After Atlantis, Part 19

[anon_decepticon]

Title: After Atlantis, Part 19
Author: anon_decepticon
Rating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Wheeljack, Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage
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.” Part 18 contains oblique references to the G1 cartoon episodes “S.O.S. Dinobots,” “Traitor,” “The Ultimate Doom” (part one) and “City of Steel” (namely the bits w/Autobots on water skis.) These portions of the fic are not mine.
Warning(s): PTSD 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, Part 17, Part 18 (1/2), Part 18 (2/2). Also available on FFN. Wow, new chapter already! Yay for vacations! Not so long this time happily, but chock full o teh drama! Thanks as always to the ever-awesome kookaburra1701, to my FFN reader sphinx01 for her loooooooong review, and to mdperera and laratron for their kind words of encouragement. Before anyone asks, yes, there will be more, but I may be taking a break to write some Seekersmut. My personal canon meme is still open for questions. Please don’t hate me!




Wheeljack, Trailbreaker and Hound escaped from the depths of the river just before dusk, muddy and weary, but in high spirits.

Hound, unable to resist the siren call of the Columbia River and its natural inhabitants, had finally succumbed to Trailbreaker’s teasing and dived down to join them. Now all three Autobots were drenched and filthy, trailing fronds of torn water weeds that had gotten caught in their transformation seams and joints during their initial attempt to escape by walking across the bottom.

The veritable jungle of weeds had proved so thick as to be virtually impassible, and in the end Trailbreaker had been forced to deploy his force field, creating a transparent globe around them that they’d pushed along from within, rolling it over the weeds instead of wading through them. It had been tiring, but surprisingly fun.

When they stepped out onto the bank over a joor later, laughing at each other’s appearance, Mirage was waiting for them, standing on the shore in his root mode, his frame practically vibrating with tension.

“I can’t believe you did that, Hound!” he exclaimed as they emerged.

Their laughter died abruptly as they took in his hurt and angry expression. “‘Raj,” Hound began, but Mirage didn’t let him finish.

“Don’t ‘Raj me,” he snapped. “I told you not to go down there, and you completely ignored me!”

Wheeljack and Trailbreaker exchanged worried glances; Trailbreaker’s colored with a healthy dose of guilt. He’d been the one to goad Hound into joining them at the bottom of the river over Mirage’s objections.

Hound stepped forward, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on Mirage’s shoulder-strut, his faceplate stamped with chagrin. “I just wanted to see the fish, ‘Raj,” he said placatingly.

Mirage angrily shrugged off the touch. “You could have asked Trailbreaker to share his memory files with you, or to take image captures,” he replied peevishly. “But no, you had to dive down and see them for yourself, after I explicitly asked you not to!”

“Aw, c’mon, ‘Raj,” Hound protested, “What’s the big deal? We weren’t in any danger; I didn’t think you’d mind!”

“You left me all alone up there,” Mirage said, soft and wounded.

Hound’s demeanor underwent a radical shift, his shoulders slumping in dismay. “Oh, ‘Raj,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around his lover in a fierce embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his vocalizer laden with regret.

This time Mirage didn’t spurn the attempt – he leaned into Hound’s touch, his helm bowing, his arms slipping around Hound’s waist components in return, clinging to him, shivering with barely-repressed emotion.

“I’m sorry too, Mirage,” Trailbreaker said. “It’s my fault; I’m the one who talked him into it. I didn’t realize how much it would upset you.”

“It wouldn’t have happened at all if I hadn’t fallen in in the first place,” Wheeljack volunteered, feeling rather guilty himself. “It’s my fault, too.

Mirage looked up, meeting Hound’s contrite optics. “It’s all right,” he said after a long moment. “I’m just glad you’re all back. Let’s go home.”

They transformed and rolled out.

**

When they returned to the Ark they headed directly for the washracks, by mutual unspoken agreement. Hound, Trailbreaker and Wheeljack were all in dire need of a good cleansing after their adventure in the river, and Mirage had gotten muddy enough through his contact with Hound to compel the fastidious noblemech to join them.

They were late enough in getting back that the ‘racks were unoccupied when they arrived, although still damp from recent use. They set about removing the weeds first, tugging free those within reach by themselves, then enlisting the aid of their companions to extract the rest. The activity was accompanied by numerous jokes and playful banter, not to mention a fair amount of flirtation.

Wheeljack averted his optics when he spied Mirage pulling a long strand free of Hound’s hip joint in a manner far more suggestive than necessary, then proceeding to “clean” the exposed seam with slow, sensual strokes of his fingertips. Even looking the other way, Wheeljack heard Hound’s groan of pleasure and Mirage’s quiet laughter.

He flinched when he felt a hand brush against the tip of one of his sensor-winglets, his intakes hitching.

“You look like you’re wearing a green cape,” Trailbreaker commented from behind him, chuckling as he drew a handful of the organic matter free.

Wheeljack activated his vocalizer to reply, but all that emerged was a startled gasp as Trailbreaker ran a hand across the top of his left sensor-winglet, his fingers scraping lightly over the highly-tuned sensor nodes as he swept it clear of the soggy weeds.

The fleeting touch might have been accidental, but the one that followed it definitely wasn’t – Trailbreaker pressed in close, his hands sliding around Wheeljack’s waist components, his chestplate scraping against Wheeljack’s backstrut as he leaned down to nip gently at the exposed sensor winglet, his lip components dragging over the edge.

A low moan escaped him, his vocal indicators flashing as he arched into the touch, pressing harder into Trailbreaker’s embrace. Trailbreaker’s engine revved, sending a flurry of vibrations down Wheeljack’s backstrut, eliciting another soft moan as his core temperature leapt several degrees.

Some distant part of his processor protested, reminding Wheeljack that they weren’t alone, the ‘racks were a very public place – not only were Hound and Mirage actively present, any ‘Bot could walk in at any time – but then Trailbreaker dipped his fingers into the transformation seams at Wheeljack’s hips, ostensibly to clear them of weeds, and suddenly none of that seemed to matter anymore.

Wheeljack’s vocal indicators flickered wordlessly as he reached back, groping blindly for Trailbreaker’s communications array. His searching fingers closed over a handful of water weeds instead, making him shiver at the unfamiliar texture against the sensors lining his palm, cold and damp and squishy, but undeniably erotic.

His helm fell back against Trailbreaker’s shoulder-strut as Trailbreaker ground against him; Wheeljack dropped the weeds and reached for him again, rising up on the forward edge of his feet, straining to claim his prize as Trailbreaker dug deeper into the seams at his hips, ardently stroking and tugging the wires within, his lip components still nipping along the edge of Wheeljack’s left sensor-winglet.

