asked over his shoulder-strut.

“Are you going to see him again?” Ratchet said, beginning to gather his own tools.

“Sure,” he said. “We’ve got plans for tomorrow.”

Ratchet paused, a spanner in hand. “So you’ll tell him then?”

“Tell him what?” he asked, bemused. Turning around, he caught sight of the incredulous look Ratchet was giving him. That clued him in. “I told you before, Ratch, I’m not telling him about Starscream,” he said defensively. “He doesn’t need to know!”

Ratchet threw the wrench at him.

**

Wheeljack made his way down the corridor of the residential section where Trailbreaker's quarters were located, absently rubbing the fresh dent in his helm. His conversation with Ratchet in the repair bay had quickly devolved into a lot of cursing on Ratchet's part, and a lot of ducking on his.

He didn't take it personally. In fact it was almost comforting. The fact that he'd provoked Ratchet into one of his famous temperamental outbursts only served to reassure him that things between them were finally back to normal.

More or less.

He knew Ratchet was frustrated with him, at his unwillingness to follow his advice and tell Trailbreaker about...that. But what Ratchet didn't know – Wheeljack hadn't had a chance to tell him – was that things had changed since the last time they spoke.

Back then, he had been treating Trailbreaker unfairly, feigning an interest he didn't honestly feel. That was wrong; Ratchet had been right about that. But that wasn't how it was anymore. While he and Ratchet had been arguing, he'd spent a lot of time with Trailbreaker, and had come to a certain realization.

He sincerely liked Trailbreaker. He respected and admired him. He enjoyed his company.

That changed things, didn't it?

Shrugging to himself, he halted outside the door to Trailbreaker’s quarters and transmitted his query ping.

There was no response.

He waited several kliks, growing more concerned with every passing astrosecond. The door remained closed. He sent a second, more urgent ping. Had something happened to Trailbreaker? Had Ratchet overlooked some critically damaged component in the course of his repairs?

Spark clenching in alarm, he pounded on the door, wincing each time his fist struck the smooth metal at at the way the sound echoed down the empty corridor. He was about to employ an emergency override code when the door abruptly slid open, revealing a very startled-looking Trailbreaker.

“What’s going on?” Trailbreaker asked groggily. “Are we under attack?”

“No,” he said, shaking his helm, “Are you all right? I pinged you, but you didn’t answer.”

“Sorry,” Trailbreaker said, “I was in recharge.”

That brought him up short. “You were recharging?”

“Yeah,” Trailbreaker said, looking slightly more alert. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he said, still struggling to process the fact that Trailbreaker wasn’t injured, or offline. “You – you were in recharge?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” Trailbreaker repeated, sounding almost amused, “Doctor’s orders, remember?”

“Oh,” he said, feeling bewildered, “So you – you weren’t waiting for me?”

Trailbreaker looked abashed. “Well, no. I figured you’d want to get some recharge yourself; you’ve been working all day –”

“But you asked me to come by,” he interrupted, “and I said I would!”

“I know, but,” Trailbreaker said, nonplussed, “that was before we all –” he trailed off, noting Wheeljack’s mortified expression.

His processor was reeling. Trailbreaker hadn’t been expecting him. He’d been resting peacefully, enjoying some much-needed recharge – until Wheeljack had woken him by banging on his door like a lunatic.

“Did you want to come in?” Trailbreaker asked.

“I – no,” he said, feeling like a complete idiot. “I’m – I’ll just go. Sorry for waking you.”

“You don’t have to go,” Trailbreaker said, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle tug, “C’mon in.”

He allowed himself to be pulled inside. The door slid shut behind him, engulfing them in darkness.

Trailbreaker activated the lights a moment later. “So what’s up?” he asked, taking a seat on the berth. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” he said again, “I just – I thought you wanted me to come over after my shift ended,” he explained sheepishly, “that you were waiting for me. When you didn’t answer my pings…”

“You got worried,” Trailbreaker concluded, “figured something was wrong.”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Trailbreaker said, “I understand. And you’re welcome to come over anytime you want. I just wasn’t expecting you tonight – it’d been such a long day, I didn’t think you’d be up for it.”

Wheeljack stared at him blankly. Up for –? Oh. “I didn’t come for that,” he said hastily, his circuits heating in embarrassment.

“Oh,” Trailbreaker said. “Well, that’s…probably a good thing. I think Ratchet would peel back my plating if we did.” He fell silent for a moment, studying him thoughtfully. “Did something happen?” he asked.

“W-what do you mean?” he stammered.

“It must have been rough, having to work with Ratchet all day,” Trailbreaker said, “what with you two fighting, and all.”

