After Atlantis, Part 9

[anon_decepticon]

Title: After Atlantis, Part 9
Author: anon_decepticon
Rating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Wheeljack, Ratchet, Trailbreaker, the Dinobots, various others
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 and quotes some dialogue from “Dinobot Island, Parts 1 & 2”. These portions of the fic are not mine.
Warning(s): PTSD angst, references to rape, elements of cognitive behavior therapy
Summary: Raped by Starscream, Wheeljack struggles to cope.
Author's Note: Originally a kink meme prompt, this fic ended up going in a decidedly non-smutty direction. Parts 1 and 2 appear on the meme, concluding with a brief epilogue that summarizes events detailed in Parts 3, 4, and 5. Parts 6, 7 and 8 continue the story. I’m now cross-posting this fic on FFN as well as LJ. The chapters are broken up differently, but the content is the same. Thanks to everyone for their support, for reading and for commenting. Extra special thanks to kookaburra1701, for her sage advice and patient endurance of my endless tide of emails.




A message alert notification roused him out of energy conservation mode.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to attempt recharge the night before, not even after his systems had normalized. He’d opted to power down instead, hoping to retain as much of his remaining energy reserves as possible. His recharge levels would be partially depleted when he reported for duty in a few joors, but since he’d been tasked with the relatively undemanding assignment of monitor duty for the forthcoming shift, he wagered he would be able to function adequately.

It was a gamble, of course. The Decepticons might attack, or an accident might leave some ‘Bot critically injured and in need of emergency repairs. There was no way of predicting what the future might hold, what crisis might arise.

The knowledge that he might be jeopardizing another’s safety by showing up for his shift in less-than-optimal condition added the weight of guilt to Wheeljack’s already-heavy emotional burden. He wondered how much more he could take before he finally collapsed under the strain.

Heaving a heavy sigh through his vents, he opened the recently delivered file.

For several kliks he simply stared at it in dismay, a tangled jumble of emotions warring within him.

The message was from Ratchet. It was, to all appearances, the standard appointment request for a scheduled maintenance check.

The requested appointment time was less than a breem from now. He’d been excused from his morning duties so that he could attend.

Wheeljack wasn’t due for a maintenance exam for another orn, at least. The fact that the request was premature wasn’t unusual in and of itself; exams were often scheduled early for the sake of the medic, staggering appointments to avoid the inevitable bottleneck that resulted when multiple mechs came due at once. On the surface, the message was no different than any other of its type.

But Wheeljack knew better. More precisely, he knew Ratchet.

The maintenance exam was merely camouflage, a means to get Wheeljack into repair bay. Because the request came directly from the CMO and had been delivered through official channels, it carried the same weight as a command.

The only way Wheeljack could refuse it was via an equally official request to reschedule, in which he would of course be expected to provide a reason why the proposed appointment time was unworkable, and offer an alternate. All such formal communications were recorded in the data tracks, available to any officer who cared to review them.

Even if he’d had a reasonable excuse, Wheeljack wasn’t about to make his personal difficulties a matter of public record, and Ratchet knew it. There would be no dodging or avoidance this time. He’d been outmaneuvered.

A surge of hurt, anger and betrayal suffused his circuits. How could Ratchet do this to him?

He supposed it was a form of revenge. Ratchet had allowed him a certain degree of freedom up until now, granting him the opportunity to seek out the medic's assistance of his own volition.

Wheeljack hadn’t. If anything, he’d actively avoided it.

And now, it seemed, Ratchet’s patience had finally run out.

**

It was with a dragging gait and a heavy spark that Wheeljack reported to the repair bay at the designated joor. His processor couldn’t seem to settle on any one emotion, flickering rapidly from one to the next – hurt, guilt, fear, anger, shame, resentment, despair – long enough for him to respond to any of them, so he appeared outwardly calm, if somewhat preoccupied.

When he arrived, Ratchet was waiting for him.

Ratchet indicated his office with a jerk of his helm. Wheeljack made his way across the deserted repair bay like a condemned mech, his gaze never rising from the ground, coming to a halt when he reached the door.

Ratchet keyed in the locking code and waited for him to enter, following him in after he’d stepped inside.

Wheeljack shifted his weight uneasily once he’d crossed the threshold. Under normal circumstances, he’d have taken a seat in one of the visitor’s chairs without hesitation, just like he always did. This time, he remained on his feet.