At long last, Wheeljack’s questing fingertips brushed against the smooth metal of Trailbreaker’s communications array, and he seized upon it like a lifeline, gripping tightly as he dragged his hand upward along its length and then back down again. Trailbreaker groaned in response, a deep, nearly subsonic sound that sent more delicious vibrations down Wheeljack’s backstrut and sensor-winglet as Trailbreaker ground feverishly against him, rumbling possessively.

Nearly overcome by sensation, his core temperature peaking, Wheeljack tossed his helm back and forth against Trailbreaker’s shoulder-strut, soft, helpless moans flowing continuously from his vocalizer. Out of the corner of his optic, he spied Mirage and Hound, wrapped in each other’s arms, hands moving greedily over each other’s frames. As Wheeljack stared, Mirage caught his gaze over Hound’s shoulder-strut and held it, grinning slyly at him as he ducked his helm to close his lip components over Hound’s neck cables. Wheeljack watched them, embarrassed but unable to look away, curious to see Hound’s reaction.

Hound’s response did not disappoint; he gasped through his intakes, crying out and clutching at his lover, his engine revving hard. Mirage hummed with delight, drawing forth another gasp and a deep, shuddering moan as he ran his hands up Hound’s backstrut to trace his windshield –

Wheeljack’s gaze was suddenly torn away from them, not of his own volition but as a result of Trailbreaker pulling back abruptly to shove him up against the washrack wall, his lip components now seeking out Wheeljack’s own neck cables and stimulating them mercilessly.

Liquid solvent splattered over their frames from the forgotten sprayer, no longer warm, but no match for the intense heat of their overheated systems; the droplets steamed and sizzled against their plating as they struck, the sharp contrast further exciting already-aroused sensor nets.

Trailbreaker’s engine roared as his energy field enveloped Wheeljack, subjecting him to an ardent barrage of hot, rapid pulses that set his circuits aflame. His own field extended outward to meet it even as his hands groped desperately, scrabbling against Trailbreaker’s bumper and fumbling their way beneath it, seeking out the sensitive components hidden within .

The blast of heat and vibration that met his searching fingers as they caressed Trailbreaker’s engine block triggered a renewed burst of sensation in his hands, making him jerk and buck convulsively against the larger mech, the back of his helm striking the wall behind him with a sharp crack –

The impact jolted his optics back online – until that moment Wheeljack hadn’t even realized he’d offlined them – and he once more caught sight of Hound and Mirage across Trailbreaker’s shoulder-strut.

They were watching them. Watching him, their optics ablaze with arousal, their engines thrumming. Their hands still moved lazily over each other’s frames, but it was clear where their focus lay.

Unaware that their interface had gained the attention of his best friend and his lover, Trailbreaker pressed harder into him, pinning Wheeljack against the wall, rumbling lustfully as he thrust his energy field into Wheeljack again and again, the vibrations of his engine rattling Wheeljack to his very core.

It was too much, he was coming undone, he was going to overload right here, against the wall, clasped in Trailbreaker’s arms with Hound and Mirage looking on – his vocalizer was fritzing, producing high, keening whines and ragged bursts of static, his vocal indicators flashing wildly – he panted through his intakes, fighting to stay in control, practically sobbing with need – not here, not now, they’re watching, oh Primus –!

Trailbreaker’s ramping energy levels finally reached their peak; he overloaded with a roar, his explosive release tipping Wheeljack over the edge and sending him tumbling into overload right along with him. Wheeljack clutched at him for support, his hands tightening possibly-painfully over sensitive internal components as wave after wave of pleasure rocketed through his frame, turning his joints to water. Strong arms pulled him close as his optics dimmed and flickered – and then everything went dark.

**

“….ike a lightshow!” someone was saying, sounding somewhere between amused and impressed.

“Very inspiring,” a second voice replied appreciatively, smooth and cultured despite a noticeable buzz of static.

The first sensation to penetrate Wheeljack’s awareness was cold, followed by warmth – a steady shower of cold liquid was falling over him, but something warm and solid was pressed tightly against his chestplate, mitigating some of the chilling effect.

He onlined his optics to the by-now-familiar sight of Trailbreaker smiling down at him fondly, his expression a curious mix of affection, sheepishness and pride. “What happened?” he asked dazedly.

“You offlined again,” Trailbreaker said.

“Again?” Hound exclaimed incredulously. “Way to go, ‘Breaker!”

“Shush,” Mirage said chidingly. “Don’t be crude.”

“You all right?” Trailbreaker asked gently.

“…yeah,” he said.

Awareness was slowly creeping back into his processor as his systems rebooted, inundating his CPU with a torrent of information; he was in the washracks, half-leaning against the cold tiled wall, most of his weight supported by Trailbreaker, whose arms were wrapped around him, keeping him on his feet. Hound and Mirage were standing nearby, their plating freshly-washed and gleaming, still wet with solvent. He and Trailbreaker were equally damp, but still muddy and sporting a number of fresh paint scrapes that would require additional buffing to remove.

The memory files of their recent activity flooded Wheeljack’s cache, bringing with them an intense desire to sink into the floor and disappear. If he’d had an electro-disruptor like Mirage, he’d undoubtedly be using it now.

He’d overloaded right in front of them.

Still reeling from the realization, he accepted the incoming comm automatically, without thought. *Thank you, Wheeljack,* Mirage said over the private line, the smile on his lip components evident in his tone, *That was extremely helpful.*

*You’re welcome,* he replied reflexively.

Mirage grinned, closing the link, and turned to Hound. “My quarters,” he said. “Now.”

Hound’s optics lit up at the command. “Yes, sir!” he said.

Trailbreaker chuckled as Mirage turned away, casting a coy glance back over his shoulder-strut at his lover as he departed the ‘racks. Hound followed him like an eager turbo-puppy, tossing off a distracted, “Later, ‘Breaker!” in lieu of a more dignified farewell.

Trailbreaker chuckled again, shaking his helm. “That Mirage,” he said, “He’s something else. He’s got Hound wrapped around his little finger.”

“Yeah,” he agreed discomfitedly. “But he loves him. I guess that makes it okay.”

“You really think he loves him?” Trailbreaker asked. “I know Hound does – he’s showing all the signs – but with Mirage it’s hard to tell.”

Wheeljack nodded, “He does; I’m pretty sure,” he agreed. “He told me being with Hound makes him happy.”

“He does seem happier,” Trailbreaker mused. “I remember he hardly ever talked before, but now he smiles all the time, and makes jokes – Hound’s different too. I guess they make each other happy.”

Trailbreaker turned his gaze back to him, meeting his optics. “You make me happy,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” he replied awkwardly. “I think I can stand on my own now.”

