After Atlantis, Part 23

[anon_decepticon]

Title: After Atlantis, Part 23
Author: anon_decepticon
Rating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Wheeljack, Ratchet, Trailbreaker
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 “S.O.S. Dinobots,” “Traitor,” “The Ultimate Doom” (part one) and “City of Steel” (namely the bits w/Autobots on water skis.) Part 20 references scenes and quotes dialogue from “Blaster Blues.” Part 21 references “The Golden Lagoon.” 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), Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22. Also available on FFN. I got to see what the inside of an ER looks like and an unexpected vacation from work, you guys get an update only a week after the last one. How’s that for a silver lining? (I should be returning to work soon.) It’s confession time for Wheeljack – will he screw it up, or finally make good? Many thanks to kookaburra1701 for her continued support and insightful feedback, and to the rest of you for your kind comments. Only one chapter left!



The majority of the ride back to the Ark passed in silence.

As far as Wheeljack was concerned, there was nothing to talk about. It was over. He’d lost everything.

His trembling gradually began to subside, and he thought he might have regained control of his limbs, but he had no desire to move them. His spark felt cold and dead in its chamber, his processor numb.

*How are you doing, ‘Jack?* Ratchet commed him as they neared the base.

Wheeljack stared up at the roof of Ratchet’s interior compartment and made no effort to respond.

There was a pause. *C’mon, Wheeljack, talk to me.*

He turned onto his side, curling in on himself. He had nothing to say.

Another pause. He heard Ratchet muttering something to himself, but couldn’t make out the words.

*I’m taking you to repair bay,* Ratchet said finally. *We’ll figure out what to do when we get there.*

Until that moment, Wheeljack’s processor had been singularly occupied with the terrible certainty that he’d lost Trailbreaker forever. Trailbreaker had learned the truth, seen him for what he truly was. But Ratchet’s words reminded him that losing Trailbreaker was only the worst of the day’s repercussions – his exposure had been a public spectacle, and Trailbreaker’s reaction was not the only one Wheeljack had reason to fear.

Trailbreaker may have been the only direct witness, but by now the other Autobots involved in the battle would have noticed his failure to return to the Ark under his own power. There would be questions. They’d want to know what happened, the extent of his injuries. They’d demand an explanation.

…all except for Optimus Prime. His commander would understand all too well. This battle had been Wheeljack’s final test, and he’d failed spectacularly. Prime would never trust his word again.

The fact that Ratchet seemed willing to try and cover for him was little consolation. Even if Ratchet did manage to come up with a plausible excuse for what had happened on the battlefield, Optimus Prime would recognize the lie for what it was. Assuming Prime took Ratchet’s lead and did the same, Wheeljack might be spared the humiliation of the whole Ark learning the truth, but the rumors would fly anyway – that he was somehow defective, that he’d frozen up in battle, that he’d been hauled back to the Ark in disgrace. There would be no subtle rearrangement of the duty schedule this time. Prowl and Jazz would be told outright to restrict him from combat, and even if they accepted that order without question, everyone would know something was wrong with him.

Trailbreaker would know.

The thought of facing them all, of being forced to live from day to day under that degree of scrutiny…

Wheeljack offlined his optics in despair, shutting down his primary systems.

**

He was roused from standby mode by the familiar sound of Ratchet yelling.

“– have I told you about charging into battle half-cocked? You nearly got yourself slagged this time!”

“It was worth it,” he heard Cliffjumper argue belligerently. “I nailed Soundwave, didn’t I?”

“And then he turned around and nailed you,” Ratchet retorted. “My point stands. You pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll weld your aft to a bulkhead until you learn to use your processor for something other than a blunt object. Got it?”

“Got it,” Cliffjumper muttered mutinously. A moment later Wheeljack heard the clank of his retreating footsteps.

“Let’s have a look at you now,” Ratchet said. “Any pain? Where were you hit?”

“I’m fine,” Trailbreaker’s deep voice replied. “But what about –?”

“I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t mind,” Ratchet interrupted tartly. There was a pause, presumably while the medic ran a scan. “Damage appears to be superficial,” he concluded gruffly. “You’re lucky you’ve got thick plating. You’ll be fine in half a joor. You’re free to go.”

“I’m staying right here,” Trailbreaker said.

“That’s really not necessary,” Ratchet said as Wheeljack tensed on the berth. “Why don’t you go and refuel? You can check back later if you like.”