“Sit down, ‘Jack,” Ratchet said mildly.

It seemed pointless to argue. He sat.

Ratchet settled himself into the chair behind his desk and regarded him thoughtfully.

Wheeljack avoided his gaze.

“I’m guessing you know why you’re here,” Ratchet said. It wasn’t really a question.

Wheeljack shrugged sullenly.

Ratchet huffed in annoyance. “Don’t even start with me, Wheeljack,” he warned. “I’m not the bad guy here. You forced my hand!”

His helm jerked up at that. “I forced you?” he asked incredulously. “I didn’t ask for this! I told you I didn’t want to talk about it, so who’s forcing who here, Ratchet, huh?”

“You think I wanted this?” Ratchet retorted heatedly, rising from his seat. “I wanted you to come to me on your own! I gave you time, gave you space – look what you did with it! Threw yourself at the first mech who’d have you! How’d that work out for you, ‘Jack?”

Wheeljack flinched visibly, as if he’d been struck.

Ratchet seemed to deflate a little, cycling a sigh through his vents. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that.” He offlined his optics briefly, reining in his temper, then looked back to Wheeljack, his expression serious. “Tell me honestly, ‘Jack,” he asked quietly. “Would you ever have come to me, if I’d left you alone?”

Wheeljack thought about it.

“No,” he said finally. “Probably not.”

Ratchet didn’t look surprised. “Then you agree this was the only way.”

Wheeljack fidgeted uncomfortably. “I guess,” he conceded, unable to dispute the logic of Ratchet’s statement. He hesitated a moment, then confided, “I really don’t want to do this, Ratch.”

For a moment Ratchet’s expression looked almost pained. “I know you don’t.” He rubbed his hands over his faceplate wearily, then leaned forward to rest them on the desk, fixing the reluctant engineer with an earnest gaze. “But you asked me to help you, ‘Jack. I want to help you. I can’t do that if you won’t let me.”

A wave of guilt swept over him. Some friend he was. Ratchet was doing his best to fix him, and Wheeljack was treating him like the enemy. Ratchet had every reason to be angry at him for that, but instead he was still trying to help.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his vocalizer crackling. “I don’t mean to – I just –”

“I know,” Ratchet said. “You’re just trying to cope, the only way you know how.” He smiled a faint, sad smile. “Because you’re a stubborn aft who thinks he has to do everything by himself,” Ratchet huffed through his vents. “But you don’t, ‘Jack. More importantly, you shouldn’t. Not this time.”

Chastened, Wheeljack lowered his helm, staring at his feet. “Do I really have to talk about it?” he asked reluctantly. “Isn’t there some other way?”

“I’m afraid not,” Ratchet replied.

“Can’t we just forget about it?” he argued, looking up at him with pleading optics, vocal indicators flickering earnestly. “Just…pretend it never happened? Doesn’t that make more sense than pulling it back into my cache over and over again?”

“It doesn’t work that way, and you know it,” Ratchet admonished gently. “Those events are a part of your core memory now – they’re linked up and interconnected with countless other memory files. You can try to bury them, but they’re still going to pop up every time you experience something your CPU has associated with them, whether you want them to or not.”

He lowered his helm again. Ratchet was right, of course. Even if he hadn’t known it already, it was an easy conclusion to draw based on his recent experiences.

Ratchet resumed his seat. “We may not be able to stop your processor from pulling up the files, but we can mitigate your reaction to them through repeated exposure,” he said. “That’s why you need to talk about it.”

Wheeljack cycled a sigh through his intakes. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll…I’ll talk.”

“Great,” Ratchet said, looking relieved. “Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me what happened with Starscream that day.”

Wheeljack winced. “I already told you –” he protested.

“I know you did,” Ratchet said, cutting him off. “But this isn’t for my edification. You twitch whenever someone says his name, 'Jack. You freeze up whenever you see him. What happens the next time we go into battle? What happens if you have to fight him?" He paused for an astrosecond, letting the implications sink in, then concluded, "You have to do this, Wheeljack. It’s too dangerous not to.”

“Fine, okay.” He took a moment to gather himself, then began to speak.

“I onlined on the floor,” he recited tonelessly. “I was damaged, I couldn’t move. I felt someone touching me. They turned me over, and I saw it was –” he shot a brief, defiant look at the listening medic. “It was Starscream,” he concluded firmly.

Ratchet nodded. “Go on.”