Trailbreaker frowned faintly, but then grinned. “We need to finish cleaning up,” he said. “Want me to do your back?”

“Sure,” he said with a half-shrug.

Trailbreaker drew back, freeing Wheeljack from his trapped position against the wall and granting him enough room to turn his back toward him. Grabbing a brush from the nearby rack, Trailbreaker set to work.

With the topic of Hound and Mirage’s relationship no longer serving as a distraction, embarrassment and irritation surged to the fore within Wheeljack’s CPU. He was mortified by what had happened – Trailbreaker had ‘faced him in front of his friends, two mechs with whom Wheeljack was only casually acquainted, put him on display! Right now Hound and Mirage were probably acting out a similar scene in Mirage’s quarters, with Wheeljack as their inspiration.

Unlike him, they had the luxury of privacy in which to do so.

Primus, he’d even offlined.

They’d been talking about him while they waited for him to reboot, commenting over him like he was some kind of novelty. They’d congratulated Trailbreaker, treating him like a hero – and why wouldn’t they? He’d overloaded an officer and repair ‘Bot so hard he offlined, made the normally-composed and reclusive inventor completely lose control of himself.

It was utterly humiliating.

The gentle scrubbing against his backstrut slowed, then stopped. Trailbreaker shifted behind him, pressing in close, his chestplate tight against Wheeljack’s backstrut.

“Mmmm,” Trailbreaker hummed appreciatively. “You’re still warm.”

Wheeljack stiffened. Hadn’t Trailbreaker had enough? He pulled away, turning to face him. “Your turn,” he said curtly.

Trailbreaker looked startled; “Okay,” he said, handing Wheeljack the brush and turning his back to him.

Wheeljack began to scrub Trailbreaker’s backstrut, perhaps a little more vigorously than necessary. Trailbreaker shivered, probably from the solvent, which was positively frigid from having been left running so long. Wheeljack happened upon a few stray water weeds still tangled around the base of Trailbreaker’s communications array and impatiently tugged them free, casting them aside.

When the last trace of mud had been eliminated to his satisfaction, he stepped back. “Done,” he announced.

Trailbreaker turned to face him, a faint frown still curving his lip components. He looked about to say something when Wheeljack turned away to rinse and return the brush to its rack and switch off the sprayer, but ultimately held back, opting to remain silent.

“Dryer?” Wheeljack asked, turning back to face him. Mirage and Hound hadn’t bothered; they’d been in too much of a hurry.

“Yeah, okay,” Trailbreaker said.

They made their way over to the blowers, choosing adjacent stations. Wheeljack activated his, and Trailbreaker followed suit.

After roughly a klik Trailbreaker spoke up, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the dryer. “Everything okay, Wheeljack?” he asked.

“Fine,” he replied shortly.

“You’re angry with me,” Trailbreaker said.

“No I’m not,” he lied.

Trailbreaker stepped out of his drying station and into Wheeljack’s, crowding him closer to the blower as Wheeljack stepped back to make room for the larger mech. “Yes,” he said firmly, “You are.”

Wheeljack met his gaze, but didn’t reply.

Trailbreaker’s core temperature was slightly elevated, maybe from the warm air of the dryer, maybe not. Wheeljack could feel the heat radiating off his plating, the sensation stirring an uneasy blend of apprehension and arousal in his circuits. Standing this close to him, Trailbreaker suddenly seemed a lot bigger than usual.

“Why are you angry with me, Wheeljack?” Trailbreaker asked gently.

Primus, he hated that tone! It was the same one Ratchet had used on him, cautious, as if the inventor were as potentially explosive as one of his inventions.

“I’m not,” he insisted, pushing at Trailbreaker’s chestplate. “You’re blocking the air.”

Trailbreaker stepped back, frowning at him.

He wasn’t mad at Trailbreaker, not really. Well, maybe a little. He could get over the embarrassment of being exposed like that to Hound and Mirage – Mirage was too polite to gossip, and would probably keep Hound in check – he just didn’t want to go another round, that’s all. The ‘racks were still a public place, and any ‘Bot might wander in, possibly one more inclined to run his vocalizer, or worse, a fellow officer – Wheeljack shuddered at the thought of Prowl or Optimus Prime walking in on them, or Primus, even Ratchet –

“You want to head back to my quarters?” Trailbreaker asked tentatively, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah – no,” he amended as his internal reminder pinged. He’d wanted to pay a visit to the Dinobots. “I mean, I will, but later,” he said in response to Trailbreaker’s bewildered look. “I want to check on the Dinobots,” he explained. “I haven’t looked in on them since they got back from Cybertron.”

“Oh,” Trailbreaker said diffidently. “So…you’ll come by after?”

“Yeah,” he said. Trailbreaker would probably want to ‘face with him again before they recharged, but he was fine with that. Trailbreaker’s quarters were private. “See you then?”

“Sure,” Trailbreaker said, nodding slowly, looking pensive. “See you then.”

**

Not being members of the original crew, The Dinobots didn’t have official quarters aboard the Ark. Instead they’d been assigned to a large room that had previously served as a secondary cargo bay. The far wall, which had once been part of the ship’s hull, had been damaged in the crash; the new fourth wall was now a rugged rock face, part of the dormant volcano the downed ship now occupied.

As such, the room was always warm, if not aesthetically pleasing. It was also large enough to accommodate the Dinobots’ massive frames, which normal living quarters would be hard-pressed to do, especially given their preference for resolving their differences through enthusiastic brawling.

Overall, the room’s furnishings were rather spartan; he and Ratchet had located some spare berths for them, set up in the far right corner, and had liberated a large table and a handful of chairs from the commissary, but that was all – the Dinobots had few possessions of their own, and their limited intellect gave them little use for workstations.

Initially Wheeljack had brought them puzzles and games to further the development of their simple processors, but their inherent aggression had made short work of them; the Dinobots had a distinct tendency to destroy anything that frustrated them. Finally Wheeljack had been forced to accept that their intellectual development had reached an unfortunate plateau, and had brought them entertainment vids instead.

They were viewing one such vid when he arrived, or at least Swoop, Snarl and Sludge were; Grimlock and Slag were arguing, over what, Wheeljack wasn’t sure – their debate currently consisted of a steady back and forth of “Is not,” and “Is too!” – but all five of them looked up as he entered their domain.

“Hey guys,” he greeted them with a friendly wave. “How’s it going?”

Their response was uncharacteristically subdued; Snarl and Sludge turned back to the vidscreen, summarily dismissing him. Grimlock eyed him with undisguised suspicion, and his audials caught Slag’s resentful mutter of, “What him want?” Only Swoop met his optics and returned his wave, albeit with less enthusiasm than usual.