“I’m not leaving,” Trailbreaker replied stubbornly. “Report me for insubordination if you want; I’m not going anywhere. You want me out, you’re gonna have to throw me out.”

Ratchet huffed impatiently. “I appreciate that you’re worried about him,” he said, “but there’s really no reason to –”

“Something’s going on,” Trailbreaker insisted. “And I think you know what it is.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ratchet replied evasively.

“I saw him, Ratchet!” Trailbreaker exploded. “He completely locked up! I may not be a medic, but I know that’s not normal! And you – when I told you what happened, you didn’t even look surprised!

There was a startled pause.

“Something’s going on, and I wanna know what,” Trailbreaker persisted, his voice returning to its usual register. “So no, I’m not leaving. Not until you tell me what’s wrong with Wheeljack.”

Ratchet vented a sigh. “It’s…complicated.”

“What do you mean, complicated?” Trailbreaker demanded. “Just tell me!”

“I can’t,” Ratchet said. “That information is strictly confidential.”

Wheeljack relaxed, the tension ebbing from his servos. Ratchet may have once threatened to reveal his secret to Trailbreaker, but obviously he’d never had any real intention of doing so. His secret was safe.

“I don’t understand,” Trailbreaker said, and Wheeljack could hear his puzzled frown in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” Ratchet said. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“Starscream said something about Wheeljack helping him,” Trailbreaker mused thoughtfully. “But that can’t be right – Wheeljack would never do that! He’d never work for the ‘Cons!”

“You’re right,” Ratchet said quietly. “He wouldn’t.”

“Ratchet, please,” Trailbreaker entreated. “Please, there must be something you can tell me.”

Ratchet hesitated, venting another heavy sigh. “You remember the day we fought those Sub-Atlanticans?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Trailbreaker said.

Wheeljack tensed again, his hydraulics pressurizing. This couldn’t be happening; Ratchet didn’t seriously intend to –

“Well then you know Wheeljack came back badly damaged that day,” Ratchet said.

“I remember,” Trailbreaker replied as Wheeljack struggled frantically to reboot his systems. “Hound said Wheeljack let himself get captured so that he and the others could escape.”

“That’s right,” Ratchet said, “and while they had him –”

“Ratchet, no!” Wheeljack exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in the berth. “Don’t tell him!”

The two mechs turned to stare at him in surprise.

Wheeljack stared back, realizing too late he’d just made it painfully clear there was something to tell.

“What’s going on, Wheeljack?” Trailbreaker asked, frowning with concern.

Wheeljack looked at him, his spark clenching in agony. I can’t tell him. He’ll hate me. Feeling trapped and desperate, he looked to Ratchet for help.

Ratchet shook his helm sadly. “Just tell him, ‘Jack,” he said. “It’s long overdue.”

Wheeljack looked back at Trailbreaker, who was regarding him expectantly, awaiting his response.

Wheeljack lowered his helm. He didn’t even know where to begin.

Trailbreaker looked from him to Ratchet and back again. “The Sub-Atlanticans…they took you prisoner,” he said hesitantly. “Did they…do something to you?”

“No,” he replied listlessly, not bothering to raise his helm. “I mean, yeah, but…no.”

Trailbreaker stared at him in confusion, baffled by his response. “I don’t understand.”

“They used a new kind of weapon on him,” Ratchet volunteered. “Some sort of energy-draining device. Wiped out most of his primary systems.”

“That would be scary,” Trailbreaker agreed, nodding sympathetically. But then he frowned. “Wait – I remember now, Hound got hit with that weapon, too,” he said. “But he was okay; he said the energy discharge when Grimlock destroyed it revived everyone. Were you too far away? And what does all this have to do with Starscream?”

“They used it on him, too,” he said quietly. “After Nergill shot me, he used his weapon on Starscream.”

Trailbreaker’s frown deepened. “Starscream was the one that took the weapon away from Nergill,” he said. “That’s what Hound told me. He didn’t say anything about Starscream being damaged.”

“No,” he agreed bitterly. “By then I’m sure he wasn’t.”

Trailbreaker stared at him in disbelief. “You did help him,” he said, his optics widening. “After both of you got shot, you repaired Starscream so he could stop Nergill.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess you could say that.”

“‘Jack,” Ratchet said, his vocalizer soft but stern, “We’ve talked about this. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was,” he said tonelessly. “I let myself get captured. I let them use me to create that weapon. And then I let Starscream –”

“You were immobilized,” Ratchet insisted. “You didn’t have a choice.”