“He, um…” Wheeljack faltered a moment in his recital, reset his vocalizer and continued, “…he opened me up, my…my chestplate, and then he, uh…plugged into me.”

“How did feel about that?” Ratchet interrupted.

“What kind of a question is that? How do you think I felt about it?” he demanded, vocal indicators flashing stridently.

“Just tell me.”

For a stunned astrosecond he simply stared at Ratchet in shocked disbelief.

“Scared,” he said finally. “Helpless. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything. I knew what he was going to do, but I couldn't do anything to stop him.”

“How did you feel when he jacked in?”

“Sick,” he responded immediately. “I wanted to purge my tanks.”

“Did you think he was going to hack your processor?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I figured that's what he wanted. I tried to build up my firewalls...but my systems were too damaged, they weren’t responding fast enough. I knew he was going to get in.”

“But he didn’t.”

“He could have. He didn’t try,” Wheeljack said. “Didn’t complete the uplink, either. But I could feel him. He was just…there. Doing nothing.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“Scared, still,” he replied. “Sort of...confused, i guess. I mean, he was plugged in, but he wasn’t doing anything.”

“What did you think about that?”

“I figured he was doing it on purpose, drawing it out to scare me more,” he said. “He knew I was scared; he could feel it through the link. He told me he could feel it.”

“Could you feel him?”

“Yes,” he replied shortly.

“What was he feeling?” Ratchet pressed.

Wheeljack threw him a resentful look, his optics narrowing. “Contempt,” he spat. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair; the energon in his tanks was roiling.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Not then,” Wheeljack said. “Later on, he…he told me to relax. Said I’d enjoy it.”

Ratchet nodded. “Okay. What happened next?”

“He started touching me. Pushing his field into me.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“Stop asking me that!” Wheeljack exclaimed, exasperated. “How do you think it felt?”

“I think it probably felt pretty good.”

“Well, you’d be wrong,” he retorted.

“It’s all right, ‘Jack,” Ratchet said placatingly. “Autonomic systems, remember? I didn’t say you liked it, or that you wanted it, just that it felt good. He meant for it to feel good; he wanted to force you to overload so he could absorb the energy discharge. Isn’t that right?”

“…yeah,” he allowed grudgingly. “But it didn’t feel good,” he said vehemently.

“‘Jack –” Ratchet began.

“It felt horrible,” he insisted.

“…because it felt good,” Ratchet said calmly.

“No –!” he protested, his circuits heating in agitation.

“Because it felt good, and you didn’t want it to,” Ratchet persisted, firm but gentle.

He wanted to deny it, to argue, but he knew it would be a lie. He shrank in on himself, huddling into his chair. “…yeah,” he admitted in a small voice.

“I’m sorry, ‘Jack,” Ratchet said regretfully. “It must’ve been awful for you.”

“Not as bad as this,” he muttered resentfully.

Ratchet hesitated at that, but persevered, asking, “Then what happened?”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Wheeljack said, avoiding his optics.

“We’re almost done,” Ratchet reassured him, “just tell me what happened next.”

He muted his vocalizer, remaining stubbornly silent.

“Don’t clam up on me, Wheeljack,” Ratchet encouraged. “You’re doing fine. What happened next?”

Silence.

Ratchet waited.

Wheeljack shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Ratchet waited some more.

“I don’t want to do this,” he complained. “Why do I have to do this?”

“You know why,” Ratchet replied. “Tell me what happened next, ‘Jack.”

“I hate you,” Wheeljack said coldly, glaring sullenly at the floor. “I hate you for making me do this.”

Ratchet didn’t reply immediately. When he spoke again, his tone was almost pleading. “Just say it, ‘Jack,” he entreated. “What happened next?”

Wheeljack didn’t want to say it, but the odd desperation in Ratchet’s vocalizer tugged at his spark. “He…I…”

“Go on,” Ratchet encouraged.

“Do I have to say it?” Wheeljack argued, balking. “You know what happened.”

“I do,” Ratchet agreed. “But I need you to say it.”

He didn’t want to say it. Even though Ratchet already knew, somehow saying it out loud seemed so much worse. His fuel tanks were churning, threatening to purge their contents, his circuits burning with shame and self-disgust. His hands –

“My hands are shaking,” he commented, staring at them in surprise.

“Yeah,” Ratchet said. “Have been for a while now.”