They’re mad at you, that’s normal, he thought, recalling what Ratchet had theorized about them in an effort to soothe his clenching spark. Best to start off with an apology, he surmised.

“I’m sorry, guys,” he said. “I know I haven’t been around much lately. I’m here to make it up to you; how are your self-repairs going?”

That got their attention. Sludge and Snarl looked up from their program, and Grimlock’s expression shifted from suspicion to wary intrigue. Slag grumbled; Swoop smiled.

There was a brief pause as they all stared at each other.

“Me, Sludge have problem with arm…thingy,” Sludge volunteered tentatively.

“Yeah?” he asked, feeling relieved. The ice was broken. “Well, c’mon over, let’s have a look.”

Sludge rose and ambled over to him, holding out his right arm in offering. Wheeljack noticed immediately the way it creaked as Sludge raised it, and didn’t miss the Dinobot’s ill-concealed wince.

“Looks like that servo is out of alignment,” he observed, removing his tools from subspace. It was a common problem, and an easy fix. “We’ll have you sorted out in just a klik, Sludge,” he assured him, and set to work on the repairs.

By the time he’d finished with Sludge, the others seemed ready to forgive him. Snarl sidled up to him next, pointing silently to his chestplate; upon closer investigation Wheeljack discovered a hidden crack in the plating they’d overlooking during the prior repairs. Murmuring an apology, he fixed that too.

After that, the others allowed him to look them over as well. Grimlock was fine, but Wheeljack was grateful he’d submitted himself to a checkup all the same. Grimlock was reluctant to admit to any weakness, fearing it reflected poorly on him as a leader, and therefore had a habit of concealing injuries.

He’d barely declared Grimlock fit and functional when Slag pushed in, shouldering past Grimlock to stand in front of Wheeljack expectantly.

“Any trouble, Slag?” he asked when the Dinobot just stood there, staring at him wordlessly.

“No!” Slag bellowed belligerently. “Me, Slag fine!”

“Why don’t I take a look at you anyway,” he replied, suppressing a chuckle. Slag clearly wanted to be examined, if only to avoid being left out, but contrary to the last, he refused to admit it.

“No look!” Slag insisted, opening a panel in his chestplate and thrusting it toward Wheeljack. “Me, Slag, no like repairs!”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Slag,” he said soberly. “But you’re going to have to let me check you out like the others, just in case.”

“Check good,” Slag commanded begrudgingly. “No miss anything!”

“I’ll be careful,” he assured him, and began looking him over.

He didn’t find any problems – Slag was indeed fine, just as he’d claimed – but Wheeljack replaced a few minor wires anyway, just to satisfy the Dinobot’s desire for attention equal to that of his peers. Closing Slag’s panel, he turned to Swoop, the only Dinobot he hadn’t attended.

“Any problems, Swoop?” he asked. Like Grimlock, Swoop sometimes failed to complain about minor injuries, although Wheeljack had always suspected he kept silent out of a desire not to trouble anyone rather than out of pride.

Swoop ducked his helm shyly in response to his question, and said nothing.

“Swoop?” he repeated, adding just a touch of sternness to his tone.

“Wing get hurt on Cybertron,” Swoop confessed, “but it okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asked dubiously. He could see it now, a small slit in the leading edge of Swoop’s right wing, running parallel to the transformation seam. The Dinobot’s regenerative systems had obviously attempted to seal the gap since the initial injury, but without a proper patch weld to set it in place, the self-repair had been only partially effective. “Can you fly?”

“No,” Swoop admitted, ducking his helm again.

“We’ve talked about this, Swoop,” he said chidingly. “When you get damaged, you’re supposed to tell me or Ratchet.”

“Me, Swoop, sorry,” Swoop said contritely.

“It’s all right,” he reassured him, motioning for the Dinobot to kneel so he could begin his repairs, using a cutting torch to reopen the partially-repaired gap. “I’m not mad. But you have to try and remember, okay?”

“Okay,” Swoop said. “Me, Swoop, remember next time.”

“Good,” he said, switching out the cutting torch for a welder and applying a proper patch to the injured wing. “Ratchet and I worry when you don’t tell us you’re hurt.”

“Me, Swoop, sorry,” Swoop said again. “Me no want to make you Wheeljack or him Ratchet worry.”

“There,” he said, giving the repaired wing a gentle pat. “You’re all patched up. Give it a couple of days before you try any fancy flying, okay?”

“Okay,” Swoop agreed. He hesitated a moment, then added, “Dinobots worry about him Wheeljack, too.”

He stared at him, taken aback. “What do you mean, Swoop?”

“Dinobots worry,” Swoop repeated. “Why Wheeljack no tell Dinobots what wrong?”

He glanced around at the others; they’d all stopped what they were doing to look at him, clearly awaiting his response.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” he asked.

Swoop gave him a look that was almost disappointed. “Dinobots know,” he said sagely.

He looked at the others; they were nodding in agreement, regarding him curiously. “Did Ratchet say something to you?” he asked, his spark clenching in apprehension.

“No need to,” Swoop replied, shaking his helm. “Dinobots can tell.”

How could they know? he thought anxiously. Ratchet wouldn’t have told them; they don’t even know about interfacing! How would he explain it to them?

“Dinobots talk to him Wheeljack,” Swoop said reproachfully. “Why him Wheeljack no talk to Dinobots? Dinobots feel bad when Wheeljack no talk to them. Him Wheeljack no like Dinobots anymore?”

Suddenly it all made sense. The Dinobots’ recent rebelliousness, their inexplicable hostility toward him – this, he realized, was the reason behind it all.

They were all looking at him expectantly. “I…I did get hurt, a while ago,” he admitted. “But I’m fine now. Everything’s okay. I just…didn’t want to worry you.”

“Me, Sludge, worry anyway,” Sludge said hesitantly.

“Me, Snarl worry too,” Snarl chimed in.

“Me, Slag, worry more!” Slag bellowed, not wanting to be outdone.

“Me, Grimlock smash ugly Sub-Atlanticans for hurting Wheeljack!” Grimlock rumbled aggressively.

“Me, Slag, smash too!”

Wheeljack stared at them in shock, his processor reeling. How did they know that that had been the day he –? How could they know? How much did they know?

After a few panicked astroseconds he managed to get his pulsing spark back under control. Of course they knew he’d been hurt that day – the Dinobots had been called in to help fight the Sub-Atlanticans, and it was common knowledge that Wheeljack had been captured and damaged – he’d been brought back to the base offline and immobilized. They might even have been the ones to help transport him there.

They didn’t know about Starscream, or what had really happened to their creator that day.

“I was hurt pretty bad,” he said, hoping to mollify them “But I’m okay now, really. I’m sorry I worried you. I should have let you know I was all right.”