Trailbreaker looked back and forth between them, a renewed expression of confusion on his faceplate. “Immobilized?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ratchet confirmed. “He was barely functional – weren’t you, ‘Jack?” he said with a pointed look.

Wheeljack looked away, avoiding his optics.

“But if you couldn’t move, how did you repair Starscream?” Trailbreaker asked.

Wheeljack shook his helm ruefully. Trailbreaker looked at Ratchet, his optics questioning.

“Starscream didn’t need repairs,” Ratchet said. “Not really. He just needed to restore energy to his systems in order to recover – just like Hound and the others.”

Trailbreaker frowned. “Okay…” he said slowly. “So how did he –?”

“I can’t do this, Ratch,” Wheeljack interrupted him, static creeping into his vocalizer. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Ratchet said encouragingly. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Wheeljack cycled a shaky draft of air through his intakes, clasping his hands together tightly in an effort to quell their trembling. “He…” he began, but was cut off by a burst of static.

He reset his vocalizer and tried again, bowing his helm, keeping his optics locked on his hands. “Starscream…used me,” he admitted.

Trailbreaker cocked his helm in bewilderment. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You mean he tricked you? Convinced you to help him and then turned on you?”

“No,” he gritted out, his grip on his hands tightening until pain shot up his arms and the metal creaked in protest, forcing the words from his vocalizer. “I mean he plugged into me. And then he made me –”

He was interrupted by two distinct sounds that occurred almost simultaneously – Trailbreaker’s sudden sharp intake of air, and the quiet hiss of Ratchet’s hydraulics depressurizing.

“Primus,” Trailbreaker whispered.

Wheeljack forced himself look up, to meet Trailbreaker’s gaze. Trailbreaker was staring at him with a stunned expression, his mouth hanging open in shock, his optics wide with horror.

But even as he watched, Trailbreaker’s optics dimmed and flickered, his CPU responding to what was no doubt a veritable deluge of memory files rearranging themselves in light of this new information. Shame burned through his circuits as Trailbreaker’s look of shock slowly shifted into something far worse.

Pity.

“Primus,” Trailbreaker said again, clearly shaken. “That was why you –”

“Don’t,” he pleaded, hiding his faceplate in his hands, overwhelmed by shame. “Don’t say it.”

“Jack –” Ratchet said sadly.

As requested, Trailbreaker didn’t say a word.

He embraced him.

Wheeljack stiffened in surprise, but only for a moment. He was in Trailbreaker’s arms again, pressed tight against the broad, solid warmth of his chestplate, filled with a sense of relief so profound it hurt, as if some foreign object lodged deep within his spark had suddenly broken free. The next thing he knew, he was clinging to the larger mech in something like desperation, keening and quaking with sweet, terrible agony.

He tried to apologize, to offer some excuse, but his vocalizer was so clogged with static and feedback his efforts were largely incoherent; he could only choke out, “I couldn’t – I tried to –”

Trailbreaker only squeezed tighter, holding him crushingly close. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he keened brokenly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Trailbreaker said. “I understand now.”

“Why don’t we take this into my office?” Ratchet suggested.

They looked up at him in surprise, abruptly recalling that they weren’t alone, the repair bay was a semi-public place. Trailbreaker looked at Wheeljack. “All right with you?” he asked quietly.

He nodded mutely, struggling to get his emotions back under control. Trailbreaker released him, much to Wheeljack’s regret, and followed along quietly as they relocated to Ratchet’s office.

“Have a seat,” Ratchet said, motioning towards the visitor’s chairs. “I’ve got some high-grade if you think you might need it.”

“Maybe later,” Trailbreaker replied absently, his optics on Wheeljack as the engineer settled himself into a chair, drawing his feet up to the edge and curling in on himself.

“Ratchet!” a voice bellowed from the other room. “Where are you, you slagger? This is a medical emergency!”

Ratchet huffed in exasperation. “Looks like I’ve been summoned,” he said. “Feel free to seal the door behind me.” With that he went out, returning to the larger room they’d just vacated. A moment later they heard him demand acerbically, “What is it this time, Sunstreaker?”

“There’s a dent in my chassis!” Sunstreaker cried in tones of near-hysteria. “A dent, Ratchet! I was in the ‘racks, touching up my paint job, and that’s when I saw it – this huge, hideous eyesore!”