“Huh,” Wheeljack said bemusedly. How had he failed to notice that?

“What happened next, ‘Jack?” Ratchet pressed.

“Nothing,” he replied evasively. “I offlined, woke up in repair bay.”

“And before that? What made you go offline?”

Wheeljack flexed his shoulder-struts uneasily. He knew what Ratchet wanted him to say, but he didn’t want to say it. It was just so...humiliating.

“Come on, ‘Jack,” Ratchet persisted, implacable. “You can do this. What did Starscream do?”

He didn’t look at him. He didn’t even lift his gaze from his hands. He offlined his optics, forced his vocalizer to transmit the words. “He made me overload,” he whispered.

Ratchet nodded, “Okay. Good.” He sounded relieved. “And how did that make you feel?”

Suddenly it was all too much to bear. He felt completely overwhelmed, hovering on the brink of total breakdown and fighting desperately not to slip over the edge. He shook his helm helplessly, feeling sick and shaken, tainted and ashamed, weak and pathetic.

“‘Jack?”

“I can’t,” he said, “Please, Ratch, I can’t.”

“You can.”

“No,” he insisted, hating the traces of static invading his vocalizer, the weakness they represented. “I can’t. I want to stop. Please, can’t we stop?”

Ratchet didn’t respond for a long, thoughtful moment. “Okay,” he said finally. “I guess that’s enough for today. Let’s go and get your maintenance done.”

Wheeljack looked at him in surprise. “You’re still going to –?”

“Of course,” Ratchet replied, anticipating his question. “You’ve got an appointment to keep, after all. It’d look pretty strange if you didn’t have it done. You’re about due anyway.”

Feeling a little nonplussed, Wheeljack heaved himself out of his chair, following Ratchet back out to the main repair bay.

**

Within moments he was laid out on a repair berth, undergoing one of Ratchet’s famously invasive maintenance exams.

Oddly enough, the exam didn’t seem as intrusive or unpleasant as the ones Wheeljack had undergone in the past. Even if it had been, he was too emotionally and physically drained to muster the energy to complain. He simply lay quietly, staring up at the ceiling.

Ratchet worked on him in silence, performing the routine procedure with his usual brisk efficiency, unkinking wires, replacing worn cables, checking joints and servos for signs of fatigue. The touch of the medic’s hands felt surprisingly gentle to the wearied engineer, the aura of calm self-assurance Ratchet projected comforting in its familiarity.

The whole process was strangely soothing. He was on the verge of drifting into a light recharge when Ratchet straightened, commenting, “That ought to do it.”

Wheeljack roused a little. “You’re done?”

“With the exam, yes,” Ratchet replied. “But I want to flush your hydraulics, too. Your pressure levels are a little high; I think it’ll help.”

“Oh. Okay,” he said. “But won’t that take –”

“Another joor or two, yeah,” Ratchet finished for him. “Don’t worry, I already cleared it with Prowl. He’s getting someone to cover your duty shift.”

Wheeljack nodded his assent. What Ratchet was suggesting wasn’t technically a part of standard maintenance, but he saw no reason to object. The procedure was occasionally necessary, and while time-consuming, not especially uncomfortable or painful provided the patient remained relatively still while it was being performed.

He continued to lie passively while Ratchet went about the task of setting things up, hooking him up to various fluid lines in preparation to drain and flush his systems.

“All right,” Ratchet said as he adjusted the pressure settings and initiated the flow. “Just relax and try not to move around too much. I’ll be back to check on you in about a breem. Any problems, give me a comm.”

“Will do,” Wheeljack replied agreeably. The peculiar feeling of fluid draining from his hydraulics was odd but not unpleasant. He watched as Ratchet headed back across the repair bay and disappeared into his office, presumably to update Wheeljack’s maintenance record.

He cycled his intakes in a sigh, his processor feeling slow and sluggish. He was beginning to regret not having attempted recharge the night before, wishing he’d at least stopped to refuel on his way to repair bay this morning.

Ratchet returned in what seemed like no time at all, and began the flush of his systems. The sensation of the warm oil moving languidly through his lines was incredibly soporific, and Wheeljack soon found himself struggling to stay online.

The next thing he knew, Ratchet was leaning over him, murmuring his name in soft tones.

“What happened?” he asked muzzily.

“When I came back to check on you, you’d slipped into recharge,” Ratchet explained. “Since I didn’t need you awake for the procedure, I finished up while you were offline.”