They exchanged glances, frowning in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I’m all right, I promise.”

“Why him Wheeljack fight with Ratchet?” Swoop asked.

His optics widened. They knew about that, too?

“Ratchet, uh…Ratchet was worried about me, just like you guys,” he ventured. He had to keep his answer simple, something they could understand. “I didn’t listen to him when I should have, and that made him angry at me. It’s important to always listen to medics and do what they tell you, otherwise you might end up making things worse – like your wing, Swoop.”

Given an example they could relate to, the Dinobots nodded in understanding.

“Why him Wheeljack no listen?” Sludge wondered aloud.

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I thought I knew better,” he admitted. “I thought I didn’t need to listen to Ratchet; that I could fix everything by myself. I was wrong to think that. I’m good at fixing things, but I’m not a medic. Ratchet is.”

They regarded him quizzically, trying to process his explanation.

“You don’t have to worry,” he assured them. “Ratchet and I aren’t fighting anymore. Everything is okay now. You’re okay, I’m okay, and Ratchet’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

“Him Wheeljack still like Dinobots?” Swoop asked cautiously.

“Of course I like you,” he said. “And I’m proud of you, too. I know you got hurt, and that you were scared, but I think you were very brave to go all the way to Cybertron by yourselves, and to help Spike and Carly bring back the cybertonium we needed. You saved us all, doing that.”

“Dinobots always saving bossy Autobots,” Grimlock grumbled.

“Dinobots are Autobots,” he replied, “and saving others is what Autobots do.”

“Humans save Dinobots on Cybertron,” Swoop pointed out, frowning at Grimlock.

“That’s right,” Wheeljack said. “That’s why Optimus Prime made Spike and Carly honorary Autobots. Because they saved you, just like any Autobot would have.”

“Me, Slag, no like other Autobots!” Slag said, pushing over and shoving up against him roughly, causing Wheeljack to stumble for a moment before he regained his footing.

His aggressive approach aside, Slag’s message was clear. Wheeljack draped an arm around his shoulder-strut, or tried to, anyway – his arm was only long enough to reach halfway around Slag’s massive chassis, so his hand ended up resting in the middle of the Dinobot’s backstrut – and said, “You don’t have to like all of them. Some of them even I don’t get along with. But all of them are our allies, so you should always help them if they need it, whether you like them or not.”

“Why?” Sludge asked.

“Because they’d do the same for you, Sludge,” he replied. “For all of you,” he added, looking at each of them in turn, “Even if they don’t like you. Even if they say bad things about you sometimes, or act mean – they’ll still help you if you get in trouble.”

“Dinobots no get in trouble,” Grimlock said scornfully. “Dinobots no need help! Autobots need Dinobots’ help.”

“That’s true, most of the time,” he agreed, to placate Grimlock’s ego. “You guys are really tough, so it’s only natural that we’d need your help more often than you need ours. But if you did need help, we’d give it to you. Everyone worked really hard to fix you when you got hurt. We were all worried about you.”

“Optimus Prime worry about Grimlock?” Grimlock asked.

Wheeljack nodded. “He was very worried,” he confirmed. He knew Grimlock looked up to Optimus almost in spite of himself, recognizing Prime’s ability to command the sort of respect and authority he craved. “He came to check on you personally when we were repairing you. That’s good to know, isn’t it?”

He watched them mull that over, nodding. Even Grimlock appeared satisfied. Wheeljack felt the tension easing from his servos, his hydraulics depressurizing.

“I’m sorry I haven’t spent much time with you lately,” he said. “But I promise to visit more often from now on, okay? We can work on your training some more.”

“Okay,” Sludge said slowly. Swoop beamed; Snarl nodded.

“Me, Slag, no like training,” Slag grumbled, pressing more firmly against him.

“Me, Grimlock, leader,” Grimlock growled, glowering at Slag. “Me, Grimlock say Dinobots need more training! Him Slag work on fire stuff. Me, Grimlock, say so.”

Slag pouted; Wheeljack chuckled.

Things were back to normal, all right.

**

Still shaking his helm in amusement, Wheeljack made his way down the corridor toward Trailbreaker’s quarters. The Dinobots had surprised him. He’d never realized how perceptive they were, or imagined that they might worry about him as much as he worried about them. It was a rather pleasant discovery, to learn how much his creations actually cared.

Arriving at Trailbreaker’s door, he transmitted a query ping.

“It’s open,” Trailbreaker called.

He activated the panel, feeling vaguely puzzled. Why hadn’t Trailbreaker come to the door?

The answer was revealed when the door slid open; Trailbreaker was seated in his chair, reading a datapad, and evidently quite thoroughly absorbed in it – he didn’t even look up as Wheeljack entered.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Trailbreaker replied absently.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. This wasn’t quite the reception he’d been expecting. Trailbreaker had said Wheeljack was welcome to visit his quarters anytime, and had implied an invitation to come by tonight when they were in the ‘racks earlier, but his present demeanor made Wheeljack feel more like an intruder than a welcome guest.

“I can leave, if you’re busy,” he offered.

“I’m not busy,” Trailbreaker replied. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Wheeljack took a seat on the berth, feeling bewildered. Trailbreaker had asked if he’d be coming by later; surely that meant he’d wanted him to?

“How are the Dinobots?” Trailbreaker asked without looking up.

“Good,” he said. “They needed some minor maintenance, but nothing serious. They’re fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Trailbreaker replied. “I know you were worried about them.”

They were worried about me, too, he thought wryly. “What are you reading?” he asked.

“That datapad Brawn gave me,” Trailbreaker said. “Never would have guessed he was into poetry.”

“Maybe he isn’t,” he joked. “Maybe that’s why he gave it to you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Trailbreaker said. He didn’t say anything more, though, and an awkward silence fell.

“Is it any good?” Wheeljack asked after a moment.

Trailbreaker shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said. “I was never really all that into poetry.”

Then why are you reading it? he wondered. “I had a lot of fun today,” he volunteered. Perhaps a change of subject would perk Trailbreaker up. Maybe he was depressed about seeing Hound so happy with Mirage?

“Me too,” Trailbreaker said. “It was nice, getting to spend time with Hound again. With all of you. I always kind of cleared out when Mirage showed up before; I figured he and Hound would rather be alone. Today was the first time I actually saw them together for more than a few kliks.”

“I never really talked to Mirage before today,” he agreed. “I guess no one did, except Hound. He’s actually pretty friendly once you get to know him. I was surprised.”

“So was I,” Trailbreaker said, finally lowering the datapad and raising his helm to meet Wheeljack’s gaze. “Seeing him with Hound today…kinda got me thinking.”

“About what?” he asked.