“All right, all right, calm down,” Ratchet said. “I’ll bang it out for you.”

There was a pause.

“…where is it?” Ratchet asked.

“Where is it, he says!” Sunstreaker shouted. “This is no time for jokes, Ratchet! You have to fix it right now!”

“Maybe you should have called Perceptor,” Ratchet muttered wryly. “Oh, wait – there it is. I see it now.”

There was another pause.

“Are you sure that’s a dent?” Ratchet asked. “Maybe it’s just dirt.”

“Dirt!? On my chassis?! I didn’t come here to be insulted, Ratchet!”

Inside Ratchet’s office, Trailbreaker and Wheeljack exchanged glances.

Trailbreaker lip components twitched. “I guess everyone’s having a crisis tonight,” he said.

Wheeljack chuckled, his vocal indicators flickering, but after a moment he sobered again. “Yeah,” he said quietly, winding his arms around his drawn-up knees. “I guess so.”

Trailbreaker eased carefully into the seat next to him. “I don’t know what to say,” he said. “It’s so awful – but of course you knew that,” he amended abashedly.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I guess that’s why you looked so scared the first time I asked you,” Trailbreaker ventured hesitantly.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“But you came by that night anyway,” Trailbreaker said, his tone a question.

“Yeah,” he said again, shrugging awkwardly. “I…I thought it maybe would help.”

A look of hurt flashed through Trailbreaker’s optics. “I’m guessing it didn’t,” he said. “The next morning, you said it was a mistake. That it was too soon.”

Wheeljack nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It was.”

“But you still agreed to spend time with me afterward,” Trailbreaker said with a hint of reproach. “You said you wanted to.”

“I did want to,” he replied. “I just didn’t wanna – I liked hanging out with you.”

Trailbreaker looked surprised, then thoughtful – and then pained. “That’s why you never touched me, or asked me to ‘face with you,” he said, stricken. “You never wanted to – you just let me because you liked spending time with me –!”

Wheeljack reached out hesitantly and touched his arm, causing Trailbreaker to turn and look at him. “It wasn’t like that,” he said. “You didn’t make me. I wanted to.”

Trailbreaker shook his helm, agonized. “No wonder you acted so – Primus, I’m such an idiot!”

“You didn’t make me,” he insisted. “You asked. You waited.”

Trailbreaker looked at him, his optics full of fearful hope.

Wheeljack nodded, affirming his unspoken question. “It’s okay,” he said. “I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t want to uplink with me,” Trailbreaker said. “That was why; because Starscream –”

“Yeah,” he admitted, withdrawing his hand.

“I wish you’d told me,” Trailbreaker said, shaking his helm ruefully, seemingly unable to look at him. “If I’d known, I never would have asked you to –”

“I know,” he interrupted quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“What about you and Ratchet?” Trailbreaker asked, his gaze falling on Ratchet’s desk. “Was that what you two were fighting about?”

“Yeah,” he said. “He wanted me to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Trailbreaker asked.

“How could I?” he said, a renewed crackle of static invading his vocalizer. “If you knew I – if I told you, you wouldn’t want me anymore! You’d know I was –”

“You do like me,” Trailbreaker said, turning to stare at him in surprise, his voice soft and startled.

Wheeljack nodded, lowering his helm. “Yeah,” he said. Trailbreaker was finally looking at him, staring so hard Wheeljack could feel the weight of his optics without even raising his helm. “It’s...okay if you don’t anymore,” he said, fighting to keep the strain from his vocalizer, trying to be strong. “I understand if you hate me now.”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder-strut, compelling him to look up. Trailbreaker was gazing down at him sorrowfully, his optics filled with a mixture of fondness and sympathy.

“I don’t hate you,” Trailbreaker said softly. “I love you, Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack stared at him for a moment in disbelief, but then shook his helm. “No you don’t,” he said. “You love the old me, not…” he faltered, had to force his vocalizer to transmit the words, “not the defective one.”

Trailbreaker gave him a sharp look. “You are not defective,” he said, sounding almost angry.

Wheeljack bowed his helm and looked away, unconvinced.

“Primus,” Trailbreaker whispered, almost to himself. “Now it all makes sense.”

“Ratchet wants me to talk to Hoist,” he volunteered reluctantly. “He says he can help me.”

“Then you should do it,” Trailbreaker replied simply.