“Oh,” he said, checking his internal chronometer. He’d been out for over a joor. He made to sit up, and Ratchet offered him a hand, helping pull him upright. “So I’m done?”

“You’re free to go,” Ratchet agreed. “How do you feel?”

Wheeljack considered a moment. “Good.”

Ratchet smiled. “Go on then, get outta here,” he said indulgently.

**

He left the repair bay feeling better than he had in solar cycles.

The maintenance Ratchet had performed, and the downtime required to perform it, had left Wheeljack feeling refreshed and invigorated. Since his duty shift was only half-over, he decided to report in for the remainder of it and relieve whoever Prowl had roped into covering for him.

The unfortunate mech in question turned out to be Sideswipe. Prowl had probably thought it fitting that Sideswipe be the one to take Wheeljack’s place, since he’d had taken on Sideswipe’s patrol shift with Trailbreaker the day before. Prowl may have also intended it as a punishment for some earlier mischief on Sideswipe’s part, given that Sideswipe was about as fond of monitor duty as he was of patrol duty.

But Sideswipe wasn’t the only mech in Command when Wheeljack arrived. Quite a crowd had gathered, including Optimus Prime. Wheeljack soon learned that while he had been occupied in repair bay, Teletraan-1 had picked up some strange new energy readings. Bumblebee and Powerglide had been sent to discover the source of the readings, and everyone was eagerly awaiting their report.

The two minibots commed in shortly after Wheeljack resumed his shift, revealing that the source of the energy waves was an unusual island.

Upon their return, Powerglide and Bumblebee reported their findings, the most notable being the fact that the island was inhabited by living dinosaurs. If the Autobots were surprised to learn of the existence of creatures they’d been told were extinct, the humans were flabbergasted. Spike in particular seemed especially enthused, and Bumblebee fairly preened as he related the details of his discovery to his human friend.

Then Cliffjumper chimed in with his opinion, like he always did. “We have enough headaches with Dinobots, the last thing we need is dinosaurs.”

Normally, Wheeljack would have ignored the jibe about his creations like he usually did, but the recent success he’d had working with the Dinobots spurred him to defend them. It seemed a little demonstration was in order.

He called in Grimlock, smugly dismissing Huffer’s attempt to deride his claims that the Dinobots had improved. Wheeljack was quite confident Grimlock wouldn’t disappoint him. After this demonstration, even the most verbal of the Dinobots’ detractors would be forced to mute it for a while.

Grimlock performed flawlessly, much to the amazement of the gathered Autobots. Their impressed reactions were a soothing balm to Wheeljack’s battered ego. Spike even cheered for him, which made his circuits flush with pride.

Then everything fell apart.

Slag and Sludge came in, wanting a turn in the spotlight themselves, or maybe just confused. Wheeljack suspected the latter when they haplessly blundered into Grimlock – he tried to warn them to look out, but it was already too late – causing Grimlock to misfire.

To his credit, Grimlock tried to take control of his charges the way Wheeljack had taught him. Unfortunately, Grimlock was so focused on that effort that he forgot to concentrate on moving carefully in the cramped-to-him surroundings. His tail struck a console as he turned, showering the Dinobot with a cascade of sparks. Startled by the explosion, Sludge stumbled and stepped on Slag’s tail, which in turn caused Slag to unleash an uncontrolled burst of flame. As the Autobots dove for cover, Swoop and Snarl came in to investigate the commotion.

Total chaos ensued. A chain reaction of destruction was set into motion and rapidly gained momentum. As had happened in the past, the Dinobots promptly forgot their original intentions and began to brawl amongst themselves. To Wheeljack’s great chagrin, Huffer managed to find time amidst the pandemonium to lob a pointed ‘I told you so’ in his direction, which only served to remind him that he was ultimately responsible for the devastation taking place.

Just when he thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, he heard Spike shout in alarm, “Oh no, they’re heading toward Teletraan-1!”

He tried calling to the Dinobots, to Grimlock, but it was no use. They were too caught up in their dispute to heed his commands, and they were blundering closer to Teletraan-1 by the astrosecond. His spark sank in despair. The Ark’s main computer was about to be badly damaged, perhaps even destroyed, and it would be all his fault.

He hadn’t counted on Trailbreaker intervening with his force field. Wheeljack hadn’t even realized Trailbreaker was there until he leapt into action, shielding the Autobots’ supercomputer from the Dinobots’ reign of devastation.