“We’re not – we’re okay now,” he said. “We worked it out.”

“Oh,” Trailbreaker said diffidently. “That’s good. I'm glad you two are friends again.”

“I think the Dinobots might be mad at me now, though,” he ventured.

“The Dinobots? Why?”

“Because I sent them to the airport to fight the ‘Cons, and they got hurt,” he said, shrugging. “It was Prime’s order, but I’m the one who sent them.”

“I heard they got pretty slagged,” Trailbreaker said. “It must have been hard for you, seeing them like that.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a seat on the berth beside him. “At first we weren’t sure they would make it.”

Trailbreaker slipped an arm around him, drawing him close. “That must’ve been pretty scary.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I kinda lost it.”

“But it all worked out,” Trailbreaker said brightly. “The Dinobots are fine, and we got the cybertonium.”

He nodded, “Yeah.”

Trailbreaker seemed about to add something when Wheeljack suddenly sat up a little straighter. “What is it?” he asked.

“I just got a message,” he explained as he accessed the file, “It’s from Prowl – oh. My request’s been approved.”

“For your day off?” Trailbreaker asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” he said, his vocal indicators flashing brightly, “looks like I’ll be coming with you tomorrow.”

“That’s great!” Trailbreaker said, giving him a one-armed hug. “We’re gonna have a blast. Hound told me he had a great idea for where we could go.”

He nodded, “Mirage told me. He’s planning on taking us to a, uh…fish place?”

“The fish hatchery?” Trailbreaker asked eagerly. “I’ve been wanting to go there! That is a great idea. Wow – I can’t wait!”

Wheeljack wasn’t quite so enthused, but Trailbreaker’s obvious excitement warmed his spark. “Sounds like fun,” he said tactfully.

“I’m really glad you’re coming along,” Trailbreaker said, sobering a little. “As much as I’d like to go, I don’t think I’d have been able to if you weren’t.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because of – you know, ‘cause of Mirage,” Trailbreaker said sheepishly. “If it was just me an’ Hound, it’d be different, but both of them together…”

He nodded, “I understand.”

“I’m happy for Hound,” Trailbreaker said quickly, “I am, really – Mirage is a great mech. Hound really likes him, and he’s always been nice to me. But when they’re together…”

“You feel like you’re intruding,” he said.

“I feel like I’m invisible,” Trailbreaker said bitterly.

Wheeljack wrapped an arm around him, rubbing Trailbreaker’s shoulder-strut comfortingly.

Trailbreaker looked up at the touch, meeting his optics. “It’s not that I’m jealous or anything,” he said. He frowned faintly, “Okay, maybe I am, but not like that,” he said. “It’s just – Hound’s my best friend, you know? We used to do everything together, and now he spends all his time with Mirage.”

“You miss him,” Wheeljack said.

“Yeah,” Trailbreaker said, turning slightly into their embrace. “But I don’t really blame him,” he said, his voice dropping, his hand lifting to trace the outline of Wheeljack’s insignia, “Since I started seeing you…I kinda get it. Why he doesn’t comm me much anymore.”

“Yeah,” he said, his own voice barely a whisper.

“Maybe that’s why Ratchet’s mad at you,” Trailbreaker said, leaning in closer, “because you’re spending so much time with me. Maybe he misses you, too.”

“Maybe,” he said.

Trailbreaker’s lip components scraped lightly over his neck cables, his hand drifting over Wheeljack’s grille, making his intakes hitch at the sensation. Wheeljack raised a hand to touch him in return, but Trailbreaker pulled away, cycling a shaky draught of air through his intakes. “You’re making it hard for me to behave myself,” he said wryly.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked.

“No,” Trailbreaker said, shaking his helm, “I think that would make it even harder,” he chuckled. “I overloaded myself in the washracks earlier thinking about you,” he said. “If you leave, I think I might do it again.”

“Oh,” he said, a flush of heat suffusing his circuits at the compliment, not to mention the images that arose in his CPU in response to Trailbreaker’s admission.

“Do you mind recharging with me tonight?” Trailbreaker asked. “We could go for energon together in the morning.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”


*Part 18 is here and here. Yes, it's that big.*

Comments

[vonderbarr.livejournal.com]

ffffffffffffffffff

That was such a fast update and it was pretty fabulous. Awkward conversations are my favorite and Sparkplug made me lol pretty good. I love how Ratchet throwing things and cursing at Wheeljack means their friendship is back on track. Also, fish hatcheries! Trailbreaker seemed so excited :3

Oh man, raise up the anchor cuz soon it's gonna be Angst Ahoy!