“He’ll make me talk about it,” he said, the fuel in his tanks lurching at the thought. “Everyone wants me to talk about it.”

“Sometimes talking helps,” Trailbreaker said. “I wish you’d talked to me.”

He shrugged guiltily, hunching down in his chair, hugging his knees close to his chestplate.

“Are you sorry you did?” Trailbreaker asked. “Do you regret that you finally told me?”

Wheeljack thought about that for a moment, then shook his helm. “No,” he admitted. “At least now you’re talking to me.”

“Maybe it’ll be the same with Hoist,” Trailbreaker reasoned. “Maybe he really can help you. Maybe you’ll be glad you did.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“There’s one other thing I think you haven’t thought of,” Trailbreaker said. “I barely knew the old Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack straightened, lifting his helm to stare at him in surprise.

Trailbreaker smiled, gazing down at him fondly. “I fell for the new one.”

**

Ratchet came in before Wheeljack could formulate a coherent reply, having finally escaped from Sunstreaker and his “emergency” repair.

“I don’t know about you two,” Ratchet grumbled as the door hissed shut behind him, “but I think I could use some of that high-grade right about now.”

Trailbreaker and Wheeljack exchanged a look; Wheeljack shook his helm minutely. He didn’t think getting overcharged would do much to improve his current mood.

“I think we’ll pass,” Trailbreaker said, turning his gaze back to Ratchet. “But if you’ve got any standard energon lying around, I wouldn’t say no to a cube.”

Ratchet looked at Wheeljack; Wheeljack nodded. “Sure,” Ratchet said. “I’ve got a backup supply on hand. Wait right here.”

Wheeljack slouched back down in his chair as Ratchet ducked out again, wrapping his arms tightly around his chestplate, his spark pulsing with a curious blend of relief and apprehension. Trailbreaker didn’t hate him, wasn’t angry that Wheeljack had lied to him, but he was behaving differently.

Not that Wheeljack blamed him. Under the circumstances, Trailbreaker was handling things remarkably well, far better than he’d expected.

He just wished Trailbreaker didn’t seem quite so reluctant to touch him.

Ratchet returned bearing three rations of energon, which he distributed silently between them. Wheeljack accepted his cube with a grateful nod, Trailbreaker with a quiet, “Thanks, doc.”

Ratchet leaned back against his desk wearily, raising his cube, “Here’s to a quiet end to a long, difficult day.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Trailbreaker replied emphatically, taking a healthy swig from his cube.

Wheeljack sipped his own more cautiously, wary of how his systems would react. His fuel tanks felt vaguely unsettled; not quite like he wanted to purge, but not exactly normal, either.

“So, everything okay with you two?” Ratchet asked, regarding them inquiringly.

“We’re all right, I think,” Trailbreaker replied, glancing at Wheeljack.

Wheeljack nodded, “Yeah.”

Ratchet looked like he wanted to say something more, but merely took another sip from his cube. The others did the same, and for several kliks they refueled in semi-awkward silence.

It was Trailbreaker who finally broke it, downing the last of his energon and dispersing the cube. “We should probably call it a night,” he said, glancing at Wheeljack again. “It’s getting kinda late.”

Wheeljack subspaced the remainder of his own cube; he’d consumed barely a quarter of it. He didn’t feel much like recharging, either. More accurately, he didn’t feel like returning to his quarters and attempting to recharge. His close encounter with Starscream today had refreshed all the memory files in his cache, which meant he’d undoubtedly find himself facing another round of sensor echoes the moment he initiated his cycle.

But he also knew he couldn’t hide out in Ratchet’s office forever, so he nodded in response to Trailbreaker’s questioning look.

Ratchet appeared to have come to the same conclusion; half a klik later they were filing out of the office and making their way down the corridor, heading for the residential section of the Ark.

They reached Ratchet’s quarters first – the CMO’s living space was assigned based on its proximity to repair bay – where Ratchet bade them good night, giving Wheeljack a look that clearly said, comm me if you need me. Wheeljack nodded in acknowledgment, grateful for his friend’s support, but knew even as he did so that he wouldn’t be taking Ratchet up on his offer.

At least not tonight.

After Ratchet’s, Wheeljack’s quarters were the closest; Trailbreaker accompanied him to them in silence. Each time Wheeljack hazarded a sidelong glance in his direction, he found Trailbreaker staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought.

Not once did Trailbreaker make any attempt to touch him.