“Just…things,” Trailbreaker replied, regarding him thoughtfully.

Wheeljack didn’t really know how to respond to that, but Trailbreaker’s steady gaze was making him feel vaguely uncomfortable. It was almost as if he were…waiting for something.

Wheeljack searched his cache for some clue that would explain Trailbreaker’s odd behavior; had he offended Trailbreaker in some way? Did he owe him an apology?

His search came up empty, leaving him even more bewildered than before. He couldn’t think of anything he might have done to annoy Trailbreaker, and Trailbreaker didn’t seem angry, anyway. But he was still looking at Wheeljack expectantly, obviously waiting for him to say something –

“Do you think you’ll be spending more time with Hound now?” he asked spontaneously, just to break the oppressive silence. “I mean, now that you know you don’t have to avoid him when Mirage is around?”

Trailbreaker’s optics widened in surprise, and Wheeljack instantly regretted the question. Hound was a subject Trailbreaker always seemed willing to discuss; it had seemed as good a topic as any to get him talking again. If Hound was a part of whatever was making Trailbreaker act this way, Wheeljack reasoned it was an appropriate subject to broach - but based on Trailbreaker’s reaction, it wasn’t what he’d been expecting Wheeljack to say.

“Are you jealous of Hound?” Trailbreaker asked.

Wheeljack stared at him incredulously. “No,” he scoffed, “of course not,” his tone making it clear just how ridiculous he found that question to be. “Why would I be?”

“Hound and I are pretty close,” Trailbreaker replied reasonably, “We’ve interfaced, and we know each other really well. We have a lot in common, too. I could understand you feeling threatened by him.”

“I’m not threatened by him,” he replied indignantly.

“You do act kind of uncomfortable whenever he’s around,” Trailbreaker pointed out. “Especially when he jokes around about interfacing.”

Wheeljack couldn’t believe his audials. “I am not jealous of Hound!” he exclaimed emphatically. Where had Trailbreaker gotten such a ludicrous idea?

“Are you sure?” Trailbreaker asked.

“I think you’re the one who’s jealous,” he accused. “You’re always talking about him, about how much you miss him now that he’s spending all his time with Mirage.”

Trailbreaker stared at him. “You are jealous,” he said, sounding oddly…pleased.

“I am not!” he denied vehemently. “I’m not the one trying to make him jealous, putting on little shows to impress him!”

Trailbreaker looked startled. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he snapped. “Telling him what kind of sounds I make –”

“I said I was sorry about that,” Trailbreaker interrupted. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Did he ask you for a demonstration, too?” he demanded. “For you to let him watch while you frag me?”

Trailbreaker’s optics widened in shock, which was something of a relief. Wheeljack hadn’t honestly thought it was like that, that Trailbreaker had planned it all, or that he was just using him to make Hound jealous – his vocalizer had just sort of…run off on its own. He might have suspected Trailbreaker of competing with Hound a little, but nothing as calculated as what he’d just suggested.

“They were watching us?” Trailbreaker asked. “In the ‘racks? Hound and Mirage?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Mirage even commed to thank me for being so inspiring. It was completely humiliating!”

“That’s why you were so torqued off at me,” Trailbreaker said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t exactly have time,” he muttered. “I didn’t notice them watching us until – until it was too late.”

“You could have told me after they left,” Trailbreaker pointed out. He shook his helm, “I knew you were angry at me about something, but you kept saying you weren’t.”

Wheeljack’s vocal indicators flickered, but his vocalizer failed to produce any words. He shrugged uncomfortably, chagrined at being caught in a lie.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you,” Trailbreaker said. “I didn’t know they were watching us. I didn’t even think about it – I’m so used to Hound, it didn’t even occur to me that it might upset you.” He grinned sheepishly, “To be honest, I was mostly thinking about you. I’d been wanting to ‘face you all day; I just couldn’t hold back anymore.”

Trailbreaker’s excuse did seem plausible – not to mention flattering – and Wheeljack was inclined to believe his apology was sincere.

“In my defense, you seemed pretty into it at the time,” Trailbreaker added. “I mean, you offlined!” he laughed. “That’s usually a fairly reliable indicator.”

“I was, I guess,” he admitted grudgingly. “I just…don’t like being put on display like that.”

Trailbreaker nodded, “I remember now, you said something like that before,” he said. “That time when we were on the ship, and thought we were all gonna die? You said you couldn’t do it in front of everyone, not even then. I’m sorry I forgot. I should have remembered that before I jumped you.”

He half-shrugged, lifting a shoulder-strut. “It’s okay,” he said. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I’m glad we sorted that out,” Trailbreaker said. “I was going crazy, wondering what I did wrong. I wish you’d just told me.”

He shrugged again, guiltily. Once more they lapsed into silence.

After a few kliks, the silence grew more oppressive, and Wheeljack started to feel uneasy again. They’d worked out their differences, cleared the air – didn’t that make everything all right again? Trailbreaker was still sitting in his chair, having made no move toward the berth. Shouldn’t he be doing that by now?

He glanced up uncertainly, and found Trailbreaker looking at him with the oddest expression – pensive, almost despairing.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“A lot,” Trailbreaker said quietly. “A lot, I think.”

He stared at him, cocking his helm in confusion; Trailbreaker’s expression had shifted, in a way that was downright alarming – he looked positively stricken.

“What?” he asked, his spark clenching. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing,” Trailbreaker replied bitterly. “Absolutely nothing. Oh, Primus…”

“I don’t understand,” he said, disturbed by the look of profound distress on Trailbreaker’s faceplate, like a mech in the grip of some horrific revelation.

“You’re not going to ask me, are you?” Trailbreaker said mournfully, his helm bowing in defeat. “I’d hoped it was just a coincidence, that I was imagining it all. That if I gave you the chance, you’d ask me.”

Wheeljack was baffled. “Ask you what?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

Trailbreaker raised his helm, pinning him with his gaze. “Do you want to interface with me, Wheeljack?”

He’d been baffled before, now he was dumbfounded. Trailbreaker wanted to ‘face now? “You want to?” he asked, utterly bewildered. “Sure, I guess.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Trailbreaker said.

Wheeljack shook his helm sharply, wondering if his audials were glitching. “Did you fry a logic circuit?” he asked. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Do you. Want. To interface. With me.” Trailbreaker repeated.

Wheeljack stared at him blankly. “Yes..?” he said uncertainly. Was that the right answer? Did Trailbreaker want him to say no?

“Then why aren’t you?” Trailbreaker asked.

His vocal indicators flashed incredulously. “I didn’t know you wanted to!” he said. If Trailbreaker wanted to interface, why was he just sitting there? Confusion began to give way to anger. “How was I supposed to know you wanted to? You never said y–”

“Forget about me,” Trailbreaker interrupted. “Do you want to?”