But Wheeljack’s relief was short-lived, because Grimlock and the others were still floundering around, and some of the Autobots were gearing up to put a stop to their rampage by force. Wheeljack wanted the Dinobots stopped as much as the next mech, but he didn’t want to see his creations hurt in the process. The Dinobots weren’t Decepticons, willfully wreaking havoc out of sheer malice; they couldn’t help themselves. They were just big and clumsy. It made his spark ache to see such hostility directed toward them.

Fortunately Optimus Prime stepped in before the situation could turn to violence. “Grimlock will bring the other Dinobots under control,” he stated.

In his recent reports on their progress, Wheeljack had included some suggestions on the best methods to utilize when dealing with the Dinobots. It was evident from his words that Optimus Prime had read them and taken the advice to spark.

“Grimlock, stop stumbling around and end this chaos,” Prime ordered. “Transform!”

With his leadership role invoked, Grimlock immediately obeyed, and to Wheeljack’s relief, the other Dinobots promptly yielded to Grimlock’s commands.

As he knelt alongside Ratchet and Sparkplug to begin repairing the damage the Dinobots had caused, Wheeljack overheard Grimlock apologize to Optimus on behalf of himself and the other Dinobots. Once again a flush of pride and approval suffused his spark.

To Wheeljack’s relief, Prime readily accepted the apology. Optimus understood that the Dinobots simply had difficulty operating in close quarters, and didn’t blame them or Wheeljack for what had happened.

It was Bumblebee who suggested they send the Dinobots to the newly-discovered island where they could train in surroundings better suited to accommodate mechs their size.

The Dinobots welcomed the suggestion. The constant need to restrict their movements for the sake of their surroundings placed a lot of stress on their simple processors. Wheeljack knew they would function far better – not to mention feel far more at ease – with that constraint lifted.

As he and Ratchet put aside their tools and accompanied the group outside, Wheeljack’s feelings of guilt eased a little. With all the repairs left to attend to, he couldn’t be spared to accompany them and supervise their training, but Optimus seemed to feel Grimlock was up to handling the task on his own, and Prime’s confidence reassured the engineer.

They would be all right without him.

He waved as they departed, the warmth of fondness swelling in his spark.

**

By the time Wheeljack, Optimus and Ratchet had returned to Command, most of the ‘Bots that had gathered there had cleared out. Hound had stayed, as had Sideswipe, to Wheeljack’s surprise. Both ‘Bots were busy clearing away the worst of the debris. Sparkplug, who’d remained behind while they left to bid the Dinobots farewell, was already hard at work.

“What a mess,” Ratchet opined as he took in the extent of the damage.

“You said it,” Sparkplug replied without looking up.

Guilt flooded his circuits. “I’m sorry, guys,” Wheeljack apologized as he bent to resume his task. “They did so well when I was working with them, I honestly thought they’d gotten better.”

Ratchet and Sparkplug both looked up at his melancholy tone.

“It’s not your fault, Wheeljack,” Ratchet said.

“You didn’t make the Dinobots tear up the place,” Sparkplug agreed.

“No, I just made the Dinobots,” he retorted.

“I seem to recall helping a little with that myself,” Ratchet commented dryly. “But it’s not my fault either. It’s not even the Dinobots’ fault – they’re just too big to train here. Optimus said as much.”

Sparkplug glanced at Ratchet, then added, “Actually, it was a really impressive demonstration. I never thought Grimlock could be so disciplined. It was obvious you’d been working with him.”

“Obviously not hard enough,” he muttered.

“All you can do is your best,” Sparkplug replied. “I used to worry that I’d blow things with Spike; that I wasn’t up to raising a child on my own. But I did my best, and he turned out to be a pretty good kid.”

Wheeljack nodded. “I guess that’s all any of us can do.”

**

The repairs didn’t take long, which was fortunate, because moments after they were completed Teletraan-1 picked up another energy disturbance. Wheeljack quickly determined the source was some sort of time warp, and Optimus immediately took a group of ‘Bots out to investigate.

Two joors and three time warps later, the volcano that housed the Ark became active again, and the true source of their troubles was finally revealed – Dinobot Island. Or more precisely, Dinobot Island being plundered for energy by the Decepticons. Wheeljack was very glad he had resumed his shift on the monitors at that point, because it meant he wasn’t among those chosen to go along with Optimus Prime to confront the ‘Cons.