Wheeljack paused when they reached his door, a strange feeling almost akin to dread clutching at his spark. He hesitated, his hand poised to key in the locking code, wondering which he feared more – the thought of recharging alone, plagued by sensor echoes, or the thought of asking Trailbreaker to join him and being rejected, or worse, seeing Trailbreaker’s expression contort with disgust.

Trailbreaker gave him an inquiring look as he hesitated.

That decided him. He had to know. He could deal with the sensor ghosts, but not the uncertainty. The thought of remaining online for joors – lying alone on his berth, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if Trailbreaker was secretly repulsed by him and would never touch him again – was more than Wheeljack could bear.

Summoning every ounce of his courage, he activated his vocalizer. “…do you want to come in?” he asked quietly, not turning around. He didn’t want to look at him. If Trailbreaker’s response was negative, Wheeljack knew his expression would be burned into his memory core forever.

For a tense moment Trailbreaker said nothing at all. Then he replied, “Sure, I could come in for a klik.”

Wheeljack’s spark sank. Granted, it wasn’t an outright refusal, but neither was it encouraging. He keyed in the locking code quickly, praying Trailbreaker wouldn’t change his mind.

They stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind them. Steeling himself, Wheeljack activated the lights and turned to face him, feeling more like he was facing down a firing squad.

It didn’t help that Trailbreaker looked good. The minor scuffs and scorch marks he’d acquired in today’s battle did nothing to detract from Trailbreaker’s overall appearance, instead lending a rugged, dependable quality that only added to his appeal.

Looking at him made Wheeljack’s spark ache.

For a long moment they stared at one another, neither moving nor speaking.

Please, he thought desperately. Please touch me.

But Trailbreaker didn’t move. He just stood there, looking at him expectantly.

He had to know. He had to. Even if it hurt abominably.

Moving quickly before he lost his nerve, Wheeljack closed the short distance between them and reached for him, laying a cautious hand against Trailbreaker’s chestplate.

Trailbreaker looked startled, tensing beneath his hand. “Wheeljack?” he asked uncertainly.

He didn’t dare look up. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Trailbreaker’s optics and risk seeing them fill with disgust in response to his touch. Instead he brought his other hand up, resting it lightly on Trailbreaker’s chestplate alongside the first, and leaned into him, bringing more of their frames into contact.

Trailbreaker’s hands slid tentatively around his waist components, gathering him into a tentative embrace.

Wheeljack nearly collapsed out of sheer relief; only the solid support of Trailbreaker’s frame prevented him from sinking to the floor. Relaxing into his embrace, he rested his helm against Trailbreaker’s chestplate, savoring the familiar warmth, the assuaging hum of his working systems.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered. “Please stay.”

Trailbreaker drew back in surprise. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

Wheeljack stiffened, tension shooting through his servos. He hadn’t entertained the notion of actually interfacing with Trailbreaker tonight – he’d been so uncertain Trailbreaker was willing to touch him, he hadn't even considered the possibility – but now that Trailbreaker had brought it up, he felt an unmistakable flare of panic seize hold of his spark.

The memory files of Starscream’s cruel words and malignant touches were all too fresh, too recently restored to his cache. If Trailbreaker started touching him in that way, Wheeljack felt certain even those well-meaning efforts would leave him feeling sick and shaken, just as they had that first night.

He pulled away from Trailbreaker reluctantly, his spark clenching in anguish. He mourned the loss of contact, but knew the price of maintaining it was more than he could afford to pay.

Trailbreaker released him readily, but seemed bewildered by his sudden withdrawal. He stared at him with bemused optics as Wheeljack moved away from him, wrapping his arms tightly around his chestplate.

“Tell me what you want, Wheeljack,” Trailbreaker said after a long, silent moment, his tone gentle and uncertain. “Do you want me to stay, or go? Do you want to ‘face with me, or not?”

“Stay,” he said, a hint of static seeping into his vocalizer. “I want you to stay. But not…” he trailed off, hugging himself, feeling broken and pathetic. A part of him wanted to hide, to tell Trailbreaker not to even look at him, but he forced himself to raise his helm anyway, meeting his puzzled gaze.

“Tell me what you need,” Trailbreaker said encouragingly.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he admitted, his vocalizer crackling. “Could you just…hold me?”

Trailbreaker relaxed visibly, the tension in his posture evaporating. “Of course,” he said with a smile.


*more to come*