Wheeljack started, taken aback by the direct question. His vocal indicators flashed wordlessly.

Trailbreaker regarded him steadily, a world of hurt in his gaze. “Did you ever want to?” he asked quietly.

He shook his helm in disbelief. “Are you glitched?” he asked. “I’ve ‘faced with you loads of times..!”

“When I wanted to,” Trailbreaker said.

His shoulder-struts slumped, his anger deflating as Trailbreaker’s meaning dawned on him, finally realizing what he was getting at. “I…I wanted to when you wanted to,” he said lamely.

“What if I didn’t?” Trailbreaker persisted. “If you wanted to, but you weren’t sure I did, would you ask me?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah, sure,” he said diffidently.

“So all this time we’ve been together, you just…haven’t wanted to,” Trailbreaker said. “Except when I did.”

“What is this?” he asked defensively, offended by Trailbreaker’s patronizingly dubious tone.

“Why am I always the one asking you? How come you never ask me?” Trailbreaker pressed. “You never even touch me. I can hardly keep my hands off you sometimes, but you – you never touch me.”

“I touch you all the time!”

“When we’re interfacing, sure, after I get things rolling,” Trailbreaker argued. “Only after I touch you. You never touch me first, never say you wanna ‘face me – it’s like…it’s like you’re just – just going along with it because I want to!”

He activated his vocalizer to deny Trailbreaker’s accusation, but the memory files of their past encounters were flooding his cache, flashing through his CPU, bearing proof of Trailbreaker’s claim. His vocal indicators flickered mutely.

“Sometimes,” Trailbreaker said quietly, “Sometimes it almost seems like you’re afraid of me. Afraid if you touch me, it’ll give me ideas.”

His spark contracted painfully in its chamber. Trailbreaker’s observation was far too close to the truth.

“Hound and Mirage touch each other a lot,” Trailbreaker mused, “Not just when they’re flirting or ‘facing, either. They do it all the time. Pit, they touch me more than you do.”

“You’re comparing us to them now?” he demanded, feeling abruptly on firmer ground. “Sorry I don’t ‘face like Hound does,” he said sarcastically. “So I don’t touch you a lot, so what? My hands –”

“– are sensitive, I know,” Trailbreaker concluded for him. “I get that. I get why you don’t touch other mechs much. What I don’t get is why you don’t touch me. If you wanted to ‘face with me, you’d touch me. But you don’t.”

“This is stupid,” he said dismissively. “You want me to touch you more? Fine, I’ll touch you. You wanna ‘face with me? Let’s do it.”

“You don’t talk to me, either,” Trailbreaker said. “You don’t tell me when something’s bothering you, or when you’re angry at me – the only time you say anything is when I ask you, and even then you barely answer me.”

“We’ve been through this,” he said impatiently. “Next time I get mad at you, I’ll tell you.”

“That’s not the point,” Trailbreaker argued. “The point is I hardly know anything about you! I don’t know what you and Ratchet fought about, or why it upset you so much – I didn’t even know you’d made up with him until I asked you about it, because you didn’t tell me!”

“I would have told you,” he said defensively. “You asked before I had the chance!”

“Maybe so,” Trailbreaker replied with a shrug. “Maybe you would have. But I still don’t know why you fought with him in the first place.”

He debated admitting that Ratchet wanted him, that he’d made a bid for Wheeljack’s affections when he learned he was seeing Trailbreaker, but opted against it. Trailbreaker had already accused him of being jealous of Hound, for Primus’ sake – the last thing he needed was to know about Ratchet’s...interest.

“There’re a lot of other things, too,” Trailbreaker said. “Things I don’t know about. Things you don’t tell me.”

“Like what?” he said warily.

“Like why you act like you’re afraid of me sometimes,” Trailbreaker said. “Like why you moan when you’re in recharge, and why you took a swing at me this morning when I tried to wake you.”

His optics widened, an icy thrill of fear shivering down his backstrut. That was why Trailbreaker had been touching him? Because he’d been moaning during his recharge cycle?

“I said I was sorry about that,” he said, struggling to rein in the sense of panic rising in his circuits. “And anyway, I did tell you why.”

Trailbreaker regarded him sadly. “No you didn’t,” he said. “Not the real reason.”

Wheeljack stiffened, his optics narrowing. Was Trailbreaker was calling him a liar? Sure, he kept some things to himself, but those things were private! They were none of his business!

Trailbreaker seemed daunted by his angry expression, but he shook his helm stubbornly. “You’re getting angry at me, I can tell,” he said. “But I need to say this. I need you to understand.”

“Understand what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Why I wanted to uplink with you,” Trailbreaker said. “Why I still do, if you’d let me.”

“Is that what this is all about?” he demanded, rising up from his seat on the berth, his spark pulsing, alternating between anger and terror. “Uplinking?!”

Trailbreaker got to his feet as well, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “All these things that upset you, that I don’t know about, that you don’t tell me?” he said. “All the things you’re feeling, but don’t ever talk about? If we uplinked, I’d know. I’d know all of it.”

Wheeljack backed away from him, or tried to; the backs of his legs struck the berth after only half a pace. Trailbreaker was bigger than he was, outweighing him by a good margin, and he’d already demonstrated that he could pin Wheeljack to a berth quite effectively. He folded his arms over his chestplate protectively, swallowing his fear. “I told you, I don’t uplink,” he said firmly.

“I know,” Trailbreaker said. “You don’t uplink, because you don’t like it.”

“You want to link with me and find out how much?” he challenged. “You want to feel it for yourself?”

Trailbreaker drew back, startled. “No,” he said, clearly shocked by the suggestion. “Primus, Wheeljack, of course not!”

Trailbreaker’s reaction eased some of the tension from his servos. “So what do you want?”

Trailbreaker looked hurt. “I want you to talk to me,” he said plaintively. “I care about you, Wheeljack,” he said. “I care about you a lot, and I know something’s wrong! But I don’t know what, or why, because you won’t tell me. And I think – I think, if this is real, you’d tell me. You’d want to tell me.”

“And that’s why you want me to uplink with you,” he said flatly.

“That’s not what this is about!” Trailbreaker exclaimed, huffing air though his vents in frustration. “At least, not just that…” He paused, seeming to collect himself, then began to speak again slowly, choosing his words with care, “I’m trying to explain that if you talked to me, I wouldn’t need to uplink with you to find out what’s on your processor, because you’d have already told me.”

Wheeljack’s hydraulics abruptly depressurized with a quiet hiss. He finally understood what Trailbreaker was saying – he wasn’t threatening him, or planning to force him to uplink –

But he couldn’t tell him. He just…couldn’t.