In the end, everything worked out. All the damages to Command were repaired, the Decepticons were defeated, no ‘Bot suffered any serious injuries, and the Dinobots were welcomed back to the Ark as the heroes of the day.

But it had been a very long shift. And he’d only served half of it.

Wheeljack was thankful now for the maintenance appointment that had excused him from duty that morning and afforded him the opportunity to snatch some much-needed recharge. He was exhausted. He hadn’t had time to stop and refuel since the day before, so when his shift ended and the fuss finally died down, he headed straight for the common room for some energon.

It was pretty crowded, as it usually was following a battle. Fortunately most of the gathered mechs had already dispensed their rations and were sitting around chatting as they consumed them, so he was able to acquire his own ration fairly quickly. In a departure from his usual habit, he downed the entire cube the moment it hit his hands.

“Looked like you really needed that,” a familiar voice commented from behind him.

Wheeljack turned to find a smiling Trailbreaker, who had apparently just arrived for his own refueling.

“Yeah,” he replied wearily. “Been a long day.”

“No kidding,” Trailbreaker agreed, turning to dispense a cube of his own. “Dinosaurs, Dinobots, and Decepticons, plus a couple time warps, just for variety. Never a dull moment.”

Trailbreaker’s words reminded him of something he’d forgotten. “Uh, yeah, about that…” he began hesitantly.

Trailbreaker turned back to face him again, a full cube in hand, intrigued by his tone. “What?”

Feeling suddenly awkward, Wheeljack said, “I…I wanted to thank you. For shielding Teletraan.”

“Hey, no problem,” Trailbreaker replied agreeably. “It’s what I do.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” Wheeljack said haltingly, “if you hadn’t…”

Teletraan-1 might have been destroyed. The Dinobots might have ended up getting scrapped. And everyone would’ve blamed me.

He reached for Trailbreaker’s free hand, gripping it in his own, meeting his optics with as sincere a gaze as he could muster, trying to will Trailbreaker to understand. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“Aw, it wasn’t anything,” Trailbreaker replied, ducking his helm modestly, both pleased and embarrassed by Wheeljack’s response. “I know you feel responsible when the Dinobots act up; I was glad to do it. Glad I could do something to help.”

Wheeljack nodded gratefully.

“After all,” Trailbreaker added, subspacing the energon cube to free his other hand and laying it lightly against Wheeljack’s chestplate, touching the spot directly above his spark chamber in a surprisingly tender gesture, “I owe you one.”

Wheeljack was touched and more than a little flustered by Trailbreaker’s words, by his actions, by the look he was giving him. It was obvious Trailbreaker hadn’t saved Teletraan-1 solely out of duty.

He’d done it for Wheeljack.

And his hand on Wheeljack’s chestplate – not a form of contact shared between casual acquaintances – was an equally obvious reminder of what Wheeljack still owed him.

“Right,” Wheeljack said, a flurry of conflicting emotions warring in his spark. “But s-still, you know…thanks.”

Trailbreaker opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he planned to say, Wheeljack never learned, because Trailbreaker tensed before the words could leave his vocalizer. From the sudden stiffening of his posture, Wheeljack surmised he’d gotten a comm.

His supposition was borne out when Trailbreaker’s stance relaxed again and he said, “Sorry, I have to go. Hound’s got this big secret project he’s working on, and he made me promise I’d help him with it.”

“Oh,” Wheeljack replied, belatedly realizing he was still holding Trailbreaker’s hand and releasing it abruptly. “Okay.”

“See you around?” Trailbreaker asked hopefully, his expression anxious and apologetic.

“Sure,” he agreed.

Trailbreaker smiled, looking relieved. “Great,” he said. “See you then.”

After watching Trailbreaker depart, Wheeljack turned to leave himself.

He came face-to-face with one seriously torqued-off Ratchet.

The incensed expression on the medic’s faceplate had Wheeljack fighting the urge to duck; Ratchet looked absolutely livid, his optics blazing with barely-suppressed ire. The sheer force of anger radiating from him made Wheeljack fall back a step.

“My office,” Ratchet ordered. “Now.”


*Edit: Part 10 is here.*

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger, folks. Ratchet is scary, huh? I fail at icon-making, or I'd make myself one of Ratchet that says "Angry!Medic is ANGRY" in honor of this chapter. ;)