“If you talked to me, I wouldn’t have to wonder how you really feel about me,” Trailbreaker said quietly. “But you don’t talk to me, and you won’t uplink with me. I’m not even sure you want to interface with me anymore.” He frowned down at him, pain evident in his optics. “Do you even like me, Wheeljack?”

Wheeljack was startled, both by the question and the tone of hurt and reproach in which it was uttered. “Sure I like you,” he said. “Why else would I be here?”

Trailbreaker shook his helm. “I don’t know,” he said sadly. “That’s what I keep asking myself.” He lowered his gaze, his shoulder-struts slumping dejectedly. “I’m not sure why you’re here, but…I don’t think it’s because of me.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, his spark clenching in sudden inexplicable dread, disturbed by the resignation in Trailbreaker’s tone.

“I l-…I like you a lot, Wheeljack,” Trailbreaker said. “But I need more. I need to know you like me, too. This…what we have…it’s just not working for me.”


*BANG*
*Part 20 is here*

Comments

[fauxfaia.livejournal.com]

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I BRACED myself for something like this, I really did, but it STILL hit me like a mack truck! oh godddddd ffffffffffff *FLAILS* I totally didn't see 'breaker breaking it off first~! ffffff oh my god. You evil EVIL person you!

[pl2363.livejournal.com]

wow, that was dramatic, and a very awesome update. i wait with baited breath to see how Wheeljack handles it. o_o

[mdperera.livejournal.com]

Oh man, that was awesome.

I read the second half with my heart beating faster. Wheeljack seems pretty preoccupied, if he couldn't remember that he'd been angry before and Trailbreaker was worried about that - though in his defense he's got a lot on his mind, including the Dinobots.

Poor Trailbreaker, though. I felt so sorry for him. I knew there was going to be a crash-and-burn, but the worst part is, he's hurt even before knowing the real truth. And he's been so nice to Wheeljack all along.

Excellent update! Can't wait for the finale.

[anon-decepticon.livejournal.com]

Wheeljack didn't take their earlier conflict in the 'racks into account because he thought he'd been successful in convincing Trailbreaker he wasn't angry - or rather, he'd convinced himself he wasn't angry, and that Trailbreaker's claim that he was was completely groundless., making it a non-issue. It was in essence a similar situation to what happened in the commissary; at the time 'Jack denied both to himself and TB that he was bothered by it, but his real feelings came out when the threw it back in TB's faceplate during their argument. Not the most emotionally self-aware of 'Bots, is Wheeljack. He's as bad at grasping his own feelings as he is those of others. They blindside him constantly.

[mdperera.livejournal.com]

I had to re-read the last part of the story because it was just so good. Favorite lines :

“What?” he asked, his spark clenching. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing,” Trailbreaker replied bitterly. “Absolutely nothing."

Aww. He really wanted Wheeljack to make the first move... but Wheeljack just stood there.

“So all this time we’ve been together, you just…haven’t wanted to,” Trailbreaker said. “Except when I did.”

We haven't seen anything from Trailbreaker's perspective so far, so I've just been getting this impression of a large, friendly but somewhat insecure 'bot with a soft spark under his forcefield. The end of this chapter showed that he was pretty perceptive, though. He knew what was wrong in their physical relationship, he could catalog each time Wheeljack avoided talking to him and he's got an inkling that Wheeljack's just been using him. The part where he stammers, "“I l-…I like you a lot" is poignant, because I think he almost said the L-word.

And I didn't even know who Trailbreaker was when I started reading this series.

[aaaaaah.livejournal.com]

omfg what? Amazing chapter, didn't really see that coming and I feel so bad for both of them. Now I'm really curious to see what happens next.

[eerian_sadow]

well, of all the things i was expecting to see, that ending wasn't it. i'd half expected Jack to break it off, but not Breaker.

poor boys.

[faremyr.livejournal.com]

*sigh*

Saw that one coming. Oh, dear... poor bastards.

Anyhow: thank you for sharing and HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! *winks*

[sister-dear.livejournal.com]

GAH!

*long pause*

Holy crap.


That sharp contrast between Mirage telling Hound right there what was bugging him versus Wheeljack's reaction was a really, really good setup for where this chapter went in that last portion.

Also, meant to mention this on the last chapter but hadn't gotten to actually commenting yet; I loved how Mirage was, for lack of a better phrase, having a girlfriends talk with Wheeljack. (Poor Wheeljack, haha.)

Yup, this story still has me totally hooked.

[growlingturtlez.livejournal.com]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH....!

The DRAMA! ZOMG is Wheeljack gonna tell 'Breaker?!

Enquiring minds must know! (Although, seeker smut does sound awesome. Is it the follow up to "Yours, Mine, Ours"?)

[anon-decepticon.livejournal.com]

The DRAMA! ZOMG is Wheeljack gonna tell 'Breaker?!
Hmm...maybe?

Although, seeker smut does sound awesome. Is it the follow up to "Yours, Mine, Ours"?
Yup! It'll be another 3-parter, revolving around Skywarp's cunning plan to sort out the Megs/TC situation. I'm currently waffling between writing the first part of that, and writing the next chapter of "Atlantis." I may just try to work on both at once, and see how that works out...

[growlingturtlez.livejournal.com]

oooh, that's a hard decision. Both tug at the heart (though for me, After Atlantis tugs a bit more), but "Yours, Mine, Ours" tugs at...other things.

[laratron.livejournal.com]

I...uh...guh...wow. I knew it would come eventually, but I wasn't expecting it like that. I wish Wheeljack would just tell him what was wrong. You and your evil cliffhangers!

[zyraxus.livejournal.com]

I'm finding it hard not to button mash in reply.

I just... oh lawd. The pacing that built up to that was perfectly timed. xD SO THAT'S WHAT THOSE LAST CHAPTERS WERE ABOUT. I see what you did there.

And that drama button? Took me five minutes to compose myself, I nearly peed myself laughing. 8|

longtime lurker,first time commenter

[candlewitch2486.livejournal.com]

I can't help but feel bad for both Wheeljack and Trailbreaker, but this conversation has been a long time coming. I hope they manage to work things out, especially since Wheeljack is kind of dependant on Trailbreaker.

[12012.livejournal.com]

Goodness gracious me ;__; I think I hit the drama button OVER 9000 TIMES!!! Just for emphasis and much needed giggles after that torturing cliffhanger! Those poor boys, especially Trailbreaker. I was expecting Wheeljack to end it, but I can understand why it would be TB.

I cant wait for more. Also looking forward to the Seekersmut too ^^;


Sorry for random de-lurk, I'll try and make effort to comment more *___*~~